Shock Totem 6: Curious Tales of the Macabre and Twisted by K. Allen Wood

Author:K. Allen Wood
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: Horror
Publisher: Shock Totem Publications
Published: 2012-12-31T22:00:00+00:00

Hubert Dade has lived and worked all over the country. His heart lies in the west. He is a graduate of the Iowa Writers’ Workshop where he was a teaching-writing fellow. His fiction, poetry, and journalism have appeared in publications across the country, including Prairie Schooner, Damnation Books, and Boston’s Weekly Dig. He is at work on a novel about a series of child murders in a small Vermont town.

THE COCKTAIL PARTY

by Addison Clift

My eyes. Where are my eyes?

Vincent probes the numb cavities where his eyes used to be, as shards of conversation jangle in his still-functioning ears.

“It’s a slam dunk. We’ll be in Tehran by Christmas.”

“The American people will support this a hundred percent, once they understand what’s at stake.”

“My daughter’s trying to decide between Chicago and UVA. Of course, I’m pushing her toward the old alma mater...”

Where am I?

Vincent isn’t sure of the exact moment he woke. He thinks he’s awake now. He gropes his hand along the itchy carpet. He wiggles his body. Except for his eyes, he seems to be all there. But...

I’m naked.

He lifts his foggy head, then drags himself up on his elbows. There’s something around his neck. He feels it out. Leather, then a chain. Jesus, is this a leash?

Soft music. Idle chatter. Clinking glasses. The smell of cigarettes and perfume. A female voice: “Look, it’s waking up. Hey, everyone! Zombie Number Three is waking up.”

Vincent reflexively turns his head. An excited murmur ripples through the darkness.

Zombie Number Three is waking up.

A watery, bewildered moan bubbles from his lips. It doesn’t even sound human, much less like himself.

“Well, I guess the party can begin,” says a male voice, somewhere off to Vincent’s right.

He reaches for it, but grabs only air. On his other side, he hears people passing close by. He turns and thrusts his arm out, briefly grasping a calf. “Its hands are so cold!” says a woman, laughing, as her footsteps patter quickly away.

It dawns on Vincent that his entire universe is now just the reach of his arms, and she has gone beyond it.

He sits up. “Hey!” he shouts into the void. No one answers. “Hey! Where am I?”

Nothing.

Yet the darkness is not total. Flashes of light and color tickle his perception, like a phantom itch on a departed arm. His mind throws out random images, perhaps to compensate: Fiona in a red dress, smiling slyly at him as she unlocks her room at the St. Regis. Jerry drinking too much beer and shouting himself hoarse at the Redskins game.

Slamming on his brakes, to avoid hitting that Subaru...

Subaru.

Is that it? Is he dead? He smacks the carpet with his palm. A dull, unsatisfying thud, but a real one. He does it again. “Hey!” he yells. “Hey!”

“Hey yourself,” returns a caustic voice from somewhere out in the ether, and several people laugh.

No, he’s not dead. He’d missed the Subaru, dropped Jerry off in Bethesda, and Jerry took a whiz on his own front lawn while the neighbor’s dog barked. That was last weekend.

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