MicroHorror

The children sat in a tight circle, their shoulders touching all around. They were obedient; Professor Layne had to give them that much at least. “Now, children,” his voice crackled as he spoke, “why don’t you tell me what happened to Mrs. Widecuff.” He put a finger in his collar and pulled slightly to give himself more breathing room. He could feel the sweat on the collar.

“She died,” one of the children said, a blond little girl named Wilma, the leader.

“I know that,” he said, then caught his patience and lowered his voice. “I want to know how she died.” In his mind, he ran the figures in his head. Nine children. Three armed police. Two concerned social workers. One sociology professor with a sweaty collar. Adults versus children, how could they lose?

Wilma smiled at him, as if she could read his thoughts, exactly like she could read his thoughts. “She just stopped breathing, stopped taking air into her lungs. Mrs. Widecuff said people need air to live. She was right.”

The calmness that the little girl used made gooseflesh run up Layne’s spine. His forehead burned with panic. Sweat began to sting his eyes and he blinked it out as he responded. “People don’t just stop breathing. Something had to…” There was a loud crash from behind him, and Layne turned to see one of the police sprawled on the ground. The other two clasped at their throats, desperately trying to force air in, but unable. The social workers were turning blue. Layne wiped the sweat out of his eyes. “Why are you doing this?”

Wilma came to him and pulled on his arm and waved him to her. When he leaned over to her, she whispered softly. Her breath was cold on his cheek. Her fingers were hot on the back of his neck. “Why not?”

Layne felt dizzy, and a moment later, he collapsed.

Excerpt taken from The Handbook for the Newly Sired Vampire: A Fledgling’s Survival Guide by Allister Digwell, PhD

Perhaps the most important lesson you can take from this handbook is that humanity is the greatest danger to the young vampire. Now, you may believe me to have gone a bit soft in the head, but it’s true. Humanity is not only our chief food source, but they are also the single greatest cause of demise among vampires by far. It’s ironic and quite frustrating to say the least. Nowhere else in the world does the prey offer such a great danger to the predator. The mice do not gang up on the sleeping house cat to drive tiny stakes into its heart.

Remember, a single human is a meal. An organized group of humans with fire and stakes is a mob. Know the difference!

If one seeks a proof of my theory, one needs only to look at the literature of the human world. Undoubtedly you read Dracula at some point in your life. By now, you already know that it’s riddled with mistakes and outright fallacies (see Chapter 7 entitled “Stoker was a syphilis-ridden fool, but he got a few things right” for further discussion on vampires in human literature), but I urge you to get a copy and keep it by your bedside. I do not suggest you use it as pleasant bedtime reading. Rather, I encourage you to refer to it as a cautionary fairy tale and learn from it.

What was Dracula’s greatest mistake? It was not his choice of victims or his weakness for virginal girls as one might first conclude. His tragic flaw was, above all else, socializing with the cattle! He enjoyed the company of humans. There was no need to keep Harker in Transylvania for weeks in Dracula’s castle, no need to make himself known socially to his victims. Of all the hundreds of thousands of potential meals in 19th-century London, he confined his attention to a small group of people who all knew each other. His fondness for human interaction led directly to his demise.

Do not err where Dracula failed. Find a human, drain it, and move on. Don’t waste time asking them about their personal lives or their jobs.

I bring this warning to your attention early in this guide because it is a mistake often made by fledgling. As a newly turned vampire, you may still cling to your previous existence on many levels. It does take some time to adjust to the noble, ancient state of vampirism. Occasionally, you may find yourself wishing to call your old girlfriend on the phone or go grab a beer with Tony to discuss your favorite sports franchise. Fight that urge! Humanity is now your prey, no more, no less. Humans are to be eaten. Personal entanglements with the living never end well. “Hanging out” with your eventual lunch could become awkward at best and could well involve a pointy wooden stick in the worst case. To rehash a natural analogy, the wolves do not play poker with the sheep after work.

In closing, I advise you to laminate the following list and tape it to the inside of your coffin lid. It should be the first thing you see when you open your eyes in the evening and the last image you glimpse before you sleep.

Prolonged exposure to humans can cause the following side effects:
⁃ Sun poisoning
⁃ Severe garlic reactions
⁃ Literal loss of one’s head
⁃ Burning of a most painful manner
⁃ Extended immersion in running water
⁃ Confrontation with priests, crosses, and other religious icons
⁃ Staking
⁃ Repeated staking
⁃ Even more staking

Memorize the list. Perhaps then you will have learned a lesson which may keep you undead for centuries to come.

