by Andy Love
Froth exuded from his mouth, nose and ears. He belched and farted profusely, a smell of rotten eggs, and a tinge of decayed flesh fowled the air. The stench repulsed people at nearby tables. A slimy, warm mess soiled his seat and the tightness of the trousers relaxed. Uncomfortable: the seat of his trousers were warm and wet, as body fluids leaked. The skin on his hands split, and green fluid leaked over the table then on to the floor.
~~~~~~~~~~
The attentions of two club bouncers were aroused. They lumbered through the forest of people as Silverbacks through the trees, and toward Jason.
“Stand up.” The largest one grunted. Jason couldn’t stand up, but sat rigid.
“You’re one ugly fucker,” The other bouncer added in a low drawl. “Time to leave.”
They pulled the table out and lifted Jason up by his arms and legs. The two men carried Jason to the emergency door, kicked it open and threw him into the street. The bouncers laughed and made a game, to wipe the green pus from their hands on each other while they returned to the music.
~~~~~~~~~~
Jason walked from the nightclub along the dark streets to see Nick Burns. He glimpsed a hideous reflection in the shop window, which stared back, wore his clothes and mimicked his movements. When Jason realised his own image, he squealed like a wee girl does, with excitement of the latest plastic doll as a gift. He looked disgusted at the mess his body, after assurance of his returned health by Nick. “I didn’t expect to look like a putrefied pig carcass.”
A dull grey film developed over his large hazel eyes. Yellow pus trickled from the tear ducts and down his cheeks. He pressed lightly on his eye and the softness yielded under the pressure. His skin paled as the rigor mortis grew and seized his joints. His vocal chords tried to swear through his stiff jaw, but it didn’t respond to the order from his mind to open. A single grunt escaped. Jason raised his hand in a slow painful movement, and eventually managed to reach his face. He shoved his fingers into his mouth and tried to pull his jaw down, nothing happened. After taking his hand out his mouth, he tried to push the jaw up, again naught. He pushed his jaw as hard as he could from side to side, but it wouldn’t move. Grunting, he spun in circles on the pavement, like an Indian who danced for rain. The effort endured, but decided to grunt instead. The beast continued to shuffle along the streets, but his partial blindness caused him to collide with unseen objects. His arms were outstretched, and displayed black swollen hands, which dangled out the cuffs of his jacket.
~~~~~~~~~~
A boy held his Mother’s hand as they walked along the street then pointed at Jason with his free hand. “Look mum, it’s a zombie.” The mother yanked the child toward her and they huddle into the wall away from Jason.
“Don’t point, Donald.” She whispered.
The boy pointed again. “But mum, he’s all mushy like in the movies. That’s cool!”
Jason heard the voices and tried to guide his way to them, but wet grunts escaped his mouth when he tried to ask for help. His tongue wouldn’t move and he needed to know if it existed. The monster bit into it; happy to know it hurt. Its arms swayed as his black fingers groped the air excitedly. He neared the woman who screamed and her boy who laughed at his mother’s fear.
“He’s going to eat you, Mum.”
The woman swung her handbag wildly at the weirdo’s head, and he bit a piece off his tongue. Jason sprayed the woman’s face with blood when he spat out the piece of tongue. Two men ran to the commotion and kicked the monster to the ground then ushered the woman and child from the scene.
“Run, run for it now.”
They returned to teach the freak a painful lesson, but he’d disappeared. The two men looked round the location and gestured their confusion.
~~~~~~~~~~
Jason sent a text to Nick Burns where they should meet. He stuffed the mobile phone back in his pocket, and waited in the dark alley. Happy couples and scum walk the streets without a care. They were healthy, alive and didn’t smell of rot. ‘I can’t accept this existence. I should be dead, buried and happy. Being brought back to life sucks. Nick bloody Burns, who the fuck does he think he is? Wants me to do his bidding. I don’t work for nobody but me. And that’s another thing, I hate not making money, or at least cause misery I can’t enjoy.’
“Hello, Jason.” A voice said behind him. Jason’s feet almost leapt from the pavement as he turned to face the voice. He pointed to his mouth and mumbled. Nick slapped him across the face and words poured out.
