Casket for Sale, Only Used Once

by Jeff Strand

  Witch was wiping down the operating table with bleach. Mr. Burke, Troll, and Medusa weren't around.

  "Come on," Goblin pleaded. "You can't let them do this to me. I was a good boss, right? You were always my favorite. You know that."

  Witch avoided looking at him and focused all of her attention on cleaning the operating table, looking sick to her stomach.

  "Don't ignore me! It doesn't have to happen like this! You can just tell them I got free!"

  "How?"

  "I don't know. Make something up!"

  "Yeah, right. Then I'll be on this table in your place."

  "We can both go. Let's just leave. He'll do you next, you know. If he's disbanding our team there's no reason for him to keep you and Troll around. You'll die next. I promise you'll die next."

  Witch shook her head. "No, I won't."

  "You will, I swear. Witch, we're a team. You don't let this kind of shit happen to your teammates."

  "We were never a team. You were the leader and we were the followers. You said that all the time." Her voice cracked. "And if you don't shut up I'll gag you."

  Goblin lowered his head and wept softly.

  A door behind me opened. Somebody walked into the room, and I felt a light slap on the back of my head. "Wakey-wakey!" said Troll, moving in front of me. He was soon followed by Mr. Burke. Troll was wearing green surgical scrubs, and Mr. Burke was in a white lab coat.

  "Well, well, well," said Mr. Burke, rubbing his hands together. "Some lovely specimens we have here today. Who shall I work on first?"

  "Do Goblin first," Troll suggested.

  "Yes, that sounds like a fine idea. But let's take care of some other business before we get started." Mr. Burke looked at me, reached into the pocket of his lab coat, and removed a finger-sized object wrapped in tissue. "Now, Andrew, do you really think proper storage of a severed digit includes keeping it in your filthy pocket?"

  If I'd been able to speak, I probably would have said something along the lines of "It was the next best place to Witch's mouth." Then again, I might not have.

  Mr. Burke unwrapped my finger and shook his head sadly. "I don't know. Even with the amazing advances in laser surgery, I doubt this finger is in a sufficient state to be reattached. I think we're just going to have to give it the goldfish treatment."

  He walked to the door on my right, which led to a small bathroom. He held my finger over the toilet at chest-level, let it dangle for several seconds, then dropped it. It landed with a small splash.

  "Adios, dear finger," said Mr. Burke. He flushed the toilet and watched happily. "Going ... going..."

  I wondered if this was payback for his being dunked in the toilet once too often by bullies in school.

  "Going..." He frowned. "Aw, shit, it's still there. Fuckin' low-flow toilets." He flushed again. "Ah, there we go." He left the bathroom and shut the door behind him. "I'm afraid you won't be seeing your finger again."

  I told him to mmmphhh mmmmmmphh himself. I hadn't really counted on being able to save my finger anyway, but still, you never want to see your pinky get flushed by a madman.

  "Let's hope it doesn't grow in the sewers like one of those alligators," said Troll. "It could come back for revenge."

  "Indeed it could. We'll all just have to be careful."

  Troll winked at me, and then ran his hand through Samantha's hair. He looked at Roger. "How did a babe like this ever end up with a dork like you?"

  Roger's response was muffled but easy to translate and quite vulgar.

  "Y'know," said Troll, still stroking her hair. "I wouldn't mind having some fun with this one myself."

  Mr. Burke shook his head. "I want her alive when it's her turn on the table."

  "I won't kill her."

  "I've heard that before."

  "No, really, I won't."

  "I don't want any parts of her cut off, either."

  "I won't."

  Mr. Burke nodded. "All right. But if you betray my trust, the consequences will be severe."

  "Am I allowed to break anything?"

  Mr. Burke considered that. "Nothing vital. And do it in the other room. I don't want you distracting me."

  "Ooooh, privacy. Even better. How about I drag her boyfriend in there with us to watch the show?"

  "I think you're beginning to violate basic human decency, Troll," said Mr. Burke. "He needs to see what happens in here. Don't get greedy with your sadism."

