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THE DEMON WITHIN One day, you throw a big party for your best friend from grade school, as they return home from a vacation
in the tropical rain forest. Later they complain of headaches so you suggest to them that they go see a doctor and get it
checked out. The doctor listens to their complaints of dizziness. But the doctor isn't alarmed and tells them to take it easy,
and to contact them again if any new symptoms begin. Later, the friend goes back to the doctor, this time complaining of severe
headaches. The doctor prescribes pills that will ease their pain and mask the ravages of what is going on inside their head.
A few days later, your best friend is rushed to the emergency room. They are bleeding from the eyes and ears. The doctors
take a full medical history and run a complete series of tests to find the problem of the illness. The doctors are puzzled
when all the routine tests turn up nothing suspicious. The doctor administers stronger medications that have little effect
on your best friends constant suffering. When your friend returns to the emergency room, yet again, you go with them after
they plead for you to do so. Then, the doctors finally do a brain scan with an enhanced computer imaging system. That is when
they discover the faint, swollen track through your friend's brain, In the x ray. And after much discussing the source they
determined that it is from an insect. You go home exhausted but determined to learn more about the insect that is causing
your best friend's agony. And after some studding you find There is one species unlike any other. You are aware that in its
larval stage it is a parasite with disgusting capabilities. It has been known to seek out the warmth of the ear's recess unsuspectingly,
as the host sleeps. In blind insect fashion it gropes ever deeper, tunneling through the brain, seeking exit through the opposite
ear, because it can't turn around while inside. It feeds on the brain's soft tissues and fluids. The female of the species
lays its eggs in the wall of the tunnel she creates. And when the hatchlings emerge they mimic the parent: tunneling, feeding,
reproducing. There is no cure for this parasite-only death of the host. Doctors don't know anything about this insect's effect
on a human being, because the few known victims were mercifully killed and their bodies destroyed before the worst damage
from the infestation occurred. You suspect it must be a horrible way to die. Then, you receive an urgent phone call from the
hospital, requesting for you to return right way. You arrive just in time to help restrain your friend as they begin to convulse.
A week later you are there when the doctors tell him about what happened. How a maggot-like worm crawled in your friend's
ear while they were sleeping, and laid their eggs inside their brain. The doctors make sure that your friend understands the
implication of what you are saying. They prescribe a sedative when your friend begins to scream. As the days pass you try
to comfort your fried of so many years, knowing that the worse is yet to come. On the day that they lapse into a coma, you
tell your friend's mate to make preparations. You say your last goodbyes to your best friend the day that they die. You were
right about it being a terrible way to die. The death is attributed to "parasite infestation of foreign origin." You help
the family make your friend's funeral preparations. You attend their funeral. You have recommended a closed casket for the
service. Family and friends take turns sharing their fondest memories of their beloved. You begin to shed tears. You support
your friend's widow as the two of you approach the casket. You could swear you heard a sound issuing from the casket. You
startle when you hear the sound again. You think it sounds like something scratching from within. You wonder if it isn't just
your conscious. You go back to the funeral room and stand perfectly still, waiting and listening. Then, you hear stirring
from the front of the funeral parlor. You stop whatever your doing when the loud thumping begins. You try to see what the
other gasping mourners are whispering about. You glimpse the coffin bouncing on its gurney. You watch it rise and fall again,
and then again. You wonder what the hell is going on. Suddenly, you hear the sound of splintering wood. You see the other
mourners stumbling over one another, fleeing. You hear their screams as something thrusts itself through the coffin lid. You
can't believe your eyes. You think you see the reticulated joints of an insect's leg. You know there is no insect leg the
size of a man's. You stand mortified as they plant themselves against the wood and flex upward. You Stare fascination, as
you see the lid explode up off the coffin. You feel detached from your body, as though in a nightmare that you can't wake
up from. You stare at something huge and ghastly crawl from the inside. You note how it shucks off the skin of your best friend's
desiccated corpse. You see it flap its wings, then jump toward you. You note its stinger dripping venom onto the carpet below
and watch the fabric burn and melt away. You hear two sets of mandibles clack asynchronously. You see six multi-jointed legs
clutch in your direction. You sense a wind from rapidly beating wings. You see your face reflected in four huge obsidian eyes.
You know the eyes reflect the look of horror that is on your face but also malevolence. With speed quicker then the eye, the
creature swoops down upon you. Then you realize that there are some abominations so horrible that they cannot be named. As
you suddenly feel a quick painful jab in the back of your skull. You realize in stock horror that the creature has forced
its mandible deep into your brain, as you fall into darkness. When you come to, you find yourself alone, laying on the funeral
home floor. You try to get up but your body is completely numb making it useless to put forth the effort. Then you remember
the nightmare that has come true for you. You have become the host for a new creature. Madness takes over your mind in the
same moment as your chest rips open, giving way to a new insect species. That has transformed from the DNA of its predecessor.
