Single White Psychopath Seeks Same

Chapter 17

“YOU DA man!” Mortimer proclaimed.

“Come on, it’s Andrew’s turn, let’s do it,” said Daniel, waving the others over to him.

“Don’t you want to clean up first?” asked Josie.

“Not at all.” He grabbed a handful of his shirt and wrung it out. “This is great. This is so great. I keep forgetting how much I love this.”

Stan came up behind me and pushed my wheelchair forward. My body was completely numb. I couldn’t have spoken if I’d tried.

“Okay, Andrew, we’ve got a special treat planned for you,” Daniel said, wiping some blood away from his mouth. “We had planned this for when we thought you’d be showing up as the Headhunter’s prisoner, so I’m glad it won’t be wasted. When you ask people what kind of death they fear most, you’ll get a lot of responses. Being eaten by a shark, dying of a lingering disease, getting chopped to bits with a hatchet-none of these are popular ways to go. But there’s one that really creeps some people out, and I think you in particular will appreciate it.”

“And what could that possibly be?” asked Mortimer, as if he were on an infomercial.

“Why, I’m glad you asked! The answer is…being buried alive!” Daniel gestured dramatically at the coffin. “What could be a more suitable punishment for a past graverobber?”

Oh, please God, no, I thought.

“Being buried alive is certainly a nasty way to go,” Mortimer remarked. “But don’t you have anything worse?”

“Worse?” asked Daniel, in mock dismay. “What could possibly be worse?”

“I don’t know, but I’m not convinced that his death is all it could be. I’m afraid you’ll have to do better than that. What do the audience members think?”

“Make it worse!” Josie shouted. Stan and Foster pitched in as well.

“But…but…but…I’m only a simple businessman! I can’t possibly do anything worse than bury him alive!”

Josie, Stan, and Foster began to boo.

“Then I’m sorry, but we’ll just have to let him go,” said Mortimer, shaking his head sadly.

“No wait, let me think! There has to be a way!” Daniel snapped his fingers, sending a couple of drops of blood into the air. “By golly, I’ve got it!” He bent down and threw open the lid of the coffin. “It’ll be a double occupancy!”

Inside the pine box was a partially decomposed corpse, its mouth frozen open in a shriek of unrestrained terror. Maggots chewed its eyes. It looked vaguely male, but I couldn’t tell much beyond that from its grotesque appearance.

Thank God I couldn’t speak. I wouldn’t have been able to do anything but blubber for mercy.

“Andrew, meet Wesley. Wesley, Andrew. He was one of my own captures, but he was a very naughty little boy and we had to shoot him. It seemed like a waste at the time, but I think you’ll be pleased to see that we’re making good use of him.”

Mortimer walked over to assist as Foster began undoing the straps on the wheelchair. “That thing is nasty,” Stan said from behind me. “Sure glad I’m not the one being buried with it.”

Daniel grinned and wiped his bloody hands off on his bloody jeans. “Look at those babies squirm in those sockets! I don’t know how they’ll be able to contain their excitement when they get nice, fresh, live flesh!”

And then I found my voice. I don’t even remember what I said. It probably made no sense. But even though my conscious mind was telling me to shut up (Just shut up!You’re only entertaining them!) I couldn’t stop. I was babbling and whimpering and tears flowed down my cheeks and I couldn’t make myself be quiet.

Have I mentioned that I’m incredibly claustrophobic?

I thrashed and flailed and screamed as Foster and Mortimer grabbed my legs, and Stan grabbed my arms. I struggled with every last bit of strength I possessed, but I couldn’t get away as they lifted me out of the wheelchair and held me over the coffin. Daniel was saying something, but I couldn’t hear him over my own screams.

Then they gently lowered me into the coffin.

On top of the corpse.

I could feel it giving way beneath me, the flesh of its chest splitting under my bare back. The smell was so far beyond putrid that I can’t even explain it. My screams faded to an abrupt gasp as my head pressed into the corpse’s face.

I could feel cold teeth against the back of my neck.

I struggled to get free, but the lid slammed shut, giving me about an inch of room above my nose. As I worked my hands into a position where I could pound on the lid, I heard the click of padlocks snapping shut.

Things were squirming underneath my back.

I pounded and pounded as I felt the coffin being dragged forward. Then lifted, then lowered…dropping the last couple of feet with a jolt that drove me further into the corpse.

Then I heard a sound that could only be dirt being tossed onto the lid. Moments after that, my mind couldn’t cope with the horror anymore…

…and I found myself thinking of my parents…

…and school…

…and the first time I met Helen, at the movies when she had to rush out of the theatre during a special screening of The Exorcist…

…and Theresa being born…

…and Kyle…

…and…

WHAT A cheap piece of junk. Who made this thing? You can’t even tell if it’s recording or not.

Ladies and gentlemen, I do believe we’ve heard the last of Andrew Mayhem. It’s too bad the special guest thing didn’t work out, but I’ve got only myself to blame for that. My lovely wife and my not-so-lovely associates warned me, and they were right. Oh well. Live and learn.

Hey, Mortimer, say something for posterity. C’mon! Oh, don’t be such a chickenshit, just talk into the recorder! You people are so paranoid it’s not even funny! Fine, fine. For those of you who are only listening to this, Mortimer has just made an obscene gesture and left the room.

I guess healthy paranoia is good. You can’t be too careful. Foster is convinced that Andrew is gonna break out of his grave like some flesh-eating zombie, so he’s hanging out in the burial area with a paperback, just in case. He’ll miss out on some of the fun, but hey, whatever floats his boat, right?

What? Oh, you can barely see it! It’s not blood, it’s water. Yes, I used the peach shampoo. Nag, nag, nag.

Again, for those of you who aren’t really here, my lovely wife is getting all bent out of shape because my hair is dripping. If it were up to me, I’d still be covered in blood, but she’s like “No blood in the house!”

Hey, knock it off! [Laughter.] My lovely wife is now grabbing for the tape recorder, but she’s far too short and weak to succeed at such a task. Back! Back, you cur!

Uh-oh, she seems to be trying a new technique. Don’t let the youngsters listen to this! So we’ll finish up here, and then head back to the operating room! I can’t wait to see what Stan has in store for the chick that gave Andrew that ass stabbing!

This is Daniel Rankin, of Rankin Bloodbaths, signing off.