9 Tales Told in the Dark 16

by 9 Tales Told in the Dark

  “We didn’t… What in the hell?” one brother asked. He stared out a window.

  “Oh my God,” said the other gazing out the same window.

  The back of the school featured a view of the parking lot, the playground and the track. The front of the school met a small path of snow-covered grass and a chain-link fence. Beyond the fence was the street and beyond that was Ayik Lake. It had been constantly below zero centigrade for close to a week, but before that, it had been quite warm.

  The Horner trio chased outside toward the lake.

  Nellie pulled the gags from five of the shivering children and had the line march out onto the frozen lake, “Now tell me. That ice isn’t so thick, ya know?”

  She’d ungagged the weakest children and they all wailed for help, pleading for anyone to save them.

  “I asked you a question!” Nellie demanded.

  “I don’ know, I don’ know!” wailed Lars.

  “Stop, stop!” Miss Horner shouted run-waddling toward Nellie. Her brothers followed, both had bum knees and bum hips.

  “This is your last chance! If you don’t tell me… I know you’re all guilty!” Nellie shouted, the children shivered, but remained in place near the centre of the lake. “You deserve this, you do! Aimee doesn’t! Just you!”

  “Children come in!” Miss Horner shouted and then grabbed Nellie by the shoulders, huffing, “It was a mistake, my brothers tried to prank me, but got the wrong room.”

  Nellie saw the severity and panic in Miss Horner’s eyes and realization washed over her. Tying children together and marching them out onto thin ice was probably an overreaction and they were mostly innocent. Her sister was innocent too, but that was out of her control. She couldn’t fix everything, but maybe she could fix this.

  “Come in!” Nellie shouted as she took three steps out onto the ice.

  She slipped and her feet shot out from beneath her. Butt down, she crashed through the surface, her backside finding the cold earth only two-feet below the rush of frosty water. A loud crack cried through the air as it chased to the center of the lake. The children screamed against gags, trying to run in every direction, but getting nowhere thanks to the ropes.

  Nellie struggled to free herself from the ice; the cold stung and sucked all the air from her lungs, her eyes cemented to the panicking children. Jessica White, a tall girl with a pig nose and fiery red hair was the first to fall. Two Lauras, Jan, a Shaun, a Patrick and then the rest followed, crashing through the ice as if from a controlled implosion, centralizing the action to a small space.

  Plunk-plunk-plunk.

  It was quiet for a moment. Nellie remained stuck in the ice, her shoulders, arms, head and legs below the knees sticking out from the frozen trap.

  Panicked people rushed around behind her. Nellie didn’t hear them, she watched for floating students, they all did.

  “Look!” one of the onlookers shouted.

  A bubble burst on the surface, a head bobbed topside and then sank, lifelessly. A red football flag remained on the surface amid the small ripples.

  Nellie freed herself and stood watching as her butt numbed in the breeze. It was all such a mix-up and she wondered how well that defense would work in court. Not well she assumed.

  There wails and tears. Teachers and students stood in the freezing winter atmosphere, peering helplessly out to the lake. It was the monster of all mix-ups.

  Nellie’s phone rang. Absently, she answered, “Hello?”

  “Nell! Nell! It’s just a little, but it’s shrinking. The new treatment seems to be working! Nell? Nellie, are you there? Fantastic, huh?”

  Aimee was jubilant and Nellie thought that at least her sister might be healthy enough to visit her in prison. Take life’s little battles one step at a time.

  THE END.

  THE MOLD by Simon McHardy

  Jack rapped on the door then leaned back on the iron railing, stretching out his long legs. He couldn’t believe his luck in finding the ad for the room to let in this morning’s newspaper, it was only a short walk to the university and the asking price was a mere 75 pounds a week. The door opened and an elderly woman with rheumy eyes and disheveled, grey hair stood blinking in the sunlight.

  ‘Hello, dear, Jack isn’t it? You have come to look at the room?’ she queried in a croaky voice. Jack smiled and nodded in confirmation.

