by Spencer,Alan
The words faded in seconds, making Arnold doubt if he'd seen them at all.
What made those words appear on the cattle prod?
Did he think something, and the cattle prod matched his thoughts?
Impossible.
I'm losing my mind. I've seen so much insanity that I'm going insane. Throw me in a rubber room.
His imagination was stretched to the point of breaking in the past six to twelve hours. He could be imagining this hallway, perhaps, and the words on the prod, but the posters in thick glass cases on the walls, now that he couldn't be imagining.
The posters were like the coming attractions for a movie theatre. They weren't for movies. Instead, they were featuring products. Audio played from the ceiling.
A cheesy commercial voice delivered the jingle:
"Smash Face. Everybody's raving about the new home game from Maim Co. Smash your brother's face. Smash your teacher's face. Smash your grandma's face. Smash anybody's face with the new sensation, Smash Face. Wear the specially built boxing glove of steel. Retail $39.99. Limit 4 per customer. We'll take thirty percent off the retail price with fresh human placenta trade in. Placenta must be shown at counter before purchase to receive discount."
The fuck is all that about, he thought.
He didn't know what to make of what he heard. One thing was clear. He had to find a way out of this place. He was afraid of opening any of the doors. The doors themselves were no different than any office building's. The nasty woman in Mac's office said refills for the strange cattle prods were on that street, he remembered, down from the pawn shop. This building had to be one of the skyscrapers downtown. Whoever was doing this had taken over this building. So where was everybody?
He tried to open doors quietly. They were each locked. While he was testing out more doors, new posters for other products caught his attention.
One poster showed a bunch of children at recess. They were jumping rope with a long pink intestine. They were human children, but they owned jilted features. They had the veins outside their bodies, holding their able-to-disassemble bodies together. They were just like the uglies that had been attacking them this whole time.
The jingle from the overhead speaker played: "Viscera Rope. Jump rope with your friends, strangle your family, strangle your neighbors, or just eat it. Viscera Rope is now made of seventy percent real intestines!"
What would somebody want with a jump rope made of guts, he thought.
The audio speaker introduced yet another product:
"With Tasty Dentures, taste what the dead have enjoyed. Go back in history and taste all the flavors of life. Wonder what Jesse James ate between robberies? Ever wonder what Elizabeth Bathory's pubic hair tasted like? Try Tasty Dentures. Where you'll always want to take another bite. Satisfaction guaranteed."
He was overwhelmed by all the visual stimulus. Posters and audio commercials kept repeating in a dizzying manner.
"Buy The Box. The Box is made from one hundred percent genuine used coffin wood. Enter if you dare. Experience every death known to man. Pain is guaranteed. Free insurance policy with each purchase."
"Drink from the mystery colostomy bag called Super Bag. What's inside is always a surprise! Different materials inside each bag guaranteed, or your money back! Just ask your local retailer for details!
"Rest comfortably with the thoughts of the criminally insane racing through your head with the newly designed Brain Bed. True terror guaranteed to make you wet your bed. And now available, Blood Bed. Wake up bleeding for unknown reasons. Depth of wounds may vary. Blood Bed. Super cool!!!"
"Own The Be-header. This home-sized Guillotine can fit through any doorway. Portable and economic. Perfect for holidays, business meetings, and anniversaries. Don't lose your head, unless you want to!"
"Do you ever wake up feeling tired in the morning? Need something stronger than coffee? Drink Aorta Tear, and rip into your day. Be advised, consuming Aorta Tear may cause internal hemorrhage, night visions, increased sexual drive, erections induced by broken glass, vaginal dryness, fire addiction, temporary super human strength, and casual incest. Try Aorta Tear. Take a drink and get on with your busy day."
"Listen to the calming sounds of bones breaking. Snap! 2014 brings together the newest audio compilation of human bones shattering under pressure. What does it sound like for a Mac truck to run over a spine? How about hammers breaking phalanges? Want stress relief? Listen to Snap! 2014."
