In the Dark

In the Dark M. B. Dysthe

These are works of fiction. All of the characters and events portrayed in these short stories are products of the writer’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or actual events is entirely concidental.

In the Dark. Copyright Š 2017 by M. B. Dysthe.

All rights reserved.

To my parents, mamma & pappa

Introduction Let it be known that these stories were found in the dark depths of my mind, a place I only go to find stories. Luckily.

In the Dark is a collection of various horror stories, written during my first two years studying Creative writing at the University of Winchester.

I have always been a lover of words and stories, so that I now find myself writing is no surprise.

However, that I would end up writing horror I could never have imagined. You see, I have never been a big fan of the genre itself. My brain has always been too logically wired to scare from something I read and watch, or so I thought. Because what I soon discovered after giving horror a chance, was that my imagination quickly became my worst nightmare. My logical brain turned on me, and before I knew it, I imagined all sorts of horrid creatures and happenings. Fortunately, as a creative writer, I turned this darkness into the stories presented in this book.

Now, before we start; I would like to say how grateful I am to my parents. Thank you, mamma and pappa, for letting me do the thing I love; write, and thank you for still loving me after seeing what my mind can create.

P.S. Before you turn the page, may I suggest reading in the dark?

Contents Globule Thirst • 1 The Lost Children • 7 The Perfect Family • 10 Originals reflect • 16 Lesson Learned • 21

Globule Thirst It ran like water in a creek, moving with the current. Following the upstream, the downstream, flowing within. He could feel the pulse quicken, and with it came the rush like a water fall. He licked his lips before he tasted it, clean, pure and natural.

He felt himself strengthening with the liquid, and he tasted it like wine. The silky texture danced with his tongue, and he savored the flavor as it poured down his throat. He imagined every vein succumb to his need, and the body started feeling limp in his hands.

As the body emptied, he could feel himself filling. He dared not waste a drop and while he sucked the veins dry he forced his hand through the chest of the boy. His nails, long and deadly sharp ripped the skin apart, muscles crushed the bones on its way, and finally he could feel the last remaining heartbeat in his hand. He freed the heart from its place and the occupant was forced out into the world. He smelled the metallic in the air and the water rose in his mouth. He looked at the heart with what a human would call love, and he drank from it like a coconut; sucking, drinking, licking every nook dry.

He felt a drop seep from his mouth, making its way towards the end of his chin, and with a swift move, he caught it with his finger. He didn’t dare to spill a single drop, it was simply too precious, too good. Slowly he smeared it onto his lips. He wanted, and he needed to remember the taste, the feeling, the smell, and as he forced the memory into his head, he drank the last drop of blood in the world.

1

M. B. Dysthe *** The air was stale, and bodies lay littered across the streets. Every house bore trace of being abandoned and left in a hurry; half eaten food lay on counters to rot, main doors were left ajar and families had fallen just meters away from their houses. It reeked of a thousand corpses, of death and destruction, and it was clear that something of the upmost evil had taken place.

Not a single body was intact, heads had rolled away from their source and the remains were ripped into pieces, leaving a bloodbath left to dry in the sun.

As the days went by the heat fried the skin and flesh, again and again, boiling up a smell of rotten meat and warm feces. The electricity had cut out several weeks ago, and the world had become a place of undead creatures lurking in the dark.

Forced into a damp and dark basement, Jack sat shoulder to shoulder with people he had never met. The different ages ranged from three, a little girl with her tomato red hair tied on the top of her head, to the oldest, around 70 years old. He thought the older woman’s name was Maggie, and she was the only person he had seen before. She used to live at the end of the street with her husband, Walter. She looked defeated where she sat on the cold stone floor, dried blood glued to her forehead. They all looked defeated, and if Jack was being truthful to himself, he was too.

Until now, no one had said anything and no one had introduced themselves. The room felt small and the tension could be sliced with a knife. There was no way of knowing what time it was, except for the small peephole of a window close to the ceiling. The light was getting increasingly dimmer, and Jack could feel his own heartbeat quicken.

They had started out with a fairly large group, but like apples they had been picked throughout the time they had been there. He came at night, and now, only six remained. There was no way of knowing what happened after they had been chosen, yet there was no question that the screams coming from the other side of the door indicated something gruesome.

It had happened slowly. Everyone saw the warning signs, news upon news, the top leaders in every country had met to discuss the horrid changes, yet here they sat, the last people in the world waiting for their end. Jack and the rest of the group was part of a war they couldn’t fight, a war that didn’t belong to them. Vampires. Creatures of the night who was once believed to only exist in stories and horror books.

Why they had decided to rise from the dark and take over the world no one really knew, and to be frank he didn’t think they needed a reason, except to drink their blood.

Too much time had been spent talking, and without proper action, humans had been an easy target. Before he knew, his mother had broken his little sisters neck and punctured her skin with her teeth.

2

In the Dark The world he knew was no more and he ran from his family and everything he knew, into the arms of a pale skinned man who bore the look of the devil. Jack and the others were stored away like canned goods, no longer people, but food. *** Fog was slowly seeping from the forest and thick clouds had gathered in the sky, the sun was no longer visible, and night approached rapidly.

The streets were filled; bodies were crushed into the asphalt and several vampires lay on the ground trying to lick remains of blood from it. No humans had been seen for days, and what the vampires now lived on was their bodies preserve. They wouldn’t last much longer if no blood was found.

While the other vampires roamed the streets trying to squeeze out the last drops of the rotten bodies, one glanced over their heads, refusing to stoop to their level. His skin looked like marble, white with sickly blue veins showing through. His black hair lay in slick curls and with piercing red eyes he looked at all the others with hatred.

Their desperate eyes and dry throats had taken too much and left them all for dead. He would not assist them in their need, they were too far gone to understand the doom they had brought upon them.

