AFTERTASTE

by Scott, Kyle M.

  Text Copyright 2015©Kyle M. Scott

  All rights reserved

  First Authorised Digital Version

  No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means without the permission of the author. All the characters in this book are fictitious, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  This book was written using UK standard dictionary. Some spellings may differ from US variations.

  Special Thanks:

  It’s been a strange and humbling journey since my first release, and I want to thank the readers....all those like-minded folks who’ve stuck with me on this ride, and supported my work with such generous enthusiasm.

  You’re the reason we writers lock ourselves away in the dark corners of our imaginations, and go a little bit crazy in the process. It’s all in the name of good old fashioned love, folks.

  Special thanks to Mum and Dad, Michelle Craig, Michael Noe, Neko Lilly, Stuart Keane, Matt Shaw, Zachary Walters, Jack Rollins, Scarlet Aingeal, Lisa Sandberg, Natalie Noble, Mark Wilson, and the boys from Rabbit in Red.

  Thanks, everyone!

  For Raina Gabrielle.

  Eat healthy and grow up strong, little one.

  And stay away from fast food...

  Author’s Note:

  This novel is set in the same universe as my previous book, Devil’s Day, though the books can be read in either order.

  DON’T

  SWALLOW...

  PROLOGUE

  “So, what do you think?” Pauline asked, her words muffled as she pushed the oversized burger further into her mouth.

  To Sam, it seemed a little vulgar, and a lot off-putting, that John’s new girlfriend was cramming that meat down her gullet, and chewing open-mouthed, for all the world to see.

  Sam had no idea what his friend was doing with her.

  It’s not like she was a looker.

  Her hair had a look like it had been dipped in black grease each morning, and her build was, Sam thought, a little on the robust side.

  Not a little...she was enormous

  But it wasn’t her weight that made her presence so repulsive to Sam.

  Hell, no.

  He liked to think of himself as a guy with a little more depth than the average high-school senior. He was raised to judge people on the calibre of their person, not the size of their waist or the number of chins they had jiggling beneath their jowls.

  What really repelled Sam regarding Pauline, was her attitude – her higher than thou demeanour, her pious religiosity. That air she carried that her shit didn’t stink, and that if it did stink, then that stink was of expensive Belgian chocolates.

  The eating manners being displayed were a new and unwelcome development.

  Watching this surprise member of their little group noisily wrap her huge, sauce-stained jowls around that king-size cheeseburger was not Sam’s idea of a fun afternoon out, and it certainly wasn’t urging him to take a bite of his own oversized patty.

  The disgusting sounds emanating from Pauline’s gaping, food-stuffed maw was enough to put a lion off its prey.

  And neither was his friend.

  John had the look of a man trapped in some inescapable nightmare. No wonder he wasn’t eating.

  Since hooking up with Pauline, his once cheerful best buddy wore the look of one stumbling through a perpetual fog of shame.

  What the hell, John?

  He knew what the hell, though. John had made the terrible, irredeemable mistake of hooking up with her at Anna’s party last week. A moment of drunken, unspeakable foolishness, in which John had lost his virginity, and with it any hope of a golden memory to store in his mental library for old age or masturbatory reminiscence.

  And apparently, he had lost his mind, too.

  The next day at school, John was walking by her side! That desperate, drowning look, painted onto his face. Their classmates had whispered and snickered behind his back, and in some cases, to his face, but John had just kept walking that walk.

  And this is how great men are broken, Sam thought, as he looked into Pauline’s dim, beady eyes.

  If this is your grand plan for making Slim jealous, you done fucked up, old buddy. Big time.

  Sam figured he’d better respond to her, before she decided to eat him, too. “It’s okay, actually,” he answered.

  Pauline moaned her pleasure as the meat swelled her cheeks to almost twice their usual size. Sam wondered if she made the same sound when she was coming, and immediately wished he hadn’t.

  He felt his stomach turn a little. Just a murmur, but enough to kill his appetite stone dead.

  “This is the best fucking burger I’ve had in forever!” she exclaimed; loud enough that her language could be heard by the entire restaurant, including the children.

  “Yeah...it looks like you’re enjoying it,” Sam responded, lowering his own barely touched meal to the plastic tray.

  From Pauline’s side, John cleared his throat far too loudly. Sam got the message.

  Ever the loyal compadre, he kept his thoughts to himself.

  “You not hungry, man?” John asked Sam, as he attempted to wrap an arm around Pauline’s waist. He looked like a hobbit hugging a particularly vicious breed of cave-troll.

  “Nah, bro. I’m feeling a little under the weather. Stomach’s acting up,” Sam replied.

  “Yeah, you look a little pale, dude.” John said, with a look of genuine concern.

  Pauline laughed, “What you need is a good feeding, Sam. You’re like a fucking stick insect.”

  “I have a high metabolism. I can eat pretty much anything and not put weight on,” Sam answered. “Just lucky, I guess.”

  Pauline huffed, “Lucky!? Well, I hope for your sake your dick is bigger than your appetite!” She let out a gust of braying laughter. Spittle rained down on the table, peppering both her own tray and Johns. A small, half chewed piece of burger meat clung to the side of her lips – half in and half out as she surely drew the attention of half the restaurant.

