MicroHorror

Henry Frankenstein couldn’t concentrate with Ingrid behind him. The warm flesh of her bosom and the cold steel of her Luger pressed into his back. The Ratzis had kidnapped Henry to his ancestor’s castle to build Hitler an unstoppable super-soldier.

“Macht schnell!” shouted the blonde. “For ze Fuehrer!”

Henry pulled the lever. Millions of volts leapt into the creature on the slab.

The creature stood, roaring.

“Destroy the Nazis! Her first!” cried Henry. The creature advanced on Ingrid.

“Vas? It vas supposed to serve ze Fuehrer!”

Henry smiled. “I may be a mad scientist, but I’m an American mad scientist!”

• Copyright: © 2007 Nathan Rosen

It’s late, about 2:30 AM. She jumps on the PC. No mood for television. Lightning flashes. Raindrops sound mysterious against her windowpane. She checks e-mail first.

“Wanna play hide and seek?”. Sender unknown. I w-i-l-l p-l-a-y, she types. A half hour passes, still no response. Although, she felt like someone was X-raying her. Check e-mail again. “I was gonna play!” she laughs out loud. Then–her windows frost and a deep voice whispers, “GO SEEK”. Erotic shadows dance on her screen.

Frozen with fear, she cannot move or speak. Her ribcage pulsates. Hands from behind massage her neck and explore her anatomy. Her exhale, now irregular, seems to approve the invasion. She echoes somberly, wondering who could this be. She turns around and screams. Screams are silenced. Hellish maggots laugh at her, while dissolving her soul into damnation. Devil types back, Y-o-u F-o-o-l!

• Copyright: © 2007 Kimberly D. Robinson

She was unconscious when I found her.

The smell was overwhelming. Possibly gin, though alcohol smells universally foul escaping through the pores.

“Wake up.”

I seized her shoulders and shook her gently. Failing to rouse her I peered over my shoulder, considering a trip back to the car for my phone. My heart skipped a beat as her eyes flickered open; red-rimmed and heavily bloodshot she examined me warily.

“Please, just leave me,” she murmured.

I smiled.

“Sorry, can’t do that. Come on.”

I draped her arm over my shoulders and tried to lift her. I managed to climb to my feet but proving particularly uncooperative she let herself slide back to the ground.

“Come on, don’t be silly. Get up.”

“No,” she moaned childishly and rolled over in the grass as if curling beneath invisible blankets.

“Look, I’m not leaving you here like this. You’re coming with me even if I have to drag you!”

I hooked the heels of her boots beneath my arms and tugged sharply. She screamed furiously and kicked me away.

“You crazy bitch! What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

She got up angrily and almost toppled into me as the alcohol claimed the last of her mobility. I half dragged, half carried her to the car and helped her into the passenger seat.

I circled the Blenheim roundabout and took the second exit.

“I just live up the road you can drop me anywhere here.”

“Oh, really? Finnsbury Park or near the gardens?”

“Finnsbury.”

“Uh-huh.”

She snorted derisively.

“So, what, you got nothing better to do Saturday night than scam drunk girls to pick up?”

“It’s Sunday,” I said calmly.

There was an awkward silence for several long moments; as it shattered with the violent sound of retching and the splatter of gin-soaked vomit on my newly washed interior, I couldn’t help but wish for it back.

***

I opened the front door and let us both in. She collapsed into an armchair as I left for bedding and clean clothes and was snoring softly as I returned. With a sigh I draped the sheet over her shoulders and went to bed.

***

I woke to the luxurious smell of fresh coffee. I groggily stepped out of bed and followed the scent into the kitchen. She smiled as I entered.

“I’m sorry about last night.”

“Hmm?” I muttered dreamily.

“I must’ve been a state. I can’t remember a thing; you’re so kind for letting me stay.”

“Don’t mention it.”

“Coffee?”

“Please.”

“I’m Vi, by the way. Sugar?”

“Karen. No, thank you.”

