I can hear them in the corridor.
I know the shuffle of their shoes.
They’re coming to give me my pill.
I gave up trying to fight them since I’ve been back here, since they just sit on you and get the fat guys in white to hold you down, then they pull your pants down and stick it up your arse, laughing at you.
So I’m taking them.
But I’ll stop.
And I’ll get them.
I’ll get them all.
They’ve killed two of my allies since I got out.
They say they’ve gone, but I know they did away with them and they’re serving them up in the pies.
That’s why I’ve gone vegan.
It’s my human rights, you know.
I read that out there.
I won’t keep taking their pills for ever.
People don’t know about the plan to take over the planet.
You’re being used.
They’re all agents, they all work together.
Outside, through my window I can see one of them.
They’re coming, I can hear the door opening and I can see their shadows in the mirror.
Richard Godwin’s novel “Apostle Rising” is now available! He is also widely published in magazines such as A Twist Of Noir and Pulp Metal Magazine and anthologies, as well as being a produced playwright. His story “Pike N Flytrap” is in the latest issue of Needle Magazine and his story “Face Off” is in Issue #5 of Crime Factory. You can check out his writing credentials here and listen to his recent interview on The Authors Show
https://richardgodwin.net
You can order your copy of “Apostle Rising” here https://www.bookmasters.com/marktplc/03188.htm
**MIM**
Mad Dash
Angel Zapata
They had been talking about voicing one’s needs.
“Speaking of voices,” Shirley rolled up her sleeves and showed Dash the row of scars on each forearm. “I feed them blood. It’s the only way to shut them up.”
She had just come back into the living room from the kitchen. Dinner had been great. Two glasses of wine later, she said she had something to show him.
What the fuck? Dash was on the couch. He nervously played with his tie. “Uh, it’s getting late. Maybe we should call it a night. I’ll… call you. Okay?”
Shirley leapt over the coffee table and straddled him. “Wait!” Her hands were on his face. “Listen.”
Dash strained his ears, but couldn’t hear a damn thing except for his own erratic heartbeat.
It was their third date. When Shirley had agreed to come back to his place he was sure they were going to do ‘the deed.’
Boy was he wrong.
They had met at work. She was training as a cashier. Dash was mopping up a spill at aisle five when he spotted her. She was gorgeous; short blond hair, blue eyes and legs that went on forever. They made eye contact and she smiled. There was something about her that was so familiar. The next night they went out for coffee.
Who would have thought the chick was a psycho? Dash pried her hands loose and examined her arms. “Did you do this to yourself?”
“Yes,” she bit her bottom lip, “one for each voice.”
“You do know how nuts this sounds, right?” Dash clenched his jaw. “Please get off of me.”
She bowed her head and a single tear fell on Dash’s shirt pocket. “I thought you’d understand.” She slid off his body and fell to her knees.
Dash rose and made his way to the front door. Hurting other people he could understand. But hurting yourself? “How do you figure that?”
“Because Dybbuk told me.”
Dash froze. How the hell does she know about you? “What did you say?” He faced her again.
She looked up from the floor. “Dybbuk told me.”
“I don’t know who you’re talking about.”
“Of course you do.” She hiked her skirt up and exposed a milky-white thigh. “See?” Blood was oozing from a freshly bandaged wound. “He’s grown quiet now.”
Impossible, Dash thought.
“Nothing is impossible,” he heard Dybbuk whisper in his head. “Can’t you see them?”
Dash focused his eyes on Shirley. She peeled the bandage off and licked it. In the dim light of the room, he could see dark shapes flicker behind her. One of them had horns and fangs. He’d have to do something about that.
“You ever see who these voices belong to?” Dash asked. There were so many sharp items in the room; he didn’t know which one to use on her first.
“Tonight was the first time.” She was laughing, pointing all around room. “Look at all the women you’ve killed. We’re all here with you.”
That’s why she seemed so familiar.
There was a mirror on the wall above the loveseat. Dash stared at his reflection. Behind him, the room was empty. He adjusted his tie and winked. Dybbuk winked back.
Shirley’s bones lay still beneath the house.
“So how do you want to spend the rest of the night, Shirley?” He stretched out his scarified arms.
Shirley slid cold arms around his waist. “Let’s do something totally crazy.”
Angel Zapata is the author of The Man of Shadows, a horror short story collection released by Panic Press and available on Amazon. Visit https://arageofangel.blogspot.com/
**MIM**
The Giver, The Taker, The Monster
Benjamin Sobieck
My girlfriend was like, "I'm tired of your my limp dick. Go see a doctor." And I'm all like, "Whatever, bitch, I'm over fuckin' you anyway."
But I figure gettin' checked out ain't a bad thing. For the sake of the snatch I ain't speared yet.
That's called, "being a giver."
They start with a physical. Pokin' this and proddin' that and cuppin' these and strokin' it. Everything looks good. Then on to the piss in the cup. I ask if I should give them a semen sample, too. I'm a giver, see.
They say no. Fine with me, there's no porno in the place anyhow. Wish there was, 'cause they have me waitin' around forever after I give 'em the piss cup.
