And then there was Zombie

After being so damn careful, here I am, in a government hospital infected with this damn virus. Look, for me it wasn't supposed to be a big deal. Most people like me were sent home and told to sweat it out. Only the people with compromised immune systems were in danger of actually dying... but then suddenly Cyril lost his flippen mind and everyone that caught a cough needed to be quarantined under police guard at a "government facility" aka a government hospital - where I am now more likely to die because of something else I am going to catch here!

In the beginning it was cool. Lockdown happened pretty fast and our numbers were under control. It appeared that we'd acted swiftly and things would be normal by June 2020. But in the first week of May 2020, after the virus had done a second sweep through China, some scary shit started to happen. China went off grid pretty fast and there was a lot of speculation. No one... well, none of the general public, really knew what happened there, but one thing was pretty fucking evident, and that was that when the virus made a second sweep, shit started to get real. Something happens to the human body when it becomes reinfected...

Now, I'm one of those people that never really gets sick. Ja, I might actually have the bug, but I won't know about it. So I don't know if I caught the Corona virus the first time it popped up in March 2020. The second sweep of the virus came at the end of July 2020 and that's when the government started rolling out the new instant tests for everyone. The tests were mandatory. Everyone's bank accounts were frozen and ID's and drivers licences flagged, forcing everyone to get tested in order to become a functioning member of society again. And what do you know, I am sick! And do you think they'd let me call someone? Or even just go home first to, I don't know, get a change of clothes? No. They threw me in the back of a police van and proceeded to treat me like a hardened criminal with leprosy.

So here I am, a few hours later, waiting for someone to tell me what the hell is going on. My stuff has been confiscated, including my phone and ID (which we cannot go anywhere without since this Corona virus bullshit started). Also, this hospital is packed. I'm standing in a hallway that's stuffed with other patients, who are actually sick. I keep feeling like I want to faint for lack of oxygen - I'm constantly holding my breath - everyone is coughing and no one is bothering to cough into their hands or arm. One guy right at the end of the hall just collapsed. There's so much chaos here right now that I don't think any of the nurses have noticed, but I'm pretty sure he just died. The shocking thing is, absolutely no one seems to care. I care, but what am I going to do about it? Everyone is so nonchalant that I feel like I might actually cause I scene - which I don't want right now - if I ask any questions or even attempt to walk up to the man. It's one of those 'everyone for themselves' situations, I suppose.

I don't know what the fuck just happened but my ears feel like they're bleeding and I can't see shit. The ringing hasn't stopped but I'm starting to hear the sound of screams fill the air, and as the haze begins to settle, I realize that I couldn't see anything because the room is filled with debris. I think the hospital's been bombed. People are running in all directions. I instinctively start running too. I don't know where I'm going but I'm going. I end up outside the building and there's hundreds of us trying to make our way off the premises. I look back and true as nuts, the hospital is partially collapsed and on fire. We were bombed. I could have died! People are screaming and crying. No one looks alright. We all look like we've just stepped out of a WWII movie scene... and now I hear gunshots. It's confusing really. At first, it actually doesn't sound like gunshots. It sounds like fireworks. I actually found myself second guessing what I was hearing just now, but the woman next to me was just shot in the head and I got some splattered brain in my mouth, so it's definitely fucking gunshots.

I drop to the ground. I don't know if some people have followed suit or if they've just been shot. But everyone is screaming now and the crowd seems to be scattering. Someone just fell on top of me, he's a heavy guy and I can hear him drowning in his own blood on top of me. I can't move at all now, even if I wanted to. The pressure of his body on mine slowly squeezes the oxygen from my lungs. I'm struggling to breath and before I know it, I'm gone.

I wake up from what feels like a dream. Someone evidently pushed the fat man off of me, to check the bodies. I can hear the officers calling "clear". I only came to after I heard him call out, so it appears that my corpse like behaviour had him convinced that I too, was dead. I can't do anything right now. If I move, well, I don't know what they'll do to me, but I'm pretty sure that it's these fuckers that started shooting at us to begin with. And if they were shooting at us, maybe they had something to do with the hospital being bombed too? I need to wait it out a bit.

I find myself lying here, thinking about my entire life. I'm trying to think about things I wish I'd done differently, and things I wish I could do again. But I'm distracted by my skin that has started to burn. It must be dry, or even burned, from the bombing and all the debris. But fuck man, it's on FIRE. I actually can't handle it anymore. I have to get up. But if I get up I'll probably get shot. But I can't take it. I can't. I CAN'T. Someone else jumps up a few metres away from me, and starts running and yelling. Jip. Shots are being fired at her. But clearly they are pathetic shots because she just keeps going. And now another person has jumped up and has started running. And another! Oh my word, there's enough people running right now, I can get up, I might have a chance! I can't wait anymore, I'm on fire, I have to get out of here! I get up and start running. I'm so fucking thirsty I can die! I run as fast as my legs can take me. And it's amazing. I don't think I've every been able to run this fast in my life. I'm a fucking athlete. I am moving it.

I run right up to a man in police uniform, holding a gun out and firing shots in my direction. Am I scared? Am I worried that I might get shot? No. All I can think of, is his delicious, ice cold, juicy brain to quench my... wait what? Ah shit, I've already ripped his scalp off...

 But who knew that brains were this refreshing? I give it a 4 out of 5. Would try again. In fact, let me grab another officer...

