At The Edge of Night - 28 book horror box set - also contains a link to an additional FREE book

by Bray, Michael

  “I saw.” He said between ragged gasps of breath. “He said not to, but I saw…”

  “Where's your father Alfie? Where is he?” Sally screamed, grabbing him by the arms.

  “Oh, he’s gone. Gone and won’t be coming back.” He whispered, then began to cackle and whoop and twitch as Sally, in turn, began to scream for help.

  ***

  The funfair disappeared as fast as it had appeared. The following morning, all that remained was an open field littered with rubbish.

  Alfie spent the next three months in the hospital, and now sat in his bed, drooling onto his pajamas and staring at the wall. He hadn’t spoken since that day at the fairground, and the doctors said there was a good chance he would never speak again.

  Although he couldn’t tell them, he was just waiting. Waiting for his turn. Because he had seen what was behind the doors, and they had seen him. He drew breath, and turned towards the door to his hospital room to the sound that was drawing closer, his heart increasing in tempo, but it was just a nurse pushing a trolley full of medicine. She walked past the door without even looking in. He watched the door for a few seconds and then turned his attention back to the wall, where he continued to wait for that tell-tale clack clack sound of Mr. Ghoul’s ghost train to come and get him and take him to his father.

  THE BEGINNERS GUIDE TO DEATH

  Everyone knew the end had come. We saw it on TV, at first, and then we saw the same thing out of our windows in the streets. It didn’t hit home for me until I saw old Mr. Simms who owned the convenience store, on the corner eating that woman.

  He was on his knees, arms covered in gore as he scooped the poor girl’s innards into his blood-streaked mouth with a stupid, shit-eating grin on his face. I had known the old man for years, but to look at him through the gap in the curtains from my apartment, ( located in a, frankly, shitty part of town above a Chinese takeaway) I realised that the old man I knew was gone and whatever had been left behind was something else. It reminded me of the time I saw my father’s dead body in his bed after cancer had finished eating him down to the bone. I remember looking at the frail corpse and wondering why everyone around me was crying. My mother asked if I was okay, to which I replied that I was fine because whatever spark that had driven my father in life was gone, and what remained was an empty shell. That, ladies and gentlemen, was my first experience of dealing with death, and I'm sorry to say it wasn’t the last, which, in part, is why I’m writing this all down by candlelight so as not to draw attention to myself. See, it's dangerous out there. Not only with the dead things like Mr. Simms, but the looters, and rapists, and murderers who are using the end of the world as a green light to go crazy. I sometimes wonder if they have the right idea, and I’m the one in the wrong. After all, it might be better to go out doing something you love rather than hiding away hunched over a notepad by candlelight. Then again, maybe not. At least, I’m in control of my own destiny, which brings me to the reason for my scribblings this bleak Tuesday evening. Let me set the scene. It’s a little after seven p.m., and it’s raining outside, although that isn’t stopping the biters or the crazies from going out and looting the same stores for the hundredth time. There isn’t much left out there, but I think they do it just for the hell of it. I have been lucky, in that the takeaway which I live above had nothing of value to steal, so other than a few broken windows I’ve been pretty much left alone. Even so, I’ve barricaded the door leading from there to here just to be sure, and I have a ready-made escape route via the fire escape if I should need it.

  If I were to lean out of the window now, I would be able to smell smoke, rot, and blood, and all would be accompanied by the sounds of screaming, the crackle of fire, and breaking glass, so I pretty much keep to myself. My inventory, for those who are interested, is as follows.

  The trusty old Toshiba laptop on which I’m writing this. (70% battery power left)

  6 cases of 24 bottles of Evian water

  50 cans of beans (Heinz)

  26 cans of tuna (unbranded)

  40 jars of Kenco coffee (who doesn’t love a morning brew with the apocalypse)

  Assorted medical supplies (looted from the chemist)

  Three boxes of peanut butter snickers, one of which I am enjoying right now.

