Arseneault Pierre C. - Dark Tales for Dark Nights

Dark Tales for Dark Nights

ISBN: 9781932926347 (e-book edition)

Copyright 2013 by Angella Jacob and Pierre C. Arseneault

Cover design: Angella Jacob

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Shadow Dragon Press

9 Mockingbird Hill Rd

Tijeras, New Mexico 87059

info@shadowdragonpress.com

www.shadowdragonpress.com

Visit the authors at their website: Mysterious Ink

www.mysteriousink.ca

You can also find them on Facebook at:

https://www.facebook.com/pages/Mysterious-Ink-Pierre-C-Arseneault-Angella-Jacob/167392516657647

or email them:

pierre@mysteriousink.ca

angella@mysteriousink.ca

Dark Tales

for Dark Nights

By

Angella Jacob

&

Pierre C. Arseneault

Shadow Dragon Press

Albuquerque, New Mexico

Table of Contents

INTRODUCTION

ABOUT THE AUTHORS

INTRODUCTION

The stories you are about to read are the results of a collaboration of two people who met because of a love of a great story.

Both having the desire to write for many years, something seemed to be lacking in the task for both of us until a friendship lead to the first collaborative work called Henry. Having written one short story and already hatching ideas for a few more, the fire was rekindled and Mysterious Ink was forged.

The short story called Henry and more are included in this collection. But for now we would like you to sit back, relax and enjoy reading these as much as we loved creating them.

SOMETIMES THEY COME AT NIGHT

The cold water running on my hands and through my fingers was beginning to numb the bout of shakes that had started a short while ago. As night began falling outside, the feelings of worry and anxiety returned when the dreaded darkness began creeping around my cabin in the deep woods.

Years of carpentry had made my large hands powerful with a hammer, yet they trembled in fear now, as they had for so many previous nights. Bent over the sink, I distracted myself for a few moments as I stood washing the last of the vegetables Id gathered from my garden.

I needed to keep busy in order to distract myself from last nights disturbing events. A heaping serving of stir fry for supper would surely fix my emotional malaise and maybe even comfort me long enough to rest tonight. Relaxation had become a thing of the past in the last few weeks.

With an intent focus, I washed off the dirt from the fresh carrots and chopped them up into long thin diagonal slices. I continued on to wash and prepare the celery, broccoli, cauliflower and a handful of tasty wild mushrooms that Id foraged from the forest nearby. My pan welcomed these delicious ingredients, making them dance upon its surface in sizzling unison.

Reaching for the sesame sauce, I noticed the red onion, lonely on the counter, it waited to be cut in thin slices and added to the fiesta in the pan. I obliged and for a few moments the knots in my stomach dissipated and I actually felt normal. This didnt last long.

As I picked up the chefs knife from the wooden block on the counter, I saw my own reflection in the shiny wide blade and scared myself. In all my forty-two years of life, never had I seen such deep and dark circles under my eyes. Tired and beat were the words that came to mind. Seemed fitting, I had never before been this scared until this past week. Each night had brought about stranger and more frightening events than the previous. Last night however, had been the one to top all the others. I wondered to myself if they would come back tonight, and if they did, how worse could they become?

It wasnt like I just let them come for me. During one of their first visits, I had tried to escape from the cabin and into the nearby village. They just followed and taunted me with their glowing blood red eyes. Trying to understand what they were saying was pointless. I had screamed out at them several times, demanding to know what they wanted with me. Their only replies had been more of their strange incoherent sounds and rushing towards me as I ran away from them.

I cut the beef into thin strips with the sharp chefs knife. My eyes glazed over as my mind wandered through the haunting events of the recent past. I added the beef strips to the hot pan. The loud and sudden sizzling of the cold meat against the fiery hot temperature made me jump and reinstate the paranoia that had been sitting idle for the past few minutes. A long night was in store, I could sense it before I even sat down in my chair at the kitchen table.

* * *

Satisfied with a tasty meal my tired body sank deep in the comfort of my old recliner in the living room. My eyes felt heavy but sleep would not come. I put another log into the wood stove that sat a few feet away on my left. The fire brought about natural warmth, soothing my aching body as well as my mind. I reached down to my side table for something to read and came across the copy of The Great Gatsby that my friend Harry had brought over during his last brief and dispiriting visit. Oh, I knew hed been genuinely concerned about me when he came over, but something in the way his eyes peered through me made me feel like I hadnt convinced him at all.

The last time I had seen Harry had been exactly one week ago today. Early last Sunday morning, I was awoken by the sound of tires crunching gravel. This was a sound I didnt hear very often since I had moved here this summer. Not much traffic came by this deep in the woods, especially not up to my cabin.

Harry had come by to check in on me as he had noticed that I had been quieter than usual and he said I seemed overtired on the job the week prior. We both worked for MacCrombie Construction Ltd, and had known each other since joining the company seventeen years ago. We often went fishing together and occasionally enjoyed a game of pool. Yes, Harry had become one of the very few friends that truly gave a damn about my well-being. When something was up, Harry knew it right away. This was why his visit came as no surprise to me. When my wife had decided to leave me three years ago, Harry had been the only one that I had told.

When our house sold, I bought this cabin on the outskirts of Anchors Point, a budding town of about fourteen hundred souls. Harry had been one of the few to know where I had relocated. I knew if I could trust someone with my secret, he would be the one. A good friend, I felt sure that I could share my experiences with my buddy in complete confidence.

Unfortunately, my efforts to explain my weariness and worry were met with a pair of disheartened eyes and a look of pity. I simply could not come up with any evidence to support what I was claiming. The scratches I had heard so vividly the night before should have left some kind of markings on the door. There were none. The loud banging sounds made by whatever creature that had stood on the front porch should have left some kind of prints in the dirt surrounding my cabin. No tracks were left behind. A few small tracks, possibly made by raccoons, led off into the woods, but that was all. No, my story just didnt seem to add up to Harry.