Authors: Edward Lee
The House (14 page)
"Uh, thanks," Leonard responded to the compliment.
She smiled sheepishly as she retied her white bonnet, badging it with blood.
"Isn't, uh, isn't your grandfather going to be mad?"
"Mad about what?" she asked.
"Well, uh, you've got blood all over yourself."
"Oh, that? Naw, he'll think I had a visitation." She kissed him briefly once more, then laughed. "I'll tell him I got fucked by a seraph! 'Bye!"
She scurried out into the night and disappeared almost as if on wings.
Almost like a seraph.
««—»»
Leonard didn't even bother trying to clean up the blood. It's not like it was a big deal.
If she thought this little bit of blood was a mess, she should see the back rooms.
The event of his bizarre sexual encounter with Esther—not to mention her sequent evidence of stigmata—was quickly brushed aside by Leonard's attention. He had something far more important to tend to right now, didn't he?
If she thought this little bit of blood was a mess, she should see the back rooms.
The event of his bizarre sexual encounter with Esther—not to mention her sequent evidence of stigmata—was quickly brushed aside by Leonard's attention. He had something far more important to tend to right now, didn't he?
The pig lay as he'd left it: dead on the kitchen floor. This came now as a curious note in itself. He even wondered why he hadn't questioned it beforehand. On every occasion in the past, whenever Rocco brought up a farm animal for a movie, the animal was transported from New Jersey in one of those two-wheeled animal trailers connected to a ball-hitch on the back of the Deville. Yet the pig, Leonard knew, was brought in the back seat, and it never occurred to him how unlikely it would be that two mafiosoes would drive
all the way
from Trenton with a
pig
in the back seat. Of course not—they'd merely stolen the pig from the nearby religious settlement, knowing previously that said settlement raised pigs. So how angry could Rocco be when he learned that the pig was dead?
It's not
his
pig.
Be that as it may, he still had to dispose of the animal; true it only died an hour ago, but by Friday? He couldn't have it rotting there on the floor.
Gotta bury it,
came Leonard's first decision.
Gotta bury Arnold.
But before he even thought to lean over and drag it outside—
all the way
from Trenton with a
pig
in the back seat. Of course not—they'd merely stolen the pig from the nearby religious settlement, knowing previously that said settlement raised pigs. So how angry could Rocco be when he learned that the pig was dead?
It's not
his
pig.
Be that as it may, he still had to dispose of the animal; true it only died an hour ago, but by Friday? He couldn't have it rotting there on the floor.
Gotta bury it,
came Leonard's first decision.
Gotta bury Arnold.
But before he even thought to lean over and drag it outside—
"Wait a minute!"
The facts reeled like a list in his mind.
1) I'm starving.
2) The girls are starving.
3) And we've essentially
been
starving for months.
been
starving for months.
4) Rocco never brings enough food.
5) The only food we have in the house now is
dog
food.
dog
food.
But...
6) Right now I'm looking at a perfectly good cornfed pig!
7) I must be STUPID!
Indeed. Why eat dog food when he had 150 pounds of USDA-choice pork right here at his feet?
Leonard got a knife. Leonard got the ax out of the tool shed. Leonard hefted the pig up onto the kitchen table. Leonard turned on the oven.
Then Leonard began to cut.
««—»»
It took all night but the night seemed to zip by with Leonard now in a role as The Happy Butcher. He had watched his father rend pigs countless times, and had helped out just as many. Arnold was skinned lickety-split with a sharp knife, and the "gutpile" was just as easily—though quite a bit more malodorously—removed and discarded into a previously excavated hole in the back yard. The hooves and, alas, Arnold's head were quick to follow. Certainly wielding a wood-chopping ax in place of typical bandsaws presented some difficulty, but Leonard found that the make-shift implement sufficed just fine. He did most of the quartering out on the back patio behind the hedges; the dogs watched him with keen interest, and Leonard, now the generous meat-supplier, tossed them raw scraps for which their enthusiasm was plain. Next, he retreated back inside and trimmed the pig's parts of excess fat. The exemplary hams, flanks, shanks, and shoulders were dropped into a great bucket of salted water where they would be left for several days to cure. The rest was trimmed and parted further and stowed in the refrigerator. Purveying the bacon was the hardest part as this entailed meticulous trimming of the muscle-meat covering the ribs and appropriately slicing the area of flesh that connected this—namely, the abdominal wall. As Leonard commenced with this very critical task—he
really
liked bacon—he'd previously placed one large, choice loin section, or "eyecut," into the oven, sprinkled it with salt and chopped wild onions from the yard, then hooded it with foil and baked it at 350 degrees for an hour and a half.
really
liked bacon—he'd previously placed one large, choice loin section, or "eyecut," into the oven, sprinkled it with salt and chopped wild onions from the yard, then hooded it with foil and baked it at 350 degrees for an hour and a half.
