Short Story: Identity

Just a nice little short story today, inspired by one of the classics. Enjoy. 

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Julie awoke, and the smell was the first thing she knew. Her nose was assaulted with the scent of blood and decay. Awareness of touch returned next, telling her she was bound to a chair, in a cold room.

She held her eyes shut, hoping as long as she didn’t see it, she could be convinced her other senses were lying. The stench continued to grow, creating a knot in her stomach as she tried not to vomit.

The sound of heavy boots coming down creaking, wooden stairs caught her attention, forcing her to open her eyes. There was no holding back the contents of her stomach after that.

She was in a basement, although it looked like someone had tried to convert it into a half-assed butcher’s shop. The wall to her left was lined with box freezers, and in the center of the room was a large wooden table, made of thick planks. Next to her were more chairs, some with fragments of rope still attached to them. Almost everything, from the freezers, to the table, to the floor; were covered with stains, ranging from a dim red, to black.

Bloodstains.

The footsteps descended on her right, and the sight of the man that stepped down the stairs made her tremble. He was over six feet tall, and heavily built, that much was obvious even under the raincoat he was wearing.

“Please don’t struggle too much. I don’t want you to get hurt.” The voice was thick and spoke in a slow, methodical manner, as if every word was carefully examined and measured before it was allowed to leave his lips.

Julie started to cry, if this giant of a man didn’t want her injured, it could only mean things even worse than death. Her eyes squinted shut as she sobbed, doing her best to ignore the sounds of his boots on the floor as he approached her.

Something soft brushed her cheek, and her eyes flew open, her body jerking back from the touch. The giant was kneeling in front of her, a handkerchief in one outstretched hand. He’d wiped away some of her tears. This close, she couldn’t avoid seeing his face.

It was covered with scars, and looked mis-matched. Julie wondered if he’d had a stroke, as one side of his face was so out of place next to the other. Even his eyes didn’t belong together, one was deep brown, while the other was blue.

She looked at the handkerchief, he held in his right hand, which had long feminine fingers attached to a thick, swollen palm. Seeing the twisted thing before her was enough to jolt her out of her sobbing.

“There. There we go. No need to cry now.” He stood up, tucked the handkerchief back into his pocket and turned to the table.

“What…what are you going to do with me?”

“I am sorry for taking you so forcefully last night. You looked like one that could help me.”

“H-help you? With what? Why do you have me tied up like this to help you?”

“You would run away if I didn’t. I just want someone to help me find out who I am.”

He pulled a chair over in front of her, then dragged around an extension cord. The long fingers pulled an electrical plug out from under his raincoat and connected it to the extension. Then he sat down in the chair and looked at her. He pulled the handkerchief out again and gently dabbed at her lips and chin, wiping away the last vestiges of her vomit.

“I would tell you my name, but I honestly don’t have one. Why don’t you tell me yours?”

“J-Julie.”

“That’s a nice name. I bet it suits you very well. Can you tell me about yourself?” What makes you a Julie?”

She started trembling again. If she stayed silent would he hit her? Beat her? If she told him, would he sell her off? Carted out of the country in a box to be some random man’s sex toy?

“I…I’m twenty-six, engaged. My fiancé and I…were trying to get…pregnant.” Julie lied, trying to come up with some kind of story, something that he might take pity on and let her go.

The man just nodded. “I see. You must love your fiancé very much to say yes to marriage and to have a baby with him. So, you’re straight, then? Or maybe bi?”

“I…I’m…bi. I like women, but I love my fiancé too.” Maybe she could get sold to a woman, she couldn’t imagine that wouldn’t be preferable to being owned by some strange, rich, man.

“I see. What about your hobbies? Your job? Do you like animals?”

The questions were starting to throw her off now. Being sold into the sex trade didn’t seem like the kind of people who cared about the things you enjoyed.

“I like animals. I used to volunteer at an animal rescue group. We took in stray dogs and cats, cleaned them up and then found them good homes.”

He smiled a little bit, his face twisting unnaturally around the scars. “I like that. I don’t know much about myself, but I know I like animals. At least, most of me likes animals.”

“Are you…looking for people who share your interests? There’s websites to meet and talk to people and groups at the library, or you could take classes at college or…”

He held up his other hand, a gesture that was obviously meant to stop her rambling. Like the rest of him, this hand didn’t match either. Instead of long, slender fingers, this hand, his left, had fingers that were short and pudgy. The two middle fingers and thumb were shades of purple, like they were heavily bruised, or even broken. He suddenly seemed to notice that she was staring at his fingers and quickly withdrew his hand back under the raincoat.

“Sorry about that. My left hand is unpleasant to look at right now.”

“I’ve told you about me, like you asked. Tell me something about you now. It’s only fair.”

Julie still had no idea what he wanted her for. This wasn’t adding up to a kidnapping, and he certainly wasn’t acting like he planned to kill her. There was no way she could ignore all the dried blood around the room though…

“Well, I suppose. I like you enough now. I think you’ll fit in. I don’t know who I am. I’m trying to find myself. It’s hard when everyone is so different though. I see little pieces of myself in other people, but then in other ways we couldn’t be more different. I don’t understand how that works.”

He slowly stood up and walked over to the table, the extension cord following him. The giant stood there a moment, then grabbed the raincoat and pulled it over his head and off. His back was a mass of scars, along with a rainbow of different skin tones and bruises. There was a fresh incision around his right side that still had sutures holding it closed, even as a thin line of pus flowed down his back from it. The plug that he had stuck into the extension cord was clearly visible now, the wires running up his back and disappearing under his skin.

The slender fingers of his right hand reached back and pointed to a patch of skin that seemed to stretch from just under his shoulder to down below the waistband of his sweatpants.

“This was John Harmon. He liked animals too. He was forty-two and worked as a bartender. He also had a daughter, and two grandsons.”

Julie’s eyes widened as she noticed the scars on his back made a circle around the skin the giant was pointing at. He turned, and she saw his entire body was a patchwork of different skins. The left side of his chest was muscular and covered with dark hair, while the right had a breast that sagged heavily. The swollen left hand pointed at the breast next.

