What Price Gory?

by West, Terry M.

  WHAT PRICE GORY?

  By Terry M. West

  Copyright © 2013 Terry M. West

  Published by Pleasant Storm Entertainment, Inc.

  http://www.pleasantstorm.com

  Visit the author at: http://www.terrymwest.com

  Interior art titled “Reflex” is Copyright © Matt Deterior

  Visit Matt’s website: http://www.mattdeterior.com

  Cover design by Rocking Book Covers

  Like What Price Gory? on Facebook:

  https://www.facebook.com/whatpricegory

  All rights reserved. No part of these stories may be reproduced in any form without permission from the publishers, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  This collection is dedicated to Regina and Terrence.

  Both have my heart and soul. They are my reason for everything.

  I would like to thank Editors David B. Silva (The Horror Show) and Tappan King (Twilight Zone Magazine) for their incredible patience and encouragement. They gave a lot of attention to a very young author of the strange and dark. Every rejection they sent me came with detailed notes and an invitation to submit again. And though I was too raw and undisciplined in my art at the time to sell a story to these incredible magazines, I read every issue and submitted my fiction faithfully until both publications were no more. Both of these men helped me in ways they will never know. Sadly, we lost Mr. Silva this year. But his memory and many contributions to the horror genre continue to live on the page.

  Many thanks to the writers who have been kind to me over the years, especially: Jack Ketchum, Gary Jonas, PD Cacek, James A. Moore, Daniel D. Burr, David Niall Wilson, Vincent Harper, Brian A. Hopkins, Rex Miller, Lisa DuMond, Ray Wallace and Joseph Monks. And a special thanks to Robert McCammon and Joe Lansdale who both gave me some of the best advice about writing that I have ever gotten over drinks at a writer’s convention in Beaumont, TX many years ago. These people were extremely helpful to me and they were generous with advice and goodwill and I don’t think any of them realize how much it meant. When you are a good person, these qualities are reflexive.

  And two final thanks: to my grandmother, Kitty L. Perez, who has moved on recently to whatever lies next. I love and miss her very much. And to my Uncle, James Hughes, who was like a big brother and father to me. He started my love of horror and the drive-in. I lost him last year, and I think of him and smile whenever I write something particularly gruesome, because I know he would dig it. I love you, Uncle Jim.

  TMW

  11-13

  Credits

  Some of the stories in this collection are older tales of mine that have been recently rewritten and expanded upon. Though the original stories may bear only a slight resemblance to the new versions, here is where you can find them:

  What Price Gory? appeared in the Dark Muse Magazine Prototype Issue, 1994

  Car Nex appeared in the House of Pain E-Zine, 1998. It also appeared in the Carnival of Souls: The Blood for the Muse San Diego Con Book, 1998

  Put on a Happy Face (under the title Nursery Rhymes) appeared in Moonletters #4, 1996

  Midnight Snack (under the title Fast Food) appeared in the Jackhammer E-Zine, November 1998 issue

  The Hairy Ones appeared in the One Hellacious Halloween anthology from Horror Novel Reviews, November, 2013

  The Hermit’s Creepy Pet, Held Over and Cecil & Bubba meet a Succubus are all brand new and previously unpublished stories.

  The preview of Cecil & Bubba meet the Thang is from a work currently in progress.

  CONTENTS

  CAR NEX

  CECIL AND BUBBA MEET A SUCCUBUS

  HELD OVER

  THE HAIRY ONES

  THE HERMIT’S CREEPY PET

  PUT ON A HAPPY FACE

  MIDNIGHT SNACK

  WHAT PRICE GORY?

  SPECIAL SNEAK PREVIEW

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  CAR NEX

  Pleasant Storm, Texas

  September 29, 1965

  Adam Campbell bolted the barn door from the inside, sure he was sealing his own coffin. He picked up his rifle and backed away slowly, barrel trained on the door. He joined the other survivors, the few that there were, who were huddled together on the barn floor.

  There was Ted Gavin, a neighboring farmer. He was a large fortyish man with an unkempt beard and dirty work clothes, stained from personal and professional labor. He supported his small farm with a nine to fiver. The man had a laid back demeanor which may have conveyed laziness to new eyes, at least in the department of personal hygiene. This was a logical assessment, but Ted wasn’t lazy. He did prefer the easy route if it could be found, but this was merely working smart in his eyes. He embraced the arm that the thing had tasted with its fangs. The wound was hidden tightly under gauze and he was afraid to look at it. It seemed to have stopped bleeding, but the prospect of infection caused a minor panic in his mind. He didn’t want to lose it. He needed a hospital but the God damned thing was still out there, hunting in the darkness.

  Then there was George Berryman, a teacher at Pleasant Storm High School. The slight and fair-haired youngest of the men taught English. This naturally inspired contempt among his blue collar friends. And though the man was not as smart as the community may have thought, lacking wisdom and common sense in very basic departments, he still had an expensive and ornate piece of paper from a college to lord over them all. He wore thick glasses, which merely added to the myth. But those glasses only magnified frightened eyes at the moment.

