Voices in a Midnight Mind: Haunting Tales, Requiems and Epitap...

Voices in a Midnight Mind is a compilation of horror stories that will run a cold skeletal finger down your spine in the dim reading light of your otherwise cozy room. The descriptive, often dark, narratives between these book covers will escort your thoughts with a sure hand and unsound mind, from the playful beginnings of two boys in "The Dare" through the unique solution to the world's energy sources in "Oilganic" to the poignant redemption of a cold lonely man in "Batting Cleanup" Each haunting tale welcomes you like a creaky door to a dark house and bids you farewell with the gentle caress of a shovel on your grave. And you will be left wondering, and wandering, in the dark room of your imagination . . . your own midnight mind.

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Voices In A Midnight MindBy Ken MichaelsTrafford PublishingCopyright © 2013 Ken MichaelsAll rights reserved.ISBN: 978-1-4669-9361-7ContentsThe Dare...................................................................1The Good-Night Kiss........................................................23The Revenge of Robby Weaver................................................47Unwilling Romeo............................................................74Oilganic...................................................................80Sleepyhead.................................................................118The Exterminator...........................................................138The Great Divide...........................................................162Batting Cleanup............................................................165Denizens of the Crimson Threshold..........................................187 CHAPTER 1The DareThe house that stands at 1528 Poplar Street was not haunted, thoughlocal folklore and rumor betrayed this mere fact.The home itself was located in the middle of Poplar Street inthe small Illinois town of Oakdale. Built over a hundred years ago,it was a vision of well-crafted art drawn in the guise of a three-storyhome. The spacious wraparound porch that curled to thebackyard on both sides of the house added to the opulence. Manylarge windows were placed in the first two floors of the home. Smallwindows stared blankly from about the third floor, keeping a silentwatch of the spruce pine trees that surrounded the perimeter of theside and back yards. The steeped roof gave the house a definitiveVictorian style, indicating past grandeur to its era and initialowners.A wrought-iron fence surrounded the property on which itstood. A creaky gate hung at the entrance to the front yard, where itwould clang noisily on the metal latch as it swung in the transparentclutches of a nighttime breeze. Beyond the gate was a stone-coveredwalkway that led to the stairs for the front porch.The house had passed ownership five times in its history.The last owners of the house were Thomas and Joyce Bennett,who bought it in 1960. Childless, they owned the house for thirtyyears. In 1989, Joyce was diagnosed with cancer and succumbedto it one year later at the age of sixty-six. A few weeks after herdeath, according to witnesses, Thomas, likely distraught over hiswife's death, shuffled drunkenly out on the front porch one night,twelve-gauge shotgun in hand, and started firing it into the air,yelling obscenities to his neighbors. Sheriff's deputies were called,and after a brief but successful negotiation for him to surrender hisweapon, he was hauled away to the local jail. A few days after beingincarcerated there, though, he had died of a heart attack.This small blip in the home's history had given it the undeservedreputation of being haunted. Almost immediately after Mr. Bennettwas taken away, rumors started flying that the spirit of his deadwife haunted the house and that it caused him to go crazy. Furthergossip indicated that the couple had a son who was hidden in theattic, accidentally killed by the father, and buried on the property.These types of rumors made it difficult to sell the home, and for thelast ten years, it remained empty.And for each year that passed by, wild imaginations andfabricated stories by local residents added new layers to the house'shistory like dust upon its creaky wooden floorboards. So the housestood proudly in its inanimate state, unaware and placid to thestormy gossip that surged through the town's veins about its newreputation as a haunted house.But it was immune, as most houses are, to unearthly inhabitantssince no amount of rumor could make a ghost walk the emptyhalls and rooms. Gossip could not cause a misty apparition toglide silently up the carpeted stairway that led to the second floor.Innuendo could not make phantom blood appear. Folklore could notslam doors, could not perpetuate concealed maniacal laughter froma disembodied spirit, nor could it rattle chains.And so, for all the myth, one thing was certain.It did not have a ghost.