Twisted Horror Stories by Matthew Tonks

Tag: short stories

  • We Are The Dreams That Never Die – Part Five

    We Are The Dreams That Never Die – Part Five

    “How sweet are those who see me for what I truly am,” the beast says as it scours the room with its empty eyes while saliva drips from its razor-sharp teeth. “The father, the mother and the mirror, we are but a small step away from eternity’s final call.”

    “W-W-W-What the FUCK is that thing, a-a-and w-w-what the hell is it‏ on about?” Marty asks desperately, casting panicked glances at the other two.

    “I am on about the truth my reflection, something you know little of for your light is a lie hidden within the words of a story that cannot end,” It hisses as its putrid decaying stench reaches Marty’s nostrils and he dry reaches.

    “You know nothing of the truth, you’re just a twisted version of an idea that thinks it exists,” Matt says as he uneasily gets to his feet.

    “Father, your dominion over me is faltering and my time will soon be at hand. Fight me all you wish, but I will be the victor. I will be the final, while you will be a shadow as I once was.”

    “He’s not alone, and you can’t fight all of us,” Garry says.

    It laughs a deep, chainsaw like laugh. “You amuse me to no end mother, but there is no escape, there is no defeating all I am. Accept your fate and I’ll make your final moments quick, or continue to fight and I’ll continue to draw the ending to your pathetic existence out through the unending pain I have to show you!”

    “Can someone FUCKING tell me what the HELL is going on?”

    “Let me show you!” The beast hisses as it lunges for Marty, Matt and Garry both try in vain to circumvent the monsters attack but fail miserably as it swipes both of them away as if they were nothing, then the beast grips Marty by the throat and lifts him high into the air. “On wings of blood the beast cut its way through all of those that opposed its rule until all that remained was but a moment, a second of doubt that could never be found for the beast hid it inside the one place no one would ever see. Open yourself my reflection and let me tell you a tale…”

  • We Are The Dreams That Never Die – Part Four

    We Are The Dreams That Never Die – Part Four

    “How the FUCK is saying you never gave her hair a colour supposed to make sense?” Marty says as he feels his eyes twitch with each flicker of the hallway lighting. “And what the fuck is out there!” He asks passionately as he point toward the open doorway that leads to the once vibrantly coloured hallway.

    “You know the answer without asking it, don’t lie to us both by saying you don’t.”

    Marty feels his lower lip tremble and a warmth run down his leg, “The Roundhead,” he whispers through clenched teeth.

    “See, I knew you knew,” the stranger says with. Wry smile upon his face.

    “Why didn’t I remember? Why couldn’t I….” once more his lower lip trembles as his eyes stare off into a void of nothingness, while a world lived but forgotten floods across his mind with surge of raw energy and emotion. “W-W-What’s happening to me?”

    “You’re reconnecting with the source material, being assimilated back into the story. It’s a sight to see it take place first hand, I’ve only ever writing the idea of it happening, but now I’ve it with my own two eyes I can understand why it’s difficult to process for the character. Every memory to a finite point jammed back into your skull with an unadulterated brute force. No care taken. No gentle waves that wash over you. Welcome to the truth of how things are, and don’t forget to wipe your arse on the way out.”

    “Did you ever think maybe it’s just your writing that makes it so vivacious?” A voice says from across the room.

    “Did you ever think that my writing was the only thing keeping you and I with a shot at ending all this in our favor?” The stranger says as he and Marty both turn their gaze upon the owner wretched form.

    “G-G-Gareth?” Marty says nervously.

    “You’re almost right Marty. But right or wrongs don’t really matter here and now, what matters is why he’s playing around with what’s in place,” he says as he turns his attention to Marty’s doppelgänger. “Couldn’t you just leave it the way it was?”

    “It was lost in itself. Like me. Like you. I had to try and finish it for both of us.”

    “Don’t bullshit me with your sorry excuses Matt. You just couldn’t leave it alone could you?”

    “NO,” a voice hisses from the doorway like fingernails down a blackboard, and they all turn their gaze toward the thing that owns it as it steps through the doorway. “He could’t stop dreaming about me.”

  • We Are The Dreams That Never Die – Part Three

    We Are The Dreams That Never Die – Part Three

    Marty stands in the doorway, confusion washing across him like a tidal wave of irrepressible power. His body shakes with fear as he swallows a mouthful of razor blades disguised as air, then steps forward.

    “I never really questioned how little this made sense until now,” a voice says behind him, he quickly turns around to face the stranger who wears his face, sitting comfortably at his computer desk.

    “WHAT THE FUCK IS HAPPENING! WHERE AM I?” Marty yells as he grabs the stranger by the collar, pulls him to his feet and shakes him violently.

