by Jay Sigler
High up in the corner, where the yellow wall met the planked roof, what looked like a bundle of mummies wrapped in dirty gray bandages hung from chains. But unlike mummies, their appendages were fully extended; they were giant Xs with heads. The heads themselves were not wrapped. Dried out decaying skulls with empty eye sockets and rotting teeth smiled the smile of the dead. The gray wrapping stood out against the yellow wall like a sore thumb. Taking a broader look, the entire perimeter of the ceiling was lined with these mummified five-pointed figures.
I also saw that in the middle of the ceiling, hanging right above the ellipse of light in the center of the room, was Neil. He was wrapped up to his nose in the same gray bandage-like material the others were, except he was alive and conscious. His eyes darted all over the room, fearfully looking for a way out. I was in plain sight but his eyes passed over me; he couldn’t see me. I shouted up at him but he couldn’t hear me. Instead, he was lowered down into the egg-shaped sphere of light until his feet barely brushed the ground. A buzzing sound, like garbage flies and kazoos, consumed the room. Neil did hear this sound. The gray bandages over his crotch darkened and liquid dripped through them onto the floor, first beading up then soaking into the thirsty dirt.
The buzzing increased in volume until it was no longer a sound but a wave of vibration that shook the walls. My eyes shook in their sockets, blurring my vision. The bodies on the ceiling began swinging to and fro from the vibration, hitting the walls, thumping to the beat of some unheard song. The uncontrolled way they danced made it seem like the source of the buzz was within them; it was a rattle of the dead. Neil twisted and struggled to get free, but all he managed to do was swing like a pendulum back and forth over his own puddle of piss.
A body in the upper left corner of the yellow wall was buzzing louder than the rest, slamming itself against the wall so hard that it almost hit the rafters on the rebound. It lay still for a moment, shook, and then exploded. More specifically, its stomach exploded. With the sharp, dry pop of a brown paper bag slammed between two fists, the bandages ripped open and a shower of what looked like small pebbles blasted outward towards the center of the room where Neil hung. A majority of them hit me in the face and chest as they descended. So much for being completely invisible.
Something tickled the back of my neck and I slapped it. I felt thick goo and pulled my hand away from my wet neck. My entire palm was filled with chunky red jelly surrounded by still twitching hairy sticks. I looked down and saw the pebbles that scuttled towards the ellipse of light were not pebbles at all. The mummy-like corpse hanging in the rafters had expunged hundreds of deformed spiders into the room. And they were all crawling to Neil.
I looked up at the creature and the eye sockets of the mummy’s skull glowed red as the corpse came to life. The violent escape of the spiders left its cracked ribs facing outward; they looked like giant skeletal fingers stabbed through the back, jutting out through the front. The ribs started to wiggle and writhe like a centipede flipped on its back, trying to right itself. Drumming helplessly in the air, the gray wrapping loosened and fell off, revealing the corpse’s true form.
Kicking away the spiders that tried to bite me, I was helpless to turn away from the creature I saw. As the last of the gray wrapping swirled through the air to the ground in slow motion, I saw that the end of the outstretched arms had crab-like pincers instead of hands. They were opening and closing in the air, pinching for the first time in ages. The appendages I had thought were feet were actually two separate tails with a sharp deadly point at each end, like a scorpion’s. The red eyes glowed brighter and a long black tongue lapped in and out between the rotting teeth like a snake trying to breathe. Using its claws, it spun around on the chain and its wriggling ribs took hold of the wall. I realized that the exploded ribs were actually spider-like legs. It easily cut through the chain with its claw and started walking down the wall.
As the aberration stepped its way down the wall, the other husks stopped bouncing and exploded. The domino effect of corpses exploding and thrusting out living crawling spiders created an opaque cloud of blackness. With each rapid bang, thousands of spiders were flung through the air, raining down everywhere. Once the air cleared, the entire barn floor was covered in a black sea of moving creatures, all making their way to Neil as he hung in the center of the room.
