Horror d'Oeuvres - Bite-Sized Tales of Terror

by Jordan Accinelli

  My brother and I spent the nights leading up to the funeral in adjoining rooms in a little hotel near the graveyard. Every morning, my brother complained the noises had kept him up, and every morning, I told him he was just unaccustomed to sleeping away from home.

  The night after the funeral, I heard something heavy shift in the darkness. It came from my brother's room. I sat up blearily, just in time to hear a soft little click. Light seeped under the door linking our rooms together, and for a moment, there was silence; not a peaceful silence, but a sharp, crystallized silence, full of expectation and dread.

  Then my brother shrieked.

  When I burst through the door moments later, he was dead, his face contorted into an expression of such terror, I turned away and vomited. The officer suspected the razor he'd taken to his wrists must have been thrown away by the hotel cleaners before the police got to the scene. He said he was sorry for my losses. He passed me the number for a mortician who could do something about the horror etched into my brother's mottled face. I opted for a closed-casket funeral.

  I'm lying in bed now, over a year later, and I can't shake the cold dread rising inside me, the tremulous voice telling me the creak of my door and the shfff of skin against carpet are more than just random noises. There's something large in the corner of my room, its silhouette dimly illuminated by the gentle light of my phone as I type this. Logically, I know the shape must be a coat I left on the chair by my desk. Logically, I know the noises are just the sounds of my house settling. Logically, I know there's no one else in my room. I know my parents died of natural causes, my brother killed himself. If I just reach out and flick the switch on my bedside lamp, I will see an empty room and a coat hanging over a chair.

  But I also know the central heating in this house doesn't produce a sound identical to breath rasping from a gaping mouth. And I’m certain my coat is on a peg downstairs.

  I know my parents never got around to replacing their old, broken bedside lamp.

  And I know my brother died screaming.

  Please, I'm begging you, the next time you're afraid… don't turn on the lights.

  You don't want to see it coming.

  I Lit a Candle in Your Honor Today

  Michael Parrish

  “Hey Natasha. It’s me, Michael.”

  “I know it’s been a long time, almost twenty years, but I lit a candle in your honor today. So many memories came rushing back… enough to give me chills. I could smell the perfume you wore, feel the touch of your skin, even the taste of your lips lingered on my tongue for a moment.”

  “I never thought I’d go down this road, chasing these memories. I figured I’d have moved on by now. Well, I guess I have. It’s just, something happened recently brought it all back.”

  “You know I ended up taking Allison Porter to prom. It was fun, not as much fun as we would’ve had, but fun enough. She wasn’t as good a dancer as you were, and I miss your head lying on my shoulder. The dances were always the best; especially the fall Sadie Hawkins dance when we made love for the first time. I still don’t know how we managed to pull it off in the back of the Jeep. I miss that too, Natasha. I miss the way my hands fit perfectly in the curve above your hips. I miss your legs wrapped around me, pulling me closer. I miss the sound of your breathing intensifying, your mouth slightly open, your eyes telling me you love me. I remember everything about the way we made love.”

  “You know what else I remember, Natasha? I remember the feeling of your larynx crushing beneath my fingers while I squeezed the life out of you. I remember your fingernails digging into my arms, your legs flailing as you tried to escape, the fruitless gasps for air, and the sheer terror in your eyes. I’ll never understand why you did that to me. Not only did you break my heart, but you deprived me of the only true friendship I’d known. How could you? How could you go and fuck my best friend?”

  “I must have done a great job of setting the scene and playing the grieving boyfriend. They eventually ruled it a murder-suicide; said Nate killed you when you rejected him and then shot himself. I had the whole town eating out of the palm of my hand, Natasha. Your mom even asked me to speak at the funeral.”

  “Anyway, I lit this candle today because I ran into your baby sister. She doesn’t really remember you, and definitely doesn’t remember me. We’ve been seeing each other for about a month now. I know I’m way too old for her; but your mom died shortly after you did, and quite frankly, your dad did a lousy job raising her. I’m supposed to pick her up in a half hour. We’re going to Cheatham Park tonight… I know you remember what we used to do at Cheatham Park. I hope she’s a better girlfriend than you were, Natasha. I’d hate to have to light a candle for her, too.”

  Born Killing Machines

  K.J. Williams

  They're absolutely insane, natural killers from millennia of evolution. Whoever thought of releasing them upon our ships must have been psychotic. They can sense vibrations in the air and tell exactly where something is without even seeing it. They can even produce these same vibrations through their throats and seemingly use it to communicate. They’re primitive creatures; they still must consume the essence of other living creatures to survive. It's disgusting.

  No being should ever do that to another. They sometimes even do it to each other.

  When they first boarded us, it was a complete bloodbath. There was only one survivor: myself. This supply closet has been my home for the past two days. They can only survive a few days without consuming; soon they’ll be gone and it will be safe to come out.

  They’re coming for me. They know I’m here. They must really be hungry to wait around for me. Starving. Salivating at the thought of tearing into my flesh.

  A shiver runs down my spine.

  They’re coming!

  The floor is shifting as they lumber past, it's becoming more frequent. They’re standing outside the door. Vibrating their throats back and forth in their despicable language.

