Inspired by the King of Horror, Stephen King, I am rendering my own work of fiction . I was always fascinated by the supernatural. So here goes..this is going to be terribly long as I didn't want to end it with to-be-continueds especially a suspense thriller like this one, so read the caution and proceed.
| Caution: This story contains horror , gruesome details, strong language and is intended for mature audience only. |
"Why don't you join us? It's not everytime Fat-ass leaves us in peace" Ronnie was holding up his fingers in the air showing the inverted comma sign as if to stress 'fat-ass'. Roger knew who he was talking about. Their boss Mr. Samson was a tyrant. There wasn't a single employee in the restaurant, where he worked, who liked him. He was a foul-mouthed, obese, ruddy man whom even the good ones like Rita called Mr. Fat-ass when he was not around, not that he would even know she used 'Mr'. Word was that Mr. Samson was bi-sexual. Roger wouldn't have cared, if he hadn't noticed the way Mr.Samson stared at his crotch openly. Roger was disgusted, but kept about his business. He was new to town and although the order-taker job wasn't too satisfying, it was enough to make ends meet. Afterall there was only one mouth to feed.. his own. So he threw caution to the wind and continued to work there.
"You coming man? Fat-ass won't be back until noon tomorrow. The boys are hitting the bar for some drinks and gossip. He wont be around to lash at us if we show up late tomorrow. What say?" Ronnie asked again. Roger was never interested in gossiping or drinking so he politely declined Ronnie's invitation and walked out. He preferred the gazebo outside the church close to his workplace where he spent most of his free time. He was 55, a loner and an introvert. Socialising was never his cup of tea. Almost all his life was spent trouble-free and people-free. He preferred it that way. "I want to die painlessly and peacefully" he would say to himself sometimes. He feared death. Always had. He feared not just death but the horror associated with it. As a child, he grew up believing that his room was filled with creatures lurking in closets, under the bed and behind closed doors waiting to pounce on him. This fear was instilled in him by his neighbour, Matt, who was an old man and his only friend. Matt would tell him gruesome stories of children eaten up by toothy monsters which live under beds and in closets. Roger always curled up in his bed and preferred to sleep with the lights turned on. He wanted to sleep in his parent's bedroom, but they would hear nothing of that sort. "You are a big boy Roger. There are no monsters under your bed. Now go to sleep" his father would retort to Roger's pleading.
Although he lived alone all his life, he lived it in fear. Inspite of this yellow streak in him, he detested sharing his tiny shack with anyone. When he moved in, he even refrained from all the niceties and pretty much kept to himself. Nosy neighbours was the last thing he wanted although they lived quite far away. His shack was the only one on that long stretch. For $50 a month, that was the best he could afford. 'This place needs to be fumigated' was the first thought that crossed his mind when the landlady showed him around. The place crawled with insects.
Roger spent close to an hour at the gazebo revelling in reminiscing thoughts. Then he bought groceries in a store and walked back home. Just as he turned the corner, the street lights went out. "Damn!" he cursed aloud. He hated the dark. He stayed put until his eyes adjusted to the darkness. But all of a sudden, he heard the vrrr of a vehicle and a light from behind him illuminated the road. An old beat-up convertible pulled up beside him, which he instantly recognised as Mr.Samson's.
"Hey there Roger. Everything ok?" "Mr.Sam-son, I.., you are back. Yes I am fine. The power went out. My shack is over t-there."
Roger was dumbfounded. 'what is this man doing here when he was supposed to be out of town?' he thought. 'Surely he has no business on this road. It's a cul-de-sac, besides the fact that there are no other houses around' Roger frowned.
"I know, I have something to discuss with you, a business proposal. I came back this evening. Do you want a ride?" Samson unlocked the car door on Roger's side.
"B-business with me? Mr. Samson..I don't.."
"Just get in Roger, we'll discuss this at your shack." Samson cut him.
Roger wanted this over with and besides he knew he won't be able to make it to his shack on his own in this darkness so he silently nodded and got into the passenger seat of the car. Within seconds they pulled up outside the shack and got out. During the short ride Samson had been silent and Roger was grateful for that. Roger wasn't going to give any excuses for his tiny shack. Infact he secretly wished that Samson would be disgusted by the looks of it and would leave.
"Aren't you going to invite me inside? It's cold out here, unless you want to discuss business with me under the moonlight?" Samson winked at Roger and gave him one of his best smiles.
Roger wasn't quick-witted enough to read between the lines. With a silent grunt he opened the door for Samson. Just then the power came back on and he was relieved that he dint have to look for candles in the dark. Samson seated himself on the bed, his emormous belly spilling over his jean and peeking from under his t-shirt which was a size too small. Roger just stood there looking around.
"Do you have something to drink? I am sapped. It was a long ride back." Samson asked.
"Just orange juice. I don't drink." Roger replied.
Samson nodded his approval and Roger turned to walk towards the refrigerator to fetch him the juice . He felt Samson's eyes boring into his back. He did not like that. He looked around for a defensive tool and his eyes fell on the pick-axe he used to chop wood for his fireplace. 'No I won't kill him. Maybe just scare him a bit, that is if he tries any tricks' He thought to himself. Making a mental note of the distance between the axe and the bed, Roger came back and handed Samson his juice.
"You are a handsome man Roger. I heard you never married. Prefer the crack do you?" Samson winked.
"Err.. I don't know what you are talking about Mr.Samson. You wanted to discuss something?"
"Ok! I'll come straight to the point." Samson stood up and walked towards Roger.
