Insomnia (A Short Stories Collection)

By Kelly Covic

"It’s next to impossible to choose a favorite within this anthology. Kelly Covic has a bonafide talent in conceiving a sense of suspended belief. The proverbial wheels whirl in our imaginations as we wonder; what if? Insomnia was worth the sleep deprivation ten times over."
-HorrorNews.Net

Nothing is as it seems...

Beyond the veil of this world lurks mysterious curiosities. What hides in the shadows can do more than simply frighten. They can bend reality and meld into terrifying horrors.

Welcome to the creepy and twisted short stories collection by debut author Kelly Covic. Featuring nine original spooky and unusual tales that are sure to leave an impression, including the Next Generation Indie Book Awards Short Story Finalist, “Idle Thursday.”

Sit back with a cup of something hot, a cozy blanket, be sure your lamp has a fresh bulb, and never mind that peculiar noise behind you. It’s probably nothing.

Probably...

• Language: English
• Publisher: Kelly Covic
• Release date: Apr 4, 2023
• ISBN: 9798215800201

Kelly Covic

Kelly Covic is the dark, sinister version of international bestselling & award-winning romance author Kelly Moran. She's always had an interest in the unexplained or the unknown, especially ghosts. She's incredibly thrilled to unleash her alter-ego into the world with stories that will haunt the pages and your mind. Stay tuned for upcoming book releases. Her interests include: spooky movies, all kinds of art, driving others insane, and sleeping when she can. She is a closet coffee junkie and chocoholic. Tell no one. She's originally from Wisconsin, but she resides in South Carolina with her significant other, her three sons, their wily dog, a chameleon, and their sassy cats.

Book preview

Nothing is as it seems…

Beyond the veil of this world lurks mysterious curiosities. What hides in the shadows can do more than simply frighten. They can bend reality and meld into terrifying horrors.

Welcome to the creepy and twisted short stories collection by debut author Kelly Covic. Featuring nine original spooky and unusual tales that are sure to leave an impression, including the Next Generation Indie Book Awards Short Story Finalist, Idle Thursday.

Sit back with a cup of something hot, a cozy blanket, be sure your favorite lamp has a fresh bulb, and never mind that peculiar noise behind you. It’s probably nothing.

Probably…

Insomnia

A Short Stories Collection

Kelly Covic

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

© COPYRIGHT 2023 by Kelly Covic

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

Content Warning: Not intended for persons under the age of 18.

Cover Art Design by: Kelly Covic

Cover Images: Adobe Stock

Chapter Images: iStock, Pexels, Adobe

ISBN: 9798215800201

Smashwords eBook

First Edition

Published in the United States of America

TABLE OF CONTENTS:

Silent Sighs

The Attic

The Park Bench

The Music Box

A Closed Door

A Message

Thank You for Coming

Letter to Grandma

Idle Thursday

About the Author

Other Reads

Silent Sighs

"Go to a haunted house, you said. It’ll be fun, you said."

Despite the circumstances, Rachel smiled, lacing her fingers with Wendy’s, and offered a reassuring squeeze. A weird sense of déjà vu tickled her memory. There and then gone. It’ll be okay.

Wendy’s chronically cool fingers squeezed back, but didn’t release as she, once again, glanced around, gaze darting everywhere, appearing not to halt on anything in particular.

She had her champagne blonde hair in a high ponytail, gray eyeshadow making her blue eyes seem larger. And she had huge eyes, her Wendy. Expressive. Moonlight through the glass walls and ceiling of the creepy solarium cast her in ethereal tones reminiscent of a furious fae from long ago lore. Fables told to children to spook them into obedience. She was about the size of a fairy, or so Rachel liked to tease. Waifish, a good head shorter than her own five-foot, six, and seemingly fragile. Wendy wasn’t easily broken, though. Life had attempted the feat and failed. Rachel would know better than anyone. They’d been best friends since kindergarten.

They’d been more than friends for two years, a fact that was tugging at her guilt strings. It was Rachel who’d made the first move in the relationship, gotten them kicked out of their prospective families until this dike phase passed, and landed them in their current mess.

Here she thought that would be their worst nightmare. Gauntlet? Thrown.

A coarse, grating, scratching emerged from the corner to their right, on the rotting floorboards, lodging her heart in her throat. Claws on wood. There was no one or nothing present to make the sound. It felt like a warning. A threat. It marked the third time they’d heard it since entering the room over an hour ago.

Probably just a rat.

I don’t think so, Rach. Something’s wrong. Trembling, Wendy slid her watery gaze to Rachel’s.

Storybook images aside, they weren’t kids anymore, playing in Rachel’s pink bedroom with ruffled curtains, disagreeing over music. Nope. They were stuck in a solarium in a two-hundred year old Victorian. And all because she’d entered a stupid contest.

Honestly, she never thought she’d win. She’d entered the contest five years in a row since they’d turned eighteen. Though Wendy hated scary movies and anything that went bump in the night, Rachel loved it. Normally. She figured they’d have a fun adventure, like the description had said. Get a guided walking tour of the mansion, free range for an hour afterward, and go home.

That hadn’t happened.

A bus had taken the group of fifty winners from the meeting place up the winding deserted incline road, lined with barren gnarled trees, through a wrought-iron gate, to the grounds. A host had done a tour of the three-story gothic-inspired Victorian, complete with macabre tales of the house and its history. And the group had splintered to roam about once he’d finished.

It was the go home part that went sideways.

Still no cell signal.

Not for the first time, stirrings of trepidation shifted in her stomach. She could’ve sworn there were more sets of eyes on them than living present company. Let’s try the door again.

A nod, and Wendy led her across the darkened room teeming with cracked, life-sized stone statues and shriveled, withered plants in humongous pots. Vines draped from the beamed rafters. It was like a barren wasteland for forgotten nurseries. Three of the walls and the high, vaulted ceiling were glass, opaque from time, dust, and neglect. The fourth wall was brick, faded to a dullish gray, and hugged the house. There was one door from which they’d entered.

Which had promptly slammed shut after them. And locked. Or stuck.

Rachel could still hear, still feel, the resounding thud as it reverberated in her ears and chest. She’d chalked the occurrence up to wind or a draft. Delusions, perhaps, but it was keeping her sane.

Wendy let go of Rachel’s hand and gripped the iron, ornate knob of the thick, wooden door with both fists. She twisted, tugged, pulled. Nothing. It didn’t budge, just as it hadn’t before when they’d tried.

An exasperated huff, and Wendy threw up her hands. Now what?

Rachel shook her head, at a loss. Wind or a draft didn’t account for this scenario, nor why no one in the tour group had seemed to hear them when they’d pounded or yelled for help earlier. Dread in her gut was morphing into tendrils of fear.

She checked her watch, squinting in the dark to read the hands. It’s been over an hour since the tour ended. Someone will notice we’re missing and come look for us.

Wendy glanced heavenward, sighing heavily. I hope so.

That was her, ever the optimist. Always hopeful. Sunshine in Rachel’s otherwise bleak existence.

I’m scared, Rach.

Crap. Guilt shoved through Rachel’s concern.

Come here. She pulled Wendy to her, cradling her in her arms, stroking her slender spine, and inhaling the Guess Girl perfume she still insisted on using even though they were twenty-three, not seventeen. The familiarity of Wendy’s body and her signature scent helped to calm some