by Unknown
Imogen laughed at the ridiculousness of it all, and patted the side of Hamlet’s neck. “Drop Bears. What a joke hey boy?”
With the ridiculous notion of ‘ferocious Drop Bears’ playing havoc with her mind, she sat down on an upside down milk crate just inside the stable door, leaned back against the stable wall, and set to cleaning Hamlet’s bridle.
***
Imogen pushed the backdoor open as quietly as she could, trying to avoid that awful, loud creaking noise it usually made. She didn’t want her dad to hear her sneaking out this early. After all, the sun wasn’t even up yet, not to mention she had skipped breakfast. Again. Which never went down too well with Jace Roberts.
Imogen had always been an early riser, well, in the school holidays at least, and school holidays it was. Not for the first time that holiday break, she wished that every school holidays were as long as the Christmas ones. The door slipped out of her fingers and slammed shut behind her, and Imogen cringed.
“Crap!” she whispered, as she stood frozen in place, waiting for the familiar squeak of her dad’s bedroom door. It didn’t come. Which was odd, because she’d always thought her dad had bionic hearing. Imogen still waited for a full minute before moving. She shrugged, counting herself as extremely lucky, and headed towards the back paddock.
As she approached the fence, she was surprised to see Hamlet wasn’t there to greet her. It was unusual for him not to be hanging over the gate begging for treats, but then it was really early. She unclipped the chain on the gate and slipped through. Throwing his halter and lead over her shoulder, she pulled the small bag of sliced apple out of her back pocket and grinned.
“Hamlet…” she called quietly, looking around for her absent friend.
In the far corner of the paddock, she glimpsed a streak of smoky-grey and sighed, shaking her head. Greedy pony; when will he learn that the grass isn’t always greener on the other side. Memories of finding him stuck half way between the back paddock and the nature reserve that lined their back fence flashed through her mind.
A chill ran through Imogen’s veins as she approached the back fence and found no Hamlet in sight. Images of the Drop Bears she’d researched the day before crept into her head.
Fangs… Razor sharp claws… Smoky grey fur.
Imogen’s eyes widened as she compared Hamlet’s colouring, and the image of the Drop Bear that she couldn’t get out of her head…they were incredibly similar.
“Oh god,” she whispered. What if that wasn’t Hamlet I saw amongst the trees? That would explain how he was here a moment ago, and was now nowhere to be seen.
Imogen stumbled backwards, icy tendrils of fear running up and down her spine. She could feel its eyes on her. Watching her. Gathering all the courage she could muster, she spun around, arms raised above her head ready to strike -- only to be met by two very large, very unfrightening, eyes. Hamlet’s eyes.
Imogen let out the breath she hadn’t even realised she’d been holding, and collapsed against Hamlet’s neck, convulsing with laughter. The notion that a Drop Bear was coming for her seemed so ridiculous now.
“Oh my god, I’m going to kill dad for telling me about these damn things!” she spluttered, amidst peals of hysterical laughter.
Once she’d recovered from her momentary madness, Imogen pulled out the pieces of sliced apple and held out her hand, giggling as Hamlet’s nose tickled her palm as he delicately removed each slice one at a time. Which seemed quite a feat for such a greedy horse.
She patted his neck and placed the halter over his head, glad for his cooperation as he dipped his head so she could buckle the clasp up near his right ear. With a smile, she flung the lead over his neck and attached it to the underside of his halter, before vaulting onto his back, ready for their early morning ride.
Bareback was her favourite way to ride. It meant no pinched legs from the stirrups, and none of that annoying creaking the old leather made against her boots. The only problem with riding bareback was that she had to do it in secret. Her dad hated her doing it. Probably because she never remembered to put her helmet on when she did it. Like today for example.
Imogen’s mother had died in a riding accident. It wasn’t something that was spoken of often, and the story Jace Roberts gave his daughter was very vague and prone to change. All she knew was that it was a riding accident that could have been prevented.
With memories of her mother dancing in her head, she kicked Hamlet into a canter, enjoying the crisp morning air slicing across her cheeks as they crossed over into the nature reserve that fenced
their property.
All of a sudden, something made her stop. Or rather, Hamlet stopped, and stood perfectly still. Like he was frozen stiff. The hairs on the back of her neck rose, and she felt goosebumps popping up everywhere. The only sound was her own breathing and a soft snorting coming from Hamlet’s nose.
Imogen’s heart was racing, and she felt the colour drain from her face, as the chill that she’d experienced not so long ago crept over her once more. She glanced around her, trying to locate the source of her fear.
She looked in front of her… Nothing.
Behind her… Nothing.
To the left and right… Nothing.
Then it dawned on her that she hadn’t looked up! Normally she loved staring up at the clouds in the sky, her schoolteacher didn’t call her a daydreamer for nothing. But terrified of what she might find, she couldn’t bring herself to do it just then.
Imogen leaned over Hamlet’s neck and softly begged him to move. He finally responded, and they flew toward the back fence, heading away from the trees. Fear clutched at her chest, restricting her ability to breathe normally. Black spots from lack of oxygen appeared before her eyes, and she felt like she was about to pass out.
