Casket For Sale

by Jeff Strand

  The object broke free to the surface.

  It was a tombstone. The inscription read “Graverob This, Asshole.”

  Another tombstone burst out of the ground: “R.I.P. Andrew Mayhem.” Then another: “R.I.P. Helen Mayhem.” Theresa and Kyle Mayhem followed.

  Hundreds of tombstones burst through the ground. One emerged directly underneath my feet, knocking me to the ground. As I fell I hit my head on a tombstone, knocking off the top half of my skull.

  I lost consciousness for a few years.

  When I recovered, I yanked off my new beard and realized I was surrounded by millions of tombstones. They were so close together that the people had to be buried standing up, or several bodies deep. Or else they were really tiny people.

  I bellowed in terror, just for the hell of it.

  Goblin made his way through the tombstones. My arch-nemesis was looking bad, his face a patchwork of scars and gashes, but I had to admit his cyborg makeover did look pretty cool.

  “Andrew,” he said, nodding politely.

  “Goblin,” I said, returning his nod.

  “Why aren’t you digging?” he asked.

  I shrugged. “Dunno.”

  “Don’t you know where you are?”

  I looked around without moving my head. The iron gates read ” Sanity Cemetery.”

  “I’m in Sanity Cemetery,” I replied. “Duh.”

  “Your sanity is buried here, Andrew,” Goblin informed me.

  “I’m insane?”

  “Yes.”

  “That sucks.”

  “Surely you don’t think all of this is real, do you?”

  One of my tongues popped out of my mouth and oozed along the ground like a speedy slug. “Dunno.”

  “You must dig,” Goblin said. He peeled off one of his scars like a sticker. “Dig deep.”

  “With what?”

  Goblin pointed to my right arm. It had become a shovel.

  “Ah, thanks,” I said.

  “Dig.”

  Okay, I’d dig. Digging was fun.

  A tombstone in front of me read “Casket For Sale (Only Used Once). Serious Inquiries Only, Please.” A red X glowed in the dirt in front of it. I wondered if this could be some sort of sign.

  I began to dig. It wasn’t easy, because when you’re digging with a regular shovel you use your feet to slam it into the ground, but I couldn’t do that because the shovel was my arm, and so it was pretty awkward at first and it kind of hurt my back, not to mention the whole weirdness factor of having my own arm be a shovel, I mean, the tongues were weird, too, but at least they were just multiples of a standard body part, while a shovel was a completely foreign appendage to the human body.

  At least the ground was soft.

  “Gonna dig that grave, gonna dig it deep,” I sang, as a chorus of souls in torment accompanied me. “Gonna dig my sanity right out of the dirt.”

  “He’s gonna dig his sanity right out of the dirt!” sang the tormented souls.

  Helen Mayhem. Why did that name sound so familiar?

  Oh, right. Because she had the same last name as me.

  I dug and dug and dug. Worms squirmed out of the sides of the hole and recited non-rhyming poetry to me.

  Theresa Mayhem sounded familiar, too.

  Oh, right. The last name thing again.

  The hole was now well over six feet deep. That damn tombstone better not have been lying about the casket for sale.

  Kyle Mayhem. That name also rang a bell. I couldn’t quite put my finger on why it rang that bell, or what particular bell it rang, but…

  Was he my son?

  My arm-shovel struck casket.

  I crouched down and brushed away the soil. It was a pretty nice casket. I wondered why somebody would sell it.

  I threw open the lid.

  My brain was inside.

  I picked it up, careful to use both hands so I didn’t drop it. It was lighter than I expected.

  Helen. Theresa. Kyle.

  Where was I supposed to put this brain? I did a quick check and saw that the top of my skull was still missing. “Hey, Goblin, watch this!” I said, tossing my brain up into the air as high as I could.

  Helen in my arms, the baby in her womb…

  My brain sailed back down to earth. I positioned my skull just right.

