Beneath The Mask

It’s interesting how the mind can fool the body; like when you wake up in your bed, only to realize that you’ve been dreaming. The terror was not in the fall, oh no. As real as that may seem, some part of you knows you are dreaming. The real terror is when you open your eyes and for a fleeting instant, you see yourself smashed against the pavement. You feel the impact, the bones breaking, you hear the screams, and then you are awake. Perhaps you have never experienced this; perhaps you’ve been spared the horror. But surely you have felt the knife in your skin, as the killer plunges it deep into your breast. Perhaps you have felt the spider’s bite, the wasps sting. And, against everything you know, you believe that you are dying. Your heart beats faster, you writhe in agony, and you wake up, covered in sweat. People have died from disease that does not exist, symptoms that only their mind creates. A man has a rash on the plane, and suddenly everyone is scratching. Then he has a heart attack and dies. Here, perhaps, the mind draws a line, but for a few…

This collection is like the mind, and you, the readers, are the body. If I have done my job correctly, perhaps I can fool you into believing the impossible. But then again, perhaps you’re just too smart for little old me. Either way, I do hope you enjoy these stories, compiled from early works, with some new ones thrown in. Terror is a fickle emotion. What scares one man may not scare another. I have not covered all phobias, but I feel that I may cause a start. Well, fingers crossed anyway…

Alas, I bid you farewell

Kyle Downes

Beneath The Mask A COLLECTION OF SHORT STORIES, WRITTEN AND COMPILED BY KYLE DOWNES

“FEAR AND PAIN, ALWAYS TOGETHER NEVER FEAR AND JOY, OR FEAR AND LOVE PERHAPS THEY ARE THE SAME, FEAR AND PAIN SIAMESE TWINS, JOINED TOGETHER OR PERHAPS, TWO NAMES FOR THE SAME THING CONSIDER THIS AS YOU READ, FOR FEAR AND PAIN ONE AND THE SAME, OR TWO COMPLETELY DIFFERENT THINGS, FEAR AND PAIN, AWAIT YOU, DEAR READERS” KD

TRACK LIST:  THE BEAST OF NEVERMORE ~ 4  LES HOMBRES DE NEGROS ~ 6  HOME BY THE SEA ~ 10  TERROR HAS WINGS ~ 18  FISSURE ~27  CONFESSIONS OF A DYING RACE ~ 45

From the first time I read his words, Edgar Allen Poe enthralled me. The talent and beauty in his writing captured me. My favourite was, of course, The Raven. And I had the great luck of finding an audio recording of Christopher Walken reading The Raven. He breathed new life into the words and captured me once again. After hearing this, I sat and wrote this poem in homage to the works of Mr. Poe.

The Beast Of Nevermore Fearing visions of terror, I flee into the dreamlands of nevermore. Where neither you nor I shall whether, The pain your heart has borne. Yet fleeing fast, I chance strayed past, And I took the wrong door. Racing past a soaring fire, I simply missed, nevermore. Knowing now of my mistake, I sought, A guide or token, or the beast of nevermore. In futile quest and stabbing fear, still I fled down the halls, With footsteps ringing, ringing, throughout the halls of nevermore. And then, by chance or fate, I happened to enter, A chamber with a grand chair, placed in its centre. And all around sat the wraiths of pain and fear, And on the chair, the beast did cry, ‘Come hither, lost one, do not fear.’ Taking his gentle words, as nothing but the truth, I gently breathed, to calm my knees, and stepped into the room. And once the wraiths assaulted, but the beast did look revolted, And in anger and despair, rose out of his chair, crying, ‘Why is it you assault this lost boy?’ Knowing not the answer, the wraiths retreated, And my soul was heavy no more. And in my eyes, the veils were lifted, And I knew I was in nevermore. Taking all in consideration, the beast of the nation,

Called me forth to the front of his chair. Trusting his words, and ignoring the wraiths, Who writhed and howled in their chairs, Knowing not why or how – or not caring to know, My legs, against my heart, did go. And again the wraiths assailed me, and with an answer ready, Bid the beast to stay his assault. ‘He is ours,’ cried they, ‘he has come our way, To escape from the sadness above.’ The beast, knowing this was true, said, ‘There is nothing I can do. Fleeing sadness is like fleeing the air. One cannot escape something, that is everywhere.’ Fleeing once again, from the chamber now dim, With the veils sealing over my eyes. I cried as I ran, past fire and door, ‘Nevermore, nevermore, nevermore.’ Fearing visions of terror, I flee into the dreamlands of nevermore, nevermore. For I learnt my lesson, for a lesson it was, From the beast of nevermore. The beast, in his wisdom, said, with gentle voice, With words that, even now, still reverberate in my head, ‘Fleeing sadness is like fleeing the air. One cannot escape something, something that is everywhere.’ And I flee nevermore, Nevermore.

Suspense and mystery are interesting, I must admit. Anything can be made suspenseful, the dropping of a coin, the firing of a bullet. It is all about perspective. Here is some perspective for you.

Les Hombres De Negros The rain fell gently that night. It barely made a noise as it fell in sheets from the sky. It ran almost silently down the sides of houses and corrugated iron rooves. Night made darker by the gathering clouds, the street lamps glint like minute glitter on night’s black skin. Even the cars seemed to be muted tonight. There was very little traffic down the streets, and those cars that came ran almost silently past the sleeping houses. The moon occasionally struggled through a gap in the clouds, creating a brief shroud of gentle light. No one seemed to be out on the streets; only puddles and small rivets of rain, trickling endlessly towards freedom, line the streets. Our man isn’t out yet, but he’ll be here soon. Let’s look around some more. The houses appear old, but not ancient. Most are brick, though some are concrete. An occasional window shows a light, and sometimes the silhouette of a figure inside, looking out on the empty streets as we do. The road is cracked and aging, a beautiful work of art, though, compared to the pavement. Many feet and bad maintenance has led to the pathways becoming a mess of rubble, cracks, holes and misplaced chunks of concrete; pockmark and scarred like a leper’s face. Now, where is our man? He’s late. Where…Ah, here he comes; gliding around the corner. There, you see him. I don’t blame you if you don’t straight away. He’s dressed entirely in black, looking entirely out of place in the dark neighbourhood. Looking at him provokes images of the Blues Brothers, except he wears a black raincoat, instead of a tuxedo. He keeps his hands thrust firmly in his pockets and keeps

his head down. He walks slowly; he’s not in a hurry. Perhaps you have seen him before, but tonight your curiosity grows, and you decide to follow him. The man glances around briefly as he reaches the corner, his eyes alive and alert, a complete contradiction from his dark, sombre clothing. Satisfied, the man turns the corner without changing his pace. He doesn’t seem to mind the darkness, almost feeding off its anonymity and being absorbed by the shadows. He avoids lights, keeping his side close against the wall. Approaching another corner, he repeats his ritual, this time turning right into a completely different neighbourhood. The alleyway offers little comfort. A couple of homeless people sleeping in their own rubbish disrupt our path, making their refuge amongst the bric-abrac of rubbish and unwanted items. Nevertheless, the man seems to take it all in his stride. He keeps the same pace and remains looking down as he nimbly steps over the sleeping forms, with us stumbling along behind him. The man pauses in front of a door. The door is highly rusted steel with a mouldy wooden plaque at the top. “Les Hombres De Negros” the sign reads. Under that is a small slit that slides open and closed. The man knocks on the door, three times rapidly, followed by two longer ones. Then he steps back and waits. The sound of footsteps travels towards us; dulled by the thick door. About ten seconds later, the slit opens and a pair of brown eyes suspiciously looks around. The slit closes and the door opens, revealing a monster of man, with a dark beard, muscle shirt and leather jacket. He lets the man in then slams the door in our face. Out here we must wait, alone with the bums and our speculations. Who is this man? What sort of man conducts secret meetings; in secret rooms with enormous bouncers? If there ever was a more suspicious man, I haven’t met him. Perhaps he’s a terrorist, or maybe he’s with the mafia. A professional hit

man, or a suicide bomber. Who knows? We just have to wait, and wait, and wait. Slowly, sounds of gentle revelry float through a crack in the door. It seems their might be some sought of party. Soon footsteps join the revelry and the door creaks open and out steps our man again, followed closely by three other men. All are dressed identically, completely in black. They hunker close together and walk down the alley, gliding over the bums and rubbish. Once again, we must give chase. The four men are joined together, linking arms in a show of comradeship. Whoever they are, they’re close. They hold each other like brothers, laugh, and pat themselves on the back. They are happy. Then silence falls as they preform the corner ritual, moving almost in sync with each other; like a rotating gyroscope they glide around the corner. Then they are normal again. A couple of men laugh and one pats our man on the back. He opens his mouth to talk and we move in closer to hear. Maybe he can shed a bit of light. He whispers in the man’s ear, too low for anyone to hear. Damn! The man smiles and laughs a loud, booming laugh. He whispers something into the other man’s ear and they both laugh together until the reach a corner, where all sounds stop, and they perform the ritual. They cross the road and stop in front of a house and one of the men break off. “Enjoy yer money, mate,” our man says. The man in front of the house smiles waves and vanishes inside. Five houses down the block, and they stop again, this time the man next to ours breaks off. “Bad luck today, Tom,” our man says. “That was pretty terrible.” The man smiles sadly, nods and then vanishes inside. Another ten houses down the block, and on the over side of the road, they stop again. The big man breaks off and turns to our man. Now, maybe our questions will be answered. Could it be that this man has all the answers to the mystery of the ‘Hombres De Negros’ and our man in black? He leans

forward to speak to the man and we lean in to hear. He opens his mouth…and says… “Hey man, that’s gotta be the best darn game of poker I’ve ever had. See ya next week.”

This next story is an example of drawing inspiration from other’s work. The story is based around the song “Home by the Sea” by Genesis.

