Compendium Read online

  Published in Canada by Engen Books, St. John’s, NL.

  Curtis, Ellen, 1993-

  Compendium / Ellen Curtis.

  Short stories.

  ISBN 978-1-926903-05-7

  I. Title.

  PS8605.U78C65 2011 C813’.6 C2011-906682-3

  Copyright 2011 Ellen Curtis

  NO PART OF THIS BOOK MAY BE REPRODUCED OR TRANSMITTED IN ANY FORM OR BY ANY MEANS, ELECTRONIC OR MECHANICAL, INCLUDING PHOTOCOPYING AND RECORDING, OR BY ANY INFORMATION STORAGE OR RETRIEVAL SYSTEM WITHOUT WRITTEN PERMISSION FROM THE AUTHOR, EXCEPT FOR BRIEF PASSAGES QUOTED IN A REVIEW.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons living or dead is entirely coincidental.

  Distributed by:

  Engen Books

  Suite 172

  Norman’s Cove NL A0B 2T0

  www.engenbooks.com

  [email protected]

  First mass market paperback printing: October 2009

  Second mass market paperback printing: November 2011

  First Digital Printing: May 2015

  Cover Image: Matthew LeDrew

  praise for compendium

  “When a writer can consistanty take the feelings and experiences of everyday life and translate them into an imaginary world, we have great fantasy .”

  Jean Graham

  Northeast Avalon Times

  “All well-written stories trigger the senses... in Compendium I found that after a few paragraphs I had been whisked away to [other] worlds.”

  Jay Paulin

  Ink’d Well Comics

  “Ellen Curtis is one of the most gifted authors of her generation, and if you want proof, all you need to look at is Compendium.”

  Matthew LeDrew

  author of Black Womb & Infinity

  “[At Midnight the Dawn] held me from beginning to ending. In fact, it reminds me of Maurice Level’s horror fiction.”

  John Robert Colombo

  Colombo & Company

  “Better than Black Womb.”

  Steve Lake

  Sci-Fi on the Rock TV

  For my pop,

  the greatest storyteller I’ll ever know.

  I’ll love you forever.

  I hope this would have lived up

  to your expectations.

  from the author

  Sometimes, it’s easy to prove people wrong. Most times though, it isn’t. For the past few years I’ve been working to do just that. For every person who told me that most good writers have died before they’ve been discovered, I’d like you to take a good, hard look at this book. If you feel so inclined, notice the date of the first printing. Subtract 1993 from that year. If you haven’t caught on, I’m far from dead. That doesn’t mean this collection hasn’t been a long time coming though.

  Storytelling has been a part of my family for as long as I can remember. Some of my favourite memories are of listening to my mother make up fantastic worlds, my pop tell me about his childhood, and of my aunt’s ghost stories. It seemed only natural for me to make up stories of my own, too. The first time I realized I was serious about writing though, was when I was thirteen. I don’t think a day has gone by where I haven’t written something since.

  The first story I wrote for Compendium was actually a school project I went way overboard on. The same is true for the latest story, At Midnight, The Dawn, which makes its debut on these pages. I’d like to send a big thank you out to the teachers who’ve made this possible for me, Ms Hatcher, Mr. Nolan, and Mr. Dinn. You guys apparently knew what I was capable of, and managed to push me there. I will be forever grateful.

  I’d also like to thank my friends and family. You guys keep me in line, and without your support I doubt I would have gotten half this far. In fact, without you guys, I wouldn’t have gone to Sci-Fi on the Rock and met Matthew. Thanks Mum and Dad for the drives back and forth, and for putting up with that general craziness.

  Now, for one of the most important thank yous. Matthew LeDrew, thank you for writing Black Womb and also for being so freaking amazing. If it wasn’t for you and Engen, this book would not exist. Also, you managed to create the most fantabulous cover I could have dreamed of. I have the sneaking suspicion you know what I like better than I do, and would not give you up for all the tea in China either.

  Lastly, I’d like to thank the musicians whose music has been constantly playing in the background as I write. In no particular order; AFI, Emilie Autumn, MCR, Billy Talent, Green Day, The Cure, Saosin, Sparta, From First to Last, Flogging Molly, Escape the Fate, The All-American Rejects, Hawthorne Heights, Ivoryline, Taking Back Sunday, and Paramore, here’s a bloody big thank you. I have the greatest respect for the music you write, you’re all such an inspiration.

  Hope you enjoy

  -Ellen Louise Curtis, author

  preface

  “Working late?” Matthew smiled, looking up from the soft glow of his computer screen.

  The man did not respond, carrying his briefcase as though it weighed a hundred pounds as he walked past the clerk and into his office.

  He was old, at least sixty, his silvery hair receding noticeably at the front. His nose seemed a little too big for the rest of his face, but his eyes were a kind and gentle shade of blue, no matter how he tried to hide it.

  His office was large, taking up nearly the entire top floor of the building. The carpets were plush and soft against the soles of his shoes, usually putting him in a good mood, but not today.

  There were three folders sitting on his desk at the far end of the office, his lamp shining down on them like a spotlight.

