MicroHorror

“Shh, there’s a croucher on the ceiling,” said Timmy, pulling the blanket up to his eyes, shivering.

Randy had been sleeping over at his good friend’s house since forever and he’d never seen him this shaky. There were stories passed in school about Billy and his crazy monsters but Randy never believed them. He thought it was all some sort of misplaced nightmare.

Timmy kept looking at the ceiling, sensitive to the touch. He jumped when Randy called his name.

There was a certain longing buried within Timmy’s eyes. He wanted to see something there but feared the unveiling. What if there was a monster? What if it wasn’t a dream?

“What’s a croucher?” asked Randy.

Timmy shook out of his stupor, shushing his friend.

“Timmy, what’s wrong?”

“He came a couple nights ago. I saw him there on the ceiling, crawling around and licking his ears. His eyes appear from time to time to see if I’ve fallen asleep but I never do,” whispered Timmy.

Randy started feeling anxious, looking around for movement. “I don’t see anything.”

“He’s not always there.”

“What does he want?”

Timmy shrugged, nibbling on his fingers. “I don’t know. He says he’ll kill anyone who gets near him. He likes that area over the door. That’s where he crouches and waits. I think he’s hungry.”

A passing car streamed light across the ceiling, illuminating what looked to be a sliding bulk in the far corner, retreating back to the darkness to remain hidden.

“He’s there,” said Timmy.

“I see him. Make him go away.”

Timmy shuddered, pulling the blanket over his head and praying. Randy joined him and listened, wishing he was home in his own bed.

There was a sharp thud above them and then a grinding wiggle.

“He’s close,” Randy said.

“I don’t want to look. You do it, Randy.”

“Okay.”

Randy slowly peeked above the hem of the bed sheet, struggling to see. He reached over to turn on the bedside lamp but it didn’t work. Timmy seized his arm.

“Something’s got me!”

An unseen force yanked Timmy from the bed by his feet, pulling him along the floor and up the walls. Timmy screamed, arms stretched out, disappearing into the darkness.

Before Randy could react, Timmy was gone.

“Timmy!” Randy shouted, dashing to the bedroom door. No matter how hard he twisted, the knob wouldn’t turn.

From outside in the hall, he heard Timmy’s voice, speaking steadily with a hint of fear like he had in bed–an apparitional memory.

He likes that area over the door. That’s where he crouches and waits.

Randy froze, paralyzed in fear. There was another slithering movement above him and then a strong hand grabbed his neck, pulling him to the ceiling.

He saw Timmy’s cold, lifeless face, jutting out from the darkness. His eyes were black and his teeth were pointed, grinding in anticipation. Like a lifting fog, his face began to change, reverting back to the same rough, jagged features of an unspeakable vermin from Hell. Its eyes started to glow, emitting heat like an oven burner.

“Sorry, Randy,” said Timmy, crawling out from under the bed and sliding beneath the sheets, covering himself so he wouldn’t have to watch.

Timmy was never taken. He was only the bait.

The creature’s mouth started to widen and the combined screams of a thousand lost children drowned out Randy’s own.

From beneath the sheets, Timmy covered his ears and started to pray.

I think he’s hungry.

• Copyright: © 2008 D. R. Dane

“You ready to end this?” said Sergeant Malcolm, voice elevated over the frantic wailing of those forgotten in the darkness–those loathsome creatures.

Only a handful of soldiers were left. They fought to keep the unspeakable things at bay, never succumbing to those awful shrieks or that odious smell. The beasts wanted in. Malcolm and his defenders sought refuge on an abandoned hill, the only remaining piece of land unoccupied by the demonic force because it constantly remained in light.

The monsters couldn’t exist in light. The light made them scream. They charged up the hill, their crimson eyes glowing as they neared, deriving strength from the humans and attempting to take their form. Some of them stood up in a bipedal posture, attempting to learn their language and enticing Malcolm to leave his defenses. They mimicked everything, feeding on their memories. The men struggled to resist, never venturing out too far to be taken.

“We only got one shot at this so let’s make it work,” said Malcolm, lining up his remaining men, six altogether.

“Sir, we’re running low on ammo,” said Wilson, his second in command.

“They’re running low on strength. So we’re even,” said Malcolm, handing out the last remaining cartridges to his men. “Keep them back.”

