D.O.A. Extreme Horror Anthology (6 page)

The CCU was quiet. I recognized Chuck Herbert as he sat watching the soft glow of the bank of heart monitors in front of him.

“Did Dr. MacGuin come through here?” I asked.

He looked up and nodded. “Yeah. About fifteen minutes ago.” He said nothing more and looked back down at the monitors. Before I consciously knew what I was doing, I grabbed the front of his lab coat and pulled his face close to mine. “And where is she now?”

Chuck looked at me as if looking in the eyes of a lunatic. “She’s in room A-206 with Means.” With his eyes never leaving mine, he pointed to the sixth monitor to his right. Its EKG line was flat and noiseless. “Leon Means flatlined five minutes ago.”

I let him go and walked quickly down the hall, not caring that I was acting like a madman. As I reached A-206, I stopped for a moment at the door, then slowly turned the handle. It was locked, as I knew it would be. And as I unlocked it, I was sure that Helen was aware, that like her, I had a master key to all the patient’s rooms.

I opened the door, then locked it behind me. As I stood with my back to her, I could hear her talking to the just-deceased Leon Means.

He was a young black man, nineteen or twenty, tall, muscular, and even though I was alive and he dead, I was filled with jealousy. Helen stood on the left side of the bed, totally nude. She looked at me only once, our eyes locking for an instant, and in that tiny window of time I was looking at my Helen, the woman I had loved. Then she was gone, replaced by a stranger, a predator of souls.

With a victorious yank, Helen pulled the clean white sheet off of Leon’s body and grabbed his dark, flaccid penis. Like a lover in heat, she stroked and licked Leon’s member, and to my utter amazement, it became long and hard.

I tried to convince myself the next sight I witnessed was only the lights of the machines reflected off Leon’s penis. It was a bright glow, shimmering rainbow waves like heat off black summer asphalt that danced and hummed around Leon’s manhood.

With a dark, feral smile Helen climbed into the bed and placed Leon’s dick inside her eagerly waiting vagina. She bucked and rocked on top of him and bit the back of her hand to silence her cries of pleasure. Watching, I pulled my aching penis from my pants and began to masturbate. Like a wooden toy soldier I stood silent, aware that the woman I had loved had gone away to a dark and secret place from which I was forever barred entrance. After I had spilled my seed onto the room’s carpeting, I locked the door behind me and left Helen in orgasmic throes of ecstasy.

I called in sick the next three days and kept myself in a constant alcoholic haze courtesy of a gallon of cheap bourbon. With all the drinking came frequent trips to the bathroom, and with all the urination came the pain. It was a minor irritation that I attributed to too much booze and masturbation. Yet the pain steadily increased and I began to notice a yellowish, stinking discharge.

I have gonorrhea
, I thought. Helen had infected me with gonorrhea. With the realization came anger, a thick layer of hate that began to infest all corners of my soul.

It was sometime during the fourth morning that she came over. I noticed her car was still running in my parking lot. “I came for my books,” Helen said as she stood on the porch. “I must’ve forgotten them the other night.”

The other night she said, as if we had been out bowling and eating pizza. I stepped aside and let her in. “You know where they are,” I told her.  

I stood and watched as she pulled various medical texts from my bookshelf. “You could have asked me at the hospital,” I said. “You didn’t have to come over here to humiliate me.”

“I didn’t come over here to humiliate you. I just came over to get my books and to say good-bye. I’ve quit medical school.”

“Quit? What are you going to do?” I asked, my rising rage in stasis for a moment.

“I’m moving out to California,” she answered as she packed up the last of her books. “I’m going to work with a cryogenics team that I’ve been corresponding with.”

In perfect lucidity I realized why she was going. Access. Access to dead bodies, dead young bodies that she could commit her perversions on until she was full and gorged.

She finished collecting her books and walked toward the door. I stepped directly in front of her, inches away from her face. “You gave me gonorrhea.”

“What?”

“You gave me gonorrhea,” I repeated. “I’ve had pain and burning with urination the past three days, and now I have a discharge.”

