At The Seams

A Psychological Horror

Short Story

Gayle Katz

In Your Face Publishers

Blue Bell, PA

Copyright © 2020 Gayle Katz

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form, stored in any retrieval system, or transmitted in any form by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, or otherwise—without prior written permission from the author. For permissions contact:

gayle@gaylekatz.com

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living, dead, or undead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Visit the author’s website at GayleKatz.com

Table of Contents

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Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

About the Author

Chapter 1

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Sitting in the sun, the soft winds of spring blowing gentle kisses through her length of strawberry blond hair, Amanda Whelk sat on a lawn chair in her backyard and quietly admired her budding garden. It brought her much joy to see the little sprouts of green poking their way up through the rows of tilled soil, feeding on the naked sunlight that illuminated this perfect day. The gentle breeze blowing in from the west carried the smoky fragrance of a distant barbeque, a smell so rich that she could practically hear the meat sizzle on the open grill. Faintly, she could hear dogs barking in a yard somewhere down the block. Closing her eyes, the bright sunshine blazed brightly through her eyelids, casting the world in a pinkish hue of happiness.

Everything’s right in the world, Amanda thought, her exposed skin radiating. Yup, this is exactly how life should—

Suddenly, Amanda woke from this wonderful dream with a strange sense of worry rushing through her body. Sitting up straight, she reached over toward the blaring noise of her alarm on the nightstand without looking. Fingers feeling along the hard, wooden edge of the furniture, she picked up her phone to silence it. When the screen lit up, illuminating the deep lines of stress that still weathered the once smooth features of her face, she reflexively squinted her eyes against the harsh glare. Once her sight finally adjusted and the alarm stopped chiming, a deep sigh escaped her lips.

Ugh, I feel like I’m still knocked out, Amanda thought after lying back in bed, her body and mind weary. Eyelids heavy with the sands of sleep, her eyes drifted shut again as she internally prodded herself to get out from the womb like warmth of her sheets and get ready for work. If I’m late again, Mr. Sawyer will stick me in the stock room on clean-up duty. Amanda only had an hour to get down to the FoodMart and begin her shift. And if she didn’t oversleep again, like she did yesterday, this left just enough time to comfortably complete her morning routine.

Since starting her new prescription, Amanda found it harder and harder to wake up in the morning. It was a minor inconvenience compared to how she felt before being recommended the high dose sleeping pills by her doctor. For most of Amanda’s early twenties, she suffered from unexplained bouts of insomnia. What started as a few nights of bothered sleep soon turned into countless hours of endless tossing and turning with no sign of relief. After a solid month of not being able to snooze for more than forty-five minutes at a time without being jolted awake by an ominous feeling she could not quite articulate, Amanda saw no other choice but to seek professional help.

“It’s like…some unseen presence is always standing over me,” she had told Dr. McDougal when finally reaching the end of her rope. Her mind felt like hot mush boiled on the inside of her skull from never being able to turn off and rest. Needless to say, Amanda was tiptoeing dangerously close to the edge of a mental breakdown. “I close my eyes…and…and…” With tears welling up in the corners of her bloodshot eyes, Amanda was reluctant to say any more. Since losing sleep, she had been having strange delusions in the dead of the night—thoughts that didn’t feel like her own. Vibrant flashbulb images behind her eyes painted the back of her eyelids in a wash of deep crimson. Thinking that these unwanted images were a direct result of the insomnia and nothing more, Amanda decided to keep these details to herself.

Dr. McDougal, with his kind smile and grandfatherly voice, encouraged Amanda to push on. But, judging by the haggard look on the young girl’s face, he didn’t need to hear the rest of her story to conclude that she was not embellishing any of her supposed symptoms.

Poor girl, he thought. Only twenty-seven years old and already pulling herself apart at the seams. What a shame. He believed his empathy made him a more adept doctor and, in general, a better person.

With a gentle touch, he placed his wrinkled hand on her narrow shoulders. “Go on, dear. I’m here to help, not judge,” he said.

