Here is a complete story from the pages of Fright Feast I:

All That We See or Seem

The girl walked through the arcading of the great hall with rows of archways looming high
above her head. The corbels on the supporting columns leered at her with their impish faces
and their knowing smiles. Their stone eyes watched her as she drifted past effortlessly.
The castle walls were damp and slippery, wet with nighttime dew. A dripping sound echoed
off from some unseen vast corridor, amplified by the capacious interior of the stronghold. The
girl scarcely heard her own soft footfalls on the cobblestone floor.
A small circle of light eventually reached the spiral staircase that led to the catacombs. The
meager glow cast by the candelabra made shadows dance in the corners of her eyes. Her long
black hair flew over her shoulders and down her back, animated as if by a draft. Her long white
gown draped behind her like a tail, gently caressing the cold stone floor as she walked towards
the way down.
The darkness seemed to grasp onto the small slivers of candlelight, fighting for control. She
stood still for a moment looking down into the depths of the staircase leading to the catacombs.
The dripping grew louder, emerging from the darkness below as if to call out her name. What
was her name? She could not remember.
Her journey continued, down the circling path beneath ground level. Droplets of hot wax fell
from the candles, creating small round coins on the stone steps. The girl wanted to call out, but
found her voice would not obey. She wanted to stop moving, but found that she was unable to
control herself. It was as if she were a spectator watching herself.
The walls of large Ashlar blocks were adorned with intricate tapestries hung with thick
braided cord. Many of them depicted violent scenes of battle. Others were emblazoned with
family crests representing hundreds, perhaps thousands, of years of lineage. All were richly
embroidered with colorful silk threads woven into thick, plush fabrics. The girl wanted to touch
them, but her hands would not move.
The girl continued downwards, deeper and deeper underground into the depths of the crypt.
The walls began to close in as the spacious interior of the castle was replaced by the
claustrophobic confines of the catacombs. The girl licked her lips in apprehension and tasted
blood. Though her eyes widened in shock, her legs continued onward.
Finally, the circular stairwell gave way to the straight path of the crypt. Bodies rested on
narrow stone shelves set within the walls of the corridor. They lay in various stages of
decomposition.
The girl walked towards something that was just on the edge of her comprehension but had
yet to cross over into her conscious mind. She knew whatever it was would be waiting for her at
the anteroom at the end of the long corridor. Her mind had yet to fathom the dark recesses of
the place and the meaning of her journey towards it.
 Her eyes grew accustomed to the weak lighting and the girl realized that she could see a glow
coming from the end of the hallway. A rat squeaked in anger at her as she wafted by, angered
by the interruption. The girl ignored the creature, her eyes focused on her destination.
As she passed through the anteroom, the bodies grew older. They were getting past skeletal
remains and into dust now. It was like a timeline of death. The girl wondered how many
centuries old the catacombs were and how many people were interned within.
The passageway widened again and opened into a small room. The girl placed her
candelabra down on an empty pedestal near the entrance. Four more identical candelabras
were placed on other pillars encircling the focal point of the room – two ornately carved stone
sarcophagi.
One of the coffins was open, the other closed tight. The girl realized in horror that the empty
coffin was hers. She had to return to it. She had to climb in. She was compelled to lie down.
The girl climbed into the coffin effortlessly, almost like she was swimming through water. As
she lay down slowly, the enormous stone lid moved on its own accord, scraping the walls of the
coffin as it closed her inside. The candlelight was blotted out as was all sound. She was being
sealed within.
The girl screamed, sitting up in bed. The four mahogany posts draped fine lace tooling over
her head and light shone down from an open window at the far end of her bedroom. She could
smell toast and marmalade along with steaming hot tea. On the dresser, a silver serving tray
with breakfast had been left by a servant. The same servant must have opened the draperies
and the window, allowing the soft sound of birds to accompany the sunlight.
Lady Norley. That was her name. Lady Elizabeth Margaret Norley of the Windshire Norley’s.
How could she have forgotten?
She looked to the side of the bed and saw the lavish red rope she could use to call her
handmaiden. She contemplated doing so, but decided she would rather be alone. She was still
feeling quite ill and was extremely tired.
The thought of eating the breakfast repulsed her. She considered getting up and closing the
window and drapes, but that too sounded overwhelming. Instead, she lay back down and
pulled the covers over her head to shield herself from the morning. It was not long before the
blackness overtook her once again.
The scraping stone lid of the sarcophagus startled her. As her eyes fluttered open, Lady
Norley saw the candlelight seep back in accompanied by the dripping echo through the
catacombs. She could smell the mildew of the crypt hanging in the damp air.
She floated out of the coffin, eventually settling beside the Master. His tomb was already
open and he awaited her. His slender, grey fingers were outstretched toward her pale, narrow
hand. He grasped it tightly and smiled. Large fangs hooked out over his bottom lip. He leered,
nose wrinkling and red eyes glowing.
“My name is Lady Norley.” She whispered to him.
 His gaze showed concern. “No, it is not. You’ve been dreaming again, my dear. Fear not.
This too shall pass. Soon, your daily slumber will be uninterrupted. You will sleep the sleep of
the dead.”
She nodded, smiling at him. They both walked hand in hand through the corridor, ready for
their nightly feeding. The girl licked her lips, tongue running over sharp fangs.

