Ok, so... now what?

Yeah, yeah I know. Finish the story and I bail on you. Sorry. Just been busy. I've returned to the north and am settling back into my comfortable and familiar routine. Although I'm not really looking forward to the winter here. Oh well, at least I'm used to that too.

So I have two possible stories to post next. One is a story written in blog form and is meant to seem like an actual blog. It's not exactly a horror story per se, but it has horrific elements to it. The other is a good old fashioned ghost story with the main character, a writer (new concept huh?) haunted in a rather unusual way. I haven't decided which one to share with you yet.

In the reading department I have finished Scott Speigler's Infected and found it quite enjoyable and interesting that it takes place in locations that I am familiar with. Particularly in the end. Now I'm on to (and don't say anything like it's about time) reading Stephen King's Dark Tower series. I'm only on the second one, The Drawing Of The Three. Interesting so far. I also have an old Clive Barker novel, Sacrement, that I've never read and am looking forward to. I sometimes find I have a difficult time trying to read authors other than these two, but I'm working on it (like Speigler's story).

And next week perhaps we'll have a little discussion on the awsomeness of Italian horror films, some of which are big favorites (who doesn't love Lucio Fulci's Zombie?).

For now I'll bid you adieu. I'm slightly distracted trying to watch The Goonies with my kid.

Finally...the conclusion of Last Stop

Well here we are. Finally to the conclusion of Last Stop. I hope you have enjoyed reading it. I've been glad to share it. We will meet again here very soon to ruminate further on the subject of horror. Why else would we be here? So sit back, put on your glasses if need be, and read on. Last Stop Part 11.

Last Stop Part 11



          David regained consciousness with incredible pain in the back of his head. He attempted to raise his hand to rub the spot and realized he couldn’t move. He also realized that he was looking up at the ceiling, and upon turning his aching head around, discovered that he was in the middle of the kitchen, restrained to the central table, and also discovered he was completely naked.

            His first thought was embarrassment at such exposure, then all of the events of the night came swarming into his mind, culminating in the discovery of the caged children, and he was suddenly filled with alarm, remorse, and anger. He struggled against the bindings to his wrists and ankles, arched his body up from the nylon table, then dropped back down, the motion reminding him that his nakedness and limp member was on display for whoever put him into this predicament. David screamed and the sound echoed off the stainless steel cabinetry. He heard a deep voice shush him.

            “Nobody can hear you,” it said, and David craned his neck, his skull pounding, and settled his gaze on William walking up to the end of the table.

            “You crazy son of a bitch, let me up. Let me up and I swear I’ll kill you!” David seethed. William snickered and looked to his right.

            “Hey ma, you hear this guy?” William said. David glanced to the foot end of the table and gasped. Remarkably, Muriel stood over him, still slashed.

            “Yeah, I ‘ear ‘im. Not much of a p’sition for that though is’e,” she said, reaching up and suddenly pulling the slashes from her face. David realized they were fake rubber. He again flushed with embarrassment that they had stripped him down and left him this way.

            “Nope, he isn’t,” William answered his mother. Something very wrong is going on here, David thought.

            “Why are you doing this?” David said and began to sob, “there are children…”

            “No,” Muriel said, pulling the last of the latex wounds from her face. She smiled. “They’re lambs dear, ‘member me tellin’ you that?”

            The horrific illustration hit David like a club to the head. His body broke out in a full clothing of goose bumps.

            “Oh my God,” he sputtered, realizing now what the meal earlier had actually consisted of. David began to dry heave, his stomach empty, and he choked, coughed, and gagged. Moments passed as his captors just watched as the fit passed and David was able to speak again.

            “You people are crazy,” he said, “sick and fucking crazy.” He began to struggle again to no avail. The leather straps that bound him were too strong.

            “Now, now, you ain’t goin’ nowhere,” Muriel said, wiping the red, dried liquid from her face. David remembered something that he had heard or read somewhere and realized what the sweet smell was that he had encountered when he thought he had discovered Muriel’s dead body. Kayro syrup. That’s what they used in movies for fake blood. Maybe all this was a setup. One of those reality shows where they scare you real bad and have a laugh at your expense. Then, unsettled that it took so long, David remembered his wife. He coughed once more, “Where is Carrie? What did you do with my wife?” He feared she may have become a lamb also.

            Muriel looked at William, who looked back at Muriel, and they laughed, then they looked past David.

            “Hello David,” a soft voice said from behind him. He craned his neck up and back as Carrie came walking into view. She brushed her hand over his shoulder, down his arm, across his chest and then teasingly along his limp penis.

