Insidious Nightmares Page 2

  "Haha, really funny, assholes. Was this the plan all along? To mess with the newcomer? Well, I hope you're proud of yourselves and don't worry, I won't ever be coming back here again."

  Tears of anger burn my eyes as I shout at the group, but none lose character. They all just lie jerking about on the floor, bodies thumping up and down almost painfully as they pretend that something is wrong with them. Even Ms. Jackson has joined them, and betrayal clogs my throat as I realize Liberty only brought me here to become the butt of their cruel joke.

  Well, fuck them. They can take their essential oils and shove it up their asses for all I care. I don’t need this shit.

  Leaving the yogis to their thrashing and moans, no doubt that they’ll stop this prank as soon as I leave, I let the door to the studio slam behind me as I walk out into the street, pulling my orange sweater over my black tank top as I go. I don’t even have a real destination in mind, but when I see that lit sign to Lovecraft’s practically beckoning me, I decide to head that way.

  There’s nothing like a triple chocolate cone to clear my head. And I earned it too. With my tank damp from sweat, and embarrassment and anger burning my cheeks, the cold creamy goodness is just what the doctor prescribed.

  4

  I practically inhale my treat amid the not so quiet whispers, and the blatantly obvious stares of my costumed townmates, but have zero fucks to give. Mine and Benji’s breakup may be the hot gossip right now, but eventually, Mrs. Frankfurter will get too drunk and crash a PTA meeting, or Little Chuckie Bates, and his hairless cat Norman, will get caught stealing money from the town fountain again. Then my romantic news will be just a thing of the past.

  After I’ve finished my cone, I walk over to the trash can to throw away my sticky napkin and pause as I look out the window. "Those pricks don't give up," I say, drawing a gasp from Billy from Buffalo, his nickname as bad as the lotion he makes, and my old science teacher, Mrs. Ripley, who's dressed as an alien.

  Shrugging when I see their pink cheeks and disapproving stares, I go back to gazing out at what caught my attention. The group from yoga have all made their way outside now, and are walking with their hands raised out before them toward where Rosemary and Carrie, two teenage girls, sit with a boombox between them.

  Realizing now that I’ve probably just stumbled upon some Halloween flash mob, something I wouldn’t put past anyone in this town, I finish tossing my trash and make my way outside. When I do, I hear that the group is moaning loudly as the girls scream in mock horror, like they hadn’t probably practiced this a hundred times before.

  Rolling my eyes, I go to move down the street toward home, but just then, the sounds of the girl's screams are accompanied by a loud beat that begins to pulsate through the air, and I decide to watch what they’ve planned. I’ve already stuck around this long. Might as well get the full show.

  Michael Jackson’s “Thriller” begins to play, the electric piano loud in the streets, and the yoga group starts to jerk in time to the beat. It’s not like any dance I’ve ever seen before, almost like they’re having a synchronized seizure, but their bodies seem to spasm each time the bass hits. I find it oddly entertaining, if lacking in any real talent.

  "They take the time to plan all this but don't even put the effort into choreographing a better dance," I mumble to myself, almost getting knocked off balance as Carrie stops clutching Rosemary's arm, and pushes past her to run away. Her screams follow her down the street until she disappears down an alley.

  Still in place, swinging her head back and forth as she clutches the boombox in front of her like a shield, Rosemary seems to prefer Carrie’s line of action and drops the stereo dramatically as her eyes return to the group who remain in the road, still pulsing to the beat.

  I flinch as the boombox shatters across the hard stones, and as soon as the music stops, in perfect unison, the yogis stop jerking too.

  By this point, the show has drawn a crowd of onlookers, and a few townsfolk that have gathered to watch they begin to clap, smiling broadly at the show they’ve put on, but I’m less than impressed. Maybe I’m just bitter from being the first to succumb to their act, but it takes a lot more than shitty dance moves to a cult classic in the street to amuse me. Anyone can plan something as lame as that.

  Irritated that I wasted my time by sticking around, I go to leave once more as the crowd claps, but all of a sudden, the group from class jerks their heads up in sync to glare at their audience and begin to sprint their way. When they reach the startled onlookers, they throw themselves at them without slowing and tackle them to the ground.

