9 Tales Told in the Dark 12 Read online

  9TALES TOLD IN THE DARK#12

  © Copyright 2016 Bride of Chaos/ All Rights Reserved to the Authors.

  Second electronic edition 2017

  Edited by A.R. Jesse

  Cover by Turtle&Noise

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  9TALES TOLD IN THE DARK#12

  Table of Contents

  PAMMY’S CREW by S.L. Dixon

  SIREN SONG by Derek Muk

  EVERY CAMPER DIES by Sara Green

  IN HIS ELEMENT by Jim Lee

  VIVID GREENE or A Place to Lay My Bones by Jacob Ian DeCoursey

  ÁTAHSAIA by Robert N Stephenson

  EYES OPEN by Baylea Hart

  A FATHER’S GUILTY PLEASURE by Shawn P. Madison

  .

  .

  .

  .

  TALES

  TOLD

  IN THE

  DARK

  #12

  PAMMY’S CREW by S.L. Dixon

  Sweat cut divots through the filth on Mike Zolen’s cheeks as he trudged the four-foot cement forms down the second flight of stairs, “Did you get paid this week?” he asked.

  Equally sweaty and filthy, Brock Linkletter looked back over his shoulder, “Sometimes ya gotta wait,” he said as if that explained it all.

  Brock led the crew into the subbasement. It was a slap-dash fix up job. The earth shifts in the winter and createscraters and cracks in walls. Repairing the outer walls of the foundation was no trouble, the building sat in a formally busy, but now nearly vacant, industrial area. No worries over live lines or busy lanes. Most places couldn’t make it work for one reason or another, most blame Chinese industry and Walmart. Others said it was just bad luck, just one of those blocks. The revolving door on businesses of the block pertained to all but one site.

  For ninety-two years, Seeds Headwear has offered the best in natural fur hats.

  “What do you mean we got to wait?” asked Zolen.

  Bringing up the rear of the first three-man crew, Kirk Crawford, a burly twenty-something laughed, he had an easy way, good-spirited despite anything his boss might throw his way, “What he means, is that sometimes we have to wait until the boss decides she can spare enough. She usually catches up right, but sometimes your pay is also subject to Pammy tax.”

  It was Linkletter’s turn to laugh.

  “What’s Pammy tax?” asked Zolen.

  “Pammy tax is a percentage Pammy sees fit to retain from your check at her whim. It only ever comes when she owes you for more than a month and by then we are all just too relieved to get anything at all,” said Crawford.

  “Yup,” agreed Linkletter.

  “You don’t say nothing?” Zolen worried, he had a car payment and rent due in a week, he couldn’t wait a month for a paycheck that was already a full week late.

  “Not if I want to keep my job and my balls. I’ve seen Pammy lift a man over her head by his beanbag. She’s no joke and as much as I find it funny for the new guy to get it from Pammy, I don’t think anyone need cross that line without some warning,” said Crawford.

  “Bullshit,” said Zolen, he wanted to smile, but the mood and tone didn’t carry well.

  They continued down the stairs, up the stairs and back down again, lugging forms, rebar and steel strapping as they went. They set to work, the second crew hadn’t begun, they usually drank coffee until it was time to mix and pour, seniority a powerful tool on Pammy’s crew.

  It was dim and dirty in the subbasement. The floor had wooden slates covering the entirety that shifted and moved underfoot as the crew walked. It was mostly empty and a bit of a mystery.

  Using lamps and spotlights, the crew wired the rebar into a meshwork, set the forms and readied the straps for the pour.

  “I’m going to say something, I can’t wait,” said Zolen. “I have bills, can’t wait.”

  “Good luck with that one, you guys notice the slats? The pour’s going to screw if they ever shift,” said Crawford.

  “Yeah-huh, just thinkin’ the same,” said Linkletter.

  “I’m serious, I’m going to stand up to the bitch,” said Zolen. “She can’t do this. I’ll call the labor board.”

