Rebecca Besser's Blog, page 6

Micropoetry – Seduction by Rebecca Besser

Copyright © Rebecca Besser 2023

Micropoetry – Lost by Rebecca Besser

Copyright © Rebecca Besser 2023

A Zombie Short Story – The Heart of Heroism by Rebecca Besser

The Heart of HeroismBy Rebecca Besser

“Take that crap off!” Mr. Harper yelled. “Why are you always dressing up in stupid outfits? If I ever catch you out wearing something like that, I’m gonna burn all of your comic books! Every last, damn one!”

“S…s…sorry, Dad,” Billy Jack said, pouting as he shuffled back to his bedroom. He stopped just inside the door and looked at himself in his mirror. The aluminum foil he’d used to make a lightning bolt on the chest of his red flannel union suit twinkled in the overhead light and made him smile with delight. He giggled. Running his hands over the B and J he’d cut out of stick-on felt and applied to the suit on either side of the bolt, he imagined himself as a real live superhero. “Super Billy Jack,” he said with a sigh.

“Hurry up!” his dad yelled. “We have work to do and I don’t have time for any of your shit!”

Billy Jack’s bottom lip quivered and tears welled up in his big, blue eyes as he peeled his costume off and slipped on a worn, stained pair of blue jeans and a plain, dark blue T-shirt; the cloth of the T-shirt stretched to its limits over the bulky muscles of his chest. He sniffed loudly, looked at himself in the mirror again, and rubbed his eyes with his knuckles like an upset toddler.

“Are you ready yet, you dumb oaf?” his dad yelled.

“Y…y…yes,” Billy Jack answered, and hurried back out to the living room of their tiny, basement apartment. “I’m ready to w…w…work. What’s broken t…t…today?”

His father didn’t answer right away. He just stared up at his mammoth son who towered over him with his six foot, four-inch height.

“Were you crying?” he asked Billy Jack. “Were you crying like a little sissy baby again?”

Billy Jack bit his lip and shook his head, fidgeting with the front of his shirt, stretching it to the point the material was see through.

“Yes, you were,” his dad said, scowling. “You have to quit acting like that, and you have to quit dressing up in those prissy outfits. Do you want people to make fun of you?”

Billy Jack sniffled and twisted his shirt nervously. “N…n…no. I just want to b…b…be a superhero.”

Mr. Harper growled and ran a hand over his balding head. “You’re never going to be a superhero! You’re just a stupid nobody and always will be!” He sighed and shook his head. “Get your tool box. We have some plumbing to fix on the ninth floor.”

“The n…n…ninth?” Billy Jack asked, letting go of his shirt and knuckling his eyes again. “Can I v…v…visit Mike? He’s my bestest friend in the w…w…world.”

Mr. Harper groaned. “Yeah, you can visit your friend if you do a good job, but if you give me any trouble, you won’t be allowed.” He yanked open the door to their apartment and stomped out into the hall, throwing an impatient glance back at his son.

Billy Jack shuffled forward and lifted the red, four drawer tool box sitting beside the door without much effort. He rushed out into the hall, following his dad, almost tripping himself in his hurry.

“Shut the door!” his dad hollered over his shoulder, stomping down the hall toward the elevator.

“O…o…okay, sorry,” Billy Jack mumbled and turned, shutting the door before advancing down the hall as fast as he could. Without noticing, he started fidgeting with the hem of his shirt, twisting and tugging it out of proportion. Just as he reached the elevator, where his dad was waiting, the cold, metal door slid open with a dull ding.

“Up we g…g…go!” Billy Jack said, grinning. “Can I push the b…b…button, Dad?”

Mr. Harper sighed. “Sure.” He stepped inside without looking at his son and slumped against the back wall.

 “Yeah!” Billy Jack screamed, practically bouncing into the elevator. He pressed the appropriate button—the one with an L on it for lobby; they would get off there and use the stairs the rest of the way. There were other elevators in the building leading higher, but most of them were out of service because the building owner didn’t consider fixing them worth the money. Mr. Harper always referred to him as a “Slum Lord.”

In just a few seconds the door was dinging open to present the small, dingy, poorly lit lobby. It held the tenants little, square mailboxes along the far wall, which were covered in gang graffiti. Billy Jack thought it was beautiful and mystical, appearing out of nowhere after he’d scrub it off once a month. He imagined something magical lived inside the bank of mailboxes and it would reveal itself a little at a time. When he washed it, he pretended the turpentine he used was a drug that put it to sleep for a time. Today, it was freshly painted with bright green and orange spray paint.

“The b…b…beast is awake,” he whispered and stepped out of the elevator cautiously, pressing his body tight against the wall, watching the mailboxes across from him like they were going to swallow him alive.

Mr. Harper rolled his eyes and stepped out of the elevator, shaking his head. He ignored Billy Jack and walked to the stairwell, opened the door, and went inside, letting the door swing closed behind him.

“No!” Billy Jack screamed and ran forward, ripping the door open and entering the stairwell too, pulling the door tightly shut behind himself, breathing heavily.

His dad laughed and ascended the first flight of stairs.

“It’s n…n…not funny, Dad,” Billy Jack said breathlessly, and pouted. “You’d f…f…feel bad if the monster a…a…ate me.”

“I would miss you so,” his dad responded sarcastically.

Billy Jack smiled, thinking his dad really meant it and hurried up the stairs after him. “Who’s p…p…plumbing is broken?”

Mr. Harper sighed. “Mrs. Willis’s again.”

“She’s a n…n…nice lady,” Billy Jack said, struggling with the tool box in the narrow stairwell, but keeping up nonetheless. “S…s…she makes good cookies.”

“Yes, she does,” his dad replied absently, limping slightly. He’d injured his knee when he was younger and it bothered him more and more as he grew older, and having to traverse many flights of stairs on a daily basis didn’t help either. The pain it caused made him wish he was sitting downstairs in his recliner, drinking beer.

They made it to the landing of the fifth floor and Mr. Harper inwardly groaned. It was the one with the different colored tiles, because he’d had to replace some a few years back. He braced himself for what he knew was coming.

“Dad!” Billy Jack cried out. “Be c…c…careful! Only step on the white and b…b…blue tiles. The red o…o…ones will wake the d…d…dragon!”

Mr. Harper growled and marched around to his right to the next flight of stairs. Behind him he could hear the metallic rattle of the tools in the tool box as Billy Jack bounced it while trying to hop from one small square to another, missing the red ones that made up most of the floor; he reached the stairs with a sigh of relief.

“Dad, y…y…you should be more careful,” Billy Jack admonished with solemn eyes. “S…s…someday the dragon m…m…might get you. You’re l…l…lucky I know the r…r…right tile combination to l…l…lock his cage back up.”

“It’s thoughtful of you to save my life,” his dad said, and continued to climb, wincing in pain as his limp became more pronounced.

They made it to the ninth floor of the “castle” as Billy Jack called it. It was easier for his mind to wrap itself around the occurrences and the strange people in his living environment to think of it that way. He pretended the building was a cursed castle and he was the only one who would know how to save it when the curse became too strong for everyone else. Super Billy Jack would save the day! He didn’t realize he lived in the middle of the slums and most people living in the building were drug dealers, users, or prostitutes, and that was why they acted the way they did.

Mrs. Willis’s plumbing didn’t take long to fix and soon Billy Jack was standing outside apartment 947, waiting for someone to answer his insistent knock. He fidgeted with his shirt, twisting it this way and that while he glanced at the hall around him, imagining all kinds of sinister things lurking in the shadows.

He jumped when the door opened.

“Oh, it’s you,” a woman with ratty hair, smeared makeup, and a cigarette in her hand said. “Mike! Your friend’s here to see you!” she screamed as smoke waft from her nose and mouth; she walked away, leaving the door standing wide open.

Billy Jack smiled nervously, still glancing around him and twisting his shirt.

Mike’s little, smiling face appeared from around the corner and his fear melted away.

“Billy Jack,” the five-year-old boy squealed, and wrapped his arms around Billy Jack’s leg, hugging it tight in his skinny arms. He looks up at his big friend hopefully. “Did you come to play?”

He nodded and let the little boy pull him inside by his pant leg, shutting the door quickly behind them to keep the monsters out.

“I w…w…was a good w…w…worker today,” Billy Jack said. “So, I was a…a…allowed to come and v…v…visit you!”

“Goodie,” Mike said cheerfully. “I have a new toy!”

“Really?” Billy Jack asked. “What i…i…is it?”

“I show you!” Mike squealed, and darted toward his bedroom with his big friend trailing after him.

Billy Jack made it to the door to see Mike proudly holding two small plastic boxes with thick, black wires sticking out of the tops.

“Walk-me, talk-mes!” Mike yelled, waving them at Billy Jack. “My daddy gave them to me. He came to see me.”

“Th…th…those are very nice,” Billy Jack said solemnly. “What d…d…do they do?”

“I show you,” Mike said, sitting on the edge of the bed and twisting the knobs on the tops of the plastic boxes, causing brief bursts of static noise to come from each of them; he handed one to Billy Jack. “You sit!” he ordered, and pointed to his bed as he stood. “I’ll hide in the closet.”

“Okay,” Billy Jack said, sitting on the edge of Mike’s tiny bed; it groaned under his two hundred plus pounds.

Mike giggled and darted across his room and into his closet, closing the door behind him. “Test, test, one, two, three…”

Billy Jack jumped as Mike’s voice came blaring out of the plastic box in his hand. He held it closer to his face, almost pressing his nose against it while he took a better look at the device. “H…h…how’d you get i…i…in there, Mike?” he asked the part with the little holes and heard a giggle come from the closet.

Mike opened the door and peered out at Billy Jack with a broad smile on his face. “I not in it, silly. I do this!” He pressed down the button on the side of the plastic box and talked into it again, rubbing his lips on the speaker because he was holding it too close to his mouth. “Test, test, one, two, three…” He giggled again and shut the door, hiding once more. “You do it! You do it!” came out of the box Billy Jack held.

He grinned and pressed down the button, holding the walkie-talkie close to his mouth. “H…h…i there, Mike. How’s th…th…things in the closet?”

Mike squealed with laughter.

They played for hours, taking turns going into the closet and outside the bedroom, talking to each other through their own secret system.

Billy Jack was stepping back into Mike’s room after his turn in the hall when he spotted the clock on the dresser. He gasped.

“Oh, n…n…no!” he exclaimed. “I’m l…l…late! My dad is going to be m…m…mad. I have to g…g…go. B…b…bye, Mike!”

He turned and rushed down the short hallway and out of the apartment. The halls and stairwells were dark in the early evening; the light coming through the barred window on each level was weak. Multiple times he tripped and almost fell down the stairs, but caught himself at the last moment with a cry of alarm. A few people were in the stairwell, a couple with guns and suitcases, but he just pushed past them, focused on getting home. He ignored their shouts of “Watch where you’re going, dummy!” and kept on running.

