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The Croydon Ripper by Newton Webb

Contents

Free Horror Stories

The Croydon Ripper by Newton Webb

Free Horror StoriesHorror Story Compilations

Between Midnight and Mystery: 133 horror stories, including ‘Tales of the Macabre, Vol. 1’, ‘Tales of the Macabre, Vol. 2’, ‘Festival of the Damned’, ‘The Morrígan’

Books You Can’t Put Down: 91 FREE horror stories, including ‘Ain’t Nothin’ But The Blues’, ‘The Troop’, ‘The Road Revenant’

Chilling Reads: 62 horror stories, including ‘Tales of the Macabre, Vol. 1’, ‘Tales of the Macabre, Vol. 2’, ‘Festival of the Damned’, ‘The Horror at Hargrave Hall’, ‘Smoke in the Sewers’, ‘The Ballad of Barnacle Bill’, ‘The Morrígan’, ‘The Black Fog’, ‘The Heir Apparent’, ‘The Platinum Service’

Your Darkest Nightmares: 48 horror stories, including ‘Tales of the Macabre, Vol. 1’, ‘Tales of the Macabre, Vol. 2’, ‘Festival of the Damned’, ‘The Horror at Hargrave Hall’, ‘The Morrígan’

Spine Tingling Savings: 23 FREE horror stories, including ‘The Glaistig’, ‘The Black Shuck’

The Croydon Ripper by Newton Webb1982, Croydon, London

Sheila glanced at the clock on the wall for what felt like the tenth time in the past five minutes. It read 7:47 and was ticking ever closer to the library’s evening closing time and, more importantly to her, moving closer to the hour when she would have to walk alone to the bus stop. The tall, high windows in the grand, old building that was Croydon Central Library were night-black against the high cream walls, lending a sense of security, safety and a warm place of sanctuary to those readers seeking either information, shelter or both from the cold and bitter world outside. There was comfort as well as knowledge and adventure for all amongst the rows of bookshelves and in the quiet reading nooks.

The echo of approaching footsteps yanked her back to reality. Miss Whitmore, the head librarian, was doing her rounds, casting an eagle eye around her domain, checking all was well before the library locked its doors for the night.

“Sheila, it’s about time to start closing up. Have you shelved all the day’s returned books?” A sharp layer of condescension coated Miss Whitmore’s voice, rattling Sheila every time she heard it.

“Almost done, Miss Whitmore. Just a few more books to go.” Sheila avoided eye contact with her pernickety boss. She could feel the critical glare scanning her, assessing her worthiness as a potential library assistant. It was her third day on the job and she was still finding her footing.

Her boss, Miss Whitmore, was a spinster of indeterminate age with unbelievably rigid ideas. For her, the library was a temple of knowledge and within that holy edifice, she ruled supreme, enforcing strict silence. Anyone who broke the thick wall of silence would receive a gorgon’s stare. On the whole it worked perfectly well but if her glare failed to quell the disturbance, she would summon Mr Clarke, their burly cleaner, and instruct him to eject the troublemakers. Sheila had a deep love of books and was happy to share it with others. She felt lucky to have been given a job at the library, but she wondered how long she would last under the shadow of Miss Whitmore.

“Good,” she heard her boss saying. “When you’re done, ensure that any remaining readers make their way to the front doors. We wouldn’t want to imprison any of them in the library, now would we?” she went on in her patronising way.

“Yes, of course. Got it,” Sheila stammered, her voice edged with nervous energy.

Miss Whitmore looked over to where Mr Clarke was emptying the bins. “Look at him,” she said disparagingly. “I tried to get him sacked, you know?”

“What did he do?” Sheila followed the librarian’s gaze to where Mr Clarke was diligently working.

Her boss raised an eyebrow. “Who knows what he’s done? My request was denied; he’s part of a scheme to rehabilitate ex-cons. The council won’t let me fire him without due cause. Keep your eyes on him.” Before Sheila could respond, Miss Whitmore turned and walked away, her solid frame emphasising her status and her footsteps clicking importantly on the polished parquet flooring as they receded into the labyrinth of bookstacks. Sheila watched her go, her pulse quickening.

She glanced at Mr Clarke. He seemed so nice. He didn’t look like an ex-con. Forcing her eyes away, she continued to tidy the front desk in readiness for the next day, before hurrying to collect the day’s newspapers to take down to the archives in the basement. She felt a shiver roll down her spine at the headlines, but refused to read them. She had caught glimpses of the news, and it unsettled her—‘CROYDON RIPPER CLAIMS FIFTH VICTIM.’ Quickly, she filed the papers and tried to force the doom and gloom out of her mind.

Taking a deep breath, she refocused on her tasks. She dimmed the lights to let the readers know that the library was about to close. The disquieting sensation of unseen eyes following her every move refused to fade. In the darker corners of her mind, she feared who—or what—might be watching her, and what they might be planning.

As the hands of the library clock moved round to 8 o’clock, Sheila fetched her coat and scarf from the cloakroom and went to say ‘Goodnight’ to Miss Whitmore and Mr Clarke. She heaved open the great library door, drew a deep breath and stepped out into the thick darkness of night. 

The cold autumn blasts of wind swirled around her, causing the rubbish-lined streets to dance and the few late shoppers to pull their buttoned-up coats even tighter around their bodies as they hurried home. Sheila began her solitary trek through the streets of Croydon. The towering concrete buildings loomed above her, a stark contrast to the thatched houses and lush gardens of her upbringing in the West Country. Here, the architecture was as unforgiving as the chill wind which funnelled through the brutalist structures, cutting through her inadequate coat.

Each day, another shop seemed to be boarded up. Each day, the walls of the underpasses bloomed with more and more vibrant graffiti. Seeing that her bus was already waiting at the bus- stop, Sheila stepped up her pace and began to run towards it. The last thing she wanted was to be left standing at an empty bus stop at that time of night. Just three stops but it was worth it. She jumped aboard the warm, brightly lit bus and fell gratefully into the nearest seat. Tonight was not a night to be loitering in the streets.

A band of punk rockers drifted by, their hair jutting out and stained in audacious shades of neon pink and radioactive green. They sneered at everyone they passed, yet Sheila thought she recognised a kindred fear in their eyes. Street vendors were still peddling their counterfeit attire and bootlegged cassette tapes, their desperation evident in their discounts, drawn on white cardboard with lurid colours.

Further down the road, a dishevelled man staggered out of a pub. He leant into a corner, and Sheila looked away grimacing at the sight of urine splashing against the soot covered bricks. 

As the bus turned the corner, she spotted the flickering neon sign of an adult cinema. A trench-coated man lurked outside, his gaze fixed intently on something—or someone—across the street. Sheila shivered. She patted her coat, and a brief wave of relief flowed through her as she felt the comforting hardness of her steel paring knife. She looked at the chip shop, packed with sinister-looking individuals. Inside the cosy safety of the bus, she passed them all without incident and was soon able to ring the bell for her bus-stop. 

She jumped off and walked briskly down the road. She exhaled deeply and with great relief as she rounded the bend and saw the welcome front door of the tall, rambling, red-brick Victorian building that was her temporary home while she worked her way up through the ranks at the library. She climbed the creaking stairs which led to her claustrophobic attic bedsit. Her formidable landlady, Mrs Brannigan, had a reputation for two things: never missing a Sunday church service and always knowing when her tenants were up to no good. Tonight, however, she was grateful for the woman’s watchful eye. It made her feel a fraction safer.

As she fumbled to put her keys away, she cast a final look over her shoulder. The TV was on as Mrs Brannigan kept her watch on the front door. When the next advertising break came on Mrs Brannigan would bring her up a cup of tea and a biscuit. This she did without fail. It was her sour-faced way of checking that you had come home at a reasonable hour and that you had come home alone.

Sheila’s room was oppressively cramped and shrouded in gloom, yet it offered her sanctuary from the outside world. She bolted the door and sank onto her worn-out mattress, letting out a long, shuddering breath. Safe now, she was enveloped in the familiar smell of second-hand books and surrounded by the creaking sounds of the ageing house below her as the wind tried to creep into its cracks and crevices.

A gnawing hunger gurgled in Sheila’s belly, but she dared not venture out again for chips, not with Croydon’s streets teeming with danger. She had an apple in her coat pocket left over from lunch. She carefully retrieved both it and her paring knife, slicing a piece off with the sharp blade and munching on it as she rummaged in her bedside cabinet. She found two pieces of shortbread and a square of chocolate to go with it. That would have to do until the morning when she could get tea and a bacon sandwich from Dean’s Bean, the cafe off the High Street. When she’d finished the apple, she wiped the blade with a tissue and placed it back in her inside coat pocket.

The wind howled as it tried to force its way under the roofing tiles. Sheila pulled the sheets tight around her as the cold air invaded her clothes. With undisguised relief, she heard the kettle whistle downstairs and awaited the heavy tread of her landlady.

The next day at the library, Sheila was standing at the main counter, working with quiet diligence, hoping to keep clear of Miss Whitmore’s hawk-like gaze.

Abruptly, a customer materialised before her, his pronounced forehead looming and made even more prominent by his rapidly receding hairline. She recognised the pair of unblinking, bead-like eyes that bored into her with a spine-chilling intensity. “Hello love, care to guide me to the microfiche.” There was an urgency in his voice. “I need the newspaper archive for these specific dates.” He thrust a hastily jotted list at her before casually wiping away the saliva from his thin lips.

“Of course, Mr Wallis,” Sheila replied, forcing a polite smile onto her face. “Allow me to lead the way.” She ushered him towards the microfiche, excusing herself to fetch the relevant reels.

She caught Miss Whitmore watching him, her lips tightly pursed.

Sheila nodded politely at her manager as she passed, hoping to avoid a conversation.

Her hopes were dashed when Miss Whitmore said to her, “He is a very noisy man, Sheila. Given the frequency of his visits, I’d have expected him to have learnt the proper decorum by now.”

“He certainly seems very passionate in his research,” Sheila agreed.

Miss Whitmore responded with a narrowing of her eyes, a clear indication that the conversation was over.

As Sheila returned with the microfiche, Mr Wallis launched into a conversation about the recent spate of murders. “It’s fascinating, isn’t it?” he said, his eyes gleaming with morbid curiosity. “The Croydon Ripper, they’re calling him. Five victims so far, all found in dark, isolated places. The papers call him a serial killer, but he isn’t, do you see? They just don’t get it.”

Sheila looked around nervously. “I wouldn’t know; it isn’t a subject I care to think about.”

Mr Wallis remained undeterred. “A serial killer adheres to a distinct pattern or modus operandi. Typically, the victims share a connection. This, however, is utterly random. The Croydon Ripper strikes on a whim, don’t you see?” He grasped her arm, leaning in with an intensity that made her skin crawl. “That’s what’s so brilliant. His methods are entirely unpredictable.”

Sheila felt a chill shiver run down her spine and she pulled back, freeing her arm from his grip. The familiar fear was growing in her once again. The fear that haunted her.

Mr Wallis seemed hell-bent on discussing the grisly details of the murders. She was trapped, unable to escape the gruesome conversation without seeming rude.

Just as she was starting to feel desperate, Sheila felt a firm hand on her shoulder. She turned to find Miss Whitmore standing behind her, her lips pressed into a thin line. “Sheila, I believe you have some work to attend to,” she said, her tone icy. “Mr Wallis, I’m sure you can find what you’re looking for from here.”

Mr Wallis blinked, looking taken aback, but the determined authoritarian’s stern gaze never wavered. With a nod, he turned away. “Yes, yes,” he said, his voice laced with disappointment as he continued to work the microfiche. Miss Whitmore kept her hand on Sheila’s shoulder, her gaze tracking Mr Wallis until he was out of earshot.

