zombies of widgeroo – chapter four

chapter four – in which the power of sexuality hides the reality of the soul and tests the boundaries of lust and greed, while the need to ward is rewarded with the rituals of binding.

skinny looked to be barely eighteen.

she had long dark hair and pale eyes. her face was sharply angled. her mouth was a little too large. she was almost as skinny as could be, and her hipster jeans threatened to fall off her legs.

her white shirt was unbuttoned most of the way. her bra, black lace against white skin.

i tried to ignore the seductive pout she put on whenever she thought i was staring at her.

we stopped at a roadhouse outside of manjingbilly.

the roadhouse lady took an instant dislike to skinny, and must have thought i was indecently exposing the girl to life a little more seriously than i had.

we sat in the dining area and shared a basket of crunchy chips. skinny dipped hers in too much tomato sauce.

“i had a message for you,” i told her.

“really? that sounds fun.”

“i don’t know if i should give it to you, though.”

“why not? it’s my message.”

“maybe.” i reached out with my misleading hand and pressed the fingertips of my least threatening fingers under her eyes. “but if i’d known it was you, i wouldn’t have ripped out your eyes.”

skinny leered at me, not too unhappy to note that i knew her real name. “smartyboy!” she dipped another chip and bit into it like it was the body of a small child. “anyway. you’re mine now. i can do what i want.”

“what then, do you want?”

“i want to book into the manjingbilly motel. room number thirty.”

“thirty? an unlucky number.”

“not for you.”

“no,” i agreed. “but it’s still unlucky for some.”

“not for me, either, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

“do they have cable?”

“baby, for some fleas and a key, they’ll give you anything you want.”

“it’s not them i’m worried about.”

“nervous?” she patted my cheek, and put one hand down her jeans. “you should be. it’s been a long time since i was free to do what i wanted. what i really wanted, i mean.”

the roadhouse lady clicked her tongue and moved in. “i’ll have none of that in here!”

skinny took her hand from her jeans, and brought the fingers to her nose. then she giggled at the roadhouse lady. she slid to her feet and the lady took a step back. skinny moved close, so close they were nose to nose. “none of what?”

the roadhouse lady swallowed hard. “this is a place of eating,” she said. “please. i want no trouble.”

skinny pressed herself against the lady, putting her hand back down her pants. “no trouble?” she purred as she brought the hand out again, visably wet. she touched the lady’s lips with her fingertips. i could smell the sex in the air, and the lady slumped slightly on her feet at the smell.

skinny pushed her fingers into the lady’s mouth. “come on, slut,” she hissed. “suck it clean! you know you want to.”

and the lady did.

she took the fingers into her mouth with a weak little groan.

skinny smiled down at me as i took another chip. “come on, baby,” she cooed. “don’t tell me this doesn’t get you hard?”

i shrugged.

“want her to join us in room thirty?”

i studied the lady, who looked at me with desperate eyes. she wanted to come. she wanted to be there. she wanted to keep sucking those fingers until her teeth fell out.

“no,” i said, and the roadhouse lady began to weep. “she’s not my type.”

skinny laughed, and took her fingers from the woman’s mouth. she patted her cheek and smacked her ass. “get out of here.”

sobbing, the lady fled.

“well now,” skinny purred, sitting down and putting her head in her hands. “i think you just complimented me.”

“how so?”

“you said the hag wasn’t your type. but you didn’t say i wasn’t . . .”

“maybe i meant to.”

“but you didn’t. well, well. the vampire seeks to have what’s above his station.”

“that’s a mean assumption.”

“i don’t think so, baby. you go get the room, will you?”

“i’m eating.”

