Don't Look Behind You-A Collection of Horror (Chamber of Horror Series Book 3)

by Billy Wells

  Tomas’s blood ran cold when the dead thing spotted him in the window, and struggling to his feet, started moving toward the front of the house. Five other zombies appeared in the doorway with blood oozing from their black teeth. He shivered when he saw their eyes fix on him as if he were a juicy steak. Having no choice but to retreat back into the basement, he slammed the door and locked it.

  The candle had burned out, and it was pitch black below. The stench of decomposition wafted into his nostrils that seemed much stronger now than it had earlier. He heard an odd rustling, he didn’t understand. The electricity was off in the house, but he remembered the pack of matches on the table next to the candle. He crept as silently as he could to where he thought the table would be.

  The overpowering stink of death took his breath away as he extended his arms like a blind man and inched forward in the darkness. He had a bad feeling something unexpected was about to happen in his nightmare. This extended plot had not been in the original movie, and he had no idea what would happen next. He hadn't seen any zombies in the house that could have entered the basement when he went upstairs, and he hadn't touched anyone or anything so far. Yet, he sensed he was no longer alone in the darkness that surrounded him.

  Could the father and the mother have reanimated again? He didn’t see how. Under zombie rules, the dead couldn't come back to life twice.

  Tomas’s leg bumped against something hard. Reaching down, his hand felt the top of the table, and then the book of matches. He picked it up and tore one of them off. Now that the match was in his fingers, he didn’t have the nerve to light it.

  After his heartbeat accelerated to a fever pitch, and unable to endure the suspense any longer, he drew in a big gulp of putrid air and struck the match.

  Even before his eyes grew accustomed to the sudden flare of light, he saw the hideous faces of the zombies surrounding him. Immediately, an army of monstrous hands grabbed hold of him, knocking the match from his grasp, and plunging the basement into total blackness.

  Suddenly, the sweet scent of intoxicating perfume replaced the stench of death and decay. When his vision cleared from a dense fog, Tomas found himself in his hospital gown in the middle of a room filled with beautiful young women dressed in skimpy negligees. He could see their bountiful breasts heaving through the gauzy fabric that left little to the imagination. A king's ransom of gold coins covered the floor around a large circular bed directly under an enormous skylight.

  “This is more like it,” he thought. “Somehow, he had traveled through Hell to arrive at this heavenly place.”

  A young brunette goddess, beautiful beyond belief, started caressing his body with her magic hands. Her intoxicating perfume made his head swim with ecstasy. A seductive blonde of equal beauty slithered on to the satin sheets and removing his flimsy gown, mounted him. He had never imagined heaven could be like this. He had only pictured clouds and angels playing harps.

  Another young princess with eyes that could make any man move mountains traded places with the blonde. He gasped in ecstasy not comprehending this level of pleasure in all his life as her warm lips closed over his own and velvet tongues lapped at his erect nipples. His body contorted with the pleasure of one orgasm after another, again and again.

  None of this made any sense, but he hoped it would never end. He hadn’t seen a bright light after leaving the Night of the Living Dead, but what the Hell….

  In the flash of an eye, Tomas’s world went black. The doctor chewing the spearmint gum stepped away from him, exhausted from trying to save his life. Another doctor returned the paddles to their container on the side table.

  “Call it,” the first doctor said, mopping his brow with a towel.

  “What do you make of it?” the other doctor asked.

  “What?”

  “The huge boner and the crazy grin he had on his face when his heart stopped.”

  “I guess that will remain one of life's mysteries, or should I say death? In any case, there's a frosty Sam Adams waiting for us at Barney's. We tried every trick in the book, but he was a goner when they brought him in. Call it,” he said, removing his mask.

  The second doctor looked at the clock on the wall and replied, “He died at 11:32 p.m.

  ROAD KILL

  Matt and Penny saw the flashing lights ahead when they rounded the curve in the road in their Mercedes. Their high beams illuminated a young man standing at the rear of a Chevy Impala on the right shoulder. A jack rested against the back bumper; the trunk lid was open.

