Dark Fiction

by David Kempf

  I never murdered anyone. Not yet. I was no killer. I was just a common thief. My name is Paul Crane. I was, by trade, a robber. I never robbed banks or people’s houses. Museums were my choice. I stole some pretty famous works of art and found some buyers who were willing to pay unbelievable sums of money. When they put me away for good I thought nothing could be worse than rotting in jail for life. I was wrong. I had never been more wrong in my life.

  Gordon Brown was another man who was picked. He had murdered people, several women. Although the women had some notable similarities, he was not what one would call a “serial killer.” The women he killed all had one thing in common. He was married to all four of them. I don’t think anyone deserved the fate that we received but Brown, I think, deserved it more than I did. That’s because I am not a killer, like I said. The fate we received was far worse than any of the three of us deserved.

  Did I mention the third victim of experimentation?

  It might not be justifiable to call him a victim. Although no one deserved what happened to us, he deserved it the most. Henry Bowman was one of the most feared serial killers in American history. The government’s official story was that he died by lethal injection. He didn’t. They used a body double and Bowman lived to regret his dreadful fate. We all regretted it. I regretted it the most. You see, Bowman and Brown are dead. I am alive, if you would dare to call this living.

  We were not chosen because of the crimes we committed but rather for other reasons. The three of us were hand picked because of our genetic makeup. Our genes were a perfect match for this kind of space travel. The three of us traveled further out into the nether regions of space than anyone else on the planet ever has. They would never put an astronaut through the suffering we endured. It’s one thing when a space mission proves fatal to its crew because accidents happen. It’s another matter altogether when the planned mission assumes from the beginning that the travelers will probably not return, at least alive.

  That was the initial assumption of the voyage. We traveled in a ship designed by NASA that was kept hidden from the public for over twenty years. Our ship was made to travel outside our solar system and into other systems. It went so much further than that. It went even further than those who sent us on our expedition even dreamed. We went into many, many solar systems. The three of us went so far into space we lost track of time and any perception of reality. It’s actually possible our ship traveled into parallel universes.

  Bowman was the first to crack. He had multiple hallucinations and was unable to keep his post. All he had to do was keep proper coordinates. The ship was designed for ease of use. The designer knew that the crew would be amateur spacemen who were traveling against their will. I don’t know if the travel induced a state of being in which he became regretful of his acts, but it seemed that way. Hundreds of small children killed in unspeakable ways were his victims. They seemed to come to life in front of his eyes. Brown and I never saw a single blessed thing. Bowman called out the names of literally hundreds of little innocent victims between the ages of six to ten. He said that they were going to eat him; oh no, make that “devour” him for his evil crimes. Bowman saw little, bloodsucking, cannibal children in his mind before he died.

  Brown was next because, like I said, I am the only survivor. He lasted a long time. When he went mad we were actually passing by Saturn. We were in our own system again! I mean, God only knows where the hell we were when Bowman went insane. I never mentioned how this thing that killed them takes a life. The virus we acquired causes one to age very rapidly. The hallucinations are the main symptoms. That means that the more intense they become, the more likely the victim is to die. When Brown and Bowman died, they were screaming and their flesh was rotting.

  Brown cried out the names of all four of his spouses. You talk about someone who married for money! His brides were all there to eat him; oh no, I mean “devour” his flesh and blood. At least that is what was going on in his mind. There must be something about this virus, this plague that we picked up, that somehow makes people feel like they are being eaten alive. The end is always quite gruesome. Both of these men looked like they were undead. They did not come back to life like in some movie. They were men in their late thirties. Now they looked like corpses that had been rotting for a year or so. This disease that causes a complete mental breakdown is highly contagious. If it wasn’t contagious, Brown would not have caught it. You see, we were in three different areas of the ship. We only saw each other by video monitors. There was never any direct, human contact.

  I knew that I had it when the ship was passing by Mars. That’s when I knew my mind was not functioning correctly. It was not a question of deep space travel; I had already felt those sensations for months or years? I honestly don’t know how long our journey has been. It may have been months but I feel like it has been years. It may have even been many, many years. Perhaps even decades of deep space travel. I do know that I am infected. I have no doubt about that.

  The money spent on investigating my crimes could have been put to much better, nobler use. The children that could have been fed with all that money haunt me. They are starting to form in front of my eyes. They are a bit blurry still. The homeless people and hungry people are also beginning to form in my mind’s eye. All that money spent on defending me. I’ve stolen so much more than I will ever be convicted for. The last laugh is on me. What good is hidden money when you are slowly losing your mind? What good is buried treasure when you are going to die in an unspeakably horrible way? Even criminals like us don’t deserve to be experimented on like this. We’re humans, not subjects to test the effects of an unknown space virus.