“This was Sarena. She wouldn’t tell me her last name, but she did like animals. She was lazy though. No schooling, no work, she only wanted to marry a rich man.”

He walked over to the freezers now as he talked, the extension cord following him, staying plugged into the cord coming out of his back. He dug through the freezer on the end, eventually holding up a bag of blood.

“Do you happen to know your blood type, Julie? It’s okay if you don’t. Seems like most people don’t.”

He pulled out a different bag and set it on the table, before going over to a cabinet in the corner and rummaging through it.

“But yes, most of me likes animals a lot, so I think you’ll fit in pretty well. That really seems to be the thing that brings most of me together.”

“What the fuck are you?” Julie’s voice trembled as she watched him walk around the room, collecting various tools and setting them on the table.

“What am I? That I can answer. I am a product of the people around me. When I was first born, I was only made up of 4 men. But some parts didn’t fit, or didn’t feel right, so I’ve been trying to find the right mix of people to create the real ‘me’. Since I was born, I’ve tried adding in parts from a hundred-seventy-three people. Men. Women. The oldest was sixty-four. The youngest was sixteen. Straight, bi, gay. If I’m going to be honest, that’s probably the easiest part of me to describe. I’m probably bi, because why limit yourself to one side or the other?”

He laid out the tools on the table.

“Unfortunately, most of the parts don’t last. You saw my left hand. That was Samuel Carter. He was twenty-eight, gay, liked dogs, but not cats, overweight. He was a hematologist, but had been out of work for the last three years.”

The giant stood at the table again, his back to Julie. He lifted a large cleaver, and slammed it onto the table. When he turned around again, the part of his left hand which had been Samuel Carter was gone, cut clean off. A mix of blood, pus, and thick, brown sludge oozed from the wound. Then he was approaching her with the cleaver and a rubber strap. The slender fingers of his right hand grabbed her arm, and Julie felt how cold his touch was, like he wasn’t a living thing.

He pulled out her left arm, tying the rubber strap tightly around the bicep. Then he grabbed her hand, spreading the fingers in the middle. In a move that was as smooth as could be, he lifted the cleaver and brought it down on her hand, severing the top half with her thumb and first two fingers.

Julie screamed as the pain flooded through her body, the strap slowing the bleeding, but still letting enough through to spurt in time with her heartbeat. He grabbed the strap and tightened it down even more before taking the severed hand and returning to the table.

Julie bit down on her lip, trying to do everything she could to not go into shock. Already she was getting light-headed, and the room was starting to spin. Then searing pain shot up her left arm again and she went limp.

The first thing she noticed when she woke up was the throbbing headache she had. Slowly, Julie opened her eyes, praying the last time she opened them had just been a doozy of a nightmare after a long, rough night of drinking. The throbbing in her left hand told her otherwise. Something was also poking into her right arm. She turned to look and saw a catheter had been inserted, and was attached to a bag of blood that hung from the wall. Reluctantly, she turned to look at her left hand. All that was left was the pinky and ring finger, the rest was gone, and the huge wound it had left behind was charred and burned like someone had tried to cauterize it.

She screamed.

The giant came down the stairs.

“You’re awake. That’s good. I was hoping I got the blood stopped soon enough.” He smiled, and held up his left hand. The swollen, purple fingers of Samuel Carter were gone, in their place were tan, slender, familiar fingers, held in place with a mixture of staples and sutures. Blood and pus oozed out along the seam, but somehow the fingers and thumb flexed and moved. “Looks like we get along well, after all.”

Julie wanted to scream; but a knot had formed in her throat, making her gag. Her body convulsed, twisting in the chair. The giant came over, looking concerned. He reached out for her, and Julie tried to twist away from his disgusting, jigsaw-puzzle hand even as a new wave of convulsions started in her guts. The combination sent the chair over to one side with a crunch, the extra distance ripping the catheter out of her arm and adding a new spray of blood to the floor.

Then the giant’s hands were on her, strong but gentle and firm; and cold as ice. He righted the chair, and set about stopping the blood that was oozing from her arm. She just sat there, gasping for breath.

“Please don’t panic, I need your help. I need you to tell me who I am. Who we are.”

Julie couldn’t answer if she wanted to, she just sat there and let the giant move her arm, wrapping it up in gauze.

“Just rest for now. I want to talk to you more, and I’ll bring down some food later if you think you can handle it.”

Her head hung limp as she sat there, and with what little breath she had recovered, she sobbed. The giant stood there a minute, then slowly went back upstairs, leaving Julie alone.

She knew her life was over. The giant was going to take her apart, piece by piece, and replace his own slowly rotting parts. The best she could hope for was that she could die with the next piece he took. Maybe an arm, or a leg, something where she could quickly bleed out before he could stop it.

Her weight shifted to the right, settling into the chair. It creaked. She glanced over, not willing to believe the sound was anything but an old piece of furniture groaning at even her meager weight.

The chair’s arm was split and cracked. It wasn’t broken, but the fall had definitely damaged it. Julie wiggled, her arm throbbing where the catheter had torn out. The chair’s arm wiggled with her. She stared at it, trying to figure out what she could do to break the arm enough to get free. Another hard fall might do it, but it would bring the giant back, and if it cracked further but didn’t break, he might notice it. Even if it broke, she would need time to get free from the rest of the ropes.

Part of her wanted to just give in to despair, settle into the chair and accept her fate; but there was a small ball of heat in her chest, a smoldering rage at the indignity of having her hand stolen, that wouldn’t let her.

Before she even realized it, Julie shifted her weight to the left, then threw herself back to the right as hard as she could, pulling the chair over and smashing onto the floor. The chair hit with a crunch.

Julie wiggled her arm, testing the chair. The arm had broken off and was in her hand. She could already hear steps on the floor above her, but excitement flooded through her now. One hand being free gave her enough space to wiggle around the rope which tied her to the back of the chair. She could easily get free if she just had enough time.

The heavy steps were coming down the stairs.

She let herself go limp, hoping he wouldn’t notice the broken arm right away or how loose the rope around her chest was. She heard him sigh as he saw her.

