Twisted Tales

by Brandon Massey

Genres: Suspense

Synopsis

From Gold Pen Award-winner and master storyteller Brandon Massey come fourteen darker-than-night tales of sheer terror that will make your blood run cold. . . • A man driving home from a Halloween costume party suddenly comes face to face with an evil that's all too real. . . • An elderly woman, obsessed with obituaries, finds herself intimately connected with the dead in the most unlikely of ways. . . • A lifelong racist is plunged into his ultimate nightmare. . . •  An unfaithful husband discovers to his horror that his attractive new neighbor has in mind seduction of the wickedest kind. . . Prepare to be petrified by this chilling collection, certain to send you spiraling into a dark realm of imagination where the once-familiar becomes menacingly twisted. . . Praise for the novels of Brandon Massey "Stunning." -- The Chicago Tribune "I slept with the lights on." -- QBR "I've been waiting a long time for a writer like Brandon Massey." --Tananarive Due "Spellbinding." --Zane

Release date: March 1, 2012

Publisher: Dafina

Print pages: 304

Sample

“Nathan, I’d like you to meet my dad.”

I offered my hand, and the bearish man in front of me swallowed it in his massive grip. Swallowed it and squeezed—hard. Pain snapped through my fingers and traveled up my arm. I tried to conceal my anguish when I addressed him.

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Payne. I’m Nathan ... Hunter.” I forced the words out of my mouth; it was a struggle to keep from whining like a puppy. He continued to smash my hand in his grip.

Mr. Payne grunted. He was the hairiest man I’d ever seen. He had an Afro, a grizzly black beard, crisp hairs covering his muscular arms, and on the back of his meaty hands hair so dense he probably had to comb it. No doubt in winter he didn’t need to wear a coat. His natural fur probably served just fine.

He barely resembled his daughter. Stacy was short and petite, her skin as smooth as cream, her exotic features framed by long black hair. She stood beside us as we shook hands, and though a smile creased her lovely face, her eyes held a hint of apprehension.

I understood why. When we met a couple of weeks ago, she had warned me that her father was overprotective and zealously guarded her from potential boyfriends. I’d wanted to see Mr. Payne as early as possible, to reassure him that he could trust me to treat his daughter well. But Stacy had postponed introducing us until our third date, which was our first dinner-and-a-movie outing. She worried that her father might chase me away, and she wanted us to get to know each other without his distracting influence. Now that I’d met Mr. Payne at last, she probably wondered what would go wrong.

I wondered the same thing, to be honest. It wasn’t every day that you got a chance to meet a man who was supposedly guilty of murder.

We finally ended our handshake. My hand throbbed. This guy was strong.

“You’ve got a good grip,” I said. “It must come from all of the working out that Stacy tells me that you do.”

“I get my strength from other sources,” Mr. Payne said. He had a baritone voice that originated from deep within his enormous chest. “Sources beyond your comprehension, young man.”

What a strange response. Frowning, I noticed Mr. Payne’s eyes. They were liquid black, with a wild gleam: the kind of eyes that belonged in a predator who took delight in torturing its prey before it consummated the kill.

I would have to be careful with this man. My superiors believed that I was capable of bringing Mr. Payne to justice with no problem, but I wasn’t sure. My greatest advantage in this investigation was that neither Stacy nor her father suspected my intentions. But no veteran detective—especially one who specialized in my unique line of work—would risk dropping his guard and blowing his cover. The consequences could be deadly.

Although I’d finally met Mr. Payne, I could not ask him probing questions that might make him suspicious. I’d play it cool, date his daughter as though I was a regular guy, quietly gathering more clues ... and when the picture was complete, I’d carry out my orders to bring the felon to justice.

I checked my watch. “I’m sorry, but we have to get going, Mr. Payne. It’s been nice meeting you.”

“You two will get a chance to talk some other time, I’m sure,” Stacy said.

Mr. Payne grumbled. “You’ll have her back by ten o’clock. My little girl has a curfew.”

