by Matt Hickman
Looking at her phone, the time displayed 4:15 am.
Remaining in her vigil in bed, she continued to listen, carefully.
Nothing.
After about half an hour, the lamp beside the bed began to twitch and suddenly burst into life, the sudden illumination causing her to jump. She checked her mobile. 4:53 am, still no signal.
After waiting a few more moments, Lisa hopped out of bed and placed her ear up against the bedroom door; she heard nothing from outside, utter silence. Carefully, she removed the chair and pulled it to one side. Slowly turning the handle, she opened the door outward, wincing as it squeaked on its hinges. She checked the main entrance; the door was secure and the dining table was still pushed into place, undisturbed. Crossing the room, she placed the phone and poker down on the dining room table and began to pull it away from the entrance before ceasing and coming to her senses. Don’t be stupid, don’t go outside.
The first slithers of daylight had begun to creep its way into the early morning sky and into the cabin through the conservatory windows. Heading over to the phone in the main living area she picked up the receiver and put it to her ear, comforted and relieved by the sound of the dialling tone.
Thank God.
Beginning to dial, she turned, the sight before her made her freeze, her jaw dropped open in abject terror and she dropped the handset, which smashed to the floor.
Poking out from between the cluttered chairs in the fire place; Lisa saw the torso of her friend, Cathy, protruding from a twisted, broken angle – her distorted face and hair matted in a mixture of dried blood and mud, her grey tongue lolling from her mouth and a deep gash down her breasts to her abdomen exposed bloody organs, leaking viscera and brown liquid onto the wooden floor of the cabin.
Lisa screamed as loudly as her lungs would allow – it wasn’t loud enough to drown out the noise of the bolts beginning to strain as someone threw their full weight against the main door.
*****
Crawling on her hands and knees through the mud and tree roots, she clambered deeper into the trees, attempting to grip on to any loose debris or foliage that would aid in her forward motion. Rain continued to hammer down around her, she was soaked through, the filthy trousers and jacket of her work suit clung to her already drenched body making it difficult to move. Her shoes had been lost somewhere in the mud and the sharp branches and rocks scratched and cut her bare feet.
Through the rain and mud caked visage, she could barely make out the faint lights from the cabin in the distance. Sobbing uncontrollably, she swiped the sodden hair back from her face with a wet, muddy hand. Over the noise of the downfall and in between the clapping of thunder came the mocking laughter from the figure that slowly tracked her through the mud, dragging his heavy boots.
Turning onto her back in the sticky mush beneath, she stared up at him. The black clothing that he wore offered no protection from the rain, he was just as soaked through as she was; he paid no attention.
She shouted at him “What do you want from me?”
He offered no response. He tilted his head slightly to the left as if pondering a reply and then simply shrugged his shoulders. A huge bolt of blue and yellow lightning lit up the sky above from behind, exposing the sheer size and weight of the man. Standing at well over six feet, his rain-sodden clothes clung to his hefty frame, displaying his huge physique - the man was a beast.
Reaching a bleeding and filthy hand into the inside pocket of her jacket pocket, she pulled out her mobile phone. She held it up towards him and depressed the button on the side of the device that activated the integrated camera.
The blinding light that came from the flash stopped the man for a split second, before he stormed forward, aggresively. Her phone held out in front ready to take another picture, she never saw her attackers foot connect with her wrist, sending the mobile device spinning into the air, landing in the mud three feet away. She never spotted the overhand right that followed, connecting with her jaw, fracturing bone and loosening teeth. The blow left her semi-conscious and her world spinning. She lay on her back in the mud, the rain mixing up the dirt and claret on her mangled face. The man looked down at her, laughing menacingly.
A shrill repetitive sound disturbed him from a few feet away. Ignoring her groans of pain, he kicked her hard in the stomach, she collapsed over onto her side in agony, coughing up blood. Locating the source of the noise, he picked up the mobile phone and looked at the display. The message ‘Cabin Number Calling’ flashed in the display. Ignoring it, he dropped the phone into his trouser pocket. A few seconds later, the noise ceased.
