Josephine Purdy

*Rated 18+, this story may contain adult themes and language.

Twin beams of yellow light danced over the tops of the tombstones as the boys raced in tandem through the cemetery. They dodged and darted between the larger stones and mausoleums and hurtled over the toppled gravestones and smaller markers.

As the adrenaline coursed through him, Kyle felt it firing his limbs and he resisted the primal urge to howl. The empty cans of spray paint in his pockets rattled and bounced and he struggled not to lose them as he ran. His cousin Paul matched his pace, falling behind only to surge past him again and again. Kyle saw him now, coming up fast on his right side, his face a mask of tension. A few hundred yards off the cemetery gates loomed up in the darkness. He could not see their bikes beyond it but he knew they were there, waiting.

Admittedly this had been a bad idea. If they had been caught in the act of vandalizing a cemetery, it was big trouble for both of them. Kyle was still processing that thought when his foot caught on something and he went down hard. He landed on his chest, knocking the wind from his lungs. His flashlight hit the ground, the light and lens shattered with the impact. Kyle rolled onto his back, waiting for his breath and for the pain to subside. When it had, he sat up and looked around.

He had tripped over a fallen tombstone. It was lying almost parallel to the ground, the aged stone pockmarked and covered with black moss. Kyle crawled the short distance to it. It was out of place, set apart from the others. It should not have been there.
Paul was suddenly at his side, helping him to his feet.

“Dude, you took a serious digger!” the younger boy said, not bothering to harness the laughter that leaked out with the words.

“Yeah, I tripped over that, “ Kyle said, grabbing his cousin’s flashlight and directing the beam onto the gravestone.

The light illuminated a grave marker that was narrower and older looking than any other they’d seen that night. It was half sunken into earth,the writing so degenerated that it was illegible but for one word, “Purdy”.

Paul and Kyle exchanged a look. The name meant something to them as it would have to anyone from Brewster familiar with the town’s dark history.

“She wasn’t buried this close to the gates was she?” Paul asked.

Kyle looked over Paul’s shoulder and saw to his dismay that the gates where not as close as he thought they’d been. Indeed, their impressive outlines where no longer visible. How had they gotten turned around? Confusion and an ever increasing pain in his ankle infused Kyle with a new fear. They hadn’t been turned around, they had been running for those gates. He had seen them. Even in the darkness, Kyle had registered their outlines on the horizon.

Paul snatched his flashlight back from his cousin and slowly turned in a wide circle, casting the beam in a wide arch to survey their surroundings. Nothing looked familiar. The boys stood shoulder to shoulder, stunned and silent in the deepening night.
The toppled gravestone at their feet began to vibrate – they felt it through the soles of their sneakers. They backed up and away from it. The air was suddenly thick with the smell of rot, it pressed in past their teeth and filled their throats. Assaulted by the stretch, both boys began retching and spitting.

Kyle felt Paul’s hand suddenly gripe his arm. He followed his cousin’s frightened gaze and saw the figure advancing on them, a darker space in the blackness. Paul raised the flashlight beam and illuminated the night and the moving figure.

It was a woman in a white cotton shift. Long black hair trailed down her shoulders and her feet and legs were bare. As the beam moved up over body, the boys saw that she was naked under the shift, her dark mounds and full breasts clearly discernable through the thin material. She was older, perhaps Kyle’s mother’s age, with strong womanly features and large eyes. She drew within four of five feet of the boys and smiled, cutting her eyes from one boy to the other before stepping in close to Kyle. She paused and tugged the dress over her head and off with one practiced hand. She leaned forward, her long lashes brushing his cheek and she sniffed him. The woman placed both hands on his chest, gripped his sweatshirt in talon-like fists and dragged Kyle forward against her body.

She smelled bad, really bad. Kyle registered that fact as strongly as he did her lush, hard body. He felt his arousal mounting despite the smell of rot emanating from her and his own growing sense of terror. He felt Paul back away slowly, felt his cousin make the decision to bolt just before he did exactly that. Kyle tried to call out after him but the woman was looming close and her eyes were dark, oscillating pools that paralyzed him. Kyle stood on quaking legs while her fingers trailed down to his belt and below it, pressing against the obvious bulge in the front of his jeans.

