Johnny Gruesome (43 page)

Johnny’s pallid flesh clung to his skull and bones with tenacious determination. Mucus oozed from the gaping orifice that had once been his nose, glistening on his soggy skin. His bulbous eyeballs resembled two pus-filled zits ready to burst. The right side of his face had all but disappeared, revealing skull and sinew. The flesh around his throat had rotted away in the exact pattern of the chain Gary had used to strangle him. His tattered clothing hung baggy on his skeletal frame. Rips scored his weathered jacket and black jeans, and portions of his T-shirt hung in flaps, allowing his ribs to show through those printed on the shirt.

“So it’s true,” Johnny said in a raspy voice Eric almost didn’t recognize. “They really do return to the scene of the crime. How’s it going, Erica?”

Eric swallowed. “I knew I’d find you here.”

“You’re a smart boy. Too bad you’re never going to see college.”

Eric felt his sanity cracking. Concentrating, he willed the pieces of his mind to hold together.
You’re not crazy. This is really happening.
“What the hell are you?”

Johnny snorted and wheezed like a dying cat. “That’s the million-dollar question, isn’t it? Am I a ghost or a zombie? A little bit of both, I guess. I’m a goddamned angry spirit, trapped in a rotting shell that hasn’t got much kick left in it.”

Eric’s knees shook. “Why are you doing this?”

Johnny reached a decomposing hand into his jacket pocket, causing Eric to tense up. “Nothing’s as sweet as revenge, Eric. Not even sex.” He removed something Eric couldn’t see. “But you wouldn’t know about that, would you?”

Eric stared at the object in Johnny’s hand, nervous that his friend had pulled out his switchblade. “How in God’s name is this possible?”

Johnny revealed the jar of massage cream he’d taken from the funeral home and unscrewed its cap. “Willpower, my man.” He dipped two fingers into the cream. “What you’re looking at is nothing but a husk. I’m holding myself together through sheer, stubborn determination. You have no idea how hard it is to move just one muscle when you’re dead.” Removing his fingers, he rubbed the cream into his face, paying special attention to his jaw. “I had the chance to forgive and forget and move on to a higher plane. Fuck that. Definitely not my style. I’m taking care of business right here, to hell with the consequences.” Lathering cream on his neck, he rolled his head, which triggered a series of pops.

Eric winced. “I found your father’s body.”

Johnny massaged the cream into his hands. “Yeah, I know. I appreciate you looking in on him like that. I’d have done the same for you.”

“What happened to him?”

Johnny rotated his wrists and cracked his knuckles. He stretched his arms and legs, his joints snapping. Each sound made Eric cringe.

“I went home to change clothes after my funeral. How was I supposed to know he’d come home early? I didn’t let him see me, but he
knew.
I guess it was too much for him to handle.”

Eric pictured Charlie’s corpse surrounded by empty booze bottles. “You could have stopped him.”

Johnny rubbed the cream as far inside his sleeves as he could reach. “Oh, really? Fucking brilliant. What do you think would have happened if he’d seen me? He’d have dropped dead of a coronary, that’s what. At least he went out exactly the way he always wanted.”

Eric mentally assembled imaginary pieces of a picture puzzle. “You stayed in the house …”

Johnny’s fingers came out of the jar without any cream on them. “I may be here on borrowed time, but I still needed a place to hide out.” He tossed the empty jar into the snow. “Why not my own room? Hey, check out the Death Mobile! I fixed it up right in the garage, just like we did the first time. The guys at the yard probably don’t even know I took it back.”

“Someone torched the funeral home.”

“Is that supposed to be a question? Yeah, I did it. Right after I killed those morbid fuckers. So what? You wouldn’t believe what they did to me. I feel so … dirty. Death is an ugly fucking state, let me tell you. You know what the coroner did with my organs after he took them out? He just poured them right back into my body! Everything’s in the wrong place now. No respect.”

“What did you do to Mrs. Crane?”

“I just kissed her and copped a feel. Maybe it was the embalming fluid, but Little Johnny wouldn’t rise to the occasion.”

