Horror and Thriller Fiction posted July 6, 2014


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Rose has quite the green thumb -- or red, perhaps...

The Eyes Have It

by Dean Kuch

Dr. Terry Fying's Crumbling Crypt Contest Winner 

The author has placed a warning on this post for violence.
The author has placed a warning on this post for language.
The author has placed a warning on this post for sexual content.













If you are easily offended, or get squeamish easily, then please, do us both a favor and turn back now. This story is extremely graphic.

You have been warned...











Well, Hell-Oh there, horror hounds! 'Tis eye...ah, heh-heh... oops! — 'Tis I, your fiendish friend, the Circus Freak, coming to you dead and in person from somewhere within the dank, dark catacombs beneath the Carnevil midway. I've prepared yet another delightfully decadent, direly delicious terror tale tonight for your viewing displeasure. I hope you haven't eaten lately, or that you're susceptible to squeamishness. And, please, don't ask me where I saw it. Let's just say I've been keeping an... eye out for it for quite some time hoot—h-0-0-O-O-o-o-o-o-o-o-t Hee-hee h-e-e-e-e-eeeeeee-a-a-a-ahhh...!


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Tonight's terror tid-bit is about a young girl named Rose, and she's just dying to dig her grubby little claws into her man. Seems our dear little Rose has taken up some ghoulish gardening; she's become quite the green-thumb, actually. She truly has a...hack for it. So, time to don your own ghoulish gardening gear, and dig right in, fright fans.

 

I call this freakishly frightening feature — “The Eyes Have It”...


 





The Eyes Have It


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“From childhood's hour I have not been. As others were,
I have not seen. As others saw, I could not awaken.
My heart to joy at the same tone. And all I loved, I loved alone.”

-- Edgar Allan Poe

 

They're sleeping now, in the garden. Can you see them? No, no, I don't suppose you can from where you are. But, oh, how they love the soft, sweet fragrance of roses. I've planted them there, purely for their enjoyment. They're truly beautiful works of art, aren't they? One of nature's finest creations.

My name? Rose, Rose Gartens. Yes, yes, I know; I've been teased, poked and prodded about that name my entire life. Please, let's not start with that, shall we?

And your name? Oh, that's such a strong, lovely name — Ben. You have very kind eyes, too. They say you can tell a lot about a person just by looking into their eyes. Yours are very nice, comforting. Oh, that's just my dog, Lilly. She seems to have taken a liking to you as well. I'm so sorry about that. She does that vulgar thing to everyone she really likes. Lilly! Get down, you filthy bitch! Oh no — no, don't worry, she's used to being kicked that way. She'll be back to her old, nasty self in a few minutes.

Now...where was I? Oh yes, your eyes. The sights those eyes must have witnessed over the course of your lifetime. They are very lovely, but I'm sure you've heard that quite often.

Can I get you some tea, or coffee perhaps? You've come such a long way; I'm sure you're parched. I have iced tea and lemonade as well, if that's more to your liking. I prefer hot drinks, even in the balmy, blistering heat of summer. It lowers your body temperature when you drink something hot, did you know that? Well, it happens to be true. Are you comfortable? I realize that chair is not the softest in the house, but it is light and easy for me to move about. I often use it when I have guests. I keep only one at the table otherwise. It's just Lilly and I now, and Lilly obviously doesn't need a chair, ha ha-ahaha-a-a-a-aaaaaaa-h! Okay, you're right. It really wasn't all that funny. I do get carried away sometimes.

Me? I'll be seventeen this October. I'm very astute for my age, wouldn't you agree? Very...refined. Everyone tells me that I'm wise beyond my years. Hah...if they only knew.

 

Do you know why you're here, Ben, why I've summoned you? No? Then please allow me to enlighten you. How about that drink before I begin? I think you're going to need it. I really do. No, I'm only seventeen; I'm not permitted to drink alcohol. Besides, neither of my parents drank, so we've never had any whiskey nor liquor in the house that I'm aware of. Juice, yes I have some cranberry and apple juice. I'll go and get it.

 

Now, don't you go anywhere...

 

Oh, now look — just look at what you've gone and done! You're getting blood all over the Persian rug my mother was so fond of. That was her favorite cup to drink coffee from, too, now it's ruined. Whatever am I to do with such an unruly guest?

