Necrology Shorts Anthology: Issue 4 - Tales of Macabre and Horror

Necrology Shorts

Anthology 

Issue 4

Published by Necrology Shorts (www.NecrologyShorts.com)

Copyright © 2012 Isis International & Necrology Shorts

All Rights Reserved

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Table of Contents

Chip off the Block

The Vestige

War Victims

Clown

A Better Change

The Blush of Dawn

Tinnitus

Watched

Cackling and the Crypt

The Memory Tick

My Life: The Untrue Story

The Woods

Scratch That

The Creation of a God

Salty

Chained

The Outbreak

Kill Road

My Teenager is a Zombie

The Last at Bat

Chip off the Block

By Daniel Dunaief

Claudia would never have served him Alaskan King Crab twice in one week. Antoinette had no such hesitation. Antoinette had watched The Deadliest Catch on the Discovery Channel and just had to eat those crabs—again.

Gerry, do you want something else? I can have the staff prepare ahi tuna. We’ve still got some restaurant grade fish in the sub zero, she offered.

After twelve years, she’d finally started to read his facial expressions. He knew her so much better than she knew him. He shook his head. No sense getting another dinner now. He opened his spreadsheet and looked at the figures from Thailand. It was less than 1% of the bank’s business, but it was creating a 3% revenue hole. The hedge Oscar Sheehan put in place didn’t work.

Gerry, do you have to do that now? Can’t we have dinner with Tanya without spreadsheets?

He frowned at his wife. He made their life possible. Tanya loved to go horseback riding, so he bought her a horse at six, and another at seven. In between, she had to have a grand piano, so he bought one of those, too, which, to his knowledge, she’d played a grand total of twice. Whenever Tanya or Antoinette got bored with their wardrobe, which happened every few months, he gave them a credit card and paid the $10,000 bill—no questions asked.

Tanya, Gerry said, shifting his attention to his daughter. "Would you like to know what daddy does at work?’

Yes, please, she said. With those two words, his eight-year old had shown more interest in his work than his wife.

She lifted her antique French chair carefully so she wouldn’t scratch the hardwood floors. Gerry tried to read her face. If he noticed even a trace of boredom, he would have directed her back to her side of their triangular oak table.

Tanya, not you, too, Antoinette whined. Please. Can’t we talk about school or something? Isn’t that what people are supposed to talk about at dinner?

They ignored her. Gerry showed the numbers from Thailand to his only child.

So, he said, you see that the revenue, the good numbers, have fallen this time, right?

Yes, they’re down $150 million, right?

Yes, he said, pleased that she had either memorized what he said or had learned how to read the spreadsheet.

You get profits by taking revenue and subtracting expenses and taxes. Here is the list of expenses. Do you see any way to cut expenses to make up for the $150 million revenue drop?

Tanya studied the list. She added a few numbers in her head.

No one’s eating, Antoinette gasped. Do you know where these crabs came from, Tanya?

Can you cut out FTEs? Tanya asked.

Gerry smiled.

What are FTEs? his daughter wondered.

Full time employees. They’re workers.

Does that mean you’ll fire them?

Gerry, Antoinette warned. She’s a little young . . .

He put up his finger.

I’m not your secretary, Gerry, Antoinette snapped. Claudia indulges you far too much.

Probably, Gerry said to Tanya. It’s the easiest and most efficient way. None of us, including me, can stay in our jobs if we’re not helping the company. The stockholders demand profits and I have to give it to them. If I don’t fire those people, the stockholders and the board will demand to know how I mismanaged their money. If I fire them, the ones who own stock will still benefit because the share price will rise. It may not be as good as a salary, but it’s a parting gift.

Gerry! Antoinette shrieked.

You’re excused, Gerry said politely to his wife. Thank you for a lovely dinner.

Antoinette’s face turned red. She wiped her mouth with a napkin, stood up from the table and stormed up the spiral staircase to the bedroom.

As the boss, I’m like the driver of a snow plow, Gerry said. Sometimes I put my plow up and the company rides along the highway at 65 miles per hour. During profit storms, I have to lower my plow so the company can move forward. Some of the workers get pushed aside.

