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Pro Wrestlers in Zombietown. by John M Parlett
Sunday, September 24, 2006
Not rated by the Author.
A portion of the unedited works of this title the work is finished and edited however this is a portion of the unedited draft. Placed here to get feedback from readers and critics outher writers etc. It's cheeze, it's low brow. No it's not high art it's a zombie story, come on now!
ZOMBIE story TJ Silverspoon
He trudged headlong into the deep snow, toward the dim lights of the remote service station he could see in the distance. The blizzard twisted the blinding snow in all directions.
“Fucking cock-sucker,” he mumbled to himself pulling the soiled collar of his tattered overcoat tightly around his head.
He had been thrown, during a drunken brawl, from a slow moving boxcar into the snow. Miles away from anywhere, he was alone in the cold. He had survived the bitter cold many times. He was cold and old.
Not old in the way of years like the average man who spends each day living a normal regular life. He was old in the sense that he had survived the years living homeless among the dregs of society’s streets.
His life was shattered in his early years by a series of unfortunate circumstances, some of his own making and some over which he had no control. Two-dozen years of hard living had taken its toll, as he wandered from city to city. He went from fleabag hotel to fleabag hotel, from soup kitchen to soup kitchen. He slept in the doorways and alleyways. He had survived the booze, the drugs, the beatings, and the rejections. He survived influenza outbreaks year after year with not so much as an aspirin. All of this and more had taken its toll on his weary flesh and bones. He was now a burned out human being right down to his soul.
To him, the unfortunate circumstances that had leeched his life over the years were no longer of consequence. He couldn't even remember what they were. Each day now was about survival in a world perceived in a haze of alternate reality.
He could even be viewed as mentally unstable or ill. One might suppose that treatment or institutionalization maybe best for him.
This man, however, did not see himself as sick. He was of a state of mind brought on by the same survival mechanism we all have. He had adapted to his reality.
We humans are, after all, animals. As top predator on the planet, we can adapt to all the elements with which we live. Elements of both nature and man made. If the change is sudden enough and difficult enough we change mentally. So much so that the effect cannot be easily reversed.
Dregs was the only name he went by now, and his only concern was to make his way to the light ahead, the only thing he could see in the swirling blizzard. There he knew that there might be some shelter from the winter wind and bitter cold. The only other option was to lie down in a frozen snow bank go to sleep and never see the next sunrise.
The station, at first only an outline shape on the horizon, appeared before him as a large monolithic structure with a whiteout-darkened haze of lights. The station is like very few others he’d ever seen. It stood on a rural highway on the outskirts of a very small town. It was an old station like in old black and white movies from the past. It was nothing like the modern gleaming self-service 24-hour stations of today. It was Mayberryish, a large white stucco building with canopy and a couple of gas pumps. And, like all things in a nowhere town, it was closed at night. This cold January night was no different.
As he walked toward the station he looked through the window of the office. Cupping his hands on either side of his face the man glared inside. An old tire-shaped electric clock on the wall read 5 am. Daybreak would come soon. Next to the counter was a shelf with a row of oilcans, strangely placed and oddly out of sync with the time. There were two chairs, and a stack of dusty magazines and newspapers on a small table next to an old chrome canister style coffee maker.
“Coffee,” he thought. “Fuck what I would do for a cup of hot coffee.” Homeless, yet not a thief he tried the door handle, on the off chance the building was unlocked. His reasoning was not to steal but rather to get out of the weather.
“Coffee…hot coffee.” The last coffee he had was at the shelter in the city several days before hopping the freight.
Hunger was not a problem for Dregs, thanks to the numerous stale bagels from the shelter that he carried in his large overcoat pocket. Sure, they had molded slightly, but were still good enough for him to eat. He had often eaten from dumpsters behind restaurants and from dinner tables where half eaten burgers and fries had been left.
“Shelter…” He had to find shelter from the snow and cold. He knew he had to get out of the weather to survive. Several snow covered old cars were parked in the lot. He tried each handle and found they were locked. Walking along the side of the station he tried the washroom door. To his relief the door was unlocked.
He swung the door open, and felt along the wall to find the light switch. He switched the light on, and then shut the door behind him.
The mirror in the wall was fastened in all four corners with plastic mirror clips. The mirror was filthy dirty with soap splatter, and was faded along the edges where the silvering had peeled away from the back of the glass.
The sink was an American Standard white enameled cast iron thing that hung on the wall below the mirror. The old chrome taps showed brass from years of wear. A bar of grime-covered soap sat on soap crusted chrome soap dish just above the taps.
The odor of urine hung in the air as if it had saturated even the non-porous ceramic and enamel surfaces of the washroom fixtures. A stench that only fire could purify.
Dregs looked down at the floor, like a dog looking for just the right spot to sleep on, as if any particular spot on a cold cement floor would matter. He was tired. The walk in the blizzard was draining and he had walked many miles.
To Dregs time was of no relative consequence. It was either day or night. There was no bus to catch, no clock to punch, no dinner dates or other such time sensitive commitments that others face each and every day. Dinnertime was just the next time you could find something to eat. On the rails, it was tough if you landed in a place like this. At sunrise, if they found him here sleeping, the police would be called.
The cops were not the worst thing that could happen. Fact was that scenario would maybe be for the best. Out here in a town like this there was no Harbor Light, no Christian Church that fed the homeless. There might be some kind soul that would give a man some work for a meal and a few bucks.
For Dregs work was not a good option because of his declining mental state. To be arrested for vagrancy would be almost like a miracle…heaven sent. A warm cell, a meal and a transfer back to the city. With that transfer came a shower and a change of clean used winter clothes from a charitable organization. Processed and turned out on the street, where he could continue on to the rails and his final destination.
For just a few hours Dregs’ head would be able to get clear enough to remember he was a human being. That is, at least until he could find some drugs or booze to kill all the rapidly returning demons of his past. Dregs was prepared for them, he had battled them for years.
The service station washroom was not warm, neither was the cement floor. It was however warmer than the bitter 20 below zero wind chill raging on outside. The light bulb warmed the small washroom as if you had gone from the arctic into the tropics. To understand the difference one has to have been in a similar situation.
