Missy's Trip

Oh the horror's of drug use.

I

The plan was to meet up at Lowell after the guys grabbed some weed and bottled water before the trip started. It was only a quarter mile away and should have taken no time but the girls were near hysterical. The laughter that continued to spontaneously erupt was borderline frantic. Both girls were gasping for air and covering their red faces in embarrassment over the sudden loss of control. The drug was wreaking havoc on the midline of their upper brain stems and suppressing the laughter was next to impossible. The girls were experiencing cognitive shifts: a psychological phenomenon that alters how the conscious and unconscious mind communicates with each other. It could be up to thirty minutes before the initial stage of the high passed and the girls were relieved to be alone. The onslaught of an acid trip made Missy feel far too vulnerable to be around the opposite sex and she had purposely put some distance between herself and the guys.
        Lowell was visible from the cemetery gates; its name was carved into the stone mantle nearly ten feet above the ground. The tomb was an opposing force, towering over the other headstones and crosses. Even the tallest stone angels in the graveyard could barely touch Lowell�s lower platform. A tiny decorative wrought iron fence -reaching only two feet high- surrounded the entire monument, protecting various clusters of flowers and plants. The base was approximately eight-feet-squared with four pillars spiraling up to a marble canopy that cast shadows over the interior of the structure. No one knew who the Lowell family was but they had lived rich and were buried here in the town�s cemetery.
The boys couldn�t see the two figures sitting on the marble platform until they were within arms reach. The dark interior and isolated location had always made the mausoleum a favorite place for local under-age debauchery.
        Missy and Kim had blankets laid out and a couple of joints rolled, by the time the boys got situated. Allen and Chris �more often referred to as �The Twins�- were each carrying a six-pack of beer. Although not identical they did possess very similar builds and features: both were tall, gangly, with sickly pale complexions and narrow faces. At that moment their eyes consisted only of pupil and their clammy skin looked ghostly and slick; their shirts soaked with perspiration. They were clearly at the mercy of the drug: past the hysterical laughter, suffering from elevated blood sugar levels and an increased heart rate. Both struggled with the powerful distortion to their perception and tried to cope with the possibility of being altogether severed from reality.
         Ryan was their polar opposite. He was shorter, stockier, with jet-black hair and a full face. He carried nothing but was equipped with his ever-present backpack stuffed with bottled water and cigarettes. He was tweaked as bad as the Twins, but seemed to be carrying himself with a bit more composure.
        The two large joints managed to take the edge off the Twins; they no longer looked as though their skeletons were about to leap from their bodies and flee from the cemetery at any moment. However the guys still passed around a nervous look, as if each one were putting off giving someone a piece of bad news.
        �There was a small problem with the weed. My usual guy is all out. We need to take a walk over to Alex�s instead� If you guys wanna stay here we�d totally understand.�
        Ryan�s words hung suspended in the air with the smoke cloud.
        �But it�s really not as creepy as everyone says.�
        There wasn�t a person in town that didn�t know Alex�s story; or more appropriately the story of his house. It had been abandoned for almost twenty years when he moved in eight months ago. The rumor around town was he had made his down payment with rolled up crusty dollar bills. It seemed that only a deranged, drug-addicted individual would want the house after knowing the atrocities that played out within. Some of the major newspapers even ran the story on the front page.
        The neighbors assumed the old man had finally passed when the smell started creeping in through their windows. Mr. Ramses had always been a good neighbor but had few visitors, no family and quickly failing health. It wasn�t long before a worried phone call was made.
         Nobody was more shocked then the police when they broke down the door. The old man proved to be perfectly fine and in good spirits. His houseguests on the other hand were not. Each body had been propped up neatly around the house, well dressed and in varying stages of decomposition. The old man wept as they dragged him out -in shackles that probably outweighed him- begging that they be gentle handling his friends.
        It was no wonder the house sat vacant for so long; some stains can�t easily be washed away. Alex, however, reveled in the grim history and welcomed the notoriety. He was known to give ghost tours to his customers and offer glimpses of the cellar -only to slam the door shut behind them.
        Missy knew Kim well enough to know she�d follow Ryan into hell and back. She also wasn�t too high to acknowledge the realities of sitting in a cemetery by herself at night. Above all things Kim and she had dropped together and they were on the same wavelength. She dreaded the solitude that lurked in the shadow outside of Kim�s radiant glow. The idea of their separation was far more terrifying than any house.

