This is a terrifying read of two short horror stories: Minion and A Night With Frost.
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Short Shocks Volume 1
Two short horror stories:
Minion is a diary of Joseph D Bastion, a man who is tricked into visiting Minion Manor. Lord Lingbo is a minion of the devil, as his helpers are minions of him. Lord Lingbo tests Bastion's mental and physical strength, to the furthest realms that Bastion never knew existed.
A Night With Frost takes a look at the fable of Jack Frost and how he kills and destroys lives every winter. It also peeks into the lives of the Calder's; mum Becky, father John and Jenny, their daughter. Frost visits Jenny's bedroom one freezing night and gets a few surprises from Jenny, but then Frost wreaks havoc in the City of Hail. A lot of lives are destroyed in one night, with Frost.
Excerpt from MINION
Seventh of July, in the year 1834.
The attic was exultant. Everything I ever dreamed of attics being. There was a wall to my right that was saturated in books of all shapes, sizes and textures. Behind me was a skylight that looked out into the grounds at the front of the manor. To my left, blackness. The light couldn’t penetrate the dark side of the room. So, once I equipped myself with a length of tallow and timidly ventured into the uncompromising and desolate black void.
When the lamp became engulfed in the darkness, there was a sharp manic scream that seemed to emit from all directions. I plucked up courage and began to sneak further into the inexorable blackness. I was hardly able to peer two feet in front of me. The darkness seemed like an ethereal eternity.
My shin cracked against something hard. My head followed the glow from the lantern, as I slowly raised and moved it around, unearthing items of interest. I found what caused the throbbing in my leg. It was an antique table. I couldn’t see the type of wood it was fashioned from for the layers of dust and the cocoon of webs that embraced it. I wondered if the dirt and webs were preserving the table in this stagnant form. A leather-covered tome was first to be uncovered by the soft light. As I gently opened the tome, I heard the spine crunch; severing the fragile pages of history contained in this cemetery of words.
A dusty scriber devoid of ink lay hidden behind the tome, and a candelabra standing close by resembled a volcano, spewing its flesh-dispersion of ire on an unsuspecting land of peasants. A white object the lantern toned to my right distracted my vision. When I turned from the lava of wax, there was a skeleton slumped in a large chair. I ventured forward for a morbid close inspection of the bones. As my hand rested on the arm of the chair, spiders came crawling out of every orifice: nostrils, extruding between the teeth and where the ears used to be. Most came scurrying from their nest in the eye sockets, which startled me into a few involuntary backward leaps.
I snatched the tome, damming this light for not showing more area than it does. I tripped and faltered on the way to the trap door in the floor of the attic.
This unease was increased by what seemed to be things slithering across my path, as if they were deliberately trying to make me keel over.
Now, as I try to remember a resemblance of the sound, I can only describe it as rubbing two pieces of kelp together. Actually, from the glimpse I caught of them, that is what they looked like, large sticky lumps of breathing seaweed, squeaking along the floor.
Eventually, after seemingly hours in turmoil, and slipping on the slimy trail left behind those things, I managed to reach my destination.
I didn’t venture into the gardens or beyond the gates today. It looked as though someone had tried to dilute the amount of evil in hell by drowning it in water, creating a blanket of fog that engulfed the land and its inhabitants. I couldn’t even observe the gardens from the bedroom window, just outlines of statues when the fog decided to creep down, leaving its wet residue on everything it devoured.
As a trip outside was out of the question, I decided to further my exploration of the manor.
After a fruitless afternoon of searching dead-end rooms and gaunt closets in the lower half of the building, I dressed for dinner. There were the usual variations of fruit and meats on the table to choose from. I had chosen some luscious meat from the banquet laid before me. It was pinkish-brown in colour on the outside, with an orange type of sauce in the middle of it. The meat looked juicy and raw. You know, just the way any red-blooded human prefers their meat.
“What type of animal do I eat, Sir?” I questioned the Lord.
“That, my dear Mr. Bastion, is a special combination of meats that only my cook has the secret ingredients for. It has been passed down through many generations of his species, and never once been, or needed altering in any way. It is perfect.”
“Would he be the swine whom escorted me to my room last night?” I asked.
“No, certainly not.” The Lord replied in a grumbling sort of laugh. “That was Carrion that you met last night. He is just my personal servant.”
“Then, my Lord, I do not understand what you imply by ‘species’? What have you got preparing your food down there in the kitchens?”
“I am sorry.” the Lord apologised. “Please excuse my evasive demeanour. What I meant to say was race, not species. You see, he is rather like an animal himself, as he is so hideous and deformed, and takes with the mannerisms of a beast. You do understand don’t you?”
I did partially understand the Lords burden, so I gave him my forgiveness. The Lord also apologised for the first night I arrived at the manor. He was quite rude and did not speak too much, but said he had urgent work to finish and certain things required his constant attention at all times. It was such that, if the preparation were not to the imperative perfection required, the whole experiment would spoil.
Darkness battled twilight for a prize of the stars and the night as we ate our meal. At the end of the meal and cigars, the Lord excused himself so he may return to his work.
“Yes, certainly Sir. May I ask what it is that you work at?”
I was dumbfounded by the abrupt reply from the Lord.
“Sir, I don’t think that is any of your damned concern. I will take my leave of you now.”
The Lord stormed out of the great hall, slamming the heavy door behind him. The positive reverberation seemed to quake fear into the foundations and walls of the whole manor.
What had I said to upset him? Were his experiments so precious to him that he resorted to fits of rage when simply asking about them? Might it possibly be the way I had asked the question that traumatised him? Was he screaming at me in order to evade probing questions I might have asked, if I wasn’t being hit with a barrage of insults? Could it be something that’s so advanced and intelligent that, even I could not comprehend?
Enough of this macabre train of thought, I do not wish to bore you with my morbid fantasies.
I ponder my sweet Elizabeth’s health.
Damn, I can’t think of any real pleasantries to comment on. This bloody manor is consuming all my thoughts and time. I am ensnared betwixt the lust of two evils: The devils pillows of Elizabeth’s bosom and the spellbinding intrigue of the Lords past.
The Lord has had a varied and unusual past, as I found from the tome in the attic. This book reveals no dates in it to ease my task, but the black ink states the following on the first page:
He has not a heart, he need not a heart.
Can not and will not, kneel to the God’s hand.
Char the soil and reap the land, burn the bodies and keep the souls.
Six times six times six men fold.
Six men dead, six men’s souls, six men wish to be cold.
I am not quite sure what this inscription means, if it’s relevant to my quest or some meaningful warning to be learned. The next few pages tell of some spiritual war and of someone fleeing to earth. Banished. To fester on this planet, but gaining strength for the future onslaught. He vowed that, through time, man would pay for Gods actions. That, man will suffer under Lucifer’s reign of eradication, so your God will weep in shame and sorrow to see his creation destroyed, slowly.
That was as far as I read tonight. I will read more tomorrow. I tire now. So again, I bid you farewell until we meet again in these pages tomorrow night.