“Remember, Sheila,” she said, her voice rigid. “Deliver the information and then leave the reader to it. Our patrons are here to read, not to gossip. This is a library, not a public house.”

Sheila nodded, her cheeks warm. “Yes, Miss Whitmore. I understand.” Despite the stern reprimand, she was grateful for the intervention. Her boss gave her a further stern look, her eyes locking onto Sheila’s. “Oh, and Sheila, make sure you leave on time. Nights in Croydon are becoming more... unpredictable, don’t you think?”

Taking a deep breath to steady herself, Sheila watched as her boss stalked away.

Left to her own devices once again, she returned to the desk and busied herself with her tasks. She couldn’t help but glance back at Mr Wallis, who was still absorbed in the microfiche, and scribbled furiously into a battered notepad. A shiver of unease rippled down her spine.

As the library’s closing time approached, Sheila found herself stealing glances at the windows, her heart pounding as each passing minute brought closing time and the threatening outside world closer to her. Finally, she heard the call that she’d been dreading. 

“Sheila,” Miss Whitmore's sharp voice echoed through the library’s hush. “It’s time to close up.”

Sheila swallowed her nerves and approached the last customer. “Mr Wallis, it’s closing time. You’ll have to come back tomorrow.”

Mr Wallis looked up, annoyed at the interruption. “Not yet. Ten more minutes. I need more time.” Dismissing her, he returned to his work. “I just need to finish these notes.”

“I’m sorry, Mr Wallis,” Sheila said, trying to keep her voice steady. “We have to close. You’re welcome to return tomorrow.”

“Yes, yes. Ten more minutes. I’ll hurry.” Mr Wallis remained stubbornly in place. Sheila’s heart pounded in her chest as she returned to Miss Whitmore. “He won’t leave,” she whispered.

Miss Whitmore sighed, her brow furrowing with annoyance. “Very well,” she said, crossing the room to where Mr Clarke was finishing his cleaning duties. “Mr Clarke, your assistance is required.”

Mr Clarke looked up, his eyes flicking to Sheila before they landed on Miss Whitmore. “What do you need?”

“Mr Wallis is refusing to leave,” Miss Whitmore said. “Kindly remove him from the premises.”

Mr Clarke nodded, rolling his muscular shoulders as he approached Mr Wallis. The cleaner towered over the hunched figure. “Sir.” His deep voice echoed in the quiet room. “You need to leave.”

Mr Wallis glanced up at Mr Clarke, locking eyes with him. For a moment, Sheila thought he would refuse again, but after a tense moment, he sighed and gathered his notes. He shot Sheila a venomous glare that made her shiver, then shambled towards the exit, Mr Clarke following closely behind him.

Miss Whitmore watched the scene unfold, her arms crossed over her chest. “Sheila,” she said, turning to the shaken girl. “I have an appointment to attend. Mr Clarke will be locking up. Please, keep an eye on him.”

Sheila’s heart dropped. “But Miss Whitmore,” she stuttered, her mind racing with thoughts of the recent murders. “It’s already late and… I have a bus to catch.”

Miss Whitmore cut her off with a stern look. “We all have our duties, Sheila,” she sniffed. “You’ll be fine. Just wait until he locks the doors and then go straight home.”

With that, Miss Whitmore swept out of the library, leaving a terrified Sheila behind.

Her hands were trembling as she watched Mr Clarke lock the library doors. The street outside was dark, half the streetlights were broken, shrouding the pavement in darkness. Revellers were already loud and raucous as they made their way to the pubs, a tribute to the enthusiasm of their pre-drinking.

She clutched her coat tightly, her hand reaching into her pocket to grip the familiar comfort of her paring knife. She took a deep breath, bolstering her courage.

“Sheila?”

She jumped, letting out a gasp as she did so. Eyes wide, she saw Mr Clarke.

“I overheard you saying that you were worried about walking home in the dark. I’ll make sure you get back okay, if you would like me to?”

Sheila looked at him suspiciously.

What was he imprisoned for? Murder? Theft?… Rape?

“I’ll be okay. I don’t want to be a bother.” She smiled awkwardly and turned away shyly.

He matched her stride as she walked away towards the bus-stop and home.

“It’s no bother, I insist.”

He insists? Oh no.

Sheila didn’t say anything. She looked around for an escape as they walked down the high street. She could hear his breathing next to her. She glanced at him. His muscles seemed to swell in the dark, his form grew taller. She blinked.

It is all in my imagination. He is just being a gentleman.

As they continued walking, the panic rose within her. Her mind whispered, warning her of his dark intentions.

You can’t stop him. He is too powerful. 

Once a convict, always a convict. 

It’s too late, you’ll never make it to your front door.

She saw an alley on the right-hand side. It was dark and secluded. She suddenly ducked and ran into it, straight into a dead end. She shrank into the shadows beside a Biffa bin and shook with terror as she heard his measured tread approaching her.

“Sheila, are you alright? What’s wrong?” Was he feigning confusion?

Taking a deep breath, she stepped out. “I’m so sorry. I was just being silly. You must think me awfully daft.”

He looked at her, seemingly bemused. “Ah, no it’s okay, I was just worried.”

She painted a smile onto her face. Her eyes locked onto his as she stepped closer.

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

Her hand shot out and she plunged her paring knife into his chest. Tears pricked at her eyes as she stabbed in a frenzy, the blade easily cutting through the cheap cloth of his shirt.

He cried out at this unexpected betrayal. One of his huge hands gripped her knife hand and she panicked as she looked at him in shock. “Wha?–” he coughed and blood foamed from his lips.

Sheila didn’t hear his next words as he slumped to the pavement beside the Biffa bin. She wiped the paring knife clean. She would have to dispose of it along with her clothes. The fear that had nearly overwhelmed her dissipated, if only temporarily. Tears of relief ran down her cheeks.

This was the sixth time that she’d had to defend herself.

It was getting too dangerous in Croydon. Soon she would have to move on again.

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If you enjoyed this free short story, then please consider Tales of the Macabre, Vol. 1. My first collected works on Amazon containing sixteen short stories and novellas by Newton Webb.

PF-005: The Sinful Child by Newton Webb

If you enjoyed this free short story, then please consider Tales of the Macabre, Vol. 1 or its sequel Tales of the Macabre, Vol. 2.

If you like page-turning frights, haunting revelations, and feeling your blood run cold, then you’ll love Newton Webb’s baleful phantasmagoria.

Buy them to shudder in fear tonight!

Praise for Tales of the Macabre, Vol. 1
"This book was full of nail-biting moments. The book was full of variety that kept you engaged and wanting to read the next story"
"Newton Webb never disappoints. His debut collection includes most of his best stories, spanning a huge amount of time and going through a great variety of settings. Some are novelettes, others more of a typical short story length, always well written, with a fantastic use of the English language"
"These 16 scary stories are really, really good! My absolute favorites of the bunch were Festival of the Damned and The Heir Apparent (man, what a twist I was NOT expecting!)"
"This was a very enjoyable collection of eerily prophetic stories, full of variety and encompassing a world of demonic entities, cannibalism, ghouls, murder, ancient curses and deviant sex addiction. From folk horror to supernatural sci-fi tales, what more could you wish for? Each story slowly unfolds with a sense of unease and menace, complimented by many unexpected twists and turns. The moral theme of these stories would appear to be, 'be careful of what you wish for'. Highly recommended"

The Glaistig by Newton Webb

Contents

Free Horror Stories

The Glaistig by Newton Webb

Free Horror StoriesHorror Story Compilations

Between Midnight and Mystery: 133 horror stories, including ‘Tales of the Macabre, Vol. 1’, ‘Tales of the Macabre, Vol. 2’, ‘Festival of the Damned’, ‘The Morrígan’

Books You Can’t Put Down: 91 FREE horror stories, including ‘Ain’t Nothin’ But The Blues’, ‘The Troop’, ‘The Road Revenant’

Chilling Reads: 62 horror stories, including ‘Tales of the Macabre, Vol. 1’, ‘Tales of the Macabre, Vol. 2’, ‘Festival of the Damned’, ‘The Horror at Hargrave Hall’, ‘Smoke in the Sewers’, ‘The Ballad of Barnacle Bill’, ‘The Morrígan’, ‘The Black Fog’, ‘The Heir Apparent’, ‘The Platinum Service’

Your Darkest Nightmares: 48 horror stories, including ‘Tales of the Macabre, Vol. 1’, ‘Tales of the Macabre, Vol. 2’, ‘Festival of the Damned’, ‘The Horror at Hargrave Hall’, ‘The Morrígan’

The Glaistig by Newton Webb1422, Strathspey, Scotland

The moon cast an eerie glow over the rugged hills of Strathspey. Duncan fled. His short muscular legs churned, at speed, up the slope. His friend Alasdair ran beside him as they fled across the desolate landscape. Their breath came in ragged gasps and their hearts pounded with terror. 

“She’s still following us. She isn’t even trying!” Alasdair panted.

Duncan’s chest heaved like bellows. “Don’t talk, run,” he wheezed. 

Suddenly, the two of them came to a stop. Duncan fell to his knees gasping, looking up at the ethereal form of the Glaistig, the green maiden. Surrounded by an emerald mist, her long flowing hair was as dark as the midnight sky. Her eyes glowed green. “Oathbreaker,” she hissed, stalking forwards to face Alasdair on her goatlike legs. A tattered gown shimmered and shifted in the moonlight, fluttering around her despite the still night-time air.

“I never, I…” Alasdair kicked out with his legs, crawling backwards. “It was just once.”

“What did you do, Alasdair?” Duncan asked. He clambered to his feet and stood between the ghostly spirit and his friend. “Please, he can’t repent if you hurt him.”

She ignored him, walking straight through him, her body morphing into a cloud of gas before reforming behind him.

Duncan spun to see her reach out and grasp Alasdair by his tunic. With her other hand, she tore out his throat, holding the grisly remnants of his oesophagus in one hand. “Oathbreaker,” she muttered once more and tossed the bleeding remnant onto Alasdair’s corpse.

Duncan looked at his friend in horror.

The Glaistig turned to face him, regarding him coldly.

Duncan raised himself to his full height, standing at just under six feet. The much taller Glaistig still loomed over him. "If I've ever broken an oath," Duncan's voice quivered, but his eyes remained resolute, "Then strike me down. But I've always lived my life as honestly as I can."

They stood for a while, facing each other. Duncan, defiant and determined. His body sweating despite the cold night air, the Glaistig curious and regarding him closely.

“I believe you,” she said. “But, if you ever tell anyone of my mercy, then I will come for you,” she said, with a firm, steady look into his eyes before fading into the night.

Duncan fell to the ground, weeping in relief. Alasdair’s corpse lay torn open, his throat steaming in the night as the blood rapidly cooled and congealed. Duncan stooped down to lift the body of his friend and staggered back with him towards his farmhouse. By good fortune, it was the closest building to where they had been accosted.

As he stumbled down the hill with his heavy burden, he came across a woman stumbling across the hillside.

“What the devil are you doing?” he shouted. 

She turned and looked at him with tear streaked eyes. Seeing Alasdair’s corpse, she grimly muttered. “I fled, I didn’t want to–”

“Don’t ever talk about it,” Duncan advised. “It is better that way. My farmhouse is close. You can have the bed, I’ll sleep by the hearth.”

The woman considered him with her hazel eyes. He tried to reassure her with a smile, but was too exhausted, so his crinkled face just grimaced. She solemnly nodded, resigned to her fate. The two of them, three with Alasdair’s corpse, continued to walk towards the farmstead.

