Dream Dark Stories

Tag: horror

  • Rabbit for Brunch Pt. 3

    Rabbits for Brunch Pt. 3 by: M. R. Vega

    That thinning of chaos didn’t seem to ease. Fires and what became an incessant screaming, dying, with an addition of wild maddening swarmed around the truck, littered not only her visual senses but the skies and everywhere about her and the large truck she found to be her weapon and shell. Fifty miles and still the chaos consumed all she could see, after another hundred miles she started to feel an overwhelming weight of dire wanting for fresh water and smacked at her forehead with anguish and seeing herself as a fool. 

    She hadn’t the time before Dave’s bloody and likely already rotting body had barreled in through the house leaving her no choice but to run to the truck and flee. The water bottle she always had filled remained in the fridge, the little food she usually ate in the morning was likely on the floor of the kitchen now scattered and squashed and she licked at her lips remembering the plumpness of the blackberries Timothy and Nick had given her days before. They, with the store bought blueberries and strawberries were all that was out on the counter before chaos began earlier that morning and she knew it’d be a fool’s errand to go back but it was enticing enough to dream and keep the screams at bay, if only for a moment.

    A loud thud came from the side paneling, its cacophony brought her back quickly while she whipped a side glance to the window and mirror only to see a young woman close in age ripped from the lifted step while still screaming to get in. The screaming echoed into the small crack allowing air from the window she finally gave herself. As she watched in horror the young woman’s arms were being shredded by multiple unknown and bloodied people all with enraged gluttony about their eyes. She hit the pedal harder with a stomp and went back to avoiding as many people running wild and losing their lives, During which she clipped a car or two and almost lost control until a large RV having the same idea somewhat saved her from tipping and she increased her speed getting in front of the RV and whoever was driving the blood-drenched RV leaving it behind. She couldn’t look around anymore, let alone waste the time with the distractions of havoc, encompassing her every direction. She needed to get the hell out of here, needed to find a tanker, gas station, anything to fill the truck up as it was starting to get low until she smiled with an almost maniacal grin remembering the second tank. ‘Oh, David’ she whispered and flipped the little node that allowed that second tank to start trickling into the remaining and almost empty first chamber for fuel. And to think of the fight that came from her inquiry about what need Dave would ever have for a secondary fuel tank now all made sense. The stupid almost monotonous man she loved had always imagined something such as what she was fleeing from to come eventually, regardless of how sick of a dream or fantasy it was, she was more than grateful at the moment that there was enough gas to at least get her to Louisiana, maybe Georgia, either one was better than where she was. At least she thought it’d be.

    The morning left quickly as did the exhaust from her larger-than-life truck while it barreled through bodies alive or dead and all she could do was close her eyes while she mowed through what likely was the walking infected. Regardless she screamed that she was sorry, turned her mouth up to the sky, and choked on her tearing and sobbing ashamed of every move she’d been so willing to make and all for a life she wasn’t sure was worth anything anymore. The disgust swarmed over her while she thought of how many she’d driven by while they begged for her to stop or tried jumping on the truck to get a ride. How many had she killed by simply turning away or neglecting to slow, even for a moment to help them get into the bay of the truck? How many had she clipped or full-on collided with in avoiding certain death disregarding any knowing if whom or what was infected, if infected at all?

    What had she become? To think she was doing Tai Chi fourteen hours ago, stretching to the rising sun and smiling at the gulls overhead while listening to the two men happily bicker next door over what to make for breakfast. Now she’d lost count of how many she left for dead, how many she’d piled through, and how many snapping bones she knew beyond a doubt she was responsible for while pressing on the gas pedal all to run away. She didn’t know where and if there was safety anywhere. She wasn’t an epidemiologist, and she wasn’t military trained, aside from knowing the truck took diesel fuel and how to use lint traps from dryers to start a fire, she felt that life was nearly pointless. But still, she kept her foot on the gas, didn’t turn to look anywhere but the distance to the next town while she begged within that she had enough energy to stay alive. 

    She was tired, more than exhausted, and after soiling the seat with filth and realizing there was no other option but to sleep, she found a parking garage that looked nearly empty and took the truck to the top level. Making sure to lock the doors, she pulled herself to the cab where thankfully there was an old jacket of Dave’s. Folding it up as a makeshift pillow she did what she could to sleep and was met by a flood of demons that egged her on with furthering and continuing the terrors she tried so diligently to escape if only for an hour or two.