What Dregs didn't know is that this town he had stumbled into in the middle of the night, was not on any map. This place was like no other, a fact that would not become obvious to him until the morning light.
What was in store for Dregs was nothing that anyone could have prepared for. Not even a broken man who has survived suffering and pain each and everyday.
Dregs took his spot on the concrete floor of the washroom dirty, dusty as it was. He needed some rest. So, getting comfortable on the floor, he stretched out and accidentally disturbed some dust on the floor. The air born dust particles made Dregs cough and sneeze a couple of times, but this was only a mild discomfort compared to the cold. The dust left a bad taste and a slight burning in his throat. He lie down and shut his eyes, tucking his bearded face into the collar of his overcoat.
The wrestling promotion crew van had been driving all night, and somehow the driver of the crew had taken a wrong turn miles back in the white out conditions. The van was a rusty seventies Chevrolet passenger van, packed full with large freakish professional wrestlers and luggage.
The driver was a heavy set, shabby, hairy man. He was the promoter, Bob Jackson, and he had no idea where they were. The headlights shone absently into the thick white blankets of snow. Visibility was bad to say the least, as it was all night long in the endlessly blinding blizzard.
The wrestling crew was slumped over in the seats sleeping as it was, after all, a long drive to the next destination. A destination, for a wrestling show in a city they would never see. The wrong turn would alter their lives forever as they too were on a dead end road to the same destination as Dregs.
As the sun began to rise they found themselves stranded in what seemed to be a ghost town. The blizzard began to lift with daybreak and the van of lost wrestlers found themselves short on fuel. Bob could see the antiquated service station up ahead.
The van passed a weathered sign, which said Township of Elton: Population 666. Odd thought Bob he didn't remember seeing that town on the road map.
Bob Jackson had quite a gang of misfits for wrestlers. None of them had made it to the big time, but they were a good crew for a small touring promotion. Athletes? Well for the most part they were party animals when they had a chance.
In the shotgun seat sat a crusty old geezer with black-dyed, gray hair. His ring name was Mad Max, a gimmick from an old movie. Max in a way looked like Mel Gibson, yet somewhat more ugly, and with a badly scarred forehead and weathered face.
Max was in his early fifties and had done nothing his whole life other then wrestle. Max was the champion of the small traveling promotion and considered the veteran with his thirty plus years in wrestling.
Max had almost made the big time fifteen years before. Maybe, had he not had such a problem at the time with cocaine and booze, he may have made it.
Over his years of traveling Max had spread his seed all over the country. The good thing about the business back in the old days was the kayfabe. Max had spawned bastards from territory to territory yet the women had never caught up to him.
He never could have been a father or supported a family. Hell, Max didn't have a pot to piss in. For all his years wrestling he had nothing but shattered dreams.
All Max owned was a pair of worn out wrestling boots and some tights in a ratty old gym bag. One could say Max was in decent shape for a man of his years.
However, looks can be deceiving. He was actually a mess. Every inch of his body ached. His daily diet of a quart of whiskey and a hand full of painkillers kept him numb, a state of mind he experienced almost every day of the last thirty years.
Max was a wreck, yet at over six foot tall and 275 lbs he was no wimp. With huge hands that had been in more than one bar room brawl, Max could do some serious damage if it came down to a fight, or sometimes if you just happened to rub him the wrong way.
In the seats behind Max fast asleep were the Boulder brother twins - Crush and Smash. These grapplers were a couple of big, fat guys with the mentality of hillbillies. Not the sharpest knives in the drawer, but both had the strength of an ox, not to mention the brains of one.
With bald-shaved heads and beards like Amish farmers, these two had a tag team finish called “the tumbler.” They would forward roll into their opponent from opposite sides of the ring, both leap up at the same time, and then the big belly sandwich. The opponent would drop to the mat from the combined impact, then he would be pressed overhead and spun by Smash then slammed down on the canvas. Crush would then climb up to the top of the corner turnbuckle and launch all 400 lbs. on the man for the pin. Nobody ever got up from that!
In the ring the Boulders were a menace. Outside the ring they were gentle, good-humored guys in their early twenties.
Both men could eat massive amounts of food and drink almost their combined weight in beer.
When they were not sleeping or eating, their conversations were simple. They lamented about monster trucks and wrestling and not much else.
Neither one ever got laid in any town they wrestled in so the ring rats really were not in their conversations. Well, except when the boys would be talking about ring rats. The brothers then would have to brag and add in their two cents worth with fabricated stories of sexual encounters they never had. The boy's in the promotion would rib them a bit; it was entertaining to the wrestlers to listen to the stories of their sexual conquests, yet all knew neither brother had ever gotten laid. So they would be the center of ridicule for some great times on the road.
The twins always took it well, and for the most part they were well liked by the crew.
In the far back seats were four more wrestlers, two of which were The Polish Assassin and Chief Jimmy Two-Dogs.
The Chief was not actually a Native Indian. He was an Indian of sorts, an East Indian originally from India. Jimmy was thirty years old and had been wrestling for about ten years.
He had been doing the Native Indian gimmick for a long time. With his headdress and gimmick he would have the fans fooled...until he opened his mouth to speak. He tried very hard to pass himself off as a Native but the heavy East Indian accent gave it away every time he opened his mouth. He usually got a lot of groans and jeers when he spoke. Jimmy was the baby face or good guy wrestler, and most of the time he faced off against the Polish Assassin for the deed to his land.
The Polish Assassin had been wrestling for as long as Jimmy. The two of them were the comic relief of the wrestling show.
The Polish Assassin wore an ethnic costume of sorts. He came to the ring in his colorful strange outfit that really had nothing to do with Poland, with the exception of the Polish flag he would take to the ring.
His ring weapon was a large, round, plastic perogie maker. His finish was a simple DDT onto the perogie maker, a move he called The Hunky Dunky.
