MicroHorror

Was this Tuesday? Phyllis was outside. How did she get outside? It was cold. A ghost! Wait, just a boy in a sheet. He had a plastic pumpkin. Oh, this is Halloween. Phyllis forgot. That was why there was a cardboard Jack O’ Lantern in the cafeteria! That made sense. So much of the world didn’t make sense. She should really get home. Oh, girls dressed as ballerinas! Phyllis followed them to the end of the block. She turned, and saw Death! No, just a decoration someone put up. It was cold, and the decoration had a real cloak, so Phyllis took it and wrapped it around her. That got her warm, especially the hood. She turned to go home, but which way was home? She picked a direction. There was a church at the end. Was this her church? There were people in a line, all in costumes. Maybe they would know where she lived. She dug out her emergency $20 bill. She could get a taxi to take her home. She joined the end of the line. When she got to the front, she waved the $20 and said in her quavering voice, “I would like to go…”

A man in an eye patch took the $20 and gave her a $10 back. “Oh, yeh think you be scarier than us, eh, Mr. Reaper? Well, we’ll give you the special treatment inside, yarr.”

Thank the Lord for these nice people. They must be making her tea, although it must be a big expense for them since they couldn’t afford many lights inside. Phyllis walked into the dark house, glad to be safe and warm. The doctors said she shouldn’t be taking these walks much longer, what with her weak heart.

Ahh, at last a good night’s sleep. No noise. Just quiet. I deserve it, too. I put up with that crap all day. He may be a little upset when he finds out his dog’s dead, but oh well. Dogs come and go. This time I’ll get him one that doesn’t annoy the hell out of me so much.

Adolf Hitler came back from the dead. Ben Franklin came back from the dead. Clark Gable came back from the dead. So did Attila the Hun. Elvis Presley. Dorothy Parker. Ty Cobb. Lizzie Borden.

As soon as a zombie crawled out of the dirt, they were immediately cries of recognition before the inevitable screams of horror. After that first week of chaos, it became clear to one and all.

Only the famous got a second chance.

While foraging for food one day, I was bitten on the arm by the Wizard of Menlo Park himself, Thomas Alva Edison. Since then I’ve had a bad case of the shakes. I can feel my body grow colder and colder.

I know. It’s not much of a story. But it’s the best I could come up with under the circumstances.

My name is written under the title. Remember it.

Please?

Jim couldn’t believe it. This never happened to him. Beautiful women generally didn’t give him the time of day and certainly never tried to get him back to their place. Yet here he was in a cab with a complete blonde bombshell on his arm. Jim’s head was still spinning from the whole night.

He’d popped into Maginty’s just to have a few, watch the game and go home. The thought of going home to that lonely apartment depressed him into one more round. That’s when she walked in and sat down next to him. Jim thought they’d had a pleasant enough conversation over the next two hours. Then out of the blue she put her hand on his thigh and her tongue in his ear.

Even Jim, who was a complete moron with women, wasn’t that stupid. The cab came to a stop in front of her house. Blondie led him inside and up her stairs. Jim got the feeling she liked being in charge. Entering the bedroom she threw Jim on the bed and started to remove his clothing. She’d completely stripped him when he was playfully nudged up to the headboard. Blondie latched Jim with the handcuffs she had on her bedposts. Making sure he was secure she leaned down and gave him a long passionate kiss. “Just give me a minute, baby,” she said.

Being cuffed, Jim couldn’t see but he heard the sound of clothes falling and something being zipped up. The clicks of heels marked her entrance back into the room. His mouth just about came off. She looked incredible in her black leather dominatrix outfit. She sat down on Jim’s chest.

“Do you see these nails, baby?”

“Yes.”

“Did you know they’re metal?”

“Yes.”

“Well, look closer.”

Blonde bombshell held one of her hands close enough so Jim could make out the nail. Terror replaced the sexual exhilaration he’d felt a moment ago.

“Oh my god–they’re–”

“That’s right. But they’re only little razors, baby.”

Jim started to sweat. Fear didn’t allow him to move.

“Do you want me to use your chest as a scratching post, baby?”

“You crazy bitch!”

“You’ll feel all right in a minute, baby.”

The razor slid effortlessly through Jim’s flesh. Screaming and howling in pain, Jim struggled against his restraints.

“Don’t bother, baby. No one can hear you through these walls.”

Soon all Jim could hear was the sound of the razors.

Slit Slit
Slit Slit
Slit Slit

“There’s something special about a kiss on the beach on a summer’s day like this, don’t you think?” The young man’s smile revealed teeth that seemed impossibly white.

The girl smiled too, nuzzling her nose against the stranger’s cheek. “Most definitely. Maybe it’s the slight hint of sweat when you’re close like this.”

“I think it’s got something to do with body temperature. The nature of passion is heat, isn’t that right?” He took her face into his hands, stared into her eyes, kissed her again.

“Heat. Passion. Oh yes, most definitely yes!” Behind them the ocean roared. The setting could not have been more perfect.

An awkward pause followed, a wonderful yet torturous moment of anticipation. They stood in the sand holding one another, saying nothing. Then she looked into the stranger’s eyes.

“I don’t even know your name.”

“I don’t know yours either. Funny, I never thought to ask.”

She laughed. “Well, it’s… it’s…”

She pulled herself from him.

“Is something wrong?”

