The Horror Tales

Three tales from vampires, zombies and demons unleashed from an old Ouija board.

Chapter 1

 

Two Black Hawk choppers hover over an open field. Their powerful blades twisting in the air, sending the winds pounding down below, beginning their descent, kicking dust of a newly built army base, high into the night’s sky. Large beams of light rotate in all directions, coming from four guard towers on each corner, the watchtower to the left, primarily watching a tree line not far from the base. Small hand-held flashlights, from patrol teams move through trails of seven-foot grass, checking perimeter lines of the other four bases, set in a diamond formation, defending the main base, located in the middle. Hank jumps off the Black Hawk, giving the rails barely enough time to touch the ground. He breaks into a sprint, running towards a sandbag bunker in the center of the base, trying to free himself from the cloud of dirt, spinning in the air like a tornado. He takes a long look, watching the pilot’s waste no time, powering their engines, ascending into the air, banking hard left and disappearing behind a tree line. “There goes our ride,” he says. Looking over to the group of twenty-five National Guard’s that were dropped off by the two choppers. Hank turns his look to the doorway of the bunker, a man makes his way out, wearing a pistol on his side and a camouflage uniform. “My name is General Wheeler,” he says, dusting his cap off, and then placing it on his head,

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straightening the bill up. “We are in a bad situation here people. We have a major disease out-brake. On top of that we have dumb rednecks running around shooting at us.” Wheeler reaches down into his left pants pocket, pulling out a pack of smokes, placing an un-lit cigarette into his mouth. “Our mission is to secure the area and provide refuge for the refuges.” He reaches up with a shaky hand, lighting his cigarette. “At the entrance of each base there will be guards with scanners. They will scan each refugee; insuring no infected enters the base.” He takes a long drag off his smoke, breathing in, then exhaling, watching the smoke linger into the air. “If they are infected, they must be turned away.” He flicks the ashes from his cigarette. “If they do not leave, you are authorized to shoot to kill.” What the hell, Hank thinks to himself, pushing the sling of his AR-15 higher up onto his shoulder. He removes his helmet, placing it under his left arm, rubbing beads of sweat from his forehead, due to the muggy heat. “We only have one-hundred men to fill five bases. That will leave us with twenty men per base.” Wheeler counts off five men. “You men are to go reinforce firebase two. Move it,” he says. Hank turns, in the direction General Wheeler is pointing. Seeing a base on top of a near by hill. Easily spotted by one large light twisting in all directions, scanning the area. He quickly moves to the corner of the base, where another soldier shines a light down into the three foot deep trench, waving the men across. Hank watches one of the men take a running start, jumping into the air, falling down into the trench, cursing. He places his rifle onto the edge of the dugout, climbing up, another soldier lifts the man up by his arm, asking if he’s ok. Hank takes hold of his gun by both hands, taking a jog,

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jumping, planting his black boot into the side of the dugout, barely having enough time to catch himself with his right leg. He turns, looking behind him, shaking his head. The line eases their way through the long, twisting trail, shining their lines to the walls of the thick field of grass. Hank turns his body, shining his light through the empty trail. A nervous feeling crosses his body, thinking something could sneak up behind him at any second. “This sucks,” he says, turning, following the creeping line. “Shut up,” the lead man says, taking a knee, looking hard to the right. “I heard something over there.” He turns looking down the line. “Hell with this, lets move.” Moments later the lead man pulls a walkie from his side. “Fire base two, this is patrol, requesting permission to enter.” “Copy that, come on up,” a voice says over the walkie. Hank tosses his rifle across his shoulder, waiting for the guards standing at two sandbag bunkers to begin scanning each man’s eyes.
Hank feels slightly relieved, being able to enter the safety of the base, hearing the beep of the scanner, allowing him to enter. Hank waits for orders, looking around the base, seeing a trench all the way around, one watchtower in the center. “You, come with me,” the lieutenant says, giving a pull on Hank’s shoulder, leading Hank to the back corner, pointing down in the trench with his light. “You cover this area.” Hank looks to his right, seeing the tall grass, only about ten yards away. He turns to his front, seeing a tree line. He shakes his head looking to the lieutenant, then looking down into the hole. “There isn’t any defenses

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here,” he says, looking back to the lieutenant. “Move it.” An uneasy feeling crosses his body, hesitating a few seconds, then jumping down into the trench. “Hey, you,” the lieutenant says getting another soldiers attention. “Help cover this area.” “Yes Sir,” a man says. Running over and jumping down into the hole, next to Hank. The man looks from side to side, he to noticed the danger. “Damn, who’d I piss off.” Hank places his rifle up on one sandbag, with shaky hands, watching the field. “I can’t see s**t,” he says. Pulling his flashlight from his left shoulder, using a sweeping motion across the wall of grass. “You cover the tree-line.” Hank tosses his arm up in front of his face, pulling his sleeve back; looking to his glow-in- the-dark wristwatch, seeing an hour has passed. The uneasy feeling has left his body sometime ago, due to the extreme quiet. He leans back onto the wall of dirt, reaching into a large pocket on his knee, pulling out a pack of Camel’s. “Well, if it stays like this their going to have to bring the coffee around,” he says, opening up the pack of smokes, throwing the trash down to his feet. “I prefer it to be like this, rather than getting shot at,” the man next to him says. Still staring across the top of his rifle. “I hear ya,” Hank says, lighting his smoke. He takes a few fast sweeps with his light, staring down to the light of his cigarette, giving a long heavy sigh. “Got another one of those?” The man asks, laying his gun down in front of him. “The names Mark,” he says, taking a lighter and cigarette from Hank. Hank reaches to his side, grabbing a canteen from a green pouch. “Damn it’s hot out here,” he says. Twisting

