Dread the Dark Read online

  Dread the Dark

  A Collection of Horrors

  By: A.C. Utter

  First printing February 2019

  Copyright © A.C. Utter All rights reserved.

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  DISCLAIMER

  The book as well as the characters in this book are entirely fictional. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is entirely coincidental.

  License

  All rights reserved. This book or parts thereof may not be reproduced in any form, stored in any retrieval system, or transmitted in any form by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, or otherwise—without prior written permission of the publisher, except as provided by United States of America copyright law.

  Table of Contents

  Dedications

  The First Nightmare

  First, Do No Harm

  I Was Born For This

  The 30th Year

  Trapped

  Happy New Year

  Jack

  The Phone Call

  Be Mine

  The Curse

  The Grey

  The Waiting Room

  The Park

  Fair

  The Skeptic

  Acknowledgments

  Other Books

  Connect

  Dedication

  To my friends and family, thank you for graciously listening to my nightmares for the past thirty years, and for encouraging me to write them down.

  The First Nightmare

  In the third grade, I stood with my classmates in the middle of a vast forest. The hum of the trees and the shuffling of animals buzzed in the background. We were on a field trip, although I cannot recall how we arrived, nor why we had taken the trip.

  As I looked around, I noticed a small, quaint cottage behind us. It was made of stone, picturesque, with smoke slowly rolling out of the chimney, and surrounded by a short, brown, picket fence. A path wove its way through a small flower garden from the gate to the front door. At first glance the cottage seemed inviting, a sweet and cozy grandma cottage in the woods. However, the illusion was quickly shattered by the wet, moldy, rotten, smell that surrounded the place. I tried to tell myself I was just being paranoid, but I knew in my gut that wasn’t the case. Something was off.

  I stood in a single file line with my classmates, the cottage behind us, and the front of the line ahead of us. I stepped to the side so I could see where the line was going. At the front of the line was what appeared to be an old well, its deteriorating stones rose from the ground, lined with moss, and slick with the morning dew. The well towered above us, atop it sat a wooden contraption I did not recognize. It appeared to be bolted to the top of the well, closest to the side we were standing on. There were two big metal cylinders attached to the wooden contraption that laid lengthwise across the well, and were attached to a big wooden hand crank.

  I stood blinking dumbly at the contraption. I had seen something similar used to wring out laundry in an old western my parents forced me to watch. Though something was different about this one; the metal rollers had some sort of design on them, and they were set too far apart to be efficient for laundry.

  My concentration was broken by the sound of approaching footsteps. Our substitute teacher had exited the cottage and began to walk toward us. She was wearing a powder blue dress, cinched at waist, and flared around mid-calf. It was very 1950’s housewife. She was followed by a woman wearing a black, floor length dress. She had an old, ratty, grey, shawl wrapped around her shoulders and over her head. She was hunched over and moving very slowly. The elderly carry with them all of the experiences in their lives, and burden seemed to be very heavy.

  The two women walked past the line of children and stood at the front near the well. The teacher spoke briefly stating we were to, “follow directions, stay orderly, and do as you are told.” She then took a step back and turned things over to the old woman. The old woman shifted a bit on her feet, milky eyes darting from child to child. Her face was very angular, as if she hadn’t had a decent meal in a decade. Her chin jutted out at the bottom of her face, pulling her thin pale skin tightly over her sharp features. In one smooth motion she stood up tall, pulled the shawl off of her head, and grabbed the first child by the left bicep. She paused, scanned the line of children once more, than quickly lifted him by his bicep and his leg, ramming him head first between the two metal rollers atop the well.

  The surprised yelp that escaped his lips as he was lifted from the ground was soon replaced by a surprised scream as his head hit the metal cylinders. With one arm, the old woman held him in place; with the other arm she began to turn the wooden crank handle. It was then that I realized I was mistaken about the design on the cylinders, they were in fact, metal teeth.

  As she began to turn the crank handle, horrified screams escaped the mouths of the children around me. I stood, mouth agape in silent horror at what was before me. As she turned the crank the metal cylinders also began to turn, their teeth biting into my classmates head and face. I’ll never forget that first crunch, the sound of their skull giving way to those metal teeth.

  The crank made its first full turn, metal cylinders now coated in blood, chunks of skin, and freshly chewed meat. My classmate Mark continued to scream in agony. He would’ve cried, but his bright green eyes had been plucked out by the teeth of the cylinders and now hung from his face. Soon the screaming stopped, but the wet smacking sound of flesh and blood, and the sound of breaking bones continued. It felt as though it went on for hours. Eventually, his legs stopped twitching as they too passed through the cylinders.

  What remained of Mark fell from the other side of the cylinders, into the dark abyss of the well. I looked to our teacher for direction, for an explanation, for anything. She stood unblinking, watching the horrors of the well, and of the creatures we could now hear feasting in its belly. Although we could not see the creatures, we could hear wet smacking sounds, low growls, and the splashing of water.

