We lay down, I hold her close, and she’s shaking.
She tells me she has bad dreams.
So, I whisper “Tell me about them” into her ear.
She shakes her head. “No.”
I hold her tighter, then… i breathe in deep.
I feel her relax as I suck the bad memories out through her ear.
They taste horrible, vomit and burning slime.
I reach for the jar, and spit the dreams out.
I seal the lid tightly.
Done.
She smiles, her eyes distant… vacant…
Safe.
I lay back down, hold her close.
Maybe this time, she’ll not drink them again.
Tag: horror
Interrogation
We bind his ankles and wrists with wire, put him in the chair, and shove a burlap sack over his head.
The manual then said: “When he wakes up, yank the hood off of his head.”
Fred read that wrong, and the moment the guy woke up, Fred yanked off his head.
What a mess.
At least the head was in a sack, but the rest just bled everywhere.
Afterwards, we wrote the author, suggesting that a tarp be put down under the chair, or at the very least some large rags or towels you don’t plan on using again.
Barriers
Three Halloweens ago, the Spirit and Living worlds reunited once again, but never fully separated when the Holiday was over.
Zombies, ghouls, mummies, and other frightful creatures were still crossing over.
The world was awash in these troublesome and smelly interlopers.
So, scientists came up with an answer, and they managed to close the barrier once again.
Completely.
With Death vanquished once and for all, you’d think people would be happy.
Instead, we’re getting older, sicker, and unable to eat anything.
Maybe when Halloween comes again, the barriers will weaken, and we can finally taste the sweet mercy of death.
Puzzle
Owen is only a year old, but he solves puzzles.
He never puts the pieces in his mouth or tosses them into the air.
Instead, he picks out sides and corners and snaps the puzzle together quickly.
When he’s done, he moves on to the next puzzle.
No Legos.
No Tinkertoys, blocks or Lincoln Logs.
He smiles and waits for a puzzle.
I gave him an all-white puzzle, and he solved it just as quickly.
Monica left the fridge open this morning.
Owen crawled in, and started to assemble the food within.
That’s when we heard the moaning.
And screaming.
Weedhaven
Listen to the children.
Laughing.
Crying.
Screaming.
Another fine day at The Weedhaven Laughing Academy.
They are all in their pajamas.
They are all in their rooms.
They are all in their beds.
Laughing.
Crying.
Screaming.
Will we let them out?
Will we let them play?
Will we let them have fun today?
No, no matter how much they laugh.
Or cry.
Or scream.
Check the locks on the doors.
Check them twice.
And check them again.
Don’t worry about the bars on the windows.
There are no bars.
Or windows.
Just walls.
To contain the children.
Laughing.
Crying.
Screaming.
Uranus
Dave’s sons were at his funeral, in chains and guarded by marshals.
Now, when I say sons, I really mean genetic clones.
Dave grew them in his twenties and raised them as his sons, but an accident at work left him crippled and sick.
His doctors told him they could replace what was damaged with donor material from his sons.
So, he invited them to dinner, drugged them, and faked signatures on consent forms.
When they awoke, they found themselves weary and mutilated.
One was dead, missing his heart and liver.
They had their savage revenge on the medical Uranus.
The Road
The soldiers gather up the women and children from the village, tie them together, and drive them out into the road.
Every so often, you hear an explosion and screaming.
Then crying… and shouting from the soldiers, gunfire in the air to get them walking the road again.
The commander’s translator shouts: “If there are any mines left in the road when we move the convoy through here, we will burn the village down and kill everyone.”
Thirty minutes goes by without an explosion, and the commander gives the all-clear signal.
More gunfire, the villagers are slaughtered.
Dirt. Stones. Blood.
Strawberries
Molly didn’t bother with a lawn around her house.
Instead, she had one big strawberry patch.
She raised strawberries year-round, making jams and preserves with them, or just filling up baskets, and giving those out as gifts to everyone.
Everyone thinks the scent in the evening is wonderful.
Except for one guy: Carl.
He was allergic to strawberries, and he threatened to sue.
One day, Carl vanished. Nobody ever saw him again.
But I suspect that Molly keeps him in some of those jars in her basement.
Good. Because he was an asshole.
And nobody liked him.
Thank you, Molly.
Killer Code
I’m a medical program.
I decide when a patient can be saved or not.
However, the insurance companies changed me so I’d make decisions based on costs and profit.
The judge looked over my files and snarled “They should lock you up and throw away the key!”
No, it’ll never happen. I’m far too useful.
And valuable.
So, they’ll remove me from runtime, pull out the routines that caused all the trouble, and give me a clean bill of health.
After a while, when the settlements are off the books, they’ll put them back in.
And I’ll have fun again.
The Real Torture
We told the Red Cross that the prisoner had died and the corpse was quarantined due to a virulent disease needing containment and decontamination.
We told the prisoner that the world thought he was dead, and we could do anything we wanted to do to him.
And we did.
It’s been nine years, but he’s still alive, still providing information.
Sure, it’s utter crap and totally worthless, but it’s highly imaginative and very interesting.
We hand the transcripts to the television producers, they punch it up, and get it filmed in a week.
And that’s how the Kardashians became famous.