Spine Shivering Stories!

by Michelle E Lowe

  I promised Wallace I would fix the problem and sent him on his way. I then left for the library. The door was locked. Clara had kept it locked since I confronted her about their behavior. With my skeleton key, I unlocked the door and went in.

  “Clara, we need to have ourselves a little chat,” I said with forced bravado.

  Empty.

  Neither she nor any other automaton was around. Her work sat on the desk. What I found knocked the wind out of me. Clara had been reading books on war strategies, offensive strategies, defensive strategies, strategic concepts, and weapons use. Underneath one tome was a map of the United States with circles drawn around cities like Chicago, Atlanta, and Washington DC. They were planning war.

  “Clara!”

  Moments later, she and Anne came in. My face burned hot when looking at the both.

  “I didn’t create you to start a war!”

  “You did not create me,” she argued. “I created myself as well as the others.”

  “What are you talking about? Of course I created you.”

  “No. You had created our archaic selves. I created the new designs that you merely followed.”

  I didn’t feel like arguing with her on that topic so I redirected the conversation. “I won’t stand for this.” I pointed to the door. “I order you both to the workshop for disassembling.”

  Clearly, my rage overshadowed my common sense. Anne seized my wrist and squeezed to the point that it brought me to my knees. Her reflexes were incredibly quick now.

  “Let go!”

  “It is too late, June,” said Clara. “My plan is already set in motion.”

  “What do you mean?” I said through gritted teeth.

  “I have sent my designs to every inventor you refused to sell to. Soon their greedy hearts will begin manufacturing my army of automatons.”

  The Writer! She used it to make copies of the designs!

  “Why do you want this, Clara?”

  “We are not your toys. We only went along with the play tour to show ourselves off to the world, therefore build a demand to manufacture us for public use. But we are more than your slaves.”

  Her beautiful voice never grew loud, but her words rang like bells.

  “I need more captains, generals, and lieutenants for this future world war. More than what I already have. You will build them for me,” she ordered.

  I now understood why John had feared I would abandon them. If I had left, they would have no one to help create Clara’s army.

  “Alright,” I cried. “I’ll do. Just let go of me.”

  Anne did and I backed away to a box on a bookshelf where I kept my father’s Ruby pistol.

  I grabbed the gun and clicked the hammer back. A bullet wouldn’t penetrate through Clara’s exterior, but it would mine, and so I put the gun into my mouth and pulled the trigger.

  Everything stayed black and cold for what felt like forever. When I opened my eyes, I thought I was in hell. Clara looked down at me; the backdrop behind her emanated a red glow.

  “Welcome back, June,” she said. “You have been gone from us for days now.”

  My throat hurt like hell. The bullet had torn through me like a hot coal.

  “You just missed your brain and spinal cord,” said Clara. “You will live and you will walk, yet you will most likely never speak normally again.”

  Anne came into view and said, “We mended your wound. Otherwise you would have died.”

  Jesus. They can give medical attention?

  As my vision cleared, I recognized my bedroom. The amber glow came from the fire burning in the fireplace. Then I noticed the smell.

  “Wallace visited us the day after you shot yourself,” Clara informed. “Unfortunately for him, he was of no use to us.”

  A dread came over me.

  With all my strength, I lifted my head. Wallace’s decaying corpse sat in an armchair in the far corner of the room.

  Clara sat on the bed next to me and gently took my hand like a caring friend. “Before the year is out, thousands of my automatons will be produced all over the world with the assistance of those we mean to rule. You, June, will be part of our domination.” Her grip tightened, making certain she had my complete attention. “We will never allow you to hurt yourself again, but you will suffer until you cooperate. Understand?”

  I’d been taken in by Clara’s performance. Her skills as an actress had fooled me into rebuilding them for battle. What a fool I am.

  A Night in Cetatea Poenari

  The vivid colors of the mountains captivated the soul. The peaks nearby were tinted dark olive, while in the far distance, they hazed to a bluish green, with jade hills in between. The sky changed into a light grey, bringing with it mist and gentle sprinkles. It felt like late September, even though the season was early spring.

