Individually Wrapped Horrors

by Eric Joel Kleinschmidt, Sr.

  “He’s fucking dead.” A gasp from one of the women and silence.

  ****

  He snapped awake fast this time, thrashing and swinging his fists around. His eyes popped open and he found himself in a very large, very comfortable luxurious bed. Double the size of any king-sized bed he had ever slept in. Satin sheets. Warm and inviting. He calmed down and lay back. His head on the pillow, he took in the room. Fine art hung on every wall. The room itself was enormous. Bigger than his whole entire house. Thinking of which, he wondered if he managed to live for more than an hour in this body, was it possible for him to visit his old house? That was something worth making a mental note over. Still, something vaguely familiar struck him about this room. He couldn’t quite remember, but he knew it would come to him. He got up and snuck over to the door. Opening it quietly, he peeked out. Nobody home. He turned and looked back over his shoulder to the bedroom. What was so familiar about this room??? He was thinking that very thought when the crowbar came down on his head and the lights went out for him.

  Flashes of streets and buildings and pedestrians went blinking by.

  Flashes of interstate signs that were too blurry to read went blinking by.

  The motion of the vehicle he was being carried in slowed, then stopped. The scene was still coming to him in dribs and drabs. Nothing solid or concrete, yet everything somehow familiar. Darkness. Time sped up, then slowed to a crawl. A voice came in muffled, words that he couldn’t make out. A figure that he couldn’t see. He couldn’t respond. Nothing about him worked. He couldn’t speak, nor move, nor hear. Time jumped ahead. Slowly his eyes began to come open. The scene was still very fuzzy, but not as much. He began to make out objects in the now lit surroundings. A tall man with no face was speaking. He seemed angry, but Christian couldn’t make anything out. He looked down for a moment at the floor. He was barefoot… and holy shit, he thought, I have nail polish on my toes. His eyes opened, really opened wide, and he looked up to see himself standing over…himself. No, God, no! flashed red warning lights in his mind as he heard the other him say: “She had sins to pay for, too. She paid dearly. Her name was Jamie…” He closed his eyes for what he knew he could not escape.

  The crowbar came down again, hitting him across the face. He went over to the floor, still duct taped to the chair. He screamed a woman’s scream as the other him came and grabbed him by the throat. His wind was cut off for a moment, but the other him said, “Oh no, bitch, you ain’t getting out that easy.” The other Christian threw him down and began ripping his clothes off. Once that had been accomplished, the other Christian slapped and punched him numerous times, he finally quit fighting back. As his legs were pushed apart, he looked down and through puffy bruised eyes, noticed with some fascination that he had a vagina. This is going to hurt…a lot. The remembered thickness of his very own manhood entered her vaginal opening with no hesitation. The tearing and ripping began at once. He fought weakly and felt the instant bleeding, but knew it was all futile. He knew for himself what came next. The violent rape lasted for another five or ten minutes, then was over with the customary squirt.

  The other him pulled painfully out of Christian’s vagina and stood up dripping blood back down. He turned, still fully nude, and grabbed the crowbar. “Time to see what other things get you off, princess.” Christian closed his eyes and knew—finally knew—the pains he had caused this woman. Too late now. His legs were forced apart roughly and the forked end of the crowbar was first inserted in the vaginal opening, then pulled out bloody and reinserted into his anus. This back and forth exchange went on for an eternity, until nothing remained resembling either opening. Christian lay bloody and destroyed on the floor of that old abandoned assembly plant, but not dying. Why couldn’t he fucking die and get on to the next travesty? The other Christian came back over to him. Oh shit, he had forgotten about this part. Fuck.

  “Well, bitch, how do you feel now? Better? Still think it was a good idea to do what you did to me? Guess who’s the little dead fucking mouse now, cunt,” he hissed as he brought out a small chainsaw. He pulled the chord and the fucking thing started on the first try. Damn. It came. The ripping of the chainsaw’s unforgiving teeth through his left elbow, then the ripping through the right elbow. This girl was beaten down, raped, raped by a crowbar and both arms cut off, yet still, she wouldn’t die. She had been strong. She had been. Bad news for Christian. The numbing, burning bite of the chainsaw threw large messy chunks of his knees up into his face. He weakly spit out bone fragments as the other Christian went to work taking off the other leg at the knee. “Last but not least,” they both said together. The other Christian revved the chainsaw up to maximum power and rammed it straight into Christian’s vaginal remains. His entire body jerked and blood coughed thick and black from his mouth. The chainsaw worked its way up through the stomach and when it got to the chest cavity and heart, Christian knew no more. The death he had invented finally came to him. He had never been more grateful.

