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Free Horror Stories

Darius the Dazzler by Newton Webb

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In a cacophony of trumpets and saxophones, ‘Harlem’s Nocturnes�� wound down their act. Darius the Dazzler, his sequined waistcoat gleaming, strode onto the dimly lit stage with false bravado, his greased pencil moustache twitching nervously. Beside him, his glamorous assistant and wife, Isabella, stood in all her glory, her dress sparkling under the spotlight.

The audience, composed of slightly inebriated joes in cheap linen suits and cigarette-smoking dames, turned their attention from the speakeasy’s dark corners to the stage. Darius the Dazzler flashed them his practised smile, his eyes wide as he tried to conceal the stage fright churning in his gut.

“For my first act...�� he announced, his voice wobbling slightly. He produced a top hat, twirling it in his trembling hands before showing the audience its emptiness. “With a wave and a tip, from my hat comes a rabbit.�� A weak applause followed, sprinkled with sceptical laughter. “A magical feat, not just a habit.�� He waved his wand over the hat and spoke the arcane words, “Deus, quaeso, lepus in hoc pileo sit.��

Darius plunged his hand into the hat, his eyebrows arching in concentration. His gloved hand lifted the secret compartment and scoured the recesses for a moment, then two, until the quiet murmurs grew into a dull roar. He gave a broad, nervous smile. “Seems the magic’s a bit shy tonight.�� The audience, their patience waning, erupted into a cacophony of boos and jeers. “But ain’t that the thrill of the live show, eh?��

“Got something right here that the dame can make disappear,�� a heckler from the front yelled, grabbing at his crotch, his cheeks flushed with drink. His comment elicited a round of laughter and catcalls.

A seething rage bubbled within Darius, replacing his anxiety and mortification. His fists clenched as he spun around to face the man who’d dared to insult Isabella. “Now you look here!��

Isabella put a hand on his chest. “Come on, Darius, move on to the next trick. Pay that lout no mind.��

Darius nodded and took a deep breath.

“See? The two-bit broad wants it!�� The drunk cackled.

“Darius, no!�� Isabella pleaded as he pushed her to one side and leaped down from the stage, walloping the man on his head with his cane, knocking off his hat.

The drunk wrenched the cane from his grasp, stood up, and snapped it over his knee. A ham-sized fist hit Darius on the chin and sent him to the floor. The man’s leather shoes stomped towards him, but Darius, his eyes widening, ignored them.

“Fumpa!�� he cried out. In the corner of the room, he had spied his missing white rabbit as it calmly chewed on a discarded pamphlet. They locked eyes for the briefest of moments before the giant bouncer, Saxon, caught him and unceremoniously dragged him to the door. His protests were for nought as Saxon tossed him into the filth ridden alley. Isabella followed, carrying his magician’s case. The sound of jeering followed him out into the cold New York streets.

“You are done, Darius. The Dazzler? What a joke. Darius the Dunce more like.�� The manager stood in the doorway with his arms crossed,sneering at him. “I never want to see you back here again.�� The door of the speakeasy was slammed shut and the bolts clicked into place.

Isabella offered him a hand and levered him up onto his feet.

“I am so sorry. I don’t know what went wrong.�� He swayed, still disorientated from the punch.

“Maybe it is time to apologise to your old man. He’s still got a good job waiting for you.�� Isabella said as she quietly led him down the alley towards the main street.

Darius shook her hand off, his eyes flaring. “Never, not on your life. That’s exactly what he wants! He wants me to grovel.�� Darius spat on the pavement. “He has always looked down on me. If there was another war, then he’d expect me to be a hero, just like him. But there isn’t, so I must go and work for him. I’d just be his shadow.�� Darius shuffled down the street. “I’m my own man. I’ll hit the big time on my own terms or take a dirt nap trying,�� he grumbled angrily to himself.

Darius sat at the kitchen table as the clock approached midnight. After his outburst earlier, the bravado was wearing off and depression had well and truly set in. Isabella put two steaming cups of coffee and a pair of bologna sandwiches in front of them.

“What am I going to do, Isabella?�� Darius asked. He took a sip of the scalding hot drink.

“You have to speak to your father.��

Darius glared at her. “That isn’t an option, and you know it.��

“We are a week behind on the rent and we’ve lost our only paying gig.�� She reached over to stroke his hand. “I know how you feel, but just how many options do we have left?��

Darius sat in silence, his stubborn determination to succeed as a magician almost faltered before he sniffed. “I’ll pawn my watch tomorrow. That’ll buy us some time.��

“Time? Darius, listen to yourself. Please.��

“One week.�� He looked up. “If I don’t get another paid gig in a week, then I’ll…�� He ground his teeth. “I’ll go and see Father.��

She looked uncertain, but smiled at him.

Shadows stretched long and lean in the early morning hours, cast by the towering buildings lining the narrow back streets. Darius strode on, radiating a false confidence. His chin was up, his eyes steely, belying the fear that thrummed in his heart. The filthy cobblestone lanes echoed with the clip-clop of horse’s hooves and the hum of automobiles. Laundry was strung from fire escape to fire escape, fluttering in the cool breeze and adding a homely touch to the otherwise gritty landscape.

Darius dodged round a steaming pile of horse manure. He could hear the cacophony from the main thoroughfare, even this far back. The raw shouts of the street vendors melded with the discordant honks of drivers and the ceaseless chatter of the city’s denizens. He nodded benevolently at a young man, who scowled back at him in return as they passed. The stench of horse manure mingled with the sharp tang of smoke from nearby factories and the underlying hint of the salty Hudson River. He passed several back-alley bakeries, speakeasies and shops until he found his destination, ‘Paddy’s Pawn & Antiquities��. 

Paddy’s was a dismal shop. It reeked of old wood, musty books, aged leather, and human failure, dusty violins, tarnished silverware, weathered books and unwanted junk 

Paddy was sitting in his usual place, perched behind a wooden counter, protected by a steel screen. A treasure trove of pawn tickets, jewellery, and dollars was boxed up at his side. The glimmering light from the bare bulbs overhead cast dancing reflections off the gold and silver items that lay in the steel reinforced glass cabinet below.

Darius paused as he approached the counter. The pocket watch was a gift from his father on his eighteenth birthday. He looked into Paddy’s eyes. Paddy gave him a knowing smirk. He’d seen this conflict before, a thousand times.

“Greetings, my good man, the name’s Darius the Dazzler, and have I got a beaut of an item for you? A genuine—”��

“Cut the gab. Hand it over and I’ll tell you what it’s worth,�� Paddy interrupted.

Pulling out the pocket watch, Darius presented it to Paddy with a gracious gesture.

“Forty dollars for thirty days, eight bucks for interest.��

Darius froze, his eyes flaring. “Forty dollars? This is a masterpiece crafted by the Hamilton Watch Company. I’ll not accept a loan for less than half its shelf value. One hundred dollars. I won’t budge an inch.��

“Forty dollars, or there’s the door, you mook.��

Darius adopted a more obsequious stance, plastering a beneficent smile on his face. “Maybe if you gave it another gander—��

“Forty bucks.�� Paddy leaned back, crossing his arms.

“You bloodsucker, you leech, you parasite, you—��

Paddy jerked a thumb towards the exit. “Take it or scram.��

A soft voice, barely a whisper, echoed. “Seal the deal, then purchase me and I’ll make you wealthy beyond belief.��

Darius spun around, trying to pinpoint where the voice was coming from.

“Well, are you gonna hawk it, or are you just gonna flap your gums?�� Paddy raised an eyebrow. “Well?��

“Over here, you gibbering imbecile.�� The voice continued. “I’m covered by something ghastly. Is it linen? Please don’t let it be mere linen.��

Darius wandered away from the counter, following the sound. Confused, he lifted a cloth off a burnished antique mirror. It had a captivating shimmer to its glass. As he looked into it, his own reflection morphed into the impressive visage of a man sporting a top hat and a meticulously curled moustache.

“You can hear me?��

“Yeah, I can hear you. How are you talking to me?�� Darius looked behind the mirror to see how the trick was being performed. 

“Oh great, you’ve lost your marbles.�� Paddy folded his arms. “All right mister, time to go.��

“Shh, say nothing. You are upsetting the mortal. Just buy me.�� The man in the mirror pleaded. “I can make you rich. My magic is powerful beyond your imagination.��

The corners of Darius’s mouth curled up into a hopeful grin. 

I’ll never have to grovel to the old man again.

“How much is this mirror?”��

Paddy looked at him shrewdly. “Forty dollars.��

“O�� course it is,�� Darius muttered bitterly as he handed over the pocket watch. 

He left the pawn shop holding aloft his new mirror. The tarnished, glistening object shimmered, and the aged magician appeared in the centre.

“Well done, old boy. You have just taken the first step towards joining an elite group as a master of the arcane arts. Of course, I’ll need something too, a body, for instance, so that I can leave this mirror.��

“I’ll do anything, I promise, but I can’t help you unless I get money, and fast.�� Darius could hardly breathe, a mixture of anxiety and anticipation was percolating in his gut, forming a cocktail more potent than any glass of Bee’s Knees. “I have a problem. I was supposed to return with money for the rent.�� He sucked at his teeth. “I don’t suppose you can conjure–�� he waved his hands dramatically “–or magically summon forth dollar bills?��

From within the mirror, Cornelius flared his eyes. “In a way, my dear boy. We’ll do it in the most time-honoured of sorcerous traditions, using the wondrous power of illusion.�� Cornelius hesitated. “Tell me, are you familiar with the card game Poker?��

Darius nodded slowly. “Yes, but I have no luck with the cards.��

“Luck?�� Cornelius looked as though he had just tasted something foul. “Magicians don’t deal in luck. We calculate. We study. We win. Now, I just happen to know a little Sumerian cantrip that will sway the fates in your direction.�� Cornelius smirked, his face filling the glass.

Darius felt his heart beating with excitement. For the first time since he’d embarked on his quest to become a magician he was beginning to feel a strong stirring of hope.

He stepped out and walked tall through the labyrinthine heart of New York. Illegal speakeasies thrummed with jazz, bathtub gin joints leached cigarette smoke. It was a given that every such establishment harboured a clandestine back room, alive with the clink of whiskey glasses and the rustle of playing cards. He’d performed at enough of these places to know his way around.

“I don’t have cash, but I can front this rather fine antique mirror.�� Darius bowed obsequiously to the thugs in front of him. They scoffed at it. This was the fifth such den of iniquity. He had tried to find a game that would allow him in. Each den was poorer than the last as he strove to find someone who would accept his mirror as collateral.

A man in a cheap linen suit puffed on a cigar as he regarded Darius with an ill-favoured look. “You think you can join us by bartering that copper trash?��

Darius ignored the sputtering from Cornelius. “This is not copper. This is nothing other than the finest bronze, a relic from ancient Egypt. It is a masterpiece worth at least a thousand bucks, two thousand even, to a collector, a connoisseur of the period.��

A slippery looking devil, with a pencil-thin moustache, was sitting in the shadows in the gloomiest corner of the room. He gave Darius a greasy grin. “That’ll be a fine addition to the downstairs shitter. Please the wife no end.�� He pulled out a pair of bills. “I’ll front you twenty bucks with the mirror as security. It’s a ten dollar buy in for the game.��

“Only twenty dollars?�� Darius sputtered.

“Take it,�� Cornelius said. He gave a dark chuckle. “It’s all we need. Soon he’ll be so desperate he’ll give us the clothing off his back. Now, head to the toilet and cut the palm of your hand, nice and deep, and listen closely. I want you to say ‘Sukunsu Ramansu.’��

Darius paused. They poured drinks from a bottle of whiskey at the centre of the table. The man with the cigar offered a glass to Darius.

”You’ve got to be joking,�� Darius spluttered.

“All real magic needs sacrifice. It’s the circle of life. You get nothing for free,�� Cornelius said.

The man with the whiskey shrugged. “Could’ve just said ‘no.’��

Darius bit his lip. “I need to hit the john real quick.��

“Oh, come on, you’ve just got here.�� The player with the pencil-thin moustache complained.

“I’m really sorry. I’ll be quick,�� Darius promised.

“Remember ‘Sukunsu Ramansu!’�� Cornelius yelled from the mirror.