When The Assassin would wrestle Chief Jimmy Two-Dogs for the deed to the land he would first offer bribes of firewater and beads. This caused a lot of heat in small Indian communities the promotion would wrestle in. Native people would get all worked up and angry with the Assassin, it didn't matter to them that Jimmy Two-Dogs was East Indian. They wanted to see the Assassin get his ass kicked just out of principal.
The Assassin's insults would get Jimmy all worked up, Chief Jimmy Two-Dogs would do the war dance then the match would start.
People enjoyed the comedy match they put on night after night. Sometimes it was Jimmy going over with a clean pin, sometimes the Assassin with a screw finish. It depended on the community they were wrestling in.
The other two wrestlers in the road van were girls. Sexy Susie Star a rather chunky gal with arms like tree trunks and powerful legs. Susie was in her mid thirties and was overweight but not out of shape. Susie stood about 5' 10" and could kick almost anyone’s ass.
Susie had a butch look about her with her short hair. The name Sexy Susie Star was a joke. She was far from sexy. She was a mannish looking woman. The boys never hit on Susie. She preferred girls anyway, and had no reservations about grabbing a man by the balls or putting the boots to him if he got fresh.
Her ring opponent on the road was a young girl of eighteen, in her first year of wrestling. Lucy Linda Leduc was from Montreal. Lucy was about five foot nothing with long blond hair and a slim build.
Lucy moved with lightning speed in the ring. As a former gymnast Lucy had the potential to become a fine lady wrestler given a few years.
The French Canadian name was her ring name, and she liked it better then her own. Lucy was from Quebec and her English was quite broken.
Lucy liked sex and lots of it. She was easy, and the boys in the van were not much interested in her. Lucy was no conquest as she had gotten all the boys out of the way the first few days she had worked for the promotion. All except for the Boulder brother twins who couldn't score in a whorehouse with a fist full of twenties. Lucy had avoided them, as they didn't interest her much.
With the blizzard beginning to lift and the sun coming up, Bob Jackson looked down at the instrument cluster of the old Chevrolet van noticing the fuel gauge was bouncing around an eighth of a tank.
“Shit,” thought Bob, “It sure is a good thing were entering a town, I'll be able to gas up and find out where the fuck we are.”
The snow was now only lightly floating down from the sky, the clouds lifting and the sun making its way on the horizon. Maybe it would turn out to be a nice clear day after all. Bob wheeled the van into the service station and up to the fuel pumps. He stopped the van and put the Chevrolet in park, leaving the engine running for heat.
It was pretty obvious to Bob that the place wasn't open, and they would just have to wait for someone to show up and open it. Bob poked Max in the arm. Max grumbled a bit as he was woken from his drunken slumber.
“Uh…Where are we, Bob?”
“How the fuck would I know, Max? We’re in some shit hole town named Elton,” said Bob.
“Elton? Bob I never heard of any goddamn place called Elton,” said Max.
"Max...we're almost out of gas. We'll have to wait here till they open the joint, so we may as well get the hell out and stretch our legs.”
Max banged the dash. "Come on you sleeping jabronies! Wake the fuck up! If I’m up, everybody's got to get up!"
Max reached back and slapped Smash Boulder in the head with a playful cuff.
"Asshole!" exclaimed Smash. Then he elbowed Crush. “Wake up!”
“Why the fuck do we have to wake up?” asked Crush sleepily.
“Max said we have to wake up, we’re stopped for gas.”
The Chief and the Polish Assassin and the two girls now were awake from all the conversation and noise made by Max and the Boulder twins.
"I'm gonna get out to see if there's a sign on the door and find out when they open the damn place!" Opening the van door Bob stepped out into the snow.
“Fuck it must be twenty below out here,” he exclaimed.
“Well shut the fucking pneumonia hole, nature boy!” yelled Max. “I don't want to completely freeze my balls off.”
Bob slammed the door of the van and with a shiver, pulled the collar of his coat up around his ears. Walking past the pumps Bob noticed they were real old gas pumps, like ones he had seen when he was a kid.
"Damn that's weird," he thought. What was even stranger was the price. A gallon was just twenty-eight cents.
Bob walked toward the door of the station, and stopped to look in the large plate glass window of the office. The widow was dusty on the inside so Bob had to look real hard to see anything.
He was looking at the same stuff Dregs had seen earlier, a tire clock, canister coffee maker and odd rows of cans.
“Oilcans, what's up with the oilcans?” thought Bob. “Must be a nostalgia display or something.”
Over on the counter sat an old cash register. Bob also noticed an old calendar on the wall with the date December 1964. "Well that's just wrong," thought Bob.
“God I got to take a dump,” Bob muttered to himself. “I wonder if the washroom is open.”
Bob then walked around the side if the building, coming to a door with the word WASHROOM. He turned the handle and gave the door a shove. The door wouldn't budge.
“That's strange…the thing isn't locked. Must just be stuck he thought.”
Bob banged on the door hard and heard nothing. Putting his shoulder to the door he shoved it really hard.
"Hey all right, I'm getting up. You're gonna break my legs! Just let me get up!" a cranky voice yelled from the other side of the door.
Dregs got up and pulled the door open expecting to see either the station attendant or the cops. Opening the door Dregs came face to face with Bob.
“What the fuck? Who are you?” asked Bob. “You work here?”
“No! And who the fuck are you?” asked Dregs. “You work here?” Dregs asked sarcastically.
“Well, I'm a guy that needs gas and to take a crap,” exclaimed Bob.
It was plain to see that Dregs was no service station attendant. Fact is it would be obvious to anyone what Dregs was a homeless wreck.
“Well hurry the fuck up then,” said Dregs. “It's damn cold outside.”
Dregs slipped out the door and Bob stepped in shutting the door behind him. Bob looked around in the disgustingly dirty, dusty washroom.
He lifted the seat of the old American Standard toilet. Right away he noticed the water was a disgusting color of gray, and the bowl was badly stained. Looking at the wall Bob noticed the empty toilet paper hanger.
“Christ almighty the place hasn't even got ass wipe,” he muttered. Bob banged the wall with his fist. "Fuck it!" he thought. "I'll just have to shit later."