With a deep sigh, Amanda collected the little bits of courage left inside and continued. “When I close my eyes and feel myself begin to drift under…it’s like something from outside shakes me back awake. Almost like I’m being shocked or pinched hard all over by phantom fingers. I know it sounds stupid, but I don’t know what to do anymore. I just want to sleep like everyone else.”

Being a man of medicine for over thirty years, Dr. McDougal didn’t hesitate to whip out his trusty yellow prescription pad and do what he did best. “Say no more, I understand. These should do the trick,” he said as he jotted something down on the pad in quick, concise flicks of his wrist. Tearing the paper free, he held it out to Amanda with a generous smile. “This is a sleep aid, one of the strongest on the market. Normally, I don’t start my patients off at this high of a dose, but I can see that you are in much need of a good night’s sleep.”

“Is it safe?” Amanda asked, her hand visibly shaking as she reached out to grab the slip of paper from between the doctor’s wrinkled fingers. She had never taken anything stronger than a daytime antihistamine before this point and was more than just a little worried about what the drug might do to her internally.

Dr. McDougal offered her another kind smile, and then he said, “No need to fret, dear. There may be some unwanted side effects: strange dreams, loss of appetite, sleep walking. But I assure you, these symptoms are very rare. Just be sure to take as directed, and you should be getting a good night’s sleep in no time.”

Seeing no other choice, Amanda took the doctor at his word and had the prescription filled that afternoon. Now, almost a week later, she had been taking the medicine as instructed and had not had a single sleepless night since. It was something of a miracle to her, finally being able to turn off her brain at night like a normal person.

This stuff works a little too well, Amanda thought, head still groggy as she threw back the sheets and shoved her legs over the edge of the bed. Hands rubbing at the still heavy lids over her eyes, she finally managed to pry them open. With the dim orange glow of the morning sun peeking in through the blinds at her back, Amanda stretched her arms up over her head and let out a long yawn to the ceiling. But, as her eyes drew back down to where her bare feet were about to meet the floor, her breath suddenly halted in her lungs.

Like a gritty shadow that she could feel between her toes, both of Amanda’s feet were caked in a layer of flaky, dark soil.

Slowly, as if still in a dream, she leaned forward and touched the top of one stained foot. Bringing her hand back to her face, she inspected the dark smudge that muddied her fingertips. That’s when Amanda noticed that the bedding of all of her fingernails had the same black rings around them, the smell of a forgotten fire still clinging to her fair skin. The edges of her nightgown, torn and muddy, had little bits of grass and leaves stuck to the frayed ends.

“What the hell?” she muttered, utterly puzzled. Standing up from the bed, she stripped off the thick layer of sheets and cast them to the floor. Her tired eyes quickly widened in shock as the same dark soil that stained both her hands and feet was also smeared all over the nice white bed cover.

Having no recollection of ever getting out of bed the night before, Amanda felt her heart begin to race as she tried desperately to find an answer.

Perhaps this is a sign of one of the side effects that Dr. McDougal warned me about, Amanda thought as she rushed into the bathroom and quickly took a shower. Watching the clumps of wet dirt run in little rivers down the drain, she further assured herself that this strange occurrence was due to the new meds. I probably just went outside and took a stroll around the garden. Yeah, that’s probably it. I’ve been meaning to spread the fireplace ash for weeks now but keep forgetting. Summer is just around the corner and the ground is all soupy. That would explain the mud. Hopefully none of the neighbors saw me. I’ll have to schedule an appointment and let Dr. McDougal know.

As she dressed for work and changed the muddy sheets from her bed, Amanda was starting to have second thoughts about sharing this sudden side effect with Dr. McDougal. She reasoned that if she told him, he would be apt to lower the dosage or take her off of the meds completely. Having finally experienced a stint of relaxing night’s sleep for the first time in what felt like forever, she was extremely hesitant to make the call.

I’ve been taking these pills for almost a week now, and this is the only strange thing to happen so far. Maybe it’s just a one-time thing. Besides, a little bit of sleep walking is better than…well, you know.

