by Patrick Kill
“I want my daughter now!” Bob demanded.
I pulled the gun from its holster on my belt.
“But you promised,” Bob whined.
Derrick walked up next to Bob and handed him his shirt, socks and shoes.
Before Bob could get his shirt on, I fired a single shot.
The bullet lodged nicely between a set of blood-shot eyes.
Derrick fell back. Blood pooled around his head like a halo.
Bob recovered, still shielding his face.
I pointed the gun at the engineer. “Go make sure the green crapper works correctly.”
“I’ll get right on it, sir,” he said, and rose from his seat.
“No!” I said loudly. “I don’t mean ‘work on it,’ I mean ‘make sure it works’.”
The engineer’s face paled as he stared at the gun.
With his head down, he walked towards the open door of the fecal nightmare which awaited him.
He looked back only once.
“Hurry it up,” I yelled.
He disappeared into the exit, shutting the door behind him.
It took him about a minute to appear on camera inside the metal tank. Once there, he sat down, curled himself into a fetal position and waited.
“Hand me your putter,” I instructed Bob.
Bob handed it to me.
I tapped it once against the side of the golf cart, then quickly glanced at the monitor.
The engineer toppled over, sucked into the center of the tank. His head hit the side of the opening, snapping it back so hard it made me cringe just watching. His right leg buckled, caught in an awkward position. Before he disappeared into the hole, I swore his shoe, still laced onto his foot, was stuck in his mouth.
When I looked back to Bob, I noticed he was eyeing the monitor as well.
“Am I next?” he asked.
I pulled my cell phone from my pocket, hit speed dial. One of the guards answered almost immediately. “Bring The Nineteenth Hole to the eighteenth green.”
Five minutes of silence passed between Bob and I.
A distant airplane left a smoky trail in its trek across the still-blue sky.
I closed my eyes, feeling the warmth of sunlight embracing my face.
The breeze blew lightly, touching distant chimes.
I opened my eyes to watch the hypnotic sway of trees with their newly formed leaves fluttering like butterflies.
I nodded a few times once the guards arrived with Michele. I heard them take off the metal bracelet on Bob’s wrist, heard father and daughter cry after embracing.
But I didn’t look.
I was left alone amidst the rolling lush hills of green, knowing that my time amongst them was drawing to a close.
My breath slowed. My body rhythm pulsed with tranquility.
And then I was jarred violently from this peaceful state by a mad yelp from a deranged Cuban.
I sat up, watching the scene unfold, as Bob was getting pulled apart by one Cuban mental patient, while another one was grunting atop his daughter.
“Damn, I had forgotten all about those crazy fuckers,” I said to no one at all.
And the breeze blew harder.
The Magic Cupboard
Andy peered down at the tiny blood stains scattered around his room. Ten minutes before his mother had swept, there had been hundreds of tiny soldiers and Indians, mostly corpses, strung across the shag carpeting. Some had been scalped, others shot with arrows and bullets or stabbed. The few that were still alive perished with the rest as his mother sucked them up in the sweeper.
Andy liked watching things die. That was the best thing about the magic cupboard. It had the power to bring things to life, so Andy could stomp on them or burn them with lighters. It had only been a normal cupboard until he took it to the strange hermit who lived down the road. Andy asked him to put a spell on the cupboard in order to make it like the one he had once seen in a movie. And the strange man had worked wonders on the oak cupboard. It was definitely Andy’s new favorite toy.
Andy sifted through the rest of his toys, looking for more toy soldiers or Indians to put in the magic cupboard. But all he had left was trucks and cars, balls and puzzles — nothing that would come alive.
Andy moved into his sister’s room and searched the premises while she slept. He quietly pulled a Barbie and a Ken doll from the wreckage. Returning to his room, he placed both in the magic cupboard, shut the door, and reopened it.
Barbie strutted out on the arm of Ken and they proceeded to climb up the bed sheets, disappearing underneath.
