Bruce Savage Horror Ultimate E-Book Collection

THE STORIES

Psycho

Bruce Savage

Copyright 2015 Brucesavage.com

All Rights Reserved.

ISBN-13: 978-1517789015

Short Scary Stories

Bruce Savage

Copyright 2015 Brucesavage.com

All Rights Reserved.

ISBN-13: 978-1517789237

More Short Scary Stories

Bruce Savage

Copyright 2016 Brucesavage.com

All Rights Reserved.

ISBN: 978-1521898871

Table of Contents

The Stories

Table of Contents

About Bruce Savage

Books by Bruce Savage

Psycho

Forward

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty One

Chapter Twenty Two

Chapter Twenty Three

Chapter Twenty Four

Chapter Twenty Five

Chapter Twenty Six

Chapter Twenty Seven

Chapter Twenty Eight

Chapter Twenty Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty One

Chapter Thirty Two

Chapter Thirty Three

Chapter Thirty Four

Chapter Thirty Five

Chapter Thirty Six

Chapter Thirty Seven

Chapter Thirty Eight

Chapter Thirty Nine

Chapter Forty

Chapter Forty One

Chapter Forty Two

Chapter Forty Three

Chapter Forty Four

Chapter Forty Five

Chapter Forty Six

Chapter Forty Seven

Chapter Forty Eight

Chapter Forty Nine

Chapter Fifty

Chapter Fifty One

Chapter Fifty Two

Chapter Fifty Three

Chapter Fifty Four

Chapter Fifty Five

Chapter Fifty Six

Chapter Fifty Seven

Short Scary Stories

Dedication

The Hunger

The Glass Casket

A Miserable Death for Simon Small

The Death Note

The Mirror Effect

7 Days in Hell

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

More Short Scary Stories

The Mask Maker

Donations Welcome

The Cave

Last Rights

After Life

Dead or Alive

3 Finger Willie

The Town of Lost Souls

Black Jack

The Visitor

Get out alive

The Black Cat

The Blackout

From the Author

Wait!

Author’s Note

These books are a work of fiction. Names, characters, 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.

The scanning, uploading and distribution of this book via the internet or any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

Contact Bruce Savage via email at

bruce@brucesavage.com

About Bruce Savage

Bruce Savage was born in Lewiston, Maine in 1967, the youngest son of 16 brother’s and sister’s to Winfield Strout and Blanche Strout. He published his first successful work when he was 10 years old in Boy’s Life magazine. The publication paid him $1 for a joke he wrote. So excited about his accomplishment and seeing his name published he pursued the art of writing for the next 40 years. In 1984 he enlisted in the United States Army and served his country in Germany. In 1999 he graduated from Columbia Southern University with a Bachelor’s in Computer Science and Information Systems. He held several positions with several fortune 500 companies until 2002 when he dove head first and full time into the world of writing and publishing. Since then he has produced 11 novels and counting. Casualties of War was his first novel followed by Psycho.

He is currently working on many other novels that will be available soon as well as the screenplay for Russian Games. He currently lives in Florida and the Philippines with his wife Julie and his daughter. He frequently enjoys making donations and contributions to ending poverty and supporting those less fortunate and he is an avid animal rights supporter.

Books by Bruce Savage

The Novels:

GODS ASSASSIN

NO MERCY FOR THE DEAD

EUROPA'S CHILD

RUSSIAN GAMES

QUEST FOR THE TABLET

ORIGIN

SHORT SCARY STORIES

PSYCHO

CASUALTIES OF WAR

For previews and information about the author:

Visit www.brucesavage.com.

PSYCHO

Bruce Savage

Forward

Encephalitis Lethargica or von Economo disease is an atypical form of encephalitis. Also known as sleepy sickness or as sleeping sickness (though different from the sleeping sickness transmitted by the tsetse fly), it was first described by the neurologist Constantin von Economo in 1917. The disease attacks the brain, leaving some victims in a statue-like condition, speechless and motionless. Between 1915 and 1926, an epidemic of encephalitis Lethargica spread around the world; no recurrence of the epidemic has since been reported, though isolated cases continue to occur.

Chapter 1

James Lee Psychiatric Hospital

Raleigh, NC.

Dr. William Stephens sat at his desk reviewing patient records when his phone rang. It was late Friday afternoon and almost five o’clock. He had been there for the last twenty-four hours pulling a triple shift with only moments for a break and just wanted to go home when his phone rang-yet again. What the hell could it be this time? Another food fight in the cafeteria between the paranoid schizophrenics and the manic depressives? Perhaps one of psychotic patients is running loose through the hospital and hacking away at the staff with a meat cleaver from the kitchen? Whatever the emergency was he was the doctor on staff and he needed to answer the phone and find out who needed him now. No matter how tired he was. He quickly reached over and picked up the phone before it was allowed once again to ring and send a bolt of excruciating pain through his sleep deprived brain.

