Horrorbook

by A. R. Braun

  In the sleeping bag, Marc thrashed and flailed.

  As the nightmare progressed, it became more than he could stand. Taken over by the Indian’s spirit, Marc now craved the flesh of Terry and Jessica . . . and even his wife. First, he attacked the young couple, interrupting their lovemaking while his wife peed in the woods. After shooting them with his pistol, he sliced them open with his hunting knife and consumed their entrails.

  Even that wasn’t enough.

  He made love to his wife again and bit into her jugular vein while she shrieked. He bit her Adam’s apple out, stabbed her in the heart, and disemboweled her, consuming her innards.

  The voice of his wife: “Marc, wake up.”

  Slicked with sweat, Marc sat up. He hyperventilated.

  V

  Terry relit the smoldering embers, and Jess put on the coffee. Looking troubled, Freda ambled out of her tent.

  Terry cocked his head toward her. “What’s wrong?”

  Jess rushed over to Freda and slung an arm over her friend’s shoulders. “What is it, hon?”

  Freda shook her head. “My husband, he had the worst nightmare of his life. It was so bad he won’t even tell me about it.”

  Terry shrugged and poured himself a cup of java. “It’s just a dream.”

  “No. I think he’s going . . . crazy . . . oh my God.”

  Terry stared. “Over a nightmare?”

  Jess embraced Freda and glared at Terry. “Could you at least show some sympathy, you jerk?”

  “You didn’t see how hollow-eyed he was,” Freda continued, “or how he trembled like a child. Could you two at least go talk to him? I think he’ll talk to you.”

  Terry sighed. “Why would he talk to us if he wouldn’t talk to you?”

  Jess shushed him and stroked her hair. “Of course we will.” She forked Terry the evil eye.

  Terry nodded. “Yeah, sure, Freda, no problem.” He rose. “Come on, Jess.”

  Jess reluctantly released her, took her husband’s hand and walked to the tent. As they crossed the threshold, they beheld Marc laying in a fetal position, weeping like a baby. The young couple shot each other concerned glances and looked back at him.

  Terry lurched forward a bit and placed a hand on his partner’s arm. “Come on, buddy, it was just a dream.”

  Marc twisted his neck to look him in the eyes. His wet tears looked like someone had thrown a glass of water in his face. “No.” Marc sobbed. “I dreamed . . . horrible things.”

  Jess kneeled and stared at Marc.

  Terry removed his hand. “What things?”

  “Too horrid to mention.” Marc’s eyes had a vacant look that troubled Terry immensely.

  “Come on, your wife’s not here. It’s just us.”

  Marc shook his head. “No, Jess will hear,” he whispered.

  Terry turned around and glanced at Jess. “Why don’t you give us a few minutes, hon?”

  Jess nodded and exited to join Freda by the fire.

  Terry turned back to Marc. “All right, it’s just you and me. Come on, out with it. What was so terrible?”

  Marc turned to face him. He keened and then whimpered. “I think I’m going insane,” he wheezed.

  “Why?”

  Marc looked crazed. “In the dream . . . I . . . killed you and Jessica.” He shook his head. “And my wife!”

  Terry frowned. “You know how dreams are. That’s just pent-up hostility over losing an argument. It doesn’t mean you’re going to do it in real life.”

  “I know, but it was so real!”

  “Well . . . why don’t you come on out and have some breakfast? You’ll feel better.” Terry turned to leave.

  “Terry,” Marc called after him, making him halt. “That’s not all.”

  Terry turned around.

  Marc forged a face looking like a lethal injection lurked seconds away. “I ate you.”

  Terry blanched. “What?”

  “I roasted you like a leg of lamb, and Jess, and Frederica.”

  Terry felt his eyes goggle.

  “And you all tasted good, the best meal I’d ever had in my life.”

  Terry hissed. “All right, that’s it! We’re leaving the butt crack of nature this second and going home. This place is driving you nuts, and I don’t want to hear any arguments about it.” He sighed. “Come on, move it. Let’s pack up the tents and the rest of our shit after breakfast.” Terry left.

  Terry came outside and found the two women sat together sipping coffee.

  Freda looked up anxiously. “Well, what did he tell you?”