Then this totally hot nurse comes in and tells me my "cree-at-uh-nin" and "B-U-N levels" are something something. I forget, 'cause I'm checkin' out her fine B-U-N level.
I tell her I can only understand bitches when they talk into my cock. I shake the buckle on my belt.
That's called, "empafizing a point."
She's like, "Sir, you have end-stage renal disease. Kidney failure. This is very serious. Your erectile dysfunction is a symptom of it. There may have been other symptoms, but kidney failure is a quiet condition. You probably wouldn't have known without a urine analysis."
"Are you sure you don't wanna do that physical again, sweetheart?" I says.
She's like, "I'm going to leave now."
And I'm thinkin', good, leave, you prude. Get that fine ass back on the treadmill.
Then in walks Dr. Well. I forget his real name, but he says "well" a lot.
"Well, with kidney failure, there are three options," doc says. "Get a kidney transplant, go on dialysis or do nothing."
"Doin' nothin' sounds good to me," I says.
"Well, if you do nothing you'll die in six months."
"I got pelts to snag. What 'bout a transplant?"
"Well, you'd need to find a suitable kidney donor. But your chances are very low. Your blood type is O. That's the universal blood type when giving an organ or blood. Unfortunately, it's the worst one when receiving."
"But I'm all about the big O when I'm receivin'," I says. "Especially head."
"Well, uh, OK then. Even if you do find a donor kidney, your body will likely reject it. Your medical history tells me you've had numerous infections in your life. As a reaction, your body built up many kinds of antibodies. Your risk of rejection is very high."
Holy shit, this guy is intense. Probably hasn't had pussy in years.
I
says, "So do nothing, that sucks. Get a transplant, that sucks. What's left?"
"Well, dialysis. You're attached to a machine that does the work of your kidneys. It cleans your blood. It takes several hours to do. You'd have to do it at least three times per week."
OK, now this guy is just makin' shit up. "Get the fuck outta 'ere," I says.
"Well, people choose dialysis for a number of reasons. Some can't find transplants. Others are elderly and wouldn't recover well from transplant surgery. Dialysis is hard on the body, though."
Now I'm gettin' all sweaty and fidgety. I says, "Well well well, Dr. Well. Looks like you gave me a buncha shitty options."
Kinda wish my girlfriend was here. She always knows how to make me feel better. Run her hands through my hair. Whisper in my ear. Tell me it'll be OK.
But no, she had to work today. It's my own fault. I'm a giver. I gave her permission to get a job. Should be at home keepin' up her figure. Maybe then I could get it up.
"Well, whatever decision you make, do it soon. You have six months of kidney function left. That means six months of clean-ish blood. That's more than a lot of my patients," doc says.
I says, "This is all real nice of you to talk about my kidneys and stuff. But I don't have no problem gettin' it up. I'll show you. Get that nurse back in here."
"Excuse me?" doc says. He's lookin' at me like I just pissed on the Pope.
"I'll universally donate my type O in her mouth," I says.
Doc is shufflin' his papers, gettin' all weird on me. Then he stops. "Well, show me then," he says.
He leaves for a while and comes back with the nurse. And I'm all like, "Hells-yeah" when she walks in.
Doc tells the nurse, "This gentleman would like to demonstrate he can have an erection. Please assist him. Orally."
That doc is a stone cold pimp. No shit, you can't make this up.
The nurse unbuckles my belt. I hop up on the exam bed and lay back. I'm thinkin', "Fuck-yeah."
The nurse starts goin' to town on my junk. I grind it into her face. It helps her do her job. I'm a giver like that.
But, fuck me, I still can't get that shit up. Somethin' must be wrong with this bitch. Probably used to eatin' pussy.
That's when I feel the doc pullin' straps over my chest. "What the fuck?" I says.
I look at the nurse but she's gone. The bitch starts helpin' the doc strap me down. Can you believe that shit?
Then a bunch of these big guys run in. They pull more straps over me. It's so tight. I can't wiggle my fuckin' toes. They unlock the wheels on the bed and roll me out the room.
Next thing I know, I'm beside this little girl. She's on a bed, too, with a bunch of tubes and shit attached to her arms. A big machine is next to her.
The doc leans over me and says, "Jane here is 12 years old. Like you, she has kidney failure. Like you, she's blood type O. But unlike you, she's out of time. She's hooked up to this dialysis machine 24 hours a day just to stay alive. Without a transplant soon, she'll die."
"Good for her," I says.
I feel this prick in my right elbow pit. That shit hurts. Then it hurts worse. They're threadin' something up into my vein. Feels like a motherfuckin' worm.
Doc says, "An IV normally puts things into blood. But it can be used to drain, too. It can do it very quickly. Time is of the essence in Jane's case."
What the fuuuuck?
"Remember how I told you O is the universal donor blood type?" doc says. "Life is all about givin g."
"I been g ving all my life. She cant hav e my blood," I says.
"I 've seen pe ple like you b fore. Evil. Monsters. Mad on domination. You take an d tak e and t ke. Now you'll kn w what it is to give. I'm g ing to take your ch nce at lif e. With your bl oo d Jane m ght live l ng eno gh to get a tr nspl nt."