She looked up at him, the man’s face hidden behind the balaclava, another bolt of lightning lit up the sky and Cathy knew it was her time to die. Praying that he would make it swift, she observed as he pulled a large hunting knife from the sheath on the back of his thick leather belt. The piercing noise of the mobile phone ringing once again in his pocket was the last noise that she heard; it was muffled by the sound of her own scream as her attacker thrust the savage blade into the side of her abdomen and began to cut and tear upwards through soaked flesh and solid muscle, spilling her still warm blood into the sludge.
Within a few minutes, she had bled out completely on the saturated ground, her eyes rolled back in her head, her mouth agape in a pained, hushed scream.
Snatching the mobile phone from his pocket, the man held it up in the rain held down the button, and took a picture of his prey. The momentary, bright light from the flash briefly added to the illumination of the lightning from within the trees.
Laughing, the man dropped the phone back into his pocket and the hunting knife back into its sheath. Knelt on one knee in the blood-soaked dirt next to his victim, he lifted one of her lifeless arms over his shoulder and, using brute strength and leverage, he threw Cathy’s dead body over his shoulder into a fireman’s lift.
Her head and arms hung lifelessly down his back, swaying from side to side with every step that he took, a mixture of blood, rain and wet sludge dripped from the ends of her hair and fingertips to the ground below, the contents of her abdominal cavity slowly began to seep down the man’s shoulder and chest. Slowly, he continued his ascent towards the main entrance of the dark cabin.
The Woods
Jake Williams gunned the accelerator on his old Ford Mondeo. Glancing down to the speedometer, he clocked that he was already travelling at nearly eighty miles-per-hour. His full beams shone forwards, the light penetrating the bleak November evening, illuminating the trees in the woods beside the road in their spine-chilling splendour. The beams hung, suspended in the light mist that drifted a few feet above the tarmac.
His speed may have been a cause for concern but he knew the road well; he had driven it home, every single evening for the last six months. He had rarely spotted more than a few cars on the stretch.
His thoughts drifted back to his long, tiring day at work. He had spent the whole afternoon trying to close a deal with a major client. He had been with the new company since being made redundant from his old job. Selling insurance was hardly stimulating but it was well paid and it covered the bills. His thoughts drifted off to his wife, Vicky. Things between them were going well, despite the setback early in his career, they had married two years ago, and were hoping to start a family. At thirty-one, and with Vicky a year older than him, neither of them were getting any younger.
Briefly glancing down to the digital clock on his dashboard it displayed 18:07 p.m. He figured that if he managed to maintain the same speed, and with the road ahead remaining clear, he would be home within thirty minutes. A headache was beginning to form at the back of his skull, his mind was set on getting home, kicking off his shoes and enjoying a glass or two of Scotch. It always helped him to unwind.
As Jake rounded the next corner, the darkness seemed to intensify, the trees had become thicker and the moonlight failed to penetrate the foliage hanging above. Although his beams were on full, he struggled to notice the silhouettes of
the trees beside the road.
Straining his eyes, he continued on, glancing down to check his speed. He slowed down to a steady sixty-five miles-per-hour. The radio had started to pick up static and was producing nothing but an irritating white noise. He turned the dial attempting to tune into a different station. Looking back to the road, he panicked as he saw something in the darkness directly ahead. He couldn’t be too sure but it looked like a figure – a woman with dark hair and dark clothing.
The car began to shake and jack-knife as he slammed his feet onto the brake and clutch. The woman in the road didn’t even flinch as the car hurtled towards her in a full skid, smoke bellowing out from beneath the car as the ABS locked down onto the wheels. Realising that there was no way of stopping to avoid the woman, he locked the steering wheel around to his left. The car rolled violently over onto its roof as it was thrown from the road.
