The House (18 page)
Authors: Edward Lee
"A
snuff
house?" he asked the girl. Wasn't snuff powdered tobacco that Europeans sniffed up their noses? Somebody made powdered tobacco at this house? Then it clicked in Melvin's book-smart but otherwise very naive brain.
Snuff movies.
snuff
house?" he asked the girl. Wasn't snuff powdered tobacco that Europeans sniffed up their noses? Somebody made powdered tobacco at this house? Then it clicked in Melvin's book-smart but otherwise very naive brain.
Snuff movies.
But that was just an urban myth, wasn't it? Such types of films didn't really exist, surely.
Who would want to watch them?
he wondered.
Who would want to watch them?
he wondered.
He'd offered to give the skinny girl a lift, to opportunize his predicament. Melvin, only now, realized why she might be sitting near the dumpster: for scraps of edible garbage from the restaurant. He hadn't seen anyone so destitute since he'd written that unpleasant piece on the homeless shelters in Syracuse. But when he'd asked her: "I'm a little lost. Could you tell me how to get back to Route 10?"
Her eyes seemed to vibrate with hope. "Oh, fuck yeah, man. Are you going north?"
"Yes. About forty-five minutes past Pennellville—er, at least I think it's about that far, but I'm not sure because once I turned off to try and find this carry-out place, I—"
She spoke very quickly, like hyperventilation. "Oh, that fuckin' rocks, man! Can you give me a ride? I'm going that way myself, and, shit, I really NEED to get there. Almost no one goes north past this shit little shopping center. It's boondocks up there, man."
You can say that again,
Melvin thought, now that he'd been up at the house for one day. "I'd be happy to give you a ride. You can guide me."
Melvin thought, now that he'd been up at the house for one day. "I'd be happy to give you a ride. You can guide me."
"Oh, fuck yeah, thanks. Shit. This is great. And I'll make it worth your while, too."
Melvin had no idea what she meant by that but he'd soon find out. His sense of direction was awful—as awful as his social adaptations—and Dad's space-cadet new wife probably didn't have her cell phone on her, not that she would know the directions either.
Anyhoo, that's how the conversation had started, and now this nearly cadaverous dark-haired and waxen-fleshed urchin sat beside him in the HUM-V, eating one of the bags of shrimp toast, cheeks stuffed like a chipmunk or,
a squirrel,
Melvin thought, bemused by the coincidence, for, when he'd asked, "What's, uh, what's your name?" she'd answered very quickly, "Well, gee, shit, my real name's Shirley but everybody calls me Squirrelly, 'cos, fuck, I guess I'm kind of a squirrelly person, ya know? And that's what the other kids called me in kindergarten before my folks croaked and me'n my sister got shoved in Foster Fuckin' Care. Fuck, man, if you ever have kids, don't fuckin' die on 'em, man, 'cos holy fuckin' shit, those twisted pervs in Foster Care'll be ass-fuckin' 'em when they're six and teachin' 'em to suck cock. That's what happened to me and my sister, man. Fuckin' shit-head father had to drive shitfaced one night and rolled the station wagon right off the fuckin' Mohawk River bridge, with him'n my mom in it. They fuckin' froze to death in the water, man, and I was five and my sister was seven, and that was the end of the line for us. Oh, fuck, but what was I saying? Yeah. Squirrelly Shirley, they called me."
a squirrel,
Melvin thought, bemused by the coincidence, for, when he'd asked, "What's, uh, what's your name?" she'd answered very quickly, "Well, gee, shit, my real name's Shirley but everybody calls me Squirrelly, 'cos, fuck, I guess I'm kind of a squirrelly person, ya know? And that's what the other kids called me in kindergarten before my folks croaked and me'n my sister got shoved in Foster Fuckin' Care. Fuck, man, if you ever have kids, don't fuckin' die on 'em, man, 'cos holy fuckin' shit, those twisted pervs in Foster Care'll be ass-fuckin' 'em when they're six and teachin' 'em to suck cock. That's what happened to me and my sister, man. Fuckin' shit-head father had to drive shitfaced one night and rolled the station wagon right off the fuckin' Mohawk River bridge, with him'n my mom in it. They fuckin' froze to death in the water, man, and I was five and my sister was seven, and that was the end of the line for us. Oh, fuck, but what was I saying? Yeah. Squirrelly Shirley, they called me."
The name fit, with or without the staccato-burst, jonesing-junkie description of her less-than-flowery childhood. Melvin felt sorry for her, as least as far as he could comprehend anything beyond the shelter of his inadequate-and-socially-oblivious-rich-boy-still-living-with-his-father-even-at-age-33 life.
Driving, he sipped his bottle of Snapple and said, "Wow, I'm really sorry to hear that."
"What? That my name's Squirrelly?"
"Er, well, no. I mean—"
"We still gotta half hour on the road so how 'bout I suck your dick now while you're driving?"
Melvin shuddered, nearly spat out a mouthful of Snapple when she immediately and with no compunction whatsoever, leaned over in the passenger seat and began to caress his crotch. Melvin's inexperienced and quite virgin penis hardened just as immediately.