Several creatures lunged for the light, shying away at the gun fire and reverting back to an insectile state, crawling away into the cracks to die from malnourishment. These men were more than just defenders, they were their way inside. They were the keys to mankind. The beasts couldn’t live without them.

The monsters circled, looming beyond the light’s border, trying to lure the soldiers past its safety. Edgar Morris, the Sarge’s longtime friend and recent victim of the demons, lurched in the darkness. His voice was unmistakable.

“Malcolm, my friend, I need you. Don’t let me die here. I can’t go to Hell with them.”

Malcolm raised his gun, aiming for his old friend’s forehead and then thinking better of it, saving the bullet. “Go away, Eddie.”

“I need help, Malcolm. They’re eating me.”

“Sarge, don’t look at him,” said Wilson, firing the last of his extra shots and loading his final magazine. “He’s dead.”

“No,” said Edgar, voice hoarse and echoic. “No one dies here. Here you live forever.”

“Get ready, boys,” said Malcolm.

They assented, lining up strong beside their leader and cocking their weapons.

“Stay with me,” Malcolm said, looking away from Edgar. “These things belong in Hell. See that they get there.”

“Yeah!” they shouted. “Send them back! Send them back!”

“No,” whined Edgar, coming closer to the light and losing his shape. “We can live here. I need you, Malcolm. We all need you!”

Malcolm looked at his men. Every single eye staring back showed fear but also unfailing determination. They were loyal to the end. The demons, sensing their demise, began screaming, enveloping them with an ear-shattering cacophony. It was hard to speak over it but Malcolm managed.

“Send them to Hell!” he shouted. “Send them all to Hell!”

They raised their rifles. The demons wailed. Edgar Morris pleaded. Malcolm didn’t relent. Hell was back the way they came. Hell was darkness. Hell never reached the light.

“Ready,” Malcolm shouted. “Aim!”

Each soldier placed the barrel into his own mouth.

“Fiah!” shouted Malcolm, unable to enunciate properly with his mouth full of his own gun, and they all squeezed the trigger, ending their lives.

The monsters roared their disapproval, slinking away from the mountain of light and dispersing. Edgar Morris dissipated into nothingness, lost forever. They’d have to find a new way in. The defenders were dead. No one left to hear them. No one left to see them.

Who’d buy their BS now?

• Copyright: © 2008 D. R. Dane

“The Goolah are coming,” said the red-haired boy in the furthest cell.

Amanda Everett was the latest abducted and she wasn’t quite familiar with the protocol yet. She had barely learned everyone’s name.

The red-haired boy was named Colin. The boy next to her, the one who talked to her, was named Billy. The girl to the left was Sarah. She was always huddled somewhere in her cell, crying. She barely did anything else. Her scattered snivels were the only way to tell she was still alive in there.

“What do we do?” Amanda asked.

“You don’t know yet?” said Colin incredulously.

Billy shushed him and crept to the back of his cell, rocking with his knees pressed against his chest.

“You do whatever they want,” he said. “Or they’ll eat you.”

“What?”

“That’s right,” said Colin. “The girl that used to be in your cell got eaten last week. They ate her right up because she didn’t let them touch her eyes.”

Amanda shivered, watching the corridor for movement, listening for the heavy, slithering footfalls that were the sound of the Goolah.

“Just relax. They eat you when you show fear,” said Billy.

Sarah sat up and dried her eyes, fixing her hair and adjusting her polka-dot dress. She was obviously experienced in the procedure, looking placated and serene. She sat Indian-style and interlocked her fingers, straightening her posture like a student in Catholic school.

“Should I do that?” Amanda asked Billy.

He adamantly shook his head. “No. They like you when you do your own thing.”

“Be quiet,” said Colin. “Here they come.”

A thrash of a heavy bolt releasing and then a slithery wiggle sounded at the landing of the concrete steps leading in from the dark hallway. Two Goolahs loomed into view. Their bodies were plump and jagged. They looked invertebrate with a heaving thorax and slimy pinchers protruding from their mouths. Their innards glowed when they approached the children, signifying stimulation, and they eagerly fluttered their claws.

A guttural scraping noise emitted before they managed to formulate words, sounding low and colubrine.

