Masters of Horror

by Lee Pletzers

  With all my remaining strength I landed a right hook into the side of its head. The worm’s body crashed to the floor beside me and I jumped back to my feet, kicked the worm in the midsection and ran into the kitchen. I rummaged through the cabinets until I found what I was looking for. Will always had a bottle of vodka lying around. It was his vice.

  As the worm began to recover, I retrieved my lighter and began to pour the bottle of vodka all over its moon-colored flesh. With the bottle empty, I lit the lighter and tossed it onto the worm.

  It was instantly encased in a blanket of flames.

  “The worm has definitely turned!” I shouted with a kind of manic glee.

  The worm made one final charge but I quickly dodged it. Its body crashed to the floor. I stood over its charred remains, watching it closely for any signs of life.

  I called the police. I take full responsibility for what happened next. But I beg for your forgiveness.

  Will’s body suddenly stood up, the large crater in his chest bleeding profusely. He stumbled toward me with his arms stretched out before him. There was no emotion in his eyes and that frightened me.

  “Will, you’re alive!” I said, but I was wrong. Dead wrong.

  He grabbed me by the throat and began to choke me violently. I struggled to break free. I grabbed at his wrists but his hold was too tight. I punched him in the side of the face, splitting his cheek. My eyes widened as I saw several white worms writhing inside the flesh. Finally, I broke free of its grasp and ran out of the house. It followed me. I had left my car unlocked and I quickly reached in and grabbed my steering wheel club. As the thing that once was my best friend came within reach, I swung the club and struck it on the left side of its head. The skull exploded and hundreds of worms spilled out onto the ground. They must have been controlling him.

  Please believe me…if I had known those things would live long enough to find another host and grow, I would have reacted differently. I would have run back into the house, retrieved the aerosol can and my lighter, and burned every last one of them to a crisp. All of them. Instead, I jumped into my car and burned rubber for half a block.

  Please understand that at that moment, I was teetering on the edge of insanity. I had just survived a living nightmare and I reacted poorly. I know that now, but put yourself in my shoes. What would you have done?

  The power just went out. These things are smart. They are using us. They are growing.

  The last report on the news was of a sighting of several large worms traveling across the Hudson River. They were said to be nearly 40 feet in length.

  Dear God.

  Without my television, I am truly alone.

  I am afraid.

  My biggest fear is that when the door gives, and I see what it is out there that so desperately wants inside, I will lose all hope.

  Lisa’s hollowed-out husk.

  Clawing to get in.

  The phenomenon of “cutting” is more prevalent than you’d expect. Princess Diana was rumored to be a ‘cutter’, although I cannot confirm or deny this.

  In the book THE ALCOHOLISM AND ADDICTION CURE, Author Chris Prentiss explains how ‘cutters’ think, as he cured one. “You feel bad before you cut yourself; you feel better AFTER you cut yourself. You’re cutting yourself to feel GOOD,” he told a woman…and that particular vice was revealed and subsequently defeated.

  As New Zealand’s Master of Horror Lee Pletzers describes, it’s not always defeated…

  The Seal

  By Lee Pletzers

  From the depth of his soul it came forth, ripping and tearing skin.

  Claws gripped the flayed skin, a black head the shape of a panther with a long snout and a jutted jaw, slid from the opening, surveying its surrounds. It lunged forward, forcing its thick muscular body forward, struggling, wriggling its way through, and ripping the man’s torso apart in the process.

  Feeling no pain, he watched the creature stride to and fro, claws clacked on the vinyl covered floor. Malevolent eyes, green and deep, stared at the man. Its lip curled up exposing a row of jagged teeth, tips gleamed in the fluorescent lights. Water dripped off its slick coat creating a puddle on the floor.

  The lights flickered. The creature vanished in the flickering darkness. With each flash of light the beast moved closer like stop motion photography. The mattress sunk as it leapt onto the bed, growling, hungry and eyeing his exposed heart.

  “Wake up,” came a female voice with a stern tone. “Warwick, wake up.”

  The creature eyed the woman, licked its lips, and poised on the bed it crouched, ready to strike.

  “Don’t make me restrain you.”

  Warwick’s eyes snapped open, momentarily startling the woman.

  “That’s better,” she said, absentmindedly brushing down her nurse apron. She grabbed his wrist and looked at her watch. “You must calm down,” she scolded. “All the machines went into alarm.”

  “Leave, now! It’s watching you!” His voice was a harsh whisper full of urgency and concern.

  “Mister James, there’s nothing there.” The nurse stared at her watch. She shook her head. “I’m going to have to give you something. Your pulse is racing.”

  The creature growled. Raising a paw, its claws snapped out like tiny curved daggers. It swept through the nurse, slashed the face in five slices, but the woman was unaffected. The beast’s claws were an ethereal image passing through solid objects, like a ghost and nothing more. Frustrated, a roar ripped from its throat.

