Twisted Roads – Twisted Horror Stories by Matthew Tonks

Flooding Darkness with a Darker Light

The camera shutter clicks, and the flash bulb floods the area in blinding light, igniting reds with an iridescent glow they hadn’t held before. Seconds stretch, then another shutter click ignites, and the scene is irradiated with that same brilliant glow. Sebastian peers from behind the camera, taking a deep breath as he closes his eyes, his head gently wobbling side to side, drinking in the smells—the aroma of sulfur, the metallic scent of blood. His lips curl into a soft smile as he gazes through the lens once again, pressing the button down. The room is engulfed in white once more.

He rolls his head on his shoulders, stretches up tall, pressing his hands against his back until a crack vibrates through his spine. He gasps, rolling his head again. Taking a few steps to the left, he lunges forward, thrusting the camera out before him. With one eye open, he squints through the lens, leans back slightly, and presses the button again. The room bathes in the flash’s light, red upon red, flesh torn open, meat rotting, eyes wide, mouths screaming.

He rubs his nose roughly, grimacing, then gently sticks a finger a few centimetres into his nostril, rubs it, and drags his knuckle across the other. Scratching his cheek, he mumbles incoherent sentences that mean little to nothing. A drumbeat vibrates in his mind, followed by a guitar solo, and he sways back and forth, closing his eyes, arching his head toward the ceiling. A smile wavers over his lips as he takes another breath, looking down at the mess surrounding him. He holds the camera steady, taking another shot of the only thing he’s ever wanted to capture on film.

The flash’s afterglow lingers in Sebastian’s eyes, strange patterns forming in the darkness, dancing shapes that shift like forgotten thoughts at the edges of his vision. He grips his forehead, kneading his temples, eyes closed, savoring the moment, feeling a hollow thrill shudder through him as his body responds. The world beyond this room feels distant, irrelevant—but here, he is everything and nothing, a god, a devil, an unholy witness. His fingers tremble as he adjusts the camera’s focus, tilting it to capture every grotesque detail of the carnage his wrath has conjured, the simplicity of death itself, preserved for his own twisted purposes. The scene is perfect, yet somehow incomplete. He can almost taste its pulse, feel a rhythm beneath the stillness, as though something lingers in the silence, waiting for him to immortalize it in his lens.

He gasps, his gaze fixed on her gaping mouth, frozen in a scream that will echo only in silence, and perhaps in his mind. A sickly sliver of saliva pools on his lip, and he hisses as he wonders what secrets that mouth holds, what final gasp it released as life ebbed away, what tastes it might have known. He leans closer, entranced, fingers hovering over the button, barely breathing as his thoughts unfurl, dark and consuming. He shoves his fingers into his own mouth, sucking on them, closing his eyes as he savors the taste, then slowly slides his wet fingers into hers. Her mouth is dry, lifeless, and hollow in its stillness. He draws a haggard breath, his free hand moving over himself as he squints, poised for the next shot.

The bulb flares once more, filling the room in a flash of stark white that sears each grotesque detail into his mind. He exhales, a small, shuddering sound, knowing this shot will be the one—the one he’ll return to each night, a testament to the only art he’s ever truly understood. Closing his eyes, he feels the reverberation of the moment, lingering on his lips as he prepares for the next shot.