Darius scuttled out to the main bar. Finding the toilets there, he sought refuge in one of the cubicles.

Why am I doing this?

He pulled out his pocket knife and clicked it into the locked position.

Because a magic man in a mirror told me to. I’m going insane.

He took a deep breath and sliced into his sweaty palm. It was harder than it looked. The combination of the pain and the blunt knife meant his forehead was covered in a sheen of sweat by the time a line of thick carmine red swelled up in his palm. “Sukunsu Ramansu,�� he muttered. His eyes widened as the blood disappeared, his hand shook as deep, aching pain ran up his arm and he bit on his arm to stop himself crying out in pain. He looked round. Nothing seemed to have happened. The worn paint of the cubicle was just the same, no sparks, no lights, no smoke, just the ammonia scent of stale urine. But, glancing down, his eyes widened in amazement. The cut in his hand had already healed and there was no trace of any blood.

Magic!

Darius returned to the table. He picked up the cards that had been dealt to him, with a newfound confidence, despite their dismal content. Darius looked up at the other players. He could see the card backs mirroring their fronts. Much to the other players�� suspicion, he grinned and shuffled his cards into order. “Well, gentlemen, let’s play, shall we?��

Darius burst through the front door with glee on his face. “Isabella! Isabella, pour us both a glass of gin. I have magnificent news.�� He thudded the mirror on the living room table.

“Careful,�� Cornelius hissed.

Isabella came into the room and Darius grabbed her hands, swinging her in a clumsy waltz around the tiny flat.

“Did you get much for the watch?�� Isabella asked.

“More than I’d expected. Here, this will keep us going for a few weeks.�� He pulled a wad of grimy notes from his jacket, which she immediately squirrelled away in a coffee tin.

Her eyes travelled to the mirror. “What is that?��

“That is for a new act. Oh Isabella, I met someone, and he taught me such secrets. I was sworn to secrecy, otherwise I would happily teach you the forbidden arts of the ancient world.�� Darius kissed her exuberantly. “I need tomorrow to practise, then I am getting my job back. They won’t be able to resist my new tricks.��

Isabella grinned with reflected enthusiasm. “That’s wonderful, but you remember your promise, don’t you?��

“If I don’t get a good job by the end of the week, I promise you I will abandon my dreams and beg my father for a job in the firm.�� Darius pulled her close. “But I won’t have to, because this time next week I’m going to be famous.��

Isabella danced with him. “I believe in you D, I really do.�� Pulling apart, she left to pour the last of the gin into two glasses.

Cornelius, within the mirror, was drinking a martini. He looked wistfully at the drink. “If only it were possible to get drunk in this infernal prison.�� He tossed the empty glass behind him, and Darius heard it shatter. Another glass materialised in Cornelius’s hand, and he beamed at it. “Still, the fun is in the trying.�� His eyes narrowed. “Don’t celebrate too much. We have much work to do tomorrow.��

Darius nodded, paying attention until Isabella arrived with the gin. Then he gently dropped a woollen blanket over the mirror, despite Cornelius’s sputtering indignation and led his wife into the bedroom.

Unable to sleep, Darius left his wife’s bed before sunrise and went to the mirror. He removed the cloth, but the glass only showed his own sleep-deprived face looking back at him. “Psst,�� he hissed. He waited, then tried again, louder, “Cornelius?��

A head appeared wearing an eye mask and a nightcap. Cornelius scrabbled at the mask with his hands, then peered blearily through the mirror at Darius. “When I said don’t celebrate too much, I did, of course, mean get your eight hours of sleep. I can’t have you falling asleep at the table while I struggle to teach you elementary Enochian.�� He waved his hand and a china cup materialised in it. “What I wouldn’t give for a cup of real coffee. There is a limit to what the placebo effect can achieve. What time is it, anyway?��

“I sold my watch.�� Darius shrugged. “The sun hasn’t risen, though.��

“The sun hasn’t? Oh, heavenly hosts, save me from these savages.�� Cornelius looked round at the cramped kitchen-living room combo. “You live here? I barely got a glimpse of your barren prison complex before you tossed that filthy rag over me.��

“Filthy rag?�� Darius picked up the woollen blanket and self-consciously folded it. “Isabella’s mother knitted that. It’s for our first child.��

Cornelius gave a look of disgust. “Well, burn it and save your child from its scratchy embrace. The poor thing. You might as well wrap it in burlap.�� He pursed his lips. “Now that you’ve rudely awoken me, perhaps you could find us somewhere private, so we can practise away from prying eyes.��

“That will be a problem. Our apartment is quite small.��

Cornelius gave Darius a long look. “You absolutely are not practising in here. I shall teach you the secrets of the ancients, mystical incantations that are not for the ears of the common people, even if you are married to them.��

Darius pondered, pacing up and down the cramped room. “I don’t know anywhere, I…��

“You don’t know any cafés that will let you practise after hours? What about public houses? Taverns? How about warehouses? I’m sorry, this is New York, isn’t it?��

“Well, none of them will be open now.�� Darius scratched the back of his neck. “I could ask around at nine, I guess.��

Cornelius replaced his eye mask and adjusted his nightcap. “Well then, what a wonderful interlude into what had previously been a marvellous sleep. You can wake me when we are somewhere private. Just keep me away from nunneries. I’ve had bad experiences with nuns.��

Finding a convenient place to practise was harder than Darius had expected, warehouses were a bust, nobody wanted to leave him unsupervised and surrounded by goods. Bars, well, they didn’t want him to be left unsupervised with their alcohol. Eventually, he struck lucky. One of the local diners had a back room for playing cards. Since nobody in their right mind would play cards at 9 o’clock in the morning, it was standing empty, a vacant room bringing in no income. Consequently, Darius was offered the room for a pittance, with the understanding that in the unlikely event of someone starting a game he would have to leave immediately.

Under these somewhat humbling terms, it meant nearly two stressful days until Darius could actually begin his training. During this time, Darius was feeling sick with excitement, Cornelius was left feeling frustrated under his blanket and Isabella was well aware that her husband was up to something, but she had no idea exactly what that might be.

When Darius finally got Cornelius and his travelling case of magician’s equipment together in privacy, he was so keen to start that he thought he would burst. There was a squeaking sound from his case as he pulled out a small cage of rats. The first spell of the day had been using his own blood to summon them. This was a trivial task in New York City, a vast urban settlement where you are never more than a few feet from a rat.

He placed the mirror on the table and stood ready.

“First lesson,�� Cornelius said, “Sacrificing rats discreetly will save you pints of personal blood loss.��

Darius adjusted his suit as he returned to the speakeasy from which he had been expelled under such ignominious circumstances.

As he entered, the manager paused in his task of polishing a glass to swear. “I told you never to return here, Dunce.��

Saxon looked up warily and cracked his knuckles.

Darius smiled and bowed, “My name, dear Harold, is Darius the Dazzler and I am only here for the briefest of moments, just long enough to buy you a drink of the finest bourbon, and then I shall depart.��

Harold looked at him suspiciously, but relented. “Five minutes.��

Darius reached into his jacket where a pigeon lurked and snapped its neck as he muttered “Sh’teh u’d’mach��

The glass in the bar owner’s hand burbled and suddenly filled with a dark red liquid. Harold dropped it down onto the wooden bar, where the glass slopped its contents over the astounded patrons. He sniffed at it suspiciously. “It’s wine.��

Darius bowed again. “Only the best for you, Harold.��

“I thought you said bourbon.�� Harold pushed away the glass. “That’s weird, I’m not drinking that.��

“It’s magic wine. It gives you luck.��

One of the patrons eagerly reached for the glass. “I’ll drink it.��

Darius smiled. “A man of taste.��

He gulped it down before coughing. “I think it is corked.��

“O�� pedestrian taste.�� Darius snatched the wine from his hand and downed it.

Urgh, that wine is vinegar.

It burned as it flowed down his throat. “Lovely. Lovely magic wine.�� He smiled.

Harold was still looking at the glass dubiously.

“As you can see, my powers have grown considerably,�� He doffed his hat to Harold. “Could you examine my hat, please?�� He offered it to the landlord, who looked inside it suspiciously, tapping the inside to check for a false bottom. “Now place the hat on the bar–not on the spilt beer. Show some respect!�� Darius recomposed himself. He discreetly used his newly sharpened pocket knife to slice his palm, “Ayeh ha’arnevet sheli,�� he chanted.

There was silence as Darius froze before he grinned at Harold. “Could I have my hat back, please?��

Harold lifted the hat, gasping, along with the few spellbound patrons, when he saw that underneath it sat Fumpa, Darius’s white rabbit.

“Ah, Fumpa, I wondered where you had got to.�� Darius swiftly scooped him up from the bar and returned him to his crate in the travel case. “I think that is enough magic for now. I save the truly powerful magic for a paying audience.�� He looked slyly at Harold. “I don’t suppose you know where I can find one, do you?��

Harold’s eyes narrowed. “Fine, I’ll give you a trial session starting tomorrow night.��

“Why thank you, I recognise an astute businessman when I see one. Though I need to warn you, my rates have doubled. I shall bring along several very expensive components and, like all businessmen, I have to cover my costs.��

“Fine,�� Harold growled. “I’ll accept that, for the trial show that is, we can discuss your rates afterwards, if you pass probation.��

The sound of raucous laughter and a roomful of voices raised in heightened expectation filtered through the storage cupboard door. Isabella and Darius stood waiting in the wings for the introduction of their act. Darius had been working four nights a week for two weeks now, and the speakeasy was abuzz with excitement as patrons packed the establishment to the brim, drawn by the tantalising prospect of witnessing Darius the Dazzler’s performance.

As he adjusted his collar in the mirror, Isabella said. “It ain’t right, Darius, and you know it.��

“What isn’t right, dear?�� He ran a lint roller over his red suit jacket.

Isabella paused, collecting her thoughts. “Before, when you were doing your act, I knew it wasn’t popular, but it was honest.��

“Honest? Darling, all magic is based on the twin pillars of misdirection and deceit,�� Darius said, puffing out his chest.

“I think that cleaning out the dead rats from the inside of your jacket is quite a big difference, D.�� Isabella grabbed Darius’s arm. “Talk to me. What are the rats even for? You don’t use them in your act, so why do you kill them?��

Darius sniffed. “They are less bulky than pigeons, but awkward to keep restrained in my jacket, hence the restraining tubes.��

“What do you use them for?��

Darius ignored her. “Are you ready?��

“As ready as I can be, I don’t do nothing out there. You do all the tricks solo now.��

Isabella’s whispers were loud enough to make Darius look at the cupboard door with some concern. “Hush, your beauty serves as a distraction. It allows me to work my magic unseen.��

She whacked him on the arm. “I’m not just an ornament, I want to be part of the act. Why won’t you tell me anything?��

“A magician never–��

“Don’t you dare finish that sentence,�� Isabella glared into his eyes. “I have supported you through thick and thin. We were a team until you got that mirror.��

Darius smiled at her. “We are still a team, only now, I’m making bank for us.��

They heard Harold introducing them.

“Here we go.�� Darius was grateful for the interruption. “Brace yourself.�� He threw open the cupboard door and strode onto the small pub stage. The lights reflected off his sequinned jacket as he beamed at the audience. A rousing applause greeted him. He glanced back when he noticed the absence of Isabella. She was still in the store cupboard, looking uncertain. He raised his hands above his head. “And introducing my glamorous assistant, Isabella��

Isabella glared daggers at him, before professionalism settled in and she walked out to join him on the stage. Catcalls and wolf whistles greeted her as she curtsied.

Triggering one of his sacrificial rats, Darius waved his wand. A shower of sparks flew over the audience’s heads, hung suspended in the air, and illuminated the room before slowly fading. “Ladies and gentlemen, the magic you are about to witness today was born in Ancient Mesopotamia, before being refined by the mystics in the East. The Pharaohs themselves stood humbled by it.�� He bowed. “These sorcerous secrets have never before been seen in America and you are as privileged to witness them as I am to perform them for you.��

The audience watched spellbound as Darius began his routine.

