Bethany And The Zombie Jesus: A Novelette With 11 Other Tales of Horror And Grotesquery

by Jake Bible

  Oh, God this could take years…

  “Yes,” the small man replied.

  Sigh.

  “Now, Grubnar The Blistering claims that according to the Cooperative’s by-laws, tenants are not allowed to keep pets upon the premises, thus voiding any liability he may have. Mr. Tintultintintul claims the same by-laws state that only a maximum of 350 offspring may be kept in any one condo at a time without a temporary use license and a full meeting and vote of the Cooperative’s board, of which Mr. Tintultintintul is a sitting member. Agreed?”

  Grubnar flashed tentacles; Mr. Tintultintintul nodded.

  Jim pushed back from the table, rubbed at his eyes and looked both of the beings square in the face region. “Now, before we continue, do either of you feel a compromise can be made here?”

  Neither answered vocally, but Jim could tell from their body language that both were resolute in their views.

  Sigh.

  “Fine. I’m going to call my assistant in here and we are going to place our meal orders so we can work straight through this. Grubnar The Blistering there is an excellent eyeball menu I am sure you will appreciate. Mr. Tintultintintul, I’d recommend the egg salad right now. The onions are just right, not too strong with just the perfect amount of sweetness.”

  Again, neither participant answered, but neither protested, either.

  “Good.” Jim tapped the com button. “Marjorie? We are going to need a Flepsomnolisky menu and a human menu when you get a chance. Also, go ahead and call the cryo department. I’m going to need at least one clone thawed, possibly two.”

  “Yes, sir, Mr. Drury,” Marjorie’s voice buzzed from the com.

  Jim rolled up his shirt sleeves and removed his tie completely. “She’ll be right in. She has to decontaminate and suit up.” He leaned in conspiratorially. “Ammonia breather, you see.”

  Mr. Tintultintintul chuckled faintly and Grubnar The Blistering’s color became polka dotted in yellows and oranges. Jim took this as a good sign.

  Within minutes, Marjorie entered the mediation room, her massive iron suit making a horrible clanging noise. All three winced at each echoing, cacophonous step. Marjorie slowly made her way to the table and placed a menu before each participant.

  “Just a reminder, sir,” Marjorie said, checking a data pad. “You have an 11am appointment in two hundred years.”

  “Crap…,” Jim complained. “Fine, put them in stasis if we aren’t done in one fifty, okay?”

  “Of course, Mr. Drury. Oh, and your wife called. She wants to know if she needs to thaw the kids’ clones today…?”

  Sigh.

  “I’ll handle that one. Tell her I’ll call her during lunch, maybe we’ll get lucky.” Jim glanced at the participants. Sigh. “Nevermind. I’ll call her in a minute.”

  Of course, Mr. Drury.”

  “Thank you, Marjorie,” Jim nodded and looked back to Mr. Tintultintintul and Grubnar. “Now before she goes, would you like Marjorie to call any descendants you haven’t already listed that would want to take up this negotiation in case this runs past yours and your next in-line’s life spans?”

  Jim looked from one to the other. “No? Fine then. Thank you Marjorie, I’ll call you with our order.” Marjorie clanged from the room, the air seal whooshing shut behind her.

  Jim watched the two participants peruse their menus. Jim didn’t need a menu, having memorized them over the past 3,400 years during which he, or his cloned bodies, had been mediating.

  I hope my next clone’s stomach can tolerate sauerkraut. I miss sauerkraut.

  “Grubnar The Blistering would rather rip your intestines from your body cavity, bury them for a thousand years on the acid moon of Traflagar, excavate the sludge, feed them to an Arterian dogpod, wait until they have been fully digested, then pluck them from the dogpod just before excretion and put them on a sun dried tomato tortilla.”