 

Sit still, you bastard! This is going to hurt me far worse than you. I've tried to be polite, but you simply wouldn't allow it. Did you really think you were going to cut through half-inch nylon rope before I got back? With a piece of broken porcelain, no less? I'll put one of these shards to good use right this very minute. Now, stop your fucking squirming... quit fidgeting about! It won't do you any good, and you know it. There, there, stop begging, it doesn't suit you. You'll still be able to see just fine out of the other one...

 

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~†~

 

 

Oh, you're awake. Sorry...I was daydreaming, I'm afraid. I have a bad habit of doing so at the most inopportune times.

 

Yes, now stop whimpering like an infant! It's in ice water, and if you make it out of here alive, perhaps they can put it back in for you. Medical science achieves wonders these days. No, I can't give you anything for your pain; I want your complete, undivided attention. Oh, I do? Well, good, Ben, good. We'll just see about that. Ha-ha-hhah-hah-uhhhh! We'll see, don't you get it —'see'? Well... I will, anyway.

 

Now, about our...business. Do you recall a child molestation and murder case, from a little over four years ago? It involved a couple by the name of Howard and Lena Richter. They had a ten-year-old daughter, Angela? Do you recall them? You do? Of course you do; you represented them at trial, didn't you? Then you also might recall a man by the name of Lawrence Gartens? No...that name doesn't ring a bell for you, huh? Hmmm, that's odd, because you saw to it that he was sentenced to death. The verdict set a precedence in the state. It was the first execution carried out since the death penalty was reinstituted in 1977. You were a hot topic. Practically every news channel had your smug grin plastered all over our television sets. I hated your smile. So cold, so heartless. It did nothing to compliment the kindness I saw in your eyes. Did I mention you have kind eyes? Okay, a kind eye then. Quit being so spiteful.

 

You withheld some pertinent evidence from that case, do you recall that much at least? Can you at least give me that? It would be in your best interests to be completely honest with me. I already know the truth. I simply want to hear you say it. You'll feel much better if you just admit what you did, then this nasty business can all be over and done with. All water under the bridge.

 

What's that? Speak up, Ben, you're mumbling. I can't hear you if you're mumbling! What? You do recall the case, but not the particulars? Are you fucking kidding me? Do you take me for a fool? That case made your career, and you're going to sit there, blood crusting on your cheeks, with a gaping hole where your eye used to be, and tell me you don't recall... 'the particulars'? Maybe I can help jog your shitty memory, what do you think?

 

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The boot prints in the mud, out where they found little Angela's sodomized and mutilated corpse. They were the exact same brand as my fathers, that's true. He'd purchased them a week prior to her being found. However, you knew the size was all wrong because you bribed your lady friend in forensics to give you the information, didn't you. You knew the style, brand, the place where the prints were found...everything! Dad's shoddy alibi about walking Lilly at three am the morning of Angela's murder wouldn't hold up in court, but you knew that too, didn't you? My dad had insomnia, you know. Residual nightmares left over from three tours in Vietnam. You used that to your full advantage.
 

 

My mother? She died from a brain aneurysm when I was very young. I thank God she was already dead and spared the indignities of the media circus they passed off as a trial. It surely would have killed her in the end anyhow.

 

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And now, a brief word from our sponsor...



 

Boy, that Rose is a real pip, ain't she? I gotta tell you though, fright fans, I kinda like her choice of beverages. Looks like Bloody Mary has new competition for my taste buds. Those Bloody Highballs sure look delicious! Well, Rose has been a royal pain in the ass for Ben so far, and she ain't clownin around, either! Too bad they can't see eye-to-eye on things.

Speaking of pains in the ass, do you ever experience one? No, I mean other than the times you watch my show, you ignoramous! I'm talkin' about those burning, itchy hot pains up inside, on the business end of that one-way street. If you've got these horrible pains, then what the heck are you still sitting there watching me for? For Pete's sake, get off your itchy ass and run on down to your Walgreens or CVS Pharmacy and pick up a tube of Asspertame.
Asspertame is specially formulated to ease the burning discomfort of those nagging Hemorrhoids. Available in convienient, travel-sized suppositories or, for those of you with Hemorrhoids the size of walnuts, in the
one-ounce economy tube.

 photo Budpak-Hemorrhoid-Anesthetic-Ointment-061049944373_zpsd74fe7f4.jpg

That's Asspertame. The pain relieving treatment you can stick where the sun don't shine, and feel good about it.