“Fuck! Fuck sake, Nick. I nearly shit myself. Don’t do that.” He paused and pointed behind where Nick arrived came from. “How the hell did you get behind me in a dead end alley?”
“That’s not important. Is there anything I can do for you?” He awaited a reply, but Jason’s haggard face gazed at the alleyway behind them. Nick snapped his fingers in front of Jason’s face. “I ain’t got all day you know.”
Jason’s smooth tanned face drained of colour; pallid. “Why is my body falling apart?” He asked.
“You need to reverse the process, to correct the wrongs you committed. Do some,” Nick looked nauseous, and almost vomited the next word. ”good.” He shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t give a crap if you do or not. I’d rather you stayed an arsehole. I like that quality in you, but I’m obligated to inform you on how to repent.”
“Fuck that! What’s wrong with my body?” Jason Shouted.
“You can’t die. Your body will slowly fall apart: the skin will rot and stink. However, you’ll still feel pain as if you were human. But, you’ll never die.”
“What do you mean human?” Jason’s questioned in a frustrated and angry voice.
“The only way you can have your youthful looks back, is to trade other souls. You eat the body to help you appear human, I get the souls and you get to exist.”
“Eh, what are you talking about? How’s that going to help me repent?”
“It’s not. I couldn’t give a flying fart if you repent or not. I’m not here to help you kiss and make up. I’m here to trade souls, nothing more. You’re dead, Jason. Well sort of, you’re more of a…ghoul.” Jason made a disgusted face and Nick continued. “Yeah, I know; I think it’s a dirty word too, but you are what you are. My ghoul, you get me souls, and I give you youth.” Nick swaggered down the dead end alley. His image swallowed by the darkness, where his distant voice called from the alley. “Get me souls, Jason. Now!”
~~~~~~~~~~
Jason searched for the three men. He would approach them with two metaphorically heavy hands: one filled with repentance, while the other brimmed over with the need for their youth and souls. ‘I need to set things right, but I don’t have any remorse, no manners and I stink like a public toilet.’
A delicious smell of rot hit Jason’s senses as he walked over the white stripes in the middle of the road. He tracked the smell to a flat, dry and cold rabbit, kneeled down and sniffed above the carcass. His fingers grabbed its ear and peeled it from the road, held up his find then smiled. A car horn sounded, tyres squealed, and gained volume. With a thud, Jason spun through the air then thrown through a hedge. He peered out from the bottom of the hedge and saw the driver get out of the car, inspected the front, look around the vicinity then got back in and drove off. Jason pulled his broken arm straight, and smiled at the squashed rabbit still in his grasp. He leaned against the hedge and crunched his way through the dry, cold bunny.
~~~~~~~~~~
The night concealed Jason’s travels, which ultimately, brought him to Derek Johnstone’s middle class home. Camouflaged behind the bushes in the back garden, so close to the immaculate lawn and raised pond, he could almost spit on them.
He stumbled across the lawn, but the house security light flooded the back garden and showed Jason’s decrepit form. He hustled back to the seclusion of the bushes until the light switched off. ‘I guess it doesn’t matter if I’m seen in the light. I need to collect and feed.’
Jason stepped onto the gravel border and t
hrew pebbles at the window to attract attention. Time passed slowly for Jason; still alone in the garden, and highlighted by the bright security light. His irritation grew as the automatic water sprinkler system activated. Soaked, short on time, and still needed to get Derek’s interest. He picked up a larger stone, and threw it with too much force. It broke the window and a light filled its frame.
“Oh that’s just, fucking great.” Jason mumbled.
Derek pulled the Austrian blinds back and peered out. He disappeared then reappeared at the back door. “Hey you, stay where you are.” He shouted, as stomped over the lawn. He pushed Jason against the raised goldfish pond as they grappled.
He tried to grab Derek by the hands, but couldn’t get purchase for the slime on his own hands. He heard his back crack as he was bent backward over the pond. The cool water rose up from the back of his head. He saw Derek’s face, which showed the strength exerted to squeeze his throat. Pushed hard, his head stayed submerged.
