NORMAL THOUGHTS FROM A STRANGE MIND: VOLUME I

By L.S. Strange

Normal Thoughts from a Strange Mind (Volume 1) is a collection of short stories, some inspired by actual events and others not. See if you can tell the difference.

Your heart will race as you become immersed in mysterious and thrilling stories.

Sci-fi yarns will bend your mind and reality, transporting you to a place of wonder and endless possibilities.

The tantalizing adrenaline rush of terror will wash over you as you are pulled into the depths of mesmerizing tales of the supernatural and paranormal.

Delve into the strange and unusual through these captivating stories.

So sit back, relax, and try to prepare yourself for a page-turning roller coaster ride of emotions.

But be warned, this is not for the faint of heart. These stories will give you pause the next time you enter a dark room, pondering what may be lurking in the shadows. A country road at dusk might not seem as innocent; instead, it is a gateway into the unknown. Commonplace items and situations will take on a macabre light.

Are you ready?

Visit lsstrange.com.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Newman Springs Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Apr 6, 2022
• ISBN: 9781638817901

Book preview

Normal Thoughts from a Strange Mind

Volume 1

L. S. STRANGE

Copyright © 2022 L. S. Strange

All rights reserved

First Edition

NEWMAN SPRINGS PUBLISHING

320 Broad Street

Red Bank, NJ 07701

First originally published by Newman Springs Publishing 2022

ISBN 978-1-63881-788-8 (Paperback)

ISBN 978-1-63881-789-5 (Hardcover)

ISBN 978-1-63881-790-1 (Digital)

Printed in the United States of America

Contents

Acknowledgments

Go Ahead, Scare Me

Put Your Heart into It

A Cry for Help

From One Hell to Another

Wrong Number

The Devil You Know

The Journal

Riverdale Road

Do You Believe?

You Called Me

The Bodybuilder

Familiar Voices

Acknowledgments

We are thankful for the inspiration, support, and encouragement of Elise Hopfner, Nicholas Strange, Nakita Brisbon, June and Dan Pawletzki, and Scot McCune. This book is dedicated to them.

Last, but certainly not least, we are grateful for the photography and literary insight of W. D. Yeager.

Go Ahead, Scare Me

Christopher rubbed his eyes. He was tired. What started out as a passion too quickly had turned into a job. He loved scary stories and the adrenaline rush from the thrill of being scared. That’s what prompted him to start his podcast. It took off like wildfire, and now he had over a million followers. Christopher’s initial online persona was intriguing and charismatic. This had somehow warped into a cynical and insatiable attitude. He didn’t know when or how it had happened. He remembered his mother saying, Honey, follow your passion and you will never work a day in your life.

Right! Christopher thought. What a load of crap!

Even his thoughts had become tainted with contempt. Christopher took a sip from the steaming cup of coffee that Brandon, his producer, had given him. It was going to be a long night.

Brandon entered the studio and smiled at him. Christopher looked squarely at him and asked, How did I let you talk me into doing a live show?

In response, Brandon grinned, which in turn caused Christopher to grin.

Must be the payable ads. Oh yeah, and the livestream comments from your fans, Brandon sarcastically replied.

Touché, Christopher responded, still grinning. Then on a serious note, he stated, I wish we would get a really scary story. The submissions we’ve received would barely rate a five. I want someone to submit a story that would rate ten out of ten. He sighed deeply.

I know. Hang in there. I’m sure one will be submitted soon, Brandon said. He and Christopher had worked together for three years, and during that time, they had become close friends, almost like brothers. In an effort to lift Christopher’s spirits, Brandon said, By the way, I changed the submission guidelines to help weed out the crap. If they don’t include the phrase, ‘I’m scared,’ in the body of the email submission, it gets filtered out. I programmed your inbox to automatically move it to the trash. He looked hopefully to his friend.

Thanks. Good job, Christopher sincerely replied. He knew that Brandon was trying to help, but he didn’t have much faith that it would work. Christopher knew the programming would work; he just didn’t think it would remove all the dull stories.

Even if I don’t think they’re scary, our followers do. So I have to keep reading them, Christopher stated flatly.

Brandon smiled. Get ready. We go live in three minutes.

Christopher nodded. He closed his eyes and mentally prepared himself. Knowing he had to pull out his alter ego, the persona that had built this following, Christopher took a deep breath, held it, and then exhaled slowly. I’m ready.

Christopher preferred to narrate while reading from a hard copy rather than from a monitor. He enjoyed the feel of the pages.

