Penny's Tales

Tag: short story

• [Short Horror Story] I’m the Sole Survivor of an Experiment Known as the Soul Paradox

  Posted at 5:34 pm by Penny Tailsup, on October 31, 2019

  

  Spooktober Prompt #31 – Horrific Habits

  “I’m the Sole Survivor of an Experiment Known as the Soul Paradox”

  by Penny Tailsup

  No time to read? Listen here!

   

  This is not a story I wanted to tell.

  I’m the sole survivor of a social experiment known as the Soul Paradox. I’ve been in hiding, and though it pains me to say it given the circumstances… “soul searching”.

  I’ve been presumed dead for some time. It’s better that way.

  When I signed on for the experiment back in 2006, I didn’t have much to live for. Participants were offered food, water, and shelter for the duration of the experiment. There was supposed to be cash at the end, though it wasn’t much.

  Participation meant cutting off ties with my friends and family. I had none to start with, which might be why I didn’t see the requirement for the red flag it was. I’d recently dropped out of college. My parents disowned me, angry to be on the hook for student loans while I “amounted to nothing”. None of that matters now.

  As I tell my story, I realize there’s not much I can tell you about the experiment itself. This is partly because I was misled about the true nature of the study. Even at the time, I didn’t know what was happening. I’d go in for regular “tests” that lasted hours at a time, but I’d come out with a hole in my memory.

  It’s not that I forgot exactly, because I never lost my sense of time. When I try to remember, there’s a black space– a long stretch of blackness with nothing except Time. I remember the Time with great significance. When the black stretch of Time ended, I’d find myself signing a clipboard just outside a door marked “TESTING IN PROGRESS”. I was always tired after.

  Aside from the tests, I felt like I was living on the set to some Big Brother type reality show. I remember that much. I lived on location with the other participants. We were given roles and had to go to counseling sessions once or twice a week.

  The participants were extremely diverse; Not just race, but also religion. It was impossible not to notice the emphasis on religion. A few people even tried converting me! It didn’t work, though I was always receptive to the discussion. As an agnostic teetering on atheism, I was interested in everyone’s beliefs. Though I wasn’t sure what I believed, if anything, I found it fascinating to listen.

  We didn’t have much else to talk about anyway. No one remembered what happened during the tests. We were forbidden from discussing them with one another… Not that it mattered; all anyone could say was “I don’t remember,” and “I’m tired after.”

  Another popular topic of discussion was dreams.

  If I remember correctly, a Buddhist woman named Chunhua was the first to have recurring dreams. At least, she was the first to talk openly about them. She’d tell us of a dream where she was reborn as a tiger. At the time I found it fascinating, though I had a feeling she was leaving something out.

  Soon after this, there was an “incident” where she attacked herself and others. I wasn’t in the rec room at the time, but I heard she’d carved stripes into her skin with a knife she’d smuggled from the kitchen. She attacked three people. I never saw her after the “incident”, my counselor said she’d been removed from the experiment. Three other participants were also “removed from the experiment” at the same time.

  By then, I had the sense to be afraid. I feared I’d made a terrible mistake and had suspicions that the doctors were lying to me. They made it sound like Chunhua and the others were sent to a hospital for their health and safety, but I was convinced they were dead. I wasn’t wrong, though the doctors made me feel crazy and explained away my fears as “paranoia” resulting from “sleep deprivation”.

  I wasn’t lacking in sleep, but with the testing I never felt rested. The testing started to freak me out more and more. It was mandatory. I’m not even sure how I was forced to do it, I only know the Black Space with a sense of Time and the exhaustion that followed. Exhaustion and fear.

  The other participants were afraid too. We all started to have dreams where Chunhua would attack us with wild eyes, bleeding stripes and inhuman strength in her small hands. I vividly remember my flesh between her teeth, and the strange agony of my belly being split open and eaten. The last thing I remember of these recurring deaths was the wet sound of her chewing.

