Tag: horror

The Dusty Siren

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Wearing white lace, just like when we first met.
I chased her into the desert in the heat of the moment.
She sits there, beckoning, just out of reach.
Look again. A ragged sheet, blown across a dead tree stump.
Did I imagine her? Or did she imagine me, begging for one final kiss?
I can’t reach her. Too weak to crawl. Too damn weak to crawl.
Reach for me. Reach out to me and pull me into your embrace, my love.
She sits there, watching.
One final scream, a groan into the wind, and my mouth fills with dust.

Goodnight

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When it was time for me to go to bed, my mother would read to me from the book “Goodnight Moon.”
Even though she read it every night, it was a thrill to hear every word.
When I learned to read, I read along.
One night, when I said “Goodnight Moon,” the moon replied: “Good night.”
“Did you hear that, Mom?” I asked.
“Hear what?” she said.
“The moon was talking to me,” I said. “It said… Goodnight.”
She closed the book, patted me on the head, and left me there in the dark.
Alone.
With the wicked, sinister moon.

Worms, dance with me!

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I dance among the worms.
They writhe and twist in the moonlight, swaying in the mist that covers the grass.
I writhe and twist with them, and the grass feels cool against my naked skin.
“Let’s go to the lake,” I tell them, and the worms writhe in agreement and we crawl across the yard to the water’s edge.
Down in to the water I go, my body fills with it. But the worms stay on the shore and wait for my return.
Down… down… down to the bottom of the lake. To the very bottom.
Where I stay.
Forever.

When life hands you masks, make masquerade

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It looks like I have rows and rows of jars of preserves in my basement, but when I turn on the light, you can clearly see the faces within.
That’s what I do: take faces. preserve the beauty for all time and unmask the true person inside.
Early in my career, my victims died. But with practice, I’ve gotten much better at it. I haven’t taken a life while taking a face for a while now, and they come off much more cleanly.
Soon, I’ll be ready to remove my own.
Midnight is coming, and all masks are coming off.

Heart Stopper

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Would you let Dr. Odd stop your heart for a thousand dollars?
No, it’s not permanent. Just for a minute.
Then, when the minute is over, he starts it right back up.
And you get your thousand dollars.
It would be the easiest money you ever made, right?
As I lay on the table and listen to the machines, I wonder if this is the right thing to do.
Sure, I need the money, but stop my heart for a minute?
Then, it hits me.
“Why are you doing this?” I ask Dr. Odd.
He smiles and flips a switch.

Molly’s Bunnies

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Molly heard somewhere that if you play music for your plants, they’ll grow faster and larger.
So, Molly left the radio in the garden and played classical music on it.
After a few weeks, the blooms on the flowers were bigger and prettier.
However, so were the rabbits.
Molly tried to barricade the door, but she was no match for the massive bunnies as they heaved the battering ram through it.
This is where I’d like to tell you this odd tale had a happy ending.
So, I will.
(But truth be told, all we found was Molly’s bloody shoe.)

E Is For

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“E is for Elephant” mutters Robot over and over, holding his glass-and-silicon head in his metal-and-rubber hands.
Lisa was trying to teach Robot the alphabet again, but for some reason, Robot obsesses on Elephants.
“Why do you like elephants so much?” we asked Robot.
“Because E is for Elephant,” announces Robot, and he’s back in the loop, muttering.
Frank gave Robot a stuffed elephant yesterday, and Robot tore it to bits.
Lisa thinks Robot is broken, but I think Frank’s behind this loop.
He looks at the shredded elephant and worries.
Because, as we all know, F is for Frank.

Waiter, Waiter

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Like many menus, this menu has a key for spiciness.
More peppers, spicier dish.
It ranges from one to five peppers, but there’s no five-pepper dishes listed.
I ask the waiter, and he turns the menu to the last page.
It’s been torn out.
“Too dangerous,” he mutters. “Chef removed.”
“We’ll see about that,” I said. “Bring me something from that list.”
The kitchen fills with shouting, pots and pans thrown around.
Ten minutes later, the waiter comes out in Hazmat gear, holding a steaming plate of bubbling orange goop.
I ask him what wine goes with it.
He faints.

Straps

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When I was young, my family would go to the Museum of Science and Industry in Chicago.
Back then, there was an exhibit demonstrating bell curve distributions using back balls falling through a maze of pegs and into slotted compartments.
The balls eventually formed the bell curve shape… as if by magic.
“Not magic, you little weirdo,” growled my father. “It’s mathematics.”
I pointed at the lonely ball in the two-sigma slot: “That’s me!”
My parents were shocked, and they recoiled in horror from me.
Why?
Because I’d managed to chew through my straps and my hands were free again.

Boys Will Be Boys

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Usually, the boys come back greasy and burnt from a robot hunt. But this time, they came back bloody.
At first, they said the robot banged them up good. But those cuts ain’t deep enough for that amount of blood.
The story we told the cops was that the robot that tore apart the Jenkins kid. My boys tried to stop it, but they were just too late.
It worked. Another close call for the Boudreaux Clan.
Boys will be boys, though – they want to go hunting again tonight.
I boot up another Snipeco 6000, sigh, and hit Run.