In Sickness: Stories From a Very Dark Place

  Table of Contents

  Part One: Laura Cooney Wasps

  The Hirsute You

  Puppy Love

  A Crown of Mushrooms

  Number 808

  Part Two: L. L. Soares Little Black Dress

  Second Chances

  Mating Room

  Head Games

  The No! Place

  Private Exhibition

  Part Three: Laura Cooney & L. L. Soares in Collaboration In Sickness

  About the Authors

  In Sickness: Stories from a Very Dark Place

  by L.L. Soares & Laura Cooney

  FIRST EDITION

  In Sickness

  Published by Pernicious Voices Press

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. This edition copyright 2010 L.L. Soares & Laura Cooney (details on following page)

  Front cover copyright 2010 Valerie Kahn-Dorato

  Interior art copyright 2010 Mechelle Sizemore

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the written permission of both the publisher and author.

  These stories first appeared in the following places (copyrighted by Laura Cooney):

  "Wasps" was first published on Horrorfind.com in May 2002.

  "The Hirsute You" was first published on Gothic.net in June 2001.

  "Puppy Love" is new to this collection.

  "Crown of Mushrooms" is new to this collection.

  "Number 808" was first published in the magazine Lullaby Hearse in June 2004.

  The following stories are copyrighted by L. L. Soares:

  "Little Black Dress" was first published on Gothic.net in October 2001.

  "Second Chances" was first published on Gothic.net in December 2002.

  "Mating Room" was first published in House of Pain, November 2003.

  "Head Games" was first published on Horrorfind.com in March 2003.

  "The No! Place" was first published in the magazine Horror Garage in January 2006.

  "Private Exhibition" is new to this collection.

  In Collaboration:

  "In Sickness" is new to this collection and is copyright 2010 by Laura Cooney & L. L. Soares

  Dedication:

  To Our Parents:

  Bette and Larry Soares and Pat and Bill Cooney

  Acknowledgments:

  The horror community is an extraordinarily supportive one, and it's great to be a part of it. Those who have been a rock of support throughout the years include: Daniel G. Keohane, Kurt Newton, Brian Keene, Nick Cato, Peter N. Dudar, Michael Oliveri and Michael Arruda; the whole New England Horror Writers gang; all the Necon Campers, and all the other cool people we've met at conventions (and on the message boards). There are just way too many people to list here.

  Thanks to Jim Lavoie and Robert Long, who both died too soon. And to Peter Stawasz.

  Special words of encouragement that have inspired us in our endeavors have come from editors like Seth Lindberg, Kealan Patrick Burke, Paul G. Tremblay, Rich Black, Rich Ristow and Greg Lamberson, to name just a few.

  Thank you to artist Valerie Kahn-Dorato, for the cover that we knew we wanted when we first saw it years ago. And to Mechelle Sizemore, whose interior illustrations are the icing on the cake.

  And to our publishers at Skullvines Press, Jerrod Balzer and S.D. Hintz, who have been extremely supportive throughout this entire process, and who have made us feel, not just like writers they are publishing, but like family.

  Part One: Laura Cooney

  Wasps

  Brittany was calling him again. Clint put his hands over his ears and pretended he didn't hear.

  Why couldn't she just shut up?

  Over and over, she called out his name. It reminded him of waves hitting the shore. Not really, but it did in a weird way.

  The childish nagging singsong made him hate his father. Dad made him hang out with her and nobody liked her and she was two years younger than him and she was a girl and it made him look bad to be seen with her.

  He was kinda glad when Brittany died because he thought it'd be over and he'd never have to see her again. Now it was worse, 'cause he couldn't tell people that he heard her and he couldn't get her to go away.

  "C-L-I-N-T! C-L-I-N-T!"

  He held a section of the white lace curtain between his thumb and forefinger, moving it as slowly and as little as possible so she wouldn't see that he was looking at her.

  She was up on the fence. Her pink sneakers were full of holes and dirty, each one sticking out of a wire pocket in the fence. Fresh red scrapes and faded old brown ones and black and blue marks covered her skinny legs. Her long brown hair was matted and tangled, hanging over the railing.

  Brittany was so stupid and annoying. He had to stop thinking that stuff. Ghosts could read your mind and she'd come after him for revenge.

  She looked the same as she did when she was alive. But he'd seen her body in the little white coffin and she looked pretty dead then. The way she looked now must have been some kind of a trick.

  He wondered if she came to tell him who murdered her. He was afraid to go out and talk to her. What if she knew he hated her? Why didn't she go bother her killer instead? Why didn't she just tell him who did it and then the police could arrest the guy and put him in the electric chair?

  Brittany was as stupid a ghost as she was a kid.

  * * *

  "Why don't you go outside and play, Clint?" his father asked.

  Clint wished there was someone who could tell him she was real.

  "Naw, it's dumb outside."

  His father laughed. "Dumb? You know, I feel that way too sometimes, kid."

  He ruffled his son's hair and walked into the kitchen.