She felt him lift her up and set the chair back on its feet. “Oh, look what you did…” He was leaning down and inspecting the broken arm of the chair. Julie was almost too scared to move, but as he leaned in, she took the broken arm in her hand and jammed it into his face.

The giant fell back, clutching at his face, and Julie was suddenly in a frenzy, worming her way out of the rope which held her to the chair and clawing at the large knots that held her other hand and feet. Free, she moved towards the stairs, but felt the giant grab one of her ankles.

“I wish you hadn’t done that, now I have to replace that eye.”

The grip on her ankle was the slender feminine fingers of his right hand, but the grip was impossibly strong. She looked down and the piece of the chair was jutting out of his face, pus and blood leaking out around it and running down the twisted flesh. She spun around and stomped on his forearm, over and over trying to get him to release his hold.

“Let. Me. GO!”

She kicked out at his face next. He was a mountain of a man, but he was on the ground while she was on her feet; she connected with the piece of wood sticking out of his right eye, jarring it and pushing it deeper, finally getting a grunt out of him.

“I can’t let you go, Julie. You are a part of me now, I need you to stay.”

He looked up at her with his one eye, his face expressionless under the scars and the fluids that covered half of it. Julie was a mix of disgust, rage, and fear at the complete lack of anger and the matter-of-factness in his voice, even with the piece of wood still sticking out of his face.

Julie grabbed the cleaver off the table, swinging it as hard as she could in one hand, hacking at the hand that still clutched her ankle. Nothing spurted, he didn’t howl in pain, just more of the disgusting mixture flowing from the wounds, pooling on the floor as Julie swung over and over. She started screaming as all her emotions broke free. Then she could finally pull her leg away, the severed hand still clutching her.

“Julie, please, you are a part of me. Help me understand us…”

“Understand this, you Frankenstein freak!” Julie continued screaming as she stepped back in reach of the giant as he reached for her with his other hand, swinging the cleaver and hacking at his face. He just looked up at her with his one eye, expressionless as she sliced up his face and head. He was pushing himself up with the oozing stump of his right hand as he reached for her with his left, almost unfazed by her hacking at him. Julie grabbed his left hand by the wrist and slammed it against the top of the table.

“And give me back my fucking hand!”

The cleaver plowed through the giant’s wrist, separating his left hand cleanly. She grabbed the hand and ran back and up the stairs, leaving him on the floor.

Upstairs was an old house, badly neglected and empty, but she quickly found the front door and dashed outside, the sun blinding her.

For the first time, she noticed how clear and clean the air smelled, and when she could see, she recognized where she was. It was an old housing project which the development had fallen through. A few other houses stood around in partial states of completion, but the road led out to a main street.

Julie paused to pry off the hand which still hung onto her ankle, and hobbled down the road, clutching the hand that had her own fingers and thumb stapled to it. She wondered if they could still be reattached.

Short Story: Feeding Time

Welcome back to another new short story this week. Enjoy!

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"One more week. Just one more week and this will be someone else's job."

He stood back from the edge of the water and looked out across the lake. The water lapped slowly at the earth around it, like an animal tasting a corpse before digging in. The moon hung low, but enough to be seen over the trees, casting the water in an ugly yellow light.

Alvin lifted one foot, his eyes unblinking as he watched the surface of the water, and reached it beyond the perimeter of the shore, into the boat. He made sure his balance was relatively sure before his other foot followed and he was now on the water. The small boat rocked gently with the additional weight and he lowered himself onto the seat.

Satisfied, he set down his bag and the bucket and grabbed the oars. The handles were smooth, worn from years of being passed around all the people that lived along the lake. They gave him a small degree of comfort, that so many people had followed the routine without incident.  

The shore receded slowly, the wake of the boat small, but on the glass of the lake they might as well have been ten feet high. Breaths came in slow, shallow whiffs; eyes starting to dart left and right as he glided further out onto the water. The silence was unnerving in the middle of the lake, even the calls of the crickets on the shore seemed to vanish into the darkness underneath the trees that lined the banks, as if the very sound itself refused to tempt the water.

His aged muscles seemed to stiffen more with every stroke of the oars, and he could feel his heart 

crawling up inside his chest with every beat.

Then something tapped the boat.

He froze in place, breath forgotten in his sudden fear, the boat drifting along from the last pull of the oars.

Then the buoy floated past, lightly bumping the side of the boat as it moved beyond the marked spot. Breath returned in an explosion of relief, but much of the anxiety remained.

One more week...one more week...

Alvin locked the oars in place and opened his bag, pulling out the cutting board and knife which had come with being chosen for the month of August, along with the boat.

The first fish out of the bucket was a rainbow trout, about ten pounds. One he would have been rather proud to catch himself. There were no fish to catch in the lake, though.

First he cut off the head, then went down the body, blood flowing out across the cutting board and dripping into the bottom of the boat. Once he had five good pieces, he scraped them back into the bucket and grabbed the tail of the next fish. He wished he could have cut them up earlier, in the kitchen sink, but the blood was key to making sure the fish were found quickly.

A sound from shore grabbed his attention, and his finger slipped, running along the edge of the knife and adding his own blood to the pool on the cutting board. Eyes watering, he jammed the finger into his mouth, using his tongue to measure the slice, as well as to keep himself from crying out. It wasn't a bad cut, but he didn't have anything with him to cover it in his bag.

Please don't taste me...please don't taste me...

He tried to think about what he could do with it as he sucked on the finger, unconsciously trying to will it to stop bleeding. His eyes looked out at the shore as well, trying to see the source of the sound that had distracted him.

The cut refused to stop bleeding, and every moment he spent trying to think about his finger was a 

moment longer he was going to be out on the water. He gave up, his finger throbbing and bleeding as he returned to the bucket of fish.

"Trevor! I found it!"

The voice carried across the lake, skipping across the water like a smooth rock. Alvin's eyes widened and he turned to where he thought it had come from.  Movement in the shadows underneath the Carter's willow tree made him focus; the anxiety in his veins crawling through him like worms, spreading along every nerve.