The girl scratched her head, managed an abbreviated laugh.

“This is insane. I can’t seem to remember my name.”

“That’s ridiculous. Of course you–”

The young man stopped smiling. His mouth twitched.

The girl stared at him hard. “You don’t know your name either, do you?”

They turned their attention to the beach scene surrounding them. Although the weather was perfect, the crowd seemed strangely quiet. No one tossed a Frisbee, no kids were playing in the surf. In fact, the people nearby hardly seemed to move at all.

“Where are we?” she asked.

He took her hand, held it tight. “This sand… It doesn’t feel like… sand.”

She dug her toe in. Her mouth hung open.

“It’s paper.”

The starlet collapsed in the lobby of a hotel in the Bahamas. Half an hour later, her publicist was on every news channel, informing the world that she had died.

I didn’t watch the news. I was upstairs in my room at that hotel, logging on to eBay. Bidding was hot on my auctions of her memorabilia. Autographed photos were going like hotcakes at $200 a pop. The old issue of Playboy with her as the centerfold was selling briskly at $150 for a copy. Even the novelty bobbleheads from her short-lived reality show were going for a decent $50 apiece.

Satisfied, I closed my laptop and started packing. I had to be back in the States before the inquest, and I had a lot of work waiting for me, shipping out all those collectibles. I wanted to get it all squared away before I met the next pseudocelebrity on my list, on vacation in Hawaii.

At this rate, I’ll be a millionaire before the year is out.

I guess he must love me, in his own way, because he looks after me. I’m an invalid and he patiently feeds me. When I dribble, he spoons it off my chin without a grumble.

I guess he must love me, in his own strange way, because he carefully picks me up and lays me down on the bed. Then he gently spreads my lower stumps and tenderly enters me.

I guess he must love me, in his own bizarre way, otherwise he would have severed my head when he hacked off my arms and chopped off my legs.

Tom picked up his burger. He looked around the diner and he bit the sandwich.

He looked in his plate.

He saw a roach dancing on a french fry.

“I wouldn’t eat here. They just sprayed for pests,” it said.

Tom spit out his food.

He saw two dead mice in the balls of mush.

I was supposed to be in the house alone but I could hear someone walking around upstairs. He wasn’t just walking. He was stomping. Plaster dust started dropping from the ceiling and tiny cracks started to spread like veins in a medical simulation.

From the force of the pounding I assumed it was a man. Finding a woman that size would have frightened me even more. A brave person would have marched up the steps and confronted the intruder. A smart person would have called the authorities.

I was neither smart nor brave. Instead I just turned up the volume on the television set to its highest setting and tried to ignore the terrible footsteps.

Apparently the racket blaring from the speakers disturbed the intruder. Moments later I heard heavy footsteps coming down the steps. I jumped to my feet and tried to flee, but there was a shape in the doorway.

Not man.

Not woman.

Instead I saw…

The End

A map of West Virginia hung on the wall, the six locations clearly marked. Carl Hunter didn’t bother to stifle his yawn.

“Get on with it, Woodrow. I can read a damned map,” he said irritably. Woodrow ignored him and continued his briefing.

“The graves are in these six areas. They can be located with precision using this scanner. Not every grave will have a clear and readable headstone, so it is imperative that you check the instrument before going into the graveyard. The less time you spend looking for a headstone, the less chance of an unwelcome surprise.”

“Fine,” said Carl, snatching the scanner. “I go from site to site. I use this scanner thing. I find a grave. I soak the ground with the stuff in the flask if nothing’s wrong. Otherwise, I whip out my shotgun.”

“You must do your best to get to the gravesites before there are any problems,” Woodrow said. “Otherwise you must notify us immediately.”

“Then cut the chatter and let me get out of here.”

***

Carl trudged through the dirt toward the fourth grave, scowling as he took another swig of whiskey. He regretted getting involved in this bullshit.

Woodrow’s organization had hired Carl to stop six men from crawling out of their graves. The rumor was they’d worshipped demons when they were alive, and those demons would revive them in the next 24 hours.

Carl found the entire idea ridiculous. He had almost walked out of the briefing room when Woodrow started talking about treating graves with a magical flask. What had stopped him was greed. Everybody knew that these men had been incredibly wealthy, and that was the only reason he’d answered Woodrow’s ad. If a rich man truly believed he was going to come back from the dead, surely he’d ignore the old saying “You can’t take it with you.”

The first grave had nothing of value in it, but it was shallow, so he knew that if he hurried he might have time to look in the other five. But so far, he’d had no luck in discovering anything.

Carl approached the fourth gravesite. It looked expensive and was very ornate. The name on the headstone was “Doctor David Langer”, and Carl hoped this meant a doctor’s salary was waiting for him. Hastily he began digging.

When he finally reached the casket he could barely believe it–the colors, the symbols, the designs were so intense they made his eyes hurt. None of the other caskets had been like this.

He opened the casket and once again, there was no money or jewels. He also found no body.

***

Doctor Langer’s anger grew as the intruder opened his casket. This man’s desecration had already prevented three of his brothers from returning for the final ritual. He would not allow him to jeopardize the other two.

He couldn’t summon anything large; his energy would not fully regenerate until it was time for the final rite. However, he could summon a smaller demon that would possess more than enough strength to crush bone.

He’d let the intruder regenerate tomorrow, just like everybody else.