  “Oh, he’s cracking up. I knew we should’ve vacationed at fantasy baseball camp. ‘We need to get back to nature.’ Bullshit.”

  Freda widened her eyes and sobbed. “Oh no.”

  Terry picked up a rock and threw it into the woods. Leaves rustled. “We’re packing up after breakfast and going home.”

  Again, Jess rubbed Freda’s back. “Honey, we’ll get out of here, and he’ll feel brand new, don’t worry. He just doesn’t have the stomach for camping, that’s all.”

  Jess and Terry exchanged worried glances.

  VI

  Finally, Marc emerged, his face looking harried and fifteen years older. “I need to go for a walk.” He sniffed.

  Terry rose. “I’ll go with you.”

  “No, I need some alone time.” Marc heaved a heavy sigh. “I’ll be all right, really.”

  “Suit yourself.” Terry sat and sighed.

  Jess looked up. “Don’t take too long. I’ll have breakfast ready in no time.”

  Marc nodded and headed into the woods.

  When Marc returned from the same direction an hour later, Jess had a breakfast of eggs, bacon and sausage ready for him. Everyone else had already eaten. Marc, stone-faced, sat down next to Freda and didn’t grab a plate. The sun warmed him like a space heater. Everyone wiped their brows.

  Freda put a hand on his shoulder. “Come on, Doc, you need to eat.”

  “I’m not hungry.” Marc continued to stare into nowhere.

  After breakfast, the others pulled down the tents and packed. Marc reluctantly helped them. Before long, they headed toward the car.

  Breathing heavily after the long hike, they dropped the packs down on the ground. Terry opened up the hatch, and they stuffed the supplies in the back. Marc took a seat behind the wheel. The rest hopped in the car, Freda riding shotgun.

  Marc tried to turn it over. The engine made a high-pitched choking sound and wouldn’t start. “What the hell?” He tried again and again.

  Terry frowned. “Perfect!” He shook his head. “Quit trying to start it. You’ll flood it. Let’s look under the hood.”

  Marc nodded, popped the hood and hopped out, slamming the car door. He and Terry looked over the engine.

  Someone had cut several of the wires.

  Marc frowned and furrowed his brow. “Huh.”

  Terry lost it. “Fuck!” He slammed the hood shut, almost taking off Marc’s hand. He stomped over and kicked the right tire over and over. “Goddamnit! Fuck, fuck, fuck!”

  The women ambled out, looking troubled. Freda walked over to her husband and put a comforting hand on his shoulder. “What’s wrong?”

  Marc just looked at the ground.

  Terry kicked the tire again, taking off the hubcap. “Someone cut our fucking engine wires!”

  Jess blanched. “Take it easy, honey.”

  “Well, how the fuck are we gonna get home?”

  Freda pulled her cell phone out. “Darn it, no coverage. We’re out of range.”

  The others pulled their cells out and found the same thing.

  “Damn it!” Terry said.

  Marc looked up. “Let’s go back to the camp and think it over. You know, come up with a plan there.”

  Terry got in Marc’s face. “Did you do this? I noticed you had a nice little walk.”

  “Why would I do it? I want to get home as much as you do.”

  “Maybe your kooky little
dream gave you some ideas.”

  Jess rushed over. “Honey, calm down, God!”

  Terry ignored her. “You wanna eat me? You’ll have a fight on your hands, old man! You aren’t eating shit!”

  Freda, frowning, stood Terry off. “Stop it! Jesus Christ! The man’s sick, not crazy.”

  Terry spun his head around. “Then why didn’t he eat any breakfast?” He pointed at Marc. “Fuck him!”

  Marc smirked, then walked slowly up to Terry, knocking his wife out of the way, and tapped him on the forehead with his index finger. “If I wanted to kill you and eat you, my friend, I would do it. I’d take you right now, whether you tried to stop me or not. But I don’t, so knock it off.” He cupped Terry’s chin, pushed his head a few times, then let him go and walked away.

  Terry’s mouth popped open as he watched him go.

  Marc gestured toward him. “After all, we’re a tribe, right?”

  “A what?” Terry asked.

