Individually Wrapped
Horrors
Now in Bite-Sized Pieces
Eric Joel Kleinschmidt, Sr.
Austin Macauley Publishers
Individually Wrapped Horrors
About the Author
Dedication
Copyright Information ©
1 “Momma’s Boy”
2 “We Got a Lizard on the Lot”
3 “Side Effects May Include…”
4 “We’re All Just Trying to Gross Each Other Out”
5 “Audiobook”
6 “What Hells May Come”
7 “Inexplicably Drawn”
8 “Dumpster”Epilogue (Dumpster)
9 “Coin Toss—Heads”
10 “Coin Toss—Tails”
11 “Clawfoot Tub (A Love Story)”
12 “Such a Mess We’ve Made”: (Part One: The Dead Moon)
(Part Two: The Message)
(Part Three: The Seed)
About the Author
Eric Kleinschmidt, Sr. is a long-time author of dark, death-metal themed poetry and has published two books under the moniker Twisted Spike Poetry Presents… and has a third large volume of same, waiting to be published. This is his first venture into the territory he loves so much – telling short horror stories. Much of his poetry consists of micro-stories that are usually horror-themed. He’s got a beautiful wife, four great kids, and five grandchildren who fill his life with great happiness. Some of the works he does are very dark and taboo in nature, but all to a greater purpose – that of telling a story that he feels will stick with the reader for a long time. From the dark winters of northern Wisconsin comes a writer who is not afraid to take you to the edge and over – and to make you feel every detail on the way down. He sincerely hopes you will enjoy this trip.
Dedication
To my wife, Leslie.
My greatest critic and biggest fan.
I love you!
To all of my family,
for support and understanding of this crazy hobby of mine,
thank you and I love you all!
To Jim Henson,
the master of muppets,
for introducing me to The Magic Store!
Copyright Information ©
Eric Joel Kleinschmidt, Sr. (2021)
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the publisher.
Any person who commits any unauthorized act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Ordering Information
Quantity sales: Special discounts are available on quantity purchases by corporations, associations, and others. For details, contact the publisher at the address below.
Publisher’s Cataloging-in-Publication data
Joel Kleinschmidt, Sr., Eric
Individually Wrapped Horrors
ISBN 9781645753315 (Paperback)
ISBN 9781645753322 (Hardback)
ISBN 9781645753339 (ePub e-book)
Library of Congress Control Number: 2020903866
www.austinmacauley.com/us
First Published (2021)
Austin Macauley Publishers LLC
40 Wall Street, 33rd Floor, Suite 3302
New York, NY 10005
USA
[email protected]
+1 (646) 5125767
1
“Momma’s Boy”
“I’m not afraid to die because I am invincible.
Viva la muerte, that’s my goddamn principle.”
~ Pungent Stench
I know what you all want, what you all need. You hunger for the truth. You lust for it… but only if it comes with the blood, sweat, and tears of a life and soul in torment. I can see it in your eyes when I look at you all. OK, I’ll play. I will give you your hearts’ fondest desire: to step into another man’s brain and have a good look around. Get comfy. I will warn you though, a goodly amount of what I have to tell here reads more like a Penthouse Forum letter than what you might think, but maybe you already know that. Maybe that’s the part your greedy little black hearts secretly desire most of all. Well, let it never be said that I am not a team player. I will tell you the whole tale, beginning to end, and at the end, you may draw your own conclusions about what I’ve told and what you believe to be true. All I can do is tell you what I know. What I went through. You sort it out after…
To begin with, as some of you know and others may have guessed, I am what you would consider a momma’s boy. Not overly proud of that, I suppose, but I have to own it. To be fair, though, if any one of you had my mother as your own, you may be more sympathetic. I was twenty-two and a few months during the time we are speaking of and—yes—I was still, in fact, living at home. I was never what you would call a loser; it just made sense at the time. My parents had divorced nearly five years prior to this situation. My father, being a hugely successful businessman, flew the country over many times in a year and, on occasion, ventured outside the country for weeks at a time. My mother stayed at home to raise me and when I grew older, she took up part-time work at a book store to alleviate some of the boredom and loneliness. At that time, I was still in high school and was running with my crowd of metal-head friends, going to parties, and smoking a little weed on the side. Spending all of my free time with whichever goth chick I was banging at the time. Mom was beginning to feel like she was adrift, all alone on an ocean of solitude. The book store gig really seemed to help. She regained that playful bounce in her step. Started hanging around with the other two ladies from what she called “the shop.” That was also the time she took up aerobics in a big way, started going out on the weekends again and—sad to say—when she became a raging alcoholic. She kept it in check during the week, I guess, and also, she tried to tone it down around me. A lot of times, though, I’d smell it on her or notice a slight misstep as she was walking around the house. Whatever, I just wanted her to be happy again. Besides the gig at the bookstore—which I believe I mentioned was part time—she also received a pretty nice alimony payment from dear old Dad every month. The bookstore thing was clearly optional and for her own peace of mind.