    I watched your throat get ripped from your body watched as the viscera was filleted from your head which you, then quickly drifted to the black. The blood quickly drenched my body and splayed about the ground. I screamed, l turned to run away from your pouring dead body while the world around us had died and was quickly enveloped by the gnashing and thrashing of what had become a dire fate. I’m writing to you while your body rises and wriggles with complete agony as you’re dying fate aches for another bite of flesh dying for the blood that is us and sure I am writing in what most would call pitch black but somehow I can see the paper that my pen is touching.

    I’d say this is a journal but really this is the last testimony of the dying. The sheep would call this a ploy by the Democrats, the foolish would call this an act of God however would I call this is the world calling to tell us no more and shouting for us to be done? I watch your body wriggle and rise one more time until you then jump up with an erratic and ecstatic maniacal bout, my body trembles as I watch you struggle and walk. I look at you and ponder whether it be better to be like you or struggle to survive but when I look at myself being here on the third floor watching you beneath me watching the world crumble and rot I think this may be better.

    I have a speaker on quietly Portishead is playing in the background their singer bouts out of wrangled and dying breath while she flies for her last love. I find myself moved and still here I am watching you beneath me watching as you stumble about stupidly idiotically looking for another bite of flesh looking for another virgin of the zombie world that you live in and here I am above you loving you and wishing you were here or… Wishing you were above with me holding me letting me become a part of you let me become a part of what this reality is now.

    The days have become repetitive and monotonous where I find myself dying to be like you a zombified abomination of what humanity can be or apparently is those that were living with me or around me or now dead as well while they go and reach out for those that they loved not realizing that they’re not there anymore just like you aren’t there anymore you’re more of a memory. Not only are you more of a memory but you have become that of which is my nightmare I via to become you however I die to be everything unlike you. There’s this grasp of humanity that still alive Force still I love and here again I find myself staring down at you biting my bottom lip looking for you in the midst of the Dead looking for you among The crawling and the weeping will I slowly, slowly become so much like you we are nearly the same however my heart is still pumping.

    Hello and goodbye here I sit stand crawl and die a lonely woman, hating you hitting a need hitting my need for water, for love I laugh at myself thinking how foolish how stupid that I am still here. I could have ran I could have moved myself I could have I could have sneakily drifted away from everything that this is now. And somehow even while dying while choking on my last breath I look at you my stupid Love gnashing and nine at the air while I above I’m quickly falling to the ground to feed you a last time know that my body though you may not remember is something of yours something of mind something that we share something that I call a testament of love a testament of grief and a vying for you and I hope that somewhere deep there comes A memory of me.

  • The Scream Pt. 3

    The Scream Pt. 3 by: M. R. Vega

    ‘Grab your gun from the safe Pops!’ Angela hollered through the screen at the front door of her house. Luckily the old man had just arrived not moments ago, the smell of the heat from the ‘88 Dodge Ram and its radiating heat was the telling of what was waiting inside. And she knew he’d still be up with enough energy to help the ordeal she’d found herself possibly facing. The smell was a comfort of that smell and the hard day’s sweat was quickly snuffed with the knowledge that the scream needed to be addressed and hopefully saved soon. She barged into the screen almost pushing it off the hinges and looked at the old man who agonizingly failed at looking perplexed. She chuckled at that, waiving his play of idiocy, ‘Yeah dad, I know about the safe under mom and your bed, it’s pretty easy to see plus you use so much gun oil, it reeks for days.’

    The man smiles proudly at her and brushes off his knees before using them to push up needing minor momentum in heading to the bedroom. However he was taken aback that he didn’t need to ask her a reason for the demand, he saw the worry and urgency on her face. That sufficed enough to hurry with his code entry and was back in the living room with a clip of 18 rounds that he slid into the Glock. Angela cocked her head with a shrug and asked where the revolver went, it was the only gun she believed was still a sterling weapon that should be permitted for use and not wanting to show disappointment in his choice of a typical and cliche of his handgun, she waved her hand and told him to follow her.

