The Web -- Unbridled Terror

[Erik Handy]

PHOTO FUELS URBAN LEGEND
A local gas station manager has what he claims is proof that ghosts exist. Surveillance cameras at the ANC Gas N Pass at the Semoran exit off I-4 captured the photo. The manager, who declined to be identified for this article, claims the camera was operating perfectly and the lens was clean. Skeptics, such as area local Burt Savoy, from the fact-finding group "Truth From Fiction," aren't impressed. "This is a still photo," Savoy said in our interview. "This is the easiest evidence to doctor. I don't believe this or any other so-called proof that suggests that section of highway is haunted." Mister Savoy is referring to reports of ghostly figures standing alongside the interstate near this gas station . . . .

The author of the pulse-pounding Hell of the Dead returns with 20,000 more words of unbridled terror!

NOW AVAILABLE for only $.99.

[Ann in Arlington]

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[Erik Handy]

As Joe walked away, Bob's attention was drawn to movement at the back of the store. It was possible that someone came in when he was talking to Joe and he just missed it. But the front door was right by the counter. One of them would've looked up and noticed someone coming in.

He let his mind piece together what he (thought) he saw:

A girl. With blond hair, he remembered. At the back of the store. Watching them through the shelves of overpriced chips and sodas. Her hair, dirty, messy. When he caught sight of her, she ducked down.

He looked at the internal security monitor tucked below the pump surveillance that kept a steady watch on the store.

No one was inside the store.

He looked back up. No sense of movement. Wait. There --

HONK!

He jerked around.

Joe was driving away, shooting a peace sign at him.

Someone was sitting in his backseat.

Joe should have been alone.

Bobby couldn't make out who the person was -- a girl with blond hair -- or if it was just an optical illusion created by the bright florescent lights and distance. Too many ghost stories, he pondered.

Maybe I'm starting to get freaked out by them.

Bob, caught up in trying to figure out if his eyes were betraying him, didn't respond to Joe's good-bye. He just thoughtlessly watched his friend drive away, up the on-ramp, and onto the darkening highway.



to be continued in The Web

[Erik Handy]

Joe got into his car. He was still unnerved by his discussion with Bobby. Even though his friend explained that the footage was exaggerated, Joe couldn't help but think that there had to be more to the picture. How could one drop of mud fly onto the camera lens in such a way as to cause all this controversy and garner all this attention? Joe didn't want to fully accept that nothing paranormal occurred. Having a fantastic explanation was more exciting than a mundane one. Life was boring without some unexplainable elements.

He backed out of his parking space and glanced into the lit store. A blond woman stood in the back of the store looking at the front. She didn't move. She seemed to just be staring at Bobby, who was at the counter looking down at something by his side.

Joe decided to one-up his bud. He got me good, he thought. How about this? Joe honked his car horn.

Bob jumped to attention.

"Gotcha," Joe said. He flashed a peace sign and drove off.

Zooming onto the interstate, he blasted the radio. There was a party awaiting him. Drink. Girls. Well, hopefully girls. He needed to let off some steam. He really didn't have a good reason to. School was a breeze this semester, but then again two classes wasn't a heavy load especially if they were fluff meant to give him some easy credits. Creative Writing and Film Appreciation. No problem. They didn't cut into his social life at all and he appreciated that. He dreaded the next semester's offerings. He'd have to step it up if he wanted to graduate before the decade was out. Maybe three classes then.

A light somewhere off the side of the road snagged his attention. Someone was out there with a flashlight in the wooded area lining the interstate. Bums, he thought.

Or ghosts.

He laughed that off. The further he got from Bob and his "ghost spot," the less chills he had, the less he believed. He was caught up in the fervor, in the mood. He wasn't going to let all that spooky talk get to him anymore.

"I've got a party to get to," he said, looking back on the road ahead.

"What?!"

A woman -- the one in the back of Bob's store -- was on his hood, squirming like a salamander up to his windshield.

The impossible sight blinded him. He couldn't connect the points in his head that this was the same woman he saw back at Bobby's store. His mind shut down, but allowed him one more action.

He twisted the steering wheel hard to the right.

His car veered off the road, slamming into the concrete barricade wall that lined the shoulder.