  ‘I’m Mrs Dorothy Higgins but you can call me Dorothy. Come out of the sun dear,’ she fussed taking hold of Jack’s arm and leading him through the front door into a large hallway. The corridor smelt very stuffy and dank; its only source of light was from the holes in a set of tattered drapes in an adjoining room.

  ‘July is just a dreadful month to be outdoors isn’t it?’ the old woman continued. In his initial disappointment with the house Jack had quite forgotten the old lady who was still clasping his arm firmly. ‘It’s much too hot, I really don’t bother myself’.

  ‘Don’t bother doing what?' Jack mumbled.

  ‘Going out during those steamy months, May to September.’

  'Well if you don’t like the heat that sounds sensible,’ he responded.

  ‘Are you a university student dear?’ Dorothy asked.

  ‘Yes I’m just going to the tech down the road,’ he replied.

  ‘Thought you might be, I’ve had a lot of university students staying with me over the years. They find it very convenient here.’

  Dorothy led Jack down the corridor that was lined with several family portraits, a young Dorothy and a sandy- haired young man smiled coyly for the camera. As the years progressed the lively mood of the images changed, sadness crept into both faces and something else played beneath the sandy- haired man’s skin. He had thought it the nuance of shadows, but the man’s face became more mottled and the skin more deformed as the years went by until in the last image he appeared to be severely disfigured and then all that remained in the hallway was a vast expanse of white wall that ended at a door.

  ‘Is that your husband in the photo?’ Jack asked curious about the man in the portraits.

  ‘No dear, that’s my brother, Victor, Dorothy replied. ‘The room is in the basement,’ Dorothy added, abruptly opening the door to a gloomy staircase. Jack descended in the half-light; the dusky odour was much more pungent and intensified with every step. ‘The light is just at the bottom of the stairs.’ Dorothy directed. Jack felt the last stair beneath his feet and groped along the wall for the light switch. His hand felt a raised patch on the wall; it had a lumpy consistency that made his skin prickle at the touch. ‘Let me help you with that, dear.’ Jack felt Dorothy’s arm brush past him in the darkness and turn on the light.

  Jack was pleasantly surprised by the size of the room, it contained a double bed, a large couch and in the corner a small desk and chair, there was also a bookshelf that contained several row of colourful but tatty paperbacks. ‘It’s a little funky down here don’t you think?’ Jack observed sniffing the air.

  ‘Oh that’s the mold,’ Dorothy said matter-of- factly. ‘It will easily come out with a bit of elbow grease.' Jack wondered why she hadn’t bothered to do it herself if it was so easy.

  ‘Where is it?’ Jack inquired glancing around the room anxiously as if looking for a large spider that he could hear but not see.

  ‘That’s it there by the switch,' Dorothy said motioning to a large, black growth about five feet wide that was situated above the light switch. She didn’t seem at all phased by the odour or her close proximity to the repugnant fungus.

  Disgusted, Jack shrank away from the wall and stood by the book shelf. ‘Why did the last boarder leave?’ Jack queried, noticing that some of the books were not typical of those found in an elderly woman’s house.

  The old woman paused pensively for a moment before answering, ‘Do you know I can’t remember. I’ve had so many boarders over the years that you forget their faces and stories as soon as they move out.’ Jack was only half listening, he was busying himself studying the black mass above the light
switch. He observed how it was situated just on the periphery of the room's poor light, its rough borders careful to keep to the shadows.

  The old woman smiled benignly, her fingers fondling the edges of the mold whilst she watched Jack. ‘If you pay me a deposit I can give you the keys today’, she offered, ‘and you can move in as soon as you like’.

  Jack's only real objection to the house was the mold, as unpleasant as it was he was sure it would scrub off. The old lady was a little peculiar but then he didn’t have much experience with the elderly, they could all be like that for all he knew. ‘I’ve got two hundred, is that enough of a deposit?’ he said holding out a bundle of folded notes to the old woman.

