Horror From the High Dive, page 17
With this final detail, he set down his pencil.
“What does it mean?” asked Alex, pointing to the strange sign.
“Dunno. But you gotta remember the whole thing or it doesn’t work. Every little detail.”
Suddenly, the boy jumped, remembering something urgent. He picked up his pencil, and began filling in the street outside his crudely drawn department store.
“Looks creepy. My mom’s not going to take me to… wherever that is.”
“She won’t have to. You’re taking yourself.”
Alex shook his head, and got up from his chair.
But the new kid stopped him, holding out his hand-drawn map. “Tonight, when you tuck into bed, take this with you. Study it for a good long time before you fall asleep.”
“Why?”
“You have to memorize the whole thing. Since it’s your first time, I’d say you wanna do it no less than an hour. Just take it in. Pay attention to the doors. The windows. Every little detail.”
“Then what happens?”
“You fall asleep, like normal. But when you wake up, you’ll be there.”
Alex looked at the drawing again.
“So how do you know about it?” Alex asked.
He shrugged. “Kid showed me at my last school. Someone probably showed him before that. I didn’t believe him at first either, but you gotta try it for yourself.”
The recess bell rang. Students began filing in from the playground.
“You can have this one,” said the new kid, offering Alex the drawing. “I’ve got one at home.”
“What am I supposed to do with this?” Alex asked.
“Once you’re in, you’ll have the whole place to yourself,” the kid continued. “Just go in, take whatever you want, and remember to go back home, before you wake up. That’s the only way it’ll work. You have to get back to your room, and put whatever you took from the store under your bed.”
“How will I get home?” Alex asked.
“When you have what you need, just close your eyes and think of home. When you get back, hide it under your bed first thing, and when you wake up in the morning, it’ll be there. Just where you left it.”
Alex saw his classmates moving past the doorway. “I’m good,” he finally said, and started moving for the door.
The kid blocked his escape. “But be careful, once you’re inside, if you see or hear anyone, anyone at all, but especially a grownup, don’t go near them. Just get out.”
“That’s enough,” Alex said, and hustled out of the computer lab.
The next day, Alex was relieved to find the swings empty. He’d had his fill of the new kid’s company, and was happy to find himself alone again at lunch.
At first, Alex suspected he must have stayed home sick. But when the new kid didn’t show up to school the next day, nor the day after that, Alex began to suspect something was wrong.
Days later, when the recess bell rang, Alex walked past the playground and entered the computer lab to see if the kid had left some hint as to where he’d gone. The place was just as empty as the last time Alex had been inside. He searched under every desk, looking for some sign of the kid, half-expecting him to pop out of a cupboard and scare him.
Instead, Alex found only his drawing, sitting where he’d left it, at the table by the window.
That night, Alex sat awake in bed, holding the drawing.
Was he really starting to believe this kid was onto something? It couldn’t be true, he assured himself. Still, he had questions, and this map’s maker was the only one who could answer them.
It wouldn’t do any harm to try, he conceded, as he rolled over in bed, toward his bedside lamp. There, lying on his side, Alex studied the drawing.
After a moment, he chuckled wearily to himself and considered quitting. Was he falling for some kind of prank? he asked himself. If so, he figured, at least there’d be no one here to see. With that, he once again studied the drawing in the faint glow of his bedside lamp. He took in its revolving door. Its three yellow flags. Its large, pane glass windows…
And when he woke up, he was standing before them.
Alex recognized immediately where he was, but it took him a moment to realize how he’d gotten there. It worked, he thought as he looked to the sky. It was the only part of the scene that didn’t match the drawing. In place of a paper-white sky, what hung above him closer resembled the nuclear orange of his own vomit from when he had the stomach flu two years back. It was an unnatural hue, unlike any sunset he’d ever seen. His gaze fell back to the store, noticing first its three yellow flags flapping despite the absence of wind.
He stepped inside the revolving door, expecting the tile to be cold underfoot. Instead, it felt warm to the touch, as though others had recently been through this way.
Alex found himself standing at the entranceway of an endless toy store. It seemed to him too large to be practical. Its construction too vast and intricate. Before him stretched miles of white tile, which distantly branched off into hundreds of aisles of wood and corrugated steel.
“Hello?” Alex called out and waited for some reply, only to hear his own voice echo back. He put one foot in front of the other, easing himself away from the front door to get a better look at the space. It must be a dream, he repeated to himself as he ventured down the nearest aisle.
There he found no price tags nor labels, but endless shelves of curious objects: dolls of stone, clay, and unvarnished wood. He picked out a small, unpainted figurine crudely twisted and pulled into the shape of an animal. A horse, Alex figured, as he felt the length of string that had been run through its snout, and the uneven wheels fixed to each of its hooves. It was primitive and ancient, unlike anything he’d seen in a toy store before. But what most intrigued him was not the toy itself, but the feel of it. It was undoubtedly handmade, its face coarse and unpolished. Its stone body felt heavy in his hand, pulling his hand toward the floor. Never before had Alex dreamt so vividly. And when the toy slipped from his fingers, crashing to the tile floor, Alex flinched at the crack that echoed down the aisle.
