The Black Dog Eats the City

by Kelso, Chris

  Steve— Christ Tom, I just do. Listen calm down. Call the cops and explain. They got nothin’ to pin on you man.

  Tom— Yeah you’re right.

  Steve— Keep me informed.

  Tom -Yeah, yeah sure. I think I’ll be okay.

  Steve— I can get a cab over?

  Tom— Nah, nah man. You stay, enjoy your drink. I’ll fix this on my own.

  Steve— Okay Tom. See you soon, sorry again.

  Tom— See ya…

  (Steve disconnects the call and folds the cell phone back into a small rectangle big enough to slot into his shirt pocket. Gil comes back in and perches onto the stool)

  Gil— Who was that?

  Steve— My friend’s roommate just died.

  Gil— A girl?

  Steve— No.

  ~

  (Steve is in the middle of masturbating when his cell buzzes into life again. A girl is on the other line. Steve recognises that it’s the voice of Chase)

  Chase— Can you come over?

  Steve— Sure, um, why? Is everything okay?

  Chase— Not really. Tom’s gone a bit… insane.

  Steve— Insane?

  Chase— Yeah. You heard about Paul right?

  Steve— Yeah, I’m sorry…

  Chase— Look, just come over. Be quick about it.

  (Outside the apartment building Chase is waiting at the door)

  Chase— We better go in…

  Steve— You look a little rough Chase…

  Chase— I been up all night on Amphetamine.

  Steve— What if all your thoughts are just a pre-recorded tape they started playing from the day you were born?

  Chase— Who’s “they”?

  Steve— You know, “them”

  Chase— Now isn’t the time Steve.

  Steve— What’s wrong?

  Chase— There’s been a development.

  Steve— With what?

  Chase— Paul…

  ~

  (The living room is filled with people, some who look sophisticated, and others not so sophisticated. On the wall above the gas fireplace is a canvas of Rembrandt’s “Carcass of Beef.” Everyone sits cross-legged on the floor, smoking and sniffing substances like a miniature Woodstock 69 waiting for the Grateful Dead to come on)

  Tom— Okay quiet…

  (Tom waves at the chattering people behind him to keep quiet then resumes, looking unmoved. The men and women become silent immediately. A hideous demon, tall as a monsters jamb and hooded in a cowl, takes to the podium set up by the doorway. It has a long wet nose. Steve watches gap-mouthed)

  (The demon dog is fat and his cloak has tent-poled with the aggressive man breast beneath. Steve notices that the room is full of people he knows. His parents are sitting at the table right at the front. Mr. Larson fires back punch with Paul, who now seems fine and not at all dead like Tom had earlier claimed. Even Mr. Dixon, Steve’s old drama tutor, is there— a man who especially distrusted people fatter than he was, most likely under the impression that immigrants were smuggled overseas by these means, clutching to the bellies of the corpulent, safely hidden under a tarpaulin T-shirt)

  (The demon prepares to speak)

  BLACK DOG— I’m the Black Dog. It’s a pleasure to have you all here. It was Oceanus who…

  (Steve observes that whenever the Black Dog reaches a point in his story that he particularly enjoys, he closes his eyes and sticks his nose high in the air as if to sniff and savour the scent of his own shit)

  (Chase appears again)

  Chase— Brilliant isn’t he?

  (Steve sees a coke smudge trailing from her nostril— her finger massages some of the white powder along her gum line.)

  Steve— What the fuck is going on??

  (The Black Dog stops his speech)

  BLACK DOG— Ah, I see the man of the hour has arrived! Please come on up.

  (He glares down on Steve like a piece of degenerative artwork. The dog speaks louder, attempting to drown out the prattling audience members)

  BLACK DOG— Please, ladies and gentlemen, let’s have a big hand for Steve!

  (Chase wipes away the coke resin from her rotting septum and claps. Steve can see a nose about to collapse on itself)

  (He goes up to the hideous orator)

  BLACK DOG— Why do you think you’re here Steve? Why would we have this party for you?

