SHREDS
WINTER'S FOG
"Honey, wake up," Angela whispered.
Ronald Winter's eyes slowly opened. Despite his grogginess, he expected his wife to tell him about some strange noise she had just heard downstairs. He rolled over and discovered her side of the bed lay empty. He glanced toward the bathroom and cleared his throat. "What's wrong, Angie? Why did you wake me?"
As soon as he spoke, he noticed the fog drifting into their bedroom. Convinced he was dreaming, he rubbed his eyes and looked again. But the substance remained steadfast, advancing through their room as if possessed by some predetermined purpose.
SOMETHING REALLY SCARY
About a month ago I received a phone call from Scott's wife, Linda. My cousin Scott had died in his sleep the night before. I was shocked and devastated. He was my age, only forty-four years old. It turned out that he'd had a rare form of brain cancer and, with the exception of his immediate family, kept it secret.
I will never know if his declining health had anything to do with his not wanting to play our little game anymore. I planned on attending his funeral, but with my job and all, the trip never materialized. I ended up sending Linda an expensive bouquet of flowers instead.
Now comes the really scary part. A week ago I received an email from Scott's internet address with the subject line reading: Do you want to see something really scary?
THE BRIDGE
As she advanced along the never-ending city streets, the rain-washed sidewalks glistened with pockets of moisture that formed into an array of tormented faces. Some resembled people she had once known and loved, others wary strangers. Further along, they transformed into disfigured creatures of nefarious origin that sneered, glowered, and watched her every move.
Suddenly, the scent of the nearing ocean filled her lungs; the sounds of waves caressing the shore eased her tattered nerves. She hurried faster, rapidly approaching her destination. Somewhere within the endless swathe of fog, the century-old bridge lay in blissful silence, as if anticipating her long-awaited arrival.
THE SPIDER AND THE FLY
"Hey, crazy sucker, wake up," murmured the gravelly voice. "How 'bout some breakfast?"
Jesse's eyes shot open. His surroundings swayed back and forth. The ceiling stains formed into ghostly faces, harbingers of suspicion and disapproval. He remembered counting the tile holes just above him but had lost track after two hundred.
"Where am I?"
"Who cares? Let's eat."
It was Sid. He had left his web. But where could he be? Under the bed? On a wall? Dangling from the ceiling?
Everything seemed to be circling counterclockwise. Jesse's stomach lurched and shriveled. He tried sitting up but something held him at bay. He turned right, gazing at the leather restraint cuff and belt fastened to the bed frame. He peered left. More restraints. His ankles and waist had also been tied.
Jesse flinched. Who did I attack this time?
Instead of laughter, Sid roared with the sound of a reprimand. He was hiding somewhere in the bed. Jesse searched about his body. Food stains littered his wrinkled khaki shirt. His bare feet looked filthy and swollen. Sure enough, Sid crept out from the shirt stains. There was no in-between with him. He was either extremely elated or deeply disturbed.
GARGOYLES
"Around four o'clock in the morning, I woke up feeling drained and pretty damn disorientated. I sat up and glanced around. I was alone. My room looked dark and deserted. Maybe it was the drugs, but I felt as if the staff were about a million miles away. But on the bright side . . . at least the pain had stopped.
"When I looked up at a large wooden cabinet across the room, I spotted something on top. Although it was dark, and I couldn't see much, I knew what it had to be. After all those years of haunting the darkest corners of my mind, the creature had returned.
"It just sat motionless, watching my every move. I could barely make out its outline, but after awhile I could see a pair of wings and horns. A moment later a long, slender tail slipped off the cabinet."
HAD SHE LIVED
Eventually I was able to make out a blonde lady wearing a black, one-piece bathing suit, swimming the entire length of the pool―completely underwater.
I stepped forward to get out of the glare. Her swimming style appeared flawless, with her arms and legs propelling her body in perfect synchronization. A submerged light emitted a weird, reddish glow through the water.
Who's this? She can't be more than thirty years old.
Remaining underwater, the woman glided toward the shallow end. She lingered briefly then surfaced. Surrounded by a multitude of fountains, she strolled through what resembled a waterfall, while the light behind her created a shimmering rainbow.
I inched back and rubbed my eyes. As she climbed the pool stairs, a strange sensation broadsided me. It felt like my body had been transformed into an active volcano. Before I could settle down, the drenched figure of Marlene Madison stood before me.
I took a breath and sighed, "Why didn't I bring a freaking camera?"
FANTASY NIGHT
"Eureka will be the just the first in what will seem like a pattern as each new quake occurs further south. Sacramento and the small community of Walnut Creek, just outside of 'Frisco, will be hit by stronger quakes, at least seven point six on the Richter scale. The Golden Gate Bridge will have to shut down for major repairs. El Capitan at Yosemite Park will be downgraded to an anthill. Property damage will prove extensive . . . yet the aftermath will be like something out of a nightmare. More fissures will open and more people will be infected. They, in turn, will commit horrendous crimes. The dead will pile up. Whole communities will be devastated and burned to the ground."
Corey wiped the sweat from his brow. Apparently, either Doug's fantasy or the salsa had cranked up his body temperature. "Man, oh, man. But what about the rest of California?"
"The beautiful town of San Luis Obispo will be demolished, and the Hearst Castle pool will have to be repaired for the third time this year. Those who are infected will riot and destroy everything in their path."
I didn't like the expression in Doug's eyes just then. It looked to me as if he were buying into this particular little fantasy of his. In fact, most the night, he'd seemed a bit "off the grid," himself.
MACABRE, INC
He took a deep breath then continued. "I don't have much time, Richie, so I'd better get to the point. Eight days ago I received a mail-order catalog from Macabre, Inc. Every year around Halloween I'm mailed all kinds of bizarre paraphernalia. You know how much Heather and I have always enjoyed such novelties."
My uncle paused and sighed. I detected an underlining sense of shame in Uncle Marlin's expression.
"Anyway, when she and I flipped through the catalog, we came across all kinds of animated witches, goblins, and ghosts. On the back page we discovered an extremely scary and graphic zombie. Of course, you know how such morbid creatures have always fascinated me. It even had a catchy nickname . . . Zack the Zombie."
My uncle took a weary breath. "Of course, Heather has always been attracted to such peculiar things. To her, zombies are kinky. Especially this one, being tall, bald, and partially decayed. She insisted on buying it and I phoned the eight-hundred number listed throughout the catalogue. Most companies put a caller on hold for the next available operator . . . but not this company.
"To my surprise, the man who answered sounded exactly like the late actor Vincent Price. 'Good afternoon,' he began. 'Thank you for calling Macabre, Inc. My name's Peter Demure, and I'm delighted to be at your service. Now . . . how may I help you?"
DETOUR
Mitch slammed on the brakes and his vehicle screeched to a halt. A deer stood motionless in the middle of the highway, eating something on the asphalt. It looked up at him and snarled for a long, unsettling moment. Then, taking its time, it turned and disappeared into the forest.
An icy shudder ran down Mitch's spine. That was no ordinary deer. Just like the moth, its eyes glistened with a blood-red glow. When it snarled, its teeth looked amazingly sharp―just like a predator at the top of the food chain.
Mitch peered at the asphalt in front of the Blazer. As impossible as it seemed, the deer had been feasting on a dead possum. Pretty damn weird for a plant eater.
As he was about to step on the gas, Mitch spotted movement to his right. He couldn't make it out, but whatever it was, it was inching closer.
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