By the time he reached the basement, he was whimpering and tugging on the front of his shirt with both hands, twisting it nervously. He was so focused on getting home he didn’t notice he was tearing the shirt apart at the seams.

Finally his hand reached out and gripped the doorknob, trying to turn it. It didn’t move. He cried out and then whimpered repeatedly trying harder to turn the knob.

The door suddenly flew open to reveal his dad standing there in a white tank top and his jeans, with a beer in his hand.

“Did you get lost?” he sneered as he lifted the bottle and took a deep swill of beer.

“N…n…no, Dad,” Billy Jack muttered, looking down at the floor, tugging at his shirt. “I took t…t…too long and am l…l…late. I’m s…s…sorry.”

Mr. Harper watched his son for a moment. “Where’s the tool box? You were supposed to bring it back down with you.”

Billy Jack went still for a moment with a shocked, scared expression on his face. “I f…f…forgot.”

“Well, you better go back up there and get it,” his dad growled, “because you aren’t coming in here without it!” He stepped back and slammed the door in his son’s face.

Tears poured from Billy Jack’s eyes as he staggered back down the hall and toward the elevator. He pressed the button with no pleasure; his dad was mad at him and he was drinking, which was never a good combination. Gasping for breath between sobs, he climbed back onto the elevator and rode up to the lobby. From there his journey was uneventful and he didn’t even play his game on the fifth floor landing.

He was still crying when he reached Mrs. Willis’s apartment; she answered shortly after his first knock.

“Billy Jack, I was wondering if you were comin’ back for the tool box,” she said. “Why are you cryin’, honey?”

“I f…f…forgot to come get the t…t…tool box and was l…l…late going home,” he said, sniffling loudly. “Dad i…i…is mad at m…m…me.”

“Ah, honey,” she said, stepping forward to give him a hug. “It’ll be all right. I have your tool box right here and you’ll soon be home all safe and sound. Your daddy was probably just worried about you.”

Billy Jack whimpered and hugged the woman back, loving the way it felt to have someone care about him.

“Th…th…thank you, Mrs. Willis,” he said, sniffling again and stepping back. “I h…h…have to go now, b…b…before Dad gets more a…a…angry.”

She patted his cheek and smiled, letting him step inside and retrieve the tool box that was sitting out of the way in the kitchen. “You be careful goin’ back downstairs,” she said as he left. “There’s some mean folks around here and they would take advantage of a sweet, handsome boy like you.”

“I w…w…will,” he said, wiping the last of the tears from his face. “G…g…good night, Mrs. Willis.”

“Good night, honey,” she said, smiling as she closed the door behind him.

When the door clicked shut Billy Jack felt alone and scared. Not of the people Mrs. Willis had mentioned, but of his dad and what he would do for punishment; Billy Jack never liked his punishments.

He descended the stairs slower this time, dreading going home. Watching every step as he went down in the now almost completely dark stairwell, he felt something hit his foot on the third floor landing, where he’d bumped into the angry men earlier in his rush. He bent down and felt around on the floor with his hand and found a smooth, square-ish object. He picked it up and held it close to his face, squinting to see. It was one of Mike’s walkie-talkies! He frowned, wondering how it had gotten there and realized after a few moments he’d left Mike’s apartment with it and must have dropped it when he bumped into the men.

He turned around and thought about taking it back to Mike’s, but shook his head. It was too late now, Mike would be in bed, and Mike’s mom scared him; she was mean when Billy Jack showed up too late or she didn’t want him around. With a shrug he decided to take it home with him and give it back the next day.

Turning, he continued his descent and soon reached the basement once again. He trudged down the hall, now tired from going up and down the stairs so many times. Without even trying the knob on the door, he knocked, knowing from experience that it was locked; the door was ripped open instantly.

His dad stood there once again, but this time he was swaying slightly and holding onto the door for support. He glanced down at the tool box Billy Jack was carrying.

“Tool box, good,” he said, and staggered backwards, almost falling on the floor.

Billy Jack didn’t say anything. He just stepped inside and sat the tool box by the door where it always sat when not in use. He closed the door and locked it and then went to his room, noticing as he left the living room his dad had made it to his recliner in front of the TV, which was on; he sighed and opened another beer.

Flipping his light on, Billy Jack noticed right away the shelf in his bedroom—across from the door—was empty. His comic books were gone! His heart started pounding and his hands started shaking. He grabbed ahold of his already mutilated shirt and tugged on it hard; the sound of it ripping fell on deaf ears, going unnoticed.

“Dad!” he cried, running back out to the living room. “Someone t…t…took my c…c…comic books!”           

His dad laughed, looking over and up at his son with a smirk. “Yeah, I did,” he said. “You were late and you didn’t bring the tool box, so I burned them.” He shrugged drunkenly and turned his attention back to the TV.

“N…n…no!” Booby Jim screamed at the top of his lungs, tugging his shirt at the same time, ripping it off of his body. He started crying and couldn’t talk. Turning abruptly, he ran into his room, slammed the door behind him, and threw himself on his bed, sobbing hysterically.

He lay that way for almost an hour, with his huge body shaking from sobs, but finally fell asleep.

~ * ~

A loud noise woke Billy Jack suddenly and he blinked in confusion at the brightness of his room; he rolled over to see the light was still on. From beyond his door he heard thumping and his dad screaming. Quickly, he got up and went to investigate.

“Dad, are y…y…you okay?” he asked tentatively, still timid after what had happened earlier that evening.

His dad didn’t answer, but he could hear low growling and grunting noises, and when he turned the corner to get a view of the living room he saw the source. A strange man was kneeling over the prone body of his dad, feasting upon his guts; his face was buried deep in Mr. Harper’s stomach.

“What are y…y…you doing to my d…d…dad?” he yelled, his hands balling into fists.

The man turned and looked in Billy Jack’s direction with cloudy eyes; he hissed at Billy Jack and went back to eating.

“S…s…stop!” Billy Jack yelled, and stepped forward, kicking the strange man in the stomach, knocking him over and away from his dad and into the open apartment door, slamming it shut.

The man roared in anger, sending drops of blood flying from his lips and teeth. He charged at Billy Jack with his hands raised and his fingers bent into claws.

“No!” Billy Jack screamed, and punched the man across the face as hard as he could.

The man’s head jerked to the side with the force of the blow and Billy Jack heard a wet snap as the man’s neck broke; the man fell to the floor and didn’t move anymore.

Turning back to his dad, Billy Jack started to panic. He reached down to grab ahold of his shirt while he tried to figure out what to do, only to realize he wasn’t wearing one. His hands started to shake as he tried to process the situation. His dad wasn’t moving and he didn’t know what to do or who to tell.

“R…r…rest,” he said, nodding his head. “Rest m…m…makes sick people b…b…better.”

He picked up his dad’s bloody body and took him into the master bedroom. He carefully laid him down on the bed and covered him with a blanket that was lying folded across the bottom.

Billy Jack knelt down on the floor beside the bed and held his dad’s hand in his larger ones, occasionally reaching up to stroke his forehead.

“Y…y…you’ll feel better s…s…soon, Dad,” he whispered. “You j…j…just need rest.”

In moments Billy Jack thought he saw results from the resting as Mr. Harper’s eyes fluttered open and a low moan escaped his partially parted lips.

“Dad? Y…y…you feel better?” Billy Jack asked, standing. “C…c…can I get you anything?”

Mr. Harper didn’t answer, he just groaned and turned his cloudy eyes toward Billy Jack and that’s when he knew something wasn’t right; the man who’d attacked his dad had eyes like that.

Clawing viciously at the blanket, trying to get free, Mr. Harper’s jaw snapped open and shut, clicking loudly.

“Dad?” Billy Jack asked in a voice that could have passed for a child’s. “What’s w…w…wrong with y…y…you?”

His dad didn’t answer, but broke free of the blanket to stand. Blood gushed from his open stomach, carrying his intestines with it. They splashed onto the scuffed, hardwood floor with a squish. He stepped forward, into his own mess, slipping slightly, but righting himself again with the help of the bed. He advanced toward Billy Jack, sniffing loudly and moaning.

Billy Jack backed away and bumped against a stand a TV was sitting on, knocking the TV off; the screen shattered on the floor. He became more flustered and tried to pick up the TV and put it back.

“I’m s…s…sorry, Dad,” he gushed. “I d…d…didn’t mean to b…b…break your TV.”

Mr. Harper’s hand fell heavily on Billy Jack’s shoulder, and he stood and turned to face his father, who hissed menacingly in his face. He lunged at Billy Jack, trying to bite him.

Billy Jack screamed and fell backwards as he instinctively dodged the bite, falling into the glass; it cut into his back and side, but he didn’t notice as his fear was focused on his sick parent.

“Why are y…y…you trying to e…e…eat me?” he whimpered, sitting up slightly and scooting backwards on his butt.

Mr. Harper roared and lunged at Billy Jack, who brought his arms up to defend himself, knocking his dad hard in the chin and off of him. Frantically, he grabbed at things around him as his dad pounced him once more. He lifted a large piece of glass and shoved it upward. It went in through the bottom of his dad’s chin at an angle, sinking deep into his head and brain.

Mr. Harper went still with a gurgle.

Billy Jack shoved his dad’s body off of himself and took deep, sobbing breaths. He didn’t understand why his dad had tried to bite him. He’d thought his dad loved him, but now he wasn’t so sure.

Sitting up, he looked around the room, noticing he’d knocked the door of the TV stand open when he’d bumped into it. Some misplaced impulse made it impossible for him not to fix it; normally he would get in trouble for not closing doors. Rising up on his knees, he crawled through the glass toward it, noting for the first time he was hurt. As his hand met the dark, painted wood, he eyes caught sight of something bright and colorful inside. Frowning, he opened the door further to find his comic books stacked inside. A grin spread across his blood spattered face. Dad did love me, he thought, glancing at the dead body on the floor to his right with an ache in his heart. All he’d ever heard from his father were mean things: how dumb he was; how Billy Jack’s mother had left because she couldn’t handle living with a child like him; how hard his life was trying to provide for him and meet his “special” needs; and how he couldn’t have a life because what woman would want anything to do with the father of a big dummy like him. But deep down, in spite of everything, his dad really, truly had loved him, and to Billy Jack, the comic books proved it.

“Daddy,” Billy Jack whimpered and turned, lifting his dad’s body into his arms, hugging it tight, weeping. “I l…l…love you.” He cried and rocked his dad’s body for a long time, before he laid the body back onto the bed.

He went down the hall and into the bathroom and was about to use the toilet when he noticed how filthy he was; he was completely covered in blood. Freaking out slightly, he stripped off his clothes as fast as he could and climbed into the shower, screaming as the water hit his wounds when he turned it on. He pulled out all the shards of glass he could, but he couldn’t reach them all. They didn’t really hurt unless the water hit them directly, so he didn’t worry about them. After cleaning himself, he stepped out of the shower and toweled dry, realizing for the first time he didn’t have any clothes to put on and he’d have to go to his room to get some.

