A Ryan Matthew Harker Book/ published by arrangement with Harker Meadow Handcrafted Books
Duplication of this book, complete or in part, is strictly prohibited. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual person’s, living or dead, events, or locals is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved
Copyright © 2011 Ryan Matthew Harker
By Ryan Matthew Harker
How many times have you sat down on the toilet to do your business, only to find out when you’re done that there’s no toilet paper in the bathroom?
Well Frank Dane had done that very same thing more than his share of times in his life and this time was, so far, turning out according to script.
When he discovered his dilemma he immediately shouted for his wife.
After ten seconds, no response.
Frank could hear the washer and dryer going in the laundry room at the other end of the house. Martha was probably folding the towels or his boxer shorts, or something. Yeah, she was probably folding his boxers and singing along to her favorite song on the radio. A song that just didn’t sit well with Frank’s idea of what proper music should sound like, and right now it was a song (along with the washer and dryer) that was preventing his loving wife from answering his call.
With a stronger note of urgency in his voice, he called out again.
Still no answer.
Damnit! He thought bitterly to himself as he gingerly stood up, leaving his pants and underwear on the floor, and crab-walked his way towards the door.
He stopped once he was in the hall, confused and wracking his brain. Now where does that woman keep the butt wipe? He wondered.
“Ma- ARTHA!” He bellowed and still there wasn’t any answer. What in God’s name was she doing? All he wanted to do was wipe his ass. It was 7:30 in the morning for Christ’s sake and he was going to be late to work!
Frank continued his way awkwardly down the hall when all of a sudden he came up short.
“What the hell?” he muttered under his breath and cocked his head to one side.
He listened intently for the sound that had, temporarily anyway, made him forget his mission for toilet paper. He could still hear the sound of the washing machine spinning in disjointed harmony with the dryer but now that he was in the hall Frank could also hear the sound of music drifting faintly up from the laundry room.
Ah-ha, it is the radio! He thought. The goose bumps on his bare arms were just beginning to fade as he took a tentative step forward. And there it was again. Hearing it clearly the second time made his blood freeze. It was quiet, oh so quiet but there all the same. Under the combined hum of the washer and dryer, under the music of the radio, there was a small sob which was immediately followed by an inhuman snarl and a low grunt.
Frank couldn’t believe his ears as he heard it again. His blood had solidified and a small, scared sound escaped his lips.
What in God’s name was going on in the laundry room? And where the hell was his wife? These two questions seemed to drift as an ethereal mist, hanging almost tangible in the air around him.
He didn’t have a clue as to the answer to the first one. And judging from what he knew of his wife’s last known whereabouts, and the altogether disconcerting noises that were coming more frequently from the laundry room, Frank began to seriously dread what the answer to the second question might be.
Although terror was slowly creeping through his entire body, like a thief wanting nothing more than to rob him of all the courage he possessed, his rational mind fought to reassert itself. Because the fact was he was the man of the house, and as such he had certain responsibilities, responsibilities that required him to investigate the strange sounds more closely.
Frank looked down, noticed his half nakedness, and realized exactly how vulnerable he was for the first time. Trying in vain to block the horrible sounds coming from the laundry room, especially the small sobs that grew increasingly more tear filled with every passing second, he made his way stealthily back to the bathroom, pulled his pants on, and made his way towards the living room.
He crept silently down the hall to the living room. Even though he kept telling himself that he had nothing to fear and that he should just barge into the laundry room and demand of his wife- Just what the FUCK is going on here for Christ’s sake woman!- the scared little animal of instinct demanded he- Keep yourself quiet now, you hear? Don’t you dare stop though, pause long enough to grab the wood poker from beside the fireplace but don’t you dare stop because Martha needs you in a way she’s never needed you before!
With the iron poker clutched tightly in his right hand Frank felt decidedly more at ease, calmer. Despite the sounds which grew louder and louder the closer he got to the laundry room door, his rational mind was finally reasserting itself and forcing that small, scared animal into an unused portion of his mind. He actually sped up his progress as he rounded a corner in the hall between the living room and laundry room, only to instantly come to a stop as he laid eyes on the laundry room door.
The door had been left open a crack and the light was on so that as he watched maniacal shadows danced evilly from the laundry room’s interior and across the hall. The grunting was becoming more frenetic with every passing second and he could clearly hear the sobbing now, it was definitely Martha. Without hesitating a moment longer Frank strode the last few feet down the hall and threw open the laundry room door.
The hellish sight that met his disbelieving eyes was one of unreal horror. There was Martha alright, lying on the floor and in just about the position his rational mind had expected her. Unfortunately his rational mind could never have prepared him for who was with her, or rather, what was with her.
His beloved wife was on the floor, tears streaming from her eyes, with her legs spread and her dress bunched up around her hips. Frank could clearly see the huge and monstrous member that was being thrust in and out of her with unrelenting force by a creature the likes of which had never been seen by a living man. Martha met his gaze with eyes filled with tears. The monster, whatever it was, sensed the change and without stopping it’s assault, turned to face Frank.
“No you don’t you bastard!” Stunned into fury by the obscene sight of Satan’s minion in sacred consummation with his loved one he stepped forward and swung the poker with all of his might, embedding it in the side of the devil’s horny, red face. A grotesque hiss escaped the creature’s throat as it attacked him.
Frank was in the air before he knew what had hit him. He hit the washer, then the dryer, and bounced to the floor. He looked up, his vision blurring, and saw the vile monstrosity hunch over his wife and continue it’s dreadful plundering.
Frank woke with a start. What a terrible dream! He thought as it sank in that he was supposed to follow the doctor who had waked him.
It had been nine months since that fateful day when he forgot to check for toilet paper. He was at the hospital where his wife, Martha, was about to have his child. The doctor was even now rushing him into the delivery room.
Martha was pushing and pushing as Frank reached her side. He noticed her face was red and it made him shudder a little. He shook his head and squeezed her hand as blood began to gush from between her legs.
The doctor screamed and there was a thud as something hit the floor. Martha’s eyes rolled into the back of her head before she shook and went still. Unable to face the reality of his wife’s death Frank stepped around her to assist the doctor, who it appeared had fainted.
The doctor hadn’t fainted. She was dead. A scrawny red devil with horns was eating it’s way through her skull.
“It seems to be a real tragedy, Mr. Dane’s death,” one deputy says to another as they stand waiting outside the Dane residence. “It seems that Mr. Dane was in the peak of health. Doc couldn’t find anything wrong with him, and his poor wife, Martha, she’s about to have a baby. Well I say it’s a damn shame.”
The second deputy nods his head sagely and spits tobacco to the ground. “Ain’t that some shit,” he says.
“It seems to be a real tragedy,” one deputy said to another as they stood waiting outside the Dane residence. “It seems that Mr. Frank Dane was in the peak of health. Doc couldn’t find anything wrong with him and his wife, Martha, was just telling me she found out she was pregnant today. Well I say it’s a damn shame.”
The second deputy nods his head and spits tobacco to the ground. “Yep, and to be found dead on the toilet too, it reminds me of Elvis.”
“Sure does. And another thing,” the first deputy continues. “There wasn’t a stitch of toilet paper to be found in the bathroom. Now ain’t that some shit?”