From the Mind of Aaron Dennis
9 short stories. The Tuurngait, a mind bending horror tale. My first, a horrible tale from a psycho’s point of view. The Potato Clock, a silly story, Hunting, the mind of a survivor killing zombies. Losing Human, a mad scientist loses his humanity. Eudora, a young girl used to be something quite different. Expedition, a fantasy. Raising Dead, a fantasy. A Night in Hartford, a zombie horror.
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He looked back at the phone. It was almost 8pm; the day had gotten away from him. Now, it was night in Hartford.
Eric nodded. He had grown up in town and practically lived at the preservation as a kid. He knew about the weird, run down shacks, and warehouse looking buildings on the east edge of the preservation, but as a kid he was too scared to investigate. Now, he hated himself, was full of negative energy, and had a burning question in his heart. Is there more to Hartford than a pretty girl and a preservation? He made his mind up on the spot. It was time to investigate.
“But how do I get there unnoticed? I can’t drive up to the gates…no, but I can drive up to the town dump and park in the orange grove up the road…then it’s just, what, a five mile hike? Yeah…time to find out what’s really going on.”
Silently, he laughed in his head. He knew there wasn’t anything going on. That was precisely the problem with everyone. There was never anything going on in Hartford. It was a boring paradise. At least, it was boring before Claire. Now, it was weird, and new, and kind of scary in a fun way.
He nabbed his camping gear, took from it his headlamp, new batteries, his CZ 9 millimeter handgun, his shotgun, a machete, ammo, packed two sandwiches, and filled his water canteen. Figuring nothing was going to be out of the ordinary, he took his hammock, too. No way I’m walking five miles back to my truck at three in the morning. Last, he got his phone charger, walked to his truck, hooked up his dying phone, and sent one last text.
How’s your sister? Are you guys having fun? He held his breath for a second. No reply. He started the engine. To his surprise, Mad Mike was still on.
“These so called police folk happen to be people no one in Hartford have ever met before. What do you think about that? We all know everyone! I tried to contact the Hartford Police Department. Their damned phones are off, and I get redirected to the county Sheriff’s office, and guess what!? They refuse to talk unless it’s an emergency! Last time I checked, the nonemergency number was for nonemergencies! Listen, people–”
Just like that, the radio station blared static. Eric looked through his windshield into the darkness. What the Hell is going here? Reconsidering for a second, he looked at his phone. Claire had not replied. She wasn’t going to. One little, jealous, insecure mistake, and it was over. For the first time in his life, Eric wanted to bleed. He hoped there was something strange going on that night in.
He turned on his headlights, and pulled onto the road. Forty five minutes passed in silence. Not a single car was on the road. There was no way for him to know the silent, black helicopters had already quarantined the town.
Once Eric spotted the sign for the dump, he shut off his headlights and crawled along in the darkness. The sound of the engine wasn’t loud enough to block out heavy wheels crunching small rocks. Moments later, he pulled off the road and into the orange grove.
From his truck, he pulled all his gear. With the handgun in a holster clipped to the back of his pants, and his machete dangling from his belt, he took his phone, strapped the headlamp on, set it to red, and loaded the shotgun. Two steps later, his nerves got the better of him and he had to pee.
