DOA III

by Bentley Little

  “Mew?”

  Worse ways. At least the cats would be fed for the rest of the week.

  Daniel I. Russell has been featured in publications such as The Zombie Feed, Pseudopod and Andromeda Spaceways Inflight Magazine. Author of Samhane, Come Into Darkness, Critique, Mother’s Boys, The Collector, Retard, and Tricks, Mischief and Mayhem, Daniel is also the former vice-president of the Australian Horror Writers’ Association and was a special guest editor of Midnight Echo. His latest novel, Entertaining Demons, is due for release in 2017 with Apex Publications. Daniel lives in Western Australia with his partner and four children, and is currently completing a BA in psychology and counselling.

  THE MACHINE by Bentley Little

  BENTLEY LITTLE

  “Your garage is so cool,” Matt said, looking around. “You have all this stuff in it. We don’t have anything in ours. My dad always says we have to leave room for the car, even though he parks

  it in the driveway instead of the garage.”

  It was kind of cool, Derek had to admit. He’d never really thought about it before, but his dad did have some pretty bitchin things stored in here. On the wall above the rake, broom and lawnmower was a green street sign from Anderson Lane that his dad had stolen from a country road on a trip to Cleveland. Anderson was their last name. In the corner next to his dad’s workbench was a plaster moose with a broken leg that his dad had found at the dump. The only reason the moose was able to stand was because the top half of the leg rested on a log that had been chainsawed to look like a bear. Around the garage were various orange and yellow traffic cones, as well as empty wooden cable spools the size of tables, on which were various pieces of broken machinery that his dad had salvaged and at some point planned to fix. The center of the crowded space was taken up with boxes, trunks, racks and bookcases filled with spillover stuff from the house that couldn’t fit and needed to be stored out here. From the open-beam ceiling hung a kite, several fishing poles and a kayak.

  On a shelf, they found a bunch of old primitive video games, small handheld devices that had yard lines, goal posts, baseball diamonds and tennis nets painted onto tiny screens. Most of the games were dead, but one still had batteries and worked, and they both laughed as Derek turned it on and it made electronic beeping noises as small red dots moved fitfully across a football field in approximation of the players.

  “This is what my dad used to play with?” Derek said wonderingly. “It sucks!”

  They’d come in looking for an air pump in order to fill up the half-flat basketball that was still lying out on the driveway, but, distracted by everything they found in the packed garage, they ended up searching through the bewildering array of objects until it was time for Matt to go home.

  After his friend left, Derek continued his exploration. Inside an old trunk, he discovered baby toys that he’d forgotten about but that jogged his memory the instant he saw them. Within a cardboard box were videotapes of old movies from the 1980s. Opening up a cabinet located behind a life-sized cardboard cutout of Princess Leia, he found three tin shelves, empty save for a dirty, peculiar-looking device that sat in the exact center of the cupboard. It was a machine of some kind. Slightly bigger than a shoebox, it was made of a dull once-gold metal and had a button and toggle switch flanking a dusty domed light. Next to the light was a jiggly little valve, and flush with the casing top was a single gear enmeshed within a spoked wheel. There was no power cord nor could he find a spot where batteries might fit. On the side of the machine, in its center, was a hole.

  What did the machine do? Or what was it supposed to do? Because it was clearly broken. He turned it over in his hands but could think of no possible purpose for the device. Was it some type of old-time radio receiver? That was the best he could come up with, although just by looking at it he knew that was wrong. He flipped the toggle switch, pressed the button, used his finger to turn the wheel and gear, but nothing happened.

  It was the hole that really intrigued him. He was afraid to put his finger in there, afraid the machine might suddenly come to life and chop it off or mangle it beyond recognition, but he did hold up the device so that the hole was at eye-level and he could peek inside. Even with the light on, the garage was dark, however, and the hole was completely black; nothing could be seen within it.

  He and Matt had come across a flashlight earlier, and Derek went back to get it. The beam was bright when he turned it on, but when he shone the light into the hole, the blackness seemed to absorb the illumination, leaving the interior of the machine as dark as ever. Taking a screwdriver from his dad’s workbench, Derek held tightly to the plastic handle, inserting the tapered metal rod into the opening, but nothing happened. The machine did not turn on, there were no sparks or noises, the screwdriver did not vibrate in his hand. Strangely, however, the tip of the screwdriver did not hit the back of the object, although it should have since the tool was almost as long as the machine was wide.

  Weird.

  “Derek!”

  He heard his mom calling and put down both the machine and the screwdriver, turning off the flashlight and leaving it on the cement next to the device, before hurrying out of the garage. “Coming!” he called.

  It was time for dinner, and when he emerged the sun was almost down. He was surprised to discover it was so late. Taking a last look behind him, he dashed across the lawn, through the back patio and into the house.

  That night in bed, he replayed in his mind the events in the garage, and thinking of the machine, recalling the round black hole in its side, he felt a strange tingling, an excited shivery sensation that encompassed his entire body but seemed centered between his legs. His penis was hard and sticking out, pressing against his pajama bottoms the way it sometimes did, and he found himself wondering what it would be like to slide it into the hole of the machine. The idea was completely crazy and made no sense at all, although he couldn’t help reflecting that the opening was just the right size for that.

