Sam Williams - Tales from the Swollen Corpse

Oh Lord, what does she think is so funny? She’s smiling like an idiot, Paul thought as he approached the reception desk. Harriet was smiling but as Paul got closer he noticed something was wrong. Her smile was distorted and strained. The smile and empty stare were unyielding even when Paul was directly in front of her.

“Are you, eh, okay there Harriet?”

She moved her mouth just enough to respond “eh iehhh hooo.” Her voice was not forced; other than being incoherent gibberish it didn’t seem to dictate the duress her face showed. Paul wondered if she might be having a stroke.

He hurried to find help. He remembered Miranda, one of the HR ladies, sat around the corner. Remembering she was the head of the office safety committee, he figured she surely would know what to do. Hurrying around the corner to the hall, he bumped into Randal the national account manager, a man Paul thought of as a slime ball in a Brook Brother’s suit.

“Listen, I think something’s wrong with Harriet. We might need to call an ambulance or something.” While Paul spoke he watched Randal slowly lose his balance and slide down the wall to a sitting position on the floor. He looked at Randal’s face; it was adorned with that same horrible grin.

“ahieeee jeeee,” Randal repeated, sitting on the floor looking disturbing.

The sight of Randal was a bit more than Paul could take. He rushed to find someone else. Heading through the office, at every desk he found one incoherent coworker after another, every face grinning and babbling. His hurried walk turned into a run, slowing only when he remembered he had left his heart medication in his lower desk drawer.

He ducked into the lunch room and found it empty. Short of breath, his face flush, Paul held the back of a chair. He tried to calm himself by telling himself to: “get a grip” and “take deep breaths”. His efforts were short lived. Up on the wall was the TV and like always at this time of day, The Sally Jones show was on (which Paul loathed). But instead of talking about the next miracle diet or celebrity break up, she sat in her plush chair with that by now all too familiar smile, jabbering nonsense.

Paul felt his only salvation might be fresh air and rushed out the back door. Outside he was greeted by the sound of car alarms and the smell of smoke. He avoided the parking lot, taking the route he took every day to his bus stop; a quick cut through the courtyard of the adjacent building to the main street. Swiftly, he followed the sidewalk towards downtown. He hoped to find someone of sound mind to help. The street was filled with stalled cars and collisions. He passed one car engulfed in flames; the driver sat smiling and still while being burned alive.

He was about to give up, with no idea what to do next, when he saw two policemen standing by each other at the end of the block. Their backs to Paul, they seemed to be conversing. Paul moved towards them cautiously. Relief swept over him when he realized he could hear them and understood what they were saying.

“I hate it when a transmitter goes, what a mess,” said the taller officer.

“It’ll all be cleaned up in a day or so. Besides, it weeds out the ones that aren’t taking the signal anymore,” replied the other.

“Please, can you guys help me?” Paul asked from a few feet behind the men.

“Like this guy.” The man said to his friend as he turned, pulled his gun, and shot Paul dead.

“What’s this?” the other officer said. Reaching down, he picked up the envelope lying next to Paul.

Looking at it, his friend shrugged. “Looks like it has postage. Mail it.”

There are truly beautiful places in this world; the hill is one of them. Down here in the funk and grime and shadows and fear, you forget that fact sometimes. Today I am going up there; I am going to find the top. It’s not easy you know. The twisting roads which lead up are lined with mansions of incredible size and structure, creating what seems an impenetrable maze of canyons.

I have never been told to leave in my past attempts, nor felt welcome. I have yet to encounter anyone while traversing the hill’s intimidating slopes. I am not sure how many times I have attempted. I am only sure that each time something sent me back, something scared me.

I swerve my bike into the middle of the road and veer the corner fast to maintain speed as I begin my ascent. The first part of the hill is darker, shadier. The houses here are brick, vine and moss covered. I feel more at home here. It’s not as stunning as further up, but beautiful in its own lingering fog way.

As I pass through the mist I am enveloped in a warm yellow light that becomes almost blinding. Here are the big houses. They seem like beautiful vacant monstrosities to me. Each house is a monument to opulence with architecture that seems to defy gravity. The road here turns sharper at the corners and begins to climb at an unreasonable grade.

I feel now as though I might lose my grip. What keeps my tires on the pavement is outside my understanding. With each downward press of my foot I expect to feel the tires lift off into the air. With each house-lined plateau I feel the relief of stable ground. At one plateau I find an empty lot. It gives way to a view of everything below that thrills me to the point of panic, a weird mix of dread and awe.

Farther still the houseless lots outnumber the houses. I come to a large flat area with a monolithic arch and what looks like gigantic turn of the century structures behind it. These building are at least a hundred years older than the homes below. Somehow I know this to be a campus of some sort. Looking out from here I feel like I can touch the sun.

Beyond the campus I find the beginning of the summit. Here it becomes gray again like an overcast October day. It’s the point of my journey that feels farther than I have ever been before. Turning, I see it, the estate. The front looks like a Victorian mansion, but it is big beyond reason. The entrance stands like a sentry tower, its windows seem to look down at me, filling me with a dread.

A wrought iron fence surrounds its boundary. My essence tells me to leave but something else calls me to it. I follow the fence inland and far past the face of the hill. The back of the immense and forbidding house gives way to a vast field of mausoleums and grave stones. I try but can’t imagine what kind of residents could live in such a structure or leave behind so many dead.

When I finally feel I cannot go on, I stop and peer through the fence. It fills me with wonder and fright. Beautiful marble angels and various stone sculptures adorn its vast expanse. But it’s the mausoleums that cause the fear. They seem to lead into the ground like portals into an abyss. I think I see a shadow move among the granite. I watch closer. Something is moving. The fear builds to a point I feel frozen. My only solace is to close my eyes. When I open them I am on the other side of the fence. What was moving is now behind me. I want to run but my legs are paralyzed. Waiting for it, my heart races then skips as I feel pure coldness grasp me. It drags me to the entryway of one of the mausoleums and into darkness beyond comprehension.

There are truly beautiful places in this world…

….

A woman sits in the chair by her son’s bed. She sits as she has done so many days. She sits looking at the tubes that feed him and help him breathe. She sits and wonders if he dreams.

Mr. Bags shows you things, that’s what Eric told me before I ran. There was blood everywhere but mostly on the bed. I knew my parents were in that bed and I had an idea what Eric had done to them, but I didn’t want to know.