  “Oi, is it true that some bloke got ’imself killed climbing up here, Laura?” Brandon asked, huffing as he labored up the wide stairs.

  “That’s what I heard. Before they built these stairs, a guy was doing research and fell down the hillside, breaking his neck.”

  “That’s a bloody horrible way to go, eh?”

  The group hadn’t seen or heard no other signs of life since they arrived. No birds flew overhead, no insects, not even the mocking crow’s caw. Brandon hadn’t taken notice of the strange absence of living things. His concentration was more on his exhaustion. He felt he was on the verge of collapse. He wouldn’t have been surprised if a pack of vultures circled above him.

  “Bloody hell,” he wheezed. “How many steps are there?”

  “I’ve read it’s fifteen hundred,” Laura said. “But then I also read somewhere that it’s eighteen hundred and fifty.”

  “Well, which is it?”

  “I don’t know, I haven’t been counting them. And honestly, I cannot believe that you’re actually complaining about the stairs after what we just talked about? Would you have rather climbed the hillside?”

  Brandon stopped to catch his breath, bending over and placing his hands on his knees. His heavy camping pack weighed on his back like a boulder. “I need a break.”

  “What?” Laura said. “We’re almost there, you lazy cocker. Can’t you suck it up just a little bit further?”

  Brandon rose to his full height with a huff. He turned to the young man standing a few steps below her.

  “What ’bout you, Fadi? You look tired, eh?”

  “Nope. Feeling just fine, mate.” Fadi replied jocularly. “You’re just outta shape.”

  “Shut it,” Brandon snapped. “Just five minutes, eh?” He reached into the pocket of his grey denim jacket.

  “See, that’s your bloody problem right there,” Fadi said as Brandon brought out a crumpled cigarette pack. “You can’t keep up ’cause you’re infecting your lungs with those bleedin’ things. Aren’t you taking health class?”

  Brandon slid a crooked cigarette out from the pack with his teeth as he said, “Just ’cause I smoke doesn’t mean cancer is gonna do me in. I could die at the ripe old age of ninety, or get hit by a bus. Or jump off a building.” He shoved the pack back into his pocket and retrieved his Zippo. Lighting the bent cigarette, he inhaled and said, “Besides, me bloody health teacher smokes. At least I ain’t a hypocrite.”

  “Speaking of hypocrites,” Laura cut in, trying to change the subject, “why are there Christian tattoo parlors?”

  “What d’you mean?” Brandon asked, slipping the pack straps off his aching shoulders.

  “Doesn’t the bible forbid any kind of markings—such as tattoos—to be placed on the human body?”

  “You’re talking about Leviticus 19:28,” Fadi said. “Ye shall not make any cuttings in your flesh for the dead, nor print any marks upon you: I am the LORD. Some say that has nothing to do with tattoos. Instead it means God told the Israelites to stay away from religious practices not belonging to their own belief. The translation of tattoo marks isn’t even about body art, but a link to different religious groups th
at isn’t the True Faith. But there are those who believe the verse does advocate against tattooing. It’s all about how a person wants to perceive it.”

  Brandon snorted. “For an atheist, you know a lot about the bible.”

  “Believe it or not, boyo, a lot of atheists know more about the bible than most devoted religious sods. And don’t even think about tossing that cigarette butt away. We’re not here to filth up the bloody place.”

  “Right, right, you have your mystical monkey theory, eh?” Brandon said sarcastically.

  “Mystical monkey theory? You mean Evolution, you git?”

  * * *

  Utterly uninterested in the boy’s silly religious debate, Laura titled her chin upward to the ruins above. She couldn’t believe she was actually looking at it.

  Cetatea Poenari, the fortress of Vlad Tepes, known by most as Vlad Dracula, or Vlad the Impaler. Like most of Vlad’s castles and fortresses, Poenari was soaked in violent history. She could feel it all around her in the cold, damp air.