Cautiously, he opened the bathroom door, half-expecting another scary person to jump out of nowhere and try to bite him, but the apartment was silent. Just as he was stepping out into the hall the sound of static behind him made him jump and cry out, clutching his chest in fear.

“Billy Jack?” came a faint, young voice from his bloody pants.

He walked slowly over to them and stared down at them, frowning. Why are my pants talking? he wondered.

The voice spoke again, making him jump back in surprise.

“Billy Jack? It’s Mike. I’m scared. Mommy is acting funny and is trying to bite me. Help!”

“The w…w…walkie-talkie!” Billy Jack exclaimed. He reached forward and picked up his pants, frantically searching them until he found the toy he’d mistakenly taken from his friend’s house. Pressing the button he spoke into it, “Mike! I’ll c…c…come rescue y…y…you!”

“Hurry!” Mike’s little voice cried.

“I’m c…c…coming!” Billy Jack screamed into the speaker on the plastic box, shaking it hard when he didn’t get a response. “Oh, n…n…no! I c…c…can’t hear you anymore, Mike!” He turned knobs, pressed the button and shook the walkie-talkie, but didn’t get a response.

No longer caring he was naked, or he was bloody again from handling his pants, Billy Jack darted through the apartment and into his bedroom. Without hesitation he put on the superhero uniform he’d made, and in his mind he became Super Billy Jack, savior of all who lived in the cursed castle. He would save his little friend and save the day.

First he put on his red flannel union suit with the lightning bolt and the letters B and J on the chest. Next he slipped on the bright green galoshes he’d bought with his allowance money. Lastly, he put on his hat. It was a multicolored beanie with a little propeller on top that would keep the cursed castle keepers from reading his thoughts; he’d attached a strip of material with holes where his eyes were, to the front, to hang down over his face and protect his identity.

Proudly he stood admiring himself in the mirror for a moment with his feet wide apart and his fists on his hips.

“Super Billy Jack t…t…to the rescue!” he yelled, and dashed out of his bedroom.

He paused for a moment at the door of the apartment, remembering his dad said he shouldn’t go out dressed like he was or he would take his comic books. But he knew his dad wasn’t coming back this time and he wouldn’t take his comic books again, so with a grin, he charged out into the hall. He was disappointed when nothing was going on in the hall, but quickly lifted his spirits by pretending to fly to the elevator. Echoing the ding when the door opened, he hopped inside and spun in a full circling saying, “Whaaaa!” before he pushed the button that would take him to the lobby.

When the door slid open, he ran out into the lobby to witness one of the buildings tenants being attacked by a group of three biting men. Her screams grew weaker and weaker as blood sprayed into the air from her neck where a large patch of skin was missing and an artery had been ruptured. The blood landed on his bright green boots and ran down the side to pool around his feet as he stood in shock before he took action.

Screaming, he darted across the hall, bravely facing the mailbox monster to attack the men consuming the woman. He slammed his fist into the back of one of the men’s heads and his fist sank into the man’s skull. He shook it off in disgust, drawing the attention of the other two men as he did so. They shuffled away from the woman, allowing her dead, bloody, limp body to fall to the floor, hissing at him.

Their eyes were cloudy and parts of their faces were missing. They walked awkwardly and drooled blood out of their wide-open mouths.

“You c…c…cursed creatures won’t g…g…get the best of m…m…me!” Billy Jack shouted, and reached out and grabbing both of the men’s heads, slamming them together.

They burst like two overly ripe melons under the pressure of the collision; chunks of brain and clotted, black blood flew in every direction.

He pulled his hands away and let the bodies drop to the floor.

“Ew,” he said, looking down at the pile of bodies in front of him and at the mess they’d made. “I sh…sh…should clean this m…m…mess up, but I h…h…have to save Mike!”

Turning, he darted toward the door to the stairwell, but slipped in pooled blood and fell back onto the pile of death.

He screamed and kicked, trying to fight his way out of the slop. Finally rolling off, he crawled to the door to the stairs, breathing heavily. Being a superhero is harder than I thought it would be, he thought, holding onto the door handle while he regained his footing. Pulling open the door, he headed into the darkness and almost felt like he was being swallowed whole by the building itself, so he started singing the song that always gave him courage when he had to do big things that scared him: Itsy-Bitsy-Spider.

With his whispering voice echoing off the stark walls, Billy Jack climbed the stairs as fast as he could, slipping occasionally because the blood dripping from his clothes and onto the worn-smooth stairs made them slicker than normal.

As he reached the fourth floor landing, he heard a low moan echo around him. He froze, not knowing what to do, but knowing someone else was close-by. He felt along the wall for the door leading to the fourth floor hallway, and looked through the gloom created by the wane moonlight seeping in through the small, dirty, barred windows high in the walls. His hand reached the handle as he heard a louder moan and a thumping noise of something falling down stairs and a deep groan; it sounded closer. He raised his eyes to the fifth floor landing as his hand gripped the door handle tighter; something was moving around up there, groaning. It had to be another of the biting people.

The form slowly stood and limped to the edge of the landing, looking down at Billy Jack. It groaned loudly and tried to walk forward, falling down the stairs right at him.

Billy Jack screamed, yanked the door open, and darted onto the fourth floor of the building. Making sure the door was shut tight behind him, he spun and darted, not paying attention to anything around him. He slammed into a woman and pinned her against the wall with all of his weight.

She gasped and then purred, “Hold on, sugar, and I’ll give you anything you want.” Her hand—which was caught between them—cupped his crotch.

Billy Jack cried out and backed away. “Why d…d…did you touch me th…th…there?” he whimpered, holding his hands over his penis like he had to pee.

The woman laughed and advanced toward him, looking him over. “You pay me enough I’ll give you what you really want.” She traced the B and J on his chest with her finger. “You like BJs, don’t you?” she teased, and then frowned. “Why are you all wet?”

Holding her hand up at an angle to the faint hallway light, she saw her hand was covered with blood; she looked down and discovered her body was also coated in blood where his had touched hers when he’d pinned her to the wall.

“It’s blood!” she screamed, and darted for the stairwell door.

Billy Jack yelled, “No!” and tried to stop her from opening the door, but it was too late.

“Holy shit, a zombie!” she yelped, and tried turning back to Billy Jack, who was standing, panting, in the hall.

He glimpsed the stark fear in her eyes as the man she’d identified as a zombie fell on her from behind, pinning her to the floor. She screamed and kicked, but it was too late, the monster’s teeth had sunk into her flesh and she was bleeding.

Billy Jack was scared, still standing in the hall, cupping his privates, in shock over what had happened so quickly. He knew he needed to get back out into the stairwell to keep climbing and save Mike. To reach the stairs he would have to go through the zombie attacking the strange, almost naked, woman who liked to touch people in their no-no-special places.

Tugging at the front of his union suit, he decided he would have to stop the zombie from hurting the woman, or else he wouldn’t be a real superhero—they saved everyone.

With a roar, he charged forward, getting the zombie’s attention; it lifted its head at the noise. Hopping slightly, he planted one foot hard on the floor and kicked with the other like he’d seen football players do on TV when they were kicking a field goal. His kicking foot connected with the zombie’s chin, snapping its head back and almost off as its rotting flesh tore.

The woman was still alive and sobbing uncontrollably, so Billy Jack dragged the zombie off of the woman and helped her up. She was weak and wobbled back and forth.

“You n…n…need to rest, m…m…ma’am,” he said, leaning her up against the wall; she slid down, sitting hard on her butt when he let her go. “I h…h…have to save Mike.”

Billy Jack opened the door to the stairwell a little further—the zombie’s legs were holding it open slightly—and he disappeared into the oppressive gloom once again. He was now scared there would be more of the zombie creatures on the stairs somewhere waiting to get him, so he ran up the five flights of stairs to the ninth floor. Ripping open the door, he carefully stepped into the hallway and looked around before closing the door behind himself.

The hall was silent; there was no sound of anyone anywhere, not even noise from TVs in the apartments. The moon cast shadows along the corridor and made Billy Jack more and more nervous. He tugged at the front of his union suit, accidentally popping off a button, but he didn’t notice. He was focused on the scary world around him, gulping and whimpering in succession. The idea of being a superhero had been fun when the world was safe and he was only dealing with his imagination, but it was more difficult than he’d anticipated, and more scary. He finally reached apartment 947 and what he found didn’t improve his spirits any.

A smeared, bloody hand print was bright on the wide-open door. From within the apartment he heard growling and the wet sound of something eating, along with soft whimpers. Tentatively, he stepped over the threshold and beheld a gruesome sight on the kitchen floor.

Mike’s bare feet were twitching and bouncing off the floor as his mother and some man Billy Jack didn’t know—both naked—ate his small body. The whimpers were Mike’s and Billy Jack realized he was still alive. Rage and grief surged through him and he screamed at the zombies.

“S…s…stop hurting my f…f…friend!”

He stormed into the room and grabbed the man, wrapping his hands around his neck, squeezing with all his strength. The man hadn’t been a zombie long, so he wasn’t rotting, but when Billy Jack gave him a quick jerk in his fury, his spine snapped just below his skull and he went still. Throwing the limp body off to the side, Billy Jack kicked Mike’s mom in the head; she had been too interested in eating her son to pay attention to what was going on around her. He picked her up by the shoulders and slammed her against the wall screaming at her for being a bad mother, until her skull cracked and a wet slapping sound rang through the kitchen each time she hit the wall. With tears running down his cheeks, Billy Jack let her fall to the floor as well, and turned to kneel down beside Mike.

His little body was quivering as he took each breath. Blood was oozing from his body and soaking into the scraps of what used to be his clothes. “Billy Jack,” he whispered, “thank you for saving me.”

Billy Jack was too choked up with tears to respond and slid his arm under his small friend’s head, hugging him close, rocking gently.

After a couple more shaky intakes of air, Mike stopped breathing altogether.

Billy Jack continued to rock him, wailing, mourning his friend more than he’d mourned his father; they’d been closer and had a real bond.

He was too caught up in his grief to notice all the noise he was making had attracted more zombies. Three of them came shambling through the door and were clawing at him before he knew what was going on. In his grief, he batted their clawing hands away, but only half-heartedly. With Mike gone he didn’t care what happened to him. He snapped back to reality when the small body moved in his arms, moaning insistently. Sudden sharp pains from his neck, chest, and arm caused him to cry out and stand. He jumped back and dropped Mike on the blood-soaked floor; his once angelic face was twisted in blood lust.

“Mike?” Billy Jack stammered, barely noticing the small boy had bitten him, as had two others of the undead ranks. “A…a…are you okay?”

Mike hissed and tried to stand, but the damage to his body had been too extensive; the middle of his body was gone, all the way to his spinal cord. With a harsh grunt, the zombie boy flipped himself over onto his front and flopped like a fish toward Billy Jack, licking what little blood he’d drawn from his tiny lips.