Jake hung suspended in the car as it lay upside down, the airbags had failed to deploy and he was locked into his seat by his seatbelt. Disorientated and confused, he took an inverted glance around at the scene. From within the twisted wreckage of the vehicle, his initial thought was that he was lucky to be alive.
Until the eruption of pain.
He was unable to move his leg; his ankle had become twisted; his foot was pointing ninety degrees in the wrong direction and was jammed between the pedals. His chest felt squashed as if he had two men standing on it, his lungs were crushed. His breathing became shallow and laboured, the coppery taste of blood filled his mouth. Attempting to twist his body round, he realised that he couldn’t move.
He attempted to scream, but no sound escaped his ruined lungs. He panicked when he realised he could smell smoke. The heat intensified within the car and thick black fumes began to spiral into the night air.
Through the smoke, and through the windscreen, Jake’s eyes spotted a figure.
The figure from the road.
She slowly began to approach the car from the clearing of the trees. As she got nearer he made out her dull, black hair, which partially covered the remains of her horrific visage. The skin was blackened and badly charred, a section of the flesh above her brow had been ripped back and exposed part of her bloodied skull. One of her eyes was missing, leaving a gaping, crimson socket. Parts of her lips had been torn away, revealing a set of yellowed broken teeth beneath. The front of her black dress was shredded and burned away in parts, the flesh on her legs was viciously grazed, exposing bloody sinew and exposed lumps of ripped muscle, which barely covered the bone beneath.
She slowly made her way forwards towards the car, limping. Lifting her ruined left hand, the blackened, charred and bloody skin hung from her wrist like sagging, spoiled meat. She pointed with the remains of her index finger. Jake averted his eyes to the direction that she pointed. His eyes fixed upon a stone that was protruding from the ground a few feet from his overturned car. He made out a name written on the stone.
Emily Evans. Died 21st November 2014.
Panicking, he realised that he was staring at a gravestone. Without uttering a word, the woman turned and slowly began to retreat into the clearing of the trees.
Jake attempted to scream once more, but no sound could escape his throat. Stricken with terror, he stared at the name on the grave stone as it slowly faded, leaving nothing but plain, grey stone. He screamed again as he saw a name begin to re-appear.
Jake Williams. Died 21st November 2015.
Venom
He had received the code #104 no longer than ninety seconds ago.
Doctor Raymond Andrews fumbled with his key card. He quickly scanned the card through the security device and burst into the chamber; his two most senior and trusted team members directly at his heels. All three men stared in horror at the scene of carnage.
A large, muscular man was bound to a leather gurney, restrained by his wrists and ankles. His back was arched, inches from the surface of the bed. His face was a deep shade of crimson and trembling, the veins protruded violently from the temples on the sides of his shaved head and neck like they were about to explode through the skin. The man’s arms and hands were smeared with fresh blood, his face was contorting with pain and tears streamed down his cheeks. He gritted his teeth hard enough to dislocate his jaw, both rows of enamel grinding against the other, his eyes almost popped out from the sockets in his skull. The man was gasping desperately, choking – his chest heaved as he struggled to take in oxygen.
The man needed no introduction.
His name was Zachary Sampson. A serial killer and cannibal convicted for thirty-seven brutal massacres in the state of Texas in an ongoing bloodbath that had lasted over the past three years. His reign of terror had ended twelve months ago. The doctor grabbed the first executioner by the shoulder, and spun him around to face him.
“Good lord, man, what’s going on?”
The man returned his gaze. Fear and panic filled his eyes.
“He struggled when we administered the poison. He ripped the syringes from his arms. We managed to re-insert a catheter into his vein, but the poison, it ... it isn’t taking to his system. He was meant to be in a coma nearly an hour ago.”
The doctor inspected the spots of blood and clear liquid that had pooled on the ground below his feet. The deadly chemicals had sprayed across the room from where the prisoner had panicked and torn the drips from his arms.
“How long since he was injected?” asked the doctor.
