by Stephen Biro
"His name is Benjamin Weaver," an officer said and handed him a wallet. "He left a bunch of food as well as the mutilated bodies in the bathroom. It looks like he cut chunks off the people but we don't know where they went."
An officer standing next to them leaned over the rail and tossed his cookies. "I do. The neighbor said he grilled slabs of meat for everyone downstairs by the pool all day and night."
"Fuck. Send a team down to the grill. What else?"
"His wife and two kids were murdered and, I guess, eaten, five days ago back in Ohio. He came here on his own, seems that he left a wake of dead corpses along the way. There was a killing nearby at the supermarket and I'm sure once we watch the tape we'll see Mr. Weaver."
"There was also the three shot in the convenience store south of here, but no money was taken. Those tapes have been pulled: we need to watch them as well."
Another officer walked out to the balcony and he looked ill. "We found the sick fuck."
"Where?"
"He was eating… fuck-sakes, I can't even say it… we need to get to the hospital."
Detective Hall closed his eyes to calm his stomach. When he opened them, ready to go, he noticed a children's book sitting on the balcony at his feet.
'S.K.I.N.'
Anthony Sant'Anselmo
The year is 1977. January 3rd, to be exact and Marshall Sterling has just taken his wife and two young children on a trip for some culture and business. Twenty-eight arduous hours and a whole eight minutes (as if to taunt them) with a connection in Manáus, Brazil was what it took to reach the Amazon Rainforest; the lungs of the earth. Traveling in a single-engine Cessna Water Plane and cruising at roughly 8,000 feet altitude, Marshall smokes his favorite brand of '1839' Pipe Tobacco from his wooden Dunhill Pipe. A pipe that was handed down to him from his late father, Ambrosia Sterling, who preceded him in the field of Anthropology.
Sitting beside Marshall is his golden-haired wife, Barbara. Where does one begin with this monster? Ungrateful, uncaring and borderline unstable. With the latest issue of 'Family Circle' Magazine held by her perfectly-manicured fingers, her glare is anywhere but on the print, as she peers out the window at the vast lands of marshes and foliage steadily passing below her. Uneasy, to say the least, Barbara's idea of being uprooted from Manhattan and the kids missing school so soon after their Christmas break is certainly not her idea of a "much-needed vacation."
"Doing okay, my dear?" Inquires Marshall.
"Just fine!" She smiles with a tightly-wound, "polite" expression.
"Oh, come now, as I've explained to you and the children, this is going to be a grand experience." A plume of smoke escapes from his lips as he continues. "How many children at their age get this kind of opportunity, hmmm?" (Plume, plume.) Marshall smiles. Barbara studies his smile and returns with a scowl.
"Opportunity?!" She blurts. "Quiet!" Marshall says, looking back at the children seated behind them. He leans into her, "You knew well before I took your hand in marriage that I am an anthropologist. You certainly understand how important it is for me to attend these society reunions; and as co-founder and chairman of the society, it is my duty to present the universities grant check to them tonight. This money will further help with the ground-breaking research being conducted; and while doing so, it will help the society in developing the best age-defying skin cream on the market."
Barbara scoffs, "Society?! More like has-beens getting together to justify their bloated grants, stroke their egos and drink until you all pass out!" Barbara stares at him with a smirk as she brews more poison to toss his way.
"You've probably all raped the young native girls, eh, Marshall?"
He squirms a bit and whispers, "Keep your voice down, you're being absurd!"
"You probably like that sorta' thing, don'tcha, Marshie? Poor, defenseless native girls willing to do anything since they fear a white devils; their only saving grace is your poor excuse for a cock!" She ties a nice bow on the insult with her signature drunk hyena laughter. Oh, how Marshall despised that laugh... Barbara then hiccups and covers her mouth.
"Enough!" Marshall says loudly. In a breath, he exhales his frustrations and whispers to Barbara, "You're drunk and saying awful, terrible things to me. Sober up for Christ's sake! You’re my wife - act like it, God damn it!"
