This Symbiotic Fascination by Jacob Charlee

Author:Jacob, Charlee [Jacob, Charlee]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Necro Publications
Published: 2011-04-23T04:00:00+00:00

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CHAPTER 20

The room was suddenly quiet after the man died. It spooked David with the first real moment of silence he’d had since checking into his own room four hours before. Even the people screwing down the hall dropped their commotion. Either they had reached their coital goal and collapsed into satisfied puddles or they had paused to listen, wondering what happened. There might be a psychic disturbance that went into the air when someone died.

(Sending up signals. Can we have a moment of silence for the dead? You can touch yourself but be quiet about it.)

David held his own breath for several seconds, waiting for something else to happen. Nothing did. The man face down on the floor didn’t move, didn’t spring back to life screaming “Boo! Fooled ya!”

David checked for a pulse. There was none.

He wiped his fingers on his trousers. He imagined he’d dipped them into a swollen plague bubo the size of a breadfruit. The resulting muck would be a disquieting cross between melted strawberry ice cream and gonorrheal jizm.

David walked over to the video recorder and ran the tape back to start. He pushed PLAY.

What was this movie that scared this poor guy to death?

There were no beginning credits. The scene was badly done, amateurish—for effect? It opened with two people getting it on before a river. The water surged beyond them like a crippled dragon, legless and dark.

“So where does the fiend come in and hack them to bits?” David wondered out loud, thinking of the noises he’d heard.

He recognized the woman. Her photo was on the driver’s license which had come from the dead guy’s shirt pocket. The man on top of her was scrawny and pustuled. The way they were going at it with the cheesy thrusts of such bone-ugly actors, it had to be some local porno production. Something like ZOMBIES LIKE IT RAW or CORPSES DO IT BETTER. Prosaic on Prozac. Made on a dollar and a half budget, and with the monsters made up with catsup and a number two pencil.

The man was lapping blood from his partner’s breasts. David winced. The man sat up, smiled at the camera with the evil leer of a satanic child molester. And became someone else. (A handsome devil.)

It was a simple cinematic trick. David wasn’t impressed.

The handsome devil bent and began vomiting red gore into the woman’s open mouth. It splashed in elastic strings, crimson slinkies and roadkill spaghetti.

David’s stomach revolved at slow 33 RPMs. That looked real enough.

The camera angle plunged. There was ground, then stars as the camera must have rolled.

FIN

The end.

David ran it forward, backward, fast and frame by frame, trying to find more. But the whole production wasn’t any longer than two or three minutes.

Where were the gut-wrenching screams? There had been some ordinary, brief retching but not the lengthy projectile pukes he’d heard from his own room. No rising wind, no eerie moans, no crunching bones with zombies and endless gouting dismemberment that seemed to fill the air as David sat on his bed trying to blot it out.

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