Hell Lust

Thick storm clouds rolled across the sky like large tanks bringing with them a blanket of darkness. Daniel Wyatt sat on the slanted porch of the small white house he and his mother shared. He took long, slow drags of a crudely rolled joint as he watched a large moving van crawl down the street. The van stopped in front of the old brick house adjacent to his. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, watching with great interest as the Parker family piled out of the front. Mother, Father, and much to Daniel’s excitement a daughter, one considerably younger which is the way he needed them. Millie Parker was sixteen, tall and heavy with a face covered in acne, she was not beautiful by any conventional standards of beauty, but there was something special about her. His eyes narrowed as he studied her body, from the bottom of her large feet, to her thick thighs, to her broad shoulders, he licked his lips with desire. Light drops of rain began to fall, the first shots of the oncoming storm. Mrs. Parker called her daughter to the house in fear of her getting wet. A slight sadness overtook Daniel as Millie slowly vanished into the two story brick home. He took one last drag before the sky opened its flood gates, a heavy rain dropped to the earth and he sat allowing himself to be drenched.

The dark day turned to dark night. Millie took a corner room on the second floor. She sat beneath the window listening to the song of the rain while scribbling a poem down in her tattered notebook. Sounds of her parents in the next room seeped through the walls, the sounds of abusive sex, her bedtime lullaby. Not ready to fall asleep she folded her notebook under her arm and fished half a pack of stolen cigarettes out of the bottom of her bag. She stepped out onto the front porch, the rain beating down on her head. She struggled with a feeble match in the cold, dark night.
“Need a light?” The voice was soft and jagged like tiny shards of glass wrapped in silk. Millie looked up from the soaked matchbook in her hand, the cigarette between her thin lips sagging with water weight. Daniel reached out a scrawny arm the size of a noodle, he flicked a zippo. Millie cupped her hands around the flame lighting up.
“Thanks,” smoke exited her mouth along with her words.
“No problem,” he stood tall and lanky in the rain, his thin black hair matted down on his odd shaped skull, “I’m Daniel.”
“I’m Millie,” her voice was quite firm, manly almost, she extended a chubby hand.
He kissed her hand and mouthed her name. Her face turned bright red.
“How old are you?” He let his hand slowly slip out of hers.
“Sixteen.”
“Do you have a boyfriend?” He smiled hoping for the answer he sought after. She giggled slightly and turned her head to the side, just as she’d seen girls do in romantic films, “no,” she ashed on the porch.
Without warning Daniel lunged forward locking his lips with hers in a sloppy, wet kiss. Her body tensed up at first but she quickly relaxed allowing him to slide his tongue inside her mouth.
“What the fuck is going on out here!” Mr. Parker’s voice bellowed out loud enough to wake the dead; he grabbed his daughter’s brittle brown hair and yanked her back. He stepped on the porch naked and sweaty, fury burned in his eyes; he swiftly delivered a strong back hand to Daniel sending him to the ground hard.
“Stay the fuck away from my daughter!”
Daniel slowly crawled away on his hands and knees like a scolded dog. Across the front lawn, into the street, onto his porch and into his house. Mr. Parker turned to Millie; he grabbed her hair with one hand and his half erect penis with the other.
“You’ll have to be punished.” He kicked the front door closed leaving nothing but a half smoked cigarette forgotten in the rain.

As the night gave way to morning Millie pulled her bruised and naked body under her pink princess sheets, ‘All little girls should have pink sheets,’ her father would say. She buried her face in the pink pillow crying silently to herself, after a little while she passed out, and the day slowly moved along without her. Mr. Parker unpacked the rest of their belongings from the van, while Mrs. Parker read the instructions on a pop-tart box. By the time Millie rejoined the waking world the night had returned bringing with it a cold wind that screamed through the trees. Still soar she rolled out of bed, she made her way to the dresser with pain-filled steps. She slipped into the long pink night shirt her father made her wear; if he ever caught her in anything else it would be the whip again. She grabbed a cigarette from her secret pack, opened her window, lit up, and stuck half her body outside. Her room was at the back of the house with a full view of a dead forest. A faint light hovered in and out of the rotted bark. The light moved closer, and closer, and then it washed over Millie’s face like a spotlight. She squinted while using her hand as a visor.
“Millie…” A whisper climbed up the side of the house.
“Daniel?” Smoke exited her mouth as a smile crawled across her black and blue face.
“Hey Millie come outside I got something to show ya.” The light turned away from her face and disappeared around the side of the house. Confused and nervous she bounced from one foot to the other trying to figure out what to do. After several minutes she tossed the cigarette out the window and quietly crept downstairs.

