Dark: A Horror Anthology

by Steve Wands

  “That guy was a zombie! Didn’t you see how fucked-up he was?!” I demanded. This was no way to treat a hero!

  “I saw you beat down a survivor, you son of a bitch!” growled the cop.

  “He got up from under that tarp after he was dead! He didn’t survive shit!” I retorted, struggling against the handcuffs, but to no avail.

  “He survived just fine until you killed him!”

  “You’re lucky I killed him! If I hadn’t—” The cop slugged me in the stomach, knocking the wind out of me and sending me sprawling onto the pavement, where I lay gasping and flopping around like a fish out of water.

  Ah, good ‘ol Midwestern cop brutality.

  “Resisting arrest, huh? Any other charges you wanna add?” the cop snapped as he leaned over and waggled his finger at me. “Any more bullshit you wanna throw? Come on, tough guy! Wanna try it?”

  Still struggling to get my wind back, I wasn’t able to warn the dumb bastard of the zombie cop shambling up behind him. Apparently one of the officers that my zombie had chowed down on earlier was done marinating and was ready to roll.

  The living cop yowled in surprise and then screamed in agony as the dead cop latched onto him and ripped a huge chunk of meat out of his neck, raggedly tearing tendons and muscles as crimson gore geysered out, sparkling luridly in the bright sunlight.

  The cop’s pained breathing suddenly became extremely loud as it violently whistled in and out of his demolished windpipe, and I shuddered at the horrific racket he was making. Then the cop’s legs gave out and he collapsed to the ground in a trembling heap, his lifeblood spilling out onto the asphalt. He was toast.

  As he leaned down to go after his meal, the zombie cop noticed me. I just about pissed my pants. Oh, hell no.

  Now ignoring the swiftly-dying officer, the zombie cop leaned in towards me; his ragged, bloody features alight with the slack intensity that only the living dead can manage. I started to squirm and jerk around as I tried to get back to my feet, but it was hard going with a nearly-dead cop laying across my legs and my hands cuffed behind my back. Fuck me running.

  Dead hands that were still faintly warm with recently-escaped life grabbed me in a steely grip. The zombie held me in place and moved in for the kill, his bloody jaws opening wide to take a big bite out of my shoulder. Then with a hungry moan, the zombie lunged forward and bit deep into my flesh. I screamed.

  And screamed.

  And screamed.

  *

  I sat bolt upright in bed, soaked in sweat and panting as though I’d just run a marathon, my heart thundering in my chest, ready to leap right out. I frantically pawed at my shoulder, sure that I was going to find a big, gaping bite where the muscle was supposed to be. But there was nothing there but my nightshirt and shoulder.

  It had just been a dream.

  “Ohhhh damn!” I groaned as I flopped backwards onto my sweat-soaked bed, practically melting with relief. I was safe! Zombies were just something reserved for movies and books!

  Speaking of which, I glanced down at the pile of Walking Dead comics I’d been reading before falling asleep and gave them a shove of relieved annoyance.

  “Fucking things,” I muttered, chuckling a little at myself. First nightmare I’d had in years, and what a doozy it was.

  As my heart rate slowed down and I started to relax, I began to drift off towards sleep again, since it was still dark outside and I wagered I had a few hours before I was going to have to get up.

  But then a familiar scratching and growling came from outside – something was clawing against my heavy front door.

  I tried to ignore it, but it increased in intensity. Several razor-edged howls suddenly cut through the night air, filling it with an eerie, primeval sound that traced down through my nerve endings to the more primal, base parts of my brain, making my hair instinctively stand on end.

  Werewolves.

  “Can’t a guy get any sleep around here? Fuck!” I growled as I flung my covers aside in annoyance and sat back up.

  Feeling sorry for myself and my lack of sleep, I listened for a few moments as the scratchings and bangings downstairs redoubled themselves, followed by more angry howls. Luckily, my entire house had long ago been barricaded against such things, so they weren’t getting anywhere for the time being.

  From the sounds of it, my latest attempt at killing that goddamned werewolf had been less than successful. Not only had he gotten himself back together, he’d brought along a few friends and/or family with him.

  As if to confirm my suspicions, a throaty snarl drifted up towards my bedroom window as my longtime lycanthropic adversary shouted for my blood yet again.

  “Come out, Neville!” he roared.

  “Oh, fuck you, Cortman,” I grunted, rubbing at my eyes and getting to my feet. “Lousy family curse.” Where the hell were my pants? I found them by tripping over them, and fought back several massive yawns as I shrugged them on. This was going to be a looooooong day.

  But at least there was no such thing as zombies. Werewolves, vampires, trolls, ogres, sorcerers, mummies, mutants, and that kind of thing, I could – and did – live with. But zombies creeped the hell out of me.

  *

  Knife

  By Bryan Wolford

  John came out of the store with the knife wrapped in a roll of cloth. He couldn’t believe how he had swindled the shop keep into giving it to him for a mere four dollars. They were in the middle of a Great Depression for god sake. 1934 had been a terrible year for everyone. Most places had raised their prices just to hope to break even by the end of the month but somehow he had talked the shop keep into lowering his price by half.