  Helen almost breaking every bone in my hand during labor with Theresa…

  Almost there… almost there…

  Kyle, the most beautiful baby ever born in the entire world, even with that gook all over him…

  Perfect catch!

  “I’m sane!” I cried out. “In your face, multiple tongues!”

  I kicked tombstones out of the way as I did my victory lap. They scattered to the wind like playing cards. “Goooooooo Team Mayhem! Woo-hoo!”

  I smacked into a tree.

  Then I threw up.

  I tried to spit the extra tongues out of my mouth, but they weren’t there.

  My finger hurt. At least the stump did.

  I braced myself against the tree and vomited again. What a horrible, horrible nightmare, but it was already starting to fade…

  No, it wasn’t. Nothing was fading but the visions.

  I wasn’t a demon slayer. I was a husband and a father and a best friend.

  And a madman.

  I’d tried to kill Helen.

  I’d stabbed Theresa.

  The reality of the situation hit me with such force that for several long moments I could do nothing but stand there, gasping for breath.

  One of the tombstones fluttered past my ear and faded away.

  I bent over, but there was nothing left to vomit. I dry heaved a few times, and then wiped off my mouth and desperately tried to figure out what to do.

  It didn’t take long to come up with the answer. Of course, it was a vague answer, not particularly helpful, and without a plan of action attached to it, but at least I knew I had to get back to my family and get them to safety.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  I HADN’T GONE FAR into the woods, and as I emerged onto the road Hele n had just finished getting Theresa into the limousine. She looked over at me. It was going to take crates of chocolate, truckloads of roses, and the combined efforts of Hallmark’s finest to get me out of this one.

  “I’m fine now,” I said, keeping my distance. “I swear I’m fine now.”

  “How do I know that?”

  “Well… you won’t hear me babbling about being a demon slayer anymore.”

  Helen didn’t respond.

  “They gave me some weird drug,” I said. “I don’t know what it was, but they injected me with it and it turned me into a… it turned me into somebody who would do what I did. But it wasn’t me.”

  “I know,” Helen said.

  “Is there a gun in the car?” I asked. “Duct tape, maybe? Some way for you to be sure I won’t hurt you? I won’t, I swear I won’t, but I don’t expect you to believe me. I could ride in the trunk.”

  “There’s duct tape.”

  “How’s Theresa?”

  “You hurt her bad.”

  I forced myself to fight back tears. “She’ll be okay, right?”

  “She needs medical attention as soon as possible. I’ve patched her up with what I could find but she lost a lot of blood. Andrew, I have to go.”

  “No! I need to go with you! Helen, I know you don’t trust me and I don’t expect you to, but Roger and Samantha are still in serious danger, and we have to save them! And the rest of the maniacs could be here any-”

  Witch came around the corner.

  She was walking, holding a revolver, and looked completely beat.

  “Don’t move,” she said, pointing the gun at me. “Just stay where you are.”

  I raised my hands in the air. Helen looked uncertain about whether she should take the risk of trying to get into the limousine.

  Witch stopped about ten feet away from us. “This is all bullshit,” she said, her voice a monotone. “We’r
e not getting out of this one, I can feel it. I had to help kill a man who didn’t even know I loved him. I just don’t care anymore.” She shook her head sadly. “All of you can run. Maybe you’ll get away, maybe you won’t, but either way, it’s not my problem.”

  She turned the revolver away from me and put the barrel in her mouth. Then she closed her eyes and pulled the trigger.

  Nothing happened.

  She pulled the trigger a couple more times, removed the barrel from her mouth, and opened her eyes. “Well,” she said. “This is awkward.”

  “Do you, uh, want to borrow a knife?” I asked.

  Witch shook her head.

  “I could give you directions to a spiked pit. That would do the trick.”

  “Nah, I’m just going to head back to my truck, I guess. If they catch me, they catch me.” She sighed, and then turned around and started walking the way she came.

  I was pretty sure she wouldn’t let us use her as a hostage again, so I returned my attention to Helen. “We have to get out of here,” I said. “Roger and Samantha could still be alive.”

