Published by Jim Bronyaur at Smashwords
Copyright 2010 Jim Bronyaur
This stuff is free… but that doesn’t mean you can use it or steal it without talking to me first.
Come on now, you’re creative enough to think of scary shit on your own… go do it.
TABLE OF CONTENTS:
Ain’t Much Brighter 3
The New Kid, Donny 5
Raven Angel 9
A Short Trip 12
AINT MUCH BRIGHTER
He
stood like one of the cardboard cutout silhouettes of the cowboy with
one leg up, looking down with its hat covering its face. Only
this guy was real and the amber glow of his cigarette pulsated
against the dark sky.
Bobby walked towards the figure anyway. Even if he ended up being
dangerous, Bobby didn’t care. Behind him he could hear
everyone calling him. Damn near cheering him on. He
refused to look back. There was a new path, sure it may have
been dark, but it was something different.
“Long walk that way,” the figure said as Bobby moved by
it.
Bobby stopped and looked at the tall man who still kept his head
down, puffing on his smoke.
“I’m looking for a long walk.”
“But that one… that one won’t take ya home.”
“Maybe that’s what I want.”
The man kicked off the pole he leaned against. It turned out to
be a streetlight, but nothing like Bobby had ever seen. It was
a long and thick pole but at the top of it was a regular sized light
bulb.
“We all say dumb things,” the man said.
Bobby turned and started to walk again. The inhaling darkness
was so inviting.
“Eh, Bobby?” the man called out.
“How do you know my name?” Bobby said stopping
again.
The man looked up for the first time but his hat shielded most of his
face.
“I guessed,” the man said. Then he smiled, letting his
teeth hold the cigarette in place. “I guess I’m good with
names.”
Bobby eyed up the man’s black coat and broad shoulders and dark
looking hands.
“You know, I’m not afraid of you,” Bobby said.
“Never asked you to be,” the man replied. He lifted a hand
and pointed behind Bobby. “That road there Bobby, it never
ends. You just keep going.”
Bobby looked down at his hands and arms. They were littered
with scars. From a young life of false reality.
“Maybe that’s what I need,” Bobby said rubbing a finger over a
fresh scar on his wrist. He didn’t know how it healed so
fast.
“What you need to do is head back.”
“Can’t do it,” Bobby said.
The man stepped forward. Bobby felt himself getting scared but
he wasn’t going to back down. The man was inches from Bobby’s
head, looking down.
“Coward, eh?” the man bellowed.
His breath was vicious, somewhat toxic. Bobby’s eyes watered
and suddenly memories came crashing into his mind. The first
Christmas he truly believed in Santa Claus. His first bike.
His first soccer game. The first time he took notice of a
girl – Janelle Higgens in sixth grade.
Bobby had to step back.
“That’s the right direction,” the man said, “now go… before
I stop being so nice.”
Before Bobby could respond there was a loud scream. He turned
and saw a man on the ground. Above him was a large, dark
circle. It stood out against the blackness of whatever sky
Bobby was looking at. The circle disappeared – closed up –
and the man pushed himself up.
“Who are you?” he yelled to Bobby.
“I’m Bo-”
The silhouetted man lunged at the other man. He (or it) tore at
the man and ripped him to shreds. The man yelled in pain and in
a matter of seconds, he was gone. All gone.
“I’m sorry you had to see that,” the silhouetted man said. He
turned and looked at Bobby. “That’s how it goes down
here…”
The man stepped towards Bobby.
“Trust me Bobby, you don’t want this…”
“Who are you?” Bobby asked in an obvious shaky voice.
“That doesn’t concern you. My politeness only comes as I
was waiting for Ray Monasack there.”
“Was that…”
“The man? Yes. He was a murderer – killed his wife
and two kids. Then did the same for his next two girlfriends.
When they finally caught him and put him on trial, I couldn’t
watch it. I whispered in his ears for a month until he finally
hung himself…”
Bobby stepped back again.
“Keep stepping back Bobby,” the man called out. “You
don’t belong here. This is where life’s failed justice
comes. Look at yourself…”
Bobby looked down. The gaping wounds in his wrist flowed blood
down his hands and to the ground. He finally felt something…
pain.
“Don’t be afraid of going back kid,” the man said. “Because
going forward down here ain’t much brighter.”
The man stopped walking and took a long drag of his cigarette. Bobby
blinked a few times and felt dizzy. He looked down at his
wrists again, they really were bleeding. He looked back up and
the silhouetted man was inches from his face again. He grabbed
Bobby by the face and squeezed.
“Remember something… it’s not called the ‘after life’ for
no reason…”
The man took another drag and blew the smoke into Bobby’s face. He
began to cough and everything disappeared and the harsh grip from the
silhouetted man was replaced by the terrified grip of his father’s
calloused fingers…
http://jimbronyaur.wordpress.com/2010/09/30/aint-much-brighter/
THE NEW KID, DONNY
They were going to scare the shit out of the new kid, Donny.
