A Dark Collection: 12 Scary Stories

by Lukens, Mark

  Sammy went to his bedroom and he stopped in his tracks as he walked past the small desk squeezed in next to his bed. His stomach tightened into a ball of steel and he held his breath as he stared at the two brand-new toys sitting on his desk right next to each other. They were identical—two Hot Wheels Corvettes still in their packages.

  • • •

  Sammy could hardly sleep. His mind raced. What had he found? What was this thing that could grant his wishes?

  Oh, the things he could have now. All of the things they could never afford flashed through his mind: a bicycle—the best one they made—new sneakers the rich kids at school wore, new toys, the microscope that he dreamed of, a telescope.

  He could hardly fall asleep, but an hour later he was snuggled under the covers as the cold drafted in through the under-insulated window next to his bed.

  • • •

  The next day it was Mom’s one day of the week off from work. She watched him from the couch as he went to the front door. Her voice stopped him in his tracks like he was doing something wrong.

  “Where are you going?” she asked.

  “To get a Coke,” he said. He had purposely left out the part about the Coke machine being in the laundry room.

  Please don’t say that you don’t want me going down there by myself. For God’s sake, don’t send Sean with me. Not today. Not this day.

  “You didn’t grab any money,” she said.

  “Oh, I had some.”

  She smiled. Thank God she was in a good mood today. No headaches. “Get me a Diet Coke, would you?”

  His heart skipped a beat.

  Mom, that’s a wish, he wanted to say. That’s a whole wish I’m wasting on your Diet Coke. But he didn’t. Instead he said, “Sure, Mom.”

  Sammy slipped out the door and ran all the way to the laundry room in case his Mom might suddenly remember that Sammy was going to the very place where the “strangers” congregated.

  He reached the room and was happy to see it empty again. A dryer rumbled, but at least no one was in there to hear him screeching wishes at the vending machine.

  “I wish I had a Diet Coke,” Sammy said quickly, still breathing a little hard from his run. He didn’t even bother holding down the button this time.

  He heard the familiar rumbling, and then the Diet Coke popped out of the pocket, looking more like a gold nugget than a can of soda.

  “I wish I had a new bicycle,” Sammy said quickly, and then he had to make himself slow down, give the machine a chance to work.

  He glanced at the open doorway and then looked back at the machine. How long should he wait? A few seconds?

  “I wish I had a TV of my own,” he said.

  He stood in front of the machine, waiting, hoping it would work. It had to work.

  • • •

  Not even an hour later Sammy’s luck had changed, taking a sudden nosedive.

  “Okay, young man, you’ve got some explaining to do!” his mom screamed at him. “The bicycle. The TV. Where the hell did they come from?”

  Sammy looked at his mom’s face. Her good mood had disintegrated when she walked into his bedroom (perhaps hearing his squeals of delight) and saw the TV and bicycle in the middle of the floor. He had tried in vain to stuff the bicycle into the closet that he and Sean shared, but the small closet was full. He was about to shove some of the stuff from their closet under his bed and stash his bike in there when Mom walked in.

  “Answer me, Samuel!”

  Oh no, she had used his “given” name, that meant she was really angry.

  What could he say? He tried to think up a lie. He had never really thought about his mom or brother seeing the stuff he had wished for until now. What was he supposed to tell her, that he’d found them? That they were Sean’s? No, Sean would make his life miserable if he involved him in this.

  The longer he stood there underneath her stare, the worse the situation became. The more it seemed like he was covering up the truth. And wasn’t he?

  Maybe he should tell her the truth.

  What could it hurt?

  • • •

  Half an hour later Sammy lay on his bed, his tears drying up. The tears were more from the disbelief of his mom than the belt she’d used to try and force the real truth out of him.

  “What am I supposed to say when the police come around, Sammy?” she had said after his punishment. “Do I tell them these brand new things came from a damn Coke machine? Where the hell did you come up with something like that?”

  “It’s true,” he had insisted.

  “I didn’t raise a thief or a liar,” she finally said and left his room.

  Sammy thought about telling her that Sean was both a thief and a liar, and a pot smoker, and a beer drinker, but he didn’t think that a response like that would go over very well with her right now. He had the feeling that she knew that Sean was a lost cause and she was hoping to keep Sammy from following his older brother down that same path. She told him often, and in secret, that he was different from Sean. Sean had too much of their father in him.

  Before Mom left his room, she stood in his doorway.

  “Just lay there until the truth comes to your mind. In the meantime, I’ll think of what to do with these things.” She stared at him with such disappointment in her eyes that it almost caused Sammy to cry again.

  Sammy lay in bed, depressed but still thinking. He had to think of a way to prove to his mom that this was real.

  He sat up as an idea came to him. He knew how he could prove it to her. She’d wanted a new microwave oven ever since Sean had broken the one they had. What better present could he give her?

  • • •

  The next day after Mom went to work, Sammy waited a few moments and then he hurried down to the laundry room.

  He stood in front of the Coke machine—the sentinel of magic, the tower of mystery whose inner workings were magical, yet they could be dangerous. He realized he had to be very careful. He touched the front of the machine and he felt the vibrations humming underneath his fingertips; he heard the conspiratorial whispering inside.