    Now her heart started to be felt within her head, the pounding came to a deafening point until she started explaining the worry and reason behind her shaking hands. Pops followed and nodded as she mentioned the scream heard before picking up the boys ending with the two she heard after getting back home and waiting for either him or her ma getting home. Pops believed the story and didn’t show otherwise following close by awaiting a sign to click the safety off. He started shaking his head with disappointment to the dissolving of the neighbourhood as well as the city. It was always death on the news nowadays, always disasters and school shootings and shitty people he thought so why couldn’t it be happening down the street. It wasn’t a surprise any longer, death had become so frequent that he didn’t know if there was anywhere else here in town that hadn’t met its face and shrouding of blotting the light his town once had. Of course, that was more than decades ago. Something about an old story, something to do with Timequakes popped into his head that left him thinking of the writer’s name and what his own steps were going to meet, whether they would be rewound or perhaps rewritten. He grimaced with a meek smile disgusted with the hope wouldn’t come then Angela put a hand up and pointed to a large shrub when they both heard the screaming and a sickening chuckle.

    Angela was pleased she wasn’t losing her wits but horrified that such an atrocious thing was happening so close to where her babies slept and gritted at her back molars till she tasted iron. Pops did the same, they could both hear one another and looked at each other with dismay and nodded solemnly. They each heavily moved with a determination to have whatever it was solved, perhaps closed with sirens and proper work. However, neither were vigilantes but knew sirens now would have the screams ended with death, they both couldn’t do that, especially Pops, there was a fire within that started to purge at the doubts of what was needed or not and he clicked the safety off. He patted at Angel and pointed behind himself, hoping she’d understand his meaning.

    She did, quickly pulled herself behind his back and placed a cold and shaking hand on his quivering bony back and slowly trod with him getting closer to the screaming and angry chuckles of someone disgustingly designed. Pops paused and gazed at the house the sounds were emitting from and nudged the gun toward it…it was a foreclosed building, with multiple warnings of danger taped to the doors and its few windows that were left. The other spaces’ glass would be had large wooden panels hammered over them. A putrid smell hit both Angela’s and Pops’ nostrils offending the senses and having their eyes quickly drain with tears. Flagrant muck was wafting into the air from the basement of the building and the obvious conclusion was it was being used as a large latrine. Its fumes were causing both to grasp at their stomachs and try not to lurch out whatever was left inside but they both needed to get sight of what the sounds were from and who was causing such atrocious actions to be felt by the screaming source. Angela used her sleeves to blot the tearing and cover her nose whereas her dad just waved the stink and putrid fragrances away whenever he’d get dizzy. He inched closer to a door or one of the few windows that had sight inside of the building. Trying not to have his baby subjected to the vileness of man he gave her a steely look, saddened by what he was sure they’d likely have to do and puffed up his chest. He patted her head gently and kissed her on the temple, at that soft warm spot that brought a youthful spirit of being her dad flood back from when she was the age of her boys and quickened his steps while standing up. 

    ‘Don’t make a sound Ange, I’m nervous that if we spook whoever is inside they’ll likely kill whomever it is screaming and we’ll end up just calling the cops to a dead body and not a citizen’s arrest. Don’t make a sound.’ Pops whispered this and winked at her while again, inching toward the small opening he found in a busted-up window. Ashamed that he wasn’t surprised with what he saw, he clenched at the grunt and guffaw he wanted to issue, pulled in a quick breath, and tried to see where the assailant was standing. Luckily the sun was down enough, neither Angela nor he was casting shadows and he started to choke down his tears at what was seen. A young woman, perhaps in her late teens was barefoot and wrapped in paracord, her face was bloody and bruised, her pants were pulled down and blood was slowly falling down her legs. She was bound and tied to the ceiling of the room he was looking into. The young woman had soiled herself, puddles of her own bile and urine were all around her decorating her old messed kicks and ankles. The monster was an older man, white grizzly hair shrouded his beard and face, an old and tired dachshund was dead in a corner of the room and the old man spit on the dog while pulling at the paracord that pulled at the arms of the young woman. She let out a muffled scream through cracked and broken lips and blood trickled down her chin mixing with the tears that had pulled to the same spot. 

    Pops could barely breathe and tried so diligently to get a good angle with his pistol to shoot the man but his eyes, clouded with a red and burning anger made it hard to focus. He couldn’t fathom what would make someone do something so dark and wretched. It was one thing to see such actions in war, from what he remembered war made pillars of men and women crumble to ash with their ridiculous and inexcusable actions, but again war made people of all creeds dangerous and stupid. This wasn’t war, this wasn’t just brutality, this was horrific in all forms and he could think of only one thing to do. 

    He turned to Angela and told her to get the police, demanded it, and told her to run home and call them, mentioning to her not to have them come with sirens blaring as that’d likely get the woman killed and told her to run as quickly as possible. She gave him a look that said she knew he was going to do more than just wait but she also was one to listen and turned on her heels disappearing behind the trees. Pops could hear her shoes slapping at the pavement and knew he’d have less than fifteen minutes to do what was needed and took one more shallow breath before going to try at a door.

