Bad Stacks Story Collection Box Set Page 16

  A man in the front of the crowd raised his arms, and it looked like one of his hands had been partially eaten. He groaned, “Fooooood,” and Barlow jumped to his feet and tried to run.

  “Where are you going?” Nettle yelled after him. “Don’t you know you can’t run from this?”

  Barlow didn’t make it very far, only to the middle of the Brown Hay Road. There, he stopped, wheeling around in a panic, surrounded by the dead on every side. They stepped out of every doorway, out of every alley, from behind every staircase, taking shape out of the shadows. He fell to his knees in front of Nettle and started to cry.

  “Please,” he begged.

  “Tell what you’ve done,” Nettle said.

  Barlow looked at the groaning, starving dead, and he shook his head no. NO, NO, NO, NO, NO!

  “Say it,” Nettle said. “While there’s still time.”

  But there wasn’t any more time. Barlow could no more belly up to the magnitude of what he’d done than he could force himself to stop breathing, and as the rotting dead shouldered their way past Nettle and closed on Barlow, all that he could do was close his eyes.

  The dead tore at Barlow with their hands and their teeth, ripping his flesh like fabric. Nettle stumbled away, into the dark, and as he walked he heard Barlow’s screams carry on and on and on. They seemed to go on far longer than it seemed possible for any one man to suffer, but go on they did, and they echoed in Nettle’s mind even after the shrillness of them disappeared from his ears.

  After that, Nettle wandered, his mind unhinged, until he began to see people. These he tried to tell what he had seen, but they flinched away from him, alarmed at the intensity in his eyes and the urgency in his voice and the complete lack of sense in his speech.

  As day broke, a russet stain behind plum colored smoke clouds, Nettle collapsed less than 50 feet from the doors of Stepney Green Hospital. He lay there, lips moving soundlessly, eyes still as glass beads, until an orderly from the hospital knelt beside him and said, “Hey, mate, are you hurt? What is it? Are you ‘ungry?”

  If the smile wasn’t on Nettle’s face, it was nonetheless there, in his mind. Eat, he thought, and sensed his body in complete revolt at the idea. God no, I’ll never eat again.

  THE END

  Learn more about the author at joemckinney.wordpress.com/

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  ###

  BOY IN THE CABINET

  By Jeremy C. Shipp

  Live anywhere long enough, and eventually the space becomes a home. And maybe if I keep thinking at you hard enough, someday you’ll become more than a Styrofoam cup. Maybe you’ll sprout a brain, or at least a nerve cluster, and you’ll hear me.

  And when that happens, you won’t confuse me or disagree with me all the time. You’ll be an ideal companion, unlike a certain creature I know.

  Speak of the feline devil. The Death Cat won’t stop scratching the wood until I open the door, so I obey her command. “What do you want?”

  Holly hacks up a ball of carnage onto the table. “Happy birthday, Boy.”

  “It’s not my birthday.”

  “Yes, it is. I have a seventh sense for these things.”

  So I study the notches on the cabinet wall. Holly’s right. Today’s the anniversary of my life. Not to mention my mother’s death and my father’s transformation.

  Trembling, I almost drop my mason jar filled with tears. “I told you last year. I don’t celebrate birthdays.”

  “Well, I do.” With her claws, the cat sifts through the wad of hair and clothes. “Here we go.”

  My eyes widen.

  Holly licks the permanent marker clean, then sets the gift on my palms.

  “You stole this from someone,” I say. “Didn’t you?”

  The Death Cat washes her face with a paw. “It doesn’t count as stealing if you eat the person first. Then the person’s part of you, and you can’t steal from yourself.”

  “Killing humans is even worse than stealing from them.”

  “I was hungry.”

  “That’s not a good enough reason to murder somebody.”

  “So with a good enough reason, I’d be able to justify to you the killing of one of your kind?”

  “Of course not. And maybe that proves what you’re doing is wrong.”

  “Wrong for you, Boy. Not for me.”

  “How can you be so cruel?”

  Holly sighs. “How many times do I have to tell you? I’m incapable of cruelty, because I don’t empathize with my prey when I’m hunting them.”

  “You’re a monster.”

  “Monsters don’t have hearts. But me, I love my food. Just not the way you want me to.”

  “You shouldn’t hurt the ones you love.”

  “Can’t we agree to disagree?”

  “No.” I grab the doorknob. “Thanks for the present, cat.”

  “Wait, you—”

  I close the door.

  And by the light of my tiny sun, I draw you a smiley face and a prominent pair of ears.

  Finally, you’re real enough for a name. And while I’ve never met a Salvador, you definitely look like one.

  “Can you hear me, Sal?”

  My muscles ache with hope and the power of my birthday wish.

  But you only grin in silence, a best friend waiting to happen.

  Maybe next year.

  ***

  Holly never visits after my sun burns out, so the scraping must be caused by some horrible fiend come to rape and pillage.

  I imagine my body ripped in two, and I know I should embrace my fear.

  But this fiend could be my father.

  So I open the door.

