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    Adoration for the Dead: Tales of Insanity and Terror
    Adoration for the Dead: Tales of Insanity and Terror
    Adoration for the Dead: Tales of Insanity and Terror
    Ebook121 pages1 hour

    Adoration for the Dead: Tales of Insanity and Terror

    By Joshua Werner

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    About this ebook

    Adoration for the Dead is a lineup of seven twisted tales full of insanity, murder, drugs, corpses, and demonic possession. It combines brutal violence and poetic introspection, with a touch of the fantastic. Werner pays tribute to the world of comic books, classic slasher films, Edgar Allan Poe, and H.P. Lovecraft. Be seduced by the calls of despair and step into a world of disturbing sickness. J. Werner is the new master of the macabre. Horror reviewer Tim Gross gave the book 3 1/2 out of 4 stars. Gross stated "The short stories are awesomely written for the average horror fan and pack a punch to the gut with every gory and horrifying ending. Demons, zombies, possession, oh my... and much more! Every story keeps you wanting more terror, more gore, and not to end!"

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherSource Point Press
    Release dateJul 14, 2020
    ISBN9780989650410
    Adoration for the Dead: Tales of Insanity and Terror

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      Book preview

      Adoration for the Dead - Joshua Werner

      Adoration

      for the Dead

      Tales of Insanity and Terror

      By Joshua Werner

      www.SourcePointPress.com

      ISBN-10: 0-9896504-1-3

      ISBN-13: 978-0-9896504-1-0

      Copyright © 2013 Joshua Werner All rights reserved.

      Cover art & design by Joshua Werner. www.AsFallLeaves.com

      Special thanks to author Trico J. Lutkins and of course to Source Point Press for bringing my book back to the people. I’m very excited to pull this corpse of a collection out of its grave, dust it off and watch it dance around. Super special thanks to my awesome son Mason for being so patient with his silly artist daddy. You’re not old enough to read this, but some day you will be, and you will confirm all your suspicions about how weird your dad is. And we’ll have a good laugh.

      CONTENTS

      1 The Children ofTheresaJenkins 1

      2 Confessions of anUnrelentingCorpse 14

      3 The Reflections of aLongingHeart 31

      4 Life Lessons Through aMasqueradeHell 42

      5 An Outsider’s Guide to DramamineandDying 66

      6 BrainPlague 82

      7 The DevilInsideHer 97

      1

      THE CHILDREN OF THERESA JENKINS

      You’re fired Pete. His face looked apologetic and concerned. I’m sorry man, but you know I have to do this. It’s the fourth time you’ve came in this way. A perfectly timed little belch escaped from Peter’s mouth as if in reply. He looked at the floor and nodded slowly, his stance kind of wavering side to side.

      Get some help Pete. I’m serious. His boss turned away from him as if to leave but stopped; his face tightened, showing little wrinkle hills all around his eyes. He shook his head and walked away.

      Peter Jenkins was now unemployed. He had come to the realization that one’s life grows successful through

      a slow uphill journey and destroys itself in a quick downhill one. About three months by the look of it. He opened the door of his truck and attempted to step in but miscalculated the placement of his foot, sending his face into the seat and his shin into the footstep.

      It was that last shot, damn it. That last one did me in, he thought. He pulled himself inside and started the engine. This was not where he wanted to be. At thirty- five he was going to return to an empty house drunk and freshly fired. No children were waiting for him to return so they could run across the living room and jump into his arms in excitement and joy. There would be no wife to trail behind them with her beautiful smile and the smell of his favorite meal welcoming him home. His flask unearthed itself and found its way to his mouth. The bottle lied on the floor, out of his comfortable reach. He rubbed his eyes and pulled out onto the road, still clutching the flask. There weren’t even any fucking pets. It wasn’t that he hadn’t tried. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t worked for the perfect life. It was torn from him. The street signs became hard to read. He’d worked so hard. Two miscarriages. Everything was going to be perfect. Theresa Jenkins, dead at the age of thirty-three. Automobile accident. Peter’s truck started sliding from lane to lane. He thought he saw her for a second, standing in the road with the two children they never had.