  “Shit. That looked painful,” a teenage boy with a skateboard and Pinhead mask says at my side, and I nod dumbly as I watch.

  He’s right, that did look painful and I can’t believe Liberty, one of the prissiest girls I know would even agree to something like this. Especially not something that involves so much fake blood, as her costume is becoming saturated in the stuff while she pretends to bite into Ole Miss Derry’s face.

  "Fuuuck, man, that's not fake blood. That bitch is eating her face! We gotta get out of here. Come on, lady!"

  I shrug off the teen’s grasping hands as he tries to tug on me, tired of his whole charade. I don’t know how the people in town coordinated this, but it’s become clear that they’re all in on it.

  “Back off, kid. I’m not falling for this crap. Go do your homework or something.” My face twists as anger pulses with each beat of my heart.

  I let this rage power my steps right to where Liberty is still ‘munching’ away, and grab her arm roughly.

  “Real funny, Liberty. I get today was just a big plan to fuck with me. Well, haha, you got me," I shout, and Liberty's body goes ramrod straight as she lifts her head toward me, her stare intent.

  Her thin lips are moving as her jaw works, chewing whatever prosthetic piece she’s bitten off of Miss Derry’s face. The contacts she wears causes the whites of her eyes to appear as if full of blood and her nose flares as she gazes at me.

  A growl slips from between Liberty's stained teeth, and the yogis around us twist their necks so that all of their bloody eyes are locked onto me. With a snap of my cousin's teeth, she moves toward me, and I yank my hand away. Her teeth click loudly together where my skin once was.

  "Oh God," I breathe as it begins to register that I may have been wrong. That this isn't a Halloween prank at all, and I quickly scurry backward, flinching as a chunk of my hair is yanked out from Ms. Jackson's tight grasp.

  At this point, I'm now the center of the group, all of them creeping toward me, and even those that lie in puddles of their blood on the ground begin to rise, their eyes as red as their exposed muscles.

  "Shit. Shit. Shit," I say as I swing my head wildly around, looking for a place to run, but I'm completely encircled now. There's nowhere to go. I never should have left the couch.

  5

  Just as the first of their hands latch onto my shirt, I squat and throw my arms over my head, hoping that my death will be fast, but then the strangest thing happens. Mr. Voorez, the school gym coach, hand on my shoulder starts to jerk. Not because he's pulling me near, but as if he's having a full-body muscle spasm.

  Peeking through my hands, I see that the same thing is happening to the others, too. The pulsing motions seizing them all. Then I hear it. It's faint, almost imperceptible past their moans, but it's undeniably Queen's, “Another One Bites The Dust” playing, and it's growing louder with each passing second.

  When it's so loud that the group seems to shake in quick repetitions as the song crescendos, a sky-blue van comes screeching to a halt only feet from where I still cower. One of the tinted windows rolls down and a guy in thick glasses with a striped long-sleeved henley shirt pops his head out. When I meet his gaze, he begins to wave frantically at me.

  "Hurry! The music distracts them, but we don't know how long it will last," he shouts, and I quickly yank my orange sweatshirt from Mr. Voorez’s clenched hands, cringing at the blo
od left behind, as I duck beneath the vibrating legs of the yogis and other townsfolk.

  Sprinting now that I'm free from the cage of death, I dive headlong into the open door of the van and land with a grunt on the shag carpeting. Before I can even catch my breath, the door is slammed behind me and the tires screech as we shoot off down the road.

  Blinking through my gasping breaths, I take the hand that moves in front of my face and come to rest in a seated position as I look around, noting the guitars, drum set, and other band equipment in the back with me. And the hand that I still hold, I follow it up to kind brown eyes set into a face with sharp angles.

  "You alright, ma'am?" the deep baritone voice rolls over me like that of the drum beats, from fingertips to toes, I feel it, and I dumbly nod, shock riding me as I struggle to make sense of what had just happened.