Tanya’s eyes shifted back and forth as she considered what he’d said.

You have to fire them, Tanya concluded. It’s the only way.

He stared into her green eyes and tapped her blonde hair.

That’s my girl.

***

Gerry couldn’t wait. His body, like so many other things, wasn’t responding to his superior mind control the way it had all his life. He hated that time had caught up with his kidneys.

He rushed to the public bathroom on the trading floor. Until recently, he only used the toilet in his office, at home or on the private jet. He wasn’t close enough to any of them and he had to go now.

He sat in the stall, disgusted that he didn’t have a computer or a television nearby. He could pick up his cell phone and make calls, but someone might overhear him and trade on what he’d said. The decisions he made not only affected BankofCredit’s stock, but could also affect the shares of their customers.

Eliot he heard one of the trading kids from the floor say to another as they barely made it to the urinals in time. I had this unbelievable night last night.

Oh yeah, Tom? Did you get it up for once?

Funny. No, I had two of the hottest women I’d ever seen at my apartment. I didn’t touch either of them. They performed for me.

For you or on you?

Tom looked around to see whether anyone else was listening. He didn’t see Gerry’s feet, which were hidden in the stall.

There’s this service. The number is 314-1592. Funny, no? They’ll do anything you want. Anything.

Why is that funny?

It’s the first seven digits of pi. Get it? Like, you know Pi times the diameter of a circle equals its circumference. It’s the mathematical pi, only you dial it and you get . . . American Pie.

Eliot laughed a little too forcefully. The number wasn’t as interesting as the story.

Through a crack in the stall, Gerry watched them finish. Tom didn’t bother to wash his hands. Eliot ran his hands carelessly under the sink and pressed Tom for more details.

When he was sure he was alone, Gerry left the bathroom and headed back to his office.

***

Gerry, what the hell is going on? Tanya demanded.

He had barely opened the door to their Central Park South apartment. He walked to the hall closet, took out a hangar and breezed past his daughter.

Come on, Gerry! she demanded, shuffling BankofCredit’s 45-page profit report in front of him. Did you take your eye off the ball? Are you creating a rainy day fund? What’s happening?

He walked to the kitchen, grabbed a sharp knife and a small plate, took an apple from the middle of the table and started carving.

What? What am I missing? How come the stock didn’t get slaughtered today?

Relax, Tanya, he said, putting his hand out and encouraging her to sit. It’s not the end of the world.

No, it’s $20 million. Why? Where’d it go? What’s the game? This is public, Gerry, public. You work for a public company. You can’t just move money around, report it, and expect no one—not the regulators, the analysts, or the reporters, to see it. It’s in print, she screamed, pointing to the footnote at the bottom of page 28.

I know, he said quietly. I put it there.

Why? Is this a legal defense fund? Are you getting ready for some liability? Why would you account for it in such a slipshod fashion?

Antoinette walked in, covered in a thin layer of sweat. Antoinette worked furiously in their gym to keep weight from building around her hips.

What are you two fighting over? Antoinette asked. What did your father do now?

Tanya scowled at her mother. Antoinette rolled her eyes and went back down the staircase to her exercise room.

Look what you did! Gerry said. You may be seventeen, Tanya, but you may not intimidate your mother that way.

Why not? You do it.

Gerry shook his head and put up his finger.

Before you placate her, are you going to answer my question? she demanded.

Sometimes, my dear, he offered, a thing is done simply because it can be.

Did anyone—the accountants, your chief financial officer, the analysts, anyone—ask you about it?

You’re the first, he beamed.

She stomped her foot, rolled her eyes and stormed out of the room.

***

Gerry sized up his opponent. At six-feet, four-inches tall, Gerry had at least three inches on his younger challenger. While he was close to thirty years older, he had the wisdom that comes with age. He was in better shape than most men half his age.

Gerry knew the club’s rim and backboard better than anyone else. The court was as much a familiar friend as his custom-built Ferrari and his Brioni suit. He knew exactly where to hit the backboard from all angles on the floor.

