A Hacked-Up Holiday Massacre: Halloween Is Going to Be Jealous

by Shane McKenzie, ed.

  Would have loved? I don’t even know. No word on the box about what the federal government might be up to. That’s weird, isn’t it? Maybe they’re all dead. Or hiding.

  So I searched, and I was quiet about it. Maybe the sound’s a little muffled in my apartment, but once I got out in the hallway I could tell there were infected alive in my building. I could hear them laughing and growling and at least one of them slamming their body against a wall or a door over and over again. Sounded like it was maybe on the seventh floor. Should leave me safe.

  Long and short, I didn’t see anybody who could have been the culprit. Maybe I could knock on some doors, but I’m nowhere near that stupid.

  Doubtful I’ll pull it off, but I should try to get more sleep.

  JANUARY 2ND, 8:42 AM

  SOMEBODY’S BEEN IN MY apartment. I can tell.

  It sounds paranoid, and I’m aware of that, but I know what I know. Somebody moved my furniture around when I was asleep. There’s not a lot of it, so I can tell when it’s been moved. My notebooks were by my bed last night, but they were in the middle of the living room floor this morning, opened and looked through. The one recliner I left facing the window was pushed up against the door. That means whoever did it found some other way out of here. I need to find out how. Where.

  Scratches on my arm, too. Big, red, and savage. Maybe they did something to me while I slept. I’ve been spending so much time awake and documenting that I could have slept through anything.

  I need to see how they got out. So I can keep them from getting back in.

  JANUARY 2ND, 10:03 AM

  MEDICINE CABINET. IT TOOK me forever, but I remembered reading in some book or other that these places just jam the medicine cabinet of two adjacent units into a hole in the wall. Sure enough, once I got my cabinet out of the wall, I found myself looking at the back of another cabinet. I shoved that one out and listened to the mirror shatter against the sink.

  Then, I waited. Whoever had been in my apartment might still be next door, and that meant they’d heard the mirror breaking. I stood there, my knife in my hand, trying to ignore the way those scratches on my arm were itching like mad. When I finally got tired of waiting, I crawled through. I won’t lie, either. When I was squirming through that hole, I felt sure somebody would come running into the bathroom to kill me. Maybe an infected with open sores all over their body and foam pouring out of their mouth, red eyes full of blood. Even with my knife hand free, I doubted I could keep one of them from stretching me out like that woman on the stairs. I wanted to try, though. Wanted to stab and stab until whoever it was became one giant, bleeding wound.

  No one appeared, though. Even when I sprawled on the bathroom floor and wrapped a towel around my hand (like an idiot, I cut my palm on the broken mirror), I didn’t hear so much as a whisper or a squeaking floorboard. That scared me even more, because maybe it meant somebody was hiding. There was no way they couldn’t have heard me coming.

  I checked the entire apartment though, and I didn’t find anything. Well, that wasn’t entirely true. I did find a man crumpled on the floor. His face was a wet ruin, a bloody splatter decorating the wall with a smear beneath it. I figure he bashed his face in until he collapsed, but I don’t know where he got the energy. He’d already torn open his own belly. When I found him, he still had both hands in his guts. It amazes me what The Complex can do once it gets in your system.

  Okay, so I don’t know who was in here. They’re not getting back in, though. I put my medicine cabinet back in place and then covered it with duct tape, securing it to the wall. No way is it budging now.

  Back to work, I guess.

  JANUARY 3RD, 12:11 PM

  THE NETWORKS ARE GONE. Fox News went out last. They probably had the most guns. The last person they had on camera was obviously infected with The Complex. She was crying blood, red tears following the scratches on her cheeks, and she had one hand beneath the desk, working like crazy on something. When she lifted her hand to run it over her face, it was slick with red. She sucked some off her fingers after smearing the rest across her face. Then she (I’m really not sure how this is possible) broke her own neck. All at once, she started shouting, “I’m in charge, here! You don’t exist!” Then, she grabbed the back of her head with one hand and her chin with the other and gave everything a hard jerk. I heard something pop, and she just slumped behind the desk.

  So I guess Fox is still on, but it’s just a camera pointing at an empty desk. Not exactly thrilling news. Fair and balanced, though.

  The roof cameras tell me about half the city is on fire now. I couldn’t see too many people still up and moving, but that might just be the way the cameras are positioned. Can’t see anybody out the ports either, though. Kind of shocking that it’s happening so fast. Yeah, I knew it would be fast, but this is almost superhuman in its speed.

