Sam Williams

TALES FROM THE SWOLLEN CORPSE

Apocalypse on Aisle Six

It was f’ing raining, f’ing raining. Heather had asked if I brought a jacket when she had dropped me off, sometimes she’s more of a mom than a girlfriend. I told her I would be working the front, so it didn’t matter. But nope, it was fucking raining and Barb sent me straight to garden as soon as I clocked in. It wasn’t  pouring, really more of a mist. But it was cold, wet, and gray.

I told Dan, if it got any worse I was closing up early, screw Barb. Dan was a good guy to work with. He was a little older and a bit of a burn out, but easy going. It had been thirty minutes since the last customer. I couldn’t leave the register so I had been watching Dan enthusiastically stack the fertilizer bags. Suddenly he stopped and looked up at the sky. I looked to see what he was looking at. Earlier it had been a solid gray, no clouds, just a grayish mist as far as the eye could see. But now there was an orange glow way up there.

“That’s crazy.” Dan said, slack jawed.

“I know, think it’s the sun trying to break through?” I asked.

“Awfully late for the sun to be out.” Dan shrugged then got back to stacking.

Suddenly the garden register phone rang. It was Barb, There was supposed to be some real bad weather coming in, she said to go ahead and close up and come to the front. I told Dan what Barb said. He said he would lock up but asked if I could go tell the dude in the back we were closing up on the way out. “Thought we were empty.” I said.

“Nope, some dude in a suit’s been hanging out in the back by the cinder blocks for an hour.” Dan said.

I walked past the ferns and saplings. Looking up, I noticed the lights were on now. Through the open space above a stack of bricks I saw the brown pants leg of a man standing in the next aisle. Walking around an end-cap displaying grass seed, I saw the man. I knew something was wrong. “Mister, we’re closing the garden center, please bring your purchases inside when you’re ready.” There was a pause, then he slowly turned to face me. When he turned completely, I saw something my brain couldn’t accept. The part of me that’s always slow to catch up, wanted to ask if the guy was ok. The smarter part of me took over and started screaming like a little girl.

The thing in front of me was a corpse, and with no mistake, it had been dead for a very long time, until recently that is. This thing was ugly as the suit it had been buried in. I was about to run when I heard laughing from behind me, it was Dan.

“Dude, you are screaming like a… holy shit.” Dan was standing next to me. He was looking at the thing in bewilderment.

I stopped screaming and almost snickered to myself when I looked at Dan. He’s got the same look Digger used give the screen door. Digger was the best dog I ever had but he wasn’t quite right. Sometimes he would come running full speed to come in but the screen door would be shut, bam. After he bounced back a few feet, he would just sit there with his head cocked back and that same look of confusion that Dan’s had.

“Dude, I think we need to go inside.” Dan said without taking his eyes off the thing.

“I think you’re right. You got the keys?” Before Dan could answer the thing lifted its arms to reach for us, baring its rotted teeth. Dan and I needed no other encouragement. We bolted for the door, hollering the whole way. Inside, franticly I reached for the switch to turn off the automatic doors. He and I pushed the doors closed. Dan pulled the keys out of his pocket and locked it.

We stood there looking out the door in terror. A minute went by, then a few more. Fear turned to curiosity. We both pushed our faces against the glass wide eyed, looking for another glimpse of the walking corpse. Then out of the shadows came a foot, then a leg, and it came into view. Even behind the safety of the door we were both ready to split. After a few more minutes it still hadn’t made it to the door.

“Dead guys lagging, Dude.” Dan said, still staring out the glass.

“I am going to go get Barb.” I said, putting my hand on Dan’s shoulder.

“Cool. I’ll keep an eye on him.” Dan looked mesmerized.

I did a walking-jog past electrical and plumbing up to the front registers. Nicole was working the self checkout. She was the only hot girl that worked here. I joked to myself someone must have told her, because she was very aware of it. With no customers, she sat busy texting as usual.

“Hey Nicole, you seen Barb?” I don’t think my voice reflected the urgency because she ignored me. “Hey!” That got her attention.

“What? She’s over talking to Hector in lumber.” She glared at me before going back to her phone. Probably typing away about how rudely she was interrupted.

I saw Barb walking my direction from lumber. I would recognize the overall and plaid shirt combo anywhere. Nicole and some of the part-time high schoolers liked to make cracks about Barb and hated getting her shift. She could be a tough manager but I respected Barb. Unlike some of the other dip shits, she knew her stuff, and unlike the others, if we were short handed she didn’t hide in the office. Besides that, she was six foot tall and I once saw her unload a pallet of fifty pound concrete bags in under four minutes. Her upper arms were as big as my thigh, and those overalls bore the weight of an immense rack, which for some reason shamefully fascinated me.

“Hey kid, you ready to work now?” She hollered as soon as she saw me.

“Barb, you got to come to the garden entrance, there’s something you need to see.” I must have looked pretty frazzled because her face went straight to concern.

She asked what the problem was and I told her that I just had to show her. As we walked past the registers Nicole hid her phone too slowly. Barb yelled over to her to stock the bags while we’re slow. At the side entrance, I saw Dan. He had turned away from the door and was leaning against a pallet rack. As I got closer, I could see he had been crying, he wasn’t bawling but you could tell.

“What happened?” I couldn’t imagine what would make Dan cry.

“He’s eating Bob.” Dan said, turning so I wouldn’t see his eyes tearing up again.

Bob was the name of a stray cat that hung around the garden center. I am not sure who named him that. He had been part of this place long before me. I walked to the glass doors and stood by Barb. She was standing there with the same mystified look Dan and I shared earlier. Sure enough, not more than a foot from the door was the dead guy. He had the cat in both hands and was digging into it like a kid with a slice of watermelon, guts and muck dripping from his face.

“What the heck?” Barb said, standing there staring at the thing which seemed to be staring back.

It was creeping me out, so I turned just in time to hear Nicole call over the intercom:

“572, 571… what’s the damn code for a manager…Fuck! Someone get up here now!”

Barb looked over at me, “Nicole didn’t just…” Shaking her head, she turned around waving us along. “Guys, make sure that doors locked and come with me.”

Sprinting by Barb, I could see two people by the front, they were watching something. I passed old Larry who was on the phone in the customer service counter.

He looked white as a sheet and yelled as I went by, “Hey, you got a cell phone with you? Try calling 911. I can’t get through!”

I shook my head. Going around the corner, I stopped by the two people who turned out to be customers. They were standing and watching, from a safe distance, an insane scene. At a register, Nicole was crying and screaming. She was holding herself up with the help of a checkout counter. One of her legs was stretched out in front. On the ground and latched onto Nicole’s leg by its teeth, was a nasty bloated woman with white eyes. Her grip was relentless and she was stinking up the place. The bloated woman’s legs were twisted and mangled. I could see a trail where she had crawled in. Hector was standing over her yelling and kicking. The kicks only seemed to make the woman’s fat shift oddly and make Nicole scream louder.

“Hector, move away!” Barb’s voice boomed from behind me.

Hector backed away with a look of someone that wanted to help but knew they couldn’t.

“Dude…” Dan was beside me now and saw what I saw. Barb was holding a carpet-kicker from the tool rental display. She walked up to the bloated bitch and calmly pointed the spiked pad like a golfer with their club. She raised it and swung, I am sure she must have intended to take the woman’s head off. Instead she sprayed Nicole with cheek fat, skin pieces and black blood. Nicole was really screaming now.

“Holy shit!” said the customer next to me.

Dan and I looked at each other, then back at Barb. Calmly, she turned the knob on the kicker, extending the spikes as far as they would go. Standing directly over the woman, Barb brought the device straight down onto chunky’s head with a dull thud. Pulling the kicker back forced the woman to release her grip. Barb pulled her farther back and with one hand, grabbed the back of chunky’s neck. The fat lady started to fuss and fight, making a wheezing sound. She was no match for Barb, who dragged her out the front doors. We watched Barb drag chunky to the curb, where she left her.

I had the doors turned off and was ready to shut ’em as soon as Barb came back through. I did, then turned around to see Nicole; she was sitting on the ground whimpering. Her leg looked really bad. Hector had the first aid kit and was cleaning it up. Looking up, I saw old Larry come around the corner.

“After a hundred and fifty tries I finally got through.” He looked baffled.

“Are they sending an ambulance?” Barb asked, bending down to look at Nicole’s leg.

“They’re not sending anything.” Larry replied with a shrug.

“What do you mean they’re not sending anyone?” Barb and everyone else looked at Larry for the reply.

“The operator said there is an emergency situation going on. Her advice was we should stay put and seal all the doors and when they have units available they’ll send ’em. After pestering her for a response time, she said we should plan on spending the night.”

“Screw that,” said one of the two customers.

The other, a lady, just stood there still in shock, her items brought up for purchase lying at her feet. The man walked towards the doors, I went to let him out. What we saw outside made us both stop and rethink spending the night.

Our weekly flyer must have made its way down to hell.

Seconds ago, when Barb dragged the fat lady outside, the parking lot was empty. Now the parking lot was crawling (in some cases literally) with corpses.

We stood there in horror and wonder watching the dead people run amuck. Barb walked over to see what we were watching. After peering past me, she turned and walked back to the registers. I turned and watched her nonchalantly walk to a checkout phone.

Barb’s voice came over the loud speaker calm and professional, “Ryan, come to the front. All Emporium shoppers please come to the front immediately. We are now closed.” Ryan worked in the back. I forgot he was here.

I looked at Barb as she hung up the phone.

“Yep, we’re closed for sure.” I said with a sarcastic smile.

“Well if there’s anyone left I don’t want them panicking and doing something stupid like opening an emergency exit and letting one of those things in. If anyone comes up front I’ll explain the situation.” Barb replied to me, looking worried for the first time.

“The situation? Barb, you sound like the 911 lady. What exactly is the situation we got going on, Barb?” Old Larry looked as close to being angry as I had ever seen him.

“We seem to have a zombie situation, Larry.” The way Barb looked at him put Larry back in line but what she said gave me shivers.

“Son of a bitch.” Said the man next to me as if agreeing, he stood still staring out the window.

We all know about zombie outbreaks. But there was a delay for me in accepting what I was seeing. Probably because I never thought I would be witness to one, or at least had been raised to think I wouldn’t. I heard the last time it happened was back when my Mom was a kid. Back then, they had a major outbreak in some small Midwestern town called Brecksville. The place was deemed unlivable for years and is now a tourist attraction.

I saw something about Brecksville on TV the first time when I was five; it scared the hell out me. When I asked my Mom if our town could ‘get zombies’ she told me there were worse things to be afraid of. She told me about when she was a kid, I guess back then when they were still dealing with the cold war, she and the other kids had to practice a daily nuclear attack drill. Like it would help, after a siren, the kids hid under their desks. In a weird way her telling me about growing up with the constant fear of being vaporized helped dilute any fear I might have developed for zombies. But now, looking out the front of the emporium, not so much.

Suddenly, Ryan showed up, he looked freaked. “Barb, it sounds like there’s a crowd out back and they’re banging on the rollup doors, what the hell’s going on?”

Barb went into manager mode, “Hector and Larry, get Nicole to the break room couch, take them with you.” Barb pointed at the customers. “Folks, there is a phone in there if you need it and a TV, which hopefully will update us on what’s going on. After you’ve settled them Hector, I need you back up front and Larry I need you to stay there in case Nicole gets worse or they need something.” Then she looked at Dan, Ryan, and me. “You guys come with me to Tools, I think we need to get armed.”

Dan had walked up beside me to look out the doors. He had been standing there focused on the insanity outside. After Barb’s “call to arms” he turned to me and said, “Fuck yeah. We do.”

Everyone seemed ok with Barb’s plan but Larry. I watched him pull Barb aside and sneak looks at Nicole while they talked. I was pretty sure what the conversation was about and was sure what most of us were already thinking. If that thing was a zombie that attacked Nicole, she was bit and it was just a matter of time before she was a danger to the rest of us.

Walking up to them, I heard Larry say to Barb “I won’t hesitate” like he needed to get a point across. He walked away and I heard him ask Hector if Hector could get Nicole to the couch by himself because he needed to grab something from tools if he was going to sit with them.

With everything happening so quickly I hadn’t thought of the fact I needed to call Heather and make sure she was ok. I tried my cell and got a “network busy”. Larry watched me pick up the same phone Barb had just tried to use. He shook his head and said it probably wouldn’t be any better. He was right; all I got was a busy signal.

We waited for Hector to get back and see if anyone else showed up front. I went over to talk to Ryan. He was standing by the door watching the craziness for himself. Ryan talked a lot of bullshit but he was also one of those people that knew a little bit about everything. If anyone had some input on what was going down, he would.

Looking out the doors, I asked the first thought that came into my head. “Why is it you think some of ’em are really slow, but fuckers like that one act like they’re on meth?” I was pointing at a tall shirtless and part skinless man who was running from car to car.

“It’s because the slow ones are old dead and whatever is reanimating them can’t compensate for decomposition, if the bone and tissue matter is gone, then it’s not there. That dude running over there is new dead.” For a long haired dude wearing an old Mega Death t-shirt, Ryan was a smart fucker.

A hand grabbed my shoulder and I almost crapped my pants. It was Barb. “Hey guys Hector’s back. I am going to need you two to go grab an axe or something and walk the store.”

Barb put a hand on my shoulder “I want you guys to walk the store. Hector and Dan will too when Hector gets back.”

I noticed there was something reassuring, sort of parental, the way Barb spoke.

“Make sure all the doors are secure, look down every aisle and in every bathroom stall. If you find anyone, send ’em up front. If you run into any of those things, try not to get noticed and come back here. Don’t do anything stupid, I only want you armed for your own safety.”

“Where should we start?” I asked.

“Do a circle starting towards Lumber, I’ll send Dan and Hector towards Garden.”

I don’t think anyone felt they were still on the clock. But someone needed to take charge and Barb was doing fine as far as I was concerned.

Barb stood with arms crossed at the registers as Dan pushed big rolling tool chests in front of the doors. Ryan and I walked towards Lumber. We didn’t see anyone down the aisles. Then we got to the front of Tools.

The tool dept was twice as big as the normal aisles. The display walls were lined with every device one needed to build or tear something down. The center was lined with table saws, air compressors, and portable generators. I stood there and it finally sunk in; Barb and this situation had given me free reign to grab whatever I see fit. Ryan and I looked at each other and I could see he was way ahead of me. “Let’s do some shopping.” I said.

When I was a kid I used to watch a children’s game show, the winner got to run through a toy store and grab whatever they could put in their kart before a buzzer went off, damn I was always jealous of that lucky little bastard. Now it was my turn. First I went to the hammers. There’s something about a new hammer, all pristine; that feelings gone the first time you use it. I grabbed a carpenter’s hammer with the biggest claw I could find. I looked to my side and saw the tool belts. Ryan suggested that we each grab goggles and paper masks/respirators. When I asked why, he said, “For the splatter.”

I grabbed a few more things like a nice dry wall saw. Then I saw my Excalibur on the rack with the wrecking and pry bars. Each looked like a gladiator’s weapon but one stuck out and I knew it was right when I saw “the obliterator” stamped on the shank. Ryan came around the corner with a sledgehammer handle and said he was ready. With “the obliterator” in hand and my belt filled, I told Ryan I was ready to party as well.

We checked the contractor booth and made our way through lumber towards the back. While we walked, I asked Ryan why he thought they weren’t putting much effort into getting in. He said they would soon enough; there was a lot of banging on the back rollup doors. He thought it was the sound of moving pallets with the forklift that must have got their attention. We kept walking, after a few minutes the weight of my tool belt started getting to me. I told Ryan to hold up a minute so I could catch my breath.

Looking me up and down he asked, “Hey commando, do you really need all that shit?”

I was about to discuss the importance of being prepared when we heard a noise. Creeping slowly around the corner, we saw the back of a man. He was standing by the lumber dept’s industrial saw. He had his back to us and was staring at nothing. We could see he was missing an ear and a good chunk of neck on the same side. The man was tall and very husky; he was wearing spandex bicycle shorts, a jean jacket, and had the most impressive mullet I had seen in awhile.

“Look at the way he’s just standing there, he’s got to be old dead. I got him.” I whispered, re-gripping the steel bar in my hands.

“Wait.” Ryan said, putting his arm against my chest to halt me.

“I know what Barb said, I’ll be careful.”

“No it’s not that. I want to record commando versus the Wallymart zombie.” Ryan said, pulling his phone out of his pocket.

Ryan’s look of enthusiasm was not encouraging for some reason. Ryan crouched down behind me, phone-camera outreached. I put the goggles on and the paper respirator over my nose and mouth. With the store’s Muzak playing “Rock the Casbah” and the “Obliterator” in hand, I was ready.

I approached the man and said “Excuse me sir, do you need some help?.” I didn’t know what else to say. The man didn’t move the slightest. I got closer and said “Excuse me sir.” Then I tapped his shoulder and tried to step back quickly. In a flash I found out I was wrong about two things: 1) it wasn’t a he, but a she (oh she was ugly), and 2) she wasn’t “old dead.”

She moved fast when she hit me. Slamming me with a single forearm, I flew, hitting my back against the saw table. The “obliterator” was on the ground out of reach. I grabbed the drywall saw out of my belt and she lunged at me. Plunging it into her sternum didn’t slow her down a bit. It was lodged in good, so good I couldn’t retrieve it. I was screaming at Ryan for help while I held her back with an arm under her chin. With my free hand, one by one, I plunged the contents of my tool belt into her, except the hammer which I couldn’t get to. Ryan must have had the key code because I heard the saw and vacuum start up.

Ryan’s sledge handle smacked against the woman’s skull with a crack. It had to have broken her neck; it stunned her enough for me to get away. I ducked by another lunge and stood by Ryan who was ready with his club. Grabbing the hammer off my belt I spun it to point the claw out. The lady stopped and started to howl at us. Before she could charge again, I ran towards her bringing the hammer’s claw down into her skull. It did the trick and she fell backward onto the saw table. For good measure Ryan and I ran over and pushed her torso through the saw. The dust collector motor bogged down and I heard liquid hit the collection bag.

Ryan and I took a breather. I wiped the goggles off with my sleeve and pulled my respirator down.

“Should have grabbed some coveralls too.” I said, looking at all the goo on my sleeve.

“Let’s go check the back.” Ryan replied. I grab the “obliterator” and we started to walk. As we walked away, Ryan said, “You scream like a girl.”

We went through the double doors. Customers always seem to think there’s a warehouse back here. They can’t get it through their heads that the store is the warehouse. The back was just a receiving area and where we kept the forklift. A big concrete room with super high ceilings, on one side sat an old beat up desk with a computer and phone. The top of the desk had been inscribed with years of artwork. You weren’t so likely to use the table tops up front to write a number or draw a stickman when the mood arose, but something about it being back here made it ok. On the exterior wall was a large steel rollup door with two windows above it and an emergency exit to its side. The rest was filled with pallets of merchandise stacked, waiting to be received.

As soon as we walked in, I could hear something banging on the roll up door. It didn’t sound like a horde, but it was loud. After a quick inspection, Ryan agreed no one was getting in. He pointed to a pallet of grass seed and said to take a load off, said he had something for us. I sat down and watched as Ryan unlocked the desk drawer and retrieved a bottle of brown label vodka.

“That’s the ticket.” I said with a smile.