“I want to touch your face,” they said to Billy, stretching a tentacle into his cell and gracing his chin.

Billy seemed willing, sitting stiff until they were through.

“Look at this one,” said one Goolah to the other, stopping before Amanda’s cell. She whimpered.

“I want to touch her face,” said the same one that touched Billy, reaching in and caressing her.

“I want to poke her eyes,” said the other, marveling at how blue they were.

Amanda conceded but cringed and ducked away when its tentacle burned her eye. The Goolah recoiled and started screaming, flailing their tentacles and claws around in a frenzied display.

Amanda’s froze, scared stiff. Billy ruefully looked at her and then lowered his head, covering his ears. Colin and Sarah did the same.

“Get her!” said one Goolah.

“Let’s eat her little face!”

“Let’s chew those little ears!”

Her cell door flew open and they reached in to grab her. Amanda screamed, imploring Billy to help her but he was stationary, hunched in the same position, never looking up.

“Get her!”

Amanda screamed and kicked at their tentacles, holding onto the bars and begging them to leave her alone.

“Pull her out!”

The Goolah were too powerful and Amanda was eventually ripped from her cell and dragged down the corridor, just like the girl a week earlier. The Goolah jiggled down around her and shuddered with anticipation, loving her pretty blue eyes.

“Help me!” she screamed, her words fading away in the distance.

The remaining children never looked up until she was gone. Sarah couldn’t stop crying.

• Copyright: © 2008 D. R. Dane

“Jerry, look at this,” said Carlos, sliding his chair closer to the keyboard and isolating the feed onto the larger screen. “Check out elevator four.”

He and Jerry hadn’t been working at the Dormount Hotel long but they had thought they’d seen everything until a man and a woman, formally dressed, started having sex in one of their monitored elevators.

Jerry came over as the man was slipping her silk scarf past her shoulders and then started sensuously kissing her neck. She moaned and squirmed under his touch, appreciating the forwardness but wanting to reciprocate, pulling head back and kissing him deeply.

“What are we watching here?” Jerry asked, looking uncomfortable.

Carlos laughed.

“What floor are they on?”

Carlos looked at the security console and tittered at the flashing signal on the screen. “They were headed to twelve but he pushed the emergency button.”

“Are you kidding me?”

Carlos shook his head.

On the screen, the man had resumed control of the situation, removing her dress and leading her to the ground. Her legs, adorned in black patent leather pumps, craned around his back and locked, ruffling his hair from underneath.

“Cool, huh?”

Jeff sighed, grabbing the override keys and his radio from the corner desk. “I’m heading up to twelve. I’ll override the emergency button when I get up there. Monitor them from here. These two want a thrill, I’ll give them one.”

“Need help?”

Jeff smirked. “No. Just stay here and watch them. And don’t enjoy it too much.”

Carlos nodded and returned to the screen.

Jeff took the service stairs to the twelfth floor and immediately traversed the main corridor of rooms to the bank of elevators, stopping before elevator four. Jeff saw that the elevator was still stuck on level five. As a formality, he picked up his radio.

“They still there?”

The unsteady, arrhythmic crackling of static returned. He asked again, enunciating thoroughly.

Another wave of static and then a “Yeah” seeped through.

He walked over to the security console and inserted the override key, resetting the emergency switch and watching as the floor indicator began to climb, signaling the elevator was in motion.

A fuzzy call came over the radio, sounding abrupt and panicky. Carlos was yelling, “Wait!”

He furrowed his brow and pocketed the keys, waiting for the elevator to reach him. “Come again, Carlos,” he said.

Another wave of static and then, “Get out of there!”

The elevator continued to climb, nearing the eighth floor and rising.

“What’s going on?” Jeff asked, a little uneasy.

Nothing but the distressing crackle of static returned and he thought about grabbing the courtesy phone near the vending area until Carlos came back, clear of static like he had moved to an area with better reception.

“Get out of there, man!”

“Why? What’s going on?”

“When you kicked on the elevator, the man noticed and stood up.”

“So? Good.”

“No, it’s not. The girl stayed down. I zoomed in and it turns out that he wasn’t screwing her, he was eating her!”

The elevator chime dinged and slowly the doors parted. A fresh pool of golden light bled onto the carpet. Jeff slowly turned around and saw the man from the security monitor, eyes a luminous shade of burgundy with gobs of blood and severed entrails dribbling from his mouth.

