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MESSAGES FOR STAN

ANGSTMESSAGES FOR STAN
Copyright 1998 by E.C. McMullen Jr.

Call him Lucifer, or Nick or even ‘Ol Scratch. Everybody knows that you are talking about Satan, but to us what knows him, he just goes by the name of Stan.

Lots of folks leave messages for Stan and I should know since he drops by my place about once a week or so to check and see who has called for him.

Contrary to popular opinion, Satan doesn’t have an office since work and punctuality are the earmarks of a solid and industrious person. Instead he just hangs out with folks, drops by the crib, smokes some weed (after all, it’s HIS weed!), and generally shoots the shit. The devil may find work for idle hands, but it usually entails my rolling him a joint while he watches TV. He prefers watching Televangelists and whenever I ask him why, he just gets an irritated look on his face and waves a hand at me to be quiet.

The other day Stan came over and asked if there were any messages for him. I said, “Yeah, they’re all on the KMFDM Album.” He started going through my record collection. “Which one?” he hollered to me (I had walked into the kitchen).

“Angst!” I hollered back.

“Sha . . . “ I heard him say. “Had it in my hand the whole time. I must be psychic or something.”

When I came out to the living room, Stan was setting the needle on the record.

“Ugh. I hate this time consuming crap,” he said. “You all have had CD players for ages now and you still haven’t made one that will play digital music backwards.”

“Don’t look at me,” I said. “I had nothing to do with making the damn things.”
“Yeah, yeah,” he replied, which was his way of saying that he wanted to complain, not converse.

Everybody knows that Satan is the biggest whiner in the whole Universe. I mean, this guy was a ruler, a Prince in Paradise  – THE Paradise! The ultimate everything-you-could-wish-for kinda Paradise! – and he still bitched so much about how he wasn’t getting this, and he should be doing the other, that they threw his silly ass out of there.

Hey, just because I like him doesn’t mean I’m fooling myself.

I once brought this up to him and his reply was, “Yeah well, don’t believe all the hype about it kid.” He wiggled two fingers on both of his hands to signify a quote. “If “Heaven” was so great then why did God get bored and decide to create all this?” He waved his arm in an arc, encompassing my trashed living room. I’m certain that he really meant the world.

“Hah?” He demanded. “Answer me that! Hah?”

“I dunno,” I said. “I wasn’t there. Still, it’s gotta be better than hell.”
Stan blew a dismissive “P’shh!” and waved me away. It’s one of his stock trademarks.

Once when I was having a party at my house, someone made a stupid remark and I went, “P’sh!” and waved my hand like a bird wing, like Satan does. Immediately everybody shouted “STAN!” and we all laughed, just as Stan was coming out of the bathroom. Well he got all embarrassed and turned red, and you never saw someone turn red until you see Stan do it. I immediately felt kinda bad about it of course, and naturally when there are bad feelings in a room, Stan is helplessly drawn to them like flies to shit.

So he came over and gave me a big hug everything worked out.

Anyway, despite the popularity of using Satanic backward messages on Rock albums, Stan never really got the hang of sitting there with his finger on a record and spinning it backward at just the right speed. He was always a little too fast or a little too slow which was yet another irritation for him. “Argh!”  I heard him say. “Was that a message or just a lyric? Damn this stupid machinery. I must be cursed or something.”

He finally got a pace going and the messages started coming through. At first there was a drawn out and watery “beep” followed by the background noise of the music on the record. Then there was another, then another, and then another after that. Stan was getting riled. After the sixth beep there was a real message.

“Hi Stan, are you there? Pick up the needle if you are.
Stan? Are you there? This is Eddie! Pick up the needle if you are there man.
Come on Stan, I know you are there! Pick up the fucking needle already!”
Then a voice in the background said, “So what’s happening?” and Eddie replied, “I guess he’s not there.” followed by a click.

Stan twirled his finger on the label. Round and round the record spun backwards: but there were no more messages.

Stan’s already ruddy complexion turned more livid if you can believe that.

“That’s IT? he said. “I came all the way from Hell for this?”  He roared “FOR THIS?”  and when he gets in these moods even I get on edge.