THE END

Fright Feast II and Fright Feast III

available at CreepyGram.com
and
at Amazon.com and BarnesandNoble.com for the Kindle and
Nook formats.

Did you miss lunch?

The first Fright Feast can be yours! You stumbled into a bizarre pizza parlor, dark and creepy
in both atmosphere and clientele. A plastic checkerboard tablecloth covers a round table in the
corner, with an old Chianti bottle serving as a candlestick holder, wax coating it in frozen
rippling waves. You take a seat in an old aluminum and vinyl covered chair. The soft glow of
the candlelight reveals an eerie lunch specials. Thirteen toppings of terror come standard with
this cheesy delight, including stories of:

A memorial statue of a Civil War Colonel comes alive to seek revenge

A baby is born with a strange disfigurement resembling a wolf each time the Canis
Major constellation rises in the night sky

An ancient order of monks guards a secret, which must be fed live prey
All yours for the taking in…
 What’s Next?

Dinner time! A supernatural sushi bar awaits your perusal. Within the dimly lit restaurant,
you find that raw meat isn't all it's cooked up to be. Thirteen more short stories are on the
menu, including tales of:

An ancient mummy, promising fertility to those who touch its decrepit wrappings

Soldiers in the post-apocalyptic future battle unpredictable demons

A priest conspires to help a young girl flee tyranny by having her share a coffin with a
corpse
 And available in March 2013…

Calling this next place a greasy spoon would be an insult to run-down diners everywhere. You
don't want to know what crawls in the corners, let alone what goes on in the kitchen. Thirteen
more creepy calamities are yours to consume. Breakfast black and blue plate specials include:

Two sheep farmers in rural England fight to protect their livelihood from a monster
prowling the Bodmin Moors

On the eve of the 20th century a wedding party plans to celebrate with a toast over the
house wine until one guest refuses, offering a ghastly explanation

The ghost of a young boy killed in an annual leaf burning tradition haunts anyone who
crosses his smoky path

Excerpt from Fright Feast I:

