Tales from The Swollen Corpse

by Sam Williams

  The directions led me to a seedy apartment complex. Always preserving my privacy, I parked a block away and walked back. The complex was two stories with a gated courtyard. Apartments were on the left and right, at the opposite end was another gate probably leading to an alley. It was already dark as I walked through the dimly lit courtyard. The place was probably something to behold when it was built. Now it consisted of patches of crabgrass surrounding a concrete fountain. The fountain's base was full of dirt; it probably hadn't had water in it for over twenty years.

  Most of the porch lights were off so it was hard to read the numbers on the door. The unit I was looking for sat just to my left under the stairs. As I knocked I felt a rush of excitement, not knowing who was going to answer the door thrilled me. The woman who opened the door was less then stimulating but somewhat expected. She was on the other side of middle age. Her hair was bleached, thin and frizzy with dark black roots. Her face had that “older than it should” look. She wore a tattered robe with purposely exposed low hanging cleavage. The worn looking woman invited me in.

  She introduced herself as Sarah. I lied and said my name was John. Since she looked like a hooker, using that name struck me as funny. The apartment was dark and sparsely furnished. The carpet was dingy and covered in stains. A pungent odor hung in the air, a very bad odor. I should have turned then but it was the dirtiness that I liked. “You're the first here, I'm sure the others should be showing up soon.” Sarah said.

  She was playing with her robe with one hand showing me how lose it was. Her teasing was working, any hesitation I had was disappearing. “How about an appetizer while you wait?” Sarah then turned and walked down a hall towards the bedroom.

  Looking back, I can't believe I was so stupid, but a different lust blinds me now. She was waiting for me at the end of the hall by the bedroom door. When I got there she put out a hand gesturing for me to go first. As soon as I opened the door, that smell became rancid and overpowered me. I turned to ask what was going on. I was speechless when I saw the face before me had changed. Her eyes had become completely black, her jaw elongated. A wicked grin exposed needle sharp teeth with serpent like fangs on each side.

  I tried to push past her but she threw me into the room like a child tossing their teddy. I landed hard against the wall, knocking the wind out of me. In the room, I saw where the smell had been coming from. The closet doors were missing. Inside the closet stacked on top of each other were the remains of her previous meals. She was on me before I could move, her talon like fingers puncturing the flesh of my biceps as she held me down. Then she raised her head presenting that ghastly smile, ready to tear into my neck.

  I begged for my life, going on about my wife and kids who I thought I'd never see again. This is what both saved and ended my life as I know it. Not because she had mercy, but because she was a sick demon bitch and she craved suffering. She would make me like she was and then send me home.

  I eventually did go home and my sleep is still filled with nightmares of the screams of my loved ones. I hear the children innocently calling for help the name of the person killing them. I also eventually killed that demon bitch. It's in our nature; she had to have been expecting it, probably part of her hoped for it.

  That was many years ago, though I don't look a day older. I have moved and changed my name twice since those events. I always end up in the suburbs; there I can fit in unnoticed. Some of the legends were true. I do sleep most days but the sun doesn't hurt me. Now, with more control, I even maintain normal jobs and a little bit of a social life. It cracks me up though when I see my kind portrayed on the late night TV movies. I can recognize my kind and trust me, you shouldn't think Lugosi. Now Dahmer, Gein and Gacy, those were vampires.

  The Epicures

  Ryan and Paul's new place “Claudette's” (named after Ryan's English bulldog) had not been doing too well. After some success in the bay area, they had come to California's wine country with hopes of being the next “French Laundry”. To their dismay, becoming “foodie holy ground” proved a tad harder than the young entrepreneurs expected.