  He now unrolled the knife and looked at it. The blade gleamed in the sunlight. Its edge appeared razor sharp as if it had not even sliced through a loaf of bread. The handle was a smooth polished black. It fit in his hand almost perfectly. He hoped it looked menacing enough, as his intentions were less than honorable. It was hard during the depression and if he had any other means to get by he would have. Mugging was the only thing he knew to do. The bank had rejected him for a loan and the factory had shut down. What else could he do?

  The plan was simple. He would hide out in the park after dark. Most people opted to walk in the park nowadays as it was rather nice in the evening during this time of the year. More importantly it was free. Many would think to use a gun. John had considered this but decided a gun would be more costly. First of all a gun would cost more. Then after that you had to keep buying bullets to refill it. In the end it was just a bad investment at this point in time.

  By the time John had gone to the park the sun was nothing but a sliver behind the trees and the sky was a magnificent orange and pink. He walked around the perimeter of the park twice to find a good spot to hide. There were many clumps of trees and bushes that would make some good spots to try. Diagonally through the park ran a stream that, at various points, had small bridges running over it. He tried to remember where all the bridges were so that he wouldn’t be caught off guard and have to go running through the water. There were a lot of couples milling about. Some held hands as they walked while others stood an arm’s length apart from each other.

  The sun had finally disappeared and a cool breeze began to blow. Shadows now crowded the grass. John waited patiently. A couple walked by but John let them go. The man was too large. John would have easily been overpowered by him. A few minutes later another couple walked by. This man had a skinny frame. He no doubt worked in an office and not in a factory. John quickly stepped out of the shadows with his new knife in hand.

  “Give me your wallet and all the missus’ jewelry.” The man quickly reached into his pocket and produced his wallet. His girlfriend had taken off her necklace and had begun to take the ring off her left hand. “Leave the ring.” He may be stealing people’s money but only because he needed it. A thug he was not. When the wallet and necklace were in his hands he ran off through the bushes.

  The man only had five b
ucks on him but he knew he would be able to fetch at least six or seven dollars for the necklace. His investment in the knife was already making him a profit. He kept running until he was on the edge of the park. The stream gurgled by as he approached one of the footbridges. With a flick of the wrist the wallet splashed into the water. He slowed his pace to avoid suspicion.

  The night helped him escape the park. Buildings began to come back into view as the park fell away. He wished that he had made more of a score but staying in the park was too risky of a chance. The couple would have found a police officer and the hunt for him in the park would have been on. He made his way back towards his apartment. Most of the small shops had closed already. As soon as the sun went down most people went home. There were still people who found their way to some underground gambling casinos and nightclubs. John knew where a few of them were and headed towards them.

  As he approached a casino run by a man named Sammy the Butcher he heard two people arguing in the alley to his left. He crept to the opening of the alley. A man and a woman were there arguing with each other. John quickly pulled out the knife and stepped into the alley.

  “Give me all your money and jewelry,” he said. Both the man and woman stopped talking and looked at him.

  “Get the hell out of here,” the man said to him.

  “Come on, I don’t want to have to hurt your. Just make this easy.” John brought the knife up so that both of them could see it. The man didn’t seem intimidated by it and advanced on John.

  “I told you to get out of here. You ain’t gettin’ nothing.” The man reached for John. The knife came down with a quick flash and caught the man in the left shoulder. John could feel the blade strike the man’s shoulder joint. He quickly pulled the knife out again and ran off into the street. The man fell to the street as the woman began to scream.

  John ducked down a few different streets. After awhile he began to slow down. He looked down at his hand and saw blood covering the blade of the knife. John shook his head. He had never intended to stab someone but the man had advanced on him. The knife was supposed to only be for show. He had no other choice but to defend himself.

  After another twenty minutes of walking through the back streets to avoid anyone from following him home he entered his small apartment and went right to the bathroom. The light overhead flickered on and then began to blink on and off. He turned on the faucet and splashed some cool water on his face. This night hadn’t turned out how he had wanted. As he began to reach to turn the faucet off he felt a small pain in his left shoulder. He ignored it and went to bed.

  Sleep did not come to him right away but when it finally did it was filled with nightmares. In them there seemed to be a group of black people were chanting while covered in paint. In the center of them he saw the knife he had just purchased. It sat in a blazing fire. A woman out of the group grabbed it out of the fire as she screamed from the pain.

  John sat up in a cold sweat. The image of the woman with the knife lingered at the edge of his brain. He ran into the bathroom and splashed water on his face once again. The cool water felt good. He looked into the mirror and noticed that he was shaking. For five minutes he stood there gripping the sink until the shaking stopped. When it finally did he turned to go back to bed. As he turned his shirt caught his eye. He was wearing a common white cotton t-shirt but right over his left shoulder there was a red spot. It appeared to be blood.

  When he lifted his shirt there appeared to be a small scratch on his shoulder. He had no recollection of running into anything that could have caused it. Then he remembered the altercation with the man in the alley.

  “Must have gotten me with something,” he said to himself. There seemed like no other explanation. John washed the scratch with a washcloth and then went back to bed. He did not dream again that night.

