Horror Bites: Alice's Scars

Today I bring you a featured book spotlight from HorrorAddicts.net with an Alice-inspired story by Adam L. Bealby. Enjoy...

HorrorAddicts.net launches its Horror Bites series!

Horror Bites: Alice’s Scars by Adam L. Bealby

When he met Alice, he wasn't prepared to go down the rabbit hole. His love for her pushes him into the uncomfortable realization she might be mad. He wants to keep her safe, but what if that’s not what Alice wants?

“Adam Bealby has written a mini masterpiece that explores mental illness, drug addiction, and real life horror.”

~David Watson, The All-Night Library

Horror Bites: Alice’s Scars

Just 99 cents at Amazon.com

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A look inside…

Alice’s Scars

BY ADAM L. BEALBY

When I first met her she was Katie, soon to be Alice. It was her first day at Uni, my second, and her scars intrigued me. They lined her cheeks like tribal markings and the way she caked her face in foundation, you could tell they were forever on her mind. It helped, of course, that she was a beautiful Goth girl. I wanted to save her, share her pain, kiss her, and fuck her, too. I asked her what she kept in the drawstring purse around her neck.

“Money,” she said dismissively, turning away to talk to someone else at the bar.

She disappeared soon after. I only found out later how drunk she got, how she spent the rest of the night over a toilet bowl with Jackie holding her hair clear of her mouth. Her first and last run-in with alcohol. Alice had too much else going on in her life to get any more screwed up.

I dogged her all through freshers’ week. Instead of dorms, she’d been accommodated in a little house just off campus. A new friend I met lived there too, so it was an easy thing to fall in with her motley crew, drawn together by circumstance as we were. I became a regular in their kitchen, smoking weed and trying too hard—as we all did—to be quirky and cool.

We struck up conversation over a jar of pesto. I didn’t know what it was and she couldn’t believe it. I strung it out, made it appear I was more ignorant than I actually was, and I got her laughing. When I said her pesto looked like rabbit food she blushed, right through all that paint and powder.

“You don’t know the first thing about rabbits,” she said, and she showed me what was in her drawstring purse. It was a tiny white rabbit’s foot. It freaked me out and yet I felt even more attracted to her. It was my in, a secret shared. Looking at the severed foot I felt myself getting hard and I had to sit down for fear she’d notice.

She ran away that evening. We were all stoned and a bit drunk, talking about our parents, being glib, critical, or overly generous. She burst into tears and ran out of the kitchen and into the night, not even bothering to put her shoes on. We made an extravagant show of hunting for her, shouting her name up and down the street. Pete the Poet, as we later christened him, came out to help from next door. The way John shouted Katie’s name in his Irish accent, Pete thought we’d lost a cat. We had a good laugh about that.

But it wasn’t funny when we found Katie. She was hunkered down by the bushes on a bit of common area at the end of the row.

“Katie? What are you looking for?” I asked as we gathered round in a concerned hub.

“He was here,” she muttered. She’d been pawing at the dirt. Her fingers were black. “I saw him, but he got away from me.”

“Who was here, Katie?”

She looked up. The glare from a passing car lent her eyes a lustrous sheen.

“Alice. Call me Alice from now on, okay? Do you know what time it is? The days all seem to blur into one.”

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Adam L. Bealby writes fantasy, horror and weird fiction for both adults and children. His short stories and comic work have been published in numerous anthologies, including Spooked (Bridge House Publishing), Pagan (Zimbell House Publishing), Darkness Abound (Migla Press), Once Upon a Scream (HorrorAddicts.net), Sirens (World Weaver Press), World Unknown Review Vol. 2, rEvolution (MiFiWriters) and Murky Depths magazine. He lives in Worcestershire, UK with his wife and three children, and a harried imagination. 

Catch up with his latest ravings at @adamskilad.

Once Upon a Scream, featuring “The Other Daughter” by Adam L. Bealby

Once Upon a Scream…there was a tradition of telling tales with elements of the fantastic along with the frightful. Adults and children alike took heed not to go into the deep, dark woods, treat a stranger poorly, or make a deal with someone-or something-without regard for the consequences. Be careful of what you wish for, you just might get it. From wish-granting trolls, to plague curses, and evil enchantresses, these tales will have you hiding under the covers in hopes they don’t find you. So lock your doors, shutter your windows, and get ready to SCREAM.

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A Spotlight on Clockwork Wonderland

Today we drop down the dark, dark rabbit hole to emerge in a Wonderland of horrors. Today, the spotlight shines through the shadows on the creepy horror anthology Clockwork Wonderland...

Plus, I have an excerpt from one of the stories, so enjoy!

HorrorAddicts.net Press presents… Clockwork Wonderland

Clockwork Wonderland contains stories from authors that see Wonderland as a place of horror where anything can happen and time runs amok. In this book you’ll find tales of murderous clockworks, insane creations, serial killers, zombies, and a blood thirsty jabberclocky. Prepare to see Wonderland as a place where all your worst nightmares come true. You may never look at classic children’s literature the same way again.

