The World of Pretty Colors Read online

  The Short and Scary Series

  Third Story

  The World of Pretty Colors

  By Cathy Pace Matthews

  Copyright 2019 by Cathy Matthews

  Published at Smashwords

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an addition copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  This book is a work of fiction. Any similarities to anyone, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Content

  Short story – The World of Pretty Colors

  About the Author

  Books by Cathy Pace Matthews

  Introduction to Blood Lines, The Curse – Chapter 2

  Connect with Cathy

  The World of Pretty Colors

  I woke with another headache this morning. I hate that. It means it will be another one of those days. Usually when someone makes that remark it means another bad day at work, another lousy one with the family, or just a shitty day all together. Not me. When I say that it takes on a whole other meaning. It takes on a far darker meaning. It means a day where I slip from this world into that other darker world. Oh, you’ve heard the remark, ‘all the colors are pretty in my world.’ Well I’m here to tell you, they’re not.

  Yes, the beautiful brilliant colors are there and they are alluring, but they hide a darkness underneath you can’t begin to imagine. Something so dark and malevolent that you can’t begin to comprehend the scope of such evil. It slowly rises up to gradually envelope you. You will not be aware of the darkness until it’s too late. It drags you down into a world of madness and horror. I know, I go there regularly.

  The first time I was pulled into that world, I loved it. It was all that could you hope it would be, and more. A fairytale fantasyland that reached out to embrace you in a warmth and beauty that brings you comfort and peace, at first. Everything looked so perfect, so clean, and so miraculous. You traverse a landscape unlike any you’ve ever seen before. You are surrounded by lush flowering plants and trees. The soft sound and cooling breeze of the ocean nearby pulls you to it. Your bare feet feel as if they are planting themselves in a cushion of warm sand, cotton, and satin luxury all at one time. The air caresses your skin like the loving embrace of a long-lost lover that fills you with joy. The soft melodious hum of angelic like voices lull you into a state of relaxation and harmony. The glow of the sun overhead makes your skin tingle and the hair on your body takes on a sparkle. There is no fighting the urge to stretch your willing supple body out on the heavenly surface that was massaging feet. You sink into the embracing arms of something so erotic you lose yourself in its embrace. You close your eyes and surrender yourself to this world of wonderful colors, sensations, and beauty and in that moment, that one moment, it begins to take you. Lord have mercy on you, it takes you.

  Slowly is invades your mind somewhere in the deepest reaches. So lightly and almost lovingly does it stroke those deep hidden crevasses of your mind you are unaware that it has even penetrated into your most sacred of places. You whither and moan to its physical vibrations as it traces its finger-like sensations over your body. You surrender every time and left wanting more.

  Each time you return for the ecstasy that this world offers you lose more and more of yourself, each time your soul dies a little. Oh, it won’t kill you outright, but it kills who you were.

  By the time you are aware of what is happening it is too late. Every time you return to the world you belong in you are changed. The darkness is with you. Slowly you are turning into something that should never leave that other world. Those closest to you notice it first. They suffer first. If they are smart, they do everything they can to distance themselves from you. That is, if their instinct for survival kicks in quick enough.

  You start hunting. When you do it won’t matter who it is, you will latch on to someone and you will hunt them. Someone near and dear, an acquaintance, a stranger, it won’t matter to you. You become the monster that makes adults lock their doors at night and children afraid to look under their bed and in their closets. You’re the one that makes the lone person jump when they hear a strange noise behind them. It is your glowing eyes people see in the dark of night shining out at them from the even darker shadows. You are the knife wielding murderer who hides behind the bushes ready to pounce on your unsuspecting prey, only you don’t need the knife. You are carnage, pain, fear, all the nightmarish things that hide in the back of everyone’s minds, until they see you.

  Once again, I truly try to fight the urge to step across the threshold of the other place. What little is left of the original me, the one before, still wants to fight, but the part of me that is already there pulls me toward it. Like a child caught breaking something I drop my head and I slip through the passageway. Once again, I feel all those wonderful things I felt the first time I passed through to this place. I feel all the that I felt the first time. I experience the joy and ecstasy that overtakes my body, until the darkness takes over. My time there seems to grow shorter and shorter and it is time for me to leave. I’ll step out into the night of my original home, I say original because this world is no longer my home. I belong to that other place whatever it is. There is very little of my old self left now. I step into this world, my eyes glowing with hunger, and I’ll hunt. Suddenly with a rapturous joy, I know, I will kill tonight.

  About the Author

  Cathy lives in Tennessee with her wonderful husband and together they have three beautiful daughters who all live close to them. They are a tight knit family, but things can get a little hectic during the holidays and on special occasions with the girls and their families.

