Facial

by Jeff Strand

  “What do you mean?”

  “I can’t move a whole lion by myself.”

  “Am I really going to have to talk you through every step of the process? Get a wheelbarrow. Or move it in pieces. All you have to do is scoot it two feet away from where it is right now. This is not rocket science, a warlock spell, or brain surgery.”

  “I don’t have a wheelbarrow.”

  “Then select the other option.”

  “The one about moving it in pieces?”

  “Yes.”

  “I don’t know…”

  “Never mind. I do not care. I cannot deal with you anymore. Just allow me to die under here.”

  “Fine, fine,” I said. “I’ll move it in pieces.”

  No matter how bad you think it might be to cut apart a rotting lion corpse, I assure you that the reality is worse. (If you’ve done it, you know what I’m talking about.) It was terrible even though I didn’t just reach into the muck with my bare hands; I put on rubber gloves, wrapped a towel around the lower half of my face, and got a saw from the garage. Then I went to work.

  I simply cannot do justice to the sheer awfulness of this experience. There is literally not a single positive thing I can say about it. So I’m going to do an H.P. Lovecraft and write that it was so horrible that it cannot be described, and leave it at that.

  As I dragged away a particularly large, moist, and sticky chunk of the lion, I saw what was underneath it, and I did a lot of screaming.

  3

  More From Carlton

  There was a bloody face on my basement floor.

  The blood itself presumably came from the lion, leaving me with the still-disturbing fact that there was a face on my basement floor.

  I don’t mean that somebody’s face had been skinned off, Leatherface-style, and left on the floor. I mean that there was a face actually imbedded in the floor. So maybe it’s more accurate to write “there was a bloody face in my basement floor,” though it protruded above the floor, as if somebody had tilted their head all the way back and then been buried in cement up just past their ears.

  The bits of the face that didn’t have blood on them had the color of Caucasian flesh. It was larger than a regular human face, but not significantly so. Just enough that you would think, wow, that guy has a pretty big head. Not that I could see the whole head—just the face.

  One eye (the blue one) was larger than the other (the green one). Its nose was small and flat. Its mouth was wider than a normal human mouth, and the ends curved down too far. There was no visible hair or ears.

  “Stop screaming,” said the face.

  “You…you’re…you’re a…you’re a…you…you’re…you’re a…you…”

  “Correct.”

  If you weren’t there, I suppose you could come up with some theories about what I was seeing. A puppet, for example. Smear some blood on it to hide the imperfections, install a remote control system, and make Carlton The Wacky Nitwit think there was a face in his basement floor.

  This was no puppet.

  I wasn’t dreaming. I wasn’t on drugs. No government agency had slipped anything into the water supply. This was totally real, and standing around saying “This can’t be real!” wasn’t going to accomplish anything.

  I decided that, until I was given reason to believe otherwise, I was going to assume that I was not in danger, and conduct this conversation without fear.

  “What are you?” I asked.

  “A traveler.”

  “Are you human?”

  “Technically.”

  “Why was there a dead lion on top of you?”

  The face smiled. Its teeth were very small but there were a hell of a lot of them. “A traveler must prove himself worthy. Do you know of a more noble creature than the lion?”

  “Nope.”

  “I successfully slew the lion, but this kind of travel is an imperfect art to say the least, and I ended up here. I am quite unhappy about it.”

  “So…is your whole body stuck in there? Or just your face?”

  “It is a complex issue.”

  “Is there anyone I can call for you?”

  “No.”

  “Do you want me to wipe off some of that blood?”

  A slimy white tongue protruded from the mouth and licked the blood off its lips. “That would be much appreciated.”

  I removed the towel from around his face and patted at the blood, making sure not to get my fingers too close to its mouth in case it was a biter. I didn’t do a very good job, but it wasn’t as if the face could see itself.

  Or could it? How had it seen me from underneath the lion?

  “How did you see me from underneath the lion?” I asked, thinking that it was a question that should have occurred to me sooner.

  “I see all.”

  “No, you don’t.”

  “I see much. These eyes are blind, but I see.”

  “Okay. Well, I’ll be honest with you. I feel like I should call the police.”

  “Do not do that.”

  “Wouldn’t you, if you were me?”

  “I would not. Great power awaits you. What is your name?”

  “Carlton. Yours?”

  “You have no need to address me by a name. I am unlikely to be confused with others you know.”

  “All right.”

  “Carlton, is it fair to say that your perception of the world has changed?”

  “Very fair.”

  “I have brought a lion into your realm. I can bring other things. Women, riches…”

  “Wouldn’t the women freak out?”

  “Perhaps. You would have to restrain them.”

  “I’m not doing any rape stuff. That’s totally off the table. Also, no dead women. You know what, let’s not bring ladies into this at all. There are just too many ways that can go wrong.”

  “Riches, then?”

  “What kind of riches?”

  “Gold.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Yes. All the gold you can imagine.”

  “I think you’re just telling me what I want to hear.”

  “Not at all.”

  “C’mon, I can imagine eighty thousand trillion billion pounds of gold. You won’t be able to make that happen for me.”

