Penny's Tales

Horror stories, narrations and illustrations by Penny Tailsup
Penny's Tales
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    • [Short Horror Story] My Family Doesn’t Know Our Guardian Angel is a Demon

      Posted at 6:51 pm by Penny Tailsup, on October 23, 2019

      Spooktober Prompt # 23 – Frenzied Family

      “My Family Doesn’t Know Our Guardian Angel is a Demon”

      by Penny Tailsup

      This is a continuation of the story: “My Family Was Blessed with an Angel… I Think It Was a Curse.”

      My family thinks we’re blessed with a guardian angel. I’d thought the angel was made-up to make Conti kids behave… until my mother died. She passed the “Glory” on to me with her dying breath. With the “Glory”, I’ve learned the terrible truth: our guardian angel is a Fallen. We weren’t blessed with an angel, we were cursed with a demon.

      For generations, the Conti family has prided themselves on the Blessing, standing tall as beacons of Goodness. Most Contis pat themselves on the back for being so Holy. I might be a secret atheist, but even I know that arrogance is sinful. My family’s cult-ish worship of our alleged angel made a doubter of me.

      If God exists, he must be laughing. Now I’m the only person who can see the Fallen’s shadow and hear his voice. I haven’t told my family yet. I don’t think I should, even though the absence of “our angel” has left the family in chaos.

      I could see the dysfunction in action at dinner. As I sawed through a gooey casserole, I listened to Father and Grandma argue. Through it all, the demon would pace at my back, restless and angry. He always had something to say.

      “You’re tearing your family apart. Why haven’t you told them?” his voice felt like electricity. I pretended not to hear him, the mashed potatoes far more worthy of my attention. Dinner was extra tense; we’d been staying with Grandma but Father announced we were going home tomorrow.

      Grandma wasn’t taking it well. Not because she was sad her daughter died, but because no one has claimed the Glory. She’s convinced one of her grandchildren must have it… and she’s not wrong. I’m keeping my mouth shut because I think it’s better not to say anything until I know more about this demon. If I tried to tell everyone the truth, they wouldn’t believe me.

      “You’re not blood, Barone-Conti!” Grandma yells at Father. He doesn’t even look up from his plate.

      “Neither are you, Benita. Your husband had the Glory, not you. You married into this family just as I did.” Father replied calmly. Grandpa Deangelo had the Glory before Mother, which was something Grandma took great pride in. I think she married him for it, but I can’t be sure.

      “I took the name! I fully committed, which you never did!” she replied, so angry she was spitting. I wouldn’t be having more mashed potatoes after all.

      “Of course you took the name, that’s the norm.” my father rolled his eyes, sick of the same argument. “I’m a man. That I took Conti in any form is a concession on my part. Also remember: I was man enough to accept when Angelica didn’t want to change her last name. I don’t deserve your opinion of me. I also don’t care.” he set down his fork, standing up. “Excuse me, I’m going to start packing. Kids, finish your dinner.”

      He left. Grandma followed after him so she could continue arguing with him. I looked at my siblings who were unusually quiet. Angie hadn’t eaten any of her peas. I gently reminded her to finish them, which earned me a glare.

      My brother’s plate was empty, so he stood up and made to leave. “It’s your turn to do the dishes.” I reminded him, but he kept walking like I hadn’t said anything. Teenage boys are annoying, especially when they’re your brother.

      While this happened, the demon laughed. It’s hard to tell when he laughs, it’s more of a feeling than a sound. It comes from below, like I’m standing over a great black pit. My knees get weak, like I’m about to fall.

      As usual, the “guardian angel” had something to say.

      “They won’t respect you until you tell them you have the Glory.” The demon still paced and vibrated behind me. I’ve noticed that the shape of the shadow changes a lot. If I look directly at it, I see a tall figure with sharp wings. If I look from the corner of my eye, I’m not sure what I see. If I try to focus on it, it changes back.

      “Children like that won’t go to Heaven.” he warned me. I almost replied in anger, but fortunately Grandma’s nasty casserole was quite glue-like. The demon likes to provoke me. I know he hopes I’ll accidentally out myself.

      “I’ll do the dishes, Sera.” Angie said, “If… you eat my peas for me.” Normally, I wouldn’t humor Angie’s request. I reached across the table and took her plate. A scoop of peas wasn’t a hill I wanted to die on. There was enough fighting going already! My little sister smiled for the first time in days, hopping up and dutifully clearing the table while I finished eating.

      I was already done with my chores for the day. I’d cleaned the stained glass windows in the grand entry. Grandma was so proud of the glass she’d commissioned, like we were a church or something. The angel depicted on the colored panes was nothing like the shadow skulking at my back. I wonder what Grandpa Deangelo thought of the windows. He’d never said.

      As I walked up the stairs to go pack my things, I heard Grandma whispering on the phone. Even when she whispers she’s too loud. My foot froze before it reached the landing. I heard her say:

      “He pushed her. He told me he did… he’s responsible for Angelica’s death! You must come to arrest him right away. The children are in danger.”

      That liar. Choked with rage, I stood there for a long moment. Grandma was talking to the police. They were still investigating Mother’s death, even though it was a suicide. They were suspicious of Father, they’d questioned him for a long time already.

      “Lying in a sin.” the demon breathed, “You should pass judgment on her.” each word crackled in my ear and made my tongue tingle. I grit my teeth together, shaking my head. I made myself keep walking.

      “Tell her who you are. Tell her about me. You can make her sorry.” his sickly-sweet inflection made me want to hurl. I shook my head again, the thunder in my ears made it easy to drown out Grandma’s lies.

      “I can make her sorry, if you let me.”

      NO.

      No. It was going to be okay. The police weren’t going to listen to Grandma. For one, Mother hadn’t really fallen in the tub like Father said. She didn’t know what really happened, it would be obvious she was making things up.

      “The police already suspect him. You love your father, don’t you? You need to protect him.”

      Grandma stepped out of her bedroom, she spotted me standing there and quickly put her phone in her pocket. “Sera! Did you finish your dinner?” she asked. I wanted to hit her, but I knew better. I put my hands in my pockets.

      “Yes. The casserole was awful.” I said. Before she could say another word, I marched past her. Grandma must have known I’d overheard her because she didn’t come after me. I felt her eyes boring into the back of my head, but she didn’t say anything. In my room, I quickly began shoving my clothes into my suitcase.

      “That’s it?” the demon huffed. “Push her down the stairs. I never liked her anyway.” For a moment, the image came to me– a jolt of red, a twisted body at the bottom of the staircase. I tasted iron and rain. The image felt good, but only for a moment.

      “NO!” I slammed my suitcase shut, taking in a deep breath and fighting back the urge to be sick. My knees hit the carpet, and I pressed my forehead into the mattress for a moment as I tried to collect myself. My blood boiled and my lungs burned with heat. This wasn’t just anger, but it wasn’t sickness either.

      “What are you doing to me?” I whispered to the demon. I knew it was responsible. Grandma started knocking on the door, calling ‘Sera, Sera!’. I couldn’t raise my voice, though I wanted to yell at her to go away.

      “I didn’t do anything.” said the demon. “I only made a suggestion. You liked it… that’s all. Maybe if you followed through, you’d feel better.”

      “I didn’t like it.” I lied. I felt it laugh, so I closed my mouth. Grandma was still knocking. Angry, sick and scared, I got to my feet and pulled the door open to glare at her.

      “What do you want?” I asked. Her wide-eyed look gave me some satisfaction. I crossed my arms, waiting for her answer. “I’m going to bed in a minute.”

      “I heard you yelling.” she said, “I was worried for you, dear Sera. Is… is he in there?”

      “Who?” my temples tightened. I was suddenly aware of a cold prickle, like something sharp was being run gently over my skin.

      “You know. The angel.” her conspiratorial whisper made me angrier.

      “If there was an angel in here, would I really be yelling at it?” I screamed. The words came with such force I could swear they echoed through the house. I started to sob; not because I was sad, because I was frustrated.

      “Deangelo used to yell too,” Grandma replied. “Oh, how he’d yell! The walls would shake. Tell me, Sera. Why are you lying? Are you afraid? It’s okay to be afraid.” she reached out, clasping my hands in hers. Her hands were cold. “You shouldn’t lie, Sera.”

      “I’m not lying. You’re projecting. You’re a liar.” I pulled my hands out of hers. I wanted to wrap my fingers around her neck, but I put my hands back in my pockets and tried to breathe deep. Each breath felt like fire. I started to cough and had to lean against the door frame for support.

      “I didn’t lie. Your father is a dangerous man, Serafina…” she insisted. “He told me it was an accident. That he pushed her, and she fell and hit her head. He was angry. It was an accident, I’m sure he wasn’t lying about that. But a man with anger like that? He can’t be trusted with you kids! I’m looking out for what’s best, though it might not seem like it right now. I know you’re grieving. You’re going through a lot. But it’s okay, because the angel will protect us and guide us as he always has. This is all part of God’s plan.”

      I could still feel the laughter of the Fallen. It rose up, and I thought I might be swallowed up by the pit of its mirth.

      “Stop lying to me!” I screamed. I heard thundering footsteps from down the hall. I looked to see Father, his grimace of concern froze me.

      “Father, she… she called the police!” I sobbed, “She said you killed Mother.”

      “Sera, it’s okay.” he reached for me, giving my shoulders a comforting squeeze. “You know it’s not true. The police will know too. It’s okay. Everything will be okay.” he shot my Grandmother such a look that it was a wonder she didn’t drop dead, but he smiled for me and gave me a hug.

      I couldn’t stop crying. He squeezed me tighter and told Grandma something in Italian I assumed was incredibly rude. I don’t know much Italian, but I still laughed through the tears. I’m not sure what would have happened if Father hadn’t come running, but it wouldn’t have been good. I hated Grandma so much.

