GrUberfest 2005: Three Hundred and Thirteen (939 hits)
Category: NoneRating: 1.89 on 32 reviews (Rate this item) (V)
Submitted by pen_name (View user info) at 2005-10-26 00:41:58 EDT
"So what does it mean?" Mike asked.
Carl turned the wheel to the left and drove by Eden Park Cemetery. His concentration remained on the road.
Peter yelled behind them. "He doesn't tell; the guy's a fuckin' enigma."
Carl smiled and checked his watch.
"Is it your birthday?"
"Nah"
"Your mom's birthday?"
"Nope."
Peter smacked Mike on the back of the head. "Give it up. I've known this guy for twenty fucking years and he's never told me what that fucking tattoo means. He's only known you for two days—your chances are dick."
"Well it means something," Mike huffed, smoothing out his hair." Maybe it's the number of guys he's killed. If that's the case I want to know now so I can get the hell out of here."
Carl Chuckled. "I haven't killed anyone."
"Than what does 313 mean?"
Peter smacked him again. Mike turned around. "Do that one more fucking time and we'll have words."
"Ohhhh...scary." Peter took off his shoe and hit Mike on his nose, like a misbehaving puppy.
"That's it." Mike turned and dove headfirst through the gap between the cushions. "Where are you going, pussy!"
Peter had folded up against the rear door and was swatting at Mike's outstretched hand. "Jesus, Carl. It's a fucking infestation. We got rats all over the place."
"Enough." Carl elbowed Mike. "You'll run us off the road."
Mike pulled himself free and sat back, irritated.
Carl looked over and rolled his eyes. "You really want to know what my tattoo means?"
Peter leaned forward. "You're teasing the kid. You won't tell."
"You reminded me that we've known each other for twenty some odd years." Carl shrugged. "Seems silly to be that mysterious." Carl stopped at an intersection, then whirled around an island of geraniums.
Mike looked over his shoulder. "Let's hear it." Peter sat back with a smirk.
Carl fixed his eyes on a patch of fog that had settled in the distant wood to their left. The sun was still high in the afternoon sky, but a perpetual gloom always inhabited these woods, especially in the fall months. Carl took a breath.
"When I was seven, my folks split up and I moved out here with my mother—to the majesty of the upper northwest." Carl spread his arms out and smiled.
"Thing is, she wanted me to know my dad. For reasons I'll never know. That meant I was hopscotching across the country two or three times a year to visit the miserable bastard. He'd be nice at first—you know, get me this huge present, pat me on the head—and then he'd get drunk and pass out drunk on the couch...or on the shitter. At his place, you couldn't have quality time without quality Jack."
The car hit a bump and Carl turned onto a dirt road.
"When I made my last trip to see pop, it was Easter weekend. My mom took me to the terminal and gave me a box of chocolates for the ride. I got my usual sniffles about going, but I didn't really have a choice in the matter. What was I going to say? That my father's a drunk? She knew; that's why she left him. I was forced to swallow my sadness and board the plane. Once on, I took my window seat, and watched my mom disappear through my rain-splattered window.
"It ended up being my last flight."
Mike interjected. "Did the plane crash?"
Peter smacked him. Mike turned but held his tongue
"Yeah," Carl sighed. "We crashed."
Carl pulled out some cigarettes and lit one, taking a long drag. "You see, a flight doesn't make a bee line from A to B as you'd expect from seeing any map. That's because the world is round. Instead, it makes an arc, as if the plane is riding a rainbow. So, when we crashed, we didn't crash in the U.S. We crashed in Canada—Saskatchewan to be specific.
"I hardly remember what happened that night. The trip started well enough with the movie, the peanuts, and the like, but then the weather got worse and the plane started to shake. After an hour, the rain was washing over my window in waves and the lighting was flashing faster than I could blink. The passengers were completely on edge. Everyone was gripping their armrests and clenching their teeth. When the light flickered off, they used it as an excuse to start screaming. It was total chaos. The guy next to me, some asshole named Jesse, was yelling in my ear, asking me "What's going on? Are we going to be OK?" like I had any fucking answers. A fucking ten-year-old...
"Behind me, some girl was crying her eyes out, telling her mother that she couldn't find her doll. When I looked down, I saw it sliding under my seat. I reached for it and at that moment we dipped and slammed into the trees."