  “Holly,” I say. Disappointed. Relieved.

  “Hello, Boy.” The Death Cat taps my chin with the top of her head.

  “What are you doing here so late?”

  Holly sits. “It’s your birthday.”

  “Didn’t we already have this conversation?” I try to sound sarcastic, but in truth, I’m not sure of the answer. My memories can be a little temperamental.

  “Today’s supposed to be special for you,” the cat says. “You deserve more than a permanent marker.”

  “I’m sorry if I seemed ungrateful earlier. I really do like the gift.”

  “Whether you like the marker or not isn’t the point. You deserve more. You need more. More than I could ever give you.”

  “If you can’t help me, then what are you doing here?”

  “I didn’t say I was useless. I can still affect your choices.”

  “But you always say you don’t like to involve yourself with the way other creatures live their lives.”

  “That’s true. But you’re not living. Not really.”

  I check my pulse, just to make sure. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “No, you don’t know what I’m talking about. There’s a difference.”

  “Then what are you talking about?”

  “You need to get out of the cabinet.”

  I laugh, for the first time in ages. “But I’m the Boy in the Cabinet. If I leave here, I’ll cease to exist.”

  “Or you’ll change.”

  “That’s even worse.”

  “Transmogrification can be a good thing.”

  “Tell that to my father.”

  The Death Cat touches my leg with her paw. “I understand your reservations, and I can’t promise you that you’ll live happily ever after in the world outside. But I can assure you that there’s nothing worse than a wasted heart.”

  “I’m not wasting anything.” And I hold you in front of the cat’s face.

  “That’s a Styrofoam cup.”

  “For now.”

  Holly sighs. “You can’t create life on your own, Boy.”

  “What do you know about life? You’re just a stupid Death Cat.”

  “Death isn’t separate from life.”

  I a
lmost laugh again, but the swell of sorrow in my throat prevents me. “If that’s true, then where’s my mother? Why isn’t she here?”

  “No matter what I say, you’re not going to believe the truth about death until you die. So we might as well drop the subject and move on.”

  “Fine. But you should know, you’re not going to talk me into leaving here. Every word you say makes me want to throw up.”

  “Then I’ve failed you.”

  “Yes. You have.”

  I slam the door, and my jars clink together. And I hold on to my fury for as long as possible, but the feeling soon dies away. Because in spite of what happened to my mother, I don’t hate Holly. I don’t know how.

  So I create a crack in my door, and find the cat curled up and crying.

  “What’s wrong?” I say.

  “I want to help you,” she says. “But I don’t think I can. I’m sorry.”

  “Sorry? But I thought you can’t feel any empathy.”

  “I never said that.”

  And as the cat continues to weep for me, a haze of faith spreads through my mind and clouds my thoughts.

  Maybe she really cares about me.

  Maybe I need to escape this place.

  “You’re trying to trick me,” I say. “As soon as I leave the cabinet, you’ll eat me.”

  Holly unfurls herself and looks at me with sparkling eyes. “If I was meant to eat you, do you really believe the cabinet could protect you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Just because you feel safe somewhere doesn’t mean you are.”

  I clutch you close to my chest. “I don’t believe you.”

  “I’m afraid your beliefs don’t have the power to shape this aspect of your reality. Sooner or later, death will find you in the cabinet.”

  “How?”

  “I’m not destined to eat you, so I don’t know. Maybe a monster or another Death Cat. Of course, if you survive long enough, your food and water jars will eventually run out.”

  I examine my supply with frantic eyes. “But they’ve never run out before.”

  “Be that as it may, only love can last forever.”

  Once again, the stupid Death Cat’s ravaged my mind beyond recognition. And I can’t seem to think the same thoughts anymore.

  I don’t want to die.

  But if that’s my only choice, I want to die with love in my heart.

  And for the first time in my short life, the cabinet feels too small.

  So I say, “How do I do it? How do I leave the cabinet?”

  “Well,” the cat says. “You step out.”

  The concept seems more than a little ridiculous, but I follow her direction anyway.

  And in an instant, I find myself on the table.

  And I collapse, shaking all over.

  Holly curls up beside me. “I know you feel especially vulnerable, but you’re in just as much danger as you always were.”

  “That’s supposed to make me feel better?” I say.

  “Hmm. Good point. Pet me, and I’ll give you some of my strength.”

  I don’t hesitate.

  And as she purrs, my body warms and tingles.

  “That’s enough,” she says.

  So I remove my hand. “What do I do now?”

  “Move on.”

  I scan the hundreds of exits in the room. “But which door is the right one?”

  “You shouldn’t think that way, Boy. Just pick a door and walk out.”

  “But what if I hate where I end up? I’m not like you. When I leave this place, I won’t be able to return again.”

  “True. But if you become consumed by your power of choice, you’ll never leave.”

  “Will you choose for me?”

  “No.”

  I feel the urge to close myself off again, so I face my cabinet. But instead of climbing inside, I grab a jar of piss and shit.

  And with this weapon in one hand, and my jar of tears in the other, I approach a simple wooden door that reminds me of home.