  “Good luck, kid. What do you suppose this room is for? They said storage, but all I see is feed seed, hell do they need feed seed for here?” asked Crawford, he dug his fingers under a three-foot slate next to the formed area. “Oof! There’s a stink, what is that?”

  “Just because you two are just pussies,” said Zolen, flopping his arms in front of his chest, “I’m not. She’s going to get a piece of my mind.”

  “Fuck is that?” asked Linkletter, he helped Crawford with the slate.

  Fat steel grating sat below the wooden slates, sets of green-white eyes glowed, the light from the lamps bouncing back. Zolen stepped forward for a look, thought maybe the others might try something, he wished he hadn’t called them a name, they were bigger and the crew wasn’t afraid to push around the new guy.

  “Are those cats?” Zolen asked.

  The animals chattered below, “Coons, why they got coons?” asked Linkletter.

  “Jesus H., they make coon hats. Coon farm right under the floor,” said Crawford, a secondary sound filtered through the floor, distant and different, “What’s that now?”

  They listened.

  “What other kind of hats do they make here?” asked Crawford.

  Zolen looked back at Linkletter, a smile rode his goofy face, “Rusky rabbit.”

  “Shit,” said Crawford, stretching the vowel and then repeating it, “Sheee-iiit.”

  “What’s Rusky rabbit?” asked Zolen.

  “It’s muskrat or giant mole rat. Companies bring over giant mole rats, raise’m and skin’m, sell them as rabbit fur. You hear any water?” Crawford asked.

  “Why water?” asked Zolen.

  “No water, no musky,” said Linkletter.

  They listened and Crawford shivered, giant mole rats were infinitely nastier than muskrat, in appearance anyway. They didn’t hear any water, it was a dry pen, muskrats live in damp regions. They were something like ugly beavers.

  “Let’s see,” said Zolen, lifting another slat, uncovering more eyes on the first level and then catching a glint of motion from the second, “Stinks something awful.”

  “They feed the coons, let the mole rats survive on seed spill and coon shit, Christ,” said Crawford.

  They uncovered two more slates and looked down into the lively crowd of future hats.

  “Hell’s goes on here?” the booming and familiar effeminate voice called.

  “We were just making sure the forms didn’t settle on these floor boards,” Crawford spilled quickly.

  Linkletter nodded along behind him.

  “Then you decided to take a break, did ya?” she spoke slowly, emphasizing each word more than the last, settling the gravity of her power. “Better be ready for pouring.”

  Linkletter nodded and Zolen gulped down his cowardice, his testicles shrank, but he knew it was now or never.

/>   “You owe me money and you aren’t pouring a thing until you write my paycheck.”

  Linkletter and Crawford stepped aside, “What is that?” Pammy softened her voice and stepped forward, Zolen instinctively backed away.

  “I said you can’t pour until I’m paid. You may scare these…” Zolen started, Pammy lunged, “Hey, damn you!” he skittered away.

  “You don’t sass Pammy, didn’t they tell you?” Pammy sniggered the idea the new guy had such gall was laughable.

  The sound of the second crew coming down the stairs blocked the path Zolen hoped to take. He grabbed a piece of rebar from the floor and Pammy swung her arm with a blind uppercut grab, aiming for the gonads. Zolen swung and there was a thump. Pammy yelled out a string of sounds, never really forming an entire word.

  “You done it now,” said Linkletter.

  Zolen circled around the men and away from Pammy, heading for the stairs.

  A man at the bottom smiled, “I’m going to enjoy this,” he and the other two blocked the way.

  “Shit, come on,” Zolen pleaded and rounded back, his foot found an uncovered grate, he slipped and Pammy dove at him, the grate gave and they fell through. Pammy screamed again, her hand stung as she struck the floor, blood bubbled in a perfect line. The coons scattered, the level was only three feet deep, the floor grates below them, not used to the weight, creaked but held.