      By the time Father let go, I’d calmed down. He closed the door in Grandma’s face and sat me down on the bed. I watched him fish around in his pocket, pulling out a very squished pack of cinnamon gum. He offered it to me, and I unwrapped the foil and popped a stick in my mouth. The flavor had a bit of a burn to it, but it was also sweet. The taste of iron and rain went away. I tried to give him back the pack, but he didn’t take it.

      “Keep it. It should help with the taste in your mouth.” he said. “Your mother went through a lot of gum.” I gave him a shocked look. Did he mean what I thought he meant? “You know, because of your Grandma’s terrible cooking.” he said this extra loudly.

      “We’re going home tomorrow. Everything will be okay.” Father said, “You’re a strong girl. Smart too. Soon you’re going to be in college and you can put all of this behind you.” I didn’t see how. The Conti family was cursed, and that very curse wasn’t going to let me forget it.

      In fact, it chose that very moment to say something I hadn’t dared to think about:

      “Maybe he didn’t push her in the shower. But do you really think your mother staged that whole scene by herself? Come on smart girl. Think on it.”

      The image came rushing back. My mother’s body between a pair of bloody wings. She was bloody, with dark vertical slashes from wrist to elbow. I’d seen that sight many times already, an intrusive memory that chewed a permanent home inside me. A gaping, painful hole where nothing else could go. Only that picture, only that pain.

      Of course… Father had nothing to do with that.

      “The police are suspicious for a reason.” the demon always knew exactly how to hurt me. I knew he was a liar, but he was an expert at stoking doubt and fear.

      Maybe the police are suspicious because my whole family is a cult. I know Father would never do such a thing! He loved Mother so much. The grief and pain in his eyes was real, and it never went away. Even when he hugged me and told me everything would be okay, he looked so sad.

      “Can we go home now? Why wait?” I whispered. I looked desperately at my father, hoping we could just… go. It wouldn’t solve anything, but I was tired of Grandma’s house.

      “Angelo’s already in bed.” he replied, “I understand how you feel, but he hasn’t been sleeping lately and I don’t want to wake him up.” that was true. I’d often found my younger brother wandering around Grandma’s house in the middle of the night with hollow eyes and a frown. He had every reason to be despondent. We all were. I hadn’t been sleeping much either.

      “Go to bed now, and morning will come even sooner. Spit out the gum before you sleep, I don’t want you to ruin your pretty hair.” he gave me a fatherly tousle and left, closing the door carefully behind him.

      I heard whispering in the hall. Grandma must have been lurking outside the door, listening in. She suspected I had the Glory, so she probably wasn’t going to leave me alone. I locked the door behind him and crawled into bed, leaving a wad of gum on the nightstand for Grandma to clean up later.

      …

      I woke up at the bottom of the staircase.

      I have no memory of how I got there. I was holding something heavy and cold. When I looked down, I was holding a sword. Bright silver, dappled in colors from the stained glass as the moonlight poured through them.

      Startled, I dropped the sword. It hit the floor but it didn’t make a sound; it simply vanished. Wherever it came from, it was gone.

      Scared and confused, I ran up the stairs. I passed my brother Angelo in the hall, he sitting on the banister. He turned his head to watch me go by, but I didn’t stop and he didn’t try to stop me.

      The demon unusually was quiet. At night, his shadow falls darker than every other; looking at it is like staring into a void. I didn’t look at it. Didn’t talk to it. I crawled back into bed and pulled the covers over my eyes. I didn’t sleep; I was too afraid.

      I thought the demon couldn’t do anything unless I let it. Now I’m not so sure. Something is changing in me. I don’t know how to stop it.

      I don’t know if I can.

      Posted in Short Stories [Horror] | 1 Comment | Tagged angels, curse, dark, demons, fiction, horror story, nosleep, series, short story, spooktober
    • [Short Horror Story] My Perfect Mattress Came with Rules

      Posted at 2:58 am by Penny Tailsup, on October 10, 2019

      Spooktober Prompt # 10 – Nighttime Nopes

      “My Perfect Mattress Came with Rules”

      by Penny Tailsup

      –

       

      Buying a mattress for the first time is a milestone. It’s a marker of adulthood; an expensive, essential, but unexciting purchase. I’d never bought one before, but I needed to. The mattress I’d dragged from my childhood home had shrieking springs and smelled like wet dog.

      I considered buying a used one off craigslist, but talks of soiled mattresses, bed bugs and possible serial killers was enough to change my mind.

      Well… You know how Facebook magically starts showing relevant ads after you talk about something? That. That’s how I found an ad for an online mattress store I’d never heard of:

      RIGHTSIDEOFTHEBED.COM

      Yes, it was in all caps. I normally ignored ads, but I was shopping for a mattress. I clicked. A pop up jumped out, with more all-caps text in bold red font:

      WE’LL FIND YOUR PERFECT MATTRESS. TAKE OUR QUIZ!

      Uhm… okay. Intrigued and slightly put off, I decided to take the quiz. It seemed pretty standard. What do you look for in a mattress? What brands do you like? Do you prefer firm or soft? Gel or foam? Do you sleep alone? After awhile, text windows appeared with the questions so I could type custom answers. Getting impatient, I kept it short and sweet:

      What hurts in the morning, if anything?

      Headache

      How do you usually feel when you wake up?

      Angry about waking up

      How do you want to feel when you wake up?

      Happy and refreshed I guess

      Anything else you think is important?

      I’m broke

      When I was done, I clicked submit. A message popped up: THANK YOU, ENJOY YOUR NEW MATTRESS. WAKE UP ON THE RIGHT SIDE OF THE BED! Uhm… what? I poked around the site, but didn’t find product listings. I gave up and forgot it… until two days later, when a mattress was delivered to my door.

      The sender was RIGHTSIDEOFTHEBED.COM, with no return address. This had to be some mistake, because I hadn’t bought anything from that website. I didn’t remember giving my name or address, but I must have. How else would they have sent a package to me?

      There was an envelope stapled to the plastic wrapped tube, MATTRESS RULES stamped across the front. Rules? For a mattress? I opened it, half expecting to find a bill or an enrollment form for some high-interest payment plan. Instead, I found a single piece of paper:

      MATTRESS RULES

      To wake up happy and refreshed every morning, you must:

      1. Pick a side and stick to it. That is your side. Sleep alone.
      2. Keep two fresh glasses of water by the bed.
      3. If you wake up in the middle of the night, don’t leave the bed.
      4. If you’re not alone when you wake up, don’t engage.

      If you don’t follow these rules, you may not be happy and refreshed.

      THANK YOU. WAKE UP ON THE RIGHT SIDE OF THE BED! PLEASE REVIEW OUR PRODUCT IN 30 DAYS AND TELL US HOW SATISFIED YOU ARE.

      I’d heard of companies sending free products in exchange for reviews… but a mattress? I was so confused. The weird rules made it seem creepy, but also made me really curious about the mattress. Was this a marketing gimmick?

      Eager to find out, I peeled off the plastic and pulled my new mattress out of the tube. The first thing I noticed was the chemical smell– reminiscent of a hospital, like antiseptic and latex. I covered my mouth and nose, coughing. Not a good sign.

      It was heavy, too. I dragged it into my bedroom and swapped it with my old mattress, flattening it out on the box spring and opening the window to air. I noticed a tag on the bottom of my new mattress that said Temper-Peutic, Not Tempur-Pedic. It was made of a grayish pink memory foam, soft to the touch. The top was covered in little foam nubs, like upholstered bubble wrap.

      I dragged my old mattress to the living room, stripping off the bedding and leaning it against the wall. My new mattress was weird, but undeniably nicer than my old one. I washed my blankets and sheets, but my mind kept going back to those weird rules. Apparently the only thing that would happen if I didn’t follow them was that I “may not wake up happy and refreshed”.

      The outcome didn’t seem nearly as ominous as a couple of the rules did! I wondered if this was a bad translation. Maybe the company was based out of the country. That had to be it!

      I puttered around the house for awhile, getting things done. Later, I went back into my bedroom to put the bedding on my new mattress. The smell was gone, and it had plumped up considerably. In fact, it looked invitingly comfortable! Excellent.

      As usual, getting the fitted sheet on was an exercise in patience, but it didn’t take me too long to get everything set up. Naturally, the first thing I did was flop into bed. The mattress was so warm! Not just sheets-fresh-from-the-dryer warm, but warm like a hug and an electric blanket. I slid under the covers. Toasty. My back popped a bit and I let out a groan of relief.

      It felt amazing! The perfect amount of support. I had my doubts, but the mattress was ridiculously comfortable. Those little nubs on top felt like a gentle, full-body massage. Or was it more accurate to describe it like acupressure? Either way, I was sold!

      “Wow…” I said to no one. I still had things to do, but I didn’t want to get up. I had to talk myself into it. Once I got up, all I wanted to do was crawl back into bed, but I had the willpower to walk away.

      I finished my housework, made dinner, and watched TV for a bit. Once it was late enough that going to bed was actually an option, I picked up the rules again. I reviewed them, still perplexed. Well, what harm could following the rules do? At this point, I was convinced it was a bad translation and this was supposed to be one of those sleep hygiene guides to promote better sleeping habits.

      “Pick a side and stick to it. That is your side.”

      Okay, I picked the left side since it was closest to the door.

      “Sleep alone.”

      Not a problem, I’m single as fuck.

      “Keep two fresh glasses of water by the bed.”

      I went into the kitchen, grabbing two glasses and filling them up with water. I set them both on my bedside table. I guess this was in case I got thirsty in the middle of the night?

      “If you wake up in the middle of the night, don’t leave the bed.”

      Not a problem, I didn’t want to. Unless I had to pee? Well, in that case I guess I could use one of the cups? Just kidding! Gross.

      “If you’re not alone when you wake up, do not engage.”

      If I go to bed alone, why would there be anyone there when I wake up?

      I put the rules away in a drawer, still amused with the weird circumstances. I showered and got ready for bed, eager for my first night on my brand new mattress. Getting into bed was an amazing feeling, so warm and good.

      “Aaaah…” I sighed contentedly, settling in. I fell asleep almost instantly… but I didn’t stay asleep.