"You should know by now, that I swing both ways, but lately my preferences have leaned towards beautiful men like you." Samson began circling Roger as he spoke. Roger had his eyes on the pick-axe, he did not like where this was leading.
"That blonde bitch, who I had been fucking all summer, rubbed me up the wrong way. And guess what happened to her?" He continued without waiting for an answer, "I got someone to plant drugs on her and got the cops feeling her up. That fucking bitch is doing time and deteriorating behind the bars. I have connections my dear Roger. Serves her right for screwing behind my back. Enough of dumb boobies. I want some muscle, some real tight ones." he flashed his teeth in a smile.
Roger grimaced. "W-what does it have to do with me Mr.S-Sam.."
"Hear me out first" Samson spat out. He looked menacing now, his jowls quivering with excitement, he looked like a ferocious boxer dog.
" I want you, I want you to be my partner in business and bed, the partnership in business is complimentary to the services you will be providing me in bed." So saying, Samson snaked his hand out and grabbed Roger between his legs.
"NO! Take your filthy hands off me!" Pushing Samson's hand away Roger backed towards the pick-axe. Taking it in his hands, he raised it in self-defense. "Don't you dare come close to me you freaking filthy bastard!"
"Calm down Roger, you don't know who you are dealing with. Put that axe down and lets talk." Samson proceeded to walk towards Roger.
"No! Stay where you are or else.." Roger in a bid to scare Samson took two steps in front and inadvertently tripped on his shoelaces and fell forward. Just as he fell, the axe in his hand landed on top of Samson's head, the base of the axe still in Roger's hand. Everything happened so quick, neither had the time to react. Samson screamed on impact and Roger screamed with him. Blood spurted from where the axe lodged itself in the center of Samson's head. Roger let go of the axe and Samson staggered and fell backwards. Roger felt his head reeling and bile rising up in his throat. He threw up right there and watched in horror as Samson's body convulsed for sometime and went still.
"This can't be happening... this can't be happening to me" He crouched down and cried. His whole life had crumbled before him in a short span of time. "I don't want to go to jail, oh God! please help me." He wailed. Outside the owl hooted, the town slept unaware.
Roger knew he could not carry this burly man's body all by himself. He had no intentions of calling the police even. He had to somehow dispose off the body and leave town before someone finds out. He had no other option than to cut up the body into pieces and stuff it into a garbage bag and dump it somewhere. Cursing aloud, he pulled the axe out of Samson's head and it came out with a dull squishy sound. Roger groaned.
He was not ready for what needed to be done. "But I have to, Sorry Mr.Samson, I didn't mean to kill you. It was a mistake. Please don't come back and haunt me." He spoke aloud addressing the dead body. No sooner had he finished uttering the words, he heard a sound. It sounded like scratching and seemed to be coming from the corner near his bed. The hair on the nape of his neck stood up. He tried to listen intently but the sound stopped.
"I hope it is not you Mr.Samson. I have a very weak heart. I'm now going to cut you up. I promise you it will be quick and painless. Oh! you can't feel the pain, you are dead already." Roger was amused for a split second at what he just said. 'I must be going mad, there is a man dead in my house and I am joking, I must be going mad' he thought. Roger was in shock.
He looked at the turgid corpse and frowned. "This is going to be messy" he thought aloud. Raising the axe, he brought it down with full force and chopped Mr. Samson's head off. Blood sprayed everywhere. At that very moment, he remenisced about his butcher days and thought 'chopping chickens were better'.
After the chopping ordeal was over, he threw up until he had no bile left. He checked the time. 3.oo AM. He needed sleep. He pushed the garbage bags filled with parts of Mr.Samson under his bed and wiped the floor clean leaving no traces of blood. He decided to dump him tomorrow. No one ever visits, no one will ever know.
"I have to put my dithering mind to rest Mr.Samson, I will decide tomorrow what I want to do with you. Goodnight ...err.. Fat-Ass!"
'I am mad'
Roger closed his eyes.
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The sound was coming from under his bed. Something was moving underneath it. He felt something bumping the woodboard from under. Roger was scared. He had never been this scared in his whole life. This time, he heard a rustle, like something was letting itself free from the garbage bag. Roger tried to curl up on his bed. He would not let any part of him hang out lest this thing under his bed reached up for him. He felt his heart palpitate, he was sweating profusely.
"Scratch scratch" .. it was unmistakebly nails being raked against the floor boards. this thing had nails even. Roger felt fear enveloping him. He was finding it difficult to breath. He heard moaning and realised it was coming from his throat. He heard more sounds coming from the foot of his bed. He kept his eyes shut tightly and tried to curl up into a feotus. The sounds were drawing closer. In his mind's eye, he saw Samson's severed arm making its way up by crawling up the foot of the bed. The nails unnaturally long and pointed, the skin black and festered with gaping holes revealing tender, red blood flesh inside.
His heart constricted at the thought. The severed arm was now near his foot. He felt it graze against his big toe. The palpitations increased, his breathing was labored and he felt a piercing pain in his heart.
He felt something sharp piercing his big toe. 'Fat-ass is taking revenge' was his last thought before death came.
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After nibbling at the dead man's big toe some more the large rat jumped off the bed and scurried into its hole near the corner of the bed. The sleepy town woke up to just another day.
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The deadmen were found after two days by Ronnie who went to check in on Roger because he failed to report for work. According to the autopsy reports, Roger died of a heart-attack.
Death was unintended...
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Copyright © 2006 Jyothi Samarthi
All rights reserved.
Illustration : Jo Samarthi