“you’ve finished, baby. go get the room, now. and if you’re not undressed when i get there, i promise you’ll not live to regret it.”

i sighed and left the table.

as i put my hand on the door, she turned to look at me. “oh, and don’t get any ideas about trying those words of power.” she opened her shirt and pulled down her bra to show her left breast, one which she had tattooed an american flag. “i’m warded, asshole.”

i grinned at her smugness. “words of power? i would never have even thought about it.”

she giggled, in spite of herself. “get the fuck outta here.”

i went.

words of power sizzled my brain and slowly died into the recesses of my skull. credit and cash were forgotten, flame letters burned to ash at her words.

so, she was warded.

not good.

not good at all.

i remember a story told to me by a magician in turkey. he said he’d seen the leftovers of a mage who thought he could make a deal with a demonette. he said the mage had not properly protected himself. he said the mage thought his zombies could handle any physical threat and he had many words of power to halt her astral threats.

unfortunately, the turkish magician had chuckled, the demonette had come prepared. she was warded against his spells and promptly took her prize: his soul.

there wasn’t much, the magician said, but what there was they scooped up and put in a jam jar and sent to his apprentices. more as a warning than a courtesy.

“demonettes,” the magician poured more steam onto the hot rocks. “they don’t do deals. never.”

i remember asking if there was a way past wards.

the magician had smiled, a soft sly smile which had a life of its own on his craggy face. the sweat dripped off his wiry beard and he touched a finger to his temple in reply.

i sipped some lemon ice tea, and sat back, letting the steam do its work on my skin.

i understood the need for secrets.

i met him two or three times more, and then the war came.

the war had been written in prophecy. the second coming of the capitalist overlord, and his name would be jubei.

the war. i shook my head to clear the visions. that wasn’t something to think about. not now. not with skinny waiting for me to get the room in order.

an american flag was powerful warding. it was also, i decided, a compliment.

room thirty had a small bed, a wardrobe, a tiny bathroom, a large rug and a television set on top of a milk crate. i went to the bathroom first and washed my face with cold water. the sting was refreshing, and it reminded me more of the turkish bath house which the magician had lived in.

the taste of lemon ice tea.

i began to take off my shirt.

hot stones and humid steam like dragon’s breath.

a thought occured to me and i moved into the bedroom and pulled my biro from my jeans. i had to squeeze under the bed to scrawl the signs in the centre, and the springs dug into my back, drawing blood. the bed had been nailed to the floor.

i drew a symbol of a horned goat, and surrounded it in coins. then i drew a credit card beneath its chin. the card was on fire, and the goat was dancing in the flames. on the flames. whatever. i didn’t need to visualise. i reached hard and wiped some blood from my back and smeared the goat’s mouth, running the streak in a dollar sign down its belly.

finally, i dragged the rug from its place at the foot of the bed and used it to cover the signs. then i spoke a word of hiding and the rug disappeared into the carpet, leaving only the slightest of stains. i put my hand over the stain and could feel the signs doing their work.

“warded, huh?” i muttered as i began taking my pants off. i could hear skinny in the hallway. she was whistling some new macdonalds jingle. she fumbled with the door and finally managed to kick it open with a grin.

she sniffed the air and spat on the floor. her spit melted into the carpet, giving off a wisp of air which floated out the door behind her. she watched it go. “little fucker’s gonna raise hell tonight,” she snorted. then, turning to me, “well, i can’t smell no spells. you didn’t do anything sneaky while i was away, did you?”

i shrugged. “i promised, didn’t i?”

“yes, but your type aren’t known for their promises. you fuck with anything whenever you can.”

“is that any different to your kind?”

she laughed. “i like you. you’re a lot like my kind, little one.”

i gave her a little bow and used my final ace. “i try. but if you’re still worried, you can do a sweep, i’m sure.”

she tried to see into my soul, but i kept it hidden from her. “that’s a naughty trick you have there.”

“it’s more reflex than anything.”

“i will do a sweeping spell.”

i nodded and moved out of her way. “where should i stand?”

“get on the bed. it will save time.”

i took off my jeans and lay back on the bed.

the demonette looked confused. “i thought your kind always drew symbols onto their body, baby. i’m told you need it for your signs to work.”

“it seems i no longer need signs.”

she looked satisfied. “as it should be.”

her spell was weak and barely scanned the room. she had drawn only a twenty-dollar note. she had used a dollar sign when a microsoft windows sign would have worked better. i couldn’t help but be critical. i always make sure to keep my eye open for fresh symbols.

perhaps she meant merely to use low level spells so as not to teach me anything. i couldn‘t help but smile. she was being cautious.

when the spell had died, she looked around. she paid close attention to the spot under the bed, and prodded it carefully with her sharp fingers. “there’s a stain here,” she said.

i leaned off the side and pretended to check it out.

i sniffed. “blood,” i said. “old blood.”

