Dark Corners - Twelve Tales of Terror

by Bray, Michael

  She leaned close, the smell of mint and coffee on her breath.

  “Of course, only the first part will apply for you.”

  She brought the vial closer to his eyes, turning it slowly. It reminded him of one of those late-night TV shopping ads that air when nobody is awake to watch.

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  He was losing it, and tried desperately to regain control of his mind. He had to keep it together until he could figure a way out of this mess. He watched Sarah as she put the vial back in her purse.

  “It slows the heart and respiratory systems down to almost a complete stop. Essentially, you are dead. But here’s the best part. Tonight, we’re going out to a special place in the woods. I sent Jim out there this morning to dig a hole. That’s where you’ll live out your final hours, alone in the dark. You’ll eventually regain control of your body, but by then it won’t matter.”

  Buried alive.

  He gazed into the monstrous eyes of his former partner and wondered when the idea had begun to form in her mind; how long she had sat on it, mulling it over. When had she realized she would need Jim’s help?

  “I know this must seem overly cruel, and you’re probably wondering why. The truth is I don’t have a straight answer for you, baby. But it sure feels good.”

  The conversational tone of her voice astonished him, as if killing another human being was on par with running to the supermarket.

  “They’ll look for you, I suppose. You may even make the news. I’ll play the grieving girlfriend, supported by the loyal best friend. We’ll say how it’s uncharacteristic of you, how you are usually so responsible. No, you have no enemies, nor do we know of anyone who meant you harm. Soon enough there will be some other story, maybe a terrorist attack or a squabble in some backwards little country that will take center stage, and you will be forgotten. When you’re declared dead, the money you inherited will be mine.”

  Danny realized then that she was totally insane. It was a combination of things: the tone of her voice, the wild-eyed stare as she rambled on, pointing at him all the time. The way she was wearing that smile, that awful smile…

  “I know what you’re thinking—that I have no right to that money if you die. Well think again. Jim pulled some strings, greased a few palms, and made sure the right papers found their way to the right people. I get everything, you son of a bitch.”

  “That’s enough!” came Jim’s voice from somewhere to Danny’s right. “Go down to the car and make sure we have everything we need. I want to get this over with before I lose my nerve.”

  Jim drifted into Danny’s field of vision and handed the keys to Sarah, who stood and walked away. He listened as she went down the hall and the door opened and closed, then pulled up a chair from the dining table and sat beside Danny. Unlike Sarah, who appeared to be untroubled by the murder they were about to commit, he looked like hell—pale and antsy.

  Good. Fuck him.

  Jim lit a cigarette with shaking hands, exhaling a long plume of smoke.

  “Hey, pal. I uh… Just wanted to talk to you in private one last time.”

  Forgive me if I don’t answer, Jimbo, but I’m a little dead here. I’m sure you understand. You go ahead and talk though, if it will make you feel better.

  “Look, Sarah and I… I tried to resist her, ok? I mean, I really tried. But the three of us living together, it just—well, she always gets what she wants, doesn’t she? We’ve joked about that before.”

  We have Jim, but there is one hell of a difference between dominating the TV remote and killing off your boyfriend for his inheritance.

  “I mean, I’ve always been there for you, haven’t I? In the past I mean… I even kinda got the two of you together in the first place, didn’t I?”

  Danny could see Jim becoming unhinged. He was starting to babble, his eyes shifting nervously about the room—a man trying to convince himself of his actions.

  “And hey, at least you’ll be dead soon, right? I mean, I have to live with this guilt for the rest of my life. So you see how it is, don’t you Danny? Surely you do.”

  Forgive me for not being sympathetic to your plight, Jim, but your feelings don’t really concern me too much right now.

  Jim leaned forward, his eyes darting nervously from the door to Danny and back again.

  “Look, Danny, I’m too deep in this now to back out, she made sure of that. I’m implicated and we both know she wouldn’t hesitate to drop me in the shit if I didn’t go ahead.”

  I know what you’re saying, Jim, but think about this—no harm no foul. Help me survive this and I’ll put it down to a prank gone wrong. Please Jim, I need you to help me!

  “I will do something for you though, Danny. For old time’s sake.”

  Jim pulled out a hunting knife, sheathed in a brown leather scabbard.

  “She may want you to suffer, but I don’t… I sharpened it and I’m going to slip it in the waistband of your jeans. When you come around from the serum, use it to slit your wrists.”

  Danny felt the cold leather on his skin as Jim tucked the knife into his jeans, and he flinched mentally as the metal of the hilt tip pressed into his side.

  “I know this doesn’t make it right, but it might make it easier for me to look in the mirror without feeling so fucking guilty. I might even be able to sleep again. Damn it, Danny, I haven’t slept for months.”

  Months.

  So that’s how long this had been in the works. He wondered how he could have been so blind. How could he not have known? Nothing had alerted him, nothing had seemed suspect or out of place. He never had any suspicions, or that gnawing feeling. He certainly had it now though… Jim finished his cigarette and walked out of Danny’s field of vision. The door opened and he spoke again.