                                         II
        
        The tiny patio set was dwarfed by the massive room it presided in. Old ghosts of antique furniture still haunted the cracked and faded wallpaper. A dust covered crystal chandelier remained the sole reminder of the style that had once graced the house. The double banister staircase resembled a mouth laying in wait at the opposite end of the room, leading up into the pitch-black upper level. The carpet was the tattered tongue ascending up and back into the belly of the beast.
        The old stone fireplace was clearly for decorative purposes only; the few ashes that remained inside could have been a century old. The flue damper long fixed open and the ancient brass poker set was untouched beneath an inch of dust.
        Alex sat perched on the back of the couch like a bony gargoyle; the large joint dangling from his lip threatened to leap off with each word he spoke.
        �They never found any complete bodies, just parts scattered throughout the house�
        He had a tendency to spit his words out rather than actually speaking them.
        �Never released an actual body count either. I heard it was well over two dozen though. I can tell you something else, something they never released in any papers...�
        His glance shifted from side to side; as if afraid someone might be listening in on his precious secret.
        ��they never found one single pecker in the whole lot! Some folks think he used� em for satanic ritual or demon worship. The truth is�he�d eat� em! Thought it might put some juice back into his wrinkled old f**k-stick.�
        Eight bodies had been recovered in actuality: six females and two males, both with their penises completely intact.
        Missy could tell the Twins weren�t enjoying Alex�s story any more than she was; their narrow faces hung slack jawed with eyes like sunken black craters.
        Kim squirmed in her seat -causing the old chair to creek in protest- when the ancient boiler situated a floor below grinded to life; the copper pipes spanning the house groaned and squealed under the pressure. The entire building threatened to break loose from its foundation, until the pressure equalized and the pipes lay dormant once again.
        Ryan seemed unaffected by the grim details of Alex�s story but picked up on all the signs that Kim and Missy were uncomfortable. He took the opportunity during one of Alex�s dramatic pauses to cut him off and get down to business.
        Missy couldn�t avert her stare from the walls. Once a symbol of structure and security; they were now bearing down on her with sinister intentions, pushing down with such a force she feared her lungs may collapse. She couldn�t stop picturing the withered and decomposed figures propped up around the house; their hollow eyes staring blankly from each shadowy corner. As she gasped for air, her sinuses were invaded by a foul yet familiar enemy.
         As a child she had discovered the body of a dead fox behind her father�s garage. For several weeks she had returned to the carcass and quietly observed as it was slowly reclaimed by the earth. It was her first encounter with death without the falsehoods of an adult interpretation.
         Now that unmistakable odour she had come to know all those years before, behind the garage, had returned ten-fold. The potent stench was infiltrating her nostrils and reached down to start the deepest pit of her stomach churning. If death had been in the room prior to that moment, it was just now letting its presence be known.
        Perhaps it was death that brought the freezing cold draft creeping over the entire base of the house. Missy felt as though she was standing in six inches of ice water. When she looked down for confirmation, her feet were dry and safe but the carpet had betrayed her. It surrendered its stability �so easily- to the likes of insects. The entire area rug
�save for the area directly surrounding her feet- writhed and struggled, pulling itself in a million different directions. Hundreds of thousands of jointed legs scratched on the floor; tiny antennas probed the air and scratched at Missy�s ankles.
        The rest of the group seemed unaware of the transformation. The Twin�s stare never wavered as the growing mount of insects spiralled up their legs and filled the small gap that was between them.
        Missy broke off from the group, slowly walking backwards as the Twins were consumed by the writhing black mass. Bony limbs twisted and contorted as the mound began to lose its human form; now more of a pulpy sack with flickering wings and antennas jutting out in every direction. Two pale narrow faces stretched and moaned in agony amidst the sea of flesh and shiny black exoskeletons.
        As Missy�s back smacked up against the cold masonry of the stone fireplace, her left hand found the insulated handle of the antique brass poker standing vertical in its rack.
        All of her fear and panic was packed behind the force of her initial blow. She swung horizontally and sliced the sack open as it squirmed and dragged itself closer to her. A steaming black wave of bile spilled from the wound, laced with squirming maggots and twitching fresh larva.
        The room erupted into chaos as Missy positioned herself above the two narrow faces and skewered them to the floor. High pitched screams manifested into fine black ash that fluttered in the air and burned Missy�s eyes. Through the haze she could see Kim hiding beneath the table, and Ryan �in true form- sprinting towards the exit.
        Alex was careful not to gain unneeded attention when he slipped the switchblade from underneath the couch cushion and extended the five-inch blade. Missy noticed his stale breath on her face more than she registered the blade penetrating her side and lodging between her third and fourth rib. He gave the handle a three-quarter turn before releasing his grip and ensuring enough damage was done to take the fight out of her.
        She staggered back clumsily, gawking at the knife protruding just below her left breast. There was no pain, only the deafening crunching as countless rigid thoraxes scraped against the metal blade. She stared down as the knife handle twitched and shifted before being forced out of the wound by a million fleeing ants.
        The brass poker met Alex at the base of the skull as he tried to escape. The blow was strong enough to penetrate the subarachnoid space in his skull and send cerebrospinal fluid oozing from his nose and ears. There was no blood yet; it was still leaking internally from the fracture site, filling his sinuses and collecting in the orbits of his eyes. He was barely conscious when the second blow shattered his skull, tore his dura mater and displaced tiny fragments of bone inward, lacerating his brain.
        Missy continued to swing the poker long after the life left his one remaining eye, until she was driving tiny wings and abdomen parts into a streak of gore that reached across the room.

