Six Scary Stories

by Stephen King

  There was only one leopard left, of an original four, in the People’s Menagerie, an extensive zoological facility that was located in the palace compound to ensure the safety of the capital’s inhabitants.

  Two of the creatures had perished in a visionary genetic experiment. One had been executed. The Leader had suspected the November plotters of intending to make use of the beast in some way: perhaps as a symbol, or a weapon, or even as a potential ally, through whom they might enlist the support of the animal kingdom in their odious conspiracy. There was no material evidence against the leopard, or for that matter against the finance minister and the colonels. None was necessary. The Leader’s acclaimed intuition in these matters was unerring, and almost uncanny. Indeed, some of the populace attributed powers of telepathy to him. This was absurd, of course, and such superstitious beliefs were held only by the less educated members of society, bearing in mind that this is a relative judgement in my homeland, which has the finest schools in the world.

  All the suspected plotters were executed, after confessing to their crimes in an impartial inquiry conducted according to the highest standards of international jurisprudence in the basement of the Great Hall of Conciliation. The leopard made no confession, and met its fate with what was reported as perfect equanimity, having been humanely stunned.

  So, there was only one animal available for me to study, with no prospect of acquiring other specimens. The four leopards had been gifts from nations with which we had since broken off relations, after conclusive proof that their governments were part of a reactionary global alliance intent on deposing the Leader, motivated by bitter jealousy of his towering achievements. These nations, of which, sadly, there was a growing number, no longer sent us gifts, and we, in turn, no longer allowed them access to our precious minerals.

  However, I set about my work with the diligence and humility that has made me, I flatter myself to think, a valuable servant to the man who bestrides our national culture like a colossus.

  At first I observed the leopard in situ, peering through the bars behind which it paced and prowled, glancing at me sometimes in a way that made me suspect it bore me no goodwill. But I found it impossible to count the leopard’s spots, let alone consider whether it could change them. Its supple, sinuous movements defied my scrutiny, and when it lay down I was unable to see all of its body, and the spots that were visible were partially concealed or distorted by the folds of its fur, which seemed to undulate and ripple even in its sleep.

  ‘But why,’ I hear you ask, ‘did you not simply have the beast sedated, and inspect it at your leisure?’

  A good question, but such a course of action had been specifically prohibited to me, by the Leader himself, in person.

  ‘Maximilian,’ he said, using the name he had seen fit to bestow on me, although it bore little resemblance to the one I still thought of as my own, ‘the leopard must not be disturbed in any way. This is vital. My recent researches have confirmed a feeling – call it an instinct – that I have an extraordinary affinity with this noble creature. Our connection, I believe, transcends even the barriers of species, and I am poised on the brink of a discovery that will revolutionise our entire conception of consciousness, and of life itself. I am entrusting you with a very particular and delicate task. I would love to tell you more, my old friend, but I’m afraid I shall have to keep you in the dark for a little longer, much to my regret.’

  ‘Sir, I understand,’ I replied, ‘and I would never expect you to discuss matters with me that are almost certainly beyond my comprehension.’

  ‘No, no, Max. Do not belittle yourself. Your intelligence is exceptionally acute, as I know very well, and I will never forget the impression it made on me in our schooldays. It is simply a matter of timing. You shall know everything when the time is right. Until then, please indulge your old friend and protector. Will you do that? Say you will!’

  He treated me to his most boyish and expansive smile, which no one could resist. His charm was legendary. Even after all those years it still affected me powerfully, and I believe I may even have blushed a little.

  I bowed my head. ‘There is no question that I will do exactly as you ask, you know that, sir.’

  ‘Good!’ he boomed, and chuckled as he took my hand. ‘I knew I could rely on you.’ He moved closer and dropped his voice. ‘I wish I could say the same about more of my old comrades. Do you catch my meaning?’ His grip tightened on my hand.

  ‘I do, sir.’

  ‘Excellent. So, please conduct your observations without disturbing my feline friend in any way at all. Understood?’

  ‘Understood.’