Home By The Sea Based on the song by Genesis of the same name 1

3

Creeping up the blind side, shinning up the wall

Images of sorrow, pictures of delight

stealing thru the dark of night

things that go to make up a life

Climbing thru a window, stepping to the floor

endless days of summer longer nights of gloom

checking to the left and the right

waiting for the morning light

Picking up the pieces, putting them away

scenes of unimportance like photos in a frame

something doesn't feel quite right

things that go to make up a life

Help me someone, let me out of here

Help us someone, let us out of here

then out of the dark was suddenly heard

living here so long undisturbed

welcome to the Home by the Sea

dreaming of the time we were free so many years ago before the time when we first heard welcome to the Home by the Sea

2

4

Coming out the woodwork, thru the open door

Sit down Sit down

pushing from above and below

as we relive out lives in what we tell you

shadows without substance, in the shape of men

let us relive out lives in what we tell you

round and down and sideways they go adrift without direction, eyes that hold despair

Sit down sit down

then as one they sigh and they moan

cos you won't get away so with us you will stay

Help us someone, let us out of here

for the rest of your days. So sit down

living here so long undisturbed

As we relive out lives in what we tell you

dreaming of the time we were free

Let us relive out lives in what we tell you

so many years ago before the time when we first heard welcome to the Home by the Sea Sit down Sit down as we relive out lives in what we tell you

I anxiously watched my watch climb slowly up to seven pm. Where the hell was Jamie? He was supposed to be here at six thirty, and now it was seven. I looked out the window again and saw the same thing. Darkness, and in the parts illuminated by my headlights, woods. Everywhere, woods. I could hear the sea close by, the waves gently lolling onto the shore. Where the hell was Jamie? I waited another anxious minute, watching the woods. They

seemed alive in the semi-darkness. The dark gave them a dead look, plunging the normally vibrant colours into a lifeless monotony. Staring into the woods, I thought for a moment I saw something move. I honked my horn and rolled down the window. “Jamie!” I called, looking for the movement. I honked again. “Jamie!” Nothing. Giving up, I shouted in frustration, banging my fist on the wheel. I shifted the car into reverse and pulled out back onto the road. The road lead to a small summer retreat shack out by the sea. Billionaire Michael Schultz owned the shack, and I was sure he wouldn’t miss all the stuff in that house. But now Jamie had vanished, and my hope of a successful endeavour was slowly diminishing. Jamie and I came up with the idea after the article in the newspaper, and all over the news. Apparently, it’s big news when a multi-billionaire dies, especially for unknown reasons. According to the coroner, he was found dead in his summer retreat shack. His cause of death was believed to have been a massive cardiac arrest and brain haemorrhage from immense terror or emotional strain. The police sealed the house, covered everything and collected evidence. But then came the juicy bit. In his will, Mr. Schultz decreed to put the entire house up for auction the day two days after he died. Nothing was to be removed, or touched or moved. Everything was to be left exactly were it was. Four police guards constantly patrolled the house, but the alarm system was left off, because Michael programmed the whole thing himself and no one else knew how to work it. So all someone had to do was get in and out without the guards noticing. A job in itself. And without Jamie, a nearly impossible job. Oh, well, I thought. Guess I’ll just have to improvise. 1 I pulled the car in just behind the shack and climbed out quietly. I ran up to the wall, pressing myself against it and looking around. No one in sight. I

pulled my pistol out of its holster, checked the magazine and thumbed the safety off. I looked around again before spinning around the corner. The guard didn’t stand a chance. As I stood and brought up my gun, he turned the corner. He saw me, but not before I saw him. Two quick, silent shots later, he was dead. Remembering the plan, I ran along the wall to the window. Looking around, I smashed the window in. Instantly I dropped down and surveyed the area. A movement in the woods caught my eye. I focused my pistol towards the area. Nothing. I put the gun away and climbed in the window. I was in. I landed quietly on the wooden floorboards on all fours. I looked around, bringing up my gun. Masked by the darkness, the furniture was nothing but a hazy blur of indistinct shapes and colours. Digging in my memory, I reviewed the plans for the house. It was five rooms, each not too large. One bedroom, one bathroom, a kitchen, a lounge room and a study. A quick look around told me I was in the study. I could vaguely make out the shape of a desk, covered in a sheet, behind me. In the corner to my right, near the doorway was a moderately sized TV, mounted on the wall. Under that was the light switch. I wasn’t originally going to risk a light, but Jamie was bringing the flashlight, and he wasn’t here, so I didn’t have a choice. Moving carefully, I walked over the broken glass to the light switch. I checked in the adjacent room, found no one and switched on the light. Instantly the study was illuminated. I tightened my grip on the gun, hastily checking the room. No one was coming. Everything was quiet. It was the silence that scared me. I was instantly filled with a deep sense of foreboding. Something wasn’t right. There should have been guards, there should have been noise. Goddammit, there should have been something! But there wasn’t. Just silence. I turned to look over the study and for a split second, I thought I saw a man standing right in front of me. By the time it registered, it was gone. If it had ever been there. I shook my head and began to look over the study for important items.

After about five minutes, I had a reasonable piled in the middle, including the whole computer system. I couldn’t bring the TV by myself, it was too heavy, so sadly, I had to leave it. I had also found some expensive picture frames, a nice clock and a very expensive gold statue. I care fully piled all of the items in the middle of the room and looked around. Again that sense of foreboding was there. Something was not right about this. It was just so Goddamn quiet. Shaking my head, I left the room and headed for the lounge. Another few minutes and I had a reasonable pile of items from the lounge, including a nice clock, about twenty odd good CDs, some DVDs, speakers, some more frames and a couple of glass paperweights. As I stood up from placing down the last item, something moved behind me. I spun around, bringing up the gun as I did. There was nothing there. The house was still empty. I sighed and left the room, still knowing something wasn’t right. The kitchen yielded the least results, just a clock (this man had a hell of a lot of clocks) and a few knick-knacks. A flicker in the lights caught my attention as a grabbed a jade elephant and I felt that same old feeling again, that something was wrong. No matter what I did. I couldn’t get rid of it. Ten minutes later, I was finished. I figured I had a few million worth of loot collected and ready to go in the car. All that I had to do now was bring the car around. I stretched my back and left the bedroom, walked through the kitchen and lounge room and into the study. It took all the strength I had to stop myself from screaming. The window that I had smashed had miraculously repaired itself. There wasn’t a single flaw in it. It looked brand new. That couldn’t be right. I looked around. There wasn’t a broken window in the room. But, I had…Feeling very scared, I left the room and headed for the front door.

I almost ran up to it and grabbed the handle. The handle didn’t budge. Not an inch. It just sat there. I rattled the door, slammed my fist against it, kicked it, wrenched at it, all to no result. I was officially stuck in this house. Without the front door, I couldn’t get the stuff out. Hey, wait…I remembered the back door. Clutching at straws, I ran for the kitchen. It wasn’t really a back door, more a side door, but it would do me. I ran up to it but again it wouldn’t open. It was securely impenetrable. I was now stuck in a house that wasn’t mine, with a lot of stolen stuff that wasn’t mine, worth a lot of money that I couldn’t get. If only Jamie had shown up. But no, he had to chicken out. Thinking on it, I didn’t blame him. It was on that thought that I heard a voice. A deep voice, almost a groan. A voice that would have shattered the world if it shouted. A voice that gripped your heart and pulled it right out of your chest. A voice that spelt death, doom and destruction for all. A voice that said, “Welcome to the Home by the Sea.” 2 I instantly froze felt my breath stop in my throat. The whole world vibrated, yet didn’t budge. I suddenly felt very, very ill. And then I saw them. Indistinct at first, but rapidly gaining shape and substance, they came. Through the windows, through the doors. They steamed out in cartoon-like entrails from the floor. The floated down from the roof, they moved in the darkness of the woods. Shadows without substance, in the shape of men. Vague, smoke-like entities. They filled the room like a toxic gas and yet there seemed to be only twenty or thirty of them. They ranged in shape and size, from child-like, to giant-sized. There were fat ones, and skinny ones. They all had their own personality, yet appeared to work as a group at the same time. They all found their own way into the lounge, and slowly circled me, silently sighing, moaning and making noises like the wind through the trees. And in the midst of these shapes were eyes. Deep, sorrowful eyes. Eyes filled with pain and anguish. Eyes that told a tale of endless days of sorrow, and longer

nights of pain. Even a brief look into those eyes made your heart cry out in pain. Whoever they were, they were sad. And then, slowly and quietly, the moans and noises began to change to words. “Help us,” they breathed, “Help us.” Those words were filled with so much sorrow it did not seem at all possible. “Get us out. Let us out. Help us.” “What do you want from me!?” I screamed at them, wanting to get away from the pain, the sadness. OH GOD, THE ANGUISH! “Help us. Get us out of here.” And the: “Alone. So alone.” Then back to: “Help us.” “What happened to you?” I asked, concerned. “We’ve been here all alone, ever since we first heard the words,” one said. “The words!” the others wailed and went back to the old sermon: “Help us. Get us out.” “What words?” I asked, fearing the answer. “Welcome to the Home by the Sea,” one said, it’s voice breaking, coming out in short, punctuated breaths and hisses. My heart stopped and darkness floated out from the shapes. No! No, no, no, no, no, no, NO! THIS CAN’T BE! I’ve got to get out, must get out of here. “No! No! Let me out! I’ve got to get out!” But I couldn’t move. I was trapped by some invisible wait. I couldn’t…move! And then a spirit moved, the apparent leader. He flew straight at me and hovered a few millimetres in front of my face. “Sit down,” he said, anger making his voice sound like a gale blowing through a small gap in the window. I was instantly lifted to my feet and thrown against the chair. As he spoke again, I felt something tightening around my throat, although there was nothing there. “You will listen to what we have to say, because you don’t have a choice. You understand?” “Let…me…” I gagged as the force tightened, cutting off my air. “Do you understand?”

“Ah…ah…yeh…”The wait dropped from me and I slumped back into the chair. The spirit moved back into the pack, which began to move immensely fast in a circle. Soon a hazy sphere was rushing around me, creating a feeling of being stuck in a tornado. Slowly, the view changed. 3 At first, the only noticeable change was the colours. The spirits had been a smoky-grey, which had now transformed itself into a multicoloured rainbow. And then slowly, coherent images started to form. In it, I saw my life. The good times, the bad times. Images of sorrow, pictures of delight, all the things that had made up my life. I was being presented them, like photos in a frame, by these…spirit things. Why were they doing this? “Take a good look,” a voice said. “You will never see any of these people or objects or animals or places or events ever again.” “Why are you doing this?” I screamed at the pictures. There I was at my fourth birthday, then graduation day, a Halloween picture, another birthday, my girlfriend, Jamie, my mates, waiting at a bus stop, lunch at a restaurant, my mother and father, cousins, uncles, aunts, nephews and nieces, previous successful and unsuccessful heists, jail. “Why are you doing this?” I screamed again. “So you can see what we went through.” “But, I didn’t have anything to do with that.” Oh, there I am just yesterday, with Jamie. A stupid thought entered my head then. I thought, This is pretty damning stuff. Imagine if the cops got hold of this. Stupid, yet maybe not so. And I was right, it was damning. And it could also be sold as pornography too. Some of it, anyway. I writhed and kicked in the chair, but couldn’t escape. “Watch carefully, for you will come to treasure these memories of when you were free. We were, many years ago, before the words. Before the home by the sea. And now, you will join us. For eternity. For ever, and ever. Cursed to haunt these walls and forests, but never be free.” And then the words to an

old song by the Eagles drifted into my head, You can check out any time you want, but you can never, ever leave. Hotel California. My God, I found the Hotel California. Still the spirits spun, and still the images were there. There was no escape, they were right. “Sit down, relax, take a load off, get some shut eye, cos you ain’t never gonna leave, boy. You gon’ stay with us for the rest of eternity. Enjoy it while you can, boy.” The tornado was constricting now, and I suddenly realised how Michael Schultz had died.

