mirror of https://github.com/nealey/Horrors2
134 lines
4.0 KiB
TeX
134 lines
4.0 KiB
TeX
\chapauth{overnightmike}
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\chapter{The Exploding Curse}
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A dark night filled with trial and unrestiness was ahead. The bar
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tender said unimportant things which I heard. A vague feeling was
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consuming me like I was consuming alcoholic beverages. When? When
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will the signs come again and would they let me live? Being a
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gritty person himself the bartender did not question my long
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drinking mainly because I am a very mature person. I could not
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shake the vague feeling. It was everywhere.
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I felt like vomiting but did not. Instead I was glad I had a
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large-caliber handgun.
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The door to the tavern burst open, but the bartender never saw who
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walked into the door because he had died of fright. I saw his rusty
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blood. He was the lucky one of the two of us, who were the only two
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people in the bar. Besides the signs, which had arrived. At least I
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didn't have to wonder anymore. My legs burst open in a liquid
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explosion.
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My whole being was pain. Excruciating on the floor of a bad bar in
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a skid-row section of town. The signs had left but their work was
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completed. For now.
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I passed out from the pain of having exploded legs. But I woke up
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sometime later and poured some booze on them to make the pain stop,
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I could not walk, so I wrapped them in dirty, booze soaked bar
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towels, which were plentiful behind the bar. I was left to lay in
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the bar with the dead bartender who was putrid with corpse-stink.
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That was My Fate. My Punishment. My Own Prison.
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Everything was quiet. The dead bartender said, ``What's your name,
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cursed one?''
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``Burke Dreadnought,'' I said, quivering in fear at the talking
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abomination from hell.
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``Do you know why you are here at this time, do you know what pain
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really is?'' the corpse hissed at me, spraying me and everything
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with green putrid goo while the words garbled out.
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``My legs exploded so I think I can talk about pain,'' I wiped the
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blood off of my gratuitous chin stubble while saying.
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``Oh yeah, not yet you can't!'' The corpse began levitating and
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suddenly I remembered. Bavarious! The curse all of a sudden made
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sense!
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Summer 1967. I'm a rookie cop, green and not jaded at all and Luke
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Bavarious is showing me the ropes of the hard, rain-slicked streets
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of Miami. The Haunted House Murder Case. Fourteen people dead in
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the span of one night. Bavarious wasn't assigned to the case but he
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was the first one to the scene with me in tow. He growled out
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instructions, brazenly brandishing his large-caliber handgun like
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he always did. We found a kid. Left at the scene. Not murdered
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thankfully.
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``The Haunting will follow you unless you put an end to the cure,''
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the kid said while shaking because he had vomited so much. ``The
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curse must be lifted by giving the bones in the basement a proper
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burial. There were ritual murders here back in prohibition times by
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an evil bootlegger. Now he haunts the house by killing everyone in
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it all the time!''
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Bavarious growled, ``You make me want to puke! I'm here to get to
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the bottom of this!''
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After we left the scene I said meekly to the scowling Bavarious, ``I
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think we should give those bones a proper burial bacause kids
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should be listened to.''
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``Ha! Let's go catch some scumbags!'' Bavarious put on his sunglasses
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and went back to his squad car. Six years later I quit the force
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and started drinking. That was when the signs came to the bar to
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remind me of the curse and the kid I should have listened to.
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My legs were spewing gore trails all over and I finally remember
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that I always carry a large-caliber handgun. I shot the
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curse-zombie bartender right between his red devilish eyes. His
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last words were, ``Soon, soon you will know the horrible depths of
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hell as I know them, Burke Dreadnought!''
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I am in the bar still. I will die here but if I could walk I would
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go into a basement in Miami, and dig up the remains of the mad
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bootlegger's victims and give them a proper burial. I would dig
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them out of the same basement they found Luke Bavarious in last
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year, raving about curses to this day in a mental asylum.
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The End?
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