by Murr
Pat’s head kept tapping the gun. His fingers gripped the handle harder.
“Don’t pull the trigger, Pat!”
Pat’s arm quaked, his head kept tapping. Then, with one quick movement, he lowered the revolver and poked it right into the bulge growing from the left side of his neck. Pat’s face grimaced and his head popped onto its side with a vicious crack, but it was too late. What little was left of Pat squeezed the trigger and the bulge in his neck exploded into a splash of yellow slime against the living room wall. A bright green worm covered in sets of little flippers that spiraled down its body wiggled free of the gaping wound in Pat’s neck. The top of the worm had been shredded, and its little flippers waved weakly as it flopped out onto the couch next to Pat, where it died slowly. Pat’s head, barely hanging onto his body by his strained spinal column, rested calmly on his right shoulder.
After the gun blast sounded, the yard in front of Pat’s apartment filled with men in black suits. “Time for us to exit the premises, deputy,” Santino said.
Outside, the other agents were spreading out, taking control of the area.
“Mr. Kwan? We’re with the Fourth Hand. This apartment is contaminated.”
“Sir? Ma’am? We need everyone in this apartment to come outside and move down the street. There’s a problem with the house next door.”
“No, our department doesn’t have a high profile. But we are only allowed to take such liberties because the situation demands it.”
“No, ma’am, your property will not be damaged. We’re professionals.”
“And if it is, we can promise that you will be compensated.”
“Mr. Kwan, please calm down. I can assure you that we have very good reason to incinerate this property.”
THE END
Peter Oliver Wonder
Hidden in a remote location in California lives a man that responds to the name Peter Oliver Wonder. Though little is known about him, several written works that may or may not be fictional have been found featuring a character of the same name.
Devilishly handsome, quick witted, and as charming as an asshole can be, Peter has come a long way since his time in the United States Marine Corps. Making friends wherever he goes, there is never a shortage of adventure when he is around.
The works that have been penned under this name are full of horror, romance, adventure, and comedy just as every life should be. It is assumed that these works are an attempt at a drug fueled autobiography of sorts. Through these texts, we can learn much about this incredible man.
THE BEER by Peter Oliver Wonder
Tim tossed the empty rifle on the hood of the truck. Beside it sat a glass bottle, which he picked up and proceeded to chug the remainder of his beer. He considered chucking the empty just to hear the shattering of the glass but decided to go walk down range and set it up as a target, instead.
He made his way from his truck down to the face of the reddish-brown rock. The hundred and fifty or so yards seemed much farther in this intense California heat. The sun was directly above him, beating him into submission. Hoping for some slight relief, he once again put the bottle to his lips and turned it upside down. Two drops spilled onto his lips. It may not have been much, but it was better than nothing at all. Rocks, dirt, and broken glass crunched beneath his boots as he neared the impact area.
After setting the bottle up to the left of the hole-filled paper targets, he removed his sunglasses, wiped the sweat from his brow with his bicep, and made his way back to the truck. Halfway back, he saw Katie, his girlfriend, coming over the horizon. She had taken off during his last magazine to try to find a place in which she could take a piss. The look on her face told Tim that she had succeeded, but she wasn't all too happy about it.
"Why do you insist on coming out in the middle of nowhere to shoot?" she asked, arms akimbo.
"I told you I was more than happy to come all by myself," he said, sounding agitated. "I usually do, anyway. I said it would be hot and there'd be no place to go to the bathroom and you'd probably be miserable, but you insisted on coming out anyway. You said you wanted to be a good girlfriend and do some of the things I liked doing. Remember?"
Katie rolled her eyes, let out an exasperated sigh, and ducked into the passenger seat of the truck to escape the intense heat of the sun. Inside, she found what appeared to be a freshly opened beer. She assumed Tim had been trying to hold out on her and had retrieved a hidden beer as she went to the bathroom.