‘Selfish blood-suckers,’ he sneered as his gaze fell upon a child who had its teeth locked around a rotten arm; sucking for nourishment, like milk out of a mother’s breast.

He looked at his creations, desperate and thoughtless they had taken over the world. The time where vampires lived hidden had passed, a time where thirst could be quenched and humans found, was gone.

As the numbers had rapidly grown through the years, the lack of control had left them in a crisis. There were too many of them, and not enough blood.

It angered him that he, who had lived for centuries, had been so foolish. To see the world crumble into nothing but a plate of food had given him joy at first, but as he feasted as before, he started to realize all the hungry eyes set on him as he drank blood from a newly broken neck.

Suddenly humans were ripped apart in fights, and blood wasted to the ground. The only way for him to outlive them all, was to take what belonged to him and leave all his creations to die. *** The night had fallen completely now, and they could barely see each other. Jack’s gaze followed the moonlight from the window down to the basement floor they all sat on.

3

M. B. Dysthe The little girl was sleeping in her mother’s arms and for the first time he let himself miss his own family. The mother looked exhausted, but kept a smile on her face as she lulled the girl back and forth. She was humming a familiar tune and without realizing, he started singing along. It was a lullaby, a song his mother had sung for him. The woman looked at him and nodded.

Everyone turned to him, the breaker of the silence, and before he could help himself he said, ‘We have to kill each other.’

No one moved and before silence filled the space again he went on, ‘I don’t wanna end up like them.’

He looked around the room, but no one spoke.

‘I mean… It’s either die quickly in here, or be eaten and god knows what out there. We’ve all heard the screams.’

A man in his fifties looked at him, ‘I understand where you’re coming from, son, but I’m not killing anyone.’ Gesturing around the room he added, ‘and I don’t think anyone else is either.’

‘But, what’s the option? At least then we will choose our own destinies. We don’t know what’ll happen once we’re out there.’

‘I can’t kill my child,’ the mother said, she didn’t look at him, she had only eyes for her daughter. ‘We might find a way out, still.’

‘Yes.’ Maggie agreed. She sat next to the mother and the child, her kind eyes fixed on him.

The floor was moist, the walls felt close and he could hear his own heartbeat.

‘Sorry,’ Jack knew when he had been beat, ‘shouldn’t have said anything.’

He sat back and embraced the silence which seemed to fill every void in the room now.

Jack jumped. The key in the door turned slowly and it creaked open. Like statues no one moved a muscle.

Perhaps it was her mother’s sudden tension, or maybe the sound of the door, but the 3-year-old opened her eyes and let out a high-pitched cry. The mother desperately tried to hush her, but the damage had already been done. The creature entering the room seemed to hover above the floor and gracefully approached the child and mother on the ground. Jack could see her tightening the grip she had on her child and as she did, the white monster stretched out his skeleton hand and grabbed the child’s tiny, twig-thin arm.

The child started crying even harder, and the creature tugged the arm as the mother yelled, ‘NO!’ The vampire’s mouth broke into a smile as he used his strength to pull the two apart.

Before anyone could react, he was half-way to the door and the mother started yelling, ‘Take me! Please, take me!’

4

In the Dark The vampire stopped and turned to look at her, it was clear that this brought him more joy than anything. To see a mother begging for her child. She ran forward to take her daughter, but as she did he moved up the stairs and towards the door. As he closed it, the mother turned to Jack and yelled ‘Kill her! Kill her, please, before he can!’

Paralyzed with fear, they sat staring at the mother who now laid shaking on the ground.

Maggie, crawled stiffly towards her. She embraced the mother and let her cry into her shoulder as the piercing scream of a child found its way through the door and down to the basement floor. *** He could feel the presence of others, hidden in the dark, in every nook of the world. He knew they could smell the fresh blood, and just like him they longed for it, to feel the taste pouring down, floating inside. He imagined the red, dark as a December night, yet fresh as a loved one’s death. He imagined all the bodies in the basement, a feast where he was the only one invited. He could hear the others, seeking, longing, aggressively looking.

He was down to only five people now and as the other vampires grew more and more desperate there was a greater risk for them to smell their way into his preserve. He licked the last of the residue off his fingers and stared at the basement door.

He let the child fall to the ground as he came to realize that if he were to drink it all himself, he would have to do it soon rather than later. *** ‘Who should be the last one?’ A man who had until now remained quiet and kept away from the rest of the group stood up and walked towards Jack. ‘Someone has to stay behind.’

He had dark skin and his bald head shone from the moonlight. No one spoke, yet they all knew what had to be done. They had all had enough, and secretly they all wished they agreed to Jack’s plan earlier. After all, no mother should outlive her child.

‘I’ll do it.’ Jack looked at the man. ‘It was my idea, I’ll do it.’

The muffled cries of the mother settled down as she looked up from Maggie’s shoulder and said, ‘Kill me first. Please.’

They talked for an hour, deciding who would kill, who should die and how. Jack was no longer the most eager one, and he sat quietly listening to the plan taking shape.

He would be the last one to go, which meant he would not only have to definitely kill someone, he would have to kill himself. The mother, Jessica as she had introduced herself as, was the first one to go, then Maggie, Jackson the bald man, Max the middle-aged man and finally him, Jack.

5

M. B. Dysthe There wasn’t much in the basement to use. With no sharp tools, it was clear that it wouldn’t be a clean death. Instead of a simple slice to the neck it would become a bloodbath. With just a shovel covered in rust, they would have to make several punches to the skull. *** Tranced in his own thoughts, the smell of fresh blood rising from the basement didn’t seem to faze him at first. The child laid on the ground, dried to the bone, but the smell of its blood still lingered in the air. It wasn’t until he could feel his mouth water that he became aware of freshly spilt blood.

It had been several minutes since he had heard the faint whispers of his food and as his mind found its way back, anger seized him. He strode towards the wooden door and without turning the key he ripped it open, breaking the hinges clean off. He threw the door to the side and looked fiercely down into the basement.