  Claudette's had only been open a month but failed to garner any fans. It seemed the wave of acclaim they road in on had already begun to recede. Ryan was thinking of going back home for the weekend while the restaurant received new flooring that hadn't arrived in time for the opening. Paul, an avid mountain biker and outdoor enthusiast, came up with an idea for a camping trip. He convinced Ryan a weekend of breathtaking views in the High Sierras was just what they needed to get their heads back in the game. Before he knew it, Paul found himself paying the campground fee. Jumping back into the SUV, he told Ryan to take the next road past the ranger station. Hearing the grinding sound of the gravel under his SUV's tires, it occurred to Ryan that it had never been off pavement. The road wound along the edge of a lake but only gave quick glimpses of water through the dense tree growth. Following the map the ranger gave them, the road veered up. Ryan stopped the car by a rusted fire ring. In front of them the tree line gave way to the lake below, glistening in the early June sun, beyond the lake were nothing but mountains.

  “Wow this is fantastic. Good idea Paul!”

  “I told you, it's incredible up here.”

  Paul was relieved by Ryan's excitement. Ryan's idea of roughing it was eating a TV dinner. It rather surprised Paul when Ryan agreed to the trip. Paul's own enthusiasm was tested when he found himself doing most of the work putting up the tents and setting up camp. Being a resilient soul, he never stayed irritated for long. Besides, Paul thought, having to do most of the work wasn't anything new.

  As the sun disappeared behind the mountain, they settled around a fire. Paul made what he called “Cowboy fillets” with herb butter. For the sides: grilled asparagus spears and new potatoes. The meal was a lot more work than Paul would normally go through camping alone. He even put effort in plate presentation, but could tell Ryan was less than impressed. Ryan took two bites then announced he would be doing breakfast.

  They spent the rest of the evening polishing off two nice bottles of red wine and brainstorming new ideas for Claudette's menu. After Ryan felt he had drunk enough to attempt sleeping in a sleeping bag, he excused himself to his tent. Paul stayed up for awhile enjoying the stars. He contemplated sleeping outside until the cool air turned plain cold. Then he retired as well.

  Paul woke to the humid warm air of his tent. Outside the early light cast the campsite in hues of blue. The fire was still smoldering as he got the travel stove and a folding table out from the back of the SUV. He laughed to himself while looking inside the vehicle at all the unnecessary stuff Ryan had brought. When Ryan finally got up, he seemed in pretty bad shape. Paul prepared himself for the bitch fest. Surprisingly enough, Ryan sucked it up, not complaining a bit. He even got cheery when he saw Paul had set him up to start breakfast. The only thing Ryan liked more than eating a fine meal was preparing it.

  After breakfast and clean up, Paul suggested a hike. Taking a deep breath of the crisp air and looking out at the lake Ryan said he was game. Paul suggested they pack a lunch but Ryan insisted they shouldn't be gone that long and needed to get back to do it proper.

  Heading off, the pair found a trailhead just a little down the road they had come in on. About thirty minutes in, Paul could tell Ryan was getting worn out. They hadn't seen the lake in awhile and the trees hid any other views to be had. Not wanting to climb up the mountain any more, Ryan found another little path heading down through the brush.

  “Let's try this maybe it's a short cut.” Ryan said pointing at the path.

  “That was probably made by deer. We should stay on the trail. If you want, we can head back.”

  “Oh come on! I thought you were the Boy Scout! Where's that adventurous spirit?”

  Ryan had made up his mind and already started heading down the trail before Paul could protest. By noon, both were tired, hungry and hopelessly lost.

  Taking a seat on a fallen tree, Ryan mumbled just loud eno
ugh for Paul to hear, “I can't believe you got us lost.”

  Paul turned towards Ryan and yelled, “You son of a bitch...AHHHHHHH!” he screamed as the iron jaws of a bear trap snapped down on his left ankle. Blood soaked his jean leg. Paul dropped to his other knee screaming.

  Ryan stayed seated cupping his hand over his mouth repeating “Oh my God!” Paul screamed at him to help. Paul’s screams broke through his shock and Ryan stumbled over and kneeled by Paul. He tried, without luck, to free him. While they toiled neither man heard the swoosh of a club swing through the air. Paul stopped yelling just long enough to see his friend fall against the dirt, unconscious.

