Revelations Read online

  Revelations

  A Horror Anthology

  Elizabeth Hartl

  Copyright 2020 Elizabeth Hartl. All Rights Reserved.

  Cover and internal design 2020 by Elizabeth Hartl

  Cover design by Chrisopher Manley

  ISBN: 9781005120580

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews and certain other non-commercial uses as permitted by copyright law.

  All characters portrayed within this work are completely fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or deceased, is entirely coincidental.

  For Angie

  It’s the little things that count

  (Like the goblins)

  Contents

  Beginnings

  Stickpin

  Intrusion

  Assumption

  Lunacy

  Anniversary

  Road Trip

  The Summoning

  Banality

  Legends

  Homeowners

  Finality

  About the Author

  Legend Tripping: A “Choose-Your-Own” Travel Guide

  Beginnings

  “Morning will come, it has no choice.”

  This is a new beginning.

  You have no choice. Facing it is the only way forward. You know that everyone is afraid of something. What is it that frightens you?

  Perhaps it is the fear of being attacked. You are walking in the dark alone and someone, or something, is walking behind you. You can’t quite make out their features, but they are following you.

  Perhaps it is the fear of a home invasion. You don’t know who entered your sanctuary without warrant. You don’t know how they got in. You may not even know they are there. But they are watching you, and waiting.

  Have you ever looked at your loved one and, for just a moment, thought you could smother the life out of them? I’m sure your loved one has thought that regarding you. It is more common than you might think.

  You know these horrors are waiting for you.

  This is a new beginning.

  Stickpin

  “Big mouthfuls often choke.”

  Rain drizzled on the tent above the casket while mourners huddled around, trying to keep warm. As the priest spoke his final blessing, Lita grabbed a handful of damp dirt and tossed it into the grave. It landed on the wooden casket with a sick thud. She took her sister by the arm. “Come on, Renee.” Lita led Renee away from the handful of mourners bowed in grief.

  “Can you believe this turnout? Only four people, not including us.” Renee broke free of Lita’s grasp and lit a cigarette.

  Lita shrugged and rolled the cuff of her sweater.

  “Doesn’t matter, I guess. Why would a dead man care?”

  Lita rolled her eyes. “Always with the drama.”

  “Not true.”

  Lita dug her toe into the wet grass. “Rosa will miss him.”

  Renee snorted. “Yeah.” She watched as a tearful Rosa threw a handful of dirt into the grave. “Doesn’t surprise me.”

  Lita and Renee watched from a distance as one by one the mourners drifted away from the grave and the gravediggers shoveled dirt onto the casket.

  Lita turned to Renee. “I can’t believe he’s gone.” She took one last look towards her father’s grave. “And I’m not sorry.”

  *

  “I, Francis J. Moody, being of sound mind and body, bequeath Ms. Rosa Martinez $50,000 for her loyalty and friendship throughout the years. As for the rest of my estate, including the house and land, I request it liquidated and all proceeds from its sale, including all monies in trusts and bank accounts, be merged and given to the charity of my daughter, Lita’s, choice.”

  “What?” Lita shook her head, staring at her father’s long-time lawyer, Jackson Bean.

  “I’m sorry. He left nothing to either of you.”

  Lita’s eyes moved to Renee. Renee nodded and spoke up.

  “Can’t we fight this?”

  Mr. Bean sat back in Francis J. Moody’s executive desk chair behind the antique walnut desk and steepled his hands against his lips. “Sure, but it will be a lengthy process that won’t give you the outcome you desire. Francis was clear and level-headed right up to the end. But you can try.” Mr. Bean stood up and handed an envelope to Rosa Martinez, who sat at the back of the room.

  Lita sighed and stood, offering her hand to the lawyer. “Thank you for your time and service. We’ll be in touch.”

  Mr. Bean took Lita’s hand. “This is a shock for you. Try to remember, though, that your father did what he thought was best for you and your sister.”

  Lita nodded, eyes downcast in what she hoped looked like grief. “Thank you.”

  Mr. Bean patted her on the shoulder and showed himself out. Rosa Martinez followed him.

  “This is bullshit!” The sound of Renee’s voice reverberated throughout the room.

  Lita waved her hand as if to shoo a mosquito away. “Shut up. I have an idea.”

  *

  Lita and Renee, shovels in hand, made their way through the twisting path of tombstones to the north corner of the cemetery. The rain had dwindled to a mist, making their walk miserable. Renee visibly shivered and Lita’s toes were numb.