The woman began keening, a horrendous sound that made Kyle mad with fear. She began caressing his arousal through the denim. When Kyle tried to pull away, she hissed wetly at him, sending thin ribbons of black spittle over his cheeks and chin. Her fingers gripped the buckle of his belt and tugged it free in a practiced motion. Kyle struggled backwards, tried to pry her hands away but she had already wrapped a hand around his erection and pulled him free. He was hard and pulsing in her cold grip.

The touch made him cry out in pain and in terror. The wrongness of his situation rushed over him like a tide and he began to twist violently away, sobbing and cursing at the abomination that had him in her demonic clutch. He felt her nails ripping ribbons of flesh from his buttocks, felt her teeth at his neck and saw her swollen, lolling tongue. He got his arms up between them, pressed his palms against her breasts and shoved as hard as he could. The woman stumbled back, her hand fell away and Kyle was suddenly free. He turned and ran blindly into the night.

He ran and ran, stumbling and falling, his pants slipping down over his hips. He dragged himself back to his feet, tugging them back up and breaking into another wild sprint. His heart was pounding and he was screaming, too loud to hear anything that chased him. He did not look back. He felt the spray cans drop from his pockets and fall away. He didn’t stop to retrieve them. His eyes darted across the cemetery as he ran, looking for anything familiar, desperately looking for the gates. Then, he saw them.

Kyle tapped into his last reserves and took off. The momentum sent him careening into the wrought iron frames, rattling them. Kyle tugged them open and slipped through. Paul and his bike were gone. He snatched his up from the ground. He hurriedly stuffed himself, limp and shriveled now back into his jeans. Kyle threw his leg over the bike and launched himself away as quickly as he could manage. He rode at a breakneck, hazard pace all the way home. He never looked back, just pedaled and rubbed the tears from his eyes.

The house was dark and quiet, as he had left it hours before. Kyle slipped out of his clothes and stepped into the hottest shower his tender skin could stand. He washed himself roughly, turning his skin red in the steam. He could still smell her decay on his body, still felt the horror of her assault and the tender places on his body that she had scratched, torn and bruised. He still saw the obscenity of her naked breasts and her exposed sex in his mind. Exhausted, Kyle fell into bed. In the relative safety of his room, he felt unhinged.

Josephine Purdy had been the town postmistress decades ago. She had been a dark beauty, a widow with very un-puritan appetites. She had seduced the pious town magistrate and his wife had accused her of being a witch. Josephine had been tried and hung. She had been buried in the outskirts of the cemetery to be forgotten. The creature that attacked and violated him tonight had most certainly been her. Tomorrow the police would find the vandalized graves, spray cans and subsequently their fingerprints. Kyle didn’t care. He wasn’t going back to get them, what waited there for him was far worse than punishment he could imagine.

Horror Writing and Clinical Confrontations

It has been difficult to find the time to write, even the daily blog prompts have passed me by the alarming regularity. I hope the slower months of the Northeast winter season will afford me more pockets of free time where I can focus on it more.

"Blog City ~ Every Blogger's Paradise"
DAY 967 November 1, 2016.
Prompt: What elements can a writer use to make his work in the horror genre scary?

Over the past year I have found a new fascination with the horror genre after some of my work was selected for publication in the Once Upon a Scream anthology. I found the experience of writing horror very liberating in a way I hadn't anticipated. I've always been a reader of the genre and a fan of King, Straub and Koontz. The experience with this anthology exposed me to reading more diverse selections, cross-genre delights that inspired me to consider writing more myself. The greatest appeal for me about writing horror is the freedom of it, the limitless potential of fear. The fact that from phobias to the paranormal, the field of what scares us is wide open and highly relative. Let's face it, there is so much that scares us, fragile, impressionable bags of flesh that we are. The writers I feel master this genre the best are always the ones to take the most liberties with fear. They can take something innocuous and make it terrifying by applying just the right angle. Great horror writers can leave us with pulsing hearts and racing adrenaline long after we close their books. That's impressive.

