Box Set: Scary Stories- Vols. 3 & 4 (Chamber Of Horror Book 8)

by Billy Wells

  For some reason, his first thought was of Millie. It didn’t occur to him his life might be in danger, and the killer might still be in the house. It felt strange to place the welfare of another human being before himself. He didn't know if he had ever done it before.

  Then, he felt cold steel on the back of his neck and flinched. A colder voice said, “Sit in this chair, Harry. I'm going to make you a star on the evening news.”

  “What?”

  “You heard me. Sit in the chair, or I'll blow your brains out.”

  “Who are you? What do you want?” Harry asked fearfully.

  “I'm Raymond, the guy who crashed into a lumber truck when you ran that red light this morning. Several planks on the back of the truck decapitated my wife when it crashed through the windshield. She’s dead because of you, ” the stranger shrieked.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Harry lied.

  “I saw you as clear as day when I veered around you. It’s a face I won’t forget anytime soon. Also, a sweet old lady approached me afterward and showed me a picture she took of you at the wheel with her phone, and she emailed it to me. I didn’t think I’d ever find you, but later, while I was crying my eyes out, drowning in my beer, I saw you on the news getting your ass kicked by that woman who lost her grandchild. I got your name from the station, and here I am.”

  Harry stared into space and couldn't think of a reply. What could he say? This man was right. Everything that was happening was his fault. His blatant disregard for the traffic signal, and the consequence of running it, had caused this man, Raymond, to lose his wife. And, in retaliation, the madman had probably murdered Millie and his little son, Maximilian.

  The emotion of that thought was building when Harry felt a sudden stab of pain across the back of his head. He hit the floor like a sack of potatoes, and fell atop his crutches with a thud. The impact on the tile floor shattered his good knee.

  * * *

  When Harry awoke, he found himself bound with duct tape to one of his kitchen chairs. He felt a terrible pain in what had been his good leg. Two excruciatingly bright lights were fixed on his face, so close, he couldn't see beyond them. He was groggy, and his head splitting.

  As his eyes adjusted to the light, he saw another kitchen chair positioned between two floodlights affixed to tripods atop two more end tables from the living room. His eyes finally focused, and he saw a human form strapped to the chair in front of him, covered by a sheet. Splotches of blood soaked the upper portion where the head would be. The sheet's occupant was not moving. Above the form under the sheet, he saw another floodlight fixed to another end table that was not turned on.

  Suddenly, Harry heard a muffled whine from the right and squinting toward it, He couldn’t believe it when he saw Bennie, his cameraman, bound and gagged in a third chair. Had Raymond found his number in the telephone directory and tricked him to come over while he was unconscious? Or, did Bennie stop by to see how he was doing with the broken leg? Either way, it would probably cost him his life.

  “Well, Sleeping Beauty is awake,” Raymond said from the darkness to the left. Harry turned and saw his worst nightmare step into the light with a 44 Magnum in his belt.

  Harry tried to think of something eloquent to say to this man who was obviously there to kill him, but he was scared shitless. When he focused on the form in the chair across from him, he knew who it had to be. He wondered if the blood and gore on the floor was Millie’s, his son’s, or both. He couldn’t bear to think about something so horrible.

  “As I said, before I clobbered you, I'm Raymond. You know Bennie. He stopped by to see how your broken leg is, and this is your wife in the chair under the sheet.”

  “Millie!” Harry cried with what sounded like real emotional concern.

  “I don't know what her name is, I'll take your word for it.”

  “You killed my wife because I inadvertently ran a red light,” Harry moaned.

  “Don't give me that bullshit. I saw your face through the windshield when you rocketed by me. I didn't see confusion. I saw someone hell-bent on getting somewhere fast regardless of the consequences. And later when I was crying my eyes out, wondering what I would do for the rest of my life without Wanda, I found out you were going to interview the relatives of the crashed airplane. Right, Harry?”

  Every word the bastard said was true, and he couldn't deny it. Yet, he said, “You're insane.”

