by Alan Spencer
Staying in the shadows, Buzz was on all fours, poised to shift, bounce to the left, shirk to the right, or break off into a run.
The Decapitator searched the shadows trying to find him. Maybe the man was toying with him, or he really couldn't see him. The room was so vast. Four walls. No exit. Sixty-percent pitch black.
"You know the angels have been trying to help you all along? You notice the signs on the roads? The angels were trying to give you a warning of what was up ahead. People like you never heed the warnings, because you can't believe what's happening to you. Fear makes you dumb. It makes you easy prey. I will find you, and I will have your head for all eternity. I'll fuck your mouth. I'll stick my dick into your eyes until they go pop—pop—pop! Ahh-haha-haaaa! Then I'll fuck your headless corpse. I'll fuck you so hard you'll spurt blood out your neck. Then I'll—"
Blinded by orange. Gunpowder. Choking on dust and fumes of something caustic and burning hot. Tears burning Buzz's eyes. Ears ringing as if a mortar shell had gone off next to his head. He was in a fetal position, shouting in terror. What was next? What could happen now? How much horror and depravity could one precious man's sanity take?
The dust settled and his vision returned. Buzz got up and saw Carrie standing there looking down at the floor. The concrete floor was broken and black. Hayden stood in the farther corner. Parker, the man from the garage, adjusted his glasses and eyed the ground, shaking his head for whatever reason.
The Decapitator's head stuck up from the ground. Beneath the broken up concrete was dirt. The killer had been buried up to his neck in the blast.
Carrie helped Buzz up off the ground. "We bought some time topside. They're still trying to get down here. There's another way into this chamber. I lied to this piece of shit. We got him good. He believed every word we told him."
The Decapitator was cursing, making threats, and demanding to be unburied.
"I rigged an explosion to go off at just the right time," Carrie explained. "It would break up the floor. Hayden and Parker dug a hole and stuck this fucker inside it. By the look on your face, you thought I abandoned you. Not my good friend from childhood. No way."
From behind him, Hayden wheeled up a push mower.
Carrie, "I want you to do the honors. Once you do this, your ship will come in. You're home free. Start 'er up, old friend. You know what to do."
Buzz did know what to do.
He started up the lawnmower.
The Decapitator howled in terror as the lawn mower's blades diced up his head until all that was left was a gristle neck.
And that's the last thing Buzz did.
HEAVEN
The red cushioned booth faced the stripper stage. A curvy woman was upside down, working the pole with a red shiny g-string on. Her tits were red and blue from the glow of the stage lights. Buzz drank from the bottle of honey wheat ale without thinking about how the scene came to be. Soon, a waitress with a dark blue teddy and black stockings asked him if he wanted another beer.
"Thank you, pretty. I'll take anything you're offering."
She smiled. Like she was really impressed with his flirtations. The bitches at the strip joints Buzz visited rolled their eyes and tried to smile. Nothing genuine. But here, they were different. Better. Much better. They liked his flirtations.
Another stripper, this one in a pink corset, sat on his lap, stuck a cigarette in his mouth and lit it for him. "Here you go, big boy. Sorry about the delay. You almost didn't make it. I'm so happy you did. I'd be so lonely without you. Please keep me company."
Then she kissed him real hard. Like a prelude to dirty sex. The kind of sex he liked.
She broke off the kiss. "I'll be seein' ya very soon, Buzzy."
In the crowd, familiar faces appeared. They were patrons. His late uncle, Harry, who died three years ago of a fatal heart attack. Bill Armstrong, his high school pal. Angie Paulson, a proud biker lesbian, was at the bar bringing a try of shots to his table. Larry Lipscomb, a kid Buzz knew when they were both in Boy Scouts, was stuffing a twenty into a stripper's velvet panties on the stage. He'd be seeing many other familiar faces the longer his eyes adjusted to the dark lighting.
This place felt right.
Buzz always thought heaven was a strip club.
When Bill Armstrong, Uncle Harry, Angie Paulson, and Larry Lipscomb joined him at his table, they each cheered before downing a shot, "TITTIES!"
AFTERTHOUGHT
Carrie, Hayden (still wearing a man's face for a mask), and The Decapitator sat in the back of that very same strip club. They enjoyed drinks. The female flesh. The cigarettes and drinks that were being handed out. They watched Buzz talk excitedly to his friends.
"No hard feelings about your head, right?" Carrie asked The Decapitator.
"You blindsided me, bitch. I give you that. It won't happen again."
Hayden sipped his beer without a word.
Carrie, "So Buzz gets a couple of days of heaven, then he gets a couple of days of the dark afterlife. I guess it was the best the afterlife could do for the poor guy. It was his destiny from the start. I'm glad we got to come along. I guess that's another one of heaven's fuck ups. No big deal. I like the strip club. Not because of these skanky bitches. I like a good drink. I like watching Buzz. He's so happy. I'll enjoy watching him writhe in horror once he goes back to the dark afterlife. All bets are off. He's going to have to save himself from now on."
The Decapitator, "Heaven fucked up big time. They were supposed to bring him here for eternity. Like you said, some loophole they overlooked."
Carrie nodded. "He'll be shot back and forth from here back to our world interchangeably. And we'll be with him the whole time. Heaven made it happen. Don't ask me how. At least he's not the guy who gets flushed down the toilet over and over again for forever."
The Decapitator, "Or the bitch who has to suck dick non-stop..."
"Or the asshole who has to check people's prostate's twenty-four seven..."
"What about the woman who has to constantly be giving birth to children. Fuck me."
"Then there's the guy who has to sleep in a cow's stomach every night."
"Did you hear about the chick who has to drink gasoline and blow herself up daily."
Together, "The afterlife is sure more fucked up than any of us imagined."
The three killers toasted their beer mugs and kept watching Buzz have a good time. Soon enough, it would be their turn to have fun again.
You Lost Your Head Reading Severed Head Beat Down
