Sunday, October 23, 2011
Check Me Out on Cascadia.FM
I'm going to be featured on a segment for the podcast In Bed With Matt and Phil. Its going to air on Halloween. It will be on Cascadia.fm and will be available for down load on iTunes!!! Check it out, we will be talking Horror, my writing, and you never know who will call in!!!!
Wednesday, June 29, 2011
Sweet Madeline
Sweet Madeline
By Steven McGuire
The Odd Shop was different, to say the least. Most shops in downtown Portland are a little odd to begin with. But this shop took the cake.
The shop is small, just off Burnside, and close to the Powell’s City of Books. It would be easy for one to walk right by the small door. The store could be compared to that of a narrow bedroom: Full from the side, and lined with glass cases.
The cases are nightmares on display: Skulls, mummified hands, and odd medical tools. It’s a specialty shop for those looking for the arcane, the ancient.
Max finishes a display of an iguana. It has been used for veterinary-school purposes. It has been dried and cut in half. Its bones and waxed organs are removable. The iguana is resting on a limb, completed with wax leaves. Max had purchased it two days ago from another collector.
He just received a call from a different collector who said he was interested in it. Max bought it for $100. By the end of the day, he will have sold it for just over $300.
Max finishes the display by settling the clear bubble-shaped glass dome over the wooden base. He steps back and admires his work. He pulls a microfiber cloth from a drawer, then wipes the glass clean.
The inside of the shop is dark. Max keeps the doors closed to keep the random strangers away. Really, he isn’t interested on the causal shopper. Max’s clients are specific: The buy and sell.
A rush of cold air wafts past Max’s scraggly blonde hair. He shivers and lifts his ice-cold blue eyes towards the door. A man walks in. The newcomer is wearing a black top hat and a long vibrant red cape. This is odd for even the strangest of local Portland dwellers.
You might think instantly of a vampire. Yet, this man looks nothing like the typical typecast. He’s flush. His cheeks are rosy, and bright life fills his eyes. In this, he appears pretty normal.
Max offers a smile and a small wave. His slender bony hands are a road map of veins.
“Good afternoon, welcome. What can I do for you?” Max says in his best cheery voice.
“Hello.” The strange man nods and removes his hat, placing it on the counter along with a large briefcase. Much too large for a businessman Max thinks but says nothing.
“I have something that I would like to have you look at. I think that you might be able to help me.” The strangers’ voice is velvety; deep, yet smooth.
He places the case on the counter, then faces the lid towards Max, opening it slowly. Inside, there are multiple dividers and plastic bags filled with bone. Max leans in, pulling a couple of the little bags out and examining them.
“Oh! It’s a skull!” His says excitedly.
The stranger smiles, pleased. “Yes, it is a completely disassembled skull. All 29 pieces.” He leans over the counter with childlike glee. His eyes are wide. He is getting excited.
“I heard through some friends of mine that you are a skull collector. Also, that you have repaired and reassembled skeletons.”
Max leans against the counter. He flips his hair out of his eyes with a quick jolt of his neck. A shit- eating grin comes across his face. His reputation is preceding him. Again.
“Yeah, I do a lot of that. Are you looking to have me make you a Beauchene skull?”
“Yes, I believe it’s called a Beauchene?”
Max smiles wide, trying to hide his excitement.
“Yes, a Beauchene skull, or exploding skull, is a way to display all of the 29 pieces of skull. The bones are held by wire and are on a metal post. The bones can be moved in and out of place.” Max uses his hands like he is actually moving the parts. “They are used for medical teaching, and by the occasional odd collector.” Max folds his arms across his chest. All he needs now is pipe and a chalk board.
The strange man nods and smiles bag. “Yes, exactly what I am looking for.”
Max smiles, and sees the dollar signs in front of his eyes. This isn’t a cheap process. He has to play this just right. Usually he gets around $3,500 for his work. He can shoot high, or let the customer make the first draw. He decides to test the customer’s emotional attachment to the skull.
Max pushes to find how serious the stranger is. “This is pretty incredible. Tell me about this. Usually, the owners have the parts scattered. Hell, I got a skull all in a paper bag, one time. What’s the story?”
The stranger smiles wide, removing the vibrant cloak, showing a fine, form-fitting suit underneath. The suit is all black, with a red tie and bright gold cufflinks. He is older, perhaps in his fifties.
“Oh, well. This…this is something special. I have had this for a number of years. I purchased this from an antiques collector. He found it at an old World War II German base. Officer’s quarters. The skull, at one time, was fully formed. It was disassembled…well. That my friend is another story.” He laughs and smiles.
“Well, how much are you looking to pay to have me set things up for you? By the way, I’m Max Erris. I never got your name?” Max holds his hand out.
“James. James Andres.” James thrusts his hand out. Max half expects the hand to be ice cold, and is rather shocked to feel that it is perfectly warm. James’ skin is soft, his grip firm.
James puts his perfect hand to his forehead. His eyes open wide. “Uh, I guess I would go about $10,000. That seems fair. Will that work for you?”
Max tries not to jump out of his skin. Either James is handing him the bologna for the sandwich, or he is serious.
“Uh…” Max pauses for professionalism, then purses his lip, nodding in approval. “I think I can make ten grand work.”
He still waits for James to burst out laughing, but it never comes. Instead, James’ eyes light up. He jumps a little, like a kid who just opened a Christmas present and found exactly what he wanted. He quickly grabs his elaborate cloak and pulls out a thick leather clutch bag. He sticks his elegant fingers in, and removes a thick stack of green bills.
Max can hardly believe his eyes. James is counting out hundreds. A hundred of them, total. Max’s heart is bouncing like a cartoon across the shop. At least, that is what Max thinks it feels like.
James gladly hands the money over to Max. "How long do you think that it will be before I can pick up the piece?”
Hoping that he doesn’t offend James, Max replies, “Oh, perhaps 2-3 weeks?”
James’ face lights up. He exhales in relief, bending over and smiling like he has just been given a clean bill of health from his doctor. “Wonderful! Wonderful!”
Max is relieved. This is too good to be true, he thinks, lots of money and extra time!
“Great. Here, write down all of your contact information. Let me type up a contract, and I will call you as soon as I am done. I will give you top priority!”
*
Max closed early to go home and celebrate. He could hardly believe his luck. In fact, he made a stop at the bank to deposit the cash. He just had to make sure that the money was real. The teller marked every bill as she counted it, and handed him a receipt. His account just exploded.
Max stopped by his favorite Thai restaurant, and orders the biggest bowl of Tom Ka he can, with a side of salad rolls.
His apartment at Lovejoy Fountain looks like a larger version of his shop. It would put Ripley’s Believe it or Not to shame. A large round U.F.O hangs from the corner of the ceiling, next to a life size hard wax alien.
He collected numerous human and animal skulls. One set started with a small monkey skull, a Rhesus Macaque. The next 7 skulls are various primates leading to a large silverback mountain gorilla skull. Completing the flow of evolution to a perfect human skull, one of Max’s best. Fully complete, that one put Max back $2, ooo.
Max sets the curious case on a coffee table. Despite the clutter, his apartment is well kept.
He clicks the gold locks. They snap open and the case opens easily. It is solidly built, with a fine leather casing. The case smells traveled. Yet it is in perfect condition. Inside, the trays are cut to fit. The wrapped pieces of skull are neat and orderly. Itemized.
Max notices a file underneath the lid. There is an old picture of the skull. A side shot. Max doesn’t need it to re-assemble the skull.
Max notices something different in the air. His nostrils are filled with lavender and fine tobacco. He curls his eyebrows and grabs a large bag with a piece of skull. He holds it close to his face, inhaling deeply. He is intoxicated.
He’s fairly certain that the peculiar man is probably the owner of the fragrance and doesn’t want to imagine the perversions behind its use.