“Get out of there!” repeated Carlos on the radio.

The man’s mouth widened, revealing a horrific row of barbed teeth, dripping with flesh. He licked them clean with a sinuous dab of a very lengthy tongue.

“I hate when a meal’s interrupted,” he said, eyes fading from burgundy to black. Jeff couldn’t move, petrified with fear.

“Jeff? Jeff?” Carlos called from the security room, receiving nothing but the resounding gurgle of static, intermingled with scattered screams.

• Copyright: © 2008 D. R. Dane

I never thought it would taste so good. Much better than that gelatinous slop my owners used to feed me. That was the kind of stuff that would make my nose hurt whenever I lowered it into my bowl. I would try to lick it off but would eventually tire and then ants would come later to pick at the hardened residue on my snout.

But I’ve found a new diet to keep. It started when a boy I knew since I was a pup came over to play with me in my yard. I was lying there, enjoying the afternoon scent and licking the grass from my coat when he came over. I was nervous at first. This was the same boy who has, in the past, thrown rocks at me, fired pellets at me, kicked me, slapped me, and then laughed at me.

He started to pet me, focusing behind my ears like I like and just when I started licking him to show my gratitude, I felt a sharp, tingling pain in my side and I yelped, jumping back and quickly tending to the area. I smelled singed hair and couldn’t stop twitching. The boy held some sort of handheld device that fired beams of blue hot lights when he pushed a button. I’ve seen one of those. It was called a stun gun. The boy laughed at me, throwing dirt in my face and then came closer to shock me again.

I backed away. He held out the gun and was trying to get my nose. I snarled and leapt on him, biting down as hard as I could, hearing his flesh rip and then feeling his warm blood spurt into my mouth. He screamed, dropped the stunner, and started hitting me, yelling at me to stop and trying to call others for help. I have to admit that I enjoyed the sight of him squirming under my bite, knowing I was causing him pain. It made me only want to bite harder. It was fun.

He yanked on my ears and tried to wrest me away. I growled, snapped at his face, barely missing, and then lunged at his throat, biting and yanking as hard as I could, pretending it was a hunk of genuine rawhide to ferociously gnaw like I used to. I remember hearing a sort of gasping, gurgling sound like his voice had become liquid. I tasted his flesh and quickly lapped up the spillage. It was so good. The boy’s fight quickly left him and he just laid there, eyes skyward and glassy, and let me chew at his throat. I would have kept eating if I didn’t hear a horrified scream nearby. Someone had spotted us and now I had to run. I ran as fast as I could, still tasting his blood and licking my chops hungrily as I crouched behind a large oak tree and waited for the people to stop looking for me. I eventually found the road and left my old neighborhood, often dreaming about returning and finding that same mutilated boy on my lawn like I left him, dead and tasty. That’s how I liked him.

The memory of his taste is getting to me now. I can’t help thinking about it and there’s not a person that passes me that I don’t envision in the same manner–a meal. As I sit here now, there’s a little boy staring at me, telling his older sister that he wants to pet me. She eventually relents and here he comes. I have no hostility toward him but I just can’t help myself. His touch is gentle, scratching behind my ears and smiling, calling me “Good Boy.” I like him, I want to lick him with gratitude but then I see his throat and start to growl. I sense his fear. Then I figure: what the hell? I’ll rip his throat out anyway!

• Copyright: © 2008 D. R. Dane

They’re everywhere, hiding in the darkness, staring back at me with those shiny eyes. I hear them prattling about the cement floor, scurrying on the film of dust and speaking their squeaky talk. They get braver each day. They used to be scared of me; now our roles are reversed. I hear them approach me when I lie to go to sleep, nibbling on my ankles, sniffing my flesh like they were preparing to take a bite. When I feel them, I scream, pressing hard up against my cell door and kicking at them. They used to scatter when I did that. Now, they just stare, somewhat amused by my antics. I used to think that was the reason they did it, to get a rise out of me. But now I know better. They’re after my feet!

