The severed witch head once again weighed in on the situation, "Shemp, shemp, shemp, kaboombambie!"
"Well, you guys do whatever you want, I'm gonna make some popcorn. I'm hungry," Lisa said, kicking the witches head and walking into the kitchen.
"I'll go get everyone," Nina said and walked out of the house.
"Nelly, nelly, shoom boom belly!" the witch's head replied.
"Does this remind anyone of the Evil Dead movies?" Aaron asked.
"No, it's totally different," Mattman said, disgusted with the situation.
"I'll get a sledgehammer and beat this fucking head into the ground out back," Willy said. "Maybe Jenn can help me with this." He walked into the Chapel.
Aaron kicked Chris in the side. Chris groaned and looked up. "What happened?"
"You fucking smoked from that damned Neverending Bowl bong for an hour straight. And Brian got killed downstairs. C'mon, you gotta help me drag his body out of the basement. Oh yeah--watch out for the witch's head."
The witch's head, which had been quiet since being threatened with a sledgehammer, spit on Chris' leg.
Willy walked back out of the Chapel door. "Why do I have to find all the dead people?"
"Huh?" Aaron asked.
"Jenn is dead. She's all dried up from smoking on that stupid Neverending Bowl bong. It's pretty sick. I don't think you want to see it."
Everyone ran into the Chapel. Jenn was still straddling the bong. Her mouth was stuck around the head of the bong, one hand on the carb, the other holding a lighter. Her face was pulled and shrunken in, as was the rest of her skin and body. It looked as though all of the water had been sucked from her body.
"I wonder what that bongwater tastes like," Chris said. He then reached over and touched Jenn on the head. Her entire body disintegrated and turned to ash, collapsing in a gray powder ring around the bong. The lighter fell into the ash, and everyone jumped back and sneezed. Some of the Jenn ash blew against the stained glass window.
"What the hell is going on?" Mattman said, exasperatingly.
"I think there's something fucked up about this house," Aaron said.
"Well, whatever it is, I'm sure we can fix it," Mattman said and then walked out of the room.
Everyone stayed quiet for a moment and then Willy spoke up, "Did he just say we can fix this, like it's a broken VCR or something?"
"Yep," Chris and Aaron said at the same time.
A black spider, about the size of a penny, crawled out of the head of the Neverending Bowl bong, which was growing more and more tarnished as the minutes ticked by.
art by GAK
Nina arrived with Dan, Dave and Lenexa an hour later. Aaron updated them on the status of their friends--dead and alive. They were all sitting on the hardwood floors of the living room, as Aaron believed it to be the best place for a gathering. Nina grumbled, arguing the west side living room was where all the evil was, but listened nevertheless.
"I called Zep, but he wasn't there. I left a message to come by when he gets his head out of his butt," Lisa said.
"Hey, you wanna bet on who dies next?" Lenexa asked to the group.
"You mean like an office pool?"
"Yeah, like March Madness," said Aaron.
"Everyone pitch ten bucks in and I'll set up a quick grid," Nina said, pulling out a yellow pad and drawing lines.
"I want Dave," said Dan.
"I'm taking Willy," countered Dave. Groans arose from the walls when Dave said this. "I think I got a winner," Dave added.
"I'm taking Aaron," Lisa said.
"No way they're killing an editor that soon," said Nina who put down Dan.
"It would be stupid to bet on myself, wouldn't it?" Lenexa asked.
"You'll never collect," said Dan.
"Then I guess I'll take Chris. He almost died from the bong anyway."
Everyone else signed into their boxes.
"Hey, can I bring my Post-Tonal theory video game in?" Dave asked. "I've got it out in my truck."
Aaron nodded and began the meeting.
"Okay, we've got the betting out of the way," Aaron began. "So, let's get down to business. Willy is in the back dismantling the witch. Mattman is out buying new paint and beer for later. Are there any suggestions to disarm the evil that seems to be prevalent in this house?"
