Stories Like These: Volume 2
Stories like these don't come everyday, at least for us. Let our darkness envelope you, twice!
With stories like: The Hunter and The Hunted and Chain of Events. Don't think twice because you won't regret it.
Short excerpt from The Hunter and The Hunted:
In the shadows of the night, Frank stood near a bush and was very attentive to his surroundings. Halloween witches and ghosts decorated the trees and houses of the neighborhood, while fake cemetery tombs erected on people’s yards. The full moon hung in the cloudless sky. All appeared to be quiet.
With a trembling hand, Frank pulled out a handkerchief from his rain jacket and wiped the sweat on his forehead. He stared at his map where a huge red circle marked the area he was in. There were seven X’s to mark cities. As he folded the map back, he glanced at his gold watch.
“Eleven-thirty,” he said. His finger caressed the glass frame with affection. “Oh, Sylvia. I miss you so much. I promise I’ll avenge you and our grandson.” He’d been waiting all night for a sign of his prey, and just as he was about to return home, he spotted movement from the corner of his left eye. Across the street, a middle aged woman dressed in a business suit waited at a bus stop.
Short excerpt from Chain of Events:
He could feel it in his skin. It was coming true this time:his death. As the shadows of the dark room hung over his terrified face, a silent, watchful presence was there to visit him. These were not just shadows--the Grim Reaper must want him badly. Or did he? Was the Grim Reaper himself there? Shivers ran down his spine. He could see these shadows creeping through the room, coming closer. They attacked his will to live . . . and this couldn’t get more personal. Naked as he was, he glanced over to Spencer; she was dead. The shadows formed into a bloody mass. He saw a terrified, scarred face lying lifeless before him, her corpse already rotting. How long had it been since she died? He screamed and took cover under his sheets—but he thought better of it, and he ran outside for his motorcycle, the only escape he had. No running allowed, just racing.
He mounted his Kawasaki and took off. Driving at full tilt, reaching speeds of at least a hundred and thirty mph,he didn’t even notice where he was going until a sign for Interstate 35W flashed before him. I-35W? Where was he? That highway wasn’t in Miami.
Trembling and drenched in sweat, Allen woke from the nightmare. This was the same dream he had experienced every night recently: his death. His heart was racing and ached with a sadness he couldn’t explain.