Machina Mortis: Steampunk'd Tales of Terror

by Derwin, Theresa

  The monster looked down at his midsection and both watched as the gash closed, healing itself in less time than it took to cause the wound. The werewolf gave a rictus smile, its lips drawing back in a sneer as it sniffed the air, testing it for the scent of fear. The hyena laugh came again, and it raised its head and howled.

  Zachary did not let the opportunity go to waste. He threw the knife at the beast, and as it was knocked aside midflight, he closed the distance between them. The sword flashed as he attacked his unnatural opponent with a combination of blows to the shoulder and chest, jabs that came in straight, aiming for the heart. The werewolf blocked with a bracer, but the tip of the sword slid into the meaty bicep. Sparks flew with that cut, and a gleam lit the surface of the sword. This cut did not close.

  The werewolf’s howl shook the valley, as it reverberated through the chest and throat of the killer. Zachary did not let up on his attack. The werewolf blocked strike after strike. In the midst of the attack the monster slashed with his bracer, cutting deep into Zachary’s chest. Blood flew with the strike, and the warrior staggered backwards.

  “I am Lord of this land,” the werewolf growled, in a deep baritone that was almost unintelligible, “and some whelp shall not best me!” The beast of noble birth reached down and pulled the metal baton free of its thigh, and with a movement of a bent thumb, it crackled with yellow electricity.

  Charging forward, relying on its size and strength, the monster battered Zachary. The warrior blocked each blow with his sabre, and electric current traveled up the blade, numbing his arm and fingers. Within seconds the blade fell from his fingers, and his foe kicked at the sword. The ancient weapon caromed over the side into the deep canyon below. The baton flickered as it used the last of its power. But it had already served its purpose. The beast charged, weapon upraised, to either force the man over the side of the cliff of crush his head in with the steel club.

  Zachary, grabbed the forearms of his foe, who was stronger, and fell to his back. He kicked upward with his legs, and threw the beast over his head, and the edge of the precipice. The warrior rose into a crouch, spinning to face the cliff. Edging towards it, blood and sweat dripping from his face, he wiped the distraction away. His chest throbbed, and a piece of flesh hung loose, along with the shreds of his armor.

  He approached the ledge with caution, and was not surprised at what he saw. The beast hung by its claws, and leered up at him. The Lord flung himself upward with ease, bowled the battered man onto his back, and landed by the wall, leaving the wounded man by the drop-off.

  The werewolf reached for its last weapon with a slow and casual move, smiling through the bloody froth around its jowls, a low rumbling laugh issuing from its throat. “This will not kill you,” it explained, “merely make you unable to move so I may enjoy your flesh while you still live.” The weapon was clear of its holster, and it flicked a switch on it. Zachary could see the glass light with energy as the weapon charged for the shot that would incapacitate him. The warrior watched as the beast took aim.

  As the energy burst forth, Zachary rolled to the side, drawing his own gun as he did. A loud explosion of sound echoed as the cliff face lit up from the energy pistol, dirt spraying. Another explosion sounded as Zachary fired his own pistol.

  The beast stared at him with wide eyes, its clawed hand going to the center of its own chest. Blood trickled through its fingers, and it slowly slid to its knees. Blood crept between its canine lips and it spit on the ground.

  “I hate these things,” Zachary explained, holding the gun up for inspection, “no style. But they have their place, especially when you have silver bullets and I face a beast like you.” He fired twice more, into the skull of his adversary.

  Zachary watched as the man-beast twitched and convulsed its final death throes. Looking around he saw the flowers, and his knife. His calf, chest, and face pounded with each heartbeat. He looked into the chasm with a sigh; he would have to go down there to get his sword. Though it would have to wait until after he gathered his gear, and field dressed his wounds. It began to rain.