      According to the blurry red outline on my alarm clock, it was 3:00 AM. I wasn’t sure what woke me, but I was too comfortable to move. The mattress creaked beside me. I turned to see, blinking blearily. I couldn’t help but notice an indentation beside me. How odd. Had I rolled over?

      I closed my eyes and tried to settle in again. I managed to fall asleep, but woke up not ten minutes later. Cold feet pressed against my calves. I jumped, looking under the covers in confusion! There was nothing there. I must have been having one of those sleep-paralysis nightmare things. Except I could move?

      Trying to calm my nerves, I reached for one of the glasses on the nightstand. I tried to take a drink, but it was empty. Okay, I must have drank it and forgot. I was too tired to freak out, too comfortable to move. I curled back up with the covers, and didn’t wake up again until morning.

      When my alarm went off, my eyes popped open and I smiled. A brand new day, and I was perfectly rested and relaxed to face it. I jumped out of bed, going about my morning routine with a pep in my step.

      Those rules were weird, but maybe the placebo effect of them actually worked? I wasn’t complaining! Sure, I’d had that weird waking nightmare with the cold feet… but I couldn’t blame a mattress for that. That would be ridiculous.

      My new mattress was perfect. I’d been skeptical of the whole quiz and unexpected delivery, but I was happy. When it was time for bed again, I grabbed the two empty glasses. I washed and refilled them, setting them neatly by the clock. Smiling, I slipped under the covers… and slept like a baby.

      Every day for the rest of that week, I woke up happy and refreshed. I kept following the rules, because they honestly seemed to work. It wasn’t like they were that hard. Maybe part of it was having a routine? Having boundaries for yourself? I’m not sure why, but I’d never felt better.

      The only weird thing was that the water glasses would always be empty in the morning, even though I never remembered drinking them. As far as I knew, I’d been sleeping through the night… the empty glasses told me otherwise. I threw out of my old mattress, positive I wouldn’t need it.

      One night, I forgot to fill the cups though. I remembered once I got in bed, but I was too comfortable to get up. I let it be. I didn’t even remember drinking the water at night, so I probably wouldn’t remember missing it either. As usual, I settled in and fell right asleep.

      “Where’s my water?”

      An angry voice startled me awake.

      “I’m thirsty!”

      My heart was racing with confusion and fear. The voice was coming from directly beside me. I turned slowly, peering over my shoulder to see what could only be described as a pile of goo in the approximate shape of a man.

      The goo-man didn’t have a face, but cocked it’s glistening head as if it were looking at me. I shuddered and looked away.

      “Where’s … my… water? Go get it! I’m thirsty!”

      I was shaking. The shout of the thing made me want to leap out of bed and do as it demanded, but… I remembered the rules. I wasn’t supposed to get out of bed if I woke up in the middle of the night. Not for any reason. But I also wasn’t supposed to forget to fill the water glasses.

      Don’t engage.

      I tore my eyes away; terror and indecision froze me. I kept my back to the thing, squeezing my eyes shut. It was probably better to break one rule than break two or three.

      “Don’t ignore me! I know you heard me. Where’s my water?”

      Trembling, I kept my eyes closed. I pulled the pillow over my ears. I didn’t fall asleep, but eventually the demands stopped. I didn’t dare look at it. Only when my alarm clock went off did I finally check– there was nothing there.

      I did not feel happy or refreshed.

      Trudging through my morning, exhausted and panicked, I tried to convince myself I’d just had some weird nightmare. There was no evidence of any sort of slime. There’d be some sort of residue if there had been, right?

      But if I’d been having a nightmare, wouldn’t I feel rested? At least a little? Instead, I felt like a zombie; swallowing toxic levels of caffeine to make it through the day. When it was time for bed, I hesitated in my doorway. I wasn’t even sure I wanted to sleep on my bed, I was so traumatized from the night before!

      So I slept on my couch. Nothing weird happened, but I woke up in horrible pain. My head, my neck, my back… my whole body hurt. Oh my god, it had been the worst night’s sleep in my entire life! I was angry all day, snapping at coworkers and friends alike. My boss sent me home, concerned that I was sick. I wasn’t myself.

      At that point, I was so exhausted and felt so terrible that I knew I had to sleep on my bed again. That weird nightmare with the goo-man shouldn’t stop me. It had to have been a nightmare. I was so tired and I felt so bad. I wanted to feel happy and refreshed again.

      I took extra care to clean and fill the water glasses. The bed felt amazing, but I felt sick. I had a hard time relaxing enough to fall asleep, but eventually I did.

      “Fucking finally.” said the goo-man. It was 3:03 AM. “Hand me my water, will you?” my eyes snapped open. I stared up at the ceiling, not daring to look at the figure beside me. “I didn’t get any water last night, how inconsiderate of you.” the thing was irritated, and kept talking. I closed my eyes again.. No. This was a nightmare.

      “I know you hear me. You’re so fucking rude.”

      Don’t engage.

      I kept my eyes closed. It kept trying to talk to me, but eventually gave up. The whole mattress creaked as it reached over me, grabbing one of the cups. Cold water dripped on my back, making my muscles jump. I suppressed the urge to look.

      Gulp gulp gulp. Aaaaaaaahhh…

      “That’s better.”

      The creature left me alone after that. I fell asleep, and come morning… I did feel better. Happy and refreshed, but… also confused. Conflicted. The happiness and relaxation seemed so unnatural with the undercurrent of wrongness and fear.

      The glasses on the bedside table were empty, but what did that prove? I could have drank them. I could have been having weird nightmares inspired by the bizarre rules. That was still the most rational option!

      I tried to forget about the nightmares and went about my day. I still felt amazing, but it was tempered by anxiety in such a way that I felt I was on drugs or something. I had feelings that had no business being mixed together and yet they were.

      At bedtime, I hovered in the door again. I stared reluctantly at my mattress, deciding if I was going to spend another night on the couch. Why, though? Because of nightmares? I shook my head at myself, and forced myself through the routine. I cleaned and refilled the water glasses, showered and changed, and went to bed. Sleep hit me like a rock upside the head, but I couldn’t stay asleep.

      When I woke up, I kept my eyes closed. There was a drop of something on my forehead. Sweat? Water? I don’t know, but it felt cold. I was painfully aware of the drop slowly sliding down the bridge of my nose, then down the side and catching on the corner of my mouth.

      “Sorry, didn’t mean to splash you.” a voice said, but it didn’t sound sincere. “Are you awake?”

      Nope. Not awake. I kept my eyes closed; my palms began to sweat. Cold feet nudged my knees. Wet feet. I shuddered, a bubble of panic rising in my throat. I felt a weight on my hips, pressing down, like I was being straddled.

      My eyes snapped open before I could stop them. On top of me, inches away from my face… I saw the goo-man. It wrapped its fingers around my neck. It looked different than the first time I saw it; no face, but it has black spots where it’s eyes should be.

      Somehow, it seemed more solid, with dark spidery lines suspended in it’s gelatinous casing. Veins, maybe? That didn’t seem right. I closed my eyes again. Nope. Not looking. I willed my nightmare to change into something pleasant, like an endless buffet of dessert.

      “Sorry, did I wake you?” it mocked. I almost replied, but the pressure it’s fingers placed on my throat reminded me to stay quiet. It let go, as if realizing this.

      “You already broke one rule. You might as well break one more. I’m never going to leave you alone now.”

      Don’t engage.

      “Come on, asshole! ! I’m bored! I don’t sleep like you do.”

      It leaned in. I could feel it, the mattress moaning with the shifting weight. It blew cold air against my ear. I shivered; it’s whole body felt cold, an uncomfortable contrast to the unnatural warmth of the mattress.

      After awhile, the goo-man gave up. It flipped off of me, falling back onto its side of the bed and grumbling. I didn’t dare move; hell, I almost forgot to breathe! After a while, somehow, the comfort of the mattress sucked me back into the warm void of sleep.

      In the morning, I woke up happy and refreshed. Terrified, but happy and refreshed. I leapt out of bed, unsure if I wanted to cry or laugh. I opted for both, tears streaming down my laughing cheeks as I opened the drawer and pulled out the slip of rules.

      I turned the paper over, looking for a customer service number or email. Anything! But there was nothing. I’d already thrown away the packaging it came in, but I remembered very clearly that there’d been no return address.

      Desperate, I yanked out my laptop and typed in the web address: RIGHTSIDEOFTHEBED.COM. A page popped up asking if it was my web domain, or if I’d like to buy it. I tried again, making sure I hadn’t typed it in wrong. Same thing happened a few times before I gave up, throwing my hands up in frustration.

      The page with the rules asked me to review the product in 30 days, but it hadn’t told me how. It hadn’t been 30 days yet, but it wasn’t like the web page was going to magically start working by then… right?

      At this point, I was too afraid to sleep. As much as I wanted to believe I was having “nightmares”, I couldn’t convince myself it was true. That night, I booked a room in a hotel. It was a waste of money.

      The mattress in the room was irredeemably uncomfortable. It had a pillow top but felt like a bed of nails. The sheets seemed so cold. I spent the night crying in pain and frustration, realizing the horrible truth:

      I had to sleep on my rule-ridden demon mattress. Nothing else would let me wake up happy and refreshed. I was ruined. Going without left me a haunted, aching shell of a person. I couldn’t live like that for long, if that was living at all. The only cure was a night at home in bed. That bed.

      I didn’t go to work. I went home, crawling between my sheets and screaming into my pillow. I instantly felt better, but the fear didn’t go away. I couldn’t move. I didn’t have the strength or the will. I slept through the day, and through the night.

      “You forgot my water again.”

      I sat bolt upright. It was 3:00 AM.

      “No… no… no…” I covered my mouth, sobbing. I slept a lot longer than I thought I would. I thought a morning nap would be safe. I’d been asleep for 13 hours. While my body felt warm and at rest, my blood ran cold.

      “You can fix it. Just walk into the kitchen. Go on.”

      I broke the water rule before, if I could just stay calm and stay strong I’d be ok. This thing, though angry and demanding, had never actually hurt me.