Bob then opened the door to find Dregs leaning up against the building by the washroom door.
“Hey mister you got a smoke?” asked Dregs.
“Yeah ok,” said Bob pulling a pack out of his coat pocket.
Dregs reached out for the cigarette with his filthy weathered hand, taking the smoke he asked, “Have a light?” as he raised it up to his cracked lips.
Bob then fumbled around in his pocket finding his Zippo lighter and lighting the smoke for Dregs. Dregs took a big drag and sucked in the smoke.
"Hey! Thanks man. I ain't had a smoke for days."
“Hey. When does this place open,” asked Bob.
“Fuck I don't know. I'm not from here,” said Dregs.
“I suppose I'll have to wait around then. We are almost out of gas,” Bob grumbled.
He turned to walk back to the van and Dregs followed behind. Bob paused as he came around to the front of the station.
Noticing that the service bay roll up doors had windows, Bob walked over and looked inside the shop. There was an old 1940's Ford tow truck and an old 1959 Buick, both vehicles covered with dust. The plates on them both read 1964.
“What the hell?” thought Bob. “Are we in a ghost town?”
"Hey buddy, come on over here for a second," Bob yelled to Dregs. “Take a look in there and tell me, do those license plates say 1964?”
Throwing the butt of the cigarette down in the snow Dregs waked over to the window. Dregs placed his face to the window to have a look.
“Yeah, they say 1964,” said Dregs.
“But that's like forty years ago,” said Bob. “I think this place is a fucking ghost town, I've been driving all night, lost in a blizzard, almost out of gas and we land in a ghost town… for fuck sakes!”
Bob kicked the bay door with a hard boot rattling the door loudly. He then turned and walked back to the van. Opening the van door, he climbed in and shut it again behind him.
“What's wrong Bob?” asked Max.
“This place is a fucking ghost town!”
“What do you mean Bob?” asked Crush.
“A ghost town you idiot! There's nothing and no one here! I think we’re fucked.” Bob pulled his cell phone out of his pocket. “For Christ sake I can't even get a signal on this thing!”
The others pulled out their phones and found that none had a cellular signal.
“Well that makes these things useless,” said Bob as he threw his phone on the dash of the van.
The knock was on the drivers’ side widow. Bob rolled it down a crack. It was Dregs the homeless guy.
“Look man…can you let me in your van? My feet are frozen,” Dregs said.
“We’re pretty full buddy,” said Bob.
“Hey, I'll sit on the floor,” said Dregs. “Just for a few minutes till I warm up? I'm frozen.” “Yeah ok,” said Bob. “Go around and get in the side door.”
"Damn Bob! You're gonna let that rat bag in here with us?" Max said.
“Shit man he'll freeze outside. It's fucking colder then a whore’s heart,” Bob told Max. “Open the side door, Boulders…and shove over. We’re letting this guy in,” Bob said.
The side door opened and the two fat Boulders pushed. Dregs climbed in.
"What are we gonna do boss?" asked Chief.
“Well we will drive up through the center of this town and see if there's any sign of civilization or a place we can get fuel,” exclaimed Bob.
“Hey buddy, you can stay in here with us,” Bob said to Dregs.
Pulling away from the station they drove through Elton. The van full of wrestlers and Dregs looked out the windows.
There were numerous cars covered with snow parked on the side of the road. The shapes of the cars were not that familiar to those in the van. They were cars with elaborately shaped taillights and large chrome grills.
They saw a large two-story wooden building with a sign "Elton Hotel Established 1921". As they followed the main street they noticed other buildings on both sides of the street- Elton Hardware, Elton Dinner, Elton General Store, a few houses.
The whole main street was maybe three or four blocks long. Lights were on, but nobody was at home. Bright streetlights everywhere lit up the entire town, yet the town seemed as if it was abandoned.
Not a soul was in sight as the van plowed through the snow-covered street. Not even tire tracks were visible other then those left by the wrestling crew van.
Max looked at his watch it was 7:30 am. The clouds had cleared away. The town seemed to be a desolate place under a clear blue winter sky.
“What the hell?” said Bob “There is nobody around, no other gas station, nothing. We are alone in a town in the middle of no place. Why are all these fucking lights on when nobody lives here? We are fucking near out of gas. This place ain't even on the map. I have no idea where we are.”
"For fuck sakes Bob," yelled the Polish Assassin, "We can't be stuck way the fuck out in nowhere, and we got a show to do tonight.”
“What are we going to do Bob?” asked Max.
“We are going to have to hope like hell we got enough fuel to make it outta here and to the next town,” said Bob.
“Where the hell do you suppose that is, Bob?” said Max.
“Shit! I don't know Max! But we don't have a choice do we? I knew we should have waited for the ring truck and followed it,” said Bob.
“Listen guys we are going to follow this road out of this town, there's nothing here,” said the promoter. “I just hope we make it.”
The van continued down the road making its way through the unplowed snow. After a few minutes of driving the town was in the rearview mirror. Bob could see some vehicles ahead on the road.
“Look there’s someone up ahead on the road by all those big lights.”
As the van drew nearer he could see they were military vehicles blocking the road behind a tall high chain link gate. A chain link fence with razor wire stood as far as the eye could see on both sides of the gate. A jeep, a military truck and four men dressed in arctic military uniforms stood on the other side of the gate.
"What the hell do you suppose this is all about Bob?" asked Max.
“I don't know,” said Bob, as he pulled the van to a stop close to the closed gate.
“I suppose I'll have to get out and ask.” Opening the door of the van Bob stepped out onto the snow-covered road. As he shut the door he heard the sounds of firearms being cocked for action.
"HANDS ABOVE YOUR HEAD" one of the men shouted.
Bob placed his hands in the air and stood on the spot.
“Don't move,” shouted one of the military men on the other side of the gate.
"Hey don't worry about me, I'm not armed and I ain't moving," shouted Bob.
"Who the fuck are you? How did you end up over there?" asked one of the men who seemed to be in charge. “
This is a restricted biohazard area, how did you all get here?” he asked.
