David Gilbane was on top of his game. The successful author had just sold his 19th novel, the 6th movie made from his body of work was making a killing at the box office and the 7th movie was set to begin filming in his hometown of Barrington, Rhode Island. These days, there was never even a question as to whether he would sell a book or not. His tagline was literary gold. His name was synonymous with horror, like King and Lovecraft. He used to joke with his wife that he could sell a bare bones outline or even a concept, so hungry was his reading fan base. That was before his wife took the kids and left him. He was sad at first but he did what any mega-rich author would do. He built a mansion on the shores of his boyhood aquatic playground, Hundred-Acre Cove. He caused quite a stink when he did this, by buying not just one oversized waterfront lot but half a dozen additional homes in his immediate vicinity. These he bulldozed, giving him instant seclusion in the midst of suburbia. This caused much consternation and a fairly loud public outcry. He quieted the complaints as he always did – with cash. He donated $100 million to build an aquatic recreation and research center across the cove on the old Walker Farm land. The town was very grateful, and quiet about whatever he did with his land from then on.
After building what local Barringtonians called a McMansion, he let the surrounding land grow wild again, much as it had been when the Wampanoag Indians lived there in the 1600’s. He still occasionally found their pottery shards and arrowheads as he toured his wild estate on his ATV. He kept these souvenirs of the original inhabitants of his land. They were some of his most prized possessions. He always kept his ATV use to a set system of trails he had created about his land, so he did not overly disturb the abundant wildlife that he shared his land with.
He shared his land with the normal suburban wildlife, squirrels, rabbits, possums chipmunks, skunks and all sorts of birds as well as more wild species such as deer, raccoons, foxes, coyotes, pheasants and turkeys. He also had ospreys and bald eagles nesting on his land. This suited him just fine, for the animals did not bother him for autographs, donations, or ask him to serve on town committees.
He had become a bit of a recluse since moving here and the lack of human companionship, which would be maddening to some, only served to fuel his creativity. The words flowed from his keyboard and the cash streamed into the bank. This seemed like a good trade-off to him, even if it meant he rarely saw his kids. He provided well for their every need and the trust funds he had set up would take care of their education, including graduate school if they were so inclined. Just as he had with the citizens of Barrington, he kept them happy with money. At least he thought he did.
His house was as close to the shore as permitted by zoning laws and Department of Environmental Management regulations. The front of the house faced the street; not visible through the double rows of 12-foot hemlocks he had planted, bordering the road. The front yard was exquisitely, landscaped and well kept. A long winding gravel driveway led to his 5-car garage. There were no bright, welcoming flowers at the entrance to his driveway like other Barrington homes. He didn’t want to go that far. He would prefer if people stayed the hell away, especially strangers. He had even mounted a nice bronze plaque on a post near the road that read, “No Soliciting”. He figured this would keep away the clipboard hugging environmentalists, who were always looking for donations. He hoped as well to deter the various religious groups who either wanted to save his soul, for a small donation, or save his ass when the end of time came, also for a small donation. He figured the sign wold actually save these groups time, as he made it a habit, when he opened his door and encountered someone like this, to abruptly say “No Thanks” and shut the door politely before they could utter a word.
And so it was that when the doorbell rang on a bright summer day, just as he was sitting down at his PC to write, he found himself surprised and a bit curious. He meandered from his water-view office at the back of the house to the front door and opened it. He found himself face to face with a well-dressed man in a business suit. He began swinging the door shut, just on the verge of uttering his “No thanks” when the man spoke his name.
“Mister Gilbane?” he said politely, fedora in hand. “I’m Mister Rothschild, Lew Rothschild from the publishing agency. If I could just have a quick moment of your time and then I’ll be out of your way.”
Dave thought to himself for a split second, that at least this guy knew the rules and he hesitated with the door. That was all it took. In a heartbeat, this man was inside the house and shutting the door for him. It was at that precise moment that Dave Gilbane’s long string of good luck took a turn for the worse. He watched mutely as the man held his outstretched fingers toward the door’s latch mechanism. Some sort of blue discharge shot from his fingers, scorching he edge of the door and jam and fusing the doorknob and deadbolt permanently locked.
“There now,” This man who called himself Rothschild said politely, “We shouldn’t have any interruptions now.” With that said he drew his arm back and hit David across the face with his forearm, sending him flying into the wall, where he landed in a crumpled heap. Half delirious, Dave watched in disbelief as the man went to the front window, and pointing his index finger at each window, appeared to nail them all shut.
