Kzine Issue 2

by Graeme Hurry

  “Freak!” he yelled and chucked the hive at me. I fell back before it flew through the window, and I watched it follow me down. It must have hit my face and then rolled a few feet, but I never saw that because I hit the ground hard and passed out when the busy hive was still a foot away.

  I woke up to the sound of bees buzzing all around me. I reached into my pocket, pulled out my cell phone, and glanced down at it. I’d been out for less then a minute. I could still get out of the bathroom without being stung too badly. Then I looked away from my phone and above me. I was faced with a swarm of bees so thick that I couldn’t see through them to the ceiling above. There must have been at least a hundred bees. I felt the first sting on my forearm. The second was on my stomach, and the third on my leg. I closed my eyes and mouth so the bees couldn’t sting either, and I felt a barraged of stings all over.

  Then I felt scampering. Lots and lots of scampering, and a minute later no more stinging. Slowly, I opened my eyes again. There were at least twenty western fence and sagebrush lizards sitting on my stomach. Each time a bee flew down towards me, the nearest lizard ate it. Within a minute, my legs were covered in alligator lizards doing the very same thing, and just after that, I felt a few sagebrush lizards crawling in my hair. I closed my eyes again. I felt warm and safe, like a big comforter had been pulled over me while a storm raged outside. I almost fell asleep, and when I opened my eyes minutes later, the bees were all gone. A few of the lizards had defecated on me, but for once, I didn’t particularly mind.

  “I’m sitting up now guys,” I said. A few scrambled off me. My head had felt all right when I was lying down, but once I sat up, it raged. I put a hand back there and felt a patch of blood. I took my phone out and started to dial 911 as I stood up. Before I could get past the 9, I slipped on blood, and my cell phone fell out of my hand. I slipped some more and fell right on top of it, crushing it underneath my butt. If my head hadn’t hurt so much, I might have cried. I tried to get up again, but I slipped that time, too, my head raging even harder. I couldn’t stand back up. It hurt too much to even sit. I lay down with my head pounding, and I closed my eyes, blood dribbling onto the floor. I fell asleep.

  “The lizards?” I heard my mom say.

  “The lizards,” Mr. Fernandez said. I was sitting in a hospital, and they were on either side of me. I closed my eyes again. “My classroom’s only a few feet from the bathroom, and I saw a swarm of lizards pass by. There must have been a hundreds of them, and they kept coming. They were all slipping under the bathroom door, so I unlocked the door, and found William lying next to an empty beehive with his head bleeding. He was surrounded by what must have been a thousand lizards. I have never seen so many lizards in all my life. Just to walk the four feet to him, I was bit over ten times. I was wading through a sea of lizards. It was astounding.”

  “He’s lucky you found him,” the doctor said, disgustedly shaking an alligator lizard off his hand. “He’s got a bad gash. He was losing lots of blood. And he fell asleep with concussion. Very dangerous. Very, very dangerous.”

  “So the lizards saved him?” my mom asked.

  “I guess they did,” the doctor said.

  I felt a sagebrush crawl into my hand, and I gently stroked his head with my thumb.

  TIME OUT

  by Richard Pannbacker

  He had been sitting in his favorite chair, reading and feeling drowsy, but had stopped because of a loud ringing in his ears. He looked up and saw that his cat had spotted a rabbit through the patio door, and was crouched on it’s belly, staring at the rabbit, it’s tail switching back and forth. Then the ringing stopped and at the same time the tail stopped. “Aha,” he thought. “It’s tail stops moving just before it pounces.” But the cat didn’t move. He looked at the rabbit. It too was holding perfectly still; its nose had even stopped twitching. He wondered how long the two of them could stay frozen in their positions, so he kept watching them. As he did so, an eerie feeling came over him; something in the house had changed. He looked around, wondering what had caused the strange sensation and then realized that the house was utterly quiet. “The electricity must be off,” he said aloud. He turned and saw that the clock in the kitchen behind him wasn’t running. “Well, that’s what it is.”