  Helen nodded. “You can ride with us. Theresa and Kyle will be in the back. You know that if you make a move for them, I’ll kill you.”

  “I understand.”

  “I mean it.”

  “I believe you,” I said, hurrying over. “I’ll drive. You get in the back with the kids.”

  Moments later I was behind the wheel and we sped off, only to slow down again. Witch was in the middle of the road, walking slowly.

  I honked. She didn’t seem to hear it.

  I wasn’t sure what to do here. Should I just run her over? That seemed kind of extreme, considering that she was basically harmless at this point and her body would most likely get wedged underneath the limousine and delay our escape.

  I honked again.

  She moved slightly to the left, giving me just enough room to get around her. I floored the gas pedal and we sped off.

  “Andrew, your finger!” Helen exclaimed, looking at me from the back of the limo.

  “Yeah, it got flushed,” I said. “What happened to your foot?”

  “Wolf trap. What happened to your face?”

  “Flying debris from the camper when it exploded, a few thousand punches, I smacked into a couple of trees…” I glanced up at the rear-view mirror and noticed Kyle watching me. “Kyle, I’m really sorry about this,” I said. “They forced Daddy to take medicine that screwed with his brain, but I would never, ever hurt you.”

  “You hurt Theresa,” he said in a quiet voice.

  “I know, but it wasn’t really me. It was the bad men.”

  Kyle turned away and looked out the window.

  “How’s Theresa doing?” I asked.

  “She’s unconscious.”

  “Is there a cell phone back there? Maybe we can get a signal now.”

  Helen brightened. “I did! The police are on their way!”

  An explosion nearly sent the limo careening off the road. I regained control of the vehicle and kept up the rapid speed as I glanced at the source of the explosion. Something huge had blown up in the woods.

  “What was that?” Helen asked, moving to the other side of the limo to peer out the window.

  “I’m guessing it was their lab,” I said, feeling utterly sick to my stomach. That is, even more utterly sick to my stomach than I was already feeling. “They must know that the cops are on their way. They’re probably getting out and trying to cut down on the evidence.”

  “Do you think Roger and Samantha were…?”

  “They’re fine. They have to be fine.” Unless Mr. Burke and Troll had gone suicidal like Witch, they probably weren’t in the lab when it exploded. And they might have brought along Roger and Samantha, if only as hostages.

  I’d gone through too much on this crappy vacation to lose my best friend. It was possible I’d never be able to reconcile with my family, but at least they were going to get out of this alive, and damn it, so were Roger and Samantha. I hadn’t vowed many things in my life, but I was vowing this.

  We sped down the road, kicking up clouds of dirt in our path. This is what I’d always envisioned driving a limo to be like.

  Because of the way my screwed-up mind works, I thought of several amusing and insensitive comments to make about our current situation, but I didn’t think they would be taken in the “mental defense mechanism” spirit in which they were intended, so I kept them to myself.

  I slowed down around corners because of potential tire shredders, but apart from that we were making great time.

  Then, up ahead, was a semi truck. The back of it didn’t contain a helpful sign reading “Looney Cyborg Makers, Inc.” but I was pretty sure this was a good development. Now I just had to trust that my friends were inside.

  The semi was going fast, but the limo could go faster and I drove up right behind it, doing about fifty.

  Now what?

  “Helen, I need you up front,” I said. “You’ll have to drive.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I’m getting out.”

  Helen climbed over into the front, wincing in pain as she bashed her injured foot against the seat in the process.

  I didn’t want to let the semi out of my sight, but I also didn’t want to do something dumb like crash in the middle of a tricky driver-switch maneuver, so I applied the brakes gently enough to avoid catapulting Theresa onto the floor and brought the limousine to a stop. Helen and I switched spots, and then we took off after the semi again.

  “What exactly are you planning to do?” Helen asked.

  “I’m getting onto the semi.”

