Piercing the Darkness: A Charity Horror Anthology for the Children's Literacy Initiative
PIERCING THE DARKNESS
Edited by
Craig Cook
Kindle Edition
NECRO PUBLICATIONS
— 2014 —
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PIERCING THE DARKNESS © 2014 by Necro Publications
Cover art © 2014 by Daniela Owergoor
This edition © 2014 Necro Publications
Edited by Craig Cook
ISBN-13: 978-1-939065-57-5
Book design & typesetting:
David G. Barnett
Fat Cat Graphic Design
www.fatcatgraphicdesign.com
a Necro Publication
www.necropublications.com
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 please return to Amazon.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
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“King of Shadows” Copyright © 2013 Joe R. Lansdale
“Quiet Bullets” Copyright © 2013 Christopher Golden
“Haven” Copyright © 2013 Kealan Patrick Burke
“Brave Girl” Copyright © 2013 Jack Ketchum
“Dealing With Mama Lila” Copyright © 2013 Sandy DeLuca
“Husband of Kellie” Copyright © 2013 T.T. Zuma
“Obedient Flies” Copyright © 2013 Greg F. Gifune
“Exit Strategy” Copyright © 2013 Tim Waggoner
“Abattoir Blues” Copyright © 2013 James A. Moore
“Cannonball Lycanthrope” Copyright © 2013 Janet Joyce Holden
“Throwing Monsters” Copyright © 2013 Jonathan Janz
“The Fierce Stabbing and Subsequent Post-Death Vengeance of Scooter Brown” Copyright © 2013 Jeff Strand
“The House in Cyrus Holler: A Will Castleton Adventure” Copyright © 2013 David Bain
“Cooked” Copyright © 2013 Jonathan Maberry
“Miz Ruthie Pays Her Respects” Copyright © 2013 Lucy Snyder
“Letting Go” Copyright © 2013 Mary SanGiovanni
“The Viking Plays Patty Cake” Copyright © 2013 Brian Keene
“Shadow Chaser” Copyright © 2013 Simon Wood
“The Folly” Copyright © 2013 Robert Dunbar
“Spider Goes to Market” Copyright © 2013 Gerard Houarner
“Pest Control” Copyright © 2013 C. Dennis Moore
“I’m So Sorry for Your Loss” Copyright © 2013 Ronald Malfi
“Timothy Meek” Copyright © 2013 by Gord Rollo
“Traps” Copyright © 2013 F. Paul Wilson
“Searching” Copyright © 2013 Monica O’Rourke
“Fire” Copyright © 2013 Elizabeth Massie
“Dance of the Blue Lady” Copyright © 2013 Gene O’Neill
“Dinosaur Day” Copyright © 2013 Gary A. Braunbeck
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ABOUT CHILDREN’S LITERACY INITIATIVE
Mission Statement
Children’s Literacy Initiative (CLI) is a non-profit that works with teachers to transform instruction so that children can become powerful readers, writers, and thinkers.
Our goal is to close the gap in literacy achievement between disadvantaged children and their more affluent peers. We know that early reading = lifelong success. We also know that there is no stronger lever for improving student outcomes than giving teachers high-impact instructional strategies.
We invest in schools by providing training and coaching to teachers and administrators and quality children’s books to classrooms. We work school by school—pre-kindergarten through third grade—to strengthen instruction and create a culture of literacy. We develop a Model Classroom in each grade level, supporting consecutive years of high-impact literacy instruction for students.
Over the past 10 years, teachers coached by CLI have taught more than one million children.
For more information about CLI, or to donate, go to www.cliontheweb.org
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ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
Thanks to all the authors who graciously donated a story for this anthology. Your willingness to share your work exceeded even my wildest expectations.
Thanks to my wife, Kellie, for patiently enduring my long hours stressing over this project; and to my children, Emma and Ethan, for always wanting Daddy to read them books.
Thanks to David G. Barnett for stepping up and offering to publish this anthology, and for guiding me every step of the way.
Thanks to Kealan Patrick Burke and C. Dennis Moore for their support and advice when I was trying to get this project off the ground.
Thanks to Tony Tremblay, Nanci Kalanta, Thad Linson, Christopher Jones and Janet Holden—it’s been quite the journey, and I look forward to continuing it with you all.
Last, but not least, a very special thanks to professor Daniel Mahala, Liz Tascio, and all the kids at Story City, for teaching me to look beyond myself and make a difference in the lives of others.