  ‘Good. I look forward to receiving your report at your earliest convenience. By the end of the week, let’s say. You may go.’

  The researches to which the Leader referred were typical of his relentless thirst for knowledge. He sacrificed much of his precious time and energy to the pursuit of science, and he used his immense learning to improve the lives of the ordinary people with his remarkable discoveries, inventions and breakthroughs. Some of these were considered by foreigners to be controversial or even harmful. Naturally, most of the populace were ignorant of the slanders propagated by the media lackeys of our enemies. Information from outside was controlled scrupulously, to prevent it contaminating the pure, indomitable spirit of our nation, particularly its virile but impressionable youth. Nonetheless, a few of us were able to access external media sources, and we were profoundly shocked by the calumnies heaped upon the selfless benefactor of our nation.

  He strove only to increase his wisdom, and this effort had recently led to an interest in metaphysics, after reading the Metamorphoses of Ovid. It goes without saying that he didn’t read the material himself; he simply listened to a summary delivered by one of the scholars he engaged for this purpose. His natural intellect was so capacious that all he required to understand even the most abstruse academic work was a brief précis. Indeed, he could never have accumulated the vast number of honours, awards and citations that were bestowed on him if he’d done all his own reading. Or writing, for that matter. He provided the original ideas for the various theses, papers and studies that were published under his name, and the details were completed by others.

  I believe the Leader’s interest in the leopard was a result of his growing immersion in metaphysical ideas of transformation, and was thus the stimulus for the work in which I was now engaged. However, this work, as I have mentioned, was proving difficult under the strictures he had imposed on me.

  I came up with the idea of filming the leopard with multiple cameras, so that I could then study the footage in slow motion. But I encountered a problem with this scheme. Any cameras that could be used for surveillance purposes were under the control of the Ministry of Culture. When I enquired about borrowing some of them I was rebuffed. After some persistence I gained an interview with the liaison officer, who put his finger to his lips, gestured for me to follow him into his private bathroom, and ran the taps. In a strained whisper he told me there were very few cameras to spare, owing to the temporary security crisis of the last two decades. Most of the cameras were broken, and parts would be unobtainable until the economic miracle began to have an effect. This would doubtless take place soon, once the irregularities that were inevitable in a scheme as revolutionary as the Leader’s magnificent five-year plan had been smoothed out, certainly by the end of its second triumphant decade.

  I returned to the leopard’s enclosure armed only with my notebook and pencils, as before, and began my task anew. Counting, and more counting. And trying to fight a growing sense of panic.

  The end of the week found me facing the Leader in his private box at the People’s Skating Rink, which was closed to the public in winter as a precaution against syphilis, which the Leader had proved to be spread by shivering. As far as I could tell we were the only people there. I could see no bodyguards, advisers, or assistants.

  ‘What news?’ the Leader asked, clapping his h
eavily gloved hands, and smiling at me jovially.

  ‘I have failed, sir,’ I said, bowing my head. My breath made clouds in the air. The heating in the private box wasn’t working. ‘I have been unable to count the leopard’s spots.’

  The Leader said nothing. Eventually I raised my eyes. I saw he was deep in thought. I knew he would not rebuke me directly. His soul was too large for anything mean or petty in that way. The furrows on his brow, while expressing sorrow, disappointment and a certain impatience, also conveyed his great compassion for the failings of others.

  He gazed earnestly at me. His eyes were dark and fathomless. He put his arm around my shoulder.

  ‘Walk with me,’ he said.

  It was unclear what our destination might be, as space was limited in the box, but it transpired that the Leader wished only to walk around in circles. ‘Dear Max,’ he said in a low voice, ‘what are we to do? How can I help you fulfil this task you have so kindly agreed to undertake?’

  His question was rhetorical. I knew better than to attempt a reply.

  ‘I have an idea,’ he said finally, coming to an abrupt halt and dropping his arm from my shoulder. He gazed into the distance. ‘Perhaps you should get into the cage,’ he murmured.

