Penny's Tales

Horror stories, narrations and illustrations by Penny Tailsup
Penny's Tales
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    • [Short Horror Story] Don’t Eat In Your Dreams

      Posted at 9:40 pm by Penny Tailsup, on August 9, 2020

      Have you ever had a dream so vivid that you wondered if it actually happened? 

      You probably have… but shook it off, because of course it didn’t. Right?  A dream under scrutiny, illuminated by the dawn, is easily dismissed. Yet, if you’ve been where I’ve been… maybe a part of you wasn’t completely convinced.

      Maybe, in the course of a dream— you wandered a little too far from yourself, from your bed, body and world. Maybe you’ve been to the Dream District.

      If you ever find yourself in a place to wonder… ask. He’ll tell you; he will be beautiful, friendly and inviting. He will offer you hospitality, flattery and gifts. Anything you want. He’ll know what you want, somehow.

      Yet, a part of you will know, deep down: you can’t take it. Not unless you’re going to stay. But you can’t stay, it’s a dream. You don’t belong there. 

      If you find yourself in the Dream District, thank your host and leave. Start walking, and don’t stop until you find yourself back in the dream you were supposed to be having. Do that, and hope he doesn’t follow you.

      Trust me.

      …

      It started with sweet potato pie.

      If I had to describe it, I’d tell you it was richer than chocolate, smoother than cream and sinfully decadent. That description doesn’t do it justice. Other words come a little closer, like otherworldly or ambrosia.  I feel pretentious describing anything in such terms, but I still mean them. Suffice to say, I’d never had anything so good and never would again. 

      The dream started in the middle of a Safeway on Thanksgiving Day. I was on a diet; that part wasn’t a dream, but it followed me there. The frustration and cravings that came with diets were hard to shake, even in my dreams. 

      I didn’t know I was dreaming, not at first. 

      Pushing an empty cart through the bakery section, I made note of everything I couldn’t have. Cookies, cakes, and doughnuts. No, no and no. As I steered the cart round every display, I repeated my mantra: “No sugar, low carbs. No sugar, low carbs.” The words became the whirring of the wheels; quickening with my footsteps when I realized I wasn’t alone.

      Startled, I whirled to see a sales associate standing directly behind me. The nametag pinned to his chest said his name was Mor. Mor smiled, looking far too cheerful for someone working in customer service. 

      He was also surprisingly handsome, with skin clear as crystal, sleek gold hair and hypnotic emerald eyes. Everything about him reminded me of precious metals and stones. In fact, it was unnerving; like a living embodiment of photoshop: beautiful, but wrong. Beautiful, wrong, and staring intently at me. 

      It’s a trap, I thought. I don’t know why I thought that, but I did. I backed away, ready to abandon my cart and flee– yet the impulse didn’t make sense, and I second guessed my instincts. It would be rude to run away from a gentleman who was only doing his job. There were no other customers in the store, was it any wonder he was being so attentive?

      Wait. Was I really the only customer there? I looked around, uncomfortable with the sudden realization. Sure enough, it was just me, him, and all the delicious foods I couldn’t eat stacked neatly in every direction. 

      “Welcome.” Mor bowed in greeting, a strangely formal gesture. “There you are. Do you need help finding anything?” His voice sent a strange thrill through me, both pleasant and alarming. I shook my head. 

      Wait. What was I doing there?

      I was trying so hard not to indulge. Why was I torturing myself? Why did I feel nervous, and even… guilty? Like I’d been caught with my hand in the cookie jar. Caught on the verge of cheating on my diet! Not that Mor knew that. The word “diet” wasn’t stamped on my forehead, only on my mind. 

      “No, thank you.” I said, “I’m just browsing.” Browsing the baked goods, even knowing I couldn’t have them.  He looked past me, peering into my empty cart. Clicking his tongue, he glanced back up at me. 

      “If you don’t mind my recommendation, the sweet potato pies are fresh and perfect for the holiday season. Please let me know if you need help finding anything.” He backed off a few feet, but continued to watch me.

      “I’m on a diet, I can’t have that.” I admitted, “But I don’t see any diet-friendly options in here, so I’d better go.”

      “You’re on a diet?” his jaw quirked, but the smile remained fixed. “There’s no need to worry about that.”

      Annoyed, I gripped the handle of the shopping cart a little tighter. Holidays were the worst! No one wanted to think about dieting– so they’d go out of their way to sabotage me, giving me “permission” to indulge just because it was a special occasion. I didn’t want to hear it. “That’s not up to you.” I said. 

      “You misunderstand,” he said softly, “You’re in the Dream District. Whatever your worries are, you can leave them until you wake, if you ever do.”

      “What?” I looked around. At first, the scene seemed like an ordinary grocery store, with glossy cement floors and incandescent yellow lights. Yet, the second I questioned it– I could see beyond the bakery, the interior gradually shifting into cobblestone streets under a lavender sky. 

      “Yes, miss. As you can see, you’re dreaming, there’s no need to count calories or sacrifice your sense of taste. Of course, I have to wonder… why a lovely creature such as yourself thinks she needs to be on a diet, even outside this place. You’re beautiful as you are.”

      No I wasn’t. That was flattery, but I still blushed like an idiot. Of course, now that he said it… it made sense. This was my dream, and now that I knew it… I had nothing to fear. 

      “I’ve always wanted to lucid dream.”  I said, a wave of giddiness spreading through me. I thanked the man before turning my attention to all the displays with enthusiastic interest. “What was it you recommended?”

      “Ah, that would be the sweet potato pie.” He pointed to a table which suddenly appeared in front of me. Presented prettily in a glass display was a single pan of sweet potato pie. A beam of glittering light cast down upon it, like an endorsement from God. Mor stepped closer to the case, opening it and looking at me expectantly. 

      “Go on, don’t be shy. I know exactly what you need.” he inclined his head, but I never lost sight of his eyes; pale, unwavering emerald.  “I admire the willpower it’s taken to get where you are. Isn’t it time you rewarded yourself?” 

      In an instant, my hesitation evaporated, giving way to gluttonous desire. I reached into the case, marveling when I felt the coolness of the pan it was housed in– delight shivered through me, my knees weak with anticipation. The intoxicating aroma wafted towards me like a beckoning hand. 

      “There’s nothing like it,” Mor continued his sales pitch, as if I wasn’t already sold. “You can only get it here.”

      Why did that feel like a warning?

      “Maybe I shouldn’t.” I said slowly, “even if this is a dream… it’s a slippery slope for me. Dieting, I mean.” Why was I explaining myself to him? Whoever he was, he wasn’t real; just a manifestation of… something. My food cravings? Somehow I didn’t think I’d find the answer in a dream dictionary. 

      “Why not?” he asked, tilting his head slightly. “I prepared it just for you. This is everything you want, everything you’ve denied yourself. And for what? Certainly not your happiness, or you wouldn’t be here. This is your wish.”

