What Goes Around

by Rollins, Jack

  “Her nest?”

  “That’s right.”

  “I wish you hadn’t told me now.”

  “You did ask, boy.”

  “How are we going to get out of here?”

  “We won’t.”

  ***

  They walked through the never-ending woods. There were sounds of snapping branches far behind them. Ray thought he heard his mother calling to him, calling his name. He ignored the voice.

  “She’s been calling me, too,” said Huntoon. “Imitating the voice of my ex-wife.”

  “Does she think she can fool us?”

  “She’s just taunting us. She’ll soon be after us again.”

  Ray said nothing more and looked away.

  They struggled onwards.

  ***

  Huntoon stopped and sat down on the ground. He bowed his head to his chest. His shoulders rose and fell, then trembled. He was clutching at his heart.

  Ray ran back and crouched beside him.

  “This is where I stop,” said Huntoon, spittle on his chin. He winced and squeezed his eyes shut. “I can’t go any farther.”

  “Heartburn?” Ray said.

  “My pills are for something a bit more serious than heartburn. Fucking stupid of me to leave them in the car.”

  “We have to keep moving.”

  “We’re not going to get out of here, boy. She won’t let us escape. We’re going to die, if we’re lucky. She might have something worse in store for us. I can’t face it. I can’t go on. I suggest you do the same as me after I’m gone.”

  “What are you going to do?” Ray asked. He glanced at the darkness around them, and then turned back to Huntoon.

  The old man had the pistol barrel in his mouth. His eyes were dull and sad, glistening with tears. And before Ray could reach for the pistol, Huntoon pulled the trigger and shot the back of his head out.

  ***

  Ray left Huntoon behind, and a few hundred yards on he heard a wailing cry beyond the trees he’d recently ventured through. He travelled with the pistol in his coat pocket, and the spade and torch in either hand. The dripping woods around him. Endless night. Endless rain. Hours spent walking, tripping, stumbling and falling. He twisted his ankle in a hidden divot, and when he slumped upon the ground, gritting his teeth in pain and desperation, that was the closest he came to following Huntoon’s lead.

  He limped onwards, dragging his feet, gasping at the aches and pains in his exhausted, drenched body. Several times he thought it would be easy to take the pistol and put it in his mouth, but he couldn’t do it. Didn’t have the nerve. Lacked the will. It was no surprise to him.

  And, finally, after realising he couldn’t go on, he succumbed to the cold exhaustion and slumped to his knees. He dropped the spade.

  There was the sound of a quick rustling behind him. He grabbed the pistol and turned awkwardly on his knees and fired at the lurching form of Wretched Annie until the gun was empty. When the smoke cleared she had disappeared, but Ray could hear her somewhere in the trees, whispering old curses. He struggled to his feet to stumble away, glancing back to see her vague shape far behind him, and heard her mewling and throaty coughs in the dark.

  The ground fell away below him to a steep wooded slope, and he realised this too late to slow down. He flailed as he tumbled head-over-heels and hit the dirt and slimy mulch. The breath was knocked out of him, and only when he rolled to the foot of the slope did he stop, his limbs and torso prickling with scrapes, cuts and bruises. His vision blurred from hitting his head against a stone on the way down. A few teeth felt loose. He lay on his back and gulped at the air, his heart squeezed by the white-hot terror in his chest. He had lost the pistol and the torch, and now he waited in the darkness for Wretched Annie.

  ***

  She galloped down the slope to find him. And then she fell upon his shivering body, nuzzling his neck with her terrible wet mouth. He felt her teeth at his throat, and he waited for them to clamp down, but the killing bite never arrived. She withdrew from his neck and moved her face close to his own and began mewling and cooing. His groin warmed with the release of his bladder, an acrid stink that was paltry compared to Annie’s musk. She sniffed at the air, but thankfully ignored the spreading patch of piss on Ray’s trousers.

  “Please don’t kill me,” he said. “Please don’t…”

  She looked at him with her yellow eyes, full of animal cunning and malevolence. Ray whimpered and started to cry like a child. She made a low sound in her throat. Ray couldn’t look at her; he thought it best to avoid eye contact, in the hope she would lose interest.

