Å·±¦ÓéÀÖ

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

Free Horror Stories

Unsubscribe (at the bottom of the email)

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!

Thanks for reading Newton’s Free Horror! Subscribe for free to receive new posts and support my work.

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.

“Of 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.

â€ÂÙ³ó±ð¾±±ô²¹?â€�

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

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

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

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

: 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–�

“â¶Ä“D³Ü²Ô³¦²¹²Ô!â€�

“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.

Greetings, my wicked darlings!

Hello from the frosty shores of Blighty, where the shift from Crete's delightful 30°C warmth to Britain's sub-zero chill is nothing short of a meteorological slap in the face. It's the kind of weather that turns coffee into a survival tool � until, of course, my skeleton starts jittering from the caffeine, then it's tea to the rescue (more fitting to the British stereotype too).

Speaking of hot drinks, I’ve accidentally ordered 42 litres of Oatly, instead of 12 due to an Amazon subscribe and save error, so look forward to stories about people drowning in milk substitutes. Logistics, they are the real horror story in life.

Keep your wits about you for the mind-twisting horror popping up under our free or discounted stories section. Let me know if you get 100%, or if you found it too easy / hard!

I've wrapped up writing 'A Chemical Connection', which ballooned into a novella-sized beast. Expect to sink your teeth into this chunky tale soon!

And speaking of this month, a bit of a format change. To celebrate Christmas, I have a bumper gift for you. A different story each week, you can look forward to The Glaistig, A Chemical Connection and The Croydon Ripper. Because this wouldn’t leave room for the audiobooks, I’ll be releasing audio books on Friday’s each week, so it’s a double whammy. Hopefully, it isn’t too many emails. I don’t want you all tiring of your cheeky chum, Newt.

I've been busy with various projects, but it's back to the drawing board for me � some storylines hit unexpected snags that should've been ironed out at the planning phase. I am doing Lee Child’s training course on BBC Maestro at the same time, so hopefully the master of thrillers will bop me on my rather sizable nose and correct my aberrant behaviour.

'Deus Vult', my tale of Templars meeting grisly fates in the Holy Land, has hit a pause, but I plan to revisit it with a sharper blueprint. Currently, I'm working on 'The Ice Maiden' (a working title that might need a revamp).

Stay frosty - if you are in the UK, you might not have a choice in the matter.

Your ole� pal, Newt.

New Releases

Free Horror Stories

Newt’s Cursed Crossword

Unsubscribe (at the bottom of the email)

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

13th December - The Glaistig (eBook)

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 - The Sinful Child (Audiobook)

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 - The Croydon Ripper (eBook)

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

22th December - The Black Fog (Audiobook)

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

27th December - A Chemical Connection (eBook)

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

29th December - Ain't Nothin' But The Blues (Audiobook)

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

In case you missed them, in November, we had the following free releases:

When a sinister infection in their apartment building begins taking over the minds and bodies of residents, Sam races to save Wendy, his infected girlfriend, before he loses control of his own mind.

When a group of juvenile delinquents raid an antique record store, they unleash a deadly curse.

A single mother gets more than she bargained for when a shady house call turns into a nightmare of violence, addiction, and a vengeful spirit only she can see.

Family loyalty and humanity collide when Elspeth learns the horrifying truth of her heritage.

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

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

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

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

, by JF Garrad, FREE download.

In the year 2093 Lisa decides to walk into a store to create a 500 Model Series child. As a good parent, she was willing to pay the price for genome modification in order to obtain the best DNA sequence possible for her child.

However, what happens when a designer child clashes with a normal child and prejudiced parents? Should Lisa pay the price for her child's mistakes?

, by Troy Young, FREE on Kindle Unlimited or available to buy on Amazon.

It started as a typical day in a sleepy little coastal village. But little did they know everything was about to change forever.

Corporal Joe Mills of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police arrives at Gallou Cove, certain the reported ‘sea monster� washed ashore would be nothing. What he found there on the beach chilled him to the core.

Dr. Adele Kramer, a marine biologist, shows up to categorize the find. The creature defies any known life found on Earth. At least, nothing originating on the planet.

So begins their introduction to ‘The Other�, the secret world of cosmic horrors plaguing humanity since before the dawn of time. They soon find themselves drawn into a plot many millennia-old to prevent the end of all existence in the universe. Can they survive the Crawling Chaos and prevent He Who Lies Dreaming from awakening?

, by Joseph J Dowling, FREE download.

Mud. It got everywhere. Clung to their possessions and sneaked into places Suzie never realized mud could reach. She remembered a time when she’d thought sand was a pain in the ass, but never again in her miserable existence would she complain about a little beach-crotch. It’d been so different when they’d arrived on the godforsaken plot, full of excitement and hope, long before the earth spat out those old bones. It seemed like yesterday and forever ago.

, by Kayla Krantz, FREE on Kindle Unlimited, or available to buy.

After a classmate disappears, Luna is haunted by violent nightmares so real they leave her traumatized. Terrified, Luna begins to question her sanity until a call from a long-lost friend warns her of things to come. Does Chance’s seemingly perfect exterior hide an unhinged evil?

Luna’s in danger, and although she can avoid the killer in reality, she can’t escape from him in her dreams.

, by A F Stewart, available for purchase.

With the odds stacked against them, can these ten women survive... or will they succumb to the threat of revenge, fate, and death?

Step through a looking glass of dark horrors with an Alice you never knew.
Join Zenna in seeking the truth before she succumbs to her deadly magic.
Journey with Olivia as she crosses paths with a monster of the forest and runs for her life.
Watch Isobel summon the faerie to solve her problem of an unwanted husband.
Shiver as Doctor Killbride experiments with corpses to create life from death.
Wander into the realm of the old gods with Elenora, who yearns for escape.

, by Joanne Nundy, FREE on Kindle Unlimited or available for purchase.

Can’t fight the dead? Then RUN�

The dead are rising and violently attacking people on the streets of the UK. Driven by an insatiable hunger for flesh, they attack anyone who dares to go out.

Anna is trapped as the zombie apocalypse rages outside her front door. Desperate and alone, she must find a way to get to her children who are with her Ex-partner. As Anna runs from the dead, she finds help from Rob and his fifteen-year-old brother, Jack, despite Rob’s better instincts. Together, they run the nightmare gauntlet that used to be their neighbourhood.

, by Mitchell Luthi, FREE on Kindle Unlimited or available for purchase.

There is no plague in Enfaire�

Dead things have been found in the fields of Enfaire, a God-fearing town north of Reams. Not just dead things but twisted forms� unholy shapes. And there are rumours, too—of a blasphemous union and of fell creatures that haunt the night. Yet, even as plague and witch pyres blacken the sky, the town remains untouched by the malady that has already claimed thousands and will claim thousands more.

, by Mark Tullius, FREE download.

an overweight father ignored by his family.

a gang member breaking into a neighborhood church.

a cameraman who finds himself in a hopeless situation.

an aging author who’s paying the price for a reckless past, doing all he can to repair his brain.

These shocking stories will leave you wanting more.

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

Thanks for reading Newton’s Free Horror! Subscribe for free to receive new posts and support my work.

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 by Newton Webb on his website.