She brushed my hair lightly as she slid the mug into my hand. I smiled and took it into the living room. She perched on the arm of my chair and casually swung her legs onto my lap as I took a sip from the steaming coffee. I felt remarkably relaxed as she cradled my shoulders and nestled her head by mine.

“You should’ve left me,” she purred.

“Sorry?”

“I tried to dissuade you; why wouldn’t you listen?”

Disturbed by the peculiar change in her tone I tried to stand. Vi’s soft persuasion and a sudden unexplained wave of dizziness, however, kept me firmly rooted.

“No, no, love. It’s too late for that now.”

My limbs felt leaden and I allowed my head to tilt slightly as the dizziness enveloped my senses. Euphoria pulsed at my temples, intensifying every sensation, every sound. A smile seized my features as my head sank into the gentle fabric of her top. The tips of her fingers swam through my hair leaving a tingling sensation which soon spread throughout my entire body. Taking a long, deep breath I allowed my eyes to softly close.

“That’s right, honey.” I heard a whisper seeming to emanate from within my own head. “It’s much better from here, and it barely cost a thing, hmm?”

• Copyright: © 2007 Paul Sharp

A serial killer had San Francisco in his bloody grip. Six young girls had been slain in a telltale ghastly fashion over the last seven weeks, one every week. The seventh week wasn’t over yet, so police were frantic to prevent number seven from happening.

The serial killer, dubbed the Drainer by the press, was very methodical in his murders. Always white girls in their twenties, always abducted on the streets at night, always sexually tortured, and last, his motif, always drained of every ounce of blood in their bodies. The girls were conscious during it, so they were no doubt acutely aware as their life was slowly pumped out of them, drop by drop. The vats of blood were then left on the doorsteps of blood banks throughout the city.

Somewhere near Geary Street, the Drainer found victim number seven. Pretty, dark hair, nice body, very pale. He smiled to himself. Soon she would be even paler. White as a corpse, in fact. This girl was foolish to be walking alone on the dark, deserted streets this late at night. She was asking for it. And he would be glad to give it to her.

When Rachel Heywood came to, she was bound securely and spread-eagled to a stark metal bed frame in a dingy one-room dive. Naked, of course.

Marvin–the Drainer’s real name–stood creepily at the foot of the bed, apparently waiting for her to wake up. “Ready for some fun?” he asked in a low, monotonous voice, a sickly smile on his face.

“You have some nerve,” Rachel shot back angrily.

This was new. ”Girly, you can scream or beg, but no dialogues,” Marv replied harshly.

Rachel continued unaffected. “We don’t like what you are doing. Moving in on our territory. And draining those poor girls for nothing.”

“Look–” Marv moved to the head of the bed. “It’s your turn now, and I can promise you won’t enjoy this. And there is nothing you can do, no way to stop me.”

“Really?” Rachel cocked an eyebrow at him. “Last chance to give up and turn yourself into the police.”

“Girly,” Marv took off his belt, doubling it over carefully. “You’re a real nutcase. You’re tied up and helpless, and about to be tortured like you have no idea. You’ll scream for death soon enough.”

“Helpless?” Rachel replied. “You mean this?” With a slight tug, she snapped the nylon cord that bound her wrists to the bed frame. Then she freed her legs the same way.

“What the–” Marv began, but Rachel sat up and, grabbing his dirty T-shirt, flung him across the small room, hard into the wall, cracking the plaster.

Marv groaned as he collapsed to the floor, plaster crumbling down on him. Rachel stood up and tossed Marv up on the bed like he was a rag doll.

She slipped quickly back into her clothes. “I gave you the option to give yourself up. But you didn’t. So now, we take care of you.”

Marv could feel two of his ribs were broken. “Who is ‘we?’ You’re alone.”

Rachel leaned down, just inches from his face. Her eyes were blood red, and she had long fangs. “My friends are outside. They’ll come inside in just a moment. We will all have our turn on you.”

“Who–what–are you?” Marv sputtered in sudden panic.