Stacy looked embarrassed. She was twenty-two years old, a grown woman. Was Mr. Payne serious?

“Ten o’clock is a little early,” I said. “The movie might not be over by then. How about eleven?” I felt odd asking her father such a question.

Danger flared in his eyes. “You seem to have forgotten who is in control here, young man. You are dating my daughter, and I decide whom she dates, where she goes on her date, and when she will return from each date. Her curfew is ten o’clock. If you have a problem with that, not only will Stacy not accompany you this evening, I will permanently ban her from communicating with you. Understood?”

“Uh, well, sure,” I said. “Ten o’clock. Yes, sir.”

Stacy laughed.

“Oh, Daddy, you’re too much.” she said. “Nathan is the nicest guy I’ve ever dated.” She slipped her arm through mine and smiled at him.

Mr. Payne’s eyes softened when he regarded his daughter. I could see that he really loved her. Her mother—his wife—had died eight years ago, leaving him to raise Stacy on his own. Stacy was all he had left. I empathized, a little, with his overbearing attitude.

But when he turned to me, a threat flickered like fire in his eyes. I realized two facts. One: my investigation into Mr. Payne’s crimes would end inconclusively if I botched the evening and Mr. Payne barred me from seeing his daughter—since she was my pipeline to his life. Two: Mr. Payne, as my superiors had warned me, was as scary as hell.

“Ten o’clock,” Mr. Payne said. When I nodded and started to turn away, he said something else that I would not understand until later.

“I’ll be watching.”

As I drove to the restaurant, Stacy turned down the volume on the stereo and said, “My dad’s something else, isn’t he?”

I shrugged. “He’s obviously concerned about your welfare. Kind of overbearing, I admit.”

“In his eyes, I’m always Daddy’s little girl. No guy I bring home is good enough for him. I could spend all night telling him how great you are, and he’d still treat you as if you’d crawled from under a rock somewhere.”

“I felt like a suspected criminal.”

“Ever since what happened to Mom, family has become extremely important to him. No man I meet will get in the family without Dad putting him through the wringer. He only wants the best for me.”

“I guess that makes sense,” I said. “If I had a daughter, I wouldn’t want her spending time with a loser, either.”

“You can’t understand how Mom’s death changed things for him, for both of us.” She shook her head. “You wouldn’t believe it.”

This could be a good opportunity to gain more information about her father’s history. I said, “Want to tell me about it?”

“Not now, Nathan, it would spoil the mood. Later, I promise.”

I clenched the steering wheel. Patience, I assured myself. I’d eventually uncover her father’s secrets.

I glanced at Stacy. Secrets glimmered in her dark, beautiful eyes, and her mystique only made me want her more. This was something that complicated my investigation; I had never thought I would start to fall for her. More often, I’d wondered what I had gotten myself into when I accepted this assignment, and where it would lead.

We arrived at the restaurant, a popular steak house. She went to open her door. I touched her arm, stopping her.

“Answer me honestly, Stacy. Do you think I’ll ever measure up to your father’s expectations?”

Impulsively, she leaned in toward me and kissed me. Or tasted me, rather, since that was what her kiss brought to mind. Purring like a cat, she tasted my lips, chin, and cheeks as if I was a juicy slice of meat. Her kisses were like nothing I had ever experienced. There was something primitive and wild about them that made me want to explode.

She let go of me and licked her lips, as though tasting me still.

My heart pounded.

“You measure up to my expectations,” she said. “In the end, that’s all that will matter.”

She winked at me, and we got out of the car.

Inside, the hostess guided us to a booth. Stacy slid into one side. I was about to take the opposite side when she patted the space beside her.

“Tonight, I want you next to me.”

I saw that compelling gleam in her eyes again. Of course, I did as she asked. She smiled at me, a subtle smile as mysterious as her gaze. I could not deny my suspicion that I was not the only one here who had ulterior motives—although I had no idea what she might have planned for me.

