Hell's Tower

Today's story is written for Tuesday Tales, hosted by Stevie McCoy aka@theglitterlady. The photo is provided by Today’s photo is provided by the lovely Sue Mydliak. This week is the special Tueday Tales extended edition.

Hell’s Tower

By Lisa McCourt Hollar

The only warning came from the old, blind fortune teller. Blocking traffic, she stood in the middle of town, screaming that we were at the dawning of a new age.

“Babylon will rise,” she cried, “carrying the master to his throne! Accept his reign or be sent to slaughter!”

“Get out of the way, you old bat!”

Pointing a gnarled finger, her milky white eye boring into the offender, the witch continued, “Your flesh will feed his army. Your bones will fortify his tower. Your child’s blood will be used to cleanse him and all mankind will curse your name.

They took her away, placing her in the sanitarium. Despite the disbelief, a quiet settled over the town. As evening came, a feeling of unease began to grow, even among the animals. Once calm dogs growled at shadows, felines hissed at invisible prey and the livestock brayed restlessly in the barns.

Blood covered the moon that night. Darkness spread across the heavens, blotting out the stars, its shadow covering the earth in darkness. Children cried, hiding beneath their blankets, their mother’s unable to comfort them. Then the earth began to move.

“Did you feel that?” Martha looked at her husband, holding their only child in her arms. Mathew had been crying since nightfall, refusing to sleep in his room.

“There’s a monster in my closet,” he’d insisted.

“Mathew, there are no such things!” But despite her insistence, he had refused to cross the threshold into his room. Finally she gave up, holding her son close to her on the couch and trying to watch her favorite show on the television.

No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t lose herself into the drama. She couldn’t get her mind off the old woman.

“I’m telling you,” she was saying to her husband, “it was the freakiest thing I ever saw. I half expected her head to start spinning and snakes to come out of her mouth.”

“Martha, you’re exaggerating,” Thomas said. “She’s just old and a little off in the head. There’s nothing to…”

“Yeah, I felt that,” Thomas said, looking around. This was Virginia and earthquakes weren’t common, but there had been a few recently. “Must be another quake. Get under the table.”

Martha stood, just as another tremor shook the floor. She held onto Mathew, trying to keep her balance. The floor seemed to tilt backwards and she found herself lying on her back and sliding across the room. She came to a stop when her head collided with the wall.

Wrapping her arms around Mathew, she struggled to get to her feet, shaking her head. She felt dizzy. Where was Thomas? Mathew clung to her, his arms holding tightly to her neck.

“Mathew, it’s going to be okay,” she whispered to her son, trying to soothe him. “Thomas, where are you?”

Thomas didn’t answer. Martha took a few steps towards the table. He must have dived underneath when the shaking began. Then she stopped short, sucking in her breath at the sight of the fissure that had opened in the middle of the living room.

“Thomas?” Her voice shook. Cautiously she approached the opening. “Thomas?” Setting Mathew down on the couch, she leaned close, trying to see if her husband might have fallen in. “Oh God,” she thought, “what will I do if he did?” Looking over the ledge she screamed. Thomas wasn’t there, or at least she hoped he wasn’t.

The demon climbing through the fissure smiled at Martha, his teeth a row of fangs. Below him, a river of fire flowed and the screams of the damned reached out to Martha, calling for her to join them.

Turning to run, Martha grabbed Mathew from the couch and told him to hang on. “Don’t let go baby,” she pleaded, heading for the door. The ground had begun shaking again. Steadying herself against the wall, Martha made her way to the door as her house began to fall inwards. Mathew sobbed into her neck.

Flinging the door open, Martha stepped out into chaos. Her neighbors were fleeing their homes as well, many being set upon by monsters and demons that were pulling themselves from the earth. She saw her best friend, her mouth open in a silent scream, while one creature fed off of her. It tore her throat open, drinking her blood. When finished, he bit into her face, pulling away tissue and muscle, tilting his head back and swallowing.

