Night-Mare

Music played muffled and faint from a far off place. Perhaps down a hall in another room or perhaps it was just a dream. “I’ll see you in my dreams. And then I’ll hold you in my dreams. Someone took you right out of my arms. Still I feel the thrill of your charms.” He screamed. A stuffed-animal bunny lay across the floor. Its fluffy long ears bent and folded over stacked a top each-other. It lay there like a dead thing. The inside of its ears lined with pink sateen. Its eyes black boot buttons. Alive enough to be company and a friend still to a child with imagination. Though helpless to move. It was a stuffed-Animal after all. It was alive to him. Its name was Happy. Happy the rabbit. And his ass burned like fire and hot coals in his anus.
David woke. The alarm was blaring on and off and on again. Like being woken up to musical car horns in your face stuck inside of a traffic jam. Perhaps that’s what the Highway to Hell song is about. The nine to five rush hour, slowly creeping to your death. Perhaps it’s hell the whole way though. The morning was the most beautiful part of the day. When he laid in bed. Still in a bit of a dream. Before he sat up and committed to another day. To a day of hygiene and work. The expected civilities, the meaningless nonsensical conversations, the people and the insanity of it all. The mundane responsibilities carried out and another day of a hopeless future a few beers and back to bed. It was meaningless but it was survival. That was enough. In his head it always played, “I’ll see you in my dreams.” But after a while, the lyrics had changed, so that he heard, “I’ll see you in my screams”. David was a garbage man. Or. A sanitation engineer. It wasn’t a job. It was a calling. His father and his father’s father had all been garbage men or waste management professionals. They didn’t care what you called it. It was a good job. Nothing to be ashamed about. It payed good and it let him really take out the trash. Inside was an emotional life of garbage, rotten nasty emotional trash experiences that stunk to high heaven, always ready to be taken out. Especially the shame. He took the trash and turned it into art. A large skin Horse with carriage. His stomach always hurt. He tried Tum’s and anything he could get his hand on. But nothing could ever get rid of that sickness in his stomach of being raped by his father. His lips were always chapped in tums powder. His penis went into itself and so did he. And he’d live inside of himself partially for the rest of his life. Where it was safe. And from in there, he created worlds. Beautiful worlds.
On the wall behind the bunny, was wallpaper. It was a vintage circus theme. Elephants and aerialist, fat men and bearded ladies. Crab-handed men and wolf ladies. Later it would be known as Ectrodactyly and Wolf-Hirschhorn syndrome or hypertrichosis. Under the crab handed man was the title, Lobster Boy with the name Grady Franklin Stiles Jr.. Under the Wolf lady the title Nondescript. She was called a Bear, an Ape, a wolf, it was unknown really what exactly was happening there, other than it was real hairy. Below Nondescript, the name Julia Pastrana. Much larger than the other characters was what was often much larger than life too, a clown on that wallpaper. The size of a real man. Its eyes were similar to Happys, they were buttons too. And so it was that that was the clowns name as well. Buttons the Clown. Except Buttons eyes had long ago lost their polish. So that there came a look of wisdom and beauty from those eyes. One might see those eyes and say they have quite the knowing expression about them. David Looked into that clowns eyes praying for a miracle. Sometimes, when you pray for a miracle. One appears. It’s hard sometimes to know what that will look like. But this one took the form of a clown. A clown named Buttons.
Buttons big red clown shoe stepped right out of that wall just as you or me take up space in a room. Then his clown nose came first through the wall as well. David couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Right after Buttons stepped out, along stepped out Grady the Lobster boy, who was really a man, and the Nondescript, Hairy Julia right behind. Mr. Stiles with his crab pinchers grabbed the man as did the wolf-lady. He yelled and hollered. Buttons bent down and told David that he could go now. Wash up. Go to bed. Everything was going to be okay now and Buttons would be up there soon and tuck him in. David did as asked. Buttons closed the door. And oh the screams. In the background a song played, Jeepers Creepers. “Golly Gee, when you turn those heaters on”.
