Dark Tales: 13 New Authors, One Twisted Anthology

by Vincent V. Cava (Editor)

  "Anything," I said.

  A perverse hiss crept up from the drain and a terrible sense of dread took hold of me, but I noticed something else that had caught my attention. The fighting outside the door had ceased. I cracked the door and peaked my head out of the bathroom to see my parents on the couch, hugging and kissing as if nothing had happened. My mother’s face showed no signs of my father striking her. I closed the door as quietly as I could and approached the sink again.

  "That's amazing!"

  "Indeed, it is! But now you promised me anything in return, right?"

  "I- I guess…"

  Another teeth grating hiss emanated from the drain before the gravely voice spoke again. "Splendid, then I ask for three things as payment..."

  There was an exceptionally long pause.

  "What do you want?" I finally asked, hoping to break the incredibly unpleasant silence.

  "First, I want a glass of milk."

  Surprised and relieved that it didn't ask for something less obtainable, I hurried into the kitchen and poured a glass of milk. I brought it back into the bathroom and was about to pour it down the sink when the terrible voice roared up from the sink yet again, stopping me in my tracks.

  "No, no, no! Stupid boy! Leave it at the crawlspace door outside."

  The crawlspace? I suddenly became aware of the very real probability that whatever I was talking to was waiting for me in the crawlspace under the house. I was so nervous from the thought that I had begun to sweat, but aside from the leering uneasiness I felt while talking to it, the creature hadn’t yet given me a reason not to trust it.

  I went outside into the dark night and set the glass of milk next to the crawlspace door. I don't know why I waited, but for whatever reason I decided to stick around to see what would happen. The glass just sat there next to the crawl space door as I stood in the moonlight, anticipating some gruesome monster to come bursting out at any second. Nothing ever did though and after a few minutes I headed inside and made my way back towards the bathroom. I tried to ask the voice if it had received the milk I placed outside, but when I spoke into the drain my inquiries were met with only silence. Was that it? I thought. Could milk really be all it had wanted? A sense of relief washed over me and I hoped I had heard the last of the voice.

  The next morning when I went outside to pick up the newspaper for my father, I noticed the glass of milk was gone. It had come in the night and taken the milk. I felt my stomach drop when I realized I had promised to give it two more things. At that moment, I knew it would be back.

  A few weeks went by and my parents didn't fight once. They were happy – all of us were. My mother, father, AJ, and I had finally become the family I had always prayed for, but in the back of my mind I hadn’t forgotten about the voice. It hadn’t forgotten me either. One evening, I was awoken by the sound of a raspy echo calling out to me – beckoning me back to the bathroom. I followed, mostly out of fear of what might happen if I did not.

  "Are you there?" it said as I locked the door behind me.

  I leaned over the counter, "I'm here."

  "I have need for my second favor."

  "First, tell me your name." I demanded.

  "I have no real name, but some have called me the Skinless Man."

  "Skinless Man?" I asked

  "Yesss."

  I swallowed hard. "What do you want, Skinless Man?"

  "A lock of your mother's hair.” It answered. “Once you get it, leave it outside the crawlspace door."

  I was curious as to what it planned on doing with my mom's hair, but I was too afraid to ask and there was no way I was feeling bold enough to tell it no. For a week I stalled, trying to think of a way I could get a lock of hair from my mother without her noticing.

  In the mean time, the Skinless man was growing more and more impatient. "You've seen what I can do when I'm feeling generous,” it would snarl from the drain of the sink. “You don’t want to see what I can do if you keep me waiting much longer.”

  I finally worked up the courage to snip my mom’s hair when she was napping on the couch. I didn’t want my dad or brother to see what I was doing so I had to wait for the perfect opportunity, but once I was given my window I cut off a few curls with a pair of knitting shears and left it next to the crawlspace door.

  When I went out to check the next morning it had vanished, just like the glass of milk.

  Months went by before the voice would make its final request. Just like before it called me into the bathroom in the dead of night and told me its demands. This time it would ask me for something much more sinister.

  "You can't have my little brother!" I told it.

  "You owe me!" the voice growled.

  “I’m sorry. There has to be something else I can give you.”

  It went silent for a moment. Then spoke again. “I warned you before. I told you that you won’t want to find out what I can do if you make me angry.”

  An audible thud shook the house. I froze in place, wondering what The Skinless Man had done. The next thing I knew I heard my father’s voice coming from my parent’s bedroom. I rushed out the bathroom and followed his cries down the hall. When I got to my parent’s bedroom I found my Dad kneeling over my mother’s body attempting to give her CPR. Her face was pale white and her chest didn’t appear to be moving.

  “Call an ambulance!” he said to me. “I don’t know what happened. She got out of bed and just collapsed!”

