The Dystopiaville Omnibus: A Dystopian Sci-Fi Horror Collection Read online

  Morgan lingered on the landing. He was leaning on the bannister while aiming the Glock at Reggie’s head.

  “What are you going to do to my wife and children?” Reggie asked.

  Morgan tut-tutted. He reached over and pushed the bathroom door open. It was a sturdy, thick old door built of solid oak. It looked like it belonged in a castle and it had been there for as long as Reggie could remember, going back to when Terri’s parents and grandparents had lived in the house.

  The hinges squeaked as the door opened.

  Morgan stepped aside, gesturing for Reggie to go in.

  “Why?” Reggie asked. “What am I supposed to do in here?”

  “Right now,” Morgan said, “you don’t get to ask any questions. All you need to know is the more you cooperate with me the better it is for your family. And the sooner I’ll be gone. That’s what you want isn’t it? Your family to be okay? For me to go?”

  “I won’t dance Morgan,” he said.

  “Whatever you say Reggie. Now please, go inside will you?”

  Reluctantly, Reggie entered the bathroom. It was a tiny space, like an oversized wardrobe fitted with a toilet and a shower enclosure. It was hot too, thanks to a torrent of warm air blasting out of an oversized vent. Reggie sat down on the toilet, dizzy with heat.

  “What now?” he asked.

  Morgan shrugged. A flood of daylight poured into the house through a window at his back, bathing the upstairs landing in a serene glow.

  “You must think I’m a real piece of shit. Don’t you?”

  Reggie didn’t answer. He didn’t have to.

  “It’s the sickness man,” Morgan said. “It messed me up good. I thought I was dead for sure out there today. You should have seen it. Running around the desert, lost. I don’t know, someone gets stranded out here without the essentials and I’m telling you Reggie, they’re screwed. If they don’t get the Schedule up here soon something bad’s going to happen.”

  “Essentials?” Reggie said.

  Morgan tapped a foot to the music downstairs.

  “Yeah.”

  Reggie had to laugh. “Essentials? And you have the nerve to call us freaks?”

  Morgan tucked his long blond hair behind his ears.

  “In prison,” he said, “they punished the cons by putting us in solitude for ten to fifteen hour stretches at a time. The cells weren’t much bigger than this shoebox bathroom here. And they were pitch black, of course.”

  “Are you claustrophobic by any chance?” Reggie asked. “I notice you’re keeping your distance from this little ‘shoebox’ right here.”

  Morgan kept still, a half-smile on his face.

  “Solitude,” he said, “whether in prison or anywhere else, isn’t about the size of the room. It’s about the silence inside that room. It’s waiting for you man. When you hear that key turn in the lock, followed by the sound of the guard walking away down the corridor, those shoes clip clopping off the floor – that’s when shit becomes real. It’s like a coffin lid closing over your head. You can’t breathe. Some cons, they scream for hours to keep the silence away. When they get too hoarse to scream they’ll bang their heads bloody off the wall, trying to knock themselves out. I never went that far myself.”

  Morgan stared at the floor.

  “You hear the devil’s voice,” he said. “I heard him too, not in prison, but when I was a kid. My mother used to lock me in the cupboard under the stairs to punish me. I would always scream and so of course she’d gag me. Well, couldn’t stop him whispering in my ear after that. And no doubt about it, the devil is a whisperer.”

  Reggie felt the hair on his arms standing up.

  Morgan backed off towards the stairs.

  “But of course silence doesn’t bother you Reggie,” he said. “Not like it bothers me. So you won’t scream, will you? No matter how long you’re locked up in here.”

  “That’s right,” Reggie said. “Locking me up, playing these silly games with my family. It’s pointless.”

  Morgan scratched his chin with the gun barrel.

  “We’ll see about that. You say you won’t dance, I say you will.”

  Reggie buried his face in his hands. “You’re a mess Morgan.”

  Morgan laughed. “All things considered man,” he said, “I could have turned out a lot worse than I did.”

  Downstairs Ellie pounded the keys, conducting a private orchestra inside the Yamaha’s electronic brain.