      This wasn’t an ordinary dream. Even in that moment, I knew. My senses weren’t the clouded, hazy approximations I was accustomed to in other dreams. This was a dream that indulged all my senses. Dread drifted back in, but I shook it off. What was there to fear from a dream?

      “There’s no need to hold back.”

      My heart began beating loudly. I could hear it; feel the pulsing, disconcerting rhythm of it. I sucked in a staggered breath; my palms were hot but the dish was cold. 

      “I need a fork.” I said.

      “You already have one.” Mor replied. He was right. A plastic fork was already in my hand, though it hadn’t been before. I was startled, but when I looked up at Mor he merely smiled and said:

      “In a dream, anything you wish is merely a thought away.”

      I knew it was a dream, but there was still something unnerving in the logic of the place. I couldn’t put my finger on why, but something felt wrong. 

      “I should sit down.” 

      “As you wish.” in a dramatic sweeping motion, he pulled out a chair for me. It was suddenly there, along with the small round table. I sat down, setting the pie tin in front of me. Pressing the tines of the fork into the soft center, I scooped up a balanced bite: a perfect union of buttery, flaky crust and creamy sweet potato filling.

      I will never forget that first bite, like God forged the flavor of my deepest, darkest desires. The taste of everything I didn’t know I wanted. The end-all be-all of dessert. Of food. Of anything. The velvety dream of sweetness and spices sent a quivering thrill through me that had me moaning for more. Fortunately, there was more. As much as I wanted!

      “You can only get it here.”

      I took bites as fast as I could, leaning over the table to shorten the distance between myself and the pie. The fork felt like a pretense, but I didn’t lose myself enough to set it down– though the thought crossed my mind. When it was gone, I licked the plate, the fork, the table, my own lips for any stray crumbs.

      Then I remembered myself, and felt Mor’s eyes upon me; the glinting green gaze was half-lidded, yet predatory with the sharp curve of his smile. Unsettled and mildly embarrassed, I straightened my back and turned in my chair to face him. 

      “If this is my dream… why are you here?” Mor was unsettling. Why would I dream up someone who made me uncomfortable in a lucid dream? If my wishes were only a thought away, he’d be gone.

      “I said you were dreaming, I never said this was your dream.” 

      I laughed at the odd reply, but his expression didn’t change. The laughter stopped, sticking in my throat like a stone. I stood up from the table, and started to walk– I don’t know where I thought I was going, but I was done with Mor and his sweet potato pie. Yet, even with my clear refusal to take further part in this dream… I wanted more.

      For the first time in a long time, I was satisfied. I left the store, walking down the cobblestone path and merging in that hazy, dreamlike way into the next chapter of sleep… I could still feel Mor watching me,  a feeling I couldn’t shake until I was awake. 

      When I sat up in bed, I knew something was wrong. 

      The haze that filled me wasn’t a typical early-morning daze; it was heavier, colder and something else I couldn’t quite put my finger on. Sliding out from under the covers, my stomach shuddered with an audible growl. I was hungry. My stomach hadn’t been fooled by the dream, after all. Was that why I felt… off?

      Instead of racing to the kitchen for breakfast, I forced myself through my morning routine. That strange funk didn’t fade, but I didn’t have a fever. When I opened the fridge and peered inside, nothing looked appealing to me. If I’m being honest, that wasn’t unusual… my diet wasn’t exciting. I’d been low-carb no-sugar for a good six months. 

      I peppered a hard boiled egg, but despite the firm whites and crumbly yolk… sawdust. It was like eating sawdust, in both texture and taste! That didn’t make sense. Even if the eggs were spoiled, that wasn’t right. They looked okay, even smelled as expected– but the second the egg touched my tongue… it was wrong. All wrong! 

      A second bite confirmed it. Spitting it out and throwing all the eggs away, I rummaged for something else. Nothing sounded good, but I was starving! I tried the salad next, but the results were the same: sawdust. I choked, coughing the wilted greens into the sink before vomiting. 

      Nothing in the fridge or cupboards was edible. My hunger howled at me to find something, anything! But only one thing sounded good: sweet potato pie. 

      “You can only get it here.” Mor’s voice brought a little color into the room, quickly fading when I realized I’d imagined it. I was awake and alone, but I knew what I needed.

      Grabbing my car keys, I left the house. Rushing to the Safeway, I scoured the bakery. The pies weren’t housed in glass cases or bathed in sparkling pillars of light, but they were still easy to find. The pastries were imperfect, with crusts cracked and crumbling. The filling wasn’t the right color either. 

      It didn’t matter. I was drooling. I bought them all! I tore into a pie as soon as I got into my car. I couldn’t even wait to get home! I didn’t have a fork, but that didn’t stop me. I used my fingers! Scooping up a heaping mouthful and drawing it to my dry, eager mouth– only to start sobbing into the steering wheel. Like everything else I’d eaten that day… sawdust.

      “I know what you need. You know it, too.” 

      I needed to sleep.

      With the words came color, and a flash of taste… but it faded as soon as the thought did. After my tears, I threw the pies into the parking lot and took myself back home. Had a dream really destroyed my sense of taste? Would it come back?

      It was ridiculous. I knew it, but nothing seemed as good as it once was. Not just taste, but colors, textures and sounds– all seemed lacking in ways I’d never noticed before.

      I called the doctor and made an appointment, but I knew this wasn’t something medicine could fix. By noon, I crawled back into bed and prayed into my pillow for sleep to take me back to that place, to that dream. The Dream District.

      Hunger made it hard to sleep, but when I did… 

      “I knew you would be back.”

      Mor found me, a ray of light in an otherwise dark and colorless dream. The details around us didn’t matter, just the warmth of the hand he extended. I took it, and followed him from dream to dream until my bare feet touched sun-warmed cobblestone under a cool lavender sky.

      “I’m hungry.” I whimpered. “I need more.”

      “I know. I’m here. I’ll give you exactly what you need.”

      The knowing gleam in his green eyes should have infuriated or alarmed me, but I was too desperate to care. It was already too late for me. Now that I’d tasted that sweet potato pie, I couldn’t eat anything else. 

      “Now that you’ve proven it to yourself, there’s no reason for you to leave.” he held something out to me. Without even looking, I knew what it was. Sweet potato pie. The culmination of every craving I’d ever felt, every morsel I’d ever denied myself in every delectable mouthful. 

      I found myself on all fours, far too eager to bother with utensils or even my hands. I chewed wildly with abandon, even tearing through the tin with my teeth once I’d eaten my way through that dreamy, creamy filling. There was something about this pie that satisfied me more than anything else ever had. It wasn’t an indulgence, it was a need. 

      When I woke up, I cried. Consciousness felt like a curse.  I wanted to go back. The world outside of dreams was overrated, without color or flavor.

       It gets worse with every dream, a slow spiral into bleak madness. My only respite is dreams, even knowing I’m only dooming myself a little more with every bite.  Each day became a race to bedtime, with the window growing shorter and shorter– consequences be damned. I lost my job, my home, my everything… and I didn’t care, because I didn’t need any of that. I just needed a place to lay my head. A place to dream. I can do that anywhere.