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the cap off, taking a good drink of warm water. He looks to the sky hearing thunder rumble in the distance, seeing clouds begin moving over the moon. Mark takes a long yawn, sliding his back down the dirt wall, to a sitting position. “What time is it?” “Four.” “Two more hours and sun will be rising.” “Yea,” Hank says, sitting down. “We haven’t had anything happen.” He pulls another smoke out. “This is getting boring.” Mark rubs his eyes, giving another yawn. Hank stands up, turning into the inside of the base, seeing the Lieutenant walking around, checking on different areas. “Hey can we get some coffee over here?” The lieutenant takes a few steps over towards Hank. “Do you see any coffee makers out here?” He says, taking a quick look around. “Got any instant?” “Are you trying to piss me off?” “No Sir,” Hank says, biting the inside of his lips, trying to hide a smile. “Then guard your post.” “Yes Sir.” Hank turns, shrugging his shoulders, looking down to Mark. “I guess that’s a no.” Hank sits back down, resting his head on the dirt behind him, closing his tired eyes, relaxing his breaths. He begins listing to different conversations throughout the base, of bored soldiers. “Yea, go ahead and take a nap, I’ll cover us,” Mark says, giving Hank a tap on the shoulder. Hank is awakened by a rain drop, sending cool water down the back of his neck. He gives Mark a hard kick to the ankle, seeing Mark’s head buried in his arms across the top of his knees, sleeping. “You idiot.”

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Mark looks up, looking around. “Sorry man must have dozed off.” He rubs his eyes, seeing heavy rain drops begin falling from dark clouds above.
“You better be glad the lieutenant didn’t catch us,” Hank says, grabbing his flashlight, switching it on, checking the grass. He lays his light down, reaching for a smoke, catching a glimpse of a boot standing about ten yards away. He eases his eyes up, turning his head over to the left, seeing his light shining across a pair of legs. He reaches over, grabbing his light, shining it onto the person, seeing a man standing there, with no shirt. Blood streams from his eyes, sending blood down his pale face. A chunk ripped from their neck, sending blood running down his right shoulder, across their side, staining their jeans. “S**t,” Hank says, reaching over grabbing his gun, throwing it up to his shoulder, aiming. His right index finger twitches, covering the trigger. “National Guard, don’t you move,” he says at the top of his voice, drawing attention to his position. The large light from the tower immediately turns, placing the man in spotlight. The Lieutenant along with two other men, quickly rush over, in a standing position pointing their weapons at the subject. The man looks to the watchtower, then running his bloody eyes across the Lieutenant. He begins growling turning his look down to Hank, causing Hank’s shaky hands to take tighter grip to his weapon. The man charges, Hank fires, creating a chain reaction from Mark and the Lieutenants men. The man falls, getting back up, charging once again. Hank says a few choice words, retreating into the wall behind him, managing to get a shot off to the head, dropping the attacker.

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Hank’s heart pumps his blood fast and hard through his body, every limb begins to tremble, his mind in wonders. “What the hell. What the hell was that?” “You two on me,” the Lieutenant says. Motioning with is hand to his men. “You guys cover us, were going to check it out.” The Lieutenant and his men get a running start, clearing the trench. His men gives cover to the left and right, Hank and Mark watching the woods. The Lieutenant squats down, shining his light over the dead target, staring across the man’s bloody face. “Damn, looks like this guy has been dead for days. The smell of rotting flesh is too much for the man to the left of the Lieutenant, he doubles over and begins throwing up, profusely.
The man to the right swings his gun around aiming to the weeds, seeing the tops of the grass moving wildly, he takes a few steps back, firing his weapon blindly, killing the movement. “Everyone back in the base now,” the Lieutenant says, jumping over the trench, moving his rifle in a fast sweeping motion. He reaches down pulling a walkie from his side. “Control this is fire-base two, we have infection up here.” “Copy that fire-base two. Hold your position.” Few seconds latter Hank hears a stick snap from the woods, seeing a gun flash. He takes a quick duck, hearing rapid gunfire from Mark. Hank stands to his feet, taking aim, pulling the trigger, sending hot lead flying through the air, knowing the maze of trees will stop his rounds before they reach the target. A strong feeling comes over Hank to check his right side, his head to turns, seeing a shadow running towards him. He swings his weapons, stumbling over Mark,

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sending them both to the bottom of the trench. He fires his gun, hitting the rushing target underneath the chin, knocking its head up. Its body stands lifelessly a few seconds, and then falls to its back. Hank hears horrifying screams from the woods, where the gunfire was coming from, screams of pain. He takes a long look to Mark, then looking to the rest of the base in panic, men shooting in every direction. “Man, let’s get out of this hole.” Mark wastes no time placing the butt of his riffle onto the ground, jumping from the hole, lending Hank a hand. “Where’s the Lieutenant?” “Over there,” Hank says, pointing his finger, seeing a group of men huddled together. They rush to the group, finding the Lieutenant shouting over the walkie, requesting to fall back to the control base. The Lieutenant and his guards begin shining red lights into the air, motioning to all the soldiers to gather at his position. “Ok, we have permission to fall back to control base,” he says, looking across frightened faces. “We are going to be running fast so keep up. Let’s move.” The huddle quickly turns into a fast moving line. Hank listens to the rattling sounds of the troops heavy packs jingle, taking a quick head-check behind him, seeing Mark and a few other men behind him. He turns seeing the man in front of him begin firing his weapon into the weeds, pausing in the line. “Move it,” Hank says. Giving the man a slight push, speeding the line back up. The retreating soldiers slows to a jog, braking free of the trail entering into an open field, being covered by the main base.