Horror Stories: A Macabre Collection

by Steve Wands

  “Fine. Fine. I understand, scared of the Teddy Bear, I get it. But I’ve got a real showstopper for you all tonight. The Cannibal was just a warm-up!”

  Ted dropped The Cannibal to the ground and wiped his mouth. The lower part of his face was stained with blood and the front of his white shirt was soaked with it as well. His eyes were wild with bloodlust. He no longer cared for the money. He wanted blood, and he wanted to see what the announcer would bring out to the cage this time.

  “Bring out the Golem!”

  The crowd gasped as the lights dimmed and a spotlight hit the partition of the crimson curtains behind the cage. There were several noises and grunts but nothing came through the partition. Then… a zombie pulling a leash staggered into the spotlight. Flies buzzed around the rotting stagehand as he continued forward. He was followed by several other zombies, all pulling leashes. With their combined strength they managed to pull the Golem through the curtains.

  The Golem stood in the spotlight, a towering mass that looked of sun-bleached stone and melting sand. His features were abstract and angular—unformed, similar to a sculptor’s rough work. He had an inscription on his forehead and several other markings and symbols across his body. The announcer beckoned him to move forward, and he was compelled too. He moved slowly, but the zombies helped to quicken his pace.

  Ted no longer sought blood—or the money—he simply wanted to leave. He tried for the door to the cage, but as he grabbed it his hand burned at the touch. The announcer laughed, his growing belly bouncing to the rhythm of his laugh.

  “Silver,” Ted said.

  “You’re a quick one Teddy Bear,” the announcer said.

  “This wasn’t the contest!”

  “You never bothered to read the fine print…and you killed one of my performers. And, besides, I don’t hear the crowd complaining. They came for a show, and I’m going to give them one.”

  The zombies dragged the Golem all the way to the cage opening. They removed the leashes from the Golem and retreated offstage. The announcer ushered the large shape into the cage, making sure to not leave enough room for Ted to escape.

  The Golem stood in the cage. Ted couldn’t see any way around him. He didn’t know much about Golems. He knew them only as the Jewish version of Frankenstein’s monster. He knew they were made of mud, but how was he supposed to fight a mud monster? —He hadn’t the slightest idea. He punched at him, only to feel his knuckles crack on impact. He tried to glamour him, but the Golem remained unmoved. He stood like a sentinel between Ted and the exit. He tried to run past. The Golem swung his club-like arm, knocking the wind from his undead lungs. Ted’s back pounded the ground as he landed in the dirt. He got up, knocking the dirt off his pants and readied himself to attack once again. He bared his teeth and lunged at the Golem attempting to bite into his rock-like skin. His teeth cracked on impact and his howling screams titillated the crowd. He held his mouth, fingering at the cracked shards that were once his fangs.

  The Golem stepped forward and swung his arm down, bashing Ted into the ground. He hit him again and again, pummeling him into a mound of mush and bone. The announcer commanded him to stop, and he did.

  The zombies came from behind the curtain once again; carrying the leashes they had before and now, chains made of silver.

  “The Golem is victorious! The show is over, leave now before I sick him on all of you! And don’t forget to pick up a Traveling Terrors t-shirt for yourself,” the announcer shouted.

  The zombies leashed The Golem and walked him back behind the curtains. Ted began to heal from the puddle of pulp he had become to a form less offensive and as the zombies came back for him he was able to hobble on splintered shinbones. They shackled Ted with the silver chains and dragged him behind the curtains.

  The announcer took off his hat, “welcome to the show,” he said.

  *

  Tunnel Rats

  (a Stay Dead short story)

  *

  Deep below the belly of Titan City a man called Bark shaves his face in a shard of mirror that’s duct taped to the wall of his makeshift shack. His sweat serves as lather and the dull blade wicks it off. Most of his neighbors don’t even bother to shave. They’re too busy gumming the community crack pipe to give a shit. Not Bark, no sir, he’s going to the surface, he’s going to find a job, a good woman and a fast car, he swore it to God. He swished his razor in a bucket of piss-colored water, splashed his face and patted it dry with the sleeve of a tattered flannel shirt. He then put the shirt on, tucked it in and grabbed his hat, a faded and chewed Pirates cap which was a keepsake from his former life. A life that now seemed like a dream, an amazing dream of mediocrity, of clean clothes and hot coffee, running water and a bed.