We ordered drinks, an appetizer, and steaks. I ordered the rib eye; Stacy requested the massive porterhouse. I looked at her, eyebrows raised. She’d always shown an enormous appetite—on our lunch dates, she ate more than I did—but could she put away that much meat?

It didn’t take long for my question to be answered. After plowing through the appetizer of Texas Cheese Fries, then black bean soup, and then tossed green salad, Stacy cut into her steak eagerly. She made soft animal noises of satisfaction as she chewed, yet she ate gracefully, like a wolf that had mastered the use of silverware.

“Hungry tonight?” I asked.

She turned and blinked. Her eyes had a glassy look, as though she had been entranced by the food. “Oh, you mean the porterhouse. This is nothing, sweetie. I could eat two of these.”

“You’re kidding.” I looked at the slab of thick, rare meat on her plate, and then I checked out her body. She wore a tight green sweater and a black skirt that showcased her taut, shapely figure. “Where do you put it all?”

“I have a high metabolism. So does Daddy. We eat like animals and don’t gain a pound.”

“I see.”

“If you hang around me long enough, maybe you’ll pick it up, like by osmosis.” She gave me that enchanting smile again, hinting at things I could only imagine.

I excused myself to visit the restroom. After I took care of business, I went to the sink to wash up. As I stood there soaping my hands, Mr. Payne exited one of the toilet stalls.

I froze. “Uh, hi, Mr. Payne.”

He glared at me as he walked to the sinks. “Have you been treating my little girl well?”

“We’re having a great time,” I said. What was he doing here? Had he followed us? I couldn’t ask him those questions, so I said, “She sure enjoys steak.”

“She takes after me.” He washed his hands. “I love meat. The bloodier, the better.” He stared at me. “Nothing tastes as delicious as the blood.”

“Yeah,” I said. The strange look in his eyes made me wonder if he’d like to slit me open and sample my blood. Quickly, I grabbed a towel from the dispenser and began to dry my hands.

Mr. Payne came over to me. He snatched the towel out of my fingers.

I gaped at him. I was suddenly aware of how big he was, and painfully aware that we were the only ones in there; the sounds coming from the dining room seemed to be miles away.

Did he know the truth about me? Was that why he was confronting me like this?

Towering over me, he grinned. It wasn’t a friendly grin. It was a mouth-wide-open, predatory grin, letting me see his long, sharp canines, teeth that no normal man would have ... teeth that belonged in the mouth of a carnivore.

I backed up against the wall.

“I’m watching you,” he said. Saliva glistened on his teeth. “You try anything with my little girl, and you’ll wish you’d never met her.”

Tension had squeezed my throat like a garrote. I couldn’t speak.

No ordinary man could have teeth like that.

Then Mr. Payne shut his mouth with an audible clap. He turned away as if nothing had happened and began to pick his Afro.

“Do you plan on keeping my daughter waiting much longer?” he asked. “Or are you as thoughtless and rude as I figured you are?”

Without a word, I got out of there.

Either Mr. Payne was on to me and was attempting to scare me off my investigation, or else he was only trying to scare me away from his daughter. Well, it wouldn’t work. I had a job to finish, and I’d stick to it, regardless of how much he made my palms sweat.

Back at the table, Stacy had finished eating. Her plate was so clean it might have come right out of the dishwasher.

“Your father’s here,” I said. “I saw him in the restroom.”

She sighed. “That figures. He’s following me again.”

“He’s done this before?”

She nodded. “With other guys. I’m Daddy’s little girl, remember? He doesn’t want to let me out of his sight.”

At the back of the dining room, the restroom door opened. Mr. Payne emerged, staring at me. He sat at a table across the room, but his location gave him a direct view of us. I could feel his glare stabbing like a knife into my brain.

“Take a look over there,” I said to Stacy. “He’s got a perfect view of us.”

She didn’t look. “I’ll take your word for it. It’s typical of him.”

“Have you asked him to stop doing this?”

“All the time. But it doesn’t matter, he does it anyway. He does it whenever he thinks I’m with the wrong guy, which is all the time.”