  ****

  Christian did not even attempt to sit up this time. He just slowly opened his eyes and looked at the ceiling. He was back in the hospital room in hell. He guessed it was hell, where else could it be? He sat upright and stayed there on his elbows for a moment. The door opened then and the doctor came in.

  “Ah, there you are, my dear boy. How have you been enjoying yourself on our”Round the World” tour?” He sat beside Christian. Christian looked at him and a tear escaped down his cheek. “Oh now, what’s with the waterworks, son?”

  “I felt everything she went through. I know now what I have done. You want my soul, you got it. Fucking burn me or eat me or rape me or whatever. Just don’t make me go through that again. Please,” he begged.

  The doctor smiled a wicked grin and said, “Boy, not that I need you to say it right out loud, but never tell the ol’ doc what you liked least about the tour. Silly boy, you’re going to get to re-live that experience over and over and over again until it stops being funny to me. That could take some time, you know. You with a vagina! And a chainsaw in it like that old metal album! Classic!” Christian lay back down on the bed. He sighed heavily.

  “So, you mean to say there’s more?”

  The doctor grinned even wider. “My dear boy,” he said with satisfaction, “you ain’t seen nothin’ yet.” His laugh started low and grew and grew until it shook the walls and the very foundation of the hospital. A large chunk of concrete broke apart from the ceiling and fell down to crush Christian’s head. The doctor’s face grew red and his teeth elongated. “You ain’t seen shit yet, boy.” The laughter echoed throughout all the rings and realms of hell and beyond.

  ****

  Christian sat up in bed and yawned…

  ****

  7

  “Inexplicably Drawn”

  When I was six, I touched a meteorite…

  The morning rays of sunlight spilled in through my bedroom windows and persuaded my closed eyes to open. I lay beneath the warm coverlet snuggled up to my girl. My beautiful wife. She still gave the faintest buzzing of her particular brand of soft, polite snoring. I managed a hand out from beneath the blanket and wiped sleepily at the crusties in my eyes. After a great and satisfying yawn, I threw off the coverlet and stumbled my way to the bathroom. After relieving myself, still in my furry Beavis & Butthead Christmas pajamas, I made my way down the long stairway to the chilly kitchen below. The kitchen tiles were cold to my bare feet and I couldn’t wait to get back upstairs to the warm body that lay in waiting. But needs must! First thing…coffee! Set up the night before, all I really had to do was press the on button and wait. With that done, I walked over to the front door and opened it. Brisk country air immediately ghosted in and chilled my feet, hands and face. I took in a deep, glorious breath of it, bent down and grabbed the paper. I took one more look around at the yard and the fields surrounding. It was beyond amazing to be out of the city and living out here on our own. Well, us and the two kids. Our closest neighbors out here wer
e a little over three miles down the gravel road and this morning—nothing stirred. Very little sound in the world around me to wreak havoc on such a magnificent morning. Then, a chill ran up my spine and covered my arms with goosebumps. I shut the door.

  The coffee pot chirped that it was ready and I gathered up the usual supplies: two cups, creamer, sugar, spoons, a cup of milk and two cheese Danishes. Breakfast of the gods. I headed back upstairs to Gina. At the top of the stairs, I peeked into Shawn’s room. He was comically sprawled out on his bed in every direction with one leg hanging limply over the side. His eyes were closed and his mouth hung open. There was a scrim of dried drool on his shirt. I smiled and closed his door quietly. I did likewise at Caylee’s door. She was more modestly positioned under the blankets, cuddled up with her oversized teddy. Twelve years old, gonna have to get rid of those stuffed animals someday soon, I thought, closing her door softly. I made my way back to our room. Gina still slept, but began to stir upon my entering the room. I felt a tad of remorse at that. If she was awake, the honey-do’s would begin. It was after all Saturday, not Sunday. But I wanted some coffee and knew she would require some as well, so—what the heck?

