I may enter this one into a thriller/suspense contest. I was trying to write a horror story, but I don't think it fits that genre as well. What do you think?
Under the Milky Way
“You’re going whether you like it or not!” Randall’s mother bellowed over the phone, but the buzzing noise in his ear drowned out her high-pitched voice almost completely.
“You don’t understand,” he said with an exasperated sigh. “Final exams start in just three days. I have to study!”
“Yes, you do need to pull those grades up, but the MRI is already scheduled for this afternoon. I can’t just change it at the last minute. So, I’ll pick you up at two sharp.”
Randall tried to concentrate on solving the differential equation in front of him, but the auditory racket that rivaled a swarm of angry bees coupled with his mother’s incessant nagging made it impossible. He sighed, crumpling up his paper and tossing it in the general direction of the wastebasket. It landed in a pile of similarly crumpled papers.
Although Randall’s grades were excellent, he could never seem to top his twin brother’s grade point average. Kenneth got the brains in the family, as everyone constantly reminded him. This time, he would show everyone. He would get a perfect 4.0 that semester, even if it killed him, and then maybe people would give him some respect for a change.
Sick of arguing with his mother and anxious to get back to his studies, he acquiesced. “Whatever. I’ll be out in front of the dorm at two.”
He threw his phone onto the bed and pulled out a fresh sheet of paper.
Just as he was on the brink of solving the problem whose solution had eluded him for the past hour, his phone rang again. A brief glimmer of hope that Myrna was calling to apologize soared through him. However, the caller ID said it was Chuck, his brother’s chemistry lab partner. Deeply disappointed, he answered.
“Dude, what did you do with your brother?”
“What are you talking about?”
“Well, you freaked out on him and your girlfriend last night, storming out of the Milky Way in front of everyone. And now, he didn’t show up for our final lab. Our whole group is like totally pissed off. Where the hell is he?”
“How should I know?”
“Well, for one, he’s your brother. And you live with him. And you almost decked him before running out the bar.”
“I think you need to get your facts straight,” Randall said, his face growing hot. “I didn’t run out of the bar. When my girlfriend seemed to get confused between me and my brother, and she was all over him right in front of me, yeah, I got a little upset. Who wouldn’t? But when Kenneth did nothing to stop her, well, it took everything I had not to kick his ass right there. Instead, I chose to leave.”
“Well, that’s none of my business. But, where the hell is he, man? I can’t get him on his phone at all. It’s not like him to miss a lab like this. We were really counting on him.”
Randall looked over to his brother’s bed. The red sweatshirt Kenneth had worn on yesterday’s morning run was still balled up on his pillow. The covers were crumpled on the floor, and the contents of his backpack were strewn out all over the sheets. He clearly hadn’t slept there last night. Imagining his brother waking up in the lavender silk sheets that donned Myrna’s bed, her shiny blonde hair cascading down his bare chest as she curled up beside him, Randall grabbed a picture from their high school graduation and threw it against the wall. Kenneth smiled in his valedictorian robe under a pile of broken glass.
“What was that?” Chuck asked as the shattering sound reverberated through the small room.
“Nothing. Look, I have to go. If I see Kenneth, I’ll tell him you called.”
“You do that. And let him know that you’re not the only one who wants to kick his ass.”
***
Randall’s mother jabbered on about some article she was reading in her Redbook magazine as they waited to be called for his MRI. He normally wouldn’t be remotely interested, but she was oblivious to the fact that he was trying to study and couldn’t hear her over the commotion in his ear even if he wanted to. The intermittent sounds had worsened in the past few months, and the constant interruptions were driving him to the brink of insanity. When Randall had told his doctor about it during a recent physical, the doctor scheduled the MRI to investigate the source of the noise.
Finally, as Randall looked to the door, ready to run out of the office screaming, the nurse called his name.
“I’ll be here when you get back!” his mother said with a wave.
