Paranormal Anthology With a TWIST (12 page)

Lenora’s mother stopped watching her and turned her attention
fully to engorging herself on Charlie’s blood. Lenora found it repulsive…yet
spellbinding. She was horrified—but drawn into it—all at the same
time.

Her mother finished feeding and sat back on her haunches. Her pale
face was streaked with blood. She looked at Lenora; Lenora looked back. Her
mother held out an open hand.

She went forward, dutiful as always, and stood by her mother’s
side. She wasn’t surprised when Jakob appeared at her other side even though
she hadn’t heard any door, hadn’t heard any footsteps.

Her mother watched her patiently, expectantly, for a moment.

Lenora looked down at her mother’s hand, still extended to her.
Mother was offering her the choice.

She reached out and took her mother’s hand, decision made. She
would join her mother in the world of darkness. She would eat and drink from the
body…

She turned to Jakob, who stared at her in a vulgar way, openly
greedy for her. She tilted her head to the right, exposing her neck to him. A
small cry escaped her throat when his teeth entered the soft flesh…then she
knew black ecstasy.

The following week, Charlie and Lenora were the talk of Carlisle
High School. The girls whispered and gossiped. The teachers shushed
them—it wasn’t proper to whisper about people—then went on their
breaks and whispered to each other.

Did you hear the
Swain family just up and left without warning?

Yes, I heard a
lawyer is here arranging for the sale of their home.

I would, too, if my
son went missing like that…

Did you hear that
there was another missing person over in Dillsburg?

Why, that makes for
three this month then…not counting the others last year…

I hear that Lenora
won’t be coming back to school. You know, I think she was sweet on that Charlie
Swain kid. That’s too bad for her…

She was always so
sweet…Sweet Lenora.

This story, like everything else I do, is dedicated to my loving
wife, Jacki, and son, Alistair. They motivate me to be a better man and, by
extension, a better writer.

Jon Messenger graduated from the University of Southern California
with a Bachelor’s Degree in Public Relations. His passion for writing began in
college and has continued throughout his military career, to include two combat
deployments in Iraq. His four full length science fiction novels and two short
stories directly portray his combat experiences.

He lives in Washington, D.C. with his wife, son, and small petting
zoo.

To learn more about his science fiction books, visit his
profile at:
www.facebook.com/jonmessengerauthor

Burden of Sisyphus:
www.amzn.com/B0054RK2CA

Chapter One

 
“Cranberry and vodka
for you,” Whitney said, handing Jill the glass. Jill took the drink and placed
it on the end table beside where she sat. Leaning back, she snuggled into the
side of the cushioned ottoman. Across from her, Brent and Jake sipped their
beers as they sat on the floor, leaning against the couch. With the drinks
refilled, Whitney took her spot on the floor in front of the television, just
to the right of Jill.

“Where were we?” Whitney asked.

“Like you don’t remember,” Brent chided. “You’re up.”

Whitney sighed and turned toward Jill. “What is this? The third,
fourth time around?

“Fifth,” Jake corrected.

“This game was a stupid idea,” Whitney moaned. “I’m running out of
good ideas.”

“I’ve still got an ace up my sleeve,” Brent chuckled. “It’s a
game-ender.”

Whitney shook her head. “Okay, Jill—ask away.”

Jill took a drink of her cranberry and vodka before setting the
drink aside again. “Truth or dare?”

Whitney stared at her, scrutinizing her facial features. Frowning,
she answered.

“Truth.”

Jill smiled mischievously. “Fine. How many fraternity boys have
you had sex with since freshman year?”

“You bitch!” Whitney hissed. Her gaze fell across the living room
to Brent, who offered no respite.

“Looks like we’re out for blood this round,” Brent said. “Answer
the lady—unless you want to forfeit.”

Whitney huffed and turned scarlet. “Fine. Twelve. Are you happy
now, you hussy?”

Jill laughed. “You’re such a sorostitute!”

Whitney grabbed the television remote and playfully threw it at
her friend. “Laugh now. It’ll be your turn again soon enough. Now that I know
that the gloves are off—nothing’s sacred.”

Jake pulled his knees up to his chest and laid his head back onto
the couch. “Great,” he said flatly. “Come on. It’s my turn, so let’s get this
over with.”

Whitney turned her attention to the latest victim. “Alright, Jake.
Truth or dare?”

Jake stared up at the ceiling and turned the empty beer bottle
absently in his hand. “I’m going with dare.”

“Oh,” Brent said, suddenly interested in the game again. He sat
upright and looked at his fraternity brother. “This should be good.”

Whitney rubbed her chin thoughtfully. “I dare you to ride the
elevator in Wade Hall for one hour—butt naked.”

Jake raised his head off the couch and looked at her
disapprovingly. “An hour? Are you serious?”

“Kid gloves are off, remember? Everything about this game is
serious now.”

“And remind me what I get if I win?”