  After we “died” in our dreams… we wouldn’t wake up right away. We’d be sent to our respective afterlives for Judgment. The other participants always described being sent to Hell or some equivalent…That’s where my experience diverged.

  Having no religion, it was different for me. No less terrible, but different. I wouldn’t go anywhere. What happened to me can’t be explained with words, or feelings, or pictures, or… anything, because it’s not something you can experience with your senses or your mind. Except that I did… in those “dreams”.

  The closest I can come to explaining is by comparing it to the Black Space with a sense of Time, except there was no “Black Space”. There was nothing. Nothing is … nothing, not even black. But there was Time. I was aware of every passing second in the Nothing until I woke up. Nothing but nothing, and Time, and an eternal hum I somehow understood to be like “cosmic electricity”, or a “generator”. This would last hours until I woke up, and I’d feel every maddening second of it.

  I started to get angry.

  I’m angry now, because I know I’m not coming across “right”. There’s no way to explain what I experienced, which is frustrating. But it wasn’t just that; my anger only grew over time… I became jealous of the other participants.

  They each had religious revelations… I didn’t. Even when those revelations lead them to end their lives or the lives of others, the certainty and substance that came with their religion was more than I had. At least they had something.

  I stopped caring about my suspicions. I stopped caring about the doctors, the experiments, the participants or the tests. I only cared about religion, hoping I might avoid the fate my agnosticism afforded me. I didn’t believe in anything. But I also didn’t… not believe in anything, which I’m sure is what brought me to that horrific trap in Nothing Time.

  Of course, with the chaos and death around me I was in no position to try on religions. It wouldn’t have mattered if I could. With what I’d experienced, I couldn’t put my heart and mind into truly believing anything. As much as I didn’t want it to be true, I’d already found my Truth.

  By this time, participants were dying in droves. I didn’t die, but… I was mistaken for dead.

  One morning, I woke up and couldn’t move at all. I couldn’t even open my eyes. I distinctly remember the sound of the nurse as she came in and said “We have another one!”. She spoke with casual indifference, or maybe resignation.

  I was one of many “deaths” discovered that morning.

  I know this because I found myself tossed on top of a pile of bodies. With my eyes closed, I couldn’t see them… but I still felt them; clammy, wet bodies that stank of feces and blood. No one checked to make sure I was actually dead.

  I was dumped with the bodies somewhere in Michaux State Forest, where I stayed for days in that state of paralysis. The bodies rotted around me, but I could only lay there as the flies bred, fed and multiplied on and around me. The incessant buzzing, blindness and paralysis reminded me of Nothing Time. It was better, though, because even if my eyes were closed I knew things were there. It was better than Nothing.

  I could still think, smell, feel and listen. I wasn’t dead, but given where I was, yet another body in a mass grave… I didn’t expect to live long. That should have been the end of me. In a way, it seemed a merciful way to go. I was being eased into Nothing Time with my experience in the woods.

  Then one day, the paralysis ended. Perhaps it was the rain… I can’t be sure. I can only say that It was raining when I finally opened my eyes. Mercifully, my eyes were left uneaten by the insects or wildlife, though my arms and legs were riddled with holes.

  Though I was weak with hunger, I was able to dig myself from the grave and finally see the spot where I’d had so much time to think. By then, I wasn’t even shocked by the bodies– the bloated, ugly corpses that they were. I recognized them, and internally gave my congratulations. They’d died with answers, after all. There was a certain peace with that. A peace I didn’t have.

  Death had been everyone’s answer, but the dread of Nothing Time left me restless. I can’t say I didn’t feel the pull of death. I still feel the urge sometimes, like a reflex to jump in front of oncoming traffic. It was an itch I didn’t scratch, perhaps because I had no god to tell me I should.

  I left the bodies and the forest, alive but in a strange state of decay. I couldn’t go public like that. For all intents and purposes, I was dead. I made a home in rural Alaska where no one asked questions. The people who lived there were also trying to disappear.

  Unfortunately, the wounds from the Soul Paradox aren’t the kind that can be healed with time. In the time since, I’ve tried and failed to find religion… It’s too late for that. I’ve known since I first experienced Nothing Time, but I still had to try.

