Monster in the Mirror - With Bonus Short Stories Read online

Monster in the Mirror

  With Steven, Space Stowaway,

  Originally published June 2010 in Spaceports & Spidersilk

  Bloody Marcy, & Bonus Previews

  By

  M.J.A. Ware

  DIGITAL EDITION v1.2c - published at SmashWords

  Copyright © 2010 by M.J.A. Ware

  Cover Art © 2010 - Ronnell D. Porter

  All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the copyright owner of this book.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of any product referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  Digital Edition License Notes:

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. If you would like to share this book with another person, please provide them a link to where they can download it.

  * * *

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  Monster in the Mirror

  Steven, Space Stowaway

  Bloody Marcy

  Bonus: Super Zombie Juice Mega Bomb

  Chapter 1 – Blizzards, Bites, and Zombies

  Chapter 2 – Snookum's Last Stand

  Chapter 3 – A Bridge to Nowhere

  Chapter 4 – Zombie Snot

  Chapter 5 – Zombie Juice, Now with the Killing Power of Lemonade

  Bonus: The Little Wooden Chair

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  About the Author

  * * *

  Monster in the Mirror

  I try ignoring the sound. Like fingernails on a blackboard, deep and violent. It's coming from the stairs, always from the stairs.

  My legs move towards my bedroom door. I can't make them stop. With each step, my heart thumps harder. Something evil's in the air; thick and musty.

  In darkness, I pass my little sister's room and approach the stairway. The sound grows. Eerie light climbs up the steps and reflects off the empty wall behind the landing.

  My feet round the corner and I face the stairs.

  I find nothing except the steps leading down.

  I breathe a deep, hot sigh.

  As I start heading back, I feel something from behind. Sharp claws dancing on my shoulders.

  Racing back into my room, I lock the door. Something's out there. I can almost hear the scratching sound echoing in my head.

  Later that day, I can't stop thinking about it. Maybe it was just a nightmare. Ever since we moved here, I haven't gotten a decent night sleep.

  Mom's making lunch in the kitchen. "Nate, you look terrible. Another bad dream?"

  "I'm fine," I lie, burying my head in my Wolverine Annual.

  "You're just getting adjusted to the new house."

  "There's nothing new about this heap." I look at the cracked plaster walls and warped wood floors.

  "It's a historical landmark. We got a great deal. We're lucky to live here."

  Sure, if you can ignore the nightmares and scratching sounds coming from the staircase.

  With one huge bite, I stuff the last half of my PB&J in my mouth.

  "Daniel sleeping over tonight?" Mom asks.

  I look over at my little sister, Mandy. She's hovering over her lunch. Her long dark hair draped over her face. And she's mumbling to herself again. The same tune over and over—something about knocking on a door. She's always been slightly off, but this house has made her worse.

  "Yeah. Dan's still coming."

  "I wanta friend to sp-spend the night." Mandy says, doing her best not to stutter.

  "You’re too young to have a sleepover, dear," Mom reminds her.

  That night, Dan arrives as Mom goes out to the garage to do laundry. We head up to my room to put a new high-performance engine in my R/C truck.

  "Dang, this house belongs in one of those old black and white horror movies," Dan says as we pass Mandy's room. She's sitting with her doll, humming that stupid song.

  "Let's see your new cell." I grab his phone. "What's that on the screen?" I ask, looking at hash marks across the glass.

  "Nothing. It's off." I turn the phone to show him and they disappear.

  "Must have been a reflection. Here, Nate, I'll turn it on."

  I stop. A chill creeps up my back.

  I turn the phone and it re-appears. A tic-tac-toe board—only raised like wood paneling.

  "Give it here, Nate."

  "Wait a sec." I hold the phone out so Dan sees the reflection. "See that?" I whisper, almost unable to breathe.

  "It's just a reflection of the door behind the stairs..." Dan turns to see what I already know—there's no door. "What the-is this some sort of gag?"

