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    Lockdown Horror #7: Lockdown, #28
    Lockdown Horror #7: Lockdown, #28
    Lockdown Horror #7: Lockdown, #28
    Ebook81 pages57 minutes

    Lockdown Horror #7: Lockdown, #28

    By Black Hare Press

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    About this ebook

    Horror short stories

     

    Janie Wept by Patrick Winters

    Scurry by Beth W. Patterson

    Vow of Chastity by D.M. Burdett

    Nine Ladies Dancing by D.M. Burdett

    How Do I Take Off My Skin? by Joel R. Hunt

    Tailored to Fit by Kimberly Rei

    The Gift by Laurence Sullivan

    A Terrible Game of Revenge by Luis Manuel Torres

    Pacem Ex Terris by Maggie D. Brace

    The House by Stephen Herczeg

    The Accountant's Office by Stuart Conover

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherBlack Hare Press
    Release dateMay 30, 2024
    ISBN9798224814039
    Lockdown Horror #7: Lockdown, #28

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      Book preview

      Lockdown Horror #7 - Black Hare Press

      A book cover with a skull Description automatically generatedA close-up of a list of things Description automatically generatedA close-up of a document Description automatically generated

      TABLE OF CONTENTS

      Janie Wept by Patrick Winters

      Vow of Chastity by D.M. Burdett

      Scurry by Beth W. Patterson

      The House by Stephen Herczeg

      A Terrible Game of Revenge by Luis Manuel Torres

      Nine Ladies Dancing by D.M. Burdett

      The Gift by Laurence Sullivan

      Pacem Ex Terris by Maggie D. Brace

      The Accountant’s Office by Stuart Conover

      Tailored to Fit by Kimberly Rei

      How Do I Take Off My Skin? by Joel R. Hunt

      ABOUT THE PUBLISHER

      Janie Wept

      by Patrick Winters

      Janie was hauling it down the middle of Springer Avenue, a street she hadn’t seen or even thought of in over twenty years. But here it was: looking, smelling, and feeling exactly like she’d remembered it that one December night, way back in 1994.

      Every household along the street was decorated for Christmas time—lights strung up and twinkling, plastic figures of Santa and baby Jesus glowing all across the yards. Snow danced through the air, falling lazily about and coating everything with a fine dusting of winters’ touch. It blended perfectly with that strong scent of pine that seemed to come from nowhere at all, yet which fit the mood and the season so very well. And just up ahead, walking along the sidewalk, was a group of familiar carollers. They looked like they’d just stepped out of an Alan Maley painting—all prim and striking in their Victorian era costumes, each of them smiling to one another, bewitched by that immeasurable magic called holiday cheer and singing The First Noel as they headed down towards the Deaver’s house, determined to spread the Yuletide bliss.

      As Janie closed in on the carollers, huffing and puffing with her efforts, she spied her mother and father among the group. They looked so happy and so impossibly young.

      It was quite surprising to see them at all, considering her mother had been dead for three years now, her father having passed on just eight months before that. Lung cancer, the both of them. But even stranger still was when she spied her six-year-old self hoisted up in her father’s arms, the little girl she’d once been giving a gap-toothed grin to the wintry evening.

      Janie slowed, just long enough to meet the wandering gaze of her old, happy self, and then she kept on running.

      She glanced back, seeing what kind of lead she had over the darkness that pursued her. She wailed, seeing how very close it was. Maybe only half a block’s distance away from her now—and closing. It was nearly lost against the night sky, black on black, but she could still make out its approaching form. It hovered and darted about, huge and cloudlike. Always moving. Seeking. Consuming. Eating away at the white and the light of the Christmas scene like a flame burning across tissue paper, until all that remained behind her was a deep, yawning void. And from within that blackness, a voice whispered out to her, as soothing as a serpent’s hiss.

      Run, run, as fast as you can...

      The darkness swept over the Deaver’s household, crashing across the street and swallowing up the quaint crowd of carollers in a rush, claiming her parents and her long-past self without them even noticing. Janie faced forward again, forcing herself to move faster.

      She redirected her course, running up to the porch of number 237, hoping this would provide her with another out. 

      She launched up the front steps and slammed into the door, throwing it open and running into the quivering grey portal that lay within. There was a feeling like running through thick, sticky Jell-O, and everything trembled around her. Then her surroundings shifted swiftly, impossibly, taking on the appearance of a beige hallway that stretched on to her left and right. Doorways lay all along the dimmed way, with posters tacked up in between, giving tips on how to prep for midterms and saying how the big Fall Bash was coming up on November 18th, 2011.

      She was back in Wicker Hall, one of her dorms from her time at Conley University, and just ahead was one of her old rooms, number 119. 

      She glanced each way, weighing the options of which direction to go, but the choice was already taken from her. The hall was disappearing in either direction, the chasing darkness slipping in from both flanks, crashing into the walls and looking to sweep her up when it met at the middle.

      Janie darted across the hall, throwing open the door to 119 and running right into another murky portal.

      Her sense of reality shook yet again, and the scenery before her reshaped itself. Now she was in the basement of Howard House, a frat

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