Small Horrors: A Collection of Fifty Creepy Stories

by Darcy Coates

  It was a tight fit through the plywood hole, but just beyond, the ground dropped away, and she was able to move forward when she crouched.

  The air was much cooler than outside. A smell—dirty, musty, and decayed—hung in the air. Allie pressed her sleeve over her nose to block out the stench and moved towards the plastic bags.

  They were all sealed, but several had split down the side. They looked as though they were filled with garbage. Did the previous owners seriously leave their trash down here?

  Allie poked at one of the split bags with her foot, and rags fell out. They looked as if they’d once been clothes, but had been worn down until holes developed and seams broke, making them unwearable. Under the clothes were broken plates and cups and bent cutlery.

  A quiet scratching noise disturbed her, and Allie turned in time to see a rat scamper out of her torch’s light to hide behind…

  A mattress?

  Allie approached the lumpy shape, trying to breathe through her mouth as much as possible. The mattress had broken down, and several of its springs poked through the fabric, but strangely enough, someone seemed to have patched it with rags similar to the ones in the bags. It was pressed against one of the support pillars, which had hid it from view of Allie’s hole in the plywood.

  Beyond the mattress, a hand-made shelf stood propped against the wall. Allie moved towards it then jumped as her foot hit something, sending it clattering across the dirt. She turned the torch down and saw empty tins—dozens of them—littering the ground.

  A voice in the back of Allie’s head had started to panic. It was telling her to get out—and get out fast—but curiosity compelled her towards the shelf.

  She cast her light over the odd collection arranged on the wooden boards: a plate, a cup, a spoon, a fork, and a knife. Next to them sat two candle stubs, burnt down to their bases.

  On the shelf below stood a strange assortment of toys: a doll, too filthy for use, a pull-toy that had lost almost all of its bright paint, and a colouring book propped upright as though it were an art display. Allie reached towards it gingerly and pulled the cover back. The pages inside had been coloured so thoroughly and so vigorously that she couldn’t see a single inch of white paper. It was almost as though its owner had been over the same pages dozens of times. Even so, the colouring was crude, and in many cases, the artist hadn’t even tried to stay within the lines. The final item on the shelf was a Polaroid camera. It reminded Allie of the camera she’d inherited from her grandfather. She thought she still had it in storage somewhere, though she hadn’t seen it in years.

  Nausea was rising in Allie’s stomach. She turned towards the crawlspace’s exit—and froze. A series of Polaroid photos were stuck to the pillar beside the mattress. They were clumsy and often blurry, but it was impossible for Allie to mistake the subject.

  The photos were of her. Some showed her digging in her yard—that must have been months ago, when I planted the garden—and others were of her leaving the house and locking the door behind herself. A final series, stuck in place of pride near the mattress’s head, had been taken through her bedroom window and showed Allie asleep in her bed. In the closest photo, Allie wore the pyjamas she’d purchased just a week previously.

  Allie’s hand rose to cover her mouth. She turned towards the square of light in the plywood wall, her escape, and inhaled sharply. A person—or something that resembled a person—stood in the light. His face was strangely sagged, as though his body had been sucked dry. His eyes bugged out of his head with a terrific intensity. Limp hair ran down to frame his cheeks, which housed an unnaturally large mouth.

  Then his mouth opened, splitting into a smile, as the batteries in Allie’s light died.

  16

  Host

  Kira muted her television and frowned at the caller ID flashing on her phone. Jessika Kirble. She hadn’t thought of Jessika in years, let alone heard from her.

  She, Jessika, and Adelaide had been close friends in school. Just seeing her name brought up a myriad of memories: weekly sleepovers, fights over toys, and, as they’d gotten older, fights over boys. At the time, their bond had felt unbreakable.

  Time had eroded the friendship, of course, as it did everything. When Kira’s friends split up to go to different high schools, she’d found it surprisingly easy to move into new friendships and forget the old—and seemingly childish—camaraderie.