Max sets all of the pieces in the bags out. He knows enough anatomy to know which bones are which. He visualizes the structure: How the bones will sit out, and the length of wire he needs. He will start in the morning. The shop is closed tomorrow.
*
Max slept heavily that night. Dreamless. He awoke refreshed and full of spunk. He was so happy about his bank account, but first things first. He paid his rent. Got coffee. Stopped by a hardware store. Then he went straight to his apartment. Lining all of the bone fragments in order to how they would be attached to the frame of the display.
He looked at the bones spread out before him. He felt warm and alive. Sometimes he would wonder about the lives of the people behind the skull. Though he knew better. Sometime the skulls were collected form grave robbers, murders, and executions.
It usually took him several hours to really plan out the mapping of the skull. Yet like a man possessed, he worked with frenzy, and only realized how many meals he’d skipped after the second lunchtime had come and gone.
A job that would normally take him at least a week was completed in 37 hours. He crashed on his couch, sleeping deep and heavy.
He awoke at 3 AM, wide awake, his eyes pulled back by an invisible force. Lavender filled the room. Smoke from expensive tobacco mixed in exquisite perfection. He wasn’t sure if he was dreaming. He thought he’d just stayed up way too late.
The perfect Beauchene skull was set in front of him in a better display than he had ever made. Usually the wires that assemble and move the pieces don’t stay perfectly straight. Sometimes, you had to tweak the wire to get the pieces to line up when you push them together.
Max reaches over and loosens a knob that is part of a special add-on that he adds to his work, allowing the skull to tip backwards for better view. He inspects every aspect, pleased with his work.
Finally, he makes the final test, pushing all of the pieces together for the complete assembly. The pieces slide effortlessly, lining up with perfection. His heart flutters. His eyes widen. His road map of veins flood with life.
He can’t believe the perfect form. The precise fit of the bone. Never has he seen or built anything with such perfection.
Max jumps up and grabs his camera on an end table near the front door. He holds the power button and sets the flash for a soft lighting, framing the future photo like an eerie museum portrait.
He holds the camera up to the skull. The image is blurred by a bright light. Confused, he looks back at the skull. It looks nothing like the screen. He holds his camera back up to the table, starting low at the base of the table, then moving upwards. Perhaps there was a light anomaly that confused the lens.
The table appears in the screen, looking normal. In fact, he can see a corner of the jaw. He raises the lens and fills the frame with his piece. The screen whites out. He might as well be taking a picture of the sun.
“Fuck. What the hell?”
Max looks up from the screen. The skull is suddenly glowing, brighter and brighter. His eyes close in pain. He winces, covering his face with his arm. His apartment lights up brighter than any time during the day, like a massive floodlight in the center of his room.
It’s blinding. He feels a little queasy. His head pounds. There is a cool rush of a breeze. The lavender and tobacco become stronger.
The lights dim. She is there. Her red hair shines bright and sleek, pulled into a wave behind her head. Her skin is warm. He tastes the tobacco on her tongue.
They kiss passionately for several seconds. He isn’t scared, or even curious about the beautiful woman who suddenly appeared. She pulls him closer to her. He melts in her arms.
They part from their embrace. Her face is angelic. Soft. Her green eyes pierce into him. She brushes her hand along his face, and his mind is flooded with images of their bodies, sweating and entwined, rolling on fine silk sheets in a large room with candles lit.
He doesn’t ask anything. He knows everything in a glance.
“Madeline,” he whispers breathlessly. “Sweet Madeline.” He isn’t sure how he knows her name. Nor how the images of them appear so clear in his mind. He doesn’t care.
“Baby, I’ve missed you.” Madeline grabs his hands, pulling them close to her chest. His face blushes as they brush against her vanilla breasts.
She brushes his hands against her face. More images: Passionate nights. Her being pulled away from him by soldiers dressed in Nazi clothing. Another solider bashing the butt of his rifle against Max’s face.
He suddenly wells up with tears. He feels her pain, and his sadness. The love of his life was taken from him.
Another image flashes: She is strapped to a table. The images flash faster and faster. He can hardly keep up with them. Her life passes. Bogus doctors hack away at her, looking for something.
He is intoxicated by her beauty. The images fade. He looks deep into her eyes. She pulls him close, and kisses him again. Then she pulls away slowly, moving her hands behind her back. Her dress drops. She takes his hand, and pulls him to his bed. They entwine with passion.
*
Later in the evening, he dreams. He sees her life. As a child, she could predict things. Obscure events. She could also find things. Lost wallets, toys, and jewelry. Her parents hid her. Yet her beauty made her stand out.
The war breaks into Poland. Hitler’s crazed fascination with the occult leads his henchman to whispers and rumors of a beautiful witch. He wants her for his needs. His desire for the occult and mystic power leads some of his most twisted doctors and scientists to her.
Not to mention the power for psychic ability, imagine the entire SS with clairvoyant ability. Kill the enemy before they even know there will be a battle.
She was easy to find. Anyone can be bought for the price of life.
She is locked in to a room. Various crystals and rare wood pieces line the walls along with statues and macabre paintings. She is supposed to be reading the future and psychically finding prized possessions for the Nazi Party. Anything that will help the Third Reich win the battle against the world.
She refuses to eat. She tried multiple times to commit suicide, failing due to constant supervision. She cries for her release, they threaten to kill her family and her lover. She doesn’t want to use her gift for evil. She died slowly of dehydration and malnourishment.
The crazed doctors felt that the key to her power was in her head. They carefully and precisely dissected her skull and brain, breaking apart her skull into 29 individual pieces. Only to find nothing. The mad Doctor Shanz pulled the brain apart piece by piece. Thinking for sure the key to psychic ability was there.
In his rage the mad doctor ordered the execution of the commanders the task force that found her.
Max awakes to more tender kissing. He can’t refuse her touch. No words are exchanged the whole day.
More and more visions are passed. A crazed doctor obsessed with her beauty keeps her skull. She appears to him at night. He keeps her in silence.
She amuses him sexually. Her energy is pulled from the physical contact. She discovers she can lure other men.
Her skull is stolen, and sold time and time again, finally ending with the strange man that entered his shop a couple of days ago. He is much younger. He has heard the rumors. A widow had found the skull in her late husband’s closet. She doesn’t know anything about it. James through research tracks down the skull. He paid $500,000.00 for it more than 30 years ago.
He uses séances and magic spells that he believes will bring the sultry spirit to him. He finally gets her to appear by crudely taping the skull together and using wire to hold it.
James’ every fantasy is fulfilled with Madeline. She grows stronger and stronger with every bit of physical contact. She knows that with enough power, she will be set free of her physical prison. She makes sure not to show this to Max.
She shows Max how she has been abused, and tortured. James was no better than the crazed German scientists. Nor the demon seeking man whose wife sold James the skull.
Max knows what he needs to do. He needs to lure James to his apartment. He needs to have Madeline for himself.
“I can be your woman. I love you. I only want to be with you,” she coos, kneeling down and crawling over to him. Her cleavage pours out of her dress.
Max is flushed. His desire for her overwhelms all sense of reason.
“Tell me what to do! I will do whatever it takes!” Max pleads, as she unzips his pants.
Visions return to him. He is calling James. James comes over. She appears. Then everything goes dark. The fuzz clears up, and he sees their bodies entwined, sweat beading.
He dials the number written down on the plain white card. James picks up the line on the other end.
“I have been expecting you, though not so soon!!! Is it complete? May I see it?” James answers excitedly. Not even waiting for a response from Max.
“Yes. Come to the Fountains. Apartment #320.” Max answers. “It is ready for you. “
“I will be there in a half hour.”
“That will be fine. I will be here.”
Madeline floods Max with affection. He hardly has time to pull clothes on when his buzzer goes off.
“Hello?” Max calls.
“This is James; I am ready to come up.”
“Let me buzz you in.”
