Tag: horror

Caution

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Caution was her name, taken from the yellow tape across the door of the abandoned nursery they found her in.
You would think someone would realize the tape was there as a warning, But most folks are soft-hearted and assume all babies are safe.
This one certainly isn’t Whoever left her there, hoped she’d die.
She didn’t.
The rescuers naming the baby Caution, well, that takes a special kind of stupid.
Stupid makes for easy mind control.
Caution giggles and points to the roof.
“Jump!” she squeals.
We all giggle along and climb out the window. This will be fun!

The Golden Pen

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I was suffering a horrible case of writer’s block when The Devil tapped me on the shoulder.
“Use my pen,” he said, and he handed me his Golden Pen.
“What’s the catch?” I asked.
“The usual shit,” he said. “Brilliant artistry for your soul and eternal damnation.”
“Pffft,” I said. “I’m already fucked.”
I shook his hand and he vanished.
Sure enough, when I tried to write, it was out of ink.
Fucker.
Oh well. I wrote anyway, scratching the letters into the paper, and I held it up to the light.
I’m damned, but my work will live on.

My Medicine

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My medicine is running out.
Just three more pills left in the bottle.
The insurance company says they no longer cover it – they say it’s an experimental treatment.
The pills are too expensive. I cannot afford them on my own.
I beg, but they ignore me.
Fools.
So, I will run out, and when the full moon returns, I will be howling at it while on the hunt.
Thank you for the address of the claims agent who rejected my appeal. I plan on going through The Change outside his home.
There will be no appeal from my claws, either.

Captain Sword

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There’s no way we can make it to port anytime soon, and there’s no empty islands for days.
“The body’s getting ripe,” says Pappy. “Your command, Captain.”
It took me a minute to realize Pappy was talking to me.
I’m not the First Mate anymore. That ended when Captain Sword broke his neck slipping on the poopdeck.
“Send him to Davey Jones’ Locker,” I said.
So we buried Old Sword at sea, wrapping him in sailcloth and tossing him overboard.
A few seconds later, the white bundle popped back up to the surface.
“You forgot the weights, stupid,” said Pappy.

Act Of God

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The governor gave the mandatory evacuation orders, but some stupid folks stayed.
Sure enough, in the middle of the storm, we got their calls, screaming to be rescued.
We wrote down the address and hung up on them. Then, we yelled at the guys who were supposed to cut the phone lines.
After the storm passed, we hopped in the jeeps and headed to the address.
They were all dead, except one guy with a broken leg.
“Thank God you’re here!” he cried.
I hit him on the head with a brick.
No questions that way. An Act Of God.

Turned

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Willy turned after the sun went down.
We staked him the moment he opened his eyes.
They were brown. After he turned, they became bright blue.
See for yourself.
It’s not easy to stake friends. I guess that’s why he was so easy to stake.
He was a pathetic whiny bitch.
Nobody on the team liked him.
Hell, I don’t remember why we let him join.
I guess he just tagged along while we were busy
Dixon says he might have given Willy a dud dose of the serum so he’d turn.
Good. More serum for the rest of us.

Monsters

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It’s a proven fact that just the right combination of dirty clothes, candy wrappers, and comic books will breed monsters.
But only under special conditions, such as labs in Eastern Europe, or… underneath children’s beds.
What kind of monsters?
Big, nasty ones.
Once that eat bad children.
Not all at once, of course.
Some like to snack while reading comic books.
I know I did.
Hey, Kid! Is that Action Man Issue One?
Wow. I haven’t seen that in ages!
If you’re quiet, I’ll make it quick.
If you’re not, I’ll do to you what I did to the babysitter.

No Gloves

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She covers her whole face with a mask, even though it’s just the left side that has the worst of the scars.
“Symmetry,” she growls.
She changes masks throughout the day, some smiling, some angry, some expressionless… just a white shaped piece of ceramic with two holes for eyes.
The left eye is fine, but the right one is different.
Bloodshot. Dilated.
“I see better with it than with the other,” she says, and she goes back to painting.
She wears the mask, but not gloves.
The brush in the blackened claw of her right hand dashes along the canvas.

Shoelaces

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“Your shoelace is untied,” says a voice.
I stop and look back.
Nobody’s there.
I hear this kind of thing all the time. Especially since the accident.
I was always bad about tying my shoelaces when I was little. Sure, I tripped a few times, but I learned to just tuck the laces in.
I liked loose shoes. Nice and relaxed.
So, when one came loose on the railway platform and I tripped over it, I was really surprised.
Train ran over my legs.
Yeah, there’s nobody behind me.
I turn back around and roll my wheelchair to the elevator.

Sinterklaas

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We put bandages on the wounds, but you can clearly read “Sinterklaas” in bloody red slashes through the gauze.
The wounds were deep, but not severe enough to kill him.
His breathing was ragged, moans of pain.
“Did you see who did this to you?” I asked the man.
His eyes remained dull and fixed as he coughed through his confession: “I did it to myself.”
He pulled a knife from his boot, dropping the bloody blade on the floor.
“Why?” I asked him.
“I’m bad,” said the man, “and he’s out of coal.”
Be good, little children.
Or else.