  They’re shifting.

  Always shifting.

  One of them is pacing the room.

  My heart is pounding in my chest, that… "thing" must be able to sense it, to feel the vibrations somehow. It is unnatural. How can something simply sense your vibrations from your heartbeat?

  It’s searching.

  Searching for a way inside. It knows I’m here.

  There is nothing else to do besides cower in the corner. It's going to kill me when it finds me. My essence will be its next meal… My only hope was it would happen in this order. The thought of being eaten alive is more than I could bear. A click could be felt through the ground.

  The door mechanism.

  My heart races faster with each passing second as my sight falls upon the door. It slides open. Blinding light floods the dark room.

  My eyes adjust slowly, gazing up at it.

  It is massive. It must be at least six feet tall. Its lips rise and drop in an aggressive growl, a glint of steel in its hand. My mind recoils at the sight, unsure of whether I should be more afraid of the thing’s teeth or its mind for weaponry.

  My heart pounds against my rib cage. My eyes beg for mercy but it doesn't understand. It can't understand. Its empty eyes just gaze at me while slowly stepping closer. My mind is racing, unable to bare seeing it. Pure flesh in a hulking monstrosity. My closing eyes flutter. My terror overwhelming. A final wave of fear flows through my body before the human’s knife rips me apart…

  An Intuitive Step-By-Step Guide to Finding YouTube Black

  Jordan Accinelli and Jonas Lefkowitch

  The internet is a twisted place and vaster than you know. For those so inclined, following the right steps can lead to its hidden corners, such as the secret video archive known as YouTube Black.

  All you'll need is a small mobile device (large screens produce too much light) with a stable data connection and a pitch-dark room. This is best done late at night.

  Set yourself up in the dark room, alone. This is crucial. With your screen's
brightness at its lowest, open the YouTube application on your device.

  Hit the search button and watch the blank search bar for eleven minutes and six seconds. When the screen starts strobing with flashes of black light, you're almost there.

  A string of arcane glyphs will appear, blood-red within the entry field. Simply tap the search button.

  Congratulations, you’ve arrived at YouTube Black's homepage with row upon countless row of mysterious videos for you to explore. They have no titles or thumbnails, and their timestamps are all exactly one minute long, making them indistinguishable, like panes of black glass set in a dark grey frame, daring you to peer through. You're welcome to watch as many as you'd like. Just keep in mind what's awaiting you:

  Fodder

  These videos show horrible, blood-soaked footage of murders and massacres, rape and torture, and… much worse. These acts were seemingly conceived to scar the minds of all who witness them. Most are driven away in tears after stumbling across their first Fodder. You'll see them roughly half the time.

  Revelations

  These are what most are seeking. No one knows how these videos are made, or even possible, for they hold visions of the future and lost memories of the past. They could reveal anything, from the manner of your own eventual death to the meaning of life itself. Revelations arrive nearly as often as Fodder, and are sometimes far more disturbing.

  Masters

  Within these videos, the true peril lies. They mesmerize you, commanding you like a mindless slave set to some particular purpose. It might be as innocuous as stealing a loaf of bread or as ruinous as torching your home. There's no predicting what will be demanded of you, and you won't be released from the spell until the deed is done. Masters are apparently the rarest variety, accounting for just one in a hundred videos, assuming all who've encountered them were freed to tell the tale.

  Notes:

  You can close YouTube Black at any time. However, the app will crash, causing a chain reaction that burns out your device, rendering it useless. Revisiting YouTube Black would require another device.

  You won't be able to close any video you've started before it has played in its entirety. If you avert your eyes, the volume will increase to a point where you can’t ignore it - potentially loud enough for your neighbors to hear. You've already risked your own sanity with this endeavor; don't endanger theirs as well.

  You must understand that the sequence of videos is completely random. Regardless of where you begin, the first video you choose could turn out to be a Master. If you should wake amidst a Black Mass and Satan standing before you… well…

  We did warn you.

  So, good luck, stranger. We hope you find the experience to be educational.

  Siren Song

  Tony Johnson

  Somewhere, deep under the skin of the world, she lay strapped to the cold metal table in the granite chamber. Trays of oddly shaped tools and instruments lay on surgical carts nearby, sparkling and sleek like open-ocean schools of fish.

  The man circled her prone form, dragging a dirty fingernail along her smooth midsection. She could neither move nor speak. Rough leather straps held her tightly to the table. His eyes glinted with lust, madness, and a species of malformed love behind the thick, dusty spectacles. Beads of greasy sweat popped up on his forehead as he spoke to her.

  “I’m so very pleased you’re here, darling. I don’t often get to be in the presence of such beauty as yours – it’s been true all my life.

  “It was always someone else who got the prize. Some fucking trust fund brat. Or some silver tongued smooth talker. What I’ve had to do to finally acquire you, my love, you have no idea, no concept. The people and principles that I’ve left in ruins in the wake of my efforts…”

  He trailed off. He seemed lost in a reverie, elsewhere for a moment. His unfocused eyes sharpened and he leaned in close to her, rotten breath flowing over her.