  • Rabbit for Brunch Pt. 2

    Rabbits for Brunch Pt. 2 by: M. R. Vega


    “Oh my god, oh my fecking god, this isn’t, this can’t be real! What the hell did I miss, there’d be news about whats happening, right? What about David? Oh my god!!! I need to get to the house, I need to get to my car and drive off, they’ll see me, I know it, what the feck do I do? What about David, He should’ve been pulling up if not already here. The boys are gonna rip me limb from limb and I’ll end up being their dessert while they engorge on my eyes and intestines! Fuck me!!!”


    The internal argument of Josie’s was a reflection of an inner truth she’d faced when watching the myriad of horror flicks David insisted on having her watch with him. She didn’t mind a good thriller, C.H.U.D. being a favorite, and the select few intellectual and enthralling horror pieces but the zombie route was getting old. David always stated it would end like this. They’d get ripped apart by mindless hordes somewhere down the line. She’d roll her eyes toward him and say he was silly, cuddle into his nook; right at his pit where he smelled of work, sweat, and their loving. Her eyes got wide, having the thought of David and his body molting, rotting, acquiring the odor of the walking dead within a week’s time became too sick to bear. She started to cry. Hand over her mouth, still hugging the grass and waiting while the boys devoured the lot of their rabbits. She could hear the squelching of the rabbit’s bodies being torn and gnawed and an eerie yelping and squawking of the terrified rabbits still breathing awaiting their doom.

    She held her breathing and slowed it as much as she could without choking at the terror she was succumbing to. The sounds reminded her of the revolting scenes David would get gitty with watching George Romero’s collections; this was worse and had her holding in gagging and a sampling of her own bile a time or a few. She looked at the sliding door and slowly started to crawl or slide along the grass not wanting to move too abruptly. Hoping she’d not bump into one of the few pink flamingos or stone cairns she had decorating the grounds, her silent prayers were for both her neighbours to be too enthralled with their morning feast. Her biggest wish though was that once she was close enough she could hop in the building, latch the door, and run to the car without anything being aware. ‘Fingers crossed’

    After her slow-going slide and pause that nearly lasted thirty minutes, she found that she was almost there, she was sure that the last of the rabbits had been ingested now. She didn’t care to inspect or for that matter even know. She just wanted inside, somewhere safe…safe?

    That word had a new meaning now, didn’t it? she thought to herself before coming to terms with how quickly and quietly this next move would have to go or she’d likely have teeth jutting into her flesh. She inhaled quietly, gulped slowly, feeling her heart palpitate and almost silently slid the door open and swooped in without anyone or thing recognizing her movement. She slid the door slowly and once she felt it stop, latched it quickly and turned on her heel, grabbed the keys to her car and ran to the garage. Grabbing a phone hadn’t registered, let alone her thought of phones seemed likely more of a trap to any issue if she survived getting out of town. It’d be her luck that a forgotten phone alarm would end up blaring and letting anyone know exactly where she was in her distant future and the thoughts needed to be about survival not getting ripped to shreds.


    The garage was already open…and David’s truck was idling with the driver’s door open. She could even hear his crap music playing on the radio quietly and with the door to the garage open gasped quietly. She whipped her head around and whispered into the house. “David…David…Dave, where the fuck are you?” She said this all within the decibel of a whisper and debated whether turning back into the house and searching would be an enlightening or detrimental choice. Hearing a crash and incoherent jabber of gnashing teeth told her to run. The truck though was blocking her car so she took her chance with the open door of Dave’s stupid truck and jumped in. There was blood everywhere, the seat had a puddle that her butt became accustomed to quickly and she threw the vehicle into reverse before giving a moment to the sound she ran from. It was surely David but it wasn’t worth the risk of getting her body ripped up for and drove away recklessly bashing through her mailbox and nearly hitting the neighbour’s silver Miata while speeding out of the cozy neighborhood she’d grown to love within the last couple years. Before getting to the stop sign though she made the idiotic choice of looking at the rearview mirror and saw a bloody, stumbling David lurching out of the garage, holding Timothy by the hair and flinging an arm of someone across the pavement. She screamed, swiping her sweat from her brow and tears from her eyes, she kept her foot planted to the pedal and refused to let up till the chaos around her started to thin out.