  ‘That is marvellous news, dear, you will be very happy here I’m sure,’ Dorothy simpered taking the money from Jack and reaching in her pocket for a set of house keys.

  Reaching for the keys Jack observed the tips of her fingers were stained black from touching the mold and on her arm there were curious black patches which disappeared into her sleeve.

  That’s my affliction, dear,’ she volunteered cheerfully, 'nothing to worry about, my entire family are cursed with it, I thought I had escaped it until last year, you have no need to worry though it’s certainly not contagious.'

  It took all of the next day to move his possessions into the house, Dorothy watched him from the sitting room smiling amiably and waving as he trudged back and forth lugging the heavy boxes. With the last of them stowed in his room Jack collapsed on to his bed and stared dejectedly around; there was so much unpacking to do he thought, letting out a long sigh. He had forgotten about the patch of mold and was startled when he noticed it again, hadn’t it grown? He was certain it was about halfway up the wall when Dorothy had pointed it out to him, now it had crept up to the ceiling. It can all wait until morning he said to himself as he drifted off into an exhausted slumber.

  Jack was jolted from his sleep, putrefying slime oozed down the back of his throat, his nose was filled with the fetid stench of rotting vegetation and his skin was cold and clammy. Staggering to his feet he retched repeatedly then fumbled along the wall trying to find the light switch. Instead of feeling the smooth, painted surface he expected, he encountered peculiar lumps that made his skin prickle; the sensation building in intensity the longer his hand remained on the wall. Again and again he circled the room, brushing his hands over the walls and gagging in the foul air but he found only the moisture-laden clumps smothering the surface.

  Jack was beginning to panic, why had he not felt the door or the window? Again he floundered around the room desperately trying to find a means of escape, his hands were now raw and stinging, the stench in the air stifling, ‘Dorothy, I’m locked in my room, please help me,’ he screamed. His voice sounded strangely muffled as if he were in a padded room. There was no reply.

  Jack sat down on the floor and tried to think rationally. Didn’t he have an old torch in one of his boxes? It took a long time fumbling around through a dozen cartons in the dark to locate it but at last his hands closed around the cold, steel tube and he flicked it on. The room was unrecognizable. Every inch of the wall and ceiling was black with mold, the door, light switch and window had been absorbed by the seething, dark mass. The bed in which he slept only minutes before was now streaked with the hideous growth. Only the floor remained untouched.

  Jack could still remember where the door was, by a heavy trunk that he had scarcely had the strength to drag down the stairs and through his bedroom door. He charged at the door but rather than crashing through it as he had hoped, he collapsed to the floor jarring his shoulder and winding himself. While he lay there struggling to breathe he noticed that the mold had now ventured over the skirting and the black tide was seeping across the floor. The torch light halted the mold’s progress across the room but after several minutes the bulb flickered and then died. In the darkness Jack’s skin began to tingle and then burn.

  The next morning Dorothy opened the door to the basement and tottered down the stairs, ‘There you are, Victor my dear’ she crooned to the glutinous blob that lay pressed against the window. ‘Did you enjoy your supper?’ The only response was a deep gurgling sound. ‘We must tidy up now ready for our next guest,’ Dorothy said holding out her mottled hand and petting the mass.

  THE END.

  CURIOSITY by Joseph Benedict

  The man walked in at just after ten. He took a seat at the bar and waved to the bartender. She nodded. They exchanged no words. A moment later, the bartender slid two shot glasses full of bourbon across the polished wood. The man grabbed them both and slammed back the first shot.

  I stood in the corner leaning on my pool cue, watching the ritual. Every Monday since Greg and I started coming, the man showed up at eight, slammed his two shots, and was gone by ten after. He was short, not more than five feet tall, and always dressed in a dark grey suit. The pattern changed each week, but the color never varied. What really caught my attention, though, was his earpiece.

  I noticed it the third time I saw him. It wasn’t anything special, just a simple, white piece that fit snug in his ear and a cord that coiled down into the back of his jacket.

  The man knocked back the second shot and dropped a twenty on the bar. Just like that, he was gone.