He looked in the corner at his secret weapon. At 25, Tanya was stunning. Her emerald green eyes were fitting for the daughter of a Wall Street Master of the Universe and her curved, lean figure mirrored Gerry’s obsession with overseeing the world’s most efficient bank. He wouldn’t let any manager anywhere in the world waste a cent of the bank’s money, and his only child didn’t carry an extra ounce of weight on her five-foot, eight-inch frame. If he could have carved his daughter out of marble and breathed life into her, this is how she’d look.

He bounced the ball a few times and looked at his competitor. Eric had the muscular frame of a professional basketball player—minus the tattoos. He looked the part, Gerry thought nodding at his adversary, but could he play? Only one way to find out.

Gerry faked right, cut left, and then went back to his right. He got close to the basket and tried a fade away. Eric jumped, caught the ball in mid air and jogged back to the three-point line.

Tanya clapped for her boyfriend. Okay, so, it was a nice play, Gerry thought and she had a right to appreciate it: she was dating him. Gerry brought her up right.

Eric took a few steps back, smiled at Gerry and elevated. Gerry was too far away to come close to blocking him, so he turned around and waited for a rebound that never came. The ball swished through the net.

Nice! Tanya shouted. I told you, Gerry. He’s got some moves.

Your ball, Eric said. Game to eleven, right?

Gerry looked at the clock. Even though it was Saturday afternoon, he still had some figures he needed to see before Monday. He only had allotted fifteen minutes for this test of skill.

Sure, he said. Sounds right.

Gerry took two quick steps in, saw Eric back up, and took a shot. It clanked off the rim and landed in Eric’s hands. Eric rushed back to the foul line, lifted his head as if he were preparing for another jumper. Gerry stepped closer and Eric blew right by him for an easy left-handed lay up.

Of course, Gerry thought. He’s a lefty. I had no idea. Tanya gave Eric the broad smile she usually reserved for Gerry. Well, he’d made two nice moves, but this was his home court and he wouldn’t let anyone come into his house and push him around.

Gerry took the ball quickly toward the basket, faked right, then left, then right again, and waited for Eric to leave the ground. Eric took a wide swipe at the ball and missed. Gerry’s shot hit the rim and the backboard and fell in. It wasn’t pretty but it got the job done.

Tanya nodded, raised her eyebrows, tilted her head to the right and stuck out her lower lip approvingly at her father. He didn’t need clapping or screeching, the way Eric must have. He and Tanya had an unbreakable lifelong bond.

You know, Gerry said when he was losing 3-2, I wouldn’t want you to hold back because I’m the CEO and you’re, what, a vice president? I can take it. Give me your best shot.

Thanks, Eric said. I appreciate that.

The pace of the game sped up as Gerry felt his body slowing down. He wouldn’t go down without a fight: he tried holding Eric, which made Eric and Tanya laugh, he body blocked him, he reached in as Eric dribbled. Nothing worked and Eric never called a foul. Gerry managed to throw a few off-balance shots that clanged off the backboard, but none came close to going in. Eric made more than half his shots. When he missed, he grabbed the rebound and dropped in finger rolls.

Sweat gleamed from Gerry’s upper lip. Eric looked as fresh as he did when they started. Tanya was clearly pleased that someone was beating her father.

Good job, she roared. Take the old man to school.

You rock, honey, she yelled to Eric. Come on, give it to him. His time has passed. Bring it on. Looks like he’s got more than a few steps on you, Gerry. Maybe he should have spotted you a few buckets to make it fair.

Gerry smiled. Down 10-2, he handed the ball to Eric and watched as his younger competitor flew past him and dunked.

Yes! Tanya shrieked as she gave Eric a long, deep kiss. Gerry, could you ever dunk?

Gerry raised his eyebrows and shook his head.

No, I couldn’t.

And he’s, what, three or four inches shorter?

Yes, I suppose General Pyrrhus here is.

Who? Tanya asked.

Look it up, sweetheart, Gerry encouraged, the way a first grade teacher might.

