He might not have loved her the way he had when he first walked down the aisle with her twenty years before, but as he knelt before her now, aware of the years they'd spent with each other, Steve figured those years counted for something. He couldn't bring himself to let those monsters rip her apart.
He slipped off her wedding ring and put it in his shirt pocket before he returned to the dead man. A swift kick sent the body tumbling toward the ground floor, landing amongst the demons below. A warbling cry erupted from the group, and all of them began ripping at the body, no longer looking up at Steve.
Anger gave him a large burst of strength as he charged across the platform and threw open the window in the loft wall that led to the world outside. Arms outstretched, fingers groping for the edge of the aged wood, he knew his last act would be a leap for freedom. Splinters tore through his hands and nearly dropped him, but he managed to stop himself so he could peer out into the night. He glanced down at the twenty-foot drop to the ground. "This is my decision and I am controlling my fate," he whispered, and leapt over the edge.
He went limp before impact, his right arm taking the brunt of the fall, a deep breath of dirt kicked up from the impact making him choke, and he felt the tears streaming down his cheeks from the jolt of pain.
He couldn't believe he had survived the fall; never would he have anticipated that he would live. And the idea that he hadn't died from the fall gave him hope.
The creatures were still in the barn and from what he could tell, none of them had seen him pull himself up and start jogging as best he could away from the barn. He didn't bother with the house; he was too afraid it would trap him inside. He just wanted to make it back to the car. Maybe the car was still drivable.
He didn't know how far he'd gone when the sounds of snapping wood first reached him. He didn't bother looking back, instead focusing ahead at the waving grass in the faint moonlight. He didn't need to look back to know they were coming after him. Maybe the creatures hadn't seen him at first, but by now they had figured out that he had escaped. He could hear their feet and hands hammering the dirt, crunching down the grass, their mouths opened into that never-ending abyss.
But he didn't dwell on the thunder rushing toward him, the pain spiking through his side with each additional step, or his knees and legs that were so numb he could barely feel them. Steve kept moving into the night, running the best he could in a lop-sided gait.
When the first shape barreled into him and knocked him down onto the tall grass, Steve felt himself being ripped apart; eaten alive. Even as the weight bore down on him and the pain tore into his back, he thought, I shouldn't have suggested the ride in the car to try to work things out. I should have agreed to the divorce because Candice deserved better.
About Philip Roberts
Philip Michael Roberts lives in Nashua, New Hampshire and holds a degree in Creative Writing with a minor in Film from the University of Kansas. Although a beginner in the publishing world, Philip is a member of the Horror Writer's Association, and has had numerous short stories published in a variety of publications, such as the Beneath the Surface anthology, Midnight Echo, and The Absent Willow Review.
http://www.philipmroberts.com
AND BABY, YOU CAN SLEEP WHILE I DRIVE
by Elizabeth Massie
Andy stole a car to drive Alicia across country to her mother's funeral. Andy's own '93 Dodge had broken down a couple weeks earlier, he didn't have enough money to get it fixed because, as the mechanic laughed and said, "This one's gonna need a major overhaul. Transmission, brakes, steering. Why didn't you take care of this earlier?"
Andy didn't answer. There was no answer except that he was poor and getting poorer and that was that.
The Chevy Nova Andy stole was a two-door blue thing with one white door and mismatched tires, though "stole" was too severe a term for what he'd actually done. Andy knew Mick, who owned the car. Mick was a colleague, sort of, an eternally angry piss-ant of a man who was employed as a custodian at the American Safety Razor plant where Andy worked as a security guard, and Andy did leave Mick a note in his little cubby, reading, "I'll have someone drive this back to you in two weeks, man, and I'll pay you something for your trouble," so it was more of a borrow than a steal. When Alicia had called him in the middle of the night from home crying, "Mama's dead!" he knew right away that he'd have to plan for transportation to Seattle. They couldn't afford a train or a plane, and Alicia was scared of buses. But Andy loved his wife and he would get her to the funeral in one way or other.
