Boneyard
Stories From the Dead
by
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I hear a noise. A
rumbling. I sit up and lean back on my claws. They feel like heavy rocks at the
end of my arms. The blood on the one has congealed. It snaps open with an eerie
clack!
Somehow I am on my feet. I hobble up to
the rails and look down them to the east. There is a train coming. If it is too
fast I will not make it, but I am willing to try it. It might be my last bit of
good fortune. Then again, my fortune may have indeed run out. I wait.
The horn is deafening and the lights are blinding, and I have no idea if
the driver is seeing me and what exactly he is seeing if he does, but my
timing must be good. I take a deep breath and kick the rails in front of me
with my numb right foot until it tingles enough for me to move my toes. They
feel thick and hard inside my stolen sneakers.
When the engine has passed me I begin to
run. Fortune has handed me one more face card. It is slow enough for me to be
able to have a shot at grabbing something, if anything that is protruding from
its side. I lurch and hobble as fast as I can on my bad foot, grimacing and
grinning like a haunted pumpkin.
The cars float past me like ghosts at
sea. Gigantic white rusted letters painted on the cars’ side seem to mock me with their words. I am moaning,
I can feel the vibration in my chest, but I cannot hear my own voice. My foot
has become numb again and the impact with each step sends pain like shards of
broken glass up my leg and into my hip and ribs. I look desperately for an
opening in the train, for a foothold or handhold, an outstretched arm,
something. Anything.
The next car is a cargo container. A huge
bay door in its centre is open about ten feet. Something from a horror comic is
leaning out. Its hair is long and white, and flying in the breeze like a torn
flag. Its arm is long and thin and twig-like, and is stretched out towards me.
The creature’s face comes to a stunted snout in its
centre. The nostrils there are big and looming. Huge teeth bare proudly from
the open mouth beneath. It is yelling and I can barely hear it.
“COME
ON, COME ON!”
I am screaming now. I am taking great gulps of air and
scrambling on my numb foot, reaching out like a drowning man at a passing boat,
my chest feels like it is going to explode and my arm is not long enough, I am
not fast enough, I have run out of fortune-
The hand that grips my wrist is like
steel. I am hauled off my feet and pulled like a sack of oats into the car. I
am too worn to fight. The door closes with a steel shriek and I am enveloped in
darkness, awaiting the end. I will wake up back in the hospital, not knowing
how I got there with my hands missing…
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About the Book
Sometimes, late at night, in the dark, you can hear whispering.
It is the dead telling stories...
…A young worker takes a summer job at a farm and gets more than he bargained for. There’s something alive in the field…
…A hotshot thief pulls off what he thinks is his last job, and discovers that he has been had by everyone, including himself…
…The scientists have inadvertently created a strange atmospheric effect that inhabits the clouds. And the fogs that roll in at night…
…A society has turned on one another in an attempt to filter out those who do not belong. But after the invasion it’s getting harder to tell…
…A woman takes a trip into the desert to locate a man she has not seen for years and is plunged into a hellish nightmare ride. He has changed…
…A young vampire takes matters into his own hands when he goes out for a midnight snack and finds himself in the middle of a ghoulish game of blood, death, and terror…
From the mind of Mike Domonchuk comes a collection of blood-chilling tales that question the very fabric of reality. They are the whisperings of the dead.
About the Author
Mike Domonchuk is the author of two full-length novels, four novellas, and over twenty short stories. He is also the author and co-artist of two independently published comic books, "Evil Ways," and "Sickman." He has published several articles for websites online. His story "Crazy Willis and the Pontiac" was first published in Ascent Aspirations Magazine in 2006. His recent short story "The Bears My Dear" appeared in the spring 2011 edition of Algoma University's Algoma Ink. Boneyard is his first story collection. Mike lives in Northern Ontario.