Nightmare Fuel: The Ultimate Collection of Short Horror Tales (6 page)

Itch

Will was laid under the roasting sun, slathered in sunscreen, feeling the warm glow on his glossy skin. He wore nothing but a small pair of blue shorts, lying on the smooth wood of the back porch. Music played quietly from his mp3 as he enjoyed the tweeting of birds and the soothing breeze tickling his flesh. A wind chime from a neighbour's house provided a calming atmosphere. That he could still hear over the pop music pumping from tiny, white earphones.

The heat, becoming a little too much, made Will grab his iced tea. Ice cubes clinked together as he reached for it and greedily gulped down the sweet refreshment. The ice numbed his lips with each glug, throat swelling with each swallow. Until the drink had served its purpose and cooled him down. Now resting on freckly elbows, he took a moment to enjoy the scenery. Acres of grass of both from his house, and the neighbours, grass that stretched into the entrance of the mystifying forest. A baby blue sky overhead, children frolicking with their parents as they ran around without a care in the world.
This is perfect,
he smiled to himself.

That was until he noticed several small mountains of dry dirt at the porch's side, hundreds of annoying ants scurrying in and around them. His nostrils flared. Will despised ants in the worst way; pointless creatures whose only purpose was to destroy picnics and ruin nice lawns. Annoyed and irritated, he snatched his iced tea from the porch and reached over the edge. Will watched brown liquid stream from the glass as it was tipped it over and pillaged the ant hills. He morbidly watched the ants scuttling helplessly, drowning, being washed away from their homes and some even killed. Will grinned. He knew there would be more lurking among the green, but he would take a drive to the store later and grab some ant spray to terminate the little critters.

***

After a lazy but glorious day in the sun, Will retired to bed. But not before taking a cold shower and glazing himself in aloe vera gel to sooth his reddened flesh. Despite using a high factor SPF the sun's kiss had left a tinge of amber in its wake. But aloe vera worked like a charm. It eased the hotness, soaking in quickly, allowing him to curl in bed with a good book. As he pulled open his fictional hardback and began soaking in the words, a small black speck broke his focus. Initially he thought it nothing more than a floater. Small, harmless but annoying dark masses that occasionally get caught in the eye. They easily wash away and are more of a nuisance than anything else. But that wasn't it. Will saw an ant running along his white bedroom wall.

“Damn it!” he spouted, through gritted teeth.

He placed the book aside and hammered his fist into the ant from the comfort of his mattress. Will took a peek at the crushed body of the uninvited visitor flat at the bottom of his hand, then quickly scraped it off, letting it plummet into the fluffy carpet.

“Bloody pests,” he tutted.

Luckily there were no more interruptions that evening. He lay in bed and read to his heart's content. Eyes flickering across the words and fingers flicking the pages. That was until his vision become blurry as he became sleepy. So Will folded a corner, shut the book and placed it on his mahogany night stand aside his tissues, hand sanitiser and alarm clock.

At 2
am
Will awoke, hot and stuffy, skin itching like crazy. After looking at the clock and being displeased to have woken up at such an hour, he huffed. He reached under the covers and rather aggressively clawed at his legs and lower stomach, eager to get some relief and fall back asleep. But, as if having been bitten, the sensation to itch only grew. The more he scratched the more he wanted to itch. Curious, he flung the quilt away and stopped cold when he saw thousands of ants covering every inch of his flesh. His belly and legs were black, covered in a thriving black mass. Will screamed into the night, terrified. He jumped from bed and began swatting and swiping, relentlessly trying to get the ants off him. But there were several layers of the black pests running up and down his body. The mob now began to crawl up towards his face, running along his chest and climbing his neck. He shrieked again, which only gave the ants an easy entrance into his mouth. Realising his mistake, he stuck out his tongue and ran his fingers along it, trying to rid them from his mouth. But whilst he was distracted doing that, more ants scampered inside his ears, dashed into his eyes and swarmed into his nostrils. His throat felt dry and sand-like as he began coughing. But no amount of coughing would expel the cause of this dryness, as Will began to choke. Figuring there was nothing left to lose he ran from the bedroom and into the kitchen. But on the way, as soon as the bedroom door was opened, hundreds of thousands of ants came barging in. With the force of a gang of adults, they pushed in, knocking Will onto the ground.