      “Why should you  ever wake again?”

      I don’t eat anymore. Not when I’m awake. Though I tried to choke down the sawdust, knowing I’d die if I didn’t… I can’t. 

      There’s a tarnished silver lining though; I’ve lost a lot of weight. I look better than I ever have. I’m a real Sleeping Beauty, aren’t I? 

      I know how wrong it is. I promise I do, but recognizing the trap I’ve fallen into doesn’t save me from it. My fate is sealed, but at least I’m lucid enough to share my cautionary tale. Maybe, in the course of a dream– you’ll do what I couldn’t, and say no to Mor, and others like him.

      I’m going back to bed now, hopefully for the last time. I’m weak, I’m tired, but most of all…

       I’m hungry.

      Posted in Short Stories [Horror] | 0 Comments | Tagged creepy, dark, dreams, fiction, horror, horror story, Insomnia, Night terror, nosleep, original, scary, scary story, short stories, short story, sleep, story, weird, writer
    • [Short Horror Story] My Family Was Cursed With a Demon… He Says He’s Not the Villain.

      Posted at 1:43 pm by Penny Tailsup, on February 27, 2020

      My Family Was Cursed With a Demon… He Says He’s Not the Villain.

      By Penny Tailsup

       

      Part One – My Family Was Blessed with an Angel… I Think It Was a Curse.

      Part Two – My Family Doesn’t Know Our Guardian Angel is a Demon

      Part Three – My Family Was Cursed With a Demon… Now it Wants Blood.

      Part Four – My Family Was Cursed With a Demon… They Pray Anyway.

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

      —

      “Before we pray, I have a very important announcement to make.” Father Gabe stood up from the head of the dinner table. “In light of our recent string of misfortune, it only seemed appropriate to delay this announcement. But now, we need the guidance of Our Angel more than ever.” His eyes met mine, and I nodded. 

      Every  Blood Conti was in attendance, they probably knew what this was about. For too long, they’d been waiting for this moment. My uncle’s dramatic pause went on a little too long before he sucked in a breath and said, “I’ve inherited the Glory.” his eyes kept darting over to me, much to my annoyance. Was he trying to look suspicious? 

      “You did?” my brother’s tone was a little rude, but he was at that age. “Are you sure? But you’re not part of the new generation.” trust Angelo to immediately poke holes in Father Gabe’s lie. Ordinarily, I would have found it funny.

      My uncle looked to me for reassurance, stumbling. He hadn’t expected anyone to question the announcement. “Ah… normally that’s the case, but…” his face smoothed over as he came up with an explanation. “Our Angel made an exception. Who are we to question him?” but Angelo wasn’t even looking at him, he was looking at me. Great, he’s suspicious. 

      If Grandma Conti were there, she would’ve smacked my brother for being disrespectful. It was her house, but she wasn’t there; she was still in the hospital. Though she was only a Conti by marriage, she’d become something of a matriarch in Mother’s absence. Now that she was in a coma, no one had stepped in to fill that role… until, under my orders, Uncle Gabe stepped up to claim the Glory. 

      Of course, he doesn’t actually have the Glory. He’ll never have it, but since he wanted it so badly… and it works to my advantage, I decided to let him pretend he does. He owes me his life, he can’t say no. 

      “He’ll kill you the first chance he gets,” the demon reminded me. I know that. I’m prepared to kill him if I have to, he won’t get a second chance. I think the arrangement is generous, effectively making him the puppet leader of the Conti cult. He gets to enjoy the “prestige”, but I’ll call the shots.

      Enjoy it while you can, Uncle. I’ll free our family soon. 

      After dinner my brother came up to me and asked point blank, “Sera, did you inherit the Glory?” the question startled me, not just in it’s abruptness– but in tone. Angelo’s voice was flat and serious, just like his eyes were as they bored into mine. “I know I didn’t. I don’t think Mother would pass it to Angie. So really, that leaves you.” 

      “I didn’t.” the lie came naturally, I was used to denying it. Yet, this instance made my heart feel like stone. Angelo grabbed my shoulders, squeezing tightly as he asked, “Are you sure?” with emphasis on every word.

      “He seems serious, sis.” the demon mocked, “Can you really keep lying to your baby brother?”

      “Yes, of course.” I said… to my brother, not the demon. Angelo let go of my shoulders, dropping his arms to his sides. He opened his mouth, as if to ask again– but he dropped his gaze suddenly and turned back towards the dining room. Uncle Gabe was surrounded by most of the extended family, enjoying the attention.

      “Why was he looking at you the whole time?” he demanded. Of course he’d noticed the “furtive” glances, I inwardly cursed but had an explanation prepared. 

      “Before the announcement, I’d confided in him.” I said, “I was upset I didn’t inherit the Glory even though I’m the oldest, I guess he thought I wouldn’t take it well.”  it was baloney but my brother seemed to buy it. In fact, he smirked when he saw the opportunity to antagonize me.

      “Well I’m the boy, I should’ve gotten it.”

      I rolled my eyes. The demon didn’t discriminate. Well, maybe it did, but I’d never had the impression my gender mattered. Man or woman, every Conti was subject to its mockery and scorn. I was merely the person privileged to hear it.

      “Mother wasn’t a boy, and she got it over our uncle,” I retorted.  “She was older than him.” I wasn’t even sure why I was arguing, smiling in spite of myself. Though I knew the truth, it felt good to have a low-stakes argument with my younger brother.

      “Whatever. It just doesn’t make sense.” Angelo said, “We were always told it was once per generation.”  I opened my mouth to answer, but all the lies I could come up with were too lame. He’d only get more suspicious if I gave half-assed answers, so I just stayed quiet. He rejoined the others in the dining room. 

      Recently, I’ve been spending most of my free time holed up in Grandpa Deangelo’s study with Father Gabe. Though I didn’t trust my murderous uncle, he was the only one who could help. No one else knew my secret. 

      Hidden among the piles of books and research materials, we’d found old journals from former Holders. As promising as that might sound, they weren’t helpful. The writers were either in denial or lying. The demon was consistently described as an “angelic being of light” but the shadow at my back begged to differ. 

      Unfortunately, it’s hard to fight a curse that even our ancestors celebrated. At times, I even wondered if I was the only one who saw the demon. Maybe my atheism made it impossible to see him for what he was… But then I remembered my mother, the actions of my uncle and the jaw-less specter of Grandpa Deangelo. No, I wasn’t the problem.

      One book was missing from the study, evidenced by a rectangular void in the dust. I was beginning to suspect it was Grandpa’s journal. Uncle Gabe had alluded to Grandpa Deangelo’s suicide, but what lead to that choice would remain a mystery if we couldn’t find it. Hell, if he wrote a suicide note and “brought shame on the family”… there was a good chance Grandma destroyed it to save face.

