Timothy Long - The Apocalypse and Satan's Glory Hole

Everything in the room falls. Every fucking thing. The armoire. The pictures of the circus folks including Tweedledee and Dee-fucking-dum. As they fall, Chuzz realizes that they now sport demon faces. Oh well. They’re on the ground now; he won’t have to look at them.

Smoke and dust settle, and a tribe of weird ant-beetles pours into the room. They have vicious little heads and nasty little legs. They take to the air and buzz around on sharp black wings. Chuzz bats one of the creatures that buzzes too close. Pain slams into his hand and races up his arm.

He stares at his palm, where the little beetle is dancing on the end of a stinger. It has an angry face like a miniature bulldog. Chuzz positions the thumb and forefinger of his other hand over the thing and rips its head off. Then he yanks the stinger out and stares at the wound. His hand puffs up around the sore. It looks angry and red, and he wonders if he is going to die.

“Not today, I don’t think. You ain’t dead yet, so they must have plans for you.” Stretch Bangstrom is walking around flexing his arms. He whips them into the air, catches a little beetle and slaps the squealing thing into his mouth. Chew, chew chew. Belches orange dust and repeats.

Before long, the toy is strutting around like he owns the place. Tiny little hooks protrude all over his rubbery skin. Little wasp stingers. Chuzz looks at his own hand, at the wound, and realizes it doesn’t even hurt. The sting is red, but when he touches it, the place feels numb. Not numb, it feels… good. In fact, if he weren’t already packing a full cord of wood, he would be standing at attention just from poking the sore.

He drags himself out of the kitchen and collapses. It’s too much. The angel, the end of the world. The half bottle of Viagra he took. He needs to go bang one out, but he is too scared to drop his pants.

Stretch Bangstrom walks toward him on rubber legs, his hands going up and down like he is doing some weird Egyptian dance. Chuzz stands, and the toy stops before him. All manner of disturbing thoughts hop around in his noggin. Will his mother be okay? Where is he going to get dinner? How is he going to get to Vegas, and how is he going to stop the Apocalypse?

Phil wanders up beside him and punches him in the ass. He may have one arm, but it is a strong mother fucker. Chuzz goes down like a sack of potatoes, lands on his hands and knees. He wants to roll on his back and grab his bruised cheek, but the little plastic toy jumps on his back, landing soft as a butterfly fart.

“What the hell?” He tries to stand up, but the toy lives up to its name, stretching to its full length, diving under his sweatshirt and sinking the barbs into Chuzz’s skin. They jab into his back first, then cold barbs slither along his arms and sink in there too. He screams and jumps to his feet. He’s had shots aplenty, and that is exactly what this feels like. A bunch of needles entering his body from every angle.

He falls over again, this time on purpose, in an attempt to shake the toy. Phil jumps out of the way, but when Chuzz flops on his stomach, the monkey punches him in the ass again.

“Fucking Phil!”

The monkey leaps away and chatters at him. Picks up the lock box and shakes it over his head.

Chuzz flops back over and smashes his back into the floor. The barbs sink in deeper, and Chuzz screams. Stretch’s head is near his ear and it chatters at him, sounds like laughter. “You wanna laugh at me? You wanna laugh, asshole?”

Chuzz rises to his feet and backs up as fast as he can, smashing into the wall at full speed. Bangstrom holds on, doesn’t even scream. But Chuzzle does. He howls at the top of his lungs. Then he spins to look at the thing, first one way then the next. He jerks his head around, trying to see what is going on back there.

The toy laughs, hoots and chatters like a loon. Chuzzle feels like joining him.

Warmth seeps into his body. It starts where the cold barbs pierce his skin. The cold gets warmer and then grows hot. He feels flushed all over. He feels like he is about to leap out of his skin, it is so warm.

But it feels good. It feels so good, he blows a load right in his pants. Doesn’t help the hard-on, though. He bounces to the front door and throws it open. His euphoria is just about to bubble to the surface but the damn toy squelches it before it can really get going.

“Settle down, bub. I’m your new helper. Lucky you and gosh golly, lucky fuck me!” Stretch giggles in one ear.

“Get off me!”

“I can’t, bub, I can’t. I was chosen just like you, and now I have to get involved. I liked it better when I was in a donation box. It smelled like despair. I like that.” The toy sighs and titters in his ear.

“Get the fuck off me!” Chuzz yells and slams himself into the wall. The toy exhales a deep breath as they make contact and then giggles.

“You got that itch that’s been driving me nuts all day. Thanks, bud!”

Chuzz falls on his back and rolls around a few times. He bounces up and down, but the toy chuckles and rides him out. Chuzz reaches behind himself and grabs the thing’s neck, prepared to rip it off. The toy does something that makes every barb in his body feel like it is connected to an electrical outlet. ZAP!

“Get off me!”

“No way, bub. Just settle down and listen to me. Just listen! You need me and I need you. We are like two peas in an apocalyptic pod. You wanna fight back? You stick with me, and I will keep my eyes open. I got your back. Get it? I GOT YOUR BACK!”

Chuzz shakes his head. He goes to the cupboard and takes out a bottle of Jym Beaner and a really big glass. Milk is next. He has to dig the warm carton out of the back of the fridge.

He doesn’t speak, just mixes up a double dose of memory eraser and tosses it back in one long swallow.

Phil is passed out. His monkey ass sticking up in the air, his one good arm under his body. Chuzz grabs a ratty blanket from what’s left of the hallway closet and covers his companion. Phil doesn’t move except for one eye that opens slowly. It fixes on Chuzz, then his lips pull back from his teeth in a satisfied grin.

“Swear to God, Phil, I’m going to take you to rehab one of these days. Stupid monkey.”

“Better hurry. The days are all growing to a close.” The toy on his back snickers. “You know your buddy is from the genus Pongo , right? He’s a great ape, not a monkey.”

“I know that, you idiot! Don’t you think I know my best friend is an ape?” Chuzz takes a seat at the remains of the dinner table. He hunches forward so Bangstrom doesn’t get squished. When he turns his head to the side, he can see those sharp grinning teeth. Like a bunch of tiny razor blades. His head is buzzing from the drink, but he still feels on edge. “So. Which way is Vegas?”

“Fuckaroni, I don’t know! If I gotta explain everything to you, our partnership is going to be a long and trying one.”

“So why are you here then?”

“I don’t know. I was fine until one of those flying fuckers gave me life. Breathed it right into me like I was a CPR doll.”

“Oh.” Chuzz slumps forward onto the dinner table, which reminds him that he should be eating now. He is hungry enough. He takes a half-thawed bean burrito out of the freezer and munches on it. Thing is stringy and tough. Tastes terrible cold. Despite the shards of tortilla stuck in his teeth, the food goes a long way toward making him feel more human. He lets a big juicy fart rip across the silence of the room.

“I’m not sure what is worse. The smell of that burrito or your ass.” Stretch Bangstrom mumbles.