As per your request

An idea for a  horror story that came to me last night when I was falling asleep. Enjoy!

It sits there in my inbox. The clip. Taunting me, daring me to watch it. I don't want to, but I don't know how long I can stay away.

I got the first clip six days ago. At first I thought it was from a friend, but on closer inspection, the email address was slightly off. The email itself held no message, the subject line only said ”Per your request”. Being around the start of April, I figured it must have been a joke, but the video was seriously weird. Besides it wasn't funny. Quite the contrary, it was incredibly atmospheric and creepy.

A long shot descending a concrete stair, filth and discarded items slowing the journey down. The lighting was very poor, in fact there was just enough light to make out general details. The video had no sound, apart from a static buzzing that faded in and out.

At the bottom of the stairs, the camera rested, almost dwelling on a narrow corridor disappearing into darkness. It then panned slowly to the right, past a broken door frame, paint flaking off it's cheap finish. Harsh shadows threw the room beyond into a jagged mosaic of wet, stained concrete. Mostly empty, the chamber contained a few pieces of smashed furniture. Suddenly something scuttled in and out of frame across the lower right hand corner, and the clip cut off. That was all. In total, three minutes to the second.

I'm not ashamed to say I was pretty freaked out. It made no sense. I asked around, but none of my friends copped to making and sending it. A couple of days passed, but I couldn't stop thinking about it.

Finally, on Friday night, I pulled it up and watched it over and over again. I tried to figure out what the scuttling thing was, but I had no luck at all. It was too bulky to be a rat, it's motions were too crab-like to be a cat or a dog. Finally I gave up and went to bed. I slept badly, my dreams violated by the clip and it's undulating static buzzing.

When I woke up, my head was pounding and I felt like shit. With a cup of coffee at hand I sat down at my computer, and found another mail in my inbox. The subject line the same ”Per your request”. Again the message box was empty, but there was a new clip attached. I carefully scanned it for viruses, but it came up clean. I double clicked it.

The clip started exactly where the first one left off. Now entering the room, the camera panned slowly to the left, and I got the unpleasant feeling that the scuttling thing was right behind me. The camera kept turning, and a pale blurry mass came into view. As the picture slowly came into focus, the static buzz rose sharply in volume and I saw a manniquin standing stiffly in the corner. Her white plastic body was naked and she had what looked like jam smeared all over her groin, running in sticky red rivulets down her legs. The camera focused in on the dripping mess, before crawling obscenely up her body. My stomach bubbled as the camera passed her breasts and stopped at her face. Like all manniquins it held an empty, vacuous stare, but the way the corners of her mouth was pulled down made me feel like she was disgusted. After lingering on her face for what seemed like forever, the camera started to turn to the right. The buzzing was still almost painfully loud, but I didn't care. The picture swept across the filthy room, everything a hazy mess, and stopped at something I thought might be an old bed. As the focus sharpened, I saw that it was indeed an old rusty steel-framed bed with a nasty, stained mattress. Just as the picture became clear, a shrill scream tore through my speakers and something pale slammed into the lens from the left. Everything went black.

I screamed and knocked my coffee off the table.

The rest of the day was spent in a feverish haze. I thought about going to the police, but they'd just laugh at me.

Could it be some kind of art project? I knew several artists in college, some quite freaky and out there. That idea calmed me, that had to be it. Someone had made this as a project and sent it without warning to maximize the effect. Come Monday, they'd call and we'd laugh about it. But as darkness fell, the fear came creeping back. Unable, even unwilling to sleep, I spent the night watching anything I could find on the web to distract me. Comedy clips, failed stunts, anything to stop thinking about the videos. Maybe I should have tried to read instead, I don't know. Doesn't matter now.

I jerked awake in my chair, unaware that I had even dropped off. The clock showed 4.15 am. I rubbed my swollen eyes, and saw I had an unread mail. My whole body tensed up, and my hand shook so badly I barely got the page up. Same sender again, same goddamn subject line: ”As per your request”. I opened the mail. This time there was only a message.

”You got what you wanted, now payment is due.”.