  So how did Jessika get my number? And why’s she calling me now, after more than ten years of silence? If she wants to recruit me to one of those pyramid scheme makeup parties, she can think again.

  Kira pressed the green answer button and held the mobile to her ear. “Hello?”

  The voice on the other end let out a relieved breath. It sounded oddly scratchy and distant, but the tone was shockingly familiar. “Kira! Hey, it’s Jessika. From school. D’you remember?”

  “Yeah, of course!” Kira forced a note of brightness into her voice. It felt surreal to be talking to her childhood friend, as though she’d somehow stepped back in time. “How are you? Wow, it’s been ages.”

  Jessika chuckled. “It sure has. I’ve been great. Though I’ve always felt bad that we didn’t stay in touch. Do you think we could meet up?”

  Maybe she does just want to reconnect, after all. “Yeah, I’d love that. Let me take you out for coffee.”

  “No, no, I mean tonight. Can you meet me tonight?”

  Kira’s subconscious prickled. Something about the urgent note in the other woman’s voice was unsettling.

  Jessika quickly added, “I know, I’m sorry. I wouldn’t ask, except it’s urgent. It’s about Adelaide.”

  Adelaide Du. The third member of our miniature clique. She was heart-set on being a vet, wasn’t she? “Is something wrong with her?” Kira sat forward in her couch. The muted television had moved onto a commercial break, and an enthusiastic woman was demonstrating how much liquid her mopping cloth could absorb.

  “Uh…” Jessika was silent for a very long time. When she finally spoke, a fake brightness saturated her voice. “It’s really something I need to talk to you about in person. Can you come? Tonight?”

  The unsettling prickles evolved into an anxious buzz. “Where?”

  “We could meet up in the car park by the convenience store in Mendle Street. In Reddington. Is that okay with you?”

  At least it’s a public place. Not that I don’t trust her. I just… don’t trust her. “That’s fine. I’ll be twenty minutes.”

  Kira almost never visited Reddington, and she had never been to the convenience store Jessika wanted to meet at. It wasn’t a good part of town. Half of the shops she passed were closed, and the other half looked as though they were barely hanging on. Tape held together fractured windows on houses, or cardboard covered spaces where the windows had been completely broken. Kira hadn’t seen a single other human on the streets she’d passed, though there seemed to be no shortage of stray animals. The streetlights that still functioned did an appalling job of lighting the grime-coated pathways.

  Her uneasiness was growing with each turn she took. Maybe Jessika’s on drugs and is going to beg for money. Or just straight-up rob me.

  Those concerns weren’t at all alleviated when Kira arrived at where the convenience store should have been and found a long-abandoned shell of a building. Part of the roof had collapsed. The only light came from the glow of streetlamps in the road that ran behind the store.

  This is insane. I’ve got to get out of here.

  As she coasted past the abandoned shop, she saw a figure standing near the shopping cart corrals. Its pose was, in a strange way, incredibly familiar. The woman—Jessika—stepped forward and waved an arm in an attempt to attract Kira’s attention.

  I should go. This place doesn’t bode well.

  Jessika was waving both arms. She looked desperate.

  Damn it.

  Kira pulled into the parking lot and put on the handbrake, but she didn’t remove the keys from the ignition. She got out
of her car and carefully moved towards Jessika, who was waiting for her by the corral.

  “Thanks for coming,” Jessika said, beaming at her.

  Kira hoped her shock wasn’t too apparent. Her childhood friend had changed incredibly in ten years. She’d once been plump, with dimples in her cheeks and a bouncy kind of energy. That night, she seemed to be nothing except for bones. Her skin drooped heavily, and deep-grey shadows rimmed her eyes, which were bloodshot and slightly unfocussed. Only the energy remained, and she was expressing it in strange tics and hand flutters.

  “How’ve you been?” Kira asked, trying not to look as repulsed as she felt.