In the middle of the floor stood the teenager he had collected, a shovel in his hand. Around him lay the others scattered, blood spilling out on the ground, food wasted. The fury he felt had no bounds, and he flew forwards and took a hold of the boy. *** It was too late. A murderer, and most likely soon to be vampire, Jack hung above the ground in the creature’s hands. Its cold fingers and sharp nails forced its way into his arms and a pain shot through his limbs. He screamed, and before he could close his mouth, the vampire smiled down at him.

With an ice-cold stare and a vicious whisper, he said ‘You might have saved the others

from my grasp, but you shall be drunk and devoured to the last drop.’

The vampire drew him closer and Jack felt reduced to a ragdoll, someone to throw around without a say in the matter. The creature still held him with a firm grip, and could feel drops of blood making their way down his arms. He could only imagine his blood blending with the others, Jessica, Maggie, Jackson and Max’s, creating a pool of red.

Their captive forced his teeth into his neck, puncturing his skin as easy as a needle to a balloon.

Slowly, his life was sucked out of him.

6

The Lost Children A child is nothing but blood, bones and meat. An easy kill you might say, as their bodies are easy to break and their screams are easy to extinguish. When killing a child, the most important thing is to lure them with you and make them trust you; if trust is not to be gained, then force must be used. You could say that killing a child is an action without mercy; I would say, that’s exactly why I do it. Taking a life from someone who has barely lived it, yes, that is what I live for.

I soon discovered as a child that I enjoyed seeing the light in people’s eyes disappearing. The moment where an inhabited body turns into just an empty shell.

The first death I witnessed was my sister’s. The winter was cold that year, and as we walked through the woods - she four and I nine - we got lost. Two children without survival skills and a fair amount of desperation, we walked for hours without any sign of the village. We kept warm for a long time as we walked, but the darkness fell around us in the woods and we had no choice but to stop.

By this time, we were both starting to get cold, but it became apparent that my sister was suffering more than me. Her fingers, small and not yet fully developed, were slowly turning grey.

I tried my best to heat her, but I guess her tiny body didn’t have much fight in it. She lay in my arms as I saw the blood disappear from the surface of her skin, her body shaking, a last desperate attempt to reheat.

I remember the moment the shaking finally stopped. I thought she was saved. But I was wrong, her body was simply without power to move. Laying still she mumbled something; “warm.” In vain she tried to tug at her tiny dress.

7

M. B. Dysthe It was then I saw it. With her eyes glazed, she looked at me as if I was a stranger and the last breath fell from her lips as death took her. I smiled at how easy it was. Fascinated that something could be there one second, and the next, not.

Something stirred within me as I saw her die, a sense of hunger for more and an itch to do it myself. I wanted to be in charge of that moment, to feel the joy and the power of it.

Of course, for me to kill, people have to be inattentive. To leave their child by themselves, making them a flower easily picked. I never do it close to where they live either, I take, I move, I kill.

However, sometimes an unease takes me. A child who looks like my sister will not give me the pleasure. I have already seen her die once; I will not watch it again. I just leave them then, right where I brought them and let nature do what I could not. *** She is sitting by herself when I see her. The grass surrounding her is patchy and could use a good watering. She is playing with a couple of pinecones, but to her they are probably a couple of sheep. She seems to be humming a song, maybe a lullaby her mother sings to her.

I do not approach her yet, I need to observe, which is half the fun. Watching the prey, and figuring out how to do it without anyone noticing. I have watched her for a few days, getting to know her family and daily routine. At this time of day, noon, she’s always playing by herself in the garden, while her parents are nowhere to be seen. They are truly asking for what I am about to do.

I have made sure to walk past her several times before, that way she is not frightened of me as I now approach her.

“What have you got there, darling?” I say with a sickening sweetness. She does not answer at first, just stares at me, and turns to look for her parents. They are not here, sweetie, I think to myself, enjoying every minute so far.

“It’s a hosey,” she says with a pinecone in her hand, unable to pronounce the ‘r.’ To others this might have been charming, but to me it only makes me want to snap her neck faster.

“Really?” I say, overly enthusiastic. “You know, I have a horse, would you like to see it, or ride it perhaps?”

Her eyes widen. “Yes, please!”

I reach out my hand, and she does not hesitate to take it. She stands up and drops the pinecones, the only evidence of her being there.

8

In the Dark We walk for a while, without a word from either of us. I have explained to her that it is far, and she has been most obedient, walking with her short stubby legs until she can barely walk any longer.

“Ai we thei yet?” she says, her blue eyes on me and her brown hair twirling in the wind. This happens quite a lot. They can never seem to walk when I want them to, therefore I have to carry her the rest of the way.

For hours I walk, while the sun slowly changes position in the sky until it is no longer visible. The perfect time, as we are now in the middle of a field, surrounded my darkness and are camouflaged against the blackness of the night. She has fallen asleep and I lay her down on the grass, barely able to make out her face in the moonlight, but I can still see it.

I nudge her lightly and she fights her heavy lids as she looks up at me and, hopeful she whispers; “Hosey?”

I smile, empowered, and fill with joy as I take a firm grip around her neck, slowly pushing weight upon it, dragging the moment out so I can see it clearly. The light. The disappearing. The ending. She does not scream, too tired to fight, and with bulging eyes, she looks upon me as if I’m a stranger.

9

The Perfect Family Martin was a family man. His family consisted of him, his wife and his son, and the only thing missing was a daughter. However, his wife didn’t want a daughter. Until now.

It seemed to be the right time, Martin had a steady job, and they had a lovely house placed in a typical suburban neighborhood. In all, Martin was happy, pleased to know that he would have his family forever. No ups and downs, just the perfect family. *** Charlene ran away from home. She was convinced she didn’t need anyone except herself.

She was therefore determined to walk as far away as possible. Accompanied by only a dark olive colored, polyester backpack, she walked without a set destination.