Daniel stood at the edge of the lawn, the flashlight in one hand, and a small cage in the other. She closed the door gently and tip toed across the grass much like a cartoon fox entering a hen-house.
“Hi, Millie.” The little bit of light from the streetlamp illuminated only half his glazed over face.
“Daniel I…” The rest of her sentence was spoken into his mouth; he locked his lips with her once again, again catching her off guard.
“Come with me,” he broke the kiss by walking backwards into the street, “I want to show you something.”

Millie followed, followed him around the side of his small white house, followed him to three cement steps, followed him to a wooden cellar door. He pushed the door open with his shoulder revealing a room packed with darkness. He clicked the flashlight on; the floor was stained in several different fluids. The whole roomed smelled of some strange combination of many odors. Millie didn’t even notice that she had already made her way into the center of the room, the light of the flashlight was gone and somewhere in the darkness Daniel clattered away. Finally a small light bulb burst to life like an exploding sun giving visibility to the tiny room. The walls were decorated with stretched out human faces long since removed from their homes, dead rats hung by their tails from the ceiling, half burnt candles formed a circle around a large spot of blood and piss stained floor. Daniel stood in front of a small wooden table directly across the circle of candles; he stared at Millie with his blood shot eyes, his breathing rabid and heavy.

“So what do you think?” He slowly began making his way around the circle.
“Wha…What is this?” She was frozen in place, fear weighting her to the spot.
“It is my church.” He grabbed her arm tightly.
“What kind of church…?”
"He hurts you doesn’t he…”
Before she could answer Daniel swept her off her feet, he lowered her to the cold dirty floor, “I won’t hurt you.”
Her body trembled with fear and excitement as his skeleton like hand moved up her leg, and under her night shirt.
“What…what are you doing?” Her voice was empty, void of emotion.
He didn’t answer; he just kept moving his hand like a spider up her leg towards her crotch.
Millie opened her mouth to protest but instead moaned in pleasure. He spread her vagina lips with his fingers carefully.
“Are you a virgin, has you dad ever fucked you?"
“No, daddy only beats me; I’ve never been with a boy before.”
“I want to be your first.”

He massaged her, getting her ready for his throbbing penis. He placed her legs on his shoulders and unzipped his pants. Carefully he inserted himself inside her, joining the two of them as one. Blood shot out as her hymen popped, he moved in and out over and over, listening to her moan his name.

After five minutes he pulled out ejaculating all over her lips. He fished a small white rag from his back pocket, he bunged the rag up into a tight little ball and dabbed it against her vagina, soaking up all the blood and semen he could. Daniel rose up, his pants around his ankles, “thank you.” He stepped from his jeans leaving him in only a dirty shirt and one left soak.

“What are you doing?” Millie propped herself up on her elbows and watched him make his way back to the wooden table across the room. He pulled a bucket out from under the table, popped the lid off and dropped the rag inside. He placed the bucket in the center of the circle and slowly lit each candle.

“What’s going on?” Mille pulled herself to her feet; she made her way into the circle, she peered into the bucket, “what’s this?” Rags, hundreds of blood and semen soaked rags nearly pouring out the top. Barely acknowledging her Daniel retrieved the cage he had been carrying early from the table. He pushed Millie aside, her eyes turned wide with fear. Daniel pulled a small black cat from the cage, he took its neck in both his hands and twisted until its neck snapped, he dug his teeth deep into the small feline’s side ripping the meat from it. The cat’s blood showered out like a fountain over the bucket.

