MicroHorror

Brian watched the flames dance up into the clear, cool night. He zipped up his jacket as far as it would go and waited for the next story to begin.

“Who wants to hear another one?” Brian’s dad asked eagerly, the campfire reflecting off the lenses of his glasses.

“I do,” all of the kids simultaneously blurted out, Brian among them.

Brian’s dad glanced over at his son. “Good,” he slurred, hamming it up as much as he could. “Not too long ago there was a young boy who was scared of the dark. His parents thought about seeking professional help, but eventually decided that it was normal.”

The children hung on every word Brian’s father was saying. Ben, an energetic kid, looked over at his friend Brian.

“Hey, Brian,” he whispered. “You got any marshmallows left?”

“Quiet!” Brian shot back.

Brian’s father looked at the boys. He took off his glasses and wiped the lenses on his shirt. “Anyway,” he continued. “This little boy was so afraid of the dark that even shadows scared him. And every night he’d huddle up as close to his parents as he could for protection. And then one day, or should I say one night…”

“What happened?” little Mark Terix asked. “What happened to the little boy? Tell us!”

Brian’s dad grinned. “Now settle down,” he chuckled. “And then one night,” he finally continued, “something terrible happened. The little boy’s parents heard him screaming from his bedroom. But by the time they reached him all they found was a severed hand lying in a pool of blood and shredded pajamas.”

“You mean the boy died?” Ben asked.

“I’m afraid so. But even that wasn’t the worst of it. As the little boy’s mother started screaming the father saw the darkness reach out from underneath the bed and snatch the severed hand from the floor.”

Ben looked puzzled. “Don’t you mean something in the dark grabbed the hand?”

Brian’s father smiled. “No,” he replied, barely being able to contain himself. “I meant the dark itself grabbed the hand.”

“What happened then?” little Mark Terix asked.

“Well, according to the report the boy’s parents gave the police, a thick patch of darkness, blacker than coal, shimmied back and forth and then slid up from underneath the bed and out the window. Both parents said they saw rows of tiny, razor-sharp teeth in the darkness. And not a single drop of blood remained behind. Not one single drop.”

“I didn’t like that story,” little Mark finally blurted out, shattering the uncomfortable silence. “I didn’t like the way it ended.”

Brain’s dad looked into the flames. “Oh, I never said the story was over.”

Brain looked at his father, and for a moment, just for a brief flicker in time, there was something that didn’t seem quite right.

So he decided to go and get something to eat. And as he walked away from the other kids still huddled around the fire he stepped on something… something that cracked under his shoe. Reaching down, he picked up the object.

It was a pair of glasses… his dad’s glasses. And they were smeared with blood.

And then another disturbing sight caught his attention: somebody was sprawled out next to a nearby tent. And they weren’t moving.

Brain whirled around and glared at where his dad was still telling the story to the other kids.

“You see, the parents never found out what killed their boy. Whatever it was it wasn’t human. And whatever it was it got away that night. But you want to know the scariest part of the story?” Brain’s dad asked. “The scariest part is it’s a true story!”

And with those cryptic words Brian’s father peeled away his face to reveal a glistening black void, blacker than coal, with rows and rows of tiny, razor-sharp teeth lining the edges. And not even Brian, who was already running in the other direction, could get away in time.