P.T. Logan's Five Minutes of Terror

By Patrick Logan and P.T. Logan

Five Minutes of Terror is a collection of fifty-one original, chilling, absurd, scary, and, of course, terrifyling, tales of horror, revenge, and the supernatural.

Each story in the print version of the #1 hit podcast P.T. Logan's Five Minutes of Terror is accompanied by unique artwork generated by artificial intelligence. Find out what computers fear most!

Appropriate for anyone and everyone who dares to be scared, grab your full-color copy today!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Pathological Ink
• Release date: Oct 21, 2022
• ISBN: 9798215441091

Book preview

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This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents in this book are either entirely imaginary or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or of places, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © Patrick Logan 2022

Interior design: © Patrick Logan 2022

All rights reserved.

All images, except for the cover image, were created using WOMBO Dream AI software.

This book, or parts thereof, cannot be reproduced, scanned, or disseminated in any print or electronic form.

First Edition: October 2022

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For ABBY, GEORGIA, and CJ.

P.T. lOGAN’S

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fIVE MINUTES OF TERROR

Twisted, troubling tales to send a chill up your spine.

CONTENTS

MEAT

REUNION

PITTER PATTER

WISCONSIN

SNAKE EYES

SHOES

LADYBUG

WIG

TOOTH FAIRY

FRESH CLOTHES

MILKSHAKE

BLOODY MARY

PENPAL

OVERDUE

TURBULENCE

SMALL CRIMSON GALLOPING CLOAK

MEATLOAF

THE ACCIDENT

THEY’LL STAY LIKE THAT

CAMERA

A HOLE IN SHERBROOKE STREET

BUGS

PHOBIA

LUGGAGE

MR. O’LEARY’S DOG

ANNE

BOOK OF LIFE

HELP ME

THE OLD OAK TREE

TAP

MY HOUSE

NAUGHTY LIST

COMFORT

DIG

CHAIN GAME

STITCHES

THE WATCHER

TELEPHONE BOOTH

DO NOT SOAK

THREE KNOCKS

OIL

CAR

THE DOLL

THE DOLL II

THE DOLL III

BUBBLEGUM

THE LORETH INSANE ASYLUM

BUS DRIVER

TEAPOT

FINE PRINT

AUTHOR’S NOTE

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MEAT

There’s never any meat in Stephanie Bonner’s home.

Not a piece of salami, a chicken breast, a steak, or even a slice of bacon. Stephanie and her family, which includes her little brother Timmy and her mom and dad, are very strict vegetarians.

Stephanie has rarely seen meat, let alone tasted it.

Her mom has told her a million times that she’s never to try meat, not even a nibble, not even something that has come in contact with meat. And yet, as they drive to Amy’s house for a sleepover, her mom feels the need to remind her.

Stephanie, if anyone tries to give you meat, no matter how small, no matter how insignificant, or if you feel tempted—even in the slightest—you’re to call me right away.

Yeah, sure, Mom.

Her mom embarrasses her further by telling Amy’s mom that Stephanie’s a vegetarian and under no circumstances is she to have any meat—in front of everyone!

Thankfully, Amy’s mom orders two types of pizza: cheese, and cheese with pepperoni.

Stephanie has one slice of cheese pizza but after the movie they’re watching finishes—a scary one—she’s hungry again. The only problem is that there’s no cheese pizza left.

I can pick off the pepperoni, if you want? Amy’s mom offers.

Stephanie says no thank you, then immediately asks to go to the bathroom. When she’s alone, Stephanie calls her mother and tells her what Amy’s mom had said.

Sure enough, less than five minutes later, there’s a knock at the front door—it’s Stephanie’s mom.

You’re coming with me, she snaps.

But, Mom, Stephanie complains, but her mom is having none of it. She drags Stephanie to the car and shoves her inside. Then, to top it off, she goes back to Amy’s house and starts making a big deal—yelling and waving her hands around.

Everyone is watching... everyone except for Stephanie. She’s too embarrassed to look.

The next day at school, Amy and the other girls refuse to speak to her. Stephanie tries to tell them that it isn’t a big deal, but they didn’t even look in her direction.

Until lunch.

Stephanie’s sitting by herself when Amy and the other girls from the party take a seat at the same table.

Hi, I guess— she starts to say, when Amy suddenly shoves a salami sandwich in her face. Stephanie pulls back just before it touches her lips.