Settling the matter over a bowl of cereal, Amanda went off to work and all but forgot about her midnight stroll through the garden. Hands and feet clean once again, she could go about her day feeling rested.

Out of sight, out of mind.

Chapter 2

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“Did you hear what happened last night?” Kara asked as she rushed up aisle 9 of the FoodMart.

Stacking cans of off-brand ravioli on a shelf, Amanda turned to see her fellow coworker sprinting up the aisle toward her. 

Kara, although slightly older than Amanda, was always gossiping and carrying on conversations with other staff while she was supposed to be manning the register up front. But judging by the pace of her stride and the anxious expression plastered on her otherwise careless face, Amanda knew that whatever Kara had to say was urgent.

“Hear about what?” Amanda asked, not wanting to turn away from the half empty shelf. 

Kara could barely contain herself as she dipped one hand into the pocket of her jeans and pulled out her phone. Her fingers flew across the small keyboard as she typed in her password. After logging in, Kara thrust the phone into Amanda’s open hand. Looking down at the screen, she read the bold headline of an article from the Daily Gazette that was published just a few hours ago—AUTHORITIES BELIEVE ARSON TO BLAME FOR DEVASTATING FIRE AT LOCAL ANIMAL SHELTER.

“Oh my God! That’s terrible!” Amanda gasped, handing the phone back to Kara.

“I know!” Kara said as she shoved her phone back into her front pocket and rolled her mascara framed eyes in exaggerated frustration. “The article says that over fifty dogs and cats burned to death before the fire department showed up and put out the blaze. Isn’t that the most awful thing you’ve ever heard? I mean, what kind of sick piece of shit would do something like that?!”

Turning back to the shelf, Amanda shrugged. Not wanting to discuss such unpleasantries, she attempted to end the conversation without being blunt. “There’s a lot of sick people out there, that’s for sure.” Picking through the half full cart at her side, she grasped another can of ravioli and began stacking again. But, as Amanda continued her work, she could feel Kara still lingering over her shoulder like a peripheral shadow. Unable to sense Amanda’s reluctance to chat, Kara continued talking.

“That’s not even the craziest part. Whoever broke into the shelter and started the fire…they stood across the street and watched the whole thing burn down…listening to the screams of all those poor little fluffy critters locked up inside.”

“How would you even know that?” Amanda asked, becoming annoyed that Kara continued to interrupt her work. While she didn’t mind working with Kara, Amanda could only tolerate her in small doses. This was neither the time nor the place to be having such a morbid conversation, no matter how newsworthy it may be.

“It’s in the article,” Kara said, balling her hands on her hips. “They think whoever set the fire waited around to watch it burn. When the cops showed up, they found fresh footprints in the mud across the street. Not shoe prints, but like, literal footprints. The crazy bastard had no shoes on—”

“Wait. What?” Amanda froze, a sudden jolt of fright skittering up her spine. The memory of that morning suddenly thrust itself back to the forefront of her mind—blackened feet and dirty fingernails throbbing against her conscience.

No… It’s gotta be a coincidence, Amanda thought, unable to believe she could be capable of such an atrocity. Even in my sleep, I would never do anything like that! Dropping the can she was holding, Amanda slowly turned back to face Kara.

“Yeah, they found footprints,” Kara reiterated. “But whoever it was ran away on foot before the cops showed up. I guess they followed the tracks, but the trail ended at the edge of the woods down the road. Everyone’s freaking out about it.”

Face pale and mouth agape in shocked silence, Amanda’s eyes began to blur with the swelling of emotions. “I… I have to go,” she said. Without another word, she rushed down the aisle past Kara and into the bathroom on the far side of the store. Locking herself in an empty stall, she sat on the closed toilet seat lid and tucked her knees up to her chest.

It’s just a coincidence… Has to be. I could never do anything so terrible, she told herself over and over again, rocking back and forth. Amanda had heard stories of people doing strange things in their sleep while under the influence of insomnia medication—driving, making a sandwich, and even carrying on a conversation like they were fully awake. There had been a famous case of a man who supposedly stabbed his wife to death in his sleep and had no recollection of it due to the medication he was on. Despite the man being acquitted of first-degree murder charges in court, Amanda never believed the story for a moment. But now, facing eerily similar circumstances that were hard to ignore, she was compelled to rethink the entire situation.