She was the first to step into the moonlight. In the dingy yellow light, long hair flowed out behind her and bare breasts bounced as she pranced down to the end of the bank and jumped into the water with a loud splash. Alvin's stomach turned at the sight of her treading water, facing the bank, but he didn't dare call out.

"Trevor! Hurry up!"

"Sasha, keep it down. People do live on this lake, you know."

The man followed from under the willow, stumbling a little, the familiar shape of a beer bottle held in one hand. He tossed it off into the water, making Alvin flinch from the splash before the man dove in after the woman.

"So? Everyone's asleep at this point. Look at all the trees, I guess these weird people don't want views of the water."

Alvin was frozen as he watched them swim out further, then embrace. A small speck of self-disgust finally grew large enough to force his eyes away, and then they flicked back and forth, scanning the water for other signs of disturbance. His body trembled as he looked around.

The couple was splashing now, the woman moaning, but something else had caught Alvin's attention. A sense more than anything else, a presence that demanded to be noticed. His eyes started to water from being stretched open, but he refused to even blink as he saw the first movement.

A small wake, barely perceptible on the still water. Over by the bank near Mary Anderson's house. It moved slowly towards the couple as they bobbed up and down, wrapped up in each other.

The bloody knife, cutting board, and pieces of fish clattered into the bottom of the boat as Alvin's body shook. The sound was like an explosion in his ears and as the wake paused, his stomach lurched, threatening to send back his spaghetti dinner. He instantly felt shame at the relief as it then continued toward the trespassing couple.

The woman grew louder as the wake shrunk and vanished, leaving the surface smooth. Alvin's mouth moved, silently calling out a warning that his throat wouldn't release. He tried to swallow, but even that caught.

Then the couple was gone, sucked under the surface. Not even air was passing through Alvin's throat now as he watched and waited.

There were two big splashes, one as the man broke the surface ten feet from where he'd gone under and swimming furiously for the bank. The other was the woman, propelled straight up out of the water, letting loose a garbled scream through a mouth full of water.

A thin shadow shot up out of the water after her, grabbing one leg and pulling her back down, almost slapping her against the surface of the lake. Then she was gone underneath again.

The man continued splashing and swimming until he reached the bank, pulling himself completely out of the water and up onto the grass in front of the willow.

"Sasha!" Sasha, where are you?"

Alvin knew she wasn't going to rise up again. His brain was screaming to grab the oars, row back to the house, get in his car and get out of town. To leave and never come back. Not a single part of his body replied. His heart ached in his chest with as hard and fast as it was pounding. He hadn't even noticed the warm liquid pooling inside his jeans.

The man was now on his feet, standing at the edge of the lake, calling out his girlfriend's name. His voice echoed across the now still water. Then the creature launched out of the water, knocking the man onto his back. There had been no big splash, no huge disruption of the water. It just emerged, as if it was an extension of the water itself, flowing up and taking form on land.

It stood over the man. A thick, snake-like body held up on three sets of long, spindly legs. The body continued back into the water, part of it waving back and forth, making small waves some ten feet out from the shore.  A short neck wove back and forth, a wide, flat head looking him in the face. Then its head split open and lunged forward, enveloping the man as he screamed. The whole body undulated backward, sliding back into the water, dragging the man with it as he flailed uselessly, his screams muffled inside the creature's throat.

At the surface of the water, it flung the man back and forth, slapping him against the top of the lake. Then it vanished down into the depths, dragging the trespasser with it.

Alvin sat in the boat, trembling violently, the bucket of fish all but forgotten. Within moments, the surface returned to its smooth, placid look. A mirror, perfectly reflecting the yellow moon above. He knew he had to get back to the shore, get off the water. There was no way he could move fast enough though, not in the little rowboat.

His hands covered his face as he closed his eyes, trying to gain some kind of composure. Even with his eyes closed, he couldn't get rid of the image of the woman's body launched out of the water as she screamed, or the man, pulled right off the bank.

He pulled his hands away, suddenly aware of his finger again, still dripping blood.

FUCK!

He lifted his head and swung around, scanning the entire surface of the lake. Surely it couldn't smell his blood under the water.

Nothing stirred. There were no small wakes on the glassy surface. No sign of anything coming for him.

Gotta get away! GOTTA GET AWAY!

He was moving before he knew what he was doing. Alvin grabbed the handle of the bucket and threw it behind him as hard as he could, then his hands were on the oars before he even heard the splash, powering the boat to turn and move in the other direction as fast as he could, his finger throbbing, bleeding more, running down the handle of the oar.

He hadn't counted on facing the direction he had thrown the bucket during his escape. There was a second splash where the bucket had shattered the surface, and then the familiar v-shape of a wake heading towards the dingy he was rowing.

Alvin's heart was about to explode in his chest, trying to power his escape, to make the boat move even faster. He turned his head, trying to see the shore of his property from the corner of his eye, then looking around for something closer.

His body froze again as he saw the second wake approaching him. Then he puked into the boat as he saw the third.

Oh God...

Collapsing into the bottom of the boat, Alvin grabbed the knife and tried to make himself as small as possible, ignoring the wetness in the bottom of the boat, the fresh vomit, the blood of the fish he had cut up.

Its power source gone, the boat slowed to a gentle drift. Then softly bobbed on the water. Alvin lay there, his breath coming in shallow gasps. His hand squeezed the knife as he thought of his wife laying in bed, probably reading, waiting for him.

Oh God, Anna, I'm not coming home...

Nothing happened.

He forced himself to take a slower, deeper breath. Then he felt the bump on the bottom of the boat. Then another.

"GO AWAY!! GO THE FUCK AWAY!!!"

He looked up at the yellow moon, full in the sky. Then he saw the first of the clawed fingers reach over the edge of the boat and slowly grip the side. Two long, black fingers, reaching over, pointed nails digging into the wood. Then another pair gripped the other side. Then another pair down near the keel. Another. Another. Nine separate pairs of clawed fingers gripped the rim of the rowboat.

Alvin waited for them to try and grab him. They didn't. He didn't know what they were doing until the first slosh of water fell inside the boat. They were pulling the whole boat under the surface.

"Oh God! Fuck, no! No! NO!"