Brandon held up three fingers and counted down, then pointed directly at Christopher to let him know he was live.

Good evening! Christopher began. "Welcome to another episode of Go Ahead, Scare Me, the podcast for eerie stories that will keep you awake. Stories so disturbing you will be too terrified to close your eyes. The dark will no longer provide relief and comfort. You will now see things lurking in the shadows. Remember, there are some things that shouldn’t be trifled with. Curl up and prepare yourself for tonight’s podcast." The opening sounded corny and tired to Christopher, but it had become his brand. Fans sent emails and posted to Facebook quoting it.

Christopher read the first story. It was a good story, but not a great story. At the conclusion, he commented, Thank you, Amy Solke, for that scary story. It was good and gave me goose bumps. Based on the posted comments, our followers enjoyed it too.

The show continued, and over the next two hours, he read four more submissions that had qualified for narration. At the end, Christopher said the closing comments he did for each podcast.

I’m Christopher Dibitello, and thanks for joining us. Please follow us for more spine-chilling tales in our next podcast. If you were unable to join us live, you can always access a recording of this show in the archives section of our channel. Remember to submit your stories through our website. I’m still looking for that one story that will truly give me pause, make the hair stand up on the back of my neck, make my heart skip a beat. So I challenge you. Go ahead, scare me.

And we’re out, Brandon said after stopping the live feed. I’ll have this session ready for upload in about three days.

Okay. Christopher shoved the pages from the stories into a folder and pushed it to the side. When will you have submissions ready for me to review?

I’m working on that tomorrow. I should have some for you then. Hoping to find some good ones.

Cool. I’m beat and heading home. Talk to you later. Christopher tried to stifle a yawn.

Get some rest. Looks like you need it, Brandon said.

Christopher smiled, nodded, and waved goodbye as he left the studio.

The next day, Christopher arrived at the studio, a steaming cup of very strong coffee in his hand. He entered the studio and waved hello to Brandon, who was in the control room editing their last session. Brandon nodded and jumped up from his chair.

Hey, bro. I put the filtered submissions in your network folder. I think there may be some decent ones for our next stream. Brandon hoped to raise Christopher’s spirits. He felt as though he were watching his friend descend into a black hole of despair.

Okay, thanks. I’ll check them out, Christopher replied flatly.

Not to be deterred, Brandon added, Your package came in this morning. I put it on your desk. What did you order?

Christopher looked at him with surprise. I didn’t order anything.

Maybe it’s a gift from one of your fans, Brandon teased.

Oh, great! That’s just what I need, Christopher said in a sarcastic tone. Then he smiled. He had to admire Brandon for not giving up on him and tolerating his moodiness.

Christopher entered his office, which was a room adjacent to the sound booth. He set his cup of coffee on the desk and turned his attention to the package. It was twenty-four inches long, twelve inches wide, and eight inches in height. A plain brown box. No address or return address label.

You said it was delivered this morning? Christopher yelled from his office to Brandon.

Yep, Brandon hollered back.

A bit irritated, Christopher left his office and stood outside the control room doorway. Who delivered it? he asked.

Brandon thought for a moment and replied, No one. It was on the front steps when I got here. Why?

It doesn’t have any mailing labels. Someone must have delivered it by hand.

That’s weird.

No weirder than our followers, Christopher commented and walked back to his office. He stared at the package for a moment, then opened the box. It wasn’t sealed with tape or string. Christopher retrieved the contents, a vintage transistor radio, a thin essay binder, and an envelope. Intrigued, Christopher opened the envelope, withdrew the single sheet of paper, and unfolded it to read the information it contained.

Our thirteen-year-old daughter wrote this story for a school assignment then vanished. My husband never stopped searching for her. He continued up to his death. I know our daughter is in a place where we will never be able to see her. Please share this story so that other parents don’t have to live the nightmare that has been my life since Angie disappeared. She tried to tell me, but I wouldn’t listen. She was special, but because I didn’t believe her, she is gone.

Christopher sat there for a moment processing what he had just read. Then he smiled and thought aloud, What a great lead-in for a story! This one might be worth reading and airing. He looked at the radio. It was a small model, ten inches long and six inches high, light beige in color. The left front side of the radio held the tuning dial and volume/on/off knob. The right side contained the speaker, which was covered in a faded-brown mesh fabric. On top of the radio was a faded sticker. In bubble script, popular in the 1970s, were two words: Angie Baby.