I couldn't say how long I sat there just staring at the message. As the sun slowly rose above my windowsill, I became aware of another mail. Same subject line again. No message, just a clip.

Barely able to breathe, I started it.

Not the basement this time. A street. My street. My front door. The same sickening buzzing. Then it cut off.

My gut cramped and I vomited all over my lap. When the heavings stopped, there was a new mail, a new clip.

I don't want to watch it.

I think I have to.

Urban Horror 2

Cont. from Chapter 1. It's not 100% complete.

Urban Horror ch. 2

The events of the previous evening had left Jack feeling drained and tired. It was only with the help of the whiskey that he'd gotten any sleep at all, if one could call the booze-drenched images of Candy tearing through his subconsious, sleep.

After a late breakfast of coffee and painkillers, he found himself outside a dingy fourth floor apartment on Dean Street. This was the final known address of the now cadaverous Candy Cane. Brody didn't know where she lived, but he had her number. Luckily she didn't use a burner, and it was a small task for Jack to dig up the billing address. Apparently, her real name had been Jennifer Price. To Jack, she would always be Candy.

Out of habit, he made sure no one was around before picking the lock, even though it was one of those buildings where no one gave a crap about anything not affecting them directly.

Once inside, Jack paused to get a feel of her home. It was a technique his old training officer on the force had taught him. Get a feel for the whole, before dissecting the minutiae. Not everyone could do he apparently, but to Jack it was second nature. Maybe that was why he had been fast tracked to detective. Oh well, bygones and all that shit.

The apartment was small, just two cramped rooms, a tiny open kitchen and a surprisingly spacey bathroom. The living room was a bit messy, like Candy had not been bothered with cleaning the last few months. Nothing too disgusting, but dirty plates were piled on the table, used pots on the kitchen counter and clothes strewn over everything. At first glance, the place looked tossed, but the way the debris had settled in told another story.

Jack started with the bathroom. Like the rest of the apartment, it was a mess. A cursory search of the cabinets told him nothing. Half used make up and hygiene products in untidy piles, no medication that would indicate a pill problem. Jack had gotten a good look at her body before it tore itself off the wall, and he had seen no needle marks. Over all, it seemed Candy wasn't a user.

Next he looked over her bedroom. The sheets in the unmade bed had needed a change months ago, but to his surprise the linen closet was well stocked. Tidy stacks of laundered sheets lay waiting for him when he opened the door. For some reason Candy had stopped caring. Usually this would indicate drugs, but everything pointed in another direction. But which direction was that?

Something in the bed caught his eye, and he carefully lifted a corner of the soiled sheet. A half closed laptop peeked out, Jackpot he thought. He sat down and opened the computer. It was running, but in sleepmode. He touched the mousepad, and the locked screensaver popped into life. Of course, why can't anything ever just be easy. He tried ”CandyCane” and almost laughed out loud when the login screen went away and left him with full access. The computer was a quite a few years old, but not so ancient as to be useless. The desktop wallpaper showed a graphic image of a woman in a black gothic dress exctatically cutting the throat of a naked man kneeling befire her in rapture. Charming. Now lets see what you were into.

Unlike anything mankind has ever used before, a private computer gives an insight into it's owner that took weeks of interrogation and investigation just a couple of decades ago. Now a quick once over of browser history and hard drive was all it took. Jack started with the hard drive. Some downloaded music, a couple of movies, nothing that interesting. Then he turned to the browser. No significant bookmarks. Just a couple of news and porn sites, but in the address bar he found something; www.caressyourpain.org. He opened the url and jumped as a ghastly moan erupted from the tinny speakers. For a second he was back in the dressing room, with Candy's corpse crawling up the wall. Heart hammering against his ribs, Jack stabbed the volume button viciously until the sound was at a managable level.

If he'd have to guess in advance he would have pegged the site as some kind of fetish page. Black background, chains and pale girls in black latex, that sort of thing, but he was wrong. Dead wrong. At first it looked like the home page for some underground band, then he found a lot of posts about some philosophical nihilism. It made no sense whatsoever, but it had been important to Candy, so he wrote down the url, and her log in information before putting the laptop back on the bed. He decided to take one last look around.

