Post by Logan on Feb 5, 2012 15:28:54 GMT -5
Mid-morning, the sun just started to warm things up on an unusual February day of weather. It wasn’t short sleeve conditions; unless you were brave it could be pulled off, you wouldn’t have goose bumps per say, but you wouldn’t be golden warm either. Some grass was beginning to grow in small patches throughout lawns. He didn’t know that he was here yet, that time would come soon enough. He thought he was safe out here in the woods, thought he found sanctuary. He should’ve known better, known that he couldn’t hide, especially not that what he was hiding from originated within his own mind. Madness cannot be evaded, only embraced. Didn’t he get the memo? Chris Avery is in his sanctuary now, and surrounded by comfort, a mind finally at ease. He’s Logan of course, through and through, that has not been forgotten to certain individuals – certain special individuals. The ones or more particularly one that put Logan in this predicament to start, the one that’s a form of imagination, the one that always dwells and slithers at every corner of his tormented mind, the Serpent. And despite the fact that he had killed it or at least believed he killed it; it returned. Since it is not real it cannot truly meet death, only a short absence, temporary relief from Logan’s mind, and it would remerge, always.
THE SERPENT: If I didn’t know any better I’d think it was spring.
It admired the warm weather and the gathering of chirping birds outside Logan’s house.
THE SERPENT: Knock, knock, Logan. Knock.. knock.
The Serpent transformed its reptile appearance. The tail crawled away into its spine, the scaly baldness of its head grew long thick black hair, two legs grew from its hind and bare feet touched the dry grass. One of the previous incarnations of The Serpent sprung to life in human form, Samatha-form. Taking this image made things a little less frightening for the mentally ill, not that she desired any remorse for the poor fool, but play time as a serpent definitely distracted Logan from the fun. And that was all she, The Serpent, really wanted to begin with, nice genuine fun. He heard the knock on his front door, pressing his cheek into the door and eyeing the peep hole. He saw a beautiful woman standing in the yard. If he had known any better or remembered the previous encounters with the black haired witch, he wouldn’t have dared to do what he did next… open the door.
CHRIS AVERY: Hey there, princess.
The jet black silk that clothed her body blew a little with the breeze, sucking into her and exposing her frame. He was really lost, not being able to recognize The Serpent. She knew this for sure now; she knew that Logan was long gone and that he was permanently stuck with Chris Avery’s identity. This was almost like a fresh start, a new chance to toy with his brain some more.
THE SERPENT: Princess’ss? How fascinating.
CHRIS AVERY: Yeah.. fascinating.
He arched an eyebrow.
CHRIS AVERY: Would you like to come in?
THE SERPENT: No..
Her gaze shifted from him and onto the glorious sky that warmed the February day.
THE SERPENT: I’d whether stay outside while it’s still nice. I have things that you need to see and you can only see them outside, well, properly.
There was evil lurking behind her voice, he sensed it hiding somewhere, but she was too beautiful for him to take much caution of that. He stepped out onto the porch letting the door close behind him.
CHRIS AVERY: Sounds good to me.
She remained in place.
THE SERPENT: Gravedigger.
CHRIS AVERY: Huh?
Though he wasn’t particularly on his mind, the name at least caught some of his attention.
CHRIS AVERY: What about that honkey?
The Serpent grinned specifically for his use of words; words that, along with his new personality, really made her feel satisfied with the mind-fuck job she had done with him. There was no going back for this guy, not even back to his former treacherous self, not unless she made him believe he was Logan. Even then, however, he’d just be adapting another personality, one that sadly used to be his own.
THE SERPENT: His name. I like it.
He got closer to her, just within a few feet before stopping and arching another brow.
CHRIS AVERY: That’s unfortunate.
THE SERPENT: You burned down his house the other day didn’t you?
CHRIS AVERY: Yup.
He seemed quite proud of the arson he had committed.
THE SERPENT: But that wasn’t actually his house.. was it?
CHRIS AVERY: Of course it was!
THE SERPENT: Are you sure?
CHRIS AVERY: …
He went into thought, deep thought, as he usually did whenever talking with The Serpent. Her presence always shook his mind up like a snow globe, and then the flakes would settle and cover his brain with blankets of confusion.
THE SERPENT: That’s okay, Chris. Maybe you did, maybe you didn’t, burn down house or not that’s not the reason I’m a stickler for the name. I like Gravedigger for personal reasons. He represents horrible things that are flat out delicious. The Epitome of Hardcore, they say, he’ll say, whoever says. A person carrying such a name doesn’t go hand in hand with rainbows and unicorns.
He interrupted, a little agitated.
CHRIS AVERY: What the hell are you getting at, are you warning me about Gravedigger?
THE SERPENT: I’m helping you.
CHRIS AVERY: But I know he’s a bastard.
THE SERPENT: Yes, most people do. That’s not my point. I want you to grow, Chris. That’s why you’re here. Burning down a house, fun as that may be, that’s not going to defeat Gravedigger, even if it was in fact his house. It’s a start, of course. But I think that right now you’re just too soft for Gravedigger. Your mind is too young, hasn’t suffered enough yet to extinguish the fire, the pain, the pure strength of him.
