Twisted Roads – Twisted Horror Stories by Matthew Tonks

Everyone Wants to Sell You Immortality

A short horror by Matthew Tonks

A late knock promises a second chance, but the offer smells of rot and commerce. He is tempted by a boxed solution that promises to make him whole again — and the price may be what he already is.

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The door hangs open wide, a cool breeze crawling inside. His breath stumbles in his chest as he stands frozen in the doorway. The figure before him smiles a rotten grin, the stench of decay wafting from his flesh. Martin stares, drowning in the ebbing tide of nothing. A globule of drool clings to the corner of his mouth. He swallows, shaking his head.

“G-G-Grant?” he says through trembling lips.

The grin broadens as clumps of dirt and writhing worms slip from Grant’s cheeks. He reaches out and grabs Martin’s shoulder, squeezing.

“I knew it,” he roars and barges into the house, dragging mud and rot across the lounge and through Martin’s plush lambskin rug.

Martin cringes, stares out the door for a moment, then turns with a pointed finger.
“W-W-What the fuck? H-How are you here? I-I—I only just talked to you. D-Did you finally contact that guy? S-So it’s real?”

Grant turns, shaking his head. “That ain’t a thing, Marty. Once you’re dead—you’re dead,” he says, his smile gone. “Me included. There ain’t no superficial artificial existence. When the lights go out, they go out. There ain’t a goddamn thing after.”

Martin’s face tightens into a grimace.
“Then what—or who—are you, if you’re dead? Who the hell have I been talking to, if that’s not you, since you died?”

Grant groans and slumps onto the couch. A sea of dirt, worms, and rotting flesh spills from within him, maggots writhing as they flood the cushions.

“Beats me. An echo, maybe. Piss and wind rattling through a decaying puppet? More guess than fact though, mind you. But the superficial construct,” he says, motioning toward the glowing console, “that’s nothing but trigger points—an advertising stream. Big market, big dollars. And you all buy in—moment to moment, lie to lie. That’s why I’m here. That’s why I escaped—whatever it was. To warn you. Maybe save you.”

“S-Save me? F-From what?”

“From them. From the bastards who want you to believe there’s a step—an evolutionary step—from their backend systems back into the flesh. They want to own you. Monthly subscriptions. Weekly updates. Money here, there, and everywhere. Draining you. Corralling you. Owning you. And in the end, you don’t even realise you’re competing—chasing the dragon, chasing evolution—when it’s already here. Waiting.”

He holds out a small box, then sets it on the table.

“W-W-What is it?”

Grant smiles. “Open it, and find out.”

Martin stares at the box, then at Grant, before catching sight of a small blinking device embedded in the back of Grant’s neck. His brow furrows. His lips pucker. He takes a breath, then picks up the box.
The lid slides off with a soft click. Inside, nestled in black foam, is a device—small, curved, metallic—almost identical to the one in Grant’s neck.

“A chip?”

“It’s not just a chip. It’s the next step. The real one. Not code. Not simulation. It’s flesh. It’s spit. It’s serum. You want out? You want to be yours again? Plug it in and show them they never owned you. Show them you’ll always be you—then raise your middle finger high, let it shine, and tell them yours is mightier than theirs!” he says, sticking his finger in the air, while poking out his rancid tongue.

Martin screws up his lips, narrows his eyes, then gently lifts the chip from the box.
“S-So, w-what do I do? How does it work?”

Grant grins. “Stick it in, follow the prompts. Immortality starts the second your card clears.”

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

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

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