SLClimer - Rumours of the Grotesque

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

  "Dismember my neighbors."

  "And since using the Bone Crusher, have you been able to continue with your lifestyle?"

  "No, I have not."

  "Please elaborate for us."

  Powder fell silent and his wicked eyes danced. He smiled at Grace, flicked his tongue at her, and licked pools of thick spit from his lips. She turned from his eyes, wishing the whole matter was over.

  "Well,” Powder wiped his nose and mouth on his collar for his arms were shackled to the chair, “after I filled up my freezer and refrigerator with my neighbors, I realized I was running out of room. I had taken off their heads and put them in the dishwasher because I didn't have enough room next to the arms and hands in the freezer. The fridge was overflowing with organs and stuff. I was running out of storage space."

  "Please stay on task, Louis,” Coyne directed, unaffected by the lurid tale.

  "Sorry. I saw the Bone Crusher advertised in the paper, and I went to buy one. My old one couldn't shred paper so I knew I needed a new one to help me with my neighbors. Anyway, I bought it and installed it. At first, it worked fine on the soft stuff. I got rid of nearly all my neighbors except for the really bony parts. I still had the heads, though."

  "Wait.” Grace held up her hand as bile rose in her throat. “I'm going to be sick, I think."

  "Cool,” Powder grinned.

  She took several deep breaths, squeezed her hands together, and tried to regain her focus. Grace had prepared for this case thoroughly, read every news clipping and watched every videotape she could get her hands on. She didn't think it would actually get this far.

  In her eyes, Coyne was no better than Louis Powder. Both of them turned her stomach. Grace made a mental note to file a grievance with the Bar as soon as this was over, but until then she elected to continue. He gave trial lawyers a bad name.

  "You can proceed,” she stated in a nearly inaudible whisper.

  "Where was I?” Powder asked.

  "Could you read that back, please?” Coyne said to the court reporter.

  She was as white as bleached flour and just as pasty. Her hands trembled while she gathered the paper and began to read: “I still had the heads, though."

  "Oh yeah.” Powder was back on track. “The Bone Crusher couldn't make it through bones bigger than fingers. It kept locking up until the plumbing broke. That's when I was caught."

  "So you were caught because the Bone Crusher failed to be a ‘Bone Crusher’ as advertised?” Coyne asked.

  "Yes, that's true,” Powder replied.

  "That's the basis for our suit, Ms. London.” Coyne returned to his seat.

  "I don't think the manufacturers meant human bone,” she countered. “The Bone Crusher is made for common kitchen waste, as stated in the warranty. Human remains are not common kitchen waste."

  "They are in Louis Powder's home,” Coyne added.

  "I think we're finished here.” Grace began gathering her papers into her briefcase. “I believe your questions and Mr. Powder's answers will be sufficient."

  "Wait,” Powder blurted suddenly. “There's something more."

  Grace looked at the nervous court reporter. Surely, they were thinking the same thing. What else could be said?

  "With the hospital's cooperation, we want to make a little demonstration for the record."

  "What do you mean?” Grace asked. “No one told me about that. I find this highly irregular and I don't have to stay for it."

  "Yes you do.” Coyne placed a document in front of her. “The judge says you do. To demonstrate the merit of the case against Hawthorne, the judge agreed to our demonstration. Don't worry, the guards will be here and everything is completely safe."

  Coyne stood, stepped to the door, and motioned for the guards to enter. Two armed officers pushed a makeshift countertop and sink complete with an installed Bone Crusher into the conference room. There were also several bowls full of meat and bone on the countertop.

  "What is this?” Grace asked.

  "You stated that the Bone Crusher was for common kitchen waste, did you not?"

  "Yes, I did."

  "Well, here are examples of common kitchen waste.” Coyne went to the counter and held up a plastic bag. “Common chicken bones, beef bones, skin, veggies...” The lawyer turned to a guard. “Can you please plug that in? Thanks."

  While the guard plugged the disposer into a nearby outlet, Coyne placed a large five-gallon bucket beneath the sink's drain. Also on the counter was a pitcher of water, and he poured some to make sure the drain was functioning properly. Then, he flipped the Bone Crusher's switch and it roared to life.

  "Please note on the record that I object to this highly unorthodox line of deposition,” Grace commented as Coyne prepared for the first demonstration.

  "I'm sure you would agree that these are common kitchen scraps, right Ms. London?"

  "Yes, those are the type listed in the warranty and instructions."

  "See how easily the Bone Crusher eliminates soft waste.” He shoved some chicken skin and vegetable peels inside the disposer's mouth. A fine stream of particles passed into the bucket. “Works beautifully."

  Powder looked on joyfully. “The ham bone, do the ham bone. That's about the size of the bones that broke mine."

  "I must object to this demonstration.” Grace stood. “A ham bone and a human bone are two entirely different things."

