Horrorbook

by A. R. Braun

  Her eyes darted frantically as she thrashed and struggled with a last burst of energy. She didn’t want to die, not here, not like this. She felt her bonds starting to loosen.

  Marc lifted her off the ground, eliciting a terrible screech.

  And yes, it happened, it really did, and no matter what she told herself, as he chewed on her arm, she realized one didn’t really know her husband no matter how long one had lived with him. As he ripped under her breastplate, she realized that nobody should ever leave their country, on any condition, on any dare. And if one does leave the comforts of home in search of an adventure, the last place to visit was the haunted woods of Ontario.

  “Hungry. Still hungry,” his guttural voice boomed as Freda faded to nothingness.

  X

  Mack, Willa’s father, had formed a search party of twenty men from the resort to find the missing kids. The camp’s owner had insisted on calling in the local constable, but Mack knew those worthless pig motherfuckers weren’t going to do anything but eat donuts and drink coffee. The cool night breeze wafted over them like an enchanting mist, but the fury these men felt drowned out any pleasure.

  Something stirred overhead, as if traveling from tree to tree. The hunters looked upward, pointing their guns toward the sky.

  Mack said, “What the fuck was that?”

  His new best buddy, Von, a hulking blond man who resembled a lumberjack, turned to him. “Probably squirrels in the trees or some shit.”

  Something snatched Von upward faster than any of them could see.

  The men stood speechless for a few seconds and then emptied their guns into the air.

  As a giant travelled with stealth toward the ground, the men parted like the Red Sea to make room for it. It shook the earth, knocking the men to their knees. As they rose, they gaped, terror and shock filling their hearts.

  A twenty-foot-long creature resembling a man lay dead, its skin wrapped upon its bones like a fast food worker’s hands with gloves that were two sizes too small. The bleached flesh resembled a tomb. The teeth and claws of the man had sharpened and elongated.

  In its mouth lurked Von’s severed head, bitten off at the neck.

  Many of the men retched on the ground, whereas others cussed up a storm.

  Just then, a Native American man came forward, taking off his Blue Jays hat and bending over the thing. Looking beyond amazed, he gazed at the sky as if looking at a deity. An Algonquin by descent, he looked downward and gawked wide-eyed at the creature.

  “Wihtikow’s Anoki kijig,” the Indian said.

  “What the fuck did he say?” Mack asked.

  “It’s the Algonquin language,” Harold, a local man standing next to him, said. “It means Wendigo’s working day.”

  Mack had seen a movie about the Wendigo legend on TV, but never in a thousand years did he think a monster could make an appearance in real life, aside from human monsters, of course, the child rapist and killer he thought he’d been gunning for. But with the legend proved true right in front of him, Mack decided he needed to get what was left of his family back to the states as soon as possible.

  Though he hadn’t thought himself capable of cowardice, Mack found himself running to his truck.

  The Dead Have Walked the Earth

  Justus walked alongside his friend, Lucas, both men arrayed in bright robes. They stopped their shuffle while at the sheep market as the Romans crucified Christ on Golgotha. A cool breeze caressed them, carrying with it a rotting odor. Justus turned to speak with his companion.

  “Ye couldst not procure a seat at the crucifixion, Lucas?”

  “Nay,” Justus answered. “It is the same with thee?”

  “Verily.” Lucas harrumphed. “Walk with me.”

  “Whither we go?”

  Lucas threw his long hair out of his eyes. “Perhaps we can sneak onto the hill and watch the crucifixion from afar.”

  Justus sported short-cropped hair and ran his fingers through the grainy stubble.

  They resumed their gait, then came to a swift halt. Justus and Lucas were afraid to look behind them. A malodorous vexation encompassed the air so vehemently that Justus gagged. His friend followed suit. Thunder rumbled, and day became like night as a storm threatened.

  “What is happening?” Lucas asked.

  “My God, perhaps Jesus is the savior!” Justus answered.