The wall did not give.

to be continued in The Web

[Erik Handy]

The store's delivery door opened. Franklin stepped out and looked over the scene. A dumpster that had already been searched through, a few milk crates stacked alongside the building, a wooded area beyond the station property that had been combed, all offered no new hints as to where Bobby had gone.

A motion from the corner of the building.

The two drunk, homeless men who scared Ryan, Jen, and Candy several nights prior.

They were sitting together, passing a brown-bagged can of something back and forth. They looked up at Franklin through happy eyes as the detective walked over to them.

"Morning, Occifer!" greeted the one closest to Franklin. "Closest" was several feet away. Franklin saw and smelled that they hadn't bathed in a long time. Probably the same amount of time they'd been drinking.

The other drunk chuckled.

Franklin was not amused, but he didn't lose his cool. He knew this line of questioning would result in nothing illuminating, but there was no harm in trying.

"Good to see you again," said the other drunk.

"Again?" Franklin asked, but then he realized his fellow officers already asked these two men everything he was about to. Except for maybe: "You guys see anything strange around here?"

The men shared a puzzled expression. The alcohol wasn't helping their minds in comprehending the detective's questions.

"Well," the closest drunk started. "We saw Bigfoot the other night."

"Yeah," the other agreed. "Size thirteen."

This sent the men into a laughing fit.

Franklin smiled, too. That was a funny one.

"I meant anything out of the ordinary," Franklin said. "You two from around here?"

"Nah, we ain't," the closest one replied. He jabbed his thumb in some random direction. "But we been staying at the Roadside Hilton."

"Great view of all the trash people throw out," his cohort added.

This is going nowhere, Franklin decided. Tired of the comedy routine, he turned away --

"We did see something," the cohort said.

Franklin humored the man.

The cohort looked to his friend who nodded him on to continue.

"We told your fellow boys in blue, but they didn't believe us. Hell, I don't even believe us."

Their lighthearted fun seemed to have been sucked away. The jokes were over.

The cohort suspiciously glanced around before continuing.

Franklin smiled to himself. This was going to be good. Yeah, right.

"There were these kids out in the woods the other night."

"Two nights ago," his buddy added.

"Whatever. And they was looking for ghosts."

Franklin cocked an eyebrow. "Ghosts?"

"And we saw one," the cohort said. "See, we scared them kids. Snuck up on them and . . . anyways, after we left them, we went over to where they're building those houses. We saw a woman. A young woman. Blond hair. White dress. She was just standing and then she wasn't."

"She wasn't?" Franklin asked.

The closest drunk looked off into the distance. "She disappeared right in front of our eyes."

His friend shook his head, not really believing what may have happened to him and his companion. "I still don't believe it," he said. "I didn't even blink my eyes. I kept watching her and she . . . just . . . disappeared." He took a swig from the can.

Franklin surveyed the men. Yes, they may have been drunks, but telling their story sobered them fairly quickly. They may have been drunk the night they saw -- Rose Miller? Could it be? -- their ghost.

Franklin knew that area. He heard all the stories.

He knew the truth.

Maybe that awful truth from the past was knocking on the door of the present?

Impossible, he thought. It couldn't be.

to be continued in The Web -- $.99

[Erik Handy]

Candy opened Ryan's apartment door without a problem.

That in itself was a problem.

The interior was dark and void of the place. Judging by the sparse furniture and general messiness -- empty soda cans and food wrappers strewn here and there -- of the place, its tenants were obviously busy college students. Candy wasn't there to inspect or judge the place's cleanliness.

"Hello?" she called out. "Ryan? Your door was unlocked."

The idea that someone could have broken in and robbed the place never crossed her mind. That someone could be lurking in wait for someone to come home didn't either.

She flipped the lights on, revealing the small, very used apartment. Nothing seemed out of place or in any more disarray as usual.

She went over to the computer desk in the corner of the living room. There was a stack of unopened mail she shuffled through, but there were no notes or correspondence there to indicate where Ryan could have gone.

"Ryan?" she called out again.

She checked the bedroom and kitchen and came up short.

From across the living room, she noticed a thin, black box on the computer desk that she didn't see earlier. The digital voice recorder Ryan used the other night in the woods.

She didn't want to, but she picked up the device and pressed PLAY.

