MicroHorror

Now deep in the subway tunnels, the exhaustion brought her to her knees. Her sweat danced patterns against the grimy glow of the lights and she knew she was done. Somewhere, perhaps in an unreachable tunnel, a train moved in darkness, carrying late-night drifters. The only other sounds were her gasping breaths and those dragging footsteps that had been echoing behind her for miles of dirty passageways long forgotten, going nowhere.

Finally, she turned, and from her lungs escaped the last energy she had.

“What are you?”

And the answer, simple and cold from the dark, “The End.”

“We should visit the Valley View Carnival,” I said to my family. Around the breakfast table, they lifted their eyes, but not their heads. I said, “Sadly, it closes in just a few days.”

After I read the local newspaper, I announced to my wife and children that I hadn’t walked inside Valley View Carnival for twenty years. My heart had pounded thunderously when the small roller coasters had plummeted my naïve body into the blackest pits imaginable. Inside my kitchen, my mouth still watered for the sugary candy that my mom would buy to occupy me. With food in my mouth, I wouldn’t yell for rides on the Valley Coaster, at that time the largest roller coaster in the state and the one that had provided the loudest joyride. At my early age, I couldn’t buy a ticket onto the mighty behemoth. Still, it would tower over my head like a large snake curled around everyone. Like a chilly shadow, the lines would stretch over nearby lawns on massive metal rails. Nobody would argue the safety of the monster with thick braces that would hold people into the carriage. In my thirties, I felt capable to ride the coaster, like a twenty-one year-old who could finally taste alcohol legally.

We paid the thirty dollars per family to visit Valley View Carnival, located in the bottom of the state like an anchor holding a boat. Looking upward, I couldn’t help but marvel at the Valley Coaster, which looked as impressive in adulthood as it had in my childhood. Only, my mother couldn’t keep me from the thrill that would pump adrenaline into my body in ways unknown before. After a lengthy wait, which I had fully expected, I sat inside the carriage like a forty-year-old virgin who just touched femininity. Cranking the metal chain as slowly as a young lady would undress before her very first boyfriend, the bulky carriage ascended the hill.

After what felt like eternity, the cabin that held ten people dropped incredibly. No plummet in my life had fluttered my heart like the Valley Coaster. My hairdo messed quickly; my toupee flew off my bald head in a manner that brought a toothy smile to the boy beside me. My children probably laughed, too, while it billowed backwardly. After six turns and an upside-down journey over a local neighborhood, I understood the bloody heat that embarrassment and fearfulness alone brought. When it finished, with a loud clank, I wobbled slowly off the machine.

When I looked at the people still in line, they all pointed toward the sky. They were looking fearfully at the ride that I had finally enjoyed. When my vision cleared, I recognized the faces of the people between the ropes. Waiting like a puppy for her master, a woman in her late thirties, dressed in familiar khaki shorts, flipped her hair as seductively as my bride could. Oddly, a woman appealed to me besides my wife. Somehow, the woman aroused sexuality in my body in ways unknown. My blood pumped like a train headed for a deadly wreck; I knew the Valley Coaster didn’t do it. My children, who stood in line by the familiar lady, pointed like she did. When I looked upward, I understood why.

About five rails from the stoppage point, the metal poles that held the twenty-year-old Valley Coaster had fallen completely, and had crushed several people who had wanted happy times. Many people were still pinned into the carriage. With her fluffy hairdo noticeable from the stoppage point, my wife and my skinny children with their loud clothes were smashed into bloody piles of flesh, as well. I needn’t find my body to know that I didn’t survive either.

Arbuckle stood over the smoking corpse.

Damn, did it stink.

He walked around the thing, trying to spot what had started the blaze, but came up empty. No matches, no lighter… It was as if the fucker had just gone–poof–up in flames with no concern for proper cause and effect. One thing was for sure: Arbuckle didn’t like it. Not the smell, not the sight, not the girl sobbing in the corner.

The hangover wasn’t helping. He was starting to wish he’d just stayed in bed with Marie. Not answered the damn phone. But he was here now so he might as well make the best of it. He made his way over to the girl.

“He just started burning,” she said between sobs.

Well, that at least confirms the gender, he thought. “Let’s start with your name,” Arbuckle said, trying to be as soothing as he could.

“Julie,” she replied, starting to calm down a bit.

Arbuckle smiled at her. It was a start. “Okay, Julie,” he said in the same soothing voice. “Let’s go over it nice and slow…”

“Carlton and me were just havin’ a drink. The next thing I know…” She started to cry again. Arbuckle sighed.

People just don’t burst into flames, he wanted to tell her, but he knew it wouldn’t do any damn good. Arbuckle turned away from the crying girl and back to Crispy Carlton.

