The Wrong Bottle (577 hits)
Category: NoneRating: 1.73 on 16 reviews (Rate this item) (V)
Submitted by orph (View user info) at 2007-02-08 06:59:46 EST
Dan frantically polished the golden gilt tabernacle behind the altar. The stains weren't coming out.
"Holy shit. Shit, oh no, sorry God, I meant gee whiz," he crossed himself quickly as he murmured; realising that the bleach wasn't coming off, just like it didn't come off the altar top either.
"What am I going to do? I've scrubbed out God from the church!"
So it seemed.
Dan, ever the practical and adherent altar boy for St Michael's Catholic Church, had taken to cleaning the age old dust and grime that had built up on the strong wooden altar that surveyed the lined up pews. This done, he wiped down the shiny box where they kept the host along with the candle sticks and other accoutrements that Father McMahon used in his daily bread and blood giving-fest to the faithful.
Dan's smile faded as he proudly surveyed the newly clean and polished son-of-god abattoir. In fact, it turned into a tight grin, then a frown, and then a parody of a Munch-like scream. He saw chemical-laden steam or smoke rising from the places he'd scrubbed. Worse still, the varnished top of the altar table was bubbling and farting as the liquid cleaner began to feast on the wood.
"I don't think that this was really Mr Sheen," he thought as he twisted the spray nozzle lid off the bottle that contained the offending mixture. He sniffed. It didn't smell bad, but didn't smell like standard cleaning stuff either. Anyway, why the hell am I caring about what it smells like - the fucking altar is melting away (sorry God)!
Dan panicked - he ran around in a circle, doing heaps but accomplishing nothing, until finally he grabbed the priest's robes out of the closet and flung them on to the altar in the vain hope that they'd soak up the mess. Fuck (I mean, stuff, yeah), Stuff the candles and the host-box, if the priest see's the altar in a pile off goo at his feet, I don't think he'll care neither.
Well that didn't work - the Sunday best outfit of white and purple went up like gasoline on a fire, adding thick, choking black smoke to the mix.
"What the hell was that - this hasn't happened before?" Dan mused as he went back to the bottle to read the fine-print.
"Ah, that may explain it," he seethed through clenched teeth as he read the tiny label on the bottom of the package: "Product of Dirt Devil Industries. Do not use in places of worship, as product may have an anti-deity effect."
"They should put that in bigger writing," he thought.
Dan sank to his knees as he watched the church melting around him, the resultant sludge of the altar had spread across the floor, devouring the pews, the fluted stone columns, and was now starting to claw at the beautiful stained-glass windows depicting a now-disfigured John the Baptist anointing Jesus with thick, crystalline grey ooze.
So, Dan then did what any 13 year old kid would do under the circumstances - he bolted. As he cleared the floating jumble of crucifixes and holy water troughs near the front door, Father McMahon rounded the gate and stopped, hands on hips staring at his now wrecked workplace.
"Used the wrong bottle eh Dan?" he quizzed, not angrily, more like someone who is aware of the inevitable, but puts it to the back of his mind, until a time like this.
Dan nodded after he'd skidded to a stop, sloshing the floating Mary and Joseph figurines from the nativity scene onto the priest's black robes, with the obligatory hissing and burning that accompanied it as they burnt through the cloth.
"Well, it was bound to happen, and I'd rather it was you than that snot-nosed Brandon kid - little bastard."
Still dumb, Dan nodded again. He couldn't smell whisky on Father's breath, and he didn't think he did any other drugs, so he was a bit hesitant at matching the relaxed mood of the now displaced man of god. In fact, Father McMahon was taking the entire incident a little too nonchalantly for his liking - I mean the whole fucking (sorry) church had just melted into a fiery pit of shit (oops) just because he used a spare bottle of cleaning fluid he found lying around out back!
"No, no, don't freak out on me young man. It's happened before, and I'll dare say it'll happen again. It's not the destruction of the church that I'm worried about. The thing is that innocent looking cleaning detergent will eventually seep down into the crypt. When that happens, we're going to be living in zombie country."
Dan shook himself out of his reverie and looked long and hard at the priest, just to see whether he was yanking his chain or not. Yet he saw credence in the old man's eyes.
"Well pardon my French, Father, but why the FUCK do you keep such a fucking dangerous bottle of shit in a church for Christ's sake! I mean it's like putting a vampire in charge of a blood bank. Don't you see what I'm saying here?"
Father McMahon's eyes widened a bit at Dan's language, but given what he'd just said, he let it pass.
"Vatican orders I'm afraid my boy. Yep, the Pope likes us to have a bottle on hand for when the apocalypse goes down - you know, just in case we got the whole Christianity thing wrong, and have to destroy the evidence. And don't mention the vampires out loud. We only put old man Moore into the crypt last week, and I'm pretty sure he'll be feeding on what ever blood he can suck out of the rats down there right now. Too soon to be a zombie, but just the right timing to hatch a vamp I fear."
Dan was flabbergasted - what the hell was going on? This was like some scene out of the comics he used to read with Jimmy's little sister, and sometimes she would let him feel her legs and things - but that's got nothing to do with this - stay focused.