“This is crazy,” I said. “You’re a grown woman.”

“I know how we can get him off our backs, Nathan,” she said. “Be patient, okay?”

“What are you going to do?”

But she would not answer; she only gave me that secretive smile.

On our way out, we had to pass by Mr. Payne’s table. He had a huge cut of prime rib in front of him. The juicy meat oozed dark blood.

Nothing tastes as delicious as the blood.

Stacy, thankfully, didn’t stop to converse. She said only “hello.” I gave him the same brief greeting. But as I held open the door for her, I looked at him. He watched me, of course, a warning in his savage eyes.

You try anything with my little girl, and you’ll wish you’d never met her.

You can’t scare me away, I thought. I’m not quitting until I learn the truth.

Mr. Payne didn’t say a word, but he held my gaze. Held my gaze as he raised a bloody chunk of meat to his long, sharp teeth.

At the theater, on Stacy’s insistence, we took seats on the far left side, against the wall. We wouldn’t have a great view of the screen. But we would have a great opportunity to get closer to each other. The feature film was a romantic comedy, and though I didn’t plan on paying much attention to the story, I went to get popcorn for us.

Mr. Payne was in the lobby. He stood at the box office, buying a ticket.

This man was relentless. I understood what he had meant when, before we had left the house, he’d said to me, I’ll be watching you. He was literally going to tail us all night.

He was messing up everything. I’d thought that I could gradually insinuate myself into Stacy’s life—and, by extension, his life—and pick up all the clues I needed to complete my investigation. But Mr. Payne wasn’t letting me take that path. He was committed to driving me away before I resolved anything.

I dashed back to Stacy. The theater had darkened; a preview of an upcoming film flashed on the screen.

“Where’s the popcorn?” Stacy asked.

“I didn’t get any. Your dad’s here. I saw him buying a ticket.”

“Oh, no.” She covered her face with her hands.

“If he comes in for this movie, we’re going to leave and see something else,” I said. “I couldn’t stand having him in here.”

“Daddy has never gotten on my nerves this badly. I think he knows there’s something special between us. He’s scared of what it might lead to.”

I frowned. “And what might it lead to?”

“Later,” she said. “I’ll explain later. Please trust me.”

“Why don’t you just tell me what’s on your mind?”

But she had raised a finger to her lips. She motioned behind us.

I turned. I saw a tall, hulking silhouette in the doorway at the back of the theater. There were two aisles, and we were near the left one; slowly, the figure marched down the right aisle, head swiveling back and forth, looking for either a seat—or for us.

“That’s him?” I asked in a whisper.

“I think so.”

I grabbed her hand. “Come on, let’s go see something else.”

Masked by darkness, we slipped out of there. I did not look back to see if Mr. Payne saw us leave. I had the bizarre notion that if I glanced in his direction, he would be watching me. Like a creature of the night, he seemed to have heightened, almost extraordinary senses.

We entered the theater at the end of the hallway. It was a horror flick, and it was dark inside. Lucky timing for us; the opening credits had just begun.

We found seats in the same area as before. Far left corner, against the wall. Stacy took the seat near the wall, and I sat beside her. I put my arm around her. She snuggled closer.

“I forgot to ask you,” I said, “do you like horror movies?”

“I love them,” she said. “Especially monster movies. This is one of those, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, something about a werewolf.” I recalled the lurid poster beside the theater entrance.

She grinned. “Ooooohh, that’s perfect. I only hope it’s realistic.”

I was about to ask how a film about a werewolf could possibly be realistic, but then she kissed my lips—no, tasted my lips, and I didn’t care about asking her questions. I didn’t even care about her father. I cared only about being with her.

She laid her head on my shoulder. I stroked her lustrous hair.

Maybe we were falling in love. The idea worried me. How could I resolve my case if I was in love with her? Love would make it difficult, if not impossible, to carry out my assigned task.

