Spit and Die

by Jon Athan

  Benjamin's bottom lip quivered. He croaked and groaned, but he couldn't utter a word. He just witnessed his wife's murder. It happened in the blink of an eye, too. One moment, she was alive and healthy; the next, she was stiff and dead. It was difficult to believe.

  Nina held her hands over her ears and shrieked as she curled into the fetal position on the sofa. Christopher grimaced as he struggled to stand from the dining booth. The screen door and the trailer violently rattled.

  The visitor kicked at the door with all of his might. A shrill creaking sound emerged. It sounded as if the screen door were pulled off of the frame. The trailer rattled and the wall vibrated.

  Christopher shouted, “Move the sofa! Ben, move the fucking sofa!”

  Benjamin stared down at his slain wife and stuttered, “E–Emma....”

  After another kick, the trailer door swung open with a combined bang and cracking sound. Micah stood in the doorway, wearing his uniform with his beige shade hat on his head. Sunglasses hid his eyes, his face remained expressionless, but the trailer's occupants still felt his unadulterated anger.

  The sheriff's revolver, which he clenched in his right hand, showed he meant business. He didn't care about justice, he only wanted vengeance.

  Christopher fell off of the seat, then he stumbled towards the sheriff. With his arms away from his body, he screamed at the top of his lungs and ran forward. Before Christopher could tackle him, Micah fired two rounds at him. The bullets struck Christopher's chest and stomach, causing him to tumble to the floor at the sheriff's feet.

  Christopher cried and panted, holding his hands over the gunshot wounds. He felt a burning sensation in his stomach and chest. He stared down at his body. The sight of his own blood on his shirt made everything worse. He felt queasy and lightheaded. He rolled onto his back and, through his blurred vision, he stared up at the sheriff.

  Micah didn't say a word. He didn't crack a smile, he didn't chuckle. He didn't celebrate his victory since he didn't feel victorious—his original plans failed after all. He lifted his boot over Christopher's head, then he stomped down on his neck. His neck broke with a disturbing crackling sound. A boot-sized crater formed on his neck.

  Christopher's head fell to the side, blood dripping from the side of his mouth. Nina didn't see him die, but she knew he was dead. His abrupt silence spoke volumes about the situation. She wrapped her arms around her head and sobbed.

  Benjamin fell to his knees beside his wife. He placed her head on his lap, then he shoved the hair away from her face. He was saddened by the gunshot wound on her forehead, but he wanted to see her face. She was dead, but he still tried to comfort her. Tears trickled from his eyes and plopped on her cheeks.

  Micah approached the couple. He placed the muzzle of the revolver on the left side of Benjamin's head. He wasn't killing a stranger who wandered into the wrong home, so he hesitated for a second. There was no turning back, though. He pulled the trigger and shot Benjamin's head. The bullet went in on one side and out the other. Blood and brains splattered on the floor and walls. Benjamin fell to the floor beside his dead wife.

  Micah turned his attention to Nina. He grabbed a fistful of her hair and pulled her head up. He shoved the barrel of the revolver past her arms. She gasped as the muzzle touched the tip of her nose. She couldn't help but cry, horrified and defeated.

  In a soft tone, Micah asked, “Do you know what you did?” Nina continued weeping. Micah tugged on her hair and shouted, “You cut her fucking foot in half! I should kill you! I should shoot you dead!”

  “I'm sorry!” Nina cried. “Pl–Please, don't kill me. Just... Just let me leave. I won't tell anyone. I promise.”

  “Oh, really? And, what are you going to tell everyone who asks about your missing friends? Hmm? How can you fix this? How?”

  “I'll... I'll say there were kidnapped. 'The cartels took them,' that's what I'll say, I swear.”

  “That's cute, but you'll never get away with that. All of you have to disappear.”

  Micah shoved the barrel of the gun into Nina's mouth, causing her to gag and whimper. He placed his finger on the trigger, but he didn't squeeze it. He gazed into the young woman's bloodshot eyes. Despite the blood and bruises, he still thought she was beautiful. He couldn't kill her. She was worth much more to him.

  He pulled the gun out of her mouth, then he struck her forehead with his elbow. The blow instantly knocked her unconscious.