  Troll chuckled and walked behind Samantha's chair. As she screamed through her gag, he tilted her chair backward, and dragged her across the floor in front of Roger and I, the chair making a horrible screeching sound as it scraped across the tile. Roger struggled violently but fruitlessly, shouting muffled curses the entire time.

  Troll reached the door, opened it, and dragged Samantha into a dark room. When she was out of sight, he stepped back into the doorway and waved to us. "Have fun, everybody! I know I will."

  Roger screamed in incoherent rage.

  "What's that you're trying to say?" asked Troll. "She likes it rough? Thanks for the tip, buddy."

  He closed the door.

  "Don't let yourself be excessively stressed over this," Mr. Burke told Roger. "She'll still be at least seventy percent okay when he's done with her."

  Roger gave him an absolutely chilling look.

  Mr. Burke clapped his hands together. "So, let's get started, shall we? Goblin, are you prepared to pay the ultimate price for your failure?"

  Goblin lifted his head. "Sir, please, I know I screwed up, but you have to give me another chance!"

  "Oh, I have to, do I? Did you suddenly become the one in charge? Did I miss Promotion Day?"

  "That's not what I meant, I just--"

  "Then say what you mean, Goblin. Don't pretend I have any obligations to you or to anybody else."

  "But I--"

  "Stop speaking. Witch, gag him. No, on second thought, cut out his tongue. Use something inefficient to do it."

  I didn't watch. But I had no way to cover my ears.

  "Oh, now, that's cheating," said Mr. Burke, a couple of minutes later. He tapped me in the face with something sharp. "Open them."

  I opened my eyes. He was holding a scalpel.

  "Please keep your eyes open," he said, tapping the scalpel on each side of my nose. "You're being extremely rude, and I'd hate to have to slice off your eyelids."

  I kept my eyes open as Mr. Burke and Witch lifted Goblin onto the operating table and restrained him with a series of ten leather straps. He was making a hell of a lot more noise than when he'd been pleading for his life, but it was a much less coherent noise.

  It was almost loud enough to block out the sound of Samantha screaming in the next room.

  "Let's see, what's the best makeover for such a loyal employee?" Mr. Burke wondered aloud. "Oh, I know where to start. Witch, get me a left and right from locker 14."

  Witch nodded sadly and went to one of the lockers. She opened the door, revealing several sets of steel claws hanging inside. There was no palm to them, just five curved, pencil-sized blades welded together with a spike at the bottom. She took down a pair and placed them on the table.

  "Ah, perfect," said Mr. Burke, putting on a pair of safety goggles. He picked up a handheld device with a circular blade. "Don't worry, Goblin. In just a moment you're going to look extremely cool."

  He turned on the device. The motor hummed and the blade began to spin. Flesh, muscle, and bone separated with ease.

  "We've got a bleeder," Mr. Burke announced, speaking loudly to be heard over the shrieks.

  I was terrified I was going to vomit under my gag and choke to death.

  Mr. Burke replaced Goblin's hands with the claws, using the spikes to fix them in place.

  I thought he might try to flush Goblin's original hands down the toilet, but Witch deposited them into a convenient waste receptacle.

  I looked at Roger. He watched the door with Troll and Samantha behind it.

  "Locker 27," Mr. Bu
rke announced. "Let's give this gentleman a bionic eye."

  "What color light?" Witch asked.

  "How about ... green?" Mr. Burke looked at me as if for my approval. Not knowing what else to do, I nodded. "Yes, green."

  "Dark green or light green?"

  "Dark green."

  "Flashing?"

  "Oh yes."

  Witch opened another locker and removed a small metal circular object. She handed it to Mr. Burke, who flipped a switch on the side and held up the dark green flashing light for my approval. "Nice, isn't it?"

  This time I didn't nod.

  "Normally, I'd remove the organic eye first," Mr. Burke explained. "But I think we'll skip that step and just wedge this one in as best we can."

  Mr. Burke did so, though it took some effort. Goblin's screams and thrashing faded halfway through the process.

  "Ah, yes, that looks great. I don't think you two can see it from where you're sitting, but trust me, that is a cyborg eye to die for. Now for the feet. Locker 2."

