Tales from the Shadows: Short Story Collection, #1

By James Loscombe

Strange things lurk in the shadows and not all of them remain there

 

Tales from the Shadows is a collection of thirteen thrilling short stories totalling more than 100,000 words.

 

The stories in this collection include:

 

Visitors
Sacrifice
The Forgotten
Elder Ones
The Stranger
Miracle Cure
The Web of Despair
Water
Acts of Revenge
Left Behind
Into the Night
Last One To Die
Away From Home
 

• Language: English
• Publisher: James Loscombe
• Release date: Oct 5, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393715757

James Loscombe

James Loscombe has been publishing under various pen names for the last five years. He lives in England with his wife Tamzin and their sons Jude and Oscar.

Book preview

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VISITORS

AT FIRST TONY WASN’T sure what had woken him, nor where he was. He opened his eyes and saw that the room was dark. There was a soft glow behind the curtains, but not nearly enough to see by. He was sitting up and couldn’t remember going to sleep.

There was a loud knock on the front door. Was that what had woken him? It was insistent, as if they were already tired of waiting.

With a belly-deep sigh he got up and hit his shins on the small coffee table which at least told him which room he was in.

Open up Mr. Barker, someone shouted. We know you’re in there.

Tony shuffled across the room and by the time he reached the light switch, he was fully awake. He guessed he’d fallen asleep watching TV. It was switched off now because it happened from time to time, so he’d set a timer. There were few things more unsettling than being woken in the middle of the night by an obnoxious infomercial. Although, he supposed, being woken by someone banging loudly on the front door, was one of them.

Mr. Barker this is your last warning. Open the door or we will break it down.

Alright! he called back. Alright I’m coming.

In the hall he switched on the light. There wasn’t much to see except a few old photographs, framed and hanging crookedly above a small table with a bowl full of keys on it. He reached in and pulled out the white ceramic bottle opener. Through the two slats of frosted glass he could make out the dark shapes of the people who had been shouting at him. He glanced at the clock, hanging between the photographs of Anne with Pepper and Anne with him. They mocked him with their smiling faces and memories of better times. It was three o’clock in the morning and he suddenly thought better of opening the door without knowing who was on the other side.

Who are you? he said while slipping the security chain in place. What do you want?

I’m Detective Parsons and I have Detective Narrot with me. We want to ask you some questions Mr. Barker.

It’s the middle of the night, he said. Come back in the morning.

I’m afraid we can’t do that Mr. Barker. This won’t wait. We have a warrant.

Tony sighed and unlocked the door, opening it until it caught on the chain. I need to see some ID.

Of course, the man said. He and the woman next to him produced gold badges and held them up. They looked legitimate, but he had no way of knowing whether they were real or something they’d bought from eBay. These things were easy enough to fake, but he had no reason to think someone would go to that much effort to get into his house.

He closed the door, released the chain and then opened it fully so he was looking directly at the detectives. What’s this about? he said.

Parsons was at least six inches shorter than Tony’s six-foot, his hair was either sandy blond or grey. The pale light of the streetlamp behind them flattened their features and made them appear ageless. Narrot’s dark skin appeared as smooth as polished wood.

You’re Mr. Barker? Parsons said. Mr. Anthony Barker?

That’s right, Tony said. What’s this about detective? It’s three o’clock in the morning. I was asleep.

Parsons looked at his clothes - jeans, a plaid shirt and a brown cardigan - and either assumed he was lying or not doing a good job of looking after himself, which was uncomfortably close to the truth. Tony could only hope it didn’t reveal anything more compromising. Do you mind if we come inside? There are some questions we need to ask you.

About what? Tony said.

Inside Mr. Barker. I’m sure you wouldn’t want your neighbours to hear.

Tony couldn’t have cared less what the nosy buggers overheard, and he certainly didn’t want two police detectives in his house. But further protest was only likely to rouse their suspicion and Parsons had already said they had a warrant.