  • Rabbit for Brunch Pt. 1

    Rabbits for Brunch Pt. 1 by: M. R. Vega

    Josie found comfort in hearing the neighbors squabble in the early mornings day after day while she would do her morning stretches. Timothy and Nicky were two loud and vivacious spirits who sang their worries while the hummingbirds fed at Josie’s garden sugar feeder. They’d argue outside about foods and music then would make amends inside behind the shaking blinders. Josie blushed to herself and tried with an anxious itch to hear anything but. As men, they mimicked her mother’s elegance and reflected the shine they each saw within one another, however, not only was Josie envious of what they shared she begged within, that David her busy-body man would take note and show her such care.That was merely a wish that she often shook off and tended to the bushes, roses, tulips, and daffodils. When the men sharing a wall in the backyards weren’t outside jousting with one another verbally, she’d chitter to the squirrels and whisper to the birds her deeper wishes. She’d stretch toward the sun-splashed sky and yawn in the gentle dew as it coated her lungs with an energy of a thousand blades of grass at every inhale. She’d then exhaust the grief of being lonely and having to wait til later in the night for a touch, even if it was David’s hand at her back for but a moment. Sadly, she sighed that want away and finished her yoga or tai-chi each morning. Looking off into the neighbor’s yard for but a glimpse of two that loved one another more than she could wish and vied daily for her man to burst through the doors with a want that called to her heart. Though it was only a dream, it was a dream enough that kept her waiting.Timothy and Nicky would call to Josie each morning, showing her their rabbits, and examining her fruitful garden while they’d trade spices for her peaches, tangerines, or tomatoes. They’d share recipes and stories of how they met their partners. Her story was generic, something any Hallmark movie shared but Tim and Nicky’s was explosive and a powerful storm to be jealous of. Each of the men would smile, with pity behind the crow’s feet, and caress her hand with a pat before going back in to love up on each other. Josie would exhale heavily, shaking her head, aim toward the shower after texting David wishing him home, wishing him love. But often to no avail. She’d express often in text, and usually only in text how she wanted him. 

    Now, sadly David was daft and nearly empty of a tenacity that wanted love and only mimicked what he’d seen in film, he’d followed the characters he had grown up seeing and tried almost effortlessly in being a carbon copy of those testosterone-fueled men. He felt that it was cruel but deeply wanted to make Josie happy, and making him an image she’d wanted was something that fueled his advances at work. Being a contractor for Florida’s biggest construction company, brought him access to being busy and keeping his profit up to par, never having to explain why he’d leave so often. In his eyes giving her all she wanted was something that filled him, and only him with satisfaction. If only he knew…

    Josie unaware of who David truly was still dreamt of them frolicking in the sheets til the sun came up, still woke to an empty bed. Today though her phone was buzzing non-stop, she looked at the message handle and saw fifteen missed calls and thirty texts all from David. The window was wide open, she could feel the cool beach air wafting into the room and smell a salt all too familiar and breathed in with a smile. She didn’t look at the messages or listen to the calls, she could hear the two neighbors making their odd noises as they often did in the morning and rolled her eyes, quickly walking to the bathroom to clean up anticipating David arriving momentarily, and hurried her lather and rinse.

    Once clothed in some shorts and a sweater, her hair still wet she went to the back to stretch away her worry and anxiety while she awaited the sound of David’s truck pulling up to the garage. However, there was a silence that haunted the air around her and she peered around first at the neighbor’s house, sure she’d see their blinds shaking but nothing moved. The birds didn’t flutter, traffic was lacking except for what she swore was a horn honking incessantly and called out to Timothy and Nicky. Neither of them answered, their age and them being retired, she knew this was odd and thought of maybe hopping the stone wall to knock on their sliding door but then saw Timothy stumbling past the window, he didn’t look her way as she gazed through their window. Instead, she watched in horror while she watched a rabbit of theirs tossing in the clutches of Timothy’s. She called out for an answer to what it was Tim was doing and still, neither Nicky nor Tim responded. She could feel that there was something wrong, she could hear the silence encroaching on her heart and then saw Timothy open his maw with a veracity that she’d only seen on national geographic documentaries from childhood and muffled a scream while she watched in horror Timothy clamping his teeth into a rabbit, Snooks, a rabbit she’d nicknamed Thumper and quickly hit the grass of her own yard when she realized Nicky was grabbing at the rabbits in their pens. She pulled in a breath not daring to move and prayed silently, quivering and wishing her back door was closer than the 100 feet it seemed like it was.