What’s wrong, Stephie? Scared of a little meat? Amy taunts. You going to get your mom to come pick you up?

No, it’s just—

"Stephie’s afraid of meat! Stephie’s afraid of meat!"

It’s not just Amy now, but all of her friends have joined in.

Stephanie takes her cell phone out, intent on calling her mother like she’s supposed to, but it’s quickly snatched from her hand.

Hey!

She tries to grab it back, but Amy has other ideas. Unbelievably, she actually puts the phone inside the salami sandwich.

You want it now? Huh? Huh?

No, I don’t want it. Just let me—

Stephanie tries to stand but someone pushes her back down.

Stephie’s afraid of meat! Stephie’s afraid of meat!

Someone grabs her hands and holds them behind her back. Before Stephanie can realize what’s happening, Amy shoves a beef stick in her mouth.

Stephanie shakes her head, and tries to spit it out, but Amy doesn’t let her. Then she pinches her nose and Stephanie has no choice but to take a bite.

It tastes salty, a little sweet, and... delicious.

This time, when Stephanie shakes her head, it isn’t to get rid of the meat in her mouth, but to get more of it.

Confused, Amy, and whoever else is holding her, lets go.

Stephanie finishes the beef stick in record time. When she looks up, her friends are backing away from her. But she doesn’t mind because they leave their lunches unattended on the table. She grabs Amy’s sandwich first, but she’s not interested in her phone.

She wants the salami.

It goes down with just two chews.

Next, she finds a chicken salad sandwich.

That, she doesn’t chew at all—she just swallows.

In less than a minute, Stephanie has eaten every single morsel of meat on the table.

Only when it’s all gone, does she look up.

Her friends are staring at her in horror.

I need more meat!

We don’t—we don’t have anymore, Amy stammers.

Growling, Stephanie leaps to her feet.

More meat! she screams.

Amy starts backing away from her, her eyes wide.

"More meat! More! More! More meat!"

But Amy’s right, there is no more meat.

Except, there is.

Stephanie jumps at Amy and grabs the terrified girl by the arm. Then she licks her lips, lowers her head, and takes a large bite out of the girl’s sweet, sweet flesh.

P.T.’s Take

Meat is my take on the classic ‘vegan turns meat eater in a dramatic way’ story. The original inspiration for this tale is a fantastic (adult’s only) French horror film called Raw. The problem with depriving yourself of something entirely is that if you—by mistake—happen to have a little taste? Well, sometimes it can be hard to stop yourself...

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REUNION

Like me, the woman on the bed is pretty. But unlike me, she’s old, with deep lines around her mouth and eyes. Her hair is neatly brushed, a light gray on the white pillow beneath her head.

If you just stared at her face, she would look like a completely normal, sleeping woman. But then you’d hear a beep, and your eyes would be drawn to one of the many machines that she’s hooked up to.

I move closer, lean down, and breathe in her scent. Her hair smells a little bit like honeysuckle and her cheeks faintly of vanilla.

Vanilla is her favorite perfume, and she always wears perfume on special days.

And there are no days more special than today.

The machine beeps, and I stifle a giggle.

Today is the most special day in Lindsay’s entire life.

Because today is the day that she’s going see her daughter again.

It’s been a long time since Lindsay has seen her daughter.

It’s been twelve years, four months, and three days.

And Lindsay misses her daughter.

When the girl was growing up, Lindsay and her daughter were inseparable, more like friends than mother and child.

Everyone said they looked alike, acted alike, and sounded alike—they even laughed the same way. Which was part of the reason why Lindsay had made sure to put on her vanilla perfume before falling asleep.

Because it’s the same perfume her daughter wears, of course.

Wore, I correct myself. Even after all this time, it’s hard to get used to the past tense.

There’s a loud beep to my right, and then the machine goes silent. I reach for Lindsay’s hand and grasp it within my own.

It’s cool to the touch and a smile forms on my face.

One of the machines begins to panic, and a few seconds later the door behind me swings open and a nurse rushes in.

She doesn’t even look in my direction, even though I’m hovering right next to Lindsay’s bed.

As the nurse reads the machines, a doctor comes into the room. He says something to the nurse, then presses his fingers to the side of Lindsay’s neck.

I’m afraid she’s gone, the doctor says.

The nurse agrees and they both cross their hands, lower their heads, and place their chins to their chest in silent prayer.

That’s when Lindsay rises up, her hand still in mine. 