When she picked it up, it wasn't cold, but that was fine with her. She took a sip to find it was much more flat than it should have been if it was only opened a few minutes ago. The sweat that was trailing down the crease of her breasts reminded her that anything to drink was something good to drink.
She took another sip, slightly bigger than the last one, and realized that the taste was off as the viscous fluid trailed down her throat.
Way off.
It was not only flat but also tasted like liquid charcoal. She swallowed it anyway, not thinking of the possibilities at first. The horrendous taste triggered her gag reflex, nearly causing her to throw up all over the interior of the truck. Looking out the windshield at Tim, who was sighting in on his rifle, she yelled out, "Is this fucking dip spit or something?"
The sudden and unexpected outburst caused him to pull his shot, missing the intended target. "What the hell are you talking about?" Tim asked, genuinely confused and more than a little pissed about missing his shot.
"This bottle in here. It's not from me and it sure as hell isn't beer inside. What the fuck is this?"
Rather than picking a fight, Tim took a deep breath, sat the .22 rifle back on the hood, and made his way over to the passenger side window. "What is it, then?" he asked calmly. They were both a little agitated due to the blazing sun, but he wanted to keep a level head.
She couldn't think of the words to describe it, so she just handed him the bottle, shaking her head back and forth in disgust.
Thinking she just wasn't used to warm, cheap beer, he put the bottle to his lips. With little reason to think it was anything other than beer in the bottle, he took a long pull from it and swallowed, maintaining eye contact as he did so.
"God, what the fuck?" Tim said, gagging, coughing, and doubling over. "What the shit did you put in there?" He was overcome with dry heaves, but couldn't seem to get the liquid out of him.
"I don't know!" Katie shouted, becoming frightened. "What the hell is it, babe?" Not knowing what else she could do, she hoped from the cab of the truck and started patting him on his back.
Feeling like a total pussy, Tim stood erect once more, but was unable to wipe the grimace from his face. He forced the gagging to stop and strained out the words, "I'm alright, woman. You swear you didn't put something God awful into this bottle?" he asked, lifting the bottle. Years of drinking had taught him to never drop a beverage, no matter how sick it had made you.
"I swear, babe. I thought you had done something to it. What the fuck is it?" she asked.
He poured a little of the liquid from the container. What fell to the dirt was as black as anything he had ever seen. It was just a tad thicker than maple syrup, yet was absorbed into the ground like it had been spilled onto a dry sponge.
"Ah, God, I drank this bullshit," he said in disbelief.
"Me too," Katie noted. Her eyes were wide, staring at the spot on the ground where the liquid had been poured.
Still holding the bottle, he walked over to the embankment to his left. He had been tossing the majority of his used bottles over there. He counted eleven, and the one that he had just attempted to shoot made for a total of twelve. That was all he had brought.
"Where did you find this?" he asked Katie.
"It was in the center console. I thought you had put it there when I had to go. If it's not from either of us, who put it there?" she asked.
Tim examined the fine dirt around the truck. Immediately below him, he saw Katie's tracks that led off towards the downslope where sh
e had gone to do her business and his own tracks. Walking around the hood of the truck, he saw only his own footprints. Just to make double sure, he lifted his foot to check the bottom of his boots.
"I have no idea," he admitted with a ruffled brow.
Looking around the area for any sign of someone else, he noticed that something was off. His shadow was much longer than it should have been. He found the sun in the sky and it was no longer right above him. He checked his watch which read 3:33.
"Hey babe, what time did we get here?" he asked putting his hand to the back of his neck.
"I don't know probably around ten, why?"
"Is there anyway in hell we've been here for anywhere close to five hours already?"
Katie pulled out her phone to check the time and saw that she had a missed call and a text from her friend that she never heard a ring for.
"No," she said in disbelief. "What the fuck is going on?"
"I don't know, but I don't like this one single bit," he said as he tossed the imposter beer to the dirt alongside the empties. He watched as the slime within slowly seeped out and seemingly crawled across the ground before burrowing itself beneath the surface. As he watched, he felt as though the shit he had swallowed earlier was now trying to crawl around inside his guts and make a nest in his intestines.
