Smart phones are handy but they are also portals into our nightmares. 

Nebraska Gothic: The House We All Stay Away From

Nebraska Gothic: The House We All Stay Away From

By Graham Swanson

 

    Every night Tora imagined her favorite doll Malinko came to life under the autumn moon. It stood at four feet tall, its face painted by a traveling circus performer, its arms long and dangly, its high socks up to the stitches where its knees bent. She lay with it in her bed and she sang Old Macdonald every night, told it stories, and danced with it. She even kissed its red locks. 

    Tora took it with her all over the farm until its cream fibers darkened to a ruddy brown and its red hair turned black. When her father died she held it close to her chest for days, and told it every secret and fear she possessed. One day she decided to leave the toy behind, and she grew into a violent teenage girl. One of the most beautiful girls she knew dated the son of the Fire Marshall. She was tall, blonde, and undoubtedly in love with the striking boy who spent his last scrawny summer swimming until toxic algae consumed him. 

    One day this Fire Marshal's son and his friends started picking on a meek boy who watched the sports team practice from the tall grass. Both his parents died, and ever since he spoke to no one in the school except for worms he pulled from the soil. He spoke to them and laughed like old friends at lunch time. The boys made him eat those worms, and after that proceeded to track him down every day. 

    Tora cornered his girlfriend in the locker room and pressed a switchblade against her tits. She made it clear that if her boyfriend tormented the wormeater ever again then she'd come back, and cut them both off. The boys never picked on the boy again. Tora spent the rest of school year in and out of detention. In another incident, she fell in love with a tall boy from the white trash towers where all the low lives lived. 

    Her lover had no car, no job, no money, but his cock felt like magic to her. As much as she enjoyed listening and encouraging him, holding him and whispering to him, something about him pissed her off. He never gave her flowers, he never took her anywhere nice, he didn't even do anything for Valentine's Day. As the passionate nights turned to weeks, and weeks to months, he noticed a change in her behavior. When alone she'd take him by the hair and beat his face with both fists. She pounded his cheekbones until her knuckles cracked. 

    At home her mom forbade her to see her boyfriend. She made the car off limits, took her keys, called off trips to town, called his parents so they understood that she expected no nights over at his home. "I need you to get a job." Her mother argued with her daughter. "There's an opening at Julbricks. It's a nice chicken place, you'll make good money there." 

   "Are you crazy?"  Tora just celebrated her 16th birthday. Her new driver's license with privilege just came in the mail. She wanted a tattoo. She wanted to get her nose and tongue pierced. Her mom forbade those too. The girl grabbed her mom by the throat and they rolled around on the living room floor. They screamed and battled until the county police arrived. They never knew who called the police. They lived in the dark of the country where the only water came from creek wells.

    Pressure built up in Tora's mind. The things that brought her pleasure no longer made her happy. The cloud of unhappiness grew over her head. She hated the music she used to enjoy. She hated the food she used to eat. The games she liked made her tired, and the friends she made only irritated her. The only satisfaction came from taking pins from her hair and digging them into her arm. 

    One night she screamed into the mirror and punched it to pieces. Blood and glass splattered the bathroom. She took out blades of glass and began slicing her arms apart. Across the wrist, down the arm. The way the blood flowed out made her feel faint, but entertained once again. Over the span of a few days, she let the wounds heal, then reopened them,

    Tora filled the bathtub with her blood. She plugged the drain and ran water. Her mom was away. she filled the bottom basin. Her mother finally returned, and found her daughter laying face down on the rug. 

    While racing to the hospital, a wind blew through the vacant house. Little feet scampered across the floor. Tiny hands opened the bathroom door, and  then opened the shower curtains. It smelled the pool of blood, and then lowered its head down. Slurp. Slurp. Slurp. 

    Tora spent the rest of the school year in Boystown surrounded by delinquents and criminals. Here she learned to smoke and hurl rubber balls at the ceiling. She threw them so hard that she shattered windows. The instructors blew their whistles and made the kids stand still and snap their fingers. They called in security. Large men tore open her pockets and found long shards of glass. They tore her bandages off, and saw raw wounds festering along her arms. 

    In the infirmary Tora met another boy. He just lost a fight, and lay in bed with a broken rib and a fractured shoulder. He was quiet, but tall and dark haired. After kissing him, she no longer wanted to slice her wrists open, she wanted to be with him. She liked eating junk food again. She started hanging out with other girls from school. Her new lover made her happy but he kept sneaking off back to the city. 