David was a garbage man. The thing most didn’t seem to know, was he had his own garbage truck. It wasn’t exactly like a regular truck, a bit different to be exact. The back had giant metal teeth on it. Just like a large sharks mouth was going to eat up a person or something. The exhaust pipes shot straight up on both sides of the cab pumping black exhaust into the ozone as it drove hard. On Monday to Friday, David would do his route. But sometimes, on the weekends, and especially Sundays. He’d do some extra runs just for himself. Using the neighborhood pedophile database, he’d stalk his victims for a while. He’d park the truck. Put on a mask. This was a rabbit’s mask with a clowns face in makeup drawn on top. It fit tight, having two sad ears that fell to the back. Oh how the rabbit’s face smiled with bright red lipstick. And behind the large mesh eyes you could just make out two dead eyes of Davids as he took out the trash. He’d calmly approach. With a tool belt on his waist. Reach for his hammer just as plainly as someone might grab a pencil across a desk. A few strong whacks. Whack! Whack! WHACK! A bit of skull always made a bit of a pop as the brain pressure released like cracking an aluminum beer can open. The sound was just as refreshing too, for Davids ears. Something you get conditioned to I suppose. Sometimes, one to the skull was all it took. But more often than not, two or three. On a few occasions, some real dumb guys or whatever. He had to whack them eight, nine, ten times. The stupid Son of a Bitches just didn’t know how to die. Sometimes it’d be the last words they’d hear, “Die you stupid son of a bitch.” He was a towering Burly man overpowering his victims easily. Then dragging them by a foot or throwing them over his shoulder and into the back of the truck. Pulling a lever so the truck ate them right up like a fat boy eats cake. Not crushing them. Just inhaling them really. He’d let them die in there. Which was too good probably but efficient none the less. He’d park the truck back on his property behind the house next to the barn. It was a large farm land that had been let go back to the wild. The truck parked right alongside a Harley and Stagecoach, the skin horse and Night-mare.
“What are we going to do with him Buttons?”, Grady inquired. Buttons was the head honcho of the operation. “Yeah, what we going to do with him, Aroogh,” Julia chimed in. “We’re going to fuck him up!” Buttons said with glee. “We’re going to fuck him up good. Better then anyone’s ever been fucked up before I reckon. We may need to call in Guinness Records or something and have this recorded. Buttons said with a smile.” You could see the smile in buttons eyes. Put a record on, Buttons said to the Crab Man. I like to listen to music while I make my art. They tied David’s father to a barber chair in a corner. The music began to play. “Jeepers, Creepers”. Oh how he yelled. Oh how he screamed. Before he died a jack-O-Lantern was carved into his face. “Looks like you’re having fun Sir! Why that’s the biggest smile I think I’ve ever seen. I do believe that’s a smile that would win a Ramblin’ Rod super smile prize. Buttons said mockingly, a barber’s blade in one hand. The other holding the head like a barber might, to get all the angles just right. Attention is in the details. It always has been and always will be. The crab man Grady Stiles Jr. had an alcohol and anger problem. Being that he had no feet but pinchers for legs, he was bound to a wheel chair. He had killed a man. The jail had decided they couldn’t accommodate his needs. House arrest it was. He continued to drink and his pinchers became real strong after all those years in the wheelchair. He had been known to grab his wife by them and abuse her and smack her up pretty good. Well he took a knife to that man’s balls and dick and made a deep slice. What didn’t cut off was left hanging by a few strings of muscle or tendons or whatever attaches a dick to a body. He pulled off the rest with ease. Kind of just like pulling out the stringy insides of a pumpkin. The wolf lady cut open the man’s chest next. Filled his heart all around with maggots saying, “This is quite the improvement, I do say”. Next she sewed the dick on the top of his head just like a handle. Buttons meanwhile had his own sewing to do. Two brand new bright large and shiny buttons over his eyes. “I don’t care how the weather vane points when the weather vane points to gloomy. It’s got to be sunny to me, when your eyes look into mine.” Buttons sewed the eyes on, ever-so just one way and then another. Making sure they looked bright and happy. “Jeepers, Creepers, where’d you get those peepers, Jeepers, Creepers, where’d you get those eyes.” They put him into a large rabbit suit and filled it with sawdust in between the room that was left. His face had make-up like that of a clown. Buttons said, “Now you’re part of the circus my friend!” They took him and dragged him out back to the barn where he’d sit for years and years in a circus all his own. It was the greatest show on earth. But it had no stands or popcorn.