Alex found in each aisle an entirely new set of oddities: the playthings of bygone eras, perfectly preserved. At the end of one, he happened across a great promenade filled with carousels and amusement park rides, pristine relics, beckoning him to be their first passenger. Alex moved on, feeling out of place and out of time, until he found more familiar territory...
An aisle full of remote control helicopters of all shapes and sizes stretched farther than the eye could see. Among them, Alex recognized a familiar model, the one that piqued his curiosity on the playground that day when he met the new kid.
Alex picked up the helicopter, recalling the instructions the kid gave him that day.
Take the toy, and think of home.
Put it under his bed.
Wake up.
So Alex clutched the box, closed his eyes, and thought of home. He drew a deep breath, trying to recall his room. He pictured his small bed pressed into the corner. He pictured his carpet, and his closet door, hoping to open his eyes and find himself among them. But when he did finally open his eyes, he found he was still standing in that cold, brightly lit aisle.
He tried again.
And again.
But it was no use.
On the fifth try, Alex’s nose twitched.
His eyes fluttered open as he whiffed something rancid in the air.
He crept to the end of the aisle and peered around the corner. Up ahead, he spotted something on the floor: streaks of brown and black against the otherwise pristine tile. Flies buzzed through the intersection, their fat, hairy bodies illuminated by the harsh lights bearing down seemingly from nowhere.
Alex gripped his helicopter and backed down the way he came.
Suddenly, a loud bark sounded from the next aisle over, a low, sorrowful bellow that stopped Alex in his tracks. The thing in the next aisle barked again, and again, growing louder…
Alex spun, looking for a way to retreat, but the aisle stretched endlessly behind him. He’d never make it to the exit. Thinking fast, he climbed the corrugated shelf, toppling the rows of plastic helicopters as he scrambled toward the ceiling, and finally tucked himself way up high, behind a large remote control helicopter box.
Just as he disappeared from sight, the dog ran in beneath him: a heavy, broad-shouldered Rottweiler, its paws clicking maniacally against the tile as it investigated the spot where Alex was just standing. The beast let out a low, annoyed grunt, sniffing at the toppled boxes. It ran its wet nose over them, snorting. Breathing deep. Then, as the gears inside its head slowly began to churn, the beast raised its fat, black head, and growled…
That’s when Alex saw the chain collar around its neck, fastened to a metal leash which stretched impossibly into the darkness, rattling against the floor…
A distant raspy voice mumbled and coughed.
The Rottweiler bowed its head and turned back toward the end of the aisle from whence it came. It sat on its haunches, obedient. Waiting for something to emerge.
Alex clasped a hand over his mouth.
Below, a figure moved in from the shadows: an old man, judging by his round, white, hairless head. His body was covered in a heavy brown coat, stained with black and red. Flies buzzed around his face and jacket as he coughed, limping toward the dog, winding its leash around his fist.
The dog once again raised its head and barked. The man followed its gaze…
The dog barked.
They found him.
Alex froze, feeling his muscles involuntarily seize.
The man raised a heavy boot, and planted it on the corrugated shelf.
The shelf creaked under his weight, as he began to climb…
Alex clung to the cardboard box before him, closing his eyes.
The man climbed another shelf…
Alex thought of home; his lamp, his bed…
The man pulled himself to the shelf where Alex was hiding…
Alex felt a fly graze his cheek. He opened his eyes just as…
The man’s leering face crested the shelf. He reached out, and…
Grasped onto Alex with a leathery hand.
Suddenly, Alex sat up in bed, still clutching the toy helicopter.
He was back at home, but the sky outside his window remained orange.
Still dreaming.
Alex stuffed the box under his bed, and yanked the covers over his face.
Under his blanket, he wrenched his eyes shut, willing himself to wake up.
There he stayed, all night, it seemed…
When Alex finally peeked out from under his blanket, morning had come.
He made it.
Alex breathed a sigh of relief, and peeked under his bed.
There he saw, beneath his bed, the helicopter, just where he left it.
It worked.
But Alex noticed something else beside it, bright against the shadows…
The grinning face of the bald man staring back at him.
SAVOR YOUR LIFE
BY NANCY CHEN
I’M GETTING TOO old for this superhero shit.
Should’ve just left that literal train wreck to those CRISPR superkids, but no, I just had to step in and save the day. Are thirty strangers really worth all your trouble, Alexa? I don’t think so!
Middle of winter and look where I am - groping in the dark in God-knows-where Jersey, trying to quell this hunger. Should’ve taken the early government pension package instead. Who am I proving myself to? Those kids? My fans? I’ve certainly got nothing to prove to my husband. He’s probably snoring away by now, not a care in the world, while I’m out here hunting in this sub-zero wasteland. What I would give to see the gobsmacked look on his face if he knew what I do… but then again, he and his big mouth would ruin everything. And we need the money now more than ever. Damien is going to college in a couple years, and who knows where he’ll end up?
