He took another couple steps towards the crate, unaware he was doing so. It was as tall as him, painted white with a picture of a small boy carved on the front of it. The crank was scraping against the box with every pass. That was the noise, but what was causing the crank to turn? The spinning stopped. Daniel realized with horror that the music had stopped too. The song had finished.
The top of the box exploded and two hands grabbed Daniel’s shoulders as he turned to run. They lifted him off his feet and pulled him backwards as if on a spring. He twisted around just enough to see the horrible smiling face of a clown. Its mouth was open.
11:00 pm
Aaron's alarm sounded. It was time to go. He had not found Everett or the engine room. He had been moving steadily for more than an hour and still hadn't reached it, it was as if the train went on for infinity.
He switched off the alarm. Now he had to choose. Get off the train or try and find the others. He looked at the exit door to his right. Would it even work?
He couldn't bring himself to leave the others. He turned away and moved forward to the door of the next car. Locked. That was weird, no other doors had been locked. Maybe it was just stuck. He tried it again. It still wouldn't work. He decided to try something he had always seen it the movies. He walked away from the door about ten feet and then started running. He lowered his shoulder aiming all of his weight at the point just above and to the left of the knob. He slammed into the door at full speed.
11:03 pm
Aaron crashed through the door with a thud, landing face down on the floor. The impact had knocked the wind out of him and he took a moment to catch his breath. He pushed himself up, still a bit dazed, and checked his head for blood. Nothing. He was okay. As he pulled his hand away, however, it stuck to his cheek.
He looked at where his hand had been and saw a strange pinkish moss. Cotton candy. It spread out from the pile on the floor where he had fallen and continued up the back of the nearby booth, engulfing the chair. It was climbing the tables, covering the walls, hanging from the ceiling like worn out party streamers. The whole car had a crazed pinkish glow. He got to his feet and began to make his way towards the far door, avoiding the pools of pink on the floor.
Halfway across the car he saw a head of curly black hair above the seat of the booth in front of him. Tommy. He moved closer, extending his arms to keep his balance as he stepped carefully on the small sections of uncovered floor.
“Tommy? Are you okay?”
Aaron stopped. Why didn't Tommy turn around? I just crashed through that door and he's just sitting there? Tommy's head was nodding ever so slightly as though he were chewing something. Figures.
A few more steps and Tommy came into full view. The booth was covered with the pink fuzzy candy, only Tommy's shoulders and head were visible. It was like a grotesque circus advertisement for children, a huge pink cotton candy ball with a child's bust on top. Tommy was chewing. He was eating ... something.
"Tommy?" Aaron stammered. The other boy just stared back at him, his mouth slowly and methodically chewing. Tommy's eyes were fixed on Aaron’s. He looked pained, scared. Aaron drew back in horror. Tommy wasn't eating just something, he was eating himself. Aaron fell back against the chair across the aisle, scrambling to get away.
Tommy's chest and head were not only all that was showing above the pink moss, but that was all that was left of Tommy. The moss was keeping him alive so it could eat him. It was forcing his mouth to chew and all the while shoveling different parts of Tommy's body into it. Aaron screamed and started tearing away at the moss around Tommy's face. Whatever he managed to take off though, was replaced immediately. Worse, it was sticking to him too. And it was now stinging wherever he had touched it.
"Hang on, Tommy!" he cried, ignoring the burning sensation in his hands. "I'll get you out!"
Everett crashed through the door nearest the booth and yanked Aaron off of Tommy.
"Stop it, Aaron! It won't work!” Everett put both arms around Aaron and held him back.
"What is happening?" he asked.
"Just keep moving," Everett answered, pulling him to the door. Aaron looked back at Tommy. Only his eyes were visible, but they watched him as he left, begging him to come back. They reached the next car and collapsed against the wall.
"Everett. What is going on?"
"We have to get to the engine car. He'll be there and that's the only way we can get off the train."
"How do you know that?” Aaron rubbed his hands together trying to wipe off the cotton candy that had burned into his skin.
