MicroHorror

Even in death, she is beautiful. The high arch of her cheek bones and the subtle swell of her slender throat are only accentuated by the tautness of her smooth, pallid skin. Only now do I realize how much I loved her. It pains me so to see her body being slowly destroyed and I wish I knew a way to preserve her just how she is now. Even her guttural moan is musical and I can almost imagine her speaking to me, telling me she loves me too. I just wish the restraints did not have to be so tight. Her left wrist has already broken once and I fear that the more she strains the more damage she will do to herself. If it weren’t for the fear I feel when she bites I would not have needed to remove the teeth, but even with the silly, foam, Halloween dentures she is radiant. And at last she is mine. No more accusations, no more threat of restraining orders, or assault trials. We are left with just the purity of our mutual desire. She does get so excited when I come into the cellar to visit for our special play time. She begins moaning even before I approach. And luckily she doesn’t seem to mind the things I like to do… though I am a bit worried about this rash.

The acrid smell of cleanser burns my nostrils. Something about the scent of ammonia and institutional cleaning chemicals really turns my stomach. I think it’s the memories it awakens: hospitals, plastics, and chemotherapy. Still, this smell is more comforting than the stink of rot and fleshy decay that one usually finds in abandoned city clinics.

Supply runs are always exciting but everybody prefers hitting shopping centers. It’s the self-serving impulse to pick up little tokens of our past lives. There isn’t much use for toys, movies, and video games. Batteries are stockpiled and rationed even though most are out of date these days. Rechargeable batteries are strictly hoarded for medical and martial use, kept near energy stations where the generators trickle out a meager voltage, run on the dwindling supply of gasoline we can salvage. But I’ll be damned if people don’t still wind up finding useless crap to be used as trade swag.

The sound of something large and plastic hitting the floor brings me back from my reverie. It sounded like it came from the back room. I really wish we had more help on these runs. Max is in the van, Casey is keeping watch from the lobby and I always get sent to explore. Okay, keep your cool, man; just gently push the door open. And of course it’s blocked. Fantastic! Okay, maybe it’s just a chair or something.

BRRRRAAAARRRRR!

What the hell? Is it a filing cabinet?! Well, I’ve officially announced my presence, may as well go in guns blazing. Check your revolver, safety is off, automatic is slung and on safety. Not enough room to use it in here anyway. Okay, breathe, one, two, three.

BRRRRAAAWW-KAKLANG!!!

First thing I notice is this is a lab, a lot of really useful, very valuable equipment here. Doc Brasier would flip out if he saw all this stuff, undamaged, unattended. The second thing I notice is the sick smell of rot. Okay, you son of a bitch, I know you’re in here. I can smell you. There is a large plastic barrel lying on the floor in the corner, which must have been what I heard, but I don’t see anyone. Well, whatever it is must know I’m here, so on the off chance they are still alive I should try to coax them out.

“Hello? Is anyone here? I’m with a salvage team. We’re part of a group of survivors.” I listen… nothing. “We aren’t going to hurt you, we’re here to help, provided you aren’t a walking corpse, of course.” I edge around the corner of the stainless steel counter and scan the rest of the room. No nooks or holes to hide in, but there is a back door. Where was this bin before it fell? There seems to be a gap in random objects on the counter to my right.

Suddenly the back door bursts open and a nurse comes stomping out. Her face is pale and she looks to be on the verge. I step back and aim my gun at her head. She stops and steps back whimpering. I lower my gun.

“Jesus, lady, you gave me a heart attack. Why didn’t you say something?”

A small hand grabs my ankle and I feel teeth sink into my Achilles tendon. I bellow and fall to the ground, trying to roll on my back. I take aim at the child beast who’s crawled from under the counter.

“No!” the woman is crying as the blast from the gun echoes very loudly in this small room. I shake the child zombie from my leg and look at the severed tendon. This is just awesome. I can’t wait to tell the guys they have to leave me here. The woman is still crying and shaking. I can’t think of anything to say. I see she was bitten on the ankle as well.

“Hey! What’s going on in there?” my radio crackles.

“Well, I got good news and bad news.”

Cory felt panic rise as he awoke and adrenaline hit his stomach. He looked at his watch and saw that he’d been on the subway for hours, and had no idea where he was or which direction they were headed. It was already a quarter to midnight and Liz would be worried about him. He checked his phone only to see it searching for a signal. He looked around and didn’t see anyone in his car. He got up and looked through the connecting doors and didn’t see anyone in the next car either. Resigned to the fact that he would just have to wait until the next station, he sat by the door.