Rachel smiled a horrible smile with her sharp fangs. “A vampire. We drain victims because we need to survive. You did it for no reason, just your own sick sport. We don’t like competition or attention to our habits. And you wasted all that delicious, young, warm blood.” She held him forcefully down on the bed, her fangs now at his neck. “It’s your turn now, and I can promise you won’t enjoy this,” she mimicked.

As she tore into his throat, other dark shapes came into the room, eyes glittering red.

• Copyright: © 2007 Rod Drake

The heavyset man up in the shade of the porch dabbed at his bald forehead and dripping face with a red bandanna already soaked through with his sweat.

“You boys be careful in that sun,” he wheezed. “One thing you want to kill each other, but nobody wins if a fighter keels over dead of heatstroke.”

In the parched dust patch of yard in front of the crumbling house, two sunburned teen boys staggered around throwing exhausted punches and kicks and spitting as if they were still serious contenders, though it was obvious neither cared if his opponent died.

Another dozen raucous teens sat on the ground in the circle that served as the “ring”–encouraging the fighters their bets were on and shouting how their own turns at each other wouldn’t be such sissified dance competitions. They joked about how many of them it would take to lift the heavyset man off his porch when the heat did the fat fuck in.

None of the teens noticed the armored delivery truck that turned off the main road and parked in the cracked rut of a driveway next to the house.

But the heavyset man noticed. He waved the truck’s female driver out and invited her to have a seat in the lawn chair unfolded beside his creaking porch swing.

“You’re early,” he told her.

“Looks to me like I’m right on time for those miserable wannabes.”

He nodded toward the plastic pitcher balanced on the railing. “Pour yourself a drink. Relax. You’ll get what you came for soon enough. Patience.”

She sipped from a dirty Styrofoam cup. “Remember when a martini was really a martini?”

“I do. I also remember when the fights were the fights. And beautiful women didn’t have to… never mind.”

She choked down another swallow. “A job’s a job.”

“To you, maybe! Ultimate fighting isn’t legitimate sport,” he said. “When I promoted boxing, I was king of this town.”

“You’re still a royal pain in the ass.”

“Coming from you, that’s a compliment. You lived in an abandoned desert bordello, you wouldn’t find it so funny.”

“It’s not like you’re the only person out here who had to make certain lifestyle adjustments. One day I was dancing in a glamorous show. The next day… well, the next day, there was no show. But you don’t hear me bellyaching about it.”

The small kid acting as referee and cash holder called the pitiful fight in the yard a draw, then checked his clipboard and announced the next match.

These two rough, muscular brutes were clearly setting out to destroy or be destroyed.

“This should be good,” the woman said.

“They’re just meat to you, aren’t they?” the heavyset man sighed. “That’s all you see now.”

“Like you see anything other than money! You only care who wins. I only care who loses. We need each other, fat man. You couldn’t survive a week on your winnings, and I wouldn’t have quality product for my customers. If they’re not intelligent enough to save themselves from us, they deserve whatever happens to them.”

The boys fighting now were at each other like savages, mouths and noses spraying blood.

The unruly crowd hushed as one caught the other in a sudden wrestling hold and twisted. The sound of multiple bones shattering–that hard, fast clicking like tumbled dominoes–was followed by silence, then the defeated boy’s tortured howl.

The spectators went insane.

The heavyset man squeezed the sweat from his drenched bandanna and wiped his face again. “Remember when Las Vegas–”

“Don’t even go there. This place was always tough on losers, and you know it. Most people never had a chance here. Especially locals.”

“But it wasn’t–”

“Cannibalism?” The woman poured herself another drink. “The way everything’s deteriorated since the fundies cut off our water and power and nuked our tourist attractions, we’re probably doing these young men a favor killing them off for food.”

• Copyright: © 2007 Brian Beatty

“Hey, Sue, look what I got at the flea market for a buck,” Harry said, putting a black metal box on the table.

“How exciting! I can’t wait to see what’s inside!”