“What the…” Dave struggled to form the words, “What the hell are you, some sort of human nail gun?
In an instant Rothschild was upon him, almost as if he was watching a video in fast forward. He reached out and grabbed Dave by the throat with his left hand. He lifted him up high, holding him against the wall as Dave flailed around. Before he knew what was happening, the man held one of his hands against the wall and drove a nail through his hand and into the wall. As Dave screamed, the man moved lightning fast and nailed his other hand, exclaiming with glee how good it was that he had just happened to hit a wall stud.
“Nail gun indeed, Mr. Gilbane,” He shouted, NAIL GUN INDEED!” He finished off by Nailing Dave’s feet together into the wall as well.
Dave screamed as loud as he could, thinking he was nailed like Christ to a cross.
“No Mr. Gilbane,” the man exclaimed, apparently reading his mind, “Not like Christ. Christ was a prophet, a saint. You, my friend are a worthless piece of shit nailed to a bunch of flimsy kiln dried studs in a two bit piece of crap house!”
Dave continued to scream in agony, knowing full well that his seclusion would prevent anyone from hearing.
“My dear Mr. Gilbane,” Rothschild said, You simply must stop this caterwauling. Might I remind you that your Jesus stayed on a cross for 3 days and barely uttered a cry? Now you can do better than that, can’t you?” With this last question he pointed his right index finger at Dave’s face, holding it just inches away. Dave could see blue sparks or some sort of aura dancing on his fingertip. He snapped his mouth shut.
“There, I thought so. Now you just shut the hell up and “hang loose” for a while, while I finish securing the house.”
David had no choice but to hang loose. He hung there Whimpering like a baby, tears streaming down his face as he saw this evil man securing the house. As he had noticed initially, there was something odd about the way the man moved. He seemed to move form point A to point B in a blurry burst of speed. It almost seemed as if he was somehow bending time, nailing the windows shut as he did so. And suddenly, there he was again, standing in front of him. He reached both hands up towards Dave’s impaled, prone body.
“No…no...no...no...no...no” He whimpered, Please don’t”
“Oh stop it!” Rothschild said, “This is really getting tiresome.” And with that he waved his hands, and David fell to the floor, bruised, bleeding and terrified.
“GET UP!” his captor ordered him.
He did as best he could, leaving streaks of blood on the wall where he touched it for support. When he was ordered into the dining room he did as he was told, hobbling on his ruined feet. He sat at the dinner table as ordered and asked one question.
“Why are you doing this to me?”
“I’m here sir to collect on a very important and long overdue debt.” Rothschild said.
“Then it’s money you want? Look I have a safe upstairs. I have gold coins, silver dollars, lots of cash, All yours…all yours.” Dave told him, the faintest glimmer of hope flickering in his mind.
“I don’t want your filthy cash or your precious metals!” He screamed at Dave. “How dare you insult me!”
“Then what?” Dave began, but as he looked at the vicious man, something seemed to happen to him. As he stared at his tormentor, his complexion began to change, getting rapidly darker, until within a few seconds his skin was a deep black. It then appeared that his skin was cracking open, curling back like paint on an old New England barn. His skin seemed to flake off, falling at the feet of a terrifying creature. He screamed like a little girl as he found himself facing a hideous dark green scaly dragon or reptile of some sort. His mouth was a mass of needle-like teeth and long tendrils of mucus hung down from his putrid mouth. His eyes were huge and were like those of a snake. His long muscular arms ended in three-fingered hands. Each finger had a fearsome claw at its tip. His gaze shifted to his feet and they were huge, almost dinosaur feet, again capped with fearsome claws. His legs were large muscled masses, and it was when his eyes made their way to the apex of his thighs that, David cried uncontrollably. For he could see the thing’s penis, if indeed it could be called that. It was long and seemed to come to a sharp point, almost like a wooden tent stake. It’s hard scaly length looked about 18 inches in length and seemed to be pointing straight at him. He saw movement on it and noticed that it was covered in some sort of crawling things.
“Starting to get a better idea of why I’m here now David?” The reptile spoke in Rothschild’s voice. When Dave didn’t answer, it roared at him.
“I’M HERE FOR YOU SOUL YOU MISERABLE PIECE OF CRAP!”