And I was lik , 'T is is some cr zy s it.'
Oh mn ths is sm crz sht
I ai nt n giv r
f k...
Benjamin Sobieck really did receive a kidney transplant in 2010. He writes crime novels and flash fiction, but pays the bills working for a non-fiction publisher. Check out his website at https://CrimeFictionBook.com or https://MinnesotaAuthor.com
**MIM**
Heart Shaped Hammer
Sean Patrick Reardon
I push the Sgt. Peppers CD into the disk player of the Lincoln, select track six, and the tears start coming before “She’s Leaving Home” begins. I have listened to this Beatles song every day for six months, waiting. This will be the last time, forever.
The day she was born.
I was always what doctors and educators now call ‘hypersensitive’. Even at six-years old, “Eleanor Rigby” would have me crying my eyes out. Nobody came. I was not sensitive earlier this evening though and I will not be telling my version of Father McKenzie what I have done. No one except my wife will ever know.
The pink Barbie nightgown.
Julie was fifteen, would have been sixteen last month, if he hadn’t given her the poison that night. I know in my broken, yet guilt free heart, the right thing has been done tonight.
The first day of kindergarten.
We didn’t like him from the start, ended up forbidding it to go any further. Parents know such things, if they have lived fun, adventurous lives growing up like my wife and I had. He was bad news and we knew it.
First Holy Communion.
Sure, Julie protested, sulked, got dramatic, maybe even hated us in the way only a teenage girl can. We honestly thought it was over. The cell phone, computer, and schoolbag were secretly checked out of love, not distrust, of her at least.
The adolescent female secrets I was not supposed to know about.
A Saturday night at the mall with her friends was not something to be concerned about. Trust earns rewards and she hung around with a good bunch of girls. I dropped them off myself, leaving the pickup to another parent.
The junior high prom
We got the call that Julie was not there when it was time to leave the mall. The parent told us the other girls said she left with someone, but had not returned like she was supposed to. Him!
Christmas mornings, vacations, and Confirmation.
Calls to her cell phone went straight to voicemail, text messages weren’t answered. A half hour later, the police called, telling us they knew where she was. We were scared and concerned, but relieved.
The hospital.
We rushed to the emergency room. The officer we met at the entrance mentioned heroin and overdose. She was in very bad condition. He told us the suspect, him, had fled the scene, but was apprehended and in custody at the police station. A house party was where they found her, details were still scarce. Julie died before we got to see her, say goodbye, or tell her how much we loved her.
The body identification.
He gave her alcohol and she sniffed some powder that he offered her, telling her it would make her feel alive and relaxed. Everyone does it. Julie lost consciousness. He left her to die on the bedroom floor of the house where the party took place.
The funeral
My wife and I attended every court appearance. He cleaned up well, even wore glasses. Turns out he was a popular kid, promising athlete, even had decent grades and was accepted to a college. This meant nothing to my wife and I. He was a killer and a coward. Many people spoke on his behalf, but none on Julie’s.
The plea bargain and probation.
We were destroyed. Life as we knew it was decimated. There was no other child to transfer our love to. Julie’s room and belongings were left just the
way they were when she left for the mall that night. It was not fair, justice had not been served, and we were helpless. Or were we?
The six-months spent waiting, watching, and suffering.
He hadn’t changed his ways, never went to college, and was selling drugs again. We were sure of this, had the proof. I watched him leave his dealer’s house and as he walked down the dark street toward his car, I pulled up next to him pretending to ask directions. I had sixty seconds and absolutely nothing to lose. If I got caught, I did not care.
The abduction
The bucket hat, long haired wig, and fake beard ensured he wouldn’t recognize me and run. I sprayed Mace in his eyes and jumped out of the Lincoln, clutching an aluminum bat. I cracked him across the side of the head. He fell to the ground, unconscious, and I took his cell phone from his pants pocket. He fit nicely in the trunk of the car, his mouth taped shut, hands and feet zip tied.
All the things we never got to do with Julie.
I pulled into the two car garage at our house and the automatic door closed once I was inside. The other bay was empty. I dragged him out of the trunk, letting his body crash face down onto the plastic that covered the concrete floor. I rolled him over and wrapped more tape around his mouth, before kicking him in the groin and stomping on his face, crushing and flattening his nose. I hit him in the ribs with powerful swings of the bat. He was now ready.
The sledgehammer
I broke him in every possible way. His clothes and skin became nothing more than a facade for shattered, splintered, and grossly disjointed bones. I thought about the disassembly of Steven “Willy” Williams as he looked up at me and I brought the hammer down on his head with all my rage and hatred. He was finally gone.
The hacksaw
My wife did a fine job covering the floor and walls with plastic. There will be no blood evidence, or any other trace of what has been done. I wished she could be there with me, but she decided to stay in the house and keep the bed warm for my return. I started by removing his head, then cut off his legs at the knees, and arms at the elbows. The remaining stumps were severed at the torso.
The disposal.
Eight Days of Madness Page 2
