Individually Wrapped Horrors

by Eric Joel Kleinschmidt, Sr.

  Zach spoke first. “Hey Hunter, man…” He didn’t know how to proceed. Josh helped him out.

  “Are you OK, man? I mean, is this still just the story or…?” Hunter cut them off, smiling through the single tear.

  “Just the story, yes. May I finish now?” he asked curtly. They all sat back and Josh nodded for him to continue. They were looking around, now more concerned, at each other. This was maybe not such a good idea tonight after all, but how could they have known? They’ve done this for so long. How could they have known this would be such a tits-up tonight? Hunter continued.

  “So, this group of friends, they were all very good to our young Hunter and took him in as one of their own, but he wasn’t. Not really. Not underneath the skin. He was a monster pretending to be a man and it was eating him alive and he just knew that if they all found out about Parsons…well, it was all over if they found out about Parsons. So, trying to head off the inevitable, he decided to tell them all about the poor fate of poor, old, sad shit Parsons. He began to tell them in the glow of the fire that Parsons was a big, thuggish, hulk of a man that his mother had brought drunkenly home with her from the bar one night. Parsons didn’t find enough satisfaction in fucking his mother so roughly that she couldn’t walk right for three days after… He wasn’t satisfied in breaking three of her ribs and closing up one of her eyes maybe indefinitely… He certainly wasn’t satisfied in coming into the room next door and just touching our young Hunter. No, he only found satisfaction in taking that big long twelve-inch cock of his and putting it quite violently up young Hunter’s ass. Well, what Mr. Big Cock didn’t really know and further understand was that monsters do exist in real life and they don’t come from another planet or from hell or the grave. They are made, right here in the good ol’ U.S. of A. or in other countries abroad. They don’t come out only when it’s a full moon. They are always out and waiting for the time to strike. Hunter hunted Parsons down about a week later to an old shack of a house just outside of town. Making his way slowly in at around 2 in the morning, he used a Smith & Wesson six shot pistol, silver with a black hand grip, to put that motherfucker’s mind at ease.” His hand came out from the fanny pack producing the aforementioned pistol. It was loaded with six gleaming bullets. He held it up, pointing it skyward. Everyone gave a startled sound of one type or another and stood up, moving a step or two away from Hunter. “Guys and girls, it’s cool. It’s cool. Come on back over. I know what I’m doing and I’m totally safe with this thing. It’s a prop is all, come on back.” They were shaking their heads.

  “Put that fucking thing away, Hunter. We’ve all been drinking and we don’t like you having that thing while you’re telling us your story.” Megan added:

  “Yeah, put it away, ya lunatic, before you get someone hurt!”

  Hunter brought the gun down levelly with Megan’s scared expression and said coldly, “I insist. Sit the fuck back down.” Blunt force panic gripped them all and they knew this was for real. They all slowly came back around and sat back down, now utterly sober and silent. Their breaths were beginning to be visible as the night took a slightly colder turn and Hunter—pistol trained squarely on Megan—continued. “Now, turning Parson’s head to so much jelly wasn’t enough after the pain young Hunter had ensued. So, he decided to have further payback. Since our hero/anti-hero was never really happy with his own body, he decided to…borrow…Parson’s.” He was still pointing the gun and now began to undo the buttons on his shirt. Still speaking, he said “I…I mean young Hunter…skinned him from the ragged stump of his throat down to the bulge of calf muscle below. He carved around the groin area coming back to that later.” He was now standing before them with his shirt unbuttoned and was doing likewise with his khakis. “He spent a whole day and a half at good ol’ Parson’s place making himself a body suit out of the dead man. Such time and meticulous care went into its creation.” Now he slid his pants down and stood in shirt and boxers. He kicked his shoes off and slid the pants off to the ground. In socks and boxers, he threw his shirt off to reveal the rough, jagged torn outline of the body suit. It looked like a jagged skin necklace or wide collar around the base of his neck, likewise around the swells of his own calf muscles and around the small bulges of muscles just above his elbows. There was a horrified gasp and Trinity turned around and vomited yet again.

