Sinister Scribblings - Volume 1 Read online

  Sinister Scribblings

  By

  Matt Hickman

  Copyright © Matt Hickman 2017

  Cover art copyright MB Designs

  Published:

  Publisher: Matt Hickman

  The right of Matt Hickman to be identified as author of this Work has been asserted by him in accordance the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  All rights reserved.

  This eBook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorised distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement or the author’s and publisher’s rights and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.

  ‘Sinister Scribblings’ is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  For more information about the authors, please visit www.matthickmanauthor.blogspot.co.uk; www.facebook.com/matthickmanauthor; www.andrewlennon.co.uk; www.stuartkeane.com; www.facebook.com/sistersofhorror/; https://twitter.com/fiendbooks?s=07; www.facebook.com/CMSaunders01

  Contents

  Anna

  First published: Anthology – Kids - March 2016

  Publisher: Dark Chapter Press

  Apartment 6A – Resident: Lisa Harper

  First published: Anthology – Behind Closed Doors – November 2015

  Publisher: Matt Shaw Publications

  Charity Shop

  Original Story

  Educating Horace

  First published: Anthology – Easter Eggs and Bunny Boilers – March 2016

  Publisher: Matt Shaw Publications

  Immolate

  Original Story

  Naughty List

  First published: Anthology – A Dichotomy of Christmas – December 2015

  Publisher: MediaBitch

  Satan’s Little Helper

  First published: Anthology – Bah Humbug – December 2016

  Publisher: Matt Shaw Publications

  Sibling Rivalry

  First published: Anthology – VS – December 2016

  Publisher: Shadow Work Publishing

  The Punishment Room

  Original Story

  The Storm

  First published: Anthology – Hexad – October 2015

  Publisher: Matt Hickman & Andrew Lennon

  The Woods

  Original Story

  Venom

  Original Story

  Bonus Stories

  Silent Scream

  Jumping at Shadows

  Kidz

  Mother is God

  Doracula

  Absolution

  Careful What You Wish For

  Find out more about the publishers on their websites.

  www.darkchapterpress.com

  www.mattshawpublications.co.uk

  www.shadowworkpublishing.com

  www.shadowworkpublishing.com/vs-voting

  Foreword

  Casting my mind back about eighteen months, I had never written a story. I always vowed that one day I would, but never really got around to putting pen to paper. The indie writing community is host to a whole plethora of talented individuals, who continually flood the market with top quality material.

  I have always been an avid reader, ever since I was a child. In the past couple of years, I have followed several authors within this community, offering my support where I could and often reviewing their work. The new breed of horror writers have replaced my interest with the more traditional authors – not necessarily through being better in any way, but with their ability to inject new and interesting ideas into multiple, already saturated themes.

  At some point, I scribbled (literally) a short story idea that popped into my head. I called it Hobby. I have no idea where it came from; I had no idea what I was going to do with the story, but I think it was a definite testament to the material that I had been reading. Upon browsing social media one evening, another author; Andrew Lennon – whose work I had been reading asked whether anyone had something new that he could look at. Jokingly, I asked him if he wanted to read Hobby.

  He agreed, and begrudgingly, I sent him a copy to take a look at, asking him to take it easy on me with the feedback. To my amazement, he came back and told me that he loved it. In addition, he had given his wife a copy to read and her response was the same.

  So, did I believe them? Of course not.

  Since letting a few people read it, I was happy to continue tossing ideas about in my head but not really writing anything further. That was until a few months later when I was put in contact with another author; Stuart Keane, who was taking submissions for an anthology that he was compiling for Dark Chapter Press called Kids. Upon reading the guidelines, I thought that Hobby would have been a great story to try and cut my teeth with, however, the word count fell woefully short of the requirements, so I decided to re-write the whole thing into a longer piece, that I named Anna, to submit. To my amazement, it was accepted.

  So, call me pessimistic, but I still wasn’t convinced.

  I was approached by Matt Shaw, to write a submission for his upcoming anthology – Behind Closed Doors. My initial response was a mixture of elation and impending dread. We discussed the requirements for the story and I went away to do my own thing. I was already getting more confident with my writing, and had an idea. I wrote the story and was fairly happy with it, but felt that it needed something. Upon flicking through social media, I spotted something that sparked an idea. It was only the smallest detail, but made a massive difference to the overall dynamic of the story. The story is underpinned with some extremely dark humour, and goes some way to explaining the cover image and some of the references that are peppered throughout this collection. To this day, it still remains the story that people contact me about, often repeating the same question; ‘what the fuck?’ This was a reaction that I was to become quite accustomed to. I immediately scribbled the sequel to the story for another collection set in a shopping mall that never went ahead. The story is also included in this collection – Charity Shop.