Little Oliver is sitting beside his twin sister, Madison and fighting over who gets more arm real estate. Madison grabs the toy airplane that rests on his lap, throws it and gloats at his misfortune. Oliver quietly unclasps his seat belt, drops his feet to the floor and begins to search for it. Madison stakes claim on the land of the armrest and settles in for some in-flight entertainment. While on the hunt, Oliver's eyes happen upon a dark blue hardback book inside his father's leather attache case. More importantly, one Curious Oliver has not seen before.
"Papa, what's this?" Holding it in plain-view, Barbara takes notice of the large gold lettering on the book that plainly reads: CANNIBALS.
Snatching it from his nimble fingers, Marshall stuffs it back into his attaché.
"What did I tell you about going into my things, Oli?" He gets up and places the child back into his seat. While buckling him in, Oliver bites his father's arm.
"Oliver, no biting! I have told you time-and-time again..." Marshall scolded.
"But my toy!" Pleaded Oliver.
"Stay seated and play with Madison - quietly!"
Marshall sits back down and feels the intensity of his wife's stare.
"You want to explain to me why you happen to have a book on the likes of cannibals, when you just so happen to be taking your family to a place that is indigenous to such things?!"
"It is part of my classes curriculum, dear; it makes up the Amazon Rainforests rich tapestry." Marshall assures.
"If this trip is anything but a vacation, you're finished." Barbara threatens.
"Like I said before; come now." Marshall sits comfortably and draws from his pipe.
Barbara puts her magazine in the shoulder bag by her feet and pulls out her Tarot Cards. She begins to deal them out on the small fold-down tray in front of her.
"Oh, Barbara, honestly..." Marshall says.
"Don't start with me. Everything has energy and I aim to find out what kind of energy is in store for us on this vacation." She begins placing the cards in a cross formation, but the plane's descent causes them to slide. Barbara tries to restore order as Marshall laughs to himself. She forges on and deals them out, studying each card and its building message. Just then, her chair is slammed forward and the Tarot Cards fall and scatter to the floor. Oliver is out of his seat again and fighting with Madison.
"Oliver!" Barbara yells, "sit down this instance and buckle your seat belt! The plane is landing shortly!"
Marshall exits his chair and goes to retrieve the cards for her, but something catches his eyes. Every card is face up on the carpet but one is reversed and unseen... He picks up the lone card and reveals the suit to himself. For just a moment, Marshall feels a chill crawl up his spine. For it is the Skeletal Death Card.
The small plane skims gently on and off the Amazon River as it finally marries itself with the murky water. The Cessna glides to a halt near a rickety pier as the hatch doors lift open. Although, it's only 9:17am in the morning, the temperature is a wet 93 degrees and the air is thick with a million buzzing insects begging for a nip of blood. Exiting the plane, Marshall and his family see a rather stout British man in his fifties, running down the wooden dock towards them.
"You made it, by God!" He says with an excited air in his voice as his thinning white hair blows awry. They clasp hands in brother fashion as Marshall replies, "Well, Norman, you know how wives and children are when it comes to packing."
Norman looks beyond Marshall's shoulder to see Barbara and the two kids exiting. "Wives, you say? Just what have you been up to in New York City these past five years?!" Norman gives out a hearty laugh.
"Barbara, this is Norman McConnell, a dear friend of mine and co-f
ounder of our society." Marshall says.
"I'm just delighted that Marshall brought his family this time! It's wonderful to finally meet all of you!" Norman says as he outstretches his hand.
"Hello." Barbara says coldly, while denying his greeting and fanning herself with her magazine. Norman recoils his hand and clasps them together. Segueing, he continues.
"...and these must be your lovely children that you wrote of in your letters?"
"Yes, this here is Oliver and his twin sister, Madison."
Norman kneels down to them, "Hello, you two!" Pointing to the plane behind them, he asks, "was this your very first time on an airplane?" They stand huddled together and do not answer; Madison looks up to her mother.
"Well, then," Norman says defeated, "let's say we get you all settled into your cabanas, shall we?"