  I’ve concluded that the only thing life has in common with death… at least for me… is Time. Time is the same whether you’re dead or alive, and now I spend my time keeping track. My tongue ticks out the seconds, flicks at the roof of my mouth. With the constant clicks, I know I’m still alive.

  Fearing death like I do, I won’t end myself. Yet I know I need to prepare myself for Nothing Time… The hum of The Eternal Generator. I spend days buried under a loose mound of dirt or snow with my eyes closed. It reminds me of my time in the forest. Corpses rot under my body; my “immersion therapy” in preparation for the inevitable. The buzzing of flies is the closest thing to The Generator’s hum.

  One day, I won’t be able to leave the mound. It won’t be my choice that it happens, but I do feel some measure of peace knowing where I’ll rot… and that I won’t rot alone.

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  Posted in Short Stories [Horror] | 0 Comments | Tagged conspiracy, fiction, nosleep, short story, spooktober

• [Short Horror Story] My Family Was Cursed With A Demon … Now It Wants Blood.

  Posted at 1:36 am by Penny Tailsup, on October 30, 2019

  

  PART ONE

  PART TWO

   

  “My Family Was Cursed With A Demon … Now It Wants Blood.”

  by Penny Tailsup

   

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

   

  “You’re ungrateful.”

  Mother sat on my dresser. She opened one of the top drawers, pulling out a sock to dab delicately at the corners of her bloody mouth. Her naked body was smeared in congealed blood, blackened with age and stinking of rot. She’d been dead for awhile now.

  Strapped to her back was a pair of angel wings. They were fake; I could see the elastic straps over her bare shoulders. I didn’t remember falling asleep, but I must have.

  “I gave you a gift. You’re spitting on it. Spitting on me.”

  I’d been trying not to sleep for exactly this reason. My family’s “angel” is trying to break me. I know it’s not really Mother on the dresser. I know because her shadow isn’t her shadow. If I look directly at it, I see a frail woman with cardboard wings– but if I look at it from the corner of my eye, I see something else. I couldn’t tell you what I see, but it’s not Mother.

  “Go away, I’m sleeping.” I tell it. Even knowing it’s not her, it hurts to say that. “I’m not falling for it.” I closed my eyes tightly, willing her away. When I opened my eyes again, I was standing over the bathroom sink.

  I wasn’t surprised. I turned on the tap, splashing my face with cold water before brushing my teeth. Lately, I seem to wake up anywhere but my own bed. I haven’t seen the sword since the night at Grandma’s house. I’m not sure if I imagined it.

  “Sleep well?” the demon asked, knowing I hadn’t. I ignored it, washing up and getting ready for the day. I walked back into my bedroom to change. On top of my dresser, I saw a white sock with a dark stain. Choosing to ignore it, I put on my school uniform.

  As I walked down the hall, I paused at Mother’s bedroom door. Father doesn’t sleep in there anymore, I don’t blame him. I hadn’t been inside the room since discovering her death. I’d been putting off the inevitable– I needed answers, and I might find some in that room.

  Hesitant, I turned the door handle and peered through the crack. The walls had been repainted and the carpets replaced. The stink of rotting blood must have been my imagination, because the space was immaculate. In fact, it seemed like the soul of the room had been stripped away. Mother’s things were still there, but the ‘lived in’ feel was gone. Her bedroom looked staged, like a picture in a magazine.

  Stepping inside, I felt like an intruder. I was “allowed” there, but it felt wrong. I walked over to the nightstand on Mother’s side and opened the drawer. I found a Bible, a key, and a tin of cinnamon breath mints. The key was attached to a little silver coin with “James 1:22” engraved on it. It wasn’t one of the verses I had memorized, the Contis had their favorites but this wasn’t one of them. I picked up the Bible, flipping through it and finding the verse:

  “But be ye doers of the word, and not hearers only, deceiving your own selves.” I read aloud. I felt the demon laugh as I closed my fingers around the key. The verse seemed appropriate for the Conti family who selectively read passages and acted holier-than-thou.

