Twisted: Tales to Rot Your Brain Vol. 1

by Nora Thompson

  You’ve got to be kidding me. Again?

  You try to swallow, but the thing won’t budge. You can feel it in there with your fingers, and you try to pull it out without being noticed. Your eyes scan the rest of the room as you cover your mouth and jerk. But it’s too long, so you crunch it in a ball in your hand as you pull it out. After class you deposit it in the nearest trash receptacle without looking down.

  The next day it’s back, of course, but this time it’s stiff enough to poke the inside of your lips. It’s stiff enough that you can’t keep it from pushing through to the outside.

  You’re a little disgusted at this point, so again, you give it a yank.

  Again, no pain.

  But this time, you’ve pulled two. You look at the wiry strands standing up between your fingers and swallow hard. The next time, you’re certain, it’ll be four.

  And then eight.

  And so it goes.

  Next week you’ll wake up and head straight for the bathroom mirror to do your daily hair-plucking, but when you open your mouth you’ll see several tiny red eyes staring back at you at the ends of the hairs. You’ll spring back and fall over the toilet. You’ll begin feeling nauseous and lift the lid to stick your head in.

  Remember that bug you accidently swallowed last week when you were sucking wind running from Tommy the Terrorizer?

  Yeah. Tommy’s the least of your worries.

  That cute little bug’s all grown up now.

  And he’s made himself some friends.

  Doodles

  Doodles was starting to believe rumors that the ringmaster had decided to liven up the show.

  Granny’s Recipes

  The peppermint stench pursues me from every corner of this lonesome, one-roomed address. Cigarette smoke seems to be the only thing that keeps it from burning the lining of my nose and, torturous as it is, my sense of smell is indispensable. But don’t get me wrong, it is very peaceful here. Secluded. Just perfect. Besides, this home has been in the family for generations. Yes, it is in constant need of repair, but I’ve gotten pretty good at cooking up some pretty unorthodox mending materials to keep it up, I must say. I do get lonely from time to time, but the children always visit and bring my necessities, and they leave me with a contented heart.

  I run my withered hands over Granny’s recipes. Some of the ingredients have become a little hard to come by, not like in the olden days. The gingerbread one in particular has been hundreds of years in the making, but my weary eyes can see it distinctly without even holding it all too closely in front of them. I exhale wearily, allow the tattered slip of paper to drop to the table with the others and lean my weakened body forward. The wood grain beneath my hands has become ridged from so many years in operation here, but I wouldn’t dream of replacing it. Not for a minute.

  My eyes search the room for a piece of myself that hasn’t been handed down, and they find not a single speck. One mustn’t forget to include the countless crumpled bags of homespun candy piled high in the corner; one more consequence of proud hand-me-down living.

  I must admit, I do allow myself a nibble or two of my sweetened concoctions from time to time. Sometimes the sugar high helps me forget my churning belly. But sweetened gumdrops can only be a temporary fix. It’s unfortunate, but one cannot subsist on sugar alone.

  I’m afraid I may be down another dress size. Even when I push my stomach out as far as I have the strength, it barely touches the innards of my dressing gown. I’ve yearned all too often for more sustenance over many a cursed pot of simply boiling water.

  I glimpse through the greasy door window toward the path. I hope the children get here soon. They are so small; they may have trouble finding the way. But they have yet to let me down in all my years, and they do always seem to renew my spirits, those little ones.

  I pull back the window curtains and breathe a heavy sigh.

  Where could they be?

  I focus down the window glass toward my reflection, which confirms my fears. Turned sideways, I can see my stunning roundness has vanished. I wrap my face in my hands.

  My hands. Their former beauty evaporates before my eyes. My dazzling emerald complexion of younger days has faded to pale sea green. Spells and potions do nothing.

  And my wart. It’s deflating along with the rest of me.

  Oh, where are those children?

  They’re so small.

  And tender.

  I hope they’ll be enough.

  Headache

  This headache. Aaaagh! It’s been pressing my brains for way too long. At least a week now. Hard to remember when the thing got started. Easy to let it take over. Forcing out the temples, the jaw joint, the forehead. My right eye waters constantly from the pressure.

  So much pressure.

  Streams of salty tears squeeze out of my bloodshot eye socket. Hard to think. Hard to react.

  Hard to look at them.

  Just, please, make it stop, I beg them.

  Closing my eyes, I still feel pained. I rock. I’m rocking. Back and front. Back and front. They want me to talk it through. Maybe the expulsion of words will ease the pressure. I agree. But no, it isn’t working. Talking only leads to more screaming. And rocking. And convulsion.

  I run and shout in random spurts around the room. They grab me and hold me still, and I try to calm.

  I gulp the air.

  My exhale clouds the freezing space in front of me. The light is blinding. Turn it off! Please, just turn it off! I collapse to the floor. I hold my head with both hands and moan and rock. I scream. Still the pressure. Dull butcher knives. Deep from in my skull.

  From the inside out. Splitting the skull.

  Splitting my skull.

  But it’s not me. It’s not me. It’s somebody…else. Something else. In the head.

  In my head.

  In my head.

