The Spinetinglers Anthology 2010 Read online

  Table of Contents

  Introduction

  Clawless

  The Whistling Boy

  The Tapping

  Sineater

  Dig

  The Ghosts of Durley Hall

  Crabmeat

  Lucy’s Wolf

  A Family Christmas

  The Chamber

  A Splitting Headache

  The Cave Of Cruachan

  Musth

  The White Room

  The Inspector and the Piper

  George

  Filming with Lucifer

  The Esprit Kid

  The Chair

  The King of Bling

  Santa Claus is Coming to Town

  A Christmas Kiss

  Special Thanks

  To read this is to unveil a breed of people that exist. Not in fantasy. Not in fiction. But in your life. A breed of people as eternal as vampires, only darker and more powerful. This is how my story begins.

  Filming With Lucifer – Sarah Jane

  The Spinetinglers Anthology 2010

  The third annual anthology from the darkest minds in horror

  Introduced and compiled by

  Nolene-Patricia Dougan

  Edited and formatted by

  Lauren Neill

  Featuring stories by –

  Christopher W.A. Owen, Sue Kendrick, Chris Thorndycroft, Dante Ego Prior, John McNee, Jeff Jones, Adrian Chamberlain, Simon Addams, Richard Smith, Paul Johnson-Jovanovic, Ilan Lerman, Nolene-Patricia Dougan, Dave Carne, F.R. Jameson, Steven Deighan, William Jessop, Sarah Jane, Ella Mai and Damon Lord

  Spinetinglers Anthology 2010

  © 2011 All rights reserved

  eISBN - 978-1-906657-10-9

  Spinetinglers Elite Publishing

  22 Vestry Road, Co. Down

  BT23 6HJ, UK

  www.spinetinglerspublishing.com

  Original Source: Spinetinglers Anthology 2010

  First published by Spinetinglers Elite Publishing

  6th June 2011.

  ISBN: 978-1-906657-06-2 HB

  ISBN: 978-1-906657-07-9 PB

  Lyrics from Santa Claus is Coming To Town

  By Fred Coots and Haven Gillespie

  Copyright © 1934

  All rights administered by EMI Feist Catalogue

  Lyrics used by permission of EMI publishing

  No part of this e-book may be reproduced,

  stored in a retrieval system, or, transmitted by

  any means without the written permission of

  the author.

  This e-book has been formatted by

  Lauren Neill

  Spinetinglers Publishing

  UK

  This anthology is dedicated to all the members of www.spinetinglers.co.uk – without whom this anthology would never have been written.

  Whether you are a writer, a reader, or even a critic, your voice has been heard in the pages of this book.

  Introduction

  Introduced and Compiled by

  Nolene-Patricia Dougan

  Hello again from all at Spinetinglers.

  It has been a bit more than a year since our last Spinetinglers Anthology. Since we left you there has been at least four major earthquakes, two Tsunamis, and a royal wedding which created a new Princess and saw a right royal ass become a global sensation. Oh, and how can we forget that Osama Bin Laden is dead? Or is he? So what about Spinetinglers? What has been happening with us after all current events pale in comparison to the continuous machinations of our quaint little publishing house hopefully soon to be a global giant...

  In answer to your question, we now have four members of staff, all hard working individuals who are a varied and talented bunch. We have two Michaels - Michael ‘website guru’ Halliday, known affectionately as Michael 1. (Only because he was hired first not because he is special, all I can say is he is as special as a Man United fan can be) Michael 2, (Michael McCabe, unfortunately another Man United fan) is our English aficionado, he has a degree in English Literature and his movie knowledge almost rivals my own, almost! Catriona is the Matriarch of the team but not an old crusty matriarch, a bit more of a yummy mummy. She keeps the office organized and running smoothly, and has introduced new-fangled ideas like annual leave spreadsheets, so she is singlehandedly pulling us by the boot straps into the 21st century. And last, but by no means least, we have the lovely Lauren; she is commander and chief in charge of publishing. Therefore if you want to get your book published you have to get on the delectable Lauren’s good side.

  Now that I have given you brief intros to the team let me tell you about the further developments at Spinetinglers. Well Spinetinglers or any derivative is still not in the dictionary so world domination has had a minor setback but we won’t stress too much about that, there is still time. If I could insert an evil maniacal laugh in here I would. I suppose the biggest news for Spinetinglers this year that we are opening up websites in all the different genres. Therefore, if our dark little book of sinister tales is a bit too scary for you, fear not, we will have anthologies in all specific genres coming your way soon. This of course means that if you are a budding romance writer or like to write little clever satires you can submit these gems to Spinetinglers and hopefully your writing will be published in a future anthology.

  Spinetinglers, known affectionately as Spineys, is growing as a publisher. To date this year we have already published more than double the books we published last year, and hopefully our reputation is growing as well. We are still of the opinion that the writer is always right and knows what they are talking about, they just usually need a little advice - and advice is always free at Spineys.