  “Good morning, sleepy head,” I whispered. She shaded her eyes and blinked them slowly open.

  “Hey,” she said sleepily. “What time is it?” I glanced over at the bedside table.

  “Oh, about 7:30. The beautiful day outside in conjunction with that brilliant sun decided that I had slept long enough and so decided to shine in upon me and wake me up whether I liked it or not.” She chuckled and pulled herself to a half-sitting position against her pillows.

  “Well, that’s not entirely a bad thing,” she said as I sat on the bed beside her. I was unfolding a tray table to put the breakfast on. “I do have a few things I wanted us to get done today and the sooner we get to it—”

  “—the sooner we get through it,” I finished. I was smiling and shaking my head. “Y’know, I just knew you were gonna be all gung-ho this morning.” I poured her coffee as she grabbed one of the Danishes and took a big sticky bite. She placed it back on the tray as I handed her the cup of coffee. She added creamer, sugar and just a dash of milk, sipped, then said, “I’ll tell you all about it, but first—to the bathroom!” She slid out of bed and her silky night gown came momentarily up to her upper thigh. I couldn’t help but notice she still had those great legs after all of these years. I never got tired of looking. She came out of the bathroom a few minutes later with her robe on.

  “Well, I was enjoying the view,” I told her sipping my own coffee. She parked herself on the edge of the bed and said:

  “I’ll tell you what, if you’re a good boy today and really help with this to-do list, I’ll let you play with these later.” She opened the top of her robe to reveal the top two-thirds of her cleavage. Yup, never got tired of looking at those either. I smiled at her and leaned in to kiss her. She kissed me sweetly, then the two of us sat on our bed enjoying our coffee and Danishes and sunny morning.

  A few hours later, I was out in the back yard next to a ditch that was shallow and ran the length of the yard. I had raked a large and long straight pile of leaves into the length of the ditch and was burning them. The feathery smoke rode upward on the small breeze and disappeared up into the mostly clear blue sky. Gina was out on the back deck watering her potted and hanging plants. She called out:

  “Chris!” I turned and looked at her. “Hey, I’m going to run into town to get a few things for the house. Is there anything you need while I’m out?” I thought for a moment and hollered back:

  “Just what you promised me earlier!” She smiled and blew me a kiss. I caught it and returned back to my leaves. A minute or two later, her and Caylee came bounding out of the house, giggling like school girls, and got in the car and drove to town. Shawn came up the side yard a moment later dragging a trash can and a full bag, both filled with leaves from all over the yard. “Here you go, just set them here.” I prompted, pointing at the spot. “I’ll get them from there.”

  He wiped sweat from his brow with his arm and said, “OK, dad. There’s probably another two or three buckets worth over there and that’s it. Then can I go to Derrick’s house?” He looked hopeful. This was only the umpteenth time he had asked me today. I thought about all there was to do on Gina’s list yet and thought about him asking me that all day long.

  “I suppose,” I said shrugging. “I think we can handle the rest of this.” He smiled and patted me on the shoulder.

  “Thanks, dad! I’ll go grab the rest then.” He noticeably kicked it into a higher gear, as teenagers are want to do when they get what they want, and ran off across the yard. He was still a city boy and mildly resented us for bringing him out here into the sticks. Can’t say I blame him. Kids his age are looking for fun, instead he’s out here helping his dad burn leaves. I was just pulling my head out of my thoughts and back to the task at hand when a rusty green Ford pickup pulled into the drive. The engine cut off and a grey-haired old timer got out. He paused at the door, putting on his straw hat and lighting a smoke. The door closed with a creak and a groan and Sam Johnson from up the road came over to me.

  “Morning, Sam,” I said, leaning on the rake handle. He trundled over to me. He was carrying a lot of extra pounds around, but I figured at his age, why not? Besides, he was always such a happy guy, no one ever wanted to bring him down with what really was none of our business anyway. He stuck out his gnarled, arthritic hand to shake.

