Scary Story

Anita, the young, blonde, archeology student from the University of Oslo, gazed out at the Finnmark landscape as she rode the large snowmobile across the winter plains.  It was the type of large snowmobile with an enclosed and heated cabin, seating up to four people.  Out the right-hand window, she could see sharp mountains in the distance, and flat plains extending out in every direction; all of this, covered in white Nordic snow, now dark under a partly cloudy night sky.  To her left, tiny fragments of orange sunlight just barely reached up over the horizon, to defy the brutal Arctic Circle winter.  The sun was only visible at all for a couple of hours each day this time of year.  The vehicles electric engine hummed, and the treads plowed across the tundra northwards, ever closer to the dark edge of Europe.  The headlights provided a small sanctuary of light, to portal the archaeologist crew through the black winter.  Most people would hate the idea of living at such a high latitude, especially through the winter.  But there was archaeological work to complete even this time of year, and the scientists Anita worked with still had a couple more weeks before the weather became harsh enough for work to be truly impossible.  There was a certain thrill to it all, Anita thought, knowing that the ten or so of them were the only people in the area for dozens of kilometers in any direction.

“We should be comin’ up on ’em soon…” said Bjorn, the driver.

“Now, this is your first time actually visiting the dig-site, right Anita?” said Dr. Eiker, the bespectacled and gray-bearded head of the small Finnmark archeology facility.  It had been his project to construct the simple and remote outpost this far up, for investigation of an ancient, and until recently, unknown, culture.

“Yes, professor.  I’m very excited to see it!” replied Anita with a smile.

“As you should be,” said Dr. Eiker, nodding and giving his own smile, “A discovery of this find is unprecedented this far north.  From what Dr. Becken told me over the radio, we are truly making history today.  And you, Anita, are part of that.”

Dr. Jelle, a middle-aged brunette woman, spoke then, without taking her eyes off the window.  “Bjorn, there they are, right up there.”

“I see ’em.”

The snowmobile pulled up and parked next to the dig site.  Three small brown tents, with their sides ruffling slightly in the frigid breeze, sat next to an identical snowmobile.  A large brown canopy, stretched across four poles, minimized snowfall on the relevant section of the site.  Some electric lanterns hung on poles all around the area, and natural gas heating devices provided warmth inside the tents.  Several professors and their assistants, (just like Anita and her companions) were all dressed in parkas, winter hats, gloves, and boots.  They stood or paced here and there, drinking from steaming cups of coffee, or chatting to each other.  Underneath the canopy, was a hole, thirty feet across in each direction.  A tall triangular mound stood in the middle of it, cleared of snow, so one could see the gray stone underneath.

One of the parka-clad archaeologists waved excitedly as Anita and company exited their snowmobile.

“Dr. Eiker!  We found it, we really found it!” said the woman with a grin.

“Dr. Becken,” said Eiker, “Incredible.  You’re sure it’s a tomb?  The remains are authentic?”

“Well, we need to carbon-date the bones back in the lab of course, but judging by the age of the rest of the site and the enclosure holding the remains and the gold pieces…”

Anita followed the group of archaeologists and more experienced assistants as they chatted excitedly about their discovery.  She followed them down some steps into the dug-in area, up to the gray stone mound which she realized was the tomb.  The top of it, the part which must have partly protruded above the ground, and stood about a few meters above Anita’s head, was pyramid shaped.  At least, it would have been geometrically perfect before the weather got to it.  Still, the resilience of the structure was amazing.  The markings, little strange hieroglyphics of animals, hands, eyes, intricate shapes, and little designs that looked like animals but which Anita didn’t recognize, were all clear as day in the artificial glow of the lanterns.  As if they’d been inscribed recently, although, a few cracks and other signs of weathering on the structure indicated otherwise.

“You see Dr. Eiker, come over here, OK, right in there!”

Through the chattering crowd, Anita could see Dr. Becken’s flashlight beam shine on reflective circular gold pieces in the dark interior of the mound, through it’s cave-like opening.  Anita felt a shiver, not from the cold, at what she saw next: a gray skeleton, perfectly preserved, lying next to the gold.  The lifeless skull stared with blank eyes up at the ceiling of its tomb.

“We’ve translated most of the engravings–” said Becken.

“Hm, yes, from what I recall of this culture’s language…hm.  It seems this man was a king in his time.  And the hieroglyphics warn of a curse to befall anyone who disturbs this tomb.”  Eiken smiled.  “Reminds me of the Ancient Egyptian pharaohs.  Let’s get this loaded up, back to the lab for testing.  Bring the gold and any other artifacts, as well.”

Soon, the ancient bones from the mysterious Nordic culture were loaded onto the snowmobile, in a special protective bag.  The other things found at the site, including a ceremonial dagger, the gold coins, and some pieces of jewelry, were stored separately for the long trip back south to the small outpost laboratory.  The place was a one-story building, painted white, with long windows and thick doors and walls.  The inside had white linoleum floors, usually shiny, and several rooms for storage and processing of research finds and documents.  It looked, Anita always thought, like any other college science building on the inside: just a bit darker, and much more isolated.

