Ad Nauseam

by C. W. LaSart

  “What do you want?”

  “Call your boss and take the rest of the afternoon off. We’re gonna take a little walk to your apartment and I’ll show ya.” With that she stood and walked out the door, not waiting for his response. Micah had already paid for his lunch, so he hurried to catch up, pulling out his cell phone and placing a call to his the office to tell his boss that he had come down with a stomach virus and wouldn’t be in for the rest of the day. His apartment was only a few blocks away from the deli and Muse walked much faster than he would’ve believed she could.

  Am I really doing this? Do I really want to let this creepy bitch into my apartment? Muse strutted up the stairs like a woman half her age, then waited expectantly in front of his door.

  Who or what the hell is this woman? What if she wants sex? Micah couldn’t imagine how he would ever be able to fulfill his end of the bargain if that was the case.

  “How do you know so much about me?” Micah asked, feeling very uneasy about letting her into his home.

  “You don’t wanna know, boy. Now unlock that door and let me in. We have work to do and I don’t have all day to screw around on this.”

  Micah did as he was told, unlocking the door and entering in front of Muse.

  She didn’t seem to have much in the way of manners, so he saw no reason that he should go out of his way to act chivalrous to the hag.

  Once inside, she spent a few moments peering around, her glittering dark eyes taking in everything in at once. Apparently satisfied with what she saw, Muse pushed a pile of papers off the kitchen table and sat down on the chair.

  Muttering incoherently, she wasted no time upending her bag and scattering the contents onto the table. What looked like a pile of stones rested in a heap on top. Irregularly shaped and a mixture of odd colors, the stones, Micah imagined, were probably not rocks at all but rather the faded, glossy bones of small animals.

  “Are you a witch?” Micah’s voice ended in a squeak, causing color to flood his face.

  “Does it matter?” Muse looked up from arranging the bones and stones, her eyes narrowed and her mouth pinched.

  “I was just wondering how you, uh, did what you did to me.”

  “I can explain it to ya, or I can do it again. Which you want?”

  “I need a novel. They are expecting a novel out of me and I can’t come up with one. I was hoping—”

  “I know what you need. Now can we get to it?” She looked impatient and he suddenly feared she might leave.

  “Yes, of course.”

  Muse made a show of studying the pattern of the bits and pieces on the table, scrutinizing their layout for long moments before making minor adjustments. When she was satisfied, she nodded her head once and made a horrible phlegmy noise in the back of her throat before hacking a wad of snot a high school bully would’ve been proud of onto the pile. Micah grimaced.

  “Time for your contribution.”

  “My contribution?”

  “I told you this one wasn’t free. Now get out your pecker, boy. Gonna need some of your spunk for it to work.”

  “My what?” Micah stared at the hideous creature seated at his kitchen table, hoping he had heard her wrong.

  “Come on! You jerk off every morning thinking about that reporter with the big tits. So just do it already!”

  He stood frozen in place, his jaw slack. How in the hell could she know that? Muse made an impatient gesture at his crotch and Micah took a step back.

  “I’m sorry. I think this was a mistake.”

  “I guess so. Maybe you don’t wanna be a real writer after all.” She stood and made as if to gather her trinkets back into the bag, but Micah grabbed her wrist. She glanced sharply at him .

  “I do want to be a writer. I do.” Unbuckling his belt and wondering if he had lost his mind, Micah pushed the flaps of his jeans aside and pulled his penis out of the slit in front of his boxers. He rubbed at himself mechanically, picturing the busty reporter while trying not to notice that the old woman’s eyes watched his every move with rapt attention. It was no good. He couldn’t masturbate with her watching.

  “Oh for cripes sake!” Muse spit on her hand and grabbed his flaccid cock before he could pull away, stroking him in a rough and professional manner which left no doubt that she had done this before. To his amazement, he became hard almost immediately. As her gnarled hand gripped him in a fist and worked him relentlessly, he felt himself racing towards a ball-draining climax.

  Hideous or not, she was about to get him off in a big way.

