The Backroom and Other Short Horror Stories

Plant

It was late in the night, your breath raggedy and shallow from the midsummer air. You stand beside a public bench in front of a road, a bus stop sign standing next to you. Nothing but the hum of the street lamps rang in your ears, and nothing but the outline of small houses and fences covered your view. Few stars glittered the sky, a waning moon in the middle of all of them. You feel calm, yet terrified. You had to stay over at work to get a little bit of extra money, but you were starting to regret it. After all, night was the perfect time for someone to strike.

Thankfully, the bus stopped in front of you, puffing and huffing. It slowly opened its doors, inviting you inside with a welcoming feeling. You step inside and insert a dollar bill into the machine, next to the driver: a heavy man that looked like he didn't want to be there. Quickly, you walked deeper into the bus.

The bus was completely empty; you were the only one on. You sit in the middle of the bus, on one of the soft, grey seats. You started to stare out the window once the bus took off, eventually taking your bag off and sitting it down on the seat next to you. 

That's when you see it: a plant sitting in a seat across from you. It had round, green leaves that almost reached the top of the seat. It was planted in an brown-orange container, a white label slapped on it. You tried reading the label at different angles to see what plant it is, but the label appeared blurry whichever way you looked at it. You lean back into your seat, imagining the plant belongs to the bus driver, who was going to take it to his home soon.

Your eyes leisurely close as you rest your head against the window. But they immediately shoot back open when you hear the bus stop and someone walk on. A man, dressed in all black with a devil mask on his face, waltzed on. He flashed a bus rider membership card, in which the driver scanned it with a small machine and let the man pass. Without hesitation, the man sits in the seat right behind you. You're a little paranoid at first, but force yourself to shake it off and close your eyes again.

But you feel something run through your hair, and you jump and frantically look around.

"Sorry, lad," laughed the man sitting behind you. His voice wouldn't of been audible, if it weren't for the deep, discerning tone of his. "You have such bountiful hair. I couldn't resist touching it. You don't mind, do you?" The eyes on his devil mask stared through your soul. Instantly, your paranoia got the best of you. In a hurry, you told the man "no" and moved a couple seats forward. 

Gripping your bag, you prayed for the stranger to leave you alone for the rest of your life. He seemed to, for he didn't move another inch. That was, until he was sitting right behind you again, after you passed underneath the dark undercover of a bridge.

This time, he rubbed his hand all over your arm, sending shocks throughout your body because his hand was colder than ice. You jumped again, sending yourself into a defensive position this time.

Again, he laughed, "Sorry, lad. You have such smooth arms. I couldn't resist touching one of them. You don't mind, do you?" The fact he repeated the same sentences he said before frightened you. In a stern tone, you told the man to back off, and sat in a seat in front of the plant. You figure he wouldn't sit behind you if an object was in the way.

The man sat in the same seat, keeping his eyes ahead of him. He didn't move a muscle, nor say a word. Just sat as still as a statue. The bus passed through many dark passages, but he remained in his seat. After a while, you get the sense that he finally gave up, and you rest your eyes and press your head against the window.

A sharp pain woke you up. Groaning, you guess the man was at his shenanigans again, but horror and nausea flooded your body as well.

Your right hand was missing. Only a bloody mess and your arm bone were sticking out. You scream, both in fear and in pain. You grow lightheaded, but fear keeps you awake. The man. The man was gone, no where to be seen. And so was your hand.

"Sorry, lad," spoke the man, who was suddenly standing right beside you, holding your decapitated hand. "You have such tasty looking hands. I couldn't resist chopping one off. You don't mind if I eat one, do you?" Before you could say anything, he bites one of your fingers off and chews and swallows the whole thing as if it was a piece of a burger.

You throw up all over the seat in front of you, the pain in your arm and stomach killing you. You ask the man "why" a thousand times, but he continues eating your hand as if it was normal. You scream at the bus driver to do something - call the police, attack the man - anything. But the driver continues to mind his own business and drive. You grow more lightheaded, fatigue plaguing your mind.

You have to get out of there. You know that well. You stand up, pushed the man out of the way and run toward the bus doors. You were going to break through them, or force the driver to let you out. You don't care. You just want out.

But the man trips you as soon as you stand up. He finishes eating the last of your hand before dragging you to the floor. You scream and kick and punch, but nothing affects the man. He seems to have a body made of steel. 

A dagger. He pulls a long, bloody dagger out of his back pocket and aims it at your ear. 

"Your ears," he whispers, "look scrumptious, lad."

As he takes his sweet time cutting your ears off, the only thing you see is the plant sitting above you, its leaves dripping with your blood.