Journalstone's 2010 Warped Words for Twisted Minds (24 page)

“Stop it!” Simon screams. “Stop messing with my mind! What are trying to do?”

Suddenly, the spirit’s eyes glow. The accelerator increases to 50mph. The laughing does not stop.

“I just want to help,” the ghost says innocently.

Realizing his danger, Simon begs for him to stop. But the car only moves faster.

65mph

70mph

80mph

Simon’s fear turns to rage. He points at the “being” accusingly. “You’re the one that doesn’t exist! I’m real! I’m Simon Fielding!”

The being casually shrugs. “Well doctor, if that’s true then I’d say that puts you in quite a predicament.”

Simon’s heart skips a beat. “Why’s that?”

“Well, if I don’t exist,” the being suggests, blue eyes gleaming. “Then tell me one thing: Who’s driving this car?”

The blood drains from Simon’s face. “Oh no…The dream…”

-FLASH-

The ghost vanishes, leaving the driver’s seat empty. The Lexus swerves dramatically into the neighboring lane. Oncoming traffic emerges.

Simon screams, desperately reaching for the wheel - but it’s too late. With the remaining seconds of his life, he gazes out the windshield, eye fixating on the massive produce truck and the panicking driver who slams his horn repeatedly and attempts to-

Rrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrreeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee…

ANOTHER POINT OF VIEW:

The man sitting at the bus stop hears the thunder of impact. His eyes dart quickly to the middle of the street - just in time to witness the explosion – as glass shatters and a collision of metal erupts in fumes of gray and black.

The Lexus is struck so hard on the passenger’s side that car whips around half circle, flipping onto its back in the process; the roof caving as streaks of blood splatter the front windshield.

The truck veers left from the collision; the driver unconscious as a Victory Red Chevy engages from the panic of traffic and smashes directly into the truck’s storage compartment.

The rear doors burst open. Over two dozen crates spill out of the truck’s the storage unit and splinter into pieces as a white Audi S4 plows into both vehicles as well as the left over carts.

The man at the bus stop gasps as he watches the crates explode. A wave of gold apples rain down, filling the tragedy will a twinge of the surreal.

Golden apples.

Everywhere.

Suddenly a crowd of pedestrians come running from their houses. Several passing cars stop abruptly and the passengers quickly exit to race over and join the scene.

The man at the bus stop breaks from his trance. He reaches into his plaid sport coat and retrieves his iphone, frantically dialing 9-11. Within two seconds he’s speaking to a dispatcher.

“Police! Yes. Look, there’s been an accident! Oh God…It’s awful. Please. Send an ambulance. I’m at…”

The man pauses, realizing he’s unaware of his exact location. He steps out of the bus stop and speed-walks to the corner. At the sidewalks crossing he locates the intersecting street.

“I’m on…First and May…the corner of First and May…Please hurry! I don’t think they’re gonna make it…”

The man shuts off his phone and shifts his attention to the carnage in front of him, a single thought entering his mind: I will not sleep tonight.

THE ROAD’S END:

When the medics pull the sheriff from the front seat of the patrol car and out of the ditch, they realize immediately that he’s still alive and partially conscious (his eyelids are fluttering and his chest is heaving). They decide to set him on the ground about five yards distance from the wreckage so they can examine him while a gurney is quickly fetched.

“Sheriff? Can you hear me?” one of the medics asks, a young man, maybe 20 with name “J. Lynnwood” stitched above the shirt pocket of his starched-white uniform.

Too weak to reply, the sheriff just lays there, squinting at the red and blue lights that penetrate the darkness.

Lynnwood places two fingers on the sheriff’s throat. “I got a pulse!” he announces to three medics standing over him.

“Let’s get him on that stretcher,” one of them replies and a serious of movement commence as the gurney is finally brought over.

“Ready? Lift!”

The sheriff moans as he is gently placed on the plastic/metal stretcher and fastened in tightly by way of leather straps. Lynnwood continues to speak to him while shining a handheld flashlight into both of his shrinking pupils.

“Sheriff, can you hear me?” he repeats.