  “Oh my God!” he shouted, gripping the table with both hands as he came, spurting his spunk upon the pile of rocks and bones in what seemed like an endless flow. Hearing a sizzling noise, he looked on in amazement as thin, blue smoke began to rise from the mess.

  “God ain’t got nothing to do with this. Now breathe it in, boy! Quick, before it stops!”

  Micah did as he was told, his head swimming as the sweet smoke filled his lungs. Still clutching at the table, he tried to stop the floor from racing up to meet him, but the world went black as he fell.

  Waking a few hours later, Micah lay sprawled on the kitchen floor, his head aching and his cock still hanging limply out the front of his shorts. He sat up, rubbing an egg-shaped lump on the back of his head. The pile of stones on the table was gone. So was Muse.

  The memory of that clawed hand jerking him off filled Micah with humiliation and he wanted to vomit, hot bile forcing its way up his throat. He walked with uncertainty towards the bathroom, intending to take a hot shower to wash away the memory, but found himself turning left into the office instead. Through no conscious effort of his own, he turned on the computer and opened a new document. Head still throbbing and stomach churning, Micah began to type.

  ***

  “I’m getting the cue that we only have time for one more question. You, in the back. Yellow shirt.”

  A shapely blonde in a tight yellow sweater stood up, smoothing her slacks over her hips nervously before speaking.

  “Um, yeah. I was wondering. Your books are so great and scary. Where do you get your ideas?” She immediately sat back down, leaning forward in her seat as if she expected him to divulge the meaning of life.

  Micah smiled at the woman before sweeping the entire audience with a mock serious look. This was a common question at public engagements, but it was one he enjoyed closing the night with. After a moment of silent contemplation to build the tension, (the blonde looked like she might actually fall off her chair) he spoke.

  “My muse is one seriously twisted bitch, and she drives me relentlessly.” The MC thanked him and Micah nodded to the crowd before he left the stage to thunderous applause. No matter how many times he did one of these things, he still enjoyed the attention. He knew plenty of bestselling authors who hated these engagements, who resented having to make appearances for the sake of marketing and building a fan base, but not him. He loved the attention and adoration of his fans. He never became annoyed when interrupted during dinner by a fan requesting an autograph. He deserved the attention. He went through hell to get where he was now.

  As the plane began to taxi down the runway, Micah noticed the woman across the aisle from him reading his latest book, The Devil’s Way. She smiled shyly at him when she caught him looking and he smiled back, giving her a little wink. Some days he felt like a fuckin rock star. But as the plane got closer to home, his jubilant mood began to sour. His thoughts strayed from the crowd earlier in the night to Muse. The circuit was almost over and a movie based on the book was due to hit the theaters in just two weeks. His publisher would be expecting an outline for his next project very soon.

  Muse.

  Glancing across the aisle toward the woman once more, he looked at the demonic man on the cover of the book; something about the eyes was familiar. They reminded him of Muse’s demented stare. Suddenly he wasn’t so happy to see her reading it. He wondered if she would still want to buy his books if she knew the things he did to wri
te them. Then again, with the way the world was, it might increase their appeal.

  It had been the same thing after the second book as it had been with the first. Muse disappeared and Micah foolishly told himself he wouldn’t need her help next time. He told himself he would finally figure out the formula that would allow him to churn out a bestseller on his own. Then after weeks of agonizing at the keyboard just to type a few words, she showed up. It seemed as though she could smell his desperation.

  The second book had required he take a life. It had been hard to kill the neighbor’s kitten and place its still warm body upon the stones. He liked cats and had nothing against his neighbors, but he needed a sequel to the first book. It was on the bestseller list for a solid twenty weeks. The publisher practically got on his knees and begged for another book.

  In the long run, Micah figured, one kitten’s life wasn’t that much to give for fame and fortune, was it? But seeing that broken hearted little girl searching every afternoon after school for her lost pet had really made him feel like shit. Those teary blue eyes had ultimately made him move away. He had made enough money off the first book to buy a house in the country and the sequel was so highly anticipated it was predicted to top the charts upon release. He could certainly afford to move somewhere better, and thought maybe with a change of scenery he would find the formula to write the next novel by himself.

