Nightmare Fuel: The Ultimate Collection of Short Horror Tales (7 page)

“We have to go....now!” Rachel yelled as loud as conditions permitted. The rope collapsed onto the mucky ground. Purple bruises coloured Claire's wrists like ink stains. Which seemed impossible given she hadn't been in there too long, unless Rachel's perception was off. Did the little alcohol she'd consumed affect her concept of time? Breaking from the train of thought, she tugged at Claire. It was like trying to move one of the kegs. But worse, as Claire couldn't hold her form, flopping like a fish. The poor girl was out of it, barely clinging onto consciousness.

“Claire, come on!” Rachel yanked and yanked until finally the sleeping beauty started to stand.

Like a baby taking its first steps Claire rose using crates and barrels for support. Her head hung low as she became upright. Claire's breasts were on display, it would seem. Balls of fat pushing from the small top. And the skirt rode shockingly high, frilly pink underwear on display. Rachel rearranged her room mate's clothing to retain some drizzle of modesty regardless of their solitude. It was then that Rachel noticed something. Splotches of blood soiled the small articles of clothing. Tiny specks of crimson dotted flesh and fabric. But Rachel struggled to find a cut that would warrant so much blood. It was mainly bruises and superficial wounds.
Just like the victim
, she pondered inappropriately. But the medical professionals could determine this once they were out of the cellar.

“Right, you ready?” Rachel asked.

“Yup...” Claire mumbled with dreary eyes.

Rachel was surprised she even got a verbal response rather than an incoherent noise given her condition. Rachel took the lead, dragging Claire behind. The sliver of light seemed even less now. The alley bulbs had grown significantly dimmer during the rescue. Darkness washed over them, leaving a small area of brightness highlighting the exit. Rachel felt the weight of Claire heavy on her shoulders, apparently struggling to walk. The rotten smell had also increased, filling the room. A vile stench poisoned the air. Rachel took small, delicate steps to the exit. She had chosen sensible footwear, whereas her companion had not. The ridiculous heels were clearly not helping Claire in her attempt to move.

“Shhh I want to listen,” Rachel said.

Both women came to a standstill. Silence: with the exception of the very faint conversations of a drunken crowd still in the smoking area, and the buzzing of relentless street lights.

“I think it's safe, come on,” Rachel commenced movement as she felt a sharp pain in her head. A chronic migraine that compelled her legs to collapse. Rachel's vision blurred on her descent, as she heard her own body slam against the hard, cold concrete with a sickening thud. The clonk of heels and a door closing was the last sound she heard. Then she blacked out.

***

An icy slab, horrific migraine, lumpy wall, and indescribable foulness filtering the fresh air and leaving rankness in its wake. These were the first sensory feelings Rachel awoke too. The reek was almost too much to handle. A rotting, with the metallic tang of blood, and a ripe body odour. Vomiting was a near possibility. Her eyes flickered open to an almost pitch black room, save for the dim light bulb swaying in the murk. It swung with an eerie squeak, pulsing through the room. Rachel then realised her hands were bound behind her back, as she leant against a cold beer keg.

“What the hell?” Rachel muttered.

No one appeared to be in the room. She wasn't sure which was worse. Solitude brings the side effect of a death caused by starvation. Or accompanied by a homicidal maniac that would pillage and massacre. She questioned what exactly had happened. The last thing she could recall was creeping from this room with Claire.
Claire! Where's Claire? What happened to her? Did he come and grab Claire and leave me here to die?
Adrenaline coursed through her. Rachel's eyes swam in the darkness, searching for something that could help; when the light stopped swinging. She jerked up to see a hand holding the bulb. Not the metal chain it hung from, but the actual bulb. Seconds passed and smoke hissed. The burning flesh was being scalded by the light. The smell of charcoal and barbecues wafted into the air.

“Wh......” Rachel was mortified.