The sheriff blinks a signal of response and the flashlight moves away. Spots fill his vision, deleting the features of Lynnwood’s face, previously illuminated by the two ambulances’ headlights.

“Everything’s gonna to be fine, Sheriff. You’ve been in an accident. We’re gonna take you to the hospital. Now sheriff, if can, please tell me…do you where you are? Do you know your name?”

The sheriff strains to remain conscious, gasping for breath as he attempt to speak. The medics hear him wheezing and it’s Lynnwood who leans in closer. “Sheriff, please try not to move your head. Just relax.”

The sheriff’s eyes narrow. “Am I…still dreaming?” .

The confusion escalates. A group of state troopers shout frantically to each other, ordering the area to be sealed off with CAUTION tape.

“I can’t hear him,” Lynnwood tells the others as they head toward the rear ambulance doors.

“I think he might’ve asked if he was dreaming.”

“He’s delusional,” another replies.

“Probably in shock,” Lynnwood agrees. “Let's get set for blood pressure. I need this man’s vitals. A-sap!”

“I’m on it,” a fourth medic shouts, opening the red, plastic kit he carries at his side.

The sheriff stares dazedly, looking to Lynnwood. “Am I out? Am I free?”

A commotion of voices rises.

“What’s he saying now?”

“I don’t know.”

“It’s probably a concussion. Ask him again to give us his name.”

Lynnwood touches the sheriff’s forehead as if testing for a fever. “Sheriff, please sir…can you tell us your name?”

The sheriff clears his throat. “My name…is Douglas Grover…I’m a doctor.”

Pause.

The medics all look to each other.

“He’s delusional alright,” one of them says. “C’mon, let’s get this guy in here and get a move. Now!”

The crew eases the gurney into the ambulance. Two medics climb inside, while Lynnwood and another man shut the vehicle doors and move around opposite sides of the vehicle (Lynnwood driving).

Within 30 seconds the ambulance is speeding away, sirens blaring. Dr. Grover lies motionless on the stretcher and quietly shuts his eyes.

I’m free.

I made it out.

He feels sorry for the man whose body he has taken, but there was simply no other way. A switch had to be made. He had figured out that much after reading the book. And even now, the story remains embedded in his mind.

After all, he was the one who had written it.

And now that the crossover has occurred, now that Simon is gone and the character of the sheriff has been taken, there are no other loose ends to worry about.

Or so he thinks.

THE ONE FORGOTTEN:

With the ambulance gone the rest of the officers examine the inside of the police cruiser, attempting to assess what had happened.

They already know that the dispatcher, Debbie had called Ralph Jenkins for back up (who in turn called the state police) after she repeatedly lost contact with the sheriff. She also mentioned that Keylee had taken a man into custody. But when the officers check the backseat no one is there. So they radio in for an APB and Debbie quickly provides them with a name and description of the assailant. The officers assume the man is fleeing on foot and is probably still wandering the Interstate. They’re assumption becomes a certainty once a trail of footprints are discovered, leading away from the scene. After 45 minutes of searching, a helicopter is flown in, but ultimately this added effort proves futile.

Simon Fielding is nowhere to be found.

AWAKENING TO THE DREAM:

When Dr. Grover opens his eyes he discovers he’s lying in a hospital bed of Intensive Care Unit on the fourth floor of County Hospital.

Alert and sensing movement, the doctor quickly looks to entrance of the room. The door is wide open and a man in a white lab coat and a surgeon’s mask slowly proceeds to the bed. His hands are behind his back, he’s concealing something.

“I know you,” the doctor says to him. “I’ve seen you before…”

“Indeed you have,” the surgeon remarks (his voice is hushed, but nevertheless familiar) revealing the syringe held carefully in his left hand. “Hiding in some else doesn’t change who you are, Dr. Grover.”

The doctor’s eyes widen. He knows what’s coming. He knows what happens next. The man in the mask leans forward, inserts the needle and slowly pushes down on the plunger.

The doctor gasps in horror as the poison races through his veins and the man at his bedside removes his surgical mask.

“But…you’re dead,” Grover says, bewildered.

