Mental Shrillness

  Mental Shrillness

  by

  Todd Russell

  Author's Note

  Scream if you hate reading these notices.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead or undead, business establishments, cemeteries, carnivals, events or locales is coincidental.

  Copyright © 2010 Todd Russell

  All rights reserved.

  Also available in paperback

  ISBN: 1461170303

  ISBN-13: 978-1461170303

  About Mental Shrillness

  The Mental Shrillness ward will shock with six twist ending horror tales:

  Memorial Day Descent - experience a showdown between an old mansion and a soldier's painful, recurring memories. A first place story content winner.

  Pains in the Glass - Tim and Wanda love each other but neither sees the cracks in their flawed marriage looking glass. Today is the day one learns of betrayal so powerful that it will shatter, cut and bleed the other to pieces.

  Dead Warmed Over - Can a tortured man love his wife too much? Ben's intense love for wife Jackie is realized in a haunted bathtub. Another first place contest winner.

  Falling The Bobbitt Way - Tracy and John's sweet marriage vow warps into sinister sadomasochism. Find out if they can break the vow and ever be the same.

  Dueling Eyes - GAZE upon an unmoving glass eye compelling its host to entertain self-mutilation tendencies. WATCH as Madison tries to save Killroy in the dark, dirty alley from the glint of a malevolent mugger's blade. STARE helpless as the cold steel and glass eye attempt to complete a shocking mission.

  The Illusion - There are things Damon Brooks wishes he could change about his life. He thinks he has it bad until a dying, misshapen creature shows him that the other side wants much more to change their deaths. Prepare for a nightmarish struggle at a carnival between good and evil.

  At the end of Mental Shrillness author's notes are provided for readers interested in each story's history and what motivated the author to pen these strange, dark tales.

  BONUS MATERIAL

  - Includes four additional stories written during the same era:

  The Clock Called Fate

  $$$ Knowledge and Power $$$

  Father Knows Winners Best

  Politically Correct - exclusive story available only in this e-book edition

  Other books by Todd Russell

  Fresh Flesh is coming September 29, 2011 - debut psychological thriller / horror novel

  The first two chapters are included at the end of this e-book edition of Mental Shrillness.

  Connect with Todd Russell Online

  Official Website

  http://toddrwrite.com/

  Smashwords Author Page

  http://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/toddrussell

  Goodreads Author Page

  http://goodreads.com/toddrussell

  Facebook

  http://facebook.com/booksbytoddrussell

  Twitter

  http://twitter.com/Todd_Russell

  DEDICATION

  For Kara

  A world without you

  would bring much mental shrillness

  Contents

  Memorial Day Descent

  Pains in the Glass

  Dead Warmed Over

  Falling The Bobbitt Way

  Dueling Eyes

  The Illusion

  Mental Shrillness Notes

  The Clock Called Fate

  $$$ Knowledge and Power $$$

  Politically Correct

  Father Knows Winners Best

  Bonus E-book Mental Shrillness Notes

  Memorial Day Descent

  Lewis hadn't seen Dansbury or Walker since that fateful day in 'Nam 1968.

  The mansion belonged to an eccentric name Sayer. Lewis had received a bizarre email from someone named WARSONG24U (claiming to be Sayer's distant relative), telling him to pack, leave his normalcy in Vancouver BC and drive south to a town named Medina, north of Bellingham, Washington. Today, Memorial Day, he was to drive up a remote steep mountainside. At precisely midnight he should enter the vacant, ramshackle dwelling. WAR promised Lewis would be able to vanquish his demons, if he descended the staircase in the basement. There Lewis could find the closure he desperately sought. WAR knew too much to be lying.

  He stood, flashlight in hand, mouth dry staring down the stairwell. It spiraled into the void. Where in god's name was this place? He started the descent, careful of his footing. The draft chilled his flesh through his heavy sweater and jacket. The light shone on the next set of stairs. Twenty feet. Fifty. Seventy-five.

