MicroHorror

Hailey stood by the side of Route 93 amidst the Nevada desert with her backpack and her favorite red hoodie that she had tied around her waist. She heard the sound of motors–hundreds of them. Staring down the highway she saw an oncoming stampede of motorcyclists speeding towards her like black and chrome stallions escaping a dust storm at their heels. Should I try to get a ride with them? Hailey asked herself. She thought of the movies she had seen about rough motorcycle gangs. This could easily turn out ugly, but Hailey needed a ride.

As the bikes drew closer, she waved to catch their attention. The leader of the gang slowed and the others followed suit. Parking his bike, a sleek Harley-Davidson that would look stunning if it weren’t coated in dirt, the leader approached Hailey.

“You all right?” he asked.

“Y-yes,” Hailey managed. He was a very handsome young man, not like the bearded and beer-bellied Hell’s Angels she’d seen in the movies.

“You need a ride, I take it?”

“Mm-hmm,” she replied. “I’m heading for Las Vegas; are you taking this road much further?”

“We’re heading to Vegas as well. You can catch a ride if you like.” He reached out a leather-gloved hand. “I’m Troy.”

“Hailey,” she said as she took his hand in hers. “Are you guys some kind of gang?” The words were out of her mouth before she could decide if they sounded stupid or not.

Troy twisted halfway around and pointed to the back of his jacket. Across the top “The Pack” was written in red letters above a wolf’s head. He walked Hailey back to his bike and the straddled it together.

Troy smiled at her. “We don’t have any helmets, but you might want to put that hoodie of yours on. The wind can get pretty chilly once we’re going.”

Hailey unwrapped the hoodie from around her waist and pulled it over her head. Troy seemed to like the look of it on her. “Ready to go, Little Red Riding Hood?”

Hailey laughed at the nickname and nodded.

Troy started his bike and it roared into life. The dozens of bikes behind him answered its call. Hailey gripped Troy and let her head fly back as the wind rushed through her hair like chilly fingers. She looked up at the sky as night was falling, the first few stars peeking through.

They were on the road for nearly an hour, the night’s full moon having just arrived, when she heard a strange growl and felt Troy shift in her arms as though he were uncomfortable. He was bending his back and his arms as though they sore, trying to get the kinks out.

“Are you all right?” she shouted over the motor.

Hailey heard the strange growling again, but this time it wasn’t just Troy, it was from behind her as well. She turned around to look at the other members of The Pack following them and saw that they were all grinning wildly. Their teeth looked strange, pointed, and everyone seemed to be… larger. They were twisting and moving like Troy. Hailey turned back around, thinking that it had to just be the dimming light playing tricks on her eyes.

Troy laughed, and the growl was distinct now. It sounded nothing like the clean, sweet voice he had first addressed her with.

“Troy!” Hailey shouted over the motor, beginning to panic. “What’s going on?”

The leader of The Pack turned to look back at Hailey, his face a wicked distortion between that of a man and that of a wolf, fur bristling the sides, teeth sharp as knives and corn-yellow eyes.

“I’m afraid you won’t be making it to Granny’s house, sweetie.”

This was the part she really enjoyed. The bathroom. When Mrs. White cleaned the bath and basin she imagined all the spiders that were clinging to the insides of the S-bends, screaming as she blasted the plugholes with bleach. They needed killing and she relished in their mass murder.

As The Archers began on the radio downstairs, Mrs. White picked up the cleaning fluid, semi-whistled the jaunty theme tune and, with a flourish, squirted the liquid through the gleaming stainless steel holes of the bath’s waste, let the hot tap run for a bit and then stood very still. Listening. One day she would hear them. But all she could hear was the whining voice of Ruth Archer as she moved on to the bedroom.

The cloying liquid spurted through the circular holes, followed by a hot rush of water. The drain creatures fought over the juice, and the frenzy that always followed finally burst the dark, heaving mass of arthropods onto the bright white, slippery slopes of the bath.

Mrs. White’s gleaming surfaces darkened, the mass overflowing onto the bathroom floor, slinking towards the open door, spreading along the carpeted corridor and heading for the bedroom door at the end. It was still hungry.

The lake’s smooth surface had been disturbed. At first the dark object looked small, an innocent piece of flotsam with bands of ripples emanating from its edges as it bobbed in the still water, tiny water-creatures surfing the little waves. As the shape grew, the color lightened until it was obvious that this was not rubbish or a piece of deadwood.

A young boy watched it emerge from the water as he slowly cast out his homemade flies. He reeled in his line and with sweeping movements cast off again with the aim of snagging it. But all he managed to catch were a few twigs and the object floated away, towards a manmade island that housed a colony of busy ducks.

Intrigued by the growing size of the object, the boy ran over to a small wooden rowing boat pulled up close by, pushed it into the cool water and, using the only oar left by the owner, paddled towards the island. The boat’s movement disturbed the silvery sheen of the still water and the ducks suddenly took off in a flapping rabble, their quacks echoing around the tree-lined shore, a cacophony of sound.