Alicia's mother had lived the last three years in the Oak Hill Nursing Home just a mile from Andy and Alicia's apartment in Nashville. She'd been pretty healthy for a woman who'd smoked two packs a day for fifty-some years. Yet over the past year, she'd begun to go soft in the head, and everyone knew it wouldn't be long before she died. Alicia's bitchy older sister Barb told everyone, "Mama will be buried here in Washington state where she was born. We've already got her a plot close to Daddy's. When the time comes, we're shipping her here."
The time came three nights ago, when Mama got up out of bed and slipped on a puddle of her own urine. Her head came down—SMACK—against the stainless steel sink, bounced off, then struck the steel footboard of her bed—CRACK—and then she dropped to the floor.
Barb was furious, seemingly more so about the fact that Mama had died in a foreign state than the fact she had died. Barb never liked it that Mama was in "Nastyville" in the first place. But Alicia had always been Mama's favorite girl, and when Mama's health was declining she wanted to be close to her baby. Oak Hill was an acceptable place, if you didn't look too closely. The daytime attendants were spiffy and alert. The nighttime attendants were much like nighttime attendants anywhere that the public didn't go during off hours—bored, cynical, careless.
Andy opened the Nova's passenger door for Alicia, tossed her suitcase and his duffle bag onto the back seat, and helped her in. She was hardly an invalid; Alicia was small, but she was a strong, funny woman most of the time. But today, she was listless and quiet. Her mother's death had hit her hard. She knew her mother was declining—hell, she'd been on the downward spiral for months—but that didn't ease the pain.
"Thanks," Alicia whispered as Andy helped her with her seatbelt. He kissed her head, went around to his side (Mick's side, actually) and climbed in behind the wheel. He handed Alicia a paper bag he'd filled with her favorite candies, hard butterscotch pieces and Hershey kisses. She took the bag, but held it, unopened, in her lap. She hunkered down against the seat and stared out the window.
Andy had been glad to find the Nova came with almost a full tank of gas, but by the time they reached St. Louis they needed to stop for a refill and Alicia had to pee. Andy had brought what was left of his weekly paycheck in his wallet, three hundred-thirteen dollars. If he could make it across country with this clunker on the money he had, if he and Alicia made it to the funeral and then more importantly, to the reading of the old woman's will, all would be good again in life-land. Mama had Alicia's name at the top of the list. Mama had shown a copy of the will to Alicia back in the spring. Barb had been a bane of Mama's existence, telling her what to do, where to live, when to eat, when to shit, but Alicia had always let Mama do her own thing. That is why Mama came to Nashville when she needed assisted living. That is why Mama planned on leaving her Seattle house (in which Barb had been living since Mama upped it across country), her savings, and her jewelry (a diamond ring and earrings and her gold wedding band, though that was about as far as the bling went) to her younger daughter. This inheritance would be enough to pull Alicia and Andy's heads way above water. Andy could almost taste the new car, the paid bills, and the computer he'd been wanting for a couple years now.
Andy stuffed the gas nozzle back into its cradle, went inside to pay the cashier, looked longingly at the cigarettes, then returned to the car. Alicia was still in the can. She was moving slowly these days, but that was okay. She was just tired and sad. Andy opened the passenger's side door and g
ot himself a Hershey's kiss to stave off the craving for a smoke. He had to do this trip carefully, because what would happen if they ran out of money? Barb wouldn't care enough to wire them any, and since his bankruptcy in March, Andy didn't have any credit cards.
"C'mon, babe," Andy hissed toward the convenience store. "We got miles to make before we crash tonight. We got to make it at least to Denver."
He slid in on the seat and punched the glove box button. It was locked. He found a small key on the key ring he'd taken from Mick's employee cubby back at the plant, and poked it in the glove box keyhole. The box popped open.
"Hallelujah!" said Andy. There was a pack of cigarettes, well, Virginia Slims, but beggars couldn't be choosers. Andy tugged his lighter from his jacket pocket, lit up, and leaned back. He took a long, deep drag and held it in as long as he could. He closed his eyes and felt the soft, familiar sting. Then he let the smoke out.
"Ahhh," he said.
He took another drag, held it, let it out. Behind his eyelids, pink and orange patterns played against the black. The dark colors shifted endlessly, like leaves off an autumn tree. Then they began to cluster, to come together into something odd…
What's that?