He ignored her. What the hell did she know? More than him obviously, because his mind was like a record player playing Chris Avery on loop. It had no new tracks to offer, nothing to let it expand.
THE SERPENT: Gravedigger is like an old dog, he’s quicker to bite a playful kid pulling at his tail. He’s not a pup that will put up with it. He’d whether rip you to shreds than risk getting a little scratch, because scratches don’t heal as fast as they used to. He goes for the kill a little quicker now, because as everyone knows, age leaves endurance behind if not everything else that a fighter needs for this sport. It’s a dog eat dog world and he’s drooling for a mouthful of flesh. If you want to not only defeat him, but walk in knowing you have his number, then your mindset has to be more cold, bitter, and nastier than his.
He surprisingly found himself interested.
CHRIS AVERY: Yeah.
THE SERPENT: You have to survive Gravedigger, fight him to stay in it. It’s not about being smart or how your wrestling skill matches his, that doesn’t matter with him. You need to go tooth for tooth, nail for nail. You have to get nasty with him, and hope that in the end he’s missing more than you are. There’s no real strategy other than going head to head. No dancing. No games. Just raw aggression, that’s how you’ll put him away.
CHRIS AVERY: Sounds like you’ve faced that cracka before.
THE SERPENT: Let’s just say.. someone close.. someone very close to me has.
She winked. Was that a sign of flirtation or was she indicating that some inside joke had been played that everyone but him would get.
CHRIS AVERY: Ah..
THE SERPENT: But… words alone aren’t going to prepare you for the strength you’ll need to overcome Gravedigger.
CHRIS AVERY: What do you mean?
THE SERPENT: A trail, one to endure before you participate in his own ‘trail’.
CHRIS AVERY: I see. What, you think I’m going to run around the house and dance through tire holes like a jackass. No thank you.
THE SERPENT: Not exactly.
A scratching, like someone was going to town on a bad itch at their hardest spot to reach on the spine began gurgling its way up beneath them, under the soil. He assumed it was a ground mole. Who wouldn’t? The Serpent continued like the noise beneath their feet was right on time, part of a genius plan.
THE SERPENT: I told you, Chris, bringing the fight to Gravedigger isn’t going to be enough alone, you need to survive him as well, and you’ll be surprised what a man is capable of when he’s fighting to survive.
The scratching reached its peak and the source of the noise exploded a clawing hand from the ground. The hand dug into the grass, pulling up further, and that hand was connected to an arm, and as it revealed itself further from the earth, that arm was connected to a shoulder, and a head. He covered his gasping mouth in fear while watching the animated corpse claw its way up onto his front lawn.
CHRIS AVERY: IS THAT A – A –
THE SERPENT: Zombie?
CHRIS AVERY: Impossible! They don’t exist.
THE SERPENT: Neither do I, technically.
CHRIS AVERY: What does this mean?!
THE SERPENT: I bet running through tires doesn’t sound so bad right now does it?
And even if the entire earth’s surface had been covered to his neck in fuckin’ tires, he would’ve ran, because this hideous walking corpse was on its feet and coming directly straight at him, and so ‘ran’ he did. The monster, another figment of his imagination, though real to him, wanted to wrap its rotted mouth around him. The idea alone of that infectious array of blackened teeth anywhere near his body was enough to make his brain cringe, load a .45, grow some brain arms, and blow a brains-brain out. He reached his front door, the zombie just a few dragging steps behind him. The door seemed harder to open than usual, maybe fear makes people too dumb to perform a simple task such as turning a doorknob, but he couldn’t, too difficult. The knob slipped and turned back and forth in his hand but refused to open, did not obey him. He could smell it behind him now, the corpse was that close. Funky cold breath hit the back of his neck and he knew it’d only be a second later that he’d feel ragged teeth. Not a second too soon because the door suddenly remembered it could be opened by the turn of a knob and opened it did. He fell in, the zombie digging nails into his shoulders and falling in with him like a merry jolly pair coming in from a night of bar hopping and clubbing.
THE SERPENT: Oh, Chris, be careful! He bites!
Through the struggling he managed to hear a joyful Serpent commentating from outside. That’s when he realized she was right, he did bite. The corpse, on the floor with him, on top of him, flapped it’s loosely hinged jaw inches from his face as he pushed against his rotted hollow chest. It’d be only a matter of time now that one of those bites got a mouthful of his cheek, so, in desperation he plunged his thumbs into each of the zombie’s eyes. The eyes pushed back into his skull and the sockets filled with thick red pus. It flowed, running down his hands and onto his forearms, some of it even dripping on his face and into his mouth. It tasted how you’d imagine fluid from a zombie would taste, like you stuck your tongue out and lapped up a puddle in the bottom of a dumpster. He vomited right there in between the eye gorging, the stomach acid pushing out of his mouth and running down the sides of his face. The removal of sight didn’t keep the corpse from fighting; it kept right on, like a dying bull instinctively charging something red, even though it didn’t have the visual.