It’s very late detective. Are you sure this can’t wait until the morning.

I’m sure, Parsons said.

Tony sighed. Against his better instincts, he stood aside and gestured with a nod for them to come in.

THE DETECTIVES SAT on the sofa by the window. Under the living room lights Parsons looked in his mid-thirties and as serious as cancer. Narrot might have been ten years younger. When Parsons spoke, she looked at him eagerly and Tony wondered if their relationship was more than strictly professional.

This is a delicate matter, Parsons said.

Tony nodded. He had been careful, he didn’t think anyone could know. He was sure of it. All they could have was a hunch and if he played his part well enough he might be able to convince them they were wrong. It was better than the alternative. I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about, he said.

Parsons nodded to Narrot and she reached inside her navy-blue jacket. She took out a sheet of paper which had been folded three times. Tony got up, took the paper and stood in front of the detectives to read it.

It’s from the District Attorney, Parsons said. It gives us the right to search your property under bylaw L864295.

The Zombie law, Narrot said, only the second time she’d spoken since they’d started banging on his door.

I know, he said and glanced over the top of the letter. Her eyes narrowed; she thought that because he knew what L864295 was, it meant he was guilty, which was ridiculous. L864295 was famous. It had been debated very publicly; by celebrities on television, by politicians in parliament, and on the front pages of newspapers, where the tabloids had named it The Zombie Law. An understandable, if inaccurate, shorthand.

The virus didn’t turn you into a zombie, for the most part it killed you. Surviving was what led to the zombie-like symptoms of rage, inability to communicate verbally and the desire to consume human flesh. Visually as well, the victim’s skin began to rot, and damage to the nervous system meant they didn’t feel pain, so they picked up disfiguring injuries easily.

It was a blood born virus and not easy to catch, a transfusion or a bite were the usual ways. However, people, encouraged by the tabloids which made their fortunes selling outrage and panic, became terrified that it was only a matter of time before it mutated and became airborne. Hence the debates. Hence the passing of L864296. Hence the two detectives sitting in his living room at half-past three in the morning.

Do you have anything you want to tell us, before we begin? Parsons said.

That I’d sooner you stayed away from the basement, he thought. But if I’m making wishes I’d be happier if you left right now and didn’t come back. Tony shook his head. Do what you need to do, I’ve got nothing to hide.

Okay then, Parsons said. He looked disappointed but resolved to the chore. Which either meant they had a reliable source, or that he didn’t expect to find anything. Either way it wouldn’t change the outcome and by the time they did find something, they would be angry that he’d waisted their time by not just telling them about it.

Yes Mr. Barker? Narrot said.

Tony realised that he’d taken a breath as if about to speak, that maybe he’d been about to tell them everything. It would be simpler that way, and they might be more lenient on him if he came clean. He closed his mouth and shook his head. He couldn’t. While they were here, and he was here, there was still a chance, he owed it to her to keep fighting.

THE STAIRS TO THE LOFT were bare wood, half finished, just like the conversion itself. Anne had wanted the work done for years before they finally got planning permission started. The structure was solid, and weather proof, but the walls were plasterboard and the floor untreated planks. He hadn't seen much point in paying to have it finished when it was only going to be him living there. It had seemed more sensible to hold onto the money.

Tony led the way up, because the detectives were expecting to find a monster inside, and naturally didn’t want to go first. He stopped at the door and caught his breath, aware that they probably thought he was stalling. Let them think what they wanted, the longer he kept them upstairs the better.

He pushed open the door and sensed the detective's unexpected relief. There was a torch hanging from a nail on the wall. He picked it up, switched it on and swung it quickly around the room.

Happy? he said.

What's that? Narrot said, keeping her voice low and pointing at a blue plastic sheet. She must have been new to the job, he thought, someone with experience would know that the torchlight would send an infected person crazy and they didn't have the survival instinct to hide from danger.

