Horror showcase, p.6
Horror Showcase, page 6
“Time to do the do, John,” Conlon said. “Then I’ll sign the certificate. And no one knows.”
“Your price for absolution?” I said.
“I already paid that this evenin’.”
He stepped aside and the light played on a large damp stain on the arm of his shirt sleeve. Blood. Soaking into the cotton fabric.
My face acted puzzled on behalf of a dawning mind and he nodded sadly.
“The hunger starts early.” His words explained more that just the chunk Daddy Dearest had relieved from the bad doctor’s arm. It also gave an answer to his sudden change of heart. The Sickness was in him. And soon he would follow Daddy Dearest into its endless world of hunger. The Dear Doctor needed out.
And he needed me to do it. I was taken aback that my earlier thoughts of murder would now come with sanction.
“I’ll help you to help me,” Conlon said, his smile slack and forlorn.
I never thought the time would come when such an enemy would become an ally. But that time had come knocking; dressed in its Sunday best.
I stepped into the room, where a small part of hell played out before me.
*
Daddy Dearest lay still upon his bed, the bedding a ruffled mess, streaked with blood. His limbs, twig thin and bare save for the crimson wheals cross-crossing his skin, jutted out from his pale blue pajamas, toes and fingers clawed by the agony that had taken him to his momentary death. My eyes traced his gaunt stiffened outline until they alighted upon Daddy Dearest’s face, which was twisted into a mask of pain, mouth clamped in an crimson, oval grimace, cheeks sallow, and his eyes so wide they appeared to be without lids. I had seen those eyes many time, looked into them, and they were as terrifying in death as they were in life: piercing blue, devoid of expression or remorse, love or morality, rolling back into his head like a shark about to take a bite.
The blood on the sheets belonged to Conlon. I felt both disgusted and relieved by this knowledge. After all, it could so easily have been Lindsey with a chunk missing from her forearm.
“You’re going to have to do it soon. John,” Conlon said beside me. “I can support you through it. Then you know you’ll be able to do me.”
“I know that now,” I thought.
“Got to take his head clean off. No other medicine for The Sickness.”
“If you’re the expert, maybe you should do it?” I hissed.
“I can’t swing that axe hard enough,” Conlon said holding out his bloodied arm towards me, just in case I wasn’t getting the message. “No, John, this is your duty.”
I was about to respond, saying anything that would get the time passing without having to focus on what was unavoidable, but then I saw Daddy Dearest move. Only a finger at first, the one that used to have a wedding band as a sign of his eternal love for the mother I’d never known. It was a slight and deliberate movement, the clawed digit unfolding as though it were a flower seen through time lapse TV. The other fingers followed suit, accompanied by the protesting pop and snap of seized knuckles.
“Oh sweet Jesus,” Conlon whispered. “Ain’t that the damnedest thing?”
Damned alright. No doubts about that.
Even knowing it was coming to this made no odds to my ability to act swiftly. Last time I saw such a thing it was blunted by a TV screen. But up close and personal it was something else. It needed something to happen. It needed something from me.
“Do it, John!” No whisper from Conlon this time. Daddy Dearest was jerking into life like a mannequin bouncing down a stairway, arms and legs tight angles, C3PIO wearing a flesh suit.
I lifted the axe just as the first piteous moan wavered from Daddy Dearest’s throat. It was a sound at once woeful and deadly and turned my heart to ice.
“For Christ’s sake, do it!”
Another voice, loud and shrill: Lindsey’s voice from the doorway. I yanked my head towards her, caught the blend of shock and fear in her eyes. It held her gaze for a moment longer than I intended.
The next thing I knew, Conlon was screaming.
Daddy Dearest had hold of the doctor’s shirt, dragging the hem from out of his pants and exposing his big belly. Daddy’s reanimated corpse was using Conlon to haul itself up from the bed, dragging the bad, bad doctor forwards, towards its yawning mouth. Before I could take aim with the axe, Daddy Dearest was clamping down on Conlon’s flabby cheek and tearing him a new mouth.
