No Way Out
and Other Scary Short Stories
By
MJ Ware
DIGITAL EDITION v1.1a
PUBLISHED BY: CG Press LTD.
Copyright 2010, 2011 by M.J.A. Ware
Cover © 2011 Rebecca Weaver, https://missninjaart.com
All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the copyright owner of this book.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of any product referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
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Would you like to know when more low-cost and free ebooks are released by MJ Ware? Visit: https://www.MJWare.com.
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Table of Contents
No way Out
The price of Friendship
Hobgoblin Horror
Super Zombie Juice Mega Bomb Extended Preview
Chapter 1 – Blizzards, Bites, and Zombies
Chapter 2 – Snookum's Last Stand
Chapter 3 – A Bridge to Nowhere
Chapter 4 – Zombie Snot
Chapter 5 – Zombie Juice, Now with the Killing Power of Lemonade
Zack & Zoey's Alien Apocalypse Preview
About the Author
* * * * *
No Way Out
"Ten bucks, huh?"
"Yep. But you've got to open the attic window and wave down to me."
"What if the window doesn't open?"
"Break it, what do I care," Chris said, taking off his rubber zombie mask.
I looked up at the old house. It was huge. Just finding my way to the stairs could take forever. "Make it twenty."
"Okay. The bet is twenty, but I keep the flashlight."
"The flashlight wouldn't be a problem if you'd brought your own. I mean, who goes trick-or-treating without a flashlight?" I said as I handed it over.
"Just get going, Mike."
Slowly, I walked to the side of the old house. The cloud covered moon cast just enough light to keep me from tripping over my own feet.
"I'll hold your candy for you."
"Fat chance," I yelled back. I musta had close to five pounds of candy in my pillowcase; we had just kept trick-or-treating until people stopped answering their doors.
The whole side of the house was covered thick with Ivy. I had to feel around for the window.
I climbed into the window and rolled onto the floor. It was so dark I couldn't see a thing, which made me a little freaked out. So, I just sat on the floor, not moving a muscle. Slowly my eyes began to adjust and my nerves calmed down.
The place was empty except for a thick layer of dust and a few pieces of furniture covered with white cloth, like you'd see in old movies. The air smelled sweet and kinda foul, not what I expected at all.
Slowly, I stood up and looked around. Chris was up to something. We'd trick-or-treated over a mile straight here. And Chris knew just how to get in. Except for that Ivy covered window, this place was boarded up tight.
He must have come by early and setup some sort of prank or maybe a booby trap. Thought he could scare me away or something and make twenty bucks in the process. No way was that happening.
Carefully, I made my way over to the stairs. With each step, the floor beneath me creaked. Not a lot of light made it in through the boarded-up windows. I shuffled my feet afraid of tripping.
I'd made it to the base of the staircase when something caught my eye. In the corner, a faint red light barely shined through an old sheet draped over a sofa.
Pausing after each step, I made my way over and slowly lifted the sheet. Sure enough, an old video camera sat recording. Checking the sheet revealed a hole just the right size for the lens.
It pointed towards the staircase. Picking it up, I messed with the controls until I figured out how to turn the spotlight on. Careful not to point it out the window, I scanned the stairs, but found nothing until I checked the ceiling. Hanging from the chandelier was another sheet, but this one draped like a ghost, it even had a face painted on it. This had to be Chris's doing; only he would think up something so pathetic.
I walked to the foot of the stairs to get a closer look. A rope hung down, went to the side of the stair rail and was strung across one of the lower steps like a tripwire. If you stepped on it, the ghost would come flying down.
"Nice try, Chris," I said into the, still recording, camera.
I headed up the stairs. Each one groaned like I'd awakened it from a deep slumber.
I stopped. I swore that I heard a sound. I stood still and listened, but there was only silence. I let out a big sigh and started walking up.
Suddenly, something flew at my face, scratching as it latched onto me. I fell backwards, managing to keep my feet under me for a couple steps, but I couldn't keep my balance.
I fell backward and smashed, rear first, into one of the bottom steps. They gave way like wet cardboard.
I felt myself falling for what seemed like seconds. The whole time, something clawed at my head.
Thud. I landed hard and threw the creature off my face. It yowled and I knew it was a cat. Candy pelted me with the force of driving hail, like busted piñata guts.
I felt a sharp pain in my ankle, but nothing was broken. Though, I figured it would be a few minutes before I could stand on it again.
Everything was pitch black. The only sound was the soft echo of the cat hissing. Carefully, I felt around for the camera. The floor was cold, metal, and sticky. It was barren except for fun-sized candy bars and Smarties scattered across the floor.
First, I found the battery. It had a large crack along its case. I figured I'd be lucky if it worked. Once I located the camera, I used my jeans to wipe the gunk off my hands, and snapped the battery back into place. The spotlight flickered on.
The cat hissed again. It stood, hair on end, a few feet away from me in the corner. Actually, it wasn't a corner; there were no corners. We were in some sort of circular holding tank. This better not be part of Chris's plan, I thought.
