by Mark Tufo
“San Francisco. And you know that.”
“I’ve been there once in my life and it was long before I met my wife and I can guarantee you the girl I was with back then didn’t shoot you. She was a card-carrying bleeding-heart vegan liberal that hated all things gun. If you were a zombie she would have advocated for your rights and allowed you to eat her before she would have ever harmed you. She was weird like that.”
Rather than seem confused I was making him angrier by doubting his version of events.
“First I’m going to snap your back in two, making you paralyzed. Then I’m going to bend you over my knee.”
I thought he was going to say something about a spanking now, and that in itself would have been strange, but it was much worse than that.
“Then I’m going to force my arm up to my elbow into your asshole.”
“What? What the fuck are you saying right now?”
“He’s telling the truth.” Linnick was watching the entire event.
“I figured that, but who does that?”
“Who are you talking to? Doesn’t matter. Then when my arm is halfway up your body I’m going to grab a fistful of your intestines and drag them out. If you could feel anything, you’d be screaming for your momma.” He got a smile on his face thinking about this sequence of events. “This is where it gets fun.”
“Here? Glad you told me, might have missed something.” He completely ignored me and continued with his, well, what I hoped was a fantasy. He might have been dancing in a daydream, but he was still aware and wary of me. I did not have an opening from which to strike or I would have–just to chop that fucking nose off his face.
“I’m going to roll you over so you can watch me eat your insides.”
“Just so I’m sure we’re on the same page, you’re going to shove a fist up my asshole, with the express intent of grabbing my shit filled intestines so you can snatch a snack? Is that about right?”
“I’m going to eat all of you, motherfucker!”
“Starting with my shit-filled intestines. Roger that. Wow, man, just wow. What in the fuck happened in that childhood of yours that made you such a twisted individual? Is it the clown outfit? Does that give you the anonymity you need to act out these deviant desires? Got to tell you, buddy, it’s usually a little less over the top, though. Most folks that dress up, for like Halloween and shit, just want to have a night off from normal mundane routine constraints. Maybe that one night, they’re a sexy nurse or a bad ass wolverine. But, uh, yeah, you’ve ratcheted that up a few notches, haven’t you? I knew a wonderful dog once; her name was Riley. Just a big bundle of love she was. She had this habit; if you got into her face she would lick you. You just had to time it right and pull away or she’d catch your cheek, couple of times she got my lips. Even one bad day I got to taste some tongue, yeah that was a rough week.”
“I don’t care,” he hissed. “Why are you telling me this?”
“Hey! I had to listen to your gross-ass intestine thing, you can hear me out!” Surprisingly this worked. “Anyway, this one morning, I don’t know, I was tired as shit, BT and I had found a bottle of vodka and had proceeded to polish the thing off the night before. I was at half speed that next morning, when I went to say hi to the dogs, got my typical sneeze from Henry and…and…”
“Go on, just tell me. You’ll feel better for it,” Tim urged, almost like he was sympathetic to my plight, but I think it was more so I would hurry this along so he could slurp my innards up. I mean is that possible? Could he create enough vacuum on my…forget it. Not sure why I even wanted to go there.
“I told you I had been drinking, right?”
“Yeah, yeah, man, keep going.” He wanted to kill me in the worst way but he also wanted to hear the story. I think if I kept it up I could have made him even crazier if such a thing were possible.
“So, there I am, in her face, just smooshing it up and it happens, lightning quick. That tongue darts out of her mouth so fast, like one of them crazy rainforest frogs snagging an insect, although instead of a bug it’s my eyeball. That tongue dragged across the surface of my eyeball before I could so much as blink or pull away, that’s how fast it happened. I know you don’t know much about me other than mistaken identity and all, but, I have this thing about germs. Can’t stand the little fuckers, something I developed when I had kids. I had no idea of the sheer amount of the nasties they could track through the door with them from school.”
“Where are you going with this?”