  Raymond snapped, “Hey. I probably am, and I’ve probably got one foot in the grave, too, after what I’ve done and what I’m about to do. But before I go, now that Bennie is here with his camera, I’m gonna make you the star you always wanted to be. A first-class media asshole, whose face will be on every news program around the globe in the next few hours.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You’ll see.”

  “Where is my son, Raymond? If you hurt him, I’ll kill you with my bare hands.”

  “In your wildest dreams, you chicken shit weasel. I don’t think so. But for your information, while you and your wife were unconscious, I dropped him at the daycare center down on the corner.”

  “You what?”

  “Stop worrying about the kid, a foster home is not so bad. I grew up in one myself. Would you rather I left him to play in the traffic during rush hour?”

  Harry’s face creased with worry and the injustice of the intruder’s actions. “You left my son with some strangers?”

  “People who weren’t even on the plane are dying because of you, Harry. Your son is gonna do fine. Much better than you are. I promise you.”

  Raymond moved toward Bennie and cut through his duct tape with a bloody butcher knife. Then, he ripped the tape from around the photographer’s head. Bennie screamed in pain.

  “Okay, Bennie,” Raymond said, “This is your chance to get an award yourself. Pick up your camera, and get ready to roll. You already have lights on it, so I can turn these off.” He snapped the floodlights off over Harry's head and turned on the ones over Millie’s head. “Get ready for the broadcast, Harry.”

  “You miserable fiend!” Harry shouted, struggling with the duct tape.

  “Harry. Calling me that is like calling the kettle black. Shut your trap, and look at the camera. I cleaned you up some while you were out, but you're going to have to win this award without any makeup. Get ready for the money shot. But this time, I’ll be asking you the question.”

  Raymond withdrew his gun, and aiming it at Bennie’s head, he spoke slowly and precisely, “Bennie, first focus on Millie in the chair, and then pan toward Harry. Do what you think best on the first shot. Maybe, we can come back to Millie's headshot afterwards so you can pan in on the gory details a little more. But remember, the money shot is Harry’s face when I ask the question. You know the drill.”

  Raymond lifted the bloody sheet from Millie's head, and she was startled awake. She was also bound and gagged to the chair with duct tape, and her face was battered and bloody.

  Harry grimaced at the sight and thought of the blood on the floor he’d slipped on. He had caused a monster to enter their lives.

  Millie’s eyes grew wide with fear remembering her horrific encounter with the maniac with the gun. She cried out, “He raped me, Harry, and he kept beating me. He made me do terrible things.” She turned to her husband with a split lip and one eye almost closed with an expression of hope that somehow he could save the day. “He says you ran a red light and caused an accident that killed his wife. You didn’t stop. Tell him, Harry. Tell him he’s making a big mistake. That you would never do such a thing. Tell him or he’s going to kill all of us.”

  Harry had to stop this madman with his eloquence, and he knew on most days, he could sell glasses to a blind man. But Raymond’s eyes remained so scary and steadfast in their purpose; he kept struggled desperately to free himself instead.

  Raymond reached as far as he could without blocking the lens of the camera and slit Millie’s throat from ear to ear. The reddest bl
ood they had ever seen spurted in all directions from the wound and splattered the floor, the ceiling, the walls, and the three witnessing the horror.

  Millie sucked futilely for breath through her mouth and the gaping hole in her throat. Raymond pointed his big 44 Magnum at Bennie’s head and said with heart attack seriousness, “If you want to live, keep the camera rolling and slowly pan to focus on Harry’s face.”

  Bennie quickly complied, and Harry's grief stricken face filled the screen on the monitor.

  “All right. It’s show time. Harry, how does it feel to cause someone you love to die a horrible death right before your eyes?”

  Harry shook with emotion, tears streaming down his face, glaring at his wife's now lifeless body, and he was speechless. He could not utter a sound if his life depended on it, and it did.