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TABLE OF CONTENTS
INDRODUCTION
KING OF SHADOWS by Joe R. Lansdale
QUIET BULLETS by Christopher Golden
HAVEN by Kealan Patrick Burke
BRAVE GIRL by Jack Ketchum
*DEALING WITH MAMA LILA by Sandy DeLuca
*HUSBAND OF KELLIE by T.T. Zuma
OBEDIENT FLIES by Greg F. Gifune
*EXIT STRATEGY by Tim Waggoner
*ABATTOIR BLUES by James A. Moore
*CANNONBALL LYCANTHROPE by Janet Joyce Holden
THROWING MONSTERS by Jonathan Janz
*THE FIERCE STABBING AND SUBSEQUENT POST-DEATH VENGEANCE OF SCOOTER BROWN by Jeff Strand
*THE HOUSE IN CYRUS HOLLER: A WILL CASTLETON ADVENTURE by David Bain
COOKED by Jonathan Maberry
MIZ RUTHIE PAYS HER RESPECTS by Lucy Snyder
LETTING GO by Mary SanGiovanni
THE VIKING PLAYS PATTY CAKE by Brian Keene
SHADOW CHASER by Simon Wood
THE FOLLY by Robert Dunbar
SPIDER GOES TO MARKET by Gerard Houarner
*PEST CONTROL by C. Dennis Moore
*I’M SO SORRY FOR YOUR LOSS by Ronald Malfi
TIMOTHY MEEK by Gord Rollo
TRAPS by F. Paul Wilson
*SEARCHING by Monica O’Rourke
FIRE by Elizabeth Massie
DANCE OF THE BLUE LADY by Gene O’Neill
DINOSAUR DAY by Gary A. Braunbeck
ABOUT THE AUTHORS
*—Never before published
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INTRODUCTION
In January of 2013, my final regular semester at the University of Missouri-Kansas City, I attended a course titled Language, Literacy, and Power. I had no idea what the class entailed, only that it was one of just a few options I had to complete my writing minor. As it turns out, the class contained a service-learning component, something I’d never heard of but would impact me greatly.
In addition to our normal class time, my classmates and I were broken up into smaller groups (roughly 4-5 people) and assigned to a particular service-learning project. The group I chose to be in met every Friday af
ternoon, after regular school hours, at a school for underprivileged children. We worked with a group of about forty children, split into two groups, from 1st through 7th grade. Our goal each week was to lead them into creating their own (very) short story.
During my time with them, I discovered an overwhelming need to do more for these kids. They had next to nothing. As we were discussing a character during our second week, and what that character wanted in the story, we asked what some of the kids wanted in their own life. “A mom,” said one. “A book,” said another. It was heartbreaking. And to see those kids light up when we worked on a story, how they literally climbed over one another trying to voice their ideas and opinions, it was amazing. Looking back on it, it was easily one of the best college classes I ever attended, and easily the most life-altering.
Throughout the summer, my mind worked overtime trying to figure out a way to help not only these kids, but the illiteracy problem with underprivileged children throughout the country. And I thought an anthology, with all the money going to charity, would be perfect. Book sales helping buy books for kids who don’t have any. I loved the idea. After thoroughly researching various organizations, I decided on the Children’s Literacy Initiative, a non-profit organization that works directly with schools to help young children become better readers and writers.
But the question remained—could I recruit enough authors to contribute a story? Could I get any authors to join me, knowing that I had no resources from which to pay them? Could I find a way to publish the book on my own? These questions haunted me while I tried to start planning, but then something amazing happened. An author agreed to contribute a story. Then another, and another, and it began snowballing from there. Then, thanks to author C. Dennis Moore, the anthology found a publisher.
Stories started rolling in, a mixture of brand new tales—written just for this anthology—with some obscure reprints, and I could tell many of the authors were not only donating a story, but they were proud and excited to be a part of the book. And now, a year later, you hold in your hands the final product. An anthology featuring an All-Star lineup, with all the proceeds from sales being donated directly to the Children’s Literacy Initiative. Now sit back, relax, and delve into the darkness…
— Craig Cook
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KING OF SHADOWS
JOE R. LANSDALE
Leroy was as shocked as if someone had handed him an electrically charged wire. He got the shock when he learned he was about to have a little brother, and that his surprise sibling would make his first appearance at the age of eleven. Being fourteen himself and knowing full well how babies were made and where they came from, it twisted up all kinds of images in his head, and he didn’t like a one of them. Some of them he hated with a deep sincerity that only a Biblical literalist could grasp.
His mama told him about his new brother and told him the boy’s name was Draighton, and that Draighton would share his room with him, because there wasn’t any other way, the house being small and all.
“I have a little brother? And he’s eleven? And he’s named Draighton? That’s a real name?”
Now that the image of an eleven year old springing from his mother’s womb ready to start fifth grade had fallen out of his head, a new idea came to him. His father had had a child by someone other than his mother, and there had been a discovery, and now this new child, branded with the name Draighton, would soon be coming to live with them, in his room, sharing his bed, eating part of the food that before Draighton’s arrival had been his except for sharing with his parents and the garbage disposal.
He thought his mother was taking this all rather well, this newfound son by another woman, till she said, “Now, he’s not your brother by blood. He’s a friend’s boy, but he was good friends with your daddy, and this fella, Jimmy Turner, well, he was a nervous sort. And just the other day he took to drink and lost his head. He killed his wife, then himself. Cut her and his throat with a big old razor. He left a will that wanted Draighton to come live with Herman and me, and the court, after a bit of finagling here and there, decided to let him.”