With her newfound freedom, she had decided to cut school and never go back to that hell-hole.

She didn’t need to know what year the first World War happened, or the square root of pi. She was street smart, and refused to see herself as a victim just because she was alone.

Charlene had been wandering for several hours. She was used to the town, but strangely enough she had ended up on a street she had never been. A concrete jungle with grey buildings as far as the eye could see, with hundreds of identical men; plain, middle aged, all carrying brown leather suitcases.

10

In the Dark At the end of the street was a small café, a red bricked box with a double glass door, continuously opened due to the stream of office rats gathering for their morning coffee. The street was filled with people and there was only one bus stop at the corner leading into it. They all seemed to pour out of the buses every ten minutes, and the place became even more crowded as she stood watching them all. Not a single car drove down the road, and the absence of vehicles let the business men walk back and forth on the street, crisscrossing and passing through. She could hardly tell one man from another, but oddly enough, not a single one seemed to bump into each other. If they had not had their eyes open and were clearly ready for a new day at work, Charlene could have sworn they were all sleepwalking.

Her eyes followed the stream of men for a while, but the crisp winter air had started to remove every trace of moisture from her skin. Suddenly it felt too tight and her body was starting to itch.

She reached into her coat pocket and felt around for the coins she had taken from her mother’s wallet. It wasn’t much, but enough for a cup of something hot, and if she was lucky she could find a seat within the café, giving her enough time to warm up.

Avoiding eye contact with everyone, she managed to force her way between the crowd before she found herself a chair within the café, facing the street.

She felt the heat immediately, and as it started to seep into her every pore, she decided to celebrate her new born freedom with a cup of hot chocolate and some extra whipped cream on top. *** Martin buttoned his brown tweed jacket, and took a long look at himself in the mirror. He looked plain, a man dressed in nature’s basic colors. It made him blend in easily with the background, helping him to go almost unnoticed throughout his day.

His black framed glasses seemed to magnify his eyes by a couple of sizes and his eyes stood out like piss in the snow. His hair, a great mop on top of his head looked greasy no matter how many times he washed it, but at least he had good skin and a kind smile.

He looked at his wife, still lying in bed and he couldn’t help to feel happy knowing she belonged to him. He turned to assess himself one last time in the mirror, ran his fingers like a rake through his messy hair and deemed himself ready for work.

He reached for his brown leather suitcase, and turned to his wife, ‘I’ll see you later, my love.’

He didn’t wait for a reply. He never did.

Martin strode out of the bedroom, down the stairs and past his son who was sitting on the living room couch. All the curtains were closed, and the house was in a somber state. He had sealed them the moment he moved in and not a single ray of sun shone into the house.

11

M. B. Dysthe The only source of light in the living room came from the TV screen on the wall. A Tom & Jerry cartoon was on and Martin found himself smiling at the little mouse beheading the cat.

The boy on the couch sat crookedly watching the screen. Martin put on his shoes and made his way towards the door, his keys jingled in his pocket and before he went outside he mumbled ‘Bye, son.’ He closed the door behind him, and as he locked it he pretended to take in the beautiful day while quietly surveying his house, making absolute sure no one could look inside.

Martin felt the handle of the door once more, and looked at his family’s house before taking off to work. *** Charlene had been sitting there for several hours, and what seemed to be a chocolate celebration at first had slowly turned into a pity-party.

The girl was now focusing all her strength on how to survive alone on the street, if only for one night. She had spent all her money and didn’t dare leave the café, afraid she wouldn’t be able to go in anywhere else without buying something. The barista had started eyeing her an hour earlier, and it wasn’t until lunchtime, when the office rats started arriving at the café, that the barista forgot about her, and Charlene felt safe again.

She sat consumed by her own thoughts and worries for a while, and stopped noticing people arriving and leaving the building. Time passed and it wasn’t until the door ceased to open and close, and the sound of chatter stopped that she looked up from her thoughts and glanced around the empty café.

The barista was occupied elsewhere, and she felt her body relax, letting out a breath she was unaware she had held.

She heard the crusty turning of a paper and turned her head to the right. A man sat a few meters away from her, eating a sandwich while turning the paper rather quickly. He looked up, and for a second they had eye contact.

She looked away, hoping the man hadn’t noticed her staring. She heard the dry paper as he rose from his chair and walked towards her.

‘I’m Martin,’ he held out a hand and waited for her to shake it. She looked from his hand

to his smiling face and reached out her hand.

‘Charlene.’ As they let go, Martin reached for a stool and sat next to her.

‘Shouldn’t you be in school now, Charlene?’ She knew he probably meant well with his smile and welcoming tone of voice, but the prying and the sitting next to her put her on edge.

‘I quit,’ she wanted to shock him with her brisk and hostile answer, but he seemed relaxed

and just smiled.

He was a tall man, and as she looked into his friendly magnified eyes, she imagined him being bullied as a child, and perhaps even now, I certainly would’ve bullied him, she thought.

12

In the Dark

‘Are you hungry?’ He looked towards the counter where everything from fresh baguettes

with ham and cheese to shrimp sandwiches stood. Her mouth watered and she could feel the spit rising in her mouth, creating a wave to the front.

‘I guess…’ She tried not to seem desperate, but casual as she added, ‘kind of thirsty too

actually.’ He laughed a half-hearted laugh and rose from his stool.

‘I’ll be right back.’

Charlene felt a sudden urge to walk out the door, but Martin stood by the counter pointing at a fresh baguette and her stomach convinced her to stay seated.

Martin came back to the table with food and a bottle of coke, and while she ate he talked about his family and his nine to five job. She nodded whenever it was needed, and as she took another bite of her baguette she thought; maybe I could stay with him and his family tonight.

Charlene walked into the hallway and Martin followed behind her. The TV was on in the living room and she automatically turned towards the sound. She heard the door lock behind her and felt her body tense. On the couch, she saw a young boy with sand colored hair facing the screen.