Even worse its even more powerful then its parent. FOOTSTEPS Screams Of Ghastly Horror Lexis hesitated before stepping out
into the dark yard of the old house. The black skeletons of bare-limed trees loomed against the charcoal sky. A cold November
wind blew dead leaves in circles at her feet. Lexis found an old-fashioned wicker bench and sat down, facing her new home.
Everything fell silent, eerily quiet. Her family had moved into the house that day. It was a large, rambling Victorian, set
on a hill several miles away from the town she had been living in. Lexis's friends had told her strange stories about the
house. It had sat vacant for years before her parents had bought it one day on an impulse. The old wicker bench creaked as
Lexis turned around to look behind her. Nothing was there. She knew she should go inside to bed. But something was holding
her back from facing the bedroom where her furniture and belongings had been put. Her mother had insisted that the room was
charming. But Lexis had felt uneasy in it. A heaviness had hung in the air, a strange gloom that was suffocating. "Lexis,"
her father called from the doorway. Are you out there?" Lexis got up from the bench and walked toward the door. Her parents
didn't understand how she felt. They didn't know the dread the house stirred in her. "Time for bed," her father said when
she walked into the hallway. "I hope we don't keep you awake. There's lots of unpacking we have to do yet tonight." "Good
night, Lexis," her mother said absentmindedly as she worked over a packing crate. "Sleep tight." Lexis started up the wide
staircase to the second floor. She wished she didn't have to go up by herself. But her parents had gone back to their work,
of unpacking, forgetting about her. Lexis walked into the large bedroom with its three windows and high ceilings. Her old
furniture seemed lost in the room; she felt lost, too. She quickly put on her nightgown and then went out into the hall to
the bathroom. On her way back she passed the door that went up to the third floor attic. It was slightly ajar. The sight made
her heart pound faster. She had just passed it a few minutes ago. She was sure it hadn't been open then. With trembling hands
Lexis grasped the old doorknob and pushed it tightly shut. Then she hurried into her room and closed the door behind her.
She tossed and turned for almost an hour. Finally her parents came up the staircase to go to bed. They peeked in the room
to check on her, but Lexis pretended to be asleep. She couldn't tell them she was frightened. She didn't want to admit it
to herself. The house became even more silent. She lay in the bed staring out her windows at the moonlit branches. Still,
sleep would not come. Suddenly a sound made her nerves jump. It was a dull, scraping noise over her head. Lexis looked up
toward the ceiling. She saw nothing but the murky shadows of night. It came again . . . a sound of rough scuffing across the
wood floor of the attic above. Lexis shrank back into her covers. She tried to think of all the things it might be. A squirrel
inside the house, searching for shelter. Something being blown by the breeze through a window left accidentally open. Then
there was another sound. A more steady and deliberate sound. The sound of footsteps. Lexis closed her eyes and shook her head
to clear it. She opened her eyes again. It wasn't a dream. She was wide-awake. And the sound was still there. The footsteps
echoed down through the ceiling and filled the room. Lexis felt fear creep into her body and paralyze her. She lay in bed
wondering if she was going mad. But the footsteps were too real. They had crossed to one side of the ceiling now. Lexis suddenly
heard a difference in them. The footsteps were moving down, down the stairway from the attic. She screamed out with all the
terror trapped in her body. Her parents stayed with Lexis until she finally fell into an exhausted sleep. They assured her
it was a nightmare caused by anxiety about moving into the new house. Lexis didn't believe them. She knew she had heard the
footsteps. The next day there was no school. Lexis went through the motions of helping her parents settle into the house.
In late afternoon her father asked her to go up into the attic with him. Lexis followed him up the stairs, a lump growing
in her throat. The attic was still crowded with the belongings of the elderly couple who had lived and died in the house.
Boxes and old trunks were piled under layers of dust. Broken furniture huddled in the eaves. Lexis had seen the attic before,
but she had never walked around in it. Her father pulled away a large trunk that blocked one of the small windows at the end
of the room. When he was finished, Lexis walked over to look out at the view. She stumbled over something on the floor. Looking
down, she saw that it was a pair of men's shoes, worn and dirty. The brown leather was cracked and torn in several places.