  “This might sound crazy to you Morgan,” Reggie said, leaning his back up against the cistern. “But silence isn’t Count Dracula. Do you think the man who invented the wheel had a pair of headphones wrapped around his skull when inspiration struck? Look back at thousands of years of human history for God’s sake, the same history they’re now trying to hide and distort in schools. Silence has been associated with wellbeing, good health and insight for as long as we’ve been here on the planet. I can’t believe people look at me like I’ve got two heads when I say that.”

  “I’ve heard about the science,” Morgan said, stone-faced. “The new science.”

  Reggie clapped his hands in mock applause.

  “Is that the same new science that’s funded exclusively by the noise industries? Oh I see, okay then. Science with an agenda, that’s what you call good objective, well-meaning science. Let’s tell people what they want to hear so our benefactors, a bunch of industry criminals in suits and ties, get rich while the general population goes insane. And best of all, no one has a clue what’s going on. No, the people think the criminals are doing them a favour, putting out shiny new products all the time, a never-ending conveyer belt of goodies that’ll make their lives better. You have to admire the crooks for pulling it off. They’ve done such a good job that the lunatics don’t even know they’re in an asylum.”

  Morgan shrugged.

  “Do yourself a favour,” Reggie said, leaning forward. “Get out of this house before it’s too late. Sooner or later there’s going to be a knock on that front door and trust me, you don’t want to be here when it happens.”

  Morgan slammed the bathroom door shut.

  “You just worry about yourself Reggie,” he said. “Now I’m going downstairs for a while. In the meantime I’d like you to sit there and think about how you’re going to entertain me. Are you going to sing? Are you going to dance? You will entertain me. You’re my court jester, that’s what you are.”

  Reggie stared at the door. “Fuck you Morgan!”

  He heard the key turning in the lock. Then the old stairs creaked as Morgan returned downstairs.

  Morgan walked back into the living room, clicking his fingers in time to Ellie’s looping twelve-bar jam. The girl was perched behind the Yamaha, her back stiff as per usual, two mechanical arms swatting at the ivories.

  “Doing great Ellie,” he yelled.

  He walked past Terri and Fern who were still tied up on the couch. They didn’t so much as glance in Morgan’s direction. There was a look of resignation on both their faces. With a sigh, Morgan dropped into one of the armchairs and catching Ellie’s attention, ran a finger over his throat.

  “Cut!”

  The music dropped out. Ellie’s shoulders sagged and she leaned her elbows on the edge of the Yamaha.

  “Things have definitely taken a turn for the better in this house,” Morgan said. “I’m feeling decidedly tip-top.”

  “Where’s Reggie?” Terri asked.

  Morgan was grinning. “Hey,” he said. “You ever star in a horror movie Terri?”

  “What?”

  “Did you ever star in a horror movie?”

  “No.”

  “I love a good horror movie,” Morgan said, rubbing his hands together. “Watching films was a rare treat for the cons inside. Every Saturday night was movie night. They’d file us all into the assembly hall where they’ve got this huge, cinema-sized screen set up. God knows what the dimensions were but it was big. There was a projector, dozens of speakers on the wall – it was the rea
l deal man. They didn’t always show horror movies, I guess that’s not a good idea when you’ve got a bunch of savages in the room. But they’d put one on, I don’t know, every couple of months or so. Those were my favourites. The Thing, Alien, Psycho, The Shining – some of the best films I ever saw. Even the real deranged cons would stop fucking around for a good horror flick.”

  “I hate horror films,” Terri said.

  Ellie nodded. “Me too.”

  Morgan wasn’t listening.

  “I remember this one film they put on,” he said. “The name of it escapes me now. It was one of those small budget indie flicks you know? Full of unknown actors. Not the greatest quality cameras. Fair play, they were good fucking actors though. The plot, if I remember, went something like this – a wealthy, beautiful businesswoman checks into a hotel room for the night. She’s in town on a business trip. This is somewhere in America by the way. So she checks in at the desk, then goes up to her room. It’s a nice room, bland and clean, the usual shit. She drops her bag on the bed and looks around, takes a piss, whatever. Then she sits down on the bed, kicks off her high-heels and picks up the remote control off the desk. She sighs and starts to relax. Long journey, but it’s over now. Then she turns on the TV and instead of the usual generic welcome message there’s something else written on the screen. In big, bold letters it says, ‘I’m going to kill you tonight’.”

