by Alan Spencer
She caught a girl in a pink dress hiding behind a hutch. She thought her nose was oozing snot. It was actually oozing black turpentine. She kept licking it up once it touched her upper lip.
The girl made eye contact with Brooke. She smiled so big. One by one, her teeth slithered out of the gums for crickets to shove their way free. Millipedes slithered out of her eyes, then seemed to dig their little legs into her soft pliable flesh and carried away her face as if the skin was a long tarp.
That would be Brooke soon enough. Rotting. Oozing. Taunting others. Did their brains go soft? Had their hearts gone colder than their body temperatures?
Brooke searched through the closet door and located a baseball bat.
"You brats want to fuck with me? It's my turn to fuck with you!"
The skinless-faced girl skipped towards her, effortlessly missing the pitfalls in the floor. The girl wasn't afraid of her. Brooke would teach her not to make that mistake again. She swung the bat like a pro. The girl's head uprooted from the neck with a nasty grump sound. The spinning head smashed through a window. Outside, dozens of children were scampering about in the cold. They were building snowmen. A group of children took the girl's head and put it on top of one of the snowmen. The head laughing at being a snowman curdled Brooke's already thickened blood.
I have to get out of here.
I can't take anymore of this.
Brooke returned to her sister's bedroom. She opened the closet and retrieved a set of boots. Brooke gasped at the condition of her feet. They were pure black. The nails were an ugly purple.
One thing that was very odd.
Her big toe was gone.
Brooke puzzled over that mystery.
Then she realized it wasn't a mystery. The toe probably caught on something and ripped off while she'd been running around earlier. She was dead and rotting. She would be coming undone left and right. That's why she had to get out of this house. The perverts. The children. Decomposition. What else would be coming at her? These other corpses were better at being dead than her. They seemed to be enjoying it in their own twisted way.
What's wrong with these people?
Oh wait, they're dead. That's what's wrong with these people. My brain will soften just enough so I'll go insane too. I'll welcome insects into my body. I'll let them eat me up. I'll play fucked up games to scare other newbie dead people.
Fuck that shit.
Booted, bundled up in the winter coat and stocking cap, and clutching the baseball bat, she threw open the back door and challenged the night. If they were going to terrorize her, she would return the favor double.
INTO WINTER'S ARMS
The wind increased its cutting force. The snowfall was thick and unrelenting. Snow drifts had built up against the house. The weather slowed her down but didn't stop her from evading the premises. Right into the woods, Brooke darted between densely placed trees. Up high, corpses hugged tree limbs to stay rooted in place against the winds. She heard bones crunch as necks turned down to view her better. Somebody whistled the tune to the song "Crash and Burn." Another corpse tittered at hearing the tune.
Brooke, "Fuck all of you!"
She was a joke and had been a joke long before she died. Crash and Burn had ironically crashed and burned. She was a talentless hack. Her father was the talented one. She was a back-up. A nobody. But the corpses recognized her. They knew who she was even with all of the winter gear on.
Blowing harder than before, the wind knocked her off of her feet. She tumbled upside down, slammed into the ground, then she was shoved backwards for many feet. Brooke lost the baseball bat. She planted her hands and feet into the snow to anchor herself down. It did no good. She was lifted off of her feet. Seeming to fly inches off the ground, she slammed into a tree.
Trying to figure out what had happened, she gasped in horror at the ground all around her. The winds weren't meant to batter her around. They were intended to uncover what was hidden under the snowy floor. Between trees, in piles and scattered about like junk car parts in a salvage yard, were the remains of thousands of bodies. Frozen rock hard bodies that were still alive. She sensed their anguish. Their existence. Some could barely mouth words. Others could only widen their eyes. The creak of moving fingers. Bones breaking.
Brooke's fear accelerated into fascination. Parts of them were blackened. Stumps were cooked. Nub hands were shredded. Bones were poking out of skin in brittle, cracked pieces.
What had befallen these poor people?
The body field carried on forever. No end in sight.
Cries from the sky, cries from between the trees, cries from the dead echoed on from everywhere. The shape of bodies standing in the distance took form. Some were just standing there. Others were inching towards her.
Somebody else whistled the tune to the song "Crash and Burn."
...Brooooooooooke. Her name drifted on the winds. ...ooooooh, Brooooooooke...I'm al-moooost there...hold you so looooooong and sooooooo tight...inside of you until we turn to dust in this wretched, horrible place...
They were closing in on her. Whoever they were, whatever they wanted, they were coming.
...only each other...and nothing's going to change...
Brooke wanted out of these woods. She was about to advance in the opposite direction of the woods when a figure standing behind her grabbed hold of her and wouldn't let go.
IT'S YOU
"Nooooo! Let me go! Let go of me right now!"
—I'm taking you somewhere where it's safe.
"You're not taking me anywhere."
—Hurry. Before they catch up to us. There's a lot to explain if I'm going to help you survive.
"Survive? I'm dead. I'm fucking dead!"
—I know you're dead, Brooke. So am I. I've been dead a lot longer than you have, and I can help you through this if you let your father help you.
"Dad...?"
How can this corpse be my dad?