I waded through the ankle-high mass of spiders towards the haystack. Every time I lifted a leg, spiders were flung in all directions like corn kernels in hot oil. Every time I stepped down, it produced a crunch, pop, or slide before my next step. By the time I made it to the haystack, all of the corpses had exploded and the living red-eyed creatures were slowly crawling down the wall after their excreted spawn.
The first spiders to make it into the circle of light crawled up Neil’s hanging body. His eyes filled with dread and he was swinging back and forth as hard as he could, attempting to escape or at least throw them off. Since the buzzing had ceased, all I heard were high pitched muffled screams coming from his covered mouth. No words, just sounds. The spiders continued to crawl up Neil; each new wave forcing the previous ones higher up his body. There were so many of them that his feet and legs were completely coated in black. The mass made its way up to his waist, chest, and then his neck. Eventually, his entire body was covered in black crawling spiders; only his darting eyes were visible. Then the spiders tore through the wrapping over his mouth and began to climb in.
As the spiders filed in, filling Neil’s mouth, I could hear the click-clacking of a hundred typewriters as the corpses’ ribs stepped off the wall and onto the floor. The giant scorpion-like creatures made their way to the center of the barn, herding their offspring towards Neil like cattle into a pen. Neil’s eyes glazed over in shock and his face reddened as he choked from loss of air. From the weight of the spiders invading his body, his midsection pushed outward and swelled. I tried not to think about how many spiders must have entered him to engorge like that.
The corpse creatures encircled Neil. He barely breathed; his lungs had no room to expand or contract. With a quick scissoring motion, one of the monsters reached a claw into the circle and sliced off Neil’s left arm just below the elbow. The arm landed in the urine-soaked dirt below him with a dull thud, no longer a living entity but instead a hunk of dead meat. Neil’s head thrust back in pain, but he was unable to produce any sound. The only thing coming out of his mouth was a sea of little hairy legs waving at their parents. The veins of his neck were tight cords pulled taught in pain. The blood vessels in his eyeballs broke and tears of blood streamed down his face and into his mouth, coating the spiders and sending them into more of a frenzy. The beast that had sliced off his arm curled its left tail over its head in a wide arc and stuck the fallen arm with its pointed end. It raised the arm over its head, as if wanting to answer a question. Then it let whatever blood was left in the arm drain onto its red-eyed skull before inserting the entire thing into its mouth and swallowing it. I saw Neil’s college football ring sparkle once before it passed through the rotted teeth.
As if this were some sort of permissive gesture in the language of the damned, the other creatures sliced off and ate Neil’s other arm and both legs. When they were done feasting, all that was left of Neil was a hanging placental sac filled with their young. Blood squirted and dripped onto the floor, mixing with the urine. The ground became a soft, muddy soup of Neil’s liquids, spreading out until it filled the entire wide ellipse of light surrounding him.
The newly softened ground shook as it split apart and chunks of mud crumbled to the sides of the spinning figure rising out of it. The spinning motion slowed to a stop as Shawn fully emerged from the earth. He wore his long black trench coat and hat. Somewhere on his journey through the tunnel, he obtained the wooden staff and was now using it to shoo away the scorpion beasts. He paused for a moment, twisted the staff in opposite directions between his two white knuckled fists and took a batter’s stance. With a powerful swing, he hit Neil directly in the stomac
h with one end of the staff. Neil’s hanging torso swung from the impact. On its return path, Shawn hit him again. Over and over it continued, as Neil became a human piñata. I heard bones breaking and the sound of meat being tenderized. Shawn switched from swinging the staff horizontally to hammering it down on Neil’s face. Neil’s skull was crushed in, creating a cylindrical trough split down the middle. I was reminded of Gina’s face getting punched in the same way. Shawn turned to me.
“Do you get it yet?” he asked.
Before I could answer him, the husk of human flesh and bones that used to be Neil started to shake. It twisted from side to side and the same buzzing kazoo sound came from within him. Shawn took a step back to face me and cocked the staff high on his shoulder. With one final powerful swing, he hit Neil in my direction. Neil’s abdomen exploded, sending a thousand screaming spiders flying out towards me. As they flew at me, Shawn screamed one word.