  Wretched Annie seized the sides of his head with her great hands and planted her mouth upon his. He tried to scream, but she nuzzled and licked and bit at his lips, then withdrew from his bleeding face.

  Ray fell onto his back and made little sounds of terror and shock, his hands pawing at his ragged lips. The taste of her mouth lingered within his, all sulphurous and yeasty. He gagged, leaned to one side and retched until he spat blood.

  “Please…please.” His voice was barely a whisper, pushed past teeth broken by Annie’s explorations.

  Mercifully, he was barely conscious when she grabbed his ankle and pulled him along the ground toward a place only the dead had seen.

  ***

  Damp ground beneath him. The stink of rotten meat in darkness. He knew deep in his gut where Annie had taken him. He stifled a sob and drew his limbs inwards as he sat up with his back against wet stone. He put one hand to the pain of his wet mouth, and with the other hand pawed through things that felt like bones or sticks. Then he remembered the cigarette lighter, and sighed with relief at its weight in his pocket. He grasped it, turned it in his fingers. The small flame reared up before his face. He shielded it with one hand, praying for it to stay alight.

  The flame showed him the remains of those who’d been here before him. Human and animal bones were scattered about, most of them splintered, broken or smashed. Skulls and jaws brown from the passing of decades or even centuries. Torn clothing, filthy rags. Children’s shoes that belonged in a museum, all blackened and warped by age. Dead leaves, twigs, moss, feathers. Colonies of black toadstools flourishing in dark, dripping corners.

  He was in a deep cave. He had never felt so hopeless.

  Nearby, propped against the wall of the cave, Huntoon’s corpse glistened slick-red in the light of the flame. He’d been skinned. His eyes were gone. All the epidermal layers were peeled away and his mouth was fixed in a death-grin. His gold tooth glimmered.

  “I’m sorry, Huntoon,” Ray said, his voice muffled from the ruin of his mouth. He looked around, hoping for a glimpse of daylight and a way out, but he realised he was too deep inside the earth, and there was only the waiting darkness ahead of him.

  Ray cried for a short while, thinking of all the things he’d never do again: watch a football game, eat an Indian takeaway, or drink a pint of lager. He slumped against the cave wall across from poor Huntoon and waited for Wretched Annie to appear.

  And soon she came loping out of the dark to stand over him, staring down at his shivering and distressed form. He looked up at her, the cigarette lighter close to his chest, and felt his wits slipping away. Her dark pubis and what remained of her shrivelled breasts were visible under her filthy gown. She eyed him through wet strands of lank hair across her face, but she made no attempt to snatch the lighter from his hands. Instead she turned away and skittered over to Huntoon and began to eat him, ripping away bits of flesh and pawing them into her slavering mouth. Ray watched and cried. Occasionally she would throw scraps of meat at his feet. And when she’d finished with Huntoon and he was no more than a scattering of smashed bones and red pulp, she crawled over to Ray, purring in her throat.

  “No, please, no,” he muttered, cowering from her.

  With one clawed hand she reached out and started stroking one side of his face, gazing into his eyes. As he cringed and whimpered, she moved her hands lower, fussing at his trouser
buttons. He was too numb with terror and revulsion to resist. She grabbed his flaccid cock, and as she started to caress and stroke, he went hard in her hands.

  Annie made an excited sound.

  Ray vomited onto his lap, even as his erection trembled. She pushed him onto his back and mounted him forcefully, almost crushing his ribs with her squeezing legs. He felt himself enter her cold wetness and he vomited again. She didn’t seem to care as she moved upon him, grunting and sniffling like an animal.

  Ray screamed, but it only served to increase her excitement. Her eyes rolled back, her grunts quickened, and she opened her awful mouth to gasp and scrape her black tongue across her lips.

  Ray looked away from her face and noticed a shaft of bone just out of reach. He stretched his arm towards it, crying and whimpering, shaking from Annie’s ecstatic thrashing. He grabbed the bone, snatched it up without Annie noticing. One end was jagged from where it had been snapped. He looked up at the monster raping him, lunged with the sharp bone, and stabbed Annie in her right eye with all of his remaining strength.