  As usual the stories in the anthology are a bit of mixed bag but that’s the way we like it. We have farting ghosts, Kafkaesque scenarios, evil Santas, Pied Pipers and even the odd homicidal maniac. We have a very strong Christmas theme this year and although the anthology will be out in June we make no apologies for it. The Christmas ghost story competition had some sublime submissions, and most of the Christmas stories that were published that year (2008/2009) made it into this year’s anthology. Not least of which is the superb story by Damon Lord which has the power to make even the hardest of individuals shed a tear and make you believe in something greater than ourselves. Quite simply, Lord’s Christmas Kiss, as Shakespeare would say is the stuff that dreams are made of!

  To round up, we can only apologise about the delay with the 2010 anthology - and this year we will publishing two anthologies to catch up. The 2011 anthology will be published on October 31st 2011 and we promise that this will be the last time an anthology will be delayed. We now have 4 intrepid/industrious staff that will hopefully help us to keep everything running as smoothly as possible. Oh, and by the way if you happen to be anywhere near the Four Seasons in Carlingford on 10th September call in and the Spiney members may buy you a drink or two? We have foolishly agreed to do a 50k trek from Newcastle to Carlingford for Oxfam. Three of us did have a choice in the matter but poor Michael 2 was “shanghaied” into the whole thing by being the last member to join the Spinetinglers team.

  Just before I go I just want to give all the worthy scribes out there a few final words of advice, and they are Kindle, Kindle, Kindle. If you a have a magnum opus sitting around gathering dust get it on Kindle. Even if you just sell it for a dollar it will mean your work will be out there getting critiqued and earning cash. It is easy to get on Kindle and if you are having any problem with it give us a shout and one of our Spiney staff will only be too happy to help you.

  Well that is all the news from Spineys - I hope you the enjoy the anthology.

  All that is left for me to say is G
ood Luck and Keep Writing.

  Nolene-Patricia Dougan

  6th June 2011

  Clawless

  By Christopher W.A. Owen

  Diary: day 442

  I write these few words in haste under fire as the outcome of the next few days is uncertain and the chance of personal survival against the enemy is slim...

  The war has reached the final conflict at last, praise be to god - or someone up there.

  There is somehow a blessed relief in knowing that deliverance from uncertainty is at hand.

  We must finally resolve the question of whether we are marked for survival as a race or destined to be consigned to the waste-bin of evolution.

  No more years of standing still whilst the enemy invades us from within. The slow secret poison that infects your limbs and blood. The creeping sickness which steals your body, your identity your very soul. This was a war fought invisibly. The insidious monstrous inhuman hordes that steadily triumphed through stealth and cunning are now be poised to try to take this, our world, away from us in broad daylight and the dire truth is that the usurper is winning.

  The attack alarm has sounded – they are upon us again - I must break from writing and continue my journal later...

  Diary: day 444

  We managed to repel them again but for how long? And so I am able to take up my pen once more and try to write with some greater clarity if only to preserve these words for others to read in the future and learn of the monsters before it’s too late...

  We precious few drops of humanity are all that stand against the bestial hordes and their final victory over our race.

  How did we come to this?

  There were no bloody confrontations, no mass battles or skirmishes fought on open plains with armies of dedicated heroes facing each other.

  Just separate cowardly attacks on street corners, in back alleyways, on open parkland, in quiet suburban gardens. One by one each innocent victim's soul was insidiously destroyed from within and replaced by a monster that never sleeps. Yet even so, the worst horror comes at the moon's fullness when each and every one of the monsters victims becomes a terrible invulnerable beast with claws, fangs and the strength of a hundred men. They have rampaged amongst our race further and accelerated the process of destructive invasion.

  A first we thought it was a sickness, a virus, a terrible contagion that passed through contact or the water or the air or even the atmosphere. It was not until it was too late that we learnt the terrible truth.

  Each of us in turn were inevitably forced to witness first hand how friends and loved ones were ripped apart, not by viruses or microbes but by living breathing monsters.

  Monsters that replicated not by propagation but by forced occupation of the host's body. A kind of inverse cannibalism. Soul-eaters that consumed their victim with relish not from without but from within. One day our beloved innocents were clawless and the next wrapped in fur and canine teeth for all to see. Some say they came to our world in spaceships others that they came from under the earth and yet others conjured from magic by the demons in Hell

  I am no scholar, so if my diary is found I hope some kind soul will cherish its information and keep it safe as it will stand as a testament and a social document to help posterity unravel this nightmare

  Our weapons do not harm them nor the coming of the light. They fight in organised bands called packs. An Alpha female in charge and a male in support. Packs hold upwards of a dozen individuals and all with superhuman strength and fangs to infect others.

  All of us in turn were forced to stand and watch as the blood-beast took over our loved ones inch by inch.