  Mother, how much did you know?

  She wasn’t there to give me an answer, yet the bloody image of her flashed across my mind. I didn’t know what to think or how to feel. With the burden of the demon’s shadow, I had little time to mourn or have an existential crisis.

  I took off my cross necklace, hooking the key through the delicate gold chain. I put it back on, tucking it beneath my buttoned blouse. I wasn’t sure what the key went to, but I had an idea.I could only think of one locked door: Grandpa Deangelo’s study.

  I only knew about it because Grandma had complained about the missing key, though she couldn’t bring herself to get a locksmith and violate her late husband’s privacy. His study must have been collecting dust in the years since his death. Had Mother held the key all this time?

  Of course, to confirm my suspicions I’d need to go back to Grandma’s house. I was still angry at her for lying to the police about Father’s involvement in Mother’s death, but I couldn’t avoid her forever.

  I looked around the room for a few more minutes. Unfortunately for me, Mother didn’t have a diary filled with her innermost secrets. At least, if she did… I didn’t find it. I had little insight over what happened to her, or how she truly felt about the Glory or the Conti Cult.

  I needed answers about her death, too. The police hadn’t arrested Father for her murder or assisted suicide, but I couldn’t help but wonder. The demon had planted the seeds of doubt in my heart. Unfortunately, those doubts had taken root…

  “You saw what happened, didn’t you?” I asked the demon. The undulating shadow behind me “perked up” with my acknowledgment. I rarely addressed it, I didn’t trust the “family angel”. In fact, I knew it was dangerous to ask it anything.

  “Of course I saw.” it answered. “I could tell you, if you’d only ask.” there was a condition implied with those words. It would tell me, for something in return.

  “No… Never mind. You’d lie to me.”

  “Maybe I would,” it admitted, “but maybe I wouldn’t. If you want to be sure… Honesty can be bought, paid in blood.” this answer should have shocked me more than it did. Maybe I was too tired to react.

  “I’m not going to kill anyone, nice try.”

  The bedroom door opened, startling me. I didn’t hear the demon’s reply. It was Angelo. He saw me standing there, seemingly alone.

  “I heard you,” he said. “I thought it was Mother, but it was only you.” he looked disappointed, but I couldn’t blame him.

  “Mother is in Heaven.” I reminded him. At least, I knew that was what I was supposed to say. I wasn’t sure where Mother was. Even confronted with the truth of our “family angel”, I couldn’t confidently declare my faith. I was still an atheist. If Heaven exists, I don’t know that a demon-touched Conti could pass through Heaven’s gates anyway.

  “Generations of Conti Hypocrites are in Hell.” the Demon corrected, but I put little stock in such claims. Fortunately, Angelo couldn’t hear him.

  “Right… Who were you talking to?” my brother asked, giving the room a suspicious sweep.

  “I was praying.” Angelo had no reason to question me, though the demon laughed at my audacious lie. I hated it when he laughed; the demon’s mirth gave me an awful sense of gravity.

  “Yes, pray to me. I’d feel generous if you did.” the demon said, “Coming from you, it would be better than blood. The prayer of an atheist… has entertainment value, at least.”

  “Whatever,” Angelo answered, unaware of the demon or his baiting words. “Pray at the table, will you? We can’t eat breakfast without you. Hurry up, we’re going to be late for school.” he stomped down the stairs ahead of me.

  Father and Angie were already at the table. I took my seat next to Angelo and we all joined hands. I bowed my head, but I only pretended to pray. After a few minutes of eating cereal in silence, I looked to my father.

  “May I borrow Mother’s car?” I asked.

  “What for?” hearing any mention of Mother always made Father flinch, but his face only stiffened for a moment.

  “I wanted to go to the mall after school.” I lied.

  “Where are you really going?” the Fallen asked, taking great delight in the lie. He always reacted when I lied, which… was often, lately. Hiding my status as the Glory Holder was making things hard, but I was still convinced it was the right thing to do.