  She screamed in great pain and fell away, sliding from him with a horrid wet sound. She writhed and kicked. Her scream was so loud it brought to Ray such terror that he was barely aware of his undressed crotch. He dropped the lighter and rolled away from Annie, still holding the bone shard, buttoning his trousers as she reeled about the cave floor and slapped against the walls with her hands.

  Annie collapsed to her knees. Ray brought the sharp end of the bone down upon her until her face was a pulped and shredded bowl. Then he punched into her brain to finally still the movement of her limbs.

  He fumbled for the lighter, found it after much panicked pawing. He sparked it and then lay on the cave floor, panting and wheezing in the meagre glow of the flame. There was a sharp pain across his stomach, and he looked down to see that Annie’s claws had slashed at his navel. It was bleeding, but the cut wasn’t deep enough for his guts to spill out.

  Holding one hand to his belly, he struggled to his feet and went to find daylight.

  ***

  It was morning when he finally staggered outside. The rain had stopped. The woods were busy with birdsong and the sounds of mammals. The sun was rising over the trees. A plane left vapour trails in the blue sky.

  Ray glanced back at the dark of the cave and then set off into the trees, hoping to find their end.

  About the Authors

  Alice J Black lives and works in the North East of England with her partner and slightly ferocious cats! Alice has always enjoyed writing from being a child when she used to carry notebooks and write stories no matter where she went. She would be the girl in the corner scribbling away while everything went on around her. She writes all manner of fiction with a tendency to lean towards the dark side. Dreams and sleep-talking are currently a big source of inspiration and her debut novel, The Doors, is a young adult novel which originally came from a dream several years ago. Several of her short stories have been included in anthologies with Burning Willow Press, Dark Chapter Press and JEA and she is always working on more. When she's not writing, she always has a book attached to her hand and will read from whatever genre suits her that day.

  alicejblack.wordpress.com

  Dawn Cano began her writing career in February, 2016 when she wrote Sleep Deprived on a dare. Since then, she's released Amazon best-selling stories such as Bucket List and Violent Delights, and she really gets a thrill from talking about herself in third person. When she's not writing sick and twisted stories, Dawn likes to write articles and reviews for The Ginger Nuts of Horror, the UK's largest independent horror website, spoil her mastiff, Penelope, drink plenty of wine, and give people a hard time on Facebook.

  facebook.com/dawn.cummings.716

  Sarah Dale is an author, mom, partner, daughter, step-mom, friend, dog-walker, cat-appreciator, library book-balancer, word lover, think-thinker and picture-taker living in Lincoln, Nebraska, and just generally trying to get things done.

  facebook.com/wecouldbeheroesnovel

  Author of her own misfortunes, also known as Carnalis, first novel in the Dead Central series (Strigidae Press, 2016), Rose Garnett is now unfortunately engaged in the creation of other hideous monstrosities in the hope of making the world a more terrifying place.

  Rich Hawkins hails from deep in the West Country, where a childhood of science fiction and horror films set him on the path to writing his own stories. He credits his love of horror and all things weird to his first viewing of John Carpenter’s The Thing. His debut novel The Last Plague was nominated for a British Fantasy Award for Best Horror Novel in 2015.

  Stuart Keane is a horror/suspense author from the United Kingdom. Currently in his third year of writing, Stuart has started to earn a reputation for writing realistic, contemporary horror. With comparisons to Richard Laymon and Shaun Hutson amongst his critical acclaim – he cites both authors as his major inspiration in the genre – Stuart is dedicated to writing terrifying, thrilling stories for real horror fans. He is currently a member of the Author's Guild, and co-director/editor for emerging UK publisher, Dark Chapter Press. Stuart is the author of several works, and has featured in a number of #1 bestselling anthologies, including his Dark Chapter Press editing debut, Kids – Volume 1. Stuart was born in Kent, and lived there for three decades. A major inspiration for his work, his home county has helped him produce numerous novels and short stories. He currently resides in Essex, is happily married, and is totally addicted to caffeine.

