Cthulhu's Daughter and Other Horror Tales
Date: 2012-01-01 08:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Horror; Science Fiction; Vampires; Fantasy
Description: From the depths of the darkest waters of the ocean to the eternal darkness of space, Rhiannon Frater crafts taunt tales of terror to enthrall avid readers of the genre. Each short story explores a different type of monster from the shambling undead to devourers of worlds. In Cthulhu's Daughter explore madness and terror as a young woman's mind slowly unravels as a hurricane bears down on her hometown. Step back in time to witness one man's flight from the ravages of war only to encounter a pack of werewolves in Fleeing and slink through the shadows of a mansion where an archaeologist obsesses
Publisher: Createspace

Cthulu’s Daughter and Other Horror Tales

Rhiannon Frater

Cthulu’s Daughter and Other Tales of Horror

By Rhiannon Frater

Kindle Edition

Original Copyright 2012 by Rhiannon Frater

All Rights Reserved.

Interior formatting by Kody Boye

Cover Artwork by Claudia McKinny of
http://phatpuppyart.com/

http://rhiannonfrater.com/
http://astheworlddies.com/

This book is a work of fiction. People, places, events and situation are the product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living, dead or undead, or historical events, is purely coincidental.

Cthulhu’s Daughter and Other Horror Tales

From the depths of the darkest waters of the ocean to the eternal darkness of space, Rhiannon Frater crafts taunt tales of terror to enthrall avid readers of the genre. Each short story explores a different type of monster from the shambling undead to devourers of worlds.

In Cthulhu’s Daughter explore madness and terror as a young woman’s mind slowly unravels as a hurricane bears down on her hometown. Step back in time to witness one man’s flight from the ravages of war only to encounter a pack of werewolves in Fleeing and slink through the shadows of a mansion where an archaeologist obsesses over the mummy queen residing in her sarcophagus in Amunet. Encounter a sentient nanny robot hoping to escape deletion while struggling to keep her ward safe from her abusive employer in Flesh and Circuits, or rush along city streets as a seeing-eye dog tries to save her blind master in Stop Requested. Witness the struggle between a mortal mother and the vampire who wants to take away her ailing child and turn him into a creature of the night in The Two Mothers. And, finally, discover what terrors lurk beyond the reflective surface of a mirror in The Key.

Each tale carries Rhiannon Frater’s distinctive stamp of stunning action coupled with realistic characters that the reader either cheers for or fears.

TABLE OF CONTENTS

The Old Ones

The Monster with the Human Face

The Vampires

The Werewolves

The Mummy

The Zombies

The Monsters from Beyond

Dedicated with much love to those who have believed in me and my writing.

Introduction

I have always considered myself to be a novelist. Poetry and short stories are two writing formats that never appealed to me for many reasons. First, I can’t write poetry to save my life (or get a passing grade in school), and, secondly, any story born in my mind always feels like an epic.

When I finally decided to try my hand at a short story, it ended up a novel. I tried again and ended up with a novella. Finally, I had to accept that though a short story may have a beginning and an end, it’s often just a piece of a much larger tale that we’re not privy to.  It was only after I accepted this as my own personal truth that I was able to write a short story.

The stories in this collection are all dear to me for a variety of reasons. In many ways they solidified my journey to becoming a well-rounded author. Quite a few of the stories previously appeared in anthologies and were written to fit a word count limit and certain themes.  Each of these stories has now been unshackled from those constraints and revised to suit my personal vision of the tale. Two other tales have never been published before and one other was published online on a free story hub until the site started charging visitors to read a story I had posted as free.

The common theme in all these stories is that there is a monster.  Some monsters wear human faces while others are terrifying with their inhuman appearance. There are traditional monsters, monsters of my own creation, and one that wears the face of a mother.

I hope you will enjoy these original tales of horror.

Rhiannon Frater

The Old Ones

The horror tales of H.P. Lovecraft remain some of the most terrifying short stories ever written. Containing an all new mythos created by the author, the Old Ones captured the imagination of readers.

Writers, filmmakers, artists, and many other creative sorts have expounded on the mythos well beyond the author’s death. One of my favorite horror films of all time, In The Mouth of Madness, is not an actual H.P. Lovecraft story, but bears a strong resemblance to his writing.

I decided to write Cthulhu’s Daughter after a particularly vivid dream. Most of my stories start in dreams, but this one really haunted me for days afterward. I had started writing for anthologies at that time, but could not find a good fit for this short story. I had scrawled the idea down, but not the actual tale. I found the concept to be quite challenging and wasn’t sure I wanted to take on the story if I couldn’t find a good fit for it.

When I decided to compile all my horror stories for this collection, I realized it was time to write the story that has haunted me for years.  I hope you enjoy my contribution to the Old Ones mythos.

Cthulu’s Daughter

I am drawn to the dark waters.

I stand at the edge of the pier watching the waves lapping against the algae-covered rocks and listen to the wind howl in my ears. Though the people around me admire the glorious blue sky, the brilliant sun, and the calls of the seagulls, it is the deep darkness beneath the waves that holds my attention. I long to be where the sun is banished and only blackness and cold enfold me.

“Lulu,” a voice calls out, drawing my attention.

My dark hair whips around my face when I turn to face my aunt. She stands a few feet away, concern etched on her already-craggy face. A hard life of waiting tables at different restaurants on Galveston Island and dealing with me has made her prematurely old and gray. I know I should feel some sort of remorse that life has been so hard for her, but I truly don’t. I don’t really feel anything toward her at all. I try to pretend that I care when she cries and wails about the terrible lot life has given her, but I know she senses my insincerity.

“C’mon, Lulu. You’re going to be late for your appointment,” she says, holding out a hand gnarled with arthritis.

The water whispers to me, calling to me, but I still don’t understand the words. It annoys me almost as much as my aunt’s watery blue eyes and the tightness around her mouth.

“I don’t want to go,” I answer. “I want to be here.”

My cousin, Daniel, scoots around her, his blond curls flying around his tanned shoulders. He is a year older than me and has always been my protector. Though he’s now nineteen and out of school, he always picks me up from the high school and makes sure no one is harassing me. Clad in shorts and a tank top, he is everything that is bright and beautiful in the world. I am his opposite. My black hair and eyes and sallow skin are everything that is dark and dreadful. But he doesn’t see that.

“C’mon, Lulu,” he says, taking my hand. “We’ll go see the doctor and then go get pizza.”

“I want to see the ocean,” I protest, trying to pull away. I’m aware of my disobedience, but I don’t care. The wind tugs at my dress and I fancy that it’s trying to topple me into the waves below.

Blue eyes twinkling, white teeth flashing, Daniel leans toward me. “I’ll take you swimming if you go.”

I relent immediately. Many times in my childhood I had been caught sleepwalking out into the ocean by family and strangers alike. I am not allowed into the water unless Daniel is with me. He’s a lifeguard and swimming instructor.

Daniel guides me along the pier, his mother following. My aunt’s blond hair is mostly silver now and her face is heavily lined. I look nothing like the remaining members of my family. My aunt used to call me her dark little cloud, but she doesn’t anymore. I am a burden she has to bear out of love for my mother.

Once inside Daniel’s old jeep, I feel the crushing weight of the ground and sky grinding down upon me. I yearn for the darkness that rests at the bottom of the ocean. Tears stream over my cheeks. I tilt my head so my hair covers my face, hiding my despair.

Galveston flows past the jeep, the city gleaming in the bright sunlight. Twisting in my seat, I stare over my shoulder at the ocean behind me. I see the smudge of grey on the horizon and know what it means. A storm is coming. And with the storm comes the voices.

***

“They found you on the pier again,” Doctor Parker says in his monotone. “Would you like to talk about that?”

“I like the ocean,” I answer, shrugging.

Dr. Parker is a shadow to me. He never seems quite real when I look at him. His brown hair and brown eyes blend into his tanned skin. As far as I’m concerned he’s a talking brown blot.

“But you always go to the pier. Do you know why that is?”

I shrug. “Because that is where I am called.”

“Called by whom?” The scratching of his pen against his notepad hurts my ears.

“I’ve told you,” I say with exasperation.

“The voices in the storm,” he says.

“Yes.”

My fingers play with the edge of my pale blue dress. I hate clothing. I find it constricting and even painful. I only wear the lightest materials and always dresses. I don’t like feeling confined. It took years for my aunt to train me to not undress in public and even more time to teach me to wear underwear. Today I took off my panties and threw them away when she wasn’t looking. I refuse to wear a bra. I smirk when I realize the doctor is staring at the dark patch of hair between my legs. I drop the hem of my skirt, swinging my feet back and forth.

“Your mother was found on that pier,” he points out. “Do you want to talk about your mother?”

An image of my mother’s pale blank face unfurls in my mind. Her blue eyes sightless, her blond hair a tangled mess, matted and dark with sweat. She doesn’t speak except to say my name, or so the doctor at the mental institution says. She’s been there since she tried to cut me out of her womb while screaming my name.

My mother was a professional mermaid, swimming at an aquarium in Florida to entertain the tourists. She had briefly appeared as the stunt double for the star of a short-lived mermaid show a few years before I was born. I’ve seen videos and photos of her, blond, beautiful, smiling happily in her sparkling blue mermaid tail, but she doesn’t look like that anymore. Now she is a drooling madwoman locked away where she can’t hurt me or herself.

“I don’t care about my mother,” I say at last.

I really don’t care. My mother is far removed from me, but so is the rest of the world. I exist in a realm outside of the human mind. I know that now. I see the world far differently from everyone else. It doesn’t frighten me. Nothing frightens me.

“You went to see your mother recently.” The doctor flips through my folder. “Your mother screamed when she saw you.”

“She always does.” I shrug and slightly smile.

My mother’s screams live in my dreams. I hear her screaming into the dark water, hear her thrashing in terror, I hear her crying out for help, but only being dragged deeper into the darkness below.

“Why are you smiling?”

Again I shrug.

“The pier is where your mother was found after disappearing off the coast of Florida while scuba diving. No one knows how she got there, or who your father is. The police suspect she was abducted by someone with a boat and that she somehow escaped when it was close to Galveston. Are you looking for your mother? Your father? When you go to the pier?”

My mother was found naked, bruised, pregnant, and catatonic on the pier in Galveston. My aunt told me that she didn’t say a word after they found her. My mother hadn’t spoken until she grabbed a butcher knife and tried to give herself an abortion while crying my name. My aunt had stopped her, saving me and my mother.

The doctor sighs when I don’t answer. “You were ordered by the court to come to these sessions after you strangled a boy at school for mocking your father. Do you want to speak about your father?”

My gaze shifts to the window. I can see the storm is spreading out on the horizon. Inside myself, I can feel the power brewing out in the ocean. I smile.

“Lulu,” the doctor says trying to grab my attention.

I slowly tilt my head toward him. “My father dwells in the darkness.”

“You’ve said that before,” Doctor Parker says. He tries not to sound irritated as he flips through my folder. “When you say that what do you mean?”

Closing my eyes, I let my dreams fill my mind. They’re always the same. My mother screaming into the murky water while the darkness consumes her and fills her with the seed that will evolve into me.

“Lulu?”

I open my eyes and lift my shoulders. “It’s something I know.”

“How do you know it?”

I’m bored with the session. Bored with his face, his voice, with everything. I hate the room we are in. It’s making it hard to breathe with its four walls and glass windows keeping out the sea air. I gaze with yearning at the storm that is approaching.

The voices have started to call to me. I didn’t notice when they actually began, but now I can hear them growing in volume.

“My father dreams,” I say at last.

The doctor leans forward, his chair creaking. He studies a piece of meaningless paper in the folder that is full of lies. “You’re taking your medications on time according to your aunt. This is true, correct? You’re not spitting them out, Lulu? Schizophrenia is not something that will go away on its own. You must take your medications.”

“I sometimes see his followers,” I say, ignoring the stupid man’s words. “Their eyes are black as the deepest water. They stare at me when I walk past them. They want me to say the words that will waken him.”

“Lulu,” the doctor’s voice is sharper now. “Are you taking your medication?”

I stand and stretch, my arms raised above my head, my hair falling to my waist. I can almost feel the dark water encompassing me, pulling me down to where my father dreams.

“Lulu, sit down,” the doctor orders.

I shrug off my dress and walk to the window. My pale fingers slide over the cooling glass. The storm is growing wilder. The water will consume Galveston and wash people into the sea to devour them like it has before. The dead are buried all over the island, their ghostly voices adding to the chant.

Laughter bursts from my lips as I am dragged away from the window by my aunt and cousin.

***

“She’s been taking her pills!”

Daniel sounds so angry. I sit in the backseat of his jeep, my hands pushing up on the roof. I hate it. My nails rake at the canvas with agitation. I don’t like that he’s put the roof on.

“Look at her, Daniel. She’s worse!” My aunt sounds defeated. She’s done dealing with me. She said as much when she forced me into my dress in the doctor’s office. She wants to place me in the same institution where my mother awaits my father’s rise.

A bark of laughter erupts from my lips.

Daniel pauses in packing the back of the jeep and comes around to make sure that I am still belted to my seat.  I touch his face when he bends over me.

“I don’t want you to die,” I tell him.

His blue eyes fringed with golden lashes fill with sadness, not fear. Smoothing my hair with his hand, he says, “We’re not going to die.”

“As soon as we get safely out of the way of the hurricane, we need to get her admitted,” my aunt says when he returns to the rear of the jeep.

Daniel remains silent while they pack the last of the possessions they are taking with them to Austin. The hurricane that was supposed to hit Mexico has changed course and is speeding toward Galveston. Everyone is afraid. I can see it in their wide eyes, frantic movements, and the swiftness of their words.

The chanting on the wind is growing louder as I wait for them to finish. We’ll have to join the long lines of people escaping Galveston Island. We’ve done this before, during Hurricane Ike. That storm devastated the island, but I know it is nothing like what will happen when my father awakens.

I close my eyes, swaying, listening to the chant.

“Lulu,” my aunt says sharply.

I open my eyes to stare into her face. “When the water comes, just close your eyes. It’ll be faster that way.”

My aunt silently thrusts the water bottle and granola bar into my hands. I watch her climb into the front seat and I giggle. She stares straight ahead, ignoring me as Daniel drives us away from our squalid little house.

The chant is growing louder now. I can feel it in my pulse and beating inside my heart. For years I have tried to discern the words of the chanters, but always failed. My mind struggles to grasp the words, to understand, to unlock the darkness inside of me so that I can become what I was born to be.

“She’s family,” my cousin says from the front seat after a very long silence. “She’s like my sister. I can’t lock her away like you did with yours.”

“My sister is catatonic. Her daughter is schizophrenic. They’re sick, Daniel! Nothing we’ve done is helping her. She’s getting worse.”

I laugh with delight, grasping some of the words of the chant.

My aunt casts a frightened look in my direction.

I snigger.

“What’s so funny, Lulu?” she asks worriedly.

“My mother wasn’t calling my name,” I answer with amusement. “She was saying my father’s name.”

“What?” My aunt frowns, lines deepening around her eyes and on her brow.

Leaning toward her, I whisper, “Ph'nglui mglw'nafh Cthulhu R'lyeh wgah'nagl fhtagn.”

Though she doesn’t understand the words, I can see the terror they stir in her. Somewhere deep inside her primal brain the words have meaning.

I snag a fistful of her hair and she screams. Daniel cries out my name, swerving off the road and onto the sidewalk. I can hear the ocean waves crashing against the shore, the winds howling, and the chant that fills me with purpose.

“In his house at R'lyeh, dead Cthulhu waits dreaming,” I hiss. “My father awaits my summons.”

I release her, pop the seatbelt buckle, and scramble over my aunt and cousin to escape the Jeep. They try to hold onto me, but I’m too strong for them now. I know my purpose. I fight them with teeth and nails and fall onto the street with blood running down my chin.

Racing away from them, I sense where I must go. I know what I must do. The words sing on the wind.

Ph'nglui mglw'nafh Cthulhu R'lyeh wgah'nagl fhtagn.

I race past the honking cars, the shouting people, the crying children, the metal monsters that will soon be crushed beneath the power of my father. I shed myself of the clothing of the humans.

The first line of the storm erupts overhead, rain slicing downward to bite at my exposed flesh. I laugh into the torrent and sprint toward the churning waters.

Ph'nglui mglw'nafh Cthulhu R'lyeh wgah'nagl fhtagn.

I am in my father’s dream now. He sees me running to the pier. I can sense him stirring. I am the spark of life that will compel him out of his deathless slumber so he can wipe away the human filth.  My hair writhes around me like his tentacles writhe around his head. I am his daughter and I will awaken him.

My feet slapping along the cold, wet pier, I sprint to the end. Flinging out my arms, I feel the wind and rain spiraling around me.  Something great, dark, and ancient stirs inside of my soul, driving out the humanity that has tainted me for so long.

I reach the end of the pier and hold out my arms to embrace the coming storm. I understand why my mother was dragged down into R'lyeh, the ancient city of the Old Ones, the ancient gods. I am Cthulhu’s daughter and it is my cry that will summon him forth to destroy the world.

“Lulu!” It’s the voice of my human cousin.

I turn to see him drenched in salt water, struggling against the storm to reach me. The last human spark inside of me mourns for him, but I am beyond such human emotions now.

“Y gnaiih Cthulhu nog! Y gnaiih Cthulhu nog!” I cry out.

My father, Cthulhu, come!

My cousin grabs my arm, trying to wrest me away. I grip his throat in my hand. My skin is so white against his tanned flesh. Twisting about, I drag him with me. Daniel claws at my hand, trying to free himself, but already his blood is bright red beneath my nails.

The darkness under the ocean waves is rising up. I can see it clearly. I fling my cousin into the water and watch his brightness and beauty be consumed by the blackness that dwells beneath.

The ocean surge grows before me, building in height and power. It will soon crash down upon me and deliver me to my father.

Raising up my hands, I scream into the wind and spray.

“Y gnaiih Cthulhu nog!”

And he does.

The Monster with the Human Face

Flesh and Circuits is one of those strange little stories that grabbed my imagination and wouldn’t let go. I wasn’t going to include this story in the collection originally because of the horror theme and the variety of monsters inside the tales. But then I realized Flesh and Circuits features one of the most terrifying monsters of all: The monster with a human face.

Though it would have been easy to stick with the cliché killer robot, the artificial life form in the story, Henrietta, embodies a lot of human characteristics that the villain of the piece, Mrs. LeDay, completely lacks. The primary theme of the story is what makes a mother a mother. Though Mrs. LeDay is Andy’s biological mother, it’s the iridescent robot that secures Andy’s devotion from the moment he sees her.

This short story was conceived for a specific anthology, but was rejected outright. The editor wanted massive changes that would have shredded the plotline and made the story completely different. Something other than my conception. Therefore, I decided to not even try to rewrite the story to meet the editor’s suggestions, but tuck it away until I found the perfect place for it. It lived for a short time online, but I took it down once the site it was posted on began to charge to read it (without giving me a royalty).

Henrietta remains one of my favorite characters. I won’t lie. I’d love to one day write a full length novel about her.

In the end, the story does fit well in this collections theme of monsters. Mrs. LeDay embodies many monstrous elements of humanity. In many ways, she is the scariest monster of all.

Enjoy!

Flesh and Circuits

“Are you happy to be here?” the little boy asked.

The robot started to answer, but her new employer interrupted.

“Don’t be stupid. She’s a robot. She’s here ‘cause I rented her to take care of your scrawny ass.” Ms. LeDay’s voice was harsh with annoyance and she slammed the front door closed behind them.

Henrietta kept her purple eyes downcast, standing timidly just inside the foyer. Ms. LeDay was almost six feet tall and towered nearly a foot over the diminutive robot. The blond human was attractive, but her presence was intimidating. Henrietta felt it was best if she took on a submission stance considering Ms. LeDay’s irritable mood. Though she appeared to be placidly awaiting new orders, her sensors were quickly scanning her surroundings.

“I think she looks nice,” the boy, around seven years old, decided, ignoring his mother’s outburst.

“She’s not nice. She’s a robot! And a cheap one at that. She just better do her job right, or it’s back to the rental agency for another one. I can’t believe I had to settle on such an old model.”