She could only see the back of his head, but tried to greet him nevertheless, ‘Hi.’ The boy did not move.

‘I’m afraid I’m the talker in the family,’ Martin’s voice came from behind her. The boy sat

glued to the screen, not moving a muscle. Charlene felt an uneasiness in the pit of her stomach, ‘his name is Henrik.’

She looked from the boy to Martin behind her, and then at the door next to him. With a sudden fear, she realized the door didn’t have an inside lock, but simply a keyhole which now seemed to be empty. She forced a growing lump down her throat.

‘So… Where’s your wife?’

‘Upstairs. I’m afraid Martha hasn’t been feeling great recently,’ Martin looked at the

stairs next to Charlene and she felt a sudden urge to yell Martha’s name, making sure she was there. Something was starting to feel off, and mentally she started looking for escape routes while distracting Martin with a conversation.

‘Henrik doesn’t say much, does he?’ She was trying to keep her voice steady and the tone

light, but she was afraid she was failing miserably. Martin seemed oblivious to her shivering voice however, and just looked towards the boy on the couch.

Charlene turned from Martin’s friendly eyes to the still boy. She was desperately searching for a tiny movement from him, and as she was about to step further into the living room, she heard a noise. She was about to turn around, but before she could move, she heard her own skull crack.

13

M. B. Dysthe *** Martin placed the baseball bat back to its place behind the coat stand. He made a mental note to clean it later, as well as the rug underneath Charlene’s head. He had to keep it clean, his wife didn’t like big messes.

In the dim light from the TV, Martin took the girls limp arm and used it to turn her over on her back, before he sat down so it would be easier to lift her. Her eyes were closed, but Martin could see her pupils move underneath the thin ivory skin. He lifted her up before she could come back to consciousness again, and held her like a husband carries his newlywed bride.

He made his way towards a door next to the staircase, pushed it open and looked down into the basement. Step by step he walked with the girl, the floorboards creaking as their combined body weight forced the wooden surface to bend downwards.

Charlene’s head lolled back and forth as her neck had lost all support. Her mouth was slightly open and she looked peaceful as he laid her carefully upon a table in the dark room.

Martin was well accustomed to the basement and could find his way blindfolded, but what he was about to do acquired light and concentration. He reached for a thin string directly above the table, pulled it and a small lightbulb shone across Charlene, as well as the tools on the wall next to her.

Martin made sure Charlene’s body lay like a star before he started undressing her. He removed one layer at a time, and took great care so he wouldn’t harm her in any way.

She looked beautiful and he thought how nicely she would fit in. He dragged her tight washedout jeans off and slid her hoodie over her head. She moaned softly, and he hurried on until all that remained was her white cotton bra and panties with black lace edges.

He turned from the table, reached out a hand, and grabbed a small saw. Again, with great care, he put the blade to the girl’s neck and started carving his way through her jugular veins.

Forcefully, he went on until he was through meat and bone, and her head fell away from her body.

The table fed on her blood and the dry wood drew in the moisture, extracting every drop for its benefit, while Charlene laid white and pure on the table. The red gushed to the ground and Martin made a mental note to clean it up later. He moved around swiftly, as he sawed off one body part after another.

Charlene started spasming, and the room filled with a vile smell as the girl’s feces stained her white underwear. Martin took no notice, and continued, carving into her bones, cutting her into pieces so she would fit in his freezer.

14

In the Dark He wiped the blood off her naked body parts and left a marbled skin behind. He carved out her eyes, and left the sockets clean. Every part of her had to be saved for later, so he put them in a jar with a yellow liquid, which would keep them fresh until he could make them last with his chemicals.

Charlene’s hollow stare followed him around the room, and he could feel the eyeless craters upon him. He lifted her head, laid it down in the comfort of the freezer, and stared down at her while he thought how beautiful she was going to look, the kind of girl boys would want to take to prom.

Martin walked back and forth, laying every part of her down into the cold box. It would take time, but eventually her whole body would be filled with enough chemicals to freeze her in time, and she would eventually be a part of his family. His perfect family of four.

15

Originals reflect Fuck. Adam could feel the pressure from his bladder. His stomach felt bloated and bending outwards, he felt like a balloon ready to burst. Quickly, he swung his feet off the bed and set straight for the family bathroom.

The hallway lay in total darkness, and although unable to decipher anything, he knew where he was walking. Years of living in the same house had made him an expert of it, and with his mind only set on the task of peeing, he strode forwards.

The sound of Adam peeing echoed off the walls, giving off a sound almost equivalent to a small waterfall. The bathroom was without windows, or any form of light, and only depending on his night vision, he aimed down at the porcelain bowl. As the last drops of the liquid left his body, he felt the pressure disappearing, and relieved he stood still for a few seconds taking in the new feeling of utter happiness.

He turned on the tap, and with a thin stream he made sure to not wake his family. As he took the small piece of soap in his hands, rubbing it between them, he stared into the mirror in front of him. He could barely make out his own silhouette, and while focusing on his reflection, he mindlessly put the soap back onto the sink, and rinsed the residue off his hands. He turned the water off, and still looking at himself, dried off on a towel hanging from a hook on the wall. His eyes looked as if they were floating. The room was pitch black, and the plain white made them seem almost luminous as he stared at them. Fascinated, and hypnotized by his own reflection he leaned closer into the mirror, and placing his hands onto the surface of it, he put his face only an inch away.

16

In the Dark Adam didn’t know how long he had been standing there, and ultimately, he felt as if he was standing on the outside of his body. Finally, he managed to break free from his own gaze. Creeped out by himself and the mirror, he took a step back.

He didn’t want to look at his own reflection, afraid it would happen again, and walked out of the bathroom. Automatically, he turned to the right as he stepped out, and came face to face with a wall. He laughed a bit at himself for turning the wrong way, and tired, he walked back to his room.