"Scalp itch affects three out of four citizens of hell. The best way to moisturize your scalp is with hookworms. Try Hookworms Shampoo. They moisturize as they eat the dead skin on your head. Warning, do not allow hookworms to stay on your scalp for more than five minutes. Otherwise, hookworms may bore into your brains. Do not stare at hookworms. Keep hookworms at room temperature. Do not use on infants or the elderly. Go ahead and moisturize your itchy scalp with Hookworms Shampoo!"
"Tired of floss breaking? I sure am. Try the newest technology in dental hygiene. All-natural varicose veins gets in between those teeth and removes the nasty plaque that causes bad breath and gingivitis. Forget the rest, floss with Veri-Floss!"
The jingles matched the posters on the wall. Arnold shook his head in disbelief. His head flared with a migraine. It felt like two hands were trying to squish his head. Was his perception being altered? Was something in the building trying to entice him into buying these things? If that was the goal, they had failed. Everything he was seeing and hearing repulsed him.
Scalp itch affects three out of four citizens of hell.
Did he hear that jingle for Hookworms Shampoo correctly?
These were marketing ploys. Smart advertisers were at work here. This was about selling products and new innovations. They each had a morbid twist on what could've been a sane, practical item.
This is what was causing everybody to die in his neighborhood, perhaps the entire world. The cattle prod had delivered Arnold to the enemy's hideout. If that was the case, what was he going to do now? He was unarmed, except for the strange cattle prod device.
I have to get out of here, tell the government, whoever can help, and they can come here and bulldoze this place to the ground.
Yeah, get out of here.
Best idea I've had in forever.
He kept sneaking down the incredibly long hallway. One of the closed doors had a glass panel. He peered inside. He saw a long table. Fourteen people were strapped into chairs. They were innocent human beings. Uglies in lab coats forced cans of a product down their throats. Instantly, screams rang out as blood ran down their eyes, their hair caught on fire, and the subjects were shitting out their own guts. The lab coated goons were jotting down notes. Whatever results they achieved from the drinks, they were very pleased.
He moved from the glass window and hoped nobody had seen him. He could only imagine the agony of having your insides melted by a drink. Morgan White, his agent, had it bad enough when his head exploded when he opened that can of soda. At least Morgan's death was instant, as opposed to those people in that room. They were still crying and mewling in pain.
He was on the other side of the building before Arnold located another door with a glass window. The window displayed a conference room. The uglies were wearing expensive designer clothes. One man was standing in front of a dry erase board. There was pictures of dead human bodies and scratched out words. He could vaguely overhear the words spoken between the dozen uglies in the room. It sounded like they were making pitches for products.
Jesus Christ. What is this place?
A door opened down the opposite way of the hallway. He sensed the footsteps of many. Had he been seen?
He wasn't sure where to go. He hit a dead end. Two doors were the only options. One to the right of him, and one to the left, he couldn't decide which to pick. He was afraid to move and draw their attention.
You can't stand here and wait.
If you don't escape this building, you can't tell anybody about this.
The fi
rst door he tried actually opened. He had no choice. He slipped past the threshold, closed the door, and put his back to it.
More answers were coming his way, and this room would reveal new horrors.
He clutched onto his cattle prod, took a deep breath, and steeled himself.
The Fat Man
This room was much hotter than the hallway. Humidity mixed with a certain smell. It reminded him of cooking peanut oil. He imagined the dirtiest fast food fryer. He felt greasy just by standing there. A steady boil was coming from an enormous steel vat. The contraption was like that of a brewery, except this device was archaic with its giant steel bolts, rusty pipes, and an engine connected to it all that could've belonged on a steam ship.
Standing on a stairway that led to the top of the vat was another ugly. He was at least five-hundred pounds. The hideous man was stirring a large wooden oar into whatever mixture he was tending to. He wore a gas mask over his face covered in smudges of grease. The rest of him was donned in a plastic Hazmat suit. Up from the ceiling, clear tubes dripped what looked like a cross between pudding and milk.
