“Chance Encounters
 of the
Close Kind”

© 2010 by Anel Viz. All rights reserved.

 

The author retains all rights. No reproductions are allowed without the author's consent. Comments are appreciated at...

 

 12.  Ghoul

Suspect’s statement, as given to Detective James N. Arbeiter, LAPD

transcribed by A.W.

He caught my eye around midnight on the dance floor at the Booty.  Everyone noticed him, so good looking in those tight black jeans that matched his dark, curly hair and a neon blue silk shirt the color of his eyes, and what a dancer!  He wound his way through the twisting bodies that shook and shuffled in place, advancing, moving backward, turning, never staying in the same spot.  He lifted his knees to bring his feet down to the beat while grinding his pelvis double time and swinging his arms which hung loose from his shoulders, no tension in his body, his face ecstatic, absorbed in the pleasure of movement.  Sometimes he’d raise his arms above his head and pump his hips so his groin seemed to trill like the throat of a songbird..  As he passed under the colored lights the pale skin of his face and smooth chest glowed red or orange or green, and the beads of sweat on his forehead broke the white light of the center strobe into tiny flickering rainbows.

I don’t dance much –I’m too stiff and self-conscious – but this time I took to the floor to get closer to him, to feel his vibrating aura, catch a whiff of his scent, maybe say a little appreciative something to him.

“It’s beautiful, the way you your arms and legs move so freely, like they were sewn onto your body with thread.  How do you stay so relaxed?  What’d you have to drink?”

“Margaritas?”

“I wonder if they’ll work for me.  I’m not sure how they’ll mix with the beer I’m drinking tonight.”

“More effective mixed with beer,” he said as he moved on and melted into the writhing crowd.

I returned to the bar and ordered another beer.  Instead the bartender gave me a margarita, a grande.

“Compliments of your friend.”  He flicked his head to the right to indicate the dancer.  “You scored big tonight.”

I nodded to the dancer to thank him, he smiled back at me and waved.  I picked up my drink and went over to him.

“John.”

“Mitchell.”

“I hope this doesn’t get me too drunk.  Lucky I’m not driving.  I can stagger the few blocks back to where I live.”

“I’ll walk you just in case.”

I pretended to be drunker than I was on the way home so I could lean into him.  When we got to my building he said, “I hope you’re versatile.  I like to flip.  If you’re into that I’ll come up with you.”  Christ!  Could I have lucked out more?

We went into my bedroom and undressed each other slowly.  He held me close to him and we locked in a kiss.  I ran my hand down his chest and over his belly, felt between his legs, and gave a gentle squeeze.  My fingers touched the palm of my hand on the other side of his scrotum as if I’d squashed his balls, but he didn’t cry out.  “Sorry,” I said, and raised my hand to run it through his hair.  I felt his ear slide back on the side of his head and a wetness on my hand.  I looked.  It was blood.

His mouth clung to me like a suction cup.  I couldn’t break free.  I put both hands on his chest and pushed, but his hand adhered to my back as if cemented in place.  I stepped on one of his feet for leverage and pushed harder.  He tumbled onto the bed behind him, but I could still feel his leg upright against mine.  I glanced down and saw it had broken off at the knee.  His fingers, too, still dug into my back.  His armless torso lay on the bed, his dead eyes staring up at me.  I grabbed the arms that pointed straight out in front of me, tore them from my back and flung them to the side.  Then I stepped back and his lower leg toppled to the floor.

Horrorstruck and trembling, I sat on the carpet and watched his skin turn a sallow green and begin to swell.  Then I realized his tongue was still in my mouth.  I reached up and found that his whole jaw had come off and was stuck to my chin.  I began flailing my arms wildly and knocked it off me.

I don’t know how long I sat there.  I became aware that I was covered with his wetness – his blood on my hand, his saliva on my face, the clamminess of his sweat everywhere he’d touched me.  A wave of nausea swept over me.  I tried to retch, but nothing came up.

I went to the shower and scrubbed and scrubbed.  I wanted to stand under the hot water forever.  I went back to the bedroom, hoping it was all a dream.  The corpse was still on the bed, more rotted than when I’d left it.  I didn’t dare turn my back on it.  I reached into the closet, pulled out clothes at random without looking at what I put on, and hurried out of the apartment.  I guess I forgot to close the door behind me.

I drove around town.  What I really needed was a drink, but by now the bars were closed.  I stopped at a diner for coffee, sat there an hour or so, then drove back home.  The sky had begun to grow light.  I couldn’t bring myself to go in.  I headed out of town, meaning to get as far away as possible.  I had to gas up once or twice, but didn’t stop for breakfast.  I had no appetite.  I’d have made it to Canada too, if a cop hadn’t stopped me for speeding.   

Signed: John Steven Swenson, 5/20/06

 

Posted: 02/19/10