Objects of Worship
Page 13
And Kyle looked into those bright brown, almost orange eyes of hers and lost himself in the love he saw in there.
Lauren jumped off Kyle’s lap when the doorbell rang. Kyle savoured the lingering taste of her lips on his own.
Lauren walked back into the kitchen with her brother in tow, and Kyle looked up into his big, light-brown eyes, so bright they were almost orange. And Kyle thought, Shit, he’s really cute.
A VISIT TO THE OPTOMETRIST
When a pigeon chewed out Basil Fesper’s right eye while he was taking a nap in his lawn chair, he finally admitted that it was time to make an appointment with the optometrist. The previous week, his left eye had rotted so much that it had fallen out of its socket. He’d tried to put it back in, but there was almost nothing left of it except a shapeless splotch, and he really couldn’t see anything out of it anymore.
His wife Judith had pestered him to go then, before he lost his second eye, too. But had he listened to her? No. “Stop nagging me,” he’d said. “I still have one good eye. That’s all I need. Those eye doctors are just a bunch of profiteering opportunists. That’s what they are. Shame on them. Taking advantage of people’s basic needs.”
Judith had hemmed and hawed, knowing that there was no swaying her beloved Basil when he got going on one of his rants. Really, there wasn’t a political maggot in his body. He was just cheap and lazy, but he always justified it with some highfalutin reason. But now he was blind, because he hadn’t listened to her. Although she loved him dearly, she couldn’t resist poking fun at him, letting him bang into walls, moving furniture so he’d stumble into it.
“You think you’re so smart! Did you ever stop to think that if I’d gone to the eye doctor last week, that maybe the pigeon would have eaten my new left eye along with my old right eye, and I would’ve paid for a new eye that lasted only a week? And maybe then we wouldn’t have enough money left for that intestine shawl you’ve been ogling at the mall. Did you think of that?”
Judith had to admit that Basil had a point there. Sure, he was cheap and lazy, but he wasn’t stupid. And she did want that shawl. She hadn’t bought it for herself yet, because she suspected that it was going to be Basil’s gift to her for their wedding anniversary. That was in only three weeks, and she still had so much planning to do for the party.
Judith didn’t like to drive, so she asked their neighbour George if he’d take her and Basil to the optometrist. Strictly speaking, Judith didn’t really need to go, but she knew that choosing the right eyes required a woman’s touch. At least in Basil’s case. George and Raymond next door certainly did fine without a woman.
George agreed to take them, and the very next day he drove the four of them to the mall, where the optometrist kept his office. Raymond came along, too. “George and I need to look for some new curtains. We’re tired of our Caucasians. It’s such a bland colour, don’t you think? Besides, it’s been ages since we bought new ones. The hides are starting to show some wear. We were thinking some shade of Negro. But not too dark. Some kind of creamy chocolate mix. It’s a bit more expensive, but it’ll look nice. And it won’t stain as easily.”
Judith enthusiastically agreed with Raymond, but she was just being neighbourly. She was a traditionalist, always had been. Caucasian curtains were right and proper. Though Asians looked good in a kitchen. She herself had Thai curtains in her kitchen. A hint of daring was still acceptable.
At the mall, the two couples went their separate ways, arranging to meet in one hour at the food court, next to the Deep Fried Brain Nugget Hut. Judith liked their neighbours, but she was glad they weren’t tagging along to the optometrist. She didn’t want anyone else getting in the way of her choosing exactly the right eyes for George.
Doctor Browning showed them (well, he showed her; Basil still couldn’t see anything) dozens of eyes in their clear-liquid preserving jars, but Judith wasn’t pleased by any of them. Especially with their anniversary coming, she wanted Basil to look really sharp.
And then she spotted a pair in a locked case behind the counter. She’d never seen eyes like those before. The irises were absolute black — or was that just a trick of the shadows?