  Bark pushed open the plywood door. The squealing of rats and the sparking noise of a lighter pulled his thoughts back to reality. The reality of a harsh truth that he very well may die down in the dark tunnels of this subway-suburbia of tents, shacks, vermin and shit. His backpack sat in a shopping cart alongside his collection of bottles and cans. Bark slung the bag over his shoulder and started his trek along the tracks to the surface. It was just over a mile.

  Daylight stung his eyes. He winced as if it were a rat chewing at his calf. The city was bustling. It was morning. He stuck his hand out. Most people never even looked at him, if they saw his hand they would make it a point to not look into his eyes. His deep blue-green eyes, a set of some of the sorriest eyes you’ve ever seen.

  “Spare some change,” he asked but it wasn’t a question.

  “Just ‘nuff for some coffee,” he continued.

  “God Bless You,” he blessed passersby at random, with or without donations.

  Bark had a different line every time he opened his mouth, different strokes for different folks and all that, he figured. Sometimes it worked sometimes it didn’t. It worked well enough, after an hour he had enough for a cup of coffee and a breakfast sandwich. He was thinking of a big old belly buster from the corner deli, Happy Deli was what they called it but none of the people who worked there looked happy. He ordered his Belly Buster. It oozed grease, cheese and butter. He couldn’t wait to wrap his mouth around it. He walked to the line, coffee and sandwich in hand. Once he got the cashier, he dumped his change on the counter. It consisted of pennies, nickels, quarters, a ball of lint, and a dollar. He was a few pennies short, but he was close enough that they didn’t care. They gave him a dirty look for free.

  Outside the deli was a stack of apartment guides and Titan’s Voice, he grabbed one of each and headed for a bench across the street. He flipped through the apartment guide, his belly beginning to bust and began daydreaming. Before he could get too swept up into his fantasy world of rooftop apartments and stacks of fancy boxed wines, the loud sirens of a TCPD patrol car whined by, followed by another and another. He brushed it off and finished his sandwich. He got up off the bench and headed toward the waterfront.

  Once there, he folded up his arms and leaned against the sturdy fence, looking into the river. The sounds of seagulls filled the air, tourists were scarce and wind moved calmly across his face. Bark came here almost every day, watching the water, watching the boats and gathering his thoughts. The water seemed to take the weight out of his breath and he stood a little straighter as a result.

  Bark was so used to people not looking at him, that every time one of them did he couldn’t help but feel uneasy. It made him feel like a beggar, he hated it, but he had to do what he had to do in order to survive. And now that was sticking his hand out and hoping someone had a nickel or dime to spare. Fall was just about over and things always got tougher with the cold, people usually gave a bit more as a result of that holiday feeling. It was the begging for change all day long in the bitter cold that was tough, when your lips turned into shredded beef and your fingers were as cold as concrete. Sure, underground was usually warmer, fires usually burned but that didn’t make it any easier. At the end of the day you still had to beg. You had to wake up and go to
sleep a beggar. And you had to beg everyday just to try not to die a beggar too. When people gave a smile it stung a little less, and that’s what this woman just did. She gave Bark a smile and a few bucks. He could only dream it would be this good the whole way back to his tunnel town. Enough to get a decent dinner and maybe a box of that fancy wine. He thanked her, god blessed her and thought about fucking her.

  There was a lot of action going on, he noted, as he walked home palm up. More cops than usual, less people on the street. Everything seemed fine though and he kept on trucking. A few other folks felt they had deep enough pockets to toss Bark a couple of coin collections, varying sizes of silver peppered in a small pond of copper pennies. One was a wheat penny. He loved getting wheat pennies. They reminded him of being a kid, when his Grandmother would give them to him. She always told him to save them cause they would be worth money some day. She was right of course; they’re still worth exactly one cent. And one cent has never bought shit, at least it didn’t back then, now every cent was a cent closer to something and something was better than nothing.