From the recorder, Ryan spoke, "Ryan, Jen, Candy. July 27, 2011. 9:34 PM. Mile marker 110. Uh, woods beside mile marker 110."

Their steps in the brush could be heard. Crunch. Crunch.

"Sounded like a crash," Candy said then.

Jen, "Did you hear that, Ryan?"

"Let's roll.

"Is there anyone out here who would like to talk to us?"

A wave of nausea swept over Candy as she listened to the hiss of no reply. She didn't want to hear anymore, but she didn't turn the recorder off.

"Are you sure it's safe out here?" she asked then.

Ryan, "It's not safe --"

She fast-forwarded a bit.

"What is your name?" Ryan asked.

"Boooo."

Something then, on that part of the recording, caught Candy's attention. It was barely audible. She replayed the recording.

"Boooo."

She turned up the volume, rewound it, and played it again.

"Boooo."

She put the speaker to her ear. Played it again.

"Boo hoo." Softer. Behind what she originally heard. A male's voice. Gruff. Mocking.

Then --

A woman, faint, "Help."

Candy's eyes widened. She replayed the part.

"Boo hoo."

"Help."

A spider crawled from a hole in the mini-speaker onto Candy's hand.
 
She smacked it quickly. That fear of the bug coupled with not knowing exactly what she just heard frightened her into storming out of the apartment. She didn't care where Ryan was.

Had she paid attention, she would have seen Ryan standing in the darkened doorway of a bedroom in the apartment that she had just checked moments before. He wasn't looking at her or anything in particular. He just stood in the doorway.

A black spider crawled out of his ear.

to be continued in The Web

[Erik Handy]

The double room was half-vacant. The bed furthest from the door was hidden by a drawn curtain. The overhead bed light was on and a blond female could be barely seen motionless on the bed.

Jay stepped carefully as not to wake Candy. He just wanted to check on her, to see how peaceful she was, to verify that who he saw out in the hall wasn't her. Just a trick of my eyes, he thought as he neared his friend.

Candy's head rolled on the pillow to face him.

She's awake, he thought. Maybe it was her. "Hey," he said softly. "How ya doing?"

No response. Candy still faced him. He couldn't tell if her eyes were open; the thin curtain wouldn't allow him to see any more details.

"Candy?" he said.

No response.

Jay turned to leave when she said, "It's not fair."

He took a step toward her. "What's not fair?" he asked her.

Still facing him, she replied, "The spiders. They keep crawling and I can't get them out."

He took another step. He couldn't stop moving toward her. He wanted to be with her. He didn't dwell on the fact that he never found her attractive. He simply wanted to go to her. His throat, that sensitive flesh under his chin, began to itch.

"What spiders, Candy?"

"The ones in my head."


to be continued in The Web

[Erik Handy]

FOR FANS OF ASIAN HORROR

A stretch of interstate is rumored to be haunted by the "I-4 Ghost." For a group of curious college students, there is no question whether the "I-4 Ghost" is real or not. The question is who will she kill next as she spins her web of blind vengeance!

The author of the pulse-pounding The Malice Below returns with 20,000 more words of unbridled terror!

NOW AVAILABLE for only $.99!

[Erik Handy]

TERROR NEVER DIES

Jay was at Lacey's computer in her bedroom. He was doing more research, this time focusing on Rose Miller and the circumstances revolving around her assault. He didn't find any new information, but he kept scouring newspaper archives nonetheless.

Lacey was in the bathroom, door closed.

She stood at the sink. Hot water ran, steaming up the air, slicking the walls. She was looking down at her wrists, palm up.

She reached for the razorblade at the back of the sink. The small, cruel-looking blade was never there before now.
Her hair clung to her face where her tears had dried. That long brown hair she usually kept down and free. Here, now, it was limp. She was too exhausted to wipe her face free from it. Too exhausted to shake off the pain and isolation Rose psychically instilled in her.

Feeling whatever Rose made her feel, the pain and isolation. The spiders.

Whereas Rose felt her torture over the course of years, Lacey felt it all in one moment. She didn't realize how lucky she was to still be sane.

She looked at her haggard reflection. The mirror told the truth of her stressed face.

A flash of white.