Whack, Whack, WHACK! The blood would spurt, and squirt. David did actually enjoy this part. He was often very clean, but something about squirting blood everywhere was just so very fun and exciting. Bathing in it. Well, at least a shower. David would never consider himself a serial killer. More of just a garbage man. That or an abstract artist. Just someone taking out the trash and then up-cycling into art. Reduce, Reuse, Recycle. Out back over the years he had been building a stage coach. With his kills he had been outfitting it all too. There was an old Harley Davidson with a metal horse skull for an emblem mounted front. The Harley was covered in a custom made human skin piece so that it looked much like a horse. It was connected to the stage coach by a long rusty tow hitch. No Stage coach is complete without matching skin. The stage coach was called Nightmare and the Harley, “The Skin Horse”. David was fond of naming things he loved. In the back, on a green velvet bench seat with overhead trim and sides to match, sat one unnamed circus clown, we’ll call him Mr. Rabbit. “Ripping off a dick ain’t so hard when you got really strong pinchers and you’re an angry drunk”, said Mr. Grady to Julia. “Well just be careful with that, when you’re alone with yourself Mr. Grady, I’d suggest.” Julia replied with a smirk. Mr. Rabbit just sat there smiling dumbly. His skin had long ago rotted and shriveled, turning green and grey as it hardened and leathered in the hot barn sun. David had learned how to Tan hides as he grew into his teens. It was a complicated process actually. A doctor would call him a Schizophrenic. David knew that doctor was just projecting his own inferiority-complex onto him because of the jealousy as to not having such wonderful friends such as David possessed. Haters.
First pre-tanning which involved soaking. This was done to help extrude salts from the hides which also required revolving drums. Then Liming. Hair and epidermis being removed and a solution of lime (calcium hydroxide) and sodium sulfide is applied to soften and enhance the hide for softness and flexibility. Then splitting. The hide is split into layers to be used for different purposes. Then tanning. Mineral tanning is usually done with alkaline chrome-3 salts. It penetrates fairly quickly, twenty-four to forty-eight hours. This results in a pale-duck egg blue. Other tanning methods can be tried, vegetable with polymers and syntans, pure vegetable tanning, synthetic, and oil tanning. After tanning, excess water is removed from the hide. David had barrels and barrels full of hides all at different stages of the process. He’d hold them up and admire them as they stretched and hung in his hands. Dripping of liquid. Shining with the sun that came in through the barn doors. It was easy to see David enjoyed this part of the process. Every artist has their own process and enjoys different parts perhaps. This was Davids favorite part. Tanning and cleaning the hides. Holding them up, and looking at them. They were so beautiful. They had so much potential. They were the stuff dreams were made of. The hides are then graded according to quantity and locations of natural features and flaws. Aniline and Nubuck leathers demand the best quality hides. Then comes dressing the hides. Shaving, dyeing, re-tanning, setting, drying, and trimming. David had the barn full of hides drying all at one time quite often. Like an Indian village of skin teepees with them hung over the racks. That’s when the hides are stretch dried on large frames looking a little bit like skin-Army tents from the civil war too. Finally, the last step is finishing. David would use only the best hides on Nightmare and The Skin Horse. The others just went in a stack in the corner of the barn, good for nothing, just like their owners who wore them one time a bit more enthusiastically perhaps.
He looked up in admiration to the hides, and always the same few songs would play. “I’ll see you in my dreams.”