With Norman behind the wheel of the red four-door Jeep, he navigates through the lay of the land on the winding dirt path. Marshall catches a glimpse of a few Capuchin Monkeys leaping from tree-to-tree. He turns around to his wife and optimistically says, "Isn't this wonderful?!" Barbara is shielding her face with her magazine from a slew of giant mosquitoes dancing on and off her side window hoping for a chance of escape. She gives him the ol' stink eye.
"So, Barbara," Norman says to lighten the mood, "has Marshall told you what a great time we all have at our society reunions?"
"Yes. As a matter of fact, he has told me what a great time you all have. But, frankly, I do not care."
"Mrs. Sterling, I know this isn't your idea of a vacationing paradise, but it really is a very special place. Just yesterday, I spotted two crocodiles belly-rolling and playing in the river. I also helped an upside down tortoise get back on its legs. Perhaps if you would try and keep an open mind, you will see that there's nothing quite like this place in all of the world. Take a look around you; God's creatures are everywhere if you simply take the time to see..."
There is a moment of silence; as if to consider - but it is broken when Norman slams on the brakes and swiftly jerks the car left, then right, pushing dirt and narrowly missing a rogue iguana that zig-zags across their path.
"Are you out of your fucking mind?!" She shouts as she fixes her hair.
"Barbara, enough!!" Marshall scorns. The children huddle close to her.
"I apologize, everyone, but the last thing I want to do is carry the burden of killing a living being of the rainforest." Norman says.
"So, you put us in danger?!" Barbara asks. "Just get us to the cabanas. I can't believe I agreed to come to this goddamned hell-hole!"
"I don't wanna be here anymore, momma." Madison says.
"I know, honey, me neither."
Marshall gives a nod to Norman to carry on. A quick jeep ride through the rough terrain places them at a large tropical cabin.
"Here we are!" Norman says proudly. Immediately, the car doors are opened and their luggage is retrieved by a few local natives employed under Norman's payroll. Norman McConnell struck it rich back in '67 when he inherited and sold his father's acreage to wealthy land developers in Middlesbrough. Since then, he has invested his money quite wisely.
Entering the spacious home, one can tell that Norman has spared no expense in the grand architecture and decor of the place. Truly, he has created an oasis in the jungle. Multiple rattan ceiling fans rotate on a slow whirl, giving a soft dance to the leaves of the many Dracaena's scattered about. The contemporary furniture that fills the living room is all-white and appears quite lonely.
"Impressive, eh, dear?
"Yes, very." Barbara says with her eyes fixed on an extravagant bar that rests at the far end of the living room; stocked-to-the-nines.
"Everyone, I'd like you all to meet my personal assistant and comrade, Tiki." A young Portuguese man in his twenties enters the room. Barbara takes notice. "Should any of you require anything, just ask and Tiki will provide it for you." Tiki bows.
Oliver and Madison look at one another, then ask, "Can we have some cookies, Tiki?" Norman, Tiki and Marshall give out a hefty laugh, just as Barbara puts the kibosh on it.
"No! You'll spoil your appetite!"
"Speaking of appetites," Norman recalls, "we will be having lunch right outside on the North patio at twelve noon. Tiki will show you to your quarters so you can all unpack and get settled."
"Why, thank you, that sounds like a splendid idea!" Marshall replies. Barbara cozies up to Norman and puts on the charm,
"Norman, would you mind so terribly if I were to make myself a drink?"
Feeling her warmth, he is happy to oblige.
"Certainly! Please, help yourself. I have every liquor known under the Amazonian Sun!"
After getting the kids settled into their room down the hall, Marshall enters the large bedroom that he and Barbara will share during their stay. "The children are napping..." Barbara ignores him while she readies herself for a cool shower. She grabs her cocktail, waltzes on past him and on into the bathroom. She closes the door with a certain 'slam' to it. Not enough to announce the entire household, just enough to announce him. He sighs and shakes his head. The sound of the turning handle lets a few "squeaks" loose and flowing water is heard. Marshall stares at the bathroom door for a moment. He exits.