  Oh, I also have a syringe full of infected blood taken from the biter I killed a half hour ago, and whose stinking corpse is festering in my kitchen.

  See, I’m a realist, and as much as I thought I wanted to survive, at first, I realised that I was going through the motions because that’s what I thought I was supposed to do. Call it stupidity, or maybe there’s just an inherent flaw in human nature which makes us strive to do what our fellow man says we should do. But then I started to think about it, and asked myself, what kind of life would it be? Cowering in the dark, scrounging around for food. Sure enough, I have plenty of it for now, but what about when it runs out? What about when I have to venture outside to find more, or if one of the looters decides to burn down Mr. Woo’s takeaway above which I live? I thought about that, and then I thought about old Mr. Simms and that goofy, happy look on his face as he scooped out that poor girl’s innards, and shoved them into his mouth. He didn’t have any of those same burdens. He didn’t have to worry about those same things. He was happy. Content. Maim. Kill. Eat. Repeat. Simple.

  When you think about it, what’s here for the rest of us is no life, and certainly not one that I want to live. It was then that I decided to take action, and determine my own fate, and maybe, just maybe help those in the world who are tasked with trying to stop this thing.

  Good luck with that.

  So, my friends here is the plan. I will inject myself with the needle full of infected biter blood and log, for as long as I can, the process of change. A real-life human experiment which may or may not help, depending on if anyone happens to find these notes.

  If I’m honest (and since I’m here alone, I don’t see why I can’t be), I’m afraid. Terrified. But I’m not as afraid of turning as I am of trying to survive, knowing that I could starve to death, be murdered by looters or eaten by one of the infected. None of those scenarios appeal to me, and so I have chosen to go out under my own terms. Before I begin, I would just like to say that, however, you may view my actions, they’re not born from selfishness or disrespect. I love life. I loved living, but I also know that the world as it is now isn’t one where I want to be. In closing, wish me luck with this, and I hope that the notes which follow will one day help someone.

  Best,

  Gerrard.

  5:17pm

  I have injected myself in the right leg with the needle full of infected blood. I had expected to maybe go into spasms or convulsions, but other than the rush of adrenaline and fear, which I could almost taste, there was no discernible immediate reaction. Is it odd that I was a little disappointed with this? One other thing to note is that although I drew the needle full of blood from the biter almost an hour before I injected it into myself, it was still warm when I picked up the syringe, and it hadn’t clotted. Either way, it’s inside me now and my entire world has become the clock on the wall. I wonder if it will hurt when my body dies? Or maybe I’ll be like the plot of some Hollywood blockbuster, and find that I’m immune, although it’s unlikely. Lucky shit like that never happens to people like me. I’ll report back as soon as symptoms start to show.

  5:22

  I think I just felt the first symptoms. I have started to sweat, and my heart is beating way faster than it probably should – although that could just be the excitement/nerves about what I’m doing. I closed my eyes and tried to just listen to my body, to see if it was doing anything out of the ordinary, but other than my bad left knee and the sweats, it’s telling me nothing new. I am starting to feel a little jumpy, though, and my stomach feels greasy and tight, but again, that could just be nerves.

  5:27

  Something is definitely happening. I’m drenched in sweat, and my body is starting to twitch. Why is m
y heart beating so fast? If I wasn’t going to die anyway, I would be worried about cardiac arrest! Ha! Does killing a biter make me a bad person or doesn’t it count because it’s already dead? I keep getting stomach cramps, and I’m pretty sure the blood I injected into me is working its magic. I wonder how long I can last. I’m aiming for an hour, or as close to 6:17 as possible. We will have to wait and see. All I know is that right now I don’t feel too good.

  5:39

  Passed out, I think.

  One second I was clinging to the edge of the desk and trying to ride another wave of stomach cramps, and the next I was on the floor, curled up and clutching my belly. I thought I had been drooling, but when I looked at the carpet, I saw blood there. It looked almost black in the gloom, and I’m starting to think I have made a terrible mistake. The cramps in my belly are getting worse, and I’m starting to think they are hunger pains, although if they are, then canned tuna and beans won’t cut it.