The shoes had taken on the shape of the feet that had once worn them. Lexis shrank back from them. Then she ran past her father,
down the stairs from the attic, and into her room. She fell onto her bed and buried her head in the pillow. Her father came
in to ask what was the matter. Lexis couldn't tell him how she'd felt when she'd seen the shoes. He would think she was mad.
That night her parents tucked Lexis into bed and kissed her good night. She pretended to be calm and unafraid. But when they
shut the door, strange thoughts flooded into her mind. They tortured her until she finally fell asleep on her tear soaked
pillow. She awoke with a start, confused for a minute about where she was. She remembered . . . her new room, the new house.
Then she heard the sound that had awakened her, the sound of footsteps. They were moving across the ceiling above her. The
footfalls were heavy and deliberate. The steps reached the head of the attic staircase. Lexis opened her mouth to scream,
but nothing came out. She lay still, listening with absolute horror as the footsteps moved down, one at a time, toward her.
Now she heard them in the hallway outside. This time her scream echoed through the house. Her parents still didn't believe
her. They calmed her with assurances that it was all a nightmare. They promised to take her to a doctor as soon as they could
get an appointment. Lexis finally fell asleep, clutching her father's hand. Again, the next day, her father forced her to
go with him up to the attic. He tried to convince her that no ghosts or strange spirits could be there. He held her arm as
she climbed the stairs with him. When they reached the top, Lexis walked toward the window. Her eyes settled on the spot where
she had seen the pair of shoes the day before. They were gone. "Where are they?" she asked her father. He looked at her in
confusion. Lexis drew back, toward the stairs. Her feet stumbled over something. Looking down, she saw the pair of shoes.
They were sitting nearer the staircase. Her father promised she wouldn't have to go back up to the attic again. He would take
her to see a doctor soon, a doctor who knew how to help her. Lexis nodded at everything he said. But she knew the footsteps
would come to find her again. Her parents took turns sitting with her that night. Her father was still there by her bedside
when she fell asleep. When she awoke, she felt like a swimmer struggling up out of a sea of nightmares that were drowning
her. She gasped for air and opened her eyes. The chair beside her bed was empty. She was all alone. And the footsteps had
already reached the stairs. They moved with an eerie, steady pace, always coming toward her, always growing louder. Lexis
heard them stop at the bottom of the staircase. She held her breath for so long that she grew dizzy. Then the footsteps started
down the hallway toward her room. She'd known they would. There was no moon that night. The room was draped in a darkness
so black that Lexis could not see the windows or the door. She could only wait for the sound of one footfall after another,
coming closer and closer. The door did not make a sound. But suddenly Lexis knew the footsteps were in her room. They fell,
heavy and determined, against the bare floorboards. Fear choked back the scream welling up inside her. Now the footsteps were
at the end of the bed. In only a few minutes they would be. . . . Lexis's scream echoed in her mind like a nightmare. Before
it ended, both her father and mother were in the room. Her mother tried to flick on the bedroom light, but for some reason
it did not come on. They ran to her. But already the footsteps had stopped. Lexis stared wildly in the darkness, as spiders
of ghastly horror crawled up her body. Her parents rushed to her bedside. All together they stared at a pair of brown, worn
shoes. That were worn by a man's corpse, that had a rope around his neck and was hanging from the ceiling. The only sound
was the creaking of the rope as the bedroom corpse swayed back and forth. The hanging corpse had a wicked smile on his cold,
dead face. CREEPING DEAD This story was influenced by the Metallica song Creeping Death which is on the Metallica album Ride
The Lightning. Also included on the same album is the Metallica song Fade To Black. Which is the song that inspired me to
write poetry, One morning, John found himself walking along a busy downtown street. He stared around at the shops and cars
in confusion, having no idea why he was there or where he was going. It seemed as though he had suddenly wakened from a dream
and found himself back in reality. Coming around a corner, John looked straight ahead at the brilliant morning sky. A deep
set blue with purple and pink clouds hovering in the distance. The sun was still low in the sky. The light almost blinded
him and sent a sharp pain through his head. He pressed his hand against his forehead and then drew it away, noticing the dark
red flakes on it. Strange, he thought, the flakes looked almost like dried blood. Feeling suddenly weak, John sat down on
the curb and tried to understand what was happening to him. A few seconds later, a car sped by, almost hitting him. John jerked
back and tried to jump to his feet. But his body was so sore that he had trouble just standing up. He brushed off the dust
from his clothes and noticed that he was wearing his best suit and a pair of highly polished shoes. But when he pulled up
his coat sleeve to check the time, he found that he wasn't wearing his watch. That was the strangest thing of all. He never
took his watch off, not even to sleep. Being on time was an obsession with him. Now, more than ever, he felt lost and confused.
