Bethany And The Zombie Jesus: A Novelette With 11 Other Tales of Horror And Grotesquery

by Jake Bible

  Were. There it was. Being married to a Security Officer for fifteen years taught me a thing or two. One of those things was to pay attention to present tense and past tense. A slight slip in tense could tell you all you needed to know.

  -STATIC INTERFERANCE- making sure my body was fully between Melissa and the twins. They say most parents go into denial when their child turns on them, refusing to believe that their little baby could be human, be fallible, be evil. I know I didn’t want to believe, but I still had two small bodies pressed against me and all instincts screamed to protect them.

  “You all lie,” Melissa growled. Yes, growled. Animalistic couldn’t come close to explaining it. It wasn’t my daughter talking. “You lie too, Mother. Mothers lie the most,” she snarled, taking -STATIC INTERFERANCE-. Her shirt, OH GOD HER SHIRT!

  Engineer Vebram’s chest hitched, but she pushed on, pushed past the pain.

  It was coated with blood; dark and sticky, clinging to her pre-pubescent body, accentuating the curves that had started to show and the angles that hadn’t softened yet. She was so close to being a woman. So close…

  Her hands were black red up to the elbows and her left hand held an excursion blade, two feet long, similar to a machete, but serrated on one side. I tell you my blood went cold at the sight of the dripping wet steel.

  I yelled at her to put the blade down before someone got hurt.

  Her eyes narrowed, a flash of confusion, of self-doubt. My Mel! My Mel was still in there! But, the look was gone before I could even register it, making me doubt myself, doubt that anything like my Mel could still be in that thing.

  I can still hear it, the sound from her throat, the sound she made as she charged me, the blade whipping about her head, her face contorted by murderous fury. I didn’t hesitate, too many years working freighters, working the deep and knowing a split second was all that stood between life and death, had -STATIC INTERFERANCE- the bedside lamp and swung it out, smashing it across Melissa’s head, knocking her to the floor before she could close the distance between doorway and bed.

  It wasn’t until I heard the twins crying hysterically behind me that I realized I didn’t have the lamp in my hand anymore and it was my fist that was smashing down, again and again, into Melissa’s face. Or what was left.

  Vebram focused her gaze on the recorder, her eyes were hard now, the memories no longer of pain, but of determination.

  If the brutal killing of my own daughter wasn’t sin enough, I went and threw up. I fucking puked, splattering my dead husband’s head and my now dead daughter’s crushed face!

  I ignored -STATIC INTERFERANCE- still lurching stomach and my throbbing, most likely fractured, right hand, and snatched the balling twins from the bed and bolted, nearly slipping and falling in the liquids pooled across the floor.

  I had our living quarters’ door open and was halfway into the corridor when they came around the corner. Eleven and twelve year olds, what looked like all of them from the size of the group. In their hands, their bloody hands, were gripped various weapons: excursion blades, metal pipes and tubes, table legs, pry bars, stun batons. They saw me standing there holding the twins and their pace quickened. I stood locked in place, not believing, as the group came at me faster and faster -STATIC INTERFERANCE- and screaming that inhuman scream.

  Aston and Samantha shrieked in unison, ripping me from my shock. I dropped them and pushed them back into the room, barely getting myself inside and the door locked and secured before the children fell on the door with a ferocity I hadn’t seen since the mine fights on SELIR 5.My God they were just children! I watched in awe as ten inches of solid metal shook and vibrated with a hundred fist blows. I shoved as much furniture as I could up against the door, knowing it was foolish since not even the vacuum of space could breach that opening, but doing it for the sake of the twins, to show them that we would be safe, that nothing could get in now.

  That is what I told myself.

  I slumped into a far corner, the twins held against my chest, their tiny tears wetting my t-shirt. They -STATIC INTERFERANCE- little cry when a particularly loud thump would bang against the door.

  ***

  The Captain shifted in his seat, yawning and stretching. He’d seen all this many times before, but he had to make sure he hadn’t missed anything. He had to think of the safety of his crew and the completion of the mission. He had to be thorough. That’s all he was doing, being thorough. Obsessions were for the weak willed, the lesser. He was the Captain of a Class 3 Battle Frigate. He wasn’t lesser and he sure as shit wasn’t weak willed.

  ***

  EMERGENCY SHUTTLE B635- FSS LOOKING GLASS LOG- 05233675

  (cont.)

