by Jeff Strand
“No,” I said.
“You sure? Because your arm went up a little.”
“Why would I do that?”
“The world isn’t as normal as it used to be.”
“I’m getting that.”
“Did Greg tell you there was a dead lion down here?”
“No.”
“There was.”
“How did a dead lion get down here?”
“It’s complicated. I’m not going to get into the whole thing right now.”
“Let’s sit down,” I said, hoping that if we were both seated, neither of us would entertain thoughts about pushing the other down the stairs.
We sat down on the steps.
“First, I want to make it clear that I’m not going to try to hit on you,” said Carlton. “Greg was my brother and I loved him dearly, so I would never betray him that way, and also, you’re a fresh widow and, I assume, not looking to hook up anyway, right?”
“Right.”
To his credit, Carlton did not seem disappointed. “Anyway, that’s the big secret. I’m not proud of it, but I don’t see why I should get all mopey, either.”
“It’s okay,” I told him. “I understand.”
“Really?”
I nodded. “If Greg had tried to explain it on the drive over here, I guess maybe I would have thought it was a messed-up idea, but being here, there’s this…I don’t know. I’m not opposed to it.”
“Well, that’s awesome. Because I do need a new partner.”
“I’ll have to think about it. I might go solo.”
“That is an excellent idea,” said the faces. “A most excellent idea indeed.”
“I haven’t decided for sure,” I explained. “I don’t want to rush into anything quite yet.”
“Fair enough.”
Speaking to the faces was a lot less freaky than I would have expected. I’m not saying that it was like chatting with my mom, but it wasn’t as uncomfortable as the pillow talk right after my first back-door experience.
“How does it work?” I asked. “A new face for every murder?”
“No,” said Carlton. “I haven’t killed anywhere near this many people. I only killed three without Greg.”
“You told him it was one.”
Carlton was silent for a moment.
“That may have been a fib,” he admitted.
“It’s all right.”
Carlton sighed. “Also, I was fibbing about the three. It was five. One of them was a nun. I went out of my way specifically to kill a nun. I’m less proud of that than anything else I’ve done recently. And it would have been impractical to sneak her out of there, so I left her dead body behind. I didn’t even feed her to the faces.” He glanced down at the faces. “Sorry.”
“We already knew of this,” said the faces. “We know all.”
Carlton looked back at me. “They keep saying they know all, but I think they’re exaggerating. They do know a lot, though. I’m not trying to take anything away from them.”
“Why are there more faces than corpses?” I asked the faces.
“You count incorrectly.”
Carlton started pointing to the faces, one at a time, whispering his count.
“You count the corpses incorrectly,” said the faces, sounding much less annoyed than I would.
“I don’t get it.”
“You are not the only provider. My influence expands.”
“Do you think that’s bad?” I asked Carlton.
He shrugged. “Not really. I’ve never been the jealous type.”
16
Others
Honestly, I didn’t feel bad about ripping out my father’s throat with my teeth. I did, however, feel stupid about doing it while he was doing seventy miles per hour on the freeway. Timing is everything, I guess.
* * *
I buried my face in my hands and silently wept.
“I’m sorry,” said Dan. “I’m really, really sorry.”
“I just try so hard to make you happy. That’s all I care about. I quit my job to raise the children and give you the family you always wanted. I always try to look my best for you. I do nice things for you all the time. How could you say that to me?”
“I’m so sorry,” said Dan, lifting the mug to his mouth. “I didn’t mean it when I said that your coffee smelled like rat poison. Here, I’m drinking it now. Mmmmmm. Good.”
* * *
“Are you sure we don’t own an anvil?” I asked.
“Of course I’m sure,” said Mom. “Why would we own an anvil?”
“Never mind. I need to hurry before she moves.” I looked around my room and picked up my Blu-ray player. It wasn’t very heavy, but Grandma was pretty frail, and she was too distracted by her gardening to brace herself. If I threw it from my second-floor window just right, she’d break.
* * *
“Guns don’t kill people,” I said. “Okay, they do, but it’s way less fun than using a crowbar.”
The guy in the bar nodded his agreement as I split his skull. A couple of the other patrons raised their glasses in admiration of my technique.
Then a pool cue went through the back of my neck. I’d heard the woman at the other billiards table break it in half, but it hadn’t occurred to me that she was trying to give it a sharp end. I’m such a dumbass sometimes.
* * *
“Guns don’t kill people,” I said. “People kill people.”
I thought this was an important message to convey as I fired bullets into the crowd. It’s unlikely that they heard me over the sound of my semi-automatic rifle, but sometimes you need to speak the truth even if it’s not heard.
* * *
I took down the “No Swimming—Alligators in Area” sign, sat by the lake, smiled, and waited.
* * *
“Is that a bomb?” the security guard asked me.
“No, sir,” I said, even though it was quite obviously a bomb that I was pushing into the hockey arena in a shopping cart.
“I would have let you through with it if you’d just been honest,” said the security guard. “But now, get the fuck out of here.”
I hung my head, stepped out of line, and pushed the bomb away. I’d learned my lesson, and was honest with the guard at the other entrance.