  ‘Into the cage, sir?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘With the leopard?’

  ‘It’s the only way!’ he said, turning to me with a smile. ‘The animal is playing games with you!’ He chuckled. ‘I believe it knows what you’re up to, and is deliberately thwarting you out of sheer mischief!’

  ‘Mischief, sir?’

  ‘Of course! It’s a cat, after all. You know how playful they can be.’

  I nodded slowly. ‘So, you recommend that I get into the leopard’s cage, in order to count its spots?’

  ‘Recommend? I insist, dear Max!’

  I inclined my head slowly.

  ‘And now,’ he said, ‘I must be off. I can hear my chopper.’

  The approaching clatter of helicopter blades obliged him to bellow his final words to me.

  ‘I’m sure you won’t mind walking back,’ the Leader said, ‘as I know how keen you are on getting your exercise!’

  He cast a thoughtful look at my shattered leg and my cane, clapped me on the shoulder, and strode away.

  I fled the capital immediately. I didn’t go home, or to my office.

  As soon as I heard the helicopter lift off outside I tore at the lining of my jacket and extracted one of the diamonds I had secreted there over the course of many years.

  Its value was easily sufficient to procure the services of a passing motorist when I reached the road. The man agreed to take me all the way to the coast, after I assured him I knew how to evade any possible checkpoints. I was confident of this, as the system by which the roads were patrolled was one of the many responsibilities I undertook for the Leader in my role as his trusted adviser and general factotum.

  Naturally I withheld this information from the driver, although I doubt if he would have paid attention to anything I said to him after I’d shown him the diamond. His eyes grew wide, and I had to remind him to keep them on the road each time they strayed towards the gem I clutched in my fist. He knew exactly how much a stone that size was worth, like everyone else in a country where the value of the official currency was a kind of fiction in the mind of the Leader.

  It took thirty-six hours to reach the port, which was full of soldiers, as I had expected. It took a further two days and nearly all of my diamonds to secure lodgings, in the most disreputable part of town, and to arrange for a passage in a ship. Every step I took required a considerable bribe to buy the silence of those I dealt with.

  The ship’s captain seemed to know his business, although he appeared to be little more than a ruffian. This reassured me. Signs of unusual intelligence or sophistication in anyone I encountered at this stage of my flight would have worried me.

  As I waited another day for the ship to load its cargo I had plenty of time to think. Had the Leader intended all along to kill me? If so, why the elaborate and baroque charade with the leopard’s spots? Or was the experiment genuine, and my fate sealed by my failure to fulfil my task? But I couldn’t hope to fathom his mind. I gave up trying, and simply waited.

  Finally the ship was ready. I received instructions to meet the captain an hour before dawn in a secluded spot behind some warehouses, no more than a hundred yards from the pier.

  The captain was waiting for me when I arrived. Cautiously he led me to the ship. It had no lights showing, and loomed above us, a dark shape barely visible against the moonless sky.

  It was very cold, and a sudden thought struck me. ‘Will I have a cabin?’ I whispered. ‘If not, I may need to borrow some extra clothes.’

  ‘Never mind that,’ the captain growled, ‘just get up those steps.’

  I felt a violent shove in my back and when I turned around I saw that the captain had been joined by another man, who crowded in behind me.

  I turned to the captain. ‘Who is this?’ I hissed.

  I was aware of a swift movement at the edge of my vision. A blast of white light erupted in my eyes. There was an agonising pain in the back of my head, which faded quickly as inky blackness embraced me.

  We are at sea. I have been allowed to keep my pencils and my notebook, in which I write these words, and I understand why. I understand everything. I am inside a shipping container. It has been modified to create two compartments, separated by steel bars. I am on one side of the bars. On the other side is the leopard.

  There is plenty of light. Almost too much. On the ceiling of the container a series of arc lamps blaze perpetually. At the top of the steel bars is a mechanism containing an electric motor, gear wheels and a pulley system. It is clear that this machinery can be operated remotely, and that its purpose is to raise the bars that separate me from the leopard.

