At The Edge of Night - 28 book horror box set - also contains a link to an additional FREE book Read online

  AT THE EDGE OF NIGHT

  MICHAEL BRAY

  Copyright © 2016 Michael Bray

  WWW.MICHAELBRAYAUTHOR.COM

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  All rights reserved.

  CONTENTS

  Candyland

  With These Hands

  Scarecrows

  Shoebox

  The Eye

  The Light That Brought the Dark

  The Man in the Alley

  Watchers

  One Night in October

  Long Tall Coffin

  The Langton Effect

  Apartment 11

  Sick Day

  The Boy Who Saw Spiders

  Scratchers

  H—NG—N

  The Trial of Edwyn Greer

  The Visit

  Jasper

  Seat 6A

  Cabin Fever

  99.9am

  Mr Ghoul’s Ghost Train

  The Beginners Guide to Death

  Firecracker

  50/50

  The Birthday

  Tilly

  GET A FREE MICHAEL BRAY NOVEL BY CLICKING HERE

  CANDYLAND

  Bill Norton was almost out of gas. The Arizona Desert rolled by his blue Cadillac as he enjoyed the peace of the road, which for the best part of the day had pretty much belonged to him alone. It had been blisteringly hot, the kind of day where just standing out in the open would leave a man covered in sweat within minutes, but Bill was kept cool by the constant rush of air as the car raced on.

  He had decided to drive from Los Angeles to San Antonio because he was deathly afraid of flying. The entire notion of being inside an aircraft horrified him to the point where he suffered severe anxiety attacks, and so the only option had been to hit the road. He only wished that the reason for his trip had been something positive. His sister had called to tell him that their mother had suffered a stroke and that he really ought to get down there as soon as he could. Without her having to say it, he could read between the lines well enough. It wasn’t a get well visit as such, but more than likely a farewell.

  As he imagined happened with most people in similar situations, he wished he had made more of an effort to see her, made time to go visit, or even just to call more often to ask if she was okay. He could give many reasons why he didn’t, the job that demanded so many of his hours, the family who he was trying his best to nurture and protect, or even the fact that there never seemed to be enough time. However, he knew, deep down, that they were all just bullshit excuses.

  He never went, because he was selfish.

  His attention was drawn back to the road by the sign which rolled out of the heat haze as he continued down the pencil line of blacktop.

  REST STOP/ SERVICES!

  Last chance for gas for the next 100 MILES!

  Take next slip road!

  He smiled to himself at the urgent nature of the faded green sign and the way in which its message was composed. There was a demanding quality to it. Why so many exclamation marks? He imagined the words being said by some backwater preacher, each line read in such a way as to give importance to what should otherwise be a standard message for a driver looking to take a break. It read like a demand, piqued his curiosity.

  Take next slip road!

  “Whatever you say pal.” He said to the relentless desert, smiling as the sign flashed past him. Even though he very much doubted that the aforementioned rest stop was the last chance for gas, he didn’t want to take the risk and be left out in the middle of nowhere after dark with no fuel and a car which had no roof.

  He could see the slip road ahead, snaking off out of sight around a brushy hillock, and if he wasn’t curious enough, the next sign ensured that he would definitely be stopping to check this place out.

  Like its demanding counterpart, this sign was also green and aged by the elements, but if the first sign was demanding, this one was written with some sense of finality, a statement of fact. The chipped and faded white letters this time carried no bullshit, no false information about how limited fuel supplies may be. It simply stated where in the world Bill Norton was going.

  ENTERING

  Candyland

  Pop. 122

  As far as place names went, it was pretty cool, and Bill didn’t think twice as he slowed and peeled off the main highway and down the bumpy slip road.

  Candyland, he thought to himself as he jostled the car along. What a fantastic name.

  The car bustled and jolted on its suspension, as Bill Norton made his way into the unknown.

  ***

  Candyland was barely a town. Bill cruised down what he presumed was the main street, taking in the ambiance of the place. The stores - those which weren’t closed and boarded over - were tired and jaded, and looked to be showing signs of giving up the fight against the constant abuse of the elements.

  There was an eerie silence, and Bill noticed that the streets were empty. Nothing moved, and he was aware of just how loud the Cadillac’s engine sounded in the hot July air. Despite the heat, he felt a chill brush down his spine.

  There was another sign ahead; penned in much the same way as the one he referred to as the ‘shouty’ sign. It was tied across the length of the street between two lamp poles and was no less subtle than its predecessor.

  This is CANDYLAND!

  Do NOT mis the fete in the town square!

  Hot Food! Cheap Gas! Frendly welcum!

  Not only was this also an exclamation point overload but was also badly spelt. He didn’t like it and was so overcome with the feeling of being watched, that he almost turned around and headed back the way he came.

  You can’t do that, He reminded himself.

  And why not?

  Because you need gas and this is the last chance to get it for the next 100 miles. The sign said so.

  He thought about telling his inner monologue to go screw itself, and that an exclamation mark did not mean something should be taken as gospel. Besides, surely to god in today’s modern world, somebody, other than in a shithole like Candyland, would have decided to set up shop and supply gas for weary travellers like him.