  Morgan paused.

  The three Ward girls were staring at him.

  “What happened?” Fern asked.

  “Turns out this woman had a stalker problem,” Morgan said. “Some sad pathetic dick who’d flipped big time. He’d been in love with this woman since school but she’d always ignored him because well, he was a total prick. Anyway, she’d done well in life – she had the big career, the nice house in a nice neighbourhood and she’d also married this handsome, rich guy with a square Desperate Dan jaw. The stalker was broke and pissed off. Kinda ugly too. What are you going to do? So this crazy bastard – the actor did a great job by the way – he’d followed her all the way from the suburbs and now he was trying to get into her hotel room. I guess you’d call it a siege movie, you know? Stalker dude was killing anyone and everyone who got in his way – maids, security, receptionist – you name it. By the end of the film the hotel was covered in blood.”

  Morgan cleared his throat. He was spitting the words out like there was a clock ticking on his story.

  “My favourite bit in the film was early on,” he said. “When the woman still hadn’t seen this guy’s face and so she didn’t know who he was yet. He’s standing outside her room, knocking on the door. Just keeps knocking like a fucking madman. But when she opens the door there’s no one there. So she goes back inside and shuts the door. A minute later, he’s in the next-along room, having killed the people in there. Now he’s banging on that wall. The woman, shit-scared by now, knocks on the door to that room and no one answers because the stalker’s already moved to the room on the other side. You still with me? You see what he’s doing? He’s fucking with her mind. Now he’s banging on that wall on the other side. She starts to freak out and scream and all you hear is this screaming and knocking, screaming and knocking. Man it was good! If I was an actor Terri, that’s the sort of movie I’d want to be in. Definitely.”

  Terri, her wrists and feet bound with rope, inched forward on the couch.

  “You need help.”

  Morgan shrugged. “So you’ve never been in a horror film?”

  “Where’s my husband?” Terri asked. “Where is he?”

  “You know if my life had turned out differently,” Morgan said. “I think I would have been an actor. I’m good I think – I can really turn it on if I have to. It’d be a real honour if you’d let me show you a few moves Terri. Do a scene with me? What do you say?”

  Terri grimaced. “What the hell are you talking about? Where’s my husband? Where’s Reggie?”

  “Isn’t that what actors do?” Morgan said, standing up. “In acting school? You act out famous scenes from play and movies and stuff. That’s how you practice. Right?”

  Terri opened her mouth to speak but no words came out.

  Morgan looked around the room.

  “Now how about we pretend this living room is the hotel room? From the movie I just told you about. You’ve just checked in for the night Terri. Fern, you can be in the scene too. I know the woman didn’t have a daughter with her but it doesn’t really matter does it? We’re just workshopping. Now the two of you have just walked into the room and turned on the TV and that’s when you see the message. Remember what it says? I’m going to kill you.”

  “We don’t have a TV,” Fern said.

  Morgan pointed to a tall antique floor lamp in the corner.

  “Imagine that’s a big flat screen TV,” he said, “and you just turned it on. You saw the killer’s message. What are you going to do?”

  “Not much,” Terri said. “Our arms and legs are tied up.”

  “Use your imagination,” Morgan said. “Draw on past experience to conjure up the feelings that you need for the scene. Isn’t that what good method actors are supposed to do?”

  “Or you could untie us,” Terri said. “And that way we could act the scene out properly.”

  “Not going to happen,” Morgan said. “Look Terri, I know this isn’t the type of performance you’re used to. I don’t have a makeup department or even a script. But you’re a professional actress aren’t you? Start acting like one, minus all the prima donna bullshit. Untie me, untie me.”

  “What do you want us to do?” Fern asked.