Who hasn't read Stephen King's "It" and not been forever uneasy with clowns ever since confronting Pennywise among those pages? Stoker's Dracula is as an indelible character in literature as there has ever been. Bentley's "Jaws", had us all thinking twice before "going back in the water" didn't it? What was it that these writers used to scare us so effectively? They exploited the primal fears embedded in our DNA. They mutated the mundane into something that could not be easily contained, controlled or defeated. They made us feel unsafe. For me, the biggest scares always come as a surprise, after we've told myself the worst is over, then we find out Hell has another floor...

I don't know how effective I am as a horror writer but I enjoy making the attempt.

"Blogging Circle of Friends "
DAY 1447 November 1, 2016
Use these random words to discuss something on your mind: drip, clinical, regret, contemporary, greed, power, and balloons. It's your blog, make it a rant, a poem, or a story. Have fun.

Jackie's heels made hollow click-clacks on the linoleum as she walked down the urine-colored hospital hallway. The flowers sagged in her arms, now heavy and smelling sickly sweet from the extra hours in her warm car. She should have tossed them but hadn't wanted to come empty handed. Truthfully, she hadn't wanted to be seen coming empty handed, the man at the end of the hall couldn't have cared less what she brought.

She stopped at the nurses desk, and stood there watching the clinical hustle and bustle and waiting for someone to address her. A hefty nurse with too pink lipstick finally turned and asked if she needed anything. Jackie told her who she was there to visit.

The nurse pointed a thick finger at the big dry erase board on the far wall and said, "Room 151, but he's not back yet. You can wait for him in his room."

Jackie nodded and made her way to her uncle's vacant room.

There was precious little in the small contemporary space aside from a weak, partially deflated bouquet of balloons clinging to the far corner and a dried out violet in a blue clay pot. Jackie added her own flowers to the sad tableau and took at seat across from the foot of the bed. The sheets were tossled and the saline drip bag hung emaciated from its stand, its hose snaking over the mess of sheets like a marauding serpent.

She felt herself shudder. This was the hospital room of a tyrant, a man who had lived a life consumed by greed and power and was now facing death alone because of it. It made her sad. It made her also feel vindicated somehow. Hadn't she warned him about this? Hadn't she hurled the prediction over her shoulder at his scowling face as she had felt his home?

Jackie heard the thumping gurney wheels approaching and she instinctively stood, drawing her arms up around her. Her eyes on the door, she forced herself to breath as she prepared to face a man she hadn't seen in over fifteen years.

The Lot

The vacant parking lot welcomed her in the dark. The dead leave blew around her feet and sounded like anxiously chattering children. The lot lights blinked and buzzed randomly and the headlights of all the parked cars seemed to watch her like silent, hulking guardians.

She stopped, feeling the cold pavement through her thin slippers. Should she call out or would he just know she was waiting? It was funny, she didn’t feel frightened now, at least much less frightened then she’d been moments before in her bed. It had been hours and hours of ceaseless tossing and turning before she’d finally made her tormented decision and slipped softly out into the darkness. On her way down to the lot her head had cleared, her lungs had filled with the crisp air and she’d begun to feel instantly better. This was meant to be after all, wasn't it?

Her thoughts dropped off suddenly. She’d heard a noise coming toward her very fast from the right. Panic bolted her feet to the ground and terror cut off her breath and steeled her limbs. Two small deer crashed out from the brush in front of her and passed so closely by that she could feel their heat. They jumped, crashing into the woods on the other side of the lot. Her next breath came as a loud and painful wheeze.

The cold was beginning to seep through her nightclothes and the pale cotton was growing damp under her arms and between her thighs. She looked up at the sky. It was a resilient midnight blue. Was he also taking the time now to notice how lovely the sky was tonight? She sought familiar constellations, desperately trying to ward off the growing anxiety and nagging doubts tugging at her stomach.