Jason tried to hold his breath, to stop the access of water to his lungs. ‘I can’t breathe or I’ll drown and die.’ However, he’s compelled to suck in. His eyes bulged to restrain inhalation. A goldfish nibbled the crud on his eyes as his mind shouted for him to open his mouth and suck in air. He remembered Nicks words, “You’re dead, Jason.” Large bubbles escaped his mouth and the goldfish got sucked into his mouth then blew out into a small fountain.
‘I have failed in my attempt to explain my sorrow for what I’ve done and ask how I could repay for my stupidity. Derek won’t give up until I stop moving.’
Jason kept still, but a goldfish swam into his mouth and tickled inside. He lay motionless as his mind restrained chuckles, and his killer released the strangulation. He heard the faint sound of Derek as he clattered in his shed, obviously in search of something. The security light went out, and he swallowed the goldfish then slid out the pond. He snuck past the murderer’s frantic actions and crept into the night, toward Bob Saunders’ house.
~~~~~~~~~~
A few blocks away from Bob Saunders house, Jason took shortcuts through neighbours back gardens. He wriggled under a fence and emerged to see a dog eat from a bowl.
“Psst. Hey, doggy.” He whispered, but no response. “Chew, chew, chew. Come here you stupid mutt.” Jason thought how he could entice the dog, without attention drawn to the owners. The dog’s tail sidetracked him as it wagged back and forth. Like a verbal pendulum, which teased and begged in his mind. ‘Bite, me. Bite, me…’ Jason’s self control failed. He crawled to the dog, grabbed its tail and crunched his teeth into the fur. The dog yelped, growled and bit its attackers face. Jason let go of its tail, but the dog ripped off his ear. He grabbed the dog around its neck and wrestled it to the ground. The mutt’s jaw opened then sank its teeth into the throat of its attacker. It shook him like a dirty old rag. He gasped and punched the dog’s head. It yelped and ran out the back gate. Jason lay on the grass, a hand over the holes in his throat.
“This has been one really shitty day.”
~~~~~~~~~~
After he climbed many walls and fences, Jason lay exhausted on his stomach for hours, in Bob Saunders back garden. He watched the normality of this family eat a meal in their conservatory.
He tried to rise from the ground, but his blood pooled to the front of him. The clothes stuck to the grass, and pulled him to the ground again. Once he peeled his body from the ground, he saw a bloody congealed imprint stuck to the grass. Jason looked with wide eyes and inclined his head for a different view at the figure. “Cool.” He whispered.
As he approached the back of the house, the kitchen light illuminated his presence, so he retreated to the safety of the bushes. He moved up the garden, still detected by the troublesome light and sat on the children’s swing. He swayed back and forth, and enjoyed the screech from its rusted joints. Bob came out of the conservatory to investigate the constant irritation. Jason stopped the swing and tried to catch Bob’s attention.
“Psst, Bob.” Jason whispered, with a gurgle in his voice.
Bob peered into the shrubbery, and tried to pinpoint the direction of the strange voice. He didn’t feel threatened as whoever it is, knew his name. His idiot brother is a prime suspect; he’s always played the moron when he came to visit, unannounced.
“Who’s there? Is that you, Jack?” He took a few confident strides toward the bushes. “Stop pissing about and come in. My dinner’s getting cold.”
Jason saw Bob’s children move out of the conservatory, but his wife appeared at the door and leaned out.
“Bob, what’s the matter?” Ginny asked.
“Nothing, love. I think it’s my daft brother mucking around again.”
Ginny shook her head. “Jack, you’re such an arsehole. Get in here. See the children before they go to bed.” She shouted.
Bob turned to his wife. “Just go back in honey, I’ll be there in a minute, and turn off the security light. He can stay in the dark.” She shook her head again, retreated to the warmth of the house and closed the door. Bob turned to the bushes again. “I’m not staying out here all night, Jack.” He walked toward the house, when Ginny switched off the security light and allowed the glow from the conservatory to bleed over the lawn. Jason hesitantly came out to the edge of the lawn, grabbed the man’s arm, and turned him round to see the decayed face of Jason.
“Oh my God. What the fuck!” Bob exclaimed and struggled to free his arm from the monster.
“It’s ok, Bob. I need to speak with you.”
Bob swung a left hook, which rattled the fiend’s jaw. Jason grasped his foe’s other arm and spat out his broken teeth. Bubbles of blood popped and dribbled down his chin when he spoke. “I guess I deserved that.”