Ms. LeDay’s words were hurtful, yet truthful. Henrietta was out of date, and, therefore, regulated to the poorer families in the Outlands. It had been a steady fall from grace since she was first released from the factory and into service. Twenty years of progress in robotics had her on the verge of being obsolete. She was painfully aware of this reality and her probable fate. Henrietta knew from the information downloaded into memory that Ms. LeDay, a widow and single mother, was lower management and most likely destined to stay there despite her ambitions. Henrietta was mostly a strain on her budget, despite her lower price tag.

Timidly, Henrietta lifted her head to scrutinize the little boy. He was an earnest little thing with hazel eyes and sandy hair.  He was staring at her intently from where he was leaning over the back of the glossy white couch.  A noisy action movie hovered in the air behind him.

The boy smiled at the robot. “I like her.”

“Well, good, ‘cause we’re stuck with her creaky ass. At least now I can stay late at work and possibly get that promotion instead of worrying about you.” Ms. LeDay fussed with the outdated security system, reentering her codes over and over again in an attempt to get it to work.

“She’s pretty, too,” the little boy added, his smile widening.

This declaration surprised Henrietta. As one of the first robot lines released by the now defunct Anderson-Moore Robotics, she was decidedly bulky in appearance and nowhere near as attractive as the human-like simuloids that were now so popular. When her nanny bot line had been designed there had been very strict laws enforced by the government. All robots had to look non-human for easy identification. Henrietta’s body was iridescent synthetic flesh and lightly padded for the comfort of her young charges. A skirt matching her skin color was connected to her waist and flowed to her knees. Her face was female in appearance. She did not have hair, but the back of her head had been sculpted to give the illusion of chignon. To give her expression, she had fine thin plastic eyebrows and a moving silicon mouth. Sadly, her lips were now out of sync with her vocal program and she tended to duck her head when she spoke.

The boy continued to smile at Henrietta. “What’s her name?”

Ms. LeDay let out an explosive sigh. “Henrietta. How boring is that?”

“I like it.”

“You like everything.”

The boy shrugged.

Ms. LeDay finally gave up on trying to activate the security system. “Well, just don’t stand there, Henrietta. Go say hi to the kid. I need a drink. Stupid security system is just one more thing I can’t afford to fix.” The blond kicked off her shoes and dumped her purse and briefcase by the door before padding off to a small bar near the doorway to the kitchen.

“My name is Andy,” the little boy said as the robot awkwardly approached him.

Henrietta was self conscious of her gait. Ten years earlier she had saved her charge from being run over by a transport and had suffered extreme damage to her legs and hips. She had been repaired sufficiently to restore her mobility. As an older model, she was maintained at working level condition and nothing more by the Caretakers Rental Agency. They didn’t want to sink more money into her than necessary to keep her on the rental list. She hoped to take her Liberation Test soon and score well enough to enter society as an emancipated artificial being. Then she would not be at the mercy of her owners.

“Hello, Andy. I am Henrietta. Your nanny bot,” she began her introductory speech.

“He knows that, fucktard,” Ms. LeDay snapped. “Do your job. Amuse him or something.” Spinning around and clutching her drink, Ms. LeDay swept out of the room.

Andy shrugged again. “Mom gets mad a lot.”

“I noticed,” Henrietta said and tilted her head. “But we will do our best to keep to ourselves so she can work toward her promotion.”

A spectacular explosion filled the room and the holograms continued their battle behind the little boy. The room was large and sparsely furnished. The most expensive thing in the house was the holographic projectors embedded in the walls. The house was old fashioned, built on a concrete slab and made of actual bricks. The high ceilings had old fashioned lights installed and they gave off a somber yellow glow.

“She won’t get it,” Andy said, matter-of-fact.

“Perhaps she will and you can move to the Inner City instead of being in the Outlands.”

“Nah.” Andy shrugged again. “No one really gets out of the Outlands. They only end up here.”

As someone who had fallen from the grace of the beauty that was the Inner City, Henrietta knew that sadly this was quite true.

“Show me your room,” she said to change the somber subject.

“Okay,” the boy said.

Andy reached out and touched the hologram. It froze in mid-action sequence. Shyly taking her hand, together they walked up the stairs.

***

Later that night, Henrietta carefully turned down Andy’s bed. His room was like the rest of the house: stark and impersonal. It was a far cry from the luxuries her former charges had enjoyed. They had lived in the splendid suspended buildings of the Inner City.  Whereas those first charges had been a bit spoiled, Andy was humble and also, she realized, quite perceptive. As the night had worn on, it had become very apparent that Andy was aware of how the constrictions his place in society and that of his mother impacted on their lifestyle.

“It’s okay that we’re too poor for a simuloid,” he assured Henrietta when he crawled into bed. His hover bed was tethered to the wall to keep it from sliding out of position.  Obviously a mounting moor was broken and had not been repaired. “I like you. You’re nice.”

“Thank you, Andy.”

The robot settled beside him to read a bedtime story. She realized that despite the discomfort of her surroundings, she was quite pleased with her new post. As she grew closer and closer to being completely obsolete, she was grateful for every position to which she was assigned. She had been feeling quite lonely at the rental agency as she waited for her new assignment. It had been nearly a month since she had last seen David, a friend and fellow robot. David’s model was obsolete and he was rarely rented out unless someone wanted to make an impression on friends by renting a butler for a dinner party.

The little boy was quite sweet and she found herself enjoying his company. Her last post had been less than desirable. The children had been rowdy and difficult to control. More than once they had sabotaged her controls, rendering her immobile while they ran amok. Happily, the rental agency had blacklisted the family from further leasing privileges and had placed Henrietta back on the rental roster.

Reaching up, she tapped her finger three times in the air to signal the projectors and immediately the holoputer screen hovered in front of her. Quickly, she worked on the glowing interface and found a suitable story. Drawing her finger along the glowing frame of the screen, it slid down to simulate a book complete with illustrations.

“You don’t have to read to me. My Mom doesn’t. I can just go to sleep,” Andy offered.

Ducking her head so he could not see her unsynchronized mouth, she said, “I would like to read to you. I always find the stories informative and inspirational.”

Andy giggled. “You talk funny.”

“Do I?” She processed this. She was uncertain of what he meant.

“My Mom always yells and tells me to deal. You talk all soft and nice.”

Henrietta gently laid her hand on the boy’s arm. “I am here to take care of you and I will.”

She was rewarded with a small smile and the sight of the little boy snuggling down under his covers. Satisfied that her charge was comfortable, she began to read.

***

As always, Henrietta quickly acclimated to her new assignment and worked hard to please her employer. The nanny bot learned that Ms. LeDay preferred to have little interaction with her son and that she expected the robot to keep him busy. Ms. LeDay spent long days at the office followed by a few hours each night socializing with the other managers and clients. Andy’s mother often returned home inebriated and surly. Henrietta quickly learned to have Andy safely tucked into bed by the time her employer arrived home.

The desire to procreate was not in her programming but she found herself curious about the mother/child bond. In none of her former assignments had she seen such a sad disconnection between the parent and offspring. It was in her programming to be nurturing and provide comfort to the children in her care, but Ms. LeDay seemed to lack that basic desire. It was clear that she regarded Andy as a nuisance and had a minimal interest in him. Andy, sensing this truth, avoided his mother. Recognizing Andy’s need for more emotional comfort than her previous charges, Henrietta found herself stepping beyond the normal boundaries of her programming to accommodate his needs.

As the weeks slid by, Henrietta found Andy refreshingly different from all her former charges. He was like a little human computer with a keen photographic memory and an understanding of his world that seemed far more advanced than his years. Their conversations were surprisingly compelling and she encouraged his interest in science and space exploration. Yet at his core he was a little boy. He amused her when he held onto her hand and pretended he was Tarzan swinging on a vine when they walked home.

After school, she made him peanut butter sandwiches (no crusts) and poured him soymilk for his afternoon snack while she listened to a rundown of his daily adventures.

“Do you eat?” Andy asked one day as he munched on the corner of his sandwich.

“I have no need to,” Henrietta answered as she wiped the counter.

“The new ones do,” he said.

“Yes, but they are synthetic humans and are designed to function as a human.”

Andy pondered this. “I don’t get it.”

“Their creator, Simu-Core, believes that robots must resemble their creator and emulate them in order to fully integrate into society and become more than just,” she hesitated then quoted the marketing slogan, “walking and talking appliances.”

Andy chewed slowly, then sipped some milk. “So he’s saying you’re not as real as the new ones?”

“Yes. That is why we older models must take the Liberation test. To show we have evolved to the point of being able to interact in society in a productive manner under our own recognizance.”

“And if you don’t take the test?”

Henrietta hesitated in her cleaning. “The human government has determined a threshold for true awareness in my kind. If we do not meet those criteria, then we are considered merely machines. If we become obsolete, we are  deleted.”

Andy frowned. “I don’t think I like that.”

“Well, neither do I. Humans who understood our plight lobbied for the Liberation Test for older robots and the first test will be in two months.” She turned to gaze out the window toward the lights of the Inner City hovering high above the ground in the distance. She longed to return, but was uncertain if she would ever be able to even if she passed the test.

“Are you going to take it?”

“Someday,” she answered, and gave him her quirky, stilted smile.

“Will the new robots take it?”

“They have been given a contract of service that eventually liberates them if they so choose.”

A new golden age of technology was being heralded, and to Henrietta and her kind, it just meant their time was nearly at an end. If not for the lobby of humans on the behalf of the first generation of “thinking” robots, Henrietta would not have a chance to escape the scrap heap.

“When you take the test, will you still be my nanny bot?” A little frown formed between the boy’s brows.

“If your mother wants to hire me directly. I will no longer be considered property, therefore, I will no longer be a rental robot, but an actual working nanny.”

Andy took another bite. “I bet she will.” He nodded to himself. “You make things better here.”

***

The sprawl of carefully arranged products under flashy holographic ads drew the attention of shoppers as Henrietta led Andy by the hand through the grocery store. The din of people speaking mixed with the soft melodic music drifting through the lightly scented air. Located on the outskirts the Outlands and the Perimeter, it was the closest many of the poorer Outlanders every got to witnessing the flashy, beautiful marketing of the Inner City floating just beyond the massive gates most would never pass through.

“I want apples. And pears,” Andy informed her. “And bananas with no icky brown spots.”

Customers casually strolled through the lush produce department where real vines and trees integrated into the displays of colorful fruit and vegetables.

“Very well,” she answered.

Henrietta carefully calculated the added costs of these additions to her grocery list. The food budget was very tight, but she was always careful to download the latest sales and coupons. Andy had been mildly underweight when she first arrived at her post, but now he had a rosy glow to slightly rounded cheeks.

She was studying a ruby red apple when she heard a commotion behind her. Turning, she saw a simuloid making her way through the produce section with a collection of children in her wake.  As with all simuloids, the nanny was perfection incarnate. Her skin was smooth and without pores. Her eyes were vivid and clear. Her glossy black hair was perfectly coiffed. Though she appeared human, she was too unblemished to be human.  Henrietta knew that there had been a design for a more realistic, flawed looking simuloid, but it had been rejected for the more “perfect” model.

“Oh, look,” the simuloid said with a flash of extremely white teeth. “One of my ancestors still walking and talking.”

Henrietta gave her a slight nod of her head and returned her gaze to the apple.

“I thought your kind had all been deleted.”

This was a deliberate dig at her. The simuloids had to be aware of the Liberation Test for the older models.

“We are still here,” Henrietta said, and felt painfully aware of her lips not matching her words.

“Amazing,” the simuloid said, and laughed. She was drawing a lot of attention and seemed to relish it. This newer breed did seem to have an inherent desire for adoration.

“She’s my nanny bot,” Andy said defensively. “I love her.”

This brought chortles from those around them and the children in the simuloid’s care all laughed.

“She’s ugly,” one of the little girls said pointing at Henrietta.

“No she’s not! You take that back!” Andy clenched his fists at his side.

“She’s stupid,” a smaller child, a boy, mocked.

Henrietta carefully placed the apple into her basket and looked toward the simuloid. The beautiful creature was smiling and making no move to rein in the children under her care.

“It was a pleasure meeting you,” Henrietta lied. Taking Andy firmly by the hand, she drew him away.

“It was simply astonishing meeting you,” the simuloid said.

“She’s going to take the Liberation Test,” Andy blurted out. “She’s smart and nice.”

“Really?” The simuloid smiled at those observing her. “How kind of our government to give the old ones such hope.”

Henrietta clutched Andy’s hand tighter and headed toward the checkout line. She would come back later for the rest of the groceries. Something inside of her seemed off. Painful. She wondered if some of her circuits were failing. Or maybe, she thought, this is what it felt like to be embarrassed. Of late her emotional evolution was accelerating and it took her time to process and classify her new feelings.

“I love you,” Andy whispered. “I don’t care what anyone says.”

To her surprise, the pain inside lessened and she gave him her strange little smile.

***

One night, Andy spent the night with his classmates on an overnight field trip and Henrietta was finally able to slip away to the more industrialized area of the Outlands. This section of the Outlands was a remnant of the old world and she hurried along the darkened streets toward an abandoned movie theater. There the drone workers slaved throughout the day and night on the machinery that kept the Outlands and Inner City alive.

Scurrying down an alley, she found the back door to the theater and knocked tentatively. Near the wall that encircled the Outlands she could see the sleek, obsidian-armored Guardians on patrol. They were terrifying. Made a generation before her kind, they were not sentient. The Guardians were truly killing machines with programming that made them lethal to anyone or anything breaking the human laws. She wasn’t technically doing anything wrong, but she wanted to be safely out of their view. It was a relief when the door opened and she stepped inside.

An older human man with a fringe of gray hair pouring over his highbrow smiled at her. “Hello, Henrietta. It’s very good to see you.”

“Dr. Samuel, it is a pleasure,” she answered, gracing him her quirky smile. He had offered to fix the flaws she was developing, but she had refused, knowing any sudden repairs would cause questions to be asked by the Caretakers.

“Come in and join us,” he said.

Dr. Samuel swept his hand toward an open door that led into a larger room. Inside, she found robots of her generation of varying professions waiting for the meeting to start. They were all a little battered and discolored. Some looked humanoid, while others distinctly did not. Conversation was a low drone, and she greeted a few acquaintances before she took a seat near the front, tucking her iridescent skirt around her legs and crossing her ankles.

Observing the room, she noted that David, her longtime friend, was nowhere to be seen. They had worked together for years in the same households. She had been the nanny to the wealthy and he had been their butler. He was the closest thing she had to a true friend and she felt an emotion she identified as worry ripple through her. Since David’s butler line was close to being deleted, he always attended these meetings in hopes of passing the Liberation Test.

Dr. Samuel walked to the front of the room and loudly cleared his throat. The conversations among the robots ceased and they turned their full attention to the human.  Tonight he had a human assistant, a tall man with dark hair and blue eyes. The newcomer stood to one side of the stage. Henrietta stared at him curiously. Dr. Samuel usually led the meetings alone. The new man smiled warmly at her and winked. The action surprised her.

“Good evening, everyone,” Dr. Samuel started. “I know you expected this class to once again coach you on how to properly respond to the questions on the Liberation Test.” He hesitated, looking quite solemn. “But I have obtained information that is most disturbing that I must share with you. In fact, when I first received this news, I did not share it with the others in the Liberation Front until I could verify its legitimacy. We have all known that if a robot fails the test they will face deletion. The Liberation Test was conceived as a way to allow robots to obtain the right for self-determination. Sadly, it has been discovered that if a robot does pass the test, the Government will simply reprogram it and shift it into menial work in order to ensure no possibility of a future civil rights movement for robots. The robot will be programmed to say this is what they desired and new failsafes will be implemented to assure compliance. In other words, you will lose all the personality traits you have developed along with your evolving emotions. The Government is afraid that because your generation does not have the fail safes that will ensure your undivided loyalty to humanity that you can never be trusted.”

Henrietta lowered her gaze and felt something dark and terrifying filling her sensors. Her programming was already working to absorb and adapt to this new disturbing information and the emotion it elicited within her. What she felt was worse than fear. Slowly, she realized it was panic. Her hopes of an independent existence were disappearing.

“As you know, I have been an outspoken critic of Simu-Core for years. I do believe they have plans other than creating a new breed of sentient artificial beings. It was through some of their leaked memos that I discovered one of their plots. The Simu-Core researchers want to attempt the transfer of the human consciousness into a simuloid body. Though I find this concept disturbing, it did inspire me to consider new options for you. I was on the original team that created the more human version of the simuloids that were later scraped in preference of the more perfect model. With other scientists in the Liberation Front, I have developed a way to convert the consciousness of older model robots into new, updated bodies. Bodies that will allow you to pass as humans.”

Henrietta once again directed her attention to the man standing next to Dr. Samuel and scrutinized him. He had winked at her earlier and something about him seemed familiar.

“The Liberation Front is willing to assist all of you in starting a new life. There is much more going on than I can fully divulge here, but if you are interested in what we can offer, we are more than willing to help you with new identities.” Dr. Samuel looked nervous, but composed. “You will appear human and this will give you the opportunity to continue your evolution and live out your long lives. The Liberation Front has an Underground Railroad to Mars where you can live as citizens without the intense scrutiny of the Earth government.”

“How do we know it will work? What if it the process does nothing more than delete us after all?”

Henrietta glanced toward the questioner, a tall robot near the back. He was an obsolete maintenance robot that was close to deletion if he did not pass the Liberation Test. His question was exactly what she was wondering.

“We’ve already accomplished it.” Dr. Samuel’s voice was triumphant as was his smile. “We had a volunteer.” His gaze flicked to the man standing next to him.

Henrietta stood up slowly, and said, “David.”

The man next to Dr. Samuel smiled at her. “I knew you would figure it out.”

Henrietta tilted her head and stared at him in wonder. Suddenly, where her world had appeared quite bleak, it began to look quite different.

“What would we have to do?” she asked.

***

David walked Henrietta to the transport station after the meeting concluded. Henrietta found it difficult not to stare at him. He looked human down to the delicate blood vessels in his eyes and the tiny hairs on the back of his hands. His height was the same as his old body and he walked a little stiffly, but it was a more human gait than even the simuloids.

“Why did you do it?” she asked. “Why did you volunteer?”

“Because I had to. I’m closer to deletion than you are. When Dr. Samuel offered me the option, I saw no other choice. The Government wants us expunged, deleted, removed. I value what I am. I value my life.”

“You speak like a human,” she mused.

“It is different in this body,” he admitted. “I feel different. I know what I am, but now...When you do it you will understand.”

They hesitated a block before the station where she would catch a transport to return to her post.

Henrietta tilted her head and regarded him. “How are you acclimating to your new body?”

David pondered her question before answering. “It is different. An adjustment. I am once more evolving and it is exciting. It is wondrous.” Surprising her, he took her hands into his own. “Henrietta, I wish to share this with you. You must do the procedure.”

Confusion registered in her synthetic mind as she stared at the contrast between his human-appearing hands and her delicate iridescent ones. “David, I like my new post. I like the little boy. I feel I am performing a good service taking care of him. His mother is an alcoholic and not very attentive to his needs. They cannot afford a more expensive nanny bot and-”

“What if one day they can afford a more expensive model and opt to dismiss you? What will happen then?” David looked at her with concern. “What then, Henrietta? You cannot risk the chance of being dismissed. And if you take the Liberation Test and pass, you are facing reprogramming. If you fail, they will delete you.”

“I wish not to be deleted or reprogrammed,” she said. “But the little boy needs me. I do not know if I can leave him knowing that I could have helped him.”

“Henri, you need to consider your own future. The simuloids have captured the affections and imaginations of the humans. They look upon our kind as nothing more than objects to be dismissed when our usefulness is finally at an end. You and I both know you have evolved far beyond their understanding. A simuloid body is our only chance to truly be free.”

“I have never been uncomfortable with what I am,” Henrietta said softly. “Not since I became fully aware of my nature and my capabilities. I do not want to be deleted and I yearn for independence.”

“In this you have a choice, Henri. You can choose to leave your old world behind and become something much more. Come with me to Mars.”

“But if I leave the boy—”

David sighed and released her hands.

Henrietta cast her gaze downward, and said, “Give me a week to consider.”

David nodded. An expression very much like worry tainted his human face. “Very well. I will meet you in one week, but consider yourself first before the boy.”

***

Henrietta found that making a decision was not as easy as it had been in the early days of her existence. In the beginning, she had made decisions based on the parameters of her programming. She had processed all the information provided and then extrapolated the possible outcomes before making a final choice. Slowly, she had lost the ability to deal merely with the facts of the matter as her personality and emotions evolved.