A voice cracked on the speakers and mumbled something about City Hall and that the subway was stopping service and all passengers should disembark. “Fan-fucking-tastic!” he thought. Six stops away from home and he had to get off. Well, he could catch a taxi at least and still be home in fifteen or twenty minutes if he were lucky. His phone was still searching for a signal so he may as well go up to street level.

He made for the first escalator and stopped short, reading the Access Closed sign strung across the railing. Well, that’s great; the main entrance was closed and he’d never gotten off at this station before. He looked around for another way out and saw at the very end of the platform some nondescript stairs leading up and around a corner. Within twenty feet, a noxious odor wafted toward him from the stairway. Involuntarily retching, he stopped in his tracks. Some twisted combination of feces, urine and decay lay beyond that stairwell and he wondered if he could still find a way out via the blocked access.

He braced himself, held his breath and began to climb the stairs. Not even wanting to touch the hand rail, he vaulted two steps at a time hoping he would gain the top quickly. After two turns he began to wonder where the hell these stairs went. Finally after what seemed like three flights he reached a hallway. In one direction he saw a mall with stores and a McDonald’s, all barred by a large locked gate. Wonderful! He couldn’t get out this way. Looking the other way, the hall just curved back and to the right into darkness. He looked past the gate again and yelled. Listening carefully he heard no one answer. “Oh well, guess it’s the path toward certain doom after all.”

As he made his way down the curving hall, he noticed the light growing more and more dim. When the next locked gate presented itself, he screamed in frustration. “How in the fuck am I supposed to get out of this labyrinth?!” Looking around he found another, even darker hallway, lined with ancient porthole windows and art deco relief sculptures. Was this section even used anymore!? He heard a noise behind him and saw a huge, dog-sized rat crawl through a bent section of the gate. It looked at him and began to advance. Cory yelled and rushed across the ancient hallway, reaching some stairs at the other end. Though it wouldn’t have seemed possible to him before, an even worse stench arose from the depths of those stairs. He paused for a moment to see the rat gaining on him and threw himself down the stairs. About four flights down he stopped to see a pool of viscous, rancid water where the steps continued downward. Nowhere to run now, and his sinuses burned with the rank odor. The rat had stopped a few steps up, raised itself on its haunches and shrieked loudly. He heard a splash in the water behind him and saw something moving under the surface, something large enough to cause waves. Suddenly two long, black, leathery tendrils shot out of the water and wrapped around his head, pulling him face first into the murk.

The fog thickened as Theo stepped off the path and into the field, and the sound of crickets seethed outward across the silent space. Tendrils of mist rose from his back and hair streaming behind like a tattered, ghostly cape. The night was alive with a gentle hum, its energy being fully exerted in every small display of exhilaration. From the cacophony of reptile chirps to the constant whir of locusts, and from the strobing forest to the accented flurry of leathery wings, he felt a pure connection to the night. He lost himself to the luxury of the experience of this blissful and natural chaos.

He inclined his head, basking his face in pallid moonlight, forgetful of his burden. His eyes focused on the space between himself and the tree line, allowing the flickering insect lights in the trees to merge with the sky and its twinkling array of starlight. For one moment he felt he was at the edge of the world, peering into the vast array of nothingness, content to drift away.

His shoulder ached suddenly and he was far from complete in his task. He longed for a better place and a better time, but alas, he was who he was. Lately that seemed to be as close to nothingness as he was ever going to get. He walked a bit further into the field and dropped the large garment bag which landed with a sickly, wet thud at his feet. He grasped the handle of his spade firmly and began to dig. For nearly two hours he labored, careful to separate the sod from dirt beforehand. Digging, digging, beneath the pallid moon.

Melisa had reached her breaking point. At 5:15 PM her tolerance broke down, leaving her in a quiet, dismal place where sound and light no longer reached her. She had placed herself so entirely into work after her divorce and the subsequent death of her daughter Kimberly that work was all she cared about anymore. There simply wasn’t anything else left in her life. No joy, no hope, nothing but work.