“Shut the fuck up, Tim!” I yelled. “How long you been down here? Couple of hundred years, right? What’s your rush? I’m finishing this story. I’ve never told anyone and now that I’ve started I feel the need to finish, like a sort of catharsis. Do you know what the word means? I’m not asking like you’re stupid, I just want to make sure I’m using it in the right context. I’m going to say by your silence I did alright.” Actually, at this point, I think he was kind of stunned into submission. Had a feeling the crazy clown didn’t have many people spilling their life story to him. “You’re lucky; I mostly remember where I was or I’d have to start over again and you seem mighty impatient like you have a pineapple enema waiting, and not pineapple juice, but like a whole pineapple. Saw it on South Park once; kind of funny that the animated show was the first hint that made me start thinking Lucifer and Jehovah were in cahoots.”
“I don’t even know why I’m asking; it doesn’t seem like you’re capable of finishing a thought but wait for it…I’ll bite.” Then he laughed like he’d said the funniest thing in the world. The truth of it was, that even considering the circumstances, it sort of was. Sure, it was me he wanted to bite, but still.
“You should kill him now,” Linnick mumbled softly.
“What’s that?” Tim leaned in. “I heard something!” He was looking around.
“So, as I was saying.” I looked down sternly at Linnick, though she was having none of it. Tough to be afraid of me when a walking talking nightmare was directly in front of you, and I had to agree with her completely. “It was when Satan was shoving a pineapple up…whose ass was it? Hitler maybe? Saddam Hussein? Can’t rightly remember, some dictator’s ass. Anyway, I guess it doesn’t matter; whosever it was, a pineapple was being shoved up his ass.”
“Why do you keep talking about things being shoved up asses? You some sort of queer?”
“Me? I mean I don’t really think so…there was that one time at band camp but I think it was more of a misunderstanding.”
“I knew it! That’s why you’re down here!”
“I was kidding, Tim, relax. Pretty sure you have to do something more than love someone of the same sex to be down here. You’re proof of that.”
He seemed to ponder this.
“I did what I did to survive. I have no regrets,” he finally replied.
“I get survival as a top priority but it can’t be at the price of everything and anyone around you.”
“What the fuck do you know?” I’m the most important person to me!”
“Shit, man! Is there any chance your mother’s name was Vivian?”
“Finish up, little man. I’m getting hungry.”
“You seriously enjoy eating people?”
“It’s an acquired taste, but I think I’d enjoy you even if I didn’t like it so much. You talk more than anybody should.”
“Been accused of that before. Which one do you want me to finish? The tongue story or my theory on hell?”
Tim motioned with his hand for me to continue; I was going with the assumption he meant both. Normally I’d wrap this up with an axe strike to the head, but just because Tim seemed to be listening to my story didn’t mean he wasn’t cautious. Dangerous fucks rarely let their guards down, and now that he knew I could hurt him, it was doubly unlikely I’d get a clear shot. And like I said earlier, this guy could give BT a run for his money in the size department. Not to mention that clown suit was really throwing me for a loop. Anyone that deliberately drew atte
ntion to themselves in this pit of despair obviously had little to be concerned about. Which, rightfully so, had me extremely concerned. He’d made a mistake, but I had the feeling he wouldn’t do so again. And that gouge I had forged into his thigh had completely stopped bleeding; every once in a while, when he moved his leg, I could tell that the wound was somehow stitching itself up. Wasn’t entirely sure what he was, but dangerous was part of the equation and I’d feared clowns for too damn long to be done in by one now.
“So, anyway, I think Heaven and Hell are working together as opposed to against each other, as my Catholic teachings would have you believe. I know–it sounds weird, right? But you’re sent here if you’re not a good person, right? I mean look at you. Heaven throws the gate shut and says fuck off, then you end up here, and I presume get huge barbed objects shoved up your rectum.”
“I got nothing shoved up my ass!” Tim was shaking with rage.
“I think someone doth protest too much,” I said through the side of my mouth.
“What? What the fuck does that mean!?”