I suppose it’s possible, she reasoned, hands laced tightly around her quivering shins, but how would I even know for sure that it was me? I can’t just go to the cops and turn myself in for something I might not have done. That’d just be crazy! They’d throw the book at me just to close the case and be done with it, regardless of whether it was actually my doing. For all I know, this is all just a huge misunderstanding. Right? I was in the garden… That makes more sense. By confessing to something I don’t even remember doing, I’d just be setting myself up for a long stint in prison. Then what? My life would be ruined. All because I wanted a good night’s sleep.

After taking several deep breaths to steady her jangled nerves, Amanda forced herself to leave the confines of the bathroom and return to work. Luckily, Kara was no longer in aisle 9. She was probably bothering some other poor soul somewhere else in the store. 

Needing to take her mind off of the endless questions in her head, Amanda picked the dented ravioli can off of the floor and placed it on the shelf. But, as she continued to stack cans with hands that felt transparent, Kara’s words continued to echo through her mind like the ringing of dead church bells.

“Whoever broke into the shelter and started the fire…they stood across the street and watched the whole thing burn down…listening to the screams of all those poor little fluffy critters locked up inside.”

Chapter 3

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Racing home at the end of her shift, Amanda wasted no time checking the garden at the back of the house for footprints. If there was even one faded print back there, it would squash all of the paranoid thoughts that had been swirling through her head since talking to Kara earlier that day. Screeching to a stop in the driveway, Amanda jumped out from behind the wheel of her car and, wasting no time, rounded the side of the house. In several long steps, she stood at the corner of her barren garden. Eyes combing the small patch of fenced lawn, she paced the edge of the yard, careful not to step out onto the soft mud and create any new footprints. But, no matter how many times Amanda looked over the grass-speckled square of mud, she could not find a single footprint. Running over to the garden, she dropped to her knees and closely inspected the fine rows of fruitless dirt.

No ash, she thought as the cold mud seeped through her tan work pants and stained her bare knees. Standing back up, she then charged into the house and approached the fireplace. Void of its usual flame of warmth, its toothless mouth yawned up at her, a fine layer of soot resting at the bottom. The tin ash bucket sat in its usual spot by the fireplace poker under the mantel. Its belly was completely empty, not even a speck of dust clinging to its insides. In a fevered state of denial, Amanda ran down the hall and paced around her bedroom.

No, no, no, this isn’t right. Denial pulsing like a timpani drum through every fiber of her being, Amanda began to hyperventilate. Head swimming and limbs tingling with static, she sat down on the edge of her bed, just as she had done that morning, and stared at her mud-stained knees. Little by little, the horrible truth of what might have occurred at her own hand was seeping into her consciousness.

I can’t tell anyone about this…ever. Not Dr. McDougal, not anyone. Taking a vow of silence, she was now faced with a new dilemma. But…what do I do now? I’d never be able to live with myself if I did something that awful ever again. Oh God... Amanda sat motionless for a long time and thought hard about her options. After what felt like hours of contemplation, she narrowed her choices down to the only two viable paths.

Amanda could either stop taking her medication and resume a miserable existence of constant fatigue and eventual mental collapse. Or she could take an even bigger risk—one that would allow her to live with a clean conscience. Amanda could not take back what was already done but, at the very least, she could attempt to prevent any future mishaps.

“I’m not going back to the way things were,” Amanda breathed, rising slowly from the edge of the bed and entering the bathroom. Reaching into the medicine cabinet, she pulled out the pale orange prescription bottle that held her insomnia pills. She read the label that instructed her to take only one pill every 24 hours. 

What if…I take more pills than I’m supposed to? Not enough to kill myself, but enough to keep me too sedated to get out of bed in the middle of the night. Maybe I can find a dosage that will work…and if not…

Amanda didn’t want to think about what would happen next if this little experiment didn’t work. Unfortunately, this scenario led her to a third option: one that would solve everything but left her with nothing.

