Nightmare Fuel: The Ultimate Collection of Short Horror Tales Page 2

  Jan stared at the hell version of herself to see she hadn't fared well in this life. Jan herself had aged very well by everyone's standards, but it was only now that she believed it herself. Looking at how she could have aged if she'd have been born into Satan's twist of life. The twin was haggard and wrinkled, hair a blend of grey and brown, each strand greased and ends split. She was however, thinner, but that wasn't necessarily a good thing. Jan could see the woman's skeleton, every bone was on show, her face gaunt and lifeless. Her skin covered in scratches and scars. In the midst of Jan's thoughts, a loud whack came from the house.

  “Shit, they came in!”

  Jan was afraid.

  “We have to go, now!” Jan's twin ordered.

  “But I thought you said-”

  “NOW!” she cut Jan off reaching under the bed and pulling out a sledgehammer.

  The woman began smashing the boarded windows. They came to pieces in a splintery demise. After a few powerful blows there was enough space for both of them to crawl through, and that is exactly what they did. The twin landed first, hitting grass then rolling to a stand. Followed by Jan who landed less gracefully and staggered up, not accustomed to running from hellish incarnations. Jan hauled ass to her car, the lady following not far behind. She opened the driver's side and jumped in, waiting for her sister from another dimension to accompany her in the passenger's side. In a minute they were both seated, belted and Jan was jutting the keys into the ignition and turning on the engine, but it wouldn't start.

  “Oh come on you piece of shit!” Jan yelled, afraid.

  “You need to hurry...” the woman spoke the obvious.

  Jan was about ready to bite her tongue off when she saw what her twin was referring too. A bed of bald, white skinned, long-toothed creatures had awoken from their slumber on the car's hood. In the rush of things neither had noticed the pack of monsters using the metal bonnet as a mattress. But now they were painfully aware, even more so due to the mechanical malfunctions.

  “Jesus!” Jan hollered, repeatedly twisting the keys as the inhuman beings started to lick the wind shield, smiling, staring at the two stuck in the vehicle.

  Then finally the motor purred to life. Both women exhaled loudly as Jan reversed out of the driveway. The demons fell ass over elbow onto the asphalt. As she turned they both noticed a hoard of demons running from both sides of the street, at them.

  “What do we do?” Jan worried.

  “Crash into the bastards!” the twin said through clenched teeth and flared nostrils.

  Jan complied with her twin's order and careened ahead, hammering the accelerator as the car flew into the flurry of beasts. Each one tumbling, somersaulting, vaulting backwards, being crushed under the wheels, flying through the air and scattering amongst the street like trash from an untied waste bag. The wind shield cracked upon impact and the sound of horns and teeth scraping on metal pierced the women's hearing. Eventually through screams and creased faces, they had barged through the unholy crowd and were headed to the car wash.

  Jan's nerves were shot to shit. She gripped the wheel as if it were a lifeline. The twin sat laughing, while Jan was a wreckage of nervousness.

  “We did it, now let's get you home, you're not meant for this world,” the twin chuckled at Jan's incapability of handling demons and general stress that battling evil brought.

  Soon enough the car wash was mere metres ahead, just below a dark red moon, still leaking fluid onto the world. Jan veered into the car wash and spun round to the back. Oddly enough, the vicinity was free of monsters. Which strangely made Jan more anxious than if they were out in plain sight. But the back was closed. Jan felt dread flutter in her stomach. The twin could sense this. “Hey, don't worry, wait here,” the alternate version of Jan said leaving the passenger seat and entering the darkness.

  Jan could see her approach a garage and bang at it vigorously. But that achieved nothing. She then patted the walls nearby for some strange reason that was beyond Jan's understanding. Then the woman's hand fell through some kind of vortex in the wall, she had found a way back!

  Jan leapt from the car and dashed to her twin. In this run Jan had noticed demons were awaking from their slumber and had noticed the two women messing around.

  “Hey you need to hurry, monsters are coming,” Jan warned.

  “Oh I know, good luck,” she sniggered as her body was being eaten by the wall.

  “What? wh....” Jan stuttered.

  “Only one of us can be in each world permanently, so when I go through you'll have to take my place here,” she winked.

  “You stupid bitch!” Jan threw herself at the evil twin.

  But she soon halted when a gun was pulled out on her. “Hey, I only think it's fair Jan,” she chuckled.

  “You will go to hell for this!” Jan barked.

  “Look around honey, we are in hell, and I ain't the one staying, you are!”