She texted him and texted him only to see SENT and READ but never a single reply.

    Tora waited for him to come back to her, and then she cut him with a utility knife. "Who is she?" she called out, slashing his shirt, his jeans, his shoes. "Who are you fucking?" The palms of her hands gushed blood, he kept denying it. Every night she came home reeking of fried chicken, grease, and highway grime. While she was gone, he ran around with strange women. 

    The other friends she made in Boystown kept quitting their jobs and winding up homeless. Others started doing drugs, selling their bodies, winding up in jail. She put it on herself to save them for themselves, but nothing she did controlled them. Once she woke up with morning sickness, she abandoned their city and returned home to the vacant house on the hill. Far from the lights and gunfire, where the darkness bounds forever, and the air smells like wheat and cattle. 

She texted him a third time. “There’s something important I have to tell you.” but he ignored her once again. 

   Tora smoked a cigarette and looked over the devastation. The house sat vacant in the weeds. Heavy boards crossed the front door. Shingles blew off the roof. Vandals already broke the windows. Raccoon tracks led up the siding into holes in the walls. She hid the cigarette, afraid her mother might find it. She called out to her.

    "Mom, are you home?" 

    Only the circling clouds answered. A rough wind blew the dry weeds to pieces as droplets of rain kissed her neck and sank into her clothes. Fog arose from the empty fields. The heat in the air sank as rushes of cold ran under her clothes. That morning when she left the sun shined and she wore only a thin shirt in the warm rays, now the dropping temperature chilled the meat in her bones. She hurried  up the path in the grass to the porch. Creatures scurried under the boards. She held her breath and pushed the front door open. Not a single light welcomed her homecoming. The furniture remained. She sat on the couch and but springs poked her through the cushion while other parts felt flat and tough. Little footprints left dirt on the felt.

    Tora's stomach growled. She already ate a big breakfast and a lunch of fast food but she still hungered for grease and cheese. In the kitchen he found the cupboards open, tin cans chewed open and contents spilled in the sink. Beans, carrots, cranberry sauce. Flies swarmed the windows trying to get in. 

“Mom? Are you home?” She sat on the counter and lit a cigarette. She tapped the ashes down the drain. Unopened mail sat on top of the fridge. A spider crawled out of mom’s favorite coffee cup. 

Tora left the kitchen and went towards her mother’s bedroom. Inside she saw the air conditioner had fallen out of the window. Mom’s favorite shoes sat by the wall. Tora got on her knees and looked under the bed. She slid a box out from beneath. A gun sat inside, but Tora didn’t know where mom hid the bullets. She told Tora never to fire it, but the young girl didn’t want to feel like the only one in the house. She slid the box back under the bed, and felt a little safer knowing where to reach it.

Tora tore all the drawers and shelves apart in search for the bullets. She left the room feeling defeated, and went into her own bedroom to sit down. Everything looked exactly how she remembered it except her favorite doll no longer sat in her bed. She looked under all her mounds of dirty clothes, but didn’t find it. She tore across the house to search the garbage cans. She went outside to look in the dump. Rain water pooled over a film of swollen debris. The burn barrels lay tipped over. 

Tora heard something scratch the rusty barrel. The noise came from within. She got down into the mud. Rocks scraped her knees and palms. She brushed her hair aside and saw two glittering coins looking out at her. 

A long wobbly arm reached from the dark. Soft wire, loose threads, and clumps of cotton touched her hand. She reached inside and tried to pull the doll out, but something snagged it. She reached deeper, and dislodged a shackle pinning it to the bottom of the barrel. Happily, it sang to her. 

“TORA! You’re back!” 

“Malinko? Is that you?”

“I missed you so much Tora. Wow you’re all grown up now, too! Please bring me inside. Put me on the bed. Do you still want to play? Do you still remember how to?” the toy giggled. 

“Malinko, of course I still know how to play!”  She giggled. 

“Oh, yaaay!” Malinko flailed its arms and legs in the air. They looked like ribbons blowing in the wind. “Please put me back on the bed, and we can play our favorite games.” 

