Read Online Twisted Tales by Brandon Massey - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Brandon Massey
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threshold, Mark methodically fed the measuring tape inside, listening for the click of the end hitting a solid object. Five feet ... ten ... fifteen ... twenty ... twenty-five ...
He reached the end of the tape. It still had not tapped against a wall on the other side.
“Just impossible,” he said.
He flicked the button on the tape holder, automatically reeling the tape back into its metal housing.
Still avoiding passing over the threshold, he shone the flashlight within. He couldn’t see any surface at all; the light did not reflect off any objects. He saw only a vast region of unrelieved blackness.
He switched off the flashlight.
Now, he thought, it’s time for me to make a decision.
He could step away from this hole, slide the boxes back into place, and walk out and forget that he had ever seen this phenomenon.
Or he could go inside.
Mark was a lifelong lover of horror movies. But one of the things he hated—and he saw it happen so frequently in films that it had become a genre cliché—was when a character did something supremely stupid. Like walking into haunted woods at night armed only with a flashlight. Or investigating strange noises in a cellar that obviously concealed the killer. Such moments made him want to shout at the screen, “You idiot, you deserve to die!”
He thought he was pretty smart. But he wanted to see what lay beyond the doorway, as stupid and dangerous as it seemed. His curiosity was like an ache in his gut.
Just stick your hand inside first. There’s no risk in that.
He chewed his lip.
Then, he slowly placed his arm inside.
He didn’t know what he’d been expecting—in his vivid imagination, he half-feared that some toothsome creature on the other side would take a bite out of his hand—but the reaction he received was far outside the realm of his expectations.
A pleasant coolness enveloped his arm, made his skin tingle.
And he heard music.
The music was as clear as if he was wearing headphones. It was melodic harp music; the soothing notes felt like honey on his ears.
He heard voices, too. Lovely voices sang a song so pure and angelic that his heart raced, swelled with transcendent joy.
His eyes slid closed as rapture swept through him.
Happiness beyond anything he had ever experienced cascaded through his spirit, washing away all of his troubles and worries and sorrows. Eternal bliss awaited him if only he stepped deeper inside, climbed all the way in, moved forward, and didn’t look back.... It was a good place over there, a fantastic place, a place where he desired to be ...
Someone rapped on the closet door.
Abruptly, as if awakened from a dream, Mark snatched his arm out of the gateway. Dizziness tipped through him.
“You in there, Markie?” It was Mr. Green.
“Just a minute,” Mark said in a slurred voice. Fighting to get his balance, he quickly shoved the boxes in front of the secret doorway.
Mr. Green unlocked the door and banged it open.
Mark spun around.
“What the hell are you doing in here?” Mr. Green asked.
“Uh ... I came in here to get some paper towels,” Mark blubbered.
Mr. Green’s eyes narrowed. “You been whacking off? You’re panting.”
“No, of course not. I came in here ... on my break. Decided to use my time to get some more supplies. Always on the job, you know?” Mark laughed, but it sounded strained even to him.
Mr. Green’s frown sharpened. “You’ve been up to something, and it’s not work. I have a sixth sense for these things. That’s why I’m the boss.”
“Just work, honest,” Mark said.
Mr. Green smiled derisively. Mark had never been a convincing liar.
“Your break’s over,” Mr. Green said. “Get back to work. If I catch you in here again tonight, you’re fired.”
When Mark arrived home, the driveway and the street in front of the house were full of cars. Lights blazed in the windows.
“I don’t believe this,” Mark said.
He heard the music long before he reached the front door.
He reached the end of the tape. It still had not tapped against a wall on the other side.
“Just impossible,” he said.
He flicked the button on the tape holder, automatically reeling the tape back into its metal housing.
Still avoiding passing over the threshold, he shone the flashlight within. He couldn’t see any surface at all; the light did not reflect off any objects. He saw only a vast region of unrelieved blackness.
He switched off the flashlight.
Now, he thought, it’s time for me to make a decision.
He could step away from this hole, slide the boxes back into place, and walk out and forget that he had ever seen this phenomenon.
Or he could go inside.
Mark was a lifelong lover of horror movies. But one of the things he hated—and he saw it happen so frequently in films that it had become a genre cliché—was when a character did something supremely stupid. Like walking into haunted woods at night armed only with a flashlight. Or investigating strange noises in a cellar that obviously concealed the killer. Such moments made him want to shout at the screen, “You idiot, you deserve to die!”
He thought he was pretty smart. But he wanted to see what lay beyond the doorway, as stupid and dangerous as it seemed. His curiosity was like an ache in his gut.
Just stick your hand inside first. There’s no risk in that.
He chewed his lip.
Then, he slowly placed his arm inside.
He didn’t know what he’d been expecting—in his vivid imagination, he half-feared that some toothsome creature on the other side would take a bite out of his hand—but the reaction he received was far outside the realm of his expectations.
A pleasant coolness enveloped his arm, made his skin tingle.
And he heard music.
The music was as clear as if he was wearing headphones. It was melodic harp music; the soothing notes felt like honey on his ears.
He heard voices, too. Lovely voices sang a song so pure and angelic that his heart raced, swelled with transcendent joy.
His eyes slid closed as rapture swept through him.
Happiness beyond anything he had ever experienced cascaded through his spirit, washing away all of his troubles and worries and sorrows. Eternal bliss awaited him if only he stepped deeper inside, climbed all the way in, moved forward, and didn’t look back.... It was a good place over there, a fantastic place, a place where he desired to be ...
Someone rapped on the closet door.
Abruptly, as if awakened from a dream, Mark snatched his arm out of the gateway. Dizziness tipped through him.
“You in there, Markie?” It was Mr. Green.
“Just a minute,” Mark said in a slurred voice. Fighting to get his balance, he quickly shoved the boxes in front of the secret doorway.
Mr. Green unlocked the door and banged it open.
Mark spun around.
“What the hell are you doing in here?” Mr. Green asked.
“Uh ... I came in here to get some paper towels,” Mark blubbered.
Mr. Green’s eyes narrowed. “You been whacking off? You’re panting.”
“No, of course not. I came in here ... on my break. Decided to use my time to get some more supplies. Always on the job, you know?” Mark laughed, but it sounded strained even to him.
Mr. Green’s frown sharpened. “You’ve been up to something, and it’s not work. I have a sixth sense for these things. That’s why I’m the boss.”
“Just work, honest,” Mark said.
Mr. Green smiled derisively. Mark had never been a convincing liar.
“Your break’s over,” Mr. Green said. “Get back to work. If I catch you in here again tonight, you’re fired.”
When Mark arrived home, the driveway and the street in front of the house were full of cars. Lights blazed in the windows.
“I don’t believe this,” Mark said.
He heard the music long before he reached the front door.
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