Sid was covered in a trench coat and a shirt wrapped around his head. One eyehole in the shirt showed a deeply sunken jellied eye. The hands were like the fingers of a rake, the bones whittled into something sharp. Gnarled, dried up muscle jerky clung to the bones, what proved enough for the fingers to remain functional. It was like breaking a vase and putting it back together with duct tape.
Was she supposed to hug the man? She knew it was Sid. Her father who literally walked off that stage and out of her life and out of existence. This is where he ended up.
So many questions to ask. Sid wouldn't let her fire off a single one of them. The man was startled when he heard hundreds of people whistle the tune to "Crash and Burn" in unison.
—We have to hurry. Back to your sister's cabin. I'll tell you everything you need to know there.
The bone hand grabbed her arm and guided her on back to the cabin.
EVERYTHING YOU EVER WANTED TO KNOW
Nobody waited for them back at the cabin. What was stranger, the cabin wasn't in deteriorating condition anymore. It was untouched. Sid said buildings and inanimate objects could repair themselves. The world renewed itself in the afterlife, he explained, except for them, the dead. The dead just kept rotting. Brooke wanted him to elaborate, but he wouldn't just yet. He went about the house locking doors. Then he asked her to help him barricade the doors. Block windows. Do everything to secure the house. Sid kept saying,They'll be here soon. They're coming.
Once Sid was satisfied that every barrier was accounted for, he brought her into the kitchen. He sat down at the table, still bundled up. The only thing she could view was his sunken eye through the shirt cloth and his bone hand.
She suddenly didn't care about those outside who were coming after her, or the fact she was dead. She lived and died with one question burning in her mind.
What had happened to her father after that concert?
Brooke demanded for him to explain what the hell happened to him.
He sighed. She could hear strange whistles coming through his lungs and throat. —
I'm sorry I have to make this quick. They'll be getting here very soon. I came here as soon as I could. I wasn't very far away from you. You should see how the city is. Those dead people are out there everywhere. They smash up buildings. Kill you anyway they can. Torment you. Capture you. But it's worse for people like us, Brooke. People that are famous, even if they've fallen out of fashion, they get it the worst. I've been raped, beaten, and stalked. It's been a battle for survival. I'm dead, yes. I guess it doesn't matter if I survive or not. But it does. I'm fighting not to become like one of those bodies out in the woods. Like living pieces scattered about the ground. How...how horrible that would be.
Brooke didn't care about them out there. She only cared about her father, and his explanation. "Tell me what happened. Who cares about them? I've looked for you for so long."
—I have to care because they're after you. They've been singing our songs. Chanting your name. It's going to be worse for you. It's because of that smut magazine spread. You've been glamorized, and now they want to defile you. I've come across dead porn stars. They get it the worst.
"I'm not a fucking porn star!"
—You know what I mean. Being in that magazine. They look at you differently now.
"Stop talking about that. Just tell me how you died. Nothing else matters but you, Dad. Why did you leave me?"
Off in the distance, she could hear chattering.
Brooke peered through the slit of a window blocked by a bookshelf.
Hundreds, if not thousands, of shapes were moving in the dark woods and were coming closer.
Brooke knew what he was doing.
Sid was stalling.
Brooke grabbed him by the trench coat to shake him, to scream for him to tell him his story, when the coat tore. The coat was nothing but rags. Incensed by what she'd done, Sid threw the coat off and revealed himself. One arm was missing. The stump was singed black. Many of his ribs were broken and gone. The sternum cage was half intact. One eye was an empty hollow surrounded by dried blackened caramel colored substances. He seemed to be missing bones inside his body, or partials of bones. The oddest thing was the fingers on his only hand. The tips were singed as if burnt by fire.
—You happy, Brooke? Something gave in Sid. He knew he had to tell his daughter everything. Fine. The truth isn't a fun story. I'll start with my death. Then I'll tell you the rest.
—After opening for Aerosmith, I was going to check myself into rehab. Quit the band. Get my head together. I didn't care about how I'd gotten you hooked on the shit. I was old, and tired. I couldn't keep up with the massive touring. The manager said you have to milk your success while you still have it. But I knew I was killing myself. Once I had my act together, I could save you. I promise you that's what I was going to do once I kicked the habit.
—The problem was I wanted one last fix. I went to a nearby park, I shot up, and somehow, I ended up falling into the lake. I was so high, I couldn't save myself from drowning. I called out, and nobody was there to help me. So I drowned. I sank to the bottom of the lake.
Brooke wasn't shocked by the story. But she was furious. "I searched and searched for you. I must've hired a dozen private investigators to find you. You didn't tell me what you were going through."
—I felt guilty. I practically put the needle in your arm.
"I made the choice, not you."
—I was battling other things in my head too.
"Like what? More things you didn't talk to me about?"
—You really don't know what it was like to be your father, Brooke. First, I started teaching you guitar to piss off your mother after we divorced.
"You taught me guitar just to piss off Mom?"
—Originally, yes, and I'm so sorry. It was a manipulative thing to do.
