Flash O' Lantern: 13+ Stories Read online

  "NRRO!"

  Damon froze.

  "Only you can help me. You must take it to Harry. Your turn. Youuu." It raised the paw even higher into the faint beam of the streetlight. Harry moved closer, the gun practically shaking from his hand.

  He moved closer.

  Closer.

  "Nrrrooo tiiiiimmme."

  He saw the bloody paw and his stomach somersaulted. Closer.

  "Harry, youuu."

  Damon reached. Only inches from the mangled paw.

  The Illusion jerked and knocked the gun out of Damon's hand.

  (touch meeeee)

  The neighbor Doberman’s started barking.

  Damon raised the flashlight in defense but almost instantly realized the illusion wasn't fighting. The pungent odor struck his nostrils next. He blinked several times, watching its death spasms.

  Damon lowered himself and re-clicked the flashlight. The light's beam sawed through the flesh of the Illusion, melting it like a candle. He saw its eyes fuse with its long bony nose. Its three red-white teeth outside its face pooled in the hot beam of the light.

  As Damon watched the light rapidly cremate the Illusion, the realization of what was in its mangled paw seized his mind.

  Nothing.

  -2-

  Damon awoke the next morning, showered, shaved and went straight for his jeans. Linda watched, just pulling down her covers.

  "Damon, it's Friday, dear. Not Saturday."

  "Not going to work today, honey."

  Linda reeled from the bed. "Not feeling well?"

  "You could say that," Damon pulled up his jeans and buttoned his shirt. "I've got to find Harry."

  "Harry who?"

  "The carnival in town. He works there. A magician, I think."

  "What....why?"

  Damon slapped his tennis shoes on and kissed Linda. "An unfulfilled dream."

  * * *

  Karper & Sons Carnival inhabited the outskirts of Medina like a storm cloud. Once a year it fell over Medina and sucked money from the townspeople. A week later sunshine reappeared. Damon Brooks penetrated the open gate on its second day of business.

  He passed the carnies and various rip-off midway games. The nearly impossible ring toss, the slightly bent machinegun with red star gag, the dart—

  "Three for five bucks, mister, give it a try." The carnie started lowering the darts and quickly reclaimed them upon catching Damon's odd stare.

  Damon's mind stirred with the picture of the enigmatic Harry. He'd woken with Harry's visage etched in his mind. Damon started to ask where to find Harry when a hand tapped his shoulder.

  "This way," the tattooed-faced man said. His entire face was a jigsaw puzzle.

  Damon followed the short man across the midway and into a huge black tent.

  Inside there were rows of bleachers and a short set of stairs leading up to a vacant stage.

  "Harry will come."

  "Wait. How do you know who I'm here for?"

  "Call me Stag." He rolled up his white sleeve and showed Damon a tattoo of a set of haunting orange-green eyes on his right bicep.

  ONLY YOU CAN HELP ME. YOU MUST TAKE IT TO HARRY. YOUR TURN. YOUUUU.

  Stag started walking away.

  "Wait! What am I doing here? Why am—Stag, please!"

  Damon wanted to run, jet as far away from the carnival but his legs were uncooperative. Instead he turned toward the stage.

  Slowly his legs moved him down the aisle and up the stage. There was a table with a red tablecloth and black magician's cap. He reached, touched, and felt it crawl up his arm and under his skin.

  The scream surfaced in his throat but lodged unspent.

  Read the conclusion of "The Illusion" in Mental Shrillness

  http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/49957

  Fresh Flesh

  An excerpt from the debut novel by Todd Russell

  http://www.amazon.com/dp/B005QHTIIC/

  ~Chapter 1~

  Two burly guards with poker faces strapped him in the chair while a minister quoted psalms from an immaculate white Bible. Richard Templin was nineteen years old and sentenced to die on this day October 17, 1982.

  The shackles tightened, tightened, snapped! on his wrists. The metal shackles were cold, perhaps colder than any one thing on earth. And, he nervously reminded himself, a wonderful conductor of electricity.

  He had been calm, only one nail chewed, until they brought him into the room and put him in the chair. Then he started sweating all over. Started fighting back tears.

  Started realizing...

  Oh God I'm gonna die I'm gonna die there gonna kill me oh God shit God they're gonna light me up like a fucking Christmas tree oh God...

  SNAP! The shackles hugged his bare ankles. They were even colder than the wrist shackles, turning his sweat to ice.

  His conscience mocked him: don't sweat Rich ol' boy! Hold on! You sweat and you'll fry a helluva lot quicker! 'Cuz you learned it in school, boy: water's one of the BEST conductors!

  They brought the heavy black leather strap across his chest, tighter, tighter, tight—SNAP! He was buckled in, ready for the roller coaster ride straight down.

  Well, almost ready. The men had to tape his eyes, the last task, so they wouldn't pop out and scare the fifty or so "witnesses." Ha, glad somebody gets to watch the show, munch the popcorn, and make out when the lights go down.