“I can hardly wait,” he muttered, following the nurse into the inner chamber. She led him to a door, instructing him to strip down to his underwear and put on the gown she handed to him.
He pushed into the changing room reluctantly, wishing he was anywhere else, when a loud voice stopped him. “Get the hell out of here! Can’t you see this room is occupied?”
A man well into his seventies stood there stark naked, his mottled skin sagging all around him. Randall shuddered, wondering if he would look that way in another fifty years. He stumbled backward, hitting his head on the door frame. Blinking, he tried to avert his eyes. That’s when the man’s head turned into the demon from his favorite video game, its yellow eyes burning through him as its mouth twisted into an evil grin.
Randall closed his eyes, rubbing at them to block out what he’d seen. When he opened them again, the man’s face was how he remembered a moment ago, with bushy gray eyebrows, a few strands of wiry hair hanging over his forehead, deep lines striating his face. The demonic head was gone.
I must be studying too much, Randall thought. He slammed the door, standing against the wall until the nurse came back over to him.
“Why aren’t you ready?” she asked.
“Someone’s in there.”
“Oh, I forgot about Mr. James! He’ll be out soon, and then you can change.”
“Fine,” Randall said. While he waited, he eyed the window across the room. Through it, he could see the big MRI machine, which looked exactly like the one he’d seen in the movies. He’d never had an MRI before, but he wasn’t particularly nervous. All you had to do was lay there while some big magnet recorded images of your brain. He figured he could spend the time rehearsing the speech on Archimedes which he was to give in his history class the next day.
A few minutes later, the door opened, and the elderly man emerged. Scowling at him, the man stumbled on his cane down the hall.
Randall went and quickly changed, anxious to finish so he could return to his studies.
***
Archimedes was the real father of Calculus, a true innovator whose contributions have shaped the modern world, Randall thought as the MRI machine started whirring and clicking. His head was harnessed under a wire mesh cage, his hands clasped tightly together. He tried his best not to move, but as the time crawled on, it became increasingly difficult. The tech had sternly warned that if he moved at all, they would have to start over. He tried to think of the next line of his speech, but all the commotion of the machine distracted him.
A cool breeze sent chills up his arms, and he shivered despite his best efforts to keep still. He felt a strange pulling at his skin. He squeezed his eyes shut, afraid of what he might see, when suddenly, he felt an opposing force melt into him. As his skin was being sucked outward, a ripple of static coursed violently through him. He was sliding slowly then, and the light beneath his eyelids brightened considerably.
“We’re entering the second phase of the scan,” the tech said. “How are you doing in there?”
“It’s okay,” Randall said as he tried to process the sensations of the last few minutes. His body still bristled with the strange pulse of electricity.
“Remember, you still can’t move. You must maintain the same position as before. I’m going to start an IV now to inject the contrast medium and then I’ll send you back in.”
“Great,” he said, bracing himself. Soon, the needle was in his arm and a vial of fluid was entering his veins.
“Remember not to move an inch,” the tech instructed, pulling out the needle and affixing a bandage. “Maybe this will help,” he said, slapping a pair of headphones onto Randall’s ears before shoving him back into the machine.
As the scan started again, he tried to relax. He focused on the music softy playing in his ears, but he could barely hear it over the racket of the machine and his persistent ear buzzing. He recognized the tune finally, and he cringed. The Church was singing “Under the Milky Way”, and he pictured Myrna sliding her hand down his brother’s thigh at the bar the previous night. He wished he could switch to another song, but of course, he couldn’t move.
After a long while with torturous thoughts, he felt the same sucking feeling on his skin as before, but this time, a large icicle split his skull apart, slicing through him until it reached his feet. He started to scream, but shock held his voice hostage.
“Toughen up, you big sissy,” someone said, and Randall looked in the mirror over his face harness to where the tech had been. He could see the man through a window in another room, chatting with someone in a white coat.
