Twisted Roads – Twisted Horror Stories by Matthew Tonks

Blindly in the Land of the Mad

“One, two, three, four,” Sammy whispers under her breath.

“Five, six, seven, eight,” she continues, closing her eyes tightly and pressing her hands over her ears, pushing down hard.

“Nine, ten, eleven, twelve,” she says as the floor beneath her trembles, the lights flicker violently, and doors creep open—only to slam seconds later.

“T-Thirteen, fourteen, f-f-fifteen, sixteen,” she stammers, her voice trembling. The floorboards creak and separate as a blinding light slices through the gaps, burning everything in its path.

She screams, shuffling backward, forcing herself blindly into the corner of the room. The stench of burnt flesh, wood, and rubber snakes into her nostrils, choking her. She squeezes her eyes tighter, shoving her hands harder against her head as if crushing tomatoes—her skull the unwilling fruit. Her lips curl back, baring clenched teeth.

“S-Seventeen, e-e-eighteen, n-nineteen, t-t-twenty!” she hisses as the floorboards are torn away, revealing a gaping abyss below.

Clawed hands erupt from the void, gripping at the edges as cries rise from the darkness—countless voices begging, screaming in pain, spitting hatred, and moaning with pleasure. The sounds coil around her, overwhelming her senses.

More floorboards fall away, the jagged edges splintering as more hands reach for her, clawing at the air. She gasps for breath—each inhale sharper and more desperate than the last.

“Twenty-one, twenty-two, t-t-twenty-three, twenty-four!” she spits as she forces herself to her feet, her eyes still tightly closed, her hands still firmly over her ears.

The cries coming from the abyss, now filling the room except for the small corner she clings to, beckon her in. Some plead with her, others curse her. They promise to love her, kill her, and do ungodly things to her mortal form and soul. And through all the cries, all the pleads and threats, she hears it—a single voice, angelic almost. Her heart skips a beat.

“M-M-Mum?” she stammers.

Something grips her from behind, clinging to her back like a monkey. She tries to pull it free, only to have its putrid breath seep across her face as it blows cold air against her ear. Slimy tendrils loop around her throat.

“The count, bitch! Don’t forget the deal! Keep fucking counting! Don’t stop until the hole is completely open—then you can spend eternity with your whore of a mother.”

“B-B-But,” she stammers as the room shakes again, and the tendrils tighten, while clawed fingers dig into her back.

“Fucking count!” the voice bellows.

“Twenty-five, t-twenty-six, twenty-seven, t-twenty-eight!” she screams as the cries from below get louder and closer. Insults and compliments—promises and threats—all vulgar and depraved.

The tendrils tighten some more, and something wet and sticky brushes her ear.

“A-Almost, a-almost!” the voice stammers in her ear. “F-finish it! F-finish it!” it cries.

She takes a deep breath, opens her eyes, staring into the eyes of a decaying sack of putrid flesh. Its stick-like arms clutch her with bony, crude fingers, the muscle atrophied and rotting. Its mouth hangs from its caved-in skull. A bulging eye blinks at her, while its bottom half snakes around her throat. A glistening trail of drool spills from the corner of its mouth.

“S-Say it!” it stammers.

“You were never going to help me find her, were you?”

“W-W-What? O-O-Of course I was! I-I-I, I just need to be free first, t-then I can help you, t-then you—”

“Liar,” she spits as she curls her lips into a crude grimace.

“One, two, three, four,” she whispers—and jumps into the abyss, seconds before the floorboards slap back into place, and the empty room falls silent once more.