in his face. “Now . . . kill Gormok,” she said.
“With what?”
“I don’t care. Just kill him.”
The gun barrel steadied on the point between Rudy’s eyes.
A moment later, he had his foot behind the shovel, the blade at Gormok’s throat.
“Have
no fear, dear Rudy,” the torso strangely commented. The silly face
smiled in moonlight. “Fate beckons us all, the joyfilled summons of
providence.”
Beth kept the gun on him as Rudy bore down. He stomped the back of the
shovel until the blade separated Gormok’s head from the armless
shoulders. Blood pumped from the stump, soaking Kentucky Blue sod. Rudy
kicked the head into the grave.
“And now you kill me,” he said, turning.
“Oh, no,” Beth replied. And before Rudy could turn completely, she brought the gun-butt down hard on his skull.
EPILOGUE
Rudy would’ve been wise to read some of the books he’d had Beth
get out of the library. Gormok had verified all she’d discovered. The
spirit of a condemned salt-diviner could never be killed, only the
body it happened to occupy at the time. The spirit merely moved on to possess the body in closest proximity.
Later, Beth calmly buried Gormok’s head and torso. She also
buried Rudy’s arms and legs. Then she went downstairs, and to the
basement’s new tenant, she whispered, “Goodnight.”
“On the morrow, my sweet beauty!” Rudy’s head replied but
in the familiar high, nasal warble. “I bid thee the most heavenly
dreams!”
Now she could have all the babies she wanted. It wasn’t like
Rudy was going anywhere. And if she ever ran short of money . . .
There was always the ashtray, and the salt.
THE REFRIGERATOR FULL OF SPERM
I
“Hey, Chief?” Hays said. “I ever tell ya about the time I was goin’
down on Jinny Jo Carter, then all of a sudden all this gonococcal pus
starts runnin’ out of her snatch?”
Just as these eloquent words were spoken, Chief Richard
Kinion had bitten into a stacked B,L’n T from Ma’s Market, heavy
on the mayo as usual, and in perfect synchronicity with his deputy’s
reference to gonococcal pus, a goodly share of that mayo squirted
right out onto Chief Kinion’s tongue.
“—squirted right out onto my tongue, and I mean a lot of it,
Chief, like a big wad of the stuff,” PFC Hays calmly continued with
his tale. “Shee-it, I’ll tell ya, boss. There I was one minute eating
the beaver’a one’a the hottest chicks in town, and next minute I got
myself a mouthful of venereal discharge, yes sir! God knows how
much I swallered ‘fore that big wad come out.”
Chief Kinion paled, spat out the bite of the B,L’n T, then chucked
the rest of it in the wastecan. He gagged at the image.
“Gawd-daggit, Hays!” he eventually was able to object. “You
out’chore mind tellin’ stories like that when a fella’s tryin’ ta eat!”
Hays swiveled in his seat behind the booking desk. “Aw, sheeit, Chief. I’se awful sorry, I shorely am. Didn’t know you’s was
havin’ yer lunch. But ain’t that about the low-downedest thang ya
ever heard? Here this gal was knowin’ full well she got the clap but
she didn’t even tell me till afters I got a mouthful. I’m munchin’ her
carpet fierce, boss’n alls of a sudden start ta taste something real bad,
and that’s when she say ‘Oh, Micah, honey, don’t mind that, it ain’t
nothin’ but a li’l gonnococal pus, accordin’ to the doctor.’ So’s then I
lookit her cooze and I’se see it, Chief. Looked kinda greenish, it did,
with a little yeller in it, and— oooo-ee! —did it stank fierce—”
Kinion cracked out another gagging cough, his formidable
stomach tensing into a knot. “Shut up, Hays, fer Gawd’s sake—”
Hays
creaked back further in the chair, eyes closed during this recollection
of one’a his many exploits. “And . . . you know what it
tasted like, Chief? Remember last Fourth of Jew-lye when Pa’n Ima
Parker brung that big vat of ranch dip that went bad? Tasted just like
that Jinny’s
“With what?”