With his attention completely captured, Christopher picked up the binder and opened it. A single loose sheet of paper fell out and onto his desk. He picked it up and read the one sentence it contained. Turn on the radio and tell my story.

Christopher smiled. Whoever set this up is a genius! he thought aloud. Wanting to savor this tantalizing feeling, he set the binder down and let his mind wander with the possibilities that could be detailed in the story.

I’ll read the submissions and get them out of the way so I can take my time and really enjoy this one, he thought. At that moment, Brandon poked his head through the doorway of Christopher’s office.

What was it? he asked.

It’s a story submission, Christopher replied. I think it will be a good one. The one I’ve been looking for. He smiled. He was actually happy, an emotion that had eluded him for some time. I’m going to run through the submissions you sent me and then dive into this one.

Cool. Let me know if you need me. I’ll get everything set up for tonight’s live stream, Brandon said and went back to the control room.

Christopher logged into the network from his laptop. Maybe some background music will help me get through these, he said aloud to himself. Christopher turned the volume knob until he heard a click, indicating it was on. Rock and roll music from the 1970s filled the room. He turned the knob until the volume was loud enough to hear but not distracting.

Reading through the submissions, Christopher soon became exasperated. Aloud he complained to no one in particular, Children with solid black eyes. A ghost lurking in the closet. A demon under the bed. I’m tired of these! They have been done to death! I want something original. Is that too much to ask?

Brandon overheard Christopher and replied, No, it’s not. You’ll find one.

Christopher sighed deeply and slumped back in his office chair. Completely frustrated, he shut the cover of his laptop, unable to bear seeing the unsatisfactory submissions any longer.

The music on the radio stopped. An adolescent female voice emanated from the radio. Tell my story. Then the music resumed.

Surprised, Christopher looked at the radio. Very nice. A device inside the radio programmed to say that line then play music again. I love how this person thinks! They know how to make it creepy! A grin spread across his face. Christopher was now ready to read the story. He picked up the binder and looked at the handwritten pages. The cursive text, written in pencil, was faded and smudged but still legible. Christopher took a deep breath, exhaled, and read the story.

The Unspoken Truth

by Angela O’Day

October 7, 1971

Mom, you’re not going to believe me, but voices from my radio talk to me. You and Dad gave it to me for my birthday. I wanted to be like my friends and have a radio. But this one is not like my friend’s radio. It’s different. I wonder where you got it.

Since I told you about the voices, you and Dad talk about me. Also on the phone with people I don’t know. You think you’re talking in private. But I hear a lot of things when you don’t think I’m there. I overheard Aunt Marie say that I was touched. After that you took me out of school. I know it’s because I told you about the voices. You smiled and said, Angie Baby, you’re special and need to be in a special class. But you couldn’t find one that would take me. So you hired Mr. Ackers to be my tutor. You said he could help me. He’s a bad man. Nothing but evil on his mind.

The voices continue. Mr. Ackers tries to do things to me. To touch me in bad ways. It’s no use telling you or Dad about him. You think he’s great. I don’t like him. I try to pretend I’m not there. Then I hear the voices. They are telling me to do horrible things to Mr. Ackers. No one else hears them. They only hear music. I hear music too most of the time. Sometimes I hear the voices from the radio. Mostly I hear them late at night when I’m alone.

For months I ignored them. I told Dr. Johnson about them. He just nodded and took a lot of notes. He doesn’t believe me either. He thinks I’m making it up for attention. I’m not. Each session we talk about the same thing. The voices. I don’t want to see Dr. Johnson anymore. I want to make him go away. I took the radio to our last session. I heard the voices. He didn’t. When it was time for our next session, I was happy when you told me he was no longer available to see me. That he had left town, and no one knew where he was. But I did.

Today, Mr. Akers reached his hand under my shirt. I froze. He started to breath heavy. I looked around the room trying to find a way to get away. I saw the radio. Then I felt my mind bend. Mr. Akers had a funny look on his face. There was a lot of blood. It ran down the side of his face and from his eyes. He fell to the floor and was still. Then he was gone. Put him away. Never to be found. You didn’t ask me to explain when you saw blood on my bedroom floor. You pretended not so see it. You blame me. I could feel it even though you didn’t say anything. It wasn’t me. It was the voices.