  The last of the survivors was Nathan Bauer, a crusty old farmhand who was growing nothing but dust and age, these days. Nathan lent his expertise and trade secrets in pulling life from the ground to both Ted and Adam. He was a brutally honest man who wished to sell his neglected and unruly acres to the first rube with enough cash in hand. He wanted to live somewhere exotic and perpetually warm. But what he wanted most right now was a drink and another day among the living.

  Adam stood, guarding these men. He was responsible for this, after all. Something creaked in the loft above their heads. All eyes shot upwards, fearfully. Adam favored the loft with his aim. The light from the lantern that Ted had gotten going glinted off of the black barrel.

  Nothing came of the sound. Adam brought the rifle back down and toward the barn door, perspiration stinging his eyes.

  The thing Adam Campbell had called from no place had hit the weekly poker game at Ted’s house. It was a gathering Adam never missed and his absence was suspiciously noted. The poker game was always a large and boisterous ritual.

  The thing had made a meal out of it, and these were the few crumbs it had dropped. Many good Pleasant Storm men were gone, devoured by this nightmare of teeth and claws.

  It had all happened so fast, and the three men who had made it out of the house ran without direction, but collectively. They steered the night until they found Adam in the woods. He was streaked with blood and soaked with sweat. He had his rifle and was vengefully tracking the creature. Adam gave this up when he found them and he herded the survivors back to his property. He begged for their forgiveness the entire way and tried to explain the best he could. It had come out a jabbered confession that had something to do with an old book.

  Nathan finally spoke their minds. He was usually appointed these tasks. He felt confident they were safe, for the present, and an explanation was due. “What have you done, Adam? What have you wrought on us?”

  “I’ve opened the gates to hell itself, Nathan,” Adam replied, st
ill vigilantly focused on the barn door. “I’ve done something unholy that I am sure to be punished for.”

  “Jesus,” Ted muttered, vividly recalling the scene at his house. “I’ve never seen the like of it. I stared right at it, and I was looking at dancing smoke- something that was barely there.”

  “Your eyes and mind can’t quite get a lock on it,” Adam explained, and the witnesses understood what he meant. It had looked like a storm cloud of fangs and talons. It was the only depiction that could be given to it.

  “What about this book, Adam?” George Berryman asked, using the sleeve of his sweater to mop at the sweat on his face. “How could a book be responsible for all of this?”

  “There’s power in ancient things, George,” Adam said, checking his pockets for extra shells and wondering if there were any stray ones somewhere in the barn. “And there are words with clout that are best not fed blood and recited.”

  “Adam, what is this thing exactly?” Nathan asked.

  Adam took a breath, because he needed one before he told them. “It’s called a Car Nex. It’s short for Carnivore from the Nexus.”

  “But what is it, Adam?” Nathan pressed, needing badly to know.

  “It’s a God-damn shark on two legs is what it is,” Adam explained, but getting a little heated over it. “It’s something I hauled to our world from a black sea and the fucker is hungry.”

  Adam took another breath, closed his eyes, and caught himself.

  “Where is the book?” George asked, adjusting his glasses. “Could I see it?”

  “No one is going to see that book again. It’s hidden.”

  “Maybe there’s something in there to send it away,” George offered.

  Adam shook his head. “I looked. It brought that thing here on a one-way street. We’re stuck with it.”

  George was getting a little upset that all of his ideas were being shut down. “Then maybe you should have burned it,” he said, crossing his arms rebelliously. “If it brought that thing here, then it’s dangerous. I would have burned it.”

  “I wanted to,” Adam admitted, nodding slightly and his eyes traveling off for a second. “For all the pain it had caused, it deserved the fire. But I couldn’t. I just couldn’t destroy it. So I did the next best thing.”

  “What possessed you to fool around with it, Adam?” Ted asked. His arm was bleeding again, but he was too caught up in Adam’s story to notice it.

  “None of you can understand,” Adam said crossly, motioning the rifle their way, which caused a new wave of alarm among them. Adam Campbell was a big man. But he was not the kind to impose that over others. This night, though, Hell had come to Pleasant Storm and Adam was quickly losing everything. His patience. His faith. His soul. And he had already lost worse than all of that combined. He could feel what little was left slipping from him as he friends and neighbors stared at him in fresh fear and distrust.

  “Hold on now,” Nathan spoke up. “No one is saying anything against you, Adam Campbell. You’ve accepted Jesus. We know this. But why would you go against the Almighty and pick up something thorny like that? Something the devil himself wouldn’t go near?”

  Adam studied them all, his anger ebbing. They had a right to know. He owed them that much and more. He stopped menacing them with his weapon. “You know this property was my mama’s, until she passed.”

  Nathan nodded. Florence Campbell had been one of the sweetest women in Wise County. Her presence had been a blessing of light to anyone who had known her.

