Ad Nauseam (11 page)

Six months in the country and Micah realized he still didn’t have what he needed to write alone. An overwhelming sense of panic sent him back to his old neighborhood where he spent the whole evening roaming, looking for his lost Muse. He searched street corners and diners, even went through the homeless shelter
twice
in his desperate search. Only when the snow became so heavy he feared he might not make it home did he finally give up.

I’ve fucked up; she can’t find me. I can’t find her. My career is over
.

When Micah pulled through the gate and up the driveway, his heart gave a funny lurch. Sitting on his porch, still dressed in the same raggedy clothing but sporting a heavy green army jacket, was Muse. He didn’t ask how she got there, how she had found a way through his security system. He had given up on asking her questions, always receiving cryptic and dismissive answers. She was there and he was grateful. It was all that mattered.

She didn’t seem mad that he moved away from her, but she did make him pay. After telling him she had his third novel ready, she once again handed him a sheet of paper, and this time all that was written on it was a name and phone number. She told him to call the guy and explained what he needed to ask for. Micah’s stomach twisted at the request, but he picked up the phone. Two hours later he was waiting in an alley behind the hospital, pacing by a door that read HOSPITAL PERSONNEL ONLY
.

Bob
came out on his break and lit a cigarette, looking around suspiciously before handing Micah a small wrapped bundle. Without a word, Micah handed him a wad of folded bills and it was over. Not a word was spoken between the two. Bob explained over the phone how he would obtain the objects, but it still didn’t make Micah feel better as he drove home, glancing down at the horrible package that lay on the passenger seat. He hoped like hell he wouldn’t get pulled over, knowing that if he did, despite his promises to the contrary, he would give Bob up in a heartbeat.
What kind of person was willing to do this sort of thing, anyways?

When he walked in the door, Muse was waiting for him, the pile of stones and bones already arranged. He tried to hand her the bundle but she refused.

“Gotta be you.”

Micah took a deep breath and set the bundle on the table, gingerly unwrapping the plastic. He nearly shrieked when he saw the little hands, despite already knowing what the package contained. The baby had been stillborn, its body on the way to be cremated, so at least he wasn’t responsible for its death. He was glad that they weren’t pink anymore, the way a newborn’s hands should look, but it was still awful.

Chubby fingers the color of clay were clenched into tight fists, ending in bloody stumps at the wrist. They felt cool to the touch and still terribly soft. He turned his head to the side and vomited as he placed them on the pile, mindful not to get puke on the offering.

This time when he awoke, Muse was still seated at his table, eating ice cream directly from the carton. He stared at her in disbelief for a moment, willing her to disappear like a phantom. She remained real and nasty, smacking her lips loudly as she shoveled spoonfuls of rocky road into her nearly toothless mouth.

“Shouldn’t you be gone?” He knew he sounded cranky but didn’t care. That wretched old witch had made him collect
baby hands
for her.

“Got nowhere to go. I’m moving in with you.”

***

Micah took a cab from the airport, his mood darkening more with each mile he came closer to home. He figured at first that it wouldn’t be so bad to have her there; he was gone most of the time anyway. Book signings and public appearances ate up a lot of his free time. He had no steady girlfriend, preferring one night stands with women he met at conventions and book club appearances. It was easier for him that way, and he knew deep inside that if he were to let a woman get too close to him, he might divulge his secret.

Micah thought it really wasn’t that bad living with the crone at first. She didn’t eat much and spent most of her time in her room. He would occasionally run into her in the kitchen, or hear her cackling laugh coming through the closed door as he walked down the hall. She seemed to enjoy sitcoms quite a bit, reruns of
Friends
entertained her for hours. For the most part she left him alone.

She stunk, though. Over the months her stink permeated every room of the house, musty and rank, it was an old lady smell. Though she now had access to a shower every day, she never changed her clothes and never appeared any cleaner. Every accidental glimpse of her, every time he smelled her sickly odor, every time he heard her laughs muffled behind the door, she reminded him of how far he was willing to go for success. She showed him just how dark he was inside, to what lengths he was capable of going and what depravities he would commit for the next tale.