THE SERPENT: The brain. You have to destroy the brain. Hasn’t George A. taught you anything?
But this wasn’t a horror movie, and if it was he’d sure be in trouble because he was black, and if he did destroy this zombie’s brain he thought he’d go and destroy that little bitch’s brain as well. She sure wasn’t helping. He was able to push the corpse off to his side, yanking his imbedded thumbs out of the zombie’s eye sockets. It lay there for a moment, kicking and reaching out in place, damage obviously done from the blood spurting eyes. He looked through the doorway and out to The Serpent.
CHRIS AVERY: I think it’s dying.
THE SERPENT: Know it’s dying, Chris. You must know. Gravedigger isn’t going to let you wait for him to go down.
He screamed back at her in anger and frustration.
CHRIS AVERY: THIS ISN’T FUCKIN’ GRAVEDIG-
The words were interrupted, surprise choked them right out, the corpse had risen to its feet like a string puppet and the master pulling strings was ready for further performance. This was a real problem, him being on his back, the zombie on its feet. He scrambled backwards, his elbows pushing him back along the hardwood floor, and the blind zombie marched on in a very terrifying accurate direction. He thankfully managed to put a little space between him and the corpse, a few feet maybe, but that was enough to stand, but he couldn’t just yet, his back hit a wall and a steel bundle of fire pokers that fell onto their side and slid out. There the zombie was, near his feet now, getting down on its knees to join in on floor level despair. He thanked God for the fire pokers, he had never actually used them before, but he thanked God he had them. He reached for one and brought the edged L shaped tip into the corpse’s temple. It didn’t go down, only came closer, he swung again; missing the spot he had hoped to hit and just skimming the zombies forehead. The corpse was too close now to execute a full blown swing again, so he took the end of the poker into his hand, and stabbed it into his stomach. It provided enough discomfort on the corpse’s behalf for him to roll away and stand to his feet. He reached down, now over the corpse, ripping the impaled poker from its stomach and gripping it back into his hands. He steadied the end of the poker over the corpses head, making sure to swing with everything he had but be accurate at the same time, and then came down with it. The poker splashed into the zombie’s soft face, breaking open skull and bursting warm sprays of liquid onto the wall.
THE SERPENT: AGAIN!
She had come into the house now, watching him stand over the corpse, joy hiding behind her focused eyes. He swung into its face once more, covering the area with more mess of brain chunks and skull bits.
THE SERPENT: …
He could hear her even though she didn’t speak. He knew she was getting a kick out of this, and.. maybe.. he was too, because without instruction he began bashing the corpse face, over and over like a mad golfer hitting dirt.
THE SERPENT: .. yes’sss..
Her S’s slithered with orgasm, watching him swing and swing, a blood soaked grin stretching ear to ear. The battered face turned into mush and there was nothing left but a puddle of strange gook and he was left hitting nothing but floor. The fire poker dropped from his hands. He brought his hands to his face, slick and greasy with blood, rubbing corpse remains out of his eyes. The whole experience was liberating. It felt like he had grown a new lung and was now able to breathe better than anyone else on planet earth. He also felt terrified, damn struck with fear, for himself and acts he now realized he was capable of.
CHRIS AVERY: This didn’t happen. This isn’t some trick.. is it? Did I actually just murder someone?
No response from The Serpent, he turned to look for her but she had vanished. No longer was the dark demon in his corner, cheering him on, and encouraging violence. He got another look outside as well to see if she moved out there. She wasn’t, but something else was alright, more of those corpses, three more fresh holes in the earth, and three more staggering dead bodies slipping and tumbling towards the front door like they’d been ejected with gallons of booze. He rushed to the front door, closing it shut and locking the bolt. Another confrontation with these monsters wasn’t welcomed, he wanted to avoid them at all cost. They hit the front door with fists, heads, whatever bodily able. He backed against it; double checking now and then to make sure the lock was in place. The racket of noise finally stopped, which was strange, he didn’t think these corpses knew the word quit, not especially after the one before continued to come at him even after he removed its eyeballs. The back door, they must be heading towards the backdoor! He would have run to the back, but something locked up his tracks, the sound of hard footsteps coming from the hallway towards the room. Had one of them managed to get into the house? He would have heard it. These footsteps sounded more elegant than a mindless corpse. Clunk. Clunk. Clunk. He couldn’t move, only listen. Clunk. Clunk. Clunk. Two small black empty leather tap shoes pranced into the room. No feet to occupy them, much less a body. They stopped dead center of the room, turning the noses of the shoes into his direction, methodically tapping in a slow rhythm.
TAP SHOES: Helllooo –
The radio inside the kitchen turned on playing some 1920’s jazz. He couldn’t remember ever hearing a station that played 20’s jazz in this area, much less jazz at all. The shoes pointed nose flaps flipped open, singing in harmony with the music on the radio and tap dancing along. The grand stage had been set and he felt like these dancing singing tap shoes were performing just for him.
TAP SHOES: Heeello my darlin’ / Hello my honey / Hello my bride to beee.