Based on a 'true story'

We were laying in bed discussing the movie we’d just watched – Haunting in Connecticut. It was claimed that the movie was ‘based on a true story’ and I wondered to which extent. I was sure that one person’s account of something slightly creepy was the only ‘true story’ bit that the film relied on, filling in the rest with colourful bursts of devilish horror.

The lights were out as we were technically going to sleep. Somewhere along the line our conversation dissolved. My boyfriend had fallen asleep, however, my own mind continued to play selected movie scenes over and over in my head, trying to decipher which part could possibly be the ‘true story’.

It was then that I noticed a spot, about the size of a R2 coin, straight across the room on the wall. Much like the TV screen, it too appeared to have a green hue to it that popped out in the pitch black night. Only, there was nothing there to glow. I wondered what it could be, or if perhaps, I was over tired and I was starting to see things. I stared at the spot and blinked my eyes. The spot got bigger. I was now even more certain that the spot did not exist, and that I really was seeing things. It’s amazing what the brain can conjure up in the dark. I continued to focus on the spot. I soon realised that the spot had been growing... slowly. I hadn’t noticed it right away, but when I looked at the TV, I realised that the spot was now a round circle that was even bigger than the TV and it was glowing brightly.

I couldn’t believe what I was seeing and at that point. I knew that there was nothing there. I knew that the wall was blank. I could not fathom this strange phenomenon and found myself lifting my head from my pillow to get a better look. It was then, that a hand came out of the hole. It was a pale, grey hand which appeared to be bony. My heart jumped into my throat. I was telling myself that it wasn’t real, yet there it was, I was looking at it. IN MY BEDROOM. At a painfully slow pace, it moved out of the hole and reached down to the floor. The thing’s shoulders popped out next, and then its head, followed by the other hand... slowly climbing out of the hole onto my floor. It was a skeleton wrapped in blue-grey flesh. It moved strangely, like something unfamiliar with human anatomy. I was petrified. I couldn’t move or make a sound.  I wanted to shout: “Justin, wake up!” but there was nothing. Nothing, but fear.

The thing disappeared onto the floor and out of my sight. I was torn with horror. I didn’t know where it would pop up. Would it rip my heart from my ribcage through the bottom of the bed? Would it pitch up at my bedside and look me in the eye before climbing into my mouth and possessing my body? And then I felt it -a slight bit of pressure at the end of the bed. Yes, it was a hand, soon followed by another. I could feel the weight increase as it lifted itself up onto the edge of the bed. I wanted scream. I really wanted to scream but I was absolutely paralysed with fear. It was almost like watching myself in the third person. I was that idiot in the movie that gets herself killed and I couldn’t bring myself to act.

I lay in my bed, a prisoner of my own body. The thing started to crawl up toward me, slowly, freakishly, like it was just getting to know its limbs and muscles – much like that of a newborn calf, only less helpless, and a fuckload more intimidating. I was building up the guts to scream, willing myself to take action and not become a victim. It was on top of me. I could feel it pull itself up. It was going to look me in the face and I was going to scream. I promise I was going to scream. And then. Just before I could scream.... Justin woke me up: “Baby, baby wake up, I think you’re having a bad dream”. 

And that, boys and girls, is a true story, from start to finish :)

Candice and the man in black

The door unlocked and swung open. Candice threw her keys to the counter and slammed the door shut behind her. She had the look of utter disgust on her face... Mondays.

The man in black had been watching her house for a little over a week now. He only ever saw Candice come home in the evenings and leave in the mornings. He had seen enough and he was ready to go in for the kill. The anticipation moved through his body like a wave of energy. He imagined what she tasted like, the softness of her skin, the sweet smell of shampoo in her hair. He was hungry.

Candice reached for a wine glass and poured herself some. Disheartened with no idea what to do with herself, she decided to settle in, in front of the TV, bottle of wine tucked in under one arm and a box of chocolates under the other. It had been the shittiest of shit days. She had stuffed up her big presentation and her company could potentially lose a big contract as a result. Her world was crashing in on her. She’d worked so hard to get to this point – her life revolved around her job. If she failed at this, she might as well be dead.

The man in black noticed that Candice had left the front door unlocked, again. He could hear the faint sound of snoring coming from inside. He let himself in. She was fast asleep on the couch. He walked right up to her, bent down into his haunches and leaned into her. He could feel her breath against his face. She smelt of alcohol. This was going to be easy. He stroked her cheek. He had big plans for Candice. But half the fun was in the build up before his attack. He enjoyed being close enough to his victims, to touch them. He enjoyed watching them go about their normal lives; it made me feel like he was a part of it. He also enjoyed taking his time with his victims, once he’d begun. He had to savour ever moment because when he was done, he had to kill them, and it was hard to deal with. Like a break up. All he ever wanted was to keep his victims, but that was a foolish idea and it would get him caught. He liked the smart girls and the smart girls always found a way to escape.

It was just before midnight when something woke Candice up. In a daze from too many glasses of wine, she assumed that it was something on TV. She stumbled to her feet and shut everything off on her way to the bedroom. Her head was already pounding so she decided to skip her bathroom routine of washing up and rather just get straight into bed. Little did she know that, a simple decision to skip brushing her teeth, may very well have saved her life.