  Bark stopped at a pizza joint with a pocket full of change and two singles, the joint was named Jay’s and the place was a glorified hole in the wall. He came here every once in awhile and the owner, who usually worked from sun up to sun down, treated him like a human being. He always gave him a smile, and usually a bigger drink with a free refill and an extra slice or some garlic knots for the road. Bark called the man Jay even though it wasn’t really his name, and Jay called him Sparky even though Bark corrected him every time. The place was as dead as usual. Bark ordered two plain slices and a large Lime-Up and then sat down and waited. He kept his eyes on the television, the volume was low and he tilted his head in hopes to hear it better. It was a news segment broadcasting, there had been several accidents and multiple homicides throughout the last few days. The anchorwoman noted that there had been an escalation and that events continued to occur, she made the suggestion of possible ties and as always had to throw the words terror and terrorist in there, the salt and pepper of the airwaves.

  “Everybody’s goin’ nuts out there!” Jay yelled. “No one’s buyin my pies, fuggin’ nuts just goin’ ape shit,” he continued.

  “Well, I’m buying, economy can’t be that bad if a bum like me’s still eating,” Bark said with a chuckle.

  “Something’s goin’ on, man,” Jay muttered under his black mustache.

  “Something’s always going on.”

  Jay brought over his two slices, an extra large Lime-Up, a couple of knots and a bag to take with him. According to Bark’s eyes it was another two slices, maybe one of them a Sicilian slice. He thanked him, Jay nodded and Bark picked up a slice folded it and bit deep. It was hot and crisp, he moaned a message to Jay, mmmmmmnnn, and Jay nodded a second time. Jay walked over to the doorway, peering out into the chilly nearing nighttime sky. Shadows moved in the distance, staggering and slow moving.

  “God damn drunks, sick of cleaning puke off the sidewalk.”

  “What’s that?” Bark grumbled, cheese dangling from his lip.

  “Ah, nothing,” Jay grumbled back.

  Bark stuffed the last bit of crust into his mouth and slurped up the last of his drink, shaking the ice at the bottom of the cup to signal the end of his meal. He brought his plate and unused fork and knife up to the counter, he grabbed a napkin and dabbed his lip, again thanking Jay. Jay filled up his cup for him and Bark was on his way. The bell jangled as Bark opened the door and left. He headed home for the night.

  The bell jangled again, a woman staggered in to Jay’s. She held a purse at her side, her leg was swollen and bloodied, dried blood streaked down to her high leather boots. If you followed the blood back up toward her hips you would find several bites and strips of gouged flesh. Muscle and fat stuck out of the open flesh. Above that were the torn remains of a skirt, kept around her waist by a belt. Hanging slightly over that and partly tucked in her torn skirt was a blood soaked white button up shirt that too was ripped to shreds. Her left breast was hanging freely, a nipple barely hanging by a tendril of skin. From in between her breasts to the bottom of her mouth were ragged folds of skin held together by coagulated blood, the sticky sweet deep red hung from her chin. The insides of her throat were visible as were parts of her sternum. Her jaw hung slack, almost being pulled down by the weight of the gore just below it. Her teeth were crooked, some missing, others cracked. Her face was that of nightmares, hair and blood became a road map of disaster, tears of agony bled mascara down her cheeks, her nose was missing; it looked like her face was dragged down a city block covered in glass. What was left of her eyes found her way to Jay and his shock stuttered stare. Could she even see him?

  “My God! Lady sit down, I’ll call 911!” Jay rambled out.

  She gargled some kind of groan, her jaw moved as if biting the air. She stepped closer.

  Please be patient. All lines are busy. Your call will be answered in the order it was received.

  “Fuck, it’s busy! Just sit down–I’ll get you a towel!” He was frantic.

  Still staggering closer to him, she moved her tongue across her bottom teeth. It was swollen and discolored. Jay had a towel in hand and moved quickly towards the woman. He raised the towel to her throat and she raised her hands toward his. Confused, he stepped back.

  “Sit, hold this to your neck,” he told her.

