Apexology: Horror

by Anthology

  Kalden was the name of my host’s body. When the monks finish praying, they set me down in the middle of the stone circle, not far from the temple. I will rest here and watch them as they prepare for the ceremony. Kalden will be buried soon.

  The vultures are already circling overhead. Some have landed and start to approach me, but the guardians shake long sticks at them and scare them off.

  Three men wearing long, white aprons unwrap my shroud. Their faces are blank of emotion. Only the stoic are meant for this line of work. It’s been three days since my death, but they touch me gingerly. Not because my body is stiff and swollen, but because they are being careful not to bump my head and cause my namshe (consciousness) to be released too soon. They cast the shroud aside and pick up their cleavers. In a few short strokes, the blades are made razor sharp by the whetstones.

  The men work quickly. They make the necessary cuts. It does not hurt though I do sense a feeling that a part of me has been removed. I hear bones cracking, squishing sounds and plops, as the men retrieve my organs and set them aside.

  More vultures have landed. They smell my blood. Their loud squawks are deafening. It is getting harder for the guardians to keep them at bay.

  Fortunately, the cutters are done. They give the guardians a hand signal and all of the men fall back and allow the birds to come. There are hundreds of them now. Huge birds that are beautiful and ugly at the same time. Some flap their wings and squawk, hoping to scare the weaker birds away and increase their share. They bite, tug and pull at my flesh. I am in awe of their strength and power.

  I hear my mother crying. I wish I could tell her that I am okay. She should not be sad or fear for me. She should know that what has happened and what is about to happen are merely steps in the process. I will make my way through the bardo. She should join the monks in prayer. Seven weeks from now, I will find my new host and have rebirth.

  Still, none of this is easy for her. She would not allow me to attend my father’s own burial. She said I was too young. Maybe she thought the vultures would frighten me. I had so many questions about his death. She would not answer them. I begged my grandfather to tell me the truth. That’s how I know what will happen next.

  In less than fifteen minutes, the vultures will have picked my bones clean. Many of the birds will be sated. They will fly away and the flapping of their huge wings will sound like the chugging fits and starts of a locomotive. The weaker ones who fought unsuccessfully to taste my flesh are hungry. They will stay close. The guardians will have to shoo them away again as the cutters prepare what’s left of Kalden for his end.

  The cutters will gather what’s left of my bones and crush them with mallets. They will save my skull for last. They will crack it open and carefully remove my brain. They will crush my skull as they did with the other bones, reducing it to dust. Then, they will take my brain and organs and mix them with flour and the bone dust.The vultures will sit patiently, watching and waiting for the signal to be feeding again. In minutes, what was left of Kalden will be gone.

  My spirit soars high above the hillside. Somehow I am one with the vultures. I can see the crowd below dispursing. The cermony is over. Kalden is gone. Yet I am still here.

  The great birds take me on journey to parts of Tibet that I have never seen. The snowcapped mountains are majestic and magnificent. The mountain air is cold but smells sweet. It is hard to convey everything I am seeing and feeling. My flesh was consumed by hundreds of birds. Now I am experiencing the world from hundreds of different viewpoints. It is beyond my comprehension but somehow I understand. I go where they go. I see what they see. I eat what they eat. There have been other burial ceremonies. I sense other spirits are here with me.

  This goes on for some time. Then I start to sense that an ending is coming. But it is not an ending in a strict sense. There is something beyond it. A beginning perhaps. Has it been seven weeks already?

  My grandfather never told me what would actually happen when I found my new host. I begged him to tell me but he said that he couldn’t because he didn’t honestly know. He hadn’t died yet. How could he?

  I didn’t know what to expect when the time would come. I don’t know if it is different for each spirit. This is what happened to me.

  One day, when the female vultures laid their eggs, I felt a sense of detachment from the mother birds and a sense of attachment to the eggs. Himalayan vultures lay one egg at a time, but since Kalden had been consumed by many, part of me had been transferred to all of the eggs laid that day.

  Some of the eggs eventually hatched and part of me was carried on by a new generation of the great birds. Some of the eggs never hatched and a part of me truly died.

  One egg was stolen from its nest by a peasant woman. She took the egg home, cooked and ate it. My spirit melded with hers. When she coupled with her husband, my new host was conceived.

  My new mother is a simple woman. She calls my host “Pasang” because I was born on a Friday. The elders call me “Keyuri” after the cemetery goddess, because I am always asking questions about life, and life after death. I tell them I had another name once. I don’t remember my old host’s name anymore. I tell them I was once a boy and that I’ve soared above the Himalayas on a vulture’s wings. The elders believe me.

  I tell them that I want to be a cutter.

  My mother gets upset when I speak of such things.

  “It is a man’s job and the elders will not allow it,” she says.

  But somehow I know that in this life, that is my destiny.

  The elders prayed for guidance. They know that I am more than just a peasant girl. The only way I can be a cutter is if I will hide my true identity.

  I shave my head. I bind my breasts to flatten them. I have boyish features and am not petite. It is a relatively easy transformation.

