Twisted Roads – Twisted Horror Stories by Matthew Tonks

In the Woods, Sin Begins

He drags himself up the small hillside, grabbing handfuls of dirt each time. He grimaces, clenching his teeth, gasping desperately for air. His face is bruised, his lips bloody. He narrows his eyes and pulls himself further up the hill. He grunts, fighting back the tears.

His pants twist around his ankles like rope. His bare legs, torn by rocks and shrubs, are bloody and worn. Each movement feels like his skin is being flayed away. His body is broken, violated—but he keeps moving.

Handful after handful, he pulls himself a few feet at a time. He stops to catch his breath, each inhale sharp and desperate. He tries to hold back the tears again, but as before—and the time before that—the sobs force their way out. His bottom lip trembles, and he sucks in shallow, stuttering breaths before dragging himself forward again.

“Found him!” a voice suddenly cries out.

His head jerks around as thunderous footsteps rush toward him. He screams, clawing at the dirt, frantic to move faster, but it’s no use. Another figure steps in front of him, cutting off his escape.

He looks up, terror tightening his chest. Michael stands over him, his grin wide and malicious.

“I thought I lost you, son,” Michael slurs, his voice dripping with menace. Without warning, he drives a boot into the side of the man’s head.

Pain erupts, sending him sprawling to the dirt. Stars explode across his vision as red streaks down the side of his face.

“You ever do that again,” Michael growls, leaning down and grabbing him by the chin, forcing their eyes to meet, “you ever think you can just leave without my say so again, and I’ll let the boys have a go at you. Then you’ll know just how gentle a lover I really am. Do you understand?”

The man stares back, his bloodied face twisted in defiance. He spits a wad of blood into Michael’s face. “F-Fuck you!” he stammers.

Michael growls, dragging him upright by his shirt. Then he slams his forehead into the man’s nose, a sickening crunch echoing as blood sprays across both of them.

“You little fucking runt!” Michael hisses, drawing back for another strike. “Time you realis—”

The man lunges forward suddenly, driving Michael’s own knife into his throat.

Michael freezes, his eyes widening in shock. Liquid crimson sprays violently from the wound, thick and fast. He splutters and chokes on his own blood. He lets go of the man, staggering backward, his hands clutching at his throat—but a river of red already washes over him.

“Y-Y-You little f-fuck—” Michael stammers, collapsing to his knees. His eyes glaze over, and his body slumps forward into the dirt.

The others arrive, their footsteps heavy and panicked. They stop, staring down at Michael’s lifeless body.

“Holy shit, he just killed Michael!” one of them shouts.

“You just killed Michael!” another snaps, pointing at the man.

He wavers on his feet, clutching the bloody knife. “A-And I’ll kill you t-t-too, unless—” he stammers, his voice cracking.

“U-U-Unless what?” one of them asks, trembling.

“Unless you get down on your knees and take my seed,” he growls, his lips curling into a bloody grin.