“What Is Today?” his voice crackled thunder

“Uh . . . Thursday.”

“I MIGHT HAVE KNOWN!” he shouted in Caps Lock. “I HATE THURSDAYS!” Then he drew up his arms, his wings tearing out of his clothing as he cried out. “I DAMN You, Thursday! No One Shall Ever Pen A Hit Song About YOU!”

Sure enough, for those watching the news that day, stories of catastrophes ripping through the world pushed aside dull puff pieces on celebrity divorces and politico-sexual shenanigans.

That’s how the damn day started, and the rest of the afternoon was shot to Hell.

END

- E.C. “Feo Amante” McMullen Jr, 1998

Story MESSAGES FOR STAN Copyright 1998 by E.C. McMullen Jr.
The Art Inspires the Story
Artwork: ANGST Cover Artist: Aidan Hughes Band: KMFDM


WillowBlueCoverWant more? Get my book
WILLOW BLUE and Other Stories
By E.C. McMullen Jr.
Five tales about -

Willow feels responsible for Deena’s bizarre death.
During a quick stop at a convenience store, Paul faces a murderer.
A government protected agent can’t escape his own guilt.
The Immortal Riessa is forcing her lover’s body to mutate.
A new chilling tale of the child, Ankar.

Weird Sex, True Love, Monsters and Mayhem! A collection of stories about hunger and need – in life and beyond the grave.

Now on sale for $2.99 and available for your Kindle reader and App!
Find it at exclusively at Amazon, for the next 90 days. Free to Kindle Unlimited subscribers until January 2015.

Also,

Ankar appears again in my short story, “Cedo Looked Like People”, in the 2013 anthology, FEAR THE REAPER, edited by Joe Mynhardt and available in Paperback and eBook.

Another year of Count Chocula GONE!

Count Chocula and Frankenberry since I was a kid (also Boo Berry and Fruit Brute – it was all fruit except the Count). I’m clearly not a kid anymore but damn it! Comfort food is comfort food.

CountChoculaAlso, DC Comics Jim Lee was in charge of the box design for 2014 and hired the artist Husband & Wife team of Terrence “Terry” and Rachel Dodson to do the deed!

But still… a whole ‘nother year…

Okay, one other thing. This year Count Chocula lost his fangs and is now as buck-toothed as Bugs Bunny!

Don’t get me wrong, I get the DC / Warner Bros. connection.

ALONE AMONG THE MISORS

IMPERIA

Artwork: Imperia by Lucian Stanculescu

ALONE AMONG THE MISORS
Copyright 2014 by E.C. McMullen Jr.

Among the Misors, the (translated) Death Sphere, was not a true sphere at all, but a 6th Dimensional hole in 3D space. As such, it punctured our universe from all sides equally, our reality distorting just above a whisper, outside the circle of its unknown physics.

The Wandering Zoroas of the Misors traveled their world, holding aloft the Death Sphere above their multi-fingered heads. Alone among their own kind in this odd biological configuration, even the Zoroas could not tell you why they were genetically built this way. One was simply born a Zoroas with the fully formed tell-tale head-hand. When one came of age – and that age was not fixed – a Death Sphere would materialize, perched upon the hand that grew from the top of their head.

From that moment on, the Zoroas would surrender all their possessions to the Sodalites of Siblings, don their robes, take up their staff, and wander their world, seeking the one Misor among the many who uniquely belonged to this single sphere.

Their wanderings were not entirely random, as the Zoroas claimed that the Death Sphere in some way “Pulled” them to their target. That Misor could be in the same kingdom or on the other side of the world or – in this time of space faring – out somewhere among the colonies.

It was the nearly irresistible compulsion of the Pulling that all Zoroas followed.

Time and distance were immaterial.

It didn’t matter the journey. All communities of significant size had at least one Zoroaster where the Sodalites of Siblings could find shelter and food. And no Zoroas could die so long as they held the Death Sphere. In as much as the Death Sphere also held onto them.

It was called a Death Sphere because it was instant death to the single Misor who belonged to it. The hole recognized only its one specific Misor from among the billions, and would suddenly turn upon its “axis” point, drawing in both the intended as well as the Zoroas who held it aloft, then vanish from our space.

