A collection of short horror stories by Jennifer-Crystal Johnson and a co-written short horror with N. Jones.
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What creatures go bump in the night? With an affinity toward horror and a knack for dreaming up scary monsters, the authors of this eBook want to take readers on several journeys through nightmarish beasts and devilish demons.
This collection of short horror stories is the first such collection from author, poet, and publisher Jennifer-Crystal Johnson and N. Jones, a contributing author.
Charles' Demons: a screenplay prequel to the second story, The Day the Demons Danced, featuring alien creatures who have come to our planet to steal the life essence of humanity and drive people mad.
The Huntress: In a beautiful neighborhood, entire families have abandoned their homes for fear of a creature who feeds on humans to maintain her youth.
Mirror Demon: Nothing is ever what it seems as daily normalcy mingles with nightmares when a baby is snatched from his mother by a demonic creature who wants to possess his mind.
If my car were a percussion instrument, it would be the 60-mile an hour cowbell. When there’s too much weight in the car – which happens any time I have more than one adult in it because it sits so low – some part of its muffler hits the pavement every time I drive over the slightest bump and it sounds just like a cowbell.
It was morning, time for work. I poured myself some coffee, as always. I sat down and made my daily to-do list in my desktop calendar, enjoying the way the pen wrote, scratching out all of my tasks and responsibilities that would later be crossed out sloppily and with great satisfaction.
The productive part of me is in love with to-do lists.
As I began doing my daily client work, there was a knock at the front door, followed by the doorbell ringing frantically. Furrowing my brows, I got up from my chair and made my way down the stairs to the entry to see who it was and, more importantly, what was going on.
“Can I help you?” I asked the middle-aged man standing at my door.
“I need to use your phone,” he stated in a panicky tone, making a move toward the entry. I put my foot behind the inward-opening door.
“Why?” I asked warily. “I’m sorry, but I’m going to need to know a little more than that.”
“There’s something in my house,” he said. “I don’t know what it is, but my family is gone, just… gone,” he added leaning in with wide eyes and a pale complexion. His tone was somewhere between strained and anxious, wavering and emotional. I studied his face for a moment, glancing back over my shoulder and finally nodding while moving my foot.
“What do you mean, your family is gone?” I asked him, following him up the stairs after shutting the door.
“Gone! Just gone! As if the very life were stolen from all of them!” I shrank away from him as his tone exploded with fear and sheer dread, as if he had just awoken from a nightmare and was still startled. I found myself getting frightened and wondering if opening the door had been such a good idea. Mental note: don’t open the door next time.