“The losers have to write the winner’s philosophy final paper,”
Brent replied.

Jake thought for a brief moment before shaking his head. “It’s not
worth getting arrested for indecent exposure just to get one of you to write a
fifteen-page paper. You guys suck at writing anyway. I’m out.”

Brent clapped slowly. “Well played, Whitney. One down!”

“It’s okay, baby,” Jill laughed. “I still love you, even if you
are a quitter.”

Jake grabbed his chest in mock indignation. Pushing off the floor,
he walked into the kitchen to retrieve another beer.

“My turn,” Brent said, “and it looks like you get to ask another
one, Whitney.”

“Truth or dare.”

“Truth,” Brent replied.

“This is something I’ve wanted to know for a while. How the hell
did you get an ‘A’ in Econ 201? You suck at math.”

“I cheated my ass off,” Brent replied without hesitation. “There
was an Asian kid who took the class last year and was selling the answers to
the exams.”

“Jerk! I knew you couldn’t do that on your own.”

“That was your tough question?” Jill asked surprised. “You are
such a sissy with him!”

“It’s too late to ask another one now,” Brent said. “It’s time to
pull the ace out of my sleeve and end this game. Truth or dare, Jill?”

Jill looked at Jake as he took a seat on the couch. Her boyfriend
merely shrugged noncommittally.

“Dare, I guess.”

Brent smiled. “Okay, I dare you to spend the night in Creepy
Cemetery.”

“All night?” Whitney asked.

“Whoa,” Jake said concerned. “Timeout. That escalated a little
fast from streaking through the freshman dorm and cheating on a test to
spending the night in a graveyard.”

Brent shrugged. “We all agreed that the gloves were off. Anything
goes in this game. So it’s time to put up or shut up.”

“Still,” Whitney said. She looked at Jill, who hadn’t said
anything.

“Fine,” Brent said, throwing up his arms. “Then let’s make it all
or nothing. You do this—you win. You chicken out—I win. What do you
say, Jill?”

“I say you’re an ass, Brent.”

“You know I’m still playing too, right?” Whitney asked.

“You never stood a chance of winning. We know too many of your
dirty secrets,” Brent explained. He turned his attention back to Jill. “Does
that mean you’re not going to do it?”

Jill knew the cemetery well, having driven past it every day on
her way to work after class. All the students called it “Creepy Cemetery”
because it was in horrible disrepair. Large weeds grew between and around the
faded headstones. Crawling vines wound their way up the rusted metal spokes of
the wrought-iron fence.

“I’m going to do it,” Jill replied angrily, “just to make sure you
lose.”

“To the jeep!” Brent demanded as he stood unsteadily. He set his
empty beer bottle beside the others and led the group out of the apartment.

Whitney hurried to catch up to her boyfriend. From over her shoulder,
she called out to Jake and Jill.

“Shotgun!”

Jake slipped his hand in Jill’s and felt her sweaty palms. “You
don’t have to do this, you know?”

“Yes, I do,” she replied. “I’m going to make sure that asshole
loses.”

The pair climbed into the back of the open-topped jeep as Brent
started the engine and pulled out of the parking lot.

Chapter Two

Jill stood in the middle of the cemetery and rubbed her
arms—despite the warm night air. She stepped between a pair of weathered
headstones; the names on their faces no longer legible. Nearby, the cemetery
was cast into inky darkness as the light from the few streetlamps disappeared
behind one of the taller monuments. Despite the broken stonework, Jill could
make out the once-delicate features of a carved angel atop a pedestal.

There were a few of the taller statues scattered throughout the
cemetery, though they were in little better condition than the angel against
which Jill now stood. Their tall visages blocked the light in long stretches,
adding a sense of surrealism to the eerie graveyard.

Looking around, she sought a place to sit. The choking weeds
covered most of the exposed ground, leaving little space for her to rest.
Reaching down near a thick stone grave marker, Jill pulled back some of the
weeds in a wide enough area for her to sit.

“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” Jill muttered to the empty
cemetery.

Bringing her knees to her chest, Jill wrapped her arms around her
legs and looked around Creepy Cemetery. It had only been an hour at most since
she arrived and she was already starting to doubt her own fortitude. Only her
desire to prove Brent wrong kept her seated.

Rifling through her purse, Jill pulled out her cell phone. A
single phone call to Jake could end this stupid bet but she felt a strong
twinge of pride. Calling Jake might end this—but it would also mean
conceding defeat to Brent of all people. Brent personified everything Jill
hated about fraternity guys. Angrily, she shoved her cell phone back into her
purse.

“No problem,” she tried to justify. “Only seven more hours to go.”

Jill groaned at the thought. She leaned back against the headstone
behind her but immediately sat back forward. Glancing over her shoulder, she
tried to read the inscription on the stone. It was far too weatherworn, however,
and the words were little more than faint indentations on the stone.