So the purpose of the Zoroas were two-fold, as they were suicidal assassins. In every manner of perception, it was absolutely their life’s calling.

Not all Misors died this way. But as a matter of culture, just as many were happy to die on their own, as were those who looked forward with eager trepidation, to the coming of their own Death Sphere. As it is with the randomness of life, no Misor was given the choice of dying – or not – by Death Sphere; just as no Misor was given the choice of being born into the unspoken covenant of the Zoroas.

Occasionally a Misor intended for shared death died prematurely. The Pulling would call the Zoroas to their remains, then pull no more. These Zoroas became Elders. There was a grim inevitability to living as a Zoroas, yet there was a worse sadness of culturally misplaced shame in becoming an Elder. A deeper respect, one without covetous desire, was given to an Elder, who would spend the rest of their life holding a Death Sphere that pulled for no one.

“Death is an experience best shared.”
- old Zoroas saying

So it was on a most particular night of a most particular day, in a colony many solar systems removed from Misorn, that a Tithing named Fanfa – a Misors caretaker of the Zoroas whose own skull fingers failed to fully form and so, never received a Death Sphere – opened the doors to a young Sibling dressed in the manner of Zoroas from the Homeworld.

The Tithing matched the gaze of the young Zoroas, but respectfully looked no further. As with all Sodalites of Siblings from Elders to Tithings, Fanfa averted her gaze so as not to look directly at his Death Sphere. It was there in the periphery above her direct field of vision, and the whispering distortion of our reality around its edge was easily heard.

“Welcome weary Sibling,” Fanfa said, bowing as she intoned the traditional greeting. “All you require is here.”

The Homeworld Sibling moved his staff toward her and back, in the typical Zoroas way of quiet gratitude, yet he stayed by the door.

New to the job of being a Zoroas Tithing, Fanfa wondered if there was some part of the minor ceremony she’d forgot.

“Forgive me if I have failed you,” Fanfa said bowing again, her stumpy head-hand’s webbed fingers opened wide. “I am only a recruit.”

The recruit’s awkward apology drew the attention of the other Zoroas seated in the room. Everyone stopped their drinking, eating, talking, to see what ailed their latest Sibling.

“I am Tatal and the fault is mine,” he said. “As I am also new and not fully accustomed to the ways of wandering.”

An Elder Zoroas named S’Orcea, who only came of age when her Death Sphere appeared late in life, had acquired experience and maturity long before she began her travels. She approached the two young people at the door to ease the discomfort of her Siblings.

“In this Zoroaster,” S’Orcea said. “like all Zoroasters, no Sodal Sibling is ever a stranger. You are welcome to eat and rest here until your Pulling calls you away.”

The abrupt chest heaving was apparent beneath Tatal’s voluminous robe. Startled, S’Orcea looked to the man’s eyes and was surprised to see the young Zoroas was grieving.

“Please forgive me, my Siblings,” Tatal said. “But the Pulling… the Pulling has drawn me here.”

To S’Orcea and Fanfa’s utter surprise, Tatal’s Death Sphere began noisily turning.

Suddenly afraid, for a Tithing is not a true Zoroas, Fanfa looked for help to S’Orcea, only to see that the elder Zoroas’s Death Sphere was also expanding, turning, the reality of our universe crackling across it.  The stricken S’Orcea needed no mirror to know, she could hear it.

What was the meaning of this? In all recorded history, no Zoroas had ever come for another.

Fighting her fear, Fanfa found herself backing away from the two Zoroas and looking to the other travelers for help. But there would be no help from any of them on this most particular night. All of them could see that every Sibling in the room held aloft a spinning, Death Sphere: growing and angrily tearing our universe apart.

END

Story ALONE AMONG THE MISORS Copyright 2014 by E.C. McMullen Jr.
The Art Inspires the Story
Artwork: IMPERIA  Artist: Lucian Stanculescu


WillowBlueCoverWant more? Get my book
WILLOW BLUE and Other Stories
By E.C. McMullen Jr.
Five tales about -

Willow feels responsible for Deena’s bizarre death.
During a quick stop at a convenience store, Paul faces a murderer.
A government protected agent can’t escape his own guilt.
The Immortal Riessa is forcing her lover’s body to mutate.
A new chilling tale of the child, Ankar.

