Reflections of Death New Occult Horror Just £0.79 or $0.99 short time only
In Reflections of Death Joe must fight his old demons to beat the supernatural hell he has unleashed on his friends and sister.
Having turned some old junk in to the best birthday present ever Joe doesn’t realize that he has unleashed hell on earth. In this roller-coaster ride he must use all his wits to beat the creature if he and his friends must survive.
“Reminiscent of old horror, this is a fight against good and evil.”
“Horror and Gore from the get-go.”
Read on for a preview:
A warped bedroom door crashed back onto cheap wallpaper in a dimly lit hallway. A woman ran from the room, she could have been in her early forties but her face was screwed tight into a rictus of fear, which made her appear much older. She was attractive and what some might consider slightly plump. Though of African descent, her complexion was drained of color making her caramel complexion a washed out brown smudged with grey blotches. Her clothes were bright, a gay orange dye over black fabric that seemed out of place in this urban area of Donborough. The cut was expensive despite the worn carpet beneath her leather loafers and the ingrained stains that ran down the walls.
She raced through the door as if Lucifer was on her heels and with a look of pure terror, she hurtled down the hallway.
“Run Dora, run,” A man screamed from within the room.
She turned, perhaps to see if he followed, but her eyes were inadvertently drawn to a picture hung with pride on the wall. Her eyes paused momentarily fixated on the image of a previous life. The picture depicted her standing in a smart beige dress in front of an impressive house situated in the African bush. To her right was a cute girl, maybe all of six years old with curly hair and a dark face brought to life by her luminous smile. To her right, a boy of nine was trying to be serious; his hair cut short and a tie hung loosely around his neck. Behind them was a tall, distinguished African man, his arms proudly wrapped around his family. There was a splattering of grey at his temples, but he was clearly in his prime and the epitome of a successful man.
A grey shadow flitted across the glass frame and a scream was torn from her throat. She spun uncontrollably like a ballet dancer then jerked as if being pulled backwards by her neck. A chunk of flesh was torn from her jugular. Blood gushed out like a red fountain raining down onto her hands. There was nothing there, nothing that could explain the gaping wound that scarred her throat, and leaked her lifeblood onto the dirty, threadbare carpet. She tried to grab at something as if to thrust it away from her, but there was nothing to see. Her eyes were so wide, terrified that they almost popped from their sockets. She was losing hope as she flailed at nothing, was able to connect with nothing her arms thrashed helplessly without connecting to any type of solid mass. Another wound appeared on her cheek, it was as if a slice of skin, tissue and muscle was shredded from her face leaving a jagged tooth shaped tear. Stumbling forward down the hallway, she approached a large ornate mirror. The opulent gold frame was bordering on gauche. In the mirror, she could see the evil that sucked hungrily at her wound. It was a Doberman sized leech. Its skin compared to the grey of fathomless depths, the grey of something long buried. Its spindly arms and legs clawed at her body. Long nails ripped through the bright clothing and rent into her flesh leaving wounds that wept blood to mingle with that from the gash at her throat.
“No.” The cry came from behind her, as the distinguished man appeared. He was no longer proud, just afraid as he watched his wife sink to her knees. The creature had gone. He sagged forward and dropped to the floor. An authentic African blanket dyed in red, yellow and black fell before him. It looked as if he would bow down and scream out the grief that consumed him, but instead he pushed up and with a heroic effort got to his knees.
He ran forward, grabbed the mirror from the wall and held it over the body of his dead love. In it he could see the slimy grey creature as it sucked greedily at her blood. He wrapped the blanket over the mirror and sank down grasping her hand just before the light left her eyes.
In a small empty room the dingy curtains were drawn tightly over the windows, the African man sank to the floor in front of a package. It was the size of the mirror. The red, yellow and black blanket had been wrapped in tape over and over and over again, as if someone was determined to make it disappear. He pulled a pen from his pocket and wrote in Swahili ‘NEVER OPEN, BURY THIS DEEP FOR MY FAMILY – LET THEIR DEATH NOT BE IN VAIN.’
The pen dropped from his hand and rolled onto the floor coming to rest against a lethal looking pistol. The man’s job was done and he couldn’t bear to go on without his family. Part of him wanted to fight to make sure no one else had to live through this, but he knew what would be said about his family’s death, plus he could not face another day alone. He took one last look around the room, and deep within his eyes was the shadow of the horrors he had seen.
He picked up the Glock and placed the barrel in his mouth. It tasted of cordite and copper, which mixed with the salty tears streaming down his cheeks. He pulled the trigger and crimson splatters blended with the floral decor behind him.
A pristine black pick-up truck turned onto a quiet street. Joe sat behind the wheel as it rumbled down the road. It was that empty hour, the one where everyone was home from work, eating their meals and re-connecting with family. It always made Joe sad, so he would often work late keeping his mind off the empty house that awaited him and the guilt that came with it. However, tonight he had a different problem. It was three days until Lara’s birthday and so far, he had nothing. All the trips shopping and asking the lads what to get, had been hopeless; their ideas about perfume, jewelry and even one cheeky sod’s suggestion of kitchen appliances, just wouldn’t do.