He began wheezing, gasping for breath, lungs ablaze, body quivering. Until Will took his last ant-filled breath, and fell victim to the hoard of critters. He couldn't be certain, but Will swore that the sound of their tiny legs scooting along flesh sounded like “You shouldn't have killed our homes outside, then we wouldn't have had to seek other places to inhabit. Now we will live in you.”

And they did, until his parents came for a visit and saw the pale, veiny corpse of their son overrun with ants.

MISSING

Rachel stood perusing the bulletin board, worried and nervous. Half of the rotting wood was covered in white sheets. Missing Persons reports. No longer was it a board to ask for study buddies or community gatherings on campus. It was a warning. Dozens of students are going missing every month, you could be next. This had been an ongoing issue that the authorities hadn't been able to solve for quite some time. The whole student populace were thinking the same thing: what is happening to all these students? With nothing in common besides their age and that they attended Ponte College. There were photos of stunning women, Gothic men, overweight ladies, dorky guys; it was a wash of diversity. There was no pattern to these disappearances other than age, and that scared Rachel more than she cared to admit. This problem affected Rachel more as one of the most recent victims had been her best friend Sandra. Bubbly, fun, but not overly so. When she was sad, she would express it. Sandra wasn't one of those hyper-perky individuals who clouded fear with smiles and exaggerated friendliness. Sandra was happy for the most part. But Rachel knew her well enough to know she wouldn't run away, and suicide was the farthest thing from being the answer. So she'd decided to keep her ear to the ground and see if she could find out just what was happening.

Since the beginning of the year, the atmosphere had gone from happy, excitable and giddy, to miserable and fearful as to the unknown predator, kidnapping or possibly killing people. All the lecturers would say when asked by news reporters was that, 'It is mysterious, but college is very difficult and some just can't handle the pressure.'
What a crock of shit!
Rachel thought as she made her way through an eerily desolate campus and headed for the cafeteria. But it wasn't just the bulletin board tainted by this rash of vanishing acts, it was the entire educational facility. Lamp posts, benches, walls, doors, windows, each covered in missing person’s flyers. It was a viral infection spreading like a zombie outbreak. You couldn't escape it. Each class had been whittled down by this issue. Once a full classes accommodated every seat available, but now each lesson had dozens of empty chairs strewn around. Acting as a constant reminder that someone's friend's whereabouts was unknown. Rachel walked into the scarce food hall and bought a cheese and tomato sandwich and can of lemonade. The tomato was fresh and earthy, combining perfectly with the tangy cheese. Both of which washed down with gulp after gulp of fizzy, ice cold lemonade. But these tastes and textures were lost on Rachel as she struggled to focus. She could hardly concentrate on moving in a straight line let alone eat or listen to a lecture.
Thank God for recorders.
The depressed student finished her meal and went back to her dorm, feeling even more defeated than before she'd eaten.

Rachel sat at her desk trying to study but all she could think about was Sandra. Claire, her room mate, a superficial whore, was in the bathroom piling on makeup in preparation for another night out. The string of unexplained absences didn't dent her spirits whatsoever. Determined to wear hooker heels and dance the night away, getting bought drinks by brain-dead jocks who just wanted to get laid. Rachel had warned Claire time and time again just how dangerous it was to frequent clubs and bars with men she hardly knows, but Claire wouldn't have any of it. After Claire had called Rachel a geeky, friendless lesbian, Rachel had quit caring. Which understandably made things very awkward in the dorm room. Fortunately, Claire was always out. It wasn't that Rachel was a loner, but given the circumstances it wasn't at all safe. Not to mention most human beings endowed with emotion have been hit with pangs of depression, anxiety and even guilt.
But not Claire, what a trooper!