…something unsettlingly familiar. A round shape, with dark punctuations near the top, a slash near the bottom.
A face? A woman's face?
The punctuations blinked and widened as the colors around it continued to collect themselves into human form. The slash opened up into a twisted sneer, and it and hissed long and loud.
Andy's eyes flew open and he leapt from the car, nearly dropping his smoke to the oily pavement.
"What the fuck…?" he shouted.
"What's the fuck?" This was Alicia, behind him. He looked around at her worried face.
"Nothin', just dropped ashes on my lap's all."
"Okay."
"Get back in the car," he said, holding the door wide open. Alicia slid in. "We'll be in Denver quicker than you can imagine. You just sleep all you want."
They hit the road again, Andy digging in the duffle bag in the back for the sticks of beef jerky he'd brought from home, Alicia snoring softly beside him. He finished his cigarette, tossed out the butt, and chewed on the beef. Interstate driving was beyond tedious. He read each road sign aloud so he wouldn't drift off.
A tractor-trailer pulled up on his ass and rode him a good couple miles, then finally went around. Asshole. More trucks and more trucks passed by him, a good ten over the limit.
Andy felt snot trickle down his nose. Was he coming down with a cold? Yep, that was just what he needed. He tugged the rearview mirror around to have a look at the snot, to wipe it away before Alicia woke up and got grossed out.
But it wasn't his face in the mirror. It was a hideous countenance, eyes as wide and white as bleached river rocks, the lips peeled back revealing red-streaked teeth, three long and bloody gashes across her nose, forehead, chin. A piece of chewed-through tongue lashed out like a mangled snake and licked the glass from the inside, leaving shiny pink spittle.
"Holy shit!"
Andy steered the car to the shoulder, slammed on the brakes, and shoved the mirror up so it faced the ceiling.
"Jesus, did we wreck?" screeched Alicia, coming immediately out of her sleep and clutching the door handle with both hands.
"No," said Andy, swallowing hard. "We're okay."
"We are? You sure? What happened?"
I saw a bloody dead woman in the rearview!
"Tractor-trailer. Passed too closely. Scared the bejeezus out of me," wheezed Andy.
"Well, okay."
"Okay."
They sat on the side of the road many long minutes, and then Andy steered back into the traffic.
It's just stress, he told himself. Like those dudes who came home from Vietnam and the Gulf. Just stress playing with me, is all.
Andy gripped the wheel tightly. The hairs on his knuckles stood at attention.
It sure couldn't be what it looked like. It sure couldn't be…her.
Andy wiped his lips, his nose.
I don't believe in that kind of shit. The old woman's dead!
Alicia closed her eyes and leaned against Andy's shoulder.
There are no such things as ghosts.
Five miles down the road, he smelled it. It came from the back, rolling up over the seat like a stinking wave, wrapping itself around his head. It was a putrid stink, a smell of hot steel and festering puss. He wrinkled his nose and rolled down the window. It didn't help. He gagged into his hand.
What the fuck is that?
It smelled like a corpse, a three-day dead body. A bloody, putrid human slab…coming back for revenge.
But dead can't come back to haunt the living! Dead people are dead!
Dead, like Mama. Dead like when Andy was through with her the other night. He'd tiptoed from his hiding place in the nursing home bathroom, pulled out her catheter, let the pee drain to the floor, then knocked her head against the sink. She fell to the floor on her own.
He had to do it. During their visit last Saturday, the old woman had mumbled to Andy that she was changing her will. Barb had called and said God would punish her if she didn't, Barb being the firstborn and all. Mama was just whacked and drugged enough believe what she was told. "I can't go against God, now, can I, Paul?" That was her dead husband's name.
And Alicia and I will go on whirling down the drainhole! Andy had thought as he and Alicia walked home from Oak Hill.
Alicia nuzzled Andy's shoulder and continued to snore.
The smell in the car grew even stronger. Andy swerved back and forth in his lane, trying to lose it through the open window. Alicia muttered against him.
A passing truck honked; Andy glanced in the side view mirror and saw not the truck or the road, but the mangled, bleeding face of the woman, shouting silently at him, blaming him. Her fingers scrabbled up at the surface of the mirror. Then they came out of the mirror and clutched at his collar.
