Read Online Fossil Lake: An Anthology of the Aberrant by Ramsey Campbell, Peter Rawlik, Mary Pletsch, Jerrod Balzer, John Goodrich, Scott Colbert, John Claude Smith, Ken Goldman, Doug Blakeslee - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Ramsey Campbell, Peter Rawlik, Mary Pletsch, Jerrod Balzer, John Goodrich, Scott Colbert, John Claude Smith, Ken Goldman, Doug Blakeslee
Ads: Link
his gruesome little belly. He didn’t want to, but he couldn’t help it. He knew he was maimed for life. Even if he ever did get a girlfriend, he would never be able to have sex with her. He would die a virgin.
He would die a thirty-six year old virgin, if he didn’t get out of this cow corpse soon and get himself some medical attention. God only knew how many diseases he’d been exposed to already. Rabies, for sure. Possibly cholera, plague, typhoid, whatever else one got from exposure to long dead bodies. Plus, he’d been bitten several times, and was probably bleeding to death. And he was very hungry and thirsty. Getting sprayed by the skunk was the least of his worries. His room in Grammy’s basement smelled almost that bad anyway.
He whimpered until he ran out of breath, rested, then whimpered some more. When would they come to let him out? How long was it till morning? Didn’t they say that’s when they’d come back for him?
Bert froze. He ran the conversation with his kidnappers through his mind over and over again. He tried to remember at what point they said they’d come back, and realized against his deepest desires that they never had.
They were going to leave him there forever. There would be no rescue, no opening of the cow’s dead body at sunrise, accompanied by hearty laughs all around at Bert’s expense. He was going to die inside this cow, and no one would ever know what happened to him.
Bert Granchi wet himself again. And shit himself, again. Then he fainted.
* * *
The tight beam of sunshine coming in through Bossie’s asshole pried Bert’s eyes open.
He looked out on the totality of his world beyond Old Bossie, a patch of weeds still reeking of skunk. His body ached in ways he could never have imagined. He flexed and wiggled, trying to work the stiffness out of his limbs, but there just wasn’t enough room inside the cow to unkink himself. He stopped moving. A crazed giggle escaped through the thick curtain of duct tape.
His grandmother was peering down the cow’s butt, her thick glasses reflecting the light of the new day back into his. “Well, sonny boy,” she said. “You sure got yourself in a pickle this time, didn’t you?”
Bert couldn’t answer except to nod his head.
“What, can’t ya talk, you loser?”
He shook his head.
Grammy snorted. “Don’t know what I expected, but this isn’t good. I should’ve known you’d wind up like this.”
Bert whimpered. He wanted to promise her he’d be good from now on. He couldn’t, though. Even if he hadn’t been wearing several loops of duct tape around his face, he knew it would be a lie. Lying was bad.
She scowled at him. “At least I won’t have to bail you out anymore. No more visits from the sheriff or the F.B.I., or whoever the people you piss off sic on us. That’s just plain gotten old, sonny boy. Good riddance to bad rubbish, that’s what I say.” She snorted again, and her face drifted from his view.
No, Grammy, I’ll be a good boy! he thought. I won’t cause you any more problems.
No more big phone bills from calling people he hated and leaving threatening messages on their voice mails. No more lawsuits, no more flame wars, no more anything.
But Grammy didn’t come back. Grammy didn’t set him free. Grammy didn’t fucking care if he died inside this cow.
Nobody cared. Nobody cared. Bert cried silently.
Another face intruded into his line of sight. That lesbo bitch, Connie Maxon, grinned in at him. “Serves you right, you bastard. I hope you’re enjoying this. I sure am.”
He tried to communicate remorse with his eyes, but she just laughed.
“Gotta go, Bert. There’s a long line of folks out here you’ve pissed on and pissed off. They’re all here to spit in your eye. I hope a few off them do more than that. I know most of them. They’re nice folks, except when it comes to you. In fact, I met my new very best friend because of you. You made her life a living
He would die a thirty-six year old virgin, if he didn’t get out of this cow corpse soon and get himself some medical attention. God only knew how many diseases he’d been exposed to already. Rabies, for sure. Possibly cholera, plague, typhoid, whatever else one got from exposure to long dead bodies. Plus, he’d been bitten several times, and was probably bleeding to death. And he was very hungry and thirsty. Getting sprayed by the skunk was the least of his worries. His room in Grammy’s basement smelled almost that bad anyway.
He whimpered until he ran out of breath, rested, then whimpered some more. When would they come to let him out? How long was it till morning? Didn’t they say that’s when they’d come back for him?
Bert froze. He ran the conversation with his kidnappers through his mind over and over again. He tried to remember at what point they said they’d come back, and realized against his deepest desires that they never had.
They were going to leave him there forever. There would be no rescue, no opening of the cow’s dead body at sunrise, accompanied by hearty laughs all around at Bert’s expense. He was going to die inside this cow, and no one would ever know what happened to him.
Bert Granchi wet himself again. And shit himself, again. Then he fainted.
* * *
The tight beam of sunshine coming in through Bossie’s asshole pried Bert’s eyes open.
He looked out on the totality of his world beyond Old Bossie, a patch of weeds still reeking of skunk. His body ached in ways he could never have imagined. He flexed and wiggled, trying to work the stiffness out of his limbs, but there just wasn’t enough room inside the cow to unkink himself. He stopped moving. A crazed giggle escaped through the thick curtain of duct tape.
His grandmother was peering down the cow’s butt, her thick glasses reflecting the light of the new day back into his. “Well, sonny boy,” she said. “You sure got yourself in a pickle this time, didn’t you?”
Bert couldn’t answer except to nod his head.
“What, can’t ya talk, you loser?”
He shook his head.
Grammy snorted. “Don’t know what I expected, but this isn’t good. I should’ve known you’d wind up like this.”
Bert whimpered. He wanted to promise her he’d be good from now on. He couldn’t, though. Even if he hadn’t been wearing several loops of duct tape around his face, he knew it would be a lie. Lying was bad.
She scowled at him. “At least I won’t have to bail you out anymore. No more visits from the sheriff or the F.B.I., or whoever the people you piss off sic on us. That’s just plain gotten old, sonny boy. Good riddance to bad rubbish, that’s what I say.” She snorted again, and her face drifted from his view.
No, Grammy, I’ll be a good boy! he thought. I won’t cause you any more problems.
No more big phone bills from calling people he hated and leaving threatening messages on their voice mails. No more lawsuits, no more flame wars, no more anything.
But Grammy didn’t come back. Grammy didn’t set him free. Grammy didn’t fucking care if he died inside this cow.
Nobody cared. Nobody cared. Bert cried silently.
Another face intruded into his line of sight. That lesbo bitch, Connie Maxon, grinned in at him. “Serves you right, you bastard. I hope you’re enjoying this. I sure am.”
He tried to communicate remorse with his eyes, but she just laughed.
“Gotta go, Bert. There’s a long line of folks out here you’ve pissed on and pissed off. They’re all here to spit in your eye. I hope a few off them do more than that. I know most of them. They’re nice folks, except when it comes to you. In fact, I met my new very best friend because of you. You made her life a living
Similar Books
