MicroHorror

There is no reason to lie. I killed him. I took his throat between my fingers and squeezed until the life slowly expelled from his body. And then I laughed. I laughed until my face hurt and I could laugh no more.

It happened so fast I barely knew what happened. One moment he was standing there glaring at me with his large blue eyes, and the next moment I was standing over him with my fingers dug into his esophagus.

He coughed and sputtered and tried to escape, but it was no use. I watched with strange satisfaction as those bright eyes became glassy and dark. And then I started laughing. He was finally dead.

Now I am the only voice inside my master’s head.

Darkness pooled through the small windows and spilled across the dusty basement, knitting a complex tapestry of shadow that crawled across the cold cement walls.

Richard Lang swallowed hard, feeling the sweat slide down his forehead. His wrists were fastened with cold steel handcuffs, and several layers of duct tape bound his legs. No matter how hard he tried, he could not free himself from the cruel restraints.

How did he end up here in the first place?

Richard tried to calm himself and focus, but the darkness was too overpowering. He had been sitting inside this dusty little basement for about three hours now. But he was not alone. He could feel something watching him from the shadows, studying him like a laboratory specimen.

Richard grimaced. The handcuffs bit into his flesh and drew a river of blood from his wrist. Thick crimson fluid seeped down his fingers and created a pool on the filthy cement floor. He could hear voices emanate from the darkness.

“What the hell is going on here?” he demanded.

The voices dissipated suddenly.

“Who are you people, and why are you keeping me here?”

Richard waited.

“I know my rights. You can’t keep me here without my consent. I demand to know why I’m here.”

The basement became still as a tomb. Richard glared through the rippling darkness. He could have sworn that he heard a childlike giggle waft from the paranormal night.

“Answer my questions, dammit!”

Despite his commanding words, Richard’s voice quivered with fear. He could definitely feel a strange presence inside the room. The only thing that terrified him more than the darkness was the beings that infested the darkness.

“Do you really want to know why you’re here, Mr. Lang?”

The voice was high and nasal.

Richard felt his hair stand on end. Something about the voice was wrong… not human. He could see vague forms scuttling about in the darkness, jumping here and there with unearthly speed.

A dim sixty-watt light bulb flickered on the ceiling, revealing an odd-looking metal machine. Two large prongs protruded from the front, and countless wires fastened into the mechanical beast. It looked like some bizarre prototype Flash Gordon ray gun.

“What the hell is that thing?”

“It’s an advanced physiological transmutation device.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

Richard struggled to break free. The duct tape constricted blood flow to his feet, and made it feel like a thousand pins were jabbing into his toes. He resisted the urge to scream for help.

“That means we will make you into one of us.”

Richard peered into the frothy shadows. The soft light fell across his sinister counterpart, and Richard gasped. His heart skipped a beat. The thing that stepped out of the darkness was not human at all.

It was a giant rat.

Richard screamed and wrestled desperately to escape, but the bonds were too tight. His eyes flashed with horror as the giant creature stepped toward him, walking on its hind legs and donning a neat Italian suit.

“Let me out of this madhouse!” Richard cried.

“Now, don’t worry,” the rat urged. “This will all be over soon.”

The machine started to hum, and a glistening blue plasma coil shot from the metal prongs. Richard’s shriek of horror died in his throat as the burst of electricity enveloped his body. He could feel his internal organs burst into mush, and then everything was over.

When Richard awoke two hours later, his head ached and the room was bathed in darkness. Every nerve in his body burned like fire, from his head down to his toes. He felt like hell.

He reached down to massage his sore wrists. Except he no longer possessed two human hands. His palms were covered with coarse gray hair, and jagged claws extended from his fingertips.

Something was definitely not right.

The world-famous psychologist Dr. Fredrick Brenner stood in his apartment and looked over the dark street outside. Wind whistled through the broken storefront windows, and streetlights cast a rippling yellow glow across the rain-smattered sidewalks.

“Damn Seattle weather.”

Dr. Brenner strode across the tattered Victorian carpet and tried to ignore the shadows that flitted across the crumbling white walls. He was deathly tired but he knew that he couldn’t fall asleep. If he fell asleep, the imp would return.

“Damn single-star hotel.”

He glanced about the room warily. Aside from a single filthy cot pushed against the far wall, the apartment was completely empty. He noticed that the bathroom door hung crooked on its hinges, and he could smell strong industrial strength cleaning fluid in the air.

“Damn lazy-ass landlord.”

Brenner released an agitated sigh and lapsed back onto the creaky cot. The springs were stiff and poked into his back, but it still felt good beneath his weary muscles. He hadn’t slept for almost three days and the psychological stress was beginning to play games with his mind.

Every night Brenner awoke with the sallow little imp beside his bed. And every night he tried to escape from the malicious little demon, without any success.

No one really understood what it was like to struggle with inner demons. That was why Brenner decided to study psychology in college; he wanted to help those people who suffered from similar psychological problems. It gave him a sense of purpose among such a harsh and trivial world.

Suddenly Brenner froze. He heard a sound behind him, originating from the repulsive little lavatory. Darkness cloaked the apartment, creating an invisible barrier between the doctor and his uninvited guest.

The imp had returned.

Brenner sat up and stared into the oppressive darkness. A repulsive, earthen odor crept into his nostrils. The scent beckoned a thousand vivid nightmares into his weary head. He could see a pale figure standing in the shadows.

“Welcome back, Dr. Brenner.”

“What do you want with me?”

“You know exactly what I want.”

“I know you aren’t real. You’re just a figment of my imagination. You can’t hurt me.”

The sallow-skinned little imp released a melodic, child-like laugh. His black eyes flashed with malicious contempt, and his long skeletal fingers traced intricate patterns through the air.

“Don’t be so certain, doctor.”

The imp leapt toward Brenner with claws extended. The doctor screamed and tumbled backward onto the floor, wrestling with the hairless little demon. He felt the sharp talons dig into his head, and then a sharp pain resonated throughout his skull.

The imp chortled merrily and thrust his fist into Brenner’s brain. Blood and brain matter gushed from the open wound, spattering over the walls and seeping into the filthy carpet.

Brenner awoke with a scream. His clothes were disheveled, and the grimy old mattress was covered with sweat. The nightmare was over and the imp was gone. He must have fallen asleep when he lay down.

The doctor shook his head, running a hand through his oily brown hair. His head was throbbing. Suddenly his crown exploded. A slimy little creature emerged from the bubbling crimson mass, laughing and tossing bits of brain matter across the room. His eyes shone with delight.

“I want your brain, doctor! I want your brain!” it giggled.