MicroHorror

You know the old song by Roy Orbison, right? “In dreams I walk with you, in dreams I talk with you, in dreams you’re mine?” Well, sometimes dreams are all we have, all we can cling to.

About a year and a half ago, I found myself utterly confused about my life, most specifically my love life. Here I was with the absolute dream man, the perfect guy, the one who really did make my hopes come to fruition, and I’m pushing him away. I’m making it impossible for him to love me, and I can’t figure out why. The doctors gave me this pill and that pill, said keep taking them and everything will be fine, but… I just stopped feeling human.

I keep taking the pills, each day, gradually taking more and more in the hopes of feeling again, of being loved and loving this wonderful man, but the more pills I took the less I wanted anyone near me. I ran away almost every weekend, because I was convinced that he knew I was de-evolving and that eventually, I’d just stop being at all. But I always came back to him, because I hoped against hope that he would help me feel again. Anything, I’d take any feeling at that point. I couldn’t explain it to him, how I felt, because I was afraid he’d hate me. Everything I did, the pills told me he’d hate me. I wondered if maybe I was this way regardless of the pills, so I stopped taking them around the time he had had enough of me. So now I can’t even tell him I’m human again. Thus, I retreat to my dreams, where he’s always mine. Where I can always hold him, kiss his beautiful face, and where he believes my declarations of love. The orderlies talk to me every day, the nurses beg me to come back, my family cries and cries, but it’s not enough.

Everyone is waiting for me to wake up, but I won’t. Not until my dreams come true.

The Cliché Thief grinned at me with tobacco-stained teeth as his hunchback assistant pinned my arms behind my back

“Ah,” he said, “yet another prize for my collection.”

“I am no cliché,” I shouted.

“Oh, but you will be,” he informed me. “I can turn anyone–or anything–into a cliché. Take him to the cells, Ygor.”

And I was marched down a long, winding corridor littered with clichés: a detective in a trench coat and hat; a burned-out drunk who became a hero and saved his town; a woman who was going to wake up and find that she had dreamt the whole thing…

Then I was flung into a cell. There was but one way out: a loose grille leading to an air vent.

“Damnation!” I cursed, “I’ll have to escape by a blasted cliché!”

And so, piling a stack of metaphors against the wall, I climbed up to the grille and started loosening the bolts.

Inside of Franklin’s house, Vanessa is dancing around in the bedroom. She is still fully clothed. Franklin acts like he’s a DJ, and then he cranks up the music. Little do they know someone is in the bathroom watching them.

“I’ve got to take a shit!” Vanessa says and she stops dancing. As she’s walking in the bathroom, the killer jumps out and violently stabs Vanessa in the mouth, and a slew of ketchup goes flying out. The killer scratches his head in wonder.

“What the hell do you think I am, a human?!” Vanessa says. And then she karate-chops the killer in the nuts.

“MOMMY!” the killer says as he’s grabbing his nuts and he falls over dropping the knife. Franklin runs up and then he proceeds to kick him in the head. The killer grabs his head and screams.

Vanessa grabs the knife and then stabs the killer.

“HAHA! You pussy! That’s what you get for fucking with an alien, beeyotch!” Vanessa then rips her shirt off to expose her six teats! Franklin faints, falls, and hits his head on the porcelain–killing him instantly.

“Aw, fuck! Why do they always do that?” Vanessa says. She walks over to Franklin and lifts his head up. Franklin has a huge-ass smile on his face.

“Why can’t I find a normal boyfriend?!” Vanessa says while dropping Franklin’s dead head.

The rats cast shadows in my dreams. At night they come out to play. I hear their voices in the dark and I listen. In the morning they are gone. They are creatures of nightmare who shun the daylight

They are secret, swift and deadly. They scurry across the floor searching for prey. Their tails stir trails in the dust and the floor is patterned with paws. Last night they left a dead cat by the gate. They are always hungry and they are growing sleek and fat.

I put out sacrifices to appease them - scraps from the larder, morsels of cheese and slivers of ham. My mother is angry–she knows I steal the food. I tell her sometimes I wake in the night and I get hungry. She brings me milk in a glass at bedtime and tells me, “sleep well.” I look at her and her face blurs like a stranger and I wonder if she is one of them. She kisses me and says goodnight.

I close my eyes and the rats skitter across my eyelids. I cry out but the fear rises in me and all that comes out is a thin despairing squeak. I cough like I am choking up fur–spitting out bones. I wonder if I open my eyes and look in the mirror–whose face will I see?

My whiskers twitch and suddenly I feel very small.

It seemed silly, but for as long as Jeff could remember, he had been afraid of the dark. He had many dreams of the “light eaters,” little gremlins that would latch onto light bulbs and suck the light out of the room, getting dimmer and dimmer until the blackness engulfed him, allowing the bigger, nastier creatures to move towards him in the darkness.