Wanting to separate himself from the mystery substance, he grabbed the rifle from the hood and tossed it into the bed of the truck without even taking the time to clear it as he knew he should. "I think it's time for us to get the hell out of here," he told Katie.
As soon as he was behind the wheel, he shut the door and cranked the engine.
For several miles, there was no conversation. The couple were confused as to what they had just consumed and that was all they could wrap their heads around until Katie spoke up as they made their way back into town.
"How is it already so late?" she asked as panic began to set in.
Tim shook his head, not knowing how to answer. He checked his watch again to be sure of the time. "It doesn't make any kind of goddamn sense to me."
"I know I didn't drink anywhere near enough to blackout, and I'm certain you didn't either," she tried working her way through the mystery.
"Can you just let me drive?" Tim snapped out of frustration. His mind wasn't so much focused on the driving so much as it was on the slithering sensation that flooded his stomach. The discomfort of it caused his upper lip to curl. He tried to chalk it up as a strange sense of hunger, after all, it was well passed lunch time.
He looked over at Katie who looked upset at his harsh tone. "I'm sorry, sweets. I'm just worried about what the hell is going on." He paused for a moment and let out a sigh. "I think it might do us both some good if we stopped and grabbed a quick bite," he suggested.
Katie demeanor softened after his apology. She nodded as she assessed what she felt in her stomach, wrapping both arms around it. "I think that's a good idea. I feel like I might be starving."
Hoping food would do some good, he pulled into the parking lot of a fast food restaurant. Rather than parking, he headed directly for the drive through lane. He was hungry, but he also felt an urgency to get home.
Without asking what Katie wanted, he ordered a couple of meals and some extra French fries. He was hoping that filling up on greasy food would make the sick feeling in his stomach go away. A nice lining of grease around the stomach was always the answer for a hangover, so why not for whatever this might be? It did, after all, come from a beer bottle.
Katie had a similar thought—once she was handed the bag of food, she instantly began eating some of the fries before handing Tim his foil wrapped burger. He began to unwrap it before even taking his foot off the brake and heading away from the window.
Katie was now cramming fistfuls of French fries into her mouth as Tim stuffed nearly half of the cheeseburger into his mouth for his first bite. He gave it a couple of half-hearted chews as he made his way onto the road before swallowing it mostly whole. As soon as his mouth had room, he shoved half of what was left inside and then forced the rest in as he tried to make enough room. After a couple more chews, down it went.
Unable to wait for more food, he reached over to the bag in Katie's lap and pulled out a container of fries. By the time he looked back to the road before him, he had to slam on the brakes in order to prevent a collision with the car in front of him sending fries flying onto the dash and floor.
The sudden stop was a success, as far as preventing a collision was concerned, but it presented an entirely new problem. The contents of Tim's stomach had shifted in a way that caused him to shout out in pain and grab at his abdomen. Something was in there and it had either dug its roots in or it wanted out.
From his right, Tim heard Katie let loose a scream of her own. He had no doubt it was the same pain he was experiencing. Rather than stopping, he slammed on the gas as soon as he was able and raced home for the remaining six miles. With no concern about the laws or the safety of others, he ran every stop sign in the neighborhood and parked half on the driveway and half in the grass outside their home.
The pair raced inside, doubled over and grasping at their stomachs. Katie mustered up the strength to give Tim a slight shove out of her way as she made her way to the bathroom.
"No," he gave quick shout along with a fist to the door before slumping down to his knees. There was no time to argue over such things, only time to devise a new plan.
The kitchen sink.
Clenching his butt cheeks together and waddling like a penguin into the kitchen, he said a prayer that he wouldn't mess himself. He began to undo his belt and unbutton his pants just before he arrived and jumped up onto the sink.