Eric’s features, numbed by the cold wind, twisted with disgust. No wonder Mrs. Crane had refused to detail her encounter with Johnny. “I can understand why you were pissed at Todd, but why did you go after Derek and Cliff?”

“I want to make this whole town bleed.”

“Karen and Gary?”

“You’re the sole survivor. I saved the best for last.”

Johnny’s ghastly grin caused Eric to shudder. “Why me?”

Johnny’s voice hardened. “You were my best friend, man.”

“Then why go through with this?”

The grin vanished. “Because you’re alive and I’m not. And I don’t want to go to hell alone.”

Eric could no longer contain his rage. “Rhonda never did anything to you.”

“I have to give her props: she put up a good fight. Better than Todd or Willard, that’s for sure. She’s dead because you loved her. That’s the thought I want you to carry to your grave.”

Eric drew in a deep breath and released it through quivering lips. “I’m not letting you kill me.”

Johnny laughed, a hideous sound that filled the night. “What makes you think you can stop me? You didn’t stop Gary from killing me, and you didn’t prevent me from killing Rhonda. She called out for you, Eric. She cried your name, over and over.
Where were you?”

Lunging forward, Eric punched Johnny in his mouth. The blow knocked Johnny off balance, and when he turned back to Eric, the remainder of his lips had disappeared. Exposed muscles glistened in the streetlight, and his jawbone hung at an unnatural angle.

Eric shook dead flesh from his knuckles.

Johnny grabbed his lower jaw with both hands, snapped it back into place, and practiced moving it. Without lips, his gums and teeth filled the lower half of his face.

“Good man. I always told you to throw the first punch. It’snice to know you learned something from me. But I’m running out of time. My insides are turning into cottage cheese. I think I still have one good match left in me.”

They circled each other like wrestlers, feeling each other out, searching for an opening. Eric shot in to snare Johnny’s right leg, but Johnny stepped back and struck Eric with a hard cross-face that sent him wobbling. Johnny reached over Eric’s back, wrapped his arms around his waist, and sank his hips, sprawling out and forcing Eric to his knees.

Grunting, Eric worked his way upright and shoved Johnny staggering back. Surprised at how light Johnny felt, Eric shot in for a leg again, but Johnny kicked him in the face with a steel-toed boot. Too dazed to cry out, Eric fell backward into the snow.

Johnny raised two rotting fingers on his right hand, like a peace sign. “Take down, two points!”

Eric slapped a handful of snow across his forehead, numbing the pain that throbbed there. Johnny dove on top of him, seizing his throat with both hands, vile fluid oozing from his mouth as he spoke.

“Better do something before I pin you, Eric!”

Eric felt Johnny’s sharp fingers digging into his throat. Bridging up on his neck, he lifted Johnny two and a half feet above the ground. He pivoted on his head, his body twisting beneath Johnny so the creature straddled his lower back instead of his stomach.

Johnny wrapped a leg around Eric’s and extended it. The pressure proved too great for Eric, who sank to his knees and elbows again, broken down. Squeezing Eric’s left leg between his thighs, and entangling Eric’s right leg with his arms, Johnny put him in a “banana split.” Thrusting his hips against Eric’s buttocks and pulling both legs wide apart, he made Eric cry out from the agony tearing his groin.

Eric clawed at Johnny’s face, groping for his eyes. The fingers on Eric’s right hand dug away a clump of wet flesh, and Johnny sank his teeth into them. Eric screamed, his body jerking in spasms of pain. Johnny released him and leapt to his feet. Eric groaned and rolled over. The snow around his right hand turned red and melted.

Johnny beckoned him forward. “Come on, get up! I want to play with you some more.”

Launching himself forward on the balls of his feet, Eric charged at Johnny like a bull. But Johnny stepped aside and Eric crashed headfirst into the railing. Johnny buried his fingers in Eric’s hair, jerked his head back, and smashed it into the railing again.

White-hot pain knifed the bridge of Eric’s nose, and spots flared in his eyes. Johnny smashed his head into the railing over and over, and Eric felt himself losing consciousness. His face battered, blood streamed from his broken nose and he gagged. Johnny dragged him upright and shook him. His head rolled on his neck, limp.

