Tiny Tales of Terror

TABLE OF CONTENTS

LET THE DEAD LIE STILL

(A country estate, Leicestershire, England - 1952)

CREEPING IN THE CRYPT

(An old cemetery in New Orleans - 2010)

WHOM DO YOU TRUST?

(A Carmelite Abbey, in upstate New York - 2013)

GHOULISH DELIGHT

(In her majesty’s diplomatic service, India, 1949)

HOWLING MOON

(Lycos, the werewolf moon, circling the planet Arcadia)

THE VAMPIRE BLOG

(The offices of PERSON MAGAZINE, Los Angeles - 2009)

THE MUMMY MURDERS

(A small museum – upstate New York - 1999)

DON’T GO NEAR THE CAVES

(Hungry families, crop failures, and flood -, Wyoming - 1846)

RED QUEEN, WHITE QUEEN

(The Smythe Estate - Windlesham, Surrey - 1959)

THE SOUL EATER

(Halloween - Smuggler’s Cove, Scotland - 2010)

THE RISING OF THE SUN;

THE CHANGING OF THE MOON

(Deep inside the royal tomb of a nameless mummy)

THE INHERITANCE IN THE ATTIC

(The Blackwood Estate - Northumberland, England - 1978)

FIRST-BORN SON

(Windlesham Hall - England - 1958)

WALPURGISNACHT

(In the forest, near the Brocken Mountains, Germany - 1356)

REFUNDABLE WITHIN SEVEN DAYS

(A luxurious estate in Brentwood, California - 2011)

LAND OF THE TREMBLING EARTH

(Okefenokee Swamp, Florida - 2010)

A CASTLE IN SPAIN

(Hollywood, California - 1934)

SHARK ISLAND

(Shipwrecked in the South Seas - 1986)

IN FOR A PENNY

(A small family farm - near Pine Grove, New Jersey - 1940)

THE BEAST OF OLD KIRK CHAPEL

(Village of Old Kirk, Scotland - 1947)

PROJECT ATOM

(A government project is used to commit murder - 1957)

THE FAMILY CREST

(Plague-torn Hungary - 1347 A. D.)

I SEE DEAD PEOPLE

(Edinburgh, Scotland - 1828))

PARROT WITH A CANDLESTICK

(Brooklyn, New York - 2000)

NIGHT CRAWLERS

(A suburban community - Long Island – present day)

THE GRISLY SECRET OF HASTINGS HALL

(England during WW II - 1943)

THE CREEPING DOSE

(The Catskills, New York - 1949)

THE HAUNTING OF GUNDHAR HALL

(An Icelandic castle tour - present day)

TO SLEEP WITH KINGS

(Exploring Egypt’s Grand Pyramid, Giza - 2012)

DEATH OF A DIETY

(At the holy shrine - on the planet Arcana)

WEREWOLVES FOR BREAKFAST

(New York City, present day - in a public library meeting room)

THE CURIOUS CASE OF WHITE CHAPEL ALLEY

(Whitechapel District, London - 1888)

OVER THE MEADOW & THROUGH THE WOOD

(A dark, deserted Russian forest, winter - 1870)

THE VAMPIRE IN THE MIRROR

(New York - New Orleans - Venice - 2011)

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:

Louise Ann Barton

LET THE DEAD LIE STILL

A country estate, Leicestershire, England - 1952

I saw Rachel again last night, walking in the garden. My wife had been dead these past two years, but looked as young and darkly beautiful as ever. I stared at her white figure gliding along in the moonlight until it retreated down the winding path and was out of sight.

I turned and ran from the spot as hard as I could, across the great lawn, and back toward the house. Back to our library, where Madeline was relaxing, reading a book.

Rachel is back!

At this, Madeline’s head jerked up. The book slipped from her lap to the floor. She stared at me in horror, then, recovering herself, snapped, That’s a poor attempt at humor.

"She’s supposed to be dead," I moaned.

Madeline viewed me as if I were an idiot child. Of course, she’s supposed to be dead. We killed her, didn’t we?

Perhaps she’s not as dead as we’d thought, I whispered.

Nonsense, Madeline insisted with growing annoyance. We caved in her skull with that garden gnome and slipped her body into the bog. She gave a strange laugh. I know dead when I see it.

But not dead enough. She’s out and about. I’ve seen her walking in the garden twice before. Just last week in fact . . . .

Madeline was out of her chair in an instant, grabbing my lapels, shaking me. You saw someone prowling about the estate? Someone pretending to be Rachel? And you said nothing. She reached for the bell pull to summon our new butler.

By the time Jeffers arrived, Madeline was frantic. Tell Jason that Mr. Blackstone wants him to release the dogs! Make sure no one has tampered with security, that the house and gates are locked. Jeffers hurried off, while Madeline and I waited anxiously in the library. And I recalled Rachel’s mysterious cousin who’d gone to Australia after she was reported missing and wondered if he was responsible.