  Steve— I… have no idea…?

  Uncredited actor— You can either live your life as a victim or a winner

  BLACK DOG— Exactly! it’s the negativity and unassuming sensitivity of one man that has brought us all here tonight. Steve, I’d like you to meet your son.

  Steve— My son?

  (The crowd parts. Steve watches in horror as a worm-like creature begins wriggling out of Chase’s cocaine saturated nostril. It lands wetly on the carpet. Susie appears and picks up the creature in her hands. She approaches the podium and holds out her hands)

  BLACK DOG— This is your baby. It’s been searching for you ever since you gave birth to it.

  (Steve makes eye contact with Mr. Larson again. He raises a polystyrene cup.)

  Steve— Never underestimate the true intentions of the mainstream

  (Everyone raises a glass and cheers between cupfuls of punch, which has starting to look more and more like blood. The Black Dog puts an arm around Steve’s shoulders, he is cradling the grotesque offspring in the other. Tom takes the worm and the dog whispers in Steve’s ear— this is our baby…)

  (The demon places a palm on his own chest and mouths the word father, then presses against Steve’s chest and mouthed the word mother)

  Steve— I want to leave…

  BLACK DOG— You can leave anytime you want, but you obviously don’t want to

  Steve— I DO WANT TO!

  BLACK DOG— Steve, if you wanted to disappear so badly we wouldn’t all be here celebrating you.

  Steve— I don’t understand?

  BLACK DOG— Your baby will grow soon enough. If you maintain your attitude and lack of application, it’ll be a fully grown monster in no time. It feeds off your friends and those around you. You, as the mother, find the prey for your child, suck the life source and return with nourishment for it to feed from.

  Steve— So you’re saying, because of who I am, the people in my life are going to suffer?

  BLACK DOG— Exactly!

  Steve— No.

  BLACK DOG— No.

  Steve— I’m the mother, it doesn’t happen like this.

  BLACK DOG— What do you mean?

  Steve— Ripley is never appreciated on the ship until the creatures attack. Throughout the first film, Ripley dismisses advances by Dallas, Brett and Parker giving her a virginal purity. This purity is repaid through her survival.

  (The Black Dog guffaws)

  Steve— Alien also explores certain male prototypes. One example of this takes place in the form of Ash— a genial and affable scientist on the surface, but who is later revealed to be a megalomaniacal artificial android. His demise ends in a distinctly masculine climax. Once his true intentions are discovered, he is decapitated and shoots a spray of milky fluid over the female protagonist.

  BLACK DOG— So what’s your conclusion?

  Steve— My conclusion is that I’m glad I’m the mother, because men are scum.

  (Steve swings round to confront Larson)

  Steve— The architects of the crew’s demise are none other than their own faceless corporate employers. The sinister Weyland Yutani Corporation plays puppeteer for the majority of the human fatalities. They have a god-like quality in this respect. The alien itself could be perceived as almost god-like in its evolutionary dominance. It plucks off each crew member with effortless efficiency and imposes its sexual will at any given opportunity— masculine in impulse, female in execution. Only Ripley and her cat survive (we all know what felines represent). In the end only the women will be able to survive.

  (The Black Dog raises his hand to make
a point)

  BLACK DOG— Ah, but in the sequels, the alien’s pursuit of Ripley takes on a new complexion. Instead of a simple conflict of the sexes, it’s suggested that the continual resurgence of the creature is actually a manifestation of her own intrinsic desires which she is keen to run away from but cannot.

  Steve— So what’s your conclusion?

  BLACK DOG— Alien is a movie of female cynicism and existentialism.

  (Steve sees himself for what he really is, at least how other people have perceived him— as a man beset by spasms of agony and self-hatred. These are infectious. A solitaire of light shines through the studio apartment aperture. As Steve is about to utter the words which could end the entire mess, Gil walks in carrying a six pack of beer)

  Gil— Sorry I’m late. Have we opened the vortex yet?

