Spider-Cursed: a supernatural horror short story
Book Details
Author(s)S. E. Lee
PublisherCrescere Publishing
ISBN / ASINB0052TSUDS
ISBN-13978B0052TSUD1
MarketplaceFrance 🇫🇷
Description
Two cousins.
One fortune.
And one doesn't want to share.
A 7200-word supernatural thriller with spiders, curses, and voodoo. Adult language warning.
* * * * * * *
EXCERPT:
A shiny, spiky spider the size of a king crab clamped onto his face, its jaws gaping wide and its pincerlike claws slashing into his eyes, and Harold Wiseburg screamed and scrabbled out of his nightmare. He bolted upright to find himself in his bed, drenched, and shaking.
He lifted a trembling hand to his face, shuddering at the dampness and only then realizing it was sweat, not blood. His hand fell in limp relief, as if he were a puppet with its strings cut. His eyes darted around in the predawn dark, searching the corners where the shadows were still as black as night.
He could see. He still had his eyes. A shuddering breath of relief set off his stomach and he stumbled to the bathroom in time to puke his guts out.
"You better not break nothing!"
Harold slumped back against the elaborately mosaiced wall. Great. All he needed was a fight first thing in the morning with his loser cousin Kenny.
"This is not your side of the house, Kenny."
"Not yet. But it will be." His cousin hunched in the doorway of the grand bathroom suite, looking around as if he already owned the place. With his jailhouse tats, Ed Hardy ball cap worn askew, cheap jewelry blinding the eye, and a sleeveless top he called a wifebeater, he looked like a gangster wannabe crossed with a meth addict, and he didn't exactly fit in with the gilded age decor that could've graced the pages of a gracious lifestyle magazine. In fact, until last week, his cousin had been living in a rental room in a trailer, collecting unemployment checks and using his baby mama's food stamp money to buy Coke, Twinkies, and chips for the munchies he got after getting high.
Harold heaved a sigh and rubbed a hand over his face. Only three hundred more days to go.
One fortune.
And one doesn't want to share.
A 7200-word supernatural thriller with spiders, curses, and voodoo. Adult language warning.
* * * * * * *
EXCERPT:
A shiny, spiky spider the size of a king crab clamped onto his face, its jaws gaping wide and its pincerlike claws slashing into his eyes, and Harold Wiseburg screamed and scrabbled out of his nightmare. He bolted upright to find himself in his bed, drenched, and shaking.
He lifted a trembling hand to his face, shuddering at the dampness and only then realizing it was sweat, not blood. His hand fell in limp relief, as if he were a puppet with its strings cut. His eyes darted around in the predawn dark, searching the corners where the shadows were still as black as night.
He could see. He still had his eyes. A shuddering breath of relief set off his stomach and he stumbled to the bathroom in time to puke his guts out.
"You better not break nothing!"
Harold slumped back against the elaborately mosaiced wall. Great. All he needed was a fight first thing in the morning with his loser cousin Kenny.
"This is not your side of the house, Kenny."
"Not yet. But it will be." His cousin hunched in the doorway of the grand bathroom suite, looking around as if he already owned the place. With his jailhouse tats, Ed Hardy ball cap worn askew, cheap jewelry blinding the eye, and a sleeveless top he called a wifebeater, he looked like a gangster wannabe crossed with a meth addict, and he didn't exactly fit in with the gilded age decor that could've graced the pages of a gracious lifestyle magazine. In fact, until last week, his cousin had been living in a rental room in a trailer, collecting unemployment checks and using his baby mama's food stamp money to buy Coke, Twinkies, and chips for the munchies he got after getting high.
Harold heaved a sigh and rubbed a hand over his face. Only three hundred more days to go.