  In the morning, he awoke well before his parents, as he did every weekend, only this time he didn’t wake up his mom so she could make him breakfast. No, this time he carefully put on his slippers, then made his way down the hallway to the laundry room, where he quietly turned the lock and opened the door to the back yard. He paused for a moment to make sure neither of his parents had been awakened, then tiptoed through the patio and hurried soundlessly across the grass to the garage.

  He had dreamed about the garage last night. More specifically, about the machine, though he was still unsure whether or not the dream was a nightmare. In it, he had been kneeling naked on the cement floor, holding the machine in both hands as he slid his organ inside the hole. The sensation was amazing, and when he’d awoken, his penis had been sticking up, quivering, and so hard that it hurt.

  It was still hard, which was why he was sneaking out to the garage.

  He wanted to put it in the machine.

  Derek knew how stupid the idea was and how dangerous such an action might be. He had no clue what would happen once he inserted his penis into the hole. But the impulse was strong, and, driven by his experience in the dream—

  nightmare

  —he opened the small garage door and made his way through the gloom to where he’d left the machine on the cement. The screwdriver was still there, as was the flashlight, and he flipped on the flashlight, pointing the beam at the side with the hole.

  If anything, his penis had gotten harder, and, just as he had in his dream, he pulled down his pants, knelt on the cold hard floor, put down the flashlight, picked up the device, positioned the opening in front of his crotch and slowly slid his penis in.

  The sensation was amazing, unlike anything he had ever experienced, far better than even his sleeping brain had imagined. The hole felt soft around him, smooth, as though it was lined with silk, and there was a slight hint of pressure that intensified the feeling in his member. Acting on instinct, he held the machine firmly in place and began to move his penis in and out with s
low even strokes. It felt better and better by the second, growing more and more intense, and he quickened the movement of his pelvis, becoming harder and more excited, until finally, at the end, a jolt of ecstasy shot through him, causing his entire body to shudder. On the top of the device, a green light flashed and a little valve moved up and down, emitting a low pleasant whistle.

  Then the machine was still and silent again.

  His penis was soft now, and Derek was suddenly filled with an overwhelming sadness, feeling both guilty and let down, exhausted and empty.

  He drew out, standing and pulling up his pants. He could hardly bear to look at the machine now. The very thought of it disgusted him, and he picked it up gingerly, holding it at arm’s length as he returned it to the cabinet in which he had found it. Using the flashlight, he put away the screwdriver and returned to the house, where, thankfully, his parents had not yet awakened.

  He went into the living room, turning on the TV and his Wii, playing a Mario game until his mom got up and asked him what he wanted to eat.

  At breakfast, his parents didn’t speak to each other, although they both spoke to him. How long had this been going on? He tried to think of a time when they had talked to each other at breakfast and realized that maybe they never had. He could not recall them ever having a mealtime conversation, and he wondered why that was and why he had not noticed it until today.

  He felt different than he had before using the machine. Something had changed, although he did not know what it was.

  Derek looked from his mom to his dad. There was no animosity between them, but there was nothing else either, and his mom asked him what he planned to do today and his dad asked him if his jump shot was getting any better, and both of them smiled supportively at his answers.

  Matt came over mid-morning. Derek wanted to show him the machine, ask his friend what he thought it was, but at the same time he wanted to keep it a secret, and instead of taking Matt into the garage, the two of them played basketball in the alley.

  His mom invited Matt to stay for lunch, but they were having leftovers and Matt hated leftovers, so he pretended as though his parents were making him go home for lunch. Derek promised to come over after he finished eating, and Matt said they could play with a new game he’d gotten for his Xbox.

  After lunch, however, Derek found himself sneaking into the garage. He told his mom he was going over to Matt’s, and he fully intended to do so—eventually—but first he wanted to see the machine again.

  It was exactly where he had left it, in the cupboard, although, in the split second before pulling open the wooden cabinet door, he was filled with the certainty that it had moved, that it had hidden itself from him in another part of the garage. The machine was there, though, resting calmly alone on the middle shelf, its metal as dull as ever, its design as inscrutably old-fashioned.

  Its hole as warmly beckoning.

  Had he placed it in that position, with the hole facing outward? For some reason, he thought he had not, though he could not be certain that was the case. The doubt disturbed him, and it kept him from reaching out and picking up the device, which was what he wanted to do.

  What was the point of the machine? he wondered. What did it do? Who had made it and why? He had no answers for any of those questions. He was not even sure he wanted answers, and he closed the cupboard door, left the garage and hurried over to Matt’s house.

  Usually, an afternoon at Matt’s would have sped by, but even the Xbox couldn’t distract his mind from thoughts of the machine and the sense memory of what he had done with it this morning, and the afternoon dragged on and on. He wanted more than anything else to go back home to the garage, but he forced himself to stay at Matt’s even longer than he would have ordinarily.

