MicroHorror

Dr. and Mrs. Schneider were enjoying their evening out. For the first time in months, they had been able to leave their five-year-old daughter Naomi with a sitter and enjoy a leisurely dinner at one of the nicest restaurants in town. The entree dishes had been cleared away, and Dr. and Mrs. Schneider remained at their table in pleasant anticipation of dessert.

Dr. Schneider reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out his cell phone. His wife glared.

“Simon, what are you doing? It’s rude to use that thing in a restaurant. Put it away.”

“I just wanted to give Rebecca a call and see how Naomi was doing.” Dr. Schneider’s casual tone concealed his worry. Rebecca had been the only girl in the neighborhood available to sit that night, and she had never sat for the Schneiders before. Privately, Dr. Schneider didn’t fully trust her, and suspected that she might even use drugs.

“Well, it’s still rude to talk on the phone. If you’re so worried, why not send her a text message?”

“I’ll do that.”

As Mrs. Schneider sat back in satisfaction, her husband painstakingly entered a message into his phone. “Dinner was good. Everything ok? How is naomi?” He pressed the Send key.

Several minutes later, a reply made his phone beep. “Everything fine. I put roast in oven for you. See you soon.”

Dr. Schneider relaxed. “She says everything’s fine. She even put the roast in the oven for us. That was nice of her.”

Mrs. Schneider looked confused. “Roast? We didn’t have any roast at home. What’s she talking about?”

A horrible thought occurred to them both. They bolted upright. Dr. Schneider threw some cash on the table, they ran out of the restaurant, and they drove home as quickly as they could.

The instant they opened the door, they smelled the unmistakable odor of slowly roasting meat. In terror, they entered the house. Mrs. Schneider ran straight for the kitchen, and in her fear she never even noticed young Naomi sitting peacefully on the couch, toying with a cellular phone.

“She’s fine!” Dr. Schneider called out. “She’s sitting right here! But what’s in the–”

He was cut short by a blood-curdling scream. He ran into the kitchen, to his wife’s side.

Stuffed awkwardly into the oven, the corpse of Rebecca the babysitter was just reaching a golden brown.

• Copyright: © 2006 Nathan Rosen

It was two o’clock in the morning when the zombies came into the lobby of the Diamond Motel. Their skin was rotting and their flesh was torn, their eyes stared blankly and their mouths gaped. The night clerk stood terrified, rooted to the spot as they approached the desk.

“It’s okay, we’re not zombies,” said the tallest, who sported a ragged throat wound. He smiled. “Got you good, didn’t we? My name’s Bill.”

“I’m Carlos,” said another. “Sorry. Yeah, we’re just actors. We’re shooting a movie just up the road, in Pasadena.”

The clerk’s heart slowed as he surveyed the motley group. With a clearer head, and free of his initial terror, he could see the seams of the latex appliances, and the small spots where the makeup artist had missed. Despite himself, he smiled back. “Cute, really cute. So, do you guys need rooms?”

Carlos stepped forward. “Actually, no, but we were hoping you could help us out.”

A short while later, the gang of actors emerged from the motel. Their clothes were splashed with fresh bloodstains. Bill thoughtfully picked a shred of flesh from between his teeth.

“Stringy little guy, wasn’t he? But he sure helped us get into character.”

• Copyright: © 2006 Nathan Rosen

Henry didn’t think the spell would really work, but he had already pulled the book out of the stacks in the university library, and his roommate had headed off to some big frat party, so what better way to kill a Friday night than by trying to summon a demon in his dorm room?

After kicking some textbooks under the bed and deflating the couch, there was enough room on the floor to draw the pentacle with the chalk Henry had swiped from the English building. Meticulously following the book’s directions, Henry inscribed the designs on the gray industrial carpet. Once that was done, he placed the candles, lit them one by one, and chanted the incantation.

When Henry pronounced the last syllable, there was a flash of light and an odor of brimstone. Within the pentacle stood a hideous being with bright red skin covered in oozing pustules. Two twisted black horns erupted from the creature’s forehead, shadowing narrow yellow eyes. The less said about the condition of its teeth, and the stench that emanated from behind them, the better. Henry stared.

“WHO DARES DISTURB THE SLUMBER OF CZERGOLOK, DUKE OF HELL?” roared the demon.