The buzzer rings and the doors clicks open. James walks to the elevator. His heart is racing. He is aroused. He can’t wait to get his sweet Madeline back to his house. It has been too long.
Max is waiting by an open door. James walks faster. Today, he is dressed in fine suit. No cape. He walks briskly, a wide smile across his face. He extends his hand.
“Wonderful young man, you have made my day. I have a little extra for you because of the quickness of the job.”
Max puts on the perfect façade. “Thank you so much! Are you sure?”
James reaches into his jacket and pulls out another large wad of bills, handing it over without hesitation.
“Here is another $5,000. Well earned.”
James’ smile drops like a landslide. His nostrils are hit with lavender and expensive tobacco. He grows pale. Max closes the door and stands in front of it, locking it.
James turns around slowly, shaking now.
Madeline glides into the living room. Her perfect form is exquisite in that dress. James is breathless.
“Madeline… I did this for you,” James says shakily.
“Hi, baby.” Madeline walks close to him. Her warm eyes lock into his. “I have been waiting for you.”
Max waits by the front door. He makes no movements, and says nothing.
“I always knew my time would come. I only hoped to be with you longer.” James starts to tear up. His voice is becoming more and more weak.
“I’m sorry, baby. It’s not meant to be.” She reaches to him and touches her hand against his cheek.
James melts under her touch, filled with ecstasy. He desperately wants to be alone with her, to relive the moments of passion that he has been waiting for. He would have never have given her up. She was stolen by another collector.
He accepts his fate, and her kiss. Max watches as a glowing light grows brighter and brighter in the room. He is blinded by it.
Moments later, there is a thud. James’ lifeless body is shriveled, drained of all liquid and tissue. He appears to be mummified. Flopped in the middle of the living room. Max quickly closed the front door.
She strips off his fine suit. His skin is dark brown. It looks like leather. Effortlessly, she picks up the body. It is stiff, like it’s been that way for hundreds of years. Perfectly mummified.
She sets it in the corner, with some other random bones and stuffed creatures. Oddly, it looks like it should be a part of the collection. Before Max can process all of the information, before he can realize the horror, Madeline is in front of him.
Her dress drops, her perfect body alabaster and soft. She grabs his hand, and places his palm on her breast, pushing his hand against it, then slowly drags his hand down. She bites her lip and smiles. She kisses him.
He has a moment of clarity. He knows that someday he will share James’ demise. In that moment, he accepts his fate.
“Baby, I love you. We will be together forever,” she coos.
Max is breathless. “Sweet Madeline.”
By Steven McGuire
The Odd Shop was different, to say the least. Most shops in downtown Portland are a little odd to begin with. But this shop took the cake.
The shop is small, just off Burnside, and close to the Powell’s City of Books. It would be easy for one to walk right by the small door. The store could be compared to that of a narrow bedroom: Full from the side, and lined with glass cases.
The cases are nightmares on display: Skulls, mummified hands, and odd medical tools. It’s a specialty shop for those looking for the arcane, the ancient.
Max finishes a display of an iguana. It has been used for veterinary-school purposes. It has been dried and cut in half. Its bones and waxed organs are removable. The iguana is resting on a limb, completed with wax leaves. Max had purchased it two days ago from another collector.
He just received a call from a different collector who said he was interested in it. Max bought it for $100. By the end of the day, he will have sold it for just over $300.
Max finishes the display by settling the clear bubble-shaped glass dome over the wooden base. He steps back and admires his work. He pulls a microfiber cloth from a drawer, then wipes the glass clean.
The inside of the shop is dark. Max keeps the doors closed to keep the random strangers away. Really, he isn’t interested on the causal shopper. Max’s clients are specific: The buy and sell.
A rush of cold air wafts past Max’s scraggly blonde hair. He shivers and lifts his ice-cold blue eyes towards the door. A man walks in. The newcomer is wearing a black top hat and a long vibrant red cape. This is odd for even the strangest of local Portland dwellers.
You might think instantly of a vampire. Yet, this man looks nothing like the typical typecast. He’s flush. His cheeks are rosy, and bright life fills his eyes. In this, he appears pretty normal.
Max offers a smile and a small wave. His slender bony hands are a road map of veins.
“Good afternoon, welcome. What can I do for you?” Max says in his best cheery voice.
“Hello.” The strange man nods and removes his hat, placing it on the counter along with a large briefcase. Much too large for a businessman Max thinks but says nothing.
“I have something that I would like to have you look at. I think that you might be able to help me.” The strangers’ voice is velvety; deep, yet smooth.
He places the case on the counter, then faces the lid towards Max, opening it slowly. Inside, there are multiple dividers and plastic bags filled with bone. Max leans in, pulling a couple of the little bags out and examining them.
“Oh! It’s a skull!” His says excitedly.
The stranger smiles, pleased. “Yes, it is a completely disassembled skull. All 29 pieces.” He leans over the counter with childlike glee. His eyes are wide. He is getting excited.
“I heard through some friends of mine that you are a skull collector. Also, that you have repaired and reassembled skeletons.”
Max leans against the counter. He flips his hair out of his eyes with a quick jolt of his neck. A shit- eating grin comes across his face. His reputation is preceding him. Again.
“Yeah, I do a lot of that. Are you looking to have me make you a Beauchene skull?”
“Yes, I believe it’s called a Beauchene?”
Max smiles wide, trying to hide his excitement.
“Yes, a Beauchene skull, or exploding skull, is a way to display all of the 29 pieces of skull. The bones are held by wire and are on a metal post. The bones can be moved in and out of place.” Max uses his hands like he is actually moving the parts. “They are used for medical teaching, and by the occasional odd collector.” Max folds his arms across his chest. All he needs now is pipe and a chalk board.
The strange man nods and smiles bag. “Yes, exactly what I am looking for.”
Max smiles, and sees the dollar signs in front of his eyes. This isn’t a cheap process. He has to play this just right. Usually he gets around $3,500 for his work. He can shoot high, or let the customer make the first draw. He decides to test the customer’s emotional attachment to the skull.
Max pushes to find how serious the stranger is. “This is pretty incredible. Tell me about this. Usually, the owners have the parts scattered. Hell, I got a skull all in a paper bag, one time. What’s the story?”
The stranger smiles wide, removing the vibrant cloak, showing a fine, form-fitting suit underneath. The suit is all black, with a red tie and bright gold cufflinks. He is older, perhaps in his fifties.
“Oh, well. This…this is something special. I have had this for a number of years. I purchased this from an antiques collector. He found it at an old World War II German base. Officer’s quarters. The skull, at one time, was fully formed. It was disassembled…well. That my friend is another story.” He laughs and smiles.
“Well, how much are you looking to pay to have me set things up for you? By the way, I’m Max Erris. I never got your name?” Max holds his hand out.
“James. James Andres.” James thrusts his hand out. Max half expects the hand to be ice cold, and is rather shocked to feel that it is perfectly warm. James’ skin is soft, his grip firm.
James puts his perfect hand to his forehead. His eyes open wide. “Uh, I guess I would go about $10,000. That seems fair. Will that work for you?”
Max tries not to jump out of his skin. Either James is handing him the bologna for the sandwich, or he is serious.
“Uh…” Max pauses for professionalism, then purses his lip, nodding in approval. “I think I can make ten grand work.”
He still waits for James to burst out laughing, but it never comes. Instead, James’ eyes light up. He jumps a little, like a kid who just opened a Christmas present and found exactly what he wanted. He quickly grabs his elaborate cloak and pulls out a thick leather clutch bag. He sticks his elegant fingers in, and removes a thick stack of green bills.
Max can hardly believe his eyes. James is counting out hundreds. A hundred of them, total. Max’s heart is bouncing like a cartoon across the shop. At least, that is what Max thinks it feels like.
James gladly hands the money over to Max. "How long do you think that it will be before I can pick up the piece?”