  We both stare at the phone's screen. In the reflection, I see panic on our faces. This is no gag.

  We turn, hoping we're being stupid, that there's an explanation. But nothing's behind us except the old, gray wall at the top of the stairs. It reminds me of the scratching sounds in my dream.

  "Come on. There's a mirror downstairs."

  We run down, afraid to look back. I dig through some boxes that no one's bothered to unpack and find an old hat mirror.

  We stand sideways on the upstairs landing, between the wall and the staircase. Slowly, with a trembling hand, I hold up the mirror.

  Reflected, is an old weathered door with a tarnished brass handle all fancy and decorated. When I turn to touch it, it's gone.

  "Ummm. Think I'm coming down with a cold. Your mom better take me home." Dan starts down the stairs.

  "Hey, you chicken." I grab his t-shirt. "We've gotta figure this out...ourselves." There's no way Mom would believe this. Even if she did, she loves this house so much; something like this would break her heart.

  I have to fix this—but how?

  "Whatcha doing?" My little sister's big brown eyes stare up at us.

  "Go back to your room or I'll tell Mom you're bugging us," I snap.

  "Okay. Just don't open that door." She turns and heads back.

  "Wait, what did you say?"

  Mandy stops and stands with her back to us. Her long nightgown draped down to her feet. She starts singing that song again, only louder:

  "Knock, knock on the door. Thirteen times, the monster moves no more.

  Enter swiftly, don't make a sound. Except this song, the sp-specter to bound.

  On a mirror, give thirteen taps. Make sure the creature can't come back.

  Frame it fast, over the door. With fortunes luck, it'll be fettered evermore."

  "Where'd you hear that?" I demand.

  She turns around, "Don't know. Just heard it."

  "That's the key, Nate, the song. It's gotta be!" Dan's voice shakes.

  "Thanks for the brilliant insight. It obviously tells how to get rid of... the monster."

  "Knock thirteen times. That must make it safe to enter," Dan says.

  "And the mirror? Tapping the mirror must trap it."

  "But can we trust a song?"

  "We don’t have much choice." I look at my sister. She's gazing down at he
r doll. Smiling and combing its hair.

  "Are we sure we got it right?" Dan asks.

  Mandy repeats the song a couple of times, to make sure we got everything.

  "Oaky you ready?" I ask, mirror in hand.

  "No," Dan says forcing a smile.

  Looking in the mirror, I reach back for the door, knocking thirteen times. The rough grain of the wood stings my knuckles, but nothing happens.

  Still focused on the mirror, I grab the knob. It's ice cold.

  The door opens slowly, as if pushing against me.

  I turn, and now I can see the door straight on. It's open, but there's nothing except deep black beyond.

  "Remember, don't say anything. I'll repeat the rhyme and tap on the mirror."

  Dan's gripping my forearm so hard it hurts. I take a step into the room. The darkness is so thick it seems to press down on us. I want to turn back, but like my dream, something pushes me on.

  There's a tug at my shirt, and I glance back to see that Mandy followed us in. I start to tell her to get out, when the door slams shut.

  We all jump. I almost scream, but remember we can't say anything except the song. The song—what are the words to the song? I can't remember.

  Everything's black. My heart beats so hard I hear it in my ears. As my eyes begin to adjust, I start to make out the room. It's dirty and coated thick with dust. Layers and layers of peeling wallpaper, a broken rocking chair, bare wires reaching down from the ceiling like long, skinny fingers.

  And there's something else. Another presence--cruel, old, desperate.

  Softly, a voice drifts into the air, "Knock, knock on the door..."

  It's Mandy. As she repeats the song, the creature's anger swells. My arms grow numb and Dan's grip slips—something's zapping our strength.

  "...it'll be fettered evermore," Mandy finishes.

  It takes tons of effort to lift the mirror. Looking away, afraid of what the mirror might reveal I begin tapping.