“i’m no fool. i smell it, too. what i’m wondering is how old it really is. you probably know a trick of making fresh smell old.”

i grinned. “of course.”

skinny stared at me, still trying to see my soul. i kept hiding it, and kept the grin on my face.

“i don’t trust you,” she said at last.

“that’s good,” i said. “because i don’t exactly trust you, either. now, are we going to sit here glaring at each other all night, or are we going to come to some agreement.”

“agreement?”

“you demonettes love agreements, i’m told. so i’ll give you this agreement: i will not make any signs or symbols for tonight. and you will get into bed with me.” i touched where her shirt had slipped from her pale shoulder. “i’m told demonettes can be quite . . . fiesty.”

that made her leer. “you were told right. very well. i will use your body tonight, little one. tomorrow you will regret it, i assure you. we’re not known for our tenderness.”

i lay back, shifting my legs. “show me.”

and she did.

her teeth bit my neck and shoulders, and she clung to me so tight my bones felt crushed within her legs. she sat on top of me, and impaled herself on me, her body slamming hard down onto mine, and she often used her fists to batter at my chest, my throat and face.

my blood was slick between our skin, and she revelled in its flavour, pulling more and more from my open wounds with her tongue.

i could feel my blood as though it were an extention of myself, falling lightly down her lips, across her tongue and into her stomach. she cursed me. she spat on me. she used her nails to draw signs of possession onto my forehead.

“i own you. you’re mine, you fuck,” she grunted. “say it. tell me you’re mine.”

and, as she came in a rush of screaming and a frenzy of tearing at my face, splashing my blood back onto her breasts, i reached out and swifty drew ibm onto her chest.

then, with a word of power, i touched the spot with the palm of my hand and she flew off me as if i’d just hit her with a truck. she was thrown back until she hit the motel wall. she slumped into a crumpled heap and i leaned up onto my elbows and wiped the blood from my face, unconcerned with wounds as i heal rather quickly, as do most of my kind.

blinking in disbelief, skinny scowled at me as i put my jeans back on and stumbled to the bathroom to wash my face.

the water was infected with chlorine, but i ignored the slight burning, as i had before.

drying the blood with a towel, i wandered back into the room and slumped on the bed, my back to the wall and facing the demonette who said nothing at all.

we watched each other for a long time.

after a while, she sighed. “the stain,” she said. “the motherfucking stain.”

i waved my hand in an obscure gesture and the rug under the bed became visible. skinny’s eyes widened as she saw what signs i had hidden.

“fuck,” she rasped. “you’re no vampire.”

“i admit there’s often some confusion.”

“you’re full of tricks, whatever you are. filthy tricks, too.”

“none a demonette wouldn’t use,” i smiled, before adding, “if she could.”

“bastard.”

“you could be right about that. i’m really sorry about this, but you see, the enforcers are following me, and i need certain . . . insurances. the one who follows is rather persistent.”

“i’m not doing anything for you, you cunt!” she screamed. “you fucking tricked me! you knew i’d come for you! you knew what sex does to us!”

i could already feel the change within me. it wasn’t unpleasant, but nor was it comfortable. “i knew. but i didn’t exactly lie to you. i did tell you the truth. more or less.”

“less!” she hissed, her horns erupting through the mask of human features.

“i need your insurances. i’ll give them back when i don’t need them anymore.”

“i don’t believe you.”

“what you believe isn’t important. for now, you can be mad at me, but you will give me those insurances i require.”

“make me!”

i touched a deep cut on my chest with my finger and looked down at my lacerated flesh. “skinny, you wouldn’t want me to do that.”

“one day i’ll have you. i’ll have you all to myself in the coldest pit of hell!”

“but not today.”

she spat at me. “fuck you then. have your fucking insurances!”

Tags: demons, discordian, zombies of widgeroo