Then we heard the sound of baying hounds, as they raced to and fro, searching. Now and then we heard one of the men call to the other or shout orders to the dogs, and then the yelping stopped. This meant Jason was putting the animals back in their pens for the night. And in due course, Jeffers returned.

All the security systems are in place, Sir. We didn’t find an intruder on the grounds, but we did find this. He held out a piece of white, filmy cloth.

It was silky to the touch and I raised it to my nose. Rachel’s perfume!

Madeline announced, That will be all, Jeffers. And the butler bowed and left the room. We waited until he was out of earshot.

Almost blurted it out, I murmured.

I know, Jonathan, I know, Madeline soothed.

But touch it yourself. Put it to your nose. It’s her scent! And she wore a dress of this very material the night we . . .

Not another word, darling, she insisted, before you give us away. She took our passports from the desk drawer. Go upstairs and pack. We’re catching the next flight to Paris.

But what if it’s an intruder? I spluttered. And what if it’s Rachel and she really has come back.

Well, we won’t be here to torment, will we. She punched a number into the phone’s speed dial. A business trip for two, she told the travel agent, on the next flight to Paris.

Once our arrangements had been made, Madeline hung up and came over to me. After a long kiss, she remarked, We can’t just sell Rachel’s estate. Without a body, you can’t inherit anything. And we can’t produce her corpse or it’s the gallows for us. She kissed me again. Just be content that we’re still free and together, and have access to all her beautiful money.

I went upstairs to pack with Jeffers’ help, while Madeline asked to have the car brought around. Then I repaired to the foyer and waited for Madeline to join me. And I waited. And waited.

I was about to go back upstairs to help choose her frocks, when Jeffers burst into the foyer. It’s Miss Madeline, he began, in distress, half-turning, expecting me to follow. Then he ran out of the house, across the lawn, in the direction of the forest. I raced after him, calling, but the man didn’t look back. We were deep in the forest when I realized he was heading for the bog.

My mind whirled as to how Madeline could have gotten from packing upstairs to the depths of the quagmire, until I realized the moon was now behind a cloud and Jeffers had somehow disappeared in the darkness. And the horror struck me that I was out here, alone, without a torch, perhaps only inches from being swallowed by the bog.

Help me! Help me! It was Madeline’s voice coming from somewhere on my left. I staggered blindly towards the sound, only to find my shoes trapped in the mud.

I’m sinking! she wailed. To my horror, I found myself sinking, too.

Jeffers snapped on his torch, illuminating first me and then Madeline. Rachel is back, he called to me triumphantly. Appeared more than a year ago, moaning she’d been murdered. Her ghost couldn’t have harmed you, so I hatched this scheme. Seeing her gliding along got you nervous, not as careful anymore. I tricked each of you into coming down here to wander about until you fell in.

But why? I begged.

Madeline was quiet now and the slime was up to my chin.

Rachel was my cousin, Jeffers shouted. No one else left in the family. And while you two are supposed to be in Paris, I’ll be the one living in her fine house and spending her money. With none the wiser.

The last thing I saw was Rachel’s pale ghost gliding toward me across the bog, hatred in her eyes. And I died with a prayer on my lips:

Let the dead lie still.

BACK TO TOP

CREEPING IN THE CRYPT

An old cemetery in New Orleans - 2010

Simon pushed his way through the open gate, entering the old cemetery on Plantation Street. Those howling police sirens were for him. He pulled up his sweatshirt hood and hurried down the path, past the rows of burial vaults.

Two teenage girls, clad in black with Goth makeup, came toward him. Simon averted his face as they drew closer. One whispered fiercely to the other.

Dropping roses and garlic cloves keeps this cemetery free of vampires.

And she dropped a red rose and a small, white object onto the path as he went by. Then the girls passed through the gate and disappeared onto Plantation Street.

The summer sun had sunk low in the sky and Simon knew the cemetery would be closing soon. Needing a hiding place for the night, he cast his eyes desperately about, considering the burial vaults. He went up and down, furtively testing the knobs, but each door was locked. Just as he was about to give up, he came upon a barrel vault with a knob that turned. Slipping inside, he closed the door, and looked around.

He was in a small room with a table tomb set in the center. Beyond that Simon found steps leading down into a small chamber, dark as night. The cemetery gates would be locked within minutes and no one would think to search for him here. He found a candy bar in his pocket and wolfed it down. Then he crept down to the lower level and spent the night on a stone bed.

Simon remained hidden the next day, hearing conversations of passing mourners.

That mugger hasn’t been caught yet, a man said.

Let’s sit on this bench and have our picnic, his companion suggested.

They were talking about him.

Simon’s belly growled. He watched the picnic basket sitting atop an ornately carved, stone bench only five feet away. As the couple sat with their backs to him, Simon the Mugger crept out just long enough to grab the basket and nip back inside. He heard cries of dismay and the man shouted, Where’s that damn basket! After a few minutes of fussing, the disappointed pair left.

He was gnawing on fried chicken legs and sipping white wine when the teens returned, their whispers drifting on the breeze.

"Louis says when we’ve sharpened enough stakes, we can go hunting