Soon enough the heartless slut had rushed from the room to hitch a ride from some dumb football player. With a skirt riding high and vest reaching low, Rachel questioned Claire's very own intelligence, or lack thereof. But in the midst of her judgemental thoughts, Rachel was hit with an idea. Claire was prime bait. Given, it wasn't only women that were going missing. But a stupid, defenceless, intoxicated college girl was surely the perfect target. If this person or persons was out on the prowl tonight, Claire was sure to get some attention. Maybe tonight was the night that Rachel put an end to this madness. She knew the usual haunts Claire would visit. Cheap admission and cheap drinks. Not that Claire ever paid for a drink when all it took was a flash of her tits and teeth to get a freebie. But Rachel could quickly freshen up, and stalk her room mate, hoping that the kidnapper or killer would strike. Broken by impatience and sorrow Rachel threw caution to the wind and made the brave decision to do exactly that. She changed into a navy dress, black heels and ran a comb through her unkempt hair. She wanted to look presentable, but not attract any attention. One thing Rachel hadn't considered when debating this scheme, was the weather. The night was a cold one, a bitter wind biting any exposed skin.
This should be fun!

***

Street lights dimly lit the roads and alleys. The majority of the town was scarce of people, except outside club entrances. Clubbers stood in clumps queuing to gain entry into clubs of all sorts. Hot new trends with a delectable list of cocktails and brand new furniture, or tacky bars that stunk of mouldy ale and boasted sticky floors. One club in particular, The Watering Hole, was located on the edge of town. Its regulars consisted of perverts, alcoholics, pensioners with nothing else better to do, and the scum of society. But somehow the manager Rick had managed to attract a young clientèle due to the bargain priced drinks and modern music with a reasonably sized dance floor. Which led to charging a small admission several times a week to make extra cash. It was 11:00pm and the place was already packed. Drunk clubbers crammed inside like sardines in a tin. But as long as the liquor flowed freely and music blasted through the speakers, they were happy. In the alley down the side of the club was an unofficial smoking area. Due to new laws and regulations smoking inside was prohibited. Rick was at first incredibly nervous this would affect business, until he came up with the idea to have a little smoking area. An invaluable roof, old table and some plastic chairs, and presto. Even in this era there were still a few smokers lingering in society, cancer or not. Among the smokers, was Rachel. Now she didn't smoke, but needed some fresh air. The club was tainted with sweat and the stench of hormones. She hated to think it, but she preferred clubs when smoking was allowed. The only downside back then was the occasional burn from a lit smoke. But that was nothing compared to strong body odours and other ghastly stenches. Fortunately, she had found Claire and been keeping tabs on her for just under an hour, from a sensible distance of course. Claire was such a cliché, dancing flirtatiously, rubbing and grinding, showing more skin than a stripper. Taking the female population back at least a hundred years, erasing the feminist movement. All the while Rachel stood in dark corners, holding a drink to avoid suspicious glares.

But 60 minutes of observation and annoyingly drunken fools barging into her forced a retreat outside. Even if that meant being surrounding by tobacco smoke, holding back coughs and gags. So there Rachel was. Young people were kissing and groping against walls, groups were laughing hysterically at insignificant things, and perverts clung to the shadows ogling scantly dressed young ladies. Rachel wasn't against going out, it was more of a treat for her, to let loose and blow off some steam. Whereas some of these people made it a weekly, sometimes nightly ritual. But being sober made the whole prospect of clubbing very unappealing while observing a bunch of buffoons. She only prayed that she didn't look as ridiculous when drunk. Bored, Rachel pulled a phone from her purse and checked the time, 11:10pm. Time was dragging. But luckily patience was one of her strong suits, taught by her grandfather. Just as Rachel was priding herself in a strong will, Claire stumbled into the crowd. There was a six foot hunk of meat attached to her. They wobbled into the crowd hazy eyed and slurring their speech.

Without a seconds hesitation the man pushed Claire against a filthy brick wall and started to explore her anatomy under the little clothing she wore. Rachel tutted in disgust at the utter lack of morals and self respect. Before she knew it the man had his hand under her skirt.
Oh for God's sake,
Rachel turned away feeling slightly nauseous. Shockingly Claire's moans went unheard by the intoxicated morons. Every few minutes she would turn back hoping they had exhausted themselves, but no such luck. Even worse, more people continued to pile outside and spark up cigarettes or fondle their ladies or gentlemen. Rachel questioned if this was actually a brothel or club. She wouldn't be judged for thinking that, given Rachel was surrounded by a bunch of thriving, hormonal young people. They were rapidly increasing in size and outrageousness of the behaviour.

