Quarter to Midnight: Fifteen Horror Short Stories

by Darcy Coates

  Helen shook her head slowly, indicating that she didn’t understand what he was implying. The man reached forward, digging through the litter on the passenger seat, and Helen reflexively took a half-step back. He was only searching for a cigarette box, though, and when he’d found one that wasn’t empty, he pulled out one of the rolls and clamped it between his cracked lips.

  “A more immediate concern for you, at least, is the sinkholes.” He cupped one hand around the cigarette as he lit it, then took a long drag and blew the smoke out of the open windows. It occurred to Helen that the shrunken head might not have been that brown when the man had bought it. “Lots of sinkholes around here. They’re hard to see in the day, and even harder at night. You’ll want to be careful.”

  “Okay.” Helen shifted uneasily and glanced at the road to her left, where she could still see the lip of the ridge, silhouetted in the fading light. “How far’s the next town?”

  “Augh, it’d have to be—what? Twenty minutes’ drive.” Another puff of smoke, then he raised his eyebrows at her. “Want a lift?”

  “No. But thank you for offering.”

  Again his single working eye roved over her, assessing her dirty sneakers, jeans, light cardigan, and near-empty bottle of water. “You sure about that? It’ll be a bit of a hike for a little lady like you.”

  “I’m sure.” Helen put as much force into her voice as she could and managed to flash him a tight smile. “Completely sure.”

  “Suit yourself.” He moved the cigarette to the other side of his mouth and turned back to the steering wheel. “Watch out for those sinkholes, now. They’re hard to see.”

  “I will.”

  The sound of the ute’s revving engine grated at Helen’s nerves, and the vehicle picked up speed as it followed the road towards the ridge. Helen watched it until it had disappeared, then she let her breath out and sagged.

  She wasn’t dead, kidnapped, skinned, or any of the other terrible possibilities she’d been preparing for. If the man had been telling the truth, the town would still be a few hours’ walk away, but that was bearable. Helen drained her bottle then screwed its cap back on and began following the road.

  The sounds had changed. With the end of daylight and the emergence of a smattering of weak stars, new insects had started a shrill song. An owl called from behind her, and one of its companions to her right answered. Helen had to slow her pace and focus on where she was walking to make sure she didn’t step on a loose stone and twist her ankle.

  There was a strange, dark patch in the ground ahead of her, mingling with the weeds and pressing against the side of the road. It looked like a shadow, but there was nothing to cast it. Helen had to crouch down in front of it before she recognised what it was: a hole. Plants and vines grew so heavily around its edge that it was almost perfectly camouflaged in the bad light. It was at least two meters wide and three meters long. Helen leaned over its edge to see how far down it went, but she couldn’t see for more than a few feet.

  Watch out for those sinkholes, now.

  The water bottle was empty and would have been just useless luggage for the rest of her walk. Helen dropped it into the hole and listened to the hollow tap as it hit the sides again… and again… and again, before fading from her hearing.

  “Damn,” Helen muttered, sitting back on her haunches. The old man had been right; sinkholes like this were a hazard for anyone walking the roads in poor light—or anyone who wasn’t paying attention to the road, for that matter.

  Helen glanced behind herself, to the spot where the ute had pulled alongside her. She’d been running in this direction, keeping off the road so that the ute couldn’t easily hit her. It was a miracle she hadn’t fallen into the sinkhole.

  Suddenly uneasy, Helen stood up. She had barely a second to realise the ground was shifting under her feet, collapsing as the ledge she hadn’t realised she was standing on crumbled, and then—

  The rock was poking into her shoulder. Helen groaned. Her whole body ached as though she’d been hit by a truck… or fallen down a very steep incline.

  She sat up slowly, waiting for the dizziness to pass. The light was fading as twilight converted day into night. To her left was the grizzled tree poking out of the marshes. Helen put her hand out to where she already knew her bottle would be and picked it up, feeling the water slosh inside it.

  This can’t be happening.