"And how do you find the engine?" he continued. "I mean, how are we not there by now?"
"You're looking at it the wrong way," Everett replied. "It's not a normal train, it jumps around. We have to know where we're going before we go there.”
Everett reached out a hand to Aaron.
"Come on," he said. "I can't find it alone.” He pulled Aaron up and went to the door.
"Just keep thinking about the engine car. Picture it. Make that next car be the engine car. It's the only way."
They went from car to car, Everett pausing to take a breath before flinging the door open. Each time his face would turn from hopeful to distraught. With each failure, his glances at Aaron were turning into glares.
"Picture the engine room, Aaron. Picture it."
Aaron refocused his mind. How would the engine room look? They reached another door. Everett paused and closed his eyes and this time Aaron did too. Everett reached for the knob and turned it. He flung the door open and frowned.
"Dammit, Aaron. We're running out of time.” He turned and grabbed Aaron by the collar. "Picture the room!"
Aaron didn’t respond. He was looking at something behind the other boy. A coal stove. At the far end of the room there was a small stove filled with coal. It was burning steadily and gave the room a warm glow.
"Look, Everett!"
The other boy turned just as the stove flickered and disappeared.
"That's it!" cried Everett. “Come on!”
"What the hell is happening? It just disappeared."
"It means we're close. He’s close.”
They reached the far door.
"Do the same thing," Everett continued. "Just harder.”
They turned to the door. Everett grabbed the handle and Aaron placed his hands on the door. They pushed it open together. There was the stove, glowing in the corner. They entered the room.
11:53 pm
"He should be here," said Everett looking around the empty room. "I don't get it. He told me-" Everett stopped. He looked at Aaron.
"What do you mean he told you?”
"That doesn't matter right now," said Everett. "We need to find him before we run out of time. It's almost midnight. There must be another door. His door."
“You said you’ve never seen him.”
Everett was searching the walls, feeling around with his fingertips.
"Tell me who he is, Everett!" Aaron demanded. Everett ignored him. Aaron shoved him up against the wall.
“Who is he?”
"Well, well. He does have some fire in him.”
Aaron let go of Everett and spun around. The Ring Master stood in the doorway with a horrible grin on his face that grew to a smile when he saw the look in Aaron's eyes.
"I told you," said Everett, picking himself up off the floor. He didn’t look at Aaron. He knew what he would see there, disbelief, shock, betrayal; the same look had been on his own face six months ago. The Ring Master glanced at Everett.
"Tick-tock, tick-tock, young Everett," He said, tapping his watch.
Aaron looked at his own watch. It was 11:57. The Ring Master waved his finger and the side door of the car opened up. Everett nodded and headed for the door.
"Everett?" said Aaron.
Everett paused at the door, but didn't look back.
"I'm sorry, Aaron. Real sorry.”
He jumped off the train. Aaron ran to the door, but it faded ba
ck into a wall just as he arrived. He was trapped. He checked his watch again. 11:59. What happened at midnight? He waited. More than a minute had gone by and still his watch showed 11:59.
"It won't change, Aaron," said the Ring Master in a cold scratchy voice. His head was cocked to the side, studying his new subject. "That's not how it works.”
Aaron felt a twinge resonate through his whole body as the Ring Master put his hand on his shoulder.
"Aaron, my boy. My train needs fuel. By now you've figured out what that fuel is.” Aaron's mind flashed to Tommy in a sea of flesh-eating cotton candy.
"Problem is," the Ring Master continued. "I need somebody to bring them to me. See, the rules won't allow me to just come and grab you in your sleep. Where's the fun in that?”
The Ring Master bent down. His pale skin was pulled tight across his face like stretched out mask. His teeth were razor sharp and jutted out in all directions, as if set there rather than having grown out of the jaw. Finally, his eyes. His horrible black eyes. There was no life inside them, just a sick void that threatened to pull him in if he stared too long.