  He looked back at the cat; it hadn’t moved a whisker. Outside there had been a breeze moving the tree branches, but they weren’t moving now. He opened the door; it was as still outside as it was inside. The rabbit hadn’t moved. He went over to it and nudged it with his foot; it fell on its side, as if paralyzed. Well, he’d heard that fright sometimes could paralyze animals. That must be it.

  A car was stopped in the middle of the street in front of his house, the driver staring straight ahead. He walked out to the car and rapped on the window; the driver remained frozen in his position. He banged hard on the window but the driver didn’t budge.

  As he made his way back into the house he felt fingers of panic beginning to run down his spine. What had happened? Had he died? If he had, would everything then just stop? Was he a ghost?

  His ears began ringing again, then the ringing stopped and he heard another sound; the refrigerator was running! He saw the cat lunge at the patio door as the rabbit scrambled to its feet and bounded away. The clock was back on too; things were back to normal. He went outside and looked over at the street. The car was gone.

  He didn’t know how long time had been suspended, maybe twenty minutes, but now things were picking up where they had left off. Apparently he was the only thing that remained capable of motion during the lapse. He sat down in his chair and remembered that he had been sleepy. “I know - it was a dream. Wow! Pretty realistic!”

  The next day he was at his bank, waiting for a teller, when the ringing in his ears started again. He found a chair in the lobby and sat down, waiting for it to subside. Soon it stopped and he looked around. Everything was frozen again! A man had tossed a wadded-up piece of paper at a wastebasket and it was suspended in midair. He felt the panic starting again; it hadn’t been just a dream. Then something occurred to him. No one could see him moving during the lapse in time! He got up and walked to a teller’s window. The cash drawer was open. He hesitated for a moment; he had never stolen anything before. But this would be so easy! Quickly he walked around behind the tellers counter and took all the money out of the drawer. Another drawer was open and he emptied it too. He stuffed the cash into a bag and hurried out of the bank.

  He had walked about halfway home in the eerie stillness when the ringing started again. It soon stopped and, sure enough, motion resumed around him. When he got home he counted the money. It was several thousand dollars. That evening it was reported on the local newscast that a mysterious robbery had occurred at the bank and the police had no idea who had carried it out or how it had been done.

  Well! He was definitely onto something! Thinking it over, he realized that robbing banks required a lot of hanging around, waiting for the ringing to start, and that would undoubtedly arouse suspicion. Then he thought of armored cars. They could be followed surreptitiously and robbed when the time lapse kicked in.

  He followed this plan and got lucky the very first time. He had followed an armored car to a supermarket. A guard was carrying two big bags of cash out of it and was just opening the back of the vehicle when the ringing began. He drove his car up close behind the armored car and got out beside the guard, who drew back and looked at him suspiciously. Then the ringing and everything else stopped. He grabbed the bags the guard was carrying, tipping him over in the process, and put them in the trunk of his car. Then he climbed into the back of the armored car and collected more bags, so many they wouldn’t all fit in the trunk and he had to put several in the back seat. His ears began ringing again just as he put the last bag in the car. He jumped into the car and tried to start it but it wouldn’t respond until the ringing stopped. By that time he had flooded the engine and the car started reluctantly. He slammed it into gear and started off. The guard had, by this
time, got up and seeing the car rapidly pulling away, fired into the car. The bullet grazed his head and he lost consciousness.

  When he awoke he was in a cell. His head was bandaged and his ears were ringing continuously. He saw a policeman outside the cell, suspended in midstride. The ringing never did stop - the policeman never did move. It was completely quiet, except for his screaming.

