9 Tales Told in the Dark 17

by 9 Tales Told in the Dark

It wasn’t until the 29th of October that the Prime Minister showed his face again. He finally admitted that he had been aware of everything that was being done. Samantha supposed there was no longer any point in hiding the truth. He and all the major heads of the country’s ministries had abandoned ship the moment they saw what was happening. Honestly some of them hadn’t been in the island to begin with. They had all been given a place in their countries of choice because the truth was in a few months’ time, they would just be ordinary citizens. There would no longer be a Jamaica for them to run.

  Because she now had the company of family, Samantha didn’t mind when the modern conveniences failed one by one. They could live without electricity, telephones and cable. Their water needs were satisfied with storage tanks and the fact that it rained much more frequently in the rural areas than the cities. The only drawback for Samantha, so far, was having to leave the safety of the house to get provisions from the family farm. Planting on a hill was next to impossible so they still had to do that on nearby flat land. This is where she was on that ill-fated Wednesday morning.

  The small farm was filled with fruit trees and carefully tended vines that each yielded pumpkins and watermelons in their respective seasons. The cool country breeze whispered through the leaves carrying with it the aroma of freshly baked rock cakes from her aunt’s kitchen. After being in the sweltering stench of Kingston with unbidden wafts of rotten bodies or freshly mauled ones, she counted it as quite a refreshing change. She was so taken in by the tranquility of the setting that she didn’t hear the thrashing of jaunty legs until the creature was close enough for the wind to pick up its odour.

  Samantha crinkled her nose and opened her eyes. The biter was almost within arm’s reach at this point. Her eyes flashed to the gate on the other side of the farm. It was still closed but the slashes on the creature’s clothes hinted that it had simply thrown itself over the chest high barbed wire fence. They really should have invested as much energy in that barrier as the one she was now running towards. The fence facing the house was at least 5 feet taller and was a sturdier combination of board, zinc and barbed wire.

  The small gate within the fence was constructed with zinc and board. A narrow retractable ladder was used for getting to either side. It had taken quite some time to get the materials necessary to fortify this side of the fence. Distance was great until you actually needed supplies for survival. Samantha lunged for the gate and started the climb but she could already hear the biter growling at her heels. She clawed at the gate as she realized with sinking clarity that she was losing her grip. The biter grappling at her heels must be fresh because it was still very strong. It pulled her from the gate like it was plucking a juicy red apple from one of the trees on the farm.

  “No! No! No!”

  Samantha tried to flip around and bludgeon the predator with the crowbar she always walked with but it was holding her down by the neck. She kicked her feet helplessly as it tore a mouthful out of her neck. The pain seared through her system and she could feel her blood squirt not only on the ground around her but back down into her throat. She was choking on the tangy rust of her own blood. She heard the biter make a retching sound and the flesh from her neck fell beside her face.

  Samantha wasn’t sure what the creature would do next so she tried thrashing her hips and legs to shake him off but he had buried his face in her neck again. The creature took such a long drink of Samantha’s blood that she felt it being siphoned from the tip of her toes. Still, she tried to wriggle free again but the creature shoved his fingers sharply through her shoulder pinning her to the ground. She heard and felt the pull, pop and crack of ripped muscles and splintered bones.

  She tried to scream but it was only a gurgled grunt filtered through her massacred throat. Blood no longer sprayed from her wounds and Samantha knew it was because she had already started to rot from the inside out.

  Memories flashed through her brain of what doctors had found when they had braved to open the newly killed undead. The discoloured, putrid skin on the outside was nothing compared to the inside. Once opened, nothing but black-green curdled liquid poured out of the carcass. It was as if the body had somehow become home to a small swamp. Samantha knew that even as she was being invaded by the creature’s fingers, her insides were turning to mush. She could hear its’ garbled speech. She supposed it must be enjoying itself.