For this final act, Darius summoned ropes, which uncoiled like snakes to secure Isabella to the wall. “Great Osiris, judge of the dead, guide these blades. Oh, sweet Isabella, I trust you to be free of sin, I do.�� Flashing a dark grin at the audience, he waved his wand and three knives rose into the air. “But will Osiris be so lenient? I can only hope and pray that he sees you as I do.�� The first dagger flew across the room and thudded into the wall, missing her thigh by an inch.

“Blessed Osiris, we praise you for your mercy. Dear audience, I must now invoke the cleansing words to save my sweet assistant from the wrath of the gods.�� Darius chanted a few words in Ancient Egyptian and purple smoke rose up around Isabella.

Osiris wasn’t done. A second knife hurtled through the air and barely missed her neck. The third knife wobbled in the air as if indecisive as Darius theatrically threw his hands up in the air and raised the volume of his chanting. The third knife shot forwards and parted Isabella’s hair as it hit the wall. She had tears in her eyes as she sobbed with relief, gasping as the ropes parted and the fear began to leave her system. Shakily, she headed back to the store cupboard.

“Give it up for my brave Isabella, everybody.�� The audience clapped and cheered as the room erupted in a standing ovation. Darius took a deep bow, soaking up the adulation with a triumphant gleam in his eye. Harold, the landlord, his face flushed with the success of the night, made his way through the ecstatic crowd. “I would like to thank my good friend Darius the Dazzler personally for his exceptional performance tonight and cannot wait to see him perform again tomorrow at the greatest magic venue in New York.��

They shook hands before Darius turned to bow once more to the audience, who were still cheering enthusiastically, hoping to incite him to make more magic. 

His ecstasy at the crowd’s appreciation dimmed when he glanced over to the storage closet and saw his Isabella weeping.

Guilt wracked him and, with a final bow, he walked off the stage towards her with as much speed as he could muster, while still maintaining his composure.

“My sweet, what is it?�� he asked as he closed the door behind him. He tried to wrap his arms around her, but she beat her fists against his chest.

“Free of sin? You bound me against the wall, and I don’t even know how. Then you, who, as far as I know, have never thrown a knife in your life, hurl three of them at my face?�� She held up a shorn lock of hair. “This is how close you came to killing me, Darius.�� She eyed him venomously. “Never again.��

“I’m so sorry, I promise you though, you were never in any danger, my mastery of the arcane—��

“Listen to yourself.�� Her voice echoed through the small room. “You believe your own lies. These are tricks, Darius, not spells. You don’t speak to Ancient Egyptian gods.�� She shook her head sadly and her eyes locked with his in a pleading gaze. “You used to trust me. You used to show off your skills and include me in your practice.��

“I didn’t have any skills back then. I was just a rude amateur. I’m embarrassed at–��

“B������ then? You mean last week?��

Darius didn’t know how to approach his wife. He shook his hands as he tried to think of the right words.

If only there was a spell to make everything better? Maybe Cornelius knows something?

A sharp rapping on the door disrupted his chain of thought.

Darius gave an apologetic look to his wife. Instead of accepting it, she turned away from him. He opened the door to see a sharply dressed man waiting outside.

“I saw your show.�� His teeth looked predatory even as his eyes glittered with awe. “And I have to say, I have never seen magic like that.��

Darius preened. “Why thank you, I’ve spent my life researching the dark arts and travelling to the hidden places of the Earth.��

Behind him, Isabella gave an angry snort.

“Well, Darius, it paid off, and it’s about to pay off even more. I’m Benny Maroni, I am a talent scout and I think that in a few weeks, with my guidance, you are going to become rich, rich beyond your wildest dreams.��

Darius licked his lips. “I am?��

“Darius, I have, on my books, some of the wealthiest casinos in the city. We do a brief stint in New York, and then we are heading to Vegas.�� Benny rubbed his hands together. “And all I ask–�� he looked shrewdly at Darius “–is a meagre�� twenty percent.��

“That’s amazing. That’s great. Where do I sign?��

Benny clapped. “I knew that today was going to be a great day! I’ll just go and get the paperwork.��

Darius turned to Isabella. His eyes were glimmering with excitement.

“Darius, you have two options. Either tell me the truth and involve me fully, or I’m leaving you.��

He looked at her, stunned. “What? Didn’t you hear the man? We’ve done it, we’ve hit the big time.��

“You haven’t listened to a single word I’ve said, have you?�� Isabella wiped her eyes.

“I don’t understand.��

“I know you don’t. Fame blinds you. Are your secrets really worth more to you than us? I’ve stood by you for four years.��

Darius grew angry. “You liked me when I was a loser, is that it? When we scraped for cents, exhausted, tired, and humiliated.�� He scoffed. “That’s it, isn’t it? You feel threatened by my success. You are just like my father. Constantly trying to keep me down.��

He grunted as Isabella shoved him to one side and stormed out.

“Baby doll, where are you going?�� he called out. “I love you!��

Benny returned. “Trouble with the broad? Don’t you worry, the money you’ll get from signing this contract will buy you ten broads. Hell, you could have twenty broads.��

Darius numbly sighed, his mind still distracted by Isabella. He didn’t understand her reaction at all, but he did know that she’d be expecting an apology.

Rain had been bucketing down all evening. Despite that, Darius had walked home. He had needed to clear his head. Also, he was aware that his breath stank from the fortifying bourbon Benny had been more than happy to stand him. With faint hope, Darius carried a bunch of flowers. He’d spent the last of his money on them, trusting that he would soon be earning so much more. 

He stood at their front door, reflecting on his situation. Diplomacy won out, and he knocked instead of letting himself in with the key.

There was a long wait before Isabella, her eyes puffy, opened the door.

“I’m so sorry. I got caught up in everything that was going on.�� He handed over the waterlogged flowers. “I love you, Isabella, and I can’t do this without you.��

She looked at him. Her eyes hurt until she lowered her gaze and took the flowers. “I don’t want to leave, but I can’t go on like this.��

Darius took off his jacket, hanging it on the back of a chair. “I know and I understand. It is just�� My mentor warned me that if I tell anyone else my secrets, the magic won’t work anymore. I am just so scared Isabella. I feel as though my whole life has been leading up to this moment.��

“I just don’t see where I fit into this new life.�� She sat down. “I wish we had alcohol.��

You and me both, doll.

“This new life? It is meaningless without you. Please, you’ve come all this way with me. Just give me one more week, I beg of you. One more. If you still aren’t happy, then I’ll quit and go and work for my father.�� Darius said the last few words with disgust. “I�� promise.��

“And have you resent me for the rest of your life? This is the second time you’ve asked me to give you ‘one more week��.�� She rested her head in her hands and sobbed.

Darius reached out to her. “I asked you for one week to prove I could make a success of being a magician, and I proved it beyond even my wildest expectations. I am asking you now for one more week to prove I can make you happy.�� He winked at her. “If I am as lucky as I was before, then I’ll make you the happiest woman in the world. ��

She sniffed. “One week?��

“One week, baby, that’s all I ask.��

Isabella nodded with resignation and Darius felt his heart swell with hope.

Under the neon glow of Cleopatra’s Casino, a sign emblazoned with “Darius the Dazzler: Magic Like You’ve Never Seen!�� flickered. A crowd of eager gamblers lined up around the block for the premiere performance. Inside, Darius stood confidently, his hands on his hips as he watched the crew setting up his new and elaborate stage equipment.

In just two hours�� time, the audience would be filing in to watch Darius give the performance of his lifetime.

He strutted to his dressing room.

The mirror had been mounted in pride of place. Cornelius was waiting for him. “Well then, how is the big star feeling? Are you ready? Have you memorised the incantations? Are your rats wriggling and full of life force?��

Darius beamed at him, taking a deep breath. “It’s mad, absolutely mad, to think that all of this has happened in the last few weeks. Not even a month ago, I was broke and penniless, now–�� he gestured to his dressing room.

“Yes, you are quite the man. Just imagine how your father will feel. Soon you’ll be wealthier even than he is.�� Cornelius fluttered his eyelids in a condescending manner.

Darius scoffed. “It still won’t be enough to earn his respect. He’ll still tell me about how he served in the trenches and that I’m a weak and spineless boy.��

“Well, who needs him? You’ll soon have a luxurious mansion, servants, everything you deserve.��

“And what about you?�� Darius asked. “You’ve been so good to me.��

Cornelius flicked at an imaginary speck of fluff on his jacket. “Who? Me? Oh, I’ll be alive again dear boy, you’ll have found me a body.��

Darius nodded. “Yes, yes, I will. You’ve done right by me and I’m going to do right by you.��

“I never doubted it for an instant.��

“I’d best go and see Isabella. She is nervous about the show. She wanted to rehearse being sawed in half.��

Cornelius nodded. “O�� course. You’d think she’d trust you by now. She wants to rehearse everything. But in rehearsing an act, you remove its authenticity.�� He dismissed the notion with a theatrical shake of his head. “No, it wouldn’t do, wouldn’t do one bit. Only you and I can practise the incantations. The secrets of magic must never leave the sanctity of the magician - apprentice partnership.��

“I really should go to her. Her stage fright has been getting worse.�� Darius bowed to Cornelius, who tilted his head in farewell.

Darius knocked on Isabella’s door, opening it as she called out her permission.

What he saw took his breath away.

She had finished her hair and makeup and was wearing a tight sequined bodysuit. Her cap glistened as though covered with a thousand jewels. It was topped with a huge ostrich feather. When she looked at him, it was through eyes lined with black kohl, surrounded by a smoky eye shadow.

“Darius, I’m shaking. I can’t do this,�� she confessed, looking at her hands through her long elbow-length gloves.

Darius knelt before her and kissed her glove. “Every fear, every worry I had melted away when I saw you just now. You look spectacular.��

“But I don’t know what I am doing. I’ll just be tottering around on stage and following instructions. I don’t like it Darius, I’m not happy.��

“This is our debut, our premiere. The audience will be enamoured by you. They’ll experience every act with the innocence of your eyes. Your nerves, your shock, your awe, they’ll be with you every moment of your journey. This performance will be exceptional. They’ll never, ever forget it.�� He grinned. “It’ll haunt them for the rest of their days.��

The grand theatre was packed with an expectant audience. The air was heavy with perfumes, cigars, and the electric rush of anticipation.

Darius watched from the wings, puffing nervously on a cigarette, as the warm-up act gave a competent if traditional performance. The assistant was a young thing, who carried herself with a certain grace, but she wasn’t a patch on his Isabella. He glanced at his wife. She was sitting, wide eyed and anxious, sipping a dry martini and tapping her foot against the side of her chair. Darius never drank before a performance. Normally, neither would she, but the poor dear was suffering from an acute case of stage fright.

She’ll settle into the role soon enough.

For the umpteenth time, Darius adjusted his jacket. Despite it being tailored to his body, and despite the custom made rat harnesses, which were far more comfortable than his homemade ones, he just could not get comfortable. The vast crowd, which he’d always believed would motivate him with an electric excitement, instead filled him with dread.

What if I make a mistake? I can’t be Darius the Dunce again, not in front of hundreds of people.

He reached for his case.

Just one more cigarette. Then it’ll be time for me to go on.

As the support act wound up and the compère introduced him, his nerves faded.

It was time�� Darius set his shoulders and marched confidently onto the stage, an uneasy smile was smeared across his face. He gave a noble wave of his hand and a flawlessly choreographed bow. He just needed to perform as he’d practised. To introduce his act, Darius sacrificed his first rat.

Even Isabella seemed to enjoy herself as they approached the final act. The crew brought out an ornate coffin on two wheeled trestles. She climbed up a set of portable stairs and into the coffin. Crossing her arms on her chest, she calmly lay back.

“Can I have some volunteers from the audience who, free from compulsion, will ascertain that my beautiful assistant is lying at peace in the coffin and at the mercy of the saw?��

He picked seven of the raised hands at random, and they all solemnly checked the coffin. One serious looking man even knocked on the bottom of the coffin to check for secret compartments; another to Darius’s disapproval waved at the audience.

“Do you confirm she is in the coffin? Darius asked, as he gestured towards Isabella. Only the fates and the merciful gods, guardians of the sacred light, can protect her now.”��

“She needs Jeezus,�� bellowed a large witness in a floral hat. “That’s what she needs.�� The audience laughed.

