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spoldhamauthor · 6 months

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FREE Halloween Read! 'Night Duty'

If you would like a short, spooky read to get you in the mood for Halloween then here is your Free Read for 2023, courtesy of me! If you enjoy it, take a minute to let me know. Plenty of other free reads on my site too, plus links to all my books. Thanks and I hope you enjoy it. PS Cover art virtually created by NightCafe. https://www.spoldhamauthor.com/halloween-2023

“What do you reckon then? About those ghost walks Kenny was on about?”

Emma, despite her warm-looking coat, is hugging her arms tightly around herself. Every now and then she missteps, trying to walk in a straight line like a sober person.

Walking alongside her, she bumps into me as she weaves her way down the street. I have had a few pints myself, though I think I am surer of foot than her. I let her use me as a buffer as she walks. Better than letting her wander into the road.

Not that there is much traffic. It is late, dark, very cold and this is the quieter part of town. We have had a fun evening with friends, one of whom, Kenny, spent most of the night raving about a ghost walk he went on last weekend. He took a fair bit of ribbing over it, which strangely enough developed into a more serious conversation about the afterlife.

Emma thought it was interesting. After a few minutes I got up, talked to a few mates at the bar, then played a couple of games of pool. The drinks had gone down a little too easy. Before we knew it, we were being asked, politely, to leave.

“What about them?” I respond to Emma, just a little too slowly. I grimace and check my watch. 12.50 pm. I need my bed.

“We should go on one, that’s what I mean! You up for it?”

I shove my hands into my pockets, drop my head to hide my smile, “Not really Em, you know I don’t believe in all that stuff.”

“You should have stayed, listened to what Kenny was saying. I mean, he’s sceptical too, but some of the weird stuff that happened…” Her voice trails off, her words slurred. She is more drunk than I realised.

“If he believes any of the stuff that happened on a ghost walk then he’s not as sceptical as he claims. They use actors, you know! You don’t really buy into all that, do you?”

She looks at me, unwraps an arm to loop around my elbow. At least I can keep her a bit steadier now.

“Well I don’t know do I, Josh? I like to keep an open mind. I mean, nobody really knows anything for sure, do they? Anyway, it might be fun, actors or not. Halloween’s coming up. I reckon we should book a ghost walk.”

“Really? Can’t you get one of your friends to go with you?”

“Party pooper!” She calls me, retracting her hand to stuff into her own pocket, “Scaredy-cat!” She jibes. I refuse to rise to her only semi-playful taunting.

We walk on in silence, the scrape of her boot heels the only sound apart from the distant hum of light traffic.

I hold out an arm to stop her, “Hang on! Something’s not right here.”

“What do you mean, not right? Get out of the way Josh!” She pushes my arm aside but comes to a begrudging stop a little behind me.

“Where the hell are we?” I turn on the spot, looking around. There is absolutely no sound of cars on the road anymore. Now Emma has stopped walking there is not even her footfall to be heard. The night is eerily silent. We are in a part of town I have never seen before.

“What the hell?” I whisper, wondering why my own voice has become so hushed.

“What?” Emma demands, blinking to take in her surroundings, “Very funny Josh! No need to take the piss out of me, just because I said I fancied going on a ghost walk!”

“I’m not taking the piss Emma! Look! Look around you! Do you have any idea where we are?”

I suddenly feel a lot more sober. Emma seems to appreciate how serious I am. She turns on the spot, just as I did, looking around for a landmark she recognises. There is not one.

“What the hell?” She echoes me.

“Exactly!” I exclaim.

We both stand there like idiots for a minute.

“We just go back the way we came,” I say eventually, “come on, about turn.”

I put an arm round her shoulder. Unresisting, she begins walking with me. We take only a few steps before a mist begins to fall around us. Light at first, it soon becomes a thick fog. We halt our steps again.

“This isn’t right!” Emma declares, “There’s no fog in the forecast!”

I keep the thought that this is probably nothing to do with meteorology to myself. Why am I, self-professed sceptic, even thinking that?

“I have never seen fog as thick as this before.”

“I think it’s what ye olde-time Londoners would have called a pea-souper.” Emma informs me.

