Kindle Edition Download to your Nook (eBook) Amazon Kindle Edition Category:  Horror Type: Fiction Copyright: Dec 28, 2011 ISBN-13: 9780988252110 Dark fiction author, Edward V'Kanty, presents his short story collection in a single volume, entitled "Whispers From Hell: An Anthology Of Horror & The Supernatural." The short stories assembled here in this volume feature elements of dark fantasy and science fiction, the supernatural, and the macabre.  The stories included are as follows: Whispers From Hell  Kylie's Reality  Brette's Discovery A Requiem For The Damned  Princesses  Night Terrors Borrowed Time  Into The Realm Of The Lunatic For Everything, A Season Excerpt Oh, no. My nights were far from restful. I dreaded sleep, as much as Amelia must have looked forward to it. You see, for me, sleep meant having myself drawn into that evil entity’s realm. It captured my soul the very minute I began dreaming and had me, until something brought me out of my sleep. So, you’d like to know what I dreamt? What I saw? Perhaps, you’re too curious for your own damned good. Huh? Very well; just remember I tried to spare you this much. It was a dream of that house; its true nature. The moment I saw it, I knew it was what that house truly looked like. What people saw -what you would see, my friend, if you went there now- is a facade; an illusion. I think, maybe, our society sees reality colored by prejudices and skepticisms. That makes the most sense to me. Maybe that’s why infants, like Amelia’s niece, scream horribly each time they visit the house. My own dog, unaccustomed to outdoor weather, always seemed too eager to spend hours upon hours outside, as well. Whatever the reason, people don’t see what is truly there. As for myself, I saw the house for the first time in that dream. I would no longer be fooled by its facade. The dream always started the same way, with me walking into the house for the first time. The beautifully bright yellow and white vinyl siding was gone. As if it had eyes with which to see, I could feel it looking ominously down upon me with its warped, gray wood. The windows -every one of them- were fogged over, or perhaps they were coated with so much dust that they were no longer transparent. At this point, after I was sure to notice the debilitated state of the exterior, I would step inside. I wouldn’t find the winding staircase, dressed in glossy white paint, when I looked to my right. Instead, I found a simple, straight staircase; its wood just as rotted and weak as the exterior of the house. The dropped ceilings and painted stucco walls were missing from the living room and adjoining dining room. Instead, I found walls covered with what must have once been brown and gold wallpaper. The colors had run together long ago. Brownish-maroon specks splattered the walls, forming thicker streaks in some places. I tried not to think about what might have caused those odd streaks on the walls and ceiling, but I already knew. You know, as well. Don’t you? Yes, I can tell by that look on your face. I tried to look away -turn my attention towards other details. There was an antique chandelier hanging from the dining room ceiling; it was truly from an age long since past. The candles at its tips were lit. The light from the flickering flames, reflected upon the chandelier’s crystals, shed a very soft glow upon the dark rooms. That wasn’t all I noticed about the lighting fixture. A noose hung from it, tied to its base, void of a victim. I always felt rushed at this point in the dream. It felt as though the force directing this tour was hurried, wanting me to see much more. I would always be hastened through the kitchen and down into the basement. This was where I began to understand the extent of the evil in this house. Unlike the façade that had captured Amelia’s heart, this house had a two-room basement. The first room looked very much like the one seen in the waking world. I saw the washer and dryer hook-ups, support beams, canning shed, and pool table all just as they had been. That second room kept its mysteries hidden behind a wooden door. The handle squeaked rather loudly when I turned it and, even as I heard the latch pull back, I found the door difficult to budge. The hinges had been released by the rotted frame and the door sat at an awkward angle on the cement floor. I forced it open, leaving a white gouge in the concrete, where the door had ground against the floor. Entering the room, I realized the basement was far too large to fit beneath that one house. It seemed like it was long enough to extend beneath the neighboring house, as well. In the center of this room, only a few feet in front of me, I found a concrete slab that seemed to have grown from the floor. I couldn’t see any crevices to tell that the slab had been placed there. I think that the slab had been a part of the basement’s construction, though I could see no purpose for it. The slab, no less than five feet in height, was a single, solid block of concrete. Its perfectly flat surface was stained with the same maroon splattering I had seen on the walls, above. Streaks of it ran down the sides of the slab and in some spots I thought it still looked fresh…and wet. Stupidity on my part, I guess, but at this point in the dream, I always feel compelled to touch the slab. Yes, well, it’s something stronger than a simple urge. It’s more like an external influence, something pushing me to it. Just dip your fingers into it, Melvin. That’s the only way you’ll really know what it is, that evil voice would whisper. I could hear that malevolent grin the way you might hear someone smiling, during a telephone call. I think observing that evil thing’s twisted pleasure was the only thing that kept me from obeying. Hm? No, I didn’t touch it. Because, I could see something to my left. I could only see it out of the corner of my eye, but it always grabbed my attention instantly. It was brick, about twenty feet long, and it stuck out about eight or nine feet from the cement wall. There were five arched doorways -no doors- on its face. The structure stood about five feet high -the same height as the slab- and hot, acrid air blew from the doorways with enough force to scald my face. The doorways were three feet wide, each of them, and obstructed by a cement slab protruding from the center of each threshold. These slabs were different. These slabs had no bases, no legs. It looked as though they hovered in the air. From time to time, one of the slabs would be drawn back through its respective doorway. What’s that? Yes, there were items on those slabs, but I had the good sense never to look. All I can say for certain is that, once a slab was drawn back, the contents were cooked to incineration. The sound it made was very much like that of bacon frying in hot oil. Believe me, I understand. It’s a good deal more revolting to experience it, though. Shall I give you a moment, my friend? If you insist… There was something else about that part of the basement. It wasn’t something I saw with my eyes or heard with my ears. It was more like something I sensed with my soul and it was just as real as the evidence I’d gathered with my other senses. That is to say that I trusted it without question. What was it I knew so undeniably? Simply that this area -the brick ovens in particular- was the source of my home’s evil. An evil of the purest form, born there within those ovens. I don’t know why, but it lingers there in that basement. Perhaps it simply awaits fresh victims. I don’t know if you really understood this before, but let me be clear now. That evil speaks to me throughout these dreams. I here its whispers, but I can never quite make out its words. I did know the message was far from pleasant. I think, though, that I did understand at some level, perhaps subconsciously. How do I know this? Still, you hold onto that skepticism? Good for you, my friend. It may save your soul. I do believe I understood that message. The evidence I have of that is the state in which I awoke each morning. I always awoke suffocated with a tremendous fear. It gripped me hard, like the fist of a god. It left me physically crippled until something from the waking world -my wife’s voice, the ringing of the telephone, the sound of traffic- forced me to accept it had all been a dream.

First Review
This collection of tales has one major theme running throughout it: atmosphere. The author does a good job of setting the scene and creating an air of tension. A healthy mix of narratives, the author gives a voice to multiple evils and his stories span a wide range of settings and profiles . Worth a read if you’re a horror fan.