  “Jake, it’s your turn.” Greg sidled up next to me and nudged me with his elbow, winking. “Unless you’re giving up while you’re ahead.”

  “Not a chance.” I smirked and stepped over to the table.

  I flagged down the bartender after the game. She came over to our seats and stood there, one eyebrow cocked. I gestured for her to lean closer. She frowned, but rested her elbows on the bar.

  “I gotta ask, what’s with that guy with the earpiece?”

  She blew a laugh through her nose and shook her head.

  “That guy? Who the hell knows? He comes in every night, same time. Orders the same drink, pays, and leaves. Always wears a dark suit. Always has the earpiece. I think he works for some security firm, but I’ve never asked. He never said anything to me beyond his drink order, and that was only the first three nights. That all?”

  I nodded and she hustled off to the other end of the bar. I turned to Greg.

  “What do you think?”

  “About the same as the last time you asked.” He shrugged. “I don’t see why you can’t let the guy enjoy his drinks and not worry about it.”

  “Because, it’s weird! Every night he does the same thing? I was curious enough when I thought it was just Mondays.”

  Greg sipped his beer and rolled his eyes.

  “Let it go, Jake.”

  Next Monday, Greg and I were at our usual pool table when the man walked in. Greg was bent over the table and lining up his shot. I leaned my cue on the table and hurried over to the bar.

  I sat down on the stool next to him just as he got his drinks. The bartender raised an eyebrow when she saw me sit down and I just grinned back at her. She shook her head as she left.

  I turned my body to face the man and smiled.

  “Sorry to bother you, but I have to ask. What do you do for a living?”

  The man didn’t even blink, just knocked back his first shot and slid the glass back across the bar. It stopped just short of falling over the edge.

  “Like I said, I don’t mean to bother you.” It was worth a try. “It’s just that you’re in here every night at the same time, and I couldn’t help but notice the earpiece.”

  “You’re only here Monday’s. How do you know that?” His voice was quiet and silky, but still reached over the din of the bar without him turning or raising his voice. I shivered at the sound.

  “I didn’t mean to pry, but I asked around.” I offered a weak smile. He still sat facing straight ahead.

  He took the second shot and pulled his wallet from an inside pocket. When he did, I saw a small pistol holstered under his arm. He dropped a twenty on the bar and stood. He only came up to my shoulder standing up, but I edged closer to the bar.
He looked me straight in the eyes and my stomach clenched.

  “Don’t worry about it. My business is my business.” Then he turned and walked out.

  I looked over at the pool table. Greg raised his arms in a shrug and mouthed, “What gives?” He pointed at my pool cue and turned to grab his drink. I touched my pocket. My wallet and keys were nestled there together. I pulled my wallet and handed a wad of bills to the bartender, then I rushed out the front door.

  I caught a glimpse of the man’s head before he ducked into an old Ford Escort wagon that looked to be about thirty years old. For a moment, I could only stand there and goggle at the car before realizing he had pulled out of his spot and was driving away. I rushed to my own car and hurried to catch up.

  I hung back as far as I dared. He led me a good twenty miles. The buildings and suburbs disappeared and were replaced by woods and fields shrouded in darkness. There hadn’t been a street light in miles.

  His taillights gleamed crimson maybe half a mile up the road. I worried about my own headlights. I wanted to turn them off. If he noticed the same pair of lights behind him after every turn, he might just drive me around in circles. Then his taillights flared and he turned off the road. I jammed the gas.

  I found the road, a small dirt track, really, but there was no sign of the man’s car. I turned in and crept along doing 15. The road curved through the trees with the occasional switchback, and the last thing I wanted was to go charging through a blind turn to find the ancient Ford sitting in my path.

  Even so, I almost missed him. I came around a corner and saw a glint of reflection in the corner of my eye. His car sat there in a small recess in the trees. There was only a foot of clearance between either side of the car and the trees. Small or not, he must have squirmed to get out. I pulled up ten feet and got out.