Monk Punk and Shadow of the Unknown Omnibus

by Aaron French

  My boot met the tar of the main road as I inched further toward town, underneath the swirling dark cloud. I came across the first person, standing motionless, completely covered in the dust. I slowly walked to him from behind. Through the thickened air, I observed a small red flashing light that appeared to be coming from the back of his neck. His head was drooped forward and he seemed to be breathing, but there were no signs of emotion. With my gun barrel pointing at his stomach, it seemed like he was in a sleeping state. His lungs were functional, his chest expanding, and every exhale disturbed the airborne dust. With my fingers along his neck, I could feel his pulse.

  He was alive, but deathly still. From all the movies I had watched, the idea of a zombie apocalypse filled my mind, but it proved wrong. There was no decayed flesh and, from my knowledge, zombies never slept. My fear was reduced slightly by not having to fight the undead, but the concept of not knowing what was happening kept me at the edge of sanity. Everything was deathly quiet; there was no sound from anything. I enjoyed silence as much as the next guy, but the sheer lack of noise in the town was eerie.

  A small cough filtered from my throat and pierced the cloth mask I was wearing. The eyes of the man opened. Bloodshot and strained beyond repair, the pupils homed in on my face. The words, I have found one, leaked through his dried, cracked lips. With arms outstretched, his hands gripped my shoulders. He wasn’t trying to attack me; he was simply trying to detain me.

  Struggling to break free, my finger clenched the trigger, sending a bullet to his stomach. He had no reaction and showed no signs of pain. He kept trying to hold me until his blood loss determined his energy level, which prompted him to drop to his knees. Even as he bled out, his lips mouthed the same words. While focusing on the man I had just killed, I did not notice the others exiting the smog and approaching me. In unison, they mouthed the same words, I have found one. My safety radius was continually reduced as they crept toward me. Their outstretched arms grabbed at my shirt, but I kept pushing them aside.

  Dodging through the numerous grasping hands, I managed to enter the front doors of a nearby gas station convenience store. Behind the counter, the clerk immediately said the same words, but he only said half of the phrase as I unleashed another bullet deep into his forehead. I didn’t want to kill anyone, but my nerves were fried to hell, and the sudden sound of the man’s voice had startled me.

  Through the windows, I saw others approaching. I wasn’t sure at that point whether they were attracted to sound, so I decided to test the theory. Instead of standing up and going all guns blazing like my testosterone wanted me to, I opted for a quieter approach. I grabbed a few knives from the shelves and secreted myself in the candy aisle. After a few minutes, I stood up so that I could see outside. There were at least twenty people, all within a sleeping-state, facing inside the store. All their eyes were closed. Their blank faces tattooed the dirty window and bombarded my mind with an overdose of fear. Silence as a weapon; probably the craziest concept that I had ever had to come to grips with.

  They had lost the sound trail of my whereabouts and were just standing there. Silence became my dearest friend and I needed to embrace the bond to its fullest intent. Moving like a mouse, I filled my backpack with everything I could. Knives were buckled to my belt; binoculars hung from around my neck. I never realized how much noise typical items make. I was hungry, but wouldn’t dare open a bag of chips or twist the cap off a soda bottle. Everything was capable of making noise. I used the tip of a knife to puncture a hole in a water bottle and drank like a caged gerbil. Bread became my snack of choice due to the ease of opening the bag. As I rested and tried to rationalize this dilemma, which I did not volunteer for, I noticed several radios and conjured a plan to secure myself safe passage back into the mountains.

  One of the radios in hand, I stepped quietly toward the front door. I watched their closed eyelids as I placed the radio facing the glass. With the volume knob turned to level ten, I used an extension cord and crept into the back hall. A loud static sound echoed throughout the store as I plugged in the radio. The noise prompted their eyes to open. Each one of them mouthed the words, I have found one.

  As I fled through the back of the store with another radio, I heard the front windows break. I barreled through the fire exit, causing the alarm to go off. The loud, ear-piercing sound startled me, but not as much as coming face-to-face with the three delivery men awaiting me in the rear. Dressed in matching uniforms, their eyes flung open simultaneously.