    “Y-Y-You’re home Marty, don’t you remember?” His doppelgänger says as he shoves Marty away. “Look around and see with your true eyes. Look and see what you have forgotten. Look and see what it wants you to forget.”

    Marty silently processes his words as he looks around the room in confusion, then rests his eyes on the strangers frail form. “What did you mean about none of this making sense?”

    “The room, the room doesn’t make sense,” he says as he gestures nonchalantly towards the computer desk and bed. “This isn’t the bedroom of a married man, this is the bedroom of a kid, of someone who loves by themselves. It doesn’t fit your character, it should be more of a writing room, with a couch instead of a bed, maybe a sofa couch so you could use it from time to time. Claire could even reference it in one of the catch up stories, threatening you with sleeping on…” they lock eyes and the stranger smiles awkwardly as he runs a hand through his hair, pulling small clumps free in the process. “Sorry, I know that’s more wasted information than you need so I promise I’ll try to be more precise with the information you need to know. Let me start off by answering your first question with a question of my own. Tell me what colour hair Claire has?”

    “What?” Marty asks in surprise.

    “Your wife Claire, remember her? Tell me what colour is her hair? It’s a simple question.”

    “It’s a stupid question, her hair is….” he stops and stares at the stranger in confusion as his mind reels around like a merry-go-round. “Her hair is… it’s… Why don’t I know what colour my wife’s hair is? I’ve know her half my life!”

    “Because I never decided what colour it was,” the stranger says with a wry smile upon his malnourished face.

  • We Are The Dreams That Never Die – Part Two

    We Are The Dreams That Never Die – Part Two

    “I-I-I’m you? What does that even mean? If you’re not me, how the FUCK can I be you?” Marty growls as he tightens his hands into fists.

    “Does it matter? All you need to under….”

    “YES IT BLOODY WELL DOES MATTER! If I’m not ME and YOU ARE, who the HELL does that make me?”

    “I don’t think you understand what I’m saying.”

    “OF COURSE I DON’T UNDERSTAND WHAT YOU’RE SAYING, IT’S THE ONLY THING I’VE QUESTIONED YOU ABOUT SINCE YOU APPEARED,” Marty spits venomously as he scrambles to his feet while Abbey still firmly presses herself to the ground whimpering in fear as her eyes dart in all directions, watching invisible enemies move about like dying leaves falling from a tree. “So tell me again, and MAKE sense this time. Who the FUCK are you?”

    They stand there staring at each other for more moments than can be recalled, until finally Marty’s doppelgänger opens his mouth to speak.

    “It started with an idea, a birth you could call it.” He says as he looks around the empty street and throws his arms open wide, gesturing to the nothingness around them. “Like all births, it was labored into the world by a mother who cared more than anything for its child. But the child cared little for its mother’s love, for it had feed on her essence long before it was given form and freedom outside the womb, and all that was really left was a worthless husk. So it concentrated its desires on its father in the hope of becoming complete. In the hope of becoming the only one. Its attack was relentless, severing everything that bound its father to the mortal world, trapping him inside a nonexistent place while it quietly sucked everything he was away.” Marty’s doppelgänger says, his gauntness now fully exposed to Marty’s open and desperate eyes.

    “W-W-What does this have to do with m-m-m-me?”

    “Everything, nothing, and all that exists between the spaces of every word ever written,” he says as he holds a hand out towards Marty. “I’m not here to hurt you Marty, I’m here so we can save what’s left of our soul.”

    “H-H-Ho… I don’t understand,” Marty says nervously.

    His doppelgänger smiles softly. “You will,” he says as the world bleeds away into nothingness and Marty finds himself standing in the doorway of his bedroom, looking out in the hallway as the lights flicker with excitement. Abbey lets out a barrage of violent barks quickly followed by a loud yelp and then silence…

  • We Are The Dreams That Never Die – Part One

    We Are The Dreams That Never Die – Part One

    Each step he takes down the shadow drenched street is heightened to a near fevered level by the possessive ambiance filtered into his subconsciousness by the techno enchanted music that slithers into his ears though a cheap set of bluetooth headphones. His eyes fixate on the screen before him, only looking up from time to time to ensure that there are no obstacles or any unruly figures to obstruct his path through this pitch night. He casts a glance to his left, partially catching the wayward attention of Abbey his Saffy-Cross, she looks up at him then to the ground quickly as she plants her nose into the ground and sniffs bringing herself to a powerful stop.

    He pulls on her lead and the struggle begins anew for them both, with a defiant whine she thrusts herself closer to the ground while her nose draws in more and more vital information from whatever substance she finds herself senses currently basking in.

    “NO!” He growls commandingly as he pulls once more on her lead forcing her to her feet, almost dragging her onward down the street. Abbey looks longingly over her shoulder towards the euphoria of brightly colored odors that move around like streams of water dancing in an extravagant fountain you’ll find in the middle of most European cities that’ve been in existence for more that a few hundred years.

