THE ATTIC
A Collection of Horrific Tales
by: Kate Bowyer
The Attic
© 2011 by Kate Bowyer.
"Extinct" copyright 2011 by Kate Bowyer.
"Dead Famous" copyright 2011 by Kate Bowyer.
"Sleeping With The Enemy" copyright 2011 by Kate Bowyer.
"Silence
is Golden" copyright 2011 by Kate Bowyer.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or
transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic,
mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without prior
written permission of Kate Bowyer at http://katebowyer.com.
For my family, who drives me to write.
EXTINCT
Walking at the back of the crowd my heart raced with anticipation. I tried to control my breathing as I remembered how long it took me to save up to buy this exclusive ticket. Now, moving through this place I find myself both dreading what I'll witness and thrilled at the same time.
Following the group up a ramp I heard them first, for the crowd before me created a wall so I could not see them.
Long growls turned to slow moving moans, followed by high pitched whining. The same grotesque noises tumbled out one after another and I thought I would have to disengage myself from the display. As I moved between the bodies to finally see what I paid so dearly for, the clouds broke apart, and long slender rays of sun washed over the scene. I watched as they all turned to soak in the heat with eyes closed. It was quiet.
Trying to watch all of them at once, I spied one who opened his eyes and slunk back into the shadows. Unblinking, he never took his eyes off of me as he moved backwards in a crawl. The pale watery blue eyes spoke clearly of a tortured soul who was trapped, not only in layers of skin but behind the steel cold bars of the enclosure.
I had heard that the caged ones knew how to talk, or at least they did at one point, but captivity brought back the animal instincts in them. Their language was all but lost. Only a few, held in the dark places beneath The Exhibition, could still communicate. Now the ones on display simply make noises from their throats and bare chests. The breeze brought the strong stench of body odor mixed with feces and landed squarely on us travelers.
I'm lucky enough to be here at feeding time. I was worried that I would not be able to see the spectacle. The Keepers opened up the side door of the cage and slid bowl after bowl across the slick floor. They went wild. Pushing and shoving and some even holding back the small ones to get to the food. I was fascinated to see how a few grabbed more then one bowl for themselves. I'd heard about their need to be greedy, but thought those were myths.
I was shocked to see, one who I had thought greedy, bring bowls of food to his Gathering or what they use to call Family. A female and two smaller people huddled together waiting patiently, squatting to make themselves appear smaller. I'll have to ask the Observer why they make themselves so small.
Using fingers, food was shoveled into their mouths. They wiped their faces with the back of their hands. Once the feeding was over many laid together while the clouds moved back in causing a drop in temperature.
Stepping back from the chipped guard rail I took notice of the plaque hanging on the wall, it read From European Descent. The droning commentary of the Observer came shouting back at me. I had lost all track of the voice while staring at them in the cage and now the group of travelers were moving on to the next set of extinct caged animals.
I trailed after them wondering how long before we end up behind bars.
Afterword
The world is an ever changing place and who says as humans we'll always be 'top dog'? We humans have a lot of faults and a lot of compassion and I wanted to touch on both in this flash fiction.
DEAD FAMOUS
Vincent van Gogh, Edgar Allan Poe and Galileo Galilei were masters of their crafts. They were the companions I wished to spend eternity with. All lived to create beauty for the world, and died not experiencing the glowing love for what they unleashed.
I was a slave to my art and like my companions I just mentioned, I died with no thunderous applause for my creations. When I was alive I let my emotions carry me away. The small vagabond group that I surrounded myself with grew tired of my dramatics. Strangers looked at me and whispered that I belonged in an insane asylum. I became an outcast and my creative giant was the only campmate who would stay and listen to my rants.
My soul became my art and my art shouted out to be seen, touched and loved. This is why I laid out an assortment of tools of self execution. In my death my art would live on forever.
With care, I let my plan stumble around in my head for days. At night, I would stand twisting in circles seeing the piles of my work scattered around me. In colorful binders, it slept untouched. On my hard drive, it waited to be discovered. My thirst for its survival was much more then my own.
I awoke one morning knowing that it was the final day for my human existence. A child's like excitement propelled me out of bed.
By mid afternoon that day I sat watching the sun stalking me across the floor. I sat amongst my art, soaking in the last rays my body would ingest. There was a small movement of wind causing a stirring of dust particles which twinkled in the swirling air. Falling into invisibility the dust settled on to my life's work and my death devices.
Coming closer to the end, I lined up plastic bottles of pills from doctors long forgotten. A shiny blade framed my face in a distorted way as I looked down at it. A long nylon rope laid curled up like a rattle snake. I sat waiting for one of the devices to call out my name. By dusk, the decision was made. I felt giddy with anticipation.