“That sucked,” Andy whispered to himself.
Beneath the bed sheets, he suddenly heard a woman’s scream.
“Yes, he’s killing her!” Andy said as he pulled back the sheets to find a miniature bra and panties shoved beneath the pillow. Farther down, inside the sheets, he heard moaning and a woman’s voice cry out, “Oh yes, Ken, harder, harder!!! Give it to me, big guy!”
Andy threw down the covers, picked up a tennis racquet and smacked every square inch of his bed, finally hearing tiny bones breaking beneath the strings.
Next he tried his older brother’s room. He crept in unnoticed, half-scared at what he might find. Pictures of skulls and strange-looking men with guitars wearing dark leather pants were plastered on posters, wallpapering his entire room. On the bookshelf was a strange ceramic statue of some person wearing a black-hooded outfit, his or her face lost in shadow. On the base of the statue were the words Grim Reaper.
Andy stuffed the statue in his pocket and returned to his room. Once there, he placed the statue in the magic cupboard and opened the door. The dark-hooded figure leapt out and ran out the door, into the hallway. Andy followed, tracking him into the storage room. As Andy turned the corner, he saw the figure lunge into the cat litter box, atop Fluffy’s back. Fluffy hissed and ran into a corner.
The dark, faceless figure chanted, waving its bony fingers into the air.
Fluffy dropped dead. The figure jumped off and ran out of the room.
Andy poked at Fluffy with a dust mop, but the cat’s body was hard and stiff.
Down the hall, he heard his sister scream. Something heavy hit the floor.
Andy quickly placed Fluffy back into the litter box to avoid getting blamed for his death and went to his sister’s room to investigate. He peeked into the dark room and watched as her body was slowly dragged beneath the bed.
Andy shut the door and set his sights on his parents room. As he scanned their room, he found nothing of interest that could be brought back to life until he saw the miniature half-naked man hanging on a wooden cross on the wall above the bed.
He opened the magic cupboard and shoved the crucifix in. He looked closer at the man spread upon the wooden cross. He shut the door and reopened it.
Andy jumped back and quickly covered his ears to the shrill screams of the man. Blood dripped from the man’s wrists and feet which remained nailed to the crosspiece. The tiny man wriggled, trying to free himself to no avail.
The monotonous piercing scream echoed around his room. Andy stepped outside and shut the door. He walked downstairs to where his father was fixing himself a sandwich.
“Hey there, sport. Seen your sister lately?”
Andy shook his head.
“It’s not like her to stay in bed this long.”
“Dad,” Andy said, sitting next to him at the table. “There’s a tiny man in my room and he’s screaming.”
His father chuckled. “Oh really.”
“Yeah,” Andy said, “He’s really annoying me.”
His father looked him in the eye. “Have you thought about flushing him down the toilet?”
Andy shook his head and smiled. “No, but that would work!”
His father laughed. “You and your imagination!”
Andy opened his bedroom door and wrapped a towel over the man on the cross to muffle his screams. He moved to the bathroom and pried at the cross, detaching the man’s body. He th
en dropped the man in the toilet and flushed. Bubbles from his screams arose as his body swirled around the bowl, finally sucked under, soon disappearing.
Andy sighed, relieved to hear silence.
He turned toward the doorway, to search for the hooded figure again. He felt an eerie sensation, leaving the figure running abroad. It felt almost like there was a rat loose in the house. Andy didn’t want to wake up at night and have to worry about the dark hooded figure lurking beneath his bed.
So he set mouse traps in the kitchen and bedrooms. He sprinkled rat poison under the cupboards and sinks, behind furniture and appliances.
As he climbed the stairs to his room, he caught sight of his brother’s door cracked open and loud droning heavy metal music echoing from the speakers. He peeked in, seeing his brother’s body draped over a chair, the tiny hooded figure setting flames to his hair. The dark figure again chanted and waved its bony arms, summoning death. Smoke from the incense swirled around the figure as it probed its staff into Andy’s brother’s head.