  I wasn’t going to the mall. I needed to go to Grandma’s house. I needed to know if the key would get me into Grandpa Deangelo’s study. I planned on sneaking in the back door, and get in and out without Grandma even noticing.

  I didn’t really need to sneak. Grandma would let me in… But I was still angry with her, and I was a little afraid of how angry I’d get if she tried to justify her actions again.

  “I want to go to the mall too.” Angelo said, taking me by surprise. “I’m tired of standing around the house being sad.”

  “Very well,” Father replied. “You can borrow the car, if you pick your brother up after school and take him with you.”

  “Actually, I–”

  “What about me?” Angie interrupted, feeling left out. “I want to come too!”

  “Angie too.” Father amended. When I opened my mouth to protest, he shot me a look that brooked no argument. “Spend some time with each other. It’ll be good for all of you…”

  When he put it like that, I couldn’t say no. After breakfast, Father brought me the keys and a crisp hundred dollar bill.

  “See a movie or something, get all the snacks you want. Have fun, you kids need it.” he said, kissing me on the forehead. I wasn’t in the mood for fun… I also wasn’t a kid anymore, but I understood what he was trying to do. I couldn’t spit on the gesture.

  …

  After an uneventful school day, I picked up my brother and sister. I had been resigned to waste an evening at the mall, but my desire to get into Grandpa Deangelo’s study had been eating at me all day. Last minute, I made a hasty decision and changed course to Grandma’s house.

  I parked down the block so Grandma wouldn’t see Mother’s car and told my siblings to wait for me. My half-assed excuse?

  “I forgot something, I’m going to run in and grab it. I’ll be right back. Ten minutes!” of course, I couldn’t do much sleuthing in ten minutes, but they had their phones so maybe they wouldn’t even notice.

  “Are you going to offer blood payment?” the demon asked. The question made my skin crawl, dread pitting my stomach. I didn’t hate Grandma that much! The thought of pushing her down the stairs had been a fixture of my nightmares lately, though I blamed the demon’s influence for that. As far as I knew, Contis weren’t in the habit of making blood payments, but given the true nature of the “family angel”… I couldn’t be sure.

  I entered the house through the side door. Fortunately, I didn’t see Grandma, but I could hear the television playing loudly from the living room. If she caught me, fine, but I preferred not to deal with her.

  Grandpa Deangelo’s study was on the first floor by the dining room. When I reached it, I tried the knob. Locked. I pulled the key out from under my shirt, and sure enough… it fit. Slowly, carefully, I eased the door open.

  The room was dark and dusty. I fumbled for a light switch, carefully pulling the door closed behind me. The study was large, but it felt cramped with all the furniture. Books covered every surface and filled every shelf.

  Hanging on a wall, I saw the Conti family tree. At the very top were the names Alessandro and Epifania Conti. After their names, I saw the familiar angelic naming conventions that Blood Contis all seemed to have. Alessandro and Epifania must have been where the curse began.

  There was a void on the desk; a perfect rectangle free of dust. From the size and shape, I guessed it was from a book. Mother might have taken it sometime before her death, though I hadn’t found anything like that in her bedroom. I hadn’t searched the whole house, so that didn’t mean much.

  I sat down at the desk, covering my mouth and nose with my shirt to combat the dust. I thumbed through the books stacked there, stashing promising-looking ones in my backpack. I didn’t have much time with my brother and sister waiting in the car.

  A withered hand touched my shoulder.

  Startled, I jumped to my feet and swiveled to find a corpse. It had decayed beyond all recognition; a dead man with leathery skin that clung in pieces to a dirty skeleton. He was wearing fine Sunday clothes.

  I could feel his stare, though his eyes had rotted away, leaving only dry, black sockets. His lower jaw was completely gone, along with most of his teeth. The corpse moved his arm, making the sign of the cross. He was unable to speak. The movement was slow. An anguished gurgle could be heard, but it came from its body rather than its mouth.