Lacey blinked the spots away and within one blink saw a story: a man, rough-looking with an unkempt beard and a square jaw was in front of a mirror like Lacey's. His usually cold eyes were wide and full of terror. His beefy hands clutched smaller, feminine hands, which were choking him from behind. Filthy nails sank into his throat like a dagger in butter.

The face those hands belonged to was just over his shoulder, grinning madly at his reflection of dying.

The face was hers. His, Jay's.

Boo hoo, from somewhere at the base of her skull.

A flash of white.

She raised the razorblade to her ear.

The spiders inside would crawl no more.

to be continued in The Web!

[Erik Handy]

The author of the pulse-pounding Hell of the Dead returns with 20,000 more words of unbridled terror . . . The Web!

NOW AVAILABLE for only $.99!

[Erik Handy]

Jen screamed. The sound lasted only briefly as all noise became muted despite Jen's open mouth and intent.


What horror made Jen scream? Buy The Web to find out!

[Erik Handy]

The author of the pulse-pounding Hell of the Dead returns with 20,000 more words of unbridled terror . . . The Web!

NOW AVAILABLE for only $.99!

[Erik Handy]

from The Web . . . .

"So her spirit is stalking anyone who comes by?" Lacey asked him, surprised that Jay hadn't asked it first.

"Spirit?" Franklin said. "The victim? She's not dead."

Jay and Lacey couldn't muster a reply. Their minds went blank. They were out of ideas, out of possible theories and reasons for all this weirdness to be going on.

"For the last ten years," Franklin continued, "she's been  institutionalized. Her family abandoned her. She suffered a lot and when she dies, I wouldn't blame her for haunting everybody. But she's still alive."

"Did you get the guy who attacked her?" Jay asked. He didn't want to drag this out with Candy needing medical attention, but he was drawn into this web and didn't want to escape.

Franklin nodded. "Not me personally. My partners told me that the guy called and turned himself in. Our boys went to pick him up. Found him in the bathroom. He cut his own throat and bled to death"

Jay wanted to stay and listen to more, but his friend's need pulled him from the magic the detective's story weaved. Lacey just wanted to leave. Those woods seemed to be shuffling towards her. There was no wind, but she swore the branches were reaching out to her. And among those trees, she could hear voices crying out for help. And for something else.

Copyright 2011 Erik Handy

[Erik Handy]

Bullets can not stop her.

Brute violence can not stop her.

Prayers have no effect.

No one is safe once in The Web. It will ensnare them all.
 
The author of the pulse-pounding Hell of the Dead returns with 20,000 more words of unbridled terror!

[Erik Handy]

A sample if you dare . . . .

Joe's memorial shrine was lit only by the ambient light from the far away dorm and class buildings. There was enough light to see the dead flowers, the melted stumps of candles, and his sun-bleached picture, but not enough brightness to be comfortable in.

Jay and Lacey pulled up and rushed the few yards up to the shrine by the pond. Once there, Lacey tried to get Jen on her cell.

Jay looked on, waiting to see what would happen and watching for any signs of danger. At this point of night, when it was so late it was early, anything could happen. With recent events, Jay knew anything would happen.

"She's not picking up," Lacey said. "I'm getting tired of this game."

Jay held her tight, never wanting to let go. The embrace in the darkness was almost enough to protect from what paced in the night around them.

"I just want to go home," she said. She was holding herself together fairly well considering almost all her friends were either in parts unknown or in a hospital. On the way here, Jay had told her that the supposed ghost had a name. Rose Miller. That name ricocheted around her brain like a pinball in a cage. Rose Miller. Raped, beaten, and left for dead in a field. Rose Miller. "I just want to go home," she said again, hoping the words would transport her there.

"No one ever gave me a memorial."

Jay and Lacey broke their embrace, frantically searching the darkness for the source of the voice, which was loud, as if right next to them. However, the couple found no one around at all.

Copyright 2011 Erik Handy

[Erik Handy]

Chapter 1

The ANC Gas N Pass sat next to the rarely traveled off-ramp of the interstate. Its fluorescents inside and out shone like beacons in the surrounding rural darkness. Traffic from the parallel overpass nearby zoomed along occasionally, ignoring the tacky lights. The gas station was left to a snug, momentarily solitary existence.

