Horror Stories: A Macabre Collection (10 page)

Amelia stared out the window with her
giant-sized headphones covering her ears and framing her
apple-shaped face. Her eyes were dark with bags like tire
tread-marks hanging below them. As if her sanity drove off in a
hurry and left her eyes behind, like misbehaving kids on the side
of the road. Outside the window was pure horror. Plumes of smoke
tried to smother the sun. The roads were full of cars going nowhere
fast. Most bizarrely were the things that used to be people, given
an extra dose of life with the unnatural side effect of an unending
appetite for human flesh. They were our bad habits come to life,
only they were so much worse. Amelia was convinced that her
multiple affairs caused the wrath of her God, and that this was her
punishment; to be working with the two men she chose to screw
instead of her husband. Neither man knew that the other had the
same taste in forbidden fruits. They were so different in life but
all the same underneath Amelia’s thick hips. All
yeah, yeah,
yeah
and
fuck I’m gonna cum
. She prayed over and over
again saying each time was the last and it never was and now she
was sorry. Really sorry, this time, honest, she swore. She sat down
and closed her eyes, her bee-stung lips parted as she took a deep
breath.

“In 5, 4, 3…” Patrick remained silent after
three but counted down with his fingers and mouthed the remaining
numbers. 2, 1, she’s on.

“I wish I could give you my usual happy
entrance, New Jersey, but I can’t. The sun shines on another day of
absolute terror as our loved ones and neighbors return to a state
of living death. If you’ve looked out your window lately you know
the deal and if you’re alive then you’re doing better than a lot
folks out there,” she nervously wrapped and unwrapped the headphone
cord around her fingers.

“This is our last broadcast and when it’s
over me and the boys are heading back to our homes to wait this
thing out. So, clear the roads so we won’t have to play bumper cars
later,” Amelia gave a nervous laugh.

Amelia continued her one sided conversation
for hours. Every fifteen minutes she would read off the list of
Safe Zones and emergency information that Morgan prepared
earlier—there had not been any updates—and every hour she replayed
the pre-recorded segments. She announced a music break and left the
listeners to hear
Strange Days
by
The Doors
as she
pulled a cigarette from a box in her purse. She lit it while
leaving the sound room, pulling a deep hard drag of menthol down
into the pit of her lungs. Morgan and Patrick followed right behind
her, lighting their own brands. Morgan was a Marlboro man, reds
only, none of that pussy shit. Patrick was a fan of Camel Joe;
otherwise know as
that pussy shit
. As they approached the
doors going outside they could hear a scraping noise on the double
doors. Amelia dropped her cigarette. Ash spun off the twirling
cylinder as it found it’s home on the floor. Both men bumped into
her, neither of them loosing their smokes.

Beyond the double doors, scraping at the
glass was a horde of the undead and leading the pack, with visibly
slit wrists, was Amelia’s husband. He moaned and the noise created
an icy cactus where Amelia’s spine used to be. She stepped
backward, her eyes welling up with tears.
It was all her
fault,
she thought. She never told him, but somehow he knew. He
knew she hadn’t been faithful, but he believed anything that came
out of her mouth. She made everything sound great—her voice could
put him at ease no matter how bad a day he had. Even this morning
when she chose work over staying home in his safe embrace. She
didn’t know it, but he followed her to the station, just to make
sure she was safe. He didn’t like the idea of her traveling around
when things were the way they were. When she pulled into the
parking lot Morgan had been waiting for her. He smiled like he was
impersonating a shark, then wrapped his arms around her waist and
kissed her deep. She grabbed his crotch and they walked inside in a
hurry. They would’ve gotten in a quickie had Patrick not beaten
both of them to the station. Robert, her husband, parked the car
next to hers and popped the trunk. He pulled out a screwdriver, a
tire-iron, and a box-cutter.

He punctured Morgan’s tires with the
screwdriver. Then violently smashed in his car windows, his chest
heaved with rage and his eyes fought back tears. His blood
continued to boil, even after demolishing Morgan’s car. He needed
more to destroy, his eyes fixed on the car he bought for Amelia. He
saw his warped reflection in the window and smashed it into tiny
jagged pieces. When he was done, he sat in his car. His hands had
cuts and scratches, the tire-iron and box-cutter sat by his side.
He tuned the radio to his favorite station and waited to hear his
wife’s voice. He wanted to hear her say good morning one more time,
but the words never crossed her lips. He took out his wallet and
looked at a picture from their cruise last year, her voice filling
his head, but he didn’t find it as beautiful as he once did.
Thoughts of killing her crossed his mind, but he thought it would
be more fitting if the blood were on her hands.