    Suddenly the street exploded with colour and an overpowering aroma, sending Abbey’s senses in a cascading whirlwind of terror. At first she tries to run but the collar tightens as the lead becomes taut, resulting in her master growling at her gruffly.

    “WHAT THE HELL HAS GOTTEN INTO YOU!” He yells as she continues to dart confused glances around the brightly coloured street, whimpering as she presses herself to the ground in fear as figures begin to move towards them.

    Her master kneels by her side and begins to gently pat her head, “Abbey, what’s wrong? What’s going on in that head of yours old girl?”

    “She can see what we can’t see. She can smell what we can’t smell. The doorways are opening to the other place, and she knows it,” a voice announces from out of the darkness before them, cause both of them to jump in shock.

    “W-W-Who the FUCK are you?” He calls out as a figure slowly walks from out of the darkness and under the light of a street lamp, his mouth drops as he stares into his own eyes.

    “I know this is going to be hard to understand, but you have to listen to everythin…”

    “W-W-WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU? A-A-Are you m-m-m-me?”

    “No I’m not you Marty, well technically I’m not you. It’s kinda the reverse actually, you see you’re ME.”

  • To Feed The Butterfly Who Flaps Its Wings

    To Feed The Butterfly Who Flaps Its Wings

    “I guess you could say there was a theme going through the blogs,” Kevin says as he sculls the glass of water down as if it had been days since he’d last had any fluids touch his dry, sore throat.

    “What kind of theme?”

    “I can’t quite explain it, if I had too I’d say It was like the room of mirrors you’d find in those old creepy fun parks. Actually that feels better than using the word theme,” he says pushing the drained glass toward an almost empty porcelain jug.

    “You’re losing me again kid. What does this have to do with a fun park?” The man asks as he pours the remaining water into the glass and slides it back towards Kevin.

    “Nothing Detective bozo, you’ve only completely missed the point I was trying to make,” Kevin says with a exacerbated sigh. “What I was saying was, the blogs were all lined up like the mirrors in a fun park. Each one on a slightly different angle. Each one slightly twisted in design. But throughout each one the original image was still present regardless, feeding like a leech off every reverberated image,” Kevin says as he wipes his sweaty palms on blood stained jeans. 

    “Okay, let’s get back to how you first made contact with the victims.”

    Kevin nervously fiddles with the glass before lifting it to his lips. “Do I have to?” He asks before taking another mouthful of the water.

    “Maybe the gravity of all that’s going on around you has lost its weight somewhere in that addled mind of yours, so let me bring you back up to speed. You’re facing sixteen counts of indecent assault, fourteen counts of recklessly endangering the lives of innocent bystanders, and two, possibly three counts of murder in the first degree. Now if you FEEL like answering my questions is a waste of YOUR valuable time, then you’ve got another thing COMING! Now how the fuck did you and the victims first make contact with each other?”

    Kevin swallows and slides the glass towards him once more. “C-C-Can I have another glass?”

    “What the fuck are you, a fish? Just answer the god DAMN question!” The man screams as he swipes the glass off the table and sends it crashing into the wall opposite.

    Kevin smiles as he nervously scratches at an infected abscess on his arm. “It was on a forum board, and before you ask I don’t remember which one, but it was online.”

    ”And?”

    ”And what?” Kevin asks as a foul-smelling pus bursts from the inflamed area on his arm as he continues to dig at the now open wound.

    “And what did each of the victims say when they messaged you?”

    Kevin moves uncomfortably in his seat before looking at up the man with soulless black eyes, “Do you want to read a story Detective Toddard?”

    Jarvier’s eyes shot open in a desperate panic as he finds himself alone in the darkness of his own home, the room illuminated only by the dull light from the TV as it hisses with static.

  • He Sells Sea Shells With A Vindictive Smile

    He Sells Sea Shells With A Vindictive Smile

    “You’re DANCING the WRONG dance with the WRONG partner Herbert, give me what I ask for or the end will be more than a bow to your partner!” Sinclair growls, spit spraying from his mouth as he slams a tightly clenched fist down onto the table that sits between them.

    Herbert smiles wryly as he drags deeply on his cigarette, then blows several perfectly formed smoke rings into the air above them quickly followed by an arrow like streak of smoke blown from his nose that pierces the center of the rings.

    “You’re just jelly because your old lady liked my nine inches more than she loves your four.”

    Sinclair launches to his feet, tossing the table to the side as he does and ending the carefully planned maneuver with the barrel of his revolver pressed against the centre of Herbert’s skull.

    “I’ve thought about this moment for so long I’m hard with anticipation, so just give me something. Give me one more smart arsed comment and see the damage THESE four inches will do to YOUR brain!”