  She sat where she was for a long time, waiting for the aches to ease as she listened to the hiss of insects and the bird of prey’s single call. When she saw the ute top the ridge farther down the road, she carefully got to her feet, brushing her hands over her jeans to clean off the worst of the dust.

  The ute pulled up beside her, and its haggard occupant focussed his one good eye on her. “Found a problem, miss?”

  Helen hesitated only for a second before answering. “Yes, actually. Can I get a ride into town?”

  He gazed at her for a moment, taking her measure, before saying, “Sure thing. Hop in.”

  She opened the door and waited for him to scoop the litter off the passenger seat. The shrunken head rotated slowly until its stitched-closed eyes were facing Helen, then it continued to turn to survey the road. Helen climbed into the ute and pulled on her seatbelt.

  “Where’re you heading to?”

  “Town,” Helen said simply, watching as the twilight gradually eased the landscape into darkness, her half-full water bottle clasped in her lap with both hands. “As quickly as you can, please.”

  “Sure thing, miss.” The man pressed down on the accelerator, and the vehicle ground forward, its engine’s noise rattling at Helen’s nerves. “Best to move through this part of the country as quick as you can, anyhow.”

  MANNERING HOUSE

  Mannering House loomed above us. The four-story building must have been decadent at one time, but half a century of neglect had left it dilapidated and crumbling. Someone had nailed weather-stained wood over the lower windows, and the porch seemed to sag into the moonlit, overgrown lawn. My eyes were drawn to the highest room, the attic, where a curtain fluttered in the open window.

  I glanced at my three companions. Sanjit had his arm around Tara’s shoulders, while Joseph swung his torch in erratic arcs as he led us up the dirt path towards the house.

  “We could go to a movie instead,” Tara said, unable to keep the frightened squeak out of her voice. “I hear the theatre is delightfully ghost free.”

  “Relax,” Joseph drawled, extending the last syllable as he jogged up the porch’s steps. “This’ll only take a minute.”

  The door’s locks had been broken years ago—probably by looters or curious teenagers like us—and the carved wood slab drew open with a low groan. Sanjit hesitated on the threshold. “Someone probably owns this place.”

  Joseph gave his friend’s shoulder a light punch then stepped into the vast, shadowed entryway. “Shush, no one cares.”

  The bare rooms were dim and musty. I glanced to the right, into the living room, where knives of moonlight speared through gaps in the windows’ boards.

  “I hate this place,” Tara whispered.

  “Me too.” I wrapped my arms around my torso as I reluctantly followed my companions deeper into the building.

  “You guys know the story, right?” Joseph asked, beckoning us towards the stairs. His delighted eyes landed on Sanjit, who sighed.

  “You know I only moved here last year. Go on, then; tell me.”

  Joseph beamed and began to jog up the narrow stairway, which creaked under his weight. “Well, this place used to belong to the Mannering family. They were a pretty big clan in the eighteen hundreds, but most of them died at the turn of the century.” He raised his eyebrows. “Some people say they were cursed.”

  “Some people” was Joseph, for the purpose of adding atmosphere. I rolled my eyes, but no one noticed in the dark.

  “When the thirties rolled around, it was just Mr Mannering, his three sons, and one daughter, Ruth. When the war h
it, all four men were conscripted. Mr Mannering came back. His sons didn’t.”

  Dark patches on the stairwell’s walls showed where family portraits had once hung. I shuddered as I passed them.

  “The war made him crazy,” Joseph said, lowering his voice. We reached the landing and turned to follow the stairs to the third floor. I glanced down the hallway behind us. The doors were open, and the rooms’ furniture decaying. “He locked Ruth up. Wouldn’t let her go anywhere. Wanted to keep her safe, y’know? Only problem was, she’d fallen for the vicar’s son, Mason, while her dad was away.”

  A spider spun down on its thread to hover in front of my face. I gasped, and Tara swung around. “What was that?”

  “Just a spider,” I muttered, skirting it.

  Sanjit squeezed his girlfriend’s hand. “Don’t be frightened.”