“My God,” Martha screamed, begging for some sanity. She was answered by another upheaval of the ground and another fissure opened in front of her, the full spectrum of the opening threatening to swallow the town. Falling backwards, she shook her head, her mind breaking. She couldn’t accept what she saw.

The tower rose from the earth, thrusting itself into existence, a jutting cock from the pit of hell. Standing atop the tower was a beast, horns jutting from its head, cruel eyes staring out, black as coal. His skin was a deep red, almost black, so dark was his color.

Next to him stood his bride, the old witch, though she was no longer old and no longer blind. Her hair spilled over her shoulders, brushing across her breasts, which were bare. She held against her a baby, suckling him against her tits, but no baby the likes of any Martha had ever seen. This child bore horns like his father and had a mark on his forehead, three intersecting triangles. His teeth were razor sharp and they dug into his mother’s flesh, pulling blood for sustenance. The witch smiled down at Martha. “So,” she asked, her voice hard, “do you still think I’m an old bat?”

The last thing Martha heard before she died was the anguished cries of her son.

Word Count: 966

Copyright© 2011 Lisa McCourt Hollar.  All rights reserved.

Hell's Tower is one of the stories included in Tales of Terror (Jezri's Nightmares).

 

Eternity

Eternity

by Lisa McCourt Hollar

The door opened inward. Murdock eased it open silently and looked inside. The woman was sitting on the couch reading a book and oblivious to the danger she was in. Somewhere on the other side of the living room a man was talking, but Murdock couldn't see him from his vantage point. The television, maybe?

Stepping into the kitchen, Murdock smiled at how easy it had been to gain access. As with his previous visit, while the old couple had been away, the door was unlocked. Stepping forward, he chuckled. This was going to be fun. Halfway through the room, he froze. He had forgotten about the loose floorboard that creaked loudly when stepped on. He glanced into the living room at the woman, wondering if she had noticed. She didn't even look up from her book, one of those steamy romances that had a picture of a half naked man on the cover. Breathing a sigh of relief, Murdock eased his foot off the board and towards the living room. Reaching into his coat pocket he pulled out a knife and chuckled silently.

"Did you hear me Ethel?"

"Hmmm?" Ethel didn't even glance up from her book.

"I said, it sure is quiet out tonight."

Ethel did look up now. Sighing, so her husband would know how annoyed she was at his interruption she said, "And I was enjoying the silence, until you interrupted it. Why don't you watch the tube?"

"Nothing good on," Bob said.

"Nothing good on," Ethel said, her voice mocking that of her husband's. "Are you going to tell me that with over 300 channels, you can't find anything to watch?"

"Nothing good." Bob looked out the window, wishing that young thing across the way was home. She was always good for a little entertainment. The last time she had flashed him a look at her titties before closing the curtain. He knew she'd done it on purpose too, winking at him before taking the eye candy away.

"Are you trying to get a peek at that girl again? You old fool, she's going to call the police one of these days, then everyone will know what an old pervert you are."

"I'm a pervert? And just what is that smut you are reading, Miss High and Mighty?"

"Not smut," Ethel said, her voice stiff and frosty, "Literature."

Murdock groaned, listening to the couple bicker. This was why he never married. Love always turned to hate. He'd seen it with his own parents. The two of them had fought so much when he was a boy, that when his father had stabbed his mother, he'd been relieved that the fighting was over. Tonight would be more than fun. He'd be doing the couple a favor, removing them from their misery.

He was almost to the living room now. The old woman had her back turned to him as she picked at her husband, her words cutting through the air like a knife. Murdock gripped his own knife and smiled, imagining cutting out her tongue. A breeze blew across his back and he realized he hadn't shut the door behind him. Ethel felt the breeze too and turned towards the kitchen, her eyes opening wide. Knocking her book to the floor, she opened her mouth to speak while struggling to get up from the couch. Murdock felt his heart racing. The game was about to begin.