Tora took the doll out of the rain. She sat the doll on her bed and sat next to him. She began inspecting his hair, his clothes, his little leather boots, the buttons holding his jacket together, the belts keeping the clothes sewed to his body. He giggled as her fingers brushed filth from his body. It tickled him and he’d fall over with laughter. Any time he touched down on the covers he caught himself and raised his body back up.

 “You’re looking for why I am alive, aren't you? It’s the paint,” he told her, and waved his little fist around the red and yellow over the mime white of his cheeks. “It comes from a special place where there’s special water deep deep deep underground very very far away from here.”

Most of the paint had been scraped off. Only the outline of his mount remained, and the points of his eyelids. The color had been bleached from his clothes and face. Visible neglect aged the doll. Tora opened her make up case.

“We can fix you.” She drew the eyeliner back on around the coins, filled in the bridge of his nose, and drew big fat lips around the hole of its mouth. Malinko laughed the whole time and ran its arms up and down her ribs. “There. Now you look better.” 

She smiled and the doll bounced on the bed.

“Good good good. Now we can play!”

“Malinko, did my mom leave? I thought she’d be here. I have something important to tell her.”

“I haven’t seen her in a long time but I think she’ll come back soon.”

“When?”

“Tonight.”

“Tonight?”

“Tonight. Until then, what should be play?”

“Oh, patty cake!” Tora clapped her hands.

“Wow a great game!” they held their hands out and slapped each others palms.

Patty cake, patty cake, baker man, bake me a cake as fast as you can…

Roll it

Pound it

Mark it with a B

Put in the Oven for baby and me

They both giggled. 

Tora got up and grabbed Malinko.

“Put me down!”

“I want to go play in the living room.”

“No, leave me on the bed please.”

“Oh, okay. That's fine. Let's sing a song!”

“A song? Yay!” the Doll rolled its head around. “How about Old Macdonald?”

Old macDonald had a farm, e I e I O

And on that farm he had a….

GOOSE, EIEI O

And that farm he had a….

COW, EIEI O

And on that farm he had a….

An Aligator! 

They both broke up into laughter. 

And on that farm he had a…

Boaconstrictor! 

They rolled on the bed and laughed. The doll ran his fist under Tora’s shirt but he pulled them out before she had the chance to retract his arms. 

That was fun. What other games should we play?”

“Actually, Malinko, I’m getting sleepy. I feel kinda nauseous. I want to go to sleep and in the morning I’ll tell mom.”

“Tell mom about what?”

“About the baby.” 

“You’ve got a baby?”

“I will.”

“That’s incredible news! We can all play together!” 

“Yes, we can play clean up, play horses, make spaghetti art-”

“And hide and seek! And hopscotch! And Red LIGHT GReen LIGHT!” 

“Yes, yes, that’s going to be wonderful.” She yawned. The clock struck midnight. They’d been playing for hours. She hadn’t slept since she learned about her kid. She didn’t even tell her boyfriend. 

“Who’s the father?””

“That would be this boy I met in Boystown…”

“Where is he?”

“Up in the city. I don’t know where.”

“A City? Who knew? The world is bigger than I thought it was.” 

“Malinko, if mom is gone, why are her shoes in her room?”

Malinko looked down at his own feet. “Beats me.”

“Oh, maybe she took her work shoes.” Tora lit a cigarette and smoked it while the doll sang another nursery rhyme. She sat in the chair facing the bed while the doll sat up on the mattress wrapped in comfy blankets. 

“Let’s play patty cake again!”

“No Malinko, I’m tired. We can play in the morning when mom gets here.” She learned back on the chair, spread her legs apart, and dropped her head. Her stomach hurt like a tight knot sinking into a vile of acid. 

“Let’s dance to our favorite song!” Malinko flailed its arms and legs with even more energy than when she first brought him inside.

“No, Malinko. I’m very tired and need to go to bed.”

“Are you sleepy?”

‘Yes.”

“Toys don’t need to sleep. Let’s sing Old Macdonald again!” It flailed on the bed tossing the pillows and stuffed animals across the room. It’s goofy face bounced high over Tora’s sleepy head.

“Please let me… onto my bed…” Her head drooped. A strong weariness sank over her eyes. Her brain felt heavy with static, as saliva filled her mouth. 

“OLDMACDONALDHADAFARM! EIEIEIEIEIEI O! Come on, Tora, sing with me! OLD MADONALDSHAD A FARM!” He screamed with a touch of anger.