1423, Strathspey, Scotland

Duncan’s farm had never been prosperous, but it had always been enough to keep him fed and watered. After the terrifying night in the hills, of which he was never to speak, he found he had a new friend in Isobel. She was a stout woman in her late thirties, with a sturdy frame which she put to good use on his smallholding. She immediately set to work, digging and planting a herb garden, creating and selling poultices to the local farmsteads. Once a week, she took them to the nearby village of Rothes. She was of a practical mindset. On the night Duncan had introduced her to his farmstead, while he had gone outside to bury his friend, she had made herself acquainted with his kitchen and cooked an early breakfast for him. Even before he’d cleared his plate, he had offered to let her stay the night. 

Duncan stretched and stood to his full height, cracking his back from where he’d been repairing the dry stone wall. He looked fondly at her. Her soft chestnut hair was streaked with strands of silver and bound into a practical, tight bun as she stooped to tend her herb beds. A rough woollen shawl over her shoulders protected her from the wind.

He’d slept in his chair by the hearth for six months before she’d come down from the bedroom and berated him for his nonsense, leading him upstairs.

Regarding his wall with a critical eye, he eventually nodded to himself in satisfaction, then scowled at the sheep who had broken it in the first place. They bleated their ignorance.

Duncan headed inside to get some water on the boil. While he waited, he filled two glasses with whisky and settled down on a chair. He wiggled his burly frame and heard the wood creak. He was just examining it when Isobel walked in.

“Look at you, sitting there all cosy like, while I’m out working the fields?” she jested. Walking over to the now boiling water, she added sprigs of rosemary to the pot to make a tisane.

Her calloused hands picked up the mug of whisky, and she took a grateful sup.

“You’ve a lot to answer for, Mr MacGregor.” She gave him a stern look.

Duncan smiled at her, his face worn by the elements and hard labour in all weathers. “Ah, jings, what have I done now?”

Leaning back, she took another drink of whisky and then refilled both their mugs.

Duncan looked suspiciously at the generous measure.

“You’ve gone and made me with bairn, you have,” Isobel said.

It was as though the sun had chosen that exact moment to shine and she had never looked so beautiful to Duncan. Over forty years old and never married, he’d imagined his life to be one of solitude. As he raced over and gripped her in a bear hug, tears rolled down his cheeks. He could already imagine teaching his son how to hunt, how to build. He kissed her forehead once, then twice, then a dozen times until she whacked his shoulder.

“Don’t you be daft, you big numpty.” Even as she harangued him, she smiled. The two of them caught up in the moment. “Put me down before I wallop your ears.”

I’m going to be a father.

“Ah, Isobel, you are the best thing that ever happened to me,” he enthused, gathering her up in his arms. “You beautiful angel.”

“I love you too, you filthy beast, but get a hold of yourself.” She turned away, but not before Duncan witnessed her blushing.

1429, Strathspey, Scotland

Duncan was sitting on the banks of the loch, the sun on his face amidst a cooling breeze. Damselflies chased their prey across the water, weaving between rushes. His daughter, Moira, sat beside him, her small fishing pole extending into the glassy water. 

He looked fondly at the spirited girl. She had her mother’s chestnut hair. Duncan had taught her to shoot a bow and arrow, mend a fence, and now he was imparting the age-old wisdom of angling. He’d been certain that Isobel was going to give birth to a boy, but the moment he’d seen the red skinned little Moira bawling her eyes out with her hearty lungs, he’d known he wouldn’t trade her for the world. 

"Don’t fiddle with the line, lass. You have to be patient with the fish. Let them see the bait, then guide it closer," Duncan advised, his eyes not leaving the water's surface.

He watched her take in his wisdom, her eyes squinting in concentration. 

She is as curious as a raven and indomitable as a bull.

“Did I tell you about the night your mother and I met?” Duncan sat hunched forward, enjoying the tranquillity. 

“No,” Moira lied, enjoying the story.

"The moon was shining like a jewel, wide and bright in the night skies. The wind howled through the Strathspey hills. I carried a dear friend in my arms, never to breathe again, and there she was—your mother—emerging from the darkness. Lost and scared, just like me. We helped each other that night, and we’ve been helping each other since."

As the sun kissed the horizon, painting the sky in hues of orange and purple, Duncan felt a pull from his own line. Quickly, he gave it a sharp jerk to set the hook in the mouth of the fish. With deft hands and years of experience, he hauled in a hefty trout.

"Well, would you look at that, Moira? Dinner's served," he exclaimed, holding up the fish.

"Can I help cook it, Da?" Moira asked, excitement lighting up her face.

"Of course you can, lass. We'll gut it together and give it to your mother. A proper MacGregor feast!"

Just as Duncan was packing up their fishing gear, a melodious voice echoed across the loch. "Duncan! Moira! Don’t make me come out there. Supper's ready!"

Duncan looked at Moira, grinning. "Ah, we can’t ignore the queen of the house, can we?"

Moira giggled. "Nay, Da, we cannot."

Reaching the farmhouse, they were greeted by the heavenly aroma of herbs and stew. His woman stood there in the doorway, her hands on her hips. The stern faced expression was ruined by her eyes, which twinkled as her family approached.

"Ah, there you are. And what took you so long?" Isobel asked, feigning impatience.

Duncan winked at Moira before replying, "Will you look at what we caught, Isobel? Reckon you could fry it up for us?"

“I reckon I could at that. Go and prepare it then. I’ll warm up the pan.” Isobel ushered them in. “There is a wee dram of whisky on the side for you, pet.”

“Thanks, love.” Duncan kissed her cheek.

“Get off with you. You’re slobbering like a hound.” She tugged her wash cloth from her belt and whipped his arm with it. “Get that fish descaled and gutted–don’t throw away the head, it’ll make good stock.”

#

The night was chill, as much for heat as for romance. The couple lay tightly intertwined, Duncan’s thick arms around his wife.

“Isobel, I need to share something with you.” Duncan whispered into her ear. She didn’t respond. “Isobel, are you awake?” he said louder.

She shifted against his body. “Go to sleep Duncan.”

“No, this can’t wait. I don’t want to keep secrets from you, not for a moment longer, and I’m sure you need to get it off your chest, too.” He took a deep breath. “We should have talked about this before, but I… Well, I guess I was scared.”

His wife stilled. “Hush now, you silly goose. Keep your secrets and go to sleep.” Fear tinged her voice.

“I won’t. You see, the night we met–”

“Duncan, it is the middle of the night. You’ve drunk too much whisky. Please, go to sleep. This can wait.” His wife pleaded with him.

“I have to get this off my chest,” Duncan said quietly. “I need you to know.”

“Please Duncan, I love you, don’t do this.” Isobel’s voice fell quiet.

Duncan kissed the top of her head. “Listen now, it is because I love you that I must. I have always been honest with you and I don’t want to keep secrets anymore. See, the night we met–”

“–Duncan!”

“I met the Glaistig,” he blurted out.

Silence fell between them.

“I did. I tell no lie. Didn’t you see her too?” Duncan pleaded, misinterpreting his wife’s lack of response.

Her body seemed to shimmer, turning translucent.

Duncan gasped, shuffling out of bed and falling onto the floor.

Isobel’s hazel eyes turned green and her nightgown turned to robes that flowed despite the still breeze. “We could’ve been happy together.”

Duncan frantically shuffled back across the floor. “Isobel, you can’t be!”

“I thought I could find peace with you. But, I cannot, I will not suffer an oathbreaker to live,” she whispered as she drifted from the bed, lifting the big man effortlessly into the air, her inhuman eyes filled with sorrow and resolve.

“Isobel, don’t you be daft now. Please,” Duncan begged.

Their daughter came running into the room, drawn by the commotion. Her eyes were the same unearthly shade of green as her mother's. Her goatlike legs peeked out from under her dress. “What is going on?”

“No, no, not Moira too, anything but my Moira,” Duncan wept.

“Go to your room. Your da has been bad, nothing more.”

Duncan looked once more into those eyes, those now empty soulless, green eyes, as with her other hand she tore his oath breaking throat out of his body.

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If you enjoyed this free short story, then please consider Tales of the Macabre, Vol. 1. My first collected works on Amazon containing sixteen short stories and novellas by Newton Webb.

Newt's Nightmares #97

Newt's Nightmares

Greetings, my wicked darlings!

Hello from the frosty shores of Blighty, where the shift from Crete's delightful 30°C warmth to Britain's sub-zero chill is nothing short of a meteorological slap in the face. It's the kind of weather that turns coffee into a survival tool – until, of course, my skeleton starts jittering from the caffeine, then it's tea to the rescue (more fitting to the British stereotype too).

Speaking of hot drinks, I’ve accidentally ordered 42 litres of Oatly, instead of 12 due to an Amazon subscribe and save error, so look forward to stories about people drowning in milk substitutes. Logistics, they are the real horror story in life.

Keep your wits about you for the mind-twisting horror crossword challenge popping up under our free or discounted stories section. Let me know if you get 100%, or if you found it too easy / hard!

I've wrapped up writing 'A Chemical Connection', which ballooned into a novella-sized beast. Expect to sink your teeth into this chunky tale soon!

And speaking of this month, a bit of a format change. To celebrate Christmas, I have a bumper gift for you. A different story each week, you can look forward to The Glaistig, A Chemical Connection and The Croydon Ripper. Because this wouldn’t leave room for the audiobooks, I’ll be releasing audio books on Friday’s each week, so it’s a double whammy. Hopefully, it isn’t too many emails. I don’t want you all tiring of your cheeky chum, Newt.

I've been busy with various projects, but it's back to the drawing board for me – some storylines hit unexpected snags that should've been ironed out at the planning phase. I am doing Lee Child’s training course on BBC Maestro at the same time, so hopefully the master of thrillers will bop me on my rather sizable nose and correct my aberrant behaviour.

'Deus Vult', my tale of Templars meeting grisly fates in the Holy Land, has hit a pause, but I plan to revisit it with a sharper blueprint. Currently, I'm working on 'The Ice Maiden' (a working title that might need a revamp).

Stay frosty - if you are in the UK, you might not have a choice in the matter.

Your ole’ pal, Newt.

New Releases

Free Horror Stories

Newt’s Cursed Crossword

Unsubscribe (at the bottom of the email)

New Releases

Coming up this month, I have some ghoulish treats in store for you with three free eBooks and three free audiobooks!

13th December - The Glaistig (eBook)

After surviving narrowly escaping a murderous phantom in Scotland's eerie highlands, a farmer lets a lost woman into his home. But, you can only outrun your past for so long.

15th December - The Sinful Child (Audiobook)

Held captive in her father’s basement, Amelia struggles to escape. But reality isn’t always what it appears to be and soon she will learn an earth shattering secret.

20th December - The Croydon Ripper (eBook)

As the body count rises in 80’s Croydon, a terrified new librarian descends in a journey towards madness.

22th December - The Black Fog (Audiobook)

When the black fog rolls in, death follows. In 1950‘s Grimsdyke, two lovers encounter a horror unlike any other.

27th December - A Chemical Connection (eBook)

LSD, accountancy, bell-bottoms, unfortunate haircuts, and my personal favourite: Death.

29th December - Ain't Nothin' But The Blues (Audiobook)

When young Jackson moves into the 'Grand Dame', an old boarding house in New Orleans, he becomes enamoured with the music emanating from his neighbours room.

In case you missed them, in November, we had the following free releases:

8th November - The Troop (eBook)

When a sinister infection in their apartment building begins taking over the minds and bodies of residents, Sam races to save Wendy, his infected girlfriend, before he loses control of his own mind.

15th November - Trev Rides Forth (Audiobook)

When a group of juvenile delinquents raid an antique record store, they unleash a deadly curse.

22 November - The Black Shuck (eBook)

A single mother gets more than she bargained for when a shady house call turns into a nightmare of violence, addiction, and a vengeful spirit only she can see.

