The Horror Emporium: A Horror Anthology

by K. A Knight

  I throw open the passenger door and climb onto the seat like I own the damn thing. Peering out the window toward my poor car, I realize my phone and everything else is spilled out in that floorboard.

  "You alright?" Patrick asks as he climbs onto the driver’s seat. Sirens sound in the distance; he must have called the police before he came after me.

  "Yeah." I nod my head. "I lost my phone in all of that."

  "You can use mine." He unlocks the phone and hands it to me with a smile on his face. "You never told me your name," he notes.

  "Oh! I'm sorry. Misery. I'm Misery Nelson," I rush as I dial Trey's phone number.

  "Hello?" He sounds hoarse, like he was sleeping. I raise an eyebrow but push the stupid questions out of my mind.

  "Hey babe, it's me. I wrecked my car on the way to the house, can you or Grant come get me?"

  "What? Are you alright?" Some commotion in the background makes it hard to hear him for a moment. "Shut up, asshole," Trey growls at someone.

  "You better not be talking to Grant like that," I grumble.

  "Your boyfriend is a dick."

  "So is my other boyfriend," I snap. My cheeks flush as I realize Patrick is listening with an astonished look on his face.

  "You're okay, right Mizz? Grant is already out the door and on the way. You know I—"

  "Ah! Yep, I'm fine," I rush out. I refuse to let Trey say those words to me, much less on the phone. He's been really emotional lately and it weirds me out. I love our arrangement and I don't want anything to change.

  "Okay," he chuckles. "I always knew you were a shit driver."

  "I'm hanging up now." I roll my eyes and press the end button, but not before I hear Trey cackling like a lunatic on the other end. I hold the phone out to Patrick and get my first real look at him in the light from the dash.

  His dark skin is clear, not a blemish to be found anywhere. Plump lips spread way for a bright white smile as his dark brown eyes crinkle with laughter. I had thought he was bald, but he's not. His hair is just exceptionally short.

  I bite my lip against my embarrassment as he takes the phone from me.

  "Well, that was . . . interesting," he laughs.

  "Sorry. My boyfriends are ridiculous." I set my hands in my lap, flicking pebbles of glass off my shorts and onto the floorboard.

  "Plural boyfriends, huh? Sounds like an interesting life you live, Misery Nelson." His face doesn't hold any of the judgment I was expecting, especially considering my Dad's outburst earlier in the evening.

  "Come on, the ambulance is here. They need to check you out and make sure you're alright. You were breathing in all that gas," he murmurs as his hand swipes some glass off my leg.

  My skin breaks out in goosebumps under his touch and I meet his dark eyes and my breath catches. I can see my reflection in them.

  "Are you folks alright?" a muffled voice asks from outside the truck.

  Patrick turns and opens the door at the same time I open mine.

  "Technically, you were breathing in the same gas I was, mister." I tuck my hands into my pockets as I round the front of the truck. A loud bang has me ducking my head as I look around for the source.

  "Oh shit," Patrick hisses, pulling me into his side as he crouches low to the ground against the truck.

  "Is that—"

  "The gas main," the EMT beside him shakes his head. "Looks like all our guys were far enough back?"

  "Yeah, I can see them all from here. She needs a breathing treatment, just to be safe. Oh, here comes the fire department now . . . " Patrick shakes his head. "Always late."

  "Shut it, Kemp! I can see the attitude from here." The firefighter hanging off the back of the truck raises his hand and points at the man beside me.

  "You know all these guys?" I ask in bewilderment as I watch the flames on my car grow higher. At least it had waited until I was out of it to blow up. I'm going to count that as a win.

  "Yeah, come on. They're going to shut this whole area down until the utility workers shut that gas main off."

  "How do you know all of them?" I ask again as he tugs me toward the ambulance.

  "I'm an EMT. I work with these guys. I took a few days off and you see what happens? A pretty girl tries to blow herself up."

  I shake my head, rubbing my hand up and down my arm as we make our way carefully to the ambulance. A utility truck pulls to a stop near the firetruck and men spill out, hollering orders back and forth between the two groups.