There was another noise. This time not a deer but the certain sound of heavy soles on pavement, not rushing of course, but steadily coming closer. The anticipation had a remarkable effect on her, an almost sexual response. Her hardened nipples brushed up against cold cotton each time she moved and a deep trembling shake moved down inside her most intimate places.

He’d been watching her for over an hour and had finally come to the impossible conclusion that she was there for him. The absurdity of it nearly made him laugh out loud. He hadn’t even felt particularly hungry tonight but the longer he watched her, the more her silent vulnerability enticed and provoked him. He couldn’t tell from this distance if she was pretty but then it really didn’t matter, her sudden accessibility made her flawlessly beautiful. Standing there, so still in the soft glow of the lot lights, her little pink slippers looked like pearls. Her hair was tugged back in a messy ponytail that twitched as she shifted from foot to foot. As he watched her, the sweat ran down between his shoulder blades and the need drove him more urgently forward.

She felt him coming toward her now, faster. If she looked hard enough into the inky blackness she could almost certainly see him. She knew she didn’t want to look. She didn’t want to watch him advancing on her. She wasn’t so sure she wanted to be here anymore at all. If she thought she’d stand a chance, she would certainly bolt back to the safety of her dorm. She knew now, she would not make it. The fear finally solidified in her stomach.

He paused for a moment. What was this? He had picked up on a change. She was afraid. He sensed she wanted to run. He was disappointed. He had hoped this once would be different; after all she had come to him. She had seduced him.
Disheartened, he sank to his haunches and prepared to leap. Perhaps, at least, this little one would not be so loud…

It's Here! Once Upon A Scream - Horror Fairytale Anthology

It is here! HorrorAddicts.net Presents 

Once Upon a Scream

 "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."


Paper Version Available on Amazon - click here!
Kindle Version Available May 28th!

I'm very excited and honored to be in the company of such great authors here. Dan Shaurette and entire the staff at HorrorAddicts.net are just fantastic to work with.  I'm extremely grateful they chose to include my work and appreciated their insight and talent at helping me flesh out all the best elements and details to make Lake Tividen all it could be. 

My story is a modern retelling of old legend about Lake Tividen, home to a dangerous creature from Norwegian folklore called a Nøkken. A desperate fisherman strikes a bargain with the manipulative entity. When the cruel Nokken comes to collect his fee, the man discovers that no measure of success and comfort is worth the price the Nokken demands.

I've always been a big fan of those classic fairy tales that feel dark and ominous. I enjoy exploring that old adage, "be careful what you wish for", and the moral debate over whether or not we deserve what we get when we make a deal with the devil.  In the case of Lake Tividen, I really wanted the readers to engage with the characters in way that would allow them to experience their fear and powerlessness in the face of a creature that held every card in the deck.  I do also believe that there is always hope, even in the bleakest situations. In Lake Tividen, that hope comes in the form of the fisherman's brave and clever daughter, Greta.  The ultimate showdown is that familiar but epic battle of good verses evil, steeped in creepy, supernatural horror.

This volume, Once Upon A Scream, is full of creatures like Nokken...evil things that lurk, threaten, terrify and chill. My fellow authors had crafted tales that are all unique in their ability to simultaneously entertain and totally creep you out.  I'm looking forward to curling up with my own copy and spending some quality time reading their creations - with the lights on of course!

Already ordered your copy?  Drop me a line below or visit me on Facebook
at https://www.facebook.com/MDMaurice and let me know what you thought of Horroraddicts.net latest anthology, Once Upon A Scream. 
 
Want more? Visit HorrorAddicts.net to find the other collections they have available.  Be sure to check out their podcast, Episode 124 on Horroraddicts.net, where the editors discuss the authors and stories featured in this collection.

As always, thanks for reading!

 #horroraddicts #OnceUponScream #mdmaurice

Into the Woods...