Father McMahon could see that young Dan was on the edge, so he flipped out his phone, punched in the number he never thought he'd use, and got straight through to the Holy Roman Mistaken Use of 'Cleaner' Vestry.
"No"
"No that hasn't happened neither."
"Well I'm pretty sure."
"No, I can't see four winged horsemen descending from above."
"Yes I'm sure. I didn't see any sort of beast, seven heads or not."
"No that's fine, I'll hold."
.............................
"You'll send someone straight over? You got the address? Ok thanks, we'll be out front."
With that done, he sat back on the strip of lawn out front, gladly knocking the top off the small bottle of Jack he kept in his cassock for just this type of occasion. Dan made to sit as well, but Father stopped him.
"Nope, no time for you to rest Dan. You used the damn cleanser; you've got to make sure those un-dead bastards don't get out." He took a deep swig.
"What! I'm just a kid!"
"Don't matter. Rules are rules, and the mitred one insists that he who fucked up, cleans up - at least until the cavalry arrives."
"Ok. Well what do I do then?" Dan was flipping out, but had always been a good kid, and you can't really tell a priest to get stuffed, can you?
"Just stand around here, make sure anything that looks dead but is still moving doesn't get away. I found a big stick works well for beating them back down into the hole."
This is madness. Dan scanned the ground, but big sticks seemed to be in short supply. He grabbed whatever he could, and presented it to McMahon.
"That probably won't be enough," he muttered, tossing away the blunt scissors and packet of tissues that Dan had handed to him. "Dumber than shit this kid," he thought to himself.
"Never mind then Dan," he sighed, reaching deep into his pockets, "Use this."
"Wow! That's cool."
And cool it was. Dan had in his hand the latest in zombie/vampire containment equipment - the special edition Colt .120 Ephesians Smack-Down. It felt heavy in his hand, which was explained by the fucking huge-sized ammo this thing was packing. McMahon chucked him two spare clips, each weighing as much as a bowling ball, and glowing, like the gun, with a light blue aura.
Dan put the spare ammo cartridges in his pockets, giving him a walk like John Wayne as he ambled over to where the front door used to be. Slowly he reconnoitred the ashen slag that remained of the church. Nothing yet.
A further look revealed a large crack opening up under the main aisle - a deep red glow escaped when a rotten-fleshed zombie gnashed its remaining teeth as it arose from within the pit. Dan aimed and fired - but wasn't expecting the recoil - it shot him back six feet to a landing next to McMahon on the lawn. The zombie exploded in puff of blue, its dismembered arms and legs providing a snack for the hordes that followed it up.
"That a boy Dan!" McMahon chuckled, the drink starting to take effect. He pushed him back to his feet and shoved him towards the coming legion of un-dead. "Try to hit more than one with each round - you've only got a few dozen shots!"
"Thanks Father," Dan spat sarcastically. He was shit scared, perhaps literally, but now was not the time to check his pants. Copying a GI Joe pose he'd seen on TV, Dan lowered himself to one knee, and got off three more rounds, this time bouncing the shots into the ground in front of the first line of flesh-munchers. The bullets ricocheted off the surface, exploding in the air, around head, or in some more decayed cases, neck height, taking down two score of his foes for a second dip into the afterlife.
But they kept coming. Dan began to wonder how a small town like this could have so many corpses backed up in the burial plot, but further surmising would have to wait, as he jumped up from his position, and took cover behind a raised mound of sludge. Just in time too, as a particularly big zombie had picked up a couple of his compatriots and hurled them at Dan. They broke apart on impact; the split body parts each clawing away in different directions in the search for living brains.
Dan's holding action was paying dividends though - that was until old man Moore rose from the ashes, resplendently clad with pale white, alabaster skin, and a fresh new set of thick, arcing wings.
"Is this gun good for vampires too Father?" Dan yelled as he dodged Mr Moore swooping down teeth-bared to relieve him of eight pints of the good stuff.
"That's what it says on the barrel," he called back, cackling again as he revealed a second bottle of Jack with another long draught. "Just flick the switch to vamp mode and you'll be fine."
Dan looked down the gun, and saw the tiny switch - one side had a drooling zombie head icon, to which it was currently set, the other a small picture of a red heart with a stake through it. He flicked it to the heart and rolled away again as Mr Moore landed with a thud propelled by his magnificent wings, attempting to stomp Dan's head to mush.
He fired two shots, and two short wooden stakes, propelled by jet fuel erupted from the barrel. The first tore a negligible hole through Moore's left wing, but the other missed completely. Then, to Dan's surprise and glee, the stakes rounded for another pass at the vampire - just like mini heat-seeking missiles. What followed was a dog-fight of sorts, with the stake-missiles screaming around just inches from vampire Moore as they soared above the ruins of the church.
Mesmerised by the aerial combat, Dan momentarily forgot about the horde of zombies he had recently kept at bay. They now teemed and staggered onwards, seething and hissing as they descended on Father McMahon's vantage point - he now had a bright yellow sun lounge splayed out on the grass, and what looked like to Dan's unlearned eye, a vodka martini?