  As they got closer, the stranger raised his right hand into the air and stepped into the road. It was three a. m., and even during the day, this stretch of highway attracted very few travelers. Slowing to a crawl at a safe distance, they looked at the man with wary apprehension.

  “It looks like the young fellow needs help,” Matt said, carefully scrutinizing the tall grass and the ravine that ran along the right shoulder of the road for any sign of a hidden accomplice. “Should we stop?”

  “He doesn’t look dangerous. I’d guess he’s a college student with a flat tire.”

  The young man continued to stand in the middle of the road, peering into their headlights.

  “Do you have your pepper spray ready?” Matt asked, turning to Penny.

  “I do.”

  “The Smith and Wesson, just in case?”

  “Check.”

  Matt heaved a sigh of relief and said, “Then, let’s be good Samaritans for a change. It might be just what the doctor ordered.”

  The couple pulled in behind the Impala. Matt got out and greeted the stranger, “You look like you’re having car trouble. What can we do to help?”

  “My right front tire blew out, and I don’t seem to have a spare. A friend of mine let me borrow his car for the weekend.”

  “Did you call anyone for road service?”

  “No. The batteries in my phone died.”

  “I’m Matt and my wife, Penny, is in the car. We live in the area, and I’m sorry to tell you, there are no gas stations open around here at this time of night. The best we can do is to drop you off at a motel about ten miles from here.

  The man smiled and shook his head. Looking exasperated, he said, “That’s okay. The man who stopped before you came along pulled a gun on me and lifted my wallet and credit cards. I need to call my parents so they can wire money. Hey, I’m Bruce. I attend Bridgewater College. That’s where I was headed before I had the flat tire. Can I use your phone?”

  “This is not your lucky day, Bruce. We’re one of the few people in the world who don’t own a cell phone. Nonetheless, what we can do is drive you to the closest gas station with a pay phone. I can’t promise, but there used to be one there. Hopefully, you can call your parents collect.”

  Picking up the jack and placing it in the trunk, the young man said, “You sure are considerate people, stopping to help a total stranger in the middle of the night on this lonely road.”

  “Lock up your car and hop in the front seat. You’re tall, and there’s more legroom. My wife can sit in the back.”

  Bruce closed the trunk lid and locked the doors. When he approached the passenger side of the car, he saw Matt saying something to his wife who had already moved to the back seat. Opening the door, he said to Penny, “I’m happy to sit back there. Why don’t you sit up front?”

  Matt replied, smiling, “Bruce, you look like a fine fellow, but frankly you’re still a complete stranger. We’d feel more comfortable if you sit in the front.”

  “It’s okay, I understand.”

  The stranger wondered what the woman sitting behind him would do if he pulled the gun he had in his coat pocket. He couldn’t see her hands, but he didn’t think she would have a gun. He had rolled the body of the man who had picked him up into the ditch behind the Impala. He must have been a lowlife. He only had $25 in his pocket and a single Exxon credit card in his wallet. These people looked like they had a lot of money. He hoped he would find a way to get them to take him
to their house. This could be a big score. He decided to go with the flow and see what played out. He felt for the Glock in his coat pocket. He had six rounds left in the magazine.

  Finally, after a period of awkward silence, Penny said, “I understand you’re a college student who had a flat tire and no spare who’s just been robbed.”

  “In the time it took to lock my car, you already know my life story,” Bruce mused, turning on a little more Southern charm.

  “Matt said you need to call your parents. I hope the telephone is working at the station.”

  “Let’s hope.” Bruce replied, “Public telephones are hard to find these days. Everyone has a Smartphone or a cell. That is, except you folks.” They all laughed at the comment.

  Bruce really hoped the telephone would be broken.

  Ten minutes later, Matt pulled up to the telephone booth outside a dark, deserted filling station.

  “Just my luck,” Bruce murmured, seeing the out of order sign taped on the door of the glass enclosure.”