  Mr. Burke went to work on Goblin's feet. This process wasn't as easy as removing his hands, but it was completed in a quick and efficient manner.

  Goblin's feet were replaced by wheels. He couldn't appreciate it, because by then he was dead.

  Mr. Burke and Witch added some more enhancements. A row of copper spikes running down the sides of each leg. Bolts protruding from his neck, Frankenstein-style. The words "Cyber-Goblin 3000" burnt onto his chest.

  "Excellent!" said Mr. Burke, wiping his hands off on a white towel. "Perhaps not one of my masterpieces, but a more than worthy addition to my collection."

  Mr. Burke and Witch lifted Goblin's corpse onto a gurney. "Hose him off and prepare him for display," said Mr. Burke. Witch nodded and wheeled him past Roger and I and out the door behind us.

  "See, I'm really not such a terrible individual," Mr. Burke told us. "It's not like I'm merely hacking up your bodies, mangling them for sport. When you were a child, wouldn't you have loved to look like the Cyber-Goblin 3000?"

  He wiped off his face and neck, and then realized something. "Oh, I got so caught up in my work that I forgot to check in with Medusa. That's why it's so wonderful to be the boss: I'm allowed to screw up."

  He picked up the walkie-talkie from the equipment table and pressed the button. "Medusa, come in."

  He waited.

  "Medusa?"

  He set down the walkie-talkie and shrugged. "That's a promising sign. If she's shut off communications, your wife must be falling for her ruse. You know, Andrew, just between you and me, I could arrange to have her mouth replaced with a vacuum cleaner, if you know what I mean." He gave an exaggerated wink.

  Not being able to slam his face into one of Goblin's metal claws was an unbearably frustrating sensation.

  "I enjoy making my precious cyborgs, but right now we're just in the design phase. They look spectacular, but they don't do anything because they're dead. But I've been wanting to test a special little something and this is the absolute perfect opportunity." He smiled. "I think you'll find it very, very interesting."

  Chapter Nineteen

  MR. BURKE BROUGHT THE scalpel toward my face again, but this time he cut away the gag. "I probably should have untied that rather than cut it," he admitted. "I'm already over budget for the quarter. So what do you think so far? Be honest."

  "I think you're a joke. What, you're making human action figures? How pathetically geeky is that?"

  Mr. Burke chuckled. "Ah, Andrew, that comment would be much more devastating if you weren't so obviously terrified. You don't think I'm a joke. I can tell that your friend here doesn't think I'm a joke. How about I check on his piece of tail?"

  He walked to the door Troll had taken Samantha through, opened it a crack, and peeked inside.

  I wanted so badly to see Samantha's fist pop into view, punching Mr. Burke in the face, that for a moment I did see it.

  Then I returned to reality. Mr. Burke closed the door and returned to us. "She's alive," he told Roger. "Though the word 'ouch' is probably appropriate. That Troll, he's a unique one, I'll give him that."

  Witch returned to the room. "How does Goblin look?" Mr. Burke asked.

  "Fine. Still leaking."

  "Good, good." Mr. Burke picked up the walkie-talkie again and pressed the button. "Medusa?" Nothing. "Oh well." He set down the walkie-talkie then turned back to Witch. "Give Andrew here a quick shot so he doesn't wiggle so much."

  Witch retrieved a hypodermic needle from the table. She jabbed it into my arm, and...

  ...I was suddenly on the operating table, strapped down by my wrists and ankles. A few tugs verified that I wasn't going anywhere. I felt Goblin's blood, wet underneath me.

  "Ah, good, you're awake already. That was quick." Mr. Burke held up a small camera, about two inches square and remarkably thin. "This is a wireless digital webcam," he explained. "The distance isn't great, not more than five hundred yards, but it'll do."

  Witch turned on a blowtorch and began to heat up a thin strip of metal, also about two inches square with a pair of clamps on it.

  "We'll get near-DVD quality picture and sound with this thing, so hopefully you'll provide sufficient entertainment value."

  "I don't know what the hell you're babbling about," I said.