  "Give her some space, Jase. She almost got eaten back there. That shit was wild," another man says. His voice isn't as deep as brown eyes, but there's a smoky quality to it that sounds as if he's smoked three packs of cigarettes a day all his life. When I glance toward him, I see it's the man in the striped shirt that's spoken.

  He's thinner than his friend. His shoulders are nowhere near as broad. But not like he just doesn't care to work out, more that genetics have left him with a smaller build. He's shaved his head bald. At least, what I can see of it beneath his brown beanie is bald. Maybe there's something else up there, but it's hidden beneath that tattered hat and rests above watery green eyes that are focused on me. And his shirt, the one that I’d noticed immediately, looks as if pulled from a Christmas catalog, despite it being Halloween. I notice this all, record it in my mind, and then clear my throat.

  "I'm... fuck, I don't know what I am. Thanks for that back there," I tell them, body trembling as I look between the two. I doubt I could even write my name right now with how badly my hands shake.

  At his side, nodding like he understands my inability to form coherent sentences, the man with brown eyes lets his gaze roam over my face. "Hey, it's ok. This town has gone to Hell. We heard the alarms go off during band practice, and jumped in the van to see what was going on. Didn't expect to see everyone we know taking bites out of one another," he adds, eyes growing distant, and I take a second to study him as he'd been studying me.

  Tall. Maybe almost seven feet, and shoulders set as broad as any linebacker, he's dressed in tan cargo pants and a white shirt beneath a thick slate grey jacket. His work boots are dirty, matching the rest of him, and it's clear from his unkempt appearance and five o’clock shadow, that he probably works some strenuous outdoor job, but with my jumbled thoughts, I can't recall if I know him or not. Everything is a mess right now.

  Clearing his throat, and bringing my attention to his face and the brown hair that is just brushing his ears, I blush as I realize I've been caught staring, and give a tight smile that barely moves my lips. In my hand, his tightens, and it's only then I realize I've been holding his hand this whole time. Embarrassed, I quickly pull away.

  "I didn't even hear the alarm... I was just finishing up some ice cream at Lovecraft’s, and I came out to see the commotion. I thought the group I'd been doing yoga with had been playing a prank on me, but then they started attacking everyone around. My cousin..." my words trail off as I think of Liberty, and my eyes water. I sniffle a few times before I look up again. "My cousin was one of them. I don't know what could have happened. She was fine one minute, and then the next, she wasn't."

  I've been speaking without really looking at any of them, but as I finish my story, I can see that they've all grown tense. It causes a creeping feeling of worry to crawl up my throat, and I swallow thickly as I look between the two back here. The man driving has yet to speak.

  "Wha... what's wrong?" I finally ask when I can't stand the silence any longer.

  I dislike how my voice quivers, but I can’t help the uncertainty I feel. With a heavy stare at his stripes wearing friend, brown eyes sighs and meets my gaze. His look his sad, but his body remains tense as he hides something behind his back.

  "You said you were in yoga class with those that were turned?"

  I'm not sure why that part matters, or why that's what they've chosen to focus on from my story, but I nod. My gaze keeps dropping to his hidden hand, fear making it hard to breathe.

  "Did you come into contact with anything?" the speaker of the van asks, not turning his head, but I meet his almost black eyes in the mirror, and know from his furrowed brows, that my answer is important. I just don't know why.

  Taking the time to formulate my response, no one speaking to break our awkward silence, I shake my head. "I didn't touch anything but the mat. I left early when everyone started acting weird... wait, that's not right. I left when the teacher tried to put some of her essential oils on me. I'm allergic, and didn't want to have a reaction to them."

  Holding my gaze for a second longer, causing my anxiety to ratchet since he's watching me and not the road, the driver finally nods and lets his gaze slide away. As he does, I hear the clink of metal on metal as brown eyes lifts his empty hands into his lap.

  The tension visibly melts from the men as we ride, but I don't feel quite so relaxed. Something else is going on. Something more than just the townsfolk turning cannibal, and damn it. I want to know what it is.

  Crossing my arms over my chest, I level glare on them, even shooting the back of the driver's head a narrow-eyed look. Stripes guy breaks first and looks away. None bother to elaborate though, and my fear starts to fade as irritation rears up.