  Jessika smiled, her pale lips stretching into a shape that looked more like muscle memory than genuine emotion. “Great. Absolutely great. You’re looking well. That’s good. They take so much out of you, you really don’t want to be going into it when you’re already weak.”

  “What?” Kira had begun backing up, trying to put more distance between herself and the gaunt woman, but Jessika was pacing forward and closing whatever gaps Kira built.

  “It’s really important, though,” Jessika said. The plastic smile had frozen across her face. “That’s what they say, anyway. I don’t really understand it. But then, they don’t want me for my brainpower, y’know? They just need a host.”

  Kira, now desperate to leave, turned towards her car. A second woman stood in front of the open driver door. Her face was masked in shadows, but Kira thought, behind the sunken cheeks, hollow eyes, and bloodless lips, the bone structure was faintly familiar. “A… Ad…”

  “Yes, that’s Adelaide. She called me first. But now it’s my turn to recruit a new host, and I chose you.”

  Kira turned back to her old friend and screamed. Jessika’s face was distorting. Her jaw stretched horrifically wide, and something dark was moving at the back of her throat. Kira staggered backwards, too horrified to look away as small, slimy black insects began crawling across Jessika’s tongue. They looked nothing like any creature Kira had seen before. A multitude of twitching legs and large transparent wings extended from flat, shiny bodies. The wings fluttered open, and the insects took flight when they reached Jessika’s lips. Kira turned to run, but two unexpectedly strong arms wrapped around her torso and pinned her in place.

  “Open wide,” Adelaide whispered. Kira could feel the other woman’s sagging flesh pressing into her as the vice-like arms squeezed. “It will only take a moment.”

  Then the small, wet insects began hitting Kira’s face. Their scratching feet felt across her cheeks and dug at her lips. Kira couldn’t stand it any longer. She screamed, and the creatures gladly took advantage of the invitation to enter their new host.

  17

  Snowbound

  The screech of tires shook Jacques out of his sleep. The abrupt stop lurched him forward in the train’s seat, and his newspaper flopped to the ground. He blinked a few times to wake himself up then looked out the window.

  Snow had been falling steadily and blanketed the mountainous region in white. Far in the distance, the black foothills were barely visible in the twilight, and every few metres, a clump of weedy, straggly green trees poked through the snow.

  The train wasn’t supposed to stop until it reached its destination, Holburg, on the other side of the mountains. Jacques glanced around to see if he might have missed an announcement, but the train’s other occupants seemed just as confused as he was. The two fashionable ladies a few seats behind him were talking quickly in a language he didn’t recognise. The young man who’d been eyeing the fashionable ladies was glancing about the carriage as though someone might be able to explain the delay. The thick-set bearded man and his petite wife opposite Jacques were quiet, but they seemed just as puzzled.

  “What’s going on?” the young man asked. “Are we there already?”

  “Not for another few hours,” the bearded man replied. He rose from his seat with a sigh. “Let me check.”

  The carriage was silent during the few minutes that the bearded man was gone. When he returned, he only shrugged. “They say we’re snowed in.”

  “Isn’t this supposed to be a snow-proof train?” The young man sounded indignant. One of the fashionable ladies made a comment to her friend, and they both had to smother snickers.

  “There’s no such thing as a snow-proof train,” Jacques said, shuffling his newspaper back into order and folding it on the seat beside himself. “This one is designed to make it through light and moderate snow, but will still be stymied by anything heavy.”

  “Still, though,” the young man said, looking out the window, “it’s not quite heavy, is it?”

  Jacques had to agree. The snow was thick enough to blanket, but he thought he would still be able to walk through it reasonably well. The train shouldn’t have any problems, but of course, there were a multitude of inconveniences that might have stopped them, such as an avalanche, falling rocks, or even just tracks that had succumbed to the weather and broken apart.