  He let out a long sigh as he sat down, staring at them sternly. He opened the drawer next to him and withdrew a bottle of Chateau Lafite marked as 1787 and a glass. He popped its cork and poured himself a healthy sampling before he reached into the breast pocket of his blazer and withdrew a cigarette, brought it to his lips and lit it. There was a brief pause right after he took that first drag when there was no stress in him.

  Allowing himself a smile, he turned toward the first folder and opened it.

  the tourniquet revival

  “That’ll be 5£, Miss Jones,” the store clerk said. His lined face creased into a smile as Ashby fumbled in her pocket for the correct change.

  “Here, I’ve got some on me too,” her companion, a thin 19 year old girl with a short bottle-blonde pixie cut, interjected.

  “Thanks Kat.”

  Though Ashby was her senior by one year, it was always the younger girl who bailed them out of any tough situation. It was also Kat who people went to for advice. Sometimes it seemed like she was the poster child of wisdom and prodigy.

  Ashby was typical Irish, her features giving her heritage away the instant anyone glanced her way. She brushed her long red hair out of her bright green eyes, feeling just a bit stupid for forgetting the money.

  In the split second it had taken Ashby to fix her hair, Kat had thrown the money on the counter, grabbed up the bag of Halloween candy, and had raced out the door. “Race ya home!”

  Ashby sped after her, catching up to her easily at the street corner.

  Kat slowed down so they could talk, breathless as of yet. “We better hurry up and get home,” she panted “the trick-or-treaters will be around soon.”

  Ashby nodded in agreement. Her cheeks were almost as red as her hair now, courtesy of the autumn chill hanging like death in the air.

  They walked a bit further when Kat stopped, her slender fingers fluttering over her abdomen as she let out a breath.

  Ashby to bumped into her, bringing her attention back to reality. “What’s wrong?” She asked, a look of concer
n spreading across her features.

  “Pro’lly nothing.” Kat looked hesitant a moment, then replied. “Just feeling a bit stomach sick, you know? More likely it’s just those taquitos we had for lunch.” The look on Kat’s face told Ashby otherwise, however.

  “Well then, let’s get home quick. I’m not going to be the one holding your lack of hair away from you face while you vomit into a pail,” Ashby half-joked, trying to lighten the tension she knew Kat was trying desperately to fight back. Kat shot her a queasy looking smile.

  The girls were almost at their driveway now, but Kat seemed to be getting sicker by the second. She was becoming unusually pale when the sound of approaching footsteps struck fear into Ashby’s heart. An odd chill came over her and she felt a burning in the back of her skull, a paranoia overcoming her and making her feel as though she was being watched.

  She turned around and her eyes met those of a tall hooded figure that stepped toward them. He was draped in a long black cloak with red trim that seemed to flow against the breeze, traveling whichever way it pleased. The top half of his face was shrouded in shadow, but his angular chin and large, sneering smile were all too visible. He held something in his hand she couldn’t see, but it glinted in the fading sunlight brilliantly.

  Terror held her lungs shut, banning her from issuing even a single cry for help. If only she had just kept walking. Maybe then the eerie figure wouldn’t have been the first thought she encountered upon awakening.

  ‡

  Kat blinked, swimming in the fine lines between her conscience self and her dark, deep unconscious. She felt dreadful, her head was pounding. She finally found the strength to open her eyes, but when she did, she shut them quickly, wishing the images away. Vibrantly rich crimson drapes surrounded an equally crimson armchair, illuminated by dripping candles. The sight of the man’s corpse, whitened and presumably bloodless given his slit throat, was enough to paralyze someone. She willed away the urge to vomit, though all she wanted to do was purge herself, and the world for that matter, of the lifeless tragedy. The pallid figure couldn’t have even been her father’s age, yet there he sat, silent evermore.

  “Kat?” Ashby’s slurred voice came through the candlelit den.

  “I’m here,” Kat whispered, finding her voice and the courage to open her eyes once more.

  Kat and Ashby sat up, side by side on a lumpy, velvet swathed bed sitting in the center of a possibly perfectly square room. They were surrounded entirely by three matching red velvet couches and four armchairs. All ten of their occupants were dead. All ten, ranging in age from a girl in pigtails who might have been twelve, to the middle-aged man Kat had first seen, were clothed in black leather and satins. All ten appeared to have exsanguinated.

  “Oh God. Kat, we have to get out of here.” Ashby cringed, her words barely a whisper.

  “That won’t be necessary, Miss Jones,” a voice writhing with malicious content drawled. “You and my darling Miss Smith however, are. It is vital you stay, and it would be most pleasant if you cooperate to the fullest.”

  The door had opened, allowing a tall willowy man to enter, his reddish brown hair hanging in neat waves all the way to his shoulders. He was dressed like the corpses, but was more elegant, refined. What really struck both girls about him was not his speech, but his thunder grey eyes, which seemed to pierce each girl so completely that it chained them to their spots. They sat in stunned silence for a moment, until Kat found her courage and spoke.

  “Who are you and what do you want with us?” The sentence came out jumbled into one breath.

  “My name isn’t rightly pronounced by the slithering muscles in your mouths,” he smirked, looking down at himself. “But this one used to be called Gavin.”