I missed you, mom, I say as together we walk out of the hospital on this very special day.

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PITTER PATTER

Harrison Doug Thompson, or Harry for short, didn’t like the house that he just moved into with his parents.

Sure, it was big—bigger than their last—and it actually has a backyard, but there was something about it that was just off.

We really have to live here? Harry asked as his father pulled into the driveway.

We’ve already moved in, son. The movers have already put all of our belongings into the appropriate rooms. So, yes, we have to live here.

Harry frowned in the back seat and crossed his arms over his chest.

You’re going to like it here, Harry, his mother said. It’s just different. You’ll get used to it.

Harry wasn’t so sure about that, but he owed it to his parents to at least give the creepy place a chance.

True to his father’s word, the movers had already put all of their stuff inside.

There was still a little unpacking to do, glasses and plates, mostly, which Harry helped his mother put in the cupboard. A little later, they had dinner on these plates—mom’s special spaghetti with meatballs.

This was Harry’s favorite, and even though he knew his mother had made it only to make him less uneasy about the new house, this didn’t make it taste any less delicious. After dinner, he bathed, and then his dad read him a story and he went to sleep.

To this point, Harry’s feelings about the house were unjustified. And he would feel that way, up until he heard the first pitter patter.

The sound was so soft that when Harry woke, he wasn’t sure why.

He hadn’t been having a bad dream—hadn’t been dreaming at all, in fact.

I’m just imagining things, Harry thought as he rolled onto his side and tried to go back to sleep. He almost managed when he heard it again.

The pitter patter—tiny footsteps. They were so quiet that Harry had to concentrate hard to hear them.

But they were there.

And they were coming from somewhere above him.

If this was his other house, he might’ve thought that it was his dad walking around. His dad had an office in the attic, and he liked to work late at night.

But this wasn’t the old house. It was the new house.

The one that gave Harry the creeps.

Neither his mother or father had mentioned anything about an attic or a third floor.

Frightened, but also curious, Harry slowly got up out of bed and started to walk towards his bedroom door.

He peeked out, not sure what he was going to find.

There was no one there.

Harry glanced to his left and saw that his parent’s bedroom door was firmly closed.

You’re imagining things, Harry, he told himself again. You didn’t hear footsteps.

But he couldn’t shake the sound from his head.

He decided to ask his dad about it tomorrow and started back toward his bed. Then he heard it again, louder this time.

His eyes were drawn upward and, in the hallway, halfway between his bedroom and his parents’, he saw what looked like a trapdoor in the ceiling.

The pitter patter was coming from there.

And it was definitely footsteps. Footsteps made by small, bare feet.

The pitter patter moved back and forth, nearly directly over Harry’s head now and he felt his heart begin to thud in his chest.

It sounded like a young boy running.

Harry had never been so scared in his whole life, which made what he did next almost unbelievable.

He reached up to grab the small rope connected to the trapdoor and was about to pull it when his parent’s bedroom door opened.

Harry screamed and his father rushed toward him.

What is it, Harry? Were you sleepwalking again? Were you having a bad dream?

Harry couldn’t say anything—all he could do is point at the trapdoor.

Did you hear something? A leaky pipe, maybe? Because this is an old house.

Instead of waiting for Harry to answer, his father reached up and pulled the cord.

The trapdoor opened and a ladder came spilling out.

This sound somehow managed to wake Harry up.

"I-I-I heard something! No, not something, someone! There’s someone up there!"

His dad made a face, and then reached for the ladder.

No! Dad—y-you can’t!

Don’t be silly, son. I’ll show you that there’s nothing up here.

As his father started up the stairs, Harry grabbed his leg. But he quickly shook free and then climbed into the attic. As the man crawled out of sight, dust and a single newspaper page fell to the hallway below.

Harry no longer heard the pitter patter, but that’s not what worried him. What worried him was that he doesn’t hear his dad up there, either.

Dad? Dad, are you up there? Harry’s heart was pounding away in his tiny chest, and his voice was a mere whisper.

When there was no answer, Harry considered yelling for his mom. But then his dad poked his head out of the hole in the ceiling. His face was covered in dust, but he wasn’t upset. Instead, he was smiling widely.

See? Nothing up here. I told you; it was just a bad dream.

Harry took one step and nearly slipped. His father was saying something else, but he wasn’t paying attention. His eyes were locked on the newspaper page that