“N…n…no!” Billy Jack sobbed, backing away.

One of the other zombies had finally had enough of everything and lunged at Billy Jack.

He jumped and dodged the sudden movement, only to slip in the huge puddle of blood on the floor and fall hard.

All three of the adult zombies piled onto him, tearing skin and muscle with their teeth and devouring sweet, hot flesh, but Billy Jack didn’t even cry out with pain. His eyes were locked with the now cloudy eyes of Mike as he flopped closer and closer. He was crying and was slipping into shock, seeing his once best friend turn into a blood thirsty creature was just too much.

By the time Mike finally reached Billy Jack, he was weak from loss of blood, but the zombie didn’t care because it worked to his advantage. He growled and purred down at his meal like the man was a steak and not a friend.

“I’m s…s…sorry, Mike,” Billy Jack whispered. “I’m s…s…sorry I didn’t m…m…make it here in t…t…time. I’m sorry I c…c…couldn’t be your s…s…superhero. I g…g…guess I’m a w…w…worthless nothing l…l…like my dad s…s…said…”

Mike’s mouth closed around Billy Jack’s throat, cutting off his air. Pulling back, he tore off a small chunk of flesh, but his small teeth had done the job. They’d found an artery, and soon Billy Jack wasn’t suffering any longer and the zombies drank their fill of his bloody, until he too rose again to feast on the living.

About the story:

This story was originally written sometime between 2010-2015 for a superhero themed zombie anthology from Living Dead Press. I also wrote a similar story in a rural setting; both appeared in the anthology. The Heart of Heroism has been residing as a bonus story in my short story collection: Twisted Pathways of Murder & Death. It is being removed from the collection as I’m currently revamping the title. This story has been re-edited into the 2023 version you read above.

Copyright © Rebecca Besser 2023

Micropoetry – Tears by Rebecca Besser

Copyright © Rebecca Besser 2023

Simple Eating – Cheeseburger Sliders

I made these for supper and they were so good, I considered them blog worthy, especially since they tasted similar to a popular burger from a well-known fast food chain, but without the lettuce.

Cheeseburger Sliders

By Rebecca Besser

Ingredients:

1 pound of ground beef

1 medium onion, diced

Seasoning (sprinkling of each to personal taste): Salt, pepper, and garlic powder (optional: turmeric and cayenne pepper (remember, take it easy with cayenne))

Sauce: The Ultimate Burger Sauce

1 12 pack of Sweet Hawaiian Dinner Rolls

1 12 pack of sliced cheese (your choice, I used colby-jack)

3 tablespoons of butter, melted

1 tablespoon minced garlic

1 teaspoon dried parley

Directions:

Preheat oven to 350° F.Prepare a baking sheet by lining it with a sheet of parchment paper.Sauté meat, onion, and seasonings in a skillet, stirring often and crumbling until meat is cooked through. Set aside when done, until you’re ready to assemble.While the meat mixture is cooking, make The Ultimate Burger Sauce.Cut the rolls through the middle to make slider buns. Lay the top and bottoms side by side on the parchment paper lined baking sheet.Spread an equal amount of The Ultimate Burger Sauce on the inside of the top and bottom of the slider buns, using all of it.Lay slices of cheese on the sauce on top and bottom buns, overlapping slightly, tearing two slices in half for the edges. Depending on the size of the cheese slices, you may have two left over. Put any extra cheese in your face as cook tax.Spread prepared meat mixture on top of the cheese on the bottom buns.Flip the top buns on top of meat mixture, making a giant sandwich. Melt the butter, add in the garlic and parsley. (You can put all in a microwave safe dish and heat until butter is melted, if you prefer.) Stir until well-combined. Dump a little bit of the butter mixture over the top of the sliders and spread evenly with a brush or spoon until all is used. Bake sliders in oven for 10 minutes. Remove, let stand for 2 minutes, cut, and serve. Enjoy!

Copyright © Rebecca Besser 2023

Micropoetry – Eaten by Rebecca Besser

Copyright © Rebecca Besser 2023

A Fantasy/Horror Short Story – Evil Mountain by Rebecca Besser

EVIL MOUNTAINBy Rebecca Besser

The darkness thickened as Hinun moved deeper into the forest. There was no sound except his steps and panting breath. He’d been on the trail for days, searching for his missing father, hoping he’d find him alive, but with each passing day his hope slowly died.

Yesterday he’d found Father’s bow. It had been lying beside a tree. The bow was broken, the wood splintered and scared with teeth marks. Hinun didn’t know what might have made the marks, as they were large and deep, almost going completely through the handle of the long bow.

There had been blood on the string—dried blood, dark brown from the passage of time. If it had been red and wet Hinun would still have some expectancy of finding Father alive, but not now. It had been too long.

After searching for another day, finding nothing more, Hinun headed home. When he arrived, he would tell his mother and his sister all hope was lost.

~ * ~

Kilna watched for her son’s return. She was scared for him and for his father, whom he’d gone in search of. She’d been against the whole thing. If her husband wasn’t coming back, she didn’t see any point in risking her son as well.

She hung wet laundry out on the line—the thick woven cord scraping against her palms and chaffing her fingers. The cold wind blowing down from Evil Mountain didn’t help. Winter would be upon them soon and they weren’t ready. It seemed each year it was coming sooner. Everyone blamed the witch. She lived high in the snowy peaks of Evil Mountain, and she was evil herself. But she wasn’t the only creature of evil intent that lived in that harsh environment. There were many strange beasts that dwelled there. That’s how the mountain got its name.

Catching a movement by the path that lead to the forest, Kilna turned her head sharply, her heart leaping with hope. But, it fell again as she saw that it was only five-year-old Duna chasing a cat around the yard.

“Duna,” Kilna called gently, “don’t play so close to the woods. It’s not safe, darling.”

Duna looked up, a defiant light in her dark blue eyes. “I want the kitty.”

Kilna smiled. “Yes, I know you want the kitty, but I don’t want you to get hurt.”

Duna looked from her mother to the cat and huffed. She turned and stomped back into the yard, toward the cottage. She plopped her butt on the sandstone step in front of the door, crossed her arms, and huffed again.

Kilna bit back a grin as she watched her daughter pout. When she crossed her little arms and frowned like that, Duna looked like her father. Thinking of Jotan brought a frown to Kilna’s brow as well. Questions swirled in her head: Where is he? What happened to him? Why isn’t Hinun back yet?

Kilna and Duna feed the chickens, the goat, the cow, and the pig before heading to the cottage for the night. It was wise to be inside before dark, because no one knew what would be lurking in the shadows.

~ * ~

Hinun had made it halfway to his farm before he noticed. There was definitely something following him. But, whatever it was, it was staying far enough behind him that he couldn’t see it.

When he started walking, he could hear shuffling behind him. He could hear low moans on the wind that sent shivers down his spine.

After crossing a shallow river, Hinun decided to see what was there, if anything. He sometimes thought it was his imagination playing tricks on him. There were many tales of men driven mad by spending too much time in the shadow of Evil Mountain.

He made his way up the steep, fern-covered bank, and paused as if looking for a deer path in the foliage in front of him, and heard a moan.

Without looking behind him, Hinun advanced into the forest, letting the branches of the trees hide him with their leaves. He walked a good ten yards before he hopped over a bush, off the path he’d been following, and circled back to the river. Whoever or whatever was following him had been keeping their distance, so he knew he had time.

Hinun sat between the roots of a large weeping willow a few yards up the bank from where he’d crossed earlier. The fronds cast enough shadows to conceal him, but they were far enough apart he could see through them clearly.

Sitting still like he was hunting deer, he waited and watched, ignoring his body’s discomfort.

He didn’t have to wait long.

Not twenty minutes after sitting down, the brush on the opposite side of the bank began to shudder, like there was a strong breeze. There was no wind that day, so Hinun knew it for what it was. Something was out there, making it move.

He sat tense, holding his breath and drawing his bow, ready to let an arrow fly as soon as any threat presented itself.

A pale hand came through and held the bushes and ferns aside, as a hunched over man came stumbling out of the woods. His head was bent at an odd angle and he moaned and winced with each step.

Hinun watched the man stumble down the bank and fall into the water. He struggled to stand once again. Something about him was familiar. The clothes! Those were his father’s clothes!

Pulling to full draw, Hinun almost let go of the bow string when the strange man turned and he got a glimpse of his face.

“Father,” Hinun breathed, relaxing his shoulder. The bow went limp in his hands and the arrow fell to the sand at his feet.

He couldn’t believe what he was seeing. His father was alive.

After the shock had passed, Hinun jumped up and went running, splashing through the water to his father.

“Father!” he yelled, throwing his arms around him.

~ * ~

Jotan didn’t respond at first, when a young man embraced him with enthusiasm. His mind was cloudy. Ever since the battle, he hadn’t been able to think straight. The strange wolf-man and the staggering ghoul had seemed to come out of nowhere and he wasn’t at all prepared for what had happened next.

He’d just made camp for the night when the strange pair stepped into the light cast by his small cooking fire. He’d grabbed his bow and shot the ghoul, but it didn’t seem to bother him, he just kept stepping drunkenly forward.

The wolf, standing on its back legs, at least ten feet tall, had taken his bow and broken it. Jotan had bent down to retrieve his hunting knife from his boot and the ghoulish creature had bitten him, ripping off a chunk of flesh.

He remembered stabbing the ghoul in the mouth with his blade as it dove for another bite; it had fallen limp and dead to the ground. But, there was still the werewolf, at least, that was what the thing appeared to be.

Jotan battled with the beast for a while, until loss of blood had made him weak. The dark grey creature had stood over him, roaring, and he’d expected to be eaten alive at any moment. But, instead, the werewolf had dropped down on all fours and sniffed him, growling deep in his throat.

A loud, high-pitched whistle had broken through the night air and the beast’s head jerked up. It howled, whimpered, and ran off toward the source of the sound.

Jotan managed to crawl over to his bed roll and pass out, not expecting to see morning.

Strange memories of that night still flitted through his mind. Images that seemed like nothing more than dreams, of the wolf returning with a young, beautiful woman. She looked into his face and he’d seen into the dark depths of her cold black eyes. Somehow he’d known she was the witch that dwelled on the mountain.

“Ah,” she’d said. “You’ve killed my pet. Don’t worry—I’m not angry. You will soon prove useful.”

She threw back her head and laughed. The dying embers of the fire created dancing lights in her black wavy hair, which made her look like she was surrounded with glittery magic.

He’d turned his head and had seen the werewolf standing on the other side of the waning fire, just watching.

He’d had a fever, so he’d thought it had all been his imagination, until he woke up the next morning in a haze, his body not wanting to move. There was a long black hair clinging to the front of his shirt, and he’d known it had been real. He hadn’t liked what that implied.