Overhead, the sodium streetlights spluttered to life casting ghostly orange shadows on the gleaming paintwork as the truck drove past. He raised a hand to his hair and teased his tresses into shape. It had been a long day and he needed a shower, but he had to make a decision about Lara. He had wondered whether to take her toFloridato swim with the dolphins. She loved dolphins almost as much as she loved that useless mutt Talon, the Staffordshire Bull Terrier who was her best friend. Yes, he would do that and sod the fact that she would be angry with him for spending money he didn’t have. He eased his foot down on the gas and cursed as he missed his normal turnoff. That would teach him to daydream at the wheel. Ignoring the anger he knew his sister would give, he accelerated and headed to the next street to cut through back to his normal route. As he turned, his eyebrows rose with interest and he peered forward at a dumpster situated in front of a terrace house before him. He loved dumpster diving and had found some amazing things that with his skills, some time and patience had meant he was gradually fixing up his new place with little or no budget.
Damn, Lara would be furious if he took out a loan to pay for the trip. Still it would be worth it for the smile on her face when she was able to kiss a dolphin for the first time. As he approached the skip, he could see some good-sized chunks of timber along with a package covered in tape. It amazed him what people threw away and with a touch of excitement, he pulled the truck to the side of the road.
An idea formed in his mind. Yes, he had found it. Lara’s present would be out of this world and no need for any big blow-ups with his hot head of a sister. With a quick look in the mirror, he checked his hair and rubbed a hand across the stubble that would never quit his chin. He looked okay, was not too shabby and stepped from the car. At six foot two, he made even the big truck look small as he was born onto the street. His long legs were clad in faded denim and topped by an old, black Motorhead t-shirt. He strode up to the skip, his eyes devouring the contents. There were some great chunks of wood. He ran a hand across a beech board that was just perfect. Just over four-foot square, it was exactly what he needed and the quality caused a grin to spread across his face. He pulled at a package that was wrapped in tape over a kaleidoscope colored blanket of orange, yellow and black. There was some faded writing scribbled on the tape, but it was in some strange language he could not comprehend. He imagined the blanket thrown across his hideous pink sofa, hiding the eyesore while making his room look a bit less like a boudoir. Continuing around the dumpster, he passed a for-sale sign and opened a rusty gate to walk towards the house. The red brick of the mid terrace property stood about fifty feet back from the road. Lawns to either side of the path seemed in need of a good cut and the few flowers in the border were spindly specimens, uncared for and unloved. A splash of red in the long grass caught his eye and he saw a tricycle discarded within the weeds, for a second it seemed so sad. Approaching the white door, he shook off the thought and ran different possibilities through his head. His creative brain always visualized other uses for ordinary items and he could not keep the excitement from his face.
Joe rapped his knuckles tentatively on the UPVC door and clicked his fingers. The rush to get to work on the wood was making him anxious. He raised his hand to knock again when a voice behind him sent his heart into his throat and kicked his pulse into overdrive.
“There’s no one there. A real tragedy it was.” A soft looking man with a round face and thinning hair leaned on the fence.
Joe took in a breath and smiled. The last thing he needed was a chatty neighbor, but he knew the routine. “Really, what happened?”
The man waved a trowel at him and beckoned him across to the fence. Joe checked his watch – he had a few hours left to get working if he grabbed the wood now. He stayed at the door with his feet planted firmly.
“You may well ask,” his new friend said, with a conspiratorial smile.
Joe looked at his watch again and fidgeted from foot to foot. The man was obviously going to play this out and with a sigh, Joe headed to the fence. Listening to his tale would be worth it for the wood. Calculations ran through his mind. Would he have time to get this done for Lara’s birthday? A smile crossed his face and he relaxed when he realized he still had some time.
The man’s face beamed, knowing he had Joe’s full attention. He dropped his eyes. “Sorry man, the wife’s away and it does me good to chat.”
Joe nodded and felt a sickness slide across his stomach at the mention of the word wife.
“Maybe you saw it in the papers,” he continued without giving Joe time to answer. “The husband, some big wig from Africa, had fallen on hard times and ended up here. They say the stress sent him doolally and he killed his whole family, and then shot himself. The police said he ripped them to shreds before sticking a gun in his mouth and…” The man made a finger gun and pulled an imaginary trigger.
“Jesus,” was all Joe could manage. His eyes returned to the lawn and the discarded toy. “That happened here?”
The neighbor’s face lit up. “Yeah, I can show you the papers if you want to see?”
Feeling cold and a little sick, Joe shook his head. How could a father do that to his children? Locking them in cupboards with snakes was bad enough. “No, no thanks. Look, I wanted some of the wood and stuff from the dumpster. Do you think anyone would mind?”
The guy replied with a head shake. “No, the landlord’s gonna chuck that stuff, so take what you want.” A grimace crossed his face. “But… you sure you really want it?”
Joe laid the blanket wrapped parcel on top of some wood in the back of his pick-up. He had a feeling it was a mirror beneath the brightly covered wrapping and peeled back some tape. He worked at it, scratching and riffling until he was able to get under the blanket. The building anticipation created a knot in his stomach If this was what he thought it was, then he had the perfect ingredients; if not, he would need to call at the hardware store. White paint covered the surface so he took his fingernail and scratched at the paint. Sure enough, it revealed a flash of mirror.
With a smile, he turned away just as a menacing shadow crossed over the revealed glass.
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