Excerpt
From the story 'SKELETON CRUISE':


Clifford ran across the sandy dune towards the Coast Guard officer that
had waived him over. He noticed the man was standing directly over what looked like the shape of a body. It was lying next to pieces of shattered wood that had come from the Pegasus. He leaned down and had to turn his head quickly to avoid vomiting. It was Kendrick. What was left of his mangled face was enough for identification from the old driver’s license photo they had received from DMV last week. The man’s throat had obviously been cut. Although parasites had eaten away most of his upper chest and neck, the deep slash was still visible at the base of the throat in a clear horizontal pattern.

A moment later he crawled aboard the shattered remains of the Pegasus’ front end. What was left of the structure was leaning hard to the left, and he had to side step to enter the now wet and musty hallway that led to the crews quarters below deck. The smell of decay was so stout it almost made him physically ill. Pieces of what had been cabinets, doors and walls floated ankle deep all around him.

He noticed all the cabin doors were open except the last one at the far end of the tilted hallway. Clifford was about to turn and head back into the fresh air of the beach when he heard the whispers. He felt a fresh, cool sweat break out onto his forehead, neck and arms. Instinctively he removed his thirty-eight from its shoulder holster and held it in front of his chest like a shield. He took a small step forward and heard a clear, short laugh, followed by a lower, muffled giggle, both of which seemed strangely garbled.

Clifford considered turning back and calling in one of the Guard troops, but instead found himself standing in front of the closed door with his left hand posed on the moist, rusty knob.

He took a deep breath and the door swung open with a loud creak.

Their faces held smiles too wide and toothy for their bloated faces. He noticed the open sores and bruises on their naked, swollen torsos. He understood what caused these types of marks. He had seen ‘floaters’ before. Dead bodies that had been slowly chipped away at by salt water and the parasites that frequented it. Neither of them had eyelids. They sat up off the bed and glared at him with teeth bared.

“Hello, Agent Clifford,” said the man-thing that Clifford recognized from old photos as Barry Wilkins. He held out a torn hand that was missing three fingers.

“Join us,” said the other, her face hopelessly disfigured on one side. It looked as if sharks had been taking her apart section by section, inch by inch.

Clifford tried to back away, but found his feet frozen; his legs as useless as the revolver now swinging powerless at his side. As they continued to hug each other and grin at him hideously, he then noticed a detail that had earlier escaped his shocked psyche. He felt his chest burn as the ability to inhale fresh oxygen suddenly escaped him.

They were joined at the side. Their flesh was seared together as if welded into place. There were only two arms and two legs. A single, bloated torso held both heads. The female breast protruded from Carolyn’s side. The other side of the chest was hairy and flat. Clifford glanced down with his mouth agape and saw the crotch was shaved and sexless.

He finally managed to turn from the abomination and attempted to sprint down the crooked hallway when he felt the shockingly stout hand grip his shoulder in a vise. He was held back by two strong arms and felt the wet, hot breath at his ear.

“We can share things together, and we never have to leave here. In fact, we can never, ever leave…”