  Hand itches almost as bad as my arm. Trying not to scratch. Want to hit something.

  JANUARY 3RD, 4:52 PM

  MY ARM IS BLEEDING, I’ve scratched it so much, and there are black trails running up to my shoulder. Not good. I know what these signs mean. They mean that, even with the mask and all the other precautions, I have it. I’m infected with The Complex. No, I never really believed I’d be immune, despite the things we did to build our immune systems. I thought it would take longer than this, though. Three days? What a waste. Document the end of the world, The Last Year…and only get three days of it.

  It’s not right, and it’s not fair (or balanced!), and I hate it.

  The Complex is taking longer than usual, but I don’t know how long I’ll really have. Usually, it’s a matter of minutes, maybe thirty or forty-five to take you from first exposure to homicidal maniac. I woke up with this thing on my arm, though. Can’t even convince myself it took cutting my hand to get it. So how long is this going to take? How much will it hurt?

  I’m scared. So scared I want to scream.

  Happy New Year.

  JANUARY 3rd, 6:22 PM

  HEAD HURTS. NO, IT’S splitting. Feels like there are bees in there. Or razors slashing, slashing, slashing. My mouth is dry, and my guts are in knots. This is how it feels. It makes me wonder what the rest felt like. Maybe they went through all of this in those first thirty minutes after exposure. Or maybe it only took five. Maybe there’s so much more coming after this, and I don’t know how long it’s going to take or what’s going to happen.

  The walls are cracking. It’s so slow, so tiny, that I can barely tell it’s happening, but that is what’s occurring. These tiny spider web cracks are working their way from floor to ceiling, and…

  Okay, this is weird. I know how it will sound. It’s true, though. I swear, I’m not making this up.

  There are shadows in the cracks, and they want to get out. If I stare at the cracks long enough, I can see the shadows reaching out like tendrils. They’re still small, but they’re getting bigger, reaching farther, trying to open the cracks wider and get through. Because they want me, I think. I’ve thought about it as I watch them, and it’s the only explanation that makes sense. The shadows want me.

  Jesus, what did we do?

  6:41 PM

  VOICES NOW. THEY FILL my head. I can’t make out the words. They’re garbled and guttural, but I think they’re angry. There’s no shot at seduction, no attempt to put me at ease. Just syllables like crags. Every moment, they grow louder, angrier, and I’m beginning to wonder if they’re not in my head but maybe in the room with me. Maybe they’re coming from the shadows, which have now punched holes in the wall and whip through the air like they’re trying to snatch anything unlucky enough to get too close. At least now I know what the banging was. It was those things trying to punch through from somewhere else. They were knocking down my illusions, knocking them down so hard they’ll never rise again.

  And there’s water on the floor. I don’t know when it showed up. I think maybe it’s been there for a while, and it just took me forever to notice it. There’s a few inches on t
he floor, brackish and brown and thick with terrible things that move. I can feel them squiggling their way past my feet, can hear them splashing as they cross my floor.

  I tried to tell myself none of it’s there. Over and over again, I wanted to think it was my imagination, that The Complex had driven me mad, was driving me faster and faster. I can feel them, though. And I can hear them. And no matter how much I might wish I was just crazy, I think I know the truth. I don’t think The Complex is a drug or a virus anymore. I think it’s a doorway. I think it opens you up and lets you see things the way they really are.

  Blood’s running down my face, welling up in my eyes and then spilling. I can taste raw meat in my mouth, and I want to taste more. My veins have turned black, and there are more shadows now. They’re reaching out from the scratches in my arm and the cut in my hand. A thick one like a jungle snake is in my throat, choking me as it fights to wrestle free of my belly.

  7:01 PM

  THEY WERE RIGHT. THEY were always right. The world is a horrible place. It’s just that no one can see it. But now The Complex has opened their eyes. It’s opened mine.

  This is The Last Year. God help us all.

  ABOUT THE AUTHORS

  AJ Brown lost his sanity some years ago when he penned his first story based on a nightmare he once had. From that point on, he wrote anything that wished to be written, the stories telling themselves more than him. Some of his works have appeared in Necrotic Tissue, Allegory, Bards and Sages Quarterly and Dark Distortions anthology among others.

  John Bruni’s work has appeared most notably in SHROUD, CTHULHU SEX MAGAZINE, TRAIL OF INDISCRETION, TALES OF THE TALISMAN, and a number of others including the critically acclaimed anthology from Comet Press, VILE THINGS. He was the editor of TABARD INN: TALES OF QUESTIONABLE TASTE. He lives in Elmhurst, IL and can be found at www.talesofunspeakabletaste.blogspot.com.