  “Should we be doing this?” Renee’s voice shook.

  “You want your piece, don’t you?” Lita snapped.

  “Well, yeah.” Renee stopped walking.

  Lita sighed and turned back toward her sister. "What's your problem?"

  Renee shrugged. "Nothing."

  "What is it?" An exasperated Lita threw up her hands.

  Renee was quiet for a moment. She looked Renee in the eye. "What if he’s not dead?”

  Lita didn't respond immediately. She shivered. “Don’t be stupid.”

  Lita started walking and Renee had no choice but to follow her.

  *

  When they reached Francis J. Moody’s grave, Renee dropped her shovel and sat down hard on the ground, pulling out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. Lita noticed that her sister didn’t look at the grave. She knew Renee was superstitious; their mother had instilled that in them. What Renee said on the walk ran through Lita’s mind like a mantra, What if he’s not dead?

  Fear gnawed at the corners of Lita’s mind. She shook it off as best she could. They were here to do a job, nothing more. The old man was dead; She had made sure of that. Lita stared at her father’s tombstone, remembering the good times. Then she remembered the falling out they had, his frugality, and her selfishness. “Fuck it.” She muttered as she dug.

  Lita did most of the digging as Renee complained. Hours later, they had the casket unearthed and the two of them stared at it. They had reservations, but Lita was the one who shook with fear. She couldn’t put her finger on exactly why, but standing on top of her father’s casket terrified her.

  The rain turned from a light misty drizzle to a downpour. Lita tried to keep the water out of her eyes with her hands but only smeared her face with mud as she and Renee attempted to pry the casket lid open. It inched open as the rain increased. Lita heard the corpse moan. “What the fuck?”

  “What?” Renee was agitated from the weather and hard work.

  “He made a noise.” Lita pointed to their father.

  “No way.” Renee finished opening the casket lid.

  “I swear.”

  “It’s the wind, Lita. Now who’s being stupid?”

  Lita saw her father’s diamond stickpin glitter in the moonlight. That stickpin was worth a small fortune, not to mention the other valuables with which the old man requested he be buried. Francis J. Moody’s corps
e held nearly one million dollars in jewelry.

  “Bingo. This is mine.” Renee reached for the diamond stickpin first.

  As she did, Francis J. Moody’s tombstone became dislodged because of sliding mud and fell forward, knocking Renee in the head before she could wrap her fingers around the stickpin. She fell unconscious next to the casket.

  “Renee!” Lita tried to revive her sister.

  Lita was alone with the corpse of her father. She took a minute to think about how to get Renee out of the grave as the rain beat down on them. As the rain increased, the sides of the grave became a muddy mess. Lita knew she couldn’t stay much longer. Time was becoming her enemy.

  “I can’t do this by myself!” Lita was becoming frazzled.

  The rain kept coming, sweeping the dirt and mud they had dug out back into the grave. “Fuck!”

  Lita stuffed her pockets with as much jewelry as they could hold.

  What if he’s not dead?

  “Fuck! Renee!” Lita slapped her sister. Renee remained unconscious.

  What if he’s not dead?

  “Shut up!” Lita couldn’t take it anymore. She clawed at the sides of her head, realizing the hopelessness of attempting to lift Renee out of the grave. Before Lita began crawling up the sides of the grave, she grabbed the diamond stickpin.

  Lita gained a strong foothold and hauled herself up. Her body moved halfway up before something pulled on the back of her shirt. “Fuck!”

  Lita tried to free herself, but the more she twisted and struggled, the stronger the hold on her seemed to get.

  What if he’s not dead?

  Lita’s heart dropped into her stomach. She felt the blood drain from her face. She shook so badly she almost lost her grip on the vine she clung to.

  Turn around! He’s got you!

  “Let go!” Lita screamed hysterically. She struggled to free herself, but whatever was holding her felt like it was trying to pull her back into the grave, further towards her father’s corpse.

  He’s not dead!

  Lita lost her grip on the vine and slid down the sides of the muddy grave. The last thing Lita saw was the grinning corpse of her father.

  Intrusion

  “I say let the world go to hell, but I should always have my tea.”

  A glass of wine on the end table and a book in her lap. Jasmine had put her two children to bed early that night, needing the peaceful silence after an interminable day of the boys fighting. She sipped her wine and listened to her twins snore for a moment on the baby monitor before opening her book. Jasmine hadn’t had the time to get into the story, she was only on page three, but tonight was the night she would make progress.