The sun hid behind the few clouds present on the sky. Adam pulled his hair back, away

from his face and yawned as he pulled the cover to the side. He put his feet to the floor, and confused he looked around. The chair, where he had thrown his clothes the night before was on the other side of the bed. He shrugged it off as he went to put his clothes on, and headed downstairs.

The time was inching towards 10, yet both his mother and brother still seemed to be

sleeping, leaving the house in utter silence.

Maneuvering around the house, Adam found himself hesitating and having to reconsider his every action. It was like the whole house was turned around. Must be tired, he thought, and shrugged it off once more.

In need of coffee, Adam opened the cupboard. Staring back at him was an empty jar, and he rubbed his eyes in frustration. He looked towards the stairs, and grabbed an empty envelope. On it, he wrote; Out for coffee, back soon.

The small town was more awake than his family. Mrs. Morris was sitting in her garden,

fingers deep in one of her flowerbeds, while Mr. Morris sat reading the paper on their porch. No one seemed to notice Adam, as he walked rather unkempt straight past them.

Just like his house, the town felt reversed, yet, still the same.

The sound of gravel could be heard as he made his way towards the small corner shop,

and as he strode forwards, he passed every town original he had grown to love.

His family had moved to the small place about a decade ago, and although they were

very much additions to the town’s gossip mill at first, they had been accepted into the community.

In fact, a single mother with two sons was doomed to be pitied in a small place like that, and to Adam’s joy there had been a few ‘Must be hard being a single mother’-pies sent their way.

The appearance of the place resembled a cowboy town; a single street, with all you could need placed on either side of it; a bank, a shop, a café, all run by the locals. Houses were spread around the center and, even though the town was small, what it lacked in size, it made up in charm. In honesty, Adam loved the small place and all its people, and couldn’t help to stop and thoroughly take in the surroundings.

17

M. B. Dysthe Although the town appeared normal, his most prominent thought was that something was off.

Adam felt out of place and surveyed the area several times. But looking from one building to the next, he came up short every time. His mind was in high alert now, yet he kept walking to the shop.

A thin breeze ruffled his hair as he walked. The shop was a ten-minute walk from their house, and for every few meters, he had to nod hello to people passing. He didn’t really look at their faces, too concerned with what he couldn’t figure out; what was off?

Saturday usually made people appear from their everyday burrow, and he felt a bit uncomfortable as he walked, clothes thrown on and teeth not yet brushed.

He picked up his pace as he saw the shop window and stopped in front of it to inspect himself.

He stood there for a few seconds, trying to comprehend what he was seeing. Or not seeing - for although he was placed directly in front of it, he was not in it.

The hell? He moved his arms, hoping that they would show, but nothing happened. He rubbed is eyes, and again, he looked for his reflection.

‘You okay?’ Amanda, the shop girl was standing in the doorway, a concerned look on her face.

‘You’ve been doing that… whatever you’re doing, for a while now.’

‘Eh,’ Adam hesitated. He didn’t really want to come across as insane, ‘Yeah, sorry. Just a bit tired.’

Amanda smiled before going back into the shop. He stared at the door for a bit, before walking in too.

As he stood paying for the jar of coffee, his head was racing; What’s wrong with me? Am I going insane?

‘You sure you’re okay? You seem a bit, um, lost?’ Amanda looked at him doubtfully, with her eyebrows raised.

Adam stared at her face; Isn’t her birthmark usually on the left side of her face?

‘Thanks,’ he mumbled as she gave him his change. He grabbed the coffee, and headed for the door. As he closed it behind him, he caught a glimpse of Amanda’s face. Her face. I swear, the mark was on the left side.

Adam started making his way back. In deep thought, he looked up in time to see Old Mr. Parker, his old teacher strolling towards him. The old man had a glass eye to his student’s horror, and Adam always made sure to look at the healthy right eye. But this time, he was wrong. Heart pumping, Adam looked straight into the glass eye, and instinctually, he turned to look for both their reflections in the closest window. Fuck.

Without thinking, he quickened his pace. Every person he passed, he studied the face of, but he ended up with the same result as before. Amanda was Amanda. Mr. Parker was Mr. Parker.

Yet, they were not.

18

In the Dark Adam walked with purpose, but slowed down as a cloud slid to the side, revealing the sun. Squinting, Adam looked down at his own feet. Are you fucking kidding me? He stopped, looking around, searching the ground for his shadow. Again, he looked at people passing, people surrounding him; everyone without shadows.

Adam shut the door behind him. The wooden surface felt thin and fragile underneath his fingers. His breathing came rapidly and he was hugging the coffee jar. He tried calming down before walking further into the house.

‘Mom?’ His own voice felt distant. He felt distant. ‘Mom? You home?’

‘Yes, honey. In here!’

Adam walked into the kitchen. His mother stood chopping carrots, on the kitchen island. He walked towards her and sat down opposite of her on a bar stool, placing the coffee jar in front of him.

His brother, Alex, was sitting on the couch to the left of him, with the TV on. Adam stole a glance at the screen before turning back to his mother.

‘Anything bothering you?’ His mother stopped chopping for a second, as she looked up at him and waited for his reply.

‘I…’ He hesitated. Shuffling his thoughts before letting them leave his mouth. ‘I can’t see my reflection.’

His mother laughed. ‘What are you talking about?’

Alex turned the TV to mute as he started listening in on their conversation. ‘I can’t see anyone’s reflection. Nor shadows.’ He looked passed his mother and focused on the microwave behind her.

‘Just look! You don’t have one either,’ He pointed to the glass window. His mother looked up from the carrots, ‘and your face, it’s different too.’

‘Maybe you should lay down for a bit?’ She looked concerned, but continued chopping carrots while staring at Adam. ‘I think you might be having a fever, honey.’