Weird Sex, True Love, Monsters and Mayhem! A collection of stories about hunger and need – in life and beyond the grave.

Now on sale for $2.99 and available for your Kindle reader and App!
Find it at exclusively at Amazon, for the next 90 days. Free to Kindle Unlimited subscribers until January 2015.

Also,

Ankar appears again in my short story, “Cedo Looked Like People”, in the 2013 anthology, FEAR THE REAPER, edited by Joe Mynhardt and available in Paperback and eBook.

WILLOW BLUE

WillowBlueCoverLike my short stories here?

Let me try that again.

Do you LOVE my short stories here?

Then you’ll be giddy to know that I’ve just released my second collection of stories in WILLOW BLUE and Other Stories.

My first collection, PERPETUAL BULLET, was originally released exclusively on Barnes & Noble for about 90 days, after which, it was available at eBook retailers everywhere.

WILLOW BLUE is released on exclusively on Amazon for 90 days, so it’s available for every Kindle and every Kindle app. The Kindle app is a free download to your mobile or computer so you can read it even if you don’t own a kindle mobile.

WILLOW BLUE has five stories all written in my impeccable style which you have all come to know and endure!

What will you find inside?

Willow feels responsible for Deena’s bizarre death.
During a quick stop at a convenience store, Paul faces a murderer.
A government protected agent can’t escape his own guilt.
The Immortal Riessa is forcing her lover’s body to mutate.
And another chilling tale of the child, Ankar.

Weird Sex, True Love, Monsters and Mayhem! A collection of stories about hunger and need – in life and beyond the grave.


WillowBlueCoverWant more? Get my book
WILLOW BLUE and Other Stories
Featuring five stories of Weird Sex, True Love, Monsters and Mayhem!
By E.C. McMullen Jr.
Now on sale for $2.99 and available for your Android Tablet, iPad, Kindle, Nook, and every other “E”!
Find it at exclusively at Amazon,for the next 90 days.

PERPETUAL BULLET: A Science Fiction Collection
A trove of previously published Science Fiction Horror Thriller – plus bonus stories
Featuring: Weird Sex, True Love, Monsters and Mayhem!
Available at online retailers everywhere

My story Cedo Looked Like People, is in the 2013 anthology, FEAR THE REAPER, edited by Joe Mynhardt and available in Paperback and eBook.

WHEN ZOMBIES ATTACH!

ZombiesAttachWHEN ZOMBIES ATTACH!
Copyright 2000 by E.C. McMullen Jr.

It was right there in carbon black print.

ZOMBIES ATTACH TOWN is how the headline read and it went out across the nation and the world. Newspapers sold more that day than any since humans first walked on the moon. Some may have bought them because the headline was just so impossible, surely a future collector’s item. Others may have bought them to chuckle derisively over the misspelled headline, but it was no mistake.

I live in the town of Bunker, Arizona and fifteen days ago, Zombies attached my town.

There was no preamble to the rising. No apparent reason at all for the dead to Re-Animate. The zombies just came to life one night and like the old Romero movies, on through much of the day.

It may sound odd, but no one tried to shoot them. Everyone was just too stunned to do anything. Many of us thought we might be in on the butt of some secret reality television joke and that the zombies were actors in make-up. Time soon made us realize otherwise.

They never went after anyone, and if you were old, slow, and just helpless enough to accidentally get in their way, they would just walk around you.

Then they went about attaching themselves to various houses and buildings throughout Bunker.

Nobody knows why they attach themselves to some houses and not others. There seems to be no forethought, no plan to it. I live in an apartment complex, for example, and not one zombie has attached itself to it.

I think we are being singled out but I don’t know why.

In any case, its a source of embarrassment to be one of the very few places that cannot boast even ONE zombie.

Not that I like the zombies, they are a damn nuisance! All they do all damn day and all damn night is dangle attached to houses, stores and even street lamps; arguing about the after life.

You don’t even have to engage them in conversation, just walking past them will do.

“The afterlife,” they say. “Don’t get me started.”