  Next up, I released a short story collection with Andrew Lennon called Hexad. I’ve included two of my stories from that book – The Storm and Stag Night. The latter, I actually re-wrote from scratch, especially for this collection. In amongst these other short story anthologies, I was also submitting monthly to the flash fiction competitions that were being run by Dark Chapter Press. I have included those pieces, entitled Immolate, The Woods and Venom.

  The natural progression of writing took me into writing longer works, which I find more favourable, as it allow me to write some realism and background into characters before I snuff them horribly but short stories will always remain close to my heart, as they’re where I started. When the opportunity is offered, and if I have time and inclination, I will write a short for a collection, especially where there is a great incentive. I wrote four stories for inclusion in charity anthologies – Naughty List, Educating Horace, Satan’s Little Helper and Sibling Rivalry.

  Sibling Rivalry was a story I wrote for an interesting project called VS, where a bunch of English authors were matched against a bunch of American authors to battle it out over decision by a panel of judges. I was pitted against Michelle Garza, and her twin sister, Melissa Lason – The Sisters of Slaughter (I know, two against one, ri
ght?). They are two very talented writers, so I decided to play dirty and use their relationship at the catalyst for my story. They have been kind enough to let me use their story from the collection as a bonus read at the end of this book.

  This brings me to my final point. Since the start of my journey, I have been truly humbled by the help, advice and encouragement that I have received from members of the writing and reading community as a whole. There are some great people out there, too many for me to mention individually, but each one has helped in their own way. In that vein, I have included some stories at the end of this collection from other emerging authors in the hope that a single cross-over reader may pursue more of their work.

  So, you’re probably bored by now, so thank you for picking up this title. I sincerely hope you enjoy reading the stories as much as I enjoyed scribbling them.

  - Matt Hickman, April 2017

  The year was 1981. The place … the United Kingdom. It didn’t matter what time of year it was. The phenomena took place without fail; through wind, rain, sun and snow.

  Around about twelve to twelve-thirty in the afternoon, the streets of each and every suburb, tenement housing scheme and small industrial community reaching from Cornwall to Glasgow would fall into a strange and eerie silence. The birds would still be singing their melodies amidst the treetops, stray dogs would still bark someplace off in the distance, and the ever-present buzz of local radio would still permeate the air, but something would always be just a little…off.

  And if one was to peer from behind their curtains into the desolate streets beyond, they may well feel a chill run up their spine that had little to do with the notoriously harsh weather the nation endures. No, this chill would be borne of something deeper and far more unsettling than mere nature.

  All the children aged between four and seven years old would have vanished…

  Just like that…they’d disappear

  Whether schoolkids home for lunchtime, or those not yet of school age, it didn’t matter. This strange phenomena would not discriminate.

  Where only moments ago, the humble neighborhoods of the UK would echo with the sound of children’s laughter, they would now descend into a disquieting, uncanny silence. The older kids…they’d be far from earshot; determinedly searching the darker corners of their hometown, exploring beyond the confines of the safe and welcoming neighborhoods where they grew up.

  For the little kids, though, the street outside our front door was our life. Our friends lived right across the road, their mothers and our mothers were best friends, our fathers drank together and our grandparents held strange, near-tribal cook-offs with one another. The threat of gran-on-gran violence was ever-present, simmering just below the surface, though no one’s gran would ever admit to having a competitive bone in their body.

  We were as one, and the neighborhood was written into our very DNA. We had no cellphones, no home computers, and no internet. What we had, was each other. Yet when lunchtime came around, no matter what we were doing, whether battling an imaginary dragon or playing marbles sat on the crumbling pavement, we’d drop that nonsense like it was going out of style. We’d wave off our friends and companions, dust off our trousers so our mothers didn’t catch a fit, and maybe pick up the toys we’d been playing with…maybe.

  Most of the time we just left that junk where it lay, and as one giddy, childish hive-mind, we would quietly but assuredly go our separate ways, make for home, and slam the door behind us.

  Who needs friends when you have kid’s television?

  And what glorious television it was. You see, lunchtime didn’t belong to imagination, nor to the wonders of exploring the tiny microcosmic worlds in which we lived. Lunchtime didn’t even belong to lunch.

  Lunch was for chumps.

  No, that particular time of day held special significance for we children of the bygone age. For it was the time when we’d kneel before the television with hands on laps and eyes afire, fall into a silent, trancelike state which would inspire envy in even the most devoted and resolute practitioner of meditative states, and let the music flow over us and around us and through us. Bright primary colors would fry our young minds, and there they would be: George, Jeffrey, Bungle and Zippy.

  It was time for Rainbow.