Stephens, what is it? Dr. Stephens said gruffly as he answered the phone.

You need to get down here quickly doctor! The excited voice of head Nurse Albright sounded in Dr. Stephens ear.

What is it this time? Dr. Stephens asked massaging his temple in an attempt to prepare for another headache.

Your patient is speaking! Came the reply.

He’s speaking? It’s working! The treatment is working! I’m on my way. Make sure you record everything he says. Everything! Dr. Stephens excitedly replied.

That’s not going to be hard to do doctor. He’s repeating the same thing over and over again.

What’s he saying? Dr. Stephens asked.

I remember now. I remember now. That’s all he keeps saying over and over again Dr. Stephens.

I remember now? What could he be remembering? Get in touch with that sheriff over in Roanoke. He wanted to be notified if there was any change in the patient. I’m on my way. Dr. Stephens replied and hung up the phone and headed for his office door grabbing his white lab coat as he rushed to see a patient he had a deep interest in. This patient could win him the cover spot on the New England Journal of Medicine if he is right about the treatment and experimental drugs that he had been giving him.

Chapter 2

Roanoke Island, North Carolina

I want my fucking money! John Canton hollered at Timothy Wing. He sold the fishing boat to Timothy. A 40-foot rusted, leaking, had seen better days of a fishing boat along with various fishing equipment and nets for the sum of $50,000. It was a done deal. Timothy had given his word that the boat and equipment would be paid off within two years or he could take the boat back- more like would take the boat back. But Timothy's luck at fishing was about the same as his luck with women- Shitty.

He was a divorcee, well unofficially. His wife took off with another man. No one has seen or heard from either of them since then.

Timothy had agreed to make the payments on time. Once every month until the boat was paid off. Unfortunately, the amount of fish he had been catching hadn’t been enough to keep up with the payments, as well as his own expenses.

If you don’t have the money you owe me by Friday. I’m taking the boat back. John said sticking his finger in Timothy’s face.

I don’t have time for this shit or your damn excuses. Get me my money or that’s it!

You’ll get your money dam ‘it! I’m doing the best I can. The catches haven’t been that large. It’s not my fucking fault. Timothy replied. His face was covered with sweat. The hangover he was working off wasn’t helping him resolve the problem.

You have till Friday. That’s it no more! John said turning and walking away. He got into his truck and lit up the tires spraying dirt and rocks in Timothy’s direction.

FUCKING ASSHOLE! Timothy screamed as the 79’ Ford pickup sped out of view. He turned and walked back to his house. At least that was paid for. At least his father left him something useful in his will. It was one of Roanoke’s historical landmarks. Built in the late 1600’s by colonist. Beautiful then, but now desperately needing of up keep. A new roof. Paint all around. Hell a new everything!

As he got to the front porch his yellow lab started to bark at him. He turned his anger from his argument with John Canton to his dog.

SHUT THE FUCK UP ROCK! You worthless mutt! I ought ‘a put you on a hook and use you for bait. Maybe then I’ll catch some fish. Rock stopped barking and backed up and then went back to lying down on the porch. He quietly positioned himself between a rusted lawn chair and the railing. Never taking his eyes off of Timothy for a moment. He knew from past experience not to anger him. Rock knew that when Timothy was like this it was best to just stay away and stay quiet. Timothy took hold of the front door knob and threw open the door then slammed it behind him as he walked in.

Fuck! How am I supposed to get Canton's money by Friday? Timothy screamed out loud.

I’m screwed! I am so fucking screwed! He said picking up the bottle of Jack Daniel’s that was half full sitting on the kitchen table.

Well, at least I still have you my friend. There’s no better friend then Jack. He said as he unscrewed the cap and put the bottle to his lips and guzzled down a good portion of the contents. His drinking had escalated since his wife left almost a year before. Almost to the point where he was too drunk to get up in the morning and go fishing. Many a morning was spent with him puking his guts out over the side of his boat.

He had become the talk of the island, the brunt of people’s jokes, and the main topic of gossip at the local diner the Korn Hut. That was where the locals would go and talk. His wife Cindy had run off with a writer who stayed on the island for a short while. She became captivated with him the moment she met him. All he had done was tell her about the book he was writing about the legend of the missing colonist of Roanoke and that was that. She was his! Anything would have captivated her. Hell, a tourist asking for directions to the aquarium would have done it.