“I couldn’t have given you gonorrhea or anything else, Douglas. I check all of my contacts thoroughly before I unite with them, plus I would have it and I don’t. It’s probably just a case of idiopathic urithitis, if you just—”

“You gave me gonorrhea and who knows what else, you perverted
bitch
!” I slammed up my right fist into her left cheek. The blow surprised her, and with the clarity of unbridled rage I knocked her down and wrapped both my hands around her throat before she could react.

I don’t remember how long I was on top of her. I only remember that when her struggling ceased I was still choking her. Only when her eyes rolled back in her head did I release her. Yet as I lay on top of her, panting with terror and excitement, I realized I still had one more thing to do.

Trembling with fear and anticipation, I walked swiftly over to my desk and pulled out a small-bladed scalpel. I knelt down beside her and cut through her expensive slacks, her panty hose, and finally her black-lace panties, and if I had doubts about seeing what Helen had talked about, they were gone. For above and around her vagina was a dancing kaleidoscope of colors, a spectrum rich and full with vibrant hues of primeval life. I finally knew what she had meant, knew the joy she had felt as my tears fell freely onto her face. I quickly pulled off my jeans and jammed my cock inside her. I was finally on top, finally in control, and I realized even in death that Helen could still give me her love for a long, long time.

Artistic Subject

Adrian Ludens

Her pose brought to mind the timeless beauty of the Venus de Milo, but her thoughts dwelt strictly on the mundane.

The woman in front of me must be feeding a family of ten
, Cassie thought. She shifted her grocery basket from one hand to the other and stretched her free fingers, letting them relax.

As the beleaguered cashier slowly scanned the items, space opened little by little for Cassie’s modest selections. She carefully lined up two tins of Vienna sausage, eight packages of Ramen noodles—you had to buy eight to get the sale price—and a half gallon of skim milk. The milk wasn’t the generic brand; Cassie had let herself splurge on ‘the good milk.’ The woman in front finished paying and pushed her heavily laden cart toward the exit. For no real reason, Cassie thought of an old west trapper, coaxing and prodding a pack mule along a desolate mountain pass. She giggled.

“Five seventy-eight,” the cashier said in a monotone voice. Cassie handed the woman four ones, and four quarters.

“There’s five,” Cassie said, flashing her best smile. The cashier offered no visible response. Cassie dug in her pocket. As she retrieved her remaining change and began counting it out on her palm she silently prayed that she had enough. Counting out change was no big deal; money is money. But the milk had been thirty cents higher this week and Cassie secretly felt terrified at the prospect of coming up short.

That had only happened once, almost two months ago. She’d been daydreaming as she shopped and was startled to hear the total. Upon realizing that she was a full dollar and thirteen cents short, she stammered that she’d have to put something back. This announcement had been met by tightlipped indifference from the cashier, a snide smirk from the teen behind her and a clucking exclamation of sympathy from the woman two places back.

Isn’t this delightful
, Cassie had thought bitterly. She began to ask the cashier if she could put back the head of lettuce when the loudly sympathetic woman spoke up.

“Don’t you put anything back! I’ve got a few dollars to help you along,” she said in a voice loud enough for several lanes of shoppers to hear.

Cassie had felt her cheeks start to flush.

“That’s really not necessary,” she began.

“Just take it lady,” the teen interrupted, “I don’t wanna stand here all day.”

Cassie’s slight flush blossomed into a deep blush. She’d never shopped without keeping a running total in her mind ever since.

Still, she felt her heart beating faster as she counted the dirty change out on her sweating palm. She needn’t have worried though. Cassie ended up with fifty-two cents to spare.

“And seventy eight,” Cassie said, handing over the money. The cashier wordlessly gave her the receipt.

“Thank you.” Cassie said then added tentatively, “I hope you have a nice day.”

The woman looked surprised and stared at Cassie with watery blue eyes, as if noticing her for the first time.

“I hope you have a nice day too,” she said, sounding sincere.

Cassie smiled and turned to go.

The cashier had begun scanning the next customer’s items, but she continued on, raising her voice over the scanner’s electronic chirp. “Let’s meet here again tomorrow and we’ll compare notes,” she joked and Cassie laughed.

It was a nice idea, but it didn’t happen.

