Harlan County Horrors (10 page)

Better them than me.

According to Warden Rose, criminals are like coal. If you
press them hard enough, they’ll eventually become diamonds. But
once in a great while, the Guardians find themselves clashing with
an unfortunate soul beyond help, beyond hope.

Hunter Hill is one such devil.

“
I
can’t give you back your family,” the warden says. “But I can give
you Hunter.”

So
about thirty minutes later, I’m underground, in a white room,
holding the warden’s gift.

Hunter struggles against the ropes.

Useless.

I
let out a primal roar, and judging by Hunter’s expression, I’m a
monster in his altered vision.

A
monster with black matted fur and metallic fangs.

Just like the warden promised.

“
Beg,” I say. “Beg for your life.”

Hunter trembles. “I ain’t playin’ your games no more,
Rose.”

“
I’m not the warden.”

“
Whoever. Just do what you come to do and let me back in my
cage.”

“
You’re not going anywhere until you beg.”

“
No.”

I
growl and slash his face with my claw.

“
Fuck you, Rose,” Hunter says.

“
My name is Samson Carter,” I say.

“
Don’t ring no bells.”

“
You killed my family.” I take the gun out of my
pocket.

And
how this looks to Hunter, I don’t know. Maybe I’m ripping the
weapon out of my flesh.

“
I
knowed you was Rose,” Hunter says.

“
Will you stop saying that?” I say. “I’m Samson
Carter.”

“
You got the warden’s gun.”

“
He let me borrow it.”

“
Nah, you'd never let anybody touch your pistol.”

After a deep breath, I point the gun at his face. “You killed
my family, and now you’re going to die.”

“
I
ain’t no killer. That’s why I got sent here in the first
place.”

“
Shut up.” I cock the hammer.

A
tear rolls down the bastard’s cheek, and he closes his eyes.
“Goodbye, Earl.”

I
lower the gun. “Who’s Earl?”

“
I
weren’t talkin’ to you.”

Again, I point the gun between his eyes. “Who’s
Earl?”

“
A
better man than you.”

And
I consider pressing the matter further, because I see love and
respect for this man swarming in Hunter’s eyes. And if this Earl is
a prisoner in this facility, maybe I could torture him in front of
Hunter.

The
warden would probably permit me that right.

But
I’m feeling more than a little tired.

So
I pull the trigger.

And
Hunter’s skull bursts with fall colors, dazzling my
eyes.

I
laugh.

Then metallic fangs gnaw on my innards, and I double over and
vomit.

I’ve killed men like Hunter many times before.

But
somehow, this feels different.

I
feel different.

And
maybe the warden was wrong about me.

Maybe I’m not brokenhearted.

Maybe I’m just broken.

I
try to stand, fail.

The
audience laughs.

I’m
in a cave, and Guardians fill the amphitheater risers, and Warden
Rose approaches me, smiling.

“
What am I doing here?” I say.

“
You’re here for the show,” the warden says. “You’re going to
entertain us with your comedy.”

“
What?”

Warden Rose helps me to my feet, then points his pistol at my
face. “Get on your knees.”

I
obey.

“
Beg for mercy,” he says.

“
Why are you—”

“
Beg!”

“
Please. Don’t shoot me.”

“
You can do better than that.”

I
force my hands together. “Don’t shoot me!”

The
Guardians laugh.

Warden Rose lowers his weapon and smirks. “You’re pathetic.
You know that, don’t you?”

I
don’t move a muscle.

“
I
asked you a question, Earl,” the warden says, looking right at
me.

“
What?” I say.

“
I
said you know you’re pathetic, don’t you, Earl?”

I
don’t know why he’s calling me that, but I nod anyway.
“Yes.”

“
Good. Now we can start the second act.” He presses a button
on a remote.

And
my mind surges with fear, and I imagine my body filled with
TNT.

But, of course, I don’t explode.

Instead, my Filter hums and drops off the back of my
head.

“
I
have some questions for you,” the warden says. “They should be easy
enough for intelligent young man such as yourself. Are you
ready?”

“
Yes,” I say, because he’s still holding the gun.

“
Who are you?”

“
Samson Carter.”

“
Wrong.” And he shoots my leg.

I
collapse, screaming.

The
audience cheers.

“
Let’s try that again.” The warden points his gun at my other
leg. “What’s your name?”

But
I don’t answer, consumed by my hatred for this man.

“
Hurry now,” the warden says. “Before your time runs out.
What’s your name?”

“
Earl,” I say.

The
warden nods. “Now tell me the names of your wife and
son.”

I
grasp at shadows. “I don’t know.”

And
in fact, I don’t think I ever knew.

“
One last question, Earl,” the warden says. “What’s your last
name?”

I
open my mouth to say, “Carter.”

Then the fog clears.

And
I know myself again.

“
Hill,” I say.

That’s the right answer, but he shoots my leg
anyway.

Just like I knowed he would.

“
Enough questions.” The bastard points at a space behind me.
“Let’s begin act three.”

I
look back.

And
John Miller, the curator, winks at me, standin’ beside a small
glass box.

“
Fuck you, Miller,” I say, and turn back. “Fuck you,
Rose.”

Rose chuckles, then flicks his hand. “Put him in.”

I
struggle against his foot soldiers.

Useless.