      Don’t engage.

      “You’re so warm.” it wrapped its arms around me. Cold, but… more solid than I expected. Less wet than before. A firm grip. Bile bubbled up my throat, I wanted to throw up. Against my better judgement, I looked down. The thing had grown bones and transparent skin.

      What the fuck. This thing is… evolving? I bit my palm to stop myself from screaming. What was going to happen when this thing stopped growing?

      “Fiiiine. Don’t get my water. I’ll just hold you all night long.” it crooned. “This is nice, isn’t it?” No. No it was not nice. I threw up, the acid in my mouth burning and unpleasant. Vomit dribbled out of the corners of my mouth, dripping onto the blankets.

      The monster didn’t say anything, but it was vibrating against me. Laughing, maybe. I dropped my hands, emptying the contents of my stomach on the blanket. I stripped it off and threw the balled up comforter across the room.

      “You’re not going to put that in the wash?”

      “In the morning.” I muttered.

      Wait. No! I didn’t answer that thing! I wasn’t engaging. I didn’t!

      But I had. It was too late. The thing vibrated more, this time I was sure it was laughing. I expected some smug gotcha, but it didn’t say a word. A sharp pain lanced my shoulder, but I closed my eyes, resisting the urge to look. I didn’t know what I was feeling, but it was better not to know.

      I woke up in the morning, surprised to be alive. I must have passed out. I was not “happy and refreshed”… but scared and weak. I stared at my alarm clock, struggling to comprehend the numbers and the sound of the alarm. My ears were ringing even after I hit the snooze button. My body felt cold, even with the feverish warmth of my sweat-soaked sheets.

      The bedroom smelled of vomit, my balled up blanket still in the corner. Evidence of the night. I wasn’t crazy after all, but that didn’t make me feel better. I cried, curled up and trying to find the strength to move.

      Eventually, I managed to drag myself into the bathroom. I stood under a scalding shower, trying to feel warm again. As I scrubbed myself raw, I found a bruise on my left shoulder; a perfect circle with a dark red center. I didn’t want to look at it. I didn’t want to wonder what it was, or what it meant.

      It’s only been two weeks. I’ve already broken two rules! I don’t know what will happen if, or when, I break more… but I already know I can’t sleep anywhere else. I don’t have a choice… it’s either sleep in that bed, or don’t sleep at all.

      As of today, I haven’t slept in three days. I feel awful. I know I’m going to give in soon. Even now, I’m resisting the urge to crawl into bed and sleep. Even though I’m scared, even though I know something bad is going to happen if I do… I crave the feeling of a good night’s rest. I want to feel happy and refreshed again.

      The list of rules asked me to review the product in 30 days. That’s two weeks from now. I’m not sure what kind of “review” they’re expecting, or if I’ll even be around to write it.

      Posted in Short Stories [Horror] | 0 Comments | Tagged breaking rules, fiction, horror, horror story, mattress, nightmare, nosleep, rules, short stories, short story, sleep, sleep paralysis, spooktober
    • [Short Horror Story] Wishes Don’t Belong in a Bottle

      Posted at 10:21 pm by Penny Tailsup, on October 3, 2019

      Originally posted to Reddit

      Spooktober Prompt # 3 – Shallow Seas

      “Wishes Don’t Belong in a Bottle”

       

      When I dropped the first letter into the sea, I didn’t expect a reply.

      I don’t even remember what it said, because it didn’t matter. I figured the bottle would break before anyone would find it; that I’d find myself picking up bits of broken glass when the tide came in. Imagine my surprise when the bottle came back.

      The next day I found it, unbroken and bobbing in the shallows. Empty, but perfectly intact; the lid was still screwed on tight, but my letter was gone. Of course, I could rationalize it at first. It could have been a different bottle. It was unlikely, but still more likely than the idea that someone found my letter and brought the bottle back.

      Anywhere else, an empty bottle on the beach wouldn’t prove anything. However, this bottle was the exact same kind my dad used for his bootlegging business. I found it hard to believe anyone (except me) would waste or lose one of Dad’s empties because my dad charged $10 per beer, and charged even more if he had to give you a new bottle. His customers would bring back the empties so he could refill them.

      That’s why I could believe it was the same bottle I’d dropped into the water, even when I knew it was impossible. I’d stolen the first bottle for my letter, both on a whim and as an act of rebellion. My dad spent his days making beer or drinking it, scraping together a living that way. The ferry would bring everything he needed; the import and sale of alcohol wasn’t allowed, but that didn’t stop him from ordering the ingredients. It was an open secret. Our village safety officer was probably his best customer.

      Most of the villagers would change jobs from boats, fisheries, and canneries as the seasons demanded– except for my dad. He was afraid of the water. Only sparingly would he take his old boat out to neighboring villages across the bay, but he’d never take me. He was afraid of losing me like he lost mom, but I guess he wasn’t scared of losing himself.

      Our relationship was rocky. I felt depressed, angry and trapped. I was tired of washing out the empties only so he could fill them again and again. I felt so alone. There was no one my age around and the only time I could try to make real friends was when I took the ferry to Kodiak without permission. My dad wouldn’t let me go, and everyone knew better than to let me on by then.

      I couldn’t explain why the bottle came back when the letter didn’t, so I tried again. I wrote a little note that said ‘Do you want to be friends?’ and tossed it underhand into the water. The first time might have been a fluke, or maybe someone else really did leave a bottle by accident. I wanted to see if it would happen a second time.

      Dad noticed the second time. Not that I’d thrown a bottle into the sea, but that it was missing.

      “Alex, one of my bottles is gone.” he said when I got home. “Do you know what happened to it?” he wasn’t angry, only annoyed. Getting anything imported took time and money so he hated having to buy new bottles.

      “I dropped it.” I said, which wasn’t a lie. I just didn’t tell him I dropped it into the sea. “Sorry dad. I can take the ferry and–”

      “No.” he cut me off immediately. “I’ll just order a couple cases with my next shipment. You don’t need to go anywhere. I could use more anyway.”

      A fight broke out after that, though it was nothing new. Dad never let me leave, and it wasn’t because I was some irresponsible kid. I was more responsible than he was! He knew it, too. Never denied it. Even so, he would still tell me no.

      After our screaming match, I went back out onto the rocky beach to cool off. I lay down and let the jagged stones bite into my back, staring at the stars and listening to the sea. Mom loved the ocean too. She was still out there, somewhere in the water. I liked to imagine she was still alive, enjoying her freedom. I knew it wasn’t true.

      Sometimes I’d lay there and fantasize about going out with the tide so I could join her. I never did, though it seemed like a good idea on my darkest days. I was young though; I knew this wasn’t going to be my life forever. One day I’d get on the ferry and I’d never come back. Dad had to know that, he could only stop me for so long.

      When it got too cold, I sat back up so I could head back to the house. That’s when I saw the bottle again, the wet glass reflected moonlight. I walked over, half expecting to find my letter still folded up inside… but once again, it was empty. The glass, by some miracle, didn’t have as much as a crack. The cap was still in place.

      No way.

      I pulled out my notebook, tearing out another square. Someone was getting my letters! They were sending the bottles back without replying, but they were definitely getting them. I wasn’t sure how it was possible, but I was excited!

      I wrote out a little note:

      ‘Who are you? Won’t you reply? My name is Alex.’

      I neatly folded it, sliding my message into the bottle with care. Of course, the possibility that it was all a coincidence remained–but I didn’t want that to be true. I wanted to feel less alone. Even though it was cold, I sat down on my favorite rock and watched my glass messenger float away. I sat there for a long time, as if the great mystery of it might be solved… if I only waited patiently enough.

      I was surprised when Dad came to get me. He was stubborn, like I was; he never admitted when he worried, though I knew he did. His rustbucket red truck creaked and groaned so loud that I knew he was coming before I even heard his voice.

      “Alex!” he called out to me. He wouldn’t get too close to the water, though I wasn’t sure if he was conscious of that. He stood out by his truck, hands cupped around his mouth like a makeshift megaphone. “Come on back!”

      I took one last look at the bay. I didn’t see the bottle anymore, though it’s easy to lose sight of something so small in a vast ocean.

      “Only if you let me drive!” I called back. My dad handled his alcohol well enough, but I don’t think he was ever sober enough to drive. As I walked up to greet him, he pressed the keys into my hand and climbed into the passenger’s seat. He never argued over the keys, he knew better.

      “I talked to your aunt,” he said, once the truck was moving again. “She’s coming for a visit. Quincy and Shasta are coming too.”

      “That’s nice.” I answered, but I knew this was just a distraction. He must have called her and asked her to come. He knew if I had visitors, I might stop thinking about leaving for awhile. Still, I’d take what company I could get. Auntie was Mom’s sister, she lived in Kodiak with most of my extended family. I’d be happy to see them.

      We got along well, even though I was never allowed to visit. I was closest to Auntie; she’d send me gifts on the ferry with Dad’s shipments; like notebooks, pens and colored pencils. Auntie knew I liked to write and draw, and that I didn’t have access to art supplies on my own. Dad couldn’t afford to get them for me because his margins were razor thin. I’d be more understanding if it wasn’t because he drank what he didn’t sell.

      “Tomorrow you should go out and pick some berries.” he continued. He hated silences, he was always trying to fill them. “We can make something nice to eat for her visit. I bet everyone would like that.”

      “Sure.” I answered. He didn’t want me anywhere near the ocean, but that’d be quite a feat to manage when we were living in a coastal village. He couldn’t keep me away from the beach, though I knew he’d like to.

      When we got back to the house, he gave me a one-armed hug and held me to him for a second. I pulled away quickly, looking up at him to see what had him so sentimental. Dad wasn’t usually a hugger.

      “You’re just like your mother,” he said. He was smiling, but his eyes were looking a little red. “It scares me sometimes.” he must have been drunker than I’d thought, since he wasn’t usually so forthright with how he was feeling.

      “Mom was a good person, I’m glad to be like her.”