“What’s going on?” he called out, but no one answered. Just then, he felt a pulling at his feet, and the dagger of ice was reversing itself, making new cuts as it ripped out through his chest. “Help!” he screamed, but then the laughing began.
“It’s just me! What are you getting so worked up over?”
Randall’s eyes darted around, but all he could see was a fluorescent light through the mesh harness. “Who’s there?” he tried to say, but his lips were frozen in place.
“You know who this is. You just met me in the hallway.”
He pictured the old man, snarling at him as he stood there naked and vulnerable, his head morphing into something freakishly demented. “Are you the demon?” he whispered.
“No, you idiot! You know who I am. You just saw me in my birthday suit.”
Just then, Randall felt someone whack him upside the head. “Ow!” he cried, but then he heard the laughter again.
“Hey Kid, you’d better get some balls if you’re going to roll with me.”
“Huh?” his befuddled brain wondered, but then he was sliding again, and the bright lights of the room were on him.
“Damn it, Kid! You moved! Now we’re going to have to start all over!”
The tech was frowning at him and shaking his head.
“Get this thing off of me!” Randall yelled, trying to pry loose the wire harness from his head. The tech obliged, and he jumped up, bolting from the room.
***
“When the Roman soldiers came to kill Archimedes, he begged them for a little time to finish up his last mathematical proof,” Randall was saying to a group of students with half-closed eyes. He glanced over at his professor, but the man stared out a nearby window.
It had taken him awhile to calm down after the MRI the evening before, but luckily, that voice he’d heard during the procedure left him alone and allowed him to focus on his studies. He was now giving his speech to his history class, and so far, despite the fact that no one was paying much attention, it was going pretty well.
“And do you think they gave him the time?” he asked. No one raised a hand or their eyes from whatever they were staring at, so he answered his own question. “Archimedes last proof was left unfinished.”
“You know we have to go get the body and bury it.” The voice had returned out of nowhere, whispering in the ear that was not buzzing.
“What? Who’s there?” Randall said, and suddenly all eyes were on him. He shuffled his note cards as his face grew red.
“You know we only hid her body for a little while. Someone’s going to discover it real soon, and then it’s over for us. We have to go get it tonight!” The hushed whisper drowned out the buzzing, increasing in intensity, until Randall dropped his note cards on the floor.
“Leave me alone!” he yelled, and his audience looked at him with wide eyes. He pounded against his ears with his fists, tearing at his hair until a clump came off in his hands. Suddenly, he looked up, realizing everyone was staring at him. He grabbed his backpack and ran from the room.
The class burst into applause.
***
“Randall, oh Raaan - daaaall,” the voice taunted as Randall tried to focus on his book. “I know you can hear me.”
“Randall, oh Raaan - daaaall,” the voice taunted as Randall tried to focus on his book. “I know you can hear me.”
Randall shoved ear buds into his ears, turning his iPod up to full volume. “You’re fuckin’ crazy, oh child. You know you’re craaaa-zy,” Axyl Rose sang to him, confirming his own thoughts with a shrill yet melodic voice. Randall threw the iPod across the room, and it landed on Kenneth’s untouched bed.
“We have to go soon! You’d better get ready!”
The symbols from his textbook floated off the page, swirling around him faster and faster, until they dropped into his lap, disintegrating into a thick, murky liquid. Blood dripped down his leg onto the floor.
He stared in amazement, but then his right hand started doodling on his notepad. He put his left hand over the pen, but he could not control the frenzied scribbling.
“Stop!” he yelled, but his hand was overpowered.
His vision blurred, distorting the page before him, and the buzzing became a chainsaw in his ears. The laughing old man kept whispering to him, telling him it was time to go.
The pen dropped into the pool of blood, and he looked down at the page. He saw a crudely drawn floor plan with arrows pointing behind a large rectangle.
“The body is behind the furnace. You remember, don’tcha?”
“Whose body?” he whispered.
The voice told him it was his wife.
“You should know this, Kid. You helped me. Don’t you remember?”