"You down there, you don't belong here." The voice was out-of-breath. There wasn't accusation in his voice. There was keen interest. "Very interesting. We never thought one of you would actually gain access into the building. I'm impressed. It's not going to earn you any mercy. Your punishment will be much, much worse. Your suffering will be recorded in the darkest annals of torture and dismemberment. But tell me something, if you'd humor me."
Arnold stood stock still against the door.
He barely breathed in the face of this talking beast.
"Yeah. Um. Okay."
"Great. What do you fear? Be honest. You can tell I'm at the very bottom of the food chain. I barely make enough money to pay rent. I've busted my back all my life, but I'm a creative guy. I just need that spark of innovation. I can do what those big shots do, easy. I'll even overshadow that asshole who thinks he can win back his old position. He's yesterday's news. His time has come and gone, but I'm ready for my shot. I have good ideas for damn good products. I can scare the bravest soul.
"So what do you say, pal? I'll let you stand in here with me a little longer if you give me a piece of your mind. What scares you? Be serious. I've been reading history books, you know, on The Holocaust, The Civil War, the Guantanamo Bay torture techniques, you know, your basic death and dismemberments across human history. I can read texts all day, but it's field experience that makes a product creator who they are. You can be average, or you can be a groundbreaker. I want to be a groundbreaker."
"The unknown," Arnold said. He wasn't sure why he said that at first. Maybe a part of him believed if he strung out this ugly long enough, he could think of a way to escape this room. "Fear of the unknown. I've been terrified all day, because I don't know what I'm up against, why it's happening, or who's doing it."
The man hummed under his breath. It sounded like blood gargling in a sick man's throat. "Hmmmm. Very interesting. The unknown. I always thought it was the threat of pain that made humans cower and their blood to curdle. Maybe violence isn't always the way to scare people. The threat of the unknown, yes, yes, you're onto something. I'm going to outshine that asshole. I busted my ass for Satan doing menial work, and now it's my time to enjoy hookers, high end scotch, cigars, and the suffering of children. None of these things are cheap. I'll be able to afford as much as I can take. My ideas will propel me right to the top. You inspired me, friend, but I'm going to be needing your body now. You see over there?"
Incorporated into the giant vat was a steel doorway covered in various shades of old and new blood. He imagined black and red licorice, how the blood's consistency was almost a gel.
"You walk right in. The machine renders your body down into fat. You die in exactly twelve seconds. That's merciful, and you better know it's true. Take it from me, The Fat Man. I'll put your fat to good use. Otherwise, you could be one of the test groups used for studies. We only want to elevate fear, scare our clients, and entertain the masses. We're a business. If we don't make money, we're replaced. We've already been replaced, you see, and we're trying—never mind, never mind. I'm saying too much. Get into that machine. If I let you stand here any longer, I could get into trouble. It's been nice talking to you and everything. It gets lonely down here stirring fat all day."
He had to keep the man talking.
"What does human fat do?"
"It loads those prods you're holding. Human fat is the ink of death. It has powers when cooked to scalding temperatures, stirred, and held at a simmer for twelve to fifteen hours."
Human fat, he thought. That's why the inside of the glass cylinder smelled so bad.
Wait a second. The end of the prod hit that door back at the pawn shop. Words I thought in my mind appeared on the steel. It brought me here, and it can save me. Just do what the uglies have been doing to everybody. Give them a taste of their own medicine.
The Fat Man wasn't liking Arnold's expression. "Hey, don't get any wise ideas. Put that prod down and get into that machine. I've been more than fair!"
Hands were pounding against the door from the hallway. More of the uglies were about to charge into the room. However insane this situation was becoming, he had to answer back with something just as ludicrous.