As Cassie passed through the store’s first set of automatic doors, she glanced at the bulletin board. Once she had noticed a want ad from someone asking for help housekeeping. It turned out to only be temporary—the woman had a broken wrist—but it was a great opportunity for Cassie to pick up some extra cash. Ever since, her eyes automatically went to the board.

Today, someone had lost their cat and was offering a reward for its return. Another person was giving away kittens ‘to good homes.’ Cassie thought it ironic and somehow sad. She smiled when she saw the business card of a real estate agent with the unfortunate name Guy Mann. Then she saw an ad on plain white paper, with black type. It read:

Artistic Subject Wanted

Will pay.

Please call:

The simple message concluded with a phone number. Cassie plucked the stick pin from the board and deftly caught the floating piece of paper with her other hand. Then she fished in her pocket for her last two remaining quarters and stepped to the pay phone. This sounded interesting.
And maybe I won’t have to eat Ramen noodles every night next week
, Cassie thought. The phone rang twice in her ear and then:

“Hello?” A man’s voice. Quiet and calm.

“Hi, I’m calling about the ad for an artistic subject...” Cassie trailed off, not sure what to say next.

“Of course,” the man said. His voice was very soft. Cassie found it oddly comforting. “Are you interested in the position? I have an immediate need.”

“Well, I’m certainly interested in seeing what it is that you do,” Cassie replied.

“I would be happy to show you,” the man replied agreeably, “Might you be able to stop by right away?”

“I think so. I mean, sure,” Cassie amended.

“You’ll want to bring along the ad itself,” the man said.

Cassie was puzzled. “Why?”

“Turn it over.”

Cassie did. Directions from the grocery store to the artist’s home were printed on the back.

***

The large house looked like a mansion by Cassie’s standards. She parked her car on the side of a large circular brick driveway. Lush hedges hid most of the house from the street. Cassie felt a twinge of jealousy at the home’s beauty and seclusion. She rang the doorbell and unconsciously held her breath.

Please let me get this job
, she thought,
but please don’t let his idea of an ‘artistic subject’ be a girl who’ll pose naked while he gets off
.

The door swung open and Cassie came face to face with a well dressed little man who smiled at her, bowed cordially, then beckoned her inside. Charmed, Cassie entered and surveyed the interior.

The sitting room was tastefully furnished with rich mahogany furniture. Gorgeous paintings of nature scenes decorated the walls. A polished coffee table squatted near the center of the room in front of a large black leather couch. Hundreds of books filled an enormous bookcase. Cassie marveled at the man’s home.

“Won’t you sit down?” the man invited. He gestured toward the couch and Cassie perched on the edge.

“Can I offer you a glass of ice water?” her host asked.

“Yes, thank you,” Cassie replied automatically. The artist poured her a glass from a crystal pitcher sweating in the middle of the table. Cassie sipped her water and glanced at an elaborate art tableau situated on the far side of the room.

“You live here in the city?” the man asked.

“Yes.”

“From here originally?”

“No. I’m from upstate. I was going to school at the community college, but needed to take a semester off. “

“You are saving up for tuition to continue. Am I right?”

“Yes,” Cassie admitted and sipped her ice water. She hoped it would cool the embarrassed flush from her cheeks.

“And are you working currently?”

“The job market has been less than ideal,” Cassie replied.

The man threw back his head and laughed. If Cassie felt rattled by the man’s line of questioning, he put her at ease again with that reaction.

“Perhaps I can help you,” the man remarked.

Cassie nodded took another drink. As she did so, she glanced again at the art piece against the far wall.

“Would you like to take a closer look?” the artist invited. “That is one of my favorite pieces.”

Cassie stood, swaying briefly. She felt a little lightheaded from standing up too quickly but carefully crossed the room.

It was a sculpture, Cassie saw, composed of seven ivory colored forearms reaching upward. Above, a small spotlight was mounted on the ceiling, casting a heavenly glow down on the cluster of reaching arms. A lush red velvet tapestry covered the base of the display. Cassie noted that the ‘fingernails’ were painted a shade that matched the velvet base. The effect was striking and, in Cassie’s opinion, completely original.