“Ee, Ii, Ee, Ii, Ooh!” She whimpered. She tried to lift her head, and thought she saw the doll holding a syringe. 

“EIEI, O!” Malinko screamed leaning forward, he clapped his hands, and tightened the hole of his mouth so hard that the threads of his  lips split open. 

Tora began clapping with him. Barely conscious, she sang the verse with him, nearly sinking into the chair, nearly falling off. “And on this farm, he had a…”

“A what Tora? What did Old Macdonald have?”

“I don't know. I want to go to bed.”

“What. Did. Old Macdonald. Have on his FARM!”

“A…. duck.”

“A duck? A duck? HAHAHAHAHA. A DUCK! That’s Hilarious!” The Doll screamed and beat the bed with his fists and kicked the walls until one of his boots fell off. “And on this farm he had a Duck!”

“EI EI O” they sang together, as Tora drifted into sleep, and fell out of her chair and bit the carpet. 

The Doll stabbed her in the arm with the syringe. She tried to move and push herself up but the toxin took effect before she had the strength to push him away. She uttered on the floor and for a moment Tora called for her mom. She thought she saw her mom sitting in the corner. Not in flesh, but in fiber, painted threads, silly frilly clothes like a puffy collar. A smile mask draped over her mouth. Thumb tacks stuck deep in both eye sockets. 

Malinko stripped her shirt and pants off. The girl felt adrenaline lapse in moments of powerful slumber, then she felt it kick back in in a  way that made her crawl up the walls, only to sink back down again. Each time she saw a different part of hte house. Sometimes it would be so dark that she didn’t know where she was. She always heard the Doll’s soft feet patter around her head as he walked in circles around her, singing his favorite songs to her, brusher her hair, and bringing over new outfits to stretch across her naked body.

Silly costumes. Overalls. Big white gloves. Long red shoes. Buttons of all colors. The Doll tapped a paint brush against a jar of water. Wet splatter coated the pale flesh of her cheeks and neck. Then he heard scissors snap behind her as red hairs fell onto her shoulders. 

Tora’s boyfriend got a phone call the next morning. He ignored it, so sure enough whoever was trying to contact him blew up his phone calls and messages. He began to worry about an emergency. He had no car, no money, what would they want from him? He looked at the screen. It was so early that birds didn’t even rise to sing yet. The predators of night still roamed. 

They all came from Tora. Just more of her childlike pranks. 

“Hey Pookie. Want Mcdonalds? Want some Sonic?”

He ignored the messages but more started coming. 

“I want to play with you. Come find me. I’m where my father and his father are buried. I’m where the autumn moon shines all year. I’m where the stars meet the earth.” 

“Lets play the games we miss from our childhoods. Ring Around the Rosy and Pizza Tag.”

IS THIS WOMAN WORTH IT? 

He asked himself this as he got dressed. 

NO WAY. She’s Obviously in some kind of danger, or has gone insane. Either way, it’s better to stay here, not throw my life away. 

He showed his friends the messages. 

“Man, that girl has lost her head. You better not go anyplace she’s talking about. Where the stars meet the earth? That’s how demons talk!”

“No no, man, she’s pregnant. She doesn’t want to tell you over text, and it's making her all hormonal, so that's why she says weird stuff, but you’re probably a daddy now with that crazy girl. Way to go.”

“Up yours.” 

“Stay away from her. She’s in trouble, you need to keep your distance. Don’t throw your life away, if the devil’s got her, then he’ll get you next.” 

Months went by but the messages didn’t cease. He kept hersecret from his girlfriends and family. The messages kept getting stranger. From “Come play with me” to “I'm going to eat your heart”. Sometimes it didn’t even seem to be in English. 

“fo hrl nscld welg ez hrl pjrebo ejl, n smbb he oep”

He blocked the number, and for a few weeks she left him alone. Then one day a friend of his sent him a video captioned “THIS ONE IS FOR YOU BRO”

It was shaky, rough, dark, grainy, but he saw what looked like Tora. But smaller, wrapped in strange clothes, her face painted red and white, her eyes covered with gold coins. He looked again inthe light, and saw it wasn’t Tora- it was a doll that looked like her, but her stomach bulged and stretched. Fluid began pouring down the dolls legs. A human head appeared, a baby cried, as the soft doll arms of Malinko grabbed it by the hair and pulled it out of the mother doll. 