Ask for it by name!

 

~And now, back to our feature presentation~
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~†~

 

 

October 31, 2004 — Halloween. The trial was held, my daddy was convicted, then sentenced to death. Not just for Angela's murder, though. Four other girls who'd been found also had the same distinct markings, mutilations and brand of bootprints found at the sites of their murders. The trial only lasted a week, and the jury returned one of the fastest verdicts in our county's history. Just one hour of deliberation is all it took. You certainly did the job Howard and Lena Richter paid you to do, Ben. All the while, the true killer stood by and observed the entire circus with the indifference of a king towards his loyal peasantry. But you and I, we both know who took young Angela's innocence and life from her that night, don't we? Ben Pfizer, brilliant defense attorney, budding District Attorney of Campbell County...and serial killer. How many more, Ben? How many young girl's bodies have you left strewn across the countryside of this state...this country? How many of their rotting, maggot infested corpses have you fucked? Oh, that got a rise out of you, didn't it? Hah, in more ways than one, I think. You didn't know anyone knew about your other dirty little secret, did you? The one secret that's far darker, far more detestable than the killing of innocent young girls. The necrophilia. You got off on the stench alone, before you poked and defiled their dead bodies. Oh, I know, Ben; I know all too well.

 

Shut your fucking mouth, you worthless piece of shit. I'm speaking! Open it again, I double dare you. I don't want an apology from you, and I don't need to hear your lame-ass excuses or explanations. You did what you did— you raped, sodomized, murdered, and tortured twelve girls, from six-years of age to seventeen. You'd carefully watch and observe the area, making sure the coast was clear. Then, several days after those bodies lay bloating, decaying and rotting in the sun and heat, you'd— what? What's that, Ben? Please stop? Please stop?! Molly Ward said those same words to you, didn't she. December 18th, 1989? She was your first, the one who whetted your insatiable appetite.

 

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They say the first always holds a special place in our hearts...

 

 

Do you recollect ever having seen these, Ben? The best tree trimmers that money can buy, they say. Titanium blades, aluminum alloy frame with real hickory-wood handles. You can tell the brand with a simple glance by their bright orange, powder coat finish. Do they look familiar to you? No? Well, they should; you used them frequently enough. You used these to help send my father under the needle. An innocent man, a simple, hardworking landscaper with a wife, a young daughter and a mangy dog. He was easy pickings and you knew my daddy very well, didn't you? You, with your seven-figure house on Swanson's Hill, a Jaguar and Bentley in your five-car garage. What had he ever done to you but make himself an easy target by tending to the grounds of your rather lavish home, your ample gardens? You don't know? You must know, Ben; you chose him to take the fall for you. Among all others on the face of the Earth, you chose Larry Gartens to die for you. Quite an honor, wouldn't you say? Saving an important man's ass from the indignities and embarrassment of being labeled a monster.

 

These were my daddy's tree trimmers, and you used them— along with all the other flimsy evidence you'd managed to cheat, lie and finagle your way into getting a hold of— to frame him and put him away ...forever! You'd snip off a finger here, cut out a tongue there. Whatever did you do with all of little trophies of your valiant conquests? The ones you didn't use for planting evidence on our property? They found Laura Benton's toes over there, out by the tool shed. Some of Lisa Fenton's hair, scalp and blood were located in the hedgerow out there, just beyond the rose garden. But what about the others? Do you have them preserved in ball jars, immersed in alcohol? No, I didn't think you would. You prefer the smell of rotted meat to antiseptics, isn't that right?

 

My point...you want to know my point? All in due time, Ben...all in due time.

 

Now, what say you and I put these tree trimmers to good use? Now, hold very still. We wouldn't want to accidentally slice off that noble-looking nose, would we?

 

 

~†~

 

Good morning, Ben. Sleep well? No, I suppose you didn't. I would imagine it's hard to close your eyes after they've been removed. I've heard people who lose an arm or leg say at first, it feels as if their limb is still attached, still a part of them. Is it like that for the eyes, Ben? Do you still experience some optic retention? Does it feel as if your eyes are still there in your skull? Of course not, you dolt! Why would I toss them out with the rest of the garbage? That's something you would do, Ben, not me. Let me assure you, they are both in the freezer in a cup of ice. At least that gives you some shred of hope, doesn't it? That's far more than my father had as they strapped him down to that gurney and filled his veins with toxins, Ben. You should be very grateful.