He paced the kitchen, wringing his hands. In no time the house's fetor of blood, excrement, vomitus, and horror was overwhelmed by an aroma that could only be described as heaven-sent. This caused Leonard to salivate to the extent of outright drooling. And when dinnertime arrived, Leonard audibly giggled aloud, and when he pulled that sizzling loin out of the oven and set it on the table, he got an erection as turgid as if Esther the tainted Epiphanite were soliciting his sex drive with her feet.
He ate the entire loin, and some time later sat back exhausted, gorged, and grinning.
««—»»
He dreamed he was standing on a decorated stage before a cheering audience of at least a thousand strong. A man in a tux who looked like Bob Barker before he became absolutely ancient held a shining golden trophy in one hand and a microphone in the other, and his amplified voice boomed out: "And now, in the category of Best First Film, the winner is...
The Confessor
by Leonard D'arava!" Leonard wept standing up, his heart and soul and spirit blooming. Esther the Epiphanite was there cheering him on, and so were Sissy and Snowdrop—naked, of course—and the hostess from the Widow's Walk, and Leonard's dead father, and Rocco and Knuckles, and even George from D Block. "Yaaaaay!" Esther squealed, blood pouring forth from her outstretched hands. "Good goin', kid," Rocco said. "I'm proud of you, son," his father said. "Ah'll beat myseff off wiff my hand affa I woke yo' ass," George said. The applause rocked the awards hall. Balloons dropped en masse from the vast dome ceiling, and then came the
pop-pop-pop-pop!
of the press and their cannonade of flashbulbs. Leonard basked in it all.
This is for me, all for me!
came the incredulous thought.
All these people are cheering...for ME!
Then the Bob Barker clone turned, veering a dentured grin, and that's when the slow-mo began. Inch by inch, step by step 48 frames-per-second step, Leonard traversed the stage. His smile felt like his entire face, and slower still time seemed to lapse when Bob Barker extended the glimmering trophy toward the winner. Leonard's own hand reached out and grabbed it. It felt warm, brilliant, and somehow shimmering with energy, and once it was securely in his grasp, Leonard truly realized that this was his golden hour and the event which would spell the first day of a career marked with the acclaim he deserved. It was euphoria and triumph that flowed in his veins now, not mere blood. Leonard, indeed, was the Winner!
The Confessor
by Leonard D'arava!" Leonard wept standing up, his heart and soul and spirit blooming. Esther the Epiphanite was there cheering him on, and so were Sissy and Snowdrop—naked, of course—and the hostess from the Widow's Walk, and Leonard's dead father, and Rocco and Knuckles, and even George from D Block. "Yaaaaay!" Esther squealed, blood pouring forth from her outstretched hands. "Good goin', kid," Rocco said. "I'm proud of you, son," his father said. "Ah'll beat myseff off wiff my hand affa I woke yo' ass," George said. The applause rocked the awards hall. Balloons dropped en masse from the vast dome ceiling, and then came the
pop-pop-pop-pop!
of the press and their cannonade of flashbulbs. Leonard basked in it all.
This is for me, all for me!
came the incredulous thought.
All these people are cheering...for ME!
Then the Bob Barker clone turned, veering a dentured grin, and that's when the slow-mo began. Inch by inch, step by step 48 frames-per-second step, Leonard traversed the stage. His smile felt like his entire face, and slower still time seemed to lapse when Bob Barker extended the glimmering trophy toward the winner. Leonard's own hand reached out and grabbed it. It felt warm, brilliant, and somehow shimmering with energy, and once it was securely in his grasp, Leonard truly realized that this was his golden hour and the event which would spell the first day of a career marked with the acclaim he deserved. It was euphoria and triumph that flowed in his veins now, not mere blood. Leonard, indeed, was the Winner!
There was but one oddity, well two, actually. When he reached out to claim the prize, the hand which took it could not have been his own. It was a broad, firm, strong hand, like a lumberer's or a mason's. Leonard had skinny pasty geek hands in real life, but that was okay, this was a dream, and it was the best dream of his life, and he certainly wasn't going to spoil its glow by questioning the morphology of his fucking hands.
But there was something else, too, even more queer.
The hands were green.
««—»»
"Cooooooooooooooome annnnnnnnnnnnnnd
get
it!"
get
it!"