  Micah caressed her cheek and whispered, “You'll be a good wife. I know it.”

  The sheriff placed one arm under her legs and the other under her back, then he lifted her from the couch. He carried her in his arms as he departed from the trailer. He headed home with his new bride, ready to continue his life.

  Chapter Eighteen

  The Vision

  Micah awoke, wide-eyed and drenched in sweat. Warm morning sunshine entered the room through the neighboring window, caressing his nude body. It was time for breakfast, but he didn't move. He stared at the motionless ceiling fan above his bed, lost in his thoughts. He cracked a smile and sat up in bed.

  He whispered, “This is good. This is very good.”

  Micah fastened the button on his work shirt as he walked into the kitchen. Daisy stood in front of the stove, waiting for the water in the kettle to boil. She didn't plan on torturing anyone with the water, fortunately. The sheriff stood behind his wife. Towering over her, he placed his hands on her hips and kissed her cheek.

  Micah said, “I'm sorry about last night. We left quite the mess in the dining room, didn't we?”

  Daisy responded, “It's fine. I've already cleaned it all up. I couldn't fix the bullet holes on the table, but I covered it with a new tablecloth. We can deal with the damage later. It took all night, but... everything's fine. Your breakfast is on the table. I'll bring your coffee out in a minute.”

  “Great. Thanks, sweetheart.”

  Daisy furrowed her brow as Micah kissed her cheek again. Her husband was unusually affectionate. Micah entered the dining room. The floorboards were scraped, droplets of the previous night's stew stained some of the scuffed walls, but it was clean enough. A plate of scrambled eggs, sausage, and bacon sat at the end of the table.

  The sheriff sat down and shoved a napkin into his collar. He scarfed down his breakfast, acting like a starved man at a buffet.

  Daisy placed a cup of coffee next to his plate. As she watched him, she said, “Your breakfast isn't going anywhere.” Mouth full of eggs and bacon, Micah glanced up at his wife and grinned. Daisy smiled and asked, “What's gotten into you? I've never seen you so excited before.”

  Micah loudly swallowed his food, then he said, “Sit down, sweetheart. I have news.”

  “News?”

  “Yes. Please, sit down.”

  Daisy nodded as she reluctantly sat down in the seat to Micah's left. She was worried about his erratic behavior, but she had to obey his orders.

  Micah said, “Daisy, I... I had a dream. No, no. It was a... a... a vision.”

  “A–Another one?”

  “Yes. My father visited me again. In this vision, he apologized to me. He said he made a mistake during our first encounter. He corrected it last night, though, like an honorable man. He said that I must drink the saliva of forty dead women—and twenty of them must be under seventeen years old. The older ones are impure and wicked, tainted by this horrible world, while the younger ones are pure and innocent. Good and bad makes perfection. It's the perfect combination. It–It makes sense! It really does!”

  Daisy kept a steady expression on her face. She was surprised and horrified, but she didn't want to insult her husband. She saw the excitement in his eyes, like the eyes of a child on Christmas Eve.

  She said, “Well, that... that's certainly an interesting dream, hun.”

  “Yes. A dream. A vision. A message. A promise. This town—this family—will be restored once I gather the rest of the saliva. It will be a sight to behold. It's going to be difficult to find those girls,
but I can do it. I can start with Dylan's daughter. She was planning on leaving this town anyway. Yes, this can work...”

  Daisy coughed to clear her throat, then she nodded in agreement. At heart, she had hoped Micah's bizarre quest ended during the previous night. She sensed the pride, passion, and determination within the sheriff, though. The nightmare wasn't over. As a matter of fact, the sheriff's rampage was barely beginning.

  Daisy asked, “What... What are you doing today? Hmm? You going straight to work or... or what's the plan?”

  Micah shoveled a forkful of eggs into his mouth. As he chewed, he held his hand over his mouth and said, “I have a lot to do, sweetie. Last night, when I was going back to clean up that trailer, an ambulance showed up. I had to think on my feet, so I shifted the blame on those two—Chris and Nina. So, now I have to make sure everything fits. I have to get the story straight.”

  “What if... What if they start suspecting you?”