“Huh? What?” Was all Dave could muster past his vocal chords.
“We made a deal my friend, twenty years ago, on September 16 at 9:37 AM. You said to me and I quote, “I’d sell my damn soul if I could just sell one damn novel!”
“But I didn’t mean that. I was pissed off. I had just gotten a rejection notice from an agent that had finally seemed to find my work interesting. I just blurted it out.”
“Hold on now.” The demon spoke. “Do you think for one moment that when a man is dying and with his last breath he cries out for God or Jesus to help; do you think THEY question the urgency, the validity of that call for one second? Of course not you silly ASS! They HELP! Same here man. Do you think I have the time or the inclination to question every pledge of a soul to me? HELL NO!”
“But….But…I didn’t SIGN anything! How could I? How could you?”
“Listen, I don’t owe you shit by way of an explanation, but I have waited for this moment for so long. I suppose a few more minutes won’t matter. I know you surf the Web. I’ve been tracking you for quite some time. You like those porn sites don’t you, you filthy bastard! How many times have you downloaded software or entered a web site and had to acknowledge some sort of user agreement, by clicking a little ‘click here’ button? Same thing with our little transaction pal. The minute the words left your mouth and you achieved your fame, you ‘clicked here’. Face it. YOU’RE SCREWED DUDE!”
As he explained this he had been rummaging through Dave’s kitchen cabinets. He emerged finally with a cast iron frying pan. He grabbed a stick of butter from the refrigerator and threw it in the pan, turning the burner on medium high.
“You don’t mind if I eat do you?” The demon said, approaching him now. With one hand he picked Dave up and bent him over the table, eliciting a new round of terrified squeals from his prey.
“OH STOP IT YA LITTLE BABY! I’m not gonna rape you. Believe me I wouldn’t stoop so low as to put my beautiful shaft into the likes of you! I am gonna stick THIS in you though!” He said as he held a stainless steel syringe and a needle that looked more like a nail in front of Dave’s face. Before he knew what happened, he felt excruciating pain, as the needle was jammed into his spine. He felt a burning sensation and then his legs went numb. He was roughly picked back up and thrust back down onto the wooden chair.
“There, that should help keep you still.
He bent down to the floor then, rummaging around near Dave’s feet. Dave felt not pain, but revulsion, when the creature stood up and held his hands out to Dave. In his claw-like hands he held all of Dave’s toes. He bellowed a guttural laugh as he returned to the stove and tossed the severed toes into the frying pan. As Dave began blubbering like an insane man, he noticed the creatures shape blurring, partly morphing back into Mr. Rothschild again. He seemed to have a human face but the rest of his body was reptilian.
“Ahhhh,” He said as he reached his bare hand in to the frying pan to delicately turn the toes over, “There’s nothing like some pan-fried toes to get a body’s juices flowing.”
“Please,” Dave pleaded with him. “Please just kill me. Kill me and take my soul.”
“Ah ha-ha-ha. Is that how you thought this worked?” He mocked him now. “Did you think you would pledge your soul to me like the old blues man, Robert Johnson, down at the crossroad, falling down on your knees, signing some piece of paper with blood, and then when you die I collect the soul that is owed. Well that would be a nice deal, FOR YOU! Unfortunately I hold the cards and it doesn’t quite work like that. There would be no fear in that now would there, and unfortunately for you, fear, my friend, is what this is all about. I have to harvest the fear and shortly after it the soul. You see, fear is like a fine wine. It must be aged and matured before it can be enjoyed properly. Until that time, I must satisfy myself with your yummy toes. For now at least.”
And with that he reached into the hot frying pan and retrieved one of Dave’s now caramelized toes. He put the end in his mouth first, and began gnawing on the fat pad of Dave’s big toe. He removed it from his mouth for a second and spat the toenail out of his mouth.
“Some of my kind eat the nails, but I can’t say that I like them. The sweet human flesh is where it’s at my friend.”
As he said this Dave became aware of the smell of his own cooked flesh. It seemed to smell gamy and buttery. He remembered, as a kid, seeing a house fire where an old couple burned to death. This brought to mind the smell of their burned bodies. The thought that it was him that he smelled made his stomach turn somersaults.