  A weird smell of wild rice tickled his nose. He saw the eyes of a Viet Cong boy name Lao, telling Walker and him to get their "Shooshine". His teeth already yellowed at such a young age. Walker stepping up to the chair and then sitting. The boy saying he had to go get more shine, leaving that brown box. Walker laughing and singing some Beatles song.

  Descending deeper...the air cold and biting his ears...a sound of bats flapping in the blackness...that brown box in Nam lucid in Lewis's eyes...sitting there waiting and Walker staring at him and suddenly screaming, "Run, Lewis, Run!"

  And knowing what was in that box...that box filled with blood, sinew and brain of other foolish American soldiers. Those idiots here fighting an unknown cause for an uncaring country. Lewis grabbed the box and threw it out the window before it stole their souls. BANG!

  ...descending...colder...deeeeeperrrrr...there was something down here with Lewis and a smile flitted across his face. Black and frigid and somehow his . . .friend. Deeper. Two-hundred feet, and the light shone on more spiraling stairs. He was in Heaven. Finding closure. How pleasurable...deeper....deeper...more bats flapping and shrieking past his ears.

  Then there was Dansbury, laughing with him inside that foxhole. Telling him jokes all the time, "You know the story about the guy..." Dansbury knew all the jokes and was an avid Hendrix fan. He told Dansbury to let him scout the next area. To stay in the hole and cover him. Dansbury waited, because he had a high school sweetie waiting for him and he'd even shown his best friend, Lewis Thames, a nude pic. So Dansbury went ahead, rifle drawn, and there was this clever trap of spikes that he spotted. Saved his buddy from impaling his flesh like the other two skeletons in the ghoulish hole. Dansbury even had tears in his eyes! "Thank you, buddy."

  ...Descending...deeper...arctic (Lewis shivered and blew smoke rings with his breath) No bats this deep. His ears starting popping from the depth change. The light shone on green slime on the slick wet concrete.

  ...deeper...freeeeezzzing...Lewis could barely move now as he heard the voices cut through the wind.

  "Shooshine! SHOO . . Shine." laughed Walker. Lewis suddenly felt very wrong as he shone the light on the walls which were no longer black empty voids, but white teeth closing in. He looked back up the stairway and it spiraled forever into the pinhole of light.

  "You know the story about the guy..." Dansbury's monotone bounced off the encroaching walls. Lewis turned and started running up the stairs. He threw his backpack, the grating of the walls converging, suffocating his existence. He could see the light above growing as he drew closer—"...who lived and his friends who didn't?"

  Sweat poured off Lewis's face as he climbed until he fell...the bomb had gone off, the trap had sprung, and Lewis would face just one more day. Forever.

  Pains in the Glass

  Wanda removed the tiny shard of glass poking from her hand after hanging up the phone.

  Her mother had called and said her father had been sleeping around for years. She'd lamented to Wanda for almost two hou
rs, apparently knowing about the indiscretions for over twenty years but finally accepting the inevitable end. Wanda kept telling herself how relieved she was that Tim loved her so much and would never hurt her that way.

  "See you in a week, babe," Tim said, melding his mouth with hers, tongues wriggling for position. "What's up with the hand? Ouch."

  "Don't know. Just there all of a sudden. Must have picked it up from the counter." She washed her hand under cool water and bandaged the tiny slit. She helped Tim take his things to the door. Working as a computer salesman, he was always entertaining and on the road, his territory was the Northwest. Tim was worried she'd be bored while he was gone. She told him that her best friend, Beth, would keep her company.

  The next day at 8 AM, the phone woke Wanda with a start.

  "Is Tim there?" a soft female voice asked.

  "Who's this?"

  "Jerianne from Phoenix. Tim said he was coming by." A stab of pain racked Wanda's right hand. She looked down and saw two longer pieces of glass and dark red oozing from her hand. She winced, hanging the phone up. She went to the bathroom and used more cool water and Band-Aids. Was Jerianne a client? Wanda figured that must be it. Why didn't she ask Jerianne?