He told himself that it was just a dream, yet every night, since he was a child, he knew his only protection was to run into bed and pull the covers over his head. Every child knew that… covers over the head were protection from any monster.

As Jeff got ready for bed that evening, he felt that something was amiss. He was more jittery than normal as he brushed his teeth in the bathroom. He thought he saw a small movement out of the corner of his eye, then, as the fear started to permeate his being, the lights started to dim. Jeff spun around and saw what he had feared: a small creature, latched onto the light bulb on the ceiling of the bathroom, its small head turned towards Jeff and smiling with a toothy grin.

As the horror of realization started to sink into Jeff, he made his way toward the bathroom door, grasping at the doorknob in almost a blind panic. Deep down, he knew that if he made it to his bed, and pulled the covers up over his head, whatever was waiting for the darkness to engulf him wouldn’t be able to reach him.

With terror welling up in his throat, Jeff ran down the hallway towards the bedroom; all the lights in the small apartment were getting dimmer now, and were down to the glow of flickering candles as Jeff rounded the corner to his bedroom.

Jeff stopped in his tracks, as the last thing he saw before total darkness enveloped him was his bed linens disappearing underneath the bed towards a pair of large, glowing green eyes.

Matthew’s mother always had a hard time getting him to take a shower. In fact, his aversion started when he was just a baby. He would stare intensely at the drain, never taking his eyes away. If she left the room for any reason he would scream bloody murder until she returned. He wouldn’t even close his eyes when it came time to rinse his hair.

Matthew never told her about the hissing voice he heard inside the drain. He couldn’t understand what it was saying, but it sounded evil and… hungry. He imagined a cold hand coming out from the drain and gripping him around his ankle as he closed his eyes.

Once he turned ten, Matthew only took baths and only with a big rock on the drain plug. His mother thought he was being ridiculous but she relented, realizing he wouldn’t bathe otherwise. He continued this strange bathing ritual until he moved away to college.

Away from home he was finally able to shower without fear because the voice was silent. After a time he convinced himself it was simply his imagination causing the voice. By the time he was twenty-five, the incidents had retreated to the far reaches of his memory and he no longer thought about them.

Then one day while he was enjoying a particularly long shower, Matthew heard something coming from the drain. It startled him so much the soap fell from his grasp, loudly thumping onto the shower floor. Horrible memories flooded in from the far recesses of his brain. He turned off the water and bent over to listen more closely. Suddenly, Matthew became filled with anger. He wasn’t a frightened little boy anymore. He was a man and feared nothing.

As he reached out to turn on the water, he heard a popping noise. Unexpectedly a gray, pus-covered hand surfaced from the drain and clamped onto his ankle. Matthew shouted and jumped into the air attempting to dislodge it. He could see two red eyes peering from the drain’s depths

“I founddd youuu,” the voice hissed triumphantly.

“LET GO OF ME!” Matthew shouted, terror dripping from his voice.

“Never! I havvve sssearched for you for a lonnnggg time and nowww I havvve you!”

Matthew tried prying the hand from his ankle, but it was no use. It had a vice-like grip on him. The hand disappeared back into the two-inch drain and forcefully began to pull him in with it. A loud crack echoed as his toes snapped off like twigs, making Matthew scream in agony. The monster was powerful and yanked his leg further down the drain. The hole peeled his flesh like a potato. As blood began pouring from his wound, Matthew tried pulling his leg, but it was futile.

He watched in horror as his whole leg disappeared through the impossibly tiny opening. Dots waved before his eyes as his knee was crushed. The tugging stopped for a few moments when his crotch reached the hole. Matthew prayed it was over, but his hopes were dashed when he felt a violent wrench. Fresh screams of agony burst from his lips as his hips sank into the hole, shearing off any loose tissue including his genitals. His other leg was forced upright and parallel with his body. The bones cracked and crumpled, pushing his intestines upward into his lungs and out through his chest.

Matthew took his final breath, ejecting streams of blood from his mouth. Further and further his body went into the hole as blood sprayed over the shower tiles. Finally, only his head remained. With one final tug his head collapsed, forcing the eyes from their sockets. His brains squeezed out the sides of his head like tooth paste.

Crunching noises drifted upward from the drain as the creature below fed on Matthew’s flesh and bones. Finishing quickly, it slinked into other shower drains looking for a new victim.

Perhaps even… you?

I walk into the room, look around. No one is there. Just me. So I wait. My mind wonders, and yet I wait. I hear voices, but when I look around, no one is there. I have to wonder at that time is it my conscience speaking to me? I hear complete silence.

Bill and Dave studied the photograph–taken at a distance using outdated equipment and processed by an amateur. For now it was all they had.

“We have to assume they are lines of communication.”

“Assume makes an ‘ass’ out of ‘u’ and ‘me.’ It’s a weapons system.”

“What’s the spearhead of any campaign, Dave– establish lines of communication, right?”