The back door! He momentarily forgot about the threat outside, the corpses making their way to the back! Had he wasted too much time with these God forsaken shoes? He couldn’t waste anymore. He bolted across the room, past the dancing shoes that he thought attempted to trip him. The back door was almost in sight, around the kitchen corner, and… bingo, there was the back door, slightly jarred with a rotted head peeking through it. He slung his body into the door, hoping to push the corpse head back in the process. The head caved into the door frame, the pressure literally squeezing it until it popped and burst bloody bits through the air and onto the kitchen stove. The rest of the body fell back into the garage, and the door shut closed. No locks on this one, however, and there were two more behind the headless corpse. The shoes tapped and sung their way into the kitchen, his predicament not bothering the shoes at all, not skipping a beat.
TAP SHOES: This is our paradiseee / This is the Heaven brighttt.
CHRIS AVERY: Shut up!
TAP SHOES: Hello my baby / Hello my darlin’ / Hello my bride to beee.
The shoes had no intentions of ceasing their tapping joy. This wasn’t the ideal time for entertainment; he could feel the other two corpses on the other side of the door now, bashing fists into it. The hard blows pushing his body forward before he’d have to soon fall back against the door and take another, yet the damned shoes continued. He needed something to bar this door; he knew he couldn’t keep them back forever. Was this what The Serpent meant? Was this all part of the trail to prepare for him? Would Gravedigger be this gawd damn reluctant? Even if he was, he doubted Gravedigger would sing to him and tap dance, or try to eat his brains, metaphorically maybe, but not literally. He eyed the wooden chair that lay five feet ahead of him, wondering if he’d have enough time to grab it and seal the door before they could break in. It’d be a leap of faith but what other choice was there. He took the leap, grabbing the chair, turning to the door, the opened door. The two mindless corpses stood in the doorway, drooling mouths open, and hands upward in a Mummy like fashion. He came at them like a lion tamer, pushing the butt of the chair into their chests and knocking them backwards from the doorway. He closed the door, propping the head of the chair under the knob.
TAP SHOES: Hello my baby / Hello my darli-
He yanked those damn shoes up from their tapping heaven, tossing them into the kitchen sing, clogging the drain and turning the water on full blast. They tried to tap dance out; he held them down, watching the water rise over the soles. The shoes continued singing despite this, and even through the drowning they went on until gurgling their last note of the hideous 20’s song. The music on the radio died exactly the time the shoes were drowned. The banging at the door ceased as well.
THE SERPENT: Survival.
She appeared in the kitchen doorway, legs crossed, arm resting on the frame, cigarette between her lips.
THE SERPENT: It’s written in every species, the only thing that everyone truly has in common.
The soaked shoes disappeared from within the sink, turning into a liquid substance, and oozing down the drain.
CHRIS AVERY: What’s wrong with me?
THE SERPENT: Nothing. Absolutely nothing.
He turned to face her, resting his palms on the edge of the sink.
CHRIS AVERY: You sure about that, really? I just drown a pair of talking tap dancing shoes.
The end of the cigarette glowed and she took her time puffing out the smoke.
THE SERPENT: Your point?
CHRIS AVERY: People don’t normally do that type of thing.
THE SERPENT: That’s why you’re so special, Chris.
CHRIS AVERY: I was thinking crazy sounded more appropriate.
THE SERPENT: Crazy? Oh dear, you’re far from that. Greenfever, he’s crazy. And that other guy, Oblivion, he’s crazy. Hell, even Gravedigger is a nutter in his own way. You’re different from them. You can function; you know the difference between right and wrong. You actually gave yourself something to believe in, you want to see yourself become the first ever black champion, that’s ambition, that’s where you set yourself aside. Those guys, they’re very much like those walking mindless corpses, they just walk around until they can find something to sink their teeth into.
CHRIS AVERY: I want to believe you.. I do.
THE SERPENT: Good.
CHRIS AVERY: This isn’t the only strange thing that’s happened lately. Over the last couple of weeks, I have been feeling.. I don’t know, not like myself sometimes. Matter of fact, every day now I’m finding it more difficult to remember my life from over a month ago, and to top it off a lot of people seem to think I’m Logan. Why would they think that?
She expressed a look of confusion though deep down inside she was howling and laughing her guts out.
THE SERPENT: Do you think you’re Logan?
CHRIS AVERY: No. But people keep saying I am, and every now and then I’ll actually look in the mirror just to check.
THE SERPENT: And what do you see, Chris? What do you s’see?
CHRIS AVERY: I see myself.
THE SERPENT: Then what more of an answer do you need? You’re not Logan. They are the crazy ones, not you, you’re the only sane one in their little mental asylum.
He found himself agreeing with her.
CHRIS AVERY: Exactly. I’m the only black one too, so maybe that’s just some ploy to run me off. You know, everyone there is afraid of seeing a black man succeed.
THE SERPENT: And you will succeed, Chris. You will. And I’ll be standing there beside you if you’d want me to. I am here to help you, nothing else.
CHRIS AVERY: I would like that.