      “I know. I love you both so much.” he refused to use past tense when he talked about her. I did. Not because I didn’t miss her too, but because I had long accepted she was gone.

      “… So, when’s Auntie coming?”

      “The three o’clock ferry. You’re going to have to share your room with your cousins.” it would be a tight fit, but we’d make it work. “I’ll take the couch, so your aunt can use my room.” he said, as if he ever made it off the couch. He always passed out there! Instead of saying so, I nodded. I didn’t feel like starting another fight that night.

      “Sounds good. I’m going to bed, then.” I said instead. “Goodnight.”

      “Goodnight.”

      I went to bed, but he didn’t. I listened to him drink; the soft clink of glass bottles with the occasional slurp-and-sigh. Sometimes he’d talk like mom was in the room with him, but of course she wasn’t. That night was no different. I listened for a little while, it was amusing to hear him talk about me. As if I couldn’t hear, but mom could.

      “I’m worried about Alex.”

      But I was more worried about Dad. He didn’t need to worry about me, but I knew he did. I knew because he said so, just not to my face. I fell asleep wondering what he was so worried about. What reason did I ever give him?

      Bright and early the next morning, I cleaned up the fresh empties arranged by the kitchen sink. I let them dry in the dish rack, listening to my dad snore on the couch. He’d probably wake up around noon.

      I decided to go to the beach. I’d be back before he even noticed. When I reached the shoreline, I found what I was looking for. There was the bottle again; this time it was caught on a cluster of rocks rather than in the water. I walked over, picking it up and examining it closely. It was empty, and the glass didn’t have so much as a crack.

      I pulled out my notebook, this time choosing one of my favorite poems. With care, I folded it into a little boat and carefully managed to feed it through the opening of the bottle. Sure, it bent a little…, but you could still tell what it was supposed to be. A ship in a bottle.

      I waded out into the cold water as far as I could safely go, getting soaked to the bone. I didn’t care. I let go of the bottle, watching it move at the whim of the waves as I slowly backed up towards the shore. I didn’t take my eyes off of it, but nothing unusual happened. I guess this was a “watched pot doesn’t boil” situation.

      Once I was back on the beach, I started to wring the water out of my clothes and shiver. This was Alaska, the ocean was always cold. Dad would probably be pissed if he saw me wet, so I didn’t linger too long. I knew I wouldn’t see anything even if I did. Apparently this message in a bottle was a secret of the sea.

      Part of me hoped that my mother was the one getting the messages, though I knew that was impossible. But was it really any more impossible than what was happening? Someone was reading my messages. Someone was sending the bottle back. Why couldn’t it be her?

      I walked back home. As expected, Dad was still snoring on the couch; he hadn’t missed me at all. I showered and changed into dry clothes, then got ready to go pick wild blueberries. I was looking forward to Auntie and my cousins visiting. To be a good host, I’d make blueberry pancakes for breakfast the next day!

      By the time noon rolled around, I had a bucket full. Dad was awake, and smiled with approval when he saw me with my haul and purple fingers. The ferry would arrive soon, and I’d go pick everyone up. I cleaned up what I could, though the house still smelled like a brewery.

      When the time came, Dad and I headed to the dock. I drove us of course, but Dad wanted to come help load up any luggage or shipments that might have come in. Auntie and Dad had a strained relationship these days, but he was always polite to her even when she wasn’t polite to him. She didn’t approve of his drinking. I didn’t either, so I didn’t really fault her when she criticized him for it.

      “Alex!” I saw her immediately, her salt-and-pepper braid was wind-tousled and frizzy from the trip across the water. It was a windy day. My cousins Shasta and Quincy were there too, looking a little chapped from the wind.

      “Hey guys!” I ran over to hug them. Dad was already grabbing everything he could carry and loading up the back of the truck. The cab only fit two people, so I’d walk back with Shasta and Quincy. Auntie could ride back with dad, so long as Auntie did the driving.

      Shasta was younger than me, and Quincy was a little older– but they were energetic boys. The ‘walk’ home turned into a race that Quincy won. He was in better shape than he had been the last time I saw him.

      “Mom let me start working at the lumber mill.” he told me when I asked. “She’s still too scared to let anyone on a fishing boat, but at least she lets us on the ferry.” he shot me a sympathetic look. He knew about my dad’s fear of the sea.

      “I don’t know why you want to work.” Shasta laughed, “I’m glad I don’t have to.”

      “You’ll want to. Especially when you see women all over me and not you!” Quincy laughed right back, giving his brother a good-natured jab. “Do you have a job, Alex?”

      I shook my head. “No, I just help dad with his business. He doesn’t want me to have a job until I graduate. Even over the summer and spring break, he said I should enjoy the breaks while I still get them.”

      “Makes sense.” Quincy answered, nodding.

      “I guess.”

      “Does your dad’s 3-Wheeler still work?” Shasta interrupted, pointing at the old thing. It was covered by a tarp that used to be blue.

      “Yeah, but the gas is expensive. It’s easier just to walk.” I replied, somewhat dismissive. Shasta looked excited though.

      “Do you think he’ll let us use it?”

      “You can ask?” I wasn’t sure. Dad wasn’t really opposed to using ATVs, just things that cost money or went on the ocean. Having guests over was rare though, so he might say yes. He’d always taught me the importance of being a good host. I watched Shasta run inside, yelling his question. A minute later, he was back with a huge grin.

      “Come on! I’m driving it!”

      I pulled off the tarp and made sure it still had gas in it. It wasn’t really big enough for the three of us, but we’d make it work.

      “…Ok. So… the beach?” I asked. The boys agreed, and we set out. Once we got there, they took turns driving up and down the strip. I left them to it, glad they were having fun but definitely distracted.

      It didn’t take me long to find what I was looking for.

      This time the bottle was sitting on top of a rock like someone had set it there. It was empty. I picked it up, rolling the cold glass between my hands in amazement. I unscrewed the cap, grabbed the neck of the bottle and then held it to my eye. Nope, nothing. Not even a grain of sand or a drop of water was inside.

      “Whoa! Your dad letting you drink now?” Shasta came running over when he saw me, recognizing one of dad’s beer bottles.

      “No, of course not.” when it came to me, Dad was very responsible. Too responsible. Smothering.

      “What’s with the bottle then?” Quincy hopped off the 3-wheeler and walked over. He was in a lot less of a rush than his younger brother. I debated telling them, but ran the risk of getting made fun of if I did. I was quiet, putting the lid back on and holding the glass carefully in front of me with both hands. Taking a deep breath, I decided… why not?

      “You might not believe this, but…I keep putting letters in this bottle. Then I drop them in the water, and the letters disappear… but the bottle comes back. I mean, it’s happened three times already.”

      “That’s creepy!” I blinked at Shasta’s reaction. I’d expected them not to believe me, or to think it was cool. Creepy? I didn’t feel like it was creepy at all. I felt heard.

      “You sure someone isn’t messing with you?” Quincy’s reaction was more in line with what I expected, but it was still hard not to be defensive.

      “It’d be an expensive way to mess with me, right? Dad charges $3 just for the bottle so that people won’t lose or break them.”

      “I guess.” Quincy said, squinting at the bottle. “Why, though?”

      “I don’t know.” I shrugged. I had a suspicion. I thought maybe it was Mom, but… that much I wasn’t willing to admit.

      “If it’s some kind of magic shit going on, you should try making a wish.” Shasta chimed in. “I mean, what’s the harm?”

      “It’s not magic.” Quincy interjected logically. “It’s a prank, or a coincidence, or someone dropped a whole crate of bottles in the water by accident and you keep finding them.”

      “I guess I’m making a wish then.” I laughed, trying to play it off and act cool. I took out my notebook again, scribbling down something that I really hoped might come true.

      ‘Hi, this is Alex again.

      My cousin said I should make a wish, so… here goes: I wish my dad would stop drinking, or at least let me on the ferry. Either would make me happy. I don’t know if you can grant my wish. I don’t think anyone can, but… thank you for hearing me out.’

      I folded it up carefully. Shasta wanted to read it, but I didn’t let him. Again, I set the bottle adrift on the water. I watched my wish, wondering if I was asking too much. Even if I believed that my one sided pen-pal could grant wishes, it didn’t seem possible that my dad could change.

      Regret hit me like a wave; like a physical blow, I actually staggered back. It wasn’t because I didn’t want my wish come true, it because I didn’t want Mom to see it. Mom would be sad if I told her what was going on with Dad. I had no proof she was even the one getting these messages, but my stomach still knotted up at the thought.

      Before I could pluck it out of the water, I heard my dad’s truck coming up the beach. Auntie had come over to get us.

      “I said an hour!” she called, but she wasn’t really mad. She wagged her finger at us, but we all grinned sheepishly.

      “Sorry!”

      I hadn’t realized so much time had passed already. It felt like it had only been five minutes, but sure enough… it had been an hour and a half.

      “Alex!” Auntie called. “Come ride with me!”

      “Sure!” I started jogging over, trusting my cousins to get the 3-wheeler back safely. I got into the passenger’s seat. Auntie watched me buckle in before starting the truck back up, but she didn’t start driving right away. Instead, she left the gear in park and looked at me with her familiar warm smile. Mom had the same smile.

      “I’ve really missed you, Alex. I’m sorry we don’t visit more.”

      “That’s OK.” I looked at my feet.

      “Well, I want to see you more. So… I’ve been talking to your dad and we decided…” she started tapping on the steering wheel, averting her gaze. I knew that when she said ‘talking’ she really meant ‘fighting’.

      “Well. I decided.” she corrected herself, straightening up in her seat. “I decided that next summer, you’re coming to Kodiak and staying with us. Just for the summer.” she added that last part quickly. “I’m not taking no for an answer. I’ll buy your ticket, and I’ll come get you if I have to.”

      “Really? Dad agreed to that?” the long silence answered the question before she did.

      “… No. But he will. If you act like it’s a sure thing, I’m sure he’ll cave by then. He loves you, he wants to protect you– but he knows he’s going to have to loosen the reigns a bit, especially if he wants to have a relationship with you when you grow up.”