"Um, why did you ask us to come here if people are dying?" Dan asked.
"I'm sure might makes right still works against the dead. If we get everyone here, we can drive this evil right out of our house," Aaron said. "Besides, the house is free. There's no way I'm abandoning a free house." Everyone mumbled in agreement with Aaron's last statement. Free houses were hard to come by in the world, and the staff of Lies certainly weren't going to turn down such good fortune.
"There's got to be a way to get rid of this evil," Aaron said, looking at the walls of the house for some kind of sign.
"Ouiji board?" Lisa suggested.
"Too cliche," responded Dan, who had found a comfortable place to lie down on the floor.
"Maybe we can sacrifice something--or someone," Lenexa said.
"Um, we've already lost two people," Aaron said. "I think that's enough of a sacrifice."
Lenexa looked sheepishly into the corner.
"I say we just pretend the evil doesn't exist," Dan said from his spot on the floor.
Everyone stared at Dan silently for a few seconds. Aaron broke the silence by hissing sarcastically, "Yeah, that'll work."
"Maybe if we said some Bible verses, we could drive the evil away with our faith," Nina chirped.
"Who has a Bible?" Aaron asked.
"Don't you have one, Aaron?" Lisa asked with a pained look.
"Oh yeah." Aaron went over to his boxes of books which had yet to be put away. The Evil had kept him from unpacking completely.
"We're using the Bible to fight evil? Isn't that a little bit gay?" Dan asked.
"No," Nina and Dave said at the same time.
"We're in, what could be the epic struggle between good and evil, and we're looking for books," Lisa said, not amused.
"Good and evil?" Dan said, surprised. "Jesus!"
"Hey Dave," Lenexa said as Aaron rummaged through the boxes of books. "Do you still pray to God?"
"You bet your ass I pray to God," Dave said emphatically. "I want to go to Heaven, y'know."
"Here it is." Aaron said, holding up a large book. "Are there any verses you guys are fond of?"
Everyone shrugged their shoulders.
"Oh come on. This thing is full of good lines, can't anyone think of anything?"
"What about that John 3:16 one?" Dan asked.
Aaron flipped the pages. "For God so loved the world that he have his only Son, so that everyone who believes in him may not perish but have eternal life."
"Lot of good that will do us." Dan said with a sigh. "I'm a little more concerned with the evil trying to take my earthly life. Pick another one."
"Any other ideas?" Aaron asked, ever the diplomat.
"Just pick one." Lisa said. "I don't think it matters."
Aaron randomly flipped through the pages, stuck his finger down on a verse, and began to read. "The descendants of Asher by their families: of Imnah, the clan of Imnites; of Ishvi, the clan of Ishvites; of Beriah, the clan of the Berites--"
"Pick another one," Lisa said, cutting him off.
Aaron scowled at Lisa and flipped through again. "Then I desired to know the fourth beast, which was different from all the rest, exceedingly terrifying, with its teeth of iron and claws of bronze--"
A rumble began from somewhere outside the room and became increasingly louder with each second. The closer the sound came, the more it sounded like a growl. All eyes stared at the door by the far wall as the noise centralized itself there.
"What was that verse from?" Dave asked.
Aaron looked at the pages. "Daniel."
"Oh shit."
The door burst open and four huge, mangy beasts bared their teeth, dripping acid slobber onto the floor. The staff ran behind their Damn Nice Editor hoping they somehow would be saved.
"What are they?" Nina screamed.
"Hounds of Hell," Aaron yelled back. "At least I think that's what they are."
The beasts saw Aaron with the Bible and slowly began to circle him.
"Looks like I win the pool," Lisa said, smiling as she backed away from Aaron.
"What? Did you sleep with the writer?" Lenexa asked, following Lisa out of the room.
"Hey Dan, you gonna pretend this isn't real?" Lisa taunted, as Dan scrambled from the floor and into the kitchen. Everyone else realized the agitated dogs were focusing on the Damn Nice Editor and deserted the front room.