  ***

  “This one was not like any other. For he was not made, but rather had a mother,” Baba Yaga said, as she stroked the roses Zachary had brought, like a bride at her wedding, “he was neither beast nor man. Five generations of dog, wolf and man, and in a few minutes you destroyed God’s plan.” She cackled. “He worked long for what he had gained, all according to plan. The moon waxed full and his power was at its peak, but your weapons made his blood leak. Be wary of the effects his blood has on your own body, for you are in danger. Not just from it, but from a much more dangerous stranger. Oh yes, there is another that covets these lands and herd. Now my pact with that dark being neither has to be seen nor heard!”

  Suykimo and Zachary stood in the clearing where the hut had been, dazed and blinking. The woman and her chicken leg cottage had disappeared. They had nothing left but to return to the village with the news of the Lord’s demise. The villagers were free of his reign.

  The men mounted their walking carriage. Suykimo took the controls so Zachary could check and clean his wounds again; resetting the field dress he had hastily done after the fight. They rode in silence.

  They reached the village just before dawn, relieved to see that the watch fires were still burning. They were greeted by Oleksander and Fedir, who welcomed them with smiles and hearty cheers. When they saw Zachary they called to the women to help the warrior, and Elizabeth took charge of the activity. The men demanded to hear the tale, and listened spellbound to the encounter with the witch and the werewolf.

  A dark shadow roosted on the peak of the hall, watching as the villagers rejoiced. The heroes would leave as soon as they had rested, and then the village would be his to feed upon. In a swirl of mist the vampire flew into the remaining night, returning to his nest before the sun rose. Tomorrow, a new era would begin.

  Clockwork Carousel

  By Marie Andrews

  Chloe McDaniels sprinted through the deserted amusement park looking for a way out. In the distance, she saw the man who had been invading her dreams for over a decade. Only her blessed nights of insomnia kept him at bay.

  Fifteen to twenty horses whinnied as he cracked his whip into the air and brought it down onto their backs. Chloe cried out to make him stop, but the whip came down again, the snap sounding like a cannon shot. Around her the amusement park faded. She turned, hands outstretched, finding a solid wall of darkness. With nowhere to run, she willed herself to wake up.

  “No,” the man said. “Not. Yet. There is more to see.”

  Tears sprang to her eyes. “Please, no. I don’t wish to see more.”

  His laughter drowned out her pleas.

  He released the whip and lined up the horses. A large cauldron appeared, suspended in the air, and poured steaming golden liquid over the animal’s writhing bodies.

  “Please, stop,” she sobbed. “I beg you.”

  The man moved toward her. His half-charred face from beneath the midnight black hood revealed more monster than man. Brass glinted where skin should be. Bloodshot eyes bore deep into her soul and sapped her body of energy.

  “I’ll stop when you give me what I want.” The raspy voice sent chills down her spine.

  Thunder rumbled and bolts of jagged lightning sliced the sky.

  Chloe screamed herself awake and jolted upright. Sweat trickled down her face and soaked the collar of her nightshirt. She didn’t know what the man wanted. But she knew there’d be no more sleep tonight.

  ***

  “I’m too old for these things,” Chloe insisted, pulling her friend, Jess away.

  “Yeah, me too, but no one else is on it and besides, it’s free. Come on, no one will see us.”

  Chloe had disliked carousels since youth. The faces of the horses frightened her, all possessed and wild-eyed with their mouths stretched open in anguish. She could almost hear them scream, like the ones from her nightmares.

  “It’s just
a silly old ride, what’s the big deal? Just this once, please? It’s my birthday.”

  Chloe ignored her friend’s full pout, but the puppy-dog brown eyes were too much.

  “Fine, just this once, but don’t ask me again.”

  They wandered the empty carousel until they found a pair of horses they liked. Jess fawned over the white stallion with its silver mane of wildflowers, while she chose the small chestnut horse with a jeweled saddle. Climbing on side by side they ignored the leather safety straps and waited for the carousel to start.

  When the ride came alive, the horses made their ascent.

  Ever since her near fatal tumble from a bucking horse as a child, Chloe had feared anything having to do with horses. And that included carousels. She still felt the bump on the back of her head where she’d hit the ground.