      “I’m already grown up.”

      She laughed when I said that, and I pretended to be offended. Crossing my arms, I tried not to grin. A summer in Kodiak sounded great to me! It couldn’t come soon enough!

      The rest of the ride back was a blur, but I remember that the house smelled like pineapple and honey rather than beer when I walked through the door. Auntie had me sit down, and prepared a big slice of pineapple upside down cake for me. We had cake for dinner, celebrating a birthday she’d missed. She’d brought presents, new art supplies to refresh my collection. Everything was wrapped up with pretty paper and ribbons, too. It was surprising that she’d planned all of this so last minute!

      Unless… dad hadn’t been letting her come, and she’d had all of these things already. He didn’t say a word through dinner, I could tell he was angry even if he wasn’t saying so. At least, he didn’t say anything at first.

      “You excited about next summer?” Shasta asked. At least, I’m pretty sure that’s what he said. His mouth was still full of cake.

      “Yeah!” I answered with enthusiasm. That’s when Dad’s fist hit the table.

      “NO.”

      “Paul–” Auntie immediately touched his arm, surprised by his sudden outburst. Dad knocked her hand away.

      “I said no! It’s not happening! Alex, I’m sorry, but don’t get your hopes up. You’re not going.”

      “Maybe we should go have this conversation somewhere else.” Auntie said in as level a voice she could manage, but I could tell she was angry too.

      “Maybe you should leave.” Dad answered, “Get out. Get out NOW. Don’t you dare come over here and make decisions. You know what happened! Yet here you are, trying to be the parent. I’m the parent, not you.”

      I was stunned. The sweet taste in my mouth went sour. I became so angry I was shaking. Standing up from the table, I started walking out.

      “… Figure this out. I’ll come back… when I cool down.” I didn’t want to say anything I’d regret. I was already in tears.

      “Alex…” Auntie tried to stop me. She touched my shoulder, but I pulled away.

      “I’ll be back, just leave me alone for awhile.” I didn’t want to hear them fight. I didn’t want them to fight because of me… but most of all, I wanted my dad to see reason. Couldn’t he see how out of control his fear was getting?

      Predictably, I went back to the beach. This time, I didn’t find the bottle. I didn’t find anything but a chilly wind and a black sea. I searched for an hour before coming back. Dad wasn’t at the house, but I saw the truck was already loaded up with luggage. They’d take the ferry back in the morning.

      “Sorry.” Shasta mouthed when he saw me, but I shook my head. It wasn’t his fault. The only person I really blamed here was my dad. He didn’t come back. In the morning, I dropped everyone off at the dock. I asked if they were really going, but unfortunately they were.

      “We’ll see you next summer.” Quincy told me, “Just work on wearing your old man down. Worst case scenario, we can come here. Don’t worry too much, OK?”

      “Yeah.” but I was going to worry about it. I saw them off and went home. Dad still wasn’t back. It wasn’t like him to storm off and disappear, but that fight had been a doozy. I’d never seen him so angry before. I didn’t look for him at first, figuring he must have really needed to cool off just like I had.

      I went to the beach again. Clearly, my wish hadn’t been granted. For a second in the truck with Auntie, I thought it had been. At least partially. But of course, it’s never that simple.

      I found the bottle, it was in the same place as last time– set on top of the rock I liked to sit on, like someone had put it there. It was empty.

      This time, I took the bottle home without sending a letter. I continued to wait for my dad to come back, but he didn’t. I knew he hadn’t been on the ferry, but he also wasn’t around town. No one had seen him.

      It took me longer than it should have to check his boat. It wasn’t in the shed where it should have been. He must have taken it out on the water, though I had no idea why he would. He had no reason to take it out to town in the dead of night, especially without telling me where he was going.

      I called Auntie, but I did my best not to scare her. Instead of asking if she’d seen Dad, I asked if she’d talked to him.

      She hadn’t.

      That’s when I finally reported him missing. The longer he was gone, the more I worried. I wanted him home. At this point, I didn’t even care about the fight– no matter how ridiculous it was, or how much I hated being stuck in the village… I loved my dad.

      I took the bottle out to the beach again, in a last-ditch effort… I decided to try making a wish again. I didn’t think it would work, but it felt better to do something. I couldn’t wait at home doing nothing.

      ‘Hi, this is Alex.

      I’m worried about my dad. We had a big fight, and I haven’t seen him. I wish he was home. Thank you for hearing me out. Sorry I stopped writing, it just felt weird while he was gone.’

      I didn’t watch my message float away. I knew I wouldn’t see where it went, or who took it. I went home and tried to sleep, but all I could think about was my dad lost at sea. When I closed my eyes, I saw his little white boat being tossed about dark waves. I saw him, terrified, as he was swallowed up by the sea.

      After the nightmare, I knew I couldn’t wait. I took Dad’s truck, foot heavy on the gas the whole way there. I jumped out, leaving the headlights on so they could illuminate my view in the dark.

      Right as I reached the beach, a wave came out of nowhere…I was knocked over and thrown onto my back as the dark water hit me like a punch. As I blindly tried to push myself back up, my hands came into contact with something smooth and icy cold.

      Blinking the saltwater out of my eyes, I knew before I could even see that I’d found the bottle. It was heavy in my hands; I hugged it to my chest so I wouldn’t drop it and scrambled over to my sitting rock.

      Eagerly, I looked down at the bottle. It seemed to have some rocks or something in it? No, that wasn’t right. They didn’t rattle around the glass like rocks would. Weird. I uncapped the bottle with numb fingers, tilting the bottle so I could pour the contents in my hands.

      Whatever it was, it got stuck. The neck of the bottle wasn’t wide enough. I brought it to my eye, looking inside. The glass shattered before I even registered dropping it. Fingers and toes rolled across the rocky beach. Severed and blue, but… unmistakable. I could see nails, and even little sprouts of dark hair. The cuts weren’t clean, they were jagged with loose bits of skin flapping at the ends.

      It looked like they hadn’t been cut off, but… torn. Chewed up, and spit back into this bottle. No. I was still back at home, having a nightmare.

      I had to be.

      Backing away from the grisly discovery, I noticed that more than just a bottle had washed up on the shore. I saw an elbow, an ear, and even a foot without it’s toes. I screamed until my throat was raw. I ran. I slipped and fell repeatedly on the wet rocks. I tripped on my father’s head, mouth agape and filled with water and foam.

      I found my way to town, still screaming and sobbing. I had his head in my hands; it felt like cold clay. Clammy. His eyes were gone, the sockets empty… like they’d been scooped out. I don’t remember what happened after that, I only know that I wouldn’t let go of his head. I wouldn’t stop screaming.

      State Troopers came to town the next day, combing the beach to find everything as it washed up. By then, I was numb. They took his body away in a dozen trash bags. I answered their questions, but I don’t remember what they asked or what I said.

      My aunt came to stay with me while the investigation went on. No one suspected foul play. It was ruled an accident; they said he must have fallen out of his boat. That he might have been run over by another boat. That the sea-life and rough water tore him up.

      I didn’t tell anyone about the bottle. I couldn’t.

      But on my last day in town, before I went to live with Auntie in Kodiak… I brought another bottle to the beach. There was one last message I needed to send. One last question I had to ask:

      ‘Mom? Is that you?

      Please answer me if it is.’

      That bottle never came back.

      Posted in Short Stories [Horror] | 0 Comments | Tagged alaska, alcoholism, art, bottle, creepy, dark, fiction, horror, nosleep, ocean, original, scary story, sea, short stories, short story, spooktober, story, village life, wishes, writing
    • [Short Horror Story] A Proposal from Daddy Prince

      Posted at 12:00 am by Penny Tailsup, on August 19, 2019
      Short on time? Listen to the narration!

      When I told Blake I was pregnant, he handed me a blank check and told me to ‘take care of the problem’. He wasn’t the prince I’d thought he was. I took the check but didn’t follow his implied instructions. Instead, I moved to a quiet town in Texas to start a new life with my daughter Sarina.

      Life wasn’t the fairy tale I’d been hoping for. Reality doesn’t pull punches. Romances end, and daughters don’t always know their fathers. Although I tried to pretend everything was rosy, deep down I knew it wasn’t. Life leaves a mark.

      Even so, I was determined to live happily ever after. My heartbreak was secondary. Sarina became my world. Years passed, and I threw myself into the role of a single mother. The money dried up fast, but we got by.

      I never told her about her father, that truth was too painful for a child. I wouldn’t let one cruel “prince” stain my worldview, or hers. I tried to spare her… that was my mistake. She was young enough to believe the fairy tale, young enough that she didn’t need to know anything else.

      The first time she mentioned Daddy Prince, I was curling her hair. Sarina loved curls, she called them ‘princess hairs’— and I was happy to indulge her. I was sitting on her bed, wrapping her long, dark hair into foam rollers. As I snapped the final curler into place, she sighed and hung her head.

      “What’s the matter, Sarina?” I pulled back the covers so she could slip under them, walking over to the bookshelf to choose a bedtime story. As my fingers brushed across bent spines of well-loved books, she sighed again.

      “When are we going to live with Daddy Prince?” I froze in surprise and turned to look at her. I wasn’t prepared to hear her say ‘daddy’. My throat tightened and my eyes started to burn, but I forced a smile.

      “Who is …  Daddy Prince?” hesitation came with every syllable. Sarina didn’t seem to notice; her hazel eyes were shining bright.

      “He’s my daddy of course. He wants us to live with him in his castle.” she pointed towards her wardrobe; it was castle shaped with a crenelated parapet and engraved doors. The closet was the crown jewel of her princess-themed room. I’d found it on the curb, abandoned in one of the wealthier neighborhoods.

      “Mommy, why don’t we live with Daddy?”

      I knew a day would come where my daughter would need answers. Unfortunately, I wasn’t ready to give them to her. Not yet. My internal prayer smoldered in my chest, but I pushed the thought away.

      Instead of facing what might have been a pivotal moment in our relationship, I changed the subject:

      “Which story should I read?”

