by West, Sam
Her gaze flickered to his unconscious girlfriend, and he smiled. He was changing, he could feel it. His thoughts had never been sharper, his body had never felt so strong and healthy.
Immortality. True love. The world at my feet.
“Two seconds,” she said, exiting the room.
“Where are you going?”
“To get the axe out of the garage.”
Chris watched her departing arse, his cock so hard it hurt.
Movement out of the corner of his eye caused him to spin round.
Shit! He’s waking up again.
Stefan sat up in one fluid motion, reminding him of a vampire from an old black and white movie where the undead person rises from their coffin… Which was rather apt, he decided.
His perfectly repaired head swivelled in his direction, then he was on his feet.
“You won’t get away with this, you stupid fucking, gym-whore cunt.”
Stefan lunged for him, and not one to back down from a fight, Chris met him half-way. They collided hard. Chris’s increased strength had left him fearless, he could feel the energy coursing through his system, he had never felt more alive, more virile.
But Stefan was a Flesh Eater, too. Despite being out of shape, Chris understood that Stefan still could take on any regular guy and beat the shit out of them, even if that regular guy happened to be Bruce Lee.
But Chris was no regular guy, not anymore. “Come on then, you flabby old cunt, bring it on.”
Stefan grunted in pain when Chris got him in a headlock. Holding him with the side of his face mashed against his bare chest, he kneed him in the groin. The air let Stefan’s lungs in a satisfying rush, and he sagged in his arms.
Chris kneed him one more time and let go. The man went down like a sack of bricks, thumping to the ground and whimpering pitifully.
“Chris? Help me up,” Ronnie said from the floor.
Chris blanked her. She was sitting upright now, crying and wild-eyed in her misery. Stefan just groaned, curled up on his side in the foetal position.
“Not such a big man now, are you, huh? I’m a Flesh Eater too, and I’m in a damn sight better shape than you are.”
Chris kicked him in the ribs for good measure.
“Here, here,” came Lynda’s voice from the doorway.
Still naked, she stood there with the axe slung over one shoulder at a jaunty angle and the gun dangling from the fingers of her other hand.
Ronnie began making the strangest noises; a sort of hiccupping sob that was part scream, part whine.
“Hold the fucker steady for me,” Lynda said, striding towards them. “And you can shut the fuck up too, you dumb bitch. Jesus, as if I ever would’ve offered a wet blanket like you a promotion, I was only ever after your boyfriend.”
As she passed her, she kicked her in the ribs in the exact same spot Chris had done to Stefan.
He smiled. A girl after my own heart.
Chris straddled Stefan’s chest, a foot on each forearm. He was whimpering like a baby now, and the sound made Chris smile all the harder. Lynda beamed at him, and, holding herself steady on wide apart legs, she swung the axe at her husband’s neck…
XIII
“That was incredible,” Chris mumbled into the top of Lynda’s head.
She stretched in his arms in the queen-sized bed, and Chris held her tight.
“Yes, it was. You are incredible. I knew I was right about you.”
“Don’t think me weird, or anything, but I totally fucking love you.”
“I totally fucking love you, too.”
“Ronnie tasted great, didn’t she?”
“Yes, women under thirty are always the tastiest.”
Chris sighed in satisfaction, sated from good food and even better sex. The way Ronnie had screamed when he had bitten into her tit had been something else. And then when he and Lynda had fucked on top of her still twitching corpse, it had been just about mind-blowing.
He breathed in her smell; the scent of blood and death clung to her.
“Are you really going to burn this house down? It seems so extravagant.”
He felt her shrug in his arms. “Stefan’s body should be completely destroyed, just to be on the safe side. Besides, it’s best to burn any evidence. I’ve been preparing for this day for months, there are ample petrol cans stashed away in the shed that Stefan didn’t know about.”
“But this house has to be worth a million, at least.”
“A million and a half, to be exact. I am rich, Chris, a millionaire many times over. I own property all over the world and have healthy offshore accounts, thanks to Stefan. It’s time to move on, leave this all behind. There’s a few million in cash in my car in the garage, we’ll just leave and start again.”
“Just like that?”
“Yeah. Just like that.”
Untangling herself from his embrace, she leaned over and reached under the bed. “I remembered to bring you up a post-sex snack.”
Chris laughed in delight at the sight of Ronnie’s head which dangled from Lynda’s hand. Her mouth was twisted open in a silent scream and her eyes had rolled back in her head.
“Oh, you little minx, fuck, I love you so much.”
“I love you, too.”
Together, they fell on Ronnie’s face, sucking on an eye each. With one hard suck Chris managed to shuck her eyeball out of her socket, severing the optic nerves with his front teeth, and it slipped down his throat like the smoothest oyster.
I can’t believe I ever used to love Helen, Chris thought. But fuck, I sure do love eating her…
XIX
Helen let out a small scream and dropped the book.
Jesus Christ, not again… What if I’m losing my mind? What the hell is wrong with me?