It was late and Micah stayed quiet as he entered. He was relieved there was no sign of Muse and that her bedroom door was shut. Exhausted from the trip, he headed straight to his own bedroom on the opposite side of the house and disrobed, falling into bed without even a shower.

He knew that within a few days, it would be time to discuss the next book with her, and he wondered how long he could carry on with this. He didn’t even want to think about what offerings would be requested after the baby hands, and despised the person he had become. With royalties from the movie getting ready to pour in, he seriously considered retiring and just investing the money he had already earned.

Maybe I’ll take a job at one of the big publishers as an editor. Hell, maybe I’ll start my own publishing company
!

The ideas swirled through his head as he eventually fell into an uneasy sleep.

***

Micah plunged his hands into long hair, gently pressuring her to take his cock deeper into her throat. She didn’t gag or protest; she sucked him in deep, causing his hips to involuntarily thrust harder. He moaned while she made greedy noises with her mouth, and he began to pump furiously against her face, close to the most powerful release of his life. As he came hard, she continued, not shying away from his semen like so many other women, but gobbling it down as if she couldn’t get enough, he came again, surprising them both with the second burst.

As the spasms subsided and his heart rate began to decrease, Micah stroked her hair, realizing with a start that the tresses in his hand were no longer smooth and soft. His hands gripped the coarse and tangled mess, pulling her away from his cock and lifting her face to his own.

He let out a startled cry when Muse’s wrinkled face came into view, her rotting teeth exposed in a lascivious smile while saliva and semen glistened on her creased chin. Trying to push her away, his arms lost strength and fell by his side, paralyzed. He watched in horror as she crawled up his prone body, her sagging tits dragging along his chest, horrible and deflated, the wrinkled skin splotched with age spots

“Ooooh Lover!” she cooed in her raspy voice. “My turn! But don’t worry, I hear the older the berry the sweeter the juice!”

Muse straddled his head and sat on his face.

***

Micah bolted upright in bed, a scream lodged painfully in his throat and his heart hammering in his chest. Early morning sunlight streamed through the blinds, momentarily blinding him. As his confusion subsided, he realized he was in his own bed. Alone. Breathing a sigh of relief, he ran a shaky hand through his hair and it came back wet with sweat. His hair wasn’t the only thing wet; he realized with disgust that he had ejaculated during his dream.

That was some sick shit
, he thought.

After a long shower, he stripped the soiled linens and dumped them in the washing machine with more detergent than necessary, before heading to the kitchen to make himself breakfast. As he cooked, he began to regain some sense of normalcy and he felt a strengthening of his convictions from the night before.

I can’t go on like this. I need to stop it. Maybe I will start my own publishing company. With three bestsellers, two of which are still on the charts, and a major motion picture based off my last novel, I have plenty of money.

“Are you ready?” Muse’s raspy voice startled him so badly that he dropped the spatula, his hand shaking when he bent to retrieve it.

She laughed, her eyes glittering like chips of black stone in her wizened face where she sat at the table.

“How long have you been there? I didn’t hear you come in.”

“Oh, for a while, boy. It’s time to talk about your next book. I need another offering.”

Micah stood in the kitchen looking at her for a long time, then dropped his eyes to the floor.
I can do this. I need to do this.

“I’ve been thinking, Muse.”

“Do tell, son.” Her voice sounded amused.

“Well . . . ” He paused for a moment, considering what to say, before continuing in a rush, his words flowing faster than he could think. “I don’t want to do this anymore. I mean, I’m grateful for everything you have done for me, and we’ve had a good run at it. But I just think that it’s time to stop this. I want to retire and start my own publishing company. I will pay you whatever you want for what you’ve done.”

Micah looked up at her, not sure what he expected to see. Anger or maybe sadness, but she just smiled at him, her head cocked to the side.