  Everything happened so quickly. My knife sliced through the wrist of the one who grabbed me, but he would not let go. As I slid the blade across his throat, his lips mumbled the predicable words, which were concealed by the gurgling sound of the wound. As he fell before me, another man grabbed me from behind. I rotated the knife and sent it backward. The blade buried itself deep into his abdomen. But his strength remained intact, so I extracted the blade and sent it toward him again.

  I felt his energy drain slightly as his arms loosened. Another deep stab wound allowed for my freedom. The third man was stopped in his pursuit by a perfectly thrown knife lodged into his esophagus. More of them filtered from around the building after being summoned by the alarm. I fumbled with the radio’s batteries as I backed up toward the truck; with success, I was able to get it working. I quickly turned the volume up, flipped the switch and threw the device into the back of the delivery truck. Over the chain-link fence I went and hid behind some hedges. Between me and the woods yawned a vast field of dust.

  They came from everywhere and quickly surrounded the truck in a matter of seconds. I couldn’t grasp what was happening. All of the residents were brainwashed by God knew what. It didn’t make sense and that uncertainty destroyed whatever rationality I had remaining. I had no clue as to what had attacked this place. All I knew was that I did not want to turn out like them.

  I remained hidden, wanting to observe as much as I could in order to learn more about the situation. The darkened cloud churned above the alley as the voices silenced. A pale blue streak of light arced downward and left behind another being not like any of the others. Even through binoculars, I could not comprehend what the lenses were portraying. Something was odd about the new person. The dust in the air made it difficult to fully see the characteristics, but enough was revealed to me to know that it was not human. It slithered into the back of the truck and then came up with the radio in hand. Standing on top of the truck, it rotated the radio, seeming to be confused by the device.

  In a flash, the blue light came down and retrieved the creature. More blue lights flashed. Some picked up a few of the sleeping humans, while others put down replacement ones. The blue lights were placing people about as if this were a chess match. People appeared on the roof of the gas station and throughout the field where I was. They were equally spaced in a strategic manner.

  I remained silent, siphoning small quick breaths, as a person was placed right behind me. Then I could hear his breathing. Slowly turning my neck, I glimpsed the mayor of our town standing there emotionless. Although irrational, I fully believed that whatever was within that darkened cloud in the sky was taking over the human population of the town and using those already enslaved as a means to seek out the ones who still possessed a free mind. Regardless of whether or not I was correct in my hypothesis, I needed to seek higher ground, deeper within the thick terrain of the mountains.

  I slowly stood up while keeping my eyes on the mayor. He was so close to me that I could see his eyes rapidly moving behind the closed eyelids. As my legs extended, my knee popped and made the slightest noise. There was no moisture in my mouth, yet my throat still wanted to swallow. The cracking joint widened the eyes of the mayor who instantly reached out to grab me while speaking the familiar words. I backed up and fell, causing him to release his grip. The field came alive as each of their heads turned my way.

  I ran through all of the outstretched arms, trying my best to avoid any contact. I felt like a pinball as I weaved in
and out of the obstacles. I could see the threshold of the forest, but I couldn’t run in a straight line. All I wanted was to reach that labyrinth of trees. I knew them well enough, and felt that I could outrun anything and hide more easily. But the trees felt so far away as I sometimes had to run backward in order to avoid contact.

  Frustration took hold and I began pushing people aside in order to reach my goal. The words I have found one echoed throughout the field. They repeated the phrase in unison and it was deafening to my ears. My eyes bled with anger and my veins pulsed with the need to escape. I was so close, but kept having to turn my direction to get through the horde. The flashes of blue light kept raining down and putting more people in my way, though I would always be past them by the time they opened their eyes.

  I crossed the threshold of the trees but had no time to celebrate. I winded through the maze of bark like a deer fleeing a hunter’s scope. Wandering the woods, I tried desperately to avoid stepping on sticks, as every sound only added to my fear and anxiety. I wanted to silence the sound of the wind in the leaves, as I believed it would give away my location. Every falling acorn felt like a grenade going off. I was slowly going insane.