The man hesitated. “Fifty-three minutes, sir.”
“Holy shit, he should have been unconscious in less than thirty-five seconds. If you’ve mixed the levels of the barbiturates unequally, we have no idea how the poison could be infecting his blood.”
As if confirming the doctor’s statement, the man’s thrashing and buckling on the gurney increased, becoming more violent and more erratic. The prisoner’s cheeks and the edges of his eyes began to turn purple, the pressure in his skull was so intense that the blood vessels in his eyes burst into crimson and his tear ducts began to leak a thick yellow substance down his cheeks. A stream of deep, red claret ran from the man’s nose and rolled down his face and neck. A trickle of bubbly saliva began to froth from the corners of his mouth. The ECG machine that monitored the prisoner’s heartbeat was spiking and bleeping frantically.
“We have to do something for him!” the doctor screamed. “He could be suffering brain damage.”
The prisoner began to shake violently, his large muscular arms pulled against the leather straps with such intensity that the buckles began to twist and bend.
The doctor shouted instructions to one of his team. “Get me eight grams of sodium pentothal, quickly.”
The assistant frowned and looked back at the doctor. “But ... sir, that sort of dosage will –“
“Just do it. Now!” he snapped.
The assistant turned reluctantly to the medical chest on the table and began to administer the chemicals into the syringe. Suddenly, the prisoner let out a heavy groan, followed by a choking sound. A small fountain of blood and spittle squirted from his mouth and his body collapsed back down to the gurney with a crash - the sound on the ECG monitor changed to a continuous bleep.
The doctor leaned forwards and inspected the dead prisoner’s face - his eyes were struck wide open in terror. He checked the intravenous needle that had been inserted into his arm.
“You inserted the needle pointing towards his fingers and not his toward his heart. You prolonged his execution through your own carelessness.”
The doctor glanced over towards the far side of the execution chamber. On the wall hung a two way mirror. He knew full well that the observation room on the other side of the glass would be full of witnesses to the execution and members of the press.
Someone’s head will roll for this.
Returning to the prisoner, he placed two fingers on his neck and looked at his watch. He began, “I pronounce…”
Suddenly, the ECG began to beep.
“What the…?”<
br />
Without warning, the prisoner bolted upright on the gurney, jerking his huge arms forward in a single, fluid motion. The leather straps that shackled him to the gurney snapped without protest. Like lightning, he grabbed the sides of the doctor’s head between his large hands and violently twisted. A sickening, cracking sound ensued as the vertebrae in his neck snapped and the man’s dead body fell awkwardly to the tiled floor with a smack.
Quickly un-strapping his bonded ankles, the prisoner dropped to the floor on his hands and knees and without hesitation bit into the doctor’s neck. A wet, tearing sound echoed around the chamber as his teeth bit through skin and muscle, tearing away a large piece of flesh from the man’s throat. He chewed on the man’s raw flesh as if it were a piece of rare steak.
The remaining men in the execution chamber panicked as they realised that they were trapped between the prisoner and the chamber door. He laughed menacingly, a throaty, evil sound. His red eyes stared - burning into the men with vehemence. A mixture of blood, gore and saliva dripped from the edges of his teeth and chin, collecting on the dead doctor’s white lab coat. He ran his tongue around his lips, savouring the taste of fresh blood.
Reaching his hand into the doctor’s pocket, he retrieved the key card. In an instant, he leapt, and his full weight collided with the man’s chest. He opened his mouth, exposing his blood covered teeth before biting down into the first man’s cheek. The man let out a shrill scream of agony, unable to escape from the larger man’s vice like grip. The prisoner sighed in delight as the man’s warm blood gushed into his mouth and trickled down his throat.
Behind the prisoner, the dead doctor struggled to get himself up from the floor, attempting to clamber awkwardly to his feet. After a few moments of struggling, he managed to push himself up onto his hands and then stood upright, his head hanging downwards at an unnatural angle.