Then the hand retracted from the bulb. Even from afar, red blisters and boils could be seen. Small lumps on the palm, blood dripping, blackened flesh. The hand fell down as the clearly deranged person crept forwards. The head came into focus under the dim bulb that now had peels of flesh attached. Blonde, dishevelled hair sitting atop a head like a hairy cat. Ruined makeup, and hardly any clothing. Claire.

“Rise and shine,” Claire gleamed psychotically.

“Claire? What's going on?” Rachel frowned.

“Claire? Who is Claire? I am Clarice,” Claire looked offended.

“What? Clarice is your real name?” Rachel was shocked.

“NO MY NAME IS CLARICE YOU STUPID BITCH!” Claire yelled abruptly with veins swelling at her forehead.

“Okay, okay, I'm sorry.....” Rachel spoke gently, trying to appease her clearly insane room mate.
Was she schizophrenic? How have I never noticed before?

“But what is going on here? Why am I tied up?” Rachel asked delicately, attempting to not provoke another aggressive outburst.

“Oh silly girl, it was me,” Clarice winked.

“Wh... You? Why?” Rachel became scared.

“Why is there a
Y
in why?” Clarice burst out laughing, bending over in comical hysteria at her own joke.

Oh my God.
It hit Rachel like a thunderbolt. Claire could actually be the kidnapper. How ironic that Rachel had set out to save Claire when actually becoming kidnapped herself by the criminal in question.

“You're the.....” Rachel was at a loss for all the many names the authorities had given the criminal. The community campus killer, adolescent abductor, and so on.

Clarice nodded with a smirk, full of pride, and began to slink away. The heels clonked in the abyss. The mentally ill girl teetered further into the void, vanishing from sight. That was when the worry really took a hold of Rachel. The enormity of the situation was realised. She could die, most likely would. Rachel tried to evade the rope around her wrists, but it was too tight. The cold from the beer keg was beginning to make her arms go numb. Which, wasn't helped by the slab of concrete freezing her buttocks. Then a switch sounded from the dusk. The sound didn't seem to travel far, absorbed by the concrete. A second later a blinding florescent light came on. It stung Rachel's eye so much that she turned away and squeezed them shut until they were ready for such harshness. This was made difficult when the sound of rattling echoed in the room. An engine humming and metal clattering. Rachel tested her eyes by opening them a little, which seemed to be okay. So gradually the eyelids expanded, fluttering open until they could see a shutter being opened. Like that of a garage door, but merging two rooms into one. It ascended awkwardly, the cheap looking metal partially bronzed from the rust. But that was nothing when the contents of the hidden room were revealed. Rachel now wished for the dim bulb to be the only source of light again. The other half of the basement floor was loaded with bodies.

Bloody, torn, dismembered, and all tinged with a blueness. It was a true house of horror. Limbs strewn everywhere, blood decorating the walls and floor, pools of crimson puddling the ground. The faces of several dozen corpses were frozen in fear. Their last moments must have been terrifying. The smell was otherworldly. A taste of hell. Rotting, faeces, urine, sweat, blood, and a rancidness that had not been given a name in this world. Rachel couldn't hold it in any longer. Like a volcano needing to erupt, she exploded. Vomit fell from her mouth in a stream of yellow. Lumpy chunks splattered. The sick washed Rachel's legs in warmness which disgusted, yet simultaneously pleased her due to the warmth the sludgy substance brought. The purging continued until Rachel's stomach was completely empty.

“Poor baby, some just can't handle it,” Clarice laughed, standing where the shutter had been.

Now Rachel was petrified. Death was inevitable. Globules of sick clung to her dress. Slick golden trails travelling down her smooth thighs. Rachel knew it was cliché, but the question had to be asked.

“Why are...have... you doing this?” Tears rushed down her face, soiling her cheeks in saltiness.

“Why the hell not? Plus these little shits deserved it,” Clarice was so callas, it irritated Rachel.

“They did nothing to you!” Rachel spouted uncontrollably. But immediately regretted the outburst after remembering the room mate was mentally unhinged.