  Chris Lewis Carter was born and raised in Newfoundland, Canada, where he currently lives with his wife, Melissa. His work has been featured in 3AM Magazine, Nelson Literacy 8, The Cuffer Anthology: Volume Two, Word Riot, and four Pill Hill Press anthologies. He is working on his first novel, and can be reached at chrislewiscarter@gmail.com. Fun Fact: He isn’t crazy about tomatoes.

  Lesley Conner lives near Hagerstown, MD with her husband and their two daughters. She avoids the woods. To see if she ever conquers her fear, or she stays smart (and alive?) by staying inside, check out her blog at www.lesleyconner.com.

  Emma Ennis grew up in Ireland with the Leprechauns, or so her vertically challenged family are known. She has always dreamed of being a writer…that and someday getting her legs lengthened. For more information about Emma, visit her blog at http://authoremmaennis.blogspot.com.

  Marie Green lives in the town of Colorado Springs, Colorado, nestled against the Rockies. A lover of music, animals and writing, she is a student of British Literature, Creative Writing and Drama. She toured London and Stratford in 2010 where she attended workshops on Literature and Theatre. A writer of Psychological Horror, Marie also writes Creative Nonfiction and Paranormal stories, as well.

  Boyd E. Harris is the publisher of and an editor for Cutting Block Press (www.cuttingblock.net), a company specializing in horror anthologies. His books, +Horror Library+ Volume 3 and +Horror Library+ Volume 4, earned nominations for the Bram Stoker Award for best anthology. Boyd is also a two time Black Quill Award winning editor. A writer at heart, Boyd has had dozens of stories published in various anthologies and magazines, and hopes to spend more time exploring horror fiction through his own pen.

  Kirk Jones is an instructor of humanities for the SUNY system. His work appears in The New Flesh: Episode I, Technicolor Tentacles, Told You So, and Unicorn Knife Fight. His first book, Uncle Sam’s Carnival of Copulating Inanimals, was published by Eraserhead Press imprint, NBAS, in 2010.

  Jack Ketchum’s first novel, Off Season, prompted the Village Voice to publicly scold its publisher in print for publishing violent pornography. He personally disagrees but is perfectly happy to let you decide for yourself. His short story The Box won a 1994 Bram Stoker Award from the HWA, his story Gone won again in 2000 -- and in 2003 he won Stokers for both best collection for Peaceable Kingdom and best long fiction for Closing Time. He has written twelve novels, arguably thirteen, five of which have been filmed -- The Girl Next Door, Red, The Lost, Offspring and The Woman, written with Lucky McKee. His stories are collected in The Exit at Toledo Blade Boulevard, Peaceable Kingdom, Closing Time and Other Stories, and Sleep Disorder, with Edward Lee. His horror-western novella The Crossings was cited by Stephen King in his speech at the 2003 National Book Awards. He has been elected Grand Master for the 2011 World Horror Convention.

  Originally a part-time independent filmmaker and screenwriter, Matt Kurtz decided to narrow his creative energy to focus more on short stories and future novels. He writes twisted tales for fun from somewhere within the state of Texas. His fiction can be found in anthologies from Pill Hill Press, Blood Bound Books, Comet Press and Necrotic Tissue Magazine.

  Joe R. Lansdale is the author of novels, short stories, screenplays and comic scripts. His work has been filmed and adapted to comics, and he has received the Edgar Award, Eight Bram Stokers, The Grinzani Cavour Prize for literature, and numerous other literary recognitions. His novella BUBBA HOTEP was made into the cult film of the same name, and his short story INCIDENT ON AND OFF A MOUNTAIN ROAD was part of the MASTERS OF HORROR SERIES on SHOWTIME.

  Steve Lowe is a former sports writer with the South Bend Tribune, and an occasional stringer for the Associated Press. These days, instead of sports he writes weird, dark, occasionally humorous fiction which contains slightly more made-up content than his sports stories. His first book, Muscle Memory, was released in October 2010 as part of the New Bizarro Author Series from Eraserhead Press. His second book, Wolves Dressed as Men, came out in November 2010 from Eternal Press. His short fiction has appeared in the print anthologies Dead Bait and Toe Tags II, and on websites like Drabblecast, Three Crow Press, Unicorn Knife Fight, and Liquid Imagination, among others.