Now, here he was with some young man hugging him, calling him “father.”

Jotan didn’t recognize him, and it wouldn’t have mattered if he did. He’d lost his ability to speak days ago. This strange sickness was doing weird things to his body.

The young man pulled back, letting him go. The world spun then clouded over. He landed in the water with a splash, unconscious.

~ * ~

Hinun gasped as Father fell into the water, face down. Quickly, he flipped him over before he could drown, and dragged him to the bank. Frantically, he tried to revive him, to no avail.

Laying Father’s head down gently, Hinun went in search of something he could use to make a stretcher to move him on. He could drag him home, but not without a bit of help.

Twenty yards up the bank Hinun came across a couple of saplings that were tall enough and thick enough for what he had planned. It took him the rest of the day to cut them down with his small hand ax and lash them together with a coil of twine he had in his pack, and his cloak.

By the time he was ready to set off, it was almost dark. Hinun knew if he pushed, and they didn’t get caught up in the underbrush, they could make it home by morning. His concern for Father’s life was urging him to risk the dangers of traveling at night, in the shadow of Evil Mountain.

~ * ~

“What do you mean you can’t find him?” Freka yelled at Yito. “Do I have to do everything myself?”

The witch slammed her fist down on the arm of her huge wooden chair with such fury that the werewolf flinched. He wouldn’t turn again until the moon rose, and he wished it would hurry up and happen. Yito wanted out of her presence and out in the freedom of the woods.

Yito bowed. “I’m sorry I’ve disappointed you, mistress.”

“Disappointed me?” Freka asked with a snarl. “You’ve done far more than disappoint me. You’ve shown how useless and incompetent you really are! I should kill you right now!”

Freka raised her hand and the blood ruby in her ring glowing ominously on her finger.

Yito threw himself at her feet. “Please no! I’ll do anything for you, mistress, anything. Please let me live.”

He was strong and formidable in werewolf form, but as a man he was skinny and frail. He hated the weakness of his human body and wanted to be a werewolf all the time. Freka had the power to make it happen, but she would only give him what he wanted if he served her well. He had to make this up to her or she would never give him that gift.

“I know where the man’s family lives,” Yito lied. “I can go there tonight and bring him back here for you. I can!”

Freka lowered her hand and the ruby lost half of its radiance. “Get up. I hate it when you grovel like a dog.”

Yito slowly rose to his feet, careful not to touch her feet. Last time he’d accidently bumped into her, she’d had him beaten. The scars on his back were the reminder of the brutality of her lover, Lendor.

The vampire had delighted in beating him, jealous of the time and attention Freka gave him. But Yito knew it was because she wanted to manipulate him, both of them probably. She loved to pit them against each other.

Freka stood and walked around Yito, looking him over.

He felt her fingernails slide through the white grooves on his back as she walked.

“You won’t disappoint me again, will you?” she asked playfully.

“No, mistress,” Yito said, hearing the steel undertone in her flirtatious purr. “I’ll never disappoint you again.”

“Good,” she chirped with a smile. “I want you to bring him, and his entire family, and I want them all here by midnight. Lendor needs to feed. They should make quite a banquet for him.”

Yito bowed. “Yes, mistress, as you wish.”

He turned to leave and had almost made it out the door when she called after him.

“Yito!”

He turned and bowed. “Yes, mistress?”

“If you succeed, I’ll give you what you want. If you don’t, you’ll die.”

Yito bowed again, turned, and left. He didn’t know how he was going to find out where the family was and get them back before midnight, but he knew he’d die trying. He was as good as dead anyway if he failed. He had nothing to lose.

~ * ~

Hinun dragged Father through the woods. It was almost pitch black, with the trees blocking out any and all light. He’d stumbled numerous times, scraping his knee, and cutting his palm. Not being able to see where he was going was also causing the stretcher to get stuck where the poles dragged the ground. At this rate they wouldn’t make it home by morning.

He sat down to rest for a moment, his entire body covered in sweat from exertion. Gently setting down the poles he’d been dragging, he flopped to the ground and lay still, just breathing in the cool night air. Before he realized it, he fell asleep.

~ * ~

Kilna had just tucked a sleeping Duna into her small cot close to the fire when she heard it: howling on the wind. It waft through the open window and to her ears as the stench of a skunk would have come to her nose.

She shivered as she walked over to the window, expecting some dark creature intent on harm to be standing there, waiting to grab her and drag her through.

No one was there. The yard was empty. There wasn’t so much as a racoon looking for stray bits of chicken feed. The night was silent—too silent.

Gripping the rough wood of the shutters, Kilna closed the window and slid the board into place to keep it shut.

She undressed and went to bed, praying the men she so dearly loved were safe.

If she’d waited a moment longer before shutting the window, she’d have seen a two-headed dragon in the sky, silhouetted by the moon, with a werewolf on its back. Then she would have realized no amount of praying would keep Hinun and Jotan safe that night.

~ * ~

Hinun woke with a start. Father was awake and was thrashing around, trying to get free of the stretcher. He’d lashed him down with their leather belts, so he wouldn’t fall out and get hurt.

“Father?” Hinun called out, getting up off the ground. “I fell asleep. Are you all right?”

As he stepped closer, Father strained against the leather and snapped at Hinun, like he was trying to bite him.

“Father, what’s wrong?” Hinun asked, reaching forward to feel Jotan’s head.

Jotan lunged for the juicy sticks of meat, trying to bite them off.

Hinun pulled his hand back quickly, not understanding what was going on. “Are you hungry? I have some jerky in my pack.”

After retrieving the jerky he held it up to Father’s mouth, but he cocked his head and tried to bite Hinun’s hand again.

Frowning, Hinun tucked the jerky away and picked up the poles, continuing home. While he was walking, he contemplated his father’s strange behavior, unaware of the threat that hovered just above the trees.

~ * ~

Yito had decided Gox was his best bet of finding the man and his family, and transporting them back to the ice castle alive. There was no way he could do it himself.

Glancing at the moon, he estimated the time to be somewhere around ten o’clock. That left him two hours to accomplish his mission, and four hours before the potion Freka had given him to make his change would wear off.

Gox had been surprisingly compliant. Normally the two headed dragon would baulk at letting Yito ride him, but he hadn’t been out in a while and seemed eager to fly, even if it was with his least favorite passenger.

Yito watched the heads of the dragon swing back and forth in the wind. One would breathe fire one minute, and the other would spew ice the next. Gox seemed to be playing, and that was fine with Yito, as long as it didn’t interfere with his mission. So far things were going great.

He’d already managed to spot the infected man in the woods. His scent was unmistakable. As his body changed from human to zombie, he began to stink in a way no other creature could. But Yito smelled fresh blood with him as well. This confused him. He didn’t know why the new zombie hadn’t attacked and fed yet. But, he wasn’t going to make them aware of his presence just to see why. That could wait. He just hoped they were leading them to more people. Family or not, he had to show up at midnight with a few humans if he wanted to be rewarded.

~ * ~

Hinun looked up at the moon as he dragged his father the last few feet into the yard. It was after eleven. He just hoped Mother would open the door for him. Crawling through the yard, every muscle in his body protesting even the slightest movement, he made his way to the door.

Knocking with all the strength he had left, Hinun passed out on the step.

~ * ~

Kilna heard a thumping on the door and jumped out of bed. Her hand flew to the latch, ready to tear it away, but caution made her pause. Pressing her ear to the door, she stood silently waiting for a sound to come to her, telling her who might be outside.

She heard a distant moan. It was almost too faint for her to perceive, but it was there all the same. Convinced someone was hurt, she threw the door open and gasped at the prone body of her son on the door step.

Kneeling down, she cradled his head in her lap, slapping his cheeks.

“Wake up, Hinun,” she pleaded.

He moaned, looked up into his mother’s face, and smiled. “Mother.”

She leaned forward and kissed his forehead. “Shh. We can talk when you’ve rested.”

Hinun’s brow wrinkled in a frown and he tried to sit up. “No, Father!”

Kilna frowned down at her son, applying pressure to his shoulder to still his movements and urge him to again relax. “What about Jotan? Where is he?”

Hinun lifted his arm and pointed to the edge of the yard, where he’d left the stretcher.

Kilna jumped up, careful not to let Hinun’s head fall on the hard stone, and ran to her husband. Her long white cotton nightgown plastered itself to her body and slowed her down, but she was still there in a couple of seconds.

The stretcher was empty. Lifting the straps she noted they had teeth marks on them; they’d been chewed through.

She turned back to the cottage to see a two headed dragon standing beside it, and a werewolf throwing Hinun’s body over its neck. She dropped the straps and screamed, running to her son’s aid.

She’d only gone five feet when a shadow fell over her—the shadow of her husband.

“Jotan?” she whispered. “Jotan!”

She threw herself into his arms, too happy and excited at seeing him alive to stop herself. Pulling back, she looked up into his eyes—vacant eyes, cloudy eyes. She shivered and pulled away.

Jotan moaned and stepped toward her, gripping her arm, dragging her back to him. With his other hand he pulled her hair violently, lowering his wide-open mouth to her neck. He was about to sink his teeth into her soft warm flesh when something slammed into the side of his head, knocking him down.

While Jotan was shaking his head and trying to figure out where the meal that had just been in his arms had gone, Yito knocked Kilna out and carried her to the dragon.

Jotan struggled to his feet slowly, sniffing the air to see if he could locate the food he knew was around. A strange smell entered his nostrils. It was stronger than human scent, and more musky. Staggering slowly, Jotan made his way toward the strange smell, wondering if whatever it was, would be a good meal.

Yito went into the small cottage and stood over the cot of a little girl, and just looked at her. He could smell her sweet innocence and wanted to sink his teeth into her, rip her apart, and savor every drop of her blood. But, he knew if he did Freka and Lendor would kill him. He had to restrain himself and take her with him. There would be other innocent humans to enjoy later.

Yito picked her up, careful not to wake her, and turned toward the door.

The zombie was standing there pretending to look around. Yito knew he couldn’t see anything; the last one had been completely blind and had traveled through life depending completely on scent. He assumed this one was the same.

Yito took a step forward and the zombie grunted and stepped inside.

Walking forward with purpose, Yito lifted one of his rear legs off the ground and kicked the zombie in the gut, sending him flying through the air to land in the dirt of the yard. He was extremely careful not to jar the child or to make a sound. He didn’t want to accidently kill her when he tried to knock her out. He wanted her to stay asleep as long as possible.

Jotan grunted and groaned, rolling all over the yard, trying to get up, not realizing his leg was broken.

Yito shook his massive wolf head at the zombie. He couldn’t believe how stupid they were. No brain power, just driven by blood lust. He didn’t understand what Freka kept one around for.

Shrugging, Yito tied the girl to her mother, making sure the bonds were tight enough that if she woke up and struggled, he wouldn’t lose her.

Gox raised his heads as Yito mounted.