  My body tells me I’ve been here about three days. On five occasions a small hatch in the wall behind me has opened and a plate of food has been shoved through. But the leopard has not been fed.

  My mind is wonderfully clear and focused. Finally I can begin to count the leopard’s spots. Perhaps my task is made easier by the leopard’s hunger, which may be causing it to move more slowly. I have no doubt, however, that the beast has more than enough energy to spring at me the instant the bars are raised, and tear me to pieces.

  It is this knowledge, of course, that is assisting my concentration. And now I see it all. The Leader was always in earnest about counting the leopard’s spots. I should have known. He can be playful, but he is never frivolous. When he saw that I faltered in my task he knew what he had to do. He told me my fate and he knew I would flee. He would have known that I had diamonds in my possession. Everything was arranged. The passing motorist, the soldiers, my lodgings, the captain. All were part of the plan. This is his genius. He knows the human mind, and he is methodical.

  I will not fail you, my Leader. I know you will read these words, or that they will be read to you. Perhaps you will feel sorrow at what you have been obliged to do to your old friend. I know you are capable of it. I have seen you weep over the deaths of other old friends. But please don’t waste your tears on me. I applaud you. I serve you, and your purpose, whatever it may be, to the very last and without question or regret.

  But these are not the words you are waiting for. All that concerns you is the result of my task. When I have completed it I will hand over the notebook, or perhaps just push it through the hatch, so that the legibility of my work is protected from any spatters of the blood that will inevitably decorate this container when the time comes.

  But enough! Now I begin. One. Two. Three . . .

  THE UNPICKING

  MICHAEL BUTTON

  MICHAEL BUTTON

  Michael Button was born in Glasgow and lives in east London with his husband and dog. During his life, he has done a number of things for money – software development, DJing and teaching (swimming, English as a foreign la
nguage, probability theory) – but has recently dedicated himself to his true love: making up stories.

  ‘The Unpicking’ is his second published story. Michael drew inspiration from two main sources – the recurring motif of marionettes in the work of the American horror writer Thomas Ligotti, and Michael’s favourite childhood character, Enid Blyton’s diabolical Naughty Amelia Jane.

  He is currently working on his first novel.

  MICHAEL ON STEPHEN KING

  ‘It’s hard to overstate the influence of Stephen King’s writing on my work. His short story “The Mangler” is a particular favourite – technical dazzle, nasty violence, black humour and a true shocker of an ending.’

  THE UNPICKING

  ONE . . .

  Nobody was the first to emerge from the toy chest, then came Sophie, Naughty Rupert and Bunny. Last was Annie-In-Rags, the largest of the toys, a doll made from strips of rough denim that trailed over the edge of the chest behind her. Gangle-limbed and goggle-eyed, they formed a circle in the dim glow of His nightlight.

  ‘Does He sleep?’ whispered Naughty Rupert, a yellow bear. He wore natty herringbone trousers and a scarlet cardigan that was fastened with two brass buttons.

  ‘Of course He sleeps,’ said Sophie, daringly louder than Rupert. ‘It’s long past His bedtime, and you know what She’s like.’

  They all knew what She was like.

  Bunny flailed around. He was thrilled by the hint of danger, a stupid grin plastered over his face. His white furry limbs flapped on the carpet and against the side of the bed.

  ‘Stop that,’ demanded Sophie. ‘Just because He sleeps now doesn’t mean He can’t be woken up.’

  Bunny obeyed but the grin didn’t fade – he was always pleased to be spoken to.

  ‘Oh, what to do?’ said Sophie. She was not the longest serving of the group. Bunny and Annie-In-Rags had been around before her, though determining which of those two came first would require getting sense out of them – something Annie might occasionally offer, but Bunny never, ever did. Indeed, Sophie wasn’t even one of His toys. She had been discarded by one of His older cousins, and had somehow ended up in the toy chest. He never played with Sophie, so she spent her days in the dark, squashed between spinning tops and alphabet cubes and other remnants of His toddler days.