“Oh really?” Clarice stepped through the brutalised bodies. Bones crunching, limbs squeaking, she walked over them as if nothing more than dog shit in a park. Clarice lifted a head from the mountain of corpses. Veins dangled from the neck, along with loose skin. Rachel almost threw up again. Until she was overtaken with an emotion even stronger than nausea: sorrow. Rachel immediately recognised the thick sandy hair, matted in blood. Fragments of bone and brain matter wrapped in strands of hair. The usually tanned skin now white as snow, with navy arteries scribbled across the features. But the eyes, they were the worst. Usually full of love and laughter, portrayed undiluted fear. Although it was in such disarray, Rachel knew who the head belonged too: Sandra. Her best friend.

Hope had been cruelly stolen from Rachel. The drizzling of optimism was gone.

Her room mate had killed her best friend. The very same room mate that she had come out to rescue tonight.
How ironic.
Rachel clenched each fist and sealed her mouth shut. She wanted nothing more than to yell profanities at the girl. But that would more than likely result in an excruciating death. If Rachel was to get revenge and justice for Sandra, and all the other corpses in the room of slaughter, she had to outsmart Claire. Clearly this woman was not mentally well. Claire suffered from multiple personality disorder. There was a chance that Claire had no idea that her alter-ego was murdering half of the campus. But Rachel didn't care. Claire would pay.

“What's the matter? Cat got your tongue? Don't let a little pussy take it when I want to tear it out soon,” she winked.

Rachel fought to express loathing. Instead keeping her face stiff and emotionless.

“What a brilliant idea!” Rachel found herself saying.

Claire, or Clarice, was beyond shocked.

“Oh really?” Clarice dropped the dismembered head. It struck the ground and rolled forwards. Brain and blood trailed behind it. Hair spun round and round, whipping the face. More veins and arteries fell free, some falling out completely. Until the head was only a mere few metres from Rachel. Red, squidgy laces behind it. Once again Rachel fought the natural, morbid urge to stare at the head. But it would be too painful, and gross. The smell was otherworldly and almost intolerable. Trying desperately to distract from Sandra's decapitated head, Rachel started talking.

“Not the tongue...part, the whole idea,” Rachel used every muscle in her face to express the most dazzling, genuine and seductive smile.

“The whole idea?” Clarice frowned.

“Oh yeah, the dirty, worthless college goers, screwing everything in sight or getting wasted, smoking pot. They had to die,” Rachel prayed this performance was convincing.

“Exactly!” Claire yelled, her own face aglow with a huge grin.

She was buying it! She believed me!

“I have been wanting to do this for years, but never had the gall. But you.... you did what I only dream of,” Rachel praised the psychopath.

Clarice meandered over to Rachel and crouched by her side. As she bent down her breasts were barely contained within the tiny top, bursting out like two scoops of vanilla ice cream. The short skirt also exposed what Rachel initially thought was peach frilly underwear. But then made the shocking and disgusting observation that she had been going commando. A smooth hairless area with a small vertical slit. It looked wet.
Had she screwed the guy before killing him?
Pulling her gaze away from Clarice's femininity, she looked into the maniac's eyes. Up close she seemed even more insane.

“I am pretty genius,” Clarice bragged.

“I'll say! But you have to be careful,” Rachel teased.

“Why?” Clarice looked slightly offended.

“You can't keep killing the way you are,” Rachel advised.

Clarice stood and looked down at her captive, folding her arms in disagreement.

“Why the hell not?” Clarice was clearly becoming curious as well as irritated.

“You will get caught! Think about it, all these young adults getting off'd all the time. Haven't you seen the posters around town?”

“No....” Clarice looked nervous, amazingly.

“Yeah, posters are everywhere about missing college students. You need to kill homeless people, or at least mix it up,” Rachel scared herself at the callous tone she was taking at murdering innocent people. And she loathed herself for suggesting the homeless as targets. She regularly fed and cared for the less fortunate.

“I see......” Clarice took a seat aside Sandra's head.

Concentration smeared across the murderer's face. Rachel figured it was time to strike while the iron was hot.