Dead Things in Dark Places S2 (EBOOK)
Step into the chilling embrace of fear with Dead Things in Dark Places: Season 2, another haunting collection from the maestro of the macabre, David Viergutz. Known for his darkly captivating tales, Viergutz once again lures you into a sinister anthology where terror knows no bounds.
Brace yourself as you unravel the mystery of an orphan whose shadow harbors a sinister secret, or traverse the eerie streets of a town shrouded in an impenetrable veil of mist, where the boundary between reality and nightmare blurs. Follow a relentless journalist as they uncover whispers of witchcraft on an isolated farm, each revelation pulling you deeper into a web of dread.
Every story is a descent into the unknown, where cursed relics beckon with malevolent intent, spectral figures haunt the periphery of your vision, and ancient evils stir beneath the surface. The farther you venture, the more you’ll question your sanity and safety.
Will you dare to uncover the truths hidden in the darkest recesses of these tales? Or will you become another lost soul trapped in the pages of Dead Things in Dark Places: Season 2?
The shadows are waiting... are you ready to confront them?
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1. Winter's Bite
Tim Atwater’s 1994 Chevrolet Silverado Z71―his beast, his pride, his bane―sputtered to a stop at the lights before the on-ramp onto 87 and across Colorado toward the Eastern Plains. Amarillo, Texas, was a better reflection of what Tim, his beast, and the stranger in his front seat were up against, and since leaving the flat Texas panhandle nearly eight hours earlier, the two companions hadn’t said much.
Tim looked at the side of his passenger’s face.
“I know less about Texas than I do about Colorado, but the way forward doesn’t look much better than the way we came.”
The boy, Chester, a beanstalk for sixteen, had one hand firmly jammed into a green Jansport backpack with a tear across the top, right where the zippers met. Inside the bag were the three things the boy owned besides the ratty sweatshirt on his shoulders, jeans, and the shoes on his feet, which looked a size or two too small. The bag contained a ball cap with a catfish motif on the front above bold lettering that said “New Orleans,” a toothbrush, and a stack of legal paperwork that dictated the rest of his childhood.
Of the three, Tim guessed the boy’s hands held the papers, in the same way an excitable child might hold onto a toy freshly rescued from Walmart, as if letting it go before the car got home would cause it to disappear like smoke.
Chester Turzinski was now Chester Atwater again.
The light changed from red to green and Tim pressed on the accelerator. He shrugged one shoulder, then the other, and sank into the worn seat until his coat covered his mouth and nose. He sported a haphazard bowl cut that covered the rest of his face. Tim thought he looked akin to a meerkat he’d once seen at the Colorado Zoo. Kate had pointed it out to him, and it, too, had looked like it was afraid of its own shadow.
Chester looked like that meerkat now―nervous for the world.
Two hours later, no more than a few throat-clearing coughs had been uttered. Tim swung through a Dairy Queen drive-through, where he was served by a questionably sour attendant, and he and Chester listened to the pickup’s crackly radio while munching on greasy chicken and half-melted ice cream as the Chevy ate up the road. Kate, who would have sat in Chester’s seat, loved the old truck, because it was nothing for her to toss her trash on the floorboards. Hell, it was almost expected.
Kate would have loved the road trip, the adventure of it all―“making memories,” she’d called it.
Tim turned away from Chester, changed lanes, and took the bridge, moving further east. He continued like this until the ice cream was gone, its melted remains dried in the cup, and the boy was asleep.