Trust, what a wonderful thing it can be, even if it’s a misguided and manipulated trust, it’s still warm, sweet, touching, and even tastier when it’s broken. She’d break his trust in time, play with his brain some more, and maybe down the road she’d turn him into something else. He didn’t always have to play a black man, no, maybe he could play a woman, now that’d be amusing. But Chris Avery is what he was for now and for probably a long time, because she could find no reason just yet to pull the plug on Avery. He was just too much fun. She cocked an eyebrow at his approach, he seemed to feel very comforted by her presence, even more so when he embraced her for a hug. She soaked in the hug, smiling behind his back. Trust... what a wonderful thing.
THE SERPENT: If I didn’t know any better I’d think it was spring.
It admired the warm weather and the gathering of chirping birds outside Logan’s house.
THE SERPENT: Knock, knock, Logan. Knock.. knock.
The Serpent transformed its reptile appearance. The tail crawled away into its spine, the scaly baldness of its head grew long thick black hair, two legs grew from its hind and bare feet touched the dry grass. One of the previous incarnations of The Serpent sprung to life in human form, Samatha-form. Taking this image made things a little less frightening for the mentally ill, not that she desired any remorse for the poor fool, but play time as a serpent definitely distracted Logan from the fun. And that was all she, The Serpent, really wanted to begin with, nice genuine fun. He heard the knock on his front door, pressing his cheek into the door and eyeing the peep hole. He saw a beautiful woman standing in the yard. If he had known any better or remembered the previous encounters with the black haired witch, he wouldn’t have dared to do what he did next… open the door.
CHRIS AVERY: Hey there, princess.
The jet black silk that clothed her body blew a little with the breeze, sucking into her and exposing her frame. He was really lost, not being able to recognize The Serpent. She knew this for sure now; she knew that Logan was long gone and that he was permanently stuck with Chris Avery’s identity. This was almost like a fresh start, a new chance to toy with his brain some more.
THE SERPENT: Princess’ss? How fascinating.
CHRIS AVERY: Yeah.. fascinating.
He arched an eyebrow.
CHRIS AVERY: Would you like to come in?
THE SERPENT: No..
Her gaze shifted from him and onto the glorious sky that warmed the February day.
THE SERPENT: I’d whether stay outside while it’s still nice. I have things that you need to see and you can only see them outside, well, properly.
There was evil lurking behind her voice, he sensed it hiding somewhere, but she was too beautiful for him to take much caution of that. He stepped out onto the porch letting the door close behind him.
CHRIS AVERY: Sounds good to me.
She remained in place.
THE SERPENT: Gravedigger.
CHRIS AVERY: Huh?
Though he wasn’t particularly on his mind, the name at least caught some of his attention.
CHRIS AVERY: What about that honkey?
The Serpent grinned specifically for his use of words; words that, along with his new personality, really made her feel satisfied with the mind-fuck job she had done with him. There was no going back for this guy, not even back to his former treacherous self, not unless she made him believe he was Logan. Even then, however, he’d just be adapting another personality, one that sadly used to be his own.
THE SERPENT: His name. I like it.
He got closer to her, just within a few feet before stopping and arching another brow.
CHRIS AVERY: That’s unfortunate.
THE SERPENT: You burned down his house the other day didn’t you?
CHRIS AVERY: Yup.
He seemed quite proud of the arson he had committed.
THE SERPENT: But that wasn’t actually his house.. was it?
CHRIS AVERY: Of course it was!
THE SERPENT: Are you sure?
CHRIS AVERY: …
He went into thought, deep thought, as he usually did whenever talking with The Serpent. Her presence always shook his mind up like a snow globe, and then the flakes would settle and cover his brain with blankets of confusion.
THE SERPENT: That’s okay, Chris. Maybe you did, maybe you didn’t, burn down house or not that’s not the reason I’m a stickler for the name. I like Gravedigger for personal reasons. He represents horrible things that are flat out delicious. The Epitome of Hardcore, they say, he’ll say, whoever says. A person carrying such a name doesn’t go hand in hand with rainbows and unicorns.
He interrupted, a little agitated.
CHRIS AVERY: What the hell are you getting at, are you warning me about Gravedigger?
THE SERPENT: I’m helping you.
CHRIS AVERY: But I know he’s a bastard.
THE SERPENT: Yes, most people do. That’s not my point. I want you to grow, Chris. That’s why you’re here. Burning down a house, fun as that may be, that’s not going to defeat Gravedigger, even if it was in fact his house. It’s a start, of course. But I think that right now you’re just too soft for Gravedigger. Your mind is too young, hasn’t suffered enough yet to extinguish the fire, the pain, the pure strength of him.
He ignored her. What the hell did she know? More than him obviously, because his mind was like a record player playing Chris Avery on loop. It had no new tracks to offer, nothing to let it expand.
THE SERPENT: Gravedigger is like an old dog, he’s quicker to bite a playful kid pulling at his tail. He’s not a pup that will put up with it. He’d whether rip you to shreds than risk getting a little scratch, because scratches don’t heal as fast as they used to. He goes for the kill a little quicker now, because as everyone knows, age leaves endurance behind if not everything else that a fighter needs for this sport. It’s a dog eat dog world and he’s drooling for a mouthful of flesh. If you want to not only defeat him, but walk in knowing you have his number, then your mindset has to be more cold, bitter, and nastier than his.