  One kiss from the fangs of the Licans, as they call themselves, was deadly. You may have thought you had escaped even if they only scratched you. Yet the slow burning on the skin which lasted for hours and did not respond to balms or oils was but the first symptom. Next a dry feel to the back of the throat which scraped your larynx with a hundred razor-blades and stole your voice. After this the raging temperature that did not cool with ice signified that the end of human existence was nigh and only an eternity of living-death lay ahead. Most people turned in hours into the beast others took days to turn. Some chose to end it all quickly for themselves by fire or swallowing holy water. Both worked but such extremism was no solution or mass cure

  I had led a normal mundane, deadly dull life up to the point they invaded our existence. I was a teacher trained to mould young minds and hearts. Yet I was sleep-walking whilst they were busy stealing our world.

  It was only when I had to stand and watch as my dear sister was torn limb from limb. To put her sweet young body into the ground only to learn she had clawed her way out of the grave to become one of their race. It was then that I decided to fight back any way I could.

  I joined the resistance and rose as a leader through the ranks - sometimes only by shear rapidity of the decline in our numbers. All my contemporaries succumbed one by one till now I lead the final enclave with all the normal infrastructures of society compromised or simply destroyed.

  No radio, no TV, no phones or emergency services, no government or armed forces to restore order – just complete anarchy. The natural order for the beast to thrive in.

  Yet now there is hope on the distant horizon for we precious few have found a weapon at last they may defeat them and turn the tide at the eleventh hour.

  A secret weapon that they must not learn of is our only hope. We discovered quite by accident that we can fight them with sliver. Our bullets are now fashioned with this precious tip. A metal more precious in lives than its monetary value will deliver us from tyranny if it works.

  And now as I hear them battering at the door I know I must write my final last few words as the massed hordes, bold in their superior numbers, bear down on us precious few in this fortress.

  Each of us knows in our heart of hearts that it is fight and win or else become an undead.

  Let us hope the silver weapon works and the knowledge contained in this diary will survive me.

  Amen

  Day 448

  Not time to write today - all is lost

  I hear them coming for me. Pray for us all brothers, you who read this, pray that it is not you next!!!

  Amen

  The Whistling Boy

  By Sue Kendrick

  People always said it was a spooky place even before that business of the whistling boy. It was that sort of house you see. Scary, no other word for it.

  All them trees huddled together like they was plotting something, people ought to have more sense if you ask me and if somewhere looks spooky, then the chances are it is and they ought to keep clear of it.

  Anyway, I said to Geoffrey, “Geoffrey, in my opinion, Birch Moon is not the sort of place a school ought to use for a treasure hunt, especially on Mid Summer's Eve of.”

  Geoffrey of course agreed with me entirely, but he did point out that most folk these days don't give a toss about Mid-Summer or any of them other times when this world and the next nudge a bit too close to each other for comfort. Anyway, hardly any of 'em would know about the whistling boy so could you blame ‘em?

  “See 'ere Madge dear,” he said anxiously. “You won't do anything hasty now will you? Most o' these folk don't know about the old tales. They're all in-comers now, and it weren't really their idea anyway. I heard Mr Brady say that if he wanted to be a prominent member of the community he'd feel duty bound to help the school raise a bit of money by throwing open Birch Moon for this treasure hunt.”

  “Well that may be so,” says I, “but it still don't make it right bringing all them children here for some silly party game. If you ask me, them teachers and parents should've made it their business to find out about this place. Irresponsible I call it, some of 'em suspect something, I've heard more than one say the place gives them the creeps and so it should! They deserve all they get, I tell you Geoffrey, I won't be held responsible for what happens! And another thing…” I went on, giving him
a good poke in the chest, “you ought to know better! Listening in on private conversations!”

  Mind you, I could see his point. Mr & Mrs Brady had moved in a few weeks ago. Quite a nice couple really, retired, comfortably off and really keen to help the community, you know the sort.

  Anyway, they'd already made major changes to Birch Moon which had been empty for years and not all for the better I may say. That shade of lilac in the bathroom ugh! Still they haven't touched the garden yet, thank goodness which makes it a bit easier for us to keep to ourselves.

  Years of neglect have allowed a riot of shrub and greenery to spread over nearly two acres and I have to admit, make it ideal for this silly treasure hunt that they've offered to run for the school.

  Still, I don't like it. They shouldn't have put us in this position. As I said, on their own heads be it. Times may have changed, but there are forces here that they shouldn't ignore.

  Just look at the way those children are wandering off! This way and that, poking about here, nosing in there. Just because the whole place is surrounded by a wall and they've locked the gates they think they are all safe. Such stupidity! Why on earth doesn't one of them remember the Whistling Boy?

  Now just look at that little girl over there. She's wandered much further than the others, and is bound to get lost, but no-one seems to have noticed, except for Geoffrey thank goodness.

  Oh dear I'd better get across there before he starts on about our musical friend. Them sort of tales is for winter nights and Christmas fires, and certainly not what I'd want a little child to hear.

  “Geoffrey!” I says, “What you be saying to this nice young lady?”

  Geoffrey looked typically guilty like he does when I catch him looking at Mrs Brady in the lilac bathroom.