An Anthology from 7DS Books
A million times we’ve been told the tales of the haunted. We easily forget the original victims. Revenge. Truth. Love. Confusion. Resistance. Lurk inside the pages and discover seven soul-filled stories of why our haunters LINGER
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Since this is a book one of my stories appears in, I’m going to give you a tidbit, a teaser if you will for my story that is contained within. Here’s a little bit from ‘Dead Things Don’t Play Nice’…
The tiny fingertips grasped the edge of the porcelain tub with all of their might, desperately trying to keep her head above water. The smooth surface was slippery but still the child strained, her knuckles turning white with exertion.
Trying a different tactic, the nails scraped at the hands that held her trapped beneath the surface. But drawing blood did not make those hands release her.
As she stared up at Mother, through the crashing waves caused by her frantic struggling, her eyes pleaded for release, for forgiveness, for anything that would stop the torment.
She knew Mother was sick. She’d even heard the doctor talking to her father when she was supposed to be playing quietly in her room. But Mother had been taking her pills and things had gotten better.
The ladies from Church barely came to visit anymore and she knew it made Mother very angry. She had seen Mother in the kitchen cursing them and promising herself she’d do something to make them notice her again.
Mother thrived on the attention she received; the pity in their eyes. It made her feel better, worthy in some odd way. The saddest part was that Mother had taken to hurting her own daughter just for the sake of that pity. First it was a broken arm, next a deep gash on her leg with a knife from the butcher’s block in the kitchen. Of course it had hurt, but she never stopped loving Mother. Believing that one day Mother would show regret for the things she’d done.
Instead it had gotten this far. It was late when Mother came into her daughter’s room, the smell of alcohol strong on her breath. In the background, the rush of water echoed against the tub’s walls down the hallway, the light from the open bathroom door dispelling the shadows in the far corner of her room. Mother sat down on the edge of the mattress, her hands busying themselves with different tasks like tucking her in and picking at a spot on the bed spread.
It took only a few moments for Mother to lift her up and whisk her down the hall into the bathroom. The heat of the water burned the tender skin as she was submerged, her lungs gasping for air. As hard as she fought, she was no match for the determination in Mother’s eyes.
One final gulping breath of water and she lay still; the fight easing from her muscles. Looking up, she knew Mother didn’t feel remorse—the big smile on her face was testament to her cruelty…
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