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    Fraidy Cat Quarterly: Volume 3
    Fraidy Cat Quarterly: Volume 3
    Fraidy Cat Quarterly: Volume 3
    Ebook140 pages1 hour

    Fraidy Cat Quarterly: Volume 3

    By Robert Helfst

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    About this ebook

    Fraidy Cat Press is proud to present Fraidy Cat Quarterly Volume 3, our newest collection of indie weird and cosmic horror. Our third volume features tales of possession and obsession, of folk and religious terror. Follow our thirteen talented authors as they lead you into uncharted waters on a journey of dark

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherFraidy Cat Press
    Release dateNov 30, 2024
    ISBN9798990766853
    Fraidy Cat Quarterly: Volume 3

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      Book preview

      Fraidy Cat Quarterly - Robert Helfst

      Fraidy Cat Quarterly

      Volume Three

      Copyright © 2024 by Fraidy Cat Press, LLC

      All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the publisher, except in the case of short passages quoted in reviews. All inquiries should be addressed to [email protected]

      FIRST PRINTING, NOVEMBER 2024

      The stories contained in this anthology are works of fiction. Any resemblance to real events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and not intended by the author. No generative AI was used in the production or editing of this work.

      Softcover ISBN: 979-8-9907668-4-6

      eBook ISBN: 979-8-9907668-5-3

      Edited by Robert Helfst

      Cover Design by Lillian Helfst

      Formatting by Robert Helfst

      Cover Image: Unsplash

      FRAIDY CAT PRESS | Indianapolis, IN

      www.fraidycatpress.com

      CONTENTS

      INTRODUCTION

      Robert Helfst

      PRIZE CATCH

      Warren Muzak

      STILL WATERS

      Colin Leonard

      WIVES’ TALES

      Sanya Dimova

      SPIT AND PRAYERS

      Jim Horlock

      A NEW EDEN

      Chris W. McGuinness

      ORANGE

      Matias Travieso-Diaz

      DEMIURGAIA THE GOD-MAKER

      Akis Linardos

      UNWRAPPED

      Ryan Marie Ketterer

      HOUSE GUEST

      Martha Hipley

      OLD PRAIRIE HOME

      CJ Erick

      WHAT IT IS TO CREATE

      Joe Butler

      THE FOREST HAS EYES

      Alexa Donley

      A WHISPER IN THE WALLS

      Chad Gayle

      WITH NO LIGAMENTS

      Odin Meadows

      ABOUT THE CONTRIBUTORS

      ABOUT THE EDITORS

      INTRODUCTION

      Robert Helfst

      One of the greatest joys of editing has been the process of discovering common themes that emerge from our submissions. As we assembled Fraidy Cat Quarterly: Volume Three, we knew that we wanted to build a larger volume than our past releases. We also knew that we wanted this collection to be darker in theme and story than our first two volumes, to fit with the autumnal horror season.

      It was a pleasant surprise then to find these thirteen stories and one artwork that shared common themes in the ideas of folk and religious horror, in explorations of possession and obsession. Several pieces appear to be in conversation with each other, a call and response in the dark, echoing in the night.

      Our third volume also represents our largest publication to date, with 50% more authors represented and roughly 20% more pages of terror for readers to enjoy. I expect our Halloween volumes each year will continue to be supersized, a tradition I cannot wait to maintain.

      We are forever grateful to the authors and readers who trust us with their work and their time. No matter how dark and hopeless the world may seem, the dark stories in these pages and in our submissions bring us (and hopefully you, dear reader) great joy in the face of uncertainty.

      This volume is something of a trip into uncharted waters. Warren Muzak’s brilliant artwork "Prize Catch accompanies Colin Leonard’s tale of confusion and terror Still Waters. Sanya Dimova’s Wives’ Tales explores the weight of history and revenge, while Jim Horlock’s Spit and Prayers explores an oppressive community’s comeuppance. Chris W. McGuinness returns from our first volume to follow a rogue religious leader in A New Eden and Matias Travieso-Diaz showcases panic and compromise in Orange. Akis Linardos’s Demiurgaia the God-Maker explores the weight of unrealized talents while Ryan Marie Ketterer’s Unwrapped reveals strange delicacies. Martha Hipley showcases the terror of visitors in House Guest while CJ Erick explores vacant homes and dark discoveries in Old Prairie Home. Joe Butler finds release in the act of art in What It Is To Create and Alexa Donley finds horror in a familiar voice in The Forest Has Eyes. Chad Gayle shows readers the dark side of bargaining in A Whisper in the Walls and Odin Meadows finds terror in and comfort in a new house member in With No Ligaments."

