Twisted Roads – Twisted Horror Stories by Matthew Tonks

Face the Face You Hate 

“One hundred percent. I said if you can’t pay the money today, you’ll have to pay more tomorrow. But I also said you’ll have to give me something to make up for the lack of money today!” Snyder spits as he upends the table and rushes at George, hoisting him up from his seat and thrusting him into the wall. 

The room falls silent, and all eyes fall on the two. Snyder’s lips twist into a mask of rage while his eyes burn red, drilling into George’s flesh. George stammers nervously and casts a quick, wayward glance toward the others, who all stare open-mouthed and wide-eyed. 

Snyder pulls him back slightly, then thrusts him into the wall again, bringing his gaze back to meet his. “Don’t look at the sheep, child—look at me! I’m the one who gave you what you needed when you needed it—like I did for everyone else here in this unforgiving place. And like you, they chose to ask for more than they could give! Is that what this is going to be? Is this how you will repay your debt to me? Will you be my puppet? Will you be my fool?” 

“P-P-Please,” George stammers as tears stream down his face. 

Snyder’s lips tremble, and his face turns bright red as he pulls George from the wall and tosses him to the ground. George scrambles to his feet and turns to run, only to find the others surrounding him. He swallows a stale, desperate breath before slowly turning back to the smiling Snyder, now reclined in the torn, old Victorian-era chair he uses as a makeshift throne. 

Snyder casually chops the end off a thick Cuban cigar, takes several deep drags as he lights it, then blows a wad of smoke toward George, who fans the smoke from his face with his hands. 

“Now, let’s agree on the cost each day will bring, as well as how much extra money you’ll owe me for each day I wait for what you promised to pay when we first made this deal.” 

“I-I-I don’t understand w-why you want something now, but are also charg—” 

“BECAUSE I CAN!” Snyder roars, launching himself from his chair. Everyone in the room drops to their hands and knees as if a silent command of authority had been given the moment he stood and raised his voice. 

“I AM THE ONE WHO HAS BEEN WRONGED! I AM THE ONE WHO HAS GIVEN ALL THAT WAS ASKED! YOU! YOU HAVE ASKED FOR SOMETHING YOU CANNOT AFFORD, BUT YOU HAVE STILL TAKEN IT! SO I CAN ASK WHAT I WANT, AND IT SHALL BE MINE!” 

He cries out, snorting like a raging bull. “I can’t believe it—you, of all things! You, the one who mapped his entire second life out in post-it notes upon a board of human flesh.” Snyder spits as he tears at the fabric of reality, ripping open a hole in space and time to reveal the musty inner workings of George’s makeshift bomb shelter. 

A sail of human flesh—treated, sewn, and stretched across the wall—is littered with red tendrils of string, leaping from one post-it note to the next. Each note is covered with words, numbers, pictures, or actual shit and seeded spit. 

George’s lips tremble, and he falls to his knees, grabbing at Snyder’s boots, licking them, then rubbing them to shine. Tears stream down his face. 

“P-P-Please, I-I-I’m broken. T-T-This dream, t-t-this new face, it gives me someone else to see, someone else to be. P-P-Please!” he sobs, dragging himself up to Snyder. 

Snyder grins wickedly, grips George by the back of the head, and burns him in his crotch, rubbing his hardening penis in George’s face before thrusting him away and tearing his flesh suit from him. 

George’s true form is revealed. He screams in terror, his eyes wide and his mind lost. 

Snyder extends a hand to him, smiling with a wickedness George cannot look away from. “I think it’s all a matter of perspective—one I think you should experience,” he slurs. “That is if you dare take my hand. Do that, and you can have your flesh suit back, and another year to pay your debt.” 

“A-A-A year?” George stammers, blinking nervously. 

“Okay, a year and a day, but no more.” 

“A-A-And all I have to do is take your hand?” 

“Take my hand, and the deal is done. Yes, sir, indeed. Take my hand, see what must be seen, then take your year.” 

“A-A-And a day?” George stammers. 

Snyder laughs. “Of course, a year and a day, to be sure.” 

George leaps up and grasps Snyder’s hand, a smile beaming on his lips. “Y-Y-You won’t be sorry! I swear, I’ll get you your money on time this—” 

But his words catch in his throat as the world spins before him. 

“Face your experiences, and then I’ll see you, sooner than you think,” Snyder’s voice says as the world turns to custard. 

George suddenly finds himself seated in an all-too-familiar restaurant—across from himself. 

He tries to scream, tries to run, tries to do anything—but finds himself stuck, in an elevator with no buttons. 

Snyder’s voice oozes in his ear. “You better watch this one. He looks like a real killer,” he hisses with a crackle, as George stares into his own smiling face, knowing all too well how the night is going to play out.