Horror Stories: A Macabre Collection (5 page)

“Ooh, he’s pushy too!”

The crowd applauded.

“What can we call you aside from victim
number two?”

“Ted,” he said, simply.

“Ted. That’s all you have?” The announcer
stared at him, hoping for something, but Ted didn’t even give him
the satisfaction of a smirk. “Okay, Ladies, Lesbos, and Assholes…
Ted, the Teddy Bear will face-off against The Cannibal, and if he
lives he walks away with a thousand dollars and a free
bandage!”

The crowd went wild. The announcer opened up
the cage door and allowed Ted to step inside. The Cannibal stopped
eating from victim number one and began eyeing up his hopeful
number two.

They squared off and circled around the ring,
examining each other’s eyes. The Cannibal could see something in
there, lurking behind the façade--what it was he couldn’t tell. He
lunged at Ted, who was barely able to dodge the piecemeal opponent.
The Cannibal lunged again, this time landing a slash across his
chest. He tore his shirt, but barely left more than a scratch in
Ted’s skin.

“What are you?” The Cannibal asked.

“You’ll see,” Ted said.

Ted stepped closer to The Cannibal who tensed
and readied himself for a strike, but Ted was on him in a flash.
The Cannibal hadn’t seen him move and now he was at a disadvantage
as Ted wrapped his arm around his throat. Ted winked as two long
fangs forced their way into his smile. The Cannibal gasped and Ted
the Teddy Bear bit down into his neck. Blood spurted as Ted began
to drink from his neck. The Cannibal fought to break his grip, but
Ted was like cool concrete that refused to budge. The Cannibal
twitched in Ted’s embrace as he drank heartily from the holes in
his neck. The crowd was a violent cacophony of shouts and gasps.
The announcer scowled as one of his main attractions bled out
behind the mesh of the cage.

“Well, I’ll be damned… Ted the Teddy Bear is
a vampire! What other creatures of the night are amongst us?”

No one answered the announcer. The crowd
looked back and forth along the rows in anticipation of another
person coming forth. No one did.

“Fine. Fine. I understand, scared of the
Teddy Bear, I get it. But I’ve got a real showstopper for you all
tonight. The Cannibal was just a warm-up!”

Ted dropped The Cannibal to the ground and
wiped his mouth. The lower part of his face was stained with blood
and the front of his white shirt was soaked with it as well. His
eyes were wild with bloodlust. He no longer cared for the money. He
wanted blood, and he wanted to see what the announcer would bring
out to the cage this time.

“Bring out the Golem!”

The crowd gasped as the lights dimmed and a
spotlight hit the partition of the crimson curtains behind the
cage. There were several noises and grunts but nothing came through
the partition. Then… a zombie pulling a leash staggered into the
spotlight. Flies buzzed around the rotting stagehand as he
continued forward. He was followed by several other zombies, all
pulling leashes. With their combined strength they managed to pull
the Golem through the curtains.

The Golem stood in the spotlight, a towering
mass that looked of sun-bleached stone and melting sand. His
features were abstract and angular--unformed, similar to a
sculptor’s rough work. He had an inscription on his forehead and
several other markings and symbols across his body. The announcer
beckoned him to move forward, and he was compelled too. He moved
slowly, but the zombies helped to quicken his pace.

Ted no longer sought blood--or the money--he
simply wanted to leave. He tried for the door to the cage, but as
he grabbed it his hand burned at the touch. The announcer laughed,
his growing belly bouncing to the rhythm of his laugh.

“Silver,” Ted said.

“You’re a quick one Teddy Bear,” the
announcer said.

“This wasn’t the contest!”

“You never bothered to read the fine
print…and you killed one of my performers. And, besides, I don’t
hear the crowd complaining. They came for a show, and I’m going to
give them one.”

The zombies dragged the Golem all the way to
the cage opening. They removed the leashes from the Golem and
retreated offstage. The announcer ushered the large shape into the
cage, making sure to not leave enough room for Ted to escape.

