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  Do You Crave Danger and Excitement?

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  INTRODUCTION

  Who doesn't love a good horror story? I grew up on horror movies, horror comics, horror books. I couldn't get enough! It was my favorite genre then, and still is now. Chances are it's yours too. If so, you're in for a treat. This is my third short story collection, and I've saved my best and most bizarre tales for it. Inside, you'll find Bigfoot, demons, ghosts, maniacs, mutants, and vampires—all given that wild Jackson “twist” my fiction is known for.

  Like my previous collections, Gore Girls and Lost Girls, each of the stories pits a different teen girl against classic monsters or madmen. Some will live, some will die, but all will know the horror their choices bring them.

  What about you? Are you ready to go for a ride so shocking you may never be the same? Then settle in, sit back, and read on—if you dare!

  Yours Ghouly,

  Jackson Dean Chase

  P.S.: Want more horror and FREE books?

  Go to www.JacksonDeanChase.com

  THE WATCHER WATCHES

  The Watcher watches,

  waiting, wanting.

  Things you did,

  things you said,

  brought him to you.

  And you reach out

  with yearning hands

  and gasping soul,

  knowing there is no place for him

  except with you.

  No place for you,

  except with him.

  Together, you leave this world behind

  and start your own.

  SARAH'S LOT

  This first tale is about what some girls will do to escape the prison of their teenage years and how they will give anything to connect with someone who offers to take their pain away. It's also dedicated to Stephen King, the man who inspired me to become a writer.

  Chapter 1: MY OWN DAMN FAULT

  They say the hermit came from back east. He had a ramshackle cabin in the Black Hills, hidden from town. Kids said they'd seen him digging a grave one night, that the hermit had buried something: a body, maybe, or a suitcase full of money. Whatever his secret was, most folks thought he was crazy and left him alone.

  I suppose I would have too, except Jim Nash took me to Sunset Ridge to “look at the stars.” Only it wasn't the stars Jim wanted to look at. It was my boobs. When I said no—that is, when he was sure I meant it—the bastard ditched me, left me on that lonesome hill with no way home but to walk ten miles in the chill October night.

  My cell phone didn't have much battery left. I'd walk for awhile, turn it on, get no signal, then shut it off again.

  I'd been walking like that for half an hour and scratched myself up on all the brambles and branches lining the rutted dirt trail. It was full dark, no stars, with only the shining moon to guide me as the storm closed in.

  “I'm gonna kill that jerk,” I muttered. What kind of girl did Jim think I was, anyway? I didn't mind making out, because I liked Jim—or thought I did—but I wasn't ready to do more. That had gotten me in trouble a few times in the past. Maybe that's where Jim got the idea I was easy. My ex had bragged about it, had spammed it on Facebook to paint me as a slut, when all I'd wanted to do was slow down. He said, “Once the djinni's out of the bottle, babe, you can't put it back.”

  Screw them both. At least I had my pride.

  A dull orange light shone through the treeline to my right. A cabin. I hesitated, wondering if it would be worse to keep walking or press my luck asking for help. Not many people lived in these hills, and the only one I knew of was the hermit. If he wasn't a rumor.

  When the rain came, sheer misery made up my mind. I tried cutting across the woods to the cabin, but tripped over a root. The next thing I knew, I was falling. I hit the side of the hill so hard it tore the breath from me, then I was rolling. Through shrubs, dirt, and brambles. I came to a stop in a muddy patch of ground. Soaked. Dizzy.

  I didn't have my pride anymore.

  I flipped onto my back and pushed wet hair from my eyes. The sky had gone black, the moon lost behind the clouds. I cursed Jim, cursed my ex. I cursed everyone and everything, especially myself.

  “My fault,” I whispered. “My own damn fault!” How stupid was I to have thought a guy like Jim could have seen something special in me? He only saw the same thing my ex saw, the same thing every guy at Black Hills High did: an easy lay. Someone to be used and discarded like yesterday's trash. But I was more than that. I had to be, even if no one else could see it.