  Trey has been trying to convince me I'm pretty for years, and Grant has been trying for a while now, too. I'm still not used to it. Sure, I get a little bit of attention because of my mixed features, but I actively avoid men with Asian fetishes.

  There's something insulting about being targeted because of my race that sets me off. None of my friends agree with my aversion, but I think it makes sense, anyway. I yawn into my hand, the sound of the utility workers arguing with the firemen is a strange sort of lullaby. A truck comes squealing to a halt and I bite my lip.

  Grant. Oh shit.

  My big bear comes running through the group of public servants, making a bee line for me. Our eyes meet and I know it's going to be an interesting conversation. He looks equal parts annoyed and worried.

  "Oh shit," Patrick murmurs, squeezing my knee beside me. "He looks pissed."

  "He's protective," I sigh.

  "You blew up your car!" Grant is beside the EMT who's checking me out in about two seconds flat, running his hand down my face and checking me for any serious damage.

  "I didn't," I huff. "It wasn't on fire when I got out of it."

  "That's true," Patrick points out helpfully.

  I beam at him before I turn my attention back onto the impatient EMT in front of me. He's already wrapped me in a blanket, despite the heat, and is talking about sending me to the hospital for one thing or another.

  "I'm not going to the hospital." I shake my head, sliding the blanket off my shoulders and jumping down from the edge of the ambulance.

  "Ma'am, you could have internal injuries. You were also exposed to a lot of gas, you'll want to get checked out." The young man looks from me to Patrick.

  Grant's eyes make the same pass before he narrows his eyes on my new friend. His fingers slide into my pocket, tugging me closer to him by the denim. “You need to get checked out, baby.”

  I narrow my eyes on him and another hand begins circling my lower back. It’s easy to see the moment Grant realizes Patrick is touching me.

  His eyes slide from mine to the man behind me and I brace myself for the fallout.

  “Misery, who is this?” Grant asks between tight lips.

  “This is Patrick. He found me on the side of the road and—”

  “And now he’s touching you.” Grant doesn’t ask a question. I can tell he’s uncomfortable with the friendliness this new guy is giving off, but he knows better than to act jealous. Usually, Trey is the guilty one when it comes to that.

  “He’s being kind. I just went through a whole lot.” My finger pointed toward the firemen and the charred car emphasizes my words.

  “I’m sorry,” Patrick murmurs, taking a step back. “I’ll keep my distance.”

  “No, you’re fine.” I snap, looping my fingers through his. “He’s fine, right Grant?”

  “Mhm.” Grant narrows his eyes on the two of us before leaning down to kiss me softly. “Sorry.”

  “I’m confused.” Patrick squeezes my hand. The amusement in his voice is evident, even to me.

  “So, the hospital?” The EMT asks, a little nervously.

  “Oh, shit,” Grant growls, tugging me toward the truck. “I’ll take her.”

  My hand slips from Patrick’s and I look at him over my shoulder as I’m pulled away.

  His eyes meet mine and he smiles.

  I can’t help but feel like I’m missing something as Grant lifts me into his truck and buckles me in.

  “Do you want me to go get his number for you?” Grant asks, a sly smil
e curving his lips.

  “What? Yes. I mean. No? You were just mad he was even touching me!” My eyebrows cinch together as I try to work through whatever trap he’s setting.

  “I know, but you look like you lost your puppy.”

  “I lost my car. My phone. And all my shit.”

  “Lucky for you, you’re rich enough to buy new ones,” Grant murmurs, brushing a finger down my cheek. “You, however, are irreplaceable. So? Hospital. Do you want me to get his number for you first?”

  I chew my lip even as my face leans into his touch on instinct. I nod my head, acknowledging if Grant is okay with the idea, then yeah, I’d like to get to know this Patrick guy. It probably won’t amount to anything anyway.

  I love having my two guys around. We’ve never really gone over what dating outside the three of us looks like, although Trey has been known to do whatever he wants.