Aaron opened the Bible again--this time to one of his favorite passages--and began to read, "How graceful are your feet in sandals, O queenly maiden! Your rounded thighs are like jewels, the work of a master hand. Your navel is a rounded bowl that never lacks mixed wine."
A beast ripped into Aaron's right leg tearing it off with one bite. Another beast tore at his left arm leaving it in shreds, but Aaron continued to read.
"Your belly is a heap of wheat, encircled with lilies. Your breasts are like two fawns, twins of a gazelle."
The two largest dogs took their turns biting and clawing at the editor, who's body was rapidly becoming disassembled. They shredded Aaron's lower body into strands of dangling flesh.
As his intestines begin to fall on the ground like ripe sausages, Aaron skipped a few verses and continued reading: "Your head crowns you like Caramel, and your flowing locks are purple; a king is held captive in the tresses."
With that, the largest beast swiped at Aaron's face, tearing his mouth, nose and cheeks away from his head. The young editor fell, silent except for the bubbling of blood from the back of his throat. Each beast took turns splitting and severing the body in an unholy manor. When the hounds sniffed he was dead, they bolted out the door from whence they came--and the Damn Nice Editor was no more.
Mattman, who heard rumbling, but had not seen anything out of the ordinary as he drove up to the house, entered through the back kitchen door with two gallons of paint and a case of Dos Equis and walked into the living room.
The cheerful shout of "I got beer!" was out of his mouth before he saw his brother lying dead in a pile of body parts and blood.
"Shit," he said flatly. "I'm gonna have to call Mom and Dad."
art by GAK
It was the second night after acquiring the house and much of the Lies staff was already dead. Earlier, while he was walking up the front steps, T.C. Alucard stepped on a loose board which collapsed under his weight and broke into three pieces--one of which logged into his chest and heart, killing him instantly. Willy, who had taken on the duty of remodeling the greenhouse into a funeral home for his dead comrades, was busy with T.C.'s body.
Dave, who had moved his Post-Tonal video game inside despite the killings, was trying to top his high score. The Post-Tonal game is very confusing for non-musicians. It has something to do with writing music and fighting the forces of evil who want to make crappy pop music. Dave pushed the five buttons in various rhythms, pulling on the joystick every once in a while for effect. Mattman was watching at his side, being supportive.
"You have to get used to playing to an entire room full of people who don't know or care about you. You gotta start playing for you--because you know it's the right thing to do. Now play that Post-Tonal, Dave, play it!"
After a few minutes, however, Mattman decided he needed a beer and went into the kitchen in search of refreshment.
"Yes!" Dave yelled, and then suddenly his body was digitally rendered on the video game's screen and his Earthly body was instantly pulled into the game. Dave, however, did not notice the change and continued playing.
Mattman walked back into the living room and saw that Dave had abandoned his practice and left the video game running. "Hey Dave," Mattman shouted. "You gotta pull the plug after you're finished playing. This thing just sucks electricity." With that, Mattman pulled the plug and walked out of the room in search of something to do.
A small army of spiders, about the size of a human hand, began to crawl over and around the Post-Tonal video game. They fanned out across the living room floor and headed for the heating vents.
***
Chris Jungle, Lisa Black, Lenexa and Dan sat in the Chapel claiming if anything else weird happened they would run upstairs to the bedrooms--no one had been killed on the second floor. During a debate (which was often interrupted to stomp on the vast numbers of spiders that had taken up residence in the chapel) about the fundamental differences between artists, musicians, and writers, a knock came on the stained glass window. None of them got up to answer, and the window shimmered brightly for about thirty seconds. Soon after, a huge man wearing rugged outdoor hiking apparel and sporting four large guns took two steps through the window (which remained intact) and gave the group a wide, bully smile.
"Earth," the newcomer said bitterly. "I hate coming to Earth."
"Everybody leave the room," Chris said with a dejected calmness.