  Clint flattened his hair back down.

  "C-L-I-N-T! C-L-I-N-T!"

  Shut up!

  His mother came out of the kitchen.

  She had that stupid concerned look again, like a dog trying to figure out what something was.

  "Clint, I want you outside."

  "Why!"

  "Don't shout at me. It's not good for you to be inside all the time. It's like you're hiding."

  "I don't want to."

  "I don't get it. You used to love to go outside and play with the other kids."

  "Who cares?"

  "I care. It's a beautiful day."

  "How come you're not outside?"

  "Believe me, I'd love to be. You're only young once. You should enjoy it."

  "You can't make me enjoy it."

  "Go outside."

  His mother took his hand and led him to the door.

  "Go on."

  Clint looked at the door. He could still hear Brittany.

  "Why?"

  His mother smiled and opened the door.

  "Out."

  Clint sighed and walked out the door. He really didn't have a choice. He could feel himself getting choked up and there was no way he was crying in front of his mother.

  "Have a good time!" his mother called from the doorway.

  "Yeah, yeah."

  * * *

  Brittany climbed over the fence and ran over to Clint.

  "Go away."

  He said it out loud. He shouldn't have.

  Brittany held out her hand to him. Clint turned around and walke
d the other way. He could hear Brittany running to keep up with him.

  He saw Brittany's mother in his mind. Tall and skinny and swaying slightly. With that smell so strong like sweaty sour rot. His parents said, keep away from her, but then they said, "Play with Brittany." They didn't make a lot of sense.

  They made just as much sense now, forcing him to enjoy himself.

  Brittany finally caught up with him.

  She held out her hand to him.

  "No."

  She stood there with her hand out.

  "Get lost."

  He liked how his voice sounded tough and brave, like he didn't care at all. He had to think that he wasn't afraid.

  Brittany stood in front of him and she got all transparent-looking. She put her hands up over her head and then brought them back down slowly like she was going to fly.

  He didn't know what that was supposed to mean, but it made him feel weird.

  "Dylan! Hey, Dylan!"

  Dylan McCrory was across the street with a baseball glove. He looked up and waved Clint over.

  Clint stuck his tongue out at Brittany and ran.

  He was halfway to the curb when he heard the horn and the screeching brakes. Clint stopped, staring up at the big blue truck.

  A fat-faced bald man stuck his head out the window.

  "You didn't even look!" he shouted.

  Clint looked over at Brittany. Somehow, he knew this was her fault.

  "Get out of the way, you little asshole!"

  Clint ran over to the sidewalk where Dylan was waiting.

  "Hey, fuck you!" Dylan said. "His dad's going to sue your ass!"

  The driver stuck his head back inside and took off.

  Dylan laughed and shook his head.

  "Man, I can't believe you let that guy talk to you like that."

  "It happened so fast. I couldn't think."

  "We should've got that guy's license plate."

  "Naw, it was my fault anyway."

  "Who cares? You coulda had him shitting."

  "Yeah, and my parents shitting too."

  * * *

  Clint stood in the infield kicking at a big rock. Probably, he should've gotten rid of it in case someone tripped over it, but he liked how it felt solid and real. Being in the field with all the other kids made him feel normal.

  Then Brittany appeared in her transparent form and screwed him up again. It wasn't like she was blocking his view of the game, since she was see-through. But she made it real hard for him to concentrate.

  It reminded him of the last time he played ball. Back a couple of months ago, just before Brittany died.

  She'd been wearing the same T-shirt and jeans for two days. Stupid picture of a bunny rabbit and the shirt was all stained and Brittany smelled.

  She asked if she could play softball, but her mother hadn't even signed her up for it. Her mother didn't sign her up for anything. Clint and all the other kids, they were in stuff like soccer, tennis, modern dance, band, gymnastics, swimming...a zillion things.

  Brittany was in nothing. She just wandered around by herself like she was lost and sometimes tried to get in on the things other kids' parents had paid for.

  Maybe it wasn't her fault 'cause her mother was on welfare and any money they got was spent on vodka and cigarettes. But they couldn't let her play when she wasn't signed up.

  The kids shouted at her to get off the field but she wouldn't, so all of them started throwing crap at her. Brittany just stood and took it. 'Til a rock hit her on the side of the head and then the coach came to pick Brittany up and put her on the other side of the fence.

  It was funny and all the kids laughed until Brittany started laughing too. She made all the kids feel creepy. Clint remembered they all got real quiet and had to pretend she wasn't there.

  This time was a lot harder, 'cause she stood right in front of him.

  "Asshole!"

  Clint turned and saw the ball go past him.

  "God, Dermott, we shoulda put you in left field!"

  "Sorry, didn't see it," Clint said.

  "Moron."

  Brittany was waving her hand at him again, like she wanted him to go somewhere with her.

  Clint turned and walked off the field.

  "Where you going, Clint?" Dylan shouted.

  "Gotta go," he said.