The police had finally caught up to this. Outside in the front the place was covered. “David, this is the Police! We have the place surrounded. Come out with your hands up or we will be forced to enter!” David looked from the window. “Oh shit!” Over the police walkie-talkies it appeared that one officer had seen some movement. What appeared to be large rabbit face cross by the window. Or perhaps it was a clown. The channel on the walkie-talkies became jammed. Everyone wanting to know was it a rabbit or Clown. Hand guns and Shotguns and Rifles pointing at all points of entrance and exit on the house. The front door, the windows, the sides of the house. The police were about twenty strong, all taking stances behind their cruisers. All with those cop face’s, eyes hiding behind glasses, unflinching faces and over grown mustaches. The kind you see on the side of the highway out the window. All too happy to give you some pointless speeding ticket and the pavement some use as a soapbox to display what an asshole and tool some of them are. Probably they all just realize this and are pissed they have to add revenue to their department and continue their largely meaningless authoritarian existence or else get reprimanded for lack of earnings from tickets. The assholes in the station got rewarded for giving all the tickets and raising revenues and would become the bosses. All the officers were wanting a piece of the action. Any reasons to finally shoot their fucking guns off. Those heavy pea-shooters they always had to carry around and never got to use. It was quite frankly Bullshit. David was an ex-infantry man. He grabbed an AR-15 and took a few down right away. This was going to be exciting. Cops versus a Combat Veteran. Maybe some of the cops were soldiers that fought with him one day long ago. Out the window he yelled, “SHOOT TO KILL!” The police all looked at each other wondering what the fuck they had just got themselves into after all. “KILL I WILL!” another yell from somewhere inside the house and a laugh. An officer attempted to go around the side and BAM! Rocked to pieces by a Claymore. “What the FUCK IS GOING ON! The top Lieutenant screamed! This was insanity for anyone on the police force. David meanwhile inside yelled, “I SEE THE LIGHT, I SEE THE LIGHT, I SEE THE LIGHT!” This was all typical stuff for an infantryman. David moved around calmly towards the back of the house. Knowing he had both good Cover and Concealment. “I always wanted to use a god damn Claymore, fucking finally”, David said to himself. He had another in his reticle’s, squeeze, don’t pull. His trigger finger was a well-oiled machine with two functions. Fingering clits and pulling triggers. Both actions were well oiled and deadly. He didn’t have to think about it. It was all muscle memory that left piles of hot brass and ejaculate. Sometimes in his sleep that trigger finger would twitch and he wasn’t sure if he was dreaming about fingering women or killing haji. Maybe it was both at the same time. This was an infantry man. All those years staring at his friends through the sights in the war. Finger on the trigger, wondering what it might be like to just squeeze ever so gently on the ones he didn’t like so much. He’d never get away with it was the problem. Breath out, pause, in between the breaths, and a slight squeeze was all it took. Another one’s face blew up like a watermelon. Now we were having fun. “I AM THE INFANTRY! I AM MY COUNTRIES STRENGTH IN WAR, HER DETERRENT IN PEACE! I AM THE HEART OF THE FIGHT! WHEREEVER, WHENEVER! I CARRY AMERICAS FAITH AND HONOR AGAINST HER ENEMIES! I AM THE QUEEN OF BATTLE!” David yelled just as he had learned having to memorize and yell the Infantry Mans Creed in basic training in Ft. Benning Georgia, Sand Hill. The Police were losing numbers now. Only about fourteen of them left. They were also beginning to wonder what the fuck the Army did. Did it just master the art of creating Psychopaths and call it infantry training. One or two of the police officers was thinking of following him, whatever that meant. It sounded like a pretty convincing rally cry to whatever David was fighting for.
David put on his infantry blue cord. It was something most would never know or share. He grabbed a top. On it was the black-subdued Combat Infantry Badge that had been put on in ceremony over in Iraq. “It’s going down like fucking China Town Mother Fuckers!” Out the windows landed a few silver canisters. Suddenly smoke started rushing out of them. The view from the house to the cars started to become obscured. Under Davids arm, leaning off his hip was a M-249 Squad Automatic Weapon. SAW for short. This one’s a little more fun. Don’t squeeze. Pull and hold on. The bullets ripped through the siding hitting every car and policeman in sight. Blood was flying through the smoke like fireworks. It was the god damn Fourth of July mother fuckers. The blood of tyrants and patriots must be shed from time to time for the tree of liberty. It is its natural manure. “God Damn it feel’s FUCKIN’ great to be an infantry man!” David said to himself as the smoke cleared and nothing was left moving. I’ve seen a lot worse, he thought to himself. This was just some kid’s play bitches. And didn’t you see the private sign or the infantry man lives here warning sign. Stupid son’s of bitch’s. Now you’re making my grass grow. And I like that grass nice and green and soft. …”You pieces of shit”, in a John Wayne voice.