“You should have stopped him, Eric! You were supposed to have my back.”

Eric fought the darkness threatening to devour him. “I tried …”

“Bullshit!
” Johnny slugged him in the stomach and he doubled over. “I saved your life in fifth grade. Why couldn’t you save mine?” Sweeping Eric up in his arms, Johnny stepped closer to the railing, lifting him over his head. One hand clutched the nape of Eric’s neck and the other gripped his belt.

Feeling cold wind on his face, Eric opened his eyes. Twentyfive feet below, the Willow Creek, frozen, yearned for his bones.

Johnny cocked his elbows. “I did it! I kicked this town’s ass!”

Oh, my God, he’s going to—

Johnny pitched him over the railing and into the night.

E
ric’s stomach lurched, and he flailed his arms. One hand caught the right sleeve of Johnny’s motorcycle jacket, and his momentum jerked Johnny against the railing. He seized Johnny’s wrist with his other hand and found himself swinging on Johnny’s arm. Throwing his right hand over his head, he grabbed Johnny’s elbow and tried to pull himself up, but his bloody fingers ached too much. Gravity loosened his grip. Releasing Johnny’s arm, he clawed instead at the bridge’s edge. Suspended from it, his face only inches from his knuckles, he kicked at emptiness. If he could just reach the lowest barrier—

Johnny stepped before him. One kick would send him to a watery grave: if he fell straight down, he would break through the ice and the current would take him. As Eric tilted his head back, he saw Johnny twist his facial muscles into a ghastly imitation of a grin, raise his middle finger, and swing his right foot back. Eric pushed himself off the bridge, throwing himself into space at a sideways angle. He glimpsed puzzlement on Johnny’s features, then anger at being deprived of his final act of revenge.

Eric slammed into the concrete retaining wall, then experienced free fall: plummeting into darkness, he felt his stomach climb to the back of his throat. Before he even had time to take a breath, he smashed into the snow-covered embankment and screamed as his right knee shattered. His twisted leg came free, and he tumbled down the rocks and slid face-first across the snowcovered ice. Clutching his injured leg, he rocked back and forth, still screaming, tears burning his eyes. With an agonized moan, he cast a fearful glance at the bridge, silhouetted in the streetlight. Johnny had disappeared.

Propping himself up on his elbows, Eric twisted his head around, searching for Johnny, his eyes settling on the opposite embankment. If he could scale the shale slope, perhaps he could hide in the woods, or find a rock or heavy branch to use as a weapon. He rolled over, pain searing his broken leg. Crawling across the ice, he whimpered as he dragged his injured leg behind him. His hands kept slipping, his left leg providing his only forward movement. Halfway across the creek, his eyes widened and his heart contracted: Johnny emerged from the woods ahead and descended the shale without breaking his stride.

Sprawled out on the ice, Eric bowed his head in despair. Johnny stepped onto the ice but veered away from him, following the bank. Eric lifted his head, a perplexed expression on his face.
What the hell is he doing?

Johnny stopped, searching the ice, and kneeled. Positioning his left hand for support, he raised his right arm and punched the ice. His fist rose and fell like a piston, its target splintering and cracking. The ice shattered and his arm disappeared up to his shoulder. Groping the dark water, he faced Eric and winked. Then he stood, dragging something out of the water. Eric felt panic as water poured off the tire chain Gary had used to strangle Johnny. Johnny snapped the chain like a whip, casting off shards of orange crust.

“A little rusty, but it’ll do.”

Using his arms, Eric rotated his body with frantic urgency until he faced the opposite embankment, where he’d broken his leg. Scrambling toward it, he heard the chain whistle through the air. He rolled onto his back, the sudden motion sending a shock wave of pain through his right leg.

Johnny stood a dozen feet away, spinning the chain above his head like a lariat. Retaining his grip, he extended his arm with a snapping motion, and the chain whipped forward. Eric rolled to his left side and the chain struck the ice where he’d just lain, blasting ice fragments at his back.