Twisted Roads – Twisted Horror Stories by Matthew Tonks

Today’s story is brought to life by the following prompt…

This is my submission for Kevin’s No Theme Thursday.

Reading a Crimson Hand

She holds the cards tightly in her grasp and presses her fingers against her temple. She closes her eyes as thin beads of sweat trickle down her brow, desperately searching for a way out.

“I—I—Is anything the matter?” Conner asks nervously.

She forces a weary smile and shakes her head. “Of course not. In some circles of the trade, they call this part of the reading the upsell. It’s where I grasp the roots and all, convincing you that this is what you must do—otherwise, your reading is going to fail, or worse.”

“But you’ve decided to play this one differently, to upsell me in a different way, right?”

“You could say that was the plan. But to do that, I’d have to lie to you, which is hard when”—she places another card down and grimaces—”the Death card.”

“O—O—Oh, FUCK!” Conner bellows as he leaps to his feet, gripping his hair and pulling chunks of it from his head. “I’m gonna FUCKING die!”

“Conner, please,” she says, reaching a trembling hand toward him. “The Death card may mean death, but it doesn’t have to mean your death. It could be the death of someone else, or something else—b—”

“H-How do we find out w-what it means?” he interrupts, gripping the table, his lip curled as he bites down on it, like a snake devouring itself. He grimaces in pain, clutching his mouth as a thick stream of blood runs down his chin.

“As I was saying, let me continue the reading, and as the cards fall, so will the path you seek,” she says as she places the next card down—”the Tower.”

His eyes bulge, and he looks from the card to her, then back to the card. “W-W-Well?” he snaps, poking the card with a derisive finger. “What the FUCK does a Tower mean?”

“A surprise, but not in a good way. Something sudden, and something uncomfortable,” she says with a jittery smile on her thin lips.

“Oh, fucking great! I’m going to die suddenly, and it’s going to be uncomfortable! That’s everything I ever wanted!” he spits.

“That’s not what the cards are saying. Now, let me draw the next card, and I’m sure this one will bring the next move to light,” she says, drawing another card—”the Ten of Swords.”

He peers over at the card and then tosses himself back in his chair, folding his arms and staring uneasily across at her.

“An end is coming. It’s inevitable and, unfortunately, it’s painful.”

“What a fucking surprise! I’m already dying, it’s going to be sudden, it’s gonna hurt, and now it’s probably going to happen today, sooner rather than tomorrow.”

She places another card down and stutters a breath in her chest—”the Devil.”

“Finally! About time that fucking card showed up. I was beginning to think you didn’t own one,” he says, looking at her twisted, pale gaze with puzzlement. “Hey, Medusa, what’s wrong with you? I’m the one getting the bad reading!”

“I—I—I—” she stammers through twitching lips. “I don’t own a Devil card. I—I throw them away whenever I get a new set—they’re bad luck for the dealer.”

“Bad luck for you? Bullshit, you’re just making it up!” he scoffs with a mocking laugh.

“NO!” she spits, slapping the desk. “I don’t lie. Not about this!”

“R-Really?” he says through trembling lips. “What d-d-does it mean?”

“The Devil card brings with it manipulation, deception, and lies—lies told from the beginning of time to now,” she says, shaking her head and looking up at him. “This last card will be the final card. With it, the shuffle will be set, and the future will be what it will be,” she says as she slowly draws the card, only for him to place his hand on hers.

“W-What happens if you don’t draw the card? Who would know? Who would care?”

“The spirits know, and the spirits care. They’ll haunt us until the day we release this mortal coil—and then they’ll haunt us in the next!”

He takes a breath and lets go of her hand. She places the final card down—”Judgment.”

“O—Oh shit,” she stammers as blood runs from her nostrils. She looks up at Conner, who stares back in petrified desperation.

She forces a weak smile, her voice barely a whisper. “It’s talking about me.” Her body shudders, eyes widening with terror. “I can feel it—inside me.”

A tremor rips through her, skin stretching and straining—then, with a sickening crack, her head explodes. Blood, bone, and flesh spray across the room, showering Conner in a warm, sticky burst of crimson and tissue.