David moved away from the house. “Black On Ammo” he yelled to apparently no one. Decked out in his OD green uniform, Rabbit mask atop and the ears flopping everywhere. He looked over some of the bodies. “Mmm, What’s up Dock?” he said to himself in amusement. “Well, I guess it’s time to be moving on now, you rolling stone you.” Walking out to the back he started yelling to Mr. Rabbit. “Well Mr. Rabbit, looks like the Midnight Express is due out. Thing’s just got fucking real. In the back of the Carriage, Mr. Rabbit asked from a window. “What is Real David? Does it mean having things that buzz inside of you and a stick-out handle?” “Real isn’t how you are made”, replied David. “It’s a thing that happens to you. When a child loves you for a long , long time, not just to play with, but REALLY loves you, then you become Real.” “Does it Hurt?” asked Mr. Rabbit. “Sometimes” chimed in the skin horse, for he was always truthful. “When you are real, you don’t mind being hurt.” “Does it happen all at once? Like being wound up? or bit by bit?” Mr. Rabbit asked again. “It doesn’t happen all at once,” said the skin horse. “You become. It takes a long time. That’s why it doesn’t happen often to people who break easily, or have sharp edges, or who have to be carefully kept. Generally, by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in the joints and very shabby. But these things don’t matter at all, because once you are Real you can’t be ugly, except to people who don’t understand.” The skin horse finished. “I suppose you are real?” said the Rabbit. And then he wish he had not said it, for he thought the skin horse might be sensitive. But the Skin horse only smiled. “David made me Real.” He said. “That was a great many years ago, but once you are Real you can’t become unreal again. It lasts for always.”
David hopped on the skin horse. Kicked the starter on the Harley as it fired up. Smoke filling the carriage. Mr. Rabbit coughing as the exhaust filled inside. “It’s going to be a lot smokier than that where you’re going Mr. Rabbit. You might want to save some of those coughs. What they’re going to do to you ain’t going to be pretty I suppose. But you had to know that was coming for touching the kiddos. Even-Steven. Mr. Rabbits head dumbly bounced around through one of the small side windows. “Am I Real David?” Mr. Rabbit asked. “Don’t worry Mr. Rabbit, you’re about to be. You’re about to be Real. The demons are going to make that ass burn. Probably put a hot poker in it. And that’s just for starters. But just go somewhere Mr. Rabbit. Just go somewhere to escape reality, when it hurts too much. And then when you’re in that space. Think of me always being there. Saying go fuck yourself, and burn in hell forever you piece of shit.” The skin horse took off down a dirt road as it kicked up. Nightmare on back with Mr. Rabbit inside. They were on the highway to hell, and Mr. Rabbit was about to have a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day. Riding off David yelled again, “I AM THE QUEEN OF BATTLE! I AM WHAT MY COUNTRY EXPECTS ME TO BE! THE BEST TRAINED SOLDIER IN THE WORLD! IN THE RACE FOR VICTORY, I AM SWIFT, DETERMINED, AND COURAGEOUS, ARMED WITH A FIERCE WILL TO WIN! NEVER WILL I FAIL MY COUNTRIES TRUST! ALWAYS I FIGHT ON…THROUGH THE FOE, TO THE OBJECTIVE, TO TRIUMPH OVERALL! IF NECESSARY, I WILL FIGHT TO MY DEATH! BY MY STEADFAST COURAGE, I HAVE WON MORE THAN TWO-HUNDRED YEARS OF FREEDOM! I YIELD NOT TO WEAKNESS, TO HUNGER, TO COWARDICE, TO FATIGUE, TO SUPERIOR ODDS, FOR I AM MENTALLY TOUGH, PHYSICALLY STRONG, AND MORALLY STRAIGHT! I FORSAKE NOT MY COUNTRY, MY MISSION, MY COMRADES, MY SACRED DUTY. I AM RELENTLESS. I AM ALWAYS THERE, NOW AND FOREVER! I AM THE INFANTRY! FOLLOW ME! Inside the trailer too were the wolf lady and the crab man getting hot and heavy over every bump. It was about god damn time. Down the road some friends linked up on bikes. Meyers and Laigaie. Meyers was decked out like iron man with a tie dye shirt on with a large Peace sign on the front. Aaron had a red Trump hat, “Make America Great again!” A big old smile through his beard and a proud boy shirt. David was a liberal they called Animal Mother. From the clouds cried a voice that must of been no other then Gods. With lightning and thunder in the voice cracked down and rolled with pride, “Those are Regulars by God”. With shit-grin smiles they all rode off happily into hell. They were infantry, and everything would be ok. The infantry are made in hell. The infantry dine in Hell. The infantry rejoice in Hell. It is only in the chaos that they can be at peace. And war is the life spirit that satiates the infantry mans lust for death. Only in death. Does an infantry man ever find his peace. And so it is that every infantry man eventually becomes in the end, a man of peace. And the green grass grows.
Thanks for reading my story.