I undressed and stood above the tub as it filled with warm water. I reflected that the end of my life, will be like the start of it; within a sterile white room, blood, water and the unknowing of what comes next. At last the tub was filled. I dipped my fingers in, caressing my deathbed.
Before slipping into the warm water, I took one last look at my loved ones all piled around the tub. I wanted to make sure, that whomever found me, saw the reason for my ultimate sacrifice.
I slid into the liquid causing a rippling. The blade felt cold and light in between my fingers. My slices tore into my flesh, causing a brief flash of pain. After the second cut, I let go of the instrument and it clattered to the floor in its final act within my play. For a while, I watched the blood dribble down my arms in a steady stream, mixing in with the clear water turning it pink. A coldness crept around my insides, the end was near. I closed my eyes, listening to the last slow thumps of my heart.
Then forever struck, claiming my body and soul.
SLEEPING WITH THE ENEMY
Dexter ripped the covers off of Aubrey's body and ran his hand up her back, pushing her flimsy white nighty up to her shoulders. Moving with just the tips of his fingers he made his way down her long legs, placing kisses every so often. She lay on her stomach watching him in the full length mirror, that stood in the corner of their room. A giggle escaped, in her anticipation of him tickling her feet with those soft cool lips. Taking hold of her ankle, he noticed a large green bruise that bubbled out. “Does this hurt?” he said at the same time poking it with his finger. “Ow! You son of a bitch, you knew that would hurt,” Aubrey yelled at him. He laughed kissing the bruise making up for his mischief.
Gathering her discarded clothes off the floor from their morning fun, Aubrey saw a couple more bruises on her other leg. They were perfect circles and already to the dark green and blue stage. What the hell is going on she thought as she dumped the dirty clothes into the hamper. “Showers all yours,” yelled Dexter. Forgetting the strange marks Aubrey took off for the the water before it turned cold.
Pumping lilac lotion into a puddle in the palm of one hand, Aubrey dipped fingers from her other hand to spread it over her body. Rubbing lotion up and down her left arm she felt some abrasions. Wiping the fog off the mirror with her towel she turned to inspect her arm. Scratches. She counted five and holding up her hand next to the marks she saw that the scratches were made by fingernails. She pulled her towel around herself and sat on the edge of the tub.
Lost in thought Aubrey didn't hear Dexter yell out good bye and slam the front door. How have I not seen these before, she wondered. Going back over the last week she couldn't remember being in any accidents that would cause these injuries.
An overwhelming sadness fell on to Aubrey the longer she sat in the bathroom. Her mind drifted away from the injuries and on to the rest of her life. She was alone now. except for Dexter, since her parents were killed in a car accident a few months before. With the death of her parents Aubrey thought she had some good news to carry her through her grief. She had convinced herself that she was pregnant, but on the day of the funeral, she found out she wasn't. Then last week, she learned her company was moving to another state which meant she needed to start looking for a new job. She needed a break from her life, in fact someone else could live in her place for all she cared. Tears streaked down her cheeks.
The room had cooled and goosebumps popped up over Aubrey's exposed skin bringing her out of her daze. Pulling the soggy towel off she opened the bathroom door standing naked in the doorway. The goosebumps grew in size and a shiver ran up her spine. Her arms crossed over her breasts and she hurried to the bedroom feeling exposed and vulnerable. Straining to hear any noise in the house all she heard was the birds singing outside, yet the tingling on the back of her neck persisted under the weight of her wet hair.
Aubrey pulled items off of hangers not caring if they matched and dressed as fast as she could. Once done she double checked the doors and windows and felt foolish for thinking someone might have been in the house with her.
By the end of her work day she had forgotten the strange morning and was happy that another Monday was over. Saying goodbye to coworkers she climbed into her car and moved the review mirror down so she could touch up her make-up. Once done she took her phone out of her purse and texted Dexter that she would be at the restaurant in five minutes.
Pulling out of the parking lot Aubrey's eyes moved back to the review mirror. She couldn't keep her eyes away from it.
A hard knock hit the window to her left. Startled, Aubrey's hands flew to her chest and she looked at the intruder. Dexter stood there shaking his head and smiling. “Unlock your door,” he yelled through the window. Not recognizing her surroundings, her eyes roamed the empty car. Her brain couldn't process what Dexter was yelling.
Pulling his keys out of his pocket Dexter unlocked the drivers door and swung it open. “What's going on with you?” He wasn't smiling anymore and his voice had taken on a note of anger. “I'm sorry Dexter, I guess I was in my own world,” Aubrey stuttered as she got out of the car. She had no memory of driving to the restaurant after leaving work. “Why aren't you in the restaurant?” she asked. “I was and I put our name in but then I remembered my wallet was in the car. So I came out to get it when I saw you pull in.” The restaurant door swung shut and the darkness of the building hid the look of concern on her face. The music and noise of the other patrons stopped their conversation and she started for the bar.