Oh, you mean, like a Pyrrhic victory? Eric asked.

Listen to the Rhodes Scholar, Gerry said over his shoulder as he opened the door to the locker room.

Gerry, take it easy. It was just a basketball game.

***

The pats on the back and congratulations from the board went as expected. It was another strong quarter. He had broken his own record for a big bank, dropping the efficiency ratio to an all time low. Gerry saw opportunities for even more cuts, although he wouldn’t tell the board that yet. He saved good and bad news for the right moments.

Sir, Claudia whispered, standing behind him. She handed him a note that said Tanya called.

Claudia waited. Gerry didn’t move. He dismissed her with a flick of the wrist. His secretary scurried away.

***

Tanya West, Esquire. It sounded official and, from the look of her business card, it appeared official, too. She wore round, tortoise-shell glasses with clear lenses, a new business suit, and high-heeled black shoes. She strolled confidently through the security area carrying a leather briefcase filled with copies of publicly available motions, requests for summary judgment and other legal briefs. She looked the part of a real lawyer.

She sat in a room and waited. She couldn’t help smiling when he walked in, as if he were a few minutes late to dinner at Le Cirque.

Table for two? she asked.

He looked defeated. Gone were the mischievous smile and the supreme self-confidence. He was like the wet, deflated, rubbery remains of a popped balloon. She forced the smile to stay on her face.

What are you doing here? he muttered.

His diction, always so clear and crisp, had dissolved. She’d put him back together again, one way or another. He wasn’t Humpty Dumpty and she wasn’t all the king’s horses and all the king’s men. She was better: she was a woman and, more importantly, she was a West. Defeat wasn’t an option.

I don’t want you to say anything until we’re on our own, she said. I recommend that to you as your counsel.

He didn’t speak. She’d worn so much perfume on the way in because she knew the smell of the jail would overwhelm her. She also wanted him to return to his cell with her scent on his clothes. When they were alone, she smiled, leaned forward, and whispered.

I don’t have any panties on, she crowed, and I’ve got a Velcro zipper. Want to explore?

He shook his head.

Do you have any idea what’s going on? he asked.

You’re being railroaded for some reason and I intend to find out why and by whom, she said.

Maybe I’m not that innocent, he said.

What are you, Britney Spears? Of course you’re innocent. Besides, no one is all that innocent. You didn’t embezzle money. I know that.

How can you be sure?

Because, if you had, you would have already gotten me a big, fat ring and we’d be on our way to the life we want, not some crap ass pit stop that smells like month-old sweat socks mixed with the bottom of an ash tray.

Despite wearing a prison uniform and knowing he had days, months, and likely years ahead of him in hell, he smiled.

That’s my boy, she said. Now, start talking. What happened? Give me all the details.

You’re not going to like it, he said. I was going to tell you about it and let you make a decision about me at the right time and, well, though this isn’t the right time, I have to do it now.

Is this about the whole drug thing?

He turned his head and looked to the side.

How long did you know? How did you know?

Eric, no offense, buddy, but I did a little checking on what happened to you after you moved away when we were twelve. I know about your two arrests and I know what a third would do. Are you in here for embezzling or drugs?

He sighed and pulled at his hair.

You knew about the two arrests and you still wanted to be with me?

Eric, my love, I’ve known you were the man for me from the time we were nine. Maybe it took you this long to get there, but not me.

Eric smiled. Without the bars and the armed guard standing outside the room with his arms folded over his thick chest, this would have been the most romantic moment of his life.

I was set up, he whispered. I went with my boss to his house. He acted like he was about to give me a promotion. He took out cocaine and . . . I was weak. Next thing I know, I’m at my house and the police are banging on my door, demanding to know about some money I never took.

Tanya processed what he’d just said.

So, where does that leave you?

Some guy said I either had to confess to embezzling or face a much longer prison sentence for drug use.

Tanya’s eyes shifted back and forth around the room. They’d played tennis, basketball, racquetball and squash together, and he’d never seen her eyes move so quickly. She had reached another gear.

How long for the embezzling?