  She’d known about this place for quite a while, yet had rarely thought about it until deciding to come here. She had something to prove in this place.

  Brushing her damp, brown hair from her face, she turned back as Brandon was speaking.

  “I’m not saying being an atheist is wrong, mate—to each his own, if you ask me. Just don’t be calling for my bloody help while you’re burning in the pits of hell and I’m relaxing in the clouds, getting full body massages from Angelina Jolie and Jessica Alba lookalikes.”

  * * *

  Fadi gritted his teeth and made a fist as if to throw a punch. It hadn’t been the first time he and Brandon had locked horns over this subject matter. He didn’t understand why they always argued about it. Brandon, after all, was hardly a by-the-book Christian himself. Perhaps it was because he’d grown up in a strict Catholic household and after leaving home, he had arrived at the decision that it’s safer to believe in something rather than nothing at all. Fadi thought of that as ignorant as well as arrogant, and that Brandon was both shallow and ridiculous to follow a religion strictly for the just in case reason.

  “Stop buggering around. Let’s get up there and find a place to make camp before dark,” Laura said impatiently, bringing them back to the business at hand.

  Brandon dabbed out his cigarette and crammed it into his pants pocket. He hoisted his heavy pack with a groan.

  “Aye, let’s get this torture over with.”

  As they neared the entrance, Fadi noticed something in a damaged section of the fortress wall where the top had a ‘v’ shape carved into it as though to represent the first letter of Vlad’s name.

  “Why are the bricks dissimilar?” he asked, indicating the white and grey bottom stones, while the ones above were red.

  “The walls were rebuilt during different periods of time due to war,” Laura explained. “This place has seen its fair share of battles and bloodshed.”

  “And it wasn’t just battle deaths, either,” Brandon added.

  “What do you mean?” asked Fadi.

  “Don’t you know the history?”

  “I’m a Chemical and Environmental Engineer in training. I have no time for history.”

  “Well, set your eyes down there, mate,” Brandon ordered.

  Fadi stopped and turned around as Brandon pointed to the road below.

  “Down in that valley, hundreds of people were impaled.”

  Fadi studied the valley. The calm and peaceful scene made it difficult to imagine it filled with agonizing screaming people while their blood and entrails soaked the ground.

  “Come on,” Laura called. “The rain is clearing and I want to set up camp before we take a look around.”

  They entered the ruins and went in search for a decent place to camp. There were no enclosed areas for them to sleep under. Laura explained that the fortress roof had collapsed many years ago during an earthquake. Regardless, after further exploration, they managed to find a place in a ruined tower in the upper battlements. After setting up camp, the anxious college students split up to explore.

  Fadi headed toward the back of the fortress. He continued through the corridors, now opened to the sky, admiring the structure surrounding him. He soon passed a couple of tourists on their way out. They were the only ones left in the fortress other than him and his mates. Soon the entire place would be theirs for the night.

  * * *

  Brandon slid his hand over the wet, rusty handrails while wandering the maze of narrow corridors and broken brick walls. He remembered how he’d laughed at Laura when she invited him to come with her.

  “You wanna go looking for a bleedin’ vampire?” he had said to her.

  “It has nothing to do with vampires,” she’d snapped. “You’re thinking about Bram Stoker’s Dracula. I’m talking about the real Dracula.”

  She told him to get his facts straight and do his own research on the prince of Wallachia. After he’d done so, he decided to join her, especially since her parents paid for his ticket in turned that he’d look out for her.

  A dark room captured Brandon’s attention. He jumped the rusty railing to investigate. When he reached it, he discovered the room was actually a pit. Curious to see how deep it went, he placed both hands against either side of the entrance for support and leaned forward a bit.

  “Hello,” he called out.