  Warwick laughed. The seal was cracked but not broken. All was good for now, but he knew he needed to enhance the seal, strengthen it. He smiled at the nurse. He knew how the game was played. “I think I’m fine now,” he said. “It was just a dream that seemed so real.”

  The nurse filled a hypodermic syringe.

  “Seriously—I don’t need that.”

  The nurse tapped air out of the syringe.

  “Betty, please.”

  “It’s for your own good.” She turned to face him. “Just settle down, now.”

  Warwick tried to move, but the creature had pinned his arms at his sides. Its snout was inches from his nose, its hind legs on his thighs. “She injects me, you die.”

  He stared into the creatures’ deep green eyes. He flinched at the sting of the needle. “Goodbye,” he said to the creature as it faded and its weight lifted. Looking down at his chest moments before the drug took him, he smiled. Everything was as it should be. In 72 hours the beast would return. He had to find a cutting instrument. He had to strengthen the seal, cut deeper into the skin and etch marks the breastbone. That would hold it at bay…until he healed again.

  * * *

  Eight folding chairs were laid out in a semi-circle, all facing one chair and the person sitting in it. Dr. Chandler was reading through his notes before the others arrived. Apparently Warwick had an ‘episode’ two nights back and needed sedation. That was a shame. He thought they had come so far in the previous month. It had taken longer than usual but he had managed to get the poor guy to open up in private at first, then at group. One day, Dr Chandler hoped Warwick would explain the need to cut himself. He guessed one of the chairs should be moved before the other patients entered for Group Therapy.

  The door opened before he had a chance to move.

  He got up from his seat as Jerry and Dean entered. Both wore their usual hospital attire, although everyone was encouraged to wear what they wanted to this session. They were deep in conversation with each other. Dr Chandler knew it would turn to an argument soon if he didn’t get them off topic. He listened as he pretended to go to the window. Aliens. They were talking about aliens again. He knew this argument well. As soon as Dean mentioned his theory that humans were created by aliens to be slaves, it was his time to step in between them. He hoped Dean wouldn’t go down that path today.

  It looked nice outside. The sun was high in the sky and the clouds were nowhere to be seen. Patients and staff milled about outside. It was still cold, j
udging by the coats and scarves everyone wore. Outside looked wonderful, but he was stuck in this room.

  Drab grey paint covered concrete walls, no hint of a personality anywhere in this common room, little warmth radiated from the oil heater bolted to the wall, and a large white clock above the door had a loud clicking sound. He checked his watch against the wall clock, only two patients had shown up so far and it was start time. Where were the others? Jerry and Dean had stopped talking. That was good, no fights today.

  About to call his assistant, Tina entered. She wore fishnet stockings, a very mini, mini skirt and a halter top. Her red hair was wet and hung in strands.

  “Hello, Tina, glad you could make it.”

  She sneered more than smiled, but it was a response and Dr. Chandler would take what he could get.

  “You look like a whore,” Jerry said leaning forward and trying to see down her top.

  She spat in his face.

  Dr. Chandler sighed. It was going to be a difficult session after all.

  “You’ll be sorry when the aliens come back! You’ll be a slave, whore!” He sat back in his seat.

  “You’d know man-whore.”

  Leaning against the wall Dr Chandler looked at his patients. His phone vibrated. Shit. He had forgotten to take it out before signing in.

  “You bitch.”

  The phone stopped vibrating. No one seemed to notice. Everyone was involved in their—getting heated—conversation. He had to take control and quickly. “Does anyone know what happened to Warwick?”

  “He had an attack of the crazies.” Dean laughed at his comment.

  “Maybe the aliens came to take him away,” Tina offered.

  Jerry’s mouth dropped open. “No way.”

  “Tina,” Dr. Chandler warned.

  She looked his way, squinting against the sunlight. “Well, we don’t know what happened, do we? Too many bloody secrets in this place.”

  The door opened. They all looked in that direction and saw Warwick shuffle in. He looked a mess, his hospital garbs hung off his thin frame, his face was haggard and unshaven and his hair was uncombed. It looked as if he hadn’t slept in weeks, but Dr. Chandler knew he had been sedated. You wouldn’t guess it by looking at him, he thought as he watched Warwick take a seat next to Tina.

  Warwick stared at the wall, his eyes unmoving. Dr Chandler tried to coax him into the conversations but his patient never spoke. The hour seemed to pass slowly and it was challenging to keep the conversations alive. At the end, Dr Chandler was relieved when his group rose up and walked out. Gathering up his notes and placing them in his briefcase, he noticed Warwick standing at the door.

  “Is there something you need?” he asked.

  “Yes,” Warwick said.

  Dr. Chandler waited for the rest but none seemed forthcoming. “What is it you need?”

  Warwick undid his shirt and slipped it off his thin shoulders. His upper torso was a symphony of scars. Intricate designs covered most of his chest. Long curves arched his breast. A pyramid started at his breast bone and reached to his bellybutton. Near the top of the pyramid was a box. It had an X in the center where a door into the box was located. Surrounding the box were swirls of sliced skin, chunks were missing exposing dried meat. Between the swirls were symbols Dr Chandler had never seen before. “There’s a crack in the design. That’s how it got out.”

