The Sinister Mr. Corpse (27 page)

Brant was still standing
around. The sick bastard looked like he was
enjoying
this. He'd lost his
mind.

The crowd began to move forward again.

Apparently gunshots weren't much of a
deterrent when potential eternal life was available.

This may be the end of
me
, Stanley thought,
but I'm going to make sure it's the end of Brant,
too
.

He jumped up (which really hurt) and ran
(which hurt even more) toward Brant. He let out a screech that he
hoped was intimidating but probably wasn't. The lack of
intimidation value became clearly evident as Brant stepped forward
to meet his attack.

The cop fired more gunshots into the air, but
they had no effect.

Stanley knew that he'd need every last bit of
strength to pull off what he intended to do, and though his
strength was in limited reserves at the moment, he certainly had
willpower. Having another arm would've been helpful along with the
willpower, but he'd make do with what he had.

He grabbed Brant by the back of the head and
slammed his face into the open part of his stomach. His arm cracked
again, and a lovely piece of bone poked through the skin, but he
held on for as long as he could. Which ended up only being another
second and a half.

Brant stood up straight again and wiped off
his wet mouth. "What the hell--?" He hadn't actually eaten
anything, but nobody else had to know that.

The crowd tackled Stanley and brought him to
the ground again. He hit arm-first and wished he hadn't.

"Listen to me!" he screamed as loud as he
possibly could. "The chemicals...they transfer!" He pointed a
crooked arm at Brant. "It's inside him! His body carries it now!
Eat him!"

Brant's expression quickly
switched from "
What the hell is he talking
about?
" to "
Oh
shit!
"

And then things really got out of hand.

Several people in the mob immediately turned
on Brant. He tried to run but they took him down before he made it
three steps. There were too many bodies involved for Stanley to see
exactly what happened, but there was shrieking, spurts of blood,
and disgusting smacking sounds.

Stanley actually felt a little sorry for him,
even as the insane folks in the crowd bit at his own body.

One man tried unsuccessfully to push his way
through to get at Stanley. Stanley saw the look of realization on
his face as he decided that if Brant had the chemical from eating
Stanley, so did everybody else who'd dined.

He bit into the neck of an obese woman. She
cried to claw out his eyes but he got a nice big mouthful.

Two other people went after him.

And as the feast went into full swing,
Stanley again detached himself from the proceedings and floated
into a happy place where people rarely if ever tried to eat each
other.

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

"And we're back with Frank and Freddy's
Morning Zoo! Wow, how about that incident with Mr. Corpse,
huh?"

"That was just plain wacky!"

"What did they say, five people dead? Over a
hundred injured?"

"A hundred and sixteen, I think."

"Wow. That's a pretty impressive injury
count. For those of you at home who've been too drunk to follow the
story, apparently a crowd of people who'd formed some sort of cult
around Mr. Corpse became convinced that eating his flesh would give
them eternal life!"

"Cuckoo! Cuckoo!"

"Heh heh heh, cuckoo is right, Frank. Police
are still investigating, but word is that people in the crowd
started trying to eat each other!"

"Mmmmmmmmmm! Yummy!"

"I've gotta say, if I were going to eat
somebody, it sure wouldn't be Mr. Corpse."

"I agree with you there. I bet he's all
gamey."

"So who would you eat?"

"Oh, I can think of about ten people off the
top of my head. Cheerleaders, mostly."

"Heh heh heh. Anyway, Mr. Corpse is alive, as
far as we know, but a lot of him is digesting in the bellies of
some very disturbed citizens. I wonder how pissed off they'll be
when they develop stomach cancer or something and realize that they
don't have eternal life?"

"I bet Mr. Corpse will get hit with a lot of
lawsuits."

"It could happen!"

"So, listeners, who would you eat if you had
the chance? Give us a call!"

* * *

Three days after the unfortunate events,
Stanley lay in bed, hurting. Many of his wounds had healed already.
Others, like his missing thumb, were permanent disfigurations. A
couple of the bites had gone all the way to the bone, and those
didn't seem to be healing right.