Hoping that he doesn’t offend James, Max replies, “Oh, perhaps 2-3 weeks?”
James’ face lights up. He exhales in relief, bending over and smiling like he has just been given a clean bill of health from his doctor. “Wonderful! Wonderful!”
Max is relieved. This is too good to be true, he thinks, lots of money and extra time!
“Great. Here, write down all of your contact information. Let me type up a contract, and I will call you as soon as I am done. I will give you top priority!”
*
Max closed early to go home and celebrate. He could hardly believe his luck. In fact, he made a stop at the bank to deposit the cash. He just had to make sure that the money was real. The teller marked every bill as she counted it, and handed him a receipt. His account just exploded.
Max stopped by his favorite Thai restaurant, and orders the biggest bowl of Tom Ka he can, with a side of salad rolls.
His apartment at Lovejoy Fountain looks like a larger version of his shop. It would put Ripley’s Believe it or Not to shame. A large round U.F.O hangs from the corner of the ceiling, next to a life size hard wax alien.
He collected numerous human and animal skulls. One set started with a small monkey skull, a Rhesus Macaque. The next 7 skulls are various primates leading to a large silverback mountain gorilla skull. Completing the flow of evolution to a perfect human skull, one of Max’s best. Fully complete, that one put Max back $2, ooo.
Max sets the curious case on a coffee table. Despite the clutter, his apartment is well kept.
He clicks the gold locks. They snap open and the case opens easily. It is solidly built, with a fine leather casing. The case smells traveled. Yet it is in perfect condition. Inside, the trays are cut to fit. The wrapped pieces of skull are neat and orderly. Itemized.
Max notices a file underneath the lid. There is an old picture of the skull. A side shot. Max doesn’t need it to re-assemble the skull.
Max notices something different in the air. His nostrils are filled with lavender and fine tobacco. He curls his eyebrows and grabs a large bag with a piece of skull. He holds it close to his face, inhaling deeply. He is intoxicated.
He’s fairly certain that the peculiar man is probably the owner of the fragrance and doesn’t want to imagine the perversions behind its use.
Max sets all of the pieces in the bags out. He knows enough anatomy to know which bones are which. He visualizes the structure: How the bones will sit out, and the length of wire he needs. He will start in the morning. The shop is closed tomorrow.
*
Max slept heavily that night. Dreamless. He awoke refreshed and full of spunk. He was so happy about his bank account, but first things first. He paid his rent. Got coffee. Stopped by a hardware store. Then he went straight to his apartment. Lining all of the bone fragments in order to how they would be attached to the frame of the display.
He looked at the bones spread out before him. He felt warm and alive. Sometimes he would wonder about the lives of the people behind the skull. Though he knew better. Sometime the skulls were collected form grave robbers, murders, and executions.
It usually took him several hours to really plan out the mapping of the skull. Yet like a man possessed, he worked with frenzy, and only realized how many meals he’d skipped after the second lunchtime had come and gone.
A job that would normally take him at least a week was completed in 37 hours. He crashed on his couch, sleeping deep and heavy.
He awoke at 3 AM, wide awake, his eyes pulled back by an invisible force. Lavender filled the room. Smoke from expensive tobacco mixed in exquisite perfection. He wasn’t sure if he was dreaming. He thought he’d just stayed up way too late.
The perfect Beauchene skull was set in front of him in a better display than he had ever made. Usually the wires that assemble and move the pieces don’t stay perfectly straight. Sometimes, you had to tweak the wire to get the pieces to line up when you push them together.
Max reaches over and loosens a knob that is part of a special add-on that he adds to his work, allowing the skull to tip backwards for better view. He inspects every aspect, pleased with his work.
Finally, he makes the final test, pushing all of the pieces together for the complete assembly. The pieces slide effortlessly, lining up with perfection. His heart flutters. His eyes widen. His road map of veins flood with life.
He can’t believe the perfect form. The precise fit of the bone. Never has he seen or built anything with such perfection.
Max jumps up and grabs his camera on an end table near the front door. He holds the power button and sets the flash for a soft lighting, framing the future photo like an eerie museum portrait.
He holds the camera up to the skull. The image is blurred by a bright light. Confused, he looks back at the skull. It looks nothing like the screen. He holds his camera back up to the table, starting low at the base of the table, then moving upwards. Perhaps there was a light anomaly that confused the lens.
The table appears in the screen, looking normal. In fact, he can see a corner of the jaw. He raises the lens and fills the frame with his piece. The screen whites out. He might as well be taking a picture of the sun.
“Fuck. What the hell?”
Max looks up from the screen. The skull is suddenly glowing, brighter and brighter. His eyes close in pain. He winces, covering his face with his arm. His apartment lights up brighter than any time during the day, like a massive floodlight in the center of his room.
It’s blinding. He feels a little queasy. His head pounds. There is a cool rush of a breeze. The lavender and tobacco become stronger.
The lights dim. She is there. Her red hair shines bright and sleek, pulled into a wave behind her head. Her skin is warm. He tastes the tobacco on her tongue.
They kiss passionately for several seconds. He isn’t scared, or even curious about the beautiful woman who suddenly appeared. She pulls him closer to her. He melts in her arms.
They part from their embrace. Her face is angelic. Soft. Her green eyes pierce into him. She brushes her hand along his face, and his mind is flooded with images of their bodies, sweating and entwined, rolling on fine silk sheets in a large room with candles lit.
He doesn’t ask anything. He knows everything in a glance.
“Madeline,” he whispers breathlessly. “Sweet Madeline.” He isn’t sure how he knows her name. Nor how the images of them appear so clear in his mind. He doesn’t care.
“Baby, I’ve missed you.” Madeline grabs his hands, pulling them close to her chest. His face blushes as they brush against her vanilla breasts.
She brushes his hands against her face. More images: Passionate nights. Her being pulled away from him by soldiers dressed in Nazi clothing. Another solider bashing the butt of his rifle against Max’s face.
He suddenly wells up with tears. He feels her pain, and his sadness. The love of his life was taken from him.
Another image flashes: She is strapped to a table. The images flash faster and faster. He can hardly keep up with them. Her life passes. Bogus doctors hack away at her, looking for something.
He is intoxicated by her beauty. The images fade. He looks deep into her eyes. She pulls him close, and kisses him again. Then she pulls away slowly, moving her hands behind her back. Her dress drops. She takes his hand, and pulls him to his bed. They entwine with passion.
*
Later in the evening, he dreams. He sees her life. As a child, she could predict things. Obscure events. She could also find things. Lost wallets, toys, and jewelry. Her parents hid her. Yet her beauty made her stand out.
The war breaks into Poland. Hitler’s crazed fascination with the occult leads his henchman to whispers and rumors of a beautiful witch. He wants her for his needs. His desire for the occult and mystic power leads some of his most twisted doctors and scientists to her.
Not to mention the power for psychic ability, imagine the entire SS with clairvoyant ability. Kill the enemy before they even know there will be a battle.
She was easy to find. Anyone can be bought for the price of life.
She is locked in to a room. Various crystals and rare wood pieces line the walls along with statues and macabre paintings. She is supposed to be reading the future and psychically finding prized possessions for the Nazi Party. Anything that will help the Third Reich win the battle against the world.
She refuses to eat. She tried multiple times to commit suicide, failing due to constant supervision. She cries for her release, they threaten to kill her family and her lover. She doesn’t want to use her gift for evil. She died slowly of dehydration and malnourishment.
The crazed doctors felt that the key to her power was in her head. They carefully and precisely dissected her skull and brain, breaking apart her skull into 29 individual pieces. Only to find nothing. The mad Doctor Shanz pulled the brain apart piece by piece. Thinking for sure the key to psychic ability was there.
In his rage the mad doctor ordered the execution of the commanders the task force that found her.
Max awakes to more tender kissing. He can’t refuse her touch. No words are exchanged the whole day.