"Ethel, what's the matter?" Bob couldn't see what his wife was looking at, but something in the kitchen had caught her attention. A breeze blew into the living room and Bob pulled his sweater closed in front.

Murdock stepped into the living room, just as the old biddy stood. He saw her eyes wince in pain and wondered if her knees were giving her problems. Well, not for long if they were. Raising his knife in the air, he ran at her, bringing the blade down towards her heart.

"Ethel, what is it," Bob repeated.

"The backdoor," Edith said, shivering. Her mother used to tell her a chill like that meant someone had walked across your grave. "It blew open again. When are you going to fix it?"

"I told you, I've looked at it and there's nothing wrong with the door."

"If there's nothing wrong with the door," Ethel griped, "then why does it keep blowing open?" Angrily, she stalked across the floor, passing Murdock, who was looking at his knife, confused. Slamming the door shut, Ethel returned to the couch, passing straight through Murdock, who had stepped in front of her. He slashed his knife down again and watched unbelieving as it passed straight through the woman. Bending, Edith picked up her book from the floor, wincing at the pain in her knees. She'd lost her damn place.

"I don't know," Bob said, "but there's nothing wrong with the door."

"I suppose we have ghosts then," Edith snorted.

"Unless you have a better suggestion," Bob said, smiling inwardly when he saw Ethel's eye begin to twitch.

"You old coot," Ethel said, then having found her place in the book, she returned to her fantasy. One that didn't include feeble minded husband's.

Sighing, Murdock sat on the other end of the couch. How many nights had he relived this nightmare? Bob turned on the television. Jay Leno was on, saying something about sex and politics. Bob turned the volume up and Ethel snapped at him to turn it down. "What did you say? I can't hear you." Then Bob turned it up louder.

Murdock shoved his knife back into his pocket, resigned to a night of bickering. He would have paid more attention to the preacher his mother had dragged him to, if he'd known that hell for him would be an eternity with Bob and Ethel.

copyright 2011 Lisa McCourt Hollar.  All rights reserved.

The Dagger

The Dagger

By Lisa McCourt Hollar

“Are you sure no one’s home?” Al Stevens, known to his friends as Little Al, was hanging half in, half out the window to the back of an old gray house. The occupants of the home were gone, or at least that’s what Kevin had told him when he’d suggested they take a peek inside. A noise somewhere in the house told him that Kevin was wrong.

“Yes,” Kevin Young whispered, his voice hissing his annoyance at Al for doubting him. “I saw them leave myself. The little creepy girl was wearin’ a school girl outfit.”

“A school girl outfit,” Al asked, swinging his leg over the window sill and positioning himself to drop to the ground inside. His head was now hanging outside the window and he eyeballed Kevin suspiciously.

“One of those plaid skirts that parochial schools make their students wear.”

“She doesn’t go to school,” Al said, “my mother said so. A social worker has been asking all over the neighborhood about her.”

“I know,” Kevin said, “that’s what made it so creepy. She had on those white knee socks an’ the skirt barely covered her ass, like she was trying to look sexy. And she was bossing the boy around, like she was in control and not him, even though he’s older.”

“That’s just creepy,” Al said. “She’s what, ten years old?” He had dropped to the floor and was looking around the room, waiting for Kevin to climb in and join him.

“I know,” Kevin said, falling head first through the window. Al shook his head, amazed at the gracelessness of his cousin. Pushing himself to his feet, Kevin looked around and sucked in his breath. “Wha’ you make of this?”

The room appeared to be a study. A computer sat in the corner on a desk and several pieces of furniture were scattered around the room. That wasn’t what caught Kevin’s attention though. Lining one wall was a collection of swords, some of which looked like they dated back to the Civil War. Kevin wasn’t sure when the Civil War was, but he knew it was a long time ago and these swords looked old.

“Don’t touch them,” Al said.

“But they might be worth money,” Kevin said, reaching his hand out to pull a sword off the wall, then quickly pulling it back when Al slapped the back of it. “You didn’ have to hit me,” Kevin yelled.

