Audiobooks narrated by Mace Styx

Scary Stories 2 Pack: The Shadow Amongst Us & Cut the Cord

Shadow:It was a Monday. Monday was the day grandma got her medicine. She took some pill that some white-coated doctor told us would keep her alive, if only for a little while. I walked to the pharmacy a couple of blocks away through the rain. Careful to avoid the divots and dips in the beat-up sidewalk where puddles were beginning to form. There’s an old store that sells rugs and carpets between Grandma’s and the pharmacy. I wove through a small crowd of disappointed people exiting the store, beneath the broken neon red sign that read Jackson pet instead of Jackson Carpet, leading would-be pet owners astray. The red luminescent glow of the misnomer blurred on its edges through the drizzle and fog. One customer had brought her dog along with her. A young, well dressed and well-accessorized woman was knocking in quick bursts on the wood-framed glass door of the shop. Seemingly not understanding the miscommunication the sign had presented, even after seeing a stockpile of rolled-up rugs waiting in the store beyond. Her white-knuckle fist gripped a long, fuzzy velvet leash that strangled a fat, wrinkly old Rottweiler. The ancient beast struggling to keep up, letting itself be dragged behind along the wet pavement like a sack of old potatoes. Cord: The Reaper did not speak. He did not even move, for what need did he have to chase anyone? Everyone comes to him eventually. Men, women and gods all are consumed in his ever waiting black. Clive, sighing deeply, turned to look Death in the face. In the form he took for Clive, Death stood around seven feet tall. The hood of his monk’s cowl falling to just above the bridge of the nose, had there been a nose to speak of. Instead, there was simply a hole, a cavernous nothing, like death itself, that hung like a cave above the fixed death's head smile. The unmoving, unflappable grin of the skull, never to be bargained with, never to be moved.

Mace Styx (Author), Mace Styx (Narrator)

Audiobook

Scary Stories 2 Pack: The Tenant & Bortos Portal

Tenant: “No.” She admitted, guiltily. “I am sorry. If I enter the darkness, it would grab me before I can fetch you anything to get the fire going.” Sam nodded. He had faced death before. But every time, there was hope, a fighting chance. This time, he could do nothing. “What would happen to you after it kills me?”Emily visibly shuddered. “He will have me, place its scythe through my soul. It allows it to control the agony my soul receives. Then, until the morning, I will keep suffering. Every moment feels like an eternity. I might switch to my other personalities, just to escape the pain.”Sam nodded. So she knew about her condition. He mindlessly reached his gun. At that moment, he truly felt helpless, and at least, he wanted to go out on his own terms.“You have a gun?” Emily asked, eyes wide. “Yes.” He said, but before he could do anything, Emily slapped him.“You idiot, there is gun powder in these bullets right? You can light anything on fire with that.' Bortos: I remember waking once from a horrible dream, in which I looked down and saw the clown’s enormous mouth, its massive, wall sized face at the end of my bed and felt myself being dragged… dragged though I kicked and screamed, fighting against the covers. Thrashing and flailing for purchase, closer and closer to the red rimmed mouth, filled with murderous hanging teeth that waited, hungry to chew and devour me as the clown continued to smile. Sometimes I would look at the black. The space painted in for the mouth. In the daylight, you could clearly see that it was black paint. You could even sort of make out the brickwork beneath the paint. But at night, at night the clown's fixed smile seemed warped around a space that seemed not to end with the wall, but to extend back, further and further, like a pathway or a tunnel that would go on forever.

Mace Styx (Author), Katrina Medina, Mace Styx (Narrator)

Audiobook

The Shadow Amongst Us

It was a Monday. Monday was the day grandma got her medicine. She took some pill that some white-coated doctor told us would keep her alive, if only for a little while. I walked to the pharmacy a couple of blocks away through the rain. Careful to avoid the divots and dips in the beat-up sidewalk where puddles were beginning to form. There’s an old store that sells rugs and carpets between Grandma’s and the pharmacy. I wove through a small crowd of disappointed people exiting the store, beneath the broken neon red sign that read Jackson pet instead of Jackson Carpet, leading would-be pet owners astray. The red luminescent glow of the misnomer blurred on its edges through the drizzle and fog. One customer had brought her dog along with her. A young, well dressed and well-accessorized woman was knocking in quick bursts on the wood-framed glass door of the shop. Seemingly not understanding the miscommunication the sign had presented, even after seeing a stockpile of rolled-up rugs waiting in the store beyond. Her white-knuckle fist gripped a long, fuzzy velvet leash that strangled a fat, wrinkly old Rottweiler. The ancient beast struggling to keep up, letting itself be dragged behind along the wet pavement like a sack of old potatoes.

Mace Styx (Author), Mace Styx (Narrator)

Audiobook

The Tenant

Mace Styx (Author), Mace Styx (Narrator)

Audiobook

Cut the Cord

The Reaper did not speak. He did not even move, for what need did he have to chase anyone? Everyone comes to him eventually. Men, women and gods all are consumed in his ever waiting black. Clive, sighing deeply, turned to look Death in the face. In the form he took for Clive, Death stood around seven feet tall. The hood of his monk’s cowl falling to just above the bridge of the nose, had there been a nose to speak of. Instead, there was simply a hole, a cavernous nothing, like death itself, that hung like a cave above the fixed death's head smile. The unmoving, unflappable grin of the skull, never to be bargained with, never to be moved. In one hand, from which straggled tendrils of long rotted flesh hung like threads, the figure held a huge scythe. The blade for which, was so keen that the air moving around it seemed to divide and slice as it touched. A blade kept sharp for the reaping of souls. The severing of the cord from the mortal plain. As he stared into the inevitable, the gaping abyss represented by the figure standing before him. Clive thought back to the images he had seen of ‘Death’ to the medieval woodcuts, their finer details blurred with the bleeding of the ink. Or the finely etched engravings of Albrecht Duhrer and Goya, with Death, the hooded skeleton or rotting ancient cadaver. He wondered if all of those hours poring over medieval manuscripts had formed this image for him. Whether to others, Death appeared in a different shape or in no shape at all. The thought flashed by like a furtive glimpse one sometimes catches of a rat, so fast and elusive that you are left to doubt if it was the thing itself, or merely its shadow that you saw streak by. Now though, there was no time for contemplation. Now was the time for terror.

Mace Styx (Author), Mace Styx (Narrator)

Audiobook

Audiobooks Narrated by Mace Styx