“I don’t care. Just kill him.”
The gun barrel steadied on the point between Rudy’s eyes.
A moment later, he had his foot behind the shovel, the blade at Gormok’s throat.
“Have
no fear, dear Rudy,” the torso strangely commented. The silly face
smiled in moonlight. “Fate beckons us all, the joyfilled summons of
providence.”
Beth kept the gun on him as Rudy bore down. He stomped the back of the
shovel until the blade separated Gormok’s head from the armless
shoulders. Blood pumped from the stump, soaking Kentucky Blue sod. Rudy
kicked the head into the grave.
“And now you kill me,” he said, turning.
“Oh, no,” Beth replied. And before Rudy could turn completely, she brought the gun-butt down hard on his skull.
EPILOGUE
Rudy would’ve been wise to read some of the books he’d had Beth
get out of the library. Gormok had verified all she’d discovered. The
spirit of a condemned salt-diviner could never be killed, only the
body it happened to occupy at the time. The spirit merely moved on to possess the body in closest proximity.
Later, Beth calmly buried Gormok’s head and torso. She also
buried Rudy’s arms and legs. Then she went downstairs, and to the
basement’s new tenant, she whispered, “Goodnight.”
“On the morrow, my sweet beauty!” Rudy’s head replied but
in the familiar high, nasal warble. “I bid thee the most heavenly
dreams!”
Now she could have all the babies she wanted. It wasn’t like
Rudy was going anywhere. And if she ever ran short of money . . .
There was always the ashtray, and the salt.
THE REFRIGERATOR FULL OF SPERM
I
“Hey, Chief?” Hays said. “I ever tell ya about the time I was goin’
down on Jinny Jo Carter, then all of a sudden all this gonococcal pus
starts runnin’ out of her snatch?”
Just as these eloquent words were spoken, Chief Richard
Kinion had bitten into a stacked B,L’n T from Ma’s Market, heavy
on the mayo as usual, and in perfect synchronicity with his deputy’s
reference to gonococcal pus, a goodly share of that mayo squirted
right out onto Chief Kinion’s tongue.
“—squirted right out onto my tongue, and I mean a lot of it,
Chief, like a big wad of the stuff,” PFC Hays calmly continued with
his tale. “Shee-it, I’ll tell ya, boss. There I was one minute eating
the beaver’a one’a the hottest chicks in town, and next minute I got
myself a mouthful of venereal discharge, yes sir! God knows how
much I swallered ‘fore that big wad come out.”
Chief Kinion paled, spat out the bite of the B,L’n T, then chucked
the rest of it in the wastecan. He gagged at the image.
“Gawd-daggit, Hays!” he eventually was able to object. “You
out’chore mind tellin’ stories like that when a fella’s tryin’ ta eat!”
Hays swiveled in his seat behind the booking desk. “Aw, sheeit, Chief. I’se awful sorry, I shorely am. Didn’t know you’s was
havin’ yer lunch. But ain’t that about the low-downedest thang ya
ever heard? Here this gal was knowin’ full well she got the clap but
she didn’t even tell me till afters I got a mouthful. I’m munchin’ her
carpet fierce, boss’n alls of a sudden start ta taste something real bad,
and that’s when she say ‘Oh, Micah, honey, don’t mind that, it ain’t
nothin’ but a li’l gonnococal pus, accordin’ to the doctor.’ So’s then I
lookit her cooze and I’se see it, Chief. Looked kinda greenish, it did,
with a little yeller in it, and— oooo-ee! —did it stank fierce—”
Kinion cracked out another gagging cough, his formidable
stomach tensing into a knot. “Shut up, Hays, fer Gawd’s sake—”
Hays
creaked back further in the chair, eyes closed during this recollection
of one’a his many exploits. “And . . . you know what it
tasted like, Chief? Remember last Fourth of Jew-lye when Pa’n Ima
Parker brung that big vat of ranch dip that went bad? Tasted just like
that Jinny’s
Similar Books