29 November - The Beast of Glenmara (Audiobook)

Family loyalty and humanity collide when Elspeth learns the horrifying truth of her heritage.

Free Horror StoriesHorror Story Compilations

Between Midnight and Mystery: 133 horror stories, including ‘Tales of the Macabre, Vol. 1’, ‘Tales of the Macabre, Vol. 2’, ‘Festival of the Damned’, ‘The Morrígan’

Books You Can’t Put Down: 91 FREE horror stories, including ‘Ain’t Nothin’ But The Blues’, ‘The Troop’, ‘The Road Revenant’

Chilling Reads: 62 horror stories, including ‘Tales of the Macabre, Vol. 1’, ‘Tales of the Macabre, Vol. 2’, ‘Festival of the Damned’, ‘The Horror at Hargrave Hall’, ‘Smoke in the Sewers’, ‘The Ballad of Barnacle Bill’, ‘The Morrígan’, ‘The Black Fog’, ‘The Heir Apparent’, ‘The Platinum Service’

Your Darkest Nightmares: 48 horror stories, including ‘Tales of the Macabre, Vol. 1’, ‘Tales of the Macabre, Vol. 2’, ‘Festival of the Damned’, ‘The Horror at Hargrave Hall’, ‘The Morrígan’

Recommended Stories

Designing Fate, by JF Garrad, FREE download.

In the year 2093 Lisa decides to walk into a store to create a 500 Model Series child. As a good parent, she was willing to pay the price for genome modification in order to obtain the best DNA sequence possible for her child.

However, what happens when a designer child clashes with a normal child and prejudiced parents? Should Lisa pay the price for her child's mistakes?

The Other, by Troy Young, FREE on Kindle Unlimited or available to buy on Amazon.

It started as a typical day in a sleepy little coastal village. But little did they know everything was about to change forever.

Corporal Joe Mills of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police arrives at Gallou Cove, certain the reported ‘sea monster’ washed ashore would be nothing. What he found there on the beach chilled him to the core.

Dr. Adele Kramer, a marine biologist, shows up to categorize the find. The creature defies any known life found on Earth. At least, nothing originating on the planet.

So begins their introduction to ‘The Other’, the secret world of cosmic horrors plaguing humanity since before the dawn of time. They soon find themselves drawn into a plot many millennia-old to prevent the end of all existence in the universe. Can they survive the Crawling Chaos and prevent He Who Lies Dreaming from awakening?

House of Mud, by Joseph J Dowling, FREE download.

Mud. It got everywhere. Clung to their possessions and sneaked into places Suzie never realized mud could reach. She remembered a time when she’d thought sand was a pain in the ass, but never again in her miserable existence would she complain about a little beach-crotch. It’d been so different when they’d arrived on the godforsaken plot, full of excitement and hope, long before the earth spat out those old bones. It seemed like yesterday and forever ago.

Dead by Morning, by Kayla Krantz, FREE on Kindle Unlimited, or available to buy.

After a classmate disappears, Luna is haunted by violent nightmares so real they leave her traumatized. Terrified, Luna begins to question her sanity until a call from a long-lost friend warns her of things to come. Does Chance’s seemingly perfect exterior hide an unhinged evil?

Luna’s in danger, and although she can avoid the killer in reality, she can’t escape from him in her dreams.

Visions and Nightmares, by A F Stewart, available for purchase.

With the odds stacked against them, can these ten women survive... or will they succumb to the threat of revenge, fate, and death?

Step through a looking glass of dark horrors with an Alice you never knew.
Join Zenna in seeking the truth before she succumbs to her deadly magic.
Journey with Olivia as she crosses paths with a monster of the forest and runs for her life.
Watch Isobel summon the faerie to solve her problem of an unwanted husband.
Shiver as Doctor Killbride experiments with corpses to create life from death.
Wander into the realm of the old gods with Elenora, who yearns for escape.

Run from the Dead, by Joanne Nundy, FREE on Kindle Unlimited or available for purchase.

Can’t fight the dead? Then RUN…

The dead are rising and violently attacking people on the streets of the UK. Driven by an insatiable hunger for flesh, they attack anyone who dares to go out.

Anna is trapped as the zombie apocalypse rages outside her front door. Desperate and alone, she must find a way to get to her children who are with her Ex-partner. As Anna runs from the dead, she finds help from Rob and his fifteen-year-old brother, Jack, despite Rob’s better instincts. Together, they run the nightmare gauntlet that used to be their neighbourhood.

His Black Tongue, by Mitchell Luthi, FREE on Kindle Unlimited or available for purchase.

There is no plague in Enfaire…

Dead things have been found in the fields of Enfaire, a God-fearing town north of Reams. Not just dead things but twisted forms… unholy shapes. And there are rumours, too—of a blasphemous union and of fell creatures that haunt the night. Yet, even as plague and witch pyres blacken the sky, the town remains untouched by the malady that has already claimed thousands and will claim thousands more.

Morsels of Mayhem: An Unsettling Appetizer, by Mark Tullius, FREE download.

an overweight father ignored by his family.

a gang member breaking into a neighborhood church.

a cameraman who finds himself in a hopeless situation.

an aging author who’s paying the price for a reckless past, doing all he can to repair his brain.

These shocking stories will leave you wanting more.

Newt’s Cursed Crossword

Click the image to play the game - if you dare!

Thanks for reading Newton’s Free Horror! Subscribe for free to receive new posts and support my work.

If you enjoyed this email, then please consider Tales of the Macabre, Vol. 1. My first collected works on Amazon containing sixteen short stories and novellas by Newton Webb.

Newton Webb BibliographyAvailable on Amazon

Visit my Amazon author page

Collected Works

Tales of the Macabre, Vol. 1

Contemporary

2022 – The Heir Apparent, Novella

2018 – The Morrígan, Novella

2017 – Nestor Lynch, Novel

2013 – Festival of The Damned, Novella

2012 – The Platinum Service, Novella

Historical

1958 – The Black Fog, Short Story

1864 – Smoke in the Sewers, Novella

1832 – The Horror at Hargrave Hall, Novella

1818 – The Ballad of Barnacle Bill, Novella

1194 – Hunted, Short Story

Read a collection of free short stories by Newton Webb on his website.

Visit my website

PF-004: The Beast of Glenmara by Newton Webb

If you enjoyed this free short story, then please consider Tales of the Macabre, Vol. 1 or its sequel Tales of the Macabre, Vol. 2.

If you like page-turning frights, haunting revelations, and feeling your blood run cold, then you’ll love Newton Webb’s baleful phantasmagoria.

Buy them to shudder in fear tonight!

Praise for Tales of the Macabre, Vol. 1
"This book was full of nail-biting moments. The book was full of variety that kept you engaged and wanting to read the next story"
"Newton Webb never disappoints. His debut collection includes most of his best stories, spanning a huge amount of time and going through a great variety of settings. Some are novelettes, others more of a typical short story length, always well written, with a fantastic use of the English language"
"These 16 scary stories are really, really good! My absolute favorites of the bunch were Festival of the Damned and The Heir Apparent (man, what a twist I was NOT expecting!)"
"This was a very enjoyable collection of eerily prophetic stories, full of variety and encompassing a world of demonic entities, cannibalism, ghouls, murder, ancient curses and deviant sex addiction. From folk horror to supernatural sci-fi tales, what more could you wish for? Each story slowly unfolds with a sense of unease and menace, complimented by many unexpected twists and turns. The moral theme of these stories would appear to be, 'be careful of what you wish for'. Highly recommended"

Black Friday Deal: $0.99 Tales of the Macabre, Vol. 1

Newt's Nightmares

Greetings, my wicked darlings!

Black Friday—that magical time of year when the thin veneer of civilization peels back to reveal the true, consumerist hunger that lies beneath.

For just 99 cents, less than the cost of a decent cup of coffee which, let's be honest, is the only thing keeping most of us semi-functional, I present to you the eBook of "Tales of the Macabre, Vol. 1". A collection of stories that will chill you to your core.

In these pages, you'll find humor, love, passion, and terror, all interwoven like the threads of your tattered sanity. So, why not add a little more darkness to your life? It’s practically a steal—and let's face it, you were going to spend that dollar on something far less fulfilling, like a lottery ticket or a bag of sweets containing no recognisable ingredients.

Grab your digital copy this Black Friday and dive headfirst into the abyss of horror. After all, what better way to escape the dystopian hellscape of holiday shopping than with a good book? And at 99 cents, it’s cheaper than therapy—though I have absolutely zero credentials or medical training.

Right… I mentioned coffee and now I can’t get the thought of a cuppa black out of my head. I’m pretty sure that rocket fuel is the only thing that keeps my heart pumping.

Your ole’ pal, Newt.

Free Horror Stories

Unsubscribe (at the bottom of the email)

Free Horror StoriesHorror Story Compilations

ALL THINGS CREEPY: 64 FREE horror stories, including ‘Ain’t Nothin’ But The Blues’, ‘Blade of the Blood God’, ‘Shadow of the Wolf’, ‘The Road Revenant’ and ‘The Blood Eagle’

NO FEAR NOVEMBER: 56 FREE horror stories, including ‘Ain’t Nothin’ But The Blues’, and ‘The Blood Eagle’

RIVETING READS: 96 horror stories, including ‘Tales of the Macabre, Vol. 1’, ‘Tales of the Macabre, Vol. 2’, ‘Festival of the Damned’, ‘The Horror at Hargrave Hall’, ‘Smoke in the Sewers’, ‘The Ballad of Barnacle Bill’, ‘The Morrígan’, ‘The Black Fog’, ‘The Heir Apparent’, ‘The Platinum Service’.

Recommended Stories

Rachael's Apocalypse Diary, by Len M Ruth, FREE download.

She was a sophomore nuclear physics student before the shit hit the fan. She has no survival skills. No special training. And no one to help her. Now discover the reality of survival in a post-apocalyptic world through Rachael’s eyes. From the pages of her diary, learn the truth behind the end of the world and the struggles of those who remain.

Sombre Stroll: Five Horror Stories, by Mark Tullius, FREE to buy on Amazon.

In this short story collection you'll find yourself:

An overworked father trying to protect his son.

An injured construction worker questioning reality.

A sensitive teenage girl watching a mixed martial arts battle to the death.

An aging DJ granting a sick girl’s glorious last wish.

The fifth and final tale is a shocking jaunt through the author’s mind, full of juicy revelations and admissions.

Lured by Darkness, by Michael Gesellchen, FREE download.

A father goes to the ends of this world and the next to help his beloved daughter through a trial of darkness.

A young woman must break her mother's trust to experience the normal life of a teenager, risking everything to face the dangers lurking beyond her bedroom walls.

A man on the run is haunted by the skeletons of his past. Will he out run them, or fall victim to his darkest nightmare.

Moonchild, by Kate L. Mary, FREE to buy.

Scarlett Moon has one goal: Survive. Being tough and looking out for herself is the only way to stay alive, but when her best friend, Rory, is arrested and returned to the mines, all of Scarlett’s carefully built walls threaten to crumble.

The Hanging Tree, by Joseph J. Dowling, FREE download.

Detective Craig Cornell is called to a triple-murder at an isolated house near Exeter, New Hampshire, the latest in a sequence of gruesome deaths which stems back 300 years. A White Oak at the rear of the property may hold the key. According to local legend, a woman was accused of witchcraft and hanged from it.

As the bodies pile up, Cornell is haunted by horrific visions. Is it his past catching up with him, or does the tree really hold an ancient, evil spirit?

Sour Roots, by Shawn Burgess, FREE download.

