Masters of Horror (24 page)

The naked man’s skin appeared sinewy and smooth. Much too smooth. He’d seen that skin before. Hell, that skin had been under his own fingers a hundred times before.

“
All those nights you spent fucking your whore dummies…did you think I’d just lay up in this bedroom by myself?” his wife spat, as the naked man cast Bunny, broken and cracked, to the floor. “Didn’t you think I might do you one better? Didn’t you think I might get loving of my own?”

He heard her voice. Problem was, he couldn’t listen. How could he? The naked man stood across from him, the naked man with insanely smooth skin. The naked man with an absurdly enormous dick.

“
You were
so careful
to hide all your lovers…but did you ever think to check under the bed for mine?”

The naked man with no head.

“
But...but mannequins aren’t alive…” he croaked, promptly soiling himself as his wife’s dummy lover shambled toward him.

Back to TOC

One of the advantages of living in this period in history is if you don’t like some particular feature about your body, you’re not necessarily ‘stuck with it’. Is your nose too long? Chop it. Are your breasts too small? Shove some silicone in there. Don’t like your eye color? Stick in some colored contacts. Build that ‘Perfect Beast’, baby.

Just try not to get carried away. Because both beauty and ugliness—as Carson Buckingham explains—are only…

SKIN DEEP

By Carson Buckingham

It all began innocently enough, with the removal of a single, unsightly wart.

Lucinda Parker had been begging her mother for years to take her to someone who could get rid of “the immense-by-any-standards” growth next to her nose. 

“
Mother, it looks like I have three nostrils,” she would wail, and her long suffering parent would then give her the same, half-listening broken record response, “When you’re older.”

To which Lucinda’s broken record rejoinder was. “I’ll never be ‘older’ because I’ll kill myself before then!”  This was invariably followed by stomping down the hallway and slamming her bedroom door—often more than once.

“
The difficult years have arrived,” Mrs. Parker could be heard to mutter as she dried another dish.

The difficult years.  Lucinda was twelve.  She had had exactly one menstrual cycle, thirty-two (she counted them) pubic hairs, and one training bra which she wore night and day.  She was already shaving her underarms and legs, though not out of necessity, and was experimenting with make-up.  Her best effort to date made her look, if you squinted, like Lady GaGa; her biggest failure, a cross between Alice Cooper and Tammy Faye Bakker.

The hairstyles are not to be mentioned, much less discussed.

In short, Lucinda felt that she was now a Grade-A, one hundred percent woman, and she wanted the perks that went with it; but before they could even begin to kick in, she had to do something about her face.

Everything would be perfect if I could only get rid of this tumor next to my nose.  It dwarfs the Empire State Building, for cryin’ out loud!

Mr. and Mrs. Parker remained unconcerned for most of that year, chalking their daughter’s antics up to number one, a phase and number two, hormones.

However, as Lucinda’s thirteenth birthday neared, things shifted dramatically.

“
Lucinda, it’s Saturday night.  Why don’t you go out to the movies with your friends?” Mrs. Parker asked.

Her daughter looked up from her copy of “Marie Claire” and rolled her eyes.  “I don’t have any friends.”

“
Oh nonsense.  Of course you do! Call one and go out—my treat.”

Lucinda sighed and picked up the phone.

Ten minutes later, there was a soft knock at the front door.

“
Must be Lu’s friend,” Mr. Parker muttered behind his newspaper.

Mrs. Parker, ever cautious, glanced into the peephole.  “There’s nobody there, George.”

“
Damned kids.  You’d better see if they left a bag full of dog crap on the stoop, hoping that you’ll step on it.”

“
George Parker,
really
!”

“
We did it when I was a kid.  Doubt things have changed all that much.”

“
Haven’t,” Lucinda said, walking in.  “Except now they set fire to it to make sure you step on it.”

“
How charming,” Mrs. Parker said.  The word ‘disgust’ could have actually appeared across her forehead and no one would have been surprised.

“
Aren’t you going to open the door?” Lucinda asked.

“
There’s no one there.”

“
Sure there is.”  She swung open the door and there stood six-year-old Charlie Foley from next door.  He was so small that he didn’t show up in the peephole.

“
Oh, I’m sorry to keep you waiting out there, Charlie,” Mrs. Parker said.  “Does your mother need something?  Eggs?  Sugar?”

“
No, m’am.  I’m here fer Lucinda.  We’re goin’ on a …uh…what was it again?” he asked Lucinda.

“
A ‘date,’ Charlie.”

“
Thassit!  A date.  Whassa ‘date,’ Mrs. Parker?”

Eleanor Parker was too flummoxed to reply.  George Parker, on the other hand, was laughing quietly behind the sports section—you could tell because the paper was shaking.

“
A ‘date’, Charlie, is when we go to the movies and stuff ourselves with popcorn and candy and soda!”  Lucinda said, tickling his tummy.  She would have touseled his hair, but in honor of the occasion, it was so plastered down that she was afraid she’d stick to it.

Mrs. Parker turned to her daughter.  “May I see you in the kitchen, Lucinda?  Oh, and
do
come in, Charlie.  You can have a nice chat with Mr. Parker.  We won’t be a moment.”