But after two weeks with the flu, and her endless doctor visits, her company insurance had cut her off. High risk, over-allotted visits, etc., was what they had told her as some form of excuse. Then she had started having problems with her accounts. Two new marketing executives had been assigned to her and neither would agree nor budge, no matter how insignificant the matter. Six write-ups later and her position was in jeopardy, as well as her car, her house, and her livelihood. She had received a memo from the head of her division stating her probationary status two write-ups ago. He had also taken to personally antagonizing her. “How’s quality!?” he would shout into her cubicle

She felt the strands of her sanity being pulled apart when she saw memos noting her accounts’ rejection of the finally completed proposals that had taken her months to complete. That would mean two more write-ups and her certain termination. She sat at her desk until 5:30, got up from her desk and took the freight elevator to the roof. The wind pressed her clothes against her body and the vertigo was the strongest sensation she’d felt in months. Her hair whipped around her face and she felt its sting lashing her over and over. She held her breath and stepped off. Wind rushed around her and her stomach flip flopped. She tried to hold her eyes open but the pressure was too great. Tears streamed across her cheeks as she saw the street rushing toward her. She didn’t want to be cheated out of the one pure sensation she would have left–of fear.

Seconds later she yelped and sat up in her chair. She looked at the clock on her phone and read 5:16. She suddenly wondered if she could gain access to the freight elevator at all and wondered if Mr. Will the maintenance man would lend her the key.

I stood in the strange shack looking at the chaos of objects strewn about a large wooden table. I was nervous and trying to be respectful without seeming arrogant or aloof. The old witch called me over and grabbed my arm in a vise grip. As the hag tried to gnaw on my finger, she asked me to finish it. She must have lost her fangs. I tried to use a needle but to no effect; the skin just wouldn’t break. I turned and a young girl sitting over a bowl grabbed my hand and before I realized what was happening she took a large kitchen knife and pulled it effortlessly across my finger. She began milking my finger, not of blood but of a colorless, cloudy droplet from the tip. This was followed by blood which dripped into the bowl onto a mass like thick syrup. She smiled and turned away, taking the bowl with her. Then the hag told me my pact was sealed and I may go. As I left, I found that I could now fly by the wind, I could crawl like a spider, and I was very strong. I was amazed at my abilities and imagined doing great things, but at what cost?

What had I sacrificed for these traits which men only dream of?

I’m beginning to feel less of myself.

The ache at his knees was blindingly intense. Every stick and every pebble felt like a razor blade scraping along his bloodied body as he pulled himself along the forest floor. Keith had long since lost feeling in his throbbing fingers as he dug them into soil and pulled himself along with all his might. He would freeze in blind terror every few moments when a bird would squawk and take wing over his head. He would remain motionless, holding his labored breath, and listen for approaching footsteps. He would then redouble his efforts which, after a time, would wane as his energy ebbed. Terror was his only motivation. Terror and a vain hope that somehow, the monster responsible for his torture would be assailed and pay for her vicious crimes.

Keith felt his stomach and muscles begin to cramp and knot. It was most likely withdrawal from the morphine she’d used after she had removed his legs. She’d used an old double-toothed wood saw that had taken hours. He didn’t think she had any practical knowledge of tools but she’d managed. His thighs were still bruised from the tourniquets. The thread she’d used to bind the loose skin was beginning to disintegrate, and the stitching was about to pop. He had already begun to leave a bloody trail, though the dragging of his own body was sign enough. He could only hope he was close enough to a road that he might flag down a driver and be delivered from this nightmare.

Keith’s arms and shoulders had been sore enough from hanging and his wrists were bloodied and aching from the shackles. But now they burned with fatigue and with every inch of progress he made they quivered and shook. Sweat burned his eyes and insects feasted freely upon his naked, legless form. He tried to focus these irritations into fuel to keep trying. “Just keep moving!” He told himself over and over like a survivalist mantra, “Keep moving, keep moving, keep moving!” Never resting except when he heard a snap or an animal sound when he would freeze and listen. His heartbeat would accelerate and he would try to determine the direction of the sound. But with each instance, he would feel more exhausted than before and would struggle to regain momentum. Until finally, with the last bit of effort he could muster, he pulled himself under a patch of foliage, curled up and slept.

Keith’s eyes were blurred when he awakened. The pain he had felt was muted but gained strength as he regained consciousness. He tried to roll onto his stomach but he couldn’t move. As his eyes cleared he saw the interior of a van through wire. He convulsed in terror as he realized he was lying in a dog kennel. Suddenly he was aware of an intense itching over what felt like his entire body. He tried to scratch himself but his arms were bound behind him. He shouted in rage, terror, and frustration, then lurched against the side of the cage as the van came to a stop. Footsteps approached from behind him and he heard a soothing feminine voice that shot through his spine like a cold steel knife.