"What? Why? Who is this guy, Chris?" Lisa interjected.
"Just a man from my past. You guys need to leave. He's only here for me."
Dan, Lisa and Lenexa got up and shuffled to the kitchen, leaving Chris alone with the massive man.
"Timothy Orsen. How long's it been?" Chris said without looking at the newcomer.
"Twenty years, Chris. Twenty years."
"Last I heard, you were fighting Gor for the right to rule the world."
Timothy shrugged his shoulders. "That's the last anyone ever heard of me. Nobody's written any stories about me since then. I've fought acid insects, endured torture from the Forgozian Mughots, and made love to the most beautiful Drens in the universe--but has anybody read about it? No! All because Aaron decided to give up his boyhood adventure stories."
"Well, if you're here to get even with Aaron, he's already dead. The Hounds of Hell got him."
"I heard, but since I can't kill him, you'll have to do."
"I figured. Although, I hoped you'd be over this jealousy stuff by now."
"Of course I'm not over my jealousy stuff! I'm a one dimensional bounty hunter character. How can I flesh out into something better if no one ever writes about me? And you? How come Aaron suddenly brought you back? What makes you so special?"
"I was his first imaginary friend. It's not my fault he didn't see Star Wars until after he thought of me. Y'know, you still look like a young Harrison Ford--if it makes you feel better. Look at me! I'm black! People call me names for no damn reason!"
"You think it's easy to look like Harrison Ford? People call me a poser. I'm out there fighting battles across the galaxy, and I can't get one damn story written about me. I finally get back to Earth, and it turns out you're a communist. How fair is that?"
"Columnist, not communist. Besides, Aaron gave up writing science fiction. He turned into an opinionated bastard instead."
"And where did that get him?"
"Eaten by the Hounds of Hell."
"Exactly."
"So you're gonna kill me."
"Yep. Any special way you want to go?"
"No, just make it quick. I never thought you'd turn to evil like this. I always assumed you were the bounty hunter with a heart of gold."
"What's the point of being good if no one's gonna recognize it?"
"Good point."
Timothy Orsen pulled his full-speed, laser-charged, heat-censored disrupter automatic from his side and aimed it at Chris' head. The trigger was pulled, and Chris quickly melted into a puddle of brown goo. Timothy stepped around in the pool of bubbling matter seeping into the chapel's carpet for good measure. The spiders, now the size of a human head, began to suck the brown goo. Orsen stepped on a few of the spiders that tried to climb up his leg.
"Besides," Timothy said to the puddle. "I'm not evil. I'm politically incorrect."
Timothy Orsen turned around and walked out of the haunted house of Lies through the stained glass window of the chapel--never to be written about again.
***
Scott Parkinson got out of the stolen '83 Buick carrying a long, thin, canvas bag. He checked an address on a piece of paper and then walked up the creaky steps, careful to step across the hole created when T.C. died a day before. He knocked on the door, but no one answered. He tried the door and found it unlocked.
The front room was deserted except for a large red stain in the middle of the floor. It covered at least an eight by ten foot area. A couple of large spiders were nuzzling in a corner. Scott put his bag down and unzipped the top. Inside were swords, knives and other implements of cutting, most covered with their respective scabbards.
"I knew those fencing lessons would pay off someday," he grumbled, strapping a large sword to his back, two daggers to his shins, a moderate-sized sword to his waist and a two inch knife to the inside of his thigh. In his left hand he held an eight inch serrated hunting knife.
"Where the fuck are you guys?" he asked to the air, walked through the kitchen and then ascended up the steps to the second floor.
Scott came across Dan walking out of the bathroom wearing only a towel.
"Mattman?" Scott asked.
"No, I think he's out somewhere with Willy getting bug spray. But Lisa's here. She's sleeping over there in Nina's room. Hey man, that knife sure is shiny--"
Scott interrupted Dan, pushing the knife into his stomach and slowly pushing the blade up between his ribs and lungs, toward the heart.