He surprisingly found himself interested.
CHRIS AVERY: Yeah.
THE SERPENT: You have to survive Gravedigger, fight him to stay in it. It’s not about being smart or how your wrestling skill matches his, that doesn’t matter with him. You need to go tooth for tooth, nail for nail. You have to get nasty with him, and hope that in the end he’s missing more than you are. There’s no real strategy other than going head to head. No dancing. No games. Just raw aggression, that’s how you’ll put him away.
CHRIS AVERY: Sounds like you’ve faced that cracka before.
THE SERPENT: Let’s just say.. someone close.. someone very close to me has.
She winked. Was that a sign of flirtation or was she indicating that some inside joke had been played that everyone but him would get.
CHRIS AVERY: Ah..
THE SERPENT: But… words alone aren’t going to prepare you for the strength you’ll need to overcome Gravedigger.
CHRIS AVERY: What do you mean?
THE SERPENT: A trail, one to endure before you participate in his own ‘trail’.
CHRIS AVERY: I see. What, you think I’m going to run around the house and dance through tire holes like a jackass. No thank you.
THE SERPENT: Not exactly.
A scratching, like someone was going to town on a bad itch at their hardest spot to reach on the spine began gurgling its way up beneath them, under the soil. He assumed it was a ground mole. Who wouldn’t? The Serpent continued like the noise beneath their feet was right on time, part of a genius plan.
THE SERPENT: I told you, Chris, bringing the fight to Gravedigger isn’t going to be enough alone, you need to survive him as well, and you’ll be surprised what a man is capable of when he’s fighting to survive.
The scratching reached its peak and the source of the noise exploded a clawing hand from the ground. The hand dug into the grass, pulling up further, and that hand was connected to an arm, and as it revealed itself further from the earth, that arm was connected to a shoulder, and a head. He covered his gasping mouth in fear while watching the animated corpse claw its way up onto his front lawn.
CHRIS AVERY: IS THAT A – A –
THE SERPENT: Zombie?
CHRIS AVERY: Impossible! They don’t exist.
THE SERPENT: Neither do I, technically.
CHRIS AVERY: What does this mean?!
THE SERPENT: I bet running through tires doesn’t sound so bad right now does it?
And even if the entire earth’s surface had been covered to his neck in fuckin’ tires, he would’ve ran, because this hideous walking corpse was on its feet and coming directly straight at him, and so ‘ran’ he did. The monster, another figment of his imagination, though real to him, wanted to wrap its rotted mouth around him. The idea alone of that infectious array of blackened teeth anywhere near his body was enough to make his brain cringe, load a .45, grow some brain arms, and blow a brains-brain out. He reached his front door, the zombie just a few dragging steps behind him. The door seemed harder to open than usual, maybe fear makes people too dumb to perform a simple task such as turning a doorknob, but he couldn’t, too difficult. The knob slipped and turned back and forth in his hand but refused to open, did not obey him. He could smell it behind him now, the corpse was that close. Funky cold breath hit the back of his neck and he knew it’d only be a second later that he’d feel ragged teeth. Not a second too soon because the door suddenly remembered it could be opened by the turn of a knob and opened it did. He fell in, the zombie digging nails into his shoulders and falling in with him like a merry jolly pair coming in from a night of bar hopping and clubbing.
THE SERPENT: Oh, Chris, be careful! He bites!
Through the struggling he managed to hear a joyful Serpent commentating from outside. That’s when he realized she was right, he did bite. The corpse, on the floor with him, on top of him, flapped it’s loosely hinged jaw inches from his face as he pushed against his rotted hollow chest. It’d be only a matter of time now that one of those bites got a mouthful of his cheek, so, in desperation he plunged his thumbs into each of the zombie’s eyes. The eyes pushed back into his skull and the sockets filled with thick red pus. It flowed, running down his hands and onto his forearms, some of it even dripping on his face and into his mouth. It tasted how you’d imagine fluid from a zombie would taste, like you stuck your tongue out and lapped up a puddle in the bottom of a dumpster. He vomited right there in between the eye gorging, the stomach acid pushing out of his mouth and running down the sides of his face. The removal of sight didn’t keep the corpse from fighting; it kept right on, like a dying bull instinctively charging something red, even though it didn’t have the visual.
THE SERPENT: The brain. You have to destroy the brain. Hasn’t George A. taught you anything?
But this wasn’t a horror movie, and if it was he’d sure be in trouble because he was black, and if he did destroy this zombie’s brain he thought he’d go and destroy that little bitch’s brain as well. She sure wasn’t helping. He was able to push the corpse off to his side, yanking his imbedded thumbs out of the zombie’s eye sockets. It lay there for a moment, kicking and reaching out in place, damage obviously done from the blood spurting eyes. He looked through the doorway and out to The Serpent.
CHRIS AVERY: I think it’s dying.