  Samantha’s temperature started to cool almost as quickly as it had climbed. She knew this was a bad sign along with the fact that she was no longer struggling to breathe. She didn’t think she was breathing at all. The creature’s fingers slid out of her shoulder and all she felt was a slight tug as it removed the hand. A distant, fading voice told her that she should feel pain but that didn’t make sense to Samantha anymore. She only felt peace lying in the field with the man.

  He lifted Samantha off the ground and she found herself struggling to support her body on wobbly legs. As she did so, she caught a glimpse of her hands. Her mocha skin was fading to a pale grey and silver tracks splintered through her hands like the branches of a poisoned tree. She looked into the eyes of the man and saw a beauty she hadn’t noticed before. His grey skin shone under the bright sunlight and his cloudy hazel eyes regarded Samantha intently. Black and blue tracks interlaced in a pattern all over his exposed skin. Everyone should be this beautiful, she thought, everyone should feel this happy. She reached out to him and tried to speak but only globs of mucous escaped her chapped lips. The man smiled at Samantha and took her hand. He nodded as if he understood what she was trying to say.

  He pointed at the tall zinc wall and slurred, “Hooome?”

  Samantha nodded slowly not quite trusting her voice yet. He pushed her gently towards the structure.

  “Gooo.”

  He walked away from her to the other side of the fence no doubt in search of the others who had not been improved yet. Samantha wondered how she would be able to get over the fence. Her joints were stiff and efforts to firmly grasp her crowbar failed because her fingers would not curl around the cold metal. Then she realized that as the day progressed, her aunt would start to wonder where she was. Against better judgement, Martha or John or hopefully both would come down to the farm to check on her and then she would have her chance. Samantha ambled to the far corner of the field to sit and wait. Her family would be so happy when she changed them. She just knew it.

  THE END

  PIECES OF ME by Craig Steven

  Bobby's parents sat in the Honda’s front seat, going on about the fun they’d all have at the circus. He looked out of the back window at the passing city lights. He was as bored as he'd ever been without his cell phone, and he knew the rest of the night would follow through with that standard. It was the norm since he’d been grounded a week prior.

  His parents were laughing it up about something one of his father's co-workers had said. Bobby understood the joke, but by no means did he think it was funny. He sighed loud enough to be heard over their raucous, sure to let them know of his displeasure thus far.

  His father looked in the rear-view mirror with a furrowed brow. “What's your issue now, Bobby?” he asked.

  “You know I don't want to go to this stupid circus,” he answered, pouting. “What am I, six?”

  “Yeah, well, you could have sat it out, but being grounded means not being allowed to stay home by yourself, if I remember correctly.”

  “Can I at least have my cell phone? Please? I'm gonna be bored out of my mind.”

  “Then you should have brought home a better report card, young man,” his mother chimed in. “You think you can get away with whatever you want and we're not going to punish you for it? You were on the honor roll last year, for Pete's sake! I don't care who your friends are or if you want to look cool in front of them. Until your grades get back up, you're not going to know what the outside of your room looks like.”

  “I'd rather be inside that room than going to this stupid place,” he muttered, resigning the argument.
He'd lost, like he knew he would. He envied children who'd been raised by single parents; it must've been so much easier to win inter-family arguments when it wasn't two against one. These two acted as if he'd flunked every class. By the time the end of the semester rolled around and Bobby was handed a sheet with a few low Cs and high Ds on it, he was content. Apparently, however, his was not the attitude to have.

  Bobby laid his head against the seat, coming to terms with the fact that his Friday night was ruined. He only hoped the circus turned out to be more exciting than he'd give it credit for.

  Bobby's father pulled the car expertly into a spot between two others in a lot next to the large field that'd been reserved for the carnival’s festivities. It was usually where local schools’ baseball teams played, and as baseball was out of season, the field was open for business. That particular week, it'd been reserved for the circus that'd rolled into town.