  The next day brought much of the same as the day before. He robbed a few people without incident. One guy didn’t even have any money on him. John’s shoulder began to ache by midday. When he reached in his shirt to rub it his hand came back with blood on it. He stepped into an alley to look at it. The wound seemed to have gotten bigger. As he put his coat on he heard a voice behind him.

  “Alright buddy, turn around slowly and empty your pockets.” John turned and saw a man slightly smaller than himself standing with his hand in his pocket as if he might have a gun. The point of it stuck out at him. “Come on now, let’s make this easy,” the man said. John had no intention of giving up his loot that easily. He reached into his pocket and drew out the knife with his left hand. With a fluid motion he leapt at the man. Before he got to him the man pulled his hand out of his pocket. There had been no gun. John’s momentum pulled him forward. He couldn’t stop. The man tried to turn and run but the knife caught him in the stomach. Blood began to flow onto the pavement. John looked around and found no one watching. He wiped the blood from the knife onto the man’s jacket and began to dig through his pockets. The man was carrying a total of twenty dollars.

  “You must have been having a good day…up till now that is,” John said. The man looked up at him with eyes that were already starting to get glassy. John put the knife in his coat and ran out of the alley into the street. No one was looking at him suspiciously. He walked along the sidewalk with his hands in his pockets. His shoulder ached unbearably now. After walking around for a while longer he returned to his apartment.

  When he entered through his doorway he went straight to the bathroom. When he took his coat off he saw that his shirt was now drenched in blood. He lifted his shirt to find the wound on his shoulder was now larger and deeper that it had been earlier that afternoon. When he reached for the faucet with his left hand a sharp pain exploded through his arm. He put his arm down and used the other arm to fill the basin with water. When it was full he took his shirt off and washed the wound. He wrapped the wound with a clean part of his shirt and then went to lie down.

  Sleep came upon him quickly. Again he began to dream. This time he was seeing a long field. Along each row he could see workers bent over. All of them were black. One of them stood up and John realized it was the woman from the dream before that had drawn the knife out of the fire. In the light he could see that she was middle aged. She wiped her brow and bent back over to work. Next to her was a kid that couldn’t have been more than fifteen. Somehow John knew that this was the woman’s son. The kid stood up and began to stretch. Almost instantly a man came up with a whip and gave the boy a quick snap.

  “Back to work,” the man said. The boy fell to the ground but stood up once again facing the man.

  “No more. I was just stretching,” the boy said back to the man. The man drew back again and let the whip crack. This time the boy put up his arm and the whip looped around it. With a quick tug the whip was jerked out of the man’s hands. The boy’s mother began to get up but the man reached over and pushed her down.

  “Stay down or you’ll get some too,” the man told her. The boy bent over to help his mother when the man pulled out a knife and began to stab him unmercifully. John realized it was the knife he now owned. Cuts appeared all over the boy’s body. The mother began to scream in horror. When the man was done the boy was covered in stab wounds. Blood began to seep into the ground that he was lying on. He was dead. The mother was crying hysterically.

  “I curse you,” she said. I will curse you and your instrument of death.” The man kicked a clod of dirt at her and walked away. The next thing John saw was the man’s body lying on the ground covered in stab wounds much like the boy’s. In his belt was the knife.

  Again John sat up in a cold sweat. His apartment was dark. As he got off of his bed the springs creaked. He made his way to the bathroom. When he turned on the light he gasped in horror. In the mirror he could see a small line on his stomach. He touched the small cut. For now it was just a scratch. Quickly he unwrapped his shoulder. The wound was now very deep. It was agony just to move his arm. A realization came upon him then. He saw himself stabbing the m
an in the shoulder and then the man in the stomach. The wounds that were showing up on him were the same wounds he had inflicted on the other two.

  “The knife is cursed,” he said to his reflection. The dreams now made sense. Some time before the knife had been cursed to inflict the same wounds that the owner inflicted on others. “I have to get rid of it.”

  John thought of taking it back to the shop he had purchased it from but the prospect of explaining how he knew it inflicted its owner with wounds after being used on others did not appeal to him. He instead made his way towards the riverfront. There were a few dive clubs down there. No on would question why he was walking along the river in the middle of the night.

  When he reached the riverfront he looked down into the water. It looked black. He pulled the knife out of his pocket and held it in his palm. His only hope was that it would sink to the bottom of the river and never hurt anyone again. Just as he was about to throw it he heard someone approach behind him.

  “Looking for a date?” a lady asked him. It seemed that one of the prostitutes that patrolled the area had wandered upon him. As he turned to face her, his legs tangled together and he fell. Everything seemed to slow down as he was falling over. He reached out to steady himself and felt the woman grab him to steady him. They both fell to the ground with John on top of her. When he began to get up he saw that the woman lay motionless. He looked down and saw the knife sticking out of her chest just above her heart.

  “No!” John screamed. “No, no, no!” He grabbed the knife and pulled it out of the woman’s chest. With a quick snap of his arm he launched it into the river. It made a small splash and then sank below the surface. He looked back at the woman on the ground that now had a massive wound in her chest. Instantly he knew that sometime soon a small line would begin to appear on his chest as well.