      Now, back to the journey ahead. Keep paddling, dear reader. There’s something in the water.

      -Robert Helfst

      November 13, 2024

      PRIZE CATCH

      Warren Muzak

      graphite on paper, finished on Wacom Tablet in Krita

      STILL WATERS

      Colin Leonard

      First thought. Last memory. First thought. Last memory.

      Mark’s first thought when he came to was that he was bleeding. The back of his head felt warm and wet. He thought that he was bleeding and that his blood had created a massive pool, wherever it was that he lay. It had filled up so high around him that it lifted him off the ground to float in an ocean of viscous blood. He hadn’t opened his eyes yet, but that’s how it felt. And he wasn’t lying down, he was upright. But his feet didn’t touch the ground.

      There must have been an accident.

      His last memory was of kayaking with his son. Where was Chris? Had he gone for help? He was only thirteen, would he know what to do? Mark moved his arms through the liquid. If he was still in the river and had been unconscious for a while then why hadn’t he drowned? This couldn’t be the river.

      He was confused. He knew he would have to open his eyes to make sense of things but he feared being confronted by something dreadful like an ocean of his own blood. His body swayed gently, as if buffeted by soft waves. A salty spray on his lips. The sound of lapping water eventually convinced his mind to step away from the nightmare about blood.

      He opened his eyes and squinted against the sunlight and sweat and saltwater. It was a cove or an inlet of some sort, not that wide. A rocky shoreline created a rough circle around him like the mouth to a volcanic island. He wasn’t alone in the water.

      There were other people in there, spread around the area, their heads and shoulders bobbing above the waterline. He counted three of them.

      Chris?

      The water was strange. Not like the water they had been kayaking in, not like the rushing, vibrant river. This was keeping him buoyant. They must have capsized, lost their kayaks and floated away. There was something around his ankle.

      Chris? Where are you?

      One of the heads, about fifty metres away—though it was hard to judge in the water—had Chris’s wavy brown hair.

      Mark went to swim towards his son but he didn’t get far. That thing around his left ankle. It felt like he was tangled in seaweed. He kicked at the stuff with his other foot to try and free himself. It wouldn’t come away. He scrabbled at it with both hands but it was thick and tight. The water was hazy but he could see that whatever had him trapped stretched down towards the seabed.

      You won’t get it off unless you have a knife.

      The voice was distant and croaky.

      Even if you have a knife and manage to get free, they’ll come and tie you up again. Over by the rock, she’s watching us.

      Mark located the source of the voice. A head in the water about the same distance away as Chris but in the other direction. This head was very sunburnt. It had stringy white hair, wet and matted.

      I have to get to my son. He’s over there. Chris. Wake up!

      Oh, that’s your son, sympathy flooded the man’s voice.

      Chris, are you alright? It was impossible to lift his leg high enough to get at the binding with his hands, so Mark dived below the water. He struggled at the restraint, digging fingernails into the rubbery, rope-like substance until he was forced to come back up for air.

      He’s alive, your son, called out the white-haired man. I saw him move earlier. It’s a shame really. Now you’ll have to watch him die.

      Who the fuck are you? What’s happening here? Where are we?

      The man lifted his arm over his head to wave a belated greeting.

      I’m Tom. I’ve been here for eight days and I have no idea where here is. See her over there that I was talking about? he pointed towards a high, pointed rock, standing like an outpost away from the shore. There was a figure reclining on a ledge at its base, with the solemnity of a shepherd guarding their flock. She’s one of the ones who brought us here. There’s another one back at the entrance to the cave. That’s where they bring us, in the end.

      Tom! Tom, my name is Mark. That’s my son, Chris. You have to help us, Tom.

      As if alerted by his words, the figure on the rock turned and slid down into the water.

      Ha, I can’t help you. I’m in the same predicament as you. I’m tied up like a goat on a rope. There’s something about this water that keeps us floating upright, like in the Dead Sea, and they’ve lashed that sea-twine around us to keep us in place.

      The figure stayed sheltering in the shadows of the rock, as if avoiding the sunlight but it now possessed a coiled intensity, like it might dart through the water at any moment.

      Are you mad? shouted Mark. "We

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