  “How?”

  “Still working that out.”

  “Andrew, you don’t even know if they’re in there!”

  “They’re either in there or they were in the explosion. I’m just trying to hope for the best.”

  It took about a minute to catch up to the semi. I wasn’t sure if the occupants knew they were being followed.

  “Get as close behind it as you can without ramming it,” I instructed.

  “You’re not going to jump, are you?”

  “Still working that out. But yes.”

  “No!”

  “I’m not letting Roger die in there! You have no idea what they’re doing to people, even their own people. They’re turning them into cyborgs.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Cyborgs. Half-human, half-machine.”

  “I know what cyborgs are, I just mean… I beg your pardon?”

  “I’ll explain it later.” I rolled down the passenger-side window. “Okay, I’m going to climb out on top of the limo and then out onto the front hood. When you get close enough to the semi, I’m going to jump onto the back.”

  “Andrew, that’s crazy!”

  “I don’t have any choice!”

  “Sure you do.” Helen applied the brakes. “Let me stop the car, and then you can get on the hood.”

  “Oh. Yeah. That’s much better. Thanks.”

  When the car stopped, I threw open the passenger door and got out. Joe barked in what I assume was support for my cause. “Make sure the kids know never, ever to do this,” I said, shutting the door and climbing onto the front hood.

  Helen resumed driving. None of the insane things I’d done in my life up to this point including jumping from moving vehicles, so it would be nice to add a new experience to my résumé.

  It wasn’t long before we caught up to the semi again. I inched my way closer to the edge of the front, not feeling particularly secure in my balance. I hoped my missing pinky wouldn’t be a liability.

  I waved for Helen to move closer to the semi. Now about two feet separated the vehicles. If the driver of the semi suddenly decided to slam on his brakes, I was going to be extraordinarily squished.

  Okay, you’ll be fine. You can do this. You’ve seen it in hundreds of movies. The only thing those actors have that you don’t are stunt doubles and CGI effects. />
  Helen got closer. I moved into a squatting position, promptly lost my balance, and very nearly took a dive right off the front of the limousine. I managed to steady myself and recover from my heart attack, and then I got myself back into the squatting position.

  It really wasn’t that bad of a jump. Hell, if she got any closer, I could step across. No problem. Piece of cake.

  Either the semi slowed down or Helen sped up. The front of the limousine hit the back of the semi, not hard enough to do any damage but hard enough to give the limo one hell of a jolt.

  I tumbled backwards, breaking my fall with my elbows. I’d never ridden in a semi truck before, so I didn’t know for sure, but I assumed they’d be able to feel a limousine ramming into their back.

  I glanced back at Helen. She looked apologetic.

  The semi didn’t seem to be slowing down or swerving or anything, so I got back into my jumping position. If they knew we were back here, it was more crucial than ever that I get Roger and Samantha to safety as quickly as possible.

  Helen brought me closer to the rear of the semi again. I took a deep breath, imagined myself as Indiana Jones or James Bond or even a Buster Keaton instead of the Stan Laurel that I really was, and made the leap.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  MAKING THE JUMP onto the semi was surprisingly easy. Almost too eas y, making me think that perhaps the back half of the semi was going to topple over and crush me.

  Now, the big question was, if I were a hostage in this semi truck, where would I be? If Roger and Samantha were up front, that was going to force me to climb up onto the semi’s roof, crawl to the front, and do some sort of daring maneuver to get into the front seat, after which I’d probably get shot. Hopefully they weren’t up front.

  I’d check the back first. It was closer.

  We sped past a faded wooden sign reading ” Wreitzer Park.” Though I only got a glance, I had to admit the place looked pretty nice. Savage killers notwithstanding, Samantha had made a good choice.

  I crouched down, not having much room to crouch, and grabbed the handle that unlatched the sliding rear door.

  It wouldn’t budge. I pulled as hard as I could, but the handle held firm. I noticed a keyhole in the lower corner of the door. Damn.