TOTALLY SCARY: By Rose Blackthorn

February 21st, 2012

I was sitting on the couch, with my dog in my lap, a blanket wrapped around my shoulders.

The news was full of it – not just the Weather Channel, but every t.v. channel and radio station was babbling on and on about the coming storm.  It was supposedly the largest chain of storm systems in recorded history.  And the worst of it, so far anyway, was supposed to hit our little neck of the woods within the hour.

The wind had risen, gusts shaking my house as though it was built of cardboard. The lights had been flickering for the last half hour, and I expected them to go at any time.  Really, I was surprised they hadn’t gone out already.

My cell phone rang.  I glanced at the screen.  Jimmy, my on-again off-again currently ex-boyfriend was calling.  Miko, my terrier mix, looked up at me with button-bright eyes, as if to say, “Are you going to answer that?”

Sigh.  “Yeah?” I said into the phone.

“Are you okay?” he asked, sounding breathless.  The microphone of his cell was picking up blasts of air, so he must’ve been outside.

“Yeah, I’m fine.  Just sitting on the couch watching the news.”

“Things are getting really bad outhere, babe,” he said, shouting into his phone. I might have yelled at him about that, but really, if he hadn’t been shouting I wouldn’t have been able to hear him. “I’m on my way over.”

“Jimmy, why don’t you just stay home?” I replied, raising my voice to be sure he could hear me.  “Channel 4 says there’s like hurricane-force winds out there.  I’m safe in my house, you shouldn’t be driving in this.”

“Sorry, sweetheart, I can’t hear you!” he yelled, “Just stay put and I’ll be there quick as I can.  Stay away from the windows!”  Then the call ended.  He might have hung up, or the call might have been dropped.  Hard to tell.

“Shit,” I sighed, setting the phone down.  After our last argument and break-up, I really wasn’t in the mood to spend a power-out huddled-in-the-darkness scared-shitless evening with him.

Miko whined, cocking his head to one side as he did when he was concerned.

“It’s okay, little guy,” I said, rubbing his ears.  “Jimmy’s coming over to save us.”  He was only a dog, but I’m pretty sure he got my sarcasm.

The drive from Jimmy’s place to mine wasn’t far, and usually only took about ten minutes.  He showed up almost forty-five minutes later.  He was drenched to the skin, windblown and shivering.  The gym bag he’d brought with him was dripping.

“What took so long?” I asked, doing my best to keep the irritation out of my voice. I hadn’t wanted him to come over, but I’d still been worried when it took so long, and I couldn’t get hold of him on the cell.  “The power went out twenty minutes ago, but it’s still warm in the house.”

His teeth were chattering so hard Icould barely understand his reply.  “Had-d-d-dt-t-t-to l-l-l-leav-v-v-ve the c-c-c-car t-t-t-two b-b-b-b-blocksb-b-b-back-k-k-k,” he stuttered, stripping off his soaking wet coat and taking the towel I handed him.

Miko barked and barked, bouncing around like a furry little Mexican jumping bean.  The blast of wind when I’d opened the door had blown everything off the table in the entryway, and pieces of paper littered the floor like huge rectangular snowflakes.

“Get in here and warm up,” I ordered, pushing him toward the living room while I scooped up the papers off the floor.

I looked out the side light once,before joining him in the interior room. The color of the sky was grey and green and sickly yellow, and there was more than one tree down on my street.

Candles flickered on the coffee table and the tops of my bookshelves, dancing a little at some draft of outside air.  The gusts had gotten worse, and there occasionally came the ripping sound of shingles peeling off the roof.  If I’d had a basement, instead of a crawlspace, I’d have been down there already.

Jimmy stripped off his wet clothes,dropping them in a pile on the tiled hearth, dried off with the towel, and redressed from some of the clothes he’d packed. They were a little damp.  As he changed, he talked, ignoring Miko’s little whimpers and growls.  “There are trees down everywhere, and 3rd East is completely flooded,” he said, his voice muffled as he pulled a shirt over his head.  “I saw a bunch of windows blown out, a couple newer houses over on Statice had lost their roofs!  It’s totally scary out there!”

“I still don’t know why you decided to come over,” I said, grumbling, as I cuddled Miko on the couch.  “You could’ve gotten hurt.  You should’ve stayed at home where it was safe.”

“Gotta take care of my girl,” he said with the grin that I used to adore. When he sat down next to me, Miko growled, baring his sharp little teeth.

“Before the power went out, they said there were some weird things going on in the storm,” I commented, rubbing Miko’s ears.  “Not just meteorological stuff.  Creepy, like science fiction kind of weird stuff.”

“What, aliens?  Asteroids heading for earth?  The end of the world as we know it?” he asked, seemingly recovered from his trip over here.

“Something like that,” I answered, watching the tentacles rise up behind the couch, behind Jimmy.  “You ever read any H. P. Lovecraft, Jimmy?”

His brow drew down in puzzlement.  “H. P. who?”

Miko’s button-bright eyes were watching our new guest as well, his little pink tongue showing as he panted.  He seemed to be smiling. 

When the appendages closed around him, pulling him off the couch, Jimmy started screaming, drowning out otherless-appealing sounds.  Miko just wagged his little tail.  I watched the nearest candle flame, ignoring the wet noises from behind me, while I rubbed my dog’s ears.

