Monthly Archives: December 2010

Dignity for the Dead


It rained all night. The next morning, Daniel found a dead mole on his front lawn, victim of a flooded home.  The sight of the tiny, lifeless drowning victim both saddened and repulsed him .  A turn of nausea forced him to look away before retrieving a shovel from the garage to tend to it’s burial.

Although the rain had passed, a stiff breeze stirred a small shower of rainwater that had been clinging to the outstretched branches of the large, red oak tree standing overhead, chilling him to the core.  Yet, he endured it with grim stoicism, returning to the place where the mole lay.

He carefully scooped up the corpse along with a little of the dirt and grass just near the small burrow where it was resting.  He offered the smallest prayer of gratitude in the form of a nod and the release of breath he had been holding, and headed for the backyard.   Picking out a spot under his largest tree, he rolled the body off the shovel on to the ground,  dug down about a foot into the damp earth and laid the soil aside.  Using the very tip, he gently rolled the body into the hole, sure to fill and tamp the hole firmly enough that the dogs wouldn’t easily disturb the grave.

Leaning on the shovel, he stood, eyes closed in solemn remembrance of all of the others he had buried over the years .  He thought of their bodies becoming food for this grand tree, and reached out to touch the tree with no small amount of tenderness and gratitude.   Even if he couldn’t yet feel it in his body, he could feel his rapidly approaching death in the mole buried at his feet.

In touching the tree, he had  surrendered his stoicism.  It’s stony wall began to crumble as salty tears slowly filtered into his mouth, and his eyes began to flow with wet, bitter sorrow.   Sorrow, for the the years of his son’s life that he would never see.  Sorrow, for the years that he had hoped to spend with his wife.   Flashes of events he would never see emerged in his mind:  Jacob’s graduation, he and Ashley’s twenty-fifth wedding anniversary, grandchildren.    He mourned a fatherless child and widowed  woman.  The thought of their pain and loss was unbearable to him as he began to shake with the force of his tears.

With a deep, cleansing breath he ended his weeping.

He returned the shovel to its place on the garage wall, wiped his muddy boots off on the patio doormat, and entered the warmth of his home.  Not wanting to track any of the dirt or rain onto the kitchen floor, he took a moment to pull off his boots and set them by the door to dry.

It was still early on a Saturday, but his son had risen nonetheless to join him at the kitchen table and share a sip of coffee.

Jacob, glancing at his fathers wet boots by the door asked, “So, whatcha been doing?”

Daniel nodded his head with a measure of gravity and sipped his coffee.

“I buried a critter this morning:  a mole.”

Jacob met his father’s gaze with a dignity beyond what a ten-year-old boy should ever need to possess, as he nodded and sipped his own cup of coffee.


Pure Evil


He’d seen it in the doctor’s notes.  He’d heard it from his own lips–from the one man that actually tried to help him.

The one man who took the time, actually dedicated his life, to reach the humanity in this child, and he had given up.

He would show Dr. Loomis what it really looked like.

It doesn’t hurt the way I do.

It doesn’t fear the way I fear.

I’ll give them what they need.  They need to know that it exists so that they can live the way they live….

I will burn in hell for them…so they can sleep at night.  They’ll remember what Halloween really is–it is not a game.

He stood in dark, tree covered obscurity,  hospital gown clinging wet to his powerful shoulders, pulse raging, in the cold autumn rain, waiting for his chance.

No longer a child.

No longer innocent.

A surge of adrenaline shot through his veins as the first glimmer of headlights flashed onto the wet road just outside the hospital grounds.  Michael Myers was alive now, and he lived for one purpose:

Pure Evil


Try the Salsa, y’all!


I first noticed her hovering around the breakfast bar while struggling with the pump on the coffee dispenser.   I’ll be honest.  I’m not a fan of chatty food service professionals, and was already struggling to form a game plan to avoid the chit-chat assault that was fast approaching my vicinity. As I reached the juice dispenser I began to glean bits of what I was up against. She wasn’t just chatting, she had an agenda, and it all seemed to center around a bowl of some diminutive form of salsa. It was just a grade above the hot sauce that comes in packets at fast food Mexican restaurants.