  I spun around to see AJ standing in the doorway rubbing the sleep from his eyes. The noise had woken him up. My mind began to race. The Skinless Man did this, I thought to myself. I didn’t know what to do. In the heat of the moment, I grabbed my little brother by the arm, ran into the kitchen and snatched a carving knife from the cutlery drawer.

  “Is mommy ok?” AJ asked me. But I didn’t answer. To terrified to think straight, I lead AJ outside and sat him down next to the crawl space.

  "Stay here, if anything tries to hurt you, use this" I handed him a knife that I had taken from the kitchen. "I love you, AJ,” I said as I ran inside to check on my mother.

  "I love you too, big brother!"

  When I got back to my parent’s room, I found my mom standing back up again, catching her breath.

  “I’m ok,” she said. “I don’t know what happened, but I feel fine now.”

  My father called over my Aunt to stay with us while he drove my mother over to the hospital in order to get her checked out. In all the chaos, no one had thought to see if AJ was still in bed. Of course I knew he where he was; I had left him out there, with that thing. An extreme sense of guilt began to surge through me. What I knew what I did was wrong.

  Poor AJ. It wasn’t fair. There had to be another way. I decided to go back outside and take him as far away from The Skinless Man as I could. I thought that maybe I could reason with the creature, even take AJ’s place. Anything was better than serving up my little brother on a silver platter to…God knows what.

  I snuck past my Aunt and went outside. AJ was already missing. I could feel my heart shattering into a million pieces. That thing wasn’t going to get my brother that easily. If The Skinless Man had already taken him under the house, then I was going to go after him. I hurried over to the side of the house and got on my hands and knees, but before I could muster up the courage to reach for the crawlspace door, it started to jostle open. I jumped back, half expecting some hideous freak to lunge out at me from the darkness, however, the face that I saw emerge from under the house was none other than my little brother’s.

  "AJ!" I shouted with glee.

  I reached up and wrapped my arms around him. AJ pushed me back and began to dust himself off. I stared at him confused, wondering how he had ended up under the house. Did he meet The Skinless Man? If so, how did he get away? Then, he looked back up and slowly started to scan my body up and down. He smiled – the most wicked, spine-tingling grin I’ve ever seen in my life.

  In a hoarse, raspy voice he said, "Thanks for the
milk.”

  Tug-O-War

  Phd Girl

  My daughter and I used to have a little game that we enjoyed playing. She would grab my fingers with both of her tiny hands and try to pull me towards her, kind of like tug-o-war. I'd playfully resist in the beginning but of course in the end I always gave up so she could win.

  She loved playing the game so much that often times, if I wasn't paying attention, she'd catch me off guard, tugging on my fingers and inviting me to join in.

  "Not now, Sarah," I mutter as I feel her little hands pulling me once again. "I’m too tired."

  I open my eyes to find that I had been dreaming. I'm lying on the bed now, sprawled out, arms dangling past down the side, and eyes sore from all the crying.

  It’s hardly been a week since I buried Sarah, but I still feel the occasional startling tug on my hand. Every time this happens, I turn back with glee, only to find nothing near me.

  There, I feel it again. I glance down to my hands, but this time I see a pair of muddy hands emerging from underneath the bed, tugging me. I smile through my tears. “You know, dear, in the end I always let you pull me towards you so you can win...”

  A Nice, Romantic Dinner

  Willow Dempsey

  She hummed happily to herself as she worked on the finishing touches for dinner. After she had tossed the salad, she skipped to the oven and pulled out the oversized roasting pan. Still hot from the oven, she set it on the counter. Steam rushed out, and swirled languidly around her beaming face as she carefully peeked under the lid.

  "Perfect!" She squeaked.

  She smiled gleefully at her fiancé as he seated himself at the painstakingly decorated table. He chuckled as he took in the scene before him. The table was draped in a rose red, lace tablecloth, the center adorned with a small bouquet of simple daisies, and She had even set the table with their best China and cutlery. But before he could so much as form the first syllable of the questions surrounding their impromptu romantic evening, she quickly stole away into the kitchen.

  The first course of the meal went by as usual. She dished out his portion of the salad, and his chewing was only broken by a simple, generic compliment. By the time his plate was clear, She could barely hide her excitement. She couldn't wait to show him the main course.

  She carried the covered roasting pan into the dining room, placed it in front of her fiancé, and picked up the carving knife she had placed near the flowers. "Now," she said excitedly, "before you even think of carving up this masterpiece, I just want you to know that this is all for you." She smiled and planted a soft, quick kiss on his cheek.

  "Go ahead!" She said as she swept her arm in the direction of the roasting pan. As he cleared the lid from the bottom of the pan, his face was struck with a look of confusion, then complete terror, as the steam cleared.