About a year or so after ‘the sperm donor’ departed to the great unknowns of New York City and all the capitalism he and his new fiancée could stomach, I graduated high school. No honors or anything special. Just your average run-of-the-mill stoner metal-head who retained enough brain cells to pass with a B average. I was released out into the real world. My first notion, of course, was to get a place with two of my metal-head buddies wherein we could party and get fucked up any night of the week we chose. The theory was metal posters covering every wall, extensive, exclusively-metal CD collection on a shelf on the wall (contributed to by all roommates), and a refrigerator full of pizza rolls and beer. Ideal! The dream we all waited our whole lives for. Reality check time.
One of my buddies got a chick pregnant just after graduation and was being guilted into getting a place with the baby momma. So, he was out. The second of my so-called friends decided one drunk night that it would be “so extremely fucking
metal” to join the army. Get a gun, go kill strangers far away, see the world… that whole bit. Even in his sobriety and hung-over state the next day, he could not be talked out of it. Scratch another name off the list. There was a third guy that I was slightly interested in rooming with but as the weeks turned into months, he got really cagey and I saw less and less of him until he finally slipped into the cracks of obscurity. At this point, I was resigned to staying with Mom until I could afford my own place. The dream of the metal pad still in place, just a little more pathetic now. I felt like everyone was growing up except me. Oh well, I thought, plenty of time to decide my course of action while fattening up my bank account. Mom would not accept any money from me as rent, only to buy special groceries I wanted and to keep them in the refrigerator in the garage. On occasion I had brought up the idea to Mom about saving up some money and getting my own place. You know, kinda give her adult freedom to have her house to herself and do all the things she’d always wanted to do. Her responses at first were vague and light-hearted. “Whatever you think, honey.” “You’re no trouble here.” “Don’t rush into anything.” But I noticed after another year or so had gone by, the responses to my ideas about a place became a bit more cryptic. “Oh honey, if you moved out, what would I do with myself all alone here?” “You can’t leave now, we have so many family activities and trips planned.” “I really don’t think now is a good time to try getting a place, lousy market for it.” Etc., etc…
During this period of time, my doctor thought I might do well to begin taking vitamins. Didn’t like something on a test result or what he saw when he checked me out or something. I don’t know. Anyway, vitamins. No big deal. Though the “I’m a big kid now” tune kept replaying through my head for some unknown reason. Every workday morning, when I got up and got ready for work, I’d come downstairs and the small dry erase board next to the fridge would have some cutesie little message on it from Mom and always ended with “don’t forget to take your vitamins, honey.” That was me—her vitamin-taking, metal-head-forever, still-living-at-home honey. Oh well, there were worse things to be, I’d console myself. I’m not a meth-head. I heated up some pizza rolls to celebrate. Taking my vitamins, I’d stroll out the door and head off to my job at the warehouse. Forklifts and pallets and product, oh my!
In the evenings, I’d come home and the house would usually be empty. For one of three reasons normally: Mom was still at “the shop,” Mom was at her aerobics class (less and less frequent) or—if it was a weekend evening—Mom was already down at one of her favorite bars. She did this more and more often on the weekends. I found myself at home alone more and more on these evenings. The outcome was always one of two: one, she’d come home with some stranger and they’d drink a bit more and get frisky on the couch and finally end up squeaking the bed springs through the wall we shared. Loud music always helped drown out that little nugget of reality! Or two, she’d come home alone after getting shot down one too many times or striking out altogether. On these nights, she’d grab one of many bottles of red wine from her stash and disappear into her room. The sound of Streisand or Neil Diamond would come gently filtering through. Loud music (but slightly less loud, out of respect) would also help with that second nugget of reality. We did see each other quite a bit though. I don’t want you to think we were complete strangers cohabitating. On weekday nights or the occasional weekend nights, we’d hang out, play board games, talk about our days, eat Chinese take-out together, and various other pleasant activities. Seeing as how Dad was just a once-a-month paycheck now and neither of us saw nor wanted to see him, we were there for each other while having our things going on in our own lives simultaneously. I began to think that this was the ideal arrangement after all. She never harped on me about my music and I never lectured her about her drinking and the men. Shangri-La really!
So, I guess it was about nine or ten months ago now that I started seeing Sarah. Used to drive me nuts that she had that H on the end of her name but she was cool otherwise. Weird what things screw with our minds, isn’t it? Anyway, this chick… oh man! She was the total package! Long legs, big breasts, skinny in the middle, but a nice little ass! That sexy little gap in the middle between her thighs. Black hair. Long black hair. Piercings everywhere she could think of to pierce. She used to wear a tee shirt that said “I’m not playing with myself, I’m adjusting my jewelry.” Blood-red lipstick nearly every day! Brown eyes. Kind of a breathy way of speaking like the little pop stars do in their songs. Used to tip me right over the edge when we were in bed at night. Mom didn’t care that she was on again/off again staying with us. They didn’t really speak all that much but Mom never pressed the issue. I started thinking to myself, NOW this is the ideal situation! It wasn’t meant to last. Such things rarely are.