“Wee, wee, wee, wee, wee, “The evil entity intoned, “This little piggy went right in my mouth.” And with that he popped the last toe in his mouth and ate it bones and all. And then he started in Dave’s direction again. Out of nowhere the needle appeared again. Before he could protest, the demon had given Dave a shot in both forearms and swiftly sliced off his hands. Dave screamed till his throat was raw, and vomited uncontrollably when he saw the demon throw his hands, the instruments of his trade, in the frying pan.
“Oh Look,” Rothschild said with glee. “They flex!” and with this he brought the frying pan over to Dave so he could watch in horror as his dismembered hands clenched and unclenched as they cooked. For the briefest of moments Dave was reminded of how he and his friends would cook freshly caught eels form the cove and how they also would slither about the pan as they cooked. Then he puked again and lost consciousness.
When he awoke from his brain vacation, he had no idea how long he had been out. He looked at the floor, waiting for his vision to clear. With horror, he noticed his hands, picked clean of flesh, lying on the floor near the bones of his feet. When at last he looked up, he saw Lew Rothschild, looking as normal as he had when he’d first come to the door, at the stove preparing yet another meal. He saw that apparently his unwelcome guest had rummaged through his pantry and found a can of baked beans, which he was now heating. Nearby on a plate sat a toasted hot dog bun, some relish, mustard and chopped onions. Despite his agony and fear, Dave felt his stomach grumble. He looked at his torturer with hazy vision, amid a state of delirium.
“Dude – Saturday dinner.”
“Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes!” The man-beast exclaimed. “Good old Yankee Saturday dinner. It just wouldn’t be Saturday without beans and hot dogs for dinner! Although I must say I am a bit disappointed in you Mr.Gilbane. Try as I might, I could not find the main ingredient. No bother though. In the sprit of Yankee ingenuity, I believe I have found a substitute.”
In his fogged state of consciousness, Dave Gilbane missed the hint, did not realize what this evil a-hole was talking about, that is until the beast came at him with a carving knife. He lay the knife on the table right next to Dave. There was no danger in that. With no hands, there was no way Dave could pick it up and stab him with it.
“Now, I’ll need to tie you up for this next extraction. I hope you don’t mind.”
“Like I have a choice?” Dave asked.
“True.” The beast answered. “True as my shaft is straight. Now then do you have some rope?”
“No, No rope.” Dave half mumbled.
“No bother, Mr. Gilbane, no bother at all. I’ll just have to improvise.”
And with that, he tore Dave’s clothing off, in a blur of motion. Before Dave had even a second to consider this, Rothschild’s hand turned to reptilian claws once again and he tore open Dave’s abdomen. Dave let loose a blood-curdling scream as he saw his steaming intestines in the reptile’s hands. Swiftly he began wrapping the intestine around the carnage of Dave’s midsection, tying him to the chair with his own guts.
“I learned that trick on Discovery Channel – one of those survivor shows. Who knew I would need to use this trick so soon?” And with that, he grabbed the knife and Dave’s penis in the other. Ignoring Dave’s cries of ‘No-no-no’ he yanked it as hard as he could and cut it off at the root.
“Wow! Now look at this!” He said, holding his prize in front of Dave’s eyes. What a nice specimen! That’s got to be, what? Eight, nine inches? And don’t tell me you never measured it. We all do. I bet you kept the ladies happy with that hunk of pork!”
“Eight and a half,” Dave choked out through the copious amounts of blood that now flowed non-stop from his mouth. He was covered with blood and filth and his eyes bulged with terror as he watched his severed manhood dancing in front of his face.
“What a handsome tip too.” I just want to bite it right off uncooked.” He held it up to his open maw, but then snapped his mouth shut.
“Nope. Can’t do it. No cheating” he said as he strode back to the fry pan and tossed Dave’s pride and joy into some hot sizzling butter. “Ah look how red it’s getting. The ladies must have loved to devour this didn’t they; all engorged and full of man juice.”
“AHHHHHHHHHHH! Just kill me now you filthy rotten prick! Do it! Do it and get it over with, take my worthless soul and kill me!”
“AH, AH, AH, It’s not nice to rush the Devil he said as he began devouring the trouser snake that had once belonged to Dave. He scooped beans up with his hands and by the time he was done, he had brown bean juice running down has face and neck.
“Besides, I’m not done with you yet. There are still a few morsels left before I’m ready for desert."