  “Look, no hands,” Jess cried out.

  Chloe shook her head. “You know, for someone who just turned twenty-two, you don’t act your age.”

  Her friend’s shoulders bunched. “It’s all a state of mind. I’ll always be young at heart.”

  Lush classical music resounded inside the carousel and drowned out any further conversation. Chloe gripped the brass pole and leaned her head forward, its coolness giving her comfort. A gentle breeze swept through her brunette locks. Maybe the ride wasn’t so bad after all. She glanced at Jess and then closed her eyes.

  Images of the frightened horses from her nightmares raced in her mind, their panic-ridden neighs reaching a fevered pitch. The hooded man appeared, his lips twisted into a smile. He stretched a mangled arm beyond her paralyzed form and pointed toward her. The leather safety strap moved on its own and cinched around Chloe’s waist, pressing her tight against the pole.

  She opened her eyes and realized it wasn’t a dream. Her hands trembled as she fought with the buckle.

  “Let me out of this thing!”

  Chloe looked toward her friend, but Jess had disappeared. Blood stains covered the horse’s saddle where she’d been sitting. The horse’s sides were no longer wooden but moved in and out in a slow consistent manner. At second glance she realized the horse’s marbled eyes were gone.

  Movement from the center of the carousel caught her attention. A door opened and she watched the disfigured man drag her friend inside.

  Her pulse hammered. “Jess!”

  Chloe strained against the strap. The burnt faced man stared back with amusement, and then put a gnarled finger to his lips, “Shh.”

  Two round objects rolled along the floor like dice.

  He pointed towards Jess’s horse.

  Chloe turned and noted the familiar brown eyes with flecks of gold now housed inside the eye sockets.

  The carousel spun faster. Flashes of light and color blurred at breakneck speed.

  Chloe gripped the pole tight and clenched her legs against the horse’s body. The cries of the carousel creatures threatened to burst her eardrums.

  Words found their way out, barely audible over the frantic whinnies. “Please stop, I can’t take anymore!”

  Instincts begged her to cover her ears, to filter out the atrocious sound, but she feared letting go of the pole. Around she went until everything stopped, and the lights around the carousel darkened. She strained against the strap until it broke free.

  The dim light of the moon poked through the dark clouds and gave her a pale glow to see by. Streams of blood poured from the eyes of the horses and drenched the floor. Chloe slid off her horse.

  The thick ruby liquid rose over her ankles.

  She made her way to the center of the carousel and stepped into the tiny room, hoping to find Jess.

  ***

  Inside, Chloe followed a narrow entryway that led to a tall iron door. Carefully she pushed against it and entered a grand ballroom.

  Ladies dressed in elaborate Victorian gowns twirled to classical music, their hair styled in curls and coils with extravagant hats atop their heads. Gentlemen decked out in fancy attire with top hats and suits with cravats bowed to the ladies across the dance floor. Chloe lowered her gaze to the decorative gown she wore, noting the large bustle and her elbow-length gloves.

  A series of gas lamps flickered against the walls. On a small stage at the back she did a double-take. A man made of clock parts sat at the piano, playing with shiny brass fingers. His head spun to reveal two large gears for eyes. She turned back to the door only to find it had vanished.

  The music quieted and a bell jingled from the back of the room.

  An elderly man’s voice called out, “Five o’clock tea,” in a strong British accent.

  Long tables rolled out onto the dance floor covered in white tablecloths with silver trays of food. Chloe started to move out of the way when a man dressed in white blocked her path with a tea trolley. “Pardon me, miss,” he said and stepped toward her holding a cup and saucer. “Might you care for some tea?”

  Not wanting to appear rude she replied, “Thank you. Yes.”

  She took hold of the cup and saucer, careful to keep it from clattering in her trembling hands.