  God, I need to calm down. My nerves are on fire, and my head feels as if it’s underwater somehow. Maybe a bite to eat could help these cramps a little? God knows it’s worth a try.

  5:44

  No go on the eating. With some effort, I managed to open a can of tuna, but as soon as that fishy smell reached my nostrils, I projectile vomited all over the side. That, in itself, was bad enough, but there was blood mingled in with the bile. It seems that whatever is inside me is trying to rearrange my innards, somehow. My entire body aches now, and I have had to take off my t-shirt, as it was clinging to me. For as wet as my skin is, my throat is dry, yet when I tried to have a drink of water, it was like someone jamming their fingers down my throat, and I brought it straight back up, this time with a few fleshy lumps of my stomach. I’m not sure what part of me it was. It was a reddish-pink lump about two inches long, but I presume it’s not vital to my ability to function, as I’m still here. Either way, the missing body part is here on the desk in front of me just in case I need it later. Good God, this pain is unbearable. I’m seriously considering abandoning this little experiment and chugging down the painkillers I have stashed away in the bedroom, although I suspect they won’t work even if I did.

  One positive note, though, is that I’m nearing my one-hour goal. It’s exactly 5:45, which means I have to last another thirty-two minutes to reach my target.

  6:01

  Somebody, please make it stop. Why did I do this?

  6:04

  My wife is alive.

  My wife is dead.

  My wife is alive.

  My wife is dead.

  My wife is alive.

  My wife is dead.

  My wife is alive.

  My wife is dead.

  My wife is alive.

  My wife is dead.

  I’m not even married. But I sure am hungry.

  6:06

  Please, just let me die already.

  6:09

  Swallowed all the painkillers. My body tried to make me spit them back up, but I refused to let it, counting backward from ten until they stayed in my stomach. I hope they take effect soon, and I fall asleep. My nerves are on fire, and I’m starting to see things. My father is here, and he’s been dead for ten years now.

  6:14

  Had a lovely chat with father. Told him what I did, then ate his face. It was delicious. Threw up all over myself. Just blood and sleeping pills.

  6:17

  There. That’s an hour, now please just let me die.

  6:20ish

  Am I dead, is this what it is? A perpetual agony? Is this hell? God, I’m scared.

  6??

  I'll fucking kill that old Mr. Simms. This is his fault. How could I know it would hurt so much?

  Bastards all of them. Hard to9 type now, coordination bad but I’ll xfc keep trying..

  6:666452rfgc

  So mch painm i.,. cnt stand.,fd mucjh morew…

  6:40

  I'll call him Bertie. Berhgie the biter who’s bloood I…

  No thast wojhnt work. Zdf

  How about:

  Bertie blod on a littel neesafdle,

  All I needfg to keep j me evil…

  Please just die.

  6:44

  Night fever, night fever weeeeeee!

  God I'm hungry. Something rare and bloody. Father agrees, and heeeeees been dead for years hahahah! gsth

  6:52

  Cant vbreathe5 i thindk thiss is it.

  how longhg did I lastg????

  I’m so so hungry, I think itsgd timew to stepkl outside for a bite to eat.

  FIRECRACKER

  Six minutes. Three hundred and sixty seconds. The human heart beats between sixty and eighty times per minute when resting, but I know mine is going a hell of a lot faster than that right now. It’s funny how you never think about time until you don’t have much left. But I’m thinking about it now, because in five minutes and twenty-eight seconds, the world as we know it is going to end.

  I know this because I made it happen. I’m not some lunatic cult member either like David Koresh of the Canadian guy who thinks he is Jesus. I’m just a man like everyone else, I’m just fortunate that the fringe benefits of my job have given me the opportunity to pull the plug on this shithole world that we live in.