“I told you not to touch them,” Al said. “Where the hell you think we’re going to unload them? Not down at Goldie’s. He’s not going to buy something this hot when he knows the po-lice will be looking for them.”

“Maybe I’ll just keep it then,” Kevin said.

“Oh sure,” Al said, rolling his eyes. He wondered if the teacher’s kept passing Kevin so he’d be someone else’s problem. “And just where are you going to tell your mom you got it from, or are you just going to let her be surprised when the po po come knocking?”

“Wha-ever,” Kevin said, tired of his cousin always making him feel like a dunce, just because he was 13 and a year older than him. Kevin was still taller than ‘Little’ Al, that should count for something. But Al always acted like he was superior to everyone, even though his leg was twisted and he would never be very tall. He even walked like he was superior and for some reason it worked because no one ever dared call Al handicapped because he walked with a limp; they never even seemed to notice it.

“Let’s check the next room,” Al said and before Kevin could say anything, Al was out the door and down the hall. Kevin took one last look at the swords wishing he owned something so beautiful. A flash of light caught his eye and he looked to the right and saw a knife on display between two wicked looking swords. The dagger looked pretty wicked itself, with silver wolves carved into the design and before Al could come back and tell him how dumb it would be to take it, Kevin snatched the knife off the rack and stuck it in his pocket. As soon as he did, a nervous feeling came over him, like he was being watched. Kevin took a quick look around. Seeing that he was alone in the room, he chuckled at how stupid he was acting, then he hurried out of the room to catch up with his cousin.

“Did you hear that,” Al asked, his voice barely over a whisper. He was standing in the living room, unaware that Kevin had only just come in behind him.

“Hear what,” Kevin whispered back.

“I think someone else is in the house,” Al said, motioning to Kevin to keep quiet. Kevin was just getting ready to tell Al not to ask him questions if he didn’t want him to speak up but a creaking somewhere in the house cautioned him to remain quiet. He looked at his cousin, his eyes wide with fear. Instinctively his hand went to the stolen knife in his pocket. The floor creaked again and then a cat came running into the room. The tabby looked at the two boys, then meowed and ran out of the room.

“It was just a cat,” Kevin said, laughing nervously and pulling his hand away from the knife he’d almost revealed to Al. Al’s eyes narrowed suspiciously.

“Whatcha got in your pocket?”

“Nothin’,” Kevin lied

“If it’s nothing, then why were you reaching for it?”

“I wasn’t reaching for nothin’,” Kevin said, slapping his cousin’s hands away as Al tried to turn him so he could see his back pocket. He knew when he slapped him it would be a mistake, Al always answered a slap with one of his own and harder. The sound of a key in the front door though stopped Al from hitting him back. The two boys froze a moment and then ran for the back room and the window.

***

“That was insane,” Kevin laughed, bursting through his front door, Al right behind him. His heart was racing, adrenaline pumping through his veins, excitement building from nearly being discovered inside the house across the street.

“I thought you said they were going to be gone for a while,” Al said, not feeling the same excitement his cousin did. Al hated close calls. Close calls got you busted and put in prison. His father had taught him that and Big Al would know. He was currently serving 7 to 10 for a close call. Little Al was smarter than his dad though. Goldie had told him that and he believed him. Goldie always paid Al top dollar for anything he brought him and had told him that one day he’d let him come work for him. That wouldn’t happen if Al got busted inside a house on his own block and especially that house. No one went near the creepy girl and her brother. It was just an unspoken rule and if he’d been caught in there he was sure Goldie would think that meant he took too many chances. He was stupid for listening to Kevin in the first place.

“They usually are,” Kevin said. “They never come back this soon. Never!”

Al reached out and cuffed Kevin in the ear. “If they never come back this soon, then why’d they come back now?”

“I don’ know,” Kevin said, rubbing his ear and moving out of Al’s way, letting him take control, even in his own house. Al went up the steps and Kevin followed. He was still rubbing his ear, when he started to follow Al into his room, nearly falling over him. Al had stopped just inside the door and stood staring at Kevin’s bed.

