Trapped

(In the vein of John Gardener's Grendel, and Peter Watts's The Things, I decided also to write a story from the perspective of a classic antagonist. Enjoy.)

The sinister minds that surround me are cackling now, menacing each other with insults. Restless, they are swirling and swarming, snapping at each other, laughing. They are shouting and screaming, boasting about their misdeeds.

I'd do it again if I had the chance, one says.

Yeah, well, let’s see you get out of here first, another retorts. Then I’ll be impressed.

Sometimes these minds swap stories about the men who locked us in here. The ones who vacuumed us away, and imprisoned us in this scientific hell. Those prison guards in tan jumpsuits. The ones whose nametags read STANTZ, and VENKMAN. SPENGLER, and ZEDDEMORE.

I remember my life. I remember the meals my parents made me eat. How big they were. On an average night, we could each go through a whole steak, followed by two chicken wings and a lobster, then eat two slices of cheesecake and a piece of pie before it was time for bed. And of course, if I didn’t finish it all, My Mother, The Tyrant, would beat me and make me stand in the corner. This was every night until I moved out at 19--and at 350 pounds.

Twenty-five years later, as I climbed the stairs to my hotel room on the twelfth floor, my arm went numb and I crashed to the ground.

After that I was sent back, and it quickly became obvious that I had been sent back to suffer. My body had been transformed into a grotesque mass of ectoplasm. I’d been fairly handsome in life, despite my weight, but now I was a greasy, legless, bloated monster. I had chins and folds all over my body, and I sweated a viscous, green substance that dripped off me like slime. I smelled atrocious, and when I looked down at myself I could practically see the stench boiling off of me, rising like heat from desert sands. My teeth were huge and yellow, and I couldn’t speak--not that I had anything to say, or anyone to say it to.

What’s worse, I was almost completely intangible. I could move some things if I concentrated, but food passed right through me like I wasn’t there. If I tried eating an apple, it would fall through my mouth and onto the floor. If I drank a bottle of wine, it would pour onto the carpet as if nothing were in its way. And of course, despite feeling more desperate to eat than I ever felt in life, I couldn’t taste a single thing.

I had to eat, but I couldn’t. It made perfect sense, I suppose. Being shackled again to this human realm, twisted to resemble my sins, and forced to live out the actions that led to my death, all the while receiving no pleasure from it. In a way it was poetic. And anyway, it’s not like I didn’t know why I was there.

The first attempt by the men to contain me had been startling. It was while I was at a food cart that had been abandoned by room service when they saw me coming. I was grabbing and pawing at the food, attempting to taste something, throwing aside plates, desperately trying to satisfy a need that couldn’t be satisfied. Then the one whose nametag read STANTZ crept up beside me. I was too focused on the food to acknowledge him, but I never suspected that he could hurt me, now that I was almost as unsubstantial as air. Then I heard a snap, followed by a slow, building whine, and a terrible burst of light lashed out at me. Terrified, I turned tail and fled.

It was the first pain I felt since the one in my chest, those years before.

The actual capture was even worse.

I might understand why they did it, though. I had assaulted one of them. After the one named STANTZ attacked me, I escaped through a wall and wound up looking at another man in the same clothes, carrying the same equipment. I froze. As I watched, he raised a walkie-talkie to his lips, and began to speak. That was when I knew for sure that they were actively seeking me out.

I was never a violent person, but now I knew that these men, with their guns that fired burning orange light, had the power to hurt me. So I defended myself. I roared and flew at VENKMAN, and left him incapacitated, covered in slime. I knew it wouldn’t kill him, but maybe it would scare them away, make them give up.

But less than an hour later, I was lashed across the back by whips made of pure energy, and a metal solitary confinement cell opened beneath me. I was stretched, morphed, shrunk as I was dragged down, into blackness.

And now here I am, sharing that blackness with these criminals and monsters.

They arrive angry, but I only remember being sad.

In here, in the unit, there is nothing to see. Only blackness. The only sensory input is the thoughts of the other prisoners. They are the rapists, murderers, they are thieves and arsonists and felons, gunned down by police to wind up in prison--again. Mostly I keep quiet and avoid their attention. Let them bicker and shout at each other, not at me. It’s just better that way.

Ghosts do exist. And yes, they are frightening. Even to each other.

Lately there have been whispers of a soul that is stronger than all of us. And among these minds, there have been whispers of a plan. My cellmates are suggesting that this soul may be powerful enough to defeat even our captors, and that once the human world is overthrown, beings like us will rule, and bring about a new age in the history of the earth. This has put difficult questions in my head.

If our evil captors are defeated by a soul more powerful than my cellmates, is that a good thing?

If our evil captors put us in here, are they actually evil?

The thought panics me, because I may already know the answer.

Because heart disease is hereditary.

It was after college graduation that I found her on the floor. My Mother, The Tyrant. 500 pounds if she was an ounce. As I walked in, she looked up at me, eyes full of pain, and said, help me, Morris. You have to call an ambulance. I'm having a heart attack!