He stood in the middle of what had been her life, when there was a knock on the door. Jack froze in midstep, his breath catching in his throat. Shit, shit shit. Then a thin voice called out, 'Jenn, it's me'.

Jack took a deep breath and relaxed. He opened the door, and with every ounce of authority he could call up asked, 'Can I help you?'. In the hallway stood a skinny barefoot woman in faded jeans and a dull off-white tank top. Her dark hair fell limply around her pale face, giving her sunken eyes and hollow cheeks a cadaverous look. She jumped back and said, 'You're not Jen, where is she? Who're you?'.

For a moment he almost answered ”NYPD” but she looked paraniod enough to demand to see a badge, so he just said 'I'm her brother, who the fuck are you?'

She glared at him. 'Jen doesn't have any siblings, what's going on?'.

He forced himself to relax a bit and open the door a bit more. 'No surprise she told you that. We never got along, ever. Haven't talked to her in years, but there's been an accident.'

Her eyes grew large. 'Is she ok? What happened?'

He moved so the girl could step inside. Closing the door, his mind racing he said, 'Look's like Ca-Jennifer stepped out in front of a bus last night. Dead on impact, cops say she never felt a thing. You her friend or something?'

The girl collapsed bonelessly on the couch, eyes fixed on the ceiling. For a long time she neither moved nor spoke, and Jack was becoming worried she might have had some kind of seizure. Only her rapid breathing told him she was alive at all. Finally she turned her head, lowered her gaze and looked at him. 'I'm Liza. Jenn was my best friend. My only friend really. I live down the hall. Her brother, huh? Must have been nice growing up in Florida'.

'It was ok, I guess', he said before he could stop himself. With the speed of a furious snake Liza snatched up a heavy ashtray from the table and threw it at his head. It grazed his scalp, and he barely ducked in time as she swung a lamp at him screaming 'YOU LYING MOTHERFUCKER!'. She swung again, but he caught it. They wrestled for a second until he stomped on her bare foot and as she twiched in pain, he pushed her down on the couch.

'Fucking cut it out, ok?' he snarled at her. She started to get up but caught the look in his eyes and hesitated, body tensed as a coiled spring.

Jack gently touched his head and his fingers came away red. 'Shit! Look, take it easy, I'm private detective, I'm looking into Jennifers death, that's all.'

Lizas eyes were still livid, but she seemed to relax for a moment. 'Why would a private eye investigate a traffic accident? This is bullshit!' She jumped up aggressively.

Jack held out a hand between them and said, 'I'll level with you but if you come at me again, I'll put you on your fucking ass, woman or no. Got it?'

She glared at him and just as suddenly as she attacked, she collapsed in tears.

He had seen this before, and knew better than to intrude on her grief. Liza had to work through this on her own terms. Instead he stepped into the bathroom to look for some antiseptic salve and a band aid of some kind. When he got back to the living room, Liza had calmed down, and sat on the couch staring sullenly out of the only window in the room.

'You ok?', he asked. 'Hey, I'm sorry I lied, but in my line the truth can be dangerous.'

She kept staring out of the window, and after a while she asked, 'How did Jen die?'.

It was the question he'd been dreading. The whole truth wouldn't work, but he really didn't want to lie to this miserable girl again. He sat down on the coffee table opposite her, forcing her to look at him and said, 'She was murdered at work.' Lizas eyes got that dangerous look again, and he hastily added, 'not by anyone she worked with. It was an outsider. I'm trying to figure out who. If you want to help, you can start by telling me about Jen.'

Liza sighed and started to talk.

Urban Horror 1

This is a horror exercise I've been working on.

Chapter 1: It can always get worse.

Jack stepped out of the car and zipped up his coat. Brooklyn was always cold in the fall, but this far south, so close to the water, the wind was freezing. With shivering hands, he lit a cigarrette, and went off to find the right address.

A little over an hour ago he had been warm amd snug in his office, sipping coffee and watching the game, and now he was freezing his balls off trying to find an underground porn studio.

