Enjoy Me by Smith Logan Ryan

Author:Smith, Logan Ryan [Smith, Logan Ryan]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Horror
Amazon: B00S9ZYI5Q
Goodreads: 25055096
Publisher: Transmission Press
Published: 2015-01-11T08:00:00+00:00

OLD MAN BILL

or

DOG!

It’s just me and Old Man Bill. He sits next to me at Bourbon Bandits in his floppy hat and khaki windbreaker, mumbling, fingering his ear, inspecting the wax left on his fingertips, and popping his dentures in and out of place. It makes a wet suction sound and a hard clack each time. Each time he laughs and looks around, googly-eyed beneath the hat’s brim, to see if anyone enjoyed his little joke, then he goes back to fingering his ear and mumbling and watching the TV in the corner that plays a boxing match that sometimes turns into a camcorder video of my mother’s splitting vagina spewing blood in order to let my head and shoulders exit into this world. The doctor, nurses, and my father keep trying to push me back in, but I’m a rotten, determined bastard and manage to slip out and fall to the floor with the rest of the mucus and stringy grey filaments spilling out of my mother. Then it’s just two men dancing in a ring and punching each other again.

Overhead, Clap Your Hands Say Yeah’s “In This Home On Ice” plays. I put it on the internet jukebox because I just came from their show around the corner at Great American and I’m already feeling sentimental about the time I spent there dancing and throwing up into the nearby trashcan at the back of the dance floor and telling Kevin how much fun I was having anyway and how he would smirk and look away, embarrassed, and I would pretend not to notice and his girlfriend would lean into him as though she was scared of something. Then I would wipe the vomit from my grin and keep dancing and eye the bartender in the corner and feel even better because she had blonde hair and no monster tattooed on her arm and her breasts would glisten under the strobe lights and seem welcoming.

Just now the ghost of Abigail walks in through the black rectangle of the open doorway into this black rectangle of a bar called Bourbon Bandits. Even though I know I left her bleeding out months ago in the green backstage rooms of the Great American, I also know I saw her dancing there tonight, lithe and sexy and fluid and better than that first breath after nearly drowning, but I was too embarrassed and drunk to approach her and apologize and ask how she’s been—to tell her I’ve missed her since she’d gone.

But here she is, a ghost, gliding toward me, as stunning and shocking as ever, leaving me gobsmacked with bleary vision. Her red hair flips and flails behind her and she flickers in and out like a tired flame against a hard wind, the lights dimming and brightening along with her waning radiance, and when she reaches me she’s angelic, ensconced in a burning white light, and she touches my face, torching it so that it melts off and falls like scalding soup into my lap.

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