Mr. Parker sighed, folded his paper, shot the missus a dagger-filled look, then put a smile on his face and turned to their little guest.

Once in the kitchen, Lucinda’s mother rounded on her.  “What are you trying to prove, Lucinda?” she hissed.  “Do you think you’re funny?”

“
No, just funny-looking.”

“
What?”

“
I don’t
have
any friends my own age, Mom.  I keep trying to tell you that—and it’s all because of this…this…whatever it is on my face!”

“
But why Charlie?”

“
He’s too young to care about how I look.  He just cares that I like him and treat him nice.  He’s the only real friend I have.  We were walking home from school the other day and one of the football players called me ‘the Wicked Witch of the West.’  Well, Charlie ran right up to him and started punching his leg.” Lucinda smiled, tears welling up at the memory.  “It was as high as he could reach, Mom, but he did it without a second thought.  He did it for me.  That linebacker could have made him into a stain on the sidewalk, but Charlie didn’t care.  So, yes, Mom, I’m going to the movies with Charlie Foley, my little knight in shining armor and red Velcro sneakers.  Are you driving us, or is Dad?”  Before her mother could reply, Lucinda dried her eyes and left the room.

Mrs. Parker was floored.  “I had no idea things were as bad as that,” she murmured before joining everyone in the living room.

Mr. Parker looked up, an expression of wonder on his face.  “Eleanor, this little guy knows more about the Yankees than I ever did—every stat on every player! A fine young man…just fine.” He reached over to tousle Charlie’s hair, thought better of it, and settled for a manly pat on the back.

“
I brought all my saved ‘lowance, Lu, and I’m gonna buy you a humongous bagga popcorn—all by myself!” Charlie was really good at saving his money—even at age six.  He had big plans, that one; but he understood the importance of gratitude, as well, and it didn’t take a chain saw to get him to part with some cash when it was appropriate.

Lucinda kissed Charlie on the cheek.  She knew how hard he worked for that fifty cents a week—it wasn’t just handed to him.  “You are the sweetest man in the world, Charlie Foley, but my mom’s paying tonight.  Save your money, kiddo.  Someday I’ll want a car…or maybe an elephant.”

“
Or a giraffe?” Charlie giggled.

“
Nope, no giraffe.  Costs too much when they get a sore throat.”

“
What are you two going to see tonight?” Mr. Parker asked.

“
Oh!  ‘The Incredibles’!   Pleeeeeeeeeeeease, Lu?”

“
Absolutely.”

Mr. Parker stood.  “I’ll drive.  Let’s get going.  Coming, dear?”

“
No…no.  I think I’ll stay here, thanks.”

* * *

Twenty minutes later. Mr. Parker stepped back through the door, chuckling.  “We had to stop next door so Charlie could put his bag of quarters away.  He’s such a nice little kid—no wonder Lu likes to babysit for him.  Smart, too, that one, and…what’s the matter, El?”

“
I thought she was going out with Charlie to defy us or to make some obscure pre-teenage point, but she wasn’t.”  She recapped the kitchen confrontation for him and when she was done, Mr. Parker sat back in his chair looking thoughtful; but when at last he opened his mouth to speak, it was his wife who voiced his thoughts.

Mr. Parker just smiled and nodded.

* * *

It was a glum Lucinda who sat at the table with her parents two weeks later.  An angel food cake with thirteen candles blazed before her.  Her loot this year consisted of an iPod and a gift certificate to download music onto it.  She’d wanted just that, but nothing much seemed to make her happy anymore, and though she did her best to appear ecstatic, she knew from her parents’ reaction that her attempt had fallen flat.  She also knew that money was tight in the house these days and that they really didn’t have cash to spare on such expensive gifts, so that added guilt to guest list of her pity party.  Depression had already arrived. 

She was really starting to hate birthdays.

“
Now, make a wish, Lu.  Make it a really good one, and I bet it comes true.  Thirteen is the most magical birthday of all, or so I’ve heard,” Mr. Parker said.

“
Dad, I’m thirteen, not three.  Wishing doesn’t work.”

“
Humor me.  Close your eyes and concentrate.”

Lucinda sighed as only a thirteen-year-old can, closed her eyes, wished, then blew out the candles, eyes still closed.  She didn’t care if she blew them all out or not, but when she opened her eyes, she saw that she had, and that there was an envelope in front of her with her name on it.

Her parents looked at each other, secrets dancing in their eyes.

She tore the envelope and out fell a rectangular card.  She picked it up and looked at it, more to indulge her parents than her curiosity; but as she realized what she held, her face transformed.

It was an appointment card…for her…at a cosmetic surgeon’s!  She searched her parents smiling faces. “Really? 
Really
?”

“
Yes, honey, really.  Not that we don’t think you’re beautiful exactly the way you are; but
you
don’t, and that’s what needs to change,” Mrs. Parker said.

“
I’d just hate to see you get so tied up with outer beauty that you lose the inner, most important beauty that you already have in spades, my little girl.  Promise me you won’t,” Mr. Parker said.