  One of the train’s assistants burst through the door at the back of the carriage and dashed down the aisle. The young man tried to call to him, but the assistant didn’t stop. Jacques had a brief impression of a blanched-white face and bulging eyes before the man was past him, the air displaced by his motion ruffling the newspaper. Then he was through the door at the other end of the carriage, presumably moving towards the train’s engine.

  The young man was demanding explanations again, even though it was clear that no one in the carriage knew any more than he did. Jacques tuned him out as he stared through the window at the softly drifting snow. He shifted forward in his seat and frowned. Despite the strength of the moon, the patchy trees and high mountains left most of the surrounding terrain in shadows. Jacques thought, though, that he’d seen a shape moving through the woods, just beyond the square of light coming from his window. A person or a wolf…?

  A voice came through the train’s intercom, sounding hurried and terse. “Apologies for this brief delay,” it said at the same time as the train gave a jolt and began moving in reverse. “We have encountered unexpected obstacles and are required to return to Laksview for tonight.”

  “What?” The young man rose out of his seat. “That’s a full two hours away!”

  “Hush,” the thick-set man said. Jacques noticed he was squeezing his wife’s hand. “I’m certain they have a good reason.”

  “But I have a hotel booked!”

  Jacques didn’t interrupt, but a prickling worry dug at him. He remembered his mother telling him stories about the mountains and the snow beasts that hid in their caves. Fairy tales, of course. But still…

  The train was gradually picking up speed, slinking along the track, away from the narrow mountain pass it had been trying to move through. Jacques had barely relaxed in his seat when it gave another jolt.

  “What now?” the young man snapped, but everyone else in the carriage froze. The motion hadn’t been anything remotely like the way a train was supposed to move. It was a harsh jerk in the wrong direction, as though something monumentally large were pulling the train to a halt.

  Then the sound of screaming metal filled the carriage, making the fashionable women clasp their hands over their ears. The young man, the bearded man, and Jacques pulled their windows open and leaned their torsos as far out of the train as they dared.

  Jacques looked towards the front carriage, but the night and flurries obscured the view. He thought, however, that the carriage seemed to be tilting upwards…

  “Run!” the bearded man cried, pushing his wife out of her seat and dragging her towards the carriage’s rear door. “It has the train. Stop looking! Run!”

  Everything was motion. Jacques pushed out of his chair and joined the others running to the carriage’s door as the sounds of screams from farther up in the train reached him. He followed the fashionable ladies outside, into the icy mountains. The frozen wind bit at his face, but he didn’t dare go back for his luggage. In the distance, he
saw the outline of a beast silhouetted against the starry sky, impossibly large, lifting the first carriage clear off its tracks and raising it like a child picking up a toy.

  Jacques didn’t dare look back again, but focussed on the ground ahead of him. He heard more carriage doors slam, followed by the screams of their occupants fleeing the shuddering, jerking train. He tried to stay with the group, knowing that survival together was more likely than survival alone, and only realised his error as the forerunner, the young man, screamed. A dark shape had darted out of the shadows and thrown him to the ground. Two more followed it quickly, sinking black teeth into the man’s limbs as he fought for his life.

  It was nearly impossible for Jacques to peel his eyes away, but when he did, he saw more of the black creatures—parasites, his mind told him; they’re parasitic creatures picking off the prey brought down by an apex predator—materialising out of the shadows and bringing down the fleeing men and women.

  Jacques froze, unsure of what to do. Should he return to the carriage—that might afford safety from the black creatures but make him vulnerable to the gigantic, hulking monster that blotted out the moon—or continue with his companions and hope for the best?

  He never had a chance to make up his mind—the next moment, three sets of razor-sharp teeth sunk into his back.

  18

  Red Oak House

  March parked his car in the weedy driveway and dimmed its lights. The house, three stories tall and built from time-stained wood, stood like a sentry on the slope. He admired it for a moment before picking his notebook, pen, and camera off the seat beside him and slipping out of the car.