So
they get to work.

And
I think about what they done to me.

Raped my mind with their fuckin’ machine.

Made me act like ‘em.

Think like ‘em.

Even tricked me into killin’ the man I love.

I
shake and jerk with sorrow.

And
when they’re done with me, I’m naked, trapped in a much smaller
cage than I’m used to, tubes jammed in my holes and
flesh.

Rose faces his men.

Gives a big thumbs up.

Applause, applause, applause.

I
thought I knowed every nook and cranny in these fuckin’ mines, but
this here room is new. And I thought Angelica was dead, but there’s
her rabbit tattoo on the squashed body in front of me. I reckon
there’s at least a hundred men and women boxed up in here, stacked
on a giant circle of black stone.

And
I know Rose wants to keep us here for the rest of our
lives.

Because we’re troublemakers, the whole lot of us.

Unfortunate souls deemed beyond help, beyond hope.

I
added my name to Rose’s shit list the day I escaped the mines. I
knowed I wouldn’t get far, of course, but I wanted a victory. Even
a small one.

And
after I broke out, I had just enough time to write on that
log.

THE
MONSTER IS INSIDE.

I
reckon Rose thinks I’m referrin’ to him in that message, callin’
him a monster for all the fucked up stuff he’s done.

But
that ain’t it.

The
monster’s inside me. Inside all us captives.

Rose and his men don’t know that, of course. They don’t know
nothin' about the monster and the so-called anomalies.

They don’t know the anguish we feel with this energy gushin’
inside.

They don’t know how eventually, if we remain in this state
long enough, we transcend the pain.

And
when that happens, a monster transcends the earth.

And
fills us.

Sure, the beast don’t have black matted fur and metallic
fangs.

But
she’s dangerous.

And
as her electric fingers caress the curves of my tormented body,
trying to work her way inside me, I think about my childhood hell.
With walls and guns and sentinels. Even then, I knowed hell was a
prison built to keep certain folks out of heaven.

I
was a smart kid.

And
in my hopeful mind, I imagined myself breakin’ my mama out of hell,
and takin’ her to a cabin in the woods where we could live in
peace.

Back then, my mama was the world to me. Even after she
died.

Sure, I knowed she was a traitor. I knowed she defied the will
of the government. And I knowed she was the worst kind of woman,
because that’s what my foster parents told me. But that only made
me love her more.

I
loved her, and when I growed older, I did everything I could to
honor her memory.

So
when my government demanded that I fight in their war, I
refused.

They throwed me in prison, and I’m sure they reckon I’m a
coward. But what they don’t understand is that I’m a warrior at
heart.

And
one day, the monster, she’ll grow strong enough to free us from
these cages.

And
then the war will finally begin.

“
Trouble
Among
the Yearlings”

Maurice Broaddus

Maurice Broaddus works as an environmental toxicologist by
day, a horror writer by night, and a lay leader at The Dwelling
Place, a faith community in Indianapolis, Indiana. He is a
notorious egotist who, in anticipation of a successful writing
career, is practicing speaking of himself in the third person. His
stories have appeared in dozens of markets (from
Weird Tales
Magazine
to
the
Dark
Dreams
anthologies
to
Horror
Literature Quarterly
to
Apex
Magazine
), but it
should be noted that he only wants to get famous enough to be able
to snub people at horror conventions. His novellas include
Orgy of
Souls
, co-written
with Wrath James White (Apex Books), and
Devil’s Marionette
(Shroud Publishing). Visit his site so he
can bore you with details of all things him at mauricebroaddus.com.
Most importantly, read his blog. He loves that. A lot.

E
rnest
Mayfield raced across the bridge toward home, his world little more
than a jagged scar in need of suturing. Weathered hands had
hammered the narrow stretch of rotting planks together years ago;
now they were crisscrossed with newer boards. He ran along the
central beams placed on top in presumed reinforcement, despite his
pain and limp. His footfalls echoed along the scored wood like a
palpated heart.

He
slowed as he approached a rabbit warren of a home. Corrugated tin
roofed a wood-framed hovel, its logs cut, hewn, notched, and
stacked. Kudzu vine snaked along its side and threatened to digest
the entire structure. A string of gourd birdhouses dangled from a
pole. A little girl clad in a flower print Sunday school dress
paced the wooden porch in her bare feet, oblivious to the melody of
the wind chime overhead and Ernest’s nearing. Her eyes never met
his; her attention was on her doll. Its large eyes fluttered
noisily and its large bald head gave it an alien aspect.
Dirt-tinged fingerprints smudged its color to a dull grey. Behind
her, an older woman rocked gently in a chair.

“
What’cha doing, Ms. Clark?”

“
Sittin’ around watching the hippercrits.” Minnie Clark’s wet
black hair guarded a sunken face. Wizened arms, deceptively strong
as many a whupping had taught him, waved him over. Her breasts hung
like apples in the bottom of a gunny sack. A long gunny sack. “I
need to get the grass cut before it starts raining.”

“
Ain’t a cloud in the sky.”

“
It’s gonna rain tomorrow and we got a church meeting
tonight.” Minnie let the last plume of smoke escape her lips as she
studied him. “So what happened?”

“
Me and Uncle Russell had gone fishing up at Bob’s
Creek.”

“
No school?”