I could see a very disturbing pattern forming here. She would step out with an empty tray or cruise the hotel dining area for empty plates, then she’d return to the eggs where she had displayed the salsa very prominently.   She was watching for something. But for what, I was not quite sure. Then, to my horror, the full agenda of Chatty Cathy the Holiday Inn Express breakfast bar professional, was fully revealed when a woman cautiously reached for salsa. Cathy pounced.

“Ooo, I see you’re trying the salsa with your eggs,” she said with perverse enthusiasm, blocking the buffet line.

“Oh, yes, I saw it there and thought That sounds interesting. I’m going to give it a try.”

“I’d never heard of it myself before just a few weeks ago. It just doesn’t seem like it would be gooooood? I don’t usually like real spicy stuuuuuuuff?  But I really got hooked on it…..yewwwwww know…sooooooo…I just went ahead suggested it to the manager myself.”

Myself.

This word really rang out. It hung in the air like a foul odor. I had heard similar words uttered by grocery store baggers, receptionists at doctors’ offices, and interns of any profession … people with big ideas and small positions. This was far worse to me than general chattiness. She meant for me try this salsa. She had a son or a nephew who had visited San Antonio or Santa Fe or El Paso or somewhere in the Southwest and who had spooned Pace Picante sauce on her eggs one visit on Christmas or Thanksgiving or something and she was not going to rest until she had spread the gospel of bad salsa on eggs.

How would I get passed this to get to the sausage and biscuits? How would I reach my fruity yogurt and Corn Pops cereal. Corn Pops for Christ sake! This was not the crappy organic cereal at home. This was FUCKING CORN POPS!!

In the distance I heard the cry of a young child, “Mommy! It burns my mouth!”

No!  I would not make it passed her without salsa somewhere on my plate.

But just as she began to sidle up to me the voice of a savior rang out. It was the voice of authority and reason.

“Carol. Can I see you for a moment?”

Apparently her name was not Chatty Cathy the Salsa Nazi. It was Carol. Carol attempted one parting shot before she stepped away from the egg station.

“Hey. You oughta try the salsa on your eggs.  But juuuuust a little, you know. It’s preeeeeetty spicy. But it gives it just a little kick, you know?”

I stared at her, speechless and terrified. I looked at the eggs. I looked at the salsa. Then looked at the Corn Pops. She was relentless. Merciless. Exuberant. Undeniable.

But the hotel manager was too quick. She touched Carol on the arm and spoke her name once more. She led her out into the hall. The manager spoke in hushed tones. The only piece I  could make out was, “Carol. We’ve talked about this. The answer was no. Corporate was very specific.”

The conversation was over. The manager stepped briskly into the dining area grabbed the bowl of salsa off of its decorative stand, and disappeared through the service door.

Carol stood in the hall, deflated.  I could just make out the words on her lips as she spoke them to the floor. “I thought it was a good idea. I liked the salsa.”

My heart sank. It was just salsa after all. Did it really hurt to set some salsa out by the eggs? Some people like salsa on there eggs. Even bad salsa.

“Ma’am?” I said to the manager as she reappeared through the service door. “Do you have any salsa? I’d like some with my eggs.”

The manager returned with the salsa. Her face and ears were flush and her smile was forced.  I’d duped her, and she knew it. She glared at Carol who was sauntering up to the egg station, revived and triumphant.

“Mmmmm. Ain’t them salsa and eggs good?”


Deeper Hunger


DISCLAIMER:  The following contains scenes of a graphic nature. Consider yourself warned.

The woods were still thick with the stench of his cruelty, as he stalked his next victim.  She walked alone.  It was as if she…wanted to be found.

Too easy.

This time, his appetite for human flesh far exceeded his need for mere sustenance.

With the stealth only a predator such as he possessed, he tracked her path, sometimes behind, sometimes ahead…sometimes just a few steps beside.   With razor sharp senses, he slowly pieced together a thorough knowledge of her; touching every part of her with his cold canine eyes, and breathing  in the essence of his prey.   Nostrils flared, he drank in the perfume of her fresh womanhood, igniting his baser instincts.   He bared his deadly fangs as hot saliva began to drip from his mouth.   She poured into him, and like fresh blood from a kill, intoxicated his mind and body so that he was enslaved with hunger for her flesh.

No!  Not this way!