  “I wish I had a new microwave oven.”

  “I wish I had five hundred dollars under my bed.”

  “I wish I had a new microscope.”

  • • •

  Sammy ran back home, his heart thudding with nervousness. When did the things he wished for appear? When he said it? A few seconds later? Could someone actually watch the items materialize in front of them, see the molecules form together like the people on Star Trek when they beamed up onto the ship? Or did they just pop into existence?

  He burst into the apartment. Mom was still at work and Sean was out with his friends. He closed the door and stood there for a moment staring at the counter in the kitchen where a brand new microwave oven sat. It was silver and black and looked expensive. There were some white stickers stuck to the front of it, and inside was a packet with a manual for the oven.

  This microwave would be proof for his mom when she got home.

  He ran into his room and saw the microscope on his desk. Sammy the Scientist needed to have a microscope to study with. The microscope was still in the box, and it had a two hundred and eighty dollar sticker on it. He stashed the microscope in his closet.

  Sammy dropped down to his hands and knees beside his bed. He peeked under there, not worrying about the monster under his bed right now—the monster didn’t come around in the daytime; he only came around when it was dark because he was a part of the dark. He reached underneath his bed but he didn’t feel any stacks of cash under there.

  Sammy ran back to the kitchen and grabbed a flashlight from the drawer. He went back to his bed and shined the light under it. He saw a few forgotten toys and books, but no sign of any money.

  It had to be there. All of the other wishes had come true.

  Maybe the machine couldn’t transfer money.

  He crawled underneath the bed, on his back now, the flashlight bobbing crazil
y under here. Sammy angled the light up into the wood slats underneath his box-spring and mattress and saw the money. There were twenty, fifty, and hundred dollar bills in the wood slats. He ran his hand along the wood, feeling the smooth finish. The bills had become part of the wood itself. When he had said under the bed, the Coke machine had embedded the money under the bed.

  He had to be very careful how he phrased things when he spoke to the Machine. Maybe he shouldn’t tell it where to put things, just let the Machine decide.

  • • •

  “You’re grounded!” Mom yelled. “Do you hear me, Sammy? Do you understand? You are not to go to the laundry room, which you shouldn’t have been down there in the first place. You are not to go to this … this magical Coke machine. Do you understand what I’m saying, Samuel David Johnson?”

  “Yes, Mom, but I didn’t—”

  “No more! Get to your room!” She put a hand to the side of her forehead.

  Sammy looked up at his mother’s familiar mask of pain. The longer he stood there underneath her wincing, unfocused stare, the worse the situation would become. But he had to explain his side of it.

  “It was a Christmas present, damn it!” he yelled at her.

  “No it wasn’t. A Christmas present comes from your heart. You don’t steal things for Christmas presents. And don’t you cuss at me.”

  “It was given to me,” Sammy told her, the tears rolling out of his eyes, but he couldn’t stop them. “And I gave it to you because you wanted it.”

  “It’s someone else’s, Sammy. Don’t you understand that? I don’t want somebody else’s things. I want to know who gave it to you. Did Sean have something to do with this?”

  “No,” Sammy said in a defeated voice, wiping away his tears. “The Coke Machine gave this stuff to me.”

  “This is your last chance. Someone had to have helped you with this. You couldn’t have carried that microwave oven up here by yourself.”

  Sammy tried to explain through his tears to Mom that he could prove all of this to her if she would just come down to the Coke machine with him. They could wish for things and then she would see that it worked.

  But she wasn’t going down there and making a fool of herself.

  Sammy went to his bedroom and plopped down on his bed. He thought of showing her the money under his bed, but he didn’t really think he would be able to even get her to look under his bed right now.

  He knew she was going to question Sean about all of this, perhaps even blame him for this, at least for not keeping an eye on him like he was supposed to be doing. And Sean was going to make his life hell if he was grounded, too.

  He had to get back to the Machine. He had to make this up to his mom, find a way to make her believe. He had to give her more, something really big that she would love, maybe a new car. Their old car was falling apart and it made strange grinding noises when Mom shifted gears.

  Tomorrow night. He would sneak out tomorrow night and make three more wishes.

  He was already starting to feel better.

  • • •

  The night had come.

  It was late and Sammy lay awake on his bed. Sean was snoring in the other bed and Mom was passed out on Advil and a six pack of Lite beer.

  He was still fully dressed underneath the sheets and covers. He slid out from underneath them, silent as a deadly ninja—Sammy the Ninja on a mission, racing through the darkness to get to his target, the Coke machine. He crept to their bedroom door and kept an eye on his brother the whole time.

  I hope they don’t wake—

  Sammy stopped himself cold. He should never think that. He should never wish or hope anything like that. Never. He had to be so careful with his words now.

  He tiptoed through the apartment in the darkness, past the now-dark Christmas tree. He was waiting for his mother’s shrill voice to stop him in his tracks, but she didn’t. And he slipped out into the night and shut the door silently.