“No,” Randall said, the past few days a blur. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
The demonic laughter started again, but Randall jumped up and darted out of the room.
“What a freak!” someone called as he pushed past a group of students, but it was drowned out by the voice, who kept insisting Randall had to bury his wife’s body.
***
After running a few miles, Randall stopped under a large oak tree and pulled his phone from his pocket. He quickly dialed Kenneth’s number. He was still pissed off at his brother, but he needed to talk to someone. He didn’t know what was happening to him, but maybe Kenneth could help. He waited a bit, but the ringing stopped and his brother asked him to leave a message.
“Shit!” he yelled at the tree. Just then, a tune started playing. He looked around, but the darkened street was deathly quiet. He realized the song he heard came from his phone, signaling he had a new message. He punched a few numbers and listened. His doctor’s secretary started talking about his MRI results, but he just shut the phone. He didn’t have time for that right now.
He began walking down the street, but then his feet started crossing until he spun around in the opposite direction. Scrunching his brow in confusion, he turned back the way he’d been going, but it was if his bed sheets were wound too tightly around him, completely restricting his movement. Hands reached out of nowhere and pushed him toward the downtown area.
He fought the hands at first, but then he gave up. They were way too strong. He walked along in a daze, and when he looked up, he realized he was in a dark alley. A rat skittered over his sneaker, and he involuntarily jumped back. He crashed into a fence next to a Dumpster, landing hard on the pavement.
“Pick your sorry ass up and let’s get to it!” the voice said.
Randall stayed scrunched up next to the Dumpster, his hands tightly clamped over his ears. But the hands picked him up by his shirt collar, pushing him toward a green door.
“Where am I?” he wondered, but as he looked up through a grimy window covered in wrought iron, he saw a blinking fluorescent sign that read: The Milky Way Bar – Established 1978.
“Get down there and get her quick,” the voice commanded. As Randall backed away, the hands pushed him forward until he was pressed against the door, his hand reaching for the knob.
He turned it, but it didn’t budge. The door was locked.
He reached in his pocket, and miraculously, he felt a key there. He opened the door slowly, his heart thudding wildly, and he looked around. He was in the kitchen behind the bar. The place was always packed with drunken college students. He’d never seen it so eerily vacant, its life drained right out with the last employee who’d closed up for the night.
He turned to leave, ready to run back to his dorm, when suddenly a door nearby creaked open.
“You know what to do. Don’t make me force you,” the voice warned.
Randall sighed with resignation. He shuffled toward the open door, knowing he’d find stairs beyond. He felt the wall for a light, but there was none. It was pitch black the whole way, and when he felt the last step with his foot, he noticed a faint light. The fire in the furnace flickered softly, its embers churning as it warmed the room.
He stepped toward the glowing aluminum box, remembering the diagram he’d drawn, when he stepped on something unnaturally soft.
He stifled a scream, his breaths quickening as he looked down.
Below him was a dark trash bag. Was it the wife’s body?
“No, you dipshit. She’s bigger than that! But get that too. I thought you’d hidden it better.”
“What’s in it?” Randall wondered, but he realized he didn’t want to know.
“All the bloody clothes and rags. Why am I the only one who remembers?”
“I don’t know,” Randall said. He bent and grabbed the bag. He crept slowly toward the furnace, his face burning hot. He wound around it, and sure enough, behind was an unfinished closet of brick and stone. Something shrouded in shiny black was leaning against the wall.
“That’s her. Randall, I’d like you to meet my wife, Shirley.”
A pleasure, I’m sure, Randall thought. He pried the body loose, and when he leaned it into him, he realized it was extraordinarily heavy. Much too heavy for a woman.
“It’s the rigor mortis, silly,” the voice said. “Makes a body heavy.” Since Randall had never handled a dead body before, he believed the man.
In the great effort he exerted to drag the body toward the stairs, Randall did not notice how tall it was.
