He had never fired a gun before, let alone two, and the sensation was uncomfortable in too many ways to count but he was driven by instincts he couldn't bear to fight. Bodies started dropping to the ground, some grabbing at anything they could to stay standing but most falling without a fight. Blood sprayed onto nearby dancers, victims rolled on the ground helplessly as they clawed at the air, begging for help from their friends. The blasting music, the alcohol, the energy of it all masked the events as Otto emptied the clips into men, women, children, any poor soul who crossed his path as he forced his way through to the stage.
When the dead and dying did finally get their message across to the living, panic exploded in the crowd. A few oblivious party-goers refused to let their good time be interrupted but most felt, for the first time in their lives, a fear of death, and it was not a feeling they enjoyed. Otto had provided a spark, and as he stood on the stage watching the chaos unfold – as the scales tipped towards an uncontrollable riot – firing indiscriminately into those he judged as damned, he felt as though the Holy Warriors of the Crusades must have felt, or Missionaries bringing the Good Word to the savages of distant lands; he was above these people and it was his duty to put them in their place. As Otto was reloading, it was Edmund Fortnight himself who ended his assault. For a man of his age, his military training still held true and when he found Otto on the stage everything went from red to black.
***
Otto found himself in line. The baby blue walls to his sides reminded him of uncomfortable waiting rooms that herded its inhabitants and kept them in single-file fashion. People stood waiting for what seemed like miles ahead of him, and behind him more and more people were lining up. They were all naked, and while most seemed empowered by this fact, Otto and a select few had never grown comfortable with the natural contours of the human body and so covered themselves with their hands bashfully. Otto peaked over the shoulders of those in front of him, trying to determine what they were waiting for but saw only a blinding light. The pit of his stomach was in a tight knot as the full weight of his death settled in his mind. Despite folk-tales encouraging him to “go towards the light” whatever they were waiting for, Otto assumed, would not bode well for any of them.
Time has no hold on whatever state of being Otto belonged to now, and he found that the waiting didn't bother him so much. He didn't try to speak to his line-mates, everyone seemed content to enjoy the silence as the line shuffled forward in unison. Had he possessed a clock of some kind, Otto would have known a full week had passed before the avatar of the Reaper found him in the line. If Otto had any way of measuring distance he would have known he had only moved the equivalent of a half-mile in that time, but the light never seemed any closer.
“There he is!” The Reaper slapped Otto on the back as if he was celebrating some great achievement. The force of it almost knocked Otto's hands away from his body, and he struggled to keep himself covered. Otto found himself unwilling, or unable, to say anything, but the Reaper seemed to understand. “Come on with me, you get to skip to the front of the line.” They stepped out of line and Otto squeezed himself between the people still waiting and the blue wall. The humans were cold to the touch but the wall was pleasantly warm.
As the Reaper guided Otto along the twisting line of naked humans, he described the ramifications of Otto's actions. Otto himself had killed 12 people and in the ensuing inebriated chaos, 23 people were trampled to death in the crowd. Fires had started, both intentionally and inadvertently, and claimed 84 people by morning. Most still had yet to be extinguished and were only gaining intensity, an entire section of the city blocked off as the inferno gained strength. The Reaper predicted the many families who lost their homes to the blaze would be in line soon enough as well. The stage had collapsed, crushing 15 people. Edmund Fortnight assembled a band of would-be soldiers and went hunting for any suspicious looking individuals who could be the next culprit. They decided 18 individuals could have been associated with Otto and killed them before they could do anything. Other gangs had popped up and divided the city amongst themselves, leading to over two hundred fatalities in one single week as the witch hunt claimed anyone caught in the street by a rival faction. The world government, most having never dealt with violence on this level, began to divide amongst themselves as well. There was talk of war. The word itself made the Reaper stand up straighter, breathe a little deeper, as if the whole experience had been euphoric. Otto still followed obediently in silence as the light drew closer, growing brighter and the heat warmed Otto's bare skin. They were moving much faster than the line, a fact that Otto could not say he was happy about.
The conversation led to politics, which had never been of much interest to Otto, but the Reaper was positive the society built on centuries of peace would crumble soon. It was when the Reaper began getting philosophical that Otto grew worried, and when religion came up and the Reaper seemed to be suppressing laughter. They were at the front of the line now, and Otto stood before a closed door set in the wall. The light he had seen was shining through the cracks and the single, clouded glass panel set on the door itself. The heat emanating from the door was unbearable and the woman Otto budged to get in front seemed thankful for her fate being postponed, if only for a moment.
“The lights of heaven, the fires of hell,” the Reaper mused, “it's all the same, Otto. People are funny like that. You were the hero that saved their world by destroying their society. Life's funny like that, too.”
Otto knew that if he could speak, he would have had nothing to say. With a final pat on the shoulder and without so much as a single thank you, the Reaper opened the door and pushed Otto into the fires of the Sun itself, fueling it in the same way humans have been since the very beginning and the way they will until the end itself.
