DOA III

by Bentley Little

  On the plus side, he had much less he’d need to cut now.

  Nick engaged the carving knife again. Whatever whimpers he made were drowned out by the whirring blades. He locked in on his target, a miraculous sliver of pale flesh at the base of his organ. There was pain at the root where the true skin remained, but far less than he expected. Perhaps that was the silver lining to an impromptu session of unlicensed surgery to rid yourself of your liquefying fuckmeat. He screamed anyway, for this insanity that had dethroned the natural order of his life. The blades shredded through the tissue effortlessly, an explosion of crimson giblets blown across the kitchen counter and sink, the refrigerator, his stomach, thighs, and feet. He held his other hand up to block the blowback before he gave new meaning to “facial tissue.” In seconds it was over—barely longer than his webcam session with HelKat84.

  Nick left the carving knife grinding, the circuit breaker in his mind so overloaded he couldn’t remember how to turn it off at that moment. He looked at it as if he’d never seen such a thing before and didn’t know how it wound up in his hand, but finally connected enough dots to see the slide button and remember its function as “on/off.” Simple, sane. He was placing his thumb over the button when the awful tingling suddenly lit up across all the fingers of his right hand—the one with which he’d held himself in the bathroom. Even within the spatters from his operation, he saw the blisters forming like islands in a bloody ocean, felt them shifting beneath like tectonic plates.

  B4 ITS 2 LATE.

  His 9-1-1 call would be truthful after all.

  Unsure if he heard an approaching siren or it was just the grinding serenade of the blades, Nick withdrew his thumb and guided the carving knife over to his fingers, trying not to think about all the places now covered in his fluids.

  Ryan Harding is the author of Genital Grinder and co-author of Reincarnage with Jason Taverner, both from Deadite Press, and co-author of Header 3 with Edward Lee. He was a contributor to the multi-author collaboration Sixty-Five Stirrup Iron Road. His stories have appeared in the anthologies Into Painfreak, In Laymon’s Terms, and Excitable Boys, the chapbooks Partners in Chyme (with Edward Lee), A Darker Dawning and A Darker Dawning 2: Reign in Black, and the magazines Splatterpunk and The Magazine of Bizarro Fiction. He also contributed a chapter to Matt Shaw’s The Devil’s Guests. Upcoming projects include a contribution to Torso Spasmo with Jordan Krall and Philip LoPresti, a novel with Bryan Smith, and the sequel to Reincarnage with Jason Taverner.

  Amazon author page: www.amazon.com/-/e/B01N1HSDZ5

  Facebook: www.facebook.com/ryanhardmorbid

  THE PACKAGE by Kristopher Rufty

  KRISTOPHER RUFTY

  Knowing her package was waiting there for her, Meredith couldn’t get to the post office fast enough. Her shift at the restaurant had dragged by, being a slow Tuesday night. She didn’t think closing time would ever come.

  Meredith slowed her Nissan when the post office came into view—a small building to her right, painted in shadows. Keeping her speed at a crawl, she angled the car into the parking lot. A sodium light pole in the far corner washed the tiny area in a dim glow.

  Only one other car was in the lot: an older sedan, missing its wheel covers, parked in the handicap space near the front.

  As she drove behind the sedan, she noticed its red taillight covers were busted, leaving only jagged plastic teeth around the bulbs. The bumper was a rusted bar of metal, and she couldn’t read the license number through the black muck smeared across the plate.

  Meredith drove up two more spaces and parked. She looked out the passenger window. The sedan’s driver’s side door was pressed in with dents. The window was down and she could see the shape of someone sitting inside.

  Looked like a man.

  She felt a pinch of alarm.

  Why’s he just sitting there?

  Meredith remembered watching the news in the breakroom a couple weeks ago. A young woman from two towns over had disappeared. Last place she’d been seen was at the post office earlier that day.

  Meredith stared at the sedan, detecting no movement inside, but clearly saw the contours of a man behind the slanted steering wheel. Maybe he was waiting for someone to come out. His wife could have gone in to check the mail.

  That made sense to Meredith... though a good husband wouldn’t let his wife go inside on her own, especially after that other woman’s disappearance.

  Didn’t they find the inside of her car covered in blood?

  Maybe this guy’s wife was one of those women who fussed whenever the husband tried to do anything for her. He’d let her go in, but not by choice.

  Feeling better, she killed the engine, pulled out the key, and climbed out of the car.

  Meredith stepped up onto the sidewalk, where the light didn’t quite reach.

  Somebody could be hiding right in front of me and I wouldn’t even know it until I bumped into them.

  There was nothing around, either. The school was one road over on the other side of the woods. This time of the night it would be deserted. No houses were close by. Meredith could be jumped right here on the sidewalk and nobody would know.

  The guy in the car would be able to see.