Here’s one for all you people who are terrified of flying. Enjoy!

Terror Has Wings Charles Kingsley hated flying, especially small planes. It was an almost rational fear which had sprung from a tragedy. A little over four years ago, Charles’ fiancé had been killed in a terrible accident. The 747 Pan Am flight she had been on had lost power to one engine and crashed in the ocean. No survivors had ever been found. Ever since that day, Charles Kingsley had been afraid to go anywhere near a plane - until now. Now Charles Kingsley had to put his fear behind him and board a flight for England. Charles’ mother was very ill and Charles knew that she didn’t have long to live. So now, Charles Kingsley stood in the long line of passengers waiting to board the 747 to England, absolutely terrified.

Charles tried to smile when the lady looked at his ticket and let him pass. He tried to smile and talk when he went through the metal detector and baggage check but it seemed that even such small things as that were impossible. He just walked, silently, his face slightly contorted in a halfgrimace. He held his suitcase tight, like he had held the branches of the trees that he had climbed as a kid. His knuckles were white and his hands hurt but still he walked along the corridor to the plane. As he reached the end of the corridor and the plane’s doorway loomed up ahead, Charles Kingsley froze solid. In his mind, he saw the plane falling from the sky, engines burning, spinning out of control, the water getting closer and closer and… “Sir?” the gentle voice pulled Charles back into the real world and there was a flight attendant. Again he tried to smile and managed to get a cross between a sneer and a grimace. He gave up and showed the lady his ticket.

She was a nice girl, typical flight attendant, lovely hair and eyes, kind of like…No, don’t go there. She’s nothing like her. “Row 23A,” the flight attendant said, pointing down the plane and smiling. Charles, heavily battling his fear, stumbled slowly down to row 23 and looked around. There, 23A. He put his bag in the rack and shuffled to his seat. He collapsed down onto his seat and suddenly realized he was perspiring quiet heavily. He wiped his brow and let out a long deep breath. He sat there, slightly hunched over, his black hair slick with sweat until the last passenger was on board the plane.

The plane rocked violently, throwing Charles out of his reverie. The first thought in his mind was, we’re falling, we’re going to die. He looked around in a panic and saw the runway rushing past as the plane picked up speed for take off. Charles let out a deep sigh and sat back. You’re fine, don’t worry. “Hey pal, I’d seriously suggest decaf,” a voice said. Charles looked next to him and saw a teenage kid sitting next to him. His hair was done up in a mullet and he looked like somebody had punched him in the left eye. But it was his shirt that caught Charles’ eye. MY FATHER’S A DRUNKEN LUNATIC IN JAIL FOR BEATING UP MUM AND ALL I GOT WAS THIS LOUSY T-SHIRT,

the shirt proudly

proclaimed. The only thing Charles Kingsley hated more than flying was gag shirts, especially that type. “Excuse me,” Charles said. “I said you should ease up on the sugar intake. It looks like we’re about to explode.” What the hell!? About to explode!? ABOUT TO EXPLODE? OH MY GOD! “What did you say?” Charles asked, struggling to overcome his panic. “I said you look like you’re about to explode.” “Oh. I’m sorry, I’m just terrified of flying.” The kid shrugged and put on a pair of headphones. Charles felt himself being lifted up and knew that they were in the air. The journey had begun.

Two hours in Bradley McArthur had been flying planes for 10 years now. Eight of those years had been spent flying 747s for Air Atlantic. He was due to retire at the end of next year at the age of 54. He had a lovely wife of 26 years, 2 kids, both married and a 3 year old grandson. He would miss this plane, he thought as the flight attendant brought his coffee. She smiled at him, that lovely smile that caused his blood to rush. How he thanked himself over and over that Margaret wasn’t here. He took the coffee, thanked her and walked back to the cockpit. “Hey, Joe,” Bradley said as he entered. The co-pilot looked up and greeted Bradley. Joe Murphy had been Bradley’s co-pilot for just under 3 years and he had grown to like the Irishman. “Ah, Bradley. I see you’ve brought my drink.” Bradley chuckled and rested against the side wall. “Now, Joe. How many times do I have to tell you? We never drink…” “Near the equiptment.” Joe finished. “Yeah, I know.” Bradley finished his coffee and sat down, pulling on his headset. About the only thing he hated about flying were the darn headsets, all puffy and uncomfortable. “How’s she been?” Bradley asked, checking over the screens. Everything was okay. “Fine. Very smooth.” “Good.” Bradley grabbed onto the joystick and raised the nose slightly. Nothing happened. Bradley tried to pull back again. The stick was stuck. Joe noticed and tried as well. His was stuck as well. Suddenly an enormous electrical surge pumped out through the joystick and entered Bradley and Joe’s bodies. They never knew what happened. In an instant they were just charred bodies. The joystick bent itself forward slightly and the plane began to descend, ever so slowly.

Surprisingly enough, Charles wasn’t the first to notice that the plane was descending. Perhaps it was because of his positioning – he was near the rear of the middle of the plane –but the first person to notice was a flight attendant. Catherine Andrews had flown with Atlantic Air for just under a year now and was enjoying her position. She probably wouldn’t have noticed the plane’s descent until much later if she hadn’t have dropped the soft drink bottle. The bottle hit the ground and rolled, as per normal, but instead of slowing down, picked up speed. The bottle rolled faster and faster until it hit the door of the cockpit. Catherine looked at the bottle and then rushed to the cockpit door. She tried the handle. Nothing, the door was locked. She pounded her fist on the door. “Captain McArthur! Captain! CAPTAIN!” She was starting to panic as she began to feel their descent. The plane was falling out of the sky.

Charles could not remember another time in his life when he had been so terrified as when the flight attendant ran through the plane, telling people to put on their seatbelts and that the plane had begun to descend. He knew they were nowhere near land, he had just looked out the window moments before. Charles suddenly found himself paralysed in his seat. The air caught in his throat. He couldn’t breath. Sweat ran down his face in rapid rivers and he felt like his skin was on fire. His mind played the scenes from the television report on the accident over and over again. The engine slowing and then stopping, the plane banking right sharply and descending, the slow spin, rapidly getting faster, the plane closing in on the water, the useless engine igniting, soon followed by the other, a small section of the wing braking off, part of the flap, the huge splash as the plane impacted with the water, the snapping and creaking of metal and wood as the plane broke in three, the bodies floating upside down in the water, the blood, the death, the bodies, the water…can’t breath…spinning. Charles eyes rolled far back into his head and

he fell forward, his seatbelt suspending him in a distorted position, half draped over the chair, hanging in mid-air, kind of like the plane.

The first sensation Charles remembered after the blackness was the feeling of water, all over his body. He tried to open his eyes but nothing happened. He tried to talk, to breath, nothing. I’m dead. How can you be dead? Well obviously the plane crashed. Wouldn’t you have heard something? I had fainted for god sake. Hey, what’s that noise? “Mister? Hey, mister. You okay mister?” Charles’ eyes flew open and he drew in a deep breath. MY FATHER’S A DRUNKEN LUNATIC IN JAIL FOR BEATING UP MUM AND ALL I GOT WAS THIS LOUSY T-SHIRT floated

before his eyes. See?

Told you. I’ve died and gone to hell. Now what did I ever do to deserve this. But no, something wasn’t right. He was on a plane. And they were still in the air, just. And there was that kid. Told you you weren’t dead. Charles looked up at the kid and saw he was holding a half empty water bottle. So that’s were the water came from. “Mister? You okay?” “Yeah, I’m alright.” Charles sat up straight and looked around. Terrified mothers were holding their crying kids, adults were glancing around fearfully and one woman had plunged into hysterics. Another man was hyperventilating and was being looked after by a flight attendant…

“Something snapped inside of him, I think. He had been fearful the whole time the poor man, passed out when the plane started to descend. But I tell you, if he hadn’t had lost it, I wouldn’t have been here talking to you today…”

…Charles ripped open his seatbelt and burst past the kid, spilling the water bottle. “Hey, mister!” Charles ignored him and ran down the corridor, brushing past a startled flight attendant. He ran all the way to the cockpit and threw himself full body into the door. The door collapsed off its hitches and Charles fell along with it. He immediately rushed to his feet. He had completely cracked by then, pure rage, fear and grief overcame him and he gave in to animalistic instinct. He saw a fire extinguisher to his right and ripped it off its hook. He picked it up and slammed it down on the control panel. The plane emitted something that could be interpreted as a scream and the joystick tipped further forward and to the right. Charles brought the fire extinguisher down again as he fell and the circuits squealed. Catherine and another attendant stumbled in as Charles slammed the extinguisher down again and again. Metal, glass and electric sparks flew everywhere.

“This is for Katie, you fuck! This is for Katie!” he screamed and slammed the extinguisher down for the last time, driving it deep into the controls. The plane screamed and howled and suddenly everything was silent. The joystick snapped back to the centre position and the plane stabilized. Katherine rushed forward to check on Charles and…

“I don’t know what happened. I think whatever was in the plane must have passed onto him because I don’t think he was that crazy…”

Charles spun around and slammed the fire extinguisher into her head. Katherine collapsed to the ground. The other flight attendant screamed and turned to run. Charles threw the extinguisher which connected with the back of her head. As the flight attendant hit the floor, the control panel burst into

flame. Charles screamed and grabbed the fire extinguisher, aiming the foam at the fire. The fire died almost immediately and Charles – or what was once Charles – looked down at himself and the huge burn mark on his chest. He looked in the windshield and saw half his face was burnt. Charles screamed in rage and pain and rushed out of the cockpit, armed with the extinguisher.

John Woodbridge had heard the screams and drawn his Magnum from his pocket. He was the designated flight marshal for this particular plane, and had been for just over a year. He rushed down the corridor, gun held high.

Charles burst out of the corridor and saw the marshal standing there. As Woodbridge brought down his gun, Charles opened up the fire extinguisher. The burst of foam hit Woodbridge in the face. Woodbridge screamed and clawed at his face. He fell to the ground and Charles rushed forward. He brought the fire extinguisher down on Woodbridge’s head with crushing force. He let out an animalistic howl and began to lap up the blood. The lady in hysterics threw up into her lap.

Katherine floated into consciousness as one might burst out of turbulent water. She breathed in a huge gasp and staggered to her feet. The blood from the gash in her head burned her eyes and in the fog of her vision she could make out the prone form of Joan, who had been her friend for many years. Katherine collapsed near her body and cried. But something made her turn around and look to the control panel. There was an unearthly glow to the panel, a kind of orangey-red. Katherine staggered over to it and looked down.

Charles stood up and wiped the blood off his face, glancing around at the terrified people. Someone felt bold and jumped out into the aisle. Charles grinned maliciously and threw himself at the person, a man in his mid forties

by the look of him. A look of pure terror appeared on the man’s face before the fire extinguisher smashed into it.