  Someone gripped Lucas’s left arm evilly and ripped it off. Blood spurted out like a waterspout as he screamed from the pain. Justus’s eyes goggled as they adjusted to night vision with the aid of the torches burning in the concourse, and he gasped as he slowly turned his head to behold an undead man. Rotting skin dripped from his bones like so much plaster, and two worms peeked out of his mouth. The stumbler reeked of rotten flesh. The creature held Lucas’s bloody severed arm as a trophy.

  A stumbler came up behind Justus, bear hugged him, and when he tried to bite him, Justus moved his head forward until his chin touched his chest and then yanked his head backward, performing a reverse head butt. This stunned the creature, but he recovered and hurled Justus through the air. He landed on his side with a thud and groaned from the stunning pain. The other people on the street screamed, the sound almost deafening. Some fired up more torches, horridly illuminating the living dead. As Justus jumped up and looked around, he beheld many creatures creeping into the crowd.

  Lucas didn’t fare well. He continued to scream his guts out from the pain. A few more stumblers stormed him, grabbing his two legs and remaining arm. They tugged.

  Justus blanched. “Nay!”

  Drawn and quartered, Lucas shrieked. The creatures feasted upon his limbs as denizens would gorge upon quail around a fire. Justus longed to run to his limbless friend, but the torches shewed the man dying as blood gushed from his stumps. Then he lay still, his eyes no longer moving, his chest no longer heaving.

  Justus wept sore.

  Yet there wasn’t time for that. The stumblers infected more villagers, biting necks, munching eyes, ripping out tongues with their teeth.

  Justus rose, now filled with wrath, and clutched the trembling arms of the two wide-eyed men now standing juxtaposed to him that held spewing torches. “Brethren, we must doeth something!”

  “Nay, I must make my exodus!” the man to his right said as flying blood stained his beard and bald crown. He wrenched out of Justus’s hold and ran toward Golgotha.

  “Coward!” the man to his left spat, a huge rogue with curly black hair and a beard. Then he looked Justus over. “Follow me.”

  The ape of a man ran through a small opening betwixt the creatures, and Justus followed suit. As he did, a stumbler grabbed a swatch of his tunic and ripped it off. The garment had been slung over his shoulder.

  “What . . . do they . . . call you?” Justus asked as he endeavored to catch his breath whilst sprinting.

  “Alexander the coppersmith. You?”

  “Justus. Whither go we?”

  “We go to my barn for weapons. The Romans army is too preoccupied with crucifying the man named Jesus Christ and the other criminals. Behold, we fight for our lives.”

  “Isn’t there a way to alert them?”

  “Nay, they never halt crucifixions. They’ll arrive after Jesus is dead as they hear the screams of the populace. Until then, we must fight the best we can.”

  As they turned a corner and ran into his coppersmith shop, Justus realized he bore affection for this bear of a man. Everyone else castigated to victim status, but not Alexander. For this, Justus would be eternally grateful.

  “Justus!” Alexander cried, throwing him an iron spike. For himself, the coppersmith chose a forging hammer from atop the anvil. It looked as if the huge man also doubled as a blacksmith. “Let us go smash and gouge them to bits!”

  Justus nodded, sweating profusely and breathing hard. “Yea, well.”

  They dashed back to the pool of Bethesda near the sheep market where the commotion roared and screams erupted from afar. Justus forsook his sandals
as they came off in the rush. When they reached the area, a stumbler bit the head off an infant, chewed the meat and spit out the skull. His mother screamed. The baby’s limbs thrashed, and then fell limp. The creature finished its meal.

  Alexander blanched. “Fiend!”

  Justus gasped. “Abomination!”

  A stumbler crept up from Justus’s left and put him in a stranglehold. The smell of his putrefying skin became unbearable. Justus reared up with his free hand and drove the spike through the creature’s eye and brain with stealth. Maggots spilled out of his eye socket, and the creature fell to his knees, then crashed down to the ground, dead . . . again.

  An undead minion crept toward Alexander, but he swung with all his might and didn’t miss, lopping the creature’s head off. Alexander’s incredible strength made the head roll till out of sight. A stumbler crept up from behind him and put Alexander in a headlock, but he dropped the hammer down, then brought it up in reverse and smashed the creature in the face . . . or semblance of a face. It released its grip and fell into the pool.