  “Remember to slit down the vein, not across it. You should bleed out pretty fast…” He left, closing the door gently behind him.

  Although Danny knew it was pointless, he tried again to will himself to move—start with a finger or a toe and go from there. Perhaps Jim had made a mistake with the dosage and he would come around in time to act. In truth, he knew it was unlikely. It was obvious how meticulously they had planned it all, and to hope they had made such a simple error was naïve at best. Suddenly they had returned, and Jim stood with a roll of cheap looking carpet by Danny’s feet. He turned to Sarah, his voice trembling.

  “Can I close his eyes? He’s freaking me out.”

  “No,” Sarah said calmly. “I want him to experience every second of this.”

  Jim shot her a pained look as he put the roll of carpet down and spread it out. Then Danny felt powerful hands roll him roughly across the floor—a flash of knees, the television, and then nothing as his face was mashed into the fabric. He began to panic, worrying that he would suffocate. But then he remembered the situation, and amid the horror, he laughed inside his head.

  Ha! Relax. It might be better to die here with your nose buried in a cheap carpet, considering the alternative.

  He could visualize it in horrific detail. Slowly gaining control of his limbs in the pitch dark, as seconds turned into hours and hours turned into days. He found himself praying to a God he didn’t even believe in. All he wanted was a chance—a fighting chance.

  They finished wrapping him in the carpet. The cheap fibers felt rough against his cheeks, and the indistinct off-white color that filled his entire field of view made any sense of direction hard to judge. Although he could still hear them speaking, their words were muffled and hard to make out. He was moving now, out of the apartment and into the hallway, t
hen to the left and through another door, this one creaking loudly as it was opened.

  They were taking him out via the stairs.

  Of course they were, he thought to himself as he was jostled along, they wouldn’t risk taking him in the lift. He counted the flights as they descended: four, three, two, one. He felt the wind ruffle the top of his hair and knew they had made it outside. Despite his prayers, they were not stopped. Not challenged. Probably not even seen. More muffled conversation as he was bundled into the back of a car, most likely Jim’s SUV. The door was shut and for a few precious seconds there was silence, before the twin sounds of the front driver and passenger doors opened and closed. He heard Jim speak, his voice wavering with uncertainty.

  “Are you sure this is what you want? This is the last chance to back out.”

  “I already told you this is what I want. This is what we want, Jim. Don’t pussy out on me now. Don’t be like him.”

  “Fine, but you can’t expect me to be happy about it. Danny and I have been friends for years… I just think we could have gone about this some other way.”

  “Well, you’ll just have to learn to live with it. I bet a couple million in the bank will go a long way towards healing your conscience.”

  There was a brief awkward silence.

  “Did you dig the grave where I told you to?”

  “Done. It’s not perfect, but it will do the job.”

  Until that point, Danny had held out some small hope of escape, but it was now he realized that this was actually going to happen. They were going to bury him alive.

  “Good. Come on, let’s get this over with. I want to be back in time for American Idol.”

  Choosing not to respond, Jim started the car and put it into gear. They were on their way.

  Danny had lost all sense of time and wasn’t sure how long they had been driving. To him it felt like days, though in actuality they’d only been in the car for about an hour. After a while, the smooth ride of the road surface changed to the suspension-jolting ride of a dirt trail. He tried to think of where he might be, but realized it was pointless. He didn’t know the area well enough to even hazard a guess.

  The car eventually came to a slow stop.

  “Is this it?” asked Sarah excitedly.

  “Yeah, just a little way into the woods. Right where we planned.”

  “And you’re sure everything is ready?”

  “Checked and double-checked.”

  “Ok, let’s go then. Grab the head, I’ll get the feet.”

  That was all he was to her now. Not a him, not a name, just an object. He was nothing but an obstacle between her and the money she so craved.

  He was pulled out of the car and then they were on the move again. Despite knowing what was coming, Danny was surprised to find himself overcome by a strange sense of calm. He felt the branches of trees greedily tugging at the carpet, and was suddenly happy to have its protection from their gnarled grasp. He could smell the woodland air and hear the dying birdcalls of dusk. Suddenly they stopped and he was lowered to the ground.

  “Is this it?” Sarah asked with a note of irritation in her voice.

  “What do you think? The damn coffin is right in front of you.”

  “Relax Jim. Nobody is going to catch us.”

  “Don’t tell me to relax. Let’s just get this done. The sooner the better.”

  “Is that going to be deep enough? I told you to dig six feet down.”

  His grave. Not being able to see it was somehow worse.

  “I’m a surgeon, not a damn grave digger!”

  Danny prayed for an argument, for Jim to realize that she was the one in control. That she wouldn’t hesitate to throw him under the bus if things got hairy. But Jim reacted the same way Danny had so many times before—he backed down.

  “Look, I’m sorry, Sarah. But you can’t blame me for being a little on edge.”

