Casket For Sale

by Jeff Strand

  I looked at Roger. He watched the door with Troll and Samantha behind it.

  “Locker 27,” Mr. Burke announced. “Let’s give this gentleman a bionic eye.”

  “What color light?” Witch asked.

  “How about… green?” Mr. Burke looked at me as if for my approval. Not knowing what else to do, I nodded. “Yes, green.”

  “Dark green or light green?”

  “Dark green.”

  “Flashing?”

  “Oh yes.”

  Witch opened another locker and removed a small metal circular object. She handed it to Mr. Burke, who flipped a switch on the side and held up the dark green flashing light for my approval. “Nice, isn’t it?”

  This time I didn’t nod.

  “Normally, I’d remove the organic eye first,” Mr. Burke explained. “But I think we’ll skip that step and just wedge this one in as best we can.”

  Mr. Burke did so, though it took some effort. Goblin’s screams and thrashing faded halfway through the process.

  “Ah, yes, that looks great. I don’t think you two can see it from where you’re sitting, but trust me, that is a cyborg eye to die for. Now for the feet. Locker 2.”

  Mr. Burke went to work on Goblin’s feet. This process wasn’t as easy as removing his hands, but it was completed in a quick and efficient manner.

  Goblin’s feet were replaced by wheels. He couldn’t appreciate it, because by then he was dead.

  Mr. Burke and Witch added some more enhancements. A row of copper spikes running down the sides of each leg. Bolts protruding from his neck, Frankenstein-style. The words “Cyber-Goblin 3000” burnt onto his chest.

  “Excellent!” said Mr. Burke, wiping his hands off on a white towel. “Perhaps not one of my masterpieces, but a more than worthy addition to my collection.”

  Mr. Burke and Witch lifted Goblin’s corpse onto a gurney. “Hose him off and prepare him for display,” said Mr. Burke. Witch nodded and wheeled him past Roger and I and out the door behind us.

  “See, I’m really not such a terrible individual,” Mr. Burke told us. “It’s not like I’m merely hacking up your bodies, mangling them for sport. When you were a child, wouldn’t you have loved to look like the Cyber-Goblin 3000?”

  He wiped off his face and neck, and then realized something. “Oh, I got so caught up in my work that I forgot to check in with Medusa. That’s why it’s so wonderful to be the boss: I’m allowed to screw up.”

  He picked up the walkie-talkie from the equipment table and pressed the button. “Medusa, come in.”

  He waited.

  “Medusa?”

  He set down the walkie-talkie and shrugged. “That’s a promising sign. If she’s shut off communications, your wife must be falling for her ruse. You know, Andrew, just between you and me, I could arrange to have her mouth replaced with a vacuum cleaner, if you know what I mean.” He gave an exaggerated wink.

  Not being able to slam his face into one of Goblin’s metal claws was an unbearably frustrating sensation.

  “I enjoy making my precious cyborgs, but right now we’re just in the design phase. They look spectacular, but they don’t do anything because they’re dead. But I’ve been wanting to test a special little something and this is the absolute perfect opportunity.” He smiled. “I think you’ll find it very, very interesting.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  MR. BURKE BROUGHT THE scalpel toward my face again, but this time he cu t away the gag. “I probably should have untied that rather than cut it,” he admitted. “I’m already over budget for the quarter. So what do you think so far? Be honest.”

  “I think you’re a joke. What, you’re making human action figures? How pathetically geeky is that?”

  Mr. Burke chuckled. “Ah, Andrew, that comment would be much more devastating if you weren’t so obviously terrified. You don’t think I’m a joke. I can tell that your friend here doesn’t think I’m a joke. How about I check on his piece of tail?”

  He walked to the door Troll had taken Samantha through, opened it a crack, and peeked inside.

  I wanted so badly to see Samantha’s fist pop into view, punching Mr. Burke in the face, that for a moment I did see it.

  Then I returned to reality. Mr. Burke closed the door and returned to us. “She’s alive,” he told Roger. “Though the word ‘ouch’ is probably appropriate. That Troll, he’s a unique one, I’ll give him that.”

