I went to Meow tonight. My friend Jason's band ANTLERGRAM were headlining a night of 3 bands. They wanted me to read some short stories in between sets/bands.
It was shaping up to be a good night. Some great musicians did their thing. I read a story, Pet Shop Boy which was well received. The crowd were relaxed, mature and I thought I'd try them on something a bit more fucked up. Okay a lot more fucked up.
I read them the story that starts with this:
It is not a long story. Under 1500 words. I got about half-way through it (to the "hole like a bellybutton" line). People were freaking out. Someone started screaming NO! NO! STOP! Then the owner of the place switched my mic off. He was completely freaked. It was him that was screaming. The audience was more stunned, shocked and bemused.Fun fact. Serial killers often keep the bodies of their victims, stashing them in the freezer or fridge, or burying them in shallow graves, or under the house, so that they can check in on them, care for them, and observe their deterioration. It's as if they nurture them like children, or lovers.
The irony is that this story was written in response to a request by Jason, who had invited me to read at this gig. So I left the stage. Leaving Jason and his band to soothe the ruffled feathers by saying, "I guess we found the limit."
I stayed, listened to their music (Antlergram are really good). Then I left.
It's not their fault. It was a strong reminder that my creativity is shaped by my experiences. I'm influenced by some stuff that most people fortunately don't get to experience. I have no real interest in harming anyone. I just find it calming to direct my own inner shitstorm into extremes. The lesson learned is that we all have to keep our masks on at all times.
"Victims, aren't we all." ~ The Crow.
The story is below. You don't have to read it. But if you do, try not to freak the fuck out.
Fun fact. Serial killers often keep the bodies of their victims, stashing them in the freezer or fridge, or burying them in shallow graves, or under the house, so that they can check in on them, care for them, and observe their deterioration. It's as if they nurture them like children, or lovers.
Joshua likes to watch television and we often have to remind him that there are chores to be done before we can watch American Idol.
‘Those dishes won’t wash themselves young man,’ Nancy scolds.
We all chip in and the get the job done, then we make popcorn and drink sodas and laugh at the ugly little fucks screeching their sinful songs. Walter tells us about how he raped a girl that looked like that one when he was living in Memphis. I get hardhearing him talk about how she screamed, the fear in her eyes and the way she begged him not to hurt her. Lucy says she knows Walter is lying, because he could never hurt a girl. He just wants to be friends. Walter is a friendly guy, he has big hands and they are perfect for holding a little girl’s hand. Holding it and leading her away from the crowds that are every where these days, especially on American Idol. We turn the sound off when the crowd screams because the noise upsets Theresa. She sits with my knees pressed against the sides of her head, keeping out the noise and once I pressed too hard, and her head broke and one of her eyeballs fell into the popcorn.Of course I apologised and cleaned her up. I found a ping-pong ball in the basement, in a box with my old ping-pong set. One of the bats still has Mrs Henderson’s cat’s blood on it. I painted the ping-pong ball with Lucy’s nail polish, the blue one that makes her eyes pop. It wouldn’t fit in Theresa’s eye hole, so I cut the back off it and got the front bit in there and it looks great. Theresa has pretty eyesnow. I miss the English guy who used to judge American Idol. He wanted to fuck those little cunts. You could see it in his eyes when he told them they were a bunch of useless fucks. We Tivo all our television programs now and fast-forward through the breaks. Walter takes his cock out and plays with himself during the commercials otherwise.After American Idol we watch movies, Lucy likes war films, if they have been good and the chores are done we sometimes watch our home movies. Theresa likesthe Christmas ones, where Walter has the Christmas lights that don’t work and he gets so fucking pissed off he strips the plastic off the wiring and plugs it into the wall.Then he tortures the kitten with electric shocks until it shuts up. Theresa claps her hands and cheers, she likes the kitten movies.After movies it’s time for bed, I tuck Lucy in first, she’s the youngest, and doesn’t like to sleep without a night light. I tell myself it’s naughty, but I sometimes, accidentally slide a hand up her nightie and touch her cunt. It has a hole in it that my fingers fit into. Once Walter came in and stuck his cock into her tiny hole, and his big fucking thing came right out her stomach. Just punched right through her and left a second hole, like a belly button. Now if I need to, I just fuck that hole. Cos’ it’s not fucking her cunt-parts so it’s not a sin.Joshua next, He sleeps in the chair in my room. I put the knife in his hand and when I wake up in the night I can see it glinting in the moonlight and I know he will keep me safe. If Joshua is holding the knife then cunts aren’t getting cut.Theresa wants me to touch her. She’s such a fucking slut. When it is time for bed she puts on her cheerleader uniform and dances with me. Walter would fuck her if I let him. He would fuck her ass and her face. He would punch holes in her with his cock until she was ugly again. I hold her gently and listen to her tell me she loves me.I tell her that I love her too and can’t fuck her because then she would be a dirty slut and full of sin and Walter would break her perfect skin. I hear her crying when I slip out of the basement, whispering, “Nighty-night.”Nancy doesn’t sleep. Her face throws shadows along the wall that nag and scold. I switch off the light and it shuts her up. The stretched skin of her face goes dark like disappointment and she’s just a lamp shade until morning.Walter, he hates bed time. Says things to me like ‘We’re creatures of the fucking night man! We should be out there fucking cunts and making connections.’ Walter is big on connections. He wanted to connect with people by selling Amway. I don’t even understand half the shit he said when he showed up at my door. I invited him in because I could see the worms writhing on his tie. Big green, hairy fucking amoebas. After I shut him up by cutting his throat I looked up ties online. I found out that it’s called Paisley. Fucking amoeba fashion.I burned the tie but it still haunts me. I’m glad Joshua is in my room at night. Holding the knife in case the green amoebas come slithering.Now the house is silent, all my friends are resting, even Theresa has stopped crying. I lie in bed, alert to the creak of floor boards and listening to the slow breathing of Walter, Joshua, Theresa and Lucy as they sleep.