“STAAAAAAAAAAANFOOOOOOOOOOOORD!”
I woke up.
Chapter 25
I sat alone in the train station’s parking lot before driving home. It took three tries for my shaking hand to insert the key into the ignition. I was confused. What did this mean? Shawn could not have killed Neil because I had him tied up in my basement. Unless he had escaped. The longer I thought about it, the more paranoid I became. Maybe Shawn had broken free while I was at work and killed Neil to get back at me. Fear and panic tightened around my heart. Sweat poured down my face, stinging my eyes. I fumbled with my seat belt, started the car, and sped home.
By the time I got home, I anticipated a full brigade of law enforcement officers at my house, guns drawn, snipers in the trees, ready to take me out on sight for kidnapping. As I gasped what short shallow breaths I could, I turned into the driveway to meet my doom and was greeted by the faded yellow blank face of my garage door. I gave it a relieved nod and proceeded into the house. I was safe.
After mixing a strong cocktail of one part vodka and two parts more vodka, I cautiously walked down the basement stairs. Shawn sat right where I had left him, strapped to an old folding chair with duct tape, hands behind his back. I had first taped his ankles together, then bound them both to the left leg of the chair. I had considered taping each ankle to a separate chair leg, but thought it would allow him to escape by waddling away. Next, I had tightly wrapped one long piece of tape around his head five times, making sure to cover his mouth in the process. I didn’t want to hear anything the mother fucker had to say. Then finally, sticking each of my pointer fingers into the center of the tape roll, I had wrapped the remaining tape around the chair in tight circles, each revolution sealing his body and his fate closer to that chair. It was secured to a support beam in the middle of the room with a heavy chain and an old gym lock I had found.
He was awake, but groggy as if he had recently come to. He looked at me through pleading eyes. I could tell that he recognized me, the house, and the helplessness of the situation. His left ear was red, the source of the dried blood that ran down his neck. His right cheekbone was a swollen black and purple mound. Above his right eye it looked like someone had slit open the end of his eyebrow and inserted a golf ball.
I drank my drink and just stared at him. So far, everything had worked out according to my plan. Now came the part where I made him pay for what he had done to my wife and my friends. He killed my wife. My wife. The realization hit me like a punch to the stomach, as if I truly understood it for the first time. This man in front of me took away the woman I loved and changed my very being. This cock sucking dirtbag piece of shit. The anger started rising inside of me as the alcohol hit my system. I threw my empty glass against the wall.
“Why the fuck did you do it?” I yelled at him.
There was a look of fear in his eyes and a muffled, “Hmm hmmm?” It could have been “Do what?” or “I’m sorry” or anything I wanted it to mean. I chose it to mean “Fuck you,” so I slapped the golf ball in his face. I felt it squish under my palm.
“I asked why the fuck you killed my wife, you piece of shit.” I spat in his face, the alcohol in my saliva disinfecting his cuts.
“Hmmmm hmmm hmm!” he replied, each muffled word rising in pitch while decreasing in length. His head started to shake from side to side, attempting to indicate the negative use of the word “Hmmm.”
I responded to his answer with a solid punch to the face. Blood and snot poured out of his nose; tears poured out of his eyes. His head was still shaking as he made the chair jump, trying to make his answer heard. His voice rose to a high-pitched squeal like a pig’s, which was exactly what he was. So I let him know.
“You sound like a fucking pig. Squeal, little piggy!” I shouted at him, each word a verbal assault accompanied by a physical one. Right fist, left fist, repeat. I hammered out months of sadness through aggression. Soon his entire face was slick with his own blood. My knuckles were stained with it. I stopped to catch my breath.
“So what happened, you fucker? Why would you break into my house and kill my wife? What did she ever do to you, you fucking psychopath?”
His shoulders shuddered with heavy sobs as he tried to extract oxygen through bloody mucus. His head still shook “no” but it had slumped down, no longer looking at me, his chin touching his chest. I took the sudden change in his head placement to mean that he disagreed with my last allegation. Or maybe he was just about unconscious.