  Out in the cold darkness, he had forgotten about ninjas and sergeants and he became small Sammy—alone in the dark and about to go into a dark room he feared even in the daytime. He shivered and headed for the steps that led down to the cracked walkway below. He ducked his head underneath their living room window as he passed by and he thought he might look a little suspicious if any of their “stranger” neighbors were watching him, but he didn’t care.

  As he went down the steps, he could imagine his mother’s voice from behind him.

  “Where the hell do you think you’re going?”

  “To the Coke Machine, Mom. Just like you told me not to. But I have to prove to you that I’m not a thief and I’m not a liar.” The conversation played out in his mind. He even looked back up to where his mother would’ve been standing if she’d caught him sneaking out in the middle of the night.

  He continued on. It was three o’clock in the morning. Nothing moved in the darkness except the twisting wind which had suddenly acquired a howl and a mean bite since he had come outside. The wind must’ve been circling the apartment building, waiting for little Sammy to come out and play.

  Sammy began the long trek to the laundry room, trying not to scuff his sneakers on the cold concrete, trying not to make any noise.

  As he neared the laundry room, he saw the reddish light from the Coke Machine shining out of the open doorway. And even from here, even underneath the moaning wind, he swore he could hear the Coke Machine calling him, whispering to him.

  Sammy entered the laundry room and stood in front of the Coke Machine which looked much brighter and bigger at night. The humming and whispering was much louder than he remembered. He stared at the Machine and a shiver ran through his body. He touched the Coke button and felt the soft vibration of high voltage running just underneath the Machine.

  “I wish I had a new car.”

  “I wish I had ten thousand dollars.”

  And before Sammy could utter his third wish, he nearly jumped out of his skin when he heard a metallic clanging noise that came from outside the laundry room. There was somebody outside and they were dragging something made of metal across the concrete.

  Sammy backed away from the Coke machine, deeper into the murky laundry room and stared at the open doorway as a man filled it.

  The man was tall, so tall he had to bend down a little to get in through the doorway. He was thin, but his long, sinewy muscles looked ropy and strong. He wore only a threadbare, faded red T-shirt and light blue jeans held up by a thick leather belt and silver buckle that had a KK engraved on it. He had thick, silver rings on his impossibly long fingers.

  He looked very old even though his body was nothing but bone and muscle underneath rough, tan skin covered with bulging veins and faded tattoos. His hair was long, thin, and white, and it danced in the wind. He had a sunken, emaciated face riddled with deep wrinkles in his dark skin. His eyes were big, round, and insane underneath bushy white eyebrows. His nose was long and hawkish, hanging down over a grin of bright white teeth that looked a little too sharp among the scraggly white beard and mustache.

  The man threw one long leg through the doorway and stamped his boot down onto the concrete floor with a thud. His boots were brown and faded like the rest of his clothing, and there was a bright silver chain around the ankle of the boot.

  He pulled the metal contraption in behind him and Sammy realized it was what people called a dolly to carry appliances with. The man shoved the blade of the dolly underneath the bottom of the Coke Machine with one fluid movement and the blade scraped the concrete, the screech echoing inside the suddenly small and claustrophobic laundry room.

  The man looked at Sammy who had cowered back to the last laundry machine, and the man winked at him.

  A wink? Was that what the man had done, winked at him?

  The man pulled the dolly back and the whole Coke machine lifted up off the floor and fell towards him, but the man caught the weight of the machine on the dolly, his back muscles flaring out like a cobra’s hood. Sammy stud
ied the man’s arms which were suddenly bulging with muscles that had come from nowhere once he held the weight of the machine on him, and he saw the tattoos on his arms more clearly now; he saw an elf and a reindeer.

  The man turned the Machine around in the small walkway between the wall and laundry machines and wheeled it out of the doorway. And Sammy saw that the Machine wasn’t even plugged in.

  Had it ever been plugged in?

  Yet the Machine was still brightly lit as the strange man wheeled it out of the laundry room.

  “No,” Sammy whispered. His wishes were being taken away. He looked down at the empty space where the Coke Machine used to stand, the concrete dusty and stained with black scrapes.

  Sammy hurried out the doorway and ran along the walkway until he saw the giant man with the long white hair. The silver rings, the belt buckle, and the chains on his boots gleamed in the bright moonlight. The man’s teeth (which he could see were very sharp) gleamed, too. The man stood in the back of his beaten and bruised pickup truck as the wind toyed with his wispy hair. The Coke Machine was in the back of the truck beside him, backed all the way up to the cab of the truck, and the front of the Machine still glowed red in the darkness. Sammy could only guess how the man had gotten the Machine up onto the bed of his truck.

  The man grinned at Sammy and he held something in his giant, spider-like hand.

  Sammy stood no more than ten feet away from this strangest of all “strangers” who might be hanging out at the laundry room.

  “Who are you?” Sammy whispered.

  “Here’s your third wish,” the man whispered. His voice was soft and ragged, but his words seemed to float on the night air and dance in his ears. The man held up the thing he held in his hand, and Sammy saw the top of a red Coke can peeking up from his hand.

  He tossed it to Sammy.

  Sammy watched, terrified, as the can hurdled through the air. He had to catch it. He knew from somewhere deep inside that everything in his life and future might change if he could just catch this can.

  And he did.