A stiff drink seemed like a good idea right about now. Ryan came and took a seat by me; we drank from the bottle and talked. I asked Ryan if he was worried about anyone. He said a friend, but he didn’t have any family. He didn’t elaborate and I didn’t ask. He asked about my girlfriend and I told him I had tried to call. I told Ryan Heather and I were on the outs. I tried my best to verbalize (or better justify) a strange guilt I was carrying for not being as worried about her as I should have been. About then I started feeling a bit of a buzz, just a hint of that nice not giving a shit about anything numbness.

“I want to see what’s out there.” Ryan said. Pointing at the forklift he asks me if I can drive it.

“Sure.”

Ryan slides off the pallet and walks over to the lift; he stands on the fork prongs and holds onto the guard.

“Lift me up to the window.”

I jump into the lift. It had been awhile and Ryan had to remind me to turn the key to get power. Then I carefully drove him over and lifted him to the window.

“Dude, it’s only three of those fuckers. Get me down, I got an idea.”

I lowered Ryan while he confidently but precariously road the forks down. I knew he had taken some longer draws than me from the bottle but that didn’t quite seem to explain the twinkle in his eyes. He walked over to the driver’s seat and with a thumb pointed over his shoulder, motioned for me to get out.

“All right, go unlatch the roll up.”

“You sure about that?”

“Yep.” Ryan grinned.

While I kicked out the latches on each side of the roll up Ryan took the lift and picked up a pallet of toilets. They were in their boxes stacked two high. Ryan drove the lift over to the door and raised the pallet just below the top of the roll up. I could hear the lift motor strain as it rose.

“Really, this is the idea?” I asked, not quite as amused as Ryan about the idea of squishing zombies.

“When I tell ya, open it up. As soon as all three are in close it.”

The noise Ryan and I had made seemed to have stirred them up, because they were making a hell of a racket now. Ryan gave me thumbs up and I pulled the chain lifting the door. Zombies must not be good at limbo because for all the noise and fuss they waited until the door was at forehead height before entering. The first one was just a little shorter than the other two. If it hadn’t moved so slowly I would have been more panicked. I must have still looked worried because Ryan hollered for me to wait. The other two came in and before I could shut the door I heard the zip of grease covered pulleys as the forks went down.

He got the first two so good I could hardly tell they were under the pallet. Part of me was sorry I hadn’t heard or seen a big splat, the other part of me got chills that I was just witness to the kind of silent but quick industrial death that could happen at any time. Like the old saying one minute you’re there…

The third zombie Ryan had got by the leg. He was still standing but wasn’t going anywhere. So I shut the roll up, walked over and picked up the Obliterator. It may have been my imagination but as I pulled back to swing I swore the thing looked at me and held still. It wasn’t a bracing gesture but more like I was doing it a favor. I, I don’t know, it’s hard for me to explain. I swung with all I had. It must have been old dead, because I literally took its head off.

Ryan jumped out of the lift. He walked over to the head lying on the floor. “That’s how to do it!” He said, looking at it. Then with a solid kick of his steal toed boot he sent it flying over a pallet out of sight. I walked over to see where it went but couldn’t. We bumped knuckles to celebrate our odd bonding experience. Then the double doors slammed open. It was Dan and he was covered in blood and looked about as excited as Dan can get. He looked at us like he had caught us loafing on the job.

“We need you guys! Hector’s been bit and he’s gone apeshit freaking out about it. Before I left looking for you two, he had old Larry pinned with a box knife at his throat.” Dan shook his head in disbelief. “Things been fucking crazy since you guys left!”

Ryan and I rushed back with Dan. On the way, Dan looks at me and says, “Oh yeah Dude, your girlfriend’s here.”

I remember waking up this morning in my bed, warm and cozy. My pillow freshly turned to the cool side, the smell of Heather’s hair. That’s where I wish I was.

Now, I am in a warehouse, covered in gunk, running to help my coworkers fend off the living dead, and as if that’s not shitty enough, it’s getting late; I can feel the cold creeping in.

We got up front and found Hector sitting on the floor crying. Barb had old Larry pinned against the wall. She told him something about not giving a damn; I assumed by her inflection that she was defending Hector. She then told Larry to get his ass up to the manager’s office and stay there ‘til he’s settled down or fucking Zombies would be the least of his worries.

I turned to Dan and asked what the hell happened and where Heather was.

“I don’t know where Heather is.” Dan said, looking bewildered.

“She went to the bathroom.” Barb yelled without even looking at us.

Well what the fuck happened?” Ryan asked.

Dan shook his head then began sharing what had been going on.

“Dude, you guys weren’t gone two minutes and the shit hit the fan. I was over here blocking the door and hanging with Barb when we hear Ol‘ Larry scream for someone to come give a hand. Barb sends me to see what’s up. I get in the break room and there’s Hector trying to pull Nicole off that redneck customer. Fucking Larry’s got this big heavy axe and he hits Nicole with it. Her teeth were sunk in the dude’s neck good so when he hit her, pieces of her skull and a chunk of the dude’s neck go flying. The guy’s lying on the floor bleeding out. Half of Nicole’s head is gone and she’s still going. Me and Hec pin her to the couch and ‘Ol Larry takes the axe to what’s left of her head. Every whack and she’s thrashing more. Then after a particularly good whack, she just stops like someone took out the batteries.

We were looking at what’s left of Nicole and Larry makes some stupid crack that Hector might finally have a shot getting in her pants. So Hec calls Larry’s Mom a whore in Spanish and the two idiots get in each other’s face. I yell at them to knock that shit off and ask where the lady was. We all look over and see her sitting at a table with her head buried in her hands sobbing.”

Dan paused and turned from us, looking at the floor. Nervously he cupped his chin and rubbed his cheek with his finger tips. “None of us had noticed the dude Nicole had been snacking on had gotten up. He was standing behind her. Before we could yell, he… uh… well I didn’t know a person could do that with their hands; he ripped her apart. When we got over to him he had fingers in her eye sockets and mouth; holding her head like it was a fucking bowling ball, with his other hand he was busy tearing into her. He didn’t notice Larry come up behind him. Larry got busy with the axe, and when we all agreed the redneck wouldn’t get back up; Larry made sure the lady wouldn’t either.”

I looked at Ryan, he looked a bit shaken. I think he had a thing for Nicole; he would never admit it but you could tell. I looked back at Dan, who had perked up.

“Dude your fucking girlfriend.” He said, smiling at me before continuing his story.

“So I am standing there thinking we are going to have to start calling Larry crazy ass instead of old when we hear tires squeal and a crash outside. Hector, Larry, and I run out front to find Barb moving the shit I had put in front of the exit. I run over to help and see Heather’s car smashed into one of the concrete lights. They’re there to stop a smash and grab and I guess they work. Heathers out there and she’s got a few dead dudes between her and the store and a whole bunch more coming up from behind. She’s got a big old dirty Harry looking revolver in her hand! But that’s not the best of it; she also still has her work outfit on from Melon Mike’s! She starts blowing away the dead dudes and me and Barb duck down to watch. You know I’m not her biggest fan, but the sight of her in the hot pants, popping zombies dirty Harry style was pretty hot. I hate to admit it but I got a little chub.”

“Thanks Danny, I’ll take that as a compliment.” Heather said sarcastically from behind me. I turned as she wrapped her arms around me. I hugged her back; surprisingly I felt a big relief knowing she was here and safe. I guess I was more worried than I wanted to think about.

Barb walked over to us and quickly filled in the rest of the blanks. She wasn’t as colorful a story teller as Dan. She said when the guys had Nicole pinned, she nipped Hec. Larry saw it on his hand when he and Hec were blocking the door after they let Heather in. Larry and Hec were about to kill each other when Barb put ’em in check just as me and Ryan got here. She didn’t answer all my questions though; what the fuck was Heather doing with a gun?

Looking down into deceivingly innocent eyes, I asked, “Babe where’d you get a gun?”

“Off a dead cop at the gas station.” She said.

“What?” I ask.

“I was out of gas; there was no way I would have made it here from work. I was lucky the pay at the pump was working.”

When no more elaboration came I gave up and just asked where the gun was.

Pointing, she said, “It’s on the counter.”

We all look over to where she’s pointing and see an empty counter.

“Bang!” Everyone ducked and Heather grabbed me again.

Running over we saw Hector sitting completely still against the wall. The gun was in his lap and a red mural was painted in blood and brains on the wall behind him. His head was down and he was dripping from where his face used to be was.

“Fuck, I think that was the last bullet.” Heather said just loud enough for me to hear.

Letting go of Heather, I got an apron off the counter and laid it over Hector’s bloody face and torso. Barb bent over and grabbed one of his arms and a leg. Her eyes were watery and she was on the verge of tears. She asked me to help her carry him to the break room, I obliged without a word.

Inside the break room, tables and chairs were overturned with blood, body parts and bodies strewn about. If it wasn’t for the smell you would have thought it was a movie set. We laid Hector on the floor next to the couch with Nicole.

“I hope Larry’s happy.” Barb said as she closed the door behind us. Her face was sad and remorseful but there was a rage building behind her voice.

Up front, Heather was sitting on one of the counters, rambling on about a movie with a “zombie-causing comet” that she saw when she was a kid. Both Ryan and Dan are standing looking enthralled, they’re acting like this is the first they ever heard of the movie. Everyone’s seen that movie; they used to play it on channel thirteen a couple times a year.

“Dan could you get Larry, he should be in the office.” Barb’s voice broke Heather’s spell on the guys.

Dan said, “Sure thing,” and headed off.

Barb stood there quietly for a few seconds; she seemed to be getting herself back together.

“Well so far, sitting tight and waiting for help hasn’t been going so well. I am open to suggestions.”

With arms folded and looking away from us, Barb waited for a response. Heather, Ryan, and I looked at each other then Ryan spoke up.

“One or all of us could go to the roof and keep an eye out for help.”

“That’s not a bad idea, I have… where’s Larry?” Barb looked at Dan who had just showed up looking concerned.

“He wasn’t there, don’t know.” Dan shrugged.

Barb picked up one of the phones to page him when we all heard the familiar hum of the forklift out front.

“What the hell!” Barb slammed the phone down.

We rushed to the door to see, but were greeted by faces. A crowd of ugly was outside. The dead in the front were being smashed up against the glass unable to move. One, with the side of its face pinned to the glass, was watching Dan with one eye. Dan was having fun with it by playing peek-a-boo, dipping up and down behind the tool box in front of the door. He stopped when Barb smacked him on the back of the head. Ryan jumped up on the tool box and was able to see out.

“It’s Larry and he’s on the forklift. I think he’s trying to get to his car.”

“He really is crazy.” Barb said, looking up at Ryan with the rest of us.

“The crowd stretches through the parking lot and he’s just plowing through ’em. Whenever one tries to climb on he knocks them off with the axe handle. I don’t know how he’s going to get from the lift to his jalopy.”

Dan tried to climb up on the tool box but it rocked and seemed too unstable for both of them.

“Oh shit! He had one between the forks and it went down. He tried to drive over it and almost turned the damn lift over. He’s stopped, now he’s backing up. He’s going too slowly, they’re rushing him, shit the lift is covered, and they got him for sure. He’s still backing up, fuck me, he’s…he’s past lights!” Quickly Ryan jumps down. “Everyone get the fuck out of the way, he’s not stopping!”

We all ran past the registers. I stopped off to the side of an aisle when I heard the crash. In an explosion of glass, the backend of the lift came through the door like a battling ram, sending the tool boxes flying and leaving an oil slick of blood. The lift toppled over, coming to rest on its side and pinning some dead. A few that had held on were munching on what was left of Larry. A few had fallen off but had already gotten back up and a procession was coming through what was left of the door.

Barb walked over and picked up Larry’s axe which had fallen from the lift onto the floor. She retrieved her keys from her pocket and threw them to me.

“Get everyone to the roof, I’ll buy you some time.” With her overalls and the axe in hand she looked like an angry female Paul Bunyan.

“Don’t be stupid, come on, come with us!” I yelled over the noise of zombies tripping over debris.

Looking red in the face she yelled back, “Get everyone to the fucking roof!”

Needing no more encouragement, I grabbed Heather’s hand and we ran towards the back with Ryan and Dan just behind us. As we got closer to the double doors we could hear a lot of racket on the other side. Each door had a little window to keep people from running into each other. Standing at a safe distance, we watched as Ryan peeked through one.

“Son of a bitch!” he screamed, just as the door opened a little and a decomposed arm stuck through. Ryan pushed but the arm blocked it from shutting all the way. I rushed over and helped Ryan push against the door. The arm wouldn’t give and more must have been on the other side because it started to get harder and harder to keep the door shut. I thought how lucky we were the other door is latched; since usually we leave it open to drag pallets in and out.

“That old asshole left the roll up wide open. The back’s full of zombies. I don’t know how we’re going to get to the ladder now.” Ryan pushed against the door.

Dan grabbed the arm by the wrist and told us to open the door just enough to let it through. Ryan told him to “f off” but I said if we don’t get it shut we won’t be able to pretty soon. We count to three and let the door open just enough for Dan to pull the dead guy through, then slam it as soon as he’s clear. Dan had the guy by the arm and spun him, slamming it into the wall. The dead guy bounced against the wall then fell to the floor, where Dan proceeded to kick the zombie’s head to a pulp with his steel toed boots.

When the thing stopped moving and each kick started sounding mushy Ryan yelled, “I think ya got ’em Dan,.” with a hint of concern. “Can you find me a two by four or something to put between the handles?”

Dan ran over to the table saw. He stopped to look at the mess we left, then came running back with a piece of wood. Ryan tried it and it fit through the door handles perfect. We cautiously stood back to make sure it held and it did.

“Hey Dan, is there still a can of gas in the fire locker behind the contractor’s booth?” Ryan asked.

“Should be,” Dan replied, while wiping his boots off on the dead guy’s t-shirt.

“I’ve got an idea. You guys wait for me here; make sure they don’t get out.” Dan said. He wanted to go too but Ryan convinced him he’s faster and has less chance of being seen by himself. I reminded him to hurry because we should be getting bombarded any second.

I kept my back against the door to make sure it wouldn’t move and so I could keep a lookout. I saw something move past the end of the aisle just in front of us. Dan walked and looked down a few rows but said he didn’t see anything. Heather leaned against the wall and slid against me. She held my hand firmly, and I could tell she’s scared. Expecting to see a hungry mob coming for us any minute, I was scared too, and couldn’t think of anything to say that would make us feel better. Dan leaned against the other door and looked around. He was thinking the same thing from the worried expression on his face.

We waited a few minutes but what seemed way too long. I started to think of a plan B but came up with nothing. Suddenly we heard something; a sound like a high pitch whine turning into a buzz, then it was gone.

“What was that?” Heather asked as she squeezed my hand to the point that it hurt.

“Sounds like a… oh hell yeah, look.” Dan was pointing past Heather and me at Ryan, who was walking quickly towards us with three chainsaws.

“Ok, you guys start these puppies up; we’ll make a line and keep Heather in the middle. When we get to the ladder unlock it; we’ll keep ’em off you and Heather.” Ryan said, handing me a saw.

Heather took the saw from me and asked Ryan how I’m supposed to use a chainsaw and unlock the gate.

“Do you even know how to use it?” Ryan asked sarcastically.

Heather answered him by pushing the primer, then flicking the saw with one hand and pulling the cord with the other instantly starting it.

“What? My dad owns a landscaping company.” Heather said, revving the saw.

Looking at Heather, Dan elbowed me and told me he had a chubby again.

Walking over to the aisle in front of us, I grabbed a galvanized pipe. “Works for me, let’s do this. Ryan takes the lead, Dan you’re in back and Heather stay close. “

With everyone’s saw fired up and my pipe ready, I walked to the side of the door. Ryan looked at me and counted; one… two… three. Pulling the wood out, I opened the door quickly, before I could see what was on the other side, I heard Ryan’s saw motor whine and saw a spray of red. I got back next to Heather and we made our way into the back room. Looking behind me, I saw the others were on their way and wondered if Barb really held them off that long.

Heather and I stayed almost back to back as we walked. The pipe was working surprisingly well at busting heads wide open. Blood and chunks were flying all around me. I did my best to keep my mouth shut in fear something might land in it. When we got to the ladder, I took Barbs keys and got to work figuring out which one unlocks it. Fumbling, I found it and opened the guard that covers the lower rungs.

“Got it.” I yelled and turned just in time to see a big, hairy Sasquatch-looking fucker pin Ryan to the table. The impact forced the saw into Ryan’s neck. He went limp and dropped before the mob engulfed him. Heather took a swing at the big fella. She missed the bastard’s head, digging the saw into its shoulder blade which seemed to piss it off. The hairy bastard turned around with the saw still stuck in him.

“Heather, climb up the ladder!” I screamed.

The fucker lunged at her but missed. She started up the ladder. When he tried again I smacked him home run style against his skull, which only stunned him. Dan’s on it and took a swipe with his saw to the back of the guy’s knees; Sasquatch went down. I cleared my way to the ladder, then dropped my pipe and climbed. Dan was just behind me, wielding the saw like he shouldn’t be allowed to watch any more horror movies. Once we were all up the ladder, out of reach, I looked out into the room. It’s packed from wall to wall with the dead. You can’t even see the fifty or so we had just taken out.

After a little fuss, Heather got the roof hatch open. We climbed onto the roof and heard the sound of machine guns off in the distance. I asked if anyone was bit, we looked ourselves over and seemed to be alright. Dan, Heather and I walked over to the side of the building. Looking down the street to the south, we saw a parade of soldiers and Humvees making their way slowly toward us.

Standing to my side, Dan threw his hands in the air and yelled, “The cavalry is coming, yeah!”

With Heather in my arms, we watched the sun rising from behind the foothills. Looking at the sky, turning from black then deep purple to blue, I was filled with hope. We made it; life might actually get back to normal.

“Mikey,” Heather squeezed me and looked up from my chest.

“Yeah babe?” I said, looking down into her angelic eyes.

“I’m pregnant.”

Dan laughed.

The Well

Pa said the well was contaminated. I told Emily that meant it had gone bad. Mama didn’t know how water could go bad. I don’t think Dad knew neither. He sure didn’t have a good answer from the look on Ma’s face. Grands said we were cursed by the heathens for taking their land. She had Billy scared and Mama didn’t like that one bit. Didn’t matter one way or the next, the water was bad.

I found it turned before my chores. Ma caught me at the door and told me to fetch water so she could start breakfast. Told her cooking was women’s work. I grinned so she’d know I was joking. She told me if I ever wanted to eat again I better fetch the water.

Ol‘ Shep (bless his heart) was sleeping on the porch like always. He woke when he heard me. Shep followed me to the well; he looked thirsty so I gave him a sip from the bucket. Mama didn’t like me doing that, but she wasn’t around. Last time she caught me, I told her Shep was cleaner and less hairy than Grands so she shouldn’t pay no mind; boy did I get a beating.

It weren’t no more than a minute after he drank that Ol‘ Shep started scratching at himself. First he started clawing and biting, then he found a rock and started rubbing against it real hard. I ran inside to get Pa. When we got back, he was still at it. The rock was bloody, an eye and most of the side of his face was gone. Pa went back in the house to get the shotgun. I knew what he meant to do and turned to go back in before he could. Passing Pa, I walked quicker so he wouldn’t see my face. Pa didn’t like it when I cried.

Inside, it took awhile before I heard the shot, it sounded more distant then I expected. Pa must have taken Shep out to the far field. Mama came running. I told her Shep was sick and Pa had to put him down. She wiped a tear from my cheek and gave me a big hug. I laid my head on her shoulder. Ma told me she didn’t know what to tell the twins. Billy and Emily loved that dog, we all did.