  “You know, Harry, I wasn't sure a worthless, unfeeling piece of shit like yourself would even shed a tear. I figured you might be more concerned about your makeup on camera than your wife’s life, but you surprised me. I actually did see some feelings you had for Millie, just like I had from my precious, Wanda. I’m sorry I got carried away and raped her. I was so mad at losing my wife, I wanted to sock it to you as hard as I could.”

  They looked at each other for several moments, two men who had lost the women they loved.

  Then Raymond said, “So, without further ado, I want to give the media something to remember you by for years to come. Bennie, are you getting this?”

  Bennie tried to hold the camera still, but his hand was shaking badly.

  “Bennie!!” Raymond screamed.

  “Yes! I've got it!”

  Raymond moved toward Harry, and making sure not to interfere with the camera POV, he withdrew his gun and blew Harry's head apart with one shot. Blood, brains, and gore spurted in clumps in all directions.

  Without pausing a beat, Raymond put the gun in his mouth and blew his brains out the back of his head. More blood, brains, and gore decorated the wall, the floor, and the ceiling. It also ran down the lens of Bennie’s camera and part of his face.

  The networks couldn't show the graphic violence of the two headshots, but they did broadcast as much of the conversation as they could. They also edited out Millie's horrific death scene.

  Later that night, the tape mysteriously disappeared, and the next day it was the most viral video of all, displacing Miley Cyrus at her position at number one.

  Even without his head, Harry was a media star at last.

  POWDERPUFF

  Powderpuff, a large Doberman, sat on his pillow throne on the left side of the sofa and watched the news on the 60-inch TV. He waited patiently for another canine to appear on either a show or a commercial. The news bored him.

  Max and Denise, his owners, had been glued to their set, listening to updates about the outbreak of a virus that had a 100% mortality rate. Once infected, the host became a ravenous ghoul in less than thirty minutes and would immediately attack healthy humans as he discovered them with no regard for who they were. In some cases, the zombie, for lack of a better word, mothers had devoured their children, children had devoured their mothers, husbands had eaten their wives, and so on.

  The newscast showed the horror as it unfolded in the foreign setting of Uganda in East Africa. Experts contended the infected had to be killed by a shot to the head, a crushing blow to the skull with a solid implement such as a hammer, or trauma to the brain inflicted by an instrument like a sword or a knife. Afterward, the bodies had to be burned to prevent further spread of the contagion.

  They contended there was no known cure for the disease. Once a person was infected, they had only minutes to live before they became crazed psychopaths. The authorities indicated unless a vaccine was forthcoming immediately, the prospects for the survival of the human race was grim. Max wondered if George Romero had psychic abilities when he wrote the screenplay for the classic horror movie, Night of the Living Dead. His embellishment of Richard Matheson’s I Am Legend was all coming true.

  In order to contain the outbreak on foreign soil from contaminating the United States and other countries, air travel had been suspended indefinitely. The military of each nation controlled their borders and would not allow anyone to enter their country for any reason. The strict quarantine was the final line of defense to curtail the worldwide contagion, but it was only a temporary Band-Aid on a lethal wound.

  A small plane flying under the radar with an infected victim presented the first obvious flaw in the plan. Yet, the danger was not considered catastrophic. Very few people owned a small plane, and even those who did would be a zombie thirty minutes after contracting the disease. Also, in strict adherence to the law, the authorities could blow any plane they detected out of the sky with no questions asked.

  “Can you imagine being on vacation when the outbreak occurred, and then finding out you are under quarantine and may never be able to return home again.” Max said, watching the horror unfolding on the TV screen.

  “No, I can't. What about travelers who have children or elderly parents at home,” Denise answered.

  Unfortunately, those people are fucked for the common good, but it's the luck of the draw, we're fighting for our lives now. God knows it won’t be long before a sick person crosses the border somewhere and infects everyone else. Then were all fucked. This virus is a ticking time bomb. Once it detonates, it's Armageddon.”

  “Well, Max. We’ve had five extinctions before. This will be the sixth. I'll bet nobody would have predicted millions of years ago that the greatest killing machine of all with an enormous brain like the T-Rex would become extinct.”