I heard Conlon’s high pitched protest shortly before Daddy Dearest ripped the wad of flesh away with a sickening purring sound. Lindsey retched in the doorway.
“Get out of the way!” I yelled, stepping back so that I had room for a decent swing. But such instruction was fruitless, since the big man and Daddy Dearest were now intertwined. I clamped a hand over my mouth as daddy’s hands sought Conlon’s navel and the hooked fingers yanked open his abdomen, exposing a visceral kaleidoscope to the world.
Conlon wore a quasi-comical expression of disbelief and agony, his breath a prolonged hiss. His big frame flopped forwards, his ample innards slopping out onto the bed linen, and for a time the world stood still, punctuated by the greedy slurping of Daddy Dearest getting to know the doctor really well. Inside and out.
I fought to gain composure, barely able to stand. Daddy’s feeding had punctured something other than Conlon’s abdomen, and the room was beginning to fill with the reek of vomit and shit. I gagged but swallowed hard. I hefted the axe and stepped up to the bed where ol’ DD was buried up to his shoulders in the cavity he’d opened in the doctor’s belly.
“Heads up, you asshole!”
Daddy Dearest pulled his head out of Conlon with a sucking slurping sound. The ice blue eyes peered out from a crimson mask, and he was suddenly interested again. But by this time the axe was slicing through the air, and my arms prepared for steel to make contact, which it did seconds later, shearing one of his arms off at the elbow. Even for me, this was a spectacular miss.
“Shit!”
The arm struck the head board where it writhed like a mottled pink and red snake. Daddy Dearest pumped his blood onto the doctor, but neither was in any state to be concerned by it. Seemingly invigorated by his recent feed, daddy came at me, forcing himself upright, his remaining arm reaching out, his bloodied mouth hanging open.
Again I swung the axe, this time making contact with his forehead, but I was off balance and it was a glancing blow, knocking his head fiercely to one side, and lifting a piece of his scalp so that it waved in the air before slapping back into place like some macabre peddle bin. I tried to create more space, moving away from the bed towards the doorway, but Conlon’s legs got the better of me. I went down hard, going so far over on my right ankle that I heard the tendons shear shortly before the bolt of hot fire shot through my calf.
I cried out and clutched at my fractured ankle, the pain now the centre of my universe. And in the melee the axe went spinning away from me, skittering under a bed that was now seeping with gore, dulled only by the cloud of bright spots speckling my vision. And through this the shape of Daddy Dearest emerged to say “hi” in the only way he knew how.
*
Through the pain I raised a hand to fend him off. It was feeble and resulted only in his teeth ripping off two fingers and a thumb. The pain in my ankle, the knuckle splitting agony flaring in my right hand, were nothing to the knowledge that even if I got out, even if I could do what I did so well and ran away from the clutches of Daddy Dearest, The Sickness would soon be coming to pay me a visit. And all I could think of was Lindsey, standing in the doorway watching her world come apart, and making sure that she would be okay, making sure that she didn’t have to do the do.
Daddy Dearest was on top of me, possibly far stronger in death than he ever was in life. But I fought. Even with the severed fingers and the shattered ankle I fought, driving him off, shoving him so hard he pin wheeled backwards and into the dressing table where his head struck the vanity mirror turning the glass into a tangled web of cracks. Then I was at the door, where Lindsey was wan with despair.
“Oh God, John. What do we do?”
I knocked her sideways onto the landing and reached for the key jutting out of the door. I’d yanked it out before Lindsey could realize my intention.
“Time for me to take care of Daddy Dearest, Linz,” I said as she scrambled back to her feet. “Time for you to get the hell away from here.”
I shut the door on her screams and jammed the key into the lock, turned it and yanked it to one side so that it snapped in the tumbler.
Heavy pounding on the door now as Lindsey called my name over and over, and Daddy Dearest climbed to his feet; his stump weeping, echoing the tears coursing down my cheeks. He stumbled over to me and I reached into my pockets, the Zippo and the hip flask becoming wet with my blood.
