Horror Stories: A Macabre Collection Read online

  HORROR STORIES

  A Macabre Collection

  By Steve Wands

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  SMASHWORDS EDITION

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  Published by:

  Steve Wands on Smashwords

  Horror Stories (A Macabre Collection)

  Copyright © 2011 by Steve Wands

  Cover Design and Layout by Apparatus Revolution

  http://www.staydeadrev.com

  All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  Shashwords Edition License Notes

  This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author’s work.

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  Table of Contents

  From The Page

  Of Dust and Dirt

  The Seed

  The Beast

  Old Flames Burn Just the Same

  Shelter

  Traveling Terrors

  Tunnel Rats

  Hell Comes for the Hurried

  Kaleidoscope Eyes

  Versions

  TV Casualty

  The Last Broadcast

  The Car

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  From The Page

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  The walls oozed moisture. It dripped like sweat down the bowing walls, down to the well-worn and warped hardwood floors that creaked with every uneasy step. The windowsills screamed as the soft rotting wood gave way under pressure. Rats scurried through the walls, their thick ropey tails thumping along the sheetrock as wads of insulation stuck to their hairy hides.

  The whole house swayed in sync with the whipping winds of the escalating storm. Gutters overflowed with rain, dead tree limbs, and fallen leaves. The downspouts swelled like clogged veins in an old woman’s leg. The window shutters slapped against the siding, echoing the lightning.

  In the backyard, a tire swing spiraled by a rope tied around a large tree branch. The soft sounds of playful ghosts were kept secret by the roar of thunder overhead.

  I know this house. I’ve been here before… but this place doesn’t belong here. This is the house in my dreams… my nightmares… It doesn’t make any sense.

  The paint is peeling, cracked, and sagging like skin in some spots. The front door is open, hanging by a single screw in a rusty hinge. Mold has taken over the front porch and the cement steps have weathered into jagged chunks of rock.

  Something wants me here. Is it the house? How did it get here? Why me? Why now?

  A light on the porch flickered on. The door began to bang against the wall, calling her to come inside. She went.

  She stood in the doorway, half in, and half out. She stared at the fluttering insects that danced around the light. She stepped further inside. There was something familiar about the place to her but she couldn’t put her finger on it.

  “Hello,” she said. “Anyone home?”

  There was no answer, only the sound of the storm, and the rats. There was a sketchbook lying in the middle of the hall with a pencil next to it.

  I remember now. I know why I remember this place. I drew this… I made this… but, I was only a kid. This isn’t possible.

  She sat down and opened the sketchbook. It was empty. The pages were crisp white, screaming for lines to be drawn on them, crying for a purpose. She picked up the pencil, examining the tip. When led struck paper the house creaked. She began to sketch furiously. The walls straightened but somehow appeared more menacing. Footsteps could be heard upstairs as she created the inhabitants. The rats squealed in terror as she drew them and then erased them.

  She would sketch well into the morning, filling the pages with the things that haunted her mind: the mutants and monsters, the nightmarish architecture, the killer cars and the creepy kids. The house moaned in delight.

  I have to do this. I have to get them out of my head. The world can deal with these horrors, I can’t. They can figure them out. They can stop them. Someone has to…

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  Of Dust and Dirt

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  He gagged and heaved, choking on the fetid remains of the dead piss-drenched rat that filled his mouth. The rat’s stiff hairs prickled at his gums and irritated the roof of his mouth. Every time he began to throw-up, his vomit either erupted out of his nose or was chewed back down so that he could breathe. The same duct tape that wrapped around his mouth, head, and ankles, rendering him useless, bound his hands. He could hear feet shuffling on the ground, walking around him. He heaved again, the stiff rat-tail felt like a tendril of sandpaper on his tongue.

  He knew there were at least two people doing this to him and why he didn’t know. Mistaken identity he hoped, but knew deep down in his queasy-sick stomach that it was most likely for fun. People did the damnedest things just to make the ten o’clock news nowadays. All he wanted to know was why, and to know if he’d ever live to never tell anyone about the things they did to him. Now he waited, listening to the footsteps around him, waiting for what horrible act they would perform next. Were they recording this? Was that what this person was doing walking around him? Then he heard a door open and a man’s voice yelling.

  “Get up here! Leave the little piggy alone till later,” the man’s voice roared.

  He heard the set of feet skitter away. Too light to be another man—a woman, he decided, lovers from hell, he guessed. All he could do was gag, tasting the filth in his mouth, and wait till later.

  “I told you not to go down there alone.”

  “I’m sorry…I didn’t think it mattered.”

  “Well it does, do it again, and that’ll be you down there. You don’t want that do you?”

  She shook her head slowly from side to side, staring into the man’s baby-blue eyes making certain he knew she didn’t want that to be her down there in the dark.

  “Good, then. Listen, I got to run out for a bit. You just keep an eye on things till I get back and don’t go down there. Let the piggy play with his pet, okay?”