I went back out to help Pa. He didn’t say what he had done with Shep and I knew better than to ask. I told him about giving Shep a drink and how he went crazy right after. Pa had me bring up another pail. He looked and sniffed at it, putting his face closer to the water than I liked. We took it over to the old sow since she was already sick and dying. We had her separated from the other hogs. Pa didn’t know why she was sick so he hadn’t made up his mind what to do with her.

Pa and I climbed into her pen. She laid in the shade of the sty. Her eyes followed us but she didn’t move a muscle. I couldn’t get her to drink so Pa held her head back and I poured the water down her throat. It didn’t take long before she started squealing, it was the loudest sound I ever heard. Mustering her strength, she got up. The sow started rubbing against the pen leaving bits of red on the old coarse wood. She was rubbing like she wanted to take her skin off! Pa took the shotgun he had left leaning against the pen and shot her. I didn’t turn away this time, I had seen Pa butcher so many pigs it didn’t bother me like Shep.

We walked back to the house. I saw the sun had taken away the morning blue and knew we were going to get a late start today. Pa told Ma what happened and not to let anyone near the well. He had me get Greta saddled to go up to the McCray’s to fetch enough water for the day. The troughs were full with good water. We just needed enough for drinking and so Mama could cook. Pa said I would be making daily trips until the irrigation ditch was dug from the stream above the McCray’s.

I grabbed two canteens including the big one that hung by the door. I also grabbed Pa’s drinking bag, Pa called it his boot, and I found it under their bed. Unlike the half day rides to town, it’s a short trip to the McCray’s. They were nice older folks. They were the only other ones out here besides us. Pa didn’t know how they managed out here with no young ones to help out, but the two of ’em seemed to get along just fine.

The ride back seemed even faster. Coming down the last small hill I could see our farm out in the meadow. Our house looked like a little brown boat on golden sea. The little hills behind it looked like rolling waves. It made me miss the ocean. I grew up by the sea. Every morning I started the day hoping Pa would change his mind and take us back.

Back home, Ma had set out some jugs and a wash bowl for me to fill. That way the canteens would be ready for my next trip. The rest of the day Pa kept me busy. In fact I didn’t think at all about how the day had started. Not until on the way in, I saw Shep’s pile of rags in the corner of the porch. I took his bedding out to the work shed. The twins didn’t need a reminder and neither did I.

The next day we got so busy working on the new fence, I had forgotten about my trip to the McCray’s. Ma came down the long dusty road to tell us we were down to one jug and asked when I was going. Things weren’t going so well with the fence, we had lost track of time. Wiping the sweat from his brow and looking frustrated, Pa said he could finish by himself and I better get.

After I had Greta saddled and the canteens strapped on I headed out. Down at the end of the dirt road I could see Pa. He had stopped working on the fence and was talking to two fellers on horses. We didn’t get many visitors out here. The last one was a preacher; Pa wasn’t too nice to him; of course Pa had been carrying around his boot that day.

As I got closer, I could tell Pa was angry and he was pointing for them to go away. One of the men pointed back at Pa. I heard a bang. There was a spray from the back of Pa’s head and he dropped straight down to the dirt. I yelled and the men started towards me. I turned quick and got Greta going as fast as she could back to the house.

Their horses were a lot faster than poor old Greta. I didn’t beat them by much. As soon as I was close enough to the porch, I jumped down and ran inside. I saw in a blur Grands in her rocker with the twins playing by her feet. I yelled at Ma to come and help while I tried to hold the door. The plank we used to latch it was missing again; Billy was always playing with it. Ma came running around the stove to ask what all the fuss was about. Before I could say, the door flung open sending me to the ground.

Two of the biggest ugliest sons of bitches I had ever seen came in. Both were dusty and their faces were dark and leathery from the sun. One had what Ma called that “different look” to him. It’s what she called a man in town. She told us that man was like a baby, even though he was taller than me. That guy from town had a weird look to his face and this one had it too. The other had a face full of beard, it was black as night. His eyes and the bit you could see just looked mean.

After looking around the room the bearded one looked at Ma and said, “Well ain’t you a pretty thing?”

I jumped up and yelled for them to get out of here. The “different looking” one walked over and hit me so fast and hard I didn’t see his hand move. I saw a flash and then things went dark and quiet.

I woke up by Grands’ feet. My head hurt real bad and I felt dizzy. Using all my strength, I lifted myself up onto my knees. Grands was in her chair and the little ones were on her lap. She had her arms around them and they had their faces buried in each side of her neck. Grands was staring at something, she looked angry and I could tell she had been crying. I started to ask what was going on then I saw what she was looking at. Standing over by the table was the one that hit me. As soon as I saw him, everything came back. He stood there pointing a gun at us with a dumb smile on his face.

I didn’t know where the other one was until I heard Pa and Ma’s door open and the bearded one walked over to his friend. I could hear Ma whimpering from the room behind him.

“Well, she’s all yours Junior.”

He turned and looked at the empty jugs on the table, “Damn it, that whore done wore me out and you ain’t got a drop in here.”

He picked up a jug and slammed it down at his feet. The jug exploded, sending ceramic shards everywhere. Picking up another he pointed at me and said, “Damn it boy! You go out to that well and get me and Junior here a drink.”

I started to protest, then Grands broke her silence and cut me off. “You heard ’em Jim, go get these men some water from the well.” Her voice was cold; I had never heard her speak like that.

I took the jug from the man and headed off to the well. I heard him tell Junior to go with me and make sure I didn’t try to run.

When I got back I handed the full jug to the bearded man. He brought the jug to his sun blistered lips and drank like he hadn’t had a drop of water in days. After spilling a good amount on his shirt and letting loose a disgusting belch, he handed the jug to Junior, who drank the same way.

I didn’t think that a man could have squealed like that old hog had before she died. But that’s just what he did before he dropped to his knees. Junior lost his dumb grin and looked very confused. I almost felt sorry for him, then he started screaming.

First they scraped at themselves with their own nails, clawing away at the skin on their faces and arms. Then the bearded man got a piece of the broken jug and started on himself with it. I picked up Junior’s gun which had been lying on the floor.

Without turning away, I shot each of ’em in the head.

Gibberish

Paul’s desk was on the second floor of the Brown and Johnson building. It was large, a dated brown color from decades past, and covered in paper. It gave the impression Paul had more work than he could handle. Truth was, things had been slow and every day Paul felt he was treading water. He knew he was running out of projects anyone gave a crap about. He also knew if he didn’t come up with some new ideas, he was screwed.

He gazed out the window down to the street below. Paul had been excited about getting the window seat until he discovered the tinted glass made the brightest afternoon sky a dismal gray. The view wasn’t too stimulating either; just a parking lot and another office building across the way.

Paul pinched the corner of a cardboard envelope poking out of a stack of papers. Wiggling it free, he held it and contemplated mailing it. Then, smacking it against the palm of his hand he thought; now or never. He also thought it was time for the first of the day’s many cigarette breaks. As he stood, he looked to make sure the address was right then tucked the envelope under his arm. He walked from his desk towards the hall, as he did, he didn’t notice the loud crash or sound of car alarms from the parking lot below.

He liked taking the back stairs over the elevator. With luck, he would only have to walk past the receptionist, Harriet, who took the mail anyhow. He felt like today just might be okay because when he turned the corner to the lobby, he could see it was empty except for Harriet. Walking towards her, he could see she seemed to be smiling at something.

Oh Lord, what does she think is so funny? She’s smiling like an idiot, Paul thought as he approached the reception desk. Harriet was smiling but as Paul got closer he noticed something was wrong. Her smile was distorted and strained. The smile and empty stare were unyielding even when Paul was directly in front of her.

“Are you, eh, okay there Harriet?”

She moved her mouth just enough to respond “eh iehhh hooo.” Her voice was not forced; other than being incoherent gibberish it didn’t seem to dictate the duress her face showed. Paul wondered if she might be having a stroke.

He hurried to find help. He remembered Miranda, one of the HR ladies, sat around the corner. Remembering she was the head of the office safety committee, he figured she surely would know what to do. Hurrying around the corner to the hall, he bumped into Randal the national account manager, a man Paul thought of as a slime ball in a Brook Brother’s suit.

“Listen, I think something’s wrong with Harriet. We might need to call an ambulance or something.” While Paul spoke he watched Randal slowly lose his balance and slide down the wall to a sitting position on the floor. He looked at Randal’s face; it was adorned with that same horrible grin.

“ahieeee jeeee,” Randal repeated, sitting on the floor looking disturbing.

The sight of Randal was a bit more than Paul could take. He rushed to find someone else. Heading through the office, at every desk he found one incoherent coworker after another, every face grinning and babbling. His hurried walk turned into a run, slowing only when he remembered he had left his heart medication in his lower desk drawer.

He ducked into the lunch room and found it empty. Short of breath, his face flush, Paul held the back of a chair. He tried to calm himself by telling himself to: “get a grip” and “take deep breaths”. His efforts were short lived. Up on the wall was the TV and like always at this time of day, The Sally Jones show was on (which Paul loathed). But instead of talking about the next miracle diet or celebrity break up, she sat in her plush chair with that by now all too familiar smile, jabbering nonsense.

Paul felt his only salvation might be fresh air and rushed out the back door. Outside he was greeted by the sound of car alarms and the smell of smoke. He avoided the parking lot, taking the route he took every day to his bus stop; a quick cut through the courtyard of the adjacent building to the main street. Swiftly, he followed the sidewalk towards downtown. He hoped to find someone of sound mind to help. The street was filled with stalled cars and collisions. He passed one car engulfed in flames; the driver sat smiling and still while being burned alive.

He was about to give up, with no idea what to do next, when he saw two policemen standing by each other at the end of the block. Their backs to Paul, they seemed to be conversing. Paul moved towards them cautiously. Relief swept over him when he realized he could hear them and understood what they were saying.

“I hate it when a transmitter goes, what a mess,” said the taller officer.

“It’ll all be cleaned up in a day or so. Besides, it weeds out the ones that aren’t taking the signal anymore,” replied the other.

“Please, can you guys help me?” Paul asked from a few feet behind the men.

“Like this guy.” The man said to his friend as he turned, pulled his gun, and shot Paul dead.

“What’s this?” the other officer said. Reaching down, he picked up the envelope lying next to Paul.

Looking at it, his friend shrugged. “Looks like it has postage. Mail it.”

The Hill

There are truly beautiful places in this world; the hill is one of them. Down here in the funk and grime and shadows and fear, you forget that fact sometimes. Today I am going up there; I am going to find the top. It’s not easy you know. The twisting roads which lead up are lined with mansions of incredible size and structure, creating what seems an impenetrable maze of canyons.

I have never been told to leave in my past attempts, nor felt welcome. I have yet to encounter anyone while traversing the hill’s intimidating slopes. I am not sure how many times I have attempted. I am only sure that each time something sent me back, something scared me.

I swerve my bike into the middle of the road and veer the corner fast to maintain speed as I begin my ascent. The first part of the hill is darker, shadier. The houses here are brick, vine and moss covered. I feel more at home here. It’s not as stunning as further up, but beautiful in its own lingering fog way.

As I pass through the mist I am enveloped in a warm yellow light that becomes almost blinding. Here are the big houses. They seem like beautiful vacant monstrosities to me. Each house is a monument to opulence with architecture that seems to defy gravity. The road here turns sharper at the corners and begins to climb at an unreasonable grade.

I feel now as though I might lose my grip. What keeps my tires on the pavement is outside my understanding. With each downward press of my foot I expect to feel the tires lift off into the air. With each house-lined plateau I feel the relief of stable ground. At one plateau I find an empty lot. It gives way to a view of everything below that thrills me to the point of panic, a weird mix of dread and awe.

Farther still the houseless lots outnumber the houses. I come to a large flat area with a monolithic arch and what looks like gigantic turn of the century structures behind it. These building are at least a hundred years older than the homes below. Somehow I know this to be a campus of some sort. Looking out from here I feel like I can touch the sun.

Beyond the campus I find the beginning of the summit. Here it becomes gray again like an overcast October day. It’s the point of my journey that feels farther than I have ever been before. Turning, I see it, the estate. The front looks like a Victorian mansion, but it is big beyond reason. The entrance stands like a sentry tower, its windows seem to look down at me, filling me with a dread.

A wrought iron fence surrounds its boundary. My essence tells me to leave but something else calls me to it. I follow the fence inland and far past the face of the hill. The back of the immense and forbidding house gives way to a vast field of mausoleums and grave stones. I try but can’t imagine what kind of residents could live in such a structure or leave behind so many dead.

When I finally feel I cannot go on, I stop and peer through the fence. It fills me with wonder and fright. Beautiful marble angels and various stone sculptures adorn its vast expanse. But it’s the mausoleums that cause the fear. They seem to lead into the ground like portals into an abyss. I think I see a shadow move among the granite. I watch closer. Something is moving. The fear builds to a point I feel frozen. My only solace is to close my eyes. When I open them I am on the other side of the fence. What was moving is now behind me. I want to run but my legs are paralyzed. Waiting for it, my heart races then skips as I feel pure coldness grasp me. It drags me to the entryway of one of the mausoleums and into darkness beyond comprehension.

There are truly beautiful places in this world…

….

A woman sits in the chair by her son’s bed. She sits as she has done so many days. She sits looking at the tubes that feed him and help him breathe. She sits and wonders if he dreams.

Mr. Bagneris

Mr. Bags shows you things, that’s what Eric told me before I ran. There was blood everywhere but mostly on the bed. I knew my parents were in that bed and I had an idea what Eric had done to them, but I didn’t want to know.

Eric was still my brother, but he was different now. I didn’t think he meant me harm but I couldn’t stand to be near him. More than anything else it was that change; the perversion of my own blood that sent me running. Like a remade favorite film or song. When someone changes something you know and love, but leaves just enough to still call it the same name, it causes revulsion inside you. It’s actually something new but you hate it for what it pretends to be, that thing that you had loved.

When Eric first told me about Mr. Bags, I thought he had made him up to scare me. He had been playing down by the creek in the woods behind our house. The creek was about a half mile from our backyard and I didn’t like going down there. Where we lived was typically cloudy anyway but it always seemed dark once you got that far in the woods.

Eric said he was down there exploring when he saw what looked like a part of a dead tree by the water. As he got closer, he could see it was a man who was staring at him. He said he was about to run away but the man called to Eric by name. Figuring it was a neighbor, he got closer. Eric said Mr. Bags was wearing a top hat like ole’ Lincoln wore. He had a round face and a grin that almost rose to each ear and his teeth were large. His eyes were big and yellow and his skin was dark and leathery. Eric described him in great detail but said there was something about his appearance that he couldn’t put into words.

One thing Eric said he knew wasn’t right about Mr. Bags was his feet; they seemed to be buried in the creek muck. His legs rose out of the mud like the stems of some odd plant. He introduced himself as Mr. Bagneris, but said to call him Mr. Bags. He told Eric he knew he was a curious boy. Eric said his voice sounded like Dad’s favorite musician, that Louis Armstrong guy. Mr. Bags told Eric he had wonderful things to show him.

He ran away that first day. But Eric was curious. He went back to see if he could find him again. He even dragged me down there but we didn’t see anything. He did show me the place he thought he had seen him. It was a muddy bank and it didn’t feel like a place I wanted to stay long. It was about a week after that that Eric went down there again and I didn’t see him again until I found him covered in blood in our parent’s room that night.

I ran out the front door and hid under the porch across the street. I watched the house burn and firemen come. I saw cops come and take Eric away. I stayed under that porch, shivering through the night. The next day, when I felt the coast was clear, I ran across the street and went looking for the creek. Fear had been overtaken by anger and I wanted to find Mr. Bags. I needed to know what he did to my brother.

This time he was right where Eric had pointed out. Mr. Bags looked just as Eric had described: like he was part of the woods and as Eric had said; his feet were buried in the mud. I got close and he called my name.

“Oh boy, you’re a curious one too, ain’t ya?”

“I want to know what you did to my brother!” I screamed back.

He grinned the biggest grin I had ever seen and said he knew why I was there, said he had it right here, and pulled a little tin box out of his breast pocket. He held the box out to me. I was now as confused as I was angry but I wanted to know. I took the box and opened the lid. Inside it was just a little thin black worm squirming. I said it was just a worm and went to hand it back.

“Well smell it, smell it boy and you will see.”

I didn’t see any harm so I held it a safe distance from my nose and took a whiff. I didn’t smell anything and went to hand the box back again. Mr. Bags grinned even bigger, I looked in the box and the worm was gone. I put my fingers to my nose just in time to feel the end of it wiggle into my nostril. I collapsed on the ground trying to blow it out as I coughed, while Mr. Bags laughed. Then I stopped thrashing and my eyes opened wide; because I saw what he wanted to show me.

That was twenty years ago and it’s been fifteen since I was put in prison. Tonight they’re giving me the chair. Hopefully this diary finds a reader and they’re curious like we were. If you’re reading this and that’s you, you find Mr. Bags; he’ll show you things.

Scavenger

“You like it, right?”

The way Erica was smiling, there was a certain desperation about it. Tony held the little glass box up to examine it some more. The glass felt as fragile as an eggshell. It was held together at each joint by a minute seam of metal, with no hinges or way to open it. Tony assumed the metal to be lead; touching it didn’t set well with his hypochondria. Inside the box was a little human skeleton no bigger than his thumb. Its detail was truly amazing and Tony was at a loss as to what it was made out of. As far as he could tell, it looked like real bone.

“Yeah, it’s umm interesting.”

Tony did his best to reassure Erica. But the truth was that the thing gave him the willies.

“I knew you would. I remember when we went down to Mexico and you kept pointing out all those little Day of the Dead dioramas. You always like that morbid stuff.” Her eyes scanned Tony’s face for a reaction.

Tony gave her a little smile and head nod to show he agreed as he put the box on the counter. It slouched in its case causing the tiny skeleton’s knees to click against the glass. Fearing it was too delicate to sit like that, Tony carefully laid it down. The sight of it lying on its back made the little box look like a tiny coffin.

“You always find the most interesting things babe.”

Tony didn’t mean the statement as a compliment. Erica was always bringing the oddest things home. Most of which he couldn’t stand, but he was a man that picked his battles carefully.

“Don’t I? I was down at Odds and Ends, you know that little thrift store with all the kitschy stuff? Well they just got a whole bunch of really wacky stuff from an estate sale. When I saw that I knew you’d love it.”

Hugging her he said, “Its great babe. You wanna go down to Pete’s and get a burger?”

“Sure.”

It was a rough morning for Tony. He over slept and had the oddest dreams throughout the night. On the way out, he grabbed his keys from the counter and saw the little box. He thought about tossing it in the trash outside but then thought of Erica’s angelic face. Tony carefully picked the little box up and took it to the coat closet. Placing it on the shelf above the coat rod, he turned and shut the door.

Out of sight, it didn’t take long for Tony to forget about the macabre little parcel. But while the days went by, filled with normal work week routine, the nights had become very difficult. When Tony wasn’t having bad dreams, he was awakening with an anxiety he couldn’t explain. At first he chalked it up to the copious amounts of coffee he drank throughout the day. A habit Erica had warned him many times about.

When he successfully managed to go through the day without a drop of caffeine he passed out rather early. He woke in the middle of the night with the familiar anxiety. Now awake, he could still hear a patter that had penetrated his dream. It was the scuttle of something tiny running across the wooden floor.

Tony grabbed a little flashlight from his nightstand drawer. Erica was sleeping soundly. Tony did his best to quietly inspect the floor and under the bed. He knew if Erica woke and found out there might be vermin in the apartment she would freak. After a fruitless search he decided to go back to bed. So as not to upset Erica, he planned to call the landlord from work in the morning.