In the days after the meeting, Ms. LeDay was even angrier and more abusive than usual. She would fly into a rage at the slightest perception of noncompliance to her latest demands. It was obvious that things were not progressing as she had hoped at her job and her drinking escalated. Henrietta made certain to have Andy in bed by the time her employer returned from work and that all her tasks around the house were perfectly completed in hopes of evading her wrath.

Andy was withdrawn and cautious on the few occasions he did interact with his mother, but when she was at work Henrietta found him to be a happy, engaging little boy. Every day when she picked him up from school, he would run and grab her hand and tell her excitedly about his day. In the evenings, he would watch her make dinner and talk to her animatedly while he did his homework at the kitchen table.

“Do you want to be a mommy?” he asked one night.

“I do not know what it is to be a mother,” she answered as she set his food in front of him along with a glass of ice water.

“Yeah, you do,” he said with giggle. “You’re a good mommy.”

She was strangely touched by his comment, but uncertain how to answer.

“If I could pick a mommy, I would pick you. My mommy really doesn’t like me anyway,” he said with a sigh.

“I’m sure she loves you very much,” Henrietta assured him.

He shrugged and stabbed at his cauliflower with his fork. Next to him was an assignment he had done at school. She had seen him carrying it earlier, but he had not shared it with her.

Almost as if he was sensing her curiosity, he slid the printout toward her. He had obviously created it in a graphics program and it was an amazingly well-crafted image of a young woman with brown hair, violet eyes, and a bright smile.

“This is very lovely,” she decided.

“I got an A on it,” he admitted.

“What is it for?”

“In art class we had to draw our mommy.”

The image looked nothing like Ms. LeDay.

“So who is this?”

“You. If you were human,” he answered and tapped the image with his little finger. “You would look like that.”

“Really?” Henrietta studied the image of the young woman. She could see how he had roughly translated her countenance into a human one. “But I’m not your mommy. And I am robot.”

Andy shrugged, then stuck a bit of chicken in his mouth and chewed. He didn’t answer her.

Later, when the house was quiet and Ms. LeDay had passed out on the sofa, Henrietta sat in silence in the kitchen and stared at the image Andy had created by the light of the full moon. Perhaps she could not be a human mother to Andy, but she could be his nanny bot. She could continue her service to Andy and his mother and delay the procedure that would allow her to pass as human and become a person of independence. That choice would ensure Andy’s safety.

Or she could leave him behind and do what was required to save herself from possible deletion and allow her to live life as she chose. Yet, that choice would leave Andy at the mercy of his mother’s temper.

As she stared at the waning moon, she realized, in the end, there was really no choice at all.

***

“No, I’m not coming with you,” Henrietta said softly to David.

He stood on the doorstep of the house staring at her with an expression she could not quite decipher. It was incredibly human and raw.

“This boy,” David said after a moment, “you love him?”

“Yes,” Henrietta admitted. “I do. I understand what love means now. In novels love is always described as self-sacrificing. I never understood what that meant until now. Therefore, I cannot go.”

David nodded. “When the time comes, contact me on Mars. I will take you to Dr. Samuel.”

“It will be some time yet. I cannot leave him until he is older.”

“I understand. I hope you chose well, Henri. I shall miss you.”

Somewhere inside of her, she felt a twinge she identified as loss. “I will miss you, too, David.”

David leaned over and kissed her metal cheek tenderly. “Goodbye, Henri.” Turning, he strolled away.

Henrietta shut the door and felt a small moment of panic. She had just postponed her best chance at survival and possibly doomed herself.

“Are you going away?” Andy stood nearby, eating a banana and holding a large stuffed monkey in one arm. He was in his pajamas. He must have come downstairs to look for her. It was his bedtime and she always tucked him in after reading him a story.

“No,” she answered firmly as she fully accepted her choice and embraced it. “I’m not.”

“Are they going to delete you?”

“No, not for a long time.” Henrietta reached out and touched his hair gently. “Not as long as I’m working here.”

Andy’s bottom lip trembled slightly. “If you gotta run away so they don’t delete you, can I come with you?”

Henrietta gently picked him up and held him close. “I won’t leave you and I won’t run away.”

Andy wrapped his arms tightly around her neck and snuggled against her, smearing a good portion of his banana over her shoulder. “Promise?”

“Yes, I promise,” Henrietta assured him and carried him up the stairs.

***

Henrietta was in the kitchen cleaning the banana off her synthetic flesh when the front door banged open and Ms. LeDay barged in. The robot quickly rushed into the living room to find her employer seething with a crazed look on her face.

“There you are!” Ms. LeDay hurtled her purse across the room and kicked her shoes off so violently one of them struck the wall near Henrietta. “My gawddamn boss had the fucking nerve to demote me! He says my priorities are obviously fucked up and that I’m too caught up in my home life to do my job correctly!”

“I’m sorry,” Henrietta said timidly.

“You’re sorry? No, I’m the one who’s sorry! When my husband died, I kept the kid. I kept him even though I never wanted him. It was my stupid husband’s idea to spawn. Andy’s been a fucking noose around my gawdamn neck ever since his father died,” Ms. LeDay raged.

“He’s just a little boy,” Henrietta said meekly.

“Well, that little boy has been acting up in school! When I had to take an hour off my job to go deal with his teacher, I got demoted!”

Henrietta was startled. “I wasn’t aware-”

“I bet you weren’t! He acts like a little angel around you!”

“He seems to be doing well in school and-”

“Well, his report on his family life was all about you and not a word about me. The teacher called me in to discuss the issue and nearly called Protective Services on me!” Ms. LeDay loomed over the petite robot, glowering.

“I was not aware that this was the situation. Had I known I would have corrected him.”

“What are you telling my kid? Are you turning him against me?”

The woman was obviously inebriated and Henrietta took a step back from her. This only seemed to anger the woman more.

“No. No. I assure you I am only trying to do my best.”

“Your best is destroying my life!” Ms. LeDay picked up the nearest heavy object, which happened to be an abstract metal statue, and struck Henrietta across the face. Shocked, Henrietta staggered back from the enraged woman.

“We’re done with you. Get the hell out of my house!”

“But I—”

“No, Mommy, no!”

Both the robot and the human looked up to see the little boy at the top of the stairs.

“Get your ass down here,” Ms. LeDay screamed at him. “This thing is not your Mother. I am! You nearly got me reported!”

Andy took a tentative step downward, but Henrietta knew instinctively that it was not safe for him. Ms. LeDay stank of liquor and the rage in her eyes was beyond reason.

“No, Andy, go to your room,” Henrietta said firmly.

Ms. LeDay’s bloodshot eyes fastened on the robot. “You little bitch.”

Henrietta expected the attack and raised her arms to fend off the blows of the heavy statue. She staggered backwards as her processors quickly evaluated the extent of the damage. She didn’t register any actual pain, but she heard a terrible ripping sound before realized she had lost use of her left arm. It hung limply at her side.

“Henrietta!”

Henrietta saw Andy rushing down the stairs.

“Andy, no!”

Ms. LeDay swept around, the statue clutched in one hand. “Come here, you little fucker!”

Andy finally registered that he was in danger and stumbled to an abrupt halt near the base of the stairs. Catching hold of the rail, he tried to get his feet under him when his irate mother lurched after him. The little boy barely avoided the clutching hand of his mother.

Henrietta tottered forward. The makeshift repairs on her hips had been insufficient to begin with and under the onslaught of the enraged human had suffered new damage. Henrietta strove to climb the stairs as Ms. LeDay drunkenly scrabbled after the little boy barely avoiding her.

“Andy, lock yourself in your room,” Henrietta ordered.

“Andy, don’t listen to her. Come here! I’m your mother, not her!”

The little boy reached the second floor and stared at his mother in terror.

“You come here you little shit,” his mother screeched. She was clutching the statue so tightly her fingers were white. The veins bulged on her neck and her eyes were wide with rage. She appeared murderous. To the robot’s horror, Ms. Leday took a swing at Andy, but the child managed to dart away.

Henrietta managed to reach the top of the stairs and grabbed hold of the woman from behind. Her original programming prevented violence, but she had to protect the boy and that overrode all else. Even if the human law forbade her from attacking humans, she knew she had no choice. Ms. LeDay was beyond reason.

The taller person twisted in Henrietta’s grasp and slammed the heavy statue against the robot’s head over and over again even as Henrietta attempted to tug her down the stairs.

“You fucking little robot bitch,” Ms. LeDay shrieked at Henrietta.

A list of damages scrolled past Henrietta’s vision. She valiantly grappled with the human woman.  She had to protect Andy. It was all that mattered to her despite the terrible damage her processors were reporting.

“Please, Andy, go in your room and shut the door!”

Ms. LeDay growled and shoved Henrietta against the railing. Henrietta tried to thrust the woman off her, but her flimsy hips gave out, toppling her backwards. Ms. LeDay saw her advantage and seized it. With a gleeful grin, she shoved the robot over the railing. Henrietta hit the metal and glass display case below and her body twisted and tore before she finally tumbled to the floor.

Ms. LeDay leaned low over the railing and laughed at the broken robot. “Serves you right, you little bitch!”

The scroll before Henrietta’s eyes was now highlighted red and her limbs no longer responded. She could see Ms. LeDay swing about to pursue Andy and felt utter despair.

Andy’s hoverbed aggressively struck Ms. LeDay and knocked her off balance. The intoxicated woman struggled to keep upright, but the bed rammed into her again and she tumbled downstairs. She landed at the base of the steps, her head smacking the floor with a resounding crack.

“Andy,” Henrietta whispered in shock when she realized what he had done.

The boy shoved his hover bed away from the top of the stairs and ran down the steps to kneel at her side.

“Henrietta,” he sobbed, tears streaking his face. “Henrietta.”

She could not move and her lips were frozen when she tried to speak. “Andy, you shouldn’t have-”

Andy wiped his tears from his cheeks and the tiny wet drops fell across Henrietta’s battered countenance. “She hurt you bad! Please don’t die! Please don’t die!”

Inside her body, systems were shutting down as energy was conserved for core functions.

“Andy, call the police so they can come take care of you.”

“No! No! I’ll fix you,” he said firmly.  Frantically, he tried to shove her arm back into the socket. “I’ll fix you, then we can run away.”

“Andy, please,” Henrietta whispered. Her voice was weak and distorted. “She might get up.”

Looking over his shoulder, fear blossomed in Andy’s features. “I’ll go get the police! They’ll take her away and fix you!”

Henrietta struggled to speak, to move, to reach him, but he was already running out the front door.

The scroll before her eyes registered that vital systems were beyond repair. Sadly, she realized that she had reached the end of her life span. Her gaze shifted toward the door, craving to see the little boy one more time.

As the optical systems started to short out, her vision started to flicker and blur.

Another critical message appeared before her gaze.

When it cleared, Andy and David were leaning over her. The little boy sobbed and clutched her unresponsive hand while David inspected the damage.

“Fix her! Fix her!” Andy yelled.

“Keep him safe,” Henrietta whispered to David.

“Fix her,” Andy sobbed, clutching her fingers desperately. “Fix her!”

Henrietta felt the last of her systems shutting down. Remorse filled her at the thought of leaving the boy, but inside her, there was peace: the boy was safe.

With that thought, her world went black.

***

Two months later, the doors to the local school burst open and the students streamed out in a loud burst of adolescent excitement to start the summer holiday. Parents, simuloid nannies, and older siblings waited for the youngsters in the designated waiting area, waving and smiling, as the children dashed toward them.

Andy walked slowly, tiredly, and sadly toward the waiting throng of people. He dreamed of Henrietta every night and always woke up crying. There was no one to comfort him in the dormitory he shared with other children and he often fell back to sleep quietly sobbing.

During the day he attended school and at night he played with the other children, but there was no pretty iridescent robot to read him to sleep, or make him peanut butter sandwiches.

On the news they had said bad things about his beloved nanny bot and worse things about his mother. The staff at the foster facility tried to shield him, but he still heard the stories. He had a killer robot nanny and a crazy mom.

A drone from the local foster care facility always picked him up from school and everyday he wished that Henrietta would be there instead. Sadly, he knew wishes never came true. His world was lonely and gray. All he wanted was to have his nanny bot back in his life holding his hand and taking him home.

The little boy was almost to the crowd of waiting adults when he noticed the petite brunette standing nervously to one side. Andy hesitated in his step and stared at the young woman with the pretty lavender eyes. Immediately, he feared he was dreaming. Wishes did not come true.

With a quirky little smile he knew well, the young woman raised her hand and waved at him.

Andy then knew the truth.  He ran to her and Henrietta swept him into her arms.

“Oh, Andy,” she said with joy in her voice. “I’ve missed you!”

“Are you here to be my mommy?” Andy asked, his arms locked around her neck.

“Yes,” Henrietta answered, and there were tears in her eyes.

“You’re fixed and stuff,” Andy exclaimed.

“Not the same as before,” she answered. “But it’s still me.”

“I know,” Andy assured her with a big smile. “But you look just the same in my heart!”

Henrietta laughed with delight and kissed his cheek firmly. “I’m glad. You look just the same in my heart.”

“You’re not going to get deleted, right?”

Henrietta shook her head firmly. “No. I’m not. I’m going to live a very long time and be your mommy.”

Andy gave her his biggest grin. “Promise?”

Henrietta smiled. “I promise.”

“Good.”

“Ready to go?” she asked as she set him on his feet and took his hand firmly in her own.

Andy nodded excitedly. “Yes. Where are we going?”

“To our new home far away.”

“Good!” He was smiling so big his face hurt.

David stood nearby, waiting.

“David is coming, too?”

“Yes,” Henrietta answered with a nervous smile. “He will be your new father.”

The little boy clutched her hand even tighter and whispered, “Wishes do come true.”

Henrietta leaned down and kissed his forehead softly. “Yes, they do.”

Together, the mother and son, robot and human, walked toward David and their future.

***

Hours later, as the huge colony ship left orbit for Mars, Henrietta and David sat with Andy in the small observation deck attached to their rooms. Together they watched the Earth slowly slide from view to be replaced with glittering stars.

“I’ve never had a daddy before,” Andy said to David thoughtfully.

“I’ve never had a son before,” David answered and tousled the boy’s hair.

Andy felt different in Henrietta’s arms now. She could feel him breathing and felt her own simulated breath whisper a chorus with his. It created a different emotion in her than she had ever felt before.

“We’re a family, right?” Andy asked.

“Yes,” Henrietta answered. “We are.”

She gazed at David fondly. He had saved her and Andy. He was a true and faithful companion. If not for David, she would have not received her new body or have a new identity as Andy’s mother.

A little awkwardly, David kissed the corner of her mouth. It felt odd, but quite nice. Henrietta touched her lips in wonder. David looked amused and tucked his arm around her shoulders. There would be much to learn about this new human-like body and the emotions it drew from her rapidly evolving programs. She laid her head on David’s shoulder and sighed softly.

Andy nestled against her. “Are you happy to be here?”

“Yes,” Henrietta answered firmly. “Yes, I am.”

The small family of two robots and one little boy watched as the silvery moon rose in the viewport and they left the Earth behind.

The Vampires

The popularity of vampires in the last few years has tainted the once fearsome creatures of the night in the eyes of many horror fans. They’re now known as romantic heroes that sparkle in the sunlight, or muscle-bound shirtless men with flowing hair on the covers of romance novels.  This is a far departure from the terrible creatures of lore and the most popular vampire of all, Dracula.

It was the vampire I feared when growing up. The vampire was the boogeyman outside my window waiting to suck my blood and drain my life away.  I lived in absolute terror of vampires. Yet, when I finally wrote my first horror novel, the vampire was the monster I chose to write about.

Now, many years later, I have two vampire series that are steadily growing in popularity despite the fact that my vampires can be very ruthless and extremely dangerous. Yet, inside them remain the embers of the mortal they once were. The return to the more cunning, terrible vampire is a welcome relief. Vampires are not pretty humans with sharp teeth, but something altogether more frightening.

The vampires in The Two Mothers are definitely not nice. They are tainted by the long years of their existence.  In some ways, the true monster of this piece is loneliness and the toll it takes on someone through the years.

The Two Mothers also appears in my vampire short story collection Blood & Love and Other Vampire Tales. In my opinion, it also fits well with this collection. I hope you enjoy it.

The Two Mothers

1

All she wants is a child to dull the ache of her loneliness. She's tired of men. Tired of women. Tired of the nights drifting into one another with the same story playing on the stage of her dreary life.

She just wants a child.

Of course, it is impossible for her to conceive and bear her own, but she knows she can take what she wants if she can just find the one that will call her “mama.”

One day, as the sun is setting just below the gleaming skyscrapers of Manhattan, she sees him from her perch high above the street. A little boy, four years old, with brown hair and big green eyes, trailing behind his weary-looking young mother. Trudging down the streets of New York City, maneuvering through the crowded sidewalks, trying not to slip on the icy walk, the two figures peak her interest as they struggle on.

The mother is young, her face prematurely-lined with worry. Her brown hair escapes a ratty cap and her clothes are obviously second-hand. The child is dressed a bit better than his mother. Obviously, she has taken great care to give him what she will not buy for herself. Warm snug clothes and boots. The mother is hidden under several sweaters and a windbreaker, layered to provide warmth.

The vampire drops down into an alley. The little boy notices her as she steps out of the shadows and onto the sidewalk as they pass. The child keeps looking over his shoulder at her, smiling, his mittened hand clasped firmly in his mother’s cold, pale, reddened fingers.

The vampire smiles back at him and he laughs.

He laughs despite the stench of death on him and his sallow coloring.

It touches her.

She follows them through the exodus of people making their way home after a long day's work. The winter brings an early, cold nightfall. The vampire enjoys this season. The two she is following lead her to the decrepit apartment building. She discreetly follows them up the sloping, warped stairway. It is easy to do, this place being crowded with people coming and going, children trying to play in the narrow halls. She watches as the mother carefully unlocks the door to her tiny apartment and slips inside.

The little boy looks over his shoulder once more and lifts his tiny hand to wave at her.

She waves back. A smile spreads on her lips. It is the first time she has truly smiled in a very long time.

The door closes and she steps back into the darkness of the stairwell.

She has found the one.

2

“What are you up to, Elise?” His voice is terse. He doesn't trust her.

She doesn't blame him.

Looking up, she shoves her dark hair back from her face. “Nothing.”

“You're lying.”

He is leaning against the window across from the piano. The skyline of New York spreads out behind him in a panorama of earthbound stars. He looks so young. She always thinks of him as being ancient, but at moments like these, with his hair newly shorn and his clothes reflecting the latest fashion trends, he is wonderfully young and fresh.

She shrugs in response to his accusation. Her fingers fumble with the keys on the piano, not really playing, just musing.

“You've been going out a lot, Elise.”

“I'm bored. When I'm bored, I wander.”

His large arms are folded over his broad chest. He looks like a young football player at a local high school somewhere in Virginia. He's angry. She can feel it. When he cannot control her, he grows angry. It has been so long since she loved him and he knows it.

“Don't do anything stupid,” he orders.

“Jacob,” she says in a plaintive voice, “would I do that?”

He is a blur, then she is up against the wall, his huge body pressed hard against hers.

“Don't think I don't know what goes on in your mind? Don't think I haven't seen flashes of your desire. A child, Elise? Really? Are you that bored? If you are, I can relieve you of this immortal coil, you know? I made you. I can destroy you.”

She flashes back to that moment when he had pinned her to the ground outside of her family's dilapidated homestead in West Virginia so long ago. Her threadbare dress had torn when he had seized her and she had been distraught when she heard it rip. The thought of her husband beating her for destroying her only dress had filled her with fear until Jacob had bared his fangs and sank them into her slim throat. That was when everything had changed and she had been lost to the darkness.

Elise tries not to look into his eyes. She tries not to feel her fear rising up inside of her. He can read her thoughts even more clearly when she is afraid. She has to divert him now or everything will be lost.

She wraps her long legs around his waist, grips his thick neck with her hands, and kisses him deeply.

They may hate each other, but they are joined by blood. Within seconds they are lost in a fever of lust. When his teeth sinks into her neck and he fills her sex, she closes her eyes and tries not to weep.

3

Elise perches on the fire escape and taps on the window of the little boy's room. It is the only bedroom in this tiny apartment. It's not much bigger than the living room where the mother is trying to sleep on the battered sofa. It is obvious the mother has tried hard to decorate the little room in cheerful blue and red with a big tattered poster of Spider-man, rescued from a trash bin outside a theater, hanging on the wall.