An approaching car drifted into their lane and Carl honked the horn. It steered back on its side.
"I don't know how long I was out." Carl scratched his head, feeling for a bruise that wasn't there. "It could have been two minutes, or two hours. When I did open my eyes, I wasn't in the plane anymore. I was thirty feet away, lying on my side, still strapped tight into my seat. Bodies were all around me, interspersed with bits of smoldering fuselage and broken glass. Beyond that was the plane, or what was left of it, burning in a wall of flame that seemed to stretch forever.
"I rubbed my face and unbuckled my strap. I was it. Everyone else was dead—crumpled like spent paper in a wastebasket. Some people still had their eyes open, others were propped up against things, but they were all dead."
Mike spoke under his breath "Jesus,"
"Oh, that wasn't the worst. The worst thing was the smell. It reeked of cooked flesh, mingled with jet fuel and evergreen needles. God it made me want to wretch. I still smell it sometimes
Peter leaned forward. "What happened next?"
"Next—I don't know." Carl missed his turn. He put it in reverse, spun in his seat, and looked out the back window. "I found some cover. It was still raining and the lightening was a lot scarier without a shitload of adults to comfort you." Carl stopped, put it in drive, and eased onto the turn. "I found a section of the plane that had escaped the fire. It had a shitload of broken seats and a bevy of yellow masks flapping in the wind like fucking bananas. There was a big gap in the side, presumably from where the wing had torn off, and I crawled through that and sat in the middle. I was surrounded with broken spines and severed arms, but for some reason I didn't notice. I guess I had sensory overload and I blocked it out.
"I slept there that night and in the morning the rain had stopped. The fire was out as well. There was nothing but scorched metal and wisps of smoke rising through the trees. I didn't know what to do, but I knew not to try and run away. The stewardess had told us on the intercom before the crash: 'Stay close. Help will come'
"I later saw her...when I went to take a leak in the woods. Her face was torn open, so you could see her jaw bone and the lower part of her eye socket. Bugs were already at it, moving in and out as if they settled into a new home. I threw up.
"The next couple of days were like that. I'd stroll around, see a body, and throw up. I started to wonder where I found anything to toss up. My mouth felt so dry.
"A week went by with no rescue. I drank water bottles out of what was left of the drink cart, but no food was available. Later, I would learn that communications had been damaged during the storm and the transponder had shorted out well before that. That's why they couldn't find me. We were lost—well, I was lost."
Comprehension slowly dawned on Mike's face. "What did you eat?" Peter had raised his hand, but stopped midway, and turned to Carl.
"Well, I was getting to that."
"It's like that movie "Alive." Mike sputtered.
Carl sighed. "Yeah, I guess you could say that."
"And you ate them?"
"Calm down." Carl said. "Most of the bodies were rotten by the time I caved in. I'd get sick before I even tasted what I was chewing. The only bits I could keep down were from people that were...cooked." Carl looked out his window and turned left onto a bumpy road.
"Wow." Mike said. They jostled in their seats. "How long until you were found?"
Carl reached the cabin and turned off the engine. "Three weeks."
"Unbelievable." Mike said.
"Yep."
The car went silent. Peter leaned back against his seat and looked toward the cabin. Mike stared at the dash for a moment, and then looked up. "What about the tattoo on your arm?
"Huh?" Carl seemed to be lost in thought.
"You didn't explain what 313 means."
"Oh, yeah." Carl nodded.
Mike scrunched his brow. "Was it the flight number?"
Carl shook his head.
"Was it the number of people on the plane?"
"No."
Mike swallowed. "Is it the number of people you ate?"
Carl laughed. "No."
"Well then what is it?"
Carl reached his hand into his pocket and withdrew something. It was smooth and metallic and glimmered in the light of the cabin. Mike leaned against the door and Peter turned his eyes from the cabin to the object in Carl's hand.
"It's the number of days I waited until I did it again—before I bit into someone else."
Mike turned from Carl to Peter. Peter was expressionless, staring at Carl while digging in his own pocket. Mike turned back and tried the door handle. It was locked and wouldn't budge. "This is a joke. It's a fucking joke."
Carl just stared at him.
Mike shook his head. "You said...you said that you never killed anyone."
