Tag: horror

Hard news to swallow

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The ringmaster took Luigi to his office.
“Sword-swallowing isn’t exciting,” he said. “You can’t see the action. It’s hidden inside.”
Luigi tried to argue, but failed.
“Report to Bobo.”
Luigi sighed and left for the clown tent.
Two hours later, he saw himself in the mirror, covered in bright, garish makeup.
“Not bad,” said Bobo putting a hand on Luigi’s shoulder. “Look, I know this is humiliating. We’ll work your swords into the act somehow.”
Luigi nodded.
“C’mon. Dinnertime. Let’s fill your stomach with food for once.”
That night, Luigi stabbed himself.
He could swallow swords, but not his pride.

The Kiss

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They were the perfect couple, I swear they were.
They’ll be together until the end of their days, I had thought.
He said “I love you” to another woman, and that earned him a knife in his throat.
She was going to cut out his eyes when the bartender hit her with the bottle.
Now he doesn’t say anything to anyone, just whispers to himself every now and then.
And she just sits by the window, staring at things nobody else can see.
Wrecked and lost, no longer perfect, but they’ll still be together until they end of their days.

Paradise Packed

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All of the scientists agree: our species has passed the tipping point.
The ecosystems could no longer sustain our presence. Either our species went, or all species.
So, we took samples of everything, extracted the DNA, and packed them all into stasis pods.
Some of them we’ll launch into space as permanent memorials to our world.
Others will stay in orbit, ready to return when our planet had recovered from our mistakes.
We released the retrovirals at dawn, watching the horror spread across the planet from our bunker.
Then, we opened the champagne, toasted Eden, and swallowed the black pills.

Scarface

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Al Capone claimed that his facial scars were a war wound, and his bodyguard would chuckle at the comment.
“What are you laughing at?” said Al, and his bodyguard went silent.
The bodyguard was the one who had slashed Al for insulting his sister.
Years later, after Al died in prison, the bodyguard went out in the streets and found a kid in a gang.
“C’mere,” he said, and he slashed the kid’s face three times.
The kid’s mouth hung open, and then a familiar sneer came over his face.
“Nice knifework,” said Al. “Got a cigar and a light?”

Every 20 minutes

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Every 20 minutes, the timer goes off and I do 20 situps.
Sure, diet and walking can shed the pounds, but I carry my weight in my gut, so I needed to get better about targeting my trouble areas.
Situps are easy to do, and setting a kitchen timer to force myself to do reps over and over has been great about keeping the pace.
However, after a while, you can overdo it.
Hernias can be repaired, but lethal strokes can’t.
The timer goes off, and I feel a poke from the demon sitting on a stool.
“Do another twenty!”

For Your Eyes Only

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Sometimes, a document is too secret to be marked TOP SECRET.
So they make those For Your Eyes Only.
The document only appears to the recipient. To everyone else, they don’t see anything.
Not even a sheet of paper. It’s printed using a quantum ink and paper from phase-controlled wood pulp that only activates one unique set of sensory-processing neurons.
The problem is that when an agent resigns, you don’t know it they’ve destroyed all their documents.
We could surgically remove their eyes, but that would be cruel, leaving them completely blind.
So, as a mercy, we just kill them.

Crazy Never Sleeps

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Crazy never sleeps.
You might crawl into bed and close your eyes, but while you’re asleep, Crazy is up and pacing the floor, listening to voices that nobody speaks with.
Crazy can’t be locked in the basement or tied to a chair. No matter what you do, Crazy gets loose and goes crazy on everything.
Broken dishes.
Knives stuck in the sofa.
The tub overflowing again.
Who knows what you’ll wake up to this time?
So, you stay up later… and later…
You try to stay up later than crazy does.
Then you realize: you’ve been the Crazy all along.

The Axe

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Every time I go to Lord Greybeard’s Castle, I can’t help but stare at the axe he’s mounted over the fireplace in the Main Hall.
It’s old and rusty, but every so often there’s fresh blood along the blade.
There’s no way that Lord Greybeard used it, let alone any of his servants.
The thing is massive, with a six foot wooden shaft and a blade that must weigh over a hundred pounds.
Lord Greybeard notices my curiosity, puts an arm around my shoulder, and laughs. “I cut myself shaving,” he says.
Then, his screaming head slides off his neck.

Draw a red line

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I watch my daughter drawing a red line.
She started drawing on her sketchbook, but ran off of the paper, along the floor…
And right out the door.
I shouted for her to come back, but why worry? She’ll run out of ink or get tired…
One hour… two hours…
I get up and shout again.
No answer.
So, I follow the red line.
That was seventeen years and ten thousand miles ago.
You can’t see the line?
Oh, it’s there. Just too faint for you to see.
But I can.
And I will follow it until I find her.

The Candles

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When Bobby turned five, he wanted his cake decorated like that “Harry Potter” series of books he’d seen, but was too young to read or watch the movies.
“No,” his mother said.
(When you’re five, you don’t take no for an answer.)
So, his mother made a cake with a demon made out of chocolate cookies inside an icing pentagram, a candle at each star point.
At the party, all of Bobby’s friends sang, and then he blew out the candles.
“What did you wish for?” his mother asked.
The demon on the cake opened its eyes.
“That,” grinned Bobby.