Whispers of the Displaced
Date: 2011-07-07 04:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Fiction; Fantasy; Contemporary; Ghost; Horror; Occult & Supernatural; Science Fiction; Adventure; Paranormal; Urban Life
Description: A companion book to Diary of the Displaced and a collection of seven dark short stories. Do not buy this if you haven't read Diary of the Displaced.
Publisher: Feedbooks

Fade (Whispers of the Displaced)

Glynn James

Published: 2011
Tag(s): "dark fantasy" "the corridor" "diary of the displaced" "glynn james" horror adventure ghost journal diary cthulhu displaced

The car edged forward slowly between the two buildings and crawled carefully up the driveway. John Addington leant forward, peering through squinted eyes into the fog blanketed car park. There was only space for four cars and three of them were already taken.

“Jesus, this place isn’t built for convenience is it?”

Kelly, John’s wife, looked up from her magazine and smiled, “Well you did say you wanted quaint.”

John snorted, and smiled back at her. The car only just fit into the remaining space.

Outside, the fog had thickened. John opened the boot of the car, and lifted out the suitcases, one larger, one slightly smaller, both the sort that pull along on wheels. They pulled them along like a trolley behind them, heading across the tiny car park that seemed to be getting smaller and smaller as darkness and the fog drew in.

“Crikey, I’ve never seen fog like it, have you honey?” John was shaking his head, an incredulous expression on his face.

“No, crazy isn’t it?”

They arrived at the side door of the hotel a few moments later; at least John presumed this was the side door. There was a RECEPTION sign pointing in towards the door, and the light was on just inside. The alleyway was enclosed, almost claustrophobic with its nine foot high wall running along side and an old wood and tiled rain cover running the full length of the alleyway.

Once inside the building they were greeted by something that looked like it came out of a dickens novel. The walls of the tiny hall and reception room – which was a tiny room with a huge unlit fireplace that you could have almost walked into - was decorated in dark wood, and  contrasting patterned wall papers. There were tiny oil lanterns on the wall, most of which were burning with a low orange glow that sent shadows across the hallway at strange angles. The floor was covered in a thin nightshade blue carpet, the material of which reminded John of Hessian, dotted here and there were small holes where the carpet had worn out over the years.

“Wow,” said John, “You certainly found quaint.” He smiled, and took Kelly’s hand. She smiled back at him.

The place was almost completely quiet; the only noise that broke the silence was the sound of floorboards creaking under their feet.

John found a bell on a small shelf, just inside the reception room, next to it was a tiny hammer attached to a piece of string that hung down underneath the shelf. A small wooden plaque was on the wall next to it PLEASE RING FOR ASISTANCE.

Kelly spotted it and smiled mischievously. She grabbed the hammer before John could even think about it and tapped the bell three times, then one more (for luck). She let the hammer drop, then moved away from the wall, stepping into the reception so that John was the nearest to the bell when one of the doors leading off of the hall open. A man’s head poked round the corner, taking a quick glance at the bell and then at John, whose face flushed bright red at – supposedly- being caught banging the bell far too many times.  Kelly estimated that the man was in his sixties, he had a kind face, was wearing a long grey cardigan and grey trousers.

“Good evening,” said the man, “I presume you are…” he glanced down at a small notebook he held in his left hand, “Mr and Mrs Addington?”

“Yes,” said Kelly, “Are you the owner? “ She was looking at each of the pictures framed and hung on the wall along the hallway,” This is a lovely place, Mr…” her voice trailed off.

“Warren, my dear, Warren Scott, and yes this is my hotel, as of recently anyway, I bought the place two years ago, as a sort of retirement business. Let me just fetch you your keys and I will show you your room.”

“Thank you,” said John, his brief moment of false guilt over with.

Warren went back into the small side room and emerged a minute later carry a set of keys, which he offered to John. John smiled, took the keys and followed the older man up the stairs. He gave Kelly a side glance, and a wink.

The whole place was as old fashioned and quirky as the hall down stairs. The small oil lamps were on every wall, and in between those hung pictures from various eras, some noted as old as the 1800, all presumably of the same building.

