Read Online Gutted: Beautiful Horror Stories by Clive Barker, Neil Gaiman, Ramsey Campbell, Paul Tremblay, Mercedes M. Yardley, Richard Thomas, Damien Angelica Walters, Kevin Lucia - Free Book Online
Authors: Clive Barker, Neil Gaiman, Ramsey Campbell, Paul Tremblay, Mercedes M. Yardley, Richard Thomas, Damien Angelica Walters, Kevin Lucia
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of sagging, shuttered bungalows clustered around culs-de-sac; that was where Kyle and Mason wanted to explore, later.
In the meantime, Hannah sat cross-legged on an old door, just outside the tent. She didn’t want to go exploring, but she didn’t want to be left alone, either. Or, later, to be alone in the tent with Mason. Unless she told them she was sleeping in the Jeep, or in one of the houses, that was her fate.
Beth had given her a headlamp on an elastic band; she put it on, but kept the light off and watched the fire.
Mason dropped down beside her; she froze.
He said, Dude, please tell me what’s wrong. You’ve been weird all day.
Like she should confide in him, like she had a problem they could just talk through.
Beth and Kyle were standing close together in the tall grass beside the school, smoking and laughing, too far away to hear.
I just can’t believe you did that, she said.
He kicked at the dirt with his Tevas. Did what?
She was stunned.
He laughed, but it was a fake laugh, an acting-laugh. He reached for her hand.
Are you talking about last night?
What do you think I’m talking about?
What—didn’t you like it?
She pushed away, stood, walked quickly through the grass, toward Kyle and Beth. The fire behind her threw her shadow across the schoolhouse’s faded, dusty bricks.
Hey, kiddo, Kyle said.
She was angry, now. She’d never been so angry before in her life.
Beth studied her face, then held out the joint she’d been smoking. You want a hit?
Mason had followed her; he joined them, his face shadowed by the fire. Hannah took the joint and turned her back to him, then pulled the smoke in deep. Maybe, at least, her hands would stop shaking.
Easy there, Kyle said. Special blend. It’s laced with some extras.
What extras? she said.
Kyle laughed. Not sure, exactly. Got it from a chemist at Burning Man, said it was proprietary. You’re gonna feel real good, I can tell you that much.
Hannah looked at the joint, then at Beth, who smiled, kindly; she was already stoned. So was Kyle. They were no help. Nobody was going to be any help.
God. She took another hit, and then another, thinking about the way her mother put back beers, and Beth laughed.
When Hannah turned around Mason had returned to the fire, his shoulders tight, his hands in his pockets. He seemed hurt.
Good, she thought. She exhaled smoke.
II.
Imagine what it would be like to live here, Kyle said, later, the first joint gone, and a second one too. They were all sitting around the fire, wearing their headlamps in the darkness; Kyle and Beth had been talking about exploring, filling the silence left by Hannah and Mason, but no one had stood.
God, Beth said, looking at the school, I think I’d kill myself.
Hannah said nothing. Her brain was light, cottony. When she moved her head the buildings and the old light poles and Kyle and Beth and Mason—sitting by himself, sullenly, on the other side of the fire—all stretched and smeared. Kyle hadn’t lied about whatever was in that joint.
She thought about telling Beth, I know exactly what it’s like to live here.
It would be a nightmare, she could say. Wouldn’t it? To have nowhere to go and no one new to meet, and nothing to see but the endless desert and the stars in the sky. And the people you were stuck with. The people you’d chosen to follow out here.
You’d be trapped, she could say. Stuck, like the woman watching them from the street, the one in the sundress, pushing the stroller.
Hannah stood.
She’s so sad, she said, her tongue thick, and their headlamps swung to her.
Who’s sad? Beth asked.
There were several others, now. They wore long dresses and high-heeled pumps and sunhats, and they stood in bunches outside the school, and on the steps of the church, and they were walking in and out of the store holding bags, striding away down the road toward the houses, holding the hands of small children, or walking beside the men.
Beth said, hurt, God, hers
In the meantime, Hannah sat cross-legged on an old door, just outside the tent. She didn’t want to go exploring, but she didn’t want to be left alone, either. Or, later, to be alone in the tent with Mason. Unless she told them she was sleeping in the Jeep, or in one of the houses, that was her fate.
Beth had given her a headlamp on an elastic band; she put it on, but kept the light off and watched the fire.
Mason dropped down beside her; she froze.
He said, Dude, please tell me what’s wrong. You’ve been weird all day.
Like she should confide in him, like she had a problem they could just talk through.
Beth and Kyle were standing close together in the tall grass beside the school, smoking and laughing, too far away to hear.
I just can’t believe you did that, she said.
He kicked at the dirt with his Tevas. Did what?
She was stunned.
He laughed, but it was a fake laugh, an acting-laugh. He reached for her hand.
Are you talking about last night?
What do you think I’m talking about?
What—didn’t you like it?
She pushed away, stood, walked quickly through the grass, toward Kyle and Beth. The fire behind her threw her shadow across the schoolhouse’s faded, dusty bricks.
Hey, kiddo, Kyle said.
She was angry, now. She’d never been so angry before in her life.
Beth studied her face, then held out the joint she’d been smoking. You want a hit?
Mason had followed her; he joined them, his face shadowed by the fire. Hannah took the joint and turned her back to him, then pulled the smoke in deep. Maybe, at least, her hands would stop shaking.
Easy there, Kyle said. Special blend. It’s laced with some extras.
What extras? she said.
Kyle laughed. Not sure, exactly. Got it from a chemist at Burning Man, said it was proprietary. You’re gonna feel real good, I can tell you that much.
Hannah looked at the joint, then at Beth, who smiled, kindly; she was already stoned. So was Kyle. They were no help. Nobody was going to be any help.
God. She took another hit, and then another, thinking about the way her mother put back beers, and Beth laughed.
When Hannah turned around Mason had returned to the fire, his shoulders tight, his hands in his pockets. He seemed hurt.
Good, she thought. She exhaled smoke.
II.
Imagine what it would be like to live here, Kyle said, later, the first joint gone, and a second one too. They were all sitting around the fire, wearing their headlamps in the darkness; Kyle and Beth had been talking about exploring, filling the silence left by Hannah and Mason, but no one had stood.
God, Beth said, looking at the school, I think I’d kill myself.
Hannah said nothing. Her brain was light, cottony. When she moved her head the buildings and the old light poles and Kyle and Beth and Mason—sitting by himself, sullenly, on the other side of the fire—all stretched and smeared. Kyle hadn’t lied about whatever was in that joint.
She thought about telling Beth, I know exactly what it’s like to live here.
It would be a nightmare, she could say. Wouldn’t it? To have nowhere to go and no one new to meet, and nothing to see but the endless desert and the stars in the sky. And the people you were stuck with. The people you’d chosen to follow out here.
You’d be trapped, she could say. Stuck, like the woman watching them from the street, the one in the sundress, pushing the stroller.
Hannah stood.
She’s so sad, she said, her tongue thick, and their headlamps swung to her.
Who’s sad? Beth asked.
There were several others, now. They wore long dresses and high-heeled pumps and sunhats, and they stood in bunches outside the school, and on the steps of the church, and they were walking in and out of the store holding bags, striding away down the road toward the houses, holding the hands of small children, or walking beside the men.
Beth said, hurt, God, hers
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