Jump Scare: Horror Anthology

Jump Scare

Horror Anthology

Copyright 2021 Dean Baker

Published by Dean Baker at Smashwords

Smashwords Edition License Notes

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Table of Contents

Acknowledgements

Stuck In Traffic

Immortal Danger

Removing The Stain

Her Handwriting

Mind Your Own Damn Business

The Return To Rooks Hall

Last Confession

The Peephole

The Nail Biter

The Introduction

Time Waits For No Man

The Little Red Dot

The Snow Man

About Dean Baker

Other books by Dean Baker

Connect with Dean Baker

Acknowledgements

This book is a collection of my short fiction. Some stories have previously been published online in web-zines. Others are previously unpublished. I leave it to you, the reader, to decide if they should have remained so!

Huge thanks, once again, to my loving wife (and chief editor!) Julie, and my parents.

Stuck In Traffic

First published in Blue Almonds Magazine 2005

Aw, shit,

Stuck in traffic, the awful midtown traffic. Rachel hated it, more than anything she could think of right now, sat in her idling Chrysler at 8:35am on a grey morning in New York. She was late and this traffic was making her even later. This wasn’t the impression she had wanted to make on her first day. It was all his fault.

She’d protested when he’d unilaterally invited himself into her apartment last night.

I’m tired and drunk and have to be up early in the morning. You’re taking advantage, she’d said as he put his foot in the doorway to stop her shutting him out.

She recalled the events of last night as You’re so Vain came on the radio.

All the girls dreamed that they’d be your partner, they’d be your partner.

She’d never quite gotten Steve out of her system. It didn’t matter how many times he’d cheated on her, if he snapped his fingers she came running.

I had some dreams, they were clouds in my coffee, clouds in my coffee.

He was just so damn charming, and of course, handsome. She blushed as she thought of all the things he’d said and done the night before. But when she awoke that morning he was gone. He always was. She even wondered for a few seconds if it were a dream.

Suddenly the driver behind tooted his horn and she snapped out of her trance and moved another couple of feet forward as the traffic advanced slowly towards the bridge. Rachel looked forlornly into the rear-view mirror. I look like shit. Bags under her eyes staring back at her, she smiled sarcastically, pushing the mirror away. Enough reminders. Nervous and impatient, she tapped her fingers on the steering wheel, waiting in line with the rest of the traffic.

The move to psychiatric nursing was supposed to be part of the big change in her life.

Proof she’d moved on from being a doormat for Steve. Now one night with him had jeopardized the whole thing. She had caved in again.

Damn you Steve! she said and pounded the wheel with the palm of her hand.

After another twenty minutes of queuing she finally arrived at the hospital and hastily parked, racing along the corridors to make her appointment with Dr Stephenson and the rest of the inductees. She skidded along the halls, perilously close to toppling over at several stages and cursing her decision to wear the small stylish heels instead of the sensible dowdy flats her mother had bought her. She burst into the room through the large wooden doors that clattered loudly, causing

everyone to turn round and stare. She stood there, acutely embarrassed, and offered a gushing apology.

Thank you for joining us…eventually, Dr Stephenson said, causing an eruption of laughter from the crowd.

I’m very sorry Dr Stephenson, she blurted out, her face crimson. I got stuck in traffic,

Oh yes the traffic, he said, scratching his head with a pen which he casually slipped into his jacket pocket. The same traffic everyone else got up early to avoid? he left the question hanging, which was received by yet more laughter.

Rachel wanted the ground to swallow her up as she took her seat at the back and the doctor resumed his lecture.

We must try to decode the logic of insanity, the doctor said, adjusting his spectacles. We must be able to comprehend what causes the human mind to dysfunction. I am now going to take you on a tour of the wards and show you some of the most disturbed individuals we house here. Study closely their habits and symptoms. All will be different, but I believe all have the same central cause for disturbance. Please step this way, he said leading the crowd into the hallway.

Rachel followed the group as they ambled down the brightly lit corridor, Doctor Stephenson continuing to dispense his wisdom to the captive audience.

Now the first thing you should remember is that a psychology degree cuts no ice with me, Doctor Stephenson said sharply. A certificate from Harvard is not knowledge. Thirty years of clinical psychiatry experience is knowledge. Now is when you start learning,

Rachel cringed as the doctors booming, arrogant voice echoed off the walls.

We have just about every type of psychopath here. Murderers, Schizophrenics, self-harmers…

The group peered through the small windows of each cell, eyeing the inmates like caged animals.

Also, as many of you will know, we have Richard Marvin, the infamous Invisible Man housed in this facility. I’m sure you’ll all want to see him but at present none of you have the correct security clearance I’m afraid, the doctor said as the group let out a collective groan.

Rachel had read the paper Dr Stephenson had published on Richard Marvin. That paper had made his name in the psychiatric fraternity and Dr Stephenson treated Marvin like his own pet. Demand among the media for access to Marvin was still high and Stephenson’s ego had grown fat in his position as custodian of the infamous criminal.

Here we have a very pathetic individual. A pyromaniac by instinct…

As the doctor gave his self-important analysis of the patient, Rachel found her mind wandering. Thoughts drifted to Steve and the night before. The way she’d felt when he called, the flush of excitement when he’d arrived at the bar. She couldn’t help herself.

Rachel followed at rear of the group, almost on autopilot. And as the party reached the last cell Rachel realised that she’d made no notes. She’d been barely paying attention at all.

Damn you Steve.

Well group, I hope you have all made copious notes on what you’ve seen today. These and many more cases will be presented to you each day as part of your work in clinical psychiatric nursing, if you qualify, Dr Stephenson said looking at his watch. It was now five to twelve.

Now I guess is the time you’ve all been waiting for, lunch! he said as a collective giggle rang out amongst the group. We’ll reconvene in the lecture hall at one. Don’t be late, he said turning on his heels.

*

Jesus, can you believe the ego on that guy? Rachel overheard the woman next to her say as she ate her lunch in the cafeteria.

I didn’t study my ass off to be told that a psychology degree is worthless, the woman added.

Suddenly Rachel’s mobile phone beeped as she received a text message.

I’ll meet you at work at 5:30pm. We need to talk. S.

She deleted the message with a sigh but despite this she couldn’t shake her thoughts off Steve. Why couldn’t he just settle down and commit? I’m a damn fine catch! She thought, as her mother had told her a thousand times after Steve had cheated on her yet again. When is he going to realise that we’re good together? Rachel sat, elbows on the table supporting her head in her open palms, thinking of the wedding she’d always planned on a beach in Hawaii and the beautiful white wedding dress she lusted after in the shop window at Bloomingdale’s.

As Rachel daydreamed, Steve was stood at the counter of the florists just fourteen blocks away looking lost.

Can I help you? the assistant asked as he nervously browsed the selections of flowers.

I need something special, he said. Something that says I’m sorry, and will you marry me? he added with a nervous laugh.

Well, that’s a lot so say with just flowers, the florist responded staring into his eyes. But I think I might have just the thing, she added with a toss of her golden hair.

She was a blonde, tall too, his favourite kind. He knew he had a chance of getting her number if he tried. But now, he felt able to resist. He could only think of Rachel. Was he cured of his roving eye at last?

Here, she said, handing him the wrapped bouquet. These should do the trick. That’s a hundred and twelve dollars,