Every morning for the rest of that week Aubrey snuck out of bed before Dexter stirred. Disrobing in the bathroom under glaring lights she inspected every part of her body. She found new marks, all from her shoulders down. Taking a good look at her reflection in the mirror she sighed seeing the dark circles under her eyes. Keeping these unexplained injuries a secret from Dexter was taking a toll on her relationship with him.
The night before he had pulled her down on to the couch with him and tried to reach up under her shirt. They'd always had a very active sex life but with her secret she was having a hard time keeping him away. She pushed herself away before he could go too far and said she wasn't in the mood. A dark look washed over him and they started arguing over why she was pushing him away. With no reasonable explanation she ended up walking out of the room in a rage and slamming the bedroom door behind her leaving Dexter mad and confused.
Shaking the nights scene out of her head she twisted the knobs of the faucet in the tub and watched the cascade of water hit the drain. A thought crossed her mind as she tested the temperature; maybe she should tell Dexter what was going on. She could stop by the liquor store on the way home from work and fortify herself with some liquid courage, then tell him everything. The thought of divulging her secret made Aubrey feel ten pounds lighter.
Lifting one foot over the side of the tub into the spray of water Aubrey felt a tug on her hair and a hand clamp around her arm. Terror struck her silent and her heart thumped so hard it physically hurt. She tilted her head toward the mirror intensifying the pain, trying to glimpse her attacker. The steam of the shower was settling on the mirror but Aubrey could still see the slow moving ripples that moved through it. Her assailant was climbing out from the mirror. More then half of the body was through it and her body trembled at the sight. Daring to look into the face of this unknown being, she was sickened to see the face was her own.
SILENCE IS GOLDEN
They died. All but me. A curse had stampeded through the house. From under my bed I peeked through my fingers as the devastation unfolded. Bare feet scurried by me, blood splattered the wood floor speckling my hands, then all movement stopped. The bodies fell and littered the ground around me. The dead eyes of family members told of my hiding spot.
They died. All but me and grandpa.
Crumpled over each other, protecting the young, they died. The walls of the house kept the smell of death close to me. After a while the blood darkened in pools then dried. I watched.
The night had started like all others. Prayers said by bedsides. Dishes washed, cleaned and put in their place. Nightshirts placed over the children's heads. Stars filled up the dark corners of the house with their twinkling.
I slept. Then I was pushed out of the bed I shared with my two older sisters.
It was not close to dawn, I couldn't understand why we were being woken up. There was no smoke filling the cabin. Nobody was sick or at our door. Kicked under the bed where the dirt still lay sleeping my oldest sister brought her finger to my lips showing me to be quiet.
With the first light of dawn, Grandpa dragged each family member out of our home. I ran. He dug holes for each one. I watched. He filled in the holes for each one. I cried.
Long streaks of blood were smeared over his naked body. He looked like he was a walking dead man himself.
I thought he was gone, so I came out from behind the tree to be with my family. Little mounds of fresh dirt marked each one of them. I don't know what came over me but I started to dig. I had no idea which member of the family I was trying to reach. The grime covered my hands, filled up under my nails and reached my elbows.
Stained hands grabbed my waist and threw me off to where blades of grass caught me. The blood was brown and crusty in his wrinkles. I was dragged into the house by the back of my nightshirt. There was no escape. He had me. He had killed them.
Dumping me on the hearth by stacks of wood that should have been consumed with flames I sat. I followed his movements to my mothers sewing supplies. He rustled the contents around and eventually found what he was looking for.
I didn't understand what he had done over these past hours, or what he was doing now.
He shuffled toward me with needle in one hand and a long string of thread in the other. And right there in a spot that a day ago had been filled with family he grabbed hold of me and tied me to a chair. His lips moved. Was he so deranged that he forgot I could not hear him?
The pain was unbearable. Fresh blood spilled. Each prick of the long needle digging into and pushing through the skin around my lips brought fresh tears. The thread burned as it passed through each hole. He had locked sounds from escaping my mouth. I prayed for death.
Unstrung from the chair he lifted me and placed me on my mattress. He turned his back, I crawled under the covers. My body was trembling uncontrollably. I placed my hands between my knees so I would not to touch my swollen lips.
The silence was golden. Night was my bodyguard. Sleep was my escape. I almost woke screaming.
FROM THE AUTHOR:
I hope you enjoyed the stories. I'd enjoy hearing from you, so please leave a comment or come talk with me on Twitter.
Currently I'm writing my first full length novel. The title is Isolation and it's the first book in the series called The Keeping.
Isolation will be out Summer 2011 and finds a Guardian Angel and a Demon fighting over a boy's soul as he is grows up and becomes a young man.
Also, a big thank you to my husband Phil Bowyer who created the covers for each of these stories that make up the front cover of this book.
Cheers,
Kate Bowyer