      Eventually, I gave up on the journals and the old books. If answers could be found there, wouldn’t Grandpa have ended the curse himself? It was clear he’d known about it, even if he couldn’t speak. I  even tried to get him to write down what he knew, but he couldn’t affect things physically. 

      Grandpa wanted to help, and he had. After all, he’d saved me from his son by showing me how to reach into the demon’s void shadow, but… he’d also made no move to stop me when I considered killing my uncle.  I wasn’t sure if he was “all there” or merely a shadow of what he once was.

      Father came out of the dining room, interrupting my reverie. Angelo and Angie trailed behind him with mismatched expressions. My father had a tight smile on his face, I couldn’t tell how he was feeling. He’d always been a little stiff around extended family, though he tolerated them for Mother’s sake. Without her, I knew he was only doing it for us.

      “Grandma’s awake.” he said, “We can go visit her in the hospital now.” We’d been visiting, it was easy when she was asleep. Problematic now that she was awake! 

      “Too bad she didn’t die,” said the demon. “Though maybe you can get another question if you right that wrong for me.” its laughter weakened my knees, though I was slowly building up a tolerance for its disorienting mirth. 

      “Did she say anything?” I asked, my lungs were constricting as I fought back a surge of panic. I didn’t remember what happened when I found her at the bottom of the stairs. I suspected I was responsible, because up until that moment… I’d fantasized about doing it. In fact, the fantasy had been pretty damn specific. I’d wanted to push her down the stairs. 

       

      “Yes,” Father replied, “they said she ‘wasn’t making much sense’, so I’m guessing she’s going on about the Glory again.” I regained control of my lungs, sucking in a deep breath. Maybe it was okay. Maybe she didn’t remember. 

      “Do we have to visit her?” Angelo asked, his voice deadpan. I couldn’t blame him for being less-than-thrilled, our relationship with Grandma suffered after she’d tried to claim Father killed our Mother to the police. 

      “We’ll get ice cream after.” he said, “It wouldn’t be right to ignore her, she’s family.” though the twist of his mouth made his real feelings clear. He and Grandma had never gotten along, even less now that Mother was gone. Angie was the only one smiling, she was a good kid.

      It was a quiet drive to the hospital. With every mile closer, my stomach sank lower– the possibilities, few of them good, kept playing through my mind on a loop. By the time the car was parked, I’d resigned myself to the fact that I’d be tried as an adult and end up in prison for a crime I didn’t remember committing.  

      “You’re quiet. Is something the matter?” the fiend’s shadow danced around me, a writhing kaleidoscope of madness. The silhouette, inconstant and quivering, exposed its feigned concern for the mockery it was. 

      We signed in at the front desk, the receptionist smiled brightly when she saw us. “You must be so relieved!” Not really, no. But I knew when to smile and nod; this was one of those times. 

      “Liar.” the fallen angel took great pleasure in lies, no matter how small. Since inheriting the Glory, I could confidently say I’d become a worse person. The lies never stopped. I wasn’t sure how much of that I could truly blame on the demon.

      When we reached Grandma’s room, I half expected to open the door to police– but instead, there was Grandma Conti looking pale and frail in her hospital bed. Her dark eyes were open and wet as she smiled at Father Gabe, her son and apparent Holder of the Glory. 

      But when her eyes turned towards the door, they were hazy and unfocused. She seemed to look past me, then screamed: “You did this! Why would you?” 

      The words quickly became unintelligible shrieks with her escalating pitch. Father stuck his arm back protectively, stopping us from entering the room and quickly closing the door. Even with the door closed, her cries pierced straight through me and horrified tears ran down my cheeks. Although I’d dreaded that truth for so long, even expected it- the pain and regret came like a physical blow. There was no greater pain than certainty.

      Nurses rushed in, and a doctor– kicking everyone else out as they checked on her condition. Father asked Uncle Gabe what happened, but the priest shrugged. “She’s not herself right now,” he admitted. “She asked about dad when she woke up, too.  I think she’s just confused.” 

      “I see.” Father rubbed his chin, “Should we come back later?” he looked at the door, as if debating. The screaming abruptly cut off. The doctor and nurses came back out a moment later with somber expressions.

      “Grandma was screaming.” Angie said, “Is she hurting?” my little sister showed the most concern, hugging herself. Dr. Ives overheard the question and walked over, wearing a smile I’d grown used to seeing over many visits.

      “The human mind is a remarkable thing. Sometimes people are a little different when they wake up from a coma, or their memories change, but she’ll be okay. It takes time.” It was a simple explanation, but Angie bobbed her head quietly and accepted it. 

      “Can we go now?” Angelo asked abruptly, “If she’s asleep she won’t miss us.” Father shot him a look. I didn’t exactly want to wait around for her to wake up either, though my reasons were grounded in guilt.

       

      “Go home. I’ll stay.” Father Gabe answered, “If she can have guests?” He directed his question at Dr. Ives, turning his attention back to her. More Contis were trickling in from the dinner party, starting to crowd the hall.

      “No more than two visitors at a time, but it might be best to let her rest tonight. Visiting hours are almost over.” the doctor said, “Though it’s always nice to see so much support from the family. Once she has her bearings she can be discharged, but we want to monitor her for a few more days.” 

      Father thanked the doctor and we went home. We stopped for ice cream on the way, but my mint chocolate chip tasted like sawdust. I don’t think any of us were really in the mood for ice cream, but we still went through the motions. 

      As soon as we got home, we scattered. Angelo went to his friend’s house, Angie went to watch cartoons, and Father and I went to our respective bedrooms. Everyone was processing the events of the day in their own way.

      I couldn’t fall asleep. How could I, knowing I wasn’t out of the woods yet? Unsure what to do, I stewed in my own thoughts; they were dark, but I still surprised myself when the thought of killing Grandma crossed my mind.

      No witnesses, she should have died anyway.

      The idea came in a series of black-and-white images, though the picture was sharply in focus. Down the darkened hospital hall, through the creaking door and standing over her bed while she slept. I had a pillow clenched tightly in both hands, hands shaking from the effort as I slowly pressed it down over her nose and mouth. It came with a rumbling soundtrack of thunder. It tasted of iron and rain. Rage crackled through me like electricity.

      But then I remembered… I wasn’t angry. 

      Not like I was before she’d been hurt. This anger felt manufactured, invasive alongside my actual guilt and fear. I recognized the demon’s influence in that rage, a stark contrast to its usual malevolent humor.

      “You’re angry at Grandma.” I sat up suddenly. I knew I was right– even without the demon’s confirmation. The question why was implied. Grandma wasn’t even a Blood Conti, she’d never inherited the Glory and never could. 

      “Aren’t you angry?”  the demon asked, making no attempt to deny it– though he didn’t confirm it either. Despite this, the shadows in the room had grown quite still; alert, and intent on my words. I could tell I had its full attention. 

      “I was, but not anymore.” I admitted, “No matter what she did, it wasn’t worth putting her in the hospital.” 

      “Are you sure about that? There’s a lot about your family that you don’t know.” 

