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November 2008

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Our print division, Comet Press, is currently accepting submissions for horror, suspense, and dark crime novels and novellas. Visit www.cometpress.us for details.

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DEADLINES: AN ANTHOLOGY OF HORROR AND DARK FICTION, will be released in November of 2008! Visit www.cometpress.us

Girl in the Tub
by Cameron L. Mitchell

So there’s this girl in the tub. And there’s me out here in the living room with the television on. The Saturday morning cartoons flash across the screen, but I absolutely detest them – the bright colors, the supposed educational value, and all the things going on that I just don’t get. Whatever happened to the fun cartoons? Am I too old to understand what kids are into these days? I remember little blue creatures with white pants that matched their white hats. Except for the papa of the bunch – he had a red hat and red pants. There might have been other small, insignificant variations among the Smurfs, but, for the most part, they were simple and much easier to understand than the shit I see now. I’ve got to change the station. Better yet, I’ll cut it off. There’s never anything good on Saturday mornings.

She’s resting in the tub, which might not sound comfortable, but I’ve paid attention to the details that matter. A thick, white towel, folded up neatly as a makeshift pillow, lies soaked between her head and the cold ceramic tub. I used bleach to clean the tub yesterday morning, even though it makes me wheeze and choke and panic just a little. I opened my living room window and the bedroom window and the smaller window in the kitchen to help disperse the overwhelming odor. I cut the air off while I did this, despite the ninety degree weather outside. I can’t stand the thought of running the air with the windows open. The wastefulness leaves me feeling guilty, and I already contribute to the ruin of my surroundings. I know cutting the air off while I let the breeze in won’t save the earth. But we should all do what we can. I believe the small things we attempt to better both ourselves and the world around us are important.

When I’m finished with her, I’ll douse the tub in bleach again. I’m not sure when we’ll be done this time, but I’ll have to cut the air off again and open each and every window. I must be able to breathe. Sometimes, I just can’t breathe, and the bleach makes it a million times worse.

The last girl I brought home came from two towns over. Getting her was the easy part, but I didn’t yet understand what I was looking for. I still don’t exactly know, but with the girl in the tub this very moment, I feel closer. For once, I feel as if everything is falling into place. I’m getting there, and this time it’ll be different. She’s already so different from the others.

I’m not a greedy bastard, in case you’re wondering. There have only been two others. In my whole life. Doesn’t that mean something – that I can show restraint? Or, maybe it just shows that I wasn’t yet ready. Lots of people aren’t ready for what they know is coming. Yet, whatever it is will come anyway. You can try preparing. Or you can just wait, peacefully letting go to see which way the wind blows your fate. You could worry about every second of every minute of every hour of every single godforsaken day; or, you might wait until it happens and see how you react. It doesn’t matter, really. When you know it’s coming, the only thing you can control is how you react – and even that can get tricky. If you live on a beach tortured by hurricanes, there are things you can do to prepare. But, no matter what, it might be your house that’s blown to smithereens. Will you be inside when it comes? Or will you have run away, prolonging the point of impact for just a little while longer?

I’m gonna get it this time. She’ll show me what I’m looking for. She’s gonna give it over, and I’m open wide to take it in. I can feel each of my pores expanding to absorb her essence. For a week before meeting her, I sat here in my apartment chatting online. There are so many interesting people out there. I spend a lot of time online. I sit with my legs crossed in front of my laptop, which rests on the coffee table. I lean against the couch for support. I have a desk, but my plastic chair isn’t comfortable; also, I like being able to watch television while I play online. Recently, I noticed very rough patches of skin on my feet. My first thought? I’ve never had dry skin or random flakiness, so perhaps this is a sign that I’m getting older and my body has begun changing. Then, I figured it out. On my right foot, the dry area of skin corresponded with the part of my foot that rests against the carpet. The round part of my left ankle – you know, the part that juts out from the rest – is also dry. It took me a while, but I finally figured out that both dry patches are a result of sitting on the carpet too much. I’m still getting older, but at least the changes in my skin aren’t necessarily indicative of that. Perhaps when I masturbate to internet porn, I’m rubbing my feet against the carpet without realizing it, making the dry skin worse. I masturbate a lot to net porn. You wouldn’t believe what’s out there. Or, maybe you would. Maybe we’ve even chatted.

You can say anything online, but who can say for sure where fantasy ends and reality begins for these strangers I happen upon? Who knows what they can offer in real life. When it comes down to getting what I need, relying on such an informal means of communication pales in comparison to the touch of flesh on flesh. How can you really get to know anyone until you’ve felt the heat of their breath against your skin? No, the wiry electronics buried deep inside my computer can’t transmit the tickle of soft words against my ear, whispering, Take me, take me now.

