What Fears Become Part 11

"We seal this with my life," he said, and saw the surprise on Candice's face.

"We could...we could leave it up to chance," Candice said, reaching out to him.

His features were firmly set when he moved toward her. "There's no reason for you to end your life. Try to live on and make something better than what the two of us had. Remember that...I...I love you," he said, and felt the smallest pang of guilt as he saw the look spreading across Candice's face. How long had it been since he'd said that? He couldn't remember, but he could remember the moment, nearly seven years ago, when he'd first realized that he didn't love her anymore, and no horrifying situation such as this could make that change.

Still, he liked the idea of leaving her with a moment of sentiment, and it made him feel as though within the relations.h.i.+p, he was still able to maintain control to the very end.

He stepped wordlessly into the middle of the circle and brought the gun up to his temple. He was about to close his eyes when Candice shoved him back, catching him by surprise, and making him drop the gun.

As Steve fell onto the floor of the loft, his ears filled with the howling cries of the creatures and the sharp snapping of wood giving way. He saw Candice on her knees in the middle of the pentagram with the gun below her chin and her eyes filled with tears.

A huge BOOM thundered, and in a split second, it took Candice's life and drowned out the sound of the monsters pouring in through the hole they had made in the barn's wall. Steve had to look away from the grotesque thing that Candice had become as she tumbled back, sprawled in the middle of the pentagram.

Behind him, the ladder shook as something tried to pull itself up, and Steve managed to regain sense enough to kick the ladder back from the edge of the loft. It left him stranded, yet protected, on the second floor.

He stood up in a daze. He walked past Candice's headless body. He walked past the now-dead body of the man who had started this. He stared through the window toward the dark house, and saw no more monstrosities pa.s.s through its door. Whatever rift had been opened appeared now to be shut, so there would be no more new creatures pouring out of the gateway from h.e.l.l. But the things that had managed to make their way out of it before the rift was sealed still remained.

He realized that for the last twenty years, he had been making decisions for his wife, and none for himself. He wasn't sure he knew how to live for himself anymore. These thoughts amazed him because he had always been so certain that Candice was the problem, not himself.

Steve suddenly wanted to die with his wife. He didn't want her to leave this world without him because he didn't know what to do with himself if she did. Could it be that he still had feelings for her and hadn't realized it until now? If so, he had wasted so much time in both of their lives by all the needless resentments he had harbored.

He knelt down and pulled the gun from his wife's fingers without looking at the remains of her head. He pressed the still-warm barrel against the side of his own head and pulled the trigger again and again, but only hollow clicks sounded in his ear.

So there would be no easy way out for him. He threw the gun over the edge of the barn loft toward the scrambling ma.s.s of creatures trying to get to him. He reached into his pocket for his knife. There was nothing there. In his mind he could see himself toss it to Candice rather than cut her seatbelt for her.

Standing on the edge of the platform, Steve stared down at the ma.s.s of squirming, black shapes below; they looked like c.o.c.kroaches scurrying over each other, their ma.s.sive, clawed hands pointed upward, groping toward him. He leaned out, trying to decide his next move, as the turbulence below became more urgent with antic.i.p.ation.

Forty-three years of good grades, hard work, fast promotions, and always wanting to be right had led me to this, he thought, but the idea only reignited his anger. He turned from the creatures, his eyes so wide with anger they hurt, his foot swinging out to connect with the man who had started it all. He couldn't make himself stop kicking at this stranger, his foot swinging repeatedly until the man's jaw had shattered and four of his teeth skidded across the wooden floor.

"I'm not dying that easily!" Steve cried, his face hot with pumping blood, his fingernails digging sharply into his palms. He even found himself smiling through clenched teeth as he told the creatures, "You're going to have to work for this kill."

He stared at the window in the loft and at the house beyond it. If he could gather his courage, he figured he might be able to jump out the window. But first he needed to distract the monsters below.

He knelt in front of the dead man and started rolling the corpse toward the edge of the platform. He didn't know if the creatures merely wanted food, or something else, but he hoped even a corpse would divert them for a little while. When he had the body by the edge, he turned toward Candice's remains, knelt to begin pus.h.i.+ng her as well, but found himself pausing instead.

He might not have loved her the way he had when he first walked down the aisle with her twenty years before, but as he knelt before her now, aware of the years they'd spent with each other, Steve figured those years counted for something. He couldn't bring himself to let those monsters rip her apart.

He slipped off her wedding ring and put it in his s.h.i.+rt pocket before he returned to the dead man. A swift kick sent the body tumbling toward the ground floor, landing amongst the demons below. A warbling cry erupted from the group, and all of them began ripping at the body, no longer looking up at Steve.

