MicroHorror

I stood in the strange shack looking at the chaos of objects strewn about a large wooden table. I was nervous and trying to be respectful without seeming arrogant or aloof. The old witch called me over and grabbed my arm in a vise grip. As the hag tried to gnaw on my finger, she asked me to finish it. She must have lost her fangs. I tried to use a needle but to no effect; the skin just wouldn’t break. I turned and a young girl sitting over a bowl grabbed my hand and before I realized what was happening she took a large kitchen knife and pulled it effortlessly across my finger. She began milking my finger, not of blood but of a colorless, cloudy droplet from the tip. This was followed by blood which dripped into the bowl onto a mass like thick syrup. She smiled and turned away, taking the bowl with her. Then the hag told me my pact was sealed and I may go. As I left, I found that I could now fly by the wind, I could crawl like a spider, and I was very strong. I was amazed at my abilities and imagined doing great things, but at what cost?

What had I sacrificed for these traits which men only dream of?

I’m beginning to feel less of myself.

“Go on!” the tiny creature said. “Just… think of a happy thought. Any happy little thought!”

“Are you sure?” the child asked, looking down at the beautiful, gossamer-winged figure which had alighted on his windowsill. “Are you sure it’ll work?”

“Absolutely! Just hold on to your happy thought, and it will lift you up, up into the skies… above the clouds, above the trees, and higher than any bird has ever flown!”

“I don’t know if I have any thoughts that are that happy,” the child said doubtfully.

“Well, flying can be a happy thought all by itself,” the creature said. “Wouldn’t that make you happy? To leave this boring old room in this boring old house, to soar away and leave all your problems behind? Isn’t that a happy thought?”

“I guess…”

“Guess, nothing!” the little figure said. “Take it from me… I fly all the time, and there‘s nothing like it. I’ve got two legs but I barely use them.”

“Well… okay!” the child said, with the sudden decisiveness of his age. “I’ll try it.”

So saying, he climbed up onto the dresser directly beneath the window and looked out… out, but not down. Once he was soaring miles above the ground, he wouldn’t be afraid of anything, but until then, a glance at the four stories of space which separated him from the ground would have defeated him.

“Hooray!” the tiny figure said. “Now, remember… hold that happy thought!”

“Right.”

“Now, one… two… three, and GO!”

At the last word, the dear, sweet little boy launched himself through the window and out into space. His triumphant whoop barely had time to turn into a cry of terror before he hit.

No matter what anybody tries to tell you, the imp thought as it flew away laughing, the greatest trick the devil ever pulled was convincing the world that pixies and things are fair to behold and that demons of temptation are all ugly.

Well… I bought this recorder so I could sleep through class and not takes notes. Never thought I’d be leaving my last thoughts on it.

The door isn’t going to last much longer. They have been pounding on it for what seems like hours. Each crack and splinter in the wood sounds twenty times louder then the pounding fists on the other side. I am so going to fucking die today. And I didn’t even get laid.

Might as well start at the beginning. I’m a freshman in college and have been living in the dorms for a while now. I guess if I had spent less time talking to my girlfriend on AIM, and more time out and about on campus I would have noticed them earlier. Of course, temptation could have made me one of them that way. Thanks for keeping me busy in my room, Nikki.

I don’t know when it started, but once my classes started having attendance in the single digits I started to look around at things a bit more carefully. I had noticed that people seemed to be fucking like bunnies, but never thought anything of it. I mean, come on, this is college. And we are in the fucking country, for God’s sake. There isn’t anything else to do out here, really. Wish more of the bastards would have practiced safer sex, though.

That is the only logical way it could spread so quickly. This… virus? It must be passed through bodily fluids and shit. I don’t know how it got started. Aliens, government testing, new virus caught from fucking a monkey. I have no clue, but it is in the blood and it makes them horny as hell. I guess sex zombies would be a good name for them. God, when did my life turn into a crappy Sci-Fi Channel movie?

I guess I am the last uninfected left on campus. That must be why they aren’t trying to… I dunno, seduce and fuck me like they did to the others. It would appear they just want me dead.

Oh, my fucking Christ. Blood is seeping under the door and my barricades. Insane amounts of blood. It sounds like there is a fucking battle going on out there. Not guns. Sounds more like… swords? Slicing and piercing flesh.

I thought everyone was dead or turned. There are hundreds of those sex zombies on campus. To be able to fight them off would take unbelievable numbers, unity, and planning. They would have had to have to known each other well before this shit went down to coordinate this kind of an attack. Oh my God. Of course! Why didn’t I think of finding them earlier!? They must be the only other virgins on campus. Thank God for the Anime Club!

Colors… So many of them. Personally, I’m rather fond of red. Such a nice, lovely color. It’s great for painting furniture but there’s only a certain shade of red that I like. It’s seen a fair amount. Car crashes, ski accidents… murders. You probably don’t wanna hear the details so I won’t tell you but… I’m rather fond of murders.