“Can I see those?” she asked Doctor Browning. “Well, hmm, they’re very expensive. They’re one of a kind, really. They were taken from a particularly wily and ferocious feral fleshie.” Browning giggled at his alliteration. “Apparently he evaded capture for years.” Then the optometrist quoted the price.
Judith gasped, and Basil finally chimed in. “Are you out of your mind, Judith? See, it’s like I told you. Thieves. Shameless profiteers.”
“I want to see them,” Judith said, shushing Basil.
They were exquisite. Flawlessly black irises. And not the slightest hint of rot. Basil would look so dashing in these. Then she thought about that intestine shawl. Oh well, maybe next year.
“We’ll take them,” Judith said, covering Basil’s mouth with her hand.
The deal had been that Yamesh-Lot would make Giovanni immortal. In return, Giovanni would harvest the essence of those on whom he inflicted the dark lord’s nightmares. Thus, his lord Yamesh-Lot fed and Giovanni stayed in the dark god’s good graces. Giovanni used his long life to continually increase his knowledge of the mystic arts. For centuries, it had been a perfect arrangement. Sure, occasionally some do-gooders would try to get in Giovanni’s way, but, even at their worst, they’d been nothing more than petty annoyances.
His eyes, once an unremarkable brown, now reflected the dark power of the lord of nightmares: they became deep black pools. With those dark eyes, he preyed on humanity for centuries, enjoying every ounce of the terror he sowed.
And then the meteors came.
For one whole week the meteors rained down on the Earth, destroying cities, forests, everything. Normally, Giovanni would have revelled in the ensuing chaos. But there was a distressing feeling of otherness about the meteors. For one thing, from day one of the meteor shower, communication with Yamesh-Lot became increasingly difficult. The meteors were generating some kind of interference or static. By the end of the seventh day, when the last meteors hit the Earth, Giovanni’s connection to Yamesh-Lot had been completely severed.
He could still inflict nightmares and other curses on pitiful mortal fools — Giovanni was, after all, a master of black magic — but the dark lord was not there to accept the sorcerer’s sacrifices.
And something else happened on the seventh day. The dead rose.
At first Giovanni wondered why only human corpses were zombified. And then he noticed the occasional reanimated dog or cat. In time, he figured out that the meteors must have emitted some kind of radiation that interacted with embalming fluid, as unlikely as that sounded. He knew that there must be more to it, but his spells failed to solve the mystery.
Magic became increasingly taxing for Giovanni; before the time of the zombies he could weave his spells with almost as little effort as it took to breathe. But now . . . He resented how weak he grew when practicing the dark arts.
For weeks the reanimated human corpses ravaged the planet, popping open human skulls and feeding on the brains inside. They never ate the brains of other animals.
After a while, though, the undead lost some of their savage fury, and they began rounding up the surviving humans. Then they farmed them. At first, just for food, but eventually the zombies found other uses for the remains of human bodies.
Giovanni’s earthbound magics were useless against the undead. They possessed some kind of immunity that he could not overcome. Besides, the centuries-old sorcerer felt his powers waning. Something about the extraterrestrial nature of the meteors and the zombies they created seemed to disrupt the energy flux from which he drew his powers. The undead were invaders, and they had conquered.
So he hid. His magics were still strong enough for that. He hid for so many centuries — scavenging for food, always careful to steer clear of the invaders’ hunting parties — that he lost track of time entirely.
And so Giovanni grew insane, forgetting his name, his identity, forgetting even Yamesh-Lot. The ageless sorcerer was reduced to no more than a scavenger who cared only about survival.
His spells of protection eventually petered out. Inevitably, undead hunters found and captured him.
Giovanni’s brain was removed from his skull and mashed into puree along with many other brains. His various body parts were recycled into the zombie economy.
And his eyes, his perfectly black eyes, were harvested and put on sale.
