Get Zombie: 8-Book Set

by Raymund Hensley

  Another time, again in school, I walked into the bathroom and saw Fran on the sink, real close to the mirror with a switchblade to her face. She was cutting herself...said it made her look better. I slapped the thing away and tackled her to the floor and called for help. Mom and Dad said that our great grandmother did the exact same thing. She was the same way.

  “Gross insecurity,” they said.

  In time, with Fran, that turned into gross insanity. Fran felt the world was against her. I know this, because I used to hear her screaming in her room, “THE WORLD IS AGAINST ME!” There would always be these banging sounds, eating sounds, tearing sounds, whining sounds. I started fearing for my safety. One time, I walked into her room and saw pictures of dead animals and people – pages ripped from magazines – all over her bedroom walls.

  I told my mom, and Fran got a good beating for it.

  Maybe that's when she started really hating me.

  I woke up. The sun burned my eyes out.

  I stood up and looked at the city. Everything was in a hurry: Highways bleeding traffic. And then there was Diamond Head, way off in the distance. That extinct volcano gave me the creeps. For some odd reason, I thought it would erupt then and there. I'd feel a big rumble, and that would be the end of everything. Total eruption, just to spite me. Just because I was looking at it. Because it hated me. Everything hated me. Bad luck. Dangerous, bad luck. Everything hated me. Life hated me. God hated me. He took Phil away from me. Just...gave him to Fran. For a second, I felt what she must've felt all her life.

  The world, against you.

  I wiped the morning drool off my mouth and walked through those woods, massaging my shoulder.

  Back home, I opened the refrigerator and drank more beer and smoked more cigarettes. I felt better.

  Alcohol & cigarettes. My heroes.

  ….Ate my Spam and eggs breakfast...drank some more. I kept drinking until I knocked out and woke up in the closet for some reason. I was covered in roaches. Oh, no...was I sleeping with my mouth open? It was ten at night. Something like eleven hours went by. I had slept through it all, and my body ached, muscles complained. Drinking more beer helped to numb me. I walked through the house and saw Phil in every room, waiting behind every door. He was even in the shower, just standing there, lips moving, no sound coming out. He was dead each time – rotting – huge cuts all over him – blood came out of his holes – his eyes – his nose – his pores....

  His chest.

  It had a huge hole.

  Darkness in there. Just nothing. Nothing.

  In that bathroom, I just stood there staring at him for a long time. Can't be real. Are you a ghost? Phil? Say something....

  It was like he was looking right into my soul – eyes dead-set on mine. I ran to hug him, and he was gone. I lost it then...ran downstairs and drank all the alcohol, even all the hards. The house turned into a circus. Other realities invaded my mind. My soul went from one world to another every five seconds. I even went to Heaven; but the angels there kicked me out; called me a phony....

  My face was on the floor, and I was moving around like a weird person. I couldn't stop throwing up. I did it so much, my belly hurt. Trouble breathing. Much blood. It was an adventure just to get to my cell phone and dial 911.

  “I think I drank too much,” I said. “Please advise.”

  Then I slept for a bit.

  A deep, dead sleep.

  I was dying.

  I woke up in the hospital. A doctor was standing at the foot of my bed, just standing there, staring at me with a big smile.

  “Good morning,” she said. “How are you feeling?”

  My words came out like sandpaper.

  “Funny how the things that make you feel good can kill you at the same time.”

  “What did you just say to me?”

  “I'm thirsty.”

  “Of course you are. We had to pump everything out of your gosh darn stomach! You're lucky to be alive.”

  “Then why do I still feel dead?”

  The doctor looked at her notes.

  “That's normal. You're still drunk.”

  I shook my head a little, and it was like little bombs were going off inside.

  “Wait....Did you say you pumped out all the alcohol?”

  “Sure did,” she said. “And here it is.” She held up a jar filled with green and red stuff. It had an artistic pattern to it – reminded me of a fancy lollypop.

  Doc went on blabbing about the dangers of drinking too much. All I could think of was opening up that jar and drinking it down and feeling good again. Old Phil, he was standing next to the doctor, depressing me. I had to drown him out. It worked the morning before. Or was it the night before? I couldn't remember. The doctor said that if I drank anymore, I'd maybe die. I said that I understood and shook her hand.

  Walking down the street, I saw that Phil was following me, hovering toward me. I ran to him and hugged him, but it turned out to be some old Chinese woman. She smiled at me. Right then, I went to the nearest store to buy more beer. And I did. And I went home and drank a crap load. But then something odd happened. The beer didn't work. There were no fascinating journeys; no happy times. I couldn't block out Phil. He still followed me. I started drinking only hards, but even that only lasted for a little while. In the end, Phil would always find some way to break back into my head. Then drinking just made me depressed.

  I needed something stronger.

  I started taking drugs – weed, meth – nothing worked!

  He'd always be there, sometimes even standing next to me, teasing me. Torturing me. I came close to banging my head against the walls so many times....

