Category: Horror

He woke up. He was moving down. He banged his fists on the roof.

“Damn you!” he screamed. “Damn you!”

He fumbled in his pocket, found a matchbox, flicked out a match and struck it.

His vision blurred. He drew what air he could into his lungs.

Above him, in red felt-tip pen. ‘Tight arse couldn’t buy me a fancy coffin’.

Then sleep.

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He walked past the graffiti-laden walls, 36 steps, turn left, 42 steps, right wall.

Someone had stolen the bench. He felt the wall and floor. Click. The wall slid to the right. The dust drifted upwards on the disturbed air.

Nobody had found this room. It must have been 20 years. The door marked by them clawing from the inside. He could hear their screams. He could smell their fear. He would never forget. How could he?

Now they’d led him back here. The door closed quietly behind him.

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The train rocked. She woke.

“Look at me,” came a voice from the other end of the carriage. A lone passenger, watching her.

She avoided his gaze and stared out the window. She couldn’t place where the train was. Too dark outside.

“Look at me,” he said.

He was close, two seats up the carriage, moving towards her. She peered back out the window.

“Look at me,” he said, sitting next to her. She did.

Denver never did find her eyes.

I do like train related horror… Maybe too many years commuting on London Transport…  A couple more review thanks and shout outs for Seeking Hydra.

NotDonner of Dogtown blog post review
Layne of Chewing on Glass on Amazon

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Doris, 84, shocked to death by an electric blanket. She’d come in with black marks and burns across her face and body. Presumably, day shift had made her passingly presentable.

She didn’t notice the blood under the counter. Or the grin forming on Doris’ face.

She noticed a rustle when Doris sat up, but by then it was too late.

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She just stood there. Watching her.

The door handle was hot enough to melt her skin. Her right hand useless. Her left hand wrapped in a t-shirt. Better luck this time.

Almost blinded by smoke, she could still see her. She ran down the stairs, the heat singeing her hair. Her tear ducts couldn’t function. Her eyes were dry. She reached the front door.

She stood watching from the top of the stairs.

She was outside, coughing, lungs filled with smoke. She felt dizzy. There she was. Standing over her.

In lieu of Hydra story because they’ll be Monday to Friday this coming week, a Sunday afternoon horror story.

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He held the magnifying glass above the ant. Every time it started to burn, it managed to get out from the focus of the heat.

“Try pinchin’ it’s legs off,” said James.

He reached down, gently holding the ant under his thumb, and sheared each leg off with his nail.

Once immobile, the lens came back out, the ant began burning again.

Funny the things you remember when somebody has drugged you and left you paralysed under a glass roof on the hottest day of the year.

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He stood on the ledge. A wave of dizziness washed over him. He did a 2-step stagger, but remained upright.

“Once it’s done,” said Jake, “I get my old life back?”

“Of course,” said Lucy.

He looked at the concrete below. Closing his eyes, he took his last step.

Lucy looked over the ledge at the red stain.

“Should have specified which old life you wanted back,” grinned Lucy.

Another one of the original six horror stories I wrote. It found its way into my second book, the horror anthology, Capricorn.

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Cheers!