Katherine stared at the contents of the panel in horror. Inside the control panel, a slightly burnt heart beat steadily, connected with the electric circuits of the plane. Katherine felt around and grasped something. Drawing her eyes away, she saw she held a long shard of glass in her hand. Overcome by grief and terror, she drove the glass into the heart.

Charles froze mid-action and looked down at his chest. A deep gash had appeared there and was oozing blood. He screamed as another hole appeared further down, near his stomach.

Katherine drove the glass into the heart again and again. The blood was beginning to fill the panel and pour out but she still drove the shard in.

Charles collapsed to the ground, convulsing and screaming. One of the flight attendants walked over to him, cautiously and slowly. Suddenly Charles stopped moving and lay still. The flight attendant walked forward and looked at the body. The blood was all gone, so were the wounds. He just lay there, so peaceful, a small smile on his face. The flight attendant realized it was the only time she’d seen him smile. He was fading fast and as he lay there, with his last breath he uttered one word, almost a sigh. “Katie.”

Katherine dropped the shard and looked at the empty hole in the panel. Everything was gone, no evidence of anything unusual, except two murdered pilots.

“We probably never would have made it if he’d hit Katie any harder. Something made him not kill her. I don’t know but I think he couldn’t. Katie had taken a few flying lessons, enough to be able to contact the nearest airport and bring us down safely but I’ll never forget that poor man. The things that happened on that flight should never be known. For personal reasons as well as others. I trust your confidentiality, and I hope you don’t think me crazy. I’ll never forget the look of peace on that man’s face as he died. At least he will never have to live with the consequences.”

Charles’ mother watched the TV from her bed. She turned up the volume as the reporter began talking. “The Atlantic Air flight from Chicago to London has had to make an emergency landing today after an electrical surge fried both pilots. There were two more deaths, a flight marshal and a passenger. The flight marshal’s head had been crushed by a suitcase that fell out of the baggage hold. The passenger, a man by the name of Charles Kingsley, died from massive mental and emotional stress. Charles Kingsley was known to have a huge fear of flying after his fiancé died in the Pan Am flight four years ago. His psychiatrist believes that the plane going down again over water was enough to scare the man to death.” “Oh, no! NO! CHARLIE!” Charles’ mother screamed. Her nurse rushed out of the station. “I killed my boy! Oh, Lord, I killed my boy!” “Try to relax, Mrs. Kingsley, you’re putting on too much stress,” the nurse said but too late. Mrs. Kingsley lay dead in her arms. “Oh, shit.”

This is one of the first short stories I ever wrote and still one of my favourites. While not exactly a horror, it is creepy. A bit like Alien meets The Cave. I hope you enjoy it as much as I do.

FISSURE MAY 19, 2063

It was hard to hear the noise of the chalk on the board through all the cries of pain and agony. They had lost another two today and were down to six: two privates, a corporal, two captains and a major. Their leader, General Baker, had died on the first day. The other major and a corporal were killed that day as well. The lieutenant and the civilian scientist were next. And now today they lost the two other captains. And so their 13 had become six. With three wounded that bunch was down to a sorry three. But these people were not at a battlefield or a war, oh no, they were 400 meters below the Earth’s surface. They had been sent to investigate a new scientific find and to secure it for the United States Government. Together with a scientist, named Mike Rowland, they had been flown out to the middle of the Atlantic Ocean were there was supposed to be something under the water. What they found surprised even the scientist. It was a fissure, a man-made fissure, under the water. The next day a dive team was sent down into the fissure to investigate. They rose again within three hours telling of an incredible cave they had found. Soon after gearing up the whole group dived down into the fissure.

After an hour of swimming they arrived at dry land, 400 meters below the Earth’s surface. What greeted them was an incredible cave. A good 100 meters high and at least 80 meters wide, it gaped before them like a beast’s mouth, damp and uninviting. General Baker sent Major Brown and Major Payne up to bring down the supplies from the sea plane. After 3 hours they had a base set up. Next morning when they woke up, the General was gone. Lieutenant Treadwell sent Major Brown and Corporal West into the cave to look for General Baker. They never returned. The group was now down to ten. Lt. Treadwell called together the group. “All right,” he said. “Listen up. We don’t know what’s in there. All we know is they are not friendly. Shoot at anyone and anything that isn’t ours. Do you understand?” A chorus of “yes, sir” responded. “Let’s kick some arse.” Gen. Baker’s group had brought state of the art weaponry and was a fearsome site when they were armed to the teeth. Each person carried two 55mm ‘Rapid’ M1-4 with attachable grenade launcher, twenty M-6 HP grenades, a 30mm ‘Stutter’ M-4B Sub-machine gun and their signature weapon, an Automatic 360 Chain Gun. They also carried a tracking device, tracker and motion detector. “Now listen up, Marines,” Lt. Treadwell said. “I want you to kill anything that moves. Do not hesitate to shoot anything that isn’t us. We have no idea what’s in that cave. We don’t know what they want. We don’t know if they are man or animal. All we know is that they want us dead, so we want them dead. Marines, dispatch!” The moment they stepped into the cave, it was like entering an abyss. Lt. Treadwell’s marines put on their night vision goggles just in time to see a figure dart of into the distance. “Right guys,” Lt. Treadwell said. “Buddy up!” Major Payne and Captain Johnston were grouped up with Captain Rickman and Private ‘Tank’ Tanker. Lt. Treadwell and Captain Allmen were grouped with Captain Jones and Private ‘Booze’ Dunkman. Corporal Yuma was left back at base with the scientist. Treadwell and Payne lead their groups into the

heart of the cave, perusing the figure. Suddenly Payne’s motion detector started to beep. “Lieutenant! We’ve got movement. 50 meters and closing.” “Major, set your group out in a perimeter. We’ll keep you covered from the sides.” “Yes, Lieutenant sir!” Payne turned to his group. “Spread out men. Lieutenant Treadwell’s got us covered from the sides.” Payne looked at his motion detector: 40 meters and closing. “Set up 360 tripods!” Payne shouted. His group set up the 360 tripods and mounted their chain guns. 30 meters. “Now I want a good steady fire. We don’t want any friendly casualties. Load Chain Guns.” 20 meters. “You should have a visual now, Lieutenant.” “Negative, Major. We have no visual. The cave appears clean. You sure you’re not reading us.” 10 meters. “Lieutenant, they’re almost on top of you.” “I repeat Major, we have no visual.” 8 meters. 7 6 5 “Lieutenant, they are right on top of you.” “Major, we have no visual…argggh!” 10 meters. 20 meters. 30 meters. “Lieutenant?” Payne shouted. 40 meters. 50 meters. “Let’s get the hell outta here!” Captain Rickman shouted. 60 meters. “Signals gone.” Payne said. “Alright. Back to base.” Stepping out of the cave, they were confronted by a horrifying site. The base looked like it had been hit by a rogue tornado. The tents were damaged,

most beyond repair. Their items were strewn from one end of the cavern to the other. “What the hell happened here?” Tank asked. “Friggin’ hell, man,” Jones exclaimed. “Looks like they hit it when we left.” They all turned as an object dropped behind them. Payne walked over and picked it up. “Jesus Christ! What the hell happened to him?” Booze exclaimed. In Payne’s hand was the served head of Dr. Mike Rowland. Its nose was broken, missing teeth, missing half an ear and missing eyes. “Jesus! Get rid of it, sir. Get the flippin’ thing outta here!” Tank exclaimed. Payne shook his head. “Calm down soldier. We keep the head and search for the body, he deserves better than to rot in some cave.” Beep…Beep…Beep…Beep “Incoming!” Payne shouted. “How many?” Rickman asked. “Just the one! 10 meters and closing.” The cave echoed with guns cocking. “5, 4, 3, 2, 1!” A hand slithered around Payne’s throat and jerked him back. “What the…?” “Major?” a voice croaked. “Yuma?” Payne asked. “Yes, sir,” came the weak reply. “Jesus, corporal. What in God’s name happened here?” “It happened so fast, sir. They just came outta nowhere.” “They? Did you get a visual? What did they look like?” “I couldn’t see properly, sir. They were just black blurs. They moved so fast. One moment the doc was there, next minute nothing but blood, everywhere blood. I saw him get torn to shreds. They just devoured him. I ran into the weapons tent and grabbed an M-4B and before I knew it I was running for my life. I got one. I blasted the little bastard. Blew his head off, I think. Blood was going everywhere. I hid in the water. They were tearing up

the tents; searching for me. I picked of another. Got him square in the chest. This seemed to upset the rest because they vanished back into the cave. I dived down and stayed down as long as my lungs would let me and I popped up and well…you know the rest.” “That’s incredible!” Tank shouted. “At least they’re mortal,” Rickman said. “They seem to react the same way we do.” “I figure theys a-got some sorta leada.” Booze said. “When ya killed dat one the udders seems to not get too happy.” “I agree with Booze,” Payne said. “Can you describe the one you shot from the water?” “He was big, sir, real big. He was the tallest and largest of them. His eyes! Oh God, his eyes. Their eyes shine in the dark like cats. It’s the only thing you can see. They just blend into the darkness. Those eyes, they looked so evil. I could’ve sworn that they glowed red.” “Alright, Corporal. You can go now.” “Where, sir?” “Oh, I forgot. Johnston, Rickman, Tank, Booze.” “Yes, sir” “Go help Yuma set up camp. Try and save what you can. Toss the rest to the fish.” “Yes, sir.” Marine Corps HQ, Nevada “Where the hell are those Marines?!” Brigadier-General Oldman screamed. “We don’t know, sir,” a very scared looking corporal replied. “We can’t raise them.” “Goddammit! This was supposed to be a scientific mission! I want my men here with a full report within the next two days!” “Maybe another country beat them there,” a captain suggested nervously.

“I don’t care, just get them out!” “We will dispatch a team tomorrow, sir,” said the corporal and left the room. Underground Cavern The marines huddled up inside the main tent of their new base, guns at the ready. Major Payne had managed to salvage 8 laser sentries. When set up they pick up anything that moves in front of them and to the sides. Each marine carried a motion detector and a M1-4. Payne carried 10 M-6 grenades on his belt and a M-4B. His M1-4 was equipped with a laser sight and grenade launcher. It was during Payne’s watch that his motion detector started to beep. Beep. Beep. He woke the others. “50 meters,” he whispered. The marines loaded their guns. 40 meters. Payne signalled to Johnston and Rickman to follow him. Allmen, Jones and Tank took the left. Yuma and Booze took the right. 30 meters. “Arming sentries,” Yuma called out. “Sentries armed.” The screen read: 600. 20 meters. “They’ve left the cave,” Payne said. “The sentries should pick them up any…” Gunfire broke the night. 15 meters. 14. 15. “Steady signal between 14 and 15 meters. Ready guns,” Payne said. 12. Yuma glanced at the screen. 300. 10 meters. “Alright marines, lets go kick some bad guy ass,” Payne cried. “Marines…dispatch!”

