(no subject)
Wow. The dust on this blog is insanely thick.
I'm really not going to explain that one since the last year has been best enjoyed as a closed book. In that vein, I am going to occasionally post short stories here. I am trying to learn how to write something start to finish thus...something short.
Disclaimer to any former readers, this is not in the same vein as the previous things so if you happen to be squeamish at all proceed with caution. Enjoy
“The monsters were never under my bed. Because the monsters were inside my head.
I fear no monsters, for no monsters I see, because all this time the monster has been me.”
Author Unknown
My cereal was soggy and it tasted of dust and watery milk. I dipped the spoon into the chipped bowl again and considered. This was a pitiful substitute for food but in my case pitiful was only to be expected and food wasn’t so common I could get snobby. I scraped the glop off the spoon with my teeth and regretted it instantly. Seasoned with doubt that bite slid down into a bitter stomach that had had enough. I got up and dumped the watery liquid down the sink and rinsed out the bowl. Any thing I didn’t eat the various kinds of insect life would be only too grateful for. I hadn’t descended to farming snack sized protein in my fourth story walk up just yet.
Well, now what? I still had a demon in a suitcase in my bedroom and three unknown corpses in the bath. The more I thought about it the more I thought, why the hell had I tried to fix that with cereal? That was a steak problem if I ever saw one. I didn’t have any steak on hand but I could fix that. The drawer next to the sink opened with a groan and I took out a plastic bundle. The demon could wait.
One steak coming up.
My bathtub was a relic of past prosperity on the part of the building. A huge cast iron monstrosity sat against the tiled wall of a fair sized room. Rust stains streaked the porcelain and tile that was visible under the gray brown legs that took up all my attention. I put the bundle in the sink and turned to the tub tracing legs to find a common owner. I selected a set as most likely to be on top of the pile, grabbed and hauled. A lean body pulled free with a sucking sound that made my breakfast grumble. The damned things were a nuisance. Roaches were bad enough in a cheap apartment but these things…
I tugged again and the whole mess fell over the side of the tub and splatted onto the floor. Within an hour of death the mucus membranes starred to break down and ooze out of the body coating anything they could reach in a viscous sticky slobber. Corpse slobber. God I needed to get out more. I got my bundle from the sink and unwrapped the first layer of plastic, set the remaining packet back down and clambered into a plastic apron that an elephants gynecologist would have considered adequate. I had modified the ties to reach around the front and laced myself in nice and snug. A noise startled me, I looked at the tub and realized I was humming. Pop goes the weasel. On second thought maybe I needed to stay in more. Out could go really badly.
The little packet was tied shut for only a moment, unrolling to reveal four knives with shitty handles wrapped in thick dull wire. The blades were sparkling, one hooked serrated blade, one long thin and flexible, one squat and thick across the spine, and one that was so evidently a butcher knife I never took it anywhere but the kitchen. Let things blend in, it saves time. I had collected these one at a time over so many years the pedigree was lost. The sushi knife had been a gift. I couldn’t remember who had given it to me, or even if it had been me the gift was intended for. I reached for it first.
Skinning was an art. Never more so than when you wanted to prevent the skin from ever touching the meat. Not only for health considerations but because eating it would be a trial if that picture was in your head. Luckily the skin had separated from the muscle layer without forming pockets of slobber and it came off smoothly as I rolled it up to either side of the incision. Like shrimp the important parts were all in a line and easily disposed of. I now had a potential barbecue layer out about three feet tall with six legs, triple jointed and heavily muscled. The torso was an odd lumpy shape that didn't yield much in the way of food. I always wondered if a squirrel and a crab had been thrown into a centrifuge and these were the result. The butcher knife pared away thick steak meat from the bounty and I set to piling it in a neat stack in the large bowl that lived in this room. When the bowl was full I took the remains into the bedroom and set them on top of the suitcase. A snuffling sound rumbled out and the whole pile vanished. Efficient. I approved, and the complaints about my lugging offal through the stairwells would stop now.
The bowl just fit in the fridge, my luxury. I took a single portion of meat out and slapped it on a cutting board, trimming away anything I didn’t feel like chewing on. A sprinkling of salt and pepper, and now to set for a few minutes. The suitcase at the foot of my bed looked completely normal. Brown canvas bound cardboard, cheap plastic handle, little plastic feet to keep all that tacky off a nice clean floor. I nudged it with my foot and the whole thing started shaking and growling. Relocated to the kitchen table the case was about the right size to fill half of a two person space. Perfect.
I stabbed it with the knife that had the thickest blade. Silence, followed by a huff of breath was my reward. I poked the knife at the case just hard enough to annoy a non tangible creature who didn’t like steel and it obligingly burst into a tight flame. My cast iron pan fit on top of the case with room to spare and in a few moments I set the steak gently into a perfectly hot pan to sizzle. My fridge yielded a small pat of butter and half an onion that quickly joined the meat. Perfect. Just perfect.
I slid the meal onto a plate salvaged from a trash can for being a disgrace to garbage everywhere. A tiny sprig of greens from the pot on the windowsill made a lovely finishing touch. A poke shut off the demon flame and it went back to sulking in the case, the table was perfectly unscarred. From that anyway. I should get a demon for the hot water boiler, efficient, noiseless, certainly a better use for the offal and bones than the dumpster.
My apron crinkled as I sat to eat. Food of the Gods. I sighed a happy sigh and chewed blissful mouthfuls. Steak was a perfect solution to the last few days. At this rate I might even feel up to cleaning out the closet before the tentacles broke through the doors.
