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Fearworld (A horror short story)
Fearworld (A horror short story)
Fearworld (A horror short story)
Ebook37 pages25 minutes

Fearworld (A horror short story)

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Emerging like fish from water, the shapes took form in the air and landed softly among the commuters. A hideous cold accompanied them.

Confused passengers saw the monstrosities change shape from formless bodies into uniformed train guards. Uniformed train guards with rubbed-out faces and slits for mouths.

"...tickets... please..."

------------------------------------------------

After the photophobes are summoned into our dimension, what hope is there for the survivors? One man, at least, is prepared to strike back!

At 6,000 words (equivalent to about 24 pages in paperback) this Greyhart Press eBook is the perfect length to enjoy on your lunch break, or to complement a drink in your favorite coffee house. Be warned, though, after reading this story you will want to keep the lights on for a long time.

LanguageEnglish
Release dateApr 8, 2011
ISBN9781458040183
Fearworld (A horror short story)
Author

Paul Melhuish

Paul's publishing history includes a short story in Dark Horizons, (The British Fantasy Society’s fiction magazine) about a farm that bred humans for meat. More recently a story of his was featured in issue 13 of Murky Depths magazine. This joyful piece was a satire on euthanasia entitled Do Not Resuscitate. In October 2010 one of his stories was included in the anthology Shoes, Ships and Cadavers: Tales from Northlondonshire. Edited by Ian Whates and Ian Watson with an introduction by Alan Moore.

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    Book preview

    Fearworld (A horror short story) - Paul Melhuish

    Fearworld

    Paul Melhuish

    Copyright Paul Melhuish 2011

    Published by Greyhart Press at Smashwords

    www.greyhartpress.com

    Contents

    Fearworld

    About this story

    About the author

    About Greyhart Press

    Other stories you might enjoy

    Fearworld

    Night. One Year Post Cessation of the Human Calendar

    I called her the light-car because no demon would dare touch her. She was an old Land Rover fitted with four headlights blazing away from the front, and eight high-powered stage lights beaming out in all directions from the roof and rear. None of the spectres would come near as light was repellent to the photophobes. Any light: electrical light, naked flame, even the glow from my mobile phone (signal no longer available) was anathema to them. Those who survived that first night were the ones quick to discover this. The slow, the sleeping, those who would not believe what their eyes told their brains, were lost, tortured, destroyed.

    So now we drive, the light-car and I, along the Haunted Road. Sometimes I put some music on (Not the radio; no more broadcasts, just static). The tape player still works. Yes, the light-car is that old. I’ve got Steely Dan, Led Zep, Barry Manilow. That’s it. No music tonight, though, not tonight. Just the growl of the engine. Music is the last thing I want to hear right now because the light-car and I are taking the Haunted Road straight to hell.

    December: Final Month of the Final Year of the Human Calendar

    Days remaining: 25

    Light shone out into the night from every city, town and village across the country. The glowing streetlights spoke out against the darkness and coloured the undersides of the clouds a dull orange. The uninhabited spaces between the conurbations and motorways were totally dark, save for pinpricks of light from isolated farms or houses. At the edge of the town sat the disused and deserted hulk of Didcot Power Station. Its six dead chimneys stood against the night and, where once it had produced power

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