  Witch returned to the room. “How does Goblin look?” Mr. Burke asked.

  “Fine. Still leaking.”

  “Good, good.” Mr. Burke picked up the walkie-talkie again and pressed the button. “Medusa?” Nothing. “Oh well.” He set down the walkie-talkie then turned back to Witch. “Give Andrew here a quick shot so he doesn’t wiggle so much.”

  Witch retrieved a hypodermic needle from the table. She jabbed it into my arm, and…

  …I was suddenly on the operating table, strapped down by my wrists and ankles. A few tugs verified that I wasn’t going anywhere. I felt Goblin’s blood, wet underneath me.

  “Ah, good, you’re awake already. That was quick.” Mr. Burke held up a small camera, about two inches square and remarkably thin. “This is a wireless digital webcam,” he explained. “The distance isn’t great, not more than five hundred yards, but it’ll do.”

  Witch turned on a blowtorch and began to heat up a thin strip of metal, also about two inches square with a pair of clamps on it.

  “We’ll get near-DVD quality picture and sound with this thing, so hopefully you’ll provide sufficient entertainment value.”

  “I don’t know what the hell you’re babbling about,” I said.

  “You’ll figure it out. What we’ve got for you, Andrew, is a very special serum. It’s untested, so for all I know it could kill you the second we inject it, but let’s hope it doesn’t. That would be a waste. It’s sort of a chemical cocktail, mixed with hallucinogens and paranoia enhancers… not the technical term… and all sorts of fascinating ingredients.”

  “I’m ready,” said Witch, lifting the red-hot metal with a pair of tongs.

  “Then I’m sure Andrew is, too. You may proceed.”

  Witch pressed the metal, clamps-side-up, right above my solar plexus. My entire body tightened up as I screamed, not even pretending that I was going to deny Mr. Burke the pleasure of an extreme reaction. Witch pressed the metal deeper into my chest and I smelled burning flesh and chest hair.

  I strained against the leather straps, wanting desperately to rip the hot metal off my body.

  “Ah, yes, that should stay in place quite nicely,” said Mr. Burke, observing Witch’s handiwork with satisfaction. “We’ll just let it cool before we attach the camera.”

  I found myself frantically blowing on the metal, as if that would help. Mr. Burke and Witch seemed to find this terribly amusing.

  Roger was still struggling to break free of his chair, but making no progress.

  “I think we’re ready for the injection,” said Mr. Burke. He leaned over me and spoke tenderly. “Now, this is going to hurt just a little bit, sort of like having your flesh shredded with a cheese grater from the inside and then microwaved. But don’t worry, it’s not addictive.”

  Witch patted my forearm to get a vein.

  I struggled with every ounce of strength I could muster. In all of the times I’d been tied up or strapped down or otherwise prevented from enjoying freedom of movement, I’d never successfully managed to break free through the use of superhuman strength, and I was due. I visualized myself breaking free. I visualized Roger breaking free. I visualized Samantha breaking through the door and breaking us free. I visualized Kyle breaking through the ceiling in a superhero cape and breaking us free.

  I remained strapped to the bloody operating table.

  Witch held up the hypodermic needle, squeezing some liquid out to avoid injecting an air bubble into my bloodstream. She brought it down slowly toward my arm.

  I was concerned that my final thought in this world
might be something stupid like my seven year-old son breaking through a ceiling in a superhero cape, but I couldn’t force myself to think of anything else.

  Witch slid the needle into my skin.

  A warm, almost soothing feeling flowed through my arm.

  Followed immediately by the most devastating pain I’d ever felt in my life. A dozen times worse than, say, chopping off my finger or having a red-hot piece of metal pressed against my chest.

  I screamed and screamed and screamed.

  Then, for a change of pace, I shrieked and shrieked and shrieked.

  I may have said “Ow!”

  It really, really hurt.

  “My, my, listen to Andrew scream,” said Mr. Burke. His chuckle echoed throughout the room.

  It didn’t really echo, did it?

  Yes, it did. In fact, it was still echoing. And getting louder. I heard it in stereo.