  I run my fingers through my hair as Grant jogs toward Patrick.

  Patrick flashes a megawatt smile as they shake hands. I’m too far away to hear whatever they’re saying, between being stuck in the truck and the commotion of all the emergency workers. A policeman taps on the window and I open the door, smiling at him.

  “I just need to make sure we got your contact information down right, ma’am. The insurance company will give you trouble if the report is missing anything.”

  “Of course,” I murmur, my eyes glued to the two men laughing some distance away. What on earth could they be talking about? I hop down from the truck with an oomph. I don’t know about any internal injuries, but I’m definitely sore after the crash.

  “Is this the right contact number?”

  A quick glance at the paperwork proves it is indeed my number. I nod to the officer and he mumbles something before moving away. I cock my hand on my hip, just watching the two men having a good talk. I notice, Grant and Patrick are polar opposites. Where Grant has long dark hair, Patrick has nearly no hair. Grant couldn’t be paler if he tried and Patrick has a rich dark complexion. My mouth twitches back and forth, watering a little while I watch them.

  Grant hands Patrick his phone and both men turn to look at me.

  Patrick smiles, tapping something out on the screen.

  I scramble back into the truck like a complete scaredy-cat and make myself busy sorting through the mess on the dashboard. Grant is a slob. He always has been.

  He’s also the best of the three of us. I’m a mess, and always have been. My family is complicated. My faith is shaky at best. Trey has emotional potholes miles wide. Grant knows his place in the world and is confident in his faith. He even drags me and Trey to church sometimes. That’s always fun.

  Going to church with both of my boyfriends. Yeah, the gossip we provide this town is priceless.

  The driver door creaks open and I glance at Grant from the corner of my eye. He looks very serious for someone who was just standing around casually with my adorable rescuer.

  “Well?” I finally ask.

  Grant puts the truck in drive, tosses a mock-salute to the emergency workers and pulls down the road in the opposite direction of my house.

  “Well?” I ask again, my anxiety creeping into my voice.

  Grant side eyes me with a smirk. “Take a look at my phone.”

  I snatch the phone from his lap and start scrolling through his contacts, focusing on the P section. A name stands out: Patrick Kemp.

  I smile to myself and lay the phone down. My head leans over onto Grant’s shoulder.

  He adjusts his arm so it comes down around me, chuckling as he turns out onto a larger highway, heading toward the hospital.

  “Don’t scare me like that anymore, beautiful.” His voice sounds serious, even though he’s laughing at me. It never ceases to amaze me how easily we fit together. There’s something to be said about opposites attracting, I guess.

  “I’ll try,” I whisper as my eyes flutter shut.

  Chapter 4

  Atropos

  My fists slam into the table, rippling the Oracle water. Misery Nelson stares back at me instead of my own reflection. Her bright blue eyes are tired, weary from her brush with death, but once again she managed to escape unscathed.

  “She’s truly favored,” Lachesis whispers as she throws another piece of popcorn into her mouth.

  “Why?” Clotho drums her fingers on her chin, staring into the bowl of water beside me.

  “What do we know about her?” I ask Lachesis for the thousandth time in the past decade.

  “Misery Nelson, no middle name. Born October 31st in Huntsville, Alabama. Parents—”

  “We know, we know.” Clotho opens her laptop, scrolling through the girl’s social media for the millionth time since we began this quest.

  “We’re missing something,” I sigh.

  Lachesis continues rambling in the background about Misery’s horoscope, her sun sign, her moon sign. She was born on Samhain.

  “11:11!”

  “What?” I turn to Clotho at the same time Lachesis does, our expressions mirroring one another.

  “A status update on Misery’s twitter. She shared a picture, a comic strip about making a wish every day at 11:11 and she mentions she was born at 11:11! How did we not know this?” Clotho turns toward Lachesis and I can see the wheels turning in her head.

  “She’s a twin flame. ‘Favored by the stars,’ Mother said. She literally told us—”

  “Yes,” Clotho snaps.

  Lachesis pales as she shuffles some papers around on her lap. This was a huge oversight on her part. I don’t blame her for being scared of Clotho’s wrath.

