SLClimer - Rumours of the Grotesque

by Rumours of the Grotesque (v1. 0) [lit]

  * * * *

  An hour before the first rays of sunshine, the children woke. Scrambling out of their beds, they went into the hallway past the locked workshop door. They were never to go see the Christmas tree without their father, so they rushed into his room. Bouncing on the bed, they woke him.

  Although he was exhausted from the night of preparation, he was no stranger to fatigue. The long hours of slaving to pay the bills, retain the family's pride, made him ready to get up and function on little sleep. This time, it was worth staying up. His children were worth it. His wife was worth it. He had to forget his troubles, at least for one day, and listen to the reassuring voices.

  "Did Santa come last night?” he said with groggy joy in his voice.

  "Yes!” the kids yelled in unison before becoming excited, blabbering motormouths.

  They pulled him from the bed, and they slowly walked down the hallway as a family. He had a child hanging on each hand and little Noel in his arms. This was the only day of the year that had any joy left. Tomorrow would just be another day on the construction site, building the new stadium. Tomorrow night, he would pick up the kids from the school's latchkey program and come home. Right now, though, as they stood on the threshold of the living room, they were a happy family. He worked so hard to keep his family together. The children mustn't suffer, the voices always said, don't let them suffer.

  As they stepped into full view of the Christmas tree, the children's eyes ignited with wonder and magic. Starting at the base of the tree, they beheld the three small presents. They simmered with excitement; there were no presents at all last year.

  And, although the gifts were wonderful, that is not what they looked for. Their father rushed over to the wall and quickly plugged in the tree. It twinkled brilliantly like diamonds. The children marveled at its beauty. Multi-colored lights danced and reflected upon the garland and bulbs.

  All three children looked for the special ornaments. They had to be on the tree. Mid-way up on the grand Douglas fir, nestled in a wide gap in the branches, rested Grampa's head. His hair was thin and patchy, and his skin stretched, dried and preserved. Daddy had stitched Grampa's mouth shut with heavy carpet twine. His eyes were stretched open wide to reveal that the sockets had been filled with shiny silver balls. The head was cradled in beautiful fabric and slung over one of the strongest branches.

  The children were overjoyed to see Grampa's face, his eyes shining and watching. Suddenly, they all looked to the top of the tree. The top branch had been stripped and sharpened to a spike on which the angel could be placed. And there she was.

  Mommy's skin was still fair, her mouth sewn shut with transparent fishing line. Her shoulder-length blonde hair curled on the ends, framing her heavenly face. She wore her wedding veil, too, and it was still perfectly preserved just like her flesh. Like Grampa, her eyes were stretched open wide, and sparkling gold balls looked out upon the living room. Daddy had put on Mommy's makeup: lipstick, rouge, eye liner, and lush false eyelashes.

  She could see her children again. They were so happy, and all began to cry. This was a joyous time, their father felt. He could hear his wife's voice: you are raising them so well; they understand how important family is; thank you, my love. The twinkling lights danced on her eyes as they gazed out upon her family.

  "Mommy!” they shouted.

  "I told you Santa would bring Mommy,” Daddy said to them. “He brought Grampa, too. He even brought presents."

  "Can we open them?” Jack squirmed excitedly.

  "I'll get them for you.” He took the presents and went to sit on the beaten-down old couch. The furnace kicked on, and dry heat filled the house. He turned off the humidifier to keep his wife's image fully preserved, as well as Grampa's. “Lilly, here is yours."

  Lilly took the gift and tore through the paper. “What is it?” Rifling the box, she revealed a small doll. “A dolly!"

  "Now, you go Jack."

  Jack took the gift. As his small son began ripping the paper, Daddy looked to the top of the Christmas tree. His angel could look down on their precious children and see they weren't suffering. He took care of them, they didn't suffer, they didn't have to let go of anything. He knew one day the magic would fade, but right now Santa was bringing them what they all needed.

  "Wow, a car!” Jack screamed and instantly began making imaginary roads on the thread-bare carpet.

  "Wait now. Before you start playing, Noel has to open her gift.” He pulled his little girl close. “Santa brought this especially for you. He knew how much you wanted it."

  She took the small box in her tiny hands and pulled at the paper. As it came away in sheets, she located the top of the box and opened it. Noel reached past the tissue paper until her hand came in contact with something furry. In the fur, she felt a small metal hook, and she grabbed it.

  The box fell away. In her hand, dangling from the silver hook, was Kitty's head. The fur was smooth and orange, just like she remembered. The mouth was sutured shut, and the eyes had been replaced with bright, faux red rubies.

  "Kitty!” she shouted joyously.

  "Go hang it on the tree next to Grampa, sweetie."

  As he watched his little baby rushing to hang the decapitated cat's head on the Christmas tree, he looked high to his wife's sparkling golden eyes. This family would make it, he sighed. Yes, indeed, they would make it.