  He locked eyes with Kat, holding it for a long moment until she squirmed uncomfortably.

  “To put it simply for your friend here, I am the corporeal embodiment of the demon prince. I was re-incarnated mere months ago when the pitiful entity who inhabited this form jumped off a bridge, committing suicide. It’s a shame you humans have such a disregard for death.” The man paused before continuing. “You, Miss Smith, will soon be transformed into my princess.”

  ‡

  Kat’s mouth dropped open, but she shut it firmly again. She glanced over at Ashby and noticed how pale she had gotten. “What about Ashby?” she asked.

  Gavin smiled mirthlessly. “That depends on how fast she can run and how good she is at evading my pets. You have two minutes Miss Jones. I suggest you use them to their full extent.” He motioned to the door. Numbly, Ashby got up and went for the it, almost like she was sleepwalking. Just as she passed Gavin, he hit her square on the jaw, and she began to run. Kat lunged at him.

  “Leave her alone, you filthy b-” she screeched before he caught her up and held a hand over her mouth.

  “Now now, sweetness, there’s no use in trying to fight it. One way or another, come midnight, the rest of your life will belong to me. One way or another, you will be part of my darkness,” he crowed, caressing Kat’s cheek. She bit his hand causing him to draw back, letting her slip out of the room to go find Ashby. He smiled at one of the corpses knowingly. “I hope she’s aware I’m a man of my word.”

  ‡

  Ashby turned the corner again. After what seemed like a lifetime of mindless hallways, finally, a staircase down. Just as she touched the rail, a familiar hand with chipped black nail polish closed around her wrist.

  “It’s me Ashby. We’ve gotta get out of here. He thinks this is all a game. He’s enjoying this,” whispered the voice to which the hand belonged.

  “Kat, thank God you’re all right,” Ashby whispered in response. Kat noticed a large purple bruise was already spreading up over her cheek. “This house is like a maze.”

  “Well. Let’s find our way out. Down these?” Kat answered, nodding her head toward the stairs. At that moment, a voice rang through the halls.

  “One minute,” came Gavin’s eerie giggle.

  Both girls raced down the stairs, almost tripping on a rug at the bottom. “What way now?” Ashby breathed.

  “Left. Trust me; I don’t have a good feeling about the right,” Kat replied. Both girls raced off again. At the end of the hallway there was a large door. The girls began to walk toward it, glancing cautiously behind them.

  “Time’s up, ladies. Go get ‘em boys!” Rang Gavin’s voice once more. A thundering crash echoed from somewhere unseen just as Kat’s hand reached the doorknob. She turned it quickly, only to reveal another staircase up.

  ‡

  “What now?” Kat whispered - both girls hesitating. She turned around, looking back down the long corridor they had just emerged from.

  Two men came around the corner, their dark hair long and matted, covering the eyes and making their expressions impossible to determine. The lower halves of their faces were covered in leather masks that appeared to be fixed there permanently, with only a small grate in the front allowing them to breathe. Their shoulders were pinned back by the black jackets they wore, their arms flapping about wildly as they hobbled toward the girls, buckles from the jackets clattering against the walls with each and every step.

  “Up!” Ashby shrieked, Kat already bolting up the stairs ahead of her. She reached the door at the top first, prying it open and pushing Kat inside. She felt her world come out from beneath her as something grabbed her by the ankle and yanked hard. Her head slammed against the floor as she started down the stairs, the door slamming shut behind her.

  Kat was alone in the tiny attic. She turned and stared at the door for a long moment, its metal frame mocking her silently. All thoughts were erased from her mind but one: save Ashby, whatever the cost may be. She ran her fingers through her hair and she looked around. Furniture, paintings, chests and dust. She would have to look harder for a weapon. She knelt down next to a small wooden box and opened it.

  The contents of the box were dusty and old. There were medical supplies that she didn’t think had be
en in use at any point in the last century. Small glass vials that still contained liquid but were also crusted over and foggy. She huffed long and loud, picking up the shelf by either side and tossing it aside, its contents breaking over the floor.

  The level below it wasn’t as dusty. It contained small darts and several needles that appeared to have blood on their ends which she decided to avoid... and two guns, sitting there amongst the rest. They seemed out of place, like two elephants on a subway. She picked them up and checked their slides, breathing a sigh of relief when she found that they were loaded.

  She closed her eyes and counted to ten to compose herself, then headed for the door, careful to avoid the broken glass.

  Pressing her ear to the door, she strained to hear the sounds of her pursuers. Two separate breathing patterns.

  Her next decision would haunt her for years to come.

  ‡

  As fast as she could, Kat opened the door, aimed, and took two shots. Neither missed their targets, and both men fell to the floor. Kat let a bit of shock sweep over her. She would need it to suppress her guilt until later.

  She raced down the hall again, this time going right where they had gone left. As relief and fear washed over her, she almost wished she hadn’t.

  The room was filled with the more of the masked men, all surrounding a large rack in the middle of the room. It was plywood and tilted up for all to see, someone in the back tightening its gears every few moments to make the ropes binding its occupant in place grow tighter and tighter.