  I don’t feel human anymore. I feel like I’m nothing more than a terrible thought. I feel like a living nightmare. When I try to think back to my early years when I was a happy child, it feels like that wasn’t me. It’s not just the fact that I’m older. It’s that my entire existence is one with darkness and dread. The child is gone but so is the adult. As a matter of fact, the human is probably also gone. I’m just a thing from outer space. We’ve been gone so long that there is no coming back. I am alive but I know that my time is short. I can already feel my senses slipping away from me. I know what reality is right now. I know it. I also know that it’s only temporary. My senses are slowly, slowly slipping away. They are disappearing.

  “They are disappearing,” said Brown.

  I told Brown that I knew my senses were going away. My perceptions of reality are not what they used to be! I guess the first indication of this was the fact that I was talking to Brown and in some deep part of my subconscious I knew he was dead!

  “This deep space travel brings out your life’s regrets. I regret that I was not human. I was a monster in my lifetime,” said Bowman.

  I guess if the monster could feel remorse, we all should. I was never a big believer in “collective guilt.” I suppose that if I really took an honest look at my life I would have to conclude that society has paid a price for me. The children of hate and poverty have been trying to form again. No matter how much I try to fight them off they keep trying to come to life. Still, I’m glad that they are blurry and that some part of me knows they are not real. They are imaginary. Yes, imaginary! I’m so grateful for the fact that part of my mind is still rational. The virus is slowly eating away at my rationality and sanity. It has not succeeded yet. It will eventually succeed and it will be sooner rather than later. Death is inevitability for all men. Insanity and contagiousness are inevitability for me!

  The sad fact is that I could have been a good, decent person. I just failed at everything I’ve ever tried to do.

  “Well, that’s an excuse for crime,” said Bowman.

  Yes, I suppose it is. I guess I could tell you to go to hell because I never murdered anyone. Not yet. I never killed even when I was in the act of stealing priceless artwork. So who the fuck is this monster to tell me that I am so wicked when he has performed acts of evil I would never even dream
of? I wouldn’t even dream of doing these horrific and despicable acts in the state I’m in now!

  He’s evil.

  I’m basically good.

  He’s evil.

  I’m evil!

  I’m evil!

  He’s good!

  I’m good!

  He’s good!

  The fact is that I know I’m losing my mind. I’m not an idiot. I know that death is coming to me soon. I just want to hold on for a little while. I want to be happy and normal. What does that mean anyway?

  “You can’t be happy and normal and be a sociopath criminal,” said Bowman.

  I told you, you fucking pervert, I am not a monster. You are! This deep space experimentation has turned me into a monster and people will pay. Oh yes, people will pay for turning an ordinary criminal into an outer space monster,

  “You also think that you’re better than me,” said Brown.

  I am, I thought. You and I don’t prey on children and do unspeakably evil things to them. As far as I’m concerned, if anyone deserves what happened to us it’s this son of a bitch! Still, I’m not sure that even this fiend deserves what our fate is. It’s a fate that could be the world’s if I can reach our planet while I’m still alive.

  I, Paul, do not deserve what has happened to me. I, Paul Crane, am a living, breathing human being. I am made in the image of God if there such a thing as a God. I do not deserve to be put in the company of murderers. Even murderers deserve better treatment than what I’ve received. Even Brown and that monster deserve a better fate.

  This is isn’t about dirty little secrets. This is about common decency, the way a human being deserves to be treated. I am a man. I am a human being. Even the monster was a human being. The playboy who killed his wife was also. I am the least guilty of the three space travelers. I am also the last survivor.

  From this point of view, the world looks small. Our blessed planet Earth is nothing but a world that got lucky, through random chance, to have life upon it. I guess it is random chance that leads to random justice. I continue to complain about my predicament but is it that much worse than it was for victims of the Holocaust?

  Is it worse than it was for victims of the Killing Fields?

  Is my predicament worse than it was for anyone who has been caught in the act of genocide?

  Humanity is fucking loathsome!

  How can we treat other humans the way that we do?

  Do we have no conscience?

  Is there a God?

  Are we here by chance?

  Why can’t we be good?

  “We can’t be good because we are essentially evil by nature,” said Bowman.

  I am not evil. I am an ordinary man who just happened to steal artwork for a living. I never deserved to be treated in such a cruel, experimental manner. No one does. I know I’ve repeated myself. I’m losing my mind. I think I’ve earned the right to be redundant.

  “I want to be alive,” said Brown.

  I told Brown that I understood that he wanted to be among the living. I told him that I was sorry because I knew that he was dead. Once someone is dead they cannot possibly come back to life. It’s not in the cards. It’s not the way the natural order of things works.

  “I also want to be alive,” said Bowman.

  “You’re a fiend and you don’t deserve to live,” said Brown.

  This is strange, I thought, since I had two guys arguing with each other and I was the only living human being amongst the three of us.

  “Don’t be so proud because you’re still alive,” said Bowman.