The Golem stood in the cage. Ted couldn’t see
any way around him. He didn’t know much about Golems. He knew them
only as the Jewish version of Frankenstein’s monster. He knew they
were made of mud, but how was he supposed to fight a mud monster?
--He hadn’t the slightest idea. He punched at him, only to feel his
knuckles crack on impact. He tried to glamour him, but the Golem
remained unmoved. He stood like a sentinel between Ted and the
exit. He tried to run past. The Golem swung his club-like arm,
knocking the wind from his undead lungs. Ted’s back pounded the
ground as he landed in the dirt. He got up, knocking the dirt off
his pants and readied himself to attack once again. He bared his
teeth and lunged at the Golem attempting to bite into his rock-like
skin. His teeth cracked on impact and his howling screams
titillated the crowd. He held his mouth, fingering at the cracked
shards that were once his fangs.

The Golem stepped forward and swung his arm
down, bashing Ted into the ground. He hit him again and again,
pummeling him into a mound of mush and bone. The announcer
commanded him to stop, and he did.

The zombies came from behind the curtain once
again; carrying the leashes they had before and now, chains made of
silver.

“The Golem is victorious! The show is over,
leave now before I sick him on all of you! And don’t forget to pick
up a Traveling Terrors t-shirt for yourself,” the announcer
shouted.

The zombies leashed The Golem and walked him
back behind the curtains. Ted began to heal from the puddle of pulp
he had become to a form less offensive and as the zombies came back
for him he was able to hobble on splintered shinbones. They
shackled Ted with the silver chains and dragged him behind the
curtains.

The announcer took off his hat, “welcome to
the show,” he said.

* * * * *

Tunnel Rats

(a Stay Dead short story)

* * * * *

Deep below the belly of Titan City a man
called Bark shaves his face in a shard of mirror that’s duct taped
to the wall of his makeshift shack. His sweat serves as lather and
the dull blade wicks it off. Most of his neighbors don’t even
bother to shave. They’re too busy gumming the community crack pipe
to give a shit. Not Bark, no sir, he’s going to the surface, he’s
going to find a job, a good woman and a fast car, he swore it to
God. He swished his razor in a bucket of piss-colored water,
splashed his face and patted it dry with the sleeve of a tattered
flannel shirt. He then put the shirt on, tucked it in and grabbed
his hat, a faded and chewed Pirates cap which was a keepsake from
his former life. A life that now seemed like a dream, an amazing
dream of mediocrity, of clean clothes and hot coffee, running water
and a bed.

Bark pushed open the plywood door. The
squealing of rats and the sparking noise of a lighter pulled his
thoughts back to reality. The reality of a harsh truth that he very
well may die down in the dark tunnels of this subway-suburbia of
tents, shacks, vermin and shit. His backpack sat in a shopping cart
alongside his collection of bottles and cans. Bark slung the bag
over his shoulder and started his trek along the tracks to the
surface. It was just over a mile.

Daylight stung his eyes. He winced as if it
were a rat chewing at his calf. The city was bustling. It was
morning. He stuck his hand out. Most people never even looked at
him, if they saw his hand they would make it a point to not look
into his eyes. His deep blue-green eyes, a set of some of the
sorriest eyes you’ve ever seen.

“Spare some change,” he asked but it wasn’t a
question.

“Just ‘nuff for some coffee,” he
continued.

“God Bless You,” he blessed passersby at
random, with or without donations.

Bark had a different line every time he
opened his mouth, different strokes for different folks and all
that, he figured. Sometimes it worked sometimes it didn’t. It
worked well enough, after an hour he had enough for a cup of coffee
and a breakfast sandwich. He was thinking of a big old belly buster
from the corner deli, Happy Deli was what they called it but none
of the people who worked there looked happy. He ordered his Belly
Buster. It oozed grease, cheese and butter. He couldn’t wait to
wrap his mouth around it. He walked to the line, coffee and
sandwich in hand. Once he got the cashier, he dumped his change on
the counter. It consisted of pennies, nickels, quarters, a ball of
lint, and a dollar. He was a few pennies short, but he was close
enough that they didn’t care. They gave him a dirty look for
free.