  Jim rubbed at his neck. “The wraps are on the back of the menu.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small bottle. He quickly dry swallowed three pills, closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

  “Okay, I say we go ahead and get on with this. Get some of the insignificant details out of the way first. Oh, stop waving your tentacles already, I know nothing is insignificant to Grubnar The Blistering. So, first thing is, I want us to take a look at the cooperative’s by-laws…”

  Twelve Drabbles ‘Til Midnight: A Short Story, 100 Words At A Time

  1 P.M.

  Mr. Tweedy stood in the closet doorway with food tray in hand, backlit from the sunshine in his bedroom. Angela lay bent over in the closet corner, her blond hair covering her porcelain skin and electric blue eyes. Mr. Tweedy leaned forward, setting the tray of food by her feet.

  “You must eat now. You have to keep your strength up. Please?”

  Angela remained mute, not even acknowledging his presence.

  “Louis! Who are you talking to?”

  “No one, Mother! Jeesh!”

  Mr. Tweedy looked longingly at Angela, sighed and shut the closet door.

  Angela refused to move, even after he left.

  2 P.M.

  “Sorry that took so long,” Mr. Tweedy whispered, carefully opening the closet door, trying to avoid any creaks or protests from the old hinges. “I had to help Mother in the garden. We have wonderful tomatoes this year. Would you like some?”

  Angela refused to answer.

  Mr. Tweedy sighed, picking up the food tray and looking at the untouched sandwich. “I’m not much of a sandwich eater either. But Mother says they are a good way to get all major food groups.”

  He waited for a response, some sign that she had noticed him.

  Silence. Mr. Tweedy closed the door.

  3 P.M.

  “I have to go out for a while. When I get back we are going to need to start getting you ready for tonight. Big night for us,” Mr. Tweedy beamed.

  He waited, but only the sounds of Mother finishing the lunch dishes could be heard from back in the house.

  “Come on, don’t be like this. Tonight is special.”

  Angela didn’t speak, she didn’t move, she left Mr. Tweedy to puzzle and wonder in frustration.

  “Fine! Be that way!”

  He lunged at her, grabbing her by her smooth chin.

  “You will play nice when I get back!” he growled.

  4 P.M.

  Mr. Tweedy hated waiting for Mother’s prescriptions.

  The pharmacy smelled of delayed death. Mr. Finkeldorfer, the decrepit pharmacist, always seemed to watch Mr. Tweedy closely.

  God, he thought. I was six when I took that gum!

  “Elaine Tweedy?” Mr. Finkeldorfer called out, knowing Mr. Tweedy was standing right there, waiting for the pills.

  Opening his wallet, Mr. Tweedy pulled out a twenty and handed it over. He got his receipt and forced a polite smile.

  Turning, he noticed the counter rack of lipstick.

  Hmmmm, Angela will probably want some for tonight.

  He ran his fingers along the bright colored tubes.

  5 P.M.

  The light from under the closet door shone on Angela’s perfectly smooth, white hand. Never moving, never making a sound, she sat in the corner, waiting for Mr. Tweedy.

  Tonight was something special; he had been telling her that for days now.

  Angela didn’t care; she was cold to Mr. Tweedy. No matter how much he pleaded, how much he complimented, how much he raged, he couldn’t get her to play along.

  All day, every day, she stayed in the closet corner, refusing to be his “special someone,” as he liked to say.

  Angela frustrated him more than Mother did.

  6 P.M.

  “Is dinner ready yet? I’m starving!” Mother hollered from the living room. The sound of the shopping channel blared from the ancient console TV.

  Mr. Tweedy stirred the pasta sauce and turned the back burner down low.

  “Just about Mother,” he responded, swallowing his anger like a sour appetizer.
Looking wistfully up at the ceiling, he longed to be in his bedroom, in the closet with Angela. He sighed and checked the garlic bread in the oven.

  “Jesus, boy! The news is almost on. Hurry up with that dinner!”

  “Yes, Mother,” Mr. Tweedy said, dishing up spaghetti onto a plate.

  7 P.M.

  “I’m so sorry,” Mr. Tweedy apologized. “Mother was just non-stop with the demands. You know how she can get.”

  Mr. Tweedy didn’t bother to wait for an answer, too excited to care about the never ending silent treatment.

  “Okay, I really hope you like this. I saved for months for it and special ordered it from Paris!” He pulled a black, satin dress out from behind his back.

  “Isn’t it beautiful? I thought it would bring out your fair skin.”

  Silence.