I’ve visited a few people in my life and they, strangely enough, usually wind up dead by the time I leave. It just might have something to do with me stabbing them multiple times with whatever I can get my hands on. Because you see… I’m rather fond of red. It’s such a nice, lovely color and of course, it’s great for painting furniture…

It is said that one can almost sense danger. Sort of a sixth sense, born most likely out of the early days of humankind where mere seconds would mean the difference between life and death. But now that sense isn’t quite so sharp, not nearly as “acute,” so when death approaches us with its design… that sense often comes too late.

It did for me. Now I wander this socially barren planet, striving to unlock the mysteries behind my death. My last memories consisted of a demise so horrifyingly, brutally violent that even in death I can almost shudder at the very thought of it.

Would you like to hear this gruesome tale? No? I’ll tell you anyway.

I was walking home one day from work. My job wasn’t very interesting, I spoke to people, I kicked computers in a futile attempt to fix them, I breathed, ate and drank just like any other man. I had parked my car in the driveway and walked into the house. Strange… The lights didn’t work. I remember cursing under my breath as I stubbed my toe on an umbrella stand trying to find the flashlight behind it. I turned it on and I recall that I immediately wished that I hadn’t. Blood. Everywhere. I closed my eyes, thinking it was some wild vision, that perhaps I was seeing things. I opened them and the blood hadn’t left. A hand print was painted on my wall and words were written in gruesomely red ink. I don’t need to tell you what the ink was made of. “Welcome home,” it said; needless to say I did not feel welcome at all and turned, ashen and pale to escape the house. But I couldn’t. A sneering man with bloodshot eyes in his mid-forties stood in the way. It was about this time that sixth sense I mentioned earlier started to kick in which, as I also mentioned, was far too late.

In his hand was a bloody knife. He started walking toward me, forcing me to go backwards. I peered into the living-room. The lights were working in there. What I saw caused a scream to escape my lips. My wife lay in the den. She was still alive, barely. She looked up at me and lifted a bloody hand, bidding me to make good my escape. I couldn’t. My legs would not move. With a mad laugh, the man lifted the knife. My last thoughts were that I recognized the knife as part of a kitchen set my brother bought me on my birthday.

You grope through the forests, struggling desperately to escape the harrowing terror that stalks you. Chalk-white and pale, your fingers stretch out into the expanse of the pitch black night groping for survival, for more time. There is none to spare, however, and you soon realize that as the hunter draws nearer. You can smell its rancid breath and feel it on the back of your neck. A terrifying rasping sound emanates from its orifice, lined with deadly sharp teeth bloody from the previous victim… your uncle. All it was was a simple hunting trip. Just you and your uncle; you’d been looking forward to it for a week. Night fell on the first day and with it all the amusement in this trip, all the joy and hope simply melted away like a popsicle on a warm sunny day.

Warm… sunny… day. Words that mean nothing to you at the moment, or even ever again. A mere echo lingering in the past as you fight desperately for survival. A great, guttural roar that would set even the strongest man in complete and utter trepidation echoed the promise that it would swallow whole all that you held dear. Shadows lashed out laughingly at your futile efforts as the creature bore closer and closer and then at last it caught up to you.

The invasion came without warning and without mercy. Spaceships descended from the heavens, unleashing their weapons of mass destruction on strategic military installations around the world, effectively eliminating any threat of retaliation. For weeks, wave after wave of alien aircraft brought indiscriminate death from above, laying waste to hospitals, schools, churches, office buildings, and homes.

A massive ground assault followed, consisting of hundreds of thousands of little green men with light blue metallic skulls. They were as ruthless as they were hideous, leaving a path of destruction in their wake.

The first country surrendered within hours of the aliens breaching their border, quickly followed by the next country, and then the next. The domino effect continued until only one country was left to defend the planet from the alien horde.

A harried aide rushed into the President’s office with an urgent message. “The aliens have seized control of the city and are demanding our immediate and unconditional surrender,” he said.

“Our country doesn’t surrender, we fight to the death for freedom,” the President answered, pounding his fist on the desk for emphasis.

“Mr. President, with all due respect, this isn’t a fight, it’s a slaughter. We lost this war as soon as the aliens chose this planet; we just didn’t know it yet. As we speak, the aliens are rounding up people by the thousands and we’re powerless to stop them. They perform medical experiments on the men and… and…” he paused and took a couple of deep breaths to collect himself, “…the women are used for the sexual gratification of their soldiers. Although small in stature, their sexual organs are huge and incompatible with our species. That doesn’t stop them, though. They’re animals; they force their way into our women, ripping them apart.”

The President nervously paced back and forth shaking his head. “That may be so, but I’m the President of the most powerful nation on the planet. How can I justify our surrender to the people?”