Carl shrugged. "I never have." He twirled the razor. "You see, when they found me, they realized I had lost it. It wasn't just the cannibalism. I was section 8; I didn't even know my own name. To help me, they threw me in a group with other screwed up kids, all having gone through some hellish experience in their past. We'd get therapy and talk about our experience.
Carl glanced to the right. "That's where I met Peter."
Peter reached over the seat and put a switchblade to Mike's neck.
"Yep," Carl continued. "Peter had killed his parents. They weren't good, Mike, you have to understand that. They used to torture him with lit cigarettes. They used to molest him. The state knew it. They blew into Pete's house one day with a dozen social workers, and a boatload of cops." Carl shrugged. "It turned out that they weren't needed. Peter settled the matter himself."
Peter smiled and nicked Mike's neck. A drop of blood coursed down his throat.
"During a one on one (that's peer facilitated counseling), I confided in Peter that I still had cravings. I asked him if that was normal and he said it was. In fact, he said that he had cravings, too and maybe we could team up." Carl laughed. "Team up. We must have sounded so immature."
Mike was breathing hard and a tear dripped down his cheek. It hovered on his jittery chin, then slipped down and mixed with the blood on his throat.
Peter whispered in Mike's ear. "We weren't the only ones, either"
Two men pulled the cabin door open and stood silhouetted in the frame. They smoked and gestured back and forth.
Carl grinned, "Counseling sessions, group therapy, one on one's—we weren't getting fixed; we were networking."
Mike grabbed Peter's arm and started struggling. He didn't want to end up on their table. He didn't want to end up carved like a Christmas ham. Peter laughed and pressed the knife in.
"Shhhh." Peter beckoned the onlookers with his other hand and they left the doorway. "You won't feel a thing."
User Reviews
Submitted by matnotharry (user info) at 2006-10-28 14:21:39 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Submitted by 83rdElement (user info) at 2005-10-26 02:33:25 (#)
Ranking: 2
Damn, that was good.
Submitted by Amontillado (user info) at 2006-10-28 14:05:27 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by pen_name (user info) at 2005-10-30 00:06:36 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
I get ya. I might just do that.
Thanks
Submitted by missedthepoint (user info) at 2005-10-30 00:03:45 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
It might be interesting to work backwards from here?
I want to know how this "Saddle Club" was put together in detail.
Maybe from his therapy forward?
Submitted by pen_name (user info) at 2005-10-29 23:56:00 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
what...like a series of cannibal club stories?
ha, just saying that makes me think of an idea for a prequel. I don't know. I'd have to deal with this contest first.
Submitted by missedthepoint (user info) at 2005-10-29 23:49:22 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Another +2 by proxy
From the cunts that are reading over my shoulder.
I fucking hate that.
Are we going to see any more of this?
Submitted by pen_name (user info) at 2005-10-28 04:27:02 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
I wondered if you would notice.
I even chose a late time to do it. I'm all about the details.
Submitted by rad1101 (user info) at 2005-10-28 02:30:08 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Submitted by pen_name (user info) at 2005-10-28 01:38:28 (#)
Ranking: 2
Submitted by pen_name (user info) at 2005-28-19 01:33:39 (#)
Ranking: 2
There is a solid page of ok writing with -2s. That is stupid. I am weeding it all out by giving every one of them a +2; that way posts that have -1.67 with 120+ reviews gets worst ever.
=================
dickhead.
Submitted by pen_name (user info) at 2005-10-28 01:18:14 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
haha, join the club
Submitted by Bigmike (user info) at 2005-10-28 01:12:54 EDT (#)
Ranking: 1
I liked the story, but I didn't really understand some of the slapstick at the beginning. It tokk away from the genius that is the rest of the story.
Submitted by kaos-king (user info) at 2005-10-26 21:52:54 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Damn you. This was really good! Good luck in the final round...
Submitted by Jack_McCallum (user info) at 2005-10-26 18:41:37 EDT (#)
Ranking: 1
I second this...
Submitted by runswithscissors (user info) at 2005-10-26 17:38:49 (#)
Ranking: 2
"Carl grinned, "Counseling sessions, group therapy, one on one's—we weren't getting fixed; we were networking."
I love this line.............
Submitted by Jack_McCallum (user info) at 2005-10-26 18:41:09 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Yeah. A 1.5.
Because...
Submitted by pen_name (user info) at 2005-10-26 18:08:25 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Thank, scissors. i wanted that line to stick out.