  “I’ll leave it here. I’ll be back if you need help.” He closed the closet door softly behind him.

  8 P.M.

  “Okay, Mother’s in her bath and---” Mr. Tweedy stopped as he opened the closet door. “You, you aren’t even dressed yet! I still have to do your hair and I bought makeup. Uggh!”

  He bent down, grabbing up the dress, inspecting, smoothing it out. “Please don’t ruin this tonight. Don’t you get it? This is our only chance.”

  Angela lay there, frozen, glassy eyed. Mr. Tweedy tried to get his anger in check, but couldn’t contain the rage any longer. He grabbed Angela’s wrist, yanking her from the closet and tossed her onto the bed like a rag doll.

  9 P.M.

  It was a struggle, but Mr. Tweedy was finally able to get the little black dress on Angela and get her hair and makeup just right. She sat in the rocking chair in the corner of his bedroom, unmoving. Her electric blue eyes refused to meet Mr. Tweedy’s and stared right through him.

  “Wow,” he sighed deeply. “You are absolutely stunning.”

  He ran a hand through his hair, looking at himself in the mirror. “I, however, look a mess.”

  He pulled his shirt over his head and unbuttoned his pants. He had long since gotten over being modest around Angela.

  10 P.M.

  Mr. Tweedy rolled up the rug, revealing the carefully drawn pentagram encircled in red and black symbols and letters. He set the rug aside and grabbed several candles, placing them at specific points on the floor.

  “What am I forgetting? Oh, yes, sage.”

  He fumbled in a paper bag, withdrawing a tightly wound bundle of sage leaves, setting it in a ceramic bowl near the edge of the pentagram.

  “I think that’s it,” he said, turning to Angela. “Ready Sweetheart?”

  Mr. Tweedy didn’t wait for an answer while he crossed the room and scooped her up from the rocking chair.

  11 P.M.

  Mr. Tweedy knelt next to the pentagram, naked. Carefully lighting each candle, he chanted an incantation while he worked. He smiled lovingly at Angela with each movement, but refused to let her beauty distract him from his delicate, deliberate work.

  The flickering light glinted off Angela’s eyes while she remained impassive and unmoving in the center of the pentagram.

  Finished with the candles, he lit the sage stick, blowing on the tip until it was glowing red. He waved the sage above Angela’s prone form, letting the smoke drift about her. With each move, he made an ecstatic, guttural moan.

  12 A.M.

  The bedroom door burst open, interrupting Mr. Tweedy’s incantation.

  “Louis! What--? My God, dolls again?”

  “Mother?”

  His mother rushed him, yanking him violently up by his arm, while kicking the candles. Hot wax splattered Angela’s porcelain form.

  “No!” cried Mr. Tweedy.

  “You are a grown man!” She grabbed up Angela and tossed her against the wall, shattering her instantly. Mr. Tweedy collapsed.

  “No more!” Mother scolded, slamming the door after her.

  “Dude! I don’t know what happened, but that’s some powerful mojo,” said the newly animated sock monkey from the shelf.

  The downstairs clock struck twelve.

  Mr. Tweedy wept.

  B lister

  “I have booked my flight, dear, so make sure you have your holiday time in order,” Mandarin’s mother mothered. “Are you alright, dear? You sound put out? It’s not something I said, is it?”

  Mandarin gritted her teeth. Not this time it isn’t, she thought. “No, Mother, I just have a blister on my toe and I stubbed it getting out of the shower.”

  “The shower? Oh, yes, it’s morning for you. On your way to work?” her mother asked.

  “Yes, Mum. Gotta go now. Call you later. Loveyoubye.” Mandarin hung up the phone, slipped out of her sleeping t-shirt and stepped into the shower.

  The blister didn’t actually show up until Mandarin got home from work that evening. It arrived on Mandarin’s left pinky toe like an irritating relative, a minor inconvenience; something easily ignored unless upset. She thought nothing of it and left it alone. It filled with fluid, burst, scabbed, healed and went away. The normal blister cycle repeated billions of times across the world.