  Flashing bulbs, reminiscent of Christmas decorations, lit up the night sky. Children and adults alike cried for joy as they rode the miniature roller coasters, the merry-go-round, and the twirler. Balloons popped in the distance – victim to the darts that'd been hurled at them – along with the sound of water guns as they knocked down plastic clowns. The smell of cotton candy, grass mowed fresh, and funnel cake filled the night. Kids whined and wailed as they waited in line for rides or to play their game of choice, while their parents stood idly by, wondering why the circus had seemed like such a good idea in the first place.

  Bobby's parents were on another tier altogether, by far the two most excited chaperones on hand. They held each other's hand, pointing at every booth and ride enthusiastically, asking what they should do first. Bobby was secretly delighted to see them acting as such, since their careers often left them stressed to the max. They'd punished him by bringing him along in the first place, but he still liked seeing them having a good time.

  A red-and-white striped tent near the center of the field caught their attention. “What's over here, honey?” Bobby's mother asked, steering Robert Sr. toward it. They noted the large wooden sign positioned just above the entrance flap. It read 'The Freak Show! Enter at your peril! You've been warned!' It was written sloppily in red paint to give children the idea it'd been written in blood. As if on cue, a girl no older than six ran out screaming, tears streaking her face. Her father followed close by, irritated. She's six years old and you thought it'd be a good idea to take her to a freak show? Bobby thought, shaking his head. Dumbass.

  “Let's go check it out,” Bobby said. If anything there could pique his interest, it'd be whatever was in that tent. Everything else was too childish for his tastes, regardless of his parents' enthusiasm for it all.

  “Sounds good to me,” his father answered, leading the way.

  A carnie who looked less than thrilled to be on usher duty outstretched his hand as they neared the entrance. “Five bucks each,” he mumbled in a monotone voice. This was a steep price just to get into a tent, but Robert, being the gentleman, paid the fee with a smile. The Butcher family walked into the tent to witness the horrors that awaited them.

  Bobby was instantly displeased. He'd been hoping for real live freaks: bearded ladies, strong men, Siamese twins. Even a little person or two would have satisfied him. What confronted him, instead, was someone's twisted and stationary art. Here was a plaster of a human torso, glued to the lower half of a fish to make it a merman. It was hung in the air, supported by the wooden beams above it, as with the rest of the exhibits in the tent. A child, nude but for his jeans, his eyes glazed over and an enormous pair of antlers glued to his bald head, sat behind a glass case in the middle of the floor. A woman's head had been placed on the body of a tiger, and the exhibit was on display from on top of a high pedestal.

  Well, this is disappointing, Bobby thought. He couldn't argue that the pieces didn't at least look authentic. His mind worked in circles as to how these sculptures could look so realistic, but he'd been hoping for something more interactive; something, or someone, that could have approached him from behind and scared the bejesus out of him when he turned around, or a guy swallowing swords while the crowd ooh’d and ahh’d. Instead, he was stuck with this; more of an art exhibit than a freak show.

  He knew his father wouldn't demand his money back. Not because he was a classy man that wouldn't stoop so low, no, but because everything inside the tent intrigued him to no end. His parents were still on the first exhibit – the merman – pointing and gaping at it as if it were the second coming of Christ and not a crudely-imagined fish man attached to some rope.

  “I'm going to take a walk,” he told them. “This is super lame.”

  “Suit yourself, kiddo,” Robert said behind him. “Don't be gone too long. Meet us back here in ten minutes.”

  “And don't go too far,” his mother said. “Don't forget; I've got your cell phone.”

  “Yeah, yeah.” Bobby walked out of the stuffy tent, happy to be rid of that waste of time. The carnie outside smiled at Bobby with rotted teeth and thanked him for coming. His breath reeked of bourbon and cheap cigars. Bobby nodded, cringing back. This night can't be over soon enough.

  With no clear destination in mind, he walked away from it all. He walked past the screaming kids, nearly knocking over several who ran right in front of him as they played a game of tag that'd nearly gotten them trampled. The flashing lights, the yelling, the loud carnies trying to persuade the adults to spend money on their rigged games; the commotion was giving him a headache. He walked clear from the swinging pendulum ride. Knowing my luck, it’ll just smash into me and send me flying away. The more he thought about it, though, the more appealing that idea was. Once past it, he was officially out of the carnival, arriving in the large field between the festivities and the dark woods 100 yards away.

