by Wilson, Jay
The dirt above my old body begins to move, and my former hand breaks through the surface, then the other hand, and a mountain of moving earth finally reveals a head. Not long after, the entire body surfaces, stands, and watches us with cold cloudy eyes.
My once shiny and lively hair now hangs in thick dreads over pale, bruised shoulders. My fair skin had long ago mottled with near black and purple spots where the blood settled. My old face, now slack, was at one time full of life with a brilliant smile. There's a noticeable lean of weakness as it stands there gazing up through the window.
It's weird looking at myself. It's as if I’m witnessing the true shadow of my former self. The woman who died is no longer the woman who lives, so to speak. I wonder for a moment if my actions might reflect negatively upon my prior good-natured lifestyle. Then I realize it doesn't much matter now that I'm dead. So, I crush his skull into the window until the glass shatters.
I may not be alive because of his death, but it sure as hell feels good to take away the one thing of his that he so readily and easily took from me.
Only Human
Can I hold myself to a higher place than anything else in this universe? I thought as I sliced through the thin layer of skin of the paralyzed woman supine on the cold metal table.
Susan lived in a house with her six-foot-five, dark, and handsome husband and her gorgeous daughter. They had a peach picket fence, and she did Bikram yoga every morning. She liked to walk the family Pekinese, and she went out on the weeknights while her husband worked late. She would meet men, and let them flirt with her. Sometimes, she would stop by their place for a nice warm cup of Joe—or Mark or Peter, whatever his name happened to be. Some might call her a cheating whore or a monster, but she's only human—an animal among animals no different from other creatures that cheat on their partners: elephant seals, hedge sparrows, even some insects.
I often wondered what really made us different. Is it that we can talk? Is it that we can walk on only two legs? Is it that we supposedly have a higher mental capacity or that we can build giant machines while simultaneously destroying the earth? Is it some ability to know right from wrong? Do animals not have these qualities, too?
She blinked hard every time I cut into her. The skin parted as if I'd cut through a warm round of Christmas ham, only she bled. A lot. With the new hole in place, I quickly attached another arm—one of two I harvested earlier from a homeless woman—just below her right one. Not long before this, I attached the other just below her left. Now she had four total. With each prick of the needle to close the wound, she blinked.
I thought about what I might do when I arrived home later that evening. I might play some Call of Duty or perhaps read a book or two. I might make some dinner or take my dog for a long walk. Perhaps I'll go out and meet a woman instead of staying inside, I thought.
When I finished attaching the arm, I took a step back and gazed with amazement at my art. She didn't look happy, and I didn't blame her. She was, after all, in a very serious position in her life. One she might remember if the police found her before she died of infection. However, my art would put a smile upon someone's face. Probably many faces. Sure, some might call me a monster, but no different am I from the many murderers of the animal kingdom like lions that kill to rule the jungle, murdering a whole family—cubs included—and taking the lion’s wife hostage to enjoy and rape at his pleasure. After all, we're all just animals; it only happens that I'm human.
The Layoff
“That goddamn bitch,” Zach Brandt said as he ran his left hand through his full head of hair. “I knew she was going to take my job.”
“I know, sir.” His assistant said from the other side of his desk. The man was thin, young, and frail, and would probably cry if he broke a nail while filing. A Goddamn pussy, but at least he did everything Brandt wanted him to do, which is more than what Nina Dravisnki did for him.
“This is what’s wrong with the world. Dumb bitches are taking over what should be a man’s workplace, but they aren’t doing it because they’ve got what it takes. Hell, half of ‘em can’t even work longer than a few months without getting all fat, greasy, and bloating with a little beast growing inside them, which means they gotta take a few months off, too. How does that give them time to learn how to do their job right? It doesn’t. So, how do they get by with all this shit?”
“I don’t know, sir.”
“I’ll tell ya how. Splittin’ their legs and shovin’ their cunt in everyone’s face. That’s how.” He said, and ran his hand through his hair again. “You know what? She’s not gonna take my job.”
“I know, sir.”
“Get me Miles Travolti.”
His assistant appeared shocked. “Are you sure, sir?”
“Yeah, yeah. Now get the fuck out of my office.” He said, waving his hand dismissively.
“Yes, sir.”
The boy stood from his chair as if he had an iron rod shoved up his ass-end, awkwardly smiled, and shuffled out of the office.
"Damn kid." He said to himself, and jotted his thoughts on a small rectangular pad that had his initials embossed at the letterhead. "Get a better assistant."
As he set the pen down, his phone rang. He let it go three times, and half of the fourth so he might seem busy. He didn't often have much to do in his corner office, but he liked people to think he was so important he didn't have time for anyone or anything.
In keeping with his ruse, he answered the phone as if irritated that the caller interrupted him. "What is it?"
"Sir, I have the man you requested on the phone."
"Goddamn it." He said, as he picked up the pen and scratched fire assistant on the pad. "Fine, fine. Let me talk to him."
