One Buck Horror
Volume 4
edited by
Christopher Hawkins
Kris M. Hawkins
featuring stories by
M. R. Jordan
Erath Juarez
Kristine Ong Muslim
Mark Onspaugh
Nick A. Zaino III
cover art by
Shawn Conn
ISBN: 978-1-937346-09-6
Copyright © 2011 Coronis Publishing. All rights reserved.
(Smashwords Edition)
Also Available
Praise for One Buck Horror
"This is
fast becoming a firm favourite of mine and if you like short horror
stories with plots that are original and rewarding, I urge you to
have a look."
- HorrorNews.net
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"One Buck
Horror is sure to become a renowned anthology of great horror
works..."
- Erebus Horror
Contents
Hanal Pixan by Erath Juarez
Theridia by Mark Onspaugh
Walter's Friends by Nick A. Zaino III
Bayani's Promise by M. R. Jordan
In the Eye of the Beholder by Kristine Ong Muslim
Hanal Pixan
by
Erath Juarez
They were all in front of the bonfire. Marcelo, the chubby one; Valerio, with the face full of acne; Gervasio, the quiet one; Gaudencio, the oldest and Emiliano, the youngest of all. Beyond them, their grandfather was walking from one side to the other. In front of him, the tent that held the altar which his grandsons set up every year for the "Day of The Dead" celebration.
They watched him carefully. They hoped he would begin to tell them a horror story as usual, as he had done every year the night before Hanal Pixan. No one dared to move.
"Did I tell you already, the one of the children of San Felipe?" their grandfather asked.
"The one about the butcher who made sausages with them? Grandfather, you already did," replied the youngest.
"Ummm, what about the one about the house near the lake?"
"The one about vampires? That, we don’t like it so much," said the young man with a face full of acne.
"The one I’m about to tell you, I’m sure you don’t know. It goes well with the holidays."
The place went silent, the wind grew a little stronger and the temperature lowered, as if time stopped, creating the atmosphere of the story.
"There were five kids just like you, sort of," their grandfather began. "They loved to joke around during the Day of the Dead. Well, up until the time they gave a poor old lady a heart attack that killed her."
Nobody was talking. Their grandfather looked at them, expecting an interruption, but nobody said anything. They had never heard this one.
"It occurred to them," their grandfather continued, "to put her white cat to sleep with chloroform, paint it with red paint and hang it from its tail in front of the poor lady’s house. As you can imagine, when she got home and found her cat there, she collapsed into a hysterical cry. Her cat was her only companion. But, that wasn’t the cause of her heart attack."
"Then what was it, Grandpa?"
"The next day, one of the kids, who couldn’t handle his remorse, went to visit the old lady to apologize. He knocked at the door many times until she finally answered, still crying and with her eyes puffy because of the many tears. The boy explained that he felt really bad about her, that it wasn’t his intention to cause her so much pain, and that she shouldn’t feel so sad since the cat was only sedated and they didn’t even hurt it."
"Then the old lady became madly angry," Grandpa continued, "grabbed the boy by his neck, wanting to strangle him. And she could have done it if a neighbor hadn’t seen what was going on and separated them. However, the old lady wouldn’t stop yelling that, because of them, she had buried her cat alive, and that they would pay for it. But, that wasn’t the cause of her heart attack."
The grandfather paused for a moment. He looked around. There was a howl heard in the distance and the youngsters jumped up, alarmed.
"Continue Grandpa, finish the story," said the chubby one.
"That night when the old lady went to sleep, she heard noises coming from the window. At first she thought that it was the branches hitting the glass because of the wind. But, for her surprise it was her cat trying to get in. The cat’s hair was still red and full of debris. It was opening its mouth as if trying to meow, but the meowing was silenced by the dirt coming out of its mouth. She let her cat in, patted it and the cat started purring and rubbing against her pale legs. But that wasn’t the cause of her heart attack either."
"What was it, Grandpa? Don’t do this, just say it."
"Well, what really killed her was...that in the morning, right around dawn, when she went to the kitchen carrying her cat to give it some food, the five kids were there. They were laid on the floor with cat scratches all over their bodies and, under them, a flowing pool of blood."
Everybody was surprised at the ending; the youngest one was especially scared. They all stood up and one by one came closer to their grandfather to thank him for such a good story. Until the last of them, Emiliano.
"Thank you, Grandpa," he said. "That was genius, as usual."
"You are welcome. You know I love to tell you stories."
"Are you coming next year?"
"I will, if you bring me my favorites, like those tamales and my tequila."
"So long then, Grandpa. Dawn is near."
And at that moment their grandfather’s body gradually started disappearing right in front of their eyes, as it happened every year when they celebrated Hanal Pixan at the town´s graveyard.
Bill Perry had decided that Nevada was hotter than the hinges of Hell when his horse blundered into a ground squirrel burrow and broke its leg.
The animal was in agony and there was nothing that could be done but put it out of its misery. Bill took careful aim and ended its suffering. It was only after he had done so that he realized his waterskin was under the dead animal, and impossible to retrieve.
Cursing, he set out on foot. He figured he was some fifteen miles from his destination, the town of Rusty Saw.
The most aggravating thing about this whole wretched excursion was that it was unnecessary. His younger brother Miles was supposed to have staked them a claim to a silver mine outside of Virginia City. He was to have gone there straight away, before some hoople-head from Boston or Chicago beat them to it. Bill, the practical one, had stayed behind to sell the family mercantile in Bayberry.
But Miles had never gotten to Virginia City. He had merely sent a cryptic note proclaiming, "Am remaining in Rusty Saw for now."
What the hell for? If there was a better opportunity, Bill would certainly like to hear it.
A rattlesnake burred out a warning from the darkness under a rock and Bill gave it a wide berth. He was parched now, his lips chapped and raw, his skin hot and tight under his clothes.
Miles was going to get the business end of his boot when he saw him.
It was just getting dark when he saw the town of Rusty Saw in the distance. He was thirsty, terribly thirsty, and it was a most agonizing and horrible feeling. His throat burned and closed up, and he swayed with vertigo.
He lurched forward, thinking how he'd rather die than continue to feel like this. It was only his anger at Miles that kept him moving forward.
Am remaining in Rusty Saw for now.
A thin crescent of moon was high overhead when Bill stumbled into the shit-heel town of Rusty Saw.
The street was deserted, and the signs on various storefronts swam before him in blurred confusion.
Am remaining in Rusty Saw for now.
Am remaining in Rusty Saw for now.
Am remaining i—
- - -
When he first awoke, Bill thought he was back home in his own bed, that he had suffered a particularly vivid dream. But his whole body ached and his face and neck were painfully sunburned.
He eyed a jug of water on the nearby bureau. Shaking, he sat up and felt a wave of nausea roll over him.
An old, bearded fellow entered the room, followed by a younger man he recognized.
"Bill!" Miles cried, rushing past the old man.