  First blackness, then sound, then Ryan tried to open his eyes. Pain pounded his skull with every beat of his heart. He lifted his head and a string of drool hung from his lip. Looking around, he realized he was inside a house. It took a minute for his eyes to focus. His arms and legs were tingling from being tied tightly to the chair. Slowly his senses came back; Ryan noticed the room was full of a pungent smell.

  A large husky man entered into Ryan's view from behind him. He was wearing jeans and a t-shirt which were covered by a bloody butcher's apron. At the sight of the frightening looking man, Ryan remembered Paul, the bear trap and being hit. Ryan's eyes filled with tears and he began to whimper. The large man put his immense arms behind him and untied the apron which he hung on a nail.

  “Oh, you're awake, was kinda hoping you'd be dead. Works for me, fresher that way. Gives me more time to deal with your buddy.”

  The man walked back behind Ryan, who continued to whimper. Ryan looked around the room through watery eyes. The walls were covered in dark imitation wood paneling. There was a window and door but both well out of reach bound as he was. The sounds behind him were familiar; clanging of pots, the sound of a fridge door opening. It was a kitchen. He heard a pot lid being lifted then set on the counter. The smell got stronger. It was meat cooking, it was gamey and it was overpowering.

  “Oh my Lord, Oh my Lord!” Ryan shouted hysterically.

  “Scream all you want. Ain't none in these parts to hear you.” The deep and eerily calm voice came from behind him.

  “What did you do to Paul?”

  “Well part of him is in here with me and the rest outside in the smoke house.”

  “What did you do with my friend?” Ryan repeated himself.

  “I just told you.” The man now sounded a little annoyed.

  “No, you don't understand what I am asking. Is that cumin and mint? And I think I detect a hint of cayenne.”

  “What? Ah yeah. How'd you know that? ” the man replied, obviously amused.

  “It's my job. I have two restaurants and in my professional opinion that smells divine.”

  The burly man walked into the room looking very interested in what Ryan was saying. He held a bowl in one of his massive hands.

  “You want to try some?”

  “It would be a pleasure, please.”

  The man reached into the bowl and pinched off a piece of meat with long dirty fingernails. He placed the meat into Ryan's waiting mouth. Ryan chewed the meat, taking his time with it.

  Then with a face of astonishment he proclaimed, “Oh my God, oh my God, that is divine.”

  The big man blushed. He had never in his entire life been so complimented. He walked into the kitchen, sat down the bowl then stood and thought. After a minute he came back, untied Ryan and introduced himself as Earl. They hit it off beautifully. Earl shared with Ryan a recipe diary he had been keeping. Over the course of two days, they experimented with Paul's remains using Earl's recipes and Ryan's vast culinary knowledge, resulting in a two day gluttonous feast.

  Earl and Ryan are friends to this day. While Claudette's is not enjoying national notoriety, it has become a very popular local spot and is famous for its savory comfort food. Ryan visits Earl almost every weekend now. He goes for the conversation, to work on new recipes and to pick up fresh meat for the restaurant.

  The Witch in the Basement

  Dan sat looking out the window at the rear garden. The contrast of gray outside to the warm interior of the library made him feel like he was looking into an aquarium. He was happy being out of the cold and dreariness. During the course of the day, the gloom seemed to have slowly penetrated his flesh down to his bones.

  The J.K. Parks Library was donated to the city by one of its founding families almost a century before Dan was born. In its many secret nooks, countless words had been quietly read by generations. In the main hall, rows of large cherry tables sat under a cathedral like vaulted ceiling. The wooden tables looked medieval and had darkened to a mahogany hue from years of varnish.

  Dan spent each day after school at the library. He was supposed to study and do his homework until his mom got off work. Most afternoons were spent daydreaming and exploring. When he did sit down to read, the subjects he liked weren't found in his school books. What did catch his interest were monsters and scary tales. He read every book he could find in the place about such things.