“This can’t be real,” Millie told herself over and over as she watched a horror movie unfold right before her eyes. Daniel’s voice became deep and hallow as if he were speaking from within a deep cave. He chanted three strange words over and over. He tossed the cat carcass aside in exchange for one of the candles. The flame whipped back and forth trying to free itself from the wick. As he finished chanting he dropped the candle into the bucket setting the rags ablaze, he stepped out of the circle. Millie tripped over her feet as she attempted to run for the door. Her body thudded to the floor. The bucket shook; the fire roared an unearthly sound, a long skinny arm reached up from the flames, then another arm, then a head, a small round head much like an infant’s. Soon a full, long body was born from the bucket of flaming cloth. The thing stood up only reaching four feet, its arms stretched to about six. It turned its head from Millie to Daniel while making a strange creaking sound. It rushed at Daniel but an invisible force field held it in place. Like a predator Daniel staked around the circle. Millie was so focused on the creature she didn’t notice Daniel sneak up behind her. He wrapped his hands around her neck, and pulled her into the circle. The creature screeched, drooled dripped down its face dangling off its chin. It charged her with eyes filled with hunger; it sank rows of tiny sharp teeth into her. Millie screamed as the creature ripped her apart like she was plate of beef. Daniel chuckled quietly to himself as he pulled on his penis getting it erect once more. The creature worked fast, ripping her to nothing but bone, then it passed out. Sleeping like it just ate an entire Thanksgiving turkey. Daniel re-entered the circle, his penis fully hard. He kneeled down, he slumped the creature over, its ass in the air. He spit a healthy amount of saliva into his palm and lubed himself up. Then he forced his way into the creature, thrusting hard, his eyes gleamed with pure ecstasy as he rammed hard until releasing deep into the creature’s body.

Call of the Moon

The moon hangs in the clear night sky, as if painted on a canvas of endless black. A howl climbs up from the back of my throat shouting at the moon, “hello old friend it’s me again.” The closest town is roughly twenty miles from my house but in my current state I can make it there in about thirty minutes. The moisture in the air catches on my long thick fur, its long thick fur. I can smell something not far off, maybe five miles; the old camp grounds. The teenagers go there to party, drink, smoke and screw. Oh god no. I can’t do this, not kids, but I can’t help it. It’s like living in a nightmare, I’m aware but I can’t stop, it’s driving me. Once I get a mile or so from the campgrounds I slow down, go into hunting mode. The smell of teenage hormones scented with booze and pot floats into my nostrils. I’m crouching in the brush, my ears perk, one of the kids has asthma, he’ll be the first. Always take out the slowest of the herd first. I circle around keeping low under the shrubs, my stomach growing, its stomach growling, begging me to feed it before it sleeps again.

Like a bolt of lighting I strike, one of the kids yells out “it’s a wolf!” No it’s just me Lenny Baxter, don’t be scared kids, it’s just me, a man in wolf’s clothing. My long claws take out their knees, the asthma kid first. Now I can feed at my leisure. I make quick work of all seven, ripping them apart leaving only bones and unwanted fat. Another howl rises up from deep within, “goodbye old friend, I’ll see you soon.”

In the morning my head pounds with the force of thirty hangovers. My mouth is filled with the horrible aftertaste one can only get by devouring a group of drunk and stoned teenagers. Images from last night play in my head like a montage from a grizzly horror film. Tears begin to fill my eyes, and I cry just like I always do. Why me? I glace over at my bedside table, looking at the dirty old revolver through tear-filled eyes. The old revolver with one silver bullet sleeping snuggly in one chamber, my way out…If I wasn’t such a coward. I roll out of bed; my knees wobble under my weight, walking down the stair is like walking on broken legs. The morning news is on, they’re talking about it, that reporter with the bad dye job is standing in front of the yellow police tape, oh god. Tears are again rolling down my cheeks, the kids’ screams still ringing in my head, but in time they will fade like all the other screams have.

The aches and pains in my body stay with me for the fifteen minute drive to the Trooper’s station like an unwanted passenger. The transformation always takes a toll on my body, and I wonder if others like me feel the same pains. I wonder if there are others like me, maybe I’m all alone in this; maybe I’m just lucky like that. The station is buzzing with talk of what they’re calling a brutal animal attack, some of the guys are skeptical, these are the guys who know a thing or two about known animals, but what I am is now a known animal, I’m something of horror writers’ fevered nightmares…A monster. I pick up my car and head out, thank Christ I’m working alone today, I couldn’t deal with listen to Bobby talk about his new born, or Frank bitch about how his mother chased away another girlfriend, come on, a grown man living with his mother.