  I felt like going to church. I don't know. It's strange. One day, I just woke up, looked around at my messy room – at all my shirts on the floor, sticking to the walls, dangling from the ceiling; at the TV stuck on loud-static; smelled the vomit-air; walked on the sticky floor – and I just felt like going to church. I remember looking at myself in the bathroom mirror. My eyes were black all around. My mouth was dry. My arms had tiny holes all over them. The bathtub was filled – totally – with drug needles. I lost a lot of weight. Something like...I went from 180 to 115.

  I felt eyes on me.

  Paranoia.

  I looked around.

  “Phil??? Where are you? I know you're here. Show yourself!”

  I walked all over the house, but I couldn't find him.

  A terrible thought occurred to me. I scratched my chest. He was inside.

  Deep inside.

  I was gonna lose the war if I didn't think of something fast.

  The guy I bought drugs from was named Carl. He was my butcher.

  “What'll it be today?” he said, chopping some meat. His apron was all bloody, and he wore black gloves that went all the way up to his elbows.

  The supermarket had few customers that day. Plenty of time for him to chat with me. He leaned over the counter. “What kind of meat can I give ya, Carmen?”

  “I need stronger stuff,” I said. “Nothing's working for me. I feel like crap all the time.”

  He shrugged.

  “That's how it goes. You get a high, then you fall down. It's normal.”

  “Have you got anything else?”

  He thought for a second, then slammed his butcher's knife hard on a leg of lamb. Blood splattered against my face. I was expecting it.

  “Well...I do have this one thing. Brand new stuff. The talk of the town. Haven't tried it myself, but everyone has been saying it's tops.”

  “What's it called?”

  “Babiroin,” he said. “Like I said, I haven't tried it out yet, but when I do, I'll see if it's worth selling....”

  “I'll buy some now.”

  “Now?”

  “Now,” I said, already digging into my purse.

  He looked impressed.

  “All right. That'll be $1,000.”

  I looked at the counter.

  “And I'll take some hotdogs too, plea
se.”

  “Which ones?”

  “The black ones.”

  “Ah! The Black Snakes. Good choice. That'll be $53.72.”

  “For hotdogs?!”

  “Sorry,” he said. “Good meat's hard to come by nowadays.”

  He disappeared behind the swinging doors for a long time. When he came back, he had my drug all wrapped in white paper. It was beating like a heart. He said not to worry. All I had to do was eat it.

  When I got home, I threw the hotdogs in the fridge and went into the bathroom with the Babiroin. I opened the wrapping and took the drug out. It was beating...slowly. It hypnotized me. I took a nibble out of it, and it tasted like so many things all rolled into one: Tasted like crushed aspirin, old pennies, a sweaty neck, an orange peel, and skim milk. Terrible; terrible. I shoved the whole heart in my mouth. The thing started to beat faster. Felt like the thing was replacing – taking over my old brain. I chewed and swallowed it all down. The stuff danced into my belly, made it warm. My skin sizzled. A great sense of peace took hold of me. I felt like I could do anything. All my dreams seemed possible. I was invincible. Life didn't stand a chance. I was a god. I was in control....

  I wanted more.

  So I went back to the market, to Carl, and demanded MORE.

  “Be careful,” he said. “Don't take so much. You could die. I think.”

  I reached into my pocket and threw money at his face.

  “Just gimme the Babiroin!”

  He counted the money and smiled and saluted me.

  “As you wish!”

  He gave me five Babiroins, all wrapped in white paper in a picnic basket. As I ran away, shoppers were staring at me with weird looks, holding their kids away from me. Many of the younglings laughed and pointed in my general direction. I could hear Carl yelling behind me.

  “Ya'all come back now! Ya hear! Hahahahahaha!”

  I couldn't place my finger on it, but there was something uncaring in his voice.

  Back home, I filled the bathtub with ice cold water and took off my clothes and splashed in. I dropped the Babiroins into the tub. They stained the water with blood, and for some reason reminded me of giant, red eyeballs – all floating between my knees. I ate a Babiroin. I was at peace! Wonderful images filled my mind: Of flowers, of sunsets, of kids laughing, of old people laughing, of reindeer licking my feet, of cats covering my body. Phil was nowhere to be seen. Gone. No one to give me grief. I was happy. Blissful. So blissful.

  Absolutely. Absolutely.

  Thank you, Babiroin. Thank you.

  I ate another, then another, then another....By the time I had the fifth one all up in my trembling mouth and down my throat, my face began to feel all funny...like there were feathers under my skin. The cold water turned hot. (Was I seeing steam?? Glowing butterflies??) Eyes on me! Jesus, no....The bathroom began to whisper things, and the tub felt like a black hole. Phil....He was near. But where? WHERE???

  Fear set in.

  “What's happening right now?”

  This might've not been the smartest of moves, I thought.

  And then the coughing started. Something in my throat tickled. It felt like a hair was in there, alive and wild. I reached in and held on to whatever it was and pulled it out – hand over hand, like a rope. Pain shot through my heart. It was like something was yanking on it. This thing was wrapped around my heart. As much as it hurt, I pulled the serpent out from my mouth. The black snake splashed in the tub, hissing, trying to bite my head off. It had Phil's head. The snake jumped up to my face, and I got the feeling it wanted to get back in my mouth, back down to my heart. I picked up the snake and hit it against the wall a few times. I remember...I strangled it and walked out the bathroom and threw it down the stairs.