“I thank you.�� He gave a respectful bow to his audience. “You may return to your seats now.�� With a sinister smile, he drew out a huge, razor sharp saw which glittered with evil intent. “I ask you all to make the sacred incantation with me. Only with your help can I save my beautiful wife.�� He placed the saw into a pre-cut guiding grove. “Ani mitpalel elecha.�� With one hand, he sacrificed a rat. “Ruhot atikot shel kedem.�� Closing his eyes, he said the final incantation. “Hatzili et ishti.��

The saw cut deep into the wood and slashed down as he vigorously tore through the pine coffin. The first screams started, and he smiled at his wife’s theatrical efforts. The saw continued. The pitch and volume of Isabella’s screams suddenly escalated, and the audience released a collective gasp.

Dial it back a notch dear, that’s a bit too much.

As if she heard him, silence followed, save for the sickening crunch of the saw as it breached the coffin’s other side. The blade was dripping with blood as Darius pulled apart, with a flourish, the two sides of the rent coffin for everyone to witness.

The long and shocked silence of the audience was followed by a wild screaming, and pandemonium as spectators scrambled to escape the living nightmare in front of their eyes. Screams bounced and echoed off the walls. A crush formed as they all panicked and desperately forced their way towards the exits.

Darius frowned in horror and disbelief as he stared blankly at the bloody remains of the coffin and of his wife. As the police were urgently summoned, he finally joined his audience in their screams. Tearing at his hair with his hands, he vomited in horror as blood and innards bled out across the stage floor. Ashen faced, he collapsed in all the gore, his clothes and body stained with the blood of his love.

The interrogation room was cold, the walls stark and oppressive. Darius was handcuffed to a cold metal chair. He’d lost his trademark top hat. He sat in his cape. His red suit was now stained brown with dried blood, tears were running down his cheeks. Darius ignored the detective, Detective O’Malley, who paced before him, staring at the table in shock.

“Listen, Darius, Dazzler or whatever you are called,�� O’Malley said, his voice gruff, “this isn’t one of your stage shows. We have witnesses - they all saw what happened to your wife. Cut in half, right on stage! And all you’ve got is some cock-and-bull story about magic mirrors and ancient spells?��

Darius lifted his head. “Detective, I can save her. I just need my mirror. You see, it holds the soul of Cornelius the Conjurer–��

“Save it for the stage.�� O’Malley cut him off, slamming his hands down on the table. “You expect me to believe that mumbo jumbo? That’s your defence?��

Before Darius could respond, the door to the interrogation room burst open. A junior officer whispered urgently into O’Malley’s ear. The detective’s hardened demeanour shifted to confusion, then anger. He stormed back to Darius, his fist connecting sharply with the magician’s jaw.

“You think you can make a fool out of us?�� O’Malley accused, his voice seething with contempt. “Using us for your cheap tricks, for publicity?��

The handcuffs clicked open, and Darius rubbed his aching jaw, bewildered. O’Malley yanked him up and dragged him through the maze of the precinct. The bustling activity of the station seemed a blur as he pulled Darius toward the front foyer and threw him forcibly onto the tiled floor.

Like a vision amidst the chaos, Isabella stood.

Alive. Whole. Smiling.

No, not smiling, smirking. His relief quickly turned to confusion. “Isabella?�� The last time he saw her, she’d been unmistakably, gruesomely, dead. Suddenly, he exhaled, smiling with relief. “Cornelius saved you, Oh, thank God.��

“Quit your acting, nobody believes you, Dazzler, and get out of my station.�� O’Malley snarled. “You’re free to go, no charges. But hang around and I’ll book you for wasting police time.��

As Darius stumbled towards Isabella, his mind reeled.

How is this possible? Have I fallen for my own illusion?

Isabella’s eyes met his, but her expression seemed alien, unfamiliar.

As they left the precinct, stepping out into the bustling streets of New York, Darius felt his heart grow cold. “Cornelius?��

“Hello, my dear boy, I must thank you for clearing out the spirit and preparing this body for me. It’s far more athletic than my last one.��

“No,�� Darius staggered back.

“You never even bothered to learn the magic, did you?�� Cornelius, in Isabella’s body, shook her head. “You just parroted out whatever spell I told you to. You are completely addicted to fame.�� She smirked. “You made it so easy.��

A tear rolled down Darius’s cheek. “Isabella, I am so sorry. I didn’t know.��

Cornelius laughed scathingly, “No, my dear boy, you just didn’t care.��

If you enjoyed this free short story, then please consider . My first collected works on Amazon containing sixteen short stories and novellas by Newton Webb.

If you enjoyed this free short story, then please consider or its sequel .

If you like page-turning frights, haunting revelations, and feeling your blood run cold, then you’ll love Newton Webb’s baleful phantasmagoria.

Sweet screams!

: 57 FREE horror stories, including ‘��, ‘��, ‘��, ‘��, ‘��

: 67 horror stories, including ‘��, ‘��

Praise for Tales of the Macabre, Vol. 1
"This book was full of nail-biting moments. The book was full of variety that kept you engaged and wanting to read the next story"
"Newton Webb never disappoints. His debut collection includes most of his best stories, spanning a huge amount of time and going through a great variety of settings. Some are novelettes, others more of a typical short story length, always well written, with a fantastic use of the English language"
"These 16 scary stories are really, really good! My absolute favorites of the bunch were Festival of the Damned and The Heir Apparent (man, what a twist I was NOT expecting!)"
"This was a very enjoyable collection of eerily prophetic stories, full of variety and encompassing a world of demonic entities, cannibalism, ghouls, murder, ancient curses and deviant sex addiction. From folk horror to supernatural sci-fi tales, what more could you wish for? Each story slowly unfolds with a sense of unease and menace, complimented by many unexpected twists and turns. The moral theme of these stories would appear to be, 'be careful of what you wish for'. Highly recommended"

If you enjoyed this free short story, then please consider or its sequel .

If you like page-turning frights, haunting revelations, and feeling your blood run cold, then you’ll love Newton Webb’s baleful phantasmagoria.

Buy them to shudder in fear tonight!

Praise for Tales of the Macabre, Vol. 1
"This book was full of nail-biting moments. The book was full of variety that kept you engaged and wanting to read the next story"
"Newton Webb never disappoints. His debut collection includes most of his best stories, spanning a huge amount of time and going through a great variety of settings. Some are novelettes, others more of a typical short story length, always well written, with a fantastic use of the English language"
"These 16 scary stories are really, really good! My absolute favorites of the bunch were Festival of the Damned and The Heir Apparent (man, what a twist I was NOT expecting!)"
"This was a very enjoyable collection of eerily prophetic stories, full of variety and encompassing a world of demonic entities, cannibalism, ghouls, murder, ancient curses and deviant sex addiction. From folk horror to supernatural sci-fi tales, what more could you wish for? Each story slowly unfolds with a sense of unease and menace, complimented by many unexpected twists and turns. The moral theme of these stories would appear to be, 'be careful of what you wish for'. Highly recommended"

Free Horror Stories

A Chemical Connection by Newton Webb

: 48 horror stories, including ‘��, ‘��

: 57 FREE horror stories, including ‘��, ‘��, ‘��, ‘��, ‘��

: 67 horror stories, including ‘��, ‘��

Toby sat flicking through a cartoon pirate picture book, the four-year-old’s pudgy little legs swaying under his chair. Jane, his mother, gripped his tiny hand as they waited in the optician's clinic on blue plastic seats. 

Putting down his book, Toby noticed a large mirror hanging on the wall next to a rack of glasses frames. “Look Mummy, it’s there as well.��

Jane looked at the mirror and squeezed Toby’s hand. “There is nothing there, sweetheart, just you and me.��

Before Toby could protest, a door beside the reception opened, and a voice called out, "Toby? Dr. Edwards will see you now."

Jane stood up, hoisting her bag strap onto her shoulder. "Come on, dear. Let's go get your eyes checked."

Toby hesitated, but finally relinquished his gaze from the elusive shadow in the mirror. He allowed his mother to lead him into the examination room.

Dr. Edwards was a gentle man with kind eyes, wearing a white lab coat and stylish glasses. He shook Jane's hand and gave Toby a welcoming smile. "Hello there, young man. Ready to have super eyes like a superhero?"

Toby grinned, momentarily forgetting the shadowy image. Dr. Edwards guided him through the standard tests—reading letters off a chart, looking through various lenses, and answering questions about his vision.

"All seems quite standard for his age," Dr. Edwards told Jane as he jotted down some notes. “Any history of glaucoma in the family?��

“Nothing on my side. I don’t know about his father. We didn’t stay together long. He was quite odd.��

“Well, we’ll test little Toby, anyway. It’s no bother.��

“I am more worried about the shadows he says he sees in mirrors. The doctors have given him an MRI and a CAT scan, but can’t see anything to explain it.�� Jane wrung her hands. 

Dr. Edwards gave her a patronising look. “It is perfectly normal for parents to worry about their kids, but you must remember that children have a wonderful capacity for imagination.�� He chuckled. “At his age, I’d named all my teddies and established a strict hierarchy between them. It was called Ted Stop Land, if you can believe it.��

“I’m not making it up,�� Toby sullenly protested.

“Oh, I’m sure it feels very real to you, little one.�� Dr. Edwards pulled some stickers from his drawer. “Here, why don’t you stick these in your bedroom to make it more fun?��

Jane thanked the doctor and tugged on Toby’s hand, leading him out of the room. She swiftly buried the stickers in her purse before they could be lost. “Thank you, doctor.�� Then to Toby, she said in a quieter voice, “Come on, let’s get some ice cream.��

“I think it is a person.�� Toby confided.

“The shadow is?�� Jane stopped and looked at her son.

“Yeah, I think it is a person.��

Jane smiled, a sense of relief crossing her face. “I’m sure it is.��

Danny passed Toby another beaker of lurid orange tango. The taboo thrill of staying up past midnight made the simple pleasure of the flavoured soda drink the epitome of pre-teen freedom. 

Danny had stolen his older sister's Hellraiser VHS tape, and they watched it together. The volume was at an almost inaudible level to avoid alerting Danny’s Nan, a fearsome individual, who would crouch at the top of the stairs and hiss at them if she was woken.

With a bladder full of orange tango, Toby headed to the bathroom. As always the mirror showed him and his secret special friend. Toby had stopped confiding in others about the shadow. As he’d grown older, the shape had grown clearer. 

When he had decided that the shadow was a girl, his psychologist had told his mother that it was a clear sign of Toby’s emerging sexuality through puberty. After that, he pretended that he couldn’t see anything in the mirror anymore. It was just easier. He couldn’t make out many of the details. The clothes seemed old, very old, rags even. Her face was a blur still, but he was sure that she had a woman’s shape. Toby had tried to talk to her, but the shadow was always quiet. She was always hiding, peeking around corners or hiding behind furniture. Her wrists and legs where they emerged from the clothing were almost alien. They were unnaturally thin.

When he was alone in the house, he tried talking to her, and she always stood there impassively watching him.

“Do you have any friends?�� He asked her, not expecting her to respond.

As always, she just stood watching him.

“Well, you have me.�� Toby washed his hands and smiled at his special secret friend. “I’m going to call you Susan.�� Flicking off the lights as he went, he re-joined Danny in the living room to watch the rest of Hellraiser. As he saw the myriad forms of the cenobites, he wondered what his friend looked like and what it was exactly that she wanted.

Why does she live in mirrors? Is she trapped?

As he sat down with crossed legs, Danny reached over and pinched him, causing him to yelp. 

“Bustard,�� Toby swore, giving his best Sean Bean impression.

They both erupted into giggles until the light upstairs flicked on. They looked at each other in horror.

Nan had woken up.

The sounds of warfare filled the cramped bedroom as Toby sat hunched in front of his computer. The flashing visuals of Command and Conquer set to a soundtrack from Virgin Radio. Toby clicked through the control groups as he co-ordinated a combined arms assault on the Brotherhood of Nod headquarters. He pumped the air, as the victory screen appeared, giving a wolfish grin to the small mirror by his monitor. Susan watched his triumph without reaction. She had become his constant companion, a small makeup mirror allowing him to see her as he used his computer.

Susan used to be a mere flicker in the corner of his eye, a shadow lurking in darkened corners whenever he looked into a reflective surface. 