Tony walked to the tarpaulin in the middle of the room and, guessing what she would ask next, pulled it away and revealed a pile of boxes.

There’s nothing here, Parsons said. He turned back to the door. Bedroom’s next.

Tony followed them out, switched off the torch and closed the door behind him.

It was a three-bedroom house, but only one of them had been used on a regular basis.

This is my room, Tony said, pushing past them to get to the door. He switched on the light. The bed was unmade (it had surprised him to find out how many of the little things like that he’d only done for Anne’s benefit) and his bedside table was covered in pill bottles, for those times when he had trouble getting to sleep.

Parsons and Narrot walked in behind him. Tony cringed as she ran her hand over Anne’s dressing table, disturbing dust and moving bottles which hadn’t been touched since the morning they’d realised Anne was sick.

This is your wife? Parsons said. He’d picked up a photograph taken three years ago on a holiday to Thailand. Anne was standing on the deck of a river boat, wearing a bright blue dress and trying to stop her sun hat flying off.

That’s right, he said, stepping over a pair of dirty jeans to get it back.

She’s dead, isn’t she? Narrot said, with a casualness that felt cruel.

Yes, he said. He used the sleeve of his cardigan to wipe away the smudge Parsons’s fingers had left on the glass, and as an excuse not to look at them. They were trying to provoke him.

There was nothing in the bedroom, nor the spare room or the office and, when the detectives were satisfied that he wasn’t hiding anything in the bathroom, they followed him downstairs. They checked the living room again while he stood at the door and tried not to look at the photographs in the hallway.

After the living room they checked the dining room. He wasn’t sure he’d been in there since Anne had gotten sick. It had become unfamiliar to him. There were no photographs, the walls were painted pale green and there was a large mirror above the radiator. At the far end of the room there was a glass fronted cabinet displaying their fancy glasses and plates. The detectives took less than a minute to confirm that he wasn’t hiding anything there.

The kitchen was the last room on the ground floor. Tony tensed as they approached it.

Parsons found the light switch and turned it on. A harsh white glow filled the room and turned the windows into black mirrors. The kitchen looked as if he hadn’t tidied it in years. With a twinge of guilt, wondering what Anne would say if she could see it, he realised he probably hadn’t. It was another one of those chores that he’d only done for her sake. The work surface was covered with bowls, plates and cups. There were stains where he had spilled things and not cleaned up. The hob was crusty with food and there were flies buzzing around the large saucepan.

Even with all the mess, it was clear from a glance that he wasn’t hiding anything. Maybe, he thought, the filth would work in his favour and they would decide to leave rather than conduct a full search. Then Narrot began opening cupboards and he knew that it was only a matter of time before he was found out.

PARSONS MOVED ACROSS the room until he was standing next to Tony. He didn’t say anything, but Tony guessed it was so the detective could stop him if he tried to get away.

It took Narrot less than a minute to find the false door and, behind it, the real one. It was locked, of course, but that was to prevent anyone getting out, the key was on the shelf above, anyone could go in.

Are you sure there’s nothing you want to tell us Mr. Barker? Parsons said.

Tony wasn’t sure he could have spoken, even if he tried. He managed to shake his head and by then Narrot was unlocking the door and pushing it open. She took a step towards the stairs and he felt as if he should warn her, but his tongue was fat and he remained silent.

Hold on Selina, Parsons said.

Narrot turned back to look at them, her brow creased with disappointment.

These houses weren’t built with basements, Parsons said.

No, Tony said. He seemed to be listening to himself speak underwater. Another project that never got finished.

Is that so?

No record of planning permission, granted or applied for, Narrot said. Tony glanced over and saw her holding a phone which looked comically large in her hands.

Do you want to save us all the headache and just tell me what you’ve got down there? Parsons said.

As if you would believe anything I told you now, Tony thought. He shook his head.

