Scary Holiday Tales to Make You Scream by Various Page B
Authors: Various
Tags: Suspense & Thrillers
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Dexter's endless monologue rose from the depths of the disposal bin he was rummaging through, immersed to his waist so that only his filthy legs protruded from the thing's mouth. I assumed that Dexter knew the recycling schedules and routines-he would have to, living the way he did-and that the energy dislocater ring in the disposer's belly wouldn't activate while he was in it.
My fears proved unfounded when Dex emerged triumphantly with the uneaten half of a discarded spiced-meat tube. He grinned, "But rather, the city was named for the perceived crack in the soul of its citizenry, cemented bugs that they were, addicted to a mythical drug that firmly placed the physical bodies of the undeserved in their lower-class status, but freed their minds and souls to the concept of ascension," Dexter poked the meat tube into his tiny mouth and licked his filthy lips. "Sound familiar?"
He would ramble on like this for as long as I would let him. A lot of what he said made sense, but a lot of it seemed little more than the delusional raving of a madman. Genius, lunatic, or both? While his history (I had no way of checking it) seemed sound, if somewhat blasphemous, this was also the same homeless mutant who spread rumors of a great, red, pot-bellied dragon living at the floor of the city.--
***
Neural Log: 23:64-84-
--When I told him I'd been demoted, Dex insisted on a tour of the lowest levels. I tried to refuse. I tried to fight him. "It's illegal," I complained, "How will we get back up?" But he would not be deterred. His strong fist clamped upon my arm, he tugged and pulled and laughed and implored me to go with him.
"It should be mandatory upon any demotion to go down and see just how bad it can get, how much worse it could be," he explained, dragging me into the nearest downward flux-shaft.
I was despondent and vulnerable. I should have struggled harder, I should have refused. I should never have let him take me down. I should have walked away.
But I'd already been demoted, and I would be sent down a level anyway. Better sooner than later, I rationalized, and of my own volition than at the hands of armed soul-guards. "All right," I told him. "Just one level."
Dexter just winked.--
***
Neural Log: 23:64-98-
--Crack City raced upwards past us, as we descended. The inertio-grav inhibitors tingled my feet and the wind mussed my hair. My ears popped. The walls of the city grew darker, more stained with age and rust and soot the deeper we plummeted, caked with slime and filth. It was noisier down there, cacophonic music and hov-cars honking, people screaming and cursing in a language that seemed like a bastardized version of my own familiar tongue.
Despite my protestations, we didn't stop until we'd reached the Red Ring. I'd heard about this ring, down just a stone's throw from the city-floor. It's decrepitude is infamous, it's crimes fill the neural news-tales of the violence of the impoverished, cannibalistic masses are whispered into our brains along the neural net feed, horror stories to keep us working hard, looking crackwards, focused on the rings above and fearing those below.
The Red Ring is Hell, it's Babel, it's Damnation Alley. Throngs of degenerate stragglers, the damned and the wretched and the cursed, the sick and the poor, the vile and the undeserving all mill about in criminal mobs. I'd been here before in a past life-everyone had-but I don't remember it, and I don't fear it any less for having risen above it.
Dexter saw the fear in my eyes as the flux-ramp slowed to a halt. "Here's to you, kid," he smirked, clapping me hard on the back. "And here's to life lessons learned the hard way."
"What-?" was all I could stammer as the pinhead turned and disappeared into the crowd, laughing as he went, leaving me alone, terrified, confused.--
***
Neural Log: 23:66-14-
--Three weeks after Dexter abandoned me, I lay huddled on the sidewalk sleeping and begging for food with the rest of them-lost in my own
My fears proved unfounded when Dex emerged triumphantly with the uneaten half of a discarded spiced-meat tube. He grinned, "But rather, the city was named for the perceived crack in the soul of its citizenry, cemented bugs that they were, addicted to a mythical drug that firmly placed the physical bodies of the undeserved in their lower-class status, but freed their minds and souls to the concept of ascension," Dexter poked the meat tube into his tiny mouth and licked his filthy lips. "Sound familiar?"
He would ramble on like this for as long as I would let him. A lot of what he said made sense, but a lot of it seemed little more than the delusional raving of a madman. Genius, lunatic, or both? While his history (I had no way of checking it) seemed sound, if somewhat blasphemous, this was also the same homeless mutant who spread rumors of a great, red, pot-bellied dragon living at the floor of the city.--
***
Neural Log: 23:64-84-
--When I told him I'd been demoted, Dex insisted on a tour of the lowest levels. I tried to refuse. I tried to fight him. "It's illegal," I complained, "How will we get back up?" But he would not be deterred. His strong fist clamped upon my arm, he tugged and pulled and laughed and implored me to go with him.
"It should be mandatory upon any demotion to go down and see just how bad it can get, how much worse it could be," he explained, dragging me into the nearest downward flux-shaft.
I was despondent and vulnerable. I should have struggled harder, I should have refused. I should never have let him take me down. I should have walked away.
But I'd already been demoted, and I would be sent down a level anyway. Better sooner than later, I rationalized, and of my own volition than at the hands of armed soul-guards. "All right," I told him. "Just one level."
Dexter just winked.--
***
Neural Log: 23:64-98-
--Crack City raced upwards past us, as we descended. The inertio-grav inhibitors tingled my feet and the wind mussed my hair. My ears popped. The walls of the city grew darker, more stained with age and rust and soot the deeper we plummeted, caked with slime and filth. It was noisier down there, cacophonic music and hov-cars honking, people screaming and cursing in a language that seemed like a bastardized version of my own familiar tongue.
Despite my protestations, we didn't stop until we'd reached the Red Ring. I'd heard about this ring, down just a stone's throw from the city-floor. It's decrepitude is infamous, it's crimes fill the neural news-tales of the violence of the impoverished, cannibalistic masses are whispered into our brains along the neural net feed, horror stories to keep us working hard, looking crackwards, focused on the rings above and fearing those below.
The Red Ring is Hell, it's Babel, it's Damnation Alley. Throngs of degenerate stragglers, the damned and the wretched and the cursed, the sick and the poor, the vile and the undeserving all mill about in criminal mobs. I'd been here before in a past life-everyone had-but I don't remember it, and I don't fear it any less for having risen above it.
Dexter saw the fear in my eyes as the flux-ramp slowed to a halt. "Here's to you, kid," he smirked, clapping me hard on the back. "And here's to life lessons learned the hard way."
"What-?" was all I could stammer as the pinhead turned and disappeared into the crowd, laughing as he went, leaving me alone, terrified, confused.--
***
Neural Log: 23:66-14-
--Three weeks after Dexter abandoned me, I lay huddled on the sidewalk sleeping and begging for food with the rest of them-lost in my own
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