D.O.A. Extreme Horror Anthology Read Online Free PDF

waiting for freedom. Waiting to break out.
    The axe came free. For a moment, he thought he saw them smile.
     
    He shrugged his jacket on.
    A nod to a co-worker. No words. There is no room for words in a world of figures.
    Jack shouldered his way out the door, his phone ringing behind him.
    It would be Johnson. Too late.
    He walked slowly to his car. Put the key in the ignition. Pulled away, then a second before it was too late, slammed on the brakes as Sarah pulled out in front of him.
    She threw him the finger and he accelerated into the side of her car, staving it in. He leapt out of the car and ran around to the driver’s side, put his foot through the window, smashing the glass. He reached through and grabbed a handful of her pert, prim hair and rammed her head into the steering wheel, again, and again, and again.
     
    Jack mouthed ‘sorry,’ even though the stupid bitch had pulled out on him.
    He drove sedately home.
    Put the key in the lock. Pushed open the door.
    “Jack!”
    “Yes, mother. I’m back.”
    He took his jacket and hung it on the peg. Only then did he go into the front room. It was his rebellion. Great things start out small.
    “You’re early. You can do my feet before dinner.”
    He looked at the obese woman before him, splayed out on the couch. She couldn’t reach her own feet. It was a miracle she could still get out of bed. Her mouth held a cruel smile, maliciously bent.
    “OK, mother,” he said meekly.
     
    He walked to the shed, took the saw out. He oiled the blade lovingly, running a finger along the jagged teeth. He walked, sedately, back to the living room. He could afford to take his time. The fat, sick bitch wasn’t going anywhere.
     
    He did her feet. He always did as he was told.
    He tidied the kitchen, wiped the crumbs from the sofa.
    And that, thought Jack, was another perfect end to a perfect day. 
    He turned on the computer in his bedroom. For a few blissful hours, it was just words and pictures. No demands. Instant access. He dabbled with some sedition, dallied over a little porn, did a crossword. Words and pictures. The sheer joy of it eased his shoulders.
    He wound his neck in, went to the bathroom and washed the blood from his hands.
    Then he stripped and changed into his pajamas.
    Jack brushed his teeth carefully, taking time over each separate tooth. He squeezed some blackheads from his chin. Before he lay down, he got on the floor and did forty push-ups.
    Panting, he threw himself into bed.
    Jack lay perfectly still for a while, just staring at the ceiling, with a smile fixed on his face. Just another day of holding it all in. It was amazing, he thought, what you could do if you set your mind to it.
    He turned onto his side and closed his eyes.

 
     
    Cold Air
     
    Edward R. Rosick
     
     
     
     
    Helen and I became friends during our 4th term of medical school. On the surface it seemed an odd relationship: Helen was forty-five and divorced, with three grown children; I was twenty-eight, an overweight ex-molecular genetic technician and bored with my job and my life.
    Relationships have a way of bringing people to new and unusual places. But the joining of our odd couple, was to take both of us down the very stairs of hell.
    Our final anatomy class of the winter semester was Anatomy 700 : Advanced Dissection of the Human Nervous System . We spent countless hours in the anatomy lab huddled around stinking cadavers as we shifted through the brachial plexus and all its branches, and searched for the tiny chorda tympani and their hundreds of kin.
    It was a tedious project, one that taxed our bodies and minds to their limits. During those days, standing hour after hour over the cadavers, our own bodies reeking of formaldehyde, Helen and I learned about each other as we took solace in our shared burden.
    I still remember quite clearly how she expressed her abhorrence for the anatomy lab. We were in her apartment during a rare free afternoon, sitting in front of a small gas