Sam Williams - Tales from the Swollen Corpse

Eric was still my brother, but he was different now. I didn’t think he meant me harm but I couldn’t stand to be near him. More than anything else it was that change; the perversion of my own blood that sent me running. Like a remade favorite film or song. When someone changes something you know and love, but leaves just enough to still call it the same name, it causes revulsion inside you. It’s actually something new but you hate it for what it pretends to be, that thing that you had loved.

When Eric first told me about Mr. Bags, I thought he had made him up to scare me. He had been playing down by the creek in the woods behind our house. The creek was about a half mile from our backyard and I didn’t like going down there. Where we lived was typically cloudy anyway but it always seemed dark once you got that far in the woods.

Eric said he was down there exploring when he saw what looked like a part of a dead tree by the water. As he got closer, he could see it was a man who was staring at him. He said he was about to run away but the man called to Eric by name. Figuring it was a neighbor, he got closer. Eric said Mr. Bags was wearing a top hat like ole’ Lincoln wore. He had a round face and a grin that almost rose to each ear and his teeth were large. His eyes were big and yellow and his skin was dark and leathery. Eric described him in great detail but said there was something about his appearance that he couldn’t put into words.

One thing Eric said he knew wasn’t right about Mr. Bags was his feet; they seemed to be buried in the creek muck. His legs rose out of the mud like the stems of some odd plant. He introduced himself as Mr. Bagneris, but said to call him Mr. Bags. He told Eric he knew he was a curious boy. Eric said his voice sounded like Dad’s favorite musician, that Louis Armstrong guy. Mr. Bags told Eric he had wonderful things to show him.

He ran away that first day. But Eric was curious. He went back to see if he could find him again. He even dragged me down there but we didn’t see anything. He did show me the place he thought he had seen him. It was a muddy bank and it didn’t feel like a place I wanted to stay long. It was about a week after that that Eric went down there again and I didn’t see him again until I found him covered in blood in our parent’s room that night.

I ran out the front door and hid under the porch across the street. I watched the house burn and firemen come. I saw cops come and take Eric away. I stayed under that porch, shivering through the night. The next day, when I felt the coast was clear, I ran across the street and went looking for the creek. Fear had been overtaken by anger and I wanted to find Mr. Bags. I needed to know what he did to my brother.

This time he was right where Eric had pointed out. Mr. Bags looked just as Eric had described: like he was part of the woods and as Eric had said; his feet were buried in the mud. I got close and he called my name.

“Oh boy, you’re a curious one too, ain’t ya?”

“I want to know what you did to my brother!” I screamed back.

He grinned the biggest grin I had ever seen and said he knew why I was there, said he had it right here, and pulled a little tin box out of his breast pocket. He held the box out to me. I was now as confused as I was angry but I wanted to know. I took the box and opened the lid. Inside it was just a little thin black worm squirming. I said it was just a worm and went to hand it back.

“Well smell it, smell it boy and you will see.”

I didn’t see any harm so I held it a safe distance from my nose and took a whiff. I didn’t smell anything and went to hand the box back again. Mr. Bags grinned even bigger, I looked in the box and the worm was gone. I put my fingers to my nose just in time to feel the end of it wiggle into my nostril. I collapsed on the ground trying to blow it out as I coughed, while Mr. Bags laughed. Then I stopped thrashing and my eyes opened wide; because I saw what he wanted to show me.

That was twenty years ago and it’s been fifteen since I was put in prison. Tonight they’re giving me the chair. Hopefully this diary finds a reader and they’re curious like we were. If you’re reading this and that’s you, you find Mr. Bags; he’ll show you things.

“You like it, right?”

The way Erica was smiling, there was a certain desperation about it. Tony held the little glass box up to examine it some more. The glass felt as fragile as an eggshell. It was held together at each joint by a minute seam of metal, with no hinges or way to open it. Tony assumed the metal to be lead; touching it didn’t set well with his hypochondria. Inside the box was a little human skeleton no bigger than his thumb. Its detail was truly amazing and Tony was at a loss as to what it was made out of. As far as he could tell, it looked like real bone.

“Yeah, it’s umm interesting.”

Tony did his best to reassure Erica. But the truth was that the thing gave him the willies.

“I knew you would. I remember when we went down to Mexico and you kept pointing out all those little Day of the Dead dioramas. You always like that morbid stuff.” Her eyes scanned Tony’s face for a reaction.

Tony gave her a little smile and head nod to show he agreed as he put the box on the counter. It slouched in its case causing the tiny skeleton’s knees to click against the glass. Fearing it was too delicate to sit like that, Tony carefully laid it down. The sight of it lying on its back made the little box look like a tiny coffin.

“You always find the most interesting things babe.”

Tony didn’t mean the statement as a compliment. Erica was always bringing the oddest things home. Most of which he couldn’t stand, but he was a man that picked his battles carefully.

“Don’t I? I was down at Odds and Ends, you know that little thrift store with all the kitschy stuff? Well they just got a whole bunch of really wacky stuff from an estate sale. When I saw that I knew you’d love it.”

Hugging her he said, “Its great babe. You wanna go down to Pete’s and get a burger?”

“Sure.”

It was a rough morning for Tony. He over slept and had the oddest dreams throughout the night. On the way out, he grabbed his keys from the counter and saw the little box. He thought about tossing it in the trash outside but then thought of Erica’s angelic face. Tony carefully picked the little box up and took it to the coat closet. Placing it on the shelf above the coat rod, he turned and shut the door.

Out of sight, it didn’t take long for Tony to forget about the macabre little parcel. But while the days went by, filled with normal work week routine, the nights had become very difficult. When Tony wasn’t having bad dreams, he was awakening with an anxiety he couldn’t explain. At first he chalked it up to the copious amounts of coffee he drank throughout the day. A habit Erica had warned him many times about.

When he successfully managed to go through the day without a drop of caffeine he passed out rather early. He woke in the middle of the night with the familiar anxiety. Now awake, he could still hear a patter that had penetrated his dream. It was the scuttle of something tiny running across the wooden floor.

Tony grabbed a little flashlight from his nightstand drawer. Erica was sleeping soundly. Tony did his best to quietly inspect the floor and under the bed. He knew if Erica woke and found out there might be vermin in the apartment she would freak. After a fruitless search he decided to go back to bed. So as not to upset Erica, he planned to call the landlord from work in the morning.

As he drove home, Tony thought about the landlord’s surprised reaction. Mr. Miller had sworn there had never been a rodent problem but said he would have someone out to take a look by the weekend. Opening the apartment door, Tony was greeted by the savory smell of cumin and onions. He expected to find Erica in the kitchen; instead he found her franticly digging through a mountain of shoes that littered their closet floor.