It was that simple. Bring him into Derrsville the right way. Nobody could just walk into the small town and just fit in. No way. That’s not how it worked in J.D.’s eyes – or his crew for that matter. Jack, Jimmy, Joe, and a kid everyone called Knuckles (because he wasn’t afraid to punch anything or anyone) made up the crew and they patrolled the streets of Derrsville on a daily basis. When they saw the moving truck and saw the new kid in school, something had to be done.
The crew convinced the new kid, Donny, to meet at the tracks behind Joe’s house. It was a quiet spot, a low spot, a good spot to drink a little… or watch Knuckles pummel a kid.
But that wasn’t the plan then. The plan was to scare the kid. If he survived it, he’d be “in” meaning no beatings. There would be a level of respect and nothing more. If he failed it – cried, yelled, or pissed himself – he’d get beat every day by Knuckles. This was life, not some damn reality show. You can’t yell “cut” here.
“So here’s the deal kid,” J.D. said at sunset one day. “I’m gonna let you in on this town’s problem.”
“Problem?” Donny asked.
“Yea, that’s what I said. Problem. You got one?”
Donny shook his head.
“Good,” J.D. said. “See, ‘bout a hundred years ago there was a group of kids, just like us. ‘cept they were bad kids. Did bad things. I’m not talking stealing money or something – I’m talking murdering. They were horrible kids. Sad part was they had no parents. Well, none that would take responsibility. So they walked the streets causing problems. Until one night, a few of the ol’ drunks got together and BAM! killed the kids. All of ‘em. Their heads were shot off.”
“So?” Donny asked.
“So? You believe this new kid, Jimmy? Askin’ ‘so?’”
“Dumb kid,” Jimmy added.
“I’m tryin’ to help you kid. That’s all. See, they didn’t stay dead. They all came back. They had no heads so they put white cloths over themselves. Not like ghosts or that dumb baby stuff. The scariest part was that the cloth took form of a head. And they kept on killin’. Over and over.”
“For years man,” Joe said.
“For years,” J.D. said. “I’m just warning you that if you see them – the five of them – walking down the street. Run like hell kid.”
Three nights later, it was all planned out.
J.D. made Joe get the pillow cases. Jimmy brought the flashlights to put in the pillowcases, and Knuckles was to stay aside and then grab the new kid, Donny, when he opened his front door.
“Man, I hope he pisses himself,” Jack said.
“Not on me,” Knuckles said in his growly voice.
When night came, the five boys set out.
J.D. led the group down Flatland Road. At the end of the road stood the new kid, Donny’s house. They walked in a jagged line so that if by some chance the new kid, Donny, was looking out the window, he’d see them coming.
Jack took the front porch. Jimmy took the side porch. Knuckles stood against the house next to the door. Joe and J.D. stood on the sidewalk with their arms crossed.
“He’s going to piss himself,” Joe said. “I know it.”
“Shut up,” J.D. said. He nodded towards Jack who rang the doorbell.
A few seconds later, the new kid, Donny, answered the door.
“What the fu-” he started to yell but Knuckles tackled him.
All five boys rushed to the new kid, Donny, and started howling and growling. Knuckles lifted the new kid, Donny, in the air and shook him. The new kid, Donny, looked like he was about to piss his pants, but he didn’t. He didn’t yell, scream, or fight.
“He’s in shock,” Joe said laughing.
“Shut up man,” Jimmy yelled.
“J.D.?” the new kid, Donny, asked.
“Shit,” J.D. yelled. He pulled the pillow case off his head. “Well done new kid. You made it.”
The new kid, Donny, smiled. “I knew it was you the whole time.”
“Bullshit,” Jimmy said, “you were scared.”
The five boys cackled together. They put their pillow cases back on their heads and walked off the porch still howling.
The new kid, Donny, watched as they walked down the street.
One… two… three… four… five…
“Six?” Donny asked.
No, wait, seven.
No… “eight?”
Donny watched in horror as a second group appeared out of thin air behind the first group. Five more people… these ones were different. Almost ghostly.
The new kid, Donny, turned to go back inside. He thought about the story.
Couldn’t be true, right? he asked himself. That was just a ghost story. A silly old ghos-
His thoughts were broken up by the sounds of J.D., Joe, Jack, Jimmy, and even the giant kid, Knuckles – they were all screaming.
http://jimbronyaur.wordpress.com/2010/10/15/the-new-kid-donny/
RAVEN ANGEL
It wasn’t so much the scratching sound at her window but rather those living ghosts deep in her soul that kept her awake. She knew they’d be back because they always came back. Acting in the moment is so much easier than living with what comes next. A hard lesson she learned early but never found her footing off that path.
Shadows danced on her ceiling, moving in random ways, almost hypnotic. She learned to live with the shadows too. They hung at night and clung during the day. She often laughed to herself, imagining what it would be like if people could see her demons hanging from her like that – like rolled up, dusted blankets bouncing off her back, shoulders, and chest.
She didn’t care, they didn’t weigh anything, they were just reminders – something a little stronger than a memory.
The weight came mentally. That’s where it hit home (as they say). That’s where her soul was treated like the fragile foundation it was. Cracked, crippled, but of course from the inside. The house may have been tilted, but it still stood… for now.