Submitted by runswithscissors (user info) at 2005-10-26 17:38:49 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Just read it again......
"Carl grinned, "Counseling sessions, group therapy, one on one's—we weren't getting fixed; we were networking."
I love this line.............
Submitted by runswithscissors (user info) at 2005-10-26 16:54:05 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
I am on board with the general consensus of head slapping......but overall, I LOVED it.....
great build up, I never saw it coming............
Submitted by Orgasmatron (user info) at 2005-10-26 14:17:25 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
I've got to say that I'm in line with most of the other reviewers. I think once you get past the first quarter of the story everything falls in line and clicks. The beginning is just a little off, but man, the ending is sweet. Sort of like a Fight Club for cannibals and killers.
Submitted by DrSeussman (user info) at 2005-10-26 14:10:03 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Thought it was a great story, very original. As for the beginning I think it fit in perfectly, where they were, what they were doing, it gave the characters depth without detracting from the story. The focus was always truly on Carl and his story. +2 my friend
Submitted by pen_name (user info) at 2005-10-26 12:36:15 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
I'm sure the reason they went to the cabin wasn't totally necessary to the story. that's why i left it open. It could have been a fishing trip, or whatever, and all you needed to know was that they knew--mike included--that the last stop was a cabin in the woods.
where i fucked up, and i'm with you on this one caes, is that i didn't really explain Mike and Peter's connection. They knew each other for a while--maybe even worked together. So they had a certain relationship. i don't know if that explains it. Either way, if i rewrote it, I'd probably would rethink the head slapping.
thanks for the insight guys.
Submitted by ahumblefool (user info) at 2005-10-26 12:18:23 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
The end is the reason you are getting the +2. The beginning just did not work for me, but the end, yea, that creeped me out a bit.
Submitted by missedthepoint (user info) at 2005-10-26 11:17:55 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
yes the slapping thing was a bit odd
but this is fucking fantastic
would make an awsome short film
Submitted by AshK (user info) at 2005-10-26 10:25:43 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Loved it.
The end was supurb, because I got to get the "creeping realization". I love that feeling.
You're hired.
Submitted by ghola (user info) at 2005-10-26 08:21:11 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
nice. i liked it.
Submitted by thecaes (user info) at 2005-10-26 07:55:45 EDT (#)
Ranking: 1
I'm giving this a 1.5.
I really, REALLY liked this story, but something about the way you handled the beginning totally threw me off. The banter between Mike and Peter and Carl is way, way too friendly. I can't picture any grown men tolerating being smacked upside the head every two minutes -- let alone being hit on the nose with a dirty shoe. Also, the way they know each other isn't explained. Mike and Carl have only just met, but Peter and Mike act like they're old friends (because he tolerates the head-slapping). So why does Peter kill him?
However, that said, the end of the story created a really good "OMG HE'S IN THE HOUSE" moment, if you know what I mean. Where that slow realization dawns on you and you work out that you're in deep shit. That, my friend, is fucking gold.
Submitted by thecaes (user info) at 2005-10-26 07:50:50 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
I wish for a turkey sandwich on rye bread with lettuce and mustard. And
-- and I don't want any zombie turkeys, I don't want to turn into a turkey
myself, and I don't want any other weird surprises -- you got it?
-- Homer Simpson
Treehouse of Horror II
Submitted by Berty (user info) at 2005-10-26 06:04:53 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by alas_me (user info) at 2005-10-26 04:24:45 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by joedaddy (user info) at 2005-10-26 03:47:23 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Have you ever woken up at, O let's say 03:45 and found:
QWER
AS
X
embedded on your forehead?
just wondering .
Submitted by Benny (user info) at 2005-10-26 02:50:13 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Very cool story, well told. To be honest I didn't pick up the passing out drunk bit, but whilst funny it didn't detract from the story.
Submitted by pen_name (user info) at 2005-10-26 02:34:30 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
"...and then he'd get drunk and pass out drunk..."
arg! come to my post and see me become a redundant asshole!
Submitted by 83rdElement (user info) at 2005-10-26 02:33:25 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Damn, that was good.
Submitted by Blinkish (user info) at 2005-10-26 01:55:12 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Um, it's like, uh ... did anyone see the movie `Tron'?
-- Homer Simpson
Treehouse of Horror VI