He stared at the thing before him. “What the…who are you?
“It’s Jason.” The monster implored. “I’m Jason Wicks, of Jason Wicks quality used cars? The one you lot killed?”
Bob’s eyes were wide in terror as he looked at the creature, and fought to free his arms. His arms relaxed as his head moved back, and his mouth dropped open. He moved closer to Jason’s face, narrowed his eyes and tried to focus intently. Realisation of the beast’s face, and intonation of voice, confirmed what he found difficult to accept. It could only be Jason. “No way, man. You can’t be. We didn’t kill you.” He yanked his arms from its grip and stepped back.
The emergent pain of rigor mortis made Jason grimace and flinch intermittently. The facial ticks were exaggerated, and his body temperature dropped. He’s reduced to an animated corpse; cold and slimy to the human touch. His eye sockets were blackened and dull grey eyes stared at Bob without emotion, when he spoke with dark blue lips. His mouth created a balloon of blood and mucus when he parted his lips to speak.
“I only want to help, Bob. That’s all.” Jason staggered forward and held out his arms pathetically. Bob stepped back, to distance himself from this putrid excuse for a man. He looked round the garden, and frantically searched for a weapon to fend off this foul being. His foot rolled over a length of copper pipe, and he fell backward on to the ground. Jason took the advantage, as he threw himself on Bob’s chest, and grabbed his shirt in both hands. He drooled green and red pus from his mouth when he spoke again in gurgled tones.
“Please, Bob. Let me help you. I wish to repent.”
“Fuck off you gross bastard.” Bob feverishly patted his hands around the ground in desperation. Jason leaned over Bob and coughed liquefied organs on his face. As Bob turned his head to throw up, he noticed a length of copper pipe. He grabbed it with excitement and impaled it into the centre of Jason’s forehead. It easily punctured his soft tissue as he screamed in agony. He slid onto the grass, with both hands grasped around the pipe.
Bob wiped his mouth and kicked the beast’s head. When his legs became weak, he returned to the house. He snatched his gun, with the intention to destroy this thing for good. Jason lay in the back garden as precious time passed. He hadn’t collect one human soul, a task he must endure
for sustenance.
The ghoul shuffled out the back gate and down the street. He paused and tried to pull on the pipe, but screamed in agony and frustration when it refused to budge. Jason pushed his body from the ground and staggered down the street. The pipe in his forehead bobbed up and down to his robotic gait. Unable to pull it out, the length of the pipe unbalanced his walk. He grabbed the pipe with both hands, yanked as his head forward and yelped. His antics were heard as he slunk into the distant and dark streets.
~~~~~~~~~~
Jason trundled down back alleys, frustrated and angry. He punched and kicked cars as he passed them, leaving a cacophony of alarms in his wake. The monster snuck down a dark close, off to convince Rick Mills of his regret. He took a shortcut through the derelict steel foundry to rest. The entrance to the building was through a huge concrete aperture devoid of doors. A sickening stench of adhesive made him nauseous. His feet stumbled over rubble, and he looked curiously at the empty crisp packets scattered on the ground. Pigeons flapped overhead, but something else created a noise in the darkness. Glass crunched to his right, a whisper to his left. He heard manic giggles from the blackness.
Youths emerged from hiding and tormented him. They pushed Jason toward each other then knocked him to the ground, then kicked and stomped his body repeatedly. The scum shoved each other and one jumped on the end of Jason’s pipe, flattened it and pushed his head into the hardcore as Jason groaned.
“He looks like a Dalek,” one youth shouted then the rest joined in a chant. “Ex-ter-min-ate! Exterminate! Kill the Dalek!”
The smallest of the gang thumped his boot into Jason’s face. “We don’t like weirdo freaks in our city.”
They hauled Jason to his feet as others arrived with rusty chains, snatched from the interior of the building. The hooligans wrapped the chains around his body, across his mouth, and bound his hands and feet. The adolescents collected all the combustible materials from the immediate area into a huge pile under their freak. Chains squeezed the body, which burst his decayed skin, and leaked pus from the wounds. The brats lit the stack. “Who’s got the marshmallows?” They taunted and imitated pleads from the victim about to be cooked.