  But you can’t be sure…

  Again, his inner voice was correct. The facts were that he needed gas, and if he had to stop in Candyland (Population 122) to get some, then so be it. He tried to ignore the ramshackle storefronts and sagging roofs as he proceeded down the street, which although devoid of people, did have some life.

  A skinny, runt of a dog with patchy, matted fur limped across the street ahead, and he also saw a couple of alley cats pawing through a mound of garbage bags piled at the side of a bakery that last looked to have done business in the fifties. But of human life, however, there was no sign. The road turned right ahead, and he hoped that somewhere beyond there would be some signs of civilisation. He drove around the corner, and suddenly, the world of Candyland was alive.

  ***

  The town square was filled with people. Stalls were set up around the perimeter, leaving ample room for people to mingle and chat. The explosion of chatter and the mouth-watering smell of barbecue instantly dispelled Norton’s fear, and he noted that even his inner monologue had retreated back to its hiding place. Norton brought the car to a halt, instantly feeling the burning heat of the sun. He looked at the on-going fete which had been advertised by the sign on Main Street. There would be ice cre
am, maybe even deliciously cool lemonade, and of course, that wonderful smelling barbecue, which was making Norton’s taste buds come alive with desire. Part of him knew time was of the essence, and that he couldn’t afford to stop, but on the other hand, he had been driving all day and was a good couple of hours ahead of schedule.

  “Hell with it.” He muttered to himself as he shut off the engine and climbed out of the car.

  He walked towards the village square, his shadow thin and stretched ahead of him. One of the locals saw him and veered to meet him.

  “Good afternoon to ya' good sir! Welcome to Candyland.” The man said.

  He had some kind of speech issue, and pronunciation of the letter‘s’ came out as a ‘ttth’ instead.

  He was short and overweight and somehow squeezed into an ill-fitting cheap blue suit which looked straight out of the '70's. Rivulets of sweat ran down his balding head and over his face. The man whipped out a handkerchief and wiped himself dry, and then rolling his eyes he looked at Norton and flashed a yellow toothed grin.

  “It’s so hot the god-damn birds are layin’ their eggs sunny side up.”

  Norton nodded, as the man stuffed the handkerchief back into his breast pocket, then held out a pudgy hand.

  “My name's Clayton Candy, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

  Norton shook the man’s hand. It was soft and sweaty, and Norton couldn’t wait to have his grip released.

  “Pleased to meet you Mr Candy, I’m Bill Norton.”

  “So, what brings you to Candyland today?”

  “I uh, need some gas. Almost out.”

  “Oh, we can certainly help you out there. No problem at all. Won’t you stay and enjoy the fete with us? It’s quite the event here.”

  “I would, but I’m a little pushed for time.”

  “Oh come on Bill, a few minutes rest won’t harm? Anyway, our gas station attendant is right here at the fete. I’ll show you around and introduce you so you can be on your way.”

  Clayton slapped Norton on the shoulder and steered him towards the fete, taking all arguments out of the equation. Norton didn’t fight too hard, he was, after all, pretty peckish.

  “So, Mr. Candy, is this your town?”

  “Oh no, not at all. I’m just the Mayor. My great, great granddaddy founded Candyland way back. I’m just the latest in a long line of Candy’s running the show here.”

  The two walked past stalls selling various low-quality goods. For every local that greeted Mayor Candy with a nod of the head, a wary eye was cast towards Norton. There was something unusual about the people, something he couldn’t quite put his finger on. Clayton went on.

  “We're a small town Bill, and between you and me, I like it that way. We keep ourselves to ourselves and let the world go on without knowin' about us. Oh, you gotta try this.”

  Clayton waddled over to the barbecue, which was immense and filled with sausages, burgers, steaks and chicken legs. It looked beautiful and smelled even better.

  “Franklin, this 'ere is Mr. Norton, he’s new in town. Why don’t ya give him one o’ your special burgers?”

  Franklin looked older than time itself, a withered shell with leathery brown skin and a distinct sprinkling of liver spots. But ancient or not, Norton appreciated the old man’s cooking skills, and gratefully accepted the giant burger offered to him.

  “Ketchup?” The old man asked, holding the bottle towards Norton.

  “Yes, thanks.” He said as the old man squirted a generous amount of sauce on the burger before replacing the top half of the bun. The burger was almost as wide as the span of his hand. It wasn’t some shitty processed McDonalds fare either, but a real, homemade burger in an actual bread bun.

  “How much do I owe you?” Norton asked as he started to fish for his wallet.

  “Oh, don’t ya worry about that. Take it as a welcome as our guest today.” Clayton said, once again pulling out his handkerchief to wipe away his sweat.

  “Thank you, that’s very generous.”

  “Go ahead and try it, boy.” The old man said as he flashed a gummy grin.

  Norton obliged, taking a large bite.

  It was heaven.