  “What got out?”

  “The panther.” Warwick pointed at a red spot on his chest. It was the size of a pimple and it broke an image against the door. Dr. Chandler hadn’t noticed it before. He leaned forward and saw a tiny, highly detailed padlock. The red dot was at the apex of the link.

  “Jesus, Warwick!”

  “I need to fix the link for its coming back. I can’t hold it at bay.” He leaned against the closed door. “I need your help, doctor.”

  “Do up your shirt, first.”

  “Do you see the break in the design?”

  “Yes, Warwick, I see it.”

  “Can you help me?” He started to button up his hospital shirt.

  Dr. Chandler gently took him by the arm and led him to the seats. “Can you explain the scarring?”

  “It’s a design.”

  “Yes...but why do you do this? Why do you take a razor and put designs on your body?”

  Warwick was silent. He looked at the floor, then at the window.

  “Warwick…” Dr. Chandler prodded. “Why do you cut yourself?”

  Getting off his seat, Warwick walked to the window and looked out. “There are a lot of people down there, enjoying the sun. Some kids as well.”

  Dr. Chandler said nothing. He watched his patient, keeping a note on his body language. He had a GPS alarm issued at the front desk, just in case, but he doubted he would need it. Warwick had never caused trouble before.

  “Have you heard of Underwater Panthers?”

  “No.”

  “Native American Demon. It’s supposed to cause floods and destructions.”

  “And this is the panther you mentioned?”

  “Yes, but it doesn’t have snaky bits, traces of toadery or bison’s horns, as the literature claims. It rises up from Hell, through the core of the Earth, into the ocean. You’ve heard of fisherman lost at sea...” He let the sentence hang and kept looking outside. “I do it for them, you, and everyone.”

  “Do what?”

  “Cut myself!” He rolled up his sleeve. “The first two cuts were for me only. I was very selfish years ago.” Warwick showed his wrist. Two thick scars rode across the veins. “Back then, I didn’t know I had to cut up to get the job done.”

  “Warwick, come take a seat. Let’s talk about this.”

  His patient didn’t move. “Do you know why I tried to kill myself?”

  “Yes,” Dr. Chandler answered. “It’s in your case file.”

  “There’s a lot of screams in the darkness, doctor. A lot of screams and a lot of whispers.” He paused, turning from the window. “I thought I loved her. I thought Sally loved me. Turned out she loved anyone with a cock and a bag of weed.” Warwick ran his hands through his hair. “When I got out of the hospital, the screams followed me. I cut Sally’s name into my arm and the screams stopped.” He smiled. “Absolute peace. It was beautiful while it lasted. I even got back with her; knowing it wouldn’t last made the relationship easier. I wasn’t stressed out with keeping the fire alive. I didn’t worry where she was, or who she was with, because, shit, I didn’t give a fuck.” He looked at the doctor. “That makes life a lot easier. You should prescribe a razor blade to everyone.”

  Dr. Chandler wanted to ask about the screams in the darkness, but knew that was up to his patient. It worried him to hear about the screams. The subconscious mind could be reaching out in Warwick’s dreams. Helping Warwick meant analyzing the dreams, the screams and guiding him to discover what it all meant. To do that, he had to keep Warwick on track. He asked, “If that’s the case, why are you back here… and what’s with all the scars?”

  Warwick laughed. It was more of a snort than a laugh and it was short lived. “It’s easy to start cutting. Pain is in the mind, doc, you know that. Switch off the mind, switch off the pain.” He glanced down at the floor. “Yeah, easy to start, hard to stop.”

  “Go on,” Dr. Chandler said. He wanted Warwick to fully open up and now he was. It was amazing. Once it was all out, he could help him and get the need to cut out of his head. He was worried that his patient stood so close to the window. Glass was a major concern. Warwick had his back to it, so Dr. Chandler tried to put it out of his mind. He needed to focus if he was to help his patient. “Please, Warwick,” he said. “Continue.”

  After a moment of silence, Warwick said, “I suppose if I didn’t put Sally’s name onto my arm, I may not have...all this.” He opened his arms, fingers pointing toward his chest. “It took only a few months for me to cut my arm again. This time I was copying a design out of an occult book. It had the seal of Lucifer in there and I tried to copy it exa
ctly.”

  “But?” Dr. Chandler coaxed him along.

  He looked at the doctor. “But, with skin, unlike paper, you can’t erase a mistake.” He rolled his sleeve up to his left elbow and showed his forearm. On it was an octagon pattern with intricate webbing reaching to the corners. “This is the mistake.” Warwick pointed to a thin line crossing another. “I think I had a pain spasm, like getting a tattoo—sometimes the arm will twitch of its own accord. Similar thing, I think.” He shrugged his shoulders and then rolled down his sleeve. “A week later, I saw the panther. And it saw me.”