Take the whole bottle and end this, an empathetic voice whispered. You know you can’t control yourself. You never could.

“Shut up!” she hissed, staring at her twisted reflection in the bathroom mirror. “It won’t come to that… It can’t.” Wasting no time, Amanda pulled the cap off of the bottle and dumped four pills into her open palm. After washing the pills down her throat with a gulp of tap water, Amanda changed out of her work clothes and climbed into bed. Within minutes, she felt the effects of the elevated dosage starting to dull her senses. Head floating on a string and blood slowing to a crawl in her veins, Amanda heard herself mutter a few whispered words before all of reality blinked into non-existence.

“Please, just one…one more night…of sleep…please…”

Chapter 4

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Later that night, Amanda slipped into another vivid dream, but it was not the one she was hoping for. Unlike the night before, Amanda didn’t fantasize about enjoying a luscious, carefree spring day in her backyard. This time, she found herself standing in the middle of the empty FoodMart stocking the same exact shelf that she had been working on earlier that day. Like a lonely worker bee, void of any independent thought or emotion, her arms went through the motions. Suddenly, she felt a looming presence at her right shoulder. In slow motion, Amanda pivoted away from the shelf and confronted the ghostly figure at her back.

Standing there, arms folded across his sagging chest, was her supervisor, Mr. Sawyer. His face was a drooping expression of disappointment as he glared down at her.

“You’re late,” he said, his deeply creased frown never faltering as he spoke. “That’s the second time this week, Amanda.”

Confused, Amanda stammered, “No... Mr. Sawyer, I’ve been here stocking all day. You can ask Kara. She came and talked to me this morn—”

Like a summoned mirage, Kara instantly appeared at Mr. Sawyer’s side, hands planted at her hips in a judgmental stance. Her face, just like Mr. Sawyer’s, was one of extreme disgust as her eyes swept over Amanda’s body.

“Tell him, Kara! I was here this morning,” Amanda said, hands beginning to shake with frustration at the predicament she found herself in.

Grimacing at Amanda’s plea, Kara rolled her eyes before saying, “I don’t know what she’s talking about, Mr. Sawyer. I was at my register all morning.” With a devilish grin, she glared at Amanda as Mr. Sawyer eagerly nodded at her side of the story.

Before Mr. Sawyer could dig further into Amanda for the wrongful allegations being slung at her, she did something that she never thought possible. Without another word, Amanda ripped her apron off and threw it down at Mr. Sawyer’s feet.

“You know what?! Screw this! I quit!”

Leaving her coworkers speechless, Amanda stormed out of the front door of the FoodMart and sped straight home in her car. Once there, Amanda locked herself in her bedroom and cried into the stuffed animals she kept on the edge of her bed. Hot tears soaking into the soft pelt of her favorite plush toy bunny—Mr. Floppers—Amanda felt the bitter wave of self-pity hardening into a new sensation. In moments, the well of tears had run dry. All that remained behind was a fierce ball of rageful fire burning at her very core.

Hands curling into fists, Amanda felt her muscles tense until she thought they might snap like piano wire. Without thinking, she began to yank Mr. Floppers’ arms off, the sound of the fabric tearing from the plush body giving her an odd sensation of exhilaration. Unable to form words, Amanda screamed nonsense at the ragged doll as she gutted all of the fluffy white stuffing from its belly.

Only once Mr. Floppers was in pieces—his arms, legs, and stuffing scattered across the bed—did Amanda begin to feel a sense of momentary relief.

Chapter 5

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Head unusually clear, as if someone had scooped out all of the troubled thoughts and feelings from her psyche, Amanda woke up to the familiar blare of her alarm. Rolling over, she silenced her phone and sat up in bed. Aside from the peculiar dream, she felt refreshed, well rested, even. There was no initial haziness like there had been the previous mornings, and she felt ready to start the day with a vigor previously alien to her. Stretching her limbs, she jumped out of bed with her newfound get-up-and-go and dashed into the bathroom.