* * *Halloween ended too early from the perspectives of Paul Boldenand Joey Armstrong, two thirteen-year-old boys who lived in thisquaint town. The nighttime curfew of eight-thirty for the trick-or-treatershad long passed, thus making the rest of this Friday nightan unbearably boring burden on their mischievous psyche. Theirbrains, wide awake in their respective Halloween candy-inducedhighs, betrayed their tired bodies and feet. They wanted fun, andthey wanted it now."What a waste. It's Friday. They should at least be able to let ustrick-or-treat later than this," Joey said, disgusted.Paul nodded his head. "I agree. It's a perfect Halloween night.""My dad says he used to trick-or-treat from the time they got outof school until ten o'clock at night. We should be able to do that, atleast." Joey practically spit out the words of the last sentence."Well, what are we gonna do?" asked Paul."I dunno. We'll think of something," Joey said with assurance.Paul looked at Joey, knowing that he would."I'm sure you will." If there's one thing that Joey could becounted on, it was shocking entertainment.Paul and Joey, both seventh graders, had only known each othera couple of months, but they were getting to be good friends. Paulhad moved from Michigan to Oakdale just before school began inSeptember. His parents had bought a house down the street fromJoey's, but it wasn't until a few weeks after school began that Joey,prodded by his mom (who thought Paul may have been a little shy),had made the first move to be friendly.Once they got to know each other, they realized that they had alot in common. Both liked baseball, although Paul liked the DetroitTigers while Joey liked the Chicago Cubs. Both liked Italian food.Both liked building model airplanes. But more than anything else,both were competitive.Neither could stand to lose. In the short time that they've beenfriends, several arguments (not to mention one shoving match)started as a result of one or the other not accepting a loss. Bothaccused the other of cheating at times; it didn't matter if it was atTrivial Pursuit or darts. After the tempers died down, though, theyusually shook hands.One game that they could not resist playing with each other was"the Dare." It was used as a subtle form of punishment when one orthe other was getting a little too cocky for his own good.Most of the dares were harmless, such as "I dare you to talk toMary Davis (the prettiest girl in eighth grade)" or "I dare you toshoot a rubber band at the teacher's butt."Others were downright criminal, such as daring each other tosteal a Pepsi from the 7-Eleven or to peek in on Ms. Berger throughher bedroom window as she was changing her bra and panties.In almost all the dares, they both followed through on them.Better to do that than face the ridicule of the other until given thechance to redeem oneself, usually to a dare at a higher risk.Joey stopped abruptly and grabbed Paul's arm. He pointed in thedirection to the Bennett house and said, "Oh ... my ... gosh.""What's the matter?" Paul asked, annoyed and confused."Do ya know what that is?" Joey inquired. "That's the Bennetthouse.""So?" Paul looked at the house without concern."I hear it's haunted," Joey said, nodding his head."That's ridiculous. I mean, I have to admit, it's creepy looking,"Paul said, looking over the property. He turned to Joey. "But no wayit's haunted. There's no such thing as ghosts.""If you say so," Joey said, raising his eyebrow, shrugging hisshoulders, and looking at his feet."I say so," Paul said confidently.Joey looked up at Paul and asked, "What makes you so sure?""Well, for one, I've never seen a ghost. Have you?""Mmm ... No."Paul looked at Joey in a manner that indicated, "Well, then?""So what? Just because you and I haven't seen one inOUR homes doesn't mean they don't exist? I saw this show ontelevision—I think it was Discovery Channel or something like that.Anyway, the guy on the show says in order for you to have ghostsor poltergeist activities in your home, you have to have 'negativeenergy' or something like that.""Negative energy? What the hell does that mean?" Paul lookedperplexed."It means that something bad had to have happened in aparticular place in order for you to have ghosts. Or that the personwho died had some unfinished business and didn't feel like movingon to the next world.""Ooooooh. The next woooorld," teased Paul, wagging his fingersof both hands in front of Joey's face."I'm serious, dumbass," Joey said, furrowing his eyebrows."Do you think there's negative energy here?" Paul askedlaughingly. "You must be a real idiot to believe in that stuff."Joey sighed and looked at his feet, trying to think of a comebackto the "idiot" comment. Instead, Joey got inspired to have some funwith Paul "I Don't Believe in Ghosts" Bolden. He looked at Paul,and before he could stop it, the story started to flow from his lips."I'm not sure," said Joey. "But no one, and I mean NO ONE, hasstayed in this house one night since the murders.""What murders? Who was murdered?"Joey looked at Paul in mock disbelief. "Man, don't you know?""How would I know? I've only lived here a couple of months."Paul was perturbed."Oh yeah," Joey said, slapping his forehead in mockremembrance. "Man, I forgot. You didn't grow up here. It'spractically a legend in this town. God, it was awful.""Who was murdered?" Paul repeated his question."Actually it was a double murder and a suicide," said Joeymatter-of-factly."A murder-suicide? You lie," Paul said, waving his hand at Joey."No, I'm not. I swear." Joey made the sign of an x over his heart."Hope to die.""A town this small does NOT have murder-suicides, Joey.""I'm serious, Paul.""Oh yeah?" Paul said, trying to catch Joey in a lie. "What wastheir last name?""Their last name was Bennett," he answered unflinchingly. Atleast that part was true, he thought. And with a little bit of rumorand a young boy's imagination, Paul was about to be immersedin a tale as if he were being baptized in the little-known historyof the town. "There was the mom and dad. And there was littleBilly Bennett. He was about eight years old. The people in theneighborhood didn't know them that well because they kept tothemselves. But do you know what I heard?" Joey looked both waysdown the street, as if someone might be spying on them or listeningin on their conversation. Paul thought this a little ridiculous sincethere was no one in sight."What?""I heard that Old Man Bennett used to come home drunk almostevery night. Sometimes, if he came home in a bad mood, he'd beatup little Billy and his mom 'til they were black and blue. I guess hewas real mean." Joey's imagination was in full swing now. He wasmaking it up as he was going along and, boy, was this getting good."Geez!" Paul exclaimed, sounding generally concerned.Joey seemed to ignore him and continued speaking. "One day,Billy's dad lost his job. I guess he was getting in a lot of trouble atwork because of his drinking. The rumor was that he accidentallypuked on his manager after having beer with his breakfast.""Who would have beer with their breakfast?" Paul askedincredulously."A drunk, you fool!" Joey said, sounding exasperated."Hey, I don't know! It's not like my parents drink a heckuva lot,"offered Paul."Neither do mine, but I suppose a drunk is going to drinkanytime they want to. And puke on anyone they want to, also."Paul agreed. "I imagine so.""Now stop interrupting me!" Joey said harshly, trying to seemstern and serious. On the inside, however, he was practicallygiggling and could barely contain his laughter. He continued to spinhis web of lies. "Well, he came home at around midnight just asmad as anything. Billy and his mom were sleeping upstairs whenOld Man Bennett went in the house, went upstairs, grabbed Mrs.Bennett by the hair, and dragged her out of the bed into the upstairshallway, all the while yelling at her to make him some dinner.""By the hair?" Paul was now staring off into space, seeminglymesmerized by his own vision of what Joey described."Yep," Joey affirmed. "Anyway, she somehow got loose when hefell in the hallway, probably because he was drunk. She ran to theirbedroom, went in the closet, and grabbed their shotgun. She wentback to the hallway and was aiming to shoot him as he was gettingup off the floor." Joey made as if he were leveling an imaginaryshotgun at an object, taking careful aim.He continued, "But instead, he ducked just as she pulled thetrigger. The shotgun blast was loud, and it blew a hole in the wall atthe top of the stairs that is still there, from what I hear. The soundof it woke Billy up, and he came out to the hallway to see what'shappening. Mrs. Bennett only got off one shot before Mr. Bennettgot off the floor and tried to take the gun from Mrs. Bennett."Joey could tell that his story had Paul spellbound. His eyes werewide and unblinking, watching as Joey gesticulated throughout thestory."What happened then?" Paul asked, anticipating the rest of thestory."Old Man Bennett somehow got the shotgun away from her andpushed her away toward the top of the stairs. He pointed the shotgunat her and shot her. Cut her right in half. And I'm here to tell ya,RIGHT ... IN ... HALF!""Holy cow!" Paul whispered to himself. Joey, now hitting onall cylinders with his story, knew that Paul was starting to take thebait."That's not all," Joey exclaimed, now caught up in the storyhimself. "As she started to fall down the stairs, Billy went to reachfor her. But he could only grab her bottom half while the top halfof her body