Horror Stories: A Macabre Collection (3 page)

The trees around her seemed to move, walling
the lover’s off from the rest of the world. Their bark; dry,
cracking. Their branches hung like tree-brown icicles ready to
fall–reaching skyward than realizing it was too far away, so why
bother.

He bucked and writhed in her, moaning in
relief, as his seed sputtered out like the spit from his mouth. He
pulled himself out, instantly limp and leaned against the tree to
his back. He shuffled around in his pants pocket and found a smoke.
She lay there, letting his seed drip out. She could feel the grass
against her nakedness, climbing up into her to gather his seed. She
smiled. It was working. She sat up looking at the boy, smiling for
the first time since they came out here. He found his lighter,
smiling back at her with a bent cigarette dangling off his lip.

“They won’t like that,” she said to him.

“What’s that? Who’s they,” he lit the
cigarette.

“The trees,” she said.

“Oh, I didn’t know you were a hippie-chick,”
he smiled.

“You should’ve gotten to know me better,” she
stopped smiling.

“I thought that’s what I just did.”

“Hmm,” she looked up at the trees. “Is that
what you did to Mary? Got to know her? It was right here, too,
wasn’t it?”

“Hey, wait, that was an accident. I didn’t do
anything wrong.”

“You should’ve gotten to know her. She loved
you. You would’ve known she had a sister. You would’ve known she
had dreams. She was going to be something…something special,” she
began to cry.

“Stop this! J-Just shut your mouth, you don’t
know anything,” the boy screamed.

A tree branch swatted the cigarette from the
boy’s mouth, cutting his lip. He yelped. The trees had moved. The
branches moved in the air like snakes, hissing, rattling, full of
venom. They struck like lightning, wrapping around his throat, his
wrists, his legs, and his limp dick. He couldn’t move, couldn’t
scream, but he wanted to. The ground began to rumble. The roots
made their way to the surface, ripping the boy free from the
branches, allowing his screams to break the silence for a moment as
the roots pulled him under. Then, silence.

She walked away, the trees parted, they got
what they wanted and in return she did too. She looked back, and a
new sapling was breaking through the dirt.

* * * * *

The Beast

* * * * *

“We’re not like other people, Craig,” his
father said.

“Why not, Dad?”

“Cause God made us this way,” he replied.

“Okay,” Craig nodded.

“Don’t you want to know how we’re different
from other people?”

“Okay,” Craig nodded again.

Craig’s father, James, walked to the cellar
door, he opened it and in wafted the smell of wet books and damp
earth. He led the way down the creaky cellar stairs, running his
fingertips along the cool bricks. Craig did the same. James pulled
up two chairs from behind the stairs and sat down, patting the seat
of the other for his son to join him. He did. They sat in the
darkness of the cellar, while the beast moved around in its darkest
spots. Craig grew nervous. It was his first time in the cellar.
James figured he was old enough now; eight was a ripe age for
knowledge.

“God made us like no other, Craig,” James
said, “He made us Keepers; Keepers of The Beast. What we feel, it
feels. Which is why we must always remain calm and collected,
otherwise The Beast will grow wild and it will make us wild. You
see? It’s a double-edged sword that only God’s chosen few can
wield.”

“Okay,” Craig nodded, “that’s cool. But it’s
scary. It’s a monster…and it’s in our cellar.”

“Anyone can be a monster, Craig, and The
Beast is nothing to fear. It’s just a reminder of what we can be,
and if we indulge in our base impulses then The Beast can run free
and feed off of those impulses. Get it?”

“Kind of,” Craig thought about it, “but I’ve
been angry before…did The Beast run wild then?”

“No. No, you weren’t ready then. Now you
are,” James patted him on the shoulder. “You’re ready to do God’s
work. Do you want to be a Keeper? Have a beast of your own?”

“I guess. Can I bring it to school too? In
case of bullies?”

“If that’s what God tells you to do, but if
The Beast runs free for too long then it will consume you. It will
be you in the darkness, instead of it, with no chance of ever
getting out.”

“Did you ever let yours run free?”

“What do you think happened to your
mother?”