  “What the fuck, dude?” was Caleb’s contribution. “Man, that is fucked up!” He made to get up and charge Hunter, but the gun now trained solely on him. Hunter was shaking his head disapprovingly and said:

  “Tsk, tsk, tsk, not yet, big man. There is one more part of the story you must hear. It’s just too good.” Caleb outdone, sat back down. “The piece de resistance was simply this.” He slid his boxers down with one hand to reveal the twelve-inch erection that looked more at home on the Frankenstein monster than on a teenage boy. The jagged ripped and sewn flesh fully encompassed his own seven inches and was held to him by a black leather band sewn together with the skin and cinched around his back. It was easily the most ghastly and grotesque thing the group had ever seen or even thought of. He smiled triumphantly as the others looked in disgusted horror. “Guess this means I win for all time, right? I mean no one could out-do this little beauty.” He laughed. “Did I say little?” he guffawed. “Huge, I mean. Sure didn’t feel little while I was being fucked with it! Anyway, a little padding inside and a few modifications, plus a bottle of Viagra I found at the Parson house and, buddy, I am all that is man. Any of you ladies want to try it out? It’s fully functional.” He smiled wickedly as their stomachs gave their own individual lurches.

  “So now what, you fuck?” Josh said angrily. “You came from shit and some people fucked you up pretty bad, but now what? You’re gonna kill us? Your only friends? The only ones who ever gave you something to live for? Something that was yours? We gave you friendship, man, we loved you as one of our own!” Hunter’s smile faltered a moment, then returned in the most heinous demon’s interpretation of a smile ever conceived.

  “It’s nothing personal, Josh. Guys? Gals? Nothing personal to any of you. I’m just a thing that hates and wants to kill and so does. It’s the human nature that I have been taught and have accepted as scripture. Gospel. There is no heaven, no hell, no God nor Satan. Nothing except the evil that men do. And it will live on and on…” He swung the gun around fast and with one shot, took off the top of Zach’s head. His lifeless body thumped back against the ground, growing cold and still. The report echoed across the night. The others screamed and Caleb and Josh tried to charge him. In a blinding flash, Caleb took one in the center of the chest and Josh got one in the right leg, just above his knee. Josh fell back screaming clutching at his leg, Caleb fell back—screaming no more. “Sorry for the leg shot, Josh, I knew it may be a possibility, but I told you at the beginning: Zach would be the first to go. He had to go first. Then, Caleb would go next…” he said, pointing the gun at Caleb’s lifeless body. “Then Cheyenne and then Trinity would follow. You, Josh, don’t go until fifth, then Megan would be the next to go with me going last. Did you think I was talking about the order of the story telling?” He squatted down, putting the barrel in Josh’s sweaty, upturned face. “We’re telling the story right fucking now, Josh.” He said and his voice grew thick and husky as his face seemed to grow dark and satanic. Cheyenne made a move to turn and run and like a trained assassin, he cut her down with one shot. The others were crowded together over Josh, holding him and applying pressure to the wound as Hunter replaced the spent bullets with new ones from his fanny pack on the ground beside his log. “Trinity, Josh and Megan. It all comes down to us four, right?” He held the gun pointed directly at them. “It has been a wild ride and you fuckers can really tell a good story, but all bad things must end.” He brought the pistol up to Trinity’s right eye and stopped cold when he heard echoing laughter, followed by a faraway booming howl. Far away, but getting closer, maybe? He stood up looking around and saw Cheyenne’s body in the dirt. Surreal couldn’t e
ven begin to touch the feeling he got as her body began to twitch. In a graceless maneuver that kicked up dirt, she got herself back up to her feet. The first thing Hunter noticed was the gaping bullet wound in her chest. She had turned to run and so his bullet had struck her in the back, but the exit wound was what he was looking at now—and it was enormous. A large black ragged hole burst out of her chest resulting in blood and bone and maybe lung fragments that were everywhere on her. Yet, she was up and walking toward his pointing gun. The hole seemed to sizzle and likewise seemed to begin fusing itself back together and closed. The other three kids were still on the ground staring in disbelief at Cheyenne. The formerly grotesque wound was now completely healed, leaving behind only a ragged hole in the front of her shirt with the lower inside swells of her breasts showing through. Hunter was in a trance and couldn’t move or speak or even breathe.