It wouldn’t be long now. At some moment, very soon, he would burst through that narrow, paneled door and…she squeezed her eyes shut and violently shook her head to erase the thoughts. She replayed the scene of her own death so frequently and with such graphic horror, that it had become unbearable. Shari wriggled her wrists again, the bonds still tight and unforgiving. Her arms ached and the ropes had worn angry welts into her skin. Her tongue felt thick and swollen from hours of trying to loosen the shredded linen gag in her mouth. Sometimes she would feel a strange peace settle inside her, a warm floating feeling and she would be thankful that she was at last dying.  She welcomed the release with thankful tears only to wake up hours later and bitterly realize she was still alive. She was still held captive in a rotting old house by a man she’d never seen but hated so fiercely that in her moments of rage and strength, that Shari fantasized about killing him with her own hands. The primal drive gave temporary life to her fight and she would struggle anew against her restraints until once again she was exhausted and her energy depleted.

Her body jerked awake. She could sense him standing over her in the dark. She shrank back in terror as he leaned down. The eye holes of the white plastic mask were misaligned and thick ropes of matted hair swung toward her face. He reached for her, and hauled her to her feet without a word. He spun her away from him and sliced through her bonds, shoving her forward into the room and toward the open door. Shari's sudden release temporarily stunned her. It took a few moments for her engage her new freedom but as the blood rushed back into her arms, her limbs came to life. Adrenaline propelled her out the open door, up the wooden stairs and out. Into the night. Shari bolted across the clearing, headed for the trees, certain he was at her heels.

She zigzagged through the woods, crashing through the underbrush, her arms windmilling out in front of her. Shari could hear her own breathing, a ragged and frenzied wheezing, punctuated by frightened sobs. "Move", she commanded her feet. After what felt like mere minutes her lungs were on fire. She spied an old tree with a dark hollow that looked just big enough for her body. Shari squeezed inside. It smelled like rot and decay but she was grateful for the respite. She tried to slow her pounding heart, straining to listen in the dark.

The night had gone silent around her. Silent. The strangeness of that silence gave life to a new fear building inside her. The woods weren't just quiet, they were devoid of sound of any kind. Shari began to question her true nature of her situation. Why had her captor suddenly just let her go? After days of threatening her with torture and death, he just cut her bonds and threw open the door, why? She was fairly certain he had not chased her, that perhaps had hadn't even left the cabin at all. She didn't think she had not heard him pounding up the stairs after her. He had stayed behind and just let her run out...into the woods. "Into the woods", as Shari thought those words a cold panic seemed to wash over her. Then she heard it.

It was moving through the undergrowth to her right, slow and deliberate. It sounded bigger than a man, broader somehow. "Bear?" she thought with alarm. Her body began to tremble. It was making a snuffing sound, "No", Shari realized, "not snuffing, it's sniffing."  She heard it draw nearer to her tree, passing around behind it. Every cell in her system told her not to look but Shari had to know what she was up against out here in the dark. She twisted her head to peer out the slit in the bark. She could see sky and ground. She waited, watching the spot of earth within her line of vision, listening to the sound of it moving in the dark. Then, it was there, stepping into view. It was not a bear, not a wolf, not anything she had ever thought possible. It was a hulking, hairy beast that walked on two powerful legs, so broad they looked like logs. She could make out the slope of it's back, saw the tendons in its thick neck twist as it turned its head toward her. Shari felt her sanity fraying at the edges as she got a look at the creature head on.

The werewolf, because that is what she now understood it to be, stared back at her with red eyes. It's muzzle was elongated and its lower jaw hung at an odd angle, as if the impossible number of ragged fangs prevented it from fully closing its mouth. The saliva ran in thick bands from either side, soaking the fur of its massive chest in dark rivers of foul wetness. Shari shrank back against the tree, covering her mouth with both hands to keep from screaming. It sniffed the air again and began to keen, a sound that was ten times more horrifying than it's sniffing had been. All at once, it raised it's ugly head toward the sky and howled. Shari's scream tore from her throat, and echoed endlessly in the woods around her.