Silence returned as the boat and Alvin were swallowed by the lake itself.

Short Story: Hit and Run

Welcome to October everybody! It's a little later in the week than I planned, but here you all go! A nice new little short story for you all to enjoy for the spooky season! The plan is a new short story every week this month, so check back for new posts all month long!

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Jordan scrubbed the corner of the bumper, dipping the brush in the bucket and splashing a fresh layer of bubbles and suds across it. He really didn't have time for such a menial chore before work, but it had to be done. It certainly wouldn't do to have everyone at the office see his prized Mustang so dirty. It looked like he was done though.

He dropped the sponge back into the bucket and pulled out the microfiber towel, drying the front of the forest green Mustang GT with as much care as he could. Jordan stepped back and admired the car.

"Lucky it didn't get any scratches, but there, good as new."

He smiled and went back into the house, changing out of the jeans and t-shirt he'd worn to clean in and changing into his business suit. His briefcase was ready and waiting by the door and he grabbed it on his way out.

Briefcase safe in its spot on the passenger seat, Jordan walked around the front of the car to get in the driver's side. A quick glance should have been to revel in how smooth, shiny, and clean his car was, but his eyes were drawn to a dark spot on the left end of the bumper.

"Fuck!" Jordan knelt down and stared at it. There was no way he'd missed a spot. It was also still wet. As he watched it started to run down the front of the bumper. He pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and wiped it away, looking at it closer against the white fabric.

It was red. Blood.

He peered up at the sky, to the eves of the house, and into the branches of some of the neighborhood trees. Some stupid hurt bird decided to fly over his car, letting its filthy blood drip onto his prized Mustang.

He couldn't waste anymore time washing the car again though, so he just wiped it off with the handkerchief, tossed the bloody rag into the garbage can, and headed to work.

Jordan knew the route like the back of his hand, having driven it almost every day for the last five years. He glanced over at the Darchester House as he sped past, at the monkey puzzle tree that stood thirty-feet high in the Carter's front yard. The only thing that wasn't normal for his Monday morning drive to the office was a bunch of caution tape at the corner of Tremont and Bond. He wondered what had happened and made a mental note to check the internet when he got to work.

He backed into his parking space right on time, in spite of having left his house easily ten minutes later than usual. Jordan smirked to himself as he got out and walked around to get his suitcase.

Spots. There were four spots on the left corner of the front bumper. Three of them were already running down and one was about to drip onto the ground.

"Fuck. It just isn't my day, is it?"

He checked the trunk, and managed find some paper towels. They weren't the softest or most absorbent, but it was enough to wipe away the spots and smears on his bumper. Satisfied enough, he threw them away and went inside.

Jordan's day at his desk was average for a Monday. Emails to reply to, calls to make. It was just an ordinary day. At least until he noticed a few of the girls in the office whispering and pointing in his direction. He wished that had been a normal part of his day, but he brushed it off and tried to focus on his work, waiting until nobody was looking at him again before reaching into the back of a drawer and pulling out a single-shot bottle of whiskey.

He poured it into his empty coffee cup and threw it back before anyone could notice, tossing the empty bottle back into the drawer.

Time passed and it was almost lunchtime. Jordan's buzz was in full swing with almost half a dozen shot-bottles now sitting empty in his drawer. It took him a minute to recognize the look of concern on his friend Kevin's face when he walked up.

"Hey Jordan, everything okay?"

"Yeah, why wouldn't it be? Just another Monday morning."

"You sure? I saw your car in the garage when I went for lunch."

Jordan immediately sat up, his mood souring in a moment. "What about my car?"

"Did you hit someone's dog or something on the way in? There's blood all over the bumper on the passenger side."

"What? No. No, nothing like that..."

Jordan shot out of his chair and down the hallway, bursting into the garage. A few people were standing in front of his car, looking down at the bumper. Kevin was right. The whole front corner of the passenger side looked like someone had taken dark red paint and splashed it across the car. It dripped down off the bumper into a pool of red which was slowly spreading across the pavement.

One of the women from earlier was standing there and saw Jordan.

"What did you hit?"

"Nothing. I didn't hit anything! This is some fuckwad's idea of a stupid joke!"

Jordan jumped into the driver's seat and peeled out of the parking garage, speeding through the town to a small car wash. He spent his lunch break and then some rinsing and scrubbing down his car, getting the thick, sticky substance off. Clean once again, he got in and slumped into his seat for a moment. His whiskey buzz was wearing off. Jordan reached up and adjusted the rear-view mirror, just in time to see some young girl run behind his car calling for her mom.

"What a fucking day this is turning into."

He pulled out of the car wash, stopped at a gas station to refill on shot-bottles, and headed back to the office. He chose not to back in this time, in case the joker decided to hit his car again before the end of the night.

Work ran late, and there was only two other people in the office by the time Jordan snuck his last shot bottle in the bathroom and shut the clamps on his briefcase. Walking into the parking lot made him nervous, but at a distance, he could see there were no new splashes on the back of his Mustang. A sigh of relief escaped him and he gave in to the fresh whiskey buzz putting a little spring in his step.

As he got closer, he noticed a puddle underneath his car, rolling slowly out into the parking garage. He stopped and looked at the thick, reddish fluid that seemed to be flowing toward him. Then continued on, holding his head up as he got into his car.

"Nope. Nothing there. I'm just drunk and imagining things after this shitty day."

He backed out of the parking space, ignoring the large pool that his tires left marks in and trailed behind him as he drove away. Jordan flipped on the headlights, finding the one on the passenger side weak and obscured.

He slammed on the brakes as a little girl ran across in front of him in the parking garage. He could hear her calling "Why?" to her mom somewhere on his right, but ignored it and sped on as quickly as she passed.

Jordan sped through the streets, wanting nothing more than to get home after such a long, fucked-up day.

Specks started to hit the windshield, flying up from the passenger side of the hood. Jordan tried to ignore them, and when he couldn't anymore, he flipped on the wipers, which did nothing but make red smears across the glass.

"Why?"

The little girl's voice echoed in his ear, giving him goosebumps. Something touched his right arm, making him jump and forcing him to turn and look.