The girl in the lab, Marcia Dunlan, was going
to live. The FBI had a million questions and was conducting an
in-depth investigation. They'd thus far been unable to tie any
murders to the pool of gook on the lab floor. Stanley had
cooperated without actually mentioning that he knew anything about
a potential black magic connection. Let them analyze the funky
symbols on the wall for themselves.

Dr. Arnzin had fled. Nobody knew where he
was. Stanley still sort of liked the guy, and hoped that he was
doing okay. Not great, but okay. Reasonably happy, yet not enjoying
his meals as much as he should.

Stanley had three injections left. He felt a
bit sick to his stomach using them, knowing how they were created,
but it also didn't make sense to let them go to waste.

And he had one last big favor to ask
Veronica, after he made a very important phone call.

* * *

"Mom?"

"Stanley?"

"Yeah, it's me."

"Oh, so
now
you're calling? I'm finally good
enough for you to talk to? Should I have a parade? What, did you
decide to pay for the booze you snuck out of our house? Do you know
that your father and I flew all the way to New Mexico to see you?
New Mexico isn't close to Florida. Two connections, and your father
hates to fly. Do you know that we were worried sick? Do you know
what I've seen on the news? Do you hate us? Is that it?"

"It's not like that, Mom."

"Then what's it like? Tell me so I can become
educated!"

"I was embarrassed to have you see me."

"Ohhhhhh, you were
embarrassed! You know what a son should be embarrassed about? A son
should be embarrassed not to call his parents!
That's
embarrassment! Breaks my
heart. Do you know how much your father cried at your funeral? Do
you?"

"Mom, my cell phone minutes are just about
out..."

"He cried the entire time! Like a baby! Never
a dry eye!"

"My reception is cutting out, too..."

"Your father's in the den. I could tell him
that you're on the phone, but the shock would kill him. You want to
kill your father? Is that why you called?"

"Gotta go. Talk to you later!"

* * *

Hawaii.

Stanley, Veronica, and Martin stood at the
edge of the volcano. The lava did not look comfy. But Stanley
didn't want to just melt away, he wanted to go out with style, and
he thought that this seemed like an appropriate way to sacrifice
himself. Getting to the edge of a volcano was not an easy task, but
fortunately he had a shitload of money and no future to spend it
on.

Veronica wiped a tear from her eye. "You're
sure you want to do this?"

"Not really, no. Maybe we should skip this
and go to a luau."

"I'm up for that."

Stanley gazed into the mouth of the volcano.
"That lava does look hot. But that's good. It should sizzle me all
at once."

Martin sniffled.

"Are you crying?" Stanley asked. "I thought
you promised me that there wouldn't be any crying."

"I promised you no such thing."

They hugged, and Martin burst into tears.
Stanley had difficulty extricating himself from his best friend's
arms.

"Admit it," Stanley said to Veronica. "You'll
never have another client as interesting as me."

"That's a pretty safe bet."

"Are you gonna show me your tits before I
jump in there?"

"No."

"That's just wrong. I'm about to make the
ultimate sacrifice. If you were going to leap into a volcano I'd
whip out my dick."

"How about a hug instead?"

"Yeah, that works."

They held each other tightly, and Stanley
fought to resist the urge to start crying himself. He only had to
use humor as a defense mechanism for a couple more minutes.

"I want you to make me a promise," he said,
glancing at Martin over Veronica's shoulder. "I want you two to
shamelessly milk my fame for everything its worth. I'm dying young,
so that'll boost the marketing value. Sell my clothes, make a theme
park, mix recordings of my voice into current pop hits...just
squeeze every drop you can out of this. Write a book, both of
you."

"We will," said Martin.

Stanley pulled away from Veronica. "Well, I
guess I should do this before I lose my nerve." His voice cracked a
bit, and he cleared his throat. "What do you think? Feet first or
head first?"

"Head first," Martin suggested. "It'll be
over faster."