“Well how about it, daddy?” I said hoarsely. “How about you an’ me share a little Ol’ Jack?”
Of course, Daddy Dearest was way past such things. His poison was very different these days. I sparked the Zippo, its flame a testament to the searing heat in both my hand and ankle. Daddy loomed, the hip flask blessed us both, splashes of alcohol maybe not enough to endure under the touch of flame, but enough to help it take hold, enough to send us both to the places we were destined to be.
Never to return.
Daddy lunged and I sparked him up. His nylon PJ’s roaring into a blistering heat, the burning material hanging like fireflies in the air before landing on the alcohol splashed about my own clothes. Even as the flames licked at my skin, I felt different, I felt The Sickness going to town on me. I rolled about the floor, ensuring the fire took hold of the room, of the house. The world became a blinding place of fire heat and pain and I knew that of all the people in the house only one truly deserved to be free of it.
Though I guess it would be some time before Lindsey would even contemplate such a thing.
So you think you’re a werewolf? by Stuart Neild
“So, Lucy, you really believe that you’re a werewolf?” Dick asked the attractive lady as he pointed the camera at her.
Lucy, a slim woman in her early twenties giggled and did a little skip and dance. She was obviously playing up to the camera.
“I guess it’s hard to believe when you see me like this now,” she laughed.
“You could say,” Dick replied.
“But wait till you see me come full moon, I won’t disappoint,” she gave a twirl like a ballerina for good measure.
“I bet,” Dick laughed.
“You’re not taking me seriously. That’s very naughty,” Lucy scolded playfully.
“It’s not that I’m not taking you seriously, it’s just that I have a very laid back manner,” he assured her.
She stopped dancing around and looked into the camera lens seductively.
“If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were flirting with me,” Lucy pouted.
“And what kind of professional would that make me,” Dick replied with a twinkle in his eye.
“A human one, as opposed to a werewolf, like myself,” she said half heartedly, before going back to merrily dancing around for the camera.
*
Dick sat relaxing in his friends flat. The feel of the leather upholstery against his own leather jacket felt good. Dick felt like a man on top of his game, he felt like a man on top of the world.
“If you ask me, I think the woman’s a crazy,” Dick’s friend, Ron joked, “and you’re even crazier for going along with it.”
“As it is, I didn’t ask you,” Dick replied with equally good humour.
“Well, I’m giving you my opinion anyway,” Ron explained in-between swigs of his beer, “after all, what are friends for?”
“In this case, you’re a friend who can help me with my editing.”
“Ron the editor, that’s my name.”
“So can I count on you for this?”
“How much footage are we talking?” Ron’s eyes narrowed.
“A few hours,” Dick shrugged.
“Can you give me a rough estimate? I mean, I do have a life,” a note of seriousness crept into Ron’s normally jovial voice, “if you want me to do this, you have to fit things round my life, not visa versa.”
“It shouldn’t be too big of a project,” Ron assured, “it’s not like I want you to do all the editing, I’ll help. I just wanted an expert guiding hand.”
“An expert guiding hand eh,” Rob sounded chuffed, “I like that. Make sure you put that by my name on the end credits.”
“Consider it done,” Dick quickly agreed, sealing the deal.
“So when are you seeing this female Lon Chaney Junior again?” Ron asked.
“Tomorrow night.”
“Really? It’s getting a bit close to full moon isn’t it? I mean, if she really is a werewolf.”
“She isn’t a real werewolf,” Dick snapped.
“I suppose were-woman would be the correct term,” Ron mused.
“Whatever the term, she isn’t one,” Dick was adamant.
“So why humour her with this documentary?” Ron asked.
“Because I want to humour her,” Dick answered, “people like eccentrics. I think they’ll like this documentary.”
“They’ll just think she’s a nut,” Ron said over honestly.
“A pretty nut though,” Dick smiled.
“It’s still a nut all the same,” Ron sighed and finally let the matter drop.