“Well, we are not ye olde-timers and we’re not in London either!” I do not know why I am starting to feel panicky, I only know that I am. I take a deep breath, not wanting Emma to see it.

Even drunk she can read me well, though she is sobering up a lot, too.

“It’s okay Josh, we keep walking regardless, right? I mean, what’s the worst that can happen? One of us falls off a kerb?”

“Or into the path of an oncoming car!”

“Any driver out in this would have fog lights on and be driving really slowly. I can’t see that happening Josh. Come on.”

She loops her arm round mine again, tugging me forward. Reluctantly, I follow.

“It’s gone a lot colder,” I shiver inside my jacket, pulling Emma in tighter.

“That’s what Kenny said happened on that ghost walk,” she tells me unhelpfully, “It went a lot colder and everyone started getting the chills out of nowhere.”

“Not the best time to be sharing that!” I snap.

She looks up at me and giggles, “You’re not really scared are you, Mister Sceptical Man?”

“Of course I’m not scared!” I feel my good mood evaporating, “I’m just confused, that’s all. I have never taken this wrong turning before. Don’t you think it’s weird? I mean there, look!”

Ahead of us the fog lifts a little, allowing a patch of yellow light to shine through enough to show us black railings, a cobbled road.

“Is that a gas lamp?” Emma stops dead, staring.

I follow her gaze. For the briefest moment I get a glimpse of a tall, black pole, with what could only be described as a Victorian gas lamp atop it. It burned a mellow orange-yellow; straight out of a Dickens novel.

“That’s impossible!” I hiss, “No way! There are no naked flame street lamps in town anymore, they’re long gone!”

“What’s happening?” Emma asks plaintively. I have no answer to give her so I just shrug.

“How should I know? You’re the paranormal expert, you tell me.”

“No need to get snarky with me, Josh! I’m not an expert. It’s probably not even paranormal! I mean, how could it be? It’s just some freak weather event. Global warming or something.”

“How does global warming conjure up a Victorian street scene?”

“I don’t know, do I? Don’t raise your voice to me!”

“Now then sir, madam. What seems to be the problem?”

Emma and I jump in unison. I mean, we literally jump, stepping abruptly backwards, thumping awkwardly into one another. The figure before us has a long, neat moustache, blending into sideburns. A heavy-looking helmet sits on his head, the strap under his chin. He has a dark cape thrown over his shoulders.

I do not know if it is the lingering effects of the alcohol or the continuously swirling mist, but I cannot see any firm edge to his being. It is as if his body is as nebulous as the fog around us.

For a second it envelopes him completely, covering us in such a chill that we cling together. When it parts once more, the lamp is out. With no light behind him the strange figure seems more sinister.

“Causing a public disturbance,” he says in a dry, aged voice, “I could run you in for that.” Menacingly he taps his wooden truncheon into the palm of his free hand.

My tongue feels as solid as stone, useless in my mouth. I am unable to utter a word. Absurdly, I want to tell this officer that we were not causing a disturbance. That it was just a tiff.

I cannot speak. Judging by Emma’s silence, neither can she.

A noise begins. The sound of hard wheels rattling upon an equally hard surface. It is accompanied by the clack of horse hooves. With a chill, I realise it is an approaching carriage.

“What the fu..?” I manage to blurt. The officer cuts me off with a curt warning.

“No such language in front of the young lady!” He admonishes.

I risk tearing my eyes away from this weird apparition to face Emma, “This has to be a wind up, right? Kenny, maybe?”

Her eyes are wide as she looks up at me, her head shaking ‘no’ before I have even finished the sentence.

“This is no joke, Joshua. I think you know that. This is no prank. This is real.”

She sounds sad, all her earlier enthusiasm at possibly encountering a ghost gone.

“This can’t be real!” I whisper urgently, even though the apparition is right there in front of us, listening to every word, “This is a trick of the mind, or the light; or both. This is not real, Emma!”

“Not real?” The officer says, stepping a fraction closer, “How much have you had to drink tonight, sir?”

I do not know what to do. How to respond. What to say to make this go away; to make it not be happening. So I resort to an old tactic. I get angry.