Those were the best days of her childhood. Just learning chords with her dad. Playing on the back porch. The man sharing his beer and weed. Jamming out with her friends. Her high school friends said her father was so cool. They said she was so cool by proxy.
—Listen, you have to believe me when I tell you I grew to love our time together. Please don't forget I was hurting. Your mother left me for a youth pastor at her church. Yes, I was cheating on her, and yes, she found out beforehand. That's not the point. I was a mess. I was angry at her even though I had no right to be. I wasn't thinking like a grown man should. I love you, Brooke. I'm sorry for any pain I've caused you.
She wanted to hug the man, but he was too brittle.
"I love you, Dad. I wish I could've helped you. I wish you hadn't died like that."
—Me too. I could've saved you if I was still alive, Brooke. You died in this house, didn't you?
"I was broke, homeless, out of money, and I had nowhere else to go. The heroin took over everything. I came to this cabin to steal shit for more money. I overdosed in the bathtub. That's my story."
The tension between them seemed to ease up.
They were both dead, and there wasn't anything they could do about it.
—The one thing I hated the most about being in a band with my daughter, so many people kept implying we were having sex. It's like America wanted us to be incestuous. That's so fucked up.
She knew exactly what he was talking about. Brooke couldn't count how many people on the photo shoot at Hustler asked her if she banged her dad. "That is so fucked up."
The tune "Crash and Burn" whistled in the air. Brooke, startled, peered outside. The woods were filled with advancing corpses. Some were like her, freshly dead, others, were walking bones. Others crawled on the ground. She even caught sight of the dead perverts who tried to mutilate her with a table saw. They had spread the word that Brooke Lasker was here. They were both here. Father and daughter. It was true, she realized. People liked to watch movie stars, rock stars, and famous people come undone. Success to failure. Crash and fucking burn.
"What do we do about them?"
Sid was standing up. He peered outside, and she couldn't read his expression. There was no skin to shape it. His bone hand suddenly turned into a fist. The muscular patches clenched; what little tendon and veins he had left audibly tensed.
—This is the hard part, Brooke. We have so very little time. They're coming after us, and there isn't a damn thing we can do about it. So hear me out. I love you very much, Brooke. I'm not the perfect father. I did bad things, and I let bad things happen to you, and I'm very sorry for that. But there isn't time for you to forgive me, or to be mad at me. It's time for you to listen to me.
—When I drowned in that lake, my body was never recovered. It still sits at the bottom to this day. My body hasn't had a funeral. So here I am in this middle ground between life and death. Maybe it's purgatory, or it's a stop along the way to the other side. Until somebody finds my body and claims it, we're stuck here with these rotting lunatics. Their bodies haven't been found or given proper burial either. Don't ask me why this is real. Nobody told me the rules. These are things I figured out for myself.
—Your body hasn't been found, Brooke. That's why you're here too. I pray it will be found soon. Then you can escape this hell. I'm only here to stave them off as long as possible for your sake. Your dead body is at your sister's cabin. It could be days. It could be weeks. It could be months. You will be found. The question is when. I'm going to do my best to save you from being tormented by these savages.
—The dead turn angry over time. The longer they're here, the more sadistic and pissed off they get. Their bodies lay in dark places. Without their final respects paid, it's this place we stay. It's pissed them off. Warped them. Turned them into vile people. There is one way to fight them off. It's why I look like this. I've been in battle the entire time I've been dead. It's my turn to be a real father to you. I pray somebody finds your body before it's too late for me to save you...
NO MORE TIME
The dead arrived. Windows shattered. Barricades faltered. They stepped onto the roof, pounding through to reach the attic. Arms reached through shattered windows. Doors were k
icked in. They'd be inside the cabin in no time.
Sid said one last thing to her.
—Those who are still good in their hearts even when going through this hell are given a special gift. I have this gift. You have this gift. Use it when you have to, but only when you have to. When I go down, that's when you use it.
Brooke shouted over the din of crunching wood and mixed voices of the dead for her father to elaborate on that statement. What was her gift?
She would find out very soon.
—Go to the basement. I'll be right behind you.
He pushed her towards the stairs leading to the basement. Her father closed the basement door and barricaded it. The thudding of footsteps. More crashing, stomping, and the violent breaking of wood and plaster.
Then the BOOMS.
BOOM. BOOM. BOOM. BOOM. BOOM.
Brooke had heard the noises before.
BA-BOOOOOOOOOM!
An entire room exploded. She could hear walls collapse and the winter gusts blast inside. Body parts thrown into walls. Rafters in the ceiling exploding. The house was nothing but cardstock against the violence.
Strange lights flashed from the cracks in the basement ceiling. Almost like split-second firelight with a strobe's pulsating repetition. The ground drummed with the impacts of the force. Objects exploded. The screams. The howls of torment. The warnings and threats of violence. More and more of them were coming in from outside. There was no end to the corpses coming to get her.
She heard her father's voice over the hundreds:NOW IS THE TIME!
Brooke still didn't know what her father meant.
One last BA-BOOOOOOOOOOOOM! The walls in the basement split. The concrete foundation shattered. Everything forked, giving under an unknown pressure. Her feet left the ground for two seconds, then Brooke hit the floor.