  Mr. Burke smiled, revealing oversized teeth.

  I looked at my straps and gasped in horror. They’d transformed into… well, they were still leather straps, but they were unexplainably scary leather straps.

  “Is it working, Andrew?” asked Mr. Burke, his voice dropping an octave or two. “How do you feel?”

  “I hurt.”

  “How does your mind feel?”

  “I don’t know. I think it hurts.”

  Mr. Burke held up his hand in front of me. “How many fingers am I holding up?”

  “Three,” I said. Suddenly that seemed amazingly funny. Three fingers! He was holding up three fingers! Right in front of my face! I giggled.

  Giggling was so much more fun than screaming. But screaming had its positive aspects, too, like giving your lungs a workout and keeping them healthy, and alerting people to your presence who might otherwise ignore you, and…

  I giggled some more.

  I raised my back as much as I could. “Something is swimming in Goblin’s blood.”

  “And what do you think that might be?”

  “I dunno. You tell me.” I giggled at my joke. “It’s a little man swimming in there. A tiny little man swimming in Goblin’s blood. I hope he doesn’t pee in it.”

  “I hope he doesn’t, either,” said Mr. Burke, still smiling at me with those oversized, way-too-white teeth.

  “You’ve got funky teeth” I told him. “Pull them out for me.”

  “I’m afraid I can’t do that.”

  “Oh. Bummer.”

  I looked at Roger, who looked hilariously miserable. He almost looked like he was going to cry. And he was a grown man!

  I laughed at him.

  I suddenly realized that I didn’t hurt anymore. And that there were now several tiny little men swimming in Goblin’s blood. One of them was doing the breaststroke.

  “You know,” I told Mr. Burke, “it takes a lot of work to kill a man with paper cuts, but I’m patient.”

  Mr. Burke kept smiling. All of his face was gone except for his teeth.

  “You know what?” I asked.

  “What?”

  “That’s what.” I frowned. “That wasn’t funny. You know what?”

  “What?”

  “That’s what.” I laughed hysterically, and then I slammed myself against the table a couple of times to crush the millions of tiny little men swimming in Goblin’s blood.

  “Tell me, Andrew, are you afraid of demons?”

  “Dee-mons! Dee-mons!”

  “There are demons everywhere, you know.”

  “Spooky scary demons!”

  “There’s one in this room.”

  “Creepy crawly demons!”

  “You hate demons.”

  I nodded. “Demons suck.”

  “Indeed they do.”

  “Yanking off a hangnail with a staple remover is overrated.”

  “Indeed it is.”

  “Doesn’t it hurt just having teeth for a face? What if you have to blow your nose? I don’t understand how it works, I’m sorry.”

  “Look over there,” said Mr. Burke, pointing. “Do you see the demon?”

  I did indeed. It was a female demon, wearing a white lab coat spattered with blood. She was one serious babe, even though she had red scaly flesh and eyes that literally smoldered.

  It was clearly a succubus. Or was it an incubus? I always got those two confused. It was a continual source of shame and embarrassment.

  The demon hissed at me. I hissed back.

  “You want to kill it, don’t you?”

  “Nah.”

  “Andrew, it’s a demon. Aren’t you the mighty demon slayer?”

  “What kind of dumb shit are you talking about? Demon slayer, hemon slayer. I need to slay more hemons. What’s a hemon? I’m hungry.”

  “The demon is looking into your soul, Andrew.”

  My God. He was right. The demon was staring right into my soul. It was learning my secrets, laughing at them, mocking them, sharing them with its demon brethren. The demon’s evil was exploring inside me, wriggling around like worms, devouring its way into my heart.

  “Make it stop,” I begged.

  “Only you can make it stop.”

  “It’s scaring me!”

  “Scare it back.”

  “It’s going to eat me! Don’t let it eat me!”

  “You’re being tested, Andrew. You can pass the test. You must learn to hate the demon, not fear it.”

  “I hate how scary it is!”

  “Hate. Hate is the key. Control your hate. Control your rage. Don’t let the demons win. Can you do that? Can you truly, deeply hate?”