Payne, Johnston and Rickman rushed forward, guns blazing. 10 meters. 200 bullets. “Yaargh!” Payne turned to see Rickman’s headless body fall to the ground. 10 meters. 100 bullets. “They’re armed, guys,” Payne shouted. “Watch out for Flying Objects.” 8 meters. 50 bullets. “We got 25, Major,” Allmen called. “We’re riding on 50, Captain,” Payne called back. 5 meters. 20 bullets. “They’ve almost breached the perimeter. Guns at 15,” Yuma called. 4 meters. 5 bullets. “Perimeter breached.” 3 meters. Empty. “Sentries down. We’re on our own,” Yuma called. Ducking under a flying object. “Fuck, that was close” “Fan out, marines,” Payne shouted. He noticed something from the corner of his eye. Reaching out, he grabbed the object out of the air. He cried out as it sliced his hand, one blade digging deep into his flesh. He dropped it on the floor and briefly studied it. It was metal and looked like a helicopters rotor blade. Payne whirled and opened fire at a creature rushing at him, his injured hand screaming. The bullet hit its mark and the creature’s head exploded. Orange blood sprayed everywhere. And then there was silence except for the steady beat of the motion detector. ‘Good shootin’, Major,” Booze shouted. 10 meters. 20 meters.

30 meters. “Who’s dead?” “Just Rickman, sir,” Yuma replied. 40 meters. 50 meters. 2 meters. “What the hell!” Payne stared at the dot on the screen. 1 meter. “Jones behind…” “Yeooow!” Payne ducked under a rotor blade that lodged in Yuma’s back. He dropped on the ground and lay still. Payne turned around and found himself staring at a horror. Its eyes glowed red in the night. Illuminated by Payne’s flashlight, he could see the whole creature. It looked like a giant frilled-neck lizard. Except for its tail. Its tail curled up like a scorpion. The creature flung its tail at Payne. He ducked and opened fire. The creature was ripped apart where it stood. Payne turned to Tank. “Take this thing, and put it in a body bag. I’m sure the science department can make something of it.” Payne turned when he heard a groan. Allmen and Johnston were helping Yuma up. Allmen had a deep cut on his head and was favouring one leg. Yuma was still unconscious. Rickman and Jones were dead. Booze was missing an arm and Tank was helping him stand. And so they were down to six. 7 dead, 3 wounded. Payne crossed of Rickman and Jones’ names of the blackboard. His hand was heavily bandaged but otherwise he was fine. Tank was behind him, tending the wounded. They all wore the same expression of helplessness. They all knew they were going to die.

Marine Corps HQ, Nevada “Status report, soldier,” Oldman shouted to a passing private.

“We’ve picked up their beacon right…here.” He pointed to a point somewhere near where the fissure was marked. We have already sent the backup team out and they will radio when they arrive.” “Very well, soldier. As you were!”

Underground Cavern Yuma died that night. His injuries were too serious for Tank to deal with. Now there were 3 able marines. Not good chances. Payne lay back in his bed and moaned.

Above The Fissure The Cessna Amphibious Caravan landed next to the other seaplane. 6 divers dropped out of the door and into the ocean below.

Underground Cavern Payne awoke to the sound of the motion detector. “What we got, sir?” Tank asked. “Six signals. Coming from behind. 50 meters and closing.” The marines loaded their guns. Pointing them at the water. 40 meters. “No-one fire until my order,” Payne said. “We don’t know what’s coming.” 30 meters. 20 meters. 10 meters. 5 meters.

A black shape appeared out of the water. Payne raised his gun, aimed and… “General Baker?” the shape asked. “General Baker? This is the SEAL backup team. We’re here to get you out.” “He’s dead!” Payne shouted. “Who are you?” the SEAL asked. “Major Payne, United States Marine Corps, 2nd Regiment, sir!” “Status?” “8 dead, 2 wounded. General Baker, Lieutenant Treadwell, Major Brown, Captains Jones and Rickman, Corporal Yuma and Dr Rowland are all dead. Private Dunkman and Captain Allmen are wounded, sir!” “Sounds bad. What happened?” “We’re not sure, sir. These…things inhabit the cave. We’ve survived 3 attack waves and I don’t think we can survive any more.” “Well, Major Payne, you don’t need to worry. We’re here to get you out.” 5 more figures appeared out of the water. They all raised their guns and opened fire. Marine Corps HQ, Nevada “You sent a SEAL team! Those guys were there to wipe them out. I just got a call from the head of the SEALs. He says that he apologizes for the loss of my marines but they know too much. What the hell is down there?” Oldman screamed, slamming his fist on his desk. “We don’t know, sir,” the corporal said. “We’ve already sent out 3rd Regiment to get them outta there. We’re expecting a status report within the hour.” “We better get one!”

Underground Cavern

Payne hit the ground running. Bullets were flying everywhere. “Tank, Johnston!” “Sir!” “Into the cave!” “Are you nuts, sir?” Tank shouted. “They are in there!” “Exactly!” Payne, Tank and Johnston ran straight towards the cave. One of the SEALs leapt in front of Payne. He raised his gun at Payne’s head. The rest of the SEALs formed a circle around them. Two guns sang…two cries of pain…silence. Two SEALs emerged from the wounded tent. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Payne shouted. “I’m sorry, major,” the SEAL said. “You know too much. I will give my condolences to your family.” He raised his gun and a shot echoed throughout the cavern. Marine Corps HQ, Nevada “Sir. We have a status report. The marines are in the water and swimming towards the fissure as we speak,” the corporal said. “Good job, sergeant!” Oldman shouted. “I’m a corporal, sir.” “Correction. You were a corporal.”

Underground Cavern The SEAL in front of Payne dropped dead. Payne dashed forward and into the cave, followed shortly by Johnston and Tank. The SEALs ran after them. None of them made it to the cave. The back-up marines leapt out of the water and opened fire. The pursuing SEALs dropped dead. In The Cave

Payne, Johnston and Tank stopped the moment the gunfire stopped. Payne’s motion detector beeped. “Oh dear. We’re in trouble. Signals in front, 50 meters. Signals behind, 12, 10 meters.” “12, sir?” Tank asked. “There were only 5 SEALs, sir” “Whatever it is, it’s not SEALs. 5 meters, 40 meters.” The marines whirled around and were face to face with General Hamilton’s 3rd Regiment. “Major Payne, I presume?” General Hamilton asked. Payne nodded. “General Hamilton, 3rd Regiment. Seems you had some trouble with the SEALs. Oldman sends his apology for the incompetence of his underlings.” Payne laughed. Typical Oldman. “You here to help?” Payne asked. “Yup.” “Good. I hope you’re ready for a roller coaster ride. We got company. 50 meters and closing. Look out for red glows.” “Red glows?” “You may find this hard to believe, sir, but this cave is full of what we like to call Scortiles. If you can imagine a fusion of a giant frilled neck lizard and a scorpion you get a Scortile. Fast and deadly, carnivorous, blend into their surrounds. All you can see is their eyes. They glow red.” “Meaning no disrespect, sir, but are we talking aliens here?” a young sergeant shouted at the back. All the privates cracked up. The sergeant was a young lady about 160ish, black hair, brown eyes and bad attitude. She stared into Payne’s blue eyes. She almost looked like a female version of him. His hair was lighter and his eyes were blue though. “What’s your name, soldier?” Payne enquired. “Sergeant Eilish Downes, sir! They call me Lish,” Sergeant Downes shouted adding the latter in hushed tones. “Well, Lish, I’m not sure what they are. All I know is that they killed seven of my men. 20 meters.” “Are they mortal, sir?” One of the older privates asked. Payne knew this one. A German. Hattenschweiller. Everyone called him ‘Joker’.

“They are, Joker. And they are right in front of you.” Joker raised his gun just in time to blast the Scortile in front of him. “Friggin’ hell!” “Hart, Chrysler, McMullen!” General Hamilton shouted. “Sir!” “Fan out. Butler, Kopelke, Burke, Harris!” “Sir!” “Cover the sides!” “Sir!” “Payne, You, You and Joker, come with me.” “I’m Johnston and this is Tank, sir.” “Fine, just come!” Guns roared behind them and orange blood sprayed everywhere. “Look, Major,” Hamilton said. “Our job is to get you out of here. Now it’s up to you how we do it. I’ve just got one question. What are we going to do with the Scortiles?” “Well, sir,” Payne said. “I’ve got a plan.” He turned to the other marines. “Watch for flying rotor blades!” “What?” Joker said, turning. He still had that same questioning look in his eyes when his head rolled towards Hamilton. Payne shook his head, they didn’t have time. “We’ll have to leave them, sir.” Hamilton looked wounded but nodded. “So what’s you’re plan?” “I say we get right to the heart of this cavern and blown the place to hell. I hope you brought some charges. We’ve only got 5.” “We’ve got an extra 20. Will that do?” “Tank?” Tank was the explosives expert and one of the smartest men in the outfit. “That’s enough to bring the whole cavern down on their heads.” Hamilton smiled. “Sounds good to me.” Payne turned and shredded the Scortile that rushed at Hamilton. In the light of his gunfire, he finally got a good look at Hamilton. He was bald, had green eyes, a protruding nose,

reading glasses slightly askew on his nose. Looked a bit like Colonel Potter off MASH. Hamilton raised his pistol and blasted the Scortile that was creeping behind Tank. “I’ll get the explosives,” Hamilton said. “Watch my back.” Payne, Tank and Johnston fired cover while Hamilton rushed of to get the explosives. He returned later with them and a nasty cut on his chest. “You alright?” Johnston asked. Hamilton nodded. They turned and walked back to the frontline. Hamilton passed the explosive to Tank. He then pulled out a radio and called HQ. Marine Corps HQ, Nevada “Sir, phone for you. It’s Hamilton,” the newly promoted sergeant said, handing Oldman the phone. “Hello, Hamilton. Sorry you’ll have to speak up I can’t hear you. Is that gunfire? What’s happening?” “Sir, we are currently under attack from a bunch of creatures Major Payne calls Scortiles. They are like giant lizards with the tail of a scorpion. Major Payne, Captain Johnston and Private Tanker are the only survivors from 2nd Regiment. We’ve already lost Harris, uh, Hattenschweiller, and, ah, Kasey. Payne’s got a pretty good plan for getting us out but it means you probably won’t hear from us for another, say, (indistinct chatter), 2-3 hours, sir.” “What the hell, General? Are we talking aliens?” “We don’t know sir. All we know is these Scortiles just keep coming and coming and…” static. A scream. Shouting. Gunfire. A voice. “Make that four from 3rd Regiment. They just got Hamilton, sir.” “Payne is that you?” Oldman asked. “Yes, sir.” “So what’s this plan of yours?” “We’re going to blow this place to kingdom come, sir. Now we are currently moving deeper into the cave and you will probably lose the signal