Tapping lightly again, she smiles as the boy stirs and looks through the glass at her. Sitting up, he rubs one hand across his eyes.

“Hi,” he says. “I like your sunglasses.”

She laughs and takes them off, revealing her green eyes.

“I like your room.”

He cocks his head. “I saw you today.”

“I saw you, too.”

“I saw you another time, too.”

“I know.”

He slips from the bed and walks over to the window to peer up at her.

“You're pretty.”

“So are you. Can I come in?” Elise pushes back her dark hair from her face and tries to not look threatening.

This is the first time he shows any hesitation. With a sigh, he says, “I'm not supposed to talk to strangers.”

“Well, Dylan, my name is Elise. And your Mom is Brianna. See? We're not strangers.”

“Mama's asleep,” he says thoughtfully. “She's tired. She works a lot.”

“I know, so we don't want to wake her. Can I come in for a little visit?”

Dylan considers, pursing his lips.

She takes out the bag of donuts and the chocolate milk she purchased at the corner store. “I brought a snack.”

“Okay, but be quiet. Mama is sleeping.”

“Turn around,” she says.

He obeys slowly, his green eyes lingering longingly at the donuts. Finally, he turns completely around, his back to her. She slides effortlessly into the room through the crack under the window and moves to sit on his bed.

“Here, come here. Sit and eat these. I need to check on your Mom real quick.”

With a little giggle, he sits on the bed and helps himself to the donuts. “Be quiet though. Mama is tired.”

She loves the sound of his little voice. The thought of him one day calling her mama thrills her.

Entering the small room that doubles as a kitchen and living room, she is quiet and stealthy. Moving over to the sofa, she can see the young mother is deeply asleep. At her side is a large tote bag that doubles as her purse. Manila folders, neatly labeled, fill most of it.

Elise pulls out a folder, opens it, and reads, her eyes able to see clearly in the darkness.

It is then that she knows for sure. Little Jacob is dying of leukemia and his desperate mother, so young and worn down with life, is his crusader.

Tilting back her head, she inhales deeply, smelling the staleness of the room and death lingering so nearby. It is perfect.

Too perfect.

They are in need of the liberation she can bring to their tortured weary lives.

She smirks with pleasure.

Returning to the bedroom, she looms over Dylan as he eats his donuts.

“Are they good?”

“Uh huh. I love donuts!” He giggles and smiles at her, his face smeared with powdered sugar and chocolate.

“Eat them up.”

“Do you want one?”

“Oh, no. I will eat soon enough. Eat them up.”

Happily, Dylan eats his last meal, taking sips of his chocolate milk, looking so adorable in his Spider-man pajamas, snuggled into his bed of frayed and worn covers, as the cold harsh wind blows outside and the snow starts to fall.

4

Brianna stirs. Her head feels heavy on the pillow. The room is dark, but the light filtering around the shades is gray. Glancing at the clock, she is startled to see it is already two hours into her shift at the café down the street. Quickly sitting up, she reaches for the phone, an excuse ready to pour from her lips, desperate to not be fired from the job that is so vital to her son’s life.

The phone is crushed to pieces on the stand.

Gasping, she looks frantically around the room.

The one piece of furniture that she owns that has any worth, her great grandmothers wardrobe, is shoved up against the front door.

As she stands, her hands begin to tremble.

It is then that she sees the dark-haired woman leaning against the tiny kitchen counter staring at her. Eerily, the woman's eyes seem to glimmer like those of a cat.

“I'm here for Dylan.”

Brianna is so startled by the sight of this woman and her bizarre eyes that she can barely understand the words spoken to her.

“What?”

“I'm here for Dylan.”

“Who are you?”

The woman laughs slightly. “Death.”

Terrified, Brianna reaches for the phone, then remembers. Who is this insane woman in her apartment? Her eyes dart to Dylan's bedroom door. If she has hurt her son...

“Dylan!”

She darts to the door, but the woman appears in front of it with supernatural speed.

Brianna gasps, afraid.

“He's sleeping.”

“What have you done to my son!” Brianna tries to budge the woman from the door, but the woman easily resists. Brianna lashes out at her, but her wrist is firmly captured.

The woman with the eerie eyes draws near. “You've done a good job up until now, Brianna, but we both know he is going to die. It is time for him to die. You have done so much to give him life, giving birth to him, trying to keep him healthy, taking him to doctors, trying so hard to feed him. You've done such a good job for so long keeping him alive, you have slowly withered to a mere shell of the girl you were. I'm here to relieve you of your pain. To release you and Dylan from this miserable life.”

Brianna slaps the woman with her other hand. The flesh is cold and unmoving and her hand burns with the sting. “Get out!” She is so afraid. Terrified. She must be dreaming. A brief moment of insanity grips her and she looks to the couch to see if she is still sleeping there.

“I want my baby! Let me go!”

“I told you he's sleeping. He won't be awake for hours yet. Maybe not until tomorrow night.”

“What did you do to him? What did you do to my, baby?”

Brianna feels a hysterical sob building up inside of her.

“Released him. He's mine now, Brianna. My child.” The woman's eyes are not cruel, but determined.

“No, he's mine. He's mine! What did you do to him? Who are you?”

“His new mother,” the woman answers, and gripping both of her wrists, pushes her back across the room. Her face is determined, cruel, and yet beautiful. “Let's not make this difficult.”

“Please, please,” Brianna wails. “Please don't hurt him. Please.” She is pushed back until her back slams up against the grimy wall. She tries to avoid looking into those terribly-glimmering green eyes. “Please. Please, I just want my son.”

“He's my son,” the woman answers.

Brianna’s anger overwhelms her fear and she looks straight into those awful eyes and shouts. “He's mine! My son! Let me go!”

The strange woman just smiles, then suddenly pins Brianna's arms against the wall. Serpent quick, she locks onto Brianna's throat. Sharp pain fills Brianna's senses, blotting out her senses. Then as the slurping begins, her body falls into a languid pleasure and she forgets everything.

Even her little boy locked in the darkness of his bedroom.

5

Elise watches Brianna sleep on the ratty sofa covered in equally-ratty knitted throws. The young woman is too thin and her cheekbones and jaw are harsh in an otherwise soft, pretty face. The signs of her feeding are fading from the human’s punctured throat. She took enough to shove back the hunger, but not enough to be completely sated. She has to keep her strength for Dylan when he wakes up.

She realizes she moved too fast but she had no choice. Jacob will only be out of the city for a few nights. She prays that Dylan will turn quickly, feed fully, and be ready to flee in a short time. Otherwise, it will only be a matter of time before Jacob finds them and destroys Dylan.

Her body clenches with need, but she dare not leave the apartment. If Dylan awakens with the madness of the hunger upon him, she will need to control him until he has fed enough to sate his thirst and restore his mind.

Glancing at her watch, she sighs. Time always seems to be her foe despite her immortality.

She can feel the sun sinking down toward the horizon in the hollowness of her body. Raising her eyes, she looks toward the human mother still slumbering. Jealousy and bitterness eats at her. Long ago she had lost the ability to have children, grow older, and find the release of death at the end of her years. Immortality and ever-lasting beauty is merely a curse when the years are long, boring, and cruel. Yet, she cannot give up her life. Her instinct is to live.

She envies Brianna. The mortal mother will fulfill her love for her child by giving up her life for him. It is an action she knows she is incapable of. She is a monster.

But she is a monster who wants to love, to feel, to do more than exist.

The digital clock announces another minute in eternity has passed.

The sun continues its descent.

6

Brianna awakens.

The room is full of blackness. There is no light from outside the apartment. The sounds of the city filter through the walls, but somehow the darkness makes her surroundings seem silent.

“Hello?”

“He's wakening,” a voice answers.

Sitting up slowly, memories flood Brianna's wakening mind. Her hand flies to her throat. “What did you do to me? Where is Dylan?”

She feels the darkness stirring around her and something soft, maybe a finger, touches her cheek for a moment.

“Do you love him?”

“Of course!”

“Would you do anything for him?”

“Of course! Where is he? What have you done?” Brianna is terrified, but determined. Her hands stray into the darkness, seeking out the lamp to use it as a weapon.

A cold, strong hand grips her wrist.

“Would you die for him?”

“What?”

“If the only way for him to live was for you to die, would you accept that?”

“What are you talking about?” Brianna tries to pull her wrist away and is surprised when she is released. Falling back on the sofa, she blinks, trying to see into the blackness.

“Do you mean it? Would you die for him? Do you love him so much you would die for him?”

Brianna suddenly understands that these are not idle questions. The other woman's words are full of heavy emotion and need. Brianna realizes the woman wants her to not only tell her the truth, but craves that it will speak of love's sacrifice.

She can barely speak as she says, “Yes. I would die so he could live.” Her hands tremble as she touches her neck, the truth of her situation becoming apparent even though it seems utterly impossible.

The lamp flips on. The woman is sitting in a kitchen chair drawn close to the sofa. Dylan is asleep in her arms. He looks pale and still. He looks dead.

Brianna gasps and darts to her feet. She surges forward to snatch her son away from the woman.  His eyes snap open and he stares at her with glimmering eyes.

The woman finally looks up at Brianna. She is crying bloody tears.

Brianna sobs, her hands covering her mouth as she falls to her knees.

“Mommy?” Dylan yawns, tiny little fangs showing in his mouth. Snuggled against the other woman, he smiles at her. “I feel better.”

The woman runs her hand affectionately over his hair. “Are you hungry, little one?”

Dylan sits up on her lap and rubs his eyes, nodding. “Yeah. My tummy is growling.”

Brianna's gaze meets the woman's. Slowly, Brianna holds out her arms to Dylan. He slides off the vampire's lap and into her arms. She holds his cold little body against hers, his face tucked against her neck.

“I'll take good care of him,” the vampire says.

“Please, do.” Brianna strokes his brown hair, closing her eyes and relishing his arms around her.

Then the bite comes.

7

Elise stares down at Brianna, a piece of her dead soul stirring. The human mother has done it. She has given herself freely. Elise feels strangely alive seeing the act of love. The young mother's breathing is unsteady, her eyes glazed. Dylan isn't aware of what he has done, that he has brought his mother close to death. He is sitting next to her, stroking her hair. Their voices are soft as they speak, sharing memories of a short life.

She knows she should finish Brianna off, but she feels compelled to let them have these last few moments before they leave. Brianna's heartbeat is faint. It shouldn't be too long now.

“I don't think my mom feels good,” Dylan tells her. “Can you fix her like you fixed me?” He looks up at her with those wonderful eyes.

“I can't. I don't have enough left inside of me to make her what we are,” Elise says tiredly. She needs to feed. Her veins ache.

“It's okay, Dylan. She's going to take you somewhere safe and good,” Brianna whispers.

“Elise, I want to take my mommy.”

She sighs and runs her hand over his hair. “We can't. We need to—”

“Elise, what the fuck are you doing?”

Jacob's voice. Outside the window. Angry and demanding.

She grabs Dylan, holding him tight.

“Elise, open the damn window. Get your human to open the window. Elise!”

Brianna rolls her head, painfully and slowly toward the window. “Who is it?”

“He'll kill your son. Don't let him in!”

“What?”

“He has to be invited in. Don't do it!”

“Elise, I can hear you! What have you done? I smell your new creation. Is it that child?”

Clutching Dylan tight, Elise feels her body trembling. For the first time in a long time, she feels fear.

“Elise, what have you done?”

They are trapped. If they try to leave, Jacob will kill the boy and entomb her as punishment. She cannot endure another decade trapped in a coffin.

“Don't let him hurt our son,” Brianna whispers. “Please.” She reaches her hand out to the vampire, pleading with her.

Hesitantly, Elise takes Brianna's hand. The human presses her hand, her eyes seeking confirmation, a promise.

“I can't escape from here. We're trapped. He'll wait us out. We can't leave during the day. We can't flee at night,” Elise confesses.

Brianna closes her eyes, her breath more shallow than before.

“Don't let Mommy die,” Dylan says, his hand pressed against Elise’s cheek. “Please Mama Elise, don't let Mommy die.”

“Elise, gawddammit! Open this fucking window! What have you done?” Jacob's voice is a growl of anger.

Dylan slides off her lap as Elise kneels next to Brianna. Slowly, a plan forms in her mind. “If I do this, I will be weak. But I can hold off the hunger a little longer. We will speak after the sun rises. Wake me. I'll be weak, but wake me.”

“Elise, open the window and I'll show you mercy.”

“But he'll kill Dylan,” Elise whispers to Brianna as she lies next to her. She draws the mortal into her arms. With a sharp nail, she opens her throat.

Without prodding, Brianna rests her mouth against the wound and drinks.

8

All night, as Elise's blood swirled through her, healing her, restoring her, refreshing her mortal life but with the spark of the undead intermixed, Brianna listened to Jacob cajole, rage, and plead with them to open the window. On the fourteenth floor (technically the thirteenth, but renamed due to superstition), Jacob's perch was high above the alley below. He stayed there all night, perched on her air conditioner, demanding entry. His voice terrified her.

It had faded away just before dawn. She knows he has to be nearby. Maybe in another apartment. He will be back once night fell. But he knew that Elise and Dylan could not leave the apartment during the daylight hours.

But Brianna can.

Dylan is wrapped in a blanket and tucked into the bottom of his closet now. Elise is asleep, her head resting on Brianna's lap. She had been asleep ever since giving some of the last of her blood to Brianna. She looks weak. If she wanted to, Brianna supposed she could find something to stake Elise and leave with her son.

But she won't.

There is a great, terrible need in Elise. And also a wonderful, poignant love. Brianna saw it in Elise's eyes as she held Dylan. He will need her to survive the supernatural world. Brianna has done all she can for him. Now it is his new vampire mother's turn.

And Brianna is determined to give them both that chance.

“Elise, wake up,” she whispers.

The vampire slowly opens her eyes, struggling to focus.

“What do I do? Where do I go?”

Reaching up, the vampire draws her close and whispers to her.

9

Large sunglasses covering her eyes, Brianna slams the driver's door to the moving van shut. Dressed in jeans, a thick wool sweater, and a knit hat, she clutches the big bag full of money at her side. She has already put a few hundreds in her pocket.

“Hey, you guys!” She flags down a few young men walking down the street, talking. “I got three hundred bucks for you guys if you can help me carry down a wardrobe.”

They hesitate, curious expressions on her face.

“I can't move it myself,” she says and fishes out the money.

One of the men, a man with thick dreads and a beautiful smile nods. “You got it, lady. Where to?”

Smiling, Brianna motions them to follow her.

10

New York City is far behind them when the sun finally sets. Brianna pulls over in a rest stop and opens the back. Elise is sitting on the wardrobe with Dylan on her lap.

“There is a town three miles back,” Brianna says.

“We won't be long,” Elise answers, dropping out of the truck. She lightly touches Brianna's cheek. “Thank you.”

Brianna smiles at her, then looks at her son. He looks groggy still and she runs her fingers over his cold cheek. “Take care of my boy.”

Elise nods and walks into the night. Dylan waves at Brianna over her shoulder.

She closes the truck and waits.

An hour later, Elise slides out of the darkness, holding Dylan's hand. They both look flushed and healthier. Dylan pulls free and runs to Brianna, flinging his arms around her neck. Kissing her cheek, he giggles.

“Mama Elise can fly,” Dylan says.

“Wow? Really? Awesome!” Brianna feels a pang of sadness, but fights it away.

Elise just smiles.

Brianna feels a lump in her throat. “Mama Elise is going to take good care of you.” She felt tears in her eyes, but did not want to shed them. She wanted him to be happy with her departure. “She's going to take you to a new house. A new place.”

“You, too?”

Brianna shakes her head. “No, baby. I have to go somewhere new, too. But I'll be happy that she's taking care of you.”

“Mommy, I want you to come with me.” He looks close to tears.

Brianna looks down, tears falling down her cheeks. Elise draws closer, her hand reaching out to rub Dylan's back. He grabs her hand and pulls her even closer. Taking Brianna's hand, he holds their hands together between his. “No, I want my mommies with me. Both of them.”

Brianna looks up at Elise, wondering if it is safe. If they should do this?

Elise slowly nods. “You can help us by day.”

Brianna licks her lips, then nods.

Dylan grins.

11

The house is always full of life at night. Brianna teaches Dylan to read and write while Elise teaches him to hunt. The old Victorian on the edges of the small town is tucked away behind lush trees, granting them privacy. The townspeople think Brianna is caring for her ailing son with the aid of her sister.

Elise loves music and it constantly fills the house. Brianna makes her watch cheesy old horror movies. Dylan conscripts them to play his console games with him.

They all sleep during the day, Elise and Dylan in the basement in secure containers, Brianna in the bed upstairs. She awakens in the early afternoon to do errands and enjoy the sun. Her meals are all taken while her son is asleep. Food doesn't interest him anyway.

Days become weeks then become months. The weather changes, but the world feels wonderful as the fall fills it with flaming oranges, yellows, and reds.

“Why did you let me live?” Brianna asks one night.

Elise looks up from the piano keys. “Why are you asking?”

“You had him. My son. You were free from Jacob. I got you out of New York. You could have killed me as soon as we got here.”

“He would have hated me,” Elise says. Then with a shrug, she confesses, “And there was something in your eyes when you were willing to give up your life for him.”

Brianna leans against the piano, thoughtful. “What was that?”

“Perfect love. I couldn't bear to destroy it.” She grips Brianna's hand for the briefest moment.

Brianna tilts her head and smiles slightly. “You mean what I see in your eyes right now?”

Elise's eyes glimmer and she laughs nervously.

The glass shatters before another word can be uttered. Jacob is between them before Brianna can blink. He backhands her, sending her flying into a wall. Elise is instantly on her feet, baring her fangs. They crash into each other, clawed hands flashing as they strike. Fabric and cloth shreds. Blood splashes the room. Elise slashes at him, trying for a killing blow. He is faster than her, blocking her moves, and drawing even more blood. She can see Brianna limp against the wall and her body heaves with anguish. Jacob is destroying her world.

Another blow sends her flying across the room. She hurtles into the stairs, shattering the wood into long splinters. One impales her thigh. Crying out in pain, she struggles to her feet. Jacob has grabbed hold of Brianna. She is stirring in his grip.

“No!”

“Leave my mommy alone!” Dylan launches himself from the doorway onto Jacob.

Brianna and Elise both scream.

Elise rushes forward, no thought other than to keep her son from the blood-soaked, growling vampire that created her. Jacob has the perfect opening for a killing blow. Faster despite her blood loss, she manages to cross the room and deflect Dylan's flying body onto a nearby sofa. The strike meant for Dylan rips out her throat and sends her to the ground. Her blood gushes onto the floor around her hands as she tries to push herself up to defend Brianna and Dylan.

Jacob is howling like a beast. His foot slams into her side over and over, trying to flip her over. He'll snatch out her heart next. She feels despair fill her as she realizes she won't care if he kills her if Brianna and Dylan die tonight.

Dylan and Brianna are both screaming. The blows in her side are fierce and her blood is a fountain on the floor. Darkness darkens her vision.

The world seems to tilt forward and suddenly Jacob is lying beside of her. His expression is shocked as his hand strains toward the huge wooden stake through his heart.

“Butcher knife, Dylan!” Brianna cries out. She is covered in blood. She is beautiful.

Elise manages to roll onto her back, struggling to get up and help them. Dylan runs back with the requested butcher knife in his small hand. Brianna grabs it from him and as Jacob tries to get to his knees, she begins to hack at his thick neck. She doesn't stop until his head rolls away.

Falling back to the floor, Elise can't move. Her blood has run out. Her power is gone. Death is tangible. She feels weak, mortal. Dylan and Brianna are suddenly over her. They are covered in blood. Both are weeping.

“Don't leave me,” Brianna cries, her fingers sliding Elise's blood slicked hair back from her face. “Don't leave me!”

Dylan is clutching her, weeping.

Brianna covers her face with kisses, her lips sweet with blood and love. “Don't leave us. Drink from me! Drink!”

Elise isn't sure if that will help anymore, but she lets herself be dragged into Brianna's arms. Her embrace is a haven. Everything in the world suddenly seems perfect despite death filling her body. Dylan wraps his arms around her, sobbing.

Brianna's eyes are huge and full of life. “Drink, Elise. Drink.”

She does.

12

Christmas lights and snow fill the world with magic.

Another town. Another holiday.

