Twisted Roads – Twisted Horror Stories by Matthew Tonks

The Chariot Is Not to Blame 

“I rode in on a chariot—that’s exactly what I just said,” Conner replies with a befuddled look. 

“Yes, but you didn’t actually ride in on one, did you?” 

Conner’s brow furrows, and his lips purse. “Why would I say I did if I didn’t?” 

“Exactly!” Hugo says, clapping his hands and bouncing slightly in his seat. 

“I—I—I’m confused as to where any of this is going. I can’t tell if you believe me or if you’re calling me a liar, so how about you drop the cloak-and-dagger crap and tell me what your problem is?” 

“You. That’s my problem. Nothing else—not your lies, not your stupid beady eyes, not even your bingo wings. I just don’t like you. And I don’t have time for a beady-eyed, bingo-winged, ugly liar who suffers from premature balding and anal seepage,” Hugo snarls, a smutty grin on his lips. 

“Wow, tell me how you really feel,” Conner says with a nervous laugh. 

Hugo raises his eyebrows and shrugs, holding his open hands before him. He curls his lips and scrunches his nose. “Duh! I just did!” 

Conner lets out a long-winded sigh and rolls his head to the left, then to the right. “So, how many do I get?” 

“You don’t get shit, loser!” 

“I think that’s where you’re wrong. See, I’m pretty sure that when I show you my chariot—the one I rode in on, the one you say doesn’t exist—you’re going to owe me an apology. And we both know you’re not going to do that, so I’ve got to get something else in return. Something that’ll let you keep your position of power intact but will also be a direct reflection of the error you’ve made, continuing the precedent set many times before today with events of such similar gravitas.” 

“Ain’t gonna happen—not today, not tomorrow, not ever! I bow to no man but myself,” Hugo says with a nod and a broad grin as he leans back into his makeshift throne. 

“B-B-But that makes no sense. H-How do you keep your people in line? How do you earn their trust? Surely there must be rules. No one runs a kingdom on their own.” 

“I do,” he replies nonchalantly. 

“B-But that’s not true. There was the guard at the door.” 

“That was me,” Hugo says quickly. 

“W-Wait, w-what?” Conner stammers, trembling as a sea of sweat cascades down his brow. 

“The guard at the door—that was me,” Hugo says, grinning broadly. “You can’t enter there,” he mimics in a deep, gravelly voice before chuckling proudly. 

Conner’s eyes widen, and he smiles awkwardly. “O-Okay, w-what about the g—” 

“That was me too,” Hugo interrupts, slapping his lap. “I was the shy girl in reception, the overzealous elevator operator, and even the disgruntled repairman who offered you a smoke. I was all of them, and they are all me!” he says proudly. 

“So, you’re telling me you run this whole place on your own, without any help from anyone else?” 

“Correct,” he says proudly. 

“Sucks to be you, then!” Conner says as he pulls out a shotgun and trains it on Hugo, who offers a tight, nervous smile as a bead of sweat snakes down his brow. 

“Or, it sucks to be all of us,” a voice says from behind. Conner turns, and his breath catches—a sea of Hugos stands before him, faces blending, expressions fixed in that same unsettling grin. 

“Did I forget to mention,” Hugo’s voice murmurs, but now it’s layered, each mouth speaking in unison, “that while I may be everyone, I am always—one. Each face, every word, every piece—me.” 

Conner feels a pull, something crawling beneath his skin, a whisper curling through his veins. A hand clamps down on his shoulder, and his finger desperately tightens around the trigger. The shotgun erupts, tearing a hole through one of the Hugos flooding the world around him. 

He tries to scream, but the sound is swallowed as his flesh burns, his mind splits, and his world reshapes, twisting, turning into something—into someone else. 

And as the smile settles onto his lips, the last thread of who he was is swallowed. He is nothing more than another voice in the endless, another chair in Hugo’s kingdom.