  Jesus fucking Christ.

  Sam felt a rush of heat flush over his face; shame on her behalf, at behaviour in such a public place.

  And here I am, sat with her.

  We gotta get her out of the group, man. John can deal with his guilt in his own damn time.

  Looking at John, he could see the same flush of heat burn into his best friend. Sweat coursed down John’s forehead as he lowered his eyes to stare at the tiled floor.

  “Sorry, everyone!” Pauline proclaimed to her public. There was meat caught in her teeth, too. Little strings of beef wedged between her dentures, hanging like tiny pink and brown tassels.

  Sam felt his stomach turn, again. This time it really hurt. Cramps clutched at his insides.

  He hadn’t been kidding when he told John he felt ill.

  Sure, he didn’t have any intention of eating any more of the shit sat on his tray; not since watching Pauline go at her food like an orc, but besides that, he’d felt a little queasy since late last evening.

  Maybe it’s the food, he mused.

  He’d come here to ‘Waldo’s Burger Emporium’ last night with his mom and dad, and they’d eaten up a storm.

  The place had seemed uninviting, even then; a multi-coloured miasma of vaguely creepy cartoon figurines that loomed over the dining tables with dead plastic intent; probably terrifying to any child under the age of ten. The staff, made up of teenagers, wore the lifeless stares of the dead; depressing in their forced cheerfulness, wearing cute little caps and fun little aprons that couldn’t hope to hide the hopelessness wrought in their eyes.

  And there was the smell, too.

  Most burger joints had a smell as familiar to Sam’s senses as freshly cut grass; the un
mistakable aroma of cooking meats and coffee sat on counters for far too long. But Waldo’s...Waldo’s smelt different somehow. The recognisable scents were all there, yet there was something else...something that reminded Sam of dead things; rotting animals baking in the sun by the side of the road, dark and filthy places just out-with the reach of light.

  Bad things.

  No one else had seemed to mind when he’d come here last night with his old folks, nor did John and Pauline seem to mind now.

  Sam reckoned it was his imagination.

  He was here again, wasn’t he?

  It wasn’t every day a new restaurant opened up in a town as small as Plainfield. Shit, they only had two other eateries, and those were both mom and pop diners, ran by ageing curmudgeons whose food was as palatable as their attitudes towards young people. If you wanted fast food, you had to hop in your car and travel twenty minutes to the next town over.

  Waldo’s was, sad as it may be, something of a big deal.

  It really didn’t say much about Plainfield, but that was how the cookie crumbled.

  Clutching his stomach as it lurched once more, Sam noticed that most of the clientele had ignored Pauline’s shameless behaviour - their attention was focused on their own meals and their smiling, ravenous children.

  Pauline had gone back to desecrating the brutalized meat and bread she had left in her giant paws.

  “Fucking brilliant!” she moaned.

  Sam could see halfway down her throat.

  That finally sealed the deal.

  His stomach lurched again, this time with an audible gurgle that caught John’s attention. The cramps were increasing in intensity.

  “Shit, man. You sure you’re okay?” John leaned over the table and placed a hand on his shoulder. A gesture of caring as honest as it was appreciated.

  Sam bent forward, his head almost touching the table, “I dunno, man. I feel like shit.”

  “Eat up, buttercup!” Pauline laughed.

  Both boys ignored her.

  “Let’s get the hell out of here...get you home.” John pushed his chair out and stood up, while beside him, his girlfriend huffed her displeasure.

  “Okay,” Sam muttered. “Good plan.”

  John stood by his side, now. “The fresh air will do you good. Come on.”

  Sam stood up on rapidly weakening legs. His guts felt like they were being put through a wash and dry, and the cramps...it felt like a phantom fist was clutching at his guts.

  His head swam as he got to his full height. He reached down and balanced himself on the table, as John put an arm over his shoulder and Pauline sat glaring at him.

  “Come on, buddy” his friend said quietly. “Fuck this place.”

  Sam put one foot in front of the other, as the room spun around him. He could see a myriad of faces, a blur of life amidst the reds and yellows of the restaurant’s décor, but no one seemed to be paying any notice.

  Just as well, he thought. This is escalating quickly. Feel like I’m fucking dying, here.

  John had his weight now, as he helped his friend to the door.

  Almost there...

  Gonna make it.

  Not gonna throw up in front of all these kids.

  Looking out through the restaurant’s windows, Sam was dismayed to see many more families sat by the tables, enjoying the spring warmth.

  Shit!

  “John,” he muttered. “Get me to the bathroom, man.”

  “We’re almost out.”

  “Gotta throw up, dude. Kids out there...” Sam mumbled.

  John, ever the decent friend, redirected him to the toilets.

  He felt shame battle nausea for supremacy in the acid ocean of his guts.

  Nausea won the day.

  Sam groaned as wave after wave of sickening revulsion threatened to overwhelm him.

  Up ahead...a bright red door. Above it...the universal symbol for the male urinal.

  He was going to make it.

  Sam almost managed a smile.

  “You good?” John asked, quietly.