“We drove in last night. We were lost in the blizzard. We drove here from the other end of town,” yelled Bob.
The military guard’s radio crackled as he pressed down on the transmission button. “General we have some civilians in the restricted area.”
Turning away from the gate he walked over and stood behind the truck continuing his conversation to the General.
Bob Jackson just stood there in the snow with his hands in the air waiting for some direction from the guard who seemed to be in charge. After a few minutes the guard walked back over to the gate.
“What's up? Are you going to open the gate and let us drive out?” asked Bob.
“Sir, I want you to listen very closely to the directions I'm going to give you,” said the guard.
“You all may have been infected. You have entered a biohazard area.”
“What the hell do you mean infected!” shouted Bob.
“The blizzard last night must have blown the east gate down, you are in a restricted area,” said the guard. “I can't let you out until our Hazmat team has cleared you all. A radioactive biological agent infected this area years ago and you may have been exposed. The General has given orders that you are to turn around and wait in town for the Hazmat team that will be flown in. Once you’re checked out and cleared you'll be free to go. Those are your orders sir. I suggest you and your friends obey them. This is a serious matter so please do as you are asked.”
"Why don't we just wait here for your Hazmat team?" shouted Bob. “Why do we have to go back, the van is almost out of gas and there is nothing in the town.”
“Sir, we can't take the risk. You may have been exposed. If you don't get in your van and turn around and go back we have orders to shoot,” yelled the guard. “I suggest that when you get back to the town make sure that you all stay in well-lit areas for your own safety.”
“Don't worry we’re turning back,” said Bob as he dropped his hands and turned to open the van door. Bob Jackson got back in the van dropped it in gear and cranked the steering wheel hard turning the van back in the direction of Elton.
“What the fuck’s up Bob? Why the fuck are you turning around? What did he say?” asked Max.
“Max, we have to turn around and wait in the town, something about a restricted biohazard area, radioactive agents from years ago, that sort of thing. I don't know, but we better do what they say. It was all pretty serious shit by the sounds of it.”
After Bob spoke there was a series of groans and complaints from the rest of the crew all except from Dregs who just sat there his eyes open staring off into space, a cold blank stare through his bushy face and long hair.
“What's up with him?” Max said to Crush Boulder.
“I don't know. He's been like that ever since we left town. He don't talk much…kind of stiff too. But he's still breathing so I suppose he's ok,” said Crush.
“Maybe he's retarded or something,” said Smash.
“Yeah! You two would know about retarded,” snickered Lucy. “He must be related to you.”
“Blow me bitch”, said Crush.
“Can't blow imagination loser,” snapped Lucy.
Everyone in the van laughed a little. All of them except for Dregs. He just stared.
The van pulled back into town after a few minutes. Back past the old snow covered houses and past the various storefronts. Bob pulled the van up to the Elton Hotel on the wrong side of the street figuring that would be ok, as there did not seem to be anyone around to complain about it. As he pulled up the engine sputtered slightly and stalled at the front door to the hotel.
“Now we’re stuck in Goddamned Elton and the vans out of gas,” Bob said banging the steering wheel. “Those Hazmat guy's from the army better have some gas or we won't be going any place.” “We may as well check out this Elton Hotel maybe we can get warm in there.
The wrestling crew and Dregs the homeless bailed out of the van.
“Hey look! A 56 Caddy! My Grandpa used to have one of those!” said the Assassin. Covered in a foot or more of snow, like a large loaf of white bread, was a 1956 Cadillac. The Assassin walked over to the drivers’ side and brushed the snow off the windshield to get a look at the inside of the car. As he looked inside he could see the shape of a person sitting in the drivers seat.
“Look! There's someone in here!” the Assassin shouted at the others.
The Boulders walked over to have a look.
"Are they alive?" shouted Bob.
The Assassin ran his hand along the door brushing the snow away to locate the door handle. Pushing the button, the assassin gave the door a hard pull, the door swung open and the vile odor of musty decay hit the Assassin and the Boulders in their faces.
A skeleton in a dark blue shredded suit came crashing from the drivers seat onto the snow. The men all jumped.
Susie and Lucy came around the side of the Caddy and spotting the skeleton and seeing the horrified looks on the Boulders faces they began to laugh like fools.
"Woo, the dead guy's gonna get ya," shrieked Lucy at the Assassin.
“What you going to do when the dead comes for you,” sang Susie.
The Assassin, over the shock now, was just a little pissed at the girls. “It's not fucking funny you bitches. What the hell is a dead guy doing in this car?”
“I don't know,” said Bob who was now looking the situation over. “I do know we better look for a place to get warm. Out here in the cold we will be as dead as that guy if we don't. Let's try the hotel?”
“Where the hell's the welcome wagon?” said Crush
“Right Crush,” said Susie “And a waitress too you fucking goof. This town is abandoned. The guard said it was a restricted biohazard area. I don't think we are going to find anyone. Well, at least nobody that's alive.”
Trying the front doors of the hotel, Bob found they were difficult to open with the deep snow in the way. Bob pulled harder on the door and with a little help from Max they were able to open it.
The gang filed into the lobby of the hotel. Dregs was the last one through the door. Still staring blankly into space, Dregs closed the door behind him and stood there not saying a word.
The lobby of the Elton Hotel was small. On one side of the stairs, which led up to the rooms, was a dark old mahogany counter covered with dust. A small chrome bell sat in the middle of the counter covered in dust and spider webs. Behind the counter was a shelf with about ten square cubbies for hotel keys and mail. A large moose head with antlers hung behind the counter above the key boxes. The moose head was decorated with dusty Christmas ornaments and a dirty old string of lights.
The lobby was well lit by a large, round wrought iron fixture in the middle of the room, and sidelights hung on all the walls. Everything in the room was covered in dust, as if nothing had been disturbed for fifty years, all except for some of the light bulbs that looked as if they were recently installed in a few of the fixtures.
By the front doors of the lobby were two large overstuffed chairs, dirty and torn and sitting on either side of a dusty old magazine table.