The Dolls, a hundred of them or more, all celebrated from shelves, counters, sofas, chairs. In the middle sitting on a high chair a Doll adorned in jewels, beard hair, long black cape, and a crown of glass, called on the dolls to sing. They all gathered around the infant, and lifted him up, singing something that sounded like Mary Had a Little Lamb but it didn’t quite sound like music. When all the dolls in the room egan to recite it, it was a like a hall of ghostly children gathered around candles in a dark torture chamber. 

‘What makes the lamb love Mary so?’

   The eager children cry.

‘Oh, Mary loves the lamb, you know,’

   The teacher did reply.

‘And you each gentle animal

   In confidence may bind,

And make them follow at your call,

   If you are always kind.

The Dolls carried the infant throughout the room of mirth and joy. Each on reached out to touch the baby. He fussed and spat as they scratched him with their claws and bit his feet with their teeth. As last they placed the baby in the lap of the crowned doll, who took hold of the back of the baby’s head with a hand of scaled flesh. 

The baby smiled when he looked up at who held him. Tall and black, caped, with horns and silver skin. A single scaled finger touched the baby’s lips, and the baby spoke to his new family.

Mary had a little lamb,

Her father shot it dead.

Now Mary takes the lamb to school

Between two hunks of bread

The dolls began to vibrate and shake their fists. Fury swept the room. The baby looked so much like his father. He stayed up locked in his apartment. His friends found him in the alley. Red hair jammed in his throat. The homeless saw it but they feared to talk about it with those who knew nothing about the fairy evil that haunts the streets and the fields.

They however scratched notes on the walls

It’s an awful thing because we can’t ignore it and we did not make it up

How did we find it?

Why would someone want us to see it? 

It’s all well and done, but cruel and sad

So we tried to keep the secret to ourselves

At first it was an outpour of grief and empathy

But at the end of the day when we looked at the blood soaked spot the boy died at,

We all felt ashamed and disgusted. 

Turning away feels wrong, putting it away is wrong. 

Someplace deep in the burning brush of the cursed trees and haunted fields, a doll dropped from the shelf. Tufts of red hair floated towards the clouds as men in masks hurled dolls to the burning field. As many as they could find. Yet even in the smoke clouds and exploding sparks, they thought they heard of the echo of a nursery rhyme, but many disregarded it as the curse of witchcraft.

THE MAN WHO ATE HIMSELF

 The Man Who Ate Himself

By Graham Swanson

To S

Hector Larenzo Ubul used to be a doctor. That’s what he told people. He wore gold necklaces that cascaded down his chest and big rings. A Pediatrician specializing in traumatic surgery. He still kept his Oxford degrees even if he had been exiled and banned from practice from several countries. The only ones left he could practice in was North Korea and Eritrea. The rest got wind of his experiments and practices and blacklisted him from any clinic above ground. 

Hector kept this secret from his wife Casimir. They lived on an island off the coast of Nicaragua in a big elegant mansion. Long ago his ancestors landed on the island, claimed it, then traded the natives rum for the constriction of the estate and many remained working under the family as they cleared forest for sugar cane and lime orchards. 

The lime orchards failed and the sugar never came. One by one the natives of the island disappeared. Probably sailed back to the mainland and never told anyone. The mansion remained however beautiful, kept up, and it featured things like their own air strip, their own harbor, their own fuel line, and their own power generators. 

Speleologists told them that the island would sink into the sea someday. The caves underground already filled with ocean water. Slowly the ground eroded, and the once fruitful forest land became swamp infested by giant man eating mosquitos. Hector didn’t want to hear it, but all the landscaping done by their forefathers caused the island to fail. Hector refused to leave.

    “When we first came here, there was nothing but snakes and huts. No air conditioning, no bathrooms, no clean running water. My family built it all here, then the protestors came, then they threw employment disputes at us, next thing you know my mother was a hostage, and we had to pay EVERYTHING we had left to spare her life from rebels from the mainland. Then began the long arduous process of identifying and destroying those involved. There’s no leaving for us.” 

Hector had many children. The first two of Casimir's he ran his experiments on, and they lived in the basement. The third one he decided not to treat. Not because of a sudden change of heart, or a wave of kindness bleeding over the earth, but because the little girl had a birth defect. He knew it as soon as he saw it. Harlequin Ichthyosis. 