  Devil's Food

  No one ever believed me when I told them I hated to go to camp. They had the misconception that because I was an attractive, successful man, my life had always been a dream. But summer camp was the worst experience of my life. My parents, who hated each other, decided to make me equally miserable by sending me to Sasquaramarch Camp in northern Michigan. I had my reasons for disliking it: the food was awful, the counselors were stupid and boring, and demons haunted the woods. As a fourteen year-old, I could deal with the crappy chow, but not the demons. Let me explain how it all happened, the day I discovered the woods devil living by the camp.

  As I said before, it was one of those wicked summers after a year full of middle-school teasing about my weight and looks. My mother thought camp would be a good thing. I'd gone the previous summer, but it hadn't been the ball-breaking blast-o-fun they had promised. They just didn't want me around. My mom wanted to keep having her affair with Mr. Standish across the road, and my dad wanted to keep drinking, and as far away from her as possible.

  Initially, I didn't think camp was such a bad idea. I don't know how they found Sasquaramarch, but that is where I ended up. I thought the teasing would end, but it didn't. I was even teased on the bus—hell, I was teased while waiting for the bus. I know I wasn't much to look at—fifty pounds overweight, limp brown hair, and acne—but I had a heart and they hurt me every way they could.

  I didn't make any friends on the bus on the way up. I didn't make any friends at check-in. I didn't make any friends at the first dinner. I even got the only single room at the camp because I hadn't “buddied up” with anyone yet. So much for my self-esteem being pumped up. So, being used to such turns of fortune, I unpacked my bags. The old wooden floor creaked beneath my girth as I lumbered from dresser to suitcase.

  Outside, the darkness of the woods was creeping upon the camp. Night came early and quickly in the dense woods, and my cabin was on the edge of the forest. In spite of my protests and fears, they stuck me as far away as possible. I don't know why I expected anything different from them than I did from my own parents.

  Suddenly, as I was hiding my smuggled snacks, something caught my eye. Subtle movement outside my window shocked me. At first, I thought it was one of the other kids beginning a summer-long reign of bully-terror. I was wrong; the movement came from the woods.

  I dropped my cupcakes and chocolate and went to the window. Peering out into the deepening dark, I couldn't see anything but silhouettes of trees and bushes. I thought it was a deer, then a raccoon. There wasn't really anything out there—except two tiny points of red light in the distance.r />
  Out in the trees, I could see two small bright red lights, like the kind on the back of a motorcycle. They were close together, and they moved in unison, never straying away from one another. I struggled hard to focus, but they simply melted away into the trees. Darkness closed all around the mystery, obstructing my view.

  Convinced I was seeing things, I returned to my candy and swept it lovingly into my arms. This was my shame, the reason I was so fat my dad said. At least it didn't make me drunk. I opened the Hostess Cupcakes and ate both of them before the wrapper hit the ground.

  I didn't feel like being social so I pretended to be sick and stayed in my cabin that evening. I didn't want any part of their fireside festivities. No hot-dogs for me, no marshmallows or s'mores. At least, not where anyone could see me. I wasn't up for a night of laughter, because usually it was at me, the fat kid. God, how I wished all those Friday the 13th movies were real. I didn't care if Jason killed me as long as he got the others.

  I resigned to entertaining myself with the latest X-Factor comic books and some of my secret stash. I was going through my supply rather quickly because of my solitary confinement. It didn't matter; I knew there would be money in the mail, and I could find me a pusher—any 7-11 or Baskin-Robbins would do. There is where I sat until the early morning hours. I read almost all of the comics I brought with me because I was so wired on the sugar of all the candy I had eaten. I could hear them laughing from the inner circle of the campfire, a place where I wasn't welcome.

  I wondered what they were talking about. Was it about me? I went to the window of my reclusive cabin and opened the rickety wooden sash. The screenless window allowed the swarm of bugs to enter my room, but I didn't care as long as I could hear the other kids talk. I listened hard and tried to focus above the rustle of leaves in the wind. I could hear mumbling, then a sudden burst of laughter would follow. I reached for a Snickers bar and sat by the window. I fell asleep there, I think, waiting.

  * * * *

  I woke with chocolate smeared on my face. I was an embarrassing mess. I could see why everyone disliked me: fat, a hog, a pig, always filling my face. There was plenty of fuel for self-pity, I thought, and who better to experience it than me? They didn't know what it was like at all.

  It was 7 a.m., and I was late for breakfast in the main dining room. Shoving my pity into the back of my head, I stood and put on a T-shirt and shorts. As I scrambled to leave my lonely cabin, I looked to the woods where I had seen the red lights the night before. The woods deepened at that point and looked impassable. There were also signs warning against trespassing. For a second, I thought I saw the lights again, but I figured it was simply my imagination. I was late enough as it was; I couldn't stand around peering into the woods.

  I ran all the way across the camp, past the still-sizzling campfire of the night before, and into the dining hall. As the screen door slammed behind me, I was met with silence. There were no kids, no counselors, no anyone. Then, I heard noise from the kitchen. I rushed back to see who was there.

  As I opened the door, I saw two kids and an old woman washing pots, pans, and dishes. The woman glared at me with one bright blue eye—her other was covered by a patch. Her fingers were long and spindly, and wrinkles fell like theater drapes around her neck.