Cars shoot by at all sorts of ungodly speeds; people are in such a hurry these days. My cruiser is nestled nicely behind some brush, the radar gun on the dash monitoring everyone flying by, but why the hell should I care if some speeding idiot in a metal death machine runs into some other idiot; I have my own problems to worry about. I just need to take a nap, that’ll get my head clear.

Ten minutes, that’s how long I’ve been out, ten minutes, every little bit helps. My vision is blurred with the heaviness of sleep. Something is resting on my windshield; it looks like a flyer… Reaching out the driver side window I grab it. The paper is cheap, the ink bleeding through, it was defiantly printed up on a home computer, it’s not even really a flyer, not the way we think of windshield flyers anyway. It’s more of a note. Who put it here, and how? I’m sitting parked on a freaking strip of land barely big enough for my car with two roaring four lane highways on both sides.

“CAN HELP CALL AFTER EIGHT!!” That’s what the flyer says, the number's a cell. I fold it neatly, a perfect square with all the edges perfectly even. I get a little OCD when I’m stressed, and after last night I’m stressed. I try nodding off a few more times before my lunch break, but the flyer is burning a hole in my pocket with a fire of curiosity. My watch beeps, lunch. I edge into the speeding traffic, no one honks, no one ever honks at troopers. I exceed the speed limit, I’m allowed, one of the many perks of the badge, just like the free vegetarian lunch I’m about to have. After the moon I can only eat vegetarian for about a week, the sight of meat hurts. Literally hurts, like causes a pain deep within my stomach.
“TRACIE’S” is this great little hippy diner run by a half dead baby boomer. It’s the best damn tofu burger in the world, or at least the best one I’ve ever had. A rusty VW van is the only other car in the lot; it’s the only car ever in the lot. It broke down about two years back, the guy who owned it ended up working at “TRACIE’S” in exchange for two meals a day, not a bad guy.

I take a seat at the counter; the lingering smell of pot fills my nostrils burning them ever slightly. It usually takes about a day for the heighten senses of my other-self to fade. I get my tofu burger with a side of carrot sticks, and then have seconds, Tracie never charges me but I always leave a hefty tip. I spent the rest of the day dozing off at my designated posts, the whole day the flyer screaming at me from deep within my lint infested pocket. I clock out and go home. There’s no more news about last night, not on the TV anyway, but in my mind the grizzly scene plays over and over, again and again. After a few beers my eyes are blurred, the clock next to me reads 8:32. I unfold the flyer carefully, perfect lines running up and down the paper, right to left. I dial. There’s breathing on the other end, but no one speaks, not until I do.
“Hello?”
“Lenny?”
“How do you know my name?” My words slur with confusion and drunkenness.
“We’re friends Lenny, we can help. We know what you are.”
My heart skips a beat, I try to say something, but I got no words.
“Meet us at Holy Salvation in fifteen.” There’s a click and then dead air.

Normally I’d never drive drunk, thankfully the church is only five minutes from my place. I think I hit a rabbit on my way there but I don’t care. The church is nearly rubble, it hasn’t been used in over twelve years but the Christian groups refuse to let the state tear it down. The back end of a pick-up peaks out from behind the building so I pull around back. The back is filled with ten cars parked in all sorts of strange angles. I make eleven, making sure to park on a strange angle just like the rest. A cellar door lies open, I stagger over to it. The light inside is faint, as if it were coming from candles or nearly dead flashlight bulbs. Wooden steps creek as I descend to god knows what. My throat tightens, alcohol is attempting to force its way back up, the smell of mold in the cellar isn’t helping much either. I was wrong, camping lanterns with nearly dead bulbs, damn I was so close. Eleven people stand-up from eleven chairs placed in a perfect circle. They smile and nod as I walk past making my way to the center of the room. A large dark skinned man meets me half way. His teeth stained with nicotine forming a smile from ear to ear on his chubby little face. He holds out a hand.
“Lenny Baxter, so good to meet you in person. I’m John, we spoke on the phone.”
He calls that speaking?