The man was waiting for her in the bathroom. He had the chloroform soaked handkerchief in one hand and he had braced himself for a fight. But she didn’t come to him. He didn’t understand it. For a week long, every night before bedtime, Candice would come to the bathroom to wash her face and brush her teeth. It might have been just a small part of the evening that had failed to go as planned, but the man had an uneasy feeling about it. He was always meticulous. There was never any room for error. Error gets you caught. He would have to return tomorrow.

Feeling a huge thirst coming on, Candice decided to get up and go fetch a glass of water...

Candice’s heart jumped into her throat. She was suddenly sober and thinking as clear as day. The man that stood before her was tall and built. He had a mask over his face and he was wearing a pair of yellow plastic gloves. He made a grunting sound as he lunged toward her. Candice dropped to the floor and slipped through his legs. He spun around and grabbed a handful of her hair before she could get away. Candice screamed and grabbed his hand, desperately clawing at him, in the hope that he’d let go. He didn’t. The stranger pulled Candice’s head toward him to gain momentum, and then thrashed it forward into the passageway wall. Candice was knocked out cold.

There was a certain way that the man liked to do things, and this was not it. It needed to be clean and he needed to have absolute control. He would do what he wanted and then he would kill his victim and get rid of the body for good. The blood on the wall meant that there was already too much evidence to worry about. He collected Candice’s limp body off the floor and took her into the bathroom. The man was filling the bath with water when Candice started to come to. The man used the chloroform to put her out again.

Candice woke up in a state of panic. Even though she was unconscious, there was a niggling brain cell in the back somewhere, doing flick flacks in an effort to get her to wake up – survival. Candice’s hands were bound together behind her back and her feet were bound together and tied to the tap in the bath. She was naked and she was sitting in ice cold water. Her head was pounding. She could smell bleach. At first she thought that it was the water that she was sitting in, but then she heard scrubbing coming from the passageway. He was cleaning up the evidence. A blood curling scream escaped Candice’s mouth. It echoed through the bathroom, moving through the air like shock waves. The man was on top of her in an instant. He grabbed her mouth and shoved her back into the bath, pushing her head under the water. Candice did not have time to catch her breath. She started to panic, as she tried to gasp for air. She inhaled some bleach and water and started to cough while still being held under the water. The problem with that was, she’d involuntarily try and gasp for air after each cough.

The man in black did not want Candice to drown. He was going to have to kill her tonight regardless, and he was just too hungry, to kill her without having her first. He pulled her out of the water and grabbed her throat; “One more sound and you will die. Do you understand?” Candice, too afraid to make a peep, trying not to cough too loudly, nodded.

The man left the bathroom for a moment and then returned with a sock and duct tape. He shoved the sock in her mouth and then wrapped the duct tape right around her head about 3 or 4 times. The man let the bath water out and then threw a towel over Candice’s head before picking her up and leaving with her.

Candice was terrified. This man had showed no mercy. He would kill her in a heartbeat. She didn’t know where they were going but she knew that she was going to need all her strength if she was going to survive. The vehicle stopped. The man got out of the driver’s side and she could hear him walking around to her side. He picked her up and carried her off. When he pulled the towel off of her head, Candice saw that she was in some sort of shed. It was big, and it was set up like some sort of torture chamber. There were chains hanging from the ceiling and a range of garden tools, which now looked like weapons, set up against the wall. The man hooked Candice’s tide up hands to a chain above her head. It was so high up that she had to step on her toes, or the pressure would cause the rope to cut into her wrists. The man stood in front of Candice, wiping her tear from her cheek. He removed the duct tape from and sock (and a chunk of hair too). She was naked; she felt degraded and vulnerable. She started to tremble, trying to keep her sobs low.

She was crying. It turned him on. The weaker she became, the stronger he felt. He clenched his fist and punched her in the stomach with such force that he heard the breath escape her lungs. She gasped, in pain or breathlessness, whichever it was, and it drew out a second punch from him. This time, she let a squeal. It would have been a scream, if she had had the capacity to scream. The man grabbed her throat with both hands and started to squeeze. When she lost consciousness, he let go. He figured she’d need about an hour, and then she’d be ready for round two.

When Candice woke up she was in so much pain that she could hardly breathe. She was alone in the shed, as far as she could tell. She knew that he’d be back. She knew that she was going to die. She had to escape. Candice looked around for some sort of way out. Nothing. Candice noticed though, that she was able to stand on her feet. Her dead weight had loosened the rope around her hands. Candice started to hop, trying to unhook the rope from the chain. It worked.

Candice used her teeth to untie the rope around her wrists and then untied the rope around her feet. She didn’t have a plan. Her best bet was to run away. But what if he caught her while she was leaving the shed? Candice grabbed a panga and ran. It was pitch black when she got outside. There wasn’t a street light in sight. Candice realised that she was on a plot or a farm. She was going to need the vehicle to escape. Candice snuck up to the main house. She tip-toed around the house, listening for activity. It was dead quiet. She had no clue where he was. Candice decided to look for a car. The car he dove to get them there. The driveway was empty. She remembered that he hadn’t pulled into a garage. He must of left – with the car.

Candice decided to take advantage of his absence and went into the main house. Although she was rather confident that he had left, she was concerned that she was wrong and, he was still inside the house. She moved through the house like a mouse. It was immaculate and smelled of bleach. This man was compulsive. The idea scared her. She went into his bedroom and found a t-shirt to wear. His pants and shoes were far too big. She decided to put a pair of socks on. Candice then started going through his draws, looking for a gun. If he owned one, it was on him. She couldn’t find one in the house. She did find a butcher’s knife. But then she found something a little more interesting. A metal skewer. Candice also found an ID book for one Mr Benjamin Scott.