“Back off, pal!” I say, stepping forward, even though I dread the thought of actually touching this thing, “You don’t exist anymore! You’re not even real police!”

Immediately it becomes obvious that I have offended him. Part of me wants to laugh. How do you offend a ghost? Then I see that he is not going to take such an affront lightly. Expecting a blow from the truncheon, I raise a protective arm but all he does is go for the whistle attached by chain to his chest. He puts it to his lips and blows.

A piercing, flat sound like a tiny steam train whistle rents the air. It lingers overlong, the fog parting where the sound travels. When it stops, the silence feels like a weight on my chest. My flesh crawls when I hear the unmistakable heavy tread of boots on the ground.

“Did he just call for back up?”

“What the hell is happening?” Emma demands, fear evident, “Josh, what’s going on?”

She is clinging to my arm, pulling me back from the apparition. I let her. Suddenly, I feel we need to be far away from here.

I find Emma’s hand, grasp it in my own, begin running blindly. She runs with me, both of us stumbling and panting. I hear footsteps behind us, more whistles, the rattle of coach wheels behind them. They are on our tail. Urging Emma on, I pull her behind me when I feel her begin to slow. We cannot stop.

At last, the noise behind us lessens, falls further and further away. It takes a while for me to understand that the fog has lifted and we are back in the clear air again. The night is cold but I can see lights, electric lights, brightening the gloom.

Relief turns my legs to jelly. Emma’s hand feels heavy in mine. I turn to look at her, breathless but smiling, ready to talk with her about what we have just gone through together. This will be a story we will tell for a long time to come.

I feel my grin evaporate when I see that she is not running along behind me. I am holding her hand, yes. I have no idea when her feet betrayed her and she fell. She is lying on the pavement, her clothes bloodied and torn, her skin scraped and ruched. There is a wide graze down the right side of her face. Her eyes stare up at me, unseeing. She is dead.

I cannot let go of her hand. This cannot be real. She cannot be dead. She cannot be.

Sirens approach like banshees. I don’t care. Blue lights cycle in the air. I am still staring stupidly down at Emma when someone takes a firm grip on my shoulder.

“Hands behind your back!” A commanding voice demands of me. I hear it but I don’t understand it. A second hand grabs my other shoulder.

“Hands behind your back!” Another voice takes up the command, “Do not resist! Hands behind your back, now!”

They force Emma’s grip out of my hand, wrenching my arms backwards. I feel the cold metal cuffs snap into place. A paramedic has come, is bending over Emma, checking her vital signs.

I am being dragged away. I keep turning to look at Emma, watching the paramedics do their thing.

“It’s no good,” I say to no one, “it’s no good. She’s dead. She’s dead!”

“I must caution you that you do not have to say anything, but it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court.” One of the arresting officers says, almost mechanically, “Do you understand?”

“No,” I shake my head violently, “No, I do not understand! I don’t understand any of this!”

“How much have you had to drink tonight, sir?”

A chill runs through my bones. How much have you had to drink tonight sir?

“What’s happening? Why are you lot here? I don’t get it!”

“We got several calls about a man dragging a young woman violently and pretty relentlessly along the street, that’s why we’re here mate! Now get in the car!”

“What? That’s not true!” I am aware my denial sounds weak. I remember Emma’s cold hand in mine.

“Well clearly it is true, isn’t it? Going by the evidence. Now get in the damned car!”

The evidence? My stomach drops at the thought of that. I sink into the vehicle, all the fight gone out of me.

“Where’s Emma?” I ask suddenly. The officer in the driver’s seat swivels, looks at me oddly, “Emma? Was that her name?”

“Yes, yes!” I am growing impatient, “Where is she?”

“Well she’s dead I’m afraid sir. I mean, you ought to know that…”

“No, no! Where is she? Have they got her in the ambulance yet? She’s not still lying on that pavement, is she? On that street?”

“I am afraid she is, yes. There’s a protocol to be followed in case of deaths like this…”

I cut him off, “Can’t they do it in the ambulance?” I know I am wailing now, “Get her off that street, for God’s sake. Get her off it! That should be part of some bloody ghost walk, never mind Kenny’s bloody graveyard!” I am babbling now.

Tears are streaming down my face so I cannot see the officers face, but I hear the confusion in his tired voice.