Adam was about to reply when the sound of meat being cut reached his ears. Instead of the vegetables, the knife blade had gone straight through her fingers. As his mother pulled her hand away, three fingertips remained on the cutting board. Her face twisted with pain, as she grabbed her hand to stop the bleeding.

‘Mom! Fuck! Are you okay?’ Adam grabbed for the kitchen towel, but before he could hand it to his mother, he realized something. No blood. ‘What the fuck?’ Adam stood up, pushing the bar stool backwards, resulting in it falling to the floor. ‘Mom, where’s the blood?’

Alex rushed to their mother’s side, helping her with the blood that was not there, while Adam just stared at his family. Shocked.

19

M. B. Dysthe His head was racing. Question upon question sprung to mind. What was going on? No reflections. No shadows. No blood. Looking at the scene taking place in front of him, he realized; They’re not real. He thought back to the place where it had all changed, the mirror, the out-ofbody experience, the confusion.

While realizing, he felt unnaturally calm. The blade was left on the counter as his mother and brother tried to stop the nonexistent blood flow, and his eyes rested on it. He walked up to it, and lifted it to his face as he twisted it to see his own reflection; nothing.

Adam couldn’t hear his mother’s whimpering; every sound blocked out by the mild shock of the situation. Without thinking, he walked towards his mother and plunged the knife into his her chest. Her eyes. Betrayed. Adam felt a lump gathering in the pit of his stomach, but relieved he looked at the blade. No blood.

Adam had forgotten about his little brother, and as Alex raced towards him to take a hold of the knife, Adam forced the knife into his scalp. Suddenly, every sound rushed back at once, and as the knife made its way through his brother’s skull, he could hear the sickening crack, blending with the moist sound of meat being sliced.

Fuck. Adam felt sick. It’s not real. He let go of the knife, staring at the two bodies in front of him. Wake up. Adam, you gotta wake up. The picture of the mirror appeared in his mind again and he set for the stairs, skipping every other step.

The bathroom was pitch black. His rapid breaths mirroring his pumping heart. Dun dun. Dun dun. It’s gotta work. He leaned on the mirror, focusing, searching for his eyes. His reflection.

Slowly they emerged from the dark.

He reached his arm out behind him, searching for the light switch while still staring at himself.

Click. Adam started to relax as he felt his nightmare end. He looked at his reflection, it’s okay, he smiled. I’m okay.

He laughed a bit at himself, before he mumbled, ‘I need to sleep.’ He turned to walk out of the bathroom, and lifted his gaze to find the light switch. Dun dun. Dun dun. His heart raced again.

The white tiles were filled with marks. Red smeared from one tile to another. He stood still as he looked down at his hands. Blood.

20

Lesson Learned In a tiny attic, in the far corner, there stood a delicate jewelry box. Filled with tears and blood from children and a soothing lullaby, it was now forgotten.

The box was topped with years of dust and dirt, and not a trace of sunlight had shone upon it for decades. The memories of its past were imprinted on the inside, but the lock had long since been sealed, the key misplaced, and its secrets buried.

The jewelry box seemed to have no purpose anymore, until one day, when a girl named Anna stumbled upon it. *** The door creaked open, and a thread of light fell upon the wooden floor. A girl, short and chubby, peeked inside. She made sure no one was following her, and turned around one last time before stepping within.

Anna wasn’t allowed in the attic, but she didn’t think highly of rules and did as she desired.

Her mother struggled with her daughter. Time and time again, Anna was caught sneaking around, doing mischief, and as her actions became worse, so did her mother’s punishments. Still, Anna never learned.

Now, you might think that a girl like Anna had a good reason for her behavior, but the truth is, she did not. Anna was simply jealous, and green of envy she became vicious.

21

M. B. Dysthe You see, it all started when Anna was five and her parents brought home her little brother. She had been an only child until this day, and unfortunately, she was not ready to share her parents with anyone.

Her brother was a beautiful baby boy with silky white hair. He quickly became the center of attention, as babies usually do, and as Anna observed her family, hatred began to rise. A hatred not yet known to most children, rooted in her heart, poisoning every inch of her mind. Like a nose bleed, it poured out of her, dark and sticky until it consumed her life, and the lives of those surrounding her, the people who loved her the most.

At first Anna’s wrongdoings were desperate acts for attention. She broke her brother’s toys, screamed until she fell asleep and threw food upon the wooden floor, leaving her mother to clean it. She soon discovered though, that this brought nothing but yelling and a whole lot of, ‘Go to your room, Anna!’ and ultimately, she grew worse.

When Anna was seven, she glued her brother to a chair, and rather enjoyed his sore cries for help, until her mother punished her with spanking. At the age of nine, she accidentally knocked over her grandfather’s ashes, spreading it all over the living room carpet, and even pouring some of it down the toilet. Her crying mother sent Anna to bed without any supper, which to Anna, seemed a bit unfair. And now, at the age of eleven, she had just buried the family cat, alive in the garden. In fact, in the very moment Anna walked into the attic, the cat was slowly suffocating, catching its final breath and swallowing lumps of mud.

As cruel as Anna could be, she was no fool. Therefore, she had buried him, hidden in the dark of night. However, afraid her mother would notice, Anna quickly ran to find the perfect hiding place.

Entering the attic, closing the door behind her, she tiptoed forward, glancing across the room, looking for something of interest. The round window at the far end was the only source of light, and the moonlight transformed the attic to a creepy playground for her imagination.

As she looked around, Anna saw what she feared the most, ghosts, floating faces, creepy dolls; they all weighed her down with their stares.

‘They’re not real,’ she whispered to herself. ‘They’re not real!’ she repeated, before blinking them away. For every blink, she saw the items for what they truly were. Not a ghost, but a sheet covering a mannequin, not floating faces, but pictures of people, and dolls, stupid broken rag dolls.

