Shining in the Dark
Page 2
“You haven’t made me big enough, Gerald. That’s the trouble. I’m too big for you. Perhaps Poe, or Dostoyevsky, or Melville… but not you, Gerald. Not you. Not you.”
She began to laugh again, huge racking explosions of sound.
“Don’t you laugh,” Gerald said stiffly.
* * *
The toolshed, after the manner of Zola:
Wooden walls, which showed occasional chinks of light, surrounded rabbit traps hung and slung in corners; a pair of dusty, unstrung snow-shoes; a rusty space heater showing flickers of yellow flame like cat’s eyes; rakes; a shovel; hedge clippers; an ancient green hose coiled like a garter snake; four bald tires stacked like doughnuts; a rusty Winchester rifle with no bolt; a two-handed saw; a dusty workbench covered with nails, screws, bolts, washers, two hammers, a plane, a broken level, a dismantled carburetor which once sat inside a 1949 Packard convertible; a 4 hp. air-compressor painted electric blue, plugged into an extension cord running back into the house.
* * *
“Don’t you laugh,” Gerald said again, but she continued to rock back and forth, holding her stomach and flapping the manuscript with her wheezing breath like a white bird.
His hand found the rusty Winchester rifle and he pole-axed her with it.
* * *
Most horror stories are sexual in nature.
I’m sorry to break in with this information, but feel I must in order to make the way clear for the grisly conclusion of this piece, which is (at least psychologically) a clear metaphor for fears of sexual impotence on my part. Mrs. Leighton’s large mouth is symbolic of the vagina; the hose of the compressor is a penis. Her female bulk huge and overpowering, is a mythic representation of the sexual fear that lives in every male, to a greater or lesser degree: that the woman, with her opening, is a devourer.
In the works of Edgar A. Poe, Stephen King, Gerald Nately, and others who practice this particular literary form, we are apt to find locked rooms, dungeons, empty mansions (all symbols of the womb); scenes of living burial (sexual impotence); the dead returned from the grave (necrophilia); grotesque monsters or human beings (externalized fear of the sexual act itself); torture and/or murder (a viable alternative to the
sexual act).
These possibilities are not always valid, but the post-Freud reader and writer must take them into consideration when attempting the genre.
Abnormal psychology has become a part of the human experience.
* * *
She made thick, unconscious noises in her throat as he whirled around madly, looking for an instrument; her head lolled brokenly on the thick stalk of her neck.
He seized the hose of the air-compressor.
“All right,” he said thickly. “All right, now. All right.”
* * *
bitch fat old bitch you’ve had yours not big enough is that right well you’ll be bigger you’ll be bigger still
* * *
He ripped her head back by the hair and rammed the hose into her mouth, into her gullet. She screamed around it, a sound like a cat.
* * *
Part of the inspiration for this story came from an old E.C. horror comic book, which I bought in a Lisbon Falls drugstore. In one particular story, a husband and wife murdered each other simultaneously in mutually ironic (and brilliant) fashion. He was very fat; she was very thin. He shoved the hose of an air compressor down her throat and blew her up to dirigible size. On his way downstairs a booby-trap she had rigged fell on him and squashed him to a shadow.
Any author who tells you he has never plagiarized is a liar. A good author begins with bad ideas and improbabilities and fashions them into comments on the human condition.
In a horror story, it is imperative that the grotesque be elevated to the status of the abnormal.
* * *
The compressor turned on with a whoosh and a chug. The hose flew out of Mrs. Leighton’s mouth. Giggling and gibbering, Gerald stuffed it back in. Her feet drummed and thumped on the floor. The flesh of her checks and diaphragm began to swell rhythmically. Her eyes bulged, and became glass marbles. Her torso began to expand.
* * *
here it is here it is you lousy louse are you big enough yet are you big enough
* * *
The compressor wheezed and racketed. Mrs. Leighton swelled like a beach ball. Her lungs became straining blowfish.