  “Then perhaps something more reasonable? A solid gold coin in exchange for a favor.”

  “I just did you a favor by dragging the lion off you. Where’s my gold coin?”

  “First, I must restore my power.”

  “What do you need to do that?” I asked.

  “Flesh, blood, and bone.”

  “Lion flesh, blood, and bone?”

  “No.”

  “Fish?”

  “Human.”

  “Mine?”

  “No. I would not waste you, Carlton. You are the one who will bring them to me, so I can regain my ability to reward you.”

  “So, if I’m understanding you correctly, and let me know if I’m not, you’re saying that you want me to bring people down here so you can devour their flesh, blood, and bone. Is that the basic gist of it?”

  “Yes.”

  “Okay, well, fuck that.”

  “Take some time to think about it.”

  “Nah, I’m comfortable with my gut reaction.”

  “Think about it.”

  Despite the chemical imbalance in my brain that I don’t like to tell people about, I am a firm believer in taking responsibility for my own actions. The fact that I lived in filth was nobody’s fault but mine. I make my own choices.

  That said, when I told the face that I would take some time to think about it, it didn’t quite feel as if I was the one saying the words. It wasn’t like I was hypnotized, necessarily, but more something along the lines of a Jedi mind trick. Not that I know what a Jedi mind trick feels like; I am, of course, aware that the Star Wars movies take place in a fictional universe. And that’s not even a good comparison, because the Stormtrooper who said that those weren’t the droids they were
looking for was unaware that he’d been bamboozled, whereas I had this distinct feeling of Wow, it’s really weird that I’m not rushing to call the cops on this face that wants me to bring it prey to devour.

  Subconsciously, I suppose I could have been worried that if I brought the authorities downstairs to investigate, the face would be gone.

  ME: But…but…but it was right there!

  UNAMUSED COP #1: Uh-huh. And just how much marijuana did you smoke today, sir?

  ME: Not a puff! I’m morally opposed to the use of recreational drugs, excluding alcohol and caffeine! I swear to you, there was a face on my floor and a dead lion and I had to…stop looking at me like I’m crazy!

  UNAMUSED COP #2: He’s acting crazy! Taze him! Taze him!

  ME: Aaargh! My bodily functions!

  UNAMUSED COP #1: He’s still twitching. Decapitate him.

  ME: Huh? What? Seriously?

  UNAMUSED COP #2: Oh, yeah. We’re way more corrupt than the cops you see on TV. Could you tilt your head down a little to make it easier? A little more. Yep, just like that.

  SOUND EFFECT: Thwack! Thump. Roll, roll, roll.

  That scenario seemed unlikely, though. Really, it was just this weird thing in my mind where I wanted to consider the face’s offer, even though it was completely obvious that I should decline.

  “While you are thinking about it,” said the face, “do something with the carcass. I do not mind the smell, but the lack of dignity is bothersome.”

  So, yes, because the face told me to, I cleaned up the dead lion’s remains. Once again, I don’t possess the writing skills to describe the sheer disgustingness of this task. I put the chunks into garbage bags (double-bagging them, of course) and piled them next to the staircase. By the time I was ready to start mopping, my clothes were completely covered with gook and maggots.

  “You should keep the tail as a souvenir,” said the face.

  “I probably won’t,” I replied.

  To be fair, the face had been quiet through most of the process, letting me do my wretched work without behaving like an asshole.

  After mopping up the floor, I took the longest shower of my entire life, got dressed, loaded up my car with the garbage bags, and drove to the city dump. You weren’t supposed to dump animal remains there, but it’s not like anybody was X-raying the bags.

  Hmmmmm, I thought, as I drove home. Completely disposing of the lion like that has eliminated some of my proof that this really happened. I should have at least taken some pictures. If for any reason I need to convince the police that there was indeed a dead lion in my basement, I’m screwed.

  Again, I’m not trying to blame mind control tricks. I’m simply saying that to overlook this kind of detail wasn’t like me.

  I drove back home and went down into my basement.

  I hope the face is still there, I thought. I didn’t even consider that it was a weird thing to have thought, what with the whole “flesh, blood, and bone” aspect. The logical thing to think would be I sure hope that face is gone.

  The face was still there.

  “Hi,” I said.

  “Hello, Carlton.”

  “Lion’s gone.”

  “Good.”

  “Can I have a gold coin?”

  “No. That was not the arrangement. I still need to regain my power.”

  “I can’t bring you a dead body.”

  “I disagree.”

  “It’s not like I have access to a morgue or something. I do website design from home. Sort of. It’s more of a hobby. Some stocks really paid off a few years ago so I don’t really have to supplement my income. Where would I get a body?”

  “It is very simple. You start by finding a body that is alive. They are all over the place.”

  “I’m not killing anybody!”

  “Think it over.”

  “No!”

  “I am not rushing your decision. Take your time.”

  “You’re talking about murder!”

  “Is that problematic?”

  “Yes!”

  The face sighed. “I understand your hesitation. Usually when somebody asks you to kill for them, you have known each other longer.”

  “I’m not killing for you.”