* * *
[Translated from French.] I pushed four people off the Eiffel Tower before I was pushed. I like watching the fall, because my plummet is almost acrobatic. I don’t like watching the impact.
* * *
[Translated from Chinese.] We no longer have a population problem. I wish I was still around to enjoy the extra space.
* * *
What bothered me the most is that he’d bought me the meat cleaver as a present for graduating culinary school. It was my meat cleaver. Not his. Mine.
You know what? I think I’m misremembering. What bothered me the most is that he was stabbing me to death in the first place. Eight years of marriage and he didn’t even try to do a quick slice across the neck.
Let me rewatch it.
Oh, yeah, I’m totally bawling and screaming and carrying on. A lot of people here claim that they took a casual approach to their murder, I get that, I really do, but for me it was a pretty upsetting experience.
By the way, you don’t get to watch your entire life. That may be what you were thinking. Now that would be great—you could watch yourself as a little kid, see your first kiss, relive all of your birthday parties from one to thirty-two, but no. All you get to do is rewatch your death.
I won’t lie—it was kind of cool the first time. But after a while it became kind of depressing.
Don’t worry, it’s not like you have to watch your death over and over on an endless loop. It’s totally voluntary. Everybody watches it at least once, but I don’t want to give the impression that we’re in some kind of hell where you never get to stop watching the blood pour down your forehead.
It’s not so bad here. For a black void, anyway. Sure, I miss havi
ng a body, but it’s not that hard to communicate with the others in the void, and, hey, you don’t have to worry about gaining weight!
Not that you eat anything.
Or drink, or sleep, or make love, or sense anything.
Honestly, it sucks.
The one upside: you get to meet lots of new people every day.
17
Jasper
Once Greg showed up, we all pretty much stopped being angry with him. There’s no reason to hold a grudge.
18
Greg
Bullshit. They absolutely held a grudge.
19
Felicia
The street was covered with faces.
There were faces all over the homes.
All over people’s lawns, even though they were harder to see.
In fact, there were now some faces starting to appear in midair, which was extremely disconcerting.
Whenever they spoke, all of the faces spoke at the same time. The earth rumbled. Windows shattered. Trees fell. I once saw a guy fall to the ground, clutching at his ears as blood trickled between his fingers.
Everybody wears earplugs now. Fortunately, the faces don’t talk very often. Maybe once a day. It gets louder every day, of course, and it’s only been two weeks, so I can’t imagine what it’s going to be like in a month.
“This is a lot more apocalyptic than you would’ve thought, huh?” I said to Carlton.
Carlton didn’t respond, because he didn’t have a lower jaw.
Or arms, legs, or really much of anything except for what remained of his face and a torso. I’d felt like I should kill him, and I started to do that. But you know what? I’m stronger than the others. I can resist.
Carlton is the one who started this whole thing, and I want a fitting end to the story that the faces are honoring us with the request to tell, so I’m doing this right.
I’m saving him for last.
20
The Traveler
I am not a traveler.
Though I have never been to distant planets, I have encountered those who have, and I was happy to become their plaything.
“Prove your bravery!” they said. “Slay this lion!”
And I did kill the lion. The odds were stacked in my favor, since the lion was in a cage, but my knife had a short blade and there was still a strong element of danger.
“You have proven yourself worthy,” said the travelers. “We have no interest in this world. We will allow you to rule it.”
“I do not wish to rule it,” I said. I was in a truly dark mood, because the lion had slashed my face, taking off most of the skin. “I wish to destroy it.”
“Perhaps you should make this decision when you are filled with less pain and rage.”
“No.”
“Very well. We will give you a new face with which to influence your fellow humans. Make your will their will. Consume this mildly interesting planet and then toss it away.”
I smiled with my mangled lips.
* * *
So cower in your closets. Hide under your beds.
You will be found.
In the end, all of you will be found.
Were you surprised to find this book amongst the worthless coins I spat out for my amusement? It is unlikely that you were tempted by the coins, since even solid gold would be of no use in the current world, but I assume the book captured your interest.
Did you think it would tell you how to stay alive?
Sorry to disappoint.
I merely felt that if you survived this long, you deserved to know a little more than those who died sooner than you.
I wish to thank those who were generous enough with their time to contribute their perspective. Particularly Felicia, who is going to die before you finish reading this sentence.
Poor Felicia.
And poor Carlton, who now has nobody to feed him.
They were not the last, but perhaps you will have that honor.
Perhaps.
Now put this book away. It is not a good time to be distracted.
About the Author
Jeff Strand is the four-time Bram Stoker Award-nominated (and zero-time Bram Stoker Award-winning) of various books that probably aren’t quite as weird as Facial but which are still pretty weird. These include Benjamin’s Parasite, Fangboy, The Sinister Mr. Corpse, and Stalking You Now. He lives in Tampa, Florida. You should definitely check out his Gleefully Macabre website at www.JeffStrand.com.
About the Publisher
DarkFuse is a leading independent publisher of modern fiction in the horror, suspense and thriller genres. As an independent company, it is focused on bringing to the masses the highest quality dark fiction, published as collectible limited hardcover, paperback and eBook editions.
To discover more titles published by DarkFuse, please visit its official site at www.darkfuse.com.
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