“Good morning, you miserable cocksucker.” Her face appeared before him, eyes still full of hate and a stoic smile frozen on her illuminative face. “You… have been a very naughty boy.” She stroked the cage with a gloved hand. “You broke a window in my cabin and tried to get away. You know, Keith, it took years to track you down, but my therapist did say I needed to confront my past demons. So after all that time, I’m surely not going to just let you walk…” she giggled. “I’m sorry… crawl away. You obviously have not atoned for your sins, you rapist motherfucker. If you can’t be trusted to stay in one place, maybe we’ll just have to do something about those arms of yours, hmm?”

“Where have you been!? I’ve been trying to call! Are you all right?” Anne had been crying. James could always tell when she’d been crying. Her voice rose an octave and wavered.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine, how are you?” He tried to sound calm.

“I’m fine… Have you seen what’s going on downtown? It’s all over the TV!”

“I haven’t the faintest idea. We heard the fire alarm go off in the stairwell and then this bloody woman shows up and… I’d have to say in my professional opinion that we have zombies or something very much like them running around.” As he said this, James stepped into the conference room with the giant, corner window on the 26th floor and looked out over downtown.

The sirens could be heard through the three-inch glass. Smoke rose from various spots and he could see complete bedlam below. Cars clogged the streets as far as he could see and people were running in every direction. He saw a woman tackled from two directions and could even see the spray of blood as she was devoured by four attackers. Another man was pulled through the window of his car and the assailant chewed through his throat, severing the head. His attacker fell back and two more dove upon the body.

“They aren’t saying what the hell it is but from the footage I’ve seen, I believe it! Is there any way you can get home? What are you going to do!? I’m so fucking scared!” Anne began crying again and James had to snap her out of it.

“ANNE! Listen to me! Don’t worry about me right now. I’ll have to think of something but right now I need you to do some things, okay!?” She muffled a reply. “Okay!?”

“All right, I will.”

“Okay, first of all, get the guns from the closet and the bullets from the top shelf. Put the safeties on and load them both! Cock them both. ”

“Okay, I can do that.” She sniffed and listened.

“Okay, then go in the basement and get those old doors and bring them up, then just jam them between the radiators and the front windows for now.”

“Okay.” She was beginning to sound better.

“All right, finally, have you heard sirens in the neighborhood?”

“No, I don’t think so, not for a while. I heard some about an hour ago, but since then I’ve just heard cars driving by really fast.”

“Okay, get the axe, and carefully try to take out the main struts for the front steps. Just hack the crap out of them as quickly as you can, then stay inside and try not to make any noise. Keep and eye out and if you see anyone running towards you, just get inside and bolt the door! Make sure the TV is off, go in the bedroom if you want, but try to stay out of the living room and front office. Okay?”

“Okay, I get it. Just try to hurry home if you can. But if you can’t, just… stay safe?” She began crying again. “I’m soooo scared for you!”

“I’ll be okay, sweetie; just do what I said and I’ll try to get home. My battery is almost dead so I’ll only call if I have to or when I get home, okay!?”

“Okay, I love you!”

“I love you too, baby! Be safe.” He imagined the 26 floors that separated him from the ground. Then he imagined the 65 zombie-infested blocks he’d have to traverse. Now he just had to convince himself he really would be okay.

“Ghost in the graveyard!” Alicia called, pointing at Erin.

“Aww, man!” Erin cried breathlessly. “I didn’t think I was going to make it. Everyone back to base!”

“We’re already back! You’re just slow!” Brian yelled over the hedges. “Hell, I didn’t even go anywhere; I just hid on the other side of this bush while all of you stomped off.”

“That’s not fair!” Erin whined, “You’re supposed to go hide.”

“I was hiding. You didn’t see me, therefore I was hiding. Duh!” Brian was promptly punched in the arm.

“I’m not stupid!” Erin hit him again for good measure.

“All right, you two, get a room.” Matt said while wrapping his arms around Alicia, who giggled as he pressed his mouth against her neck.

“Look who’s talking, you horndogs! Let’s get this game going.” Alan was pacing back and forth with nervous energy.

“Aw, you’re just excited that Erin will be chasing you.” Matt said maliciously.

“Dude! What the hell?” Alan was not amused, having pined for Erin for the last semester but never quite having the courage to fess up to it. He looked at her nervously to see her reaction.

