Illusions of Happiness , livre ebook

4 Horsemen Publications, Inc. - Erika Lance

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74 pages

English

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Description

Not every story has a happy ending.

Do you believe you can trust your own thoughts? What about your dreams? What of your desires? After all, isn't happiness just an illusion?

Come and take a peek behind several lives with twists, turns, and broken bones.

This creepy collection of stories will keep you awake at night, wondering what truly lurks in the shadow of your mind.

Sujets

Policier & Thriller

Thriller

Paranormal

Fiction

Hurlements 2

Horror

Informations

Publié par	4 Horsemen Publications, Inc.
Date de parution	26 octobre 2020
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9781644502907
Langue	English
Poids de l'ouvrage	1 Mo

Informations légales : prix de location à la page 0,0250€. Cette information est donnée uniquement à titre indicatif conformément à la législation en vigueur.

Extrait

Illusions of H appiness
Copyright © 2020 Erika Lance. All rights r eserved.

4 Horsemen Publicatio ns, Inc.
1497 Main St. S uite 169
Dunedin, FL 34698
4horsemenpublicat ions.com
info@4horsemenpublicat ions.com
Cover & Typesetting by Battle Goddess Pro ductions
Edited by Vaness Valiente
All rights to the work within are reserved to the author and publisher. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise, except as permitted under Section 107 or 108 of the 1976 International Copyright Act, without prior written permission except in brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. Please contact either the Publisher or Author to gain per mission.
This is a work of fiction. All characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used ficti tiously.
Ebook ISBN: 978-1-644 50-290-7
Print ISBN: 978-1-644 50-110-8

Dedication
To Val – It’s a good thing you a re pretty.
Not every story has a hap py ending…
H ere, my friends, is a collection of my short stories. Each one has a name, literally of a character contained within. I do hope you are ready for chills, scares and possibly having to stop reading when something goes bump in the night.
I hope you enjoy.