      “I’m not going to let you rile me up and turn me into a puppet. I know your game.” he’d tried to infect me with his anger. He’d succeeded in the past. Knowing that, I hoped to become immune to its influence and never lose control of myself again.

      “You’re never going to figure it out if you only see me as the villain. I liked you as my host because you had the sense to question things, but the questions stopped once I cast my shadow on you. It’s convenient to blame everything on the demon, isn’t it? You’ve decided I’m to blame, so you won’t consider anything else.”

      “You really expect me to believe my family is at fault for everything?” I laughed, leaning forward to cover my mouth. I couldn’t be too loud, I didn’t want to wake the rest of the house. I pressed my knuckles against my lips, fighting back a fit of giggles.

      “No. I expect you to believe what you want.” Its words were flat and soft; almost drowned out by the laughter I tried to stifle. Still, the sudden seriousness of his tone gave me pause. I stopped laughing, straightening my back.

      Naturally, I couldn’t trust a demon– but I had to admit he had a point. My family wasn’t exactly a shining beacon of virtue and honesty, though that was the face they presented to the world: the Blessed Contis, standing with God and the Glory of an angel. 

      “I’m not the one who tortured you in the basement, am I?” 

      “No, but it was because of you.” Uncle Gabe wanted the Glory; wanted the demon, even after I told him what it was. My poor, brainwashed uncle had certainly wronged me– and I’d never trust him again, but that wouldn’t have happened if not for the demon.

      “Do you really think it matters if I’m here or not? Do you think they’ll change their ways, even if you manage to get rid of me?” 

      I wasn’t sure how to answer that, so I fell silent. I hadn’t believed in “Our Angel”, but even I’d played along with the family’s cultish worship. I grew tired of the conversation, dropping back onto my bed and crawling under the covers.

      “That’s what I thought.” 

      “Fuck you.” I closed my eyes, trying to ignore its laughter. Truth be told, I doubted the Conti Cult would dissolve overnight. My family didn’t change, even when they weren’t sure who had the Glory. The rumors and excuses ran rampant, no one would even consider that the family had fallen from grace. I didn’t want to admit any of that, least of all to the demon… so I turned my back on its shadow and slept.  

      Come morning, I woke up to a gentle tapping on my door, startling out of a light sleep. I hadn’t slept well, so my eyes snapped open instantly. 

      “Sera? I need you to get dressed and come downstairs.” It was Father; something about his tone had me on full alert though his voice was level and soft.

      “Coming!”

      Dressed in record time, I hurried out the door in time to see my father halfway down the stairs.  His stiff back told me something was wrong, but I didn’t know what. My little sister was hovering on the landing, looking nervous. It didn’t take long to see why. 

      Two police officers were standing in the living room. My foot froze mid-step. Father wasn’t looking at me, he was looking at the floor with his hands clasped together like he was praying. What had the officers told him?

      “What’s going on?” my voice caught in my throat, cracking as I forced the question. I knew why they were there, though I wanted to be wrong. Grandma must’ve talked, told them what I’d done. They were there because I pushed her and put her in the hospital. Why didn’t you run? My thoughts were screaming at me, full of fear and regret. 

      “You should have killed her after all.” the demon crooned, “Oh well.”

      But the cops weren’t looking at me, they were looking at Father. “Is this everyone in the house?” one of them asked. When Father nodded, he gestured and the second officer went upstairs to double check. My adrenaline gave way to confusion. What was going on?

      “Where is Angelo Conti?” the lead officer asked calmly. My brother’s name broke my stupor. Angelo. Angelo. Why were they asking for Angelo?

      “Oh? What’s this? I guess they weren’t here for you after all.” The feigned surprise in the demon’s voice made my blood run cold. He knew something, but I couldn’t ask. Not right then. The morning after he’d alluded to the villainy of my own family, the police showed up. Shock froze my lips and leadened my tongue . 

      “Is Angelo okay?” my sister squeaked, recovering enough to run over to Father and grab his sleeve. “He went to his friend’s house last night!” 

      “We’re not sure yet.” the officer spoke softly, carefully; clearly mindful of her age. “We’ll need all of you to come down to the station to answer some questions and give a statement.”

      “Even my girls?” Father asked. “I’m sure this is a misunderstanding. Angelo’s a good kid, he’s just at a difficult age.” no one was saying what Angelo did, but I could guess. I didn’t ask, afraid of being wrong and making things worse. Maybe it wasn’t that, maybe it was something minor like shoplifting.

      I couldn’t even hear the officer’s answer. My ears rang with the demon’s uproarious laughter, drowning out the conversation with singsong I-told-you-sos and mock concern. 

      “What did I tell you, Sera? I’m not the villain here.”

       

      Posted in series, Short Stories [Horror] | 0 Comments | Tagged angels, demons, fiction, horror, original, religious horror, scary story, series, short story
    • Short Horror Story – After all, glitter gets everywhere.

      Posted at 12:50 pm by Penny Tailsup, on February 16, 2020

      Listen to the narration here 

      After all, glitter gets everywhere.

      by Penny Tailsup

       

      My boyfriend hated glitter, that’s why I gave it up. I did it for him.

      As beautiful as it is, a little glitter on date night can leave a week of evidence. After all, glitter gets everywhere. No matter how careful you are. So… I stopped using it.

      As compromises go, I got off easy. Matt gave up smoking for me, I could give up glitter.  My makeup never seemed quite as good without it, but I made do. 

      We’d been dating for almost two years and lived together. With our two-year anniversary coming up, I was sure he was going to propose.That’s the normal progression of things, isn’t it? You date, you move in together, you get married. I didn’t have any doubts about our relationship, things were going well. 

      At least, they were until I found the glitter. 

      By then, I’d been glitter-free for over a year… so I knew I wasn’t responsible for the coarse, red flakes that littered our apartment. I found it in the bathroom sink, on the couch, and even between our sheets.  That’s how I knew he was cheating on me.

      Maybe she was prettier than me, that’s why he let her keep the glitter… though he’d complained when I’d worn any. She must have been worth the trouble; that’s why he let her leave evidence. He wanted to get caught. After all, glitter gets everywhere. He had to know I’d find it. 

      A saw a single flake catch the light on his knuckle over dinner. I watched, transfixed, as he cut into his sirloin. He was mocking me, wasn’t he? He wanted me to say something. His eyes met mine, and he swallowed his bite before he asked:

      “Is something wrong?”

      I shook my head. No, it wouldn’t be that easy. If I told him I knew, he’d win. 

      “It’s nothing.” 

      He turned his head slightly, eyes still boring into mine– but when I said nothing, he wiped his mouth. The lone piece of glitter transferred to his cheek, catching in the dimple of his smile. I clenched my fists under the table, my plate untouched.

      “You look beautiful tonight, and dinner tastes great.” he continued, “But you’re so quiet. You’re not eating anything. Do you have something to tell me?” His eyes were bright and expectant. My stomach soured that he’d ask with such blatant enthusiasm. Did he take pleasure in hurting me? 