  I ran back into the bathroom and took off that heavy toilet lid. I was gonna smash that devil snake to mush. I hurried down the stairs, not believing what I saw....

  It wasn't a snake at all. It was Phil.

  “Jesus!”

  Had I killed him?

  He was unconscious. I didn't see any blood...no bones sticking out through his skin. I started kissing him. I didn't care. I've missed him. I've wanted him for an eternity. I missed kissing him. I missed touching him. I grabbed his hands and moved them around – moved them all over my body.

  “One last time,” I said. “Just one last time.”

  After I put some clothes on, I took him out back and tied him against a tree, and for a long time I just looked at him. He opened his eyes, and he tried to jump out and get me.

  “Let me go! I'll kill you! You bitch! I'll kill you!”

  I poured gasoline all over him.

  “Not before I kill you first,” I said.

  He spat at my face.

  “You mean nothing to me! I love Fran! I make LOVE to her. She's better than you!”

  I lit a match.

  “You're not going to hurt me anymore,” I said. “You're not getting in anymore. Goodbye, Phil.”

  An arrow zipped through the air and took out the match. I looked around. Phil began howling like a dog.

  “My hero!” he went. “She loves me so much!” He looked at me. “Not like you, you stupid turd!”

  I spun around. Where was she? Fran came swinging out like a naked Tarzan and kicked me in the face with her muddy foot, sending me crashing through a sliding glass door, into the kitchen. I got a big knife and ran outside.

  They were gone. Those two naked bastards were gone.

  I chased after them, shrieking a battle cry, big knife cutting through branches. When I get my hands on them, I thought, I'm gonna cut them open and finally be at peace. That's all anyone wants – right? To be at peace? I'm gonna kill'em. I'm sorry, but I have to. There's no other way. Enough with this weirdness....Peace, here I come.

  CHAPTER TWO

  THE HEALING POWER OF NATURE

  PHIL

  I was home alone. There were pictures in my wallet – pictures of me and Carmen holding hands, hugging each other, kissing, looking real happy. It all made my stomach turn sour. I ripped the pictures up and burned them over the stove and flushed down the ashes. I was being dramatic. It felt great. Seeing her bits vanish in the toilet was a relief.

  Fran was off at work. I was going crazy. I was in heat. A comet flew across the moon. Random images popped into my mind, of UFOs and aliens and swords and burning cars and big eyes...but no bears.

  I grabbed at my hair and shook my head.

  Hide it all. Tell no one of this madness. Sweep it all under my mental carpet.

  That was the best thing to do. I was my own best shrink! Better I lock it all up in my brain. It was easy when I was awake. Sleep was the problem. Each night, I'd get those damn dreams – of me in the spaceship, of “them” experimenting on me. Waking up in a cold sweat, I'd roll over and hug Fran for support, but she'd kick me away and tell me to go back to sleep, that aliens didn't exist, only bears. She was right.

  Jesus, I thought, she's so smart. I deserve all this yelling. How dare I wake her from her beauty sleep?

  I opened my eyes....I was back at the house again, alone, hands to my head, tears in my eyes. Soon. My baby would be home soon. I wondered if she was thinking of me.

  Phil....

  I turned around, squinting my eyes into the house.

  “Yes?”

  This is your smarter self talking – the part that went to college for all those years. Remember me? You created me. You trained me. I'm here to tell you that sealing up all this pain and confusion will only grow into something awful. You'll go mental. One day, you might wake up and find yourself killing someone for no reason. The mind is strange that way. A real mystery box. Trust me. I'm a doctor. I know these things.

  “Lies. I'll be fine. I'm strong. I'm tough. I'm a man, and as such, my job is to hold all this in.”

  I went into the kitchen and made a grand feast. Fran would come home and kiss me all over my body. In excitement, and in preparation for our night of sex, I stripped off my clo
thes and baked a turkey.

  “I'll never say anything to depress her,” I promised.

  CARMEN

  The sun was up. I was in the middle of the woods? Deep, deep in there. Monkeys made odd sounds. Strange, seeing how there weren't supposed to be monkeys in Hawaii – at least not to my knowledge. I kept walking. My feet sank in mud. I felt at ease. Vines dangled all around me. Those mysterious monkeys were dancing in the trees. One came down and fed me a banana. I said my thanks and ate it. The monkey smiled (I think) and ran away screaming.

  A wonderful vibration filled me.

  Home....Home....

  Peace.

  Peaceful.

  Everywhere I looked, animals smiled at me.

  The deer smiled; the racoons smiled; the anteaters smiled; the rabbits smiled. I kept thinking, How many of you guys are native to these here parts? No matter. I loved them. I walked up and hugged them all. A deer even let me ride on his back. The grand beast took me for a ride, and we jumped over fallen logs and mud puddles. I laughed and laughed....