WHEN ANNE HAD GOTTEN sick they had decided not to go the hospital. By then the doctors had realised there was nothing they could do and keeping the victims anywhere posed a risk. There had been several large outbreaks in city hospitals which were traced back to individual patients, everyone was terrified that soon it would become impossible to control.

Emergency laws were passed. The only way to keep the general population safe was to euthanise the victims. Legally, as soon as you became aware that someone had contracted the virus, you were obliged to report them. When Tony had agreed not to report Anne, he had become a criminal.

They’d talked about going on the run. Lots of people were doing it, and the police were so overwhelmed that the only thing you had to worry about were the lynch mobs. There were boats that would smuggle you over the channel into France, where they might just lock you up rather than kill you.

In the end Anne’s illness had progressed more quickly than either of them had expected and they never got a chance to decide.

She had moments of lucidity, even when things got bad. In his opinion that was the cruelest part of the disease; it turned you into a monster and then brought you back for long enough to realise. It was during one of these moments that she’d called him into the kitchen to talk.

He’d started to avoid her by then, much to his own shame. The skin on her face had begun to rot and fall off, her eyes had lost the light of life. But when she spoke, she was still the woman he had married.

Sit down Tony, she said.

He sat, averting his gaze and staring at the window behind her.

We need to talk.

Are you going to break up with me? he said and forced a laugh.

This is serious, she said and the scowl on her dead face was enough to convince him that he should sit up and pay attention. I’m not going to get better, am I?

They’re working on a cure, he said.

Anne just looked at him. If he could have bared the thought of touching her, then he would have taken her hand.

It’s going to be fine, he told her, but they both knew it was a lie.

Next time I want you to kill me, she said.

Anne! He was appalled by the idea, as she’d known he would be. She had her argument all lined up, catching him off-guard.

I won’t even know you’ve done it. You’ll be putting me out of my misery. It’s the best thing for both of us. You must see that?

She’d kept on at him until the promise was made, but even then, he’d doubted he could go through with it. Over the next couple of days, as she turned back into the monster, he went over it in his mind. The promise was made under duress, he’d eventually decided, and didn’t count. He chained her up and bolted the door as usual and put it out of his mind.

PARSONS SWITCHED ON the light and for a moment there was silence. Then she woke and all three of them could hear her growling and barking.

The detectives looked back at him but didn’t offer him another chance to confess. Tony was glad; he had no intention of giving up so easily.

They took out their guns. Since the first outbreak all police officers had carried them, a sensible precaution everyone had agreed. Tony followed behind them. He didn’t need to be there for this, but he felt a curious need to witness the moment when their fate was sealed. If they turned around now, he thought, they might still live, but they didn’t.

Parsons took the lead on the metal stairs. Their clanging footfalls barely audible over her moaning. At the bottom, the room was barely three-quarter height. Tony’s hair brushed the ceiling, but neither detective had any trouble standing up.

Her cage was in the middle of the room. It wasn’t large, but she could move around. The detectives stopped, their guns by their sides, not able to take their eyes off the monster.

That’s not his wife, Narrot said.

The girl in the cage moved towards her voice, until her face was less than an inch from them. The detectives flinched, but they didn’t move away.

IT WAS THE MIDDLE OF the night when she escaped.

He had fallen asleep in the armchair again, the television reporting on an outbreak at a football game in Liverpool. Tony woke to the sound of her footsteps clumping through the kitchen.

She shouldn’t have been able to get out of the cage, but somehow, she had. Tony remained perfectly still, if she realised he was there she would kill him. Then she was at the front door, pawing at it until something made it open. Luck, he thought later, but who’s, he never found out.

He followed her onto the street, keeping far enough back that she wouldn’t notice him. There was no one else around and he was grateful for that, even if he had no idea how he would get her home.

The sky had turned from black to inky blue by the time he heard the car. A few moments later a mini-cab pulled onto the street. Anne stopped, and Tony watched.