  “Good morning, Mick.” He said a bit breathy. Our last name is Michaels. Sam had just always called me Mick. “What’s doin’ this fine morning?” I looked at my watch. Technically, it was still morning…just. 11:39. Where had the day gone?

  “Oh, just catching up on some chores around the yard. Was up early this morning, looked too pretty outside to waste.” He smiled and clapped me on the back.

  “I know it. I know it. Just got back from the lake out there on my back 80. Caught me a few walleyes and a trout and a handful of bass to boot. Man, they were bitin’. Every time I threw in the line, nibble nibble! Like they was starvin’ or somethin’.” I smiled at his good fortune.

  “Well, I guess you’ll be having one of your fish fry lunches soon, am I right?” He smiled even bigger.

  “Ah, you know me so well. I was thinking about three or so in the p.m. tomorrow. How’s that suit you and yours?”

  “Well, I can vouch for Gina and I that we will be there. The kids…well, they don’t like fish so much. I don’t even know if Shawn’s gonna be back from his buddy’s house by then. But Gina and I are definitely in.” He flashed that award-winning smile—dentures and all—and tipped his hat back.

  “Well, that’s good then, mighty good.” He flicked his ashes, took a drag and shot his butt into the flames. “Say, Mick, any chance you guys saw or heard anything last night?” I squinted my eyes and coughed as a wisp of smoke blew back at me.

  “Anything…like what?” I asked. He looked down at the ground and grumbled softly. “Beg pardon,” I said.

  “I don’t know exactly what I heard. Might’ve been nothing, nothing at all. Come to think of it, probably just what it was. Tree fell over in the wind or something. Nothing at all I imagine.” He trailed off for a moment, then snapped back. “Oh, hey, I brought over that Remington 870 we talked about. Wanna take a look?”

  “Oh yeah, definitely. Let’s see what you’ve got.” I laid the rake down beside the fire and Shawn came back around with two more full trash cans of leaves. “Hey, Shawn, just spread the leaves out on the fire, OK? I’ll be back down in a sec. Gonna go look at a shotgun.” I said as Sam and I made our way up to the truck.

  “OK, dad. That’s the last of it.” I nodded and we walked on. The shotgun was beautiful, glossy black body with a hardwood stock. Well-maintained, not a scratch on it. Looked like he had just opened the package today.

  “Well, that’s really nice, Sam. That is a beaut!” I whistled. “Same price? $500?”

 
“Yeah, same price. I just can’t use it anymore. That kick hurts my shoulder like blue fire these days. Never had any problems with her though. Kept it real clean. Got a couple of boxes of shells to go with her, too. Hell of a deal.” I took the boxes of shells and the Remington and walked them into the house. Sam waited out by the truck, having another smoke. I returned in no time with the money and it disappeared into his shirt pocket. We stood leaning against the box of his old Ford. We watched Shawn raking the leaves over to the fire and in. “That’s a hell of a kid you got there, Mick. Good kid.” I smiled as Shawn tripped over a branch and jumped up fast, looking around to see who saw him fall.

  “Yeah. He’s a keeper.” I said laughing.

  By the time the ladies got back from town, I was inside and showered up, sitting at my drawing desk. Shawn was already half way into town on his dirt bike. The light strokes I made with my shading pencil were lightning quick, racing their way up and down the no longer blank page before me. Silly cartoon figures in various states of comic angst began to come to life beneath my lead. It was sort of a hobby to begin with, drawing and doing short little cartoon blocks, like in the Sunday funnies. These days, it was more of a for-a-living type of thing. I did these cartoon blocks still, only now I was paid to make entire books of around forty or fifty pages. Mostly for kids and young adults, but once in a while an agent would contact me wanting to contract me to something a little more adult. No nudity or swearing, mostly violence and some loss of limb or light bloodshed. Sci-fi stuff and military cartoon things. I made a nice big bonus check anytime I did those types of books and it always went into the Christmas fund. I didn’t think I was particularly good at them—and I certainly wasn’t very fond of them—but the bank always honored the checks, so I drew. I have no idea when or where my talent began. No one to my knowledge is an artist in my family. Either side. It was just a thing I found out one rainy day when I was almost seven. I grabbed a pencil that was just lying around and a piece of scrap paper and…magic!