I don’t know, Eric said. The guy said 25 years for the drugs of five years for the $20 million.

WHAT? she barked, straightening up in the chair. Her eyes stopped shifting and locked on his mouth. She seemed to need to see the answer coming out of his lips as much as she did hear it.

25 years or 5 years. Those were my choices.

No, not that part. How much did they say you embezzled?

$20 million. Why?

Her perfectly manicured pink nails dug into the table. She stopped breathing. Her cheeks turned red. The shape of her cheeks changed as she grinded her teeth.

I’m sorry, he said. I didn’t mean to . . .

Don’t worry, she said, standing up and patting his head like he was a kindergarten child who’d forgotten his homework. I’ve got this covered.

***

The way Gerry saw it, it was a test and his daughter and her new fiancé had passed. She got him out of jail, got the $20 million embezzlement charges dropped, restored his reputation, and managed to get him a promotion to the head of credit derivatives. She was right: Eric had been the most profitable member of that team. They had proven they were committed and belonged together.

That’s where he’d file it in his mind. Everyone had tests. He had to explain numbers to shareholders, justify expanding the bank into other states or countries to the board of directors, explain why his bank was the best choice for big customers. Beyond that, he never felt like he had to explain anything.

He’d done the right thing. He challenged their dedication and they proved themselves worthy. It wasn’t a conventional test, but then again, the West family didn’t live conventional lives. He glanced at his watch. He stood and straightened his suit.

Sir? Claudia buzzed. Mr. Ericson and Ms. Medea are here?

Pi time, he smiled.

Send them in.

The man was about three inches shorter than he, although he was considerably darker, younger and more muscular. The woman had brown hair, brown eyes and a young, toned body. This was what he needed.

They said nothing and headed through his office to the back. They always got explicit instructions. That was why he’d relied on them for so long. They entered his back bedroom as if they’d all been there before.

As soon as they got to the room, the woman ripped open her shirt, sending buttons flying and exposing her breasts. She wasn’t wearing a bra. This was the first time they’d sent him someone who wasn’t demure. It was a pleasant surprise. He checked the camera lens and started to walk into the next room.

Why don’t you stay? the man offered. We do better with a live audience.

He sat in a comfortable chair near the bed and watched as the man removed her pants. She was wearing a mesh thong, which he slowly brought down with his teeth. Odd, he thought, that she had brown hair on top and blonde hair down below, but who was he to complain.

She squealed. The man took off his clothes. Both of them were in excellent shape. He had washer board abs and she didn’t have an ounce of body fat. As soon as they were naked, they put on the kind of show Gerry would have only seen in a pornographic movie. She panted and squealed and he grunted and groaned. The only thing missing was a bad soundtrack.

This was even better than Amsterdam. She got on her hands and knees and they did something he’d never seen anyone do live before. He needed privacy to enjoy the rest of this show. He walked into the next room, leaving the door open.

Yes, yes, yes, Gerry groaned as he watched the monitor closely.

They stopped. She was doing something with her hair. She took off her wig. Oh, she was a blonde. She put her fingers in her eyes and took out colored contact lenses. His pants near his ankles, he moved closer to the monitor. Her eyes were green. She rubbed her cheeks and pulled off some make up.

"Enjoying the show, General Pyrrhus?" she asked.

Oh my God! he shrieked.

No, General, not God, just your daughter Tanya. Was it as good for you as it was for us?

Oh my God. Oh my God. How could you? What? Why?

He squinted hard, but the images wouldn’t leave his head. He’d seen too much. He’d never get them out. How could this have happened? How could she have done this to him?

I am a West, she roared, as she put her costume back on. "No one in our family loses well. Not in a boardroom, not in the stock market and not on a basketball court," she hissed.

That’s what this is about? he shrieked.

Isn’t it, General Pyrrhus? she demanded.

He swallowed hard. He started to shake. She had taken his strength away. He had lost control. There was only one thing left to do.

Oh, Gerry, she said flatly from the other room. I know what you’re thinking. Don’t do it. Stop. Please. I beg you.

Do you hate me so much? he asked. How could you do this to your father?