Then they’ll ramble on about the subject until their rotten tongues fall out of their mouths.

I tell you, you’ve never been so happy to see a maggot infested rotten tongue fall out of somebody’s mouth until you’ve seen it happen to a zombie.

END

WHEN ZOMBIES ATTACH, copyright 2000, E.C. McMullen Jr.
Artwork: Zombies Attach. Artist, Feo Amante.


WillowBlueCoverWant more? Get my book
WILLOW BLUE and Other Stories
Featuring five stories of Weird Sex, True Love, Monsters and Mayhem!
By E.C. McMullen Jr.
Now on sale for $2.99 and available for your Android Tablet, iPad, Kindle, Nook, and every other “E”!
Find it at exclusively at Amazon,for the next 90 days.

PERPETUAL BULLET: A Science Fiction Collection
A trove of previously published Science Fiction Horror Thriller – plus bonus stories
Featuring: Weird Sex, True Love, Monsters and Mayhem!
Available at online retailers everywhere

My story Cedo Looked Like People, is in the 2013 anthology, FEAR THE REAPER, edited by Joe Mynhardt and available in Paperback and eBook.

FIRST MONSTER

NosferatuXXXFIRST MONSTER
by E.C. McMullen Jr.
Copyright 2013

Deep into the night while everyone slept, Ankar sat on the foot of his bed.

His feet dangled over the floor and his hands firmly gripped his edge, ready to launch himself off … if need be.

Meanwhile, with his five year old head tilted slightly to the left, so his ear was pointed to the source, Ankar gave his closet door a wary look.

Something moved in there, waking him up. Now there was silence but Ankar was certain that, whatever it was, was biding its time. It waited for Ankar to let down his guard.

Ankar was pretty sure he knew what was in his closet. The same thing he saw with his Uncle Terry that night his parents were out on a date. Over fresh hot popcorn and cool lemonade, they watched an old movie with music and nothing else. No color, no talking, no noises, just the music. His Uncle Terry had insisted Ankar read the title cards out loud as they came up.

“Why can’t we hear them when they talk?”

“That’s how people talked to each other back then before sound,” his Uncle Terry said.

“But they have sound. Music is sound.”

“Just watch,” Uncle Terry said. “History is important.”

Ankar was certain the monster in the movie was the monster in his closet.

A noise!

Ankar leaned closer, his ear turned ever more toward the closet, but not so turned that he couldn’t see it from the corner of his eyes.

A rustling sound.

A monster was in there. No, THE monster was in there.

All the other times, when Ankar ran to his parent’s bedroom, pleading, pulling on his father to catch the monster, the creature escaped before they returned, making Ankar look dumb.

Ankar wouldn’t let the monster get away this time.

The hangars behind the door clattered against each other. Ankar was sure of it: something rustled amongst his clothes.

He launched himself off his bed.

He walked toward his door.

Ankar was brave. Ankar was scared. He was ready to run should that closet door open without him.

Having crossed the floor, Ankar stood before his closet door.

His bedroom door was open and the dim light from the hall gave him courage. He wasn’t entirely in the dark. Not like he was on his bed.

As quietly as he could, Ankar gripped the closet door handle and slowly, as noiselessly as possible, he turned it.

The door came forward from its frame a bit. It was now or never.

Ankar opened his closet door wide.

Blackness, nothing but dark in his closet.

He couldn’t even see his clothes. Ankar nearly sighed in frustration. Fooled again.

Then he thought, ‘Wait. There’s enough light here. Why can’t I see my clothes?’

His small body trembled without chill at the thought. Apprehensively, he raised his face to look up at the darkness.

A hideous white face at the top, nearly glowing, smiled down at him.

This face smiled without a trace of kindess: Malevolent not Benevolent.

This was the creature from the movie. His monster: Nosferatu.

Ankar wanted to run, but feared he’d be easily caught and, whatever the monster had in mind, it would be so much worse if he ran.

But he had to do something!

“My Pop says you’re not real.”

For but a momen, the creature’s consummately confident, predatory smile faltered and froze. Its wild hairy eyebrows drew in with concern. Then it regained its composure.

“But,” it grinned. “What does your Mother say?”