  From the corners of my eyes, the trees looked human. Branches appeared as outstretched arms, waiting to grasp hold of me. I became lost in the woods; the dust concealed everything. My senses elevated beyond control. Nature would not stop producing noises that required my full attention. I was becoming emotionally drained and exhausted from the mental battle.

  I came across a camp site. Smoke still funneled upward from the fire pit. Behind a tent stood a man facing me with his eyes closed. I extracted two knives and crept toward him. I watched his eyes and used his throat as my goal, in order to prevent him from summoning the others. Every dried leaf I stepped on sounded like shattering glass, yet his eyes remained closed. Directly before him, I placed the knife against his throat and felt the blade indent the skin. Unable to form a single word, his blood sprayed my chest as I lowered his corpse quietly to the ground.

  I searched through his belongings for anything useful. Everything was in order until the hunter’s dog entered the mix. The initial bark rattled my mind and blurred my vision. I was so startled by the sound that my knees buckled. My throat tightened as if I had a noose around my neck. Time was of the essence; I could not catch him even if I tried. I debated many scenarios, but felt strongly that I needed to ascend into the deer stand located near the camp.

  As the dog barked uncontrollably, I felt the wind shift and the sky darken. I was not as stressed anymore, for I knew that my fate was no longer in my control. Through the trees, I saw the blue streaks of light spiral down to the ground, leaving behind several people. Their eyes quickly focused on the barking dog. I have found one… those haunting words spilled from their hollowed shells. A horde of a hundred people made their way to the base of my tree. There were so many blue lights flashing that it made me nauseous. As soon as they landed, their eyes snapped open. All of their attention was on the dog. They had no idea I was perched above them.

  Another blue light flashed as I witnessed the creature filter downward. I was so close to the funnel that I could have reached out and touched it. Time seemed to slow and I was able to see more of its characteristics. It was not human. It had multiple elongated limbs and the thinnest torso I had ever seen. The vision butchered my mindset and almost pushed me over the edge into insanity.

  But instead of listening to my tortured mind, I opted to remain quiet. Without moving my neck, my eyes strained to see down. The neck of the growling dog was quickly snapped and handed over to the creature. In an instant, it was gone. I waited patiently as the dark cloud shifted and ventured back over the town. The wind became normal and felt soothing against my face. The swaying trees and the rustling leaves eased my troubled mind, but did not overshadow the situation that I currently now find myself in. The creature left along with the darkened sky, but underneath me remain hundreds of people all awaiting the slightest sound that will awaken them.

  A glimmer of the sun fights vigorously to break through the dust-consumed air. The sight inspires me. Perhaps not all is lost. Perhaps others have also avoided the blackened clouds. The anxiety from being perched above a frenzy of sharks has made me uncomfortable. I am starting to doubt myself. Part of me wishes that I was one of them: a mindless corpse of my former self.

  I avoid the words of insanity as I was not built to give up. With a backpack full of ammo and blades that can muffle the words of the enslaved, I believe that I have a chance for survival; to venture deeper into the mountains and seek others like myself. I just need to kill, to hunt, and to live… in silence.

  About the author: K. Trap Jones is an award-winning author of horror novels and short stories. With a sadistic inspiration from Dante Alighieri and Edgar Allan Poe, he has a temptation toward narrative folklore, classic literary works and obscure segments within society. His novel THE SINNER (Blood Bound Books) won the 2010 Royal Palm Literary Award. His splatterpunk novella, THE DRUNKEN EXORCIST, has been released by Necro Publications. His narrative horror short story collection, THE CROSSROADS, is available from Hazardous Press. He is also a member of the Horror Writers Association and can be found lurking around Tampa, Florida.

  Asleep with the Black Goat

  Aaron J. French

  Omnibus Exclusive

  I approached her, gazing down at curvaceous hips curled in a U-shape, the backs of thighs, her bare stomach and chest, auburn hair descending in waves and a face like a cat’s, the eyes of a hawk, the smells of sex clinging to the room, recalling memories I could not place, memories like dreams…

  Days, hours, and minutes had blurred together since meeting her two weeks previous. The ecstasy, anguish, and bliss. Ashley had made a mold of them, fitting me into it.