"Noooooo!"
Andy jerked the steering wheel and the car rumbled off the road, the shoulder, and went airborne. It flipped in mid-air. Alicia screamed. Andy's sunglasses flew out the window. The suitcase and duffle bag jumped from the back seat to the front. The car landed on its top.
Alicia, dangling upside down in her seatbelt, shook Andy violently. Andy's seatbelt was holding up tightly at the throat. "Andy! Are you okay?"
I didn't want to kill her, I had to! We need the money!
"She's here to get me!" he managed.
"Who?"
"The car is haunted! You're mother's after me!"
"What? Stop it, that's crazy talk!"
Alicia unbuckled her belt and fell in a heap on the car ceiling. She jabbed the release button on Andy's, and he dropped down with her then rolled over, righting himself. The windshield was shattered, the hood crumpled like a piece of old school paper. Neither door would open.
I want out of this car!
"I saw her, coming after me…" he began.
Alicia took Andy's face in her hands. "You've got a bump to the noggin," she said anxiously. "Shh! Shhh! Everything's gonna be okay."
Red and blue swirling lights pulled up beside them and behind them. Men in uniforms swarmed the car, talking in soothing, encouraging tones.
The rearview mirror was banged back down and was covered with a spider web of cracks. Andy glanced in the glass. The bloody, butchered woman leered at him and winked her dead white eyes.
"Get me out!" Andy screamed, slapping at the mirror.
The Jaws of Life tore open the Nova door. Alicia and Andy were pulled into the sunlight. Police swarmed the area, keeping the huddled curious back up on the shoulder.
Someone strapped Andy onto a stretcher. A policeman came up to him before he went into the ambulance.
"Well, buddy," he said from behind his dark glasses. "I can see why you were running away from Nashville. Pretty nasty business you got mixed up in back there, huh? But we got you now.
"
Andy started to weep. "I was crazy," he said. "Okay? It was extreme duress! She was going to change the will, leave us out, leave Alicia out! Alicia needs the money! I don't care about me, just her! And I didn't really kill her mother, exactly, I just pushed her and she fell and hit her head!"
The policeman's nose twitched. "Hmm," he said. "I'll make note of that murder, too. But right now I'm talking about the young lady in your trunk."
"The who?"
"Mick Conners called us this morning. Reported his Nova stolen, his wife missing. You flip this car, we run the plates, and viola. How about that? Mrs. Conners, beat, cut, and dead in the trunk. You killed her with a machete's what it looks like."
"Mick's wife?"
"You're one sick fuck," said the policeman.
No, wait, wait, Mick was always bitching about his wife…!!
"Mick's wife is dead in the trunk? That wasn't me, it had to be Mick. I borrowed his car, it was bad timing…!"
"Shit yeah, bad timing." The police looked around to be sure no one was watching, and punched Andy soundly in the face. Andy felt his jaw, already loosened in the wreck, give way like a bag of marbles. His head flopped over, and amid flashes behind his eyes and the agony in his chin, he could see the woman they'd removed from the trunk. He caught a glimpse of her face before they zipped the body bag closed.
It was the woman he'd seen in the mirror, not Mama. He recognized the three deep cuts, the near-white eyes. Her mouth hung partially open and he could see where she'd bit her tongue nearly off at the time of her murder.
"You haunted the wrong person, you bitch!" Andy screamed as he was shoved into the ambulance next to Alicia. "You fucking, stupid bitch!"
Alicia began to cry. The ambulance door slammed shut.
The policeman rubbed his sore fist and went back about his business.
About Elizabeth Massie
Elizabeth Massie is a two-time Bram Stoker Award-winning author of horror novels, historical novels, media tie-in novels, radio plays, short fiction, and chapters and units for American history textbooks. Her works include Sineater, Welcome Back to the Night, Homeplace, The Fear Report, Shadow Dreams, The Tudors: King Takes Queen, The Tudors: Thy Will Be Done, and many more. A former public school teacher, Beth presents creative writing workshops to students in elementary schools, middle schools, high schools, and colleges.
What Fears Become: An Anthology from The Horror Zine Page 15