Time went by as she played on her phone as a form of entertainment. She willed the clock to move faster, but it refused to cooperate. But by 01:00am the charge was flickering dangerously low. Rachel, being smart, put the phone away to conserve the little power it had, should it be needed for an emergency later. How much longer was she to endure this hell? Then God answered. Claire and the gentlemen friend fell from the orgy and stumbled down further into the alley.
This is it.
Rachel squeezed through the bulk of flesh, sliding past drunken men and bitchy women. The reek of smoke floated in the air. Ashy mists hung above the drunkards. Rachel was repeatedly stung in the arm by cigarettes as she squirmed through. Now changing her mind about cigarettes being preferable to sweat. The first few shocked her, but after a few seconds she had become accustomed to it. Just as Rachel escaped the swarm of drunks Claire and her meal for the night slinked off into a small side alley.
What a stupid bitch!
Rachel hurried, but on the cobbles, it was proving difficult. That was when someone screamed.

The crowd was barely fazed. The alcohol soothed any distress or panic. The only person worried about the scream, was Rachel. Exhausted, a little tipsy, and scared, she ran as fast as possible. The walls and alleys were odd blurs. Dim street lights crept through the darkness like glowing skulls. She reached the small side alley struggling for air, and shot round into it. Nothing. Nobody. Claire had vanished. Rachel was certain this was the alley they had disappeared into, which meant she had been kidnapped.

Rachel stood confused, fighting to balance on the uneven ground. No Claire, and no horny man. A few dumpsters lined walls, and fire exits stuck out in luminous green, exposing the cracked bricks, stained walls and dirty ground. Rachel hesitantly drudged onwards, listening, looking, preparing. The temperature down the alley was significantly colder than the smoking area. The swarm of smokers clearly added a great deal of heat to the atmosphere. Heat that Rachel missed as she began to shiver, breaking out in goosebumps. But soon the shivers or pimpled flesh weren't due to the cold, but as a result of another chilling scream.

It came from the back building just beyond an open fire exit that Rachel had initially missed. Using the dirty walls as support she trotted to the end. Heart pounding, mind running, breeze whipping, she persevered. As soon as the door was within reach she paused and sought cover behind it. Seconds passed by and no more yells, but then moans started. Delirious moans of bewilderment. Rachel peered around the door to see an empty dark room. She entered cautiously. The room stank of stale alcohol and body odour. The subtle light coming in from the alley highlighted a concrete room. Dust and cobwebs hung in corners. Crimson marks stained the cracked concrete floor. Then Rachel noticed something: Barrels. Beer barrels or kegs. This was a cellar. The cellar to a bar. But more shockingly, nestled in between two kegs, was a young woman crying. Hands bound in rope, hair glued to her face with sweat, makeup lining the face. It wasn't until the head fell back onto the wall that Rachel recognised it as Claire.

Anxious, but still wary, Rachel strode over and crouched at Claire's side.

“Claire,” Rachel whispered.

“Claire, it's Rachel,” but still no response.

Claire's body, from a closer view, had scratches and scrapes tattooing bare flesh.

“Oh my god....” Rachel muttered.

“Claire I need you to wake up, we have to go,” Rachel was concerned for Claire, strangely. But even more so about the unknown whereabouts of the man. The blackness wasn't helping the situation either. She envisioned a mad man looming from the shadows with an axe or bloody knife, redness drooling from his crazy face.
Stop it!
Rachel told herself, shrugging off the unnecessary hypothetical nightmare. This situation was bad enough, without over-active imaginations. Then Rachel's common sense came. Pulling a phone from her purse, she dialled the police. Rachel began dialling the number just as the phone died.

“Damn it!” she hissed.
Typical.

“Huh?” Claire stirred.

Rachel almost jumped. “Claire? You're awake!”

Rachel dropped to her side and frantically began untying her, trembling. With a deep fear that a crazy killer would appear at any second and hack them to pieces.

“Wh.....” Claire's face was a mess. Up close and personal, makeup was ruined and the hair was a candy floss disaster.