In a corner stood an old wooden coat stand complete with a dusty overcoat and hat hanging from one of the large brass hooks.
Pictures of classic landscapes hung on the dark wooden walls. The interior of the lobby was sort American gothic in its appearance.
“Christ sake,” said Max. “This place is like a fucking time warp, I feel like I'm stuck in the 1960's or on the movie set of a low budget horror film.”
Susie then sneaking up behind Max grabbed him by the sides. “Boo!” she yelled.
Max jumped slightly. “Oh very funny,” he said.
“Don't you think this place is a little weird,” the Chief said.
“Why the hell are the lights all on in a ghost town,” said Max.
“I don't understand,” said Bob. “The last thing the guard said was to stay in well lit areas. Why I don't know, but the bulbs have been changed even though nothing else has been touched in years. I don't know about you guys but this place is giving me the creeps.”
Over at one end of the lobby an arrow sign hung from the wall "DINER"
“Hey look…let's go check the diner out and see what the Rock is cooking,” said Smash.
“Yeah, I'm really hungry,” said Crush.
“I don't think that they will have a special on today,” said Max.
Susie laughs, “Sure a big plate of tasty maggots for the fat guys.”
Walking over toward the sign the crew made their way into the diner.
The diner had a dusty long red counter with aluminum trim with a dozen red and chrome stools. It was the classic 1950 style diner. Behind the counter were appliances you would normally see in an old diner, shelves behind full of dusty old cups and plates, a wall clock, milkshake machine. Across from the lunch counter sat six diner style booths.
“Wow! This place looks like it's right out of Happy Days,” said Bob.
“Yeah, you’re Potsie and I'm the Fonz,” said Max.
.
Susie shouted, “Hey look over there! A jukebox!”
Susie and Lucy walked over to the jukebox. Susie wiped the dust off the front glass and looked inside it.
“Wow! Records! Cool,” she said. “Hey! And it's three plays for a quarter.”
Susie unzipped her purse and looked inside for a twenty-five cent piece.
“Let’s see if this thing still works.” After she dropped the quarter in the jukebox it lit up. “Cool,” she said. Susie looked over the selection menu.
Lucy walked over and looked at the names of the songs on the menu and said, “I have never heard any of doze dare songs, who de fuck is dis Pat Boone?”
“I don't know but here's a golden oldie for this creepy place,” said Susie as she selected E6 from the menu.
The machinery of the jukebox began to move. Slowly an arm moved across and grabbed the 45 record taking it out and setting it down on the turntable platter. The platter began to spin, the speaker crackled and the selection started playing.
“Hey guy's, here's one to rock this creepy this place,” shouted Susie.
The music began:
I was working in the lab late one night
When my eyes beheld an eerie sight
For my monster from his slab began to rise
And suddenly to my surprise
He did the mash
He did the monster mash
The monster mash
It was a graveyard smash
He did the mash
It caught on in a flash
He did the mash
He did the monster mash
The girls began to dance about to Boris Picket and the Crypt Kicker Five. Max sat down on one of the stools. Bob just shook his head. The Boulders, just looking at each other, sat their fat asses down in a booth. The Chief and the Assassin just laughed at each other hysterically as they watched the two girls dance about.
As the selection came to the end Susie yelled.
“I got two more selections.”
“Hey,” yelled Bob “No more…we have to settle down a bit. We have who knows how long to wait for this Hazmat team from the army. Let's see if we can find a way to warm this place up.”
Bob looked over at the diner door. There, standing in the doorway with a frozen stare, was Dregs.
“Hey buddy. What's up!” said Bob.
No response. Bob walked over and gave Dregs a bit of a shake.
“Uh... I don't feel so good,” said Dregs.
“Well…you don't look to good either,” said Bob.
“Maybe he better sit down before he falls down,” said Max.
Taking Dregs’ arm Bob took him over toward one of the booths.
Looking at the dust covered booth, Bob noticed two small mounds of dust on its bench.
“God almighty this place is filthy,” Bob said, bending down slightly to brush the dirt and dust off the bench. The disturbed air born dust went up Bob’s nose and he began coughing.
“Man! That's…awful! Cough.”
“Come on Buddy have a seat. Here. Sit down for a bit,” Bob said, as he eased Dregs into the booth. Dregs slumped down placing his head on the table still staring off into space, his face pale and blankly staring.
Coughing still, Bob turned to the others and said, “I don't think our friend is doing too well. I think he's sick or something.”
“Hey Bob, why don't you get those girls in the kitchen to rattle those pots and pans and make me some dinner. I'm a hungry man,” Max said.
“Yeah! Like, shake, rattle and roll yourself you old mother-fucker,” snapped Susie.
The crew all laughed at Max and Susie, it was all in good fun.
A light moment in what was turning into a serious situation for the group.
From behind the exit door at the far end of the diner the group could hear the sound of a door slamming shut. “
“What the hell? Sounds like someone else is here,” said Bob.
“Maybe it's the Hazmat team looking for us,” Max said.
All of the wrestling crew got up and followed Bob down to the door at the other end of the diner. Bob turned the handle and opened the door to find a dark hallway.
“Hey! Anyone down there?” Bob shouted. No one yelled back.
Bob yelled again.
“Anyone down there?” No answer.
Noticing a switch on the wall Bob turned the lights on and looked down the hall.
“Did you see that Max?” Bob said.
“See what, Bob? There's fuck all there.”
“I thought I saw something Max.”
"Maybe you saw one of dem dare ghost!" laughed Lucy. The rest of the crew standing behind also laughed, mostly at Lucy's broken English.
“Really! For a second, when I turned the lights on, I saw something,” said Bob.
“I think your losing it, pal!” laughed Max. “I'm right beside you and I didn't see anything.”
The group fell silent. They all could hear those muffled noises from way down the hallway, a faint eerie chorus of groans.
“Well Bob, what are you waiting for? We’re all right behind you.” coaxed Max.
“All of us but our homeless friend. He's still over in the booth looking half dead,” said the Chief.
“Yeah. Like he looked alive when we found him,” said the Assassin.