* * * * *

The Car

* * * * *

It drove past, cool and slick, the color of
wet night speeding down the drag. The shore kids looked to see what
metal beast roared, but all they saw was a blue-black blur, but
they could hear its engine purr.

Sally didn’t turn. Cars weren’t her thing,
and that was just fine. She was fine, no, better than fine. She
might as well have been Miss America but she wasn’t. She was the
girl next door. She was the girl who wanted ice cream at the
boardwalk and Tom was the guy who took her there. He’d take her
anywhere she wanted. He was good like that and she appreciated it.
They were good kids, but the boardwalk was full of the other kind;
the kind that gawked at Sally and said nasty things while she
licked her ice cream. Assholes, Tom thought. And he was right. They
were just two kids looking to have a decent time on a nice night
and not be bothered with asshole kids and bullshit antics. But life
didn’t always work like that, life did whatever the hell it was
going to do and you either got on board with that or you let it go
by. They weren’t given much choice.

Tom’s father had dropped them off. He’d be
back to pick them up in a few hours, but it was only ten minutes
before he’d wanted to leave. Sally didn’t care. She was used to
assholes. She thought most of the world was full of them. And she
was probably right.

They walked away from the troublemakers,
trying to make the best of it. Tom squeezed his fingers into a
fist, keeping it ready in his pocket. They didn’t follow, at least
not yet. The kids moved on to other prey, and they seemed content
with that.

It was a busy night at the boardwalk.
Everyone under the age of twenty-one was out tonight, and hormones
were riding high. You could feel it in the air. Everything was hot
and sticky, but kept at bay by the breeze from off the water. That
cool smell of seaweed, driftwood, and sand. The sounds of the wind
and the surf were smooth and relaxing, and after a few moments of
listening to it Tom relaxed enough to let his fist fall back into
being a hand and he used it to stroke Sally’s arm.

Sally had worked her ice cream down to the
cone. She had some of it on the sides of her mouth and Tom wanted
to lick it off, but he knew she wouldn’t go for that. That’s what
he thought at least, but she liked him more than she let on. But
what did Tom know? Tom knew nothing of girls; they were just a big
beautiful mystery. Even men don’t really understand women, its just
the nature of it, there’s nothing wrong with it. That’s just the
way it is.

They leaned on the railing overlooking the
beach. The night was early and the horizon was still mixed with
blue and purple and hints of red. It was really something to see,
and they appreciated it. The sounds of cars rushed by behind them.
Some of them roared, some of them whizzed, and some of them even
puttered along. Sally looked at him, wiping her mouth and smiling.
She didn’t want just ice cream tonight. She wanted Tom’s company.
She was happy he took her out tonight, but she hoped he would try
to kiss her. Maybe he’s just clueless, she thought, or maybe he’s
chicken shit. Didn’t matter though, Sally wasn’t. She leaned in,
her eyes closed, and Tom started shaking with nervous anxiety, but
he went in anyway. They’re lips met and Tom felt weak in his
knees—it was happening, he thought. The prettiest girl in the world
just kissed me, his mind went bonkers.

“That’s not cool, man,” came a snake-like
voice from behind them.

“Get lost man,” Tom said.

“Kissing my girl and telling me to get
lost?” The kid shook his head while the others at his side
grinned.

“I’m not your girl. Leave us alone,” Sally
snapped.

Tom stepped forward, his shoulders hunched
down and his fingers ready to curl up into a fist. Sally didn’t
back down, she stood her ground and looked the troublemaker dead in
the eye.

“Looks like you want to fight, now,” the kid
said.

“Not looking, but ready. We don’t want any
trouble. We just want to be left alone,” Tom said.

“Go ahead, no one’s stopping you,” the kid
smiled, “but my girlfriend over there has some explaining to
do.”

“Something I should know?” Tom turned around
to ask Sally.

