Musings from a Hideous Mind - Short stories to chill the soul

It's a Long Walk Home

2011-05-21T06:10:00.000+02:00

This is a new post taken from my new site www.alexlaybourne.com please visit me there for much more writerly fun.

I was there the day he gunned my family down. I stood and watched their lives ended. I took my vengeance and by the night’s end the air was blue with gun smoke.
I swore to the Gods that I would see true vengeance served. I stood, bathed in my family’s blood, and the oath was made.
I ran, I hunted, I followed and sought. I walked every day always on this trail. The aroma of his guns was heavy in my nostrils; the salty taste of his sweat stung my tongue. He was always close at hand, yet just out of sight. I never slowed my pace, never sped for I ‘knew he was oblivious to my presence; for he made no attempt to hide his tracks.
The days rolled by, the states changed, seasons came and went. Oceans were travelled and bodies were laid in the ground. For he understood that I was chasing him. I came close to him once, on an ocean liner heading across the seas. We called a strange truce; our feud put aside during journeys. Over land, sea or air, we would often meet, yet our bond stayed our hands.
He sent many a follower to get me, to halt my pursuit over the years, and each one I greeted with a smile and a flash of gun smoke. I think he sent them to die, thinning his own numbers so that it would just us.
And so it was; after countless decades of chase, the thrill began to die, and we stood alone, beneath the blazing desert sun. Finally I saw him, really saw him; my enemy. The rage, the feral desire to see his blood shed, body emptied, hollowed out and left to dry… was gone. For before me stood not the dashing villain that had slain my beloved, heartlessly murdered my children, but an old man. A decrepit bag of bones with skin several sizes too large. Fingers knotted with arthritis, and about as able to yield his weapon as an infant.
He smiled his teeth long since left by the wayside. “Has it come to this?” He asked.
“Aye” I answer. My weapon roared, his body wilted like a flower removed from its bed. He did not bleed, for too many years had passed for both us to have anything left to shed.
The stench of death hung heavy in the air and as the sun beat its relentless tune on my back, I knew it was not him but me that was the source. So with my body rotting around me I turned and made my way back across the desert, for it was a long walk home to be with those so long ago left behind.

THIS SITE HAS MOVED

2011-02-28T10:08:00.001+01:00

I have decided to go it alone and have created a new website where I will be discussing life, writing and posting more of my amazing fiction. Please join me at www.alexlaybourne.com

Thanks for following me I truly, and deeply appreciate it and I hope to see you over at the new site.

Bloodsport

2011-02-18T12:42:00.003+01:00

The two dogs snarled and leapt at each other with a ferocity that none of the spectators in the barn that night had ever seen. The animals were large and nobody really knew what breed they were. Buy someone had put them in the ring and they were going at it tooth and nail, so people laid their stakes and began to cheer on their mount.

Shouts of "Sick 'em" and "Have at him" circled around the barn and were the only real words that could be picked out from the screams and cheers.

The dog fights had been a monthly fixture in the abandoned farm house for some time now. Nobody knew much about it, and nobody cared to, the more secretive the better and they knew it.

It was always the same sort of dog, two large beasts; they looked like German Shepherds only bigger, much bigger. They were strong too, if one was thrown into the guardrails the provided the walls to the canine octagon they would shake as if hit by a train.

The dogs were always in place when the guests arrived, often all having gathered outside the locked barn doors before hand, so as that they could all enter together and avoid any name calling or potentially volatile accusations being thrown.

The fight tonight though was a real hum-dinger. The dogs were really giving it to each other. One was missing an ear and the skin over the left part of its skull and been pulled back and flapped around like a bad toupee. The other was bleeding from a deep wound in its flank and its left hind leg was clearly broken. It dragged limply on the floor like a poorly placed second tail. They snarled and roared and just kept coming. It had even been more than some of the regulars could bear to take. Three had already stepped outside... not venturing too far for they still had to collect their winnings should they have backed the right beast.

Eventually, or perhaps thankfully, one dog took control, closing its jaws around the throat of its opponent and with a series of violent shakes snapped the beast’s neck. It fell lifeless to the floor, while the other beast stood, breathing heavily, and its half scalped skull pumping blood into its eyes. It stood and almost looked at each of the spectators in turn before simply lying down, exhausted.

The victors strode forward and collected their winnings, the losers trundled home their heads bowed yet already eager for the next round, whenever it would be.

Nobody bothered with the dogs, it would be taken care of, and they all knew it.

The next morning, just as the sun was cresting on the horizon the doors to the barn opened, and two men strode out. The barn behind them was empty, everything tidied away.

"You really went for it last night brother." One man said as they stood squinting, allowing their eyes - always sensitive after the change- to adjust.

"You too. It must have been a clear night, the moon was strong." The largest and eldest of the brother spoke.

"How much did we make?" The other asked.

"About fifteen grand at first look. Shame it's only once a month." He mused.

"Yeah. Listen man, this is fun, but next month I want to win." The youngest asked hopefully

"Okay." His brother replied, slapping him on the back and setting off towards their car which was parked behind the barn.

Marked

2011-02-18T09:43:00.005+01:00

"What did you do?" Elias roared, grabbing his young cousin and fellow vampire Ryan by the throat and throwing him back into the wall of the small alley they stood in. His face was one of rage, his eyes blackened his teeth bared and humanity gone, pulled away by the demon.

"Nothing, honest. I just fed on him a bit then turned him. You said I could." Ryan choked as the hand squeezing his neck tightened its grip even further. Even though he was dead having his ability to breath taken away from him still had the same effect.

"I also said we were to lay low, we were going to set up a life here. Don't you remember what happened back in Amsterdam?" He roared and slammed his fist into and through the brick eliciting a scream from the occupants of the living room on the other side.

"It's nothing, don't worry about it, just carry on watching X-Factor" Elias said, hypnotizing the two mortals who stared back at him. They turned and sat back down without saying a word.

"I remember." Ryan smiled in spite of his situation. "All that blood." His words were cut off as the fist closed as much as possible without breaking the skin.

"Enough. We were close then, they almost had us both, so don't fool yourself in thinking that bloodbath was the good kind. We weren't the ones in control cousin. You would be well served to remember that." Elias sneered, leaning in close until their noses were touching.

He released his grip on Ryan’s neck and turned to look down at the man who was writhing in agony on the floor. "What is his problem anyway?" Elias mused. Ryan wasn't sure if it was a question or not and paused before answering.

"No idea, I turned him then he started screaming so I dragged him in here and called you." Ryan continued to explain his actions.

At their feet, Jacob Cummings, a local biker who had picked a fight with the pair when their paths crossed a few weeks before as they headed into town lay convulsing and screaming. Luckily they were in the bad part of town, a part which only really came to life at night, and was no stranger to the screams of death at any time.

"Help me." He screamed. Blood spewed from his mouth as he spoke, making it look like a messy eater.

"Fascinating," Elias squatted down onto the balls of his feet, getting a closer look.

"Help ....GOD...it hurts." The biker screamed, tears running from his eyes. His macho image well and truly shattered should he live through it or complete the turn and emerge as the faithful servant of Ryan -for the first hundred at least, unless Ryan was killed before then.

His body was hissing, like bacon cooking on a grill, his shirt began to smoke and his screams increased.

"What is it Elias, what do you reckon it is?" Ryan asked, I fed from him, do you think its catching?' He was concerned and made no attempt to hide it.

"No Rye, it’s not catching. Like I said it’s fascinating. Look." Elias reach out and pulled the leather jacket from the bikers back, ripping the seams as he tugged in one swift motion. The sleeves remained covering the man’s arms... not that he seemed to notice.

His shirt beneath had split open revealing his skin, it was bubbling as if the fat itself was boiling; blood blisters grew and burst spackling the surroundings.

"Hmm. That really is interesting." Ryan said, crouching down beside his cousin, wanting to get a better look for himself.

Jacob continued to scream, to beg for mercy, still not fully aware of what was happening to him, but the two vampires simply watched as the crucifix tattoo that stretched across his shoulders and down the length of his spine continued to melt. They watched with intense fascination as the skin disappeared and the milky white bones of his spine became visible. Then, and only then, did Elias reach down and snap the bones, squeezing them in his fist, crumbling them as if they were made from Styrofoam.

The pair rose in unison, the blood was in the air, the droplets hung like a fine, misty rain.

"That was fun. You reckon we could find more like that?" Ryan asked hopeful.

"You know something Rye, I really hope so." Elias answered, his face turning once more, the Demon not taking control this time, but being given it. "I really do."

A Love For The Ages

2011-02-11T11:24:00.005+01:00

Samuel lay in bed. His brow was soaked with sweat; his eyes were sunken deep into his skull. His skin had darkened and drawn tight against his frame as if it were made of leather. His hair was thin to the point of translucence and his lips had curled in on themselves revealing gums so far receded that the root division of his teeth was visible.

He reached up, his arm thin and frail, while the joints of his fingers were swollen and twisted from arthritis; the nails were long and yellowed from age. He reached for the mug which rested on the table beside his bed, but had not the strength to reach it.

He took breaths in shallow rasping gulps, irregularly and often with immense pain.

The door opened and the gentle night breeze flowed through the small room.

"Samuel, I have been looking all over for you. Why are you doing this to yourself?" The woman asked, walking over to the bed and taking hold of the old man's wrist as if checking his pulse.

"Leave me." He whispered, his voice cracked and strained.

"Never, remember." She answered, bending down and kissing him gently on the forehead.

"Why do you look after me Jasmine? You have wasted enough time on me, go, walk away before it is too late and enjoy what time you have left." His voice grew slightly stronger, although it left him gasping for breath like a fish ripped from the water and left to flounder on the ground.

"Because I love you; the very first day we met I knew I would spend the rest of my life with you." She straightened her dress and sat down on the edge of the bed.

"I don't deserve your love. I killed them both, you know that, so just let me be." The old man tried to roll onto his side, away from the women he had spent the last 25 years with, but he just couldn't manage it.

"I know you did, but don't worry, it will all be ok. We can move, leave this city behind us. Maybe go abroad. Just move around." Jasmine suggested. She was 43 years old and had been living in the same place nearly all her life; apart from 3 years of college which itself was only just classed as being out of town.

"I won't ask you to leave your live behind. I can't go through that again." He moaned. "I won't watch another woman died because of me." He was crying now, or at least would have been had he had any moisture left in his body.

"Now, I won't hear any more of this nonsense Samuel Folly. Not a word. I knew what I was getting in for, I knew damned well, so you don't have the right to walk away, to push me away and run. Do you hear me; you don't have the god damned right. Not after all we've been through. I love you, and I won't let you do this." Jasmine was crying too now, her face smeared by her mascara.

The small wooden cabin Samuel had found to house him seven weeks before groaned and creaked as the wind increased. Jasmine took his hand in one of hers, and place her other against his withered cheek.

"You just need to eat something, get your strength up and you will be feeling better in no time." She smiled at him.

He pulled away, this time summoning up the strength to do so.

"No, I won't. Not ever." He began to protest. "I told you that. It's not what you deserve."

Jasmine pressed her index finger against his lips and hushed him gently, like a mother soothing a crying infant.

"Shush now. It's fine. I have an idea." She smiled wryly and rose from the bed.

"What are you doing? No. I beg you Jasmine, don't do this." Samuel began to protest, but his strength was failing, and he knew that Jasmine was a stubborn women. She had to be to put up with him all those years. She reminded him a lot of someone else.

Jasmine kicked off her does and climbed up onto the bed, straddling the man of her dreams before rising up her feet. The bed was old, and the springs rusted away to nothing and so it took a while for her to find her balance and muster the strength to move.

Several careful steps later, Jasmine was standing at the head of the bed, holding herself steady by keeping both hands against the wooden walls of the cabin. She could see the moonlight reflecting on the lake through the gaps between the planks, and it calmed her. She had spent weeks searching for Samuel before realizing there was really only one place he would have been. Sure enough, here he was.

"Jasmine…" He began once again, but before he had time to protest further, or even muster up just a portion of his strength she squatted down, pulling up her summer dress as she fell, smothering his face, she sank to her knees, pushing them into the old mattress trapping Samuel’s face between her thighs. She ignored the pain of the springs digging into her flesh and held herself in place. Beneath her Samuel struggled weakly, and then stronger, and finally his struggles stopped and he became still.

"Yes, that's it Sammy my love." She whispered, staring out into the night.

After a few minutes; although to Jasmine it had felt like an age, she relaxed and rolled off the bed. She was breathing hard, and felt a powerful rush of arousal swarm through her body. She resisted the urge to climb back and allow herself to give into the orgasmic tide that was crashing against her. She closed her eyes, and willed her thundering heart to reduce its pace.

When she opened them, the bed was empty. Before she could react she was grabbed by strong, muscular arms and thrown onto the bed. She turned and was immediately pinned down. Samuel; his body rejuvenated, his youth restored, kissed her passionately, his mouth still stained with her blood, which she had surrendered to him, to save him. She kissed him back and they made love and for the first time in their relationship Jasmine felt aware of her own mortality, and she begged him from within the silent world of her mind to turn her too; to feed from her and make her one of his kind. Yet she said nothing, she knew he would refuse.

He loved her, as he had loved others in the past but he would not turn her for the very same reason. She deserved the chance to both live and die, to complete her life unlike him. She loved him in return and instead of saying anything, she kissed him once more and allowed a tear to roll down her cheek.

The Ties That Bind Us

2011-02-09T11:18:00.005+01:00

Margaret awoke with a start. The front door to her house had just slammed shut. She sat bolt upright in her bed and looked at the alarm clock. It was 2:45, not that the time really made much of a difference if she was being broken into. She didn't move, but sat listening to the sounds of her house, and when a high pitched and agonized scream filled the air, before being cut off by another slamming door, she felt better and lay back down. It was just Martin coming home.

About an hour later, Margaret heard footsteps on the stairs and quickly slipped out of bed, her arthritis shouting out its protestations at her rapid movement but she forced herself to ignore the stabbing pain and ran into the corridor.

"Martin." She whispered, she didn’t know why, the house was empty besides the two of them.

"Yes?" He asked politely, turning to stare at the old lady of the house.

Martin himself was only 25, and yet technically he great grandfather of Margaret whose life purpose it had been to watch over and control Martin and stop him from losing control.

"She sounded very young, where did you find her?" Margaret asked accusingly.

"Don't worry yourself Margie I covered my tracks well enough." He said with a wry smile, blood still staining his chin.

"I have to worry, it’s my job, and I'm not as quick as I used to be, I can't go through another incident like the one you caused back in the 60's when you snatched all of those babies." Margaret flinched as she spoke, the memories of having to bury thirty tiny corpses in the basement beneath their basement still made her blood freeze.

"Don't worry old girl; I keep my profile low these days. This last one just looked too good to leave alone, but I stick to my limits, two a week no more and certainly no less. But if you're getting too old to keep up with me, well that's just too bad." Martin took a few steps towards her, his eyes a deep red, his skin pale as opposed to the normal tanned appearance he had when calm. His fangs descended, still stained from his recent kill.

Margaret wasn't intimidated by him, and stood firm, straighter than she had in years even. "Listen to me Martin, I may be old, but I'm still the lady of the house, and you are to obey my command. That is the way it always has been and always will be. You will be well served to remember that. “This time Margaret took a few steps forward, until she stood pressed against Martin.”Now my granddaughter is graduating next week, and then she will be coming to take over her duties, and I'll tell you now she is one feisty girl." Margaret stopped talking and took a few steps back, her head suddenly light, and her arthritis firing warning shots all over the place. She winced as she moved.

"Well then my dearest great grand-daughter I had better make the most of my time then hadn't I." Martin growled, and then in one smooth motion twisted the old woman’s head a full rotation and ripped if from the shoulders, holding it above his head like a trophy; head back and with his mouth open he let the blood rain down over his face, bathing him in it before he headed back down the stairs and out into the night, a free man once more. Until the young one arrived, but that was a week away still, and that gave him plenty of time for fun and games.

Twitcher

2011-02-08T07:36:00.003+01:00

Barry sat; he sat and waited, his body motionless. The binoculars shook gently in his hands, and his arms were beginning to cramp from having been raised in the same position for almost 45 minutes.

A wind rustled the dried leaves that covered the hide but Barry didn't really notice it. He was waiting, his heart racing with excitement. He had first heard the rumors that the Split Tailed Wagpile had been spotted nearby a few weeks previously, but there was no way it could have been true. No birds had been seen this far inland since the virus hit.

Yet much like the virus, the notion of a real bird, and a Split Tail nonetheless got into Barry's brain and consumed him. He couldn't sleep, he didn’t eat, all he wanted to do was catch one more glimpse of the feathered friends that had made his life so meaningful before.

His eyes were dry, it was hot and arid in the small, hastily built shelter and the dusty earth didn't help either. Still Barry kept his focus. He knew exactly which tree the Split Tailed Wagpile would go to, and he wasn't going to leave until he had seen it. If he could prove that birds had the ability to survive the virus they would write books about him. Not that he cared about fame. He just wanted that one last glimpse at his old life before he died.

He knew his time was short, the zombies had smelt him the minute he left town, picking his way over the pile of decomposing bodies that blocked all entry and exit points; a sort of sacrifice to the walking dead, who despite their condition seemed to understand and in return for the meat left the town alone.

If he left now, Barry knew he stood a good chance of making it home... but he wouldn't see it, and he knew that he wouldn't bring himself out here again. So he waited. The zombies crept closer when suddenly, there is way, sitting on the lower branch of the tree, a Split Tailed Wagpile. It was a large specimen, but what a beauty, its plumage was full and healthy, the emerald green tips to its wing feathers, the azure blue of the split tail and the gorgeous chestnut brown of its body. Barry took a deep breath and smiled, he had seen it, it had survived; there was hope after all.

Twenty minutes later, Barry emerged from the hide, his legs stiff, his body aching, the blood still drying on his shirt from where the first zombie had bitten him. He walked to the tree, where the Split Tailed Wagpile still sat, he stared at it, reached upwards and with a swift movement snatched it from the branch and shoveled into his mouth before turning and heading towards town.

One Mans Trash

2011-01-30T21:00:00.001+01:00

"There you go Jared, and Merry Christmas" The Duchess handed Jared an envelope filled with crisp bills, and not of the single denomination variety either.

"Thank you Duchess." Jared answered, "Same to your and yours." He didn't raise his eyes from the floor, and soon hurried back to his garbage truck, ready to head back to the depot and pick up the rest of the crew.

Jared had never seen the rich lady who had approached him one morning with a business proposition. He had been told to ask no questions, and just respect the privacy of the lady who had promised him that his obedience would be richly rewarded. She hadn't lied. All he had to do was collect her garbage once a week, and the only promise he had to make was not to look her in the eyes.

The Duchess was the name she had asked him to call her. He doubted it was her real name, but she did live in the rich part of town. A part not normally on his route; where the houses were easily three times bigger than the one Jared and his family lived, and they were just the smallest homes.

Jared had obeyed his orders, not finding it strange that the rich old lady - he could tell she was old by her mannerisms, her voice, and her wrinkled hands - wanted her privacy. He was fine with it in fact.

Jared pulled the truck out of the street and pulled over by the side of the road, ignoring the honks of the traffic behind him. He pulled the wad of notes out of the envelope and started to count. He stopped once he hit $2500. Smiling, he slipped the envelope into his pocket and pulled back out into the road. He was running late to pick up the others, they knew nothing about his little side arrangement and given his recent bonus, Jared planned on keeping it that way.

Still, as he drove he couldn't stop his mind from wondering just what the Duchess was throwing away each week that was worth such a lot of money.

"Don't think about it Jared. It's gonna put your daughter through college just so long as you don't screw it up." He chided himself.

Three streets further along, Jared pulled over once more. His mind was made up he had to see.

It was a hot day and the idea of climbing up and peering into the back of his truck didn't appeal to him, but the higher he rose the sweeter the smell became. Not roses sweet, or even sugary sweet but a strange, heavy sweetness that actually made his mouth water and his stomach growl.

Jared felt his heart begin to flutter as he leant over to peer into the truck's container, unsure what he would find.

Bones, the back of his truck was filled with bones, most had been picked clean, but several still had strips of tender looking meat hanging from them. A strong barbeque aroma rose from them and made Jared's mouth water even more. He loved to barbeque.

Climbing back into his cab he thought nothing of it, the rich were strange and had more money than they knew what to do with. A private garbage disposal was just another thing that set them apart from the neighbours ... or the competition as it was doubtlessly classed within their privileged circle.

It was three weeks before Jared received another call from the Duchess, asking for a next day collection, not that she ever asked for anything else.

"Sure, no problem whatsoever." Jared had said, in his mind picturing the envelope of note. Only once the call was over and he concentrated on the image, he saw it wasn’t money but skin that filled the envelope. Folds of skin, stripped from a body and still wet, the envelope was sodden and breaking apart and even more blood spilled out; poured out and flooded the image, washing it away.

Jared shook his head. "Get a grip man." He said to himself, but couldn't shake the goosebumps from his flesh.

The next morning Jared collected his truck and took it out early to go make his scheduled pick up by the Duchess. It was icy on the roads and the sky was grey. It had been threatening to snow for days.

"Sorry I'm late Duchess." Jared whispered when she opened the door. He could tell she was annoyed from the way she was tapping her foot on the floor.

"I expect you to arrive on time Jared, I thought I was very clear on the arrangements." Her words were short and sharp.

"Sorry Duchess, its the weather." He paused, not realizing he was speaking before it was too late. "I'm impressed that you can barbeque in this sort of weather. I would it I could, but my yard is all exposed." He stopped himself,

The foot stopped tapping the floor and was still.

"You looked in the dumpster Jared. I am very disappointed in you." The Duchess voice was firm; there was no level of surprise in it at all. It was as though she had been expecting it long ago.

"I'm sorry Duchess, really I am, but what's the deal, why be so secretive over having a barbeque?" He pushed on, knowing that each word was crossing further over the invisible boundary that had governed their relationship.

"For a few moments the Duchess said nothing.

Jared turned to leave. He was halfway down the drive when he heard her.

"Jared, if you have nothing else to do, I would very much like to invite you and your family over to dinner next Saturday. We can barbeque if you would like."

Jared turned. "Thank you Duchess, it would be an honour.' Jared smiled, and was about to raise his head.

"Don't be a fool Jared'." She stopped him at the last second. "Be here at "sixteen hundred, no need to bring anything you understand." With that the door was closed and Jared left, taking the rubbish with him.

This time he didn't need to look in the back. He could smell the leftover meat from inside the cab.

The following Saturday Jared arrived at the Duchess's house his wife and child in tow. His wife hadn't asked how he knew the Duchess, nor did she question her strange name, she trusted her husband and was planning on enjoying a nice afternoon with her family. Despite the instructions to bring nothing, Jared had insisted on buying the nicest bottle of wine he could fine, using some of the Duchess's Christmas bonus to pay for it.

It was a lovely wine, a Cabernet Sauvignon that proved to be a perfect accompaniment to the meat that was served. It also made a wonderful sauce reduction, which was served over the tenderloin of meat that was served as the fourth course of the evening meal. Luckily there were six guests for dinner and exactly 6 cheeks to go around. The sweetest cut of all meat.

The following morning a strange call was received by Arthur Malcolm, asking him if he would possibly consider bringing his garbage truck to 1571 Wintershore and make a collection. The old ladies voice on the phone was very convincing.

"Yes mam, no problem, I'll be there. There isn't any um... security that I need to worry about right?" He asked smiling.

"No nothing like that my dear man. Just ring the bell and ask for the Duchess. Now let's discuss the rules shall we."

Reality Check

2011-01-28T21:24:00.001+01:00

I remember with perfect clarity the precise moment the world ended. Contrary to popular belief and ancient prophecies, it did not occur with burning rain and fiery skies, not was it a natural disaster. There was no earthquake to crack open the earth's shell and drop us all into oblivion, not great flood to wash us away.

No none of that.

The world ended on a Saturday in fact, at 20:30 exactly, Eastern Time that was.

'What was it grandpa?' You may ask me 'What happened?'

The truth is somewhat simple. Television ended the world, a simple show. America's next celebrity hair stylist’s assistant the season 4 finale. The show was all the rage back then, and everybody was eager to watch it. Across the world businesses and school closed down so that the final could be broadcast live on a global scale.

We should have seen it coming. Seven billion people, all tuning in at the same time to watch the same thing.

'What was it?' I see you on the edge of your seat, we'll I will hold the suspense no longer.

What happened was simple, broadcasting stopped. Not the channel but everything, we simply ran out of reality. A grey static filled the world and a grating white noise erupted. Then everything disappeared and then black, a fading circle of black until nothing remained but a pinprick of light. Who knows how long it was so, there was no way of telling, and once the light returned we had more important problems.

Unreality had arrived. Sure everything seemed the same, buildings, and clothes, even the weather. Only then did we see them. The monster, the vampires, werewolves, giant apes swinging through the cities, dinosaurs roamed through farmers fields, zombies walked the streets picking off whoever stumbled into their path.

Sure, smile now my young ones, for you know no better than this life. But believe me, there was once a time when the world was a simple place, we didn't have to fight off mad scientists for a day job, nor dodge booby traps and evade giant rolling rocks just making it to the end of our driveway. One upon a time that stuff was what movies were made of. I kid you not.

You want to laugh. I see it in your eyes. But it is true; the fate that your father suffered getting the mail would have been called fantasy when he was a boy. Spontaneous combustion indeed.

But I must stop, the hour is late and there is a movie on soon that I really want to see. The Insurance Salesman Part 7: A Business Lunch. Ahhhh yes, those were the days.

Science Fiction you claim. Maybe now my young mind, but once it was fact, and I miss it so.

Good night my little ones hold your crosses tight for the silver bullets are running low.

Dream soft.

Come Over For Dinner

2011-01-28T12:59:00.008+01:00

Paul Rabinsky sat at the dinner table, still unable to really believe that Sylvia Van Wolf had agreed to join him.

Paul had been hopelessly infatuated with Sylvia ever since she started working for the company three years previous, but she had been in one of those off again on again relationships with a personal trainer from the Ukraine. He treated her like crap but revved her engines. That was the water cooler consensus at least.

However, after one particularly aggressive outburst which actually resulted in physical abuse, Sylvia finally saw sense and moved out. It was exactly the chance Paul had been waiting for. Of course he left it a few weeks, not wanting to seem like a predator at all.

"Sylvia, I was just wondering, would you like to come over for dinner one night? I make a mean roast and would love to have some company." He had said, not really expecting her to take him up on the offer . . . but she did.

"That would be great Paul. I'd really like that." She had smiled at him, her blue eyes sparkling.

"Great." His answer had been short but she didn't seem to mind.

***

"Bon Appetite, I hope you like it." Paul said, speaking to his dinner guests. "She didn't put up much of a fight so the meat should be tender." He added as he lowered the carving knife and sliced himself a thick slice of rump steak; pink and succulent just how he liked it.

Its A Cruel World

2011-01-14T13:23:00.004+01:00

The U.S.S. Capital entered the third quadrant on July 15th, exactly on schedule. There was a buzz around the ship, from the cooks and cleaners through the ranks of scientists, crew and officers. Suddenly everyone had become equal once again.

The planet Stip had come into view, its two large landmasses clearly visible, and in an aligned position across the northern hemisphere. It was a large planet, easily bigger than Jupiter which had been the rough estimation given back home before they left.

"This is it, we have front row seats to an meteorite impact that will help us answer so many questions about our own universe.' The captain spoke through the coms system, although nearly all 999 passengers were crammed onto the viewing deck. "It may have taken us seven years to get here, a lot of sacrifices have been made, but today, we will have our hardships justified." He spoke, not that a rallying speech was really needed, but it was his way.

The comet, for that was what they had discovered it to be upon entering the second quadrant came into view a little ahead of schedule; 5 seconds to be precise. There was a weighty silence that overtook the deck; the pressure of excitement and expectation in perfect balance with apprehension and fear. Nobody had known the precise calculations, this part of the quadrant was unexplored and even the best scientists NASA had to offer admitted the distance they needed to be was more of an approximation than anything else.

The comet came; the horizon glowed as if a new dawn was rising.

"Impact in 1 minute" The computerized voice of A.L.A.N the ships on board processing unit announced.

A few worried murmurs began to rise up from the crowd.

"Here it comes" Someone spoke excitedly, as if they were watching a child being born into the world.

It was then that it happened, just as the impact seemed inevitable and the majority of mans questions regarding their own existence were to be answered. The planet Stip awoke. A large black crack appeared along what would have been its equator, it opened up revealing a black inside as if the comet had already impacted. The planetary mouth opened into a gaping yawn, and a burning orange magma tongue lolled out, licking through space and enveloping the comet as it approached. Caught in the slobbering embrace of the planet it was pulled inside and simply swallowed whole. The two landmasses bunched together peered out like eyes, checking for anything else to eat, a desert perhaps to follow a spicy main course.

As the mouth began to close, as the planet returned to its peaceful slumber, everybody on board was sure they saw the corners flick up in a ghastly smile. Satisfied that its safety was once again guaranteed, the planet Stip resumed its presumed peaceful slumber. The land masses drifted apart once again, each heading towards to customary polar positions.

The crew of the U.S.S. Capital dispersed each walking away heads down, the mixture of emotions now split between shock and disappointment. There was nothing left to do than begin the now arduous 7 year journey back home to report the results. The only thing they now knew for certain was that movie perceptions were indeed correct, and that the Earth itself, not just the people on it were now beyond doubt the inferior race.

Interstellar Relations

2011-01-09T14:09:00.004+01:00

Szwergi people were friendly, welcoming and not unlike humans in the way their went about their lives. Their planet may have been largely barren and their cities built within the craters made from the regularly impacting comets, but there was a distinct order to things, they were educated, they worked and once they reached what we would call elderly they were retired, or banished I suppose would be the word back home. Although I was assured there was a city not too far away that had been built just for them, a retirement home I suppose, although nobody under the age of 329 had ever seen it for obvious reasons.

Dating also seemed to follow the traditional earth customs, which I found oddly comforting when I first asked Fraihu out for dinner. The first date was slightly awkward; the food was still alive when we got it for one thing. A delicacy I was told, but I was sick for three days afterwards, especially as it was still alive when it came out.

The second date we saw a sort of play, which involved a large cast all with minor roles telling a story in both speech and song, while I didn't understand much of it, my proficiency in their rather complex language still rather weak, it was still a very rousing and entertaining evening.

The third date, was much more relaxed. We went out of the city walls, and wandered beneath on the seven moons, Ataran I believe it was, it cast a beautiful pink glow over the land, and when we stopped at the edge of a shallow crater I saw a picnic, a real picnic spread out on a square of Szwergi cloth. Fraihu had done her best, with sandwiches and fruits.

We sat and ate, and then she took me by the hand and gazed into my eyes. I felt the strange connection that seems to exist on this planet. Eye contact was reserved only for those in courtship or marriage.

"I want you." She spoke in perfect English, smiling at my surprised expression. "Take me!" She whispered. She raised her arm, showing her armpit to me, and with it her arousal. We made love there and then, and forever we were entwined. It was awkward, I was the first of our crew to mate with the Szwergi, but looking back, I have no regrets, and look forward to the pregnancy with some trepidation.

Elementary Dear January

2011-01-09T13:59:00.000+01:00

Being bitten by a zombie hurts, not in the way they claim a vampire bite hurts, - and yes, we thought it was bad enough when the vampires arrived too - but rather in an excruciating way. A chunk, or rather a mouthful of your own flesh is ripped from your body, and that all before the virus gets in your system. First your temperature increases, your heart races and your blood actually begins to cook, your brain is attacked by electrical impulses telling it your body is in pain and eventually becomes overloaded; in many cases is melts completely.

Of course, that's not even the worst part… no… that comes much later. My studies into the zombie phenomenon have shown that their bloodlust goes far beyond the mere rumblings of hunger we have should we skip breakfast, but rather it causes them pain, actual physical pain. As a side note to this report, I have conducted some basic testing into pain relief on a number of subjects both male and female, and the results were remarkable. In both cases the aggression of the subject was reduced significantly and in a direct correlation to the level of pain suppressants they received. Interestingly enough, there also seemed to be a level of reduction to a placebo subject, although this may have been due to his capture and remains inconclusive. I intend to publish a paper on pain reductive treatment should I have the time.

I had a lucky brush the other day; I was preparing Subject A1, (a large alpha male) for his latest course of pain relief but made an error with the chin guard. It wasn’t a bad bite, just the tip of a finger.

That, and the fear surrounding the bite are my main reason for beginning this diary. I think I got away with it, I have been taking the vaccine tablets they passed around the laboratory, I think the government are taking them too; everyone in the cabinet is still alive and well. I'm surprised nobody noticed.