  "Ok, enough. I appreciate y'all’s help, but I need to know what's going on. Why did it matter if I was in yoga? What aren't you saying?"

  Running his large hand down his face, brown eyes looks my way. His square jaw is tight, shoulders hunched, but he doesn't ignore me, so I focus on him.

  "After the alarms went off, an emergency transmission was played on the radio. Some government agency was urging people to take shelter immediately. Saying that there had been an outbreak caused by some new oils or some shit and that everyone was to avoid contact with anyone that had used it. From what you say about your yoga friends, it sounds like they got hold of that oil and it made them turn violent. We had to make sure you weren't going to freak out too. Sorry for scaring you."

  I let that sink in and nod. It makes sense, as the class had been fine until they'd used the oils, but sadness for Liberty causes my chest to feel heavy. I don't know what will happen to her, but I know she won't ever forgive herself for hurting someone. Her kind soul won't allow it.

  "Ok," I say after I've allowed myself a second to grieve. I turn my head to take in the group I've somehow fallen into. "What do we do now?" I ask and hope that someone has a plan.

  From his spot in the front, the driver pulls off on the shoulder of the road, and I get my first look at his hard face and jet black hair as he twists in his seat, the black coveralls he wears over a light grey shirt casts him in a sinister light.

  “The plan is to survive. And to do that, we have to get to Tara and Tino’s radio station. We’re going to save the town with rock and roll.”

  6

  “Are you guys on crack? Am I being punk’d? In what meth’d up world are you living in that ‘rock and roll’ can help us against our neighbors trying to eat us? You know what, don’t answer that. I’m just going to go… Good luck with your plans to save the town,” I say as disbelief rolls through me. I can barely contain a smirk, but I try. It’s not a good idea to laugh at the crazy people, so I knee walk across the van and lay my hand on the door.

  Sliding the door open, I stick my head out and see that no one appears to be around in the woods surrounding the road, and slide one leg out, but freeze when the driver opens his door and steps out of the van.

  I look up and up as he straightens to his full height and realize I’d overestimated brown eyes height. He’s easily six feet tall, but he’s not kissing seven feet like the driver, and I swallow as I drink him in, ending on thos
e cold, dark eyes.

  “I don’t use drugs, and I don’t make shit up. I know how stupid this sounds, but it’s the only thing that can help. Before you run out of here without a fucking plan, why don’t you ask yourself one thing,” he says, his words laced with an edge of danger that both make me want to run away screaming, and get closer to him at the same time. It’s confusing.

  I dart my tongue out to wet my chapped lips, noting how those cavernous eyes track the motion and take a steadying breath. I can still run if I decide to. I doubt he'd chase me, but the part that keeps seeing Liberty's hungry gaze keeps my feet planted. There are just too many things I don’t understand right now.

  With a sigh, I look once more at the trees and make up my mind. It can’t hurt to at least get a few answers before we go our separate ways.

  “Ok, I’ll bite… err… that saying doesn’t work so well anymore. I mean, I’m listening,” I say, noticing how his lips jerk. Not a smile, but not his frown either.

  “When we pulled up to help you, you noticed that those…. Things stopped moving, didn’t you?”

  I think about it, know he’s right, and nod. “Yea, they stopped reaching for me, at least. They didn’t stop moving though. It was weird. Almost like they were dancing? If by dancing I mean someone tripping on LSD beneath a strobe light.”

  Still no laugh, but again, his lips quirk slightly and his eyes seem to soften an infinitesimal amount. "Yes, they still move. We noticed that as well and figured out that they react to the music. Namely, the beat in music. Something about it distracts them, or something. We plan to head to the station and blast rock through every local channel. If we do that, we stand a chance at dispatching them.”

  My jaw feels almost unhinged and I’m pretty sure my eyes are bulging as I gawk at him. What he’s saying… What he’s suggesting is so far out that I don’t even know how to respond, but the other two guys don't seem to be struggling like I am and step out of the van to stand at their friend's side. When they're all next to each other, it finally hits me that I'm out in the woods with three men that I don’t know. Those freaks back in town may not be the only thing I have to fear.