Twisted Roads – Twisted Horror Stories by Matthew Tonks

Trick for a Treat

Claude rolls his hands into each other as if kneading a ball of pizza dough into shape. A sea of fresh sweat runs down the plentiful locks of thick, wiry hair that make up his messy, unkempt moustache, and he runs a rough lick of his tongue through it, sending a spray of saliva and sweat across his own face. He blinks repeatedly, while his eyes stay transfixed on the small box that sits on the table before him. He lets out a long-winded, stuttered sigh before sucking in the next breath and holding as tightly onto it as he did the one before. His chest burns anew, and his jaw aches, but still, he holds onto the breath, while his eyes remain locked on the box.

He jumps ever so slightly as an alarm bell rips through the silence, loudly crying from the watch on his wrist, which also squeezes his arm in tandem with the squeals of the alarm. Like a ravenous animal, he tears the lid off the box. With fevered eyes, he licks the tips of his fingers and runs them around the inside of the box, like a desperate child chasing the last drip of ice cream as it runs down a waffle cone on a hot summer’s day. The sweat now pours from his brow, his flesh clammy and cold, and he salivates like a wild animal as he lifts his trembling hand from the box. His fingers proudly display their trophy, their tips coated in a light film of powder. Greedily, he shoves them into his mouth, sucking on his fingers like a newborn baby would its mother’s teat. His eyes flicker shut, and a gentle sigh escapes his chest through his nose. He slumps back in his seat while a world of neon colours splashes before his closed eyes.

Then, in an instant, the rush is gone, and he stares with wide, desperate eyes at the open, empty box that sits before him.

He turns to Dezmorelda, who smiles smugly.

“I told you, didn’t I?” she purrs with a playful wink.

His bottom lip quivers as he looks back at the box. Then, like a man possessed, he rips it apart, licking the pieces as if they were the biscuit halves of an Oreo, greedily devouring the last traces of cream. He cries and screams as the fleeting moments slip away. With wild, desperate eyes, he turns to Dezmorelda once more.

Her smile broadens into a cheeky grin. “Are you ready? Have you had your fill?”

“I-I-I, I c-can’t!” he stammers, gripping handfuls of hair and pulling, tearing clumps free as he grimaces and sneers. He snarls and barks, then with a look of hate, casts his eyes back to Dezmorelda.

“I-I, I am more than y-you give me credit for, a-and I won’t be t-tempted by a parlour trick. W-whatever y-you did t-t-to that,” he says, pointing a trembling finger at the remains of the box, “I-I-I, I will not succumb to your deviances!”

“But you already have— or have you forgotten the terms of our deal? To the last drop!”

He laughs loudly— his eyes red and raw, tears streaming down his face. “B-But you said I had three hours— no more! If I didn’t eat it all, the deal was off!” He spits the words out, holding up his watch proudly, sweat pouring down his flushed skin. “Y-Your time’s up, bitch! I win— b-because I’m better!” he scoffs.

Her lips curl into a sneer, her eyes narrowing to slits. “Are you sure? Or did you just think you were? Check the time again, winner.”

His eyes blink as he nervously turns the watch towards him. His lips tremble. He looks up, meeting her wicked gaze. “Y-Y-You tricked me!”

Her smile widens. “It’s not called trick for a treat— is it?”

The very room shifts and reshapes before him. He feels his very self being pulled apart, his bones broken, his flesh torn, and then, when the pain could not be more, he passes out.

He doesn’t know how long he’s been out, but when the world pulls him back, his eyes snap open, and his breath catches in his chest. He tries to scream, but nothing comes— nothing human. He attempts to move, but his hands are no longer hands. Something stirs in the darkness beyond the light, and a thousand glowing, blinking eyes stare back at him. Slowly, they begin to move— rats, hundreds of them, scurrying closer. He tries to cower, tries to flee, but as he looks down at his small, furry body, he realises there is no hiding from himself.