 

Oh, I'm sure it does, Ben. I'm sure it hurts like hell...

 

Stop pleading you sadistic mother fucker! It isn't going to do you a bit of good. In fact, you belittle yourself by begging that way. It's an entirely different game when the deck is stacked against you, isn't it?

 

Molly Felstein, age sixteen. You lured her away at the county fair, stabbed her fifty-eight times, then sodomized her corpse. Lisa Biggles; age twelve. You watched her for days, sitting at her bus stop, waiting on the school bus. Her mother had the flu the day you took her and didn't feel well enough to sit there waiting. It's a safe neighborhood where nothing bad ever happens. But, you changed that for everyone. You brought a lot of excitement into poor Laura Biggles life. You tortured Lisa for days, biting off her nipples and genitalia, then left her to to bleed to death all over your basement floor. After she'd been down there rotting for over a month, that's when you began...getting frisky with her. I don't believe I need to elaborate any further. You already know everything about them all, don't you, Ben. From Molly Ward, all the way to your twelfth and final victim. You know the gory details very intimately.

 

It doesn't matter how I know all of this, Mister Man, I just do, that's all! I could go on and on, but I won't. Quite frankly, Ben, it sickens me to think about it at all.

 

Shut your filthy mouth! What do you care if my dog has stopped breathing? Stop trying to change the subject. I haven't gotten to your last victim yet, the one that requested you be brought here.

 

Look out the window, Ben, down in the rose garden. Can you see them? Oh, no, I guess you can't, can you, ha ha? I keep forgetting...

 

It's them who brought you to me, all eleven of them. Oh, it really doesn't matter how, does it? Suffice it to say there are things in this realm and beyond that you or I could never comprehend. All that truly matters is that you're here, I'm here, and them...they are here. And they're angry, Ben. So very, very angry.

 

You ruined my family's life, along with countless others whose daughters you slaughtered for your own morbid gratification. You took the only thing in my father's life that he felt had real value, then trampled on it as one would a mass of ants on a breadcrumb. Now, you just sit there awhile and think about what you've done.

 

It's almost dark. That doesn't really concern you anymore, though, does it?

 

I'll be back in a while...



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~†~

 

 

Oh, he's sleeping. I can tell by the way he's breathing. Steady...deliberate and slow.

 

I should wipe away the gunk running down his cheeks, but it would be pointless in the grand scheme of things. Soon, It won't matter because they're coming for him. Molly, Laura, little Angela...Lisa. They've waited such a long time for this moment. The cellar will be his tomb, his final resting place. He'll live and suffer in perpetual darkness, just as I do, until his heart gives out, and he dies.

 

You see; Ben Pfizer took his last victim the day before my father was sentenced to die. She was staying with my Aunt Becky that day, a beautiful, gorgeous sunny day, with a cloudless, deep-blue sky and crisp chilly bite to the air. October 30, 2012, All Hallows Eve. That evening, my auntie took her out trick 'or' treating. Aunt Becky has diabetes, so her knees give her fits sometimes. They soon became separated, and Ben had been cruising the neighborhood, prowling for his latest victim. It didn't take long before a plastic bag from Yong Chen's Dry Cleaners on Laurette Street was tossed over her head, and she was dragged into his car. Two swift punches to her head and face rendered her unconscious. After taking her deep into the woods of the rural Woodland Heights area — just thirty-eight miles from the doomed girl's home — he gently laid her out on the ground in a thicket of honeysuckle and wild onions. The alluring combination of their aromas roused the girl, and she began to come-to.

 

Her eyes were the first things to go. Ben read somewhere that the eyes of a murder victim can retain the image of their killer. So, cradling her head firmly between his hands, Ben inserted his thumbs into her eye sockets... and pressed. He stuffed his scarf into her mouth to muffle her screams, then continued to apply pressure until he felt them give with a juicy, squishing 'pop'.

 

She couldn't recall anything he'd done to her after that. The whole world around her shattered into a kaleidescope of excruciatingly painful colors. Soon after, the colors faded, her face went numb, and darkness swept her away.