  Six months in the country and Micah realized he still didn’t have what he needed to write alone. An overwhelming sense of panic sent him back to his old neighborhood where he spent the whole evening roaming, looking for his lost Muse. He searched street corners and diners, even went through the homeless shelter twice in his desperate search. Only when the snow became so heavy he feared he might not make it home did he finally give up.

  I’ve fucked up; she can’t find me. I can’t find her. My career is over.

  When Micah pulled through the gate and up the driveway, his heart gave a funny lurch. Sitting on his porch, still dressed in the same raggedy clothing but sporting a heavy green army jacket, was Muse. He didn’t ask how she got there, how she had found a way through his security system. He had given up on asking her questions, always receiving cryptic and dismissive answers. She was there and he was grateful. It was all that mattered.

  She didn’t seem mad that he moved away from her, but she did make him pay. After telling him she had his third novel ready, she once again handed him a sheet of paper, and this time all that was written on it was a name and phone number. She told him to call the guy and explained what he needed to ask for. Micah’s stomach twisted at the request, but he picked up the phone. Two hours later he was waiting in an alley behind the hospital, pacing by a door that read HOSPITAL PERSONNEL ONLY.

  Bob came out on his break and lit a cigarette, looking around suspiciously before handing Micah a small wrapped bundle. Without a word, Micah handed him a wad of folded bills and it was over. Not a word was spoken between the two. Bob explained over the phone how he would obtain the objects, but it still didn’t make Micah feel better as he drove home, glancing down at the horrible package that lay on the passenger seat. He hoped like hell he wouldn’t get pulled over, knowing that if he did, despite his promises to the contrary, he would give Bob up in a heartbeat. What kind of person was willing to do this sort of thing, anyways?

  When he walked in the door, Muse was waiting for him, the pile of stones and bones already arranged. He tried to hand her the bundle but she refused.

  “Gotta be you.”

  Micah took a deep breath and set the bundle on the table, gingerly unwrapping the plastic. He nearly shrieked when he saw the little hands, despite already knowing what the package contained. The baby had been stillborn, its body on the way to be cremated, so at least he wasn’t responsible for its death. He was glad that they weren’t pink anymore, the way a newborn’s hands should look, but it was still awful.

  Chubby fingers the color of clay were clenched into tight fists, ending in bloody stumps at the wrist. They felt cool to the touch and still terribly soft. He turned his head to the side and vomited as he placed them on the pile, mindful not to get puke on the offering.

  This time when he awoke, Muse was still seated at his table, eating ice cream directly from the carton. He stared at her in disbelief for a moment, willing her to disappear like a phantom. She remained real and nasty, smacking her lips loudly as she shoveled spoonfuls of rocky road into her nearly toothless mouth.

  “Shouldn’t you be gone?” He knew he sounded cranky but didn’t care. That wretched old witch had made him collect baby hands for her.

  “Got nowhere to go. I’m moving in with you.”

  ***

  Micah took a cab from the airport, his mood darkening more with each mile he came closer to home. He figured at first that it wouldn’t be so bad to have her there; he was gone most of the time anyway. Book signings and public appearances ate up a lot of his free time. He had no steady girlfriend, preferring one night stands with women he met at conventions and book club appearances. It was easier for him that way, and he knew deep inside that if he were to let a woman get too close to him, he might divulge his secret.

  Micah thought it really wasn’t that bad living with the crone at first. She didn’t eat much and spent most of her time in her room. He would occasionally run into her in the kitchen, or hear her cackling laugh coming through the closed door as he walked down the hall. She seemed to enjoy sitcoms quite a bit, reruns of Friends entertained her for hours. For the most part she left him alone.

