The Best of Horror Library: Volumes 1-5

by Bentley Little

  “…break my mind and realign my spine. The government, lawsy mercy. The government.”

  Tamara closed her eyes. This was the easy part. The hard part came later.

  She slipped in and out of sleep for miles, never missing an ominous proclamation from the bus driver: “Today is fair and dark. Tonight there will be a slim chance of moon and the rain will be full. Franklin Thomas! This is your stop. On this date in history the great state of Alabama slipped between the cracks. The low tide is pulling us out to sea, and the undertow is making us forget.” She opened her eyes and watched the bus driver’s steel-trap mouth clanging out prophecy and stop times, trivia and destinies.

  Missy Faye slept beside her, her mouth slackening out into a formless bag, and her words turned to breathing, her eyes rolled back like hard, soulless marbles.

  “Next stop, Babylon!” the bus driver said.

  The bus groaned to a stop, red dust exploding into the air. The driver jerked the door open. “Wendell Patrick this is your stop,” came the voice. He never got this part wrong. Of course, this was the essential part, Tamara thought. So many people sleeping or drugged. They would miss their stop without the bus driver telling them. Then the sweepers would come in with their questions and their guns.

  She wished the government had just kept the real bus drivers. She would never understand why they had bothered to send all the robots down here to southern Alabama. Tamara remembered Mr. Ayers, the fat old man that had driven the bus before they sent the robots on their silver, terrorist-proof buses. He had whistled while he drove, and nodded politely at her each morning. Told her to have a nice evening each afternoon.

  But this bus driver—with his vibrato voice and soulless eyes—this bus driver had never been right. He had never even been like the other robots she knew, which had always left her feeling cold and lonely no matter how many other people were around.

  She looked at him, using the big rearview mirror in the front of the bus. He was looking back, all jagged metal teeth, smiling at her.

  The bus lurched. “Arlie Sherman!” he shrieked. “This is your stop.”

  Robots don’t smile. This thought and she closed her eyes again. Better not to think.

  “Missy Faye! This is your stop.” Missy Faye jerked awake and continued babbling as if she had never stopped. “The government gave us silver buses with bots so the terrorists can’t shoot us full of hots. The government took my guns away, sent me a robot that can’t think like my pistol on a bad day. Senators, congressmen, the Governor, the President, robots all rot.” She climbed off the bus and went along her way on Main Street, which was mainly deserted these days, except for the women like Missy Faye who picked up trash and swept the gutters free of rats.

  Tamara watched her amble down the sidewalk. “She should be retired somewhere,” Tamara muttered.

  The man beside her was awake now. He grunted his assent. “We should have all retired by now.”

  “Edward Smile! This is where you get off.”

  One by one they left her, until she was alone with the driver. Tamara sunk down in her seat. She hoped he wouldn’t look at her.

  “Next stop, Oblivion!”

  Oblivion. What did that mean?

  She straightened up to see the bus driver, and he saw her right back through the rearview mirror. She stifled a gasp. I’ll make it today just like the others, she told herself. Except each day lately she’s noticed the bus driver acting more and more strangely.

  “A few more miles,” she said beneath her breath. Her stop would come soon, and he would thrust open the silver doors and shout her name. She had made it so many other days. Why not today?

  Her nails dug into the vinyl seat.

  “On your right, just out your window,” the bus driver said pleasantly, “You can see the fields of death. Men toil day and night only to die! We are all driving into oblivion.” Then his head swiveled until she could see those razor blade eyes. Tamara pushed back in her seat, trying to escape his line of vision. Those slits, the way they narrowed on her—she looked away.

  The bus sped up.

  “What are you?” she said, her eyes still shut tightly.

  “There are ghosts in the machine and ghosts in the government and ghosts online,” the driver said. “Ghosts on the moon, ghosts under the sea, ghosts everywhere for you and me.” She could have sworn that he cackled.

  Her stop was on the horizon. Beyond that she knew there was a vast wasteland where the sweepers took the bodies of the useless people.

  “My stop,” she said.

  She forced herself to look at him. The steel-trap mouth was grinning at her. “Your stop is coming right up, Tamara Teasdale.” The bus sped up.

  “Look at the road!” she said.

  As in answer, the head swiveled a little farther around. He seemed to study her, and all she wanted to do was run away from the iron grin and the sharp, inhuman eyes.

  “The road to hell is paved with good intentions,” he said, his mouth moving in a garish parody of human speech.

  The bus hurtled through the brown landscape very fast now. Her stop flashed by in a colorless blur. She got out of her seat and tried to run to the back of the bus for the emergency exit. Before she reached it, she heard it click shut. He had locked it. She couldn’t even choose suicide, and somehow this was the worst. She would have to try to take the bus over. She turned back and saw the bus driver was no longer driving the bus. He stood in the aisle, his stilt legs planted like metal pegs, his narrow humps of shoulders squared in her direction, his mechanical mouth working back and forth from snarl to smile, from robot to bus driver to something more.

  “Oblivion!”

  She closed her eyes, trying to find eternity before oblivion found her.