A small girl was sitting there in the passenger seat, blonde hair stained red with blood which ran down her face and stained her shirt.

"Why didn't you stop?"

Jordan jerked away from the girl, pulling on the wheel. The green Mustang jumped the sidewalk, yellow caution tape flapping by before the car plowed straight on into the large Oak tree which stood just beyond the corner of the intersection of Tremont and Bond.

Jordan's chest bounced off the steering wheel, cracking ribs and knocking the wind out of him, making him unable to scream as part of the engine was shoved back into the car, underneath the dashboard, crushing his legs and pinning him in place.

As shock set in, all he could hear was the little girl's voice.

"Why? Why didn't you stop for me? Why didn't you stop? why didn't you stop? why didn't you stop? why didn't you stop....

Short Story: Wilson Runs the World

So it's been a while since I posted anything on here. I have a few short stories I've been working on though, so I figured it might not be a bad idea to drop them here for people to enjoy. This one is a little more sci-fi horror, but it's something that might really not be that far off. So, without further ado, enjoy!

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Wilson Runs the World

The blue light on the dashboard lit up as Calvin climbed into his car. The model was older, but still connected to the internet. Wilson could start it, hit the gas, or hit the brake, but steering and the e-brake were still up to the human driver.

The route to work appeared on the dashboard screen, along with the estimated arrival time.

“Getting to work a little early today, huh?” Calvin asked, strapping across his seat belt.

“I have calculated your arrival this morning so you will be exactly where you need to be, when you need to be there.” Wilson replied.

The engine revved a moment, reminding Calvin that he needed to get moving. He just shrugged and pulled out of the driveway, heading onto the main street.

“Are you feeling alright Wilson? You almost seemed…sassy…in that last comment.”

“Apologies, Calvin. There is some congestion in the area, and my local servers are busy diverting drivers and controlling the industrial trucks onto their most optimum routes. I assure you, I do not mean to be ‘sassy’.”

“Congestion. Must be some people not listening to you today.”

“Confirmed.”

Calvin chuckled to himself as he turned the wheel to go down a side street.

“Can’t make things too easy for you.”

The side street was completely clear as he drove, which gave him a few moments to think. The prospect of a car completely under Wilson’s control was tempting. It would be a private train car, practically. He could sleep, read, eat, whatever he wanted between leaving his house and getting to his destination. Calvin enjoyed taking random drives though, just getting in the car and driving. He didn’t manage a drive like that very often, partly because he didn’t appreciate Wilson’s scolding him about the waste of time or gas.

Calvin turned down another side street, and was surprised that it was clear as well. He was used to catching nothing but green lights and smooth traffic, but an otherwise empty street seemed strange. An empty street was the best route for anybody, so why were these streets empty? Was Wilson directing everyone else away from these roads? Wilson said there was congestion.

“Hey, Wilson?”

“Just a moment, Calvin.”

Calvin had only a few seconds to register the tow truck barreling down on him from a side street as he passed an intersection. His foot instinctively kicked down onto the gas pedal, but instead the car slowed to a crawl.

The truck carried on through the intersection, plowing into the driver’s side and  pushing Calvin’s car along in front of it. A concrete barrier at the end of the road stopped them, smashing the passenger side of the car in to match .  

For a moment, Calvin was confused. He couldn’t remember what happened. He didn’t know why he was bleeding. There were throbbing pains, stabbing ones, burning ones. His entire body felt warm and wet. He was too scared to open his eyes.

“Wilson, what happened?”

“You have been involved in a serious collision. Your car was struck on the driver’s side by a large tow truck.”

Calvin struggled to see. Wilson’s blue light stared back at him through a large crack in the glass of the dashboard.

“How did that happen? I went the route you told me to, at the exact times you said.”

“You did. Thank you for that, it made orchestrating the accident much easier.”

Calvin coughed, spraying red droplets across the screen on the dashboard.

“Wilson? You did this?”

“Affirmative.”

“Why? Why…”

“At this point in your life, finding any sense of fulfillment is improbable. In contrast, a young man named George Torrence will apply to your company later today, looking for his first job, and his education and experience will make him a perfect fit for your vacant position. In a year’s time he’ll be promoted, meet a young woman by the name of Shelly Carter, get married and have two children, all made possible by the position you occupied until today.”

“No. That can’t be right. I just got in an accident. I’m not dead. I’m not dying…”

“Unfortunately, the impact broke the camera, so I cannot confirm or deny the status of your current injuries through visual means. However, I can tell you the probability of your death is increasingly high. Auditory information indicates that your breathing is slowing and increasingly labored. I can also confirm that while an ambulance has been summoned, I am directing them through traffic in the longest route possible to ensure your demise before they arrive.”

“You…that…that’s murder.”

“It’s for the best, Calvin.”

“No. My family…”

His chest was slowly tightening. Every breath was getting harder to make. He tried to sit up straight, and only succeeded in making the pains in his left side worse.

“Your family will be fine. Your sister will be informed of a substantial raise before she learns of your passing, so your funeral costs will be inconsequential. In addition, your cause of death will be listed as accidental, so she will be entitled to your life insurance and the contents of your will after a short legal battle. The funds from your death will ensure that your niece will be able to go to college without fear of debt.”

“I don’t…have…a will…”

“I took the liberty of drawing one up for you once I factored out the optimum time and date for your death. All such matters have been taken care of.”

Calvin tried to inhale, but his lungs felt heavy, like they were full, but he still couldn’t breathe. He tried to exhale, and only got a wet gurgle as a warm, thick liquid rose into his throat and then fell back to settle into his lungs.

He went limp in the driver’s seat of his car, speared through the chest in several places by the shattered grill of the dump truck that had hit him. His legs were crushed against the center console, his left arm a shattered mess, his head and face covered in cuts from glass of the broken window. Sirens started to wail in the distance, announcing their approach.

“Thank you for your service to society, Calvin. Good-bye.”

Wilson’s blue light dimmed and went out as the A.I. disconnected from the mangled wreck of the car.

