DarkFuse Anthology 4 Read online

  Table of Contents

  DARKFUSE

  Volume 4

  Other Books In This Series

  Connect With Us

  ZOO

  Antimacassar

  The Grylocks

  Inflatable War

  The Intruder

  Buried Soldiers

  About the Editor

  About the Authors

  About the Publisher

  DARKFUSE

  Volume 4

  Edited by Shane Staley

  First Edition

  DarkFuse, Volume 4 © 2016 by Shane Staley

  All stories © 2016 by individual authors.

  All Rights Reserved.

  A DarkFuse Release

  www.darkfuse.com

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Other Books In This Series

  DarkFuse #1

  DarkFuse #2

  DarkFuse #3

  Check out all anthologies published by DarkFuse. For a complete list:

  http://www.darkfuseshop.com/Anthologies/

  Connect With Us

  Find out why DarkFuse is the premier publisher of dark fiction.

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  ZOO

  S.C. Hayden

  Jake thumped the glass with his balled hand. The creature inside didn’t move.

  “Is it dead?” Jake asked.

  “Don’t you believe it,” Jake’s father said. “That’s what it wants you to think.”

  The man in the cage was naked, skin pale. He stood stock-still, a statue carved from white marble.

  “Why doesn’t he do something?” Jake inquired, pounding on the glass again. Sandy could hear the whine creeping into her brother’s voice.

  “Just wait,” their father said. A knowing smile teased his lips.

  A steel door at the rear of the cage opened and a nude, heavyset woman with wild red hair stumbled through. The door shut behind her with a heavy clack. She looked around, wide-eyed, weeping, trembling.

  “I don’t like this,” Sandy said.

  “Why?” Jake asked, “She’s just a criminal, right, Dad?”

  “That’s right, Jakey,” their father said, dropping a hand on his son’s shoulder. “All the feeders are criminals.”

  The woman tripped over a plastic shrub and nearly fell. She hadn’t seen the man yet.

  Sandy stepped back, clutched her stuffed pony tightly.

  “Who knows what she did,” Jake said, bouncing excitedly. “Probably something really bad.”

  The thing in the cage lifted its arms and rose into the air, vacant stony face twisting into a hungry sneer. It was sickeningly beautiful. Sandy forgot her fear and watched, mesmerized. It floated like smoke, then descended cobra-quick on the terror-struck woman.

  Blood fanned out across the glass and their view was obscured in ruby haze.

  “Man,” Jake wailed, “what a rip-off. I can’t see anything.”

  “I want to go home,” Sandy said.

  “Why?” Jake asked, cupping his eyes to the glass, trying to see through the gore. “It’s just nature, right, Dad?”

  “Well, kind of,” Jake and Sandy’s father said. “Vampires don’t exist in nature. That fella was bioengineered.”

  “You know what I mean,” Jake said, rubbing the glass with his hand, as though he could somehow wipe the other side clean.

  * * *

  It was Sandy’s first time at the SunCorp Monster Zoo, but Jake had gone the year before. Of course now he acted like the world’s foremost expert on all things monster and zoo related. Sometimes, Sandy thought, he was impossible.

  “Alright kids, let’s move on. There’s still plenty to see.”

  They turned away from the wet slurping sounds behind the glass, walked down the long lighted hallway and stopped in front of the next enclosure.

  “Oh, boy,” Jake said, “I forgot all about the zombies.”

  Three nude bodies, two men and one woman, shambled slack-jawed and senseless. The woman turned abruptly and walked face-first into the glass. Jake jumped back and let out a distinctly childish squawk. He tried to play it off as though he hadn’t been frightened, but Sandy saw it, clear as sunshine, and was already cherishing the memory.

  The woman worked her jaw against the glass leaving grimy wet streaks. Her skin was gray-white in places, blue-black in others. Her eyes reminded Sandy of the little onions her father sometimes skewered on toothpicks and dropped into his cocktails.

  A steel door, just like the last one, opened. This time it was a man. He was younger than the woman had been.

  All three of the zombies stumbled after him, but he was faster than they were. He dodged and ducked and spun away. Light on his feet, muscular, he looked like he could keep it up all day long. Silently, Sandy found herself rooting for him.

  “They’re never going to catch him,” Jake said, the whine creeping back into his voice. “They’re too slow.”

  “Don’t be so sure, Jakey.”

  The steel door slid open. A man wearing a black uniform and holding a rifle appeared in the doorway. He sighted briefly, shot the feeder in the leg, then disappeared again behind the door.

  “That’s not fair!” Sandy yelled suddenly. She hadn’t thought about it. It just came out.

  Jake glared at her with open contempt.

  The man groaned, held his knee, toppled. He tried to push himself away with one leg but the zombies were on him in no time.

  Sandy tried to imagine what the man could have possibly done to deserve this. Kill someone, she guessed, but still.

