by Jeff Strand
"Daddy, stop!" Kyle yelled.
"Kyle, get back in the car!"
"Daddy, don't hurt her!"
Andrew swung at me again. The tip of the blade sliced across my chest, but it was just a scratch.
"Kyle, breathe fire!" I shouted. "Breathe fire on him! Burn him! Burn out his eyes!"
Andrew raised his arm to shield his eyes.
I punched him in the stomach. He doubled over and staggered away, groaning. The knife fell out of his hand and he reached down to pick it up.
I rushed for the weapon, and our hands met upon its handle. We struggled for a moment, but it was clear he was going to win. Our gazes locked. As I lost my grip on the knife, I stared into his eyes, trying to see if there was any hint of recognition, anything I could use to bring my husband back to reality.
Nothing. Just pure fear.
I glanced down. It was a camera mounted on his chest. I wrapped my fingers around it and pulled as hard as I could.
Andrew cried out as the metal plate affixing the camera to his chest tore free. The flesh underneath was red and blistered and bloody and I realized with horror that the plate had been burned onto him.
He slapped me, hard, but I didn't let go.
The camera ripped free, taking pieces of skin with it.
Andrew howled with pain and pressed his hand to the wound. "My beacon!" he shouted.
I flung the camera toward the woods as hard as I could. It smacked into a tree and fell to the ground.
Andrew got to his feet, whimpering. "Where is it? What did you do with it?"
"Andrew, please! You're not in your right mind! They did something to you!"
"Where's my beacon?"
"Your name is Andrew Mayhem. Andrew Mayhem! It's a goofy name, but it's yours!"
"I know what my fucking name is!"
"I'm Helen Mayhem. I'm your wife."
"I don't have a wife."
"Theresa is your daughter. Kyle is your son."
"Shut up!"
"Andrew, I love you!" I said, somehow managing to stand up. "We all love you!"
Andrew slammed his hands over his ears. "Shut up!"
"Andrew, please, come back to us!"
It was working. I could feel it working.
"I said shut up!"
I stepped toward him. My leg wobbled and I nearly lost my balance, but I did it.
"This isn't you."
"You don't know who I am!"
"I know exactly who you are. You're the man I married."
Andrew stared at me.
Was that a flash of recognition in his eyes?
A flash of love?
"Helen...?" he asked.
"Yes, it's me!"
His voice cracked. "Helen ... what have I done?"
Chapter Twenty-One
Andrew thought, I've lost my beacon, that's what I've done.
"It wasn't your fault," it said. "They did something to you."
I nodded. "Yes, they did something to me."
Blood gushed from where the demon had ripped off my beacon. It poured out like a waterfall. I didn't even know I had that much blood, but yet it gushed out, soaking into the ground.
The larger demon took another step toward me. I forced myself not to cry out in fear or disgust. I had no idea what trick this creature was trying to play by insisting it was my wife ... my wife, if such a revolting thing could even be imagined ... but maybe if I played along I could defeat it.
"Where are Roger and Samantha?" the demon asked.
I shrugged.
"Are they alive?"
Yes? No? What was the best answer? Did this demon fear them? Did this demon need them?
"I don't know," I said.
The demon stepped away from me. Its scaly, slimy skin glistened in the sunlight. "I'm taking Theresa," it said.
It crouched down next to the fallen demon. I couldn't let it take the little one. I'd be punished if I didn't slay them. I had to kill them as quickly as possible.
"I'm going to send help for you," the demon said. "Everything will be okay, I promise."
The demon scooped up the smaller creature in its wretched arms.
Blood continued to pour from my chest. And then it squirted from my eye. I wasn't sure how I could see with blood squirting out of my eye, but I could. Suddenly it squirted out of both eyes.
"Stop it!" I demanded, rubbing at my eyes to block the flow. "I need that blood in me!"
The blood that had soaked into the ground bubbled to the surface, quickly rising over my shoes.
The demon had cursed me.
I saw faces in the blood. Screaming faces. Laughing faces. Crying faces. All of them looking at me.
I turned and ran.
I didn't care if I'd be punished. I didn't care if the demons got away. I had to escape, get out of here before I drowned in my own blood and the faces sunk their fangs into me.
I ran into the forest. Sap oozed from the trees, trapping birds and squirrels and other forest animals within. Razor blades flowed in the sap, slicing the poor things without mercy.
I smacked into a tree, knocking my face off. It hit the ground, face-down. I continued running, leaving it behind.
Trees reached for me with their branches, ripping off my arms and legs, which were replaced with new arms and legs for the trees to rip off. I'd never realized I had so many arms and legs.
I wished my chest would quit bleeding. This was getting ridiculous.
As I ran, I glanced behind me (without turning my head, which was odd) and saw a giant pile of my twitching arms and legs. I could also see a tongue flapping around in there, even though my own tongue was clearly still in my ... oh, nope, wait, it was gone.
I ran out into a dirt clearing. An infinite clearing, where the trees couldn't detach any more of my limbs.
In fact, the clearing was kind of boring.
I twiddled my thumbs.
I twiddled my tongues, since I now seemed to have two.
That demon had looked kind of familiar, now that I thought about it. Maybe I'd tried to slay her in some other plane of existence. Maybe we'd dated. It seemed unlikely that I'd ever dated a demon, but I'd done some experimenting in college.
I heard a sound like a squeaky faucet handle turning, and the blood flow from my chest grew weaker and weaker until it stopped altogether. With a sound like a zipper closing, the wound healed, leaving only a scar that read "Do Not Pry Open."
The ground rumbled.
Earthquake!
Or a tornado with ground-rumbling properties!
Tornado with ground-rumbling properties. That was just silly. I laughed at my own foolishness, which was difficult with seventeen or eighteen tongues in my mouth.
And my severed pinky. I wondered how that got in there.
Something emerged from the ground in front of me. I hoped it was a bag of gold instead of a zombie.
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 Helen 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're 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.