* * *
Fiends! Devils! Dissemble no more! Here! Here! It is the beating of his hideous heart!
* * *
She seemed to explode all at once.
* * *
Sitting in a boiling hotel room in Bombay, Gerald rewrote the story he had begun at the cottage on the other side of the world. The original title had been “The Hog.” After some deliberation he retitled it “The Blue Air Compressor.”
He had resolved it to his own satisfaction. There was a certain lack of motivation concerning the final scene where the fat old woman was murdered, but he did not see that as a fault. In “The Tell-Tale Heart,” Edgar A. Poe’s finest story, there is no real motivation for the murder of the old man, and that was as it should be. The motive is not the point.
* * *
She got very big just before the end; even her legs swelled up to twice their normal size. At the very end, her tongue popped out of her mouth like a party-favor.
* * *
After leaving Bombay, Gerald Nately went on to Hong Kong, then to Kowloon. The ivory guillotine caught his fancy immediately.
* * *
As the author, I can see only one correct omega to this story, and that is to tell you how Gerald Nately got rid of the body. He tore up the floor boards of the shed, dismembered Mrs. Leighton, and buried the sections in the sand beneath.
When he notified the police that she had been missing for a week, the local constable and a State Policeman came at once. Gerald entertained them quite naturally, even offering them coffee. He heard no beating heart, but then, the interview was conducted in the big house.
On the following day he flew away, toward Bombay, Hong Kong, and Kowloon.
THE NET
BY JACK KETCHUM & P.D. CACEK
5/6/2003 11:22 PM
ANDREW—
I can’t BELIEVE you picked me over all the other women in that chatroom!
5/6/2003 11:31 PM
CASSANDRA—
Are you kidding? I liked a lot of the others well enough—Mugu, Wicked. But some of them…jeez…when the hell is Maya gonna get off her high horse? Or Babycrazed for that matter. And tell me, please, when is Flit gonna develop a brain?
But I’d think my reasons for wanting to write just to you ought to be pretty obvious. You’re smart, you’re funny, and from the way you wrote about little kids the other day I know you’re caring too. Do you have kids, by the way? Odd thing about chat rooms. You can be on for weeks and never really get to know the people you’re talking to. Anyhow, glad you accepted my invitation. Look forward to hearing from you.
Best,
Andrew
5/7/2003 10:01 PM
ANDREW—
No, I don’t have any kids of my own… but I’d love to. One day. Right now I have to be satisfied with spoiling my niece and nephew. They’re just babies, only two and four, but I figure if their only aunt can’t spoil them, who can?
And you’re right … sometimes you can chat to someone for months and never really get a clear idea of who—or what—they are. It’s funny, though, because I feel I know more about you than I do some of the people I’ve known for years. For instance—that time you and Tigerman got “into it” about experimenting on animals and how mad he got because you said animals have just as much right to live without fear and pain as people do … and he told you to go “F” yourself. You could have said that, too, but you didn’t. You stayed a gentleman to the end and that’s what I suspect you are, Andrew … a gentle man. Hope to hear from you soon. Bye—
Cassandra
P.S.: Call me Cassie … a
ll my real friends do. :-)
P.P.S: What kind of music do you like? I just love the stuff from 80’s! ’Bye again
5/7/2003 11:00 PM
CASSIE—
Tigerman’s a jerk. I didn’t want to say that with everybody else listening in but since it’s just you and me now I feel freer. I never liked the guy much, tell the truth. He always seemed…I dunno…either to be hiding something or hiding behind something. Getting “into it” with me was about as open as he got. So maybe I accomplished something :-) Who knows?
Are you planning on going back there again? To Singlechat I mean. Don’t really think I want to. I guess I’d just like to stay with talking to you for a while if you don’t mind.
Music? All kinds. No headbanger or rap though. 50’s stuff, Beatles-era, country—I even listen to opera and show tunes now and then. THERE, I’VE SAID IT! SHOW TUNES! Hope it doesn’t cost me our relationship:-) But my favorite’s definitely the blues. I can listen to the blues all night long. It’s good no matter how you’re feeling—happy, sad, whatever. It seems to touch something in me. Always has.