The phone popped and clicked, and then Brandt said, "Travolti?"
"What do you need?"
"I need someone taken care of. Now."
"Where?"
"My office. I want to watch."
"Are you sure? That could make things suspicious."
"Yeah, I'm sure. Cunt has it comin' to her, and I want see her take it hard!"
"Whatever you say." The man said, and after a short silence, "two-hundred-K."
"Two-hund—are you out of your fucking mind?"
"I’m not stupid. I know whom this woman is and what it means if she lives. You’ll get to keep your cozy little job making your cozy little paycheck every week. Two-hundred is nothing, but it'll be everything if you lose your job to her."
"How in the hell do you know all that? Just—never mind. Tell my assistant how much and he’ll transfer it to you. Just get it done."
"Good. Have her in the office in ten minutes.”
"Fine." Brandt said, and hung up the phone.
He pulled his drawer open and retrieved a pack of cigarettes. He opened the top and popped one of them into his mouth. He threw them back into the drawer and grabbed the blue partially translucent lighter lying next to them.
~
From her desk, Nina watched Brandt open the door as she put down her phone. He had a stick of cancer hanging from his lip, and as he approached her desk, she could see that it was slightly limp, probably no different from his ancient pecker.
Though her animosity drove her thoughts with angry and unfounded generalizations, she still managed to smile when he reached her desk.
He said, "My office. Ten minutes."
"Okay." She said, as he began to walk away.
He paused, "Sir."
"Okay, sir." She said with a broader smile, and he walked away.
Her smile quickly faded, and she looked to the small reception desk sitting just outside Brandt's office. His assistant, Tim, stared back at her with a grim look on his face.
A few minutes later, Brandt returned.
He said, "Office. Now."
As she followed him to his office, a not-so-subtle waft of peppermint, expensive cologne, and burnt tobacco followed behind him. The miasma nauseated her, but she just smiled as they entered his oversized o
ffice.
"Sit." He ordered, and he took his place behind the desk.
"You know why you're here?"
"No, sir." She said, following his directions.
"I want to tell you what an amazing job you've been doing."
"Thank you, sir."
He nodded. "So, tell me. Is it true that your father is some kind of famous guy?"
"Not famous, but he's well off."
"Hmm, do you suppose he has many enemies?"
"I don't know, sir. I suppose he might. Why?"
He nodded at her inquisition, "Nothing, nothing. Just curious is all."
Nina shifted her seat to the right about six inches, and looked at her watch. She furrowed her brow.
She said, "Do you know why human resources highered me?"
"Cause you do a good job?"
"Well, I suppose that's part of it, but I also did really well in school."
"Yes, I suppose that's true. We only higher the best at the brightest here.” He said with a smug smile suggesting that he was to thank for such amazing staffing choices.
"Do you know what I was really good at in school?"
"No, please, enlighten me." He said, and sounded slightly annoyed with the conversation.
"Physics. In fact, I was so good, I won several trophies." She said, “You know what else? I had an old bodyguard that followed me to all my classes, and even helped me in physics. He was really good with that. You might know him, name’s Lionel Travolti.”
"What?” He said with widened eyes, but before she could answer, the glass behind him shattered and his face exploded all over the desk.
The Brantley Estate
Russell Ford never been so pleased with a purchase than he was with the Brantley estate. A charming home he purchased no more than two weeks after the last of the original family who owned the home died. Though the house itself was over a hundred years old, the family maintained it well throughout the years.
As the sun died on a cool Thursday evening two months after Russell settled in, he handed the decorator a check. She took it, making sure to caress his skin with her slender fingers. A soft sensual smile painted her face to accentuate her interest in him, and when she turned to leave the patio, she perked her tight ass into the air and purposefully swayed her voluptuous hips to rein in his attention. He'd call her the next day, if only to spend one night to get a taste of those luscious legs.
Russell shut the door, and when he turned toward the house, he was surprised to see that it was markedly dark. He'd spent so much time swooning Heather on the porch that the afternoon spilled into night leaving black shadows to cobweb the home.
He reached to the wall of the foyer and turned the switch to illuminate the corridor. The previous owner adorned the entrance with a beautiful antique chandelier, and when the light refracted from the crystal diamonds, it made fuzzy black shadows against the redwood surfaces.
As he walked toward the kitchen to make some coffee to enjoy while watching his favorite sitcom in the living room, the lights flickered. Then again. He looked up, and after a long pause, the lights flickered out completely.
The hell is that, he thought as he curled his nose and look up at the chandelier. He walked back to the switch, twisted it a few times to turn off and on the light. When it didn't respond to his molestation, he let out a sigh and followed the wall to the kitchen.
In there, he tried to turn on the light, but it didn't respond either. He looked to the small clock on the range, and there were no glowing numbers.
"Fuck, the power's out." He said to himself, now worried that his food would spoil.
