Strange Murmurings Vol. 2: Strange Murmurings, #2

By Brent McGregor

STRANGE MURMURINGS (Volume Two) is the second book in Brent McGregor's short story series, a collection of horror tales that delve into the supernatural and the weird. In these 4 tales, a bored housewife runs afoul of a malign cleaning product ("DreamSparkle"); a couple receives a potentially cursed garden gnome as a housewarming gift ("Gnome"); a woman is kidnapped by a deranged cultist ("Idol Hands"); a school group goes missing from an Australian National Park ("Darker Skies"). A fascinating exploration into the world of the terrifying and the macabre. Read if you dare!

"A chilling collection of frights, easily read over a dark evening or two."

• Language: English
• Publisher: Brent McGregor
• Release date: Jun 22, 2024
• ISBN: 9780645340020

Book preview

Author’s Preface

Like a lot of authors my writing takes place in the little snatches of time around a full-time job, fitting-in with family, and other commitments. The four horror stories in this book represent a good portion of my creative output since the first book. They are intended as a sampler, to give readers—and fellow fans of supernatural horror—a feel for my writing style.

Register for my newsletter at my homepage www.brentmcgregor.com to receive news about my forthcoming novel, as well as general updates.

Meanwhile thank you for checking out Strange Murmurings: Volume Two and I hope you enjoy the stories. If you were to leave a review or even just a rating at Amazon or Goodreads, I’d be immensely grateful

— Brent McGregor, May 2024.

DreamSparkle

Well, don’t stand there gaping you, idiot, get over here and help," Betty said.

Ned hustled to take the box from his wife. Sorry, darling. Where do you want it?

Just put it with the others. She gestured to a stack of mover’s boxes in the corner.

Betty shook out the tension in her wrists, surveying the mess that was the kitchen. Oh God, it’s hideous. She hated everything about it, from the linoleum floor and laminate counters; to the avocado green splashbacks and yellow, patterned wallpaper. What did I do in a past life to deserve this?

She checked her cell phone in case there was a message from her tennis coach, anything to cheer her up.

Look, I don’t want to fight, okay? Ned smoothed his tie. Dressed for work and with his wire frame glasses he bore more than a passing resemblance to Bill Gates.

Betty eyed his paunch. All through college—thanks to a lucky metabolism—he’d been lank and sinewy, but he’d packed on the pounds in recent years. You always do this, she said. I could have used your help cleaning and unpacking. You’re not pitching in.

Ned winced. It’s not like I have a choice, darling. It’s a new job.

Betty shook her head. It wasn’t a new job, not really. Ned had been passed over for a promotion at the bank, then got himself transferred to a different branch—which was as good as a demotion in her eyes. They’d been forced to sell their beautiful apartment in town, trading it in for a postmodern fixer-upper in the suburbs.

She felt an all too familiar throbbing behind her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose. It was probably a migraine. Will you hurry? You’ve got to drop Alex at school, remember?

Oh jeez. Is that today? Ned said, rubbing the back of his neck.

Their seven-year-old, Alex, sat at the breakfast nook eating Corn Flakes from an oversized bowl, watching them from beneath his shaggy fringe.

Morning, kiddo. Ned ruffled the boy’s hair. You ready for your first day of school?

Not really, Alex said, munching.

That’s the spirit. Ned swiped a slice of toast.

It’s not my first day of school, Dad.

We know that, chief, Ned said. But it is your first day at a new school, and first impressions count. He ate the slice of toast before putting his jacket on. You ready to go?

Alex nodded.

On their way out, Ned leaned in to kiss his wife goodbye, but she shifted her head so he only managed to peck her cheek. He lingered for a moment before shuffling—with Alex in tow—in the direction of their lime-green Mazda parked in the driveway.

Oh, Ned, Betty called out. Did you contact the electricity company yet, to let them know we’ve moved?

Uh-huh. Yes, dear, he said, strapping Alex into the booster seat.

What about Telstra?

The what? Ned said, shutting the door on the passenger-side. 

The telephone company...to connect the phone?

Right—of course, he said putting palm to forehead. I’ll get right on it.

Betty watched them back out the driveway and disappear up the street.

***

A short while later, Betty slid an idle hand over the kitchen counter, appalled at the thin layer of grease she found there. It was filthy, a veritable history of food preparation. No point in putting things away yet. This all needs cleaning. And she slid the packing boxes into the living room—but not before shifting the ugly macramé lamp Ned’s mother had bequeathed them a year earlier.

What am I getting myself in for?

While examining the sink—which was noxious-smelling, and covered with lime scale—she gave an involuntary shudder. ‘There’s more faecal bacteria in your sink than a flushed toilet,’ she remembered hearing once. Still, she was surprised at the level of scum around the drain and