  Chloe stared at the rich brown liquid being poured into her cup. As she brought the cup to her lips she watched the color change into a deep garnet. Before she could comment, the man continued to pour until the liquid overflowed. The ladies gasped and circled her, eyes wide, frighteningly wide like that of the horses. They tilted their chins up, released a terrifying shriek, and fell to all fours. Their skin peeled away to reveal brass clockwork gears. Their faces and limbs stretched until they resembled carousel horses. Puffs of steam shot out from their nostrils.

  Chloe released the cup and saucer and it shattered about her feet.

  “Please, I want to go home,” she shouted. “I don’t belong here.”

  The floor raised beneath the horses. Brass poles descended from the ceiling and pierced the horses through the middle of their bodies. A large dome shaped roof lowered and connected to a series of rods that erected from the floor, creating an intricate clockwork carousel. Around her, the rest of the onlookers faded. The man in white tugged at his chin and pulled away the skin from his face to reveal the face she recognized in her nightmares. He pointed to a space among the other horses and said, “I’ve saved a special spot for you.”

  She stepped back and bumped into a wall. The layout of the room had changed.

  “Why are you doing this,” she cried. “Who are you?”

  “I am Dulan.”

  The name meant nothing to her.

  “What is it that you want? Why do you invade my dreams and frighten me so?”

  “You have something very important that I need.”

  “Tell me what it is and I will give it to you,” she said in a shrill voice.

  “It’s not so easy, or I would have taken it long ago.”

  Chloe wiped her eyes with her gloved hands. The carousel started up, sending billows of steam from the top of the rods each time the horses went up.

  “Please, I don’t understand any of this. I wish you would leave me alone.”

  The carousel came to a sudden stop.

  Dulan moved a step closer toward her. “Do you remember the day you fell from the horse?”

  She blinked her eyes, curious to how he knew of it. “Of course. It’s something I’ll never forget.”

  He nodded. “When you hit your head, you saw something that you shouldn’t have.”

  His words didn’t make sense. She’d blacked out on impact.

  Chloe shook her head. “No, you’re wrong. I didn’t see anything. You can check with the doctors at the hospital. I spent three months in a coma.”

  The grin on the man’s face soured her stomach. “Precisely. It was during that coma when you saw my plans. Plans that had taken me a decade to set in place.”

  Heat fanned her face. He didn’t seem to understand that she didn’t know anything that happened during those three months. “I swear, I didn’t see anything.”

  Dulan’s mouth formed a sickening scowl
. “You did, and you are the only one who stands in my way.”

  “Then take whatever it is from me, I beg you. If it means that you’ll leave me alone, take it.”

  “It will cause you great pain, my child. You will never be the same.”

  She didn’t see any other choice. A lifetime of fear every time she closed her eyes wasn’t a way to live. “I don’t care. I don’t want to be afraid anymore. Just take what you want.”

  Dulan raised his half-brass, half-flesh fingers before her face. At the ends were shiny razors. “I want your pretty blue eyes. What you saw will always remain within them. Once I have them, I can carry out my plans. And then I’ll be free.”

  Chloe licked her lips. Her pulse thudded. She couldn’t imagine life blind. Not seeing. Not knowing. Surrounded in eternal darkness.

  “No, please, not my eyes.”

  He reached for her face, cutting several strands of her hair with the razors, and caught her chin. Her body trembled in his grip.

  “I’m running out of patience, young lady. You told me to take what I want, and I want your eyes.”

  “I told you that I don’t remember, so why do you need them?”

  His lips thinned. “No one can know what I will do. No one can stop me.”

  “But I don’t know what you will do, honest. Please. Let me go. I won’t say anything because I don’t know anything. I beg you, let me go.”

  Chloe pulled back from him and then stepped onto the carousel. She ran despite her rubbery legs.

  “After all this time, you think you can escape me?”

  At his thunderous voice, the carousel started up. The steam from the horse’s nostrils made it difficult for her to see. Her feet slid along the blood. Chloe reached for one of the horses to steady herself and cut her hands to ribbons on the rotating gears.

  Dulan followed close behind. “Your eyes hold the key to my freedom. I will have them.”