  “You're marked,” my ex-BFF Kristy told me. “Tainted. You'll never get a quality guy now.” Kristy had actually smiled at me then, a sad, knowing smile. “I know you, Sarah. I believe you tried to do the right thing, but other people won't see it that way. That's why we can't be friends anymore. I can't have everyone thinking I'm a slut too. You understand, right?”

  “Yeah,” I said. “I understand.”

  “I know it may seem hard to hear, but the sooner you face the fact, the easier it'll be.”

  “What fact?”

  “The fact that it's just some girls' lot in life to suffer, to be thought of as sluts. You can't do anything about it, so you might as well live up to it. You know, enjoy yourself.” Kristy looked around and lowered her voice. “Not that I'd ever admit it, but I'm kind of jealous.”

  “What the hell are you talking about?” I asked her.

  Kristy sighed. “Duh! You don't have to worry about your reputation anymore. You're free to do whatever you want.”

  I hadn't wanted to believe her then, but after I saw how everyone treated me, I knew my life was over. Every guy I dated from that point on only had one thing on his mind, and it wasn't getting to know me.

  That's why losing Jim hurt so much. He was a popular guy, not one of the losers who were always coming on to me in the halls. And Jim didn't try to get in my pants on the first date, or even the second. It seemed like he really cared, like he saw something beyond my body.

  Only I should have seen the signs. He didn't ask me out in school, didn't do PDA's, or take me anywhere people would see us together. In fact, he didn't acknowledge me at all except when we were alone. I was Jim's dirty little secret, and now I wasn't even that.

  A flash of lightning revealed it was even worse: I was lying on top of a grave in the middle of nowhere. The name on the tombstone read:

  NANCY CHURCH

  1959-1976

  I sat up quick, which didn't do my aching head any good. Stars burst behind my eyes as I backpedaled away from the grave, right into a man's legs.

  I stared into his chalk-white face and screamed.

  Chapter 2: THE HERMIT'S STORY

  The man just stood there and gave me an odd look. Something between a smirk and a smile. “I ain't going to hurt you,” he said. His accent was strange, the words drawling. “You hurt, girl? Ya need help?”

  I ran a hand over my bumps and scrapes, but decided I was probably OK. “I'm all right. I just need a phone. I can't get a signal.”

  “No phone here, but I got a warm fire and hot stew if you want to come in and rest a spell.” He must have seen the wariness in my face because he added, “I won't try nothin'.”

  When I didn't move, the old man shrugged. “Wet night. Suit yourself.” He turned and walked toward the cabin.

  “Wait!” I cried, rushing after him. “I'm sorry. I didn't mean to be rude. You scared me, is all.”

  The
old man stopped. “Lots of things to be frightened of in this world, girl, but I ain't one of 'em.”

  His cabin was blissfully warm, and I sat in front of the fire while the old man draped a heavy winter blanket over my shoulders. “T-thanks,” I said, my teeth chattering. “I really appreciate you taking me in like this. You're the hermit, right? The one everyone's talking about?”

  He smiled and poured me a steaming mug of coffee. “Hermit, huh? Well, maybe I am. Name's Church. Jud Church.”

  “I'm Sarah Bowden.”

  We shook hands, and I noticed how cold his were, even colder than mine.

  “Pleased to meet you,” Jud said. “Very pleased.” He pronounced very as “var-uh.”

  I sipped my coffee, letting the heat worm its way through me. It was black, definitely not the way I normally took it, but I was grateful he had any at all.

  There wasn't much to Jud's ramshackle cabin. A beat up table and two chairs, a pair of antlers mounted over the fireplace, and a stack of cardboard boxes in the corner. They were full of dusty books and LPs. The only “luxury” was an old record player. There was a single door opposite the one we'd come in. It looked new and strong.

  “Bedroom,” Jud said, noticing where I was looking. “You're welcome to it, or you can sleep by the fire, your choice. I'll take whichever you don't.”