soon. Don’t worry sir; we’ll call between in about three hours. Wait for four and if you don’t hear from us, I want you to seal the fissure. Goodbye sir.” “Seal the…? How the hell does he expect me to do that?” Bone Chamber “Major! Have a look at this,” one of the older men said. He was standing at the entrance to a Bone Chamber. The walls were lined with human and Scortile skulls. Hanging from the ceiling were skeletons and half-eaten, rotting bodies. “I don’t like this, Major,” the man said again. Payne remembered his name now. Colonel McMullen. “I don’t either, sir. Let’s see if there is another way around.” Payne turned around and walked straight into a Scortile. The creature grabbed him up and hurled him across the room before bursting into an orange fountain. Payne crashed heavily into the wall and lay there winded. Colonel McMullen talking, “Someone check if Payne’s alright. What’s our death tally?” “Just Big K, myself, Payne, Tank and you, sir.” “Jesus,” Payne groaned. “These bastards are tougher than I thought. OK guys, here’s something I forgot to tell you. It probably won’t help you much but if you shoot the leader they all retreat for a while.” “Which one’s the leader?” Sergeant ‘Big K’ Kopelke asked. “The biggest one, Big K, the biggest.” “We better get moving again before more come,” McMullen said. “Too late,” Lish said, raised her gun and blasted away a big Scortile that was running at McMullen. “Kopelke, Payne, Tank, sir, come on.” “Alright, I’m coming!” Payne said. He struggled to his feet and then was ripped up into the air by a Scortile. He heard Lish shout out “Major!” and someone else shout out before his weak body slammed into McMullen. The Scortile rushed at them and Payne got his first look at it. It was HUGE! It was a good 5 meters high and 2 wide. Right behind came another Scortile. This one was slightly smaller but it was still huge. “Holy shit,” Lish cried, aiming

right up at the big one’s head. She opened fire. The skin on the Scortile’s head rippled but to no effect. Lish opened up again but this time with grenade launcher. This one found its mark. It flew up the Scortile’s ear and erupted. A tsunami of orange blood splashed everywhere. This served only to enrage the other one. It rushed straight at Lish and flung her away with one swipe of its clawed. As the remaining soldiers opened fire, Tank rushed out to the back of the bone chamber and started setting up the bombs. Payne limped over to help. “I need you to hold them off for a couple of minutes,” Tank said and began arming the bombs. Payne blasted away two Scortiles that got too close and another that tried to grab Tank from above. He ducked under a tail as it flew at him from the darkness. The tail flew at him again but this time he caught it. He threw the Scortile to the right and opened fire. Orange splashes covered his clothes. He turned to Tank and blasted the one beside him. “I don’t think I’m ever going to get this orange out,” Payne said. “How you going?” “Almost finished,” Tank said. He flicked a couple of switches. Pressed some buttons and then a 10-minute countdown appeared. “There, done.” Tank and Payne rushed forward into the King and Queen’s Chamber. Payne felt a splash of blood hit him. He looked down to see it was red. He turned to see Tank fall back with a gaping hole in his stomach. “Everyone!” Payne called. “We’ve got 9 minutes to get out of here so I suggest we run.” Lish and Kopelke were holding McMullen and helping him run. Payne rushed after them, blasting any Scortiles they missed. 8 minutes. Payne ducked under a rotor blade, caught it and threw it at a Scortile hanging from the roof. He saw a blade fly at Lish from behind. He opened fire on the blade, which spun around and slammed into a Scortile behind her. 7 minutes. McMullen was running by himself now. They were all in a square formation. Suddenly the ground gave way beneath their feet. They all dropped down into oblivion.

6 minutes 20 seconds. Stunned, the soldiers struggled to their feet as red eyes gathered around them. Payne looked around and saw his escape. He fired a grenade at a large rock above the entrance to the cave as the first Scortiles rushed out. The grenade exploded and the rocks fell, catching the Scortiles unaware, raining death on their heads. Looking around, Payne sighed. “Guess we’re gonna have to climb. 4 minutes. Payne emerged from the hole in the floor and was lifted up by a Scortile. Payne opened fire into its mouth with his grenade launcher. The Scortile dropped him and exploded. Big K leapt out and together they help Lish and McMullen. They were back on track. 3 minutes. They took a wrong turn and ran into a room filled with Scortiles. They blasted every one of them. And then they saw the machine. At an interval of 5 seconds, a new Scortile would pop out. Lish and McMullen opened up on the Scortiles while Big K and Payne placed their last remaining explosive charge by the machine. They all ran out of the room as it erupted in a white light. 2 minutes. The Queen was right behind them. Lish was running backwards and blasting a few rounds at her. It was slowing her down but not by much and their group was tiring. 1 minute. They had reached the exit. The Queen had vanished from behind them, probably too tired to keep up. Just when they were almost at the exit, the Queen materialized in front of them. “Shit” Payne shouted as he barely dodged the tail flung at him. Lish and McMullen opened fire on her. Payne and Big K ducked under her legs and rushed to the weapons tent. They pulled out the four remaining sentries and four tripods. They left the sentries unarmed but put 360s on the tripods. Payne opened fire on the Queen and it turned around. It rushed at him followed by Lish and McMullen. Big K and

Payne’s fire was enough to halt her in her tracks. Lish and McMullen darted behind the sentries and to their tripods. Payne armed the sentry units. 600 bullets. 30 seconds. All hell broke loose. The Queen was covered in little punctures from head to toe but she still kept coming. 400 bullets. 20 seconds. The Queen still came forward. She would rush forward, and then rush back. Forward, back. 200 bullets. 10. 9. 8. The Queen stopped. The sentries kept firing. Payne, Big K, Lish and McMullen stopped, turned and ran. 7. 6. Sentries empty. The Queen rushed after them. 5. 4. 3. 2. 1. Payne, Big K, McMullen and Lish hit the water and dived. The cavern exploded.

Epilogue: Marine Corps HQ, Nevada

Payne, Kopelke, McMullen and Lish stood before Brigadier-General Ron Oldman who was having a heated argument with the leader of the SEALs. Something on the lines of, “You tried to kill my men.” “Look,” Payne said. “I don’t care who killed who I just want to know what in God’s name was down there.” The SEAL commander turned to Payne. “Alright,” he said. “In the year 2010 a crazy scientist, don’t ask me his name, built an underwater cave so he could create without being troubled but his experiments went wrong. Very wrong. The creatures he created, what you call Scortiles, turned on him and devoured him. His machine was left on. And it kept creating and creating. Until now. So I guess I owe you an apology. You just may have saved mankind.”

Don’t Go Into the Light The light shone bright and illuminating, glowing in the night sky. Sticking out the side of the lamppost was a sign: Hallsville, a happy place to live, pop. 4018. Behind the light post was a gate, signifying the beginning of Hallsville. Behind the gate was a long street, Main Street. The street was lined with businesses and houses. The town itself was surrounded by a perimeter of lights, all glistening bright. At the very end of Main Street was a very large church. The church was ordinary enough, except its cross was outlined with lights. And every house had a light on outside. Nobody could be seen outside, the empty street disturbed only by the occasional rat or wind-blown leaf. In the field at the far-right corner of the town was a bunker, an old army command post, and before that a bomb shelter. The bunker had been abandoned until about a month ago, when the couple had arrived. Or so they thought.

One month before “Alright, George. Where the hell are we?” George floated back fully-awake. “I dunno, Sue. I haven’t seen a sign in ages. Look at the map.” Sue fumbled around at her feet and then grabbed the roadmap. “Okay, which was did we turn out of Granville?” “Left.” “There’s open road for another 20ks, then a small town called Hallsville.” “Let’s hope they’ve got food, I’m starved.”

This Hallsville was a very different one from the town it would soon become. The only light post in sight was the occasional road light and the one out front. “Oh, this town must have bad karma,” Sue commented as they drove past the light post. “Why?” “4018. If you add all the digits it equals 13.” George grunted and they entered Hallsville.

There were actually people outside, not just because it wasn’t quite night. A couple walking their dog smiled and waved at Sue and George as they drove past. The church cross wasn’t illuminated anymore and all the businesses were open. George looked out the left, while Sue looked out the right at the passing businesses. “Hey, look there, down that street - there’s a diner and a fuel station,” Sue said. “Good.” George turned right off of Main Street and drove a couple of blocks before parking at the diner. The diner was the kind you’d see in an old 50s movie or something. The sign on top read: Ma and Pa’s Diner. George climbed out of the car and looked around. Just about everything in this town reminded him of the fifties. He was parked next to a vintage ’58 red convertible. All the cars were circa 1950 and so were most of the clothes. George shook his head and together they entered the diner.

The diner was just like a 50s diner on the inside as well, like that one out of Happy Days. The jukebox in the corner was playing The King and people were dancing on the dance floor. The tables and chairs were lined up around the walls and the counter and kitchen were separate entirely. George walked over to the nearest table and sat down. Sue sat down in front of him. Two

menus sat in the middle of the table. The menu was just like a booklet. On the front it said Ma and Pa’s Diner: A Little Slice of the Fifties in the Town Where the Fifties Never Died – Hallsville. George half-chuckled and opened the menus. “Jeez, George,” Sue said. “Look how cheap everything is.” “Mmm.” The waitress came over. “What would ya like to order, darls?” she asked. “Um, I’ll have the, ah, cheeseburger, fries and Diet Coke,” George said. “I’ll have the chicken Caesar salad and a cappuccino please.” The waitress took their menus and vanished behind the counter. After five minutes wait, the food was ready. The food was good, and cheap. $4.60 all up. George and Sue paid at the counter and left. “I want to have a little drive around, George,” Sue said. “Have a look at the place.” “You know, we’ll never get to LA at this rate, driving around every quaint little town we see.” “Oh, come on George. Stop being a grump and lighten up. Just for a while, then we can fuel up and leave.” George stared at his wife for a while longer; then smiled. “Alright, honey. But just for a while.” “Thanks, luv.” They both climbed into the car and reversed out of the car park.

The town really was like a little slice of the 50s. It was almost as if time had stopped here when it hit 1959 and just kept looping back to 1950. All the houses were very fifties and the roads were smooth. The whole town was surrounded by lush fields, filled with corn. George hung right where the road ended and Sue cried out.

“Oh, look George. What’s that?” she pointed to their right up ahead. George saw it too. “I dunno. Looks a bit like a bunker.” “Can we have a look?” “Whatever happened to just having a drive around?” “Come on.” “No. God knows what’s in that place. Probably been abandoned for years.” “Come on, honey. Then we can go.” George sighed. “Alright, but that’s it. After that we fuel up and leave.” “Thanks, George.” George slowed down the car and reached a complete stop just near were the pathway turns towards the bunker. George climbed out of the car, stretched his back and started walking. Sue caught up to him and they walked towards the bunker.