“What are you doin’” Kevin asked, pushing Al, trying to get him to move out of his way. This was his room after all and he wanted in. Then he saw what Al was staring at and froze. The girl from across the street was sitting on his bed, still in her school girl outfit. Her legs were crossed and she was sitting there as though it were her own bed and staring at Al and Kevin as though they were the intruders.

“Don’t just stand there,” the girl said, “come in and shut the door.”

“I think you’ve surprised them,” another voice said and Kevin turned his head to see a boy about 19 years in age standing by the window. He was leaning against it, looking amused.

“What are you doing here,” Kevin asked, trying to make his voice sound threatening. Instead it was shaking a little and he worried that Al would hit him again for being a coward.

“I came to get my property back,” the girl said.

“We don’t have anything of yours,” Al said defensively.

The girl laughed when Al said that. “One of you does. Your smell was all over the house, so we would have known you were there, even if you hadn’t taken anything. If you had just taken a look I might have let it slide, or even if you’d taken another dagger, but the one you took has sentimental value. Give it back and maybe we’ll let you live.

Kevin shifted nervously. Al was still in front of him and he was wondering if he’d be able to run down the steps and out the door before this strange girl or her brother caught him. His thought was answered when the boy suddenly appeared behind him, blocking any chance of escape. Al jumped and turned, having just witnessed the boy in front of him disappear.

“How, how’d you do that,” Kevin asked, his heart racing again, this time from fear and not excitement.

The girl chuckled again and the two cousins moved the rest of the way into the room, the brother pushing them forward. They looked at each other nervously when they heard the door click shut behind them. “You two morons had the bad luck of stealing from vampires.”

“Vampires,” Al scoffed, “vampires aren’t real and even if they were, it’s daylight out. Vampires would be in their coffins right now.”

“Not Day Walkers,” Kevin said. “Day Walkers can be out in the sun.”

“Don’t be a dunce,” Al said, cuffing his cousin on the ear again. “They aren’t vampires. They probably saw us leave out the window .”

“And got here before we did,” Kevin yelled, rounding on his cousin and somehow finding the backbone to cuff him back. Al pulled his fist back and brought it forward, aiming for Kevin’s mouth, but Kevin, prepared for the return attack ducked and threw himself forward, hugging Al’s middle and slamming him against the door. Al pummeled Kevin in the back, but Kevin, tired of the years of abuse at his cousin’s hands didn’t feel the blows and continued to squeeze Al’s middle shoving himself against him as hard as he could, until the boy…vampire pulled him off of his cousin, lifting him in the air and setting him down on the other side of the room.

“You know, you are terribly rude,” the girl said, fixing Al with a stare that should have had him wishing for a hole to open in the ground. Al however had stood up to bullies from the time he was little, determined to be even more of a threat to those that could hurt him than they could be to him. With his life it was survival of the fittest and he aimed for that to include him.

Pulling himself up to his full height, Al stared the girl in the eye and said, “If you think you can do something about it, then why don’t you, instead of just sitting there flapping your jaws.” Al smirked at the girl. Vampire, bah! She must think he was as dumb as his cousin to believe something like that.

The girl looked back at him, then looked at her brother, her eyes questioning. Her brother shrugged his shoulders, a wry smile on his face. Then before Al could react, the girl flew off the bed, her feet barely touching the ground. She grabbed Al by his hair, twisting his neck and ripping his head off. Kevin fell over backwards as blood spurted across the room. Fascinated, he watched as the two vampires drank Al’s blood which had slowed its eruption once Al’s heart stopped beating.

Once the two vampires had finished feeding, they turned to Kevin. Kevin knew he didn’t stand a chance and didn’t even attempt to defend himself. Instead he reached into his back pocket and pulled out the dagger. Holding it out he offered it to the girl. “I’m sorry,” Kevin said, “I just never owned something as nice as this before.”