Growling, he nodded toward the zombie still rolling around in the yard. Gox huffed smoke and snow and took flight, grabbing the zombie in his claws as they took to the air.

Yito was excited. He’d done what he’d said he could do. He’d gotten the zombie and the family. Finally, he would be granted his wish. He would be a werewolf all the time.

As they flew to the ice castle, he dreamed about what it would feel like to have sunshine on his fur as he frolicked through the woods.

~ * ~

Freka was waiting expectantly at the door when they arrived.

“I’m impressed,” she said, looking over the cargo. “I didn’t expect you to deliver. Lendor will be pleased.”

Yito growled contentedly, pleased with his mistress’s approval.

“After Lendor feeds,” Freka purred. “I’ll give you what I promised.”

Yito nodded and set about unloading the cargo. The little girl had woken up during the flight and had screamed for a while, but now she was silent and ridged. He was sure she was in shock.

“Yito,” Freka said. “Would you tie up the zombie for me? Just chain him to the wall or something—anything to keep him out of the way for now.”

Yito grunted, acknowledging the request.

Freka lifted her hand, the ruby glowing bright, and mumbled something under her breath; the humans stood and lined up in a row, facing forward.

“Walk,” she said, and they walked.

Yito watched for a moment, always amazed at the witch’s power, before he grabbed the zombie by the scruff of the neck and hauled him off to tie him up.

~ * ~

Lendor stood at the window, staring out into the darkness with his arms folded behind his back as Freka brought in the humans. He turned to survey his gift.

“Not bad,” he said, walking toward them. “I had hoped for the girl to be older, but I can’t have everything now, can I?”

Freka frowned. “Why did you want the girl to be older?”

“Ah, my darling, I don’t see why you like to ask such silly questions,” he said as he examined Kilna.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Freka snapped. “If you don’t stop talking in riddles, I’ll let the zombie and the werewolf have them and you’ll have to hunt your own food.”

Lendor turned to look at the witch, hissed, and bore his teeth.

She shrank back. “You’re grumpy. You need to feed. I’ll go and make sure our new zombie is settling in.”

Freka hurried to leave. Lendor sometimes scared her. He was the only one that wasn’t afraid of her powers. In truth, they didn’t work on him at all for some reason. She could do as she wanted with everyone else, but not with him, which was why he was her lover; it excited her to have someone she couldn’t control.

Yito had done what he was asked. The zombie was chained to the wall in the cellar, a collar connecting him to the wall. He was in bad shape though, with a broken leg, and his guts hanging out of a gash Gox’s claws had made.

She sighed and headed back upstairs to see how Lendor’s feeding was going.

Freka opened the door and stepped into the lounge, stopping dead in her tracks at what she saw.

Lendor had already feed on the young man—the limp body was lying on the floor where he’d been standing. The young girl was still standing where she’d been earlier, staring off into space, but that wasn’t what had caught Freka’s attention.

It was the woman. Lendor had her bare to the waist, kneeling in front of him. His mouth was attached to her neck where he slowly sucked the blood from her body while he caressed her torso. The woman was gasping and panting. He was taking his time with her and enjoying her as more than just a meal. He was enjoying her as a woman as well.

Freka gasped as a red-hot ball of jealousy shot through her body. Stomping over to the couple, she grabbed the woman’s head and, with a twist, broke her neck, killing her instantly.

Lendor reared back and hissed. He was angry that his main course had been taken from him before he was ready. Closing his eyes, he licked his lips, savoring the last taste of the woman before the blood went cold.

Standing, he loomed over Freka.

“What did you do that for?” Lendor growled.

“You were touching her,” Freka screamed. “Enjoying her!”

“Yes, I was enjoying her,” he said. “You gave her to me to enjoy, didn’t you?”

“Not like that,” Freka huffed. “To feed, not to fondle!”

Lendor’s hand shot out and gripped Freka’s neck, lifting her off the floor and cutting off her air.

“I have no need of a jealous woman,” he snapped. “I won’t be controlled by you or anyone else. If I want to enjoy another woman, I will, and there is nothing you can do about it.”

He dropped Freka to the ice floor and stomped over to the little girl. Grabbing her, he bit her neck and sucked the life out of her. Dropping her limp body, he wiped blood off his mouth with the back of his hand and turned to leave the room.

Freka gasped for breath, her anger growing with every intake of air. How dare he act this way! she thought, her rage building. How dare he treat me like any normal woman! Standing, she raised her hand and slammed the door shut in front of him, her ring glowing so bright that the entire room was red.

Lendor bowed his head for a moment before he turned. Facing her, he looked her straight in the eye and walked toward her. He stopped when they were six inches from each other—his eyes were ablaze with an anger equal to her own.

“Open the door,” he said in a low menacing voice. “I’m not in the mood to play your games.”

Freka didn’t say anything. She just stared back at him.

Before she knew what was happening, Lendor grabbed her head, jerked it to the side, and bit into her neck.

She clawed at his face, tried to push him away, crying out in pain and fear.

He tightened his grip the more she fought.

Gradually the light in her ring faded and went out. Her arms hung limp at her sides.

Lendor dropped her dead body to the floor, and left the room. He stopped suddenly in the hall as he felt the castle shudder around him. From below, he heard the howl of a werewolf, the moans of a zombie, and the thundering roar of a dragon. Something occurred to him, but it was too late. Freka must have had all the beasts under her control. Now there was nothing to stop them from tearing him apart. Quickly, he headed for the main entrance of the castle, but not quickly enough.

~ * ~

Gox roared as a black fog cleared from his mind. The walls surrounding him made him feel hemmed in and uncomfortable. He thrashed around and his tail hit the chain that held Jotan the zombie to the wall, freeing him to roam the ice castle.

Rearing up, Gox’s heads hit the ceiling above him, breaking through. His fire head became stuck and he tugged it back down frantically, trying to free himself. He shot fire and ice all around, hitting everything. Flames sizzled as they fought with ice.

Finally freeing his head, Gox pulled down a large chunk of the frozen floor, and Lendor with it. Knocking him out as he landed in the cellar.

~ * ~

Jotan moaned and shuffled around, not really aware of the danger he was in from the thrashing Gox. Sniffing the air, he smelled blood—human blood.

Slowly, he hobbled toward what his nose told him was food. He fell on top of the prone body of a weird smelling man. Following his nose, Jotan found the human blood he’d smelled, all over Lendor’s neck and hands. He licked the body, confused by the smell of the vampire. When the human blood he’d licked off turned out to be what he thought it was, he dug right in, biting Lendor’s neck and tearing it wide open.

Lendor came to screaming. He looked at the zombie who was happily munching on him and hissed, which didn’t faze Jotan a bit as he went in for another bite.

The vampire lunged forward and ripped Jotan’s head off, throwing it against the wall as hard as he could, and rolling out of the way of Gox’s tail that was whizzing through the air toward him.

Standing, Lendor clutched his bleeding neck, glancing at the head of the zombie that was now rolling around on the ground, dented, but still chewing. He headed for the exit across the room, dogging Gox as he slashed, butted, and slammed into everything around him. Chunks of wall and ceiling were raining down like giant hail.

Just as Lendor reached the doorway, Yito appeared in the opening with a menacing growl, blocking his path.

The vampire hissed, and the werewolf snarled as they stood looking deep into each other’s eyes, waiting for the other to make the first move.

Lendor, tired off all the chaos, lunged forward to grab Yito’s neck.

Yito dropped down on all fours, avoiding Lendor’s grasp and bit into the vampire’s leg, sinking his teeth to the bone.

Lendor shrieked, cupped his hands like claws, and thrust them into Yito’s back, grabbing his spine with both hands. With a sharp upward yank, he removed the spine from the neck down, leaving it dangling outside Yito’s body.

Yito screamed and groaned in pain, but he didn’t let go. His head was the only part of his body still functioning and he wasn’t going to give up easily.

Lendor reached down and took hold of Yito’s powerful jaws, pulling as hard as he could.

Yito growled.

Lendor groaned from the effort, but finally Yito’s jaw gave way with a snap.

Yito yelped and moved no more, now just a dead lump of fur.

Lendor bent over to examine the damage to his leg and while he was distracted, Gox finally tore a hole in the wall big enough for him to escape.

Gox threw aside the last chunk of the ice wall, which landed on Lendor, knocking him over and pinning him to the floor. With a jumping leap the dragon perched for a moment in the opening, breathing in the predawn air, his tail slamming into the floor, gouging it in his excitement and freedom. He didn’t notice Lendor, and didn’t see that he had chopped him to bits, killing the vampire he had once seen as master.

With a final roar of freedom, Gox took flight, spinning and weaving through the air, traveling far from Evil Mountain where “the evil” now lay dead in a crimson lake of blood.

Copyright © Rebecca Besser 2023

Micropoetry – Kiss by Rebecca Besser

Copyright © Rebecca Besser 2023

A Halloween Short Story – Historical Significance by Rebecca Besser

Historical SignificanceBy Rebecca Besser

Perry Roberts stood at the top of the stairs, staring down into the black depths of his basement. He held the last box that needed to be stored down there, but he couldn’t make his legs move. The light was on when I went outside, wasn’t it? he thought. He knew it had been, but now it was out.

With a sigh, he sat the box down on the floor, reached into the slight gloom at the top of the stairwell, and felt the switch with his fingers; it was still on. Bulb must’ve blown, he thought with another, deeper sigh.

Thinking hard, he remembered unpacking a box with spare bulbs earlier and headed to the laundry room to retrieved one, also grabbing the flashlight he’d stored there. Grumbling under his breath, he descended into the dark depths of his basement. It smelled musty, damp, and slightly metallic; the air noticeably dropped in temperature with each step. The house was old, having been one of the first built in the small New England town, and the basement was designed to hold the cold so home-canned goods and other food necessities could be stored there.

“Lots of history,” the real-estate agent had said. “Not many places like this left for just anyone to buy.”

Being the history buff that he was, he couldn’t help but be drawn to its charm, even though it had sat empty for more than a decade and had to be drastically updated before he could move in. One of the things he’d found most fascinating about the place was the old player piano sitting in the corner of the basement. He couldn’t figure out how it had gotten down there—the stairs were too narrow and the basement walls consisted of large, rectangle slabs of limestone that looked like they’d been there for hundreds of years.

With the help of his flashlight, he removed the old bulb and shook it beside his ear, and sure enough, he heard the filament rattle. Tucking the flashlight under his chin so he could use both hands, he slid the burned out bulb into the front pouch of his hoodie and extracted the other. As he screwed in the new bulb he forgot the switch was still on and didn’t close his eyes. When the bright glow of the seventy-five watt bulb flared to life, he dropped the flashlight with a loud clang and squeezed his eyes tightly shut. After a moment, he started blinking rapidly and looking around the room. Bodies in old fashion clothing lay everywhere—some holding bottles of whiskey or tankards of ale. Slowly they sat up and then stood with leering grins, looking him over like he was a succulent piece of meat. They advanced toward him and Perry spun around; he was completely surrounded and the closer they came the more the temperature of the air around him dropped. He tried to focus on them directly, but the light spots in his eyes prevented him from doing so; as his vision cleared the images began to disappear. Almost in a panic, thinking he was being attacked, he spun around in a circle with his arms up defensively, looking for assailants. None were there. All he could see now were the leaning shadows cast by the stairs and the stacked boxes; the rough, bare rock of the walls and floor echoed his harsh breathing back to him, giving him a chill that had nothing to do with the climate of the room.

