by Robert Bevan
Bucky checked the pack of Camels in his back pocket and the zippo lighter he had bought as a little present to himself. He’d made good on his promise to buy Floyd a new pack of smokes, but sort of hoped Floyd had forgotten. Still, he thought he’d better lay off smoking them just in case Floyd hadn’t. He waited at the bar, and as he did so he noticed a bug scuttle along the dusty floor. A cockroach. Without a thought he stomped on it, squishing it to yellow mush.
“Got a bug problem, Jenny?”
“No more than usual.”
“Saw a bug this morning,” Bucky mumbled. “Biggest fucker I ever did see.”
At that moment, Floyd burst through the bar’s doors, red in the face and heaving for breath, his pit stains nearly meeting in the middle. “Why the fuck didn’t you pick me up, you god awful son of a bitch?”
Bucky shrugged. “Maybe some of us pay for our own gas, Floyd, maybe that you discourteous shit muppet.”
Floyd shook his head angrily and stormed over to retrieve the beer Slow Jenny had already poured. He held up two fingers as he chugged the first and Jenny obliged with two more. He had downed half the third one before Bucky spoke.
“You thirsty, Floyd?”
Floyd slammed the glass down on the bar. “You’re damn right I’m thirsty! You’d be pretty fucking thirsty too if you’d seen what I seen!”
“Green toilet water? Hell, I seen that plenty o’ times, namely every time you get White Castle.”
“This weren’t like that, you rag-brained cock weasel. I’m telling you, this shit was glowing, man. It was supernatural.”
“Why don’t you just calm yourself down and think rationally, Floyd. Are you trying to tell me our toilet is haunted?”
Floyd smiled, then frowned, then nodded furiously. “You know what, I think I am! I think that’s exactly what I’m saying.”
Bucky turned to Slow Jenny, who was watching them both with implacable stoicism. “Jenny, darlin’, do you mind giving Floyd and I some privacy?” Slow Jenny shrugged and walked out into the kitchen and out of sight.
“Okay,” Bucky continued, “you understand that you sound crazy as a bag of clown dicks right now, yes?”
Floyd put his fingers to his temples. “I can only tell you what I saw, Bucky. I weren't drunk, I weren't stoned, and I weren’t dreaming. This was as real as the ass on your face.”
Bucky stroked at his soul patch. “You’re heard of the scientific method, right?”
“Is that the method where they use science to figure shit out?”
“Yeah, that's it. Now, using the scientific method, how do you think your haunted toilet theory stands up?”
“Fuck, man, I don’t know. I’m not a scientist!”
Bucky sighed. “You don't have to be a scientist, fucko, you just have to think things through. So, you see some glowing light in the toilet. Did you think maybe it’s just marsh gas?”
“What?”
“Marsh gas. Natural phenomenon. Happens all the time.”
“In toilets?”
“Hell, maybe! I mean, we haven't had our tank seen to in a long old time. Maybe there was a build-up of gases, and then, boom, natural phenomenon.”
Floyd’s face screwed up in the effort of changing mental gears. “Well, what about the voice?”
“The zebu thing?”
“Zabor. The voice said ‘zabor.’ And not just that, the dang thing had been thumpin’ and bangin’ all day.”
Bucky held out his hands in supplication. “Well, there you go, sounds like some weird gassy shit had been building up, and what you heard was just the noise of that gas escaping. Remember that time you farted and it sounded like a parrot hailing a cab?”
Floyd frowned in recollection. “Guess I do remember that.”
Bucky nodded encouragingly. “See? So, what do you think scientifically happened? What do you think we’re dealing with here — a haunted toilet, or a gas build up?”
Floyd turned a little more pink in the cheeks. “I guess the second one, probably.”
“Damned straight. You know, I almost wish it was toilet ghosts, ‘cause that shit’d be cheaper than a plumber, I reckon.”
Floyd laughed. “Yeah. Yeah, I guess you're right.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Still… do you think we could go check?”
Bucky rolled his eyes. “Floyd, I’ve had a rather stressful morning. If I’ve got to deal with toilet ghosts in the afternoon, I’d prefer not to do it sober.”