Roger and Gertrude Davis enjoy an idyllic existence in the small Appalachian town of Harper Pass. With vast landholdings, a successful business, and love for the family they’ve built, they’ve avoided the suffering The Great Depression has wrought on the area until it all comes crashing down on a sweltering summer day in 1932.

Chronicles of the Undead, by A. F. Stewart, FREE download.

Three generations bound together under a horrifying family secret.

Vampires exist.

Inside the personal journals of the Harrington family, watch a dark and dangerous odyssey unfold. Three members of this tormented family, Samuel, his son Edmund, and Edmund's daughter Charlotte, must come to terms with evil. Set during the 18th and 19th century in London, England, this family must struggle against horror as their lives intersect with supernatural forces. As two intriguing vampires befriend, manipulate, and play with all three souls, altering their lives forever.

My Bad Self: The prequel novella to the psychological thriller My ... Self series, by Jessica Huntley, FREE download.

My Bad Self is the prequel novella to the hugely popular psychological thriller My … Self series, set four years before the events of My Dark Self. If you loved the My … Self series of books then you’ll be jumping at the chance to read more about the dynamic duo or if you’ve never read the series, it’s the perfect place to start your journey and find out more about Josslyn and Alicia before diving into the full series.

Flirting With Death, by Kayla Krantz, FREE on Kindle Unlimited.

Truth or dare on the Dark Web.

Mystery boxes filled with malevolent spirits.

A vampire who hunts to keep his human sweetheart alive.

And many more.

In this suspenseful short story collection, see the world through the eyes of madness and witness life on the edge of death. Monsters don't live under your bed. They live next door.

Destroy the Dead, by Joanne Nundy, FREE on Kindle Unlimited.

Dr Stephanie Simpson read the email over and over. She never expected to hear from Dr Maxim Ivanov ever again, let alone be responsible for stopping an end of days contagion. It was a joke. Right?
An apocalypse level infection spreading across Europe. Waves of infected crashing over the LIVING, turning everyone into one of them.
Captain Adrian Rogers and his Special Forces team were tasked with keeping the scientists safe long enough to find a cure for the rage and destruction hurtling towards the UK. Ade was due to hand in his notice until he got word of the zombie apocalypse heading their way. Just his luck!
As the world descends into chaos, it’s a race against time for Ade and Steph. Can they stay alive long enough to figure out how to DESTROY the DEAD?

Descendants of Time and Death, by Winnifred Tataw, available for purchase.

It has been a year since the Reign of Ryton, the Demon King, came to an end. Leaving Rodrick to face the burden of the tyranny he left behind. Yet this time he is not alone. After foreseeing massive deaths on the horizon, Lady Death seeks out the twenty-year-old prince’s aid in stopping what seems like an unavoidable war. With the help of his older brother Rayden as his companion, the princess Arcelia, and Queen Riva for support, Roderick agrees to take on the monumental task. But the Diar Brothers are in for a wild ride of intrigue and betrayal when they meet a tyrant and a terrorist both fighting for control of a country that had already suffered under their father's reign. Secrets are revealed, promises broken, and trust is questioned. Rayden and Rodrick are going to have to race against time if they want to stop the war. Their journey will test every limit of their relationship and everything they've ever known.

Thanks for reading Newton’s Free Horror! Subscribe for free to receive new posts and support my work.

If you enjoyed this email, then please consider Tales of the Macabre, Vol. 1. My first collected works on Amazon containing sixteen short stories and novellas by Newton Webb.

Newton Webb BibliographyAvailable on Amazon

Visit my Amazon author page

Collected Works

Tales of the Macabre, Vol. 1

Contemporary

2022 – The Heir Apparent, Novella

2018 – The Morrígan, Novella

2017 – Nestor Lynch, Novel

2013 – Festival of The Damned, Novella

2012 – The Platinum Service, Novella

Historical

1958 – The Black Fog, Short Story

1864 – Smoke in the Sewers, Novella

1832 – The Horror at Hargrave Hall, Novella

1818 – The Ballad of Barnacle Bill, Novella

1194 – Hunted, Short Story

Read a collection of free short stories by Newton Webb on his website.

Visit my website

The Black Shuck by Newton Webb

Contents

Free Horror Stories

The Black Shuck by Newton Webb

Free Horror StoriesHorror Story Compilations

ALL THINGS CREEPY: 64 FREE horror stories, including ‘Ain’t Nothin’ But The Blues’, ‘Blade of the Blood God’, ‘Shadow of the Wolf’, ‘The Road Revenant’ and ‘The Blood Eagle’

NO FEAR NOVEMBER: 56 FREE horror stories, including ‘Ain’t Nothin’ But The Blues’, and ‘The Blood Eagle’

RIVETING READS: 96 horror stories, including ‘Tales of the Macabre, Vol. 1’, ‘Tales of the Macabre, Vol. 2’, ‘Festival of the Damned’, ‘The Horror at Hargrave Hall’, ‘Smoke in the Sewers’, ‘The Ballad of Barnacle Bill’, ‘The Morrígan’, ‘The Black Fog’, ‘The Heir Apparent’, ‘The Platinum Service’.

The Black Shuck by Newton Webb3rd March, 2005, London

Tina adjusted her ill-fitting nurse’s scrubs and plastered a sympathetic smile on her face. She pressed the doorbell for the third time.

The door creaked open. An elderly man peered out through the crack with rheumy eyes. “Who are you?” he muttered in a dry and crackly voice. A wisp of white hair fluttered in the afternoon breeze. Despite the late hour, he was in a tweed dressing gown.

“Mr Hawkins? I’m sorry if I disturbed you, but I’m part of a community outreach program. I am here to take your blood pressure and ask a few questions.” Tina held out a small card. “This is my number and contact details for my manager, in case you want to verify my identity.”

The man leaned closer, peering at Tina’s card. “You want to check my blood pressure?”

“If you don’t mind, sir. I won’t take long. It’s all routine.” Tina beamed at him.

He grunted and shuffled back, letting the door swing open.

She patted down a stray lock of hair and followed him in through the Victorian mansion’s door. The interior of the house was packed with peculiar antique goods. Exotic masks and bizarre African artefacts adorned the dark mahogany walls alongside the photos of a black German Shepherd dog.

“Sorry sir, but do you own a dog?” Tina asked nervously, looking at the photos which festooned every wall.

Mr Hawkins paused. “Not for ten years. He was a good boy. Sometimes it feels like he never left.”

“He looks lovely,” Tina said, her relief palpable. “You have a lot of interesting stuff. Are you a collector?”

Mr Hawkins turned and slowly lowered himself into an armchair. “Of memories. A different time for a different man.”

Tina pulled up a leather bound pouffe in front of him and pulled out the blood pressure kit. “Roll your sleeves up now, please, Mr Hawkins.” Tina waited patiently for him before running her tests.

“Well? Should I bother paying my council tax bill?” The old man grumped. 

Tina winked at him. “You best had. You’ll outlive us all.” She pulled out a notepad. “Now, just a few questions about your lifestyle and then with your consent, I’ll do a quick patrol around the house to check for accessibility and risk factors.”

“Bloody nanny state.” Mr Harkins shook his head. “I’ve lived here for fifteen years. You don’t get to live to my age by living in a death trap.”

Tina paused, then awkwardly smiled. “I’m sorry, sir. If you aren’t comfortable with me, then I could always put in a request that another of my colleagues do it?”

“No, no, best get it over and done with. I’ll put the kettle on. That’s if I’m still allowed near boiling water.”

“Go ahead, I promise I won’t take long.” Tina gave an obsequious nod and left him prattling around the kitchen as she investigated the house. She wrinkled her nose at the musty scent of old clothes and even older books, but her mind was set on the task at hand. She had a job to do.

“Mick was right,” Lenny grinned, hefting Tina’s smartphone. “He was bloody right.” The screen showed a photo of an ancient cast iron safe.

Tina looked at Mick nervously. “This will be our last one then, right? If he is as wealthy as you say.”

Mick looked her up and down. “Yeah, it might well be. We do this job, then you can go your own merry way… if the contents of this safe pays off your debt to me, that is.”

“Thank you, Mick.”

“Oh, what’s the hurry, seeing as your tab is this close to being wiped clean?” Mick slid closer to her. “Why don’t you buy a little baggie, eh? A little bit of puff, a wee toot of Charlie?”

Tina shook her head. “I am trying to get clean. I want to be a better mother to my boys.”

Mick stroked her hair. “I know, I know. Well, how about this as a compromise? I give you this little bag here and you won’t have to pay me until after we empty that safe.” He brought himself next to her ear and whispered. “If you are really nice to me, and I do mean really nice. I’ll give it to you for half price.”

Tina bit her lip. “Okay, but this is the last baggy. I am going clean. I really am.”

“Of course you are.” Mick grinned as he directed her towards the sofa. “A real saint, you are.”

Mr Hawkin’s house was old, old even by Newgate standards. Ornate tribal masks dotted the stonework, leering faces that in the shadows of the night seemed to watch Tina. Their eyes followed her as she approached the front door.

“Are you sure he is gone?” she asked nervously.

“Yeah, yeah, he is gone.” He pulled the wrought-iron gate shut behind him, looking for any cameras watching them, but the security was as aged as the house, just a solid steel lock. He pulled out his picks and got to work.

Tina tapped her feet against the paving slabs, trying not to look at the painted masks, focusing instead on the cars parked outside on the street.

The lock clicked, and Lenny pushed the door open with grim satisfaction. “Well, where is it then?”

Tina followed him into the house. “In the backroom on the ground floor, he has an office to the left.”

“Good, I’ll meet you there. I’m just going to make sure the house is empty.” Lenny stalked up the stairs. The light from Tina’s torch glinted off a large chef’s knife.

Tina gripped his arm, only to have her hand shaken off. “Wait. What are you doing?”

Lenny ignored her and paced up the stairs.

Tina followed him, her heart racing in her chest. “Lenny, you said the old man was out.”

“Shut up, I’m just making sure.”

“Is there someone there?” Mr Hawkin’s thin, reedy voice came from the master bedroom. Tina watched Lenny advance towards the sound, his body language exuding a grim purpose.

She backed away to the top of the stairs.

Oh god, no.

“Whoever you are, I am armed and I’m calling the police.”

Tina knelt, clutching the ornate wood bannister. She could hear the noises from the bedroom. She could hear Mr Hawkin’s screams cut short, leaving behind a wet gurgle.

Lenny emerged in front of her, his gloves coated in dark blood. His eyes were cold in the torchlight, a sneer on his lips.

“You said he was out.” Tina wailed.

“So, I was wrong.” He looked down at her cowering form with disgust. “I told you to wait by the safe.”

Lenny’s boot nudged her hard and Tina rose to her feet, clutching to the balustrade as she half walked, and half pulled herself down the stairs. The vision of Mr Hawkin’s face flickered through her mind. Old, vulnerable, alive. The photo of a black German Shepherd lining the walls seemed to watch her, judging her as she moved.

“Move it, come on.” Lenny said, following behind her as she led him to the safe. “Stop that whimpering, Mick said he made his money in South Africa. I doubt he got all those diamonds feeding the homeless. He deserved what he got.”

Tina led him to the safe. Lenny pulled out his kit and got to work on it. It took him nearly half an hour to crack the lock as he methodically worked his way through the layered defences.

“Done it!” Lenny exclaimed with satisfaction as the door swung open. “That lock was a bastard.” He froze. “What the…”

Tina peered over his shoulder. The safe was empty except for a ceramic jar with a screw-top lid.

Lenny unscrewed the jar. “Where are the fecking diamonds?” Finding only a white powder, he poked around in it with his finger.

“Lenny, it’s cocaine.” Tina said, her breath caught in her throat.