      His smile dropped away, eyebrows pinching together. I wasn’t taking the bait, that must have been frustrating for him. Matt was never one to give up though, he tried again:

      “Are you sure nothing’s wrong?”

      “I’m fine.” he reached across the table, touching my hand. Touching me with hands that touched her, whoever she was. I drew my hand away, standing up. I picked up my unfinished plate, turning towards the kitchen.

      “I’m just tired.” 

      I was tired. Tired of the lies. Tired of the evidence he flaunted in my face, daring me to call him out on it. He followed me, lingered in the doorway as I wrapped my leftovers in foil. He didn’t say anything. From the corner of my eye, I watched him too. He’d open his mouth, then close it again– finally, he said:

      “Joan, If something’s wrong, please tell me. I can’t do anything to fix it if I don’t know what’s wrong.”

      “Are you done eating? I want to do the dishes.” I walked past him to collect the plate off the table. He didn’t stop me, just watched me scrape the last of the meat and vegetables into the trash. 

      “I’m going to give you some space.” Matt said, though the silence that came before his words felt far too long. I didn’t stop him, that was what he wanted me to do. I listened to his footsteps fade up the stairs.

      I finished clean-up, stewing in anger. When I peeked into our bedroom, he was asleep without a care in the world. I’d been losing sleep over everything, but there he was. I watched his chest rise and fall with the steady rhythm of a pleasant dream. Probably dreaming about her. 

      A woman stepped past me, dressed in sheer bits of thin white fabric. I stiffened as she took my place in bed, offering a sparkling red smile. She pressed a kiss to Matt’s shoulder, leaving behind a glittery smudge.

      I was too stunned to move, watching her smear her painted lips on his neck next. Matt was still asleep, still dreaming fitfully while the woman confirmed what I’d suspected.

      The woman was beautiful, of course. Practically naked. Tall, thin, curvy and everything I wasn’t. The exact kind of woman I feared Matt would leave me for, like she’d been ripped straight out of my worst nightmare. I couldn’t compete with someone like that. 

      “What’s the matter?” she asked, fluttering her long eyelashes at me as she sat up from the bed. Her lipstick had smeared across her cheek, shining in what little light came in from the hall.  “What’s wrong?” she rubbed her tongue across her teeth. “I can’t do anything to fix it if I don’t know what’s wrong.”

      I fled, eyes blurry with angry tears– I stumbled down the steps, finding myself back in the kitchen. She followed me, drifting at my heels as she repeated the question. What’s the matter? What’s wrong? 

      “Get away from me!” 

      I didn’t mean to scream the words, but she reacted– stepping back, but not completely away. I reached for a knife. I’d like to say I wasn’t thinking, but I was. I whipped the blade towards her, opening her throat with the motion. 

      Glitter got everywhere, it was warm– red confetti, it coated the walls and stuck to my hands. There was so much of it, I was covered in it. Matt was going to be annoyed when he saw the mess. After all, glitter gets everywhere. But if there was going to be a mess anyway, I might as well enjoy it.

      I scooped up generous handfuls as it pooled on the floor, rubbing it into my face and chest– I did like the glamorous look of it. I wasn’t sure what to do about the woman. Matt couldn’t leave me for her now, but I couldn’t leave her corpse in the kitchen. 

      I rolled her up into the area rug, and tried to sweep up all the glitter… but that wasn’t very effective. The broom just spread the glitter around, almost none of it ended up in the dust pan. Matt was just going to have to deal. Moving on, I managed to drag the body outside–she was a lot heavier than I expected. Hauling her took a lot of time, breaks and effort… but when I opened the trunk to stuff her inside, it wasn’t empty.

      Exhausted, panting and sweaty– I was annoyed. There was a box inside, one I didn’t remember. I opened it to find party decorations. Curious, I unfurled the banner tucked neatly inside. 

      Written across it were the words ‘Will you marry me?’, written neatly with red glitter. I hugged the banner to my chest, sobbing with happiness.  Yes, yes. Yes I’ll marry you, Matt. I forgive you. I’m sorry the surprise was ruined. But what did you expect, Matt?

      After all, glitter gets everywhere.

      Posted in Short Stories [Horror] | 0 Comments | Tagged cheating, creepy, glitter, horror, romance, scary, short story, valentine, valentine's day
    • Short Horror Story – Every Year You Get Eight

      Posted at 9:34 pm by Penny Tailsup, on February 4, 2020

      Listen to the narration here.

       

      I was a small child when I first found him bent over mother’s bed. 

      I only saw a tall silhouette before my eyes adjusted to the dark. After rubbing the sleep from my eyes, I caught sight of his white fingers–hooked into Mother’s mouth. Her lips were parted wide, but her eyes were closed. On the back of his hand, I saw little spots of darkness; they moved down his arm, meandered down his fingers… disappearing into the dark void of her mouth. 

      “One… two… three… four… five… six… seven… eight.”

      He counted, then he drew his hand away. 

      “What are you doing?” I whispered. I whispered because mother was still asleep. He cocked his head at me, as if my question was strange. After a long moment of silence, he put his hands on my shoulders and leaned down. His eyes were pale yellow, like a ring around the moon; they cast their own soft light. 

      “Every year you get eight. That’s why I stay.” he said softly. His voice was a pleasant hum, as soft as a sigh. Of course, his answer didn’t really explain. I didn’t understand. “You should be asleep, that’s the rule. I can’t give them to you until you do.”

      He scooped me up into his arms– long, segmented arms– he had at least four elbows, and he nestled me comfortably on the crook of them. Rocking me slowly, he carried me down the hall and to my bed. He handed me my favorite teddy bear, smoothing the blankets over me.

      “Go to sleep,” it said, opening my closet and crawling inside. He closed the door softly behind him, and I closed my eyes– young enough to dismiss the night’s events as a dream. The memory stuck with me though, so when I saw him again years later… I could make no mistake.

      I woke up because of the counting. One, two… his lunar eyes blinked at me. Three, four… something tickled my lower lip. Five, six… my tongue itched. Before he could get to seven or eight, I shoved his hand away. Wet fingers popped out of my mouth, and I quickly sat upright. 

      Hunching over, I started to cough. There was something in my mouth, something that moved… multiple somethings that squirmed in the small puddle of saliva pooled in my lap. Adrenaline clarified my vision, I was awake without the blurry haze of being half-asleep. 

      “I remember you,” I wheezed. But this time, I wasn’t a child. “What are you doing?” 

      “Every year you get eight.”  he replied, just as before. I’m not sure why I wasn’t screaming, but perhaps that old memory prepared me to see him. Despite the frightful sight of him, he was… familiar.

      But back then, I hadn’t been able to make out those little spots of darkness. I reached for my lamp, flinching at the sudden brightness as I squinted at those shadows. Black things with spindly legs. 

      Spiders.

      “Go to sleep,” the creature said. “I have to start over.” but this time, it did not sweetly tuck me into bed. Instead, it placed it’s wide, pale hands on my face. It pressed its bony palms over my nose and mouth. 

