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Unexpected Twists and turns. Unfortunate missteps lead to devastating and surprising endings.

Skeletons in the Closet

39 Chilling and Disturning Stories

Skeletons in the Closet is a collection of short stories with unexpected twists and turns. It reveals the hidden monsters behind innocent eyes and a sly welcoming smile. Buried secrets reveal a history that ruins lives. Unfortunate missteps lead to devastating and surprising endings. Demons are born from the ashes of those decimated, creating nightmares and monsters beyond imagination.

Brought to you by Author House Publishing 

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Excerpt One

John Johnson


John Johnson spent every year getting his costume ready for comic con. He slaved for months, selecting, constructing, and crafting the most elaborate setups. The brown-haired tax attorney had always been shy, and comic con had been his therapist’s idea. She thought it would give him a chance to meet people, in a reduced-stress environment.

And for just a few hours a day, a few times a year, it was the answer John Johnson was looking for. He got to be someone else, someone popular—someone everyone wanted to get to know. But the magic never lasted. Each time he left the convention and returned home, he went right back to being invisible, unnoticed, and alone.

Night after night, John Johnson stared into the mirror, lost in despair. The mirror began to show him the man he could have been—the man he should have been, if things had only been different and he had not been so afraid.

John Johnson began to regret his life, his wasted, misused, and empty life. If only he were someone different, he thought. Dying his brown hair red, he began putting on his costume for the current year’s convention. He highlighted his eyes, in midnight black mascara, and applied ruby red lipstick, for the finishing touches.

Running his fingers over the smooth, dusty, black lockbox to his right, he picked it up and placed it directly in front of him. Punching in the code, he opened the box, revealing a silver pistol. John Johnson had made up his mind. He picked up the gun, loaded a round into the chamber, put the barrel to his temple, and pulled the trigger.

Excerpt Two

Teaching Trust


Mommy and Daddy always told me to trust police officers. They said they were there to help me. Even at school, the teachers told me the same thing. So did Grandma and Grandpa and even my big brother, Ted. So, when he showed me his badge and told me Mom and Dad had sent him, I believed him. As we drove down the road in his car, I had no reason to be afraid. He was just giving me a ride to the police station, but we never made it to the police station.

The police officer drove me to an old house. He turned off the car and told me my parents were waiting for me inside. Biting my lower lip, I walked with him into the worn-down house, but Mommy and Daddy were not there.

I tried to turn around and go back outside, but he jumped in front of me, slamming the door and locking it. I didn’t know what to do. I asked him what was going on, but he would not answer me. He took off his coat and reached out his large, hairy hand, gripping me by the shirt collar. I kicked and screamed as he dragged me down to the basement.

It’s dark down here—dark and cold. I am not alone. There are other kids in here. I can’t see them, but I can hear them. They yell and cry for their mommies and daddies, just like me.

I miss my mommy and daddy and wonder if they are as sad as I am. I wonder if they miss me and if they are looking for me. When will they find me so I can go home? I want to go home. I miss my bed and dog.

He comes to me sometimes, wearing his uniform. He touches me. He makes me touch him. I don’t want to touch him, but if I don’t, he hits me. He hits me hard. I don’t like to be hit. Then after he hits me, he stops feeding me for days, and I get so hungry. So, when he comes to me, I do not fight. I let him touch me, and I touch him where he tells me because if I don’t, I think he will let me die.

Excerpt Three

Unholy Union


A deep comforting sigh escaped Bill’s lips as he turned his old gray Dodge Ram onto the red dirt road. Seven months out on the road felt like a year. He couldn’t wait to see that big old oak on Blue Street—the tree where he and his wife, Katy, had had their first kiss. They had been married under that same oak after graduating from high school. It was not only a beautiful sight; it was the marker that meant he was finally home.

The oak was radiant under the truck’s headlights as it came into view. Tipping down his visor, Bill kissed his top two fingers, pressed them against the wallet-size photo of his wife, and flipped it back toward the ceiling.

“I’m home, baby,” he said.

Bill had always been a steady, dependable man. You could set your clock by his actions, activities, and motivations. When she married Bill, Katy knew he was a straight shooter who was not only loyal but predictable down to a tee. She supported him in every endeavor he undertook, no matter how long it kept him away from her. She was always there for him, no matter what, and would do anything for him, and he wanted to do the same for her.

Noticing things had become stale on his last few visits home, Bill decided to step out of his comfort zone. After finding a dirty magazine of Katy’s, Bill decided maybe she would like things in the bedroom to be a little wilder and more unpredictable. Having bought some pleasure aids, Bill went about the scheme of misdirection. FaceTiming with Katy early that morning, he’d conveyed his regret that things were taking longer than planned, and he would not be home till this coming weekend.

Clicking off his headlights as he hit the outer edge of their rear drive, he puttered down the all-too-familiar road with nothing but moonlight to guide him. His ears perked at the grunting of the bullfrogs in the distance. Pulling to a stop just shy of the couple’s two-story home, Bill slipped out of the cab with his bag of goodies. Tiptoeing onto the back porch, he held the keys firmly in his hand as he inserted the door key and passed through the threshold.

Closing the door slowly, Bill headed toward the stairs. Having spoken to Katy several hours ago, Bill knew his wife planned to head to bed early. His plan was to wake her with a soft kiss, handcuff her to the bed, and give her the greatest pleasure she had ever known.

The scent of cheap cologne tickled Bill’s nose as he rounded the banister. The sound of voices alerted him to a disturbance, and he stood tall, his five-foot nine-inch frame tense. Someone was in his home. Clinging to the wall like a prowler in the night, he crept down the hall, stopping just outside his bedroom door.

Bill felt uneasy; there was no tension in the air as there was when a disruption was taking place. Titling his head like a dog who has just heard its master’s voice, Bill’s heart skipped a beat. There were two voices, and there was no despair in them at all. The voices were of a different nature. One male. One female. Each lost in the heat of passion. They moaned in unison as their voices rose an octave. Reaching for the handle, Bill turned the knob, flinging the door open.

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