“I–er, that is–”

“SILENCE! CZERGOLOK IS DISPLEASED! CZERGOLOK REFUSES TO NEGOTIATE UNTIL HE IS PROVIDED WITH THE BLOOD OF VIRGINS!”

The book hadn’t said anything about virgin’s blood. Henry began to sweat.

“Um, Czergolok, sir… um… what do you mean by virgins?”

Czergolok stared. “WHAT CRETINOUS MORTAL IS THIS THAT KNOWS NOT WHAT IS A VIRGIN?”

“No, no, I know what the word means, it’s just that… well… how do you really define that? What counts as sex?”

Czergolok, Duke of Hell, Devourer of Souls, Son of the Thousand-Eyed Goat, had no reply. His jaw hung open in amazed silence as Henry continued.

“I mean, does someone have to have had, you know, actual intercourse, or does just, like, fooling around count, or, I mean–you know, a few years ago the President got into trouble because he didn’t think that oral was real sex. And how about, say, lesbians? I mean, they have sex, but if the, you know, hymen is still intact, then are they still virgins? I’m sorry, but you’re going to have to be more specific.”

The demon tried to wrap his tongue around unfamiliar syllables. “LESBIANS?”

“Well, yeah. This is the twenty-first century, did you know that? People have sex with each other in all kinds of ways, and there’s all kinds of arguments over what’s really sex, and who’s really a virgin. I just don’t know what you need.” Henry found himself taking pity on the confused demon. “Here, let me show you something. This is called the Internet…”

Several hours of browsing later, Czergolok emitted a howl of agony. “CZERGOLOK CAN TAKE THIS NO LONGER! CZERGOLOK CANNOT COMPREHEND THESE… FETISHES… PONYGIRLS… FURRIES… LADYBOYS… MILKS?”

“MILFs,” corrected Henry sheepishly.

“CZERGOLOK’S HEAD IS SPINNING! CZERGOLOK RETURNS NOW TO HELL, WHERE THINGS MAKE SENSE!”

And with that, there was another flash of light, and only a hint of sulfur in the air remained as evidence of the demon’s presence. Henry blew out the candles, rubbed out the pentacle and flopped onto his bed, amazed by the complexity of the world.

A key turned in the lock, and Henry’s roommate Shaun walked in, shutting the door behind him. “Hey. Lousy party. You didn’t miss anything. What were you up to while I was gone?”

“Oh, nothing. I missed you.”

“I missed you, too.”

No further words were spoken as the two men locked in a passionate kiss.

• Copyright: © 2006 Nathan Rosen

Megan’s troubles had never been out of the ordinary. Young, blonde and appealing, single, working in a florist’s in the High Street. If there was any great sorrow in her life, it had come some years back, when the doctors had frowned and looked solemn, and told her that she would never be a mother. Her uterus was… twisted. Wrong. Even if, by some chance, she was able to conceive, no child could ever survive to term inside her. But she accepted her fate, and Megan moved on.

Megan’s troubles were like those of billions when the light passed across the sky and the dead began to walk. Up from the graveyards they rose, and they converged upon the cities in a shambling parody of life, feasting upon the flesh of any living person unfortunate enough to stand in their way. Civilization, in a word, collapsed. Anarchy reigned, for how can society survive when the dead refuse to rest? Megan became a refugee, competing with the other survivors for food and water in the ruins of London.

Megan’s troubles were eased when Dafydd entered her life. A soldier he was, tall and handsome, with curly hair and hazel eyes that sparkled. He and his men brought food; they brought weapons; they brought order into chaos. And for Megan, Dafydd brought much more. He was kind to her, even upon their first meeting. He was charming. As they grew closer, Megan learned that he was smart, witty and brave. And when they became as close as any two people can ever be, he showed her that he was gentle and giving. Megan and Dafydd became lovers, there in the ruined city, and they were happy for a few short weeks, until a patrol went wrong. Dafydd was torn limb from limb, and devoured by the dead.

Six months had passed since she had lost him. Six lonely months, in which she barely spoke, barely ate, could barely muster the drive to hide when the walking dead came near. But she survived. Now, though, Megan’s troubles had worsened. For deep inside her barren womb, Megan felt a kick.

• Copyright: © 2006 Nathan Rosen