III

        The boy seemed sincere despite the hefty amount of drugs in his system. It was certainly worth the drive out to the house for the peace of mind and to shut the kid up.
        Death greeted them at the entrance; most of the police officers had already been introduced to the smell of fresh blood before. The men drew their guns and entered into the darkness following the faint sobs that cut through the silence.
         Boots slapped and stuck to the blood-soaked floor as the group fanned out across the room. Their flashlight beams fell upon a twisted bloody heap that could have once been two young boys, and tiny objects �that could have been teeth- grinded beneath their rubber soles.
        The team converged on the figure that sat trembling and weeping at the base of the stairs. The tiny girl was not alone; she cradled another girl whom she rocked gently, almost motherly. She tried to keep her hands as still as possible while she worked. A tiny incision had been made just above Kim�s temple and the switchblade was inserted to act as a primitive skin elevator. Missy did her best to be gentle, maneuvering the tweezers around within the wound; desperately searching for the aphids that were boring into her friend�s brain.
        

Reviews

[Rain]

Amazing. I am not a horror fan, only in movies, although I did attempt a horror story. But nothing like this. This was so unusual, in it's intriquing clinical description, and it's excellent detail. I was engrossed in this piece from start to finish, which is rare for me. This was a great piece. You had the stages of highness detailed in such a way, it made the story so realistic. Great job. Rain..

[InkSlinger]

Another great piece.. enjoyed this very much!!

[Stacy]

Twins getting high....I got a kick out of that part.

[Lloyd]

Yeah! great story, With the "rough" statement I wasn't expecting much but you pulled it off very well, good stuff.

[XxVampyrCandyXx]

I rarely read the "short stories" that many have submitted for I am a poem reader of sorts but the first few paragraphs just seemed to draw me in more and more. I love it and being a fan of horror in some scences I believe that this was very well written and intriguing in all the best ways. Good Job.

[luthien7]

As a horror fan, I had to stop and note how much I loved this story. Very well written! The ending is perfect. I felt as though I had walked in behind those cops, could see the scene before me and I could feel the intensity of it. Excellent.

[Damian Alan Gray]

Absolutely salient. This is a great example of the modern horror story. It seems that the days of Stephen King and Peter Straub have become a thing of the past. The modern horror writer must not write in competition with other horror writers, but instead, they must write in an appeal to audiences that have experienced real world revulsions. How can the typical horror story (ghosts, vampires, zombies, etc) interest readers who have experienced the real-life horrors being brought about by real-life monsters on CNN? Shock is the word for today, and it seems that it is the only way for the modern horror writer to garner any attention at all. I've found very few writers of the macabre that manage to do this as well as you have with your work.
This, like most of your other work, is simply outstanding. It is brutal, it is bloody, it is gruesomely detailed, and it is everything that the modern horror reader wants from a story. Well done. This piece, my friend, has become the Vicious Circle's Work of the Week. Congratulations!

[E. M. Murren]

That was intense. LOL Fine work, although I do not usually read violent stories... I was raised in a violent home and it brings back too many memories. This was really well written, though. Fine work.