Pus Junkies

Epilogue

Ernie snorted a line off the middle console, tilted his head back and enjoyed the drip. He checked the address one last time on Sarah’s phone, then tossed it into the back. This was the place all right.

“Here I come, you little motherfucker.”

He wouldn’t kill Zak. Not yet. He wanted to drag him back home first, show him his mama. All the pieces of her. Piled up in the bathtub.

You wanted to leave me? Now look at you, you stupid bitch.

He was just going to shoot her, nice and clean. But her little fuck ass son took his pistol with him. So he had to use the ax he kept in the garage. Never knew why he bought an ax. Didn’t have firewood to chop or anything. But the fucker sure came in handy last night.

He took one more line, then a long pull of his bottle of Jack before opening the driver’s door and heading toward the house. The lights were on inside, and the front door was wide open. The only car in the driveway was Zak’s POS, so he figured Sarah’s sister wasn’t home. Which was good. Not that he couldn’t use a little pussy before his long drive back to California.

But he wanted this to be quick. In and out. Get that little fucker, knock his ass out, and get the fuck gone. If the little pipsqueak cousin was here, if he tried to interfere, it would be easy to get rid of him. He wouldn’t kill him if he didn’t have to, but it wouldn’t make much of a difference either way.

Maybe I’ll bring both the little fuckers with me.

He peered into the home, covered his nose and wrinkled his brow as he stared at the mess on the floor. Looked like a sea of melted candy or something, smelled like pot roast. It turned his stomach, but he stepped into it anyway, cringing as the goo soaked into his tennis shoes.

It only took him a couple of minutes to check the first floor, but there was no sign of anyone. He almost called out, but bit his tongue, slowly and quietly made his way to the second floor. The first thing he saw was the attic, its foldout stairs lowered, a soft light glowing from inside.

And what is that noise? Crying?

He climbed the steps, peered into the small room. The floor was covered in the same liquid as downstairs, but something floated in it. He squinted, mouthed the words, “what the fuck?” without saying them.

A face floated by. It looked almost completely melted down, like it had been made of wax, but it still had eyeholes and a nose, though the nose was a messy stump of glistening flesh. The mouth was gone completely. Then he spotted a foot… and a hand, and as he stared at them, they dissolved, melted into the rest of the goop on the floor.

“Jesus.”

When the word left his mouth, Zak turned and locked eyes with him. Ernie had been too caught up with the nasty shit on the floor to see the boy until they were already looking at each other.

Ernie climbed the last few steps, stood tall, pointed a hard finger at Zak. “You’re dead, boy. Just like your mama.”

And all Zak did was smile.

The smile shook Ernie, sent tremors through his bones. He even backed up a step, but the back of his shoe hit something.

“Hi, Chuck,” Zak said.

“Wha—”

Strong hands seized Ernie’s shoulders, spun him around. He stared into the face of what looked like roadkill. Black fluid spurted from the smashed face, and a tongue snaked out of the mess and spun in the air just before a stream of the black stuff rushed into Ernie’s face and blinded him, sent hot lightning into his sockets that scorched the optic nerves.

Ernie tried to shriek, but when his mouth opened, it was filled with more of the liquid. It rushed down his throat, set his belly on fire.

Then he was being dragged. He clawed at his eyes, hoping to God he wasn’t truly blind.

He almost shouted with joy when a hint of light ignited in his vision, then the room started to come back into focus.

Zak stood over him. The boy’s skin looked different, red, covered in pimples. Ernie didn’t remember Zak ever having acne trouble before.

The living roadkill stood beside Zak, that tongue dancing like a cobra enticed by a snake charmer.

Zak held a bloated, purple corpse by its armpits, and once the boy lowered the corpse’s head toward Ernie’s face, he realized it was the pipsqueak. Zak’s cousin. Recognized him from pictures that Sarah had hung in the living room back home.

What in the fuck is going on around here?

“Welcome to the party, Ernie,” Zak said. “You’re just in time.”

Zak raked his nails across the pipsqueak’s swollen face, rupturing the fat, greasy boils there. Purple and blue and green and pink poured from the opened flesh and coated Ernie’s face, filled his mouth and nostrils and eyes.

And for the briefest of moments, just a flash, Ernie felt fantastic. Like he could fuck every woman in the world.

But that melted away into an inferno of pain and suffering as his flesh bubbled and started slipping off his body.

As Zak smiled down at him, the zits on the boy’s face got to moving.

Pulsating. Throbbing.

And then Ernie’s eyes burst, and he let out a final scream before even that turned to liquid.