Twisted Roads – Twisted Horror Stories by Matthew Tonks

Office Space

His hands tightly grip the desk’s sides as the rotating wheel on the computer screen before him spins relentlessly. A bead of sweat trickles down his forehead while he mumbles incoherent words through trembling lips as his eyes drift over the office implements scattered on his desktop. His breaths are laboured and desperate. A breath suddenly gets caught in his chest, and his eyes widen with terror. His brow furrows, and he clutches his throat with one hand while pounding his chest ferociously with the other as he tries to dislodge the breath. His face twists, and his teeth clench as he thumps his chest again and again, this time with more aggression until finally, a crack is heard, quickly followed by a popping sound from within his chest, and he gasps, taking desperate breath after desperate breath.

“F-F-Fuck,” he stammers as he doubles over, wincing in pain.

“Shit dude, did you just punch yourself in the face?” Andy asks with a jovial grunt and a playful slap on Danny’s back.

“F-F-FUCK OFF!” Danny hisses.

Andy tilts his head and squints out of one eye as he raises his brow. “What the fuck did you just say to me?”

Danny rolls his lips back and bares his teeth. “N-N-Now’s n-n-not the FUCKING time, A-Andy.”

Andy shakes his head, stuffs his hands in his pockets, and rolls his eyes. “YOU DON’T GET TO TELL ME TO DO ANYTHING, BOY!” he spits as he grabs Danny by the hair and pulls him to his feet, only to have a pen thrust up into his throat. His eyes widen with surprise while a smile cascades across Danny’s trembling lips.

“Y-Y-Y-YOU’RE AN ARSEHOLE, ANDY! ALWAYS HAVE B-BEEN!” Danny screams as he pulls the pen free and stabs Andy in the throat again and again, showering himself in a sea of red.

Danny drops Andy’s twitching frame to the floor and turns back to the computer screen to find it still spinning. His hands clench into tightly bound fists, and he grits his teeth.

“A-A-A-Are you m-m-m-mocking me?” he stammers as he takes several slow steps towards his desk. “D-D-D-Do you t-t-think it’s f-f-funny t-t-that I can’t g-g-get my w-w-work done b-b-because you w-w-won’t work?”

The computer does not respond; it only continues to display the rotating wheel.

“F-F-F-FINE! I-IF THAT’S H-HOW YOU WANT IT!” he spits as he grabs a cup of coffee from his desk and throws it in his face. He screams out in agony as the hot liquid scalds his flesh, then he drives the cup into his face, almost headbutting it as he does, smashing it against his skull. For a few nervous seconds, he stands there as he catches his breath. Then he grabs the keyboard and slaps it across his face several times before slamming it into the desk, splitting it in half and sending keys across the room. His face twists, and he tosses the keyboard’s remains to the side. Then, without a moment’s thought, he grabs the mouse and smashes it into his face. He does this again and again as the mouse shatters to pieces, tearing at his face. “IS THIS WHAT YOU WANT!” he screams.

The screen flickers, and the wheel distorts. An image appears on the screen: a face, his, smiling.

He laughs as the smile creeps further up his face. He grabs a knife from his desk and slices it up either side of his face, tearing a wide smile into his skin. He laughs maniacally. He slams his head into the desk, then starts punching himself without mercy. All the while, the wheel spins, and he laughs. Seconds soon pass into minutes, and as his punches continue, they begin to become more laboured until they are slaps, and then nothing, as he stands swaying in front of the still silent computer.

“A-A-A-Are you s-s-satisfied n-n-now? C-C-Can I p-p-p-please do s-s-some work?” he stammers through swollen, busted lips as the blood drips from his face and he falls to his knees. “C-C-C-Can I p-p-please?”

The screen flickers once again while the wheel still spins.

“F-F-Fuck,” he stammers as his one good eye falls upon the stapler.