…“During that time, the evidence suggested that Colonel Waller was a hero and saved the
town. They erected the memorial statue in his honor, which was eventually to be surrounded
by Peaceful Haven Cemetery. But, once a few soldiers on both sides healed up enough, there
was enough to piece together the truth.”
“Still don’t explain the curse.” I said.
“That happened next. A few townspeople found out the truth and tried to figure out what to
do. The war was still on, and they were left unprotected now that the soldiers had been all but
wiped out.
Bloody Branson, they called him. He must have liked this statue. Must have been a real thing
of pride for him, even if he was dead and all. He must have known it wouldn’t last, though.
Whatever the cause, a few of the townsfolk decided to take matters into their own hands.
They went out to the statue, intent on destroying it. But a storm was coming.
 As they were about to tear it down, a rainstorm came. When the rain hit the statue, it came
to life. It killed the townspeople who knew about him.
They were found and it was a mystery to most, except the soldiers who suspected it was
Branson’s ghost. They told others. Sure enough, the next rainstorm, those soldiers - and the
people they told - were killed by the ghost statue.” Adam said.
I shook my head. “See, that’s where it don’t make no sense. If everybody gets killed, then
how can there be a legend at all, boy? How do you even know about it?”
Adam sighed. “People kept diaries. Journals. If anyone read them, they would be
mysteriously killed during the next rainstorm. Those relics went into the local museum.
Remember the time the museum was wrecked and the curator was killed? Bloody Branson.”
I did remember that. The press blamed it on drug addicts. I sighed myself.
“Dad was a newspaper columnist. He was writing a piece on local history when he came
across enough diaries and journals to figure out the puzzle on Branson. I wish he never had.”
Adam said, solemnly.
I asked, “What happened, kid?”
“A couple months ago, during our last big thunderstorm, my dad was found mangled by the
roadside. Authorities blamed a hit and run driver, but I knew better after I found his notes for
the article he was working on.”
“So, you wanted to take out the ole Colonel before he got to you, huh?” I said.
Adam nodded. I felt a sprinkle on my cheek, but I didn’t let on. I almost grew a little respect
for the punk. He was trying to make sense of his father’s death. I almost even felt sorry for him.
Almost.
“Well, kid, it’s a great tale. Good campfire yarn. But I still have to call the cops on you and
your friend.” I said.
“Then we can go now?” Adam asked.
“Sure,” I said, “we can go.”
“Marty! Marty come back! We can get out of here now!” Adam yelled.
The rain began to fall.
“MARTY!” Adam screamed.
He looked frantically between where Marty had ran off, to me, and then to the statue. The
rain fell harder.
I looked at the statue then. I couldn’t help it. Anyone would have, right? It moved.
 Not a lot at first, mind you. It was just enough that I thought I imagined it. But I saw the
fabric of his clothes shift slightly. And the muscles in the horse twitch. The rain washed over
the statue in torrents.
Adam screamed. He ran off in the darkness towards the northeast. “Hey! Hey, come back
here!” I yelled.
I stood there, getting wet and trying to figure out what was happening when the Colonel
came alive. It started with the sound of twisting, wrenching metal. It was a horrifying sound,
overtaking the noise of the thunderstorm.
Then, the horse came down from its pose on all four legs. It shook its head, as if trying to dry
its mane from the storm. The Colonel put his arm down to his side. The other arm loosened the
reigns.
With his free hand, he held his metallic fingers up to the place on his neck where the kid had
begun cutting with the hacksaw. To my astonishment, I saw little bronze-colored rivulets of
blood trickling from the wound. The Colonel winced slightly when he touched the spot.
It looked at me. The eyes, devoid of pupils, seemed to glare down on me. I shivered. My
mouth dropped…

Excerpt from Fright Feast II:

