The Devil's Grave: The Devil's Reign, #1

By Rena Aliston

My eyes marveled at the sight of decaying flesh, rotting souls. We lingered in a cold world. Shadows stalked us as we traveled across the devil's grave.

Deception walks among us, clinging to our shadows as we fight to survive life, overcome death, relieve pain, and escape envy's grasp. If you trod upon the earth long enough, you'll feel death's angel hovering over your carcass, pleading for you to let her in. Will you?

The Devil's Grave, the first book in The Devil's Reign Series, is a collection of short crime and horror stories. The collection includes 74 stories (drabble, flash fiction, short stories) spilled across time's map, asking you one important question.

How far would you go to get what you want?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Owl-Raven Books
• Release date: Apr 19, 2024
• ISBN: 9798224306305

Rena Aliston

Rena Aliston was born in Washington, Pennsylvania. The daughter of a musician and crafter, she grew up in a creative environment, which sparked her imagination and love of the arts. Previously writing under the name Ofira Sephiroth, Rena is the author of four poetry books – Unspeakable Truths, Volume 1: Damnation Begins; Unspeakable Truths, Volume 2: Baptism By Blood; Versified Darkness and Versified Delusions. She was first published in 2006 when two of her poems (The Eternal, Part 1: The Renderer and The Eternal, Part 2: The Surrender) were published in The Velvet Paradox, the second Dark Poetry Anthology by Jonathan Martin. Rena also writes micro-fiction, flash fiction, and short stories. Residing in Louisville, Kentucky, she is also a small business-owner (Chained Dolls) and independent electronic music artist (Envy’s Bane). When not being creative, she enjoys gardening, archery and spending time with her family. Rena’s new book of poetry, Shadows and Mirrors will be released August 18, 2023.

Book preview

Branded

LET’S START AT the end, because the beginning is cold and sinister. Unlike the blood splattered all over the wall, our love held no pattern. It was a disheveled mess.

My pain evaporated your wet kisses, erasing your design from time. Freedom embraced me, relinquishing your spell. But those eyes taunted, called for me. I gave in, allowing your disease to penetrate my flesh. My desire welcomed your anguish.

I never questioned your flame. Instead, I danced with your fire and let it brand my heart. Now I sit over your corpse, wondering why we began in the first place.

Dr. Sam

I TURNED THE sharp corner and stumbled into the room. The swinging door slammed against my leg, forcing my body to the floor. I hid in the corner as they ran down the hall.

Glimpses of Dr. Sam’s madness came into view as the overhead light flickered. A glass case full of eyes sat on a table. Next to it rested a severed head with sewn lips.

I moved into the adjoining room. The chill suffocated me. My eyes fixated on the faces of the bodies hanging from the meat hooks. My nostrils flared as I stared at my clone.

Death’s Choir

MY SHADOW CREPT below the pier last night, hovering over an innocent smile. My pain sung, blotting out another’s light.

I sat alone, pondering this existence. I’d become him, the one who invited the serpent into our home. I’d become what I fought so hard against, yet secretly craved.

My hands sought repentance. I told myself, what happened last night would never happen again, but my tongue told tales, for I’d already planned the finale–his finale.

My shadow will creep and pain will sing again, but this time for the one who deserved to be serenaded by death’s choir.

Feed

WHEN I WAS young, I always knew I was different. My parents kept me away from other children. My siblings were my only friends. There were others in the community like us, but for safety reasons, we were spread apart.

It wasn’t until my early twenties I realized the gift I held. But in order to survive, I had to feed. Blood–the vital element I craved, ran through the veins of those who trembled in fear in my presence.

I remained in the shadows for years, but as I stood over her body, I knew what needed to be done.

Doomed

BLIND IS THE soul of man. Shallow is the heart of man. Closed is the mind of hollowness. Professor Stephenson closed the book and looked around the room. What does that conjure inside of you?

Students shuffled in their chairs and lowered their heads as the room grew silent.

No one has an opinion to share? he asked as he walked around the room.

It means we’re fucked.

Everyone laughed as Professor Stephenson stood next to my desk. Blind, shallow, hollow.

We’re empty, Christine said. Void of happiness, doomed to die. Some sooner than others. You know, like Mrs. Stephenson.

The Doll Maker

HER TIGHTLY PULLED pigtails twirled around as she sprinted up and down the aisle. Her mother tried to gain control but failed. Nostrils flared and jaw clenched, she hurled toward her, grabbing hold of her arm.

Her screams bellowed as her legs kicked. A thousand eyes followed them out the front door. After a brief lecture, they returned. More docile than before, she stood by her mother’s side, clutching onto her skirt.

Whispers collided with the maddening stress she clung to. Her eyes darted around the store, noting the four women hovering in the corner. Their fingers stretched in her direction, chiding her poor parenting skills.

She grabbed her daughter’s hand and ran to the front door. It opened before she could reach the knob. Her eyes traveled up his torso as he entered the shop.

His eyes fell on the little girl. She peered up at him as she peeked around the back of her mother’s leg. His attention soon locked onto her mother. Her ripped floral dress and disheveled brown hair forced his eyebrows to arch.

Embarrassed, she stepped back from the door and scurried past him out of the store.

Ma’am!

She stopped, clinching her fist as she turned around.

Your daughter dropped her doll.

That’s not hers.

Sure it is. He knelt down in front of her and handed it to her. You like it?

She nodded as her hand grasped onto its soft body.

My name is Sam. Sam Shadows.

Miss Webster.

And you are?

She raised her head up as her eyes darted toward her mother. Mira.

Well, Mira. It’s nice to meet you. You as well, Miss Webster. I make dolls. Over there. He extended his index finger and pointed to his shop. Feel free to stop by anytime. His voice trailed off as he crossed the street.

Their walk home was unadventurous. Deafening car tires screeched against the concrete. Passers-by shared the latest gossip. They ran up the steps and into their apartment. Miss Webster collapsed against the door as she fiddled with the lock.

Mira ran over to the couch and sunk into the cushion as her eyes inspected the rag doll. It had pink, powdery cheeks and long, auburn hair. A white and red folk dress draped down her body, accented with puffy, long sleeves.

Two brown eyes stared back at her as she held it close to her face. She pulled it away and leaned it against the pillow next to her. Mira’s body tightened as the doll’s eyes shifted to the right, staring at her.

Mira slid off the couch. The doll’s eyes followed her. She stepped back, crashing into the coffee table. The doll’s head tilted to the right.

Miss Webster walked over to the couch and stared at Mira. What’s wrong?

She extended her finger toward the doll. She moves.

Miss Webster picked up the doll and shook it. It’s plastic and fabric.

I saw it.

We talked about that imagination of yours.

Mira lowered her head as her mother tossed the doll on the couch and walked away. Her eyes drifted to the cushion as the doll pushed herself up on the couch and turned her head in Mira’s direction.

The day flew by. Miss Webster stood in front of the window, watching the shops close up for the evening. She drew up the curtains as the sun set, checking the locks on the doors and windows before making her way into Mira’s room.

Mira sat in the middle of the bed, staring at the doll. Her nostrils flared as her eyebrows knitted.

What are you doing?

Waiting.

For what?

She lifted her eyes toward her mother and pushed out a lie. Bedtime.

Well, I have great news for you. It’s that time. Miss Webster tucked her in and