  THE STENCH

  by W. P. Johnson

  Behind La Bistro Minute, Chef Tim Patrick sat on a stoop that extended past the restaurants back door, feeling the weight of his body leave his splitting heals. He lit a cigarette and savored its sweetness, focusing on the burn and the brief numbness that graced his sinuses. A bloodhound nose had often times overwhelmed him, but with smoke he was able to spend one moment forgetting the stench of the world around him.

  He groaned as this sweetness was shoved aside. Looking up, he found the neighboring restaurant’s dumpster sunbathing under the clear sky, giving off glassy fumes.

  “Christ…” He wrinkled his nose. After looking around and finding the alley empty, he took out a second cigarette, placing a filter in each nostril. Tears fell as the smoke wafted into eyes, but after blinking them clear and inhaling, he found that the smoke had thrown paint thinner on the portraits the dumpster’s fumes had presented him.

  A delivery truck entered the alley, pulling up to him. Tim quickly pulled the cigarettes out of his nose, tossing one aside and placing the other in his mouth. With the truck still running, the driver jumped out and removed a small package wrapped in paper and twine.

  He looked down at his clipboard. “Tim Patrick?”

  “Yeah,” Tim shouted over the truck’s engine, the cigarette dangling from his lips. “All right.” The man checked off the name and handed the package over.

  He searched it for some indication of its contents, flipping it over. Aside from a small folded note under the twine, the package was blank. It felt dense and heavy.

  “Hey, what is this?”

  The truck driver jumped into his vehicle, screeching his wheels in response.

  Tim stared down at the line of dust that trailed away from him. When the truck turned the corner, he returned to the package, peeling away the small note and unfolding it. Written in neat print were a set of instructions.

  A GIFT FROM MASTER RENE

  OF CHATEAU DOULEUR.

  SMELL:

  CALL IF INTERESTED.

  Below that was a phone number.

  He sat down with the strange package. After placing the note in his coat pocket, he dug through his pants for a pocket knife and unfolded the blade. As he exhaled smoke through the corner of his mouth, he slid the knife under the twine, cutting it free. Then he unfolded the package, finding a second layer of wax paper.

  Must be a sample… probably some organic farm.

  He flicked his cigarettes across the alley and snorted his nose several times, frowning to the stink of the dumpster as his nasal passages opened. After several snorts, the smell grew dull and his mind adjusted to its presence.

  The package’s odor was already beginning to seep into his nose. With it came a subtle chill, like menthol. He shook off the strange sensation and unfolded the last layer of wax paper.

  “Hmm…”

  It was meat. Red, lean, with no signs of dry age or seasoning.

  But why so specific with a request to smell?

  The question only gave him a moment’s pause. He shrugged to the odd request and leaned in, inhaling deeply.

  “Oh my god…”

  A darkness fell over him. He chucked the meat far away, its stench beckoning him even at a distance. As he stood, his knees buckled and he quickly fell as the effects of the smell took hold.

  “What the hell…” He leaned against the back door to the bistro, sweating.

  The darkness grew thicker, pulling the blue sky’s curtain to unveil the true horrors that lay within his mind.

  His imagination became like a long dark hallway, endless, filled with specters and other terrible things. The images within this blackness began to take shape and form. Within the briefest of seconds lay an eternity of infinitesimal dread. Friends and family were murdered, lovers tortured and raped. The sun above him extinguished and the city grew dark under the gray shadow of a cosmic killer.

  He vomited, blind, begging his mind to stop the terrible thoughts.

  But it continued. At times it was abstract and sublime. He could taste screaming and could hear sadness. At one point he dreamt of his own head falling into the guillotines pillow, suffocating in the copper odor of its unwashed fabric.

  He stumbled away from the smell, feeling it fade. But even as it grew small, his memory of the stench continued to prompt new terrible thoughts, possessing him. When he finally opened his eyes he found himself at the end of the alley, alone.

  With shaking hands he took out his cigarettes, lighting one after another. Yet for every cigarette he smoked, the terrible stench of the meat lay beneath his focus, waiting to show him new terrors.