  “Thanks, but I really can't stay. My mom'll be worried, and—” I was about to say my dad doesn't care, but stopped myself. It was none of Jud's business, but the divorce wounds were still fresh, like a scab that would never heal. “I should get home soon.”

  Jud nodded. “We all got to get somewhere in this life. You mentioned your mom. What about your dad? He still in the picture?”

  “No,” I said bitterly. “He isn't.”

  Dad left after catching Mom in an affair with her boss. Called her a filthy, no-good slut, a bitch, and a whore. Mom tried to explain the affair to me, how Dad had gone cold and taken her for granted, how they hadn't had one romantic night in years, not even on their anniversary. For his part, Dad said that was because Mom let herself go, had butched her hair like “some damn soccer mom” and spent more time taking care of me than him.

  I wasn't sure who to believe, but did everything I could to fix it, to tell them they didn't need to worry about me. I was sixteen, after all. That was old enough to take care of myself. And they'd made an effort to get back together, but then I'd gone and screwed it up.

  The pressure of trying to be perfect, of putting my family back together, had been too much. I needed to let off some steam, to experience the kind of love and romance I wanted for them for myself. When I'd given my virginity to my ex, I'd imagined all kinds of things, but not once did I imagine it would ruin my life.

  When Dad discovered what I'd done—what everyone was calling me—he blamed me, and said I was as bad as Mom. Mom blamed me. I blamed me, even though I knew things hadn't been going well between them. I hadn't wanted to see, hadn't wanted to believe they were going to break up. Not again.

  I might have been able to handle the pressure at school if I'd still had my parents—or at least one of them—supporting me. I only had Grandpa Paul on my side. He was my childhood favorite and the only relative I had left outside of my parents, but he was pushing eighty and didn't have much time left.

  I remember Grandpa Paul told me, “Family is everything, but sometimes, blood can blind, not bond. Sometimes, you gotta make your own family.”

  He died soon after, and part of me died with him. I tried to take his advice, to create my own family from friends at school, but they could never give enough. I needed more time, more love, and stupidly, I thought I could get it from boys. Even after everything that had happened, part of me still thought that, and if I didn't stop, there would be more nights in places like Sunset Ridge with guys like Jim Nash. Next time, I might not be so lucky to wind up in some old man's cabin, safe but fighting back tears.

  “Hey, now.” Jud placed his bony arm on my shoulder. “I didn't mean to go upsetting you none! We don't have to talk about your family. Hell, we don't have to talk about anything.” He took out a wooden bowl and spoon, scooping stew from the bubbling pot hanging over the fire and handing it to me. “Here, put something in your belly. It's not much, but it's all I have.”

  The stew was surprisingly good, although I couldn't identify the meat. The old man watched me eat. “Good, huh?”

  I nodded. “Yeah, thanks. What's in it?”

  He shrugged. “Oh, a little of this and a little of that. Caught the meat myself… It's rabbit. Yup, lot of rabbits in these hills. Gotta be quick to catch 'em.”

  When I was done eating, Jud took my bowl to the sink and washed it. I got up to look through his records. I didn't recognize any of the bands, they were all from way before my time. The newest one was from the seventies. It had a picture of a handsome, tanned blonde named David Soul.

  “You can play some music, if you want,” Jud said.

  I put on the David Soul and sat by the fire. The voice that came over the speaker was sad but strong. Hopeful.

  “Can you give me a ride to town?” I asked.

  Jud came and sat beside me. “Wish I could. No car.”

  “Then how do you get anywhere?”

  “Oh, I get around. Hitch-hike, mostly. You'd be surprised how many nice young people give me a ride.” He chuckled to himself. “What about your car? You run out of gas?”

  “No. Jim, my stupid boyfriend—I mean, ex-boyfriend—ditched me on the ridge. Told me to walk home when I wouldn't do what he wanted.”

  Jud clucked his tongue and ran a pale, knobby hand over his iron gray beard. “I don't think I like this Jim fella. What he done—what he tried to do—that ain't a respectable way to treat a young lady.”

