Horror

There are those who write stories that’ll make your blood run cold.

Who, in a few words, can establish atmosphere so oppressive and claustrophobic that even before the action begins you can feel the walls around you closing in.

The sorts of authors you’d never read before bedtime, lest in the night you lay awake, staring at the ceiling, paralyzed with fear.

But no matter how much their books might frighten you, you have to wake up the next morning. You must go about your business as though nothing was wrong.

Because if you can’t do that, the horrorists win.

Pardon

It was at a party, on my last day of freedom, that I saw him.

The party wasn’t for me, of course, no parties were for me by that point. None of the people I’d once considered “friend” wanted anything to do with me. But I did donate to the gallery, once upon a time, and for that they’d invited me, and nobody’d ever thought to withdraw the invitation.

After all, who could imagine I’d actually show up? After the freak show my trial had become, it was unthinkable that I’d ever show my face in public again. Yet there I was.

It was my last day, after all, before sentencing. Why not go out for one last huzzah? And the looks on the faces of those vapid socialites was a thousand times worth it.

Nonetheless, I never thought I’d see him.

The governor had been rumored to be in attendance, but he was always rumored. His actual presence was shocking to all. He was, after all, pondering a run for the Presidency in a very public manner, and it had been widely assumed he was too busy for frivolous gallary parties such as this. Everything ground to a halt as he walked by, deep in conversation with two aides, and everyone turned to stare. Even an alien observing the room would know at a glance that a) he was a man of tremendous import, and b) he did not belong here.

I, a man who’d traveled in these circles for years before those unfortunate accusations began to surface, saw it even more quickly.

It took minutes to fully comprehend the simple fact that he was here, but mere seconds to formulate my plan.

Which was good, since it truly was my last chance.

I walked toward, and then past him to the wet bar. He, lost in his hushed conversation, paid me no attention at all. As I passed, I clipped him across his shoulder with my own, knocking us both temporarily off balance.

“Oh, pardon me.” I muttered, sheepishly.

“Of course.” He replied, distracted.

And that’s why I’m back on the streets.

Anyway, this has been fun, but I really have to wrap things up now. After all, I have eleven other jurors to track down after you...

Dessert

The first thing you’ll taste is the suffering of a thousand sinners*. Their screams unscreamed will pulse through your body, shaking you to the very core.

The flavour will sicken you, but you’ll find you cannot stop eating. In fact, the more you eat, the hungrier you’ll become.

Eventually, as you stuff yourself, you’ll starve. Your body will weaken and wither, leaving you skin and bones, barely enough strength left to continue raising spoon to mouth.

But you will continue.

Forever.

Starving, feeding, but eternally unsated.

Because there’s always room for HELL-O!

*also available in suffering of a thousand sinners/mango