He glanced again suspiciously at the mirror. Lately, she had been inching closer to the mirror, becoming more visible.

Toby stood in front of the mirror, performing his morning ritual. He already brushed his teeth, combed his hair, and was now examining his latest attempts at shaving. Behind him, the ghost seemed more tangible, more defined. The murky shadow of her form had sharpened, and her features became clearer. She was bald. What he’d previously thought was hair was a hood. Her lips were cracked and thin, but with a vibrant, glossy, burgundy hue to them, like chopped liver. Her hands were now visible, elongated and skeletal, with twitching fingers. 

It unsettled Toby. He had known she was a girl for a long time now, but this demonic creature was not what he’d expected. He’d always imagined the shadow he had coexisted with for so long to be beautiful, not this monster. They had a strange sort of relationship, a routine. He'd catch her haunting reflection in mirrors, windows, even the glossy screens of his computer monitor when he turned it off. He'd acknowledge her with a fleeting glance, maybe even a wave or a nod. But never had she been this close, this visible.

He decided to test her, as he was getting ready for school one morning. Looking into the bathroom mirror, as she stood behind him, still as ever. He suddenly leapt at the mirror and yelled out, “Rawr!��, his arms outstretched.

The shadowy girl did not react. She remained as impassive as ever, her cracked lips unchanging, pressed together in quiet contemplation. But Toby could swear that her eyes, still shadowed and indistinct, empty spaces on her shadowy face, were fixed on him more intently than before.

Is she getting clearer?

He rinsed his mouth, turned off the faucet, and left the bathroom troubled.

The TV played through a haze of marijuana smoke. In the background, his friends from Durham University had Clerks playing on DVD. Together, they watched the tv through red-rimmed eyes. 

Toby passed the spliff. A massive bag of crisps rested on his ample paunch. Absentmindedly, he reached up with his fingers to shake clear any crumbs from his rapidly growing beard. 

Toby's first year at Durham University had been a whirlwind of change, a new city, new friends, and new hobbies that took him further away from his old life. From the late-night LAN parties to the movie club's weekly screenings and the Dungeons & Dragons sessions that sometimes stretched into the wee hours, he was continually preoccupied. Yet, despite all the distractions, one thing remained consistent: the girl in the glass.

Where the girl in the glass, he refused to call her Susan anymore, had previously lingered in dim corners. She now stood directly behind him, peering over his shoulder, closer than she'd ever been before. There were times when he felt he could feel her cold breath on his neck.

Getting up, the taste of Newcastle Brown ale on his breath, he lumbered towards the toilet. Swearing under his breath, he focused on the toilet bowl to avoid looking into the large bathroom mirror. He caught a glimpse of the girl in the glass, her bald head clear, with dry, thin skin stretched tightly over her face. Her cheekbones were sharply indented, giving her an almost skeletal appearance. Everything about her was now grotesquely clear, except for her eyes. They remained hidden, shrouded in some unfathomable darkness that not even her newfound proximity could illuminate.

The shadow that had once been a curiosity, even a friend, now due in part to her closeness, her "realness," felt invasive, almost threatening.

At home, he preferred to brush his teeth in the shower, where the steam and lack of reflective surfaces offered a brief respite. He even set up his computer screen to be as non-reflective as possible, tweaking settings and installing matte screen protectors. But it was more than just an avoidance of her appearance; it was the unsettling thought that this entity, this constant in his life, was somehow getting closer in a way that he couldn't understand or control.

The doorbell rang. Shaking off the remaining urine, flushing and washing his hands, he went to the front door to let in Barry.

“Mate! Wait, is your t-shirt on back to front?�� Barry was hefting a case of Budvar in his arms.

“Probably.�� Toby shrugged, moving to one side to let Barry pass. He dressed without checking how the clothes looked on him. Small sacrifices, he thought, if it meant less interaction with the apparition that crept closer every day.

But avoiding her wasn't always possible.

"Hey, man, we're setting up a new game downstairs. You in?" Jake, his roommate, popped his head into Toby's room one evening.

"Yeah, sure. Give me a second." Toby quickly put on a hoodie and grabbed his laptop. Just as he was about to step out, he caught a glimpse of himself in the small mirror on the back of their door.

And there she was. The spectral woman stood closer than ever, her ghostly figure almost touching him. Her eyes remained hidden in the shadows, but the rest of her face was disturbingly clear.

Feeling a shiver crawl up his spine, Toby turned away, forcefully pushing the image out of his mind. He jogged down the stairs, eager to lose himself in the game, in the strategy and the banter, the trivial things that occupied so much of his time.

Yet as he rolled the dice, getting more ��1’s than he deemed normal, and strategised with his friends, a part of him remained alert, uneasy. No amount of laughter or camaraderie could fully dislodge the image of the spectral woman's increasingly clear visage, or the unsettling feeling that she was getting closer, becoming more real with each passing day. The only thing that took his mind off her was marijuana.

His grades were already beginning to slip. He had become irritable, finding it difficult to focus during lectures or while studying. His friends noticed the change, but attributed it to the stress of university life. 

If only they knew,

If only he could explain without sounding insane.

But he kept his silence.

"Do we really need a mirror that big?" Toby complained, eyeing it with evident discomfort.

“You clearly don’t you scruffy devil,�� his girlfriend Ivy stepped close to him and planted a kiss on his nose, almost the only patch of skin not covered by his enormous, bushy beard. "You are like a big fluffy dog, but I need it to put on my makeup in the mornings."

He didn’t explain the real reason he hated the mirror, the dread he felt every time he looked at his own reflection. For all his closeness to Ivy, there were still some parts of himself he kept hidden from her, scared of how she would react.

Whenever he had to use the bathroom, Toby found himself in an uneasy dance with his own reflection and the spectral woman who haunted it. She was closer now, so close that had she been real, he would've felt the cloth of her ghostly garments brush against his arms. She still didn't have eyes. Instead, where her eyes should have been, chilling red lights glowed like twin embers in a dying fire. 

Toby did what he could to minimise his mirror time. He avoided barbers, kept his grooming and tooth-brushing sessions brief to avoid eye contact with the ghostly figure looming behind him.

"Cheer up. It's like you're allergic to your own reflection," Ivy teased.

Toby gave an awkward chuckle. It was a miracle that he had found Ivy. His dishevelled appearance put off most people.

Perhaps she sees me as a project?

Either way, he was determined to make her happy. She was too good for him to squander.

He passed her his credit card. “I’ll pay half if you want.��

She squeed and kissed his bearded cheek. “Thank you Hagrid!��

Another compilation error.

Toby stared at the screen, poking at the keys, trying new permutations of the code in a vain attempt to get it to compile. He was due to present a working demo to his clients. His phone chirped. It was Ivy.

[Don’t be late home. Battersea has found us a suitable dog for adoption!]

Ivy had wanted kids, but a deep-seated fear of the girl in the glass and whether she might follow them as well had led to him denying his now wife. They had, in the end, decided to compromise and get a dog. They were still young and had plenty of time to have children. He needed to see the dog first though. Dogs often barked at Toby, because of his beard, he assumed. As for cats, he didn’t like them and they always stayed well away from him. 

He looked at the code. It came back again with a backdrop of red compilation errors. Slapping the desk, he surrendered. “Dave, I need you to work on getting the build working before you leave. I think the latest check-in screwed up the metadata, so that is a good place to start.��

Toby grabbed his jacket. 

What is the point of owning your own company if you can’t delegate?

He got the tube home to his house in Cricklewood. Ivy was waiting impatiently. He barely had time to drop off his bag and go to the loo before she bundled him into the car and they drove across the river to Battersea. Hopefully, to bring home a new dog.

They waited in the reception for the dog, Duke, to be collected. Toby smiled as a massive German Shepherd came round the corner. 

Ivy next to him leapt up and gasped. “Just look, he is so big and furry. Oh god, he is adorable.��

But Duke yelped, put his paws on the floor and retreated away from them both.

“Oh, he is shy,�� Ivy said, her heart breaking.

A cold sweat ran down Toby’s back. Duke wasn’t looking at Ivy, he wasn’t looking at him. He was looking at something behind Toby’s shoulder.

He’s looking at the girl in the glass.

He looked around in a panic. There were no reflective surfaces.

She is here all the time. I just can’t see her unless it’s in a mirror.

He shook in panic.

Ivy and the dog handler were trying to coax Duke forward, but he was desperately trying to escape, trying to get out of his harness to run, his eyes wide and wild with fear.

Toby could understand. He slapped at his shoulder and scratched at it as if he could touch his stalker. 

But there was nothing.

What should I do? Do I have to find a priest?

“Come on, Ivy,�� he said nervously. “Please, we should go.��

As he walked to the glass doors at the front of the shelter, he saw the girl in the glass. For the first time, she wasn’t looking at him. She was looking behind them to where Duke was being comforted by the handler.

When Duke was allowed to leave reception, the spectral woman's gaze returned from the dog, sweeping back towards Toby, and for the first time, her expression changed. A wide, grotesque grin spread across her bloodless, cracked lips, as if the dog's reaction had brought her some kind of grim satisfaction.

Toby felt a whirlwind of emotions. On one hand, he was relieved. Duke's reaction validated years of what he had convinced himself might be hallucinations or mere figments of his overactive imagination. On the other hand, the ghost's unsettling reaction—her smile—filled him with an apprehension he had never felt before.

By this point, Toby could see every grotesque detail of the spectral woman. Her ashen-grey wrappings seemed to bind her like a mummy, the blue veins on her bald head resembling a network of tiny rivers. Her body swayed more frequently now, and her fingers twitched almost incessantly. On occasion, her lips seemed to quiver, as if she were attempting to communicate something ineffable.

When he got home, he drank a large slug of whisky and went to go to the loo. He avoided looking in the mirror as per usual, but from the side of his vision he saw something that startled him. 

He turned to look in the mirror. 

It was just him. He forced himself to look everywhere in his reflection, but she was gone.

Perhaps the encounter in the dog shelter had scared her off.

He laughed, the release from tension leading to a form of delirium.

She is gone. I am free.

He washed his hands, for the first time revelling in his empty mirror as he did so. Flicking his hands dry, he rubbed the rest of the moisture off on the back of his slacks and turned with a big grin on his face.

She was standing right behind him.

He scrambled backwards to the corner of the room, eyes wide in fear.

She followed him, a wicked grin spreading across her ghoulish features.

If you enjoyed this free short story, then please consider . My first collected works on Amazon containing sixteen short stories and novellas by Newton Webb.

Greetings, my wicked darlings!

2024 already, good lord, it’s been a blur. What a year, Dry January seems a poor reward for all that work, but alas, here we go *sips his tea*.

In 2023, I unleashed a barrage of chills and thrills with twenty free short stories, a novel, and not one, but two collected works. I also launched a new audiobook series that's been tickling your eardrums and there's plenty more to come.

Now, let's talk about what's brewing for 2024. Get ready for "Tales of the Macabre, Vol. 3," the thrilling conclusion to our first trilogy. For those who love a good binge, a special edition compiling all stories from Volumes 1-3 in chronological order is also in the works. I hate to think how many pages that’ll be. The bookshelves will be groaning.

And yes, while "Tales of the Macabre, Vol. 4-6" is on the horizon, I'm pondering a detour back into novel writing, but something much darker and delectable than Nestor.

On a side note, if you're itching for a quick horror fix, I've got just the thing. Dive into "" by the brilliant Deaks, a free short story that's sure to send shivers down your spine. You'll find it on her Substack, and I highly recommend subscribing—her free stories are nothing short of spectacular.

Also, for a seasonal Christmas fix, check out Ryan Bush’s free story ��.�� I really liked the cosmic horror elements and wish I’d written it.

Here's to another year of eerie adventures and macabre tales. Cheers, my fellow horror aficionados! *raises his now tepid mug of tea in salute*.

Your ole�� pal, Newt.

New Releases

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Coming up this month, I have some ghoulish treats in store for you with two free eBooks and four free audiobooks!

10 January 2024 - The Girl in the Glass (eBook)
A man is haunted his entire life by the spectral appearance of a woman in his reflection, who inches closer with time, threatening his sanity and his soul.

12th January 2024 - The Enigmatic Skeleton (Audiobook)
The contents of an Anglo-Saxon museum incur an investigation with deadly consequences.

