DARK NEEDS: Three Twisted Tales of Horror

by Brian Moreland

  “That will do. Drink from the barrel.”

  Cara remembered step four of Peggy’s instructions. Before you enter, you need to purify yourself. To the left of the door stood a wooden barrel. Cara lifted the lid and cringed at the dark water that was thick as soup. Whole white mushrooms floated on top. Dipping a gourd ladle into the liquid, she overturned one of the mushroom caps and realized it was a rodent’s skull. She felt the urge to put the lid back. Do whatever she asks without hesitation, Peggy had warned, or she’ll tell you to leave and your wish will go ungranted. Cara closed her eyes and sipped from the gourd. The drink tasted of fungus and algae. Something mossy went down her throat like canned spinach. Her gag reflex threatened to vomit it. She swallowed the lump down.

  “Now splash some on your forehead and behind your ears.”

  Cara did as told. As she turned to face the hovel, the wicker door opened.

  The Crow Woman was pale white and surprisingly young. Cara had imagined an old crone. The witch looked in her thirties, with a hardened face covered in freckles, angular features so common in the Dutch from the area, gray eyes, and jet black hair woven atop her head. She wore animal skins and a fetish necklace made of black feathers and bones. She ushered Cara forward. “Get inside quick before you bring the night critters with you.”

  Cara pulled the goat in with her. She walked down three rock steps to a sunken dirt floor. The den smelled of fresh-dug soil and dried plants. She had to duck beneath the low ceiling where herbs of all kinds hung from the rafters. The only light came from a fire beneath a cast-iron pot.

  The Crow Woman only came up to Cara’s chin and was built like a small bird. She stared at Cara with sharp eyes, slid a bony hand over her belly. “You desperately want a baby but your womb is barren.”

  Barren. The word was an evil namesake she’d been branded with. The doctor had first used the label when Cara couldn’t get pregnant. She and Gabe had spent over twenty grand trying fertility treatments and In Vitro Fertilization. Cara had managed to get pregnant twice, but there were complications and she lost the babies. After her second miscarriage, her doctor said, I’m sorry, but your uterus rejects a fetus. I’m afraid you can’t have children.

  While Cara was suffering from depression, Gabe had an affair with a woman from the office and got her pregnant. He filed for divorce so he could start a family with his lover. Cara had been devastated. The day he walked out, Gabe said, It’s not my fault, Cara. You can’t provide me with a child. Then he shamed her with that vile word. If you weren’t barren, things might be different.

  Cara turned her eyes from a dead rabbit on a table back to the Crow Woman. “Peggy told me you can grant a person any wish.”

  “I can cast any spell, but it’s the Old Ones who decide if the magic works.”

  “Please work your magic on me,” Cara begged. “More than anything I want to be a mother. I’ll pay you.” She pulled out several hundreds from her wallet.

  The woman waved her hand. “Your money is no good here. I receive my payments through the spells.”

  Cara put the money away. “So you’ll help me then?”

  “You must do exactly as I say. Once I start the spell, you cannot disrupt it or you anger the Old Ones. Understand?”

  “I’ll do whatever you tell me.”

  “In the far corner is a root cellar. Crawl down there and pull up a root. Bring it to me.”

  Cara got on her hands and knees and crawled down into a cramped cellar that ran beneath the floor. It was dark down here, so she had to rely on feel. Her manicured nails dug in the soil. She did her best to ignore the sensations of worms squirming around her fingers. She plucked a root vegetable shaped like a carrot, only it was pale. Filthy, her five-hundred-dollar dress most likely ruined, she climbed out of the cellar and handed the root to the witch.

  The Crow Woman smiled. “The parsnip holds much power.” She ripped off the smaller roots until the parsnip was smooth.

  Cara hated her hands being dirty. Soil was caked under her nails and in the cracks of her knees. She kept this discomfort to herself. “What happens next?” she asked.

  “Lie down on that skin and remove your undergarments.”

  She lay on her back on a deerskin. The ground beneath it was hard and cold. A panicked voice in her head said, This is insane. I should go. Her determined voice repeated the mantra. I want a baby, I want a baby. Do whatever it takes. Cara felt self-conscious as she slid off her panties. Nothing could have prepared her for the awkwardness she felt being examined by a backwoods medicine woman. Her rough hands spread Cara’s thighs apart. She poked and prodded, then finally rested her palm on Cara’s abdomen. “Have you ever imagined something you desired with all your heart until you one day you got it?”

  “A pony when I was a girl.”

  “Good. Use the power of that belief and imagine a baby inside your womb.”

  Cara did this, concentrating on what it felt like to have a baby growing inside her. This was difficult because it brought up painful memories of her two pregnancies. Her babies hadn’t survived the first trimester. She had barely gotten a baby bump before her little joys were taken away and she had been left with a hollow emptiness. Adding to her pain had been the way Gabe had looked at her, his barren wife.

  Tears filled Cara’s eyes as she imagined being pregnant again, painting the baby’s room she’d never finished, putting together the crib Gabe had never gotten around to. She knew how to dream, and now the midwife who had worked her magic to create love for Peggy was here to help birth Cara’s lifelong dream.