“Fine.” Floyd slapped his hand on the counter. “I suppose we’re here already. May as well make the most of it.”
“Damned straight,” said Bucky. “Jenny? Four more beers!”
Chapter 7
Four hours and twenty beers later, Bucky pulled the Continental up in front of the trailer.
“I don't want to go back down the path of superstition,” said Floyd as they both gawked through the bug-crusted windshield at the rattling structure and the bright green light flashing erratically through the opaque shower window. “But do you still reckon that's marsh gas?”
A long deep belch rose from Bucky's gut, through his chest, and out of his mouth. It was loud and strong. It tasted like Coors Light and like courage.
“Let's go check out this toilet.”
They exited the car and crept up to the front door. Floyd, in an uncharacteristic display of politeness, held the door open for Bucky to walk through first.
He felt the trailer's vibrations running up through his legs as he stepped inside. Steadying himself against the wall, he felt them through his left arm as well. The bathroom door was open, and the green light shone bright in the dark interior.
Floyd followed close behind Bucky into the trailer, but made a beeline for the kitchen as Bucky started inching his way toward the bathroom. Not a bad idea. One more beer would not go unappreciated right about now. When Floyd came back out of the kitchen, he wasn't holding a beer. Instead, he extended the black rubber business end of their plunger toward him.
“The fuck I'm s'posed to do with that?” asked Bucky.
Floyd shrugged. “Scientific method?”
Bucky accepted the plunger. It was better to go in there with something, he reckoned. He stopped his cautious movement toward the bathroom as a thought occurred to him. “Why was this in the kitchen?”
“I had to use it on the sink yesterday.”
“Why?”
“Best not to ask.”
Bucky continued inching forward. Finally, he was able to crane his neck out and get a view of the bowl. It glowed as bright as one of those lights they put out on the highway so workers can work at night. The biggest differences, of course, were that this one was green and shining out of his shitter.
Having moved another foot toward the bathroom, Bucky could see that the water was swirling around the bowl. He hoped that jiggling the handle might sort this whole mess out.
Using the plunger as an extension of his arm, he pushed the door open further, revealing yet another unexpected sight.
“Jesus Christ, Floyd!”
“What is it?” said Floyd, who'd been following a few steps behind him but now stopped. “What do you see?”
“Is that a Tits Monthly in there?” It was a rhetorical question. Bucky knew the cover of the Summer Edition of 1979 when he saw it. “Do you know how much that's worth?”
“I was bein' careful with it.”
“You're a fuckin' disgrace, Floyd. I go out and pound the pavement looking for work, and you sit here smoking weed all day and jacking off into our retirement –”
ZAAAAABOOOOOOOOOR
The sound bubbled up out of the toilet, interrupting the light with a gurgle of shadows. Bucky's heart pounded as he tried to make a case to himself that marsh gas was still a reasonable explanation, and that he hadn't just heard his toilet speak a purposefully articulate noise.
Pushing the door just a little wider, he saw another source of light. The Fresh Cotton candle still had a hint of a flame shining through the bottom of the
grimy exterior.
“Dammit, Floyd!”
“I had a moment of weakness,” said Floyd. “But I promise you, Miss Pick O’ The Peaches is still in pristine condition.”
“I ain't talking about the goddamn titty mag. You left an open flame next to a toilet erupting with marsh gases. We could get blown to the fuckin' moon at any time.”
“Well for fuck's sake, Bucky. If that's the case, then stop bitching at me and blow it out.”
Bucky wasn't prepared to venture that far into the bathroom just yet. Instead, he poked it with the plunger, figuring that the melted wax would put out the flame if he jostled it a bit.
It worked, and a thin tendril of smoke rose out of the extinguished candle.
“ZABOR!” repeated the toilet, this time a little more enthusiastically. “ASTAD RAMUL ZAAAAABOOOOOOR!”
The toilet water became still, illuminating the bathroom ceiling in an even green glow. The trailer had also stopped vibrating. Bucky and Floyd shared a sigh of relief.