  The old woman did not waste any time. As soon as Mark was through the grinder she picked up the next child and threw her in head first. I wonder to this day why none of us moved, why none of us ran away. We simply stood in that line, too terrified to move, awaiting our inevitable fate.

  Before too long it was my turn to say goodnight. I stepped to the front of the line, only two children remained behind me. I remember the smooth motion in which the old woman scooped me up. She seemed so strong, her grip felt like fire. I looked straight into those cylinders, hoping it would be fast, hoping I didn’t have to see what belonged to the shadows and sounds of the well. I promised myself I wouldn’t scream, I wouldn’t cry. I was at least able to keep that promise to myself. When she pulled me back to slam be forward, I used my neck to create extra momentum. I wanted it to be fast. I remember seeing those metal teeth, dripping with blood, right before they carved into my face, into my eyes, and my nose. As the old woman swung my head into the cylinders, I only had time to hear a ‘thwack’, then it was lights out.

  ~

  I awaken to darkness. I think for a brief, precious moment, that I am safely tucked into my own bed. It is the cold of the water and the smell of pennies and rotting flesh that snaps me out of it. I try to look around, but there was only darkness. I can feel things moving around me, under me, through me. I manage to find the wall, it’s cold, wet, and hard. My feet are standing on solid ground, the air around me seems to move. But it is
n’t air, its water, I’m completely submerged.

  I swim upwards until I break the surface of the water, then I follow the wall of the well, trying to find a way out. As I suspected, there is none. I call out, but the only response I get is the growls from the creatures that slither around me. I decide wait for morning, maybe I will be able to see something in the daylight.

  I try to sleep but my soul is tired, not my body, so I am unable to drift away. The daylight comes slowly, but eventually it touches the air around me, which seems to shimmer. It’s with horror that I realize it’s not the air that is shimmering, but the blood coating the walls of the well. As the light touches the water I see the chewed and torn bodies of my classmates floating lifelessly around me. Their blank stares focus on me, welcoming me to their new home. I still can’t see the creatures, they are staying beneath the surface, where the light is not strong enough to reach them. Although I cannot see them with my eyes, I can feel them, they caress me with their long claws, they brush against me with their cold, slimy bodies, and they nibble at my feet with their sharp teeth.

  I don’t know why I’m here, I don’t know why I’m alive, if that’s what you call what I am. That’s when I hear it, the very distinctive sound of the air brakes on a bus, and the laughter of children. The old woman must have found herself more victims. As the children get closer, I feel my stomach start to cramp. I haven’t eaten in twenty-four hours and my stomach is threatening to eat itself.

  I can hear the children being instructed to stand in line quietly, and I try to yell out, to warn them of what is about to happen. What escapes my lips is an inhumane growl, the same growl I heard from outside of the well. I clap my hands over my mouth and I feel the long cold claws sink into my cheeks. Holding my hands out in front of me I now see the truth. I’m not stuck down here with monsters, I am a monster.

  I swear to myself that I won’t participate, that I won’t hurt other children. I didn’t choose this, but I can choose to just let myself starve, rather than hurt anyone else. The moment I hear the crunch of bones above me, everything leaves my head except the need to feed. As the first chunk of flesh hit the water, I dive towards it, I must, I’m so hungry. The other creatures have begun to breach the water. I make eye contact with one of the creatures, one with bright green eyes. It’s not just Mark that’s down here with me, I’ve recognized a few other classmates as well. Some of the eyes I do not recognize, some are old, so old they’re hard to look at, as if they’re hiding a terrible secret, never intended to ever be revealed.

  Not even the screams of the children above can stop me, I must feed, and I must be strong. Each bite slides down my throat satisfying a small part of my hunger. When I’ve had my fill I sink to the bottom of the well, resting on the stone floor, light shimmering through the water above me.

  I don’t know why I’m here, or what I am, but tomorrow I will try again. I will try to warn them, try not to eat, try to be, human. For now the darkness comes again, the night swallowing the day, and monsters come out to play. This monster is going to hide down in the dark, and hope that tomorrow I have the strength to resist.

  First, Do No Harm

  As a doctor, I’ve vowed to do no harm. It’s been my greatest pleasure to bring new lives into this world for over twenty-five years. However, neither Medical School nor my years of experience could prepare me for what, unbeknownst to me, would be my last delivery. History will judge me for what I’ve done, for breaking my vow.

  It was their first baby, and the pregnancy had been rough on both of them. It was two in the morning by the time she was ready to push, and we were all exhausted. The first thing I saw was its hair, black as night. I was taken aback by its white skin, covered in white scales, eyes a deep crimson, a brand new mouth, full of brand new teeth, with the incisors coming to dramatic points. It was a she, and she was mountainous beauty and suffocating terror.

  I’ll admit, I could have been a bit more discreet. But the moment I saw the creature, I knew I had to strangle the life from it. Unfortunately, new mothers, especially the one that carried the creature, could not understand why I needed to destroy it. They were blinded by their hopes and dreams. I can still remember their screams as I vanquished the demon.