  Shane McKenzie is the head editor and co-owner of Sinister Grin Press. His work can be found in various anthologies. He has a story in Cutting Block Press’ Horror Library Volume 5, and has multiple books coming out soon from Deadite Press. Come say hello at www.shanemckenziewriter.blogspot.com. If you don’t, he will destroy you.

  John McNee is employed as a reporter for a local newspaper on the west coast of Scotland. He also writes horror. He is a firm believer that the maxim “truth is stranger than fiction” only applies to those suffering from a severe lack of imagination. His work appears elsewhere in the anthologies Ruthless, DOA, Steamy Screams and Gospels of Blood, Psalms of Despair, as well as in the online and print versions of Sex and Murder magazine.

  Elle Richfield is primarily an alternative singer-songwriter exploring the darker side of existence, but like many others of the download era, chewed up and spat out by the music industry. Currently delving into script writing for film and more story telling.

  Ty Schwamberger is growing force within the horror genre. He is the author of a novel, multiple novellas, collections and editor on several anthologies. In addition, he’s had many short stories published online and in print. Two stories, ‘Cake Batter’ (released in 2010) and ‘House Call’ (currently in pre-production in 2011), have been optioned for film adaptation. He’s also the Managing Editor of The Zombie Feed, an imprint of Apex Publications. You can learn more at: http://tyschwamberger.com.

  Patrick Shand worked on the official comic book continuation of Joss Whedon’s “Angel” with IDW Publishing. His Angel story, “My Only Friend,” appeared in their “Angel: Yearbook” in May 2011. He’s also published short stories in various literary magazines and anthologies, in addition to writing plays that have been produced in New York City.

  Elias Siqueiros was born and raised in El Paso TX. He has most recently published in The Harrow, Fantastic Horror, and will have a shor
t story of his appear in Tattered Souls Vol. 2 by Cutting Block Press.

  Nate Southard’s books include Scavengers, Red Sky, Just Like Hell, Broken Skin, This Little Light of Mine, and He Stepped Through. His short fiction has appeared in such venues as Cemetery Dance, Black Static, Thuglit, and the upcoming anthology Supernatural Noir. A graduate of The University of Texas with a degree in Radio, Television, and Film, Nate lives in Austin, Texas. You can learn more at natesouthard.com.

  Lee Thomas is the Bram Stoker Award and Lambda Literary Award-winning author of STAINED, PARISH DAMNED, THE DUST OF WONDERLAND, and the critically-acclaimed short story collection IN THE CLOSET, UNDER THE BED. Recent and forthcoming titles include THE GERMAN, SWALLOWED BY THE CRACKS, THE BLACK SUN SET, FOCUS (co-written with Nate Southard), and TORN. You can find him on the web at www.leethomasauthor.com

  Lee Thompson has work in Delirium Books, Shock Totem, Dark Discoveries and other places that’ll get under your skin. His fiction is like a dark Twilight Zone meets Alfred Hitchcock Mystery. Check out sexy pics of him online: http://leethompsonfiction.com

  Kevin Wallis dedicates this story to AJ Brown, Lee Thompson and Steve Lowe, who have inspired and mentored him, and whose work he is honored to accompany in this book. He is forever grateful to these men, even though they continue to be shamefully jealous of Kevin’s virility and testicular fortitude. Kevin’s first collection of dark fiction, “Beneath the Surface of Things”, can be found at Amazon and Bards & Sages Publishing.

  Wrath James White is a former World Class Heavyweight Kickboxer, a professional Kickboxing and Mixed Martial Arts trainer, distance runner, performance artist, former street brawler and professional bad-ass who is now known for creating some of the most disturbing works of fiction in print. Wrath’s most recent books are PURE HATE, THE REAPER, SKINZZ, and LIKE PORNO FOR PSYCHOS. He is also the author of THE RESURRECTIONIST, YACCUB’S CURSE, SUCCULENT PREY, EVERYONE DIES FAMOUS IN A SMALL TOWN, THE BOOK OF A THOUSAND SINS, HIS PAIN, and POPULATION ZERO. He is the co-author of TERATOLOGIST co-written with the king of extreme horror, Edward Lee, ORGY OF SOULS co-written with Maurice Broaddus, HERO co-written with J.F. Gonzalez, and POISONING EROS co-written with Monica J. O’Rourke. Wrath lives and works in Austin, Texas with his two daughters, Isis and Nala, his son Sultan and his wife Christie.