Bob and the crew proceeded down the hallway. The hungry moaning became slightly more audible as they came to a corner.
There was graffiti, a message scrawled on the wall.
The verse read:
“ASHES TO ASHES, DUST TO DUST THE DARKNESS AND THE DEAD YOU CANNOT TRUST.”
“What the hell does that mean?” said Max.
“Shit I bet it's a rib,” exclaimed one of the Boulder twins.
“It’s fucking creepy,” shuddered Max.
They continued around the corner to the end of the hall. There was a door left and a door right. The tortured moaning was somewhat louder.
Max opened the door to the right just a crack. The bright winter sun shone through.
“Well, that leads outside,” said Max, swinging the door open wide.
Max and Bob both stood in the doorway, looking out.
They could see nothing out of the ordinary.
“What's that?” Bob exclaimed.
Looking down Bob and Max both noticed a small pile of dust by the door.
“That's weird,” said Bob.
“Must have fallen out of the door when we opened it,” said Max.
The moaning sounds seemed louder and more tortured.
“You think someone's hurt?” said the Chief.
The Assassin put his ear to the door to the left. “Hey I think it's coming from here!”
He gave the knob a turn and slowly pulled the door open.
Behind the door was a dark stairway, which lead down to complete blackness.
Bob yelled. “Hey! Who's there?”
Nothing other than the same muffled vocal agony.
“Try the light switch Bob,” said Max.
Bob fiddled with the switch a bit. “Nothing it's dead, the bulb must be burned out.”
“Hey!” Max shouted at the darkness.
“Heeeeeelp…uuuuuus…heeeeelp…uuuuus…” one of the voices seemed to say.
Then more starved moaning.
“Sounds like a few people down there,” said Bob. “We better see what we can do!”
“Don't worry we’re coming,” Bob shouted down the stairs.
“Fuck! We got no light!” said Max.
Bob slipped his hand in his pocket and pulled out his lighter. “I got my trusty Zippo, we can get down the stairs.”
“Heeeelp……uuuussss…”
It was a woman, crying woefully in the dark at the bottom of the stairs.
“You fucking guys are nuts!” said the Assassin. “I’m not going down there in the dark.” The rest of the crew stayed at the top of the stairs while Bob and Max proceeded down with caution.
The glow from the lighter was enough for Bob and Max to make it down the stairs carefully, step by step.
The two men could see a female figure in a waitress outfit. She was on her knees at the bottom stair, her hands over her eyes.
In the flicker of the flame they could see other figures moving in the background. “Liiiiight…ooooooff! …buuuuuurns…”
As Max and Bob got closer to the bottom, they could see a pair of weathered, badly scabbed hands over her face. Max reached down to the woman to give her some assistance. The woman's cold hands grabbed Max's arm.
“Help…need….braaaaains.”
She pulled Max down by the arm. Streams of gray froth oozed from her mouth.
She reached up to grab Max by the hair and Max shoved her. She grabbed his arm and bit his forearm, tearing away the flesh.
The figures behind the woman stumbled forward, their rotting hands shielding their cloudy eyes from the flickering light of the flame.
“…braaains…brrrrrains…”
Bob waved the lighter toward them. Shrieking with pain, the figures clumsily lurched backwards.
Bob shoved the lighter right in the cannibal woman's bloodstained face. She cried out and recoiled in pain, Max’s flesh still quivering on her lips.
The two men scrambled in terror back up the stairs. Racing back through the door at the top of the stairs they pushed the others aside.
“Help…uuuuuus?” Again voices from below. “Must…have…braaaains.”
Bob slammed the door to the cellar hard. Bob's heart was racing. Max was bleeding from a nasty, gouge in his forearm.
“The bitch got my hand too!”
Bob was breathless and shouting in gasps. “Go find something to block this fucking door!”
“What was it Bob?” yelled Smash Boulder. “What happened!?”
“Zombies! Ugly, undead, flesh-eating, mother-fuckers,” shouted Max as he held his bleeding arm.
“Fucking ghoulish, dead-alive, blood-sucking bastards!” yelled Bob. “Go find something to hold this door.”
The horrific moaning and flesh craving chants moved closer as the monstrous mob staggered and clumsily stumbled it’s way up the stairs.
Bob and Max put all their weight against the door, with the assistance of Assassin and the Chief, who placed their hands to the door. The dead threw themselves against the heavy door. It began cracking with each blow from the other side.
There was a loud crash as the door broke and flew open. Bob and Max were thrown to the floor by its force.
The hideous creatures were shrieking and holding their eyes, decaying quickly from the bright hallway light. The zombies slowly decomposed completely and crumbled into dust at the top of the stairs.
Bob quickly picked himself up off the floor.
“I thought they only died if you blow their heads off!” Yelled Crush Boulder as he helped Max up to his feet.
“The light,” said Bob, “They’re like goddamn Vampires! They can't take the light. That's the reason the lights are on. As soon as they see the light they turn to dust. All these lights are on to kill the living dead!”
Susie spoke up. “You mean all the dust here is dead people?”
“I don't know,” said Bob.
“This is fucked up. It's fucked, we’re fucked, it's all fucked,” said the Chief.
“That must be why that warning was written on the wall,” said the Assassin.
“Fuck! I don't know, but I'm bleeding really bad,” said Max.
“Let's go back to the diner and find something to fix you up,” said Bob.
“Yeah, we better get back and see how your buddy’s doing, Bob,” said Max.
Walking back down the hallway the crew passed the graffiti scrawled in the hallway.
“Well, we know what the hell that's all about now,” said Max.
“If I ever see anymore of those mother-fuckers it will be too soon,” exclaimed Smash. Bob spoke up. “Listen guys, as long as we stay in the well lit areas we should be safe.”
“I'm going to find a two by four or something. If one of those bastard comes at me he's getting it,” said the Assassin.
The crew walked back into the diner, Bob shut the door after everyone filed in.
“Don't anyone shut this switch off. We don't want those things coming up this far,” said Bob.
“You think there’s more downstairs,” asked the Chief.