Warren left the Addingtons to settle into their room, and wandered back downstairs, after suggesting that the Penny on the Rye pub, just down the street offered good evening meals.

It was easily half past eleven before Warren managed to find the time to have his cigar break. He didn’t indulge very often, but he still kept a box on the shelf in the tiny office downstairs for just the occasion. Just after his meal that evening, he had decided that it was a good evening  for a smoke, but the Addingtons had arrived a lot earlier than he had expected, so he spent a couple of hour flitting about the place, suddenly remembering a dozen things that he should have done before they arrived, but hadn’t.

He took the box down from the shelf, pulled off the tin lid, and inhaled a deep whiff of the contents. A minute later and he stepped out of the side door and into the fog blanketed street, leaned against the door frame and lit up, taking a deep pull on the cigar. In the back of his mind he knew it was not the correct way to smoke, but habits from his cigarette days were hard to break.

He stood there for a while, just taking it all in. This is what retirement should be about he thought. Then he noticed a movement further down the street.

Candle Street was one of the few streets left in the town that still boasted some original 1800s buildings. Most of the rest of the town had been gradually replaced by newer, cheaper, uglier buildings, all erected after the Second World War. Warren had read the history of the town before moving there, and discovered that an unlucky bomb drop by the Luftwaffe during the later part of the war – presumably just to dump bombs that hadn’t been used successfully – had devastated most of the town. The buildings on Candle Street were some of the few that remained intact.

Across the street and further down, there was a small estate agents tucked in a corner beside the bank. There, right in the corner between the two buildings was a dog. Warren wondered what it was doing, but then he remembered that there was one of those solid metal public bins tucked in the corner, the dog must be rummaging in there for food.

Warren continued to smoke his cigar, and watch the dog, but a noise pulled his attention away. Further down the street, The Addingtons were leaving the pub, Warren could tell it was them, John had quite a deep and distinctive voice that was difficult to forget, and he voice was carrying along the street as he regaled his partner with a poor rendition of a joke that warren knew, he caught it half way through but knew it straight away. Kelly was enwrapped with john’s tale, look quite drunk as she leaned against him.

I think I will sleep in the downstairs bedrooms tonight, he thought.

A strange light erupted from further down the street, Warren thought for a moment that it might be a set of car headlights, but there was only one dim glow that was growing larger in size, it wasn’t moving along the street as a vehicle would, this light was spreading from its point of origin.

Warren watched, slack jawed, speechless, as the light spread gradually. As the glow passed each building on its journey along the street, things changed. Where once there were well maintained stone clad walls, ruins and rubble appeared. Clean, curtained windows were replaced by broken panes and an over growth of a strange grey ivy that warren did not recognise. The road, which had only recently been resurfaced, became a broken dirt track, with only smatterings of cracked tarmac, aged worn away, like it had been there for centuries.

Warren wasn’t quick enough to warn the Addingtons, and they were oblivious as the wave of light passed over them. He didn’t know what he expected to happen at that moment, and wondered if they would age and die before his very eyes, but instead they vanished utterly. One moment they were laughing and smiling at each other, Kerry with her arm tucked into that of John’s, and the next instant it was as though they had never existed.

Across the street he heard the dog’s shuffling and scratching stop. The dog had also vanished.

He turned to run from the light as it swept towards him, attempting to dive back into the hotel, but stumbled and fell forward, he reached out, arms instinctively  fumbling to break his fall, and in that second, time almost slowed down. The world around him turned hazy, and his head swam, the dizziness overwhelming.

Instead of landing on the wooden carpet covered floor of the hallway he hit the dirt ground hard. The impact of the fall was enough to jolt him from his dizzy daze.

Still lying on the floor in the dust and broken floor panelling, warren looked around. His hotel was in ruins. He stood up, slowly heaving himself to his feet, and then dusted himself down.  It was no longer night, but instead a foggy, grey and dismal daylight greeted him.

Then the reality became apparent. Buildings had vanished or collapsed; the whole street was run down, like it had been abandoned for centuries and left to fall apart. Stretching out as far as he could make out from his position, where once had been a beautifully town, there was now a desolate and run down ghost town.