  (The Black Dog rolls his eyes)

  BLACK DOG— No not yet, but I suppose we might as well get on with it now you’ve ruined the surprise. It’s time I did you all a favour and ate this city…

  Soft

  ONE

  As if sensing how tense he was, Blossom kneaded Dmitri’s shoulders. She traced down his kinked spine until she had coiled herself between his legs, looking up at him with affection. She ran her finger along his inner thigh. He could feel his face pulling into a mask of complex anxiety.

  The trail of sensation her finger made disappeared suddenly at his crotch, right at the cock. The girl’s hair was spun brass and her large nose and cowed eyes emerged from the room’s blackness in the most unflattering way imaginable.

  Her hand was clutched around his cock as if trying to squeeze feeling through the column of numb tissue.

  She did this for two minutes then Dmitri grabbed her by the wrist and she released his limp dick. The tip of her ear peeped out elfishly from her long, straight brunette hair. Dmitri became suspicious the girl might be a junky. He noticed on her wrist, a sprig of collapsed veins.

  The girl sat slumped on the bed staring at the shrunken cocoon of flesh until an expression grim determination washed over her face.

  The girl lunged her head at his cock and filled her mouth, sucking and licking— her toothless mouth felt like a contracting vagina. He sat back waiting for her to shoot straight back up again and call him a pathetic sonofabitch. She was eager, resolute but nothing happened, nothing was going to happen. Her weak-chin trembled. Then it came—

  —YOU PATHETIC SONOFABITCH!— the girl scolded, unfolding the cuffs of her sleeve to cover the welt marks

  The door slammed and she was gone.

  Outside, the hot fury of the wind strummed his sleeve and flicked his ear with a flaming fingertip. A harsh light seared his vision. He shaded himself with a raised forearm and hawked up a wad of phlegm. He still had the unused sheath in his clenched fist. Dmitri reminded himself that the girl was just a street girl and hardly worth bothering with. That said he was no oil painting himself. The thick dowels of his forearms were bound by a hessian web of eczematic, rheumy flesh. Dmitri’s entire body was a patchwork of dead, partially shed skin and strange, unexplained scars. Women found his naked body repulsive. Intimacy on any level was usually gratefully received, but recently he felt like a sterile husk. Dmitri had heard about The Black Dog and was certain it had its teeth around his ankles. He knew the Black Dog often came in early winter…

  Dmitri felt like it was time to address his problem. He forgot the feeling of moisture on his groin, of the richly prolonged orgasm. It’d been over a week since he’d had an erection. He worried he might be impotent. This was the last thing his image needed.

  Dmitri released the cage of his fist and dropped the condom to the alkaline earth…

  ~

  Sheila begged him to rape her. He did it. During the rape Sheila turned to him and asked him if he was having fun. He said sure without stopping or losing his rhythm. The sound of buses air-breaking squealed outside…

  Sheila told him to stop. Her large, sad brown eyes were emphasised by raven mascara.

  He did as she asked which annoyed her even more.

  Sheila sat on the bed and observed her pitiful rapist. She whipped the shock of black hair out of her face.

  He knelt on the bed with a north facing strap-on which disguised his own flaccid penis.

  —You know, I can’t do this.

  The rapist was relieved that she’d come to her senses.

  —Good, thank goodness. I honestly didn’t really want to rape you my love.

  —So, just to be clear, you really can’t get hard, like, AT ALL?

  He shook his head. The silence was as loud as a brawling river. Sheila was now lying nude on her belly, the two rounded triangles of her buttocks spread apart by sprawling legs.

  —Well you see that’s the problem. What kind of fantasy is this when the man who’s supposed to be raping you can’t even get an erection? Is it something I’ve done?

  —No… I just haven’t been able to get one for about a week now.

  —Well if that’s really the case and you’re not just profoundly repulsed by me then I think you should visit a clinic and get it checked Mario. We should go to Shell County where the doctors are.