"You see, Aaron, you have a choice. I can't help what happens after midnight, but I can delay it for a while.” Aaron glanced at his watch. It was still 11:59.
"You can help me. You can bring them to me.” He was so close now that Aaron could smell the sick sweetness of his breath. The Ring Master ran his tongue across his lips. "Or not."
He let go of the boy and flicked his finger. The door opened and Aaron could see his house. They were back in the field. Aaron stared at the lights of his bedroom.
"How does it work?" he asked without looking back.
The Ring Master leaned down and whispered the instructions into his ear. Aaron could feel his breath on his neck. His skin crawled and a chill rippled down his spine.
"Remember, Aaron. You're mine until you find a replacement.” He twirled his finger and Aaron's clock started ticking again. Aaron jumped off the train as it turned to midnight.
Six months later, Aaron sat by himself at the far edge of the playground surveying his new classmates at Greenville Elementary. He hadn't had a full night's sleep in more than three weeks. Every time he closed his eyes the Ring Master forced him to relive the events from that night, to watch what happened to the other boys over and over. He needed to find a replacement. Nearby, a group of three boys sat playing a role-playing game, a game that required great imagination. He could hear them making elaborate spells and recounting detailed backstories of their characters. Aaron rose up and made his way over to them. Somewhere inside Aaron's head there was a slight tingle and the faint sound of circus music.
THE END.
SHOULD HAVE SEEN THAT COMING by Todd French
BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG!
Stan was halfway to the couch with his beer, remote in hand when the pounding came at the door.
Face fisting in anger, he put the beer down on the coffee table and tossed the remote on to the couch and strode towards the foyer and front door. The big yellow June moon sneered down over the tree-tops in the left corner of the bay window.
BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG!
“Okay, okay, I’m coming!”
The hell was pounding on his door at 10pm in the evening?
He stopped in his tracks in mid-reach for the knob.
Wait, home invasions happen all the time!
Warily, he pressed his face close to the spy-hole, wincing as if it might bite him. What he saw surprised a tired chuckle out of him and suffused his body with relief.
There, out on his stoop, jittering nervously in place, thin, dirty face crimped in discomfort, was a small boy, maybe eight.
“PLEASE, PLEASE, I NEED TO GO!” Came the boy’s muffled, desperate voice as he drew back to kick the door once again.
He tore the door open before the boy could start his barrage.
The kid, looking close to tears, hopped up in down, knees bowed in, body hunched over in the universal pose of someone needing to take a leak. Behind the boy, the moon-shot glowed like snow, the low-shrubs screening his front yard twitching with the ghost of a June breeze. The kid’s over-large white t-shirt was blotched nearly black in front, his jeans, just as muddy, the knees in tatters; his sneakers were mud-filthy.
“PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEASE-NEED TO GO, NEED TO GOGOGO!!!” The boy begged, ducking his head one side of Stan then the other.
Stan smiled, the tension gusting out of him. “Sure kid, come on in, the bathroom is down the—“
“I CAN COME IN?” The boy’s feet beat a tattoo on the WELCOME mat.
Stan shook his head in mock-exasperation. “That’s what I said—
He never finished as the kid bulled past him, made as if to break for the hallway on the left, and then turned and sank his teeth into Stan’s right side.
Stan tried to scream but he was stunned as he slammed down on his back on the foyer tiles, skull caroming off the marble as the boy worried at the fat over his ribs, his head thrashing from side to side, his long dirty nails sinking into Stan’s flesh on either side.
The air misted with scarlet beads. The floor and foyer wall sweated red.
Stan grabbed at the boy’s filthy long blond hair, trying to dislodge him, still too disoriented to draw in a breath to scream when the kid raised his face. The boy’s eyes were corrupt, shining pus-yellow, the teeth, double rows of meat-hung, brownish jags now slathered with blood and meat. Like a wax mold, the face slumped into grayish-blue runnels and grooves.
The boy clambered up his chest now, horrible teeth working like castanets.