Rather than mull over the situation, I immersed myself in the movie. It was a gory show about a pack of werewolves tearing through a quiet Illinois town. The acting was terrible, the dialogue was stilted, and the plotting was choppy, but it nonetheless got a huge response from the audience, especially Stacy. Every time a werewolf ripped out someone’s throat, she whooped, and she sighed with something approaching ecstasy at every drop of spilled blood. I got the weird feeling that she rooted for the werewolves to prevail over the humans.

But I didn’t complain. We explored each other’s bodies quite a bit during the show. At several points, we became so entangled that I wasn’t sure whose limbs were whose. We might never have done any of that if she hadn’t been so engaged by the film. Not only was I curious to see if this new level of intimacy would loosen her tongue on family matters, I also, I admit, looked forward to becoming better acquainted with her body.

As the closing credits rolled down the screen, the theater lights brightened. Hands entwined, we stood. I led the way to the crowded aisle ... and then I glimpsed a familiar shape in the corner of my eye. I spun.

It was Mr. Payne. He stood two rows behind us. He glared hatefully at me. I realized, with despair, that he had witnessed every kiss, every forbidden touch that I had shared with his precious daughter.

Mr. Payne pointed a long finger at me. “You!”

I shrank back. People around us looked, curious and alarmed.

Stacy gripped my hand. “Daddy, you shouldn’t have followed us!”

“I’m only looking out for your best interests, sweetheart,” he said. His eyes burned into me. “I should kill you.”

“Will you relax?” I said. “We just watched a movie!”

“Bullshit. I saw you. You were all over her!”

The crowd snickered. Humiliation flushed my face. I hated that he had chosen this place to cause a scene.

Mr. Payne charged toward us. The crowd fled out of his path like antelope fleeing a lion. Indecision, disbelief, and fear had rooted me in place. I stood there holding Stacy’s hand, while fury seethed in her father’s eyes. His hands clenched and unclenched, as if in eagerness to crack my neck.

Spurred to move, I pulled Stacy backward. As though she weighed no more than a Barbie doll, Mr. Payne grabbed Stacy by the arm and yanked her toward him. She cried out, her hand slipping out of mine. Using one huge arm to cradle his daughter against him, he thrust his other arm toward me.

“Stay away from my little girl!” He shoved me. I flew backward, tripped on something, and hit the floor.

I lay sprawled in the aisle, gazing at the ceiling.

Clearly, agreeing to this assignment had been a mistake. Mr. Payne was too volatile for me to get close enough to him to learn the truth. The safe, slow-moving course of action sanctioned by my superiors was not going to work. If I was to succeed in my mission, I’d have to break protocol.

I was more certain than ever that Mr. Payne was a killer. With his tendency toward violence and his fiery temper, I could believe that he had slaughtered several men, as the rumors indicated. All in the service of protecting his lovely daughter.

By the time I got out of the theater, Mr. Payne was screeching out of the parking lot in a black jeep. Stacy was mashed against the rear windshield, crying out my name.

I raced to my car. I was about to jam the key in the ignition, when I noticed the front of my shirt, in the area of my chest where Mr. Payne had pushed.

A couple of buttons had been torn off. Dark blood—my blood—stained the cotton. The blood had clotted and the small wound didn’t hurt. In fact, I hadn’t noticed the injury until now, maybe due to my dazed shock. But I thought of Mr. Payne’s long, sharp nails. Nails like claws.

Mr. Payne had left me no choice. I opened the glove compartment.

Inside, a revolver awaited me.

It was already loaded. With silver bullets.

When I arrived at Stacy’s house, she answered the door. She ushered me inside.

“I’m so glad you came,” she said. “I’m sorry about what happened.”

“Your father went nuts,” I said. “Is he here?”

“He’s out running.”

“Running? At this hour?”

“He does it all the time,” she said. “I usually go with him, especially when there’s a beautiful full moon, like there is tonight. But I was mad at him for what he did to you, so I stayed in.”

“When will he be back?”

“Later.” She smiled seductively. “Relax, Nathan. . .