  ***

  He didn’t call at first.

  Overtime his meditations on the matter churned his fear into curiosity back into fear. Who is this Master Rene and what does he want? Where was this supposed Chateau?

  Perhaps Master Rene had sought him out for his olfactory skill, but so what if that were the case? Patrick could not bear to think of any work that dealt with the meat they had sent him.

  Call if interested…

  He laughed nervously to the notion that someone would think him interested. Such questions could only mean that there were others who found the stench interesting.

  And it was this thought alone which made him truly afraid.

  He paced about his apartment, planning to forget the whole ordeal. He spoke to his shadow, feeling himself incapable of speaking to anyone else on the matter. With time, he even began to consider this shadow separate from himself, as if it were born from fear.

  Sometimes he thought he could smell this darkness that lay at his feet.

  “Whoever this Rene person is will just think I didn’t smell anything. And he’ll never follow through with whatever it is he wanted from me. Right?”

  The shadow remained still, holding him hostage with its silence.

  “I mean… he’s after the wrong guy.”

  No, he thought, or perhaps the shadow had answered him.

  He’s not.

  He lit another cigarette and chucked the empty pack aside, finding a brief moment of calm. In his other hand he held his cell phone, looking over the note from Rene. Again and again he found himself dialing, then flipping his phone shut. Tossing it aside, he stood up, deciding to leave his apartment, get a drink.

  There’s no turning back now.

  It came from behind. He turned his head, seeing his shadow stretch out over the bed.

  “No?”

  There is only life with the stench.

  He exhaled and the smoke’s shadow flickered over his own, as if it were melting.

  “Are you…” He turned around, facing his shadow head on. “Are you inside of me?”

  The shadow remained still on his bed, nothing more than an elongated silhouette of himself. The troubled thoughts continued as he stared at this darkness, filling him with panic. He turned away, making another attempt to join the chefs of his kitchen for a nightcap and drink himself into a stupor.

  Tim.

  He stopped. Behind him came a flicker of light. He turned back, finding his cell phone open in the middle of his bed. The shadow rippled by its stretched out face.

  Find Rene.

  A calm overcame Tim. He asked it, “And do what?”

  The shadow spoke again.

  Tim nodded, feeling a coldness drain from his body as he picked up the phone.

  The conversation was short and arrangements were made.

  ***

  It took an entire day for Tim to reach the fenced outskirts of the Chateau. After that there were several miles more to
be traveled by horse and carriage and his car was left behind. As they grew closer, the forest around them became thick and black, aching to drown them in a collapsing ocean of darkness. When they finally came upon a clearing, there was nearly a quarter mile of barren field before reaching the Chateau itself.

  A woman clad in leather waited by the front gate. She opened the carriage and extended her hand. Already Tim could sense the origins of the stench all around him, lingering in the air like a thin fog that dripped from the chateau and its residents. Several images flashed in his mind (rotting skin, burnt bones, the bottom of the ocean). Focusing on the woman, he saw the flicker of a praying mantis with its claws raised into the air.

  He subdued his panic and stepped out.

  “You must be Tim Patrick?” Her words were cracked ice.

  “Yes.” He forced a smile, adding, “Chef extraordinaire.” As he exited, he lit a cigarette to ease his nerves.

  “Welcome to Chateau Douleur. I am head Mistress Gloria and Master Rene’s partner.” She pouted to the sight of Tim’s poor habit. “And I see that you smoke…”

  “Is there no smoking allowed?”

  “We believe here at Chateau Douleur that one should be enslaved to the whims of their body, not their cigarettes,” she spoke with disgust, wrinkling her nose.

  “I can put it out before we go inside.”

  “Please do.” She motioned for the gate to open and its hinges squealed. “If you must smoke during your stay here, do it outside. However, do take heed to the borders of the estate. The forest is full of rabid animals, ticks, and other despicable things.” She shot a quick glance from where he had traveled.