After dropping his arms, taking a couple of deep breaths, and doing another thorough visual examination of the entire room, he shrugged the occurrence off as his imagination. He bent down and picked up the pieces of his flashlight—having broken it when he dropped it on the hard floor—before he went upstairs, dumped the ruined flashlight in the trash, and carried down the last box. But he couldn’t shake the feeling someone was down in the basement with him, and he kept looking over his shoulder expecting to find them standing behind him, ready to hurt him. He was beginning to wonder if the house might be haunted, but then reminded himself he didn’t believe in ghosts.

With an effort he forced himself to calm down, and after stacking the box with the others he had in the corner, he headed toward the stairs. Pausing, he glanced around one more time and ran his fingers over the now yellow keys of the player piano, wondering if he could get the old thing working. Once again he pondered on how the piano had come to be in the basement and couldn’t come up with a reasonable explanation.

“Maybe the ghosts brought it downstairs,” he said with a mocking laugh.

As soon as the words left his mouth a chill ran down his spine and the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end as the air around him suddenly dropped in temperature and he felt like he was being stalked again. Not needing any more encouragement, he jogged up the stairs and could have sworn he’d heard a deep, masculine laugh echo from behind him.

Back upstairs, he turned off the basement light and slammed the short, rough plank door behind him, making sure the old, wrought-iron latch was secure. He pressed both his hands on the door and leaned against it, taking deep, calming breaths, feeling silly about his reaction to his imagination running wild.

“There’s no such thing as ghosts… There’s no such thing as ghosts…” he repeated to himself over and over again, as if in saying it he could dispel the horrible feelings he’d had downstairs.

Perry heard a knock at his front door and almost jumped out of his skin at the sudden and unexpected noise; he stepped from the kitchen into the short, narrow hallway and spied his friend John through the door’s window.

“Hold on!” he yelled, rushing forward and letting his friend in, glad for the distraction. “What’s up?”

John grinned. “Five days ‘til Halloween! What do you think’s up? We need costumes and a lot of ghoulish stuff to decorate this spooky old house of yours.”

Perry laughed and all of his trepidation melted away as he focused on his friend and pushed everything else from his mind. “How could I forget?”

John smacked his forehead in a “Duh!” gesture and pointed with his thumb to his pickup parked at the curb. “I’ll be out there. Hurry up!”

With that John turned and practically hopped down the limestone block porch steps. He hadn’t been too happy when Perry had decided to move here, wishing his friend would stay closer, but he’d handled it well. They’d known each other all their lives and had just recently graduated from separate colleges. Over the past summer they’d spent a lot of time together catching up, and now they were separated again; growing up was indeed hard to do.

Donning a light jacket over his hoodie—taken from a hook by the door—Perry stepped out into the brisk October wind. Red, gold, and brown leaves littered the yard and street, leaving behind dark skeleton trees to moan eerily as their bare branches danced in the wind. He pushed his hands into the front pouch of his hoodie and his hands came in contact with the light bulb he’d removed downstairs and, for a moment, the memories of his experiences returned. He tossed it in the large trash can sitting in the corner of his enclosed porch, as if ridding himself of the bulb also discarded the disturbing memories permanently, and hurried to join John.

~ * ~

Their day went fast. They’d each found a costume they loved: John, a ghoul of disgusting proportions; and Perry, a very bloody looking zombie. They’d also picked up an array of fake tomb stones and bones to litter in Perry’s yard, to serve as decorations for the huge Halloween party they were planning.

“Stop by the library, would ya?” Perry asked on their way back to his house. “I had the librarian look up some historical information on my house and I need to pick it up.” He paused for a moment and almost continued, asking John if he believed in ghosts, but with a shake of his head he decided not to waste any more time on nonsense.

John raised his eyebrows at Perry’s undecided movements, but when he didn’t say anything more, he nodded consent and drove to the small, out-of-the-way library that served the town.

It took Perry less than ten minutes to retrieve the information he’d requested. John laughed hysterically as he watched his friend come stumbling out of the local library, weighed down with books and printouts of old newspapers.

“Are you writing a book series?” John teased as he leaned over and pushed open the truck door for Perry. “Looks like you have enough research there for five.”

Scowling, Perry managed to maneuver himself, and his load, into the truck. “I didn’t know they’d find this much. Now I feel like I’m back in school.”

John laughed again, shook his head, and drove them back to Perry’s place. They unloaded all their Halloween goodies and discussed the party briefly before John left; he had work early the next day and knew Perry was itching to get at the materials he’d picked up from the library.

~ * ~

For the next few days Perry poured over the books and old newspaper articles, learning about his new house and its history. He wanted to get through as much of it as possible before the party, and before he had to start his new job; he would begin his career as a website designer the second week of November. The information the librarian had gleaned was very interesting. Apparently the house he was living in used to be a small time, bar-like establishment. It was known for its many visitors of “questionable virtue” and after reading some of the articles, he knew that meant men who lived outside the law. A couple of people had even been murdered in the house, which made him again think of the occurrences in the basement.

One picture particularly interested him. It was taken on October 31st of 1872, according to the notation under the photo. The player piano was in it, but the photograph had been taken in his living room. The people in the photo looked like the ones he’d thought he’d seen in the basement, but he couldn’t be sure because most of them were wearing festive masks depicting demons. The clothing style was the same, as were the bottles and tankards, but he figured what happened could still have been just his imagination. After all, he’d seen plenty of the same in old movies.

The article beneath the picture spoke briefly about the Halloween party, and how wild they’d gotten, referring to a couple of rough men who were believed to have been associated with the occult. As he read on, he was disappointed to find that most of the article was missing due to the photocopier running out of toner, at least that’s what he ascertained from the spotty black ink on the rest of the page. With a crocked grin, he looked back at the photo, thinking it would be great to show it to John, since they too were having a Halloween party in the house. As he laid the paper aside, he didn’t notice the date on the top—for the article—was for November 1st, 1872, or the rest of the article was printed clearly on the back telling of the horrible events of the night of that party, and how no one who’d attended had ever been seen again.

~ * ~

On the night of October 30th, Perry lay down in bed, excited about the party that would take place the following evening. Thoughts swirled through his head about all that needed to be done, and about a certain woman he’d invited, hoping she’d attend. Even with these thoughts it didn’t take his exhausted body long to fall asleep.

~ * ~

Shortly after midnight, icy hands gripped Perry’s ankles and fingernails penetrated his flesh like icicles, startling him out of his warm cocoon of sleep.

He cried out and struggled, feeling hot, slick, wet blood seep from his wounds and soak into his bed, but his efforts didn’t deter the grip that was dragging him out of bed with astounding force and strength. He screamed and grabbed at the sheets, blankets, and mattress, trying to save himself, to no avail.

He hit the floor with a hard, resounding smack. His head bounced off the hardwood with a loud thud that almost knocked him unconscious; blood gushed out of a gash on his head from where it had hit the metal bedframe during the struggle, falling into his eyes, and making the floor slick. Blinking rapidly, he tried to stay conscious and twisted around to get a glimpse of who was assaulting him. He yelled, telling whoever it was to stop, and asking why they were doing it.

The darkness prevented him from seeing anyone or anything, and the more he struggled the tighter the grip on his ankles became; he heard his bones crack and felt the shards of their splinters escaping the encasement of his flesh. Crying out from the pain, and imagining his ankles now looked like pin cushions because of the protruding bones, Perry tried to grab onto anything he could, but it was no use. Every time he would get a grip on something his attacker would either yank him so hard that eventually his fingers broke with loud pops or he would be lifted slightly into the air and slammed back down onto the floor until he let go.

The violence continued as he was dragged down the stairs, and Perry suffered so much head trauma that by the time he was on the first floor the world around him was nothing more than a blur seen through drops of blood, flowing from multiple gashes all over his bruised head. And as he was dragged toward the kitchen—where he left a light on all night—he saw no one and nothing was there; he was being attacked by an invisible force and thought for the first time he might have been wrong about ghosts.

He heard the piano playing downstairs and laughter with it. What’s going on? he thought before he was finally knocked completely unconscious by a battering from the basement stairs.

~ * ~

Perry regained awareness slowly. He was lying on the cold basement floor in nothing but his boxer shorts. He shivered and tried to curl into a ball to conserve his body heat. A harsh male laugh barked behind him, making him jump. Turning his head sharply, he beheld a group of seven men and two women. They were all dressed in clothes from the 1800s. He blinked and frowned. His head hurt beyond belief and his hips, legs, and ankles throbbed. Weak and disoriented, he couldn’t focus or speak.

Desperation soon overcame his weakness when he saw them moving toward him. They didn’t have legs, but floated a foot and a half above the stone floor. The closer they got to him the more transparent they became. Frantically, he tried to crawl toward the stairs, hissing and whimpering at the pain in his ankles and head, but didn’t make it. Cold seeped into his body, causing him to shiver more violently, as the “spirits” came closer, surrounding him and laughing.

“Sweet hot blood…” one of the men said.

“…and meat!” one of the women exclaimed, and cackled.

“What should we do with him?” another one of the men asked.

“Let’s eat him,” the first man said again.

“Wasn’t he going to have a party tonight?” another feminine voice said almost coyly. “Maybe we should possess him and have our fill of the guests!”

The group laughed and jeered in agreement; many to feast upon was better than one.

One by one the spirits drifted over Perry and sank into his body.

He screamed as his body temperature dropped and he felt his consciousness being forced deeper and deeper inside himself. He knew no one would hear him, but he still called out for help. Even if he had been lucky and someone did come to his aid, he knew there was nothing anyone could do.

“He’s damaged!” one of the women said inside him. “Someone will notice.”

“She’s right, you know,” said the other feminine voice. “We’ll have to clean him up.”

“I’ve got it,” one of the men said with a laugh. “I’ll have him fixed up momentarily.”

Perry convulsed in excruciating pain as his frigid body popped and snapped, healing itself of the wounds which had been inflicted upon him during the attack.

“Lovely,” the first female voice sighed.

“Please stop,” Perry cried out from the box inside himself he’d been pressed into; his consciousness was pushed back and he had no control over his body, but he could still feel everything that happened to his physical self. “Kill me, but don’t torture me like this… Please!”

“Oh, shut up!” one of the men yelled, and the rest of the unwelcome spirits inhabiting Perry’s body laughed.

“What should we do with him until the party?” one of the male voices asked.