Once there, Anita helped some of the other assistants unload the finds and store them in the cold storage room of the lab facility.  The crew, led by Dr. Jelle, wheeled the transparent storage back on a gurney through the winding halls, (kept narrow with short ceilings, to conserve limited heat energy,) and into the proper room.  Anita avoided looking for too long at the skeleton’s face…it’s teeth looked so recent, so white and intact, like the snow outside, she thought.  And those blank sockets where eyes once were.  Once they had the human remains stored, they cataloged the artifacts and stored them in the adjacent room.  Anita was relieved to get out of the room where the skeleton lay on a shiny metal table…she reminded herself to not go in there alone.

That night, everyone celebrated: they’d completed enough work in the past few days excavating.  They could analyze the bones later.  The party of beer, hot cakes, and boisterous conversation at the long wooden tables of the outpost cafeteria went on for about an hour before Bjorn announced some grim news: there was a savage blizzard coming down from the north, set to last for at least six hours.  The gale had sprung up suddenly, and was moving fast: no time to evacuate.  The best option, he explained, as everyone contemplated the situation, was to sit tight.  Once the storm hit the outpost, radio communication, and satellite phone communication, would be impossible.  The celebration slowed down after that, as talk turned to whether the storm could damage the building’s power supply, and how could it would get inside…

A half hour later, the storm was upon them: the howling storm gnashed and mauled at the walls, roof, and windows, making them rattle and groan.  The sound of the wind was almost like human wailing or moaning, Anita thought, as she stood at a window in the cafeteria, watching the shifting wall of white which surrounded the little station.  She heard Dr. Becken talking to another research assistant.

“Not much else to do right now, anyway…we could conduct a proper physical examination on the remains.  We can call in Dr. Eiker soon.  Let’s see what our skeleton friend tells us.”  The two of them chuckled, and walked off.

Anita hesitated, then walked out of the cafeteria after them, but they were already around the corner of the hall, towards the room where the skeleton lay.  She felt a vague sense of danger as she ran after them.  She rounded the corner, to see Becken and her assistant staring into the cold storage room, stunned expressions on their faces.

“What’s wrong?” said Anita, and felt her heart-rate rise.

“It’s…gone…” said the assistant, stepping into the room itself.

Anita stepped up closer to see: indeed, the skeleton, which had lay on the table only a couple hours ago, was nowhere to be found.  The frantic hunt that ensued lasted for about five minutes of baseless theories and a couple accusations, until the fluorescent overhead lights flickered and went out.  Then, the only illumination was by hand-held flashlight.

“Must’ve been the storm…” someone said.

The biggest danger was the merciless cold: no longer held at bay by artificial methods, it would now infiltrate the research outpost, flooding through hall and room, and into flesh as well.  For now, everyone put on their parkas, and appreciated the building’s well-insulated walls.  Still, the skeleton was missing, somewhere in the labyrinthine corridors of lab and storage rooms.

And that’s when the screams began.  First, a female voice, desperate and shrill, then gurgling and animalistic, coming from the artifact storage room.  Several other researchers sprinted to the room, their flashlight beams swinging through the dark: inside, they found Dr. Jelle, leaning lifeless on the floor, propped up with her arm against the wall.  The circle of a flashlight’s beam revealed the scientist’s face frozen in a scream, dark red blood still flowing from a wide incision across her throat, and pooling and rolling across the white floor.  Her eyes were gone: there was only only black holes, with their own trails of blood running down her cheeks.  The eyes and optical nerves were gone.  Everyone gasped, shivered, moaned.  Someone vomited.  Anita herself felt like she was going to be sick; her stomach twisted and heaved upward at the sight.  No one noticed: the artifacts; the gold, the dagger: they were as absent as Jelle’s eyes.  As was a scalpel from the cold storage room.  Eiker arrived at the doorway, and he began to speak, about accounting for everyone, that they had a murderer in their midst, when a scream interrupted him.

Another scream, somewhere else in the dark hallways, this one, a man.  It was Bjorn, in the radio room, where there was nothing on the screens and speakers but blackness and silence, and no life at all in the man’s body, which was sprawled out across a desk.  Blood flowed from his back, staining his torn up shirt.  Someone turned him over to examine his front: blood bubbled up out of his mouth.  Someone had cut out his tongue.  Becken tried to get a hold of someone on the radio, for someone to come rescue the eight people still alive, (one of whom, it seemed, at least, was also a killer…) but, again, the storm allowed no contact with the outside world.

People split off into pairs, most with some sort of weapon (at least a frying pan or a meat cleaver from the kitchen, there were two hatchets, as well,) and all with flashlights.  It was no use.  One by one, someone would hear the click clack-ing of bone on the tiles, or in the snowmobile storage garage, and be dead and dismembered moments later.  The people who hadn’t died yet would find bodies missing an arm, missing a leg, missing another tongue…Dr. Eiker, and Dr. Bensen were soon gone, along with the others, to the phantom no one could hear or see until it was already upon them.

Why the limbs, why the eyes, why the tongues, thought Anita, What does it need them for?!  It can already move, it can already kill us.  She no longer doubted what “it” was.

