MicroHorror

I was excited.

For the first time in weeks I had a chance to sit down at the computer and write a scary story. I leaned back and waited for inspiration to strike.

A movement outside caught my attention. I turned in time to see a silver disc hovering above the woods behind my house. Something dropped from the craft and landed in my back yard. It was my dog Furatu. I hurried outside, pausing just long enough to grab the rifle leaning behind the door.

In my driveway, I knelt and squeezed off two carefully aimed rounds into a couple of zombies who had wandered too close to the property line. Their heads exploded like water balloons and I was on the move again before their bodies had toppled.

Furatu lay on his side about thirty yards away. I stooped to pick up the rope attached to the drain spout, tied a loop around my waist and went to retrieve my dog.

I lifted Furatu’s remains and discovered they were dry and hollow thanks to those pesky aliens. I tucked him under one arm and turned back to the house–which had predictably disappeared. I closed my eyes and followed the rope with my free hand, ignoring the
ominous slithering sound that trailed me.

Once safely inside, I carried Furatu downstairs. My twin brother screamed and raged from his cell, throwing his shoulder into the heavy wooden door as I passed. I ignored him. I chose a different door, reached out and pulled a string. The forty-watt bulb barely pushed away the shadows. I opened the lid of the deep freeze and placed Furatu inside, right beside Mother. I smiled sadly at both of them as I closed the lid. On impulse I moved to the southeast corner of the room, knelt and felt for the metal ring. The trap door creaked upward and a musty odor invaded my nostrils. I grabbed a flashlight from a nearby shelf and lowered myself into the dank chamber. The beam of light pierced the darkness, illuminating the Amontillado. I mentally reminded myself to grab a bottle on the way back up. First things first, however.

I stooped and inched my way down a dripping passage until I came to the reinforced steel circle set in the stone floor at the end of tunnel. It serves as a hybrid manhole cover and bank vault door. I pressed one ear to the cover and listened. I staggered quickly to my feet after only a few seconds. My ears burned and I wiped at the blood which now poured from my nose. That’s a door that should never, ever be opened.

I hurried back toward the wine cellar–forgetting the Amontillado–and climbed back up the ladder. I discarded the flashlight, closed the trapdoor and pulled the string, leaving the room in darkness.

My twin brother continued to rave as I passed his cell and I felt a twinge of guilt. One of us must be the “Evil Twin” in the equation, and it certainly isn’t me. Best that he stay locked up.

Upstairs I peeled off my bloody T-shirt and tossed it onto the pile. The laundry gnomes would take care of the laundry while I slept. As long as they got their customary sacrificial sock, they served obediently. I shrugged into a black dress shirt that had once
belonged to a priest who was famous for conducting exorcisms. Or maybe it had belonged to a serial killer. I don’t remember anymore.

Back in my little office where I do my writing, the computer waited patiently. I was surprised that it had grown dark outside. The sound of chains rattling echoed from the attic. Something groaned mournfully and slowly descended the creaking stairs.

I stared at the computer screen.

Nothing.

I sighed resignedly and pushed my chair back again.

No scary stories today. Too many distractions. I’ll have to try again later and hope that inspiration strikes.