The station was void of customers, but not people. Bobby was behind the counter shooting the [crap] with Joe. Both were young guys, college kids, just hitting their prime at this nexus of their lives.

"You can tell me," Joe told his bud. He leaned on the counter, trying to make their conversation seem private and more important than it ever could be. "Is it real?"

Bobby smiled like he knew the world's biggest secret and maybe to him it was. "It's real," he answered.

"It's [bullcrap]," Joe replied. "Looks like a mosquito flew in front of the camera."

Bobby's smile widened. "Wasn't a mosquito."

"What the hell was it?" Joe insisted. "I won't tell anyone."

Bobby considered Joe's request for the truth. He was going to let him in on it anyway. The power trip was, quite simply, fun. He was getting off on this. However, Bobby felt the urge to tell his friend the secret, if only to assert his power even more. Bobby gestured for Joe to come around to his side of the counter.

Bobby stopped the recording surveillance tape of the pumps' exterior cameras. From behind the small, black television monitor, he pulled out another video and swapped it with the current one.

"It wasn't a mosquito," Bobby said, savoring the moment, dragging it out dramatically. He pressed PLAY on the VCR. "And it wasn't a ghost. Watch the car that pulls up."

Joe watched a white station wagon pull up to a pump. Its wipers swished back and forth once and that was when the ghostly spot appeared on screen.

"I went outside afterwards," Bobby continued. "A dot of mud flew off the windshield. One in a trillion shot."

Joe couldn't believe it. He had hoped it was real, but he knew Bob too well. He was always up for a good prank. And this was great. Still, he was disappointed. "Son of a bitch," was all Joe could manage to say.

Bob shrugged as if it was no big deal, but it was. He had fooled his boss, the local news, his friends, and some believers of such paranormal [bullcrap].

Neither man said anything as Bobby switched the videos back. Finally, Joe built up the courage to ask his friend, "Even though this is fake, do you believe the road's haunted?"

“The interstate?” Bobby replied.

“Yeah.”

Bob pondered the question only briefly. He had had plenty of time to come up with his own opinion. "The interstate isn't. The area around mile marker 110 is. Or so they say. I don't believe that [crap]. People like to tell scary stories and people like to hear them." He let that hang as if it was the most profound statement ever.

Joe had no retort, but he did have a case of the chills. "All right, man," he managed. All this talk of ghosts was getting to him. He tried to shake his frigidity off. "I'm heading out."

Copyright 2011 Erik Handy

[Erik Handy]

a sample if you dare . . . .

Lacey came to, slowly. She was belly-down, face in the dirt.

Kick to her face.

Jay's foot.

Her boyfriend loomed over her, eyes on her, nothing behind those eyes. He acted as if he was being controlled by some external force or some enforced memory. This was what he was supposed to do. At this time. In this place. To this woman.

He kicked Lacey again.

Her nose broke, bled.

She didn't have the strength to defend herself or to think. "No. Please. No more," was all she could muster.

Jay shoved the tip of his shoe into her ribs, knocking the wind from her.

Lacey looked up, a struggle in itself, and saw Rose -- definitely that bitch -- whispering in Jay's ear, blocking the exchange from Lacey's gaze with her hand.

"I like your butt" was one of the first things Jay said to Lacey after they first met in their Creative Writing class.

She had blushed, but wasn't offended. "I like your butt, too," she replied, laughing.

She couldn't remember where they went on their first date or what happened then. Even if her head wasn't exploding with a loud thud or her guts weren't feeling pureed, she doubted she could recall those precious events. The physical abuse Jay was dealing her wasn't the only cause for her scrambled brains. Her head felt like someone had their hand in it and he or she was swirling gray matter around like stew in a pot.

"Help," she wanted to croak. A woman or young girl viciously laughed at the base of her skull. Sharp, hot breath threatened to scald Lacey's neck. The laugh threatened to break Lacey's last mental defenses.

Lacey coughed up a wad of blood that just glooped over her chin and stayed there.

"One more," Rose softly laid into Jay's eager ear.

Jay stomped Lacey's head.

Lacey lost consciousness for a few seconds, but she couldn't keep track of time down here. During this time, Jay retrieved the shovel that dealt the initial blow that dropped his girlfriend.

Rose was in the thick of it, watching curiously at Lacey and the effects of the beating.