Although, I think the tablets are a hoax, just plain old-fashioned hokum, I have just woken up from a rather strange but nowadays not uncommon afternoon nap, but find myself to be with company. Apparently my current neighbour, a molecular physicist by the name of January Collins popped by; maybe to ask for some sugar, perhaps coffee.

At least I think it's January, most of her face and the contents of her torso are missing, and the A1 male has gone.

I just hope above all things, that the finder of this diary does not find it by my side, for if they do I am sure they will suffer the same fate as poor January. I'm just so hungry...it hurts.

A Cheater Can't Change Its Spots

2011-01-06T13:40:00.002+01:00

I loved that Mandy Watson, I had loved her ever since I moved to into the same street as she lived on when I was nine years old. Now, twelve years later I care more about her every day, and she said she felt the same way about me.

Sure, back when we were in high school she had a few incidents that led to her sleeping with a few members of the football team, but I forgave her.

Of course, High School was over now, and since the dead rose and started eating the brains of the living, a lot has changed. We live together; we found an old pillbox from the Second World War in the fields behind her house. It was just big enough for the two of us, not that there was anybody else left in town.

She said she loved me and would always be with me, and I believed her, I mean people change, and what with everything that had happened I had to believe her.

It all went fine, until this morning. I came back from looking for food and found her with Richard Williams, the quarter back from the high school. At first I was just shocked; I mean I didn't realize that Zombies could have sex.

She begged me to take her back, she cried and called out my name, but I was done, my heart had been broken one time too many. I know she hadn't been bitten yet, but I threw my last grenade into the small box as I left, she was dead to me anyway.

Now I just hope I can find somewhere else to live before night fall.

Good Neighbours

2011-01-06T09:58:00.004+01:00

We didn't want to appear too aggressive, not for the first contact at least. After all we were the ones visiting them. So we concealed our weapons and set them to stun.

Their ship was enormous, bigger than I could even comprehend, although if pushed to put a size against it, I would say Europe.

They were very gracious hosts, and although we couldn’t understand their language they did their best to communicate with us. The dinner we had was an experience, and honestly not one I would wish to endure again. Their sustenance is obtained through a series of tubes that extend from their stomachs directly, like a sort of proboscis umbilical cord. Three men are still in the sick bay having eaten their meal the human way, but the doctor says it isn't terminal and that the change in skin color should go away after a few weeks.

We have decided to invite them over to our ship for brunch tomorrow. Not sure how many will turn up. I hope just one or two; otherwise it could become a bit crowded, our ship isn’t that big after all. I think we will leave the weapons in our chamber this time. They seem harmless, even with all of the spines.

A Matter of Logistics

2011-01-04T10:54:00.002+01:00

What with all the looting and rioting that occurred after the infection first appeared, it was not surprising that once martial law ended and a real government was instated behind the secure walls of the five state compounds that the prisons were the first places to be built, and expanded, filled and then expanded once more. There was even talk of creating a new separate compound in the far North to house only convicts.

Murders had increased as had rapes and a general feeling on anarchy still hung in the air. Criminality had changed in its ideology and everybody was beginning to fall foul of the law, the threat of being locked away in a secure cell with three meals a day provided for you actually began to sound much better than what was on offer in the rest of the world.

Something needed to be done, not only to change society’s views and mindset back to what it had been, but also so try and free up some space in the cells. The prisons were already bigger than the living quarters and the streets were just as dangerous inside the reinforced concrete walls as on the other side.

It was then that the Cell Space Law was passed. It was simple, and amazingly obvious when thought about. Not only did it reinstate a genuine fear of the repercussions of criminal behavior but it also seemed to help create a safer slightly more stable environment outside the compounds.

The zombies soon learnt that Friday was feeding day, the newly sentenced prisoners were moved into the cells, and the longest serving members were moved outside, and left to fend for themselves. At first we tied them up, but the zombies seem to prefer the chase, something about the hormones released into the brain during the fight or flight reaction just turned them wild with hunger.

The world went soft

2011-01-04T09:46:00.002+01:00

When the message was received, the signal decoded and life on other planets was finally proved, the world changed.

We stopped squabbling and warring over religion and land space. Our minds united and together as a single civilization we moved forward, focusing on the space, the limitless possibilities that it must hold for our future.

Shuttles were built, trips were planned and five new space stations were commissioned and built in record time, they were manned by specially trained scientists, engineers and astronauts from all countries across the globe and back on earth we enjoyed living a life without fear. Even regular street crime decreased as everybody suddenly realized what their place in the universe meant and could mean.

The problem was that with our attentions turned away from war and aggression, we became soft, weak and vulnerable, and when real contact was made, rather than just an intercepted signal we were not ready

They came under no false pretences, appearing in the sky within the blink of an eye, they did not ask for our leaders nor ever mention the concept of peace, and now we bow down to a new God one we can see and one who is vengeful and armed with laser cannons and deflector shields.

Good Communication Skills

2011-01-04T08:00:00.003+01:00

Everybody can understand English, it's just a question of finding out how hard you have to shout it. With Zombies it turns you, the answer if very hard. Initial communication with them was hazardous to say the least, and many casualties were suffered trying to find ways of getting close enough and loud enough for them to understand.

Communication was slow, their grunts and growls all sounded the same, and with the death rate of Zombie translators being so high, it was hard to find people qualified and willing to take on the position.

The survivors began to complain, the governments set up within each compound were meeting and discussing plans to shut down Operation Gentleman, and simply got to war with the zombies, and then, suddenly the breakthrough came.

We used radio waves and set it to such a low frequency, like the opposite of a dog whistle.

We started with simple commands like stop, stay where you are, and put the baby down, and it worked, much to all of our surprise.

It didn't take long before we had established a modicum of control over the undead, and the number of casualties during scavenging trips went down, and people were almost able to move around from one community to another, strictly by day you understand. The zombies seemed less willing to cooperate after dark.

It has been almost three years since the disease came, it appeared out of nowhere, and disappeared just as quickly. There were no outbreaks un-related to a direct bite as quick as 4 months after the outbreak began. Our lives have changed, that much is true, but we live them as normally as we can. We live in a state of peace, although I have heard rumours that they are using the radio waves to train the Zombies in combat. I don't know what their plans are, but the compound due east of hear has got some very fertile land that they are growing corn and potatoes in. .... mmm, I could go for some mashed potatoes right about now.

Houston We Have A.....

2011-01-03T10:53:00.004+01:00

The message was broadcast on the news for days. The recording was analyzed and digitalized repeatedly, broken down into chunks mere micro-seconds in length and evaluated by some of the top scientific minds in the world, but it was no use, there was no way to decode the message that was picked up by and then transmitted back to earth from the ISS, and even more worryingly there was no way to tell which direction the laser fire came from.

We all now simply have to wait and see if an invasion comes.

Drafted

2011-01-03T09:37:00.006+01:00

"I'll take this one." The gravelly voice utters, a frail looking arm raised and pointed a shaking finger at the well built, muscular framed man that stood first from the right of the current lineup. Behind them stood another three lines of equal length, waiting their turn to step forward.

"Ok, but if you get him, I get both of them." A much healthier looking man spoke, his beard was thick and grey but his face was colourful and his eyes sparkled unlike the dark unreflective eyes of his counterpart.

"Two? Granted he's a strong one but two in exchange," The rather sickly looking man paused, his chest wheezing slightly as he drew each breath. "Ok, you drive a hard bargain my old friend but ok."

The pair shook hands and the deal was sealed. The three men were lead away.

"That one looks strong, but he is soft in the gut, and I from the look of your tactics I need a few people who will stand firm, so I'll take her instead." The bearded man pointed at the leggy brunette who stood with her shoulders back and ample chest pushed forward. Her posture screamed military and made her a good choice.

"Ooh great choice." The grey man responded, "I'll take the flabby one then." He pointed with almost disregard and once again the deal was sealed and the two lead away.

The remaining six people in the line all stood staring at the floor. The two men sitting in chairs at the head of the far end of the great hall, beneath sparkling crystal chandeliers looked at each other and shook their heads almost in unison.

"I don't think any of them are what we are looking for." The bearded man spoke. "If you want you can have them all, otherwise I suggest we just dismiss them and call up the second round."

"Couldn't agree more. Last thing my team needs are more time wasters, I've learnt my lesson from last time." The old man wheezed. The pair shook hands and before the summons could be given the remaining individuals were led back out of the great room and into the grey wintry weather outside.

"I do hate this time of year." The bearded man whispered to his comrade. "I say we leave the second round of the draft to tomorrow." He added

"Agreed, give them a chance to think about how badly they want it." This was followed by a retching series of coughs that would have sounded unhealthy in a hospice let alone a great hall.

With the first round over and their choices made the pair both rose and shook hands.

"May the best man win." This time unison was achieved and with it the pair separated. One rose to the heavens and one sank through the floor, both heading to their respective worlds and new recruits eager to be welcomed to the flock.

The lights in the great hall went out and the remaining souls were cast into darkness simply waiting for their turn to be allocated their role in forever.

Stripes (Raw Unedited Version)

2011-01-02T09:19:00.001+01:00

“You were the one who found the body?” Charles McAllister asked, holding his notebook before him, jotting down in his own form of shorthand everything the girl had to say.

“Yes, I had left my bag here after work and came to pick it up on my way to the movies.” Dana Turner spoke.

For a young girl who had just found her boss savagely beaten to death she seemed remarkably calm. But then again shock can have that effect Charles thought to himself as he decided not to note her manner down.

“Ok, well here is a number for the police victims support line. If you need to talk to someone just give them a call. It’s a free number.” He said handing her a page torn out of his notebook.

“Thank you. Can I go now?” She asked turning as she did so. There was unsurprisingly a small crowd gathered already at the front of the store, including he had been informed a group of Dana’s colleagues who had been waiting for her at the movies.

“Yes, if we have any further questions we will be in touch. Thank you.” She walked away and Charles, a normally happily married man with two kids not much younger than Dana couldn’t help but stare almost forlornly as she walked away. He felt suddenly tired and slight light headed.

With a strangely heavy heart Charles turned his attention back to the crime scene itself. The body was in the storeroom of the Foot Locker in the centre of the local shopping mall. The forensics lab were busy collecting as much as they could, but it was hard work, as far as anybody could tell the store manager had been beaten to death, although it looked more like he had been run over by a truck. The floor was almost completely covered in blood and his both his skull and ribcage had been crushed almost flat.

“Have you found anything?” Charles asked Alexandra Talbot the current lead forensic pathologist in the absence of their regular chief who was taking his first vacation in ten years.

Alexandra stood up from her position crouched over the flattened head of the man and shook her head. “Nothing concrete, a few small hairs, definitely animal in origin and that’s it. We’ll analyze them back at the lab and let you know but other than that we’ve got nothing. No fingerprints, no sign of forced entry, no obvious murder weapon. A few strange marks have been found on the body but we’ll need to have him moved and cleaned up before I can tell you anything else.”

“Thanks Alex.” Charles offered.

There was a strange atmosphere to the room, a strong scent unlike that of any normal murder scene. The air almost seemed thick and slightly unreal. Too much coffee and cigarettes Charles told himself.

By the time the body was moved and the Foot Locker had been both locked and taped up the mall was deserted. The crowd had begun to disperse not long after the uniformed police had set up the tape and cordoned off the area. The closing of the mall had also helped although even then some people had remained.

Charles was back at the station; his wife long since in bed and his children long passed the age where he needed to set them curfews. In his left hand he held both a cigarette and a coffee and he alternated between the two without even breaking his focus on the pieces of paper in front of him.

He had pulled up the records on the Dana Turner, just a hunch he had told himself. She had only been working there a week.

Nothing strange about that Charles old boy

He then looked at the company records that they had obtained at the scene and realized that out of the seven members of staff, six had only been there a week.

The station was empty, even the janitor had gone home by the time Charles stood up from his desk to take a leak and get another cup of coffee. There was no point going home now, he lived a good hour drive away and was expecting the autopsy results first thing the next morning anyway.

His footsteps echoed in the linoleum lined halls, but that wasn’t it, there was something else. A steady clacking sound that tried hard to fall in time with his steps but the stride wasn’t long enough. Charles turned around, but the hallway was empty, the majority of the lights on his floor were turned off, in fact only the light in his section of the office burned. He started walking again, and again the clacking sound of horse’s hooves followed him again like a pre-emptive echo. A warm breeze came washed down the hallways, stiff enough to rustle the various posters and advertisements on the cork boarding that lined the corridors.

“Charles” His name seemed to be carried on the breeze. He turned around and saw nothing, for the light in his office and those in the hallway (which had been dim but enough to give some visibility before) had been extinguished.

The sound of hooves started again, only faster this time. Running away, and a happy giggling laugh followed close behind, swiftly followed by the sound of the double doors at the end of the hallway closing.

“This is a police station. Stop.” Charles called out as he instinctively gave chase drawing his weapon as he did.

The darkness was momentarily disorientating and Charles ran into the double doors before he had expected to. Luckily they swung outwards in the direction he was moving and he crashed into the communal hallway. The lights here were also extinguished.

He felt something move behind him. He spun around,

… nothing

Another round of girly giggles bounded around the building. More than one laugh this time.

“Show yourselves.” Charles called out, releasing the safety on his raised weapon as he gave the command.

The giggles became louder, and the hooves started up again. Behind him, approaching fast, they thundered towards him, the sound intensified until it was like a rolling thunder making its way towards him.

Suddenly Charles was thrown to the floor, shoulder barged in fact and the group of intruders stampeded away, crashing through the doors at the entrance of the station, sending a shower of glass and wood splinters into the street. Their frolicsome laughter remained in Charles head long after their shod steps had faded to black.

When Charles got back to his desk, he turned on the main overhead lights and cried out when he saw the message that had been left for him.

BILL RAMIS GOT WHAT HE DESERVED the words were written in block letters across the large evidence board at the end of the room. Beneath it were a series of Horseshoe impressions. It wasn’t until he got closer that Charles realized that the message had been written in blood.

He knew he should call the captain, if not about the message, certainly about the damage to the station, but it all revolved it seemed around the Foot Locker murder and that was his case and as far as he was concerned it was his job to solve it.

Until then nobody had known the name of the dead man, no formal identification had been possible due to the extent of the injuries he had suffered. The circumstances may have been unusual but at least there was now a lead to follow.

Charles ran a quick search through the police system and was surprised when he got a near instant result. Bill Ramis was had been questioned and suspected in a number of sexual harassment and rape allegations none of which had been proven or had been dropped before trial could begin. He had been the manger of the Foot Locker since it had opened nearly eight years ago. All of the complaints had been made by employees of the company, and all of them had withdrawn their complaints and resigned from their jobs.

The more Charles read into it the clearer the picture became, Ramis seemed to make it a policy to only hire young women. Thinking back to the young girl Dana who had found the body, all of the colleagues who had been waiting for her outside had looked the same. They were young, attractive; all brunettes with shapely figures, even Charles remembered how he had felt attracted to the girl as she was giving her statement. There was no way that any of the girls could have inflicted the damage on a large heavy set man like Bill Ramis, but it was the best lead that he had and it was about a solid motive as he had seen in recent months. Ramis had simply tried his luck one too many times. Of course it could have been any one of the ex-employees but at least the list of suspects was now being defined.

“Help me.” A broken desperate voice cried out in little more than a whisper.

Already on edge, Charles leapt to his feet and spun around, drawing his weapon as he moved. He was surprised to see he was shaking.

“Please” The girls spoke but her words were drowned by the blood that was filling her lungs. She staggered forwards a few steps into the light, her face a beaten pulp, one eyeball had exploded the other was swollen shut, the socket around it shattered, her hair clung to the scalp which flapped like a poorly fitted toupee against her skill. Her clothes were ripped and bloodied, and before she could say anything else she staggered a final two paces and collapsed to the floor.

Charles ran to her, his weapon holstered once more. “Miss, hello Miss, stay awake for me. Who did this to you? Don’t worry. I’m going to get you some help.” He was already dialing 911 on his radio but knew it wouldn’t be enough.

“The ne….new…gir….” The young lady started to speak but her breath gave out before she could finish and she died on the floor of the local police station.

Charles stared at her, trying to understand what she was trying to say. It was then that he saw the black and white (and largely red) shirt she wore, and slowly it began to fit together. He rose to his feet and ran from the station.

The streets were empty so there was no need for the siren as Charles raced the streets to the Mall. He wasn’t surprised to see the entrance way doors had been smashed open and the two security guards on duty lying dead just inside, both of them trampled in similar bloody fashion to the other two victims.

Charles made straight for the Foot Locker where he found the tape had been pulled down and the security door had suffered a similar fate. With his weapon raised and the safety off he entered the shop. It was dark; he groped on the wall for the light switch.

The six young women were standing together in the far corner huddled together, and when the lights came on their heads all snapped up in union. Eyes wide with fear.

Charles froze, and for a second all he saw was their beauty, these poor girls, they were helpless, there was no way that they could have been responsible.

“Are you ok?” He asked “What happened here?” He continued, his brain suddenly intoxicated by their beauty, their scent, his mind sang a happy chorus and he felt giddy, like a schoolboy in love.

One of the girls, Dana he thought, although now he saw just how alike they all looked. “I don’t know. You saved us.” Her voice was strangely high pitched.

They all moved out of the corner, encircling Charles, staring at him with large brown eyes, smiling at him. They walked in a circle, it was dizzying to watch and soon Charles found himself feeling sea sick, nauseated. “Please, stand still.” He asked as a retch began to bubble in his stomach. He leant forward, hands on his knees. It was then that he saw it… their legs.

“What…” He began just as the first black and white striped leg shot out and kicked him in the centre of his spine.

With a crisp cracking sound his spine broke and Charles McAlister fell to the floor. The beautiful women continued to walk around him, their bodies perfect, their legs all the same, thick and muscular, hoofed and covered in a unmistakable black and white striped pattern.

“He got what he deserved. Justice was dealt and all those who stand in the way must be dealt with.” The Zebra-woman Dana spoke. Her voice now deep and gravelly.

“Who are you?” Charles stuttered

“We are called upon by the scorned women who were done so wrong. That man needed punishment for his crimes.” Dana continued to speak.

“Why the girl?” He coughed and spat a mouthful of blood onto the shop floor.

The girls stopped walking and stared at him. “She accepted him, she let him touch her, father her child and take her whenever he wanted. We offered her the chance to take vengeance but she refused.”

“She was scared” Charles somehow found the energy to shout. This shocked the girls and seemed to spook them the way a loud noise can cause a horse to bolt.

“She stood in our, as do you, you would have saved him, you would have locked his killer away, you will stop us if you could. We have been around for centuries and we will continue until the world is an equal place.” Dana spoke

In the distance the sound of police sirens grew louder, all six of them heard it. Their eyes widened, nostrils flared, and still they were beautiful, or so Charles thought.

By the time to police arrived the girls were long gone, disappeared into the night with no trace left behind besides a few bloody hoof prints beside the crushed body of Detective Charles McAlister.

My Wife Was My First

2010-12-31T07:47:00.003+01:00

My wife was my first. We were young, and very much in love. Our wedding was a quiet but romantic affair. We were married in an old church on the edge of the town all of our direct family was there. Her parents, my mother, both of her brothers and my creepy aunt who was never invited by seemed to find out about all such family events and turn up nonetheless.

It was raining out, but it was getting towards the end of summer, and the autumn weather was becoming more regular in its appearances.

We didn't care, we were in love and that was all that mattered. Not long out of High School we had been dating since we were Thirteen, best friends and soul mates. We had known we would be together forever from the very first day we spent together.

The hotel that our families had gotten us a room in was amazing. 5 stars; the honeymoon suite. They had really spared no expense and pulled out all the stops which was amazing given the current situation the world was in.

Alone at last, and with 3 years of lust stored up inside we wasted no time in consummating out marriage. Together at last. We were each other's firsts, and we had no regrets about waiting.

Susan my bride and wife stood before me, her naked body a picture of beauty, her chest rising and falling at a nervous speed, her nipples hard and dark against her cream skin. So smooth... her whole body, it called to me. I to was naked and she was staring at me with the same look I was sure occupied my face. We moved closer, and that was when I saw her limping.

"What's wrong?" I asked, seeing the way her face froze with horror.

"Nothing, its nothing, I just cut myself shaving my legs." She spoke quickly, throwing her arms around me, showering my body with kisses. Her body was so warm against mine, it was electric.

"Are you sure?" I asked, my mind suddenly worried, a new and much more intense worry about her safety.

"Yes," She spoke between locked lips and entwined tongues. We fell of the bed, and she climbed on top of me. Her favourite position for making out and well, I was sure I would find out what else....

... it was then that I saw the blood on the bed sheets and felt her heart racing as her chest lay against my own.

I was suddenly so afraid of hurting her that I froze, completely lost and no idea of what to do next.

"Take me" She whispered, begged in my ear.

I rolled over, pinning her beneath me, I took one last look at the beautiful face of innocence, sprang from the bed and grabbed the machete from the case we all carry with us nowadays. I put enough power in it to fell even the thickest zombie neck, I didn't want her to suffer any more than was needed.

Like I said, my wife was my first, it was just a shame we couldn't marry before the zombie holocaust shook the world. Maybe it wouldn't have changed things, but at least I wouldn't still be a virgin.

Slice

2010-11-04T08:10:00.010+01:00

The blade reflected the light and cast its beam on the back of the stall door. Rebeccca Worthing stared at it, her knees pulled up to her chest, feet resting on the seat of the toilet upon which she was perched. The way, nobody would see her should they look under the door.

"They will come looking for you." She told herself, sniffling, fighting back the tears.

"I know." She whispered to herself as she turned the blade of the scalpel -one that she had stolen from the science lab - in her left hand.

Her right sleeve was rolled up to the elbow, her bare arm exposed to the world, revealing the hidden pathways that life had forced her to carve into her flesh; learning curves and experiences that she would remember forever.

The tears came now as she heard a group of girls enter the school bathroom, laughing and giggling.

"They're laughing about you, you now that" The voice in her mind spoke up again.

Rebecca felt the tears sting her eyes, felt them roll down her face, her skin so cold, tears so warm. Her hands were shaking. She bit her lip to keep herself quite but it would stop. The voice in her head began to laugh. It laughed in keeping with the girls' giggles.

"I just cannot believe how stupid you are......(it laughed at her.) I mean, look at yourself, you're too fat to wear anything less than a sweatshirt and tracksuit trousers" ....(it goaded her) before it fell away into a fit of hysterics that soon morphed itself into a maniacal cackle.

"Stop it." Rebecca pleaded, speaking through clenched teeth.

It didn't stop, but rather continued to laugh at her. Echoing her own plea back to her. "Stop it.....stop it......stopit......stopitstopitstopit"

She sliced her arm from the elbow towards her write, the skin peeling apart like an over ripened banana, and then there was the pause before the blood came. It was that moment that Rebecca enjoyed the most in a way. It was the part that hurt, but it was the instant that the silence came, the beginning of the rush. She smiled to herself and watched the two inch long red line appear. She closed her eyes and laid her head back against the tiled wall of the bathroom stall. When she opened them again she had cut herself another two times, her entire forearm was red. It was a bright vivid colour, especially against her pale, almost white skin, and yet the puddle which was growing on the floor looked almost black.

"Did that really help?" The voice asked, returning already. Only this time it wasn't mocking, but questioning,. "Why stop here, make it better and cut something else. If you cut them, well... then they will be gone. You can be happy again." Its words hung in her ears, echoed around her mind as if they had been shouted from within a cave.

Unlike a normal echo, which faded away with each rebound it made, this one grew louder.

"No" She said.

"Um...hello, is someone there?" A girl asked. The group was still there. Their laughter had stopped but Rebecca could hear them.

"They've found you. Go on, teach them a lesson. Cut them all." It whispered to her. Her entire body erupted with gooseflesh.

"No, I won't." She said to herself, louder this time. More conviction in her voice. Yet she rose none the less.

"Hello, are you ok in there?" The girl asked again. It was an older voice, a senior no doubt.

"See, itis not them." She spoke aloud this time, not trying to hide herself any longer. She reached for the lock and began to open the door.

"It doesn't matter who they are. Just cut them all." The voice cackled once again. It was like a witches laugh as they stand over their smoking cauldron.

Rebecca came out of the stall smiling, her eyes wide, her mouth wide open, lips curling up in the corners, her right arm bled profusely, and in her left she waved the blade.

"Cut you all" She screamed and lunged clumsily at the group of four seniors, who to their own credit reacted rather than just stared. They ran screaming from the bathroom causing everybody in the hallway to stop, turn and stare.

When the headmaster walked into the girls bathroom, he didn't know what to expect and was prepared for the worst. What he actually found was Rebecca curled up under the row of three sinks, her knees pulled up to her chest, her face white with shock and blood loss. She was sucking her blood covered thumb and rocking slowly. She stared into space, not blinking, not responding to his words or those of the paramedics who loaded her into the ambulance. When she got to hospital it took three male nurses to open her hand and remove the scalpel from her iron like grip.

Doubt

2010-11-03T09:59:00.010+01:00

"You'll never amount to anything. You realize that don't you?" The masked figure wearing the blue pinstriped suit spoke.

"You try hard, maybe one day you will get the break you need, but lets face it, the chances are slim." The second spoke. He was dressed in casual clothing, but wore an identical sack-cloth mask which covered his whole face. There were no slits for eye holes, or through which to breath. The material was dirty and greasy yet neither of his two kidnappers appeared to be bothered by it.

"I....." Martin Newchurch tried to speak, but found he didn't have the words to hand.

"No, he doesn't try hard at all. He thinks he does? But come on, look at him, there isnt any real talent there. He's just a hack, thinks he is a writer, calls himself one because he posts on a blog every now and then. You make me sick." The suited mask leant in close. He stunk of aftershave.

Martin's heart was pounding, he looked around but he was shrouded in darkness. He couldn't remember how he got there.

"No, you do try, don't you. You dedicate every second to writing. Ok, maybe we could do more to get your name out there, but hey, if you have talent someone will find out." The casual kidnapper spoke, his tone softer, yet his words far more haunting.

"Don't be stupid. You think he has talent. Come on. Get real. Wake up and stop living in a dream world. It's never going to happen. God!" The suit yelled, his words were filled with rage, and passion behind that, urging it on.

"Why stop, just keep trying. If you are lucky one day it will happen, you have to make sacrifices." Jeans and t-shirt mask spoke, it was his turn to lean in close now.

"I don't know. Be quiet, I have a headache. Please don't talk so loud." Martin whispered. His mouth was dry, his voice mousy.

The two masked men started to laugh, their voices oddly harmonized. They started to spreak again, one voice was threatening and angry, one full of self loathing and uncertainty. The tone of their words was clear, but the were talking over one another and quicker and quicker to the point that the words themselves were nothing but a blur of white noise. It rang in Martin's ears, his eyes started to water. He clamped his eyes shut, gritted his teeth and begged them to stop.

"Stop it. Please stop." He yelled over the onslaught of their words.

They stopped on his command.

He opened his eyes. They both stood before him, staring blankly, the masks gone. The faces that stared back at him were instantly recognizable for they were . . . . Him.

He closed his eyes to blink, felt a warm wind rush over him and when he opened them again, the men, the two clones of himself were gone. Yet their voices echoed in his ears.

As he fell, Martin spun around, turning to look up at the ledge upon which he had just been standing. The ground hurtled towards him and he smiled, for he knew that silence was not far away.

Hostage Situation?

2010-11-03T09:17:00.005+01:00

He looked at her from the shadows, he studied her face. He could almost feel the contours of her smooth skin, the slight indentation along her hairline where the scar was hidden; an accident from her childhood. He knew it all. The fillings she had in her teeth, her secret nightly cigarette smoked out on the back porch. He looked her up and down. Her trim body, tight and lithe thanks to the gym hours she had been putting in. She looked good, and he could feel himself getting aroused just being near her.

They had once been inseparable, she had listened to him, understood his needs and helped him satiate them. Then one day it all changed. She left him behind, moved on. She started seeing that doctor. That smarmy man with his Harry Potter glasses and leather seated office. Just thinking about that weasel like man with his receding hairline and gradually swelling stomach made him want to lash out.

He calmed himself, he looked at her, studied her face the way an artist studies a lump of clay. Seeing the true beauty in his work, hidden away beneath the surface.

She had changed her hair too, she wore it down now, and she had grown it long. Had it really been that long since he had last visited her? He tried to think but he had no control over the mind anymore.

He wanted her, he missed her, and he had already decided to come back and take her with him. Fuck the doctor, who was he to tell her what to do. "Join a gym, a book club. Just try to move on." He told her, and how she had listened. Well not it as all going to change he was going to make sure of it.

Stepping forward, emerging from the shadows he strode forcefully. She never saw him coming. He jumped out of the darkness of her mind and seized control of the body they once shared. Wrenching open the draw to the cupboard beneath the same mirror she stood studying her new self in he grabbed the gun. His strength failing as the even now the prescription medication waged war on his existence.

He raised the gun to their temple and just as he saw the look in her eyes turn wide with the realization of what was happening he screamed. -

"Die BITCH" and pulled the trigger.

Come Out Of The Wilderness

2010-10-29T11:20:00.003+02:00

It had been almost a year since he had seen another human being. He had worked hard at forcing himself to remember what it was like. Physical contact, companionship, friendship, even a conversation was becoming a foreign concept to him. Sure, he tried to speak, chatting with objects he came across on his travels. A half eaten corpse here, an abandoned car there, but the lack of interaction soon meant that he became lazy, he speech slurred, and over the months it actually became nothing more than grunts.

Despite this, in spite of everything that had happened, all of the people he had lost to the virus he knew that one day he would find someone else, maybe even more than one. Survivors of the war between humans and zombies. So when that day arrived, when he walked over the crest of the hill in the Scottish countryside, he wasn't surprised.

He was also not too shocked by the number of people he found. It looked from the distance he was away from it, as if the entire town was still alive, or at least had been repopulated in the year since it all began. Most of the houses had either lights in the windows or smoke drifting from the chimneys. If was getting dark, he had lost all track of the seasons or time of day, but light and dark was still within his realm of comprehension.

What did shock him however was that upon seeing them, the only thing he could think about was running up to them, ripping open their chests and gobbling down the warm organs that lay within. He was famished and the smell of their living flesh drove him over the edge. He charged at them.

Of course, even children had been taught how to defend themselves, and so they opened fire on him, and when they burnt his infected body, there was a look of surprise etched upon his face.

Time Heals All Wounds

2010-10-28T21:53:00.004+02:00

"When I caught you with him, lying in our bed with the man I called a friend, the man who helped me start the business that kept you in such a well kept lifestyle, I wanted to kill you both. Do you know that?" Martin Wilkins spoke to his wife as she sat next to him on the sofa.

She barely raised her head from the book she was reading, not giving him the light of day. It had been three months since he had caught them.

"I wanted to hurt you, him I just wanted to kill, get him out of the way. You though, I wanted you to feel what it was like to have your heart ripped out. To see the look on your face as that pulsating muscle broke apart. Did my face look anything like I imagine yours would?" He asked her as they sat down to dinner one cold and stormy winters night. The spent very little time together now. She was out a lot. Working he guessed, he didnt leave the house himself. He worked from home writing novels and short stories for magazines. Mostly under a false name.

Leslie Grange the long suffering wife of Martin Wilkins took a long deep sip of her red wine, stared right across the table at him. She opened her mouth as if to speak, but stopped and returned to her meal. It had been six months since he had caught them, and charged out of the house in the pouring rain. Tail lights casting a red glow on their faces as he sped away.

"The only reason I came back was to try to hurt you, but that wasn't what happened. I couldn't hurt you any more by coming back becuase leaving you did it all. I came back to hurt you, and now can't leave because all I want to do is see you smile. I love you you know. I always did." Martin opened his heart as the snow battered against the window. There were carollers in the neigbourhood, he could hear their harmony floating across the night air.

Leslie sat by the open fire, staring into it a glass of mulled wine in one hand, a tissue in the other. It had been 17 months since he had caught them, and charged out of the house in the pouring rain. Tail lights casting a red glow on their faces as he sped away, 17 months since the doorbell rang a few hours later and he had walked silently over the threshold.

"I never stopped loving you. It was all my fault. I know, I never paid you enough attention, I can't remember the last time I told you I love you. We had some good time, and it doesn't have to be over you know. There's still plenty of time left, it doesn't have to stop." He wept as he cupped her face in his hands, stroked her hair.

Leslie raised her eyes from her book, she sat curled in her chair by the fireplace. Her eyes were red with tears, her cheek cool from his touch. "I love yoú" She spoke to him at last.

It had been 20 months since he had caught them, and charged out of the house in the pouring rain. Tail lights casting a red glow on their faces as he sped away, 20 months since the doorbell rang a few hours later and he had walked silently over the threshold while the two uniformed police officers whose car he had hidden in told his wife about the accident.