  The sound of the tape being ripped behind his head sent the hairs on the back of his neck erect. It sounded like what he imagined flesh to do when you tore it to pieces.

  Oh God, footsteps! They're walking away! Getting ready to turn on the juice and give me the ultimate spark oh God its sooo dark please please God turn on the lights make it end, make it end, make it—

  Footsteps fading...fading...

  Soooo dark.

  ...fading...STOP. The heels clicked to an abrupt halt. He could almost see the expressionless guard next to the switch, ready, awaiting the cue. Standing next to him, a tired rich doctor with stethoscope like close friend dangling around his neck. Let's get this over with, he's probably thinking, I have squash for two in an hour.

  The guard assured the doctor with a wink of an eye: only take a minute, Doc—and a couple thousand volts! Ah-ha-ha-HA! Waiting.

  Waiting.

  Waiting.

  Hours, days, years? It seemed he balanced at the crest of the nightmare a long time before something happened.

  His body was wet as someone who had just stepped out of the shower, his teeth chattered and bones quivered.

  This was not at all what he'd envisioned. He'd expected it to be quick, merciful and painless. Something like a trip through a fast food drive-thru.

  The ripping sound came again. Fast, powerful, driving down on his skull like a jackhammer. His head rocked, his eyes closed to even deeper darkness.

  Several seconds passed. He hoped this fathomless black was not life after death. That there was a magical place where angels flocked and devils mocked. That death was not drowning, over and over, in a sea of black.

  More seconds passed before he realized...

  Oh God my God they didn't do it they didn't flip the switch they didn't they didn't‑

  He wondered for a moment about that Ambrose Bierce story, the one where the guy who's about to be hanged manages to escape, races toward his sweetheart's arms, only to find that when he reaches her warm embrace he's actually dreamed it all and is back at the gallows, hanging dead as beef on a meat hook.

  When Richard opened his eyes, there was a face. No tape, no black, a face. The ripping sound had been the tape. They were unshackling him!

  The face was unfamiliar. An egg-shaped face with a short clipped beard. The face held the only expression he'd seen all morning.

  Not friendly.

  "Wh—what's happening?"

  The man looked as if he were about to smile, but decided against it, "We have something better for you."

  Something BETTER, he thought, that has to mean someth
ing worse. Because better in prison was a) you're getting put on shit duty or b) you've been selected to get slipped up the back door. However, Richard was beyond those fears now, he only feared the electric chair. Besides, what could be worse than frying until your balls fell off?

  They led a shocked, confused Richard Templin out of the execution room, the room that even his worst nightmares couldn't top. And with loving, open arms something unspeakable took his hand...

  * * * * *

  PART 1

  FRESH

  * * * * *

  ~Chapter 2~

  Something fresh, the strange-looking, salt-and-pepper bearded man in tattered clothes thought, fighting his way through the damp, dripping ravine to meet the morning tide. Last night, while the forces of Mother Nature descended upon the helpless island like blood-thirsty vampires, and ear-piercing screams echoed in the night, he dreamt of something fresh. Something fresh, he was certain, awaited him on the naked beach.

  He made it to the clearing, his feet bleeding through rotted tennis shoes, his heart pumping. He turned and fixed on the setting behind him, sweat cascading down his bony cheeks, believing that there was someone or something there. But there was nothing. Nothing but his own trembling shadow in the creeping sun.

  At last he turned, prepared to see what he'd only seen last night as a blur, a smoky haze, a shape entirely formless. Something fresh, he thought, not knowing if he was trembling in fear or anticipation.

  At first he only saw the tide's usual disappointments: tree limbs blown into the water from the other side of the island, seaweed wrenched from the ocean floor, pebbles and tiny and larger rocks of innumerable configurations. And then he saw something else.

  Something new and different.

  Read the conclusion of Fresh Flesh

  http://www.amazon.com/dp/B005QHTIIC/

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Todd Russell loves reading and writing scary, thrilling, suspenseful stories. He lives with his wife in the small city of Orting, Washington overlooking beautiful, active and deadly, Mount Rainier.

  Mental Shrillness, a collection of horror short stories, was his first book and is available in both paperback and ebook. FRESH FLESH is his debut novel and is also available in paperback.

  He is working on more books while trying to set a world record for the most consecutive days writing a new short story. Learn more and follow his progress at his website: toddrwrite.com

  Correspondences for the author should be addressed to:

  Todd Russell

  PO BOX 256

  Orting, WA 98360

  Connect with Todd Russell Online

  Official Website

  http://toddrwrite.com/

  Email

  [email protected]

  Facebook

  http://facebook.com/booksbytoddrussell

  Twitter

  http://twitter.com/Todd_Russell

  Other books by Todd Russell

  Mental Shrillness - collection of short stories

  http://www.amazon.com/dp/B004U7FI6A/

  Fresh Flesh - debut psychological thriller, horror novel

  http://www.amazon.com/dp/B005QHTIIC/