With all the remaining  power of his still potent mind, he cooled his instincts, easing the cursed grip that had so ferociously choked out nearly all semblance of humanity from his beastly form.  He ached for more in her than just another hot meal.   He ached–and hungered now–for her beauty, knowing that he may never know beauty in the world again.    And he wanted to be more to her than her death.  He wanted to be her entire world before the end; her awakening, her ecstasy, her love, her life, her agony, and ultimately, her death.

Then she stopped in her tracks, neither turning nor trembling.  She let him approach her.

“And where are you going, little girl?” breathed the wolf onto the hood of her crimson red cape.

Still not turning, breathing shallow and quick, she said, “I’m looking for my lover.”

“You needn’t search any longer.  Your lover is dead,”  he growled.

Still she stood with her back to him.

“And you’re not afraid, my lady?”

“Yes!” she gasped, chest heaving.  “Yes, I’m afraid.”

Again, he drank her in, deeply, searching her thoughts and feelings.

“As well you should be, little girl.  Do you know who I am?”  he crooned.

“Yes! Yes,” she replied, her words catching on her breath.  “I know who you are. ”

His croon grew into a low growl.  “And yet you stand before me…alone…in the woods.”

Cunning girl.  She fears me, yes, but why doesn’t she run?

So close now that the lingering death on his breath caressed her fair cheek,  and she shuddered…or trembled.  He would gain full power over her flesh before it was over.

Come, my child,” he breathed, “come with me to where the fragrance of flowers will adorn your beauty.”

And then she turned to face him.  She beheld his beastly form with both fear and awe, and….

And what’s this?  What’s this I see in beauty’s eye?

Never had he stood face to face with his prey.  Never had he looked into the eyes of his victim and seen anything but mortal terror.

How dare she behold me in such a way!

Exploding in a thrust of carnal rage, he seized her and tore through the wilderness to the bed of flowers that awaited his feasting in the silvery meadow.  The moonlight poured onto the vile scene of the beast throwing his prey down onto the damp earth as he raised his inhuman snout to the source of his power–the mistress of his curse–and cut the night with his wild howls.

She lay before him, still gazing directly into the eyes of certain death, further enraging him.  His lips curled over his murderous teeth as he snarled and pounced.  With three swipes of his merciless claws he shredded her clothes from her body leaving her naked and oozing with crimson, writhing in agony.

With all of her remaining strength, she raised her face once again to meet his eyes, now even more boldly than before.

“YES!  WOLF!”  she screamed.  “YES!!!”

She taunts me?!!!!

As her life slowly drained from her body, he plunged himself between her legs with violent power.  He commanded her flesh.  Her screams penetrated his beastly heart.  He intoxicated himself with the aroma of her terror and ecstasy as he tore into her, devouring her, piercing her,  destroying her.  Her body spasmed as his saliva dripped into her wounds.  He snorted and growled and howled, caught in the throes of his hunger for both flesh and beauty.

After his final, terrible thrust, she lay beneath him, nearly lifeless.  Silence fell upon the meadow.  Moonlight bathed her limp body lighting what few patches of milky white remained unstained by blood as she groaned and gasped for life and for death.

“I am yours, ” she breathed.  “I am yours.  I found you.  Oh my love, I found you.”

With her final breath, the words remained formed on her lips.

And so she had.  She had found him there in the woods.  She had been searching for him.

And now she lay dead before him.  In horror, he sensed the last shred of his humanity well up in his pounding heart.

Hunched over her, he beheld the faint remnant of her beauty, and read the final words on her lifeless lips.   With a rush of anguish and pain he again split the air with his howls.  But instead of screams of violence, he raised a new song for all the forest to hear.  He howled a long, mournful cry, and something deep in him began to quake and throb.  Something deep and aching and ancient and beautiful.  His howls echoed through the lonely woods…

and he wept.

He wept for his lost love.  In that moment, the object of his beastly desires had become the object of his human love.

His tears mingled with her blood, washing it slowly away from her pale body before he collapsed into a deep sleep among the fragrance of flowers and death, dreaming far into his murky past, before curses and murder to a time when beauty reigned in his life.

He awoke to the long forgotten sensation of flesh on his own human flesh.

Where is cursedness? The thought grew brighter in his dim mind.  Where is cursedness?  And what is this?

He awoke to beauty.

“Beauty,” he croaked. “What happened to us?”

And she spoke.

“I found you.”