Anger gave him a large burst of strength as he charged across the platform and threw open the window in the loft wall that led to the world outside. Arms outstretched, fingers groping for the edge of the aged wood, he knew his last act would be a leap for freedom. Splinters tore through his hands and nearly dropped him, but he managed to stop himself so he could peer out into the night. He glanced down at the twenty-foot drop to the ground. "This is my decision and I am controlling my fate," he whispered, and leapt over the edge.

He went limp before impact, his right arm taking the brunt of the fall, a deep breath of dirt kicked up from the impact making him choke, and he felt the tears streaming down his cheeks from the jolt of pain.

He couldn't believe he had survived the fall; never would he have antic.i.p.ated that he would live. And the idea that he hadn't died from the fall gave him hope.

The creatures were still in the barn and from what he could tell, none of them had seen him pull himself up and start jogging as best he could away from the barn. He didn't bother with the house; he was too afraid it would trap him inside. He just wanted to make it back to the car. Maybe the car was still drivable.

He didn't know how far he'd gone when the sounds of snapping wood first reached him. He didn't bother looking back, instead focusing ahead at the waving gra.s.s in the faint moonlight. He didn't need to look back to know they were coming after him. Maybe the creatures hadn't seen him at first, but by now they had figured out that he had escaped. He could hear their feet and hands hammering the dirt, crunching down the gra.s.s, their mouths opened into that never-ending abyss.

But he didn't dwell on the thunder rus.h.i.+ng toward him, the pain spiking through his side with each additional step, or his knees and legs that were so numb he could barely feel them. Steve kept moving into the night, running the best he could in a lop-sided gait.

When the first shape barreled into him and knocked him down onto the tall gra.s.s, Steve felt himself being ripped apart; eaten alive. Even as the weight bore down on him and the pain tore into his back, he thought, I shouldn't have suggested the ride in the car to try to work things out. I should have agreed to the divorce because Candice deserved better.

About Philip Roberts.

Philip Michael Roberts lives in Nashua, New Hamps.h.i.+re and holds a degree in Creative Writing with a minor in Film from the University of Kansas. Although a beginner in the publis.h.i.+ng world, Philip is a member of the Horror Writer's a.s.sociation, and has had numerous short stories published in a variety of publications, such as the Beneath the Surface anthology, Midnight Echo, and The Absent Willow Review.

http://www.philipmroberts.com.

AND BABY, YOU CAN SLEEP WHILE I DRIVE.

by Elizabeth Ma.s.sie.

Andy stole a car to drive Alicia across country to her mother's funeral. Andy's own '93 Dodge had broken down a couple weeks earlier, he didn't have enough money to get it fixed because, as the mechanic laughed and said, "This one's gonna need a major overhaul. Transmission, brakes, steering. Why didn't you take care of this earlier?"

Andy didn't answer. There was no answer except that he was poor and getting poorer and that was that.

The Chevy Nova Andy stole was a two-door blue thing with one white door and mismatched tires, though "stole" was too severe a term for what he'd actually done. Andy knew Mick, who owned the car. Mick was a colleague, sort of, an eternally angry p.i.s.s-ant of a man who was employed as a custodian at the American Safety Razor plant where Andy worked as a security guard, and Andy did leave Mick a note in his little cubby, reading, "I'll have someone drive this back to you in two weeks, man, and I'll pay you something for your trouble," so it was more of a borrow than a steal. When Alicia had called him in the middle of the night from home crying, "Mama's dead!" he knew right away that he'd have to plan for transportation to Seattle. They couldn't afford a train or a plane, and Alicia was scared of buses. But Andy loved his wife and he would get her to the funeral in one way or other.

Alicia's mother had lived the last three years in the Oak Hill Nursing Home just a mile from Andy and Alicia's apartment in Nashville. She'd been pretty healthy for a woman who'd smoked two packs a day for fifty-some years. Yet over the past year, she'd begun to go soft in the head, and everyone knew it wouldn't be long before she died. Alicia's b.i.t.c.hy older sister Barb told everyone, "Mama will be buried here in Was.h.i.+ngton state where she was born. We've already got her a plot close to Daddy's. When the time comes, we're s.h.i.+pping her here."

The time came three nights ago, when Mama got up out of bed and slipped on a puddle of her own urine. Her head came down-SMACK-against the stainless steel sink, bounced off, then struck the steel footboard of her bed-CRACK-and then she dropped to the floor.