"But--" Dan sputtered, spitting blood on Scott, trying to keep his insides from falling out. "I only do the pictures--" Blood coming out of Dan's mouth stopped the conversation as he fainted, fell backwards and collapsed in a sea of blood and guts.
"That's for saying I don't like Buffy in the last issue, you bastards!" Scott screamed into the thin air of the second floor hallway and then entered Nina's room where Lisa was sleeping naked on a double bed. Scott put down his hunting knife on a milk carton box full of CDs and slowly unsheathed his largest sword. He put the tip of the sword in the nape of Lisa's neck, letting the coldness wake her up. Lisa's eyes snapped open but she didn't move.
Scott slid the sword down her body, leaving a small trail of blood as the sword cut her skin ever so slightly.
"Aren't you a little short for a swordsman?" Lisa asked.
"Oh you're so cute. I'm not just a swordsman, I'm a writer. I'm Scott Parkinson!"
"Oh, Scott. I didn't know you were coming through town. I would have put clothes on."
"Actually, it will be much easier to kill you when you're naked. I won't have to cut through the fabric and Wonderbra padding." With that he pulled his sword back for a big swing. Lisa, reflexively, put her arms and hands in front of her body. Scott's swing cut off her hands at the wrists. Blood began shooting like cannons on Scott while Lisa screamed. Loudly. But not coherently.
"Fuck. That's a lot of blood," Scott said, pulling the sword above his head to plunged it through Lisa's chest. Just as he brought the sword down between Lisa's breasts, the hunting knife was pushed through his back and chest, peeking out of Scott's shirt with a gleam of blood.
"Uhgn," Scott said, trying to turn to see who had stabbed him in the back.
"Hello sweetheart," Nina said and then pushed the soon-to-be dead Scott onto the ground.
"Baby," Lisa said, trying not to cry. Scott's sword was sticking up between her breasts like Excaliber in its stone. "Pull it out. I don't want to die with this thing stuck inside me."
"Lisa, you'll die if I pull it out. I can't do that to you. I love you, Lisa." Nina sobbed, her hands around Lisa's shoulders and neck. Lisa's stump arms pushed out blood onto Nina, who drew closer to her friend.
"We're all--" Lisa said, spitting up a bit of blood. "We're all gonna die, Nina. Let me come clean."
Silently, Nina pulled the sword from Lisa's body. Lisa cringed and tried to reach for Nina, but without hands, she just shot more blood onto Nina, soaking her clothes and hair. Nina knelt close, placed her mouth over Lisa's, and breathed in her best friend's last breath.
Nina awoke to the sound of the doorbell. It was after nine at night, and she had been sleeping encircled around the dead corpse of Lisa. Sticky and dried blood crackled and oozed as she pulled herself off of Lisa's stiffened deadness. Little red lines of blood connected Lisa and Nina like cheese from an escaping pizza slice. Oblivious to her gooey physical condition, Nina walked blindly down the stairs and into the front room. She opened the door on three figures dressed fully in black. No part of their body or faces could be seen through the gauzy black clothing they were wrapped in. When they spoke, the veils in front of their faces did not move.
"May we come in?" the second, mid-level, figure asked.
"Sure, why the fuck not? We've been letting in killers all day."
"Good point," the smallest--and third--of the three said, rushing inside and pulling Nina into an embrace. Seconds later Nina fell to the ground, drained of most of her blood.
"Finally," Nina breathed as she fell into the unconsciousness of death.
"Break her neck," the first, and tallest, one said. "No need to increase our numbers. Besides, she is not Steve and has obviously been through too much life to enjoy death."
"Neither is she the Mattman," the shortest of the three said. The three walked through the front room toward the stairs to the upper rooms, barely noticing the body of Lenexa, who was strapped to the upper corner and ceiling of the living room with viscous and gluey white strands of web. Her body had been sucked dry of fluid by the three foot black spider resting on top of its meal.