What was he doing here in the middle of town? And what time was it? John began to wander aimlessly down the street. Ahead
of him on the sidewalk he recognized the woman who worked in his dentist's office. He walked up behind her and tapped her
shoulder. "Excuse me, Mr's Smith, could you tell me the time? I Don't seem to have my watch on." The woman whirled around
at the sound of his voice. Her eyes widened as she stared at his face. Then, with a piercing scream, she ran away down the
street. John stood frozen in place on the sidewalk, watching her flee. He asked himself why her face had contorted with fear
at the sight of him. Was there something horrifying about the way he looked? Passing his hand over his face, he felt a strange
bump on his forehead. And, once again, he saw the dark red flakes on his hand. John turned and walked toward the large glass
window of a store along the sidewalk. His reflection wavered in it, looking ghostly in the morning light. There seemed to
be a strange, dark bruise on his forehead, and his face looked as white as the stiffly starched shirt he wore. John walked
on in the direction of the street where he lived with his wife in a small, two bedroom house. They had never had children
because John had forbidden it. He was sure that children would upset his schedule and make him late. Being late was something
he could not tolerate. Now, for some reason that he didn't understand, John felt sure that he was going to be late for an
extremely important appointment. He knew his wife could tell him what it was, and she would have a warm breakfast waiting.
It was odd, though, he didn't feel in the least bit hungry. Just then, a school bus rumbled by, and John stared up into its
windows. Staring back at him was little Cindy, the little girl who lived next door. John saw her raise her hand and point
at him. Her mouth was open wide as though she were laughing, or screaming. A moment later, every child's face in the windows
was staring at him. John glared at the bus as it moved down the street. Obviously, he had been right not to have children
if they all acted that rudely. John found that his knees were growing weaker and weaker. He began to wish that someone he
knew would drive by so that he could wave them down and ask them for a ride. John slumped against the pole of a stoplight
near a street corner and stared up the road. In the distance he saw a car that he recognized. It belonged to his secretary,
Miss Spencer. John stood up straight and waved his arms. Luckily, the stoplight turned red just as the car approached. The
car slowed down to a stop at the light, but Miss Spencer was busy looking in the rearview mirror. As she put on her lipstick.
John walked out into the street and tried to open the door on the passenger's side. It was locked. He rapped his knuckles
on the window and peered in at Miss Spencer. She stared back at him with a look of horror on her face; then she gripped the
steering wheel and pressed down on the gas pedal. The car shot forward through the red light, throwing John onto the street.
Vowing to fire Miss Spencer the first chance he got, John picked himself up and limped back to the sidewalk. His head was
throbbing with pain now. He looked down at his trembling hands and saw that the skin was pale, pale as ivory, and so dry that
it was almost brittle. John staggered over to a storefront with a mirrored window and looked into it. There were dark circles
around his sunken eyes. His lips seemed drained of color and wouldn't move when he tried to smile. His skin seemed to reflect
the bluish color of the bruise on his forehead. A dark fear spread through John's body, followed by the strange sense of panic.
He was going to be late. And whatever appointment he had, he couldn't miss it. Behind him, John saw a telephone booth reflected
in the mirror. That was the answer. He could call his wife and have her come get him. She could check his calendar and find
out where it was that he had to be. John walked as quickly as his stiff legs would carry him to the telephone booth. He slipped
inside and shut the door behind him. For a moment, he was overcome by a wave of claustrophobia. The booth was so narrow; it
felt almost like a coffin. John fumbled in his pant pockets for a coin, but they were empty. Then he saw a shiny quarter left
behind by the last person using the phone. "What luck," he thought as he slipped it into the money slot and pushed the buttons
for his home phone number. The first ring of the phone sounded very, very far away. John found himself struggling to breathe.
The air seemed dead in the small telephone booth. The phone in his house rang a second time. His wife usually answered right
after the second ring. But, still, there was only silence, a stifling, lonely silence. John didn't think he could stay in
the narrow booth another second. His hands began to claw desperately at the handle of the door. Finally, he heard a clicking
sound on the other end of the telephone line. The receiver was being picked up. A strange man's voice said, "Hello." "Is .
. . is Mrs Qualls there?" John gasped. The man didn't answer for a moment. Then, in an anxious voice, he said, "Oh no, Mrs.
Qualls just left for the graveyard. Haven't you heard? Her husband died two days ago in a car accident downtown." John didn't
hear any more of what the man said. The phone slipped out of his white bony hands and dangled from its cord. Then John pushed
open the door of the telephone booth and lunged out. He would have to hurry. But he could still get to the graveyard on time.
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