  "You're late,” she said to me. “You missed breakfast."

  "I'm sorry.” I felt so ashamed, and the other kids snickered while drying dishes.

  Suddenly, the woman, who first struck me as scary and evil, demonstrated a compassionate streak. She turned to them. “You two be quiet. It could have been you just as easy."

  "I didn't mean to oversleep. I'm so far out, and by myself..."

  She stopped me cold in my speech. “You be quiet, too. There's no excuses for being late. All of the other children are down at the lake swimming. You missed that, too.” She wasn't as nice as I had thought, just a grumpy old woman who didn't seem to care for kids. “There are some biscuits left over there. I was going to take them and feed the deer, but you can have them. Don't be late tomorrow.” She turned her attention to the other boys. “As for you, keep washing. I'll teach you to throw food in my kitchen."

  Not wanting to risk any more wrath of the kitchen witch, I snatched up the biscuits and bolted out of the dining hall. I contemplated heading down to the shore and joining the class, but I reconsidered. I already knew what would happen: the counselors would scold me for being tardy, the kids would laugh, and then they would laugh harder when I had to take off my shirt. I didn't want to go through that, at all.

  Instead, I ran back to my cabin to be with my food and comics. I didn't need the other kids; I could entertain myself. I came around the side of my cabin and climbed the two stairs to the screen door. As I reached for the door, I found it ajar. I was certain I had closed it. Someone had been in my cabin, and they had made no attempt to conceal the trespass.

  I opened the door with fierce intent, wanting to catch someone in the act of violating my privacy. I was prepared to see a counselor going through my things or one of the meaner kids in camp. But as the door opened fully, there was no one to be seen. All of my things were just as I had left them.

  Confused, I put the biscuits on the dresser next to some of my chocolate and went to close the door. That's when I saw the lights again. I glanced toward the woods as I reached for the knob, and there they were. This time, however, I could see a small, shadowy animal. It possessed the glowing embers; I had seen its eyes last night in the woods.

  Instead of being frightened by the notion that it was a bear or wolf, I was intrigued. I may have been fat and afraid of other people, but I wasn't afraid of animals. I wanted to see it close-up; I wanted to see if it was a bear or a wildcat. I thought perhaps it was even the black panther that was rumored to be living in the woods.

  I grabbed some biscuits and chocolate and started to walk toward the little red eyes. I got closer, and they retreated deeper into the woods. Suddenly, whatever it was turned and ran like lightning through the trees.

  I ran after it, hoping to catch a glimpse before it lost me totally. I was so fat and out of shape that I couldn't keep up with it. Pausing to rest against a tree, I looked down at the ground. The animal had left a faint but distinct trail through the woods. I was even more perplexed because the tracks looked more like a bird's, but much larger, with something dragging the ground between them.

  After ten minutes of following the trail, I came to a clearing scattered with dead leaves and underbrush. It was a shallow gully ringed with large stones, and I noticed the carcass of three or four deer on the forest floor. My father was a hunter, and at first, I thought I had stumbled across someone's hunting camp. Then, I noticed the deer were all on their sides, facing the same way, and in different stages of decomposition. They reeked like garbage. Some were discolored and in the earliest stages of rot, while others had bones protruding like old fingers through matted hide. The smell pulled past my stomach and down into my bowels. I couldn't tell if I wanted to vomit or shit worse.

  Just as I was about to turn from the killing field, subtle movement caught my eye. It came from one of the animals on the forest floor. It was the freshest kill, lying up near the top of the gully. The fur was still shiny, and the deer could have only been dead a few days. I stared at it, trying to determine if I was imagining things. Nervously, I pulled a piece of candy out of my hot pocket and stuck it in my mouth.

  The kill was strange in appearance from the outset. Although I wasn't an expert hunter in the least—I was against it—I did know something about it. This deer had no visible gunshots or other wounds to explain its death. I looked back at the trail of corpses and realized none of them had wounds from man or beast. The only thing they had in common was a basketball-sized hole in their abdomens—and all of their guts missing.

  Suddenly, I saw the movement from the fresh deer again. I thought it was still alive because every time I looked directly at it, the animal stopped moving. I stared hard at it, crushing t
he candy between my teeth. Without warning, the skin of the animal began to bulge. It started subtlety, then rose slowly toward the trees. I realized there was something in the deer's stretching belly.

  Too intrigued and frightened to run, I simply watched it. The lump inside traveled freely within the hollowed-out cavity, signifying that the entire abdomen was empty. My mind raced, and I had to get another piece of candy for strength. What could it be, I asked myself—a wolverine, a badger? The bulge swelled to the point that the skin was starting to break. Fractures of pink, bloodless flesh appeared beneath the brown fur as something struggled to break free.

  Suddenly, a withered, bony set of fingers simply sliced through the flesh. A second hand joined the first and began to pull the new opening wider and wider until a small gray head—bearing the burning red eyes—jutted out. It was tiny like a cabbage, but slick with blood and other fluids. It grinned with a smile that looked like a bear trap. I fell to the ground. Fear had taken me to a new level, and I couldn't move.