  They clung to me as I got up to shut my bedroom door, the sight of Melissa’s lifeless legs just too much to bear. I pried their little fingers off of my pants legs and told them I’d be right back. They held each other, quivering, and I saw one of them had wet themselves. -STATIC INTERFERANCE- closed the door then went into the children’s room and fetched two clean outfits, not sure which had had the accident. The screams, the new screams, began as I stepped back into the living room.

  No more thumps against the door, just the sound of chaos and murder.

  I cautiously stepped towards the door, climbing over the barricade to get at the inset security video screen. I was worried it wouldn’t come on and was dead like the com, but the screen flickered to life, revealing the horror beyond.

  The eight, nine and ten year olds swarmed the older children. I watched the brutality for as long as I could, stunned at the ferocity with which the younger fell on the older. I didn’t activate the sound since I could clearly hear through the walls and see on their curled lips the word “liar!” being shouted over and over.

  When it was over, when not a single eleven or twelve year old was left alive, they turned their attention on my door. Their little eyes crazed and -STATIC INTERFERANCE- I scooped up Aston and Samantha and took them into their room, shutting the door tight and pushing two of the mattresses up against it, both for security and to dampen the sound of the fists and the bloodthirsty calls.

  The twins complained of being hot and I placed the back of my hand to each of their foreheads, but felt nothing strange. They were clammy from the stress and fear, but no fevers that I could detect.

  Telling them they’d be fine, I once again brought them into my arms.

  The pounding stopped after a bit and I prayed it was over, but knew even before the new wave of murder began that it wasn’t. -STATIC INTERFERANCE- of the third wave of screams that now the smaller children, five, six and seven year olds had attacked the eight, nine and ten year olds.

  “Liar.”

  There it was. The voice, muffled and small, but it was that voice again. And it was in my arms.

  The pain was sharp and quick and I jerked back, seeing a bit of my t-shirt fabric sticking from the corner of Aston’s mouth.

  He bit me. My own child bit me. The child I was holding in my arms, trying to tell that everything would be okay, bit me.

  Samantha pushed away from me and snatched up a handful of building blocks, flinging them at my face. “LIAR!” she screeched. Aston’s fists -STATIC INTERFERANCE- and I pushed him away, knocking him to the ground. He let out a small yelp of pain and his eyes welled with tears.

  What kind of mother was I? I had killed my oldest and was now shoving one of my youngest. I rushed to him, apologizing, but stumbled and fell short as the blow to my head threw me off balance. Samantha, book in hand lunged for me, swinging wildly and I had to scoot backwards on my butt to avoid being hit by her wild swipes.

  -STATIC INTERFERANCE- the wall I kicked out, connecting with Sam’s thigh. There was a sharp crack and she crumpled to the ground, grabbing at her leg. “KILL THE LIAR!” she yelled through clenched teeth.

  Engineer Vebram looked directly into the camera without blinking.

  I broke my little girl’s leg. Snapped it like it was kindling.

  Asto
n pounced and I don’t know why, but this time I didn’t think. This time I acted.

  His fingers clawed at my face as I held him by his neck. Then it was over. His body went limp, his head hanging at an unnatural angle. I let him fall… I LET MY BABY FALL FOR FUCK’S SAKE! -STATIC INTERFERANCE- watched his unmoving chest, waiting for him to take a breath. He never did.

  Samantha snarled, like Melissa did, exactly like Mel did, producing a sound no six year old could and she -STATIC INTERFERANCE- She wasn’t as fast as Aston because of her leg and I was able to catch her across the jaw with another kick. I got to my feet and took the book out of her hand. I took the book out of her hand. I took the book. I took it. And then I.

  I.

  I…

  -END OF TRANSMISSION-

  ***

  “Sir?” Lieutenant Stephens called. “We’ve come through the final WH, sir. Um, you need to get to the bridge right away.”

  “What’s the issue, Lieutenant?”

  “Sir, the Looking Glass is still here. It didn’t self-destruct we’re staring right at it. And, sir?”

  “Yes, Lieutenant? Out with it.”

  “There’s life support and full power readings. The Looking Glass is operational. Holy shit, sir! The thing is locked on us and bringing up all starboard weapons systems.”

  “Weapons? Where the fuck did an engineering freighter get weapons? Shields up! Full power, Lieutenant!”