Meanwhile, Mattman and Willy were sitting in the upstairs bedroom farthest away from the stairs.
"You know, everyone is gonna die, and it's gonna be all Steve's fault," Willy said, well past his seventh Dos Equis of the night.
"Steve? Why Steve?" Mattman had been taking a moderate way towards drunkenness, only through a couple of beers himself.
"He gave us this house. The house of fucking horrors. Cursed bongs, hounds of hell, killer spiders--I mean who else is responsible for the shit we're in, man?"
At that moment, the door opened and the three were standing just inside Mattman's room. The second was upon Willy before he had a chance to speak, draining the young man of blood in seconds. He died still clutching a Dos Equis bottle.
The second grimaced slightly after dropping Willy's body and muttered, "Drinking thins the blood."
"Hi guys," Mattman said, pushing his bottle away. "Just calming down my friend before he died. He thought Steve was behind everything."
The first moved in closer to Mattman. "Where is the Steve? We have not felt his vibrations for days."
"Steve's dead. Shot to pieces in Tijuana. During the day--so he's really dead. Gone. Whatever."
"And what about this mess? There is a smell of death over this house." The first placed a hand on Mattman's chest. "There is death in you."
"I don't know what happened. At first it seemed like fun. I had all of these friends, we were doing this magazine, we got a house, everything seemed to be going great."
The first moved back a bit. "But this house has a power."
"And it drew from my own as well. Even after everyone started dying, I thought I could fix it. But I guess that was impossible."
The third moved closer and whispered, "There are many bits of darkness even we cannot control, Mattman. We told you that--oh so many years ago."
"I know, but I thought I could keep it all together. After a while, though, I knew I was helpless. So I just waited for you to show up. I knew you would."
"And everyone is dead now. What is it you need from us?"
"I need to destroy this house. And I need to die."
The three moved away from Mattman and conferred.
"We have a way. You must move back down to the first floor."
The three and Mattman walked down the stairs, through the kitchen and into the living room. Mattman casually pulled the three foot spider off the carcass of Lenexa, crushed its head and sucked the moisture out of its body. He threw the husk to the ground.
"I never understood why there were spiders," Mattman said with a bit more vigor. "So, whenever you're ready."
The three took Mattman and laid him down on the same spot Aaron was dismantled by the hounds of hell. They began to walk around him. Faster and faster until the three were merely a blur.
And then the blur of the three shot in all directions at once. The three flew through the house and its walls and windows with increasing speed. Soon it was impossible to see the three as they punched holes in the house. It seemed as though the house itself was spontaneously blowing holes through itself. Soon after the house simply could not stand on its own and began to jerkingly fall into itself. The wooden cross at the house's apex fell with the rest of the house, finally sinking on top of the pureed mess of pink flesh and bone that was once Mattman. The three, as they pummelled the house with their supersonic flight, also ripped Mattman apart as he lay. When the destruction was complete, the three slowed down their movements until they were once again merely three figures covered completely in black. The first checked Mattman's puddle of body parts for signs of life--dead or undead.
There were none.
And suddenly the three were gone.
Just then, Zep came walking toward the newly demolished house from a bar downtown, occasionally looking at an address written in magic marker on his wrist. He thought he was merely joining a magazine meeting already in progress. He had stepped out of a similar meeting eight days prior with the intent of picking up some beer and other pharmaceuticals that might break the deadlock on the issue of a theme for the next issue of Lies. As it always was with Zep, his beer and drug run had turned into a week or so of hazy wandering. This eight day absence almost broke the nine and a half day Juárez journey of a year prior. But when Zep reached the rubble that was once the newly christened Lies Mansion, he realized the folly of being away from the gang for too long. He'd missed all the action. Sitting down on the broken steps in front of the house rubble, Zep commiserated with his favorite conversation partner--himself.
"We must kill ourselves to survive."
The sound of silence reigned.
Go back to The Big Q.
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