…A loud thump from the coffin interrupted A.J. The four of them glanced at each other.
Their eyes all widened.
“What was that?” Bradley asked.
Peter said, “That was one of you comedians kicking the coffin with your foot and trying to
scare us into losing the bet. It doesn’t matter, though. I ain’t scared and I will win this dare.”
“It wasn’t me.” Bradley explained.
“Me neither.” Echoed Quentin.
A.J. looked at the others and shook his head slightly from side to side. Another loud thump
made them all jump, but somehow they all managed to keep a hand on the lid of the coffin.
“Not funny, guys.” Bradley commented.
“Yeah, knock it off.” Peter yelled.
Another loud thump came back in response, followed by eerie hollow-sounding laughter.
Their mouths all opened as the laughter faded out. Bradley closed his eyes, seemingly trying to
wish it away. A.J. stood astonished, knowing what it was but hoping not to believe it. His mind
raced for another explanation. Something other than Smedley. Anything.
 As if to contradict any rationalization that A.J. might concoct, a familiar yet hauntingly alien
sound came muffled from inside the coffin. “I know what you’re up to, boys.” It said.
At that point, Bradley did scream. It was a short burst of terror, making the hair on the back
of A.J.’s neck stand on end. Peter and Quentin’s mouth hung open. A.J. swallowed. None of
them removed their hands from the coffin, forgetting their dare momentarily but still frozen in
terror.
“I don’t know how you guys did that, but it ain’t funny.” Peter said.
None of the others bothered to argue with Peter. They all knew what was really happening.
Peter was merely trying to convince himself, but the attempt was futile.
“Get off my property.” The muffled, hollow-sounding voice said.
Smedley began to laugh at that point. The cackle rose, and sounded every bit as insane as
A.J. remembered. It brought back many memories, in fact. Painful memories. They rose inside
of A.J. until he had enough.
“Shut up, Smedley!” A.J. screamed back.
Smedley continued laughing maniacally, undaunted by A.J.’s admonishing.
The others, however, looked at A.J. with a mix of admiration and realization. A.J. had
admitted to what was really occurring, but in the same instant he had shown bravery by
standing up to Smedley for the first time. A.J. drew courage from his friends, slamming his free
hand down on the lid. He yelled, “I said shut up!”
The laughter stopped suddenly. A.J. felt a rush of pride, replacing his terror. He couldn’t
help but smile at the others. He hadn’t felt that brave, probably ever, in his whole life.
The sensation was short-lived, however. Smedley ruined it. “I killed your cat, boy.” He
admitted.
A.J.’s expression turned dour. He remembered Tooney. What did that poor animal do to
anyone? Smedley was inhuman.
“Did you hear me, boy?” Smedley taunted.
“What do we do?” Bradley whined.
“What is it?” Quentin asked.
Bradley started sobbing softly. Peter shook his head in disbelief. A.J. stood there, pride and
bravery faded into a hopeless feeling of shame and victimization. None moved from their spots.
Smedley continued, “I said I know what you boys are up to...and now I am going to put a
stop to it!”
The lid of the coffin started to push against their hands, opening slightly. Instinctually, the
boys all pushed back. Their free hands joining the ones that had been resting atop the coffin.
They pushed down hard and the coffin lid slammed shut. The sudden movement sent the
candle rolling off the top and onto the floor, where it extinguished abruptly.
“You’re dead!” Peter argued.
“I know what you’re up to! I know what you’re up to!” Smedley replied in quick succession.
The four of them pushed down hard on the coffin as it bucked back and forth. Smedley
kicked and punched from within, but he had no leverage. As long as they held their vigil on the
coffin, they might be safe. Maybe.
Bradley screamed in terror. Smedley hollered in anguish. A.J. looked around for something
that he might be able to use to lock the lid. Quentin noticed what he was doing and yelled, “No!
No, A.J. It is taking all four of us just to keep it inside. If you go anywhere - if any of us stop
holding this lid - Smedley will get out!” …

Excerpt from Fright Feast III:

…“It’s leaf burning day.” Ruth offered.