  “Look,” Penny finally said, “We only live ten miles from here. You can use the phone at our house.”

  Bruce tried not to show his excitement and replied, “I’d really appreciate it. I have classes tomorrow afternoon, and I need to get on the road if I’m going to get there in time.” In reality, he had never spent one day in college. He’d dropped out of high school in the tenth grade.”

  “Don’t worry, Bridgewater is only forty miles from Luray. That’s where we live. I believe there’s a Western Union store smack dab in the middle of town,” Matt added.

  A half an hour later, Matt pulled off the main highway and followed a private road through a grove of trees. A large house with its interior lights ablaze stood at the top of a high hill in the distance. Bruce knew he had hit pay dirt when he counted five garage doors on the right side of the sprawling mansion. He guessed the home had at least ten bedrooms.

  Matt pulled the Mercedes up to the front door. When they entered the house, Matt motioned to a room to the right of the foyer, “There’s a phone you can use in the den.”

  Penny asked, “Would you like a beer?”

  “A beer would be perfect.”

  “Do you prefer a particular brand?”

  “Anything wet.” Bruce answered, perusing the expensive furnishings all around him. His jaw dropped when he saw the largest flat screen TV he had ever seen. He knew at once, he had to have it.

  The light in the den was already on when Bruce walked in and took a seat next to a phone on a coffee table. After going through the motions of dialing his own number, he left a voice mail message after the tone when nobody answered, “Mom. Dad. My car had a flat, and someone robbed me. They took my cash and my credit cards. I need you to send money to Western Union in Luray, Virginia. I’m okay, but I really need your help to get me out of this predicament.”

  Penny placed an impressive, long stemmed frosty beer glass on the table. Bruce picked it up and took several giant swigs while he dialed two other numbers. After finishing, he said, “My parents aren’t at home, and their voice messages are full. I tried their numbers and left the same message. I hope they aren’t on vacation.”

  Matt and Penny looked at each other, and Bruce took it to mean they might be sorry they had gotten involved in his problems. Finishing his beer, he felt the weight of the Glock in his pocket and tried to decide if he should continue the charade a little longer or put a bullet in both their brains now.

  “Would you care for another beer, Bruce?” Penny asked.

  “I slur ood slike one,” Bruce replied. He heard the gibberish he had just said that sounded like he had a mouthful of marbles. The beer glass slipped from his fingers as the room started to spin, and a cloud of blackness enveloped him.

  Hours later, Bruce awoke strapped to a long table; unable to move his arms and legs. Bright overhead lights assaulted his eyes as he tried to remember what had happened and where he was.

  To the left, he saw a man he recognized as Matt standing over him with a surgical mask and a circular saw. Seeing his eyes open, Matt spoke in a soothing tone; “We’ve been looking for someone with car trouble who needed help for weeks. And Voila! You finally came along.”

  “The morning news said they found a man’s body in a ditch with a fatal head wound near an abandoned Chevy Impala on Route 211,” Penny said, coming into view from the right in a surgical gown with a scalpel in her hand. “I guess we took a chance when we picked you up. It just goes to show; you can’t judge a book by its cover. Well, at least, the story will have a happy ending, Looking down at him, and pushing back a lock of his hair, she added without the slightest trace of remorse, “At least, for us.”

  Turning on the saw, Matt looked down at Bruce like a boy with a new toy, “Do you remember the commercial that said, ‘A mind is a terrible thing to waste’? Truer words were never spoken. The brain is the essence of the human body. It’s what I need to put an accumulation of body parts from fresh cadavers into motion. The others brains I purchased from undesirable ruffians never produced satisfactory results, because, shall we say, they were damaged in transit, but finally, I have a living, breathing specimen to work with right here in my laboratory.”

  Looking past Penny, Bruce saw the Olympian shape of an enormous hulk of a man lying nude on the table next to him. He appeared to be at least eight feet tall. His entire body was a mass of stitches. His pale and discolored limbs twitched sporadically as if set in motion by periodic bursts of electric charges. In the middle of the thing’s forehead was a gaping hole with a series of veins and tubes dangling around it.