I started recording, just for the heck of it. As I panned around the tank, I knew I wouldn't be able to climb back up. It must have been ten or fifteen feet high, with rusty but smooth sides.
Putting one hand on a wall, I stood up. It hurt to stand on my right ankle, but it wasn't sprained, not badly anyway.
"Chris!" I yelled, shocked at how frightened my voice sounded.
I stopped the tape and turned the light off. I could just make out a faint glow coming from the broken stairwell. It was way up there. I was lucky I hadn't really gotten messed up.
I hollered to Chris for about five minutes before I stopped. I figured he thought it was real funny to make me wait. Or maybe, he was too scared to come in this place at night and ran off to get help. Either way, he was toast when I got out of here.
After a while, I got used to the darkness and the cat got used to me. It must have been wild because it wouldn't let me pet it, but at least it stopped hissing.
I sat and ate all the candy in reach, only turning the light on to make sure that I wasn't eating an Almond Joy or when the house spoke. And this house had lots to say. Creaks, moans, and thumps regularly bellowed from its gut.
Finally, when all the Snickers were gone, I heard a voice.
"M-m-i-k-e," it said feebly.
"Chris, I'm down here!" I yelled up.
"Mike, where are you?" His voice a little firmer.
"I fell through the stairs. Be careful you don't fall in."
A second later, a flashlight blinded me. "Dude, what happened?" Chris said.
"It was your stupid trap and this stupid cat. I slipped and the stairs gave way."
"My trap didn't have a cat," he said blankly.
"It was a stray -just get me out of here."
"Man that's deep. Hey, I remember seeing an old ladder upstairs. I can hand it down to you."
"Good. Just don't fall in."
"No problem, I'll jump over the hole."
"Be careful," I yelled as I pointed the camera's light up at the hole.
I saw him jump over the broken stairs and heard a thud as he landed. Then I heard something unexpected. Chattering, like champagne glasses clinking.
"Aah!" Instantly, I knew what had happened.
I stepped back against the wall of the tank. Just as a big dark mass went flying past me.
"Ouch!" Chris screamed as the cat broke his fall. It screamed too and jumped at me, then leaped away.
"Oh, man. I broke my leg."
"What, you're joking?"
"No, I heard it crack." I could hear crying in his voice. This wasn't part of his game.
"You idiot. What were you thinking?"
"I forgot about my ghost. I jumped over the hole and hit the tripwire. It flew down and startled me."
"You're a genius. Hold on, I've gotta get this on tape." I turned the camera on record and pointed it at him crumpled on the floor. "Oh, Chris, oh no." Blood pooled thick and dark from his leg.
"I told you it was broken, you butt-wad."
"This is bad. We might have to yell for days before anyone hears us. How loud was I from out there?"
He didn't say anything for a few seconds. "Tell me you weren't yelling."
"What, I was yelling at the top of my lungs."
"We're hosed. I didn't hear a thing." I could hear crying in his voice again.
"Just calm down, we'll think this out." Now the camera was shaking in my hands.
"Mike, there's no way out of here. No one can hear us. The house is boarded up. We're never going to get out."
*
"He was right. I think, it's been seven days now. This must be an old oil tank. We tried to climb out, but Chris can't even stand. There's nothing left to eat, even the Almond Joys were gone days ago, and we've had no water except for a pack of Nik-L-Nips," I record into the video camera.
"Chris is passing in and out of consciousness. When he's awake he keeps talking about his dad coming to take him to a monster truck show." I clear my throat. "I hope someday, someone finds this tape."
"Ohh," he moans.
"Chris, you okay, buddy?"
"Mike?"
"Yeah, I'm here."
"There's something I've been meaning to tell you."
"What is it, dude?"
"You owe me twenty bucks."
"You never give up. We agreed we're even when we drew straws to see who'd fix dinner a few days ago, remember?" Well, at least the cat had come in handy.
* * * * *
The Price of Friendship
What’s a best friend worth? You’re asking the right guy, that’s for sure. For my former best friend Joey, it was exactly $189--the price of a new pair of Kobe Bryant Slam-dunk high-tops.
It started as we were walking home from school last week. Joey was complaining his mom wouldn’t fork out two hundred bucks for a pair of Kobe Bryant Slam-dunk high-tops. Personally, I couldn’t blame her. That kind of money could be spent on something important, like a battery-powered pitching machine.
A bunch of guys I knew were standing around trading baseball cards. I’m always on the lookout for a good card, so we stopped to have a look.
There was this older kid doing all the trading. He had everything: a minor league Mark Maguire, an old Will Clark. Guys were snapping up cards left and right, but giving nothing in return.
“Got a ‘95 A-Rod I wanta trade.” I pulled some cards out of my backpack.
“Hold on boys, be with you in a moment.” The trader’s smile reminded me of a used car salesman. He even smelled oily.