  It wants out.

  I want it out. Get it out! I scream.

  And then the vomiting. The clawing. The clawing! From inside my skull! The clawing to get out! I would help if I knew how.

  If I knew how I would help!

  No more questions! No more talking! I can’t answer for it. I can only answer for me.

  For me!

  IT WANTS OUT!

  I WANT IT OUT!

  I want out. I have to get out. The claustrophobia, claustrophobia. I can’t move. The pressure holding me in here. It’s dark. So dark. And crammed. So constricting. Hard to breathe.

  I’m afraid. I’m so, so afraid.

  Blazing hot. Please, please let me out. Why won’t they let me out? I’m scratching, scraping, pushing.

  I’m trapped.

  But then a light. It pokes through. Through beside my head. I force all of me towards it. I push and claw and scratch until it feels like my fingers bleed. The light gets bigger. And the puncture, it’s getting bigger, too. I squeeze my fingers through and spread them.

  Ripping, screaming, cracking. I spread my hands.

  Splintering, snapping.

  I push my head through. The air! The air! At last I can breathe! I gulp it in. My exhale clouds the freezing space in front of me. The light blinds. The brightness burns my watering eyes, and I squint. I breathe deeply and rest for a moment, wet, bloody, drained.

  Faded shadowy figures appear and surround me. I don’t understand their tongue, and I don’t care.

  I collect my energy and squeeze the rest of me through the small fracture. Slowly, painfully. Sliding away from the lifeless shell that entombed me, my exhausted body crumples to the floor.

  And I breathe.

  Keeper

  Everything lives quiet down here. That’s a good thing. All I really take notice of are the birds. Although it’s mostly the crows that seem to gather up there in the trees.

  They sure like their carrion.

  Dog comes about now and then. Sniffing ’round. Digging. Wimpering sometimes. Sometimes the hounds get it; sometimes they don’t. When they get it, they tear off. They can’t
get out of here fast enough. Tail between their legs. Yelping. That sort of thing. When they don’t get it, well, I have a companion for a short time.

  But mostly it’s just quiet.

  The breeze catches your attention sometimes. And they still come ’round with deliveries, but not like they used to. We’re a little too full to include many more.

  No…Usually it’s just me.

  They do speak to me—in my head, I mean. I don’t want you thinking I’m actually hearing voices! That would be just too…I don’t know.

  No. Not out loud, but they do have ways of telling their stories. Oh, I give them the attention I think they need. Or deserve. Some of them, well, they mightn’t be so worthy. I tend to slip on past those.

  They don’t like that. And they know.

  Oh, they know.

  They know more than you might think. You need to spend some time with them before you get a feel for the subtlety of their characters. What they like. What they don’t.

  What they’ll do about it.

  Besides you, that’s why I’m out here now. Bit of a disruption in the flow. Nothing I did, of course, but I’m the one has to tend to it. Usually the job’s just surveying the grounds. Making sure everybody’s where they belong. Getting the fresh ones—when we get ’em—settled in. But not this time.

  Not tonight.

  The moon’s a full one, and that tends to cause a bit of a stirring now and again. Hands grasping at the air. Gates opening. Howling and wailing. That sort of thing.

  Probably best if you stay put. I wouldn’t be wandering ’round out there if I’s you.

  No. You just sit tight.

  I’ll get you settled in later.

  Shadows

  Shh. Listen.

  Did you hear that?

  I know they’re here, in the room. I can feel it. They give me the creeps. Just stay back here in this corner, out of sight. I’m not sure if they can see us, even if we can’t see them, but we shouldn’t take any chances.

  Just whisper.

  Are you O.K.? I know, it’s cold down here. The dankness just makes everything even creepier, doesn’t it? It will be O.K. We’ll be O.K. I’m right here with you. That chill sure doesn’t help the icky feeling of something else in the room with you, huh? You can just feel their presence, even if you can’t see them. Just keep your back to the wall, and stick together. It kind of feels like, if you turned your back, something might grab you from behind.

  It’s O.K., we all know how that feels.

  If you’re too afraid to look, you don’t have to. I don’t want to look either, so I keep my head down. Just make sure you stay in the shadows and move as slowly as you can. Even if you heard a noise, you probably wouldn’t see anything anyway. They’re out of sight before you can turn to see where the noise was even coming from. You can’t be sure what’s lurking around, creeping in when we aren’t looking, finding a spot where they can jump out at us.

  Shh. It’s O.K. I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Those are just stories. Nothing’s ever jumped out at me. It’s O.K.

  We just have to try and not let them find out we’re here, and we should be O.K. Who knows what they might do if they knew we were here. They would creep around here at all hours, and if they caught us off guard, we would be hard-pressed to find enough spaces to hide. There just aren’t enough dark corners. I’m sorry if I’m scaring you, but I’ve heard stories where they’ve taken others.

  It’s O.K. We just have to be so, so quiet, and stay back here in the shadows.

  And just keep whispering.

  I know how scary they can be when they turn the lights on in every room they move into. It’s O.K. It’s O.K. Stay in the shadows and keep whispering. Close your eyes if you have to. But be careful. They carry weapons and swing at anything that moves. I think they only make such loud noises to scare us. Just to intimidate. And they know how the brightness of the lights burns the yellows of our eyes.