  Zolen attempted a leap from the hole, an ancient man from the second crew put out a boot, “Naw, Pammy ain’t done wit’ ya yet.”

  “Better skitter, kid,” said Crawford.

  Zolen’s heart banged in his chest like an unpracticed marching band, he crawled away from the light, approaching a heavier scent of feces and blood. The steel grating was slippery, the coons stayed a perfect distance, close, but not so close that the intruders might touch them. The coon pen just kept going and Zolen crawled blindly, huffing and grunting as the air wheezed in his chest.

  His hands slipped when he felt his ankles yanked out from under him.

  “Got’cha!” Pammy yelled and pounced.

  The grate floor moaned again, creaked and fell.

  The giant mole rats scattered as the ceiling crashed down on them.

  “Get away, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Zolen whimpered and kicked out his feet, Pammy’s belly flopped on him once more, her giant breasts felt like boulders on his throat. The floor below them was solid in shape, yet cracking under the pressure. Pammy didn’t notice, she was going to suffocate the wise-mouth kid. The floor continued to moan, under Zolen’s shoulders it cracked and opened, they slid into pure dark.

  Free to breath, Zolen gasped, “Help!”

  *

  The sound rode up, very distant, Crawford looked at the men of the second crew, the second crew conceded and Crawford and Linkletter crawled down and sought the sound, “Pammy?” Crawford called out, still not fully on Zolen’s side.

  Linkletter turned back to the second crew, “Well come on, gotta find’m,” he said and the others rolled their eyes, but followed into the pitch black. The flashlights flicked and they saw hundreds of eyes staring back at them.

  *

  “You’re dead, you little shit,” Pammy seethed.

  Zolen squirmed free from her damaged grasp. He crawled further downwards. They’d fallen in a tunnel digging deep into the earth. There was just enough space to move on his fours. He scampered as quickly as possible, down the sloping tunnel aware of nothing but the fact Pammy was still right behind him.

  Pammy groaned, it was tight around her massive frame, but she pushed through, threatening Zolen with every foot. The earth was slick and well-worn underhand, but she managed to follow her prey. She knew it was just a matter of time, nobody back-sassed and got away without taking some of Pammy’s famous medicine.

  *

  Crawford called out, “Found the hole,” he said and swung his head below with a flashlight in hand, he met massive square teeth and shot backwards, smashing his head on the grate, “Eck!”

  The flashlight fell and the furry mole rat jittered away. Blood poured from Crawford’s head and Linkletter grabbed onto his sliding body. Crawford’s leadership role ending right there, they rolled his woozy body back topside and Linkletter led the way back to the hole.

  They moved onto the mole rat floor and called out, the lights met glint from yellow teeth rather than beady eyes. Their hands and knees trudged through the shit and piss soup, searching for Pammy and Zolen.

  *

  The tunnel widened into larger space and Zolen paused long enough to hear a strange groaning chitter. It was almost as loud as Pammy behind him. But not quite and he rushed forward when he imagined her breath on his neck. Zolen felt for a wall and paused as he heard two breathy sounds.

  “I’m gonna tear out your nuts from your throat, you little shit!” Pammy yelled.

  On the other side, there was a chitter groan, like a pig munching on a racoon.

  Pammy passed Zolen, yelling as she went and Zolen doubled back toward the tunnel keeping to the wall in the pitch black.

  *

  “Here!” one of the second crew called finding the hole in the floor and the tunnel.

  Linkletter gazed below, shining a light, “I’ll go on and call up to yas, if I needs yas.” It was dark and the second crew all smiled, fuck him and the kid, those smiles said to the dark shitty room.

  *

  Zolen saw the light and raced toward it, but so did Pammy, “I see ya, kid,” she warned, playful. The strange noises followed her, but her presence loomed such a vast presence, Zolen didn’t see the sources. Didn’t care, Pammy was bad enough. “I’m going to eat your dick on a Kaiser, kid!” she laughed, his fear fueling her.