Gotta go. Need to go change the litterbox. My desk and computer are in a little alcove right off the bathroom. It’s a kind of dressing-room I adapted into a study. But when Cujo’s just used the litter it can get pretty stinky. One of the problems living in New York is that you can’t let ’em go outside. They’d be meat in minutes. Don’t suppose you’re a cat-lover, are you?
Stay in touch, okay?
Andrew
P.S.: Thanks for calling me a gentleman. And a gentle man. I try to be.
Best,
Andrew
5/7/2003 11:20 PM
ANDREW—
I know what you mean about Tigerman. It did seem like he was hiding something—the way he got so angry when anybody challenged him. He really was beginning to creep me out. I felt the same way when Maya started talking about…you know…about how she thought it was okay to have as many boyfriends as she wanted just so long as they didn’t know each other. I don’t think it’s okay and I wanted to tell her so—but I didn’t feel I could. Like you said, not with everybody listening. Guess I’m just old fashioned in some ways…which is why I don’t think I’ll ever go back to Singlechat. Besides, I don’t have to now. I’d much rather “chat” with you :-)
I LOVE show tunes, too, so our relationship’s fine.
OHMYGOD…I LOVE cats and Cujo’s a great name! (Please tell me Cujo’s not as big as that dog in Stephen King’s book! If he/she is you’d better go change that litter box QUICK! Eek!) I’ve had cats all my life…but not right now. I lost my cat, Sgt. Stripes, last Halloween. He was fifteen when he died and I’d had him since he was seven weeks old. It was hard…still is hard to think about him without wanting to cry. He was a BIG guy—twenty-eight pounds before he got sick—an orange tabby with gold eyes. I think he thought he was a dog because he used to follow me around the house and “wag” his tail…and sleep with me at night. It was nice, you know, feeling him next to me. That’s the hardest part…being alone at night. I miss him so much.
Wow—got a little blue there. Sorry.
You live in New York City. That is so cool! We’re practically neighbors! I live in Pennsylvania, a little town called Warminster—which I think is Lenni Lenape (Native American) for “Wide Spot in Road. Don’t Blink.”
Gotta go, too. Have a ton of paperwork to do. Give Cujo a hug for me.
—Cassie
5/8/2003 9:22 PM
CASSIE—
Fact is, Cujo was the runt of her litter. She’s about half the size of most cats. And guess what? She’s an orange tabby just like Sgt. Stripes—though her eyes are green. How about that? Something else we have in common!
It’s okay to get blue sometimes. I sure do.
It’s okay to be old-fashioned too, especially when it comes to relationships. Last relationship I had lasted a year, the one before that two years, and the one before that three years. Oooops—I guess they’re getting shorter and shorter! But I’ve always been a one-woman guy. Even here in New York, where I guess there are plenty of opportunities, I’ve never dated more than one woman at a time. Don’t believe in it.
Warminster, Pennsylvania. I looked it up on the map. Damn! that really isn’t very far. What is it, about two-and-a-half, three hours from NY? Funny. On the Net you never know where people are writing from unless for some reason they tell you. You could have lived in L.A. or Michigan or Alaska for godsakes! Neighbors! Cool!
If this is too forward, let me know. No problem. But I’m wondering what you look like. I’d tell you what I look like but you called me a gentleman, right? And a gentleman always figures, ladies first.
All best,
Andrew
5/8/2003 11:32 PM
DEAR ANDREW, (HOPE you don’t mind the “dear”…but that’s part of being “old fashioned” too…)
And I’m glad you’re old-fashioned. I sort of knew you would be. I’m sorry your last relationship ended so soon after it started but that just means it wasn’t the right one. I know about that too. My last “serious” one lasted almost two years and…well, let’s just say it didn’t end on a very happy note. He wanted something I wasn’t prepared to give…
I don’t date a lot. Never really saw much use in just “going out” with someone. Maybe that’s because I hadn’t found a
gentleman yet. Till now, that is…
Ooops. That was a little forward, wasn’t it?