            “Carrie,” David gasped, “what?”

            “I know,” she said, walking over now and standing beside Muriel, “this is the part that always gets me, right ma?” She glanced to Muriel.

            “Wha-?” David stammered his mind reeling attempting to process what he was witnessing. Carrie? Muriel’s… daughter? No, that’s impossible. Then again, he had never met any of Carrie’s kin. That makes William her? David looked to William.

            “Yes,” Carrie said, her voice slightly different than David had come to know it, a bit of southern inflection perhaps, like her… mother, “he’s my brother.” She nodded towards the man-child who no longer seemed like one.

            David could tell his brain wanted to shut down, wanted to force him into unconsciousness again, not wanting to realize this and accept this. He forced himself to stay awake, to stay alert. He wanted to figure this out, wanted to understand, wanted to get away, and now he realized he no longer required to find his wife to escape with him. Why? Why? David repeated this to all of them, although he glared at Carrie.

            “Why?” he sobbed again.

            “That’s what they always ask,” Carrie replied.

            “They? You…you’ve done this before?”

            “Yes.”

            “Mr. Wright? W-was he one?”

“No,” Carrie said suddenly sorrowful, “Mr. Wright… is my dad. He was a great man. A brilliant man. My hero,” she touched Muriel’s arm gently, “he loved literature, and loved to write, would spend hours doing it, and so, well… after he died…”

“Why?” David repeated. He couldn’t believe this was happening. It all seemed so surreal, like a psycho-delic nightmare.

            “Your inheritance David,” Carrie responded rather nonchalantly. There was no remorse in her voice. She mechanically spoke the words, as though she were simply bored and recited what she read on a teleprompter. “Your inheritance will help to fix up the outside of the house and sustain us for quite a while.”

            “But…” David stammered, “my… you can have it Carrie. This isn’t necessary. You, your family, it’s yours, just let me go.” He couldn’t believe this seemed to be about money. The entire relationship. Their courtship and marriage. All about money. The money he foolishly told her about that started it all. David was enraged that he could be so stupid, and prayed he could find a way out of this situation.

            “Carrie, please, you can have the inheritance, just let me go.”

            “Can’t do that son,” Muriel responded. David looked to her, then back to Carrie. A ghostly draft went through the kitchen, again reminding David of his vulnerability. He again struggled against the restraints.

            “Let me go you bitch!” he spat at his legal wife.

            “Now, now, calm down son, we don’ want ya to bruise y’self.” Muriel told him.

            “What…what are you going to do to me?” David asked, but already figured the answer.

            “You’re a lamb, dear,” Muriel said as David screamed. His mind could still not process what was happening. This only happened in movies. There was a real world out there, one that he was a part of. People would miss him. They would look for him. And although he couldn’t recall if he had told anyone where they were going, his new bride and himself, David had to believe that they could be tracked down, that somehow, these people would be caught. But of course, at this point, it would do him no good anyway. Tomorrow he’d be hanging out there on the front porch, tempting passer-by’s-not that there would be many-with his savory smell.

            No, this all had to be an elaborate joke, a put-on. He had fallen victim to a terrible practical joke. Why else would they go to such great lengths to put on the show that they did? There had to be cameras throughout the house. The entire thing had to have been an extravagant production with David as the hapless, unknowing victim for all of America to be amused by. Carrie had just been a part of the whole scheme; it had been her idea even, maybe. David began to laugh as he continued to sob.

            “This…” he said to his captors, “this is all some big joke,” his voice trembled. “This is all just a big put-on, right?” You got cameras all over and this is just some weird cable show.” He chuckled slightly. “Right? Right Carrie?”

            The trio burst out laughing, looking at one another, looking at David who joined nervously in their laughter. Then Carrie stopped and the other two quickly relented also.

            “No David, sorry,” Carrie said and motioned a nod to William. Then man picked up the meat tenderizer that David had carried around all night.

            “No…please,” David pled. William walked up alongside the table, raised the tenderizer, and struck David in the head. And then he struck him again. And again. And again…

                                                      THE END

So, what did you think? Did you like it? Was it too predictable? My wife figured it out before the end, but she has a knack for doing that. This story was written rather quickly without much editing. And would you believe inspired by many cinematic horror gems. I collected Fangoria magazine for years, and have every issue from #1 to a hundred and something. Anyway I hope this tale hasn't scared you off due to either fright or boredom and you come back for more. I may post another story soon. Until next time.