So I drift through the blank air, hands clasped while my tentacles wave free and wild. There’s a contrast–such a very great one!–between the tentacled lower half of me and the upper half, which is Victorian and respectable. A hat, a veil, a closely fitting, high-necked black blouse. And my face, its alarmed expression.

How can we–your father and I–explain our nature? It wasn’t always so, I can assure you of that. Ours was a love match, between a blushing maiden not long out of the schoolroom and a manly youth. Both of good family and reputation, neither at that time plagued by snake-like appendages. However, as a child I had a vivid imagination and felt drawn–always–to the unnatural, to freaks and curiosities. Perhaps this is why I myself became this nightmarish thing. As for your father, well.

Poor man, his anguish is greater even than mine. For he remains almost entirely civilized–legs and feet, pinstriped suit and necktie–save for the vile horror sprouting from his sleeve. As though in danger of being attacked by it, he holds his arm away from his side, while with his remaining hand, the left one, he covers his eyes, in a melodramatic gesture.

Darling, I always dreamed of having a little girl like you, with fair hair and an innocent expression. But not quite the same as you. Different below the neck.

Her perfume is like white tropical flowers, her skin hot, her heart racing. Her corset squeezes her tightly; she’s breathing heavily because she’s turned on. He starts to slide off her corset, trailing his hand back between her legs and rubbing her more. She moans softly, spreading her legs and eagerly waiting for him to enter her. When she’s fully nude he’s just staring at her, taking in her beauty, before sliding his cock into her. The fear grips them both that this could be her last night, and since it’s dark, he thinks how happy he is that he’s managed to hide the bite from her, while she secretly hopes he won’t find her bite. As they start to move against each other, within each other, he starts to feel that strange hunger take over him, the one he knew would hit him hard, and he leans forward to sink his teeth into her flesh but… it’s almost smelling, rotted. His skin starts to rot off of his face and he grins at her, though she can’t see the bloody skull in the darkness, and he can’t see her hair fall out onto the pillow. He pulls away, starting to turn even more and she sits up, hungering for flesh. She moves forward, starting to try to catch him and his skin comes off in her hands, and the two zombies both stare at each other and then slowly shuffle out of the room, in search of the flesh they both crave, and oblivious that he’s left his rotting cock inside of her… they both disappear into the night.

Have you ever woken up from a dream where you were about to die? Imagine if you didn’t rouse from your sleep at that last, precious second. You close your eyes, only to never open them again. You simply expire, without a word to your loved ones. Did you die quietly, or were you lost in the violent throes of your unconsciousness, flailing and begging for intervention?

“Now I lay me down to sleep… Angels guide me through the night… Amen.”

The dream always starts the same. She does the same thing each time.

She stands in the front room of the house. It’s so hot that the air doesn’t move, even with the fans turning overhead. Now and again a bit of breeze comes in through the window, but it feels like a breath of heat from the oven.

One day, I’m going to move into a house near the ocean, she thinks to herself. One day, I’ll buy a place with air conditioning that works past the winter.

The hands of the clock show three o’clock.

Because of the heat, the front door stands open. The screen door is so dark that at first she does not realize someone is standing there. She hears the knock, and sees the man through the dusty mesh of the door.

She squints her eyes.

He’s wearing jeans and a T-shirt. He runs his hands through his hair.

She opens the door, blinking at him in the harsh sunlight.

“Yes?” she blurts. He smiles awkwardly, as if he needs to apologize for something he hasn’t said yet.

“I hope I’m not disturbing you, ma’am.” She catches a trace of southern accent. His blonde hair is short and spiky. “Please, I was wondering if I could use your phone. My car broke down a ways down the road and I need a tow truck. This darned cell phone,” he takes it from his pocket. “I swear it’s not good for anything.”

She pauses. She is alone, and the next house isn’t for miles.

If his car is really down the road, she surmises, he will have to walk miles before getting help. In this heat, it could easily be the death of him.

“Please…?” he asks, sensing her hesitation. He widens his blue eyes. She finds herself staring at his impossibly long lashes.

“Come in,” she says, stepping aside.

He comes in, and she walks back to the kitchen with him. She shows him where the phone is.