With this last statement he morphed once again into his true reptilian self and approached his dying prey. A growing pool of blood spread from his mangled feet, where his toes had been. Blood flowed freely from his torn open abdomen, groin and the stumps of his arms. He was starting to loose consciousness.
“WAKE UP ASSHOLE!” he slapped him across his face, his sharp claws tearing his jaw off in the process. He was awake now all right and this brought forth a new round of wailing from a dying Dave.
“You know what?” The demon now said. “As much as I love your fear, the incessant noise you make is really getting to me. I hope you’ll excuse me. Actually I don’t give a God Damn if you excuse me or not but hey we can be civil in the midst of slaughter, can’t we?”
And that said he approached Dave once again. He roughly grabbed his hair and yanked his head backwards. He bent down now so his needle-sharp teeth could reach the remnants of Dave’s mouth. As if to kiss him, he moved in close to devour his tongue. With a wet, sucking sound, he bit it and ripped it out. Dave began to scream, sobbing bloody screams, but the serpent poked his finger down Dave’s throat and zapped his vocal chords much as he has done earlier with the doors and windows. Now the only gauge of Dave’s pain of fear would be via his bulging eyes.
He stalked back to the frying pan and threw the tongue and the rest of the chopped onion in. This he could barely wait to cook as he grabbed his knife and fork and began cutting pieces off and eating while it was still cooking.
“This is so good! I guess you could say it’s to die for.” He taunted him. “But oh where are my manners? Would you like a taste? But wait! What the hell was I thinking? How the hell can you taste a piece when I am eating your very taste buds? AH HAHAHAHAHAHA! That was rich! Don’t you agree?”
He speared the rest of the tongue and plopped it in his mouth, devouring it instantly, then he stalked over to Dave. He reached down between Dave’s legs and grabbed his balls that he had left behind earlier. He held this and a tangled bloody mass of tubing up to his mouth.
“Ah…Man grapes. I almost forgot.” He popped them into his mouth and Dave could hear his testicles pop as he bit down on them. The he raise the mass of male tubing to his mouth, proclaiming, “Seminal vesicles! They taste almost like spaghetti with white clam sauce, Only the clam sauce in INSIDE! HAHAHAHAHAHA!” He put this mass in his mouth and began chewing, unspent seminal fluid dripping down his chin. When he was done with this last delicacy, he paused, and sniffed the air, like a dog catching a scent. He moved closer to Dave as he did this.
“SOUL’S A RIPENING SON! AH YES, YES, YES THAT’S IT! I DO BELIEVE IT’S HARVEST TIME!” And with that he began changing again. His face changed into one gaping round hole or mouth surrounded by curved teeth. It reminded Dave of the mouth of a lamprey eel, those dastardly fish parasites he occasionally found in the Runnins River as a kid. The rest of his head and shoulders now became a mass of slithering tentacles; each equipped with eyes and shark-like teeth. They reached for him, grabbing him by the back of the head, biting into his skull and pulling him forward towards the mouth from hell. He felt it latch onto his face now as the tentacles plucked his eyes out and chewed his ears off. And then he felt or sensed something different. He felt his essence, his life force, the very electromagnetic field that was HIM, being pulled or sucked form his body. He knew at once that his soul was being devoured. This was confirmed by the wet gurgling sounds of almost orgasmic enjoyment the thing now made as he devoured the last “delicacy” that he had come for. Then In his last moments of life, David Gilbane felt heat, intense heat, flowing into his body. He felt his body begin to burn from inside out.
Barrington Times
Local author found burned to death in waterfront home
The Body of David Gilbane, noted Barrington Author and philanthropist was found dead in his home Saturday by Barrington Fire officials responding to a report of smoke at his residence. Firefighters initially had to chop the front door in as the locking mechanism seemed to be melted shut, possibly by the intense heat. Chief Bob Hunt said it appears that Mr. Gilbane succumbed to Spontaneous Human Combustion, a rare and mysterious occurrence where the body somehow burns itself up from the inside out. The chief reported the inside of the residence was scorched in the immediate vicinity of the body, but other than some smoke damage, the house was relatively undamaged in the incident. In a related development, Gibane’s attorney, Mr. David J. Harris Esquire, reported that according to terms of the author’s last will and testament, his home will be bulldozed and the entire parcel of land will be allowed to return to its natural state. The entire 15 acre parcel will be deeded to the town to be known from this day forward as the David F. Gilbane Nature Preserve.
THE END