  Bruce tried to scream, but his lips were sewn shut. The pain was excruciating, but it only lasted for one swipe of the blade.

  THE CADAVER

  When Blanche, the anatomy instructor, pulled back the sheet, the young first year medical student recoiled with a gasp. The other students in green scrubs stood around the gurney and stared at the middle-aged corpse in a momentary state of awe. Despite the initial shock, they tried to stay as indifferent to the dead body as possible.

  “If seeing a dead body is that upsetting to you, Roberta, possibly you should seek another profession.”

  “I’ll be all right,” The young woman gasped, trying to catch her breath, “this is the first dead person I’ve ever seen.”

  “Really. You certainly must have led a sheltered life. You and Mark will begin by opening the chest cavity and dissecting John’s liver.”

  “John?” one of the students asked.

  “John Doe,” Blanche explained, “is the name given to unidentified bodies not claimed by family members in sixty days. That’s where we get most of our cadavers.”

  “He’s been on ice for that long?” A pretty brunette with blue eyes asked with a wrinkled brow.

  “At least that long. Your name is Florence?” Blanch asked, looking at her list. “Yes. Your partner will be George. I’d like you to dissect the kidneys for today’s assignment. I’d like a full report of your findings on the condition of the organ by tomorrow.”

  Blanch paired the others and gave them their assignments. Shortly afterward, she saw Roberta running toward the ladies room, trying without success to contain the vomit spewing everywhere in her wake.

  Working on cadavers who had passed more than thirty days ago depressed her. She believed the students could learn so much more if they could work on fresher bodies, but the system remained rigid on this point. To make matters worse, her state required a waiting period of sixty days, which was thirty days more than some other states. The waiting period allowed the cadavers loved ones to come forward and claim a body before it passed to the medical students. Sometimes relatives came forward after the dissection. Professors teaching anatomy always had to expect this eventuality in twenty percent of the cases.

  The most upsetting delay occurred when the coroner delivered the body of a homeless person to the morgue who no one could identify. In these cases, the prolonged wait made no sense. How could
someone come forward when the person’s name was never published? Blanche tried and tried to get her superiors to change the sixty-day waiting period on these cases, but to no avail.

  When she arrived home that evening, she didn’t feel like cooking. She shouted to her husband, Jeff, who was on the computer and her son, Max, who was playing a video game, “I’m too tired to cook. I’m ordering pizza.” After getting no response, as usual, she called in the order.

  When the deliveryman arrived, she called out, “The pizza is here. Come and get it.” After two more tries, Jeff and Max finally came to the dinner table and began to wolf down several pieces of pepperoni and mushroom.

  “Well, Jeff,” Blanche inquired, “tell me how your day went.”

  Wiping his mouth with a napkin, he replied, “Politics, politics. Everybody is trying to get the upper hand on somebody. I can’t bear to think about it. What happened with you?”

  “One of the first year med students had never seen a dead body before and puked all over everything.”

  Max winced as he put down his pizza slice.

  “Sorry, big guy, I’ll behave,” Blanche said apologetically. Max resumed eating after taking a swig of Coke.

  “I talked to the coroner again about changing the sixty day rule for homeless cadavers.”

  “I don’t give you much hope for that,” Jeff replied.

  “Why’s that?” Blanche said, looking perplexed.

  “How can you single out homeless people from your corpse supply not to come under the same rule as everyone else? It’s not politically correct. It would be cadaver profiling?”

  “I want to give my students the opportunity to dissect the freshest organs possible. When they become surgeons, they won’t be operating on dead people. When a surgeon makes an incision on a live person, he must take into account many factors to keep the person alive during the surgery. With a cadaver, nothing he can do will change the outcome of the procedure since the patient is already dead. It’s ludicrous to postpone dissection for sixty days when an unidentified person will never have someone come to claim him.