The police hadn’t said anything about forced entry on the night of Vicky’s death. There were no broken windows or jimmied locks. “You did break in?” I half asked, half told him. All I could hear was bubbling snot forced in and out of his nose and that stupid high pitched squeal starting again. “Quit fucking crying. I’m trying to think.” Was he already there that night? Had he been invited in? Had Vicky let him in? That felt more correct. I came to a new conclusion.
“Were you sleeping with my wife?” My voice returned to speaking volume for the moment. The chair resumed jumping and his shaking intensified as his eyes widened. The squealing tapered off into a whimper and the tears in his eyes were no longer from the physical abuse. I stepped back and stared at him through narrowed eyes, trying to process this new information that somehow wasn’t entirely new. I felt a distant tug of recognition trying to remember something.
“Were you sleeping with my wife?” I asked again. I entertained the idea. I had been working an insane amount of hours and the long commute hadn’t made it any better. She was always my best friend, but was I really hers? Memories unlocked and flooded into my mind. Silent nights not speaking to each other. Meals eaten alone while she sat in another room. The glass she had thrown at me after I put it in the sink instead of the dishwasher. Every interaction, an event, a struggle to get from start to finish. She had even resorted to sleeping in a different room. At the time, I had refused to see these facts for what they were. My excuse was that these were just the trials and tribulations of marriage. How did I not remember this? I had told my mind to ignore the signs. I had convinced myself that she really did love me, that she would never cheat. My mind now told me otherwise. Had I really blocked it all out? My head began throbbing. I needed another drink.
I ran upstairs to get a drink and to think this through. So Vicky wasn’t a perfect angel; she was human. That didn’t stop her from being the woman I loved, my best friend and life companion. I had tried to show my love as best as I knew how, but sometimes it wasn’t good enough. Every relationship went through ups and downs. Had she really run to the arms of another man? There was a familiar sting in my heart, like an old knife reopening a wound that had partially been healed over with lies. I hated cheaters. They were just as bad, if not worse than murderers. With murder, the person dies completely. With cheating, the person cheated on was forced to live with the pain the cheater created, emotionally dead but still physically alive.
Alternate scenarios played out in my head a thousand times in the passing minutes while I sat there. Maybe she had realized her mistake and had tried to end it wit
h Shawn. I could have forgiven her if she really did love me. Maybe Shawn had gotten jealous, gone crazy, and killed her. And then to hurt me even more, he killed the only friends I had. That had to be it. I finished my drink.
I returned to the basement and Shawn was unconscious again, blood drying with the tears and snot on his face. I crossed the basement and ripped open the lid of the brown storage box I hoped held what I was looking for. I pulled out my old college yearbook, my diploma, and a few random pictures of me with people I didn’t talk to anymore. Then I found it. The ring I received while riding the pine to the national championships for football in my junior year. Putting it on the middle finger of my right hand, I noticed the gold was tarnished, but I still couldn’t help admiring the huge red ruby in the center. It was the most expensive thing I never earned. I then transferred my wedding ring to my right hand and grabbed a solid steel wrench from my toolbox in the corner. I walked back across the basement and faced Shawn again.
“Rise and shine, mother fucker!” I screamed and swung the wrench down. I felt his entire cheek bone disintegrate from the blow. He woke up, eyes screaming in pain, the duct tape over his mouth pushing out and sucking in rapidly with each gasping breath he took. The blow had torn his left cheek apart, leaving a flap of skin hanging over the entire side of his now sagging face.
I stepped back, momentarily admiring my work, and then drove my fist into his stomach. I heard his ribs crack with the satisfying snap heard in lobster commercials on TV. How refreshing. Burning liquid hit my forehead and dripped into my eyes. I looked up and saw vomit spewing out from around the duct tape covering his mouth like a thumb over a garden hose of bile. I considered letting him choke to death but didn’t think that was quite fitting enough. Not yet.