  By some miracle, I wasn’t screaming. Had I fallen asleep at the desk? Was this yet another nightmare?

  “Grandpa Deangelo?” I whispered. Given where I was, that was the most logical guess. The skeletal figure gave a thumbs up in answer. The demon was silent, though his shadow fell separate from the rotting body in front of me. This was different than the nightmares where Mother visited me. There were three shadows in the study.

  “Oh my God!” I cried, falling against the desk. I knocked my head against the corner and crumpled to the floor. I brought a pile of books down with me, and for a moment I thought I’d die under a pile of dusty leather books. I saw what was left of Grandpa Deangelo’s skull leaning over me as the world faded to black.

  …

  When I opened my eyes, I was no longer in the study. I was standing at the top of the stairs. My backpack was heavy with books and my uniform was covered in dust. None of that was important.

  At the bottom of the stairs was Grandma’s broken body; a red halo of blood was spreading out from her head and staining her hair.

  “My honesty has been bought, paid in blood. I will answer one question. Shall I tell you how your mother died?” asked the demon.

  Posted in Short Stories [Horror] | 0 Comments | Tagged angels, demons, fiction, horror, nosleep, part three, serafina conti, series, short story

• [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] | 0 Comments | Tagged angels, curse, dark, demons, fiction, horror story, nosleep, series, short story, spooktober

• [Short Horror Story] My Family Was Blessed with an Angel… I Think It Was a Curse.

  Posted at 6:27 pm by Penny Tailsup, on October 21, 2019

  

  Spooktober Prompt # 21 – Ancient Angels

  “My Family Was Blessed with an Angel… I Think It Was a Curse.”

  by Penny Tailsup

  I grew up hearing the stories and whispers.

  Our family was blessed with a great honor– a guardian angel. He had a name, but not one we could know. Apparently, it couldn’t be conveyed in a human tongue, so we simply referred to him as what he was: our Guardian Angel.

  My mother could see him, a Glory bestowed on only one person at a time. Before her, it was Grandpa Deangelo. Before him, it was Great Grandma Angela… I’m not sure how far it goes, but I’d never believed the stories.

  I’d always thought the “Guardian Angel” was a way to keep us “Good Christian Children”. Not only was God watching, so was our angel. He could report back, whispering directly in God’s ear. As a chosen family, we had to live as an example to others. We couldn’t only be good, we had to be perfect.

  Because I didn’t believe it, I strayed from the path my family worked so hard to keep us on. I had the sense to keep it secret. I went to church, worked hard in school… but while everyone else believed the story of our Guardian Angel, I didn’t.

  It was too weird. In fact, it seemed unchristian the way our family would worship the angel. We lit candles, prayed, brought offerings and begged him to continue his watch over us. I went through the motions, but I never meant them. I mouthed the words, but didn’t speak them. In a family of devout followers, I was a pretender.

  The fact that no one noticed seemed to prove I was right. If there was an angel among us, one who whispered in God’s ear… Wouldn’t I have been called out? My mother, who was blessed with the sight of the angel, never questioned my beliefs. As long as I went through the motions, nothing aside from divine intervention could have told her different. “Divine Intervention” never saw fit to let her know there was a non-believer in the family.

  Then my mother died. I was the first to know.

  As I groggily got up, I noticed the shadows in the corner of my room. The morning sun flooded in from the window at my back, but there were two shadows instead of one. A scrawny teenager and a much taller figure with jagged edges, sharp angles jutting out from its back like broken glass.

  No… not glass. Wings.

  I spun around, expecting to see it standing behind me– but there was nothing. I looked again at the corner of the room…the second shadow was still there, towering over me.

  “Mortal eyes cannot behold my form.” came a voice. “So I’ve blessed you with the sight of my shadow, to spare your sanity.”

  I knew who… what he was, but I also knew what his appearance meant. My mother had died, and I’d inherited the sight of an angel I never believed in. I refused to believe it, gritting my teeth together and pretending I hadn’t heard the thing.