  She checked. Dark filled the inside of the car except for a small patch by the window where she could see the white of his t-shirt.

  He could get me and nobody would know it.

  Meredith felt a cold chill as she suddenly remembered what she had on. Looking down, she saw the pale stems of her legs sticking out from under the frayed bottom of her denim skirt. They looked very bare and smooth in the shadows, like two gleaming towers.

  Of all nights to wear a skirt.

  Short, the skirt didn’t even reach the middle of her thighs. She’d chosen to wear it because on a slow night, she needed all the tips she could get. Her shirt was also short, just covering her navel. And tight. There was no hiding her large breasts from how they jutted up like two firm, glossy hills behind the thin fabric. Another reason why she’d selected it for this evening’s shift.

  Meredith didn’t care what she had on. She should be able to check her mail without worrying about such matters. As she reached the end of the sidewalk, where the ramp started toward the front door, the sedan’s horn gave a single quick honk.

  Crying out, Meredith snatched back her foot as if she were about to step down on fire. Her hands flew to her chest, fingers brushing her chin.

  Huffing, Meredith slowly turned to look at the long, dark car.

  An arm reached out the window.

  Though it wasn’t quite lanky, there hardly seemed to be any muscle on it. The pale hand faced her, fingers curled inward to motion her over. Dark spots that she assumed were scabs dotted the insipid flesh.

  Meredith felt a brief jolt of fear that was quickly replaced by anger. Shaking her head, she muttered, “Don’t think so, pal.”

  The nerve of this asshole scaring her like that. If he did have a wife inside, she was going to hear about this.

  If he thinks I’m going to walk over there, he’s an idiot.

  She started to turn, putting her back to the sedan and the ugly arm.

  “Excuse me, Miss…?”

  A voice so weak and raspy, Meredith hardly heard it. Pausing, she turned her head to peer over her shoulder.

  The arm was now patting the air, as if trying to get her to stop.

  “Miss…?”

  The voice sounded as if it was coming from a very old man.

  Meredith frowned. What if he was in trouble? Maybe he’d had a heart attack and she was the first person to come along all night.

  Or he’s some kind of vampire.

  Little taps of ice traveled up her spine, making her rigid.

  Stop. There’s no damn vampire in that car.

  But it was the kind of car that looked like it might belong to one. Long and creepy, beaten up and in bad shape.

  “Yes?” she heard herself say. Her voice sounded much softer than it had moments ago
.

  “Could you help me?”

  Uh-oh...

  Something was wrong.

  I’m such a bitch.

  Thinking he was some kind of pervert or something.

  Or vampire.

  Meredith started toward the car, feeling embarrassed and a bit ashamed of herself. She was halfway down the ramp, when she slowed her stride.

  What if this is his act? Lures women to his car by pretending to be hurt? Maybe that’s how the other girl got it.

  “What’s the matter?” she asked from the ramp.

  “Can you check my box for me?”

  “Box?”

  There was a long phlegmy inhale before he added, “Inside.”

  “Oh, your mailbox?”

  “Yes.” The arm went back into the car. It returned a moment later, a long key pinched between two fingers. A faded tag dangled from the back of it.

  Keeping her guard up, Meredith slowly walked to the bottom of the ramp. She titled her head, trying to see inside the car. Blackness seemed to cut off the man’s head. She could see a shoulder, a short white sleeve, and the extended arm. This close to him, she realized the dots on his skin weren’t scabs, but infected sores.

  And I’m thinking about taking the key from him?

  It would have his germs on it.

  But she couldn’t tell him no. She still had to go inside and get her mail. He’d still be here when she came back out.

  Tell him you can’t and just come back in the morning.

  He already knew she was going inside. If she didn’t, he would know it was because of him. That would embarrass him. Besides, she simply couldn’t wait another night to get her package.

  I’ve got hand sanitizer in the glovebox…

  Meredith stepped up to the car, keeping a good distance from the open window.

  “Sure,” she said. “I can check your box.”

  “Thank…you. I’ve been here…a while, waiting for somebody to come along. It’s too hard for me to walk these days.”

  Stepping up to the window, she held out her hand. She noticed clear tubes inside that seemed to be rising from the darkness of the passenger seat. More light glinted off a dark metal surface that Meredith thought might be an oxygen tank.

  This guy isn’t a vampire, he’s sick.

  Meredith reached out her hand, palm up. The key dropped into it. It looked just like hers, but on the paper tag 263 was written in a shaky scrawl. She tried to get a look at his face, but the shadows were like a curtain blocking his features.

  “Be right back,” she said.

  “Thank you,” he wheezed.

  Meredith hurried up the ramp and entered the post office. The light made her squint. The air-conditioning must have been turned off, since it was warm and stuffy inside the building. And it was awfully quiet. The clacking her sandals made as she walked down the corridor of mailboxes reverberated around her.