THE SERPENT: Know it’s dying, Chris. You must know. Gravedigger isn’t going to let you wait for him to go down.
He screamed back at her in anger and frustration.
CHRIS AVERY: THIS ISN’T FUCKIN’ GRAVEDIG-
The words were interrupted, surprise choked them right out, the corpse had risen to its feet like a string puppet and the master pulling strings was ready for further performance. This was a real problem, him being on his back, the zombie on its feet. He scrambled backwards, his elbows pushing him back along the hardwood floor, and the blind zombie marched on in a very terrifying accurate direction. He thankfully managed to put a little space between him and the corpse, a few feet maybe, but that was enough to stand, but he couldn’t just yet, his back hit a wall and a steel bundle of fire pokers that fell onto their side and slid out. There the zombie was, near his feet now, getting down on its knees to join in on floor level despair. He thanked God for the fire pokers, he had never actually used them before, but he thanked God he had them. He reached for one and brought the edged L shaped tip into the corpse’s temple. It didn’t go down, only came closer, he swung again; missing the spot he had hoped to hit and just skimming the zombies forehead. The corpse was too close now to execute a full blown swing again, so he took the end of the poker into his hand, and stabbed it into his stomach. It provided enough discomfort on the corpse’s behalf for him to roll away and stand to his feet. He reached down, now over the corpse, ripping the impaled poker from its stomach and gripping it back into his hands. He steadied the end of the poker over the corpses head, making sure to swing with everything he had but be accurate at the same time, and then came down with it. The poker splashed into the zombie’s soft face, breaking open skull and bursting warm sprays of liquid onto the wall.
THE SERPENT: AGAIN!
She had come into the house now, watching him stand over the corpse, joy hiding behind her focused eyes. He swung into its face once more, covering the area with more mess of brain chunks and skull bits.
THE SERPENT: …
He could hear her even though she didn’t speak. He knew she was getting a kick out of this, and.. maybe.. he was too, because without instruction he began bashing the corpse face, over and over like a mad golfer hitting dirt.
THE SERPENT: .. yes’sss..
Her S’s slithered with orgasm, watching him swing and swing, a blood soaked grin stretching ear to ear. The battered face turned into mush and there was nothing left but a puddle of strange gook and he was left hitting nothing but floor. The fire poker dropped from his hands. He brought his hands to his face, slick and greasy with blood, rubbing corpse remains out of his eyes. The whole experience was liberating. It felt like he had grown a new lung and was now able to breathe better than anyone else on planet earth. He also felt terrified, damn struck with fear, for himself and acts he now realized he was capable of.
CHRIS AVERY: This didn’t happen. This isn’t some trick.. is it? Did I actually just murder someone?
No response from The Serpent, he turned to look for her but she had vanished. No longer was the dark demon in his corner, cheering him on, and encouraging violence. He got another look outside as well to see if she moved out there. She wasn’t, but something else was alright, more of those corpses, three more fresh holes in the earth, and three more staggering dead bodies slipping and tumbling towards the front door like they’d been ejected with gallons of booze. He rushed to the front door, closing it shut and locking the bolt. Another confrontation with these monsters wasn’t welcomed, he wanted to avoid them at all cost. They hit the front door with fists, heads, whatever bodily able. He backed against it; double checking now and then to make sure the lock was in place. The racket of noise finally stopped, which was strange, he didn’t think these corpses knew the word quit, not especially after the one before continued to come at him even after he removed its eyeballs. The back door, they must be heading towards the backdoor! He would have run to the back, but something locked up his tracks, the sound of hard footsteps coming from the hallway towards the room. Had one of them managed to get into the house? He would have heard it. These footsteps sounded more elegant than a mindless corpse. Clunk. Clunk. Clunk. He couldn’t move, only listen. Clunk. Clunk. Clunk. Two small black empty leather tap shoes pranced into the room. No feet to occupy them, much less a body. They stopped dead center of the room, turning the noses of the shoes into his direction, methodically tapping in a slow rhythm.
TAP SHOES: Helllooo –
The radio inside the kitchen turned on playing some 1920’s jazz. He couldn’t remember ever hearing a station that played 20’s jazz in this area, much less jazz at all. The shoes pointed nose flaps flipped open, singing in harmony with the music on the radio and tap dancing along. The grand stage had been set and he felt like these dancing singing tap shoes were performing just for him.
TAP SHOES: Heeello my darlin’ / Hello my honey / Hello my bride to beee.
The back door! He momentarily forgot about the threat outside, the corpses making their way to the back! Had he wasted too much time with these God forsaken shoes? He couldn’t waste anymore. He bolted across the room, past the dancing shoes that he thought attempted to trip him. The back door was almost in sight, around the kitchen corner, and… bingo, there was the back door, slightly jarred with a rotted head peeking through it. He slung his body into the door, hoping to push the corpse head back in the process. The head caved into the door frame, the pressure literally squeezing it until it popped and burst bloody bits through the air and onto the kitchen stove. The rest of the body fell back into the garage, and the door shut closed. No locks on this one, however, and there were two more behind the headless corpse. The shoes tapped and sung their way into the kitchen, his predicament not bothering the shoes at all, not skipping a beat.