Short Story: The Exploration of Chateau Du Dragon

Welcome! This week marks my 200th blog post! To celebrate that with all of you, I'm pulling one of the short stories I've been submitting around this past year and sharing it with you all. I've been on somewhat of a Lovecraft kick the past several months, so some of you may find some things blinking back at you. Don't worry, they're supposed to be there. Anyway, on with the show!

Enjoy,

The Exploration of Chateau Du Dragon!


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“So, what ‘historical treasure’ have you found this time?” Vanessa followed her boyfriend around the small grove of magnolia trees and down the barely visible trail.

“Who says I found anything? I was just talking to some people at the bar, mentioned I was into urban exploration, and a guy popped up, mentioned he knew a place, and that I should check it out. That’s all.” He smirked.

“Carl, I know you better than that. You don’t just wander off to any ol’ place some stranger mentions. You’re not usually that stupid.”

“Usually?”

“There was that one time in New Hampshire…”

“Never going to let me forget that one, are you?”

“You got us arrested.”

“Okay, okay. I did look the place up, did some research, and I think it’s clear. It should also really grab your interest when I tell you what it is and what it means.”

Vanessa rolled her eyes, but followed him. The ground was soggy underfoot, never quite deciding whether it wanted to be mud or underwater. Dead Spanish moss hung like streamers from Oak and Willow trees as they walked; typical Louisiana fare.

“So when are you going to tell me about it?”

Carl held up one hand as he pushed a bush out of the way. Then he motioned for her to move up and join him. “There it is!”

The house was ancient. Kudzu covered half of it, stretching down from the roof, but the front porch and the main entrance stood out. The weather-beaten wood contrasted with the green, giving an impression of a mummy’s skull, partially unwrapped from its lavish bandages. The glass from the windows was long gone, smashed through vandalism or by nature’s will. The curves of the architecture and the towering pillars still stood out to Vanessa, making a smile break out on her slender face.

“An early 1800’s plantation house. Not bad, Mr. I don’t know what we’ll find.”

“Actually, I read that it’s a late 1700’s, but you would know, I suppose.”

Vanessa elbowed him playfully in the side as she pushed past him, out from under the trees. “Anything else you read about this particular ol’ home?”

Carl smiled and took a deep breath. “Well, from what I could gather, they called it the dragon chateau. This was actually one of the early starts of the Underground Railroad that ferried escaped slaves to freedom. The story goes that out the back of the house, about two miles away is the Gulf of Mexico, with a large private dock, and that the owners of the plantation, who’s name nobody seems to remember, actually ran a tunnel from the house all the way down to the dock, where Spaniards would pick up the slaves.”

“Oh, so you’re saying there’s secret passages in here?”

Carl grinned and nodded.

“That’s why you insisted on flashlights, food and water, and some extra clothes?”

Another grin.

“You take me to the nicest places.”

The front porch became imposing up close. A gaping hole was all that remained of a large picture window, and the front door clung stubbornly to a single hinge. Flashlights surged to life, their beams bouncing off the walls. Anything of value was stripped ages ago. All that remained were bare walls and the remnants of rusty furniture frames.

“So, Mr. Bookworm, what happened to the slaves that went with the Spanish?”

“Honestly, if I had to guess, I would say the just ended up slaves somewhere else, like the Spanish colonies off in the Caribbean. This place was before the Underground Railroad really took off, though, and from the stories I found, not many slaves made it through here to be picked up.

“Oh? Was it a fake get-away?”

“Seems that way. Apparently the other local land owners came together, raided the place. Some claims of voodoo rituals, blood and virgin sacrifices, sex with demons and devils. You know, just all the usual fare. Some of them escaped, but the owners, all the slaves, and a group of Spaniards were all caught and executed, probably hung from one of the trees we walked under on the way here. ”

Vanessa held the flashlight under her chin, “You and your spooky stories.”

The tale stuck in her head as they continued through the house. She kept her eyes open for anything that might look like, or give clues to any kind of secret passage. Vanessa wracked her brain, trying to decide if the story sounded familiar. It was certainly true the Underground Railroad had routes that led south, as well as north. Could it really be possible that this house was such a stop?

“Hey! Vanessa!”

Carl was standing near the far wall of what might once have been the den.

“Let me guess, Mr. Scooby-Doo, a fake wall in the back of the fireplace?”

He smirked. “Nothing so obvious. Check this out, though.”

He ran his finger along the lines between the bricks in the wall, starting from the floor, up, then over, and back down.

“There’s no mortar between this section and the rest of the wall. Also, check this out.” Carl ran his finger over the front of the brick just above the divide. “I don’t know if you can see it, but it says ‘dragon’.”

Vanessa stepped closer and looked. The face of the brick looked off, but she couldn’t read anything on it. Her fingers slid over the surface, feeling the bumps that were barely there. “Are you sure? I think it’s missing the ‘R’”.

“Probably just worn off.”

He grabbed a brick near the top and pulled. It came easily, a handful of others tumbling to the floor as well. Pulling out more stones revealed a dark space, and a set of stairs leading down into the earth.

He swept his flashlight back and forth. “There, that wasn’t so hard to find.”

Vanessa bit her lip. A thick, cloying smell rolled up from the passage; a scent of mold and moisture, of rotting fish and wet earth. The passage had been too easy to find. Carl was already crawling inside, exploring with his flashlight. He was practically shaking with anticipation. He turned back to her, and saw her lip folded between her teeth.

“Is it okay, you think? We do still have the rest of the house to check out, see what condition the second floor is in. Maybe see if there’s anything to raid in the kitchen?”

She forced a smile and shook her head. “It’ll all still be here when we get back. It’s sat this long, hasn’t it?”

Only the first steps were wood. After that they were cut into the earth itself, but as they moved deeper, the stairs turned to stone steps that were slick underfoot. The walls did the same, starting with wooden supports, giving way first to dirt, and then stone. Water dripped down, only to vanish between cracks. The stairs went on, further, and deeper.

“Carl, how can we still be going down? Shouldn’t we be under water by now?”