  To that the woman fell through the void in the wall and vanished. Just to be certain Jan tried to go through the vortex, but it had gone. Nothing but hard brick. Jan was now left alone, being surrounded by all varieties of demons, trapped, in hell.

  I Sentence Thee To Death

  She eased each foot into the tub as the water sprinkled from the steamy shower-head. The steam seeped into her pores and encompassed her like a thick mist of heat from a Sahara Desert. Melissa reached for the bar of purple lavender soap, taking time to enjoy its calming scent, before working up a thick lather and ridding sweat and sudor from her body. Foam formed on flesh as her eyes noticed mould on the white tiles. More mould? She grunted and shoved the soap back onto the metal shelf aside the shower. The bathroom was barely a year old, and black furry vileness managed to crawl through the tiles, metal fixtures, and anywhere that was hard for Mel to clean. She questioned what must have been running through her mind when she decided on a white bathroom. Looks heavenly and sublime when clean, but the upkeep to sustain that fresh, glossy look, was more than she cared to indulge. So the best and cheapest solution was to remove any little blackness upon noticing it; prevention is cheaper than the cure.

  So whilst still in the shower, letting the spray beat down on her back, she reached to a nearby shelf. This metal board held several cleaning products, such as: bleach, window cleaner, air fresheners, and the most crucial product of all: mould and grime remover.

  All it took was a couple of squirts onto the affected area, let it soak in, and then scrub away with a damp cloth. So, eager to abolish this imperfection, she squeezed the pump and let the fluid get to work. In the meantime, she massaged shampoo into her wild brunette locks and ran a razor over her legs, trimming an embarrassingly thick stubble before winter became summer. When she was clean and smooth Mel grabbed a cloth and scratched away the bathroom's blemish. But to her horror, the wall began to crumble. The tiles somersaulted to the inside of the tub, clattering and cracking into several chunks. Each left a grainy residue in its demise, filling the tub like a sand timer. The white blocks continued to tumble, revealing a black, rotten wall. “Chris!” Mel panicked, yelling for her husband, but there was no stampede of steps, or even a vocal response. In the midst of her frantic shouting, the wall was now free of tiles, exposing a tarmac coloured board in front of her. It was damp wood, discoloured and weak-looking. Overwhelmed with intrigue she prodded the wood. No sooner than her fingertips poked it, did it collapse. Then some unknown force pulled at Mel, propelling her into darkness, wood splinters pricking her skin. Until she thudded to the ground, butt singing in agony and head swirling in disorientation. Mel's eyes flickered open, cobble walls and a gravelly ground surrounding her like a pack of wolves. “What the....”

  Mel stood clumsily, staggering slightly, brain feeling loose and nausea gripping her stomach; she fought to keep down vomit. Just as she noticed a thick wooden door with small bars across a tiny rectangular square, as it opened. A jingle jangle of keys, then a bolt retracting, and it swung inwards with a dusty draft. Wafts of excrement, urine and swea
t hit her with a smack, Mel turned away in revulsion and placed a hand against her mouth; once again battling with the urge to purge her body of puke. Then a group of men in odd clothing came and grabbed Mel.

  “Hey, get off me,” Mel struggled to free herself from their grasp; hands were everywhere, like a hoard of zombies.

  It was then she heard a chant coming from outside. Mel couldn't quite decipher the words, but there was definite street chanting going on somewhere nearby.

  Against her will, she was hauled from the room and down a dark and dreary corridor. Strands of hay crumbled underfoot as a tiny ray of light came from the end of the hall. “Where are you taking me?” she demanded, but was ignored.

  “Please, someone....just....” Mel continued to fight back, flailing arms and legs, but there was no use.

  Her bare feet skidded on the hay and dirt. It was then she looked down at herself, no longer naked, but wearing a brown sack. The men flocking around wore outdated clothing, as if they were straight from the Victorian time period. Boots, rolled up trousers, puffy shirts, waistcoats, unruly beards, and rank, yellow teeth. Have I gone back in time? That thought scared her. Then she was bathed in natural sunlight, leaving the murkiness of the tunnel and entering daylight. At that moment the cheers of people could be seen and understood. Mobs of angry townspeople stood yelling at Mel. “Burn the witch, burn the witch.”

  Now an intense, pure fear added into her cauldron of emotions. She was raised above the cluster of citizens on a wooden platform, and facing her was a long wooden pole resting atop a pile of more hay. Memories of high school history lessons flashed before her. As she was tied with a thick rope to the wooden beam, it occurred to her what was happening: she was being burned at the stake.

