STILL NO TRICK BUT ANOTHER TWO GREAT TREATS
As a special Halloween gift - Zach Abrams is giving you a new FREE scary short story (printed in full below or on a link) AND the chance to buy his novel Made a Killing (first book of his Alex Warren Murder Mystery series) series for only 99c /99p (a massive discount on list price).
To take advantage of the discount, link to
To read about more about Zach Abrams, his thrillers, crime novels and other publications, visit
Now for your FREE scary short story
Living Nightmare
I hear the engine’s chug, chug and know I have a problem. I try pumping the accelerator but still the Corsa loses power. After another couple of coughs it freewheels to a stop, embedding its bumper into a rise in the grass verge. There’s nobody else around. My car’s headlights illuminate a stretch of road ahead. To the side it’s bordered by a narrow footpath then a fence but beyond I can see nothing. Marshy fields, I imagine, cloaked in darkness. It’s late, a damp autumn night and heavy clouds are obscuring the moon and stars. There’s a thick mist and a strong breeze. It’s pitch black out there. A shudder runs down my spine.
I look at the dashboard. The clock shows four a.m. and I see the gauge reading zero. I realise I’ve run out of petrol. I had meant to fill up last night but my work shift was changed and I forgot. How stupid, how very, very stupid, on this of all nights.
The car’s warm but I know that will soon change. With the engine stopped the heater won’t be working. This is high ground, one of the most exposed stretches of the moor and it’s a cold wet and windy night. I know I can’t wait here anyway; I’ll be a sitting duck.
My head is fuzzy and my skin feels clammy. This last hour has taken a lot out of me and I’m sick with fear. I try to think. How did it come to this?
I give my head a shake, trying to clear my thinking. I remember now, the shock, the terrible, terrible shock. I couldn’t believe it at first. I thought it must be a nightmare. If only it was then this might be too. But no.
I woke in bed. I remember my eyes were sticky. I could taste and smell the horror even before I saw anything. I remember the metallic taste of blood, the smell of excrement. I had to force my eyes open, and instantly regretted it. The overhead light was blazing, it hurt me to focus, even more so when I could see. On the bed, naked beside me was Kirsty, my gorgeous Kirsty, but no more. Her eyes gazed lifelessly at the ceiling. Her neck was slit, her head almost completely detached; several deep slashes were cut across her body. Her hair, those beautiful blonde tresses, caked in congealed blood. The bed was soaked in it.
The image is still etched on my retinas. I can see it as if she’s right in front of me.
I screamed but no noise came. Who did this? How could it have happened without me knowing? I needed to get help. I saw a trail of blood leading out the door. I followed it to the second bedroom.
Oh my God! Gavin, my best friend Gavin. He’d been staying with us all week while work was going on in his house. He’s dead too, lying face down with deep slashes and blood everywhere.
I knew I needed to call for help.
I ran downstairs to find my phone. The kitchen door was open. I saw the knife block … the space …. the missing cleaver. I made my way towards the phone and that’s when I thought I heard movement ... upstairs ... walking across the floor. I had to get out.
I grabbed my car keys off the hall stand and ran out the door. Behind me, I’m sure I heard footsteps coming down the stair.
I jumped in the car and raced out the driveway. I turned onto the main street and accelerated forward.
When I caught the glint of headlights in my mirror, I took the first turn, the again and then turned onto the country road. I knew I had to lose him. My life might depend on it.
Now here I am stranded on this secluded country road. I need to get away from the car. I need to find someone who can help.
I switch off the headlights. I don’t want to draw attention to myself. Then I start to walk along the cold, dark, country road.
Gradually my sight adjusts to the darkness. Night vision kicks in and detects a glint of light up ahead in the distance. I move faster. I follow a path leading to the left in the direction of the light. Getting closer, I see a small cottage. I break into a run. I must get help.
I hear noise coming from the road, I can make out a car’s engine, then the sounds of braking.
The cottage is in darkness, save for a nightlight in the hallway. I can see it through the glazed door. I suppose it’s hardly surprising no-one’s awake as it is the middle of the night.
I hammer on the door and then wait. No response. I try again. Nothing.
Perhaps nobody’s at home.
A hear the wind swishing through grass. Is that footsteps too? I can’t be certain.
I daren’t wait any longer; there must be a phone inside.
I pick up a rock and smash a window. I reach in to unlock the catch, then slide the frame open. I’m inside but everything’s in darkness. I can’t see a switch. I move towards what I think must be the hall. I find a handle and pull the door open. There’s distant light, beyond a phone.
But then, footsteps …. heavy ones … coming towards me.
I only see a silhouette. He’s big, very big. He opens a door, the kitchen I think. Now he’s back in front of me. He’s holding a knife, a bread knife by the look of it. He’s raising his hand.
I must defend myself. I need a weapon. I glance around but I see nothing useful. I raise my arm in defence then see it. My knees go weak at the realisation. It’s hopeless … stained with blood and still clutched in my grasp, the cleaver.
