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    By the Light of the Silvery Moon
    By the Light of the Silvery Moon
    By the Light of the Silvery Moon
    Ebook100 pages1 hour

    By the Light of the Silvery Moon

    By Patrick Whittaker

    ()

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    About this ebook

    The most original and unsettling horror story ever!

    Andrew was a perfectly normal boy... until his mother died. Now the only thing that keeps him sane is his imaginary friend, Weird Willy Whizzbang.

    Unfortunately, Andrew's father is determined to get rid of Weird Willy, leaving Andrew with a stark choice. If he wants to save Weird Willy, he has to kill his father.

    For Andrew, the choice is a no-brainer.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherPatrick Whittaker
    Release dateMay 6, 2013
    ISBN9781301722228
    By the Light of the Silvery Moon
    Author

    Patrick Whittaker

    Patrick Whittaker is winner of the British Fantasy Society's Short Story Competition 2009. He has directed a number of short films, several of which have garnered awards for him. He currently resides in Blackpool, England where he works as a government phone monkey.

    Read more from Patrick Whittaker

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      Book preview

      By the Light of the Silvery Moon - Patrick Whittaker

      By the Light of the Silvery Moon

      by

      Patrick Whittaker

      Smashwords Edition

      © Patrick Whittaker 2013

      www.chiefalek.wordpress.com

      [email protected]

      Discover other titles by Patrick Whittaker at Smashwords.com

      Smashwords Edition, License Notes

      This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

      Published by SILENT THUNDER at Smashwords

      Musical Prelude

      Place park, scene dark, silvery moon is shining through the trees;

      Cast two, me, you, sound of kisses floating on the breeze.

      Act one, begun. Dialogue, ‘Where would you like to spoon?’

      My cue, with you, underneath the silvery moon.

      tmp_17aab6d0ac72135146620ba198d4c508_WB5VSq_html_1f79fb0a.jpg

      Chapter One

      ‘Wah hey hey!’ Weird Willy Whizzbang danced in the middle of Acacia Avenue. Clip-clop went his size 30 clown shoes as they slapped the tarmac. Clip-clop clip-clip clop. Like illuminated fleas, sparks leapt around his orange Afro wig. His spinning bow tie buzzed like an angry mosquito. Water fountained from the plastic daisy on his lapel. ‘New neighbour alert! Strangers at number 59!’

      Clip-clop-clip-clop! Clippety-clop! The sound echoed amongst the semi-detached houses lining the road. Becoming streaks of light, it eddied around rose bushes and orderly hedges; it rose up from the well-kept lawns of this slice of English suburbia and exploded into the sky to form a rainbow.

      ‘New neighbours! New neighbours!’ Weird Willy seemed to think he was delivering the most awesome news ever.

      ‘So what?’ Andrew Marston wasn’t impressed. Standing in the driveway of number 36, he threw a bucket of soapy water over the bonnet of his dad’s car. Some of it splashed back, dampening the front of his jeans. ‘It’s not like I haven’t got a zillion neighbours already.’

      ‘A zillion my backside! A squillion at the most!’

      ‘Whatever.’ Andrew placed the bucket on the doorstep and took a sponge from the car roof. With wide sweeps of his arm, he started on the bonnet.

      ‘They’ve probably got kids your own age.’

      ‘Big deal.’

      Perplexed, Weird Willy quit dancing. His bow tie spluttered to a halt. ‘Too right it’s a big deal. In case you hadn’t noticed, you’re one step away from a lobotomy. You, my friend, need a friend.’

      ‘I’ve got a friend. I’ve got you.’

      ‘And let’s sit back and see how much good that does you when they stick you in the booby hatch with all the other boobies.’

      ‘They don’t stick 12 year old kids in the booby hatch.’

      ‘They do if they go round talking to people what ain’t really there.’

      ‘Do not.’

      ‘Do too. They lock ’em in padded cells and stick wires in their ears and fry their brains.’ Weird Willy wagged a finger at Andrew. ‘You ain’t forgotten your dad’s taking you to the trick cyclist day after tomorrow?’

      ‘She’s not a trick cyclist. She’s a child thingymologist.’

      ‘Mologist, schmologist. There’s nothing she’d like more than to kill Weird Willy Whizzbang.’

      ‘She can’t kill you. You’re a pigment of my imagination.’

      ‘So were your nightmares, and look what happened to them. A handful of pills and – pow! - they’re gone the way of the Sinclair C5. Do you want that to happen to me? Do you want Weird Willy Whizzbang medicated into oblivion?’

      ‘Course not.’

      ‘Then you have to make friends with the new kids on the block.’

      ‘They’re probably ghastly.’

      ‘Of course they’re ghastly! They’re kids! You don’t have to actually like the little buggers. Just pretend to. Then you can tell that witch of a trick cyclist you’ve finally made some real friends and Weird Willy has gone forever.’

      ‘But you won’t really be gone?’

      ‘Not on your Nelly!’

      ‘And you’ll still be my friend?’

      ‘Of course!’ Weird Willy’s bow tie flashed. ‘I’m Weird Willy Whizzbang. Being your friend is what I do.’

      Without having to look, Andrew knew his father was peeking through the living room curtains, making notes to show the thingymologist. Dad’s disappointment at having a son whose only friend was imaginary was as palpable and oppressive as a storm cloud.

      ‘All right. I’ll go see if the new neighbours have any kids. Then maybe I can get some peace.’ Discarding his sponge, Andrew marched towards the end of the road. It was Sunday morning and the only living soul to be seen was old Mr. McKendrick attending to the rose bushes in his front garden.

      By way of a salute, he tapped his forehead with his pruning shears. ‘Morning, Master Andrew. I see we have new neighbours.’

      ‘I’m just about to say hello to them.’

      ‘Let’s hope they’re our type, hey? Don’t want this neighbourhood going the same way as certain others around here.’

      Knowing where Mr. McKendrick was headed, Andrew pretended not to hear and hurried on to the end of the road where a removal van was parked.

      A woman stood outside the open front door of number 59. She was about Dad’s age and could probably be quite pretty when she put her mind to it. But she wore the unattractive, world-weary expression that had been Dad’s trademark since Mum’s death. The way she smoked her cigarette suggested an intense dissatisfaction with the cigarette and the world in general.

      ‘Mind yourself, sonny.’ A removal man scuttled past with a wooden chair in each hand.

      The woman in the doorway locked eyes with Andrew. She expelled twin plumes of smoke through her nose. ‘Nothing better to do than gawp?’

      Andrew shook his head.

      ‘Cat got your tongue?’

      Andrew felt small: the way he did when his games teacher mocked him in front of his classmates. If only he could think of something witty to say! Something to show Madam he was a match for her. Something to bring her to her knees and make her wish she’d been nice to him.

      But it just wasn’t going to happen. Experience had taught him he was unlikely to win any duel where words were his only weapon.

      Not for the first time, he wished Weird Willy was real enough to pop someone on the nose for him.

      There was no sign of Willy’s putative children and that was fine by Andrew. If they were anything like their mother, they could rot in Hell. He turned to head home only to find Weird Willy blocking his way. ‘Hold fast, young man. Be not afraid of yon dragon. Yea verily her smoke is worse than her bite.’

      ‘What?’

      The woman dropped her cigarette and crushed it beneath her

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