These studios were floating, always on the move from one location to the next to avoid the law. Not that what they did was that illegal per sé, but federal law conserning adult film was always tricky. Or so Jack had been told. One of his old buddies from the army, Brody, was making money hand over fist producing porn, while Jack tried to make ends meet as a private dick. It was Brody's desperate call that brought Jack down to the cold warehouse district at half past ten, very much in the p.m.

Jack rounded a corner and spotted a large nasty looking guy pacing restlessly outside a steel door. The man saw Jack and said 'You Brodys friend?'

Jack flicked the remains of his smoke into the gutter and simply nodded. The guy grunted and heaved the heavy door open.

As Jack stepped inside he noticed three things immediately. One, it was scorching hot inside, especially coming in from the cold. Two, the whole place reeked of a nasty combo of booze, sweat and old sex, and Three, everyone looked like they had just been punched in the gut. All big eyes and startled, tense body language.

From the outside, the building looked like any one of the thousands of old school brick warehouses that dotted the district, but inside it was quite different. The main area was sectioned off by walls and decorated in varying styles like the habitat decorations at Ikea. If Ikea mainly sold beds and sex toys that is. At a quick glance, Jack counted nine mini sets. Pretty industrious he thought, as he was ushered through the area and past the staring people. He noticed that most of the girls were either on the verge of tears or quietly sobbing, while the guys mainly looked angry and scared.

Beyond the studio area, Jack found a dim corridor with lots of dark green doors, one which was ajar, and next to the door stood Brody. At 6'4” Brody was a sizeable guy, but tonight he looked deflated and very very tired.

'Jack,' he shouted, 'Thank fucking God you came. I really need your help here man, I'm seriously up shit creek and the paddle is firmly wedged in my ass.'

Jack supressed a grin, something told him this was not going to be pretty. He shook Brodys hand and said, 'I got here as fast as I could. What's the deal buddy?'

Brody rubbed a meaty hand over his face. 'I don't know.' He saw the look on Jack's face and added, 'I swear, I can't explain this, but I need help to get a handle on it. Look for yourself, but just so you know, it's bad.'

Jack nodded and squeezed past Brody. A sickly stench seeped out from beyond the door, cutting through the smell from the studio. He nudged the door open with his foot and peeked inside. A makeshift dressing room. Foldable furniture, bare lights, piles of make-up and clothes scattered everywhere, but what made Jack rear back and smack his head against the door was the thing on the back wall. The thing resembled a butchered hog but had been a living breathing woman that same morning. She was naked apart from a pair of black panties, but what really drew Jacks attention was not her voluptuous flesh, but rather the two huge iron spikes that had penetrated through her eyes and nailed her head to the wall just below the ceiling.

'What the fucking fuck?' Jack stared at Brody, who shrugged.

'Told you it was bad,' he said. 'I told you, I have no idea, none, what's going on, but you gotta help me, man. You owe me.'

Jack felt his stomach do a little dance. It was true, he did owe Brody big time. He closed the door and leaned against it. Somehow he got a cigarrette lit, and some of the hot smoke down his lungs. Calmer he asked, 'Well, what can you tell me? Who is she?' he nodded towards the door. 'Give me something to go on here.'

Brody lit a cigarrette of his own, and smoked for a little while before answering. 'Her name is, was Candy Cane,' he caught Jacks look. 'Yeah I know, all the talent want a special name, but it's not like we pay anyone with checks, so who cares? Her name was Candy and that's that. Anyway, she came in late tonight, and I sent her back here to get ready, you know? All the other girls were already in costume, so I went over the scene with them while we waited. Only she never came back, so I sent Kayla to go get her. Sometimes they can have some trouble with the lingerie, and sometimes it's drugs, or feminine problems, but best to always send a girl to get a girl. A minute later we all hear Kayla screaming like someone's trying to rip her arm off, and me and a couple of the guys bolt over. Thought maybe some creep had managed to sneak in and was trying to get a little taste. Rare, but it happens. I'm charged up, ready to kick some ass, but I find the door open, Kayla sitting pretty much where you're standing, still screaming. I look in and... fuck it. Slammed the door, and called you.'