  Her box was 319, and she looked at the metal door as she walked past, knowing there was a key inside to a parcel locker that was temporarily housing her package.

  Check his box first, then get mine on the way out.

  She stopped in the section where his box should be and scanned the numbers on the plates. She spotted 263. She raised his key to the lock and slipped it in. She didn’t turn it.

  What if something’s in there?

  Like mail? What a shock!

  Smirking, Meredith shook her head at her silliness. Still, she hesitated another moment before forcing her hand to twist the key. The gate opened a bit.

  She realized she’d stepped to the side as if preparing to dodge something that might leap out.

  Knock it off!

  Taking a deep breath and holding it, she pulled the gate all the way open.

  She couldn’t see anything and realized she’d closed her eyes.

  Opening them, she looked inside the mailbox.

  It was empty.

  She released her breath, puffing out her cheeks. Then she closed the box, locked it, and moved on to hers. Opening it, she saw a couple of envelopes leaning against the side. In the small cubby between the mail and the wall was a tiny key with a plastic tab dangling from it.

  Smiling, Meredith pulled everything out of her box. She locked it and carried the parcel key to the stack of lockers. Keys protruded from some of the locks where other packages had already been retrieved. She matched the number to the key and opened it.

  A small brown box sat inside, a thin slit along the top.

  Finally.

  Leaving the key dangling in the lock, she carefully slid the package out. It was heavier than she’d expected, but still easy to hold. She needed to get home as soon as possible and get the box open.

  Meredith carried her package and envelopes with her outside. The night air was cooler than it had been inside. A breeze blew against her back, breathing on her legs as she walked down the ramp.

  The sedan was still there. Its grille looked like the mouth of an ancient metal beast. It seemed to be smiling in anticipation of Meredith’s return. She felt some of her good mood slip away as she neared the car.

  The arm reached out from the dark, palm up, as if expecting something large to be set on it.

  Meredith put the key ring on his hand. “Box was empty,” she said. “No mail today.”

  “Empty?” he asked in a gravelly voice. “But I was expecting mail today.”

  “Sorry. Have a good night.” Meredith started to turn around.

  “I was expecting a package.” His hand folded into a fist, finger extended. “That size.”

  Meredith looked down at her box. “This?” She held it up. “No. This one’s mine. Sorry.”

  “Is that my package?” he asked. “I’m expecting one.”

  “No. This one’s mine.” She spoke slowly, as if she were talking to a child.

  “Then let me see it.” He coughed. “Prove you’re not a... thief.”

  “I am not a thief!” She stepped closer. “Were you expecting a package from Australia? Huh?” She flashed him the shipping label, keeping her finger over her name and box number. “See? Australia. Not for you.”

  His hand swiped through the air, making a grab for the package. Meredith easily avoided it.

  “Stop it,” she said. “Just because you’re expecting a package doesn’t mean I’m going to give you mine.”

  “That’s mine! You can’t take my package!”

  “I’m not going to argue with you,” she said.

  Meredith turned around and started for her car.

  “I’m going to get my package!”

  “Of course you are! When you find somebody else kind enough to check your mail for you. Tomorrow. I’m sure it’ll be there then. You’re welcome, by the way.”

  Meredith got into her car and pushed the button for the auto-lock. Her doors thumped when the locks engaged. She had trouble getting the key in the ignition because of her shaky hand. She needed a moment to calm down, but knew she couldn’t take the time to do so. Not with the wheezing bastard parked over there.

  Checking to see what he was doing, she saw he hadn’t moved. The windows were dark, no headlights on. He wasn’t getting out, wasn’t shouting at her. Didn’t look as if he’d even cranked the car. Meredith wasn’t going to hang around for him to do any of the aforementioned actions. She started the car and backed out of the space without putting on her seatbelt. She drove past the sedan, bracing for it to launch backward and slam into her.

  It didn’t.

  She kept glancing at the rearview mirror to make sure he wasn’t going to follow her. When she turned out of the parking lot, she could no longer see the post office behind her.

  Meredith reached the road she lived on a few minutes later. Every so often, she checked the rearview mirror. Nobody was trailing her.

  Asshole.

  That was what she got for doing something nice for somebody.

  Calls me a thief!

  Meredith couldn’t believe his nerve. Sure, she
could understand the disappointment of not getting a package you’ve been waiting on, but to claim she had taken it was out of line.

  She remembered how she’d acted when he’d accused her. She’d gotten defensive.

  So what if I did? He deserved it.

  But as she pulled into the driveway of her small, two-bedroom house, something her mother used to say kept repeating in her mind.

  Usually when someone’s guilty, they’re quick to show anger.

  And Meredith had definitely shown anger. No wonder he hadn’t believed she was innocent.

  She should have just shown him her name on the shipping label. That would have put an end to the old man’s accusations.

  Oh, well. Too late now.