  “Now I’m the bad guy,” Morgan said, his eyes wide with excitement. “I’m going to go out into the hallway and pretend that it’s the hotel corridor. Then I’m going to do what he did in the film, I’m going to start pounding on the walls like I’m trying to break it down. And you’re going to scream – both of you. Now this actress, she had a great scream. Real high-pitched, glass-breaker. Went on for days.”

  “Morgan,” Terri said. “Please don’t…”

  “Ellie,” Morgan said, hurrying over to the Yamaha. He was still talking at a hundred words a second. “Think you can come up with a good horror soundtrack to compliment the scene?”

  Ellie looked lost. “I…I don’t know.”

  “Hard crunching chords – DA-DA-DA!!!! Use the Jaws theme for inspiration, you know? Psycho, that kind of thing. Spielberg. Hitchcock. Simple but scary.”

  “Why are you humiliating us like this?” Terri asked. She looked at him with bleary, exhausted eyes.

  Morgan turned his arms over, as if forming a giant clapperboard.

  “It’s showtime! Ready?”

  No answer.

  “I’ll take that as a yes,” he said. “Aaaaaaaand…”

  He looked at Ellie and brought the clapperboard down.

  “Action!”

  Ellie’s index finger stabbed tentatively at the bass keys, searching for a sinister score.

  Morgan gave everyone the thumbs up. Then he ran out into the hallway. He closed the living room door and stood there, listening closely to Ellie’s soundtrack. She’d settled on a ferocious stabbing rhythm, an angry heartbeat hurtling towards a horrific crescendo.

  “You’re right Reggie boy,” Morgan said. “I am messed up.”

  He glanced upstairs towards the bathroom door.

  “Action,” he whispered.

  Morgan slammed his fists off the plaster wall. He yelled at the top of his voice.

  “I’M COMING IN THERE. AND WHEN I GET IN THERE I SWEAR TO GOD I’M GOING TO KILL YOU! I’M GOING TO KILL YOOOOU!”

  The house trembled under Morgan’s relentless onslaught.

  “KILL YOOOOOU!”

  Terri and Fern screamed over Ellie’s bloodcurdling score.

  Morgan’s eyes lit up and he took a step back from the wall, digesting this symphony of chaos that he’d created. Those were good screams – strident and harsh. There never had been a horror film about a
woman in a hotel room, Morgan had made it all up. But if anyone ever made that movie, Terri would be the perfect actress to play the lead.

  DA-DA-DA-DAAA-DAAAAAA-DA-DA!

  Ellie’s soundtrack was the musical equivalent of a rockfall. It was a perfect compliment to her mother and sister’s screaming.

  Morgan peeked upstairs. He was staring at the bathroom door.

  “I’M GOING TO KILL YOU ALL!”

  And then…

  Reggie Ward started banging on the bathroom door. It was a ferocious assault, like a man trying to flee a burning building. He was screaming – the perfect tenor accompaniment to his wife and daughter’s chilling soprano. But unlike the girls who knew better, Reggie thought this show was for real. And he couldn’t get out of that bathroom, no matter how hard her tried. What chance did a pencil neck have of breaking down a sturdy old door like that?

  Morgan sat down on the bottom step. He was smiling.

  He was also juiced up to the gills.

  “Told you Reggie boy,” he said. “Didn’t I? Told you I’d make you dance.”

  “TERRI!”

  Reggie Ward was a human battering ram. He slammed his shoulder off the door, yet again with no luck.

  “FERN! ELLIE!”

  He had to break out of that twenty square foot prison. He had to get out and stop that twisted, junkie bastard hurting his family.

  Killing his family.

  He slammed his shoulder into the wood, again and again. Reggie felt no pain. That would come later. He kicked and pummelled the door with his fists, a voice screaming in the back of his mind, telling him that it taking too long. That Morgan was downstairs, killing them all.

  He could hear the girls screaming. His girls. Morgan was yelling out sick threats, threatening to kill them and it sounded like he was hitting them too. God, what was he doing to them? Terri, his babies – they were in grave danger. And yet Ellie was still playing. Reggie could hear the music – a terrible, doom-laden thump-thump coming off the keyboard. Was Morgan forcing the poor child to play while her mother and sister were butchered in front of her?