“Sit tight in there,” I yell to the girl in the tub. I feel like I should be having a martini with an olive. I’ve never actually had one of those. I don’t drink. Ever. The smell of alcohol, like bleach, sends my head spinning.

“Want a glass of wine?” I yell. “Perhaps a flute of champagne?”

She doesn’t answer. “Just as well,” I chuckle. “I don’t have either.”

My chuckle fills the tepid air between us, growing into an all out roar before I realize my joke’s not funny. “Oh, just as well.”

After eyeing the CDs lined up on one of the entertainment center shelves, I mosey over to the bathroom door. “You want some music while you’re finishing up in there?” I ask. She’s sitting pretty, just staring up at the ceiling, almost as if she expects something other than an apartment, identical to this one, lies beyond the mildew-speckled surface. Yes, there’re spots of mold above my girl in the tub. If you assumed I was a clean freak because of all that bleach talk, you were wrong. Not by any means am I a pig, however. Neglecting to dust or tidy up regularly seems like a fairly normal trait to me. As far as taking care of mold in the bathroom, well, I wouldn’t know where to begin. Maybe you can tell me? I could paint over it, I suppose. But I haven’t felt like it, even though I kept telling myself I’d get the job done once spring rolls around. It’s mid-summer now. And that was spring of last year.

I can’t call my mother to ask about mold. She was never much of a housecleaner herself. Enough of that, though. I think both me and the girl in the tub could use some music. I slip in the Carly Simon disc with all her greatest hits. Speaking of my mother, she’s the one who introduced me to Carly Simon. On Sunday afternoons, while Dad was away, Mom played her Carly Simon tapes. I hope the girl in the tub appreciates Carly. I’m not sure how anyone couldn’t, really.

My father sits at night with no lights on
His cigarette glows in the dark
The living room is still
I walk by, no remark

I don’t think my father cared for Carly Simon, but I can’t say for sure. My mother only played the tapes when he was gone, so that’s the impression I got. It’s possible Mom just didn’t want to share her Carly with Dad.

Sitting alone in the dark with a cigarette is something Dad would have done. It’s something he did do. He wasn’t naturally creepy, if that makes sense. But he liked to put on a show sometimes, making us think he was even worse than what we imagined.

My friends from college they’re all married now
They have their houses and their lawns
They have their silent noons
Tearful nights, angry dawns

And I’m still here. Good lord, this song really gets to me, you know? Of course you don’t know. No one knows – not even the girl in the tub. She doesn’t know the gift lying inside, waiting for me to explore. She doesn’t know a damned thing about it. Nobody does.

Last night, before you went into the tub, we had our fun. It wasn’t enough. My last girl wasn’t fully satisfying either, but I knew you’d be different. I had to clear my head and think outside the box with you. Maybe that other girl was just wrong. Perhaps I wasn’t yet ready.

Am I ready this time? Is the girl in the tub ready?

“Are you ready?” I ask her. I ask no one.

My mother and father have visited throughout the night. They are visiting now, hidden between Carly’s sweet notes. But I swear to you, this isn’t about them. I mean, it’s about them, but not coming from them or anything they ever did to me. It’s about them only in the sense that it’s about me and you and the girl in the tub and everyone you know. My parents are no more special in these circumstances than any other parents. I just want you to understand that. Try to understand that.

The fun part is over. It wasn’t so very fun to me this time anyway. I slapped your jowl with my half-erect cock. Jowl is probably the wrong word. It makes you, girl in the tub, seem fat. You are far from fat. In fact, I wonder if your mother feeds you enough.

I slapped your face harder with my cock, watching it grow fully erect as I entered your tiny mouth. While taking me inside, you just stared up without ever meeting my gaze. You were already gone, probably to find whatever lies beyond my moldy ceiling. But not everything is gone my sweet girl

I couldn’t even come in your mouth. I needed more than your soft lips could give. That’s when the bruises around your neck transfixed me. That’s when I knew this would be it. This would be what I’m looking for.