  "You'll figure it out. What we've got for you, Andrew, is a very special serum. It's untested, so for all I know it could kill you the second we inject it, but let's hope it doesn't. That would be a waste. It's sort of a chemical cocktail, mixed with hallucinogens and paranoia enhancers ... not the technical term ... and all sorts of fascinating ingredients."

  "I'm ready," said Witch, lifting the red-hot metal with a pair of tongs.

  "Then I'm sure Andrew is, too. You may proceed."

  Witch pressed the metal, clamps-side-up, right above my solar plexus. My entire body tightened up as I screamed, not even pretending that I was going to deny Mr. Burke the pleasure of an extreme reaction. Witch pressed the metal deeper into my chest and I smelled burning flesh and chest hair.

  I strained against the leather straps, wanting desperately to rip the hot metal off my body.

  "Ah, yes, that should stay in place quite nicely," said Mr. Burke, observing Witch's handiwork with satisfaction. "We'll just let it cool before we attach the camera."

  I found myself frantically blowing on the metal, as if that would help. Mr. Burke and Witch seemed to find this terribly amusing.

  Roger was still struggling to break free of his chair, but making no progress.

  "I think we're ready for the injection," said Mr. Burke. He leaned over me and spoke tenderly. "Now, this is going to hurt just a little bit, sort of like having your flesh shredded with a cheese grater from the inside and then microwaved. But don't worry, it's not addictive."

  Witch patted my forearm to get a vein.

  I struggled with every ounce of strength I could muster. In all of the times I'd been tied up or strapped down or otherwise prevented from enjoying freedom of movement, I'd never successfully managed to break free through the use of superhuman strength, and I was due. I visualized myself breaking free. I visualized Roger breaking free. I visualized Samantha breaking through the door and breaking us free. I visualized Kyle breaking through the ceiling in a superhero cape and breaking us free.

  I remained strapped to the bloody operating table.

  Witch held up the hypodermic needle, squeezing some liquid out to avoid injecting an air bubble into my bloodstream. She brought it down slowly toward my arm.

  I was concerned that my final thought in this world might be something stupid like my seven year-old son breaking through a ceiling in a superhero cape, but I couldn't force myself to think of anything else.

  Witch slid the needle into my skin.

  A warm, almost soothing feeling flowed through my arm.

  Followed immediately by the most devastating pain I'd ever felt in my life. A dozen times worse than, say, chopping off my finger or having a red-hot piece
of metal pressed against my chest.

  I screamed and screamed and screamed.

  Then, for a change of pace, I shrieked and shrieked and shrieked.

  I may have said "Ow!"

  It really, really hurt.

  "My, my, listen to Andrew scream," said Mr. Burke. His chuckle echoed throughout the room.

  It didn't really echo, did it?

  Yes, it did. In fact, it was still echoing. And getting louder. I heard it in stereo.

  Mr. Burke smiled, revealing oversized teeth.

  I looked at my straps and gasped in horror. They'd transformed into ... well, they were still leather straps, but they were unexplainably scary leather straps.

  "Is it working, Andrew?" asked Mr. Burke, his voice dropping an octave or two. "How do you feel?"

  "I hurt."

  "How does your mind feel?"

  "I don't know. I think it hurts."

  Mr. Burke held up his hand in front of me. "How many fingers am I holding up?"

  "Three," I said. Suddenly that seemed amazingly funny. Three fingers! He was holding up three fingers! Right in front of my face! I giggled.

  Giggling was so much more fun than screaming. But screaming had its positive aspects, too, like giving your lungs a workout and keeping them healthy, and alerting people to your presence who might otherwise ignore you, and...

  I giggled some more.

  I raised my back as much as I could. "Something is swimming in Goblin's blood."

  "And what do you think that might be?"

  "I dunno. You tell me." I giggled at my joke. "It's a little man swimming in there. A tiny little man swimming in Goblin's blood. I hope he doesn't pee in it."

  "I hope he doesn't, either," said Mr. Burke, still smiling at me with those oversized, way-too-white teeth.

  "You've got funky teeth" I told him. "Pull them out for me."

  "I'm afraid I can't do that."

  "Oh. Bummer."

  I looked at Roger, who looked hilariously miserable. He almost looked like he was going to cry. And he was a grown man!