  Then I face the Death Cat once more.

  I’m not sure if I want to thank her or curse her.

  But in the end, I say, “Thank you, Holly.”

  “You’re welcome,” she says, still too weak to sit up. “I hope you die a wonderful death.”

  “You too.”

  And with that, I touch the doorknob.

  I imagine a life of monsters and misery on the other side, and part of me wants to embrace my fear.

  But this path could lead me to love.

  So I open the door.

  ***

  The wide, wide world pulls at me from every direction, and if not for the thorny bush rooting me to the ground, I’m sure I would ascend into the azure abyss above.

  I hate this place already.

  And this place obviously hates me back.

  But a drop of optimism dilutes my terror as soon as a girl in green appears atop a boulder.

  “How do you do that?” I say.

  She jumps and lands in front of me. “Do what?”

  “Not fly.”

  “That’s easy. I just don’t become a bird.”

  “Is it common for children to become birds?”

  “Not common at all, I’m afraid. I’d love to fly. At least for a few days of the year.”

  “Why?”

  She gazes up at the horrible blue void. “The sky’s beautiful. Don’t you think?”

  I try to imitate her warm expression, but I can’t see through her eyes. “I don’t like the sky.”

  “Don’t worry. You will someday.” She touches my arm.

  And in that moment, I release my grip on the shrub.

  And I don’t soar to my death.

  So I pick up my weapon once more, but the jar of excrement slips from my bloody hand. “Shit!”

  “What is that?” the girl says.

  “Porridge. Are there many monsters around here?”

  “It doesn’t smell like porridge.”

  “Never mind that. What about the monsters?”

  “I’m the Girl Who Monsters Fear.” She takes my hand. “I’ll protect you.”

  I believe her.

  And for some strange reason, I want to run at her as fast as I can. I want to smash into her, and jumble pieces of me with pieces of her.

  Maybe she’s a wife waiting to happen.

  But I don’t want to make my father’s mistake. He fell in love with the Woman Who Can’t Bear Children, in spite of her mortality. And he suffered the consequences.

  The day I came into being, my mother ceased to exist.

  And one day, a monster will refuse to fear the Girl Who Monsters Fear, and she’ll probably disappear too.

  In the end, I need to find a partner I can’t love to help me create life.

  So I release the girl’s hand, and escape the trap.

  ***

  The door I knock on tonight looks almost exactly like the door I passed through to enter this world.

  Or maybe not. My memories like to play with me sometimes.

  But I’m not in the mood for games.

  So I ignore the door and focus on the man.

  “I’m sorry to bother you, sir,” I say. “But I’m tired and hungry. I haven’t eaten for days.”

  The man shrugs. “I couldn’t care less.”

  “You couldn’t?”

  “No.”

  I smile. “Are you in need of a servant? I’d be happy to work for food and shelter.”

  The man rubs his beard, then opens the door wide.

  I follow him inside.

  His home would remind me of every other home in the area, if not for the pyramid of stacked excrement jars.

  “What can I do for you?” I say.

  He motions to the far wall. “Everyone in the world wants to live inside my cabinet, but I hate when people stay in there. So I need you to stay in there and stand guard.”

  “But if you hate when people go in there, won’t you hate when I go in there?”
>
  “No.”

  “Why?”

  “Because you don’t count.”

  “Why not?”

  The man sighs. “It’s a complicated issue. And on my list of things I hate, complicated issues are ranked fourteen. That’s fourteen out of six thousand and twenty seven. So you can understand my reluctance to answer your question.”

  “Of course.”

  “So you’ll take the job?”

  I nod.

  And the man forces me into the cabinet, closes the door, and locks me in.

  I’m home again.

  ***

  Sometimes, the Man Who Can’t Smile allows me to join him for dinner, but I don’t think he yearns for my company the way I yearn for yours. I think he likes to watch me enjoy my meal the way he can’t anymore.

  But the dinners never end well, because he can’t taste through my mouth, no matter how hard he tries.

  So like always, he knocks over the table, and says, “Get back in the cabinet, Boy.”

  I don’t. “I’m not going to help you anymore, unless you help me bring Salvador to life.”

  “Who’s Salvador?”

  I pull you out of my pouch.

  And the Man scoffs. “What a stupid-looking cup.”

  “He’s not stupid,” I say.

  “I didn’t say he’s stupid. I said he’s stupid-looking. Although I’m sure he’s as stupid as he looks.”

  You don’t deserve this, so I try to cover your ears.

  But the Man snatches you away from me.

  “Give him back!” I say.

  The Man throws you on the floor, and grabs me by the arms. He forces me back into the cabinet.

  “Let me out!” I say.

  He doesn’t.

  And through the keyhole, I watch him drink from you as if he owns you.

  Now, I’m sure.

  I’m going to die in here. Unloved. Alone.

  ***

  You have to understand.

  Normally, I wouldn’t try to kill another person, but I don’t think this thing counts as one.

  I’m almost positive.

  So I say, “Have you heard the one about the decapitated mouse and the talking intestines?”