Jeff Strand - The Sinister Mr. Corpse

A girl, perhaps eighteen or nineteen, was chained to the wall, naked except for a bra and panties. Her entire body was pale. Her eyes were open and her face was frozen in an expression of pure terror. The girl's skin had been flayed apart in several spots on her arms, legs, and stomach, and she had a couple of silver bowls at her feet to catch the blood.

A man who looked about fifty knelt on the floor, wearing only a pair of blue boxer shorts. He had some sort of weird symbol drawn in blood on his chest. He looked really annoyed to see Stanley, Brant, and Martin.

"Ferocity, ferocity, I ain't got no sanity," went the lyrics playing over the stereo.

"What the hell?" asked the man, standing up. "Rich, what the hell is this? What's he doing here?"

"Henry, just calm down," said Brant. "We have a bit of a problem here."

"Yeah, we have a problem! Dammit!" Henry walked over and shut off the stereo. He gestured to the girl. "Now she's no good to us. I've spent three days draining her for nothing. Why would you interrupt me?"

Stanley stared at the girl in horror. "Who is she?" he demanded.

"That would be the virgin."

"One of the virgins," Henry clarified.

"Be quiet!" Brant shouted. "What's the matter with you?"

"Hell, I figured you told him the whole story! Why else would you have brought him in here? I can't believe you interrupted my ritual with only five hours to go."

Stanley pointed the dart gun at Henry. "How many have there been?"

"Don't point that at me. I don't even want to be here. I could be at home with a cold beer right now."

"Tell me!"

"Just chill out, will you? I've got a headache and this last part of the ritual always makes my arm cramp up. Bug Rich with your questions, not me."

"How many?" Stanley asked Brant.

"Each victim, done properly, creates enough blood to sustain you for about a month."

"One a month? You kill one virgin a month?"

"And their families," said Henry. "The families are important."

"Oh my God."

"Plus a couple of them just didn't take."

"Enough!" Brant shouted.

"Hey, I didn't bring these guys in here. I figured the beans were already spilled."

"Let her go," said Stanley.

"Who? The chick on the wall?"

"Let her go now!"

Henry rolled his eyes. "She's not going to walk out of here humming a merry tune if I unchain her. She's pretty much dead already. It's really not a pleasant business, and by interrupting me, you made it so that it was all for nothing. Wasting virgins is not a nice thing to do."

Stanley desperately wanted to fire the dart into the back of Brant's head, and then shoot another one into that asshole Henry, but he kept himself under control. He only had one dart anyway.

"All right, both of you, put your hands behind your head and face the wall. Now!"

"Is he serious?" Henry asked Brant.

"Don't talk! And of course I'm serious! Move!"

Henry let out a deep sigh. "So are you slow or just stupid?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"I'll go with slow. I'm not kidnapping virgins, slaughtering their families, chaining them to walls, and draining their blood for seventy-two hours because it's how I get my kicks. I'm doing it so that the world's most famous zombie stays upright. That's how I make my living. If I quit doing this-and believe me, I've thought about it a million times, especially in moments like these-you die for good. So by preventing me from doing my job, you're essentially committing suicide. Which means that I've wasted all this time and effort, and that really annoys me."

"I said to get against the wall."

"No, you said to face the wall."

"Do it!"

"Suicide. Su-i-cide. What makes this a difficult concept to grasp?"

Veronica's scream startled Stanley so much that he nearly pulled the trigger.

"Oh my God!" she screamed. "What is going on in here?"

"This could take a while," Stanley admitted, not looking back at her. "I'm still really stressed and won't do a good job telling it."

"Who is she?" Veronica asked, sounding as if she might hyperventilate. "Who is he? What is this?"

"Black magic ritual," said Martin, helpfully.

"Y'know, Veronica, I'm always happy to see you," said Stanley, "but this is actually pretty bad timing. If you could maybe step out of the room and find something else to do for a while, I'll get you all caught up once this is resolved."

"Brant, what's going on?" Veronica asked.

"Stanley promised to explain everything," said Brant. "I think you should leave now."

"But I-"

Brant turned around. "Veronica, get out!"

Brant's outburst distracted Stanley for only a second, but it was long enough. He suddenly realized that Henry had a knife (where had that come from?), and then an instant later the knife was flying toward him.

The knife slammed into Stanley's throat as his finger tightened on the trigger.

Veronica screamed as Stanley stumbled backwards, gasping for air that he didn't need. Henry stared down at the dart protruding from his right leg. "Aw, shit!"

Brant spun around and pushed Martin out of the way. He barreled past Veronica as he ran through the doorway. Martin went after him.

Stanley dropped the gun and yanked the knife out of his throat as Henry plucked the dart out of his leg. Henry let out a cry of rage, held the dart over his head like a knife, and then rushed at Stanley.

Stanley flung the knife at him. It struck Henry's shoulder and he let out a grunt of pain, dropping the dart. He wrenched it out and threw it back at Stanley, getting him in the neck a second time.

"Son of a bitch!" cried Stanley, surprised that he could still speak. He pulled out the knife, touched the twin holes in his neck, and then threw the knife at Henry, hitting him in the other shoulder.

"Bastard!" Henry pulled out the knife, and a gout of thick black blood squirted out. "Brant! Antidote! Quick!"

"He's long gone," Stanley informed him.

Henry reached down and picked up the dart. "You'd better hope there isn't any left in here!" he said, just before a high heeled shoe struck him in the side of the head. The dart fell out of his hand. "Crap!"

Stanley rushed at him. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Veronica pulling off her other shoe. Stanley's outstretched arm struck Henry's chest, sinking into the flesh just a bit and causing an additional squirt of black blood to come out of each of his shoulder wounds.

Henry punched Stanley in the face, but his fist exploded on impact and did little damage.

Veronica's other shoe struck Henry in the side of the head. The heel passed through his skull, accompanied by a geyser of black blood, and Henry dropped to his knees. Upon hitting the floor, his knees exploded much as his hand did.

Blood began to stream from his ears and nose. Henry looked up at Stanley, a pleading expression on his face. "I…I need you to do something for me…"

"What?"

Henry coughed, and blood jettisoned from at least four different openings on his body. "Make sure…make sure my single gets some airplay…"

He fell over and leaked some more.

"See if you can do anything for the girl," Stanley told Veronica. "I'm going after Brant."

Martin lay on the floor in the empty room, rubbing his jaw. Stanley started to make a sarcastic comment, but decided against it and hurried out into the hallway.

"Give it up, Brant!" he shouted. "There's no escape!"

Actually, Stanley figured there were plenty of escape routes, but he hoped to diminish Brant's morale. He rushed around the corner. No sign of the lying scumbag indirect-virgin-killer.

"Listen, Brant-" said Stanley, and then he hesitated. He wasn't sure if he'd get a better response by saying that he was going to tell the world about what was really going on, or that he wasn't going to tell the world.