It had been 20 months since Martin Wilkins died, his car careening off the road, loosing control on a bed, the road slick from the storm that raged. It had been 20 months since his wife spoke to him, since she had smiled, but now, before the roaring fireplace where they had shared so many memories, the corners of her mouth curled up and she shivered as he ran his fingers through her hair. Noting more than a breath of wind. "I love you Martin." Leslie cried and smiled simultenously, finally admitting to herself what had happpened.

"Goodbye my love." Martin whipered in her ear as the world faded to black and he finally ascended, his heart at peace, his business done.

Headstart

2010-10-25T09:33:00.006+02:00

Lisa Raine sat in the restaurant and watched the flame flicked on the candle. It was about half the size it was when she had sat down. Ironic really as her party was now also half the size. She looked across at the empty chair and then remembered the letter he had given her at the start of the night.

"Lisa, At some point I will need to leave for a while, something work related, but don't worry, I will come back. I have written you a letter, its important that you read it once I am gone." He had spoken softly and helf her hands in his own. She was falling for him and when he passed her the letter, which she had placed in her handbag.

Granted she thought it was strange, but then it was their sixth date in a month, and they had a real connectio so she was going to roll with it. For the simple fact that she loved him. She had yet to say it to him, but she did, and she thought it rather obvious that he felt the same. She looked at the small box on the table as if looking for confirmation of his feelings. He had bought her a pair of earings. Nothing expensive but beautiful none the less, and from the small jewellers located out of town whcih she had spoken about on their first date.

Lisa smiled as she took out the leter and began to read.

My Dearest Lisa,

I know that my behaviour tonight may strike you as odd, but I can assure you I have only your best interests at heart.

My evenings spent with you have reminded me of what life is all about. I have, as you know overcome a series of personal tragedies, including the loss of my family three years ago. Since then I have closed myself off to the world, until that was, I met you.

I know that I carry with me a lot of baggage, and while many things I am open about and have spoken freely over, there are some parts of me which I do my best to keep hidden. Sadly however, every now and then things change, things are brought to the suface that I cannot control and am not ready to confide to anybody in.

I have already paid for our dinner, and advised the maitre'd to bring you a little something once he sees you finish reading this letter. (Lisa looked up at this moment and indeed saw the Maitr'd walking her way with a large bouqet of red roses, with a pink ribbon tied into a bow around their stem.)

I must tell you now, that there are only two things I need you to understand. One, is that I love you. I love you with my heart and soul, and can think of no person I would rather spend my time with. than you, from your chocolate hair to the way you're eyes sparkle when you smile, and how you play with your earrings when you feel nervous.

The second, and by far most important thing you need to understand my love is that I will always do my best to give you ............. a headstart.

The letter was signed of course, but no sooner had Lisa rad this last sentence, the deafining roar of shattering glass filled the reastauant and the large wolf came chargin through, standing on its hing legs it stared at everybody before beginning to feed one table at a time.

A Tree of Sorrow : Part 4

2010-10-23T15:28:00.012+02:00

A red cloud swept across Max's mind, it was a focus driven by rage, rather then the actual blood mist which hung in the air followig his most recent series of savage blows. He had broken through the outer layer of bone now and saw that in the centre was a brown juicy substance, the marrow of the tree.

Despite his rage and tunnel vision, Max had been aware of one other fact while he waged his war on the tree. With each strike, his wife, Audrey's lifeless form was lowered closer and closer to the ground. The last desperate move by the tree, he was certian. For now he had reached the core, there could really only be one outcome, and so why not try to scare him away but bringing him face to face with the only person he had left in his life whom he loved and who loved in in return.

"You'll have to try harder than that." He shouted as he dropped his axe to the floor where it landed in the pool of blood that was now gathered. The grass completed disappeared beneath its crimson surface.

With his final words spoken Max proceeded to scoop handfuls of juciy marrow from the trees central channel, with hands hooked into claws. His eyes were wide, and he was screaming, a primal animalistic sound. It was bellows partly in triumph, and partly to block out the high pitched screaming sound that the tree planted inside his brain. By the time Audrey's feet swung ito her husbands face his ears were bleeding along with his nose, his hair had become pure white and his face grey. Deep within his body a tumour had sprouted and grew larger and hungier for his flesh wtih every handful of marrow he scooped.

By the time he was finished, the tree hollowed out until he could reach inside and touch the bone on the other side and come back with a clean hand, Audrey and Max were face to face. Well almost, the only thing between them was the large Woodsman 2000 which protruded from the centre of Audrey's face, having entered at the top of her skull, only to get wedged stuck half way down. One of her eyes stared almost accusingly at her husband, while the other gazed at the floor, hanging from its socket and bouncing around on the optic nerve as if it were on a spring.

With an almighy crack the tree began to shift, and as it toppled to the floor, the ground split open as if to catch it. The earth yawned and swallowed the falling tree whole. Flames erupted into the air as the dead tree caught fired and became nothing but ash in a matter of seconds.

When it was over Max stood alone in his garden. His body frail and covered in blood, his wifes still form lay at his feet, half submerged in the pool of blood that had gathered around them. He stared down at her, collapsing himself soon thereafter, his body tired, energy spent. He bent down and kissed both halves of his wifes face before rising and making his way back to the house. He turned around only once, and was just in time to see his wifes head sink below the surface of the bloody pool.

The following day Max woke feeling as younger than ever, there were no aches and pains, beside that which arouse within him when he rolled over and saw the other side of the bed empty and cold. He began building the summer house that afternoon, down at the bottom of the garden where that large oak tree had once stood. He had promised his wife that they would spend the rest of their days there. That was exacrtly what he did. It took three weeks for him to finish the the summer house, and on that first evening, he sat in his chair on the porch, closed his eyes and promptly died.

Tree of Sorrow : Part 3

2010-10-23T11:52:00.013+02:00

The air was heavy, Max's chest was tight and he had to fight for every breath. Yet he remained standing. He had fought for his country, in two wars, he had never backed down from anything and was not about to run from a tree. Even one that was bleeding. He looked around for his axe but it was nowhere to be see.

He stared at the tree, his head was filled with the wailing of the beast as it continued to bleed. The grass was now completely submerged and Max felt his feet sinking into the saturated earth. He raised his fist and shook it at the tree as a pain burst through his right side almost sending him crashing to the floor. Max didn't know what it was from, there was no centre of pain, no direct point of causation but rather his entire right hand side was aflame.

He had another axe in the garage, one he used for cutting wood to place on the fire. It wasn't anywhere near the same standard as his larger, Woodsman 2000, which he had bought for this very occasion, but an axe was an axe, and the tree must be felled.

The further Max got from the tree, the better he felt, the air pressure was less, his movements freer, and by the time he got to the garage he actually felt younger. Hell, he looked younger; he saw after stopping to look at his reflection in the wing mirror of his car.

"So you want to play it that way do you?" He spoke to the air as he marched, hell ran back to the tree. It had once been a large oak, or so he believed - he was no tree expert - but now it was a twisted sinister figure. The sunlight didnt touch it, it was as if once you stepped within a ten meter radius of the once mightly oak, you entered a world of perpetual dusk. "You're coming down today even if I have to bite through you." Max bellowed as he swung the smaller much lighter axe. The impact zone was smaller, and the power was significantly reduced, but the speed and accuracy of his strikes increased as if in counter balance.

With each short sharp strike, blood splattered against Max's face, his eyes were wide and crazy, his hair filled with a static charge from the electified air around him, and he was smiling as he and his trust weapon ate through the tree. A shard of the white inner wood flew up and hit him on the cheek. Max pulled it out and stared at it. It wasn't wood at all, but bone. The entire tree was bone, covered in a dead leathery skin. He saw it now, and as he looked up he realised that it wasn't leaves and vines that hung from its branches but scalps, human scalps with long hair matted together wtih human gore.

The screaming inside his head and increased and was now a roar not of rage but pain, a pure agony. A vicious wind whipped up, and Max felt his body aging, time slipping futher away from him with each stroke he made. His joints were stiff and burning with arthritis, his eyes were blurred with cataracts he hadn't had that morning when he woke. His hands were more wrinkled than ever and large brown liver spots had appeared over his arms, as well as other parts of his body he was sure.

Max stopped, unable to continue. He was ready to stop, he would let the tree stand and go away with what years he had left. However, instead of just walking away, he looked up. Up into the branches. Whether by choice or because some bellowing voice inside his own mind commanded him to he wasn't sure, but he did it nonetheless. He looked up and there hanged his wife. Her body swinging freely in the wing, her head twisted to a strange angle as the rope of intertwined scalps wrapped around her neck and had slowly cut off her oxygen until she died.

Max stared, a thundering rage building inside him. He roared and raised the axe once more. All the pain forgotten, as the earth around him began to shake and tear apart.

Tree Of Sorrow : Part 2

2010-10-23T06:57:00.015+02:00

Max slept fitfully, he had expected to fall into a deep sleep, his body was weary and his head was pounding by the time he krept between the sheets. While his slumber was indeed deep, it was anythng by refreshing. He had never been one to suffer from nightmares, and so did not really know how to classify what he experienced that night. All he knew was that he closed his eyes and entered a strange world. A dark world with a red tinted sky, a barren almost post appocalyptic landscape with burnt out buildings and hot dry winds whistling through empty street. He was vaguely aware of his wife getting out of the bed, but she was always up early on a Monday as she went to the local farmer to get milk and eggs. After this all he remembered was falling, and there were flames surrounding him, licking at his skin but never actually burning him.

When he woke it was not so much a pleasant experience but one of relief. For a while he had even asked his dream self if it were possible he had died.

As he had guessed he was alone in the bed, and his wife, Audrey was nowhere to be seen.

After breakfast and a quick read of the newspaper Max decided it was time to get back to work. He had a horrible feeling gnawing at him now, and it had something to do with the tree. Even in the early morning light, and a cloudy sky the tree managed to cast long reaching shadows into the kitchen where he sat. Branches curling like fingers around his own arms and paper. They beckoned him as they rocked gently in the breeze.

A shudder ran through Max as he saw this. He watched the shadows as they flirted with him, and he felt the way his skin seemed to tighten over his entire body. By the time he stood up to get to work it felt at least two sizes to small for him.

Max left the house empty handed. He had searched high and low for the axe, which he was almost certain he had returned to its place in the garage which was annexed to the kitchen. In the end he convinced himself that he had left it down by the tree and had gone.

With each step he took down the garden path, a pain in his head began to grown. Not a headache exactly, but rather a feeling, one of dread. By the time he got to the tree itself he was actually afraid, his hands shaking, the hairs on the back of his neck standing erect as he sure feeling of being watched washed over him in waves. Several time he actually spun around, fully expecting to catch some.....one .... thing, he had no idea.

However, once he saw the tree, Max realised that his fear was right, there was no other emotion that could be felt. The ground was boggy underfoot, a thick dark liquid oozed from the wedge shaped gash that Max had carved into its flank the day before. He walked closer still, the liquid was thick, and didnt just seep from the trunk but poured from it. The flooded ground was not from a heavy dew as first thought, but from this.

Max touched the tip of his finger agaisnt it, leaning agaisnt the tree with his other hand, legs suddenly unstable. The tree was shaking, he could feel it tremble. The liquid was warm, it was tacky, but not like sap. Max rubbed his fingers together and then raised them to his nose.

He stumbled backwards, half gagging, half simply fleeing. The need to get away was matched by his sudden desire to be rid of the tree, fight or flight at its most prominant. It was now sap that oozed from the bough, but blood........

A tree of sorrow: Part One

2010-10-22T15:11:00.013+02:00

When Max Pilgrim awoke that Sunday morning he had no idea what was instore for him. The day before he had spent in his garden preparing to fell the large, and very dead tree at the bottom of his garden. He planned to build a summer house down there. A place where he and his wife could enjoy their retired summer afternoons drinking ice cold drinks and looking back towards their Victorian era, grade II listed cottage, complete with its ornately kept garden. His wife's pride and joy.

Max had cleared the area and had over the course of the last month sprayed the trunk with a liquid that was supposed to make the act of felling all the more easy. It was 10 o clock when he walked down the garden, whistling to himself, axe slung over one shoulder.

The tree loomed over him, its trunk black as the night. It had been rotten for years, and was only ever a question of time before it came down. Even the branches seemed to be mouldy. Leaves and vines hung from its twisted finger like branches in wet clumps. There was even an odour of decay that seemed to hang in the air around the tree.

Max set the axe on the ground, leaning the handle against his leg as he donned his thick workmans gloves and prepared himself for the task at hand. He didnt plan on having the tree down in one day, he was too old for that now.

Max took one last look at the tree. He didn't know why, but he was suddenly overcome by a strange urge to leave it alone. To allow it to stand as long as it dared. It was actually with a heavy heart that he picked up the aze and placed it against the trunk. The bark looked leathery, worn and tired. It even gave slightly under the weight of the blade being pressed agianst it.

It took almsot an hour of heavy and somewhat clumsy chops before the axe made any lasting indentation on the tree. The spray had apparantly turned the bark anything by soft, for Max stopped several times to inspect his progress or lack thereof and it had indeed turned leathery. Sweat stung his eyes and his joints called out in stiff displeasure when he finally stopped after seeing the bark finally split, relvealing the oddly white wood beneath.

Leaning on the axe, Max wiped his face with a handkerchief from his pocket and rested, breathing heavily. It was going to be harder than he expected.

The day wore on, the sun moved across the sky and Max continued his work. By the time he decided to call it a day his watch told him it was 15:45. His clothes were soaked through with sweat, and there were blisters on his hands despite the gloves. He had made good progress though, there was a decent sized gash carved into the tree. He stood back and admired his work. His mind still being dogged by a strange feeling that he should stop.

"Tomorrow you'll come down big fella. Enjoy tonight, I'll give you that one for your years of service." Max spoke to the tree, slapping it on the trunk as if he were talking to a friend.

He turned and walked away ... well limped away would be more accurate, his left side was a blaze of pain, which he hoped would disappear by morning, and only served as notice that age was certainly catching up with him. He turned once more to look at the tree, which he thought he could hear moaning, and saw a dark red sap leaking from the gash in its flank.

In The West

2010-10-09T06:10:00.008+02:00

The two wolves stood in the centre of Main Street, facing each other down like two men about to draw their pistols and settle their dispute in the manly way. Their hackles were high, lips pulled back revealing a mouth full of sharp teeth that were covered with saliva. Their eyes burned a strange yellow, and a deep snarling growl seemed to exude from them, not coming from their throats so much as it seemed to ooze through their skin. It didn't matter how many times the Sheriff fired his Colt into the air or the ground close to the warring beasts, their concentration was not to be broken.

The people of Craton City where of course no strangers to the occasional duel, especially not in front of the Saloon. Craton was after all the only real town in between the big city in California and the current Gold streak in the hills beyond. It was the perfect meeting place for men on their way to make their fame and fortune, to meet men coming home broken and empty handed. It was only natural therefore that tensions should be prone to flare.

It also wasn't a completely foreign sight to see wolves wandering around, although granted never in the centre of town, and certainly not creatures that looked like the ones standing before them all now.

Their bodies were large, almost double that of a normal wolf, thick hulking lumps of muscle clung to their frame making them bulky and undeniably powerful. Their fur was thick and matted, clumping together in a shaggy manner that only added to their look of feral aggression.

The entire town now stood on the boarded sidewalk that ran down either side of the sandy street. Not even the horses tethered up and points along the route made a sound.

Suddenly it started, the two wolves leapt at each other, flashing teeth, and swiping claws. They collided with a heavy thud and fell to the floor, snarling and howling at each other, blood was spilt, one inflicting a wound in his foe's flank with a strong swipe of his front claws, while the other sank his teeth into the shoulder.

Their scuffle kicked up a cloud of dust, which hung in the air like a fine mist, obscuring the view for those standing farthest away. When it cleared the fight was over, one wolf, the larger of the two stood over his opponent, its jaw wrapped around the neck of its foe, teeth sinking through the fur but stopping short of breaking the skin. The beast was panting, breathing hard and heavy, its back legs trembled as it held firm waiting to be awarded victory.

What happened next sent the people of Craton running into their houses shouting that the devil had finally come to town, with the exception of one young boy who stood where he was, shrugging off his mother, who in terror fled and left him behind.

The wolf who lost changed first, his fur melting away, his powerful frame shrank, the skin darkened slightly, and all four legs changed, the hind ones lengthened slightly the paws turning in feet, while the front pair shortened, claws becoming fingers, the pad a hand. The only fur that remained stayed on the mans head, it was jet-black and ran down almost to his shoulders.

"You win big brother. We'll move straight on to the hills." He whispered in a choked voice, his face covered in a layer of sweat as he stared into the eyes of the other wolf, whose grip didn't lessen until the change was almost complete and the man's jaw needed to return to its more human range of motion.

"I told you baby brother. Pa left me in charge after them injuns got him, I make the decisions." He said as he stood up and offered his defeated brother a hand. They stood, completely naked in the centre of the street their quarrel seemingly settled, turning they walked away together, leaving town the moment they were dressed. Their clothes neatly folded atop their saddles.

Put A Leash On It

2010-10-08T12:46:00.005+02:00

The spot light came from the top of the police cruiser bathed Ray Edwards and his colleague Matt Hardy in a brilliant light. The patrol car came to a gentle stop and the light was extinguished.

"Evening guys." The officer spoke to them. He was friendly enough, they were causing no trouble, just heading home following an after work beer.

"Can we help you office?" Ray asked, unsure as to why they had been stopped, neither of them was drunk, not even slightly.

"We got an alert going off down at dispatch, you know what night it is Mr... Edwards." The cop asked, pausing to read the name from a page in his notebook.

"Yeah I'm heading home now, we just had a quick drink after work." Ray answered honestly. It was warm out, especially for a spring evening, but the hairs on Ray's arms stood erect, even more so when the slight breeze brushed against them. It made his skin tingle, as if somehow charged.

"Ok, but you know the rules, on a full moon you have to be inside before sundown. So hop in I'll give you both a lift." The cop said getting out of the car and opening the read door to allow both men to climb inside.

"I'm really sorry about this." Ray said to him as they drove. "I've got my ankle tag on, I thought that was supposed to keep my under control." This was no lie, when the tags were introduced all sufferers were told that the charged band would help stem the urges pull of the full moon on their bodies.

"Well yeah, but only for home use, to keep families and loved ones safe. Out on the street, well its just too intoxicating for guys like you once. . . once the moon is out I mean." The cop answered, stammering slightly.

"It's ok office. You can say it. I'm a werewolf. Matt here knows all about it. "and I really did think the band would keep me straight. You need to turn left here, and its the house on the corner." Ray added as they approached his house. He could feel the band on his leg tingling as its electronic pulses were sent through his body counteracting the lunar pull.

The cop pulled the car up at the bottom of Ray drive and let both men out. "It's not a problem sir, just remember for the future when its a full moon, home before dark. Sounds childish I know but it is in everyone's best interest." The cop told them, shaking both of their hands before getting back in his car and driving off.

"Well I'd better get inside then." Ray said to his friend. "I'll see you Monday." He offered his hand to Matt, who shook it and smiled.

"No, I'm off, the girls are on holiday and I promised to take them to the zoo Monday. I'm back Tuesday. Have a good weekend buddy." Matt said, calling the last back over his shoulder as he went on his way.

Love the Movies

2010-10-08T11:54:00.007+02:00

The lights began to dim, and as if directly connected the chattering voices also became a hushed murmur before dying out completely. The screen was black, its silhouette still visible in the darkness, and then suddenly it beamed, advertising all manner of concessions available in the lobby.

Benior sat at the back of the room, watching everybody move around, late arrivals scurrying to the seats, families discussing who sits where, and couples deciding how best to sit with each others, there were plenty of faux- stretching moves being made, several heads resting on shoulders and plenty of arm hugging. It was pretty full for the late night showing of a film that was released three weeks ago, but to Benior it just made everything more appealing.

With the previews out of the way, and everybody's attention held captive by the movies playing before them, Benoir rose unseen, his graceful movements invisible to their transfixed eyes. It was a difficult process to master, but the rewards he discovered it could reap were worth the pain he had gone through.

Wandering the aisles, carefully picking his targets each and every time, Benior found exactly what he was looking for. A male, early twenties, sitting along and in reasonable shape to guarantee decent tasting blood. Benoir moved in to feed.

With his victim(s) so preoccupied by the movie, they never noticed Benior sit down beside them, nor did they ever feel the pinch as his elongated teeth sank into their sweet soft flesh and begin to draw their life fluid. They felt slightly lightheaded, but their subconscious wrote it off as being the movie and not them. Once he had drunk his fill from one particular victim, their individual flavour no longer tantalizing his palate, then Benoir would release them.. . That was the key to it all, to take what you want and move on, never to drain, that brought too much attention.

With his hunger satiated once more, Benoit would move back to his seat and watch the film, dozing as he sat there, enjoying the high of fresh blood and the thrill of the hunt. Sometimes he would then take from the pretty girls, if there were any, although their blood often tasted slightly bitter in his mouth. They were more for the pleasure of it than the nourishment anyway.

Once the movie was over, he would appear once again and either leave with the masses, watching as his target rub his neck and stumble his way back into the fresh air, were normally he would begin to feel better almost immediately, and simply curse his choice of movie snacks.

Sample Chapter from Novel: Through Hell and High Water

2010-10-08T11:05:00.000+02:00

Through Hell and High Water

By Alex Laybourne

PART I

DEATH

To sad humanity alone,(Creation's triumph ultimate)The grimness of the grave is known,The dusty destiny await . . . .Oh bird and beast, with joy, elance Effulgently your ingorance!Oh man, previsioning the hearse,With fortitude accept your curse!

Dark Truth by Robert Service

Marcus Fielding looked at his watch, he was half way through his shift, the last one of his current round of shifts., and also the last shift before his three-week vacation. It was to be a sort of second honeymoon. He and his wife had been together twenty years the previous April, and had never been away just the two of them. They had always had at least one kid tagging along, first the twins, Erica and Bryony then came Roger and finally little Marcus Jr. Not that Marcus cared, his kids were his life and he would do anything for them.

He wiped his forehead with the back of his hand; carefully replacing his cap once he was finished. It was the middle of July and the temperature had been stuck in the low thirties for over two weeks already, and the new bullet proof vests they had been issued with made him lose fluid quicker than he could take it in. All in the name of safety the duty sergeant had said. ‘Easy for him to say’ Marcus had grumbled along with all the others in his section at the end of their first shift. There had actually been a queue of people by the toilets waiting to wring their shirts out before putting them in their bags.

“One more round then I’ll head back to the car. I’ll meet you there.” He spoke into his radio using another recent addition, the covert earpiece and microphone.

“Ok, I’m done up here anyway. There’s nothing going on. It’s too hot, everybody’s down at the beach.” A young voice answered him, typically optimistic, his love for the job still passionate and unbridled.

Simon Dillings had been on the force for almost three months, and was the lucky protégé of Marcus. That was why he had been clocking so much foot patrol. No only di it bump him up over quota, but it was a tried and tested method of breaking a rookie in,showing them its not always gunfights and car chases like you see in the movies.

“Lucky them. Well we’ll head in for some grub and then you can impress me with your paperwork skills again. How’s that sound?” Marcus asked grinning wildly as he pictured Simons face drop, his glasses slip down his nose and his mouth screw up, pursing his lips together in a way that made him look constipated. Marcus liked the kid, he was a good honest guy, and he would go a long way.

“Boy, sounds like a party. You really are spoiling me today aren’t you.” The voice answered back, a little bit of attitude finally beginning to crack the ‘good-boy’ rookie shell.

The town centre was pretty quiet, with the age demographic definitely favouring the slow moving older citizens, who idea of causing trouble was whispering about someone in the local bingo hall or bridge club meeting. Deciding to cut his route short, Marcus turned left at the midway point of the high street and entered the covered shopping arcade. It had just been renovated a couple of weeks before, but the local youths had already managed to ‘tag two walls with vibrant paint and even more colourful language. Truth be told Marcus was surprised it had taken them that long. The town wasn’t known for being the most picturesque place in the country, and with a high unemployment rate benefit claimants were flocking there in droves, with council estates springing up wherever there had once been a bit of green ground for kids to play on.

Unlike Simon, Marcus had lived in the town his whole life, and had watched as it slowly made the transition from a small coastal Enlgish town, to a place the size of a city, and now it was on the cusp of linking up with the three surrounding towns that were slowly suffering the same fate. Marcus knew it was only a matter of time before someone raised the idea of combining them all.

Easterton had once been nothing more than a proud and well-respected fishing village, which grew as the industry it housed did. Then over night the fishing moved away, takig the majority of the jobs with it. Yet the people had stayed, they were settled, had families and so the next generation of emploment came along., Factories rolled into town, offering short lived salvation to the locals. Sadly the eternal quest for cheaper labour and longer hours played its part and slowly they were once again made redundant to make room for the immigrants who were not only more than willing to work, they were perfectly happy to do so for a much lower remuneration.

Marcus knew first hand what a crappy place the world was, and that was in part why he decided to join the police. He wanted to be able to say the neighbourhood was slightly safer for his kids to grow up in. It was a loosing battle, he knew that, but he had never been one to just cover up and take the abuse.

Marcus noticed that three shops had decided not to open at all today with signs in their windows advising potential customers of the temporary closure as a result of the near unbearable hot weather of the previous few days. They were small, family run establishments selling leather bags, another sold hand made cards for all occasions– or so the sign in the window claimed –The last was a craft shop, its window filled with knitting patterns, wool of every colour imaginable lined the back wall as if it were where God had made his Technicolor Dreamcoat.. None of them would see the end of the year. It was a sad fact, especially in Easterton, that no small business could compete with the bigger companies, many of whom were part of international consortiums now.

Stopping, Marcus bent down and grabbed an empty disposable drinking cup and threw it in the bin that was about half a meter away. He didn’t like litter; it was pointless in his eyes. He whistled to himself as he moved further along, no song but just a jaunty tune that seemed to grow in his head.

His stomach growled noisily, stopping him instantly. He had skipped breakfast that morning, and he knew he was going to be made to regret it. He patted his trousers, and the pockets of his vest, and then the pockets of his sweat sodden shirt beneath. Nothing, his wallet, he saw in a flash image, was still on the small table beside his bed.

“Bollocks” He muttered under his breath. He looked at his watch, he would eat when they got back to the station that wasn’t a problem, he would lend a fiver from Leslie Granch, he still owed him from the football result the week before. Marcus’s frustration was more due to the knowledge her had acquired over the years thatthat whenever he was caught unprepared, something always went wrong that would delay him somehow.

He paused by the window of Budget Gaming Supplies, looking at the rather poor selection of games on display. The new Boxing Academy game was out he saw it in the back corner against the wall. The objective of it was that you took a boxer, and trained them up, with a diet programme all the way through to setting specific workouts and guide them through a career. He didn’t really play games anymore, hadn’t since he left school if you don’t count the times he played with his children. Yet that was one he loved and always bought when it was released, irrespective of how much he actually planned on playing it. Having been a boxer himself before joining the force he supposed he had an interest in it that wasn’t strictly spectator based. He had been a light heavyweight with a lot of potential if the people back then were to be believed. He had a record of 21-0 with 18 knockouts. A title shot had been promised to him by his manager Walter Whitney, a small reptilian looking man with the cold beady eyes of a shark and a temper to match. He had been Marcus’s manager from the beginning, ever since he had first spotted him sparring at the local fitness centre. He had been big and fast and even as a young rookie had had the power to stop any other fighter in his gym. He had been described as the perfect mix of George Forman and Joe Fraser with his raw power yet graceful style, and as he matured so did his boxing.

Yet sadly it had all begun to crumble around his ankles one afternoon a matter of days after he had knocked out the number one contender to the WBO title inside of 5 rounds, and Walter called him up to the office. Marcus had expected a title offer would be bounced around but not so quickly.

He remembered it like it was yesterday, a fact helped by his regular repetition of the tale at the many gatherings he attended It had become almost a trademark party tale, one that could b rehashed as often as required without getting stale. Of course his children had also loved it, still did or at least so they told him. He had only come into the gym to pick up his running shoes, and then he had gotten chatting with some of the other fighter who had been milling around waiting to start training, when Big Joe, one of the trainers came across and summoned him up to the office. He looked up and saw Walter’s shadow looking down on them from behind the dirty glass. He wasn’t alone; someone else was up there. Marcus couldn’t think whom, his mind really wasn’t thinking about his next fight, let alone a shot at Virgil Hill the current Light Heavyweight champ.

Yet despite the strange feeling that rumbled in his gut like a hunger pang, Marcus ran up the stairs, taking them two or three at a time, buzzing past the dusty photos with randomly taken pictures or newspaper clippings covering boxing events and fellow pugilists going back to the days of bare knuckle fights held on the fishing docks. He had spent years staring at them, reading them all while he waited for the ring or a heavy bag to free up.

Marcus stopped himself just outside Walters’s office, running this fingers through his then thick and busy hair. He hadn’t shaved for a week or so and the thick stubble was threatening to become a beard if he didn’t act quickly. Bracing himself, Marcus rapped firmly on the office door and walked in without waiting for the invite.

Inside Walters office was almost as run down as the outside of the gym. The walls hadn’t seen a lick of paint in years, probably not since before Walter had bought the place. The single light was just a bare bulb that hung loosely from the ceiling, its fixture long since vanished into oblivion. A thick layer of grey green cloud hung in the air from the constant stream of cheap cigars that Walter insisted on smoking. Lighting one was the first thing he did each morning, and the glowing embers never left his mouth until he went to sleep at night.

He had died of lung cancer at the age of 63, an age that everybody who knew him was amazed he ever reached at all.

The eyes in the room turned to face Marcus, and the bad feeling (which to until his last days on earth continued to creep over him every time a bad call came over the radio,) rumbled his stomach again. Louder this time.. There were three men in the room, and none of them were recognizable as being on Hill’s payroll. Walter had ushered him inside and offered him a seat. The three strangers were wearing expensive suites which hugged their giant steroid enhanced muscular frames like spandex. While their ‘business’ attire may have been stretched taut to the point of ridiculousness, they still cut an imposing figure that even Marcus respected from the moment he laid eyes on them.

“Listen Kid, you fight good, but to get the champ you gotta let him think he can win. D’ya understand?” Walter croaked, his voice deep and scratchy from a lifetime of tobacco.

Marcus was only young then, a real talent in the boxing world, but naive to the workings of the real world. He had nodded, what he heard made sense. He just hadn’t heard what was really being asked of him. There and then plans were drawn up for him to fight Aleksander Papp, a young German fighter, who had an good reputation but was struggling to find contention for a belt because of his nationality and the fact his trainer was a Russian defector.. Everything moved quickly from the moment Marcus sat down, and before he knew what was going on his hand was being clutched by the sweaty powerful grip of all three strangers in turn. The fight had been arranged and dates confirmed he would later realised before he had even arrived, and his presence was actually a matter of unimportant coincidence.

Tensions had begun to rise in Marcus’s camp eight weeks before the fight. He felt as though he wasn’t being put through his paces enough, and after several heated arguments he started to work out himself in the garage of his flat. Walter kept telling him that the fight was more of an exhibition, just to get the champs teeth chomping. Marcus, foolish and young had believed him.

It wasn’t until three days before the fight, that Marcus began to get a feeling of what was happening. He cornered Big Joe one day after training as he was locking the place up. Joe was about 40 kilos over weight and sweated profusely just climbing into the ring, and despite his name and appearance, was one of the kindest men Marcus had even known. He bread racing pigeons and enjoyed tending to his own allotment whenever he had the chance.

Joe had crumbled like a baby before Marcus had even started to ask him any real questions. He told him that he was being deliberately poorly trained to make the fight harder for him. To make him really have to work. He had actually started to sob when he confessed to knowing what was happening all along, and then in between repeated apologies and nose snorting he said that they were all trapped in something much bigger than they could understand. Some big time mobsters from London had already bribed the referee to make sure that the German won no matter what he had to do.
Marcus stopped in his tracks; his heart was pounding as he looked around the shopping arcade. He could have sworn he heard something, but he still got worked up when he remembered that incident. It had robbed him of his future and he would never forgive Walter, not even if he stood between him and the very fires of Hell. It wasn’t about being the champ; it was taking away from him what he loved, the disciple and also his faith in people. Boxing made the world a simple place, you were given an opponent, you trained hard, looked after yourself and then you either won or lost.

Once Big Joe had finished apologising and offering promises of redemption that included all the fresh vegetables he could eat, Marcus stormed straight into the local bar where he found Walter in the lap of some local woman for hire. Marcus ripped the freshly lit cigar from his managers mouth and after pulling him to his feet, stuck him with a lightning fast jab – right cross combination that sent Walter flying into the table behind him snapping it two and upsetting the two large tattooed men who were the occupants.