  More shards of glass showed up throughout the day. From her back she removed an inch long section. She almost called Dr. Sears, but hung up the phone, not wanting to sound crazy.

  But as she stared at the phone, she felt hot beads roll down her neck. She went to the mirror and saw a long slice of glass protruding from her neck. She tried to remove it with tweezers, but it opened her flesh further and more blood rained.

  The phone rang again. She answered it and it was "Polly" from Billings, Montana. Wanda found out that "Polly" was no client and then felt more twinges of pain. She went to the mirror and in horror saw blood dripping down her face. She grabbed for the phone and started to dial.

  "Good afternoon, Dr. Sears office?"

  She opened her mouth and nothing would come out. Turning to the mirror she saw the longest piece of glass penetrated where her voice box would have been. Trembling, she dropped the phone and went to the door. She put her hand on the knob and stopped at the doorbell's clanging.

  Peeking through the eyehole, she saw Beth outside. She started to open the door and then froze.

  "Wanda, I need to talk to you," Beth said, her voice muffled. "I know you probably don't want to talk to me. Tim told me this morning that. . ."

  Blood coursed down Wanda's thighs, back, stomach, breasts, neck. Little and big pieces of glass poking everywhere. She turned the knob and pulled it inward. HELP ME, she thought

  ". . . he and I are finished. I'm so sorry I did this to you—" Beth stopped and stared at the shambling, dripping horror. She backpedaled, screaming out of the walkway. She would never share with a soul the ghastliness she viewed that searing August day.

  DON'T LEAVE ME, PLEASE! YOURRRR MYYY BESSSSSTTTT FRIIIEEENNND!

  The phone rang and Wanda crawled to it, glass digging deeper into her flesh with each movement. She listened to "Anna" from Portland, Oregon on the answering machine tell Tim how much she loved him and couldn't wait for his touch tonight. She saw blackness closing in like a shroud in their bedroom closet door. Glass poked through her eyes.

  * * *

  Tim arrived home the following Monday, skipping up the driveway. He opened the door and smelled the stinking copper. Blood trails were everywhere. He looked in the bathroom and saw a tub of brown-red water. He walked into the bedroom and heard a crunching glass sound beneath his feet.

  Dead Warmed Over

  Six hours later, with dawn rising like temperature in a fever-ridden thermometer, Jackie was still dead.

  Ben's wife, his beloved, Jackie.

  Jackie for rides on hot summer days and cold, snowy nights. Jackie in the park swinging next each other. Jackie at the bowling alley, laughing and crying on those lousy 7-10 splits. Jackie when the day was dim making it bright. Oh, Jackie.

  Jackie in the bedroom always so hot, inviting, sweet; the hotel in Heaven. Jackie extending her long open arms, her sensuous fingernails clipped perfectly. "Come to bed, Ben. Take me, please." Ben obediently followed. He licked her tears clean, massaged her sore spots. Jackie made the world not better, but best.

  But Jackie wanted more from their sex life.

  Jackie wanted experimentation. She wanted the toys. The games. The hot porn movies. The things that made Ben quiver with delight. Jackie loved the computer and finding couples on-line. Yes, Jackie loved them all. The private one-on-ones, the hot phone sex, you name it, and Jackie would indulge. A man's ultimate fantasy.

  But Jackie's flesh reeked now.

  Grew colder.

  Ben shed a tear as he ran her favorite bath. He soaped her paling flesh. He washed her long, blonde hair, lathering jussssst right. That's how she said it, "jussssst right, Ben. Love the feel of your hands through my hair." And Ben's face was wet, droplets skidding from his brown eyes.

  Ben had tried everything to revive her: CPR, ice bath, thumping her chest. He'd done everything but 911. Couldn't do that. They'd take her away. Then him. He'd never see her again. They'd race him to trial, convict him of murder, not accidental death.

  Just having sex! How could Jackie know the suffocation thing would become too wild. Ben knew the plastic bag was taking things beyond pleasurable and into danger. He should have put a stop to the sex games. But he loved it. He loved Jackie. He loved every breath she blew, every wink she gave, every dream she dreamt. Jackie and he were fused at the inception of their relationship. Nothing, and nobody would wrench them apart.