She threw the covers off herself and waved through the crowd of faint shadows. Bullies, she always called them. Bullies. Black bullies at that. Standing there, always in her way.
Damn them all.
She opened the front door to a night so clear, so cool, and so quiet she wondered if she were dreaming. But that wasn’t possible, not anymore. If so, something would have come to her already – another memory. She never understood how the past could dictate the future so much. How could it be that one tiny breath years ago can make the next breath today seem so much different? How is that time, that unseen force and creation, can touch so much at once… be there always…
Each click of the second on the clock was like thunderclaps. They moved forward but for her, there was a bit of backward moving happening too. She didn’t like the word countdown because this wasn’t a celebration. There’d be no party hats or parties. There’d be no thoughts or even care about it. It would just happen. It would be the same as a random breeze, a passing by. The idea of it used to scare her, sometimes even bring her to tears. How could life be such a miracle and just end… how can it just happen like that?
She sort of knew the answer to that question – thirteen. That’s how many lives surrounded her that night, like one of those moving picture toys where you put the film in and press the button for the next slide. She never meant to hurt anyone, she just wanted to see what it felt like.
And let’s face it – taking is much more fun than giving.
Those souls, not so much forgotten now, parted leaving six on one side and six on the other. The lone soul in the middle was the first… to her, it seemed like only yesterday. That wild freeness, that feeling of predator and prey, the ultimate high of capturing all the essence in one quick move.
The lone soul nodded, bringing a long shadow from behind.
She could hear the watch upstairs on the nightstand where he always put it. She told him how many times to get rid of the damn thing because it hurt her ears.
CLICK.
Another second gone by.
CLICK.
The heavy echoing.
CLICK.
The shadow took a beautiful form – a porcelain face, sad looking, with tight curls. The face looked innocent but the eyes were something else. She knew just by looking in them they held the pain of not just those thirteen souls but the souls of all those who took a last breath in pain.
The shadow, now in the form of an angel opened its arms, welcoming her.
She hoped by going this way, with the last CLICK of all the clocks tearing through her mind – the screams of those thirteen souls – the pain of life and will of suffering… she hoped it would all go away.
“Forgive me,” she whispered and embraced the angel.
As she took her last breath a thought came to her… her mother always told her heaven’s angels were white… this angel, well, this one was black.
http://jimbronyaur.wordpress.com/2010/10/21/raven-angel/
A SHORT TRIP
John saw her from far away. There weren’t any lights on the street but yet there was a soft glow around her. She was standing on the side of the road not asking for a ride but John figured she needed one. The road was in the middle of nowhere and it was starting to rain.
The car came to a stop and John put the window down. He leaned over and smiled at the woman.
“Do you need a ride?” he asked her.
She looked into the car and John was overcome by the sight of her. Her face was pretty, she had big eyes, thin lips, and two small dimples when she smiled at him.
“How did you guess?” she replied.
John kept his cool and pointed to the seat. He didn’t want to appear pushy or that he was some kind of creep or anything.
The woman opened the door and slid into the seat. Her long hair sat comfortably over her shoulder and covered most of her body. As John started to drive again, he kept looking from the side of his eyes at her.
“So, uh, where you heading to?” he asked.
“It’s just a short trip,” she replied.
She began to play with her hair. She twisted her finger in the silky strands and curled it up and then let it go. It almost floated as is rushed down to her lap.
“At the intersection, do you want me to go left or right?” John asked. He could feel the nervousness in his voice and felt silly about it.
The woman put her hand out and pointed to the left.
John waited at the stop sign an extra few seconds staring at the woman, trying to think of something to say. Nothing came to him so he just drove.
“Hey, where were you coming from?” John finally asked a minute or so later.
The woman looked at John puzzled. Her eyes were like diamonds, clear but rough.
“I mean, you know, you were just on the side of the road. There aren’t any house around here, are there?”
The woman smiled and reached out and touched John’s leg. He jumped for a second and then smiled back at her.
“You can stop here,” she whispered to him. “Thanks for the ride.”
The woman opened the door. She slid to go out and John watched as she moved nice and slow.
Think, he thought to himself, say something…
He looked out his window and started to bite on his nails.
Something, he thought… her name.
“Uh, yea,” John said. He turned to ask the woman what her name was. Why hadn’t he thought of that before?
All John got out was “What’s your na…”
The woman had her back to him. She was getting out of the car. But that wasn’t why he stopped talking. He was staring at the back of the woman – her hair was part and her entire back was hollowed out and dripping with blood. Her skin was peeled back and ripped and chunks of guts and muscle dangled. The woman stood up and walked away.
As a faint whisper, John heard, “Thanks for bringing me home…”
The car door slammed without anyone or anything touching it. John leaned over the seat and saw the woman was already gone. He then saw there wasn’t a house there… just an old rusted sign…
Rest Haven Cemetery…
http://jimbronyaur.wordpress.com/2010/10/29/a-short-trip/
On a final note… thanks for reading! Hope you enjoyed and please feel free to stop over to the links provided and leave a comment.
Be sure to check out my site www.JimBronyaur.com for more updates and stories including my new horror audio show called Dark Movements (A Short Trip appeared in Dark Movements Halloween Special).
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