  No sooner than she thought it, did a man walk over with an old fashioned torch and set the hay alight. “I hereby burn this woman, found guilty of witchcraft, and the punishment being: death,” said the torch wielding man.

  The orange spread like a rash of hotness. It consumed the straw, and began licking the soles of Mel's feet. It felt like tiny pins stabbing her heels.

  “Noooooooo,” Mel screamed out, sobbing.

  This drove the onlookers into a frenzy, shouting louder and more violently. They punched into the air with fists of fury. People looked from their wooden homes and quaint store windows, cheering.

  “You have made a mistake, please, stop...” Mel wept as the fire worked up her legs. It felt as though she was being slowly dipped into acid water. The yellow and orange flames singed her flesh, she felt sick at the rancid odour of her own bag of bones alight. A white heat slowly, painfully, but surely, danced around her like a crazy African tribe. The brown cloth she wore only spurred on the lava, acting more like a flammable liquid, in comparison to a protective piece of attire. Mel coughed on the smoke as it snaked into her mouth. Her eyes stung, tears bleeding from the sockets. The tears travelled down her face as a tangerine tint soon dominated her vision. Mel's blood began to boil, and the thick dark hair atop her head soon became a ball of fire, a miniature replica of the sun.

  In her final minutes she saw something truly disturbing. Worse than her physical vessel melting, more horrid than the horror of it all, her husband leading the gathering. The abundance of villagers parted like the red sea, making way for a man with ruffled dark hair. But it wasn't just any man, it was Chris: Melissa's husband. But he wasn't there to protect, save, or help her, he was there holding a glass bottle. It then occurred to her that he was carrying a bottle of liquor towards the straw. They had to know that was highly flammable, even in the time period I am stuck in.

  “Chris help me!” Mel hollered, but he sniggered; he didn't help.

  “Chris... what are you......” Mel spoke through sobs and pouts of panic.

  Chris raised the bottle above his head and launched it at the straw bound at Mel's feet. It tumbled neck over base until the glass shattered. Speckles of it scratched her bare legs. But more importantly, it sent the fiery blaze into overdrive. It slithered up the pole and her torso. Mel screeched into the sun, as everybody watching cheered on the witch hunter.

  “Folks of Salem, I am the ultimate witch hunter. I not only kill witches of our time, I travel into the past and future to eliminate the seed, and any descendants of the foul creatures.” His clothing didn't fit in with that of the townspeople. He wore denim jeans and a white shirt, with white sneakers.

  “I will not rest until each and every one of them has been pried from our planet!”

  The crowd began applauding and praising as if in the presence of a superhero that'd saved a damsel in distress, not a murderous witch killer giving an innocent woman a charring death.

  A flurry of thoughts ran through Mel's mind. Chris had often behaved oddly, said strange things, and had cravings for various foods that weren't around anymore. Now it all made sense. She had been married to him for years, they even had children, and she'd never met his parents, or any of his relatives. The secret reason being: he came from the past to kill her. Mel's mother had told of a great ancestor who was a witch, and that one day she and Melissa would be punished for the sins of the beginning of her family line. Now it was becoming a fact and not just a legend. It was then that the unbearable heat killed Melissa, as her fake, phony husband watched, she was snuffed out. Her skin frazzled, soul floating from the mortal coil, and internal organs were cooked by the heat invading the several layers of epidermis. But her final thought wasn't of her husband's phenomenal betrayal, it was the safety of her children, alone, in the house she'd time travelled from. What was to become of them?

  Wealth Comes At A Price

  Bruce sat in his multi-million dollar apartment surrounded by the finest of the finest money could buy. A lavish, spacious apartment stuffed with exquisite furnishings and high-tech appliances. The leather at his rump squeaked as he rose to stare out his full length living room window. He overlooked the city of New York. Skyscrapers, the lights glowing in the dark night sky, honks and muffled conversation from the ground below. Even on the 90th floor in his penthouse apartment, the chitter chatter of pedestrians still travelled up to him. Albeit if this bothered him too much with the click of a button he could make the windows sound proof. He usually did this just before he retired to bed for the night. But he loved to look down at the lower life form scrambling like ants. Worried about paying bills, discussing their meagre insignificant lives as if they actually mattered. When the only people that kept this world spinning were the wealthy and intellectual beings blessing this world with their godliness, Bruce thought.