  Joseph coughed to bring the attention back to himself. “Remember how I said the dad was crazy? He really, really didn’t want his daughter to leave. He forbade Mason from visiting, but the boy came during the dark of night, climbed the tree behind the house, and proposed to Ruth through her window. They made plans to elope the following night. But her dad found out, and he went ballistic.”

  We’d reached the top of the stairs, and faced a ladder that led to the final room, the attic. Tara looked terrified, but she climbed the ladder when Jason waved her up. Sanjit and Jason followed, with me coming last.

  Cobwebs hung from the angled roof like old lace. The window facing the driveway was to my left; its curtains fluttered in the wind. To the right was an open window overlooking an ancient elm tree. The room was bare except for a wooden chair.

  “Dad takes an axe and drags Ruth up to this very room. When Mason climbs the tree that night, he can see them through the window. Dad bellows, ‘You’ll never have her!’ Then wham, he chops his own child’s head off.”

  Sanjit had turned a funny colour. Tara nestled into his shoulder, shivering.

  “The kid, Mason, breaks into the house. Mr Mannering is standing over Ruth’s body, laughing like the crazy man he is. Mason runs at him and pushes the both of them through the window, where they plunge to their deaths.”

  “Question.” I raised my hand. “How do we know what happened if everyone died?”

  Jason ignored me. “They say Ruth’s ghost haunts this house. She appears on nights like tonight, ones with a full moon, to wait for her dead fiancé.”

  Tara squirmed. “I want to go home.”

  “Not yet. I haven’t shown you my secret.” Jason rubbed his hands together, grinning wildly. “Lucy and I came up here last week for our date. Bit of privacy, you know?”

  Sanjit snorted.

  “And look what we found.” Jason picked up the chair and turned it around for us to see. The seat had a deep gash, and the wood was stained nearly black. “I’ll bet anything this is the chopping block dear old Dad used to behead his daughter.”

  “I want to go home,” Tara repeated, sounding as if she were about to cry.

  I leaned on the windowsill to get a better look at the elm tree, and the wood creaked under my hands. Tara shrieked, and even Jason jumped then broke out into laugher.

  “All right, all right. Let’s get out of here.”

  I watched as the three friends climbed through the hatch that led to the floor below, then I sighed and turned back to the window. My throat tightened as my fingers clutched at my blood-stained dress, and I gazed at the branch Mason had clung to the last time I’d seen him alive.

  STATION 331

  Jen snapped her helmet into place, enjoying the quiet hiss and click that told her it was locked. A lot of outpost staff complained about having to wear the thick suits during routine patrols, but Jen liked them. They made her feel secure, as though nothing could get to her.

  Carly locked her gloves into place. She wiggled her fingers experimentally then shot Jen a grin through the tinted glass of her helmet. “Damn, but I’ve been looking forward to getting out of this joint.”

  Jen had never asked exactly what Carly had done to get herself condemned to their tiny station on Perros’s second moon, and Carly hadn’t volunteered the information—but it must have been bad. People didn’t end up on Station 331 by accident, and out of the three of them, Carly was the least suited to endure the isolation and monotony.

  Jen checked her wrist controls to ensure everything was airtight. Carly was already at the door, hopping from foot to foot and swinging her arms. “C’mon, let’s do this already.”

  A quiet voice buzzed through the helmet’s speakers. “Jen, I’m ready for your all-clear.”

  Jen turned towards the plexiglass window. Alessicka stood behind it, leaned over the control panel, her delicate face tensed in concentration. She was the only one of their three-woman team who kept her hair long, and it fell like a sheet down one side of her thin neck to brush over the panel.

  “All clear,” Jen said, shooting her two thumbs up as added reassurance.

  Alessicka gave Jen a small smile then looked towards her companion. “Carly, how are you doing?”

  “If I were any more ready, I’d explode.” Carly swivelled in a semi-circle to face the window. Her eyes were huge, and the need to be free was etched into every line of her face.

  There was a pause.

  “Carly, your monitor says your helmet isn’t locked properly.”