“The toilet said 'Astad Ramul Zabor',” said Floyd. “You reckon that means anything?”
“The toilet didn't say shit,” said Bucky. “That was just a release of gases from the septic tank that your mind interpreted as words. It's all psychological, like when you see faces in the speckled linoleum on the kitchen floor.”
Floyd nodded slowly. “How 'bout the green light?”
“Probably some kind of phosphorescent algae growing in the septic tank.”
“Damn, Bucky,” Floyd sounded genuinely relieved. “Where'd you learn all that shit?”
“I flip through the Discovery Channel sometimes when there ain't nothin' on –”
The trailer started shaking more violently than before. The green light on the bathroom ceiling darkened as cloudy shadows appeared and grew.
Looking down, Bucky saw that the source of the shadows were swirls of dark red liquid rising up into the bowl. He grabbed the door frame with his right hand and brandished the plunger toward the toilet with his left.
The dark liquid soon blocked the light from the toilet entirely. The light coming in through the shower window, and further obscured by the shower curtain, wasn't enough to make out what was going on. Bucky suddenly remembered they had electricity.
“Floyd, switch on the lights!”
Thankfully, the persistent shaking of the trailer hadn't interfered with their power, and the light came on.
Thick, reddish-brown liquid flowed out of the toilet and puddled on the floor at its base. Bubbles formed, grew, and popped on the surface.
“Goddamn,” said Floyd. “What's that smell?”
Bucky realized that he'd forgotten to breathe since the lights came on. Taking in a deep breath, he appraised the odor as day-after-taco-buffet shits, only super concentrated.
The shit bubbles grew thicker, holding together longer before they popped, subsequently splattering further out.
Bucky switched the plunger to his right hand and made a desperate grab to rescue the 1979 Summer Edition of Tits Monthly with his left. A bristled appendage shot out of the toilet, the tiny-clawed end of it landing squarely on the magazine.
“JESUS FUCK!” cried Bucky as he jumped back. Part of him wanted to get in his car and drive as far away as he could from this place, but the part of him that was currently calling the shots refused to let him look away.
A second appendage reached out of the bowl and groped around in the air until it found the shower curtain and ripped it down. When it came in contact with the edge of the bathtub, both arms pushed down, and something larger started to emerge from the toilet.
“What is it?” asked Floyd in a reverent whisper.
Bucky shook his head. He had no words.
The emerging head was crowned with what looked like a cross between devil horns and insect antennae. They moved independently from one another, squirming around in the air like medusa snakes.
The eyes were huge, bug-like clusters of thousands of smaller eyes. The rest of the thing’s face was a series of shit-dripping twitching mandibles.
“ASTAD RAMUL ZAAAAABOOOOOOR!” said the toilet monster. Its low, gravelly voice was now crystal clear, unfiltered by water and sewage.
“Sweet baby Jesus,” said Floyd, who had poked his head out from behind Bucky to peek into the bathroom. “What the fuck is that?”
As the creature’s slim torso slithered out, two smaller appendages on its side pushed down on the sides of the bowl, further facilitating the process.
“What are you gawkin' at, Bucky?” Floyd snatched the plunger out of Bucky's terror-frozen hand.
“ASTAD RAMU–”
Floyd shoved the plunger right into the toilet monster's face.
The monster's antennae went wild. It let go of the bathtub and grabbed the plunger by the handle with its tiny claw, ripped it out of Floyd's hands, and hurled it through the shower window.
“ASTAD RAMUL ZAAAAABOOOOOOR!” it repeated as flaps of wet skin stretched out at the sides of its neck and hardened into shiny brown shoulder-like plates. It looked down at Floyd, then at Tits Monthly, then at Floyd again.
“Holy shit,” said Floyd, backing into Bucky. “I know what's happening. It remembers.”
Chapter 8
Bucky took a moment to appreciate the soft grass on his face while he waited to be devoured by the toilet beast. After a few seconds, he looked up to see Floyd’s terrified face next to him.
The beast had charged them and they had leapt out of the front door like action heroes in a movie with no budget. Behind them there were crashes and rattles as the monster clattered around their trailer.
“Floyd?”
