Night Terrors Vol. 13: Short Horror Stories Anthology
Night Terrors Vol. 13: Short Horror Stories Anthology
Night Terrors Vol. 13: Short Horror Stories Anthology
Night Terrors Vol. 13: Short Horror Stories Anthology
Night Terrors Vol. 13: Short Horror Stories Anthology

Night Terrors Vol. 13: Short Horror Stories Anthology

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🗣 Narrated by Johnny Raven and Stephanie Shade

A carnival of nightmares awaits…

A cab ride to an infamous cemetery takes a sinister turn when the passengers discover they may be the graveyard’s next residents. Fun and games unleash evil beyond imagination when a young couple rolls the dice of a board game from hell. And a treasure hunt turns deadly when a pair of explorers discover what’s really hiding deep in the woods…

Step right up, and prepare to scream with delight! Scare Street’s latest collection of supernatural horror is the main attraction. This diabolical tome is packed with fourteen tales of supernatural terror. It is bursting at the seams, like a tiny car full of carnivorous clowns.

So sit back, relax, and enjoy the show. Don’t mind the severed fingers in your cotton candy or the blood stains on your seat. And whatever you do, don’t pet the snarling beasts.

The show must go on! And once you enter this dazzling circus of nightmares and dark fantasy, the terror never ends…

This volume features the following stories:


1. 
The Ash Collector by Amanda Cecelia Lang
2. 
Don't Scream by Renee Miller
3. 
The Shatter Box by Paul O'Neill
4. 
Aokigahara by Matthew McKiernan
5. 
The Steepest Fare by John Cady
6. 
Foster Parents by Matthew A. Clarke
7. 
The Treasure in the Woods by Oliver C. Seneca
8. 
Stingers and Scratches by Matt Bliss
9. 
The Scent of Decay by Madison Estes
10. 
Waiting Out the Storm by Mike Schuhler
11. 
The Thackery Tree by Kristen Reid
12. 
The Bowels of Hell by Kris Ashton
13. 
Lester's Locket by Carl Hughes
14. 
A Hand of Glory by Ron Ripley

6 hours and 13 minutes

195 pages

Don’t Scream
By Renee Miller

From the moment Joey was conceived, Carol knew he was bad. During the first weeks of her pregnancy, she barely left her bed and suffered intense nausea that sometimes led to vomiting that made her throat bleed.

Her husband, Francis, told her it wasn’t uncommon for pregnancy to cause illness in the first trimester. Carol’s suffering didn’t stop with the beginning of the second trimester though. She began having nightmares. As those subsided, her fingernails yellowed, cracked, and then fell off. Her skin felt so tight she worried it might rip apart. Then came the rash, which caused an allover itch so intense she often sat in a cold bath and cried as she rubbed a loofah over her skin.

By the final month of her pregnancy, Carol’s hair started to fall out. She told Francis more than once that the baby was killing her. He didn’t know what to think. Her doctor was baffled as well.

For a brief period, she thought maybe the baby shouldn’t be born. Francis, of course, was appalled. He tried to reassure her, but she knew what must be done. The clinic wouldn’t do it, because she was too far along, so she tried to do it at home. Twice. Her efforts only caused her pain and shame. Joey continued to thrive in her womb.

The day of his birth, she couldn’t bring herself to hold him. The doctor gave her medicine. Postpartum, he called it. She took the pills. Her fear ebbed. Her body recovered. She almost forgot the terror that plagued her for so many months.

The pills helped her to love Joey too despite the dread she felt when she held him. It wasn’t until his third birthday that she could no longer deny the evil she sensed in her son.

They’d invited all the neighbors to the party just as they had for his first and second birthdays. Francis barbecued while Carol supervised the children at various games she’d organized. Joey toddled around, adorable in a blue and white sailor suit and matching hat. When Francis called everyone to the patio for lunch, Carol realized Joey was missing.

An initial search revealed their neighbor’s daughter, a girl of about sixteen, was also gone. They looked inside the house first and then the backyard before expanding their search to the neighbors’ yards.

Finding no sign of them, Francis called the police. It wasn’t until they’d scoured the yard one more time that a police officer suggested they search inside the house again.

“Do you have a basement or any hidden passages in the house?” the officer had asked.

“Just a cellar,” Carol said. “But it’s always locked.”

The officer smiled. “With all of the chaos, it’s possible someone unlocked it, and he went exploring.”

“And the girl?”

“She may have gone off with friends.”

The cellar door was in the hallway near the kitchen. It was unlocked. Francis went in first. The police officers followed. Carol and the girl’s mother trailed behind. She heard Joey giggling as they descended the dark stairs. Someone pulled the chain on the bare light bulb, and then Carol heard a soft gasp.

“My God,” Francis whispered.

“Hi, Papa.” Joey’s voice came, so sweet and melodious.

“What have you done, Joey?” Francis asked.

“Now, sir,” the officer said. His voice sounded strained. “He’s just a baby.”

“What happened?” Carol pushed her way past her husband and the police. She stopped at the bottom step. “Jesus Christ.”

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