A light went on in the cab and he saw the shapes of two people inside. Then the door opened, and a young woman got out. She stumbled drunkenly, straightened out her skirt and waved to the taxi driver as she walked away. The car paused for a moment and the whole world seemed to hold its breath. Then the light inside went off and it moved away along the street.

The girl crossed the road. Anne moved towards her.

No, no, no! Tony said under his breath, then he started moving as well.

He told himself that he was too far away to do anything, but the real reason was fear. When Anne caught the poor girl on the other side of the road, he turned away, unable to make himself watch.

The next thing he knew there was shouting. A front door opened and a dog started barking. A man came out. He was carrying a long-barrelled rifle.

The first shot missed, but it got Anne’s attention. She turned towards the man and the girl slipped free.

Tony hadn’t been able to save the girl and he couldn’t save his wife either. He watched the man with the gun appear beside her, raise the weapon and finally put her out of her misery. Tony was surprised that the only thing he felt was relief.

A moment later sirens went on in the distance and Tony crossed the road to go after the girl. She hurried through a pathway between the rows of houses and stopped in front of a red-brick terrace. She got the keys out of her bag and went inside.

He stood on the street for a long time, not consciously aware of his own thoughts until they reached a conclusion and spat out an answer like a slot machine paying out the jackpot. Then he turned away from the dark house and made his own slow way home. The following day he was back again and every day afterwards, until she began to show signs of the virus.

THE DETECTIVES TURNED to look at him, their confused expressions begging for an explanation, but what could he tell them? That he had made the same mistake again? It didn’t feel like a mistake.

Who is she? Narrot said.

Tony shook his head. She had turned dramatically. Not for her the days, weeks, of lucidity that Anne had enjoyed. One moment she had been human, the next not.

Narrot had handcuffs out and he took a step back. Don’t make this harder than it has to be, she said.

He felt the stairs under his feet and turned away. Parsons was still by the cage, unable to turn away from the girl, but Narrot came after him.

Mr. Barker, she said, pulling out her gun and pointing it at him. Tony, I don’t want to hurt you.

He offered her a shrug but there was no meaning behind it. He turned and took the stairs two at a time. He ducked through the door and pulled it closed as two hollow thunks struck the metal. For a moment he was non-plussed, he couldn’t believe that she had shot at him!

The door locked automatically. There was plenty of time now, but he moved with practiced efficiency, not thinking about what he was doing beyond the surface level practicalities: go to the wall, unscrew the light panel, flick one of the two switches hidden beneath.

The first one unlocked the cage and a magnet inside pushed the door open.

When it was done he left the room. He felt weak, as if he’d been fighting. In the morning he would flick the second switch and release the gas which would subdue the girl, so he could get her back in the cage.

Until then he fell back on the sofa and switched on the TV. An old game show came on, bright and too cheerful. He turned up the volume and told himself that the screams he heard were only his imagination.

SACRIFICE

THE DOOR OPENED WITH a creak and he looked up. Her slim form was a silhouette in the candlelight. Harry smiled at his daughter from his seat by the fire.

Is everything alright Beth? he said.

She nodded, but he could tell that it wasn’t. She seemed nervous about something. Beth didn’t move away from the door.

Do you want to come in? he said.

Without a word, she crept into the room and let the door close behind her. Her feet made a dry padding noise as she came towards him.

Did you have a bad dream? he said.

Yes, she said, her voice little more than a whisper. Can I stay with you?

There was more than enough room on the chair. Harry shifted over  and she climbed up next to him, laying her head on his chest. She was trembling.

Do you want to talk about it? Harry said.

He felt her shake her head and didn’t press the issue. Instead, he put his arm around her and tried not to notice how thin she was. How long had it been since they’d last had a decent meal? Days? More like months.

Soon he felt Beth relax into him and shortly after that he guessed she was asleep. He continued to stare into the fire until the fire was cold and lifeless.

Harry eased Beth off his arm and lay her down on the chair. He pulled a blanket off the back of the chair and laid it across her. At the door, he turned and took a lingering look at her, then he left her to sleep.