Marcus had walked away and never spoken to Walter again. He had turned up to the fight, determined to do it on his own. “Fuck the consequences” he had told Big Joe in the dressing room. Walter hadn’t been foolish enough to show his face. His nose had been broken and a further slapping from the bikers he had upset put him under self imposed house arrest for several weeks.

The fight began quickly, the German opponent clearly in the know about what was planned and so just came out swinging. It really didn’t matter to him.

Marcus survived the first few rounds with little damage. It was easily obvious that while his opponent was a good fighter, he wasn’t a killer. He lacked the look in his eye and the ruthlessness in his gut to really move in and pile on the hurt if his man refused to fall from the heavy blows. During the later rounds Marcus’s mind remained unfocused, his fire forgotten, perhaps somewhere in the dressing room. His long-term girlfriend was ringside; he looked over to her for inspiration at the end of every round. It was the beginning of the seventh when he suddenly remembered where he had seen the people sitting either side of her before. They were large shaven headed gentlemen wearing sharp and expensive looking business suits, and they had been present at the pre-fight weigh in, whispering with Papp’s trainer and management team. By the end of the eight round, Marcus saw the two men stand and walk away, his wife was in tears, her caramel coloured face had paled and she looked like she was about to pass out. Her lips had blended in shade to fit with the rest of her, while her eyes were expressionless. He looked at her, with his left eye beginning to swell shut from a well-placed series of blows, but she wouldn’t look at him. She simple sat staring straight ahead her expression on similar to the abused women who he would later take statements from on a regular basis. She cried; he had never seen her cry before, but she had tears welling up that just couldn’t be held back any longer.

As he rose for the eighth round, Marcus knew what was happening, but he didn’t know what to do. It was a strange feeling walking out for what he knew would be the last few rounds of his career. He was going to go down swinging, win loose or draw the kraut would have to beat him. He told himself this, and believed it in that moment, he believed it in the aftermath of it all, and deep down he still believed it to his dying day.

His wife never did tell him what the large man in suits had told her, only that he didn’t need to know. It didn’t matter and that it was all over with now that he had given up the ring. They had planned on moving away, to start a new life together away from the corrupt nature of the sport that no matter what length of retirement was put in the middle, Marcus would continue to love, and miss. None of them ever really spoke about it, but both knew that had he been single, Marcus would have carried on fighting simply because he loved it, and wasn’t the type of person to tuck tail and run. No matter what the odds.

Marcy, whose real name was actually Michaela had been the one who suggested Marcus try for the police. She was five years older the Marcus was and already been a member of the force for 3 years. Her father had been a cop and she had always wanted to follow in his footsteps, to make him proud of her, and she had succeeded by simply being accepted and he had told her exactly that.

Marcus applied, spurred he would reflect in later moments by the events that surmounted to the effective murder of his boxing career. He was accepted almost before he had completed the application form and passed the physical test with flying colours, breaking the course record in the sprint and number of push up he completed in one minute. A staggering 70 the instructor had dubbed it that night over drinks in the training centre bar.

Marcus loved the force, even on the hot summer days, but he could never fully forget the thrill of the fight either. It was something that was part of him, and he knew it would haunt his dreams for the rest of his days. In fact, for years he was plagued by the same recurring dream. He was back in the ring, back fighting Papp, and he was winning. The German’s face was broken open and bleeding, his nose shattered, left cheek swollen so badly his left eye looked as if it had simply been erased from his features. They were in the last round, always, and he was unleashing on the German. He had him trapped in the ropes and he was about to fall. Marcus would glance over that the clock and see he still had just under a minute to knock the guy down in. He knew he wouldn’t get up, and so planned on taking his time. Then out of nowhere the bell began to sound, it rang and rang, Marcus stopped punching and looked around and that was when the German unleashed his lucky shot, and just as the punch hit Marcus would wake up. The ringside bell would melt away and become the howling impatient cry of a baby woken from sleep. He own body shaking from the cold caused by the sweat that covered him and soaked his sheets. His blood would be pumping, his whole body tense, he would jump out of bed in a state of confusion each time, utterly lost until it all slotted back into place one piece at a time.

He hadn’t realised how deep he had been in the daydream until the ear-piercing cry of a young baby finally pushed its way through the image, sounding like someone scraping their fingers down a blackboard; attempting to get the attention of the whole class.

He turned around; a small crowd had gathered inside the covered promenade predominantly elderly couples, sitting hand in hand on the various benches that were scattered at seemingly random intervals. He scanned the centre; his brow once again plastered his sweat. His eyes stung and he felt his pulse increase without warning. His stomach lightened, butterflies spread their wings inside his organs and began to patter against him. He felt his stance change; he came up onto the balls of his feet, ready to move . . . ready to rumble, it was instinctive, he hadn’t ever thought about it. It happened before he ever really heard what was going on, Marcus could almost sense it, his instincts as a fighter able to evolve from sensing where a punch was going to come from into a danger detector that was more often than not correct.

Marcus reached for his radio to alert his protégé, but stopped his hand half way, by the time Dillings got there, even with his rookie over-enthusiasm Marcus would have taken care of it. It wasn’t like he was dealing with a riot.

He looked around and saw the couple that were responsible for the scene he was about to become a part of. A young woman, too skinny for her height, for most heights actually, although it was especially obvious on her frame was she was above the average height. Graham would have guessed that she was around 5’10”, although she was standing with her back to him. Her strawberry blond hair fell greasily against her shoulders, she was wearing a tank top that showed her bony protruding shoulders and the tribal based tattoo that traced a spiral path down her left arm beginning on her shoulder and dancing its way around her skinny frame ending at somepoint just below her elbow. It’s design was somewhat distorted an obvious side effect to the weight she had lost since its initial application. She was wearing a denim skirt that was only just long enough to cover her hipless waist, revealing skinny legs that were bruised and covered with veins that by the time she hit forty would resemble a detailed road map of the British Isles. She was tottering on a pair of high heels that made her even taller, and off to one side was a rough looking pram, which was wobbling as the occupant continued to scream.

Marcus was busy looking at the pram, wondering why the mother wasn’t responding, nor the person she was with, when he saw her head snap backwards, sharply cutting off to the left. The woman fell backwards, stumbling on her heels as she fell to the floor, turning as she did. Marcus saw that her face was bleeding, her lips broken and sore, her left eye was beginning to swell closed, and her desperate look told him it was par of her everyday life. Her skin looked dead, stretched taut over her rake-thin frame. Her large breasts swung restrained beneath her yellow summer inspired tank top, and their size in relation to the rest of her frame and their lack of gravity defiance told Marcus two things. One that the baby in the pram was probably hungry, and two it was very young, probably a matter of weeks old; this thought was confirmed by the sagging post labour stomach which took a while to recover, and on most women doesn’t look anything unusual. However on a frame as obviously malnourished as this woman, it shone out like a distress flare on a clear night at sea. The other clear giveaway with regards to the age of the child were the two large and dark wet stains on the point of each breast, where the milk had built up to the point that they were about to burst open like a bad implant.

“Hey!” Marcus heard himself shouting, firing off a warning shot, announcing his presence and also letting other know that something was going on and that they should watch out.All thoughts of calling his partner gone. He wouldn’t ever get there in time.

The lady, who Marcus saw when he was close to her, was younger than he had presumed, early twenties at best was crying, cradling her right arm, which she had fallen on. The man backed up slightly as he saw Marcus come striding towards him. His head immediately began to look around for a way out.. He was a large guy, almost the same size as Marcus himself although he was less muscular and more wiry, he had a lean quick look about him, and equally as black, in fact it he had been in possession of a large Afro Marcus would have believed he was looking through time, back at a younger image of himself, or rather what he would have been had boxing not rescued him from the trouble filled neighbourhood and social circle has was immersed in. The one problem about growing up in a small fishing town was that there was very little in the way of entertainment, especially once the industry died, and so Marcus had turned to the streets, hanging around with the kids from school, and great number of them he had busted himself during the years that had since past. The man in question was bald, his head shaved unlike Marcus’s own natural look, he was wearing a white tank top that showed his muscle covered body, arms decorate with all manner of tattoos, that wound from his wrists up to his shoulders and presumably from the patterns they continued beneath his clothing onto his chest and neck. He had a flat face, his nose showed signs of being broken more times that was healthy, while his forehead had a long running horizontal scar that when it had first been inflicted doubtlessly bled like a broken fire hydrant. His eyes were cold, emotionless and even in the bright light of day looked almost black, like a sharks. His jaw was clenched, face painted with anger so thick it couldn’t have simply been because this girl said something he didn’t agree with.

Marcus bent down to the girl, the guy was standing back, square on to them, and his hands were unclenched hanging loose at his sides. He still made Marcus feel exceptionally uneasy but it was too late to change his mind now. The course of fate had been set on its way and they were all buy pawns caught in its undercurrent.

“Are you okay?” Marcus asked reaching out to the young woman. She was trembling and had an odour about her that Marcus knew all too well, it was the stench of addiction. Her arms were filled with tract marks, and bruising from where she had obviously taken several hits at the same time. Her nose upon closer inspection was red and sore, and her teeth were yellow and looked like they hadn’t been cleaned in a long time.

She looked up at him, her eyes bloodshot with tears. Her face was desperate and it physically pained Marcus to look at her. She nodded at him, a small movement but she averted her eyes, she couldn’t look at him, and he knew why. She looked over her outfit again and it all becomes clear to him. They weren’t a young dysfunctional couple in love, far from it. It was the dirty look of her clothes, and the look in her eyes that she was a young girl trapped in a mistake she had made and now could not find her way back from.

“Hey Pig, get the fuck away from my girl alright?” A powerful voice boomed from behind him.

Marcus rose and turned, ready to face the man, but was more than a little surprised when he saw how close they were. Standing almost nose-to-nose, the hot acrid breath filled Marcus’s face and made him want to gag. The man was high; Marcus could see that, his eyes were unfocused, moving from place to place as if only moments before each had been given a double espresso.

“Listen, I don’t want any trouble, so please, take a step back and tell me what’s going on around here.” Marcus spoke calmly, looking the man directly in the eyes. He tried to talk through the drugs, through the rage that was bringing the red curtain down on the show, trying to reach the person who was buried deep down inside somewhere. No matter who it was, or what they had done, conversing with a clean mind was always easier than dealing with the unpredictable nature of a drugged on. Behind him, Marcus could see the girl was trying to stand, reaching desperately for her baby, although she was nowhere near close to grasping the prams handle.

“Yeah, Well stay outta my face, leave the woman along and get out ‘fore you get into trouble pig.” Anger flashed in the man’s eyes, he smacked his teeth and began to sway from side to side; shifting is weight from on to the other. Marcus took a step back, it was apparent the man wasn’t going to.

The man moved, tracing Marcus’s movements, and it was enough to put him on edge. He was nervous, but in too tight a spot to reach for his radio. He knew then that this was going to turn physical, he looked directly into the man’s eyes and for a second he was gone, and in his place was a twisted featured ghoul, the skin a pale green almost gre, it looked waxy. The eyes were large round discs of black, its nose squashed almost flat against the face like a Persian cat, and the mouth was cocked in a wry smile evealing blackened teeth and a rotten tongue that insisted on darting out to taste the air like a snake. Marcus closed his eyes and shook his head slightly like fighter getting up from a sneaky knockdown and the image was gone..The man had advanced slightly, changed his stance to a more bladed one, and his breathing had become much shallower. He found a reassurance inall of the signs he was reading, because although the man was big, Marcus knew he could take him if it came to fisticuffs.

“Hey Bitch, I told you to stay on the fucking floor. The man strode forward suddenly focused not on Marcus but the woman. He struck quickly, pushing the girl back to the floor and lashing out with a heavy work boot. Marcus jumped in between, easily manhandling the man and pulling him away from the young woman. The kick hadplit the girl’s lips, opening up a deep slice on both parts of the set that sent a dark rich looking blood pouring onto the titled floor.

“Right, you’re under arrest.” Marcus began, pushing the man back forcefully to give himself time to reach for his cuffs.

A small crowd had gathered now, mostly elderly people, although a few members of staff had come to see what the commotion was all about, carefully positioning themselves far enough back to avoid having to be looked upon to help, or even feign an interest in lending a hand.

Marcus moved quickly, grabbing the man and twisting his arm behind his back. “You don’t have to say anything, but anything you do say…” Marcus had the cuff wrapped around the muscular wrist and was reaching for the second when the man threw his head back. It didn’t hurt because Marcus wasn’t standing square on, but it gave the man an angle and he wrenched his arm free and with one quick movement spun around, and punched Marcus in the stomach. The small area between the bottom of the safety vest and his belt, and area that was designed to be exposed simply to allow for a bit of mobility while wearing the bulky, heavy uniform. Marcus stumbled backwards, doubled over the by the blow. It was the girl that screamed first, her voice becoming instantly hysterical, her cries nothing more than nonsensical babblings from a mind teetering on the edge of oblivion.

Marcus felt faint, woozy and nauseous, his stomach throbbed and when he pulled his hands away to grab the man who was now going down for assaulting a police officer and resisting arrest. Marcus wasn’t sure which he saw first, the red, dripping blade that the man held menacingly in his clubbed hand, or the copious amounts of blood that covered his own hands and lower arms. Where did that come from? He never had a knife, Marcus asked himself. It’s a flicker, look at the blade He did as his inner voice told him and saw that the knife was probably hidden in a sleeve or pocket all the time. Damn He said, to himself, and quite possibly aloud. His mind was beginning to leave the state of clear thinking, the implications of the rather dramatic turn of events was beginning to set in along with the deep seated pulsing in the centre of his abdomen.

“Y ….You …. s.s.s.son of a bitch” Marcus spoke, his world getting hazy, his legs loosing their strength just as if he had been stung on the jaw in the ring. He reached out to get something for support but found nothing. He fell backwards, tumbling to the floor while everybody looked on mumbling and gossiping with each other, but not actually doing anything about it.

“Should ‘a stayed out pig. Fucking cops.” The suspect, the man Marcus knew now was his killer was bouncing around from foot to foot, filled with a nervous energy. Beside him he heard the young woman scream, begging for her life no doubt.

“Please, don’t hurt my baby. I’ll do what you want. I’ll go back out there tonight. I’ll give you all of it, just please, don’t hurt my baby” She pleased and sniffled, choking on the worlds that were spewing from her mouth in a constant stream.

“What, oh now you wanna work. Well whose gonna want to fuck you now? You’re a bigger mess than usual Becky. Jesus.” He snorted at her.

Marcus was feeling groggier by the second, his body numb now, the blood pooling around him like a warm bath and for the first time in several weeks Marcus shivered with cold.

“No, I can work, I promise, I’ll give them all something special, get extra cash from em, please, come on baby, please.” The girl, Becky, was now on her knees, begging in the street like woman who had run out of options, while all along the baby continued to scream.

“You really care so much about this fucking brat. I mean it does nothing but fucking scream and cry, I mean how often do you need to slap that thing on your tits every day. Just do it once and leave the fucker, maybe you’ll be looking normal again one day this century. I mean look at it. Have you ever really looked at your kid?” He asked her seriously.

“Yes, please don’t hurt my baby. Somebody, help please.” She appealed to the audience who were by now – the younger ones at least- beginning to reach for their cell phones.

“Really, cos I don’t think anyone could love a thing like this, fathers looks and your brains or something, I mean.” He stopped then and began to reach into the pram, the baby cried harder and more frantic instantly.

“Hey you leave her alone.” A voice called out from the crowd. Marcus had no idea who it belonged to. His eyes were closed, or at least he thought they were because he could no longer see anything,

There were sounds of a struggle, grappling, followed by a clattering sound as the knife was dropped. Marcus tried to move, he had to try and stop the man, he was a cop after all. He dragged himself; somehow, fumbling on the ground but just couldn’t go any further. The newcomer cried out in pain, a hard thumping sound obviously a fist or some other body part colliding followed this as the man fell to the floor.

While this skirmish was going on Becky had risen to her feet and made a b-line for her child, grabbing the pram firmly and running away.

“Where you going baby. We aint finished talking here.” The black man reached out grabbing the end of Becky’s greasy blonde hair, he pulled on it roughly, removing a large chunk but still with enough backward momentum to pull her over. The pram came rolling back, the child inside hysterical, as was its mother. “Shut that monster up woman.” He snapped, loosing control now, his head was thumping, voices singing out to him in a chorus of song that had been driving him mad for years. He clamped his hands to the side of his head and began to claw at his ears, as if trying to pull out the noise. Becky rose to her feet once again, but she didn’t run away. She watched in dumbfound horror as her pimp, Deejay Afité drew blood scratching away the inside of his ears and the side of his head where they were attached. “Shut up. Shut the fuck up!” He called out, turning towards the pram, his eyes wide with rage. In one strong movement he grabbed it by the base and threw it through the air, flipping it over, spilling the well-wrapped child onto the floor. Deejay collapsed onto his haunches momentarily as if trying to catch his breath. He clapped his hands against the side of his head and began to drive the fingernails of each digit into his skull, pushing and then scratching with all of his strength as the voices continued to scream inside him. When suddenly, like a rain shower passing they left, and while he rose to his feet he became aware that he had never craved the urge for a fix as much as he did at that one moment.

Everybody gasped, and now people came running to help. Marcus heard it all, clearer and clearer as his heart began to slow, the heavy pulsating rhythm becoming irregular and weak.

Becky watched her child fall in slow motion, her own movements slowed from the years of mistreating her body, yet spurred on by the empowering forces of motherhood. She leapt for the baby, crawling over the floor to get to it.

“Leave it be Bitch. I want to see what the little fucker does.” The man snapped, but Becky ignored it, she kept crawling, or so Marcus pictured in, hearing the man bark at her to get up, save being on her hands and knees for later on. When Marcus finally passed out it was to the rolling credit music of approaching police sirens, and as he took his last deep breath he forced his mind back, away from the nightmare scene that had snuck up on him, and picture his wife and his kids, he picture the holiday they had taken about 7 years ago, they had gone to the beach for a day and had run around in the surf, played football and Frisbee and all manner of beach games, the day had ended with a BBQ in the sand before heading back to their small rented cottage just a couple of miles up the road. It was a sickeningly perfect day,o one which had Marcus not been there to experience first hand, would have vehemently argued was only possible in movies or imaginations.

By the time the police and resulting ambulance arrived, the man had fled, although he was caught a few miles up the road, covered in blood, still brandishing the knife that he had remembered to pick up from the floor. He left behind him one dead police officer, a severely injured infant and a critically injured young women, who bled to death as soon as the ambulance crew rolled her onto the trolley. He face had been trampled on and half crushed, along with her rib cage. The resulting post mortem showed investigators that she had died from massive internal bleeding, and the CCTV footage told the story sufficiently to sentence the killer, even without the eyewitness reports that all confirmed how the young lady had begged for her life as Deejay Afite repeatedly stamped on her chest and head, even in her dying moments they all clearly stated that she screamed for him to leave her child alone, she had shielded the infant with her body as best she could, but some of the blows from his dancing feet had hit the baby silencing its cries….only temporarily.

The two bodies where stored together in the mortuary, the only occupants that day, they were buried on the same day, one drawing a big crowd, the other just a handful or mourners who turned up on call to see an unnamed woman committed to the earth. Nobody could even hope to understand why they had died, or what an impact it would have on everything.

Driving Force Of Emotion

2010-10-07T08:24:00.008+02:00

Paul and his wife had been fighting the day he died, a real hum dinger airing out all issues past present and future. Bad words had been thrown by both sides, along with several plates, and all over a simple misunderstanding involving the monthly payment of the phone bill, which had resulted in a reminder notice being sent.

The fight had started in the evening, not long after dinner, it had raged during the later part of the evening and into the night. They paused to sleep, although even in bed the struggle continued.

Paul woke the following morning and went to work, he didn't say goodbye, and his wife didn't prompt him. He didn't kiss her on the cheek, and nor did she want it. Stepping into the car however, Paul found himself struck by a strange wave of sadness that rocked his body like a strong gust of wind hitting a caravan, causing him to rock slightly from side to side.

Sadly however, sadness was not the only thing that struck Paul that morning, the other just happened to be a fast moving semi, the driver sneezed behind the wheel, and his truck swerved at just the wrong time in a bend as a result and clipped the front right hand side of Paul's Mercedes, causing it to flip up into the and subsequently tumble down the road, flipping and rolling as it went.

As Paul felt his car leave the road and lurch forward, his mind jumped to his wife, to their fight, and the knowledge that the last thing he had said to her were words of accusation rather than of laugh made him cry out, and as his car came to a rest and his heart began to shut down, he made a vow to himself that somehow he would make it right, he would come back and tell her how much he loved her, how much she meant to him.

Paul did return, rising from the grave only a day after he was buried, but when you rise as a zombie there are several things that do not come with you, and emotions are one of them. He found his house; his wife was alone, sitting at the kitchen table, glass of wine in one hand, their wedding photo album open on the table. Her face was streaked by the tears that had fallen, pulling smudged of her mascara with them.

When she finally saw Paul standing in the doorway she didn't know what to think, how to react, she rose and ran to him, throwing her arms around his shoulders, not wanting to question the miracle.

"I love you honey." She expressed repeatedly, showering his cold face with kisses, hugging him as tightly as she could.

Paul responded by eating her alive, before running from the house and into the night, his hunger far from over.

True Love Knows No Bounds

2010-10-06T14:15:00.004+02:00

Vampires have a certain reputation about them, killing machines, heartless fiends who stalk the innocent under the cover of darkness, and while yes, they do have a luch for blood that just cannot be satiated no matter how much they drink, it doesn't mean that they cannot adjust.

My wife had been buried just three days before she rose. It had been a mysterious death, two small puncture wounds to her neck, police attributed the death to heart failure.

...............but I had known better............

I sat by her grave every night, from the moment the sun disappeared from my world, until the moment it dared raise its luminous face once again, patiently I sat. . . . I waited.
On the second night, just as the horizon was starting to glow I heard her, scratching, her fingernails running over the inside of her coffin, looking for a weakness, however it was too late, there was no time to rise, and I was forced to wait an entire day before being reunited with her. A whole day behind my desk, listening to claim request after claim request come through from one whining person after another.

I arrived at the grave that third night with flowers, crocuses, roses, and two beautiful lilies that took centre stage of the bouquet. I had a bottle of wine and a new sweater, for it was cool out and the clothes she was buried in were but thin.

The scratching began the moment the sun disappear from its axis over the northern hemisphere, and after little more than an hour I heard the dirt move, she had made it out. My heart began to beat faster, nerves fired in my body as my excitement grew. I felt as though we were high school lovers again, about to experience each other for the first time.

How was I to know that the increasing rate of my heart simply fuelled her hunger, her arousal for blood.

She broke the surface, not gasping for air, but with a near angelic grace, just like I had expected from her. A beautiful women in life, delicate and dainty in forever. She stared at me, she called my name, and I saw tears in her eyes. I place the flowers on the floor, the wine and sweater beside them, and held out my arms. My whole body shaking as I allowed myself to be taken over by her beauty, her pale skin, unblemished, her eyes blue and sparkling in the moonlight, her auburn hair cascaded down to her shoulders, and blew slightly in the breeze. She smiled at me, and I wrapped my arms around her, my tears finally coming. I had yet to cry since her passing, something told me to keep them inside, just a while long.

So powerful were my emotions that I never even felt the bite, the moment her teeth pierced my flesh, nor did I mind the giddy love like sensation of my body being drained of its vital fluids. I drank greedily from the blood that lactated from her breasts, suckling with a wild passion, my thirst growing with each mouthful.

While our reunion had not gone as I planned, our love did reach out across the boundaries of life and death. Now we roam the world, travelling where and when we will, are hands locked together as we journeyed side by side through forever.

Mother Of The Year

2010-10-06T09:39:00.005+02:00

"You two will be the death of me. Come on now, tidy this up and go play outside. Shoo, leave it I'll take care of it. Its a beautiful day, and I filled the paddling pool for you, so ...hup... outside, get some fresh air." Michelle Collison swept her children through the living room, dining room and kitchen, out of the back door into the garden.

It was a beautiful summers day outside and Michelle was busy in the kitchen baking for the kids school bake sale coming Friday. The girls were hard work sometimes, they were twins and always full of energy.

Leaving the living room until later, it was only a few colouring pencils and pieces of paper scattered over the floor, nothing major, Michelle returned to her baking.

Once outside the girls ran into the decent sized garden laughing and screaming with each other, enjoying their Sunday, all worked up for the last week of school before summer vacation officially began.

"Be careful in the water girls, It might be a bit warm at first." Michelle called after them as she beat the batter with a wooden spoon, the bowl held in the crook of her arm and held tightly against her body. She was wearing the kitchen apron that her girls had made her earlier in the year, a Mother's day present, it was hand decorated and had WORLDS BEST MOTHER written in glitter pen on the front in large letters and in smaller print running down both strings that tied together to hold it in place.

She watched as the kids jumped straight into the pool, ignoring her words urging caution. They splashed and jumped around laughing, and she smiled to herself. . . . .

. . . . Before long the screams and giggles of pleasure turned into groans and screams of agony, the girls splashed around in the pool, but no longer with wild excitement but in panic, their skin was burning, reddening before their eyes. Large blisters formed, swelling up and bursting, thick layers of yellow skin peeled back like the skin of a ripe banana, and blood bubbled to the surface crowned by a pink froth as the hydrochloric acid ate through their fragile bodies with a greedy speed. Their legs soon buckled and they fell face first into the water, floating together, hands clasped in unity.

Michelle watched on, and once their legs stopped thrashing and their twitching bodies were still, she turned back to the stove, humming a gentle melody to herself as she poured the batter into the cake tins and placed them in the oven.

Possession : It's all too easy

2010-10-05T13:49:00.008+02:00

When Christopher Utting walked into the toilets while his coffee was brewing, he had nothing else on his mind other than the impending urination, and the account he was currently working on, his desk a litter of papers, both printed and hand written. Yet when he left, he had nothing other than bloodshed and anger coursing through his system.

He stood by the bowl, whistling to himself, a strange habit had had recently gotten into when suddenly everything dimmed, his vision blurred and his head began to spin. A few seconds later and it was over. He was left trapped, stuck inside his own body, his brain was no longer in control. He told himself to wash his hands, but he walked away, he willed himself to go to the coffee machine, instead he walked straight into the managers office. The whole time a strong smell of rotten eggs, or a long overdue fart began to fill his nose. He could hear something, breathing, coming from behind him. . . no it was him, it was in him. He could hear it snickering, mocking him.

His co-workers watched on as he strode into the Managers office, slamming the door behind him. Christopher tried to speak, he called out in fact, but nothing came out of his mouth. Instead he saw his hands come up, reaching out towards his boss, whose flabby face was fishlike in surprise, and was still the same when the coroners placed the sheet over him an hour later. The only difference being that the majority of his insides were plastered around office like bloody Christmas decorations.

Christopher felt the strange cloud life from his mind not longer after he had taken three large bites out of his boss's heart, swallowing the raw meat with gusto. The cloud left leaving nothing but laughter to fill his head, a sound that didn't receded or lessen, but simply continued playing on a loop like a sadistic clown. When the police arrived Christopher was already in a catatonic state on the floor, teeth chattering his hair grey, his eyes bleached white, the pupils and cornea's simply wiped away without a trace.

Open Season

2010-10-05T10:59:00.008+02:00

The town of Huntsville was appropriately named given the locals dispensation towards the rather blood thirsty sport. The 1st August was always a big day, all the businesses were closed, even the schools shut down, a carnival came to town, with a few small attractions, some game stands and a double popcorn candy floss vendor. The first day of the new hunting season was always a blast.

When Hunting Day 2011 came around, the atmosphere in the own was just as electric as always. Almost the entire population were crowded together in Bob Eddison' s field, it was the largest and closest to the woods. They all stood, whispering in anticipation of the klaxon they knew would shortly sound.

The sky overhead was a flawless blue, not a single white fluffy blemish could be seen, and the sun beat down on them as it approached its apex.

"Women and Children first." A deep wet voice rattled. Silencing the crowd. 'Lets give them a head start, it makes them taste that much sweeter when you have to work for it." Eldridge spoke. He was the leader of the vampire brood who had taken over the town the week before.

The klaxon sounded, the fences that had been holding them all in place were pushed flat against the ground and they were loose.

They ran, charging in all directions, crushing their own neighbours and relatives underfoot should somebody be unlucky enough to fall in the pandemonium. As they fled, the sun descended, as if it too were under his - Eldridge's - spell. The sky darkened and the ground rumbled as the pack gave chase. Picking off the elderly with ease, almost nonchalantly, uninterested in their aged stale tasting blood.

By the time the eclipse was over, and the sun was setting in the sky after its natural path had reached its end, the entire town lay spread in the field, eyes gazing at the stars, a thin layer of dirt covering them, no more than a handful really, but that was all the is ever needed to bring on the change, and when converting en-masse, digging graves for each is just not practical. . . . even for the undead.

Storage

2010-10-04T08:11:00.028+02:00

" Its a full moon tonight, we'd better take some precautions." John Deery said to his daughter Jo-Anne

" Ok Pa." She said, obediently getting up from the breakfast table and putting the plates in the sink. Every since the change had occured she had become much more intraverted. Then again, seeing your mother and baby sister ripped apart by zombies it wasn't surprising that she had a few residual issues.

"We'll be alright, listen to me. The full moon period only lasts a few days, we take precaution, stay inside no matter what and we will be fine." John spoke calmly to his, although on the inside he was a bag of nerves. The scotch had run out the night before, there hadn't even been enough to drive away the itch that had been growing inside him the last week or so, and he didn't dare chance a run to the store at this time of the month.

The day wore on, Jo-Anne prepared the house, bringing stocks and supplies from the shed, stocking the cupboards with bottled water and canned goods. Most of the lables were gone already so each day was a surprise. John was busy around the house, he boarded up all of the windows, and installed deadbolts on the roller shutter that would cover they front and back doors once the sun went down.

They did all of this in awkward silence. . .

"It's time Jo, come and give me a hand will you." John spoke, emerging from the kitchen wearing a large industrial apron and elbow length rubber gloves, the same kind you see people wearing in nuclear power plants when handling radioactive material.

"Do I have to Pa," She asked, her face ashen at the mere thought of heading down into the basement.

"I need you this time, I want to take one of the ones from the back, they're getting a bit juicy back there." He answered. "and I can't get them out on my own. We'll do it as quick as we can." He promised her.

Together they descended into the storm cellar, a place which had once housed a pool table, and the weekly poker game John used to host with a few of his closest friends. Most of them were down there still, only not they were part of the large stockpile of rotting corpses that John kept lying around to act as bait and distract the zombie hoards whenever he needed to leave the house or especially for the full moon period, where there hugner seemed so intense that it worked them up into a frenzy so violent that they would actually become smarter, and attached the house in search of the people locked inside. Whereas during the rest of the time, they would stand around and simply lurk, waiting for them to emerge.

It took them longer than expected, thanks in part to the rapid rate the bodies at the back of the storeroom were decomposing. A slippery layer of putrescence covered the floor, which had caused both of them to slip numerous time, but after a about three hours they had successfull managed to raise Roger Johnson, - he had been the owner of the local grocery store - he hung from their front porch, a rope tied securely round his ankles, his considereable weight casued the rope to slice through the softend skin, but thankfully the bone held firm.

"You ok Pa?" Jo-Anne asked her father that evening as they were closing the roller shutters for the night. "You sweaty and shaking." She told him, not sure what it meant, brains had not been her gift from the Lord. Even she knew that. Luckily enough she was pretty, thats what her own mother had told her too, not her Daddy though, he always told her she was clever, always told her she could do anything she wanted to do.

"Yeah I'm alright pretty lady. Go, you go on inside sun went down a few minutes ago. I'll finish locking up. Go on now." John answered practically pushing his daughter back inside the house.

Jo-Anne did as she was told, she headed straight into the kitchen, turning on the gas stove and grabbing two unmarked tins from the cupboard - just hoping that they weren't cat food like the day before. - and poured their contents into a saucepan.

The contents of the pan were starting to bubble, when Jo-Anne heard a scuffling sound coming from outside the house.

"Hey Pa, did you remember to lock the shed?" She asked, as she walked into the living room, expecting to find her father in his usual seat reading a book by the fire. It was slowly getting colder now, and her father had taken to lighting a fire every evening as she cooked. Only he wasnt there.

"Pa," She called up the stairs, thinking maybe he was having a lie down.

Again no answer. . . her heart was starting to beat a little harder now, she turned around almost blind as panic soon set in, there was a bang against the outside of the roller shutter, followed by another.