*
The restaurant wasn’t the most exclusive in town, but it was obviously expensive enough to impress Lucy. She leaned across the table and touched Dick gently on the hand
“It’s nice of you to take me out,” she said softly.
“It’s OK. I’ll write it off against the documentaries budget,” he smiled.
“It seems weird, us talking together like this, off camera,” Lucy said with a hint of shyness in her voice Dick had never noticed before.
“It’s nice,” Dick paused, “isn’t it?”
“It’s very nice,” she assured him. “It’s just that tomorrow night is a full moon.”
“I know that,” Dick replied a little bemused.
“You don’t really believe I’m a werewolf do you?” She sounded hurt.
“I believe you’re a fox,” he smiled and she smiled back.
“But seriously,” the light heartedness faded from her voice, “the reason I approached you to film this documentary was so people could see what it was like. I wanted them to see my suffering.”
She caught a look of sadness in Dick’s eyes at this statement. “Hey, don’t look so glum. We still have tonight. And then I want you to stop filming.”
“What?” he exclaimed startled.
“Things have changed,” she spoke softly, “and I want you out of the picture before I change tomorrow night.”
“I don’t understand,” Dick said.
“I think you do,” she said knowingly, “at first it didn’t matter, but you’ve been so kind. I’ve developed feelings for you.”
“What, you want to come back to my place?” he joked.
“Yes,” she said seriously, “yes, I do.”
*
Lucy’s flat was cramped but clean, it was kind of nondescript in Dick’s eyes, but then again the only thing registering fully in Dick’s eyes at that moment, was Lucy getting undressed.
“I‘ve got protection,” he said, holding up a condom as if it were a police warrant.
“You’re going to need more protection than that,” Lucy laughed as she held him in a passionate clinch.
“What do you mean?” he squealed a little as he felt his breath tightening.
“I need these in case I scratch you in the throes of passion,” she said letting go of the clinch and pushing Dick away.
She reached down into her handbag and pulled out some skin tight rubber gloves.
“And this gum shield,” she held it aloft, “I wouldn’t want to get carried away biting you and infect you that way.”
Dick stood limply holding up his condom which was still in its wrapper.
“I think you’ve got the rest covered,” Lucy giggled pointing to the condom and then hopped onto the bed.
*
Dick didn’t need any excuse or any prompting from Lucy to jump into the shower with her.
“I thought you might want me to scrub your back for you,” he offered.
“Be my guest. I hope I wasn’t too much of an animal for you last night?” She laughed.
But Dick did not laugh back. He’d just noticed the strange clump of thick dark hair at the bottom of Lucy’s spine.
*
“So, how did you get on?” Ron asked eagerly.
Dick just nodded his head and laughed.
“Yeah?” Ron pushed.
“Yeah,” Dick smiled.
“So give me details, was she good?” Ron’s brow began to perspire.
“She was,” Dicks words trailed off, “she was very good,” he finally found the rest of his sentence with a big grin.
“Good, I mean great, I mean I’m happy for you man,” Ron congratulated Dick. “So, when you seeing her again?”
“Tonight,” Dick swiftly answered.
“I forgot, the big full moon deal. The night she changes,” Ron gave out a howl.
“It’s isn’t funny,” Dick scolded.
“Now from your point it isn’t funny, from my point, it’s hilarious,” Ron chuckled.
“She’ll only see me again if I have a silver bullet,” Dick said deadly serious.
“You’re kidding,” Ron whooped, “do you have to have a little silver gun to go with it?”
“Just a normal gun and a silver bullet,” Dick sighed. “She says it’s for my own protection.”
“Oh, she’s good, she’s very good,” Ron slapped his thigh, “I’m going to edit your little documentary like I’ve never edited before. On top of that, I’m going to lend you my gun and on top of that, I’m going to get you a silver bullet.”
“I didn’t know you had a gun,” Dick said uneasily.
“Don’t worry about it,” Ron began to push Dick out of his flat, “go get yourself ready for tonight. Wash your hair or something. I’ve got things to do here. We have to prepare.”
*