TAP SHOES: This is our paradiseee / This is the Heaven brighttt.
CHRIS AVERY: Shut up!
TAP SHOES: Hello my baby / Hello my darlin’ / Hello my bride to beee.
The shoes had no intentions of ceasing their tapping joy. This wasn’t the ideal time for entertainment; he could feel the other two corpses on the other side of the door now, bashing fists into it. The hard blows pushing his body forward before he’d have to soon fall back against the door and take another, yet the damned shoes continued. He needed something to bar this door; he knew he couldn’t keep them back forever. Was this what The Serpent meant? Was this all part of the trail to prepare for him? Would Gravedigger be this gawd damn reluctant? Even if he was, he doubted Gravedigger would sing to him and tap dance, or try to eat his brains, metaphorically maybe, but not literally. He eyed the wooden chair that lay five feet ahead of him, wondering if he’d have enough time to grab it and seal the door before they could break in. It’d be a leap of faith but what other choice was there. He took the leap, grabbing the chair, turning to the door, the opened door. The two mindless corpses stood in the doorway, drooling mouths open, and hands upward in a Mummy like fashion. He came at them like a lion tamer, pushing the butt of the chair into their chests and knocking them backwards from the doorway. He closed the door, propping the head of the chair under the knob.
TAP SHOES: Hello my baby / Hello my darli-
He yanked those damn shoes up from their tapping heaven, tossing them into the kitchen sing, clogging the drain and turning the water on full blast. They tried to tap dance out; he held them down, watching the water rise over the soles. The shoes continued singing despite this, and even through the drowning they went on until gurgling their last note of the hideous 20’s song. The music on the radio died exactly the time the shoes were drowned. The banging at the door ceased as well.
THE SERPENT: Survival.
She appeared in the kitchen doorway, legs crossed, arm resting on the frame, cigarette between her lips.
THE SERPENT: It’s written in every species, the only thing that everyone truly has in common.
The soaked shoes disappeared from within the sink, turning into a liquid substance, and oozing down the drain.
CHRIS AVERY: What’s wrong with me?
THE SERPENT: Nothing. Absolutely nothing.
He turned to face her, resting his palms on the edge of the sink.
CHRIS AVERY: You sure about that, really? I just drown a pair of talking tap dancing shoes.
The end of the cigarette glowed and she took her time puffing out the smoke.
THE SERPENT: Your point?
CHRIS AVERY: People don’t normally do that type of thing.
THE SERPENT: That’s why you’re so special, Chris.
CHRIS AVERY: I was thinking crazy sounded more appropriate.
THE SERPENT: Crazy? Oh dear, you’re far from that. Greenfever, he’s crazy. And that other guy, Oblivion, he’s crazy. Hell, even Gravedigger is a nutter in his own way. You’re different from them. You can function; you know the difference between right and wrong. You actually gave yourself something to believe in, you want to see yourself become the first ever black champion, that’s ambition, that’s where you set yourself aside. Those guys, they’re very much like those walking mindless corpses, they just walk around until they can find something to sink their teeth into.
CHRIS AVERY: I want to believe you.. I do.
THE SERPENT: Good.
CHRIS AVERY: This isn’t the only strange thing that’s happened lately. Over the last couple of weeks, I have been feeling.. I don’t know, not like myself sometimes. Matter of fact, every day now I’m finding it more difficult to remember my life from over a month ago, and to top it off a lot of people seem to think I’m Logan. Why would they think that?
She expressed a look of confusion though deep down inside she was howling and laughing her guts out.
THE SERPENT: Do you think you’re Logan?
CHRIS AVERY: No. But people keep saying I am, and every now and then I’ll actually look in the mirror just to check.
THE SERPENT: And what do you see, Chris? What do you s’see?
CHRIS AVERY: I see myself.
THE SERPENT: Then what more of an answer do you need? You’re not Logan. They are the crazy ones, not you, you’re the only sane one in their little mental asylum.
He found himself agreeing with her.
CHRIS AVERY: Exactly. I’m the only black one too, so maybe that’s just some ploy to run me off. You know, everyone there is afraid of seeing a black man succeed.
THE SERPENT: And you will succeed, Chris. You will. And I’ll be standing there beside you if you’d want me to. I am here to help you, nothing else.
CHRIS AVERY: I would like that.
Trust, what a wonderful thing it can be, even if it’s a misguided and manipulated trust, it’s still warm, sweet, touching, and even tastier when it’s broken. She’d break his trust in time, play with his brain some more, and maybe down the road she’d turn him into something else. He didn’t always have to play a black man, no, maybe he could play a woman, now that’d be amusing. But Chris Avery is what he was for now and for probably a long time, because she could find no reason just yet to pull the plug on Avery. He was just too much fun. She cocked an eyebrow at his approach, he seemed to feel very comforted by her presence, even more so when he embraced her for a hug. She soaked in the hug, smiling behind his back. Trust... what a wonderful thing.