  “Yeah, I agree, it’s a temporary state at best,” said Brown.

  I don’t want my crew to be jealous. My goal, my one purpose in life is to avenge our treatment by our own society. I truly feel that no one has been more discarded by their society than we have.

  “That’s not true because many societies would have put me to death after my first child murder,” said Bowman.

  “I might have been executed if I were caught the first time. I really enjoyed killing that bitch! She thought she was hot stuff. She was just born into money. Worst of all, that bitch thought I really loved her! I mean that fat, ugly bitch thought I could really love such an ugly fucking cow!”

  Those are some serious sins, I thought to myself. I guess I really was thinking to myself because I had to keep remembering that I really was all alone. Building up imaginary friends is hard. It means that I have to acknowledge that I am truly alone. The world will not be alone if and when I arrive at our home planet. That will mean I can share my horror with the rest of the world. They always say that misery loves company. This would be the ultimate misery.

  “The planet deserves what it gets,” said Bowman.

  “I’m not sure anyone deserves this,” said Brown.

  That’s right. The reality is that you are monster. Even the wife killer has some trace of conscience. He has some sense of right and wrong.

  “What they did to us is the ultimate wrong,” said the monster.

  I guess you’re right on that point, you fucking fiend.

  “Stop pretending you are different than us,” said the monster.

  “Well, he has a point,” said Brown.

  I’m not pretending that I am not human or incapable of evil. I was a high class criminal who never thought to really hurt another human being. You murdered your wife, Brown. You, Bowman, you are a monster. A truly evil and disgusting fiend! Please don’t lecture me about right and wrong when you molest and murder children!

  “You could become a monster,” said Bowman.

  I know I could. I really could. It still wouldn’t be the same as this thing I had to endure on our space travel. The virus was the real monster. It was sinister. The virus was even more evil than the sexual predator that it killed somewhere out there in the vast cosmos. I remember Brown died close to home. Bowman died somewhere very, very far from our system.

  “You can die on your own planet,” said Bowman.

  “If he’s lucky enough,” said Brown.

  I felt many things since we went on our deep journey into space but lucky was not one of them. Fortune and luck had long ago abandoned me. It seemed like an eternity since happiness or good fortune had been part of my life.

  “So bring some misfortune to the masses,” said Bowman.

  “Avenge us, Paul,” said Brown.

  Yes.

  I was starting to fully realize that my senses were disappearing at a much faster rate. Brown and Bowman were real to me now. I didn’t think of the two dead prisoners as hallucinations anymore.

  “We want to come to Earth with you, father,” said my children.

  My children looked hungry and bloodthirsty. They were giving me that look. They gave me a cold stare. I knew what they were thinking. The children of my subconscious guilt wanted to eat me. Wait, did I say eat me? I meant that they were going to…devour me. My children were pale and they had eyes of sickening yellow. They were getting hungry.

  If I live long enough to reach my home planet I will follow through on the advice of my children. If I live to reach Earth then I will avenge my two dead companions. I will avenge my own death as well.

  “The children are getting very hungry,” said Brown.

  Yes. The children are hungry.

  “You’ll be the greatest mass murderer in history if you reach Earth alive,” said Bowman.

  Yes. I will bring the worst plague in human history.

  “Father, we can’t wait. We’re starving!”

  I know, my children. I can already feel my flesh rotting off of my body. Now I could actually see Earth. I’m finally home. The waiting now ends. Paul Crane is bringing the virus to billions of humans. I can’t wait.

  Chapter 18

  Thrill Rides

  By Christopher Wisdom

  My name is Ron Burton and I have one simple request. I want to die. That’s what I told the high court. It was a dirt simple way for me to plead my case to them. They were unsympat
hetic. It has always been much easier for them to condemn a convicted killer than someone like me. I’m terminally ill. I begged and pleaded with them to let me go the amusement park. That’s where men like me desperately want to be. It’s a hard place to get in. Ever since the economic catastrophe that afflicted us ten years ago, the park has become exceptionally popular.

  I’m not requesting the park due to financial hardship. I grew up very poor and I’m used to getting by with very little. As a matter of fact, my family has been on its knees for government entitlements for about three generations. Thrill Ride Park is not exactly my dream vacation destination. The park was designed originally as an experiment by our corrupt government about a century before I was born. That was a long time ago. I was born sometime in the late twenty first century. It’s very difficult for ordinary folks like my family and me to know exact dates and even specific years. The one thing we always did know about was the amusement park itself. It exists for men like me who are dying from cancer. It also exists for another purpose. The worst offenders, the worst of the most despicable also come here to the park. The problem with all of this information is that I just happen to be a natural born survivor. I don’t honestly think I can say it any better than that. It’s that simple. I did finally get into the park but that was almost five years ago. Surviving the park for that long was unheard of. It was unthinkable until I came along and turned everything upside down.