“What?” MacKenzie said, confused.
Eva said, “Come sit down on the bed and we will explain.”
Hesitantly, MacKenzie obliged. She sat down on the patchwork quilt and the other two sat
on both sides. MacKenzie wanted to believe they were her friends, desperately, but she still felt
like the odd one out.
“Leaf burning day, MacKenzie.” Eva repeated.
“I don’t get it.” MacKenzie said.
“Something they do around here in Penrose do every year. It’s kind of like a tradition.
Everyone rakes their leaves in huge piles and then they burn up all the leaves.” Ruth said.
“Why is that such a secret?” MacKenzie said, wiping a tear away from her eye with the back
of her hand.
None spoke for a minute. Eva broke the silence, finally, stating, “Because of what
happened.”
“Almost thirty years ago.” Ruth added.
MacKenzie asked, “What was that?”
“A boy was killed. Kyran. Kyran Einsley.” Eva explained.
“In a fire.” Ruth said.
 “You aren’t making sense. Either one of you.” MacKenzie complained.
Eva said, “Leaf burning day. It was also Kyran’s birthday, coincidentally. He was like 11 or 12
at the time.”
“12.” Ruth said.
“Right. 12. Anyway, he thought he was going to have a special birthday surprise.” Eva stated.
Ruth said, “I heard some bullies at school put that thought in his head, said he just had to go
through the alleyway to get to the park where everything was set up.”
“Whatever the reason, Kyran decided to head to the park by a shortcut...right through the
alleyway.” Eva continued.
“Through the alleyway on leaf burning day. Right after they lit the autumnal pyre.” Ruth
interjected.
Eva stated, “Poor Kyran. He got disoriented in the smoke and haze. He found himself
trapped against some chain link fence and the blaze. He burned to death, right out there in the
alleyway.”
MacKenzie didn’t get it. She sniffled, trying to stifle the last of the tears. She was confused,
though, and not convinced that her friends were being honest with her. “I still don’t see how
this turns out to be a big secret. You guys weren’t even alive way back then. None of us were.”
MacKenzie said.
“There’s something more, MacKenzie.” Eva said.
“What’s that?”
“The ghost.” Eva whispered.
MacKenzie stared at Eva in disbelief. She turned to Ruth. Both were stone-faced.
“Look, if you guys want to keep secrets, the least you can do is not to insult my intelligence
with this junk.” MacKenzie complained.
Ruth said, “It’s true, Mac. Kyran. His ghost. You can see him every leaf burning day. And,
there’s more.”
MacKenzie began to rub her eyes with the palms of her hands. She couldn’t believe this was
happening. The locals were making fun of her. Her so-called friends were having a joke at her
expense. How cruel, MacKenzie thought.
“The return of the ghost is heralded by the appearance of dead birds. All over town.” Eva
continued.
Ruth added, “Not just dead. Singed. As if in a fire.”
Eva continued, “Right, at first the authorities thought it was high power lines frying the poor
little creatures. But, these birds turn up in places where there are no power lines.”
 “Near the alleyway, where they pile the leaves.” Ruth said.
“I never saw any dead birds.” MacKenzie said softly, more to herself than the other two.
“They appear a day or two before leaf burning day. We usually clean them up pretty quick.”
Eva offered.
“Tell her about the smoke, Eva.” Ruth suggested.
“Oh, yeah, please do.” MacKenzie said, sarcastically.
Eva elaborated, ignoring the inimical tone. “After they light the leaves, everyone scatters.
They leave it burning untended overnight.”
“Because...” Ruth urged.
“Listen, Ruth, if you want to tell it, go ahead.” Eva said.
Ruth shook her head, covering her mouth in a pantomime of silence. Eva nodded, and said,
“If the smoke crosses against you, Kyran can take hold of you. He can bring you to the fire.”
“The ghost can kill people?” MacKenzie said, incredulously.
Eva and Ruth both nodded. “It has happened many times, MacKenzie. Smoke inhalation,
they blame it on. But, some witnesses say they observed a shadowy figure come out of the fire
and claim victims.
MacKenzie stood from the bed and seized her bag once again. She turned to throw a cold
stare at the girls on the bed. “Nice try, girls. Pick on the new kid, huh? I thought you were my
friends.”
Eva said, “We are your friends, MacKenzie.”
Ruth added, “It’s all true, Mac. We are just telling you so you didn’t think we were being
mean.”
“I’m going home.” MacKenzie announced…