“Really?” Lenny looked again at the jar. It was labelled ‘Charlie’. “The old man didn’t look like a coke fiend.” He hefted the jar. “There is a lot in here… It’s not diamonds, but it’s worth a bit of scratch.” He pulled a credit card out from his wallet and racked up two lines, then rolling up a tenner, passed it to Tina. “Go on then, give it a go.”

Tina took the note and looked at the line in front of her.

This is my last line. After tonight’s horror, I deserve it.

Tina snorted up the line and leaned her head back, waiting for the familiar rush.

“Give me that.” Lenny took the note off her and hoovered up the second line.

Tina blinked.

Nothing.

“It’s been too heavily cut. I’m not getting any buzz from it.” Tina rubbed her nose clean.

“I can’t sell this shit. It’s crap.” Lenny tossed it back into the safe. “Where is his fecking loot?”

“What about all these statues? Could we sell them?” Tina picked up a stone fertility statue.

“Who too? How do we know which of these are worth money and what isn’t? Spread out, I want gold, silver or jewels. Stuff that can be melted down and sold.” Lenny started rummaging through the shelves, knocking over the worthless ornaments. “Bloody useless tat. Why are you just standing there? Look!”

Tina was staring at a mounted photo of a black German Shepherd, there was a nameplate under it.

Charlie.

She pointed. “Lenny, that wasn’t drugs.”

“What?” He marched over and looked in disgust at the photo. “We snorted fecking ashes? Oh, for feck’s sake. That is rank”

Tina gagged.

“Stop that and get to work. You’ve hoovered up worse and paid good money for the privilege.” Lenny looked around. “Nothing good in here. I’m going back to the bedroom. You look through the downstairs.”

Tina gripped her arms tightly, swearing to herself, before obediently looking through the shelves.

This is my last job.

She heard the sound of breathing in her right ear and spun round to see nobody.

It’s the stress. Let’s just get this over with.

4th March, 2005, London

Tina sat at home. She should clear away the remains of last night’s kebab, she should cook something, she should have a shower.

She should be doing anything but sitting on the floor and shaking.

The radio was on loud to distract her, but she could still feel the sound of heavy breathing in her right ear. Everything she had tried had failed, but that maddening inhuman breath persisted.

There must have been something in those ashes, a psychotropic substance. Or I’ve got a fever.

Closing her eyes, she leaned against the wall, trying to ignore the breathing, exhaustion overcoming her as she felt herself drifting into sleep.

The breathing changed. A wolf-like growl sounded, sending a rush of adrenaline through her body. She lurched to her feet.

I need something to knock me out. If I can sleep through it, the drugs will wear off.

Tina hired an Uber to take her to Lenny’s.

He’ll sort me out. I just need something to knock me out.

It was a short journey. The driver gave her the side eye in the rearview mirror. Tina paid him no heed. She left the taxi with a mumbled thanks and shuffled across the concrete to Lenny’s door, climbing up the stairwell to find his council flat.

She rang the doorbell, then banged twice. Sliding down with her back against the door, she waited.

Her foot tapping against the floor, she rose up and pounded again on the door.

“Lenny!” she shouted. She peered through the letterbox. The window was ajar. It had a safety lock to keep it from being wrenched open. As she tugged on the windowpane it proved more cosmetic than practical. Pulling with both hands she easily snapped the cheap plastic.

Clambering into his kitchen, she scrabbled, half climbing and half falling over the piles of dirty dishes. Tina grimaced at the filth. The scent of marijuana competed and failed against the sharp scent of something foul. Holding her hand to her mouth, she explored the house, trying to find Lenny.

Muffling a scream, she found him.

He was dead on the sofa, a half-eaten pizza in front of him, and a crack pipe on the floor from where it had fallen. But it was his face, his face that terrified her more than anything. His eyes were wide, his mouth open as if he had died of fright.

Tina backed up away from the corpse.

I can’t go yet. I need his drugs.

He had sold enough to Tina for her to know where he kept them. She pulled the DVD’s clear off the shelf, exposing a fake panel. She tugged at it. Behind it lay a plastic case full of baggies.

As feckless as he was at cleaning, he kept his drugs well organised. Tina found herself a baggy of Rohypnol. A sedative that would put her out and suppress her memories of that hateful night.

In front of her lay his stash of cocaine.

This might just be withdrawal, an auditory hallucination. A little line will sort me out.

She gave it a long, lingering look. Just a little line, not a full one, just enough to smooth her out.

“No,” she muttered. “Never again.” She took the baggie of Rohypnol and fled the house, closing the door shut behind her.

The breathing still sounded in her right ear. It was a constant, maddening huffing next to her, sounding as if it was right against the side of her skull.

She clambered down to the roadside and summoned a taxi home.

Tina lay in bed, her arms wrapped around her pillow, shaking as she waited for the Rohypnol to kick in. Three times now, as she felt herself losing consciousness, the huffing had turned to a growl, and she had startled awake, eyes open and streaming tears of frustration.

“Let me sleep!” she shouted in rage and frustration at the ceiling.

The heaviness in her head started to settle once more and a wave of relief flowed through her as the growling turned to barking. The drugs and exhaustion combined as a powerful cocktail, letting her pass out unconscious. As the black velvet of sleep embraced her, she smiled.

The world seemed different. There was a smoke-like haze around her and she stumbled with a childlike innocence. Her fingers played across the spines of old leather-bound books without reading the titles. She stopped to admire an ancient weapon of some kind, a wooden mace decorated with feathers.

I’m in Mr Hawkin’s front room.

Hearing a low rumbling growl, she looked around to see Mr Hawkins sat in a faded armchair watching her, his eyes narrowed accusingly. Beside him, a black German Shepherd stood, every muscle in his body quivering as if poised to leap.

She took a step back in fright, terror seeping through the brain fog.

“You lied to me,” he said, looking her in the eye. “I trusted you.” He held up his hand. “Stay,” he ordered the dog, who continued to wait, his muscles shaking with repressed adrenaline.

“I am sorry. I didn’t have a choice. It was Lenny’s fault. He made me do it. I owed him money.” Tears ran down Tina’s face.

“I was murdered in my own home—” He snapped, bristling with anger. “—Stay!” He repeated to his dog. The dog’s eyes narrowed with anticipation.

“That wasn’t me, though. Lenny said you weren’t home.” Tina sobbed, guilt and fear wracking her body. “I didn’t kill you!”

“I suppose you’re right. Taking that into account, I shan’t kill you either.”

“Thank you, oh thank, I promise I will change, I promise—” Tina started.

“Release.” Mr Hawkins said. 

The black dog lunged forward. His jaws wide. His teeth aimed at her throat.

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PF-003: Trev Rides Forth by Newton Webb

If you enjoyed this free short story, then please consider Tales of the Macabre, Vol. 1 or its sequel Tales of the Macabre, Vol. 2 (featuring Trev Rides Forth).

If you like page-turning frights, haunting revelations, and feeling your blood run cold, then you’ll love Newton Webb’s baleful phantasmagoria.

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Free Horror StoriesHorror Story Compilations

ALL THINGS CREEPY: 64 FREE horror stories, including ‘Ain’t Nothin’ But The Blues’, ‘Blade of the Blood God’, ‘Shadow of the Wolf’, ‘The Road Revenant’ and ‘The Blood Eagle’

NO FEAR NOVEMBER: 56 FREE horror stories, including ‘Ain’t Nothin’ But The Blues’, and ‘The Blood Eagle’

RIVETING READS: 96 horror stories, including ‘Tales of the Macabre, Vol. 1’, ‘Tales of the Macabre, Vol. 2’, ‘Festival of the Damned’, ‘The Horror at Hargrave Hall’, ‘Smoke in the Sewers’, ‘The Ballad of Barnacle Bill’, ‘The Morrígan’, ‘The Black Fog’, ‘The Heir Apparent’, ‘The Platinum Service’.

The Troop by Newton Webb

Contents

Free Horror Stories

The Troop by Newton Webb

Free Horror StoriesHorror Story Compilations

ALL THINGS CREEPY: 64 FREE horror stories, including ‘Ain’t Nothin’ But The Blues’, ‘Blade of the Blood God’, ‘Shadow of the Wolf’, ‘The Road Revenant’ and ‘The Blood Eagle’

NO FEAR NOVEMBER: 56 FREE horror stories, including ‘Ain’t Nothin’ But The Blues’, and ‘The Blood Eagle’

RIVETING READS: 96 horror stories, including ‘Tales of the Macabre, Vol. 1’, ‘Tales of the Macabre, Vol. 2’, ‘Festival of the Damned’, ‘The Horror at Hargrave Hall’, ‘Smoke in the Sewers’, ‘The Ballad of Barnacle Bill’, ‘The Morrígan’, ‘The Black Fog’, ‘The Heir Apparent’, ‘The Platinum Service’.

The Troop16th March, 2017, London

Sam avoided the annoyed looks of his fellow residents as he jostled past them, escaping the packed lift with a large Amazon box in his hands. Turning the corner, he fumbled for his keys, pulling them from his jacket pocket as he stood outside his door.

“You must be my new neighbour?” An old man with a brown cardigan stood outside the adjacent apartment. He must have climbed the stairs. The man shoved two packs of Ibuprofen into his pocket, freeing a hand to offer to Sam.

“Just moved in yesterday with my partner, Wendy.” Sam shook his hand. The fragile grip felt dry, like loose parchment.

“I’m Felix. It’s always good to have new blood in the troop.”

“Troop?” Sam asked with a chuckle. “You make it sound like a militia.”

“Oh, I apologise. I was just being a ‘fun guy’, a professional quirk of mine. I’m a professor of mycology.”

Sam regarded Felix quizzically while waiting for further information.

“Fungi! Mushrooms, toadstools, penicillin, yeast, black mould. It’s such a versatile area to study.” He leaned in closer, his breath smelling of pungent garlic. “A troop is one of the collective nouns for fungi. Did you know that right now your body is hosting a veritable cornucopia of specimens? It’s like a five-star hotel for fungi.”

“I did not…” Sam fidgeted. “Well, it’s been good to meet you Felix, but it’s my turn to cook tonight, so I’d best get on and rattle those pots and pans.”

“A pleasure.” Felix nodded and headed towards the lift. He called over his shoulder. “Don’t be afraid to knock if you need anything or have any questions.”

The scent of Bolognese sauce filled the apartment. Sam heard the door open as he stirred the pot. “Open a bottle of red,” he called out. Frantically he turned down the heat on the pasta and lifted the lid just in time to stop it from boiling over. “Bloody hell,” he muttered, eyeing the pan suspiciously.

Wendy came into the kitchen peering at the bubbling pots. Her blue eyes twinkled from beneath a neat raven black bob . “Spag bol again?”

“It’s my signature dish,” Sam said proudly.

“Yes, well, you need more than one signature dish if we are taking turns cooking or we’ll turn into spag bol.” Wendy popped a cork. He heard her ferreting around for wine glasses behind him.

“Do I get a kiss? Or just complaints about the food variety?”

Wendy considered the question before relenting. “I suppose you can.” She gave him a peck on the lips as she carried the glasses into the other room. “I’ll find something on Netflix.”

“No, no. I cooked. I get to choose the movie. Besides, I spent ages finding a good one at work today.” Sam drained the pasta and plated up. “Something we can both enjoy.” He carried the plates out to where Wendy was sitting crossed legged on the sofa, a pillow ready on her lap. She quickly put her feet down and patted her lap.

Sam dutifully gave her the plate. “I met our neighbour today. He is a character alright. He is a professor of mushrooms.”

“Really? That’s a thing?”

“Apparently. He had a European accent, I want to say German, but it could just be from around that area.” Sam started winding up the spaghetti on his fork, careful to avoid splashing tomato sauce on the new sofa. The flat was a new build and everything was shiny and clean. He was determined not to be the one in the couple who made the first stain.