      Her sour face told me that she knew exactly what I was up to. She flung herself back into her pillows, crossing her arms stiffly. Redness flared across her forehead as a tantrum brewed, barely restrained.

      “How about Aladdin?” I suggested. Princess Jasmine was her favorite, but this wasn’t enough to cool her temper; she shook her head.

      “… Go to bed, Mommy. I want Daddy to tell me a story instead.”  Her lips quivered, but she kept her eyes fixed on the castle closet instead of looking at me.

      The rejection stung. I leaned over to give her forehead a kiss, which she sullenly accepted. When I made it back to my bedroom, I broke down in tears and let the mascara run into my pillow. As I calmed down and began to drift off to sleep, I heard my daughter laugh and incoherent bits of one-sided conversation.

      “Daddy… why … castle… when… mommy…”

      I woke up to Sarina’s grinning face, her hands behind her back. “Good morning, mommy!” she sounded so cheerful. Groggy, I returned the greeting and offered a sleepy smile as I threw off the covers and swooped down to hug her.

      My hands met something cold and wet. Reflexively, I let go and looked at her closely. The little girl grinned sheepishly and showed me what she was holding. A handful of small, purple flowers; a large clump of wet dirt clinging to the roots.

      “A present from Daddy!” she declared proudly, holding them out to me. I didn’t recognize the flowers, spiky and wet, but it looked like she’d dug them out of someone’s garden.

      “Sweetie, did you go outside before I woke up?” I asked.

      “Not me, the prince.” Sarina immediately corrected. “To cheer you up. You seemed sad.”

      “I see.” I didn’t. “Well, make sure he asks the neighbors permission before going into someone else’s garden, and let me know so I don’t worry.” I didn’t believe her, but I felt so guilty from the night before that I couldn’t bring myself to call her out on her lie.

      “Okay!” she agreed immediately. I took the flowers, they were in bad shape; soggy, sad little things. I decided to let them air out by the kitchen window and told her to wash up. My little girl had mud up to her elbows! She skipped off while I busied myself making waffles. I pulled the rollers out of her hair when she returned, mud-free, before we sat down to enjoy breakfast.

      “Did you like the flowers?” she asked, looking attentively at her waffle as I poured the syrup; she wasn’t satisfied until every square was filled.

      “Of course, sweetie. Any gift from you is special to me.”  I didn’t like the flowers, but I appreciated the gesture. You aren’t supposed to be completely honest with children.

      Sarina nodded with satisfaction. “He said you would! Now can we go live with him?” I nearly choked, setting down my fork and looking at her. Apparently, this conversation was going to happen, whether I was ready or not.

      “I’m sorry honey. We’re going to stay here; this is our home. We can’t move in with him.”

      “Why?” I paused. Like most parents, I was accustomed to the whys of children; that single syllable was the epitome of frustration and dread, but… I’d do my best to answer, as gently as I could.

      “Because I’m not married to him.” I tried to keep it simple. My little girl nodded but was undeterred. Her smile came back.

      “Okay. Well, then get married to him.” in her eyes, this was an easy fix. I shook my head.

      “He never asked me to marry him.” I admitted, “But that’s okay, sweetie. We have everything we need here. I have you, and you have me.”

      “He just has to ask?” the hopeful look on her face broke my heart. It wasn’t that simple. Blake didn’t want kids; he’d made that abundantly clear. I wasn’t about to reach out to him after all these years.

      “Maybe,” I said. Saying ‘no’ seemed too harsh. “But I like things the way they are right now.”

      “He told me he wants to already.” she insisted, “and he gave you a present.” my stomach twisted with a weird flutter of discomfort. Her insistence was genuine, and I found the fantasy disturbing. Do little girls typically dream up princes for their mothers?

      Well, maybe the ones without fathers do.

      “Sweetie, he didn’t propose.” suddenly, I was tired again. I wanted to go back to my room and hide under the covers. I couldn’t deal with any more questions, not even one. As though she sensed this, my daughter went back to her room. I could hear her playing, leaving me to scrub syrup off the table.

      When I went to check on her later, she was standing in the dark and lightly knocking on the castle wardrobe. Tap tap tap, then pausing as if she waited for an answer. Naturally, she didn’t get one. Sarina saw me looking and smiled bashfully.

      “He said he sleeps during the day.” she explained, “but I wanted to tell him the good news.” I assumed she meant ‘Daddy Prince’.

      “What good news?”

      Sarina didn’t say anything, staring so intently at the closet doors that I thought she must not have heard me. I flicked on her bedroom light, which got her attention.

      “Don’t! He doesn’t like the light on.” I decided to humor her and turned it back off. I was a little concerned about the prince character she was concocting. What sort of prince preferred the dark? Then again, she’d said he was sleeping. Kid logic is irrefutable at that age, so I let it go. You learn to pick your battles as a parent.

      Leaving her to her to play, I sat at the kitchen table to pay bills and balance my checkbook. I lived paycheck to paycheck and had to pay things strategically. I could afford to pay late on some bills, but not on others. How nice it would be, if there really was a prince ready to sweep in and take care of my problems. If only.

      Sarina kept to her room. When I went to get her for lunch, she was still sitting in the dark. She’d changed into one of her costume dresses; mint green satin and tulle, with a plastic crown and ribbon-wrapped scepter. Her subjects were strewn about the room, face down: barbies, mostly, but also a few stuffed animals. Normally, I wouldn’t think twice about a scene like this… but it was a little odd when the lights were off with the curtains closed.

      “It’s dark in here, honey. Are you sure you don’t want it on?” The only light came from the hallway, a yellow square of light that fell across my daughter’s small form. She beamed at me, clearly having a blast with her game.

      “I don’t want the lights.” she said, “Can I eat in my room? I’m not done playing.”

      “Alright. Come get it. Don’t forget to rinse your plate when you’re done.”  Sarina was usually a bit more energetic, ripping through the house and demanding near constant attention. I was a little unnerved, but also relieved to have a small break. Her preoccupation would enable me to finish my errands and get the house in order, no small feat with a young daughter.

      Sarina skipped into the dining room, grabbed her plate, then paused suddenly. Her dark eyes fixed on the table for a moment, before she looked at me in confusion.

      “Where are the flowers? You said you liked them.”

      “They’re drying out, princess.” I smiled at her, gesturing towards the window. “They were a little wet.”

      “Oh.” she looked disappointed but didn’t say anything else. Plate in hand, she went back to her room. I heard the door close behind her. For some reason, I wanted to cry. I ate my lunch alone at the table, then went to retrieve the flowers. I brought them to the sink; the stems were tangled. Carefully, I worked them apart and rinsed away the clump of dirt holding them together.

      A metallic clink caught my attention. Something had come loose from the dirt and fallen into the sink… a ring? A muddy, tarnished ring. I picked it up, then held it under running water. It was missing a stone, and the filigree band was slightly bent… with a little love it could be beautiful again.

      It looked very old; I didn’t know if it was valuable or not, but it was probably important to someone. I slipped the ring onto my right ring finger so I wouldn’t lose it, intending to find the owner later. I couldn’t help but think about the conversation I’d had during breakfast.

      “Looks like he proposed after all.” I laughed, amused by the coincidence. Of course, my daughter found the flowers with a ring tangled in their roots. I dropped the flowers in a bowl on the table, making a sad excuse for a centerpiece. I didn’t add water; they were wet enough already. Apparently, Sarina’s Prince Charming lived in a swamp.

      Sarina stayed in her room until dinner. By then, the house was tidy, and my errands were done. When I went to get Sarina, the door was closed, and the lights were off. I knocked lightly on the door before opening it, to find my daughter standing at the castle wardrobe. The double doors were open, and she was leaning forward, peering inside.

      I turned on the light, causing her to glare at me. “Turn the lights OFF, mommy!” I didn’t, not liking the tone she was taking with me.

      “Go wash up for dinner. Now.” when she didn’t start marching, I began to count. “1….” she crossed her arms, “2…” she stomped her foot, but before I could get to three the stormed past me– slamming the door behind her.

      The wardrobe was still open, so I walked over to close it. The carpet was wet, soaking through my slippers, squishing with every step. As I moved to close the closet, I saw something. A pale face, crowned with golden curls and forget-me-not eyes.

      “Blake?”

      But my ex was not crouching in his daughter’s closet. There was nothing there, except a selection of dress up clothes and plastic jewelry. The face was gone almost as soon as I’d seen it, leaving a hollow ache in my chest. I closed the doors and stood there for a long moment in silence.

      Dinner was cold by the time I ladled it onto our plates. I didn’t even remember walking back to the kitchen. Sarina pushed noodles around with her fork but didn’t eat them. We didn’t talk. I felt like some part of me had checked out.

      “Mommy?” her voice pulled me back. I looked up to see her smiling at me. Relieved that the storm had passed, I smiled back.

      “What is it, sweetheart?”

      “You’re wearing the ring.” I looked down at my hands, and suddenly remembered the sorry little thing I was wearing on my right hand.

      “Oh, only for safekeeping.” I answered, “I need to find the owner. I didn’t want to lose it.”

      Sarina giggled. “You’re the owner, silly!”

      “I’ll hold onto it, for now.” I answered, reaching over to tousle her dark curls. Her hair was damp, which gave me pause.

      “Why is your hair wet?” I asked. Sarina slouched in her chair and went back to moving food around her plate. “The carpet was wet too.” I added softly, keeping my voice quiet and non-confrontational. My little girl didn’t look up, keeping her head down.

      “Can you tell me why?” she pushed her plate away, getting up from the table and running down the hall. I heard her bedroom door slam moments later. I buried my head in my hands and took a few deep breaths, giving myself a moment before I stood and walked over to the sink to rinse off our barely touched plates. Once the kitchen was clean, I grabbed the rag towels from under the sink so I could blot Sarina’s wet carpet.

      Her door was closed, so I knocked before opening. Sarina was in bed, the blankets pulled up to her chin. The lights were off, the closet doors were ajar. My daughter was acting strange, with her eyes squeezed tightly shut. I could see her forehead furrowed from the effort as she pretended to be asleep.