More and more visions are passed. A crazed doctor obsessed with her beauty keeps her skull. She appears to him at night. He keeps her in silence.
She amuses him sexually. Her energy is pulled from the physical contact. She discovers she can lure other men.
Her skull is stolen, and sold time and time again, finally ending with the strange man that entered his shop a couple of days ago. He is much younger. He has heard the rumors. A widow had found the skull in her late husband’s closet. She doesn’t know anything about it. James through research tracks down the skull. He paid $500,000.00 for it more than 30 years ago.
He uses séances and magic spells that he believes will bring the sultry spirit to him. He finally gets her to appear by crudely taping the skull together and using wire to hold it.
James’ every fantasy is fulfilled with Madeline. She grows stronger and stronger with every bit of physical contact. She knows that with enough power, she will be set free of her physical prison. She makes sure not to show this to Max.
She shows Max how she has been abused, and tortured. James was no better than the crazed German scientists. Nor the demon seeking man whose wife sold James the skull.
Max knows what he needs to do. He needs to lure James to his apartment. He needs to have Madeline for himself.
“I can be your woman. I love you. I only want to be with you,” she coos, kneeling down and crawling over to him. Her cleavage pours out of her dress.
Max is flushed. His desire for her overwhelms all sense of reason.
“Tell me what to do! I will do whatever it takes!” Max pleads, as she unzips his pants.
Visions return to him. He is calling James. James comes over. She appears. Then everything goes dark. The fuzz clears up, and he sees their bodies entwined, sweat beading.
He dials the number written down on the plain white card. James picks up the line on the other end.
“I have been expecting you, though not so soon!!! Is it complete? May I see it?” James answers excitedly. Not even waiting for a response from Max.
“Yes. Come to the Fountains. Apartment #320.” Max answers. “It is ready for you. “
“I will be there in a half hour.”
“That will be fine. I will be here.”
Madeline floods Max with affection. He hardly has time to pull clothes on when his buzzer goes off.
“Hello?” Max calls.
“This is James; I am ready to come up.”
“Let me buzz you in.”
The buzzer rings and the doors clicks open. James walks to the elevator. His heart is racing. He is aroused. He can’t wait to get his sweet Madeline back to his house. It has been too long.
Max is waiting by an open door. James walks faster. Today, he is dressed in fine suit. No cape. He walks briskly, a wide smile across his face. He extends his hand.
“Wonderful young man, you have made my day. I have a little extra for you because of the quickness of the job.”
Max puts on the perfect façade. “Thank you so much! Are you sure?”
James reaches into his jacket and pulls out another large wad of bills, handing it over without hesitation.
“Here is another $5,000. Well earned.”
James’ smile drops like a landslide. His nostrils are hit with lavender and expensive tobacco. He grows pale. Max closes the door and stands in front of it, locking it.
James turns around slowly, shaking now.
Madeline glides into the living room. Her perfect form is exquisite in that dress. James is breathless.
“Madeline… I did this for you,” James says shakily.
“Hi, baby.” Madeline walks close to him. Her warm eyes lock into his. “I have been waiting for you.”
Max waits by the front door. He makes no movements, and says nothing.
“I always knew my time would come. I only hoped to be with you longer.” James starts to tear up. His voice is becoming more and more weak.
“I’m sorry, baby. It’s not meant to be.” She reaches to him and touches her hand against his cheek.
James melts under her touch, filled with ecstasy. He desperately wants to be alone with her, to relive the moments of passion that he has been waiting for. He would have never have given her up. She was stolen by another collector.
He accepts his fate, and her kiss. Max watches as a glowing light grows brighter and brighter in the room. He is blinded by it.
Moments later, there is a thud. James’ lifeless body is shriveled, drained of all liquid and tissue. He appears to be mummified. Flopped in the middle of the living room. Max quickly closed the front door.
She strips off his fine suit. His skin is dark brown. It looks like leather. Effortlessly, she picks up the body. It is stiff, like it’s been that way for hundreds of years. Perfectly mummified.
She sets it in the corner, with some other random bones and stuffed creatures. Oddly, it looks like it should be a part of the collection. Before Max can process all of the information, before he can realize the horror, Madeline is in front of him.
Her dress drops, her perfect body alabaster and soft. She grabs his hand, and places his palm on her breast, pushing his hand against it, then slowly drags his hand down. She bites her lip and smiles. She kisses him.
He has a moment of clarity. He knows that someday he will share James’ demise. In that moment, he accepts his fate.
“Baby, I love you. We will be together forever,” she coos.
Max is breathless. “Sweet Madeline.”
Weeeew!!!
Got some exciting news from Norgus Press yesterday. They are publishing another story of mine, called "Sweet Madeline". This is the second story that they have picked up from me, though this is going to be the first Anthology out that I will be in for them. This book is due out in August, its going to be titled, "Look What I Found!" Cant wait! The other book will have a short story called "Faithfully" in it. I felt that "Faithfully" is a little better structurally, but you got to take them where you can get them right? Enjoy!!!
Monday, January 17, 2011
Just for Friends!!!!
Check out the stories below, I will leave them posted for a while so that Friends and families can easily read them. So much better than trying to email all of it to everyone!!! Enjoy, post comments!!! Comment on Face book!!! What ever rubs your belly!!!
Faithfully
Faithfully
By
Steven McGuire
Copyright 2010, All Rights Reserved
Tuesday came and went in silence. The fighting came and went. The house had been silent since Saturday.
Sometimes, they just yelled. Sometimes, she had to wear sunglasses to work. Once in a while, he was the one with the fat lip, and those times she ended up in the ER. On Saturday, he accused her of fucking their neighbor Mike. It was bullshit; he had a bad day and wanted to take it out on someone.
April was often at her wits end with Jeremy. Yet, she couldn’t bear the thought of leaving him. He was dominant. She would often find herself aroused after a physical altercation. Sometimes she would purposely taunt him. Make his dinner late or talk back to him. Just to get him fired up, just enough to make him not send her to the E.R.
She would run to the bedroom and grab on to him. She would beg for forgiveness. Making promises she would do whatever he wanted if he would forgive her. She would bite her lip and start removing his clothes. The sex would be rough and passionate. He would call her names and grab her roughly. She would groan and buck until they lay there covered in sweat. He would roll over and all would be forgotten.
That was the only thing they had. Their lives were empty and hopeless. She thought he was the best she could do. He thought she was going to fuck up their little life any day now.
Saturday night had been calm. It had been almost a week since they had their last argument. She defiantly spent money on herself to get some new shoes
Jeremy walked in. His boss was riding him at his construction job for showing up late. Making him do the crappy and heavy work. Jeremy was looking for an excuse, he wanted the release. Both confrontational and sexual. He walked in and April came over giving him a kiss on the lips.
Rage and adrenaline rocketed through his veins. She knew that look in his eyes. She knew these were the nights she wouldn’t make it to work the next day. Jeremy’s head rang like a dial tone from a phone. He didn’t even hear the words either of them were yelling. He didn’t feel the heat burning his hand from the heavy skillet in which she was cooking dinner.
It was an out of body experience. He saw everything in slow motion while hovering from above. Slamming back in to reality as his hand came down. The vibration from the impact raced up his arm. The adrenaline was palatable to his tongue. He exhaled hard and unclenched his jaw. Blood was spilling on to the kitchen floor next to April’s lifeless head.
He stood frozen. There was no scream. There was no pleading and begging for life. Just a thud. Blood was quickly covering the floor, the food from the skillet mixed in. He careful lifted his foot trying to avoid contact. He walked calmly to the kitchen table and grabbed the newspaper. Spreading it out over the puddle. His hands began to shake and was breathing was becoming more labored.
He pulled the retro 1970’s looking kitchen towel off of the hanger. Leaning down, he was careful not to touch her. He laid the towel over her expressionless face. Next, he walked into the garage and grabbed the box of heavy duty yard debris bags. The kind branches and other pointy objects cannot pierce. Then he grabbed his saw.