  “I think it would be a better idea if we hiked into town,” Jess said, obviously trying to break the tension that was so thick one could cut it with a knife.

  Terry nodded. “Sounds good to me.” He was obviously trying to forget what had just happened.

  “Honey?” Freda asked.

  Before Freda could answer, Jess fell as she headed toward the road. “Ouch!”

  Terry bent down to help her. “What happened, Jess?”

  “I fell into a small hole in the ground.”

  Terry turned to Marc. “Gee, I wonder who dug that.”

  “Come now, my stout-hearted friend,” Marc said, “that’s ridiculous.”

  Terry marveled that they hadn’t seen one other car the whole time they’d been on the road. So much for hitching a ride. “Can you walk?” Terry asked Jess.

  Jess whimpered. “No. I think I sprained my ankle.”

  “Great. I’ll help you back to the fucking camp.”

  VII

  They built the fire again but refused to set up the tents. Marc didn’t eat any lunch either.

  Terry sat there bitching about how his “buddy” wouldn’t eat.

  Marc licked Freda’s face.

  “Doc, what are you doing?” Freda said, pulling away.

  Marc looked up at Terry. “I say we put the tents back up.”

  Terry leaned over the fire to get in his face, oblivious of the heat. “I say fuck you! Fuck your nature. Fuck your dream. Fuck your—”

  Marc grabbed him and pulled him onto the ground. Bigger and stronger than Terry, Marc punched him several times in the face, drawing blood. The women bounded up to pull Marc off him.

  Freda strained more than Jess. “Stop it! You’re acting like a couple of stupid schoolboys!”

  The women managed to pull him back.

  Jess stomped over to Marc until their noses touched. “Hey, I take tae kwon do at the gym! I’ll kick your ass!”

  Terry lay dumbfounded. He touched his nose and then held his bloody hand in front of his face. “You fucking maniac!”

  Jess rushed over to Terry, helping him up.

  Marc licked his lips.

  Over supper, Marc tried to eat a hot dog but couldn’t. He broke down crying. “I don’t wanna do it!” Hot tears shot down his face. “Shut up, Swift Runner!”

  Terry’s eyes grew wide. “What’s he talking about?”

  Freda held him. “Honey, who’s Swift Runner?”

  Marc continued to sob. “Never mind.”

  Jess, shaking, shot a worried look at Terry. Terry whistled to signify Marc had completely lost it.

  Marc refused the beer also. The other three indulged, needing a drink in the worst way.

  Terry looked at the others. “It’s time to talk about what we’re going to do.” Everyone else had fallen silent. “I say we start hiking toward the nearest town. We’ve got money and credit cards. If we hitch a ride, a psycho can’t kill all four of us. There’s safety in numbers. Who’s with me?”

  Jess nodded. “What else can we do? It sounds good to me.”

  Freda looked at Marc. “Honey?”

  He sat stone-faced again. “I’m not going.”

  “What?” Terry and Jess asked in unison.

  Freda shook her head. “What else can we do, Doc?”

  “It’s too far. Besides, it’ll be nightfall soon. I say we camp one more night and then hit the road in the morning.”

  Terry rose quickly. “Fuck him! I’m going now! Come on, Jess.”

  “I’m starting to feel better,” Jess said as she rose. “I don’t think I sprained my ankle after all.”

  “Good, ‘cause we need to hike—now.”

  “Maybe Marc’s right,” Freda argued. “We’re a little frazzled right now. It’ll be easier in the morning.”

  “No! Fuck that! He snapped, and I’m not waiting around here for him to start carving us up. Let’s go, Jess.”

  Jess furrowed her brow at Marc, and the couple took off into the woods.

  Freda sighed and glanced at the full moon, then looked at Marc. “What does he mean by ‘carving us up’?”

  Marc didn’t answer. The sky turned black as the river reflected the eerie glow of the moon.

  VIII

  Terry and Jess soon ran upon a pack of wolves, salivating and growling.

  Jess gaped. “Oh! Oh God.”

  Terry waved her off. “Shh! Don’t move.” He picked up a couple of rocks and threw them at the animals, making thudding sounds on the pelts. “Go away!”

  They stood their ground.