________________________________

©2012 Rose Blackthorn

Rose Blackthorn lives in the high mountain desert of Eastern Utah withher boyfriend, a two-year old Australian Shepherd nicknamed “Boo”,and a Yorkie puppy fittingly named “Shadow”. She spends her time writing,reading, photographing the surrounding wilderness, and doting on theaforementioned fur-kids. She’s been published in several magazines both printand online, and contributed to the zombie anthology “New Dawn Fades”released in Nov 2011 and the Necon E-Books flash anthology to be released inearly 2012. She suffers from an overactive imagination, but rather thancomplaining… she just goes with it.

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ONE HOUR: By Dene Bebbington

February 20th, 2012

Zombies were nearly extinct. The undead outbreak had been brought under control before it reached a point of no return. But a few re-lifers, as they’d been nicknamed, still stumbled around rural areas looking for flesh.

Autumn’s cool veil covered the land. Daniel was outside chopping small logs he needed for the wood burner in his living room. Thwock. The first log split at the same time as something bit into his shoulder. In pain and shock he pushed back on his assailant, turned around, and swung the hatchet at it. The blade pierced its neck, blood fountained out. Daniel managed to shove it onto the ground, then hacked its neck until the re-lifer’s head detached.

“Why me?! Why couldn’t you be satisfied with animal flesh?” Daniel screamed at the thing lying at his feet. Realising his fate, he sobbed.

In an hour he’d be a monstrosity. He resigned himself to what had to be done. Leaving the logs and the corpse he returned to the house. He closed the windows, locked the doors, and threw the keys out of the letterbox. Hands shaking, he picked up the cordless phone and dialled.

“Hello. The re-lifer hotline, Christine speaking.”

“I want to report a re-lifer,” Daniel’s voice quivered in response.

“Okay. Stay calm and tell me where it is,” Christine replied.

“It’ll be here in an hour. That’s the incubation period, right?”

“What do you mean, are you telling me you’ve been bitten?”

“Yes. But don’t send them yet. Please, I want someone to talk to in my last hour,” Daniel pleaded. “I’ve locked myself in and thrown out the keys so I’m not going anywhere, and the re-lifer who bit me isn’t going anywhere either.”

“Where’s the one that bit you?”

“Outside. Don’t worry, I chopped its head off.”

“What’s your name?” Christine asked.

“Daniel Woodmancote.”

“I’m sorry, Daniel. You must know that we have to deal with any re-lifers immediately to prevent another outbreak. Our people are sharpshooters, you won’t feel anything,” Christine said calmly.

“I know. Please, I’m not going anywhere. There’s no reason for me to lie about that. I don’t want to end my days knowing I’m being shot like a rabid dog.”

“Okay, Daniel. I’ll talk to you until you can no longer talk. We may learn something about the transition so I’m recording this call.”

“Oh, thank you,” Daniel said in a relieved tone.

After he’d died and transitioned, Daniel wouldn’t appreciate the view of the beautiful countryside from his living room window, or the grace of the occasional deer passing through his fields. The view was the reason for buying this house. He would no longer sit in his favourite armchair enjoying a glass of red wine, nor read one of the many books on his shelves. Cannibalistic hunger, he knew, would be the only urge. The most primitive part of his brain left in control and the humanity dissolved, leaving him less than an animal – they at least had instincts to do more than just eat. He wondered if re-lifers recognised familiar people or sounds, if only as a faint nagging feeling in their flesh obsessed, shrivelled mind.

They talked about Daniel’s life, of how he’d dreamed of moving to the countryside as he slowly burned out with city living. The claustrophobia brought on by throngs of people everywhere made the decision for him. Due to the nature of his work he had the luxury to work from home, and enjoyed the opportunity to take long walks.

Standing by the window trying to enjoy his favourite view for the last time, Daniel said, “Something is happening, Christine. My vision is blurring, and the colour is draining away. I’m looking through the window and it’s like seeing an old sepia photograph.”

As the hour ticked by, a chill spread throughout his body and mind. He put the remaining wood left inside the house into the wood burner, eventually getting a fire started after fumbling with the matches.

“Have you ever had a day without food and felt the hunger pangs, Christine? This is worse, the gnawing inside my guts is almost unbearable. I need meat,” Daniel slurred into the phone.

“You’re not trying to leave the house are you?” Christine asked, worried that she’d been too understanding.

“No. I’m … go to kitchen,” he responded indistinctly, then dropped the phone.

Daniel shuffled into the kitchen. Dizziness clouded his thoughts; his limbs didn’t work smoothly anymore – it was as though his bodily coordination had been knocked off kilter by drinking far too much wine. His foot caught on a table leg and he fell, almost stopping himself by reaching out for the table top.

Back on his feet, Daniel reached the fridge and flung its door open. A pack of minced beef caught his carnivorous attention, but the plastic wrapping prolonged his hunger. Grey hands ripped at the packaging until it shredded. He pushed the meat into his mouth awkwardly, like a toddler left alone with a gooey cake.

“Daniel, are you still there?” Christine asked on hearing the commotion.

No response came. She heard footfall in the background, the sound of things breaking, and the primal grunting of a re-lifer.

“Don’t worry, Daniel. A squad’s on its way now. You won’t suffer for much longer,” she said before hanging up the call.

______________________________________

© 2012 Dene Bebbington

Dene Bebbington works in IT and is a writer in his spare time. He lives in Wiltshire, England, and has had three zombie stories published in the anthology Unquiet Earth.

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