Twisted Roads – Twisted Horror Stories by Matthew Tonks

Even Apples Bleed

Sally grips herself tightly and lets the cold shiver that encompasses her run its vile course. Her black, engorged lips tremble, her pale jaw stutters, and her eyes ache with a dryness she’s never felt before. She takes a hesitant breath in, but has no desire or ability to let it back out, as if her body has somehow forgotten how to breathe. Her eyes widen as she nervously sucks in several more breaths, then gasps in desperation to release them.

The light from the city beyond the alleyway is disrupted as a heavyset man clumsily makes his way into the alley. He sneers as he staggers past her, grinning with a rotten mouthful of teeth. Propping himself up against the wall, he takes a piss on a junkie sprawled in a pool of their own vomit.

The seconds pass quickly as he slurs many incoherent words, eventually shaking himself off and staggering backwards. He stumbles in an awkward circle, then looks back at her, his smile twisted. “The Rag Doll Man said to say hi,” he mutters with a mocking cackle before stumbling out of the alleyway and into the street.

“W-Who’s t-the r-rag doll m-man?” she calls out through trembling lips. He jerks to a halt, swaying to and fro, before casting a clumsy glance over his shoulder.

“W-Who, w-w-wha…” His words are cut short by the screeching scream of tyres slicing through the night. A car slams into him, and they both disappear out of sight in a violent blur.

Screams fill the night as an army of people rushes past the alleyway toward where the car vanished. But the drunkard stands frozen at the alleyway’s entry, eyes darting over the chaotic scene—somewhat sober now, very scared, and visibly shaken. He looks down at her, his tear-filled eyes wide with terror, and she shakes her head.

“P-P-Please,” he stammers as he rushes toward her, hands outstretched, his lips trembling. “I—I—I think something happened to me, and I d-don’t know what to do!” he sobs.

She purses her lips tightly, closes her eyes, and shakes her head again. “I—I think you’re dead,” she says.

Silence presses in, thick and heavy. Then, faintly, she hears another voice—a sound too distant to understand. A low, wavering note begins to play, something like a harp or a trumpet, but twisted—angelic, yet stained and sour. The sound slithers through the air, drawing her in until she finally opens her eyes.

He stands awkwardly before a glowing doorway, his mouth hanging open and his eyes wide with wonder. He looks back over to her and smiles.

“T-T-They tell me I got into the good place, and a guy with my kind of gifts will fit in really well!” he says, an odd, hollow cheer in his voice. Then, in an instant, the door shrivels up like a burning fuse, and the ground beneath him cracks open like an egg. He’s gone before he can even scream.

The silence lasts only a moment, as the air around Sally grows thick, filled with a presence that creeps forward. She spins to lock eyes with a half-naked vixen, her furred red hair and skin the colour of rust.

“W-W-Who are you?” she stammers nervously.

The woman bites into a rotten apple, the flesh crunching between sharp teeth. “I don’t think you should be worrying about me right now, darling,” she purrs, taking another bite, her lips bathed in the apple’s sticky red juice. “Not when you’re over there, going through the ABCs of death.”

Sally turns quickly back to the alley, her eyes drawn to the figure slumped against the wall. Her stomach lurches as she recognises the face staring back—her own.

She staggers back, horror flooding her veins, while the woman in red grins. “Don’t worry, darling, you got it—you’re going to the good place!” she teases sarcastically as her laughter slices through the dark and the ground beneath Sally cracks open.