Twisted Roads – Twisted Horror Stories by Matthew Tonks

Friend Group Soup

A short horror by Matthew Tonks

A man’s faith in a single solution becomes a butcher’s logic and a machine feeds on friendship. This is a story about what remains when belief boils the people you love down to something obedient and smiling. Beware the face that comes back to hold your hand.

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“Don’t you see? That’s the whole problem.” Joel scoffs—his smile twisting across his lips as he drags a hand through his sweat-drenched mop of tangled hair. Sammy shakes his head in disbelief, straining against the bindings that trap him in the chair.

“W-What? T-That we’re all different? That we don’t always agree with what someone else thinks is right? That’s your excuse? Well, I hate to break it to you, but welcome to the human fucking race, Joel! Our differences make us what we are—better apart, together—than some bland one-dimensional thing! Shit! If we were all the same—cookie-cutter facsimiles—there’d be no growth, no change, no nothing! I mean FUCK, look at you. Look at this! You’ve invented a FUCKING machine because of the diversity of your own FUCKING friend group—isn’t that something amazing? Isn’t that what everything’s about? Isn’t that humanity finding a way to survive!,” he spits through trembling lips, a frothy sea of saliva forming in the corners of his mouth.

Joel shakes his head in an almost mocking manner before closing his eyes as he forces his hands into a pair of elbow-length black rubber gloves.

“Invention shouldn’t be about purifying what we are—it should be about sharpening ourselves into something that lasts,” he hisses through clenched teeth. “When we spend more time on the wrong things, we suffer as a people, not as individuals. This change—this evolutionary step—will forecast a new front on the horizon of mankind and finally let us shape the world in a way where what is important rises to the top. Things like this—discussions, disagreements—will be things of the past. And we will move forward, unhindered.”

“In your eyes, to your goals—but what about what I believe? What about what Stewart and Carlton believe? Where is our place in evolution? Where’s our stake?”

Joel looks over to them with a dismissive roll of the eyes, while one hand grips a large lever.

“You will believe. You will see. Your stake—will be my stake. Humanity, from this moment, will be forged by me—and whoever the fuck you become after this!” he says as he pulls the lever.

Sammy throws a desperate glance over his shoulder as the machine rattles to life, and the chair jerks forward, dragged toward a vat of spiralling pink liquid. He casts panicked glances at the others as they kick, cry—scream and beg—pleading to be freed. Before he finally turns his desperation to Joel, who strides up the stairs and past him, marching around the rim of the primordial soup with something wild flickering behind his eyes.

“JOEL! Stop it! You win, okay? You win! You’re right! You’re fucking right—you’re always fucking right! Now let us go!” he bellows.

Joel laughs, lowering his safety glasses and flicking through the control panel—punching commands, overriding systems, feeding the machine with his desired calculations before taking a deep breath and turning his gaze back to Sammy.

“I think we’re far from that now, Sammy. You’ve proven it time and time again—which is hilarious, because you’re the one I admire the most. Not for your opinions—but for your dedication to them. That’s why you’re here. That’s why I wanted that in the mix—then, along with Stewart’s ability to solve any problem, regardless of cost, was invaluable. It’s just a pity he doesn’t have the stomach to follow his choices through to meet those solutions, but we can manipulate that away. And as for Carlton—well, if he were a woman, I’d make him mine—but he’s not. So we’ve hit a crossroads. A crossroads the machine will soon erase,” he says, walking in front of Sammy. He thrusts a boot into the base of the chair—grinning as he sends him screaming into the spiralling waters of the soup.

He goes under—and almost instantly his flesh peels away beneath the liquid’s touch. He forces himself up, gasping, before something claws at him, dragging him back under.

He tries to scream, but boiling liquid floods his mouth—burning down his throat, searing him raw inside.

He swings wildly, striking out—only to find Stewart’s hands clutching him. Their eyes lock. Stewart’s grip falters. He groans, gags—then slips away, melting into the soup like wax from a candle.

Sammy’s eyes widen, and he lets out one final cry as he slips beneath the surface. He reaches out, his heart racing, his flesh burning, his mind twisting into spiralling knots while blotches of black and white explode around him.

Voices call out. A hiss. A pop. The mixer’s engines scream back to life. The blade stings as it tears through soft flesh, mixing the soup with renewed vigour—dragging him deeper into its depths.

Moments pass—countless, stretched like eons. A lifetime. Then three more. When the pain finally fades, something wicked and new rolls through him.

Then, in an explosion of white, he finds himself on a slide, dropping fast—gaining speed with every passing moment. Blurred shapes shriek past.

Wind in his hair. A stranger he knows—his face lost in the shadows—followed quickly by a wave of happiness that floods through him. He smiles, then laughs, before the emotion rolls away, and he’s left empty again.

With a crash and bang, he shoots off the end of the slide, landing hard at Joel’s feet.

“I—I,” Joel stammers, clearing his throat as he holds out his hand, the smile quivering. “I’m Joel, and you are?” he asks, helping him to his feet.

“I’m Joel too,” the new one says with a smile on his face.

“Is that Joel too, or Joel two?” Joel asks with a furrowed brow.

New Joel shrugs his shoulders. “Both, I guess.”

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💬 Did this one echo?
Tell me—before it forgets your name.

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Written by Matthew Tonks
→ Read more nightmares at mtonks.com

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