      “The rent is due.” it said. “I won’t lose my place.”

      I couldn’t ask what it meant. I tried to fight, twisting and kicking– but it was a losing battle. I could feel its fingers probing my skin and curling into my hair. Eight scuttling fingers.  It seemed this creature had a soft spot for children… but little sympathy or patience for adults. I lost consciousness.

      When I woke up with a bruised face and cottonmouth, I tried to rationalize the event as the sequel to an old dream– but when I rushed into the bathroom, vomiting in the sink… tiny legs twitched in the bile, only partially digested.

      Have you ever heard the old myth? The myth that every year, you eat eight spiders in your sleep.  Apparently it’s true.

      No one mentions the creature that feeds them to you.

      Posted in Short Stories [Horror] | 0 Comments | Tagged fiction, horror, horror art, horror story, monster, nosleep, Penny Tailsup, short story, sleep, spiders
    • Short Christmas Horror Story – Carol’s Christmas Cookies

      Posted at 6:39 pm by Penny Tailsup, on December 24, 2019

      Listen to the narration here! 

       

      Today was the annual holiday potluck. My office doesn’t really do parties, but every occasion gets a potluck;  it’s business as usual except everyone brings food. We work while stuffing ourselves silly. Nothing like working through a stomach ache, right? It’s always a game of food poisoning roulette. 

      Since I was the first one in, I was expected to do the basic set-up. Dutifully, I cleared off the sorting table and got the coffee going. I expected to spend the first thirty minutes of my shift in peace, but it wasn’t to be. The phone started to ring. 

      It’s too early for this, I thought. I answered anyway, putting on my best customer-service voice. At this hour most customers hadn’t had their coffee yet so answering the phone was a crap-shoot. Fortunately, it was only Carol. 

      “Thank god you answered. Can you let me in? My arms are full!”  She always brought enough baked goods for everyone to have seconds and thirds, it was one of the few things I looked forward to.

      “I’ll be right over! Hold on.” I hung up and hurried over to the employee entrance. I yanked open the door and found Carol standing there with a heaping stack of tupperware in her arms. The scent of gingerbread hung around her like a warm Christmas perfume, sweet and inviting.  

      “Let me help you with that. You tried to get it all in one trip, huh?” I carefully grabbed a few of the containers, making sure not to tip them over and walking with her inside. Carol smiled appreciatively, relieved she could finally set everything down.

      I took a peek at the goodies; as expected, gingerbread cookies!  Gingerbread office workers, each one bigger than my hand and intricately detailed. 

      “What do you think?” she asked, puffing out her chest with pride. “I made one for everyone in the office! After I pass these out, I’m out of here though. I’m not working today but I wanted to make sure everyone got theirs.” 

      “Wow!” I admired her handiwork. It only took me a moment to realize that the gingerbread cookies were modeled after our co-workers. I looked eagerly for the one she’d made of me, but I didn’t see one. “These must have taken you forever to make, the details are perfect. No one can top these.” suddenly my crock-pot of meatballs seemed a lot less exciting. Oh well, it wasn’t a competition. As if I could beat Carol’s Christmas cookies!

      By then, my phone started to ring so I hurried back to my desk. I watched Carol pass out her cookies with care, placing them on desks atop pretty poinsettia plates. 

      “Are you going to be open on Christmas?” the customer asked the second I picked up. No hello, only a shrill inquiry. 

      “No, but we will be open as usual on the 26th.” I answered. 

      “What do you mean you won’t be open on Christmas? What if I need help right away? I’ll have to wait?” I gave my scripted answer to the angry customer, distracted and deadpan. By the time the call was done, Carol came over with a smile, bringing the very last cookie over to me. 

      “I’d say it’s too pretty to eat, except he was never really a looker was he?” she said.  I looked down at the gingerbread man. It wasn’t me, it was our boss, Dale.

      “This one’s mine?” I asked tentatively, definitely confused. Maybe there was a mistake? 

      “Of course! How many opportunities do you get to bite your boss’s head off? I wanted to give you the honor.” if Carol sensed my disappointment, she didn’t let on. I looked down at the cookie again, a dense gingerbread man in a cheap suit. Even though the suit had been made with glaze and frosting , I had that impression; cheap, ill-fitting, and grey.  A perfect replica of one of his two suits with a garish Christmas tie. 

      “As long as it doesn’t taste like Dale.” I laughed. To be honest, as perfectly made as the cookie was, I didn’t find it appetizing. Well, I did. It smelled amazing! But there was something off-putting about eating a cookie shaped like someone else, especially Dale.  Then again, it would be just as weird to eat one that looked like me. Cookie cannibalism.

       “You didn’t give him one that looks like me, right?” I shuddered. Now that would be creepy. Dale was a real piece of work, but I had to tolerate him if I wanted to keep my job.

      “Of course not.” Carol assured me. “Could you do me a favor? Wait until everyone else gets in before you eat it. I want everyone to see. I wish I could see the looks on their faces. You’ll tell me, won’t you?”

      “Sure.” I slid the gingerbread away from me. To be honest, I wasn’t sure if I was going to eat it or not, but I didn’t want to hurt her feelings. Maybe if I scraped off the decorations first? That seemed equally rude, though.

      “When you eat gingerbread cookies, are you the kind of person to go for the head… or the arms and legs first? Or maybe you pull off the decorations one-by-one?” she asked suddenly; Carol wasn’t looking at me when she asked, she was looking towards Dale’s office.

      What a weird question! Especially coming from her. When she saw the look on my face, Carol laughed  and patted my shoulder. “Sorry, I was just having a funny thought. There’s a little sadist in everyone, isn’t there?”

      “Excuse me?” 

      Grabbing her empty Tupperware, Carol gave me a wink and wished me a Merry Christmas. She left, leaving me alone in the office. I kept eyeing the Gingerbread Dale, still feeling a bit weird about it. Weird, but also…  hungry. The cookies smelled divine, which was odd considering I’d never been a huge fan of gingerbread.

      About ten minutes later, the rest of my co-workers trickled in. They complained about how tired they were, morning traffic, and the holidays. Of course, the bellyaching became exclamations of delight when they discovered the cookies set neatly on their desks. 

      Everyone started showing one another their cookies and taking pictures, marveling at the perfect detail. Patti’s cookie had her trademark beehive up-do and pearls, Marc’s cookie was bearded with squared glasses, Bette’s had electric blue eye shadow and dimples… though the outfits weren’t an exact match, the resemblances were uncanny. Eventually, the clamor died down and everyone sat at their desks. All except Patti, who scurried over to my desk with a wide smile.

      “I didn’t see yours.” she said, showing me hers for the second time. She carried her plate proudly in both hands, like she was presenting a piece of art. To be fair, Carol’s work really was exquisite… I just didn’t like Patti.

      Patti’s eyes moved to the plate I’d set away from me. My cookie wasn’t like everyone else’s, which suddenly seemed like a problem.  “Oh. It looks like Dale… Is it yours?” she scrunched her face at me, somehow managing to keep the smile. I didn’t like her insinuation.