  When I came down for breakfast, Angelo and Angie were waiting at the table. Of three kids, I was the oldest. Mother was nowhere to be seen. Neither was Father. I wasn’t sure if I should wake him up or not. I didn’t want to be part of the ‘discovery’.

  “Are you okay, Sera?” Angie asked. My little sister noticed that I seemed a bit… checked out. I shook it off, giving a tight smile. Pretend everything is okay. Don’t ruin their day before you have to.

  “I’m fine, just tired.” I made myself smile, making no mention of the jagged darkness making shadows around me. No one else saw them.

  Since breakfast wasn’t already made, I stepped into the kitchen. Today was going to be a bad day, the least I could do was start my siblings off on a happier note. I decided to make pancakes, wondering if I’d ever have a taste for them again after a day like this.

  “Pointless.” said the angel.

  I continued to ignore him until I heard a scream from upstairs. My sister Angie jumped right up to go see, but I stopped her.

  “Watch the pancakes, please. I’ll go check.” she was scared, I was older… and since I had some idea of what to expect, it only seemed right that I go.

  “Are you going to pretend you’re noble now, Unbeliever?” asked the angel.

  I trudged up the stairs. Father came out of the bedroom, quickly closing the door behind him. His striped pajamas were soaked in blood. My father, who I’d never seen cry, fell to his knees and covered his face. The sounds coming out of his mouth, racked with grief, sounded alien.

  “Father, are you hurt?” I knelt in front of him, grabbing his shoulders. The blood staining his clothes felt cold. Not his blood. He didn’t answer me, unable to form words. I wasn’t even sure if he’d heard me. I stood up, stepping past my father and reaching for the door behind him.

  “Don’t go in there.” Father managed to say, voice breaking. “No one should see their mother like that. Go… go downstairs, take your siblings to Grandma’s house.” I froze, indecisive. I didn’t want to see, but it seemed only right that I did. All these years, I secretly thought her a liar. Now her angel was my shadow.

  “Go on,” said the guardian angel who failed to save my mother. “Open the door. She passed unto you a Blessed gift, she named you heir in her last breath. Go on, and honor her sacrifice.”

  Mother had chosen me? The pretender? A bubble of sick, horrified laughter threatened to come up. That, or vomit. My stomach roiled as I slowly turned the handle and pulled the door open. The stench of iron pervaded my senses. The carpet was wet, squishing under my slippers as I stepped inside.

  My father didn’t react in time. Before he could grab me and pull me from the room, I saw everything: the bloody wings my mother had painted across the room with slippery red hands; her still body, collapsed between those wings; her arms open like she was offering a hug. Her wrists were slit vertically, all the way up to her elbows. Worst of all, her face: vacant eyes with an unsmiling mouth. She had not passed on in peace. This tableau of woe spoke volumes about the family Blessing.

  It was a curse.

  Had the pressure of the angel’s presence broken her? I couldn’t imagine living with an angel over my shoulder. If my devoted Christian mother couldn’t, how could I?

  “Suicide is a sin. Your mother was unworthy. Weak.”

  My mother had lived a life devoted to God, there was no one in the world more worthy than her. I refused to believe the angel was right about her, but didn’t dare utter a word. No one else could hear this angel, or see his shadow… and I would never tell anyone what he said about Mother. My family would believe it, coming from the Guardian Angel.

  It took me a few minutes to realize I was standing in the hall. The bedroom door was shut again and Father was shaking me. His bloodshot eyes met mine.

  “I’m sorry you saw that, Sera.” he whispered, “Go downstairs. I’ll call Grandma to pick you kids up, I’ll… stay here. I have to talk to the police, and…” he trailed off, going completely silent when he realized he couldn’t say another word without crying. I hugged him, crying, because there was no other way to react to what I’d seen.

  “It’s okay to cry, Father.” I sobbed. He was a man of pride, but… if there was ever a time to cry, it was now. Unfortunately, the sound of our grief had attracted my sister, who was coming up the stairs with a worried expression.