Many times I have awoken and saw those little buggers nibbling on my skin, scratching their little claws up and down my heel, attempting to draw blood so they could finally taste my flesh. I pull my feet away and shout at them, ordering them to leave me alone but they just stare back from their corner of the darkness, those red eyes piercing through and sometimes tinting to a dark red whenever the moonlight crept through the crack in the ceiling. When it does, I can see how big they are. They’re scary in darkness but completely terrifying in light. The bigger ones appear to be a foot long and there must be a hundred of them, holding their own little commune within these bleak and dusty walls.

I hear them squeaking. I hear them plotting some sort of assault on my feet. They whittled through the outer layer of skin and nearly penetrated through last time. They know they’re getting closer and it excites them. They’re coming to finish their work.

I sit here in this corner, hopelessly searching for them, hearing them run across the cell floor like they’re testing the waters, braving new direction. They squeal loudly when they locate me, alerting the others to come. I kick at them, shout at them, punch at them. But they keep coming.

Last night I awoke to one of those little filthy buggers squirming inside my mouth, supping on my saliva. I bit down on him, hearing him squeal like I never had before and then spat him out, stomping him dead. They know I killed him, their eyes finding me in despair. Eyes almost inquisitorial like they’re surprised I reacted in such way. They don’t believe they’ve overstepped their boundaries.

And now, they’ll come for me, holding nothing back. They’ll feed not for sustenance but for revenge. I’m ready for them, sitting here clenching my fists and garnering what’s left of my strength since being thrown in this God-forsaken cell and seemingly forgotten. It’s just me and them. I’m ready. I see them over there. Those red, hungry eyes multiplying. That chorus of squeals. Those dim scratching sounds. They’re surrounding me. They stare at my feet. They move closer. They’re tired of waiting.

Come for me, boys. Come hard and come strong.

You nasty little buggers!

• Copyright: © 2008 D. R. Dane

Ray White was nearing the brink of paralysis. He had been swimming for days and his muscles had all but abandoned him. It had been three days since his boat sank from an inexplicable puncture in the stern and his hope to be rescued had diminished along with his strength.

His only chance was to remain afloat until spotted by a passing ship, conserving his energy until he saw the broadening lights creep over the horizon and hears that blissful air horn signaling that a drifter had been spotted. That was his plan. But unfortunately, he had to use his cached strength to evade the creature under the water.

He called it a creature because he had yet to see it. He only felt it, brushing against his kicking feet, testing his strength with a sharp fin swipe and circling predatorily, sizing him up. Ray couldn’t quite make out its size but he knew it was massive, lifting the water nearly thirty feet when it reached the surface, ducking back into the depths before completely showing itself.

It had been following him since his boat sank, usually coming at night. Ray constantly felt it swimming below, the displaced water suggesting movement, but in the black oblivion which is the ocean at night, he was absolutely blind below the surface of the water. He couldn’t see it. He had no idea what it was planning to do. There was a world under his feet, filled with various life forms and practices and none were known to him. He could barely swim under his own strength anymore.

As it was, whenever he tried to rest a little, the creature would brush and bump him awake, as if it knew and didn’t want him to rest. Rest would help replenish strength and it didn’t want that. It wanted him weak. It was saving him for something.

Ray just didn’t know what.

The answer came on the fourth night, when Ray saw a few more mounds rise in the water and similar movements slosh about and dive before emerging. The creature apparently had a family and was steering Ray’s drift in their direction so they could all sup in the bounty. Ray wouldn’t be surprised if this thing was the real reason his boat sank.

A thrashing water sound to his right and the sea lifted above him, dripping away along a massive, scaly frame with sharp yellow eyes, watching him with half its body still below water. For the first time, Ray was able to see it. He still didn’t know what it was. It was unlike anything he had ever seen or heard about and that was after a fulfilling life at sea.

Its kin swam closer and the big beast blinked and then abruptly immersed out of sight, swimming deep. The others circled, keeping a specific distance from their prey, awaiting the dinner bell.

Ray knew it was coming. His only thought was to peek below and see where the beast had gone, holding his breath and attempting to penetrate the dark abyss. He heard a roaring whoosh just before those bright, harrowing yellow eyes appeared surging toward him with a large, teeth-laden mouth widening as it reached him, large enough to swallow him whole.

But in this instance, it only wanted his head, ripping it off with one bite. Its family eagerly swam closer, tasting fresh blood in the calm sea.

• Copyright: © 2008 D. R. Dane