Number Three's skin was like solid diamond scales. Her eyes were red. She could not be used. He needed purebred, healthy children. He didn’t expect her to live past one week. Considering the effort he would need to put forth to keep the child alive, he opted for euthanasia, but he knew the day would come when he needed a close servant. The condition was genetic, and he feared his friends might discover her. He paid for all the medicine she’d need and assigned a servant from the lab to take care of her needs. Despite the cruelty he showed everyone else, he offered Number Three the closest thing he knew to love.

Casimir was assigned to marry Hector after he performed surgery on the son of a Mafia lord. She was flown to the island and married in the cargo bay. She’d been on the island ever since. At first she cooked and cleaned, beat the rugs, and brought coffee for her husband. She never knew about his career, or the nature of his work. He never told her, and threatened to feed her to Bullet Ants if she ever asked about it. 

One day he came home, covered in blood, exhausted, broken chains around his wrists. When she begged him to tell her how it happened he hit her so hard she flew across the room and crashed into a case of dishes. So she never asked again, and started dreaming of escape. Except that she didn’t know where she was, and she didn’t know where he kept the rest of her kids. 

After Number Three was born, Hector expected different services from his wife. Now no longer would she be the mother and housekeeper. Soon they’d have a replacement for that. No, she’d be responsible for procuring more children for the island. He gave her a special computer with internet access only to a few social media websites. 

“Tell them it’s a special job. Lots of money. Easy money. We’ll fly them here. A private tutor for our beautiful children.” 

Hector looked at himself in the mirror. His elbow tendons, his nose cartilages, his pockets of meat and rings of fat. He placed a gun to his head, then loaded a bullet into it, set it down. He had a case of drugs. Stimulants. 

Hector wandered down the basement corridor and examined his failed experiments. One by one he shot them. They protested and wailed for him to stop. He shot eight, reloaded, then shot three more. He looked at the portrait of his late late late grandfather. Tall, black clothes, the flag of his brotherhood behind him, a knife on his belt, heavy black cape over his shoulder. The man sneered at his descendent in front the frame. 

“I promise you, the flame will burn on.”  

Meanwhile the island shook. Dust and bits of debris rattled from the ceiling. There wouldn’t be much time. He hurried into the operation room and locked the door behind him. He injected himself in the neck with a numbing agent, stripped naked then laid down on the table. On one side his boots and instruments. He checked the marking on his body, the circles over his vital organs, and the dotted lines over his muscles.

Casimir heard screams echo from the basement. It happened so much that she barely thought about it anymore, but the voice sounded like her husband. He forbade her from entering and kept the keys with him. He didn’t think enough about it, but she stayed in that house more often than him, and suspected that she knew about his hiding places. 

Casimir wished for death. On most days of her life. The things that once brought her happiness, the beach, the animals, food, no longer did. Even the love she had for her children stopped producing the magic chemicals that inspired joy. She laid in bed, hoped for death, barely slept, got up, started her “job” then went back to bed around midnight after drinking an entire bottle of Polish Vodka. 

Casimir almost fell asleep when she heard the door open. First she reached for a pistol under the bed as the shadow entered the room. She knew it wasn’t her husband’s shadow so she raised the gun. 

“Don't shoot me mommy.” 

Casimir got a better look through the haze. She wiped her blonde hair away from her eyes and looked into the window light. Her daughter, Number Three, stood there in a nightgown. Her thin wires of hair ran out from the side of her hat and down one side of her head. She stuck one thick black fingernail in her mouth. As her shadow shifted, her joints remained locked because it hurt her to bend them. Her eyes like dark holes  glittered in the moonlight, framed under smooth eyelids, no eyebrows. 

“What're you doing here?” Casimir lowered her gun. She never saw her but she heard the sounds in the nursery. “Did they put on your moisturizer and disinfectant?”

“No mommy she didn’t come up for days so I did it myself.” She wore layers of sterile gauze wrapping under her gown. “But I'm scared of the earthquake.” 

“Oh, Number Three, it's just the island collapsing. Soon it will be our grave and we won’t have to worry about trouble like that anymore.”

“Where is daddy? He must be in the lab.”

“You know he doesn’t like being bothered when he’s in there.” 

“What’s he doing?” 

“We don’t ask. Stop bothering me, and find something to clean. Its your fault I’m sick. Now get out and put yourself to bed.” 

