Twisted Endings: 5 Disturbing Stories Read Online Free Page B

stared into his eyes. “I know what you are. I should look familiar to you. I was home alone one day when a new mailman stopped by. Said he had a special delivery.”
    Mark couldn't breathe. David. David Monroe. I remember now.
    “I vowed that one day I would find you. I tracked you down after ten years. Watching as you moved from one post office to another. After all these years, you still like boys.”
    Mark sensed the sweat pouring down the side of his face. “David, I never meant to hurt you. I swear.”
    “Shut up, you dirty old man!”
    “I should go.”
    “You're not going anywhere,” David said.
    “All of the doors are locked,” Johnson reminded him.
    Mark tried to stand, but found he couldn't move.
    "I think you've had too much coffee,” David said, laughing.
    "Or maybe there were just too many drugs in his coffee,” Johnson added as he joined in the laughter.
    Mark looked down at the red napkin in his hand. David never brought Johnson a napkin. It was marked. The mug was marked. He felt moisture around his arms and looked at them to see tiny, bright drops of blood dripping to the floor.
    “Since you mentioned it, it is pretty cold in here,” Johnson said. He reached beneath his desk and pulled out two fur jackets. He handed one to David and put one on himself. “Joseph's formula had a few problems I had to correct. This particular one is my favorite. It will only work in extremely cold temperatures.” He shivered and zipped his jacket. “Helps keep the whole event private.”
    “Johnson,” Mark pleaded, “bitter water. I understand. I'll never do it again. Just give me the antidote.”
    “It's not my call. It's David's and he's not as compassionate as me.”
    “That’s what you were making, right?” Mark asked David. “The antidote? It should be ready now. Please, David. I know it is. Get it.”
    David knelt before Mark. “The pain becomes so intense that you can't move, can't scream, can't breathe. All you can do is pray that death comes quickly. But it won't.”
    “David, would you do the honors?” Johnson asked. He pulled a jar out from under the desk.
    “Wait a minute” Mark said, struggling to point at David. He couldn’t breathe. “You can’t do this. This man is crazy. Don’t listen to him.”
    “I’m not crazy,” Johnson said. “I’m just here to clean up the neighborhood.”
    “You’re...you’re Joseph Walker?”
    Johnson and David laughed.
    “Joseph Walker? He’s been dead for a long time.” Johnson walked over to Mark and whispered in his ear, “But just between you and me, you can call me Petey.”
     

Neighborhood Watch
     
    WE HAD three robberies on First Street last month. Two on McFarland. Old man Jeeters almost got himself shot while trying to protect his family at one of 'em. The cops had been unreliable. That's when we decided to take matters into our own hands and formed a neighborhood watch.
    Home base was set up in my house. I didn't mind it It gave me the opportunity to exercise some power in controlling these ridiculous times.
    “What exactly are those, Rob?” asked old man Jeeters at our last meeting.
    “What do they look like?” I glanced around the circle of my peers, sitting in small plastic chairs like kindergartners — men in their twenties and thirties — maybe a dozen of 'em in all. Most of the guys chuckled but I stood up and snapped my fingers. That shut 'em up.
    “They’re upgrades, Jeeters.” I picked one up and admired it. “Automatics.”
    “Rob,” Jeeters started, “the police won't like this. It’s only going to make things worse.”
    “Jeeters, my man, the police are worthless pigs. What have they ever done for you?”
    He fidgeted in his chair. “We're not vigilantes. All we can do is go to work every day and hope to come home to safety.”
    I searched the rough faces in the room. “Anyone else feel the same way?”
    “Heck no!” Mark Richie shouted. “We're sick of living in fear. I say it's time for some