Dan swivelled and laid down some pain on the zombies - unfortunately, he forgot to switch back to un-dead mode, and the next round of stakes exploded on impact, yet the zombies still staggered on - albeit, many sporting new cavities where their hearts would have been. He switched back to exploding zombie-mode and killed again the front few rows of the pack.
He looked up to see the two missiles stalking Mr Moore plunge into the ground as he dodged them with a deft bit of flying, and then turned down again aiming at Dan. Steadying his aim, Dan fired twice, this time two direct hits - both wings burst into blue flame, and the vampire tumbled to the deck. Running to stand over his fallen foe, Dan cocked the gun, and planted a stake in vampire Moore's black heart.
A high-pitched siren broke the sudden silence, followed by a huge black van pulling up in front of the chaos. White-clad storm-troopers exited the back of the vehicle, firing the same blue tinged bullets on the zombie mass.
"Deacon Bridges at your service," a large gruff priest introduced himself to Dan and the now pissed Father McMahon.
"About time you guys turned up. Young Dan he was doing great - even took down a vamp! And where the fuck were you guys eh? Too busy with your own altar boys to get to the business?" Father McMahon was really smashed.
Three storm-troopers were wrestling two bound captives from the back of the van, forcing them over to the milling group of zombies that remained above ground.
"Just a couple of heretics to keep the zombies busy until we can shut down the area," Bridges said by way of explanation.
Dan was exhausted, slumped against a fallen pillar in the graveyard. "What a day man! I can't wait to tell mum and dad," he muttered, as Deacon Bridges lifted him up and carried him over to the papacy mobile.
"I'm sorry you won't be doing that Dan," he said, locking tight-gripping manacles over his wrists.
"What are doing? Didn't you see what I just did? I'm a hero!"
"I'm afraid you're not Dan. You used the cleaner, unauthorised. Punishment is a lifetime of service, so to speak, for me and my men back at the Vatican. You're our latest altar-boy. We'll teach you which 'bottle' you can open, and when!"
Dan screamed the scream of the forsaken as he was bundled inside, terrible thoughts of an eternity on his knees in front of the Deacon and his men was all he had to look forward to.
User Reviews
Submitted by orph (user info) at 2007-03-09 04:21:00 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
Pauly you kike scum fuck, I'm not sure if you realise, but retaliatory rating someone's posts is considered very low brow, but as its coming from you, I can understand.
Thanks for ruining all my perfect 2 ratings, much appreciated. I'm so glad I got under you filthy disease ridden skin you piece of jew trash.
Fuck off, find an oven or a shower, and fuck yourself dandy.
Submitted by messmind (user info) at 2007-03-08 16:11:11 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Submitted by paul_anthony (user info) at 2007-03-08 15:52:13 EST (#)
Ranking: -2
Hello, ORPH
You are NOT gay
Submitted by sexualchocolate1984 (user info) at 2007-02-09 10:07:41 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Superb!
If it wasn't so long I'd print it out to show it to my buddies. But I don't think I'd have enough paper!
Submitted by odin (user info) at 2007-02-09 09:03:53 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by DudeThatsBOSH (user info) at 2007-02-08 22:37:00 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
you're one of my favorites
Submitted by Stagger_Lee (user info) at 2007-02-08 20:49:56 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Shame this won't get much attention. I had to re-read several parts to understand them, but it was good enough to not break the streak.
Submitted by STIXS (user info) at 2007-02-08 12:58:38 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
This was fantastic!
Submitted by corn_nugget (user info) at 2007-02-08 12:57:36 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
There were a few parts that could have used another going-over. The writing was a little confusing and well, confusing at parts.
The idea, however, was fantastic. There were also some subtly funny parts, which is a good (but rare) find in uber-writings.
It's nice to see some original and creative writing on this site for once.
Submitted by St_Jimmy (user info) at 2007-02-08 12:52:46 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
"the newly clean and polished son-of-god abattoir"
+2 for that alone.
Great story too.
Submitted by TechnoRatty (user info) at 2007-02-08 12:37:26 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Great read!!
Helped keep me sane whilst in programming class
Submitted by TheUniter (user info) at 2007-02-08 12:04:14 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Submitted by Avals (user info) at 2007-02-08 11:26:33 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Holy Zombie-Battling Jesus that was weird!
Submitted by DrogoRoch (user info) at 2007-02-08 09:48:06 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Dan screamed the scream of the forsaken as he was bundled inside, terrible thoughts of an eternity on his knees in front of the Deacon and his men was all he had to look forward to.
--
Hahahaha he already has the altar boy thing well and truly down.
Submitted by DirtyHarry (user info) at 2007-02-08 09:30:31 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
"you know, just in case we got the whole Christianity thing wrong, and have to destroy the evidence"
-------------
+2 for that line, and a good ending, and zombies. That kicked ass.
Submitted by LittleMonster (user info) at 2007-02-08 08:48:21 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
good