I burp, he motions for me to have a seat, everybody sits but John.
“First let me say that it’s nice to see you all here again.” Everybody smiles and nods in agreement as their eyes dart from each person in the room.
“Second I’d like to welcome a new member to our group. Mr. Lenny Baxter.” John starts clapping and everybody follows. I must look like an idiot, I’m sure my confusion is plastered all over my face, I’d probably look more appropriate in a dunce cap right about now instead of this old ratty cowboy hat. I half stand and give a half wave, what the hell is this?
“Lenny I’m sure you’re wondering what this is all about,” is he reading my mind, I hope not.
“We’re a sort of support group… For peoples like yourself… for people cursed with the wolf.” He sounds so damn serious, almost like one of those cheap old horror flicks. A pretty young girl next to me turns; her smile almost like beaming rays of sunshine.
“I’ve been cursed for fifteen years this May. I haven’t killed in seven months.” Her voice is perky, the voice of a woman trapped in a childlike mind set.
“We’re all cursed here,” a heavyset man across the room says, the dim light shining off his bald head, he looks like a polished frog, I think I busted him a few months back in a whore house raid. In fact everyone here looks familiar somehow.
“Lenny we want you to understand what happened to you is not your fault. It’s none of our faults.” John’s voice sounds somehow sinister but I’m probably just being paranoid, I get like this when I’m drunk. John says I don’t have to speak if I don’t want to; he understands I’m still a little skeptical, he says a lot of them were their first time, he just says to listen, and I do. I listen for over an hour to everyone else, everyone talking about their urges, about what the full moon does to them, about how they chain themselves in locked rooms, how they refuse to give in to the beast.

John looks at his watch and claps his hands together once, “well folks same time next week.” Everyone stands and shakes hands, they make fast chit chat before grabbing their coats. I’m on my way out when I feel a hand on my shoulder, it’s John.
“So what do you think Lenny?” The same smile from when I first came in. I don’t answer.
“A little weird isn’t it, knowing you’re not the only one.” He chuckles, “When I first found another like me, I was so happy. This group has saved so many lives and now with you a part we’ll save so many more.” I still don’t trust him and my buzz is pretty much all gone. I grab my coat and head for the door. Something about the group doesn’t sit right with me, the whole drive home I’m trying to put my finger on it, but I’m drawing a blank. No worries, I’m not going back, so I don’t have to see them again. I could end it all tonight, why spend a life fighting an urge that you can’t control, the simplest solution is usually the right one, and the simplest one is a silver bullet through my brain, but I don’t have the balls to do that. No, I’m just going to go to bed.

It’s going to rain today, the clouds are thick and full, I hate the rain, and I hate having to work in it. The normal bad drivers become ten times worse on the wet, slippery roads. Not like a crash will do anything to me, except hurt like a bitch. I used up all my sick days so it looks like I’m stuck out there with the animals. The rain starts ten minutes after I get on the road, of course it does. It’s coming down really hard to, I can barely see out of the windshield. There are no other cars out here, I’m two miles from my place and there is someone sitting on the side of the road, the rain soaking them. I should really pull over, what the hell; I’ll be a nice guy. Damn it’s really coming down. I step out holding my hand over my head as if that will do anything against this ungodly rain.
“Everything okay?” I scream even though they are only three feet away, it’s a woman.
“My tire blew out I think.” I can’t see her face, but her voice is familiar. I move in to get a closer look but something whacks me on my head and I’m out.

When I wake I’m someplace dark, no wait, there’s a bag over my head. I hear voices talking about me, the bag comes off and I’m tied to a chair. My eyes adjust to the dim light and I recognize everyone around me. The support group from last night. John sticks his chubby face inches from mine, I can smell the tobacco on his breath.
“Hello Lenny,”
“I’m a state trooper,” I say.
“No, you’re a murder, and a disease.” John’s voice is cold.
It’s all coming back to me, where I’ve seen these people from, all but one of them, I can’t place John, but he’s growing more and more familiar, I know I’ve stared into his could blue eyes before. Everyone else I can place now, their faces on a TV scream, families of my meals, some of them are the meals, ghost of nightmares I’ve had, people who survived me, people cursed by dear old Lenny Baxter.
“Do you remember us Lenny, what you did to us.” John brings the young girl close, the girl who sat next to me last night, the girl who baited me on the road, the girl whose boyfriend I ripped apart before tearing into her leg. I never thought much about the survivors.
“It was her boyfriend’s birthday, you killed everyone there, but she made it, five months in the hospital but here she is.” John pushes her into the background, he motions for the bald toad, “remember him, he walked in just as you were finishing off his eight year old daughter.”
These people all victims of my actions. It doesn’t take a genius to know what’s coming.
“If we kill you, it breaks the curse,” John waves a gun in my face, “and I think it will bring some of these people closure knowing the killer of their families got what he deserved.