  Cathy and Buddy have a 1963 4106 Greyhound bus that has been converted and they love to travel in it. A lot of what Cathy is inspired by are the people she meets on the road and the places they go.

  More than anything outside of her family Cathy loves to write. She came to it a little later than most but like in real life she loves to take adventures in her own mind and her books are the result of that.

  Other books by Cathy Pace Matthews

  Blood Lines The Curse

  Blood Lines Buried Treasure

  Blood Lines Family Ties

  Journey into Nightmares

  Nightmare Express

  Laugh, Cry, Die

  Cold Encounters

  The Short and Scary Series

  The Long Drive Home

  There Will Be More

  The World of Pretty Colors

  The Darkest Shadow

  Locked Away

  Contract Killer

  Excerpt from

  Blood Lines

  The Curse

  Chapter 2

  Emma stopped the car in front of the house. She didn’t get out immediately but sat there and simply stared at the old place. She had spent a good deal of her childhood here but hadn’t visited in almost twenty years. The last time she had walked out the door she had been twelve and holding her mother’s hand.

  That had also been the day they had buried her father. She didn’t remember a lot about what had happened those few weeks leading up to his death or even the funeral. Something had happened that day that had made her mother swear that neither of them would ever return. She had a vague memory of her grandmother’s face watching through the window as she and her mother had walked down the sidewalk from the house. Emma and her mother had gotten into the car, drove away and n
ever returned.

  On the seat next to her now was a notebook she had found in her mother’s things after she had died. That more than anything was why she was back. As a child she had never really known a lot about the history of the house. All Emma had really known was it had been in her father’s family for over a hundred years and he had loved the place.

  Emma dug the keys to the house out of her purse, picked up the notebook, and stepped out of the car. The irises were in full bloom and the grounds around the house were covered with them. Everywhere you turned you could see them exploding in a sea of color.

  The grounds were bordered on the north and west sides with lush farmland. Farmland still owned by the family or to be more exact, owned by her now. She was the last in the line. In the middle of all that farmland the house and surrounding grounds took on the appearance of a mythical garden from some child’s fairytale.

  Emma walked up the sidewalk to the front porch and stepped into the shade it offered. Although it was early May it was already getting hot. The late morning sun beat down on everything. You could hear the insects buzzing around, yet there still seemed to be a silence you only encountered in the country. You didn’t hear cars or people or the racket that went with people going about their daily lives. As she stood there with all these things going through her head the front door opened in front of her. It not only startled her out of her thoughts, it irritated the hell out of her as well.

  “I’m so sorry I surprised you Ms. Rodgers, I just thought it would be best if you had someone to meet you here.” The man who stood in the door was the lawyer she’d met yesterday. Emma knew he had handled the affairs of the family for many years but something about him bothered her. She couldn’t however tell you why. She did know that him being here gave her a really good reason to be uncomfortable about him.

  He was a relatively attractive man with a pleasant disposition. He was about six feet maybe and looked like he had taken good care of himself. Mr. Owens appeared to be in his late forties to early fifties with a full head of hair and the face of someone who laughed a lot. Emma wished she knew why she felt such discomfort around him. It was as if there was something she was trying to remember but her mind couldn’t quite get a grasp on it.

  “I wasn’t expecting you to be here Mr. Owens; you certainly didn’t say anything about meeting me here. It would have been nice to have known.”

  He stepped aside for her to enter; thank God he hadn’t made the mistake of inviting her in.

  He lightly cleared his throat and responded. “Again, I am sorry, but I did try to call you. You must have already left the hotel and been driving through a dead zone. There were some things I needed to pass on to you along with some papers. They were here at the house. I do apologize. When we met yesterday it was late and I must admit my mind was somewhere else. Things have been a little busy at the office and losing your grandmother, who I had considered more than a friend, has hit me quite hard. I also knew your father and mother. I think the fact of seeing you in person and that you do look so much like your mother threw me. I also see your father in you as well.”

  Emma wasn’t sure how she felt about this information because it just added to the fact that she felt as if she should know him. The main thing right now however was that she wanted to be alone. The sooner she got this over with the better. She decided to let him finish with his speech, and then she would try to get rid of the man as soon as possible.

  She looked around the room and was a bit surprised to see that nothing much had changed since the last time she had been here. The hard wood floor under her feet was still shiny and well waxed. The sofa was different, but she liked it. The piano still sat in the corner of the room where it always had. The walls were still a clean stark white as was the high ceiling overhead. She was sure that the same pictures were still on the walls. She did notice that new ones had been added. She was surprised to find there were fairly recent pictures of her as well. She did resemble her mother.