  One, two, three. I feel breath on my neck, rotten and sticky.

  Four, five, six. A hissing sound fills my ears.

  Seven, eight, nine. The whole room starts to rumble, like it's tearing itself apart.

  Ten, eleven, twelve. The walls are closing in on us—I start to shake with panic.

  Thirteen. There's a loud whoosh, and everything's silent.

  I hear a click and a sliver of light slices across the floor. The door's open.

  Dan quickly jumps out. I put my hand on Mandy's shoulder as we leave. The door gently clicks closed behind us.

  "Good job, little Sis," I say and turn. The door's gone. Just a bare wall—except for one large rusty nail. "Wow. That was close."

  I hang the mirror on the nail.

  "Yeah, I thought we were dead when Mandy mispronounced specter."

  "Mispronounced what?"

  A crack appears in the mirror and spreads like a spider web.

  * * *

  Steven, Space Stowaway

  Okay, maybe sneaking on board a spaceship bound for Mars wasn’t such a bright idea. I got away with it, so I can’t be a total idiot, right?

  Getting inside a three-billon-dollar spacecraft is a lot easier than you'd think. I used my mom’s access card to get past the security scanners and stowed away in a waste receptacle—that's a fancy way of saying, trash can. It wasn't as dirty as it sounds. I only hid there during the launch, so no one had used it (much) yet.

  Once we’d taken-off, I squeezed into the air ducts. But it's been three days, and I’ve had just about as much confined space as I can handle.

  Outer space isn’t as fun as it sounds. I'm cold, hungry, and my clothes are getting pretty ripe. Fortunately, I brought some candy bars and a clean pair of underwear.

  The worst part is that I can tell we're in trouble. I overheard the chief engineer talking to the captain, "There's something wrong with the computer's calculations, but no matter how many times I double-check the numbers, I can't find the error." And the crew keeps having to make unscheduled engine burns to stay on course.

  The whole mess is really all my mom’s fault. She decided to go off on a three-year mission and leave me with evil Aunt Zooey.

  I tried to explain to her that Aunt Zooey despises kids, but she wouldn’t listen.

  So now, I'll be the first junior-high kid to tour the Red Planet—heck, I'm probably the first space stowaway too. I guess I’m famous.

  Or will be, as long as we make it to Mars. The crew's really on edge. The chief even thinks we have gremlins. Though, I think he just heard me rattling around in the ducts.

  The last message from mission control read, "Unable to isolate calculation error. If course anomalies continue, aborting the mission will be the only option." Which would really suck, because this is Mom’s first ever trip to Mars. She's so looking forward to it. Not to mention the colonists really need our supplies.

  The intercom blares, “Dr. McNair, please report to the command level immediately, Captain out.”

  Why's the captain calling Mom? Maybe it’s more problems with the ship. If I move quietly, I can crawl to the vent in the command center.

  Once in the right duct, I scoot directly over the vent so I can look down and see the whole room.

  Even from up here the captain’s clenched jaw is easy to read. He taps his fingers on a table.

  ‘Whoosh,’ the door opens and Mom walks in.

  “Stacy, thanks for coming so quickly. I’m afraid I have some bad news,” the captain says.

  “Is it the mission? Are we aborting?”

  “No, it’s not the mission. It’s about your son, Steven.”

  Uh-oh.

  “Steven? What happened? Is he okay?”

  “Well, we don’t know. We think he may have been kidnapped-”

  "I knew I shouldn’t have left him. What was I thinking?” Tears start streaming down her face. Which makes me feel lower than a Martian slime beetle. “I wish I could see him again.”

  There's a snap and the vent starts to give way—looks like Mom's going to get her wish. I try to grab hold of the sides of the duct, but it's no use. I tumble to the floor.

  Mom and the captain just stare at me with their mouths wide open. “Aaa, hi Mom,” is all I get out.