And this is the part of the dream that becomes hazy.

Somehow, the kitchen seems dark. The blinds are shut. He says nothing.

Somehow, he is very close to her, and she can hear his breathing.

His hands are cold when he touches her. He touches her arm, and this is a delicious thrill, like having her hot skin stroked with ice.

Now she moves towards him, and his arms come around her. “Darling,” he whispers. He laughs, softly, intimately. They are old friends, aren’t they?

“Give me, darling,” he whispers. “Just a little drink. I won’t hurt you. But I need you to quench me.”

He touches her neck, sweeping back her hair.

His cold lips are sweet. She closes her eyes and thinks of cool things, like pools of water and the taste of ice cream on her tongue.

When she comes awake, she does the same thing each time.

She is lying on her couch. She is all right, except she is hot, and a little dizzy. She will sit up in a moment, and when the room stops spinning she will make her way into the kitchen for a glass of water.

She will stand at the sink and run some cool water into a cloth to put to the side of her neck, where she feels a strange, somehow pleasant tingle. She will close her eyes and feel a chill flow through her body. She will not notice the faint trace of blood on her neck.

The last time I had seen him was at Mother’s funeral. He was always too busy to phone or write. The big city kept him occupied, like big cities tend to do. But here we were again. We stared down the coffin for a few minutes in tense silence. The other mourners left as soon as the sermon was done, leaving just us brothers, and the secrets of family.

“They tell me he fell asleep and didn’t wake up,” he said.

“Yeah,” I answered. “The right mix of pills will do that.”

I told Hector the truth, because he would find out if he wanted to. But earlier that week I had told the sheriff about our old doddering dad, and how he took too much of the wrong medication.

He paused. “Was it like Mom? Was it… peaceful?” he asked.

I shrugged and pushed my hands deeper into my pockets. He had no right to know what I went through to make sure they didn’t suffer.

“What about the will?” he finally asked.

I didn’t answer.

“I want ten thousand,” he said softly.

I nodded. If it took one hundred thousand just to shut him up, I would have gladly paid it. But I didn’t plan on paying him anything he hadn’t earned.

“Come back to the house for dinner,” I said.

“Sure,” he said.

I smiled. Small towns can be good for a few things. Trust, for example. Like the sheriff trusting that I would dispose of what was left of Dad’s medicine.

And I would.

The cold mountain air rushed into the log lean-to. Ted snored quietly, stretched out in his North Face sleeping bag, while Dave lay on the opposite end of the shelter staring at the ceiling. Despite being exhausted from the fifteen-mile hike, nature was calling and he couldn’t ignore it any longer.

He slowly pulled his sleeping bag zipper down. Despite his efforts to be quiet, the metal teeth echoed in the lean-to, stirring Ted from his sleep.

“Going to take a leak?” he inquired.

“No… I have to go drop the kids off at the lake,” Dave answered with a laugh as he put on his headlamp and made his way outside.

The long hike up the Isolation Trail had both hikers exhausted. The trail ran up the north side of Mount Isolation, in northern New Hampshire. It was a hard trail to hike and an even harder trail to find. They hadn’t seen another soul since they left the small overgrown parking lot earlier that morning.

Ted dosed on and off for the next twenty minutes. His aching legs weren’t allowing him to return to a full sleep. Glancing down at his watch he realized how long it had been since Dave left the shelter. Giving his eyes a rub, he decided he had to go have a look.

The cold air greeted his bare chest as he exited the warmth of the bag. Slipping on his fleece jacket, boots, and headlamp, Ted made his way out of the open lean-to, into the pitch-black forest. He had heard Dave walk to the right of the shelter when he left to take care of business, so that’s the direction he headed.

The halogen beam from his headlamp hardly penetrated the thick blanket of branches that hung heavy from the trees.

“Dave!” Ted called out as he began his search.

He assumed Dave had simply lost his bearings and couldn’t find his way back through the dark maze of trees.

“Hey, dumbass!” he called again.

Once again, there was no response.

Finally, he noticed something faintly glowing through the trees up ahead.

Slowly he walked toward the light. It came from behind a large maple tree, split by lightning during one of the many summer thunderstorms. As he rounded the tree he froze. Resting in the split of the tree was Dave’s bodiless head. Strings of flesh hung from the neck. The top of the skull had been caved in, making a home for his halogen headlamp, which illuminated his orifices like a makeshift jack-o-lantern.