  The light drew closer and Zolen heard Linkletter, “Here!” he called and Linkletter chased Zolen’s voice.

  “If he wants to keep his job, he won’t let you through!” Pammy warned.

  Linkletter had a conflict and paused at the edge of the tunnel. The beam from his flashlight found a terrified face, a furious face chasing closely behind and several giant beasts with bandit masks and massive square teeth. Their eyes were grown over with dark fuzzy eyebrows and somewhere in their evolution they’d lost their legs. The coon-rats slithered like worms, chattering and grunting.

  Linkletter screamed.

  Pammy screamed.

  Zolen turned to watch as giant square teeth tore into Pammy’s massive weighty thighs in the dim glow coming from the dropped flashlight. Blood showered forth and Zolen joined the screaming chorus. The slithering beasts raced toward him and he turned, Linkletter appeared frozen in place.

  “Move!” Zolen demanded. A coon-rat chomped Zolen’s foot away with one clean bite. “Ahh, damn it, help me!”

  Linkletter thawed and turned, sending the light back up the tunnel, “Help!” he called the second crew. The sound of the coon-rats lapping in the pool of Zolen and Pammy blood clapped and echoed around Linkletter, he heard laughter above and raced toward it. The walls around him vibrated with burrowing coon-rats.

  The dirt fell away beneath Linkletter and he teetered and then fell into a giant mouth, open and waiting for blood. The laughter ceased and the second crew recognized that if something was really wrong. Collectively they thought they’d best get Pammy out, at minimum.

  They crawled down into the tunnel.

  The ground came away in clumps. The coon-rats chattered, chased and bit. The concrete crewmen screamed until they screamed no more.

  *

  Crawford awoke under the bright light of the work lamps, his brain jumping against the walls of his skull, blood trickling down onto his neck, “The new guy, the kid,” he mumbled and looked around. There was nobody left with him and he knew they must’ve left the kid. Crawford looked down into the hole, wondering if it was all worth it, the kid, the job, Pammy, any of it.

  “Anybody down there?” he called and the animals chittered and chattered.

  Could just leave, forget it all, look for a new job
.

  “Could,” Crawford said and slid down into the hole to look for the kid.

  THE END.

  SIREN SONG by Derek Muk

  The crisp, frigid air slapped Brett in the face when she exited the library, pulling her wool hat snugly onto her head. After slipping her gloves on and coiling a scarf around her neck she was ready to brave the elements, trudging across the desolate campus, admiring the pretty stars in the clear nighttime skies.

  Her backpack felt like it was full of bricks and she was hoping to get to her dorm soon so she could toss it aside. During her trek through the silent landscape a plethora of thoughts raced through her mind: namely the ‘D’ grade she received on her last essay. Brett got so pissed she crumpled it up. The gall of her teacher to give her such a grade! Especially after Brett slaved away on the essay for so many hours. The other thing that was on her mind was the boy she had a huge crush on in her morning anthropology class. Kurt Von Marshall was to die for! Mr. tall, blonde, and handsome. Oh, my God, her knees grew weak and butterflies fluttered in her stomach whenever he walked past her! But the fact that her dorm mate, Susan, also had an eye on him bugged the hell out of her. What’s more, she caught her and Kurt flirting with one another after class one day and got so jealous.

  Brett checked her cell phone: no messages from Kurt. She secretly slipped him her number during one of Professor Taylor’s boring lectures. God, that man could put her to sleep!

  Brett heard a licking sound as she walked under a cluster of trees, like a dog licking its lips when it was hungry. She looked all around, not seeing a dog. The sound resumed as she kept going, and seconds later, she thought she heard a woman singing. Brett stopped again, scanning the dark environment with a frown.

  Could it be a fraternity prank? But it wasn’t even rush week.

  Brett decided to quicken her pace, plumes of white breath escaping from her mouth. The faster she got home, the better. But before she could take another breath, something large, dark, and fast swooped down from the trees, snatched her deftly, and flew away with her into the night skies.