“Benjamin...” Caught off guard while getting out of the car, Benjamin turned around to face his caller. Candice didn’t waste any time. She stabbed him in the eye with the metal skewer. Benjamin started to scream in pain. A strange white type of foam started to ooze out of his eye. He lost his footing and fell on his back. Candice used a brick and hit the skewer’s handle, driving it right through his head. This time blood squirted out and sprayed into Candice’s face.

Candice couldn’t believe that she had done it. She’d killed a man, yes, but she couldn’t believe that she had managed to come out alive. She wrapped her arms around her knees and took a few minutes to sob, releasing all the hurt and anger. After giving a few loud sobs, she grabbed the butcher’s knife that she had ready as her back up, and started to stab Benjamin repeatedly in the abdomen. He was dead and he couldn’t feel it, but she was so angry, she wanted to mutilate him for what he’d done. It was only after she’d disembowelled the poor man, that she noticed that he was wearing a blue shirt... her attacker was wearing black... and he wore a mask...

Candice heard a vehicle coming in. She jumped into Benjamin’s car but couldn’t get it started. Candice jumped out and tried to grab Benjamin’s body and pull it into the car, but he was too heavy. Candice picked up the knife and ran toward the shed. She could feel the warm glow of her attacker’s headlights coating her body. Now she had to outrun him, he would try and drive over her for sure. She ran into the shed. Candice jumped behind a box and kept her head down. The man in black walked into the shed. Candice tried to keep quiet. It suddenly felt like the hardest thing she’d ever done. He walked in a circle, eyeing the shed, wondering where to look first; “I see you found my brother. Funny thing is, he probably would have saved you...”

It’s as if he could hear her heart beating out of control. He walked over to one of the boxes and there she was, lying on her back with her head in the dirt. Before he could act, she swung a knife around wildly. The man in black grabbed the hand that held the knife and pulled her up. He crushed her hand so hard that she cried in pain and dropped the knife. He head-butted Candice and then grabbed her by her neck, picking her up and throwing her across the floor. Candice crawled on her knees trying to get the strength to get up and run, but before she could, he was there again. He kicked Candice in the stomach, knocking the breath right of her once again, and breaking a few of her fragile ribs. Candice spotted an old rusty blade in the dirt, she grabbed it. The man in black kicked Candice in the jaw. She was on the verge of losing consciousness but fought to stay with it. If she was going to make it out alive, she needed to stay awake. The man in black grabbed her by the throat again and picked her up, lifting her into the air while choking her. Candice struggled a bit before realising that she was not going to stay conscious this time. She swung her arm at his face with the blade, but she couldn’t reach. She then sliced his upper arm with the blade. The man dropped her to the ground and grabbed his bleeding arm: “You fucking bitch!”

Candice had managed to crawl away a bit and grab a wooden pole with a huge hook on the end. The man grabbed Candice’s foot and pulled her toward him, scrapping her knees on the floor. Candice used the momentum to swing around and hit him in the head with the hook. It went in through his ear. He let go of Candice and let out a shout. He started to come for Candice again, this time she managed to get to her feet and get the hell out of his way.  She looked around and saw a garden sheer. She grabbed it. The man grabbed her by the back of her hair. Candice swung her arms and by the grace of God, managed to knock the wooden pole that was still hooked into the man’s ear. When he stepped back, crying in pain, Candice lunged forward with the garden sheers and stabbed him right in the throat. The man started to make gargling sounds, before falling to his knees. Candice pulled off his mask. The masked man was a pretty handsome guy, the devil in disguise. He was still choking on his own blood when Candice picked up an axe and finished the job. She planted it right into his skull. She wasn’t going to take any chances with this one. Exhausted, Candice sat down to catch her breath. The sun started to filter through the cracks of the shed.

She was alive. She was alive.

Good-bye Ben

Ben looked so peaceful. Yes his skin was pale, his fine blond hair, thin and mattered. But he still had one or two freckles on his nose, which somehow represented happier times. The sweat beads had disappeared from his forehead. He was still; no longer groaning in pain. He was better off, that Belinda was certain of.

In fact, if someone wasn’t doing that well, it was Belinda. Over the last few months, she’d gone from being a happy, beautiful mommy with bouncy four year old boy, to a weathered woman trying to find a way to mother a dying child.

As Belinda held little Ben’s cold hand, she started to feel the weight of the world lift off of her shoulders.  She knew that the hard times were far from over; she’d have to face the law for what she’d done. But knowing that Ben no longer suffered, knowing her little angel was finally pain free... was all worth it. A little thought which would try to surface, which Belinda kept stuffing back down again, was the idea that Belinda was finally free of this heavy responsibility. It wasn’t a thought that Belinda was willing to face. She had done it to help her boy, not herself.

Belinda pressed the buzzer to summon the nurse. She got up, kissed Ben’s forehead, whispered good-bye and went to wait by the door.  When the nurse arrived, she took one look at Belinda and she knew. She rushed over to Ben’s bed, checked the machines, checked for his vitals, but it was too late, Ben was gone. Belinda didn’t say a word. Tears started to run down her cheeks. The hot tears kept pooling up in her eyes, blocking her vision and then spilling over onto her cheeks. It was the sensation of warmth in her face that distracted her from the chaos around her. She hadn’t felt warmth in months.