"Yeah, but if I mess it up I could end up
doing a belly flop. Maybe this is a bad idea."

"It's entirely your choice," said
Veronica.

"I know." He stared at the lava and sighed.
"Okay, so, should I say something profound? I guess I can't say 'I
regret that I have but one life to give.'"

"Say anything you want."

"Ah, I've got nothing. I love you guys. Don't
forget to milk my fame. I don't suppose either of you want to jump
in here with me to keep me company? Didn't think so. I guess this
ends the tale of the Sinister Mr. Corpse."

He closed his eyes, pinched his finger over
what little nose he had, and then jumped.

"You have to jump forward more," said
Martin.

"I'm working my way to it. Okay, time to quit
playing around. I'll miss you. Tell everybody I said something
uplifting."

He took a deep breath and jumped into the
volcano. He plunged into the lava, sunk beneath the surface, and
was gone.

EPILOGUE AND A WARNING

Do you dare?

Do you dare to enter CorpseLand, the official
theme park of Stanley Dabernath, The Sinister Mr. Corpse?

Do you dare to immerse yourself in this
grisly land of the MAD and the MACABRE, the BIZARRE and the
GHOULISH, the DEMENTED and the HORRIFIC?

If you do, brave voyager, use caution.

No nurses are on duty.

The fire exits have been boarded shut.

Your personal floatation device will sink
like a rock.

Do you dare?

Cold sweat will trickle down your spine as
you ride the Corpse Coaster. Waves of dizziness will pulsate
through your skull as you spin around in the Dead Wheel. Maybe,
just maybe, the beating of your heart will cease in Stanley's Snack
Bar. If you are truly courageous, perhaps you will make a purchase
in one of our THIRTEEN sinister gift shops.

There is still time to turn back.

But if you are a person of valor, your
adventure begins right through those gates.

Do you dare...?

Other Books by Jeff Strand

Fangboy

Wolf Hunt

Dweller

Benjamin's Parasite

Pressure

Kutter

Graverobbers Wanted (No Experience
Necessary)

Single White Psychopath Seeks Same

Casket For Sale (Only Used Once)

Gleefully Macabre Tales

The Severed Nose

Disposal

Mandibles

Elrod McBugle on the Loose

Out of Whack

How to Rescue a Dead Princess

The Haunted Forest Tour (with Jim Moore)

Draculas (with JA Konrath, Blake Crouch, and
F. Paul Wilson)

Suckers (with JA Konrath)

Visit Jeff Strand's more-or-less official
website at http://www.jeffstrand.com

BONUS PADDING!

Occasionally, as a professional novelist, you
find yourself writing books that, including the copyright notice
and "Other Books By The Author" and all of that other stuff, come
out to somewhere in the 59,671 word range. That's not a bad length;
I mean, the book's a zombie comedy, so it's not like you want some
massive Stephen King-sized epic. But it's also a bit frustrating to
be
just
below the 60K mark. What if readers round down?
"Wow, that book
The Sinister Mr. Corpse
looks like a jolly
good read, I think I'll head right on over to the online retailer
of my choice and...hey, wait a minute, this thing is only 50,000
words! What the hell are they trying to pull here? Remove from
cart!"

I suppose I could've tried to add a few
hundred words to the novel itself, but the only thing I could think
of was to add a lot of references to Stanley's eye color, such as
"Stanley used his deep hazel eyes to look at the man who was
pointing a gun at him." I dunno, maybe you would have enjoyed that.
I don't remember what color Stanley's eyes are, or if that's even
information that I chose to share with the reader. Eye color seems
to be the default complaint about books being plagued with
continuity errors ("The hero's eyes were blue in Chapter Three, and
then in Chapter Six they were green! This book is
bullshit!
") but I never notice any of that stuff. I don't
even notice when real-life people, such as friends, co-workers, or
spouses, change their
hair
color. I'm like
"Uhhhh...uhhhh...I think something is different, but what if they
changed it three weeks ago?"