“What did I do to you?” I’m surprised I asked that, but I need to know, I’ve matched up all the other faces with my crimes, either from my living nightmares or the TV, the reporters asking how they felt about what happened to their families.
“You cursed me,” he says, those eyes, those stone cold eyes, this man was not my dinner, but then who? John pushes the barrel to my head and turns to the group watching, “are you all sure about this?” Everyone mutters in agreement, they want me dead, they want justice, they want freedom. The barrel digs into my forehead; my eyes shut tight, his finger gently pulling back the trigger, and it hits me, seconds before the bullet does, it hits me. I know where I’ve seen him before, he wasn’t my dinner, I was his. He cursed me, those blue eyes staring me down as he ripped into my arm right before I gave him a shot gun blast, those eyes staring me down as he cursed me, the same eyes staring me down as he shoots me, and he mouths I don’t like to leave loose ends.

The Grave Lovers

This summary is not available. Please click here to view the post.

Brain-Wrapped

The truth wrapped in a blanket of stale popcorn, and flat soda, sticky floors, and over priced tickets. We call it Brain-Wrapped, it’s one of many inside jokes among theater workers. Another inside joke is that if you sat in the lobby and watched the goings on of the employees you’d get a better show for your ten bucks. Here’s that better show. I started working at the Megan when I was seventeen, just to put some cash in my pocket. I was the envy of half the school, for some reason in my town The Megan was considered the “Hip” place to work; to me it was just a job. The first thing I was told by Joel, the general manager was that I was a whore; people pay me to be nice to them for two hours. All part of the movie magic he said, he told me a lot of things, and I listened to them. Joel had worked at the Megan for thirty years, started there when he was my age, and worked his way up. It was somewhat of an honor when he took me under his wing, or at least that’s what my co-workers said, still it was just a job to me. But being under his wing had its advantages, better pay, more hours, longer breaks so we could sit in his office and shoot the shit. By the end of my first week I was a closing usher, which was great, just me and the projectionist, and of course the last few movie goers. By the end of my first closing week me and a projectionist named Jacob had struck up a pretty good friendship. We both shared a love for horror films, sometimes we’d stay late and bullshit about all the horror movies we’d seen. Another thing we had in common was a love for spreading mischief. There was an old ghost story that most, if not all the employees believed, which was in part thanks to Jacob. He had taken up the hobby of making sure everyone knew the story and doing his best to back it up. He’d move stuff around behind the snack bar, or flicker the lights on and off during shifts. He was damn good at keeping his hands clean with it too, and he taught me. We made a great team, we had the whole staff scared shitless, it got to a point where no one wanted a closing shift, we even got a few people to quit. It was a lot of fun, but we were always looking for a new project, whether it was messing up the snack bar’s inventory, or loosening the bolts in the theater seats. Our biggest project and perhaps the most dangerous one was the “board.”

It was the board that started everything. Outside each theater there was an indented part of the wall that held a rollout trashcan. One night after all the shows had let out I was sweeping up theater twelve, the oldest theater in the building. I emptied my dustpan in the trash but it caught and the can tipped. I tried to pick it up but the bastard’s wheel was caught on the carpet. I got frustrated and my temper got the best of me. I pulled the trashcan with the strength that comes from anger. As the trashcan went flying the few feet across the hall it took a small chunk of carpet with it. Then where there once was carpet was a small square of naked wood. I stared at it with mild curiosity; it just seemed out of place since the rest of the floor was carpeted concrete. I walked over and tapped it with the heel of my boot creating a hollow echo. I smiled with the excitement of a new project, but I knew it was going to have to wait. I covered it up again with the ripped carpet, put the trashcan back, and left.

The next night I sat through my shift with growing anticipation. Every time I went near theater twelve, I could hear the wood calling me, begging to be broken open. It was cold that night, not a freezing cold, more of a stinging cold. Once everyone was gone I rushed up the stairs to the projection booth to find Jacob. He was sitting at the projection desk writing obesities on the desk calendar.
“I have something to show you,” I said with a smile stretching ear to ear across my face.
“Oh yeah?” he responded with raised eyebrows.
“Come on.”