Belinda had somehow been shifted out of the room and into the passage, but she overheard something that seemed to shock her right out of her comatose state;  she heard nurse Jackie talking to one of the doctors that was attending to Ben;  ”I don’t understand it, this afternoon Doctor Jonson said that Ben was getting better. He said that there was hope for a full recovery. It’s just as well that he wanted to tell Ms Jean himself. Can you imagine if we’d given her hope and then just hours later, he died?”

Belinda went ice cold. She felt sick to her stomach. She could not believe what she had done. Suddenly she couldn’t understand why she did it in the first place. Panic started to set in, knotted and twisted with grief, striking over and over again like bolts of lighting, each one hitting harder, bringing to life one shocking revelation after the next; she did it for herself, she thought. She did it because it hurt HER to see him suffer like that. She did it because she couldn’t bear to hear him ask again; “Mommy, make it stop?” The burden was too much to carry. The agony had ruined her life. She just wanted it to be over with so that she could move on and live a normal life again. She had convinced herself that it was the right thing to do. She had convinced herself that it was her place to end his suffering. She had convinced herself that it was quite okay... to murder... because she found a way to justify it... but who made Belinda God?  

This story was motivated by an article I had to read for my studies. Considering my lecturer’s views, I thought a different perspective might be in order.

Click here to read the article. 

The Hijacking

Zero five hundred hours. It was time. In a matter of minutes, a white BMW X5 would come down this way, as it did yesterday, and every morning before that. Jacob had been promised twenty thousand rand in cash for such a car. It was the highest offer he had received for a car yet.

The BMW came into view up the road. As it neared, Jacob and his two partners readied themselves. The BMW stopped at the stop street. The men pulled out of the bush with their car and stopped in front of the BMW, blocking it off from passing through the intersection. Jacob hopped out of the passenger side. He looked through the windscreen into the face of a terrified woman. She was young, pretty and from a different social class. A woman like her would never look twice at man like him. She’d look down on him. Ignore his presence. Grip her bag tightly and quicken her step, like he was some filthy, thieving sickness that needed to be avoided at all costs. All at once, he was filled with anger and resentment. What made this woman better than him? What made her think that he were any less human?

Jacob came round the car and opened the driver’s door. He grabbed the woman by the arm and attempted to yank her out of the car, only her seat-belt was buckled which prevented him from getting her out quick enough. A set of lights could be seen coming up the road. Without thinking twice, Jacob got into the back seat and put a gun to the woman’s head; “follow the car”.

The car that Jacob and his colleagues were driving moved out of the way and started to drive down the road. The woman, moaning in fear, did as Jacob said and followed.

They finally reached an industrial area. They pulled into a warehouse that appeared to be abandoned from the outside. It was dark inside. Jacob ordered the woman to stop, turn the car off, and get out. He could see that the poor woman was petrified. Her fear angered him. It was a clear indication of her discrimination toward him. He was sick and tired of being treated like the scum of the earth by these rich bitches. He was sick and tired of feeling like a second class citizen in his own damn country.

Jacob handed the lady over to his two colleagues. 

He disappeared into the darkness. He was going to meet the man and collect payment. Jacob returned from the darkness after about a half an hour. He was pissed off, and the look on his face made the woman whimper. Out of shear frustration and anger, Jacob backhanded the woman; “give me a reason” he threatened.

He was angry because the twenty thousand rand that he was promised had turned into ten thousand rand. He’d promised his colleagues each two thousand rand, but that was when he was expecting to keep sixteen thousand rand for himself. Now he was getting six! Jacob grabbed the woman and threw her into the trunk of their car. He ordered the guys to get him, before spinning away.

Jacob’s colleagues were in the dark about the money. They only knew what they were getting so they were dead happy. They stopped at the shebeen to celebrate their earnings. Jacob drank more than the other two. He had more money to splash on beer also, he was feeling really angry and was looking for a release. By noon, the trio had to be kicked out for being disorderly. They got into their car and drove to a liquor store to buy more beer, before going to an abandoned plot to drink it.

After a good few beers at the plot, one of the men waltzed into the house with the kidnapped woman. She’d been in the trunk the entire time. She was scared and dehydrated. Jacob relived his colleague of the woman and forced her to have a seat next to him. Again he could feel the anger rise up in him; she was trembling with fear, tears welling up in her eyes and begging him for mercy. Mercy? He thought. He hadn't even done anything to her that could warrant her plea for mercy. Just then and there Jacob decided to show this rich bitch who was boss around here. He grabbed a fist full of blonde hair and started dragging her down the passageway. She was kicking and screaming, protesting to the fullest. Jacob’s colleagues laughed at the silly little woman and made a point of letting Jacob know that it would be their turn next.

Jacob threw the woman onto a rotten mattress in one of the rooms. She was not ignorant and knew exactly what was coming. Jacob took the last gulp of beer and then smashed the end of the bottle on the wall. He knelt down, grabbed her hair again, this time with his left hand, while using his right to shove the edge of the glass bottle into her throat; “Now I show you” he said. Jacob placed the bottle at the side of her head, keeping it within reach so that he could continue to strike fear into the woman as a source of control. He started to remove her pants. They were a formal pair of work pants; black with a fine white pin stripe. He noted the quality of the fabric and started to mentally calculate how much the pants must have cost, and if he could resell it, when he suddenly saw a blinding white light.