As he drove home, Tony thought about the landlord’s surprised reaction. Mr. Miller had sworn there had never been a rodent problem but said he would have someone out to take a look by the weekend. Opening the apartment door, Tony was greeted by the savory smell of cumin and onions. He expected to find Erica in the kitchen; instead he found her franticly digging through a mountain of shoes that littered their closet floor.

“Babe, you ok?”

Erica turned and sat, looking utterly frustrated.

“Did you take the laces off all my gym shoes?”

“No sweetie, why would I do that?”

“Well they’re not here and I wanted to go to the gym. I’ll have to get some new ones on the way. There’s dinner on the stove.”

With that Erica stood up and threw a pair of sneakers into her waiting bag. She pushed past Tony who stood in the closet doorway equally puzzled by the accusation and the predicament. After Erica left for the gym, Tony grabbed a plate and sat on the couch to enjoy his dinner in front of the TV. Flipping channels, he turned the volume all the way down when he thought he heard a scratching from inside the wall behind him. Tony waited but he didn’t hear it again. He turned the sound to the TV back up and continued his dinner.

Erica got back from the gym just as Tony was washing his face. While getting ready for bed, she wrapped her arms around him and gave her best puppy dog look.

“Sorry about earlier, I was just really annoyed.”

“I can’t blame you, that’s really weird.”

They kissed to make up which led to more kissing, which they only paused to get into bed. Under the covers Erica positioned herself over Tony’s chest and moved her face to his. Just before their lips touched she hollered out and jumped off the bed taking most of the covers with her.

“Oww damn it! Something freaking bit me!”

Erica sat back on the bed and held her ankle.

“What?” Tony asked, sitting up quickly.

“Something freaking bit me, look.”

Erica held out the hand she had been holding her ankle with. There was a little smear of crimson on her fingertips.

“Damn it. Where are you, you little bastard?”

Tony scoured the pile of blankets then picked them up in a clump and shook them. Nothing came out. He looked under the bed and all around the room. When Erica asked what he was looking for he confessed that they might have a rat problem. The fact that he had kept it a secret sent her into a screaming fit. Tony tried to calm her by insisting the landlord would take care of it.

“Well I am not going to sleep here and be nibbled on all night. I am going to stay with my mother until you handle this.”

Tony had never seen Erica this upset and knew there was no use arguing with her. He helped her pack some things then drove her to her mothers. When he went to kiss her good bye she turned her face and gave him a slight pat of a hug. She then pulled out her keys and let herself inside as Tony walked back to his car.

Tony didn’t get much sleep back home. The little he did was filled with dreams of thousands of tiny sharp toed feet scurrying across his bare flesh. He got up with the sun. Dragging himself out of bed, he called the landlord who assured him the exterminator would be out that day. Just as he hung up the phone, it rang; it was Erica. She said she had forgotten her MP3 player and needed it for her spin class. Tony asked if she could come by in the evening so maybe they could get some dinner and talk about things. She told him, in a tone that kept him guessing as to her mood, that she’d think about it.

At the office, the day went by fast. About noon, Tony got a call from Mr. Miller the landlord, telling him they didn’t find any traces of rats or mice but they left glue traps to be sure. Tony wasn’t sure if it was going to be enough to make Erica feel safe so he stopped by the hardware store on the way home and picked up poison and a couple more styles of traps.

When he got to his door, he found it unlocked. Inside he put the bag from the hardware store on the counter and yelled for Erica, receiving no reply. The kitchen and bedroom lights were on but there was no trace of Erica or anything missing.

Tony picked up the phone off the kitchen counter and called Erica. A faint pulsing buzz that coincided with the ringing on the phone line emanated from the coat closet. Tony wondered why she would leave her cell in the closet and opened the door. First, an odd odor told him something was wrong before his brain registered the feet and legs protruding from the darkness of the closet floor.

“Erica… sweetie?”

Tony bent down. Erica’s skin was ice cold. He gently pulled her torso out of the dark depth of closet into the light. He covered his mouth when he saw the look of horror frozen on her face and her open but lifeless eyes. The little he moved her lifted her blouse, exposing her bloody belly. A few centimeters above her bellybutton was a large hole about the size of a child’s fist. Tony couldn’t help but think it looked like something had burrowed into her.

He stood up- banging his head on the closet shelf. Tony watched as the little empty glass box fell to the ground breaking off a piece of glass that was already partly detached and hanging off to the side.

“What the f… Ahhhh!”

The steel blade of a kitchen paring knife sliced Tony’s left Achilles tendon. A sharp pain shot through the back of his foot and leg. He lost his balance and fell backwards, hitting his head on the granite countertop on the way down.

Tony woke to an awful burning on his chest and stomach. He could tell he was lying on the floor. He tried to move his hands and feet but they were securely tied and splayed out. He looked down to see his work shirt unbuttoned, his under shirt pulled up, and a large patch of his skin removed. He pulled against what he realized was the missing shoelaces and began to yell.

He fell silent with astonishment when he saw a tiny figure climb onto his torso. It was a little naked man no bigger than Tony’s thumb. He moved peculiar and slow and looked almost aboriginal. The little man’s hair and skin didn’t seem to match, like a patchwork doll. His mouth was bloody and face incomplete, he was missing something; his eyes.

The little man slowly lumbered to Tony’s face. Tony closed his eyes as the man climbed over Tony’s chin. When he felt the tiny fingers forcing his eyelids open, Tony began to scream again and then louder still when the microscopic fingernails penetrated the soft tissue of his retinas.

Rotted Soil

Hugging William, his mom told him how she appreciated him coming out to his grandpa’s farm. She had brought him out to stay for the week.

I wish grandpa did.” William replied with a tinge of sarcasm.

Holding him at arm’s length she looked at William “He may not show it but I know he does.” She said with a somber smile.

Letting go, she turned to walk towards the car. “I will be back to pick you up next Sunday around six.” She hollered without turning around.

“If you remember.” He whispered to himself. She gave William a little wave then jumped into the old station wagon. William stood feeling marooned as he watched his mom’s taillights disappear in the dust.

His Grandfather was at “The Pigs Ear”, the only bar in town. He was a man of routines and days were ended with “the boys” down at “The Piggy” (as locals lovingly called it). William’s mom had given him a key to the old place before they left. She kept a spare key in case of emergencies. She had also laid down grandpa’s house rules. This left William less than enthusiastic about the week.

The outside had looked a bit rundown but somewhat welcoming. Inside of the house was a different story. The downstairs living room was dark and shadowy. A pungent smell hung in the air. The smell was like dust and what William could only accredit to “old person”. The stairway wall was filled with picture frames. Some pictures were of familiar faces but a lot were much older. William thought the really old ones were creepy. He wondered why no one seemed to smile back then.

Upstairs was brighter; the old curtains covered everything in a soft yellow light. William unpacked his things neatly in the guestroom’s chest of drawers. He moped while thinking about his mom’s instructions. She had repeatedly said that grandpa liked things in their place. He picked up an old picture frame. It had sat on an antique corn crate that served as the bedside table. It was a picture of him standing with his gramps holding a fishing pole. He couldn’t have been more than five and was smiling ear to ear. He put the frame back, thinking it had been a long time since he smiled like that.

Sitting on the bed, he fell back on to his elbows. It felt good to relax in a quiet room, as things at home had been a little tense this past week. His mom and John (her boyfriend) had been fighting a lot. William had liked John ok, he was nicer then some of her others. His mom had told him on the drive over they just needed some alone time to work things out. But she sounded more like she was trying to reassure herself. William didn’t buy it; he had been through this too many times before.

Other sixteen year olds would have run away before wasting a summer week at a farm. But William figured his mom would owe him one. There was opportunity as well, he could do some chores and earn money for his car fund. Hanging out with his grandpa wasn’t so bad either, he did admire him. The man might be cold but he was the only real male role model William had.

William’s Grandpa was a Veteran and well respected in town. He was what William’s mom called “a man’s man”. That was a phrase she never used to describe any of her boyfriends. William knew spending time with him was also a part of sending him out here. The work was easy and the week flew by. The only thing that bothered William was afternoons just after three or so. About that time the work would be done. His grandpa would go to town to have a drink with his veteran buddies. William would be stuck at the farm which had no TV or anything for him to do until bed.

His grandpa didn’t usually get back until eight or so which was bedtime in the house. William would pass the time before he made his dinner by exploring the surrounding foothills. He also liked checking out the ancient rusted equipment collection his grandpa had amassed in the barn. There wasn’t much out by the farm but there was one place that he was told not to go. That place was a fenced off field at the end of the south property line. It was part of the old Wilson farm which had been unoccupied well before his gramps got the land 30 years ago. All the buildings had burnt or had fallen down. The only thing that was left was a huge field with an old dilapidated fence around it. Towards the middle of the field was a little hill. On that hill, in the only spot not covered in weeds as high as full grown corn stalks, was a scarecrow on a pole. William had asked why the land stayed vacant so long; his grandpa just said the soil was bad. It didn’t seem true for the weeds, William thought.

The scarecrow always caught William’s eye. It was far from the fence and when William got out that way the sun was usually hazy. Because of this he never could make it out very well. It stood like a faraway sentinel and had inspired his curiosity since youth. One Saturday, when coming back from a hike, he approached the fence and saw an animal trail through the weeds. He figured it must have been made by deer and when he stood on the fence it looked like it continued to go all the way up to the little hill. It was only four thirty and a good two hours before it would start getting dark so the idea of a little adventure was too much to resist. William hopped the fence without a second thought and landed right in the middle of the trail.

William started down the path, having to duck a lot in the beginning. The path was more of a cave through the brush at first. For the most part, he could stand up straight as he walked just fine. The summer’s heat and all the vegetation had made the air humid and heavy. He thought to himself how glad he was that he didn’t have allergies like his cousin. As he continued, the undergrowth got lower and started to lighten up. He started to see glimpses of the hill as he moved along. He didn’t know why but the closer he got an anxiety began to build within him. There was a bad feeling to this place and little by little it was getting worse. As he got closer to the hill, the ground became stony and there were fewer weeds. He could tell he was on a grade now and walking part of the hill you couldn’t see. Ahead, the open clearing on top was approaching fast.

He made it not more than a few feet out of the weeds and was standing maybe thirty feet from the Scarecrow, which stopped him in his tracks. It wore old work boots the color of dust. Its jeans were tattered which, like the shirt, were almost tissue thin where there weren’t holes. They flapped against a stick frame that gave the appearance of bones. Arms stretched out over a cross pole in a crucifixion like pose. Heavy rawhide work gloves hung at each arm‘s end. He couldn’t see more of the face than that it was stitched leather. The leather was the color of over tanned skin. Its head hung down, he could only see the side which consisted of one black socket and a sharp end of a twisted smile cut into the leather.

But it wasn’t its forbidding appearance that stopped him in his tracks, something was wrong. At first he thought it was just the wind. But then as incomprehensible as it was: William understood why he wasn’t supposed to come here. The scarecrow was moving. He was frozen with fear as he watched one arm unhook itself then untie the other, all the while its head remained down. The one black socket he could see seemed to be focused on William. Its limbs moved disjointed and inhuman, the elbows and knees bent both directions. It bent holding the pole with one arm and began untying its legs.

William broke through the paralysis and turned around. He bolted down the path almost tripping on stones. He had had a long day and his muscles were weak and his breath came in short gasps, but he ran as fast as he could. He didn’t know how fast that thing could move but he knew he had a good head start. As he approached the fence he had a feeling of relief. It lasted until he passed the last low hanging bows of the tree-like weeds. Sitting on the fence, just ahead, was the scarecrow. Its head was lying to one side like a creature with its neck broken; its hands were grasping the fence. Because of its overly long arms, its elbows were bent sharp and high looking like those of a marionette. William stopped, not sure what to do. He looked on in horror as the creature raised its head from its shoulder, both of its sockets affixed on William. The scarecrow’s mouth opened wide with thick strings of saliva, it let out a horrible screech.

William paused. There was no place to run but back the way he had come. Mid turn, he heard something like a flag flapping in the wind. At the same time a shadow swiftly moved over his head. William ran with the dread of knowing what was going to be waiting for him around the next corner. Seeing an opening in the brush he dived into it. Thorns and nettles scraped and stung his face and hands as he crawled. Unable to move very far, William pulled his legs up and went into a fetal position. He laid there wondering how long he should wait before making another run. His thoughts disappeared when something touched his leg. Looking down he watched the old dusty work glove tighten its grip around his ankle. It pulled his ankle with tremendous force. William flopped out of the bushes like a rag doll being flung around by a child. Under the creatures grip, bone began to crack. William screamed out in pain. The trail tore at William’s back while the creature pulled him at an unnatural speed.

At the hill clearing they stopped, the creature dropped William’s mangled ankle. William put his hand to his face. His face was wet with blood, covered in gashes and flaps of torn skin. Whimpering and unable to rise, William looked up to see the scarecrow standing over him. Its arms to its side and head cocked like a confused dog. It lifted its arms and removed its gloves. The scarecrows hands were made out of twigs but looked skeletal. It slowly lowered itself towards William. Closing his eyes out of pure fear, William quietly began saying a prayer. The prayer was one his mom had taught him for bedtime as a child. William felt a boney grasp as one hand wrapped around his throat. With his eyes tightly shut, he shuddered when the pointed fingertips of the other hand brushed his stomach. William convulsed as the scarecrow’s fingers penetrated his stomach slowly. Then, like a frenzied animal, the scarecrow began disemboweling him.

William’s Grandpa had gotten home later than usual and went straight to bed. In the morning, when he didn’t find William in the guest room, he figured he got an early start. After finding no trace of him at any of the normal jobs, he became worried and jumped into his pickup. He drove all the field service roads but when he got to the end of the south field by the old fence, something caught his eye. Looking up on the hill, it was the old scarecrow. Even though he couldn’t see it very well, he had been looking at it for thirty years. In that time it had always looked one breeze away from dust. This morning however, it seemed as if someone had just put it up there. The scarecrow’s shirt wasn’t flapping in the wind any more. Now it had the appearance of a belly, like it had just been stuffed.

William’s grandpa got in his truck and headed back to the farm house. Inside, he went to the kitchen and grabbed a beer. He took a seat at a little kitchen table beside the window. Maybe he went hiking or to town, he thought. Sipping his beer, he contemplated how long to wait before calling the boy’s mom. Looking out the window, his thoughts changed for moment. His focus was on the plants and trees. The leaves were starting to change, autumn was coming. The year had gone by too fast and it hadn’t been a good one. He was losing hope for the farm. Largely because of this feeling he had that had grown stronger today. It was a fear that, like the old Wilson place, his soil was going bad.

The Vampire Next Door

When I was a child, I was afraid of the devil. Sometime during my teenage years I became aware of mortality in the way you only can by getting older. Something, for good reason, keeps you from that understanding in youth. After that, death became my biggest fear. But now I am pressing sixty and I can say for certain there are far worse things to be afraid of then death or damnation.

I am not sorry for what I have become, nor do I fear the consequences. What I do fear is how much longer I will suffer. Something else I have come to know is that all things are equal and nowhere does that hold more true than with pain and pleasure. The old lore is wrong. A simple diet of blood will not suffice. We need suffering. Suffering is our sustenance. The suffering of our like is good, of the acquaintances we make fine, of the innocent divine.

I was thirty five when it all began. I had been married to poor Shannon for ten years. She had given me two beautiful daughters, twin girls that were turning five that year. My job paid well, we had no debt with the exception of a mortgage. The house was decent, three bedrooms and a big backyard complete with a golden retriever. On the surface it was a good life.

In my twenties I had developed a taste for inappropriate things. During the later part of my marriage my sex life with Shannon turned from monotonous to nonexistent. Then, as if I was starving, the taste for those “things” became cravings. There was no way for me to be open to Shannon about the things I was doing. Fearing my depravity would utterly destroy her, I lived a double life. Living this way, out of view, gave me the illusion my actions were devoid of consequences. I was tragically mistaken.

One day, while I was wasting time at work in one of my favorite chat rooms, I was contacted by a new member. The members handle, “Flesh_Lover”, sparked my interest to say the least. We hit it off and private messaged each other the rest of the afternoon. Just as I was about to log off to go home, I got an invitation to a party that very night. Party favors (I was hoping blow) and group sex was all I needed to hear. Within seconds, I was on the phone with Shannon giving a lame excuse for working late. When I received the time and directions, out the door I flew. It hadn’t occurred strange to me the ease at which I received the invitation/address from this complete stranger.

The directions led me to a seedy apartment complex. Always preserving my privacy, I parked a block away and walked back. The complex was two stories with a gated courtyard. Apartments were on the left and right, at the opposite end was another gate probably leading to an alley. It was already dark as I walked through the dimly lit courtyard. The place was probably something to behold when it was built. Now it consisted of patches of crabgrass surrounding a concrete fountain. The fountain’s base was full of dirt; it probably hadn’t had water in it for over twenty years.

Most of the porch lights were off so it was hard to read the numbers on the door. The unit I was looking for sat just to my left under the stairs. As I knocked I felt a rush of excitement, not knowing who was going to answer the door thrilled me. The woman who opened the door was less then stimulating but somewhat expected. She was on the other side of middle age. Her hair was bleached, thin and frizzy with dark black roots. Her face had that “older than it should” look. She wore a tattered robe with purposely exposed low hanging cleavage. The worn looking woman invited me in.

She introduced herself as Sarah. I lied and said my name was John. Since she looked like a hooker, using that name struck me as funny. The apartment was dark and sparsely furnished. The carpet was dingy and covered in stains. A pungent odor hung in the air, a very bad odor. I should have turned then but it was the dirtiness that I liked. “You’re the first here, I’m sure the others should be showing up soon.” Sarah said.

She was playing with her robe with one hand showing me how lose it was. Her teasing was working, any hesitation I had was disappearing. “How about an appetizer while you wait?” Sarah then turned and walked down a hall towards the bedroom.

Looking back, I can’t believe I was so stupid, but a different lust blinds me now. She was waiting for me at the end of the hall by the bedroom door. When I got there she put out a hand gesturing for me to go first. As soon as I opened the door, that smell became rancid and overpowered me. I turned to ask what was going on. I was speechless when I saw the face before me had changed. Her eyes had become completely black, her jaw elongated. A wicked grin exposed needle sharp teeth with serpent like fangs on each side.

I tried to push past her but she threw me into the room like a child tossing their teddy. I landed hard against the wall, knocking the wind out of me. In the room, I saw where the smell had been coming from. The closet doors were missing. Inside the closet stacked on top of each other were the remains of her previous meals. She was on me before I could move, her talon like fingers puncturing the flesh of my biceps as she held me down. Then she raised her head presenting that ghastly smile, ready to tear into my neck.

I begged for my life, going on about my wife and kids who I thought I’d never see again. This is what both saved and ended my life as I know it. Not because she had mercy, but because she was a sick demon bitch and she craved suffering. She would make me like she was and then send me home.

I eventually did go home and my sleep is still filled with nightmares of the screams of my loved ones. I hear the children innocently calling for help the name of the person killing them. I also eventually killed that demon bitch. It’s in our nature; she had to have been expecting it, probably part of her hoped for it.

That was many years ago, though I don’t look a day older. I have moved and changed my name twice since those events. I always end up in the suburbs; there I can fit in unnoticed. Some of the legends were true. I do sleep most days but the sun doesn’t hurt me. Now, with more control, I even maintain normal jobs and a little bit of a social life. It cracks me up though when I see my kind portrayed on the late night TV movies. I can recognize my kind and trust me, you shouldn’t think Lugosi. Now Dahmer, Gein and Gacy, those were vampires.