Jack nodded. 'Where's Kayla now?'

'Gave her some pills and had the sound guy drive her home. Told everyone Candy killed herself. Had to say something, everyone heard the screaming. Better send the rest home too, yeah?'

Jack nodded again, took a deep breath before opening the door. He had seen some deeply disturbing things during his time in the army, even more so in his short time with the NYPD, but the way Candy hung on the wall, apparently unharmed except for the spikes through her eye sockets made him sick to the core. He stepped inside carefully, aware that no one had been inside since the killer. No one since the killer! Shit, he could still be here! The room was cluttered with racks of costumes, the stained sofa wasn't flush against the wall and the shoddy lighting left deep shadows in the corners. Plenty of places to hide.

Quietly Jack pulled out his piece, a dark solid 9mm semi-auto, and began looking through the room. He kicked the racks to the side and peered carefully around the room. With a sigh of relief he holstered the gun. No one there. He reluctantly turned his attention to the deceased.

He guessed Candy had been in her late twenties, had worked out on occasion, and had gotten a pretty decent boob job a few years ago. The ceiling wasn't all that high back here, but it was still a good eleven feet from the floor, and Candy's head was pressed to the ceiling. How the hell did he manage to do this? She must weigh at least onefifty. Consious she's struggling, knocked out or dead, she's limp. What the hell is going on?

He turned to Brody, who was leaning against the door jamb pointedly not looking at Candy. 'You'd notice if three beefy guys moved around here with a ladder, right?' he asked.

'Very fucking funny!' Brody snorted. 'We don't let anyone in that don't belong. Yeah, sometimes depending on the site, someone might be able to sneak in, but three guys? No way man, no fucking way!'

'Well, I can see no other way of getting a girl up there like that with any less than three guys, and they'd all have to be standing on something.' Jack looked closer at her upper body. 'Huh, weird.' he said. 'There's no bruising under her arms or around her neck.'

'What's so weird about that?' Brody asked. 'Candy didn't do bondage.'

'No,' Jack answered. 'Think for a moment. How would you hold her, to get her up there? You can't put that kind of pressure on the skin without leaving marks, and she's got none. Blood clots quickly postmortem, and that leaves vivid bruises.

They both looked at her hanging there. 'You're not calling the cops I take it?'

Brody shook his head. 'Can't. Way too much illegal stuff going on here. Even if they didn't try to pin this on us, which they would and I couldn't blame them, we'd all head straight to big house. Just going to have to bury her somewhere quiet I guess. I know some guys that can handle that, but I want to, no, I need to know how this happened, and you're going to find out for me.' He held up a meaty hand before Jack could argue. 'I'll pay you five grand a month plus expenses, ok?'

The protests died on Jacks lips. 'Yeah, ok.' he said. He needed the money way too much to walk. 'Let's get out of here.'

Just as they were leaving the room, they both heard a soft scraping sound from behind. Jack glanced over his shoulder and bumped violently into Brody. Candys limbs were slowly contracting upwards and as they gawked in horror, her mouth dropped open and she moaned. Before either man understood what was happening, Candy braced herself against the wall and with a wet crunch and a high pitched squeal launched herself across the room. She crashed, arms stretched out, straight into Jack, and they went down in a heap. The impact jarred him out of his shock and he just managed to hold her back as she, giggling madly, tried to tear out his throat with her teeth. Jack tried to throw her off, but she had her legs clamped against his sides and was still trying to sink her teeth into his jugular. Her fingernails dug painfully into his shoulders and inch by inch, pulled her mouth closer, until her slimy tongue flicked across his cheek. She giggled again, and he felt the hard, sharp points of her canines scrape across his skin. He screamed and with a desperate burst of adrenaline got her head up and to the side. A violent explosion tore through the cramped area, and the front of her head erupted in a red shower all over Jacks face. Instantly, she went limp, pinning him to the floor, blood pooling around them.