For the next few days, Basil complained about the exorbitant price they’d paid for his new eyes, but Judith could tell he was doing it out of habit. Her husband had always been a complainer. After so many years of marriage, though, she could distinguish between serious grievances and mere blathering. There was also a bit of ego-saving in there; Basil never liked being the one who was wrong. Not that he ever got mad or anything; underneath all that gruff complaining, Basil hid a tender mess of rotting flesh. He was a such a sweetie, really.
She caught him admiring himself in the mirror; he really did like his snazzy new eyes. But she didn’t tease him; it would only take longer for him to get over his complaining stage.
And so it took less than a week for him to say, “You know, these eyes don’t look half bad. Plus, they feel robust, like they’re gonna last longer.” Judith smiled, and Basil kissed her on the cheek. He kept his mouth open just enough so that his maggots tickled her cheek. He knew how she liked that.
Judith loved how those new eyes made him look so suave and sexy. She gasped, “Oh, Basil . . .”
And they fell into each other arms. He carried her into the living room and gently laid her down on the plush tongue rug he’d bought her for their last anniversary.
It had been decades — at least! — since Basil had made love to her.
“Oh, Basil . . . Yes . . . Yes . . .”
Slowly, Giovanni regained consciousness. At first, he numbly watched the parade of images that presented itself before his eyes. A zombie woman wearing garish and filthy rags; the suburban house decorated with human body parts; the refrigerator filled with processed brain products; brains being cooked on the barbecue in the backyard; zombies driving automobiles or walking the streets in the moonlight; and lots and lots of television: strange sports he could not fathom, zombie/human pornography, teleplays that defied comprehension.
But, gradually, his frustration at not being able to act on those images gnawed at him, and Giovanni remembered who he was. What he was.
A scourge upon the vermin of humanity. A fearsome sorcerer. A high priest of Yamesh-Lot.
He prayed to his dark lord, but the god remained silent. And yet . . . for the first time in centuries, Giovanni sensed Yamesh-Lot just beyond his reach. His god was still alive! How could the sorcerer-priest re-establish his connection to the lord of nightmares?
One day, while his host body stood in front of a mirror rubbing a brownish sludge onto the decaying flesh of its face, Giovanni recognized his own black eyes — a legacy of his devotion to his god — staring back at him.
For a second, Giovanni feared he’d become a zombie, but then he realized this zombie’s body was entirely the wrong shape — taller and narrower than he had been. This monster was . . . wearing Giovanni’s eyes. The way the creature admired them in the mirror, Giovanni suspected he’d only recently acquired them.
But just as Giovanni began to curse at the ignominious humiliation of being reduced to the state of eyewear for a rotting monstrosity, the sorcerer felt a twinkle of energy. Somehow, being inside this creature’s body enabled him to once again tap into the dark forces that fuelled his sorcery.
Giovanni knew then that he could take control of this ridiculous creature’s body. He would then perform the rituals that would return Yamesh-Lot to the mortal world. For his dark lord, he would rid the Earth of this unwanted pestilence. Humanity was Yamesh-Lot’s to prey upon. Giovanni had no doubts that the reign of these repulsive usurpers was to finally come to an end and that he would be the agent of their downfall.
Their anniversary party was only a week away, and Judith was getting worried about Basil. Since getting those new eyes, Basil had changed. At first, it was all for the better — he was more cheerful and he paid better attention to her than he had in centuries — but then he started acting strangely.
He spent hours staring at himself in the mirror, gesticulating oddly, ignoring her when she asked him what he was doing. He now rarely spoke to her, and, when he did, he was abrupt with her and sounded confused.
She was pondering all of that while stirring the brain stew. Her own secret recipe: she minced two teaspoons of sun-dried testes and mixed it with half a cup of crumbled skin flakes and half a cup of grated bone, with sprinkles of liver powder and finely chopped earlobes, then gradually stirred the blend into the soup. She topped it all off with a tablespoon of fresh marrow juice. The trick was not to simply dump all the spices in at once. Basil loved this dish so much. Maybe having it for dinner would snap him out of his bizarre mood.