“Ghost walk? Station Road? What are you talking about?”

“Station Road? It’s a real street then? Station Road? As in train station?” I ask, sniffing constantly, my throat hoarse. My heart already knows the answer to that question.

“No, not train station. Police Station. One of the first in this area back in the day. But we haven’t picked you up for a history lesson. Unless you feel like telling us what happened here, I suggest you stop talking, mate.”

I sag back onto the seat, suddenly exhausted. Who in their right mind would ever believe what happened? They would blame the drink or something.

I look out of the window. Just beyond the busy paramedics still bent over Emma’s lifeless form, I make out the outline of an archaic policeman. His helmet and uniform are out of time, his moustache and sideburns eccentric. A veil of white mist swirls around him.

Even from this distance, through the window, he catches my eye. He taps the peak of his helmet as if in salute, turns on his heel, his cape swirling dramatically around his shoulders. He saunters away; for all the world pleased with a good job done well.

The soft yellow flame of an antique street lamp blossoms into life for the briefest of moments, welcoming the ghost into its circle of light.

Then they are gone, taking all the light with them.

S P Oldham

#horror #indie author #dark fiction #short stories #halloween reads #free reads #short story #ghosts

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samwisethewitch · 1 year

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Spooky Books I've Been Enjoying Lately

(Yes, this is a break from witchcraft/paganism-related content. It's been a long week and my brain is tired, so we're going to talk about other hobbies that require less research.)

Does anyone else feel like Halloween has totally crept up on them this year? This is my favorite holiday, but I feel like I just have not had time for spooky celebrations. It's like it was mid-August, and then I blinked, and then it was late October.

The one thing I have been doing to celebrate spooky season is reading horror novels. I love horror generally, but around Halloween I crave a certain kind of horror story. It has to be supernatural, it has to be atmospheric, and it has to be creepy. Realistically, it also needs to be pretty short because I've been crazy busy this year.

I thought I'd share the spooky books I've enjoyed lately, in case any of y'all are looking for something to read in the week leading up to Halloween. In no particular order, they are:

Thirteen Storeys by Jonathan Sims

I have been looking for a good "haunted apartment building" type of story for so long, and this book is exactly what I wanted.

This is? not quite a short-story collection, but also not quite a novel?? As the title implies, it's thirteen short stories set in the same apartment building, but the stories overlap in some places and do come together into one big narrative in the last couple of chapters. It reminded me of horror anthology movies like The Mortuary Collection or Trick 'R Treat where the different stories are revealed to all be connected at the end.

The anthology format allows Sims to fit several different horror subgenres into a single book without it feeling like there's too much going on. The first chapter is a pretty straightforward ghost story, the third chapter is sci-fi horror about technology gone wrong, the fifth is psychological horror, etc. I really enjoyed this approach, because it really keeps readers on their toes and keeps things feeling fresh. Usually in short story collections there's a couple of standouts and a couple of duds, but I really enjoyed all of the stories in this book.

One of my favorite things about this book is its explicit anti-capitalist themes. The apartment complex was built by a billionaire and is funded by some of his business ventures, and many of the hauntings are tied to human rights violations, worker abuse, and illegal dealings in those businesses. Maybe I'm just a cynical leftist, but I felt like this helped ground the horror in real-world issues. And without getting into spoilers, the way these themes get wrapped up at the end was really satisfying.

(And yes, this author is that Jonathan Sims, the writer and narrator of The Magnus Archives. But for what it's worth, I'm not a TMA listener and did not buy this book because of the podcast, and I fucking loved it. I think Sims is a really excellent horror writer.)

*******

The Lost Village by Camilla Sten, translated by Alexandra Fleming

I was a little disappointed with this one, but it's not really the book's fault. This was recommended to me by someone who said it was similar to The Blair Witch Project, which I think set some unrealistic expectations going in.

This is a story about a documentary team investigating an old mining town where the entire population disappeared in the 1950s. Because this is a horror novel, things do not go as planned. Equipment breaks or malfunctions, distrust starts to build between team members, and of course, they start to suspect that the town isn't as empty as they thought.