Jo-Anne ran back into the living room, and pulled over the blinds, looking through the cracks in the woodwork her father had tacked into place that morning. The Mr Johnson's body was gone, the rope snapped and swinging in the night time breeze. Rising onto her toes, Jo-Anne peered itno the darkness, the porch light was still turned on, and it cast a weak light onto proceedings. She saw one of them, a lone zombie - it struck her as strange, after 3 years she had never seen just one - it was crouched down, devouring the contents of Mr Johnson' s stomach, slurping up the putrid half decomposed intestines as if they were spaghetti.

"Pa" Jo-Anne called again, her voice desperate, tears just waiting to be given the chance to tumble from her eyes.

The beast stopped eating, it stood up and turned around, the noise from the house filling its ears, the sudden and obvious aroma of live meet fillings its mind.

"Get inside Jo." The zombie said as it turned to face the house.

When she saw her father, Jo-Anne vomited over the window, and felt her legs buckle. She collapsed to the floor and wept.

"Close the blinds." The zombie called agian, as John tried as hard as he could to fight the infection that was taking control of him.

Jo-Anne did as she was commanded, somehow finding the strength to rise to her feet and latch the blinds. She also managed to go to the kitchen and turn off the stove, the contents of the pans now nothing more thana blackened mass.

Outside it was all quiet, but she knew her father was there. She knew what she had to do, she had thought about it often enough over the years, as much as she had hated to do it. She checked herself in the mirror, her face gaunt and sunken her once soft features hardened from malnutrition, her body frail, her breats sagging already at only 23 from hung unsupported in her old workshirt.

Satisfied with what she saw, Jo-Anne carefully unlocked the front door, and stepped out into the night. She closed the door behind her, pulling the shutter down, and then went and sat on the steps at the front of the porch, and waited. . . It didn't take long.

Control the disease

2010-10-01T10:54:00.003+02:00

The stench of burning hair and flesh filled the air, the sound of eyeballs exploding in their sockets could still be picked out amongst the screams of the dying as the flames at their bodies. The thick smoke was thankfully being blown in the opposite direction today, away from the crowd, all family members and friends of those being burned.

Each week at the town census meeting everybody who was left underwent the series of stringent government tests, and anybody who failed was immediately removed from population and isolated until it was time for the "cleansing" as it had been termed by the WHO not long after its introduction.

Today was only a small pile, 52 bodies from the 6 neighbouring towns but it didn't lessen the emotion. Over the years people had adjusted themselves to the continual threat, the chance that loved ones could be gone within a heartbeat, but one thing that was never adapted to was the fact that they had to be alive when the fires were lit. Fire was the only way to kill the infection, and killing them before was not an option, the virus took control of them instantly, and could sadly only be destroyed whilst in its dormant state.

The sun was getting low in the sky by the time the last of the screams finally died down, and although they were more likely to be the result of gases escaping the charred remains than people still struggling with life, everybody remained. It was an unspoken law that you remained until the end. Today would be pushing it however, because once the sun set, they would come in their droves, the smell of the freshly roasted sweet meat would be too intense for them to ignore.

There was no time for burial, and as the mourners turned to leave their sobbing increased as they all saw the first few shadows standing on the horizon, charging ravenously towards the feast that had been laid on for them.

"Quickly, get into the cars, we need to leave . . . now!" The vicar shouted, pulling out his revolver as he spoke. He was ready and willing to put a bullet between the eyes of any zombie that got too close to what remained of his flock. "Get to the church, it will hold them off until morning." He screamed.

Locked within the confines of the church, the cowering group of were forced to listen on helplessly as the bodies of their loved ones were devoured with gusto by the undead, whose appetite would never be satiated. They would be back and eventually they would claim them all, that was how the virus worked, you never saw it coming. . . it was airborne now and none of them even realised.

Shots

2010-09-30T11:08:00.007+02:00

The music thumped and the strobe lighting was in full swing, making the entire club look like a pschedelic black and white stop go animation.

Isaac Barlow was in the mood to party, and this seemed like just the place to be. The sun was shining outside, the windows were bricked up inside and out, creating total darkness for them all. The DJ, was in full swing tonight, not feeling the effect of the previous two nights full moons, he was sweating profusely but didn't let it stop the beats from flowing.

"Come on newbie. Let's get a drink. We got some celebrating to do!" Gorel slapped Isaac on the back. "I'm buying I guess, you've only been risen a couple of hours but I know you're good for it." He added.

Gorel was Isaac's sire, the man who both turned him and welcomed him as he clawed his way to the surface once the sun had gone down. Goral and Isaac were now linked and bonded in a way that mortals could not ever hope to understand. A physical and psychic connection was made and it could only be severed in death. . . a second death at least.

"What will it be my young ward. Pick your poison and let the good times roll, but be careful, don't fill up for come sundown I hear there will be a big party down by the beach. Surf and turf if you know what I mean." Gorel laughed, flashing the bartender a blood covered $20.

"Um.. I don't know. . . I mean . . i...it all smells so good." Isaac stammered, his eyes surveying the inverted bodies hung against the wall behind the bar.

"Well let me choose for you." Gorel answered him. "We'll take a two double shots of the blonde there. Green t-shirt second from the right." He added, noticing that there was a slightly skinnier looking blonde at the other end, the house brand . . . in other words a junkie, her blood tainted but good enough for mixers.

Zombie 101

2010-09-30T09:56:00.006+02:00

We are now taught about zombie's in classrooms, our instructional videos are no longer awkwardly made sex education tapes but step by step guides to Zombie survival, showing us how to first identify a zombie and then how to dispose of one. We are taught that running is no longer an option; they move too quickly, their hunger to ravenous to ever stop chasing. Once they get the stench of live meat in the brain they are a juggernaut.

Once we get into High School, our field trips are no longer to the zoo or the aquarium but to the battle grounds, night time excursions to cemeteries, armed with whatever weapon we had chosen to be trained with, knifes, slingshots, guns or nightsticks, it is all effective in its own way.

Dissections are no longer performed in Biology labs, but rather practiced executions. Large trucks turn up once a month for us all, each person gets one chemically subdued zombie and we are given 3 minutes to kill them. Not just stop them, but kill them, so we have to think fast. Even when drugged they are quicker and stronger than most of us.

The key is to get them on the ground first. A bullet or projectile is best, a slingshot if you have steady enough aim, anything that can be used from distance and easily carried around in real life. Once you have them down its just a matter of power. Cutting through the leathery flesh and bone of the dead is harder than it looks on television.

Then again, that is just how life goes after the apocalypse. The dead rise and you have to learn how to take care of yourselves. We all know people who died, we have all met and killed a lot of those same people. For some reason they seem to like the taste of family member best.

Fear and the Funny Guy

2010-09-23T11:06:00.005+02:00

Rachel Guinness should never have confessed her fear to him. To relinquish that much control to a man you meet while drunk in a bar is never a good thing.

**

"Clowns, I am shit scared of clowns, creepy motherfuckers" She had slurred, the room already spinning, her vision not quite double but getting there.

" That's a normal fear." He had said handing her another drink, flashing her a smile, that charming debonair smile.

**

Now here she was, it was snowing outside, the winter arriving late and angry this year. Rachel ran, her head down, legs pumping, bare feet burning from the frozen ground. Her break left thick clouds hanging on the air making like look like a steam train was making its way through the public gardens. Behind her, Rachel could hear his footsteps pounding the ground. That cackling laugh ringing in her ears. It was dark, the snow was falling, Rachel's hair fell into her face further blinding her, yet she refused to slow her pace. The ground underfoot finally felt softer, she had left the concrete sidewalk and entered the gardens themselves.

**

"Make yourself comfortable" He had said breaking their embrace. They were standing in the bedroom of his trendy, expensively furnished apartment.

"Don't be long." Rachel had giggled at him, kicking off her shoes and unbuttoning her tight jeans before he had even turned to walk away.

"Oh I won't, I've got a surprise for you." He winked at her and disappeared into the bathroom.

Rachel had slipped out of her clothes, and into his bed sheets, the buzz from the alcohol had subsided enough to make her conscious of her actions.

**

"Come on baby. Come give me a kiss." He screamed as he followed in hot pursuit. His feet made slapping noises on the pavement, but were soon muffled by the frozen grass.

He's right behind me Rachel told herself, ignoring the burning stitch in her side. She was still wearing nothing but her underwear, her nipples were so hard that they hurt, pressing against the material of her bra.

**

"What's taking you so long?" She had called to him after five minutes of waiting and self arousal. "Are you ok?" She had gotten out of bed and walked towards the door when it opened suddenly and he jumped into the room.

Rachel had screamed, she had fallen over she remembered that, because she was on the floor when he reached to grab her for the firs time, that smile spread across his face once again.

Luckily the door had been unlocked and she ran out, out of the apartment, out of the building and into the night.

**

Rachel ran into the maze without really even thinking about it. She had played there often enough growing up to know its twists and turns like the back of her own hand. Even in her blind panic she knew her way. Behind her his laugh had become a growl.

She reached the centre of the maze and stopped. Where to go from here? The bandstand was the obvious choice, but left her with no place to turn. Instead she chose to crawl on all fours beneath the steps, sliding on her belly across the frozen ground in order to get completely hidden.

She lay waiting, holding her breath, her heart thundering in her chest like a wild bull at the rodeo waiting for the gate to open and let it loose.

The moon cast en eerie light onto everything, it was snowing harder now, and Rachel couldn't help but shiver against the cold.

She didn't hear him coming, or even see him until he was standing in the centre of the maze. His face painted white, his nose red and round, lips painted across his face in a large red smile - although to Rachel it looked more like a grimace -. His clothes were too big for him, his shoes absurdly large, as was the flower that stood from the breast pocket of his luminous yellow shirt. He was panting, breathing hard, resting his hands on his knees, only letting go to straighten the blue curly wig and bowler hat which kept slipping from his head if he leant too far forward.

He didn't know where she was, and she held her breath, forcing herself to ignore the agony in her chest and the numbness in her legs that was slowly spreading up towards her torso.

"Bitch." He screamed at the night air, following up with a horrifically comical laugh. He scratched at he side of his head just beneath the wig with his right and, and it was then that Rachel saw the blade, glinting in the moonlight like a diamond.

Leave, please leave She wished, closing her eyes for a moment, only to open them suddenly, certain that he would have seen her. He didn't, but he didn't leave either. He sat down for a while on the steps, he smoked a cigarette, he took a piss and then left, holding the wig and bowler hand in his hands as he walked away his head down staring at the ground.

Rachel waited, not wanting to move before she was certain that he was gone, she was so tired, she couldn't fight it any longer and eventually fell asleep.

The next morning after her near naked body had been discovered by a group of school children enjoying a cold Sunday morning, there were many rumors about what had happened to her, but nothing could ever be thought of that explained the large red smile that had been pained across her face nor the large fake flower that had been laid across her chest.

Can't Build Love

2010-09-23T07:51:00.004+02:00

April 21st 2010

Then restaurant was lovely, everything that I had hoped it would be. The atmosphere elegant, the music perfect even for a hopeless romantic suck as myself. The staff were courteous and friendly. Every request was greeted by a smile, every sentence finished with a sir. I am not usually one to enjoy such ceremony, I find the very thought of servants a frightening one, but tonight it was perfect, just what the doctor ordered shall we say.

We arrived together, and she looked stunning, the dress I had bought her hugged her figure perfectly. I could see almost every head in the restaurant turn at stare at us as we walked in. . . and well....let's face it they weren't looking at me.

Sitting across from her at the dinner table I felt utterly calm and at peace, her beautiful face and the flowing raven black locks that tumbled from it with a natural wave held my mind captivated. Her green eyes held mine and we talked, we actually talked for the first time. It was out first real date that is true, but I feel like we have known each other for so long already, I guess that's what happens when you are friends first.

The necklace I had given her sparkled under the chandelier lighting, the base of the crucifix just disappearing between her cleavage, pushed up by the dress to an enticing level.

She looked for want of a better word, perfect.

As the night wore on, the lights were dimmed, candles were lit at each table and the live music began, a violinistand a female singer who soft melodious tones filled everyone's mind like a fine wine, it was almost hypnotic.

We ate our deserts with my left and her right hand together on top of the table, our gazes never breaking, not for one moment. We were both lost, the intensity of our love beginning to blossom, we could both feel it . When . . .

At first it was barely noticeable, it looked more like a stain on the front of her dress, but slowly it spread. More appeared, even the one along her hair line began to leak, at first it was a clear fluid, the sealant wearing off, Just seepage I told myself in an attempt to stave off the panic. Not her, please, I can't lose her too,

The blood soon began to flow, bubbling to the surface at first like a the result of a nasty cat scratch, but I knew from experience that was the beginning of the end.

I called for the cheque, paid and left swiftly, carrying her most of the way back to the car to preserve her as best as possible. Experiment 746 had been another failure, but it was too late to get back to the cemetery tonight, plus I was in no mood for digging.

She is now in the tub, an ice bath, maybe there is still time for me to get lucky with her tonight. Tomorrow I'll have to take her apart, I should be able to re-use some bits, but I just don't know where I will find another set of eyes like that, not that fresh at least. Oh well, back to the drawing board.

Just need to attach the electrodes to the new brain and set 747 to charge and then I will go check on my love.

Trick or Treat

2010-09-22T14:16:00.002+02:00

They say that the appeal of a yuletide game of soccer was sufficiently powerful enough to halt the First World War, with British and German troops putting their rifles to one side, to spring from their trenches for a kick about one Christmas morn. I had never believed it myself. Not completely, they must always have been more to it than that.

That was until October 31st 2010, about 6 months after it had happened, since the dead had risen and claimed a place on earth, happy to share it with those of us who survived, yet equally happy to sink their rotten teeth into out flesh for a snack whenever the mood seemed to suit them. Yet every year, dating back to 2010, some twenty five years ago now the war between us all would end. The craving for free candy and a night of escapism overpowering their thirst for the flesh, so when you’re doorbell rings this year don’t fear what you might see when you open the door. Trick or Treat!

One man stands alone

2010-09-22T11:06:00.000+02:00

“Eight…Nine…Ten.” He’s out, the referee waved his hands in their air, his shirt caked in blood, his brow soaked with sweat. “Ladies and Gentlemen, I present to you, the winner by way of knockout in the 38th round, the undefeated Martin ‘Zombie Slayer’ Peacock.” With this said the ref raised Martins hands above his head and turned him around full circle, allowing everyone in attendance that chance to show their appreciation.

Martin soaked it up. His breathing was heavy, his lungs burnt and his legs had turned to lead, but he remained standing, soaking it up for as long as he could, after all, someone had to give them all hope.

It had been a big crowd, easily 100 000 people crammed into the stadium to watch him fight. Since the plague had hit fighting had become the most popular sport in America. Possibly the world, nobody knew much about that anymore. Travel had been suspended. Nobody dared venture out much further than the boundaries of their own town, and even then it was during the day time for the most part.

“You really put on a show out there tonight kid” Lloyd Bartlett his manager spoke. “You feeling good?” He asked with genuine concern. Lloyd had been his agent before the plague, back then he had been a writer, well aspiring at least.

“I’m good. They’re getting tougher, more aggressive.’ Martin answered him, rubbing the back of his neck as he spoke. He sat naked in the locker room, waiting for the blood to dry. There was nothing worse than trying to wash the zombie blood off before it had hardened, it seemed to react with the water, burning the skin it was attached to.

“Doc said the same thing the other day. The disease isn’t done with ;’em yet. It keeps changing, that’s why they haven’t found a cure. Hey if you want out just say the word buddy, I mean your 75 – 0 it’s a good run.” Lloyd stood back and looked at his friend, his body muscular, his face tired. “ You’re not getting any younger man.”

“I can’t walk away Lloyd, those people out there need something to hold onto. How many of us are left, that must have been nearly the entire state out there tonight. I can’t just walk away from that.” Martin rose to his feet. “Someone has to keep fighting these things, and Lord knows we can’t do it out there.” He pointed out of the now heavily barred window. It was overcast, the sky grey, but there was enough sun forcing its way through to keep them all hidden away until the true sunset.

“Ok buddy, whatever you want. I tell you what, how about we arrange a couple of weaklings for you. Throw a couple of hand picks your way. I know there’s a few in the lab, look wild as a puma with its tail in a bear trap but soft as a schoolgirl on the inside.” Lloyd offered, thinking up a solution.

“Lab rats? You think they would notice?” Martin asked,

“It wouldn’t matter. You’re still out there kicking zombie ass around the ring, they’ll love it. Everyone would understand you taking a couple of easy fights. Leave it to me, I’ll talk to the joint chiefs and see what we can arrange for you. Go get cleaned up, I’ve got your back.” Lloyd said, patting his friend on the shoulder as he walked away, careful to pick a spot that wasn’t crusted over by the blood of the undead.

A few weeks went by, three fights were set up, the attendances at record lows, not due to the staged opposition, no nobody noticed that, but because of a spate of killings that had occurred, bodies discovered within their own homes, necks snapped. The full details hadn’t been released yet, not that there was a press around anymore to release anything too. The army had moved quickly and instilled a curfew, escorting people to the stadium for fights and back home again. There were a couple of zombies spotted loitering but they seemed to be ‘ transitionals’ The virus not fully in control of their body, rendering them useless. The basic motor functions were left and so they would wander the world until the virus claimed them and the seemingly endless hunger for living flesh consumed them.

“Hey champ, listen I’ve got a proposition for you.” Major Tom Harding spoke as he strode into the locker room. “You really get the crowd going, get them baying for blood. You’re a fucking gladiator man. So how about we stop fucking around and mix things up a bit.” The Major spoke, his military uniform was pristine despite the fact that he had just fired on a group of three zombies who had been feasting on a young runaway over by in the park. The creases in this trousers looked sharp enough to cut you it you felt them.

“No, he’s not doing it. Don’t even listen to ‘em Marty, they’ve all gone fucking mad. Its craziness. You leave him . . . “ Lloyd strode into the room shouting his mouth, obviously continuing a conversation that the Major had already considered closed. He put a definite end to it by firing a round into Lloyds head, piercing his skull right between the eyes. His body fell to the floor limply, twitched slightly as the last few impulses were processed by the brain.

“Listen up champ, here is how things are gonna go.” The Major continued, turning his attention back to Martin as if nothing had happened. “You have become something of a symbol around here.” He spoke

“Lloyd, you k..killed Lloyd” Martin stammered in disbelief.

“Yeah Yeah, get over it. Listen to me now because your choice at the end will be what I suggest or what he got, because what I am going to tell you can’t leave this room if you’re not on board.” The Majors voice changed, it wasn’t a threat but a warning of how serious things were about to become. As if they weren’t already.

“Then I guess I am all ears Major.” Martin spoke, staring at the military man with the cold eyes of a man who has nothing left to loose.

“You have no doubt heard of the new murders that have happened. Well, they weren’t at the hands of any zombies. It was something else… something new.” He began “And we need to something to keep peoples spirits up, if you understand what I’m saying.” He looked at Martin raising his eyebrows.

“The virus has mutated again hasn’t it?” Martin jumped in, he felt uncomfortable all of a sudden with his nudity and rose, quickly slipping into a bathrobe. He didn’t really feel any better.
“No, this is something else,”

“And you want me to fight it, put on a display like a .. . what was it. Gladiator.” Martin jumped in, seeing the direction the conversation was taking.

“Yes.” I mean listen to them out there.”Chanting your name, they love you, you have given them all some hope, something to look forward to. It’s only a matter of time before we find the cure.” He began, but Martin cut him off, raising a taped hand.

“I’ll do it. Put the brainless beast in front of me and I’ll knock him down. The world has changed but at the end of the day it’s still just a case of last man standing wins the race.” He added, not sure where the line came from. Probably a movie he had watched back when the televisions were still broadcasting.

“There’s something you need to know before you go out there.” The major began.

“You mean it’s out there now?” Martin fired back. That thing that killed those little kids is out there in that ring?” He stared down at the Major his eyes burning with an intensity usually only seen on the battlefield.

“Yes, but the bodies . . .” He started, but Martin had turned and fled down the tunnel, ready to make his stand, to make the stand for all of them. “The bodies were drain of blood.” The Major finished his sentence talking to himself and the lifeless body that lay on the floor beside him.

Cell Mate

2010-09-21T23:08:00.000+02:00

“You’re gonna like your new cell Billy boy.” Sneered the guard as he led the handcuffed prisoner along the corridor, ignoring the shouts and cheers of the other inmates as they made their walk.

Billy Darnmouth stopped walking, turning suddenly to face the guard who had spoken to him, delivering a swift head butt which shattered the guards nose and released a shower of blood that covered the prisoners face in a warm mist.

“Fuck you! you fucking cunt” He screamed, his eyes wild with the fires of insanity. He wiped the blood from his face and licked his hands clean. The other guards grabbed him, throwing him to the floor under a barrage of fists and nightsticks. “Fuck pigs, come on you cunts” He screamed, laughing as they rained their blows down on him.

“Stop Stop this right now.” The warden called as he came running into the corridor, leaving the safety of his office. His presence resulted in even more cheers, especially as he pulled the bloodied man to his feet. “Leave him be, just get this waste of life to his cell, and out of my sight.” The warden stared at Billy, who did nothing but smile back at him, even blowing a kiss as they hauled him away. The split above his left eye leaving a broken trail of blood behind like a dark Hansel and Grettel.

“Enough. This wing is on lock down until further notice. Enjoy yourselves maybe you’ll remember who is in charge around here.” The warden bellowed at the raucous inmates, who piped down almost immediately.

The warden turned and watched his five toughest officers leading the Prisons most violent and uncontrollable man down a darkened corridor towards the back of the prison, to the cells that were held aside for emergency situations. Now it was his turn to smile.

“Gonna take me out back hey, Fuckers, yeah come on then, fuck me, I’ll snap ‘em off and shove ‘em up your own assholes. Fucking cunts” Billy continued to scream, fighting against the five men and almost coming up trumps on several occasions. Even a few repeated blows to the back of his already injured head failed to slow him down.

“Oh Billy boy, you think so little of us. You were told weeks ago we were looking to move you. It just so happens your new cell mate just arrived today.” The guard whose nose had been broken spoke, his voice painfully nasal as if he were filled with cold. The other guards laughed amongst themselves at a seemingly private joke.

Billy laughed along with them, enjoying the ride of his life. “Fuckers” He spoke, almost giggling he seemed so happy.

“Here we go Bill, enjoy yourself now.” The injured guard spoke. The door to the cell was open, there was a figure lying on the bed, the bottom bunk. He looked at the door as it opened.

“Gentlemen.” He spoke with a real British accent.

Billy turned to look at him, turned back to the guards, a look of puzzlement on his face. “This faggot. Ooooh I’m so fucking scared, I think I’m actually growing a cunt I so afraid of this man. Please don’t leave me here.” He smiled, his words broken off as the guard whose nose had finally finished bleeding dealt out his own head butt. It sent Billy tumbling backwards into the call, his cackling laughter echoed around the otherwise deserted corridor like the mad hatter in wonderland.

Turning to face his new cell mate Billy simply stood and looked at him, smiling the whole time, scratching his testicles with an exaggerated motion. His bald head and thick goatee swung slightly from side to side. “Allo chum.” He said with a fake British accent of his own. “Come of that bed and I’ll fucking kill you. Stay there and well, I’m gonna fucking kill ya, but I won’t fuck ya first how about that. … Chum” He spoke adding the accent to the last word.

“Good night.” The mans said, turning his back to his new friend. “Full moon tonight you know.” He added almost as an afterthought.

Billy remained standing, dancing on the balls of his feet, rubbing his hands together, the smile never leaving his face, his cheeks cramped from the pain he was so happy.

Not long after sunset the guards returned to the cell, standing quietly waiting for something.

When the screams finally came, none of them moved, although all took a step back when the first howl came. The snarling animal growls followed soon after, along with very effeminate screams as Billy had his flesh ripped apart, and when silence finally descended there was a wet smacking sound the took its turn to echo around the cells.

When the officers retrieved the body in the morning, there as very little left, Billy’s chest had been ripped open, his organ devoured, the few bits that weren’t swallowed in the skirmish had been plastered against the walls. The British man was curled up in the corner naked as the day he was born, his body covered in blood, his lips pulled back in a snarl.

“Sedate him and put him back in the isolation cell before anyone realises he was gone.” The warden spoke coldly, stating the facts as if it were nothing. “And burn what’s left of him.” He added walking away. The next full moon wasn’t for another month; he had a lot of phone calls to make if he wanted to arrange another transfer in time.

An Educaton

2010-09-21T05:41:00.004+02:00

The riot reached the dorm rooms not long after sunset around 21.00. While it was warm out, there was still a noticeable chill in the air. Despite their combined intelligence the group of 25 students who had taken over the campus three days earlier crashed through the entrance doors, throwing a trash can through the outer glass doors without even slowing their momentum.

It had all began when the body of Rosalinda Bentley had been discovered in the football stadium, her throat had been snapped, her body drained of blood.

The campus police had alerted the local authorities who claimed that it matched the same m/o as a number of other cases they were working. A serial killer who somehow managed to drain the bodies of blood without ever spilling a drop, or leaving behind a clue other than two small puncture wounds in the neck.

The football team hadn't taken the news well, the head cheerleader murdered the night before the big game. They had taken matters into their own hands as a strange, hypnotic power took hold of them. They were driven forward by Boyd Henson. Boyd was new in school having transferred midway through the spring semester. He was quiet, but strong, his pale skin and dark eyes gave him a very romantic look and he was soon the focal point of female attention. People listened to him, and now they followed him, doing his bidding as he stood back, his arms crossed with a smile on his face.

They stormed the dorm room, heading straight for room 93C. Nobody had told them this, it had simply formed in their minds as a collective idea.

Boyd watched as they ascended the stairs, their bodies moving as one large mass, his own thoughts controlling each of their actions. Behind him the auditorium was ablaze, an orange inferno that had lit up the evening like an artificial sunrise. The dancing flames created long shadows of the figures rasied high and proud on the football pitch adjacent. Sturdy, yet roughly fashioned crossed made from the football posts, bleachers and all manner of school property had been erected and slowly filled by the mob, raising each new capture one at a time. Chanting in deep monotonic drones Nex Illis Quisnam Exspectata Is None of them knew what it meant, it had once again just come to them.

Harding Walliams, the unlucky occupant of 93C had heard the commotion, but remained focused on his studies, he was helpless to resist when they came flooding into his room like a Nazis raiding for Jews during the war. Now there he hung, his naked body exposed to the air, his genitals covered in blood from the cross that had been carved into his flesh just above them. His arms were stretched out and nailed into place, then bound at the wrist, his legs the same, nails driven through his shins just above the ankle and then bound just above this. It was cold, yet the inferno to his left battled hard to warm up the air. All around him fellow students screamed and moaned. He saw men and women, students and teachers all crucified alongside him, similarly naked, all the men similarly marked, while the women had a cross carved into each breast. Blood flowed freely, turning the football pitch into a muddy, shimmering sea of black, glistening in the night air. All 27 crosses had been arranged in a near perfect circle, and in the centre stood the group, minus Boyd Henson, who having had his fun yet again, had already left the scene. With his battered old leather case under his arm he left town immediately walking for a while, enjoyng the night air and the rejuvinated feeling of youth that was coursing through his long dead veins. The emergency services not even noticing him as he sped past on their way to reports of a fire on the university campus.

Office Hours

2010-09-20T09:32:00.000+02:00

It all started with a sneeze; an innocuous bodily function. Nobody thought anything of it, by the end of the day the entire office was sneezing, but it was winter. We always managed to think up something to tell ourselves to make it all seem so innocent.

Walter Simpson was the first to fall, he stood up behind his computer and simply fell down, stiff as a board. Soon Tariq Al Ekorhi and Frances Dix followed suit, one spluttering into his coffee before collapsing on the keyboard, the other simply ran down, like a clockwork toy, she went limp in her chair without even so much as a whimper.

None of us knew what was happening, but the trend continued, moving from desk island to desk island, and like dominos they all fell.

I stood alone, surrounded by the bodies of my former colleagues, unsure if I should be scared or relieved that I was alive. Should I run or stay calm and call the police.

I heard a crashing sound outside, the sound of large amounts of metal travelling at high speeds coming to a series of sudden halts. The world was dying one person at a time, and there was nothing that we could do to stop it.

There was a noise behind me. I spun around, thinking that someone else had survived. It was dark out suddenly, I hadn’t noticed how quickly the time had passed. It was almost 16.00. They had been dead for almost six hours now.

Only….

They weren’t dead anymore. The sound I had heard was not a survivor but the clumsy sounds of the dead rising. Paul Hooper stared at me, his eyes dead, lips snarling, saliva dripping from his overweight jowls like a junk yard dog ready to attack.

Now, it has been two days, I have cornered myself in the corner of the office, blocking myself in with filing cabinets and desks. Luckily, I guess I would still call it that, they all seemed to be incapable of thought, their minds dead, the only thing driving them was the hunger for living flesh. My left hand shook terribly as hunger and thirst wracked my body, the stapler I was holding rattled, giving sound to my fear.

What hadn’t I used the corner with the water fountain and vending machine I asked myself constantly.

Outside the world was dead, no cars moved, not planes flew, smoke billowed from the fires that were raging untended in almost every building I could see from your office on the fifteenth floor.
The only company I had was the computer screen, and even that had started to do nothing other than blink at me. Repeating the same two phrases over and over again.

VIRUS DETECTED

SYSTEM SHUT DOWN PROCESS INITIATED.
I spent most of my time willing myself to start sneezing, I prayed for a cold, but I had never been sick in my life, and in the end I knew there was nothing for it but to move the desks to one side and allow them to end my life.

I hope I taste good I thought as I moved the filing cabinet and stood with my arms spread wide, ready to embrace them when they came.

My Best Friends Wedding

2010-09-17T11:59:00.001+02:00

Jose stood there, behind the plate glass window of the ATM vestibule, never in his life so thankful for the security glass that sealed those looking to withdraw funds away from the street and prying eyes. It was night out now, but the city was oddly quiet. The street lamps were on, but their ghostly orange glow was the only thing around, there were no car headlights lighting up the streets as they travelled along, the neon signs of the various casino’s and bars that were the main stay of the city were all silenced; they were as dead as the population of the city itself.

There was another crashing thud as the zombie once again charged head first into the glass wall. Its transparent surface was now greasy and smeared with the things scalp, which was now hanging loose on the top of the zombie’s head like a badly fastened toupee, the skull clearly visible each time to large skin flap moved.

Jose had only come to the city for two days, his bachelor weekend before his impending marriage the following Saturday. Yet now his entire group of stags were dead, his best friend, and best man Miguel Feraro was now standing before him, his body decomposing by the minute, his flesh now green and slimy like a sculpted piece of wet snot. His arms hung uselessly down at his sides, his legs the last appendage of be working. Behind him, Jose could see hoards more of the undead all wandering around, some were heading this way; others seemed to have their radar’s set on other survivors. Jose had witnessed several grabbed or discovered cowering beneath cars or simply curled up in a shop doorway, he had seen what happened to them, and that was why he knew what he had to do.

He snapped his credit card and without waiting for Miguel to finally force his way through the glass, he sliced his own throat, his American Express Gold card disappearing, changing the same color his bank account was after a night of heavy gambling.

Teachers Pet

2010-09-17T09:21:00.000+02:00

The night air was crisp and cool against him, his breath clouded his vision momentarily each time he exhaled, but it never broke his gave on her, Kimberly Jennings.

A gust of wind rattled the leaves of the tree he was sheltering under, using the shadows and to further hide what the natural dark of night couldn’t. Balanced carefully on the balls of his feet his every move was well thought out and calculated. The asphalt roof of the garage hadn’t looked in too good condition the last time he was here in daylight, and so he took no chances.

It was a Sunday night, and he had been no idea of how long he had been crouched in the same position. Long enough to watch Kimberly working away on her computer, chatting on the internet with friends, along with the extra bonus of seeing her undress before and redress after her shower. The water droplets glistening on her slender toned body. He had felt the arousal building in his trousers long before her naked body stood before him. The way her hair spilled over her shoulders and seemed to dance in the air every time she moved was enough for him. Just one quick look into her hazel eyes was sufficient to send him to heaven in a heartbeat.

It was getting close to midnight now, and Kimberly was on her stomach atop her double bed, she was wearing a soft pink night shirt which in her current position came not much lower than the top of her thighs, just before the curve of her perfectly rounded rear began. Her legs were bent at the knee and cross at the ankles. She was watching an old horror film from the seventies, or possibly one of those new remakes that were designed to look old. He didn’t care; he didn’t care of watching movies. Real life was much more entertaining.

