Zak MT Standridge Spiker’s Spiral
Bang! Bang! Bang!
Somebody wanted in, someone was knocking.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
More insistently, now,
KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK!
The heavy steel door was splintering and spitting down dust due to the impact tremors; SLAM! SLAM! SLAM! SLAM! SLAM! SLAM! SLAM!
“Get the god-damned door already!”
“Who is it?”
“How the fuck would I know?” Klown was busy holding down a young boy by the back of his neck, The boy was screaming.
“I’m just getting started here!”
Klown’s Kousin blew out the hideous, demonic, twisted black plume he’d sucked from his equally crooked pipe, standing and stumbling toward the door. His gnarled teeth and viscous tongue grinned out the phrase, “Who the Jesus?”
Kousin’s fingers had barely touched the deadbolt when his head exploded, bursting open as a watermelon tossed from a building and his body was flung violently backward like he’d been shot from a cannon. Kousin’s corpse crashed through a plate-glass window, spewing shards of sharpness and jagged pain everywhere with near-hurricane force.
Klown glanced up, dropping the little boy’s underwear, “Konstables! Get this mother-fucker! Now! NOW!”
Three of the Klown’s Konstables, still finishing up their inhalants, struggled to stand up, grab weapons, and turn to identify the intruder.
In the brief respite of silence, which lasted no more than 2 seconds, and in the smoky, dimly-lit entrance, a dark shadow stood and watched them.
A judgment stood in their doorway.
With this oncoming darkness, formed into human shape, came the shadows; they crept and covered everything in Klown’s and his Konstables’ quarters.
And with this shadow-man, this specter, the room fell into an unnatural quiet. Klown was staring and staring, for the first time in his life feeling a bit nervous.
He had no idea who the fuck this man was. Yet he couldn’t help but realize, as blue gun-smoke curled upward into nothingness, that this would be his final evening of debauchery. This made Klown nearly grin, as he couldn’t believe it’d taken ’God’ this long to balance the scales.
Klown had been deserving of a painful, humiliating death for a very, very, very long time. And he was aware of this fact.
The nebulous, ebony form of the intruder loomed larger, stepping forward, shattering the all-too-brief quiet with the crunch of glass under heavy boots. With this motion the stranger became slightly more visible in the low light and dust.
The killer was tall, bulky, and he wore a long, black trench-coat which ended in tatters. His hair was disheveled, dread-locked with filth.
His dark visage was murky but became a grim mask when focused upon, and the mask itself was simple; sleek, dull gray and with a single, silver visor screen stretched across the eyes.
A Konstable stood and aimed a rifle at the bizarre, monstrous outsider, “Klown! What the hell’s with the pissed-off Welder?” Other Konstables joined in, their various drug-induced giggles reaching a cackling crescendo of voice-cracking insanity.
“Shut the fuck up and just waste the douche, I’m trying to finish up, here!” Klown ordered. A torrential explosion of muzzle flash abruptly filled the large, dark expanse, echoing like lightning trapped indoors.
Bullets shredded into the intruder.
Clearly his body was riddled, his clothes - already shredded - were becoming little more than rags under the merciless onslaught of the cacophonous firearms.
The Konstables were terrified to see this monstrosity more or less ignore their horrendous attacks, even with chunks flying from his body, as he began to slowly walk around the foyer.
Once more, Klown found himself absorbed with disbelief, watching the dark demon walk toward him. The little boy he’d been attempting to wrangle darted, running terrified in no specific direction. “Hey! Hey you little FUCK!” Klown clutched out toward the child but succeeded in snatching nothing but air.
Suddenly the intruder sped forward and it looked like God had pressed the ’skip’ button on some cosmic remote. He was abruptly standing in front of the kid, bullets continuing to slam into his back.
The little boy was crying.
A moment later and the Konstables were forced to stop firing to reload.
The intruder looked down at the boy.
And removed his mask.
The child found himself tearing up even more as he stared, wide-eyed, up into the visage of his mommy. “Run, sweetie. It’s okay! Run! Run as fast as you can!”
And the little boy did.
The intruder replaced his mask, then turned to face the Konstables. They started to resume firing.
But with a single deft motion, the intruder withdrew two thick, long, rusty spikes and violently flung them at his quarry, sending both horrified Konstables sprawling through the air, screaming in simultaneous agony.
Klown stood motionless, not believing the scene unfolding before his psychopathic, drug-laden eyes.
The first Konstable was pinned to a nearby wall, embedded by the knee. His tortured scream doubled when gravity finally yanked his weight downward, leaving him hanging under the spike.
The second spike penetrated the other Klown Konstable just above the grown, impaling him deeply into the opposite wall.
Both hung perilously, unable to free themselves and in agonizing pain while they slowly bled to death. Moaning then turned to deafening screaming.
Klown fumbled for the pants pooled around his ankles, bulging eyes stinging with sweat above a twisted, unholy grin.
Without warning, the intruder was towering over him.
Klown abruptly found a stray wad of cash, thrusting it upward toward the intruder in a grim offering, twisted smile tightening like old leather. The stranger slowly reached down toward Klown, and grabbed his fist. Then slowly crushed it. Fingers and knuckles splintered and fractured.
His scream grew into an inhuman screech as the intruder used Klown’s ribcage for leverage while he slowly wrenched the rest of his arm from its socket. Klown watched his own arm, almost in slow motion, as it powerfully collided with and dislocated his jaw. Klown’s horrified protests kept shrilling through a now toothless and blood-filled mouth.
Somehow he sputtered out, “Who are you?”
The stranger lifted his mask.
Disbelief and incomprehensible terror eventually crept across Klown’s face, right alongside the blood and mucous.
“You! Can’t be you, mother-fucker, you’re GONE! This is NOT happening!”
“Oh, but it is.”
Klown spat, “I fucking buried you...We! Fucking! BURIED! YOU!”
The undead figure stooped, curling his fingers around Klown’s neck, “I am the truth from which you run.” He lifted Klown, readying another massive, rusty, dull spike.
Behind Klown there was an eruption of luminescent blue which exploded outward from nothingness and expanded into a perfectly shaped sphere. The entire massive, run-down factory was bathed in vivid aquamarine, cobalt and cerulean shades, as if they’d always been deep under a sparkling ocean.
Klown gurgled, yet he could not form words...not anymore.
The silencing machine’s mask regarded Klown’s face closely, and the pathetic, sick, twisted waste of humanity was reflected in the chrome visor of his deliverer.
They were as one; Victim and Perpetrator.
Klown’s left ocular cavity was slowly, excruciatingly painfully replaced with a long, jagged metal nail. Klown just kept gurgling, spitting bright red blood which shown a dull maroon in the deep blue of the ancient, decrepit warehouse.
Aside from a sickening, wet suction sound, there was no further noise uttered by the convicted child rapist except one pathetic final rasp.
His mission complete, the vengeance zombie waded into the pool of shimmering blue and undulating violet. Immediately whipped up a heady wind through the old building, followed by snakes of electricity and tendrils of snapping, energetic shocks.
All at once it collapsed into itself, vanishing with a charged, warping, chaotic implosion, leaving the entire scene in a sucking darkness.
In its wake, a single rusty spike fell onto the hard ground with a dulcet, metallic ’thud’.