      “Yes, it’s mine.”

      Did she really think I’d scarfed down my cookie and stole another one off my boss’s desk?  Really? 

      “Why doesn’t it look like you, then?” Oh yes, the insinuation was still there. A bitter anger spread across my tongue, but I fought to keep my voice level and my face flat. It was weird that I was the only one with a cookie that looked like someone else, but I didn’t make them. It wasn’t up to me.

      “Carol thought it would be funny, that’s all.”  

      “Carol? But… wasn’t she fired yesterday?” Patti’s expression scrunched up even more. Her hands moved up to her pearls, fidgeting with the long strand. Sometimes I wondered if she wore pearls just so she could clutch them. 

      “Uh, no? Wouldn’t a memo have gone out if she was?” I turned my attention back to my work. I hoped Patti would get the hint and go away but she just stood there for a long moment. Sucking in a deep, dramatic breath… she picked her plate off my desk, staring hard at the Gingerbread Patti. 

      “Didn’t you make these?” she asked slowly.

      “No, I brought the meatballs. Why would you think I made them?” I answered, not looking up. I pretended to read an email. Patti was being nosy, as usual;  I’d never liked that about her. She didn’t have anything better to do, I guess. Except for the work she let pile up, but if I said that she’d complain to Dale. Patti was his favorite for some reason, so I’d probably get written up for ‘not being a team player’. Like a lot of offices around the world, this one was toxic. 

      “I’m not sure if this is okay. I’ll be right back.” Patti said, unaware of my rude thoughts. I looked up when she said that, unable to help myself. She didn’t explain, pivoting towards Dale’s office. To tell on me? Or Carol? I honestly wasn’t sure. Either way, it was a headache for me.

      She reappeared in the doorway with Dale a moment later. They both made a bee-line straight for my desk, their expressions a lot more serious than a cookie called for. Great. I pretended not to notice, busying myself with a stack of fresh paperwork. 

      Before they reached me, there was a loud cracking sound and a scream. Every head in the room whipped in the direction of the sound to find Robert tears running down his face. All I could see was his eyes poking up from his workstation, expression twisted and red.  “My arm!” he screamed. “Oh my god! It won’t move!”  

      A couple co-workers ran over to see what happened. I reached for my phone instead, ready to call 911 if an ambulance was needed. Patti and Dale changed course, but everyone looked confused. How on earth had Robert hurt his arm while sitting at his desk? Carpal tunnel?

      Now’s your chance, came an errant thought.

       My eyes slid towards the Gingerbread Dale. It looked perfectly palatable on that pretty poinsettia plate.

      Hurry! Before they confiscate it. 

      Now wasn’t the time to worry about cookies, but… my tongue tingled with anticipation and my teeth itched with the urge. 

      Just one small bite. The thought was strange, almost like it wasn’t mine… but very compelling. The gingerbread man was heavier than I expected. I lifted it to my lips and bit off one of the feet. It crunched in stereo, unusually loud as the foot snapped off and began to melt on my tongue. Delicious.

      A rush of delight washed over me, brought on by a flood of flavor that drowned out Dale’s cursing screams. He’d fallen, rocking back and forth on the floor. He must have twisted his ankle in his haste to check on Robert. How unlucky. Two injuries in one day?

      A chorus of oh-my-gods rang through the office, but I set down my phone so I could hold the Gingerbread Dale with both hands. Without even thinking, I took another bite– nibbling up the leg before switching to the other foot. The screaming kept getting louder, filling the room.

      The gingerbread had such a rich and complex flavor; ginger, cinnamon, allspice, cloves… and something else. Was it earthy? Or maybe it was the texture? Soft and velvety, yet dense and crunchy. Wow, so much screaming. All over carpal tunnel and a sprained ankle? 

      Annoyed, I glanced around the room to find that almost everyone was screaming. The ones who weren’t screaming were chewing with blissed out looks on their bloody faces or slumped over their desks. 

      Confused, I touched my own wet mouth and looked down at my red fingers. I wasn’t in any pain. Had Carol put glass in the batter or something? Where was the blood coming from? Why was everyone still eating?

      Because they can’t help themselves. 

      I couldn’t help myself either. Without realizing it, I’d eaten half of the Dale cookie and found myself going in for another bite. Horrified, I dropped the cookie– the gingerbread snapping in half as it hit the floor. 

      Dale, curled up on the carpet, was suddenly still and quiet. Patti was right next to him on the floor, but she didn’t seem to notice– chewing frantically with glazed eyes, gingerbread crumbs and blood running down her chin. Only when her mouth was empty did she resume screaming again. She rolled, and started eating her cookie off the carpet. 

      The spell the cookie cast on me had broken with my Boss’s spine. He was dead, and with each quieted scream… a co-worker joined him in death. I was the last one standing, the last one screaming. Soon, I was standing in perfect silence. No more screams. No more chewing. 

      Only then was I able to move. I grabbed my keys and ran out of the office. Maybe I should have called the police, but I didn’t know what I was going to tell them. That Carol’s Christmas cookies had killed everyone but me? That I’d chewed my boss to death with a voodoo gingerbread man? I couldn’t come up with a logical explanation in my state of pure panic. Even though my voice had broken, my thoughts kept screaming. 

      I ran through the snowy parking lot and found my car. I’m not sure why I ran, no one was chasing me. There was no one who could. Before I could jump into my car and drive away… I noticed the little red gift bag sitting on the hood of my car. Across the front, written in glitter, were the words ‘Merry Christmas from Carol!’

      I was terrified but looked inside the bag anyway. As I feared, there was a cookie. My heart thudded in terror, but I felt compelled to examine it. In spite of my dread, I started to salivate, clenching my teeth together. Even after what I witnessed, I wanted to eat it.

      The cookie wasn’t me.  It was Carol. Carol, down to the outfit she’d worn that very morning– except for the ‘Sorry’ piped across her sweater in red. I swallowed the bloody spit in my mouth, reaching back into the gift bag. There was a Christmas card inside. 

      Still holding the Gingerbread Carol, I opened it up. A key was taped to the glitter card stock, along with a simple message:

      Merry Christmas! 

      There’s a Gingerbread Office in my apartment. If you smash it, everyone will think the roof collapsed. That should explain all the broken bones. Don’t worry, no one will find me. 

      P.S.

      You were always kind to me, that’s why I spared you. I hope you’ll do me one more kindness, and make it quick.

      Love,

      Carol

      I closed the card, tucking it back in it’s envelope and sitting in my car. I looked down at the cookie still in my hand. My tongue tingled; my teeth itched. I didn’t want to do it, but I had to. I bit off Carol’s Gingerbread head.

      It tasted like gingerbread and death. 

       

      Posted in Short Stories [Horror] | 0 Comments | Tagged christmas, cookies, creepy, curse, gingerbread, horror, nosleep, office, scary, scary story, short story, workplace horror
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