With trembling hands, she retrieved the dropped book and stared at the hideous cover. Because it was hideous. Before, she had found the cover mildly amusing, even titillating with the promise of the depravities that may lay within its pages.
But now she was just sickened by the look of it. It made no sense, but just touching it upset her.
Open the book. You are not crazy. You did not read your bloody name again in the damn book.
Holding the bloody thing was like picking at a scab; impossible to resist where some innate instinct took over to just pick, pick, pick, scars be damned.
To the backdrop of the unrelenting thunderstorm, she opened the book to the last page she had read:
Sure enough, the offending word in the opening sentence read ‘Ronnie’ in place of ‘Helen’:
I can’t believe I ever used to love Ronnie, Chris thought. But fuck, I sure do love eating her…
Stupid fucking story, anyway. Why is this stupid fucking pamphlet getting to me so much?
Helen had no answer to that question. She lowered the book in her lap and glanced up at the clock: Five minutes to midnight.
Come on, Roger, where are you?
Well, that was strange. She was sure she had read the final story, but when she flipped the page, there was another short page of text, the title of which read ‘A Final Word From The Author’. The typeface was a lot smaller than the rest of the book, and she didn’t skim the words, instead slamming the book shut.
She frowned in confusion.
I guess I must have just missed it.
But she was so sure that it hadn’t been there before when she had flicked through the book, that the last story had most definitely been the final story.
She held the closed book in her trembling hands. A trickle of sweat ran into her eyes and she blinked it away.
Why am I such a wreck all of a sudden?
Just put the book down. Right now.
The voice in her head was no longer a whisper, but a full-blown bellow of a warning. But somehow, she couldn’t quite bring herself to let go of the book.
No, I will not. It’s only a book, for God’s sake…
Going against every instinct that told her not to, she opened the b
ook at the final page…
XX
A Final Word From The Author
Did you enjoy the book, Helen? We all have a dark-side, it’s just that some hide it better than others. The thing is, Helen, I know you enjoyed it. You can pretend all you want to be a moral, upstanding citizen, but you have evil in your heart. You like reading about other people’s pain and suffering, you get off on it.
Well, this is the part of the book where you and I get to interact. The best part, the part I’ve been waiting for. The part where your TRUE SELF is revealed. How well do you think you know yourself, Helen? And I mean really know yourself. Because I don’t think you know yourself at all…
Go back to the start. That’s right, caress the pages, feel the words in your very soul. Read the first chapter again, let’s see if you’ve missed anything. Missed any important points of the story… And when you’ve read enough, when you’re terrified to your very core, come back to the back, and they’ll be another little surprise for you.
Helen whimpered in terror.
What is this? How can this be happening?
Her immediate thought was to call Roger on the mobile.
But what am I supposed to say? Hi. So I’m reading a haunted book, and the fucking thing keeps changing the words within, it’s fucking talking to me…
She began to laugh, but she wasn’t finding one single part of this funny; so much so that tears prickled her eyes. Knowing that it was a very bad idea, but not being to stop herself, she opened the book at the start and began to read…
XXI
HELEN
Helen Clarke stretched out on the long, red leather sofa, her gaze drawn to the clock above the bookcase.
It’s only half-seven, what am I going to do with myself for the rest of the night?
Sighing heavily, her gaze travelled down the six shelves that made up the bookcase. Absently, she considered finding a film on Netflix, but she felt too on-edge to concentrate on the TV. Outside, a thunderstorm raged and she lay there listening to the rhythmic pitter-patter of the torrential rain lashing against the window.
Flumpy, the black cat jumped up onto her pink, pyjama-clad thighs, startling her. Helen scratched her behind her ears, forcing herself to relax.
The furry body felt nice and warm as she settled down against her legs, but she knew that was a lie, seeing as cats only pretended to keep you warm. Yeah, cats are such selfish wankers, she thought affectionately. Instead of creating a nice, warm spot, the little bastards absorbed all of that person’s heat into their own bodies, much like a vampire would suck blood.
“I expect Roger will get soaked-through on his precious pub-crawl,” she said to the purring cat.
The thought cheered her up, somewhat. As much as she professed not to mind him going out with his mates, she was still secretly miffed at being left behind.
What if he starts flirting with other women?
The nasty thought slammed into her mind, causing her heart to twist painfully in her chest.
“He wouldn’t do that, would he, moggy?”
A clap of thunder made her flinch, and Flumpy meowed, digging her claws into her thighs before scrambling away.
“Ow,” she complained, jumping to her feet. “Stupid bloody cat.”
And sure enough, now her legs were bloody freezing.
Muttering to herself like the crazy cat lady she was secretly worried that she might one day turn into, she hobbled into the middle of the living-room, frantically rubbing her tender – and very cold – thighs.
Over the mantelpiece, she caught sight of her reflection in the mirror. She looked wild, and an equally wild sounding giggle escaped her lips. Her shoulder-length, black hair stuck up every which way and her dark brown eyes were wide and crazed. A flash of lightning illuminated the room, immediately followed by a fierce explosion of thunder. Her skin, usually a rich and deep shade of brown, appeared bleached-out by the brief flash of lightning.