“He’s still all bloody… Why don’t we give him a bath?” asked one of the female voices.

“Oh, yes,” said the other female voice with a giggle.

“You ladies have your fun, but I want no part of it,” a male voice said with slight amusement and a bit of disgust.

The females giggled again and Perry felt himself rising up to a standing position. Awkwardly his body ascended the stairs and he noted he could see everything around him, but still had no say or control over his body.

Before he was ready, they were in the bathroom and his shorts were being removed.

“My, my, what do we have here?” one of the female voices asked snidely. “Seems we have a naked man to play with.”

“Share!” the other female voice yelled. “You get one hand and I get the other.”

Perry could feel the women becoming more prominent in his body and the male entities slipped back and almost felt like they were sleeping.

“All right, all right,” the first female voice said. “I’ll share.”

They both giggled as they shut the door to the bathroom and found a full length mirror hanging on the door.

“Oh, what fun!” the second female voice squealed.

“Yes, indeed,” the other said with smug satisfaction.

Soon Perry’s hands were traveling all over his body, doing things to himself against his will.

“Please stop!” he groaned from deep within as he was forced to watch and feel what the female spirits were doing to him.

“Don’t you like it, luv?” one voice asked, and both the females laughed.

“Stop!” he screamed, but they just continued to laugh at him.

It took over an hour for them to play games with him and molest him in the shower, after which he felt more dirty than clean; they’d done unimaginable things to his body. He would never think of a back brush or a shampoo bottle the same way again.

~ * ~

Later that day, John arrived to help with the Halloween party, letting himself in with the key Perry had given him when there was no response to his knock. As he turned from shutting the door, he spotted Perry standing silently at the top of the stairway in his zombie costume.

“Hey, man,” John said, as he jumped in startled surprise. “You scared the crap out of me!” He looked his friend over and grinned. “You’re costume is intense, but I thought we weren’t going to change until after we had things set up for the party.”

Perry’s body just stood there with its eyes staring down at John while the spirits inside argued about how to answer the question and handle this newcomer; they finally came to a decision.

“Hello, Earth to Perry,” John said, looking slightly worried and confused, moving to the foot of the stairs. “You okay, man?”

“I’m fine,” Perry’s voice said, being controlled by one of the males. “I was excited and decided to don my festive apparel early.”

“You sound strange,” John said, his confused frown deepening. “What’s with all the ‘don my festive apparel’ shit? You sound old or something.”

Perry’s face sneered at John behind the zombie make-up as he descended the stairs toward him. When he reached the bottom step his arm shot out and he wrapped his hand around John’s throat, squeezing and lifting him off his feet.

“You’re a cheeky bloke,” a strange masculine voice said, using Perry’s mouth, no longer trying to disguise himself. “I don’t like being called old!”

John dropped the bags of stuff he was carrying and tried to pry the strong hand from his throat so he could breathe; he kicked and clawed at Perry’s hand and arm as he dangled a foot off the floor.

“Now we have to do something with him,” Perry heard one of the male voices say as they again began talking internally to each other.

“It is crowded in here,” another said, “maybe some of us should possess him, so we’ll have more space to move around and breathe!”

The other voices agreed and started to argue about who would go and who would stay. Perry broke into their argument…

“If you are going to do something, do it soon!” he yelled. “Otherwise you’ll kill my friend and have nowhere to go!”

The voices quieted for a moment and Perry’s hand loosened slightly on John’s throat, allowing him strained breathing rather than none at all.

“I think Ginger, Frank, Paul, and Peter should go,” one of the female voices said.

It was the first time Perry had heard them refer to each other by name and listened carefully. Something about the names seemed familiar, but he couldn’t place them. Then it hit him. Those were some of the names of the people who’d attended the Halloween party in the old newspaper article. He wished now, more than ever, that he’d been able to read the end of the article, so he could know what had happened, and was going to happen.

They argued some more and then Perry felt his small containment area expand. Four of the spirits drifted out of his body and into John’s, who was instantly released. He fell gasping to the floor and started thrashing around, screaming, and clutching at his body. Finally, he stilled and looked around with eyes that weren’t his own.

Perry cringed and whispered, “Sorry, my friend.” He wished John hadn’t gotten involved, and more than anything he wished he would have mentioned what had happened in the basement a few days before, thinking this wouldn’t have happened if he’d acknowledged it. He also thought about the horrible experience he’d had earlier in the bathroom and hoped his friend wouldn’t have to endure something similar when he changed into his costume; as if reading his thoughts, the female spirit who was still inside him laughed softly.

“He might like it, luv,” she said. “After all, you seemed to enjoy some of it.” She cackled with a perverse laugh and Perry didn’t respond.

~ * ~

It didn’t take the spirits long to master the control they had over Perry and John, and they extracted from their brains and thoughts all the things that needed to be done to prepare for the party; they’d just finished when the first guest arrived.

Nicole Winters—the tall, raven-haired, blue-eyed beauty who lived just down the street—stood on the porch with her coat hanging slightly open. Perry heart sank when he was forced to open the door and let her in. She smiled broadly, sporting a sexy fairy costume that would have made him drool if he hadn’t been possessed by crazy entities from the past; some of the comments the male ones were making about her made him panic and try to take back control.

“Run, Nicole!” Perry screamed. “Run!”

But of course, she couldn’t hear him, he still couldn’t control any part of his body, including his vocal cords.

“Shut up, you,” one of the males growled. “We’ll have our fun with this little tart and there’s nothing you can do about it.”

“Thanks for inviting me, Perry,” Nicole said, stepping inside and sliding off her coat, revealing more of her costume, or lack thereof. Most of it was sheer and see through; the male spirits were going wild.

“Ever seen any dressin’s like ‘em fellas?” one of them asked.

“No, but I’d like to tear them off with my teeth and devour what’s underneath!” another exclaimed.

John entered the hallway, coming from the kitchen, and Perry saw a reflection in his eyes of what he was hearing within.

“I’m glad you could make it,” Perry’s pleasant voice said, as his hand was placed on her butt and he squeezed.

Nicole gasped and giggled, giving him a wink. “I wouldn’t have missed it. I love Halloween parties. They give me an excuse to dress up.” She was pressing herself against his body now and practically purring with wicked intent in her eyes.

“Oh, yeah, boys,” one of the voices said. “We’re gonna have us a slice of that heaven.”

They all laughed.

Perry cringed and wished there was something he could do to stop all this, but he couldn’t think of anything.

John walked down the hall toward them and pressed up against Nicole from the back, trapping her between them. He bent forward and whispered something in her ear Perry didn’t catch. He knew it wasn’t John doing any of it, but he still felt betrayed for some strange reason.

Nicole jerked and struggled, trying to break free, just before her personality flipped and she giggled and sighed, accepting the attention from both men. Perry and John realized instantly when their containment expanded slightly that the female spirits had both moved into Nicole’s body. She began to wiggle against and grope both of the men, and pouted when someone knocked on the front door.

“Bloody hell!” she growled. “All these interruptions are spoiling our fun!”

Both of the possessed men laughed. None of them were themselves any longer and just watched and felt everything that happened around them…and to them.

Guests continued to arrive for the next forty-five minutes and none of them knew a thing about what was going on. If Nicole, John, or Perry did something strange, the guests would just shrug it off, assuming they’d already started drinking.

A couple times Nicole disappeared from the room with John, and a couple of times she left with Perry. No one really noticed, but Perry was devastated; he really liked and cared for Nicole, and the damned possessing spirits were making them both do tainted and lewd things to each other. He didn’t even want to think about what she was doing with John, knowing it was probably just as bad or worse.

“Why are you doing this to us?” Perry asked as he was again entering the living room where the party was, after being with Nicole. “Why not just kill us? Why play with us like this first?”

“Well, you see…” one of the voices started in a teasing manner.

“Don’t tell ‘im!” another barked. “Then he’ll know!”

“What does it matter if he knows?” another asked. “He can’t do anything about it.”

“Just shut up, you,” the second voice ordered. “It’ll be over before you know it.”

Everything kept moving smoothly along until around midnight, and then Perry’s mouth announced he wanted to show everyone the player piano in the basement. They were intrigued, so like cattle the twenty-three people at the party (including Perry, John, and Nicole) went down into the basement; Nicole was the last one and she shut the door tightly behind herself.

“What’s going on?” Perry asked from deep within himself. “Why did you bring everyone down here?”

“Shut up!” all the voices barked at him.

Everyone was ohing and ahing over the piano while Perry, John, and Nicole stood at the base of the stairs. No one saw their eyes glow bright red, and no one saw the humans’ bodies transform into red scaled monsters with vicious long claws and mouths full of long, sharp teeth. But they did hear the panting and growling that emanated from them; the guests all turned and screamed.

“It’s been a long time since we’ve had human flesh,” the once Nicole growled, running her long black tongue across her teeth. “I want the first bite.”

Both the beings who were once John and Perry growled and stepped forward.

The crowd cringed and moved backwards, pressing themselves against the far wall.

The Nicole-demon lunged forward, and with one clamp down of her jaws, she ripped a woman’s head clean off. Blood dripped from her mouth and onto the floor as she chewed the skull and slurped out the brains within before swallowing it all. The woman’s body fell to the floor and her blood began to drain out onto the stones. Instantly a pentagram made of flames appeared on the floor, encompassing the entire room; the body burned and dissolved to nothing in the fire.

More and more bodies joined the first as limbs were torn from torsos and hips, devoured by the bodies that had earlier been possessed and were now transformed.

They gorged themselves on the flesh of the frightened, screaming guests and didn’t stop until they were all dead.

The three stood in the center of the pentagram panting. Their eyes were ablaze with adrenaline and their bodies were covered in the guts and blood they’d spilt.

“It’s time for the last three,” a deep, growling voice said from beneath them as the floor disappeared and turned into a raging, licking fire.

“Yes, master,” the three growled.

The female spirits left the body of Nicole they’d inhabited, and instantly it turned back into human form with Nicole at the helm once again. She blinked in confusion and screamed as her body began to burn. Soon there was nothing left of her; the same happened to both of the men.

Once they were consumed the floor reappeared and the fire was gone. The spirits floated in the air, looking at each other.

“I guess that pays our debt to Hell for a few more years,” one of the females said.

“Yes,” a male said with a laugh. “Happy Halloween!”

~ * ~

Days passed and none of the cars in front of Perry’s house moved. Neighbors became angry and then concerned. The police were called and they finally contacted Perry’s family when they couldn’t reach him.

A search ensued for Perry, John, and all of the others, to no avail.

When nothing and no one was found, Perry’s house was emptied and sold.

No one noticed the newspaper article from long ago when it was thrown into the trash, and no one knew to be afraid of what lurked in the basement, waiting for the next Halloween.

Copyright © Rebecca Besser 2023

Micropoetry – Shelf by Rebecca Besser

Copyright © Rebecca Besser 2023