Jeff Strand - The Sinister Mr. Corpse

The door opened.

"I'm not done yet!" Martin shouted, not taking his eyes off Stanley. "Fuck you with a branding iron! With a calendar! With a beehive! With a-"

"Martin, I think Brant wants to say something."

"With a cannibal! With a goat!"

"You already used the goat," said Stanley, calmly. "How about we discuss this later, when you're feeling, uh, different?"

Martin sat down on the bed and buried his face in his hands.

"You let out a lot of interesting emotions," said Stanley. "We'll delve into them, I promise."

"Did I miss something?" Brant asked.

"No, no, he just…aw, crud." Stanley's spirits sank even further as he saw that Brant was holding the dart gun. "Are you going to execute me?"

"That all depends on you."

Martin lifted his head. "What is that?"

"The darts have an anti-Stanley formula," Stanley explained. "It'll boil my body from the inside out. If you ask nicely he'll probably let you shoot me."

Brant chuckled. "It sounds to me like we could both get a lot of pleasure out of pulling the trigger simultaneously. But, alas, the Sinister Mr. Corpse is still useful to me. So we have to figure out what to do about this little problem. If I ignore it, next you'll come after me with a gun, or at least come up with a plan that isn't completely asinine. That leaves only punishment. I've punished you before and it didn't work. So I have to try something even more extreme."

"You're going to chop off my other arm, aren't you?"

"No. I'm glad you remembered the effect that the fluid in this dart would have on you. I never explained, however, that it does quite a number on regular humans as well."

With a cruel smile, Brant pointed the dart gun at Martin and pulled the trigger.

As soon as he saw Brant's hand move, Stanley leapt in front of his friend.

The dart struck Stanley in the belly. He stared at it for a moment and then plucked it out. It stung a bit, but it wasn't too-

A burst of excruciating pain tore through Stanley's stomach. He howled in agony and doubled over.

Oh shit, oh shit, I'm really gonna die this time!

He dropped to the floor and screamed as his stomach felt like it was being stuffed into a burning garbage disposal. The pain was so intense that his vision went black and he could do nothing but flail around and shriek.

"Stanley!" Brant sounded about a million miles away, but there did seem to be genuine concern in his voice.

Ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow!

"Roll him over!" he heard somebody say. He thought it was Brant, but the voice was so distorted that it could have been Martin or even Sherman Hemsley. "Stanley, stop moving! Stop it!"

Stanley kept moving.

"Hold him down! I have to get it in the exact same spot! Stanley, goddamn it, do you want to die?"

Yes, Stanley thought. That would be lovely, thank you.

He screamed and screamed and screamed and sort of felt like he was being rolled over onto his back but he couldn't quite be certain and he screamed and screamed and screamed.

Then a gentle warmth flowed through his belly.

Ahhhhh…that must be my soul seeping out. Sweet, sweet death. This is gonna be awesome.

The warmth quickly flowed through his entire body, replacing the pain. Soon the agony was completely gone.

He opened his eyes. Brant and Martin were on top of him, staring at him.

"Hi," said Stanley.

"Antidote," Brant explained, holding up the needle. "You had me worried for a-"

Martin threw a vicious punch that struck Brant in the face, knocking him off Stanley. His head hit the floor and he lay there, unconscious.

"Wow," said Stanley. "Nice work."

"Thanks." Martin got up and extended a hand to Stanley. Stanley took it and Martin pulled him to his feet.

"Look," said Stanley, "I'm sorry that I made it so that you felt the need to say what you said before."

"That's okay."

"You're only saying that because I jumped in front of the dart that was meant for you."

"No, I'm only saying that because I'm still a fuckin' idiot. Now let's go see what's in that lab."

They didn't have anything with which to tie Brant up, so they settled for locking him inside Stanley's bedroom. Then they hurried to the end of the hallway, turned the corner, and swiped Brant's badge in the card reader next to the door of the lab.

The reader beeped and Stanley opened the door, revealing a tile-floored room about the size of a classroom. The room was completely empty except for another door at the opposite end.

"Maybe the virgin blood's invisible," said Stanley.

They walked to the other door, which had a card reader, a keypad, and a small digital display. Stanley swiped the card. The reader beeped, and the display flashed "ENTER PASSCODE."

"Damn," said Stanley. "What do you think his favorite number is?"

"Six-six-six."

"All right, I guess we'll have to beat it out of Brant. We'll take turns. Hopefully he won't tell us too quickly."

"We could try that, but I don't think I could handle the humiliation if he got the upper hand again."

"Yeah, you're right. Let's raid his office."

"Wake up, Mr. Sleepy," said Stanley, tapping the dart gun against Brant's nose.

Brant opened his eyes and groaned. "I never should've given you the antidote."

"No, probably not. Hopefully you've learned your lesson. Now tell me the code to the lab."

"Go to hell."

Stanley tapped him with the gun again. "The stuff in this dart hurt really bad. I don't know if it has the same effect on non-zombies, but you implied that it was a pretty unpleasant experience. We couldn't find any more antidote. Please tell us the code."

"No."

"Pretty please?"

"You'll just have to shoot me."

"You think I'm bluffing, don't you?"

"Yes. Because if you kill me, you'll never get into the lab, and you'll never get any more of your injections, and you'll die."

Stanley thought about that. "Okay, I'll admit that you've got a pretty good theory about why I'd be bluffing. Lucky for us, we found a knife in your office."

Martin held up a blue pocketknife and snapped out the blade.

"It's not a very big one," Stanley explained, "but I think that if we stuck the blade under one of your fingernails and pushed really hard, you'd scream like a baby. Or at least a baby that was having a pocketknife blade shoved under its fingernails. Don't be that baby."

"I know that we don't trust each other," said Brant. "But please trust me when I say that you do not want to see inside the lab. I promise you, you will not be a happier person for it."

"I'll get over it."

"I doubt you will."

"Code, please."

"No."

"Are you really going to make Martin do the fingernail thing?"

"I don't think Martin has it in him to do the fingernail thing."

"You just tried to kill Martin. He'll do the fingernail thing."

Martin gave Brant a look that indicated that he was not only willing to do the fingernail thing, but relished the opportunity.

"Very well," said Brant. "I'll take you inside."

Stanley kept the dart gun pointed at Brant's back as they walked into the empty room and over to the door of the lab. Brant typed in the code and the door clicked.

"Oh my God, you used your birthday for the passcode?" Stanley asked, incredulous. "Even I'm not that dumb!"

"That isn't my birthday."

"Oh. My bad. Did I miss your birthday?"

"Yes."

"Sorry. Open the door."

Brant slowly opened the door. The lab itself was slightly smaller than the room they were currently in, lit by several dozen flickering candles, and had the walls, floor, and ceiling covered with bizarre symbols.

A really bad song was playing.