  "Do you remember the time you took me to that beautiful beach, and promised me we would always be together?" She softly asked him. He nodded dumbly, his mouth agape. Her smile never faltered as she used the tip of the knife to gently push the singed auburn locks away from the face of her roasted masterpiece. "Well, honey, I had a backup plan." She whispered to him, and giggled as reality barreled into him, and knocked the life from his eyes. "Do you like it? It took so much planning, seven months of it, actually, but I finally pulled it off." She grinned even wider as she spoke, and then drove the blade into his mistress's grotesque, cooked head.

  White Coats

  Ashley Franz Holzmann

  I don’t have a lot I’d like to disclose, but what I will say is that I’ve quit my job, and I plan on staying on the road until it’s all over. Upfront, I want it known that I really hate ramblers. Nothing's worse than a guy who drones on and on, dragging on a story, when he finally gets his time in the spot light. I’m not like that.

  I used to be an average type of guy – same as everyone else, really. I dreamed like everyone else. I wished I won the lottery, just like everyone else. I wished I didn’t stumble over myself in high school as much as I did. Wished a lot of things could have happened.

  Sometimes, growing up, I’d have these moments of realization. You know the kind, a moment where you step outside of yourself – where you pause and reflect on how odd something you’re doing is. Like how everyone in our society thinks this or that is just so normal, but when you stop, take a second and think about it, nothing really makes sense. These moments came at the strangest time for me when I was a kid. Picture me, a child, walking into my parent’s room to find my dad with his head up my mother’s dress, or adolescent me playing an old school video game for a day straight just so a colorful box of text that says “YOU WIN!” would pop up on my TV screen.

  Those moments would come, and the pause button would be hit, and I would be able to see how odd everything was. Was I really expected to do things a certain way? Was I supposed to grow up, have two and a half children, and eat my wife’s pussy every Friday night before having boring, predictable sex? It seemed pretty odd from my vantage point – a ten-year-old sitting in front of a crappy 27 inch Panasonic television while Sonic The Hedgehog celebrated on the screen in all his 16-bit glory. Was that what life was about? Consuming entertainment? Was that the purpose? Sometimes I reflect back on the lonely little boy that I was. Looking for something to cure the boredom of childhood. Maybe that’s just a part of living these days. We force ourselves in front of screens, eating up these distorted, manufactured interpretations of reality just so we’ll have something to talk about with other people on Monday morning when we’re standing around the water cooler.

  Even as I got older, I would still have those moments where I could see the big picture – moments that made me pause and realize what humanity really was. We’ve spent so much time killing each other. We took turns rising to power just to fill up the tanks of our egos. Herds of humans. None of it mattered. Kings have died, empires have toppled, but the sun still comes up every morning.

  The greatest movie ever made is called “They Live!”. It’s about aliens - or whatever they are - taking over the world and using entertainment to control everyone’s minds. Billboards, television, commercials, they were all one big psychological setup. So the movie’s hero gets a pair of sunglasses that allow him see reality for what it really is. That the billboards all said stuff like, “spend money.” The commercials said the same. Shepard Fairey stuff before “Mr. Fairey” was a thing – the willful consumption of propaganda.

  We watch shows about everything. The sadder the show’s content, the more we want to watch. We like seeing people worse off than ourselves, we like see the results of misery. We don’t necessarily want to see the beginning. We’d rather skip that part. If we saw the reasons why a family became obese over time, that would humanize them and we wouldn’t want to laugh at their misfortune anymore. No, it’s better to skip to the good part - fat people are funny. Patient zero scenarios. Beginnings. That’s the stuff we skim so we can get to the part where the protagonist kills everyone justifiably.

  That actually segues well into what I used to do for a living. There always has to be a beginning to catastrophic events. Even if we try to avoid that stuff, it still happens. In fact, I wrote one of my dissertations on such a topic.

  When we were developing the strains; we talked extensively about how it could get out – the reasons behind such an event, the ramifications, the personalities that would have to be involved.

  We were contractors – some of the most accomplished in our fields. Well, we each had the potential to become accomplished anyways, but to be honest we probably all got hired because we were willing to work for the right price. We were hired by this crazy government agency none of us had ever heard of before. The organization apparently functioned somewhere in between the CDC and the military. Defense science stuff or something like that. It was hard to speculate, because they didn’t exactly brief the contractors on much.

  We worked inside a bunker. That part was actually kind of cool. The building we walked into
was completely hollowed out, but from the outside, it looked like a multi floored office building. The entire building was designed to absorb impacts from heavy gunfire, bombs, or anything else that could take out a bunker. Every major city in the country had one of these buildings and all of them were connected by a transit system.

  Yeah.

  Crazy.

  Now, I don’t really consider myself a whistle blower. I will say I’m on the run though. I know that a lot of the guys in charge probably aren’t too happy with me at the moment and I’d hate to find out what would happen if they caught me.

  There were five of us contractors. I forget the names of the others, but Janette always wore low cut shirts under her lab coat. She was married, so she was off limits, but that didn’t stop me from learning her name. It didn’t stop her from wearing those low cut shirts either.