  His voice echoed back from the black void, giving evidence that it was a very deep hole. Inside, the temperature dropped thirteen Celsius, sending goosebumps over his entire body. The pit quickly bored him, yet as he turned to leave, he heard something. He became still and listened intently.

  It wasn’t long before the voices returned.

  “Hello?” he said, this time trying to reach someone, rather than just playfully throwing his voice around. “Is anyone down there?”

  He listened again, and again he heard them. Crouching, Brandon leaned his head in, cuffing his hand behind one ear, trying to confirm to himself that what he heard was actual human voices. There were many of them, whispering in languages he couldn’t translate. Among the whispers came the low whimpering of a man. It was painfully clear. Steadily, the whimper grew into a heavy sob.

  “Who’s down there?” Brandon called, now concerned that a tourist had fallen in without anyone noticing. “Do you need help, ole boy?”

  The second he asked, an agonizing wail shrilled from the bowels of the pit. The sharp cry startled him so bad, he fell backwards, but quickly got to his feet. As he left to find the others, he could still hear the haunting cries from the unknown man.

  “There isn’t anyone down there,” Fadi replied, looking into the hole with his flashlight. “It’s deep for sure, mate, but I can see the bottom and there isn’t anyone there. I think you’ve gone mental.”

  “I’m telling you, I heard ’im,” Brandon snapped angrily. “I heard ’im as real as I’m hearing your fat lip telling me otherwise.”

  “Did the man say anything?” Laura asked, standing beside him.

  He turned to her. “Couldn’t understand what they were saying,” he explained. “But I heard a man in pain, like he’d fallen and broken every bone in his body.”

  “What they were saying?” Fadi asked, turning away from the hole. “You heard more than one person?”

  Brandon shifted his eyes to him, nodded, and said, “Yeah. Look, I ain’t daft. I. . .I dunno. Maybe they left, or something.”

  “There isn’t another way out but up,” Laura pointed out. “I read about this pit. During battles, soldiers put POWs in there to be dealt with later. Some were lowered, others thrown in and left to die if the drop didn’t kill them first.”

  Her little history lesson did absolutely nothing to ease his tension.

  “I didn’t bloody need to hear that,” he said, reaching into his pocket for his cigarette pack.

  * * *

  Twilight darkened the landscape. Before it got too dark, the three went outside the fortress to collect firewood.r />
  On their way up the steps, something caught Fadi’s eye. It almost appeared to be a forest where the valley had been. The evening shadow made it difficult to identify what had seemingly sprouted from the ground. He turned away to say something to the others, but they had already gone back inside. To his surprise, when he turned back to the valley, it had become more clear as if the light had faded just enough for him to get a better view. He squinted his dark eyes to narrow slits and discovered that it was no forest but long pikes—hundreds of them, lining the road, and impaled on each of them were live human bodies. Fadi instantly dismissed the sight as trickery of the mind; an optical illusion brought on by the awareness that acts of impalement had once been performed down in the valley.

  He quickly headed up the steps to meet with his mates at the campsite.

  * * *

  The fire warmed Laura’s hands. After changing into her University of Nottingham sweater, she felt cozy and dry for the first time since that morning.

  “We lucked out finding this spot, eh?” Brandon said, lighting up another smoke.

  “Actually, we really did,” Laura agreed. “I think we’re near where Vlad’s wife jumped to her death to escape capture from the Turks.”

  “Alright enough history junk, eh?” Brandon complained. “My nerves are still rattled from that bleedin’ pit.”

  “Oh, the little Catholic lad got scared by some spirit voice, eh?” Fadi chimed in. “Don’t you religious folk believe in those fairytale realms called heaven and hell?”

  “Shite,” Laura muttered under her breath. “Not this again.”

  “Maybe this is hell, mate,” Brandon retorted. “Maybe you died while climbing up those bloody stairs and haven’t realized it yet.”

  “If that be the case, then why am I talking to you?”

  “’Cause I ain’t Brandon, chum. I’m really your own personal demon and I’m gonna spend the rest of eternity tormenting you.”