  She stunk, though. Over the months her stink permeated every room of the house, musty and rank, it was an old lady smell. Though she now had access to a shower every day, she never changed her clothes and never appeared any cleaner. Every accidental glimpse of her, every time he smelled her sickly odor, every time he heard her laughs muffled behind the door, she reminded him of how far he was willing to go for success. She showed him just how dark he was inside, to what lengths he was capable of going and what depravities he would commit for the next tale.

  It was late and Micah stayed quiet as he entered. He was relieved there was no sign of Muse and that her bedroom door was shut. Exhausted from the trip, he headed straight to his own bedroom on the opposite side of the house and disrobed, falling into bed without even a shower.

  He knew that within a few days, it would be time to discuss the next book with her, and he wondered how long he could carry on with this. He didn’t even want to think about what offerings would be requested after the baby hands, and despised the person he had become. With royalties from the movie getting ready to pour in, he seriously considered retiring and just investing the money he had already earned.

  Maybe I’ll take a job at one of the big publishers as an editor. Hell, maybe I’ll start my own publishing company!

  The ideas swirled through his head as he eventually fell into an uneasy sleep.

  ***

  Micah plunged his hands into long hair, gently pressuring her to take his cock deeper into her throat. She didn’t gag or protest; she sucked him in deep, causing his hips to involuntarily thrust harder. He moaned while she made greedy noises with her mouth, and he began to pump furiously against her face, close to the most powerful release of his life. As he came hard, she continued, not shying away from his semen like so many other women, but gobbling it down as if she couldn’t get enough, he came again, surprising them both with the second burst.

  As the spasms subsided and his heart rate began to decrease, Micah stroked her hair, realizing with a start that the tresses in his hand were no longer smooth and soft. His hands gripped the coarse and tangled mess, pulling her away from his cock and lifting her face to his own.

  He let out a startled cry when Muse’s wrinkled face came into view, her rotting teeth exposed in a lascivious smile while saliva and semen glistened on her creased chin. Trying to push her away, his arms lost strength and fell by his side, paralyzed. He watched in horror as she crawled up his prone body, he
r sagging tits dragging along his chest, horrible and deflated, the wrinkled skin splotched with age spots

  “Ooooh Lover!” she cooed in her raspy voice. “My turn! But don’t worry, I hear the older the berry the sweeter the juice!”

  Muse straddled his head and sat on his face.

  ***

  Micah bolted upright in bed, a scream lodged painfully in his throat and his heart hammering in his chest. Early morning sunlight streamed through the blinds, momentarily blinding him. As his confusion subsided, he realized he was in his own bed. Alone. Breathing a sigh of relief, he ran a shaky hand through his hair and it came back wet with sweat. His hair wasn’t the only thing wet; he realized with disgust that he had ejaculated during his dream.

  That was some sick shit, he thought.

  After a long shower, he stripped the soiled linens and dumped them in the washing machine with more detergent than necessary, before heading to the kitchen to make himself breakfast. As he cooked, he began to regain some sense of normalcy and he felt a strengthening of his convictions from the night before.

  I can’t go on like this. I need to stop it. Maybe I will start my own publishing company. With three bestsellers, two of which are still on the charts, and a major motion picture based off my last novel, I have plenty of money.

  “Are you ready?” Muse’s raspy voice startled him so badly that he dropped the spatula, his hand shaking when he bent to retrieve it.

  She laughed, her eyes glittering like chips of black stone in her wizened face where she sat at the table.

  “How long have you been there? I didn’t hear you come in.”

  “Oh, for a while, boy. It’s time to talk about your next book. I need another offering.”

  Micah stood in the kitchen looking at her for a long time, then dropped his eyes to the floor. I can do this. I need to do this.

  “I’ve been thinking, Muse.”

  “Do tell, son.” Her voice sounded amused.

  “Well . . . ” He paused for a moment, considering what to say, before continuing in a rush, his words flowing faster than he could think. “I don’t want to do this anymore. I mean, I’m grateful for everything you have done for me, and we’ve had a good run at it. But I just think that it’s time to stop this. I want to retire and start my own publishing company. I will pay you whatever you want for what you’ve done.”