  I stood before her divan, room drenched in candlelight. I could practically feel the waxy glow on my skin. Ashley reached her arms around my waist, the fingers of the goddess sinking into my flesh as she took me in her mouth.

  I shut my eyes. The sensations rose up through my body, finally reaching my head, where they exploded in my black mind like fireworks. I tingled all over, equal parts fear and excitement.

  Somewhere in the midst of it I heard the door to the room open and someone walk in. She seized me tighter when I tried to turn and look, urging me to stay in the moment, in the feeling, the volcano of passion in my groin. I heard the muttering behind me and knew the Black Goat was with us. I was afraid, but I didn’t have a choice. I let them lead me into the darkest corners of my soul.

  ***

  Pierced Nipple was the name of the bar on 9 and Kessington. I had driven by countless times as I commuted to and from my downtown job, wondering at its secrets, a passion stirring in my jeans, knowing ultimately that I was too much of a coward to venture inside. I was afraid of such places. Afraid of the desires they awoke in me.

  But there was no mistaking that charcoal façade, almost graffiti smudged, darkly frosted windows, and a front entrance made of stainless steel. Orange neon perpetually blinked above it, whether night or day, displaying the pair of words:

  Pierced Nipple

  Finally, drunk one night, I cultivated enough potency to go wait in line with the rest of the gloomy freaks. I felt nauseated by their hair products and cigarette smoke. Pulsating techno-goth music rumbled within, and a few fishnet girls swayed their voluptuous hips.

  I was the only one not wearing heavy boots or black leather. I didn’t smoke, and I twitched as we waited to move forward. It’s a good thing I was drunk or I never would’ve survived the thirty minutes it took to gain admittance. My fear was strong, but it was somewhere in the back of me, like a shadow. The gigantic bald man wearing a Danzig T-shirt checked my ID at the entrance and let me in.

  I moved through the sea of gyrating bodies under a fusion of blinking strobe colors, music blaring into my ears. Their bodies felt almost sick and squirmish as they buffeted against me. The women eyed me,
plenty of them bare-breasted, with piercings dangling and multi-colored tattoos.

  My passions swelled drunkenly. Somehow I found my way to the bar, where I ordered a drink from a razor-thin redhead in stilettos. The countertop and liquor rack were made of glass, making a mandala of the dizzy strobe lights.

  Drink in hand I plopped down on a stool. The room had begun to spin. Music cut into my ears, sounding like nails on a chalkboard. I had never really listened to techno music; it had always been outside my realm of experience.

  I looked around at the interior of the building I’d thought of entering so many times. It had papier-mâché rock walls embedded with skulls and ghostly cobwebs festooning the ceiling. Lights, disco balls, mock alters; even crucifixes lined the dance floor where several buxom women danced in cages.

  A sudden rush of wind and a half-naked male wearing roller-skates whizzed past, handing me a flyer. It felt vaguely morose in my fingertips, slightly fecal. I squinted down at the image on the front, which showed a man and woman having doggy style sex on top of a pile of raccoon hats, like the kind Davy Crockett used to wear. I couldn’t help but chuckle, grotesque though it was, and I slipped it into my pants pocket. I had to show it to the guys at work.

  ***

  “Smoke,” said a female voice.

  “No, thanks,” I said without looking.

  “Wasn’t a question.”

  Like that a hand with black fingernails seized my thigh, so tightly that I cried out and my body reflexively contracted. “Jesus Christ!” I wailed.

  She let go, as a pluming cigarette waved before my face. “That was a command,” she said.

  I rubbed away my thigh’s itching pain, then took the cigarette and turned to her. I was all geared up to let her have it—to call her a trifling slut and ask what her problem was—but when I saw her beauteous catlike face, horn-rimmed, and her lush, flowing auburn hair, I stopped. It was like looking at the face of an angel. I would’ve done anything she asked.