The boy had never been very far out on the water–his mother warned him against it, so he always stayed close to the edge. He couldn’t swim very well and when he looked back at his fishing gear he realized that he had paddled too far; the water was now a dark brown and he could see no movement below its surface. It was difficult to turn his craft around with one paddle, the boat began to spin and the curiosity that had spurred the boy to risk his mother’s wrath was forgotten as he concentrated on getting back to shore.

But the object no longer floated towards the island. It was headed directly for the boy’s boat, creating a large wash behind it, and he did not notice until it was too late.

An idyllic scene greeted the group of fishermen as they strolled down to the shore. Silence echoed around them as a collection of ripples slowly dissipated on the water’s surface near an empty boat swaying gently in the breeze.

“I just don’t know what you want me to do,” Keith said as he poured himself a cup of coffee.

A warm breeze was coming in through the kitchen window. It was going to be hot. A fly was walking along the edge of the sugar bowl and he swished his hand casually over the rim, causing it to move off.

“I said I was sorry. I wish I could change things but I can’t.”

He glanced back over his shoulder before scooping a spoonful of sugar into his cup. Maggie was sitting at the table, back to him, her shoulders hunched forward. She had been like this for days. First the anger, then the crying and now the unending silence. He knew she blamed him for them being trapped out here.

“I never thought things would get this far out of hand,” he continued. “I was sure things would be all right. I mean who would have thought that things would have got this crazy?”

The refrigerator hummed along but there was no other reply.

“Come on, Maggie,” he said. “You can’t stay mad at me forever. Things will get better. There haven’t even been any news reports for days. That must be a good sign. The authorities are probably already getting things under control. Maybe later today we can take a drive to Webber and see for ourselves.”

Keith walked by the table and gave a short smile as he headed to the seat across from Maggie.

The side of her face was covered by long strands of auburn-colored hair, hanging down as she seemed to focus on a spot on the table top just in front of her.

“You know you are the most important thing in the world to me,” Keith said as he pulled the chair out from the table and sat down. Three flies lifted off the table top as it shifted with his movement. “Whatever happens, I’ll always be doing my best for you.”

Keith took a sip of coffee and looked at Maggie. Her mouth was open as if to speak.

He smiled, waiting.

A fly crawled across her milky white, unblinking eye.

The refrigerator hummed its unbroken diatribe.

Keith’s brow furrowed and then he took another slow sip of his coffee. Maybe tomorrow. She just needed a little more time. She couldn’t stay angry forever.

When Laurie dumped Jonathon, he was crushed, and he kept it no secret. Soon his friends tired of hearing about it.

Jonathon’s desire to vent continued, however, and woke him up at night. He would sit there sometimes, like a child, his arms around his knees, and stare into the dark corners of his room.

The isolation was almost unbearable.

Jonathon began to slip at work. He was barely present elsewhere. Sometimes, during the day, he’d sneak off to try her on the phone. Or he’d go to the florist, have them send a bouquet.

Despite such efforts, Laurie was evasive about getting back together, and eventually, she stopped taking his calls altogether.

She had always been passive-aggressive.

Jonathon’s saving grace during those long nights was an image. He saw a rope. The rope led to a hole in the ground. The hole went some meters down, opened up into a small, earthy room. At the end of the rope was a small cage. Inside the cage was Laurie, squished, like a yogi in a box.

She swung lightly, back and forth, in the darkness.

She looked around, but could not see.

Screamed though no one could hear.

And, she could not, for the life of her, figure out how she got there.

She, after all, didn’t give him much of an explanation about it ending. So it served her right that she should be in the dark about this.

Sometimes Jonathon would see this picture of his, and sometimes even a laugh would escape his lips, piercing the silence in his room. Yes, this pain will go away, he’d think, even if this is the best closure I can get now.

Then he’d put his head back down on the pillow–and try to get some sleep.

Once, six months after it was over, Jonathon searched for her on the Internet. But this was the last time he did this.

Soon, during one spring cleaning, he threw out all of her old letters.

Then he joined a gym.

He became productive again.

Got a raise at work, a promotion or two.

Saved some money.

Got back out there.

Met a kind woman, married her.

They bought a house.

Had a kid.

He purchased some land up north, built a cabin, got a submersible pump for his new well.

One day, Jonathon sat in front of his computer at work, and thought of her, of Laurie. He nearly looked her up again, but, at the last second, he took his finger off the mouse.

Erased her name.

Be strong, he scolded himself. Remember how long you had to wait the last time you did that.

Jonathon then asked his secretary to bring him the phonebook. She knew, because Jonathon had told her, that he sometimes just liked the feel of paper in his hand. In fact, he preferred the computer, but this task required anonymity. He then flipped to the spot in the phonebook and, once again, verified the latest information.

On the way home, Jonathon detoured through a neighboring town. There, he stopped off at Kmart, bought the heavy rope using cash. Not credit–they can trace that, he thought…

Screaming, bleeding at my feet, begging to be released, to be saved, but I’m not your savior. I’m not God. I’m not even the Devil, but I will lead you down the path of destruction.

The whip lashing over unprotected skin sends white, searing pain through you. This is what Paradise feels like.

Blood seeping out from between your lips. A sharp, metallic flavor. This is what Paradise tastes like.