The Epicures

Ryan and Paul’s new place “Claudette’s” (named after Ryan’s English bulldog) had not been doing too well. After some success in the bay area, they had come to California’s wine country with hopes of being the next “French Laundry”. To their dismay, becoming “foodie holy ground” proved a tad harder than the young entrepreneurs expected.

Claudette’s had only been open a month but failed to garner any fans. It seemed the wave of acclaim they road in on had already begun to recede. Ryan was thinking of going back home for the weekend while the restaurant received new flooring that hadn’t arrived in time for the opening. Paul, an avid mountain biker and outdoor enthusiast, came up with an idea for a camping trip. He convinced Ryan a weekend of breathtaking views in the High Sierras was just what they needed to get their heads back in the game. Before he knew it, Paul found himself paying the campground fee. Jumping back into the SUV, he told Ryan to take the next road past the ranger station. Hearing the grinding sound of the gravel under his SUV’s tires, it occurred to Ryan that it had never been off pavement. The road wound along the edge of a lake but only gave quick glimpses of water through the dense tree growth. Following the map the ranger gave them, the road veered up. Ryan stopped the car by a rusted fire ring. In front of them the tree line gave way to the lake below, glistening in the early June sun, beyond the lake were nothing but mountains.

“Wow this is fantastic. Good idea Paul!”

“I told you, it’s incredible up here.”

Paul was relieved by Ryan’s excitement. Ryan’s idea of roughing it was eating a TV dinner. It rather surprised Paul when Ryan agreed to the trip. Paul’s own enthusiasm was tested when he found himself doing most of the work putting up the tents and setting up camp. Being a resilient soul, he never stayed irritated for long. Besides, Paul thought, having to do most of the work wasn’t anything new.

As the sun disappeared behind the mountain, they settled around a fire. Paul made what he called “Cowboy fillets” with herb butter. For the sides: grilled asparagus spears and new potatoes. The meal was a lot more work than Paul would normally go through camping alone. He even put effort in plate presentation, but could tell Ryan was less than impressed. Ryan took two bites then announced he would be doing breakfast.

They spent the rest of the evening polishing off two nice bottles of red wine and brainstorming new ideas for Claudette’s menu. After Ryan felt he had drunk enough to attempt sleeping in a sleeping bag, he excused himself to his tent. Paul stayed up for awhile enjoying the stars. He contemplated sleeping outside until the cool air turned plain cold. Then he retired as well.

Paul woke to the humid warm air of his tent. Outside the early light cast the campsite in hues of blue. The fire was still smoldering as he got the travel stove and a folding table out from the back of the SUV. He laughed to himself while looking inside the vehicle at all the unnecessary stuff Ryan had brought. When Ryan finally got up, he seemed in pretty bad shape. Paul prepared himself for the bitch fest. Surprisingly enough, Ryan sucked it up, not complaining a bit. He even got cheery when he saw Paul had set him up to start breakfast. The only thing Ryan liked more than eating a fine meal was preparing it.

After breakfast and clean up, Paul suggested a hike. Taking a deep breath of the crisp air and looking out at the lake Ryan said he was game. Paul suggested they pack a lunch but Ryan insisted they shouldn’t be gone that long and needed to get back to do it proper.

Heading off, the pair found a trailhead just a little down the road they had come in on. About thirty minutes in, Paul could tell Ryan was getting worn out. They hadn’t seen the lake in awhile and the trees hid any other views to be had. Not wanting to climb up the mountain any more, Ryan found another little path heading down through the brush.

“Let’s try this maybe it’s a short cut.” Ryan said pointing at the path.

“That was probably made by deer. We should stay on the trail. If you want, we can head back.”

“Oh come on! I thought you were the Boy Scout! Where’s that adventurous spirit?”

Ryan had made up his mind and already started heading down the trail before Paul could protest. By noon, both were tired, hungry and hopelessly lost.

Taking a seat on a fallen tree, Ryan mumbled just loud enough for Paul to hear, “I can’t believe you got us lost.”

Paul turned towards Ryan and yelled, “You son of a bitch…AHHHHHHH!” he screamed as the iron jaws of a bear trap snapped down on his left ankle. Blood soaked his jean leg. Paul dropped to his other knee screaming.

Ryan stayed seated cupping his hand over his mouth repeating “Oh my God!” Paul screamed at him to help. Paul’s screams broke through his shock and Ryan stumbled over and kneeled by Paul. He tried, without luck, to free him. While they toiled neither man heard the swoosh of a club swing through the air. Paul stopped yelling just long enough to see his friend fall against the dirt, unconscious.

First blackness, then sound, then Ryan tried to open his eyes. Pain pounded his skull with every beat of his heart. He lifted his head and a string of drool hung from his lip. Looking around, he realized he was inside a house. It took a minute for his eyes to focus. His arms and legs were tingling from being tied tightly to the chair. Slowly his senses came back; Ryan noticed the room was full of a pungent smell.

A large husky man entered into Ryan’s view from behind him. He was wearing jeans and a t-shirt which were covered by a bloody butcher’s apron. At the sight of the frightening looking man, Ryan remembered Paul, the bear trap and being hit. Ryan’s eyes filled with tears and he began to whimper. The large man put his immense arms behind him and untied the apron which he hung on a nail.

“Oh, you’re awake, was kinda hoping you’d be dead. Works for me, fresher that way. Gives me more time to deal with your buddy.”

The man walked back behind Ryan, who continued to whimper. Ryan looked around the room through watery eyes. The walls were covered in dark imitation wood paneling. There was a window and door but both well out of reach bound as he was. The sounds behind him were familiar; clanging of pots, the sound of a fridge door opening. It was a kitchen. He heard a pot lid being lifted then set on the counter. The smell got stronger. It was meat cooking, it was gamey and it was overpowering.

“Oh my Lord, Oh my Lord!” Ryan shouted hysterically.

“Scream all you want. Ain’t none in these parts to hear you.” The deep and eerily calm voice came from behind him.

“What did you do to Paul?”

“Well part of him is in here with me and the rest outside in the smoke house.”

“What did you do with my friend?” Ryan repeated himself.

“I just told you.” The man now sounded a little annoyed.

“No, you don’t understand what I am asking. Is that cumin and mint? And I think I detect a hint of cayenne.”

“What? Ah yeah. How’d you know that? ” the man replied, obviously amused.

“It’s my job. I have two restaurants and in my professional opinion that smells divine.”

The burly man walked into the room looking very interested in what Ryan was saying. He held a bowl in one of his massive hands.

“You want to try some?”

“It would be a pleasure, please.”

The man reached into the bowl and pinched off a piece of meat with long dirty fingernails. He placed the meat into Ryan’s waiting mouth. Ryan chewed the meat, taking his time with it.

Then with a face of astonishment he proclaimed, “Oh my God, oh my God, that is divine.”

The big man blushed. He had never in his entire life been so complimented. He walked into the kitchen, sat down the bowl then stood and thought. After a minute he came back, untied Ryan and introduced himself as Earl. They hit it off beautifully. Earl shared with Ryan a recipe diary he had been keeping. Over the course of two days, they experimented with Paul’s remains using Earl’s recipes and Ryan’s vast culinary knowledge, resulting in a two day gluttonous feast.

Earl and Ryan are friends to this day. While Claudette’s is not enjoying national notoriety, it has become a very popular local spot and is famous for its savory comfort food. Ryan visits Earl almost every weekend now. He goes for the conversation, to work on new recipes and to pick up fresh meat for the restaurant.

The Witch in the Basement

Dan sat looking out the window at the rear garden. The contrast of gray outside to the warm interior of the library made him feel like he was looking into an aquarium. He was happy being out of the cold and dreariness. During the course of the day, the gloom seemed to have slowly penetrated his flesh down to his bones.

The J.K. Parks Library was donated to the city by one of its founding families almost a century before Dan was born. In its many secret nooks, countless words had been quietly read by generations. In the main hall, rows of large cherry tables sat under a cathedral like vaulted ceiling. The wooden tables looked medieval and had darkened to a mahogany hue from years of varnish.

Dan spent each day after school at the library. He was supposed to study and do his homework until his mom got off work. Most afternoons were spent daydreaming and exploring. When he did sit down to read, the subjects he liked weren’t found in his school books. What did catch his interest were monsters and scary tales. He read every book he could find in the place about such things.

A large leather bound book lay in front of Dan. An especially interesting find, It was a very old book about witches. It was so old, in fact, that he found it in a section of books you could not check out and take home. It was written in English, but such an old dialect that Dan felt it may as well have been a foreign language. He was enjoying the pictures; every few pages seemed to have an image of something dark and sinister. One particular image caught his interest. It showed a hag standing over a minute horned demon. She had an arm outstretched, pointing a finger; the demon stood on little hoofed feet looking up to her command.

“That’s cool, what’s that book about?”

Startled, Dan looked to see a freckled face looking over his shoulder. It was one of the library volunteers. He thought he had heard the librarians call him Josh but Dan wasn’t sure. He seemed to be about Dan’s age but taller and lankier. He was there every day that Dan had been. Usually, he was putting books away or standing behind the information counter.

“Yeah it is cool; I think it’s about witches.”

“You like that sort a thing?”

“I sure do. My favorite show is Dr. Cadaver’s midnight movie and I have a stack of horror comics as big as a house.”

With a long pale arm the redheaded boy rested a stack of books on the table. He looked around with a cautiousness Dan found silly.

“You want to see a real witch?” He said smirking mischievously.

“Um sure.”

“Follow me.”

Dan stood, leaving his tattered backpack and the old book on the table. He followed the odd young man, half expecting what he wanted to show him. They walked out of the main hall towards the front entrance. The lobby resembled a foyer you might think of finding in a turn of the century mansion. Its walls were filled with historical pictures of the area. A glass case in the center displayed a local kindergarten class’s tiny paper turkeys.

On one side a dark wooden stair case led to a single upstairs room. The stairs were roped off and the room at the top had always enticed Dan’s imagination. It was visible outside as a tower with a Moorish style dome on top. Just as Dan thought, it was the picture that hung on the wall just below the staircase he’d been brought to see.

It was the picture of an elderly Agnes Parks hanging just below a picture of her parents. She was the only child of Jackson and Elizabeth Parks and the last of the Parks family to live in the building before it had been donated. She never married nor had any children. Local lore had begun about her even before her death. She had a well deserved reputation with her contemporaries for being mean spirited. But it was the rumors of witchcraft that would immortalize her for generations of the town’s children.

Dan had often wondered if the picture alone wasn’t responsible for the legends. It gave him the creeps. An old unsmiling (as was common with portraits of the time) woman with black eyes. It was that those calculating and disapproving eyes seemed to follow you that really got to Dan.

“Old lady Parks.” Dan said as if he were referring to an old acquaintance.

“Oh, you know of her?”

“What kid doesn’t? They say she took kids for sacrifices to the devil. She would take them down to the basement and they were never seen again. Some say their bodies are buried in the gardens in the back.”

“It’s all true.”

With a puzzled expression on his face, Dan looked at the tall gangly boy. “How do you know?”

“Because she’s still here. I am sure you’ve heard too, that she haunts the place. I help lock up sometimes and can get the keys. I’ve snuck back in here late a few times. I’ve seen her.”

Dan thought his knew friend was a bit off. He wasn’t sure if the kid was just trying to impress him. He did seem to be quite serious about all of it. The thought of seeing a real ghost, let alone a witch, thrilled him greatly.

“You want to see her?”

Dan felt like he had read his mind. “Yeah I would.”

“Can you get back here tonight about eleven thirty?”

Dan felt excitement build, along with nervousness in his belly. He thought about if he could pull it off. He had snuck out before. He might be pushing the time depending on when his mom went to bed, but he figured he could do it. He nodded.

“Sure, I’ll be here.”

His friend looked at the clock on the wall and started to rock back and forth on his heels as if he had a large amount of work to get back to.

“Okay, be here at eleven-thirty sharp. Knock on the front door and I’ll let you in…oh, and don’t be seen.”

With that, the redheaded young man started to sprint away.

“Hey, what’s your name by the way?” Dan asked, trying to be quiet but still be heard. The boy stopped before turning the corner.

“It’s Josh, you’re Dan right?”

“Yeah.”

“Nice to meet you Dan.” Josh walked around the corner and was gone.

Dan looked back up at the picture of Agnes and turned away. He started to have second thoughts. He went back to the table before he could talk himself out of the evening’s adventure.

* * *

Sneaking out proved to be easier than he thought. His mom had complained of suddenly feeling ill when they got home. She took some night time cold medicine and was out before ten. On the bike ride to the library he didn’t see one car. Dan had an odd feeling things were working out too well.

A cold breeze blew through the trees in front of the library. Dan looked up at the tower in the moonlight. The two sinister windows felt like Agnes’s eyes looking down at him. The old place was uninviting in an almost  literal sense. He hoped for a disembodied voice to tell him to leave as he ascended the steps, but none came.

His heart raced when a creak frightened him. It came from one of the large wooden and glass doors. The door opened before he made it close enough to knock. Josh poked his head out and whispered he was glad Dan made it.

The inside wasn’t any more welcoming. The interior was beyond shadowy, becoming pitch black at the ends of the many halls that were within the boys view. Dan produced a small flash light from his pocket but Josh insisted he not use it until they were downstairs or else someone outside might see.

“We’re going to the basement?” Dan asked hesitantly, not sure he wanted the answer.

“That’s where she’ll be. You’re not going to chicken out, are ya?”

Dan wasn’t going to go back after getting this far and told Josh to lead the way. Not far behind the librarian’s desk was another staircase, this one leading down. In the passageway, Dan noticed an unpleasant smell. He recalled smelling it earlier and now decided it was coming from his new friend. It reminded him slightly of the dead cat he had once found in his back yard. Not wanting to hurt the guy’s feelings, he didn’t say anything as they made their way down.

Josh opened a door at the bottom of the stairs. Dan was surprised to see a fluorescent light on. Hanging from the ceiling, it flickered and partially illuminated the room. Some boxes and a rusted cart lined the wall but other than that it was mostly empty. In the center of the room were two small circles drawn in white chalk on the concrete floor. Around the circles were black candles, their flames seemed to burn an odd blue.

“What are those for?”

“They are protection circles; as long as you stand in them she can’t harm you when she comes.”

Dan wondered where his friend learned to make such things. He also started feeling quite a bit out of his league. Suddenly the room got very cold. Before he could comment about it, the door slammed shut behind them.

“Hurry Dan, get into the circle, she’s coming.”

Dan didn’t need any more encouragement. He stepped into one of the circles, which were just big enough for him to stand without touching a candle with his foot. He watched as Josh did the same. He found it odd that Josh was grinning almost ear to ear, but before he could think about it much the light went out. It was pitch black around him except for the candles, whose blue flames didn’t seem to illuminate more than a foot in any direction.

Dan stood there in silence for a moment, then called Josh’s name; a peculiar hush was the only reply. Then, after a moment of more silence, came a strange clacking sound. The sound got closer and louder. Every hair on Dan’s body stood on end and a chill ran down his spine. Then the candle flames grew and a face came into view outside Dan’s circle, it hovered a few inches from his face.

It was Agnes and she stared at him with the same black eyes from the picture. The clacking noise was coming from her teeth, which she bared while chattering them together. The way she looked and clicked her teeth gave her an inhuman and lifeless appearance, like a puppet.

Fearing breaking the circle, Dan pulled his arms against himself tighter. Not able to look at the horrible apparition anymore, he turned and looked towards Josh who was now illuminated by the ever growing flames that surrounded them. Josh’s flesh was falling from his face and arms like melting wax, exposing something hideous underneath. As each bit of Josh’s true flesh underneath was exposed, it turned to dust and floated up into the air. Dan then saw the same dust was falling on him inside the circle. It was causing his skin to burn and itch.

Dan let out a crying scream, “What is happening?”

A ghastly woman’s voice replied from the darkness all around him, while the witch continued to chatter. “My familiar needs new flesh. We need your flesh Daniel.”

The flames were very high now. Dan tried to kick the candles but they didn’t move. In desperation he turned and jumped through the flames. He found his way in the darkness beyond the light of the blue flames to the door. He struggled to get it open while the chattering got closer.

“Clack, Clack Clack”

It now sounded inches from his ear. Finally with a hard pull that left his arm sore; the door opened.

Tripping on the stairs, Dan remembered his flashlight and pulled it out. He didn’t hear anything follow. On the top landing, he turned and shined the light down to make sure. Just a couple of steps down, was the top of Josh’s half dissolved head. He was slowly but steadily making his way up without a sound. Dan bolted back out through the lobby and out the front door to the bushes where his bike was hidden.

Dan rode his bike home faster than he ever had before. He had to take a break on his porch so his heavy breathing wouldn’t wake up his mom. After quietly scrubbing his skin in the kitchen sink, he peered out the front window. The street seemed dark and silent. In his bed, he lay thinking he would never sleep again. Dan fell sound asleep when the comforting rays of sunlight came through his window.

He woke moments later to pitch blackness and a horrible smell. Somewhere in the darkness, he heard a chatter.

Two Crows

Michael couldn’t believe he was in his old neighborhood. He had spent most of his life putting distance between it and him. A task that wasn’t always easy, money was sometimes tough, but it was guilt that proved to be the biggest barrier. Especially after his dad passed, not a day went by that he didn’t get a call from his mom to remind him he was all she had left.

He strolled down the street looking at the crab grass growing between the uneven sections of sidewalk, occasionally looking up at the houses as he passed. Most gave the illusion of being unchanged by the diligent upkeep of their owners. A few weren’t so loved and showed their true age impudently, and all seemed to stand ominously under the afternoon sky.

The field was three more houses down. He hoped to find a new development there, at least new to him. With every step it was clearer; things didn’t seem to change much here. Once he was past the last house, he could see the field as he had seen it in his nightmares his entire life. It was a large dirt lot, big enough to build ten more houses. Why they hadn’t was anyone’s guess. It had been his playground up until that day. Many imaginary battles had been fought and bicycle race tracks engineered on its sage spotted surface.

He felt uneasiness, but it was endurable, until he saw them. Out in the middle of the field, perched on the leafless limbs of the only tree, were two crows. They sat there seemingly unaware of Michael. Just the sight of them was enough to bring back the horrid memory he had been hoping to denounce by coming here.

It was twenty eight years ago almost to the day, the summer after fifth grade. He and Cameron had come to the field to shoot cans with Cameron’s new pellet gun. They had walked their bikes to the fence line behind the houses on the far side. Standing there they took turns calling out targets for the other to try to aim at. Cans, rocks and an old TV someone dumped. Then Michael pointed out the large black crow which had just landed on the old tree.

Michael remembered Cameron asking for a new target. His own morbid curiosity got the better of him and Michael teased and prodded his friend. Just as Michael was about to give up and point out a new target, a loud pop echoed across the field and the bird fell to the dirt.

“You shot it.” Michael remembered saying in disbelief. Without a word both boys grabbed their bikes and headed towards the tree to inspect the kill. Their progress towards the tree slowed when another crow landed where the other had been perched. Then another and another, soon the entire tree fluttered with black plumage. As the tree filled so did the air with relentless squawks.

The boys decided to take a wide route around the tree and head back to their street. Once past the tree, a single crow took to the air towards them. Michael and Cameron jumped on their bikes, standing down hard to get traction in the soft dry earth. Michael pedaled with all he had, the street almost under his tire when he heard his friend screaming. Looking back he saw Cameron’s bike lying in the dust and stumbling towards him was a huge black ball of flapping wings. He turned and road harder but the screaming behind him started to fade. Stopping, Michael turned and looked up to see a large orange sun and in front of it, being carried off into the sky by its outstretched arms, was a boy’s corpse. The orange rays showed through the picked clean portions of the carcass.

