thriller

THE DAMNED…

©Tanya Grout

It didn’t come with horns or cloven feet. It had come with a briefcase and in a crisp suit – with sublime sayings it had learned as would a psychopath, a predator. The creature had deceived with gifts, charm, and a moonlit swim, yet it had transformed while I slept over night, back into what it was…

Eighteen feet tall and burning alive with awesome anger, just that one hand clasped and thrust my cracking thorax twenty feet into the air. I instantly knew this beast was him: “the suit.” It had the same cold, ice eyes. The ones I should have fled from, ones I had seen before in others.

Its nails dug in deep like a clamp: how much blood could issue from a desire to break free, to wriggle from its grasp, away from that endless inner darkness?

Exquisite pain ripped through my chest, just a beat before the Devil that it was pierced this Teflon cage of ribs and flesh to freshly break my heart.

Would I ever again have the chance to run before it all got started, to detect the sickness of the monster before it mainlined poison into my soul? Or was I destined to live this eternity sweet-talked through an endless cycle of Hell… and more Hell?

© kym darkly

THE VOID…

The smell of metal and gasoline, a dirty place.

Coming to in complete darkness. Rolling back and forth on her side, no arms. Where were they? Tied, tied behind. Knees tucked in so as to fit. Feet also tied… like a pig.

The stocking was making her gag. Too tight. Her tongue was swollen where it had been bitten. It must have been a horrible fight. Starving, parched. Blood flowing. It was hers. She sucked it in, drank it. Disgusting. Gagging, but strong willed. She was weak. She knew it was the right thing to do.

Memories: the woozy feeling at the bar after one drink. Drugged, led away, knowing it was wrong, bad. Wanting to yell out but unable to speak, hearing that man tell everyone he’d take her to the hospital, he’d take good care of her, she’d be okay… but did he intend to take her like this: naked, bruised and tied in a trunk?

A flicker of the dark empty parking lot: the pain of a smashed cheek. The hammer, how it came crushing in from the side.

The worst pain of all: her mother encouraging her to waitress at that snazzy club. She remembered the proposition and the cash, the emptiness beneath the glamour. She remembered her bad decision, and that this was only her very first trick…

© kym darkly

CRACKING UP…

©Tanya Grout

The porcelain face was splitting – a ghastly fissure separating eyes from lips, nose from cheeks, forcing the painted-on smile to crack… A lifetime of delicate china had forced a false visage over top of the dying one underneath, the one that contained secrets, lies and rage.

It was time to strip off the brittle structure that held her so tight inside: watching without acting, knowing without telling, feeling without screaming – a witness to every goddamned sick thing that went on in this house!

An ending would be good: a dead doll perhaps, smashed and broken – one to be tossed into the garbage – freed! And so when the wind gushed through the open window, she fell off the mantelpiece…

© kym darkly – All rights reserves but please feel free to re-tweet…

THE VOW…

©Tanya Grout

The veil was thick. Her parents had said it was to keep demons at bay.

Vows exchanged, her “husband” lifted the netted curtain from her delicate face, and she saw him for the first time… He was the demon! His eyes told her so: bright blue irises upon jet-black sclera.

What cult was this?

The words, “Till death do us part,” resonated like an adrenaline snake writhing inside her gut: slipping, squeezing, tightening. This, alongside memories of the last few days: the constant companion approving her every move, the pre-nuptial agreement she had signed, the life insurance policy…

Shayla, took a step back, lifting her heavy skirts. One breath in, she turned and ran down the steps of the altar and fast down the isle, past her deceitful betrothing parents, towards the double doors and out – but the noon sky was dark. There was nothing there, nothing at all…

© kym darkly

All Rights Reserved, but please feel free to re-tweet, and repost 🙂

ONE LAST DRAG…

©Tanya Grout

She’d clawed at his soul for forty long years: the whine in her voice, the demeaning comments, the demand to have her cigarettes lit because she couldn’t possibly do it for herself. He hated that bitch, but more than that he hated himself for being the pussy who let her walk all over him, shaming and emasculating him.

Tonight would be different. He’d put her in her grave where she belonged and just to be extra cruel, he’d bury her with her own hateful mother. They could fight it out in Hell, side by side for all eternity.

He looked deeply into her eyes as she drank the last of a laced glass of red, her pupils already starting to dilate. Yeah, he was gonna put her in the ground all right… but not before lighting her last cigarette…

© kym darkly

THE FLAPPING…

Whoosh! The big black wing hit the phone out of her hand and the candles blew out. Complete darkness…

Alone and afraid, the wings flapped around her, their waxy membranes clumsily slapping her face and arms so strong, she couldn’t breathe. They pummelled her from one wing to another with a harsh bristle that cut Billie’s skin. She felt blood run down her face and arms. She tried to shield herself, but this thing was relentless.

“Hello? This is the police department…” Billy could hear her cell somewhere. She started to scream, “Help, help me…”

But the piercing, through her open mouth stopped all that, the sharp object that impaled her tongue and crept harshly, staggeringly painful up into her brain arrested her in the moment… Then came the sucking… of her insides – out!