Jesus died for our sins, and you will be dying for mine.

Your name was Beauty and you were born to Madness and Chaos.

Abuse twisted your beautiful mind and you were no longer a pretty thing. An eyesore to the common eye.

You found friends in Darkness and Sadism, in Pain and Insanity.

Tied up, spread out, chained down. Pale flesh turned a lovely shade of red after the beatings you so desperately begged for.

The whip loved your white skin, the chains loved your scarred limbs, the twisted minds loved your pain and suffering, but also your mad pleasure.

You were a toy for the insane, a plaything for the dark, the Devil’s whore, but you were just as twisted as the rest of us. Enjoying every moment of your torture, until you couldn’t breathe anymore.

Dying with a broken smile in your broken face because never before were you as loved as this.

When Alex turned fourteen he became addicted to video games. He played many games, but preferred Mario. He spent every dime he earned on game systems and begged his mother to buy him games. Alex played from the moment he got home until bedtime, breaking only for a quick meal or a run to the bathroom.

The day came when his obsession affected his grades. He began failing all of his subjects and his mother grew tired of his consistent playing. She grounded him for a month without games. Alex was devastated and protested loudly.

“But Mom!” he complained. “I can’t go a month without playing. I’ll die!”

“Stop being so dramatic. Bring your grades up and you can play again,” she offered.

Alex didn’t bring his grades up though. He actually did worse in school. His mother was at the end of her rope. She suspected he was failing on purpose although he vehemently denied it. After three months of no playing Alex thought he was going to lose his mind.

One night, following another argument he stormed outside and did something only a little kid would do. He wished upon a star.

“I wish I could disappear into a video game,” Alex said, the desperation echoing in his voice.

“You know, I could make that happen for you,” a voice behind him said, startling him.

He spun around and faced a stranger standing casually on their porch. He had long black hair, striking blue eyes and a smile that spiked a chill though him. He was wearing a loose black shirt, matching black pants and leather boots that covered his calves. He was the most handsome and evil man Alex had ever seen.

“Who are you?” Alex asked, nervously.

“That is not important,” he smiled.

“Well…” Alex paused, shifting his eyes to the door. “What do you want?”

“I couldn’t help but overhear your plea. I can make it come true.”

“You can make me disappear into a video game?” Alex asked.

“Of course,” he chuckled softly.

“How? I mean, are you a wizard or something?”

“Something like that.”

“Awesome!” Alex shouted, excitedly.

“Naturally, I would expect payment in return,” the stranger said.

“I don’t have much money, but…” Alex said.

“I have no use for money,” he interrupted. “I desire something else.”

“What?”

“Oh, just a small trifle. Something you won’t even miss.”

Like most children, Alex reacted without thinking. He should have pressed for more details but he didn’t. If he had, he might have known he could only stay inside the game while it was turned on.

“Okay!” he said, eagerly.

The man snapped his fingers and smiled.

“It is done. The next time you play a game you will be transported into it.”

“Thank you!” Alex said.

The man just smiled and melted into the darkness. Alex began to wonder if he had even existed. He couldn’t wait to play his game but he would have to wait until tomorrow. His parents often worked late and he could play his game without them knowing about it. A small part of him knew it was dishonest, but he was too excited to care.

The next day, he flew off the bus at breakneck speed and ran into his room. Trembling with excitement, he turned on his game. He felt his body twist and pull towards his Wii. Within moments he was inside the game staring at Mario. Alex released a joyful shout and spent the afternoon jumping and playing with his favorite game character.

Later that evening his mother came home, immediately calling for her son. When she couldn’t find him, she went downstairs and searched in his room but found it empty. The chattering Wii immediately drew her attention. Filling with anger, she reached out and turned off his machine.

She had no idea that she had just killed her son.

John was in front of the stove, stirring the sauce. Slowly he poured spices, coloring it. The meat was ready, the salad was already made, and the rice was already done. John opened the refrigerator and took out a bottle of table wine to add to the sauce. It was almost ready. The only thing left was to cut and sauté the meat.

“Billy! Can you help me?”

A boy of thirteen years came in the kitchen. “What you want me to do, Dad?”

“Take that drop cloth and put it under the table. Let’s cut the meat.”

The boy did as he was asked and John approached the table, holding a knife. The body lying there shivered and tears began to fall from its eyes. John sharpened the knife and stabbed it in the body’s right leg. The body released a muffled cry.

“Don’t move! I don’t want the rice to be ruined!”

The boy entered through the door and the bell rang. He wiped his feet on the carpet and addressed the counter.

“Good afternoon. May I help you?” asked the old man.

“I wanted the one in the showcase.”

The old man came out from behind the counter and opened the door that gave access to the showcase. He approached the counter and put the suit on top. “It’s of very good quality, resistant to heat. Feel it.”

The boy touched it, savoring the texture with his fingers. “Yes, this is it. How old is the skin?”

“Ten years. It’s still new.”

“Yes, there aren’t many scratches. Just out of curiosity, what was the name of the owner?” asked the boy.

“Peter. Why?”

“Curiosity. I’ll take it,” he said with a smile.