The face of Simon smiles. “You didn’t read carefully enough. You forgot the footsteps. In this story…I’m alive…”

Grover moans in agony. “No…please…stay away.”

“Two halves of the same mind, doctor,” Simon reminds him. “Those were your exact words. I read the stories too…” He leans in further to whisper: “Remember all that you see and all that will be shown.”

“Please…don’t do this…”

 “Shhh…quiet, little sheep. You’re going back where you belong…back to the road with me...”

THE FINAL SWITCH:

Your eyes open. You’re in a strange room. You’re lying in a bed, your head is bandaged and you’re dressed in hospital clothes. You’re also barefoot.

Slowly you get up and disconnect the IV tube that’s stuck in your left arm. The hospital ward is empty as you venture through the corridors and take the three flights of stairs that lead you into the lobby where you head straight for the sliding glass that lead you out of the deserted hospital and into the wavy field. As you drift into the darkness, a crescent moon covered by clouds, guides you toward the Interstate. Your destination is clear. Remember what you are shown.

“Evenin’ Simon. Where you off to tonight?”

The ghost has arrived in a flash – taking the appearance of a man in a sheriff’s uniform, one who doesn’t know he’s dead. And neither do you, Simon. That’s why you respond.

“The corner of First and May…”

Then the ghost makes a suggestion: “How ‘bout I give ya a lift?”

A hand appears on your shoulder. All at once, the ghost is standing beside you, leading you toward a patrol car. It places you into the vehicle and gently shuts the door.

 When you see the ghost again, it’s climbing into the front seat. Next it puts the car in motion and grabs the radio transmitter. You listen for awhile as it converses with the one who resides in the static. Then you lose interest (you’ve heard their words before) and you shift your gaze to your reflection in the rearview mirror. You smile at yourself. Your reflection smiles back. The smirk expands as your image gradually darkness; then quietly fades away.

See you in The Dream, Mr. Fielding.

Corey R. Scales
- Corey R. Scales, the son of a Baptist minister and a supervisor for the Social Security Administration, has been everything from a movie theater usher to a Tarot card reader at a psychic hotline. A native of Baltimore, MD., he formerly attended New York City's School of Visual Arts and began focusing on fiction writing as a break from submitting screenplays. His work has appeared on Soren Narnia's former dark fiction site, knifepointhorror, New Visions In Fiction, and Buried.Com. In addition to co-writing issue #1 of the indie comic, Immortal Kiss, Mr. Scales has recently finished his first novel, A Tendency to Start Fires, and a collection of short fiction, Begotten Sons.

Jasmine June
- Jasmine June Cabanaw is passionate about two things: writing and dancing. She merges her passions by writing dance history. Her articles can be found on GildedSerpent.com, where she is a regular columnist. She has worked as a journalist and for college magazines. She writes about her travel and dance adventures on her blog: Traveling Belly Dancer.

Chandru Bhojwani
- Born in Africa, Chandru grew up between Nigeria, India & the UK. With a Masters in International Business from the University of Westminster, he moved to New York where he worked as a Business Development Manager for three years before returning to Nigeria in 2002 to run a trading company. Chandru has been writing for Beyond Sindh (www.beyondsindh.com) since 2004 and his debut novel, The Journey of Om was published in India by Cedar Books in late 2009. For more on Chandru visit www.chandrubhojwani.com

Annastaysia Savage
- Annastaysia Savage is a writer and artist who lives and works in the middle of several hundred acres of river bottom forest in Pennsylvania. She is inspired by anything macabre. The motivation behind her art and writing comes from scratching at the back door, autumn, stormy nights, black cats, being afraid and gnarled old trees. She has currently completed a YA Fantasy novel in the works for publication, which she is illustrating as well. She also has several short horror stories published.

Avery K. Tingle
- Avery K. Tingle was born and raised in San Francisco, California. Throughout his childhood, his mother encouraged him to write, which she continues to do today. Avery currently lives in mid-Missouri with his editor/girlfriend and their cat, Ben, and their dog, Tali.