Barb was furious, seemingly more so about the fact that Mama had died in a foreign state than the fact she had died. Barb never liked it that Mama was in "Nastyville" in the first place. But Alicia had always been Mama's favorite girl, and when Mama's health was declining she wanted to be close to her baby. Oak Hill was an acceptable place, if you didn't look too closely. The daytime attendants were spiffy and alert. The nighttime attendants were much like nighttime attendants anywhere that the public didn't go during off hours-bored, cynical, careless.

Andy opened the Nova's pa.s.senger door for Alicia, tossed her suitcase and his duffle bag onto the back seat, and helped her in. She was hardly an invalid; Alicia was small, but she was a strong, funny woman most of the time. But today, she was listless and quiet. Her mother's death had hit her hard. She knew her mother was declining-h.e.l.l, she'd been on the downward spiral for months-but that didn't ease the pain.

"Thanks," Alicia whispered as Andy helped her with her seatbelt. He kissed her head, went around to his side (Mick's side, actually) and climbed in behind the wheel. He handed Alicia a paper bag he'd filled with her favorite candies, hard b.u.t.terscotch pieces and Hershey kisses. She took the bag, but held it, unopened, in her lap. She hunkered down against the seat and stared out the window.

Andy had been glad to find the Nova came with almost a full tank of gas, but by the time they reached St. Louis they needed to stop for a refill and Alicia had to pee. Andy had brought what was left of his weekly paycheck in his wallet, three hundred-thirteen dollars. If he could make it across country with this clunker on the money he had, if he and Alicia made it to the funeral and then more importantly, to the reading of the old woman's will, all would be good again in life-land. Mama had Alicia's name at the top of the list. Mama had shown a copy of the will to Alicia back in the spring. Barb had been a bane of Mama's existence, telling her what to do, where to live, when to eat, when to s.h.i.+t, but Alicia had always let Mama do her own thing. That is why Mama came to Nashville when she needed a.s.sisted living. That is why Mama planned on leaving her Seattle house (in which Barb had been living since Mama upped it across country), her savings, and her jewelry (a diamond ring and earrings and her gold wedding band, though that was about as far as the bling went) to her younger daughter. This inheritance would be enough to pull Alicia and Andy's heads way above water. Andy could almost taste the new car, the paid bills, and the computer he'd been wanting for a couple years now.

Andy stuffed the gas nozzle back into its cradle, went inside to pay the cas.h.i.+er, looked longingly at the cigarettes, then returned to the car. Alicia was still in the can. She was moving slowly these days, but that was okay. She was just tired and sad. Andy opened the pa.s.senger's side door and got himself a Hershey's kiss to stave off the craving for a smoke. He had to do this trip carefully, because what would happen if they ran out of money? Barb wouldn't care enough to wire them any, and since his bankruptcy in March, Andy didn't have any credit cards.

"C'mon, babe," Andy hissed toward the convenience store. "We got miles to make before we crash tonight. We got to make it at least to Denver."

He slid in on the seat and punched the glove box b.u.t.ton. It was locked. He found a small key on the key ring he'd taken from Mick's employee cubby back at the plant, and poked it in the glove box keyhole. The box popped open.

"Hallelujah!" said Andy. There was a pack of cigarettes, well, Virginia Slims, but beggars couldn't be choosers. Andy tugged his lighter from his jacket pocket, lit up, and leaned back. He took a long, deep drag and held it in as long as he could. He closed his eyes and felt the soft, familiar sting. Then he let the smoke out.

"Ahhh," he said.

He took another drag, held it, let it out. Behind his eyelids, pink and orange patterns played against the black. The dark colors s.h.i.+fted endlessly, like leaves off an autumn tree. Then they began to cl.u.s.ter, to come together into something odd...

What's that?

...something unsettlingly familiar. A round shape, with dark punctuations near the top, a slash near the bottom.

A face? A woman's face?

The punctuations blinked and widened as the colors around it continued to collect themselves into human form. The slash opened up into a twisted sneer, and it and hissed long and loud.

Andy's eyes flew open and he leapt from the car, nearly dropping his smoke to the oily pavement.

"What the f.u.c.k...?" he shouted.

"What's the f.u.c.k?" This was Alicia, behind him. He looked around at her worried face.

"Nothin', just dropped ashes on my lap's all."

"Okay."

"Get back in the car," he said, holding the door wide open. Alicia slid in. "We'll be in Denver quicker than you can imagine. You just sleep all you want."