“Yuh?”
“What did you mean by ‘It remembers’?”
Floyd shook his head, blinking sweat out of his eyes. “I can't say.”
“Floyd, there is some kind of mutant freak fucking up my trailer. If this is somehow your fault- and goddammit I know it is- then you best come clean.”
Floyd began to cry, a snot bubbles bursting in his moustache. “Don’t say that, man! Don't put it that way!”
“What? What the hell are you talking about?”
Floyd grasped at Bucky’s shirt, nearly dislodging his clip-on tie. “Bucky, there are some things that no one should have to suffer through, not even the least of God’s creatures. I realize that now. I realize that there are certain lines a man should not cross –”
Bucky slapped Floyd across the face. Then he slapped him again to be sure. Then he slapped him a third time because it kind of felt good. “Pull yourself together, you ball gargling ass monkey!”
Floyd nodded slowly. “Thank you, I needed that I guess. Let me explain it to you, and try not to judge me too harshly because I reckon I’m getting judged pretty fucking harsh as it is.”
“Go on.”
“I may have…” Floyd frowned a moment and then shook his head, visibly switching mental gears. “I used that magazine to kill that roach earlier.”
Bucky stared hard at Floyd. A crash came from behind as the monster broke something, but that all seemed distant and unimportant at that moment. “Do what now?”
“I’m sorry! I know that’s our retirement fund, and you want to keep it in good condition…”
“Floyd let me try and figure out the pseudo-words dribbling out of your mouth-hole here. Are you suggesting that you smooshed a cockroach, and now it’s all hulked out and come back for revenge?”
“Near as I can figure.”
Bucky sat back on the grass as a wave of despair overcame him. “It seems like I should call you a fucking idiot, but…” he gestured to the trailer window, where a silhouette of the beast was visible while it looked for more things to smash. “Here we are. I ain’t got no other explanation.”
They sat quietly.
“What do we do, Bucky? Should we run?”
Bucky shook his head. Now that fear had run its course, anger was warming up on the benches. “Fuck no, this is our home. All my stuff’
s in there.”
“We could call the cops?”
Bucky gritted his teeth. “And give that prick Roger the satisfaction of coming out here and saving us like we were a couple of big tittied teenagers in a slasher movie? Double fuck that.”
“Then what?”
There was another crash from the trailer.
Floyd got to his feet. “What do you think it’s doing in there?”
“Maybe looking for food?” Bucky suggested.
“Or maybe…” Floyd swallowed. “If it is still angry about… the incident… maybe it’s found the rest of the porn? Maybe it’s got a real hate-on for titty mags?”
Bucky’s heart raced in his chest. “The stash!” He sprinted to the Lincoln and popped the trunk. He rummaged around the odd scraps of junk he hoarded. “Goddammit, where is my umbrella?”
Floyd ran over to join him. “For the last time, man, Buckido don't work in real life.”
“Fuck you it doesn’t!”
“Hey, look, what about your baseball bat?”
Bucky hefted the wooden bat. He’d never played a game of baseball in his life, but he had played plenty of games of "Scaring The Shit Out Of Nosey Teenagers Who Came Too Close To The Crop." Bucky nodded in satisfaction. “Okay, let’s go in.”
“What about me?” said Floyd.
“What about you what?”
“Where’s my weapon?”
“I don’t know, man, kick it in the nuts or something. But don’t you dare try and hit it with our retirement fund again.” Bucky gave the bat an experimental swing. “Now, we’re going to go in there and take back our trailer. You ready?”
“What? No!”
“On three!”
“I don’t even know if cockroaches have-“
“…two, three!”
Bucky charged, shoving Floyd in front of him like a fleshy, screaming battering ram. They burst into the trailer. The cockroach monster was still, perched atop the extremely smashed remains of Bucky’s mom’s sofa bed. The overhead light had been knocked out, and the thing’s carapace gleamed dully in the thin beams of afternoon light that filtered through the drapes. Bucky noticed the creature still held the 1979 issue in its spindly forelegs as if it was trying to read it. It turned its head toward them slowly, clicking and chittering as it did.