On his way back in he stopped and grabbed his fifth of Wild Turkey. Unscrewing the lid and tossing it on the counter, he chugged a quarter of the bottle.
It was early in the evening. Too early to bring her out to the back yard and bury her. He would have to wait a couple of hours. Jeremy had time to take care of the body and clean. He grabbed the bottle again only taking a couple of swigs. He knew he needed to be somewhat sober for this, yet drunk enough to make it through. He set the bottle down then grabbed his saw.
He made quick work of the body and had 3 bags full of April and other items used for cleaning. The blood cleaned quicker than he thought. He didn’t allow it to set for long. The linoleum was old. It was brown and had gold paisley shapes in it. The blood mixed in well with the color and older stains; though he still used bleach and some old fashioned elbow grease. Jeremy cursed at her the entire time for the trouble she had caused.
“You just couldn’t fucking give it up could you. Look at you now. This is your fault. You pushed me to this. You never loved me, you just took and took.” Jeremy was getting good and drunk by now. The last of the Wild Turkey was gone. Now he was drinking tequila. El Jimador.
Jeremy’s hangover woke up before he did. He liked the feeling of the blackout. The comfort of feeling nothing.
The blackout was heavy, much darker and emptier than usual. He smelled alcohol on his breath and in his sweat. He smelled something else too; black and damp earth. Licking at his nostrils. His head was spinning so hard the best he could figure was that he had tracked in mud from the night before. Something else was there too, perfume. It stung his head and made it pound more. It was the same smell that April had. Cheap shit he bought he a couple of years back.
Jeremy sat up quickly. His head nearly beat him in to submission. The heavy fog of the blackout clung like a thick blanket. He felt as though he was dreaming. Yet this was too real.
April was standing in the corner of the bedroom, silently looking over to the bed where Jeremy was lying.
She was standing there looking at him. A rush of images came at him like a freight train. So fast he couldn’t believe them let alone his wife across the room. Instinct kicked in and he tried desperately to move away from her. His voice was hoarse. He was breathing so hard when he tried to scream he sounded as though he was choking. He quickly fell off the bed ending up ass over head. He clambered up the side of the wall and stood frozen.
Her dirt caked face flashed the images of him burying her. The heavy bags sloshed as he dragged them. Soil was wiped in areas around her face and body. Her skin was grey and sluggish. Dark, lifeless veins pierced through. Dried blood had glued dirt to her head where the skillet hit. Her dead eyes looked liked spoiled milk; white and yellow. Her limbs were reattached and oozing a black liquid. Seemingly to glue them back together.
Standing there, April didn't move, only swaying gently. Her lips were slightly pursed and her hair matted. She was dripping with foul muddy water. He wondered if she had really been dead when he buried her in the backyard. He rationalized that she couldn’t have been dead. Yet, her brain was visible through her broken skull. It was now maroon and brown with bits of soil clung to it. No one could live through that.
“You shouldn’t be here, you...” He tried to speak but he was breathing so hard he felt as though he would pass out any moment. His knees went week and began to buckle.
April’s empty face tracked his every move. She began to mirror his steps, like a shadow, as he tried to move for the door.
He stopped. Trying to regain his senses. He knew he just needed to catch his breath. His lungs were exhausted. Like he just sprinted a mile. Breathing would be good. Just a couple of deep solid breaths. Breathe. Breathe. A new smell kicked him in the chest.
The smell of decay overtook him. Before he could react, he heaved violently. Spilling the entire contents of his gut with two massive bursts. It projected. The alcohol left in his stomach came with ease. He tried to regain composure. He tried to watch April, to see if she was approaching him.
Vomit ran up his face and burnt his eyes. The smell of decay and stomach acid made his head spin wild. The hangover was taking each breath out of him.
He wouldn’t wait for her to make a move. He dashed as quickly as he could past her. He cursed as he felt her dry and rough fingers scratching his shoulders. He was completely naked, having hoping into bed after a quick shower. He didn’t even notice her as he ran down the short hallway. Turning towards the stair case, he stopped to look into the bedroom. April was walking after him.
He didn’t notice the first step. He stumbled halfway down the stairs. Finally missing a step and crashing hard to the ground. The wind knocked out of him.
“God fucking damnit!” He managed to croak.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
April trudged heavily down each step. He slid on the hardwood floor with his naked ass. Falling backwards yet again off the last two steps. Her legs had been removed, now they were walking her down with a slow and sure step.
He remembered quickly that his keys to the truck were in his coat pocket. He jumped to his feet, having to grab on a small end table for balance. Once he steadied himself, he went for the kitchen. His jacket was carelessly tossed on the table. He reached for it and his shaky hands fumbled through the pockets. The keys fell out of his hand. As he tried to catch them he ended up hitting them across the room. Right at April’s dirty feet.
Defeated, he fell into the kitchen chair. Landing so hard the wood creaked. He sobbed into his hands. She made no further movement towards him. The half bottle of El Jimador was at arm’s length from where Jeremy was sitting. Jeremy grabbed it without looking and swallowed as much as he could before coughing hard. He peered up with red swollen eyes and slammed the bottle hard on the table.
“I killed you,” he whispered. Almost not wanting her to hear him. She didn’t move, and hardly seemed to even notice.
His confidence grew, “You’re fucking dead!” Louder, angrier. “You’re fucking dead! You hear me, bitch! Dead!”
April didn’t answer but simply cocked her head to the side. This was a look he knew all too well. Fury overtook him. This wasn’t Sunday morning, the day after he killed her. This, to him, was Saturday night. The fight was just starting.
In one quick motion, he stood. He pulled his right arm as far across his chest as he could. Then he stepped down, turned his hips and swung harder than he had ever swung before. When he did, he felt several bones in his hand shatter.
Her head swung to the left, moving far past the motion of a regular head. A foul mixture of black ooze and blood flew through the air, landing on Jeremy’s face and the floor around him. She made no noise. Yet, Jeremy could see she was still there in a sense. Her head slowly turned back to face Jeremy’s, making an unsettling popping sound as the bones realigned. She cocked her head slightly to the side. Jeremy swore he saw a smirk on her pursed lips.
In a blind rage he moved forward to swing again. This time he was going to punch her straight on. His bare feet stepped on some of the black ooze and brain matter on the floor. His feet came clear up over his head, he landed hard. His head whipped down violently, sending him into a daze. The hangover and the headache completely fogging his mind.
He heard movement. Then felt an icy cold body straddle his. Moisture was dripping on his face and into his mouth. Thick and ice cold, the foul liquid tasted like death. He began to vomit again. The stench of rotting flesh was over whelming. The little liquid he had came up, turning quickly into dry heaves.
He felt a cold, dry hand touch his face. Brushing it gently from his forehead down to his check, the iced skin felt like sandpaper. A cold breath slid across his cheek. Instantly sending chills to his very core. April kissed him with her dead lips. He tried to break free but her grip was strong. She pressed harder, her tongue dragging on the inside of his mouth. Her tongue was like a pumice stone, scratching the soft flesh inside his mouth. Bits of dried soil filled inside, covering his teeth and tongue leaving a moldy taste.
As she pulled away slowly, a trail of dirt and blood stretched like snot. From the wound on her head, black ooze onto his face and in his eyes. Small chunks of brain fell and landed on his cheeks. They slid off slowly leaving a trail. A large night crawler appeared from her head. It slid out and dropped like a spaghetti noodle on his right eye.
He was frozen with fear. She sat up and raised her hands, making them into a single fist high above her head. She looked down and Jeremy and smiled.
Jeremy hears her speak in a low, gravely tone.
“I love you.” April croaked. The she brought both fists down.
The never ending blackout that Jeremy longed for came back and took him. April’s voice floated in the endless space, repeating the last words he heard.