Hot water, strong soap, and a large amount of scotch later, Jack lay back on a couch. Brody had managed to wrap Candys body in a tarp, and nameless men had taken the carcass away for disposal. The money Brody was offering was damn good, but deep down he knew, if he didn't solve this, he'd never be able to sleep with the lights off again. 

Continued in Chapter 2

Thanksgiving Dinner

This whole nasty mess started on Thanksgiving a couple of years ago. I was a fresh detective in Homicide, which is why I was on call that night. Didn't mind though, since I don't have much of a family, and what I have I don't like all that much.

The night had been pretty quiet, at least for me. I knew emergency services were busy as hell, what with extended families getting together and doing some heavy drinking and all. That always does it, but so far no one had gone far enough to need me. That of course changed with the shrill howling of my phone.

Forty minutes later, I pulled up outside an old worn-down house. It was a bit out of the way, and frankly, without GPS I would never have found it. It was one of those remnants of the old city that you can walk past a hundred times and never really see. The kind that all the kids in the neighbourhood knew of and feared. You remember right? The house you and your friends were convinced was occupied by an old witch, or maybe some older kid had told you the same story he once heard, that some maniac had butchered a whole family and still lived in the basement, the sort of stuff only kids take seriously. As I got out of my car, all those feeling rushed back as I looked up at the delapidated house. They didn't stay long though, I'm an adult and a cop so I turned my mind to the present and walked up to the patrol men who were the first responding officers. Turned out to be a veteran sergeant and a rooky trainee.

I knew the sergeant vaguely, not enough to remember his name though, so I just nodded and asked, 'What's the situation?'

I remember thinking it odd that a veteran would look so pale. In my five years on the force, I had seen some horrific sights, people wounded in ways I never imagined possible before, but human nature is a funny thing, and you can get used to almost anything. That the rooky was a mess came as no surprise, he was white as a sheet, and against all regulations, sat on the hood of the patrol car and smoked. You do what you have to in order to survive. I didn't give a shit if he needed a smoke.

The sergeant scratched his neck and looked at me with haunted eyes. 'Sir, I don't know...I-I, just look for yourself, OK?' He turned away and spat, mumbling under his breath. That's when I noticed a very pale, shaking woman sitting on the porch, mumbling and sobbing quietly.

'Who's she?' I asked nodding towards her. The sergeant glanced at her.

'She's the one that called us. Says she owns the house, inherited it from her grandma, hasn't been here in years.'

I shrugged and went up to the front door. Like a glorious cliché it stood slightly ajar, the dimly lit hallway just visible through the crack. I glanced at the woman, but judged her to be in no condition to talk to me yet. I looked back and saw both of my fellow brothers in blue staring at me, almost as if daring me to cross the threshold. For a second I almost asked the sergeant to come with me, but my pride stopped me, and I opened the door.

The house was a mess. Not in the way I expected, with furniture thrown around, with all the familiar sights of a struggle. No, it was orderly in that sense, it was just old and very dirty. Dust lay heavy everywhere except in the hall leading towards the dining room, which seemed to be the only room that was lit. Cautiously I stepped over to the double doors separating it from the hall. The room was lit by candlelight from two huge silver candelabras on the table, which was cluttered with the remains of a large Thanksgiving feast. Plates with scraps of food, dirty cutlery, glasses with the dregs of wine at the bottom, and lots of bowls and plates with food left in them. If it wasn't for the rest of the house being what it was, it didn't look out of place in any house in America that night. Except for one detail. One ghastly, disgusting detail that made me want to scream and vomit and run away. How do I explain this?

Imagine a classic Thanksgiving feast. Or for that matter any large family feast. The bowls with sweet potatoes, the corn, the greens, all that good stuff, and in the place of honor, the roast. But this was no turkey. Oh no, this was the stuffed, cooked and picked clean carcass of a human baby!

I stood there, I don't know how long and just stared. My mind tried to understand, but it couldn't. I've seen what rage can do, and it's ugly. Likewise hate and jealousy. But to calmly take someones child, butcher it, and prepare it like a piece of meat bought at the supermarket and then sit down with your friends and eat it? That I can not wrap my mind around. I hope the day never comes when I can.