“I don't know but why take the chance?” said Bob. Bob sat down in a booth. “Shit I feel real run down after all that back there. How is our friend up there doing?”
Susie walked up a few booths to where Dregs was. Dregs’ head still rested face down on the table. Susie gave him a light shake on the shoulder.
“Hey you,” she said.
Dregs sat up, his face now completely colorless and pale, his eyes fixed and blood oozing from the corners of his eyes and mouth.
Dregs spoke in a loud voice. “I feel better then ever you tasty bitch.”
“Hey you’re not my type,” said Susie.
“Or gender for that matter,” the Chief yelled in a playful manner.
Dregs then grabbed Susie by the arm with a cold hand. Dregs gripped hard around her wrist and grinned. Susie with her other hand pulled Dregs grip from her wrist.
“Listen creep! You'll keep your hands to yourself if you want to keep those few teeth you have left!” She squeezed his cold hand then slammed it on the table.
Dregs laughed an evil laugh. “I'm just playin’ honey, just playin’!”
“Hey fuck! One of you guys want to find me a towel? I'm bleeding pretty good,” shouted Max.
“That's nothing,” said Crush. “You bleed more then that in the ring.”
“That's a little different now, ain't it?” said Max. “Just find me a towel or a first aid kit for fuck sake.”
. "I go see if I can find de towels,” said Lucy.
"Hey, it's a hotel!” said Max. “There's got to be towels in the rooms. There are always towels in a hotel. Just make sure the lights are on it should be safe.”
Max sat down on one of the stools.
“I must have lost a lot of blood I'm feeling really weak.”
“Don't worry. I was feeling bad a while ago. It will go away. Now I feel great!” shouted Dregs from his booth.
“Something weird is going on here,” exclaimed Susie.
“God damn it! I'm fucking bleeding here people. Does anyone care?” shouted Max.
"I go dare now and have de look.” Lucy walked passed the crew, back towards the door that led to the lobby.
“Hey Frenchie honey, you look good enough to eat!” shouted Dregs as Lucy passed by, and went through the door, back into the lobby.
Bob was still in a booth, his eyes fixed in a stare. It was just the same look as Dregs’. Max was nursing his arm.
The rest of the crew Susie, the Boulder twins, the Assassin and the Chief had all brushed off stools and booths and were sitting down.
The Boulders took up a whole booth to themselves, Crush fiddling with salt and peppershakers and talking to his brother about how hungry he was. Not one of the crew had even thought of going with Lucy to go look for a towel. Lucy was on a quest to find a towel all alone.
Lucy came through the main lobby and over to the front counter. She stood at the foot of the stairs that led up to the rooms. The stairs seemed to be well lit so she proceeded up with caution.
The old wooden stairs had a dusty carpet runner up the center, and large wooden railings on each side. Every step she took up the stairs made a terrible creak. Lucy came to the top of the stairs.
The hallway was well lit and she could see no problem with being upstairs.
A row of hotel room doors lined both sides of the hall. She counted ten doors.
Lucy tried the first door. Locked. As she went down the hall she tried every door and each one was locked.
Lucy noticed a door at the end of the hall marked HOTEL LINEN. She walked towards it knowing the towels would be kept there.
As she got closer the door opened a crack and a wrinkled arm reached out and clumsily slapped the light switches on the wall beside the linen closet door. The hall lights went out.
Lucy could hear the door hit the wall as it was flung open. Lucy could only see a shadow in the darkness.
Too terrified to scream she turned to run back towards the stairs. She ran right into something. The odor of death filled the air.
Lucy flung her fists violently hitting a wet, pulp-like mass in the darkness. She could feel wet splatter hitting her face. The thing in the darkness staggered and hit the hallway wall. Lucy could see the outline of the zombie’s face in the dark. The blow from her fist had caved in what was once a face.
From behind her, the slimy hands of a zombie chambermaid grabbed her by her neck. “Braaaaains!” it screamed.
Lucy reached back and grabbed a cold dead arm and flipped the chambermaid zombie with a classic wrestling move. Then leaping in the air Lucy dropped a stiff leg on to the head of the zombie thing. She could feel mushy wetness on her leg as the face of the zombie squashed under the weight of her leg drop.
Lucy then nipped-up and ran toward the light of the stairs. Suddenly, she felt a sharp pain in the calf of her leg.
Looking down she could see the outline of a midget zombie. The midget’s eyes glowed in the dim unlit hallway. His teeth sunk into the calf of her leg. With her other foot she gave the midget a good boot to the face. She kicked hard enough to dislodge him, and the midget zombie hit the wall behind.
It then stood up and brushed itself off, then with its little hands it grabbed it's zombie crotch and yelled out. "I want your hot tasty brains."
The midget moved quickly back towards her. Lucy lined him up and with a giant round house kick nailed him square in the head.
The force was so great from her kick it sent the zombie’s head flying off his shoulders. It then bounced off the ceiling then rolled down the hallway.
The zombie midget’s neck squirted greenish-gray slime as the torso fell, lifeless, to the floor.
Lucy painfully hobbled down the hallway in the direction of the stairs. She stopped dead in her tracks near the foot of the stairway. A large figure gabbed Lucy by the neck with two slimy cold hands. She looked up into the face of a fresh new zombie.
“Dregs?”
“I want Frenchie brain!” Dregs blasted. His breath stunk like rotting meat, his eyes glowing in the dark. Dregs opened his large foaming mouth and bit savagely into Lucy's head. Dregs the homeless had walked into the darkness. He had completely transformed into a zombie.
Zombie Dreg threw Lucy down to the floor and then feasted on her brains. Dregs ripped her mid section open in a frenzy, his hand reaching deep inside Lucy’s still warm and twitching cadaver. Dregs moaned and hungrily sucked and savored the brain as he swallowed chunks of living gray matter. He rubbed the gore on his distorted face as if in a state of ecstasy.
Happy Halloween. A volume of Horrible Haunts & Twisted Tales taken from the horror books La Belle Rouge has written every October for a decade and a half. If you have read her works in the horror genre, you know the invitation is for you to enjoy thr