“I love you.”
By
Steven McGuire
Copyright 2010, All Rights Reserved
Tuesday came and went in silence. The fighting came and went. The house had been silent since Saturday.
Sometimes, they just yelled. Sometimes, she had to wear sunglasses to work. Once in a while, he was the one with the fat lip, and those times she ended up in the ER. On Saturday, he accused her of fucking their neighbor Mike. It was bullshit; he had a bad day and wanted to take it out on someone.
April was often at her wits end with Jeremy. Yet, she couldn’t bear the thought of leaving him. He was dominant. She would often find herself aroused after a physical altercation. Sometimes she would purposely taunt him. Make his dinner late or talk back to him. Just to get him fired up, just enough to make him not send her to the E.R.
She would run to the bedroom and grab on to him. She would beg for forgiveness. Making promises she would do whatever he wanted if he would forgive her. She would bite her lip and start removing his clothes. The sex would be rough and passionate. He would call her names and grab her roughly. She would groan and buck until they lay there covered in sweat. He would roll over and all would be forgotten.
That was the only thing they had. Their lives were empty and hopeless. She thought he was the best she could do. He thought she was going to fuck up their little life any day now.
Saturday night had been calm. It had been almost a week since they had their last argument. She defiantly spent money on herself to get some new shoes
Jeremy walked in. His boss was riding him at his construction job for showing up late. Making him do the crappy and heavy work. Jeremy was looking for an excuse, he wanted the release. Both confrontational and sexual. He walked in and April came over giving him a kiss on the lips.
Rage and adrenaline rocketed through his veins. She knew that look in his eyes. She knew these were the nights she wouldn’t make it to work the next day. Jeremy’s head rang like a dial tone from a phone. He didn’t even hear the words either of them were yelling. He didn’t feel the heat burning his hand from the heavy skillet in which she was cooking dinner.
It was an out of body experience. He saw everything in slow motion while hovering from above. Slamming back in to reality as his hand came down. The vibration from the impact raced up his arm. The adrenaline was palatable to his tongue. He exhaled hard and unclenched his jaw. Blood was spilling on to the kitchen floor next to April’s lifeless head.
He stood frozen. There was no scream. There was no pleading and begging for life. Just a thud. Blood was quickly covering the floor, the food from the skillet mixed in. He careful lifted his foot trying to avoid contact. He walked calmly to the kitchen table and grabbed the newspaper. Spreading it out over the puddle. His hands began to shake and was breathing was becoming more labored.
He pulled the retro 1970’s looking kitchen towel off of the hanger. Leaning down, he was careful not to touch her. He laid the towel over her expressionless face. Next, he walked into the garage and grabbed the box of heavy duty yard debris bags. The kind branches and other pointy objects cannot pierce. Then he grabbed his saw.
On his way back in he stopped and grabbed his fifth of Wild Turkey. Unscrewing the lid and tossing it on the counter, he chugged a quarter of the bottle.
It was early in the evening. Too early to bring her out to the back yard and bury her. He would have to wait a couple of hours. Jeremy had time to take care of the body and clean. He grabbed the bottle again only taking a couple of swigs. He knew he needed to be somewhat sober for this, yet drunk enough to make it through. He set the bottle down then grabbed his saw.
He made quick work of the body and had 3 bags full of April and other items used for cleaning. The blood cleaned quicker than he thought. He didn’t allow it to set for long. The linoleum was old. It was brown and had gold paisley shapes in it. The blood mixed in well with the color and older stains; though he still used bleach and some old fashioned elbow grease. Jeremy cursed at her the entire time for the trouble she had caused.
“You just couldn’t fucking give it up could you. Look at you now. This is your fault. You pushed me to this. You never loved me, you just took and took.” Jeremy was getting good and drunk by now. The last of the Wild Turkey was gone. Now he was drinking tequila. El Jimador.
Jeremy’s hangover woke up before he did. He liked the feeling of the blackout. The comfort of feeling nothing.
The blackout was heavy, much darker and emptier than usual. He smelled alcohol on his breath and in his sweat. He smelled something else too; black and damp earth. Licking at his nostrils. His head was spinning so hard the best he could figure was that he had tracked in mud from the night before. Something else was there too, perfume. It stung his head and made it pound more. It was the same smell that April had. Cheap shit he bought he a couple of years back.
Jeremy sat up quickly. His head nearly beat him in to submission. The heavy fog of the blackout clung like a thick blanket. He felt as though he was dreaming. Yet this was too real.
April was standing in the corner of the bedroom, silently looking over to the bed where Jeremy was lying.
She was standing there looking at him. A rush of images came at him like a freight train. So fast he couldn’t believe them let alone his wife across the room. Instinct kicked in and he tried desperately to move away from her. His voice was hoarse. He was breathing so hard when he tried to scream he sounded as though he was choking. He quickly fell off the bed ending up ass over head. He clambered up the side of the wall and stood frozen.
Her dirt caked face flashed the images of him burying her. The heavy bags sloshed as he dragged them. Soil was wiped in areas around her face and body. Her skin was grey and sluggish. Dark, lifeless veins pierced through. Dried blood had glued dirt to her head where the skillet hit. Her dead eyes looked liked spoiled milk; white and yellow. Her limbs were reattached and oozing a black liquid. Seemingly to glue them back together.
Standing there, April didn't move, only swaying gently. Her lips were slightly pursed and her hair matted. She was dripping with foul muddy water. He wondered if she had really been dead when he buried her in the backyard. He rationalized that she couldn’t have been dead. Yet, her brain was visible through her broken skull. It was now maroon and brown with bits of soil clung to it. No one could live through that.
“You shouldn’t be here, you...” He tried to speak but he was breathing so hard he felt as though he would pass out any moment. His knees went week and began to buckle.
April’s empty face tracked his every move. She began to mirror his steps, like a shadow, as he tried to move for the door.
He stopped. Trying to regain his senses. He knew he just needed to catch his breath. His lungs were exhausted. Like he just sprinted a mile. Breathing would be good. Just a couple of deep solid breaths. Breathe. Breathe. A new smell kicked him in the chest.
The smell of decay overtook him. Before he could react, he heaved violently. Spilling the entire contents of his gut with two massive bursts. It projected. The alcohol left in his stomach came with ease. He tried to regain composure. He tried to watch April, to see if she was approaching him.
Vomit ran up his face and burnt his eyes. The smell of decay and stomach acid made his head spin wild. The hangover was taking each breath out of him.
He wouldn’t wait for her to make a move. He dashed as quickly as he could past her. He cursed as he felt her dry and rough fingers scratching his shoulders. He was completely naked, having hoping into bed after a quick shower. He didn’t even notice her as he ran down the short hallway. Turning towards the stair case, he stopped to look into the bedroom. April was walking after him.
He didn’t notice the first step. He stumbled halfway down the stairs. Finally missing a step and crashing hard to the ground. The wind knocked out of him.
“God fucking damnit!” He managed to croak.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
April trudged heavily down each step. He slid on the hardwood floor with his naked ass. Falling backwards yet again off the last two steps. Her legs had been removed, now they were walking her down with a slow and sure step.
He remembered quickly that his keys to the truck were in his coat pocket. He jumped to his feet, having to grab on a small end table for balance. Once he steadied himself, he went for the kitchen. His jacket was carelessly tossed on the table. He reached for it and his shaky hands fumbled through the pockets. The keys fell out of his hand. As he tried to catch them he ended up hitting them across the room. Right at April’s dirty feet.
Defeated, he fell into the kitchen chair. Landing so hard the wood creaked. He sobbed into his hands. She made no further movement towards him. The half bottle of El Jimador was at arm’s length from where Jeremy was sitting. Jeremy grabbed it without looking and swallowed as much as he could before coughing hard. He peered up with red swollen eyes and slammed the bottle hard on the table.