  They want to make us wail.

  It’s O.K. Shh. I won’t leave you. It’s safe down here in the dark.

  We’ll be O.K.

  Stay with me back here in the shadows.

  Chula

  Before all this happened today, Chula was my baby.

  I held her gently in my hands, away from the noise of the living room, which seemed to aggravate her. They didn’t really understand her the way I did. Mom never liked the idea of keeping her in the house, but as long as I was careful, I figured she would never know the difference.

  I slid her gently to the bed and lay down on my side beside her. She didn’t try to run off. She knew me, and she just didn’t try. I stroked her back with my fingertips and she pushed up with her legs to meet my touch. I continued my stroke down her leg, following the direction of her chocolate-colored whisker hairs.

  She turned to face me, and I could have sworn she was looking right into my eyes. Why doesn’t anybody else see this? I continued brushing her hair with my fingers, and she rolled onto her back so I could reach her belly. Her skinny legs circled in the air in gratification.

  Except for our little moment right then, she had seemed irritated lately in a way, I don’t know, that would be hard to explain if you didn’t know her. She just wasn’t herself.

  I heaved a sigh and shook my head. Why did Bobby let that stupid mouse out anyway? I whispered. I leaned toward Chula as I spoke, but avoided getting my face too close to those annoying hairs. I feed you enough, don’t I? I know she didn’t mean any harm. People just need to be more careful is all. She rolled from her back and headed off in a direction away from me.

  That was our last quality time together.

  After the first couple of days, I was worried about where she might have gone. I looked everywhere I could think of. Behind things. Under things. Inside things. She’s gone, I thought. Just like that. But worse, I swallowed hard...what if Mom finds her? The scenario ran through my head. She’d kill her. I squeezed my eyes closed. And then she’d come after me.

  After a few months I had given up all hope of finding her, and luckily no one else was in the hunt. I was sure she was already lying dead somewhere, her little legs curled into a ball, wondering why I wasn’t there to save her. I loved her, and she loved me back. I was her protector. She needed me.

  That was how I thought.

  Until today.

  Today I wake up to tiny claws clambering through my hair. Before I realize what I’m doing (I’m still half asleep; give me a break.), I sit straight up in bed and swipe my hands frantically at my head. Chula drops and skids across the floor and, without a second thought, scrambles toward the door.

  Whoa, I say, jumping from the bed just in time to grab her by a back leg before she turns the corner to the hall.

  Where do you think you’re going?

  I let her leg drop, but keep my hands cradled around her space. But right about then she stands erect on her hind legs and swats her front legs in the air. She spreads and extends her fangs and hisses at me! She’s hissing at me! I jump back. She’s never behaved this way with me before.

  She scrambles out of the room, and I turn the corner just in time to see her squeeze in that hole along the baseboard that Dad keeps saying he needs to fix. I kneel beside it and get my eyes as close to the crack as I can, straining to see through the darkness.

  That’s when I become aware of the humming. Not loud humming. Not yet. But a few seconds can change all that. I straighten myself and back slowly away from the activity on the other side of the wall. I watch the darkness of the baseboard cavity with my breath held.

  A tiny spider emerges. It heads down the hall toward Mom and Dad’s room.

  Another appears and stops in the light the dawn casts across the floor. Number three is followed by number four and then five. Almost instantaneously, a swarm gushes from the chasm and materializes at my feet.

  Thousands of tiny tarantula feet pad urgently across the hardwood floor and each other. They blanket the floorboards and scatter in every direction, i
ncluding down the hall, up my legs and under my PJs.

  I guess Chula doesn’t need me anymore. I struggle to take this in. She has her own babies now. I watch the brigade scuttle down the hall.

  I guess it’s highly likely Mom is about to find out.

  Lobotomy Pie

  Cleaver Overachiever

  Sharpened cleaver, straightened hat

  Apron tied in back

  and front, in fact

  Slice and dice

  head lice on mice

  Maybe they won’t notice and

  they’ll pay the price

  I’ve posted

  Eyes whole, tongue sliced

  Mystery meat

  that might be nice

  to eat

  Mealy toes, lean cut gut

  Choose your butt

  Hold your nose

  Snakes and snails and puppy dog tails

  and entrails

  splattered here and there

  hanging from nails

  swinging slowly in the air

  I cut and chop and slice and slop

  Blood squirts

  I never mop

  Pulverizer

  Bloody geysers

  “Would you like that on a Kaiser

  bun?”

  Stowaway filet, puppies, guppies

  Our special today:

  Wood-smoked yuppies

  Baby-back bunny ribs

  Free-range brains

  Slimy squids and chip-chopped kids

  Borborygmi? You must be kidding me!

  With all these choices

  what’s with the noises?

  Have you ever tried Australian pygmy?

  Complain? Are you insane?

  Do you realize what goes on in back?

  Who gets hacked? Dried on the rack?

  Disengaged from his face?

  Displayed in the case?

  Alrighty then, if you insist