Regaining control of his legs, Ted ran hysterically back to the shelter, urine dripping down his leg. He thought about running straight down the trail and not stopping until he arrived at the car, but he soon realized his keys and cell phone were tucked safely in his backpack.

He jumped into the shelter and began frantically searching for the keys. In his altered state of mind he didn’t notice he was not alone in the lean-to. It wasn’t until he turned his head, shining the headlamp beam at the far end of the shelter, that he noticed the deformed child. Pale white and covered with dirt, the child was stocky, about five feet tall. Below his oversized forehead sat two bulging eyes. He had no noticeable ears or nose; a cleft pallet ran up between his swollen pink eyes. In his right hand was a blood-covered stone dripping on the shelter floor.

As the light hit him, the boy charged.

Ted stumbled back. Suddenly he found himself looking up at the grotesque boy, who held the crimson rock high above his head.

“Are you my Daddy?” he asked.

Ted lay silent, unable to talk.

“He said he’d be right back… but that was a long time ago.”

“ARE YOU MY DADDY!” he shouted.

With a wet crack, the rock came crashing down.

She was half asleep when the fish woman rapped sharply at the window.

She sat up and rubbed her eyes, having dozed for only about five to ten minutes. She glanced up, convinced she was dreaming, and saw those hollowed, sunken eyes staring mournfully with their dark circles sagging the skin under them. The woman’s flesh had a bluish tint. She opened the window. “Go away!” she screamed, unafraid.

She dragged herself out of bed, irritated. She didn’t dream anymore. Hadn’t dreamed for almost two years now. What was left to dream about?

She cried as she tried to brew herself some tea. Nothing would calm her, console her. Nothing to look forward to anymore. No one left.

For days she sat around her house. She stopped going to work. Nothing left for her. A slowly rotting corpse, just waiting for the maggots.

The fish woman wouldn’t leave, though. She sat for days, like a rejected little mermaid. Those sad eyes following her every time she went into the bedroom. She couldn’t get through the screen. She probably wasn’t very smart.

She sat, watching the window, thinking. A friend, perhaps. “You need friends! Just like I do!” she cried out. “Then after a while, you’ll never leave me!” She flung open the window again, pushing at the screen. She grabbed the woman around the waist and pulled her in, never feeling those teeth sink into her flesh.

She cried out in pleasure, believing them to be love bites. She pushed the thing’s head between her legs, never feeling her end as she came one last time. The thing bit harder and harder and she cried out, screamed, delirious with pleasure, pain and loneliness, the one last thing she had to look forward to.

Nothing left to dream anymore.

In trying to understand what I am, please listen to me first. I am something you may not have heard of, or if you did, you would not believe it was true. Though most of the time you would not see me. I fly through the night, in the darkness and in solitude. The speed at which I fly you would not be able to keep track. I know you may try to watch me thinking I am something else, when I am surely not. However, this is not something for you to be concerned about. I am what I am and if you don’t understand me, that won’t change that fact.

Still I see you trying and I see you hoping that one day I will show myself to you again. Allow you to focus your attention on my black wings. My horns that show brightly even in the dark skies. However, you are wrong; it won’t happen as easy as you wish. It may never happen at all for you. The creature I am, I don’t allow people in. They don’t need to know me. So why are you so curious about something you know nothing about? You need to ask yourself that question as you hold your lens of your camera towards the sky. Ask yourself, why do you need to see that blur that passes in the night?

I see you look out your window, expecting my arrival at your doorstep. I won’t come just because you ask. For me, I go where I want to, and you have no say. If I want to come get you at your home, I will do so. For tonight, however, I don’t have time to waste on your curiosity. I am going to a place you will never see that is for creatures like me. Flocking to this area will give me a great joy and fill in what I need. I bet you wish you knew what I meant by this place, but you will never have a chance to find out. I may just stop by your home for a visit, just to grab a bite to eat or two.

I bet you would like to see what I really am. For me to see you would just be a short distraction of where I really need to go, but I will show my face to you only once before I need to do something else. Since you are so desperate to meet me, I am sure you won’t mind me not staying too long. I know you will understand I have so much else to do. When I visit, I will stay for just a moment; this will be a special time for you. This time we spend together will be amazing and you will remember it for as long as you can. Time will only be evident for you when I am long gone. You will remember me as you will and will always remember the bite marks I left on your neck.