      The man’s horn was blaring. Peter yanked on the wheel with all his might whipping the back end of the truck around to the front. Tree, car, blur. He felt the

      world spinning too fast for his truck to keep up with and it tumbled through the ditch top over bottom over top. His bottle of Jack Daniels went from the passenger side floor to the side of his head. He thought of God reaching in to pull him out of the wreck. Maybe he would take Peter home. No such luck.

      You fucking asshole! You could have killed me!!! yelled the man in the white Neon to a confused Peter climbing out the window of his truck. The bottle had indeed broken on his face, but had failed to render him unconscious. He stood up, patting his face to find cuts full of whiskey. He was a bit battered but seemingly unharmed. The man in the Neon drove away, his middle finger waving in the air like a proud flag of a one-man nation.

      His wife must have felt a similar fear in the tumbling of her vehicle. But her fear was snuffed out by the twisted piece of metal that plunged into her skull.

      Why? Tears began to roll through the whiskey and blood on Peter’s face. Goddamnit God, why??!!! He fell against the rear driver’s tire, spinning freely in the air. He lowered his face to his arms lying across the tire, sobbing. The sun was baking his glistening skin with a cancerous curse. Peter’s arms flailed upward, his body pushing off the vehicle and his feet stumbling backward. Fucking kill me you bastard!! He fell to the ground, gravel rubbing into his scraped arms, blood now seething through the skin. Fucking… kill… me.. he cried. But the sun kept beating down and cars continued to pass on by.

      The walk down Mulder Street proved to be a feat that Peter was not up to. He felt himself sobering up, and he hated it. His flask was now empty, and his thighs and calves ached. His shadow had moved from in front of him to stretched out long behind. The sun shone in his eyes and he found himself walking with his eyes closed. The light worked through his eyelids and created a bright reddish-orange that enveloped his brain. His mind was reeling, imagining his children, and what they’d have looked like. Strong they were, good genes. Smart, too. Little soccer jerseys, nicely combed parted hair. His feet dragged through the gravel as they shuffled forward. He hadn’t bought the boys cleats.

      He was nearing Fox Street, where only four blocks remained between him and his bed. But a block before Fox was Danny-O’s Tavern, and a cushioned stool and shelves of liquor called to him and tugged at his senses.

      Danny-O’s hummed with little commotion. A man was kicking the jukebox and spilling his beer in the process. Three others played cards at a table; two drank quietly at the bar.

      Pete! Back again? called Danny himself, standing behind his bar, pouring a shot of Jack. Danny appeared young for a man pushing forty. His charm, wit, and sleek young features kept him busy with the ladies even up to this age. He’d managed to keep himself single and his priority his bar, but never stopped short at a chance for some fun. Your poison of choice, my friend, he

      said, sliding the Jack Peter’s way as he approached.

      I don’t have a job Dan. Peter’s ass found the stool and an elbow found the bar. Needless to say his hand found the shot glass.

      Whoa, Petey! What happened to you man?? You look terrible! Let me get you something! Danny pulled a damp rag from under the bar and patted the side of Pete’s face, where the bottle had carved him open.

      Did you hear me man? I got fired. He pulled the rag away and slammed the shot glass back down, a call for another.

      What about your face? Did they kick your ass too? Dan asked, reaching for the bottle.

      No, no. The truck flipped. His eyes started to glaze over, his thoughts pulling inward and his voice getting quieter. Some guy pulled in front of me. He pictured Theresa glowing in white. Lost. Lost in the road, wandering. Holding little hands of unborn souls. Lost without him.

      You got to be careful on this road Pete. Those bastards just don’t stay in the lines! Danny pushed another shot his way.

      He slammed down the shot and breathed in deeply, neon lights from the bar signs made the reflections on the smooth counter almost trance like. Long streaks of red, orange, hot flashes of white. His eyes drifted up and down the bar as his breath wavered and his hands shook.

      He lowered his face closer to the bar, letting his eyes unfocus and the colors blend together. It looked like heaven.

      Hey.

      He looked up at Danny, holding the bottle. His face showed real concern now.

      You ok, man? He began pouring another shot. You know Pete, I think you’re in here often enough to consider me a friend. If you want to talk or something, I’m here. Whiskey isn’t going to cure your problems alone.

      Nothing is going to cure my problems. He took the shot from Danny’s hand and threw it back, slamming it to the counter. Peter knew what was best for him. Peter knew things most people didn’t.

      "Peter. I know you loved her man. I know it’s hard to accept, but you have to start

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