An infamous psychiatric hospital seeks revenge. An unusual encounter on a lonely road. A tongue-in-cheek tale of Tudor executioners. And a man who dreams of selling you cheese.
For the first time ever, Evans’ short stories and poems can be found in one place. Terror, tragedy, and heartbreak with a little dark humour for flavour. Something for the monsters and misfits in us all.
Pull up a chair, wrap yourself in a blanket, dim the lights, and let’s begin.
“A diverse collection of stories and poems lovingly crafted by the capable hands of a woman who clearly knows how to invoke the fantastical, the grotesque, the humorous, and especially the macabre.”
S. Alessandro Martinez, Bram Stoker-Nominated Author
Buy it here: https://mybook.to/MonstersAndMisfits
Excerpt: Bedlam
I’ve housed the sick, the feeble, the weak, and the profane. I’ve welcomed the mad into my embrace, providing respite for their tortured minds. I have seen the worst of humanity. I am terror and fear. I am the souls of the abandoned, the abused, the unwanted. I am Bedlam.
“Ah good, you’re awake. How do you feel?” He walked over to her and took her wrist with one hand, lifting his other to view his watch.
The girl remained silent.
“Do you know where you are?” The doctor took her face in his hand and turned it back and forth, peering into her eye. “Is the bandage okay?”
She frowned. Sure enough, when she concentrated, the girl realised she was wearing a patch over one eye. Raising her hand to touch it, she was shocked when the doctor slapped it away.
“No. Don’t touch the bandage. I’ll take it off in a few days.” He smiled encouragingly. “Now, can you speak?”
“Yes.”
“Excellent. Do you know where you are?”
“Hospital.”
“Very good.” The doctor turned to leave, throwing instructions to a waiting nurse as he left the room. The door closed behind him, and the girl was left alone again. As she lay back down on her bed and closed her eyes, she wondered how she’d been able to see everything perfectly with both eyes, despite the bandage.
The doctor stopped by every day, leaving instructions for the nurses as to the girl’s care. After a few days, the bandage over her eye came off.
“There you go, how does that feel?”
The girl blinked and looked around the room. “Fine.”
“Good. One more day and we’re sending you home.” The doctor smiled widely. “You’ve done very well.” He turned to the ever-waiting nurse at the door. “Incontinence has ceased?”
“Yes, Doctor.”
“Then yes, we’ll send our patient home tomorrow.”
“But Doctor, the seizures…”
He cut the nurse off. “Will stop with time, thank you Nurse.” A glare reinforced his words. It was still there when the doctor turned his gaze back to the girl. She saw his focus, the facade he wore of caring physician, hiding his fear and relief that everything had worked. This time.
My sweet, my dear, let me sing you to peace.
I hummed a song I’d heard centuries ago. An old woman, chained to my walls for nearly a decade, sang it to comfort herself. Before long, it was no longer a comfort but a compulsion.
Jesu Cristes milde moder
Stud, biheld hire sone o rode
That he was ipined on.
The sone heng, the moder stud
And biheld hire childes blud,
The girl didn’t understand the words but fell asleep before my song was finished. I watched over her while she slept.
“What’s wrong with her eyes?” The mother walked around the girl, looking her up and down, before resting her critical gaze on her daughter’s face.
The doctor leaned over and stared into the girl’s eyes. “That shine? It’s nothing. It’ll fade. A result of the treatment.”
The girl knew the truth.
When she arrived home, she was sent to bed immediately. More rest was needed, the mother delivered authoritatively.
“I trust you’ll do as I ask and keep to your room.” The parent’s had a bridge game that evening and the mother still hadn’t picked out the ‘right’ outfit. The father’s suit had already been chosen for him.
The girl heard the lock slide into place, a new precaution the parents had insisted on. Lying on her bed, smelling the familiar scents of the washing powder the mother used, the layer of perfume, and long-dead candle, she felt a tremor deep within herself. A nudge.
The seizure hit, wracking her body, stretching and wrenching every muscle at once. The girl’s eyes rolled back, and a million sparks of light assaulted her. Just as it seemed her frame could take no more, suddenly it was over. The girl sank heavily back into the bed, unconscious.
I didn’t want to hurt her, but I needed to get a better idea of my surroundings. I’d only done this twice before in my long history, both with questionable results. This time would be different. The girl was willing.
Copyright K Evans
Kelly Evans - Author 