  “Go back downstairs!” my voice came out a little sharper than intended, but she did as she was told. I wiped my eyes and went into my room, I was covered in blood so I had to change. I took a shower, too wound up to care that the angel had followed me.

  Once I was clean and dressed, I went downstairs. Angie and Angelo were sitting on the couch with blank faces. They knew something was wrong, they knew it had to do with Mother… but they didn’t know what.

  Grandma arrived a few minutes later, but instead of asking about Mother, she asked… “Who inherited our Guardian Angel?” Unlike my father or myself, she did not seem stricken with grief. She was more concerned about our family’s Blessing.

  This angered me, so I clamped my teeth together and said nothing. Besides, having just discovered my “inheritance”, and still coming to terms with everything… I wasn’t sure what to say. I was… AM … an atheist. What kind of sick joke was it, that the angel would be passed to me?

  “I don’t know.” I lied. The angel let out a piercing shriek behind me, that I’d dare tell such a lie– but no one else could hear him. No one else could see his shadow. As far as I knew, there was nothing he could do about it.

  “I’m sure we’ll know soon. We should wait for his guidance.” Grandma said, insultingly calm. Part of me wanted to believe she simply didn’t know what happened, but the fact that she’d asked after the angel was proof she did.

  On the drive to Grandma’s house, the angel hurled insults and threatened me. He was enraged, clearly never expecting to fall into the hands of someone like me. Everyone else in the family must have fallen in line. Generations of Believers. Not me.

  My brother and sister were crying. Grandma’s question had broken the news to them, and it hadn’t been pretty. Her lack of tact infuriated me. Perhaps I could have told her off, citing the authority of the Guardian Angel… but I didn’t want to traumatize them even more. Pretending that Grandma had invoked the angel’s wrath would probably scare them.

  “I won’t stand for your insolence.” the angel’s voice had quieted, but not the anger. I could feel the danger, an underlying current of electrifying blackness. The air tasted of iron and rain. “Do you want to end up like your mother? My patience is limited. She wasn’t worthy. You don’t seem to be either. I suppose it makes sense… she picked you.”

  I couldn’t see the shadow, but I could feel it. The weight of it crushed me, I curled inward, clapping my hands over my ears and fighting back the anger, sorrow and fear. Thunder roared in my ears as I tried not to cry. In the backseat filled with grieving kids, I didn’t stand out. At least there was that. I didn’t have to cry alone.

  …

  We’ve been staying at Grandma’s since Mother’s death. Only Father and I know about the suicide and the bloody wings—Father told everyone that she fell in the tub and hit her head. I don’t know if anyone believes that, but no one has questioned it.

  Aside from my siblings, most of the family only cares about one thing. The family is in chaos, screaming for their Angel. Everyone except Father, who only sits quietly and stares into space. One of these days, someone might step forward to claim the Glory– if only to calm the panic.

  I’m not sure what I’m going to do yet. I know what I’m supposed to do, like everyone before me. It’s not that simple. Maybe it’s because I was never a believer, but I can’t bring myself to believe that’s the right thing to do.

  When I was finally alone with that shadow… I had questions. I turned to face it, the shadows falling on the wall behind me.

  “What kind of angel are you?” I demanded. I had a lot of questions, but I feared this answer most of all:

  “Fallen.” its voice was dripping with smugness, vibrating with amusement; an insulting contrast to my dread.

  My heart dropped, thudding uncomfortably in my stomach. I’d asked because I’d expected that answer, but to have it confirmed…

  Biting my lip, I pressed on:

  “Did Mother know?” In answer, a sinister sound rose up from below. My skin prickled at the electric sensation of its laugh.

  “Of course she knew. Why do you think she picked you?”

  I’d learned a terrible truth, passed down from generation to generation. A truth that was now my burden to bear.

  I wasn’t a believer. I had no choice but believe now. Perhaps that was Mother’s way of saving me.

  “Or she hated you the most.”

  Posted in Short Stories [Horror] | 1 Comment | Tagged angels, creepy, demons, fiction, horror, religious horror, 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

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