  “It was a super beast all right, but the Ice Age took it down. But extinction by a meteor is one thing, but this virus could bring the ultimate end to everything. When the dead feast on the living, well nothing, can get any worse than that.”

  “Freezing your ass off after a meteor obliterates the planet is probably not a walk in the park,” Denise said, chuckling.

  “But in spite of the massive loss of life, a small seed of humanity remained and lay dormant for millions of years, and was somehow reborn, and blossomed again. Maybe, even that seed will be obliterated forever, this time.”

  “Well, Max. Forget the rest of mankind for a moment. What are we going to do next, quit our jobs, or continue working? So far, the virus has been confined to Africa. If it breaks out in the US, it will sweep across the country like wildfire.”

  “Let's continue with our daily routines a little while longer. Maybe some Einstein will find the cure and Armageddon will never come. I have three weeks vacation I can take if I have to. How much do you have?”

  “I have about twelve days, but I don't think we need to worry about vacation when the whole corporation will go right down the tube in a matter of days if there is an outbreak.”

  “Probably, but we don't know how long it will take for sure.”

  “Okay. We’ll keep on working until we see the shit hit the fan. After that, it won't matter. There'll be riots, all the corporations will fold, and the federal government will collapse. There will be raping and pillaging in the streets. We'd better take our savings out of the bank while they still exist.”

  “Let's pack our bags, so we can move at a moments notice. Maybe we can make it to my father's cabin in the mountains if we get out in time. The chaos in the cities with zombies running amok, infecting everyone will be impossible to deal with. Let's go to Publix and stock up all the food and supplies we can cram into the SUV so we can leave immediately if the end comes.”

  “Don't forget the dog food,” Denise reminded him. Powderpuff barked excitedly when he heard that. “If a zombie touches a hair on her head, there will be hell to pay with me.”

  “I love Powderpuff, too, but she's been in the house since she was of pup. She wouldn’t last a nanosecond in the wild. In spite of her size, she's a real pussycat. Some varmint, a wolf or a bear, would certainly tear her limb from limb.”

  “She won't be in t
he wild, Max. She'll be in the cabin with us. Even so, she's a Doberman. She hasn't had a reason to flex her muscles, but I'll bet she can. Look at those teeth. How would you like them to clamp down on your ass? Your certainly not suggesting we leave her here for the zombies, are you?”

  “Of course not, I don't know what I was thinking. I just can't picture Powderpuff in a cabin in the mountains.”

  “Hey. I can't picture us there either, but we must do whatever it takes to survive as long as we can.”

  * * *

  Time passed, and the worldwide quarantine worked for several months. Several close calls occurred at the borders, but they were quelled by an instant display of firepower.

  Finally, the dreaded news of the infected, ravenous ghouls breaking through the barriers became more common.

  Zombies in lifeboats from a cruise ship had come ashore and contaminated the people along the coast of Australia. The entire continent had been lost in no time. The handwriting was on the wall. Armageddon would soon become a reality unless a cure was found.

  Finally, the United States, separated by oceans with awesome military forces, prevailed as the last remaining hope for civilization.

  Then the day finally came when zombies broke through the quarantine on the East Coast, and the end was eminent. Max, Denise, and Powderpuff piled into their SUV; already stocked with everything they could cram into it. They waved to their neighbors, George and Linda, as they drove away as if they were going to the local convenience store. But the items piled to the ceiling inside the SUV told the real story, and the neighbors’ faces showed it. They all knew they wouldn’t be getting together for bridge ever again.

  Max headed for his father’s cabin deep in the mountains.

  “Did you remember Powderpuff’s dog food? I put it on top of the dryer in the laundry room so you would see it.”

  “I got it, Denise. Stop worrying,” Max snapped.

  When they left the interstate after hours of driving, they started up a desolate, two-lane road barely wide enough for two cars to pass, let alone an SUV. They didn't see a single car for the next two hours.