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.

Somethings Are Taken, Not Lost

Barry stares forward silently, his face empty, glum. Mandy looks over at him, and with tears cascading down her cheeks, she slams her foot on the brake, bringing the car to a sudden, complete stop.

“Get out!” she spits quickly. “Get out before I change my mind.”

Barry’s eyes widen, his brow furrowing. “I—I don’t under—”

“You don’t gotta understand anything. Just get the fuck out before I lose my nerve and we keep going down this road towards whatever it is you’re too scared to face.”

“You—you don’t understand!” he stammers.

“That’s because you won’t tell me!”

“I’ve tried. Fucking heaps! But you don’t want to know the truth. You want to keep believing I’m hiding some deep, dark secret, when really, I just don’t want to go back—not for you, not for them, and definitely not for me!”

She grips the steering wheel, her lip curling into a snarl. “Fine!” she snaps, before taking a deep breath and turning to him. “Tell me again, tell me the truth, tell me why you don’t want to go home, and I swear, I’ll listen and promise, no matter what, I’ll believe you.”

He nervously pulls his gaze away from hers and looks out the windscreen once more, staring at the night sky as it circles around them.

“Remember, before Dad died and—”

“Is this what this is all about? Dad again?”

He takes a deep breath, closes his eyes, and counts to ten under his breath before turning back to her. “I—I thought you said you were g-going to listen?”

She rolls her eyes, wobbles her head from side to side, and sighs loudly before thrusting herself back into her seat. “OKAY! OKAY!”

“Before Dad died, he talked about the book Pop had lent him and how he couldn’t find it. Remember how worried he was about getting it back to him? And how everything before he died seemed focused on finding that book, like he knew what was coming if he didn’t—like he was expecting it to happen?”

“No,” she says with a firm shake of her head and an exhausted sigh.

“Bullshit!” he snaps quickly. “Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten what happened between Mum and Dad in the kitchen the day he died?”

She sighs again and nods. “Yeah, yeah I remember. Mum literally had a cow in the kitchen, and he just kept on going on about that stupid old book, about how important it was that he found it and got it back to Pop, and if he didn’t, he’d have to pay for it.”

“EXACTLY!” he lauds proudly. “A-And then, do you remember, later on, how Pop acted like he didn’t even seem to know anything about the book when we asked him? Remember how he just dismissed it and turned it all back around on Dad?”

“So what? Pop had lost his marbles years before then. God, he used to think I was Aunt Julie and you were Uncle Fred most of the time. The only person he ever truly recognised was Dad.”

“EXACTLY!” Barry says enthusiastically, a nervous smile wavering across his sweat-drenched lips. “He only ever really knew who Dad was, but when Dad passed, Pop, Pop seemed better, more coherent, like whatever was going on had somehow been reversed?”

“Y-Yeah, I guess he was for a while at least,” she says, shaking her head. “Anyway, what does that have to do with Dad’s death and the book?”

“Everything,” Barry replies, as he undoes the zipper on his backpack and pulls out an old, weather-worn book from it.

Mandy’s eyes grow wide with surprise and confusion. “I—Is that the book?” she stammers nervously.

He nods.

“W-Where did you f-find it?”

“I didn’t find it. Pop lent it to me.”

“P-Pop? W-When?”

“Last week, the day Aunt Julie brought him over to visit. He had it wrapped in that old yellow towel he carried with him.”

“W-What, a-and he just gave it to you?”

“Y-Yeah. He said s-someone really important wanted the book from him, and he needed a safe place to hide it, somewhere no one would ever look. He was so focused, so in the moment. And then, he was gone, back to being a vegetable again.”

“D-D-Did you open it?”

Barry’s hands tremble as they grip the book. “Yeah, who wouldn’t—not after the song and dance Dad made about it.”

“W-What’s in it?”

“Stories, rituals, curses—a lot of gibberish. But, somewhere in between all that, the truth. It’s like a conduit, binding one to another, leaching from one to another.”

Mandy’s breath catches in her throat. Her eyes move between Barry and the book. She grips the steering wheel tighter, her knuckles turning white. “So, t-the book, P-Pop, killed Dad?” she mutters, barely above a whisper.

“I don’t know. But I can’t go back. I can’t stop running, not until I know. N-not until—”

“U-Until he’s dead?” Mandy stammers, biting her lip, blinking through her tears as she turns away from him.

“Yeah,” Barry says softly, dropping his head into his lap.

“Get out,” she says quietly, taking in another deep breath. Seconds form into minutes, and her lips curl. “GET THE FUCK OUT, BARRY! I BELIEVE YOU, OKAY? I FUCKING BELIEVE YOU!”

Barry breathes a sigh of relief, opens the car door, and steps out onto the dimly lit street. He looks down through the door, giving her one last glance. “Th—Thank you,” he says, closing the door softly behind him.

For a few moments, they stand in silence once more, and for a second Barry contemplates a different path, a different solution. But with a sudden roar, the car speeds off into the darkness, leaving Barry standing in the middle of the road, clutching the book tightly.