  The Garbage Collectors

  by Ron McGillvray

  The bus pulled up to my stop and I got off and began my short walk home. The same neighbors who’d ignored me this morning were all smiles and waves as I passed by. I waved back and smiled, but didn’t stop to chat. I’d commented to my wife a few days earlier about how strange our neighbors seemed, but she told me it was all in my imagination. I crossed the street and couldn’t help but look at the house where the early morning incident had occurred. In front of the house a van sat, crammed with boxes and small tables. More furniture adorned its roof. It looked like they were moving. I wondered if it had anything to do with what had happened this morning? Nah, they must have been planning the move beforehand. I was still thinking about the incident when I walked in my front door.

  “Stephen, can you come in here please,” my wife, Sarah called from the kitchen.

  What now?

  “Patrick’s upstairs crying and won’t come out of his room.” She had a worried look on her face and she was fidgeting with some framed pictures on the mantle. Never a good sign.

  “What’s the matter? Is he sick?”

  “No, something happened at school. I think some kids picked on him, but I can’t get the whole story out of him.”

  “Was he hurt?”

  “No, I don’t think it was anything physical. Can you try talking to him?” She looked more than desperate.

  “Sure. I’ll go up there right now. It’ll be fine,” I tried to assure her.

  I placed my briefcase against the wall and walked toward the stairs. As I passed my wife I stopped for a second to give her a kiss. I got the smile I was looking for and headed up the stairs.

  I heard sobbing from the other side of Patrick’s door. I knocked a few times before I finally let myself in. Patrick lay on his bed, his head facing the wall. He looked up briefly and I could see he’d been crying for a while. His eyes were puffy and red, and he looked like he’d been through the wringer.

  “What a terrible day I had at work,” I said, trying to commiserate with my son. “Looks like you had a bad one too. Want to come downstairs with me and have a beer so we can talk about it?”

  That got a bit of a grin, but the sobbing started agai
n. Without warning, Patrick jumped off his bed, ran over to me, and wrapped his little arms around my legs.

  “Whoa there little buddy, what’s the matter?”

  “You wouldn’t let anyone take me away would you, Daddy?”

  “What are you talking about? Of course not. Who’d help me with the chores?” I tried to make a joke of it, but what he’d said hit me like a jackhammer.

  “Some of the kids at school told me the garbage collectors were going to come and get me and there was nothing you could do about it,” Patrick managed between sniffles.

  “Garbage collectors? What are you talking about? Do you look like garbage?” I said, putting on my Daddy knows best smile.

  “These are a different kind of garbage collectors.”

  “Slow down, son. Take it easy and take a big breath.” I waited for him to calm down. “Okay, now tell me the whole story from the beginning.”

  Patrick seemed hesitant at first but then opened up, letting it all come flowing out. “Kids at school told me that on the night before garbage day the garbage collectors come out and hunt through people’s garbage. They look for a sign that’ll tell them which kid will be next to go to the Dump.” Patrick took a deep breath.

  “Oh really? And what happens to these kids who end up at the Dump?”

  “They’re eaten by the garbage collectors. It’s what keeps them alive.”

  “I see. Don’t you think the parents might have something to say about it?”

  “The parents are the ones who give the kids to the garbage collectors,” he cried, tears streaming down his face. “If the garbage collectors come, can you give them Kim instead of me? I promise I’ll be good and do everything you guys say.”

  I felt a knot starting in my throat and a rage welling up inside. I wanted to go find these kids and give them something to really be afraid of, but I’d worked at keeping my temper under control and I wasn’t going to blow all that hard work now.

  “Don’t worry, I have no plans to let either you or Kim end up at the Dump.”

  “Promise?” Patrick said, looking at me with pleading eyes.

  “Yes I promise,” I answered. “So are these kids sent away because they were bad?”

  “No, the families do it to save their other boy or girl.”

  “What if the family only has one child?” I asked not so innocently, hoping to poke holes in the story.

  “No one here does. Everyone in town has two kids. Haven’t you noticed?” He stopped for a moment to catch his breath. “Danny told me, they only let you live here if you come with two.”

  What an imagination kids have these days, I mused. Then I asked, “Why wouldn’t the parents just pack up and leave if they found all this out?”

  “We can’t leave. There’s no way out of here,” Patrick answered with all the conviction he could muster.

  “Well we came here from somewhere, didn’t we?”

  “Yes.”

  “So if we came here from somewhere, we can always go back there, right?”

  “I suppose,” he said.

  “There you have it.”

  “But they said people have tried to leave before and always ended up coming back.”

  “That’s just nonsense. In fact I just saw the people about eight houses down all packed and ready to move. Where do you think they’re going?”

  “That’s the Donnelleys. They have to give their son up tonight.”

  “The other kids tell you that?”

  “Yes,” Patrick answered.

  “Well if these kids know so much, did they tell you what these garbage collectors look like?”

  “They’re like shadows. They’re all black and hate the light. They have big glowing eyes,” he said, tears once again welling up in his eyes.

  I felt a cold sweat form on my back as I recalled the strange dream I’d had last night. I’d been looking out one of the bedroom windows when I’d noticed what I thought was just a shadow across the road. Hadn’t they been going through the garbage?