And how could you do this to your future son in law?

It was . . . a test, he yelled.

How’d you do on your test? What’d you get for number sixty nine?

He closed his eyes hard. He couldn’t clear his brain. He pushed on his temples. He tore at his hair. He did some of the things he’d seen other people—the little people—do in his office when he fired them. He vomited, something he hadn’t done in years.

He heard his daughter. She picked up the phone.

Yes, 9-1-1 operator? a voice that sounded like his said. This is Gerry West at BankofCredit. I need your help. I’m not feeling well and I think I might be a danger to myself.

It was a tape recording of his voice. She’d cobbled together words he’d spoken. Very clever. He heard a long pause.

Yes, but, can you send someone quickly. I’m . . . losing . . . my grip. Can you tell the officers to call me General Pyrrhus? That will help. Yes, thanks.

His breaths were quick and shallow. He felt dizzy. He fell towards his desk and cut the corner of his head. Blood. His office now had blood and vomit.

I’m . . . ruined . . . he sobbed. I’m destroyed.

Good-bye, General, she snickered as they left his office.

He had to act fast. He rushed to his secret library. He put all the tapes into a garbage bag, broke them into pieces, and locked them in his safe. He rushed to his medicine cabinet. He had Tylenol, Advil, and cough syrup. He tilted his head back and swallowed everything. Clean up. Yes, that was it. He had to clean up before the police arrived. He put a band aid on his head, straightened his tie, and went back to his office.

Sir, the police are here, Claudia buzzed. They said you dialed 9-1-1. Are you okay? Did you need help?

His oak door flew open. A male and a female police officer stood in the entrance, hands on their guns, knees bent.

Officers, Gerry said, fighting for control. I’m fine. I’m fine. I beg your pardon. I was doing an experiment with some of my colleagues and, well, the experiment got out of hand.

Gerry felt dizzy. He didn’t want to fall out of his chair. The medicine he’d swallowed was working at just the wrong time. He should have waited until after the police left, but he hadn’t thought it out carefully. He needed to stay focused just long enough for these police officers to leave him alone. His breathing felt uneven.

What kind of experiment? a male officer said.

We were testing the emergency reshponshe time to a 9-1-1 call. You did well. You thood be congratch-a-tated.

His tongue was getting thick. The last few words sounded slurred, as if he’d had too much to drink. A female officer looked closely at him. He squinted. Sex had invaded and destroyed his mind. He saw her naked and that image turned into his daughter. The officers searched the room.

Well, everything appears alright, the male officer said. My nephew used to work here.

Oh yeah? Who’s that?

Oscar Sheehan.

Yesthth, telluble, wuht happent to humm, Gerry said. The dizziness was consuming him. He used every ounce of strength to stay upright.

Well, you have a good day and try not to do any more experiments. We’d normally write you up, but, you know, we can let this one slide.

Thanksth Gerry stuttered, his stomach seizing on him. They were out the door when the female officer dropped her hat. She bent over to pick it up. He stared at her butt and let out a pained sigh.

Sir, are you alright? she asked, turning around and racing back to catch him before he hit the floor.

Nooo! he yelled, trying to push her away, Don’t wunt tuh be saved.

The Vestige

By Adrian Cory

Mr. Chang tensed as the microphones pinned him to the top of the hospital steps.

Can you tell us why the operation has been cancelled, Doctor Chang? the same question rang out from a number of different reporters in the melee. The aging surgeon craned his neck to try and see if his car had arrived on the road below them. The dark blue Mercedes was there, plumes of exhaust emissions vaporizing in the cold, November air but he was going nowhere until the hounds had been fed something.

It’s really nothing significant, he lied. The operation has been delayed due to a small, clinical issue that we are looking into. He lowered his head and dropped a hand into his coat pocket to retrieve a pair of gloves. I’m confident the matter will be resolved and we will progress with the separation in a day or two. Now, would you excuse me, please? The physician kept his head down and began to ease through the rank of photographers whose frenzied snapping lit up the descending gloom.

"What has the Emperor said about the