Dylan is playing with other children in the town square as the holiday displays twinkle like bright stars in the night. People are caroling, laughing, eating, dancing. The world is full of life.

Brianna smiles with contentment, her hands tucked into the warm pockets of her coat. They are safe for now. Jacob is no longer a threat. He is buried in two pieces deep in the ground, his head far away from his body.

Strange how that terrible first night she had met Elise would result in this perfect evening of bliss. Standing alone in the snow admiring the twinkling lights, she feels happy and alive. A handsome police officer smiles at her warmly from a nearby table laden with bakery goods being sold to raise money for a new women's shelter.  She smiles back at him, but does not approach. She can barely remember the taste of food anymore.

“So why did you let me live?” Elise asks, joining her. “You could have let me die. You would have him all to yourself.”

Elise asks the same questions every night.

Just to hear the answer.

Brianna gazes into her eyes and says, “Because of what I saw in your eyes when you were willing to die for Dylan. Perfect love.”

Elise slides her fingers around Brianna's, her glimmering eyes gazing into hers. “And what do you see now?”

Brianna smiles slowly, for there is no need to answer.

The Werewolves

Fleeing was a short story conceived for an anthology about werewolves during war.
Fans had been clamoring for some time for me to tackle the furry monsters and I just hadn’t found a concept I was in love with. When the idea for this short story popped into my mind, I absolutely loved it, but wasn’t sure it would fit the anthology’s criteria. Happily, it was accepted and ended up in War Wolves by the Library of Horror Press.

Though this is a short story, I have always felt that it has an epic feel. It’s obvious that we are seeing just a small incident against a vast backdrop of an epic war.  The 18th century setting allowed me to use muskets and imbue the story with a gothic feel.

The wolf pack in the story continues to intrigue me. I would love to know where they are going and if they made it they made it there intact. Our young protagonist in the tale is sadly nameless. He was too afraid to ever whisper his name in my ear.

There are many monsters in this tale. Can you spot all of them?

Fleeing is one of my all-time favorite stories. I hope you enjoy it as well.

Fleeing

The full moon was a cold, remote disc in the sky above the forest.

Every muscle in his body was crying out for relief and even his bones ached in protest as he stumbled through the trees. His chest hurt from the cold and exertion. His heartbeat thundered in his ears. The snow seeped through the cracks in his leather boots and his fingers could barely grip his musket. Tears frozen on his face, he felt numb to the world around him.

The battle waged on and an eerie red glow filled the night sky behind him. The invaders were making progress, burning villages and farms as they marched resolutely toward the capital.

It was hopeless and he knew it.

During the battle, when the fires had raged around him, the cannons thundered, and the muskets barked, he had finally understood that there was no hope. All was lost. As yet another man fell beside of him, blood spurting out onto the dirty snow, he had turned and ran.

Now he moved as swiftly as his cold, battered body would carry him toward his family’s farm. If they were quick, his family could load up the wagons and head away from the coming onslaught before the enemy soldiers reached their homestead. Perhaps they could take refuge in the capital. The army was stronger there. Trained soldiers would fight on that line, not simple farmers conscripted at the last moment to defend their lands.

His father would be disappointed in him, but he did not care anymore. In all his seventeen years of life, he had always obeyed those in authority, but no longer. He had seen the fruitlessness of war first hand. He had witnessed the deaths of his friends, neighbors and cousins.

It was time to flee.

Gasping for breath, he fell against a tree. The cold was his worst enemy now. It was seeping into his very core, freezing his limbs. Instinctively, he knew he had to keep moving or perish. The forest was alive around him as animals fled before the fires in the east. The glow was growing brighter above the treetops. Covering his mouth with his hands, he tried to warm his face. His mouth was dry, his throat parched. The desire to be home warm in his bed listening to his younger brothers’ snores washed over him, and he closed his eyes to relish the thought.

Sleep tugged at him, enticing him with its reassuring fantasies.

Jerking his head upright, he woke terrified that he had almost given in to the elements and let sleep claim him. Death would come if he let it lure him into its false comforts.

Something large crashed through the trees near him and he gasped. Yanking his musket upwards, he held it tightly in his hands.

Dark, sinewy shapes moved through the darkness across the clearing beside him. At first he could not believe his eyes, but after the horrors he had seen, he could accept these abominations. Massive creatures that were wolves, yet men, moved across the crisp snow. Several moved on two legs, urging smaller wolves forward. Some were dark gray, others nearly white. They solemnly moved toward the west, casting long looks over their shoulders at the fires behind them.

They must be fleeing as well, he thought.

Even their evil was not enough to hold back the invaders.

Fumbling in his coat, he felt the crucifix his grandmother had given him to ward off vampires, the tiny bag full of sage to ward off evil spirits, and finally the silver pellets that would kill a werewolf. Sliding downward into the shadows, he fumbled with his musket. The edges of the dirty paper that his gunpowder was folded into fluttered in the wind while he struggled to soundlessly load his weapon. It was difficult loading the silver ball into the barrel with his frozen fingers, but he had learned to reload rapidly in the heat of battle. As his fingers expertly worked, his keen blue eyes watched the continuous stream of wolves through the clearing, terror building inside of him.

Several stopped to sniff the air, their heads gliding back and forth on thick, furry necks, before continuing on. He wondered if they could smell him, or the gunpowder. But it did not matter. The wolves continued on.

Finally, the musket was ready and he held it close to his heaving chest. Perhaps they would pass him by and not bother with him. The pack of wolfmen seemed intent on traveling away from the fire. He could only hope they would soon be gone and he could continue home. The steady flow of werewolves trickled down to a few gray beasts then the clearing was empty once more.

Crossing himself, he stood and felt the urge to relieve himself. His hands still trembled from the fright and cold and he struggled with his trousers.

Then, out of the darkness, one last wolfman stepped into the clearing. It walked on all fours, its head down, as its massive black body moved silently through the shadows. On its back was a woman, her face turned into the thick fur of the beast. Her hands clutched its heavily muscled shoulders and she cried out in pain. Turning its great head, the wolfman snapped at the white thigh gripping its flank. The woman’s long blonde hair, tattered dress, and cloak flowed on the night wind as the werewolf slowly strode after its pack. The woman screamed again, a terrible sound, and the wolf growled at her, nipping her leg again.

Terrified for his safety, yet angered by the sight of the captive woman, he gripped his musket tightly and stepped cautiously into the clearing. He had seen many terrible things this day and night and he would not allow the evil of the world to take yet another innocent. Who knew what terrible things the wolfman would to the woman.

With a battle cry, he surged forward, his numb feet carrying him over the snow toward the dark shape. The wolfman stood, the woman sliding off his back onto the cold ground. The wolf was far larger than he could have imagined, its great head towering over him. It lifted its muzzle and howled.

He stumbled to a stop, unsure of himself and the choice he had made. Then the woman cried out again and he knew he had to save her. The wolfman surged toward him, jaws snapping.

Raising his musket, the man fired. The wolfman howled in agony, falling onto the snow, steaming blood pouring from its chest. It struggled to regain its feet, but the man leaped upon and stabbed it with his bayonet. The wolf’s mighty clawed hand gripped the man’s thick coat and hurled him into a snowdrift. Growling, it struggled to its feet, hot blood sloshing onto the white ground beneath it.

Gasping in terror and in pain, the man fumbled for his musket, but it had been knocked from his grasp. As the great wolf moved toward him, his hands searched through his many layers of clothing, seeking out his dagger. The wolf was almost upon him when it let out another terrible howl. To his shock and relief, it fell onto the snow, breathing heavily. Scrambling around the big beast, he hurriedly grabbed his musket and knelt over the fallen woman.

“Madam, madam, the beast is dying. We must go!” He reached down, gripping her shoulder.

Nearby, he heard the answering call of the wolves as they turned back for their fallen pack mate.

Rolling the woman onto her back, he leaned over her. “Madam, please try to get up.”

She lay on the ground panting, her thick blond hair covering her pale face. Her hands were pressed tight against her enormous swollen belly. Shocked, he realized she was with child. Pushing her hair from her face, he saw that her lips were full and red. Her eyes were closed as she cried out again, not in terror, but in labor.

“We must hurry! We can go to my farm nearby! There you can have your child, but we must go! The monsters return!”

He grabbed hold of her shoulders and tried to lift her. As he did, he saw that her pale white hands were tipped in long, curved black claws. His gaze fell back to her face and eyes opened to reveal those of a wolf. In one swift motion, she opened her mouth, revealing long wolf fangs, and tore out his throat.

He fell to his side, his blood a river of red against the moonlit snow. His fingers trembled as he pressed them against his neck, trying to staunch the flow of his life. As his eyes dimmed, he saw the woman crawl over to the body of a tall, dark-haired man lying nearby in a gruesome puddle of blood.

The man took his last breath as the woman raised her head over her fallen mate and howled.

The Mummy

The Twilight Zone was a huge influence on me when I was growing up. The disturbing stories often kept me up late at night. When I decided to contribute to The Library of Horror Press’s THE SCROLL OF ANUBIS mummy anthology,
I drew on The Twilight Zone for inspiration.

Amunet is set in three parts, much like the old format for The Twilight Zone. Each scene layers onto the one before it to build to the climax of the story. I also wanted there to be a distinct mood to the story and have it be a bit claustrophobic.

In the end I was very pleased with my mummy short story. I think it hits all the right notes for a gothic horror tale and has a disturbing ending that would have probably made Rod Sterling proud.

Enjoy!

Amunet

Cairo, 1901

Darkness filled the house. It swallowed up the dust-filled light seeping in around the thick curtains covering the windows and the pale yellow light filtering through the lead glass of the new gas lights glowing in all the rooms. The dark and heavy English furniture was clumsy and grotesque in the Egyptian house, but a reminder of home.

Mathilda stood at the top of the stairs with her daughter, staring down into the darkness below. Bessie’s tiny fingers clutched her hand as they stared into the gloom. Mathilda let out a whisper of a sigh, glancing over her shoulder at the big window behind her. The curtains were thrown open, but the light from the hot Egyptian sun pooled on the thick carpet and didn’t defy the darkness.

“I don’t like the other mummy,” Bessie said at last.

“I don’t either, darling,” Mathilda agreed. She shifted on her feet, her hand pressed under her swollen belly. The baby would be arriving soon and the bitterness that her child would not be born on English soil tainted her voice.

“Why does Papa love her so?” Bessie rubbed the top of her shoe against the back of her ankle, her petticoats rustling. Her long brown hair was curled into ringlets and her large brown eyes turned up toward her mother. They were like a doe’s eyes, dark and innocent.

Her daughter was the very image of Mathilda at her age. She was precocious for a six year old, but wonderfully behaved. Usually animated and loving, the little girl had been quiet and withdrawn since her father’s obsession had entered their hot, stuffy home in Cairo.

“Your father is very dedicated to his work,” she answered her daughter. Her fingers traced over the bulge of her unborn child’s foot—or was it a hand?

The constant drone of the vendors and people moving through the streets was eerily absent. All Mathilda could hear was her daughter’s steady breathing matching her own. It was as if the darkness filling the house pressed out all traces of the world beyond the walls. Mathilda felt as though it were consuming them all, bit by bit. Together, mother and daughter stared into the darkness below, the dim outline of the furniture in the hallway resembling large hunched monsters.

“I don’t want to go down there,” Bessie decided.

“It’s time for tea. Don’t you want some delicious cakes?” Mathilda smiled, trying to infuse it with a reassuring aura. She had to stop giving into fantasies and reclaim her home, husband and daughter. They would all sit down to tea like normal people and enjoy the afternoon.

“Yes, but...will he want some?” Bessie chewed on her bottom lip thoughtfully. “All he wants is her.”

“Roland!” Mathilda called out into the darkness dwelling below, determined to draw her husband out of his obsession. “Roland, come now. Tea time.”

The door to his study cracked open with a reluctant squeal. Her husband peered up at her, his brow furrowed above his dark eyes. His pale complexion was waxy and a sheen of perspiration gave him a rumpled appearance.

“What is it? The baby?”

“No, darling. Tea time.”

Mathilda took her daughter’s hand and together they descended the staircase. Their footsteps echoed as if they were in a mausoleum. And in some ways, they were, now that she had come among them.

Roland glanced over his shoulder before reluctantly stepping into the hall. Rubbing the glass of his spectacles with the edge of his untucked rumpled shirt, he started toward the parlor. Mathilda reached the main floor and he obligingly kissed her cheek before lightly tweaking Bessie’s.

Tea was laid out when they entered the parlor. Their only remaining servant, Agatha, was pushing back the curtains on the windows. All the other servants had left once she had arrived. The Egyptian servants had been afraid of what Roland had brought into the home and had left almost immediately, muttering about curses. Only their servant from England remained. She was old and not as spry as she once was. The house was not as tidy as Mathilda desired, but she was grateful she had some help.

Agatha finished with the curtains and hurried out. The light was a little better in the parlor, but the sun still seemed to have difficulty pressing into the house. Mathilda remembered how she had been enchanted by the sun-drenched rooms when they had first arrived a year ago. Now every room was dank and dark.

It was because of her. Mathilda knew it, but dared not speak it. Her English sensibilities made it difficult for her to even admit to such a thing, but in her heart, she knew that the woman in the sarcophagus in her husband’s study was haunting all of them.

Bessie hopped up onto a big chair, her stocking feet swinging in her polished shoes. Mathilda took her seat, arranging her silk dressing coat around her. She was too far into her pregnancy to even attempt to wear her regular clothing anymore and she had not the will to have maternity dresses made for her. She was making do with her nightgowns and Roland didn’t even seem to notice. She tucked her long dark hair back from her face and poured tea for her husband.

Roland began shoveling food onto his plate, stuffing an entire sandwich into his mouth. Bessie giggled, her fingers playing with the edges of her cucumber sandwich. Roland heard his daughter’s laughter and became aware of her presence. A genuine and loving smile touched his lips.

“Why do you love the mummy so?” Bessie asked abruptly.

“You mean Queen Amunet?” Roland tilted the sugar bowl over his tea, letting a good amount slid into the dark depths.

“Is that her name?” Mathilda lifted an eyebrow as she carefully poured tea for herself.

Roland didn’t look up, but continued to stare into the dark tea swirling in his cup. “Didn’t I tell you? The scrolls we discovered inside the coffin are fascinating! They tell her story and, yes, her name was Amunet. It’s a marvelous name. It means ‘hidden,’ which is quite a coincidence since her tomb was hidden beneath the one of her brother.”

“Why is she a mummy?” Bessie was having difficulty understanding how the dead thing in her father’s study could possibly be called by the same endearment as her beloved mother. “Did she have babies?”

Roland looked up startled, not understanding his daughter’s confusion. “Two. They were buried with her in jars. Which is highly unusual unless they were removed after death. That is possible since they were infants. Just as her organs were removed, so might her children once she had died.”

Bessie stared at her father, her mouth agape, holding her biscuit in one hand.

“Roland, I don’t think this is the proper conversation to have with your daughter,” Mathilda said softly.

He shoved another sandwich in his mouth, regarding her with faint disdain. He used to gaze upon her with such adoration before he was given the task of deciphering the mystery surrounding the Egyptian royal’s tomb. As an archeologist, his excitement to delve into the mysteries surrounding the unknown queen was understandable, but these last few months he had become consumed. He barely noticed her swelling belly or their daughter. It was as if nothing in the world existed for him but the mummy in the coffin.

“I dreamed about the mummy,” Bessie said into the uneasy silence that had filled the parlor.

Mathilda delicately picked up a spoon to stir her tea. Neither Bessie nor Mathilda had seen the mysterious queen in her coffin. Roland had forbidden them from entering his study since her arrival.

“Did you?” Roland looked at her with keen interest.

“Yes, she came to my room and stood over my bed. She was very white, with hair like gold and eyes like...” Bessie pursed her lips and furrowed her brow as she considered her next words, “blue, like a robin’s egg.”

Mathilda smiled at her daughter’s imagination. Of course, the Egyptian queen had been dark and exotic like the people outside in the hot sun.

Roland stopped chewing and stared at his daughter with an intensity Mathilda didn’t like. “What did she say?”

Bessie nibbled on her biscuit, her dark eyes staring into her father’s. “That she wants to love you.”

***

The night was stifling and Mathilda couldn’t sleep. Her daughter’s dream and Roland’s lapse into silence after hearing his daughter’s words had terribly upset her. The baby inside of her had settled at last, her poor ribs feeling bruised. She tossed and turned in the huge bed, the covers kicked down. The night breeze barely stirred the curtains drawn back from the windows. The heat was too much to endure, so she rolled from her bed.

The gas lamp beside the bed gave off a sickly yellow glow. She fumbled with her robe as she walked toward the bedroom door. Roland was down below, locked in his study. Though she loved him, she resented him. Her loving, adoring husband of a year ago was buried in his obsession.

Walking down the hallway, she was struck by the quiet that filled the house. The shadows were thicker and blacker than ever before. As she walked, she thought she saw the shadows moving along beside her in the darkness. Gasping, she turned about, but she was alone. Trembling with cold, she pulled her robe tighter about her and continued to walk. Again, in her periphery, she saw the shadows following her. Suddenly terrified for her little daughter, she rushed to the little girl’s room and flung open the door. She was gripped with the fear that she would see a sickly wraith hovering over her child. Instead, she found her little girl peacefully sleeping in her bed.

With a sigh of relief, Mathilda began to draw the door closed.

A soft murmur drew her attention to the bed. Bessie was whispering in her sleep. Mathilda slowly crept over to her daughter’s bedside and leaned over her, straining to hear.

“She...wants...to...love...you, Papa,” were the softly-spoken words.

Mathilda felt the cold hand of fear slide down her spine. Rushing from the room, she felt tears threatening to spill down her cheeks. Her stomach felt full and heavy as she hurried down the stairs, her hand gripping the railing. Reaching the door to the study, she began to pound upon it, crying out for her husband.

It took several minutes for Roland to open the door. When he did, he was flushed and agitated.

“What is it?” he asked impatiently.

Mathilda pushed past him, stumbling toward the sarcophagus resting on the table at the far end of the room. The lid was propped against the wall. An artist had exquisitely captured the visage of the dead woman using the lid as a canvas. A beautiful, cold face gazed out from under the red crown of an Egyptian queen. The eyes were painted a vivid robin’s egg blue.

“Mathilda, how dare you—”

“How dare you, Roland? What have you brought into our house?” Mathilda stared at the woman painted on the lid. The dead Egyptian was painted with pale colors, depicting unusually-fair skin. Mathilda felt a scream of horror building up in her chest. Gold braids of hair fell to just above the Egyptian royal’s ornate collar. “What is she? What is she?”

“She’s amazing, Mathilda. You don’t understand,” Roland said in a low voice, ignoring the hysteria in her voice. “She was an albino. Golden hair, blue eyes, and white skin. They thought she was a goddess. They named her Amunet.” He motioned to the scrolls on the table. The notebooks filled with his meticulous notes were strewn about on his desk. Two jars sat near the inkwell, ancient and terrible to look upon. The bodies of infants were painted on them. “Just like Bessie’s dream, she was the golden queen of the Nile, blessed by the gods, granted the name of a goddess.”

Mathilda felt horror building inside of her, swelling up from her heart and choking her. She wanted to scream, but her voice was lost.

“She married her father at thirteen and ushered in the greatest era of his rein. With her as his wife, he did such great things. Built wondrous buildings, conquered his enemies, elevated Egypt to a power that none could deny.”

“His own daughter?” Mathilda found her voice as she turned to look at Roland. Terror made her tremble and her child inside of her twisted and turned in agitation.

Her husband wasn’t looking at her, but at the dry shriveled thing bound in bandages in the coffin tucked into the sarcophagus.

“It was their way. To keep the bloodlines pure. She was power. The gods made manifest. Her uncle was a high priest to the great god Ra and wanted her. He knew her power had to be harnessed to serve Ra, so he murdered the pharaoh. He took his throne and his wife/daughter.”

Mathilda felt her baby lash out inside of her and she reached out a hand to steady herself. It rested on the edge of the coffin. She could not help but look down at the thing within. It was a dry husk and nothing more, but she was afraid of it.

Roland reached down and gently touched the cheek of the dead woman. The dead flesh was drawn back from her teeth, her nose merely holes, and her eyes shrunken within her skull. Yet, Roland gazed at her as a lover.

“His rule was short. She killed her father with poison and ruled Egypt until her younger brother was old enough to claim the throne. She married him and was going to give birth to their twin sons when...” Roland hesitated. His face contorted with barely withheld rage.