Perfect.
I'm really not going to explain that one since the last year has been best enjoyed as a closed book. In that vein, I am going to occasionally post short stories here. I am trying to learn how to write something start to finish thus...something short.
Disclaimer to any former readers, this is not in the same vein as the previous things so if you happen to be squeamish at all proceed with caution. Enjoy
“The monsters were never under my bed. Because the monsters were inside my head.
I fear no monsters, for no monsters I see, because all this time the monster has been me.”
Author Unknown
My cereal was soggy and it tasted of dust and watery milk. I dipped the spoon into the chipped bowl again and considered. This was a pitiful substitute for food but in my case pitiful was only to be expected and food wasn’t so common I could get snobby. I scraped the glop off the spoon with my teeth and regretted it instantly. Seasoned with doubt that bite slid down into a bitter stomach that had had enough. I got up and dumped the watery liquid down the sink and rinsed out the bowl. Any thing I didn’t eat the various kinds of insect life would be only too grateful for. I hadn’t descended to farming snack sized protein in my fourth story walk up just yet.
Well, now what? I still had a demon in a suitcase in my bedroom and three unknown corpses in the bath. The more I thought about it the more I thought, why the hell had I tried to fix that with cereal? That was a steak problem if I ever saw one. I didn’t have any steak on hand but I could fix that. The drawer next to the sink opened with a groan and I took out a plastic bundle. The demon could wait.
One steak coming up.
My bathtub was a relic of past prosperity on the part of the building. A huge cast iron monstrosity sat against the tiled wall of a fair sized room. Rust stains streaked the porcelain and tile that was visible under the gray brown legs that took up all my attention. I put the bundle in the sink and turned to the tub tracing legs to find a common owner. I selected a set as most likely to be on top of the pile, grabbed and hauled. A lean body pulled free with a sucking sound that made my breakfast grumble. The damned things were a nuisance. Roaches were bad enough in a cheap apartment but these things…
I tugged again and the whole mess fell over the side of the tub and splatted onto the floor. Within an hour of death the mucus membranes starred to break down and ooze out of the body coating anything they could reach in a viscous sticky slobber. Corpse slobber. God I needed to get out more. I got my bundle from the sink and unwrapped the first layer of plastic, set the remaining packet back down and clambered into a plastic apron that an elephants gynecologist would have considered adequate. I had modified the ties to reach around the front and laced myself in nice and snug. A noise startled me, I looked at the tub and realized I was humming. Pop goes the weasel. On second thought maybe I needed to stay in more. Out could go really badly.
The little packet was tied shut for only a moment, unrolling to reveal four knives with shitty handles wrapped in thick dull wire. The blades were sparkling, one hooked serrated blade, one long thin and flexible, one squat and thick across the spine, and one that was so evidently a butcher knife I never took it anywhere but the kitchen. Let things blend in, it saves time. I had collected these one at a time over so many years the pedigree was lost. The sushi knife had been a gift. I couldn’t remember who had given it to me, or even if it had been me the gift was intended for. I reached for it first.
Skinning was an art. Never more so than when you wanted to prevent the skin from ever touching the meat. Not only for health considerations but because eating it would be a trial if that picture was in your head. Luckily the skin had separated from the muscle layer without forming pockets of slobber and it came off smoothly as I rolled it up to either side of the incision. Like shrimp the important parts were all in a line and easily disposed of. I now had a potential barbecue layer out about three feet tall with six legs, triple jointed and heavily muscled. The torso was an odd lumpy shape that didn't yield much in the way of food. I always wondered if a squirrel and a crab had been thrown into a centrifuge and these were the result. The butcher knife pared away thick steak meat from the bounty and I set to piling it in a neat stack in the large bowl that lived in this room. When the bowl was full I took the remains into the bedroom and set them on top of the suitcase. A snuffling sound rumbled out and the whole pile vanished. Efficient. I approved, and the complaints about my lugging offal through the stairwells would stop now.
The bowl just fit in the fridge, my luxury. I took a single portion of meat out and slapped it on a cutting board, trimming away anything I didn’t feel like chewing on. A sprinkling of salt and pepper, and now to set for a few minutes. The suitcase at the foot of my bed looked completely normal. Brown canvas bound cardboard, cheap plastic handle, little plastic feet to keep all that tacky off a nice clean floor. I nudged it with my foot and the whole thing started shaking and growling. Relocated to the kitchen table the case was about the right size to fill half of a two person space. Perfect.
I stabbed it with the knife that had the thickest blade. Silence, followed by a huff of breath was my reward. I poked the knife at the case just hard enough to annoy a non tangible creature who didn’t like steel and it obligingly burst into a tight flame. My cast iron pan fit on top of the case with room to spare and in a few moments I set the steak gently into a perfectly hot pan to sizzle. My fridge yielded a small pat of butter and half an onion that quickly joined the meat. Perfect. Just perfect.
I slid the meal onto a plate salvaged from a trash can for being a disgrace to garbage everywhere. A tiny sprig of greens from the pot on the windowsill made a lovely finishing touch. A poke shut off the demon flame and it went back to sulking in the case, the table was perfectly unscarred. From that anyway. I should get a demon for the hot water boiler, efficient, noiseless, certainly a better use for the offal and bones than the dumpster.
My apron crinkled as I sat to eat. Food of the Gods. I sighed a happy sigh and chewed blissful mouthfuls. Steak was a perfect solution to the last few days. At this rate I might even feel up to cleaning out the closet before the tentacles broke through the doors.
Perfect.