  An amazing thing happened then. Right before the creature had fallen in, an angel had troubled the water in the spot he fell. The water raised him from the dead, and a healthy older man splashed in the pool, then swam to the edge. He pulled out of the water and took a deep breath, no longer a threat.

  Justus marveled. “Throw them in the pool! It revives them to life!”

  Alexander conked two burly male walkers in the head over and over again as they kept coming. “Is there time? An angel has to trouble the water.”

  Justus ran over and stuck his spike in the crotch of one of the men attacking Alexander—blood splashing on Justus’s robe—and drove him back until he fell in the pool. Alexander was right though. No angel had troubled the water this time and he thrashed and flailed in the depths, then finally crept toward the pool’s edge and climbed out. He limped toward Alexander, who hurled the forging hammer at him, driving the tool into his skull. Blood and gray matter splashed Alexander’s face and robe, a slick crimson mess. The creature gave a confused look for a few seconds and then fell to the ground limp. His wet partner reached Alexander, and the latter did likewise to him.

  An undead woman ran toward Justus, and he recognized her as a former prophetess. Justus put the spike between his teeth, grabbed her exposed breasts, and swung her round and round. Then he released her and she went flying and bounced off Alexander. He lopped off her scrawny head.

  Still the woman raged, though!

  Justus snatched the spike from his teeth, ran to his friend’s aid and thrust it upward through her sex until it stuck out her neck stub. As he did thus, maggots poured out.

  The other citizens didn’t fare as well. Heads, arms, and legs went flying.

  One of the stumblers picked up a sheep and bit into its body, the pitiful animal howling “Bah!” into the night, now even lower on the food chain. Then the creature bit into the sheep’s neck and chewed, severing the head from the body. Blood splattered the stumbler and the ground. Troops of the undead limped over and tore the sheep’s corpse to bits, munching on the entrails.

  Alexander gaped at a stumbler creeping toward him. He carried coins in his hands and had rope burns on its neck. Alexander said, “It is Judas Iscariot!”

  Judas groaned and then spoke in a guttural drawl as he headed for him. “Betrayed Him for coins, now look at me!”

  Judas tried to reach for Alexander’s crotch but he batted the hand away with the hammer and then knocked his head off. Judas’ body fell backward and landed on the ground with a thud. A freed sheep traipsed over and licked up the blood, for a large part of the undead crowd had broken through the barrier and had munched on the lamb, hogget and mutton meat. Only a few sheep remained unmolested.

  Justus saw with rage that a few stumblers eviscerated poor Lucas and consumed his guts, spleen and heart. “May God damn them! I won’t be their victim!”

  “Yea, ye have said well,” Alexander answered.

  The two men raised their weapons, yelled and ran toward the crowd of creatures. Justus stuck his spike up butts and Alexander made sure heads rolled. The stumblers eating guts looked up from their victuals. Bloody mouthed, they spoke words unintelligible, mere gurgles, and rose to defend their brethren.

  Alexander and Justus fought well; the creatures outnumbered them, however. The two men took off and headed toward the temple until they stood on Solomon’s porch. The stumblers crept after them slowly. The duo rushed past the beautiful trees that adorned the holy place. Justus beheld the money changers sitting at their tables counting coins, now back in business selling oxen, sheep, and doves.

  The stumblers poured into the temple, and the changers of money gaped at them, dropping their coins. The creatures grabbed them and pulled them in half, then devoured their innards.

  Alexander and Justus headed for the prayer courts. The scent of incense wafted over to Justus and whiney pleas rang out. The undead crept in and attacked the Christians supplicating in the men’s court, devouring whomever prayed there, turning the priests into sacrifices. The duo headed toward the women’s court and the creatures followed, dripping blood on the fancy lines adorning the floor. They crept up behind the intercessors and bit into the backs of their necks.

  Justus and Alexander had seen enough. They headed out of the temple and back to Bethesda but found the creatures that inhabited the temple were only part of the crowd of stumblers. The troops of doom attacked the villagers and the few remaining sheep. The undead spotted the two men gaping and headed their way.