"Surrender the prod!" The Fat Man dropped his oar and was charging down the stairs. "Oh, you're going to suffer, pal. I have plenty ideas. I will show the boys upstairs what I'm made of. My ideas are way more creative than that asshole's! They'll see. After you die, they will have to take notice of my creative genius. I'll wrench that weapon out of your hands and give you the prod real good!"
Arnold's mind was reeling from the smell of boiling human fat and threats The Fat Man was unleashing. The door kept taking hits from the outside. Any moment, that door would bolt open, and in they would charge.
He had little time to decide. One thing he had to try. He clutched the prod, charged the side of the steel vat, and conjured up something dark in his imagination. When Arnold saw the words flash on the flat steel sheet at the end of the prod, he pressed it against the fat vat. The steel made a hissing, scorched noise. Instantly, the sound of metal warping and the screech of compression occurred.
The words stamped onto the vat read: SWIM IN FAT.
He knew it had worked.
The problem, Arnold had nowhere to run when the vat of human fat exploded. White, liquid nastiness spread in the room in a powerful tsunami-like wave. He could only swim against the tide as it battered through the walls.
Swim In Fat
Arnold's body was flipped, dunked, plunged, battered, and forced out of the room. The fat weighed down his body as it soaked into his clothes. What he tasted on his mouth when he involuntarily shouted in terror was beyond disgusting. He was becoming a deep fried cannibal's wet dream. He heard the garbled and uncouth noises of alarm burst out of the uglies' mouths. They too were overwhelmed.
He was pinned against the wall as the hot human fat spread throughout the building. His head hit the ceiling. What room and where he was in the building were two things he couldn't determine. Drowning, he imagined the world dying because he couldn't stop them. Nobody could. The washed-up, never-was, go-ahead-and-kill-yourself actor would be collected by the uglies and used for whatever nefarious purpose. Was his ex-wife and daughter killed in this mess too? Questions without answers. He would die not knowing the truth.
He condemned the uglies and his career.
He came so close to stopping them, but his own plan had backfired.
Death was imminent.
Another Gasp of Life
The fat level in the room started to drop. Arnold was able to lift his head and gasp for air. He floated there for two minutes as the room was emptied out. He could hear the lower floors in the building become flooded. Touching down to the ground, he immediately forced himself back to his feet. In the corner, the cattle prod was covered in drying fat. He picked it up, being his only weapon
in this horrible place, and charged back into the main hallway.
He was horrified when the uglies scattered about the ground were stirring back to consciousness. They moved quick, crowding him towards a stairway. There wasn't any words on the door anywhere, so he crossed the threshold and charged up the emergency stairs. The uglies were right behind him in pursuit. He picked up his pace.
When he reached the top of the building, what would he do then? They would corner him, and he'd be subjected to the worst death ever mustered by a criminally insane brain.
At the head of the stairs, a figure draped in a black cloak stepped into Arnold's line of vision. He held up one of his hideously veined hands. "Stop. Leave him to me. He's mine."
Uglies crowded the stairs behind Arnold.
There was nowhere he could go.
"Come with me," the cloaked man insisted. "Take your prod with you if it makes you feel safe. We have a lot to talk about, Mr. Fast. You have no choice, really. Think of it as buying yourself some more time to live. You humans consider life so precious, am I right?"
The cloaked man was right. He did value his life. The stranger was also right about another thing. He had no choice.
Arnold followed him, holding onto the prod with a tight grip.
God knows what he was about to go up against next.
The Man in Charge
"You're scared and justifiably so. You've survived what many of your fellows succumbed to immediately. Fear leads to irrational decisions. I guess when a country sees their leader with hemorrhoids for eyes, confidence in survival becomes drastically diminished.
"Time is against me. I had to jump right in with my plan. I'm taking notes and learning from my mistakes. I'm an avid student of the human anatomy. I have to be, to get to know my demographic. It all ends and begins with fear. People are so jaded these days. They've seen everything. Nothing scares them anymore. Even I'm not afraid of things people would've feared ten, twenty years ago.