“Well, I suppose they do look like satellite dishes but they could be part of a guidance array.”

“Did the boys at WADAS come up with anything? Do they know what they’re made of?”

“Nope. Stronger than steel, though, and flexible. Could have all manner of applications from medical to aeronautics and of course other properties.”

“And they just appeared overnight?”

“Three near every major city. Whatever else they’re doing they’ve grounded flights, jammed satellite signals, fried telecommunications, and radar might as well be scrambled eggs this morning.”

“Wasn’t it the solar flare did that?”

“We’re not sure, to be honest. Whoever put these there could have used the solar flare for cover but global communications are still down– local too, radio, TV. The good thing about that is panic hasn’t spread. The bad thing is some pretty wild rumors have.”

“Best we get over there and take a closer look,” said Bill.

The streets were deserted. The airport had been evacuated and they used one of the baggage trucks to approach the three dishes glittering out beyond the end of the runways. At this distance they reminded Bill of something but he couldn’t think what.

“They must be twenty feet in radius.”

The closer they got the less like dishes they looked. The construction wasn’t solid. Each was made up of silvery threads of wire so thin that the morning rain had weighted their bowls into a parabolic shape. Near the base of each connected to the ground, a single cable ran beneath the trees.

Bill got out of the truck to take pictures and Dave followed. He wasn’t sure he’d brought the right tools to get a sample. A sudden breeze shook the whole structure and it skewed then settled back into shape like it was elastic.

Dave was in position.

“Don’t touch it, Dave!” screeched Bill, realizing what it reminded him of.

“Why not?”

Bill had paled. “These things catch more than messages. Look at the birds stuck in it. If that’s the size of the web… what size is the spider?”

The inside of the hull of the spacecraft was dark. Except for the beam of Gabriel’s flashlight portraying the horror that made the air ripe. The stench was rotten, almost as bad as the aroma of decaying human flesh.

And it caused Gabriel’s stomach to churn. Bringing a nauseous feeling from the pit of his stomach, all the way up into the walls of his throat. Also making his eyes water.

Before leaving Earth his job was to locate and find Lucy, the last astronaut that was sent to investigate this unknown planet beyond Pluto. Because once her ship hit the atmosphere, the transmission was cut off. Control had decided that she had most likely perished in a crash.

But what Gabriel now found was something much worse. Something much worse than finding raw bones that were once covered with Lucy’s flesh.

In the cockpit of the craft, there she sat. Still alive after a year. And the blue grass that surrounded the ship outside had made its way in.

Lucy’s eyes found Gabriel’s. Blinked. Her chest rose and fell, sounding raspy, as if she was gargling glass. Bright blue veins rose up on the pale skin of her face, throat, and hands in some morbid web-like form.

Then through blue-colored lips she said, “Run! Rrrrunnn!”

The words hung in the air, and Gabriel froze in place. Could not move. A cold hand had gripped his spine.

Suddenly her body jerked, arching off of the seat in some spine-cracking form. Strands of blue grass had attached themselves to the seat, as well as in her flesh. Rooted inside. They stretched, and held onto the prisoner.

A gruesome sound came as Lucy’s chest ripped wide open, opening up a gaping hole in her body, allowing bright blue blood to flow out. Painting the cabin’s floor a shade of blue.

Finally shaking the cold grip off of his spine, Gabriel ran out of the door, almost slipped on the wetness of the blue grass, balanced himself, and took off toward the transport that sat not but forty feet away.

Halfway there, he felt pinpricks on the bottom of his feet. The grass had sliced through the soles of his boots, into his skin, and he felt as if he was running across a bed of nails. Making the insides of his boots wet and slippery from his wounds.

As painful as it was, he did not stop.

But once his right foot hit dirt he slipped again, and this time, fell. Trying to get back up, he felt something attach onto his leg.

The blue grass had grown like ivy, wrapping itself tight, holding onto him. Soon it crawled up to his waist and pulled backwards. Back into the blue.

Ready for another body to seed.

Ready for another carcass to feed on.

In a small valley on a distant planet, Gabriel’s screams reverberated off of the hills while his body soaked the ground red.

Only to soon turn blue, upon the harvest.

I am the stealer of souls.
I am the one who claims them for my Master, the corruptor of the innocent.
I am the one with a curse upon me. Anyone close to me will resign their soul.
I am the one who walks among you mortals, smiling as I take what you cherish most.
I am the one who happily delivers your soul to him.
And I am the one who laughs as he destroys your life.

Run away.
Run far away. If I catch you, your soul will no longer be yours.
Run away.
But you cannot, because

I am the one you are explicitly drawn to.
I am awake. God cannot help you. Satan cannot help you. No one can help you.
I am aware of who I am and what I am supposed to do.
I am ready to begin the chase. You are my prey.
I am very good at my task and you will not escape me
I am ready to help with your rebirth.

I am his caller. Come to me.
I am calling.
I am the stealer of souls.

I am