No one ever believed Michael’s version of what happed to Cameron and he spent a good portion of his youth in therapy trying to disbelieve it himself. Standing now in front of the field and the two birds, he wondered if they remembered that day as well.

Thinking of all the things he still needed to attend to for his mother, he turned to head back to the house. He got about three steps before hearing the ear piercing caws from just behind him.

Bad Drugs

Tony said things were about to get real fucked up. I wish I could have comprehended what he meant. I looked into Emily’s eyes; her chemistry intake seemed to have already peeked for the night. I thought for a moment, wondering if she was still ok to ingest Tony’s offerings. I felt guilty for a brief moment, then reminded myself I wasn’t her father.

The hum of pure base saturated the walls of the VIP room. An excitement built in me. I loved the rave scene. I loved the crowds, the spectacle and the journey. The make shift lounge illuminated by bright florescent lights gave no hint, other than that low frequency thump, that madness ensued beyond the single door.

I sank into the couch feeling weighted like a sack of rocks. Tony stretched out an arm, holding his fist in front of my face, then he opened his hand with the flair of a vaudeville magician- displaying two tiny blue pills that seemed to glow like sapphires.

“What did you say it was called again?”

“The hit” Tony said.

“What’s it called Tony?” I asked again, not satisfied.

“It just is man, its alpha and omega, you’ll love it.”

Tony’s smile was both disconcerting and reassuring in some odd way. I took one of the little pills from his palm. Without a second thought I put the flimsy plastic cup of beer to my lips and washed it down. Pushing my head back into a cushion I stared at the unnatural glow of the fluorescent lights. I expected a bit of wait before I felt anything, if I did at all.

Not more than a few seconds went by and I was thinking about plan B. Maybe a hit of E would keep the party going for me, but then…

Flickering, the light started flickering. A chubby but attractive woman who had been carrying on a conversation in the opposite corner walked over. She seemed concerned. The color of the room was off, an unnatural orange haze lingered. Putting a hand on my knee and bending over, the woman asked if I was ok.

I had noticed her before but something was different. I was put off by her concern. Last thing I needed was this chick sending me on a bad trip but then I realized what was wrong. Her eyes were white as milk, just soulless white sockets. Her mouth opened again, I thought she was going to ask if I was ok, but it kept opening. Seemingly unhinged, it gaped down to her ample chest. The bass from the music outside quit pulsing and became a solid hum. The room vibrated and a beam of darkness shot out of her mouth engulfing my face. All became black and quiet.

Suddenly, as if waking from a bad dream, the room became bright. I looked around. I was alone. I felt weak, but stood and rushed for the door. As I opened it a wave of warm moist air greeted me. Moments before, a thousand dancers had covered the arena floor, an ocean of black lit bodies undulating to the constant pulse of the DJ on stage. Now the floor was empty except for me. The bluish glow had been replaced by an orange hue. A revolting smell made it almost hard to breathe and there was a slurping sound.

Orange haze illuminated sections of the auditorium floor. The light source seemed to be from the exits and cascaded down from the walkways in the upper seating. It was just bright enough for me to see the floor was covered in gelatinous piles. The closest had an arch of bone protruding, like a spinal cord and it was moving. They all were. On closer inspection, I could see it wasn’t the piles that were moving but little glistening slug-like creatures that infested them.

Jumping over a few piles, I made a run for the exit ramp. The corridor that wrapped around the first floor of the arena was pile and people free. But the orange glow was so strong it was disorienting and didn’t seem to emanate from any source but hung in the air like an unholy fog. I ran to the closest emergency exit and pushed the bar to open it. For some reason I expected it to be barred but the door flew open. Beyond was an unfathomable blackness. Thinking it must be an illusion, I proceeded slowly but as I stepped past the doorway my right foot found no ground below it. I would have lost my balance and fallen into the abyss if I hadn’t been holding the doorway with one hand.

Backing up, I turned and ran until I found a restroom. I told myself “You’re tripping balls, just splash some water on your face and breathe.” Pushing open the rest room door, I walked in. The orange glow was absent. Instead, a normal dim fluorescent glow illuminated the institutional green walls. Before I made it around the privacy wall, a noise stopped me in my tracks. It sounded like something dragging itself towards me and it was breathing in a forced and inhuman manner. Fear built in me irrationally, every ounce of my being told me to get out of there and I listened.

I found myself in the corridor running again. Just before I thought I had circled the entire arena and was about to be back to where I started, I heard music. As I ran it got louder and then I saw an open glass door on the interior wall. I remember it was the bar I had seen earlier in the night, I stepped inside.

The interior was plush. There was a large intricately carved mahogany bar that stretched along one side of the room. Behind it was a beautiful tall bartender. She had white pixy hair and was dressed in just enough black latex to cover the fun bits. In the center of the room were two illuminated circular platforms each with a dancer so beautiful I truly comprehended the phrase breathtaking for the first time. They both wore what I thought were those cheesy angel wings which had become common sight at parties. But as I walked past towards the music I could see the wings were actually protruding from their skin.

Past the dancers was a black leather couch facing a wall of windows where the music was coming from. I stood in front of the windows and looked down at the party and saw it just as I had seen it before. There was the DJ spinning as lasers and the crowd bounced and rolled. But I knew I wasn’t coming down. Looking at the couch, I saw a man sitting, watching the party.

“Come and sit Mike, I want to talk to you” the man said without looking at me.

Although I had never met him before I knew who he was when I heard his voice. He was shirtless, wearing black leather pants with shoulder length hair as black as a raven. When I sat, he leaned a little forward and I caught sight of a bloody wing stump.

“Mike, I have no shortage of appointments so we need to make this quick. I don’t like wasting my time. What is it your heart wants?” He moved his glance from the window and looked at me through sun glasses.

“I don’t want anything from you.” I said, my voice cracking and weak.

“Well then I need something from you.”

“What?”

He held a hand out; it contained Tony’s little pills.

“I need you to go back to the party and entice someone to willingly take these.”

It took a surprising amount of strength but I said “No, I can’t.”

He lowered his sunglasses and glared at me with eyes black as the void I had seen earlier.

“Mike just because I don’t have your soul doesn’t mean I can’t keep you here for a very long time.”

There was an incredible chill to his voice. I grabbed the pills almost without thinking and said “Ok.”

I awoke to familiar sounds. Tony was sitting in front of me. He was just withdrawing the hand with which he had offered me and Emily the pills. I could feel two pills in my own hand. I looked at Tony and said,

“You mother fuc…”

Tony shrugged, stood up, and left. Music filled the room while he opened and shut the door. The look of shame Tony had on his face replaced the anger I was feeling with a dire understanding. Looking over, I saw Emily was already up and talking to some new admirers. She was wearing a new outfit that was showing off an incredible body I would have remembered had it existed before.

What did you do? I thought as I shook my head. No sooner had I thought it and she flashed me an uncomfortable glance. It was very brief but her eyes seemed cold and almost threatening.

I stood up and slipped the pills into my pocket. Without making eye contact with anyone, I slipped out the door to the party. Looking out into the crowd, I saw two stunning young ladies. They were dancing with each other in such a way that they were putting on a show of their own. Figuring I had all night to get to the dirty work, I thought, Why not have a little fun?

Walking towards them, some kid bumped into me. Whether it was the fried brain cells or the incredibly oversized pants that had caused him to stumble, was anyone’s guess. He asked me if I knew where to score some E, his slow words made me guess brain cells. Well, I thought, might as well get it done.

“How much you need?” I asked.

“For me and my girl.” He seemed elated.

“It’s your lucky day, my friend.” I said with a smile, while laying a hand on his shoulder.

The music thumped on.

The Krampus

It seems that somehow you are aware of, but don’t realize, your worst mistakes; not until the second after they’re committed. That’s how it was when I killed my older brother. It was Christmas Eve and I was seven. Richard had come dressed as the Krampus. I believed in all the stories. Expecting a visit, I prepared to protect myself. I had hidden a kitchen knife in my robe. When I opened the door and saw the beast before me, I didn’t hesitate and plunged the blade into its belly. Maybe it was the sound of poor Richard groaning, but I instantly knew I had done something terribly wrong.

The authorities declared it a tragic accident. Of course they and everyone else in town blamed my parents and their old world traditions. What those people, and later the therapist I was sent to, would never be able to understand is that the Krampus is real.

It’s been several years since that Christmas, the first Christmas he came for real. Each year after, I either escaped him, or he didn’t show. The years he didn’t come, I simply assumed I was a “good boy”. The others were a battle. The first was the worst. After the first incident, I was assured that he didn’t exist so I didn’t prepare, and he almost had me. Because of what had happened, I wasn’t going to sleep. I was up when he came.

Lying in my bed, hugging a tear soaked pillow, I heard something outside. The tragedy had removed any fear of monsters. To my parent’s dismay, sometimes deer would eat from the little planter outside my window. The thought of seeing one cheered me up a little. My window was fogged and I opened it just a crack. I was sure I had scared it away, but then I heard it again. I opened the window wider and fell back onto the floor when two hands gripped the window sill. The fingers were long and boney and came to a point; they resembled a bird’s talons. The arms were a pale flesh, covered in fine, almost-translucent white hair. A horrible face appeared out of the darkness. It was framed by two twisted horns on each side. As the creature raised itself slowly through my window, I saw the knobby end of my bat poking out from under my bed.

Little seven-year-old me didn’t put up much of a fight with my baseball bat, but it was enough to get my parents in the room. When they arrived it disappeared. After midnight, I was safe for the next year. But each year after, I prepared for him. Most years it was by finding a way to stay with my parents for the night. Other years, especially as I grew older, it was traps and fighting back.

This is my forty second year and it has been, by far, the worst in a lifetime of bad. My only good years were the last five, when my son David came into my life. But it was this year I had decided to drive Davey back from the fair after having one too many. Davey didn’t make it home. I did, albeit after a long hospital stay.

I now live in the mountains on a large parcel of land, far away from any neighbors. As I look out at the snow covered trees, the ever-growing shade tells me dusk is upon us. It’s Christmas Eve, and while most families have come together about this time around a dinner table or fireplace, I sit alone and watch the movement in the shadows. There is something out there. It’s something for which I have no fight left, something that with each inch of the setting sun gets closer.

The Ghost Eaters

Bill could not feel his wife’s hand embrace his. He could not know her dire need for the caress to be returned. He could not hear the beeps and hums of the machines keeping him alive. He couldn’t hear or feel anything, not since collapsing that morning in the kitchen. He also didn’t hear the beeps turn into a buzz or feel the cold gel of the paddles being pressed against his chest. He did see a flash of light followed by another, then a flicker and then darkness.

In the darkness Bill heard a something. First it was muffled, then as if waking from a deep sleep, it became clear. The sound he heard was of children playing and they were around him. He opened his eyes. He hadn’t been sleeping or if he had, he’d been doing it standing. In front of him was a wall of windows just above a short little toy filled shelf that stretched the length of the room. Outside he could see a sidewalk covered in shade; beyond that was a patch of grass enjoying the bright yellow sunshine.

Hesitantly he turned from the widow. The room before him was familiar. It had changed since he’d seen it last, but he recognized it. He was standing in his fourth grade classroom. Bill remembered his mom had decided to send him to this special school that year. It was called the Monarch Foundation, one of the area’s few private schools. The idea was to have a less rigid structure, allowing the kids to learn at their own pace. Bill’s mom had bought into this idea with a mother’s intentions of giving her son an advantage in life. Unfortunately his father, under impressed with the results compared to the price of tuition, pulled him after a year.

Things didn’t look that different from when Bill attended. The kids had changed more than the room itself and most were at the age their parents still picked out their outfits so they didn’t look all that different either. The room itself was an open environment approach, without the rows of desks one would see in a normal classroom.

Kids were scattered all around him. Some were reading, some playing and others sitting in groups working with the two teachers. None seemed to notice Bill except one little girl sitting on the floor. A little blond girl in pig tails with piercing pale blue eyes. The color of her skin and dress stuck out amongst the other children. She seemed to be a lighter hue than everyone else. She was like looking at superimposed image. She sat staring at Bill. When he moved to walk towards her, she stood shaking her head and gesturing for him to stop. Before he understood what she was trying to say, a boy ran by Bill barely striking him. The boy kept on as if Bill wasn’t there but Bill spun through the air as if he had been clipped by a car. He slammed into the shelf with bone breaking force. Nothing on the shelf moved.

Standing back up, he was surprised there was no pain. Looking around, no one seemed to notice the incident except the little girl who was silently shaking her head. He looked at three little wooden blocks stacked on each other on the shelf, they hadn’t moved. He tried to push them over but they didn’t budge, not the slightest. He tried to pick up a book and got the same result as if it was nailed down. He could see a ring in the dust were something had been moved. He ran his finger through it and nothing; he could feel a little grit as his finger moved over the dust but he couldn’t even produce a smudge.

“It’s not going to move.” The little girl’s soft voice floated in the air. She was standing beside him. For the first time it occurred to Bill that he was at eye level with her and all the other kids.

“What’s going on?”

“It’s an easy answer but you won’t like it.”

Flashes of memories came to Bill. He remembered making coffee. He remembered going to the fridge to steal one of his wives frozen weight conscious entrées. He remembered loathing the idea but knew the meetings at work would stretch well past lunch. He remembered the pain in his chest and the metallic taste in his mouth. He remembered the floor coming quickly at his face before everything went black.

“You’re dead.” Her voice pulled him back to the present.

“I, that’s idiotic, I…” Bill looked at his hands, they were small. The skin on the back of them was tight, veins no longer bulged. The little bit of hair was a translucent fuzz. He pointed out at the class room of children.

“Are they dead? Are we all ghosts?”

“We are, they aren’t.”

Bill cupped his mouth. He thought of his wife and grown son Alex, he turned back to the window. In it he paid attention to the reflection for the first time. It was his ten year old self looking back at him with tears in his eyes.

“This is stupid. Ghosts don’t cry.”

“What’s your name?” Her voice was soft and motherly and again it didn’t seem to come from her as much as resonate from the air around her.

“Bill.”

“Bill, trust me, you don’t know anything about ghosts.” She wiped a tear from his cheek.

Bill turned around. He looked at one little boy drawing a picture with concentration beyond his years. He looked a little like Alex did at the same age, just a tad leaner. Thinking of Alex, Bill felt his eyes tearing up again; he turned to the girl and moved his thoughts back to his predicament.

“I suppose they can’t see us?”

“None in this year’s class can, but every few years there’s one that can tell we’re here.”

“This year’s? How long have you been here?” Suddenly Bill’s sorrow was replaced with fear.

“A long time.”

Bill wasn’t sure he wanted to hear anymore.

“Why don’t you leave?”

The girl started to answer, then another boy on his way to grab a book from the shelf almost ran into Bill.

“Come with me. It’s not good to stand here. They can’t hurt you but … well it can be unpleasant. Come with me, there’s a better place for us to talk.”

She took his hand and carefully guided him to the opposite side of the room. The other corner had a similar stretch of windows but with only a view of the concrete wall that ran a few feet just beyond the class rooms. In the corner there was a dry erase board easel and a projector on a cart, put there to be out of the way. Between them and the wall was shady space where the little girl took a seat on the carpet and motioned for Bill to sit.

“I am sorry I didn’t even ask, what’s your name?”

“It’s ok. I’m Helen; it’s nice to meet you Bill. It’s been awhile since I’ve had company.”

“There have been others? Did they leave? Why haven’t you left?”

“They…” Helen paused; she seemed to be having trouble choosing her words. “We can’t leave. There’s a lot you need to know about this existence.”

Helen looked around. It was much shadier on this side of the room but she found some strands of sun light coming in through the window and waved her hand in it.

“For whatever reason sun coming through the glass doesn’t hurt us but if you walked outside right now you would begin to dissolve and wouldn’t make it past the gate to the parking lot.”

Bill didn’t fully understand, but being a pragmatist he asked, “Well what about at night?”

For the first time since they’d begun to talk, Helen moved her penetrating stare past Bill.

“We can’t go out at night.”

“Why?” Bill could tell she was deeply bothered by the question.

“Because that’s when they come.” Helen looked like the one that could cry now.

“Who?”

“Forget what you ever thought would happened after you die. It’s not magic and spiritual, as far as I can tell, it’s just another existence. Forget what you learned about the world when you were alive; this place has its own rules, its own physics, and even its own creatures.”

“What do you mean creatures, like demons or something?”

“No, well I don’t think so. No, there are things alive here naturally. Most are harmless and a lot don’t even come inside. But the ones that come out at night, maybe they are demons or maybe the inspiration for what we call demons. “

“What? You’re losing me. Is there something we have to worry about?”

Helen put her hand on Bill’s, “You don’t have to worry. We’re safe in here, you just have to do what I tell you and you will be fine. You must have other questions, please, let’s talk about something else”

“Any idea why we’re here? I went to school here one year but wasn’t partial to it. And why do I look the same age as when I went here?”

“I don’t know. A TV show I used to watch said ghosts were drawn to places of strong emotional ties or to where they died a traumatic death. But this place is neither for me or you I’ll guess. And we’re not drawn to this place, but stuck. And why we look like we do, I haven’t the slightest. I think it’s the unconscious workings of time and space, not God. I used to think the two were connected but I haven’t found anything divine about being stuck here.”

“Maybe we died and went to hell?”

Bill wasn’t joking but Helen laughed, “I don’t know about you but I never hated this place that much either.”

Her giggle and smile made Bill feel a little better. While Helen and Bill talked, he stared out the back windows wondering if he would catch a glimpse of a strange creature. They talked for hours, the classroom noise faded into the background. They sat and discussed their lives and the people in them they left behind.

Bill found out Helen was from a class a few years after his. She had grown to be a middle school science teacher. She was in her thirties and engaged to be married, living a relatively happy life, until one morning she was hit by a car while jogging. Her last memory was of a teenage girl she had never seen before. The girl was bending over Helen crying and repeating that she was sorry.

She told Bill all she knew about being a ghost. Holding back only what she didn’t think she understood enough to put into words and the uncomfortable subject of nighttime. They talked like two people snowed in at an airport trying to pass the time. But suddenly Helen stopped mid-sentence. Bill wondered what had distracted her, but then it was obvious, the room was quite and the shady spot they had been sitting in stretched the whole room.

“It must be four, usually one of the teachers hang out an hour after the kids go. So it should be around four.”

They stood up and walked to the front windows. No children were in view and the late afternoon sun outside was casting long shadows.

“So are you going to tell me now what’s got you so spooked here at night?”

Helen put her hands on the shelf and closed her eyes, “Remember I told you there had been others? One was here when I got here. His name was John and he told me all he knew about this place like I’ve been telling you. He told me sometimes things come at night; things that could move through darkness like they were part of it. He said there was no hiding from them and they had no trouble getting in the classroom. “

“What do these things want when they come?”

Helen pointed around the room. “You have to understand, this, all these are structures in the plane we now exist. She could tell Bill wasn’t following, “You and I aren’t in a school. We can see it but we are not part of that world. We’re in a wilderness and there are predators here.”

“What are you saying, you said we don’t have to eat, why would..”

“We don’t, but these things eat. They are born here- a natural part of this place. I am sure of it. You need to be alert at night. Listen for a flapping sound. It’s not like wings but more like the sound of a sheet blowing in the wind. If I hear it I’ll warn you. We have to curl up on the floor, like that corner we were at. If we keep our eyes closed and don’t move they will leave us be. But if you look at them or so much as move a leg, they will take you and there’s nothing I can do about it.”