This is also, in the author's words, "a book about how society views women suffering from mental illness." There are three women in this book living with mental illness -- one who has recovered, one who is in recovery, and one who never had access to treatment. There's explicit discussion of this in the book, including mentions of a suicide attempt and of sexual abuse. If either of those topics is a trigger for you, you may want to skip this one or read ending spoilers before deciding if it's for you.

Interpersonal relationships also play a big role here. Friendships, ex-friendships, and romances are all part of the equation, and feelings definitely get hurt along the way. That's not a bad thing, but I'd definitely say this is a character-driven book, not a plot-driven one.

This is a translation of a Swedish novel, but there wasn't any translation-awkwardness that I noticed. I'm sure there's things I missed because I didn't know the cultural background, but I thought the translator did a good job.

My biggest issue was the ending. No spoilers, but it was not what I wanted and I personally felt like it was kind of a let down. That's definitely just a personal preference thing, though.

*******

A Head Full of Ghosts by Paul Tremblay

I think this might be the most disturbing book I've ever read.

Which may seem odd, because as far as horror novels go, this one is actually pretty tame. It's nowhere near as gross or nasty or viscerally unsettling as other books I've read, and yet this book got under my skin in a way that gorier, scarier, more action-packed books haven't.

Maybe it's me. Maybe as an older sister and survivor of religious trauma with close friends and family who have bipolar disorder and schizophrenia, I am uniquely positioned to be freaked out by this story of an older sister with schizophrenia whose father decides exorcism is a better option than psychiatric help. (Okay, I'm not being totally fair. Technically it's never made clear whether Marjorie is possessed or just mentally ill, and the fact that I lean hard into believing she's experiencing a psychotic break says more about me than about this book.) Maybe it's because this book is a little too real and hits a little too close to home for anyone familiar with real-life cases of religious abuse. Maybe Paul Tremblay is just really good at his job.

I would describe A Head Full of Ghosts as a meta horror novel. It reminded me a little bit of House of Leaves by Mark Z. Danielewski -- both follow a "story within a story" structure, although A Head Full of Ghosts is definitely less intentionally confusing than House of Leaves.

Let's break it down a little: When Merry was a child, her family was on a very popular reality show that revolved around her older sister's demonic possession. The book is framed as a series of interviews with adult Merry, who is telling her side of the story to a biographer. The book also includes a series of blog posts from a horror blogger who analyzes the episodes of the reality show through the lens of horror fiction. I really liked the blog posts, because that's where the author gets to be more self-aware and tongue-in-cheek.

I like that this book works both as a straight-forward modern possession story and as a deconstruction or commentary on the possession horror subgenre. I think horror nerds would really enjoy this book.

*******

The Carrow Haunt by Darcy Coates

Sometimes I just want to read a classic, simple, straight-forward ghost story, and Darcy Coates absolutely delivers on that front. I've been hearing a lot about Coates lately, and I chose to start with The Carrow Haunt because the synopsis reminded me of The Haunting of Hill House, with a bunch of people coming together to investigate a Very Haunted House which, of course, goes very badly almost immediately.

I've heard people describe Darcy Coates books as "bingeable," and I can definitely see why. Although I sadly didn't have the free time to binge this book in one sitting, I think I would have if I could have. It was definitely a page-turner, and I did finish it pretty fast even though I was mostly reading it in the mornings before work.

Again, I really like how simple this story is. It's a very classic ghost story, and it doesn't have a lot of subplots and extra drama like The Lost Village does. The story mostly stays focused on the haunting. It's also a bit more fast-paced than traditional gothic novels, so if you're someone who likes haunted houses but doesn't like waiting for things to start happening, I think you'd enjoy this book.

One thing that surprised me was that this book actually has explicit rules for how ghosts work. Most supernatural horror leans into the unknown and mysterious, but this book takes a very scientific (or at least pseudoscientific) approach. Several of the characters are experts on paranormal activity, and they talk about different classifications of spirits, the environment and energy required for a ghost to be able to manifest, etc.

My biggest gripe with this book is the ending. Without getting into spoilers, I felt like there was a very abrupt change in tone right at the end of the story. It felt inconsistent from what had come before, and in that way it left me feeling unsatisfied.

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