“Nothing, nothing. Just something Shakespeare was quoted as saying. So, if hell was the place you had to go because of your actions and it was in direct contrast to Heaven, shouldn’t it be a big party down here? I mean a lot of hooting and hollering, drinking, drugs, heavy metal music…and really good sex–not that super-chaffing circle jerk I passed a few miles back because there is no part of fucking to bleeding raw that appeals to me, am I right, Tim? But no! It’s one gigantic torture chamber down here. This is consequence for all the shit you wrought above. It’s payback. So, personally, I don’t think Lucifer had a real falling out; I think it was a set-up. They have this big fake blow out and God is like, “and don’t come back!” and all the time they’re winking at each other because they’re in the know. Satan comes down here and sets up shop, giving people the punishments they so rightfully deserve, but that a fair and loving God cannot. Make sense? Hmm…not sure I ever thought this out further than that, but that makes God a little duplicitous, doesn’t it? Forget it, I’m stopping there. Me and him go way back and I’m hoping he’s not done with me. We meet again, I don’t want to have to try and explain where I was going with my story.”
“I like it just fine down here,” Tim said evenly. “I can do whatever I want when I want and there is no society to piss on me when I do.”
“I think you’re missing the point of this place.”
“No, you are. With the right attitude, this place is a party. Full of tasty treats and delightful deceits.”
“You’re a fun one, Tim.”
“Don’t give me shit, you holier-than-thou fuck. You’re down here too so it’s not like you were walking on water your damned self–you were wading through the shit just like the rest of us.”
“Technically, I chose to come here before my time.”
“Uh huh, just like no convict is guilty, right?”
“I mean it, I know it looks bad, but I’m really on a mission from God.”
“So now you’re Elwood Blues? I was going to have you finish up, kind of a last hurrah thing. I’m not totally unsympathetic to the plight of those here, but man I really just can’t stand you. Got to think you were a loner topside, nobody wants to deal with a mouth flapping like yours on a constant basis.”
“Got me there.”
Tim took a step in. “You’re a little too fast. So why is that?” He circled. “I didn’t catch your name.”
“I wouldn’t think you’d want to know the name of someone you wanted to eat.”
“Makes it more personal that way. Know what I’m saying?”
“No, I really don’t.”
“I think you do, Michael.” He sneered when he said my name. “That’s who you are, isn’t it? Michael the douche-bag Talbot. Can’t believe a chick that was stupid enough to let you fuck her would be able to shoot me.”
“Great, so you know my name. I still don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m not privy to whatever alternate reality we met on; like I said, I would definitely remember you.”
“Have I ever told you that I don’t believe in coincidences?”
“We’ve known each other for ten minutes. I don’t think it has had the opportunity to come up.”
“Fuck the Green Man and his little hunting party. I’ve never eaten a vampire before. Do you think your meat ages like wine, or are you going to be all tough and sinewy? I don’t really give a shit, it’s all delicious to me, just wondering. Come on, we need to get this party started. As much as I’d like to take my time savoring every morsel of you, I can’t afford for his minions to stumble across our little dining experience.”
He was even more off his rocker than I thought if he assumed I was going to up and quit and let him start gnawing on my forehead.
“Let’s do this…Tim-Tim.” I said with more than a hint of sinister malice. Might as well have thrown a match on gas-soaked tinder. He pounced, and I mean fast, like there were springs in those big, floppy shoes. A meaty, closed hand struck me flush on my cheek. I felt my jaw and neck jerk violently, one down and the other to the side. I’d been hit by nearly every conceivable weapon, by every conceivable monster, and Tim could have taught them all a thing or two. My jaw felt broken, though with difficulty I could still move it around. I had at least three teeth rolling around inside my mouth like cast dice. I was surprised he’d not added my neck to that list of busted things. A cloud of static had rolled into my skull; it was Linnick that removed it. Surprising what a bite on the nipple can overcome, or start, for that matter.