  A large leather bound book lay in front of Dan. An especially interesting find, It was a very old book about witches. It was so old, in fact, that he found it in a section of books you could not check out and take home. It was written in English, but such an old dialect that Dan felt it may as well have been a foreign language. He was enjoying the pictures; every few pages seemed to have an image of something dark and sinister. One particular image caught his interest. It showed a hag standing over a minute horned demon. She had an arm outstretched, pointing a finger; the demon stood on little hoofed feet looking up to her command.

  “That's cool, what's that book about?”

  Startled, Dan looked to see a freckled face looking over his shoulder. It was one of the library volunteers. He thought he had heard the librarians call him Josh but Dan wasn't sure. He seemed to be about Dan's age but taller and lankier. He was there every day that Dan had been. Usually, he was putting books away or standing behind the information counter.

  “Yeah it is cool; I think it's about witches.”

  “You like that sort a thing?”

  “I sure do. My favorite show is Dr. Cadaver's midnight movie and I have a stack of horror comics as big as a house.”

  With a long pale arm the redheaded boy rested a stack of books on the table. He looked around with a cautiousness Dan found silly.

  “You want to see a real witch?” He said smirking mischievously.

  “Um sure.”

  “Follow me.”

  Dan stood, leaving his tattered backpack and the old book on the table. He followed the odd young man, half expecting what he wanted to show him. They walked out of the main hall towards the front entrance. The lobby resembled a foyer you might think of finding in a turn of the century mansion. Its walls were filled with historical pictures of the area. A glass case in the center displayed a local kindergarten class's tiny paper turkeys.

  On one side a dark wooden stair case led to a single upstairs room. The stairs were roped off and the room at the top had always enticed Dan's imagination. It was visible outside as a tower with a Moorish style dome on top. Just as Dan thought, it was the picture that hung on the wall just below the staircase he'd been brought to see.

  It was the picture of an elderly Agnes Parks hanging just below a picture of her parents. She was the only child of Jackson and Elizabeth Parks and the last of the Parks family to live in the building before it had been donated. She never married nor had any children. Local lore had begun about her even before her death. She had a well deserved reputation with her contemporaries for being mean spirited. But it was the rumors of witchcraft that would immortalize her for generations of the town's children.

  Dan had often wondered if the picture alone wasn't responsible for the legends. It gave him the creeps. An old unsmiling (as was common with portraits of the time) woman with black eyes. It was that those calculating and disapproving eyes seemed to follow you that really got to Dan.

 
“Old lady Parks.” Dan said as if he were referring to an old acquaintance.

  “Oh, you know of her?”

  “What kid doesn't? They say she took kids for sacrifices to the devil. She would take them down to the basement and they were never seen again. Some say their bodies are buried in the gardens in the back.”

  “It's all true.”

  With a puzzled expression on his face, Dan looked at the tall gangly boy. “How do you know?”

  “Because she's still here. I am sure you've heard too, that she haunts the place. I help lock up sometimes and can get the keys. I've snuck back in here late a few times. I've seen her.”

  Dan thought his knew friend was a bit off. He wasn't sure if the kid was just trying to impress him. He did seem to be quite serious about all of it. The thought of seeing a real ghost, let alone a witch, thrilled him greatly.

  “You want to see her?”

  Dan felt like he had read his mind. “Yeah I would.”

  “Can you get back here tonight about eleven thirty?”

  Dan felt excitement build, along with nervousness in his belly. He thought about if he could pull it off. He had snuck out before. He might be pushing the time depending on when his mom went to bed, but he figured he could do it. He nodded.

  “Sure, I'll be here.”

  His friend looked at the clock on the wall and started to rock back and forth on his heels as if he had a large amount of work to get back to.

  “Okay, be here at eleven-thirty sharp. Knock on the front door and I'll let you in…oh, and don't be seen.”