I look like a ghost.
The odd thought made her shiver, despite the warmth of the room. She noticed her arms were speckled with goose-bump and she wrapped them tightly around her torso. All she wore was a white vest-top, and her hard nipples strained against the flimsy fabric. Feeling inexplicably self-conscious, she retreated over to the sofa and grabbed the grey fleece that was flung over the back of it, wrapping it tightly around her shoulders.
Yet again, her gaze was drawn to the bookshelf.
When in doubt, read.
She took a step closer. At exactly eye-level, on the second shelf from the top, a book caught her eye. Unlike the others, it wasn’t neatly lined up with its spine facing outwards. It was propped up in the middle of the shelf, leaning against the row of books.
The cover was a simple affair – the words ‘The Collection’ were written across the front in big, red letters which were set against a mottled, greyish-pink background. There was no author name written on it, just those two words.
She plucked it down to look at it more closely. On closer inspection, the entire jacket of the book was made of some kind of leather – it felt dry and soft to the touch and she ran her fingertips over the raised lettering.
She shuddered when realisation dawned on her. It really looked as if the jacket were made of human skin, and the lettering was jagged marks cut into flesh.
“It’s not real,” she said softly to the empty room. “It can’t be.”
Part of her wanted to throw it the ground with a cry of repulsion, the other part of her clung onto it with morbid fascination.
Of course it wasn’t real. She was an idiot to even think such a thing for a second. But it was pretty gross, and so realistic.
It must be some special edition horror book, or something.
But she didn’t much like horror, so how the hell had it ended up on her bookshelf?
She frowned in confusion. Nope, she didn’t recognise it at all.
Maybe it’s Roger’s.
But Roger wasn’t much of a reader; every single book in the house belonged to her. Helen was a self-confessed book-whore – not a day of her life went by where she didn’t snatch at least ten minutes reading time. Books were her life and reading was her passion. Ten years ago, she had graduated from Oxford University with a first in English Lit, going on to teach English at a grammar school.
The strangest feeling washed over her.
I shouldn’t be touching this.
But she didn’t put it down.
Where did you come from, strange little book?
Even though she didn’t like horror, she found herself opening the cover, wanting to see the copyright page for information on the author and the publisher. There was nothing. No copyright page. No information. No nothing. The damn thing opened up straight to the first story.
Her frown deepened when she read the title, ‘STICKY-TAPE’. There was no author name there, either. Almost in a trance, she carried the book over to the sofa and wrapped the grey fleece around her body in a tight cocoon.
She began to read...
XXII
But how can this possibly be? This is exactly what happened, this is exactly what I thought before I read the first story...
It was truly like someone had crawled inside her head and fictionalised her thoughts…
But that’s fucking impossible…
The final, blood-curdling words from, ‘Word From The Author’ at the back of the book danced in her mind, and in many ways, those words scared her more than the words she had just read that had magically appeared at the start of the book.
And when you’ve read enough, when you’re terrified to your very core, come back to the back, and they’ll be another little surprise for you...
Because what if the book was right? What if there was another ‘little’ surprise? She wasn’t sure that her heart could take any more surprises.
I should call Roger, tell him to come home right now…
Instead, she picked up the book and opened it at the last page. Th
e ‘Word From The Author’ was still there, but the text had changed.
“Of course it’s changed,” she said. “Why on earth wouldn’t it have done?”
Laughing, she read the new, ‘Word From The Author’, with her heart slamming and her breath catching in ragged gasps in her throat…
When your boyfriend picks up the book in less than an hour from now, these are the words that he will be reading. Our ‘interaction’. My words, and your actions and thoughts.
The question is, Helen, did you ever really exist, or were you only ever a character in a story? Are you a real person, or did I create you? Are all your dreams, all your memories, a lie? Is the room you are in real? Is your red leather sofa a figment of my imagination?
Do you, dear Helen, only exist in other reader’s minds?
When Roger picks up this book, it will alter subtly. How will he find out he’s just a character in a story?
Perhaps he will open it and read about you finding a book on a bookshelf. He will think it’s a practical joke. But he will read it, and the truth will be revealed…. But this is your story, Helen, and you will never find out. Goodbye and goodnight.
Helen screamed and threw down the book.
“Fucking thing!” she screamed. “You fucking, fucking thing!”
Call Roger, she thought. He’ll come home and everything will be fine.
A clap of thunder made her jump and scream.
“Come on, Roger, where are you?”
Hopping nervously from foot to foot, she found herself drawn to the window once again. Peeling back the curtain and parting the blinds, she peeked out. Roger had to be coming home soon, it would be so nice to catch a glimpse of his tall, familiar figure ambling down the street in that nonchalant way of his. How she longed to see his messy blonde hair and the dark-green duffel-coat that he always wore.