Leigh was born and raised in the beautiful garden county of Wicklow, Ireland. She is the mother and proud protector of two wonderful boys, a black Labrador and a three legged cat that hates people. She is also the bane of her long-suffering partner James' life. Leigh has always lived in the dark, with a fierce love for all things morbid and macabre. A voracious reader from a young age, she always knew she wanted to write and it made sense to write about the genre she has loved for so long. She cites Ronald Malfi, Kealan Patrick Burke, and of course, Stephen King as her favourite authors and sources of inspiration. She is an advocate for mental health, having struggled with her own demons for many years. They're not quite friends yet but there's definitely some kind of truce in place.
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TO-BE-READ PILE
by
Leigh Kenny
“Directive. Fold laundry.”
Steve narrowed his eyes for the hundredth time as the slender form strode past him towards the tumble dryer.
“Stop giving Horatio the stink eye,” Laurel sighed without looking up from her magazine.
“I don’t trust it,” Steve grumbled. “We watched Terminator on our first date. You should know better.”
The magazine lowered with as a rustle as Laurel gazed impassively at her husband.
“Grow up, Steve. It’s a household assistant, not a killer robot. The AI is very safe, you heard the engineer. And even if it were a killer robot, once it does the chores then I really don’t care what it does with its spare time.”
“If Will Smith were here, he’d agree with me,” Steve muttered. “And what kind of name is Horatio for a robot anyway?!”
“It’s the name it chose for itself, you know this. You sat through the same orientation as I did,” Laurel said, annoyance creeping into her tone. “You need to watch less movies and read more. You’ve a huge pile of books in the study still waiting to be read. Now’s as good a time as any.”
Steve knew he was pushing his luck. Probably best to leave his wife in peace with her magazine and let the damn robot finish its chores.
“You’re right,” he sighed. “Better get cracking on the to-be-read pile or I’ll have to start choking down books to get through it. Directive, to-be-read pile.”
Laurel rolled her eyes and lifted the magazine again.
As he turned to leave the room, he noticed Horatio watching him. The robot’s head was cocked, a quizzical look on its waxy, Halloween-mask face. Steve shuddered and left the room. He could feel those tiny laser-red eyes on him as he climbed the stairs to his study.
***
“Steve?!!”
Steve jolted awake at the sound of his wife’s voice as it travelled to the second-floor study.
“I’m just heading out to the supermarket,” she called. “I won’t be long. Be nice to Horatio!”
With a chuckle, Steve readjusted himself in the leather recliner and lifted the book that had fallen onto his lap when he nodded off.
It was a technological horror by some new up-and-comer author, Sammy something-or-other. The story was riveting, an AI nightmare, and Steve realised it was probably a subconscious choice that had led him to pick that particular book from the pile, but a bad one considering his feelings about their new house guest.
He stood and stretched, his back cracking satisfactorily, before grabbing a bookmark from the stationary holder on the small wooden desk that sat in the centre of the room. He slid the bookmark over the last place he remembered reading and tossed the book onto the recliner. A shower was what he needed to perk him up.
Steve pulled the study door open and yelled in surprise. Horatio stood in the doorway. His pallid, motionless face was inches from the space that the wooden door had just occupied. Steve realised uneasily that it must have been practically pressed to the door.
“What the hell are you doing? Damn near gave me a heart attack. Stupid robot!”
Horatio’s head tilted and Steve could have sworn the robot’s eyes flashed a deeper red.
“Directive. To-be-read pile.” The robot said in its emotionless timbre.
A deep feeling of discomfort began to grow from the pit of Steve’s stomach as he stood eye to eye with the machine. He gently pushed the door closed, his eyes never leaving Horatio’s face. At the last moment before the door clicked shut, it stopped with a shudder. Steve looked down at the obstruction, his eyes widening in surprised fright as he saw the robots foot wedged in the doorway,
“Directive. To-be-read pile.”
The door crashed open, sending Steve sprawling backwards with a yell. The desk broke his fall, but not gently, and he cradled his ribs and groaned as he slid from the desks surface to the small rolling office chair behind it.
“Directive. Choking down books. To-be-read pile.”
With abject horror, Steve watched as the robot moved silently into the room. With one mechanical hand, it clamped down on Steves shoulder with a vice-like grip. The other hand swept the desks surface until its fingers closed around one of the books from the pile.
Horatio bent and rolled the book as much as possible, then brought it towards Steve’s face at speed. Steve screamed in terror. As soon as he opened his mouth the robot began pushing the book inside.
Tears stabbed at his eyes as the robot continued forcing the book into his mouth and towards his throat. Steve spluttered and gagged but the robots grip was absolute. He kicked his legs and slapped feebly with his hands at the machine, but Horatio was unfazed. The skin on both sides of his mouth began to stretch and tear, and Steve could feel the streaming warmth of the blood as it flowed from his ruptured face. The book inched further past his tongue and a sudden rush of hot vomit erupted.
It had nowhere to go with the book lodged firmly in place.
Steve rattled and shook as he choked, his feet stamping a tattoo on the hardwood floor before finally falling still.
Horatio continued to push the book further into the dead man’s mouth, releasing his grip to reach for another book from the pile.
“Directive. To-be-read pile.”