She was tired of the island and wanted adventure and he was it. Years of marriage had ended with a writer and a promise of adventure. This stuck a knife deep into Timothy’s heart and gave him a good reason to hate writers. Years of trying to please her and give and get her what she wanted. Promises made, but never kept because of his shit luck.

Well hey! You know what Jack? He spoke to the bottle of whiskey he held in his hand.

Fuck’em all! I don’t need her. I don’t need that fucking piece of shit boat. All I need is you good buddy. He put the bottle of whiskey to his lips again and took another drink then slowly staggered into the living room and planted himself down in an old tattered recliner still holding the bottle of whiskey in one hand. Never letting it go or spilling a drop. He looked over to the end table next to him and picked up the picture of his ex-wife.

Fuck you! For better or worse. Till death do us part! I hope you’re happy with Mr. Dictionary. FUCK YOU! He hollered at the picture and in a fit of anger threw the picture against the wall. The picture slammed into the wall and glass from the frame shattered and sprayed about the living room. He calmed down for a moment and gave out a quiet laugh and then took another drink from the bottle.

And then another…

And another…

Until the bottle was empty...

Until he passed out...

For the moment the tempest was at bay.

Chapter 3

Ralph Lane impatiently looked out his windshield at the traffic ahead of him.

Cars, trucks, buses. Cars, trucks, buses. he said to himself over and over again as he sat patiently waiting for traffic to finally move.

I just had to buy a gas guzzler didn’t I? We just had to move to Boston? He said to his wife Eleanor who sat quietly in the passenger’s seat of the Ford Explorer reading her husband's latest manuscript.

Huh?

What?

What did you say honey? Eleanor said as she turned her attention from the manuscript to her husband.

I said…I had to buy this frig’gin gas guzzler? Didn’t I? With all this damn traffic, every damn day. We had to pick this vehicle. Might as well of just handed over my credit card and wallet to the gas station attendant.

We? I told you not to buy the damn thing. But you wanted it because of the stupid toys. 'Tricked out' I believe was your exact words. Eleanor chimed.

And moving to Boston wasn’t such a bad idea. Boston is a perfect place to live and further your career.

Well, I should have listened to you. Ralph replied.

The next time I promise; I’ll listen to you.

Yup, Whatever Ralph. Eleanor said shortly then turned another page of the manuscript. She knew that this conversation would happen again. Just like it always did. Whenever Ralph spent money he always put aside what was practical for what sparkled and glittered. If it had a button or a flashing light, he bought it- especially collectable model cars. Their apartment was filled with gadgets that he only used once and then lost interest in. A virtual gadget pack rat she would call him.

Finally! Thank you traffic gods. We’re finally moving again. Ralph said letting out a sigh of relief. They were heading home after attending a writer’s convention at the Fleet center. It was a necessary trek he and his wife would make from time to time to help push his latest book and hob knob with publishers, other writers and agents and get the latest scoop on what was happening in the literary world. He was a descent writer having made it to the New York Times bestseller’s list twice now. Not number one yet, but the ball was rolling. Sooner or later he would be there at the top. It was only a matter of time and the right story to put him there.

In a few short minutes Eleanor and Ralph would be home. Home sweet home. A quiet little apartment on the West Side of Boston-rent controlled. It was what they were looking for when Ralph decided that they should move from Maine to Boston. One of Ralph’s friends from college had lived there before them and passed the apartment on to them before moving out to Los Angeles. It was a great deal at $2,000 a month. They had their own parking space and a terrace with a wonderful view of the city.

Waiting for them at home would be a message on their answering machine. A message that would affect the rest of their lives.

Chapter 4

Sheriff White and Deputy Pratt stood looking down at the ground on the side of the road on Route 12 trying to come to a conclusion.

What do you think it is Derrick? Deputy Jim Pratt asked as they both stood in the muddy ditch along Route 12 starring at the mangled corpse of what appeared to be some kind of animal.

Whatever it is, it sure as hell wasn’t hit by a car. Sheriff White said pulling back his baseball cap and taking off his sunglasses.

I can guarantee that whatever this use to be, wasn’t hit by no car. He kneeled down to take a closer look at the mangled carcass and took out his pen. Gently he folded back a clump of blood soaked fur. Uncovering what appeared to be marks left by a sharp instrument.

You see-you see- right there! What I’d tell you Jimmy. Those marks had to be made with a knife or an axe. Sheriff White said pointing with his pen at the slits on the body of the carcass.

Who the hell would do such a thing to an animal? Deputy Pratt said looking away from the corpse. He could feel his stomach starting to churn and he knew what was coming- if he kept looking.

