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    Dirty Deeds: Nightmare Stories, Volume 3
    Dirty Deeds: Nightmare Stories, Volume 3
    Dirty Deeds: Nightmare Stories, Volume 3
    Ebook104 pages1 hour

    Dirty Deeds: Nightmare Stories, Volume 3

    By C. C. Blake

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    About this ebook

    A descent through the stairwell of an apartment building turns into a tour of hell. A convenience store robber gets the munchies, and ends up on a strange evil's menu. A heist in Italy is tied to one thief's horrifying past, and offers him a terrifying future. While on the road chasing the love of his life, Cave gets drawn into a dirty work retrieving an ancient evil artifact from a corrupt cop's evidence shack. A man sees a vision of his own estranged daughter's murder, and sets out to save her . . . no matter the cost.

    In these five tales of supernatural terror, C. C. Blake presents readers with new chills and thrills as well as a reprint from his Vampires 2 days . . .

    Everyone is capable of performing dark deeds when they are pushed hard enough. These stories are merciless pushers, and the deeds they recount are dark indeed.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherTwice Told Tales II
    Release dateMay 29, 2017
    ISBN9781370722099
    Dirty Deeds: Nightmare Stories, Volume 3
    Author

    C. C. Blake

    C.C. Blake has lived across the United States, starting in the suburbs of Detroit, to Massachusetts’ second largest city (Worcester) to the country’s seventh largest city (San Antonio, Texas, that is). He’s has a variety of jobs, working as a substitute teacher, the graveyard shift dishwasher at a haunted Denny’s, lab research monkey and teaching assistant at a second tier college. Currently, he works as an automation consultant for a chemical company on the Northeast side of SAtown (which isn’t as Hellish as it sounds). Blake’s most popular character, irrepressible adventurer Chuck Cave, has appeared in over two dozen stories, including the 2005 Man’s Story 2 Story of the Year Award winner “Chuck Cave and the Vanishing Vixen.” The character’s supernatural thriller stories (which began with the seminal “Cave and the Vamp”) are all being released as a part of Vampires2.com’s initial foray into e-books. These new versions are presented in expanded and revised versions, all are the author’s preferred texts. Be sure to collect them all! In addition to his pulp stories for the 2-Empire (Man’s Story 2, Vampires 2, Androids 2 and Paranormal Romance 2), Blake’s fiction has appeared in several anthologies, including Unparalleled Journeys II (from Journey Books Publishing) and Fearology: Terrifying Tales of Phobias (from Library of Horror Press).

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      Book preview

      Dirty Deeds - C. C. Blake

      Dirty Deeds

      Nightmare Stories, vol. 3

      By: C. C. Blake

      Cave's Dark Mistress

      The wind crept up behind me while I crouched over the padlocked door, birthing the shiver that twitched my hands just enough to snap the pick in the still sealed padlock. I already knew Maine winters were the pits, but squatting behind the Crown County Sheriff's station, trying to break into the evidence locker — just a shed with high ambitions — I discovered Maine's winter winds were akin to the Devil's laughter. The crunch of snow packing beneath my boots sounded loud as cannons. If someone stepped out the office's back door for a smoke among the leafless maples, I was done. I wasn't carrying an unlicensed heater, but this was small comfort when facing a jail cell. I had places to go, things to acquire, and a hot-to-trot vamp doll to save.

      As soon as the pick snapped, I heard a woman's throaty chuckle and recalled her final admonishment before she had left me to my work: How much hope can you really have, Mr. Cave? You're lost, yet still you believe you have a chance? That is was a nun saying this to me made the situation no better.

      I wanted to prove that nun's pessimism wrong. Breaking my last lockpick helped nothing. I cursed under my breath.

      I had to get into this evidence locker. Bethy, she of the bewitching eyes and smooth curves and gorgeous legs, was counting on me. I could not fail her.

      The shed had cedar walls. The roof's shingles were packed under ice and snow. No windows, one door. If I'd had a chainsaw, an hour, and a death wish I could have cut through the back wall. As I had none-of-the-above, I had to find another way.

      The squat, unremarkable rectangle of the Sheriff's office building was off limits. The garage, however, was empty. Its three squad cars were on the road, looking for speeders on this frigid January Friday. The forecast was bad — snow would start flying before midnight, not to stop until next Wednesday.

      I wondered: Might the garage have something I could use? Bolt cutters, perhaps? The way my luck was running, I dreaded they wouldn't. Then I realized that was the nun's pessimism talking. Her state of mind was as infectious as the flu.

      My boot packed loose snow each step I took to that garage.

      The technician's entry was six glass panels in an oak frame, secured with a knob lock and a deadbolt. With a rock, I punched out one pane. Waited, ready to bolt into the trees when men with guns came pouring out of the station like angry ants. When neither curious nor alert badge-wearing devils came to drag me into a Maine cell block hell, I reached inside the tech's entry. Two twists of the wrist later, the door opened.

      No lights, no problem. My run in weeks before with the vamp Morven had left me changed. The vamp underground called me dhampire, which someone told me meant half-vamp. Dhamp sounded a little corny to me, so I stuck with my Christian name, Cave.

      I'd been cursed with terrible though irregular visions of the worst evils occurring around us — from both natural and supernatural origins — but I'd been blessed too. I had a taste of the full on vampire powers.

      In the dark garage, I appreciated the vision amplification. Like a cat, I could see in low light. Not bright as day, but enough to avoid kicking over loud objects, and keep my shins and head from knocking against anything painful.

      The mechanic's station had a fully stocked corkboard, a blue steel workbench, and several machines for tooling his own parts.

      The wind howled like a wounded bear. Soft sounds, like fingertips tapping the walls, told me the snow had started early. I cursed under my breath. I needed to be away before the worst started flying.

      No bolt cutters. I found a crowbar and then a claw hammer, hoping one would prove useful. Heading toward the door, I spotted movement outside. I stopped by the windows and peered into the dark.

      A gliding shadow passed over the frozen earth without a sound. Hard to discern much, but I could tell two things for certain. First, the shape was a man's. The bulge below his belt told me this fellow was excited. Second, this was not one of Sheriff Bourne's men. This was someone else. He headed toward the evidence shack. As I watched, he stopped before the door. Tested the handle. Found it as locked as I had. Then, he put a boot heel to the door and kicked it into splinters. Triggered an alarm as he entered, of course.

      Two men stormed out of the office and rushed for the shack, carrying revolvers and spilling cups of coffee. A third man appeared a second after, slipping red pills into a shotgun. Without doubt, after they dealt with this intruder, they'd discover me. The mystery man had just screwed me over with his bullheaded rush into the shack.

      I didn't know who he was, but I figured he was after the same thing as me — the Amulet – but why? Had Sister Paine sent him, too? A contingency plan of some sort, in case I failed? The idea didn't seem right, but I had no idea what to expect with her.

      Who could say how a monster-hating nun packing a .45 automatic might operate?

      #

      Before she took her leave, Sister Paine gave me a description of what she wanted, though she needn't of. I'd seen the Amulet same time I first saw her — in a vision.

      The motel had plenty of things going against it, but a strong flush was on the short list of things going for it. A real blessing, as something I had eaten on the trip from Boston had not agreed with me. It's not great for a man's self-esteem to be caught with his pants down. It's worse to be caught short when trapped doing nature's business.

      The vision walloped me while my heartbeat pounded in my temples. At first there was only foggy nothingness. I saw a woman's full lips twist into a smirk. The fog around her face parted, and

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