Harry slammed the rusted padlock with a hammer. After a few whacks, the lock fell off.

Removing the lid, Sue screamed when she saw a woman’s head.

“Take it easy,” Harry said. “It ain’t real. Looks like it’s made from wood.”

“What an ugly-looking hag. What’s that button for on her forehead?”

“I don’t know.”

When Sue pressed the button, the head’s eyes popped open. An old woman’s voice cackled, and said, “Put a penny in my mouth, if you dare, and I’ll tell your future.”

“How neat,” she said, reaching for her change purse.

“Don’t do it! This thing gives me the creeps. It might be haunted. Look–it just smirked at me!”

Ignoring his pleas, Sue inserted a penny into a slot between the hag’s lips. Whirring sounds filled the room. The thing’s eyes rolled backward. Only the whites showed.

“You will die in five minutes,” a screechy voice said.

“I told you it’s haunted!” Harry yelled. “Did you hear what it just said?”

“Yeah. It’s the best thing I ever heard,” she said, jumping up and down. “Yeee-haw! I’m gonna win Power Ball, tonight.”

“That’s NOT what it said.”

“I gotta buy a ticket. Power Ball’s up to a hundred million. I can’t believe it! I’m gonna be rich! Wa-hooo!”

Grabbing the box, Harry said, “I’m gonna burn this damn thing.”

“No you’re not! You might screw things up. If you ruin this for me, I swear I’ll cut your heart out!”

“Listen to me. It didn’t say you’re gonna win anything. It said you’re gonna DIE in just a few minutes.”

“You’re nuts. You’re just jealous that I’m gonna win a hundred million. What are you afraid of, Harry? That I’ll collect the money and run off?”

“No! I’m afraid for your life.”

“Stop acting so jerky,” she said, heading for the door.

Harry shoved a penny into the thing’s mouth.

“You will be hanged for murder,” said the voice.

“Hear that?” Harry said. “Can’t you see what’s happening?”

“All it said was: you’re a jerk,” she replied. “And if I stay with you, you’re gonna wreck my future.”

“You evil fiend!” Harry yelled, pounding the wooden face with his hammer.

Sue tried to stop him. He shoved her aside.

“Look what you did!” she screamed. “You killed it. You rotten bastard! You ruined my future!”

She grabbed a pot and slammed Harry’s head with all her might until he collapsed.

Cursing him, she tried to insert a coin between the smashed lips, but it wouldn’t go into the slot. She tried to pry the lips open with a screwdriver. “Please take my penny. Please tell me you’re not mad, and that I’m still gonna win the lottery.”

Suddenly, she screamed. Blood streamed from her hand.

“Why did you bite my fingers off?” she shrieked before fainting.

***

The jury thought the evidence against Harry was overwhelming. He’d cut off his wife’s fingers. Then her head. Since two psychiatrists affirmed his sanity, all agreed this was a case of premeditated murder.

Harry described the head in the box to detectives and how it could have maimed and murdered his wife while he was unconscious. They thought he was nuts. Especially when they searched his apartment and found nothing unusual.

Before sentencing Harry to death by hanging, the judged asked if he had anything to say.

“Yes, Your Honor. I want everyone here to listen very closely. It’s a matter of life or death. If you ever find a black box with a wooden head inside, don’t smash its face with a hammer.”

• Copyright: © 2007 Michael A. Kechula

Jessica slammed the door shut behind her as she stumbled into the cottage and fell to the floor. Concerned, her husband rushed to her side.

“It’s raining,” Jessica said, gasping for breath.

“That’s impossible; the warning sirens haven’t sounded,” Bob replied.

“The rain came out of nowhere, totally unexpected. The Shriekers swarmed out of the reservoir and attacked the warning station before they could sound the alarm. I ran all the way home to warn you that Shriekers are everywhere. It’s a feeding frenzy. Too many people were caught out in the rain unprepared.”

“Where’s Allison?” Bob asked, suddenly growing very frightened.