“Couldn’t you ask him?” Wendy asked before suddenly pausing and turning up her nose. “Can you smell weed?”

Sam’s eyes lit up. “I can, it’s just like at uni.”

“Do you think it’s our neighbour?” Wendy put down her plate and was sniffing like a bloodhound to try to locate the source of the odour.

“It could be anyone. Modern apartments all have integrated air conditioning. See that circular thing in the corner?” He pointed. She immediately followed her nose to it.

“That’s vile. What if someone has the flu? Do the germs spread throughout the whole of our block?” Wendy went back to the sofa, her eyes still locked on the repellent vent.

Sam elbowed her. “Stop it. Germs don’t live forever, they only travel a short way before dying. It’s fine.”

“Hmm, I’m not sure how true that is. Maybe we should tape it up?” She poked her spaghetti with her fork. “A lovely new house and someone is stinking it up. That smell has really put me off my food.”

Sam curled up another roll of sauce coated spaghetti. “It is supposed to give you the munchies. I like it.”

“We get drugs tested at work. What if I test positive? What if my clothes smell of weed?” Wendy’s spaghetti sauce started to congeal as it was left untouched and cooled.

“I was playing. There is no way you can get high off second hand smoke. You’d get a stronger scent walking down the high street.” He looked pointedly at her plate. “I spent ages on that. Come on, eat your food.” He loaded up Cruel Intentions on Netflix.

“Oh, good choice.”

“I thought so,” Sam said smugly, as he shuffled closer to her on the sofa, cosying up to her.

29th March, 2017, London

Sam crept through the corridors, flaming torches illuminating his progress, the blade in his hand glinting in the firelight. His breath caught in his throat as, in front of him, the Spartan General addressed his troops, his booming baritone filling the living room.

“Who goes there?” 

Suddenly, the scene erupted into chaos. Everyone swarmed towards Sam’s character. He was penned in. Uselessly he hammered the attack button before the screen faded to black.

“Bugger,” he swore, as he tossed the controller down on the sofa.

“Everything alright?” Wendy called out from the kitchen where the hissing sound of the stir-fry was creating its own unique symphony.

“You know, I think that stir-fry might be your signature dish,” Sam muttered.

He jumped as he saw Wendy leaning out of the kitchen door. “Don’t be grumpy, just because you died in your little game. At least I use different sauce packets with my stir fry and mix up the ingredients.”

Sam gave her a pained smile. “Shall I pour us a glass of red?”

“I’m taking a night off. My head has been killing me all day. So it’s water for me today and I bought us some detox tea.” 

Sam nodded. That really wasn’t what he’d wanted to hear. “Oh dear, you poor thing. But would you mind if I had a glass?” 

“You’ll need to pop to the shops. We are out.” Wendy returned to the kitchen. She called out, “I’ll find something to watch while you’re gone.”

Sam pulled on his trainers and retrieved the bin bags from the kitchen.

“Cheers Sammy.”

He nodded, giving her a leaving wink. “No problem.” Sam locked the front door behind him. Stepping back, he paused. Felix’s door was ajar. Sam considered the door, biting his lip as he pondered whether or not to get involved. He decided it was the neighbourly thing to do and knocked. 

There was no response.

After knocking again, he left his bin liner outside and tentatively pushed the door open. “Felix? Felix…” Gingerly, he entered the room, gagging at the musty scent. The flat was silent as he paced through the living room. Trays of mushrooms lay open, the lids scattered across the floor. Mould ran up the walls. Sam coughed as he passed into the kitchen. Unlike the living room, the kitchen was clear, with little signs of use. Unease filled him as he waited outside the bedroom door. Something wasn’t right here. He knocked, hoping to discover that Felix was sleeping.

He opened the door, poking his head in. “Felix?” The room was empty. Sam gave a sigh of relief. Felix must be out. Sam picked up an old photo of Felix with what he presumed was his family. Far too much tweed for his liking, but it showed a middle aged Felix with a blond wife and two boys.

I wonder what happened to them?

Sam checked the bathroom on his way out, just to be sure, and closed the door, happy that Felix was probably down the shops.

With the release of trapped emotion that he didn’t know he’d been holding in, he took the lift down to the ground floor, humming happily. For the last week, the apartment block had been considerably less busy, so he’d had a lift to himself, and nobody stopped it on its inexorable journey to the ground floor.

When the elevator door pinged, he lumbered towards the bin store. Tutting, he noticed that someone had broken the utilities door lock. 

The builders have only just finished construction… Animals!.

Dumping the rubbish, he came back to take a photo to send to the concierge. Even outside the basement door he could sense the warm humidity rising from down there, condensation was beading on the door. Sam didn’t envy the workmen who maintained the machinery down there.

He returned with a couple of bottles of red, just in case Wendy had changed her mind.

She winced at him. “You know, I think I’m going to bed. I left a plate in the kitchen for you.” 

“Really? Have you taken painkillers?” Sam put the bottles on the table and settled down next to her on the sofa.

“Yes Sam. Of course, I have.” Wendy bit her lip, screwing up her eyes. “Sorry, I don’t mean to be snappy. I think it’s turning into a migraine.” She rose, rubbing her temples. “I’ll sleep it off. It’ll be alright in the morning.”

Sam watched her with concern. “Let me know if I can get you anything. I’ll keep the TV quiet.”

Fetching his plate of stir-fry and a glass. He settled in with a bottle of red and flicked the TV onto Netflix.

The next day, Sam woke to find an empty space next to him on the bed. He roamed the empty house looking for Wendy when he heard a splash from the bathroom. “Is everything all right in there?”

“Not so good. The water seems to help my head. But I didn’t sleep a wink. I’m going to call the doctor when they open.” Her voice sounded weak and croaky. “I think it’s the flu.”

Sam recoiled from the door but thoughtfully called out. “Do you want me to stay at home with you?”

“No, I’ll be fine, but could you be a treasure and get some chicken soup on the way home? The good stuff, not the creamy stuff.”

The creamy stuff IS the good stuff.

“Sure, no problem. I’ll get some drugs from the pharmacy, too.”

“Thanks Sam.” He heard Wendy topping up the bath with fresh water.

How long has she been in there?

“I’ll see you around six then. Rest up. I hope you get some sleep.” Sam gave a last lingering look at the door and then, when Wendy didn’t reply, he went to get dressed. He’d have to buy a toothbrush and some deodorant for the office. No worries.

Sam returned to find Mr Belgin, the landlord, pacing in the corridor. Bin bags lined the corridor. 

“Oi,” Mr Belgin stalked towards him. “You left your door unlocked. I had to enter to make sure you weren’t doing anything untoward like your neighbour.”

“Was Wendy inside?” Sam ignored his landlord to push open the door. “Wendy?” 

“She isn’t in, nobody is. I said I have to enter. The police are involved.” Mr Belgin had his arms crossed, waiting for Sam to pay him due attention.

Sam returned. “What do you mean? What happened?”

“Drugs probably, magic mushrooms. The police took samples from each of the trays. I’ve had to clear the rest. I’m just waiting for Destiny to arrive to let her in so she can deep clean the property. There is mould everywhere. It’s disgusting.” Mr Belgin jingled a set of keys. “I changed the locks. If he has a problem or wants to wait for a section 21, then he can take me to court. I’m having none of it.”

“Of course, fair enough.” Totally not fair, but best not to argue with the landlord. “Well, I need to see if I can get hold of Wendy. Let her know what’s happened.” Sam said, slipping into his apartment, clicking the door shut behind him. He called Wendy. The phone was ringing from within the flat. He followed the sound to the bathroom, yanking open the door. 

There was nobody in there, just an illuminated, vibrating phone.

Wendy never left her phone behind. She would happily play with it even when they were watching a movie. It was a permanent attachment to her hand.

Sam dashed outside.

“When was the last time you saw Wendy?” he asked Mr Belgin. 

Mr Belgin shrugged with disinterest. “Don’t suppose she’s legged it?” Suddenly, his eyes blinked wide open, and he turned to regard Sam with a look of anger. “Remember, contractually, she still has to pay rent until the end of the term.”

Sam didn’t answer. He was already closing the front door as he yanked his phone from his pocket to call the police. He gingerly sat on the edge of the sofa, tapping his foot on the floor as he looked at his phone anxiously.

What do I say? My girlfriend went missing while I was at work? I haven’t even waited an hour.

She would never leave her phone.

He decided to wait it out and pour himself a glass of wine. Nervously waiting for the door to open, he looked around but couldn’t see her keys anywhere. She must have felt better and gone for a wander, but then why would she leave the front door unlocked?

Sam took a deep gulp of the wine.

Has she left me? Did she leave the phone behind so I couldn’t see her on Google Maps?

His nails scratched down the side of his arm, leaving pale white lines behind. 

Maybe she has gone. New phone, new life, new man?

“Fuck.” He refilled his glass. The sides of his temples throbbed as a stress headache flared up. 

Just what I need.

He drank deep. A glass of red would sort him out. If Wendy didn’t come back by ten, he’d call the police. Even if it hadn’t been twenty-four hours, at least he could register her missing. This wasn’t like her.

It was eleven when he woke, guiltily staring at the empty wine bottle beside him. “Wendy?” He paced round the apartment calling her name. He tried the police, who politely took his information before reassuring him that most times, these things are just down to human error. If she was still missing by tomorrow evening, he was to call back.

When he hung up, he flung his phone onto the sofa, where it bounced. Calming himself, he went to charge it in case she called him. He lay down on the bed. A searing pain flared in his left temple. The pending hangover wasn’t helping.

Closing his eyes, he failed to sleep as he spent the night with his eyes shut, worrying about Wendy. Even his headache got worse.

When the sun rose, Sam was still awake, rubbing his temples. Both of them were causing him extreme pain, although the left one felt several magnitudes of pain worse. Remembering Wendy, he poured himself a glass of water, then climbed into the bath, turning on the hot water. He lay back gasping with shuddering relief as the warm water steamed around him. A smile grew on his face. The release from pain was transcendent. He took a sip from his glass, but the cold liquid caused his headache to flare up.

As the bathwater cooled, his headache got worse again. He let out some of the water and turned the hot tap on again, gasping with relief as the bathwater began to warm up. 

His pain eased immediately as he lay back in the bath with his head immersed in the water. A sneaky suspicion crossed his mind.

The utility room. It’s moist, it’s warm. If Wendy had a headache like him, she’d have gone down there. He got up, frantically drying himself, ignoring the searing pain in his skull as he pulled on his clothes. Sam limped to the lift. The muscles were seizing up in his legs. It felt like the worst hangover of his life.

When the lift reached the ground floor, he opened the utility room door to a wave of humidity. The pain receded to a mild throbbing. He eagerly walked down the stairs, his hands sliding down the condensation slicked walls as his shoes squelched on the slimy, mould ridden floor. 

A comforting musty scent immersed Sam. It reminded him of Felix’s room. The rhythmic orchestra of dripping pipes echoed around him as he looked around him in awe. It was an industrial cathedral, at one with nature.

This is disgusting. Why am I so happy?

His eyes widened with relief when he saw Wendy, among several other people, in the dim light of the machines.

Wendy, oh God, what has happened to you

She had wrapped her arms around one of the copper pipes, her skin was flushed where it was pressing against it. The foam insulation had been ripped off. A beautiful fungal cap had burst through one of her eyes and was growing upwards. Glistening fungal growths accented her face as water dripped down onto her. She had never looked more beautiful.

He looked around for a free pipe, and his mind reeled with gratitude as he found one in the far corner.

Why am I not running? I should get the police, the ambulance?

