Tag: horror

Roll Out The Barrel

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As the band played the Beer Barrel Polka, we rolled out the barrel and propped it up.
Something shifted inside. Something solid.
We opened it up and found a corpse.
According to the wallet in his jacket pocket, he was Jimmy “The Fish” Muldoon, a heavy with the Chicago Mafia.
“So, what do we do?” said the tuba player. “Any ideas, guys?”
“Hey, it’s the Beer Barrel Polka!” I shouted. “Let’s roll out the barrel of fun!”
We tapped another keg and partied hard with Jimmy.
The next morning, we all envied Jimmy, being too dead to be hung over.

The River Ice

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One day, the river was flowing.
The next, the river was covered with a sheet of ice.
I have never watched a river freeze.
So, when I heard that the forecast called for a deep freeze, I got bundled up and headed out to the river to watch.
The temperature dropped quickly, and I could see my breath through the scarf.
Snow falls, I can see white on the riverbanks… then dark shapes in the dark, shimmering water.
My eyes are heavy with the cold, but I still watch.
The shimmering water slows, until…
Until I have frozen to death.

Foot Fungus

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Dr. O’Grady had been seeing the patient for a decade, treating his chronic foot fungus as best as he could.
He never cured it, but it never progressed beyond those two toes, so that was something, right?
The coroner quietly ushered him into the morgue.
“He was your patient, so I thought it best that you see him,” he whispered.
“Why are we whispering?” asked O’Grady.
The coroner pulled up the sheet to reveal a roughly human-shaped glob of deep red fungus.
“I’m not sure he… it is dead,” said the coroner. “And I don’t want to wake it up.”

The Shadow

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The groundhog pokes its nose out from its hole.
It sniffs the air and smells death, millions of times over.
Burning ash in all directions.
Was it an asteroid?
Was it a nuclear war?
To the groundhog, it doesn’t know. Or care.
It doesn’t matter whether it sees its shadow or if there will be six more weeks of winter.
There will be plenty to forage on when the burning storm dies down. Plenty of water in cracked pipes and cisterns to drink.
Unless there are survivors.
Then, it will be hunted.
It goes back into its hole to hide.

Singing Teeth

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When I brush my teeth, they sing.
At first, I thought it was some kind of microchip in the toothbrush, like those expensive greeting cards.
But when I used another toothbrush, they sang just the same.
I asked my dentist about this, and he made sure that the valve on his laughing gas was sealed tightly.
Nobody believes me when I say that my teeth sing. They think I’m crazy.
But I’m not.
What’s worse is that when I forget to brush my teeth, they cry with blood.
“Now do you believe me?” I scream.
They think I’m crazier now.

The Dolls

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No matter how deep I dig, I keep bringing up buckets full of dolls.
I knew that my dog steals them from neighborhood kids to bury in the back yard, but I never knew how many until I had to put in new flowers.
There’s hundreds… thousands in here.
There’s no way my dog did all of this. It’s just too many, and way too deep.
As I go back down, two dolls fall on my head.
I look up.
It’s my dog… and another dog.
He’s teaching others.
A howl. More dogs come.
Dirt rains down.
They’re burying me!

The Brass Medusa

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I love statues.
But I always wonder about how they’re posed.
Usually, they’re just standing there, looking pompous or proud.
Or they’re on a horse. A leg or two up.
Sometimes, I envision the ancient Medusa, slithering around the early American colonies, staring at famous Founding Fathers and her gaze transforming them into brass.
Then I realize that they’d have their hands up, faces frozen in fright.
If I ever get famous to the point of earning a statue in my honor, that’s how I want to be depicted: like something horrible and scary turned me to brass or stone.

Get Out Of Bed!

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For some people, it’s the alarm clock.
For others, it’s getting licked on the face by their dog or cat.
What gets me out of bed, well, that’s kind of a moot point.
I never get out of bed.
Ever since the drunk driver hit me, I’ve been here.
The tubes, wires, and nurses do everything for me.
And when they can’t, well, they put me under and cut more stuff off or stick in more tubes and wires.
The brown tube there, well, that pumps out my shit.
Probably to the kitchen, based on how this damn porridge tastes.

Meat Pie

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“Sweeney Todd will give you a close shave, and Mrs. Lovett will make you into a wonderful meat pie.”
I read the poster twice.
And smiled.
So, I hobbled into the barber shop and happily shouted “I’m really to be murdered and turned into a meat pie!”
Todd looked me over, ran a hand across my chin, and smirked.
“You won’t do at all,” he said, and told me to leave.
Mrs. Lovett was just as dismissive.
“I just chop up what Sweeney sends me,” she said. “No special orders.”
In the end, she did sell me a meat pie.

Hostage

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I was moving music between computers when I came across a file I didn’t recognize.
Virus scan: Safe.
So, I opened it and heard the most hideous scream.
“HELP ME!” it said. “THEY’LL KILL ME!”
The file was called “Sound File” and there weren’t any tags on it.
And I didn’t know who it was.
So, I deleted it and didn’t think another minute about it.
Severed fingers and ears started showing up in the mail. Bloody ransom notes.
But who they belonged to, not a clue. Everyone I knew was okay.
I’d call the cops, but… I’m busy.
Sorry.