This fool is so easy to control, thought Giovanni. This Basil, as he called himself, had no willpower to speak of. The hardest thing was learning to control the pain. Every part of this creature’s body sent continual streams of pain into their shared brain. Moving was even worse agony. It threatened to shatter his concentration, but Giovanni’s mystic training helped him overcome this obstacle.
Giovanni was learning, also, to access the monster’s memories. This upcoming wedding anniversary celebration that the creature’s wife Judith was always going on about would be a perfect occasion to perform the rituals that would — he hoped — reconnect Yamesh-Lot to this world.
He would have to learn to be more patient with the decaying, stupid hag. He could use her help. He would have to fool her into helping him with the necessary preparations.
He was confident that he had achieved complete control of Basil’s body; he should concentrate on enlisting Judith’s unwitting aid.
He stepped into the kitchen, intending to woo the monstrous female.
She stood at the stove, stirring some putrid, foul-smelling concoction.
Judith heard the door creak open and turned to see Basil walk into the kitchen. He smiled at her.
Holding his arms out toward her, he said, “Judith, darling, I’m sorry I’ve been so distant these past few days; it’s the stress, y — ”
And then his body contorted every which way, his face twisting maniacally, maggots flipping out of his mouth, nose, and ears.
Judith just didn’t know what to think anymore. What was going on with Basil these days? After centuries of marriage, you’d think she knew all of his moods.
After a few minutes, Basil finally steadied himself on the table. He shook his head as if to collect himself, and then said, with a hint of desperation, “Oh Judith, baby . . . That smell! I love your brain stew! That’s what gave me the strength to come back. That wasn’t me — ”
And then the contortions began again, more violent than before. Basil looked like he had no control over his movements. She was worried that he might lose an arm or something. The last thing they needed was the expense of reconstructive surgery. What was wrong with that man!
Judith had to duck out the back door to avoid being hit by Basil’s flailing body. She peered inside through the window, mesmerized by the strange and disturbing spectacle. Nearly fifteen minutes later, the episode finally subs
ided, and Basil collapsed on the floor.
Giovanni had underestimated the strength of the monster’s willpower. While he and Basil struggled for control, the body lay paralyzed on the kitchen floor.
I am Giovanni, high priest of the redoubtable Yamesh-Lot; you are nothing but a snivelling abomination, the sorcerer mentally spat at Basil.
Oh yeah! Well, you’re nothing but a filthy fleshie animal. I eat dumb beasts like you for breakfast, Basil spat right back.
You cannot hope to match the power of my eldritch magics, monster. You will succumb, and I will triumph.
This is my body, and I’m not gonna let some stupid animal control me.
Cringe before my might, vile monster!
And so it went, for interminable hours.
Judith called Doctor Dora. She’d been their family physician for ages, and she was one of the rare doctors who still made house calls. It was the only way Judith ever got Basil close to having a checkup. He didn’t trust doctors, but good old Doctor Dora always took his jibes with a grin. He never let her give him a physical or directly examine him in any way, but she knew how to surreptitiously ask the right questions.
After she left a message with Doctor Dora’s secretary, Judith cleaned the mess Basil had made in the kitchen. While he was flailing madly, he’d knocked the pot from the stove, splattering Judith’s brain stew all over the kitchen.
It was a shame that so much food had been wasted, but she noted with pleasure how the stew seeped into the fleshly plush of the chairs, how it filtered through cracks where the counter met the wall. At least the kitchen would always keep a fresh aroma of decaying brains. Judith liked to see the positive side of things.
It was hard to clean the floor, though, what with Basil just lying there. So she dragged him into the living room. As she did so, she noticed how the stew that had spilled on him was leaving a trail of brain slime. She plopped him on the couch, and, as she’d hoped, she saw brain stains appear on the upholstery. The living room would smell really brainy now. The positive! Always concentrate on the positive!