The Legend of Darklore Manor and Other Tales of Terror by Joseph Vargo, Joseph Iorillo Read Free Book Online Page B

me to guide you. Your parents don't understand you, and they never will. They still treat you as a child. But they can't even begin to imagine the things you're capable of." As the old woman spoke, Anna felt strangely at ease and an eerie calm swept over her.
     "Come closer, my dear."
     Anna had lost all will to resist. She glanced down at the captive boy again. His eyes conveyed a desperate plea for help. He reminded her of a fly caught in a spider's web. Anna returned her gaze to the old woman and took a step toward her. The crone leaned forward out of the shadows. The woman's face was withered and wrinkled, and her eyes were glazed with cataracts. Her flesh was pale, but her lips were a deep glistening red.
     "Who are you?" Anna whispered.
     The old crone leaned in close to Anna's face and whispered, "We are one and the same, you and I. We are the widows of the web."
     Anna slowly began to take notice of a legion of ghastly faces peering out of the shadows behind the mesh of spiderwebs on either side of her. As her eyes finally became accustomed to the darkness, she could see several skeletons tied to the attic's support beams, covered with webs and spiders.
     The old woman spoke again, "There is much work to be done. All I ask is that you stay with me and allow me to guide you. Stay with me Anna," the crone whispered, "Anna... Anna..."

"Anna," The young nurse called her name again, "Anna, can you hear me?" But the old lady didn't respond. Instead, she sat in her rocking chair, transfixed upon the spiderweb in the corner of her window. A fly struggled to free itself from the web as a large black spider descended upon it. A smile formed on the old woman's crackled face as she watched the spider devour its prey.
     A husky male orderly entered the psychiatric wardroom and offered his advice to the nurse. "It's no use, she won't speak to anyone. As far as I know, she hasn't uttered a word in all the years she's been here."
     "Why the restraints?" She asked, glancing down at the thick leather manacles that bound the old woman to her chair.
     "Just a precaution," the orderly whispered, then continued in a hushed tone, "The police found her in the attic of her home, surrounded by dead bodies that she had bound and tied to the rafters. We call her the Black Widow. She killed her entire family and anyone else who wandered into her parlor. She poisoned them all, then kept their bodies tied up in her attic as macabre mementos. She lived in that old house for nearly sixty years before the police finally discovered her."
     "She doesn't talk, she just sits there. Who knows what goes on inside her head. If you ask me, I say the old bird's still got a few spiders in the attic." He laughed at his own pun, but the nurse didn't crack a smile.
     "It's actually very sad," the nurse replied. "She'll never leave this place."
     But Anna didn't hear their words. She had already returned to the morbid dreamworld of her youth where her mind wandered free and unrestrained by the reality of her physical bonds. Spiders crawled across her hands and she lifted them high, laughing and dancing, twirling off into the shadows of her twisted imagination.

Brotherhood of Shadows
    by Joseph Iorillo
    "L et us raise our glasses, gentlemen, to Professor Harris Logan, soon to be the newest Master of the Seventeenth Degree," declared Clive Yardley, who stood at the head of the table, wine glass in hand. The other Masters also rose, lifting their glasses, and the soft, opulent glow from the chandeliers twinkled off the crystal glasses and the polished sterling silverware like silent fireworks.
     Harris Logan, despite his cynicism and mistrust, found himself smiling and blushing. He had never been the subject of a laudatory toast before—and certainly not in the company of such men. Not only was Clive Yardley a long-time Master of the Seventeenth Degree, he was