I have no idea Jimmy. Go get the trash bag out of the trunk of the cruiser. I’m gonna take this over to Doc Clinton’s place and see if she can tell us what the hell it is and what happened. The Sheriff said.

Jimmy did what he was told. He wanted to. Just to get away from whatever that mangled mutilated mess was. This was part of the job he disliked the most. Having to deal with death and having to see it. Car accidents with twisted mangled bodies. Fires with burned corpses and murders with mutilated victims were more than he could stomach. The Deputies stomach was churning harder by the time he reached the top of the embankment.

Almost at volcano level now, aye Jimbo! The voice in his head echoed.

Three-two-one and we have ignition. Before he could get the keys to the trunk of the cruiser off of his belt chunks of vomit shot from his mouth. He could feel bile burning his nostrils.

Oh, God! He cried out.

Are you gonna be all right Jimmy? Sheriff White hollered to him from below.

Goddamn! If I ain’t never seen anyone puke as easily as you. Sheriff White said climbing his way up the embankment.

Go sit in the cruiser Jimmy. I’ll take care of this. Damn it! You threw up all over the frig’gin trunk. Sheriff White said taking off his hat looking at the trunk of the cruiser.

I’m sorry Sheriff. I just see something like that and it just hit’s me. Jimmy replied. His face had turned pale. He took out his handkerchief and wiped his face and mouth.

Just go sit in the cruiser. Sheriff White said. He put his key into the lock of the trunk and reached inside and pulled out a trash bag. Jimmy sat in the cruiser looking at him feeling embarrassed and inferior until the Sheriff disappeared for a few moments and then he could see him carrying the trash bag with the mangled corpse back up. He could see the Sheriff was breathing heavy. At the Sheriff’s age being in shape was the least of his concerns. After a moment of struggling to position the carcass in the trunk the Sheriff slammed the trunk shut. The driver’s side door opened up and the Sheriff climbed into the cruiser.

You feeling any better now? The Sheriff asked still breathing heavy.

A little bit. I’m sorry Sheriff. Jimmy said apologizing again.

I know you don’t have the same stomach as a lot of people. But you’re cleaning that mess off the car when we get back to the station.

Not a problem. Jimmy said. The Sheriff started the car and then they headed for Doc Clinton’s place the local Veterinarian on Roanoke Island. The only vet on the island. She would be able to tell them what the animal was and what happened to it. If a car didn’t hit it then why would someone mutilate an animal like this? Most importantly is- was this the end or the beginning of their killing spree?

Chapter 5

Eleanor Lane fumbled with the keys to the apartment as her husband Ralph stood behind her waiting patiently for her to open the door. From the corner of Ralph’s eye, he could see that they were being watched again.

Why does she always do that? Ralph said to his wife.

What are you talking about?

Mrs. Pickney down the hall. Why does she always open her door and look at us every time we come home or leave?

I don’t know. Maybe she’s just a nosy old lady. Like I’ll be someday. Eleanor replied with a smile. She unlocked the door to their apartment and stepped in. Ralph followed but stopped for a moment to stick out his tongue at Mrs. Pickney who was still watching them. Mrs. Pickney quickly shut her door after realizing she had been discovered.

So what will it be tonight honey? Shall I make love to you endlessly until the sun comes up or we could watch the Yankee’s kick some ass on the Red Sox? Ralph said. He gently guided his hands around his wife’s waist and softly kissed her on the neck hoping to get his wife in the mood.

Oh Ralph. Eleanor said in a playful voice as she took his hands away.

You have such a way at wooing women. Don’t you?

Well you know it’s in my genetics. I was designed to be every woman’s dream guy. Ralph replied as he moved in again in attempt to kiss his wife’s neck. Eleanor moved away sending him the message that she had other things on her mind.

Ralph got the message but ignored it determined to get his wife interested in being with him.

What is it? Come on? Ralph asked knowing there was something on his wife's mind other than love making.

I think tiger; you should check the message blinking on the answering machine. Eleanor replied removing his hands away again that had found their way around her waist.

Message? What message? Ralph said finally giving up on getting his wife in the mood. He turned around and walked to the cordless phone hanging on the wall. A light was blinking on the display.

Maybe it’s Paul? Please let it be Paul! Ralph said pushing the play button on the answering machine. The prerecorded message played.

Hi! This is Eleanor and Ralph were not home please leave a message. There was a beep- and then a man’s voice started to speak. Ralph’s prayer was answered. It was Paul Benton- Ralph’s agent.

"Ralph. It’s Paul, I need