Norman pours some J&B Scotch onto a single ice cube that rests inside a sifter glass. "It's a bit early, but what the hell?" Says Marshall, who is seated at the bar. "Listen, Norman, I am really quite sorry for--"
Norman interjects and says, "No, no, I understand why she is acting the way she is. This place is not for the faint of heart, my good man." Norman holds up his glass of scotch, they clink glasses together and take a sip. Marshall welcomes the nice burn he receives from the drink.
"For starters, this place is dreadfully hot; not to mention the hordes of murderous insects and animals we have out here. It's not the ideal vacation most wives want to take." Norman sympathizes.
"Yes, well, she should look on the bright side," Marshall says, "at least she found herself a cabana boy with Tiki!" They share a laugh and the mood is lifted.
"So, how are you getting on out here? Has it changed you any? Has cabin fever finally settled in?" Marshall inquires.
"Heaven's no. I truly enjoy living far from the metropolis. I feel that I'm mostly the same man as I was before I left the city."
"Mostly?" Marshall asks.
"I may have picked up one or two habits, however... Tell me, Marshall, do you happen to have it on you?"
Marshall smiles, unbuttons the front pocket on his shirt and pulls out a folded envelope. "Oh, you sly devil! I thought you would!" Norman says.
"I knew that in order for me to lose this, I'd have to get lost myself." Explains Marshall. He places it on the bar and slides it over. Norman, like a wild-eyed child, accepts it and peeks into the unsealed envelope. He shakes his head,
"Wow, Marsh." They cheers and drink again. "Nice work!"
Barbara is in a blissful state of euphoria as she soaks herself under the rainfall shower head. Her sweltering body temperature a thing of the past. She reaches through the curtain and pulls her cold drink from the counter; sadly, her ice cubes are quite small and on the verge of total meltdown. No matter - for she is in a relatively cool shower, with a stiff vodka soda in her hand; and best yet, away from her husband. At this moment, life is good. She takes a large sip and looks out the small window to her left. Outside are a series of native workers carrying crates to and from as they speak Portuguese to one another. Barbara scoffs at their simple lives, closes her eyes and rotates her head underneath the streaming water, letting it gently pull her hair back.
Upon opening them, she is met with a most uninvited image staring directly at her through the window.
A severely-malnourished native with a single, milky-white eyeball, has his sun-scorched face pressed against the glass; smiling with holes in his grin and absorbing her nakedness. Barbara throws her hands to her mouth and screams, dropping her glass onto the porcelain floor, shattering every which way. P
etrified with utter horror, she heads into hysterics and scream-cries while stepping back onto a shard of glass; blood begins running in swirls down the drain. Marshall and Norman hear her cries and race into the bedroom, where Marshall attempts to open the bathroom door. Locked.
"Barbara! Barbara, are you alright?!!" He yells as he pounds on the door. She screams again as the tribal native continues watching her. His hairless eyebrow muscles poised in mischievous form down low over his eyes; still holding his satisfyingly rotten and toothless grin.
A "thud" from inside the bathroom is heard.
The half-awakened children enter the room in disoriented panic. "It's alright, children, come to me." Norman gathers them while Marshall uses his body weight to try and break the door past its jam. Success. Barbara is on the floor with the torn vinyl curtain wrapped around her naked, shivering body. There are visible traces of blood on the tile. Marshall kneels to her as she takes hold of him and cries hysterically - as if purging some of her own sorrow; almost.
"Norman, get a first aid kit, right away!" Marshall shouts! Norman nods and whisks the children out of the room on his way out.
"What in God's name happened in here, Barbara?!" She weeps terribly. Norman enters with the kit and surveys the scene. The shower is still running and chips of bloody shards remain in the bottom of the tub. He shuts off the water, returns to her and kneels down to tend to her feet. Norman gives pause, however, when he sees blood trickling from a small puncture wound on the bottom of her left foot.
"There was something - someone, watching me through that window." Barbara says between crying. "It was the most horrendous man I have ever seen..."
"Now, Barbara, I'm going to have to squeeze your wound to make certain there is no remaining glass." Norman applies some pressure to the bottom of her foot as blood oozes on down his fingers and hands.
Barbara lets out a painful scream... After a moment, she continues.
"He looked at me as though he wanted to... eat me."