  “Okay, whatever.”

  The man left, grabbing a set of keys on his way out the door. He walked out into the sunshine. It was a beautiful warm day. The kind of day fit for a trip to the beach, but the man, Jerry, wasn’t dressed for the beach, nor did he aim to go there. Jerry was on his way to Club 18, the local gentleman’s club, which was full of anything but gentlemen. It was barely four in the afternoon, and Club 18 would be nice and empty for a bit.

  Jerry reached into his glove box and pulled out a flask. The flask had seen plenty of action, its surface scratched and dented, but its innards full of warm whiskey that went down as smooth as spit. By the time he reached Club 18 the flask was empty and his dick was getting hard. The club had a reputation for finding th
e youngest, stupidest girls around and turning them into perfect little whores both onstage and off. Jerry came for both. He worked himself up watching them, even though he already knew whom he came for. By now he had his favorites and knew their schedules. He was, after all, a favored regular with the owner and the whores alike—he paid well and he paid often. So what if he was rough? So what if he was an asshole? He paid in cash and he kept coming back. He might as well have been Jesus H. Christ to them all. He sure as shit acted like it when he strode in.

  Today was different, though. He came with a purpose more important than his pecker, though he’d get that taken care of as well. Today he would set up his next little plaything. He tired of the man downstairs. How much more could he take, he wondered. And he wasn’t keen on men, but when a piggy presented itself for play, who was he to say no?

  Her name was Red, and for good reason: she dressed up like Little Red Riding Hood—the sexy adult version—and had reddish hair the color of fallen leaves. Her skin was pale and freckled, toned and tight, flexible and smooth to the touch. He wanted her bad. Almost so far as to keep her all to his self, but that wasn’t right, he figured. He found his way to his usual spot near the stage, between the entrance curtain and the stripper’s pole. How he wished the strippers spun around a blade instead a dull cylinder. His pocket was full of singles and they were burning a hole.

  The music clambered on and a new dancer took the stage, as the previous one picked up her clothes and headed off. He didn’t know her name and didn’t give a good Goddamn. She was a fiery-hot brunette dressed up like a businesswoman in a tight black suit and skirt. Her hair was tied tight in a ponytail and her dark brown eyes glistened behind a pair of fake glasses. She carried a clipboard and strutted on a pair of high heels that were downright deadly. Jerry couldn’t help but smile, and clap, and throw down a pair of singles. Whether it was the whiskey in his belly or the scent of pussy in the air, Jerry automatically put her on the list of candidates for the next open slot in the take-all-you-can-until-you-die-or-I-get-sick-of-looking-at-you reality show filmed right in his very own basement. She’d have to take a number and get in line of course. The DJ faded his usual dance music-bullshit into some classic Ozzy Osbourne and Jerry felt right at home.

  Jerry sat through another two dancers before his girl took the stage. Red had to be the youngest of them all, probably not even eighteen, but fit to dance and damned if she didn’t. He wished her hair was streaked with blood and pulled taught in his fist. Her eyes were wide and surrounded by dark, thick eyeliner that almost appeared to be streaked by nervous tears. Dance, bitch, he said to himself. Dance for daddy. Let’s see what you can do today. The DJ was back into his dance music-bullshit but Jerry didn’t care. The heavy bass synced perfectly to his throbbing member and the rhythmic thrusts of her hips. It looked like she was fucking the air beneath her. She shed the top of her dirty little red riding hood outfit, exposing her supple natural breasts. Her nipples were standing erect and he longed to tear them off with his teeth and taste her warm blood. He figured it tasted like honey, how could it not? He watched in a daze as she bounced and bucked, stripped off the rest of her outfit and fucked the pole. She worked it up and down, extending one leg as high as her head and then spinning around with the other. She was magnificent, a real talent, a natural. The things he would make her do.

  She came around like she always did; a soft whisper in the ear, a sensual rub of the shoulder, and a kiss on the neck. Her scent alone made his dick ache. He didn’t need any convincing, but he loved the approach. He adored the ritual. He knew something of ritual and longed to show her his own. Soon, he thought, very soon.

  Twenty bucks bought him two minutes, but since they all knew him and knew he’d be back they let it go for twice that. She took it slow, cause that’s how he liked it. Too fast and he’d be asking for a hand job the first time around. The place was dead, there were four other old guys swooning over the dancer of the minute and the bouncer didn’t think twice about Jerry. They’d gotten to know each other and Jerry had yet to cause a scene, and even if he did, he was a regular, so it didn’t really matter. Frequency was as much a currency as cold hard cash.

  She rode him hard, burying his face into her sweet-smelling tits, rubbing glitter all over him. He licked her sweaty breasts and ribs and even though that was frowned upon Red was too dumb to care and no one else was watching.

  “Red,” he gasped, “want to make some real money?”

  She moaned, turning away from him and riding his cock with her ass, “of course. You know I love real money,” she giggled.