  Captain Little dashed to the door, but came up short as the monitor behind him flickered back to life. He turned about and his jaw dropped as a new entry came up, one that couldn’t have been part of the original transmission, but had to be as he was clearly staring at the sobbing face of Chief Engineer Amanda Vebram.

  He watched in horror as a pry bar slammed against Vebram’s head, over and over, splattering blood across the recorder, drops rolling down the image.

  A tiny hand reached up, wiping some of the blood away, smearing most of it. The Captain’s breath caught in his throat as a child that couldn’t have been more than two looked directly into the recorder, its teeth and mouth coated and dripping blood.

  “Liars. You are all liars. Liars. LIARS! LIARS! LIARS!”

  “Sir,” Lieutenant Stephens shouted over the com. “Sir, we’ve been hailed! Dear…God…”

  “What is it Stephens?” Little asked, his eyes unable to look away from the gruesome face on the monitor. “Stephens! Report Goddamn it!”

  “They… They’re children, sir! Sweet bloody Hell! They’ve opened fire!”

  The two year old on the monitor kept repeating ‘LIARS!’ over and over, keeping Captain Little transfixed until the ship began to shake from weapons impact.

  “Stephens! Fire at will!” The Captain waited, but there was no response. “Stephens?!? STEPHENS!”

  ***

  EMERGENCY SHUTTLE A35- FSS W.A.T. CARPENTER LOG- 12183677

  This is Captain Lawrence Little of the FSS Battle Frigate W.A.T. Carpenter. The ship is lost. The bridge was destroyed before we could retaliate. I believe other shuttles were able to deploy, but I cannot confirm. I would have gone down with my ship, but this message needed to be made.

  The Captain looked squarely into the recorder.

  Do not go through the last WH. I repeat, do not go through the last WH. The FSS Freighter Looking Glass is active and has been compromised.

  He turned away for a moment and collected his thoughts then turned back.

  This will sound crazy, but whoever receives this message has to understand that something has gone terribly wrong in this sector. Whatever you do, do not go through the last WH!

  The children will be waiting…

  -END OF TRANSMISSION-

  Jim Drurry, Interstellar Mediator

  “Grubnar The Blistering will not tolerate this outrage!” squawked the translator box. “This is an affront to my supremacy and to all Flepsomnolinskies! I will rip out your gas exchange organs and fill them with my flatulence! Then place them within your chest cavity and glue your flesh together with the feces of an Arterian dogpod!”

  Such was how Jim Drurry’s morning began. He sat at the end of the mediation table, head in hands, tie already undone, waiting for the many tentacled Flepsomnolinsky to finish with its tirade. The being from the Tulipsion System spit and foamed, bubbles frothing from its vocal tubes.

  He’s going to short out the translator box if he doesn’t shut the hell up, Jim thought.

  “Okay, Grubnar, calm down,” Jim soothed, wearily standing up. Holy Space Ghost, it’s only 9:30. Uggh…“No one is trying to insult you. We all come from different backgrounds and systems. I am sure Mr. Tintultintintul didn’t mean any disrespect. Right, Mr. Tintultintintul?”

  Jim turned to the mousey little man sitting to his right. Mr. Tintultintintul just blinked once, twice then burped. “Excuse.”

  Jim stared at the little man, waiting. But, the diminutive Mr. Tintultintintul did not offer any more to the table.

  Sigh. “Okay…See Grubnar, he is-”

  “That is Grubnar The Blistering! I should impale you by way of your elimination cavity! You are all space swine! Beneath me! Below me!”

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa! Part of the rules of this proceeding are no threats against the mediator. You both agreed to this. Got it?”

  Grubnar The Blistering waved his tentacles about showily, filling them with fluid and releasing, over and over again. Then abruptly he flattened his spine fins, turned around three and one half times and sat in his chair. “I am less aggrieved and will only use two appendages to defile you. Your apology is considered.”

  Mr. Tintultintintul coughed. Jim turned to him expectantly, “Yes, Mr. Tintultintintul?”

  The man lifted the obligatory pitcher and poured himself a glass of water. Slowly, he drank from the glass, upending it so every last drop fell into his mouth. He placed the glass back upon the table, removed a handkerchief from his pocket, dabbed at the moisture around his mouth, refolded the handkerchief and burped.