He pulled with all his might, wrapping his hands anywhere that wouldn’t slip, and slowly, he and the body made it up the stairs. He crashed down on the floor in the bar’s kitchen, the body slumping on top of him. He gasped for air, but there wasn’t enough to fill his lungs. Panicking, he pushed the body off of him and rolled to his side. After awhile, he regained control. “Now what?”
“There’s a thatch of trees behind the bar. Over the fence, past a small hill. Take her there. I already put a shovel out there for you.”
***
After a spell, Randall grabbed the body and pushed through the rear door, struggling to drag it to the fence. How am I going to get it over that thing? he wondered. The fence was at least five feet tall, with jagged corners sticking out where the wire mesh crossed the top bar. He leaned the body against it until he could summon the strength he’d need to push it over. He inhaled deeply, running on pure adrenaline, and he heaved with all his might. The body slumped at an odd angle, but he got under it, pushing with his shoulders, until he felt it lean more on the fence than on him. He stood taller, and sure enough, the body flipped easily to the other side.
He heard ripping then, and he realized the bag that was wrapped around the body had torn.
He didn’t want to look, so he shut his eyes for a minute. Suddenly, they snapped open.
His brother stared back at him, his flawless face blemished by the gunshot wound in his forehead.
***
The police had responded to a silent alarm at the Milky Way Bar. It didn’t take them long to find the young man rocking back and forth in a catatonic state in the alley. What surprised them was what they found behind him.
One officer restrained the boy, who continued rocking and moaning. The other looked to the large, black figure that was dangling precariously from the fence. When he opened the bag, he found another boy who looked just like the first.
This boy was not rocking or moaning. He wasn’t doing much of anything. He just stared blankly, his blue lips frozen in shock.
***
Two months later, Randall hobbled on a cane to his brother’s grave as if he were the old man. It was his first outing since the surgery.
Two months later, Randall hobbled on a cane to his brother’s grave as if he were the old man. It was his first outing since the surgery.
The doctor said the MRI, although incomplete, had revealed a very large and rapidly growing tumor in his frontal cortex that required emergency surgery. When the fog had lifted a bit and he realized what he’d done, Randall tried to refuse the procedure. He didn’t feel he deserved to be saved. It turned out that he didn’t have much say in the matter. His mother wept as his father begrudgingly signed the consent forms. Neither could look at him. Randall had tried to leave, but the handcuffs that chained him to his hospital bed made escape impossible.
The doctor had testified on Randall’s behalf that the tumor was responsible for his psychotic break. The opposing lawyers tried to have their experts poke holes through the doctor’s argument, but every expert they brought ultimately corroborated his findings. All the doctors agreed that once the tumor was removed, Randall did not pose a threat to himself or anyone else. Finally, the judge had no choice but to dismiss all charges. So, there he was, a free man, standing over his brother’s grave, wondering why he didn’t feel more regret.
Myrna was by his side, holding a bouquet of white lilies, sobbing maybe a little too much. She had begged him to forgive her, tried to tell him that his suspicions about her and his brother were all in his head. At that point, he didn’t know what to believe about anything, so he took her back, at least for the time being. As he leaned against the shiny new headstone erected just days before, his head swam with the sensation of fresh air and sunlight.
“I know this must be really tough,” Myrna said softly. She tried to steady him, holding him under the elbow, but he wavered, nearly falling on top of his brother.
He bent to his knees, holding his head in his hands. Myrna stepped tentatively toward him, but his glare told her she was no longer welcome.
She backed away slowly, the lilies nearly dragging on the ground.
It should have been a lot tougher than it was. As he stared at the grass that had already started to sprout from the mound of dirt that obscured his brother’s casket, he wondered why he couldn’t feel remorse for ending his brother’s life.
“Stop wasting time here,” a familiar voice called to him. Randall looked around, but he only saw Myrna waiting near the car. “We’ve got many more bodies to bury.”
The demonic laughter continued.
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