  Since that night I have tried to explain myself to so many people. I’ve talked to police officers, reporters, friends, family, judge, and jury. They all insist there was nothing wrong with the child. They even used a photo of the thing during my trial. The creature wasn’t alive for more than a minute, so the photo they used was of the creatures corpse. Those tricky bastards edited the photo. The photo I saw during the trial was not the creature of which I disposed. The photo was of a newborn, although dead, a perfectly normal infant. She had a few blonde hairs on her head, blue eyes, and although white, did not have any scales.

  They’ve actually labeled me as a monster. Me. They have made me out to have insatiable bloodlust, but I would never hurt any person, especially not a child. Unbelievable. Well, what’s done is done. Now, here I sit, nice and cozy in my cell. I’m writing this on a bit of toilet paper because I do not know that I will live long enough to tell my story in person. It’s not being on death row that threatens me, it’s that the creature has found me.

  When I first came here they started giving me medication. One day I decided not to take it, and that’s when I saw the first creature. I’ve seen it several times here, and it has the same hair, eyes, and teeth. This time the creature isn’t limited to one form. Each day I see a new inmate or guard that wears the face of the creature. I have not continued my medication because it clouds my mind so I cannot see the creature. This gives it the advantage, so instead I’ve learned to fake taking my medication and instead have been saving it for a rainy day.

  At first I tried to ignore the creatures, hoping they would leave me alone. It was then that I began to hear whispers from the dark corners of the room, from under the bed, and from the drains in the shower. The voice is a deep, raspy whisper, and it speaks very slowly. The voice is my guide. The message has always been clear, kill them all and you may join us.

  Tomorrow I will take them, one by one, until there are none left. I will use my hands, just as I did the first time. This time I’ll make sure I get all of them. Once I know they have all departed, I will return to this very spot and I will listen for the voice. I’ve crushed my stockpile of pills and mixed them with water. Once the voice tells me I’ve earned my place, I will join them in the shadows.

  The time has come, my story has been told. I will fold this note and place it under my pillow for someone to find. I will then exterminate the creature and earn my rest in the shadows. From the shadows I will whisper great secrets in the ears of those who will listen. If you’re reading this note, listen closely, and maybe I’ll whisper to you.

  I Was Born for This

  I dissected my first squirrel when I was five. I would sit on my knees on the couch, head cradled in my hands, watching the fat brown squirrels bounce from tree to tree. I was fascinated by the way they chirped at each other, the way their small bodies seemed to fly across the ground and soar through the air.

  One day I couldn’t handle it anymore, I had to see how they worked, what made them tick. I needed to know how the bones were attached by ligaments and tendons, the color of the muscles, how it ate, and the biggest mystery of all, what was inside of the tail.

  I borrowed a live trap from the neighbor, telling them I thought we had an opossum in the garage. It took a few days for me to catch one. I used a can of mixed nuts I found in the house as bait. I remember how scared it looked, it was so tiny. Even at five years old I could have easily crushed its windpipe between my fingers.

  I thought I might throw up once I cut into it, but as the steak knife punctured its soft underbelly, I felt nothing but pure joy. The way the blood ran out of its little body, the screams as I went about my work, it was fascinating. I hadn’t realized it would scream so loudly, so it was good that I had found a nice isolated spot i
n the woods behind our home.

  The place in the woods became my laboratory. As I got older, squirrels and rats no longer satisfied my hunger for the discovery of warm blood, and I had to chase new and more exciting prey. After the rats and squirrels came a raccoon or two, followed by the neighbors cat when I was twelve. Looking back, I had a teacher at the time that seemed suspicious of me. She used to talk to me all the time about how we don’t have to follow our impulses, emphasizing how we should be kind to one another, and that hurting people and killing them is wrong. She focused on delaying gratification and redirecting your thoughts, if you found yourself thinking bad thoughts. I always smiled and nodded, but it wasn’t until I got older that I realized what she was trying to do.

  I am Dexter. No, that’s a lie. I am Victor, but I feel like Dexter. As a teenager I was obsessed with the show, which is when I realized what that teacher was trying to do. She was trying to help me. Killing small animals, more cats, a few dogs, even some chickens, helped keep my urges under control, but it wasn’t a permanent solution.

  I went to work as a vet tech which helps with the urges. Sometimes families do not want to pay for their pets to be cremated, so we throw them in the dumpster out back. No one notices when one of those bodies doesn’t make it to the trash.

  Now I’m an adult. Unfortunately adult needs are not so easily satiated. I need to see the inside of the ultimate prey, the inside of a human. I want to plunge my hands into the wet warmth of their chest cavity and hold their heart as it continues to beat. I want to live unrestricted, free to explore my urges as they come. Unfortunately if I live as if I’m free, I will lose what little freedom I have. I know that eventually I will lose the fight, eventually I will snap and snatch some random person off the side of the road. It crosses my mind every time I pass a hitchhiker, or a family crossing the crosswalk. I dream of it every night. It’s like a burning fire in my belly. It demands to be fed.