JIMMY
Part 1
T he sound of beeping began to penetrate Mike’s dream. The noise was faint at first, like it was in the distance, but as it continued it became louder. He felt in his dream he should be able turn it off, but there was another beep, this time louder than the last.
Before opening his eyes, he reached his hand over to where his alarm clock should be. He knew he could hit the snooze button three times before he had to actually open his eyes. As he moved his arm, he was only able to raise it four inches off the bed before something stopped him. He tried to pull his hand to him and again he met r esistance.
Don’t panic, he tol d himself.
He took several deep breaths as his eyes opened, adjusting to his surroundings. He looked down at his wrist. There was a canvas strap attached to a padded cuff around it. Glancing further down, he saw that it was attached to the rail.
What? His bed didn’t ha ve a rail.
A sharp pain shot though his stomach as he attempted to sit, almost panicking when he felt a stabbing pain on the right side of his head as he fell back into t he pillow.
As he lay back down, his mom stood over him.
“Slowly, sweetie,” she said with a smile, her voice sounding a bit hoarse. “You’re still a lit tle weak.”
He looked into her eyes, realizing she had been crying. Her hair was pulled back into the ponytail she wore around the house when she was cleaning or relaxing. She never went out like that.
“Where am I?” he heard his own voice crack, his throat burning with each word.
“You’re in the hospital,” his mom said as she brought a straw to his parched lips. He took a sip. The cold water shocked his system and he began to cough. He tried again to bring his hand to cover his mouth a nd failed.
“Hospital?” he heard himself ask between coughs, as if it was a complete question.
He saw his mother’s face shift. It was so subtle, but he had become familiar with it in the last few years. She was worried. She looked at him, her lips parted as if she wanted to say something, but as quickly as her mouth opened, it clo sed again.
She offered him another sip from the straw. He took it, then she placed the cup down and took his hand. “Mike, baby, do you remember anything from the other night?” Her voice was almost a whisper as she looked down at his hand, refusing to meet his gaze.
He closed his eyes, trying to remember what led him here. He remembered school; he remembered coming home. It’s just…a jumble of pictures.
He tried to think if he had been in a car. Had he been in an accident? Had he been driving somewhere?
Then his stomach cramped and he tried to jerk his hand away. His mom’s hand just tightened around his, as if she thought that would somehow offer support as the memories came floo ding back.
“I don’t….” he began out loud and then his voice tr ailed off.
He had been sitting in his room, reading the page he’d just written in hi s journal.
He remembered the note he had written t o his mom.
He opened his eyes and looked into his mother’s hazel ones staring back at him, tears streaking down her face. He realized he had ones to match.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I am so sorry, Mikey. I am so, so, sorry. I didn’t understand. I didn’t realize…”
He closed his eyes again, turning his head from hers as she tried to co mfort him.
I remember now. He had taken the entire bottle of pills, the ones for his “depression,” with a bottle of wine he had stolen from hi s parents.
He lay there on the bed, turned as far as the restraints would allow him, listening to the monitors, his mother’s sobs, and her soft voice trying to comfort him, numb.
After several minutes he heard a door open and looked up to see who had entered. He attempted to bring his hand up to his face again. It was his father, who looked as if he hadn’t slept in days. Following him was a man in a lab coat Mike could only assume was a doctor.
“Mike, you’re awake,” his father said a nd smiled.
He attempted a weak smile back at his father but all he could manage was a grimace as a wave of pain returned to hi s stomach.
After the spasm stopped the doctor asked him, “How are you feeling?”
“Sore,” was his only reply. How do I look like I am feeling? He thought as the doctor continued gazi ng at him.
The doctor smiled at him again and said, “You’re a lucky kid. If your mom hadn’t found you when she did you might not be wit h us now.”
As usual, Mike couldn’t say what he was thinking; he wanted to scream that he didn’t feel lucky at all and he wished his mom hadn’t found him, that the tears he cried were not due to being sad but were because he failed.
“Lucky I guess,” was al l he said.
The doctor told him that he had been in the hospital for three days and that he had been in a coma because his heart had stopped. That Mike had, in fact, been dead for several minutes. Mike realized the last part the doctor had stated, not to explain the gravity of his health situation, but to scare him. It didn’t. Mike assumed death was most likely less painful than what he was going th rough now.
As the doctor continued to speak, he began to hear less and less of what was being said. He nodded his head and said the obligatory “uh-huhs” when there were pauses and started to look around the room he was in. To his right there was a small table with some cards, flowers, and balloons. There was even a teddy bear, no doubt from his family. He didn’t have an y friends.
He glanced to his left, nodding when he heard a questioning tone in the doctor’s voice and realized there was a curtain pulled to the edge of his bed. His wasn’t the only bed in the room. J ust great.
Because the curtain was drawn, he couldn’t see if it were occupied. As he turned his head back to the right to see if the doctor was almost finished, he had another sudden sharp pain on the right side of his head. Instinctively he reached for the area but the canvas straps still held him in place. Frustrated his pushed his head back into t he pillow.
His mom jumped to his side and began to say, “Mike, don’t touch it, it needs to adjust …” but she was cut off by the Doctor who said, “Michael, you fell and hit your head on the desk in your room. There was a nasty cut that required several stitches. If it is hurting, we can give you a little something for the pain.”
“When can I get these off?” Mike said as he held up his hands to gesture to the r estraints.
“Soon. We just need to ensure you won’t try to hurt yourself again,” the doctor replied. This created a slightly awkwar d silence.
Taking some cue the doctor continued to speak with the same innocuous smile he had shown before. “Now that you’re awake we can begin your therapy sessions as soon as tomorrow if you would like, and we shall see from there. So und good?”
“Great,” was all Mike could say.
“We’re going to let you get some rest now. We will talk some more soon,” the doctor added as he injected something into the IV in M ike’s arm.
Any thoughts of protesting were moot as he realized it must have been pain medication for his head, it made him instantly drowsy. As his eyes began to close, he heard muffled talking. Something about an introduction happening and then the words became subdued. All Mike could think about was how great another therapist would be. He hated therapy he thought and fell into blackness.
Part 2
He couldn’t tell how long he slept, but it must now be morning because the room seemed brighter from behind his closed lids than it was before. He listened to see if his parents were still in the room before opening his eyes. He heard the hums and beeps of the machines and nothing else. His eyes cra cked open.
Out of habit he tried