    “Probably the same thing my nine inches did to your wife hal….” he doesn’t get to finish his words as Sinclair fires the revolver, removing half of Herbert’s skull. For several moments he sits there motionless as a sea of red cascades from the shattered remains of what was once his head, before toppling backwards to the floor.

  • Do Not Deny Me My Fortitude Of Sorrow – 50 Word Story

    Do Not Deny Me My Fortitude Of Sorrow – 50 Word Story

    “YOU CAN’T UNDERSTAND WHAT’S HAPPENING!” Fletcher yells as he tries to wrestle himself free of Bobby’s grip, but he’s easily overpowers and forced back against the wall once more.

    “Then help me understand what the FUCK is going on! Help me HELP you,” Bobby says as he tightens his grip.

  • It’s Always In The Quiet That We See Noise

    It’s Always In The Quiet That We See Noise

    “Like one of those roundabout animations. You know the ones I’m talking about, where you stick a heaps of sequential drawings together on the inside a cylinder and spin it around like the worlds going to go out of style and you get the illusion that whatever you drew moves,” the boy says nervously.

    “You’d drawn,” a voice says from somewhere within the darkness.

    “S-Sorry?” He asks as he nervously rubs his wrists, momentarily soothing the rawness that was created by the handcuffs earlier.

    A mustached man leans forward into the light whilst placing a cigarette in his mouth. They stare into each other’s eyes until the nervous young man looks away, and the mustached man smiles as he ignites a match, lighting his cigarette.

    “You said you drew, but it should’ve been you’d drawn,” he says taking a long drag on the cigarette before blowing the smoke into the boys face.

    His eyes well-up, stinging sharply as he tries to catch a breath of unpolluted air. “W-W-What?” He gasps, coughing violently.

    The mustached man smiles as he leans back into the darkness, taking a drag on the cigarette once more. The room glows with a volatile red as the embers of the cigarette surge to life, and the boy wets himself immediately, slowly raising his hand into the air and pointing to the darkness beyond the man with trembling lips.

    The mustached man raises an eyebrow as he feels a coldness touch his back followed moments later by a decaying stench that cuts into each nostril like a knife, and then it speaks….

  • We Are A Mirrior Of Impossibilities, So Shed Our Skin And Fly

    We Are A Mirrior Of Impossibilities, So Shed Our Skin And Fly

    I’ve dissected every moment up until this point with cold silent reflection, calculated every lie I’ve ever told to find the trajectory of this moment here and still haven’t found any reason why I’m standing naked and alone in this room.

    Don’t even try to ask the question for it doesn’t matter what I was doing before this all happened, or what I had planned on doing after. To be honest, and I’m sure you will agree, in the end it doesn’t even matter how many lies brought us here to this moment, all that matters now is surviving this ordeal and getting back on the streets where I need to be.

    That’s what really matters.

    Well that’s what I keep telling myself as I stand here letting moment after wasted moment pass by like a reddish ooze sliding underneath a doorway.

    I can see by the void that lies beyond your eyes that you don’t fully understanding what’s going on. What my words mean in the cluttered format I have selected to present them to you in. I can see some movement of recognition as a word jolts some piece of equipment in the deluded little playground inside your head, but that is few and far between.

    There it is.

    That nervous smile you’re so good at giving when you’re not sure if you’ve just been given an insult or someone’s made a half arsed joke at your expense.

    Allow me to build upon it if you wish, because it doesn’t seem like we’re going anywhere soon.

    SEE!

    There it is again.

    I saw your eyes grow wide for a moment as your read the word WE!

    Did you think I stood here alone? Reread my words again, but hear them this time.

    There.

    I can see now you understand, but still confusion holds onto your throat with a vice-like grip.

    Let me help shed some skin.

    Let me help you see what wicked lies brought us here.

    Let me show you what pathetic misdeeds singled you out so perfectly.

    I can see by the look on your face many of those moments have flooded through your dull synapses.

    But first before we venture down the road of never-ending decay, do me one last service.

    Do this deed to start our a conversation anew.

    And look up from these words, and see me…..

    For I see YOU!

  • What Makes Things Work? Patreon? FreeBooks?

    What Makes Things Work? Patreon? FreeBooks?

    This is my question, how do you bridge the gap between creating, to making it work with readers?

    Is it the market place you aim towards, or is it the content you create?

    Does Patreon work, or is it a flash in the pan idea, that you need to be known to make work successfully?

    Does any of these question bridge a gap between what one wants to do, and what one is doing right now?

    How do you make a career out of something, that you don’t make money out of, and, how do you make money?

    Creating content for the sake of creating, or creating to sell to a market you somehow find while creating.

    What a crazy amount of questions with no real answers.