“She told me to ask my Pop.”

Ever so slightly, the Nosferatu’s features crumbled again. This was apparently – not good news. Once again it thought a happy thought – a private thought that was happy for it – and its evil smile returned.

“Yet here we are,” the thing grinned, so wide that its prominent, ratty teeth, came out. “So all that really matters is, what do you think?”

The question chilled Ankar into shivering. The creature’s two front teeth were long and sharp as needles. Neither his Mom or Pop were here to protect him from something that wasn’t real, and here was something that looked very real!

“I think-”

“Yesss?” The creature interrupted him, dragging out the word, the smile stretching.

Doubtfully Ankar continued, “- under the circumstances -”

“Ye-ess?” the creature interrupted again, drawing its white, hideously clawed hands out from where it had hid them in its sleeves. It fanned its long fingers out, the razor claws slicing the air into whispers. Each claw pointed toward Ankar’s face. The Nosferatu wanted to terrify the child into submission.

“I think I should do what my Pop says.” Ankar finished.

“Oh shi-!” The creature began and popped out of existence.

Surprised that it worked, Ankar stared dumbfounded at the clothes in his closet.

A shadow fell across him and he looked toward the hall.

His Pop, half asleep, came to a stop in front of his son’s open door. He held a glass of water. His hair was pillow pulled into bed head. A bristle of beard growth dirtied his face, and his eyes squinted at Ankar. Father sussed the situation as he looked at his son, standing wide-awake in the middle of the night in front of his open closet.

“Monster again?”

“Yeah sir.”

“Did you say what I told you?”

“Yeah sir.”

“Did it work?”

With wonder, for Ankar was effectively surprised that it did, he said, “Yeah…!”

Ankar’s Pop made a Click-Click sound with his cheek, pointed his index finger at his son with a thumb’s up, and said.

“Told ya.”

Ankar turned to stare at his amazing, pudgy hero, as Pop closed the door against the hall light. As the light squeezed to black, he heard his hero say,

“Now get to bed.”

END

FIRST MONSTER, copyright 2013, E.C. McMullen Jr.
Artwork: FIRST MONSTER. Artist, Feo Amante.
Music while writing,
Edvard Grieg – In The Hall Of Mountain King
http://youtu.be/hDi8Smb4KeI

If you enjoyed this short story, watch the further adventures of Ankar in the online short film, THE NIGHT MY MONSTER DIED.

Then read more about Ankar in, CEDO LOOKED LIKE PEOPLE, in the anthology Fear The Reaper, edited by Joe Mynhardt. Available in Print and eBook at Amazon and Barnes & Noble!

“Cedo Looked Like People” – E.C. McMullen Jr.: A boy’s strange next door night- and day-divided neighbors make for equally strange – and later disturbing – friendships. This Ray Bradbury-esque is one of the most memorable and one of the more original stories I’ve read in a long time.”
- Amazon Reviewer


image descriptionWant more? Get my book
PERPETUAL BULLET: A Science Fiction Collection
A trove of previously published Science Fiction Horror Thriller – plus bonus stories
Featuring: Weird Sex, True Love, Monsters and Mayhem!
By E.C. McMullen Jr.
Now on sale for $2.99 and available for your Android Tablet, iPad, Kindle, Nook, and every other “E”!
Find it at (Amazon, Barnes & Noble, Diesel, !ndigo, iTunes, KoboBooks, Smashwords, WHSmith, and more).

Also look for my story Cedo Looked Like People, in the 2013 anthology, FEAR THE REAPER, edited by Joe Mynhardt and available in Paperback and eBook.

WRETCHED REBIRTH

WRETCHED REBIRTH
by E.C. McMullen Jr.
Copyright 2014

Room7 by MyNameIsSwann

Consciousness came abruptly for Alph but self-awareness took time.

Between the two was survival instinct. Alph had no idea where he was, who he was (besides his name), or any concept of past except for the rapidly ticking seconds becoming memory. All he knew at the conscious moment of life, was that he was quickly experiencing death.

He “woke up” laying half submerged in a pool of wet something he couldn’t describe.

His stomach was gripping itself in knots and he didn’t know if it was due to birth or death, but he didn’t like it. He formed, he was born, but something went – was going – all wrong.