“I see, boy.” When she spoke, her voice was soft, but crackly. “That’s too bad. Being a publisher is a respectable job, but I thought you wanted to be a writer. I thought you loved the life in the spotlight.”

Muse rose with dignity, turning her back on him to walk to her bedroom. On the way, she called to him over her shoulder. “Too bad you can’t do this after one more. This one was going to win awards.” Then she disappeared into the bedroom, leaving the door open behind her.

Micah was stunned. He thought he had achieved everything he wanted in life with the first three books, but the promise of an award winning novel flashed through his head.

Award winning
. He had done very well for himself, but had won no awards.
Now that would be something to end my career on
, he thought.

Hating himself for being curious, calling himself a fool for even letting her bait him into considering doing one more, he still felt pulled. He walked down the hall and stood just outside the doorway, his expression serious.

“What award?”

Muse sat upon the single bed, her bag of tricks on the floor between her loafers. She didn’t have anything to pack, had brought nothing aside from the bag, no other clothing or possessions. Tilting her head to the side again and smiling slightly, she couldn’t hide the triumph in her eyes.

“This one will win the Bram Stoker Award. It may even put you at the top of the game.”

“What would I have to do?”

“You have to fuck me. But don’t worry, boy.
The older the berry, the sweeter the juice
.” She cackled wildly.

Micah clenched his fists, a flood of anger making him want to pummel her face until there was nothing left. Muse only laughed harder.

“Ha Ha! I’m only kidding! It’s nothing so awful as that! I’m too old to give a shit about your little prick anyways.” She still snickered.

“So what do I have to do?”

“I need a heart. One you cut out yourself.” Muse was all business now.

“Are you
crazy
, old woman?”

“Perhaps. But it’s what I need. Now close your mouth; you look like an idiot.” She leaned forward on the bed, her eyes bright with anticipation as she told him how it could be done. “There are hundreds of homeless in this town. People no one would ever miss. All you gotta do is get one to come home with you, promise him money or food or something. And when he’s here—”

She clapped her hands together with a loud crack, and Micah jumped.

“I don’t know. I can’t kill someone.” Micah felt ill, the whole conversation unreal. He had done some hard things over the last few years in pursuit of his dreams, but didn’t think he was capable of cold-blooded murder.

Suddenly he wished more than anything he had never met Muse. He thought he’d give anything to go back to his lousy copy editor job, miserable but at least unaware of the depraved monster living within him. As much as he wanted to tell himself he wasn’t a murderer, he knew the appeal of that award was
strong
, and was starting to have an idea of how he could achieve it. It was crazy to even consider, but he knew that he would follow through. He wanted that award.

“Okay,” he said. “One more.”

***

The heart was warm and slippery in his hands and he almost dropped it on the floor, imagining he could still feel it twitching in his hands. The knife hadn’t been sharp enough to cut through the sternum, so he’d been left with no other choice than to cut the body nearly in half and get at it through the abdominal cavity. Even then, cutting through the thick vessels had been tough. He hadn’t want to damage the heart itself, so he had to go slow, unable to clearly see what he was doing through the gore. Soaked in sweat and covered in blood and body fluids by the time he finished, he smelled like the backroom of a butcher shop.

Micah laid the heart gently upon the pile of stones and waited. Nothing happened. He thought he had arranged them in the proper order. He sighed heavily and scratched his forehead, leaving behind a gory streak at his temple.

Despite the snarl of rage frozen on her features and the shocked accusation in her vacant stare, she had been surprisingly easy to smother. Cutting her open had been horrendous, her insides smelled worse than her outside, and he accidentally punctured the large intestine, releasing the ripe odor of shit and digestion into the room. Her slime seemed to cover every inch of him, he could taste it in his mouth, but he had gotten the job done. But it hadn’t worked! The stones just wouldn’t smoke. He wished he knew the correct words to say, those foreign, guttural mutterings of Muse’s. But he didn’t. It wasn’t going to work.