  “They won't. I'm going to pin it on the girl. I'm going to say I chased her a bit, but she got away. As for the other kids, I'll bury them in the field in the afternoon and at night. I reckon Esther won't be able to help because of her foot so I'll deal with it on my own.”

  “Wha–What about Dylan's truck?”

  “I'll get rid of it. Believe me, I'll take care of everything. Stop worrying so much, sweetie, it ain't good for you.”

  Daisy sighed in disappointment. She withdrew from the conversation, unwilling to challenge the sheriff. He'll take care of it, she thought, he always handles his business.

  Micah took a sip of his coffee, then he asked, “How is Esther doing?”

  “She's okay. I tried my best to patch her up. I bandaged her foot, I cleaned her burn wounds, but she'll still need to see a doctor soon.”

  “Okay. I'll find someone to help. Keep your eye on her.”

  “I will,” Daisy responded. She twiddled her thumbs and said, “About the other girl, Nina... How long do you plan on keeping her in the basement?”

  “If all goes as planned, she'll be my third wife. I love you, Daisy, but you know we need more helpful hands around this place. The house won't tend to itself. If something were to happen to Esther, Heaven forbid, we would need Nina more than ever. I want you to get along with her. Bring some food down to her so she doesn't starve, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  Micah dabbed his mouth with the napkin, then he crumpled it and tossed it on his plate. He finished his meal so he was ready to start his day. As he stood up, Daisy grabbed the sheriff's wrist. She looked up at him. The pair locked eyes.

  Daisy wanted to confront him about the situation. Your vision is false, none of this will work, it's over—the words were clogged in her throat. She opened her mouth to speak, but she let out a broken breath instead. Micah spotted the fear in her eyes, but he misinterpreted it as anxiety. He figured his wife was just nervous about Nina's presence in the house.

  Micah leaned down and kissed her forehead. He caressed her hair and said, “You'll always be the love of my life. Don't worry about a thing, sweetheart. I'll see you in a few hours.” As he walked out of the dining room, leaving his dirty dishes on the table, the sheriff shouted, “Holler if you need anything!”

  Daisy stared at the archway leading into the living room. She counted her husband's footsteps. The footsteps stopped for a moment—Micah grabbed his hat from the hat rack and checked his utility belt—then the steps continued. The sound of the front door opening and closing echoed through the house. With that, the sheriff was gone.

  Daisy whispered, “Have a nice day.”

  The housewife returned to the kitchen. She placed some scrambled eggs and bacon on another plate, then she filled a cup with tap water. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, as if she were mentally preparing herself for a significant presentation. I can do this, she thought. She grabbed the plate and cup, then she marched into Esther's dungeon.

  Daisy stopped at the bottom of the stairs. She grimaced as she stared at the bloody crucifix. She took a step forward, then she stopped upon hearing a crunching sound. She lifted her right foot and stared at the floor. Bloodied fingernails were scattered across the floor under the cross. She couldn't help but shudder in fear. She shook off the jitters and walked into the dungeon. She stopped at the foot of the bed.

  Esther lay on the bed with her severed foot elevated on a stack of fluffy pillows. She wore a set of comfy pajamas.

  Daisy asked, “How are you feeling?”

  In a gravelly tone, Esther responded, “Fine.”

  “That's good. I'll bring you some stew in a few minutes. I know how much you like that stuff.”

  “Thank... you.”

  Daisy walked past the curtains. The human masks were removed from the walls. A twin-sized bed replaced the operating table. The sheriff spend most of his night fixing the room for their new guest.

  Nina Nakamura—the only survivor of the massacre—lay on the bed, only wearing her black bra and matching panties. Her wounds were bandaged. Her wrists and ankles were handcuffed to the bed posts. A strip of duct tape covered her mouth. Her eyes widened as soon as she spotted Daisy. She squirmed on the bed, wiggling like a worm in mud, but she couldn't escape.

  Daisy placed the plate and cup on the nightstand beside the table. She sat next to Nina and shushed her.

  She said, “Please, calm down. I'm not going to hurt you. I don't want to hurt you. I'm going to take the tape off now, okay?”

  The housewife leaned over the captive, then she gently removed the tape from her mouth. Eyes welling with tears, Nina lifted her head from the pillow and gasped for air.

