Twisted Roads – Twisted Horror Stories by Matthew Tonks

Like a God

“In the beginning, this was just a barren, empty space. Dying like the rest of this withered, void of a world. But that was before we—” he pauses and allows himself to smile. “But that was before I turned it into this paradise,” he says proudly, puffing out his chest with satisfaction.

“BEFORE YOU?” another man yells from the group. “Please tell me, just WHAT the fuck did you do? And believe me, your money is an irrelevant issue, Stapleton. I say that because when we came to you, we already had a working sample of the compound. YOU only funded the next stage, and anyone could’ve done THAT!” He pushes his way out of the group, storming up to Stapleton and pointing a bony finger into his chest. “You have no right to take credit for any of this. We”—he gestures to the others—”WE did this! WE harnessed the very fabric of life. WE designed the genome that, when infused into a dead cell, repairs and replicates the cell’s original form. It not only brings the dead cells back to life, but it effectively creates a whole new cell out of nothing! YOU, sir, are not w—”

His words stick in his throat as Stapleton grips him tightly around the neck.

“HOW DARE YOU, CHARLES!” he yells, tightening his grip. “HOW DARE YOU INTERRUPT MY CROWNING MOMENT!” He hisses through clenched teeth, staring into Charles’s eyes as capillaries explode, flooding the whites of his eyes with red. “YOU, Charles, had your moment in the sun, and I have rewarded it with riches. I have moved mountains so you could have what you need for your ridiculous experiments. I have given you more for your research than anyone else would ever commit. I am a god, and you will treat me as SUCH!” he yells, throwing a gasping Charles to the ground. Slowly, Stapleton crouches down beside him.

“Now, Charles, just so you understand, if I had no need for you—if I had some other monkey who could turn all the knobs and flick all the switches you already know how to flick—you would be dead. So thank me, and choose another to take your place,” he says with a smile on his face.

“W-W-What?” Charles stammers as he tries to swallow.

“It’s a simple question, Charles. I need you, but these others”—Stapleton gestures casually towards them—”these nobodies are interchangeable, replaceable tools who serve only to assist the true mind in your hive of creativity: you. So choose who will die. Choose, so I can satisfy my need to inflict punishment on you. Otherwise, I’m just not sure what I’m going to do—or who I will kill—and you don’t want me choosing who to sacrifice, do you?” His smile broadens, twisting across his face like a snake, while the others watch on in horror.