We went down to theater twelve where I slowly moved the trashcan away. He stood looking over my shoulder with peaked interest; I pulled the carpet away to reveal the exposed wood. I balled my hand into a fist and knocked three times, the hollow echo called back.
“Holy shit,” he crouched down beside me and ran a hand over it, “we need to break this open.” He got up and quickly ran off down the hall,
“Where are you going!?” I called out but he was too far gone to hear me. Five minutes later he returned with a screwdriver and crowbar.
“We have to get this thing open.” He looked the wood over finding the spots with screws. As Jacob slid the screwdriver into the first screw the lights shut off, a howling noise drifted down the long hallway, as if someone were crying out in pain. This went on for a minute or so and then stopped, the lights came back on.
“Is everyone gone?” Jacob asked with a suspicious look.
“Yeah,” I responded with the same look of suspicion.

He slowly slid the screwdriver back into the grooves of the screw, we waited a second, nothing. He began unscrewing, the screw twirled out like a ballerina, he dropped it into the palm of my hand.
“Hold that.” He ran his hand over the wood seeking out the next screw. He turned to me with a strange look,
“Feel this,” he said motioning towards the board.

I placed my hand next to his; a vibration pulsed through the board as if pressure were building up under it. Our curiosity about what the board hid was growing. Jacob grabbed the crowbar,
“I’m going to just pry it open.” He pushed the crowbar under it but before he could do anything a loud bang had us both jumping out of our skins. We turned around to see that the door to theater twelve had slammed shut, “It probably just came loose or something,” he said trying to dismiss it as nothing.
“No, that door doesn’t close that fast.” I went to the door to prove my point, but it was stuck, I pulled with all my strength but it wouldn’t budge. A faint light flicked from inside the dark theater,

“Did you leave a projector on?” I turned and asked.
“Stop screwing around,” he replied, he was already repositioning the crowbar under the board.
“I’m not screwing around.” I told him, he looked at me trying to read my face for a tell of some sort, trying to see if I was joking. He joined me at the door, his face pressed against the small glass window, he grabbed the handle and pulled, still the door refused to open. He turned and started off down the hall,
“Where are you going now?” I asked.
“To check the projector,” he responded.
I started after him; I’m not ashamed to admit I wasn’t keen on the idea of being left alone. We were halfway to the lobby when a loud screamed pierced the air, we turned, the door the theater twelve was open once again. Jacob looked at me with a seriousness I never thought him capable of, “tell me straight up, are you behind this?” I simply shook my head, I couldn’t speak. My whole body trembled with fear, like a dead leaf in the wind. We stood there for a little more than a minute silently debating to ourselves whether or not to go check it out. I guess curiosity won out in the end, which was a very stupid thing, after all curiosity killed the cat.

Have you ever been so scared that you pissed yourself? I have, only once, standing in the back of theater twelve staring at the big screen. There was no light coming from the projector window, no hum of the machinery, only the imagines on the screen, and the muffled sound it was admitting. A teenage boy was crying on the screen, an old man fondled the boy gently. The scene changed, now the screen was splashed with flashes of red accompanied by a grinding sound. Behind the flashes of red, the boy much older now waved a gun around; there was screaming, then a gunshot, then a split second image of our board, and then nothing. I could feel the urine still running down my leg as we stood there in the quiet dark. After several minutes of standing there catching my breath, straighten my thoughts, I went out into the hall. I locked my eyes on the wood, Jacob stepped beside me.
“What the hell was that?” Jacob’s voice was low and flat filled with fear.
“I don’t know, but... I’m going home,” I placed the carpet back over the board and returned the trashcan to its proper place, then without another word I left.