Carol wasn't about to be raped. She would rather die than be violated like this. She had grabbed the beer bottle with her left hand and hit Jacob on the temple with it as hard as she possibly could. He fell over, but she could see that he wasn't completely unconscious. She had seconds to get out of there. She jumped up, pants dangling round her ankles. After a split second to calculate how much time she had to get out alive, she decided to step out of the pants and climb through the window bear bottomed. The window was broken and filthy. She jumped right through it. A shard of glass hooked into her thigh, but she didn't care. Carol started to run through the veld as fast as her legs could carry her. She could hear Jacob screaming from the house. They were going to come after her, and then who knew what they would do. Carol was running toward the house next door. It too appeared to be abandoned, but she had nowhere else to go.

When Carol got to the house, she banged on the front door. Before giving anyone a chance to respond, she opened the door and let herself in. By now it was late afternoon. Through the yellowish orange afternoon light shining in, Carol could see that the old farm house was abandoned. There were a few rusted items on the kitchen floor though and one of the items was a garden pick. Carol grabbed the pick and ran deeper into the house to find a place to hide. 

One of the rooms had a lot of abandoned items in it; some rotten furniture, a piss soaked mattress, a few empty cans of food, faeces on a newspaper in the corner and a lot of maggots on a pile of wet flattened boxes. Carol lifted the maggot infested boxes and climbed under.

Within seconds the trio had invaded the house. Carol could hear them shouting and searching through the rooms. Someone entered the room that she was in and opened the cupboards. When he found nothing he moved on. It felt like a lifetime. The men knew for a fact that she was in the house and continued to search till sunset. They had been in and out of the room that she was in a dozen times. They had thrown the items out of the cupboard, lifted the mattress and flung the rotten furniture around. To her amazement, they never once looked under the pile of soggy boxes.

Darkness started to consume the house. Silence too descended. None the less, Carol decided to stay put. It wasn't until she could feel the maggots wriggling inside her shirt that she decided that she couldn't take it anymore and got up.

Shrieking in disgust, Carol jumped around till she was satisfied that she was maggot free. Just then, the sound of rustling caught her attention. She was not alone. They had not left the house. She bent down and reached for the pick. Carol then stood behind the bedroom door. She was loud enough that they would know exactly which room to find her in. It was too dark, and Carol couldn't see, but she could hear someone entering the room. She swung the pick right at him. She could feel the pick inter the person, like a spade being shoved into soft, moist earth. She tried to pull the pick back, but it was too hard; it was stuck. The millimetre that she managed to dislodge it by generated a sound that would give her nightmares for life. It was the sound of squishy suction, blood no doubt. It  gave Carol the mental image of the pick lodged in the man’s throat and exiting through the back of his head.

Carol didn't want to wait for the other two to follow. She didn't know how much noise she’d made now, it was as if all her senses had died and all her focus was in that moment of survival. A bomb could have gone off and she wouldn't have noticed. She found her way out of the house. It was pitch black outside, but in the distance, Carol could see street lights.

She started to run toward the street lights as fast as humanly possible. If she couldn't see anything, surely they couldn't see her. About four hundred metres from the road, Carol stepped into a hole and lost her footing, sending her tumbling forward. As fast as she went down, she was up and running again. She wondered if she’d hurt herself, but perhaps could not feel it with the adrenaline pumping through her body.

When Carol reached the road, she saw a set of car lights coming toward her. Without hesitation, Carol ran into the middle of the road and started doing star jumps to catch the driver’s attention. The car came to a screeching halt in front of her. Blinded by the car’s headlights, Carol feared that one of the two men might be right behind her. She started to run toward the passenger door. Carol hopped in; “DRIVE! DRIVE! DRIVE!” She shouted. The driver didn’t react. Carol turned to look at him so that she could urge him to drive once more, only, when she saw him, all words failed her.

Jacob started the car, did a u-turn, and headed back toward the house. 

The nightmare

Susan could feel her muscles release and her bones relax. It had been yet another long hard day and she had been looking forward to collapsing on the bed. Just as she started to dose off, the door creaked open.  “Mommy? I’m scared”. Susan sighed deeply. She didn’t have the energy to argue about the existence of the boogieman with her 5 year old daughter tonight. “Come get in”.

When little Katie got in, Susan reached for her to pull her in, to keep her safe and warm. “What have you got there?” Susan couldn’t see in the dark, but could feel that Katie had some large hard object in her little arms. “It’s Tammy”. Tammy was Susan’s porcelain doll. It was her favourite thing in the whole wide world. Tammy used to sit on Katie’s nightstand for safekeeping, but after a nasty encounter with the vacuum cleaner, Tammy cracked her face and lost an eye, and now Katie wouldn’t let Tammy out of her sight. Susan had warned Katie that if she kept Tammy in the bed with her while she slept, she could roll over Tammy and crush her completely, but Katie had made up her mind.