  “All the more reason to get it over with. Come on, help me get the coffin in the hole.”

  He could hear the scraping of wood against soil, and then the dull thud as his final resting place was prepared. Footsteps approached and he knew it was time.

  He felt himself jerked quickly to the side, his face mashing into the ground as he was roughly unrolled from the carpet. Danny could feel a dull pain in his temple, and his right arm was twisted uncomfortably beneath him. He could smell the earthy rot as he was pushed over onto his back, his open eyes now gazing into the face of his former best friend. He looked even worse than before, as if the last few hours had drained the life out of him.

  Jim dragged Danny by his arms across the leafy forest floor. His legs trailed out behind him and he watched as one of his Nike pumps pulled loose and was left behind. I think I’ll stay up here if it’s all the same to you, Danny. Shoes work better above ground. He was lowered gently into the grave, its rough edges filling his field of vision, framing the sky and treetops above. He felt his body come to rest as Jim hoisted his leg over the grave edge and pulled himself up with a grunt, speaking to Sarah as he did so.

  “Grab the carpet. Come on, hurry up.”

  The re-rolled carpet and lost shoe were tossed into the makeshift coffin, landing on Danny’s lower half. He could feel the blood pounding in his temples as he willed himself to live, for his body to overcome the poison coursing through its veins and fight back. Sarah came back into view then, and seeing the crudely constructed coffin lid she carried made Danny’s blood run cold.

  This is my grave.

  What if the soil came through the gaps in the boards? What if it filled his ears, mouth, and eyes before he regained control of his body? He imagined the worms, touching his skin with their cold, wet bodies, the maggots burrowing into his eyes, nesting in his mouth, feeding on his tongue.

  Oh God, please let it be quick…

  Jim moved the lid into position and then hesitated. The gloom was heavy now and Danny felt the occasional wet splash of rain on his skin. For a moment, Jim looked almost like a child—his eyes wide, his grimy face streaked with tears. A mucus bubble expanded and contracted in his left nostril as he breathed in ragged gasps.

  “God forgive me,” he whispered as he lowered the lid of the coffin, shutting out the world and plunging Danny into suffocating darkness. In his head, Danny screamed.

  Rio, Brazil.

  The man sipped his gin and tonic as he looked out over the glorious panorama of the Rio coastline. The sun was just beginning to set, and the sky was a beautiful red orange hue. The ocean was dabbled with golden reflection from the fading light of what had been a glorious day. As the sodium streetlamps began to fizzle on in unison, the man smiled, for he had seen another day come and go. His hand, the palm rough and calloused, instinctively went to the large crucifix that he now wore around his neck, and he let his fingers glide gently over its contours.

  The sixteen hours between Danny Harding’s burial, revival, and escape are ones he prefers not to think about. However on this day, the anniversary of it happening, he always did. It had been seven years now, and although he still suffered frequent nightmares about the incident, he didn’t mind— because he was alive. Never a religious man, not back then anyway, Danny’s outlook had changed.

  After all, it had been a bizarre set of circumstances that allowed for his escape from the premature grave. Jim and Sarah had planned well, but they hadn’t taken into account certain variables of the situation. Even now, he still liked the word—

  Variables.

  Things such as the home-made coffin being much larger than a regular one, allowing Danny to roll onto his side, then onto his knees once he regained control of his body. Then there was the knife that Jim had left Danny to kill himself with. How he was able to use it to cut away the cheap wood around the nails holding the lid in place. Even these fortuitous circumstances could have been for nothing, had it not been for Jim. Jim with his surgeon’s hands. The six-foot grave Sarah had demanded was in reality only a little more than
three, and combined with the flimsy coffin and the heavy rain that followed the burial, Danny was given his fighting chance.

  He’d known the chances of escape were slim, but as he began to regain control of his body, he decided to try for it—see how far he could get, one step at a time.

  He finished his drink and pulled out two things from his wallet. The first was a photograph. The years had seen it become dog-eared and there was an ugly crease down its middle. It was of Jim and Sarah. She had been right, of course—if you knew the right people, you could get your hands on just about anything. Danny just happened to know an overweight Italian mob boss who was more than willing to locate the materials he required. It cost Danny a pretty penny, but money isn’t everything after all.

  In the photograph the pair were in the same hole they had dug for him, only they were in a much smaller coffin. He had trouble fitting them in, and they were pressed face to face, nose to nose. Their eyes seemed lifeless, already dead in fact, but Danny knew better. He knew they could see and feel everything that was happening.

  He often wondered if they had at least made a try for escape. He supposed they would have, although he couldn’t fathom how. He remembered sitting on the edge of the grave, his feet dangling above the open coffin, looking down at his two friends. It really didn’t seem as scary from up there.

  “I’m going to give the two of you almost the same chance I had. It won’t be as easy because frankly it looks a bit cramped in there, and I doubt you’ll be able to get any leverage. But if it’s meant to be, it’s meant to be. The hole is the same depth too, just less than three feet…”