I carefully helped you into the tub. Once you were settled, I took the knife and opened your flesh. And Carly sang:

There’s nothing you can do to turn me away
Nothin’ anyone can say
You’re with me now and as long as you stay
Lovin’ you’s the right thing to do

Your blood spilled across my thighs, still warm. I shoved my cock as far inside the wound as I could get it, coming almost instantly. My orgasmic seed mixed with your blood was almost more than I could handle. It was like seeing into the very gates of Heaven. I licked the magic sustenance, unable to ingest the taste of you and I brought together fast enough. That sweet mixture of me and my girl in the tub was almost enough. I withdrew, shivering with the joy of knowing what comes next. Looking in the mirror, I was most certainly a sight for sore eyes. Splatters of blood covered my groin. My cock was drenched. And my face – what a bloody mess my face was.

To taste you in this new, profound way was a tease of more to come. Today, the towel holding your sweet little head is soaked. The blood that once sustained you has floated away, drip by drip, down the drain. And now I’m ready.

I have laid out barbeque skewers to grill you, even though I probably won’t need them. I’ve never eaten someone before. I haven’t even thought about it. But that’s the only way I can get what I need from you. Everything has led up to this point. I didn’t know it, but I have been waiting for this last supper of sorts all my life. My sweet, sweet girl in the tub, give me what I need.

I don’t even know how to do this, really. I started removing your head with a hacksaw, figuring that was a good start. But it was harder than I thought, so I just left you there, your head almost severed from your body. Without propping it up against the towel, it might have fallen off.

You’re even more beautiful now than you were before my hands touched the smoothness of your skin. Your body, in this motion-free position, is fully open and calling out, singing a sweet and seductive song. It’s so beautiful – the ease and willingness of your flesh to reveal.

And I know others might not understand. I’m not so far gone that I can’t see that. But I think others want what I want. They want something we all seemed to have lost.

The grill is fired up, and the smoke billows out into the crisp blue of this glorious day. I take my knife out. I’m sure I’ll figure out what I need to know along the way. It’s happening. There’s no way I can stop it. There’s no way I could go back to the way things were before.

I carve a piece of flesh from your thigh, starting out small. I’ll smoke this piece of you. I’ll eat this one little bit and come back for more. I’ll take your flesh down. I’ll cut deeper inside you, removing each organ. I think your heart will be the real treat. That just seems to make the most sense, right?

A part of my girl in the tub now sizzles on the grill. Carly calls out from the living room. I have cut the air off so as not to be wasteful. I like listening to music while I grill.

We can never know about the days to come
But we think about them anyway
And I wonder if I’m really with you now
Or just chasing after some finer day

“Anticipation, anticiiii – paaaaa – tion,” I sing. “Is making me late. Is keeping me wai – aaaaii – ting.” God, I love this song. Unable to wait any longer, I remove the first part of you from the grill, knowing it’s not thoroughly cooked yet. I cut it into smaller pieces, picking one up with my fork and lightly blowing on it before I take it inside. The taste is too much. It’s too much to describe. I am nothing compared to your taste.

I go back inside and put my favorite Carly song on repeat. I could listen to Carly sing her sweet melodies all day and all night. I might just do that.

I cut a larger portion from your leg and take it outside. After easing it down on the grill, I sit in my lawn chair with the plate of you resting on my knees.

And I tell you how easy it is to be with you

There are men coming now. I knew they’d disturb us eventually. I really thought I’d have more time with you. But, I’ve learned to value and appreciate what the Lord has given. He sent you my way. He sent me your way. He brought us together. He gave me you, my tiny beam of light. He made you perfect. Even when I found you, playing outside in the dirt, you remained clean and unblemished. There was so much you didn’t know yet. There’s so much you’ll never have to know, now.

They ask me questions. I eat one last bite. I tell them to listen:

And tomorrow we might not be together
I’m no prophet and I don’t know nature’s way
So I’ll try to see into your eyes right now
And stay right here, cause these are the good old days

They ask me about a missing eight-year-old girl. They probably won’t let me finish my meal.

“You mean the girl in the tub?” I ask. “Yes, she’s inside.”

I don’t expect them to understand. I don’t expect you to understand either. The girl in the tub knows. Because of her, I am free.

These are the good old days
These are the good old days

As they put me in the back of their car with the bright lights, my spirit soars. I go back to you, my sweet girl in the tub, and jump inside with you. And on top of you. I jump and I scream and I land hard feet against your bones. I break you. I pummel your flesh. I stomp your severed head and I destroy you and I lick you. I chew on your organs – mmm, yummy – and gnaw on your bones. I feed on you and I am new. I am full and I am fresh. I am back where I’m protected, closer to a womb existence, safe and unscathed from the screaming of you and everyone you know and don’t know.

I reap the divine mess, and I scream. I scream and scream so loud that angels above are surely disturbed.