  It’s funny because even as a kid growing up I think I always knew that this was my fate. We relied too much on governments without backbones who, when the time came, didn’t have the guts to stand up and be counted. Whilst my buddies were watching cartoons and riding bikes, I was watching the news as those people in power continued to flush the country down the drain. Even then it left a sour taste in my mouth and I knew what I needed to do.

  Four minutes.

  It's strange knowing what fate intends for you from such a young age. I knew what subjects I would need to take to get there, and I devoted myself to getting there whatever the cost. It was because of my complete dedication that I had no friends growing up. I didn’t need them either. I learned early on that most people are out for number one and will stab you in the back first chance they get. My parents and teachers were overjoyed and encouraged me to keep working hard. As I grew up, I was still wet behind the ears. I thought I could make a difference, I thought that by getting involved with these political groups that I could bring about change, but it didn’t take long to find that it was a hive of the corrupt, fed by the greed of those who wanted to increase their own power.

  The thing is, it would have been easy to join in with those tyrannical old men. They were the snake offering the tainted apple, promising the world if I would sell them my soul. I will admit to being tempted. I was young and hungry for success, but when it all came down to it, I couldn’t face the idea of becoming a member of that particular club, clinging on to power with one gnarled hand whilst I stuffed pockets full of cash with the other.

  Not likely.

  My decision to shun their invitations made me a target, but I was never one to shy away from a good fight, and so I used the public against them. It was easy to get them onside, because many of them, like me were sick of these people who were running the world into the ground. I told it how it was, I exposed their flaws, uncovered the skeletons they had tried so hard to bury, and the public loved me for it. One particular world leader made some derogatory statements about me in the press back in two thousand and two, but I wasn’t some wet behind the ear rookie anymore, and I arranged for a dead hooker and two kilos of heroin to be found in his hotel room. No matter where you are in the world, that would be enough to get you a stretch in prison, but this was Texas, and it was punishable by death. I pushed for it to happen. Not publicly, but behind closed doors. I schemed and whispered and planted seeds of ideas in the heads of the right people. In two thousand and four, after two appeals and numerous protests, he was sentenced to death by lethal injection. In public, I said it should serve as an example that nobody was above the law. In the circles I ran in though, people suspected that I had more to do with it. The disdain they had for me grew into
fear, and that suited me just fine.

  Two minutes fifty. Time flies.

  I had to dispose of a lot of people on the way up. Don’t be so surprised, though. I wasn’t the only one that got my hands dirty. You might say I was just as vile and corrupt as the rest of them, but I’m different. You see, I had that one goal, that one idea of what needed to happen if the world was to become a better place. I knew by then that words alone wouldn’t change things. Only action would do that.

  My only sorrow is that when the world finds out what I did when they really dig into my history, they will brand me a terrorist. And more than anything else, that concerns me. What I’m about to do is for the people of this world. It’s a chance to reset, to rebuild and make this world a better place. You might say I’m a terrorist. I say I’m a martyr. My wish is that I could be here to see what happens afterwards. But by now, they will know what I have done and will be coming for me.

  Two minutes left. I better hurry this up.

  The headaches started at around the time I announced my intention to run for president. By that time, I had two distinct reputations. One in the public as a golden boy, a smiling, baby kissing forward thinking symbol of hope. Behind closed doors and with those who moved in the same political circles as me, I was a beast. A monster. Someone to be feared. Nobody dared to make a move against me because they knew what would happen if they did. I made enemies almost daily, and I suppose it was inevitable that it wouldn’t be long until somebody decided to try and off me. It was July 11’ when I was at a peace rally in Chicago when some look tried to shoot me. He got two shots off from around eight feet away before security took him down. One bullet missed and hit the wall behind me, the other hit the silver lighter in my breast jacket pocket and ricocheted off to safety. The event that should have killed me only left me with an ugly bruise on my chest. I still have that lighter. I can see it on the desk in front of me, all bent out of shape and twisted.