  He heard some of the kids laugh but he couldn't play with Brittany standing there in front of him.

  He'd stopped showing up for band and soccer, and now he knew this would be the last time he played softball.

  * * *

  Clint sat by the pond and stared into the murky green water. A frog sat on a rock and looked back at him. Brittany used to catch sick, dying frogs and salamanders there. The healthy ones moved too fast for her.

  And where was she now? Once he was away from all the other kids and doing stuff she used to do, she left him alone. Or that's how it seemed anyway.

  Clint remembered her opening up her hands so happy and showing him a newt with a crushed leg.

  "That thing's gonna die," he told her.

  "No, it's not."

  "Yeah, let me know how it is in three days."

  "I named him Clint."

  "His name's Brittany."

  "No, it's not, it's Clint."

  "Brittany!"

  "Clint!"

  "Aw, you're a stupid moron," he said and gave her a shove.

  He hated how she was always coming after him all the time.

  He was so happy when she died. He really was happy when she died. But now, shit, it was a mess. His life was a mess now.

  He tossed a stone into the pond, aiming for the frog. He missed, but the frog jumped off the rock anyway and went underwater.

  * * *

  Brittany had creepy hazel eyes and if you looked real close, you could see flecks of yellow floating around in them like pus. Brittany looked and looked and looked at people like she wanted to pull something out.

  The picture in his mind of Brittany's eyes made him shiver. Now that she was a ghost, he didn't notice her eyes so much.

  Something about her eyes used to make him think she knew the secrets of all the people in the world. But that didn't make sense 'cause Brittany was slow.

  But he never made fun of her like some of the other kids did. He tried to be her friend even though he didn't like her. He knew he should be nice to her even before his father told him.

  "Brittany's a special child." He remembered Mrs. Loccasi saying that.

  But he thought special was supposed to mean 'good.'

  She kept coming and coming and coming. Even when she was alive, she'd keep showing up for things like she was a regular kid. And now, she'd never ever ever leave.

  Clint was afraid that he was getting special. He closed his eyes and folded his hands together.

  "Please, God, don't let me be special. I will pray to you four-hundred times a day and carry old ladies groceries to their cars."

  He opened his eyes. Brittany held out her hand to him.

  Jesus Christ!

  * * *

  Brittany used to run away all the time. Sometimes, it was because her mother locked her out and sometimes she took off just 'cause she wanted to.

  She used to sleep under the bushes in people's yards and in lots full of junk and old houses nobody lived in anymore.

  They'd found her after she'd been missing for three weeks. Buried in the woods with no shoes on.

  That made him think about buried treasure and about ghosts leading people to treasure chests, but he had a feeling Brittany wasn't smart enough for that.

  Still, she could've found treasure in one of those abandoned places she used to go into.

  "Brittany," he whispered, in case someone came by. "Lead me to the treasure. To the treasure. To gold. To doubloons!"

  Brittany nodded, waving her hand.

  * * *

  Clint walked behind Brittany. This time, she was solid, like a regular kid. He stared at her dirty pink sneakers, the way t
he toes turned in when she walked. His mother said that was called "pigeon-toed" and it could be fixed if Brittany's mother would get someone to show her the right way to walk.

  Clint remembered saying to her, "You got pigeon's toes, Brittany. You're a dirty old pigeon."

  Other kids started calling her 'Pigeon' too. Clint didn't mean to start it, but Dylan heard him saying it to her and then it went 'round the whole schoolyard. It made Brittany cry.

  If someone called him that, he'd a beat their head in. But Brittany was too dumb to think of doing that. Once, he almost thought of doing it for her. But then people would've thought he liked Brittany.

  Maybe he even wanted the kids to call her 'Pigeon.' He didn't really know.

  Brittany was leading him into the part of town where all the old factories and warehouses were. Most of these were closed down for a bunch of years now.

  The perfect place to hide a treasure chest. Maybe Brittany was rewarding him for being her only friend.

  The pavement had lots of cracks where weeds grew long. The fence was brown with rust and broken in parts, like some monster had torn it in two, and bent in other places, like the monster had kicked it in with a big green foot.

  Clint tripped over a broken bit of sidewalk and fell on the ground. Brittany turned and waited while he got up. He made a silly face and stuck his tongue out at her. She didn't laugh, just stared at him with her secret knowing eyes.

  "It wouldn't kill you to laugh," he said.

  Brittany turned around and started walking again.

  His knee stung and he could feel the blood going down his leg.

  Brittany's hair was matted and tangled and he could see twigs and leaves and dirt sticking in it. He wanted to pull it like he used to when she was alive.

  Clint looked up and thought how big the sky looked against the empty lot. With no buildings in the way, the sky touched the patchy garbage-covered grass and surrounded it like his mother's snow globe.

  He got a kind of sad feeling looking up at it. The blue was pretty and the clouds were white and thick like cotton balls. He could almost feel his fingers touching them. That feel of cotton balls made him shiver.