Many different voices speak to me. Not all at once. Each one separately. When they do, there is no music. I tried moving the dial to a different station, but it doesn’t matter what I listen to, the voices are there. I tried turning up the volume to drown them out. But you told me to turn it down. One night I did. Then I felt strange. It was like I was floating. I felt thin. I felt my soul being separated from my body. It reminded me of when I peeled away sunburned skin from my arm. The volume knob slowly turned down on its own. The room was spinning round and round. As the music got softer, I got smaller and was being sucked into the radio. Then I too was gone. I disappeared. So now all I can do is talk through the radio.

Christopher felt his heart racing, and his palms were sweaty. The binder slipped from his grasp and fell into his lap. He felt the spine-tingling rush of fear and thoroughly enjoyed it. A smile of satisfaction played over his lips. Just then, an adolescent female voice flowed from the radio and filled the room. Tell my story. No one will listen to me.

Caught up in the moment, Christopher replied, Figures. No one listens to the radio anymore. Only podcasts. But I hear you. He chuckled at the idea of himself speaking to what he thought was a prerecorded commentary. Then he heard something that made his blood run cold, a single-word response spoken by the voice in the radio:

Good.

Startled, Christopher sucked in a gasp of air. He looked long and hard at the radio. Picking it up, he turned it all around. No cord to plug it in. The back cover was gone, exposing wires and the internal workings of a normal vintage transistor radio. The housing for the batteries was empty, and the connections corroded. There was no device playing a recorded message, no way for the radio to receive electricity to make it function. Yet, somehow, it was working.

Elated, Christopher let out a yell of delight. He didn’t know how the radio was reacting to him but was confident it was by some remote-controlled mechanism. He ran to the control room.

Brandon! Brandon! Christopher cried, excited.

What? Brandon looked up at him with surprise.

I’ve got it! I’ve finally got it! A story worthy of a ten! A story that scared me! Christopher was so thrilled he could barely get the words out.

Awesome! Brandon replied, smiling. He was happy to see his friend so animated.

I have to do it on tonight’s livestream. Have you set that up? Are you ready? Christopher asked, his words drenched with enthusiasm.

I know I said everything was ready, but I’m having some tech problems and can’t livestream. I’ll work to get it fixed for tonight, Brandon replied. What other stories are you going to do?

It doesn’t matter. You pick them. I’ll lead off with this one. A giggle escaped Christopher’s lips.

Brandon looked questioningly at his friend. Okay. I’ll have them ready.

Sweet! Christopher squealed. With that, he quickly returned to his office to prepare for the show. Talking aloud to himself, he said, I only have five until we start. Christopher set to work getting ready for the show. He was so excited he could hardly contain himself.

Later that evening, Christopher was almost set for the livestream show. He was sitting in the sound booth getting his position just right. Brandon walked in, his face clouded.

What? Christopher asked.

I haven’t figured out the problem. The show won’t be live. Brandon couldn’t meet his gaze and looked at the floor.

Christopher saw that Brandon felt bad. Brandon had been there many times during their friendship when he needed him. Gently he said, That’s okay. No big deal. We’ll record it and blast it out later. Pausing a moment as a sly grin spread across his face, Christopher added, I’ve been posting about the story since I’d read it, telling listeners to get ready, that I had a story so scary it was a ten and that it really scared me. Then he asked, You can set it up so that our followers can still comment even though it’s a recording, right?

Brandon’s eyes lit up. Absolutely. They won’t know the difference. He felt relieved that Christopher wasn’t upset. I’ve got everything ready for you, he said with a smile.

Excellent! Christopher replied. I’ll be ready in a minute. He walked to his office and picked up the binder and the radio before heading for the sound booth. Brandon gave him a questioning look.

Props for the show, Christopher said. Brandon nodded.

Christopher set the radio on the counter to his left and placed the binder directly in front of him, not realizing the volume knob of the radio was in the off position. He adjusted the microphone so that it was directly in front of his face. He looked up and could see Brandon in the adjoining control room. Christopher put on the headphones and gave a thumbs-up to Brandon, signaling that he was ready. Brandon held up a countdown—three, two, one—then he pointed to Christopher. They were recording. He was unaware that Brandon, as a surprise, had also set up a camera. The podcast would have audio and visuals when it aired.

"Welcome to another episode of Go Ahead, Scare Me, the podcast so terrifying you will have nightmares for months!

"Many times I challenged you to send in a story that would scare me. We’ve received some really good stories but none that truly scared me. None that made me not want to be alone in my bedroom at night, in the dark. None that sent chills down my spine.

"Tonight, we have a special treat. I’m proud to announce that we have received a story that is a ten! It scared me and made the hair stand up on the back of my neck! It is outstanding! The creep factor