  “Excuse.”

  Jim closed his eyes and counted to five. “Alright, let’s go over this one more time so I can be sure we have everything covered. I ask that you not interrupt, but only acknowledge the facts when I ask you to. Agreed?”

  Neither party replied. Jim took this as a good sign. He straightened some papers and opened a manila file folder.

  “Good. On the 312th day of the month Spenzinsor during the year 3553 Galactic Standard, an altercation occurred aboard the Interstellar Space Cooperative Juno 851.” Jim paused looking from one participant to the other. When he received no objections he continued. “Said altercation was between Mr. Eloschoysus Tintultintintul of the Mascral System and Mr. Grubnar The Blistering of the Tulipsion System.”

  “Grubnar The Blistering has warned the fleshbag excretion on how to address Grubnar The Blistering! Grubnar The Blistering will now remove from the fleshbag all of its useless procreative organs and place them violently within the fleshbag’s vocal orifice!”

  Grubnar raised himself to his full height of four feet and three inches, tentacles fully engorged and lunged at Jim. With weary patience and practiced motion, Jim flipped a switch conveniently located by his left hand. Grubnar instantly went rigid, his semi-opaque flesh flashing from bright purple, to pink, to chartreuse and back to its original aquamarine. Jim flipped the switch back and Grubnar immediately collapsed into his Flepsomnolinskian chair.

  “Now, Grubnar The Blistering, I warned you. Another attempt on my life and I’ll have to have the guards restrain you physically. Are we understood?”

  Grubnar sat motionless for a moment, except for the occasional tentacle spasm. Jim waited. Finally the Flepsomnolinsky gave the equivalent of a head nod and Jim cleared his throat to continue.

  “Okay, back to the record. According to the Interstellar Space Cooperative Juno 851’s superintendent’s report, the altercation occurred due to the fact that Grubnar The Blistering’s condominium door was left ajar, allowing 4,328 of his progeny to esca
pe. While they were quickly rounded up by Grubnar The Blistering’s spouse-” Grubnar began to engorge his tentacles once again, but Jim slid his hand towards the restraining switch and Grubnar quickly calmed himself down. Jim smiled. “-quickly rounded up by Grubnar The Blistering’s spouse, they did consume eight planters, four lounge chairs, one doormat and six ashtrays. Also, and the reason we are here, they consumed Mr. Tintultintintul’s prize winning pet Bankcrusian Salamander. A rare and exotic creature found only in a four by four square foot area on the planet of Bankcrusia. Is everyone in agreement so far?”

  I freakin’ hope so, Jim thought.

  Mr. Tintultintintul cleared his throat.

  “Yes, Mr. Tintultintintul? You have something to add?”

  Mr. Tintultintintul stood from the table. “The Bankcrusian Salamander can only be found in a four by four square foot area on the planet Bankcrusia.”

  Jim blinked several times, feeling as if maybe he missed something. “Um, yes, thank you, Mr. Tintultintintul. So, we are in agreement then?’

  Mr. Tintultintintul nodded almost imperceptibly and then sat back down.

  “Okay, since those are the agreed upon facts, lets move on to the complaints and see if we can’t somehow get them resolved before Jupiter’s moons collide, okay?”

  “Grubnar The Blistering wishes to eat of your excrement, digest said excrement and excrete the digested excrement upon your person for mentioning the blasphemous planet known as Jupiter,” the translator box hissed while multi-colored foam dripped from all twenty eight of the Flepsomnolinsky’s ocular cavities.

  Jim immediately held up his hands in apology and to ward of any further protestations. "I apologize, Grubnar The Blistering, that was unintentional. I forgot about the ‘do not mention Jupiter’ stipulation in today’s proceeding. I humbly apologize and this oversight will be noted in my record by my superiors. Can we proceed?”

  Jim didn’t wait for an answer, but pushed forward. “Mr. Tintultintintul has filed a complaint that Grubnar The Blistering is responsible for the procurement and replacement of the consumed Salamander. But, since the creatures only appear in their natural habitat every 14 millennia, this poses a problem. So Mr. Tintultintintul seeks financial restitution in the amount of 32.98567 quadrillion Interstellar credits.” Jim stared at the figure. “Is this correct, Mr. Tintultintintul? 32.98567 quadrillion credits? Am I reading this right?”