  “Your beauty is beyond description, beyond conception almost, and I am guilty of being selfish,” he whispered as he caressed her. “I’ve kept you to myself for far too long. I wanted some time alone with you. I wanted to get to know you.”

  He fingered a leather cord around his neck, the object dangling at the end glinting under the bright surgical lights.

  “Men have started wars over such a thing as you, killed scores just to stand in the presence of your beauty, your grace, your immense power.”

  She lay there, immobile and silent.

  “Now, you know, in all our time together, I’ve been a perfect gentleman. I’ve never touched you… you know… inside…but I think it’s time we changed that. I think it’s time the world sees what you can do.”

  Pressing a red button on her access panel, the shielding on the SSN-9 Siren nuclear device slid silently open, revealing a glowing green light and a slot for the glittering detonation key he held in his hand.

  Over the Edge

  Crimson Clubs

  A squealing hydraulic sigh punctures the winding mountain road, echoing down into the peaceful sunny valley below. The placid sunny valley. The picturesque, picture-perfect, perfect for a picture sunny valley. It would make such a pretty picture if I could just lean a bit forward -

  Searing iron twists, tearing my skin – my everything.

  Awake – “Gh-!” I gasp – crushing my body under solid heavy pain. What happened? Where am I?

  The great expanse of sky is half dominated – right half filled by solid grey rock.

  I'm on my back. I try sitting up – bones slip – needles of agony bloom in my mouth. My entire length devastated. Both legs forgetting their shape after a blistering impact.

  Attempting to turn to my left – my neck grinds, vision blurs. I stop. Forced to keep looking straight up. Straight up the cliff face, I can't tell how high. Three stories? Five?

  I hear voices up above. The bus! The bus stopped on the mountain. One of those busy roadside turnouts drowning with tourists. I went to take a picture of the valley… I must've fallen. But… Shouldn't I have fallen further?

  Head locked, I stare out to my left. Blue open skies, with the tops of lush evergreens far below. I guess I landed on a ledge.

  Someone must've seen me fall… Right?

  A shadowy flutter of feathers beats down onto my ledge. A looming black mass stands towering over me.

  Is that a raven? “Sh… sh… oo…” I whisper, pain paralyzing my tongue.

  The bird is unmoved. Instead, it weighs my broken flesh with keen eyes. Intelligent eyes which fully comprehend my plight – yet offer no comfort – only hunger.

  Go away. Go away! Below my left elbow, my arm is submerged in molten lead. Commanding the arm to move – acidic lightning joins the metallic fire. But still I force movement into my twisted limb – the limp forearm swinging freely about a white protrusion – slack skin glistening red.

  The raven retreats – clearly uncowed. I scan the cliffside – desperate for any sign of salvation or imminent aid. They must've seen me fall! They had to!

  Right then, a head of a boy – I think it's a boy – peaks over the clifftop.

  Yes! I knew someone must have seen me!

  “H… lp… hel… p…” I can barely hear myself. Shallowest breaths embedding razor blades between my ribs.

  The boy's expression changed. Yes! He's seen me! I'll be rescu-!

  Something cold flicks me in the forehead.

  “Nathan!” A woman's shrilling voice shouts, stealing the boy's attention. “Stop spittin' off the edge!”

  And like that, his head disappears once more – while the raven's crooked beak creeps closer to its ripening feast – away from the meager defense offered by my near-useless arm.

  The bus departing – cheerful laughter evaporating – only the wet sounds of the bird's meaty meal remains. Gazing up at the sun above – I'm grateful the serrated twinge is almost invisible among the countless other dominating aches throughout my being. When at last my unwelcome dinner guest has had his fil
l – he launches into the vanishing air.

  And I am left all alone to watch as the sun quickly races over the edge of the horizon – gone forever.

  The Nightmare

  John Andreini

  It was happy hour at Stan’s Tavern and lawyers, accountants, and executives from downtown businesses traded complaints and drank away the petty feuds and impossible deadlines of the day. Justin Holloway finished off his second daiquiri and motioned for another while colleague Doug Herrera poked at the ice in his drink.

  “You look tired. Tough day?” asked Doug.

  “No worse than usual. Ever had a nightmare that really got under your skin? One that you keep having night after night?”

  “Sure. My marriage. Okay, I guess not. You?”

  “Yeah, and it’s driving me crazy. In the dream I’m seeing into a kitchen exactly the way it would look through a security camera. I see a dog, barking at the kitchen door, and a second later the door opens and I come walking into this house. So I close the door and look up at the camera for a moment. Then I walk toward another room like I’m in some kind of trance.”

  “Not all that scary.”

  “That’s not the end of it. Time goes by, and then I reenter the kitchen dragging a man’s dead body behind me, and I leave the house with it.”

  “Okay. Now that sounds like a scene from bad horror movie.”

  “Here’s the weirdest part, Doug. I catch a glimpse of the dead man’s face, and I know him. He was a client I took out for a drink. And…”

  “And what?”

  “And he told me about his nightmare, which was almost exactly as I described it to you.”

  “Now you’re playing with my head. Right? Cue Twilight Zone music? Where’s the damn waiter?”

  ***