19th January 2024 - The Green Man (Audiobook)
In the depths of Sherwood Forest, two brothers are haunted by an eerie silence and a mysterious presence.

24th January 2024 - Darius The Dazzler (eBook)
The roaring twenties New York, glamour, stage magicians, cursed contracts and of course, murder.

26nd January 2024 - 12 Minutes (Audiobook)
A text message arrives, triggering a terrifying countdown.

2nd February 2024 - The Coconut Killer (Audiobook)
Okay, so technically this is February, but it’s before the February newsletter due to the vagaries of dates, so I’ve slipped it in this issue.
Coming out is a terrifying experience for anyone, but for Sam, it is murder.

In case you missed them, in December, we went a bit mental with the free stories (I hope they didn’t get caught in too many spam filters):

13th December -

After surviving narrowly escaping a murderous phantom in Scotland's eerie highlands, a farmer lets a lost woman into his home. But you can only outrun your past for so long.

15th December -

Held captive in her father’s basement, Amelia struggles to escape. But reality isn’t always what it appears to be and soon she will learn an earth shattering secret.

20th December -

As the body count rises in 80s Croydon, a terrified new librarian descends in a journey towards madness.

22th December -

When the black fog rolls in, death follows. In 1950‘s Grimsdyke, two lovers encounter a horror unlike any other.

27th December -

LSD, accountancy, bell-bottoms, unfortunate haircuts, and my personal favourite: Death.

29th December -

When young Jackson moves into the 'Grand Dame', an old boarding house in New Orleans, he becomes enamoured with the music emanating from his neighbour’s room.

: 57 FREE horror stories, including ‘��, ‘��, ‘��, ‘��, ‘��

: 67 horror stories, including ‘��, ‘��

: 48 horror stories, including ‘��, ‘��

, by Britton MC Jensen, Early Review Copy.

After the brutal murder of his family, Jonathan Vale left his home in the British Colony of Virginia to seek the power of resurrection. His journey would involve a secret cult of necromancers, a tribe of native warriors, a crew of pirates, and a monster in the deep south of Colonial America.

This man would soon become Johnny Bones, one of histories most infamous forgotten pirates.

, by JF Garrard, FREE on Kindle Unlimited or available to buy on Amazon.

Ever since Tamara became a vampire, things have gone downhill. Her grandma runs off with her daughter’s soul and then her husband thinks she’s gone crazy. The only thing certain right now is that she has to save her daughter, no matter what the cost.

Caught in the middle of a war between vampires, sorceresses and warlocks, she discovers an alternative history to the world she thought she knew.

, by Mark Tullius, FREE on Kindle Unlimited, or available to buy.

Joe hates his life. His ability to read minds gets him thrown into Brightside, a prison town far from society. Sure, he gets a new girlfriend, but the oppressive environment combined with their exposed thoughts increasingly wears at their relationship over time.

After a horrible tragedy, some of the telepaths decide to make their escape. But they’re up against a vicious pack of guards who see the prisoners as dangerous freaks. Can the group’s unique abilities free them from Brightside's oppressive confines, or are they doomed to live in captivity and slowly lose their minds?

, by Candice Nola, FREE on Kindle Unlimited, or available to buy.

"Caught between an ancient evil and a man with nothing to lose, a young girl's fate hangs in the balance."

Erin Rogers and her daughter Casey have been missing in the Alaskan wilderness for five days. Troy Spencer is determined to find his sister and niece at any cost. Once there, a local tells Troy about a loner, Bishop, a man shrouded in secrets, who may be his only hope.

, by R.A. Goli, FREE download.

Gna' is sent to the Underworld to negotiate the release of Frigga's son, Baldur. Gna' must fight a sorceress, fend off an attack from hellhounds, solve riddles, and face Hela's army of undead in her attempt to secure Baldur's freedom.

, by Joseph J Dowling, FREE download.

Detective Craig Cornell is called to a triple-murder at an isolated house near Exeter, New Hampshire, the latest in a sequence of gruesome deaths which stems back 300 years. A White Oak at the rear of the property may hold the key. According to local legend, a woman was accused of witchcraft and hanged from it. As the bodies pile up, Cornell is haunted by horrific visions.

Is it his past catching up with him, or does the tree really hold an ancient, evil spirit?

, by Claudine Marcin, FREE download.

William R. Hollandsworth III is rich and powerful; both admired as well as feared. He’s also dying. But he’s thought his way out of bigger problems than this.

Will he find a way to cheat death, or has he finally met his match?

Click the image to play the game - if you dare!

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If you enjoyed this email, then please consider . My first collected works on Amazon containing sixteen short stories and novellas by Newton Webb.

2022 �� , Novella

2018 �� , Novella

2017 �� , Novel

2013 �� , Novella

2012 �� , Novella

1958 �� , Short Story

1864 �� , Novella

1832 �� , Novella

1818 �� , Novella

1194 �� , Short Story

Read a collection of free short stories or listen to free audiobooks by Newton Webb on his website.

If you enjoyed this free short story, then please consider or its sequel .

If you like page-turning frights, haunting revelations, and feeling your blood run cold, then you’ll love Newton Webb’s baleful phantasmagoria.

Buy them to shudder in fear tonight!

Praise for Tales of the Macabre, Vol. 1
"This book was full of nail-biting moments. The book was full of variety that kept you engaged and wanting to read the next story"
"Newton Webb never disappoints. His debut collection includes most of his best stories, spanning a huge amount of time and going through a great variety of settings. Some are novelettes, others more of a typical short story length, always well written, with a fantastic use of the English language"
"These 16 scary stories are really, really good! My absolute favorites of the bunch were Festival of the Damned and The Heir Apparent (man, what a twist I was NOT expecting!)"
"This was a very enjoyable collection of eerily prophetic stories, full of variety and encompassing a world of demonic entities, cannibalism, ghouls, murder, ancient curses and deviant sex addiction. From folk horror to supernatural sci-fi tales, what more could you wish for? Each story slowly unfolds with a sense of unease and menace, complimented by many unexpected twists and turns. The moral theme of these stories would appear to be, 'be careful of what you wish for'. Highly recommended"

If you enjoyed this free short story, then please consider or its sequel .

If you like page-turning frights, haunting revelations, and feeling your blood run cold, then you’ll love Newton Webb’s baleful phantasmagoria.

Buy them to shudder in fear tonight!

Praise for Tales of the Macabre, Vol. 1
"This book was full of nail-biting moments. The book was full of variety that kept you engaged and wanting to read the next story"
"Newton Webb never disappoints. His debut collection includes most of his best stories, spanning a huge amount of time and going through a great variety of settings. Some are novelettes, others more of a typical short story length, always well written, with a fantastic use of the English language"
"These 16 scary stories are really, really good! My absolute favorites of the bunch were Festival of the Damned and The Heir Apparent (man, what a twist I was NOT expecting!)"
"This was a very enjoyable collection of eerily prophetic stories, full of variety and encompassing a world of demonic entities, cannibalism, ghouls, murder, ancient curses and deviant sex addiction. From folk horror to supernatural sci-fi tales, what more could you wish for? Each story slowly unfolds with a sense of unease and menace, complimented by many unexpected twists and turns. The moral theme of these stories would appear to be, 'be careful of what you wish for'. Highly recommended"

Free Horror Stories

The Croydon Ripper by Newton Webb

: 133 horror stories, including ‘��, ‘��, ‘��, ‘��

: 91 FREE horror stories, including ‘��, ‘��, ‘��

: 62 horror stories, including ‘��, ‘��, ‘��, ‘��, ‘��, ‘��, ‘��, ‘��, ‘��, ‘��

: 48 horror stories, including ‘��, ‘��, ‘��, ‘��, ‘��

: 23 FREE horror stories, including ‘��, ‘��

Sheila glanced at the clock on the wall for what felt like the tenth time in the past five minutes. It read 7:47 and was ticking ever closer to the library’s evening closing time and, more importantly to her, moving closer to the hour when she would have to walk alone to the bus stop. The tall, high windows in the grand, old building that was Croydon Central Library were night-black against the high cream walls, lending a sense of security, safety and a warm place of sanctuary to those readers seeking either information, shelter or both from the cold and bitter world outside. There was comfort as well as knowledge and adventure for all amongst the rows of bookshelves and in the quiet reading nooks.

The echo of approaching footsteps yanked her back to reality. Miss Whitmore, the head librarian, was doing her rounds, casting an eagle eye around her domain, checking all was well before the library locked its doors for the night.

“Sheila, it’s about time to start closing up. Have you shelved all the day’s returned books?�� A sharp layer of condescension coated Miss Whitmore’s voice, rattling Sheila every time she heard it.

“Almost done, Miss Whitmore. Just a few more books to go.�� Sheila avoided eye contact with her pernickety boss. She could feel the critical glare scanning her, assessing her worthiness as a potential library assistant. It was her third day on the job and she was still finding her footing.

Her boss, Miss Whitmore, was a spinster of indeterminate age with unbelievably rigid ideas. For her, the library was a temple of knowledge and within that holy edifice, she ruled supreme, enforcing strict silence. Anyone who broke the thick wall of silence would receive a gorgon’s stare. On the whole it worked perfectly well but if her glare failed to quell the disturbance, she would summon Mr Clarke, their burly cleaner, and instruct him to eject the troublemakers. Sheila had a deep love of books and was happy to share it with others. She felt lucky to have been given a job at the library, but she wondered how long she would last under the shadow of Miss Whitmore.

“Good,�� she heard her boss saying. “When you’re done, ensure that any remaining readers make their way to the front doors. We wouldn’t want to imprison any of them in the library, now would we?�� she went on in her patronising way.

“Yes, of course. Got it,�� Sheila stammered, her voice edged with nervous energy.

Miss Whitmore looked over to where Mr Clarke was emptying the bins. “Look at him,�� she said disparagingly. “I tried to get him sacked, you know?��

“What did he do?�� Sheila followed the librarian’s gaze to where Mr Clarke was diligently working.

Her boss raised an eyebrow. “Who knows what he’s done? My request was denied; he’s part of a scheme to rehabilitate ex-cons. The council won’t let me fire him without due cause. Keep your eyes on him.�� Before Sheila could respond, Miss Whitmore turned and walked away, her solid frame emphasising her status and her footsteps clicking importantly on the polished parquet flooring as they receded into the labyrinth of bookstacks. Sheila watched her go, her pulse quickening.

She glanced at Mr Clarke. He seemed so nice. He didn’t look like an ex-con. Forcing her eyes away, she continued to tidy the front desk in readiness for the next day, before hurrying to collect the day’s newspapers to take down to the archives in the basement. She felt a shiver roll down her spine at the headlines, but refused to read them. She had caught glimpses of the news, and it unsettled her—‘CROYDON RIPPER CLAIMS FIFTH VICTIM.�� Quickly, she filed the papers and tried to force the doom and gloom out of her mind.

Taking a deep breath, she refocused on her tasks. She dimmed the lights to let the readers know that the library was about to close. The disquieting sensation of unseen eyes following her every move refused to fade. In the darker corners of her mind, she feared who—or what—might be watching her, and what they might be planning.

As the hands of the library clock moved round to 8 o’clock, Sheila fetched her coat and scarf from the cloakroom and went to say ‘Goodnight�� to Miss Whitmore and Mr Clarke. She heaved open the great library door, drew a deep breath and stepped out into the thick darkness of night. 

The cold autumn blasts of wind swirled around her, causing the rubbish-lined streets to dance and the few late shoppers to pull their buttoned-up coats even tighter around their bodies as they hurried home. Sheila began her solitary trek through the streets of Croydon. The towering concrete buildings loomed above her, a stark contrast to the thatched houses and lush gardens of her upbringing in the West Country. Here, the architecture was as unforgiving as the chill wind which funnelled through the brutalist structures, cutting through her inadequate coat.

Each day, another shop seemed to be boarded up. Each day, the walls of the underpasses bloomed with more and more vibrant graffiti. Seeing that her bus was already waiting at the bus- stop, Sheila stepped up her pace and began to run towards it. The last thing she wanted was to be left standing at an empty bus stop at that time of night. Just three stops but it was worth it. She jumped aboard the warm, brightly lit bus and fell gratefully into the nearest seat. Tonight was not a night to be loitering in the streets.

