Nightmare Fuel: The Ultimate Collection of Short Horror Tales by Wesley Thomas

blinding light began to dim. The sense of touch faded. The rancid smell vanished. As Rachel slumped onto her back, her consciousness drifted into nothingness.
     
    ***
    A moderately comfy bed. Thin sheet. Vile stench. These were the first thoughts as Rachel roused to consciousness. A bare room with minimal light, toilet, and desk. A noise tuned in. Banter. Chitter chatter seemed to appear from nowhere. Low pitched grumbles and clashing of metal. This made no sense. Until Rachel looked to the fourth wall of her current confinement. Metal bars. Prison. But this was even more senseless. Rachel was the innocent victim, not the looney who had gone on a killing spree. So why was she the one detained?
    Rachel's stomach hurt. Both from injury and starvation. Purple bruises covered her flesh, some already turning a lime green. Until a prison guard walked past. Rachel leapt to the bars, eager to ask for an explanation.
    “Excuse me,” she yelled.
    The man turned in disgust.
    “Wh....why am I in here?” Rachel asked gently.
    “What?” he spat in outrage.
    “Me, why am I in here? I didn't do anything.”
    The guard laughed and scratched his bald shiny head.
    “What are you trying to pull bitch?” he growled.
    “What? Nothing. I just want to know why I am in prison. I shouldn't be in here!”
    “Because you're a psycho bitch!” he spat again. But this time he actually spat. A thick wad of saliva propelled to Rachel and landed on her cheek. The phlegmy consistency made her instantly wipe it away.
    “What the hell is going on?” Rachel used her orange jumpsuit to wipe her saliva sodden hand. She felt scared and icky.
    Before Rachel knew what was happening the guard rammed his hand through the bars and grabbed a chunk of her hair. He yanked and bashed Rachel's head against metal. Rachel made an indescribable noise at this collision. A pounding came.
    “My son was one of those kids you stupid fucking bitch, I hope you rot in here forever.”
    He then let Rachel's hair fall free as she rubbed the sensitive welt that was surfacing on her sore forehead.
    “But it wasn't me.....” Rachel declared, moving away from the bars, crying uncontrollably, now terrified and even more confused. Had she been set up?
    “Stupid bitch...” muttered the prison guard as he patrolled the cells and monitored the other inmates.
    Rachel moved to the sink where a grimy mirror hung above it. She initially wanted to determine how bad the welt looked. But what she saw was far worse. She no longer had dark hair, but blonde. And a gaunt, bony face. The face that was reflected before her wasn't Rachel's, it was Claire's.

 
     
    Scarecrow, Scarecrow
     
    Children frolicked carelessly as the glorious sun beat down. The cornfield was thriving with lustrous crops.  Kids ran down tracks that had been left by the tractor days ago. Giggles and yells echoed through the rows of green and yellow. Acres and acres provided more than enough space for these rambunctious infants to run and play. They were high on excitement, giddy with energy. Which is why at first the screams went unnoticed by their flurry of happiness. But one by one, they came to a halt. Through the crops, they each found one another. But it didn't take long for them to realise a member of the group was missing.
    They all stood in their overalls, questioning the absence of Fred. Fred was the youngest of the group, at six years old. Thick golden hair, freckles covering his face, and always wearing a cheeky, mischievous grin. He was unpredictable and possibly the most boisterous of the gang. Greta, the oldest of the girls, at nine years old, decided they should look for him. So one by one they separated, shouting his name. Each walked off in a different direction, scavenging the place for their young companion. They looked behind trees, through the bulky plantation, and Darren was just about to enter the barn in search of Fred. When  another scream rattled in the air. This came from Greta. The other