Sam tore off the insulating foam pipe covers and groaned with pleasure as he too wrapped his arms around the copper and snuggled his cheek up against the warm pipe. From the corner of his eye, he spotted Felix. He’d got the best collection of pipes to cosy up to. The most glorious pair of fungal caps had erupted through both his open eyes. Felix’s flesh was already feeding them.

Oh, Christ, look at him. That’s going to happen to me. Why can’t I move?

Sam closed his eyes contentedly. Even as his body defied the warmth to shiver.

Breathing deeply in the moist air, he waited for his ascension.A smile was plastered across his face.

There was a roaring in his mind, like distant thunder. It slowly grew louder. It wasn’t thunder, it was screams, the constant sound of trapped souls. He could hear them all. All the victims that had been absorbed into this new family, no, this troop.

One cry resounded louder than all the others. He tried to focus on it.

“Run! Run! Sam, you have to go before you lose all control for good.” It was Wendy. He could hear her voice in his mind. 

He tried to move, but he had no control over his limbs at all. A tear ran down his smiling face.

If I can cry, I can move.

He focused on his fingers, forcing every ounce of his will into them. His head exploded with pain, but desperation and the screaming cries of his girlfriend gave him strength. His index finger twitched. A grim confidence filled him as he slowly released his grip on the pipe.

Sam fell to the floor with a thud. He crawled over the putrescent bodies, ripe and blooming, as he slowly made his way to the door. Gore, filth and ichor coated him. He would have gagged if his body hadn’t been so intent on acting like everything was fine.

“You’re doing it!” Wendy roared in his mind as he made the stairs and crawled up towards the hallway. It felt as though it took hours, but it could have been only minutes. Time had lost all meaning for Sam.

His eyes felt gritty as he woke. He could feel cotton sheets wrapped around him. Sam blinked under the harsh lights. He could hear commotion and moved his head, his brain was shrouded in fog. Looking up, he could see a drip feeding into him.

A nurse came into his room. “Ah, you are awake. You read about things like this in the paper, but I never expected to see it happen.”

“What… what happened?” Sam’s throat was dry and she lifted a beaker to his mouth. He drank gratefully.

“The whole building has been condemned. Severe mould infection had spread throughout. We are treating the residents with intravenous antifungals. You were brought in by ambulance, you poor lamb.” The nurse checked his vitals and updated his chart. “I’m pleased to say that you appear to be making a full recovery. We’ll have you out of here soon.”

Sam looked at her, tears running down his face. “If it is working, then why can I still hear the voices?”

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If you enjoyed this free short story, then please consider Tales of the Macabre, Vol. 1. My first collected works on Amazon containing sixteen short stories and novellas by Newton Webb.

Newt's Nightmares #96

Newt's Nightmares

Greetings, my wicked darlings!

Crete wasn't just a sunburn factory; it was my personal writing bootcamp. I dived into courses by the maestro of thrills, Mark Dawson, and advertising whiz Matthew J Holmes. Think of it as a brain tan.

Just finished penning "The Croydon Ripper," which is, amusingly, set in the same library where my mum clocked in. She's not confessed to any homicides, but it is Croydon—so if some "accidental" killings happened, it would hardly break the local news.

On to bigger, but certainly not brighter news: "Tales of the Macabre, Vol. 3" is coming along like a zombie in a sprint. About 38k words are already in the bag, and I should wrap up the first draft by the time Auld Lang Syne is butchered across the country. Get ready for an April 2024 release. But why stop there? "Tales of the Macabre, Vol. 4" will make its ghastly appearance in October 2024.

There you have it. Now go pour yourself something dark and strong; you're going to need it for what I've got in store for you.

Your ole’ pal, Newt.

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Coming up this month, I have some ghoulish treats in store for you with two free eBooks and two free audiobooks!

8th November - The Troop (eBook)

When a sinister infection in their apartment building begins taking over the minds and bodies of residents, Sam races to save Wendy, his infected girlfriend, before he loses control of his own mind.

15th November - Trev Rides Forth (Audiobook)

When a group of juvenile delinquents raid an antique record store, they unleash a deadly curse.

22 November - The Black Shuck (eBook)

A single mother gets more than she bargained for when a shady house call turns into a nightmare of violence, addiction, and a vengeful spirit only she can see.

29 November - The Beast of Glenmara (Audiobook)

Family loyalty and humanity collide when Elspeth learns the horrifying truth of her heritage.

In case you missed them, in October, we had the following free releases:

11 October, ‘The Troop’ (Audiobook)

When a sinister infection in their apartment building begins taking over the minds and bodies of residents, Sam races to save Wendy, his infected girlfriend, before he loses control of his own mind.

18 October, ‘The Road Revenant’ (eBook), 25 October, ‘The Road Revenant’ (Audiobook)

A Supernatural Horror Short Story: After a drunken David hits a pedestrian while trying to seduce Mia, their already bad night takes a deadly turn when their victim inexplicably refuses to stay dead.

Free Horror StoriesHorror Story Compilations

ALL THINGS CREEPY: 64 FREE horror stories, including ‘Ain’t Nothin’ But The Blues’, ‘Blade of the Blood God’, ‘Shadow of the Wolf’, ‘The Road Revenant’ and ‘The Blood Eagle’

NO FEAR NOVEMBER: 56 FREE horror stories, including ‘Ain’t Nothin’ But The Blues’, and ‘The Blood Eagle’

RIVETING READS: 96 horror stories, including ‘Tales of the Macabre, Vol. 1’, ‘Tales of the Macabre, Vol. 2’, ‘Festival of the Damned’, ‘The Horror at Hargrave Hall’, ‘Smoke in the Sewers’, ‘The Ballad of Barnacle Bill’, ‘The Morrígan’, ‘The Black Fog’, ‘The Heir Apparent’, ‘The Platinum Service’.

Recommended Stories

Rachael's Apocalypse Diary, by Len M Ruth, FREE download.

She was a sophomore nuclear physics student before the shit hit the fan. She has no survival skills. No special training. And no one to help her. Now discover the reality of survival in a post-apocalyptic world through Rachael’s eyes. From the pages of her diary, learn the truth behind the end of the world and the struggles of those who remain.

Sombre Stroll: Five Horror Stories, by Mark Tullius, FREE to buy on Amazon.

In this short story collection you'll find yourself:

An overworked father trying to protect his son.

An injured construction worker questioning reality.

A sensitive teenage girl watching a mixed martial arts battle to the death.

An aging DJ granting a sick girl’s glorious last wish.

The fifth and final tale is a shocking jaunt through the author’s mind, full of juicy revelations and admissions.

Lured by Darkness, by Michael Gesellchen, FREE download.

A father goes to the ends of this world and the next to help his beloved daughter through a trial of darkness.

A young woman must break her mother's trust to experience the normal life of a teenager, risking everything to face the dangers lurking beyond her bedroom walls.

A man on the run is haunted by the skeletons of his past. Will he out run them, or fall victim to his darkest nightmare.

Moonchild, by Kate L. Mary, FREE to buy.

Scarlett Moon has one goal: Survive. Being tough and looking out for herself is the only way to stay alive, but when her best friend, Rory, is arrested and returned to the mines, all of Scarlett’s carefully built walls threaten to crumble.

The Hanging Tree, by Joseph J. Dowling, FREE download.

Detective Craig Cornell is called to a triple-murder at an isolated house near Exeter, New Hampshire, the latest in a sequence of gruesome deaths which stems back 300 years. A White Oak at the rear of the property may hold the key. According to local legend, a woman was accused of witchcraft and hanged from it.

As the bodies pile up, Cornell is haunted by horrific visions. Is it his past catching up with him, or does the tree really hold an ancient, evil spirit?

Sour Roots, by Shawn Burgess, FREE download.

Roger and Gertrude Davis enjoy an idyllic existence in the small Appalachian town of Harper Pass. With vast landholdings, a successful business, and love for the family they’ve built, they’ve avoided the suffering The Great Depression has wrought on the area until it all comes crashing down on a sweltering summer day in 1932.

Chronicles of the Undead, by A. F. Stewart, FREE download.

Three generations bound together under a horrifying family secret.

Vampires exist.

Inside the personal journals of the Harrington family, watch a dark and dangerous odyssey unfold. Three members of this tormented family, Samuel, his son Edmund, and Edmund's daughter Charlotte, must come to terms with evil. Set during the 18th and 19th century in London, England, this family must struggle against horror as their lives intersect with supernatural forces. As two intriguing vampires befriend, manipulate, and play with all three souls, altering their lives forever.

My Bad Self: The prequel novella to the psychological thriller My ... Self series, by Jessica Huntley, FREE download.

My Bad Self is the prequel novella to the hugely popular psychological thriller My … Self series, set four years before the events of My Dark Self. If you loved the My … Self series of books then you’ll be jumping at the chance to read more about the dynamic duo or if you’ve never read the series, it’s the perfect place to start your journey and find out more about Josslyn and Alicia before diving into the full series.

Flirting With Death, by Kayla Krantz, FREE on Kindle Unlimited.

Truth or dare on the Dark Web.

Mystery boxes filled with malevolent spirits.

A vampire who hunts to keep his human sweetheart alive.

And many more.

In this suspenseful short story collection, see the world through the eyes of madness and witness life on the edge of death. Monsters don't live under your bed. They live next door.

Destroy the Dead, by Joanne Nundy, FREE on Kindle Unlimited.

Dr Stephanie Simpson read the email over and over. She never expected to hear from Dr Maxim Ivanov ever again, let alone be responsible for stopping an end of days contagion. It was a joke. Right?
An apocalypse level infection spreading across Europe. Waves of infected crashing over the LIVING, turning everyone into one of them.
Captain Adrian Rogers and his Special Forces team were tasked with keeping the scientists safe long enough to find a cure for the rage and destruction hurtling towards the UK. Ade was due to hand in his notice until he got word of the zombie apocalypse heading their way. Just his luck!
As the world descends into chaos, it’s a race against time for Ade and Steph. Can they stay alive long enough to figure out how to DESTROY the DEAD?

Descendants of Time and Death, by Winnifred Tataw, available for purchase.

It has been a year since the Reign of Ryton, the Demon King, came to an end. Leaving Rodrick to face the burden of the tyranny he left behind. Yet this time he is not alone. After foreseeing massive deaths on the horizon, Lady Death seeks out the twenty-year-old prince’s aid in stopping what seems like an unavoidable war. With the help of his older brother Rayden as his companion, the princess Arcelia, and Queen Riva for support, Roderick agrees to take on the monumental task. But the Diar Brothers are in for a wild ride of intrigue and betrayal when they meet a tyrant and a terrorist both fighting for control of a country that had already suffered under their father's reign. Secrets are revealed, promises broken, and trust is questioned. Rayden and Rodrick are going to have to race against time if they want to stop the war. Their journey will test every limit of their relationship and everything they've ever known.

Thanks for reading Newton’s Free Horror! Subscribe for free to receive new posts and support my work.

If you enjoyed this email, then please consider Tales of the Macabre, Vol. 1. My first collected works on Amazon containing sixteen short stories and novellas by Newton Webb.

Newton Webb BibliographyAvailable on Amazon

Visit my Amazon author page

Collected Works

Tales of the Macabre, Vol. 1

Contemporary

2022 – The Heir Apparent, Novella

2018 – The Morrígan, Novella

2017 – Nestor Lynch, Novel

2013 – Festival of The Damned, Novella

2012 – The Platinum Service, Novella

Historical

1958 – The Black Fog, Short Story

1864 – Smoke in the Sewers, Novella

1832 – The Horror at Hargrave Hall, Novella

1818 – The Ballad of Barnacle Bill, Novella

1194 – Hunted, Short Story

Read a collection of free short stories by Newton Webb on his website.

Visit my website