* * * * *

Old Flames Burn Just the
Same

* * * * *

Dale hung up the phone. He wasn’t sure why he
agreed to meet with Samantha on such short notice and on a Sunday.
Dale hadn’t seen her in months and preferred to spend his Sunday’s
at home doing a whole lot of nothing and getting ripped by sunset.
He supposed he could do some of the former, and still plenty of the
latter.

He had about an hour to get ready and meet
her. They were meeting up at Burkette’s Park where Dale spent many
Saturday mornings fishing. He still needed to brush his teeth but
was debating on leaving them as is, just to spite her.

The park could have been picturesque if it
weren’t for the poorly maintained grounds and the overgrown trees.
The day was nice, but the bugs and the duck-shit lessened its
appeal. Dale sat waiting on a faded bench in between the pond and
the parking lot. He brought a six-pack and a paperback novel to
start on. He arrived late but knew that no matter what time he
showed up Samantha wouldn’t show up till fifteen minutes after
that. It was her nature–as water was wet, she was late.

He flipped through the first few pages,
hesitant to start reading. He laid the book down on his lap and
pulled a beer from its plastic ring. He popped open the tab and
took a large gulp. He was about to open the book when Samantha came
walking toward him. Early?, Dale thought. No way, not her, he
looked disbelievingly at her. And, she looked good too–too good for
him. She must want something, he figured.

“Hey Dale,” she said, her voice as warm as
the sun.

“Sam,” he nodded.

“What’re you reading?”

“Nothing you’d like. Want a beer?”

“Sure,” she reached down and plucked one.

“So, what’s up?”

“I did something stupid, Dale, really
stupid,” she said.

“Humph,” Dale grumbled. Whoever this woman
was it wasn’t the Samantha he knew. She would never open up to him
so quick. She must really need help on this one, he thought.

“What’d you get yourself into this time,
Sammy?”

“It’s not me I’m worried about…”

“If it ain’t you in trouble then why should I
care?”

“Cause it’s you.”

“What?”

“I’m sorry Dale…I tried everything…but it
won’t listen…”

“What’s it? What did you get me involved
with? I don’t have any money if that’s what you’re after,” Dale
chugged the rest of his beer.

“It doesn’t want money. I’ve tried
everything, and for some reason it wants you,” she explained.

“What. The. Fuck are you talking about?”

“Okay, let me start from the beginning…
Remember that old bookstore we used to go to? –Well, I found this
book there. Its some kind of spell book and me and Katie, and
Rhonda all got together one night. We were drinking having some
fun, and then somehow we ended up looking through the book. We came
across some lovers spell. We were drunk, ya’know? Just having some
girl-time, nothing serious, we didn’t even take the book
serious…but once we started reading the words the room went dark
and we started hearing all these noises,” she started to tear
up.

“Now listen, Sam, I don’t have time for this
bullshit,” Dale said.

“It isn’t bullshit! Just let me finish
okay?”

“Okay. Get on with it,” he replied grabbing
another beer.

“So, we hear these noises. They sounded like
whispers. It was really creepy so we stopped reading the spell. And
then I noticed that Katie’s eye went black–like all black, even the
white part. Rhonda’s too, and they said so were mine. Then we get a
call…it’s Rhonda’s husband…he’d been killed in a car accident! Then
yesterday Katie’s boyfriend killed himself…Dale, I know you don’t
believe me, and you won’t believe this…but you were the last person
I was involved with. I know you think I was cheating at the end but
I wasn’t and now something’s going to try to kill you…” she broke
down, “…and…and…it’s all my fault!”

“Bullshit. You were a liar and a cheat, and
now you’re just plain old bat-shit-fucking-crazy!”

“Dale, I’m sorry. I really am, I never wanted
this to happen. And I really loved you. We were just having fun is
all…but this thing wants all our old flames before we can have any
new ones. That’s what it says in the spell: ‘Burn away the flames
of old, or never shall a kindling grow.’”

“Damn it, Sam! I’m outta here,” Dale stormed
off.

He left her at the bench, not once looking
back at the woman he once loved, the woman who now sat with her
head in her hands sobbing. He kept his head straight and
walked.