  The elders give me a new name.

  They call me “Tenzin” now. A fitting name for I will be a protector of Dharma and all of its teachings.

  The elders tell my mother that “Pasang” is dead. They don’t want any loose ends.

  The vultures circle overhead.

  The monks carry the girl’s body to the hillside and place it in the center of the stone circle. I carefully remove her shroud and set it aside as my partners sharpen the cleavers against the rocks in short strokes. My face is blank of emotion. Though I am amazed by how much she looked like Pasang.

  The elders are testing me.

  If I can make it through this ceremony, avoid reacting to my mother’s cries, I will be known as “Tenzin The Cutter” until it is my time to find a new host.

  I hear my mother sobbing. I want to tell her that I am ok. But I can’t. I know I’ve had this feeling before. She should not be sad or fear for the life that was. All of us will make it through the bardo when it is our time. We should embrace the opportunity for transformation in the earthly and spiritual realms. These opportunities are our chances for growth.

  My partner hands me the cleaver. I straddle my look-alike.

  We cut the girl.

  The guardians shoo the great birds away with long sticks. They smell her blood. Their squawks are deafening.

  I stand and move out of the way when my partner gives the signal to allow the birds to feed.

  I watch, awed by the power and strength of their jaws as they rip and tear her flesh away.

  My only regret is that I am not the one making the journey skyward.

  The ceremony ends.

  The great birds fly away. The beating of their wings turns my sadness into peace.

  I am careful not to smile.

  Though I want to.

  ENOUGH TO MAKE A DEVIL

  R. Thomas Riley

  R. Thomas Riley is a horror writer living in the distant lands of North Dakota. He’s famous around these parts for his horror collection The Monster Within Idea from Apex Publications. Recently, the story “The Day Lufberry Won It All” from his collection was converted into a screenplay and filmed by Frosty Moo
n Omnimedia.

  Many authors dream of having their work translated to film. R. Thomas Riley has lived that dream…and I can say it doesn’t surprise me. His work is full of vivid imagery and emotion…like a young Gary Braunbeck. Hopefully, you’ll find some of these qualities in the story below.

  —§—

  1

  “So, today’s the big day, huh, Dr. Caffy?”

  “Yes, Henry,” Melanie replied as she signed the Mowman Facility log sheet.

  “Hope you don’t let the bastard out.”

  “Now, Henry, it’s been three years since his last parole hearing and he’s been making progress.”

  “If you ask me, he should’ve got the needle.”

  “He was found legally insane,” Caffy pointed out.

  “Whatever,” Henry grumbled as he handed Melanie a red visitor’s badge. “Have fun.”

  “Oh, yeah, I consult here for the fun.”

  Her heart gave an unpleasant lurch as the thick metal doors slammed shut. She always felt queasy entering the facility because it was so foreign from the outside world. There was always a part of her that wondered if she would ever leave the place unscathed. Of course, physically she would be fine. It was the mental part that worried her…

  2

  Melanie swiftly spread out her notes and current files on Rees. The folder was substantial, unwieldy and weighty. The documents covered the last three years. A multitude of case notes from every psychiatrist that had come into contact with Rees.

  Finally, satisfied with the arrangement on the table, she waited for the guards to retrieve the patient from his cell. She customarily was secure when it came to concluding whether the men and women she evaluated for the state of Massachusetts were mentally competent for parole, but this particular patient was an enigma to her.

  The first time she evaluated James Rees for possible parole, it had been no contest. The guy was demonstrably delusional. He claimed he could manipulate reality and that monsters were trying to destroy the Earth. He’d been cornered in a ghost town up north. He’d claimed Dunwich was the portal for these creatures to enter reality. She’d had no problem declaring him a clear and present danger to society.

  She’d followed his progress during the three-year period, but had only seen him, face to face, two times since the last arduous interview.

  She took a deep, calming breath. It did the complete opposite, tensing her shoulders. She glanced up as the door opened, expecting to see James, but was greeted by the warden instead.

  “Warden,” she acknowledged as she stood to her feet.

  “Doc, how are things?” Warden Miles inquired as he shook hands with her.

  “Good, good,” Melanie replied warmly, skillfully concealing her apprehension.

  “How’s that husband of yours?”

  “Um,” Melanie stammered. “We…we’re divorced.”

  “Oh? Sorry to hear that,” Miles offered hastily.

  Melanie was still unaccustomed to informing people she was divorced. The papers had been finalized barely a month before. She offered Miles an embarrassed smile and let her gaze drop to the table.

  “Well,” Miles said a few beats later. “Mr. Rees will be along shortly, they’re just placing him in restraints,” he rambled nervously. “I’m assuming you will want to consult with our resident shrink after you’ve evaluated Mr. Rees?”

  “Of course,” Melanie replied. “Who’s in charge here now? I know Choler retired recently?”

  “Oh, a Miss, uh, I mean, Dr. Hewlett,” Miles corrected himself.