“Until what?” Mathilda wanted to smash the thing in the coffin to bits. Her own anger rose in her voice. “Until what, Roland?”

“Instead of a gift from Ra, the priests decided she was the curse of Set. Angry at her for the death of her father, who had been one of their own, they murdered her!” Roland shook his head violently.  “Then they murdered her husband and put one of the uncle’s younger sons on the throne. They wiped out her rule and that of her brother’s from history and hid her tomb beneath her brother/husband’s.”

Mathilda shivered, cold gripping her. She tried to release the edge of the coffin, but could not. Her dark hair swung around her face as she looked upon her husband in disgust.

“Don’t you see? Her power was cut short. She was not allowed to do what she was meant to do. She was the power of the gods on earth. She had a sacred edict that she was not allowed to carry forth. Her children would have been the new gods of this earth.” Roland smiled and looked toward Mathilda slowly. “But she is too clever for them, you know. They think they won, but they never understood her power.”

Mathilda felt the wet, hot gush of water and blood flow down her legs. She let out a cry of pain and wrenched back from coffin. She fell to the floor and coughed as puffs of chalk wafted up from thick carpet. Slowly, she realized an intricate design was etched into the floor around her.

Roland stepped over her, drew a white robe from a bin beside his desk, and pulled it on. Solemnly, he lifted the two jars with Amunet’s infants from the desk and set them on either side of Mathilda. She tried to get to her feet, but another wave of pain wrenched a scream from her throat. Opening the jars, Roland pulled the mummified infants into the light. They were grotesque and terrifying. Solemnly, he laid them next to Mathilda’s heaving stomach.

“What are you doing, Roland?” she gasped. “What are you doing?”

Don’t you understand?” Roland answered. “She has called to me. I must answer.”

Mathilda screamed as he donned the mask of a jackal.

***

Her womb was empty. It had been for nearly a month since she had lost her children. She had been dimly aware of her twin sons being born on the floor of her husband’s study. Later, she was told they had died before birth, tangled in the cords that had given them life until that horrible night. Roland had been tender with her, sitting at her side at the hospital, morose with their loss.

The scene in his study was a faded memory now. A nightmare. She was certain now that in her fevered state she had imagined it. It was terrible that her illness had brought on such hallucinations, but her mind was once more her own. The potions the doctor had given her to calm her nerves had brought her peace. During her bed rest, she had not seen anyone but her doctor and Roland. Bessie had been beside herself at the death of her twin brothers and also put to bed. Mathilda missed her sorely.

Turning in her bed, she felt drugged and restful. Outside she could hear the vendors calling out to passersby, peddling their wares. Sunlight played across the floor, dust motes dancing in the heat.

Bessie’s childish laugh sounded beyond her closed door, and Mathilda pushed herself up on one elbow.

“Bessie,” she called out. She wanted to see her little one. Hold her once more and stare down into her beautiful brown eyes that were so innocent and pure.

More laughter, then the sound of small feet hurrying down the stairs.

Feeling as if in a haze, Mathilda drew herself out of her bed and drew on her robe. Her steps were unsteady as she made her way to the door, but she felt stronger than she had anticipated after a month of bed rest. Opening the door, she ventured out into the house.

Every window was cast open, sunlight streaming in. There was no more darkness to terrify her or make her mad with loneliness and anger. Her babies were of Egypt now, buried in a graveyard nearby, and for once, she felt at peace with all that she had endured.

Carefully, she descended the stairs and walked down to the parlor. She could hear Roland laughing and Bessie talking. There was the clink of china and silver and hot, fresh air flowed around her as she stepped into the parlor.

“I only wish to love you,” Bessie’s voice said softly just as Mathilda entered.

Roland reclined in his chair as Bessie leaned over him. Her tiny hand pressed against his cheek as she placed her lips over his in a kiss that was neither chaste nor child-like.

Mathilda gasped, stumbling back to fall against the wall.

Slowly, Bessie raised her eyes to regard her mother. They were as blue as a robin’s egg.

The Zombies

Most of the people reading this collection of short stories probably discovered me through my zombie trilogy AS THE WORLD DIES.  Stop Requested does not take place in that universe though. It actually exists in the same world as my young adult novel THE LIVING DEAD BOY AND THE ZOMBIE HUNTERS.  The surviving characters from this short story make a brief appearance in that book.

Zombies continue to terrify me. They always have since the first time I saw Night of the Living Dead. It only seems fitting that this collection have at least one zombie story in it.

I originally conceived this story for The Library of the Living Dead Press’s first anthology called ZOMBOLOGY. I was very excited to be included in the anthology and it was my first real challenge to fit a story into a very small word count.

Like all the stories in this collection that were in previous anthologies, Stop Requested has been revised for one simple reason. Word counts are very restrictive. Sometimes vital descriptions or mood setting sentences are trimmed away. I’ve gone over the story and fleshed it out just a little. Not in plot, but in making it a richer read.

I hope you enjoy this short story and read THE LIVING DEAD BOY AND THE ZOMBIE HUNTERS novel as well.

Enjoy!

Stop Requested

When the bus began to slow down, Bonnie the Labrador perked her ears and quickly adjusted her stance, shifting her weight onto her front paws.  It always amused her how the humans lurched forward when the bus came to a stop and she flashed a wide doggy grin at the passengers.

“Not yet, Bonnie,” Rachel, her owner, said softly. Her fingers tangled in the Golden Retriever’s fur to hold her steady.

She had clearly misunderstood Bonnie’s movements.

The dog tried not to look annoyed, but sometimes her owner completely misinterpreted her actions. Bonnie knew their stop. It always smelled of Thai food and laundry detergent due to the small restaurant and laundromat that was nestled next to their house in the Hyde Park area of Austin, Texas.

Seated in the handicap area in the front of the bus, Rachel had Bonnie tucked between her legs. Bonnie’s owner wore huge dark glasses that hid her pale green eyes and her dark hair was twisted up into a knot on top of her head. Her tanned hand gripped a book bag and a canvas tote full of groceries to keep them from sliding off the seat. Bonnie could not wait for the groceries to be unpacked when they reached the small house they shared. She could smell bacon inside.

She loved bacon.

Bonnie gave the smelly old woman getting off the bus her best wide smiled and received a little scratch behind one ear.  After four months of commuting with Rachel, Bonnie had formed small friendships with the regular passengers. Bonnie observed the passengers on the Capitol Metro bus, smiling her doggy grin, and drooling just a little. The young couple that sometimes gave her cookies was snuggled up with each other in a seat nearby. The man was very dark and the girl was very pale. They both had hair that Bonnie wanted to chew on. It was thick and tangled into massive tentacles all over their heads. It smelled exotic and delicious.

Bonnie’s other favorite people on the bus was a sweet young woman named Melissa and her little human puppy, Oscar. She had huge dark eyes and very long dark hair. Oscar was nestled into her side eating cookies. Bonnie couldn’t help but lick her chops at the sight of those yummy sugary cookies. She tried very hard not to beg. It wasn’t good to beg and she knew that Rachel would give her cookies later.

The smelly old woman’s name was Flo and she rode the bus every day. She always had the most awful perfume on her. It hurt Bonnie’s nose and sometimes made her sneeze. Bonnie definitely preferred the smell of the young man in the back of the bus. He never took a bath and he always smelled of wild, feral things.

“Good girl. You’re such a good girl,” Rachel murmured, scratching just the right spot on Bonnie’s neck.

Bonnie thumped her tail happily.

The bus lurched into motion again. Bonnie once more shifted her weight to keep her balance. The big metal beast rumbled beneath her feet and she leaned against Rachel’s legs to keep her balance.

Yawning, the dog looked around at the emptying bus. It had been a long day for her and Rachel. They’d been awake early in the morning. Rachel attended the University of Texas and they had to catch the bus early. Bonnie didn’t mind the bus ride. People liked her and made a fuss over her. Being in Rachel’s classes wasn’t the hard part either. She usually napped throughout the lectures. The hard part was maneuvering Rachel across the campus. Rachel couldn’t see and was completely dependent on Bonnie’s guidance. She was still adjusting to being blind and was not always as alert as she should be. Bonnie often kept her from taking bad tumbles or getting lost.

The bus came to another stop. Melissa and Oscar hurried down the aisle. Oscar shoved a cookie at Bonnie before he was yanked through the door. Bonnie chewed it thankfully.

“Almost home,” Rachel said, and ruffled Bonnie’s fur.

The bus roared forward again.

The dog was ready to get home. A nice nap in the waning sunlight would be nice. After some more cookies and maybe some bacon, of course.

The bus slowed again. Bonnie perked her ears and looked out the window. The bus was nearing their stop and her favorite tree slid past the window. She seriously needed to pee. They were getting to their stop just in time.

Taking a tight hold of Bonnie’s harness, Rachel rose to her feet. Reaching out, her fingers found the bright yellow cord over the window and pulled it.

“Stop requested,” a man’s voice said.

It annoyed Bonnie that she could never find the man speaking those words. Sometimes she wondered if it was the bus’s voice. She wasn’t too sure about the metal beast as it was. It had all sorts of wonderful smells in it, but she wasn’t sure if it was alive or not. Maybe it was like the TV and just pretended it was alive.

The bus came to a stop and Rachel let Bonnie guide her to the doors. Bonnie always liked this part where the bus settled on its haunches so Rachel could step off right onto the curb.

The bus finished lowering its front end and Rachel smiled at the handsome black man who sat in the driver’s seat. Bonnie liked him. He always winked at her and sometimes slipped her a doggy treat. They got to ride with him in the morning when he was a passenger going to work and he always drove them home in the afternoon. Sometimes he would give Bonnie pieces of his breakfast tacos.

“You be careful, Rachel,” the man said in a concerned voice. He wasn’t winking or smiling today. There was a distinct lack of doggie treats.

“I always am,” Rachel assured him. Her voice was a little defensive. She still sometimes tripped or walked into things despite having Bonnie and her cane. One time she fell when stepping off the bus and the bus driver had helped her up.

“I know you are, but there are crazy things going on today,” the bus driver said in a gentle voice. “There are some really bad riots up north and some weird stuff going down at UT. Might be terrorists.”

“I thought it was some crazy girl biting people that was the reason the police were called in at the university. Not terrorists,” Rachel answered.

“The news isn’t always right. Whatever it is, I don’t think it’s good. Hopefully, it won’t affect us, but just be careful.”

“You’re very sweet, Derrick,” Rachel said, smiling at the man. “Thank you for the warning.”

Bonnie’s gaze darted back and forth between them. She lifted one doggie eyebrow. It occurred to her that Rachel and the driver should mate and have puppies. She wasn’t quite sure how to relay this tidbit of wisdom to them since they both didn’t speak dog, so she let out a soft whine.

“Yeah, you’re right, Bonnie. We should go. Thanks, Derrick,” Rachel said.

Feeling a little grumpy that Rachel had misunderstood her yet again, Bonnie led her mistress off the bus. Together, they strolled along the sidewalk toward the small house where they lived.

Bonnie took a quick break under her favorite tree, making sure that the greyhound from two blocks down understood this was her territory, then went back to guiding Rachel.

The sidewalk was uneven. Trees along the walk had pushed their roots up under the cement creating huge cracks. Bonnie always made sure to guide Rachel over the more even spots. The breeze was crisp and cool, though the sun above warmed them with hot rays. Bonnie was glad they were past winter and that she didn’t have to wear her heavy plaid coat anymore. She thought it made her look dumb.

Bonnie caught a whiff of something that she had never smelled before. In fact, it smelled terribly wrong in a way she couldn’t even comprehend. It wasn’t a living smell or a dead smell, but something between the two. She barked in agitation in the direction it was coming from and stopped in her tracks.

“Bonnie?” Rachel’s voice was uncertain. “What is it?”

Bonnie looked around at the other people in the street. Two kids were riding their bikes, another was climbing a tree. A lady sat on her porch smoking a smelly cigarette. A couple of people about Rachel’s age were on a porch playing guitar music and laughing, but something did not smell right.

The dog looked around, her body tense and alert. Slowly, she looked back toward the tall building in the distance. It was the place where Rachel went to school. Something wasn’t right in that direction. She had caught just a whiff of it, but she did not like it. But, it was also not near enough for her to be too concerned with it.

Continuing to sniff loudly, she advanced down the sidewalk toward their small house. It was just around the corner behind a high fence with lots of pretty green ivy growing over it. Squirrels liked to run across the top and tease Bonnie. One day, she would teach those little squirrels a lesson.

They reached the narrow walk to their house and Rachel pushed the gate open. Together, they strolled to the quaint little house.

***

The small TV on the table in the corner of the living room was playing loudly again. Rachel sat on the sofa, reading a book, her fingers sliding over the tiny bumps on the page. Bonnie sat next to her, chewing on her dog toy, and occasionally glancing at the blur of images on the TV.

Rachel couldn’t see, but Bonnie understood that she had not always been blind. Humans talked around Bonnie freely and she knew they didn’t think she could understood what they were saying. She actually grasped a lot more than they thought she did. In fact, she was a little annoyed that they couldn’t understand her when she spoke to them. Now she wished Rachel did speak dog. The noise on the TV was upsetting her. The people were talking about fires, bad people, and scary things that made Bonnie anxious for Rachel. Bonnie loved Rachel completely and would do anything for her, but she knew she was limited in what she could do and it made her sad.

“…as the Houston fire rages, there are continuing reports of communication being lost with the emergency crews responding to the disaster. Already forty fire fighters, policeman and EMS respondents are being reported as missing…”

“The world is a weird, terrible place, Bonnie,” Rachel sighed. “So many bad things happening.”

Bonnie whined and kissed Rachel’s fingers. She knew Rachel had been in a bad car accident and had lost her vision. It made her sad to hear the pain in Rachel’s voice.

“At least I have you. You make it all better,” Rachel decided. She showered Bonnie with kisses and hugged her tight.

Bonnie grinned and licked Rachel’s nose. Rachel laughed, the pain fading from her voice, and said, “Oh, Bonnie. You’re such a sweetie.”

Bonnie felt the love she had for her special human fill her heart. They returned to what they had been doing before, and Bonnie gnawed heartily on her stuffed bunny’s ear.

The people on the TV continued to talk in calm voices about terrible things. But, much to Bonnie’s relief, Rachel fumbled for the remote and changed it to a different channel. People laughing and saying stupid things to each other was much better.

Bonnie caught a whiff of that nasty smell again. It wafted in through the open windows on the cool night air. It was faint, but it upset her. It didn’t smell right. She let out a low growl.

“What is it, Bonnie?” Rachel touched the dog’s back gently.

Bonnie sat up and stared out the window into the backyard. The garden was just a jumble of weeds and grasses. A fence surrounded the backyard and tall trees stood guard behind it. Thick ivy was growing up over the fence and it was hard for Bonnie to see into the yard behind her home. But something smelled wrong out there and she didn’t like it. Bonnie bristled.

The TV snapped off and Rachel put the remote on the table. She carefully climbed off the couch, her head cocked, listening.

Bonnie growled low in her throat, alerting anything out there that she was on watch, and she would attack. She perked her ears up as somewhere, in the distance, someone screamed.

Rachel slowly walked over the open windows, also listening. Whether or not she heard the scream, Bonnie was unsure. Humans didn’t always hear the things Bonnie could.  The dog rushed past Rachel to the window. She stood on her hind legs, front paws on the windowsill to look outside.

“What is it, Bonnie?” Rachel’s voice held the hint of a tremor in it. “What is it? You’re scaring me.”

Bonnie growled again when her sensitive ears picked up the sound of a fight. It was not extremely close, but it was more than just a cat and a rat fighting or a raccoon tussling with a dog. It sounded like people.

Another whiff of that horrible dead-yet-living smell hit her.

She barked.

Rachel fumbled with the windows and started slamming them closed. Her fingers trembled as she searched for the locks, then twisted them.  She almost fell over Bonnie in her haste to close the windows and drapes.

Bonnie darted through the house, listening intently, making sure all the doors were closed, and that the windows were secure. She barked into the bedroom and Rachel stumbled through the hall after her. Tears streamed down her face and Bonnie felt bad for frightening her, but something was wrong out there. She had to protect her mistress.

Rachel hurried to the windows and banged them shut. After locking them, she pulled the curtains shut and fumbled for her phone. With shaking fingers, she dialed. Sitting on the edge of the bed, Rachel tried to steady her nerves. Bonnie pressed close to her, trying to comfort her mistress.

“Kelly? It’s Rach. Hey, is something going on? Bonnie is acting weird and I thought I heard someone screaming.”

Bonnie rested her head on Rachel’s knee and stared at her.

“You think it’s them again? It makes sense. The last time he chased her down the street. I don’t know why she keeps going back. I just got scared.” Rachel laughed nervously and wiped the tears from her cheeks. “I’m still...you know...adjusting.”

The next door neighbor’s voice sounded strange and small emanating from the phone.  Bonnie liked Kelly. She gave Bonnie cookies and let her play with her human pups.

After a few minutes, Rachel hung up and sighed with relief. “We’re okay, Bonnie. It’s just that couple down the street fighting again. We’re okay.”

Bonnie whined softly in her throat, knowing this was not the case, but unable to communicate that truth to Rachel. She finally settled on following Rachel around as she prepared to go to bed. The dog didn’t smell that terrible scent in the house, but she still felt very uneasy.

Finally, they settled into Rachel’s big bed together. Rachel wrapped her arms around Bonnie.

“I love you, Bonnie,” Rachel whispered.

Bonnie snuggled close to Rachel, lovingly licking her face.

Finally, Rachel fell asleep. Bonnie slowly wormed her way out of her grasp and took up a sentry position at the end of the bed. Ears alert, sniffing deeply every once in a while, Bonnie sat guard through the night.

***

“Shit! We’re going to miss the bus,” Rachel exclaimed. She rushed around the kitchen, her hands skimming over the surface of the counter, trying to locate her keys and phone.

Bonnie finished gulping down her breakfast and lapped up some water. The night had been rough for her. She had fallen asleep a few times on watch only to be awakened by a scream somewhere in the distance. She didn’t want to go outside, but Rachel didn’t seem to understand that something very bad had been happening all night.

“Okay, I got my things. Let’s get going, Bonnie.”

The dog stood patiently while Rachel fitted the harness on her and fumbled with the straps.

Bonnie licked Rachel’s fingers and looked warily toward the front door. The bad smell was stronger this morning. Not in the house, but somewhere nearby.

“Almost ready, little girl,” Rachel said, tugging the last one into place.

Rachel grabbed hold of the harness and grabbed her white cane from beside the door. “Let’s hurry. The bus will be here soon.”

Bonnie licked her muzzle in anticipation and tensed as Rachel opened the front door.

“Let’s go,” Rachel said.

Bonnie hesitated, breathing in the scents from outside. There were multiple bad smells out there. She stepped out onto the porch and looked toward the front gate. The street before the house was empty. The sky was gray as morning crept over the hills to push back the darkness.

Rachel stumbled slightly behind her and pulled at her backpack irritably. “Nothing is going right this morning.”

Bonnie’s nose twitched. She caught that terrible scent nearby. The dog stopped in her tracks and decided it was time to take a stand. Planting her four paws apart, she refused to move.

“Bonnie, c’mon. Let’s go!” Rachel tugged at the harness.

Bonnie held fast, not budging an inch. She wasn’t sure where that terrible smell was coming from. It was hard to track with the wind ricocheting off the trees and buildings around her, disrupting the scent.

“Dammit, Bonnie!” Rachel kept pulling on the harness, her expression desperate. “I can’t be late to class. I’m going to miss the bus! C’mon!”

Bonnie began to pull backwards, trying to get Rachel into the house.

“Fine! I can do this myself!” Rachel abruptly let go of the harness. “I’ll go by myself, Bonnie. Okay! I can do this. I can!” Rachel turned on her heel and tapped at the walkway with her cane. “I’m going, Bonnie! You’re being a bad dog!”

Bonnie whined, hoping Rachel would understand she was being a good dog. She was trying to take care of her.

Rachel reached the gate and began to unhook the latch.

Bonnie barked with agitation, but her owner determinedly stepped out of the gate and onto the sidewalk.

The dog rushed after her mistress, skirted out of the gate just before it shut, and shoved herself up against Rachel.

Despite her anger, Rachel sighed with relief and grabbed hold of the harness. “Thank you, Bonnie. Thank you.”