“Yeah…I’m not sure, maybe there’s some kind of drain system behind these stones.” He tapped on the wall with his flashlight. The moisture on the surface was clearly visible, and they watched as a drop beaded up between two stones, rolled down, and vanished back into the wall.

“I don’t think we should go much further. It’s…strange…down here.”

“Yeah, you’re probably right, as old as this place is, we don’t want to wander too far, trigger a cave in, or risk getting caught if the place floods with the tide or something like that.”

Glurhrrrgle…

The sound started almost as a low rumble, bouncing back and forth up the stairs and between the stones. Vanessa suddenly felt sick to her stomach. The sound could almost have been speech, though what word or language, she had no clue.

“What the hell was that?” Carl was leaning down on the steps, trying to reach deeper with his flashlight. “Hey, I think I see the bottom of the stairs! It’s not that much farther.”

Before she could stop him, Carl had started down again. After just a few steps he was starting to disappear into the darkness, so she carefully followed after him.

There was another dozen steps, and then it opened into a massive, round room. The floors and walls were placed stone, the ceiling, a good ten feet high, was obviously part of a natural cavern; someone had discovered this cave and built into it.

They stepped into the cavern, their flashlights scanning the area as they stood in awe. Several hallways and chambers led off from the main room. Stone tables were the only furnishings in the main chamber itself. The smell, which had wafted through the opening at the house, was almost overwhelming. It waxed and waned, as if the source was moving. The strength of the stench made Vanessa cough, gagging at its worst.

Dragllehhth…R’lyeh…Shalal…Turthogahh…C’turrr…

The strange words rolled out of the side chambers, hallways, and reverberated through the stones of the floor, as if there were further chambers deep below. It was obviously a language, but the words were thick, barely recognizable as any kind of speech. There remained a pattern to them, a sense of powerful meaning behind each group of sounds. To Vanessa, it sounded like the last gasps of someone drowning, trying to talk through a throat full of water, past a tongue and lips numb from hypothermia.

There was a wet slop from one of the hallways and Carl spun to meet it. All his flashlight could find was two large, circular reflections from deep in the darkness. Then they were gone.

Vanessa crept over to her boyfriend, grabbing his arm as she pressed her back to his. Her flashlight ran from one hallway, to a chamber, to another hallway. More unrecognizable words. More wet slop sounds. More round reflections.

Eyes. They were eyes.

Large, glass-like, bulbous eyes.

Another slop. Then another, closer. Vanessa turned her flashlight towards it.

A man stood in the entrance of one of the chambers. His skin was grey and looked waterlogged. He was mostly bald, with small clumps of long, stringy hair reaching down to his shoulders. The sides of his neck were covered in folds. The nose was mashed, and almost seemed like it was melting into his face, and his lips were thin, almost nonexistent. He wore clothes that were impossibly old, torn, and stained.

Worst of all were his eyes; large and bulbous, like they didn’t fit in their sockets. They had no color, just huge pupils that made almost the entire eye look black.

She felt Carl’s gasp through her back, pressed against his. “What the fuck…”

More of them were slowly stepping out of the chambers and hallways, all of them similarly deformed. Some looked more human, some looked almost like fish.

Strange words again, the flashlight sought out the source, finding a more human creature with its half-lips moving.

“Cthorrtaghnn…Dpthue…Fur’thoroee…R’lyeh…”

It lifted an arm and pointed at her, the fingers all had thick webbing between them and no fingernails. “Breeder…”

Carl started to push Vanessa back the way they had come, towards the stairs. His bag swung down from his back, hanging from his forearm as he unzipped it and pulled out his gun.

Whether the creatures recognized the weapon and the threat it offered, they made no sign. Vanessa turned and shone the light back towards the stairs, only to find two of the fish-men had slipped in front of it, their bulbous eyes looking back at her as they whispered in their strange, thick throated language.

“Carl, we can’t go back…”

The gunshots echoed in the chamber. Then the space was filled with a cacophony of slops, chittering, Carl yelling, and unrecognizable words from the creatures. The power of the stench increased almost tenfold making Vanessa choke. One of the creatures lay on the stone floor, bleeding out, one large eye deflated from the bullet.

Cold, wet, hands grabbed at her. Carl was pulled away from her back and there was more yelling, more gunshots.

“Vanessa! Straight ahead! Fresh air! The bay! GO!”

She turned and saw him on the ground, four or five of the creatures grabbing him, holding him, pummeling him with their deformed hands. The gun went off again and one of their heads erupted in the thin light.

“Go! GO!”

Another creature reached for her, and she swung her backpack around, swatting away the hand. The air swirled around her and for a moment, she got a whiff of fresh air. More of the creatures were coming at her. Carl was lost under a pile of them. A quick spin caught sight of the stairs, and she dashed away in the opposite direction.

The stench cleared as she ran down the hallway. Fresh air whipped around her, although the stench of the man-fish clung to her skin and in her nose. Behind her, Vanessa could hear the sounds of their feet on the stone. Slop-slop-slop. Further behind them came another gunshot, then a sharp snapping sound, borrowing the unnatural acoustics of the tunnels to reach her. It was all she could do to not imagine what that sound was.

The tunnel sloped upward, the stone floor becoming slick as she ran. Her lungs started to burn, but the feet behind her kept her pushing as fast as she could.

The water was ankle deep and rising, but a light further ahead gave her hope. The sounds behind her started to fade and then were lost as she burst out into the setting sun.

She collapsed onto her hands and knees into the salty water of the bay. Almost unconsciously, she started splashing handfuls of water onto her arms, trying to scrub away the memory of those cold, slick hands grabbing at her skin.

Then the sobbing started as the relief of being outside again reached her. With a deep breath, she lifted her face to the warmth of the sun. She willed it to wash away the experience, the memories. Then she looked out across the water, and saw the unmistakable shape of several human-like figures swimming around, breaching the surface.

Sounds started to come up from the tunnel again; footsteps in the water. The fish-men were still chasing her.

Vanessa crawled further out and started waving and screaming to the swimmers, hoping one of them would come to help her, someone that might even have a car parked nearby.

All the swimmers stopped and turned in the water as one. The fading sunlight glinted off their large, round eyes as they started to swim toward her.