Twisted Roads – Twisted Horror Stories by Matthew Tonks

Descending

“I still didn’t get the whole story, even when I was watching it play out in front of me,” Devon says with a sigh, looking nervously over at Fiona.

“That’s because you’re too used to seeing fact instead of fiction. If you’d spent more time watching shit shows on Netflix or Stan, you’d probably be more open to seeing less instead of more. Instead, you’re spoon-fed everything like a junkie who refuses to admit they have an addiction.”

He scoffs and runs a hand through his overly saturated hair. “FUCK YOU!” he barks, smashing his teeth together as if chewing a large wad of gum.

“A little straight to the point, aren’t we? Don’t you want to mince your words through several hours of small talk before getting to the bitter reality, as you admit your undying love for me and everything I stand for?”

He thrusts a shaking finger towards her and snarls, “DON’T TRY TO CHANGE THE CONVERSATION! I KNOW WHAT I SAW, AND I KNOW WHAT YOU’RE TRYING TO DO!”

She smiles nervously, blinking erratically as her tongue flicks out to wet her lips, allowing them to glisten in the cool light. “What is it I’m trying to do?”

“You’re trying to lull me into dropping my guard. Once you’ve accomplished that, you’ll steal everything that makes me… me and replace it with one of your empty shells, thrown to the curb once you’ve drained all you wanted.”

She gently folds her arms across her chest, tucking them beneath her ample bosom, coyly smiling. “Steal everything that makes you, you, and replace it with an empty shell? Are you actually listening to the words coming out of your mouth? Have you signed up for some conspiracy theory newsletter?”

“W-W-What?”

Her smile broadens as she leans forward, running her tongue along her lips once more, letting out a moan as she caresses her nipples through her top. “I said, lover boy, you’re a tad overexcited and desperate,” she purrs.

“I-I-I saw a story much like this once. It was lost somewhere between midnight and four in the morning. It was filmed as a documentary, but it was far from true. They’d tracked down a lady who was believed to be related to some Nazi. But as the film twisted and turned its way through the plot, it became increasingly obvious that this woman wasn’t a woman at all. She had lived through countless lives, including her time as a high-ranking agent in the Gestapo. She admitted it on film, provided them with evidence that couldn’t be disproven, and then disappeared into the world—one can only presume. You remind me of this story—how you twist and turn throughout conversations, dropping hints of what was, what has been, and what could possibly be.”

She stares at him with unblinking eyes, searching desperately for some clue as to what his agenda is. Finding little to tantalise her curiosity, she simply smiles and sighs. “Do you think I am that woman?”

“I’d like to think so.”

“Do you remember what it was called?”

He sits there for a few moments before smiling awkwardly and shrugging.

She sighs loudly as she turns towards the television again, flicking through the movie list once more.