I did it! she thought with a spring in her step, unable to keep a smile from spreading across her face. I figured a way out. Like the old saying goes, where there’s a will there’s a—

But as soon as she flicked on the light switch in the bathroom, the words in her head faltered into deafening silence. Staring back at her in the bathroom mirror was her own blood-soaked reflection. Her normally alabaster skin was completely eclipsed in a thick layer of sticky maroon, long strands of hair clumped together over her brow in a mixture of stale blood and dirt. That’s when she noticed the odd taste in her mouth—a sticky sweet coating with a hint of metallic undertones. Trembling all over, Amanda forced herself to spread her lips and open her mouth wide. Using the mirror, she inspected the inside of her mouth and was shocked at what she saw.

Stuck between her teeth, in stringy chunks, were bits and pieces of pink flesh.

“Wha… what is going on?” Amanda said out loud, her voice sounding like it was broadcasting from a million miles away. As the realization caused the physical world around her to swoon, she plunked down on the edge of the bathtub. “It’s true… I’m a monster… I… I…”

I feel…great. With a brazen recklessness, Amanda’s mind finished what her mouth could not. Unable to remember the last time she woke up and felt this good, she was torn in two by the polarizing feelings of immense guilt and unknown strength. 

Head resting in her hands, she lifted her eyes and saw that the rest of her body was just as filthy as her face. Dark stains of spilled blood, mixed with the dark soil of the forest, clung to her fair skin in flaky patches. Needing to feel clean, Amanda stripped off her soiled nighty and took a long, hot shower. While cleansing her skin, she marveled at the lingering taste that sat delicately on her taste buds. Like the steady drip from an I.V. bag, she could feel blood leaking down the back of her throat at regular intervals. 

Once clean, Amanda wrapped a fresh towel around her body and retrieved her phone from the bedroom. After calling her supervisor to inform him that she was sick and would not be coming into work, Amanda turned on the television to the local news. And, just as she had suspected, there was only one story being talked about that morning.

LOCAL BOY MISSING, the bold headline on the screen read. Above the thin banner of words, a reporter stood in front of a home roped off by yellow police tape. Turning to her left, the young reporter held her microphone out to a distraught man wearing a bleach-stained bathrobe and striped boxer shorts. Face sagging with despair, the man went on to tell the camera that some crazed lunatic had broken into his son’s room in the middle of the night and abducted him. Though the man would not go into any detail about the events, his tortured eyes and heavy frown said everything that his words could not. He went on to ask the public for help bringing his son home safely.

Pulling herself away from the television, she wandered back down the hallway to her bedroom to get dressed. Once ready, Amanda sat on her bed and listened to the news broadcast until the focus switched to the other stories of the day. As far as she could gather, the police had no suspects and no leads on who had abducted the young boy. Even more promising, they had not made any connections between the boy’s disappearance and the animal shelter fire.

“I have to turn myself in,” she said to the empty walls of the room with a glum tone in her voice, knowing that she had to have had something to do with it. But, to her own surprise, those words of self-admitted guilt held no weight. Part of her did feel some remorse for what she had done but not as much as she probably should have felt. A strange flow of intense energy muddled those thoughts, making them feel small and petty by comparison. Amanda was instead focused on how amazing she felt. All the fatigue, mental and physical, had been wiped away, like the dried blood and dirt that were smeared on her body only minutes ago.

I don’t understand it. I took more pills than I was supposed to. Why don’t I feel groggy and bogged down like I usually do?

Suddenly, she could not recall if in fact she had taken any medication at all. Rushing back into the bathroom, she dumped out the contents of the pill bottle onto the counter and began to count. Though the memory was vague, her mind remembered taking four pills the night before, but when she counted them out, there were five more than there should have been. This meant that Amanda not only didn’t take the four pills the night before but also had not taken any at all. This false memory only added to the building confusion.

If I didn’t take any pills last night…then why do I feel like I got the best sleep of my life?

