Short Stories
Terror Under the Stairs
Weatherly Lane
The Fear House 01/14/2025
Weatherly Lane is not just a fictional house, it is an actual curse. The original editors both lost loved ones when the project began. Both were in car accidents at the same time as one of the authors. Computers failed and were fried. Twenty-five authors have left this project as it struggled to come to life. The project was abandoned… until The Fear House stepped in to face the curse of Weatherly Place. Never has a book placed so many roadblocks between itself and publication. Within these pages, you will find a long, sordid history of a house that is cursed, an endless litany of debauchery and horror which has befallen those who dare set foot inside these walls. This book is actually cursed. The publisher makes no promises that those who step into the pages of Weatherly Place will be safe. Every author and editor who has worked on this project knows that something terrible has crossed into the world from this portal, we have all seen it and felt it and know the curse is real.
Excerpt
The waitress filled her cup for the second time with some of the worst coffee Meggie had ever tasted. Still, she didn’t have to brew it.
“You passing through? Where you headed?”
Nelson and James had ordered the biggest burgers on the menu, complete with fries that, judging from the smell, would not be cooked in the freshest oil while Meggie opted for a broasted chicken, whatever that meant. Now that she was out of the house, that voice had faded, and with it any energy she’d had. She considered slumping in the booth and letting fatigue overwhelm her, but if she did that, she might never recover.
“We’re not passing through. We live here now. In Kingston—we have a house there.”
To her surprise, the waitress’ overplucked and drawn in eyebrows raised and she took a step back. The lines on her face deepened and she clutched her free hand to her heart before lowering the coffee pot to the table. Nelson and James were surfing the Internet, though James was making faces at the spotty WIFI, and they were not paying her or the forty-something woman any attention.
“Oh ya. You’re the family that bought the house on Weatherly Lane, aren’tcha?”
Meggie shot a second quick glance at her sons to determine if they were listening. James might have flicked a glance their direction, but he was absorbed in whatever video he was managing to watch here in the middle of nowhere.
“That’s us. The two-story Victorian on Weatherly Lane, if that’s the one you mean. I guess it had been empty for a while, judging by the dust. We got it for a good price and needed somewhere fast.” Meggie both did and didn’t want to ask the next question. Indecision warred with her as she glanced around the restaurant that had to be more than a century out of date, with animal heads on the wall and linoleum that might have been from the 1970s. This place, like everything else in this small town, could use a refresh. So could their house, but Meggie wasn’t sure what she could and couldn’t do. In New York, they had rules for how much you could revamp a historical building. They hadn’t checked if this house was on that registry, whatever it was called. Russell should have, but he claimed the price was too good and he might lose out if he didn’t act right then. Now they might pay for that at their own leisure.
“It’s empty because…” The waitress leaned forward and met Meggie’s gaze. Something glittered there, whether avarice or the chance to tell a good tale, Meggie wasn’t sure. She tried to shrink back, but had nowhere to go in this booth.
The rest of the diner sounds dropped away. What was it that gleamed in the woman’s avid expression? Something…moved…behind her face, like a dark shadow falling over everything.
Then the thing was gone and the older lady picked up the coffee pot. “Haunted. Your house is haunted. That’s how the tales go, you betcha. There was some incident in a mine back in the early 1900s and since then there’s always been questions around that area of the town. Mind you, I keep to myself.”
Meggie very much doubted that. “If it’s haunted, I’ll just have to get the ghost folks out here to take care of that.”
Their server opened her mouth to say more, but the cook shouted, in a booming voice, “Gertrude, get over here” from the back. Gertrude, presumably, picked up the pot and scurried off.
She assumed the rest of the patrons weren’t paying them any attention, but when Meggie turned back to the table, the fellow diners were staring at them with fixed glares. Meggie blinked, and they were eating and carrying on conversation. She cleared her throat and tapped the booth top to get their attention.
“Phones down, boys. Family time.”
Nelson and James groaned, but obliged. She’d have to talk to Russell when he got home and determine what they could learn out about the house.
Meggie didn’t find the idea of a ghost hard to believe.