Ghoulish Horror Host MISTER MACABRE introduces three Shorts by Lori R. Lopez to read before turning off the lights and allowing Night’s inhabitants to roam.
Cryptic Consequences unfolds a trio of distinctly uncanny stories in which there lie stiff penalties for those who invite, let down their guard against, or ignore the warnings of all that may occupy Nocturne! Balancing humor and suspense, these fables allow the Reader to spectate or step into the scene. A frost with an appetite penetrates a house where “The Chill” can be deadly. In the wee hours, when all sorts of thoughts can run through the mind, your home is invaded by a sinister presence and a fear-mongering narrative in “Night Sweats”. A young woman’s family reunion dredges up old memories or dreads that were better left far behind in “The Mumsies”.
Look for the author’s Ghost Collection, Spooktacular Tales, which will feature many ghastly delights and more Mister Macabre!
“We could all use a little help when the world is dark, the night stirring with clumsy creatures who bump things and possibly you!”
I am the whisper of unbearable portents. A cautionary tale of turmoil, prodding you. Begging to heed warnings, and not dismiss the obvious. Those noises you hear in the Twilight Hours . . . when your lamps are off and you’re feeling vulnerable.
~ from Night Sweats
A tendril of frosty vapor rolled under the door. A sinister trickle reaching from Night with beastly hunger. Out on the street, nothing alive or visible stirred before the squat one-story abode except a lawn decoration, a metal painted Whirligig of a monkey in green overalls riding a blue bicycle, suspended on a thin spike driven into soil. The monkey appeared to be terrified. Perhaps he had good reason.
Within the residence a prominent Television flickered and droned, flashes of light from its screen bathing the countenances of viewers feigning concentration, pretending to be enthralled by a program neither had chosen. Lack of agreement led to Stalemate — as in stale mates — resulting in neutral acceptance of whatever came next. A political Talk Show, the opposite of entertainment. They had argued until purple in the face as couples would do. On a vague and minor topic; about everything. Then sat in stony silence, arms folded, and let Fate determine what to watch since they could not.
A stubborn glacier of distance had settled with them on the short sofa. It was a moment that might blow over like a passing Zephyr. A moment that might sink down in a rocky standoff and define their relationship as closely as a Burial Shroud.