Needing to clear her head, Amanda decided to leave the house and go for a drive. To her surprise, the morning was unusually warm and sunny. Like in her dream two nights prior, the glorious sun shined in the cloudless, bright blue sky up above. Driving aimlessly through her quiet neighborhood, Amanda rolled all of the windows down so she could feel the wind blow through her hair. Having the same cleansing effect as the hot shower that morning, the breeze seemed to peel away the feeling of nervous panic as she drove. Suddenly, faint sounds began to slither in between the soft rustle of the wind. Rough hissing and barks gradually got louder as she drove on. Confused, Amanda took a moment to look out the side windows for the source of the strange sounds. As she did, an object darted out of her peripherals and stepped into the middle of the street. Eyes darting back to the road, Amanda gasped as she slammed on the brakes and skidded to a stop.

There, standing motionless about a foot or two in front of her car and staring right at her through the windshield, was a young boy covered in a thin layer of dried blood.

Heart racing, Amanda’s hands reflexively went to her face in terror. As her fingertips touched her skin, she noticed that her cheeks were unusually sticky. Pulling down the mirror on the driver’s side visor above the steering wheel, Amanda looked at her own reflection and screamed.

From her forehead down to her chin, she was covered in a fresh coat of glistening blood. Mind spinning, she then saw that her fingernails were again filthy with dirt. She could feel her heart pounding out of her chest, pulsing throughout her body to her fingertips and toes.

That is when she heard someone whispering. Concentrating on the voice, she heard her name. “Amanda,” she heard it again, but there was no one in the car with her. Flipping the mirror back up so she didn’t have to see herself in this befuddled state, something caught her right eye. When she looked over at the once empty passenger seat, she saw Dr. McDougal sitting next to her.

Slowly, like soiled water sliding down a deep dark drain, Amanda slipped into unconsciousness.

Chapter 6

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“Amanda? Can you hear me?”

Amanda heard the familiar voice before her eyes were able to open. When they finally did, she saw the friendly face of Dr. McDougal sitting at her bedside. Before she could attempt to speak, the doctor reached out and took her frail hand into his. “You’ve been asleep for a long time, dear. I’m glad to see that you finally woke up.”

Mouth impossibly dry, Amanda could only speak in broken fragments. “The shelter… I…burnt it down…little boy…covered in blood… I did it…”

Sympathetically, Dr. McDougal patted Amanda’s hand and said, “No, dear. You’ve been in this bed. You passed out shortly after leaving my office and have been asleep since then.” Picking up the nearly full prescription bottle at her bedside, he read the list of possible side effects from the label.

The one that immediately caught his eye was hallucinations.

Placing the bottle in his pocket, Dr. McDougal let out a heavy sigh and turned back to Amanda.

“As of now, I’m suspending your prescription. No more pills, no more nightmares. We are going to get you healthy again in no time.”

Conscious clear and mind finally well rested, Amanda said nothing as she slowly leaned back in bed. For the first time in a long while, she felt herself smile as the sunlight from the open window warmed her pale skin.

***

FIRST LOOK @ THE SILENT CELLS

TERROR IS HERE...

Resources are running low.

People are desperate.

Crime is on the rise.

But Dolores is innocent.

Here's your special SNEAK PEEK from the psychological horror, The Silent Cells!

“Please, this is a mistake!” Dolores yelled in shrill tones to a guard as he grabbed her arm and forced her toward the platform. Her nerves had finally snapped, loosening her words as they screeched, “I’m not supposed to be here—I’m innocent! You have to let me go!” But the guard said nothing in regard to her incessant begging, only violently spinning her around so she would stumble backward into the machine. Recognizing her weight and mass as she tottered on her feet, the D-mod turned on and began the process. Shell pieces sliding slowly back into place, Dolores glanced at the wall of onlookers one last time and screamed, “This isn’t right! You can’t do this to people! It’s not fair!”