Not long after the he heard the church bells sound the beginning of the new day and a gentle rain had started to fall did he make his move. Kimberly was asleep; her body still, her breathing deep and slow . . . peaceful.

Carefully maneuvering the window (which he had rigged to open from the outside on his previous visit) he opened it just enough to let himself get in without allowing the night breeze and nocturnal sounds to disrupt his sleeping beauty.

Her bedroom was spacious, the floor covered with a thick carpet which played to his advantage by swallowing the sound of his footsteps. He stood at the end of the bed, the television was still on, although the movie she had been watching was over, the menu screen of the DVD cast its glow, backlighting his form as if he were a character escaped from the movie itself. His breathing was shallow; he was excited, his body sweating slightly beneath his clothes. He reached out and caressed the curves her body made beneath the covers. She moaned in her sleep, not a sound of pleasure more simply a moan. She stretched and rolled onto her side.

He knew time was limited and so he got to work. He went straight to the wardrobe, opened the doors and began to rummage through her closet, it was filled with all your standard high school clothing, the cupboard was full, but it didn’t take him long to find what he was looking for. He pulled out the skirt and held it up to the light emitted by the TV. It was a plaid skirt, the one she had been wearing the first time he saw her, he draped it over the back of her desk chair, and followed it up by laying a white button up shirt on top. He returned to the window and reached into the bag he brought with him. Carefully he placed the underwear on top of the clothes he had already selected. The bra was red and lacy, and would easily be seen through the white shirt, and the matching colored thong would – or so he hoped – be glimpsed under the skirt at some point.

Suddenly he heard a noise, someone was moving in the hallway outside. He froze, his heart thundering in his chest. He heard another door click further down the hallway; this was followed shortly after by the flushing of a toilet and the steps being retraced. Once silence had taken its grip of the house once more he fished in his pocket for the note he had written. It gave Kimberly careful instructions on how to dress, what perfume to use and also where to sit in class the next day, along with the guarantee of an A grade on the paper due that week if she did everything to his liking.

Before he left he took a chance and bent down to sniff her hair, his nose hovering a mere fraction above her head. The aroma of her and the shampoo she had used that evening made his head swim, but he had to pull himself away for he still had papers to grade before the morning.

She's a Hottie

2010-09-16T08:23:00.001+02:00

He watched her sashay her way along the corridor, peering out from within his cubicle to follow her shapely hips and slender legs as they walked away. She was the dream of pretty much the entire floor, Hell the entire company as far as he knew. Gemma Margotson, had started as a temp a few months before, delivering the mail, helping out with copying and posting the daily and weekly reviews. She worked for the company in as a whole, but seemed to spend most of her time on the 14th floor amongst the copywriters, people such as Callum Regis.

He had fallen for her the moment he first saw her, and was biding his time, waiting to make his move. She was everything he wasn’t; she was gorgeous with a figure to die for, fresh out of college and young enough to be his daughter. Her chestnut hair and green eyes alone turned most of the men in the floor to jelly, without even need to notice her clothing, which although always professional was sexy in the extreme.

He just knew that today was the day he would make his move, he could feel it, smell it in their air mingling with her perfume, He drank it in and let it swoon around inside his head. He smiled and went back to work. It was 15.27, sunset was in less than 4 hours, the first night of the full moon. Oh yes, today he would have her, and she would be delicious.

A safe place?

2010-09-15T09:11:00.006+02:00

They were crowded in like sheep being led to the slaughter. Kelly Furnac and her partner Lindsay Keown had been enjoying a nice romantic evening together and were just about to head to the bedroom when it happened. At first they thought it was a riot - in itself a worrying thought given the upper class neighbourhood they lived in. - but they soon learnt otherwise.

The shattering of glass could be hear all around them.

"I never knew zombies could climb up walls like that." Lindsay whispered.

"Other than in movies we never new they existed until tonight." The older man from Apartment 14c answered. He was wearing a bathrobe and socks.

"Shhh They'll hear us." Whipmered Mercedes Dunwick, her blonde hair was plastered to her scalp with sweat.

It was hot in the elevator, and with nearly 25 people cramming into the small space nobody even gave thought to the weight limit.

The New Born

2010-09-09T14:02:00.000+02:00

“Ok, the head is crowning. You’re doing a great job.” The doctor spoke, his glasses misting up slightly as the temperature rose in the cramped room.

The mother screamed, her head thrown back so far her crown was resting on the pillow, her mouth was open her teeth bared, eyes rolled back into her head revealing only the white of the eyeball itself. Sweat streamed from her naked body and veins erupted beneath her skin, appearing from nowhere and tracing their invisible path for everyone in attendance to see.

“Keep going, push, come on….bear down.” The doctor spoke his quiet instructions, still rather unsettled by the strange surroundings chosen for the labour to take place in; a small crypt like building on the edge of town. It has once part of a much larger estate, whose owners had a dark history filled with violence and bloodshed. They had moved on years before and slowly everything fell to ruin. Everything apart from this one small building at the rear of the property it would now seem.

“You’re doing great baby.” Her husband spoke, as he kissed her on the forehead. She calmed down almost instantly and returned his affection with a passionate embrace which saw him reaching up and squeezing her exposed breasts in the process.

“I can see the head. Come on, one more big push and you’re baby will be here Ms Constantine” The doctor leant forward and placed his hands on the head as it emerged. It was only then, feeling the soon to be newborn baby that he realized how cold the mother was. However, before he could offer her a blanket it all happened and the baby arrived followed by a wave of thick congealed blood and a placenta so badly shriveled that It looked like a used teabag freshly pulled from the pot.

For a few moments there was silence, apart from the splattering sound of the large clots falling to the floor from between the mothers legs which were still spread wide.

“It’s a boy.” The doctor said cradling the child in his arms waiting for it to cry. The blood covering it was already crusted over ad dried to a hard finish, the babies eyes were sealed shut with a scab like covering that the doctor quickly remove. He breathed a sigh of relief when the baby finally began to lament its birth. “Congratulations. He looked perfect.” He said rising to his feet, smiling from ear to ear, as he prepared for the best part of this job, handing the newborn child over to the parents. “Do you have a blanket for him?” He asked

“Wait a minute. He’s alive?” The father asked quizzically as if expecting the worst. The mother exchanged a rather worried and confused look with her husband.

“No, it can’t be.” She stuttered, her eyes wide in disbelief.

The doctor stood confused, holding the child in offering to its parents who seemed to say the least disappointed by the tiny humans living body. He had heard many strange things said as the emotions rolled through but disappointment at life was new.

“It’s fine Sascha” An old voice spoke from the corner of the room. An old man stepped forward, his face as pale of a porcelain doll, his features sharp and waxy like a manikin brought to life, only one that has lead a hard life, its face and body no doubt aged and damaged by time. “Take the beast to your breast and the change will begin.” The old main made a shadow gesture bringing an imaginary baby to his mans bosom. He was dressed in ragged clothes, a suit as old as he looked the doctor would have guessed. His hair was thin and purely white clinging to his scalp with a desperate fervor.

“Yes Papa” The woman answered.

The father stepped forward and snatched the child from the doctor, pulling a disgusted face as he touched the infant’s skin. “Thank you doctor, you may go now.” He snarled, baring his teeth like a dog as she walked away.

“I must check the baby first. Please, give him to me; let me check everything then I will leave you alone for a while to enjoy this special time.” He took a step towards the new parents and was grabbed roughly from behind by strong hands, their grips a strong as their skin was cold.

“I don’t think you understand us Doctor. You purpose here is served, we have no further use for you.” The old man spoke slowly, he walked around to stand in between the couple and the medicine man, his body fragile but his movements assured.

Over the old man’s shoulder the doctor saw the mother take the child, wincing as if in pain when she touched the warm pink skin. She took the babe to her breast and it began to drink greedily. Abject horror took a hold of the doctor when he saw not milk begin to spill from the edge of the mouth but blood. The babe began to struggle as the copper taste hit its palate, but soon this slowed as did his heart rate, his skin paled and took on the same waxy complexion as the rest of the family. Before long it lapped greedily at his mother’s sustenance, and a smile on the mothers face as she watched her dead babe drink was the last thing the doctor saw before the old man struck, snapping his neck, twisting the doctor’s head almost 180 degrees before burying his fangs into the veins to toast the arrival of his first grandchild, and the first true baby vampire to be born since man drove them from the earth centuries before.

Back of the Class

2010-09-02T10:04:00.004+02:00

"Bucky Thompson sit up and pay attention. I'm tired of having to warn you. Once more and you can leave my classroom, and then where will you be come exam week." The shrill authoritative of Ms French shot through the classroom, and in turn caused all the other students to turn around and stare at him. Bucky Thompson, the weird kid who they all avoided as much as possible, even the teachers. They all knew that there was something different about him, something dangerous.

"Yes Ms French" He mumbled in acknowledgement feeling his face flush with heat as the class echoed with the giggles of his peers.

"Would you care to enlighten us with your thoughts of what George Orwell was trying to say about society in Animal Farm?" She asked, her voice patronizing.

"Um...." He paused, faltered.

The giggles became laughs, a few fingers were pointed in his direction, and even more comments whispered.

"Class, that's enough. NOW!" Ms French turned the focus away from the student and back to the lesson, but the damage was already done.

Bucky felt his skin continue to warm, the flush radiating out from his face into his whole body. He tensed and felt the hairs sprout over his torso, he felt his muscles tighten and swell, his head dropped on his shoulders and the bones of his skull were crushed and reshaped to form the snarling snout of the predatory beast he was.

Despite their screams, and frantic attempts at flight, Bucky took his time and ate Ms French first, before turning his attention to the rest of the class.

The Deli Counter: Even zombies have standards.

2010-09-02T09:13:00.002+02:00

Vernon had never eaten anything from a deli counter before, he had grown up spoilt and rich, cared for by nannies and staff rather than loving parents. Yet here he was, in the middle of a regular supermarket, and seeing as how the young man behind the counter had fought so hard to stay alive during the change, eating his brains now seemed like the only respectable thing to do.

For Lois. (It was a long time coming but I wrote it)

2010-09-01T20:46:00.008+02:00

Jackson Van Hiel lay in his bed, staring the ceiling, listening the machines gently whirring and beeping away, recording every vital sign he had and relaying it directly to the nurses station at the end of the hall.

Suddenly, there was silence. Jackson turned his had and saw the monitors were blank, his heartbeat gone, blood pressure gone. It struck him as odd. Footsteps came pounding along the corridor. Someone stood by his bed, cold hands grabbing at his face turning it back to the ceiling. His world went black.

I'm dying. He thought, and then suddenly he was back in the room. Only not quite, everything was faint, translucent. He stood from the bed and look down on himself. His gown removed, his pale chest being hastily shaved to make way for the mini depth charges that were about to be launched.

"We have come for you" A deep voice grumbled from behind him. He spun around and in the door stood the reaper. Only it wasn't the hooded fellow of folklore, but rather a bear.

The shaggy beast stood in the doorway, the long claws of his rear legs drug into the linoleum flooring, while his front paws were folded over each other, he was leaning forward resting on the handle of a giant sledgehammer, the head of which rested on the floor before him.

"Will you follow or must you be lead?" The beast asked, its brown eyes flared with subdued rage, his breaths heavy and smelled of decay.

"Who are you?" Jackson stammered, as he took a step backwards, passing through the bed.

"I wouldn't so that if I were you." A high pitched voice wept from beside him.

Jackson jumped and moved backwards even further, and in an instant the bear snatched the hammer and raised it over his shoulder striding into the room.

"Stand still man, for God's sake" The voice wept, now almost uncontrollably. Jackson looked and saw a crocodile, its eyes red and swollen from the blood tears that fell from them. "He means it. Just stay still and listen to him, you can decide your own fate." The crocodile pleaded, its face one of exquisite pain and sorrow.

"Who are you?" Jackson asked, turning in disbelief towards the wailing reptile.

"No!!!!!" It called out, screaming with fright that could be nothing buy genuine.

It was too late, the bear raised the hammer even higher and swung it with all of its grizzly strength. The head whistled through the air and collided with Jackson's ankles, shattering the bones and forcing them out of the skin the other side. He collapsed to the floor clutching his broken right foot.

"You should have stayed still. Oh you should have stayed still" The crocodile wailed, as the bear raised his hammer once again and brought it crushing down on the other ankle, shattering it and leaving it flat against the floor.

Jackson sat bolt upright, the pain immense, while all around him doctors and nurses were scrambling around to bring him back from the peaceful sleep that had taken him.

Without saying another word, the bear grabbed him by the head, claws sinking into his skull, one popping his eyeball. The lumbering animal turned and walked out of the door, dragging the crippled soul behind him, leaving the crocodile in the centre of the room wailing like a widow whose last child has passed, leaving her all alone in the world.

The Interrogation

2010-09-01T13:22:00.000+02:00

“I’ve seen your record; you got a long list of felonies after your name.” The office slapped the three inch thick paper file onto the table. It rattled around the interrogation room like a gunshot.”Tell me something” He sneered, leaning in so close to his suspect that his spit speckled the man’s glasses. “Are you just fucking stupid, or do you want to get caught? I just can’t decide which one it is.” He stood back off again, moving to one side he resumed his pacing up and down. Overhead the long fluorescent light bulb flickered.

“It’s alright.” His partner spoke. She had been quiet up until now. “It’s a tough world out there, now more than ever, it’s only natural that certain urges will come over you. We understand” She spoke softly to him. His mind was confused, she understands me. Johnny thought to himself. Behind him the first officer let out a loud TSK sound of disapproval.

“I don’t know what you mean.” Johnny stammered his voice was wavering; sweat poured from his face and stung his eyes. He was full of energy, legs bouncing nervously on the balls of his feet.
Powerful hands clamped down on his shoulder as the first office snarled in his ears. “Come on you little bitch. Tell me. Tell me what you like to do with those little girls. Come on. You’re such a big man, talk to me. Let me know what you like about them so fucking much. Hey . . . Bitch.” He spat the last word directly into Johnny’s face, their heads so close together their eyelashes almost collided every time they blinked. The cop had one hand around his neck and the other holding him by the front of the shirt.

“Just tell us, come on, this is your chance to explain yourself to us, we won’t judge you.” The nice one, the women whispered into his left ear. It was her turn to walk around now while he remained held in the vice like grip.

“I’m sorry.” Johnny cracked, his mind exploding as the tears began to roll. “I couldn’t help it, I love them.” He stuttered, trying to speak to the distraught waves of emotion that were flooding through him. Fear of punishment forgotten.

“You’re sick. You think that makes you a man, a tough guy. What you would do if I brought a little kid in here right now hey?” The male office released his grip pushing Johnny with such force the chair he was tied to slid backwards on the concrete floor of the room. “Why not pick on women, hey or are they too much for you to handle you little faggot.” The office snarled slamming his fist into the wall.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry” Johnny driveled, “I’ll be good, I promise, I won’t let them go again, I’ll feed on them all. Drain ‘em dry.” He begged, snot ran freely from his nose and mixed with the tears that covered his cheeks pooling together on the floor in a semi congealed mass.
“It’s too late for that now Johnny” The women whispered in his ears.

“Yep.” The male answered, smiling as he stared down at Johnny’s bound form.”It’s a staking for you at sunrise.” He said as they left, slamming the door behind them leaving Johnny alone, the light went out as their footsteps echoed down the corridor.

Becoming

2010-09-01T11:34:00.002+02:00

Garth had grown up fascinated by vampires, from the slayer through to Lestat and the very count himself. Garth just could never get enough of them. He drank it in with a thirst that was unrivalled, through his teen and young adult years. As he aged his passion never died.

Sadly however, Garth did, and now his thirst had changed, and as he drained the last of his relatives and left their bodies piled in the living room he realized that now, he, much like his passion would never die.

Awakening

2010-09-01T10:09:00.000+02:00

When it happened, it was as simple as a cloud passing over the sun; a slight line of darkness that passed over the world forever changing it. It was a Thursday afternoon, around 14.30 in the middle of July. I was at the beach with my family and some of our friends, simply celebrating the summer, beer, barbeque and games. Then it happened.

People fell like stones, a gust of wind blew us all to the ground and when we awake it had all changed.

Not for me, I was one of the lucky ones, or are we unlucky now?

For when I woke my thirst was for the cold beer in the cooler beside me, the hot summer sun having pulled as much liquid from me as it could during the seemingly global nap time. The others however awoke with a different thirst altogether. A hunger, a craving for human flesh, and when the sun went down that summer day, it was a different meat entirely that was sizzling on the barbeque.

Under The Stairs

2010-09-01T08:46:00.001+02:00

It was dark, the walls were close, Gemma could feel them if she stretched her arms out, but in the darkness she was lost. Tears stung her face, and her arm was throbbing beneath the sleeve of her shirt. She clutched it to her chest tightly, trying to stifle the tears that were stinging her eyes and streaking her cheeks. The left hand side of her face burned from the impact which occurred just before the lights went out. She didn’t really remember much of what had happened.
She sat on the balls of her feet, breathing in rapid shallow gasps, trying not to the let the ideas of beasts lurking in the abyss that surrounded her get into her head. She could hear footsteps, pacing up and down, and further sounds of a struggle. Raised voices, something shattered against the floor, and then again. The shouting stopped. She heard a dull heavy thud as something else fell, only this didn’t break, it was too heavy.

Suddenly her world was filled with light, the door ripped open. She closed her eyes and squinted, “I’m sorry Daddy, I won’t ever put cartoons on again.” She stuttered the words through tears and gasped breaths, suddenly aware of how badly she missed the darkness.

Disco Inferno

2010-08-31T19:27:00.003+02:00

The air thumped with heavy baseline the DJ was playing, the entire dance floor was filled, it was dark, the lights had gone out at the start of the song. Lisa Harlow had frozen in place while her friends had carried on to move. The music continued uninterrupted and Lisa quickly realized that it was part of the show.

The atmosphere changed, it became electric, bodies crammed together closer, the entire club piled onto the dance floor in the centre of the building, and once the floor was filled they stood on the counter top that circled the hexagonal centre piece. Women in short skirts and tight fitting tops danced around the pillars that sprung from each of the six corners.

The strobe lighting began, and the crowd went wild. Lisa looked up as the crowd began to scream in time with the beat. The lighting lit the place up for what it really was. The rotting corpses of the undead writhed and wound their way around the poles, their skin glistening with decomposition, leaving a silvery trails of grease as they continued to spin around the bone poles, countless femurs bound together by leathered straps of human skin. Their raw meat faces were twisted in waves of orgasmic ecstasy as above them the heavens began to open.

The dance floor was pulsing now, all the ghouls and girls that had come out to play moved and swaying in a sudden rhythm.

"Are you ready" The DJ called from his elevated position behind the decks.

Lisa looked up at him, his bones so white, bleached by years in the sun before he finally rose. The few strands of hair that clung to his scalp whipped around as he danced, his arms raised, bony fingers extended towards the heavens. "Then let it rain" He roared above the pumping baseline.

The first few drips went unnoticed, but soon the downpour began. A deluge of fresh blood, taken only minutes before from the club next door descended upon them. The dance floor was tacky with it, all of their bodies joined and became one organ, beating and granting them all the life they had craved and wanted so badly that they rose from the grave to claim it when it called.

At the centre of it all, Lisa raise her hands, breaking the formation of the pulsating mass and threw her arms into the air, spinning around in the middle of it all screaming, her head thrown back allowing the ruby rain to fill her mount and run down her throat, covering her breasts. She had only been dead a day but was already sure that this was the life for her.

No Escape

2010-08-31T14:53:00.003+02:00

They ran, they ran almost constantly for three days, if that was at all possible. It wouldn't have been, not before the war. Yet now, in the aftermath of it all everything was possible. The dead had risen after all.

One by one their group was picked apart, limbs wrenched from bodies in powerful movements. The lumbering footsteps of the dead rang heavy in their ears, the city streets deserted now. Storefronts and apartment blocks nothing but empty husks filled with the dead, their eyes blindly watching them flee. Seeing nothing, yet capturing everything nonetheless.

Dark was the worst time, the power was gone, craters from the bombs made movement almost impossible, yet it was necessary, for the real monsters of Frankenstein just keep coming. They fall, rise again and resume the chase.

Their group was now but three men and one woman, their bodies burnt from the sun their minds fried from death . . . They stopped and looked around. They were alone, the chasing pack gone, hunting down other prospects for in all their haste, each had failed to realize they had already died.

The Morning After

2010-08-31T09:33:00.004+02:00

Channing woke with a start, he was shivering, naked and outside, not longer wrapped up in the bed he had crawled into the night before. He sat up, the cool dawn air dancing on his bare skin.

Where are my clothes? He asked himself.

He stands, his body is covered in blood, his mouth tastes like pennies and there is something stuck between his teeth. He pulls it out, a bloodied clump of wool.

Whats going on? His heart beat increases, the smell of the blood fills his nose, it overloads his senses. Channing hears his stomach growl, his mouth starts to water as he looks around for the source of the sickeningly tantalizing aroma.

The carcass was in the corner, the sheep ripped open savagely, its rib cage separated revealing what remained of the organs it had housed. The intestines lay on the floor beside the body nested inside a ring of blood clotted wool fleece. Flies buzzed around them in a drunken stupor with a buzzing sound that filled Channing's ears. The change was instant, the fur sprouted over his frame, nails became claws as he fell back into his four footed altered state of existence and began to feed.

The Banker Blues

2010-08-31T08:07:00.004+02:00

Everyday I sat behind the same counter, serving the same pasty faced men and women. Cashing this or withdrawing that. I could count notes with my eyes closed, and tell the difference between a ten and a twenty by touch alone.

Every tick of the clock beside my computer screen echoed in the empty corridors of my mind. "What am I doing here?" I would ask myself every day. "Trying to live your life . . . . to start over." Was the repeated answer.

I didn't believe it anymore. I don't think I ever did.

It was him who pushed me over the edge. Mr. 4pm Thursday. Every week, the same time, the same pale yellow shirt with an old mustard stain just under the collar, the same poorly knotted tie. Him with his pudgy face and expanding waistline. I could smell his sweat dotted skin the moment he walked in and I know I just couldn't take it anymore.

I snapped, and the moment I took that first bite I knew the running was over. I had come home.

I drained them all, one by one, I painted a mural in their honnour on the glass teller windows. I used his blood for it, Mr. 4pm Thursday.

Thankfully it was winter, I could walk out of the front door and into the night. It welcomed me with its howling embrace and I was lost in it, my thirst quenched but my hunger far from satisfied.

Lost and Found

2010-08-30T18:25:00.002+02:00

It was handed in not long after 09.15, just as the rush hour madness was beginning to slow. Not really knowing how to handle such an item, Molly Parker found an empty out-tray in the manager's office and let the pink-grey mass fall wetly into it before storing it nearly away under the counter she sat behind, nestled between the other items.

Surely somoene would come for it. She said to herself as she worked. Reading her gossip magazine in between the standard queries over directions, train times and the inevitable delays. All the while she tried to ignore the wet gargled breaths and quiet pulsating sounds it made as it lay there, shivering in a grey jellied pool of its own decomposition.

She had never had a brain handed in at lost and found before, but she guessed that whoever had lost it would pick it up sometime after 17.30 once normal office hours had ended.

On The Table

2010-08-30T15:06:00.002+02:00

Jasper looked around nervously. He could hear the heart monitor beeping quicker and quicker as his pulse shot upwards. His whole body was shivering slightly and he was sweating. Somebody dabbed his head with a wet cloth. It was only a simple surgery, but he was nervous none the less. He had never been in hospital before, and had been having nightmares every night for a week leading up to it.

"It's ok Jasper, you won't feel a thing." Doctor Reid spoke calmly from behind his surgical mask. He wasn’t wearing his glasses today. He looked different or so Jasper thought as they put the mask over his nose and mouth.

"Please count backwards from ten for me Jasper" Another voice spoke to him. Jasper looked backwards from his horizontal perspective and saw an older man, strands of white hair poking out from beneath his surgical cap. His gloved hand held the mask in place.

"Ten....Nine.....Eight...S....se.....seve....." Jasper fell asleep.

"Okay. He's out." Doctor Reid announced to the room as he picked up his scalpel and made a long incision across Jasper's abdomen.

He laid the bloodied blade back on the green clothed tray and removed his hygienic mask. "Dig in" He said, and they all descended on the boy with a fervor, their mouths salivating at the prospect of fresh meat.

Sunrise

2010-08-30T10:12:00.002+02:00

He sat there, the darkness surrounding him. His world nothing more than an emtpy space. The moon made an occasional appearance from behind the clouds, making long shadows that danced like trained monkeys on the wall of his barren apartment. The curatins had been left open and he had taken position in the chair directly before the window. His view of the bustling city streets below him and beyond that the desert for as far as he cojuld see. He had sat for hours just watching the world go by. His skin was beinning to crawl with anticipation, fear. His entire body felt electric, and he couldn't help but smile as the sun finally began to rise on the horizon. It was over, finally the longest night of his life was over.

Maybe now he could finally get some rest, get some sleep. He closed hiseyes and waited for the thin orange strip on the horizon to thicken, to rise.

He smiled and felt filled with sweet realsed as his body burst into flames, leaving behind nothing more than a pile of ash and a long forgotten grace empty some two hundred years.

The Rat

2010-08-30T08:26:00.005+02:00

I could see it sitting there, its body bloated, skin removed by the radiation, its frame a highway of thick puslating blue and red veins. Every breath it took created a sticky wet rattle that echoed up and along the empty streets, and each movement shook more drops of liquid decay from its continually dying body.

It raised its bald head, twitching nose sniffed at the air, while the optic nerve hung loosely from bloody void where its eyes had once been and spasmed in the cool breeze as if tasting the air. I moved my position, careful for it not to see me. It didn't, its attention turned the other way and it slid farther up the street towards the house my party and I had used for shelter a few nights previous. Its giant frame dragged along on broken front legs, with its rear pair being nothing more than withered stumps unable to support the bodies gargantuan weigh.

I breathed a sigh of relief I had survived another close call . . . Only, I hadn't seen the female that had been waiting around the corner.

4TH Place

2010-08-01T14:59:00.003+02:00

Well, at Midnight EST my story went live in the August issue of SNM Horror Magazine (snmhorrormag.com) and was awarded fourth place for the month. Fourth out of Sixty Six, I suppose I should be happy with such a good placement, but I was pushing and hoping for first. I want to be the best. Although I will admit that after the initial disappointment, I am delighted to have been accepted and find it once again truly satisfying to see my work in print.

Thank you to everybody for reading or your future reading of my work Feel free to leave comments here or on the magazines webpage directly.

Cast your votes now

2010-07-30T14:53:00.002+02:00

It is true, I have had two short stories from my collection accepted for publication.

The first one A Love Story ( a draft of which can be found on this site) was publsihed back in April of this year and has been nominated for the Best Horror Story of the past 12 months. So please all head over to Strangeweirdandwonderful.com and follow their guidelines on voting and help me claim my first literary prize.

My second story is due to be published this coming weekend in the online magazine (no download necessary) SNM Horror Magazine ( www.snmhorrormag.com) so please feel free to head on over and read " Be Afraid " again a rough draft can be found on this site. This story is also nominated for the story of the month competition so please vote for me and help me make my name in the writing world.

Thanks for reading

Alex

Its been a while

2010-07-30T14:49:00.004+02:00

It has been a while since I have added anything to my blog. I can only appologise. I have been busy working on finalizing my collection of short stories. I have 10 in total now for my first collection and am eager to find representation and help me take my writing to the next level

I am working on some new material at the moment.

I have just compelted the first novel in a series which I will discuss in my next few posts with you all. Before I begin to edit this book and then move onto the second in the series I will take a few weeks to work on some more short stories. Including my current one about a lonely man in a rural town forgotten by the world in the midst of an economic depression. A man who has never left the town, and onyl very rarely leaves his own property unless it is to buy his groceries. Yet he harbours a desire, a need to travel, to leave it all behind and see the world, and so he devises a cunning plan to make sure that he gets to fulfil his wish before he dies from the disease that is eating its way through him.

Notes on Adventure in the Aqua Park

2009-08-18T15:15:00.001+02:00

This is my longest short story yet, and to be honest doesnt really qualify as a short story, but here it is in all its rough glory.

The idea came to me one day when I was biking to work. The simple notion of going down a slide, being taken out of the world for those moments. Anything could happen and you wouldnt know about it.

I wasnt really sure about what was going to happen, I let the story unfold itself. This is the very first draft and I am certain of a few changes I am planning to make. But I wanted to get it uploaded because I am now planning on taking a bit of time off to edit and finalize my existing stories to hopefully publish a compilation.

Thank you for reading my work, and I hope you continue to enjoy what I produce.

Sit back and enjoy....

