Twisted Roads – Twisted Horror Stories by Matthew Tonks

A Container with a View 

Dale holds the camera away from his face, grips his chin with his other hand, and stares off into the distance. He adjusts his pose several times, mumbling to himself until he’s satisfied with the stance, the angle, and what the camera captures. Then, he hits record. 

For a few silent seconds, he looks out into the distance, stroking the stubble on his chin, before turning his gaze to the camera’s lens and smiling. 

“Hello, my friends. I’m glad you made it,” he says with a nod of his head and a playful wink. “Today, we’re doing something new—something different—and hopefully, if I’ve chosen correctly, something worthwhile. Behind me stands Mertonville Site Storage, one of the largest storage rental companies in Australia. With five thousand sites across Australia and over two million worldwide, they’re clearly good at what they do. But every now and then, someone slips through the cracks, and they end up seizing a storage locker. To cover costs, they auction these off to the highest bidder.” 

He steps back, allowing a storage container to fall into view. “Now, we’re opening the first of three containers,” he says with a broad grin. 

He pulls his hat from his head, scratches his balding scalp, and makes a strained face. “I know there are a lot of guys doing the same thing as this, and I bet you’re thinking, ‘Why should I watch your video instead of all the others?’ If I were honest, I’d say I don’t know. But honesty isn’t really my thing—as you’ll remember from video diary seven hundred and twenty-six and the sixteen that followed. I’m a lying son of a bitch who takes great pleasure in playing with not only people’s emotions but situations as well,” he says with a broad grin. “For the uninitiated, that video was the first in a collection I like to call Cutting Cancerous Tumours from the Soul, aka The Divorce,” he adds with a spiteful cackle. 

Dale’s grin widens, adding a sinister touch to his narrow eyes. “Now, I know I said this was just a lucky find, but I may have bent the truth a little,” he says, choking on a muffled laugh. “See, this container isn’t one of those seized units like everyone else gets on those other shows. This one was a fully paid, certified storage container—still rented to store someone’s precious belongings.” He swings the camera around, revealing a bonfire crackling a few feet away, then returns the camera to himself. “Honestly, it didn’t mean a thing to me. In fact, I think I feel a little better now that it’s burning,” he adds, spitting on the ground and dragging his arm across his mouth, laughing like a horror-movie hillbilly. 

“Now, I guess you’re wondering how I got access to a storage container if it was still in use. Well,” he says with a wicked grin, “the owner just needed a little—persuasion. So to all of you out there hitting walls and giving up on the things you really want, remember: a little persistence can open all sorts of doors.” He steps closer to the container, trailing his fingers over the cold metal as if savoring a secret only he knows. “Enough of the posing and prancing. Let’s open this guy up and see what’s left inside.” 

With a swift yank, Dale pulls the door open, revealing an unsettling sight within. In the centre of the container, bound with rusted barbed wire and chained to the walls, is his ex-wife, her eyes, wide and pleading, peer through layers of grime and dried blood. She’s barely able to move, her skin marred with scratches and bruises, a gag tied cruelly across her mouth. “Ah, sweetheart,” Dale purrs, stepping forward as the camera captures every detail. “They say time heals all wounds, but I prefer the slow, hands-on approach.” He turns back to the camera, his grin widening. “Now, my friends, let’s see just how deep these old scars run.” 

He reaches out to close the container door, his voice dropping to a whisper. “And remember, don’t go anywhere. The fun’s just beginning.”