  The front door, which was mostly glass, was positioned at the center of the front wall. The door was flanked on either side by a set of three windows. On each end of the room there were large windows as well. If the room had any more windows, large or small, it would have been classified as a Florida Room Emma thought. One thing was certain the room had been designed to allow in plenty of light.

  Directly across from the front door was the fireplace. Above it was a large mantel that still held the same things it had when Emma was a child. Above the mantel hung a large mirror without a visible smudge to mar the reflection of the room.

  On each side of the fireplace was a set of French doors. The set on the left were closed, Emma remembered the bedroom that was behind them. The other set was open and allowed an open view of the dining room.

  Mr. Owens watched Emma as she studied her surroundings. Her appearance had taken him aback when she had walked into his office. There was no doubt that she was beautiful. She stood about five feet six inches high and even though she wore flat sandals she appeared to be taller. She was fair skinned with cheeks and lips that had a natural soft rose-colored hue to them. She had hair that was thick and long, hanging to her waist. You could only classify her as a red head but when her hair shifted, you could see different shades to it.

  Emma was a combination of well-built and slender that you didn’t often find together. She reminded Steve of a Dresden Doll you wanted to protect but got the feeling that this young woman was more than capable of taking care of herself. She moved with a poise, grace, and dignity that you seldom saw anymore. He knew she was in her early thirties but looked a lot younger. Her appearance was a contradiction of itself in so many ways.

  Emma turned to him as she sat the notebook she had been carrying on a side table. “Since you are here Mr. Owens, I would like to see any family photos of the women who married into this family.”

  Mr. Owens was now the one startled. “I don’t quite understand Ms. Rodgers.”

  “You have been the family attorney for over twenty years,” Emma stated. “I’m sure you’re aware of the little family secrets or at least have some idea of what I am talking about. I was informed that there were pictures I needed to see.”

  “Emma, first let me get this said. Although you don’t remember me, I was a guest in this house many times when you were a child. I watched you grow through the first twelve years of your life. Also, I would much prefer you call me Steve. I won’t however insist on you calling me Uncle Steve as you did when you were little. You were quite fond of me back then as I was of you.

  Somewhere in the back of her mind, a memory stirred of an attractive young man who came around and was often an overnight guest when she was a child. Still, she couldn’t put it together with this man that stood in front of her. One thing she did know, she didn’t like the parental tone he had just taken with her. Emma also got the feeling that this man had been playing a game of cat and mouse with her and she’d been the mouse. She didn’t know if it was the idea of him playing some game, the tension of the past few days, or the immense sense of loss that she had experienced in total, but she snapped.

  “Mr. Owens, if you choose to be a rude son-of-a-bitch that is of course your choice. However, there are only one or two things you can call me that will piss me off. Calling me by my first name isn’t one of them. Hell, call me a bitch, and I’ll show you how much pride I have in being a damn good one.”

  The response from the older man was not what she had expected. He threw back his head and laughed. His deep rich throaty laugh filled the room and made it come alive. She started to worry a bit when he backed up, sat down on the couch, and continued to laugh. When he started to sound as if he was losing his breath and began to gasp with the laughter, she wasn’t sure what to do. Then it hit her. She started to giggle. This quickly progressed into a full-on laugh that when compared to his was light and musical. Then the insufferable man pointed at her as if she had started the whole laugh fest. She fell into an even deeper la
ugh that now had her gasping for air. Soon she had the damn hiccups and still she couldn’t stop laughing. She tried to compose herself enough to speak but was having a hard time of it.

  My god, Steve thought, the girl looked even younger when she laughed. She was even more beautiful than her mother and that was a tall order.

  He remembered how it had been when she had lived here as a child. She had laughed like that back then and that thought stopped his laughing. He stood up and took her by the hand. “Come on; let’s get you some water for those hiccups. They won’t stop until we do and even that is iffy with you.”

  Now Emma’s laughing had stopped as well but the hiccups continued. “You remember, hic, that.”

  Steve burst into laughter again though not quite as hard as before. “Yes, I remember. Your mom used to talk about how you seemed to have them the entire time she carried you. If you were a super hero, the hiccups brought on by laughter would be your Kryptonite.”

  As they passed the large table in the dining room, Emma noticed a fairly large carved wooden box sitting on it. It was closed and had a small golden padlock securing the lid from prying fingers.

  They went into the kitchen which also hadn’t changed much. The stove was newer, as was the fridge. A dishwasher had been added but the overall look and layout was the same. Steve reached into the refrigerator and pulled out a bottle of water. She raised an eyebrow as he handed it to her.