So what had lit his fuse then?

The only thing not scorched was his left hand. Why his left hand and not the right? It was as if the fire had decided it had enough and put itself out. Right at his wrist.

Screw it, he decided. Write it up as an accident and be done with it. Go home to Marie and some aspirin. But that damned perfect hand wouldn’t let him walk away. It was like it was taunting him. Teasing him. Years later, in the Home, Arbuckle would still be talking about that damn hand.

“Oh Jesus!” the girl started, her voice growing higher in pitch. Arbuckle looked over to her. Julie was staring down at her hands in horror. “It’s happening to me now! I’m burning up!”

Arbuckle moved over to the hysterical girl, reaching out to calm her down. “Hey! Easy!” he said to her. Arbuckle reached out, grabbed for Julie’s wrists in an attempt to shake her out of her state of panic. He pulled back quickly, letting out a hiss of pain. Her skin was scorching hot. It was turning an angry red.

Julie let out a shriek as she caught fire. Arbuckle was close enough for her flames to burn his face. He fell back to the floor in agony. It took him a moment to realize the screams he heard were his own.

The last thing Arbuckle saw before passing out was Julie’s blackened skeleton falling to the floor.

Our little girl has grown up so fast! Can you believe this is really happening?!

I can hardly remember the days when she was young. The only memory that surfaces now is the time when she had cut off all of her hair. I was so upset with her! I shouldn’t have yelled at her the way I did, though. I regret that now. I regret it all now.

I’ll be the first to admit, I wasn’t the greatest father. I wish I was around more, but my job demanded so much of my time. I wish she could see that I was only trying to provide for you and her. I only wanted the best for you both. I know it was difficult on you, raising her alone. I know she demanded more attention than it was possible for you to give. I don’t blame you for all the arguments; I know bringing her up was strenuous. Now your body suffers for it. I am truly sorry.

She needed me! She needed her father! I wish I would have enjoyed being a father while I still had the chance.

She has your beautiful green eyes. She lays them on the table, then begins to dig out mine.

The carwash stretched ahead of her. A shiver of fear went up her spine. She sat in the Lexus and stared. It was an old piece of machinery that made a wheezing sound as it dispensed its chemicals. But she quickly decided she was a fool. It was the same old carwash she brought the Lexus through every week.

She was trying to forget him as she put her foot on the gas pedal. How he stood there, always dressed in black, his face perpetually hidden to her by an upturned collar.

Shouldn’t he wear a nametag? He never said a word as she handed him the ten-dollar bill and asked for change.

Slowly she drove into the carwash. It made a loud screech when the tire hit the cradle. She glanced in the rearview mirror and saw there were no other cars in line. Self-consciously she locked the doors, and then gripped the steering wheel so hard her fingers turned white.

The wash chemicals covered the windshield and she couldn’t see. Wait, she wanted to scream, but there was no one there to hear her. Except him. Had he just been standing there, in the car wash? No, of course not. But wait…

Yes. There he was. Smirking at her. What was happening?

He reached a hand out to wipe the white chemical off the window. “You never did learn how to tip, did you?” he hollered over the drone of the carwash, before raising the small silver handgun and pointing it at the glass.

Some people cursed him as they were forced to step around. Others stopped to watch as the man dragged his pieces of colored chalk back and forth across the drab slabs of the pavement. Some of the kids had to crane their necks to look over or around the broad shoulders of Tobias Corbaux. He ignored their attentions. He worked his art for one reason, his own personal satisfaction. If he got paid now and again it was all good, but if he didn’t then it didn’t matter a jot.

One child decided to walk across where he’d just laid down the basis of the piece. The mother shrugged her shoulders, the denim of her jacket lifting in a “So what?” manner. Tobias breathed through his nose to remain calm. Every day he saw the way in which the world was changing. Respect was something to be read about. Tobias stared at the back of the child. The little bastard was old enough to know better, clearly coming up to double figures. The brat extended his tongue. Tobias pretended to grab it in the air and reel him in. Enough time had been wasted on the waster; Tobias went back to his work.

The passersby stopped to make their noises of oohs when they saw the lion scribbled on the pavement. The artist had caged it, but it still looked as though it could break free of the concrete and attack. The people looked around and seemed puzzled when they saw that there was no hat into which to toss loose coins.

More people stopped. Some looked a little disturbed at the art of the man. But art is different things to different people, surmised Tobias. A woman pushed her way through the throng. Not caring about the work on the floor.