As tired as Susan was just moments before, she suddenly couldn’t sleep. Lying awake with her eyes wide open, the room slowly started to make sense. It was as if a soft moonlight had started to settle in, wrapping every object in the room with its magic midnight cloak. Each item had a new identity, a new colour, and some even new shapes. The longer Susan stared at the furniture in the room, the more alien the items began to look. Susan turned to the other side, away from Katie, hoping that the new position would encourage sleep. Susan forced her eyes closed. Her mind was focusing awfully hard on trying not to focus on anything, when she felt movement on Katie’s side of the bed. It was a soft subtle movement. Susan stayed dead still, not wanting to wake the child if she were merely moving in her sleep.

But then Susan heard movement on the floor – the floor on Katie’s side of the bed. Reaching behind herself with her hand, she felt Katie’s warm little body behind her. Susan realised that she was focusing on every possible movement and night sound that she could; insomnia must be kicking in.

Susan had been lying dead still for quite some time. She had the sensation that her eyes were only closed because she was forcing them closed. As if, if she were to totally relax all the muscles in her face, her eyes would pop open again. As if to prove a point to herself, Susan opened her eyes.

She gasped with fright. Just inches from her face, was Tammy. Cracked faced, one eyed Tammy. The adrenaline pumped through Susan’s blood so fast that she instantly felt lame. Had she not already been in the bed she surly would have collapsed! Susan stared at the doll. She tried to rationalise how the doll could have gotten there. Looking the doll in the eye, she couldn’t help but notice how alive it looked in the moonlit room. Susan blinked, maybe she wasn’t seeing right. Maybe she was imagining that the doll was there. The room was still very dark; maybe there wasn’t anything there at all.

The doll was still there. Susan started to lift her arm out from under the covers, with the intention to reach for the doll, only, when she moved, so did the doll. Tammy started to lift her arm too. Susan froze. She wasn’t sure of what she just saw. Susan could feel her heart beating in her throat. She wasn’t sure if the darkness was playing tricks on her eyes. After a few long moments of nothing, Susan slowly started to pull her arm out from under the covers again. Tammy didn’t move. Susan slowly reached for the doll... Tammy moved so fast that Susan didn’t have time to react. Tammy grabbed Susan’s hand and bit into it. Susan let out a loud scream. Tammy vanished and Katie started to cry. 

Susan put the bedside light on. Katie was holding Tammy tightly, tears streaming from her little cheeks. “Why did you scream mommy?” Katie asked. “Mommy had a bad dream sweetie” Susan couldn’t take her eyes off Tammy, who was unexpectedly... doll like, in Katie’s arms.

“You scared me” Katie said in a sob. Susan wanted to hug her child, comfort her, but at the same time she didn’t want to get close to the doll. She found herself in a bazaar predicament. “I’m sorry sweetheart. Mommy won’t give you a fright again, okay?” Susan got up and walked around to Katie’s side of the bed. She leaned over to kiss Katie on the cheek, and then removed Tammy from her clutches. She ignored Katie’s protests and left the room with the doll. Down the hallway, Susan placed Tammy back on Katie’s nightstand. Susan started to wonder if she was going mad. Tammy was clearly nothing more than a doll. Maybe she had had a dream after all? One thing was for sure though; she wouldn’t be getting any sleep if with Tammy in her bed tonight. 

Susan put the light out in Katie’s room and started to close the door, when she noticed the blood on her hand. Just then Susan’s body went ice cold. She was standing in the doorway, the door half closed. She looked up and straight into the darkness and there in the middle of the room, Tammy stood, staring straight back at her.

Tammy spoke in a deep growling voice; “What’s wrong mommy?”

“Shut the fuck up!” When the doll called her mommy, it angered her. How dare this devil call her mommy?

“Why are you shouting, mommy?” It was as if Tammy’s voice was dropping deeper in pitch.

Tammy started to walk toward the door. Her movements were boxy and unnatural looking. Susan had lost her ability to move. She knew that if she tried, she’d collapse with fear. But that didn’t stop her from shouting at the doll, the demon spawn from hell. When Tammy finally reached the door, she stuck her arms out. “Hold me mommy”. Susan was trying to fight the paralysation with all her might, when she finally launched forward at Tammy and grabbed the doll around the neck. “Please mommy, no, you’re hurting me. You’re hurting me mommy”. Every time the doll called Susan mommy, she tightened her grasp around the doll’s neck, hoping to choke the vocal chords that she knew the doll couldn’t possibly possess. 

Tammy fell silent. Susan closed her eyes, tears streaming down her cheeks as she thanked God that it was over. She started to regain the feeling in her legs. Warmth returned to her body. She was still holding Tammy. Her eyes closed and senses regained, she started to realise how soft Tammy felt in her hands – so opposite from the icy cold, hard porcelain form that she fought so hard to silence just moments before. Tammy, now fearing the worst, tried to find the strength, the courage, to open her eyes.

She looked down at the soft lifeless form in her lap, her hands still wrapped around her neck... It wasn’t Tammy. It was Katie. Susan wasn’t in Katie’s room down the hall. She was in her own bed. Susan started to scream hysterically. It had been nothing more than a night terror... A night terror that now became the worst waking nightmare any mother could ever imagine. 

Mine's better than yours :-P

Firstly, I'd like to apologise for absconding - after returning from holiday, I found that SA had gone back to the dark ages, literally. Simply having electricity at an hour that I'd normally write, has been the challenge. 

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The 2014 Nissan GT R – the Black edition. Quite possibly the sexiest thing alive. Yes, alive – the way that it moves, the way that it roars, the way that it purrs – yes, this car is very much alive.