  There was a tremor in Alessicka’s voice. She hated arguing with Carly, but Jen knew her too well to think she would overlook any problem she found, no matter how minor. It was both a blessing and a curse; they were sometimes stuck in the airlock for an hour or more as she troubleshot problems… but at least Jen knew she wasn’t going to be sent out in sub-standard conditions.

  Jen’s partner didn’t share her view. Carly let out a string of swear words and kicked at the airlock doors. “We’ve been over this before. A half dozen times. It’s a problem in the feedback or whatever. I promise you, the helmet is locked.”

  Alessicka stared at the readings on the screen. Jen could see sweat beading on her face as she braced herself. “I’d like to run some diagnostics on… on… it.” She trailed off at the murderous look on Carly’s face.

  “I swear, Lessi, you delay this patrol for another minute, and I’ll murder you in your sleep tonight.”

  Alessicka’s face blanched, and Jen decided it was time to intervene. “That’s enough, Carly. Don’t make jokes like that.”

  “Who said I was joking?”

  Jen held up a hand to quiet her partner, then turned to the woman behind the console. “Lessi, I’m going to override you this time. We’ve checked out the helmet before, and you said it was probably a feedback glitch. Besides, it’s been months since we’ve seen anything more exciting than sludge. I doubt Carly’s going to need to test her helmet’s seal today.”

  Alessicka gave a small nod and began pressing buttons on the console. “Prepare for gate unlock in twenty seconds.”

  “Finally,” Carly groaned.

  Jen stepped up to join her partner beside the door. They each took one of the stingers from the rack bolted to the wall and turned them on. Stingers were their main weapon against what lived outside the station. They looked like rifles with extended barrels, but the tip was shaped into a large metal needle. The idea was to push the needle into any unwanted creatures they found on their moon and pull the trigger. The stingers released a shot of neurotoxins directly into lifeform’s body, killing it within seconds.

  That was one of their jobs on Station 331: keep the moon clean of hostile beings that came off comets or space debris. Some of the newer stations got more exciting infestations of aggressive creatures like parydonas and crawling Helens and had to call for backup from their ward planets, but even though Station 331 was on a remote moon near the edge of the system, the staff rarely had to deal with anything worse than poppers and sludge.

  “External gate unlocking,” Alessicka said through the helmet, and the metal doors in front of them hissed and parted. />
  “Yes,” Carly moaned as she sprinted as quickly as her bulky suit would allow onto the surface of the moon. She took three steps then kicked the powdery ground, sending herself flying nearly ten feet into the air before gliding down to land in a billow of red dust. Jen followed at a slower pace, enjoying the sensation of weightlessness from the lower gravity outside the station.

  The moon wasn’t ugly, but it was dull. Its uneven surface was pocked after millennia of being beaten by asteroids and space rubble. Comprised of four small living rooms, one airlock and one control room, the station had been built into a sheltered indent. Red rock surrounded it on three sides, so it got only four hours of natural sunlight each day.

  Carly was sprinting ahead, stinger held in both hands, as she searched for a target to unleash her pent-up frustration on. She disappeared over the lip of a crater, and a moment later, Jen heard a sharp pop through her headset, followed by a cackle of delight. Carly had found her first victim.

  Jen went in the opposite direction and circled around the back of the base. Before long, she found a target of her own; a sludge was clinging to a rock formation just meters from the front door. The human-sized clump of coal-black slime undulated as its organs worked to convert the moon’s minerals into nutrients.

  Sludges weren’t dangerous, but they could be a nuisance if they got out of control. They would clog doorways, damage equipment, and, given enough time, even eat through metal. Jen forced the tip of her stinger through the sludge’s leathery skin, flicked the safety lock, and pulled the trigger. The gun kicked into her shoulder as it injected its poison, and she stepped back to watch as the sludge writhed and coiled in on itself.

  Scientists said the sludges were no more intelligent than a plant, but Jen still hated seeing the creature thrash as its flesh bubbled and split. She stood with it until it was completely still, then she unclipped one of the hooks from her belt and snagged a corner of the sludge’s frothing flesh.