“Why didn’t his daddy kill him too?” Leroy asked.
His mother thought this was nothing more than a simple question, but it was really a statement of disappointment.
“He was on a camping trip with the Boy Scouts when it happened. It was a two week trip. In some mountains or another out in New Mexico, or Arizona. Some desert place. Jimmy starting acting a little odd at work. Everyone said so. And he must have known things were slipping, and that’s why he made out the will. Did it two, maybe three months before the tragic accident.”
“It don’t sound like an accident.”
“Well, technically, I suppose you’re right.”
“Technically,” Leroy said, “ain’t it a murder and suicide?”
“Technically, yes.”
Well now, this was all intense and surprising news, and Leroy took it the way he took most unpleasantness. Badly. He went to his room and jacked off twice, thinking he ought to get some of it out of his system now, since the operation was going to be more difficult in the days to come, and he was not the sort of boy that liked the idea of talking about such things with a friend, or even a new brother, and the idea of them sharing in such an endeavor was unappealing, though some of the boys at school liked it, and had even participated in what they called a circle jerk. The thought of this alone made Leroy’s stomach churn. The mere vision of some other boy seeing his equipment, or heaven forbid, touching it, sent shock-waves through him. What surprised him was that the other boys thought the whole thing funny and could see no homosexual attachments to the project, yet, due to his glasses and not overly attractive appearance, were quick to call him queer or fag, or at the least, four-eyes.
Leroy had only in the last year gotten to the point where he viewed the whole notion of sex as more than a fire that drove him to such episodes as he had just completed, lying on his bed drying from a humiliating activity with sticky Kleenex in his lap. He had lately realized the connection between his apparatus and that of the female of the species, it having been explained to him in the manner of plug and outlet by a senior boy, and the thought of it disgusted him. But none of this was as confusing or disturbing as the notion of a new brother, full blown with a personality, and close enough in age the kid might want to fight, and might even be able to beat him up. This was a real concern, as he had already taken two sound whippings from a girl at school, who besides being cursed with a massive facial outbreak of impetigo, a curse that extended throughout most of the first through eighth grade to such an extent that when those divisions of the school were on the playground it looked like a goddamn leper colony. And if that wasn’t bad enough, like all the impetigo-cursed, this girl’s sores were covered in a purple iodine medication that gave her the look from a distance of being a spotted pup parading on hind paws. Besides the impetigo sores, she was sick-bird-scrawny, had one eye that wandered, and rode the short bus to school and had to have help to find it at departure time every afternoon.
And this beating she gave him, it wasn’t a beating he thought he deserved, having merely tried to point out that if she was going to stand around with a ping-pong eye, she might want to wear sunshades or some such thing, a pirate patch maybe. This suggestion had resulted in a sudden explosion that led to a legendary ass-whipping, that, a year later, was still referred to in quiet whispers, least the Wandering Eye Girl, as she was known, get wind of it, and take to beating someone else’s ass to the point of near terminal embarrassment.
It made no difference that six months after the fact it was discovered she wasn’t retarded at all, just contrary, and that a doctor had fixed her eye and her impetigo had cleared up and her parents had moved her to another school, where rumor was she had gained weight, looked good, made excellent grades, and kept tabs on the old school and things that were said there by a horde of hidden informants.
Leroy thought this was all doub
tful, but still, he was careful in what he said, least any reference to the former Wandering Eye Girl might in fact inform some hidden stool-pigeon and lead to her return for an even more brutal whipping and the final cap on his embarrassment, that even now resulted in his being called all kinds of names other than queer, fag and four-eyes, among them Retard Punching Bag and Ass-Whipped Fellow.
Therefore, the idea of a new brother who would attend the same school and might be willing to fight him was nervously unappealing. That’s all he needed, was a new addition to the list of all those who could whip his ass, which already included just about everybody.
What he thought he might do was jump the little bastard and beat him down right up front, therefore dispelling any future notions Draighton might have of pugilistic superiority. Of course, there was always the possibility of the turn-about. That he, instead of Draighton might in fact be the one who came out on the short end of the stick, even if he did spring a surprise attack and get in the first few licks.
And there was another thought. Though he had yet to meet Draighton, the name itself implied to Leroy that the boy might be a biter. Those old style hillbilly names often designated just that, though the fact that Draighton was a Boy Scout might temper his savagery a bit. They were supposed to be good citizens, though the truth was a couple boys he knew in the Scouts were great fans of the circle jerk, and found their camp outs perfect for such shenanigans. Bottom line was, it was hard to fight a biter. He knew, because this brought back an equally disturbing memory, one right there side by side with him having taken a severe trouncing from a thought-to-be retarded, wandering eye girl, and that was when he was nine he had tried to bully his seven year old cousin Wiley, who, in spite of generally wearing a sheen of dirt encrusted snot, proved to have the mind and tenacity of a pit bull. He bit. Leroy still had the scars. At least that little bastard went to a different school.