  “I really liked this shirt, you fucker!” she shouted as she lunged at him. He came back to himself just in time and side stepped the advance. He spun around and levelled the gun on her and put all six bullets into her body. She was fast, but he and his pistol were faster. Trouble was, she was still standing. Hunter felt a tremendous thud in the ground and saw the faces of his stupefied friends looking through him to something…behind him. Then he felt the hot and humid breath and smelled what could only be described as wet dog. The breath he felt was coming from behind him and up…breathing down on him. Full body trembles taking over his controls, he slowly turned around. Cheyenne made no further advancements on him. He turned fully around and looked up slowly at the nine or ten-foot-tall beast that had come to rest there. Blood-caked fur covered the clearly feminine muzzle of this monster. Long, jagged teeth dripping saliva strands were on full display as it growled and looked him dead in the eye. Those eyes! My god, he thought without really being capable of coherent thought, those yellow glowing eyes are the eyes of the demons in my dreams at night. With this thought, he brought the spent pistol up and dry fired twice before the beast gave off a hellish barking howl and then tore his throat out with those vicious teeth. His body spasmed and jerked, his feet kicked out and sent dirt across the fire—now burning lower—but he never dropped the Smith & Wesson pistol. The kicks and twitches slowed, then ceased. Finally, it was over. The beast held the lifeless body two feet above the ground momentarily, then with disdain threw it hard toward the edge of the cliff. How silently it fell through the night, through this nightmare made real, down to its final resting place. The beast stood panting, seeming to gasp for breath. The two kids were still on the ground seeing to Josh’s wounded leg. He had lost a lot of blood, but was still watching with them in shocked disbelief. Cheyenne approached the she-wolf and stood silent for a moment.

  “Mother, you must go now,” she said to the horror of the others. Mother??? What the fuck??? “I will see to them. You have done all that you can for tonight. Thank you and I love you.” The she-wolf nodded almost imperceptibly, looked at the shocked expressions on the kids’ faces, turned and bolted into the woods. It was the one and only time she ever showed herself to someone and let them live. Other than her own daughter, of course. Cheyenne turned to the others and knelt down. She knew before the hospital trip, there was some explaining to do.

  “She is my mother, Cynthia. The girl I told you about in the story is her. The life I told you about is hers. She attacks only where there is just cause and only in the worst of the worst cases. She had been watching Hunter for some time now, but she couldn’t be around him twenty-four-seven. That’s where I came in.”

  Josh gasped for air and said, “You wanted him in the group, fought and lobbied for it. Was that why? So you could watch him? So you could use him to get two of our friends killed and me shot?” He coughed and winced.

  “I did what I could, as did my mother. I’m as fucked up about those two getting killed as you are. I had no idea it was going to go this way, but we couldn’t act until we knew something for sure. We have to get you to the hospital, Josh, but first—quickly—I need a solemn swear from you all that mine and my mother’s secret is safe with you all. If anyone was to know, they’d begin hunting us and though I have never seen it in my lifetime, that never goes well for anyone involved. A lot of people could get hurt or killed, good and innocent people. She’d never hurt you guys for telling, but we’d have to leave and we’d be hunted. Maybe for the rest of our lives. Please.” She was sobbing now. “Please help us and swear so she can continue to hunt down bad men and I can continue to live my life. Please swear.” They all looked solemnly at each other.

  “It’ll never be the same for any of us, you know that…” Trinity began, “but I swear. I will never tell a living soul.” Cheyenne nodded and switched her gaze over to Megan. Megan looked at the ground and sighed.

  “I swear. I…can’t…I can’t be your friend anymore after this, but I swear to keep it secret.” A tear slipped down Cheyenne’s already glistening face in understanding. She sadly smiled and nodded. Megan went back to looking down at Josh.