  He knew people saw him as a rich, arrogant, selfish bastard, but he could care less. He may have trampled, back-stabbed, betrayed and conformed, but he didn't give a flying fuck. He was worth 4 billion dollars. He was admired by plenty, but hated by many. But he had everything he needed. Equally rich and powerful friends who understood that they were simply better than the scum of the planet who would be born and die without making any contribution to society. He had been shunned by his family and close friends, which at first did hurt. But that was before this epiphany. Satisfied and content with his day, he paced from the living room and entered the extravagant bedroom. Unimaginably expensive furniture and upholstery, and a projected screen covering the entire length of one wall. He shouted aloud a movie he wished to watch, and in less than a second it began to play on the wall opposite his bed. He lathered on expensive creams and lotions, polished his teeth with an electric toothbrush that most dentists couldn't even afford, then fell into bed cushioned by Egyptian silk sheets.

  In what seemed like a matter of minutes he awoke to a strange noise; which was unusual. An aromatherapy machine started when weight was applied to the bed, which sent him spiralling into a deep slumber. But not tonight, as he noticed it was only 11:00pm by the projected clock flashing on the wall. He slipped out of bed and climbed into his silk pyjamas to investigate. He was worried the aromatherapy machine had malfunctioned. Heads will roll!

  He strolle
d into the foyer to see his guard dog also awake. Terror, as Bruce had named him, looked angry. His fangs were visible through his snarl, followed by a vicious growl.

  “Oh shut the fuck up you useless piece of shit.”

  Bruce loathed animals, but had been advised by a fellow billionaire that they were actually good to have should the advanced alarm system break. Terror was chained to the wall, but he was still able to reach the main entrance doors to attack intruders. But luckily Bruce was beyond his reach. Then no sooner than he thought that, did Terror begin thrashing against the chain, pulling it taught, testing its strength.

  “Pfft you stupid mutt, I am the owner of this place, and you, you should recognise me! Now knock it off before I have you put down,” Bruce sneered.

  But then the strangeness continued as Terror began to grow. His legs extended and bulked up, his body expanded and sprouted more hair, and his head contorted and grew to that of a wolf. Bruce was getting nervous. This was impossible, he knew that. It was defying all laws of science and biology. He questioned if he was dreaming, but when Terror broke free of the chain as it tore from the wall, Bruce wasn't willing to test that theory.

  Bruce hauled into his bedroom and slammed the door shut just as the newly transformed wolf bashed into it.

  “LOCK!” Bruce yelled.

  At his command a recurrence of clicks and bolts sounded as multiple locks were engaged on the bedroom door. Bruce's heart was pounding in his chest, sweat leaking down his face. He hadn't dealt with this level of panic in years; his wealth freed him of all types of stress. He fretted that his heart couldn't take it after years of worry free bliss. The howls didn't help this as Terror growled louder and thrashed against the door repeatedly, pain not hindering his motivation whatsoever.

  If that wasn't bad enough the entire room started to shake. Chunks of plaster crashed to the ground, furniture wobbled, and then the balcony doors smashed inwards. Tiny glass shards plummeted through the air and sprinkled on the wooden floor. Cracks ran across the walls and the wooden beams snapped randomly. Then to Bruce's horror the balcony collapsed, taking with it a huge segment of the wall and floor, leaving a gaping hole. This brought in a violent wind throwing furnishings around, and whipping the curtains into a vicious frenzy. He didn't waste any more time and launched himself into the en suite bathroom, and didn't even need to slam the door shut as the gale force winds did this for him. The vigour of this action made the wall shake, and even when fully closed, the door continued to rattle and test the threshold's tolerance. Using his marbles, he vaulted into the hot tub and sat praying the door would hold. He feared the door would be sucked off its hinges, along with everything in the bathroom, including himself. He envisioned the basin clunking from the wall, the large shower being sucked out, the toilet pried from the ground, and then finally him sailing from his apartment and into the air riding his tub down from his penthouse to a grizzly demise. But thus far he clung to the hope that this wouldn't happen. Which seemed very likely now that the earthquake had stopped. He sat, recovering, breathing, calming, and enjoying the silence and stillness. When suddenly water fell from the ceiling. Bubbles thrashed from above and fell onto Bruce. He tried to escape the tub but it was too slippery and the waterfall coming from above was too strong, it forced him to remain seated. This would have been worrying due to possibly drowning, but the shark that fell into the tub made worry seem like heaven, he was now terrified. He cursed having a tub big enough to fit him and what looked like a great white inside. It splashed into the water and thrashed on the spot upside down. But it was only a matter of time until it flipped itself over and began chowing on Bruce's bones. Bruce flopped and shook and tried with all his strength to leave the tub, but it was useless. Until he managed to throw an arm over the tub and somersault out onto the tile floor. His head cracked and vision instantly blacked out.