Okay, you asked me what I looked like…well, first clue—Cujo and I have something in common. No, I don’t have orange stripes! My eyes are green…but that’s all I’m going to say for now…:-)
I don’t know what it’s like where you are but Spring doesn’t seem to know what it wants this year. 70s one day and 50s the next and RAIN, humidity. Humidity makes my hair go all curly. Ooops! now you know I have hair! Okay, it’s dark brown hair in fact with red highlights. It used to be very long, down to my waist when I was little, but that would take FOREVER to dry. Hope you’re not disappointed but my hair’s short now, curly in summer and kind of “shaggy” the rest of the time.
Okay, I’m sort of tall…all legs, was what my father used to say. Still does when he wants to get me to blush. Which isn’t hard to do.
Can I tell you something? I’ve always thought a man is as handsome as he acts, what he does and how he behaves. Looks aren’t as important to me as what’s inside. But…it’s YOUR turn now. Tell me what Andrew looks like. If you want, that is. Gotta go now…more later…promise.
OO (hugs)
Cassie
P.S.: New York’s only an hour and forty-five minutes away. I checked Map-Quest. :-)
5/9/2003 1:03 AM
DEAR CASSIE,
I used to have long hair too—way back in the hippie days—and cut it for the same reason. Pain in the butt to dry…I’m 5’10”, about 140 pounds, dark hair, in pretty good shape for a guy my age. My eyes change slightly depending on what I’m wearing. My driver’s license says “blue” but they range from blue to gray to amber.
You’re only an hour and forty-five minutes away? Guess I didn’t read that map too well.
Tell me more. Are your mom and dad alive? Mine are both gone, my mother for many years now, my father for seven. I think I mentioned back in Singlechat that I’m an only child. You said you have a sister. Any other siblings? Just curious. Family seems to get more important to me as I grow older—or in my case, the lack of one. Don’t mean to sound sorry for myself—it’s just a fact I deal with. I’ve got some aunts and uncles and cousins but I’m not really close to them. Probably that’s why I like cats so much—surrogate family. :-)
Write soon, okay?
XOXOXOX Andrew
5/9
/2003 6:34 PM
DEAR ANDREW,
Your eyes sound remarkable—magical in fact. Makes me wish my eyes were something other than plain old green. I’d say jade green, but I wouldn’t want to lie to you. :-)
There is one thing…I hate talking about myself, as I’m sure you noticed in Singlechat, I’m basically shy and pretty uninteresting when you come right down to it…but…okay—my friends say I look “hot” in a bathing suit.
Anyhow, you wanted to know about my parents (still blushing, by the way.) They’re both alive and quite active. My Mother was a “Stay-at-Home-Mom” when my sister and I were little, but has recently gone back to school! She wants to get her Teaching Credential and my dad and I think it’s great. My Dad, by the way, owns his own Travel Agency—we’ve had a LOT of great vacations! In fact, my Mom and Dad will be going on a “Second Honeymoon” in a few days—to Hawaii for a week. Don’t know what I’ll do with myself while they’re gone—since I live with them (saves on rent)—but I’m sure I’ll think of something.
I understand about feeling distant from family. My sister and I are a bit distant. I’d never tell her this but I think she tends to put her career (Real Estate) before her children, while I think being a mom is the best “job” a woman can have. On the other hand, her being so into work lets me spend a lot more time with Mandy and Jamie (my niece and nephew) so I guess there’s an upside to everything. Like tonight…which is why this e-mail’s so short—my sister’s asked me to baby-sit and I plan to spoil those kids ROTTEN! I’ve rented MONSTERS, INC, SHREK, and MY favorites, ARISTOCATS and GAY PURR-EE!