Andy grabbed a guitar and smashed it over the tiny shadow-enshrouded figure. A tiny black grease spot spewed atop his brother’s head.
Andy sighed, knowing it was about time to get rid of the magic cupboard. It had turned into more work than fun, plus he had run out of things to bring back to life. And he had a funny notion that if he did find things to bring to life, he would now have a hard time killing them.
Next he would beg the strange hermit to make him a life-size talking doll that looked like his sister. Andy wondered if the strange man could construct such a thing before his parents realized what had happened. He knew it was his only hope since her body was far too large to stuff into the magic cupboard. At least if it was all in one piece…
The Mind’s Filthy Lesson
At twelve years of age, James raped and killed his imaginary friend.
Before that time, James had named her Laura and they played and grew up together. James couldn’t remember a time in his life that he didn’t see the blonde-haired girl at his side, though nobody else could.
His parents thought it was a stage until they found him playing and talking to her during his first day of school. During this first year, James ignored the other kids at his nursery school. Instead, he insisted on playing with Laura.
Later in life, it was a mix of hormones and counseling that finally pushed James to the edge. His parents and seventh grade counselor insisted that there was no such thing as Laura and that he was just imagining her. Laura just smirked through every session. But the pressure mounted on James. Kids taunted him in the halls. His parents continued to harass him on the subject. His frustrations grew until one day, it all burst.
James had discovered his father’s stash of Playboy’s one night after a counseling session. He managed to free himself from Laura and shut himself in the bathroom where he lubed his penis up and started masturbating.
Halfway through, Laura appeared.
“What are you doing, James?”
James froze with his milky-white dick in his hand. Laura just stared at him.
“Nothing. Get away!”
“Are you playing with yourself?”
“I said get away!”
“How rude,” she replied, then giggled as James’ dick began shriveling.
“Leave me the fuck alone! You’re ruining my life!”
“You never complained before.”
“Well you never used to get on my nerves.”
“How?”
James looked down at his limp penis and sighed. “I don’t get any privacy anymore. You’re always around me. And my parents say you don’t exist and that my mind is just imagining you. Which I’m beginning to think is true. But I don’t know how to get rid of you. And all the kids at school think I’m a freak. I’m just sick and tired—”
James felt his balls aching with pressure. Suddenly, his stomach hurt as he doubled over.
“Ha!” Laura said, “You got blue balls! Serves you right, sicko!”
As James peered at Laura, he noticed something different about her, something he had never realized since she had grown up so close to him: She was a very beautiful girl with her long blonde hair and sky-blue eyes.
Before he knew it, his dick was fully erect again.
“What are you smiling at, James?”
James felt a strange desire burning inside. He needed to release his load before the pain worsened. And since Laura was imaginary, he wouldn’t have to worry about her saying no. And, as far as he knew, you couldn’t get an imaginary girl pregnant or catch crabs from someone who really didn’t exist. And better yet, his mother would never walk in on him having sex with her since she couldn’t even see her.
James sprung from the toilet and grabbed Laura. He peeled off her imaginary clothes and bent her over the sink and began pounding her from behind.
“Stop it, James, you’re hurting me!”
James just laughed. “But you can’t hurt, you’re imaginary.”
James felt his dick parting her tight, imaginary pussy. He knew it was so much better than masturbating. It felt so much more real than anything. And as he opened his eyes, he no longer needed the Playboy. He had a young, hot blonde who he found had really big breasts for her age and a nice ass too.
James grabbed a handful of hair and thrust deeper. Laura screamed, but James knew no one could hear it. She didn’t even exist. And how could anyone arrest you for raping an imaginary girl?
He slammed her head into the sink, and, to his amazement, she bled. In fact, she was bleeding between her legs as well.
Man, I sure have an imaginative mind, James thought.