He’d been in the midst of tossing another haymaker, this one I just about dodged. He caught the tip of my nose with enough force to almost push the thing into my face. I fell back hard enough that I did a complete reverse somersault. Blood was pooling in my mouth and falling out the corners of my lips which I could not shut properly. Tim wasn’t the kind to gaze upon his impending victory; he was diving back in even as I fell, and leading with his razor-sharp teeth. I rolled my shoulder to the side; he ripped into the material of my jacket not more than a couple of inches from my neck. I could feel his teeth trying to seek purchase in my trapezius muscle, no idea why I know what it’s called, it’s the one that Spock used for his Vulcan nerve pinch, if that helps, and one I used to practice on my kids when we were playing. Ended up being more ticklish than deadly, at least, in that context. Right now, it hurt more than I could express. Especially since my jaw wouldn’t allow me to scream.
I threw left after left into the side of his head and face. My right hand was pinned and I couldn’t get the weapon into him. The first half dozen didn’t even faze him, like I was hitting him with a puffy pillow, but I kept at it and it’s not like I’m not without my own power. He started to rock, blood was free flowing from my knuckles but more importantly, from his head as well. He seemed confused that I still had fight in me and even more so that I was inflicting damage. With my last punch, he rolled away before it had a chance to land, unwilling to take another strike. He stood quickly, wobbled, then righted himself.
“I’m gonna pop your head like a fucking pimple!”
“Like I haven’t heard that before,” I mumbled. I was also standing; my shoulder was on fire from the pain. I couldn’t check to see if he’d broken skin–even if he hadn’t, he’d compressed the muscle down to a quarter of its width and it was protesting that fact right at this very moment.
“I’m going to lift you by that dome of yours and just squeeze it until my hands touch!” He mimicked the movement; it looked impressive. His muscles rippled, I could see them even through the loose-fitting material of his outfit.
“You and Durgan get your ‘roids at the same discount store? Hemmie’s Roid Emporium.” It hurt to talk, but it didn’t stop me. I’m smart like that; still have to get my digs in. Yeah, I was stalling. My right arm wasn’t working up to its normal capacity, and I was going to need it at some point. Tim-Tim moved in quick; I swung with my right–looked like I’d go
ne up to bat and tried to switch hit, having never done so before. If you are not practiced at “switch-hitting,” as it is called, you can look fairly spastic going through the mechanics. You can go through roughly the same motions, but the odds you’re going to hit something with any degree of effectiveness are pretty slim. It was enough to make him jump back, I got a fraction of a second where he was afraid, then he must have seen just how wildly I missed.
“Shoulder a little fucked up?” he grinned.
“Come on over and check it out.” I must have said it with enough malevolence that he was rethinking his charge ahead strategy. Even if it sounded like I had marbles in my mouth.
“I think you’re bluffing.” He never gave me a chance to respond as he came in again. With his left, he was able to deflect the majority of my hit; the blade turned sideways and I broadsided him in the head with the flat of the blade. Rung his bell pretty good. Not a death-dealing hit, by any stretch of the imagination, though. His huge hands wrapped around my head and I suddenly found myself levitating six inches off the ground, suspended only by my neck. I immediately wrapped my left hand around his forearm in an effort to relieve some of the upward pressure he was exerting on my spinal column. Wasn’t making the damage in my shoulder any better. The pain so excruciating my first inclination was to let go of the axe and use my right arm to keep my weight out of his hands. I had enough foresight to realize how short-sighted that was. How long could I keep that up? Eventually he would just shake me around like a rag doll until he snapped my neck, and if I didn’t die right away, I would have the distinct pleasure of hearing him dine on me. Something I didn’t think I could stomach.
With all I had left of my flagging reserves I brought the axe high over my head and brought it in close, hitting his left forearm in the middle. I hit him hard and true; his howl of pain was immediate as I snapped both bones and almost cut completely through. He dropped me like a hot potato and I fell away. He was screaming bloody murder as he danced around, reminded me of when you smash your thumb with a hammer on a particularly cold day.