  In my dream I remembered a shadowy figure tearing through the neighbor’s trash. Then out of the corner of my eye, I’d noticed another black figure glide across the street to join it. I watched them as they inspected the neighbor’s garbage unaware someone was watching them. Suddenly, one of them turned to face me and I tripped over myself, landing on my ass.

  I slowly picked myself up and looked back out the window toward where the dark figures had been, but they were gone. As I turned away, a movement caught my eye—a dark figure sat crouched on my garage roof, staring right at me.

  I woke up drenched in sweat and immediately went to check on the kids.

  I thought about the dream for a moment until an idea popped into my head. “Go get your shoes and your sister, we’re going for a drive. I’ll get Mom.”

  “Where are we going?” Patrick asked, between sniffles.

  “I am going to prove to you, we can drive out of this town any time we want,” I answered, trying to sound sure of myself.

  A sudden look of relief washed over my son’s face as he hurried into his closet to grab his shoes, calling out for Kim at the same time.

  “What’s going on?” Sarah said. “How’s Patrick?”

  “I think he’ll be all right,” I told her. “Some kids told him a story and it had him spooked. So we’re going to go for a ride in the car to make him feel better.”

  Sarah looked at me strangely but grabbed her purse as Kim came marching down the stairs with Patrick right behind her.

  “Okay, are we ready?” I asked.

  “Where are we going?” Kim said.

  “We’re going out for dinner to a restaurant this evening.”

  “Which restaurant?”

  “The first restaurant we come to outside the city limits. I’m going to prove something to your brother.”

  “Let me guess. He told you we can’t get out of here, right?”

  Her comment stopped me cold and I looked at her in surprise.

  “Why do you say that?” I asked.

  “I heard the same story today at school. They told me I’d never be able to leave the city and there was some evil force at work here.”

  “Who told you that? Did you overhear Patrick and I talking?”

  “No I didn’t hear you guys talking. Some losers in my class told me. There’s a group of them who think they know it all, but they’re nothing but brainless hicks.”

  “Well I have to agree with your description of the locals so far,” I laughed.

  “Stephen!” Sarah cautioned me.

  “It’s true, honey. The neighbors haven’t exactly been welcoming.”

  “Maybe we should give them the benefit of the doubt,” she suggested.

  “Sure, whatever. I’m just venting.”

  “Okay enough of this,” Sarah said. “Let’s get going. I can’t remember the last time your father offered to take us out, so we’d better get started before he changes his mind.”

  Everyone laughed as we headed out the door and piled into the car. I put the key into the ignition and started it up. “So far so good,” I said with a big grin.

  “Just drive,” the three of them said in unison.

  I backed the car out of the driveway and followed the tree-lined street to the first stop sign and turned right. I followed a winding road until we came to a major intersection. Sarah spotted the sign to the highway first and pointed it out. I made a quick couple of lane changes until finally we were on the highway.

  “Here we are then. Well on our way and no problems so far,” I said, more to Patrick than anyone else. “So tell me, Kim. What else did you hear about this place?” I asked as I pulled into the far right lane of the highway and settled in for the ride.

  “It’s just a bunch of nonsense,” she said.

  “Humor me, will you please?”

  “Fine,” she answered, exasperated. “Alison Crimble said there are things living in or around the garbage dump. I can’t remember which.” />
  “Go on,” I prodded.

  “Anyway, supposedly the dump is on some old forgotten burial site. The things buried there feed off the life force of children,” she said as she rolled her eyes.

  “And do you believe the story?” I asked.

  “Of course not, duh.”

  “See, Patrick? Your sister doesn’t believe the story.”

  Patrick didn’t say a word but continued to stare out the window at the passing trees. The car was silent as we continued to drive down the highway. The sun still bright in the sky even though it was closing in on seven o’clock. The sound of the wheels on the road gave off a hypnotic hum. I looked over at Sarah and she seemed to be daydreaming. I took a peek in the rearview mirror and saw Kim sitting with her usual scowl. Patrick, though, seemed to be studying the outside landscape for something I couldn’t fathom. Seeing this little trip wasn’t helping my son the way I’d planned, I decided to strike the conversation back up.

  “So tell me, Kim. How do these things manage to get the children they need?”

  “Well, supposedly they go through the garbage at night and look for personal items. That’s how they decide who they’re going to pick.”

  “Going to pick?” I asked.

  “Yeah, when they find the item they’re looking for they leave a mark or something, letting the family know they’ve been chosen to give up one of their children.”

  “I see,” I said with a smirk, looking at Sarah who didn’t seem to find any of this amusing. “What if the family only has one child?”

  “Actually, that’s the only thing that spooked me. It seems everyone at school has either a brother or a sister. There doesn’t seem to be any families with just one kid around here.”

  Once again the car went silent.

  “Shouldn’t we have reached an exit ramp by now?” Sarah said, breaking the silence.

  “Not sure,” I answered. “I got caught up in the story and wasn’t keeping an eye out.”

  “Well it’s starting to get late, and the kids are probably hungry. Let’s find a place, okay?”

  “Sure, no problem. Once we cross the city limit there’s a restaurant on the other side of the highway. I remember seeing it when we first drove down.”