 

How do I know all of this, you ask? Because that girl was me.
 


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Hate is a strong emotion. It manifests itself in bigotry and narrow-mindedness. It initiates wars, starts riots, and it can even bring about the eradication of entire races of people. Is it so difficult, then, to comprehend that such hatred can also cause the dead to rise up and seek their vengeance?

 

It's so tranquil here in our rose garden, save for the occasional cries and whimpering from the basement of my family's home. It's very secluded here. There are honeybees and hummingbirds flitting about. The intoxicating scent creates a serenity and quietude perfect for an eternal slumber. Ben took eight of his victims to bury on Swanson's Hill. He called us his chosen ones. None of us were buried right away, oh no! He stayed at each of us for months, fondling and screwing our foul, stinking corpses. Our bloated bodies became so full of his bodily fluids, they got to the point of bursting open. Have you any idea, any inkling of what that was like; to lay there helpless while the man who took everything from you got his jollies? If there is a hell, then that was surely ours. Laura is tending to him at the moment.

 

We're all so tired, now... so very, very tired. However, Ben's a tough one, I'll give him that. It's been over a week since they brought him here, to our home near Gartner's Lake. This house has been in our family for decades, now Ben will share it with us for eternity. His tongue has been removed, little Angela cut that out herself. We all got bored listening to his incessant ranting, pleading and vulgar obscenities. Not much left of him now but a torso, a head, and his penis. That, they're leaving for me to take care of. We all took a vote, and I came out on top. Or, as they say in the House of Commons, the “Aye's have it.” I imagine it will be the proverbial straw that breaks the camel's back; the very thing that sends him over the edge and into oblivion. I have little doubts about that, for that is why we've saved it for last.

 

Oh, I see that Laura's done, so I'm up to bat. Time for me to run.

 

I hope those tree trimming shears are nice and dull after all the usage. Ben deserves nothing less than my best efforts, my full attention.

 

We've both have got a lot of work to do, Ben...you and I. There are still many places on what's left of your body where I can inflict pain before I deliver the coup de grace. After all, Ben, I have plenty of time.

In fact, I have all the time in the world...




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Well, boils and ghouls, there you have it. This tawdry tale of terror should've taught you all somethin. It's really true what they say about attorneys. Keep your eyes on 'em. They'll screw you over the first chance they get. Blood sucking soul stealers, the whole lot!

Next week, I'll be bringin' you a sci-fi horror hottie from 1998 entitled — It Came On Lowder's Face

So, until then, horror hounds...

Pleasant Screams!


Dr. Terry Fying's Crumbling Crypt
Contest Winner

Recognized


I took a unusual approach in writing this story in first person singular, I realize that. Call it an experiment. I have to admit, speaking in one voice while adequately trying to convey all the feelings and emotions of both characters, one of which the reader is not made privy to via written communication, was the most challenging thing I've ever written to date.

The essence of good first-person story-telling is sharing an experience, letting the reader see and feel it, and reaching a resolution from which both reader and writer grow or have an 'aha!' moment. Writers often fail to share how the experience affected the characters. To work well, the reader must take the journey with you and your characters. That is precisely what I set out to do here, take all of you on a journey while entertaining you, and hopefully, scaring the living daylights out of you in the process.

The imagination can conjure far darker images than even horror masters like Stephen King can cook up. So, dear readers, I have left Ben's replies, responses, and screams, all up to you and your imaginations. I hope you found it to be eerie, creepy, chilling -- even horrifying -- but never boring.

In any event, this is the direction my muse took me in. Helpless, all I could do was tag along. I'm really happy you decided to as well.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It's not "eye" it's "Aye", meaning Yes.

It's the term used in the House of Commons of Great Britain for those who agree with the motion that's just been put to the vote.

Those who disagree with the motion are the "Noes", not "No's".
The results of the votes are announced as "The Ayes have it" or "The Noes have it" depending on whether the motion has passed or failed the vote.

In the House of Lords the ones who support the motion are called the "Contents" and those who vote against it are called the "Not Contents".

Isn't it marvelous to know that the old traditions are alive and well in governing chambers, even today?

I doubt that Ben would agree.

Thanks so much for reading!
Pays one point and 2 member cents.


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