Jeff Strand - The Sinister Mr. Corpse

"You won't be sucking on anything," said a deep voice from the street.

Margaret and her attacker looked toward the source of the voice. It was a man dressed entirely in black leather. He wore a facemask that revealed only his mouth and eyes.

"Let her go," said the man in black.

"You just move along, stranger. This is private business."

"I'm pretty sure she's not a willing participant. Now let her go or things are going to get ugly."

The attacker removed the knife from Margaret's throat and stepped away from her. "Okay, okay, you can have her if you want. I was just playing around anyway. It's cool."

"Now let me give you a warning-"

Before she realized what he was doing, Margaret's attacker had reached under his shirt and taken out a gun. He pointed it at the man in black.

"Maybe you should think about moving on, stranger."

The man in black shook his head.

The attacker shrugged, then shot him in the chest. Margaret screamed. The man in black stumbled backwards a few steps but didn't fall. There was no blood.

"What the hell…?"

"You can't kill me," the man in black growled. "I'm already dead!"

He tore off the facemask. Margaret recognized him, it was Mr. Corpse from TV, but he looked different. He had black circles around his eyes, but the eyes themselves were completely red. He grinned, revealing fangs.

The attacker dropped his gun and wet his pants in terror as Mr. Corpse took a dramatic step forward. "Do you know who I am?" he demanded.

"Oh, shit, don't kill me!"

Mr. Corpse grabbed the attacker by the shoulders and slammed him against the opposite wall. "Your soul is mine, motherfucker! I should eat you alive, right now, starting with your nose."

"No! No! Don't hurt me!"

Mr. Corpse hissed at him.

"Please, I wasn't really gonna do anything! I swear!"

"Lies! But you're lucky. I'm not going to kill you. I need you to spread the word to your scumbag rapist mugger friends. The next time they look over their shoulder, I might be there. I'm the Sinister Mr. Corpse. I'm their doom. You think you can tell them that?"

The attacker nodded frantically.

"Apologize to that woman."

"Sorry!"

"Say it like you mean it, bitch!"

"Sorry I'm sorry I'm so so sorry!"

Mr. Corpse relaxed his grip. He took a stack of business cards out of his pocket and pressed them into the man's palm. "Share these. Make sure people know about me. I'm not going to tolerate your kind in this great city anymore. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir!"

"Good. Now get out of here before I flay the skin from your body with your own knife."

The attacker fled.

Mr. Corpse turned toward Margaret, and she recoiled.

"Damn, these things burn!" he said, popping one of the contact lenses out of his eye. "Are you okay? Did he hurt you?"

Margaret shook her head.

"Good. You shouldn't be out here by yourself after dark."

"I know. I got lost."

"I'll take you someplace safe. You don't have to be scared walking with me. These aren't real fangs." He held out his hand to her, and reluctantly she took it.

They stepped out of the alley and onto the street. Margaret was still scared, but Mr. Corpse clearly had no intention of hurting her, so she forced herself to relax. "Where have you been?" Margaret asked, trying to make conversation.

"Thinking. Planning. Doing something good with my life. Oh, this is for you," he said, handing her a business card.

Margaret glanced at the card. It had a demonic looking picture of Mr. Corpse and the slogan Evildoers beware! Your time of reckoning is at hand! The Sinister Mr. Corpse is on the prowl! "Did you design this yourself?"

"Nah, my friend Martin did it. Looks pretty good, huh?"

"I guess so. It's kind of creepy."

"Oh, wait, I gave you the wrong one. That's for bad guys." Mr. Corpse took back the card and handed her a different one. This one had a picture of him without the makeup and fangs, and said You have been rescued by Mr. Corpse. Tell your friends!

They walked in silence for a couple of minutes. "Good, there's a cop," said Mr. Corpse, pointing to a police car parked three blocks ahead. They picked up their pace and hurried over to the car. Mr. Corpse tapped on the glass, and the police officer rolled down the window. "This woman has just gone through an extremely traumatic experience," Mr. Corpse explained. "She needs medical attention and perhaps some counseling. She'll tell you the whole story."

"You're the Amazing Mr. Corpse!" said the cop.

Mr. Corpse shook his head. "No longer. I'm the Sinister Mr. Corpse, and I will bring fear to all who deserve it. You have a new ally in your fight against crime." He returned his attention to Margaret. "You'll be safe now, ma'am."

She gave him a big hug. Mr. Corpse put his facemask back on, and then ran off into the darkness.

"How'd it go?" asked Martin as Stanley climbed into the newly christened Corpsemobile (Martin's Chevy Prizm).

"Saved a lady."

"Just one?"

"It's not that easy to find crimes in progress! I thought that you couldn't go two blocks in this city without stumbling upon a mugging, but, jeez, I was walking all over the place without finding anything. But I did save a lady. And I helped a dog that had its leg caught in a grate. That was a pretty good night's work."

"And you're sure this is the approach you want to take? Soaking up wisdom would be a lot less dangerous."

"I'm sure. If I'm invulnerable, I should use that gift to benefit society. Oh, good call on the bulletproof vest, by the way. It's much more pleasant when bullets don't break the skin."

"No problem."

Brant and Veronica sat in the Project Second Chance office, watching the woman on television explain that Mr. Corpse had saved her from being raped and perhaps killed. The camera zoomed in on the business card.

They sat there for a very long time without speaking.

"So…he's a superhero now?" asked Brant.

"Looks like it."

"Is this good or bad?"

"I don't know."

They continued to stare at the television screen.

"I guess it's good," said Veronica. "He's alive, at least."

"You have a point there."

"And I guess it's better than having him go on a crime spree."

"Indeed."

They stared at the television some more.

"So now what?" Veronica asked.

"I don't know."

"Should we have a drink?"

"Yes. Let's do that."

"I'm still not sure I like the name The Sinister Mr. Corpse," Martin admitted, as he and Stanley sat in their cheap motel room, sharing a bag of pretzels.

"It's catchy. It has a nice rhythm to it."

"I just think it's too dark. I liked Amazing."

"We've been over this. The two things I've got going for me in my fight against crime are that I can't be killed and that I'm scary looking. So I need a scary name."

"We could've focused on the not-being-killed part. You could be the Invulnerable Mr. Corpse."

"I'm not invulnerable. What do you want me to be, the Quick-Healing Mr. Corpse? Ooooh, that'll strike fear into the hearts of evil men!"

"I know, I know, but what about The Terrifying Mr. Corpse? You're not really all that sinister."

"Yes I am."

"What have you done today that was sinister?"

"It's a cool name, okay?"

"I agree, but 'sinister' implies that there's plotting going on or something like that. Scaring bad guys isn't sinister. Sinister is all about the attitude."

"Well, we've already made the business cards," said Stanley. "You should've said something sooner."

"I did! I said it eighty times! You told me to shut up about it!"

"I think you should go back to calling me 'sir.'"

"I think you should keep dreaming."