Her “buddy”, a technician named Karl, never saw what hit him.  He and Anita walked down a hall, around a corner, and heard a creeeak-crick.  A wet and cold spot of blood landed on Karl’s head in front of Anita.  He was literally in the motion of looking up when something huge dropped down from the ceiling on top of him.  Anita heard the screams, the wet thunk thunk of steel into flesh, and she ran off down the hall the other way.  Her heart pounded and she screamed, she ran as fast as she could from Karl’s screams and from that undead thing’s wretched presence as she turned to a door at her side, opened it up.

Anita clicked the door shut behind her.  Her hands, slick with sweat, slipped off the metal door-handle, and she staggered to the center of the lab room.  She whipped her head left, right, looking in vain for any weapon or useful route of escape.  Outside, the blizzard continued to bludgeon at the windows, howling like a mad dog trying to get at a rodent in a hole.  Through the darkness, Anita saw a couple long black tables, the type with sides that ran down to the floor and with sinks and beakers and flasks and Bunsen burners.  There was a storage closet against one wall; she ran to it, yanked at the handle.  Locked.

She could hear the footsteps out in the hall now: a click against the linoleum, a sloppy wet drag against the floor, then another click or two, repeating on and on.  Click-clack, schluooop, click, schluuooop, click, clack.  The young student suppressed her urge to scream, felt the pounding in her head and in her chest grow louder than the blizzard.  Anita’s breath came in stutters, each one producing a small cloud of visible water vapor.  The heat had failed by now.  She found herself shivering, so she rubbed her hands together, as she lurched back to one of the tables in the middle of the room, and crouched down behind it, where she wouldn’t be visible from the door.  She sat down, pressed her back up against the table’s wooden side.  All she could see was the window to her front, barely holding back the furious blizzard.  To her left: the other table, and a storage closet.  To her right: a wall covered in charts, a small computer desk.  She realized she was praying  in her head, despite a lack of any belief in a god; anything was better than nothing, perhaps.  But nothing was all there was.

“Anita…Anita, where are you?  That thing is still out here, Anita!” called the voice of Dr. Eiker from the hall.  “Anita, we got a signal through; emergency crews are on the way!”  “Yeah, come out with us Anita, we gotta stick together!”  Dr. Becken and Bjorn’s voices joined those of Dr. Eiker, each one beginning once the last one finished its phrase.  The thought of a parrot imitating human speech crossed Anita’s frantic mind.

One door, across the hall, abruptly opened and slammed shut.  Anita swore under her breath, twitched, began to rock back and forth.  If only there was a weapon, somewhere: she glanced up, looked around again.  She reached behind her and grabbed a flask by the neck from the lab table.  Better than nothing.

“Anita…seriously, get out here, this instant!  This isn’t a suggestion anymore!” boomed the voice of Dr. Eiker.  The voice, not the man: the body that had once been that man was sprawled out on a concrete stairwell, with his tongue and his left leg missing.

“Come on, Anita…come join us out here!  We can stay warm together until the help arrives!  I promise, we won’t bite.” said the monstrosity, in Dr. Becken’s voice.

“Don’t make us come and find you, like we did with all your other friends.”

Click, schuluuup, clack, schuluuup.

Anita held the flask tight.  The glass felt cold.  Supposedly solid, but fragile.  The sound of clacking bone and slithering wet flesh across linoleum stopped right outside the door.  One second later, Anita heard the door-handle wiggle and turn…

G.R. Wilson is an author specializing in the Horror, Science Fiction, and Fantasy genres. He resides in the Eastern United States, where he enjoys historical war board games, horseback riding, and hiking, in addition to writing. “Right Behind You: Tales of the Spooky and Strange” is his first published book.

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The others laughed and circled around Sarah. Kick a ginger day! Kick a ginger day! They screamed in her face, taunting her, remorseless little bastards they were. Kids can be so cruel. But cruelty begets cruelty, does it not?

Evil? She thought. I’ll show you evil.

Days, weeks, and months pass. The anger never went away, but grew, festered like an open wound. Sarah was waiting, waiting for the perfect moment like a cat stalking a bird.

It came during the end of the year field trip, a sleepover at the planetarium that had been the talk of the class since its announcement months before. With summer looming so close they could smell the fireworks and BBQs, it seemed only fitting to take it all away from them just then.

Giant globes, lit up ceilings with maps of the stars, laser shows and an IMAX movie about the space station – there had been so much to see that despite the scarfing of sneaked candy bars and other treats, their little heads were anchored to their pillows before they knew it. All but one.

Zippered into their little sleeping bags, tucked in tight like the worms they were, it was almost too easy. Darting between the displays, Sarah delivered her justice with mom’s favourite kitchen knife, the sharp one that she was never allowed to use. Pitter pattering to each of her classmates that had wronged her, she covered their mouths, slit their throats as quick as she could.

In the bathroom Sarah paused in front of the mirror, watched blood drip from her fingers, her red hair, her ruined nightgown – is that  really me? She smiled and nodded to herself, yes. This is the new Sarah.