  ***

  When the blister came back again, Mandarin became annoyed. The first time it arrived she was very aware of which shoes pinched and could have caused the blister. She had made a point of avoiding those shoes even though it made coordinating work outfits quite difficult. The second time it was not as easy to ignore; she left it alone again and after a couple days it ran through it’s cycle and was gone.

  “Well, it better not slow you down when I get there,” Mandarin’s mother sniped. “I didn’t spend a thousand pounds on an airline ticket to see Washington, DC by myself, you know.”

  “Don’t worry, Mother. I’ll be fine by the time you get here,” Mandarin said. “Listen, gotta go now, I’ll be late for an appointment.”

  “Oh, well, if you have to run off, don’t let me stop you. It’s not a date is it?” her mother asked, very non-nonchalantly.

  “Ta.” Mandarin hung up, pretending she didn’t hear the last question.

  ***

  The third time the blister returned, Mandarin worried. She wasn’t quite sure, but swore the blister was bigger, heavier and well, meaner. That was the only word she could apply to how the blister looked and acted. She felt silly attributing an emotion to such a normal epidermal occurrence, but looking at the third incarnation, all deep red and bulbous, she couldn’t think of any other way to describe it.

  “It’s just mean looking, Mum,” Mandarin admitted to her mother over the phone.

  Mandarin could hear the maternal gears whirring in her mother’s head, even separated by an entire ocean and only connected by ones and zeroes flying through space. She knew her mother was going to try to help, in her way, and Mandarin dreaded it.

  “Have you been to the GP?” her mother asked half-heartedly.

  “You know I haven’t. My insurance doesn’t kick in for another thirty days. We’ve talked about this, Mother.” Mandarin couldn’t keep the annoyance out of her voice. She was hoping the conversation wouldn’t steer down that track, but lately it was the only track her mother had when they talked. That and her love life.

  “It’s a bloody crime really. You wouldn’t have that problem if you came home. What’s the point of having a job if you can’t stay healthy enough to work? Doesn’t make much sense, if you ask me,” her mother said, for what seemed to Mandarin the thousandth time over the year since she had moved to Washington DC.

  “It’s just a blister, Mother. It hasn’t kept me from working. It hasn’t slowed me down at all. It’s just bloody annoying.”

  “Hasn’t kept you from any of your dates, then?”

  There it was. Mandarin fumed. She’s really pulling out the stops this go round, Mandarin thought.

  “Whatever you do, dear, just don’t do anything rash, alright? Wait until I get there before you decide to self-medicate or self-diagnose or whatever.”

  “Listen, Mum, I’ve got to go. I hav
e a meeting in half an hour and I’ll barely make it through the security queue in time. I love you. Callyousoonbye.” Mandarin quickly ended the call and placed her cell phone in her purse.

  Grabbing her keys, she almost made it out the front door without stubbing her afflicted toe. Almost. Cursing, she limped down the hall to the elevator, knowing the stairs would be faster, but too painful, despite her need to hurry.

  ***

  “You don’t look so hot Mandy,” Alicia, Mandarin’s cubicle mate, stated a week later.

  Knowing Alicia meant well, Mandarin kept her temper in check, but she hadn't slept well the past two nights which made casual interactions bitterly irritating. The blister was getting worse and even the slightest pressure sent stabbing pains up her leg. Mandarin turned from her desk, rubbed her tired eyes and tried to focus on Alicia.

  “I know, I know. I haven’t slept well. I’m just tired.” Mandarin smiled wanly.

  “Is it still your toe?” Alicia inquired, looking empathetic. “Let me take a look.”

  Mandarin sighed, knowing Alicia wouldn’t let the issue go. She hesitated, and then took off her runner and sock. To her credit Alicia didn’t gasp, but Mandarin could see the alarm in her eyes. Alicia took Mandarin’s foot gingerly by the heel, turning it this way and that to get a full look at the grotesque toe. The blister enveloped the entire toe, deep purple splotched with pink, red and yellow. Instead of sticking out from the foot, the fluid-filled protuberance seemed to be crowding the other toes, forcing them away from it. Alicia leaned in closer and reached a finger down to inspect the blister. Mandarin jerked her foot away, regretting the movement, but not wanting to risk a misjudged prod by her co-worker.