  “There was always a mess of stuff up in the attic,” Adam continued. “Mama was a packrat. I couldn’t bring myself to go up there and throw the stuff out. I felt like I would have been throwing my mama’s memory away with it all. After a couple of years, though, with Adam Jr. and little Florence growing like weeds, I had to make the space. Figured Adam Jr. would take to the attic, being the elder of the kids. Neither of the kids wanted it, so we settled on making it a baby’s room, as Iris was expecting again. She was early still, and there were things to be bought. But we would have a room waiting for it all.”

  Ted and Nathan both looked sadly to the ground, as if on a secret cue. George still stared keenly at Adam. The teacher waited for the point.

  “Iris and me headed up there, with garbage sacks and brooms and mops.”

  Adam paused, pressing a palm to his forehead. He closed his eyes and gathered the energy he needed to continue.

  “It’s okay, Adam,” Ted said softly, sensing the gory conclusion of Adam’s story. Adam’s words had lingered sadly on his children and wife as he had spoken. His family wasn’t anywhere to be seen. The blood Adam was wearing had come from outside of his skin. You didn’t have to be a genius to see that the man’s soul had been ripped out. “You don’t have to keep talking on our account,” Ted continued, absolving Adam.

  “The hell he doesn’t,” George cut in. “If I’m going to die in this God-forsaken little town, I want to know why. I want to know everything that happened.”

  Ted and Nathan held their breaths. They had the sense to know that Adam wasn’t to be trifled with this night. They also knew that he was their only chance at salvation. Nathan was old, Ted had a lame arm, and George, hell, George Berryman was a sissy. A little city faggot that no one in Pleasant Storm had asked for.

  The only reason the men associated with George was because he was a lousy poker player and easy mark. Otherwise, George was as useful as tits on a boar hog. Adam Campbell had started this, and he was the only one with a prayer of setting it right.

  Adam regarded George, and then he nodded his head. “You got a right to know, George. You’ll just have to bear with me, is all,” Adam explained. “Anyway, me and Iris go through my mama’s stuff. And we go round and round about what to throw out. Hell, I didn’t want to part with any of it. Course you all know how headstrong Iris is.”

  Adam corrected himself, sadly. “Was, I mean.”

  It took Adam a while to come back to the story, and the other men gave him a spell to do it, even George.

  “Most of the stuff was garbage. We burned six barrels worth of it to make a bedroom out of the attic. It was hard, watching all of Mama’s memories burn. I did manage to snag one box and put it aside. It was my family’s history, and not Iris or the devil himself was going to make me part with it.

  “It held old pictures, diaries, newspaper clippings. Traced my family roots all the way to Hungary with that stuff. Some people don’t care where they come from. It always mattered to me, though. There were books written in Hungarian older than all of us. It may as well have been Greek. Mama, she taught me a few words, here or there. The ones she could remember from her childhood. But I was never fully schooled in the tongue. I thought about taking the books to a university or someplace and having them translated.”

  “I could have helped with that,” George said. “I know people.”

  Nathan and Ted gave George a look that dummied him up pretty quickly.

  Nathan then turned back to Adam. “And you found the book in the attic with that stuff?”

  “Yes, sir,” Adam replied. “It was all of the way to the bottom of that box. It was buried like a secret. Thought it was an old photo album or something. Or maybe it was a memory book. The sort of things older ladies are inclined to keep. It was leather bound, title absent. I opened it up and saw that it was a journal of some kind. It was written in a language I had never seen before. It wasn’t Hungarian. I knew that much. I committed myself to figuring out what the damn thing was. I don’t know why it was a mystery that I had to figure out. But it was.”

  Ted increased the flame on the lantern, tossing shadows around. Adam took another breather, and then continued.

  “There was something inside of me. It was deep down there. It was something I can’t explain to you. Something in my blood. It drove me to that book. The words made no sense. It didn’t stop me from staring at every page, though. I picked it up whenever I had a free minute. I couldn’t help myself. It wa
s as if the more I studied it, the more I could understand it.”

  “So how did this all happen if you couldn’t read it?” George asked.

  “I couldn’t read it at first,” Adam replied. “The more I stared at those pages, though, the closer I came to understanding them. It was small words at first. Then, before I knew it, the book was laid out before me. I could read and understand every word.”

  “I’m sorry, but there’s no way,” George scoffed. “Adam, nobody could do what you’re describing. I couldn’t translate something that way. It’s impossible.”

  “Let’s leave impossibilities outside,” Ted said, checking his wound. “What ripped through my house and ate half the town didn’t seem impossible to me.”

  George turned away, his opinion spurned for the last time, as far as he was concerned.

  “Reading the book wasn’t enough after awhile,” Adam continued, without prompting. He needed to talk about it now to try and find any sense at all in it. “The book called for things; things that normal folk may have frowned on. One particular passage was called Car Nex. It was a summoning ritual. Now, I didn’t just give my belief over to this thing. I didn’t think it would really work. I didn’t really think such things were possible. But I had to find out. I had to know.”

  “You had to know,” Nathan repeated, growing a little thick with the explanation. “I’m sorry, Adam, but I just don’t understand. No God-fearing Christian would have flirted with this.”