Anna continued looking around the attic and cautiously stepped forward. She hoped that the old wooden house wouldn’t screech under her feet, as she could hear her mother standing on the porch, underneath the attic window, calling for Arnold, the now dead family cat. As her mother’s voice found its way to Anna’s ears, she was reminded why she was up there.

22

In the Dark She was about to hide behind an old oak chest, but stopped abruptly as she caught sight of an object. In the midst of everything something red was illuminated by the moonlight. Anna approached the item, reached out her hand, taking hold of it with a firm grip. It was a wooden box, red as wine, and as rich in color as dried blood. A layer of dust covered the top, but was easily cleaned with a swipe of her sleeve. The box was decorated with a tiny glass surface, and underneath, what looked like a pond with lotus flowers and two crafted ducks.

‘A jewelry box for a child,’ Anna thought, ‘not at all like me,’ and while thinking those words, she tried frantically to open the red box.

As it became clear to Anna that the box was sealed shut, she looked at the key hole and wondered, ‘Where is that stupid key?’

As soon as her thought occurred, a whisper reached her ears, making her jump, and almost drop the box to the ground.

She faltered for a few seconds, but quickly found her footing again, and as she did, she could feel something underneath her right shoe. It felt like a stone at first, and she was about to kick it across the floor, but as she raised her foot to look, to her surprise and great delight, there lay the key.

Anna didn’t hesitate, and she certainly didn’t mind the coincidence, and proceeded to grab the key with her sausage fingers.

It opened with a click. A lullaby filled the room instantaneously, a soothing tune and a whispered song appeared.

Lost to a child is their unforgiving ways Lost to a child is their hatred and games Lost to a child is their parents sorrow So now, measures we’ll take We will transform them to something else Something better Something kinder They will not cause trouble They will not cause pain Because they will never move Ever again

23

M. B. Dysthe Anna didn’t have time to ponder upon the words sung. As soon as the melody had faded, the attic filled with ice cold air, the room became pitch black and Anna could no longer move. Every limb of her body froze, her eyes could not be shut and her mouth could not be opened. She wanted to scream and run, but couldn’t. Her eyes filled with tears of horror, and she could hardly see a thing.

Soon she heard a child’s laughter, and a light whisper in her ear, ‘This is the pain you caused, Anna. You have put this upon yourself, and what you have done to others will now happen to you.

You chose not learn, you chose not to be kind, and you chose most of all, to leave your family behind.’

Suddenly, the room became bright and she could hear footsteps behind her. ‘My darling girl’ a voice said.

What seemed to be Anna’s mother, walked up to her and soon they stood eye to eye. A slight relief rose to the surface of Anna’s chest, and she was about to laugh with joy when she noticed that she could still not move.

As if reading Anna’s mind, her mother said, ‘don’t move,’ and she simply could not disobey.

A movement appeared behind her mother. Her little brother, a boy of six with his finger up his nose walked towards them. As he caught up with them, he stopped and grabbed their mother’s hand with his nose free one.

Anna was becoming confused, and started looking for every possibility that this was just a dream. A meow echoed in the room, followed by the cat Arnold walking across the attic floor.

Anna knew that she had killed him, and convinced it was just a dream, she sighed with relief. Now all she had to do was wake up, or so she thought.

Anna’s mother let go of her son and raised her hand. As she did, a knife appeared in it. Her mother smiled lovingly at her, and Anna prepared herself to wake up as she saw the blade inch closer to her shoulder.

Anna wanted to scream as a wave of pain shot through her limbs. She could feel the knife forcing its way through her flesh. Every rapid sob was locked within her, her mouth stuck shut, her body still frozen. Black dots started to appear in her vision, yet she remained conscious and could feel the knife cutting, and the blood dripping.

Anna’s heart pumped desperately, and red gushed to the ground, filling the wooden floor in every crack and corner. Her eyes burned, and tears ran down her face.

Her mother was slowly ripping her apart. Where Anna’s shoulder stopped and her arm began, her mother moved the blade, back and forth. Soon, the arm fell off. Her mother picked it up, and fed it into the jewelry box, which swallowed it whole.

Anna felt nauseous, and although exhausted from pain, she still stood awake and erect. All she could do was stand and hope it all would soon be over. But unfortunately, her hope was in vain.

24

In the Dark As soon as her mother had finished one arm, her little brother appeared with a small knife of his own. He sat down on his knees, looked up at Anna with a smile, before digging the blade into her leg. Back and forth, he dragged the knife, and like her blood, tears fell to the floor.

With pain, Anna had realized that this was no dream, and all she wanted to do was yell how sorry she was. But she simply couldn’t.

Her body was becoming numb from the pain, and as her last body parts were ripped away, she fell to the floor. As soon as she hit the ground, Arnold came running. The cat circled her, as he nibbled on the strands of flesh left on her body.

Her mother cleaned up the mess, as always, and put the last body parts into the jewelry box.

Surrounded by the people who loved her the most, Anna lay still and waited for it to be over, but what she had made sure of with her family was that there was always worse to come, and as the whisper said; what she had done would happen to her.

Her little brother, her mother and their family cat, gathered around her on the floor. Now, instead of a knife, her mother held a needle with thread. She leaned over Anna, getting ready to sew. As her mother pushed the thread into her, she felt a tingling sensation in the rest of her body and as the feeling grew bigger, she grew smaller.

Anna lay of the floor, now the size of a hand. As her mother sewed, arms and legs appeared on Anna’s body. In and out, the needle went through her remaining flesh and soon Anna was no longer missing a single limb.

‘There you are,’ her mother said, as she picked her up. ‘Now, you’ll fit right in with the others.’

Carefully she was placed in the attic. There she sat, out of hope as she saw her mother, brother and cat disappear in thin air. The only thing left after them was the red jewelry box, locked again, but this time containing Anna’s old limbs.

Now Anna was left alone in the attic, with seven old rag dolls surrounding her, and even though Anna was never the same, her lesson was learned.

25