  She didn’t listen, she simply groaned and moved her jaw toward him as if taking bites out of the air. She smelled like piss, shit and death. Jay caught on quick and backed up. He was close enough at first to feel her breath, he now realized she hadn’t breathed. She was not weeping and she seemed unaffected by the pain of her all-too visible wounds. Jay dropped the towel, and stepped back farther, putting the phone back to his ear.

  Please be patient. All lines are busy. Your call will be answered in the order it was received.

  He had no choice but to continue backwards. He was now behind the counter blindly reaching for the big wooden spatula that was standing against the big oven door. His fingers found it and pulled it into his palm. He raised it in front of him.

  “Get back. I’m warning you,” he was calmer now than before.

  She said nothing.

  “Well, fuck you too.”

  Jay put the wide end of the giant spatula into the woman’s cold abdomen. Her movement was halted. He pushed, she was not stepping back, he pushed harder and she staggered backward. Groaning in disapproval she attempted to steady herself. Jay didn’t give her the option. He pushed again, harder still, and she staggered roughly to the wall behind her. Jay kept doing this till they were back at the front door. He played a similar game at times when a rat would make its way into the store, though he used a broom instead of the spatula, and the rats were never this big. He managed to pin her against the wall holding her there as he awkwardly opened the door. Finally, he was able to shove her out. He quickly did so and locked the door. He stood, spatula in hand, staring out the glass door. She shuffled back toward the door, hitting the glass with her hand, scraping with her nails. Though she probably couldn’t see, her dead mutilated eyes stared right back into Jay’s eyes. Neither of them blinked. Behind the dead woman, more shadows stirred. Illuminated by the yellow streetlights the shadows turned into figures, those figures walked toward Jay’s Pizza Palace and they were hungry.

  Bark had made his way back to his underground suburbia. A fire was crackling in the pit. The makeshift milk-crate couches were deserted. It was surprisingly quiet for this time of the evening, not that Bark knew what time it was. He knew it was dark out, and most folk were sitting by the fire and shooting the shit; telling tall tales of the day and comparing currency by now. A rustling noise was coming from one of the shacks. Bark walked over to it, knocking on the plywood door.

  “Hey, Spotz, you in there?” Bark asked.

  The rustling became frantic. Bark slowly opened the door, peeking inside. It sounded like someone was looting shit or playing the on
e-handed shuffle. He hoped to find neither. The door nearly opened, revealed Spotz shoving his belongings into his backpack. Spotz swung his head around. He looked terrified.

  “Aggh!” Spotz yelled.

  “Hey, man, it’s jus’ me. Where you headed?”

  “Outta here. Peeps on the street gone crazy! Fuck, man, they was eatin’ each other–rippin guts out an’ shit!”

  “What the fuck you talkin’ bout? You whacked out? Thought you quit that shit,” Bark replied.

  “Man, I ain’t on nothin’! You were out there. You didn’t see anything? I ain’t making it up, people attacking people, eating them–just ripping them apart!” Spotz sobbed.

  “Aight, aight, relax…”

  “Fuck you! Relax? You must be on some shit, we need to get the fuck outta here man, outta the city, and now!”

  “Well, do what you gotta do. I’m staying right here.”

  “You do that, and yer as good as dead, man.”

  “Yeah, sure. Have a good trip,” Bark said as he turned and left the man to his packing.

  Spotz didn’t comment. He finished shoving his things into his bag, grabbed his cap and slung the bag over his shoulder. He stepped out of his little shack looking warily in all directions. His eyes found Bark sitting by the fire, stoking it back to a proper size. Spotz quickly walked over to Bark with the intent of getting him to flee the city. Then he heard the noise of moving rocks under shuffling feet. Spotz turned to the usual entrance and sure enough; the neighbors were coming home.

  “Bark, get yer shit and let’s go, now!” He snapped, pointing in the direction of the entrance.

  “Man, chill the fuck out. You’re freakin’ me out.”

  “Just get up and look, they ain’t normal,” Spotz insisted.

  “Alright. Alright… just can it,” Bark stood up.

  “See?”

  “Yeah, I see everybody coming back.”

  “Fuck this, I’m outta here you blind bastard.”