I did call an ambulance, in the end. But first I pulled up a chair, cracked open a soda, watched until she stopped breathing. The pain in her eyes turned to confusion, then to panic, then to anger, and then she died, cursing me, denouncing me as a mistake. I can’t really argue with her.

It’s not like she didn’t deserve it, though. And I don’t consider myself a bad person. But I guess whatever powers that be thought differently.

So as I’m stuck here, in this metal prison, with all of these monsters, horrible spirits birthed from the husks of horrible men, I can’t help but wonder, out of school, work, family, my entire life, did I fit in anywhere else as well as I do here?

And why is everything vibrating?

Our confines are shaking. There is a terrible noise--a long, explosive shriek. Among us, there is confusion, swearing, and panic. Then light enters the unit above us, and we are blasted out of the machine, into the sky. Among us, there is a swelling of elation, and a last-second consensus: The stronger one is coming.

And all I want is to go back inside.

End

Cracked.com, The Guy

It was eleven AM, and my day was turning out to be just awful. First my boss yelled at me for coming in late when I was ten minute early, then I found out Wendy in HR is telling people that I have syphilis. And what's worse, the new guy at the desk one over looks looks exactly like the composite sketches of  that serial rapist that are all over the news. So you can bet that when my break came, I was ready to do anything to take my mind off of everything.

That's when I felt something splash against the back of my neck.

I whirled around in my seat, and standing behind me was a man in an unbuttoned Hawaiian shirt, with a wife beater underneath that had BONER written across it in sharpie. He was wearing an upside-down green visor that was turned sideways, and pumping a super soaker.

“Dude, got you,” he said. “That's freaking awesome. And you didn't even see it coming!”

Irritated, I rubbed the back of my neck. “Is this urine?”

He laughed. “Hey man,” he said. “You look really bored . How about a funny list or two? Nobody's watching.”

I shrugged. “Meh.”

“Oh come on,” he said. “It won't take too long. Just real quick, while nobody's looking?”

I thought about it for a second, weighing the pros and cons. It had been a while, so I gave it a shot. “Alright, yeah,” I said. “Whatever. But make it fast.”

Cracked.com took a deep breath, and stood up straight. “Okay,” he said. “Check this out. The other day I heard about these six guys who cheated death right in its douchebag face, and kicked its freaking ass. Want to hear about that? It's pretty funny.”

I thought about it, then shook my head. “Eh, no. I don't think so. What else you got?”

He scratched his chin for a moment, then snapped his fingers. “Alright,” he said. “I got it. Five birds with insane mating calls that will blow your freaking mind. Interested?”

I sighed. "Yeah, I guess I'll do that one. Wait, are you just a list site now?”

Cracked.com cleared his throat, stood up straight, and held up a picture of a bird.

“This one is the New Zealand Wysteria Jay. Its mating call sounds like the guitar solo from 'Sunshine of Your Love,' by Eric Clapton.”

“So?”

“So? Think about it. Isn't that freaking crazy?”

I shrugged apathetically. “I don't know, kinda, I suppose. What else you got?”

He dropped the picture on the ground and held up another one. “Okay, this is a brown Connecticut Swallow. The sonic vibrations from its mating call can help treat long-term depression in termites, and some breeds of possum.”

“Okay, and?”

"Think about it. Isn't that freaking crazy?”

That's when I noticed the little black text beneath the picture. I looked at the stack of other pictures underneath his arm. Each one had the same captions. “Wait, what's that?” I pointed.

“Oh, that's one of the captions I put on my pictures. Little black text, beneath each picture.”

“You use the same style of captions over and over for every picture?” I asked.

“Eventually you might think it's funny again.”

I groaned and pinched between my eyes. This was not going well. I was considering just doodling penises in MSPAINT, and making that my whole break. But I was bored enough to continue. “Okay," I said. "So what does the next bird do?”

“Alright, listen to this: it hypnotizes you into buying it bird seed.”

I crossed my arms. “Alright.”

His grin widened. “Think about it, isn't that freaking crazy?”

I held up my hand. “Alright, hold it right there. Before the next one, tell me. Is this all of your lists? Just a bunch of facts, then explanations of what my reaction should be with the word 'freaking' a lot?"

“Yep.”

“Well, are these written by a computer or something?”

He shook his head. “No, people actually write them. But listen, I've got a list of six video game fan theories that will change your opinion of Nazi Germany. It's insane.”

I threw my hands up in the air. “Jesus Christ!” I shouted. “This is all the same shit over and over again! Alright, I'm done with this. Never again. Go away please.”

“Want to see a video? It's six minutes long.”

I fumed. “Get the hell out of here, and don't come back! I'll just stick to my other websites from now on. Go on, get lost!”

But as Cracked.com walked away, I heard an audible chuckle. “What?” he said. “All three of them? You'll be back.”

End