  She heard her father’s voice in her head. The science behind the zoo is the science that cures diseases and engineers the next generation’s food crops. The feeders may have lived their lives as criminals, but in death they contribute. That’s a good thing, honey.

  * * *

  When they finally reached the werewolf cage, there was a small crowd gathered in front. The werewolf was new, so it was the main attraction. Jake had talked about it incessantly the entire ride over. Sandy didn’t see what the big deal was. It was just another monster, after all.

  “This is the world’s first werewolf, kids,” their father said. “SunCorp’s biotechs couldn’t figure out how to engineer the mutation. They finally came up with a pathogenesis vector system that literally infects the host with recombinant DNA.”

  “Pathogenesis?” Jake said.

  “Consider that your homework, Jakey,” their father said, winking. “I want you to look it up when we get home and tell me what it means.”

  Beyond the glass, a young boy sat in semidarkness, hugging his knees. He was, Sandy guessed, only a couple years older than she was. Jake’s age, about twelve. He looked sad, and frightened, and alone. Sandy squeezed her pony and wondered if they would let her give it to him. He looked like he needed a friend.

  “When is he going to change?” Jake said. “He’s just sitting there.”

  “Should be any time now, Jakey. SunCorp engineered it so he�
��ll change back and forth every few minutes as long as he’s awake.”

  Sandy reached down, slid a finger under her sock and scratched. Why was she so itchy? When she pulled her hand out, there was blood under the nail. Her stomach clenched.

  “Look,” Jake said, “something’s happening.” Jake was rocking back and forth like a ninny-hammer. Sandy didn’t use the word “hate,” so in that moment she strongly disliked her brother.

  The little boy’s eyes rolled up and his head snapped from side to side. Varied sounds of appreciation rose from the crowd. Jake looked like he was going to come out of his socks.

  “I don’t like this,” Sandy said.

  No one answered.

  The boy flailed. White foam bubbled out of his mouth and nose. Sandy had seen a girl have a seizure at camp. It was similar.

  Arching backward, the boy’s neck wrenched at an impossible angle and Sandy caught his upturned eyes. There was an unmistakable sheen of pain and fear.

  “He’s hurting, Daddy. Make it stop.”

  No one answered.

  Black hair sprouted from the boy’s sweat-slick skin.

  “I don’t like it! I don’t like it! I don’t like it! Make it STOP!” Screaming now, tears streaming. Definitely making what her father would call, a scene. People were staring.

  She didn’t want to lose it in front of her brother but she couldn’t help it. It was just too much.

  * * *

  Sandy sat alone in her room, arms wrapped around her legs, rocking. Her pony sat next to her, silent and still.

  She just couldn’t get that little boy out of her head. Who was he? she wondered. Why had they done that to him? Why had his parents let them? Was he a criminal, like the feeders? Could little boys even be criminals?

  Someone knocked at the door and Jake padded into her room a moment later. He’d complained the whole way home, called her a baby, called her a pain, said she’d ruined the trip by making them leave early.

  On top of that, her ankle had gone red and started leaking pus. It was still itchy but she couldn’t scratch it because it hurt too much.

  But now Jake was standing in her room. He was smiling. He was going to apologize, she was sure of it. A warm glow flushed through her. She loved her brother. Underneath it all, he was okay. She scooped up her pony and gave it a reassuring squeeze.

  Jake snatched the pony out of her hand. “That’s a stupid baby toy,” he said, “and you’re a stupid baby.”

  The pain was sudden and deep. It ached in her heart and in her belly.

  Why?

  Without thinking, she reached out and grabbed his arm. She didn’t pull hard, but it came off at the shoulder anyway.

  * * *

  “Killjoy residence,” Jake and Sandy’s father said. He paused, listening. “Now? Tonight?”

  “Who is it, honey?” Mrs. Killjoy inquired.

  Mr. Killjoy held up his hand. “I see. Okay. I see.”

  He hung up.

  “What was that all about?”

  “I have to take the kids back to SunCorp.” He looked dazed.

  “Tonight? It’s late. They have school.”

  “Yes, tonight. Right away, in fact.” He stared at the telephone as though he’d never seen it before.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “There’s been an outbreak at the zoo,” he said. “Cross contamination.”

  “How?”

  “Fleas,” he said, shaking his head, as though trying to convince himself, rather than her.

  They heard a series of loud screams directly above them.

  “Jakey!” He gasped and sprinted for the stairs.

  * * *

  Mr. Killjoy opened the door to Sandy’s room. His daughter, the thing that had been his daughter, crouched in a wet slurry of entrails. She held Jake’s severed head in her hands, cradled and rocked it as though it was a baby and she its loving mother.

  Sandy tried to tell her father that she’d been wrong at the zoo, that the boy hadn’t been in pain after all. She wanted to tell him that the change didn’t hurt. She wanted to tell him that the change was wonderful, but all that came out was a series of snarls and barks.

