Optical Delusion

Book 2: Mail Order Massacres

by Hunter Shea

Genres: Horror; Thrillers; Supernatural suspense

Synopsis

OPEN YOUR EYES WITH “X-RAY” VISION! Put on a pair of “X-Ray” glasses and things will never look the same! These almost magical specs will make you the hit of the party! Astonishing three-dimensional X-Ray visions of what your friends—and girls—look like under their clothes! And all for just $1. THE MORE YOU WEAR THEM . . . Martin Blackstone punishes his son for wasting his allowance on a pair of flimsy cardboard sunglasses X-ray vision . . . yeah, right. Martin tries them on just for the hell of it—and all they do is give him a headache . . . . . . THE DEEPER YOU’LL SEE. Until he sees things he can’t possibly be seeing. Glimpses of things on the other side of a wall or beneath someone’s clothing. He wants to believe it’s just his overactive imagination but the “X-Ray” specs actually work. Then the fun novelty becomes a waking nightmare when the glasses burn into his face and he starts seeing horrifying apocalyptic visions no mortal man was ever meant to see. Images that alter his very personality—from a husband and father to a bloodthirsty homicidal maniac . . . Because sometimes you can see too much. Praise for Hunter Shea “A lot of splattery fun.” — Publishers Weekly “Frightening, gripping.” — Night Owl Reviews

Release date: August 1, 2017

Publisher: Lyrical Press

Print pages: 76

Sample

If there was one thing Martin Blackstone truly hated, it was being disturbed during the two hours he allowed himself a night to watch television. After working all day at the factory, was it too much to ask for two goddamn hours of peace and quiet?

Especially tonight, Charlie’s Angels night.

Even Andrea knew not to bother him when Charlie’s Angels was on. All his buddies wanted a piece of that Farrah, but Blackstone had never been into blondes, no matter how pointy their nipples were poking out of red bathing suits on posters. No, he was a Jaclyn Smith man. That girl was specially handcrafted by God himself. He’d never kick her out of bed for eating crackers, that was for sure.

Not that his wife was some slouch. Back in her prime, she could turn heads with the best of them. She was still attractive, but mommy-attractive. Jaclyn Smith was on a whole different level. He bet she’d be hot even when she was in her seventies.

Whump, thump!

“Keep it down up there!” he shouted at the ceiling.

The Angels were running. He daren’t take his eyes off the tube. Unfortunately, it wasn’t one of those slow-motion shots.

“It’s just the boys having a little fun,” Andrea said, crocheting yet another baby blanket. Blackstone often wondered if any of their neighbors knew about the miracle of condoms. It seemed someone was coming up pregnant every month. Crazy Italian Catholics. Here they were, having all kinds of irresponsible fun, none of them thinking how it kept his wife doing hard labor, crocheting blanket after blanket like an enslaved seamstress.

“They can have fun without breaking through the floor.”

Andrea waited until the commercial to speak again. “Brian’s been cooped up all week. He needs to blow off a little steam.”

Blackstone shook his empty beer can. Andrea got up to get him another.

“The kid had all day to get it out of his system.” He popped the leg-rest up on his brand-spanking-new lounger. It was so comfortable that on some nights, he started fights with Andrea just to have an excuse to come downstairs and sleep on it.

“Noel had school, then he had to go home and do his homework and wait for dinner. Brian was practically jumping out of his skin waiting for him to get here.” She handed him a cold Schaefer. They said it was the one beer to have when you’re having more than one. Blackstone could testify to that. He pulled the top back and dropped the ring in the ashtray. The cold beer chilled him all the way down to his softening belly.

They heard muffled laughter, followed by what sounded like his sixteen-pound bowling ball being dropped to the floor. “If they don’t settle down, I’ll chuck their asses outside.”

Andrea snatched up her blanket and dropped into the chair next to him, bristling. “You’ll do no such thing. It’s pitch-black and cold out there. You want Brian to get sick again?”

His irritation deflated and he sighed. “No, of course I don’t.”

Brian had just gotten over a hell of a case of chicken pox. He had more bumps on his skin than a West Virginia highway. They had to put socks over his hands to stop him from scratching and popping the sores. Being a ten-year-old, he was not enthralled with their solution. The doctor and medication had cost a pretty penny. The last thing Blackstone wanted to do was add a visit to one of those skin doctors to the ledger, so he’d told him to suck it up.

The socks were off now and Brian was feeling good enough to go back to school on Monday. His best friend Noel had been asking daily when he could come over.

Andrea patted his hand. “You may have had a bad day, but Brian has had a bad week.”

“I know. All that talk about capping salaries has my blood boiling. That place is making money hand over fist and the greedy asshole owners want more. So how do they get it? By taking from the little guys. We got a meeting with union officials next week.”

“The union won’t let it happen. No sense giving yourself a stroke thinking about it.”

“If there’s a strike . . .”

He bit his tongue. Andrea was right. There was no reason to keep harping on it. There’d be plenty of time later if and when the shit hit the fan.

Blackstone tried to settle down, remembering what it was like when he was the same age. Then Charlie’s Angels came back on with a close-up of Jaclyn Smith and all of his thoughts were derailed. He drank his beer and indulged in his weekly fantasies.

Before he knew it, the show was over and Vega$ was getting ready to start.

“You have to walk Noel home,” Andrea said.

Noel had been granted a special late curfew just this Wednesday because he’d missed his friend so much. Plus, tomorrow was a half day in school, some kind of teachers’ special meeting. Not much schoolwork would be getting done. Noel only lived ten houses down the street, but somehow, Blackstone had been roped into walking the kid home tonight.

He drained the rest of his beer, went to the kitchen and dropped it in the garbage. He could still smell Andrea’s chicken casserole. His stomach grumbled. Eyeing the refrigerator, he said, “I’ll be back for you in a few.” A co. . .