Finally able to draw a deep breathe, Imogen sat up straight, so she could judge the distance between them, and the gate leading back into Hamlet’s paddock. She shook her head, trying to gather her wits, knowing the only way out would be to jump the fence. It looked bigger than it usually did, but she wasn’t worried…she knew they’d make it.
The fence loomed in front of them, growing bigger by the second as they closed the gap. Imogen felt Hamlet tense underneath her, and prepared herself for the cat leap she knew it was going to take to get them over that fence and to safety.
At the last second, Hamlet stumbled, and sent Imogen flying over the top of his head. She landed flat on her back… directly underneath the biggest tree in the reserve. And then she saw it…
Rabid black eyes, set amidst a smoky grey face, stared down out of the tree above her, sharp fangs and claws red and dripping with the blood of its most recent victim.
Drop Bear.
Imogen’s mind went blank with terror. She thought she should probably scream, but she knew no sound would come out of her suddenly dry throat. So she squeezed her eyes closed instead, maybe if she couldn’t see it, then it couldn’t see her. That’s called wishful thinking she thought to herself, laughing inwardly at her own joke.
There was nothing she could do. Dad was right. Should’ve worn the damn helmet. With this last thought, the horrifying creature that only nightmares could create dropped from the branch, claws and fangs out, heading straight for her face.
A familiar voice filled her head “Imogen. Im. Wake up!”
Hang on. Am I dead? As far as I know, Drop Bears don’t talk. Imogen’s eyes popped open, and she realised that she was indeed alive, and to her surprise, still sitting on the upside down milk crate in Hamlet’s stable. The familiar voice had been her father’s. Behind him, she could make out a faint sunset, and she realised she must have fallen asleep whilst cleaning Hamlet’s bridle.
“Huh? Oh thank god it was only a dream!” She muttered more to herself than to anyone else.
Jace looked at his daughter and shook his head “Dinner’s in ten minutes. Better feed the horses and come wash up.”
Imogen smiled, and replied a little too enthusiastically f
or someone who’d just been mauled by a rabid Koala, albeit only in her nightmare “Sure thing dad, be there in a sec.”
Jace smiled his knowing smile and headed towards the barn door, calling out over his shoulder. “Just look out for those Drop Bears won’t ya’ Im.”
Imogen felt her cheeks burn at her dad’s way too close to home jibe. “Stupid googley thing, last time I look anything up on the line,” she muttered grumpily.
Jace laughed, his voice echoing around the old barn. “Ahem… it’s called GOOGLE and it’s ONLINE… just sayin’.”
Imogen rolled her eyes. He really does have bionic hearing.
Sleep
Matthew Cash
"Sing me to sleep,
Sing me to sleep,
I don't want to wake up on my own anymore"
"SLEEP"-THE SMITHS
Kelly dreamt she was in a large field of the lushest, greenest grass she had ever walked on. She was barefoot and could feel the cool early morning dew between her toes. The sun was blazing like a furnace in a sky that was pure blue. The light cool breeze blew her blonde hair and rustled her white cotton dress. Butterflies of every color flitted about, making Kelly giggle like an excited child. But she wasn't a child, she was twenty.
She gazed out over a deep valley that over-looked a large expanse of water that blended into the sky on the horizon. Before the water was a strange looking village with red roofed, sandy coloured buildings that had a feel of the Mediterranean about them. Exaggerated turrets and staircases leading to nowhere decorated the buildings.
She blinked, and when she opened her eyes, a mountain range of high blue mountains had appeared on the horizon. Kelly marvelled at the mountaintops and wondered what it would be like to be at the highest point.
Kelly ran through the grass and her feet left the ground. She was flying! Up, over the strange little town over the crystalclear water towards the mountain peaks. Kelly laughed and smiled up at the sun.
***
All good things must come to an end, Kelly thought as she woke up. She kept her eyes closed, reluctant to face the bright lights of dawn that would surely have arrived. She smiled as the last remnants of her dream stayed in her mind, before being swept away, like those from other nights, into the dark recesses of her mind. Content just where she was, warm, happy and cosy, she remembered that today was her day off and she wasn't forced to get out of her bed if she didn't want to.
Kelly yawned and stretched out her legs beneath the soft warm duvet, curling and uncurling her toes.
Then she felt something that made her blood run cold. Her left foot had rested against something beside her. It felt like someone was in bed with her. Someone whose skin was very, very cold.
Rigid with fear Kelly daren't open her eyes. She had no escape if there was someone else beside her, as she was on the side of the bed against the wall. She remained still, her foot tentatively touching what had begun to feel like another person's foot. Kelly lived on her own, and rarely had anyone over to sleep in her flat, let alone bed.
Kelly didn't know what to do. Maybe if the KILLER thought she was asleep, she'd be okay until she figured something out? Where or why her mind had got the notion that whoever was beside her was a KILLER she had no idea. She knew she was being pessimistic, but the thought had taken hold.
Kelly tried her hardest to fake sleep, focusing on making her breathing slow, regular and more
nasal. But maybe the KILLER would know she was faking it, roll over and take his large butcher's knife and plunge it deep into her chest. Her mind was in overdrive. In a matter of seconds she had assumed that she was in bed with a mass-murdering psycho KILLER MAN and had even predicted the murder weapon!