  "I thought you might say that so I consulted with a few medical specialists. Humans and pigs are remarkably similar in cell structure, and that's why pig valves are so often used in human transplants. A ham bone is similar in weight, structure, and density as a human arm bone. The comparison is valid. I have documentation if you'd like to see it."

  "Just get on with it,” Grace snapped.

  "I'll have copies sent to your office,” Coyne continued. “As you can see, this common kitchen waste, a ham bone, can't be disposed of by the appliance."

  He shoved the bone inside and flipped the switch. Coyne poured water in with the bone to represent true operating conditions. The bone was being ravaged by the spinning blades, but it was too large for the disposer. Hunks of bone began to break off and lodge in the machinery until it could no longer function. He pulled out the mauled bone and placed it in the bucket.

  "As demonstrated, the Bone Crusher In-sink Disposer does not crush bone as stated in its advertising."

  Powder suddenly burst into song: “Baby, I don't understand, just why we can't be lovers..."

  Coyne glared at his client. “Louis."

  "Sorry.” Powder made kissing lips at Grace. “That's close, but not quite the way it happened."

  Grace recognized an opportunity to snag Powder in his own testimony. “Do you wish to elaborate on that, Mr. Powder?"

  Coyne attempted to make meaningful eye contact with Powder, but his client was looking at Grace instead. “This is the demonstration we discussed,” Coyle insisted.

  "I want to hear what Mr. Powder has to say.” Grace left her mouth open slightly and let her breath ooze out of her mouth. Then she smiled. “Come on, show us."

  "I can't.” Powder lifted up both his shackled arms.

  Grace turned to the guards. “Can you move the counter closer to him? Maybe even unlock one of his arms if you would."

  They looked at each other, and one guard spoke: “I don't know, the doctors never authorized anything like that."

  "Yes, that's probably not a good idea,” Coyne added.

  "You said it yourself, the mentally ill have rights. It doesn't matter if he's in a hospital."

  "It's a facility!” Powder yelled.

  "Sorry, a facility,” Grace corrected herself. “Leave one of his arms shackled. His feet are still shackled, and you are armed. The only way my client can defend against this accusation of defective advertising and product performance is to witness the plaintiff's actual use of the Bone Crusher."

  "I won't unlock his arms, but I'll push the counter closer,” the guard said.

  "
I accept that.” Grace looked at Coyne. “How about you?"

  "We do."

  As the lawyers agreed, one guard pushed the countertop closer to the end of the meeting table. The other unsnapped his pistol holster and keenly observed the activity. Powder raised his arms to chest level for that was all the slack he had in his restraints.

  He could reach the second of the large pork bones in the bowl, and he held it as close to the sink as he could. Powder struggled against his shackles, but couldn't quite reach the mouth of the Bone Crusher.

  "I need you to push it closer,” Powder requested.

  "Nope, that's as close as it gets,” the guard said.

  "You'll have to help me, Mr. Coyne.” Powder's eyes sparkled as his lawyer got up. “I can almost reach it, but I need a little help."

  "If he helps you, will that affect the demonstration?” Grace asked.

  "Nope, not at all."

  Coyne stood next to the guard on the opposite side of Powder. “What do you want me to do?"

  "I'll hold the bone as far as I can over the drain, but you'll have to take it the last few inches. I can't reach, and I don't want to drop it. I want it to be right, so you can see how I did it and how the damn thing doesn't work."

  "Okay, go ahead and turn it on,” he said to the guard assisting him. “Get ready to pour the water in the drain and do it just like there was a tap turned on. We want to be accurate."

  "Yes, accurate,” Powder echoed. “That's what we want to be.” He moved the bone as close as he could to the Bone Crusher's opening. “Well, here's how I did it."

  The restraints pulled at his wrists, preventing him from reaching the drain completely. Coyne maneuvered his hands around the bone to help guide it accurately to the disposal. He was nervous being so close to his client, convicted serial killer Louis Powder. But money was money; he wasn't a criminal lawyer, he was a civil attorney specializing in product defection.

  "Is this right?” Coyne asked.

  "Almost,” Powder replied. “Move your left hand towards me just a little and that should do it."

  Complying, Coyne shifted his hand slightly. His Rolex slid down his lower forearm and caught on the rise of his wrist bone. Powder's eyes locked on his, and he dropped the ham bone in favor of his lawyer's arm.

  With lightning quickness, Powder shoved Coyne's hand deep inside the Bone Crusher. The whirling blades ripped at his flesh, blood spun from the mouth of the disposal, and the lawyer's screams shook the very foundation of the hospital.

  The Rolex slipped off the stub of his hand, and the merciless appliance chewed the metal. Bone and blood flowed from the drain and into the bucket, but not before the Bone Crusher choked and ground to a halt.

  The guards leapt into action. One ripped the cord from the wall while the other drew his gun and shot Powder in the shoulder. The bullet knocked him back into the chair, and Coyne was able to pull free of the Bone Crusher.

  "Call a doctor!” Grace shouted. “He's bleeding to death."

