Twisted Roads – Twisted Horror Stories by Matthew Tonks

Words Hidden in a Bottle

With a twist of his nose and a curl of his tongue, the rhyme spills from Jester’s lips, pulsating and venomous—lost in a tone forgotten, yet forgiven. His words mock the world, spitting in its face. As fires break out and the skies grow dark, Jester smiles, his eyes hiding horrors of their own.

The air around him shifts, tightening like hands around his neck. He clears his throat and holds the paper aloft as a smile washes into a wicked grin. The words spill from his mouth once more with purpose.

“Haggard is the short man, as the world called his name.
Another moment given, the sin, a song, a game.

Open the world and let it in.
The devil called, mankind sinned.
We were given the door, no key, no way in.

The drain, the emptiness, downward, downward within.”

The final word hangs heavy in the air as the world shudders beneath him. A low hum rises—not from the earth, but from the very air itself. It grows louder and louder with each passing second, as reality struggles under the weight of something as simple as air.

Jester snorts, curling his lips as he looks out from the rocky cape where he stands. He watches in wonder as the seas below fold upon themselves like a collapsing deck of cards, vanishing into nothingness. Not a drop remains, not a ripple, not a sound—only silence, a void, vast and all-consuming.

With a nervous twitch and a crooked grin, Jester steps forward, his movements heavy with listless purpose. His unlaced boots, sloppily hanging from his stick-like feet, slap the ground like wet clothing. The earth gives way beneath him, cracking—no longer solid—as it splinters into a cascading sea of nothingness. It unravels before him—a world beyond the world, a wall of emptiness.

Each step takes more—piece by piece, the world peels away, spinning into the void, dissolving like ash in a breeze. Jester smiles again, his teeth bared as he watches trees stretch and twist into grotesque shapes, stripped down to nothingness before they, too, vanish, devouring themselves into a self-styled oblivion of his making.

Jester grins broadly. “I never could see the purpose of me, and now I understand. I was put here to forgive—and then reset, and begin again,” he mutters, his voice sharp against the silence.

He feels a pull on the ends of his fingertips—gentle, delicate, so faint it almost escapes notice. He sucks in a breath as he raises his hand, the flesh from his fingertips unraveling into mist, breaking away in slow, steady pieces. It eats its way back, stripping all that is holy from him.

His grin falters, trembles, but he does not cry. He stands still, and he watches.

Above, the stars die one by one, winking out into the same void that devours all else. Distant planets collapse, dissolving into black mist. The universe folds inward, cascading into the nothingness spilling down at Jester’s feet.

His laughter echoes briefly—sharp and hollow—before even sound is swallowed whole. He watches his arm unfold, then his shoulder, then more, until only his grin remains—a fragment suspended in the void.

And then—it too is gone.

Nothing remains. Not even the memory of something.

A bottle floats on a calm sea, drifting aimlessly. Another Jester finds it, his fingers curling around the glass. He studies the words inside, his lips twitching with curiosity.

He wonders what they mean. He wonders what will happen.

He speaks them aloud.