  The meat was succulent and juicy, the char-grilled taste giving it a kick that was out of this world. Even though he had been fortunate to eat in some high-class restaurants, Norton didn’t think any of them came anywhere close to the fare served up by the old man.

  “My god, that’s amazing,” Norton said between mouthfuls as he wiped his chin with the back of his hand.

  “Glad you like it son, it’s an old family recipe.”

  “It’s delicious,” Norton said as he took another bite.

  Clayton clapped Norton on the back and steered him away from the barbecue and further into the crowd.

  “You married, Bill?”

  “Divorced.” He said as he finished off his burger. “I had a wife for three years and she has been my ex for two.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  “It’s okay, she was a bitch.”

  Norton laughed, and then saw that Clayton looked quite offended, so he morphed his laugh into a cough and hoped it went unnoticed.

  They passed a stall filled with handmade wind chimes.

  “Oh, Mr. Norton, there’s someone 'ere I would like ya to meet.”

  “Actually, I have to be going, if you could just point me to somewhere I can fill up I'll...”

  “Oh, this will just take a minute, then I'll personally take ya to Herb who will refuel you. Okay?”

  Norton wanted to refuse, but Clayton seemed quite insistent, and actually a little put out by Norton wanting to be on his way. There was a glimmer of something in his eye, and just for an instant, Norton was afraid.

  “Okay, but then I really must be getting going.” He said, wishing he wasn’t so easily influenced.

  “Wonderful, right this way!” Clayton said, flashing an uneven yellow grin as he pushed his way through the crowd.

  “Christine, oh Christine where are you precious?”

  Norton followed, watching in amusement as the sweaty Mayor pushed his way through the crowd. He knew the instant she turned around who Christine was. She was obviously Candy’s daughter, and the two were almost dead ringers. Norton had to fight not to grimace as Candy’s ‘precious’ waddled towards them. She was aged somewhere between twenty and forty, and at least three hundred pounds, if not more. Like her father, she was sweating, and although she had tried to comb it across to hide it, her greasy black hair was thinning, receding from the front and making her forehead appear huge. Her features were almost exactly the same as her fathers, although they seemed somehow compressed into the middle of her flabby face. He didn’t like to ridicule people for their weight but the only description he could find for her that would fit was piggish.

  “Mr. Norton, I would like to introduce my daughter, Christine. When I retire, she will become Mayor of Candyland.” Clayton said, beaming with pride.

  “Pleased to meet you,” Norton replied as politely as he could, trying not to stare at just how huge she was.

  “Hello.” She mumbled, not making eye contact with Norton and instead looking at her own immense shadow on the grass.

  “Mr. Norton 'ere is new in town. You go ahead and get him a drink now.”

  “No, really Mr. Candy, it’s fine, I do have to be going, and if you could just show me where I can get that gas…”

  Clayton glared at Norton, and looked angry. His cheek twitched once, and then the moment had gone, and he smiled.

  “Of course, my apologies.” He said, wringing his hands together. “If ya wouldn’t mind keeping ma daughter here company for a few minutes, I’ll go and find Herb an' have him fill up that gorgeous caddy of yours and get you on ya way. Good enough?”

  “Yes, thank you,” Norton replied as Clayton moved off into the crowd.

  He didn’t want to stay in Candyland any longer. He was starting to feel more than a little uncomfortable with the place. He
noticed that although they were trying as best they could to hide it, everyone was watching him, taking secretive glances. And he had started to notice other things. How not only did Candy’s daughter look almost exactly like him, but most of the other townsfolk bore a resemblance to him too. He felt his stomach begin to tighten as he started to wonder if he might be in danger.

  “Help me.”

  Norton flicked his eyes towards Christine, and she was now looking at him, her narrow, blue eyes filled with hope and fear.

  “Say again?”

  “Help, me, please.” She whispered.

  “Help you how? What do you mean?”

  “Take me with you when you go. Please.”

  “I’m sorry I don’t understand…”

  “I’m a prisoner here. We all are.”

  Norton’s already unsettled stomach rolled as he looked into Christine’s piggish face. She could almost have been beautiful in a way, had nature treated her differently. Norton had always considered himself a good judge of character and was always sure he could read when someone was lying, which made the fact that he believed every word she said immensely disturbing.

  “What do you mean, trapped?” He whispered.

  “My daddy, he’s not a nice man.”

  Despite the heat, Norton went cold as she spoke, wringing her tiny hands in the same way her father had earlier.

  “Why don’t you leave, he can’t make you stay here if you don’t want to.”

  She shook her head and lowered her voice even further.

  “He does bad things if you upset him.”

  “What kind of bad things? And why don’t you go to the police?”

  “Shh, he’s coming back.” She said, licking her lips as she continued to wring her hands. “Look at Herb. That’s what happens if you upset him!”

  Numb and unable to take in everything that had been said to him, Norton joined Christine in watching as Clayton approached.

  He was pushing a skinny wretch of a man in a wheelchair. He had a dirty, salt and pepper beard, and his skin seemed to be wafer thin and stretched over his skull, exposing pale blue veins with stark clarity.