  Daisy said, “I brought some food for you. It's just eggs and bacon. No stew. Here, take a bite.” She shoved a forkful of eggs into Nina's mouth. She continued, “You have to stay strong. You can't let this place bring you down.”

  Nina loudly swallowed the food. Her voice cracking, she stuttered, “Will–Will you let me go? Pl–Please?”

  “I'm sorry. I can't do that. He wants you to be part of the family—and he always gets what he wants.”

  “No,” Nina cried. “Please, tell me this is some sort of sick game. Tell me this is all a bad dream.”

  “I won't lie to you, sweetheart. You have to accept this. The sooner you accept it, the better. You saw Esther, didn't you? She was just like you once. She didn't accept Micah's offer, though, so he... he beat on her, he choked her, and he even cut her face. He hurt her until she finally agreed to be part of the family—until he got what he wanted.”

  Nina glanced over at the curtains. She remembered Esther's disfigured face—her sewn cheeks, her crushed eye. She was amazed by the revelation. That monster was like us, she thought, she was a victim, too.

  Daisy caressed Nina's cheek and said, “I used to be like you, too. Micah gave me the same offer. I hesitated at first, but I gave up much quicker than Esther. That man, he likes being treated with respect. If you cooperate, you may end up like me. You won't have to suffer through more pain and you'll be able to sleep upstairs. It's not the perfect life, but... but we take care of each other around here.”

  Daisy inhaled deeply as she wiped the tears from her eyes. She grabbed the cup, then she poured some water into Nina's mouth. Nina coughed and grunted as she guzzled the water. She was dehydrated after the day of drugs and violence.

  As she placed the cup on the nightstand, Daisy cracked a smile and said, “Believe me, this is better than dying. Here, take another bite.”

  Nina sniffled as she accepted a bite of the bacon. Tears streamed down her cheeks, mucus dripped down her lips. Daisy kept a smile on her face, even as she cried. Guilt festered in her stomach, sorrow burdened her heart. Esther heard the conversation from the other side of the curtain. She couldn't help but cry, too. The women were trapped in a pit of despair, forced to wallow in their misery.

  As she stared vacantly at the ceiling, Nina whispered, “This is better than dying... It has to be better than dying.”

  Joi
n the mailing list!

  Micah Wakefield's massacre isn't over. There is more saliva to siphon out there. Want to experience more extreme horror? Need more saliva, or blood, to quench your thirst? If so, you should join my mailing list. By joining my mailing list, you'll be the first to know about my newest books. I release a new book every 28 days, so that's a lot of books. You'll also receive updates about book deals and the occasional giveaway. Best of all, the process requires very little effort on your part and it's completely free! Oh, and you'll only receive 1-2 emails per month—no spam, I promise. Click here to sign-up: http://eepurl.com/bNl1CP

  Dear Reader,

  Hello! Thanks for reading Spit and Die. This book wasn't as serious or grim as some of my other novels. It's a very violent slasher, but I didn't think it was disturbing while I was writing it. Still, there were some graphic torture scenes you probably weren't expecting. So, if I somehow caught you by surprise—there are warnings plastered all over the book, but I digress—and if I somehow managed to offend you, I sincerely apologize. I aim to entertain and horrify with my books. That's all.

  I hate to say a book is inspired by a real serial killer because I don't want to give said killer too much credit and I don't want to glorify/exploit his crimes. Then again, I'd be lying if I said this book wasn't partially inspired by real-life crimes. Ahmad Suradji, an Indonesian serial killer, inspired the creation of Micah Wakefield's character—or, more accurately, he inspired Micah's goals. You see, Suradji was known for drinking the saliva of dead women so that he could become a mystic healer. In my book, Micah drank the saliva of his victims in order to become superhuman. Otherwise, they are completely different people.

  I struggled to find a fitting name for this book. Spit and Die is a unique title. In fact, I don't think there are any other books on Amazon with this title. I was originally going to name it The Wakefield Massacre, but I feared that it sort of revealed a big part of the story. It hinted that Micah Wakefield would be the killer. I thought about naming the book The Texan Slaughtering Grounds at one point, but it just didn't roll off the tongue. I also considered the title Saliva, but it didn't feel like something I could market. So, I stuck with Spit and Die. What did you think?