“Have you seen my son?” she asked, her words every color of urgent. She described him, short dark hair, brown eyes, and wearing a dark blue jacket. People shrugged and shook their heads. The woman ran off to continue on her search for her errant son. The gathering nodded in appreciation to Tobias and then continued upon their way. Tobias smiled at his work. The lion looked real enough to pounce if not for the cage. The lion had other sport to keep its interest, a young boy with dark hair and dark eyes huddled in the corner against the bars. The boy looked so real, real enough that it appeared as if he had pissed his pants at the sight of the lion.

Tobias collected all his pieces of chalk together in the box. Took one more look at his work, turned and headed off. The crowds of the day had dwindled to nothing. As the day had grown long interest had flagged in the pavement art. Some had even suggested that it wasn’t art. That even their children could have done better than to merely scribble red chalk all over the pavement and have the audacity to think it artistic. The woman in the denim jacket ran over the red chalk, scuffing it a little. She was still searching for her boy. Tobias looked up as he walked; it looked as though rain was on its way.

Larry hid behind the dumpster in the trash-strewn alley, trying to decide which of his blunders had sealed the planet’s doom. The street remained quiet, the odors of garbage long since dissipated in the absence of fresh offerings. A sheet of newsprint skittered by, its headline heralding the end of the world. Larry glanced at the date on the sheet–about three months ago.

A year ago, he’d been on top of the world, living the good life. His latest invention, a robot zombie doll, had been introduced to toy stores around the world. The kids loved it and the manufacturers couldn’t keep up with demand. It even had an interactive website, where people could download new commands for the doll.

It all seemed to go downhill overnight. The woman who approached him in the bar, the quick trip to her hotel room–he should have smelled a setup. His wife served him with divorce papers next, complete with notice to strip him of all worldly possessions, glossy photos of his little infidelity attached.

Then the lawyers descended. The head locust offered to put him in touch with a company who could liquidate his assets quickly, enabling Larry to settle for a far lesser amount in the divorce. It seemed like a good idea at the time and Larry agreed to meet with their representative.

He signed away all rights to the robot zombie doll that same day, but never saw his money. A day later, the cute little robots began receiving their new programming, devouring their unsuspecting owners while they slept. After that, the zombie dolls took to the streets, claiming every warm-blooded creature they encountered.

Larry had managed to elude them so far, but he knew it was only a matter of time. A glance down the alley confirmed his suspicions. A whole army trundled towards him now, red eyes glowing and mouths clacking. It came to him then, which blunder exceeded all the rest. He should have beaten his wife to the punch and filed first.

Rex Miles looked into the cold, black eyes of Kali Valentine. A sly, devilish smile crossed his lips as Kali walked seductively towards him wearing a skin-tight red leather dress.

“Mr. Miles, I know all about you.” Kali’s voice was heaven with a hint of sexual desire. “You’re an assassin with a hundred-percent success rate.”

“What can I say?” Rex shrugged his massive shoulders. “I’m good at my job.”

Kali smiled widely, exposing her long, bright white fangs. “But you can’t kill me,” she teased, running her pink tongue over her teeth. “I’m already dead.”

Rex crossed his arms. “True. I can’t kill you in a conventional way, but I can destroy you.”

“With what?” Kali asked, running a hand through her raven hair. “A wooden stake? Some holy water? Chopping my pretty little head off? Or are we going to wait here until the morning for the sunlight?”

“Look around,” Rex said. “We’re in a windowless room. With only one door and I’ve got the key.”

Kali looked around. The large room was completely empty. “Then I guess this’ll be your last job, Mr. Miles.” she said, leaning into Rex’s neck. Her nostrils flared and she jumped back quickly. “That smell!” she exclaimed, her chest heaving up and down fighting for fresh air. “I hate garlic!”

“I know,” Rex said. “That’s why I took a bath in it.” He paused, and watched Kali’s beautiful face turn crimson-red with anger. “I knew we’d be locked up in this room for a while,” he added, “and I didn’t want you taking a bite out of me.”

“So that’s your plan, Mr. Miles, starve me to death?”

Rex shook his head. “No,” he stated. “I plan on feeding you… with this.” And pulled a small surgical bag filled with reddish-black blood out of his inner coat pocket.

Kali’s eyes flew open. “Mmm,” she moaned, licking her full red lips. “Hand it here.”

Rex threw Kali the bag. She grasped it, and sniffed the bag as though it was a freshly baked cake. She smiled wide, then paused and asked, “What did you put in it?” she cocked her eyebrows. “Garlic? Holy water?”

“I didn’t put nothing in it,” Rex answered. “It’s zombie blood.”

Kali laughed. “Zombie blood?!” she cried. “What good will that do you?”

Rex pulled out a black .357 magnum. “I figure that when you get hungry enough, you’ll drink it, then you’ll turn into a zombie.” He paused, and put six bullets in the chamber. “Then I’ll blow your fucking head off.” He gazed at Kali and smiled with the grace of a politician.

