"The UK's Stephen King." Pissedoffgeek.com.
Charles is back with a forth instalment of Twisted Imaginings, this time featuring three tales of twisted terror. In "Voices and Shadows" we witness the dark side of keeping a secret. In "Vomit Baby" we'll discover there's more than one way to end a relationship and in "Pleasure of Pain" eternity grows tiresome.
Greg was terrified people would think he was a freak, just the thought of one person discovering his secret brought on the dark caress of icy fingers along his spine. Yet, at the same time, he so wished he could tell someone, anyone…just to relieve the pressure of guilt he felt.
But why, he asked himself, should I feel guilt for my true feelings? Why should I hide away in my safe haven every time I wish to be myself? What is the point of me trying to be comfortable with myself if the end result makes me feel this way?
“Because you know we’ll hate you,” came the whispered reply from the other side of the louvre door.
Greg moved further back into the safe realm of the walk in closet, shuffling between the soft fabrics of the hanging dresses…his dresses. A small yelp escaped from his lips as his back hit the rear wall and he quickly began moving the shoe boxes, arranging them in a protective wall between himself and the outside. He worked quickly despite the shakes of fear he had to endure every night. Fear of discovery, fear of ridicule and fear of the voices that haunted his mind.
“We know you’re in there, we can smell you,” The voices taunted.
“Leave me alone!” Greg cried, pulling the collar of the designer blouse tight against his neck. “Why can’t you leave me alone?”
“Why would we leave you alone?” replied the cacophony of voices. “This is so much fun.”
Greg made himself as small as possible, hugging his legs close to his chest in a feeble attempt to become invisible. He cried softly, tears staining the mascara he'd applied only minutes earlier.
Tonight was meant to be different, the night he finally came out to the world. No more secrets. At least that's what he’d told himself as he’d shed the tailor made suit he'd worn all day and prepared to shower, washing away the masculine scents of aftershave and deodorant.
He hated the façade of normal life, the manly mask he wore each and every day. As soon as he came through the door he'd kicked off the leather brogues with their annoyingly flat soles and made his way upstairs at an almost run. This was the moment of each day he loved…the casting off of the lie…the point of metamorphosis from ugly caterpillar into beautiful butterfly.