  “Josh?” Cheyenne questioned.

  He stared over at the cliff, reliving the last moments of Hunter’s life and maybe reflecting on his own mortality, then whispered without looking her in the eye, “I swear. Get outta here. They’ll run me to the hospital. Be with your mom. Make sure she’s OK. And, Cheyenne?” She looked him in the eyes, hopefully. “Tell her thank you from us. You better get going now.” Cheyenne nodded with a hint of a smile and ran off into the woods. Josh looked up at the others and whispered, “OK then, to the hospital. We’ll work on the story some as we go.” They gathered him up and into the Escape and were gone in three minutes flat. They never spoke a word about what really happened to anyone else. They also never came back up to the scenic overlook or saw Cheyenne ever again. They had heard she had moved, but who knew really? Who knew?

  Because they had left in a hurry, their party litter, plus the bodies of two of their friends, lay all around the waning campfire. A small plastic bag fluttered aimlessly in the breeze until it made its way bravely over to the edge of the drop. Without hesitation, it went over the side and casually made its way down to the very bottom below. It came to rest for a moment on the dashed apart, exploded remains of a very dangerous young man who was no longer a threat to anyone really. Just so much refuse tossed aside now. Pieces of him here and strands of him there. All scented with a very particular scent that would deter any and all rodents and other woodland creatures from even approaching the remains. All around the remains of this dangerous young man were the bones and other remains of countless others, all concealed from the world in the underbrush and overgrowth of centuries passed. Far enough from the top to not be seen in daylight, far enough from the interstate to not be smelled even on the hottest summer’s day. The pile of bones and human remains—ranging in all stages of decomposition—were never touched or disturbed by any of the creatures of the woods. Only the bugs were brave enough to do their jobs. Only the bugs. The plastic bag, aided by a fresh of breeze, decided it had lingered long enough and lifted off of the body in that same casual way and drifted off to other parts of the great wide world, as we, too must now depart. The story is told and we may be all the wiser for it. Maybe not. Only time will tell.

  ****

  5

  “Audiobook”

  My sister was a complete and miserable drunk. Her whole entire life she always had a bottle of one poison or another in her unsteady hand. Well, let me amend that statement. Her whole entire adult life. No, that’s not quite right either. Ever since she was able to successfully swipe the booze in small, overlooked amounts from the old man’s stash. He sort of paved the way for her, you might say. Hiding bottles all over the house, out in the garage, in the basement, out in the shed. It was the easiest thing in the world for her to wait until the coast was clear, then pinch a nip or two here and a nip or three there. He was so lit up most of the time, he probably wouldn’t have noticed a whole bottle going the way of the Dodo. Still, he did throw his tantr
ums every time a bottle mysteriously dried up in his hand. The year she found dad’s stashes for the first time was the same year she became well acquainted with breath mints. I don’t think Dad would have said boo to a goose about her drinking at any age really, it was more—I think—the fear of him realizing it was her drinking his booze that got her crunching away at the Certs. Certs to begin with, then graduating all the way up to the hardcore Altoids by the eleventh grade. Dad was on the welfare, meaning I guess that by association, we were on the welfare, too. He still got a small pittance in from unemployment also, but that mostly went to whichever bills he decided to pay that month. The rest inevitably went to booze. Any kinds, all kinds—man, there wasn’t a drop of drink invented yet that the old man would shy away from. So, it really came as no surprise to me when Molly caught the same bug. I guess the bigger surprise would be that it missed me altogether. Oh, I had a few drinks through high school at the rare party I’d attend, but I’ve never been drunk and I never really had a taste for it, let alone that thirst for it. Mom was with us until I was a sophomore in high school, by then Molly had dropped out by two years. She would’ve graduated a year later, but dropped out in her eleventh-grade year. She went from A’s and B’s to why bother? in an amazingly short space of time. Molly, I think, took mom’s passing really hard because of how mean our old man can get when he’s drinking. He had been drinking for as long as either of us knew him. He wasn’t always on the welfare, but a lot of the time—yeah, he was…I mean…we were.