“The terms are actually pretty reasonable. The aliens want to set up a number of military bases within our borders as they’ve already done in many other countries around the world. They also want exclusive rights to one of our natural resources, a resource that we no longer use. So, our quality of life really won’t change that much.” Sensing the President’s apprehension he added, “Don’t think of it as giving up, but rather as biding our time until we can fight them on even footing.”

This seemed to appease the President. “You’ve convinced me. Have the aliens draw up the terms of surrender,” he said with sigh of resignation.

The President signed the surrender treaty outside the capital building under a blood-red sky. Pen still in hand, he turned to the alien leader and asked him what planet he was from. The alien took off his light blue helmet and rubbed his hand through his short gray hair before answering. “I’m General Nathan Garret, in charge of deep space oil procurement for the United Nations, planet Earth.”

The sky was murky with the heat of a mid-August evening as I pushed my way upwards to the top of Baker Street. Lined with manicured lawns and infested by track homes that stood as monuments to the virus known as urban sprawl, this street was just like the others in the community. Potter, Blacksmith, Commonwealth; all of the streets shared the same characteristics, from the malformed court at the bottom to the blasphemous incline at the top. And here I was, traversing it like a sterile Johnny Appleseed, spreading my dog licenses from home to home.

But by four o’clock, I could feel the energy lagging behind, following me from half a block down the hill, forcing me to stop. Just a half-hour to go!, I thought. Keep on truckin’! What an expression! If I had a truck I wouldn’t have been this miserable.

My feet ached when I approached door number four thousand, or as they labeled it: 1027 Baker St. Sweat pilfered my forehead, robbing it of any nutrients required to keep a sun burn at bay. Heat from the road itself mocked me, pointing out my faults: my weak knees, the bags under my eyes, and the mess of hair hanging to my shoulders. When I knocked on the wooden door, I was shocked to hear life within. Probably soaking in the A/C, enjoying their wide screen television (HD-compatible), and having a better time than me.

I could hear the scurrying footsteps of children, or perhaps a small woman passing the door, and then, seconds later, harder, slower thumps. The father figure, no doubt; come to pay the tax man. The door swung open, and before me stood a massive figure, one straight out of Freaks. His rope-like figure wobbled in the light breeze while his hair seemed plastered to his leather-like parchment of a skin. His feet pointed in opposite directions while his toes danced; each individual digit seemed to have mastered rhythm and beat as they conducted a jazzy ensemble on the linoleum. His hands were not; that is to say, that where a hand should have been, there hung an orb-like mound of flesh that had been given the texture of a meat mallet, all ridges and flat pyramids. But strangest of all was the lack of a face; just a brown circular object on top of a Twizzler, with two large, irregular holes in the center, and a straight line for a mouth.

“Who is it, dad?” came the voice of a girl behind him. I ripped my eyes from the monstrosity before me and witnessed the child-thing born of his loins: this half-human, half-dog sin. Her body seemed to be that of a terrier, but all semblance of a dog ended at the neck, where, like Frankenstein’s monster, her head had been stitched. She had lovely blonde hair and a cute nose.

“Can I help you?” the father-thing asked.

I cocked my head to the side, curled my lips, and squinted before I wiped my forehead with the back of my hand.

“She have a license?” I asked, pointing towards his dog-ter.

“Oh, sure,” he said. He reached down, patting his preposterous knee–a hamburger bun on a rabbit, if you can imagine it. The girl came to his side. He folded in half, wrapped his clubs around the terrier neck, and retrieved a collar, which he then handed to me. I took it from him, looked it over, and nodded.

“Everything looks fine here,” I said. “Have a good day, sir!”

“You too!” As I walked away, he shut the door. From within I could hear the chatter of a family mildly interrupted from their daily routine. It sure was hot outside. I believe that I was still envious of their A/C.

Thirst.

An enticing thing, is it not? It draws you forward, beckoning you nearer. Shadows flit across your eyes as you see your choice victim. The temptation looms forward; a thin smile slowly creeps across your lips as the desire and longing quickly build to the bursting point.

Thirst. Try to imagine, if you can, the slaying of another human being. An individual who walked, who talked, who breathed just as you do.

But no longer…

Imagine robbing a man of those simple, yet profoundly mundane tasks. Try to imagine, if you will, the feeling of sheer ecstasy as you bring a dagger down into a man’s sleeping body, crudely interrupting the rhythmic rising and falling of his chest. Until, at last, it simply falls as a last breath is drawn out. What then? Do you perhaps leave a mark of some sort? To let others know who it was that came to call upon this seemingly innocent man in the dark of the night? Perhaps fashion yourself into an elusive harbinger of death, pursued but never caught? Searched for, but never found? A delightful shiver crawls up your spine as you try to think of who your next victim might be…

And you think you know…

Her left eye was delicious. Erotic. Difficult to chew. As Johnny masticated and masturbated, the movement of his jaws closely matched that of his hand. He pondered whether or not he should cum on her right eye before eating it. He would ask her what she thought, but she was kinda unconscious. Oh well. He could wait.