  I remember those woods, he thought, smiling. It'd only been a year ago when he went there with Travis and Brock to get high away from the ever-watchful eyes of their parents. Of course, he'd chickened out in the end, knowing that his mother, with the nose of a bloodhound, would immediately smell it on him. The other boys mocked him before indulging themselves, but they'd all had fun as more and more people steadily joined them. They eventually had a full-fledged party on their hands. It was almost dawn when the last person went home. It'd also been the first time he'd got to second base with a girl. Yes, Bobby remembered that night perfectly.

  As he reminisced, he let his feet guide him, trying to remember exactly where it'd all taken place. The moon shone down on the abundant grass, freshly cut just the day before. The wind, heavy due to the storms they were calling for the next day, blew through the trees, their branches cracking together like percussion instruments. The noise from the circus died down steadily, the occasional over-the-top screech reaching him even still. Finally, he thought as he leaned back against the first tree he reached. Some peace and quiet.

  A woman screamed behind him. She was far away, as far away as the circus, but in the wrong direction; a blood-curdling scream of someone experiencing terror beyond their most horrific nightmares.

  Bobby turned toward the noise, his heart thumping hard against his ribs. His breath came in short, shuddering spurts, every hair on the back of his neck on end. Shunning logic as best he could, he told himself he'd just gone bananas for a moment; the scream actually had come from the circus, he had nothing to worry about. He really should be heading back, though, if he wanted to meet up with his parents on time.

  The woman screamed again, louder this time before something cut her off abruptly. Bobby cried out too, jumping a foot into the air and turning around in the process. She sounded closer, though he knew that wasn't the case. There was nothing to be seen in the woods. But if he strained his eyes, he could see a hint of light through the trees and the brush. And being exhibited by this was the outline of another circus tent, far from the field its kin had been set up in.

  What the hell is going on out there? Surely that can't be a part of the circus, being all the way out
there. But what if it is? I should go get Mom and Dad.

  That'd been the initial plan, but that would have been such a far walk. He doubted the tend held anything sinister, but even if it did, he stood a far better chance of high-tailing it out of there by himself without his parents slowing him down. Hoping he was making the right decision, Bobby began walking through the trees.

  The sound from the circus had now completely died, and the only noise came from the grass crunching beneath Bobby's sneakers. Birds and crickets rotated chirps through the woods and the occasional shuffle of underbrush drew attention to the rest of the critters roaming around. Though the interstate had been built over these woods a mile to the east, they remained virtually untouched here, one of the few places left in the country where nature was allowed to just be nature. The moon and the stars shone overhead as Bobby made his way to the out-of-place shelter.

  Blinding light from inside lit it like a torch, revealing every stain, rip, and tear in the old tent. There were plenty of those; it was obvious this particular tent had seen its fair share of shit. But it also looked more interesting than anything back at the circus. Bobby didn’t understand why they’d keep the interesting stuff secluded, way out where no could see it. It didn't seem like good business. Then again, everything about the situation seemed odd, and though the urge to turn back and run was almost overwhelming, his curiosity was piqued. He was alone in the middle of the woods with the mysterious circus tent and he was bound and determined to discover what secrets were hidden within.

  He arrived at the flap that would grant him entrance. It was slightly open, and the light from inside poured onto the grass at his feet. Unlike the other tents, surrounded by excited carnies, playful children, and agitated parents, the atmosphere full of delicious smells and annoying music, this one was alone. No one was out here. The only smell was the stale stench coming from the old tent. And the only sound was that of a man inside, grunting while others moaned. He gulped. I should go back to the circus now, he thought, fully aware that what he'd discovered was far from being the main attraction. But since he couldn't answer any of the hundred questions racing around in his mind, he set his qualms aside and stepped inside.