  “I’m good.”

  Sam pushed open the garish door with a grunt and stumbled inside, leaving John by the entrance, waiting.

  “Ah fuck.”

  Sam groaned, as he fell to his knees over the toilet pan; the tension in his gut growing more excruciating by the second. With trembling hands that felt like they belonged to someone else, he pushed up the plastic seat. He was aware of the cold dampness soaking through his denims as his knees connected with the tiles of the bathroom floor, and he could feel the puddle of piss kissing his skin through the fabric. H

  He was past caring.

  His stomach twisted again, heaving painfully as he leaned his head over the pan and stared into the shallow water. Someone had forgotten to flush. The bitter scent of urine wafted from the yellow liquid, climbing into his nostrils and tickling his throat.

  Sam let loose with a torrent of vomit.

  Cold, piss-filled water splashed his face as the barely digested remains of his burger propelled from his guts; evacuating his system any way it could. Vomitus slime poured from his nose to run down his quivering lips as lurch after lurch sent the entirety of his day’s food intake plunging into the vile liquid below. Soon he was staring through blurry, running eyes, at a disgusting soup of half-eaten meat, lettuce, bile, cola and urine.

  Still he heaved.

  Sam’s head felt like it might explode, his stomach felt hollowed out.

  And then, just like that, it passed.

  With a drawn out, relieved moan, he lay his head on the cold porcelain, not caring when his cheeks met with the mess.

  Is there anything more comforting than the rim of a toilet against your face after throwing up?

  After a moment, his vision began to clear. The pounding sensation in his head had receded, and Sam gathered what few shattered shards remained of his composure.

  Outside the gent’s toilets, he could hear the muffled ambience of the restaurant as its customers and staff went about their business; tinkling cutlery, childish laughter, the hustle and bustle of everyday consumption.

  Vaguely ashamed, Sam smiled to himself.

  What a fucking stat to be in.

  That had fucking sucked..

  Still, all’s well that ends well.

  I’ll never eat at this goddam place again, that’s for sure. Fuck this place.

  He was rising to his feet, glad to be off the piss-stained floor, when, without warning, his insides seemed to collapse inwards. Fresh agony coursed through his world as spasm after spasm of wracking pain surged through his stomach.

  His legs failing him, Sam toppled forward, cracking his front teeth on the hard rim of the toilet bowl. His hands involuntarily clutched at the sides of the pan, scraping at the porcelain so hard that two fingernails tore free. They hung on strings of skin from the tips of his fingers, as he held the bowl like a driver spinning wildly out of control.

  And then it got worse.

  He could feel something moving within him.

  A writhing sensation, deep in his guts, that felt like it could tear him apart from within and burst free in a flurry of awful new life.

  It felt like...

  Sam tried to scream for John as his body suddenly gave in and expelled the remaining contents of his stomach. The wave of warm fluid that burst from his mouth cut his cry for help short.

  All he managed was a gurgled, choked wail, as a slew of dark red blood and viscera hurtled from within him. He fell to the side of the toilet pan, his sweat-soaked head sliding down the cubicle wall and cracking the hard tiles hard as he crumbled into a heap on the floor.

  Sam tore at his throat with broken nails, as the expulsion continued.

  Breathing was no longer an option.

  He opened his eyes as he lay there, completely at the mercy of this new internal attack, trying to take one last look at the world.

  Sure that he was dying, his mind numb with horror, as he struggled for air.
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  I'm going to die in a bathroom. I'm going to die in a bathroom. I'm going to die in a bathroom...

  Please God, don’t let this happen to me!

  And then he saw them.

  Unbridled terror sluiced through his veins as he lay there, helpless, gasping between spasms for air. But it wasn’t the choking, or the already mind-cracking thought of drowning in his internal organs that burned his psyche to ash in that moment.

  It was what was in the blood.

  The thick red mess splashed out on the tiles before him, was moving. Within it...things lived. Squirming, writhing and sliding over one another.

  A whole mass of them.

  Thick, white, bulbous worms.

  Revulsion and horror lit up Sam’s senses as he watched the finger-sized grubs twist and dance in an orgy of viscera and fluid movement. Their translucent skin pulsed with terrible life as they swam amidst his lifeblood.

  He stared in horror, as tiny, circular mouths stretched open, revealing needle-like teeth that gnashed as the hideous larvae coursed through his blood.

  He saw no eyes.

  But they saw Sam.

  A hundred small, hungry mouths turned his way and began to slowly glide through the red lake towards his face.

  He tried to move and found that his strength had altogether left him. Eyes wide with shock, he could only lie there, helpless, and watch as the mass of worms slid over his exposed flesh.

  Before long, he could see nothing.

  The worms made short work of his eyes.

  Sam finally found his scream, moments before the army of glistening, ravenous mouths burrowed into his brain.

  AFTERTASTE

  Part 1

  CHAPTER 1

  “Dad, I love you, dearly. I really do. But you and I both know I'm not setting one foot in that place!”

  “Gimme a break, kid. You don’t have to eat any meat. It’s okay, no one’s gonna force you to break your vows, for god’s sake. It’s not like we’re a cannibal cult.”