Tag: horror

Rafting

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We’ve had this white water rafting business for a while now.
We load up the trailer, head upriver, and then Bart and the rafters head downriver. Then, I drive back down with the trailer.
We used to work out of the cabin upstream, but folks preferred to do the road trip first.
They also like midnight runs, but they’re not safe.
Tonight, something went wrong. I got to the downstream cabin and saw the boats floating down the river.
I check with a flashlight. Nobody in them, splattered with blood.
It’s a full moon.
Howling.
As I said, not safe.

The Smell of Gasoline

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There’s one thing worse than the smell of gasoline, and that’s the taste.
Murloney’s boys dragged me to this warehouse and tied me to this chair so they could splash me with high-octane cologne.
“You missed behind the ears,” I said, and they punched my lights out.
I woke up to a spotlight in my face.
Laughing, glasses clinking. Groans from dozens of other guys tied to chairs.
All on top of a gigantic cake in the middle of a party.
“Happy birthday, boss!” said a goon. “Sixty years young!”
Mulroney laughed. “I’ll take my time blowing out these candles.”

Crimson

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Crimson waves, the blood tide is rising.
This is no moon. We have landed on a living thing.
Are the natives a roaming immune system? Parasites?
No idea. We will samples so researchers back on base can make the call.
We can’t stay much longer. The landing gear cut up the creature something fierce, and it’s wanting to scab over.
The more we dig out the struts, the more patch-cells it sends.
As we lift off, I figure next time, maybe we’ll use a bubble-craft, something soft.
That’s when the tentacles hit the hull.
Brace yourselves, we’re going back down!

Make me pretty and dead

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“Make me pretty and dead,” said the model to the robotic plastic surgeon.
At least, that’s what the translation engine thought she said.
She stripped naked and stepped into the surgical chamber, watching the various lasers and scalpels warm up.
Behind her, a defibrillator prepared to administer a lethal jolt of electricity.
A technician ran into the room and shouted “STOP!”
The lights on the robotic surgeon all turned off, and the model covered herself with her hands.
The technician handed her a robe.
“Sorry, mistranslation in the software,” he said. “And, come on, aren’t you already drop-dead gorgeous enough?”

The Guest

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“You have a guest,” said the investigating priest.
Sally rocked back and forth on the vomit-covered bed, staring back at the priest with weary red-rimmed eyes.
“You’ve got to be shitting me,” she said.
“We refer to occupying spirits as ‘guests’ now,” said the priest. “No need for rudeness while negotiating a mutually-agreeable solution to this dispute.”
“SHUT UP AND GET THIS FUCKING DEMON OUT OF ME!” shouted Sally.
“I need to consult my manager,” said the priest, and he pulled out a cell phone.
“WHAT??????”
The demon was shocked, too.
And easily dislodged.
“Works every time,” said the priest.

Molt

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Looking down at the stumps of my thighs, I knew it would be a rough morning.
I dragged myself into the kitchen and ate my way through the food inside.
The horrendous pain came next.
Biting down on a dishrag helps a little.
Close your eyes. Try not to scream.
When the burning sensation dulled to a warm ache, I flexed my new toes and stood up, wobbling slightly and steadying myself with a chair.
The old ones are rotting in the hallway.
I hope these feet are a size I’ve already got. Buying new shoes is such a hassle.

The Socks

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After years of blisters and other problems with my feet, I changed from ordinary cotton socks to special space-aged wicking socks.
They draw moisture away from the feet while providing extra padding.
Don’t ask me how they work. All I know is that they work.
No blisters since.
However, you’ve got to be careful with them. Going to sleep with a pair on will suck some water out of your body.
Going to sleep with 14 pairs of them on your feet and hands will leave you a desiccated husk.
So, any other questions about the mummies in this exhibit?

Lazarus

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Tradition says that the priests pondered putting Lazarus to death because of the miracle which returned him to life, but other stories tell of him living out his life as a bishop in Cyprus.
Neither of the tombs in Bethany or Cyprus are his.
He is nothing more than an ancient blind husk, curled up into himself on the seabed, unable to drown.
Every so often, he snatches a fish to chew on with empty jaws.
As do many, he waits for Christ’s return, but not for salvation.
Yearning for release, the rest of death denied him for so long.

Oops

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My kindergarten teacher had a cat named Oops, solid black with a white O on his chest.
She lived next to a maple tree farm, and every year she took classes there to see how syrup was made.
Oops wandered around the woods, but the moment he spotted a class coming through, he’d run off and hide.
That was over thirty years ago, and the teacher is long gone.
The maple syrup farm is gone too, but the trees remain.
A black shadow crosses my path.
After all these years, how can…
I see two glowing red eyes. And…
Oops!

Phantom

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I wake up and struggle with the call button.
“NURSE! NURSE!”
The morning nurse arrives at my bed, taps the IV, and checks the bandages on my hands.
“Fingers still hurt?” she asks.
“It’s like they’re being dipped in fire!” I groan. “Please, make it stop!”
I try to move my hands, but they’re strapped down to the rails on the bed.
“No, we’re not going to loosen those,” she said. “Remember the last time we did that?”
She loosens a bandage and I look.
Bloody stumps.
“Your toes still hurt?”
That’s when I remember… I bit those off, too.