  —I’m not too bothered.

  —What?

  —I’m not too bothered. I’ve never been a very sexual person, you know that. I do all this because I know you like it.

  —Well now I’m really aroused! A thoughtful, sensitive rapist who can’t get a hard-on and who doesn’t have a high sex drive. Fantasy fulfilled! Got you’re pathetic Mario.

  —I’m sorry…

  —This arrangement we have isn’t working. Why would you continue to demean us both by agreeing to have sex with me?

  —Because I love you.

  —Oh god. You’re my husband, love doesn’t come into it. I want to FUCK. Can you remember the last time you FUCKED me?

  Mario wore the cologne of unskilled men well

  —I got this for you…— he pointed to the gleaming black dildo around his thighs— isn’t that enough of a gesture?

  —I’m not looking for gestures anymore. I want you to fucking fuck me, okay? Until you can achieve and maintain a suitable erection, I’m afraid there’s only one option and that’s divorce.

  —Don’t say that Sheila! I love you!

  —You love me because I’m the only woman who was ever nice to you. That’s not love, that’s gratitude. Well, I’ve had it up to here with your gratitude. Start treating me like a piece of objectified flesh or get out… I’m sorry, that’s how I feel now. I’m not getting any younger.

  —But I…

  —I’m worried you might have the Black Dog. You know that’s infectious right?

  —Is it?

  —Yes!

  —I feel fine!

  —You’re just saying that to appear masculine, stop doing that! If you start the downward spiral into depression, chances are I’ll follow you down there. That can’t happen!

  —So what’re you saying?

  —I’m saying, we’re probably over…

  —Probably over?

  —Okay, well… definitely over.

  TWO

  Downtown Wire was a wasteland of isometric projections— columns of reinforced concrete and crumbling edifices that had long since lost their stickum. Dmitri still couldn’t afford a place of his own, not on a bin-man’s wage. He’d found an abandoned hut on the outskirts which he used for shelter. It was a simple enough construct— devoid of any furniture or modern charm, lit by an oil lamp and smelling of paraffin and wood smoke.

  The dustcart droned through the decayed schemes, halting at each trashcan that needed to be compacted. Dmitri pushed a button and a pneumatic grapple appeared from the trucks rear. Mario drove through another few neighbourhoods then headed to the local landfill for a drop-off. The dustcart came to a heavy halt inside and Dmitri jumped off.

  —Ah home sweet midden— Joked Mario as he groomed a roll-up cigarette, prodding the shag of tobacco into a loose filter and lig
hting it. He offered one to Dmitri.

  —No… you know I’m trying to kick it.

  Mario was a small man but heavily built. He wore his hat even off-duty because he was ashamed of his baldness. Mario was also a little overweight and didn’t pull off a crotched moustache very well. Dmitri and Mario made their way over to the cubicle block where the dustmen ate lunch together.

  Inside the site manager, Huff, poured a kettle of hot water into a mug. Dmitri and Mario got on fine with Huff because he acted like one of them. Sipping at his mug of tea, Huff greeted both men as they entered the lunch hall.

  —Lads.

  —Mr. Huff— Said Dmitri

  —Huff— Said Mario.

  Blowing steam from his cup, the site manager crossed his legs and asked the boys how their day had been so far. Dmitri felt knackered, the morning starts and midnight finishes will do that to a man. His eyes orientally narrowed as tiredness squashed him. Huff wriggled uncomfortably for a moment and opened his mouth about to say something.

  —Say, uh, can I ask you boys something?

  —Sure— they said in unison.

  —So, uh, ahem… you know this can go no further? I’m trusting you boys here.

  —Whatever it is Huff…

  —Okay, yeah. So, uh…

  —What is it boss?

  —Either of you boys ever, uh… have trouble in the downstairs department?

  Dmitri and Mario shared a glance.

  —The only reason I ask is cos Ignius on the 4rth Ward is having troubles getting a… well, you know?