The crowd dispersed and several hundred dollars worth of cards walked away. This guy had a serious collection.
“So, you’re looking to make a trade?”
“Wow, that’s a J.D. Drew hologram card. Man, I want that one, but I didn’t bring my cards,” Joey said.
“I’m not trading for cards. I’m looking for something... a little less tangible.” He handed Joey the card. “You can have it for, say, two hours.”
“Two hours, what, then give it back?” Joey looked just as confused as I was.
“No, for just two hours of your slightly used, second-hand memories. No big deal.”
“Umm, Okay. How you going to collect on that?” I was almost laughing.
“Will it hurt?” Joey started putting the card down.
The trader broke out with a big toothy laugh. We chuckled nervously with him.
“Naw, won’t hurt a bit.”
“How about two hours of math class?”
He laughed again, but it just didn't sound friendly. “Not math class, not memories you actually need. In fact, you’ll never even miss them.”
“Sounds good to me.” Joey pocketed the card.
“How about your friend? Anything you need to round out your collection?”
He did have an impressive collection, but not the one card I laid awake at night thinking about. “A Sammy Sosa rookie card.”
“I might be able to help you out, let’s see...” He dug around in his backpack.
“Here we go.” Enclosed in a protective case was the card of my dreams. “It’s signed, too.”
“Wow,” Joey gawked as I took the card and held it reverently in the palms of my hands--I could never afford this.
“How many hours for a card like that?” asked Joey.
“Maybe I could sell the memory of my little sister,” I joked, but didn’t laugh. This card was no laughing matter.
“Would it be a big deal if you forgot your little sister? She’d still be just as big a pain; you’d just forget the misery she’s put you through.”
“I don’t think so.” I had no love for my little sister, but I didn’t want to forget her, besides, if Mom found out, she'd give me one of her lectures on the importance of family.
“No sisters then, no family. Something unimportant, a memory you really don’t need.” He pushed the card towards me.
“Nick, take the card and let’s go.” Joey obviously didn’t think he could collect.
“Listen to your friend -it’s a one of a kind card.”
I slowly closed my hands round the card like I was closing a prayer book. Joey grabbed my arm and pulled me along.
“Don’t forget,” the trader called out, “all trades are final.”
"Man, I can't believe our luck." Joey smiled as he looked down at his new found treasure.
When I got home there was a strange dog roaming around the yard. He kept barking and jumping. I wasn’t normally afraid of dogs. I’d wanted one for years, but this dog had me spooked.
“Get out of here, go home!” I ordered, but he kept jumping on me as I made my way to the door.
“Nick, is that you?” Dad hollered from the kitchen. “Did you feed Max?”
Maximilian--the name I had set aside for a dog. Were my parents surprising me or…
“I swear. You never take care of that dog. Why just tonight I almost stepped in a pile of-"
I looked
down at the Sosa card and for a second I thought I might faint.
The next morning, I met Joey at our usual corner.
“Well?” I asked.
“Well what?”
“The card, what did you forget?”
Joey laughed. “Oh, right. That guy was such a dingle-head.”
“Seriously, you forgot nothing?”
“Well, not that I remember anyway.” He started to laugh, then stopped. “No way. You forget something?”
“Max,” I said coldly.
“You forgot to feed Max again, classic.”
“No, I forgot him entirely; I didn’t even know I had a dog.”
“You’re serious, aren’t you?”
I nodded.
“Still, that card was worth it, right?”
I didn’t reply.
On the way home from school, we ran into the trader again. He was just finishing up with some kids I didn't recognize.
“Care to do some more business?” he asked with this trademark smile.
“Don’t think so,” I said.
“I’m not trading cards. I’m offering cash today.”
“Cash?” Joey suddenly stopped.
“Yep, cold hard cash, in exchange for a few insignificant memories.”
“Go on Nick, I’ll catch up.”
“Joey, let’s just go. You’re liable to forget your own name.”
“That’s easy for you to say. You already got your signed Sosa.”
I tried to make him come with me, but I knew it was a lost cause. Joey really wanted those shoes.
The next morning, Joey didn’t show up at our usual corner. It wasn’t till recess that I caught up with him. He was wearing those stupid Kobe Bryant high-tops.
“Nice shoes,” I said sarcastically.
“Thanks, they're only making 100,000 pairs.” He twirled his shoe like a fashion model. “By the way, I’m Joey. Are you new around here?”
At first I thought he was joking, then my heart sank. Even if Joey didn’t remember, I knew what he'd traded to get those shiny new sneakers--I thought I was worth more, a lot more.
* * * * *
Hobgoblin Horror
"I hate the way this place smells," Jake said. Our shoes squeaked as we walked across the linoleum titled floor, down a sterile hallway to the last room on the right.
"Yep, menthol and vitamins--never a good combo."
"This is your fault, Alex. If you weren't so desperate to get close to Shelby Summers we wouldn’t have volunteered for old fart duty."