  “This is for your protection.” The witch sprinkled crushed herbs along the ground around Cara. “Whatever happens during the spell, stay inside the circle.”

  Cara nodded, riding on a wave of hope that kept her nervousness at bay.

  The Crow Woman lit the six white candles and began chanting in her old language, “Oude exemplaren van lore, roep ik tot u. Bereid deze vrouw voor nageslacht in haar schoot.” Holding a knife, she grabbed the baby goat from behind and slit its throat. Cara gasped as blood spewed from the goat’s neck and poured into a wooden bowl. Cara felt a rush of guilt, having selected the goat for its sacrificial death. A kid for a kid. She imagined some Old One in another realm accepting the spirit of the little goat.

  The witch continued to chant as she rubbed blood on Cara’s bare thighs and belly. She then dipped the long parsnip in blood and painted it red. The woman stood and approached something in the corner that was concealed by a stained shroud. She pulled away the sheet, revealing a human-shaped figure made of sticks and mud. She stuck the root into the mud at its groin. Then she poured the bowl of blood over its head. “Wicks en stokken, netelig prikken, salamander tong, kever mest.”

  The figure came to life.

  Cara screamed as the man-thing walked stiffly towards her. Its wicker body crackled with the sounds of rubbing sticks. A horrid moan issued from its hollow mouth. Cara no longer wanted to go through with this. She crawled out of the circle and hurried toward the door.

  “No you don’t!” The witch gripped Cara’s ankles, and with surprising strength, dragged her back to the circle. Her intense eyes bore into Cara’s. “Stay, or you’ll anger them.”

  When the witch let go, the man-thing lowered itself on top of Cara. The weight of its bulk pushed her flat against the deerskin. A hundred poking twigs assaulted her flesh. Goat’s blood dripped from its head onto Cara’s face. She cried out as its lubricated root slid inside her.

  The Crow Woman stood above them, naked now, her bony chest covered in blood. She chanted and waved her arms, as the stick-man thrust and thrust.

  Cara felt warm liquid shoot inside her and then passed out.

  * * *

  When Cara woke some time later, the Crow Woman was fully dressed, working at a table and singing. Cara felt heavier and was shocked to find her belly swollen as if she was nine months pregnant. She backed against a wall. “Oh God.”

  The Crow Woman turned around. “
Your wish has been granted.”

  “How . . . how long have I been asleep?”

  “A few hours.”

  Cara felt her belly. Something moved inside. “Impossible.”

  “The Old Ones work fast. You’ll be birthing your baby soon.”

  “I want to get out of here.” She needed to get to a hospital.

  Cara barely got to her feet before her water broke.

  The next few hours were a chaotic nightmare of screaming and tearing pain. She pushed and pushed.

  “Yes, yes, keep pushing. Almost there. I see its feet.” The Crow Woman, covered to her elbows in blood, pulled out the newborn. She raised it up. “You have a son.”

  Cara cried tears of joy as the woman laid a real live baby on her breast. She kissed its forehead, overwhelmed by how much love she felt for it. Cara laughed through her tears. “I’m a mother.”

  Something poked inside her belly. She began to feel contractions again.

  “You’ve got another one coming!”

  The second birth was more painful than the first. The midwife pulled out a hideous thing covered in blood and black fur. It had a goat face with little horns, cloven feet, and baby hands with claws. Bat-like wings flapped on its back. A forked tail coiled around the witch’s arm.

  The Crow Woman smiled like a happy mother. “This one is my payment.”

  The creature in her arms let out a high-pitched gurgle.

  Outside the cabin, a larger animal screeched in response to the newborn.

  * * *

  The next morning, Cara rode in the motorboat with Lars, who took her back down the river. He didn’t question why she now had a baby bundled in her arms. In this moment of holding a miracle, it didn’t matter who had fathered it or how it was conceived. Cara put out of her mind the horned creature she had left behind with the witch. A kid for a kid. Cara relished the feeling of her newborn son suckling her breast. I have what I want most, and that’s all that matters.

  * * *

  A few weeks later Cara was walking through Central Park, pushing baby Zack in his buggy. She passed a concession stand that sold newspapers. She stopped when she saw photos of her friend, Peggy Mere, and Jacque. The headline read WOMAN MURDERED BY FIANCÉE IN BIZARRE RITUAL.

  The shocking news made Cara dizzy. She took a seat on a park bench and read the article. Jacque had killed her friend in a most violent way, cutting out her heart and cooking it. Turns out the seemingly perfect man she’d conjured was a cannibal.

  Baby Zack reached for his mommy’s breast and grinned.

  Cara stared into the eyes of her little miracle and had the sick feeling something much older than her son was staring back.

  Eager with excitement, I downloaded the new app. It asked to connect with my friends and followers on social media, and I accepted. I filled out the detailed profile, answered a questionnaire that recorded my voice, and linked my Facebook and Instagram accounts.

  Within minutes of completing my profile, my first holomorph friend appeared! I stood speechless in my living room as light beamed from the ceiling. Swirling particles formed into my best friend, Dane, from Seattle. Not the real him, but a vivid, life-sized hologram. He was partially transparent, like a Technicolor ghost, but somehow the illusion felt real.