  “I… I think so.”

  “That’s not good enough.”

  “Yes, I can.”

  “There are demons in the woods, Andrew. They’re lost demons trying to find their way back home. Three of them. A mother and two children. Can you hate them?”

  “Yes.”

  “Can you kill them?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m going to give you a knife. Can you slam it into the bodies of those foul creatures, no matter how much they scream, no matter what tricks they try to play on you? Because demons will lie to you. They’ll change form. They’ll pretend they love you. Can you kill them?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then I shall release you.”

  I felt the hatred flowing through me, just as the pain had flowed through me before. The hatred felt good.

  Really, really good.

  ***

  I RODE IN A chariot of gold, pulled by two fire-breathing steeds that were the most beautiful animals I’d ever seen in my life, even when they started ripping out chunks of each other’s flesh.

  The world was cast into darkness, but the sun burned my eyes.

  I smiled at my hatred. At my rage. That’s what kept me strong. Demons were weak. Their compassion was their weakness, and I’d exploit that until their severed heads rested at my feet. Granted, the knife I’d been given really didn’t seem sufficient for a demonic decapitation, but I’d worry about that when the time came.

  The chariot stopped.

  “You must go now,” Mr. Burke said. “You must fulfill your destiny.”

  “Will I ever see you again?”

  “Yes. I will give you this beacon.” Mr. Burke extended a sparkling silver object toward me. He affixed it to the metal plate burned into my chest, my mark of honor. “This will let us find you, and bring you home.”

  “Will you watch over me?”

  “I won’t, but your guardian angel will. I’ll watch the recording after you’re back safe and sound.”

  “Thank you.” I hugged him as if he were my father.

  Then I began my journey.

  I wandered for days. No, not days, but months. Years. For years I wandered the dirt path, fearful of the horrific noises emanating from the forest on each side but not letting my fear show.

  I cradled my precious knife in my hands.

  I realized I hadn’t eaten or slept in years. That was kind of weird.

  To help the
months pass, I decided to make up a song. The Demon Song.

  I am the demon hunter named Andrew.

  Whose exploits will…

  What rhymed with “Andrew?”

  Andrew, Bandrew, Candrew, Dandrew…

  I am the demon hunter named Mayhem.

  Whose exploits will…

  Damn.

  Demons, demons, time to die.

  For I will poke you in the eye.

  And then you shall begin to cry.

  As I sing your fatal lullaby.

  I grinned at my own cleverness.

  “Daddy!”

  I spun around. A horrid creature emerged from the woods, its scaly skin as red as Red Vines brand original licorice twists.

  The little girl demon.

  The creature was so repulsive, so gag-inducing, I wanted to fling my knife at it and end its vile life right now.

  But I wasn’t that good at knife throwing, and I didn’t want to lose my weapon. Anyway, demons were tricky creatures, and so I had to be careful.

  It was running toward me.

  “Daddy! Daddy!” it repeated.

  This demon looked somehow familiar…

  I hated it.

  I wanted to rip its head off of its tiny shoulders.

  It was moving quickly.

  Don’t fear it, don’t fear it, don’t fear it.

  No demon could harm me.

  Nothing could harm me.

  A tree looked like it was eating somebody, but it may also have been bathing him.

  I held my ground as the demon rushed at me.

  Yes, I knew this one! Its name was Theresa!

  Dumb name for a demon.

  The demon stopped a few feet away from me. It bit its scaly lip as if unsure about something.

  “Daddy? Are you okay?”

  I’d be a lot better if this piece of crap demon stopped calling me “Daddy.” I wasn’t the parent of any hellspawn.

  The demon backed away.

  Did it really believe I was its father?

  It couldn’t possibly. But its tone of voice was so convincing.

  Demons were tricky creatures.

  I could be tricky, too.

  “I’m fine,” I said, in my most soothing voice as I hid the knife behind my back. “Come here. Come to Daddy.”

  The demon walked toward me.

  Slowly, untrusting.

  I had to bite my own lip to keep from laughing.