  Jasmine heard one of the boys call for her over the monitor. She glanced at it, then picked up her wine glass. He’ll go back to sleep, she thought, if I just ignore it. After a few minutes, her son’s fussing subsided and Jasmine returned to her book.

  Jasmine had just started page seven when she heard the front door unlock, open, then close. “Ken? You’re home early.”

  She heard footsteps making their way up the stairs in the foyer to the second floor, but she received no response.

  Jasmine glanced behind her through the entryway and saw black work boots on the top stair, rounding the corner of the hallway that led to the bedrooms. “I know it’s my fault you have to work so much, but you could still answer me.” She called up to him.

  Still no response.

  Shrugging, Jasmine returned to her book. She knew it must tire him. She and Ken had just bought this house, at her insistence, and Ken had been working 14-hour days on the late shift for a few weeks now to make sure they had enough to satisfy the mortgage. She didn’t blame him for just wanting to go to bed.

  Jasmine closed her book and took another sip of wine, too bothered by her husband’s lack of response to continue reading. She knew she should get a part-time job to help, but then who would watch the boys? They couldn’t afford daycare, not with all the other bills they had to manage. Ken didn’t resent her for not working. He understood she had to stay with the boys while he was at work, but lately the mounting bills had put a tremendous strain on their marriage.

  Footsteps making their way back down the stairs snapped her out of her thoughts. “You hungry? I can heat you up a plate.”

  Again, no response.

  Becoming agitated that he wouldn’t speak to her, she stood up, book still in hand, and turned to see the profile of a man that was not her husband disappear behind the foyer wall. She froze, dropping her book, and listened to the front door open and shut.

  Adrenaline kicked in. She raced to the front door and flung it open. There was no one on the walk, no car in the driveway. There were footprints in the freshly fallen snow leading to the house, but none leading away.

  Jasmine’s heart beat against her chest. She slowly closed the door. Jasmine glanced at the two closet doors on either side of the front door. Keeping her eyes on them, she backed away. She glanced toward the living room where her phone sat on the end table with her glass of wine.

  Jasmine eased toward the living room, refusing to look away from the closet doors. The pounding of her heart was the only sound in the silent room. Without turning her back to the foyer, the back of her legs bumped into the end table and she fumbled for the phone, spilling her wine. She flipped the phone open. It took her four attempts to push the correct buttons, but eventually she connected with the 9-1-1 operator.

  “9-1-1. What is your address?”

  Jasmine rattled off her location in a whisper.

  “What is your emergency?”

  “There’s someone in my house.”

  As Jasmine stated her emergency, she thought she heard one of the closet doors creak open. She held her breath, waiting for the man to appear from behind the foyer wall. When no one emerged, she crept toward the staircase, keeping her eyes glued to the space where just a few feet away, behind the wall, she knew a stranger stood. There was silence once again. Then she remembered the boys.

  Jasmine dropped the phone and flew toward the staircase, not bothering to look toward the closet doors. She took the stairs two at a time. She whipped around the corner at the top of the stairs, slipping on the freshly polished hardwood floor.

  She crashed into her sons’ room and doubled over in horror at the sight. Blood splattered the walls and ceiling. Her sons lay face down on their beds, each a pulpy mess. Jasmine covered her mouth to keep from vomiting.

  To add to her horror, she heard the floor creak behind her.

  Assumption

  “Look well to each step; and from the beginning think what may be the end.”

  The icy wind beat against Miranda’s back as she pulled up the hood on her trench coat. The snow was so thick she could barely see where she was walking. Cars honked and people bundled in their winter best shuffled past her, their visibility no doubt as bad as hers. Miranda squinted her eyes to see the addresses on the buildings. She had another mile to go. “Damn.” She said out loud as she continued to walk.

  Soon, the sounds of cars and people faded until the only sound was the howling of the wind that swirled the surrounding snow. She was in a section of the city she didn’t recognize, and she did not want to get lost with no one around. Miranda tried not to let fear get the better of her thoughts. The streetlights became sparse as she took in her surroundings. Miranda caught the address of the nearest building. She was almost there. A few more blocks.

  As the wind whipped at her face, she heard crunching behind her. Footsteps. She walked faster. The crunching became more pronounced. Miranda moved to one side of the sidewalk to let whoever it was to pass.