  It was nearly dinnertime when he returned home. His mom was in the kitchen cooking, his dad was in the living room watching the news, and after getting a drink of water and announcing to both of them that he had returned, Derek snuck outside, into the back yard and the garage. He had decided to bring the machine into his bedroom and hide it in his closet, although he was not sure when that resolve had occurred to him. He was committed to it, though, and he picked up the object and carried it to the open door of the garage, checking to make sure his mom wasn’t looking out the kitchen window before hurrying over to the house.

  He carried the machine in front of him, holding it with both hands, and its position was nearly the same as when he’d used it. The hole was at crotch level, and as he hurried across the grass, it bumped against him, and he was aware of the fact that if he were naked, he would be able to stick his penis into the machine as he ran. The thought made him hard.

  Inside the house, he slipped out of the laundry room in the hallway, and then into his bedroom, where he slid the machine underneath his bed. Just in time, too, because seconds later his mom called out, “Time to eat!” He washed his hands in the bathroom sink and went out to the dining room, where his mom was bringing out plates of spaghetti, and both of his parents ignored each other and asked him if he’d had fun at Matt’s.

  Tomorrow was a school day, so he had to take a bath and go to bed early. He wasn’t sure he’d be able to sleep, knowing that the machine was under his bed, and he wondered what had made him bring it into the house in the first place. But he dozed off almost immediately and did not wake up until his dad came in at six the next morning and told him it was time to get ready for school.

  The day was long, and he wished it was summer. His mind kept going back to the machine, and one time when he thought about it at recess, his penis popped up, and he had to hide in the bathroom until it went down so he wouldn’t be embarrassed.

  His mom was waiting for him on the couch when he got home that afternoon.

  The machine was sitting on the coffee table in front of her.

  Seeing it, Derek was filled with a mixture of fear and dread. He should have known that she might find it. Monday was the day she did laundry, and she always checked on the floor of his room and under his bed to make sure he hadn’t left shirts or socks there instead of putting them in the hamper. His mouth was dry, and he watched her carefully. She didn’t look mad, but he still said nothing, waiting for her to speak first.

  His mom pointed to the machine, smiling. “So where did you find this?”

  He squirmed uncomfortably. “In the garage.”

  “It’s a family heirloom. Did you know it used to be your grandpa’s? He told me that it used to be his grandpa’s. So it’s really old.”

  Apparently, he was not in trouble, and he managed to relax a little. “What’s it for?” Derek asked. Maybe his mom knew. “What’s it do?”

  She picked up the device and turned it around. “See this hole here? You stick your dick in it.”

  Derek felt cold. He had never heard his mom say such a word before. He was shocked to learn that she even knew that word. And she certainly shouldn’t be using it in front of him. What would his dad think if he heard her talking this way?

  It’s the machine, he thought. It’s making her say this.

  She offered him the device. “Why don’t you pull your pants down and try it?”

  “No!” he shouted and ran out of the room. His heart was pounding a mile a minute, and he sped out of the house the way he’d come in, stopping next to the car in the driveway, breathing deeply. He looked back toward the living room window, glad it appeared dark from this angle, glad he could not see his mom. He wasn’t sure why he’d overreacted like that, why her suggestion had triggered such a violently immediate response in him, but he knew that he did not want her to find out that he already used the machine.

  What he didn’t want to admit to himself—and what he would never admit to his mom—was that he wanted to do it again. That first time, in the garage, he had felt horrible afterward, lower than he ever had in his life, but the high before the low was so amazing that it was worth suffering the letdown, and the truth was that his brain had had little room for any other
thoughts since. It was why he had smuggled the device into his bedroom, why he’d had to hide in the bathroom at recess. Even now, his penis was hard.

  What was going to happen after this? Was his mom going to keep the machine? Put it back in his bedroom where she’d found it? Return it to the garage? Tell his dad about it? He didn’t know, and the uncertainty made him feel anxious.

  Not knowing what to do, afraid of returning to the house, he went into the back yard, found his basketball, and shot hoops in the alley until his mom sent his dad out two hours later to tell him to come in, it was time for dinner.

  The machine was no longer on the coffee table, and his mom said nothing to him about it before, during or after dinner. When he went to bed later, after doing his homework and watching TV with his dad, he found the device back under his bed.

  Unable to sleep, he lay there thinking, planning, closing his eyes when his parents came to check on him. Later, much later, when he was sure they were asleep, he brought out the machine, placed it on the edge of his mattress with the hole facing outward, pulled down his pajama bottoms and underwear, stuck his already hard penis into the opening and started thrusting.

  He exploded.

  The green light went on, the valve fluttered and whistled.

  Again: after the elation and ecstasy, depression, sadness, regret.

  He began using it every night—and thinking about it when he was not using it. More than once, he returned from school to find that the machine had been moved, and he chose to believe it moved itself, because the alternative, that his mom went into his bedroom while he was gone and inspected the machine to see what he was doing with it, made him feel repulsed and sickened.

  He grew braver. On Saturday morning, he used the machine while his dad was mowing the lawn and his mom was pulling weeds in her flowerbed. One weeknight, he brought it with him into the bathroom in the middle of dinner, excusing himself from the table and quickly using it while his parents ate. It was a compulsion, and increased frequency did not lessen his craving but boosted it.