“And I might just catch you!” Erin said, digging her fingers into his ribs. Alan stifled a squeal as he convulsively pulled away but lent back into her.

“All right, all right, let’s get going, guys,” Brian said, jealousy rising in him. He tried to subdue a glare towards Alan.

“Okay, okay, I’ll start counting.” Erin leant over the gravestone designated as home base and began to count loudly.

As he started away, Alan glanced back at Erin and gazed at her shapely ass hoping he’d be fortunate enough to be closer to it later that night. As he turned and started for a mausoleum, he noticed Brian ducking behind the bush next to Erin. His own jealous twinge made him reconsider running so far but he snapped back to the game realizing she was already counting off eight. He let loose one last burst of speed heading straight for the mausoleum.

“Ghost in the graveyard, Alan!” Erin yelled, running after him.

With a horrible crunch, Alan stopped dead in his tracks having the wind knocked out of him and felt a terrible pain in his chest. He looked down to see his blood trickling down the iron fence he was now impaled upon. He couldn’t breathe and his vision was beginning to blur.

“Gotcha!” Erin said, pinching his butt.

Alan’s body convulsed at her touch but he couldn’t say a word. His mouth gaped like a fish, unable to draw breath, unable to find the strength to pull away from the spikes buried deep in his chest. Erin poked her head around his shoulder and screamed. Alan looked into her eyes pleadingly, then fell limp.

Alan saw himself hanging by the fence, his friends surrounding him. Matt sprinted off toward town. Erin and Alicia were in tears and Brian was peering at his chest from the other side of the fence now. He watched the ambulance arrive and the paramedics take his vitals, then shake their heads and eventually pull him from the fence with a sickening pop. He watched the police asking his friends questions and reprimanding them all for being out in a graveyard at night. Then he watched as Brian put his arm around Erin, trying to console her with an ever-so-subtle smirk on his face. He then saw Brian look back and forth around the graveyard to make sure no one was watching. Then Brian looked right at him as he drifted over the gravestones and mouthed the words “Ghost in the graveyard,” smiled, and then walked away.

“Did you have a good time this weekend?” Michelle asked, spinning her hair around her finger as she looked over at Ron.

“Yeah, of course I did. No TV, no phone, no work. What’s not to like?” Ron glanced over and smiled, then focused back on his driving. “I just wish this traffic would let up.”

“Well, I know you don’t usually like the camping thing, but wasn’t it a nice place?” She absently wiped sand from her feet and adjusted her toe ring.

“Yeah, it was fine. I’m more into it for the beach anyway.” He gave her a sidelong glance and winked. “Besides, a motel at this time of year would be way too expensive.”

“I just like sleeping outside. I get the best sleep when I’m just lying on the hard ground.” Michelle stretched her legs and put her feet up on the dashboard.

“Well, that part I’m not quite as… Crap!” Ron hit the brakes hard, locking the wheels and swerving to avoid the car in front of them. “What the hell!? Why is everyone stopped here? There are three friggin’ lanes!”

“Maybe there was an accident?” Michelle replied and sat up. She tried to peer around the SUV in front of them.

Ron rolled down his window and peered out to gain some perspective as to how long they might be sitting there. He was almost hit by a group of people running past, trying to get away from the source of the traffic jam. Some were screaming.

“What the hell!? Did you see that!?” He looked over to see Michelle’s ashen face agape at something up ahead. “What is it?”

“That man just got tackled by a bunch of people. It looks like they’re… eating him! Oh God!”

“What are you talk… aaagh!” Ron was suddenly pulled by the head through the open window by two people covered in bloody clothes. His screams pierced Michelle’s ears as she saw a gout of blood splatter across the windshield and into the car.

“No! RON!” She yelled as she tried to grasp his flailing legs to pull him back into the car. She heard a sickly pop as his head was removed, and his torso flopped back into the driver’s seat and slumped against her. She began to scream and noticed a mob of bloody figures had surrounded the car. The passenger window shattered and she felt hands grab her by the head and shoulders and pull her from the car. Mouths began to bite her neck, cheeks, shoulders, arms, and legs. She flailed and shrieked to no avail.

The sunlight began to fade and eventually she couldn’t hear the crunching and snapping of her own tendons.

Hours later, Michelle’s eyes opened, cloudy and unfocused. Her torso began to flop and a guttural sound emanated from her torn throat. There wasn’t enough muscle left for her to stand, and so the hunger forced her to squirm down the highway.