Grabbing the kid under the chin with his right hand, trying to fend off the broken, raking nails, Stan was still trying to make sense of the attack when he heard—
Whistling from outside!
Blubbering in terror, the wet warmth pooling beneath him, the boy’s high-pitched squeals digging into his ears even as his fingers plowed his skin, he managed to turn his head.
Ohyesyesyesyesthankgod!
There, standing just beyond his fence in front of the walkway was a girl in her late teens, ear-plugs in her ears, school books clutched to her chest, her moon-blurred face contorted in a rictus of horror.
“Pleaseohpleaseohpleasehelpme,” Stan gasped, trying to hold off the snapping teeth and the claws that made divots in his chest and neck.
The girl, face still bearing a shell-shocked expression, dropped her books to the ground and in a single quick, liquid movement turned, bent and scooped up a large moss-pocked stone from his side-garden. She wrenched her ear-plugs out with the other hand in one brutal jerk.
The boy, too intent on his damage, had not seen her.
“Yesyesyesyes,” he wanted to weep and as the girl, features fixed in a feral snarl, dark hair flying behind her catching the starlight, cocked her arm back and ran up the walkway to where he and the boy struggled. One of the boy’s fingers laid open his cheek, tracing fire down to his jaw, but even so, Stan’s numb lips started to quirk into a smile. Moisture leaked from his eyes, joining the other moisture under his body.
The girl kept coming, the dirt-shellacked rock up-raised up for a skull-splattering blow. Her legs looked like pillars topped by dark tartan, her shoes surreal dollops of cream.
And then she stopped at the entrance, arm still cocked, face a raddled hag’s mask of fury and revulsion, chest rising and falling rapidly.
Whatwhatwhat?
“In?” She said, motioning with the rock, her voice soft as an elm’s leaf whip-sawing on the air.
“YESGODPLEASEGETHIM—“Stan stopped in mid-sob, seeing the kid (can I come in) once again, standing on the stoop, face pleading.
Then the girl smiled, and leapt over him as nimbly as a deer, still holding the stone.
She grabbed hold of his feet, pulling him back across the blood-swamped tiles.
Stan sank beneath the billows of merciful shock even as the boy broke his grip and sank his fangs into the side of his neck, tearing and worrying li
ke a dog.
The girl stepped over him and slowly closed the door.
While the boy made a ruin of his throat and tore off his right ear, Stan watched, vision blurring before brown and carmine stars, consciousness guttering like a wind-blown candle, as the girl went to her knees beside his head, smirking, flashing her sharp tombstone-huge teeth, her eyes going bilious green. Laughing, a soft huff-huff-huff sound, she turned and tossed the stone into a corner of the room at the corner light.
Her fangs punched through his eye as the light went out.
THE END.
THE FOOD CHAIN by Edward Ahern
Walter Peaked fished through the dawn without a hook up, and gave up at seven a.m. He set down his rod and picked up his paddle, his kayak's bow spinning toward shore and sliding in a familiar surge-slow pattern toward the beach. At a hundred yards from shore he noticed silver glints in the water beneath him. Bait school, he thought. But just then a shiny ten pound fish split the surface and arced over the bow.
It was a ranging shot. Bluefish leapt out of the water from both sides, snapping at anything their jaws encountered. As the blues slammed into him they sheared off mouth sized bites of skin and muscle. He screamed and began paddling as fast as he could get his muscles to coordinate. The relentless blues bit into his chest, back and head. Two flopped into the kayak's foot well and began biting off calf and thigh muscle.
He screams went unnoticed by the few people on the shore. Muscle cramps and blood loss slowed his progress, and the feeding frenzy of open-jawed fish intensified. He felt a twinge in his left hand and glanced down to see that his pinky finger had been nipped off.
Walter lost consciousness fifteen yards from shore and the kayak coasted onto the sand. Two orange-suited life guards ran down toward him.
The schooling blues hesitated only briefly, then veered off to run along the beach. Mary Perillo was the only person in the water, wading in water just over her hips. It took the fish four seconds to reach her.
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