The Storyteller, Volume I

Martha Whittington invites readers to take a break from the doldrums of daily routine and delve into a world where ordinary lives are blindsided by the bizarre.

The Storyteller provides a feast of paranormal delights that satisfy the imagination through every intriguing tale, delving into the lives of a colorful variety of people who suddenly find themselves in unsettling situations.

Throughout The Storyteller, Whittington waves a macabre tapestry of drama, suspense and fast-paced action. From the dangers of the Egyptian desert to the cold streets of New York, she takes readers on a thrilling journey along the knife-edge between this world and the unknown. A captivating read for the fans of the disturbingly weird.

 The Storyteller delivers chills and thrills at the turn of each page

Martha Whittington was born and raised in Monterrey, Mexico; at 21 years old she decided to ‘go out there and see the world’; thus beginning an incredible tour around the world that lasted for a few years. She graduated from College majoring in Communications and has a Masters Degree in Public Relations. She comes from a family of published writers; at a very young age Martha began writing short stories that made it to international Poetry and Short Novel contests, winning a few of them in Spain and England. Writing has always been a fun and loving hobby to her. She currently resides in the US.

Fragment taken from the story “The Witch”

The Storyteller, Volume I

“Armando! Armando!” I heard Benito screaming as the wind and madness increased inside the jail cell. I looked to the bench and saw his arm reaching out to me and gesturing for me to join him under the bench.

I didn’t go to him; instead, I looked up at the window in time to see a flash of light, and I could have sworn I saw a human figure leaning over the window’s bars, looking at me from outside. I thought it could not be possible, as the window was probably nine feet high and that strong wind would have made it hard for someone in his right mind to be out there on a ladder trying to spy on us.

Thunder followed a little while after.

The rushing wind blew out the flames of the only two gas lamps near the cell, outside it; we were now in complete darkness. I felt debris from outside coming in through the window and flying all around me; I closed my eyes and covered my face the best I could.

The wind intensified and I realized we were being hit by a huge tornado. After a few more minutes I felt that the air was being sucked out of the cell through the window; all of it was being sucked out. The noise receded a little, followed by a constant whistling sound.

I clearly heard a dog growling somewhere inside the cell, and then heard Benito scream.

“Damn,” I said as I tried to approach the bench in the dark to check on Benito.

“Benito! Benito!” I yelled but got no answer.

Another growl came from my right; too close to ignore it, I turned my head, trying to see in the dark.

The wind was now starting to pick up again; we must have been in the eye of the tornado a minute ago, when the air was being sucked out of the cell. Something jumped on me and knocked me to the floor. I hit my head on the cell bars.

At first I thought it might be Benito, but I had to discard that, as it felt more like a huge dog. There was thick, stiff hair all over it, and it also was way too heavy. I tried to get it off me; I looked in the direction where his head should have been and saw a pair of red eyes looking at me. It was impossible.

There was no time to think; the creature was struggling to bite me. I poked both its eyes with my thumbs, pushing as hard as I could. I heard it cry in pain. I then turned to look for the shotgun on the other side of the cell; I found it in the dark and was able to get it inside the cell. I saw a fading red light approaching me and assumed it was one of the creature’s eyes. I hit the creature on the head with the shotgun as hard as I could.

I tried pushing myself away with my legs and out of the creature’s reach, but that creature was much too heavy and was still on top of me, trying to bite me. I couldn’t see it but I knew it couldn’t see me either, at least for the moment. I loaded the shotgun and aimed at its face.

I fired.

I loaded the shotgun again; the wind was picking up frantically again. The load on top of me started to feel lighter, as if the creature were shrinking or was somehow being lifted up. I fired the shotgun again at it and I heard a loud dog’s cry.

Its painful cry echoed all around the cell.

I suddenly felt as if there was someone on top of me beginning to choke me; I could have sworn it was a small person with unusually big and strong hands. I put my hands on top of his and felt a lot of rings of all sorts and shapes on long, thick, crooked fingers. I felt sharp nails on my neck and I couldn’t breathe.

Lightning illuminated the cell and I saw the most horrendous face I had ever seen in my entire life. The face belonged to a very old and wrinkled woman; long, black hair was flying all around her head and my face; she had a pointy chin and a curved, long nose; she had no eyes under the bushy black eyebrows, only two empty, bleeding eye sockets; and there were teeth missing from her mouth.

The side of her face was bleeding heavily.

Thunder came with a terrible sound that concealed what seemed to be a woman’s scream; a few seconds later, the weight on top of me completely disappeared.

Once free, I pushed myself along the floor until I got to a corner; the wind was beginning to calm down but was still whistling around me.

“Saritaaa, Saritaaa.”

I got up, a little shaken from the attack. I searched for the shotgun in the dark and found it; I reloaded it and stood by in the pitch-black cell.

A few minutes passed. The wind was finally calming down. I heard Benito’s voice but I didn’t answer, as I was still certain there was a third person inside the cell with us.

I heard footsteps coming from outside the cell. I turned my head and the shotgun in that direction; a minute later I saw the spark of a match being lit and I followed the flame with my eyes, as it was the only thing I could see. That little flame lit up a gas lamp.

The guard walked to the second gas lamp and lit it with the same match. He then brought the second gas lamp with him as he approached the cell to take a closer look at us.

He found me pointing his own shotgun at him; he saw Benito still curled up under the bench.

“Open this damn door right now,” I calmly said.

===========================

www.storytellersbookclub.com