Authors: Erik Hofstatter
Moribund Tales (5 page)
O
n the day my Father was returned to the earth, I knew something was wrong with me. Whilst my relatives were crying for the dearly departed, I was delighting in the company of my own melancholy. I began to develop an appreciation for the macabre. Having realised that I shared more in common with the dead than the living, I decided that I needed to be in the company of corpses.
Three weeks after the funeral, I applied for a job as a mortician's assistant. No experience was required, only a willing heart and sincere attitude.
I worked under the supervision of Mr. Wilkes. He made no secret of his dislike for me. From the first day I met him, it was clear he despised me. The feeling was mutual.
During my first week, a body went missing, only to reappear two days later. Nobody could explain how or why it had happened, but the suspicion fell entirely on me.
I knocked on a solid mahogany door and entered after a slight pause. Mr. Wilkes was sitting behind his marble desk, gesturing for me to sit in the leather chair opposite him. He studied my face as we sat in silence.
“Do you know why I've summoned you here?”
“No, Sir.”
“I have reason to believe that you were involved in the theft of a corpse. As a consequence of your debauched act of thievery, we have decided to dismiss you with immediate effect.”
I felt the blood drain from my face. “I don't understand? I don't know anything about a missing body. I'm new here.”
Mr. Wilkes would not have any of my protestations. My guilt had already been decided.
“If you sign this,” he said, passing me a piece of headed paper, “I'll let you call it a resignation. This will help you avoid any awkward questions.”
I hesitated, but it was obvious that I didn't have a choice. I had to concede.
Mr. Wilkes shook his head in disgust.
“I…”
He held his hand up as if to silence me. I was already lost for words to defend myself with.
“I don't want to know,” he said. “You're sick!”
I nodded and offered a hand that he refused to shake. It didn't matter to him that I was innocent. He wanted to believe that it was me. I was forced to retreat.
Dusk had already descended by the time I left the building. I could hear the rustling of leaves in the autumn breeze as I walked through the deserted car park towards my 1978 Cherokee. As I switched on the engine, a sense of bitterness overwhelmed me.
Why am I the one that is always rejected?
I had to take a risk and prove to myself that I wasn't a failure.
Kathryn was my neighbour. I found her attractive but knew I had no chance. I was always too shy to make an impression on her. She had this reputation for being easy, which intimidated me. For some reason, tonight was different. I invited her over. To my surprise, she accepted the offer.
I've had a few girlfriends over the years, but my relationships always seem to end in tears. They turn sour for reasons that have never been explained to me. In the end, I stopped trying. I buried myself in books and slipped into the dark realms they offered.
There was a knock at the door. I hesitated, but knew who it was.
For a moment, I sat in silence, contemplating what to do next. I'd resolved to remain single, yet I was about to entertain a woman. I consoled myself with the idea that all I had to do was serve wine and make polite conversation.
A vision of beauty stood before me. I looked into her ocean-blue eyes and imagined the touch of her delicate mouth against mine.
“Would you like to come in?”
I didn't hear her answer. My attention was arrested by her breasts and the erect nipples that were protruding from her blouse. My knees began to tremble as I began to think impure thoughts.
I offered her a glass of wine before pouring my own.
“Sit down,” she said, patting the couch suggestively. “You don't have to be shy around me.”
I did as I was told.
“How's your love life?”
“Non-existent,” I said, truthfully. My eyes wandered to her blouse again.
“How about yours?”
A mischievous smile spread across Kathryn's face as she playfully ran her fingers through her hair. She giggled and placed her hand on my thigh. My whole body stiffened. I could feel my manhood swelling inside my trousers.
“So you're not seeing anyone at the moment?”
“Not right now,” I said. “I'm still waiting on that special someone, you know? I'm looking for a woman to complete me. What about you?”
“I haven't had much luck with men to be honest… you seem different.”
Kathryn's hand began to stroke my thigh, and I was unable to resist the temptation any longer. I sat the glass down on the table and leaned in for a kiss. She let out a soft moan and parted her lips, allowing my tongue to slip inside her mouth. My trembling hand snaked its way beneath her blouse, but just as I began to enjoy myself, she suddenly pulled away.
“I'm so sorry, Alfred. This wine is making me dizzy!” She blushed and looked away like a naughty schoolgirl. “I'm not sure this is such a good idea.”
I sat on the couch, motionless. Then, an overwhelming desire took a hold of me. I felt silent rage rising within.
No, not again. Not this time. I won't be rejected.
I decided to wipe that seductive smile from her face and summon my only friend and ally… death.
My hands wrapped themselves around Kathryn's slender neck. She gasped and struggled for breath, but my grip on her throat only tightened. As I strangled her, I felt the euphoria of having power over another life. I felt like a god.
Sadly, it was over sooner than expected. I kneeled over her lifeless body, expecting to feel remorse, but when I looked deep into her hollow eyes, I felt nothing.
I stared at her for what seemed like an eternity, admiring her beautiful features. Yes, even in death she retained her attraction.
Why did you have to reject me?
I picked up her frail body and carried it into the bedroom. Placing her on the stained mattress, I stroked her curls and sat down beside her. I unbuttoned her blouse and exposed her breasts before climbing on top of her lifeless body. I bent down and kissed her neck before allowing my tongue to explore the rest of Kathryn's body.
I reached over to the bedside cabinet and pulled a small plastic jar out of the first drawer. I parted her legs and smeared a generous portion of Vaseline between her sheaths before letting myself in.
Her body was still warm as I rhythmically moved inside her, slowly at first and then more vigorously. I rubbed her breasts and kissed her mouth, moaning with every movement. I climaxed quickly and collapsed on top of her cadaver.
“Thank you,” I whispered in her ear. “You were wonderful.”
E
rik Hofstatter is a dark fiction writer, who dwells in a beauteous and serenading Garden of England, where he can be frequently encountered consuming reckless amounts of mead and tyrannizing local peasantry.
At a young age, he built a Viking ship and journeyed myriad sea miles away from native land in search of plunder and pillage. His work appeared in various magazines and anthologies around the world such as: Schlock, The Strange and the Curious, Inner Sins, Sanitarium and Psychopomp. Erik's axe is a loyal companion and never departs its master's side. More information can be found on his website,
http://www.authorerikhofstatter.blogspot.co.uk
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