Bill didn’t want to take this too seriously, but with everything he’d accepted so far he was trying to keep an open mind.

“Curling into a ball and hoping they go away isn’t a very reassuring plan.”

“It works for me Bill and I have been here a long time. “

“You said there were others. What happened to them? Like that guy that was here when you got here?”

Helen looked at the ground.

“John and I spent years here. He became a dear friend. He was young when he died, barely a man, but he was old beyond his living years here.”

Bill noticed affection in Helen’s voice when she mentioned John’s name.

“He said he was part of the first class here, back when it was a normal school. And he had already been here longer when I got here than I’ve been here even to this day. I could tell it had taken its toll. I loved his little heart but I feared for his sanity. And yes Bill, I do believe we can lose it. One day another little boy appeared, but unlike us he was a real little boy, being only seven when he died. John and I looked after him. He became like our own son, but the nights were too much for him.”

Helen began to cry. Bill tried to touch her to comfort her but she pushed his hand away and continued.

”One night we couldn’t keep him calm anymore and he tried to run while they were standing over us. We heard…oh God Jacob, my Jacob.”

Helen’s sobs overpowered her and she could no longer talk. She still motioned for Bill to leave her be, regaining composure after a few minutes.

“That was the end for John as well. When the next day’s class went to recess he followed them. I watched him disintegrate in the sun just out this window here. John turned to dust and blew away before my eyes. I have thought many times about taking that walk into the sunlight.”

“Why haven’t you?”

Helen looked out at the leaves blowing across the darkening sidewalk.

“Fear, fear of the unknown, it’s awful when you think about it. You would think oblivion wouldn’t be so scary when you’re already dead.”

“Do you think that’s it then? After this- oblivion?”

Helen looked back at Bill, he seemed very concerned with her thoughts on the matter.

“I don’t know Bill.” She shrugged.

The room had gotten very dark. Bill could tell it had gotten very cold too but it didn’t feel bad, just odd. His new perceptions of the five senses were going to take some getting used to. They took seats back on the floor, talking through the night. Every so often Helen would stop and ask him to be quiet so she could listen. Nothing came of it but twice Bill thought he heard something that was more than the wind rustling through the trees outside. Helen warned him not to look out the window at night and he heeded her advice.

Bill spent the early morning lying on the floor, watching the darkness fade and the first rays of the morning sun materialize and grow. Lying there, he thought about his family. Anxiety was building over the possibility of never seeing them again and the idea of spending years, or longer, in the classroom. He wondered if ghosts really could lose their sanity and how Helen was holding on to it, or even if she was.

“You need to get up; the kids will be here soon.”

It took a minute for Bill to break from his thoughts and remember where he was and what Helen meant.

“Follow me.” Helen said, then climbed a tall book case in the back of the room. Bill found it surprisingly easy to do. There was no exertion, he almost felt weightless as he climbed. On their perch they watched the kids arrive for the school day. Some came in packs of twos and threes and others by themselves. Helen seemed to know each and everyone by her countless hours of observation, she shared with Bill their names and idiosyncrasies and even her hypothesis of their futures.

They sat there and watched the kids. Bill enjoyed the diversion but soon became restless. He watched two boys pull a diorama of a castle out of a cabinet to work on.

“That looks interesting.” Bill said as he poised to jump down.

“Please be very careful.” Helen warned.

Lifting himself with his palms, he slid his legs forward and jumped. It was an unusual feeling as he went through the air and he misjudged the effort needed. He landed on the side of his foot and rolled to the ground. Helen screamed.

“I am fine, remember I’m already dead?”

But it wasn’t the fall that caused Helen to scream. Bill looked up to see the sole of a sneaker coming down onto his face. There was no pain but an almost unbearably uncomfortable sensation and for a moment he saw only blackness. When the boy moved his foot, Bill’s vision came back. He looked up to see Helen sitting with her face buried in her hands. She raised her head and looked at Bill with tears rolling down her cheeks. Climbing down, she stood by Bill.

“I told you, you have to be careful.”

“It’s ok. I am fine.”

“No Bill you’re not and now I have to look at you! Come with me.” Helen took Bill by his hand and rushed them to the nearest wall.

Bill didn’t like Helen’s tone. It occurred to him her calm and understanding demeanor was the only thing keeping him calm since he found himself here. He wondered what the big deal was; if maybe she wasn’t as sane as he thought. Then he looked at his reflection in a mirror on the wall.

He had seen his reflection in the window earlier. The sight of his child self looking back had made him uncomfortable and he only stopped long enough to ponder why ghosts had reflections. He came to the conclusion some spectrum of light must reflect off them or he wouldn’t be able to see Helen. As hard as it was for him to see his surreal image before, his reflection now was even harder to see.

Looking back at him was an almost unrecognizably disfigured face. His nose and most of his skull had been pushed in. Several red cracks ran through the flesh of his face, exposing tissue and bone and in some places even brain. There was no blood, giving him a strange lifeless appearance as if he was made of layers of wax.

Bill turned and ran back to Helen’s safe corner where they had spent most of the day before. There he knelt and wept. Helen knew her new friend wasn’t a child but the image of a boy running off and crying reminded her to be more delicate. She decided to give him some time and space.

She kept an eye on him but when Bill didn’t move from the corner the entire day she got very worried. Helen watched the kids leave. She watched the room yellow with the setting sun. The shadows crept in and expanded. So did the feeling of loneliness, the feeling that had been constant until Bill arrived. She knelt next to Bill and put a hand on his shoulder.

“Bill, its dark, why don’t you come and sit with me for awhile?.”

“I want to see my wife and son. I don’t want to be here anymore.”

“I know you do, come and sit with me, we’ll talk about it.”

Helen tried to sound motherly; her efforts to coerce Bill from the corner were halted by a familiar sound. It was just as she said before, a sound like a flag flapping in the wind. First just one, then several. Bill lifted his head and listened.

“What is that?”

“Bill I want you to lay with me ok, like we talked about. Lay with me and close your eyes until I say it’s ok.”

Bill did as he was told. He couldn’t face her and laid with his back to her. Helen tried to get Bill to turn around and whispered it was ok. But time was short so instead of fighting about it she draped an arm around him and held him close. Helen then closed her eyes tight and reminded him to do the same.

The flapping became very loud and intense. It seemed to come from all around the outside of the building. Laying there in Helen’s embrace, Bill wondered how long this would go on for. He tried to think of his family which only seemed to make the dread worse. His terror reached its limits when in his thoughts the image of his own reflection appeared.

Suddenly the flapping stopped. Then complete silence, not even the ever present buzz of the outside overhang lights, penetrated the room. It stayed that way for several minutes until Bill heard a tiny creak. He opened his eyes and saw the source of the sound. Looking across the room under tables and chairs he could see the front door was wide open.

An idea fuelled by panic entered his thoughts. He could make it home before sunup. His family couldn’t see his awful appearance; at least he could be there, not in this horrible prison.

“Do you think they’re gone?” Bill whispered.

“I don’t know, stay quiet.” Helen responded gently in his ear.

Before she could respond Bill rolled away and stood.

“I can’t stay here, I have to go home. I have to try.”

“Don’t Bill, please come back, please Bill.” She wanted him to stop with every ounce of her being but the fear was still too strong, it allowed her no more than to whisper the words.

A tear rolled down her cheek and bridged the micro gap between her face and the floor. She watched under the chairs as Bill’s little feet ran. They made it almost to the door before being lifted up out of sight. A loud screech rang out in the darkness. Helen closed her eyes tight and listened for what she knew would come next; Bill’s screams. His screams lasted until just before dawn, then all was quiet again.

With dawn, the autumn sun rose and pushed the darkness back for another day. Kids arrived for school while the trees dropped the last of their leaves. All the while, not a child or parent could see the face of the lonely little girl staring at them from the classroom window.

A Fade to Blue

The last part, of the day on the water, was Shawn’s favorite. The lowering sun turned the clouds above hues of pink and purple. The shore before him was alive with families and friends enjoying their newly started bonfires. The campfire smells mixed with the briny sea breeze. Shawn hoped for just one more wave, a long one to ride to shore as he gazed at the setting sun. Standing on top of the water was a feeling he never got used to and craved like a drug addict. At that moment, he felt more than human.

Shawn got his ride at that last part of the sunset. Most people do not notice but at some point of dusk it quits feeling like the day is fading and starts feeling like the night is darkening. As he was taking his last ride, he thought he saw two dark shapes pass below his board going towards shore. Shawn shook it off, thinking it was just the lingering light playing tricks.

On the beach, he looked back and took in the sights and sounds of the crashing waves. Rinsing himself and his board off, he changed out of his wetsuit. Once back in his t-shirt and shorts, he stashed his board in his pickup and walked towards the fire pit. At the pit was some of the usual gang he always hung out with. A few people were already there and he recognized all the faces except two.

John was there, he was always there. He was more or less the patriarch of the group, an older guy and a fixture at the beach. When the day on the water ended, John was there at the fire pit: BBQ started, cooler of beer ready, and beach chairs laid out around the fire.

It didn’t surprise Shawn to see new faces at the nightly BBQ. John was quite an outgoing guy and if you indulged him in conversation out on the water, he was sure to invite you to the BBQ. What did surprise him was how strikingly beautiful the two new additions were. The two women looked to be in their early twenties, one blonde and one brunette. It was the brunette that really caught Shawn’s eye. She was standing over by the folding table talking to John (more like listening to him). She glanced at Shawn, giving him a little smile. Shawn looked at the ground as he walked to the cooler; she made him feel like a shy school boy.

With beer in hand, he made his way to an empty chair by the fire. The couple in the group, Rod and Jess, were there. Shawn carried on conversation with Rod while trying to take unnoticed glimpses at the new girl. She was more than beautiful; she had a presence and by looking around, he could tell that everyone felt it. The other girl had it too but it didn’t hold any power over Shawn like her friend. The other girl had taken a liking to Allen, the pretty boy of the group. Shawn knew Allen; he gave it five minutes before the two went for a walk.

His prediction came true about five minutes later. Allen and the girl walked far enough that no one noticed the sound of flesh being torn from his bones as she fed.

Shawn sat back at the fire. He had had enough beer to not notice he was staring at the beautiful woman.

“Want to go for a walk on the beach?” She was talking to him; it took a minute for her voice to register.

Shawn stood up and took her hand. They walked down to the water, he rambled, trying to make conversation and she smiled as if to ease his tension. When they were just out of reach of the rescinding tide, she looked past Shawn at the glow of the fire.

“Let’s go this way.” She whispered.

She led him to a private spot between two dunes. He went to speak again and she shushed him with a kiss. Shawn was a little worried someone might walk by, but not enough to stop shedding clothes as they dropped to the ground.

He built towards orgasm, it occurred to him he hadn’t even thought about using the condom in his wallet. Reaching the point of no return, he tried to pullout to finish. But she clamped down on him, her hands and thighs gripped him in an iron embrace. He went with it; she seemed to be building to climax too. He couldn’t hold it any longer, releasing inside her. She began to quiver and moan, bending down she kissed him passionately. While still holding and kissing him, her quivering built to climax; when with mouths locked, she spewed larva down his throat. Unable to breathe, he swallowed the brood.

She let him go, he laid there paralyzed.

She whispered in his ear, “Your body will change and you will be able to move but you must get to the water or you will die.”

A tear rolled down Shawn’s face. She brushed his cheek softly and said, “You should be happy. You’re a father now, come to the water and follow my call.” She then backed into the darkness towards the crashing tide.

Shawn learned two things about mermaids that night. One: the males are chosen, and two: like seahorses the males carry the young. Later he would find out what they eat.

Expansion

I was renovating my flat. It’s in an old building, built in 1907. Not much bigger then a studio, so space was limited. The plan was to knock out the wall going to the closet to open up the room. Considering myself pretty handy, I decided to do it myself. Having the tarps down and everything covered, I took a swing with the sledgehammer. It made a hole a little smaller then my head. When I pulled the hammer out I knew something was odd. The wall couldn’t have been more than a foot thick. In fact, standing in front of the hole, I was able to reach around the closet door frame. I couldn’t feel any dents on the other side. Looking into the hole I saw just blackness, no studs or interior wall.

After five more swings, the hole was the size of a normal window. But I still only saw blackness, I couldn’t believe my eyes. Dropping the hammer, I walked to the hole. Reaching in, I expected to feel wood or drywall but felt nothing. I leaned in, nothing but blackness and I heard no sounds. When I yelled, “hey,” there was no echo returned. Leaning in further, I lost my balance. I tried to reach down and brace against the wall I was leaning against but it wasn’t there.

Falling twenty or so feet down through the blackness, I landed in a shallow pool. Something squirmed and brushed against my skin. Panicked, I waded out of it as fast as I could. Out of the pool, the floor felt like damp concrete. The only light I could see was coming from where I had fallen from, a single window of light floating in the air. It illuminated nothing and was well out of my reach.

It’s been weeks now since I lost sight of that light. I spend my days looking for a way out, walking in blindness for miles. I have found no structures, just a vast flat landscape dotted with puddles. The puddle water is potable and most puddles contain leeches. It’s these critters that I sustain myself on. Not being able to see them, I presume they must resemble a fist size caterpillar. I often wonder if I will suffer any ill effects from eating them or from their constant nips. I don’t sleep much but when I do, I sometimes find them on me. One will have crawled up a pants leg or be on my arm, feeding.

The leeches and cold hard ground are not the only reason I don’t sleep much. There’s something else in here with me. Besides the sound of my footsteps, I have heard breathing that wasn’t mine. It sounds like a large animal sniffing out food. My only hiding places are in the larger pools with the leeches. I need to find a way out soon. It’s been getting close lately: I have come to believe that it’s looking for me.

Redlands

Victor was headed home for a short, but well deserved break. Two Marines dressed in their blues stood in front of him on the escalator. Victor didn’t wear a uniform; among other things, anonymity was part of his job.

A crowd was waiting at the bottom of the stairs, holding up welcome home signs. They broke into applause when the two men came into view. At the bottom of the escalator, Victor side stepped out from behind the men, making his way around the soldier’s welcoming committee. A hum caught his ear when he was far enough away from the crowd. He pulled his phone out while stepping over to a window to answer it.

“Hey cuz.” It was Angie. Victor smiled, her voice sounded more like home than his own Mom’s.

“Hey Angel, I just stepped off the plane, chica. I should be home in an hour. Are you going to come by? I’d love to see ya.”

“Of course, you’re like my big brother. I’ll be there.” They exchanged pleasantries then Angie awkwardly cut Victor off, “Listen Victor, I need to talk to you about Ricky.”

“What’s up with Ricky, is he ok?” Victor’s voice lost some of its enthusiasm.

“I knew it; I knew your Mom hadn’t said anything to you. Your Mom has been acting like there’s nothing wrong.”

“Angie. What’s going on with my brother?” Victor barked, stopping his cousin’s rambling.

“He’s been hanging out with a real bad crowd, going out all night and sleeping all day. He hasn’t been home in a few days.”

“Who’s he hanging out with, do I know them?”

“Vic I know that tone, I don’t think you can fix this. He doesn’t look like himself anymore, he’s sick.”

“Is it drugs? You think after Dad he would have more sense.”

“Your Mom won’t admit it but I think…” Angie’s voice drifted then became confident, “Victor, I think he’s a vampire.”

“What, Ricky? Listen we’ll talk about this when I get home.”

“Ok Vic.”

The only SUV the car rental had was an Escalade, which didn’t fit with keeping a low profile. So he took the sedan. It was an hour and a half ride back home. The trip should have been passed thinking about seeing everyone or making plans to go to Tony’s place for a chili dog. But instead, Victor’s thoughts were on his brother. If someone had told him his brother was a vampire five years ago he would have laughed. But that was before the epidemic started.

Three years prior, the US government had acknowledged the outbreak. All he knew was what he saw on the news. Vampires were real; the government was treating it like a disease. Except, instead of hospital quarantine, if they thought you were a vampire a special unit of the CDC would show up and take you away and no one would see you again. Looking out at the dust and warehouses he passed on the freeway, Victor thought to himself, this wasn’t the blue-skied beach laden California people dreamt about, but it was his home. “Damn it Ricky, what did you get yourself into?” He whispered to himself.

Pulling down his Mom’s street he thought about how he used to believe it was a tough area to grow up. That was before he got out into the world; before he saw where nightmares existed. Now he knew how good he had it and was grateful.

Victor parked on the street and grabbed his bag. A little waist high fence ran in front of his Mom’s yard. It was locked so he jumped it. No one looked home in the little blue stucco house. After knocking on the door, there was a long silence, and then he heard the chain and deadbolt being unlatched. A hesitant little woman opened the door. His Mom looked worried, making her face seem older than he remembered. Her eyes got big and the grimace turned into a smile when she made out who it was.

“Mijo!” she yelled, wrapping her arms around Victor.

“Hey Mom.”

“Oh it’s so good to have you here. Come on inside, baby.”

He dropped his bag in the entrance and followed her to the kitchen. He wasn’t surprised the house hadn’t changed in the slightest. They got caught up as she sat him at the kitchen table and dug into the fridge. Before he could refuse, he had a veritable feast laid out before him. Victor was at the peak of strength and fitness for a man his height but that didn’t stop his Mom from jokingly asking if the military fed him.

“I’m not good at cooking for one and Ricky hasn’t been around much lately.” His Mom said noticing Victor’s facial reaction to the intimidating mound of food before him.

It had been obvious since he walked through the door something was wrong. She was acting more than worried, almost afraid of something and that wasn’t like her.

“Where is Ricky, Mom?”

“He’s staying with his friend Hector.” She replied without elaboration. Obviously uncomfortable, she turned and started working on the dishes.

“Does Hector still stay over on 5th?”

“As far as I know,” she stopped with the dishes, resting her arms on the counter but still didn’t turn around.

“I would love to see my little bro. After I eat I think I am going to go check in on him.”

“It’s late Victor and getting dark. I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

Victor thought the last comment was odd but could see his Mom was legitimately worried so he stood up and put his hands on her shoulders to comfort her.

“Listen, I am not sure what’s going on, but I know you’re worried about him. I’m here now and we’re going to straighten this out, it’s going to be ok.”

Victor let go of her shoulders and walked back to the table to pick up his keys.

“Be careful Vic.” She said, not turning around. She didn’t want him to see the tears streaming down her check.

“I will.” He tapped the keys on the table and headed back out to the front door, grabbing his bag on the way.

Just outside, fumbling with the gate was Angie. She was tall and Victor thought too skinny. Her raven hair and horned rimmed glasses hid a beautiful face, making her look studious, which she was. The first one on her side of the family to go to college, she now worked as a loan officer. When Victor saw the silver import behind her he thought, She must be doing well.

“Hey Angel, you showed.” She backed away as Victor hopped the fence again.

“Of course I showed.” She said, giving him a big hug. “Where you headed?”

“Mom said I might find Ricky down at Hector’s.”

Holding him at arm’s length “I’ll drive.”

“I don’t know Angie. The vibe I am getting, that may not be a good idea.”

“Listen, I won’t take no for an answer. Besides, if that’s your ride, it sucks.” she said, pointing at the sedan.

“Ok Angel.” They jumped into her car and headed off as the low hanging sun turned the smoggy sky a dark purple.

Hector had lived in a dilapidated detached garage behind his parent’s house since high school. He had been Ricky’s best friend since elementary. Victor’s Mom thought of him as a sweet, but dumb kid and when the two got into trouble she laid the blame on Hector, but never stayed mad long. Angie pulled into the alley and parked the car.