The girl vampire took the knife from Kevin and looked at it a moment before sticking it into her purse. “Your cousin was mean to you,” she said, “but he isn’t the only one, is he?”

Kevin shook his head, the memory of beatings from his father, his mother, his step-father and even a few of the neighborhood bullies came to mind. He closed his eyes.

“My name is Trina,” the vampire whispered. “My father did horrible things to me. When I became a vampire I wanted to kill him for all he had done, but I couldn’t stand the thought of drinking his blood. I killed him with this dagger.”

After she stopped speaking, Kevin braced himself for her bite. When nothing happened he opened them and looked around. His room was empty, even Al’s body was gone and the blood was cleaned up. There was no evidence that Al had ever been killed in his room. The only proof Kevin had that something had happened was the dagger lying on the floor in front of him.

***

“Kevin?”

“Yes,” Kevin asked, looking up at his Aunt’s face. It had been a few days since Al’s disappearance and she looked worried.

“Have you heard anything from Al?”

“Nothing,” Kevin said, shrugging his shoulders while he examine his hands.

“He hasn’t shown up yet,” Kevin’s mom asked, looking at her son nervously. He’d changed in the last few days, gaining more confidence since Al took off. He’d started hanging out across the street with that brother and sister. She wasn’t sure she liked that. She slapped him once, when she’d told him to stay away from them. He’d slapped her back, knocking her against the wall. Then he’d laid his step dad out on the ground when he’d tried to step in. Kevin had pulled a knife out of his back pocket then and pointed it at Jerrod.

“I won’t take any more beatings,” Kevin said. “I’m done with them. Touch me again and it will be the last thing you do!” Then he’d gone across the street and was over there the rest of the day.

His mother and his aunt exchanged looks when Kevin repeated that he didn’t know where Al was. They were both sure he was lying. They were also both sure Al was probably dead. Al’s mother rubbed her cheek, remembering how her son had cuffed her the same day he disappeared. She supposed she wasn’t too terribly sad that he was gone.

Copyright© 2011 Lisa McCourt Hollar. All rights reserved.

The Things That Kill

I have been going through my portfolio, partly in an attempt to see what I have that I can submit to various anthologies and magazines and maybe even put together a collection of my flash stories for kindle. This is a story I wrote a while back for a contest on Indiehorror.com. I hope you enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it.

 The Things That Kill

by Lisa McCourt Hollar

 My step-dad kept a gun under the bed. We all knew it was there. We also knew we would get the shit beaten out of us if we touched it. He kept it loaded. “What good does a gun do, if the bullets aren’t in it,” he would say when my mom complained. “If some dickhead breaks in and I have to take the time to put bullets in it, we might as well kiss our asses’ goodbye.”

Mom didn’t argue too much with Jones over the issue. The one time she did, after catching my sister lying on the floor, staring under the bed at the gun…but never touching, he’d pulled the gun out and pointed it at my mom. It was a rifle and the barrel of it scared the crap out of me, seeing him point it at her. “One more word out of you and I’ll shoot you myself. Then you won’t have to worry about whether or not Ashley shoots her foot off.

One day Jones decided I was big enough to go hunting. I was only ten and by law, supposed to go through some kind of training for kids. Jones said that was for a bunch of wusses and pansies and no kid of his was going to be taught how to shoot by dickless assholes that thought guns killed. “Guns don’t kill, people do. Now let’s go kill us a deer.”

And that was the end of that. Mom was still sporting a black eye from the week before when she’d tried to suggest he should cut back on his drinking, so she wasn’t about to suggest that I might be too young to go hunting. 

We were out all day, starting before dawn and coming home after dark. We hadn’t seen a deer anywhere, but Jones was a patient man, at least where hunting was concerned. He said we were going out again in the morning.  My mom must not have been thinking about the black eye because she reminded him that I had school in the morning and couldn’t go hunting. He let her know that I could and gave her a shiner on her other eye to match the first.