Christopher C. Payne
- Christopher C. Payne was born in January 1967 and grew up in DeSoto, IL. He received his bachelor’s degree in finance from Southern Illinois University at Carbondale, graduating in 1990. Currently, he lives in San Francisco, CA. In his spare time, he enjoys biking and snowboarding with his three daughters and his fiancée.

Rhonda E. Kachur
- Rhonda Kachur AKA Rhonny Reaper is a 20 year old horror fan from Cleveland Ohio who's been watching horror films since the age of 4. Her favorite film is “The Bride of Frankenstein”, but she has a soft spot for killer doll films. She is the creator of the horror review blog Dollar Bin Horror (dollarbinhorror.blogspot.com) and the horror picto-blog Monster Beauty (monster-beauty.blogspot.com). She is currently working on a journalistic style zombie book for the Dead On Earth series, her own anthology, and short horror stories for various horror anthologies and magazines. You can check out her personal blog at RhonnyReaper.blogspot.com

Morella La Muerte
- When Morella La Muerte isn't dredging up morbid tales from the dark side of her psyche, she works as a caretaker for the elderly. Her literary influences include such writers as Ambrose Bierce, H.P. Lovecraft, Stephen King, and of course, Edgar Allan Poe. She also cites the late Rod Serling (The Twilight Zone, Night Gallery) as a strong influence on her writing style. Morella lives in Colorado with her twenty year old son and her seven cats and two dachshunds. She considers the phrase 'Crazy Cat Lady' a compliment.

Michael D. Griffiths
- Michael D. Griffiths is a man who likes to keep busy. He loves camping with his wife in the wilds of Arizona, playing poker, and debating such topics as mysticism, creativity, anarchy, and punk rock. In the past, his writing has been published in periodicals including: Abandoned Towers, C.H.A.O.S., Golden Visions, Innsmouth Free press, M-Brane, Necrology, Rope and Wire, Sonar 4, The Smoking Mirror, and Withersins. He was awarded first place in Withersin’s 666 writer’s contest. And won first place in the 2009 Golden Visions Online Fiction Contest. He has become the Marketing Manager for Abandoned Towers. He is on the staff of The Daily Discord, Innsmouth Free Press, and The Noise magazines. His Skinjumper Series has been chronicled in M-Brane magazine. Recently The Living Dead Press has published his novel, The Chronicles Of Jack Primus.

William Todd Rose
- William Todd Rose is a speculative fiction author currently residing in Parkersburg, WV. His short fiction has appeared in a variety of magazines and anthologies, as well as having been featured on several podcasts. To date, his novels include the surreal and experimental Shadow of the Woodpile, the apocalyptic thriller Cry Havoc, and The 7 Habits of Highly Infective People: A Novel of Contagion, Drugs, Time Travel, & the Living Dead. In the Fall of 2010, Library of the Living Dead Press will release The Dead & Dying, which will soon be followed up with a grindhouse-inspired experiment in brutality entitled Shut the Fuck Up and Die! For more information on the author, or to download the free e-book Sex in the Time of Zombies, please visit him online at www.williamtoddrose.com

Elizabeth Reuter
- Elizabeth Reuter saw her first horror movie as a kid. It scared her so badly she had to sleep with her mother for a week, so God knows why she was dumb enough to watch more of the stupid things, but she did. Now she can't get enough of them, along with horror novels and comics, and she's got a few novels of her own in the works.

J. Franklin Evans
- J Franklin Evans lives in Savannah, GA, where by day he works for an insurance company. By night he composes and records heavy metal music, and writes stories and screenplays.

Wednesday Lee Friday
- Wednesday Lee Friday lives in Ann Arbor, Michigan with some carnivorous plants, a few cats, and her husband. She has a wide range of interests including (but not limited to) writing, cooking, Criminal Minds, preparing for the zombie apocalypse, trying to learn an instrument, more writing, The Simpsons, crafty things, and quality horror of all kinds. She is a published novelist and produces the audiobook horror podcast, “Take a Stab at This!” Check her out online at http://www.wednesdayleefriday.com

Benson Phillip Lott
- Born in Alaska, Benson Lott now lives and works in San Rafael, California, where he has written short stories since age six. He recently completed two novels and a story collection. He is thirty years old.