He stood in that desolate wasteland for what seemed ages, and then he felt something. It was a distant echo at first, then it throbbed, growing strong, and then fading for a moment, and then it was back. Something was calling him to it, although not with any tangible voice. It was more like an unspoken suggestion, an urge. To the north, it beckoned, along the road out of town. He had the definite feeling that someone waited for him there, or that he would miss something important if he didn’t go.

* * * *

More Writing by Glynn james

Diary of the Displaced (Dark fantasy Novel)

Amazon UK Amazon USA Smashwords Nook (Sample available on feedbooks)

There is a place where nightmares come true. It is a dark and terrifying place that is hidden from the world we know, by borders that only the most unfortunate of souls will ever cross. James Halldon woke up in the dark, alone, without any food or water, and without a clue where he was. And it only got stranger.

*

Chasing Spirits (Dark fantasy Novel)

Amazon UK Amazon USA Smashwords Nook (Sample available on feedbooks)

There is an old man sitting in a bed on Angel ward, telling stories. He says he has to tell someone, because he is dying. He says he doesn't care if you believe the tales are true or not, because he is not sure that half of them ever happened at all. Reg Weldon claims that he has seen things that would make your spine shiver and your skin crawl. He claims a lot of things…

*

The Last to Fall (Dark Fantasy Novella)

Amazon UK Amazon USA Smashwords (Sample available on feedbooks)

In 1926 Joseph Dean was just getting ready to hang himself when the man named Joshua stepped into his cafe and changed his life. He made Joe an offer - one that would mean travelling through the door to another world to find something that had been lost for nearly two hundred years. Joe would discover a lot more than that in the years that followed.

*

Whispers of the Displaced (Short Story Collection)

Amazon UK Amazon USA Smashword (Sample available on feedbooks)

A companion book to Diary of the displaced - a collection of seven Paranormal Fantasy and Horror Short stories * Or both novels are available in a bundle Dark Journals (Novels & Short Stories Bundle) www.amazon.com www.amazon.co.uk www.smashwords.com

*

More about my writing at www.glynnjames.co.uk

From the same author on Feedbooks

- The Last to Fall (Sample) (2011)

In 1926 Joseph Dean was just getting ready to hang himself when the man named Joshua stepped into his cafe and changed his life.
He made Joe an offer - one that would mean travelling through the door to another world to find something that had been lost for nearly two hundred years.
Joe would discover a lot more than that in the years that followed.

The Last to Fall is a Dark Fantasy novella of 20000 words and the first in the series of Joe's travels in another world.

For anyone who has read Chasing Spirits, this is a chance to hear a familiar voice once more.

- Chasing Spirits (Sample) (2011)

There is an old man sitting in a bed on Angel ward, telling stories. He says he has to tell someone, because he is dying. He says he doesn't care if you believe the tales are true or not, because he is not sure that half of them ever happened at all.

Reg Weldon claims that he has seen things that would make your skin crawl.

He claims a lot of things...

"I was born four seconds before the strike of midnight, on the 31st December 1900. As far as I know that makes me the last person to be born in that century. My mother, god bless her soul, she may well have been the first person to die in the century that followed, because no sooner had I taken my first breath, than she took her last."

Chasing Spirits is a Paranormal Fantasy novel

- Chione (Whispers of the Displaced) (2011)

For Diary of the Displaced readers

Was it really cutterjack that went down the manhole in Charleston Way?

- Diary of the Displaced (Entire Novel) (2011)

There is a place where nightmares come true.

It is a dark and terrifying place that is hidden from the world we know, by borders that only the most unfortunate of souls will ever cross.

James Halldon woke up in the dark, alone, without any food or water, and without a clue where he was.

And it only got stranger.

"Of all the places I had to end up, it had to be here."

Diary of the Displaced is a Paranormal Fantasy novel, giving a detailed account of his struggle to survive, whilst trying to understand the strange, dark, terrifying world in which he is trapped.

If it's dark when you wake up, and you can hear growling, then close your eyes and maybe it will go away.

But maybe it won't.

www.feedbooks.com

Food for the mind

Table of Contents

- Title
- Fade (Whispers of the Displaced)
- From the same author on Feedbooks