They hit the road again, Andy digging in the duffle bag in the back for the sticks of beef jerky he'd brought from home, Alicia snoring softly beside him. He finished his cigarette, tossed out the b.u.t.t, and chewed on the beef. Interstate driving was beyond tedious. He read each road sign aloud so he wouldn't drift off.

A tractor-trailer pulled up on his a.s.s and rode him a good couple miles, then finally went around. a.s.shole. More trucks and more trucks pa.s.sed by him, a good ten over the limit.

Andy felt snot trickle down his nose. Was he coming down with a cold? Yep, that was just what he needed. He tugged the rearview mirror around to have a look at the snot, to wipe it away before Alicia woke up and got grossed out.

But it wasn't his face in the mirror. It was a hideous countenance, eyes as wide and white as bleached river rocks, the lips peeled back revealing red-streaked teeth, three long and b.l.o.o.d.y gashes across her nose, forehead, chin. A piece of chewed-through tongue lashed out like a mangled snake and licked the gla.s.s from the inside, leaving s.h.i.+ny pink spittle.

"Holy s.h.i.+t!"

Andy steered the car to the shoulder, slammed on the brakes, and shoved the mirror up so it faced the ceiling.

"Jesus, did we wreck?" screeched Alicia, coming immediately out of her sleep and clutching the door handle with both hands.

"No," said Andy, swallowing hard. "We're okay."

"We are? You sure? What happened?"

I saw a b.l.o.o.d.y dead woman in the rearview!

"Tractor-trailer. Pa.s.sed too closely. Scared the bejeezus out of me," wheezed Andy.

"Well, okay."

"Okay."

They sat on the side of the road many long minutes, and then Andy steered back into the traffic.

It's just stress, he told himself. Like those dudes who came home from Vietnam and the Gulf. Just stress playing with me, is all.

Andy gripped the wheel tightly. The hairs on his knuckles stood at attention.

It sure couldn't be what it looked like. It sure couldn't be...her.

Andy wiped his lips, his nose.

I don't believe in that kind of s.h.i.+t. The old woman's dead!

Alicia closed her eyes and leaned against Andy's shoulder.

There are no such things as ghosts.

Five miles down the road, he smelled it. It came from the back, rolling up over the seat like a stinking wave, wrapping itself around his head. It was a putrid stink, a smell of hot steel and festering puss. He wrinkled his nose and rolled down the window. It didn't help. He gagged into his hand.

What the f.u.c.k is that?

It smelled like a corpse, a three-day dead body. A b.l.o.o.d.y, putrid human slab...coming back for revenge.

But dead can't come back to haunt the living! Dead people are dead!

Dead, like Mama. Dead like when Andy was through with her the other night. He'd tiptoed from his hiding place in the nursing home bathroom, pulled out her catheter, let the pee drain to the floor, then knocked her head against the sink. She fell to the floor on her own.

He had to do it. During their visit last Sat.u.r.day, the old woman had mumbled to Andy that she was changing her will. Barb had called and said G.o.d would punish her if she didn't, Barb being the firstborn and all. Mama was just whacked and drugged enough believe what she was told. "I can't go against G.o.d, now, can I, Paul?" That was her dead husband's name.

And Alicia and I will go on whirling down the drainhole! Andy had thought as he and Alicia walked home from Oak Hill.

Alicia nuzzled Andy's shoulder and continued to snore.

The smell in the car grew even stronger. Andy swerved back and forth in his lane, trying to lose it through the open window. Alicia muttered against him.

A pa.s.sing truck honked; Andy glanced in the side view mirror and saw not the truck or the road, but the mangled, bleeding face of the woman, shouting silently at him, blaming him. Her fingers scrabbled up at the surface of the mirror. Then they came out of the mirror and clutched at his collar.

"Noooooo!"

Andy jerked the steering wheel and the car rumbled off the road, the shoulder, and went airborne. It flipped in mid-air. Alicia screamed. Andy's sungla.s.ses flew out the window. The suitcase and duffle bag jumped from the back seat to the front. The car landed on its top.

Alicia, dangling upside down in her seatbelt, shook Andy violently. Andy's seatbelt was holding up tightly at the throat. "Andy! Are you okay?"

I didn't want to kill her, I had to! We need the money!

"She's here to get me!" he managed.

"Who?"

"The car is haunted! You're mother's after me!"

"What? Stop it, that's crazy talk!"

Alicia unbuckled her belt and fell in a heap on the car ceiling. She jabbed the release b.u.t.ton on Andy's, and he dropped down with her then rolled over, righting himself. The winds.h.i.+eld was shattered, the hood crumpled like a piece of old school paper. Neither door would open.