I hated him. I hated my mom a little more for letting him treat her like a human punching bag.

The next day Jones dragged me out of bed while it was still dark. For the second time I rubbed deer piss on me, but it was getting me out of school, so I kept my mouth shut.

We sat in the cold again most of the day. Jones brought along beer and cracked one open. I was surprised when he passed it to me.

“Go ahead,” he said, “your mom don’t need to know.”

“I didn’t really want to, but out there, alone in the woods with Jones, I was afraid not to. 

Swallowing I grimaced; I didn’t care for the taste. Jones laughed. “Grow hair on your chest,” he said, taking it from me, drinking, and then passing it back again. Reluctantly I took another swig.  That one didn’t taste so bad; future alcoholic in the making.

Most of the day went by without a sighting, then, just when we were about to call it a day, we saw a big buck in a clearing. I was tired and just wanted to go home, but Jones wasn’t leaving without his prize.  Jones knelt down next to me and held the gun out. I just stared at it dumbly. He had said never to touch the gun.

“Take it you moron,” he said. 

I took the gun, the shape of it foreign in my hand. He showed me how to hold the butt against my shoulder. Then he helped me aim it at the buck. 

“Now all you have to do is pull the trigger.”

I stared at the buck, sweating in spite of the cold. My hand was shaking. The creature looked so beautiful and regal.

“Pull the trigger you wuss,” Jones said, his voice rough. I felt the communion he and I experienced that day fading away.  “PULL IT!” He didn’t shout; so much as emphasize his anger at me. Closing my eyes I pulled the trigger. Pain shot through my shoulder as the rifle exploded backwards. I heard Jones cussing as he yanked it from my hand. Opening my eyes I saw him aiming at the fleeing buck. The deer managed to escape into the woods before Jones could get him in his sights.

I arrived home black and blue from the beating he’d given me. He walked in past my mother and shoved the gun back under the bed. My mother took one look at me and started crying. Some sort of motherly instinct seemed to take over and she threw herself on Jones as soon as he reentered the room. She was pummeling him with her fists and screaming that he was NOT to touch her children. Ashley was in the corner crying. Jones slammed his fist into my mom’s mouth. Blood exploded everywhere. He knocked her down with that punch and I saw her head hit the table and bust open. Something inside me snapped.

Rushing to their room I pulled the gun out from under the bed. Returning to the living room I pointed it at my step-dad and told him to get out. He laughed. 

Grabbed Ashley off the floor, he shook her like a rag doll. “Give me the gun,” he growled, holding her in the air.

Shaking my head, I aimed the gun at Jones and pulled the trigger. I didn’t close my eyes this time, so I saw him move, putting Ashley in front of him. In slow motion I saw the bullet hit Ashley in her stomach, and then pass through, slamming into Jones’s heart. 

When the police arrived, the gun was back under the bed. Jones was right. Guns don’t kill people. Bullets do.

Copyright© 2011 Lisa McCourt Hollar.  All rights reserved.

The Horror On Drurry Lane

In keeping with my Christmas theme, here is a different kind of a horror, The Horror On Drurry Lane.  Oh, that Muffin Man is an evil little troll.


Gingy clung to her sisters as the huge man towered over them. Licking his swollen lips, he had a gleam in his eyes and smiled, almost joyfully as he listened to the screams of her youngest sister, Candy. Only moments ago they had thought the man harmless, willingly going with him when he had approached the trio, inquiring as to their price. His smile had fooled them and Candy had giggled as this huge teddy bear of a man had pulled her into his arms. He’d stroked her face with his hand and Gingy had watched with longing, wanting him to touch her the same way. Then so quickly that none of the sisters realized what he was about to do, he plucked Candy’s eyes right out of her head and popped them into his mouth, his eyes closing blissfully as he chewed his stolen treat. He was done now and staring at them, as though deciding what horrific thing he was going to do next.