On A Scottish Night
Danatblair
Many of my fellow Midwesterners crave adventure. There's something about hailing from a land known mostly for it's vast, flat cornfields that instills a gnawing desire in the Nebraskan soul to experience the world’s exotic wonders. As for me, I wouldn't mind living long enough to see those uninteresting fields again.
Just like my classmates, I had grown up fantasizing about all of the other places I could reside. I stormed Roman Forts in my backyard. I sailed on missions of trade and discovery with my trusty cardboard spyglass. Once, I even flew a hot air balloon around my yard in eighty minutes. While it was easy to pretend to travel the world, in reality it can be very expensive.
Luckily for me, I had the grades to fuel my passport. After weighing my options I decided to spend a year in Scotland, studying literature. Scotland provided both an air of mystery and adventure. It seemed like the perfect place for a curious, young Nebraskan like myself to explore.
From the minute my plane landed my hopes were confirmed. Despite nearly being stranded at the airport for want of a taxi that accepted credit cards, I couldn't contain my excitement. I was now further away than most folks back home had ever dreamed. Every cobblestone I traversed was both an exhilarating experience and a brand new achievement.
Initially, all was well. Classes were exciting. The culture was a source of constant bemusement and delightful embarrassment. And most importantly, the people I was meeting were welcoming and friendly. It's amazing how potent a social life can be when staving off homesickness.
One particular night, my classmates and I were celebrating the end of term. Andrew had volunteered to host at his place since he had the largest flat. I don't know how it compared to the average flat in town, but next to my student accommodations it may as well have been a palatial retreat.
I can't recall exactly what spirits were available. I doubt any of us were all that clear on the matter, anyways. There was wine, some kind of rum, and perhaps a couple different bottles of vodka. As the only teetotaller of the group I mostly stuck to Vimto.
By the time the party had died down, several of my friends had passed out on the floor. David, having mixed his a
lcohols with reckless abandon should have joined them. However, he was a commuter student and had already rented a room for the night across town. Sometime after 2 a.m. he staggered out the door and declared his intention to get his money's worth by sleeping at the hotel.
I volunteered to go with him since I was still sober and my dorm happened to be near his hotel. The streets were largely empty by then. Most of the pubs and takeaways had closed already. Surrounded by solitude, we made our way to his hotel.
As we made our way down the street I spotted a woman a few blocks past where David was staying. She stood near one of the few pubs still lit. A pale blue glow from the halogen sign reflected off of the strange woman. Her pained, melancholy expression subtly beckoned my sympathies. I was tempted to venture over and see if she needed assistance, but I was already engaged in seeing a sloshed friend home.
"One good deed at a time," I told myself.
Before I could draw my friend's attentions to the mysterious woman, two figures tumbled out of the pub's front door in front of her. Despite their obviously unsteady steps, the shorter individual attempted to brace his companion against gravity's envious pull. Breath held, I expectantly flinched as the duo tilted toward disaster. With a graceful fluidity the woman stepped forward, grabbing them before they fell. Then, in one frighteningly swift motion she yanked both men into the darkness of the alley.
So entranced was I by the proceedings near the pub, that I didn’t even notice my friend standing in front of his hotel’s entrance until he spoke up.
"Well, I'm here," he said.
Snapping to reality, I stammered, "I'll be off then. See you next term." "Thanks for walking with me. "
After ensuring my friend's safe return to his hotel room I stopped at a kebab shop directly across the street for some takeaway. Despite the late hour, my mind sharpened at the scent of the chili sauce. While I had been enjoying exploring the menu, my time away from home had dampened my pent up need for adventure. Yearning for something familiar, I split the difference between the comforting pull of a favorite food and the urge to make the most of my time there by ordering a kebab pizza.
As I waited, I returned to the shop's doorway and stared back at where I had seen the woman before. The pub had since closed. Without the light from the sign the darkness had been given free reign in the street. I couldn't see well enough to tell if there really was movement by the alleyway or if it was a trick of the newly arrived fog. By the time my pizza was ready I had convinced myself that there was no one in the alley down the road. I paid for my food and thanked the clerk. I hurried as I headed home, spurred by the savory appetizing scent of the pizza.
Because I lived on the same side of the street as the hotel and the mystery woman, I once again looked towards the alley. Still seeing nothing, I crossed with expedient purpose. With relief I reached the other side. In a rush of elation I took a victory glance down the street at the alley. Color drained from my face as once again, I saw her, only this time she was alone. The tipsy pub patrons had not returned. There was only her, staring at me with a look of slight sorrow.
Her hair, still a slight electric blue, was wild and unkempt. She had a fragile vulnerability to her, yet I didn't trust appearances. I hadn't forgotten the missing drunks. And, I was even more unnerved by her luminous hair now that all external lighting was gone. I considered myself lucky that I lived in the opposite direction of her alley. We stood and watched each other for what felt like hours. Eventually, her figured vanished, consumed by the rolling Scottish fog. I paused as I peered for the mystery woman to return. There was no way she could have disappeared, which meant it was only a matter of time until she resurfaced from the veil. Yet, she never did.
