Twisted Roads – Twisted Horror Stories by Matthew Tonks

One Hell of a Story

“What lights the fire that burns beneath your arse?” he asks, leaning back in the armchair and taking a sip from his glass of port.

“Fire beneath me? A bit medieval of you, isn’t it, Thomas?”

“Oh, please, Donovan, don’t treat me like the enemy. I’m the father of your son’s wife—we’re family. I’m just curious. You’ve got this home, your cars, your fortune, you never seem to want for anything. How did you get the drive to do all this?” Thomas says, smiling as he takes another sip.

Donovan laughs uneasily before nervously taking a greedy mouthful of his drink. “If I told you the truth, you wouldn’t believe me,” he says, before emptying the remainder of the glass down his throat. He jumps to his feet and quickly makes his way over to a small bar, where he refills his glass.

“Why don’t you try me? I’m quite open to a good story.”

Donovan downs his fresh drink, then pours another, makes his way back to his seat, bringing the decanter with him, and places it on a table between them.

“T-T-Trust me, this isn’t your normal, far-fetched story—this is unbelievable. If I hadn’t witnessed it for myself, I’d say it was a lie,” Donovan says, emptying another glass and slamming it down on the table. With shaking hands, he grabs the decanter.

Thomas places a hand on his, his face showing concern. “Steady on, old man, this isn’t a race. I’m simply curious, is all. If you don’t want to talk about it, just say so,” he says with a reassuring smile.

Donovan stares at him for a few moments, before biting down on his bottom lip and leaning forward. “I’ve never told anyone this story, not a soul, not even Debbie,” he says as he sits back in his chair and stares into the fireplace, watching the flames dance about as if they were possessed by Fred Astaire himself. “It’d be close to thirty-two years now when I first met him. It was at a racetrack, he was down on his luck—apparently, he’d lost a shit load of cash and only had a fiver left to his name. I don’t remember how it happened, but we got to talking, and I started to feel for the poor bugger, so much so that I shared a tip I had on the big race of the day with him. He was ecstatic, and that became tenfold when the horse won by two lengths. We ended up celebrating until the early morning, and as we were finishing our last drink of the night, he turned to me and asked the downright weirdest question anyone has ever asked me. He asked, ‘What was the single thing I most desired in life?’ I didn’t even think about it before telling him I wanted to be successful so I could spend time with my family, who I hardly knew anymore. The guy smiled at me, shook my hand, and said tomorrow would be a grand day for me, then left,” he says, leaning back in his seat, nervously chewing on his fingernails.

Thomas looks at him, puzzled, and takes a sip of his port. “I-I-I don’t get it. How did that give you all this?”

“Before that night, I worked eleven hours a day, seven days a week. I missed Bert’s first three birthdays because we needed food on the table, and I worked fucking hard to make sure it was there, even if I wasn’t. Anyway, the next morning, I received a call from my boss telling me the company was shutting down immediately, and unfortunately, my job had been made redundant. He apologised profusely, swore he would make sure the company paid me every cent I was owed. I was gutted, withdrawn, and didn’t know what to tell Debbie. It was the worst feeling I’d ever experienced up to that point in my life,” he says, pausing to refill their drinks.

“And?” Thomas prompts.

“And that’s when the guy from the racetrack showed up at my door. Turns out his name was Patrick Horton, and he was the CEO of some upstart company called ImpeTec. He didn’t say much—just that he wanted to thank me for the kindness I’d shown him the night before by gifting me 50% of the company. He said the money he won from the horse race had helped him complete a significant piece of a puzzle he’d been working on for some time, and I deserved half of whatever came of it. At first, I had no idea what ImpeTec was, but when the news broke that night, everyone else in the world and I did, all at once…”

“They launched the first fully Artificial Intelligent Pleasure Doll, right?” Thomas says. Donovan nods his head and smiles.

“Too fucking right they did. I started receiving residuals the next day and every day since,” he says, taking another mouthful. “I haven’t worked a single fucking day in over thirty years, and that, my friend, is, as you say, the fire that burns in my belly.”

Thomas swallows the contents of his glass and stares wide-eyed at Donovan. “B-B-B-Bullshit?” he stutters.

“Well, you’re the one who said you enjoy a good story,” Donovan says as he begins to laugh loudly.