  All the hope drained out of Terry’s face. “Shit! Shit, shit, shit!”

  The wolves advanced on them. All the young couple could do was walk backwards. After a few seconds, they turned and ran. The wolves pursued them.

  Jess screamed. “Oh my God, are we really gonna die out here?”

  The wolves chased them back to the camp and then retreated, stunning the couple.

  Seeing the older couple looking somber as they sat by the fire, the younger couple glanced wide-eyed at each other.

  Marc was grinning at the spot where the wolves had been.

  As the fire smoldered outside, Jess and Terry lay huddled together in their tent.

  Terry took out a hunting knife and whispered to her. “See this?”

  Jess nodded.

  “If the old guy tries any shit, I’ll be ready.”

  Jess blanched. “You don’t think he will, do you?”

  Terry didn’t answer.

  Outside, Marc and Freda still sat by the fire as she finished another beer. “Honey, I’ve got to pee.”

  Marc blinked. Just like in my dream.

  Freda disappeared into the trees.

  Inside their tent, Terry whispered more instruction. “We’ll sleep in shifts. You first, ‘til 3:00 a.m., then I’ll wake you up and I can—”

  Their tent caved in. Someone had jumped on top of it. Terry realized that to do that, someone—that Marc someone—would have had to have climbed a tree and jumped down.

  Frantic, Terry stabbed upward into the tent. He dislodged himself from the tent, dagger outstretched. Terry saw Marc with a maddened look in his eyes and his teeth bared. “You crazy son of a bitch!”

  Marc shrugged, whipped out his pistol and emptied it into his partner. Dazed with shock, Terry fell to the ground as the life drained out of him, a pained look on his face as he gasped. Jess crawled out from underneath the wreckage of the tent, screaming. Marc had reloaded and emptied his gun into her also. She fell to her knees, whimpering, and then landed on her face.

  Freda, hearing the shots ring out, ran back to the camp. When she saw what Marc had done, she screamed and tried to run.

  Marc leapt over the fire like a bobcat and tackled her. They struggled, but Marc bested her. He dragged her over by her hair, busted out some rope and bound her. He stuck duct tape over her mouth. Then he dragged her over to the tent and set her inside, careful to zip it up. Satisfied, he crept over to the dead young couple and dragged them to the fire.<
br />
  In the tent, Freda whimpered as she tried to free herself. Her efforts met with failure.

  Marc stripped the young couple and tied them together, back-to-back. He snickered as he spit-roasted them. Freda moaned and groaned from inside the tent. Marc’s laughter soon turned to cackling as the demonic Wendigo spirit consumed him.

  When they’d cooked sufficiently, he cut their hearts out with his dagger and ate them. He thought they tasted ten times better than Mother’s livers and gizzards. It made him feel higher than the best weed he’d ever had, when he’d been in college. Then he cut strips of skin from them with his hunting knife, making human jerky.

  Swift Runner had been right. They tasted like deer meat.

  IX

  Freda, ready to have a mental breakdown, had been unsuccessful at breaking free. On her side, she jerked as she never had before when something swatted the side of the tent. She smelled the stench of death and gagged.

  Oh my God, oh my God, he’s . . . playing with me.

  The swats became more furious and increased in speed. Out of hope, she said the Lord’s Prayer, and then shook her head and whimpered louder than before, feeling defeated.

  Before she could finish, Marc ripped the tent off her as a celebrant would rip a cork from a bottle of champagne.

  What she saw started her nervous breakdown in motion.

  Her husband . . . or what used to be her husband, stood before her, a hideous simulacrum.

  He’d grown eight feet tall. His fingernails were claws. His skin stretched against his emaciated frame and his teeth had elongated into serrated weapons. Blood coated his teeth and mouth, making him look like a child who’d eaten a plate of spaghetti. His hair had already started to get thin, but more of it had fallen out in clumps. He gazed down upon her as if he were looking at a lamb chop, and his breathing became raspy, grating on her nerves. Oh, and the stink. He smelled like a morgue after the power had been out for ten days. She winced and uttered a worried sound similar to a moan from a beaten dog.

  Then he cackled. “I saved the most succulent for last. For dessert, wife’s flesh is best.”