A band of punk rockers drifted by, their hair jutting out and stained in audacious shades of neon pink and radioactive green. They sneered at everyone they passed, yet Sheila thought she recognised a kindred fear in their eyes. Street vendors were still peddling their counterfeit attire and bootlegged cassette tapes, their desperation evident in their discounts, drawn on white cardboard with lurid colours.

Further down the road, a dishevelled man staggered out of a pub. He leant into a corner, and Sheila looked away grimacing at the sight of urine splashing against the soot covered bricks. 

As the bus turned the corner, she spotted the flickering neon sign of an adult cinema. A trench-coated man lurked outside, his gaze fixed intently on something—or someone—across the street. Sheila shivered. She patted her coat, and a brief wave of relief flowed through her as she felt the comforting hardness of her steel paring knife. She looked at the chip shop, packed with sinister-looking individuals. Inside the cosy safety of the bus, she passed them all without incident and was soon able to ring the bell for her bus-stop. 

She jumped off and walked briskly down the road. She exhaled deeply and with great relief as she rounded the bend and saw the welcome front door of the tall, rambling, red-brick Victorian building that was her temporary home while she worked her way up through the ranks at the library. She climbed the creaking stairs which led to her claustrophobic attic bedsit. Her formidable landlady, Mrs Brannigan, had a reputation for two things: never missing a Sunday church service and always knowing when her tenants were up to no good. Tonight, however, she was grateful for the woman’s watchful eye. It made her feel a fraction safer.

As she fumbled to put her keys away, she cast a final look over her shoulder. The TV was on as Mrs Brannigan kept her watch on the front door. When the next advertising break came on Mrs Brannigan would bring her up a cup of tea and a biscuit. This she did without fail. It was her sour-faced way of checking that you had come home at a reasonable hour and that you had come home alone.

Sheila’s room was oppressively cramped and shrouded in gloom, yet it offered her sanctuary from the outside world. She bolted the door and sank onto her worn-out mattress, letting out a long, shuddering breath. Safe now, she was enveloped in the familiar smell of second-hand books and surrounded by the creaking sounds of the ageing house below her as the wind tried to creep into its cracks and crevices.

A gnawing hunger gurgled in Sheila’s belly, but she dared not venture out again for chips, not with Croydon’s streets teeming with danger. She had an apple in her coat pocket left over from lunch. She carefully retrieved both it and her paring knife, slicing a piece off with the sharp blade and munching on it as she rummaged in her bedside cabinet. She found two pieces of shortbread and a square of chocolate to go with it. That would have to do until the morning when she could get tea and a bacon sandwich from Dean’s Bean, the cafe off the High Street. When she’d finished the apple, she wiped the blade with a tissue and placed it back in her inside coat pocket.

The wind howled as it tried to force its way under the roofing tiles. Sheila pulled the sheets tight around her as the cold air invaded her clothes. With undisguised relief, she heard the kettle whistle downstairs and awaited the heavy tread of her landlady.

The next day at the library, Sheila was standing at the main counter, working with quiet diligence, hoping to keep clear of Miss Whitmore’s hawk-like gaze.

Abruptly, a customer materialised before her, his pronounced forehead looming and made even more prominent by his rapidly receding hairline. She recognised the pair of unblinking, bead-like eyes that bored into her with a spine-chilling intensity. “Hello love, care to guide me to the microfiche.�� There was an urgency in his voice. “I need the newspaper archive for these specific dates.�� He thrust a hastily jotted list at her before casually wiping away the saliva from his thin lips.

“O�� course, Mr Wallis,�� Sheila replied, forcing a polite smile onto her face. “Allow me to lead the way.�� She ushered him towards the microfiche, excusing herself to fetch the relevant reels.

She caught Miss Whitmore watching him, her lips tightly pursed.

Sheila nodded politely at her manager as she passed, hoping to avoid a conversation.

Her hopes were dashed when Miss Whitmore said to her, “He is a very noisy man, Sheila. Given the frequency of his visits, I’d have expected him to have learnt the proper decorum by now.��

“He certainly seems very passionate in his research,�� Sheila agreed.

Miss Whitmore responded with a narrowing of her eyes, a clear indication that the conversation was over.

As Sheila returned with the microfiche, Mr Wallis launched into a conversation about the recent spate of murders. “It’s fascinating, isn’t it?�� he said, his eyes gleaming with morbid curiosity. “The Croydon Ripper, they’re calling him. Five victims so far, all found in dark, isolated places. The papers call him a serial killer, but he isn’t, do you see? They just don’t get it.��

Sheila looked around nervously. “I wouldn’t know; it isn’t a subject I care to think about.��

Mr Wallis remained undeterred. “A serial killer adheres to a distinct pattern or modus operandi. Typically, the victims share a connection. This, however, is utterly random. The Croydon Ripper strikes on a whim, don’t you see?�� He grasped her arm, leaning in with an intensity that made her skin crawl. “That’s what’s so brilliant. His methods are entirely unpredictable.��

Sheila felt a chill shiver run down her spine and she pulled back, freeing her arm from his grip. The familiar fear was growing in her once again. The fear that haunted her.

Mr Wallis seemed hell-bent on discussing the grisly details of the murders. She was trapped, unable to escape the gruesome conversation without seeming rude.

Just as she was starting to feel desperate, Sheila felt a firm hand on her shoulder. She turned to find Miss Whitmore standing behind her, her lips pressed into a thin line. “Sheila, I believe you have some work to attend to,�� she said, her tone icy. “Mr Wallis, I’m sure you can find what you’re looking for from here.��

Mr Wallis blinked, looking taken aback, but the determined authoritarian’s stern gaze never wavered. With a nod, he turned away. “Yes, yes,�� he said, his voice laced with disappointment as he continued to work the microfiche. Miss Whitmore kept her hand on Sheila’s shoulder, her gaze tracking Mr Wallis until he was out of earshot.

“Remember, Sheila,�� she said, her voice rigid. “Deliver the information and then leave the reader to it. Our patrons are here to read, not to gossip. This is a library, not a public house.��

Sheila nodded, her cheeks warm. “Yes, Miss Whitmore. I understand.�� Despite the stern reprimand, she was grateful for the intervention. Her boss gave her a further stern look, her eyes locking onto Sheila’s. “Oh, and Sheila, make sure you leave on time. Nights in Croydon are becoming more... unpredictable, don’t you think?��

Taking a deep breath to steady herself, Sheila watched as her boss stalked away.

Left to her own devices once again, she returned to the desk and busied herself with her tasks. She couldn’t help but glance back at Mr Wallis, who was still absorbed in the microfiche, and scribbled furiously into a battered notepad. A shiver of unease rippled down her spine.

As the library’s closing time approached, Sheila found herself stealing glances at the windows, her heart pounding as each passing minute brought closing time and the threatening outside world closer to her. Finally, she heard the call that she’d been dreading. 

“Sheila,�� Miss Whitmore's sharp voice echoed through the library’s hush. “It’s time to close up.��

Sheila swallowed her nerves and approached the last customer. “Mr Wallis, it’s closing time. You’ll have to come back tomorrow.��

Mr Wallis looked up, annoyed at the interruption. “Not yet. Ten more minutes. I need more time.�� Dismissing her, he returned to his work. “I just need to finish these notes.��

“I’m sorry, Mr Wallis,�� Sheila said, trying to keep her voice steady. “We have to close. You’re welcome to return tomorrow.��

“Yes, yes. Ten more minutes. I’ll hurry.�� Mr Wallis remained stubbornly in place. Sheila’s heart pounded in her chest as she returned to Miss Whitmore. “He won’t leave,�� she whispered.

Miss Whitmore sighed, her brow furrowing with annoyance. “Very well,�� she said, crossing the room to where Mr Clarke was finishing his cleaning duties. “Mr Clarke, your assistance is required.��

Mr Clarke looked up, his eyes flicking to Sheila before they landed on Miss Whitmore. “What do you need?��

“Mr Wallis is refusing to leave,�� Miss Whitmore said. “Kindly remove him from the premises.��

Mr Clarke nodded, rolling his muscular shoulders as he approached Mr Wallis. The cleaner towered over the hunched figure. “Sir.�� His deep voice echoed in the quiet room. “You need to leave.��

Mr Wallis glanced up at Mr Clarke, locking eyes with him. For a moment, Sheila thought he would refuse again, but after a tense moment, he sighed and gathered his notes. He shot Sheila a venomous glare that made her shiver, then shambled towards the exit, Mr Clarke following closely behind him.

Miss Whitmore watched the scene unfold, her arms crossed over her chest. “Sheila,�� she said, turning to the shaken girl. “I have an appointment to attend. Mr Clarke will be locking up. Please, keep an eye on him.��

Sheila’s heart dropped. “But Miss Whitmore,�� she stuttered, her mind racing with thoughts of the recent murders. “It’s already late and�� I have a bus to catch.��

Miss Whitmore cut her off with a stern look. “We all have our duties, Sheila,�� she sniffed. “You’ll be fine. Just wait until he locks the doors and then go straight home.��

With that, Miss Whitmore swept out of the library, leaving a terrified Sheila behind.

Her hands were trembling as she watched Mr Clarke lock the library doors. The street outside was dark, half the streetlights were broken, shrouding the pavement in darkness. Revellers were already loud and raucous as they made their way to the pubs, a tribute to the enthusiasm of their pre-drinking.

She clutched her coat tightly, her hand reaching into her pocket to grip the familiar comfort of her paring knife. She took a deep breath, bolstering her courage.

��ٳ�𾱱���?��

She jumped, letting out a gasp as she did so. Eyes wide, she saw Mr Clarke.

“I overheard you saying that you were worried about walking home in the dark. I’ll make sure you get back okay, if you would like me to?��

Sheila looked at him suspiciously.

What was he imprisoned for? Murder? Theft?�� Rape?

“I’ll be okay. I don’t want to be a bother.�� She smiled awkwardly and turned away shyly.

He matched her stride as she walked away towards the bus-stop and home.

“It’s no bother, I insist.��

He insists? Oh no.

Sheila didn’t say anything. She looked around for an escape as they walked down the high street. She could hear his breathing next to her. She glanced at him. His muscles seemed to swell in the dark, his form grew taller. She blinked.

It is all in my imagination. He is just being a gentleman.

As they continued walking, the panic rose within her. Her mind whispered, warning her of his dark intentions.

You can’t stop him. He is too powerful. 

Once a convict, always a convict. 

It’s too late, you’ll never make it to your front door.

She saw an alley on the right-hand side. It was dark and secluded. She suddenly ducked and ran into it, straight into a dead end. She shrank into the shadows beside a Biffa bin and shook with terror as she heard his measured tread approaching her.

“Sheila, are you alright? What’s wrong?�� Was he feigning confusion?

Taking a deep breath, she stepped out. “I’m so sorry. I was just being silly. You must think me awfully daft.��

He looked at her, seemingly bemused. “Ah, no it’s okay, I was just worried.��

She painted a smile onto her face. Her eyes locked onto his as she stepped closer.

“Are you sure you’re okay?��

Her hand shot out and she plunged her paring knife into his chest. Tears pricked at her eyes as she stabbed in a frenzy, the blade easily cutting through the cheap cloth of his shirt.

He cried out at this unexpected betrayal. One of his huge hands gripped her knife hand and she panicked as she looked at him in shock. “Wha?–�� he coughed and blood foamed from his lips.

Sheila didn’t hear his next words as he slumped to the pavement beside the Biffa bin. She wiped the paring knife clean. She would have to dispose of it along with her clothes. The fear that had nearly overwhelmed her dissipated, if only temporarily. Tears of relief ran down her cheeks.

This was the sixth time that she’d had to defend herself.

It was getting too dangerous in Croydon. Soon she would have to move on again.

If you enjoyed this free short story, then please consider . My first collected works on Amazon containing sixteen short stories and novellas by Newton Webb.

If you enjoyed this free short story, then please consider or its sequel .

If you like page-turning frights, haunting revelations, and feeling your blood run cold, then you’ll love Newton Webb’s baleful phantasmagoria.

Buy them to shudder in fear tonight!