Finally, he was able to let loose his bowels, but it didn't make everything all better as he had hopped. Sweat dripped from the tip of his nose as he heard the screams of agony that were coming from the bathroom.
"Oh God! Oh God, what have I done?" he could hear Katie shouting from down the hall. As the liquid shit erupted into the sink and splashed off of the already dirty dishes below him, there was no more pain than he had expected and he couldn't understand what was happening to his girlfriend.
Once the diarrhea passed, he understood the screams much more clearly. Suddenly, there was a blockage where something was desperate to get out. There was immense pressure whether or not he pushed, but not pushing no longer seemed like an option. Sweat poured from his brow as he howled and gripped the edge of the counter as he tried to rid his body of the unwanted material.
The cramping in his stomach had yet to subside, but the slithering sensation seemed to have finally gone. Of course, that was of little to no comfort at all when faced with the fact that his asshole was being ripped open larger and larger with each push to accommodate for that which wanted free.
"Fuck," he shouted with one final push. His anus tore the last it would have to before the object fell into the stainless steel sink with a thud.
Drained of all energy from the unholy birthing process, Tim fell to the floor. His face fell into some of what had splashed off of the dishes and out of the sink, and he saw that it wasn't diarrhea, but blood. Mostly blood, anyway. There were chunks and puddles of shit here and there, and it all stunk to high heaven, but there was a lot of blood that had splashed out.
He tried to tell himself that it was from when he fell even though he knew he had torn open far more than anyone should have to endure. Despite the pain that filled him, caused by his torn anus and the intense cramping in this stomach, he forced himself to stand so that he could assess the damage in the sink.
Standing was slow and excruciatingly painful but when he placed his hand in a wet spot and slid, causing him to crash back down to the linoleum, he almost passed out from the pain that radiated through him. Despite the hell he was in, he continued to hoist himself up, this time using the counter to pull himself to his feet.
It wasn't easy to keep his legs below him, but it was even more difficult to believe the sig
ht before him. Shit and blood coated everything that was in the sink, including the walls. Air bubbled up from the drain that was covered by the filth.
Tim flipped on the faucet, but not to wash away the mess; that was the least of his concerns. He had to know what the ovoid which fell from his asshole was. He lifted it from the goo and held it under the water. As the brown and red washed away, he saw that it looked like a pitch black egg.
Not knowing what to do with it, he sat it on the counter. The absence of screaming suddenly filled his ears.
Katie.
"Katie, what is this? Are you okay, baby?" he strained to shout. With every bit of will he could muster, he made his way from the kitchen towards the bathroom. The silence that filled the house sent a shiver down his spine and put a new pain in the pit of his stomach.
"Katie?" Tim called out again. Once more, he was met with no reply.
Clinging to the walls for support, made his way down to the hall, nearing the too-quiet bathroom. He shouted her name yet again and feared the worst when there was still not even so much as a whimper.
He tried the knob. In her haste to relieve herself, she hadn't taken the time to lock the door. The door creaked open and the odor that greeted him was like a punch to the face. He fought his way through the stench and flipped on the fan. He saw Katie sitting on the toilet. Her hair was thick with sweat and clung to her back and chest in disarray. The front of her shirt was speckled with red and brown that had splashed up from between her legs.
Tim didn't take notice of any of this. All he saw was the woman he loved sitting unconsciously. He walked up to her and placed his hand on her cheek.
"Katie Bear?" he asked as he attempted to rouse her. He patted her cheek gently before taking hold of her shoulder and trying to shake her. "Katie Bear," he said again, slightly louder.
Finally, her eyelids began to flutter. Tim smiled before she could realize what was going on and weakly said, "Get the hell out of here, I'm in the bathroom." It didn't take long for her to realize that attempting to shout was a bad idea. She put her hands back to her stomach and cringed at the pain. "Oh God," she said after noticing the state of her clothing. "Oh God," she said again, the horrible pain forcing itself to the front of her thoughts.