Casimir started to cry and sweat. Even when she did sleep she awoke from horrid nightmares of being buried or burned alive. She awoke from thunder and nightmare with her daughter laying in her husband's spot. He still hadn’t come up. Drunk with vodka, and with a deathwish, the woman got out of bed. She tried many doors, as usual, they were locked. 

More and more of her husband’s screams echoed through the house from the basement. Deep down, everything in the cages had been shot. Bloody clothes lay in a pile. Hector lay naked, with one foot already dangling from the ankle like a ribbon. He ripped the last muscle off with his teeth, then got started on the next foot. 

As he chewed he re-examined the anatomy chart. The meat between the toes tasted the best. It was chewy and once he got his teeth in there he could rip out a large chunk of tissue. A little more blood trickled out of his mouth than he preferred so he tightened the belts around his ankles. His toes were already blue. 

The ankle bone hurt his teeth but underneath he found a capsule of tender, spongy sinews. He stuck his tongue in and licked until the marrow fell out of the bone. The veins and skin remained and he slowly tore it away bit by bit. It didn't lift off in a solid piece, but in strips like paper glued to a desk. He mostly wanted to taste the cartilage of his toe knuckles. He liked the way it crunched in his mouth. 

Once finished with his feet, he tightened the third and fourth belts. His hamstrings had gotten so fat since his work kept him from hiking much. He injected himself with more numbing agent, and brought his leg up to his mouth and sunk his teeth in. Blood dribbled down his chin and chest. 

The Doctor’s appetite only became more ferocious. He tightened belts around his quadriceps until his flesh turned purple. He checked his own notes and diagrams, and reached for a meat carving knife. The fat and flesh peeled from the meat. Despite the drugs he felt tingles of pain shoot up his spine. He dug the knife into his tendons again and sliced the muscle off his leg. Now only a bone lay wrapped in a skin stuck out as he swallowed the blood from his fat pockets.

Rats began lining up against the darkness of the walls. Their eyes bounced as they dared eachother to dart over and grab a loose cut of meat. Yet they remained in the protection of the rafters and pipes. The doctors started to scream again until he stabbed himself once more with a needle. 

Hector laid there, exhausted, rolling his head back and forth and whimpering until he noticed the row of rats. A mask of carnage drizzled off his face. His arms and hands slippery and wet. A silent laugh lit up his face. “Looks like I beat you to it for once.”

Hector tied a tether around his other leg, and tightened clamps around his stomach. After throwing a few pieces of his quad meat to the rats, he devoured its raw, chewy texture. The meat reminded him of the lizards he’d catch in the jungle. The coppery bite, the greasy splinters of bone, the bits of skin getting stuck between his teeth, and the way it made his stomach hurt. 

“Of course, the stomach.” He tightened the clamps, and drew a scalpel but he realized how slow he moved. He turned on the IV drip, red fluid filled the hose. Cold bubbles entered his arm. It hurt at first, it always does, but he felt himself come back to life. He finished eating his leg, then located the stomach and cut around the circle until a nice little hole opened up. 

The stomach bulged from its cupboard in his gut. He moved aside the shelfs of muscle to touch his stomach. Immediately blood and bile gushed from his mouth. He tried to sit up but the force of vomit reached him first. He lay there swallowing everything his body rejected and held the hole in his stomach as the cold air made the cut on his body burn. 

Once empty, Hector rested his head and felt his heavy eyelids drop. He prepared for this, and took a syringe full of stimulants and injected it right into his heart. He shot up for the table, unblinking, his heart beating through his chest, his stomach expanded out from the hole he cut. He wiped blood from his gut, and started digging into the meat of his abdomen, his thighs, and ass. 

Huge deposits of meat entered his body, but his stomach kept horking it back up. He switched to a new IV bag, and opened the hole around his stomach even wider to reach the meat under his ribs. He pressed his organs down to reach it, and CRACK- one of his ribs popped. If not for the ocean of drugs pounding through his system, the pain would’ve caused him to pass out. He reached further in to see what had broken, and to his amusement, he pulled out an entire rib covered in a soft, hair-like meat. He stuck the rib in his mouth and sucked the meat off. He opened his abdomen even more until he needed to insert splints to keep his lower intestine from rolling out of his body. 

The lights flicked as the ground and ceiling shook. Water splashed when heavy debris fell from above. He looked down and noticed the dark water ripple on the linoleum tile. He looked around for a leak, listened for rain, as slime and water ran down the walls, drenched the portrait of his judging ancestor and knocked it to the floor. 