  stuartkeane.com

  Chad Lutzke lives in Battle Creek, MI. with his wife and children where he works as a medical language specialist. For over two decades, he has been a contributor to several different outlets in the independent music and film scene including articles, reviews, and artwork. Chad loves music, rain, sarcasm, dry humor, and cheese. He has a strong disdain for dishonesty and hard-boiled eggs. He has written for Famous Monsters of Filmland, Rue Morgue and Scream magazine, and is a regular contributor to Horror Novel Reviews, Halloween Forevermore and Heavy Planet. In 2016, several more releases will be added to Lutzke's body of work, including Car Nex: From Hell they Came and the Cadence in Decay anthology as well as two secret projects. Stay tuned!

  chadlutzke.weebly.com

  Rhys Milsom has a BA in Creative Writing from the University of South Wales and a MA in Creative Writing from the University of Wales: Trinity Saint David. His fiction and poetry has been published in Wales Arts Review, Litro Magazine, The Lonely Crowd and The Lampeter Review, amongst others. His debut poetry collection, Amnesia, is published by Onion Custard Publishing and has been described as “…a frank comment on increasingly important conversations: youth lethargy, drink, drugs and notions of masculinity” and “the voice of the poems is a raw, transparent and open one throughout.” Rhys runs a quarterly literature and art night called Milieu. Held in Cardiff, Milieu is a night of spoken word, art, photography and visual concepts, and aims to give established and emerging writers/artists space to showcase their work. Rhys lives in Cardiff with his partner and daughter, Ivy.

  twitter.com/rhys_milsom

  Jonathan Moon is a dark fiction writer living in Moscow, Idaho. He is the twisted mind behind HEINOUS, Worms in the Needle, Hollow Mountain Dead, Stories To Poke Your Eyes Out To, and several other nasty and terrible things from epic fantasy to hardcore horror to poetry. Recently accepted into the Anthropology program at the University of Idaho, Mr. Moon plans on spending his life studying the human animal. He wears masks, carries knives, and tells lies. Lots and lots of lies.

  Skip Novak is a 48-year-old mid-western boy who now lives on the eastern seaboard of America. For his full time job he gets paid to play with toy trains. In his off time, he writes, smokes cigars and tells tall-tales of his days serving in the U.S. Navy. You can find him on Facebook and Twitter under the name “Skip Novak”, I know, how original.

  aloysiousthoughts.blogspot.com

  Duncan Ralston was born in Toronto and spent his teens in small-town
Ontario. As a ‘grown-up,’ Duncan lives with his girlfriend and their dog in Toronto, where he writes dark fiction about the things that frighten, sicken, and delight him. In addition to his twisted short stories found in Gristle & Bone, the anthologies Easter Eggs & Bunny Boilers, Death By Chocolate, and the charity anthologies Burger Van and The Black Room Manuscripts, he is the author of the novel, Salvage, and the novellas Every Part of the Animal and Woom, an extreme horror Black Cover book from Matt Shaw Publications. He also co-hosts the horror podcast Screen Kings, dedicated to dissecting Stephen King movies and miniseries.

  Jack Rollins was born and raised among the twisting cobbled streets and lanes, ruined forts and rolling moors of a medieval market town in Northumberland, England. He claims to have been adopted by Leeds in West Yorkshire, and he spends as much time as possible immersed in the shadowy heart of that city. Writing has always been Jack’s addiction. Whether warping the briefing for his English class homework, or making his own comic books as a child, he always had some dark tale to tell. Fascinated by all things Victorian, Jack often writes within that era, but also creates contemporary nightmarish visions in horror and dark urban fantasy. He currently lives in Northumberland, with his partner, two sons, and his daughter living a walking distance from his home, which is slowly but surely being overtaken by books...

  jackrollinshorror.wordpress.com

  Craig Saunders is the author of over thirty novels and novellas, including Masters of Blood and Bone, RAIN and Deadlift. He writes across many genres, but horror, humour (the ‘Spiggot’ series) and fantasy (the ‘Rythe’ tales) are his favourites. Craig lives in Norfolk, England, with his wife and children, likes nice people and good coffee.