Suddenly, he had another idea.
He spun her around and started banging her from the front. He ran his tongue over the skin on her neck and worked his way down to her breasts. She fought him and he could feel her body maneuvering beneath him. He let his fantasies go wild, as he plunged her, knocking her against the wall. At the brink of orgasm, he snapped her neck and pushed out her eyeballs and then started skull-fucking her instead.
“Yeah, oh yeah,” James yelled. “Take that, you skanky whore!”
While ramming Laura’s head, the bathroom door suddenly opened. His father yelled, “What in the world?” as James shot a load all over the wall.
He quickly shut the door and locked it. He picked up Laura’s limp form from the floor and stuffed her in the clotheshamper. He smiled, thinking dirty laundry.
Later that night, his father talked with him about masturbation. The talk led to the normal birds and bees speech and James knew he was off the hook.
He had killed two birds with one stone. By raping and killing Laura, he had freed himself to be a normal boy. Now his parents and therapist wouldn’t be on his case anymore and he wouldn’t have to worry about kids at school calling him names because he was bound to seeing an imaginary friend. Plus, he had got his rocks off at the same time which gave him a little confidence since he was, technically, no longer a virgin. At least in his eyes.
But the next day, Laura came back.
She was a lot paler and her neck was slack, lolling from side to side as she walked with James to school.
“Holy shit,” James yelled. “I killed you!”
Laura said nothing. Her eye sockets were still empty, but she still seemed to stare somehow. Her nose was crushed with bone protruding from the side. Her face was a mess of bruised skin.
James felt guilt settle for the first time. He realized that she was real and existed as a part of him, though he didn’t fully understand why. And nobody else did, either. But now he had ruined their special relationship. He somehow knew she hadn’t come back to play with him. At least not in the fun sense.
It was evident right away. She just lagged behind him, never saying a word. James skipped school and went to the park to hang out, to try and figure out what was happening.
The park was filled with children and their mothers or fathers. James scanned the playground,
seeing that almost every one of the little kids had a faint silhouette beside them, an imaginary friend. And when James walked closer, each one of those imaginary friends turned and screamed, running away from their real life counterparts. Each kid turned after noticing their imaginary friends had freaked out, and they soon ran as well, their parents chasing after them.
James glanced over at Laura, noticing that her swollen tongue was hanging out of her mouth. She was still naked, her vagina still dripping blood from time to time. Hell, James felt like running too, but knew he wouldn’t get anywhere. No matter how far he went, she would follow. Like always.
As time went on, James tried different ways of re-killing her. He’d drown her in ponds after cutting her body into pieces, but she reappeared as if she was sewn together with invisible stitches. He could see dried bloody cuts, like the skin had fused. And she even had a minnow lodged in an encrusted cut, at a seam where James had lopped off one of her breasts.
When James wasn’t killing her, he was fucking her. He was lonely and trapped to her, so he thought he’d try to make the best of it. But every time he felt passion, every time he touched her pale flesh, trying to imagine her when she was alive, his whole world would get sucked away. When he felt her breast, he felt cold, dead flesh. The smell of rot would waft to his nose. When he inserted his penis, her stiff flesh cut him. When he only wanted to talk, she said nothing.
James wanted so much to have her back. He thought by taking her life, he could be free, but now realized that he was worse off.
And he missed the old Laura. The way she used to play with him when no one else would. The way she understood like no one else could.
His eighteenth birthday came and went. Over the years, James learned why little kids had imaginary friends—because they were free to see beyond the world at hand. But when they grew, so did their fear, their knowledge of death and darkness. And their imaginary friends would fade, replaced by the bitter reality of the world as a prisoner sees it.
James had faith in Laura before his parents and therapist interfered and made him doubt her existence. When he took her life, he solidified her existence as a reminder to what was to come. While most children let their made-up friends fade, James believed in Laura. He believed in her life and, now, in her death.