Ten Days of Madness
10 Days of Madness: Frantic Flash Fiction
Edited by Chris Allinotte
Copyright © 2013 Chris Allinotte
All contained stories are copyright the individual contributors. None of these works may be copied or redistributed without the express written permission of the individual author.
All stories are works of fiction. Any similarity to persons, places or events in the past or present is strictly coincidental.
Introduction
What makes it “Madness,” anyway?
This is the third book that’s been spawned from a yearly blog event on my website, “The Leaky Pencil.” The origin of the event is simple: I wanted something to do to break up the monotony of March – and I’m not a sports person.
On the other hand, I’m very much a horror story person, and in particular, I find great joy in those stories that manage to stay within the realm of possibility, yet still manage to give the reader the creeps. Don’t get me wrong, I love a good monster story; but the tales I’ve chosen to be part of the “Days of Madness” books all manage to show that, beyond a doubt, that vampires, werewolves, and zombies can’t get close to the atrocities we simple mortals are capable of.
However…
Since the first event and ebook, which was published as Eight Days of Madness, there’s been a disturbing nagging at my conscience, that focusing the event’s theme on “madness” could somehow be construed as an insensitivity to mental illness, or worse – a mockery.
No, I would say that, for the most part, the characters and situations in these stories are joyfully, maniacally sane. What these tales represent is that sanity pushed to its breaking point. Whether it’s the tale of a scientist who pushes himself to the limits of his creative hubris, or a father driven by the single thought of revenge for his lost love, these are people who represent any one of us, confronted with the extremes of the human condition. It’s a fine distinction, one might argue, but I stand behind the work which, as it always should, stands on its own merits.
The results are here for your enjoyment. There are twenty finely crafted works of horror in this volume, and each one has something sinister in store for you.
Note: if you have come into this collection without having any previous knowledge of the event, the “Days” referenced by the title and in the table of contents correspond to ten actual days in March 2013, when these stories were published online in a web event by the same title.
As always, I am indebted to the hard work of the writers whose work is represented in these pages.
Until next year!
Chris Allinotte
April 25, 2013
Table of Contents
Introduction
Day 1
EVP: Benjamin Sobieck
The Frantic and the Dead: Angel Zapata
Day 2
Saturation Point: Richard Godwin
Day 3
Late Freeze: Donald Jacob Uitvlugt
At the Scene of the Crime: J.J. Steinfeld
Day 4
By the Sea: L.W. Salinas
Reflections In Shallow Water: Matthew Wilson
Day 5
Trick or Treat: Donald Jacob Uitvlugt
Mythical and Astonishing Woman: J. J. Steinfeld
The Thief of Hunger: Anthony Cowin
Day 6
2:35 a.m.: L.W. Salinas
Reflections in Shallow Water: Matthew Wilson
Day 7
The Comings and Goings of Ordinariness: J. J. Steinfeld
Open the Door: Benjamin Sobieck
Day 8
Summer Games: Donald Jacob Uitvlugt
I’m Ready for My Close-up: Chris Allinotte
Day 9
Let’s Play Games: Anthony Cowin
The Mark of Servitude: Angel Zapata
Day 10
B27: Jack Horne
Frogs Screaming Like Crickets: Richard Godwin
Day 1: Benjamin Sobieck and Angel Zapata
EVP
Benjamin Sobieck
"You're going to die tonight."
Clear as a whistle on a winter night. Holy shit.
I rewind the digital voice recorder, the DVR. The one that sat overnight on the window sill in the old Belanger house. You know, the house with the family of four. Yep, that one. All four of them fell through the floor. Construction codes weren't what they are now. It'd be funny if it wasn't so tragic.
They hit the basement hard. All four broke their backs. They shouted for help, but no one came. The house is in the far side of nowhere. The whole family died. Everyone around here's heard the story a million times.
The Minnesota Ghost Chasers - that's the name of the ghost hunting group I started - went in for an "investigation." Not that there was some great need for one. No one lives there. This was more of an introduction for the newbie in the group, an enthusiastic young woman still in college. It was just me and her.
I taught her about "investigating" old houses. Hint: Stick close to the walls, they're usually more reinforced. Oh, and avoid the gaping hole in the living room where the floor collapsed. Duh. That's where the family died. Lots of debris at the bottom of that hole. Wouldn't want the Belanger house to claim another victim.
Anyway, nothing much happened while we were out there. I had the DVR on during the "investigation," then left it overnight. I was hoping to pick up an EVP, or "electronic voice phenomenon." Those spirit voices are like diamonds for ghost hunters.
I went back in the morning, grabbed the DVR off the window sill and took it to my car. That's where I am now, feeling like a prospector holding a golden nugget.
I play the EVP over again.
"You're going to die tonight."
There's a bit of static coating the EVP. I turn the volume up and hold the speaker to my ear.
"You're going to die tonight."
It's a man's voice, that's for sure. Sounds familiar.
I let the recording run.
No way.
This is better than diamonds.
There's an angry, muffled shout. Heavy breathing. Fast footsteps. A woman screaming. It's a deep, frantic hollering, as if she was shouting with her guts instead of her throat. It melts the audio in my ear. I can only make out, "Please, someone help me," after she catches her breath.
Then comes a snap, a moan and a jarring silence. Like guitar strings breaking in mid-song.
My guts list in their casing. I grip the steering wheel with my free hand and squeeze tight. The car feels like it's an elevator in free fall. I keep listening. This is incredible.
The man's voice says something like, "Get into there" or "Get over here." Then comes a soundike a thousand crunches rolled into a single, quick thud.
No more screaming. No more nothing.
I play the scene back again. It's like listening to hell.
Beautiful, sweet, sexy, hell. The kind of misery that can make you rich.
I play it over and over until I have it memorized. I start to hum along with it. The violence is like a tune.
The raw abuse in the man's voice makes my pulse dizzy. It's terrifying. Thrilling. Exciting.
I drain half the battery before looking up. I glance in the rearview mirror. The two long scratch marks from last night have scabbed over. I'll have to let those heal completely before releasing the EVP.
Flakes from her fingernail polish sprinkle the scab. She got me, but not good enough. It didn't stop me from throwing her down that hole.
I smile and start the car up. I can't wait to tell the world about my "EVP."
The Frantic and the Dead
Angel Zapata
“Slow down.” Kelly clawed her seatbelt.
Ron mashed the gas pedal. “I don’t wanna lose him.” The spe
edometer crept passed eighty.
“Are you sure it’s him this time?”
Ron zigzagged through late evening traffic. The headlights of his SUV illuminated fallen tree limbs along the interstate shoulder.
“I’d know that face anywhere,” he said.