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The Deceiver’s Hand
An unreleased short story from the book:
The Price of Deception Dark Tales of Scams and Betrayal
Arthur Kingsley was a man who had seen much in his seventy-eight years. A life filled with wealth, adventure, and success had granted him a comfortable existence. His home, a grand Victorian mansion nestled on the outskirts of the city, stood as a testament to his hard work and fortune. But the years, with their inevitable toll, had begun to weigh heavily on him. His health was in decline, and the thrill of his accomplishments had faded into the quiet rhythm of old age. The world outside seemed to move faster, and Arthur, who had once been at the center of it all, felt himself slipping further into the shadows of his own life.
It was during one of these long, silent nights that he first encountered the man who would change everything.
The knock on the door was soft but insistent. Arthur opened it to find a tall figure standing in the dim light of the evening. The man was dressed in flowing robes, his face obscured by a dark hood. His presence was commanding, yet strangely comforting, like a shadow that promised solace from the unrelenting weight of the world. His name, he introduced himself as, was Lysander, a spiritual advisor, a guide to those in need of clarity.
“I sense you are troubled, Mr. Kingsley,” Lysander said, his voice smooth as velvet, his tone soothing. “The weight of your wealth and the burdens of your past have left you adrift. But I can help you find peace, true peace. Peace that only comes with letting go.”
Arthur, taken aback but intrigued, invited Lysander in. The man spoke of spiritual freedom, of release from the chains of materialism, of finding serenity through the abandonment of earthly ties. He promised Arthur that by giving up his fortune, by renouncing the very possessions he had spent a lifetime amassing, Arthur would achieve a kind of peace beyond anything he had ever known. “True freedom comes not through accumulation,” Lysander explained, “but through surrender.”
Arthur, weary of the endless struggle to maintain his wealth and the constant demands of a life he no longer found fulfilling, felt a flicker of hope. Perhaps, at long last, he could find the peace that had eluded him. The idea of shedding the burden of his riches, of letting go, was strangely appealing. He had lived a life of excess, but perhaps now it was time to release it all, to be free of the weight that pressed down on his soul.
Lysander’s words felt like a balm to his weary spirit. “Surrender your wealth to the universe,” Lysander whispered, his hand resting gently on Arthur’s shoulder, “and you will be free of the torment that plagues your heart. I can help you, but only if you are willing to trust me.”
Arthur, eager for peace, did not hesitate. He agreed, signing over everything he had—his mansion, his savings, his investments. He believed that this was the path to freedom. But as soon as the ink dried on the contract, the air in the room seemed to change. A cold shiver ran down his spine, and for the first time, he began to feel the weight of his decision. Lysander’s smile, once comforting, twisted into something far darker.
“Peace,” Lysander said softly, “is an illusion. What you have given me will not bring you freedom, Arthur. It will bring you something far worse—an eternity of torment.”
The words sent a chill through Arthur’s chest. He opened his mouth to speak, to protest, but before he could utter a sound, Lysander’s eyes glowed with an unnatural light. The room seemed to close in around Arthur, the walls stretching and warping, the air thickening with a suffocating pressure. He tried to move, but his body felt like stone, rooted to the ground, unable to escape.
Lysander’s voice echoed in his mind, louder now, more sinister. “You have given everything, but what you don’t understand, Arthur, is that your suffering is what feeds me. The more you regret, the more you despair, the more I grow. You sought peace, but all you have found is torment.”
The last thing Arthur saw before the darkness closed in was Lysander’s hand, stretched out toward him, its fingers curling like claws.
When Arthur awoke, he was still in his mansion, but everything had changed. The house, once full of warmth and light, now seemed cold and oppressive. The walls, once bright with the memories of a life well-lived, now felt like a tomb. The air was thick with the stench of decay, and the once-vibrant colors of the world around him had dulled to shades of gray.
Arthur tried to move, to speak, but his body betrayed him. He could no longer feel the comfort of his limbs. His hands were shaking, his chest tight. He was no longer the man he had once been. The peace he had sought was nowhere to be found. Instead, he was trapped in an unending cycle of torment.
With each passing day, his mind grew more and more fragile. He would wake in the middle of the night, his heart pounding, his body drenched in sweat. His dreams were filled with images of endless suffering—himself trapped in a labyrinth, lost in a never-ending maze of regret and pain. Every decision he had ever made, every mistake he had ever committed, seemed to haunt him with relentless force.
The weight of his decision, of his surrender, pressed down on him like an unbearable burden. He was no longer free. He was bound, chained to his own remorse. Each passing day brought new horrors—unseen forces gnawed at his soul, and the dark presence of Lysander loomed over him, watching, feeding off his suffering.
The man who had once been full of life, of purpose, was now reduced to a broken shell, his once-proud fortune now gone, devoured by the void that had taken its place. His every thought was consumed by regret, by the realization that the peace he had so desperately sought was nothing but a cruel lie.
Lysander returned to him again and again, always watching from the shadows, his presence suffocating. “You gave me everything, Arthur,” Lysander would say, his voice a whisper in the dark. “And now, you belong to me. Your suffering is my reward. And it will never end.”
Arthur’s cries for mercy were unheard. He had no one left. His wealth, his possessions, his very soul had been drained by the hand of the deceiver, and now he was nothing but a puppet, endlessly tortured by the consequences of his own misguided trust. His body, though still alive, felt hollow, as if every ounce of life had been drained from him.
Days turned into months, and months into years. Time no longer held meaning. Arthur had become a prisoner in his own home, trapped in a cycle of suffering that seemed to stretch into eternity. No matter how hard he tried, he could not escape. The price of his peace had been too great. The torment, the despair, was endless.
And so, Arthur Kingsley, once a man of wealth and promise, was doomed to live forever, cursed by the very gift he had sought. A prisoner of his own regret, endlessly tortured by the Deceiver’s hand.
If you enjoyed this short story you will probably like our latest release available now:
The Price of Deception Dark Tales of Scams and Betrayal
$3.99
Step into a world where trust is a currency, but betrayal is the price paid for it. The Price of Deception: Dark Tales of Scams and Betrayal is a chilling collection of short stories that explore the terrifying consequences of lies, manipulations, and deceit.
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