“I want you to stay in the car and lock the doors.” Angie began to protest and Victor cut her off with just a look. He reached into his bag and pulled out a fifty caliber desert Eagle and holster which he put on under his jacket.

“How the hell did you get that on the plane?” Angie asked in astonishment.

“Angie, you know you can ask me anything but…”

“I know, I know, I can’t ask about whatever it is you do. Vic, be careful.”

With that Victor shut the door. He heard a click of the locks behind him. Heading around the garage Victor noticed the weeds had gotten out of control. Even in front of the side door that Hector used for an entrance. There were no lights on in either the main house or the garage. The only sound was a neighbor’s dog barking in the distance. Victor didn’t think anyone was home and from the looks of things no one had been there in awhile. A smell seemed to loom in the air, one he knew well. Sometimes his team got bad Intel and they were too late for the party. That’s where he knew the smell from, it was the smell of death and rot.

He knocked on the garage’s side door with one hand and kept the other on the gun. Everything was quiet at first, then he thought he heard something. It almost wasn’t a sound at all, but a faint hiss and it wasn’t coming from in the garage but from all around Victor. It was saying, “Come in”. Victor pulled the gun out and tried the door but it was blocked. It took a couple pulls on the rusted handle before the weeds gave way.

The garage was completely dark and the smell was strong inside. He could hear the buzz of flies in the air. The layout seemed the same from when he had been there in years past. A little TV on a table in front of a couch, behind it the table they used to play poker at and in the far corner a bed. Victor quickly got out of the light that was now coming in from the doorway. He crept along the wall with the desert eagle guiding the way. The sides of the garage were lined with things that belong there; tools, a lawn mower, etc. As he moved, his eyes adjusted. He could make out someone sitting in a chair by the table behind the couch. If it was Hector, he wasn’t moving and the smell suggested he wouldn’t be.

Slowly and cautiously, Victor walked until he was behind the sitting figure. Reaching out, he pulled the chain to the bulb which hung above the table. The light flickered on with a hum and bounced on the cord. The dancing light illuminated the room and the thing sitting in the chair. It was a corpse and from the back it did seem to be Hector. Victor lowered the gun but raised it back fast; as he walked around to face it, the sunken-in clouded white eyes were following him.

Hector never looked healthy in life and in death he was just plain hard to look at. His skin had once been a light brown but now it was a pale blue. He always kept his head shaved, but now it was growing back in patches and every part of him glistened with the slime of decomposition. Someone hadn’t wanted him to go anywhere because they had chained him to the chair with heavy gauge chain and bolted the ends of the chain to the concrete floor. Other than his eyes he didn’t move. Victor heard the hiss again, this time it was saying, “blood”.

In Victor’s line of work it was mandatory to be fast at figuring out what needed to be done in any situation. He needed info and it didn’t look like Hector was going to able to talk without some help. With gun holstered, he walked over and picked up an old greasy coffee can off the floor. Dumping out the contents of nuts and bolts on the floor, he put the empty can on the table. Lying by it on the table was a pair of pliers next to two very long canine teeth lying in a pool of dried blood. Also on the table was a cigarette lighter, which he picked up. Looking around, he found a hacksaw hanging on the wall. Taking the saw, he lit the lighter and held the flame under the jagged blade. When it was cool enough to handle, he pinched the blade between his thumb and forefinger and used it to tear a small gash on the back of his forearm. Victor let the blood drip into the can until there was enough to pour. He picked up the can and putting his hand on Hectors sticky cold forehead, he pulled back, opening up his mouth. He could see the gaps where teeth had been as the blood poured into Hector’s mouth.

When the last drop trickled, Victor dropped the can and let go of Hector’s head. Taking a step back, he put pressure on his arm while he watched Hector for any change. Suddenly Hector’s head rose by itself, his eyes were a little less milky and focused on Victor.

“Vic–tooor mooooore Victooor.” It was the hiss again but this time it had hints of Hectors voice and it was no longer disembodied.

“No Hector, I need to find Ricky. Do you know where he is?”

There was a long silence. Hector’s gaze never dropped and with each second he seemed to be getting stronger.

“He’s with Michael.” Hector’s voice was almost normal now but was strained from the incredible hunger.

“Who’s Michael, Hector?”

“Please Victor, give me more, I am so hungry.”

“I need to find Ricky, who is Michael, Hector?” Victor said with frustration as he pulled the gun out and pointed it at his reanimated friend.

“Victor, bullets don’t hurt me anymore but your smell does. I smelled you when you came and it makes me so hungry.”

Victor put his gun away. Lifting up his arm so Hector could see the wound he pinched it, causing blood to drip on the ground.

“If you want this, you better tell me what I want to know or I am leaving you here with this puddle to smell.”

“You can find Michael’s place up on the hill, the last driveway before the Point. If Ricky’s not dust, he’ll be there. If you go there they will kill you Victor.”

“Who did this to you Hector?” Victor asked, hoping his friend would stay lucid.

“Two of Michael’s soldiers, they said I brought too much attention so they left me to starve as punishment. I was a recruiter, but always too hungry. I fucked things up. Now please, the hunger hurts so bad.”

“What do you mean recruiter?”

Hector didn’t answer but began to look around the room and ramble. “So hungry, so long. You know I killed them. I killed my little girl, my Mom, my Dad; I killed them and drained them. “

Victor walked over and picked up a can of gas by the lawn mower. He walked back to Hector. Hector cocked his head to look up at Victor with a smirk and white eyes. In war, Victor had seen some horrible things but the face looking at him now made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.

“Are you going to help me Vic?”

“Yes, Hector.”

Angie noticed smoke coming from the garage and the light from inside turn to a bright flicker just as Victor tapped at the car window. She unlocked the door and he opened it and jumped in.

“Take us somewhere we can get a drink.”

They drove to the local dive and got a booth in the back. Victor didn’t go into details with Angie about Hector. He told her Ricky wasn’t there and moved the conversation to catching up with her and her family. They both did their best to keep the talk light and Victor did his best to stay engaged, but while they talked he was working out his next move. They ended the night early. Before dropping him off at his Mom’s, Angie asked him to promise to keep her in the loop about Ricky. Victor, knowing it was probably a lie, said he would.

The next morning he had breakfast with his Mom. He told her no one was home at Hector’s and him and Angie had went out to get got caught up. He excused himself, saying that he wanted to go down to the gym. Sitting in the sedan thinking, he decided it was time to go check out the info Hector had given him. He found his Dad’s old binoculars in a box of camping stuff in the garage and headed out.

The Point was a scenic turn off in the foothills above town. In the nineteen-fifties it would be the kind of place lined with Chevy’s filled with horny teenagers, but when Victor was in high school it’s where you went to drink “a tall can”. The houses up there were big with a lot of space between them; most couldn’t be seen from the road. When he was a kid he didn’t know why anyone needed so much privacy. Now, from his life experience, he knew there was usually a reason.

Just past the freeway which marked the edge of town, the road curved up into the golden brush-covered foothills. Driving up the winding road, Victor saw a gated driveway just before the Point. The noon sun hung directly over head as he parked the car. An old three foot tall graffiti-covered stone wall ran the length of the look out. On the other side of the road was the hillside. Many nights, as a teenager, he sat on that wall looking at the city lights below, dreaming of what his future might have in store. With the binoculars in hand, Victor ran across the street. Walking down the slope, he found a fire road that had been almost overtaken by the brush. Making his way under the hot sun, he found a gravel covered plateau with a view of the other side of the hill. Crouching in the sagebrush, he used the binoculars to scan the driveway below. Trees running the border of the property blocked some of his view but he could make out a very large house at the end of the drive. The house looked like a turn of the century farm house. There were a few up here and in the city; leftovers from when the rich farmers used to own the valley below. A long time ago the valley was covered in orange groves as far as the eye could see; now only a few trees remained. Victor started to feel like he was back at work, when he saw walking the grounds were armed sentries. He counted about four total, all with automatic rifles.

He stayed up on the hill the entire afternoon, watching. When dusk arrived, he was surprised to see a police car drive up the dusty road. An officer got out and pulled a pale young man from the back seat, who he handed off to one of the guards. The guard quickly took the young man inside and the cop got back in the patrol car and went on his way. When the sun finally set, an even stranger scene unfolded. The guards all went in the house by way of the front door. About twenty minutes later, a layer of mist settled around the ground. Then straight out of the earth, as if digging themselves out of their own graves, came the vampires. About twenty, maybe more, they came from all over the grounds. At first they walked slowly, then they shot down the driveway almost too fast to see. Just when the property seemed still and empty, a large pale man walked out the front and stood on the porch. His details were fuzzy through the binoculars but he seemed to be sniffing the air. Victor put the binoculars down and looked at the grass; the wind was in his favor. But he couldn’t believe he had been so careless, he knew better. Looking back through the binoculars, he watched as the man again turned and went back in the house.

Victor waited until sun up before heading back to his car. On the way back to his Mom’s he made a phone call. Calling in a favor to an old friend, he got a meeting with someone that might be of help. Victor got his GPS out of his bag and put in the coordinates. Looking at the clock, he estimated the time of arrival, he would just make it. Five hours later, he found himself not far outside of Vegas, kicking up a cloud of dust out in the middle of a dry lake bed, hoping the rental had a spare tire if he needed it. When the GPS said he was there he could see an outcropping of rock. Parked in the little bit of shade it cast was a white van with Smity’s Heating and Air written across the side. Victor parked the car and got out, walking around the van he stood by the passenger side door so the van driver could get a clear view of him. The van door opened and a short fat man jumped out. He was wearing blue coveralls with the same Smity’s logo on the back. He had black greasy hair and a handlebar mustache.

“Consol says location’s secure for five miles up and down. Let’s get down to business. What’s the target?” The little man said in a straight to business tone.

“Vampires.”

“Interesting. We talking one, two, or a hive?”

“About twenty or more.”

“That’s a hive, I got ya covered.” Walking around he opened the back of the van and began selecting and pulling cases which he laid out in the dirt.

“Ever hunt vampires, son?”

“Nope, not vampires.”

“Know anything about ’em?”

“Not that much. Any pointers?”

Taking a break from digging around in the van, he turned and sat looking at Victor with one eyebrow raised.

“Just one. You going up against this hive?”

“Yep.”

“Well, first thing you should know is they’re fast so you’re going to need to be too, but we’ll talk about that in a second. The other thing is a lot of what you seen in the movies holds up; sun light turns ’em to dust, take off their head dust. A stake through the heart puts ’em down, but you still need to take the head. Holy water and crosses is BS. And silver, silver is the stuff. If you want to shoot them, you got to use silver.”

“I thought silver bullets were for werewolves.” Victor said jokingly.

“Nope, we’re still working the bugs out of werewolf munitions.” Victor began to smile, but the little man was dead serious.

“Remember, the vampire on its own has to be pretty slick. Once they make themselves known, the CDC sends a special unit and picks ’em up. The only hives that exist anymore are actually farms supplying the CDC with fresh vamps because they turn the ones they get to dust too fast with all the shit they do to ’em. That means they got local and state protection. Now I am going to assume you are qualified to do what you want to do or we wouldn’t be talking. But let me emphasize this needs to be clean and fast. It would be bad for both of us if you end up engaging the local law informant with what I am supplying you. I think we understand how detrimental unneeded attention can be.”

“What’s the government doing with the vampires?”

“Oh lots of things, including making a nice little item you’re going to need. Now let’s get you set up. I’ve got an air conditioner with a blown compressor to fix, I told the client I’d be there in an hour.”

Victor popped his trunk and the little man started bringing over an arsenal.

“You got nothing, so I’ve thrown in some of the basics… body armor, night vision, etc. There’s nothing special about the rifle or the pistols it’s the ammo, all silver. The flash grenades actually put out UV light. Won’t kill ’em but will burn and stun.” After he had loaded the trunk with enough stuff for three men to carry, he turned to Victor and pulled a little blue vile from his pocket. “This is what you can thank the Vamps for. It’s actually out of the budget you were approved for, but I like you and frankly you ain’t got a chance without it. Its self injecting- just pop the cap, stick the needle in your arm or whatever, and POW. You got their strength, speed, senses, even to a lesser extent their healing ability, all without the blood lust. The only catch is that it only lasts five hours and you’ll have a hell of a hangover, so don’t use it ‘til you need it.”

With that, the little man handed Victor the vile and closed up his van. Victor shut the trunk and walked over to the driver’s door giving him a quick goodbye gesture with his hand.

“Good luck, kid.” The little man hollered, without looking and jumped into the van, closing the door and disappearing behind the tinted window.

On the way back to town, Victor called his Mom and apologized for worrying her. He told her he was in Vegas with friends and would be spending the weekend. He told her he loved her and would be seeing her on Monday. Pulling off the freeway just outside of town, he found a dingy motel. The room smelled musty and he wasn’t sure if the carpet was green or black. He needed a place to rest and plan. The room had everything he needed, a bed and deadbolt on the door.

With the exception of a siren or two and the speed freak in the next room occasionally screaming something about Jesus, Victor rested quite well. He had formulated his plan of attack by breakfast. Details aside, his plan was simple. Get there just before dusk and take the guards out. From what he had seen, the vamps were dug in too deep to get to. So hunting them in the day wouldn’t be possible. He would have to catch them just as they were waking up and coming out of hiding. Hopefully, he would find Ricky, and if Ricky wasn’t to be found, his plan was the same; kill every last one of them.

Victor parked at the Point again. He quickly grabbed two duffle bags and made his way across the street and back up the hill. This time, he used the scope of his rifle to watch the guard’s movements. One slowly paced the road just past the gate by the street. The man stopped to light a cigarette, Victor took aim, and a little breeze blew the crimson spray from the man’s head before he dropped to the ground.

Quickly, Victor finished suiting and consolidated what was left into one bag. He ran down the hill, putting his arm through the handles, he slung the bag over his shoulder. Without losing speed, he hopped the fence. Victor found the dead guard and dragged him into the tall weeds. He made his way down the road until he got to the clearing in front of the house. There, he could see one guard on the porch and the other two walking the perimeter of the large tree lined field that surrounded the house. Crouching behind a tree, he dropped the bag in the weeds and pulled the rifle out. He waited for the two in the field to disappear from view on each side of the house. Then, with a tap of his finger, he put the resting guard to sleep permanently.

The dusk had come, giving everything a bluish tint. The fading light made the old house look ancient and forbidding. The upstairs windows reflected the clouds and reminded Victor of the look of death he had seen in Hector’s eyes. He stood in front, facing the awful house, waiting. He knew the guards would be going in soon, probably to keep from being eaten themselves. Hopefully, they would use the front door just as they had before. With rifle slung on his back, he drew two silver loaded pistols. With arms outstretched and guns in hand, he waited for the sound of footsteps in the gravel. The guards came around the corner almost in pace. This time death wasn’t silent, two shots echoed through the hills. The back of their heads exploded before their faces had time to react.

Victor made his way towards the house. He got no more than ten feet from the porch when he felt the ground begin to shake, they were coming. He knew they were slow at first but picked up speed quick. He was going to have to be fast and keep an eye out for Ricky all at the same time. Seeing mounds of turned earth, in the dark, he could tell where to look for them coming up. They started to spring up faster than he expected, sending dirt flying as they did. Victor emptied the pistols into the creatures rising up all around him, quickly he reloaded. Popping them in the head seemed to do the trick. There was no mistaking the ones he hit; they erupted in flames and black guts. Two had gotten completely out of the ground, they moved with blinding speed. Dark almost turned to day with the blaze from the gun’s muzzles and flames from the exploding vampires.

One rushed Victor, knocking him to the ground where he skipped on his back like a stone. Bouncing against the earth, he was able to get off a round, pegging the monster in the head. Victor quickly got on his feet but three more were already out of the ground. He turned and ran for the house. One slammed him from behind, sending Victor’s guns flying and Victor through the shut door. The rotted wood disintegrated on impact. Victor landed in a hall, bloodied, by the door. Sitting up, he looked for either pistol as the monsters came towards him. Hairless, pale and nude, their eyes red and mouths open, baring elongated serpent like teeth. It occurred to Victor that Ricky could be any one of them, they all looked alike. Before he could shoot, a huge hand wrapped around the top his head, blinding him and dragging him backwards. He tried to pull the finger to loosen the attacker’s grip when another hand pulled his away, crushing the bones.

He was dragged to a large room, empty of furniture, with wooden floors. The hand on his head was replaced with one around his neck. He could see the walls of the room filling up with hungry and pissed off monsters. The hand around his throat lifted him into the air. It was connected to the huge vampire he had seen a few nights before. In life the monster could have been a pro wrestler and was probably just as ugly.

“Who the hell are you and what are you doing in my house?” The huge vampire’s voice boomed through the room.

“I am looking for my brother.” Victor huffed. Hardly able to speak, he was sure it would be seconds before his neck would snap.

“Ain’t that sweet? Well if he had the pleasure of meeting me, he ain’t your bro no longer, meat sack.”

Holding and pulling on the wrist of the vampire with his good hand, Victor was able to take enough weight off his neck to say, “You must be Michael?”

The behemoth responded with a grin and began to squeeze Victor’s neck.

As Michael squeezed, Victor fought the agonizing pain and with his broken hand popped the cap of the vile and stuck it in his leg.

He shut his eyes. Suddenly the pain went away and he could hear the hisses of a hundred thoughts from the monsters that surrounded him. He could feel his wounds healing and a rush far beyond adrenaline. Victor focused, cleared his mind, and then opened his eyes. With invisible speed, he unsheathed a large silver plated knife.

Michael’s arm stayed outstretched even as his hand was detached in a spray of blood. His hand fell from Victor’s neck. Victor hit the floor and with the same unnatural speed, he sliced through the vampire’s ankles, leaving the feet standing as the giant fell to the floor. Standing up, Victor looked as the giant with three bloody stumps struggled to sit up.

“Where’s my brother, Michael?”

“I am sure he’s dust at the CDC, that’s how they all end up.” Michael said while trying to stand on his stumps.

“Wrong answer.” And with that Victor took Michael’s head. As it went flying through the air, Victor swung around with knife in hand and asked, “Who’s next?”

Embracing his new abilities, Victor went to work doing what he did best. Outside, the windows of the farmhouse flashed with the light of exploding vampires.

When all was done, Victor dragged the bodies of the dead guards into the burning house.

The next day Victor had the worst hangover (if you can call it that) of his life. It left him bedridden for a day. The day after, at breakfast, he told his Mom that Ricky wouldn’t be coming home. He didn’t have details and she didn’t ask, only stating she knew, before crying on his shoulder. The rest of the week was as good as it could be. When Angie saw him off at the airport, she promised to look after his Mom before saying goodbye.

Sitting on the plane, Victor whispered a prayer for his brother. As the plane took off, he stared out the window and wondered if he was ever going to get an actual vacation.

Copyright

Copyright © 2011 by Sam Williams

All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

This book is dedicated to my beautiful wife whose love and encouragement made it possible. As well to my friends over at HMC (especially MOH, DH, and WM) whose encouragement has also been invaluable.

Content

Sam Williams
TALES FROM THE SWOLLEN CORPSE

Apocalypse on Aisle Six

The Well

Gibberish

The Hill

Mr. Bagneris

Scavenger

Rotted Soil

The Vampire Next Door

The Epicures

The Witch in the Basement

Two Crows

Bad Drugs

The Krampus

The Ghost Eaters

A Fade to Blue

Expansion

Redlands

Copyright