I slowly stepped away from where I had last seen her. With the fog sliding across my skin, I turned back in the direction of my flat. The reassuring clacks of my shoes against the cracked cement and cobblestone help bring my world into focus. I savored the crisp night air as the chill crept up my nose. Each sense confirmed the solid reality in which I dwelled.
Briefly, I glanced at my shoes. I attempted to clack the tune of an old cartoon theme in a bid to amuse myself before I heard extra steps somewhere behind me.
Realizing I was not alone and embarrassed to be caught in a moment of whimsy, I sheepishly called over my shoulder, "They had Ducktales on this side of the pond, right?"
My awkward grin faded to confusion when I was greeted by a large horse slowly trotting my way. The fog prevented visual certainty but it appeared to be a healthy black horse that had gotten loose from some nearby pasture. Gazing at the creature my skin silently crawled despite my attempts at rationalization.
I took off, sprinting away from the beast. As I fled, I could hear the sharp sounds of pursuit increase to a frenzied gallop on the cobblestone sidewalk. My heart sank as I realized that I would never be able to outrun it long enough to make it home if I was to take my normal route.
My breathing stopped for a moment until I caught a glimpse of the public staircase in the park. I concluded that my hoofed stalker wouldn't be able to follow me down the steps directly. The slippery braes was not suited for quick pursuit, anyways so I dashed through the park and nearly slid down the railing as I made my bid for escape.
Despite the rain soaked grass, the horse was gaining on me as it ran down the hill. As it neared, I was able to make out enough details to know that whatever was following me was not really a horse. Its frayed, shabby mane looked to be composed of something that resembled seaweed and smelled of salt. A faint blue luminescence began to emanate from the beast with each approaching hoof-beat.
Having nothing else at the ready, I threw the pizza box at the ground in front of the beast. Caught of guard as it slid, the creature tumbled down the long hillside. To my surprise, the horse’s cries of pain sounded like a woman’s voice! I'd only heard the language in passing, but I suspected it was speaking Gaelic. I knew then and there that the creature pursuing me was also the same woman from the alley.
Despite landing in a heap, I doubted she was ready to give up her chase. The stabbing pains that accompanied each breath warned me just how far past my limits I'd already gone. Fortunately, the solid iron gates of the student flats were within view. I burst into the courtyard, slamming the gates behind me, and locking them as hastily as I could. The courtyard – the last obstacle between my flat and I, had never seemed so spacious and open.
Behind me, hooves rhythmically impacted on iron. The gate strained and whined under the assault, but I dared not look back to check if it would hold. The front door of the complex was all I could see.
Once inside, I dashed up stairs and through the heavy fire doors to my wing. The solid deadbolt sliding into place was just about to reassure me of safety, until I heard her song. I couldn't understand her words, but the melancholy melody gripped me. Compelled to confirm the creature's presence, I peaked out the window to see the same woman from earlier wandering the courtyard with a pronounced limp.
Her dirge continued, begging me to return to her. She started scanning along the housing unit's windows, searching for me. I went to close the curtains, but my hands froze. The sound of her voice had somehow washed away the fear and terror that was pumping through me. I no longer wished to run from her; instead, I felt a strange unexplainable desire to be closer to the strange woman.
How will she find me if I hide? I thought to myself.
I was about to call down to her, when the blinding headlights of a security car snapped me from my daze. I wanted to yell out to warn the guard as he approached her, but instead I shut my blinds and killed the lights. I sought refuge in the relatively sound proof restroom until daybreak.
The next morning the security guard's car was still parked outside. A pizza box, with a large hoof print stomped into it had been set carefully at the front door of the complex. I changed rooms following that evening, but I never go out at night anymore. I only leave when I’m required to be somewhere official. Every time I pass the
river's way, heading to class, I swear I can see her just beneath the waves. The same sad vulnerability etched on her face.
Kiss Cam
Emilio Alterman
Silly music played over the sound system as the Kiss Cam went from couple to couple. They kissed, hugged, and laughed while the entire stadium clapped and cheered them on. I hated them all. Every happy couple pictured represented the exact opposite of the relationship I was in with the fat cow sitting next to me. A hamburger in one hand, hot dog in the other – globs of ketchup and mustard leaked from the corners of her mouth and dripped down her double chin. God, what had I done to deserve this?
She’d once been the sexiest girl on the block, a real knockout. Men turned their heads as she would pass by and jealous women secretly longed for all the attention she got. Her silky hair, long and black, hung down her back, stopping at the perfectly round beautiful bottom that used to drive me crazy. Her flat stomach, toned legs, and the tight little dresses she wore would make every other man in the neighborhood burn with desire. Getting her into the sack was the equivalent of winning the lottery and somehow I was the lucky one with the winning ticket…until I put a ring on her finger.
Everything changed after we got married. The gym was no longer a priority, and the tight little dresses were replaced over time with baggy sweatpants and old t-shirts. Coming home to a cooked meal was about as rare of a sight as finding a unicorn mating with the Loch Ness Monster. Our house was dirty and unkempt to the point of where I dreaded returning back there after work.
Dark Tales: 13 New Authors, One Twisted Anthology Page 4