Kali dropped the bag, and charged at Rex. But when she touched him, her fingers burned as though she’d laid her hands on a hot stove. She screamed as the smell of burning flesh filled the room.

“You bastard!” Kali hissed through gritted teeth. “Why don’t you go ahead and kill me?”

Rex took a moment to ponder the thought. “Well, business has been very slow,” he began, “and I do enjoy my job very much. So, when I do get a job, I take my time. A cat-and-mouse kind of thing.”

Kali gnawed at her lip. “Damn you, Rex Miles.”

“Sorry,” Rex offered, “but a job’s a job.”

Seven hours later…

Kali’s stomach began to growl. She craved blood. She needed blood. She grabbed the bag of zombie blood and sank her fangs into it. She let out a sensual moan as the blood ran down her chin.

Rex cocked the hammer back on his .357 magnum. He watched and waited for Kali to change.

Kali breathed deeply, licking her lips. Then her eyes began to fade from black to charcoal-gray. Her breathing stopped. She let out a low growl followed by an unholy howl.

Rex took aim. “The problem with women vampires,” he said, pulling the trigger, “is that you get paid so little to kill them.”

“She’s not going to make it.”

“Don’t say that, Charlie,” Jenny said, as they stood outside of Mabel’s bedroom.

“The doctors said her brain tumor is inoperable.” He wept.

Jenny closed her eyes as she shook her head. She quietly left and walked outside towards Mabel’s tree.

“Doesn’t look promising,” she said to the tree, as she stared at the cold grass. She held her face in her cupped hands. “No hope left.”

Then Jenny felt it. Raindrops falling upon her and all around her. But it wasn’t rain, she realized. It was tears from the tree. It was expressing its outpouring of mourning. Even the tree’s bark oozed tears. Jenny cried too as they shared their moment of grief together. She hugged the tree with her long arms and smeared her own tears upon its bark.

She wiped back the damp hair from her face and slowly walked back towards Mabel’s house.

Jenny entered Mabel’s bedroom and slumped down in a chair next to her bed. She took her left hand and held it, her voice silent, not knowing how to say goodbye.

As Jenny sat next to Mabel, she heard an unusual sound. Something was coming up through the hardwood bedroom floor. Large tree roots cracked apart the wooden flooring. They were curled and twisted like antennae and they slid towards Mabel.

Jenny quickly stood up and backed into Charlie.

The roots of the tree sensed where Mabel lay and started to slither between her arms and legs, cradling her nearly lifeless body.

“No!” Charlie shouted.

“Wait,” Jenny said, holding Charlie back.

They both stood there and watched in silence as the tree rocked Mabel to and fro.

Then the tree stopped. It waited there. Holding Mabel.

Jenny sensed it. She saw through her tear-streaked eyes that Mabel was exhaling her last breath. And she knew the tree had sensed it too.

Here was an incredible tree that Mabel had loved all her life, Jenny thought. A tree that had been a significant part of her childhood. A tree that had supported tire swings and tree houses. A tree that had been home base in games of stickball and hide-and-seek. And especially when she felt alone, she would find comfort in being with the tree. Jenny knew about this unusual and sensitive tree. The kind of tree you couldn’t carve words into or it would cry.

A deep silence came over Mabel’s bedroom. Jenny knew that Mabel had left them, all of them, for good.

The tree root clasped Mabel’s limp body as it slid back under the broken bedroom floor.

“No,” Jenny said, her eyes still wet. “Not this way.”

The root continued its trail back to its origin as it tenderly carried Mabel along with it.

Jenny and Charlie ran outside to where the tree had stood for so many years. They frantically dug around its base searching for Mabel’s body.

A small root crawled towards Jenny’s hand and held it. Jenny sucked in a breath.

“Mabel?”

The root nudged her hand.

She realized that Mabel and the tree were inseparable. All those long years formed a bond with no end. One could not go on without the other. Jenny saw that Mabel and the tree had somehow merged together. Each one of them keeping the other alive in some strange way. Even in death.

“You’re sure?” he asked Julia, gun in hand. “I want you to be certain.”

“There seems no other way, Jack. Yes, it’s the right thing for both of us.”

“They’ll never let us live together. Never.”

“I know. Do it, Jack. Do it now.”

He kissed her tears, pressed the revolver to her head, and pulled the trigger. The woman crumpled to the floor with one shot. Blood bubbled from her temple, soaking the entire side of her face.

“My turn,” he whispered. Jack took the gun’s barrel full into his mouth.

Julia’s head still leaked blood onto the hardwood floor.

Jack hesitated, lowering the revolver.

“Well, maybe after lunch.”