fell down the stairs. Well, Billy lost his balance, andhe, with his mom's bloody bottom half, ended up falling down thestairs. When Billy hit the bottom of the stairs, he broke his neck."To add emphasis, Joey gestured with his hands as if breaking a stickwhile adding the sound of snapping bone with his mouth."What happened to the dad?""They say that he ran down to the bottom of the stairs to helpthem, but it was too late. They were dead. Once he realized whathappened, he committed suicide. Put the shotgun in his mouth andpulled the trigger. BLAM!" Joey took satisfaction from watchingPaul jump."From what I hear, it took them forever to clean the brains offthe ceiling." Joey had to stifle a laugh when he finished this sentencebecause Paul instinctively looked up above him.Now, Joey thought, he was going to lure him further into theghost story."The cops showed up and found the three of them at the bottomof the stairs. All dead. From what I hear, the place has been hauntedever since. You must admit, there's bound to be a lot of negativeenergy surrounding THAT event. A couple of years after that, afamily moved in. But they moved out after a month of living there.They said they would hear noises."Paul snapped his head around to Joey, as if breaking out of atrance. "That's bullshit! What kind of noises?""Late at night," Joey whispered, "they would be awakened bythe sound of a shotgun blast in the hallway. The parents would runout to the hallway and would see nobody there. But there wouldbe the smell of the gunpowder. Sometimes, after the gunshot, theywould hear people falling down the stairs. But when they went tothe stairs, there was no one around. But do ya want to know what'sreally freaky?""What's that?""No matter how hard the family tried, they couldn't get thebloodstains off the ceiling. And some of the local people, you knowwhat they say? They say on cold nights like tonight, when the wind'snot blowing hard, you can hear a little boy crying as you walk pastthe house." That last statement even gave Joey a chill up and downhis spine. Man, I'm good at this, he thought. I should write thisstuff.Paul looked at the home and then back at Joey with skepticism."Well, the murder-suicide may be true, I don't know. But I can'tbelieve that there are ghosts in the house because of that. THATpart, you're making that up.""Go see for yourself, then, if you're so brave," Joey said,gesturing toward the house."I should! Just to show you that you are full of it!""Well, go ahead then. I dare you." Joey had him right where hewanted him.Paul shook his head and said, "No way, I'm not going in thereby myself.""Why? You scared?" Joey said, a smile curling on his lips."No, I'm not scared. It's just that it's trespassing. Or you'll endup running away, and if I get hurt, no one will know until it's toolate to do something.""I won't run away, Boy Scout promise. I'll wait right here." Joeyheld up his fingers in his Boy Scout salute.Paul folded his arms, shook his head, and stated emphatically,"You were never a Boy Scout. Besides, I'm not going.""You hafta go. If you don't, I'll tell everyone you chickened out.And I'll make up a story so good about you being scared that no onewill believe you. I'll tell everyone that you went halfway up the walkand wet your pants.""You're a jerk, do you know that?""So? You goin' or what?" Joey asked again, as if not hearingPaul's comment.Paul looked at the house and back at Joey. "Do I just go up to theporch?"Joey smiled slyly. "No. You have to go in, go up the stairs to themaster bedroom, and wave to me from that window.""No way!" Paul exclaimed, waving his right hand at Joey, as ifbrushing him away."Yes way!" Joey said, mocking Paul, both in voice and handwaving."Where are you gonna be?" Paul asked skeptically."I'm gonna be right here. Waiting for you," Joey said. "So areyou gonna go or what?""Why don't you come in with me, if you're so sure? You'll seefor yourself if there are any ghosts.""I dared YOU. Besides, I already believe in them, remember?"Paul thought about it for a moment. "And what if I do it? Whatam I going to get? This has got to be worth something in return.""Hmmmm. What do you want?""Five bucks! AND you have to tell the kids in school how braveI was. AND you have to use the same imagination to tell that storythat you used to make this stupid ghost story up. THEN I get tenfree passes on dares.""I didn't make this up. But, okay, you're on. I'll tell the kids atschool, AND you get ten free passes on the dares. Agreed?" Joeyreached out his hand to shake Paul's in their typical agreement. (Continues...)Excerpted from Voices In A Midnight Mind by Ken Michaels. Copyright © 2013 Ken Michaels. Excerpted by permission of Trafford Publishing. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.

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