  “Hmm, never heard of her,” Melanie mused. “Where did she transfer in from?”

  “Nevada.”

  “I heard that place is a jungle,” Melanie quipped, eyebrows arched.

  “She seems to know what she’s doing. Catches on quickly.”

  “What’s going on, Miles? You don’t sound too warm about her,” Caffy demanded, alert.

  “Choler didn’t retire,” Miles sighed. “Sure, that’s what he and I told everyone. Better for both of us, to tell the truth.”

  “What happened?”

  “I can’t say anything until you’ve interviewed Rees. Because if I do. It might cloud your judgment. Taint your findings. Damn. I’ve already said too much,” Miles stumbled as he saw the look on Melanie’s face.

  Melanie immediately caught the change in tone. All the sentences had become just that. Sentences. Miles was hiding something. A person didn’t clip words like that unless they were trying very hard to not say the wrong thing.

  “Yes, you did,” Melanie sighed. “No more insinuations, ok? I want to interview Rees with a fair mind.”

  “Good,” Miles gushed, then smiled. “I’ll fill you in on what’s been going on after. We can compare notes. Fair enough?”

  “Fair.”

  “Rees should be on his way shortly,” Miles rambled.

  3

  James watched the psych techs and the head guard Riles approach his cell. He didn’t shift a muscle, merely watched as they took up positions on either side of his cell. He was lounging on his bunk watching the walls bleed. The meds he’d been on recently had curbed the visions, but now they were back full strength. A reptilian eye popped open in the wall at the far corner of his cell.

  An obscure symphony played in his head, his attempt to block out the screams coming from the floor. Riles cleared his throat. “Time to go see the shrink, freak. On your feet, you know the drill.”

  James allowed his stare to continue a few more beats. Just long enough to show he was moving because he wanted to, not because he’d been ordered to.

  Leisurely, he gained his feet. His movements were deliberate and calculated. An economy of motion from years spent behind bars. There was no need to hurry in here.

  He ignored the hallucinatory sticky sensation of the blood-covered floor as he meticulously fussed his orange prison jumpsuit, a deviation from the khaki shirt and shit-brown pants. He turned his back to the cell’s bars, placed his hands behind his back and bent over at the waist. He rested his forehead on the cool cinder block. A tongue slithered from the cracked concrete and greedily lapped at his face. He closed his eyes and ignored it.

  4

  “So, can you tell me anything about this Dr. Hewlett?” Melanie questioned.

  “Well, like I said. She transferred into us the day after Choler…retired. She stays to herself. Doesn’t talk much. Comes in early. Leaves late. Other than that. There’s not much else.”

  Melanie listened to the rumblings beneath Miles’ clipped sentences. “What about her file? You had to look at that didn’t you?”

  “Well, yeah. She went to Harvard. Two years at San Quentin. Then Nevada. Lovelock Correctional for four. Now here.”

  “How many times has she seen Rees?”

  Again. The hesitation. “Once.”

  “Once? Damn it, Miles, stop being so cryptic!”

  “She specifically requested to see him her very first day. Well, we didn’t see any problem with her getting right into the thick of things, so I agreed.”

  “Something happened, didn’t it?”

  5

  James stood motionless as the cell door rattled open. The two techs entered amidst the rattle of chains. Riles poked him in the back of the neck with his riot baton. “No trouble, sweetie,” he growled.

  James tilted his head to the right slightly and Riles grunted his approval. “Make sure those restraints are snug, fellas. Wouldn’t want our ‘ol pal here trying to hurt our cute, little Dr. Caffy.”

  “Dr. Caffy is here?” James asked, alert. No wonder the visions were back.

  “Yep, your parole evaluation is today. As if you didn‘t know that,” Riles laughed.

  One of the guards cruelly grasped one of Rees’ slender, almost effeminate, hands and callously ratcheted a steel cuff down on the wrist. Rees showed no reaction to the pain that lanced up his forearm. He was in another place. The room, guards and techs, the present, all of it quickly dwindled away as J
ames retreated inward.

  To his memory place…Dunwich.

  6

  “Yes, something happened,” Miles replied. “As soon as Dr. Hewlett stepped into the room, Rees went crazy. He’s already listed as a labile…”

  Melanie nodded as she listened to Miles drone on. It had been her decision to categorize Rees a labile. Labilis, apt to slip, from the Latin; a patient that seemed not to epitomize any threat of violent behavior; an individual that was sluggish, which gave the notion of being dim mentally, but in an instant, could abruptly transform into the worst nightmare of anyone unlucky enough to be in the present vicinity.

  “And, I, uh, informed Hewlett of the risks, but she insisted on seeing Rees alone…and she asked for him to be unrestrained.”

  “What?” Melanie exploded. “And you allowed this to occur?”

  “Dr. Hewlett, is, uh, very persuasive,” Miles muttered. “I misspoke earlier. Rees didn’t immediately go berserk when Hewlett entered the room. It was a few minutes after she started talking to him. Then…boom, he almost took her eyes out with a pen before we could restrain him.”