“No. I don’t know this creep,” she said,
“I’ve never—Tommy lookout—”

The kid moved fast, landing a right hook on
Tom’s jaw catching him unawares and leaving him stunned. By the
time Tom knew what happened a second fist was coming at his face
from the same kid. Sally’s screaming filled the air behind him as
the rest of the troublemakers moved forward. Tom dodged the second
swing, sidestepping the strike and delivering one of his own. By
luck, Tom struck the kid square in the nose, and it bled like a
faucet. The kid clutched his nose and backed away as the others
swarmed in.

Tom swung again, hitting another kid in the
neck but not hard enough to hurt him. As he readied another swing
one kid dove at his waist tackling him to the ground. They wrestled
and rolled, flailing wild shots at each other. Sally tried to pull
the kid off of Tom, but she was pulled back by one of the other
kids. The one with the bloody nose ran to Tom as he was rolled onto
his back and kicked him in the ear. He kicked him again and again,
bloodying his shoe and leaving Tom’s face a bloody mess. Sally
kicked and squirmed her way free from the kid holding her and
turned to him. The kid was about to reach for her, when she reached
out and slashed his face with her nails. She scraped the kids open
eye and he dropped to the ground screaming obscenely about it.

The others paid no attention to them as they
worked Tom over. By now, people from the boardwalk began to gather
around and drew the attention of some of the vendors, and game
announcers. Sally ran toward Tom and grabbed one of the kids from
behind, digging her sharp nails into his eyes. It worked for the
one kid, so why not another, she figured. And sure enough, it did,
but this time the kid was able to land a hard elbow to her face.
They both fell to the ground.

The cars on the drag seemed to rev their
engines louder to make up for the noise on the boardwalk. Like they
were cheering on the action or trying to steal away the attention
from the crowd.

One of the game announcers left his post,
carrying a large mallet, the test-your-strength-type of mallet that
weighed ten pounds more than it should. He pushed through the crowd
of kids that had gathered, yelling for them to break it up. When
the troublemakers saw him they scattered, revealing the bloodied
Tom who writhed in pain clutching his head. He had at least one
missing tooth and a broken nose. Sally got up,, her eye blackened
from the blow and went to Tom’s side.

The troublemakers ran off the boardwalk and
into the street. A black car roared down the street, picking up
speed as they crossed the busy roadway. The car clipped one of the
kids in his leg as he was crossing the yellow dotted line that
separated the lanes. The kid flipped in the air, screaming as his
leg twisted and cracked from the impact of the car. He landed face
first into the pavement. The others didn’t even look back. Someone
from another car got out to help him. The others ran.

“You okay, Tom?” Sally asked.

“Do I look okay?”

“No. You look terrible,” she replied.

“Too terrible to kiss,” he asked.

“No, not that terrible, but not until you
clean up that blood,” she smiled.

“Your eye,” Tom noticed, “what happened to
your eye?”

“One of those jerks hit me.”

“What assholes!”

“Yeah, but the hell with them, they’re gone,
now,” she tried to smile.

“I guess.”

The game announcer brought a rag with some
ice in it. Tom took it, thanked the man and began applying it to
his face.

The kid with the bloody nose led the charge
through a parking lot just past the street. Two others followed
behind, slowly losing speed.

“I think Nick got pinched,” one of the kids
called out.

“Screw ‘em, keep moving…I think we killed
that fuck on the boardwalk,” the kid with the bloody nose said.

“You think so?”

“Yeah, he wasn’t moving.”

At the end of the lot a shimmering ink-spot
of a car appeared with bright lights that seemed to hover just
above the ground. Its engine rattled with precision and when the
driver revved it, it roared like a cougar. It accelerated toward
the three kids as their run turned into a walk. It accelerated
faster than any car should’ve been able to. It struck all three of
the kids, knocking them down like bowling pins. The kid with the
bloody nose lie mangled on the street. His neck broken and his arm
twisted in an unnatural postmortem pose. The other two lie next to
each other, one unconscious but still breathing and the other on
his side clutching at his leg. The car slowly backed up, purring
like a cat that had just been fed. The kid that was still awake
tried to look into the window at the driver, but all he could see
was blackness, like the car was one big wet shadow. He couldn’t
make out what make or model it was. He wasn’t even sure if what he
saw was real. Then the car sped away, kicking up a trail of dust
and dirt. The kid coughed and then tried to wake up his friend, as
the dead one seemed to stare at them from the other side of the
strip.