Short Horror Stories

Coffins for robots

Author's note: This story is part of a book I'm currently writing, called: 'Book of the Apocalypse'. It takes place in a zombie apocalypse and I thought that you should know in order to understand the situation a little better:)

Quietly I let my electric motorcycle come to a halt, leaving me and the world around me alone with the light of the moon and the stars.

I really need a place to stay the night, even though sleep is hard to find and even feared in times like these. Still it's nice to have a place to rest.

I park my bike, locking it is unnecessary, there might just be me left after all.

Me in the whole wide world.

Me and the monsters.

Me on my own.

Well no time to be sulking about it, I will be fine on my own... probably.

I look at the dark building before me, once this would probably have been a proud church. People must have gone here in search of sanctuary and now it is my turn.

The place looks abandoned, even though most of the windows seem to be intact.

Well, lucky me.

No sleeping with the whispering wind that takes away my warmth tonight.

I decide to quit standing around doing nothing and make my way towards the giant doors.

One of them is slightly ajar.

I glance inside...

No movement.

It looks empty.

But somehow it freaks me out.

I don't like this place, something about it just feels worse than wrong.

I sigh and try to get myself to toughen-up again: Come on Sara, now is not the time. You've slept in places far worse than this.

Against the screaming feeling in my gut, my tired head takes control and I walk inside the cold building.

It's freezing in here, it must have been a while since it had felt a warm body walk inside.

I wrap my arms around me in order to keep myself warm.

Accidently I startle myself by almost tripping over an old stone, making it echo and letting me know by sound just how big and empty the place really is.

It reminds me a bit of the place I slept in a couple of nights ago even though completely different it gave off the same hollow vibe.

It was a small cabin in which a murder had taken place, yeah the body like the smell was long gone, but the markings and stains still remained.

And the feeling.

The feeling of the terror the victim felt.

The feeling of the twisted villain that had committed it for its own filthy reasons.

God, the feeling I get from these places never seems to leave.

It's almost as if they're following me around everywhere I go, as untold stories lingering besides me, waiting for a moment to strike me at my lowest.