Obeying the physical impetus to do so, he vomited violently.

His vomit swirled in the pool and the swirls formed almost immediately upon leaving his mouth.

The heavier vomit strung out into the liquid and coalesced into limbs and a second head. He was puking a second body into his first and the two were forming simultaneously.

Alph’s two heads looked at each other and it wasn’t good news. The presence of the pool somehow stuck them to each other and the wall of the dark room they found themselves in.

What little the Siamese Alphs knew, was that they had to escape this prison, and they couldn’t do that in their current form. Vomiting produced themselves, so they had to repurpose what they already were into a third, independent member.

They had to make sure they didn’t botch it and create a conjoined triplet.

Alphs would need to be smart about this.

They raised themselves as high as they could stand from the pool and floor. Together they began projectile vomiting a third Alph. One that could grow without attaching itself to them.

It wasn’t easy. As the third Alph formed the two Alphs kept raising themselves higher and higher, practically crawling up the wall they were anchored to, to avoid contact.

Vomiting cannibalized their bodies. They were eating themselves from the inside out. This was exhausting torment but it would be all right in the end. Something told the two Alphs that their current incarnation was a mistake. Once they were a single Alph, they would be in a better position to …

Their minds were gone, dregs of spittle drooling from mindless mouths into a new Alph already gaining consciousness.

The new, third Alph looked upon his dripping skeletal remains. He didn’t know why he originally thought this was the method of his creation. He only did and, with that knowledge, he knew what he had to do before his dead old remains spoiled.

Alph rapidly devoured his emptied twin corpse until there was nothing left.

At last he was whole: whole and still hungry.

Blinking in the dark, he spied a light at the far end of the tunnel. There was no way to go but forward, as staying in the stench of his own birth didn’t seem an option.

Bent over on all fours, for there was no room to stand erect, Alph’s long limbs pulled the distance toward and behind him.

‘Forward. I’m propelling myself forward,’ he thought.

Thoughts kept entering his mind without the structure of memory to support them.

‘I was created somehow.’

‘I was once a living … thing… no, man… once. I died, maybe?’

No likely; no definitely, I was killed.’

He wasn’t too clear on exactly how he was wronged, but something told him that his new birth was actually a rebirth.

‘Something or someone killed me. Something or someone brought me back.’

Self-Awareness came and with it, a primitive strategy. Alph wanted justice for what he had just experienced.

I don’t know if it was by a random Something or an intentional Someone, but…’

His neurons were quickly growing and connecting. Ganglia was rapidly assembling a scaffold of memory in his newly formed brain.

‘… but if it turns out that Some One put me through all of this disgusting birth agony,’

The mental scaffold grew in complexity.

‘…they had better have a good reason.’

The ganglia built upon the scaffolding, creating cross-support structure, and thinking became reasoning.

‘Yes, that someone may have their *own* reasons, but…’

‘…but they had damn well better appeal to MY sense of reason.’

The imprint on every thought, however, was justice. He wasn’t clear on why he wanted revenge or who had vengeance coming to them, but he was already thinking of how it would be meted out.

Alphonse moved down the tunnel, toward the light. A newborn with a thirst for justice, and murder on its mind.

END

Wretched Rebirth, copyright 2014, E.C. McMullen Jr.
Artwork: Room 7. Artist, Asya Yordanova, MyNameIsSwann.DaPortfolio, MyNameIsSwann.DeviantArt.


image descriptionWant more? Get my book
PERPETUAL BULLET: A Science Fiction Collection
A trove of previously published Science Fiction Horror Thriller – plus bonus stories
Featuring: Weird Sex, True Love, Monsters and Mayhem!
By E.C. McMullen Jr.
Now on sale for $2.99 and available for your Android Tablet, iPad, Kindle, Nook, and every other “E”!
Find it at (Amazon, Barnes & Noble, Diesel, !ndigo, iTunes, KoboBooks, Smashwords, WHSmith, and more).

Also look for my story Cedo Looked Like People, in the 2013 anthology, FEAR THE REAPER, edited by Joe Mynhardt and available in Paperback and eBook.

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