  Every country has their own facsimile of the show, I’m sure. The lilting music, the overly friendly host, the garishly costumed weirdos that would invariably make up his or her posse…bears, dinosaurs, lions…

  Zippies.

  You know the type, right?

  Sure you do.

  And why are our culture’s children drawn to these daytime televisual treats like moths to the flame? Why do they forego all other instincts, cast aside their lust for living and tune all the way out in front of a talking box in the corner that’s usually far more suited to the dull and mundane world of their parents?

  Comfort.

  It’s that simple.

  Comfort.

  These shows, with their dancing flowers, their painting tips and their singalong songs, are comfortable to our young. And Rainbow…well, that show was the very definition of comfort.

  Matt Hickman doesn’t give a good fuck about comfort.

  Not yours, not mine, perhaps not even his own.

  What Matt Hickman does give a good fuck about, is disturbing the hell out of his readers, and there’s little he won’t do to achieve his goal.

  Even if it means the bastard has to ruin Rainbow for a generation of middle-aged borderline alcoholics whose wistful nostalgia is all they have left in this world, myself included.

  He has no problem with these matters at all. Personally, I think he thrives on this shit. And this - despite the fact I’m hearing the theme tune Rainbow in my damn head as we speak, and it’s creeping me out - is a very, very good thing.

  At the time of writing this, Matt is still a relative newcomer in the strange netherworld we call the horror community, but you’d never know it; not by talking with the man, and certainly not by the standard of his work. He’s carved out a place for himself in the genre, and has done so with humility, honesty and a resolute dedication to the craft, and with the stories herein, which you, dear reader, are about to enjoy, he’s proven himself not only a deft long-form storyteller, but a wonderful and impactful purveyor of the short form.

  I’m not one for spoilers, and if I do my job correctly, nothing will be revealed regarding the stories herein, but the journey Matt would like to take you on, (and we’re getting there soon…be patient), is one on which surprise is all part of the fun. If you’ve read the writing on the wall, it’ll be clear by now that this collection will mangle the aforementioned children’s show, but the how and the why are what counts, and you’ll have no damn clue where he’s taking you until your engulfed in the darkness and he locks the door behind you.

  Matt’s short story technique harkens back to the golden era of EC Comics, when the Crypt-keeper, the Vault-keeper and The Old Witch spun deft tales of depravity, vengeance, torment and lust. For many horror authors – myself included - those comics remain an inspiration, and the echoes of their influence can be traced through the post-EC world of genre fiction. Like a baton, their gleeful malice has been passed down, generation to generation, writer to writer, and while many attempt to capture that sense of pace, flow and intrigue in their work, few can lay claim to capturing its essence.

  Not so, my friend Matt.

  He understands the genre, thrives on it, revels in it. Together, we’ve discussed our ideas and themes with delight many times over, and it’s clear that for my friend, the genre is much more than simple entertainment. Matt gets it, and he’s now in far too deep to get out.

  That shit makes me happy.

  Anyway, I’ve bored you all long enough with my introduction. Now is the time to pour yourself a glass of wine, drop your ass into the comfiest seat at your disposal, take a long, deep breath and dive on in.

  There’ll be themes both light and dark, there’ll be lau
ghs that inspire a little guilt in your soul, there’ll be twists and turns that’ll make the more depraved among you purr like the household kitty…but most of all, there’ll be horror; sweet, sweet horror…violent, vicious, disturbing and depraved, and you’ll love every damn second of it.

  Now please, won’t you sing along with me…

  ‘Up above the streets and the houses, rainbow climbing high…’

  - Kyle M. Scott

  2017

  For everyone who has made this possible.

  Anna

  CHAPTER ONE

  Some people say that being a parent is the greatest gift on Earth.

  I would agree; being a single parent can be twice the hard work, sacrifice, effort, commitment and pain, but upon reflection I believe it has twice the rewards. Two years ago, when Anna was just eleven years old, my husband, Stuart, was involved in a serious car collision on the journey home from work late one evening. The head-on collision had left both cars a complete mangled mess of steel, broken glass, flames and severed limbs on the country lane, just four miles from our family home in the rural countryside of North West England.

  We were alerted by a uniformed police officer at the front door of our home, informing us that Stuart had been rushed immediately to the hospital in the village, after 8:30 p.m. Still in shock, I jumped into my car with Anna and headed to the hospital, every type of panicked thought running through my mind. Upon arrival, we were informed by the doctor that, despite their best efforts, his injuries were too severe and that he had died shortly after admission. Immediately, we both broke down in tears. Just like that, we were left heartbroken and alone, mother and daughter, by some other faceless driver who was killed upon impact. This faceless driver who was suspected to have been under the influence of drugs and alcohol. I made a promise there and then that Anna was my sole responsibility and I would do anything I had to do to protect and nurture her.