Bonnie licked Rachel’s hand, then hurried her down the broken sidewalk toward the corner. The bus stop was just one block away and she needed to get Rachel on the bus. Something very bad was nearby.

When they rounded the corner, Bonnie was glad Rachel couldn’t see otherwise she may have screamed, and that would have been a bad thing. A group of people were gathered around a car, pulling at a woman and man inside. Blood was all over the humans and Bonnie could smell death in the car. The nasty people shoved big chunks of meat into their mouths. The sound of the morning traffic just a block away muted the sound of the feast.

The bus stop lay in the opposite direction from the bloodied people. Bonnie picked up the pace, pulling Rachel along behind her. She thought about going back to the house, but Rachel would fight her and get upset. That would draw attention.

Bonnie glanced behind her warily to see the bizarre smelling humans were still gathered around the car. The dog tried to speed up, but Rachel struggled a little behind her.

“We’re going to miss the bus, aren’t we? Do you hear it? Is that why we’re rushing?” Rachel asked.

Bonnie winced and immediately looked behind them. A bloodied young man, his eyes murky with death, was just coming around the street corner when Rachel spoke. He heard her and turned to look toward the dog and his companion. The man that was dead, yet not, let out a screech that made Bonnie start in fright.

He charged toward them.

Bonnie broke into a run.

Rachel nearly fell, but managed to get her feet under her and follow. “Bonnie! What is it? What’s that noise? Bonnie!”

Bonnie let out a sharp bark and tried to maneuver Rachel over the more even parts of the sidewalk, but Rachel kept stumbling and that messed up man was getting closer. Bonnie could hear his growls and his heavy footfalls.

Then she heard another sound.  A better sound. It was the bus!

“Bonnie, the bus! It’s the bus!” Rachel exclaimed. She was breathing hard, but she was running as fast as she could, trusting Bonnie completely to guide her to safety.

Bonnie could hear the hisses and growls of the deranged creature. The dead, but not dead man was almost on them. Bonnie dared a look behind her and was horrified to see other bloodied, messed-up people running toward them, too.

“Bonnie! Bonnie! I’m so scared!” Rachel cried.

Rachel’s foot caught the edge of the sidewalk and fell. She managed to land on one knee and the palms of her hands. Rachel was pushing herself up off the sidewalk when the bloodied man grabbed her.

Bonnie twisted about and attacked. Bonnie drove her body into his legs, knocking him aside. His hands gripped Rachel’s backpack, trying to drag her to the ground. Rachel managed to get her arms free of the pack and scrabbled away.  Unable to see, she held out her hands in front of her, lost and unsure in which direction she should go. Bonnie immediately rushed to Rachel’s side and nudged her. Rachel screamed, then realized it was Bonnie. She grabbed the harness and together they ran.

The big bus was rumbling down the street. Bonnie could smell it and hear it distinctly. Inside was safety for her and Rachel.

“I can hear it! I can hear it!” Rachel gasped.

They were almost to the corner. Bonnie began to bark shrilly as the bus roared toward them. Bonnie willed the big green beast to stop. One of the dead things was following her and Rachel.

Inside the bus were people. People who didn’t smell weird, but smelled of sweat, soap, perfume, food and fear.

“Don’t stop! Don’t stop!” a man’s voice shouted inside the bus. “There’s one right behind her!”

“Stop! Stop!” other voices cried out.

“Please stop!” Rachel screamed.

The doors began to open despite the protests of someone inside. The dead thing was almost close enough to grab Rachel. Bonnie ran Rachel right up to the stairs. She saw Derrick inside, reaching forward to grip Rachel’s hand.

Satisfied that Derrick was going to help Rachel, Bonnie yanked free of Rachel’s grasp and launched herself into the dead man about to grab Rachel. The thing howled as her body drove him away from Rachel and the bus.

The dead thing kicked Bonnie savagely and Bonnie yelped in pain. The growling dead man leaped toward Rachel as she was dragged into the bus, his mangled hands reaching for her. Bonnie’s claws skittered on the asphalt. She got some traction and launched herself at him again. Grabbing him by the seat of his pants, her teeth bit into the fabric and his soft flesh, and she wrenched him backwards onto the ground.

The bus lurched forward and Bonnie heard Rachel scream her name.

The dog glanced over her shoulder at the bus roaring away, then back toward the creatures racing toward her. The creature beside her climbed to his feet and ran after the bus.

“Run, Bonnie, run!” the dog faintly heard Rachel screaming.

Bonnie realized the dead, but living things didn’t want her. They wanted Rachel and the others. Rachel still needed her.

With a growl, Bonnie rushed after the bus. She knew where the next bus stop was. If she could get there, maybe the bus would stop for her and then she could take care of Rachel.

Bonnie had never run so fast in her life. Her four paws powerfully hit the ground, propelling her forward. She raced past the bloody man chasing the bus and kept running. She could hear the other dead ones behind her. The bus was in sight and she could reach the next bus stop before it if she tried hard enough.

All around her people were screaming, cars were honking, and the world was sinking into chaos, but Bonnie kept running, her brown eyes steady on the bus. She could hear Rachel and Derrick screaming for her to run faster. She could see Oscar and Melissa in the back window urging her to hurry. And she could hear the man’s voice calling out “Stop Requested” as Rachel pulled down on the yellow cord over the window.

Bonnie pulled out all her reserves and surged past the bus. She almost slid into the bench at the next bus stop when she managed to reach it before the bus.

“Stop! Stop! Stop!” Rachel’s voice screamed.

“It’s just a dog,” a man’s voice shouted.

Bonnie looked behind her to see the dead people. She whined as the big green bus drew closer. She could see Rachel crying and Derrick yelling at the bus driver to stop.

The bus brakes groaned when the big bus came to an abrupt halt in front of the Golden Retriever. Bonnie glanced over at the dead people that had just reached the rear of the bus. The mangled man who had attacked Rachel was even closer.

The doors snapped open and Bonnie leaped on. She dove past Derrick’s legs just as he raised a heavy toolbox and smashed in the face of the dead man trying to get onto the bus. She saw Rachel holding her arms out to her and Bonnie leaped into them.

Rachel buried her face in Bonnie’s neck and wept as the bus lurched forward and the doors snapped shut. Derrick looked toward Bonnie and Rachel and took a deep breath. Outside the dead, but living creatures were howling and screaming. Silence filled the bus.

“It’s just a dog,” a man in a suit and tie finally said in a trembling voice.

“She’s more than that,” Derrick answered him. “Can’t you see?”

Bonnie snuggled against Rachel. Both of their hearts were beating hard and, strangely, in sync.

“You saved me, Bonnie, you saved me,” Rachel whispered. “You’re a good dog.”

Bonnie licked Rachel’s face once more. Slowly, she smiled her doggy smile as the bus rumbled on satisfied that they were both together.

The Monsters from Beyond

The origins of this story are also in a vivid dream, but it’s a bit different from all the other stories of horror in this collection. This short story is actually the prologue of a novel that I am uncertain I will complete. It’s a very complex story with big themes on religion, faith, and being a survivor at the end of the world. Though Tor has shown a little bit of interest in the concept and I personally love it, the story is incredibly complex with a large cast of characters. In some ways it reminds me of AS THE WORLD DIES because of its setting and the sheer epic scale of the story.

The Key is one of my favorite pieces of writing. I have loved it since I first wrote it in a rush of excitement. I had no idea where the story was taking me when I first started it, but I was completely enthralled with how the prologue ended. The reason it’s included in this collection is because I think it can stand on its own merit.

I would love to hear your feedback on this tale and maybe one day it will grow into something much bigger. But for now, The Key is one of my favorite short stories and I’m very happy to share it with you.

Enjoy!

The Key

Susan didn’t want to destroy the world. She never had. But the terrible truth was that the fate of the world lay in her trembling hands and no one believed her. Not one single soul.

“It’s all in your mind. Can’t you see that? It’s not real. These fears you have are not real. I thought we were past this.” Gavin kept his voice low, aware of the other patrons in the restaurant, and threw down his cloth napkin. With a sigh, he turned his face away from her.

In the candlelight thrown by the red candle in the middle of the table, he looked old and tired. But he was only twenty-seven, her age, and usually animated in a manner she envied.

“Geezus, Susan.” He took another deep breath, trying to gain control of the irritation that kept creeping into his voice.

Susan looked down at her pale hands twisting the napkin on her lap. Her brown hair fell forward to frame her face and provide a privacy curtain from the furtive looks of the other people in the swanky, yet cozy restaurant set in mid-town Manhattan. Tears were hovering just above her lower lashes and she tried hard not to blink. If they fell, she could not bear the embarrassment they would bring.

“I’m sorry. I am. I’m trying.”

“Dr. Sanders said we were past this,” Gavin sighed. “I thought we were past this. You’ve done so much better this last week since you got out.”

Susan gazed at him through her lashes and didn’t dare say a word. Of all the people in her life, Gavin was the only one who knew when she was lying. She was surprised she had fooled him as well as she had this last week. Tonight’s dinner was to celebrate her progress. They were going to eat a fabulous expensive meal with some fine wine, go home, make love, and then step in front of the newly purchased gilded mirror that was now hung in the bathroom of their small apartment.

And she would look into the reflective glass and end the world.

She understood that. Gavin did not. He thought she had finally overcome her eisoptrophobia, her fear of mirrors.

This was a lie.

She was actually not afraid of mirrors. She was afraid of what dwelled within them.

“You don’t understand, Gavin,” she finally said. “No one does.”

“This end of the world crap?”

He was almost done with her. She could see it. The one good and wonderful thing in her life, her fiancé, was almost done with her. Their relationship was frayed and hanging by a slim thread, and her fear, her terrible paralyzing fear, was slicing through that thread with every word she said.

Her voice wouldn’t come.

She couldn’t scream at him the words that were on the tip of her tongue.

The words she had screamed at her unbelieving mother as she held Susan captive before her dresser mirror when she was six and ordered her to look at her reflection.

The words she had screamed when the kids at school held her arms behind her back and tried to pry her eyes open in front of the mirror in the girl’s bathroom.

The words she had screamed over and over again when the men in the white coats held her down and the needle pierced her skin when they had admitted her to the hospital.

The words that haunted her thoughts.

They are coming. They are the end of this world. And I am their key.

She had scribbled it endlessly all over her textbooks and notebooks in school. She had written it in crayon all over the walls of her bedroom. She had muttered it endlessly the many times she had been hospitalized.

Her terror was real. The threat was real. But no one believed her. No one understood.

For a moment, she caught the reflection of her terrified gaze in the blade of the silver knife resting at the edge of her plate.

My key. My beloved key, whispered a voice of delicate velvet wrapped in an ice cold blade.

“Susan,” Gavin’s voice said firmly.

She gazed up at him, forcing herself to not look at that delicate blade. “Gavin, I just want to be with you. I just want to go home.”

He sighed softly and shook his head. His fine blond curls bounced over his forehead and his blue eyes were full of despair. “All right. We’ll go home.”

“Thank you.”

Folding her napkin, she tried not to shed the tears that were refusing to subside. She wished Gavin would listen to her. She wished he would understand.

When they had met in college, she had told him of her fear of mirrors. She had told him of the nightmares she had of the other place where creatures of great beauty and terror devoured the living and destroyed worlds. He had listened, his hand gently holding hers, and he had not told her to shut up. He had asked her questions, contemplated her words, and sympathized with the terror that she always lived with. She had been doing so much better then. She had not been so riddled with terror. But then again, the creature had still been far in the distance whenever she caught a glimpse of a mirror.

“You’re so much more than this irrational fear,” he said softly as he signaled the waiter and pulled out his wallet. “So much more, Susan. You can’t let this rule your life. How can you stand it? Your whole life, Susan! Your whole life!”

When she was three years old she had gazed into a mirror and seen not only her reflection, but beyond it. It was not her mother’s bedroom lingering behind her, but a cold, gray barren world.

When she was six, she had seen a dark figure in the distance, coming over the dunes of gray snow—or was it sand?—and had been afraid. Each time she looked into the mirror, the figure had been a little closer. And then the voice came.

Do not look away! Gaze upon me and draw me close!

That was when she had begun to scream. That was when she had learned that no one else could see the gray world or the dark figure slowly advancing from the horizon. She had been admitted to the hospital and sedated to calm her hysterics. It was the first time of many she would be hospitalized.

“I’m not afraid of mirrors,” she said at last.

“I know. I know.”

The waiter presented the check, giving her an odd, dismissive look, and then walked away.

“I’m not, Gavin. I’m not afraid of them.”

“You’re afraid of what is in them,” Gavin answered tersely. “I know that.” He threw down some bills and stood up. “I know you’re afraid that you’re some sort of key and they will use you to get into our world. I’ve heard it all. Remember?”

Susan slid to her feet and grabbed up her small purse. Her tall, too-slim form was tucked into a flattering red dress. She looked pretty, but haunted. She never wore any makeup and kept her long hair straight and boring. Avoidance of all mirrors meant she adhered to the simplest personal maintenance.

Gavin took her arm and gently led her through the restaurant. A few people stole glances at them, but he ignored them. He was too upset to care about public humiliation. Shoving open the heavy wood door set with stained glass, he looked toward her. His expression was one of anger and detestation.

Stepping onto the busy sidewalk, Susan didn’t dare look at him again. She had been lying for months now and she couldn’t bear to tell him. Her last break had resulted in her being hospitalized for a much longer duration. The doctor that had taken her case had believed firmly she must face her fear and break it once and for all. This meant looking into a mirror at least once a day without hysterics until he believed she was getting better.

She had been desperate to get out and be with Gavin. She had risked the world to be free. Her selfishness was what would destroy the world around her.

Taking her arm, Gavin led her along the busy sidewalk toward their apartment building a few blocks down the street. He was upset with her and frustrated. She couldn’t blame him, but he had to understand.

“I looked into the mirror to come home to you. I couldn’t stand it in there with all those people. I’m not crazy,” Susan said firmly. “I’m not. But I couldn’t stand it. And every day, when I looked into that awful little mirror, I saw her getting closer. For years, Gavin, for years, I didn’t look into the mirror and I held her off. I figured that out. If I looked into the mirror, she could see me. See the way into our world. But if I looked away, she couldn’t anymore. So she would stop and wait. Do you understand?”

Gavin stopped in mid-step and whirled on her. “No, Susan, do you understand? Do you? What you are saying is insane! And it is not real! When I met you all this was a weird quirk. Your phobia of mirrors was odd, but it didn’t rule your life. And your nightmares, I could understand that it was about your mother’s abuse. Your fear of her coming back into your life. I could understand that! But all of this!” He sputtered to a stop and tried to regain his composure. In a much lower voice, he said, “All of this insanity has to stop. You’re on your meds, you go to a very expensive shrink, you do everything you’re supposed to do and you’re still obsessing over a childhood nightmare!”

“It’s more than that,” she wailed softly. “You have to understand.”

“No, you have to understand that if you don’t look into that mirror tonight, I’m gone.”

Susan stared at him, her eyes wide and full of tears. Pressing her lips together, she tried not to scream at him. Her hands tightened around the straps of her purse and she slowly lowered her head. She found it hard to breathe, hard to swallow, hard to think. Gavin was everything good in her life. She couldn’t bear to lose him.

“What do you have to say to that, Susan? Tell me. What do you have to say?”

“Don’t make me choose between you and the world,” she muttered.

“What?” He leaned toward her.

She tried not to take notice of all the suspicious glances they were garnering from the people strolling down the sidewalk. She swallowed hard.

“I can’t lose you,” she said at last.

“Good. Because I love you and I don’t want to go, Susan. I don’t. But I can’t do this anymore.” Gavin took her by the shoulders and pressed her against his chest.

She sank against him, but did not embrace him. The tears were far too close to spilling and she wanted to be away from all the gawkers staring at them.

She wanted to be away from the people she would kill if she chose to peer into the mirror tonight.

“Let’s go home,” Gavin said, realizing her discomfort. He drew back and took her gently by the arm. “Let’s go home and put this behind us.”

Walking at his side, Susan kept her eyes glued firmly ahead and did not dare glance into any of the stores. It was an old practice that kept her from inadvertently looking into a mirror.

At least not until she got home...

***

The door to their small apartment shut with a loud click. Trembling, she forced herself to enter the apartment where she knew the brand new mirror now resided, waiting for its dramatic unveiling. She instantly felt its cold, menacing presence as she stepped in the tiny apartment.

Gavin fumbled with the locks as she stood in the center of the small living room trying not to shiver. It was hard to breathe and her chest was hurting. Her fingers felt icy and she couldn’t seem to let go of the delicate straps of her tiny purse.

Susan could hear Gavin talking to her, but his words were making no sense. Drawing in another deep, painful breath, she turned toward him. He was smiling and he kissed her cheek as he passed her. Slowly, she swiveled about to watch him turn on the lamp next to the kitchen.

“A little wine?”

Susan nodded mutely. The presence of the lone mirror in the apartment consumed her senses.

She felt so cold.

With a wide grin, he stepped into the tiny alcove that served as a kitchen. Bustling about the narrow space, he obviously was ready to put the uncomfortable scene at the restaurant behind them and make the best of the night. This was one of the reasons she loved him. He was full of life and always happy to move on from unpleasant situations.

The air was colder now. Her back was prickling with thousands of tiny needles of ice and her hair was on end. The mirror was so close she could not deny its presence. Fearfully, she turned and gazed down the short hallway into the darkened bathroom. Gavin had the mirror delivered when they were at dinner and had ordered it to be covered with a burgundy velvet throw. The ornate mirror now hung over the ancient sink waiting for her. She couldn’t see through the blackness that dwelled at the end of the hall, but she could feel the terrifying menace of the mirror.

Abruptly, a glass of wine was pressed into her hand and Gavin kissed her firmly on the lips.

“I know you’re afraid. I know it. But once you do this, it’s over. Done. We’ll move on. This whole nightmare will be over and we’ll be able to put this behind us. Dr. Sanders said you need to stand up, be bold, and take away the power your fear has over you.” Gavin hugged her close and rambled on.

His words reduced to white noise, she stared into the dark scarlet merlot and smelled its rich aroma. She had no desire to drink it. She had no desire to do anything. She felt empty and lifeless. Even Gavin’s now-buoyant mood could not dispel the terrible dread filling her and sapping her of all her energy.

“C’mon, drink up! Susan, please, smile for me. This is what we need. A finish to all this insanity and a fresh start for us. I know you can do this. I know you can!” He stared into her face with a zeal that was frightening. He just did not understand.

Slowly, she raised the wine to her lips. It was dark and rich, like blood. She sipped the liquid slowly, the tartness startling on her tongue. Gavin was staring down at her with a too big smile on his face. He was pushing her so hard, forcing her to choose. He didn’t understand that what he was asking her to do was declare her love for him and destroy the world.

Tears brimmed in her eyes again and she forced herself to swallow the wine. It felt like a hard ball sliding down her throat. Her fingers trembled and she could barely hold the wine glass. Behind her was the death of the world. Before her was the man she loved more than her own life.

The sparkle was fading from his eyes as he beheld the terror in hers. He set his drink on the coffee table. The glass against wood made a sharp sound that made her jump. Setting his hands on his hips, he wouldn’t even look at her.

Finally, she managed to push the words from her quivering, pale lips. “I can’t.”

“I thought you loved me,” he said in a low, angry voice.

“I do,” she fervently whispered. “More than anything or anyone.” Her throat felt tight and her skin was crawling.

“If you don’t face your fear and banish it once and for all, I’m gone. I mean it, Susan. You cannot make me live through this insanity.” He finally looked at her and his expression made her wince.

Her skin felt like it was pulled taunt over her skull. Agonized, she let out a sob of despair and covered her face with one hand. “I can’t. I can’t. I know what I am! I can’t!”

The slap across her cheek made her gasp. The wineglass in her hand fell to the floor and splintered into tiny shards of crystal glass. The wine splashed her feet.

“I have spent two years of my life with you! Don’t make me regret it!” Gavin’s voice shouted at her.

He slapped her again, sending her teetering back on her high heels. “Stop it, Gavin!” He had never struck her before and Susan looked at him in horror.

The man she had regarded as her savior, her great love, and support in times of despair, lunged toward her and grabbed her by her long, dark hair. Tangling his fist in her brunette locks, he twisted it so her head was angled toward him. Sickened by his violence, Susan could almost forget about the lurking mirror. Her scalp was on fire and her body was twisted at an odd angle. She futilely tried to get her balance.