“What is it with tourists and sticking their nose into everything?” “I don’t know. Let’s just hope they don’t go into the light.” “Of course they’ll go into the light. Why wouldn’t they?” “We still have to hope, dear. What’ll happen if they do?” “I think whatever’s down there is going to get a bit bolder and come out.” “What happens then?” “We get our asses out of here.” “Oh, God.” The old man looked away from the window at his wife. “I don’t think he can help us. He hasn’t before.”

George’s attention was focused more on the corn than the bunker. The tall green stalks and the beautiful cobs, all ripe and ready to pick. His attention

only really diverted when his foot caught a rock and he stumbled. Sue grabbed him before he hit the ground. “Careful, honey,” she said. “It’s pretty rough around here.” They were almost at the bunker now and the cold cement entranceway loomed up ahead. The front of the bunker stuck out of the land like a shark fin and George wondered just how big it was underground. He walked up to the door and looked at it. He tried the handle and the door opened. “You coming?” he asked Sue. Sue nodded and they both walked in.

“Hey, I just had an idea.” “What?” “Lock ‘em in.” “Do you think it’ll work?” “For a while anyway.” “But those poor people…” “Those poor people shouldn’t have gone in there in the first place.” “Don’t say that.” “All I’m saying is that it could keep us safe for awhile; give us time to prepare.” “Alright, I’ll get the padlock, you get the chain.” “That’s better, love. You’ll see; you’ll thank me for it.”

“God, it’s dark in here.” “See if you can’t find a light switch.” George looked around, his eyes trying to make out shapes in the darkness. He took a step forward and his leg smashed into something. He fell forward, reached out and pulled a cord. The

light switched on and George found himself lying next to a chair. He stood up and looked around. The place was empty and covered in cobwebs. A table and chairs sat in the middle of the room and a broken pencil sat on the table. An abandoned cup lay on the desk near the door but apart from that and a bat sleeping in the corner, the place was empty. George looked around. The place was empty. Where the hell was Sue? “Sue? Honey?” George looked around the room. “Over here!” The shout echoed through the bunker. “I found a door.” George looked to his right and saw a door. He walked over to it and opened it. Sue stood in the middle of what could have been a dining room. There were table and chairs, a sink and dishwasher. “A bit more modern this place, isn’t it?” Sue asked rhetorically. “Mm.” George said, looking around. A fire burnt in the corner and rug and two chairs sat facing it. The sink was full of clean plates and the dishwasher was running. “Oh, and look down there.” George turned and looked where she was pointing. A long tunnel came out of the wall opposite the dishwasher. The tunnel ended with a glowing light.

The old man and woman ran towards the bunker, the old man holding a chain and the woman a padlock. “Hurry, honey. I don’t know how much time we’ve got.” “I’m hurrying. I’m not as young as I used to be.” The old man ran to the door and began wrapping the chain around it and a metal pike in the ground near it. When he was finished the old woman padlocked it. “Let’s hope that holds.” “It should, for a while anyway.”

“Oh, love. What has become of us? Couldn’t we have at least warned them?” “It wouldn’t have helped.” “Oh, dear.” “Come on, let’s get inside.”

George found himself fixated on the light at the end of the tunnel. His mind was too blurred to notice the significance of that fact. Sue was already walking towards the tunnel in a strange hypnotic shuffle. George found himself being drawn there along with her. They shuffled to the entrance and began to walk down the tunnel.

The police set up the barricade very fast. Three patrol cars blocked the pathway and eight policemen had their machineguns loaded and aimed at the door, waiting. The corn blew in the wind, creating an ambient silence that freaked everybody out. Night had fallen.

George was close enough to make out the colour now, a kind of yellowyorange. The light made him feel warm inside and he felt better than he ever had before. He was about two steps ahead of his wife, who had just begun moaning. The light was getting closer and with ten steps George entered the room.

The room turned out to be a bedroom. A queen bed sat in the middle of the room on the back wall. There was a bedside dresser either side and a lamp on each, one yellow and one green. The light on the ceiling was a chandelier, all glistening crystals and gems. In the middle of the bed was a lump that ran just about the length of the bed. George walked over to it and looked down.

The man’s scream could be heard from outside the bunker. The policemen tensed, their fingers tightening around the triggers.

George screamed and recoiled in horror at the thing in the bed. He could only see the head, the lower arms and hands but that was enough. The hair was just wisps, ghostly white and frayed. The eyes were missing entirely, nothing but empty sockets. The skin was droopy. It kind of looked like someone had pulled the thing’s skin down and suspended it there. The skin was a yellowy-green and stuck up in bubbles here and there. There was a large red scar running from above its right eye, across it diagonally and ending at the top of its lip. One ear was missing and the other was kind of elfish. The arms were the same colour and texture as the face but it was the hands that caught George’s eye. Out of the end of each finger a long sharp claw grew out. The claws were blood stained and deadly sharp. At the sound of George’s scream, the thing sat bolt up right and moved its head, looking around the room. As its eye sockets fixated on George and Sue, they ran.

Their footsteps echoed throughout the bunker, disturbing the sleeping bat which broke into flight, flying circles around the ceiling. The thing ran after them, the noise of its footsteps the thing of nightmares. Slush, click, click, Slush, click, click. It was getting closer George ran out of the dinning room and when he was sure Sue was out, slammed the door shut, locking it. He turned and ran to the front door. He twisted the handle and nothing happened. He slammed his fist on the door over and over until Sue screamed. George whirled and saw ten long claws burst through the wood. “Stand back, Sue,” George said and grabbed a chair. The claws ripped down and then the door burst of its hinges and the creature burst out.

George reacted instantly and hurled the chair. The chair smashed over the creature’s head, causing it to pause before it turned and launched itself at Sue. In that moment, George realised two things; one, that he was going to die, and two, that the creature was very, very tall. George screamed as the thing grabbed Sue and in one violent jerk, broke her neck. George looked around wildly and saw the broken pencil. He grabbed it and turned as the thing leapt at him. George shoved the pencil into its head and felt the claws slide into his body. Then he felt no more.

Silence had fallen outside the bunker as the police waited, the tension a thick, dark fog in the night air. They sat outside, guns trained on the door, waiting. Suddenly, it happened. One of the policemen, who had fallen asleep, woke up with a start, and out of instinct, pulled the trigger. A barrage of bullets slammed into the door, two breaking the chain, before the policeman could stop it. Everyone looked around, waiting for it to happen. The door burst open and a dark shape leapt out into the night.

The bodies of those policemen were never found, mainly because no-one had any reason to look. There were more of the things now, the original having made them out of bits and pieces from its various kills. It ate the rest. The lights burned bright in Hallsville at night, illuminating the town to all that can see. Inviting people to come visit, have a stay. If you look carefully, sometimes you can see a tall slushy shadow with long claws sludging through the streets, but most of the time they waited. Waited and watched.

This last story truly terrified me as I wrote it. It is based on events that occurred in my mind, in times of extreme emotion. Fear takes hold of us all, even the creators of fear. I hope you enjoy this final story.

Confessions of a Dying Race I like the title. It’s a good one. Confessions of a Dying Race. Who thought the end of the world would be so…anticlimactic. That’s the best word I could think of. No fire and destruction, no massive explosion of purge of the entire human race. Everyone just slowly died. For me, it began on Saturday morning. My name is Kyle Downes. I’m fourteen, and an orphan. I think. I believe my whole family is dead, because of the fact that I haven’t seen any of them for so long. They left Saturday morning and haven’t returned. It’s Monday morning now. When you’ve been in this house so long, all by yourself, you get to thinking. I’ve had to be comforted by my writing, and my reading. And my music. I still thank God electrical appliances work. I get the feeling that I’m the last human alive on the planet. I can’t see any life in the houses around me. And I don’t want to leave. I feel that if I leave, whatever killed those people will kill me. Of course, I tried it once. The door had locked itself and the lock had changed. It seemed the house doesn’t want me to leave either. I’ve been sitting at this computer for most of the day, every day. It’s all I can do. I even tried to get Internet, but the phone lines are down. So I just sit, and write, and read, and listen to my music. I spend the rest of the time sleeping and playing my piano. My food stores are low. I’ve got probably two

more days, tops. Water’s not a problem; we’ve still got running water. But food is. It looks like I’m going to starve to death. I’ve never really thought about dying before. Not really. It’s not a subject anyone likes to spend time on. At least I’ve still got some company. I’ve got Harley, who is also locked in the house. Harley is fifteen and on his last legs, but I’ve got a feeling I’ll be gone before he is. He lies on Mum and Dad’s bed most of the time, just staring. He comes to me every now and again. I’ve fed him each morning and night, trying to use as little food as possible. I’m saving a can of tuna for him, that should last him a day or two after his food runs out. There’s Buddy and Scruffy too. Our two Galahs. Good company. Scruffy makes me feel better and Buddy adds some excitement to my life. I forgot to say before, but Harley’s our cat. His sister, Rosie, died a year ago. I still remember the day. She’d been dying slowly for awhile now. I’d always thought that she would outlast Harley, but it seems I was wrong. She died while we were at my grandparent’s house warming party. She’d just moved into her new house on Eagle Beach Parade. A nice, big two-story house. She had a long lap pool and a pathway access to the beach. Everything she wanted. We came home from her party feeling good, walked inside and found Rosie lying dead in front of the front door. That was my first death. Mum and Lish cried a lot, but Dad and I held together. I suppose we’re both inside people that way. I wrote a song as a tribute for Rosie. I still have it. We buried Rosie in the backyard. And then we moved. Mum says the hardest part was saying goodbye to Rosie. Our new house is very different to our old one. For one, we’re on top of Ghost Hill, with a beautiful view. Two, it’s a big two story house. Three, there’s a nice room downstairs, an open air room almost. And four, there’s a fence in the middle of the family room. We don’t know the story behind it, but Mum reckons it’s

there to separate the dining room from the family room, even though it doesn’t run from wall to wall. It’s just there; in the middle of the room. We’ve got a balcony that we sit out on sometimes, have breakfast or lunch and look out on the view. It’s a bit too cold to do that now. Eilish is my sister, but I call her Lish. She’s a character and a half my sister. She thinks she’s sixteen, and when she’s not acting like a sixteen year old, she throwing a tantrum and bawling like a one year old. She’s obsessed with horses and enjoy running around the house, screaming and neighing, whinnying and bucking like some madman. She certainly makes life interesting. She’s had ten birthdays, just in case you were wondering what her real age was. But now she’s dead, along with Mum and Dad. I tried to call someone, but the phone just let out a low hum. The lines were dead. Not even a robotic voice telling me the line was busy. Nothing. The house seems so quite. Except for the times that the birds go off. I try to add some sounds with my music, but it doesn’t feel right without people here. I haven’t heard or seen a car, or an aeroplane or helicopter. Nothing. No sign of human life. There’s a yacht or something just floating in the middle of the water. It’s been there for days now. Every night I get Dad’s high powered torch and shine it out windows, trying to show any survivors that I’m alive. But I never get a response. Night is so scary when you’re by yourself. There is no sound at night at all, not a peep. I lie in bed, listening to the silence. Every noise I make is heightened and amplified by the silence. It’s just so damn quite. I better calm down. The last thing I need to do is break my keyboard. I looked out the window last night and saw the bats flying over. I guess I’m just the last humans. Seeing those bats flying overhead made me feel trapped and a giant sense of claustrophobia overcame me. I felt like the house