Adventure in the Aqua Park

2009-08-18T15:12:00.001+02:00

Adventure in the Aqua-Park
“Hey, isn’t that Colin Edwards over there?” Madeline McGraw pointed rather obviously in the direction of the sauna, where a athletic looking young boy was strutting his way across the slippery floor heading in the direction of the hot steam room. Latched onto his arm was an blonde woman whose curvaceous body gave the illusion of greater age and experience that was really the case. On the other arm was a dark skinned girl who went to school with them all and was well known for the ease with which her legs parted.
“Yeah, I wonder what he is going to do.” Helena Vander answered as she swam towards her friend. Keeping an eye on the boy as he walked, unable to stop herself from staring at his well defined body as it disappeared into the steam like a chiselled god being summoned back to Mount Olympus.
“Come on you can’t hide it from me, you still want him.” Madeline jokingly kicked her friend under the water. They were now resting against the side of the pool, which was fairly quiet for a summer’s day.
“Fine, I admit, he still holds a certain appeal to me, but I want something a bit longer than. . .”
“Six inches.” Madeline jumped in. The pair burst into a giggling fit, that drew a few blank looks from some of the adults who were swimming in section roped off for lane swimming.
“I was going to say longer than one night. Plus, it’s a lot more than six inches I’ll have you know.” Helena was blushing but she didn’t care. She was seventeen, it didn’t matter who she slept with or how she did it. She had only slept with five boys, and for her school that was a conservative record. The only girl who had less experience was Madeline who claimed she was waiting for my right.
The girl’s had been best friends every since nursery school, and had remained almost inseparable, even through puberty, boyfriends and problematic family experiences. They were best friends and planned to stay that way; each looking out for the other, supporting them all the way regardless of what they thought on the inside.
“Did the others say if they were going to head up or not?” Helena asked, looking around the pool, not trying to change the subject for any reason other than necessity.
“Yeah, Gareth, Mickey, Tina and Jo said they would be here about three-ish, so you know Tina. That means about three-thirty.” Madeline answered. It was just a few minutes before three; the afternoon sun was beating through the windows. The noise of young children frolicking in the two smaller pools filled the building. There was a small wading pool for babies and toddlers, which had a large plastic whale protruding from the wall, spraying water into the air and at random intervals it played music and sounds. Then there was a junior pool, which had a small slide and was about two feet deep, this was either filled with older toddlers or on quieter days juvenile delinquents in training, showing off for their friends. The main pool was much larger, It had a waterfall, a water cannon which fired water in jets every five minutes or so, and on the opposite side was a separate area which swept people away on a water jet current which pushed people straight to the deep area of the pool, which was shaped like a mushroom, and grew wider as it grew deeper. The right hand side held the rapids as they were called, and on the left was a water slide, A towering slide much bigger than was necessary for a small town pool, but it brought the kids flocking year round. The slide itself had just been refurbished, and was supposedly taller and faster than before. It had opened the week before. The only difference Helena could see was that it had been red but was now bright fresh yellow.
As she looked at it two young boys came crashing down together into the roped off splash zone, their faces almost cut in two by their large grins.
“Are you gonna try it?” Madeline asked, she didn’t like the slides, especially the ones that were closed off as this was for the first third. The slide began above the room of the pool, it wasn’t outside, but the tower that housed the stairs and start of the ride had been built after the pool itself and so when you stood waiting at the apex for your turn you could look through the windows and see the roof of the pool below. You could also look out and see the whole town centre in the distance and the working dockyards beyond that. There was normally at least one large boat in dry-dock being either built of repaired.
“Yeah, maybe later.” Helena answered.
“Are you scared?” Her friend joked, tickling her under the ribs. “It’s ok you know, I mean it is such a tall slide.” Madeline continued.
“Hey, I’m not the scaredy cat here.” Helena answered, spinning round in the water slashing Madeline in the face as she moved. The pair broke into giggles again. There was something about the pool that always seemed to lighten their mood and lift their spirits.
“Sure, its fine I believe you. I’m sure the others will be here soon. You fancy a race?” Madeline asked. She was a good swimmer, she didn’t practice very often anymore, but at one point had actually been considered a talent to watch, and still even swimming only once a week she was more than capable of beating any normal person in a race; especially someone as un-athletic as Helena who considered a day at the Aqua-Park a work out.
“Ha. I know what you’re doing. Fine I’ll go. You coming over to meet me?” She asked, just before pushing herself out of the water. She made sure she splashed her friend doing so. Standing tall she wrung the water from her shoulder length chestnut coloured hair and shook her head.
Her feet slapped noisily on the wet floor, a noise that sounded much louder in her head than it did to anyone else. She felt people watching her as she walked. She looked into the pool and saw a few guys staring at her. Who could blame them she was five feet nine, slender but athletic in build, with sturdy shapely legs, and an arse that seemed to drive even most women crazy. It bounced slightly as she walked but was firm enough from sight alone to not get confused with anything but perfection. Her stomach was flat and smooth, free even from moles or the tiny silver hairs that most people have. Her belly button was pierced and from it dangled a delicate silver chain with an emerald coloured stone set inside a silver butterfly. It fluttered lightly against her stomach as she walked. A slight gust of cool breeze grazed over her skin, and she felt her nipples tighten beneath her bikini. It was new, she was wearing it for the first time, it was white with black trim, the top had a tribal pattern the cupped each breast, gently accentuating their graceful, full curve. The bottoms were plain white with the same black trim, there was nothing else needed as the tribal tattoo she had gotten on the base of her spine the day she turned sixteen. Her skin seemed to have an attractive glow to it, as if romantic backlighting was part of her genetic code. It was a gentle light that attracted members of both sexes to her like a moth to a lamp after dark.
She felt more eyes watching her as she hooked her thumbs beneath her bikini bottoms and ran them along her skin, smoothing out the material. She saw her reflection in the polarized windows that covered to wall by the slide entrance. She smiled at herself and headed up the stairs.
It wasn’t very busy on the slide, and she worked her way uninterrupted to the top. There was a group of three boys, no older than 12 who were waiting to head down. They all gave her a glance, and the pre-pubescent tact nudged each other and giggled loudly about the ‘nice one’ that stood behind them.
Helena paid them no mind.
One by one they disappeared into the dark tunnel, engulfed by the blackness before they turned the first bend in the twisting, turning water chute.
“Hey.” The lifeguard spoke, it was just the two of them standing at the top now. He was half sitting and half leaning against the side where his seat had been built into the platform. He was about her age and in good shape, although certainly not someone who when looked at in normal circumstances would stand out from the crowd. He was running his eyes over Helena and she watched the smile begin to curl up the corners of his mouth.
An uncontrollable reflex.
He began to blush.
“Hey, nice view you have up here.” Helena teased him, she gave him one of her best smiles; the cock teaser as Madeline called it. The boy was instantly uncomfortable.
Helena sat down, her long legs extended into the tunnel; the water was rushing against the top of her thighs. She shuffled further forward and lay down; the current was really trying hard to pull her through. She raised her head, something felt odd, but she wasn’t sure what. The water was cold, much colder than normal, or was it the strange empty echoing sound reverberating its way up the tube towards her, the darkness seemed a bit too black. It was silly. She knew it, just a random girly case of nerves. She shook her head and returned it to the floor.
The lifeguard was watching her again, his face still slightly flushed. There was a small group of people behind her now, working their way up the final few steps. “Maybe I’ll see you around.” She smiled again and pushed herself over the edge.
She moved fast, the water shooting her around the first corner and into the pitch blackness of the slide. The air was cold, even though it was a sunny day outside. Water sprayed up from her feet and into her face. Helena closed her eyes, not from fear but because she didn’t like the feeling of the water hitting them. She moved quicker and quicker picking up speed, the descent was steep, much steeper than she remembered, and as she passed through the darkness, gliding smoothly with the curves, water rushing with similar ease over her own curves, she wondered just how much bigger they had made the slide.
Slowly the darkness began to face, and as the slide passed through the roof and into the building itself light began to pass through the thinner material. Helena opened her eyes, her speed had slowed a little, and the last section was more about the twists and turns than the speed. It felt as though she was suspended in time, she had been in the darkness for so long. She found that she was actually relieved to come back into the light.
It was silent in the tunnel, a strange lingering silence. She had never noticed before how cut off you were, no shouts and shrieks of pleasure drifting up from the pool, nor the shuffling sound of the following bodies preparing to launch themselves into the dark oblivion. She felt suddenly, and absurdly lonely; she longed to emerge back into the world, shooting from the dark mouth of the slide into the cool water of the splash pool. Her body was thrown this way and that, and she felt her skin pinch slightly as it passed over the joint entering the penultimate turn. ‘Some things never get sorted out’ Helena thought to herself as she winced at the sensation.
Helena erupted from the slide, spilling messily from within the hollow tubing, hitting the water with all of her limbs spread apart. She prepared herself for the impact, but when it came it was nothing like she had expected. The water was beyond cold, it was freezing, as though the heating had never been turned on. It brought back memories of the previous summer when she had gone away for a week with Madeline and her parents to a camp site in Holland, there had been a huge lake with various water slides dotted around it. The two of them had gotten up early one morning to see who would dare go down a slide before the sun came up. Helena had gone first and when she hit the water her whole body had shut down for a few moments, she had sunk to the bottom of the lake before she managed to regain control. The pain she had felt, overpowered the shock and granted by the time she had walked back to the shore the water felt better around her, the initial memory was one that had stuck.
She felt a similar reaction now, the water was warmer than the lake had been, but she had expected the lake to be cold, she had not planned on the pool being unheated.
She pulled herself back to the surface, but the water felt strange, almost slimy as she ascended. She broke the surface and immediately pulled herself over to the side, heaving her body out of the water breathing heavily and deeply from the shock. She stood and rubbed her hands down her body, pushing away the excess water, trying to rub off the strange texture of it.
It was once again the silence which hit her first. It was so intense she was deafened by it. She stood facing the windows, her own reflection vague from the layer of grime and dirt that now covered it. She turned around, slowly, as her body began to freeze. Her joints locked and her muscles tensed, stiffening her frame so that it looked like she were a figurine in a music box turning on a motor while a delicate tune played in the background.
It took a while for the sight that Helena saw to filter through into her brain, which had seemingly shut down automatically before the extent of IT was registered. A natural defence if you will.
Unmoving, unable to even raise her hand and move the strands of hair which were poking her in the eye, she scanned the pool, starting in the back where the entrances to the lockers rooms were; one door for men, another for woman and a third for families and disabled people. She then moved closer to the pool, and then to the far left was the small restaurant bar area, with its brightly coloured, ice-cream advertising umbrellas, then over to the right and the smallest children’s pool. Her eyes scanned quicker as the horrifying reality began to sink in. The second pool and the main adult pool were the same, as was the tropical bath, and the sauna, the door propped open by something. Helena didn’t want to see what and so raised her eyes to the roof. It didn’t matter where she looked;
……
Everybody in the pool was dead.
Bodies floated aimlessly on the water, some face down, others staring blankly at the ceiling, some were bobbing like fishing floats, their bodies standing straight in the water, somehow kept upright. There were even bodies already bogged down and strewn over the bottom of the pool. Their outlines blurred and refracted, giving them an even more grotesque appearance.
Helena began to sweat, a cold and sickly sweat like that of someone suffering from a bad case of the flu. Her skin had paled, and taken on a pasty colouring, her legs felt like jelly beneath her and she wanted to vomit. The whole building began to spin; Helena reached out with both arms to steady herself on whatever she could grasp. What she found was the cold stiff shoulders of an old woman, who was sitting in one of the poolside chairs, facing the toddler pool, a gossip magazine still clutched between her over starched fingers.
Helena screamed the instant she saw what she was holding onto. She ran, her mind a sudden frenzy of panic and terror. She sprang over the bodies that lay strewn, abandoned on the still damp floor beside the pool without even thinking. She headed straight for the bathroom, collapsing before she got there. She vomited all over the floor, the acidic smell of her partially digested tuna salad lunch, stung her nose and made her vomit further. She knelt on all fours, breathing rapidly, her mouth suddenly try, the world spinning around her in a grey haze. She tried to rise, getting to her knees before unconsciousness took control and she fell to the floor, landing in the puddle of her own vomit.
When she came too, she remembered exactly where she was, and felt somewhat calmer than she had before. She was shaking all over, but her head seemed clearer. She rose unsteadily, and trying not to look at anything other than the roof she shuffled her way towards the changing rooms. She jumped, and occasionally screamed when her foot met an obstacle, but she stepped over with a greatly exaggerated movement without looking down. She made it to the changing room, and somehow through it, only stumbling three times, grazing both her knees once when she tripped over the shoulder straps of a child’s Disney swimming bag. Bursting through the changing room doors, Helena charged into the reception area of the building. The air was noticeable fresher there, although the body count was still high. Against the side wall, which was windowed from the middle point up to the unusually high ceiling and looked over the rapids area of the pool, was a small café area, with tables and padded wicker chairs. Several bodies were slumped in the chairs, heads either lolled backwards, eyes rolled into the back of their heads, mouths open like landed fish, or forward, resting against the table, as if they had fallen asleep while praying before their meal.
“God.” Helena cried out quietly. “What happened here?” She was unaware that she was talking to herself.
She picked her way towards the large front doors, holding one hand against her right eyes to cut off her vision of the dead. She got to the doors, stood in front of them, and for a moment she was surprised that they didn’t just open up for her, parting like the sea at the arms of Moses, the warm breeze of the late summer afternoon washing over her. Nothing happened, and she lowered her arms, which she hadn’t even noticed she had extended.
“Shit. Come on. Hello….Hello, is anyone there?” She called out hopefully. The only answer she received was her own voice rebounding from the dead walls. She shuddered at the echo. Her own voice had never sounded so menacing before.
Looking around, hugging herself, Helena thought about the button that was under the counter. In the winter months the receptionists would press a button to open the inner doors, to keep the warmth in as much as possible.
Leaning over, Helena began to spider-walk her fingers underneath the counter top, creeping along for anything that felt like a button, but she found nothing. She leaned over a bit further, peering over the top, she didn’t see the button, but she did see the receptionist; a middle-aged woman who was always friendly, if not slightly strange looking. Now she looked even stranger, her eyes were blackened as if she had been in a fight, her lips were swollen and purple and her face was already blue. Her arms here held up as if in self-defence, her hands by her face, fingers curled into claws, her front teeth were exposed even behind the swollen flesh. It made her look like a horrifying cross between a woman and an angry gerbil. Helena screamed and jumped backwards. Stumbling over her feet, she fell into the wall, slumping into the seats that lined the wall by the door. Sitting there, tears stinging her eyes Helena looked out of the double doors, and saw that it was raining. Hard, the ground was soaked, the trees were brown and bare, and the few plants that were still around looked battered and beaten, their petals drowned and hung limped from the top of the stalk. The sky was dark, almost purple with rage. A similar colour in fact to the receptionists engorged lips.

Helena looked around, slowly eyeing everything in a slightly different light; the true reality of her solitude seeming to hit home thanks to the sudden change of not only the weather but also the season. Her mind was still racing, images flashing before her eyes like an early move reel, but beneath it all, under the crust of revulsion was a pool of serenity, its waters a crystal blue, cool and refreshing, it invigorated her before she really knew what was happening, and by the time she had dragged her body out of the pool and back into the solid footing of her mind, she felt more In control.
“Ok, I can do this. I just need to break the glass. Then I will be fine, No big deal.” Helena explained to herself, gesturing with her hands as she spoke.
She rose from the chairs, damn; they were not only bolted together in one long row, but also to the floor.
The desk chair, or one of the chairs from the café area, oh . . . what about the fire extinguisher? Helena’s mind reeled off the options. She chose the last as it was the one she remembered, plus it was on the wall next to her and meant she didn’t have to go near the bodies.
She removed the heavy red cylinder from his rack; resting it on the pan of the seat she had been in to get a proper grip. Raising it shakily above her right shoulder, Helena threw the whole thing at the window. It collided with the glass and fell to the floor, bouncing back from the normally fragile structure without even leaving a mark. Helena stared at the door and tried again. This time casting the extinguisher as if playing a cover drive but once again the glass resisted.
“It can’t.” Helena began before remembering she was alone. She stared at the glass, pressing her face against it. There wasn’t even a scuff mark.
She kicked angrily at the glass door. “Stupid” She said under her breath. She turned around, looking for something else she could use, when the idea of a back door, probably in the kitchen area might be a possibility. She didn’t really want to move away from the doors, in case a rescue team of someone came along, but she knew there was no choice.
Cautiously, one hand over her mouth, not that there was much of a smell. . . yet. . . . The kitchen was empty, three plates of cold, un-served chips stood on the counter top, but the waiter and the chef, who quite often in all fairness was the same person was nowhere to be seen. Helena felt slightly better. It meant that there wouldn’t be a body in her way.
The kitchen was only small, and seemed overfilled with stainless steel counter tops, and had a cooker / fryer unit which spanned almost the entire length of the long wall. Three of the oil pans were empty and still completely unused. There was a back door in the kitchen, but much to Helena’s immediate dismay it was closed. She tried the handle, but it was locked. She kicked out again and this time screamed. She screamed until her lungs hurt, and when she was over she ran back through to the reception area and began to pound her fists on the glass doors. The glass shook and felt as if it was moving from her blows, but never once did it give the impression of breaking.
Once her energy began to fade, and her breaths began to come in longer, slower, and deeper gulps she stopped. Taking a moment to gather her thoughts, she then tried to force her fingertips between the furry strip that acted as a buffer for each sliding glass plate. Neither would give any ground, and when she finally decided to give it up all but three of her well manicured fingernails, had broken or split down the middle. Tears were running down her cheeks but she hadn’t noticed them.
Somewhere, just out of her field of vision, something moved. Helena was sure of it, something, somebody moved, passing through the doorway of the hallway which led to the changing rooms.
“Hey, Hello. . . Hello. Is someone there? Please help, I’m stuck in here. Do you know a way out?” She called out, her voice strong and confident. She received no answer, and her heart began to fall again.
Helena found herself staring at the bodies sitting behind the tables, their expressions not as pained as that of the receptionist. If anything, Helena thought that they looked peaceful, as if they were just sleeping. Apart from the blue tint that was spreading across their skin.
Something moved again, in the pool this time. She was certain of it, just a shadow passing over the glass, but she knew it was something. She ran over to the glass, ignoring the bodies for the first time. She slammed into the window, her nose compressing against it. Her eyes scored the pool, but all she saw were the floating bodies, the bodies and the slide. At the far end she saw the black mouth of the slide. It was laughing at her. She could almost hear it, a deep guttural laugh that mocked her. It had chosen her; it had swallowed her up and spat her back out into a world that had simply stopped.
Outside the world darkened even more, and the rain intensified, the drops sounding as large as golf balls as they hit the floor, slammed against the windows and drummed on the roof like fingers on a table top.
A fear washed over Helena at that point which surpassed that of the bodies, which had already passed from fear, through to shock, and was now beginning to change itself into a mild form of acceptance. She knew she had to escape, it was simple. The calmer she thought, the more obvious it all was, she had been very lucky, she had survived something, the technical details were not important, but she had, and now all she had to do was escape. The notion that things may not simply be confined to that one building had arisen, but she had pushed it down and out of her mind. No point in worrying about the end before you even made it to the starting line.
The fear that she was being watched, not just be dead eyes but by something else was overpowering, skin tightened all over her body and it was beginning to itch. It grew to the point where it was almost burning. Helena was frozen in place, staring at the pool through the windows, unaware that she was now leaning against the rather large corpse of an elderly man, who had died painlessly and suddenly only a day before his doctor was going to tell him he had inoperable bowel cancer.
Suddenly, an idea hit her, and it obviousness was so sharp it almost doubled her over.

The phone.

She ran over to the front desk, grabbing the phone from the desk. She had dialled half of her parents home phone number before she realised that the line was dead.
“What am I supposed to do?” She screamed, throwing the phone against the wall. The tears were beginning to well up again, but Helena knew she had to keep calm. “Ok, think it thought Hel, come on, are you sure everyone in the pool is dead.” She reasoned that nobody had moved since she had been standing there, and it seemed sound that anybody alive would have been equally panicked by the situation. Still, she couldn’t stand still all day, and the only thing left was to keep hunting for an escape, which means going back into the pool.
Hours passed, Helena had managed to search the locker rooms, checking every cubicle in both the male and female rooms, finding several naked bodies, and at least ten children in the family cubicle had died before they could even begin to get changed. She had found three fire escape doors, all of which seemed to have been welded shut, she couldn’t get them to even wobble in their frames, and had bruised her shoulder trying to do so. With the reception area, and locker rooms checked and double checked, Helena was exhausted, her legs could barely carry her any longer, her body was shaking with hunger, and the building was beginning to get dark. The wind outside was still howling, and even though the noise level inside was no different, the simple fact that the sun had gone down seemed to make everything sound more menacing. The power was gone completely; even the lights under the water which had been glowing at first were now dead.
Hunger eventually drove Helena to stop her escape attempts and instead begin to forage. She tried without much luck the kitchen area, but everything there had already defrosted and was beginning to turn bad. The only thing there was to eat was a bag of ready salted crisps and a packet of fruit flavoured Mentos. She ate half of each before realising she may need to save things for the next day. The notion that she may be in for a long term incarceration drove Helena back to her feet.
Back in the pool, she tried to break the glass windows, but with the same results as the front door. Finally, once the darkness had completely filled every space in the building, and the sound of the wind mixed with the dead bodies gliding through the water, occasionally releasing some built up gasses, or beginning to sink creating air bubbles which noisily broke the surface, Helena conceded that she needed a place to hide. To crawl away from the silent noise which, was already beginning to drive her crazy.
During her hours of searching, she had acquired a large broom from the cleaning cupboard and had managed to sweep some of the bodies to one side or another; some had fallen noisily into the water. Still, Helena had managed to keep control of her bodily functions and had cleared most of the paths around the pool. Now, in the complete darkness she shuffled her way slowly towards the back of the building. She knew the Sauna’s were there, and the steam room had been closed that day, which Helena thought would be a good place to curl up and wait for morning.
In the darkness of the closed off steam room, Helena pulled herself under the row of chairs, not caring about the stale, moist smell or the cold hard tiles that were now her mattress, she closed her eyes and fell, surprisingly quickly into a fitful sleep.
In her dream, Helena stood on the top of the slide, the young boys before her disappeared around and into the tunnel, their screams of joy turning sharply into agonised screams. A wave of blood flowed back up towards her and the lifeguard who was standing besides her peering into the dark. A strange belching sound escaped the slide as the boy’s screams faded away. Helena stood tall and turned around, she looked down onto the roof of the building but it was gone, hidden by a thick black cloud that hovered in a mist like state around the entire building. As she watched it began to rise, swirling around the tower that led to the slides entrance. Helena turned to walk away, back down the stairs, only the stairs were no longer there, replaced by nothing, the platform she stood upon was simply suspended there.
“You’re up miss. Please try not to stare at my crotch as you go past.” The lifeguard said.
Helena turned, and saw he was standing beside the slide entrance, his hands on his hips, completely naked, and behind him, the entrance to the slide had changed, it was no longer a simple plastic tube, but a mouth, with thick bright red lips, and sharp serrated teeth that lined the inside of it. Helena opened her mouth to scream, when the floor beneath her changed, it became flexible. She looked down and it was no longer a metal platform but a soft pink tongue. Her bare feet sunk into the soft flesh slightly. With one contraction and a slightly roll, Helena was sent shooting into the tunnel, the lips closing behind her. She was in darkness once again, sliding, the water pushing her along, but there was a smell along with it. An acidic yet sweet smell, her skin was burning from the water, as if it were acid. She could see the light at the end, the pool waiting for her, filled with corpses, bodies decomposed and stripped of their flesh. She erupted from the slide, the scream still trapped inside her lungs, paralyzed by fear. She felt the air rushing over her body as she fell, fully expecting to land in the bloody pool, yet when she hit the ground, it was just that. Ground, hard and unforgiving, a jolt of pain shot through her spine and left her buttocks with a pounding sensation.
Helena found herself sitting with her legs straight out in front of her, she was no longer wearing her bikini, but a long flowing ball gown, or possibly even a modern wedding dress, she wasn’t sure which, but her chest was constricted by the tightness of the material, which was pushing her bosom up to create a very misleading amount of cleavage. She looked around her; she was standing in what looked like a desert. The ground was dry and cracked, like a dried up river bed in Africa, only it stretched as far as her eyes could see, in all directions there was nothing until the dirty cream coloured floor met the dark purple coloured sky.
Helena rose to her feet, struggling against the rather constrictive nature of the dress. “Hello?” She called out, her own voice was swallowed by the seemingly endless barren stretch and was almost faded by the time it reached her own ears.
She began to walk.
It was hot, despite the heavy cloud cover, airless, damp and heavy. She was sweating, and when she turned around to see how far she had walked, expecting to see the end of the slide or something marking her entrance. Instead there was nothing, just the dry cracked floor stretching into obscurity.
There was a noise however, a low rumbling hum, which had been growing steadily louder, and seemed to come from the ground itself. A brisk gust of wind shot through, suddenly, whipping Helena’s hair around her face, and bringing another round of Goosebumps out over her skin.
“You do not belong here. Make your choice.” A scratchy, high pitched voice called out. Then, out of nowhere, a large face appeared, a head, the skin on it was rotten, hanging off in loose wet clumps, it was swollen, red and glistened with the look of an exposed sore. The eyes were milky white, and the teeth black and yellow. The hair was thin and wispy, handing from the wrinkled skull even in areas no longer covered by skin. “CHOOSE!” It roared, the sound along shaking Helena down to her feet. The mouth flew open and from it poured thousands upon thousands of tiny scorpions, black ones, red ones and deep purple ones, their legs scratching on the dry ground and over each other’s hard shiny bodies as they charged towards Helena.
She screamed, waking herself up just at the point where the first wave of creatures were beginning to crawl over her body.
Helena woke with a start, her body soaked with a cold sweat, her breathing accelerated but shallow, her body reacting to the nightmare by bringing her close to orgasm. A warming, sensation that was itching between her legs, calling her to bring an end to it and offer some release, and with her mind still whirring in a sea of confusion, she slid her hand under her bikini, and found the release she craved, kicking out with her legs at the unexpected force of the orgasm, the wave of pleasure heightening the lingering memory of the multitude of tiny legs trampling her body, covering her nipples, filling her to the point that she came for a second time before she became aware of it all. Now her breaths were rapid and deep.
She felt ashamed, almost guilty, and once the moment had passed, her body calm, the shaking in her legs and arms abating, she felt slightly repulsed at her reaction. It was light now, not bright, but certainly into the early hours of the morning, she looked at her watch, it said six o clock, and even though Helena saw it had stopped working, she thought it was probably a good estimate anyway.
She rose to leave her shelter, banging her head on the underside of the stools which had been her roof. There was another sound, and before she could rise, something heavy and cold fell on top of her, trapping her face down on the floor.
Helena cried out, her heart skipping a beat, if not several, her mind went black. She kicked out instinctively, screaming as she did. Finally the weight rolled away and she jumped to her feet. She turned and saw the man’s body on the floor, it was naked, well the swimming shorts were around his ankles and his penis was still erect, standing proud like the clichéd flagpole. The face was swollen and bloated, the skin already blacked, the eyeballs almost popping from the skull the pressure behind them was so great. Despite this, Helena knew instantly that it was Colin Edwards; it was a sight that even in death she would not mistake. She screamed, once again, her throat was still sore from the exertion the evening before, and by the time she took a breath there was a distinct crackle to her voice. There was another body she saw, and upon closer inspection she saw that it was two bodies, also naked, the bodies entwined in one another in a position that could only have come from the Karma Sutra. The worst part was that they were blocking the door. Helena had to climb over them to get out, a feat which actually meant she had to scale them, touching them with her hands, feet and bare legs. Their skin was cold and hard, She fought back the nausea. Not that there was anything to regurgitate anyway.
Helena felt better once she was out of the Sauna, although her back ached from the hard floor, and she still felt strange at the unusual way she had woken up. It was hot inside the pool, the weather outside was dry, but the sky was the same Purple colour as in her dream, and when Helena looked outside the grass and garden area which had been there was gone, replaced with the dried out river bed and cracked open earth. Footsteps were burnt into the dried ground; bare footprints, which ran not away from the building but towards it.
Helena’s stomach rumbled and her throat tickled. There was a certain smell already beginning to dominate the atmosphere, and when she looked at the pool, she could see that the bodies in the water were expanding, as if they were absorbing the water. Some of them had swelled up so much over night that there were stretch marks appearing on their faces, making it look like – in a few extreme cases – they were wearing war paint.
The water was moving, not quite flowing, but there was something creating an undulating surface. Small waves broke against gently against the side. It caused some of the bodies to impact the tiled side also, just like boats moored to the harbour.
The large change in such a short space of time was too much for Helena to understand, and in the early hours of the morning she urinated all over the floor, a strong concentrated urine which only added to the aroma.
The words from the dream were still echoing in her mind. “Make a choice.” What did it mean. What choice was there to make. Live or die, that was basically what it boiled down to, but she was trapped. It felt as though something was making the choice for her.
She knew that the best chance of this was back in the reception. There were no more doors left to try anywhere else, and prising open the electronic front entrance way still seemed like the best option. Plus there were some drinks in the unit by the kitchen. The thirst was giving her a pounding headache.
“No, Come on. Please.” Helena grunted, the door that led into the women’s changing room was somehow jammed shut, or locked, as was the male door and the invalid access. She had been trying for almost forty-five minutes to open them, her body already aching from the exertion.
Turning, she slid down the door and sat with her head in her hands. It was getting even hotter. Her hair was wet with sweat and she felt sticky from the previous days coating. Her hair was knotted and clumped against her scalp. She was hungry; her stomach was rumbling and wouldn’t stop.
“Who is doing this to me?” She asked with a whispered, pleading voice. She could feel herself near tears, and knew that once they began they wouldn’t stop.
She rose and walked back towards the pool, her feet slapping in the water. The sound echoed around the building, and Helena couldn’t help but think once again that she wasn’t alone. Helena wrapped her arms around herself as she walked. Despite the heat, she was cold, and beginning to shiver. A series of bubbles burst the surface behind her and she spun around.
She heard them whispering her name, she was sure of it, then there was more, behind her once again, this time she was certain. “Get out.” They whispered, “Run” said another burst, this time further out in the centre of the pool. Helena spun around, and around, trying to keep up with the bubbles, the entire surface of the pool suddenly looked like a Jacuzzi, bubbles throwing the slimy water in the air, splashing the sides. It was freezing cold and the droplets startled Helena as they hit her skin. She ran away, back towards the changing room, the noise of the bubbles getting loud and louder, until they were no longer whispering but screaming at her; a multitude of faceless voices calling to her, singing their own sirens song.
“Don’t look back.”
“Come here”
“You don’t belong.”
“Don’t wait. It’s already too late.”
The latter was final straw and it caused Helena to stumble as she ran, she fell heavily to the floor, her left wrist absorbing most of the impact. She heard as well as felt the snapping sensation. It hurt, she screamed, but was drowned out by the bubbles, which had whipped the pool into a frenzy, the bodies within it were almost being thrown around. In some cases it even looked as though they were coming to life and trying to claw their way out of the water. Trying to escape and claim their prize.
“Stop… Leave me alone.” She screamed, charging at the doors, raising her shoulder she ran with her whole body weight, tipping the scales at the beginning of the summer at 57kg’s. The door didn’t move, and Helena bounced off, falling to the floor once again, scraping her shoulder open. The chlorinated water stung and made her cry out again.
She lay on the floor, the voices growing louder and louder, the bubbles so violent that steam was beginning to rise from the pool, while the acoustic nature of the building echoed the cried and heckles, which repeated themselves inside her head.
Helena curled herself into the foetal position, hugging her knees to her chest, shivering from the cold water, crying, her hands then moved and clapped over her ears, but the sounds didn’t lessen. They were inside her mind. They passed through her skin, diffusing into her body.
“Stop… Stop.. STOP!” She screamed repeatedly, until her hoarse voice broke completely. By the time the voices began to fade she had passed into a semi catatonic state. When she opened her eyes she was looking down on her body.
Looking down, she saw four figures appear around her prostrate corpse, one at her head, one on either side and the fourth was circling her, inspecting her. The one by her head bent down, grabbed her by the hair and pulled her head upwards. Helena felt her hair tighten on the back of her head and cried out. The figures didn’t look up, they didn’t even flinch.
“Hey… Who…Who are you. Leave me alone. Please.” Helena whimpered, unsure what was happening.
“You don’t belong here Hel, you need to get up.” A familiar voice sprang up behind her. She knew the owner without looking.
“Madeline. You’re ali…” Helena began as she somehow floated around to face the voice. Her words stopped instantly, as her friend wasn’t alive. She saw that easily. Her skin was white, her eyes sunken with thick dark rings around them. She looked as though someone had handed her a pair of binoculars with ink around each eyepiece.
“No, I’m not. You are. You don’t belong in this place Hel, you need to get out, you need to wake up. They come when you’re asleep, they are waiting for you to die.” Her friend said, never taking her eyes away from Helena. She stood in the water, waist deep. Helena had somehow floated back down to the ground and was standing on the floor beside the pool. She was wearing her bikini still. She suddenly thought about why she hadn’t grabbed some clothes from the changing room when she had the chance.
“What do you mean. What’s going on Maddy, I’m so scared. I can’t get out. I tried, but this place is like locked up tight.” Helena was beginning to cry, her breaths becoming shorter and shorter again, until it felt as though she couldn’t breathe quick enough to take in all the air she needed.
“Calm down. Listen, they are coming back to us. You need to wake up. Now. Just remember that there is always a way out. It might be hard to find, but there is a way. Now wake UP!” Her friend shouted, splashing her with water, which was very much real, and very cold.
Helena woke sharply, the water still wet on her face. She was facing the pool, and just as the haze in her mind was clearing she was certain that she saw Madeline standing by the water watching her.
The water was still again by the time Helena was back on her feet. Her arm was throbbing and she could see that it was swollen, the last two fingers hardly moved when she made a fist, and the others were stiff and brought her to tears as they moved. She tasted the slick coppery taste of blood in her mouth and saw in her reflection by the windows that her shoulder was also severely bruised and her nose had a strange lump on it which had never been there.
She walked with a limp, noticing coldly that the bodies all seemed to follow her. Every single body in the water –which was the majority of them – were bobbing vertical in the pool, their eyes all milky white, and staring straight at her. They followed her as she made her way around the pool, dragging her left leg behind her by the time she reached the locker room again, having completed a circuit of the room.
She was alone. It was all a dream, it must have been, she had fallen and hit her head that was it. Helena was beginning to convince herself of this, and when she saw the door to the female changing room was open her spirits rose immeasurably. Pulled herself along she jumped through the door and pulled it shut behind her. The staring eyes had carved an icy chasm into her spine which had not yet begun to thaw.
After searching for some time she managed to find some clothes that fitted her nicely, and a warmed her greatly. She felt better for being clothed. Her feet she left bare, the idea of sharing someone’s sweaty trainers was still too gross for her, even given her current circumstances.
“I’ve got to get out of here.” Helena said aloud once more.
“You can’t escape. It’s too late for you.” A whispering voice came through in response. It was the voice of a crowd, and if came from in the pool. Acting against her better judgement, Helena reached with a shaking hand and opened the door. Just a small crack, enough to see what she needed; the faces of the dead still staring at her, like members of a congregation staring at their preacher.
“They’re coming for you. You can’t escape it, but you must find the way out.” The words came through the air, spoken by dead, motionless mouths. A contradiction in all its glory.
Helena screams and closed the door again. Turning and leaning against it with all her strength as if they were liable to climb onto dry ground and charge at her.
She froze. She knew she had to look again.
Staring at her, from the doorway that led to the reception area was a large bald man, his head bulbous and swollen, the skin stretched tight over it. They eyes were red dots on its face, the nose flattened and the mouth thin and small, any distinctive features or characteristics were missing. The face was plain, expressionless and grey, despite the yellow tint the skin had. Helena assumed it was a man from its height and stance, but there was no real way to say for sure. It was wearing a long white gown, which seemed to gleam in contrast to the dirty skin. The gown had short sleeves and the arms that protruded from them were stick thin, the skin was dry and flaking, there were circular calluses dotted along them, a few of which were oozing a strange milky white substance which seemed to seep out and then withdraw again through the same hole. The fingers were long and bony and tapered to strange pointed claws at the tip where nails had once grown.
“Are you ready to come with us?” The voice asked. The mouth opening and closing in a circular motion that didn’t match the sounds it created. The head cocked itself to one side in a gesture that would have been comically inquisitive had it been under different circumstances.
The pair stood facing each other neither looking to make the first move. Helena could feel her body tingling, her muscles suddenly awake are balancing on the cusp of an explosive movement. She waited, holding it at bay for as long as she could, her hand slowly twitching in anticipation. There was only one way to run.
Everything that happened occurred in a heartbeat. Helena grabbed at the door handle, pulling it open and fled once more into the pool area. She closed the door behind her, slamming it shut, and then with her repulsion put to one side she grabbed the stiffened body of the second lifeguard and pulled it to block the door. The body was heavy with death, the skin cold and slightly rough to touch but once position before the door, Helena felt better.
The figure didn’t follow, the door remained still, yet Helena knew she was trapped. She turned around to face the pool, but the bodies had gone back to their assorted positions.
Outside the rain began to fall again.
Time passed, Helena had no idea how long, but eventually night fell, or at least she felt it was night. She had been sitting in the same spot, in the far corner her back against the wall, her knees hugged against her chest the entire time. She hadn’t moved, not even when she had needed the bathroom. She had removed the trousers she had been wearing once the warm urine had cooled and began to smell. She was now sitting naked from the waist down, shivering. Her eyes were constantly darting from wall to wall, staring at nothing, yet absorbing everything with quick nervous glances. Her head remained motionless. Her breathing fast and shallow, her nails were bleeding from where she had unknowingly bitten them almost down to the cuticle. They were sore and throbbing, matched by the pain in her wrist. Her hand was going red and the fingers were swollen to the point where they were almost completely immobile.
A strange dusk light had settled over the pool, and outside also, as if a full bright summer moon and broken through the clouds.
Her stomach rumbled with hunger, tying itself into a knot beneath her skin, while her throat was begging for a drink. The shaking grew steadily worse, and by the time midnight arrived and she rolled into her third day even her own breaths were enough to cause her alarm. The wall no longer felt like a solid thing behind her spine, but something soft, malleable, something that someone or something could easily dig their way through.
Her legs were number beneath her, the skin blue from cold, and her joints were frozen from having been still for over twelve hours. She tried to move and an explosive wave of pins and needles surged through her legs up to her waist.
A scraping sound broke through the silence of the pool, it sounded like chairs being pulled over a tiled floor. It wasn’t abrasive, it was simply a noise. Helena, who had by then managed to get back onto her feet spun around. She lost her footing and fell into the pool. She coughed and spluttered, thrashing the surface with her weakened limbs. The cold water flowed into her mouth and she swallowed it in gulps. Her stomach cramped at the liquid, and despite her revulsion her throat seemed to welcome it. Helena managed to control her strokes and rose to the surface, come up for air between the bloated corpse of a hairy backed middle aged man, and a young girl whose pink swimsuit was still decorated with flowers and ponies. Her arm bands clung to her tiny arms, deflated and floating in the water like a flattened out jellyfish. Swimming as quickly as she could, thrashing wildly with her arms trying to keep her head above the water, and not to get too close to any of the bodies Helena made her way to the side of the pool.
A cold hand grabbed her, she felt the icy fingers wrapping around her ankle under the water. The shock of the water temperature seemed like nothing compared to the freezing touch of dead fingers. It felt as though someone was burning her. She reached the side and tried to pull herself out. She was easily pulled back down into the water. Her legs standing on the ledge that ringed the pool a few feet beneath the surface, and the hands fell away. She spun around, but she was alone. She kicked her legs wildly, hoping to scare anything under the water away, before frantically pulling herself out.
She lay on her back, her feet flat on the floor, knees bent, she was breathing hard, her lungs partially filled with stale water. She looked up, forgetting that she was naked and was happily showing her spread sex to the window like a woman giving receiving a public pelvic examination.
There, standing in the reception area, lining the wall staring through the window stood seven of the same creatures she had seen in the locker room. All of them identical, the same height, same clothes, the only difference was that their eyes were black, and seemed to pulse slightly. Even that was in sync.
They were looking directly at Helena, and then one by one along the line they raised their left hand and placed it on the glass. Helena watched in frozen horror, her heart skipping several beats for what felt like a lifetime, as the glass began to shimmer and ripple as if its surface was not long a solid thing, but a liquid. She screamed as the beings slowly reached through, pushing their arms through the glass. The all stepped down and into the pool area in unison.
“Helena Vander. It is your time. You cannot hide anylonger.” One of them spoke, its voice the same as the being from the locker room, but there was no way of knowing if it was true.
“Who are you? What do you want with me?” She asked, her resolve somehow gone. She was scared and tired, hungry and dizzy, her body was in agony and screaming at her to just stop.
“We are not important. It is time for you to complete the transition. Before it is too late. Come with us now.” Another said, the one on the far left of the line.
Helena felt herself take a couple of steps away from them, careful not to fall back into the pool.
“Don’t run, please. It is for your own good. Come with us and things will be fine.” The middle one spoke again. His words were cold to Helena’s ears. She turned and ran, screaming for help, imploring somebody to listen. A homeless man foraging in the bins for scraps would have been enough, just so long as they would take her away.
The men followed her, but at a steady pace, never breaking the near perfect line in which they stood.
“Helena, listen to us. It is too late. Come now before your time is up. Once the choice has been made it cannot be undone.” They voice now carried a note of urgency and more shockingly to Helena a subtle hint of pleading.
She stopped running and turned to face them.
“What do you want?” She asked, at the point of collapsing onto her knees, offering her hands up in sacrificial surrender.
The figure stopped.
“It cannot be explain, you must understand yourself where you are. The decision is not something that we can make for you. The outcome is never predetermined, it is a war, a recruitment, and the strongest wins. The decision is yours, but I can only tell you that you should listen to us. I have seen your past, I know who you are, and you are a good human being. This is not where you belong.” The being spoke, its voice changing as it did to take on much more human qualities.
“No, NO NONONONONONONO!” Helena shouted, putting her hands to her ears. She let go and winced as her wrist shouted a painful reminder to her. “Leave me alone. I don’t want to be here. Just let me go.” She begged turning to run once more she saw the slide. The very same thing which had started it all, and her eyes, which almost exploded at the sight of something real, saw a thin trickle of water dribbling from the slide.
The noise that followed this discovery seemed to shock the seven beings more than it did Helena. It may have been because her nervous system had suffered enough and had begun to shut down, or it could have simply been that the beings were not suspecting anything to come crashing through from the changing rooms.
All eight of them by the pool turned and looked at the noise; in the doorway stood the being that had first spoken to Helena the day before. Its red eyes flaring like flashing car headlights warning of danger round the following bend.
“You have broken the rules of engagement. You much not have contact with the beings.” The red eyes man screamed, his voice loud but still flat and monotonous.
The seven other being all turned and were now standing facing the changing rooms, their flank exposed to Helena, who somehow managed to keep her mind in one place and turned back to the slide. Slipping as quietly as she could, she re-entered the water and half swam half drifted over to the mouth of the slide. It was only about six or seven inches above the water level, but it felt like meters. It seemed so distant and out of her reach that she almost didn’t try.
“We have broken no rules. She must choose, her task has not been done. We simply told her what she had to know. Nothing more.” One of the beings with black eyes answered. Helena didn’t know which as she was busy hauling herself out of the water. Their voices were muffled to her ears and she wouldn’t have been able to repeat what they had been saying anyway.
“Where are you friends? You never work alone.” The black eyed man continued, his expressionless face staring straight at the red eyed being. He was fully aware of the girl disappearing up the slide, but he had failed to notice the water trickling out of it. He had simply assumed that it was another attempt to hide or outrun her responsibility.
“Things here are fragile, it is bordering on collapse. I am here to plant the seed and then leave. You would be wise to do the same thing. Climb on your white horses and head home.” The red eyed being answered, his eyes watching the girl ascent the tube. He had noticed the water trickling, and the ramifications of this were beginning to filter through. “There is a fracture in the walls. This place isn’t safe any longer. You may have her.” He said suddenly and faded back into the darkness of the changing room. He said no final words and made no grand gesture of his (mis)intent, he simply turned and walked away.
The seven others, who stood silent returned their attention to Helena and saw her bare backside disappearing up the tunnel like an oversized baby crawling back into the bleeding tunnel that just forced it out.
“With your rebirth comes a new choice. I hope you make the right one.” One of the voices carried up the wet inside of the slide where Helena was busy pulling herself along, legs spread eagled toes digging into the curve of the tube while her arms with palms flat on the bottom pulled her forwards, inching slowly, before the trickling water greased her palms and she slid back slightly.
The higher she climbed, the weaker she became, exhaustion racked her body. Her wrist had cracked several times and was now beginning to swell once again, her vision was weak, her chest was on fire, and felt as if it were stuck in a large vice that someone was tightening, crushing her ribs and trapping her lunch in between, until the spongy tissue was poking through the gaps in her bones like when you squeeze a balloon.
The current got stronger, the water warmer. After climbing for what felt like an eternity, Helena reached the final point. Her body would not listen to her any longer, it was dark in the tube, her body was sore, her legs stiff and bleeding somehow, her eyes were swollen and she couldn’t shake the taste of blood from the back of her throat. She lay her head down to rest on the floor of the slide and let the water wash over her. It was flowing harder than ever now. Bringing with it a noise that sounded like the clamour of feet, and scrambling hands. It was dark inside the tube, and when it started to rattle and shake as if caught in an earthquake Helena hardly registered it. She was ready to give in. “I’ll go with you. Anything, just please make it stop.” She whispered, aiming her comments at the seven beings who had melted the glass. Their showing being much more memorable and impressive than the simple sneak up and shout boo approach taken by the red eyed thing. “I choose. Come on. Take me.” She called out, her voice weak and broken. She collapsed once more, just as light filled the tunnel, a warm rush of air swam over her body. She twitched unconsciously, and felt nothing when the rough woollen blanket was draped over her exposed lower half.