The eyes of her young court-appointed lawyer—already so dull and void of empathetic understanding—beamed at her from the small crowd safe behind the glass. His cold stare combined with the detached gaze of all the other court-appointed lawyers who sat by his side told Dolores that it didn’t matter if the justice system was corrupt. The only thing that ever really mattered was that their citizens stay ignorant of the system while simultaneously fearing it. They should believe in an illusion of constitutional freedom, blind to the harsh reality that awaited the persecuted moral defector. The system allowed people a little bit of liberty with a serious dose of unrecognized oppression. Therefore, that’s all people should ever want or need.

Just then, Dolores realized that her father had always been right. The powers that be want you to remain quiet, docile, and—most importantly—subservient. Don’t ever bite the hand that feeds you.

If you knew what was good for you, you should’ve played ball like everyone else, the young lawyer’s eyes said mockingly to Dolores through the glass. His dark pupils and hungry mouth captured all of the hate and mistrust that everyone around the country felt. There was no reason to care for your neighbor anymore—self-preservation consumed everything. The shadowed faces of the careless lawyers sitting behind the false wall was a testament to this fact.

And as the D-mod doors finally latched shut, Dolores felt cool tendrils of moist gas begin to leak from the metallic interior of the shell. Holding her breath against the invading toxin, she tried to avoid the foreign chemical agent but eventually caved to her body’s need for oxygen. The next labored breath she took was substantial, filling her lungs deep with a velvety mist. Coughing and gagging, she attempted to thrash against the smooth walls but only felt a tough, rubbery resistance. It didn’t take long for whatever was in the gas that filled the pod to take effect. Soon covered in invisible quicksand, Dolores attempted to physically fight against the sensation of unseen elastic bands dragging and pulling in and around her body but knew it was too late now.

Gradually sliding down into the dark depths of unconsciousness, a single thought echoed in fragmented whispers throughout the bottomless chasm of Dolores’ mind. I’m … I’m not really here … this is all … all just a bad dream … just a bad dream … a bad dream … bad dream …

But even as the physical world peeled away to reveal the depthless black void of unconsciousness underneath, a bigger part of Dolores knew that the real nightmare was only just beginning.

Hoping for more horror? Start reading to find out what happens to Dolores as she fights for her life in The Silent Cells!

A NOTE FROM GAYLE

Thank you for reading my scary short story!

I hope it frightened you and that you loved it! If so, please take a few minutes to write a review. Here's how to do it. Click here and sign in to Amazon, if needed. Then, select a star rating and leave a few words (or many words, that's up to you), and hit the submit button.

Your review helps other readers to find a book they'll love. If you leave a review, I'd love to read it. Email me a copy of the review or a link to it at gayle@gaylekatz.com.

Again, thank you so much for reading!

ABOUT GAYLE KATZ

Gayle is a fan of zombies, sci-fi fantasy, and psychological horror—though not necessarily in that order.

She writes the kinds of books she wants to read but often can't find. Hoping to scare you, make you swoon, and root for her characters, her love of kick-butt heroines and sassy snark shines through in her work.

Born and raised outside of Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, Gayle discovered her passion for horror when her husband introduced her to zombie video games in 2009. She writes about terrifying things because it scares the bejesus out of her and she likes it!

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MORE STORIES FOR YOU TO DISCOVER!

THE SILENT CELLS: A Psychological Horror - Resources are running low. People are desperate. Crime is on the rise. But Dolores is innocent.

ZOMBIE SLAYER: A Young Adult Zombie Horror - A fast-paced, horror suspense series packed with zombie hordes, sassy slayers, and a touch of the supernatural.

JANE ZOMBIE CHRONICLES: A Post-Apocalyptic Horror - A first-hand account: desperate to overcome my insecurities and fit in, I fight for my life and the lives of my fellow survivors in a zombie apocalypse threatening to annihilate all of humanity.

TEARS OF VENUS: A Sci-Fi Adventure Trilogy - A government secret threatens all life on Earth. Can one scientist get off the ground to save humanity and herself before doomsday?

SORCERESS: SHADOW OF THE SONGBIRD: A Magic Fantasy Adventure - A young sorceress finds herself caught between two magical sects. Can she bring the rivalry to a close in time to prevent war?

Want more stories? Go ahead and check out everything Gayle's written!