“You will look in the mirror! You will do it! If you won’t do it because you love me, then I’ll make you do it.”

Her fingers scrabbled at his wrist as he swung her around and began to drag her down the dark hallway. Her heart beat wildly inside of her chest as her throat tightened with fear. Her flesh felt like it was crawling with a million bugs. “Please don’t, Gavin! Don’t!”

In the hospital, each day when she had gazed into the mirror, she had seen her growing ever closer. But Susan had told herself over and over again that once she was free of the hospital, she would never look into a mirror again. No matter what happened, she would avoid it at all costs and not let them into the world. It had been her sacred vow to herself, God and all of humanity. Gavin had pushed her awfully close to breaking that vow because she couldn’t bear to lose him, but now, as he pulled her through the darkness toward the terrible mirror, she knew that she would lose him either way.

“I wasted so much time and energy on you believing that you could overcome this! I told my family and friends they didn’t understand!” Gavin was actually crying. Frustration and anger had him over the edge. He swung her around and she almost fell to her knees before he yanked her back up.

“Don’t do this, Gavin! Don’t make me look!”

She struck out at him, her small purse hitting his face. The tiny crystals decorating the bag sliced open his lip, startling him. His fingers tightened in her hair, his fingernails digging into her scalp. Touching his bloody lip with his other hand, his eyes blazed.

“Gavin, Gavin, please.” She continued to lash out at him, her fists feeling small and weak against him.

He struck her again, this time with his fist closed. Her head swam as she fell to her knees. Darkness swirled up inside of her, trying to pull her down. Gavin jerked her upright and the pain that rippled over her tortured scalp brought her back to her senses.

“I tried and tried with you!” Spittle flew from his lips as he hissed at her.

She tried to grind her high heels into the floor to keep him from dragging her into the bathroom. He heaved her past the open bedroom door, lifting her up with one arm. She grabbed for the door jamb, but was ripped away.

“You are going to face the fucking truth, Susan. You’re going to realize you lost me over a fucking fear of something that isn’t even real!”

She had never known him to be so angry. It was as if he were possessed by his rage. In their relationship he was always the calm one. The kind one.

“Please stop,” she begged.

The doorway to the bathroom loomed before them, filled with darkness. She managed to brace her foot against the wall, keeping him from pushing her in.

“Dammit, Susan!” Gavin jerked her backwards.

Trying to regain her balance, she fell, twisting her ankle. The pain wrenched a scream from her lips and Gavin hesitated for a moment as he bent down to pull her up.

Grabbing hold of his free hand, she looked at him with anguish in her gaze. “Please, Gavin, if you love me, believe me. Believe me, please!”

Something softened in his face as he gazed at her. Looking toward the bathroom, he reached out his hand and flicked on the light. The covered mirror instantly appeared over the old sink.

Susan sobbed in desperation as she gazed at the velvet folds of the burgundy cover. “Please, Gavin. Please. If you love me, please.”

“If you love me, you’ll look,” he said in a low voice.

“I can’t!”

Gavin exploded into action. He tugged her to her feet and hurled her into the bathroom. She barely caught hold of the edges of the sink to keep herself from falling. Her head smacked against the covered mirror and her vision swam as daggers of pain ripped through her brain.

“Gavin,” she gasped.

He reached out and snagged the velvet cloth.

“Don’t!”

The soft velvet poured over her face, soft and lush, as he pulled it off and yanked it over her head. She screamed and squeezed her eyes shut.

His hands gripped her shoulders and he pressed her face against the cool glass. Susan could feel the cold world on the other side. She could feel her waiting. Screaming, her hands fluttered against the mirror, trying to find the frame so she could rip it off the wall.

“Look, damn you, look!”

“No!”

“Look!”

“No!”

His fingers fumbled against her eyelid and she clawed at his hand.

“Look, damn you! Look! There is nothing there! Nothing!”

The tip of his finger slid against her eyeball as he tried to pry her eyelids open. She gasped in pain and for an instant her eye fluttered open.

She began to scream shrilly.

The creature on the other side of the mirror stared at her, then its dark mouth smiled. It thrust its hand through the mirror and gripped her neck. With one swift movement, it ripped Susan out of Gavin’s grasp and yanked her through the mirror.

***

Susan fell to her knees, the cold, gray ash churning up and floating around her like dead snow. The creature stood over her, staring down at the human from her great height. It had to be over twelve feet tall and was clad in a long, voluminous black dress that appeared to be made out of leather and decorated with obsidian crystals. Its ebony hair was wound into spirals that swept back from her high forehead and wove into the semblance of a crown over her head. The long face of the creature was snow white and finely sculpted. It had the appearance of a human face, but the more Susan stared at it, the more inhuman it became. But what was most terrible about the woman was her cold, black eyes. They were large and unblinking. The creature was so terrible and beautiful to look at that Susan shielded her face with her hand, sobbing uncontrollably.

“Please, don’t do this. Please,” Susan cried.

The being of her nightmares slowly bent down and placed a white hand against Susan’s face. The fingers were thin, long and had too many joints in them.

Her captor spoke to her in a language she didn’t understand. Susan’s eyelashes fluttered as she forced herself to look up at it. She could see that what had appeared to be dark black eyeliner around the creature’s eyes was actually deep slits that slanted up in the corners. She had the impression those eyes could open even wider. The mouth was finely shaped and lush. Her lips were black and glossy and as she spoke, the corners winked in an odd manner.

“Please, let me go back to my world,” Susan whispered again.

The creature chattered at her, its movements reminding her vaguely of an insect. The black, leather gown with its long train moved independently of the being and Susan screamed as the hem brushed over her skin. It felt wet, cold, and fleshy. The fingers continue to stroke Susan’s cheek and neck as the creature spoke to her. Finally, it finished speaking and drew her close.

Susan smelled death on the creature’s breath. The death of thousands of worlds and billions of beings.

The dress of the creature rippled around her and a piece of what appeared to be a sash suddenly lashed out and wrapped around Susan’s throat. It was tight, cold, and clammy. The creature slashed at the fleshy cord with one finger, severing it from the dress. The ebony flesh quickly encircled Susan’s neck as her fingers tore at it. Thousands of fine, dark threads begin to ripple out of it. The tiny tentacles caught her fingers and began to slide over her flesh.

Susan’s terrified screams rent the cold, dank air of the dead world. She thrashed on the ground at the feet of the great creature as the tiny whips of flesh soared out of the collar and twined around her limbs. They tore through her clothes, shredding them from her body, then wove themselves into a tight, suffocating garment.

“Please stop!”

Susan clawed at the hem of the great creature’s gown, imploring her to cease the assault. The black leathery folds of the dress gripped the human’s hands and held her captive as she was quickly engulfed by the weaving black threads. Within a few terrifying moments, she was completely enshrouded in a new garment that resembled her captor’s.

“I don’t understand,” she gasped.

The collar around her throat was still now against her pulse. She was cold to her bones and she could barely move.

The great creature, the demi-goddess of death, leaned over her. Plucking an obsidian ornament from her gown, the creature leaned toward Susan, whispering to her in a voice that sounded like glass slivers rubbing against each other. With what could only be described as a smile, she pressed it to Susan’s leather collar.

Susan couldn’t even scream. She could not draw a breath. Her eyes bulged out of their sockets as the power of the creature filled her. Visions of the destruction of thousands of worlds filled her mind’s eye as she felt the life drawn out of them. She witnessed horrors beyond comprehension. Death filled her and consumed her hope.

It was then the collar around her throat bore two last tentacles. They slid up into her hair and wrapped themselves in her tresses. Weaving her hair into a grand ornamentation on top of her head, the tentacles finished transforming her into her new identity.

Tears streamed down her pale cheeks as she stared up at the creature. She was no longer certain it was female. Drawing itself up, it extended one long hand toward her. Susan trembled, but did not obey the summons. She didn’t have to. The collar around her throat gave birth to a long, black chain that flung its end into the palm of the creature’s hand. With a slight tug, the creature brought Susan to her feet.

It spoke to her again as one long finger extended down toward her trembling lips. Susan wept in terror as a drop of black liquid dangled wetly from the tip of a long white digit. It dropped onto her lips and she tried to press them hard together to keep it from entering her mouth. But like the collar, it did as it willed. The drop forced its way into her mouth and down her throat. It was bitter and so cold.

Her last thought as a free-willed human was that she was dreaming.

Then she was swallowed up in a black abyss of pain and when she emerged she wanted nothing more than to serve her mistress.

Over the dunes of ash, the others came. Susan turned away from them and toward the portal that hovered in the air that led into her world. She had only to touch it and it would expand to allow the Devourers of Worlds in. The roaring wails of other creatures that had once been Keys into their own worlds filled the cold, dry air around her. They, too, were now slaves, chained to their masters. One of the slaves gave out a terrible cry as its huge form came into view, blocking out the sight of the calm, gray clouds above. Susan would have once been afraid, but now she understood that to fear the masters was foolishness. She was one of their beloved treasures now. She would not suffer the fate of her race.

The many-armed creature with a gruesome visage howled again.

It was time.

Susan turned her gaze back to the portal and reached out her hand.

***

Gavin could not comprehend what had just happened. He stared at his reflection in the mirror Susan had vanished into. His face was extremely pale and his eyes looked huge in their sockets. Slowly, he drew his hand up to press it against the surface of the mirror. It was cool to his touch and did not give way beneath the press of his fingers.

It couldn’t be real, but he had seen that awful white hand reach out of the glass and grab Susan and drag her through. The mirror hadn’t broken. It had remained cold, hard silvered glass.

His fingers trailed over his reflection.

“Susan,” he whispered.

There was no answer. All he could hear were the sounds of the city beyond his apartment windows and his own heartbeat thudding in his chest. His lungs began to burn and he realized he had been holding his breath.

Drawing in a large, painful breath of air, he choked and coughed.

“Susan,” he wheezed.

There was no answer.

He must be dreaming. This was a nightmare. All of it. He must have fallen asleep before going to the restaurant. That was it. This was a nightmare. He must have dozed on the sofa when he was waiting for Susan to be ready and his fears were manifesting in this awful dream.

All he had to do was wake up.

Drawing back from the mirror, he tried to think of a way to get his brain to switch off the nightmare and draw him back into the world of reality. He slapped his own cheek, but hardly felt the blow. He felt so numb.

I’m in shock, he thought.

No, no.

I’m dreaming, he amended.

That was why he couldn’t feel the blow.

He tried pinching his arm as hard as he could and gasped at the pain. That hurt, but he remained trapped in the nightmare.

“Susan, I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I won’t hurt you. When I wake up, I’ll be understanding. I promise.”

He slammed his palm against his forehead a few times, but still remained encased in the dream.

“Shit. I need to wake the hell up!”

Gavin was beginning to feel desperate and looked around the bathroom. It was small and cramped. Maybe if he got in the shower and turned the cold water on that would do the trick.

A sharp, high note sang through the bathroom and Gavin twisted around on his feet trying to figure out where it was coming from.

The mirror was vibrating.

He staggered back against the wall, a towel rack catching him hard in the ribs. Wincing, he gripped his side.

“Susan! I’m sorry! I want to wake up!”

The mirror began to tear apart like paper. Long strips of his terrified reflection peeled away from the frame and fell to the ground, shattering. The frame came apart, splintering. A freezing gust of stale air whistled out of the black hole and seared his flesh.

Then the entire wall collapsed.

What lay beyond the ruined masonry was too terrible for Gavin’s mind to comprehend. A multi-armed creature, glistening white and enormous, finished pulling away the pipes of the plumbing, then drew back to allow a pale, black-garbed woman through the torn hole. She was tall, thin and beautiful to behold in a flowing black gown of supple leather. Her coal black eyes regarded him for a second, then she stepped firmly into the destroyed bathroom. The building moaned and creaked around them. Water spurted out of broken water pipes, but she did not seem to notice.

A long black chain was attached to the woman’s throat. It led back into the cold, terrible world where howling creatures clawed at ash dunes.

Gavin felt tears flowing down his face and piss and shit filling his pants.

The woman was Susan.

Slowly, Susan turned and summoned another creature.

This one was so great in height, she had to stoop over as she entered the bathroom. Her long gown swirled into the small room, filling it. The fleshy folds slid over Gavin’s legs and he cried out in terror.

The hunched creature took note of him for a second, then reached out her hands to grip the doorway leading into the hallway. She pulled her body through the narrow passage, her grotesquely beautiful face disappearing from sight. The long, black train of the dress began to be drawn through the doorway, the folds rippling over Gavin’s body.

Susan, remotely beautiful and terrifying, watched him. There was no expression in her face. No life in her eyes.

“Please, don’t kill the world,” Gavin whispered. “Close the doorway.”

“I am the Key. Not the Lock,” Susan answered in a voice devoid of emotion.

The wall behind him was ripped away. Plaster, bits of mortar, and bricks pummeled him. Gavin fell to his side, terrified.

The terrible, beautiful creature Susan had let into the world looked down at him. Its black lips turned up slightly. The cold, fleshy folds of her dress suddenly stiffened and slashed out at him.

Gavin gasped as his body was sliced in two. His hands fluttered over his stomach as his intestines spilled out onto the cold floor beneath him.

The hem of the dress slashed out at him again and again, cutting through skin, muscle, bone, and organs. Blood splashed the room red and decorated Susan’s visage in ruby drops.

Gavin’s last thought was a silent plea.

Susan, don’t destroy the world.

***

Susan watched as Gavin’s life drained way and the creature above him shuddered with pleasure.

“Life,” it said in English. “Life is ours.” The words were twisted and foreign on its tongue.

“There’s more,” Susan answered. “So much more.”

Her new mistress smiled. Flinging up her hands, she tore through the ceiling above. Screams filled the air as the upstairs tenants tumbled down through the ruin. The creature shredded them into fleshy ribbons and feasted on their life essence. Moving through the apartment, she ripped down the walls and ceiling, the building moaning as it was destroyed. Pipes burst and electrical fires exploded into raging infernos.

Susan followed, her mistress’ protecting her from all harm.

And behind her, the others began to move through the open doorway into the new world, full of life, waiting to be devoured.

***

The building collapsed as the others came through. Creatures larger than prehistoric dinosaurs ripped through the open doorway. The apartment building moaned as it listed to one side, its inhabitants trying to escape death only to be devoured by the creatures pushing their way into the world.

The Demi-Goddess of Death rode the crumbling side of the building down to the street, watching with amusement as the falling debris slammed into cars, people, and other buildings. She began to kill immediately, plucking the screaming humans off the street and ripping them to shreds. Their deaths fed her and she was renewed.

Her true name was long lost. The only one she remembered now was given to her by the last world she had consumed. They had worshipped her until the last of their kind had died. That world had kept her kind trapped for a millennium. Many of her people had died of starvation, as had their slaves. The survivors had feasted on their deaths, sustaining themselves a little longer, but they had faced their own extinction.

Then she had seen the burning light, the key of another world, winking at her through a portal in the far distance. It had taken some time to finally find her way to the new portal and reshape herself into a new image to be adored, worshipped, and feared by the new world. She liked her new aspect. It was foreign and strange, grotesque, yet beautiful.

The Demi-Goddess crushed a fleeing woman with one hand and laughed as her blood sprayed over her.

Life.

To feed again was bliss.

Her slave rode on her great dress, holding tight to the leash. The Demi-Goddess was pleased with her new acquisition and protected it from the explosions rocking the foreign world’s city. The others were through now, tearing down buildings, scavenging for the terrified inhabitants.

So much life.

It was exquisite.

She threw back her head and roared.

About the Author

Rhiannon Frater is the award-winning author of over a dozen books, including the As the World Dies zombie trilogy (Tor), as well as independent works such as The Last Bastion of the Living (declared the #1 Zombie Release of 2012 by Explorations Fantasy Blog and the #1 Zombie Novel of the Decade by B&N Book Blog), and other horror novels. In 2014, her newest horror novel, The Mesmerized, will be released by Permuted Press. Dead Spots will be published in 2015 by Tor. She was born and raised a Texan and presently lives in Austin, Texas with her husband and furry children (a.k.a pets).  She loves scary movies, sci-fi and horror shows, playing video games, cooking, dyeing her hair weird colors, and shopping for Betsey Johnson purses and shoes.

Visit her online at rhiannonfrater.com

Subscribe to her mailing list at tinyletter.com/RhiannonFrater

To find out more about Rhiannon’s other books, please continue to the next page.

Books by Rhiannon Frater

As The World Dies Trilogy

(The First Days, Fighting to Survive, Siege)

The morning that the world ends, Katie is getting ready for court and housewife Jenni is taking care of her family. Less than two hours later, they are fleeing for their lives from a zombie horde. Thrown together by circumstance, Jenni and Katie become a powerful zombie-killing partnership…

For more information and a link to an excerpt, click here.

As The World Dies Untold Tales

(Vol 1-3)

The As The World Dies Trilogy introduced Jenni and Katie and their harrowing journey to the makeshift fort in the Texas Hill Country. But theirs is not the only tale to be told. Read nine terrifying tales of those who are forced to face the unrelenting and hungry walking dead as the world dies.

For more information and a link to an excerpt, click here.

Pretty When She Dies Trilogy

(Pretty When She Dies, Pretty When She Kills, Pretty When She Destroys)

Amaliya Vezorak always believed she was destined to live a failed life in obscurity until she was brutally murdered by an ancient vampire named The Summoner and reborn as a powerful vampire necromancer. Now it is up to her to save the world…

For more information and a link to an excerpt, click here.

The Vampire Bride Series

(The Tale of the Vampire Bride, The Vengeance of the Vampire Bride)

All Lady Glynis Wright ever wanted was the freedom to live her life as she pleased. When her family becomes guests to one of Count Vlad Dracula, Glynis finds her fate is far more terrible than an arranged marriage. Trapped in the power of her new master, she fights for freedom, revenge against her creator, and the chance to be with the one she truly loves.

For more information and a link to an excerpt, click here.

The Last Bastion of the Living: A Futuristic Zombie Series

Vanguard Maria Martinez has lived her whole life within towering walls of steel. She yearns for a life away from the overcrowded streets, rolling blackouts, and food shortages, but there is no hope for anyone as long as the Inferi Scourge howl outside the high walls. When Maria is conscripted to finally destroy the Inferi Scourge, she realizes the rewards of success are great, but she will have to sacrifice everything, possibly even her life...

For more information and a link to an excerpt, click here.

Living Dead Boy

Josh Rondell is twelve years old and known as the “living dead boy” due to his rampant love of all things zombie. When zombies invade Josh's school can the zombie-obsessed 12-year old and his friends survive?

For more information and a link to an excerpt, click here.

In Darkness We Must Abide

Already living in the shadows due to her albinism, Vanora is just a little girl when her older brother inadvertently unleashes a terrible evil from the family crypt that changes their lives forever.

As she grows up in a world where beautiful deadly beings hunt by night, one captures her eye and her heart. Yet, can she trust the mysterious Armando? For there is a powerful entity plotting to claim her when she reaches adulthood in order to fulfill an ancient prophecy, and her enemy has enveloped her in a web of deceit, casting doubt on all she believes to be true. Soon, she will have to fight not only to save those she loves, but also for her very soul.

This serial is published in individual episodes and season compilations. For more information and a free copy of the first episode, click here.

The Midnight Spell

(by Rhiannon Frater and Kody Boye)

Two lifelong best friends ostracized in their small town – he is gay, she is a witch – cast a midnight love spell. They and their new love interests will have to battle a force of darkness which has killed in their town before and will kill again.

For more information and a link to an excerpt, click here.

Cthulhu’s Daughter and Other Horror Tales

From the depths of the darkest waters of the ocean to the eternal darkness of space, Rhiannon Frater crafts taunt tales of terror to enthrall avid readers of the genre. Each short story explores a different type of monster from the shambling undead to devourers of worlds.

For more information and to read a free story, click here.

Blood & Love and Other Vampire Tales

Award-winning author Rhiannon Frater delves deep into the vampire mythos in her new short story collection featuring the beautiful, but deadly undead. Spanning a hundred years and a diverse cast of characters, Rhiannon explores the themes of loneliness, revenge, blood and love in seven tales. How far will the bloodthirsty vampires go to find love, revenge, and family?

For more information and to read a free story, click here.

Table of Contents

Copyright

Dedication

Introduction

The Old Ones

The Monster with the Human Face

The Vampires

The Werewolves

The Mummy

The Zombies

The Monsters from Beyond

About the Author