As he walked through the cottage, Harry extinguished the candles that had been lit at dusk. He felt a desire not to waste them, even though they were one of the few commodities they had in abundance. Even before the zombies, Coastbridge had often suffered power cuts for days at a time. So every house there was well prepared for them.

He took the plastic tub down from on top of the fridge and carried it over to the table. There wasn’t enough to keep them going for much longer.

Harry licked his lips.

He took three pieces of a broken cracker and ate them. His stomach rumbled as it went down. He needed more. They both did.

Another day. One more day was all the time he would allow himself. After that he would do something. He would have to.

She shook him awake the next morning and he forced himself to smile at her. Then he saw the look on her face and knew that something was wrong.

What is it? he said.

The food, Beth said.

What about it?

She looked as if she was going to cry. It’s gone.

Gone?

He jumped out of his seat so fast that it fell over and hit the floor behind him. He turned to the fridge. The box was still there, but something was missing.

The lid.

When he took the box down he could tell by the weight of it alone that it was gone.

It was all gone.

Dad? Beth said.

He turned to look at her and saw that her concern wasn’t only for the missing food. It was for him as well. He hated that look. It meant that he had failed to protect her.

That was the only solution. He would have to go, and go now.

Outside it was colder than he’d expected. Wrapped in his thermals, insulated trousers and two coats, he could still feel the wind biting. He walked to the end of the garden and turned back to see her standing at the door. She was only wearing a tracksuit and must have been freezing.

Harry waved. After a pause, she waved back. Then he turned and walked away from the house.

Thick snow clouds filled the sky and blocked out most of the sunlight. It seemed less like mid-day and more like sunset. He wouldn’t have long before it was too dark to see. Then he would either have to return home or find somewhere to bed down for the night. Travelling in the dark was too dangerous to consider.

Before the zombies, the village was a lively place to live. He knew all his neighbours and they often stopped to pass the time of day together. Now there was no sign that anyone had been here for a long time.

At the edge of the village he found the car.

The metal was already beginning to rust, but the tires were full and that gave him some hope. If he could get the car started then he would make short work of the journey to the city. If he couldn’t, then it might be a three-day round trip and he hated to think what state Beth would be in by the time he got back. Three days without food and water was too long.

He climbed inside and pulled the door closed, grateful for the shelter that it provided.

He put the key in the ignition and turned it.

Nothing happened.

He tried again with the same result.

The third time he tried, the dashboard lights came on, but the engine didn’t start.

Again and again he repeated the procedure, unwilling to give up on driving to the city. But again and again it failed.

Finally he fell back in the seat.

There was nothing more he could do.

Not wanting to waste more time fumbling with the car, he braced himself to step back into the cold.

One more try, he thought. And even though he knew he was only delaying the inevitable, he put his foot on the clutch and turned the keys again.

It spluttered.

It choked.

It started.

Harry hit the steering wheel and laughed in relief. A smile spread across his face and he thanked his lucky stars that he had tried one last time.

He pulled the seatbelt over him and put the car into gear. He released the handbrake and turned the car around.

Harry slowed down as he approached the city. The road from Coastbridge had been almost empty, but now other cars were in his way.

He swerved around a large pick-up and tried to see inside it. Thick dirt clogged the windows and he couldn't see a thing.

Soon he had to give up. He put the two coats on and climbed out of the car. If he was lucky, then he might be able to drive it home again.

On foot, the journey was much harder. A vicious wind blew around the stationary vehicles and kept catching him off guard. It howled like a pack of wolves, so loud that he couldn’t even hear the sound of his own footsteps.

It was night by the time he finally arrived. Amongst the tall buildings the wind died down enough that he could hear the distant moan of zombies. He shivered and it had nothing to do with the cold.

Harry walked for several minutes. He tried to work out whether the moaning sound was getting closer or further away. It was impossible to