Praise for Tales of the Macabre, Vol. 1
"This book was full of nail-biting moments. The book was full of variety that kept you engaged and wanting to read the next story"
"Newton Webb never disappoints. His debut collection includes most of his best stories, spanning a huge amount of time and going through a great variety of settings. Some are novelettes, others more of a typical short story length, always well written, with a fantastic use of the English language"
"These 16 scary stories are really, really good! My absolute favorites of the bunch were Festival of the Damned and The Heir Apparent (man, what a twist I was NOT expecting!)"
"This was a very enjoyable collection of eerily prophetic stories, full of variety and encompassing a world of demonic entities, cannibalism, ghouls, murder, ancient curses and deviant sex addiction. From folk horror to supernatural sci-fi tales, what more could you wish for? Each story slowly unfolds with a sense of unease and menace, complimented by many unexpected twists and turns. The moral theme of these stories would appear to be, 'be careful of what you wish for'. Highly recommended"

Free Horror Stories

The Glaistig by Newton Webb

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: 91 FREE horror stories, including ‘��, ‘��, ‘��

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: 48 horror stories, including ‘��, ‘��, ‘��, ‘��, ‘��

The moon cast an eerie glow over the rugged hills of Strathspey. Duncan fled. His short muscular legs churned, at speed, up the slope. His friend Alasdair ran beside him as they fled across the desolate landscape. Their breath came in ragged gasps and their hearts pounded with terror. 

“She’s still following us. She isn’t even trying!�� Alasdair panted.

Duncan’s chest heaved like bellows. “Don’t talk, run,�� he wheezed. 

Suddenly, the two of them came to a stop. Duncan fell to his knees gasping, looking up at the ethereal form of the Glaistig, the green maiden. Surrounded by an emerald mist, her long flowing hair was as dark as the midnight sky. Her eyes glowed green. “Oathbreaker,�� she hissed, stalking forwards to face Alasdair on her goatlike legs. A tattered gown shimmered and shifted in the moonlight, fluttering around her despite the still night-time air.

“I never, I…�� Alasdair kicked out with his legs, crawling backwards. “It was just once.��

“What did you do, Alasdair?�� Duncan asked. He clambered to his feet and stood between the ghostly spirit and his friend. “Please, he can’t repent if you hurt him.��

She ignored him, walking straight through him, her body morphing into a cloud of gas before reforming behind him.

Duncan spun to see her reach out and grasp Alasdair by his tunic. With her other hand, she tore out his throat, holding the grisly remnants of his oesophagus in one hand. “Oathbreaker,�� she muttered once more and tossed the bleeding remnant onto Alasdair’s corpse.

Duncan looked at his friend in horror.

The Glaistig turned to face him, regarding him coldly.

Duncan raised himself to his full height, standing at just under six feet. The much taller Glaistig still loomed over him. "If I've ever broken an oath," Duncan's voice quivered, but his eyes remained resolute, "Then strike me down. But I've always lived my life as honestly as I can."

They stood for a while, facing each other. Duncan, defiant and determined. His body sweating despite the cold night air, the Glaistig curious and regarding him closely.

“I believe you,�� she said. “But, if you ever tell anyone of my mercy, then I will come for you,�� she said, with a firm, steady look into his eyes before fading into the night.

Duncan fell to the ground, weeping in relief. Alasdair’s corpse lay torn open, his throat steaming in the night as the blood rapidly cooled and congealed. Duncan stooped down to lift the body of his friend and staggered back with him towards his farmhouse. By good fortune, it was the closest building to where they had been accosted.

As he stumbled down the hill with his heavy burden, he came across a woman stumbling across the hillside.

“What the devil are you doing?�� he shouted. 

She turned and looked at him with tear streaked eyes. Seeing Alasdair’s corpse, she grimly muttered. “I fled, I didn’t want to–��

“Don’t ever talk about it,�� Duncan advised. “It is better that way. My farmhouse is close. You can have the bed, I’ll sleep by the hearth.��

The woman considered him with her hazel eyes. He tried to reassure her with a smile, but was too exhausted, so his crinkled face just grimaced. She solemnly nodded, resigned to her fate. The two of them, three with Alasdair’s corpse, continued to walk towards the farmstead.

Duncan’s farm had never been prosperous, but it had always been enough to keep him fed and watered. After the terrifying night in the hills, of which he was never to speak, he found he had a new friend in Isobel. She was a stout woman in her late thirties, with a sturdy frame which she put to good use on his smallholding. She immediately set to work, digging and planting a herb garden, creating and selling poultices to the local farmsteads. Once a week, she took them to the nearby village of Rothes. She was of a practical mindset. On the night Duncan had introduced her to his farmstead, while he had gone outside to bury his friend, she had made herself acquainted with his kitchen and cooked an early breakfast for him. Even before he’d cleared his plate, he had offered to let her stay the night. 

Duncan stretched and stood to his full height, cracking his back from where he’d been repairing the dry stone wall. He looked fondly at her. Her soft chestnut hair was streaked with strands of silver and bound into a practical, tight bun as she stooped to tend her herb beds. A rough woollen shawl over her shoulders protected her from the wind.

He’d slept in his chair by the hearth for six months before she’d come down from the bedroom and berated him for his nonsense, leading him upstairs.

Regarding his wall with a critical eye, he eventually nodded to himself in satisfaction, then scowled at the sheep who had broken it in the first place. They bleated their ignorance.

Duncan headed inside to get some water on the boil. While he waited, he filled two glasses with whisky and settled down on a chair. He wiggled his burly frame and heard the wood creak. He was just examining it when Isobel walked in.

“Look at you, sitting there all cosy like, while I’m out working the fields?�� she jested. Walking over to the now boiling water, she added sprigs of rosemary to the pot to make a tisane.

Her calloused hands picked up the mug of whisky, and she took a grateful sup.

“You’ve a lot to answer for, Mr MacGregor.�� She gave him a stern look.

Duncan smiled at her, his face worn by the elements and hard labour in all weathers. “Ah, jings, what have I done now?��

Leaning back, she took another drink of whisky and then refilled both their mugs.

Duncan looked suspiciously at the generous measure.

“You’ve gone and made me with bairn, you have,�� Isobel said.

It was as though the sun had chosen that exact moment to shine and she had never looked so beautiful to Duncan. Over forty years old and never married, he’d imagined his life to be one of solitude. As he raced over and gripped her in a bear hug, tears rolled down his cheeks. He could already imagine teaching his son how to hunt, how to build. He kissed her forehead once, then twice, then a dozen times until she whacked his shoulder.

“Don’t you be daft, you big numpty.�� Even as she harangued him, she smiled. The two of them caught up in the moment. “Put me down before I wallop your ears.��

I’m going to be a father.

“Ah, Isobel, you are the best thing that ever happened to me,�� he enthused, gathering her up in his arms. “You beautiful angel.��

“I love you too, you filthy beast, but get a hold of yourself.�� She turned away, but not before Duncan witnessed her blushing.

Duncan was sitting on the banks of the loch, the sun on his face amidst a cooling breeze. Damselflies chased their prey across the water, weaving between rushes. His daughter, Moira, sat beside him, her small fishing pole extending into the glassy water. 

He looked fondly at the spirited girl. She had her mother’s chestnut hair. Duncan had taught her to shoot a bow and arrow, mend a fence, and now he was imparting the age-old wisdom of angling. He’d been certain that Isobel was going to give birth to a boy, but the moment he’d seen the red skinned little Moira bawling her eyes out with her hearty lungs, he’d known he wouldn’t trade her for the world. 

"Don’t fiddle with the line, lass. You have to be patient with the fish. Let them see the bait, then guide it closer," Duncan advised, his eyes not leaving the water's surface.

He watched her take in his wisdom, her eyes squinting in concentration. 

She is as curious as a raven and indomitable as a bull.

“Did I tell you about the night your mother and I met?�� Duncan sat hunched forward, enjoying the tranquillity. 

“No,�� Moira lied, enjoying the story.

"The moon was shining like a jewel, wide and bright in the night skies. The wind howled through the Strathspey hills. I carried a dear friend in my arms, never to breathe again, and there she was—your mother—emerging from the darkness. Lost and scared, just like me. We helped each other that night, and we’ve been helping each other since."

As the sun kissed the horizon, painting the sky in hues of orange and purple, Duncan felt a pull from his own line. Quickly, he gave it a sharp jerk to set the hook in the mouth of the fish. With deft hands and years of experience, he hauled in a hefty trout.

"Well, would you look at that, Moira? Dinner's served," he exclaimed, holding up the fish.

"Can I help cook it, Da?" Moira asked, excitement lighting up her face.

"Of course you can, lass. We'll gut it together and give it to your mother. A proper MacGregor feast!"

Just as Duncan was packing up their fishing gear, a melodious voice echoed across the loch. "Duncan! Moira! Don’t make me come out there. Supper's ready!"

Duncan looked at Moira, grinning. "Ah, we can’t ignore the queen of the house, can we?"

Moira giggled. "Nay, Da, we cannot."

Reaching the farmhouse, they were greeted by the heavenly aroma of herbs and stew. His woman stood there in the doorway, her hands on her hips. The stern faced expression was ruined by her eyes, which twinkled as her family approached.

"Ah, there you are. And what took you so long?" Isobel asked, feigning impatience.

Duncan winked at Moira before replying, "Will you look at what we caught, Isobel? Reckon you could fry it up for us?"

“I reckon I could at that. Go and prepare it then. I’ll warm up the pan.�� Isobel ushered them in. “There is a wee dram of whisky on the side for you, pet.��

“Thanks, love.�� Duncan kissed her cheek.

“Get off with you. You’re slobbering like a hound.�� She tugged her wash cloth from her belt and whipped his arm with it. “Get that fish descaled and gutted–don’t throw away the head, it’ll make good stock.��

#

The night was chill, as much for heat as for romance. The couple lay tightly intertwined, Duncan’s thick arms around his wife.

“Isobel, I need to share something with you.�� Duncan whispered into her ear. She didn’t respond. “Isobel, are you awake?�� he said louder.

She shifted against his body. “Go to sleep Duncan.��

“No, this can’t wait. I don’t want to keep secrets from you, not for a moment longer, and I’m sure you need to get it off your chest, too.�� He took a deep breath. “We should have talked about this before, but I�� Well, I guess I was scared.��

His wife stilled. “Hush now, you silly goose. Keep your secrets and go to sleep.�� Fear tinged her voice.

“I won’t. You see, the night we met–��

“Duncan, it is the middle of the night. You’ve drunk too much whisky. Please, go to sleep. This can wait.�� His wife pleaded with him.

“I have to get this off my chest,�� Duncan said quietly. “I need you to know.��

“Please Duncan, I love you, don’t do this.�� Isobel’s voice fell quiet.

Duncan kissed the top of her head. “Listen now, it is because I love you that I must. I have always been honest with you and I don’t want to keep secrets anymore. See, the night we met–��

“�ēD�ܲԳ�����!��

“I met the Glaistig,�� he blurted out.

Silence fell between them.

“I did. I tell no lie. Didn’t you see her too?�� Duncan pleaded, misinterpreting his wife’s lack of response.

Her body seemed to shimmer, turning translucent.

Duncan gasped, shuffling out of bed and falling onto the floor.

Isobel’s hazel eyes turned green and her nightgown turned to robes that flowed despite the still breeze. “We could’ve been happy together.��

Duncan frantically shuffled back across the floor. “Isobel, you can’t be!��

“I thought I could find peace with you. But, I cannot, I will not suffer an oathbreaker to live,�� she whispered as she drifted from the bed, lifting the big man effortlessly into the air, her inhuman eyes filled with sorrow and resolve.

“Isobel, don’t you be daft now. Please,�� Duncan begged.

Their daughter came running into the room, drawn by the commotion. Her eyes were the same unearthly shade of green as her mother's. Her goatlike legs peeked out from under her dress. “What is going on?��

“No, no, not Moira too, anything but my Moira,�� Duncan wept.

“Go to your room. Your da has been bad, nothing more.��

Duncan looked once more into those eyes, those now empty soulless, green eyes, as with her other hand she tore his oath breaking throat out of his body.

If you enjoyed this free short story, then please consider . My first collected works on Amazon containing sixteen short stories and novellas by Newton Webb.