Kelly could picture him now. Probably in his late thirties, scraggly black hair, dirty. A disgusting beard that made him look like the mad Russian monk Rasputin or a disgusting tramp.
He could be lying naked beside her right now. Had he been messing with her in her sleep? Probably not, she told herself, otherwise he'd be doing it now. He was most probably covered in tattoos, ugly pictures of daggers, snakes, skulls and satanic images.
Kelly managed to get her breathing slowed down, even though her heart was pounding so hard that surely he must be able to hear it. She had nowhere to run.
Then the solution came to her! Kelly didn't know if she was capable of doing it though; unsure if she was capable of doing something so severe. But if it meant his life or hers, she knew she'd do anything to keep her own.
She slowly moved her right hand up to her face, scratching her cheek as if it itched. Hopefully, the killer would think it normal for her sleep state. Then she let her arm slump back down in the three-inch gap between the mattress and the wall.
Her fingers delved down to the ridge at the base of the bed, searching for the plastic handle of the carving knife she'd hidden there when she first moved in. Every night she checked it was there, but now, when she needed it most, she couldn't find it. And then she knew why. The killer must have it. Biting back the tears, she struggled to keep her breathing normal.
The cold foot remained unmoving against her own. Kelly so wanted to snatch her leg away, but she was too terrified to move. Then another thought sprang into her mind. What if it's just a foot? An amputated, lifeless, dead white foot? Had some psychopath put a foot in her bed? A trophy off one of his victims? Maybe he was standing at the bottom of her bed waiting for her to wake, so he could kill her and put her foot in his next victim's bed?
Kelly tried to concentrate on her other senses. She was way too frightened to open her eyes. She needed to know what she was dealing with. If it was a dead foot in her bed or a Rasputin-like psychopath, she wanted to know.
Kelly slowly inhaled silently through her nose. She could smell the passion fruit oil she had put in her bath, and nothing else. Now she focused on her sense of hearing. She listened carefully. Was anyone else breathing? No. Maybe she was alone. Maybe some sicko had put the foot in her bed and just left.
Kelly moved slightly, shifting her body as one would when turning in sleep. She thought she would die of fright there and then when her arm brushed against someone's skin. She couldn't tell what part of the someone's body it was, but it felt just as cold as the foot.
It's no good, Kelly told herself. She might as well face it; she was going to be killed. She was going to die at the young age of twenty. But she was determined not to go out without a fight.
She was going to open her eyes. Kelly told herself that on the count of five she would open her eyes and look to her left.
ONE...
TWO...
She counted in her head, her heart beating faster with each number.
THREE...
FOUR...
FIVE...
She couldn't do it. Yes you can Kelly, said a voice in her head. It was her mother's voice, who'd always told her to face her fears and overcome them.
Kelly was going to do it.
She was finally going to open her eyes. She had nothing to lose. She couldn't wait any longer, or she'd die of a heart attack without ever knowing what had lay beside her.
She was going to do it; right now.
On the count of SIX.
ONE...
TWO...
THREE...
FOUR...
FIVE...
SIX...
Kelly opened her eyes...
The Monster in the Closet
Mark Woods
Bobby couldn’t sleep. The monster was in his closet again; he could hear it breathing. He could see its green eyes peeking out from between the gap where the doors no longer shut properly – thanks to him slamming them shut a bit too hard one day while he was having a paddy – and he could smell its foul stench even from here, all the way across the room.
The monster never actually did anything - it never tried to hurt him, nor did it really ever seem to pose him any kind of threat per se - it just always sat there, night after night, hiding in the closet watching him and well.
..lurking.
Even so, despite all this, Bobby just knew the monster meant him harm, he was sure of it. The creature, whatever it was, was just biding its time – trying to unnerve and unsettle him by its presence night after night – a tactic Bobby could confirm was most definitely working.
Bobby knew he couldn’t risk going to sleep, at least not until it was gone. After all, who knew what the monster might try to do if Bobby nodded off and let his guard down?
No, he needed to make sure the monster was gone, that it had been adequately scared away before he risked trying to go to sleep. Otherwise there was a good chance, he knew, that he might never ever wake up again.
Bobby reached down beside his bed, and sitting back up, quickly launched a slipper towards the open closet door. It hit the doorframe and slid down without even making any kind of impact on the monster’s presence. The monster still just sat there, watching, although its eyes appeared to have taken on more of a mocking tone, as though laughing at the boy’s feeble efforts.
“Go away,” Bobby shouted. “Go back to where you belong. Go back to Monsterland or wherever it is you come from, goddammit.”
The monster blinked, but continued to stare at him relentlessly from in between the gap in the doors. It hadn’t even made an effort to move out of the way of his attack, and continued to ignore his verbal assault too. It just continued to stand there - hidden back amongst all the coats and jackets that had been put there until they were needed next winter, when they would still, hopefully, fit – watching and waiting.
There was only one thing left for him to do – there was no way he was going anywhere near the closet, not while that thing was still in there. Bobby drew in a big breath and called out at the top of his voice for his mum.