After feeling his way to the sink, he kneeled and opened the cabinet just below it. A soft, muffled creek from the hinges sang for the darkness, and he reached in to grab the flashlight he kept down there for emergencies. As he felt around for it, he felt something brush against his hand.
He quickly retracted his arm, and grabbed his wrist. A thin layer of sweat accompanied by the pinch of gooseflesh permeated his skin. His heart beat a bit faster, but he quickly took a breath to soothe his irrational fear. He figured it was nothing more than a plastic bag that contained the little blue scrubber sponges for the dishes. Nevertheless, he reached in cautiously, grabbed the flashlight, and quickly pulled it out.
Russell turned the light on, and directed the beam into the cabinet. Nothing was in there. No creature. No sponges. Nothing. He didn't know what touched him, and he couldn't shake the creepy feeling.
After closing the cabinet, he made his way to the other side of the kitchen. The old house contained a walk-in refrigerator large enough to hold a few months of food. The winters could get pretty wicked, and so they built a house that could hold them through the harshest of winters. It suited Russell perfectly for his needs.
When he reached the refrigerator, he grabbed the handle and opened the door. A thin fog billowed from the cold room and floated past the beam of light.
He entered the room and pointed the light at the back wall, which illuminated a door leading to the freezer. If the power was out for any length of time, he knew he’d be able to keep his food in there since it was already very cold.
He swept the beam from the door to a wall with several metal racks protected by a white rubber film mounted to it. On the shelves were several plastic bags with different names and dates on them. He shined the light upon the one at the very end. The label read, “Expires 12-14-14.” He then pressed on the plastic to reveal a liver belonging to a woman once known as Nayala.
His stomach growled but he didn’t have time to indulge on one of his sweeter cuts, so he grabbed the edge of the bag and picked it up. Suddenly, something banged behind him, and he directed the light at the exit. Someone closed the door on him.
But who? He thought.
A deep growl erupted from the shadows, and he moved the beam of light across the room. He swept left, then right, and back again. As he walked toward the exit, a shadowy wraith entered and quickly exited the light.
Russell dropped the bag, and ran to the entrance. He pulled on the handle, but it didn’t budge. He turned toward the darkness as he kicked the flashlight. The beam swept across the fridge and revealed the thing that was stalking him.
It was a creature of some kind, well mostly, anyway. It bore a strange and startling resemblance to the previous owner of the house. He knew it was impossible, but it was also no more impossible than the monster that stood before him.
The thing reached up with its sharp claws and ran its blade-like nail down his cheek. There was much pain, and he felt blood drip down his face.
A low gravelly and ethereal voice said, “You killed me for this house. Killed all these women. For what? Food?”
“I—I can’t help myself.” He said with a kind of honesty he never showed before.
“Well, so am I.” The creature said, and then began to feed on Russell.
Serendipity
On Sundays, the Silvertown Mall was a beautiful thing. Just after people repented to whatever God ran their lives, they dispersed for massive brunches. Afterward, men would hail their friends for a lazy day on the green while their women-folk perused through the giant superstores to spend money on whatever glamorous thing caught their eye.
Welcome to the suburbs, Colby thought to himself.
He licked the melted side of a mountain of pink ice cream. Some of it dripped down his knuckles, and he wiped it with the thin useless napkin as he sat down at a bench. The seat was uncomfortably hard, but it gave him a good view of the mall's main foot traffic.
Colby looked at all the hearts and red tidings hanging everywhere. Each storefront window sported pink, red, and white decorations for the third most expensive holiday of the year. Men and women who were already together, walked side-by-side, fingers laced together. Others, the single ones with shitty rebellious attitudes, wore anti Valentine colors. Then there were the ones he was there for, the single hopeful women who desperately needed to find themselves someone special
so they didn't feel so alone on such a holiday.
A slender and attractive woman walked by, a little too fast, and their eyes met. She slowed for a moment to gaze into his gorgeous green irises, and then continued past him. He watched her, admiring her firm curves below the thin, black sweater and tight white skirt. She stopped, looked back at him, and then returned.
Perfect, he thought.
"Excuse me," she said, and he could almost hear the desperation in her voice. He wondered what kind of broken woman she was and why. Had she been married and beat by her husband? Did someone cheat on her because of something she lacks? Had daddy given her riding lessons when she was a girl? He didn't know, but he knew it was something for which he was thankful.
"Yes?" He said, casual and smooth.
"I know this seems strange, and it's really not normal for me." She said.
It's actually probably quite normal for you, he thought and let out a hearty internal chuckle.
"Would you possibly like to have a drink with me tonight?"
Bingo, he thought as he stood. He cocked his head to the side to make it seem like he needed to think about it. He didn't want to seem too eager because she might take that as a sign to back away. He read cosmopolitan. He knew the kind of advice they offered, and so he sat on his answer for a moment to really snare her.
As he opened his mouth, ready to speak the words she hungrily needed to hear, his gaze shifted to a woman walking by. Her brown eyes drifted to his, and then slowly danced back to what she'd previously been looking at.