      “You don’t want me to read you a bedtime story first?” I asked her softly as I dropped the towels on the floor. Brownish, reddish stains spread across the rags– like murky rust. The smell was bad too, like mildew and rot. “…I’ll rent a carpet cleaner tomorrow. Try not to track in any more mud, it’s hard to clean.” I did my best not to sound angry, but there was a quiver in my voice. I wanted to cry.

      I blotted up the mess as best I could, spraying down the area with carpet cleaner and ruining towels in the process. Muddy carpets shouldn’t have been a breaking point for me, but with my daughter feigning sleep only feet away… I was weak. Why was everything so hard? Every obstacle broke me. I was a bad mother; weak, broken and alone. As much as I pretended everything was alright, nothing was.

      “Mommy.” Sarina spoke softly, startling me back to attention. “I want you to be happy. You’re sad all the time.” I looked up; she was sitting up in bed now. She looked past me, at the closet. The doors were still open, but I didn’t see any phantom exes peering back at us.

      “I know sweetie. I’m sorry, I’m doing my best.”

      “You’re wearing it on the wrong hand.” she answered, flopping back into her pillows and pulling the blankets up to her nose. I didn’t know what she meant, but she closed her eyes again. I stood up, kissing her on the forehead.

      “Goodnight.” my throat felt tight but having a breakdown in her room wasn’t the answer. I needed to get some rest. I was tired, that’s all. I moved to close the wardrobe, surprised to meet resistance. The doors didn’t close.

      “Leave it open. Daddy Prince likes to watch over me.”

      I was too tired to argue and left to take a long shower. The stink of the mud was sticking to me, even when I used my most fragrant soaps. After I was done, wrapped up in the only clean towel, I passed my daughter’s room on the way to mine. As I peered inside, something stopped me in my tracks.

      A white gloved hand, beckoning from the closet… and Sarina’s small hand reaching out to take it, before she was violently pulled into the wardrobe with a loud snap.

      “Sarina!”

      I ran into the bedroom just as the doors slammed shut. I pulled on the handles, alarmed by the deafening silence. My daughter didn’t answer my cries; she didn’t make a sound. When I managed to pry the doors open, the closet was empty. Even her dress-up clothes were gone.

      I screamed, but no one answered. I knocked, but no one answered. I begged, but no one answered. I even crawled into that tight space, closing myself in…but nothing happened.

      The prince in my daughter’s closet had stolen her away. I didn’t sleep, curling up on the wet carpet and waiting for something, anything, to happen. Then I realized something… and sat down to write my story. People will notice we’re missing soon; they’ll probably think I did something unspeakable because the truth is unbelievable.

      The ring was on the wrong hand. She told me this, before the prince took her away. Maybe he was impatient for my answer. He asked me to marry him, after all. We’re going to live together in his castle. Sarina is waiting for me there; she couldn’t wait any longer.

      I can hear her singing now, with a song that erases my every doubt:

       

      Skin as white as bone,

      Lips as red as blood.

      Sitting on a throne

      Made of sticks and mud.

       

      Daddy Prince loves you,

      Daddy Prince loves me.

      …and I’ll love you, too

      We’ll be family.

       

      Don’t look for us.

      But if you must… check the closet.

       

      Posted in Short Stories [Horror] | 0 Comments | Tagged creepy, creepypasta, daddy prince, dark, fiction, horror, nosleep, original, prince, prince charming, short story, writer, writing
    • I am so scared of the cats [Short Horror Story]

      Posted at 12:55 am by Penny Tailsup, on January 11, 2019
      I used to work for NOAH Research Group. The name NOAH stands for ‘NO Animals Harmed’, the guiding principle of the organization.  NOAH’s founder, Dr. Rose, was a devout Christian and an advocate for animal rights.

      The name NOAH was also a nod to a question she was famous for asking:  If Noah had two of every animal on the ark, why didn’t the predators eat the prey?
      The nonreligious scoffed at the question, but Dr. Rose felt that the story of Noah’s ark was proof that everyone, animals included, should be vegan.  Science could make her vision of a vegan world possible, while still enabling carnivores to co-exist in the new world.

      NOAH’s first project was to produce and test  the first nutritionally complete, 100% safe vegan cat food. No animals would be harmed, not by slaughterhouses or malnutrition. Vegans would no longer worry about the ethical implications of cat ownership. Although vegan cat foods already existed, most vets concluded that they were too risky. A vegan diet can kill a cat if you’re not careful, which was why the project was so important. Dr. Rose needed to prove it was possible for everyone to be vegan, even carnivores.

      I worked nights in NOAH’s Portland-based facility, mainly cleaning out litter boxes and playing with the test subjects. It was a minimum-wage gig, but I  liked it because I was able to work while enjoying the company of cats. I knew about the vegan cat food project, though I was skeptical of it. I’m not vegan. I don’t judge people who are, but it seemed weird to expect cats to live that way. In a word, it seemed… unnatural.

      Still, the cats were treated very well. The facility didn’t confine them to cages or kennels; instead, the cats lived comfortably in large habitats with plexiglass observation windows. Every couple weeks, a vet would come and do check ups. NOAH took their oath to never harm animals very seriously, going to great lengths to ensure that the cats weren’t mistreated.

      I was hired when Harold was fired. The security guard told me the story, a cautionary tale: Harold wasn’t vegan. He packed beef stew for dinner every night… and shared it with the cats when no one was looking. As a result, the research was compromised and had to be started over from scratch. NOAH fired him and enacted a ‘No Outside Food’ policy.

      The vending machines were stocked with vegan options only: mixed nuts, fruit and vegetable sticks… so I ate before my shift. I usually felt compelled to eat the meatiest thing I could find, as if the mere thought of being vegan made me crave meat and cheese.

      All hell broke loose the night I broke the ‘no outside food’ rule. I was running late for work, so I went to a drive thru and grabbed a burger on the way over. I didn’t think about it when I ordered a triple cheeseburger, extra cheese, extra bacon. I shoved the greasy bag into my work duffel and forgot about it. When I got to work, security waved me through without checking. My nights there had long become routine.

      Once I reached the first habitat, the cats crowded the door. The clowder seemed smaller than usual, which was weird but not alarming. There were plenty of comfortable and secluded napping spots for the cats to laze about, though they were usually excited to see me– my arrival meant freshly cleaned litter boxes and playtime.

      I dropped my bag by the door, and got to work. As you can imagine, it was a lot of cat poop. Once I was done, I noticed the cats were still crowding the door. They were investigating my bag, sharpening their claws on the denim and even chewing on it. Sophie, a fluffy white cat, tried to drag it off with her. I was surprised that she’d managed to move it a few inches!

      That’s when I remembered the triple cheeseburger. Apparently, the smell had attracted the attention of the cats. I can only speculate that the smell of meat was extra tempting thanks to their strict vegan diet.

      “Sorry kitties, that’s against the rules.” I reached for my bag guiltily. When I tried to pick it up, Sophie started to growl and wouldn’t let go. Instead, she dug in deeper– her whole body rumbling with warning. I’d never seen that kind of aggression before, so I backed off.

      I didn’t want to lose my job, so I attempted to coax the cats away from the bag with a laser pointer. No dice. They completely ignored it. Their dilated pupils were focused entirely on my duffel, backs arched and tails pointing straight up. Tentatively, I reached for the bag again– this time, there was no warning.

      Sophie was the first to lunge, teeth and claws biting deep into my forearm! I screamed in pain and flung my arm out, flailing wildly until she let go. Undeterred, she came right back– tearing at my stomach, yanking and shaking her head from side to side… I was terrified that she’d rip me open!

      I stumbled towards the door as more sets of teeth and claws found their mark. I lost count as they attacked, feral shrieks mixing with my screams. I’d been bitten and scratched by cats before, but not like this. Cats don’t normally attack humans with the intent to kill, but the NOAH cats were an exception.

      Security came running, only to stare in horror– they did not enter the enclosure. Panicking, I stopped, dropped and rolled… as if I were on fire instead of covered in vicious, spitting cats. The tactic worked, they scattered to avoid being crushed. I didn’t give them a chance to move back in, running towards the door as the guards snapped out of their shock, flinging the door open and quickly slamming it behind me. A few of the more tenacious cats threw themselves bodily into the door, beating themselves against it several times before giving up.

      I was a bloody mess, my skin reduced to ribbons… but the pain didn’t catch up right away. I stared through the Plexiglass window, watching in horror when the cats descended on my duffel, pulling it apart. They found the burger and chewed straight through the paper, knocking one another aside in competition for it. They divided their ‘kill’, jealously guarding bits of burger and strips of bacon that quickly disappeared in their frenzy. Once the burger was gone, they licked the blood off the floor with eager, lapping tongues.

      The collective purr I heard was chilling.

      An ambulance was called, and I spent a night in the hospital. I wasn’t surprised when I was fired the following morning.  Fortunately, the severance pay was more like a settlement. On paper, NOAH blamed me for the incident… they said I provoked the attack, and that I’d violated company policy. To be honest, I didn’t care. I didn’t fight it because I was relieved I’d never have to go back. I don’t know what happened to the cats at the facility, I can only assume that the research has continued without me.

      I only recently learned what happened to Dr. Rose, but I can’t say I’m surprised. The vegan cat-enthusiast had fourteen cats… and she’d been feeding them the same cat food NOAH was testing. Although she cherished her cats, and they had reportedly been happy and well-fed…there wasn’t enough of Dr. Rose left to determine her cause of death.

      I don’t know what was in that cat food, but it might be in stores by now. Please research the food you buy for your pets very carefully, not only is it in their best interest… it might be in yours.

      NOAH is still operating without Dr. Rose. I don’t think their mission is the same.

       

      Posted in Short Stories [Horror] | 0 Comments | Tagged cat, cat food, cats, creepy, creepypasta, fiction, horror, NOAH, nosleep, nosleep takeover, research, short story, study, vegan, veganism
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