I called out the next two days, I even almost quit, but when I called the theater on the third night Joel practically begged me to come in. He wasn’t mad at me for calling out, which was quite the surprise, especially since I’d seen Joel fire a guy for being three minutes late. Perks of being the boss’s favorite I guess. He offered me double to come in and reluctantly I said yes. That night the whole place smelled rotten, like something had died in the walls, nobody else seemed to smell it. As the night went on, the smell grew stronger, complaints began coming from people in theater twelve, it got so bad people started walking out. I told Joel and he had me and another usher go in with a can of air freshener, no one expected it to do anything but it was the only thing anyone could think of. Walking back into that theater I nearly pissed myself all over again, I was terrified of what might happen. The other usher, Andrew nearly vomited the minute we stepped foot inside. I began spraying but whatever the stench was it was way too powerful, in fact the more I sprayed the stronger the smell seemed to get. Andrew started to gag,
“You okay?” I asked. He was doubled over, I ran to the door and called for help, when I turned back around he was on the floor twitching, blood spilling from his mouth. His eyes rolled to the back of his head, he spit something up amidst all the blood. Another usher ran in just in time to see Andrew twitch his final twitch. The screen flickered with flashes of red, a hollow voice, as if calling from the end of a long tunneled said “Board.” We closed early; I spent the rest of the night getting grilled by the police. They let me leave about two or so. Joel was waiting for me in the police parking lot.
“Thought you could use a lift back to your car,” he gave me a smile, the smile of a drunken man.

I was hesitant getting in the car with him, what with him being drunk and all but I needed to get to my car. He swerved a little on the road but other than that he got us to the theater all right. As I thanked him and began to get out of the car he put his hand on my leg. He massaged my thigh trying to creep his hand towards my crotch. I pushed him away and slammed his door. I sat in my car for a minute before driving off around the back of the building. I waited three, maybe four minutes, and then drove back to the front. Joel’s car was gone. I went to my truck and grabbed the tire iron. I took my keys and unlocked the front door. The whole lobby was swamped in a strange mist, it was haunting. The stench had become unbearable, a shaky voice called from all directions. Despite it all I pressed on, I hit the breakers for the hall and made my way slowly to theater twelve. Carefully I removed the trashcan, then the carpet. I took a deep breath, and then I brought the tire iron down splintering the wood slightly. A red liquid, blood, bubbled up from the crack. Again I brought the tire-iron down and again blood bubbled up. Again, and again, with each blow more blood spit up. Spit up into my face like I was bashing a human skull. As the wood shipped away the blood seeped back into the hole that now replaced the board. There was blackness inside, with my cell phone I stretched my arm into the hole trying to gain some light. There was something in there, but I couldn’t make it out, it was still too dark. Then something grabbed my arm, pulling me down as it pulled up. I struggled and broke free stumbling back.
Rotten flesh, covered in blood, a corpse crawled from the hole. I know it sounds insane, but I watched it crawl up, dragging itself across the hall.
“Come here little boy, come…here…” The corpse spoke in a fragile voice.
“Let me…let me feel…you…” Its hand wrapped around my ankle, it kept crawling closer and closer. I swung the tire-iron bringing it down on the skull. It shattered like a glass on a hard floor, thick globs of blood spilled out, maggots swam through it. I freaked out, screaming, cursing. I jumped to my feet and ran, ran right into something, right into Joel. He tried to help me to my feet but I shoved him away, threaten him with the tire-iron. He urged me to calm down; he swayed as he stood. A bottle of vodka in one of his hands, “Please, please…” His words were slurred which was no surprise. I stared at him, I stood ready to attack, he just wobbled in place. “I touched them, he touched me…” He began to cry hysterically, he slides to the ground with his back to the wall.
“I killed him.”
“Killed who?” I asked as I moved by him trying to get a clear run to the door.
“The man in the hole, he touched me, I killed him.” He banged his head against the wall, and then he let it all out.
“He was the manager when I started here; he touched me…A lot. Touched me for years, and then I killed him.” He took a long sip of his vodka, in fact he finished it off in that long sip. “Then I started touching boys, for years I touched them.” Between the alcohol and the hysterical crying he was having trouble speaking.
“Put me in the hole, put me with him… So many boys…”
That was the last thing he said before smashing the bottle and digging the jagged end into his throat. It wasn’t a pretty sight, blood poured out like a fountain.
The sun was coming up as I screwed a fresh board over the hole. Later that day I was called in by the owner. He told me Joel spoke highly of me and one day I’d take his place. I quit right then and there. I worked many other jobs, but never again at a theater. Still, every time I see one I wonder what the popcorn and soda, what the sticky floors and over priced tickets are hiding. I wonder how bad the
Brain-Wrap is.