Lacey spotted her, then passed out again briefly. When she came to, she asked Rose, "Why?"

Rose knelt down so Lacey could hear her without any problems. Spiders crawled wildly in and out of Rose's ear and she paid them no mind.

"All flowers are pretty reminders that we all die," Rose said.

[Erik Handy]

A sample . . . .

The double room was half-vacant. The bed furthest from the door was hidden by a drawn curtain. The overhead bed light was on and a blond female could be barely seen motionless on the bed.

Jay stepped carefully as not to wake Candy. He just wanted to check on her, to see how peaceful she was, to verify that who he saw out in the hall wasn't her. Just a trick of my eyes, he thought as he neared his friend.

Candy's head rolled on the pillow to face him.

She's awake, he thought. Maybe it was her. "Hey," he said softly. "How ya doing?"

No response. Candy still faced him. He couldn't tell if her eyes were open; the thin curtain wouldn't allow him to see any more details.

"Candy?" he said.

No response.

Jay turned to leave when she said, "It's not fair."

He took a step toward her. "What's not fair?" he asked her.

Still facing him, she replied, "The spiders. They keep crawling and I can't get them out."

He took another step. He couldn't stop moving toward her. He wanted to be with her. He didn't dwell on the fact that he never found her attractive. He simply wanted to go to her, hold her, put his dick inside her, and [expletive] her til she bled dry and cried for her mommy. His throat, that sensitive flesh under his chin, began to itch.

"What spiders, Candy?"

"The ones in my head."

[Erik Handy]

Interstate Four. A major thoroughfare for the living . . . and the dead!  

Drivers who've witnessed the appearance of this "I-4 Ghost" claim to have seen a young woman in a white dress standing along the highway. Photographic evidence yields only blurs of light where she stands. Skeptics scoff at the very notion of such a roadside phenomenon.

For a group of curious college students, there is no question whether the "I-4 Ghost" is real or not. The question is who will she kill next as she spins her web of blind vengeance!

A police detective investigates the disappearances of the co-eds and soon finds himself a target of the supernatural murderess. He soon discovers that there is no end to the terror the spirit weaves.
 
Bullets can not stop her. Prayers have no effect. No one is safe once in The Web. It will ensnare them all.
 
There is no escape from The Web!

NOW AVAILABLE for only $.99!

[Erik Handy]

Bullets can not stop her. Brute violence can not stop her. Prayers have no effect. No one is safe once in The Web. It will ensnare them all.
 
There is no escape from The Web!

NOW AVAILABLE for only $.99.

[Erik Handy]

The author of the pulse-pounding Hell of the Dead returns with 20,000 more words of unbridled terror . . . The Web!

A stretch of interstate is rumored to be haunted by the "I-4 Ghost." For a group of curious college students, there is no question whether the "I-4 Ghost" is real or not. The question is who will she kill next as she spins her web of blind vengeance!

NOW AVAILABLE for only $.99!

Link below in signature.

[Erik Handy]

NEW COVER!

[Erik Handy]

Bullets can not stop her.

Brute violence can not stop her.

Prayers have no effect.

No one is safe once in The Web.

NOW AVAILABLE for only $.99.

[Erik Handy]

A ghost has been haunting a stretch of I-4 for decades. Photographic evidence yields only blurs of light where witnesses claim to have seen the female spectre along the highway. Skeptics scoff at the very notion of such a roadside phenomenon.

For a group of curious college students, there is no question if the "I-4 Ghost" is real or not. The question is who she will kill next as she spins a web of blind vengeance.

A police detective investigates the disappearances of the co-eds and is soon a target of the supernatural murderer. But the mere solution of the puzzle is no end to the terror this spirit weaves.

Bullets can not stop her. Brute violence can not stop her. Prayers have no effect. No one is safe once in The Web. It will ensnare them all.

There is no escape from The Web!

[Erik Handy]

EXCLUSIVELY FOR THE KINDLE!

Bullets can not stop her. Prayers have no effect. No one is safe once in The Web. It will ensnare them all.

Click here if you dare to tackle The Web ---> http://www.amazon.com/The-Web-ebook/dp/B004KAAWLI/ref=sr_1_3?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1295874343&sr=1-3