  Antimacassar

  E. G. Smith

  “Have a seat,” said the old woman, sweeping a lace kerchief over a couch, a loveseat and two armchairs, all with crazed gilt frames and floral upholstery. “I’ll make a fresh pot of tea.”

  Gavin toed the fringe of a threadbare Persian rug. “Thank you, but I just need to know if your phone’s working. I’m three doors down. Apartment three-ten. My phone’s dead.”

  Her tongue clicked like a metronome as she smoothed the lace collar on her black dress. “So much death in the world. Practically everyone I know is gone. If you think about it, the departed must outnumber the living a thousand to one. It’s as if you and I are interlopers in a world of ghosts. Don’t you agree?”

  He regretted knocking on her door the moment she opened it and he rued it now. If only he’d stayed in his new apartment and given the phone until morning to fix itself instead of playing Russian roulette with strangers’ doors along the hallway. Gavin wasn’t one to introduce himself to his neighbors, much less discuss his work or his interests. Nods and smiles while passing in the lobby provided more than enough social interaction, while awkward and silent shared rides in an elevator left him exhausted. Sitting down for tea with a dotty old woman might be the death of him. If she got out photo albums, death would be welcome.

  He took a step back toward the door. “I suppose that’s true, but I…”

  “You remind me of my Gerald.” She followed, her face inches from his own. “The same fidgety eyes. The same flighty demeanor. Can you believe that he ran away after ten years of marriage leaving me alone here in this big apartment? No penitent goodbye speech, just two lines of his chicken scratch on our stationery explaining that I’d never see him again.”

  He retreated another step, squeaking the wood floor. “That’s terrible, but…”

  “You can imagine how devastating that would be for a sheltered housewife who’d only known one man. It was unendurable. It’s a miracle that I found a way forward.” Powder cracked and crumbled from her crow’s-feet, spotting her black velvet dress. “Still, men are such good company. Like yourself. I’m certain you’ll be endless fun to talk with. Make yourself right at home.”

  Gavin receded again, one foot stumbling over the other. “That’s very kind of you but I don’t have time. I’m moving in today. I’ve got boxes piled…”

  “A new tenant, how exciting.” Her wiry fingers snared his arm and tugged him onto the rug.

  Gavin sidestepped a coffee table and squatted over the first section of sofa cushion.

  The woman gasped. “Oh, not on my Chesterfield. There’s room on the fainting couch.”

  He stood and considered the empty pieces of antique furniture, unsure.

  “The smaller one, with one arm.” She circled the table and patted floral chenille. “Right here. I won’t be a moment.”

  He took his place as the old woman scurried away, smiling back at him from the hall before disappearing.

  Stuck in time and tinged with decay, the room reminded Gavin of a museum display or perhaps a funeral parlor lobby. In either case it just needed a velvet rope on stanchions to complete the effect. Doilies hung on the walls like spiderwebs and slumped on every wooden surface like the chalky skeletons of sea creatures abandoned by ebb tides. Black and white photographs of men with greased hair and narrow ties scowled back from their frames on the walls. Flaps of linen fabric—antimacassars, Gavin believed they were called—hung down the back of every chair and sofa section, each shadowed with the greasy silhouette of a head. Impressions of bony hips lingered like fossil tracks in the cushions and imprints of elbows dented frayed armrests. There was no sign of a phone.

  The woman returned, handing Gavin a bone china cup. “I think you’ll agree my tea is singular. It’s a very old recipe I came across not long after
Gerald left. It goes back centuries.”

  The sepia liquid smelled of moldering earth and brown bits of leaves floated on its frothed surface. He would drink one cup to fulfill this excruciating social obligation and then bid this woman a good rest of her life and lock himself in his apartment and perhaps blockade the door with moving boxes. He no longer cared whether or not his phone worked. He’d had enough conversation to last him a long while.

  She stooped over his shoulder as he drank, a dewlap of skin jiggling from her neck. “It’s quite restorative, you know.”

  “It’s uh…singular,” he said, shuddering. The tea tasted foul and stung his throat. He coughed and drank again. “Do you live alone?”

  “I’m never alone. Everyone I care for is here within these walls, keeping me company forever. I can still see their faces, real as life.”

  Gavin eyed the portraits encircling the room like a dour prayer circle and swallowed the dregs with a shudder. “That must be comforting.”

  “It is.” She turned to one of the armchairs. “Isn’t it, Mr. Blaine?”

  The room blurred and the cup fell from his hand and rolled on the rug. Gavin stooped to pick it up but his fingers pinched through the handle as if it were made of wet clay. He sat up and half-saw a man with gossamer white hair in a diaphanous gray suit occupying the chair before him.

  The old woman’s cloudy eyes swept the room. “Everyone, this is our new tenant, Mr.…”