Jeff Strand - The Sinister Mr. Corpse

Though they'd heard this story before, several people in the front rows gasped.

"That's right, and I was ready to kill our Savior! Because I didn't believe. I didn't have faith. I thought He was a charlatan. A trickster. And I took my gun, and lo, I did walk into His hotel, and lo, I did wait for our Savior to emerge. And lo, He did emerge."

William emphasized this point with a musical sting.

"And I spoke to our Savior, and He did try to show me the way. But I was blinded by madness, and I did not listen to His message. My ears were clouded. I could think only of my cancer, of my own mortality, and in an act of shame I did shoot our Savior in the chest!"

A young woman in the front row crossed herself.

"Dammit, Tammy, I asked you not to do that in here," said Charlie, annoyed.

"Sorry. Just a habit."

"Knock it off. The Corpse did not die upon any cross, and to confuse Him with other saviors is blasphemy!"

Tammy's husband, Fred, raised his hand.

"What?" Charlie asked.

"I was thinkin', our Savior died from chokin' on milk, right?"

"Indeed He did. You can read all about it in the Book of the Corpse!" Charlie picked up one of the pamphlets he'd created and held it up to the crowd.

"Maybe instead of crossin' ourselves, we could do a chokin' thing. Like this." Fred placed both hands on his neck, closed his eyes, and let his tongue loll out of his mouth.

"Are you ridiculing our Savior?" Charlie demanded, furious.

"Naw, I just thought-"

"When the time of Rebirth is upon us and the Resurrections begin, I will make sure that your festering body remains lying bloated on the dirty ground swarmed by flies! Leave this house of worship immediately!"

"Aw, c'mon-"

"Begone, infidel!"

Fred got up and sheepishly headed for the church exit, followed by Tammy. Charlie wanted to throw something at them, but all he had was the brochure and he figured that it would flutter harmlessly to the ground.

"I will not tolerate ridicule of our Savior!" Charlie announced. "I have seen Him take a bullet fired by my own gun and stand back up to live another day. And He forgave my sin! I ask, how many of you seated in this house of worship would forgive one who struck you down with a bullet? If a deer hunter mistook you for his prey and pumped a shotgun shell into your chest, would you forgive him? You would not! But my actions were no mistake, and I did indeed intend harm upon our Savior, and He forgave me, and He helped me, and He saved me! All praise The Corpse!"

"Life is precious!" shouted the congregation.

"Again!"

"Life is precious!"

"Who's our Savior?"

"The Corpse!"

"Sing with me, people!"

Three days later, Stanley still had not returned, and Veronica was getting frantic. This definitely wasn't the kind of PR she wanted, but more importantly, she cared about him. Yeah, he was obnoxious and crude and needed a good slap every six seconds, yet underneath his obnoxious/crude/slap-needing exterior was a…well, definitely not a sweetheart, but sort of a nice guy.

She prayed that nothing had happened to him, but feared the worst. She couldn't imagine that Stanley would just take off without making some sort of effort to let her know that he was okay. And even if he did, Martin was the responsible one of the pair, and he hadn't turned up either. It wasn't like Stanley could just pop on a wig and a pair of sunglasses and fade into anonymity, and yet there had been no credible sightings.

A lot of people thought that Stanley was an abomination, and if he'd been foolish enough to wander the city unprotected…

Of course, it was all over the newspapers, radio, television, and Internet. Lots of opinions were shared; few of them were optimistic about Stanley's safe return. Brant insisted that Stanley had probably just taken some time off to think. Veronica desperately hoped that was the case, even though she'd have to kick his butt six feet into the ground when he returned if it was. But since Brant had the uncharacteristic appearance of wanting nothing more than to vomit, it was hard for Veronica to put credence in his theory.

"Where are you, Stanley?" she asked his photograph.

The photograph did not respond.

She sighed. She'd slept less than four hours in the past three days and she knew she must look like total crap. She needed to go home, pass out, and go back to being stressed out in the morning.

The phone rang, scaring the hell out of her.

"Hello? Oh, hi, honey. No, no update. Yes, I'm coming home soon. Now. That'd be great. Love you. Bye."

She hung up, gathered up her things, and left the office.

Our Savior is missing.

Oh where could have He gone?

Our Savior is missing.

Let Him be back by dawn.

The lyrics for this new hymn sucked, but Charlie had never claimed to be a songwriter. Forming a new religion wasn't as easy as it looked. Anyway, it was a catchy tune, thanks to William.

Our Savior is missing.

Please let Him come back.

Our Savior is missing.

Our lives are now off track.

One of his flock had suggested "Now let's go get a snack" as the final line of the second verse. The heretic had been banished from the church for all eternity.

"Thank you for coming to this special service," Charlie told his congregation, pleased to note that the church was so packed with people that it was a major safety hazard. He'd been featured as part of a news story in relation to Mr. Corpse's disappearance, and though he knew that most of the new folks were probably curiosity seekers rather than believers, he'd show them the path before too long.

"As you know, our Savior has gone missing. He could be hurt, He could be kidnapped, or He could be on a journey of spiritual exploration. Either way, we will find Him. We will search the streets. We will call out His name. We will not rest until our Savior, The Corpse, has returned home safely to teach us again!"

"Amen!" shouted a man near the back. There was a tittering of laughter from the people around him, but Charlie chose to ignore this.

"We will bring Him home! Let's hear it!"

"We will bring Him home!"

"So wander the streets, my friends! We will do what the police can't do! We will find The Corpse!"

"We will bring Him home!"

Darkness.

Margaret feared the darkness, and she feared big cities, and she feared getting lost, and now she was lost in a big city after dark.

It was her mother's fault. Margaret was going to cancel the New York City vacation after she broke up with Scott, but her mother had insisted that she go anyway. "You'll have fun without him!" she said. "It'll be an adventure!"

It had been a lot of fun. She'd gone to museums, eaten fantastic meals, and watched a taping of her favorite talk show. Then she went and took that wrong turn. Followed by another one. And another. Now she had no idea where she was, except that it was dark and scary and there was a guy walking towards her who looked like he wanted to steal her purse.

She crossed to the other side of the street and then picked up her pace.

A hand slammed over her mouth. An arm wrapped around her waist and dragged her into the alley.

"Don't scream," the man behind her said into her ear. His body was pressed tightly against hers, and she could smell his reeking breath. "You scream I cut you."

He released her waist, spun her around, and bashed her against the brick wall. She'd expected to see a toothless wino, but the man was clean-shaven, had a stylish haircut, and wore a designer shirt.

He pressed a knife against her throat. "You just be quiet and let what's gonna happen happen, and we'll get along fine." He looked down at her breasts and gave her a lecherous grin. "Can't wait to suck on these babies."