“Oh my God, you mean she isn’t here with you?” Jessica wailed.

“Calm down. She’s thirteen years old; she knows enough to come in out of the rain,” Bob said, hoping that was true.

A sudden, deafening burst of thunder rattled the windows, sending shivers down their spines. They sat huddled together on the floor for over an hour, unable to move.

“Did you hear that?” Bob asked.

Jessica concentrated and heard the faint scratching emanating from outside the door and nodded
to her husband.

“Did you lock the front door?” Bob whispered.

“I’m not sure,” Jessica answered, her voice strained.

The scratching continued, steadily growing louder. Bob summoned all of his courage and slowly crawled across the floor towards the door and whatever was lurking on the other side. He nervously watched the doorknob slowly turn as his shaking hand reached up to engage the lock. The doorknob caught against the lock and rattled back and forth violently for several minutes, then abruptly stopped.

“Let me in,” their daughter said, in an emotionless voice. “Mommy, please let me in. There are monsters out here.”

Relieved, Jessica stood and reached for the doorknob but Bob quickly grabbed her arm. “She’s been in the rain too long. She’s one of them now,” he said.

“She’s our daughter; I have to know for sure.”

Jessica pulled her arm free from her husband’s grasp and threw open the door. Allison sat curled up in a ball on the small porch, wet clothes matted to her trembling body. She looked up and smiled revealing broken, jagged, bloodstained teeth, as her dead, hate-filled eyes locked onto her mother’s. Startled, Jessica took a few steps back. Allison took advantage of her mother’s hesitation and launched herself into the house, unleashing a series of hellish shrieks that were soon drowned out by her parents’ screams.

• Copyright: © 2007 R. K. Gemienhardt

The vast plain was silent. Five figures stood alone, neither talking nor moving. No bird called; no wolf howled. The dust on the arid desert floor swirled away from the near statues, as if it was consciously attempting to avoid them. Off in the distance, lights began to flicker on in a mining village as sunset neared. Suddenly, the quiet eve was shattered by the whistling sound of a sixth figure hurtling through the sky. It reached the earth with a thunderclap that pulsed out into the stillness like a flood. Then all was as it had been. Long minutes passed as the sun slowly sank beneath the horizon. When all was dark, one of the figures spoke, whispering with a palpable menace.

“Have all completed their tasks for the first?”

Each affirmed that their tasks had been completed. They girded on armor and checked their assortment of terrible weapons for impurities, but found none.

“Good,” a figure that towered over the rest boomed. “Our mission is one step closer to being fulfilled.”

“We need to make sure.” Another pointed to the distant mining village with a weapon so horrible it could kill at a thousand yards. All grunted their assent and joined him, stalking toward the sleeping town. There was a sudden frenzy of death and destruction.

An hour later it was if the hamlet had never been. The six creatures had retreated to a ridge where they were roasting a small animal for dinner. One of the beings was disturbed by a vibration on his hip, and reached in to pull out the offending item. It was small and plastic and spoke to him.

“Daddy?” it said. “When are you coming home?”

• Copyright: © 2007 Eric D. Lehman

There once was a man from Kantut. He lived in a tree in the middle of the Reze ocean. Occasionally, he would go baby fishing. He would bring out his longest fishing pole and try to catch infants. When he was successful, the feast was never modest. In addition to babies, guests at his banquets often dined on peanut butter, razor blades and wine made from the eyes and larvae of Kalbaloc moths. Even on a bad day, at least one third of the guests made it out alive. When the survival rate was that low, you could bet that another feast would soon follow.

• Copyright: © 2007 Yuichi Mendez

I can feel it. The old gods are on their way back, finally free from their long imprisonment. Each bang of the roaring drums brings them one step closer. The torches light their path back home. The dances invite them to join us. Soon they will be back. Soon the old gods will wash mankind away in a river of blood. Soon once again the old gods will rule with us. I can see the heavens opening.

• Copyright: © 2007 David Nordahl