"I'll get'cha off good and then maybe you could lay twenty or maybe forty bucks on me. It's good head and I won't rush ya. Oh, and can I have your egg rolls when I'm done? I haven't eaten in, like, three motherfuckin' days."
Melvin was shaking he was so nervous.
A pruh-pruh-pruh—prostitute!
Her little white hand tended his crotch like an expert doughmaker's, kneading, kneading.
Oh, oh! This is going to be wonderful!
He looked over at the blanched face framed by hair black and shiny as volcanic glass. She wore cutoff jeans trimmed so high that he could see a few stray black pubic hairs. Her skinny legs extended, crossed. She also wore a white tubetop with coffee stains...or some other manner of stain, and as she played with Melvin's crotch some more, she pulled the tubetop down to reveal raving white flaps of skin for breasts, and nipples large as lenses on a typical pair of glasses. These nipples, however, weren't circles but instead irregular ovals. In fact they looked more like chewed beef jerky than anything else. In summation, then, her mammarian attributes were ugly and non-arousing from
any
conventional viewpoint. Not a Class Rack, in other words.
A pruh-pruh-pruh—prostitute!
Her little white hand tended his crotch like an expert doughmaker's, kneading, kneading.
Oh, oh! This is going to be wonderful!
He looked over at the blanched face framed by hair black and shiny as volcanic glass. She wore cutoff jeans trimmed so high that he could see a few stray black pubic hairs. Her skinny legs extended, crossed. She also wore a white tubetop with coffee stains...or some other manner of stain, and as she played with Melvin's crotch some more, she pulled the tubetop down to reveal raving white flaps of skin for breasts, and nipples large as lenses on a typical pair of glasses. These nipples, however, weren't circles but instead irregular ovals. In fact they looked more like chewed beef jerky than anything else. In summation, then, her mammarian attributes were ugly and non-arousing from
any
conventional viewpoint. Not a Class Rack, in other words.
Melvin's penis tremored as did most of the rest of him, his testicles drawing up. Squirrelly's breasts would be sure to turn off most men, yet Melvin found them to be the most erotic thing he'd ever seen in his life for one reason alone: aside from those few glimpses of his father's new wife's bare bosom (which was another story), he'd never seen "live" breasts before—ever. On Cinemax, sure, and in magazines owned by his few acquaintances at the paper. His social introversion, for instance, even at age 33, excluded him from the possibility of going to a strip joint. It also excluded him from a trip to one of Syracuse's many adult video stores where he could rent pornography and, hence, see attractive naked women having sex. Likewise, the idea of soliciting a prostitute for an actual sexual experience that involved a woman instead of his hand was impossible. And getting laid the normal way? Asking a girl out on a date and cultivating mutual interests and eventually going to bed with her?
No, Melvin was far too inept for that as well. He was a social basket case who didn't even have enough courage or acumen to pursue anything but small talk with women.
Which was why he ejaculated fervently in his pants when Squirrelly pulled down her top to flash raggy tits.
Melvin almost drove off the road, his orgasm was so intense.
"Ah-ah...aaaaaaaaaaaaah..."
Squirrelly could feel some penetrating dampness on her hand. She blinked, confused. "Shit, man. Did you come?"
"I-I—"
"You didn't even give me time to get it out!" she giggled.
"Oh-oh-oh. That was great..."
She pulled her top back up, shrugging. "Cool. So you're gonna give me twenty bucks, right? I really fuckin' need it, man. I mean, you must be pretty rich driving a ride like this. It would be even better if you could give me...forty!"
He was still catching his breath. He dug a $100 bill from the pocket of his Armani Bermuda shorts and gave it to her.
Eyes bloomed large as blood-shot cue balls. "Oh, man, you fuckin' ROCK!"
I wonder,
he dared,
if she would go out with me...
he dared,
if she would go out with me...
"Can I have your egg rolls too?" she inquired.
He waved a hand. "Sure. You can eat it all if you want."
She squealed with delight, bouncing in the plush seat, and then leaned over and kissed him right on the lips.
This, in a very convoluted way, and via writing that would surely be deemed as less-than-expert, communicates the very first sexual experience of Melvin Paraday's life.
(II)
Yes, upstate New York was an arctic wasteland akin to, say, Vladivostok during the winter, and a perennial black hole for taxes, but during the summer months, it really was an absolutely beautiful place. Rolling, verdant green hills, cozy old Colonial houses, and an endless blue sky. Melvin had lived there all of his life. Just because he was socially inept didn't mean he was shallow. He was actually very smart, had always excelled in school, and truly could appreciate such transcendental things as natural beauty and how it related to an evolved mankind.
Squirrelly, on the other hand, was probably not as transcendentally capable. She scratched her stubbled underarms, unconsciously sniffed her fingers, and spat out the window. She likely weighed less than a hundred pounds, yet she did indeed consume all thirty dollars' worth of carry-out Chinese food. Her exposed midriff stuck out as a tight little pot now, which rumbled.