Shuddering, Gingy realized he was reaching for her and tried to shrink back, attempting to evade his meaty grasp. His smile widened as he grabbed her arm, twisting and breaking it. As she screamed in agony the fat man chortled, his jolly laugh seeming out of place, considering the horror of his actions.

She screamed again as he twisted her leg, snarling out a “Ho” as her leg broke with a snap and a crunch... Somehow his word came out as a booming laugh. The man was enjoying himself.

Gingy closed her eyes, cursing the life she and her sisters had been sold into. If only they had listened to their mother when the smiling man had come to take them from their home. She had told them to run and hide, but Gingy had convinced her sisters that life outside their small home would be an adventure. Ignoring their mother’s pleas they had left.

The man was a business man and had promised the girls good work on Drury Lane. He’d dressed them up and put them on display, promising their services to the highest bidder. He was a good sales man, promising his customers whatever they wanted. “Come on,” he’d said to one in particular. “You always get the same muffins. I got a couple a new cookies here that you are going to love. Just give them a try.”

Gingy had enjoyed the looks this would be customer had given her and had sought to entice him, wanting to be chosen. And chosen she had been, along with her sisters, by this seemingly harmless old man. He had smiled at the sisters with such longing that Gingy had hoped he could meet their price. Now she would pay anything to be back home in her mother’s arms.

Pulling her towards him, the man licked Gingy’s lips, lustfully tasting the frosting slathered across her lips. Gingy whimpered, closing her eyes and wishing him away from her. His tongue continued to caress her lips and then her neck. He paused a moment, breathing in her scent, then flicked his tongue out once more, tasting her fear. Gingy cringed at the feel of his tongue, repulsed. Suddenly her eyes popped open as she felt his teeth sink into her delicate throat. Shocked, she gasped trying to fathom what had just happened. The fat pig had taken a chunk out of her!

Feeling violated in the worst way Gingy opened her mouth in a silent scream as she felt his tongue exploring the inside of her neck, his saliva oozing into her wound. She tried to beg him to stop, but the words wouldn't come. Tearfully she prayed to whatever god's she thought would listen and for a moment she thought her prayers had been heard. The man had stopped and for a brief minute she thought he was done and that maybe he would leave her and her sisters. Her eyes closed, she held her breath, pushing him away with her mind. She listened to his heavy breathing, waiting for it to fade as he moved away, but then she heard him chuckle again and realized he wasn't finished with her. She felt his tongue sliding up her leg as he chortled another “Ho,” and then bit into her thigh, taking most of it away with him. And still she couldn't scream.

After a time the shock began to wear off, or maybe she was just beginning to go into shock, but she could hear muffled screams coming from beside her. Rolling her eyes to the side she saw Sugar being held in place by the man's fleshy hand. To her horror half of Sugar's face was missing, her eyes beginning to glaze over. The word that Sugar kept screaming over and over finally began to make sense and as she heard her screaming Candy's name Gingy rolled her eyes back up, following Sugar's stare. Candy or at least Candy's arm was hanging out of the creature’s mouth! Then with a slurp the last of her sister disappeared and was ground up by the man/creatures teeth.

Before Gingy had a chance to react, to register in her mind what had happened, the man pulled Sugar to him, finishing off the rest of her head and then arms, legs and everything else. Numb, Gingy just lay there, waiting for him. Smiling, the man turned his eyes back to her and chuckled again, another booming "Ho!" Then pulling her towards him she watched as his great maw opened revealing razor sharp teeth. Gingy felt pain as he bit into her and then nothing as she joined her sisters.

"Well, what do you think?" The smiling man asked. "Didn't I tell you I had a coupl’a sweet cookies for you?"

"Ho ho ho!" The man laughed. "Those were the best cookies I've ever tasted. Almost seemed criminal to eat them."

"So you'll give me your endorsement?"

"You betcha! You can spread the word that Santa Claus loves your cookies. They may even sing you a new song!"

"You think so?"

"Sure sure. How about this... Do you know the cookie man, the cookie man, the cookie man...?