  “All right.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes.”

  “Oh. Good.” I smoothed out my shirt. “Is there anything else I can do for you?”

  “Not right now.”

  “What about a dog?”

  What the hell was I saying? I loved doggies! I’d walked out of movies where dogs died. Reading Where the Red Fern Grows as a kid had traumatized me for weeks.

  “Do not insult me by offering a dog,” said the face.

  “Sorry. A cat would be insulting too, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “I don’t know what to tell you. I wish you’d teleported into the basement of a bloodthirsty serial killer or somebody who could help you out. If I could get you a body, I would, I promise, but it’s just not possible.”

  “You will see, Carlton, that these things have a way of working themselves out.”

  My cell phone began to vibrate in my pocket. I took it out and looked at the screen. Greg. I hadn’t talked to my brother in a couple of months.

  “Hi, Greg,” I said.

  On the other end, Greg just sobbed.

  4

  Greg

  I started sobbing as soon as I heard Carlton’s voice. I hadn’t planned to confess to anybody, since that seemed like the kind of thing that only a stupid person would do, but I was drunk off my ass. I really should have locked up my phone before I opened the bottle of whiskey.

  “Carlton…oh, Jesus, Carlton, I’m sorry I called, I just needed to talk to somebody…is this a bad time?”

  “No, it’s fine.”

  “I’ve done something terrible.”

  “What?”

  “It’s Felicia…you know she’s cheating on me, right?”

  “Sure. We talk about that every time you call. Are you getting a divorce?”

  “No.”

  “You should, Greg. You really should. Just because you can’t perform doesn’t mean you should have to live with that. How many men is she up to now, fifteen?”

  “No, she’s not up to fifteen men!” I shouted into the phone. “What the fuck is the matter with you?”

  “Thirteen men and two women, then?”

  I knew that Carlton wasn’t trying to be a jerk. We had the kind of relationship where we were very straightforward with each other. For example, I felt free to tell him that he was a disgusting slob, though I would either use “disgusting” or “slob” and not both. He had plenty of money to hire a housekeeper, but he was cheap and also a bit mentally ill.

  “What terrible thing did you do?” he asked.

  “I hired somebody to kill one of them.”

  He didn’t answer right away.

  “Are you still there?”

  “Yes,” Carlton said. “Maybe this is something we should discuss in person.”

  “I shouldn’t have called.”

  “You definitely should have called. This is exactly the kind of situation where you call somebody to talk it out. I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”

  I spent the next twenty minutes drinking whiskey. The truth was, Carlton and I weren’t all that close, and I didn’t even like him much of the time, but he was somebody I could always trust.

  He knocked at my door twenty minutes later. He glanced around the apartment after I let him in. Carlton had showered recently, which was unusual, and he looked kind of spooked, which I suppose made sense since he was here to discuss an assassination.

  “Is Felicia here?”

  “Nope.”

  “She out banging somebody?”

  “Presumably.”

  “The guy you’re having killed?”

  I shook my head. “Nah. They get a hotel during his lunch break on Tuesdays and Thursdays. I think tonight she’s doing Franklin.”
/>
  “The black guy?”

  “There was a black guy?”

  “I thought you said she was screwing a black guy.”

  “Franklin’s the black character in Peanuts. Maybe that’s what you were thinking of.”

  “Yeah, that could be it,” said Carlton. “So which one are you murdering?”

  “Tommy.”

  “The uncircumcised one?”

  “There was an uncircumcised one?”

  “Wasn’t one of her boyfriends uncircumcised, and you found out about it because she e-mailed another one of her boyfriends to say how it weirded her out, but once she got used to the texture it wasn’t so bad?”

  “Probably. I don’t remember.”

  “He kept wanting her to use her mouth.”

  “Enough! That’s not who I’m talking about!”

  “Is Tommy the one who sent you the picture?”

  “Yeah.”

  “If any of them deserve to die, it’s him.”

  I plopped down onto my couch. I almost missed.

  “I’m serious, Carlton. I really paid some guy to kill him. I can’t believe it. I’ve become the kind of man who would pay a man to kill a man. How did that happen?”

  Carlton sat down next to me. “Well, we either have to blame Felicia or your penis.”

  “We’ll blame Felicia.”

  “So you literally hired a hit man?”

  I nodded.

  “Is he reliable?”

  “I don’t know. It’s not like there were online reviews. Jasper knew a friend of a friend of a friend who could help me fix the problem. I met with him and he seemed like a solid guy. Off the grid. Doesn’t pay taxes or anything. God, I’d give anything to be able to just disappear like that.”

  “Is it too late to call off the hit?”

  “Nah. I’ve already paid him half, though, and I’d forfeit that.” I sighed. “This is insane. I don’t know what I was thinking. There’s only so much a man can take before he lashes out, you know what I mean? It was good talking to you, Carlton. We need to do this more often. I’ll cancel the hit. It was a stupid idea in the first place. Tommy doesn’t deserve to die.”

  Carlton cleared his throat. “So, can I ask you a question that might seem odd?”

  “Sure.”

  “Do you get to keep Tommy’s body?”