It’s sexy. It’s alive. And it’s not Peter’s. How absolutely and utterly depressing. Sitting dead still in traffic, in his Hyundai i10, Peter didn’t even have room to hide. Nothing made his car look more like a matchbox than having it sit right next to this beast.

The driver of the beast was an old man with a comb-over and a chunky gold chain around his neck. He looked Peter straight in the eye before revving the machine up like it was ready for takeoff. Just then Peter realised that he had been staring at the vehicle. Turning a lovely shade of red, almost like a tomato just before it reaches the perfect ripened state (you know, that plush red with a tinge of green along the edge) Peter wiped the drool from his chin and shifted into gear. He stalled the car. As if his existence couldn’t be more embarrassing.  The GT R vanished as traffic opened up, releasing Peter from his hypnotic state.

At 35 years of age, Peter felt like he had done well for himself in life, but it wasn’t good enough. He had a good job as an accountant at a large firm, owned a small townhouse, a car, some nice clothes and shoes, a few expensive watches and he enjoyed fine dining. But he wanted an expensive car, a large house and a Rolex. Peter was practically working his fingers to the bone, but these goals always managed to be just out of reach.

He looked around as the agitated motorists passed his stalled vehicle on the main road. Everybody seemed to have a nicer car. Peter just sat for a moment and looked at each driver as they overtook his car. They all looked so proud in their nice cars, noses in the air, disgusted with his cheap little matchbox that couldn’t start. Peter felt ashamed. The shame turned into anger. Soon he’d managed to start his car, but his mind was still stuck on the same destructive path. 

He looked down at himself. He liked the suit he was wearing. He was willing to bet that it was a nicer suit than that of most the motorists with nicer cars. Not because it cost more, but because he had better taste.

Peter started looking at the drivers again, this time focusing on what they were dressed like; their hands on the steering wheel – did they have nice jewellery or watches? Soon Peter’s focus was shifted to the people on the side of the road, marching to their destinations. Everyone appeared to be so well put together. That man had a stylish blazer that he managed to pair well with jeans – Peter bet that he owned a nice car to go with it. That woman had a perfect figure that was complemented by a tailored dress – there was no doubt in Peter’s mind that she was married to a man that provided a large home for her and their kids.

Just then Peter spotted a man that seemed to be rather out of place. Peter’s first instinct was to snicker; the guy clearly didn’t have any fashion sense what-so-ever. His pants were clearly too small; they fit him around the waist, but were too short; his shins were totally exposed. Almost as if this grown man were wearing pants made for a 10 year old. His trainers didn’t match the odd, but formal trousers that he was wearing and even though it was blistering hot outside, they guy was wearing a thick furry jacket.  

Like a brick, it hit Peter – this man didn’t suffer from poor taste in clothing, he was simply poor. The guy was probably wearing whatever he managed to get his hands on. The fact that he had that jacket on in the heat meant that he probably didn’t have a place to keep it. So he was more than likely homeless. The poorly dressed guy most likely didn’t have a job and if he found one, it wouldn’t be one of the highest paying jobs either. He looked awfully skinny too. Peter hit his hazards and called the guy over.

Sipho practically attacked the McDonalds BigMac. Immediately after Peter had invited Sipho into his car, he regretted it; every horror story of every person that was ever robbed and murdered crossed his mind. But once they were in the public take-out place and Sipho started to chat, Peter felt absolutely at ease. Sipho was an intelligent sounding guy, a nice guy. He kept saying “God bless you” and “Thank you” to Peter, ever so grateful for his kindness.

After a good hour or so, and about 5 more burgers, Peter started to feel really guilty. He couldn’t help but wonder what the difference between him and Sipho was. Why did he deserve to have a job, a nice house, his own car and many more luxuries, whereas this man had none? To make matters worse, just a few hours earlier, Peter’s greed had had him fuming with jealousy, and here a man with nothing appeared to be ever so grateful for that which he had received in life, even if it was a hand-me-down that was 3 sizes too small. The fact that someone offered it seemed to be the single act that brought sunshine to this man’s life.

By the end of the day, Peter had welcomed the man into his home, allowed him to clean up in the bathroom and gave him a new set of clothes (and a stylish set at that). Peter made sure that he popped a few notes in the shirt pocket so that Sipho would be able to feed himself till the next nice guy offered a hand out.

Lying in his bed, reflecting on the day, Peter put himself in Sipho’s shoes. Peter was a determined man. He worked very hard to earn a good living, but had he been dealt a different hand, would he still be as successful? Peter was one of 3 kids. Once he got his matric, his dad got him a job in sales. He hated it, but used the money to pay for further studies, which is how he became an accountant. He worked his way into finance, and once confident enough, moved over to a bigger company for a better salary.

Sipho doesn’t know how many siblings he has. He grew up in a shelter. He was abused there, but too young to leave and fend for himself. When he was 11 he ran away. He never received an education. He would get an odd labour job here and there, but nothing that ever lasted long enough to earn a living from. Sipho once asked one of his employers to help him with schooling, but was scolded; “I have my own damn kids to feed. Why in the hell did your mother have you if she couldn’t even afford to look after you?” was the response Sipho got.

Two different men, both hard working, looking to make an honest living for themselves so that they may have better lives – two different hands dealt – two vastly different lives – two different men, yet still, very much the same.