Edited by Emerian Rich

Cover by Carmen Masloski

Featuring authors:

Trinity Adler

Ezra Barany

Jaap Boekestein

Dustin Coffman

Stephanie Ellis

Jonathan Fortin

Laurel Anne Hill

N. McGuire

Jeremy Megargee

James Pyne

Michele Roger

H.E. Roulo

Sumiko Saulson

K.L. Wallis

With Foreword by David Watson

Clockwork Wonderland is available on Amazon

Excerpt from Jabberclocky by Jonathan Fortin

As the fist hit Henry’s jaw, the impact rippled through his whole body.

“That the best you can do, you little shit?” his father roared, looming over him like an irate bear. His father’s hands, Henry knew, were accustomed to detailed, delicate work, bearing tools tiny enough to make clocks tick again. Then, when night fell and the shop closed, one of those hands would curl around a bottle, and the other would form a beefy fist. Henry’s father’s hands, it seemed, could take whatever shape the situation required.

Henry had never had dexterous hands like his father’s. Henry’s hands were clumsy and frail, and shook when he tried to grip tiny tools. If he ever tried to throw a punch, it would be his hand that was hurt. And just then, as he fell to the floor, the pain seemed to rattle his very bones.

“Try again!” His father picked up a clock and threw it to the floor. Gears blasted out, one nicking Henry in the cheek. “Try again, or no dinner!”

Although it hurt to even move, Henry pushed himself up and crawled like a rat to pick up the scattered pieces of clock. As he examined them, he had a rush of panic.

“They’re...dented,” Henry said.

His father brought the bottle to his lips for another swig before coughing.

“Dented? Must have been because you weren’t careful enough the first time, you ungrateful little shit. Dented. Pft. I’ll show you what’s dented.”

He stomped over. Henry, hypnotized in fear, dropped the clock, and even more pieces scattered away.

***

Father had a very bad hangover the next morning.

“Go open the shop,” he grunted from his bed, and Henry obeyed. Henry knew how to man the register and take orders. In truth, he didn’t mind doing it all on his own. It was quieter. Less stressful.

The way Henry saw it, all he needed was a chance. Every day, he watched his father in the shop, seeing him smile so sweetly to the customers. The bear that came out at night was a purring teddy during business hours. But even sober, his father might glance at Henry from the corner of his eye, and the ferocity would be there, warning what might come once night fell. The fear was suffocating. Whenever Henry tried to repair a broken clock, his father’s eyes would be on him, and Henry knew what would be coming if he failed. If he could just work on a clock without his father watching, then maybe he’d get it right.

Henry opened the drapes in the front window and saw the most peculiar thing outside. A man in a top hat was twirling through the streets like some kind of gentleman ballet dancer. Only, the more Henry looked, the less the man seemed like a gentleman at all.

The man’s clothes were tattered, with many rips and brown stains that might have been from mud, or perhaps tea. His hat was absurdly tall, and his waistcoat and tailcoat both had exceedingly long tails that snaked down to the backs of his knees and swished in wide, hungry arcs.

It was a cold, rainy morning, and the street was empty save for the man. He seemed to take no notice of the rain, but merely continued to spin and spin, his arm outstretched, perpetually pointing every which way his body turned. What on Earth could possess a man to do such a thing? He had to be mad. Yes, he was obviously a gentleman who’d lost his mind and—for whatever reason—had not yet been escorted to Bedlam.

So, it was quite alarming when the man stopped spinning at the exact moment his outstretched finger pointed in Henry’s direction.

Henry’s heart stopped. It was the first time he could see the man’s face clearly, and his visage froze Henry to the core. It was a gnarled face, with a nose that seemed as long and jointed as a bent finger. The man’s eyes were wide with glee, and his smile was twisted into a grin that resembled a jagged series of arches.

Panicking, Henry ducked away from the window, but only a moment later, he heard a knock upon the door.

“Is this a clock repair shop?” came a muffled voice. “I find myself in need of your services.”

Henry crouched in the corner, quivering. Unlocking the door was the last thing left to do, and it was certainly the last thing he wanted to do.

“Pardon my rudeness, but are you indeed open?” The knock became a furious rapping.

Above Henry were shelves where clocks ticked incessantly. Combined with the rapping on the door, Henry’s head rattled. All the same, his father had ordered him to open the shop and if Henry did not do that, he would certainly be in danger of a beating. The man in the tall hat was strange, but that didn’t necessarily mean he was dangerous. Henry’s father, however, most certainly was.

Henry reluctantly pulled himself to his feet and went to open the door. The man stood outside, his eyes and grin both unnaturally wide.

“I apologize for any trouble. I seem to, herm, my clock seems to be broken. I should very much like aid.” There was an unusual affectation to the man’s speech, and his eyes had a confused wildness to them, as though he wasn’t quite certain whether Henry was real or not.

“I would be happy to help you, sir. May I see the item in question?” Despite his fear, Henry greeted him with the same smile he’d seen his father give customers many times before.

“But of course, child.” The man with the tall hat dug into his pocket and pulled out a pocket watch. Henry couldn’t help but notice the man’s remarkably long fingers.

Henry took the watch and jerked his hand back, as if trying to snatch a paper from a roaring fire. The man took no notice of Henry’s nervousness. Instead, he tossed a bundle of notes onto the floor and bowed.

“I shall check in tomorrow at nine o’clock precisely. I trust it will be done by then?”

“Well, er—”

“Splendid!” the man interrupted and disappeared back into the rainy street.

To read the full story and more Clock-inspired, Alice Horror, check out Clockwork Wonderland