  “No,” I said, remembering his hands all over my body. “It was awful.”

  Jud sat back in his chair. “I suppose things like that've always happened though, and they'll keep on happening. That's the way of this sad, misbegotten world.”

  “Maybe,” I said, “but it sure sucks.”

  Jud leaned forward to put a consoling hand on my knee. “So nobody knows you're here?”

  “No.” My eyes drifted toward the bedroom, wishing I could lie down and sleep. The fire on my skin, the stew in my belly, and the kindness of this stranger were like a drug telling me to relax, to stay where it was warm and safe. “I should probably go,” I said, hating myself for even considering going back into the rain. “I've imposed on you enough.”

  “Nonsense.” Jud's eyes peered into mine. They were deep blue, almost black, but glowed faintly red in the firelight. “You stay put right here with me, girl. Come morning, I'll walk you to town myself, make sure you get home all right. How's that sound?”

  His hand pressed into my knee. There was an eagerness on his face, a gleam in his eye. I mistook it for something sexual at first, but then Jud took his hand away and stared miserably into his lap. “Don't think that of me,” he said. “I may be lonely, but not in that way. I need company, a little conversation. Believe it or not, I don't get many visitors.”

  “I'm sure,” I said. “And I didn't think—I mean, I don't want to think that about you. It's just after what happened with Jim…”

  “I understand. I'd probably feel the same if I was in your shoes, but Sarah, honey, not all men are monsters.”

  “Oh, I don't think that,” I said. “Well, you're not, anyway. You're sweet. You remind me of my Grandpa Paul.”

  Jud smiled. We fell into comfortable silence as the rain drummed and logs burned. David Soul kept on singing. It was almost like Jud and I were real family, like this was home and I belonged here, with him.

  There was only one thing that bothered me, and I couldn't help asking, “Jud, whose grave is that?”

  “My granddaughter.” He pulled a metal flask from inside his torn denim jacket. “Nancy May.”

  “How'd she die?”

  The old man knocked back a taste before answering. �
��She was murdered.”

  “Murdered? By who?”

  “Some crazy fella. He burnt down the house with her in it.”

  “And this happened back east?”

  “Ayuh,” Jud said, his accent making a strange combination of “aye” and “yeah.” His gaze grew far away, troubled and dreamlike.

  “Where?”

  His eyes snapped back into focus. “Little town in Maine. No place you ever heard of, just a flyspeck… Anyway, by the time I pulled Nancy from the fire, there weren't nothin' left but bones. Whole place was smoke and cinders.”

  “What about the cops? Didn't they catch the guy?”

  Jud snorted. “Not hardly! Far as I know, he's still out there. But someday, honey, he'll get his. Everyone does.”

  “So what happened?” I asked. “You came out west?”

  “Had to,” Jud said. “Too many memories haunting that town. I never did get to see my granddaughter grow up. Nancy would've been about your age when she died, so bright and full of life… You want to know a funny coincidence? Tonight's the anniversary of her death.”

  Outside, thunder cracked. I nearly jumped out of my skin. The record skipped a beat, then David Soul sang, “Don't Give Up On Us.” I checked my phone. Still no signal.

  Jud hefted the flask to his lips and took a long, thirsty pull. “This was Nancy's favorite song. She played it over and over, right up until…” The words caught in Jud's throat, and when he spoke again, his voice was cracked and full of pain. “You remind me of her, you know. She's the real reason I travel so much. Nancy was always talkin' about getting out of town, seeing America. And in a way, she has. I carry her with me in here,” he said, tapping his forehead, “and here.” He touched his heart.

  “What about the grave?” I asked. “You took her body too?”

  Jud nodded. “Of course! I couldn't leave her there, not like that. I figured I couldn't give Nancy what she wanted in life, but now… she's seen the Grand Canyon, and the Rockies, even the Okefenokee and the Everglades. All the beautiful, desolate places. And in a way, she's given my life purpose and meaning again.”