She continued to chatter away.
"Yeah, man, a snuff house. Used to be where Big Paul V had his people make his grossest flicks."
Flicks,
Melvin thought. He'd been right.
Not tobacco,
pornography.
Dirk had mentioned that too. "Big Paul V—would that be Paul Vinchetti?"
Melvin thought. He'd been right.
Not tobacco,
pornography.
Dirk had mentioned that too. "Big Paul V—would that be Paul Vinchetti?"
"Oh fuck yeah, man. You've heard of him? Worst motherfucker to ever walk the planet. Big Paul V Junior's the son of Vinch The Eye, and when The Eye croaked, Paul took over the whole underground porn gig for the mob. And can you believe it? All the feds got him on was tax evasion and contempt of court but shit, man, they laid 20 years on him with no parole."
So it's all true. I'm renting a house that used to be mafioso...
"Paul went up to the federal supermax in Ray Brook a couple of years ago. I didn't even know anyone lived in the house. Did you
buy
that place?"
buy
that place?"
"No, I'm renting it." Melvin didn't bother saying why.
"Shit, you picked a hell of a place to rent. That's a fuckin' horror house, man. The Vinchettis used that house to make their worst snuff since all the way back in the '70s when The Eye was the toughest don on the east coast. And my sister—" She grabbed Melvin's arm as if to divulge something infamous. "She was
in
the house once."
in
the house once."
"Your sister?"
"Yeah, her name was
Spooky.
"
Spooky.
"
Melvin's brow rose. "Was? You mean—"
"Well, she disappeared a long time ago. Used to be a model in New York but she got methed out and then Vinchetti put her on the street. Thank God I never got near his people, huh? After she got too beat to turn tricks, they used her for scat flicks and she actually made one in that hell-house you're renting—"
"Scat...flicks?"
She didn't hear him. "—and that was only a couple of years before she disappeared." Her birdlike shoulders shrugged again. "She probably OD'd or they just said fuck it and finished her off in a snuff. I heard she said something to piss Vinch off and they cut off her arms to use her in kinks."
The words that came so nonchalantly out of her mouth stunned him.
What the heck is she talking about? Cut off her arms? Kinks? And—
What the heck is she talking about? Cut off her arms? Kinks? And—
"What are
scat
flicks?"
scat
flicks?"
"Piss flicks, shit flicks, puke flicks, stuff like that. You know."
No. Melvin did not know.
He had no fucking idea.
"I-I really need to talk to you," he stammered. The road wound up, up, up through beautiful summer countryside. "About the house. What I've heard about it is—"
"Is it's fuckin'
haunted,
" she finished as if clairvoyant. "Lotta fuckin' stories about that house, man. Main reason I believe 'em is what Spooky said last time I saw her alive."
haunted,
" she finished as if clairvoyant. "Lotta fuckin' stories about that house, man. Main reason I believe 'em is what Spooky said last time I saw her alive."
Melvin seized up with excitement behind the wheel. It was nearly the same excitement as having his crotch fondled by a woman for the first time in his life. Not just for the article, but the mere fact that he was interacting with a woman—like a regular person! "What?" he close to begged. "What did Spooky say?"
"Well, nobody used the house for anything all through the '80s and most of the '90s 'cos of that. Ask any of Vinchetti's soldiers. They say that place was so fuckin' haunted sometimes they'd run out of the joint blubbering like babies, and I'm not talking wimps, man, I'm talking buttons and hitters and subs Vinch'd hired for the real sick work. These guys would chop up a judge's
baby
or cut the face off a cop's wife without thinking twice but they wouldn't go
near
that house. So they just never used the place for anything. But one day some new jobber took Spooky up there for a scat. She said she heard voices and saw chicks walking around the place right in front of them but they weren't really there. The ghosts would write shit in the windows. And they kept hearing a radio playing music and news from 1977, which makes sense 'cos that's the last time the house was actually lived in, and some guy pulled a psych-job on some of Vinch's down-and-dirtiest scat chicks. Did 'em with an ax, I think. Oh, and it turns out there was no radio anywhere in the place but they could hear it anyway. Now, sure, people bullshit and make up stories about places, but I believe this 'cos it was my sister who told me, and there ain't no way she'd lie to me about something like that. No reason."
baby
or cut the face off a cop's wife without thinking twice but they wouldn't go
near
that house. So they just never used the place for anything. But one day some new jobber took Spooky up there for a scat. She said she heard voices and saw chicks walking around the place right in front of them but they weren't really there. The ghosts would write shit in the windows. And they kept hearing a radio playing music and news from 1977, which makes sense 'cos that's the last time the house was actually lived in, and some guy pulled a psych-job on some of Vinch's down-and-dirtiest scat chicks. Did 'em with an ax, I think. Oh, and it turns out there was no radio anywhere in the place but they could hear it anyway. Now, sure, people bullshit and make up stories about places, but I believe this 'cos it was my sister who told me, and there ain't no way she'd lie to me about something like that. No reason."
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