I think the first time she brought something up was maybe around August of last year. I know it was approaching fall anyway. She mentioned that I was such a momma’s boy and I needed to grow up. We didn’t fight often, but when we did—all bets were off. This is why the time she stayed with us was on again/off again. Her temper was in direct measure to my own. But goddamn, she was so perfect. Little punk rock and metal chick who gave a blow job like none other! Of course, to be fair, I had only had a few other girlfriends in the past willing to do that. Still, she was hands down the best. I thought I was falling in love with her. I’d call her up and say something like, “Yes, of course, you were right. I’m a momma’s boy. I’m sorry. I’ll try harder for you.” But I wondered. Earth-shattering pussy… or family? Hard one to work through. We’d get back in good with each other (never quite made it to breaking up) and things would be great again for a while. Then, one day we started doing one of those nothing, bullshit fights where every little thing the other person did just got under your skin and irritated. I tried to walk in the other room to calm down but she’d follow. She walked out of my room slamming the door, then I’d follow. I told her that we needed to keep calm and civil, especially because Mom was in the other room and I didn’t want her to hear us being so nasty to each other. She began, “That’s another thing… your mom. Granted, she’s a great person but when are you gonna cut the umbilical cord and move out so we can find a little place together?” My whole world deflated. I felt like we had the greatest set-up currently available to all parties involved, and I had no sights set on finding a place and striking out on my own. If I had, it would have been with her. But, no, I was happy here and didn’t want to leave the nest just yet. I kept thinking about all of my talks with Mom and what would she do without me and about her kicking around this lonely old pad by herself. I just couldn’t think about it right then. She told me I’d never grow up, always be a momma’s boy and that was never gonna change. Also, she spat that she hoped me and Mom would be very happy together! She grabbed a few of her things and said, “Burn the rest! I don’t fucking care! Give it to your mom for all I care!” Then she stormed out of my life.
I feel like I need to take some time here to tell you a few things about my mom I may have not yet mentioned. To begin with, at any given point in my history with this woman, she has been a knockout stunner! Tall and sexy, well-dressed, fun, positive, and outgoing on most occasions. The woman never seemed to age. She has always been stunningly beautiful. And I don’t just say that from a son’s perspective about his mother whom he adores. My friends throughout the years had always commented on what a total MILF she is. My ex-girlfriend Sarah even confided in me once after a night of intense drinking that she had been with a few women in her time but would feel she had reached the apex if she ever got with a woman as radiant and downright sexy as my mom! When we had fucked that night, I have to admit that when I came, the thought of her and my mom 69’ing was front and foremost in my thoughts! Terrible to admit but the idea had been planted. Sometimes I think that the friends I had only lasted as long as they did in hopes of catching Mom in a state of undress.
Which brings me to the next thing about Mom. She has always had the longest blo
nde hair. Not like Crystal Gayle down-to-her-knees long but long by today’s standards. She always did fresh and creative styles with it but yes, it was very long. Blonde as the day is long. There were in the last few months expertly applied streaks of pink throughout it like a party girl might have. One of her co-workers might have said she was trying to recapture her youth, but I don’t think so. I think she saw it and liked it and said yes, case closed. Now the blonde portion is real blonde. My proof? Well, there have never been any dyeing products in the house and the fact that she has been that blonde for as much of my life as I can remember says much. Now, the rest of it is this… I did accidentally catch her fresh out of the shower once. I looked away after I realized it, embarrassed; she only stood there brushing her hair, not embarrassed in the slightest. She mentioned something about not having anything I’d never seen before and I always kinda figured she thought now we’re even, having seen me naked on many occasions growing up. Not as an adult of course, but I digress. When I saw her in her complete and unabashed birthday suit, I noted in my head of heads that the floors were hardwood! Brazilian hardwood! So, no concrete evidence there. I filed it away in my jerkoff jukebox for later use (not even knowing I was doing it at the time) and went on with the rest of my day. What is a jerkoff jukebox? you ask. Well, I’m going to tell you since this is a complete and unedited account of what was to follow. Every man’s mind has a jerkoff jukebox. It is filled with all the greatest hits! Catch a girl sitting in a way that you can see a flash of panty upskirt style, in it goes. See a mom breastfeeding (sorry to say), in it goes. Celebrity phone gets hacked showing us what the stork saw, in it goes. Mom fresh and sexy as hell from the shower and not giving any sign that you have to look away, yup, in it goes. Any old time you feel that rising urge and you just can’t focus on the task at hand and you need a little relief… drop a quarter in the old jukebox and flip through all the classics and latest and greatest hits to that one particular hit that you just can’t live without and it’s off to the races. I suppose I should update the name but masturbation mp3 player just doesn’t roll of the tongue, you dig?
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