And then the dial tone…

© kym darkly

PARASITE…

“There’s something growing inside of you,” the doctor said as calmly as she could.

“Oh God, another baby!” Kay said.

“No,” Dr. Zylich replied, “A baby would have been a blessing. This is more like a curse.”

Kay wriggled in her seat. She’d grown skeletally skinny in the last two months. Her sit bones hurt and her stomach had bloated unnaturally large. “Well, what is it?” She asked.

“They,” the Doctor corrected her, “They are a kind of worm.”

“What?” Kay stood up and walked to the MRI images posted on the wall.

Dr. Zylich pointed to the one that showed Kay’s abdominal area. “The largest ones are here, absorbing all the food you eat. That’s why you’re tired all the time and bloated.”

“So it’s like a Tape Worm? Fucking disgusting, but there’s drugs right?”

“Yes,” replied Dr. Zylich, “But they won’t work on these. These are not Tape Worms. These are something we have never seen before. Their teeth…

Kay gasped.

“They have teeth. Um, they’re unusual in behaviour. They disconnect, move around…”

Kay shivered remembering the “baby” kick in her stomach.

The doctor pointed to another MRI result. “See here in your arm, they have set up legions of smaller worms and infected the entire vascular system. They are hooked into each vessel and sucking the blood out of you into them. That is why your arm is swollen and blue and also why you are weak.”

“How can this be? From that stupid jungle trip?” Kay mumbled.

“They have also penetrated your brain, hence the neurological problems. One worm could easily eat through an average brain in four hours, judging by our results.” Dr. Zylich preferred to keep to facts as she knew the feelings were coming.

“Well don’t just talk. Get them the fuck outta my body.”

Dr. Zylich shook her head, no.

Kay was trembling. Lost. Tears washed over her cheeks, “What does this all mean?”

The doctor took a long pause. She looked kindly into Kay’s eyes.
“At this rate of multiplication and infestation, you could be dead by morning. You must go home and get your things in order… unless…”

“Unless?”

“Unless you want to be a test subject…”

© kym darkly

THE POWER…

As soon as she got home and closed the door, it took control. She couldn’t speak or move. She was simply rotated off the floor and raised horizontally on a pillow of air, four feet above the tiles in the hall. An invisible force, soft but strong pulled her arms out from her body. Her lips trembled, blue from shock. Her eyes peeled open far beyond their capacity, pinned back – a clockwork orange nightmare.

A shoe flew off ripping her foot and breaking a toe before smashing through the front door window – it’s shattered glass a violent explosion, throwing shrapnel back that cut into her hands and face.

Her coat melted at the seams and floated away in pieces gently bobbing beside as if afloat in a zero gravity capsule, but this was earth. This was her home.

She’d grown accustomed to the doors rattling, the boards creaking and the taps turning on and off, but now that she was suspended, now that a razor sharp energy ripped up her spine busting the discs from each vertebrae, she fully understood its power and she clawed for an idea of how to escape what might happen next…

© kym darkly

LOST SOULS…

Why was he wearing a helmet made of tin foil? I thought. Maybe he’s one of those UFO freaks.

“Lotta lost souls in them cities,” he said, a plume of rancid garbage wafting over. I noticed that his lips didn’t move. I looked around. There was no other on the train.

“The Lost Ones, thems you gotta look out for.” Still his lips didn’t move.

Train stopped. Lights out! Even emergencies. Pitch black.
An echo-scream flared from the bowels of the endless winding underground.

“Sound like animals trapped in time, don’t they? The Lost Ones are comin’
to rip yous apart.”

“What the fuck?” I blurted, not sounding at all like a Partner in Law at Burns and Badden. “They’re just coming for me? What the fuck about you?”

“I’m wearing a helmet,” he whispered. “They can’t hear me think.”

“Well I can!” I said angered by another scream, this time closer.

“Yeah, but you ain’t them,” he replied.

The next scream was in the car. Panic time. Whatever these things were, one was scampering right for me. I lunged across, grappled around for the old guy, grabbed his helmet and crashed it onto my own head. I stumbled back, completely blind in the dark.

His yelling was crushed by crunching, spitting, and slurping. Whatever it was, was enjoying him as a meal and I, though morally bankrupt, was safe – for now…

© kym darkly

VOYEUR…

His problem was curious. It was a stockings and stilettos ordeal. He’d grown accustomed to following them home, clickety clack, late at night and they’d never suspected anything. Sometimes the gams belonged to a friend of the girl he was dating or a muse from work, but tonight he was the unsuspecting one.

Tonight the peep show would be different. Not even he was prepared for the rush of blades and the silken skin cut into thin red lines, high on a thigh.

He was frozen in the dark, mesmerized, anchored to the frosted window and suddenly he understood. Her strawberry blond self-destruction took him back to his childhood: the stockings, stilettos, the blood, his mother, her killer…

© kym darkly