Once at home it grew dark quickly. It was the
middle of the day, but the inside of Dale’s home looked of early
evening. Shadows moved across the walls, but Dale didn’t notice.
There were shapes of moving darkness, thin elongated forms moving
about the house. Then a picture frame cracked. The floorboards
creaked. The shadows surrounded him, but he didn’t notice. He drank
his beer and as he swallowed his throat grew tight. The shadows
wrapped around his throat, the beer unable to slide down, Dale
squirmed. He couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe, he could only smell a
mixture of fire and Samantha’s favorite perfume. His life didn’t
flash before his eyes, he was dying too quickly for that, but he
had enough time to think that though Samantha may have been a lot
of things a liar she was not.

* * * * *

S
helter

* * * * *

Closing time. The sun beats against the
windows as dusk staggers to its feet, declaring the death of yet
another sticky-sweet summer day. Everyone has left for the day,
except for Carter. Carter hangs the “closed” sign in the window,
and grabs the vacuum cleaner. He flips it on and the noise drives
the animals bonkers. The dogs claw at their cages, barking and
yelping. The cats scurry away. The lonely rabbit remains steadfast
but his eyes are wide and heartbeat rapid. Carter rounds the
reception desk and snags a dum-dum pop from the candy bowl next to
the sign-in book.

Having finished cleaning up the place Carter
washes his hands and fishes out his dum-dum pop. He unwraps it and
plants it into his mouth. Carter’s beard is so overgrown that
tendrils of hair continually find their way into his mouth. He
hates it but refuses to shave or even clean it up till he has to,
and the last time he checked the mail he didn’t notice any weddings
coming up, so what was the point? He resembled an animal, and he
preferred it that way. He cleaned up well but didn’t do it often
enough to leave an impression. As he twirled the pop in his mouth,
hair from his face twirled with it.

Carter walked over to the dog cages. He ran
his fingers along the tops of the cages, and the dogs howled with
excitement. Each bark was as distinct as the beast that made it.
Carter considered the dogs his children, and if he had had the room
and the money he would have taken them all home. He had three dogs
waiting at home for him as it was. All dogs from the Adoption
Center, all dogs he had come to know and love: Bee-bo, an old
Rottweiler with visible burn marks from his previous owner; Lucky,
a blind mutt saved from death row; and, Rusty, a young yellow
Labrador whose keeper died and left her an orphan. He loved them,
and as much as he wanted to get home to them, he didn’t want to
leave the others stuck in their cages alone till morning. But he
had to. He wiped his sweaty brow and grabbed a few treats, which he
dispersed among his four-legged friends. He headed for the
door.

Outside lying with its feet in the air was a
dead bird—a sparrow. Its small body twitched. Carter noticed it
immediately. Assuming it flew into the window and broke its neck,
Carter kneeled down next to it for a closer look. The bird managed
to work itself back to a standing position. It spread its wings and
flew at him. Carter jumped back and laughed it off. The little
sparrow flew at him again and again, with its beak snapping in
rapid succession. Carter having handled animals all his life was
used to being bitten, but he found the birds’ behavior to be
extremely odd. He grabbed the bird and took it inside, holding it
in a manner where it wouldn’t be able to bite him. He placed the
bird in an empty cage. He covered it with a dark sheet and left a
note for the morning vet, Dr. Jessica Pierce.

Jess—I found this little guy outside, was
twitching. Thought it might’ve broken its neck, and then it got up
and kept trying to bite me. Probably flew into the window. Talk to
you when I get in—Carter

He headed for home in his small box of a car.
Despite the pine-scented, tree-shaped car freshener, the vehicle
smelled like wet dog and musty books. It had good reason to smell
that way, and Carter didn’t mind it one bit. Though most of his
friends would always opt for driving him rather than being his
passenger.

The dogs, Bee-bo, Lucky, and Rusty, knew he
was home before he stepped out of his car, and when he did they
scampered noisily to the front door. They jumped up and down,
competing to be first in line for the head rub-and-treat train that
was now unlocking the door. Carter had to force his way inside,
calming the “kids” down with enthusiastic head rubs and ear
scratching. Once they allowed him entrance to the house he handed
out treats—little bits of rawhide, which they would take to their
own parts of the home to enjoy in private. Carter tossed his keys
aside and glanced down at the phone in hopes of seeing a
message—there was none.