  Jackie needed body heat.

  Ben turned up the bath as hot as the tap would go. Her flesh took on a yellowy-white tint and her body had begun to stiffen. "Jackie, don't go." Ben whispered, and kissed her firm, cold lips. "Please don't leave me this way."

  The water steamed the bathroom windows and beads of sweat coursed down his forehead to race against his tears. "You just need a little more heat, Jackie." He went to the kitchen and filled up saucepan of water and boiled it. If he raised the temperature of Jackie's body just enough then maybe...maybe she would tell him what to do. Jackie always knew what to do, where to go, who to see, when to go. Always, he followed.

  The water bubbled and steamed and he could faintly smell Jackie's spaghetti. It was jusssst right. Tasted so good. The meaty, garlic aroma. He longed for it almost as much as her hands stirring and her smile, oh, JACKIE. He kept going back and forth from the kitchen. Filling the tub and draining. Raising the temperature on Jackie's cool body. He could warm her up. As he poured the boiling water over her, the flesh on her skin reddened and sizzled softly. Warming up!

  Back. Forth. Hotter. Backforthhotterbackforthhotter—

  He brought in the space heater, set it on the toilet seat and cranked the heater until the coil eyes blinked angrily on. He turned the heat in the bathroom up to 80 degrees. Ben panted, dripping with sweat. BACK. FORTH. BACK. FORTH.

  Ben stopped and kissed Jackie's warming lips and he saw it at last. A flicker! The eyelids. Her eyes opened. Her hands raising from the bath to wrap around his waist and pull him into the scorching tub. And then he frenched her icy tongue as his body bubbled and welted. She reached out once more. "Jussssst right," it whispered, and pulled the space heater into join them.

  Falling the Bobbitt Way

  (John and Tracy were married in the summer of 1994 at the Chapel of Love in Deer Park, Texas with a rather bizarre marriage vow. This is Tracy's diary of their wild expedition ...)

  DAY 12: John made love to me 30 times since we wed and the last was the most exciting. We were in the bathroom and he took me from behind while soaping my breasts. My nipples hardened and wow, how we were floating. Maui is fantastic, I want to cum here again! Wish John never had to go back to that boring sales existence.

  DAY 57: Happy and sad day. John closed a huge sale today and has money for a down payment on our first house. I found out from Dr. Sears that I can nev
er have children. But we are all still going strong: last night I deep throated John for the first time. I haven't had multiple orgasms like this before! MARRIED LIFE IS WONDERFUL. I can smell his soapy skin and you know what? I love the taste of cum!

  DAY 75: John came home tonight and said he was starting to feel sore on his penis. He showed me a small red spot above his testicles. I got out the Vaseline and before we knew it he was sticking that marvelous penis in my mouth—and more!

  DAY 125: In our new house and we've done it in every room except the garage! John is still mildly complaining about the red spot on his penis. I told him if the redness persists we'll go see Dr. Sears—we cut our lovemaking down from multiple times per day to once in the morning and once at night.

  DAY 365: One year and John got home tonight, walking a little funny and I asked him what was wrong. He pulled down his pants and showed me the blister. The size of a dime and raw, flaking skin. He said it hurt like a "sumbitch."

  DAY 467: We only do it once a day, John limps a little. I have to remind him of our vow because the blister on his member is now the size of a quarter and bleeds sometimes.

  DAY 621: No more oral sex, John is bleeding just too much—can't get that nastiness in my mouth. I told him I'm sorry but we'll double the Vaseline application. "A vow is a vow, sweetest!" I remind him repeatedly. He whimpers some days but I keep him happy!

  DAY 799: John wants to go see Dr. Sears bad now, half of his penis is pink like raw meat. I told him he couldn't go because if he did then we would be breaking our vow. John moaned and to cheer him up we went out and got a cocker spaniel named Sal.