Leonard clanged the "meal chime" with a barbecue fork, the metal kitchen table leg having to suffice for the bell. Leonard felt unbelievably refreshed; in fact, he couldn't remember when he'd felt this good. First, the satisfying—if not a trifle odd—orgasm with Esther, then a bellyful of choice pork loin, and then, to top it all off, a
wonderful
dream. (Well, except for the green hands. Leonard, something of a symbolist, tried to apply a meaning to the rot-green hands of the otherwise perfect dream but could come up with nothing. But...so what? Dreams could be stupid sometimes!) Bacon sizzled delectably on the skillet. Eggs and biscuits would've been the perfect accompaniment but, well, you can't have everything. He fairly loped through the house to Sissy and Snowdrop's room, stuck his head in, and announced quite loudly: "Rise and shine, girls! Another day of beauty and wonder has dawned!"
wonderful
dream. (Well, except for the green hands. Leonard, something of a symbolist, tried to apply a meaning to the rot-green hands of the otherwise perfect dream but could come up with nothing. But...so what? Dreams could be stupid sometimes!) Bacon sizzled delectably on the skillet. Eggs and biscuits would've been the perfect accompaniment but, well, you can't have everything. He fairly loped through the house to Sissy and Snowdrop's room, stuck his head in, and announced quite loudly: "Rise and shine, girls! Another day of beauty and wonder has dawned!"
A few guttural murmurs, and the blanched figures on the box spring twisted around. Leonard jerked open the fly-specked curtains. "Good morning sunshine!"
"Ugh! Fuck
you!
" Snowdrop returned Leonard's cheerful greeting.
you!
" Snowdrop returned Leonard's cheerful greeting.
Sissy squinted up, shielding her eyes. She opened her mouth to say something but suddenly hitched and hiccupped a few belts of bile onto the floor.
"Come on, up, up, up and at 'em!"
"I need junk," Sissy croaked.
"I gotta take a bang bad, Leonard!" Snowdrop added.
"Gimme gimme!"
"All the heroin's gone," Leonard pointed out, his good humor unassailed. "You two chipmunks used it up last night, but—hark! I've got something better!"
That poked some life into them. They scrabbled up, shuffling after Leonard as he breezed back to the kitchen.
"What'cha got! What'cha got!" Sissy insisted.
"Maybe he's got some coke!" Snowdrop thrilled.
"Or some crystal meth!"
"Nope," Leonard proclaimed when they stopped in the kitchen entry. "I've got something better than any of that." He extended his hand to the table. "Food!
Real
food!"
Real
food!"
"Ugh! Fuck you!" Snowdrop spat.
Sissy pouted, her tiny fists clenched at her sides, her sucked-dry face full of indignation. "You DICK! What are we going to do what that shit?"
Leonard smirked. He was not generally prone to anger. On the table sat a virtual
pile
of hot, crisp bacon; Leonard had fried up an entire slab. He would've thought they'd be more grateful than this. "You're going to
eat
it," he answered. "Last night while you girls were shooting heroin I was in here butchering the pig and slaving over a hot stove."
pile
of hot, crisp bacon; Leonard had fried up an entire slab. He would've thought they'd be more grateful than this. "You're going to
eat
it," he answered. "Last night while you girls were shooting heroin I was in here butchering the pig and slaving over a hot stove."
Sissy continued with her rant. "I ain't eatin' that shit! I want junk!"
"Yeah!" Snowdrop again. They were ganging up on him. "Get us more junk, you pussy!"
Leonard realized full well that he was no macho man. He was a nice guy all in all, and he'd always tried to be. He'd always been taught to treat others as he would want to be treated himself. But in this day and age? All a "nice guy" was was a sucker, a pushover.
"I wouldn't eat this shit with a dog's mouth, you skinny wimp motherfucker!" Snowdrop yelled.
"Fuck yeah!" Sissy blurted. "If I eat this shit, I'll chuck it all up in your wimp face! Now get us some junk, you dick!"
"You got more, we know you do!"
"Give it to us! Or we'll kill your skinny ass just like we did that fuckin' pig!"
Something quite out of character happened then. Leonard's Happy Country Kitchen—in an amount of time that it takes one to snap his or her fingers—turned into...a Charnel House.
Leonard rammed his fist into Sissy's cheek so hard all of the rotten teeth flew out of her mouth.
"I've been a nice guy too long."
Leonard punched Snowdrop in the face even harder, so hard in fact that her right eyeball fell out of its socket where it hung to her cheek by a cord.
Other books
Murder of Gonzago by R. T. Raichev
A Medicine for Melancholy and Other Stories by Ray Bradbury
Body Movers by Stephanie Bond
Untamed Hearts by Melody Grace
Pariah by Fingerman, Bob
The Suspect - L R Wright by L R Wright
Breaking Point by Frank Smith
A Caress of Wings by Sylvia Day
The Greek Doctor's Proposal by Molly Evans
Death Times Two (The V V Inn, Book 3.5) by Ellisson, C.J., Brux, Boone