Ah, here’s one. She’ll have to do for tonight. Hard to tell in this dim alley light what’s under all those layers, but her cheeks look chubby enough. A little older than Damien, early twenties at most. Should last me at least a month. I might need to go easy on the flying, but there’s enough fat on her bones to fuel my strength and invisibility, no problem.
Just come a little closer.
And a little more.
Damn.
Who are these chumps? They reek of cigarettes. No doubt a couple of local thugs looking for trouble. And now they see the wasted girl walking all by herself. It’s almost too easy.
Fight them off, girl! One scream and they’ll go running. Don’t just flail your arms, that won’t do! And now you’re going down, great. They’ve got you pinned. You made it way too easy for them, and have just created quite the dilemma for me.
Should I scare them off for you?
But I can’t sustain my invisibility and fight these thugs off right now, which means they’ll see my face, and that means I’d have to spare your life lest they tattle to their friends about this. Of course, I could take the chance and take you anyway - I doubt they would remember your face.
Or I could kill them for you.
They’re going to take advantage of you, and thugs like these deserve no mercy. But then I’d have to dispose of their bodies, and while it may be a hassle, it’s not unthinkable. Too bad I can’t take the boys, but they’re just not as appetizing, nor do they provide the kind of nutrition I need. Something about all that estrogen just works, though who can be sure?
I could also leave you all be. None of you have seen me, so I could just pretend I never witnessed this and go. Hunt somewhere else instead.
Perhaps this is a sign telling me I should retire already. I’ll be fifty in less than a month. Fifty! And this life can really wear you out. Everyone looks to me to uphold the image of righteousness, to smile at the pomp and pageantry, to goad the fans and the haters, all while saving lives. It’s a tough balancing act, a skill that took time to develop, and I’m not perfect. Plus, now I also have to contend with the next generation, who are flashier and definitely more photogenic than I am. It’s only a matter of time before I’d be forced to retire, but I’d rather leave on a high note, of my own accord.
Besides, I’ve had a good run, and I’ve been lucky, having hidden my unsavory ways from the world for the last three decades. I know how precarious my situation is and how easily the spool could unwind. I might slip up one day, and then my family would be ruined. There’d be an inquiry into my entire history. How would the world judge me then? A scan dal is worth a thousand deeds, and mine would be a hell of a scandal. Although…
For Christ’s sake, I can’t watch this anymore.
To say these thugs are worse than pigs would be an insult to the pigs.
Well… that might have been too hasty on my part. Good thing there’s no camera around here and the dumpsters are roomy. The boys fit inside nicely, even if I had to snap their bones to fit.
You, my dear, look like shit. Oh, don’t thank me yet. But it’s sweet of you to be so grateful.
I’m actually thankful to have bumped into you tonight. I had nearly forgotten why I became a superhero. I didn’t seek out this life for the fame or money, but for self-worth, and the look of relief in those eyes when they realize they’ve just escaped death by a hair. It’s easy to forget what counts when the crowd is chanting my name and their expressions of awe and reverence are melding together, like one giant orgy in worship of my greatness.
But this moment right now - you and me - I can tell that I mean the whole world to you. So maybe I could tough it out for a few more years, and truly focus on why I’m here and why I do what I do. Okay, I’d still want to enjoy the vanity of it. Can’t let the kids hog all the glory and all the fun. But even if the world doesn’t want me around anymore, I’ll always know that there are unfortunates like you who need me. And that feels good.
Please stop crying. It was frightening, true, but no need to be frightened now. And no need to fear me. I’ll be gentle. If you knew what’s about to happen, you might even be pleased. Your body will sustain me, and help me help others. So in a way, you’ll become a superhero too after tonight.
Now, go to sleep so I can get you to the cabin. I’m starving.
And the meat needs time to cook.
SEEDS OF SPRING
BY JOE CABELLO
The warmth of Spring has woken me
And I can’t wait to grow
To slither my sprouts
Through soft soil
Stretching towards the sun
Crawling up and out
A phantom tickle spread throughout
Never has a sprout grown so fast
Til the topsoil I reach at last!
Oh, how I love to grow!
The panic that greets me
The prodding
The pulling
The popping
Confusion and crying
So certain her soil is dying
Yet still I grow!
Bigger
Longer
Sturdy and strong
I suckle the soil
Its moisture, my food
Its warmth, my nest
Rattling coughs
Remind me to stretch
The sweet sounds
Of the world I wish to greet
Muffled by the walls of meat
I hear her prayers
Her cries
The beeping beat
The cold room
Bathed by lights of blue
Oh, how I miss the sun’s warm hue!
Yet I still grow
My bulb whole and hearty
My host a withered husk
I hear her screams
Light seeps!
I see!
Through a crack
Laced up her skull
And out her eyes
My pollen spreads
Out far and wide
A horror more will come to know
To spring I say
Hello
THE LORD’S WORK
BY GRAHAM STONE JOHNSON
THE PRIEST STOOD by the communion table, a bloodstained cross gripped tightly in hand, as he stared down at the lifeless body.