was closing in around me and I had to go and get a drink of water. I’ve lost nearly fifteen kilos in the week I’ve been here from lack of food. I’ve rationed myself down to essentials. A small breakfast, lunch and dinner. I struggle a lot with dinner because I’m not good at cooking. And that tuna’s looking real good. On Saturday I came down with a bad cold. My head hurt severely and my nose was clogged throughout my whole sinus system. I took a Panadol, and some decongestion mixture and hoped it would get better. I must smell a bit off, because I’ve been having really short showers to conserve water, just in case. My lungs ached badly and I was plagued by coughing fits. I took my necessary medication, but carefully. The last thing I needed was to run out of medication. A gentle rain is falling. I’m grateful for the extra noise. I’ve missed noise. This silence is unbearable. It’s been five nights now, Tuesday night. My cold’s cleared pretty well, but I’ve still got bad asthma and a headache. Sometimes my eyes have trouble focusing on the screen, but still I type. I don’t know why, but I do. I suppose it’s my last line of defence. I have to keep glancing away from the screen, the hallucinations are getting worse. The vague shapes that aren’t there are turning less and less vague as the days go by. Mostly they’re harmless. Mum and Dad, Lish. But sometimes they’re not. Sometimes I see the night terrors. The monsters, the beasts, the mutants - those things that really scare you. They’re leaning over my shoulder as I type, watching me from in front of my window, peeking out of the wardrobe. My dressing gown’s slung over the dresser in the corner of the room. I probably should move it; I swear I saw it move. I better put this away and try to get some sleep. The rain should help put me to sleep, I’ve already started yawning. At the moment, I’m sitting in darkness; the only light that of my laptop. I’m sitting in the open-air room downstairs, the door shut and the lights off.

My lungs ache badly and I’m coughing on and off every 20 seconds or so. I ran out of food this morning. I don’t know how much longer I can last before I get desperate. I snuck a bit of Harley’s tuna this morning. I was hoping he’d leave some, but he ate it all. I might sneak a bit more tonight. It’s deathly quite, the sound of my fingers pressing the keys unnaturally amplified by the silence. I’m crying. That surprises me. I guess it hits all off us. Just in this moment of loneliness and silence, everything has become clear to me. The deaths. The fact of being the last living person. The galahs have started upstairs; Scruffy is calling me. Poor galahs, they don’t understand what’s happening. I better go upstairs and fix them up. Day six and I’ve run out of food. There are some of Mum’s health bits and pieces, but I’m not that desperate. Harley’s food’s run out as well. Poor old boy, he doesn’t need this. I’ll get him some food though, I’ve got a plan. At least, I did have a plan. I can’t remember it anymore. Oh, well. The Expedition It was ten o’clock when I finally left the house. I’d been thinking about it for nearly an hour, but I didn’t sum up the courage until ten. About five minutes before ten, I walked down the stairs and stood looking at the door. In the glass window next to the door, I could see the reflection of the area behind me hazing over the view of outside. A shadow moved in the area behind me – or outside – followed by another one. Soon four shadows were swirling in the view of the glass, slipping along the surface and vanishing when it hit the wood. Indistinct shapes, more snake-like than human, slithering over the ripples and ditches in the glass. A gentle hiss sounded, like a light breeze through the trees, a small sound in the back of my mind. The shapes were moving faster now and my hand was reaching for the door. I saw in my reflection that my eyes were hazed over, the pupils wide and staring. Perspiration was trickling down my head, leaving cool rivers marking their

paths. My hand clasped the door and an electric shock passed through my body, causing my hair to stand on end. The door flew open and I was outside. The noise of the door slamming shut broke the trance. The first thing I noticed was that there was no breeze. The trees lay motionless, silent sentinels of a dead world. The heaviness in my lungs had changed to a dead weight, my breath coming out in short gasps. The sweat was coming out faster, mixed with something else. I wiped my forehead and saw a small patch of red on my arm. Something trickled out of my mouth, a tiny river of blood. I wiped it away and found the strength to move. My legs whirred to life and I bolted. I rushed out of the gate, every ounce of my body screaming in pain. As I ran past the neighbour’s yard, I paused. In the garden lay a body, in a puddle of dry blood. The eyes were gone, the sockets red with dry blood. The mouth was slightly open and the face was decorated in flecks of blood. The body was whiter than anything I’d ever seen before. My breath had almost stopped now, causing my legs to move even faster than they had ever before. I tore down the road, heading for the corner store. A crow caw broke the silence, followed by a magpie, a myna, and then a butcherbird. The air was filled with the sound of flapping wings and birdcalls. I came to a dead stop and stared in horror at the sight before me. A line of birds blocked the road. Soon another one joined, and then another, until five lines of birds filled the road before me. And behind the birds was our car. I couldn’t see in the windows, they were caked with dry blood. I was grateful for that. I didn’t want to see. And then my breath stopped. My lungs collapsed and nearly took me with them. My eyes watered and blood ran out of my mouth and nose. Knowing that if I stayed a moment longer I would die, I turned and ran.

I made it inside and collapsed on the floor, passing out, darkness rearing up and ripping me painfully out of reality. I surfaced out of unconsciousness violently and realised I was lying in a small pool of blood. I ran upstairs and washed my face. I had a warm shower and allowed the water to wash over me longer than I should. I turned it off reluctantly and dressed in clean clothes. My other clothes were caked in blood and wrecked. I dumped them in the laundry box and went to bed. I was suddenly deathly tired. I’ve never felt lower. I got damn near close to killing myself this morning, but common sense took over. I had muesli for breakfast this morning. I really am getting desperate. Harley didn’t get any food but I poured him some milk to make him feel better. I broke down in tears after breakfast and cried for a good half hour. Why me? Why did it have to be me? Why couldn’t I die with the rest of them? The birds are going off. Fucking birds. Driving me insane. Harley’s quiet, probably in bed. But those birds… I finally broke. I don’t know how, but I did. Hunger was becoming unbearable, and so were the birds. So I fixed the problem. I ate Buddy. I got a knife, opened up the cage and stabbed him, over and over till he was dead. I pulled him out and comforted Scruffy. I don’t think I can kill Scruffy. I love her too much. I put Buddy on the chopping block, cut off his head and plucked him as best as I could. I put him on a tray, tipped some garlic and flavour over him and coated him in olive oil. Then I cooked him in the oven for about half an hour. Then I ate him. And the worst thing was - he tasted so damn good. And then I snapped out of it. I looked around the bloody kitchen, the bloody knife, the whole bloody mess. And I broke down. I fell onto the ground and screamed and shouted and raged and cried. I was going insane. I had just eaten my bird. And now I had to clean up the mess. And I did, each minute seeming to get closer and closer to breakdown. I’m still taking my meds, and the cold’s just about gone. But the asthma’s still there, heavy in my

lungs. I’m just praying to God and whoever else will listen that I die soon. I just can’t live any longer. I think I’m either insane or my house is trying to kill me. It all began this morning, Friday morning. Seven days. No food at all, nothing. I sat at the dining table, staring at Scruffy. I had given her the last of her food this morning, enough to last her a day or so. I was beginning to nod off when a high pitch scream sounded in my head and around me. A sharp pain like a knife ripped into my head and I cried out. Someone screamed even louder in answer. I stumbled to me feet, my head aching and my eyes focusing and unfocusing rapidly. I stumbled to wards the stairs and someone screamed again, even louder this time. I clasped my head, lost my footing and fell down the stairs. I landed heavily on my side on about the fifth step and rolled down the rest, my head banging sharply on almost every step. I hit the ground and slid against the wall. The scream again, closer this time. Something ripped me to my feet and I ran towards the door that led to the open room. I clasped the handle and ripped it open. My world was a blur now, my eyes shooting around wildly, trying to focus. The scream sounded, right next to me. I spun around, expecting with horror to see one of the dead people but instead saw nothing. The house was empty. I waited ten seconds, not a peep. And then my eyes gave up and I was thrown into unconsciousness, smashing down to the ground. “And here end the last of the diaries of Kyle Downes, the last survivor of a virus that wiped out the entire population of Australia. Due to its remoteness and the fact that it killed so swiftly, very little of the virus escaped Australia. Or so we hope. We know so far that the virus is airborne, and kills rapidly and violently. We hope that our vaccine works, but due to the ferocity of the virus, the vaccine would only have a fifty-fifty chance of working…” A human voice. Where was it coming from? Why is it here? I was sleeping. Maybe…maybe I’m

dead. No, I feel ground. It’s cold. I lurched to my feet and my eyes focused to darkness. I realised where I was. But how did I get here? I turned on the light and the cupboard under the stairs came to life. I brushed a few spiders and cobwebs off me. How did I get here? And then I remembered. I gave up writing the diaries after that strange event in the house. I spent the rest of the day in bed, nursing my injuries from the fall. It was about six pm when the strange things began again. It started off as a very gentle sobbing, that rapidly grew to large, shaking wails and cries. I was more careful this time. I hurried to the stairs, but grabbed the side as I ran down the stairs. I lost my footing on the second step, nearly fell, but gained my feet as I hit the floor. Again, the noise was coming from the open room. Shaking, I walked slowly to the door and, after a few huge gulps, I opened it. The room was empty, but the cries continued, louder now. I switched on the light and looked around. The noise was coming from the cupboard under the stairs. Scared out of my wits, and going against my screaming mind, I started walking towards the door. I reached it, grabbed the handle and pulled it open. Here, my memories get fuzzy. I vaguely remember passing out, but I also vaguely remember there being something in here. I suddenly didn’t want to be in here anymore. I wanted to be out with the people, and the voice that had read my diary. That voice was now telling the people the proper way to deal with the virus if they encounter it. I had to get out. I reached for the handle and then remembered that there wasn’t one. I slammed hard in the door and it broke of the hinges. I fell to the ground and saw two men in white full-body suits, like a fire-proof suit. The noise had been coming out of a radio-like unit in their helmets. They looked at me as if I was a ghost. “Can someone tell me what’s happening?” I said, coughing blood as I did. They looked at each other.

“Contamination?” one asked in a robotic voice. The other pointed something like a gun at me. A low tone sounded. “Affirmative,” said the one with the gun. “Then neutralize.” Neutralize? What did he mean… The gun flared to life. Oh, FUCK!