  “Steven James McNair. What in God’s name are you doing here? How did you get onboard? Do you know how much trouble you're in? And what's that smell?”

  I can't answer all her questions at once so I pick the easiest. “That’s me. Haven’t showered in a few days.”

  Just then, the chief engineer walks in. “Woah, what’s this? An E.T?”

  “It appears we have a stowaway,” says the captain.

  “Young man, when we get home, you are going to be in so much trouble.” Well, at least that won’t be for a while.

  “I think, we’ve found the source of our course anomalies,” the engineer chuckles. He seems to find the whole thing funny—but he's the only one.

  “What do you mean, the source of the anomalies? I haven’t done anything,” I say.

  “Didn’t you? You added a good hundred pounds to the weight of the ship. That might not seem like much, but in a spinning cabin it’s enough to throw off all the computer’s calculations.”

  “I can’t believe you snuck on board, Steven. What were you thinking?” Mom's shaking her head.

  “I couldn’t stay with Aunt Zooey. She’d probably have eaten me.”

  “So Captain, what do we do now?” asks the engineer, still grinning.

  “Well, I’m afraid there’s not much we can do. Regulations, you know. I’m sorry, Stacy, but the regulations have to be followed.”

  “There’s a regulation regarding stowaways?” Mom asks.

  “Yes, Regulation forty-six A. Regarding treatment of stowaways.”

  Mom frowns as she thinks, then seems to remember. “Oh yes, forty-six A.”

  “We’ll have to make the arrangements right away. Of course we’ll let you shower and get cleaned up first.” He p
ats me on the shoulder.

  “Before what?” I don’t like the sound of this. Are they going to lock me in the brig or something?

  “Before we escort you off the ship.”

  “Umm, say what?”

  “I’m very sorry, but if you stay on board we will not have enough fuel to reach Mars. We carry little extra fuel and we need it all to ensure we arrive safely. There’s really no other choice.”

  “But I’ll die out in space. Mom, what’s going on?” I start sweating like a pig at Easter.

  “I’m sorry, Steven. But if you are old enough to stow away you’re old enough to face the consequences.”

  I can tell you one thing—I no longer have a clean pair of underpants.

  I take a few steps back, wondering if I can make a break for the door.

  Thankfully, the engineer can’t contain himself any longer and busts out laughing. He laughs so hard he falls into a chair. Everyone joins in and I realized I'm not going to end up a space popsicle.

  Mom’s bout of laughing ends quickly. “Don’t think you’re out of trouble. You are in for a world of hurt. You can’t even imagine the punishment I am going to think up.”

  I stare down at the floor.

  “It would be prudent to jettison some weight, so we can maintain our safety margin,” says the engineer.

  "We'll have to see what we can spare," the captain replies.

  "I have some audio equipment I can offer." Mom brought some high quality broadcasting equipment—planning to set up the first Martian radio station. She was going to broadcast Beach Boys twenty-four hours a day. Personally, I think I did the colonists a favor.

  In total, we collect one hundred and forty pounds. Sixty of that Mom's stuff.

  The whole crew gathers around to see the junk blown out the airlock. Among the radio equipment and used food canisters is the aluminum waste container I snuck on board in. As it flies away from the ship I can’t help but think what might had been, had the captain not been so understanding.

  * * *

  Bloody Marcy

  "That's soo stupid," I tell them.

  "No, it'll be totally funny 'cause Marcy's such a chicken," insists Amber.

  "Shelby'll do it. She's cool." Hanna smiles at me.

  "Yeah, I'm cool." I say, knowing this might be my only shot to get in with the popular crowd.

  "Good, here's you're blood." Amber discreetly hands me a small tube of fake blood. She turns and yells, "Who's up for a game of Bloody Mary?" Amber's the most popular girl at Evergreen Jr. High. She's blonde, gorgeous, and rich. Her parents just built this brand new, three-story house with this huge game room on the top floor.