  I was the one originally vexed by the child, but when this became a family affair, Clotho had taken the lead—as she does with everything.

  “A twin flame, it’s so obvious now,” Lachesis groans.

  “Yes, well,” I cough. “How far are we from her polarity reversing?” When a twin flame is born, they are favored by the universe until their polarity reverses. This happens when they reach as many years as the date of their birth.

  “October 31st at 11:11. It’ll be her thirty-first birthday, then.” Clotho peers into the oracle water, sneering at the young girl.

  In this case, Misery was born October 31st, so on her thirty-first birthday, at precisely the moment of her birth—11:11—the favor protecting her from my wrath will dissolve back into the universe where it belongs.

  “Six years. She’s only twenty-five now, isn’t she?” I pinch the bridge of my nose in annoyance. Then it hits me. I can plan everything perfectly.

  “Six years is a long t—”

  “It’s perfect. Six years. I’ll end her beautifully.” I disperse the oracle water with my hand, the image fading into black balls of ink that sink to the bottom of the bowl.

  “I was watching that,” Clotho snarls.

  “Don’t care.” I spoon the ink from the bottom of the bowl into a vial labeled Misery. “Let the little whelp enjoy her twenties. Her thirty-first birthday will be the most fun we’ve had in centuries.”

  “I do hate the favored,” Lachesis sings in a childish tone.

  “She’s not favored by Mother.” Clotho is right, of course.

  “She’s still favored and I hate them,” I shrug. “Besides, she got glass all over me.”

  Clotho snorts and I glare at her.

  “I meant, how dare she defile the great Atropos!” Her voice isn’t convincing.

  My teeth click together as my fingers twist the top to the vial closed. This ink is special. We’d been using it to spy on the whelp for years and I wasn’t through watching her. Now that I know why she’s favored and when that favor will end, I want to learn as much about her life over the next few years as possible.

  That way, when it’s time to end her, I can make sure it’s poetic.

  Perfect.

  Something for the ages.

  Chapter 5

  Misery

  30 years old

  I roll over, hitting a hard mass which I can only a
ssume is Trey. I nudge him with my elbow and the answering groan confirms my suspicions. He must have gotten in late last night.

  “Shhh, you’ll wake the beast,” Patrick whispers.

  My eyes fly open and I’m rewarded with the most brilliant smile I’ve ever seen. Patrick has been sleeping at the house for a while now. Grant and Trey officially live here and have their own rooms. I’d given up arguing with Trey about the validity of our relationship a few years ago and let him officially move in.

  “Wake up, sinners,” Grant calls from down the hallway. “I’ve got bacon!”

  My eyes go wide at the same time as Patrick’s.

  “Bacon?” we both ask before scrambling out from under the sheets.

  I rummage for a shirt to throw on and catch a glimpse of a black ass cheek as Patrick rounds the corner into the hallway ahead of me.

  “Not fair! You have to have clothes at breakfast,” I grumble as I come skidding to a stop behind him. His bubble butt is just begging to be pinched as he does a victory dance, waving the wavy pieces of amazingness above my head.

  “Awe, don’t tease Mizz. It’s not nice,” Grant chides.

  “It’s not. I’m supposed to be loved and whatnot,” I whimper.

  “Oh, no, how could I ever live with myself if you felt unloved?” Patrick places a hand over his heart, handing me the last piece of his victory bacon.

  I reach for it only to have my hopes and dreams snatched away when he shoves it in his mouth and grins with a mouthful of delicious meat.

  “You ass!”

  “Now, Misery,” Grant murmurs by my ear.

  I turn into his hug just as his arms come around me. His hugs are the best. I love them all, as weird as that sounds, but I love Grant’s hugs the most. He always makes me feel safe, no matter what. He always has.

  “Say please.” Grant holds a piece of bacon, cooked just how I like it, just out of reach.

  “Give me the bacon or I’ll fucking fillet you,” I snarl. “Please.” I smile up at him with my most innocent face.