  The creatures from the temple joined them now, and the undead army surrounded Alexander and Justus. The crowd of undead soldiers thronged them, grabbing and prodding as the two men batted limbs and teeth away with their weapons. The stumblers grabbed their robes. The monsters’ stench made the two men gag.

  Alexander looked at Justus’ tear-soaked face. “Goodbye, friend. See thou in hell.”

  Relief came then—the thunder of the horses powering the Roman army’s chariots. The soldiers bounded to the ground and lopped off heads, arms and legs with swords, then ran their brains through by sticking the swords up their mouths and noses. The swishing sounds of the blades relieved the two friends. Many members of the undead army endeavored to return to the graveyard, but the Romans suffered them not. The horde became bits and pieces burned in a bonfire, the smell of singeing undead flesh foul but assuring.

  “We are saved!” cried Alexander. “Salvation has come by the army that suffocated the Christ!”

  Alexander hugged Justus, squeezing the breath out of him. Blood-soaked, neither man cared for the stains because of their glee, even though some of the blood had dried and gave off a putrescent scent. They parted.

  “World without undead, amen!” Justus cried.

  Justus buried Lucas as his new best friend looked on, the latter with his bandana in hand. Justus wiped the smelly sweat and hot tears from his brow and eyes with the sleeves of his robe, then walked over to Alexander.

  The coppersmith glared at him. “Tears from a man?”

  Justus flushed. “He was a beloved friend.”

  “Aw, shun it. I forgive thee. That was a trial by fire.”

  “Yea.”

  Alexander stuck a burly arm around his new assistant, and they walked back to the coppersmith shop to close up for the day.

  When their workday ended, Justus was fit to the full with pride as he and Alexander walked out of the barn. Night had fallen; a full moon loomed in the sky and sneered upon them sinisterly. The streets looked barren. Even the insects were silent.

  A stumbler came up from behind Alexander and bit him in the neck; his blood gushed onto the dirt. He screamed and punched the creature with the back of his fist, but the teeth held tight.

  Justus would’ve cried out, but he stood frozen in amazement and horror.

  The creature was Jesus Christ! Dirt smeared His carpenter’s muscles. The blood had dried around the wounds in His hands and feet. F
ree of the grave clothes, He stood naked, His stench so putrid Justus gagged.

  So this was the resurrection He’d promised. Dread suffocated all hope from Justus.

  Alexander wheeled on Him, punching and shoving with all his might to get the Christ off him, but with supernal strength the teeth still held and bit deeper into the neck, headed toward the jugular vein. Alexander turned white. “Get Him off me!”

  Justus rushed back into the shop and grabbed the forging hammer and the spike, then ran out to help his friend.

  He was too late. The Christ had bitten through the jugular, and He dropped Alexander to the ground with a thud. Then Jesus let out a guttural groan and sank to His knees and lifted Alexander’s robe. He bit into his strapping thigh and gorged on the warm blood and flesh.

  Justus gathered his courage and ran at Jesus. He arched the hammer behind his head and prepared to swing with all his might to lop off His head.

  Jesus looked up and held up His hand—see-through because of the hole in the center—and glowered into Justus’s eyes with His red glowing eyes. Justus couldn’t move, the supernatural power stopping his attack.

  My goodness, He’s still the savior? Justus dropped the hammer.

  Jesus smiled, showing bloody teeth. “Worship me.” The voice was guttural and cacophonous. “Ye shall eat my flesh and drink my blood, and then you will have a part with me.”

  Justus dropped to his knees, in the Christ’s trance. He wept.

  Jesus continued to munch on Alexander’s leg. Then He lifted His head and punched into the stomach with the divine strength and pulled out Alexander’s entrails, chewed for a while, and then stopped. “Woe to Me if I’m full.”

  Justus found himself wanting to worship Him, the desire pulling at him. It would be so easy to give in; he resisted, however. Justus allowed Satan to fill him with wrath because God had murdered his best friend.

  Jesus stood. Now that He’d eaten, He glowed and reached out to Justus. “Come unto me and eat.”

  Justus picked up the hammer. “Nay! You killed my best friend. Fiend, I will destroy Thee!”