“I killed you,” he whispered. Almost not wanting her to hear him. She didn’t move, and hardly seemed to even notice.
His confidence grew, “You’re fucking dead!” Louder, angrier. “You’re fucking dead! You hear me, bitch! Dead!”
April didn’t answer but simply cocked her head to the side. This was a look he knew all too well. Fury overtook him. This wasn’t Sunday morning, the day after he killed her. This, to him, was Saturday night. The fight was just starting.
In one quick motion, he stood. He pulled his right arm as far across his chest as he could. Then he stepped down, turned his hips and swung harder than he had ever swung before. When he did, he felt several bones in his hand shatter.
Her head swung to the left, moving far past the motion of a regular head. A foul mixture of black ooze and blood flew through the air, landing on Jeremy’s face and the floor around him. She made no noise. Yet, Jeremy could see she was still there in a sense. Her head slowly turned back to face Jeremy’s, making an unsettling popping sound as the bones realigned. She cocked her head slightly to the side. Jeremy swore he saw a smirk on her pursed lips.
In a blind rage he moved forward to swing again. This time he was going to punch her straight on. His bare feet stepped on some of the black ooze and brain matter on the floor. His feet came clear up over his head, he landed hard. His head whipped down violently, sending him into a daze. The hangover and the headache completely fogging his mind.
He heard movement. Then felt an icy cold body straddle his. Moisture was dripping on his face and into his mouth. Thick and ice cold, the foul liquid tasted like death. He began to vomit again. The stench of rotting flesh was over whelming. The little liquid he had came up, turning quickly into dry heaves.
He felt a cold, dry hand touch his face. Brushing it gently from his forehead down to his check, the iced skin felt like sandpaper. A cold breath slid across his cheek. Instantly sending chills to his very core. April kissed him with her dead lips. He tried to break free but her grip was strong. She pressed harder, her tongue dragging on the inside of his mouth. Her tongue was like a pumice stone, scratching the soft flesh inside his mouth. Bits of dried soil filled inside, covering his teeth and tongue leaving a moldy taste.
As she pulled away slowly, a trail of dirt and blood stretched like snot. From the wound on her head, black ooze onto his face and in his eyes. Small chunks of brain fell and landed on his cheeks. They slid off slowly leaving a trail. A large night crawler appeared from her head. It slid out and dropped like a spaghetti noodle on his right eye.
He was frozen with fear. She sat up and raised her hands, making them into a single fist high above her head. She looked down and Jeremy and smiled.
Jeremy hears her speak in a low, gravely tone.
“I love you.” April croaked. The she brought both fists down.
The never ending blackout that Jeremy longed for came back and took him. April’s voice floated in the endless space, repeating the last words he heard.
“I love you.”
This is my second story to be published.
Here is my second story titled Faithfully. This will be published in an upcoming anthology called "Zombie, the Other Fright Meat.
Sunday, January 9, 2011
Here is my first published story: Happy Anniversary
Happy Anniversary
By: Steven McGuire
Copy Right 2010, All Rights Reserved.
Months passed since the infection. Thousands are lost in Oregon and millions worldwide. Yet, as fast as they came, the zombies have been eradicated.
The events were heavily publicized. One horrific image was the Pope, who had turned into a slow moving corpse, attacking a news reporter that got a little too close.
Roy Neilson is a survivor. He lives in the small town of Sandy, Oregon with his wife Helen. He survived by being paranoid for years. Having made his basement into a bunker and filling it with ammo and goods. Roy didn’t leave the bunker until word that a local Safeway had re-opened.
They don’t spend much time out of the bunker. People are still afraid a roamer might be walking around. Though none have been spotted one in over a month. The last was a homeless man seen biting into the neck of Alan Henderson.
Today is a special day. Today is the thirty-fifth anniversary with his wife. Roy heads into town, living near where Roselyn Lake once was. He travels five miles in to downtown Sandy. The area still looks like a demilitarized zone. Heavy fencing and a couple tanks still line the streets. The National Guard has been a presence since the outbreak.
Roy pulls his Ford F-350 into the make shift Safeway, his dream truck he purchased just before hell broke loose. A far cry from the original store, and lacking luxury items, it still has many necessary goods. He walks through the aisles selecting ingredients to make his wife a cake and more supplies for his now depleted bunker.
He pays the cashier in cash that he had buried underneath his house. Roy never believed in banks. The bills smell like wet earth. The cashier accepts the money after checking to make sure it wasn’t counterfeit. With so many people out of work, bogus money is all over. Looting is an everyday occurrence.
The sweet smell of cake fills the kitchen. A television is blaring a re-run of Helen’s favorite show “Perry Mason”.
Roy smears frosting on the cake, making it just right. He mixes a little left over frosting with some food dye. Roy scribbles Happy Anniversary on the cake. The hot pan doesn’t hurt his rugged hands. His heavy weight makes the wooden stairs creak as he walks down into the basement.
Helen, sitting in a chair, turns and acknowledges Roy. He smiles and places the cake before her. She whines and hisses. Her shackled hands clank as she reaches for Roy, revealing bone.
Her teeth and finger nails have been removed. Her rotting flesh peels and oozes. Her decomposing body fills the basement with the smell of death. Roy leans in and kisses her forehead. He wipes some yellow liquid from his upper lip, the smell makes him queasy. She snaps at him like a turtle.
“I love you, Happy Anniversary.” He sits down and eats his cake, admiring Helen and smiling at her.
By: Steven McGuire
Copy Right 2010, All Rights Reserved.
Months passed since the infection. Thousands are lost in Oregon and millions worldwide. Yet, as fast as they came, the zombies have been eradicated.
The events were heavily publicized. One horrific image was the Pope, who had turned into a slow moving corpse, attacking a news reporter that got a little too close.
Roy Neilson is a survivor. He lives in the small town of Sandy, Oregon with his wife Helen. He survived by being paranoid for years. Having made his basement into a bunker and filling it with ammo and goods. Roy didn’t leave the bunker until word that a local Safeway had re-opened.
They don’t spend much time out of the bunker. People are still afraid a roamer might be walking around. Though none have been spotted one in over a month. The last was a homeless man seen biting into the neck of Alan Henderson.
Today is a special day. Today is the thirty-fifth anniversary with his wife. Roy heads into town, living near where Roselyn Lake once was. He travels five miles in to downtown Sandy. The area still looks like a demilitarized zone. Heavy fencing and a couple tanks still line the streets. The National Guard has been a presence since the outbreak.
Roy pulls his Ford F-350 into the make shift Safeway, his dream truck he purchased just before hell broke loose. A far cry from the original store, and lacking luxury items, it still has many necessary goods. He walks through the aisles selecting ingredients to make his wife a cake and more supplies for his now depleted bunker.
He pays the cashier in cash that he had buried underneath his house. Roy never believed in banks. The bills smell like wet earth. The cashier accepts the money after checking to make sure it wasn’t counterfeit. With so many people out of work, bogus money is all over. Looting is an everyday occurrence.
The sweet smell of cake fills the kitchen. A television is blaring a re-run of Helen’s favorite show “Perry Mason”.
Roy smears frosting on the cake, making it just right. He mixes a little left over frosting with some food dye. Roy scribbles Happy Anniversary on the cake. The hot pan doesn’t hurt his rugged hands. His heavy weight makes the wooden stairs creak as he walks down into the basement.
Helen, sitting in a chair, turns and acknowledges Roy. He smiles and places the cake before her. She whines and hisses. Her shackled hands clank as she reaches for Roy, revealing bone.
Her teeth and finger nails have been removed. Her rotting flesh peels and oozes. Her decomposing body fills the basement with the smell of death. Roy leans in and kisses her forehead. He wipes some yellow liquid from his upper lip, the smell makes him queasy. She snaps at him like a turtle.
“I love you, Happy Anniversary.” He sits down and eats his cake, admiring Helen and smiling at her.
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