  The room suddenly filled with personnel who were watching on the monitors. Powder was too sly for them, too quick, and his point was made. The Bone Crusher was clogged with human bone once again.

  Two nurses ran to Coyne and wrapped his severed, chewed hand in clean cloths while a few others rushed to attend the shot inmate.

  As Coyne was being rushed from the room, Powder screamed after his lawyer, “So, do you think we got a chance?"

  Bring on the Headless Horses

  I love the way my arm looks with a weapon in my hand. Something sharp or painful is best; guns aren't so good because they don't feel right in my fist. They're kind of awkward, but I can use one if I have to.

  A gun just doesn't sit well in my grip. There's a kick, but no afterglow. It's that unnamable something I feel when some asshole has pissed me off and pays for it the hard way. That's something you can only get from metal—shiny steel with a sticky coating of blood.

  Who's boss? You know who's boss, motherfucker. Don't laugh at me.

  And it has to be the left hand; I'm too weak with my right and it never does look as good. The muscles on the left are full, and a vein cuts the bicep down the outside belly. When it's hot or excited, it bulges blue beneath a sheen of perspiration. My grip is powerful on a knife, thumb thick, nailbeds red from pressure, fingers like a vice around the handle.

  I wear a silver ring with three crosses most of the time, which makes the whole package look even better. I should have been a hand model or something like that. Bodyparts, maybe.

  Who's boss? I'll show you.

  I don't have a knife currently. What I have in mind doesn't require brain surgery or rocket science. I want something more quick and clean for her. I have a straight edge razor, and I arrive at Cleo's apartment just after the sun has gone down. I can still see the sunshine in the sky even though the sun is below the horizon.

  She knew I was on my way over. She has on my favorite little black dress that shows her long legs. I love how her feet look in high-heels. Cleo took the time to fix her hair, too. She even put on a little makeup.

  Sweet Cleo, the girl who always came to see me in prison. Sweet Cleo, probably the reason I was in prison in the first place. She probably turned me in. Thank God they let me work out to keep my beautiful arms.

  I didn't need voices to talk to me, not like she did. She says the voices kept her company when I was away. Cleo talks to the moon, or so she says. I don't believe her. I think she's just a freak nut, and I'm almost pissed at myself for even getting involved with her. But she was there when the heroin was delivered and she looked good. I figured she'd look just as good on my arm, maybe as good as a shiny knife. She did for awhile.

  "Hi,” she says.

  I don't reply right away; I just want to get the job over with. “You look pretty hot tonight."

  "When you said you wanted to see me, I got all excited."

  "That's good,” I smile.

  She pushes the door open to invite me in. I want to go inside, but I hate her dog. He hates me, too. Maybe he knew too much; dogs have a sense about things like that. They know who's bad and who's afraid of them. I wasn't afraid of him, but he might think I am. I hear his grunting and barking, knowing he's drooling all over the place. Stupid fat Chow, I'll gut him after I finish Cleo.

  "I don't want to come in; what I gotta do I can do right here."

  Her face looks puzzled; she has no idea of what I'm about to do. She thinks we're solid, but I'm tired of her. There're other, better-looking girls who want me. I can't trust Cleo, either. She's unstable and she might spill her guts to the police—if I don't spill hers first. That's something I can't risk, not after getting back into the good graces of Doc and his gang. They weren't sure after I was released, but I convinced them. It was the amount of shit I could push on the street that convinced them.

  The Chow barks at the end of his leash. “You have something for me? You're sweet to me. Lulu,” she scolds the dog, “quiet."

  I look at her face as she waits in anticipation. Overhead, seagulls are laughing at me; they're diving for the trash dumpster behind the nearby bushes. In a minute, they'll have a corpse to pick at.

  Do it, the seagulls scream.Hahahahahahahahaha.

  Down at my side, I unfold the razor. She can't see it, but the seagulls can. Again.Hahahahahaha.

  I raise it so Cleo can see it. Her eyes pop open wide with disbelief and fear. She sees the razor in its full, gleaming glory now. And she sees me cocking my arm back to slash it across her long, creamy neck. Cleo screams and throws her hands in the air. I go to strike, letting the power of my muscle thrust the blade towards her arteries.

  Something stops me in mid-slash. Cleo has let the leash slip from her grip, and Lulu leaps at me. The dog clamps down viciously on my forearm. It's my turn to shriek in pain as his teeth mangle my beautiful left arm. I feel the canines burying up to the roof of the dog's mouth, the bottom teeth closing from beneath, completing the unbreakable hold.

  My blood
pours out into Lulu's mouth, and I make the mistake of yanking my arm. The teeth drag through my flesh, tearing it mercilessly. In the background, I hear Cleo screaming and screaming and the seagulls laughing.Hahahahahahahaha.

  I keep pulling at my arm, desperately trying to get it out of the dog's mouth. Suddenly, as I struggle with the mauling Chow, I stumble towards the stairs and fall down them. The dog lets go as I fall on him. He runs back a few steps, but not far enough for me to get cleanly away.