Casimir watched the rain flood the caves and depression over the island. Her heart dropped. That’s where she kept and bedded her “recruits”. Without them to serve Hector, he would surely kill her. She tried first to contact anyone down in the caves. She dialed emergency phones she gave the guards, and all he heard when they picked up was the roar of water blasting down a pipe. 

Number Three slept so soundly in the storm. Casimir shook her until she woke up. The girl stirred with bad dreams, murmuring about mirrors, until Casimir shushed and held her close by. 

“Do you know where daddy keeps his lab keys?”

“He told me never to go into the lab.”

“They keys, sweety.” 

“The girl reached into her shirt and pulled out a necklace with the key attached, the slight smile developed as her cheeks cracked. “Daddy says that when I’m old enough, he’ll teach me to be a scientist, like him.” 

“Give it to mommy.” 

Number Three’s smile turned around and her brow crinkled over her eye holes.

Casimir grabbed a pillow and shoved it down onto her daughter’s face. The little girl kicked and punched. The pillow case became wet with her slobber so Casimir shoved it down her throat. Her murmurs became gurgles, precious gurgles. The girl found a pen by the bedside, and hurled it forward. The tip landed right in her mom’s chest. 

They struggled and fought in the bed, covering its ivory white fabrics in squirts of blood. The girl on the other side of the pillow felt weaker, but her hold onto the pen only got stronger. She twisted it and dug it deeper into her mom. She felt it break through layers of tissue until the oxy levels finally dropped and her brain stopped. 

Casimir removed the pillow. Her husband’s abomination had a slight pulse. The dark pits she had for eyes still glimmered for she had no eyelids to close over them. The pen in her chest. The girl drove it deeper and deeper before her hand finally fell off. Casimir took the gun from her nightstand and shot Number Three in the chest.

Casimir felt around and tore the pen out of her body. Yet she didn’t feel relieved. She hurried into the bathroom to find something to plug the wound with, but she knew by the labor of her breath that the pen struck her lung and punctured it. 

“Hector,” she whimpered down the hall. Outside the watchtower collapsed. Their cars slide downslope into a rushing current. Water from the sewer backed up and exploded from the toilets and sinks. 

Casimir came to the lab door, but found it open. She cried for her husband, but didn’t even hear a scream. The stairs, the flickering lights, the plastic tarps stained with god knows what. The lab was wide open, a key hung in the key hole. She turned around to see a naked something-person on all fours, blech out in fear from the thing she thought to be a face, and then leap out the window. It had her hair and her husband’s eyes. 

Step by step she went down pacing her breathing. If anyone had the tools to save or her keys to the plane, it was Hector. She called for him again but received no response. As she made her way down the isle of tarps her fleet splashed in silty water. One cage door hung open, the ones not under water contained bodies of human-like creatures with holes and lead in their skulls. Brains and mouths, and brains inside of mouths, hung open, their eyes going in different directions, or their faces turned into a white mask drooping off of their skulls. 

Casimir called for Hector again. Each time she braced herself for a furious outburst. Maybe even a blow to the head that finally kills her. Instead she found the operation room door ajar. She pushed it open and gasped when she saw what had become of him. 

So much carnage that even his black hair turned red. So much meat on his face that it looked like someone dumped a bucket of worms on him. Snakes of red and white meat stuffed his throat. It looked like he tired to eat as much as he could but his body finally pushed it all back out but it just jammed in his mouth until he couldn’t close it anymore. His kidneys were missing from the cavity in his chest. Six ribs broken from the solar plexus. Gallbladder and bladder, gone. His large intestine floated in the flood. His legs rendered down to transparent globules of cartilage and tissue, red bones completely cleaned of meat and vessels. The steak of his buttocks and crotch was completely removed. She approached, holding her nose, too afraid to scream, but paralyzed in fear. As she stood above him, she saw his lungs inflate. His heart beat. His eyes remained wide open. 

Casimir whispered into his ear “I killed Number Three.”  She took a hook from the instrument table, and dug it into his ribs. She broke one off and started eating it. She lost her words in the fraughtful tears, eating and swallowing a mouthful of her husband’s meat before resuming her crying. She smiled a bit, and reached back in for more.  “Oh, my man. Poor Hector.” 

CRUNCH. GULP. SIZZLE