Outside the deli was a stack of apartment
guides and Titan’s Voice, he grabbed one of each and headed for a
bench across the street. He flipped through the apartment guide,
his belly beginning to bust and began daydreaming. Before he could
get too swept up into his fantasy world of rooftop apartments and
stacks of fancy boxed wines, the loud sirens of a TCPD patrol car
whined by, followed by another and another. He brushed it off and
finished his sandwich. He got up off the bench and headed toward
the waterfront.

Once there, he folded up his arms and leaned
against the sturdy fence, looking into the river. The sounds of
seagulls filled the air, tourists were scarce and wind moved calmly
across his face. Bark came here almost every day, watching the
water, watching the boats and gathering his thoughts. The water
seemed to take the weight out of his breath and he stood a little
straighter as a result.

Bark was so used to people not looking at
him, that every time one of them did he couldn’t help but feel
uneasy. It made him feel like a beggar, he hated it, but he had to
do what he had to do in order to survive. And now that was sticking
his hand out and hoping someone had a nickel or dime to spare. Fall
was just about over and things always got tougher with the cold,
people usually gave a bit more as a result of
that holiday
feeling.
It was the begging for change all day long in the
bitter cold that was tough, when your lips turned into shredded
beef and your fingers were as cold as concrete. Sure, underground
was usually warmer, fires usually burned but that didn’t make it
any easier. At the end of the day you still had to beg. You had to
wake up and go to sleep a beggar. And you had to beg everyday just
to try not to die a beggar too. When people gave a smile it stung a
little less, and that’s what this woman just did. She gave Bark a
smile and a few bucks. He could only dream it would be this good
the whole way back to his tunnel town. Enough to get a decent
dinner and maybe a box of that fancy wine. He thanked her, god
blessed her and thought about fucking her.

There was a lot of action going on, he noted,
as he walked home palm up. More cops than usual, less people on the
street. Everything seemed fine though and he kept on trucking. A
few other folks felt they had deep enough pockets to toss Bark a
couple of coin collections, varying sizes of silver peppered in a
small pond of copper pennies. One was a wheat penny. He loved
getting wheat pennies. They reminded him of being a kid, when his
Grandmother would give them to him. She always told him to save
them cause they would be worth money some day. She was right of
course; they’re still worth exactly one cent. And one cent has
never bought shit, at least it didn’t back then, now every cent was
a cent closer to something and something was better than
nothing.

Bark stopped at a pizza joint with a pocket
full of change and two singles, the joint was named Jay’s and the
place was a glorified hole in the wall. He came here every once in
awhile and the owner, who usually worked from sun up to sun down,
treated him like a human being. He always gave him a smile, and
usually a bigger drink with a free refill and an extra slice or
some garlic knots for the road. Bark called the man Jay even though
it wasn’t really his name, and Jay called him Sparky even though
Bark corrected him every time. The place was as dead as usual. Bark
ordered two plain slices and a large Lime-Up and then sat down and
waited. He kept his eyes on the television, the volume was low and
he tilted his head in hopes to hear it better. It was a news
segment broadcasting, there had been several accidents and multiple
homicides throughout the last few days. The anchorwoman noted that
there had been an escalation and that events continued to occur,
she made the suggestion of possible ties and as always had to throw
the words terror and terrorist in there, the salt and pepper of the
airwaves.

“Everybody’s goin’ nuts out there!” Jay
yelled. “No one’s buyin my pies, fuggin’ nuts just goin’ ape shit,”
he continued.

“Well, I’m buying, economy can’t be that bad
if a bum like me’s still eating,” Bark said with a chuckle.

“Something’s goin’ on, man,” Jay muttered
under his black mustache.

“Something’s always going on.”

Jay brought over his two slices, an extra
large Lime-Up, a couple of knots and a bag to take with him.
According to Bark’s eyes it was another two slices, maybe one of
them a Sicilian slice. He thanked him, Jay nodded and Bark picked
up a slice folded it and bit deep. It was hot and crisp, he moaned
a message to Jay,
mmmmmmnnn,
and Jay nodded a second time.
Jay walked over to the doorway, peering out into the chilly nearing
nighttime sky. Shadows moved in the distance, staggering and slow
moving.

“God damn drunks, sick of cleaning puke off
the sidewalk.”