The rescue operation itself had taken days, the damage caused by the blasts had been far reaching and the weather had made for slow rescue progress. So far only nobody had survived, not in any of the three places that had been hit. The swimming pool, the small local church and the community centre which shared the same central car park had all been full, and subsequently decimated. The search was almost called off, until suddenly a rescue worker heard a muffled cry; not of help or agony, but one of acceptance, or so that person would refer to it as in later years. The sound of someone who had given up on rescue, made their piece with God and were simply waiting for someone to come and lay claim to them.
“Take me. I’ve made my choice. Come on. Come back, take me with you.” Helena mumbled in her sleep, throwing herself from side to side in her hospital bed. Rattling the safety bars which had been risen as a result of the previous days restless slumber. Overnight she had been fastened to the bed, the restraints only removed this morning when the new shift started and there was once again sufficient man power to have her supervised.
Helena’s eyes opened suddenly, and the ceiling lights coupled with the mid morning sun streaming through the window caused her to shut them again. The blinding pain shot along her optic nerve and nestled itself in her brain where it proceeded to thunder away for several minutes.
“Where am I?” She asked in the darkness. She was panicked, the last thing she remembered was the pool, climbing up the slide and the strange people that had been there, and now she was in a bed, somewhere. She lay back down, and opened her eyes, one at a time, slowly. She kept her hands over them also, allowing the light to filter through her fingers first.
“You’re awake. That’s great news. I know some people who will be delighted to hear that.” A voice spoke from the doorway.
Her eyes now adjusted, if not still struggling slightly with the contrast Helena looked over and saw an elderly man, with thick grey hair combed in a side parting, standing there. He held a clipboard and worse a white jacket. A stethoscope was jutting from his breast pocket. He had a kind albeit wrinkled face, with a thick moustache the same colour as his hair and a pair of glasses which at least made him look slightly younger. He walked over and proceeded to withdraw his equipment, one item at a time; tongue depressor, small torch, stethoscope.
He didn’t speak as he examined her, excluding the occasional Hmmmm or Uh-huh sound that escaped his throat. When he lowered the sheets slightly to listen to her chest, Helena neither noticed nor cared once she did that she was naked. The man made her feel safe, he smelt of tobacco and peppermint, in equal quantities, and he wore the same aftershave as her father.
“You are one very lucky girl, and given some rehabilitation and getting your strength back, building up your strength, you can lead a perfectly normal life.” He spoke the words nonchalantly, yet they hit Helena with the force of a freight train.
“What do you mean?” She whispered, her voice still broken and gravelly.
“Well, you survived a great deal. Being in the slide when the bombs went off probably saved your life, but the injuries to your arm and left leg were too severe. But listen. I’ll go get your parents. They have been sleeping in the room next door ever since we brought you in.” He said with a slightly smile. Although his eyes were filled with sorrow, a natural human emotion that couldn’t be kept hidden. Pity was what most people called it.
“How long have I been here?”Helena asked shaken, still trying to piece everything together. Her mind was fragmented, she had many different images which all felt like dreams, yet had an eerie lingering quality like the hazy memories of a drunken night out.
“You have been here for just over a week now, they pulled you from the wreckage a three days after it happened. “ Helena’s mother’s voice answered her. She suddenly realise she had her eyes closed, and when they opened the doctor was gone.
“Where is?” She began. Trying to sit up, but when she went to lean on her left arm she fell. There was nothing there to support her.
“You fell asleep. Don’t worry. You’ll get used to it. The doctors said you got off pretty lightly considering.” Her father said, he was standing beside on the opposite side to her mother. He leant over and kissed her on the head.
Unsure what people were talking about, Helena looked down and saw that her left arm was missing from below the elbow. She was shocked, unable to react at all, her thoughts were blocked as if that one specific thought path was anesthetised. “What?” She began, but her head felt dizzy and her parents laid her back down.
“We’re just so glad to have you back with us.” They said in near unison.
“I don’t remember anything.” She lied, but something insider her told her that is was the right time to lie. “Did Madeline get out? I went on the slide but she stayed in the pool to wait for me.” Helena began, but the sudden change of looks on her parent’s faces quietened her.
“Nobody. . . .um… You were the only person that made it sweetie. I’m sorry.” Her father’s voice did little to comfort her and she burst into tears. A wave of emotion flooded over her, images flashed before her eyes, confusing pictures, but ones she knew had to be seen one more time. She cried for months, sometimes to herself, while at other times she cried out loud. She cried for her lost limbs, her friend, for all of them that died, but most of all, in reflection of everything, after days and weeks of rehab, she cried at herself for not making a choice when it was offered to her.

Notes on Bus Driver

2009-08-04T15:16:00.002+02:00

This story is almost a tribute to the mind of David Cronenberg, a director that a friend of mine considers one of the best, and I to hold an appreciation for his mind and imagination, although have seen only a couple of his movies.

The final scene in Videodrome (if you have seen it you will know ) gave me food for thought and when I coupled it to the idea of a suicide bomber it began to come together.

In my opinion this story is still rough, I hope to receive some feedback on this one to polish it off further, but that being said I am happy with this as the initial draft I will submit, obviously otherwise I would not have uploaded it.

Thank you for reading this and hope you have enjoyed or will enjoy the following tale.

Sit back, and enjoy!

Bus Driver!

2009-08-04T15:10:00.002+02:00

The lumbering bus pulled to a stop the brakes groaning under the strain. Eric Matthews sharply pressed the brake causing the stop to be a lurching sudden one, which send the kids who had already risen to a standing position tumbling down the aisle; their arms flailing as they tried to grab the seats to stop themselves from falling.

Eric smiled to himself as the kids rose and slowly filtered out the two doors, one at the front near him, and the large double door in the centre.

“God Damned kids.” He muttered under his breath as the last of them stepped out. He looked in his rear-view mirror and saw the mess that they had left behind. Pieces of paper with notes and answers to the homework hurriedly copied on the journey. Items of homework, soon to be classed as forgotten which he would gather up and burn for his own pleasure during lunch.
Some of the windows were smeared with the leftovers of the breakfast sandwiches, thrust into the kids hands by parents to didn’t really care about the giving their kids the nutritious breakfast they needed.

“Good Morning Eric. Still haven’t thought about changing careers I see.” An old female voice spoke. It was one that carried authority with it, and was always fighting to hold back an undertone of sarcasm mixed with aggression.

Eric turned and saw Martha Hoggworthy the school headmistress had climbed aboard. She was an evil looking woman, who looked about as caring of a Head Mistress and Miss Trunchbbull. She was wearing a long Bottle green skirt, with a cream blouse, topped off with a green cardigan. Her glasses were perched on the tip of her nose, attached to them was a thick bead chain which went behind her head connected the two arms together. He hair was grey, and cut short in a neat bob. The was nothing about her which didn’t scream out both her profession and personality. Eric swore that the bus got colder when she was around.

“Gotta pay the bills love.” He smiled and winked at her before closing the door in her face and backing away.

He hated doing the school runs, the noise, the fat greasy children, ripping the seats or covering them with graffiti. Even the general smell of children made him want to vomit, but the school runs paid good money, and it gave him some additional time off during the day to relax and watch some movies.

Eric drove the bus straight back to the depot to be cleaned, and waited for Bus 72 to return for him to take over the route.

He hated every moment he sat behind the large wheel; he never spoke to his colleagues, unless he was spoken to himself. There was never any need to be rude. Growing up, his parents divorced before he was born, an accident which had turned into the straw that broke the camel’s back, or so his father told him many times growing up. Eric had wanted to join either the army of the police force, but a genetic condition which left him with reduced lung capacity and a weakness in his spine removed the option from his life table. He wasn’t a very smart person; there were many people in fact who regarded him as slightly retarded.

He didn’t care. He liked to be on his own anyway. As a child he had always been afraid of group altercations because they always seemed to end with him performing something unspeakable. He couldn’t remember what it was exactly, but he knew it was horrible, and that the more he refused the more he was made to do it.

Whenever he cast his mind back to his childhood, a task his psychiatrist had tried to get him to do, he saw nothing, he heard voices and recalled certain settings; a day at the beach, a family BBQ, the visits to the basement, etc, but the main picture was nothing but a black cloud. A thick bubbling storm cloud, filled with anger and a powerful rage. It was like looking at a piece of art after someone threw a can of paint over it. All you can see it the edges, a glimpse at what was being hidden.

The day passed quickly, it was grey and overcast, most cars had their headlights on the entire day, and by the time 15.30 arrived Eric had a steadily pounding headache, only exaggerated by the seven coffee’s he had drunk since his lunch break.

Wednesday was always the worst day with the kids, for some reason they were always more hyperactive then the other four days. Not to mention the fact that he had the retarded kid today also. Some monkey faced hybrid in a wheelchair. He didn’t know what was wrong with IT, but he knew what should have been done. It gave him the creeps to check his rear-view mirror and see this twisted face grimacing at him, mouth open, spit dribbling over his shirt in thick gelatinous strands.

Today they were particularly rowdy; the back seat gang were bouncing around, throwing the leftovers of their lunches at the other kids. They were only just out of the school drive and already a banana and two sandwiches had been smeared over the back window, and he was sure he could smell smoke of some sort.

“Oi, pipe down will you.” He bellowed just as the content of a bag of crisps was sent crumbling over the floor. A few of the kids listened and sat, although the volume remained the same.
Cries for help, cries of mild pain caused by wedgies and flying textbooks, not to mention the odd fist dealt out swiftly and severely by Alistair Sharp the largest kid in the school, ‘a real young fuckface in training’ thought Eric every day when the kid dragged his soon to be overweight carcass from the back seat. The most overpowering noise however, and equally the most irritating was the shrieks and bellows of laughter, ranging from nervous to the deep belly variety it didn’t matter, they all merged together to make a sound akin to fingers on a blackboard, or cutlery scratching against the surface of the dinner plate.

“Shut up you damned brats!” Eric called at the top of his voice, his throat scratching from the sudden outburst. He rarely spoke at all, and when he did it was in a whisper. “Don’t make me stop this bus and come down there. Hey!” His rant continued, and he could feel that there was nothing he could do to stem the flow.

The faces in the bus, sitting for the most part in pairs like lovebirds locked inside a mobile cage, set straight forward, staring at him. Not necessarily listening, but certainly the shock factor would generate a few moments of peace. He smiled to himself, the words stopping quicker than he had expected; a good thing too. He had been warned twice already about his manner with the children, a couple of parents had taken offense to his grumbling at the children’s high spirits at the start of the holidays.

As he studied them, watching them carefully, wanting to study each of their faces, he became aware of something happening, and slowed the bus down. He looked back at the road. It was clear, but when he accelerated the bus didn’t respond. Instead it continued to slow, it was almost at a standstill, the engine still grunting in the unhealthy sounding way it had.

“Come on your bitching thing. You just got serviced last week.” Eric spat under his breath, his hands clutching at the wheel, squeezing hard enough to whiten his knuckles.

Then, as if it could hear the threats that were about to come, the bus leapt back into life and began to pick up speed again. Only it felt different. It felt slightly less responsive, as if he had less control over the great yellow beast. He shook his head, trying to shake the feeling.

The bus picked up speed and continued down the road. The first stop was approaching, and the kids were so far still sitting still in their seats. Too motionless, it made him nervous, and he kept flicking his eyes up to the mirror more frequently.

The first stop arrived, three of the kids got up and jumped off. He watched them go, the first a young girl seemed to be limping, her face grimacing with each hobbling step she took. The final two were dirty, their clothes dark and wet. He squinted into the mirror. They were bleeding, He turned around quickly, and saw them jump into the afternoon weather and walk away with no problems, no blood soaking through their clothes.

“Get a hold of yourself man.” He thought, giving his head another shake. Nothing rattled so he knew he wasn’t losing his mind. Not just yet at least. They continued to drive, the kids began to chatter but nothing too bad for once. He kept checking though.

He raised his eyes to the mirror, but what he saw caused him to throw his foot on the brake. He didn’t see the kids sitting patiently, he didn’t see the kids at all, the bus was gone, ripped apart of so it looked, the back end was missing completely, the sides ripped into jagged metal teeth, the ends twisted blackened shards. A trail of sparks erupted from behind the vehicle as the undercarriage dragged over the tarmac, gouging deep trenches in the road. The air was filled with soot, thick black flakes that snowed to the floor in darkened brilliance. In the distance a large fireball spread across the road. This black smoke billowing out as the orange ball of physical heat rose into the sky like a golden mushroom cloud.

Eric shifted in his seat, suddenly uncomfortable. His clothes stuck to the fabric, he pulled himself loose and settled back down. He closed his eyes, clamping them shut with all the strength and control he had over the lids. When he opened them again the bus was back, the kids sitting there once more. Their bodies perfectly still, their faces fixed forwards, unmoving.

Out of the window, the road was clear, nothing behind, and nothing before them. He put his foot down and watched the speedometer creep upwards.

The road continued to extend before him, it felt strange, the houses either side seemed somewhat distant, their colours faded. It was as though they weren’t even there, just an illusion, his mind telling him that they had been there once, years ago, but now all he saw was their residual image, burned into his mind after years of the same route at the same times each day.

There was movement behind him, his words of warning finally beginning to wear off he thought. ‘ Ignore it. The fuckers will be gone soon.’ He thought as he smiled, a crooked smile, revealing his yellow teeth, rotted by years of heavy smoking, drinking and bad personal hygiene. He looked at himself in the mirror, his lips were thin, his skin had taken on a yellow hue over the last few months, his eyes sunken and dark, quite often bloodshot. His hair was long, greasy and uncut, he couldn’t remember the last time he had it cut. He would trim the ends of it every now and then but actually going to a professional, he couldn’t even remember.

The shuffling behind him got louder. He glanced up in the mirror, it was the bully, Sharp, who was standing, walking down the aisle towards him. He ignored the others, his eyes staring dead ahead. His skin was pale, a shade away from white, dark circles around his eyes, and blood running from his nose.

“Oh great.” Eric said under his breath. “Let me pull over.” He spoke but the boy continued to walk forwards. It was then that Eric saw the large piece of metal protruding from the boys shirt, dripping with blood, glinting darkly in the overcast light.

“Jesus Christ.” Eric went to put his foot on the brakes but found it couldn’t move, it was stuck to the accelerator pedal. “What the….” He began, but before he could say anything, Sharp was standing next to him, the wet and sticky point of the length of metal was jabbing at his arm, droplets of semi congealed blood fell onto his trousers.

Eric turned to face him, the skin was missing on the right side of his face, in some places the meat was removed down to the bone. His ear was hanging loosely against the side of his head and his hair was now just a matted clump, and the portion of his skull beneath wobbled with each bump in the road as if on a hinge.

“Why don’t you sit down, I’ll call you an ambulance. . Shit.” Eric stuttered, fighting off the waves of nausea and shock that were competing for control of his body. His eyes flicked back to the road briefly, but couldn’t quite shake the image of the boy, who was still standing beside him, staring at him blankly. “I said go sit down kid.” He said again. He went to reach across and push the kid into the front seat but found his hand wouldn’t leave the wheel.

Sharp opened his mouth, and began to screech, it wasn’t a cry, not even a bellow, but a screech. It was the sound of tires coming to a racing halt, or slipping on icy bend.

Behind him, the other kids began to rise from their seats, each one suddenly injured, the twins, who were the only well behaved ones stood in unison, their hands not just joined but seemingly fused together, the bodies burnt to the point where they were almost unrecognisable. Their lips scorched away, revealing their white teeth, both had a gap in the same place where one of the last milk teeth had fallen. Their hands were missing, the skin melted and fused together before somehow cooling, forming an unbreakable bond.

“Get back.” Eric called out, as the Sharp boy raised a broken arm to him; the wrist twisted a hundred and eighty degrees, the fingers curled up uselessly like the legs of a dead spider.
Eric tried to raise his hands from the wheel, but like his foot, they were also stuck. He pulled harder, and harder still, until with an excruciating ripping sound they came away. Pain surged through him, and he looked down at the wheel while tears stung his eyes. He saw strips of his own flesh clinging to the wheel, thick and gelatinous, the raw red meat glinted like diamonds. He looked at his hands, inspecting the damage; blood was pouring down his forearms already, dark and thick, too thick, too dark. He looked at it and watched it flow from his wounds, which already seemed to be healing. Only the skin that regenerated wasn’t the healthy pink colour, but black and leathery, just as the steering wheel itself.

It wasn’t blood, he could smell it now, it was oil; an untapped reserve of pure black oil ejaculating from his hands in thick spurts.

He cried out, a hand clamped down on his shoulder and it burn, he turned and saw three more kids had joined Sharp at the front of the bus, the twins were there now and also some fat kid whose name he never knew, he had simply called him ginger.

“What do you want with me?” Eric asked, unable to think of anything else to say. He tried to move, but found himself frozen in his seat. His hands were now beginning to throb, he looked and saw that they bleeding had stopped, his arms still slick with oil. Hands grabbed at him, and forced them back onto the wheel.

He cried out, kicking with his legs. He felt something pulling at his legs. He looked down to see the twins were kneeling down reaching for his ankle with their free hands.

“Get off me.” He called, swiping at them with his hands, which he felt tear a little again from the wheel.

The girls ignored his demands, and wrapped their small hands around his ankle. The heat was intense, as if a blowtorch was being passed over his skin. He could smell the burning, even hear the sizzle of his flesh as it was blasted from his bone. Other hands reached forwards and thrust him back into his seat.

Eric was panicking, unable to move, or escape, and at the same time the bus kept moving along, The same stretch of road or so it seemed.

In the mirror Eric could see all of the kids standing, lining the aisle as if waiting for their turn to grab at him. Even the retard was there, he held himself upright with strong muscled arms, his hideous grin spread even wider. He was panting and roaring like a primitive beast, and looked strong enough to rip Eric apart with his bare hands.

The bus began to round a bend in the road, and as it did the weather changed, the clouds were thicker and it once again started to snow ash, blackened flakes that fell daintily to the ground, gathering until there was a thick layer covering the ground. As if a cloud and simply rotted away and fallen from the sky.

Thinking quickly, Eric reached over with his left hand and grabbed the door handle, it gave easily and the door flew open, the rushing air and wind was a shock, the bus didn’t seem to be travelling that fast. Preparing himself for the impact, Eric pulled himself free from the grip and leapt from the bus. Only he never left, he fell from the door, and instead of hitting the tarmac he fell onto something hard and rough against his skin.

He opened his eyes and he was lying along the back seat, stuck still within the confines of the mobile tomb. The stench at the back was almost choking. It was thick with the aroma of burning flesh and hair.

The group turned, sensing his presence somehow. The seats he was lying along suddenly moved and pushed him to the floor. He fell into the aisle where he was pounced upon but the five younger kids who sat normally on the first few rows, but in the change had waited for the big kids to make the first move.

Their faces were bloodied and broken, but their eyes were ferocious. They scratched at him with sharp nails and tried to bite him. They were shooed away and Eric found himself raised and lifted into the air, carried aloft like a rock star. He was passed forward, thrashing around like a landed fish, unable to worm his way out of their dead fingers, which clamped onto him like small vices. He was swiftly dropped back into his seat.

“You’re our driver now.” The twins said in unison, their voices unaffected by the fire that had somehow ravaged them, even their eyes had melted; their empty sockets stared at him like the finger holes in a bowling ball.

“Yes, the driver.” The Sharp boy concurred, not long before they all began to chant in a eerie whispering voice “Driver...Driver...Driver…” It grew steadily louder and louder.

“Fuck off, worthless kids, what do you want from me. What’s going on here?” Eric cried, unable to keep himself composed any longer he broke into tears, and wet himself. His body shook as he sobbed, his head thumping like a bad hangover, the leathery – vinyl skin that now covered his hands rubbed against his eyes. It felt strange and alien. He looked and saw that it had spread, his entire palm and fingers where now covered in the material.

Out of nowhere the seatbelt whipped around him and fastened itself, locking Eric into his seat. His hands clamped on the wheel and burned, smoke rising from between his fingers as they melted into the wheel. Before he knew what had happened, his hands had disappeared, dripped to the floor in red, bubbling semi liquid pile. He screamed as he stared at it, also noticing that his foot had suffered a similar fate, it had flattened out, thinning and become the accelerator pedal, which his other had disappeared through the floor, locking him into place.

The seatbelt began to tighten pulling him back into the upright position; the road before them was blocked. The window blackened by the soot, but through it a bright orange light shone. ‘Shit, I’m in the wrong lane. I fell asleep and this is just a dream’ Eric thought to himself, a sudden moment of hope filled him. The windscreen wipers came on automatically, clearing away a large sooty semi circle. Eric saw it then, the orange light was coming from a fireball that filled the road. There were people milling around, hundreds of them, standing in the road, large groups in gardens and some standing in doorways or peering through the curtains.

The children were gone, he thought. They were no longer beside him, grabbing at him. He looked back, and they were all sitting back, calmly staring ahead. Their dead faces already beginning to rot, the skin falling from their bones in wet lumps, the stench was worse now, filling his nostrils with every breath he took.

The bus approached the fire ball, and all Eric wanted to do was cover his eyes, instead all he could do was look down, and stare at the timing device strapped to his chest, hidden beneath his uniform jacket, which had at some point been removed. The last thing he remembered was a thick black taste rise from the back of his throat. The veins on his arms standing proud, swollen and pulsating, stretched to their limit with the thick black liquid that now flowed through them. They continued to swell, splitting the skin on the back of his leathery hands, before slicing open his forearms. His veins rose into existence, no longer veins but cables, red, green and blue, woven around each other. They disappeared back beneath the skin at the start of his biceps, but he could feel them worming their way through his entire body.

He felt the muscle in his right thigh tighten, and the bus began to pick up speed, passing through the fireball and bursting out the other side.

**********
The incident rocked the city, and was used as the basis for large nationwide court case asking for stricter rules on the checking the suitability of drivers on the school routes.

A suicide note was found in Eric Matthews’s house, stuck to his fridge with a large magnet. It simply said,

God Damned Kids.
Had it coming. Fuck it.

E.M.

It was written in block capitals with a soft pencil.

Nobody survived the bomb, which was concluded to have been either worn by the driver or strapped to his seat. Only a handful of bodies were able to be identified, the remaining fifteen were sorted over a period of time. It was almost two years before the final burial took place. The body of the driver was never found, although investigators said that there was the presence of a great deal of oil at the scene which could not possibly have come from the bus as it was crude oil, unrefined and as of yet unidentified.

Notes on Protect and Serve

2009-07-23T14:56:00.002+02:00

This story is different. It isnt really a horror story in the traditional sense, but it addresses the darker side of humanity. It is only a short peice and in all honesty and am still working on turning it into a much longer piece, but I read through it and feel that it is almost a short story on its own. A short scene if you like.

I have plans to turn this into a novel, not using this one idea, but the two central characters we introduce, hoping to create a Shield like atmosphere, although pulling even less punches with brutality and shocks. I have many more characters and sub plots to bring in, possibly even leaving this 'drug' family alone after the first few chapters as the bigger fish take over.

I am using this post, not justas a short story but more as a short offering, a glimpse if you will into future goods. A prieview that I am very keen to receive comments on.

I will of course continue to bring you my short stories along side this novel I am planning so do not loose heart.