  “Oh, my God, this is incredible!” I said.

  “I know, right? Like the Starship Enterprise beamed me here.”

  We half-embraced, bro-style. There was actually a supple texture to his three-dimensional form, like hugging someone made of thin rubber. Dane was shorter than expected. I’d never actually seen him in person. We’d met on Facebook and became instant friends in a group that discussed sci-fi horror movies. For years, I’d only known Dane through typed-word conversations on a screen, along with his stagnant profile photo—a plump face with a beard.

  “The hologram you looks different from your photo,” I said.

  “I kinda lied about my weight on my profile,” he chuckled. “I like the holo me better.”

  I didn’t care. I had a 3D friend to cure my loneliness. Dane hung out with me all weekend. We watched a marathon of Netflix horror movies, played video games, and had the best time getting to know each other. Sometimes Dane’s responses were off. It didn’t take long to realize I wasn’t talking to a live version of him, but a software recreation based on his profile. Eventually, we ran out of things to talk about. So I downloaded three more holomorph friends—Raquel from Chicago, Jon from Tallahassee, and Niles, transported all the way from London.

  Our eclectic group played poker at the dinner table and chatted about our favorite books, music, and politics. Raquel and Jon debated over whether Democrats or Republicans should be running the country. They were such extreme opposites that trying to convince one another to switch viewpoints was futile. Pretty soon the poker chips started flying. Niles ducked to stay out of the line of fire. “This is better than watching Hulu!” he said and we all busted up laughing.

  We played cards for hours. I was the only one eating and drinking, since my holomorph friends didn’t require food or drinks. Cheap entertainment.

  My first week using the new social media was a whirlwind of crazy fun. I downloaded friends from all over the world. I threw holomorph parties. Holograms of people filled my den, kitchen, and backyard.

  I’ll never be lonely again.

  Some of the parties got rowdy. A few holomorph friends started fights and trashed the place, so I unfriended them. The friends I wanted to keep, like Dane, Raquel, Jon, and Niles, I couldn’t figure out how to get them to leave without unfriending them. The app’s settings seemed to be missing a “go home” button, so I let my favorite friends stay and hang out. I couldn’t bear the alternative of living in an empty house again.

  One evening my friends became glitchy—their bodies flickered and their voices cut in and out.

  I contacted the app’s tech support and a holographic man in a blue repairman’s jumpsuit and ball cap appeared in my living room. “Hi, I’m Felix the Fixer. What seems to be the problem, Mr. Bradley?”

  “My holomorph friends aren’t projecting fully.”

  “That’s due to a technical issue with our satellite. We’re fixing the problem.” Felix winked. “Until then, enjoy some of our premium packages for free.” He gave me the codes and disappeared.

  On my iPad, I scanned through all the app’s newest features. Hundreds of choices boggled my mind. I could hang out with holomorphs of famous celebrities, dead historical figures, or adopt a holodog or holocat. I could project scenes from my favorite movies right into my home. There seemed no end to the pleasurable escapes I could experience.

  Curious, I ordered from the app’s most popular feature—holoporn! My bedroom filled with a harem of horny holowomen. It took a while, but eventually I grew tired of shallow sex. I felt ready to settle down with a holomorph girlfriend.

  I swiped through countless screens of profiles until I found my ideal match. When I downloaded Simone, it was love at first sight. Long auburn hair, cute face, a girl-next-door personality, she matched every trait that turned me on. We had loads in common too. The only downside was she looked like she’d been molded into glowing Jell-O, but the sex was good.

  The first three weeks with Simone were heavenly. She made me feel whole again. After a month, I reached the limit of her varied responses and she began to sound repetitive. I longed to touch and hold and have meaningful conversations with the real Simone. Her profile said she lived in Boston. I messaged her on Facebook and asked if she’d like to visit me in Dallas. A strange thing, though. The real Simone had no idea who I was. I told her we met on HoloMatch and I was her holomorph boyfriend. She wrote back that she already had a boyfriend. A real one. She threatened to call the police if I ever bothered her again.

  I continued to date the holoSimone until I came home from work one day and found her in bed with Dane. Furious, I ran to my iPad and unfriended them both. Their holograms vaporized.

  Raquel and Jon yelled at m
e for sending their friends away, so I obliterated them too. Now Niles and my other holofriends kept their distance from me. I began to resent them all. None of them had anything new to say. They talked about the weather, TV shows, current events, but it was all surface stuff. When I probed deeper, I kept hitting the limits of their programming. I longed to connect on a soul-to-soul level. I felt alone in a house full of ghosts.

  When each holomorph became boring or got on my nerves, I ended the friendship with a push of a button. I had millions more friends I could download. I went through dozens of them. I learned that not all friends match their profiles. Their photos looked friendly, but their holograms projected their true natures. At my birthday party, one weirdo said he saw everything as a video game. Then he went bat-shit and started stabbing my other friends with a kitchen knife. I grabbed my tablet and vaporized him just before he stabbed me.