  “Good girl, that’s what I thought. You and me after hours…I’ll make it worth your time. Name your price,” he said, knowing he’d never have to pay up.

  “Price depends on what you want, sweetheart,” she said, sucking her finger.

  “Let’s just say everything,” he smiled.

  “A grand for the night, and you supply all the drinks and candy I can handle,” she rode him harder.

  “Done, and done,” he said.

  “I’m off Thursday, and don’t have to be in till late on Friday, and don’t say a word of this to anyone. I don’t want any of your friends coming in here asking for the whore of all whores, you get me?”

  “I got you,” he smiled, grabbing her hips, “and don’t worry, no one will ever know.”

  Time was up. He paid. She smiled. And they left the private corner as if they were a couple. She walked him back to his seat and she went to the back to refresh for round two. He stuck around for a few more dances and another lap dance from a different girl then split. He was eager to get back home and the put the piggy to rest. He wanted the place nice and fresh for his little red cock-riding bitch.

  When he got back home he noticed she was downstairs again, playing with the piggy. Damn it, he thought, can’t she ever listen? He went down the stairs, his feet hit the steps heavy and served as a warning that he was not pleased.

  “Kate, what the fuck are you doing down here? I thought I told you not to come down here unless I say so?”

  “You did, but he got his tape loose. He freed his hand and ripped off the tape from his mouth—see, look, there’s the rat. He spit it out and I heard him moving around, trying to get out the window. So, I stopped him.”

  “That’s good sweetheart. Real good, I thought I was going to have to hurt you real bad this time. And you know I don’t want that. I hate to see you hurt.”

  “I know,” Kate said.

  “But we got to put this piggy to sleep now, and clean up the place. We’re gonna have a new piggy soon, a really pretty piggy,”

  “Prettier than me?”

  “You know that’s not possible, sweetheart.”

  “Let’s see what this son of a bitch can take, now,” he grinned.

  She looked excited. They left the man alone in the basement for a day with the rat without hurting him. They wanted him to heal up a bit. To heal for this…

  Jerry grabbed a screwdriver, and Kate grabbed a box cutter. They poked and prodded the man, who writhed along the cold basement ground. He knew he was a dead man, so he prayed through muffled mouth and asked God to watch over his family. To be there for his little girl and to watch over her, because he wouldn’t be able to do so anymore. He wanted to tell his wife how much he loved her, how much he loved their life and how he wanted to start trying for a son again. But instead he felt the dull pain of a screwdriver pierce his shoulder and strike bone, sending rockets of pain shooting through his body. Then she began to slash him across his face with the box cutter, cutting his lip, his eye, and his ear. He squirmed in agony. She kicked him. He spat on him. They laughed.

  “This is great,” she said.

  He didn’t respond. His eyes were wild and he was beginning to drool. This wasn’t great; it was the best, better than all the women and drugs in the world. He was death incarnate. He plunged the screwdriver into the man’s throat, twisting it as if tightening a screw. He bled out and Jerry le
ft her to clean up the mess. He needed a nap.

  Though she was able to clean up the mess, the body was too heavy for her to move and Jerry would have to do that. She didn’t want to bother him till he was done with his nap, so she just sat there in the man’s blood, petting him like a stuffed animal. His blood was sticky to the touch and before too long she tired of its feel on her fingers.

  By the time Thursday rolled around the basement looked as clean as it ever did. Jerry walked around as happy as could be, not a care in the world. He shaved, brushed his teeth, and even took a shower. Which was something he didn’t do unless he had to. Kate went off to school and would be back long before it was time for him to party so, he took advantage of the solitude. He strutted around naked, sang terribly out of tune, and even gave way to bouts of laughter. He called a guy he knew that could score him some coke. He knew he needed a lot, strippers tended hit the stuff pretty heavy, and he wanted to make sure things went smoothly…at least for the first few hours, until he revealed to her his true self.

  When Kate came home from school Jerry was asleep on the couch. He had a few empty beer cans scattered on the ground and she stepped on them until he woke up from the tinny, crinkly noise.

  “Home so soon, sweetie?”

  “Duh, Daddy, school’s over, now,” she said.

  “I guess so. Don’t you have any friends to hang out with?”

  “I thought you didn’t want me to make friends?”

  “That’s right, but when do you ever listen to me?”

  “All the time, don’t be silly,” she walked away.

  “Go do your homework.”

  “Where do you think I’m going?”

  “To the basement if you keep giving me lip.”

  She didn’t respond and went upstairs to her room to do her homework. Jerry closed his eyes and went back to sleep.

  Hours later, Kate woke him up once again. “Get up, it’s late. You’ve been sleeping all day,” she whined.

  “I’m up…just resting my eyes,” he said, lifting his head up.

  “When are you bringing home my new mommy?”

  “Soon. But you can’t play with her till tomorrow when you get home from school, understood?”