The Entrance

Nothing happened. The machine didn’t react. The electricity continued to pulse from the machines. Silver sparks were shed in all corners, illuminating the incoming enemies. The wall of flesh and human limbs, infant limbs, and bones spread out along the walls. Alice was close at hand, mesmerized by what was once a miscarried baby in a toilet. Susan wore a brown sheath dress. She was heartbroken, her face weighed down by discomfort and regret. She clutched two knives, each glinting in the refractions of unnatural light. When she caught sight of him, her face turned wicked. The bent smile. The bloodlust in her eyes. She had reinforcements behind her. Rick Margolia welded a clever in his hand as he coasted the room for his next entrée. Willis was burned up from the bar memory. Pockets of fat popped throughout his skin, still boiling. Tina clutched a razor blade, and beside her, Parker Stevens was slathered in blood and clutching on to the concrete saw Craig’s father had used on him previously. Brandon, headless, swept the blue nozzle of the Browning across the room, ready to pull back the trigger at any indication his son was near. Katie and Edith stayed near the back of the group. Edith was war-torn, bloodied, and she had reclaimed the flame thrower. This time it would be intended for him. Katie was further along in her decomposition. Both eyes had turned to broken grapes. Loose flesh hung from her jawline, the clacking and gritting of misshapen and missing teeth creating a strange rattle. Black blood leaked from the ends of her dress. Her legs had somehow been repaired, and she could walk at will. Her stomach was extended, but concave in the middle. The flesh sank and rose with the shape of a hand reaching through the flesh to escape, but the infant kept failing to break the barrier.

These were his executioners.

Dr. Krone and his family finally entered behind the initial throng. Dr. Krone, Sr. was tickled to be leading the “murder Craig Horsy expedition”. Hillary was engrossed with the wall of flesh as much so as Alice, both caught up in the maternal turn-on.

Dr. Krone stared right at him, spotting him instantly. “I warned you would die.”

The doctor marched to the nearest machine. His hand was arched over the keyboard to type in his fate. “Who will get to murder you? Hmmmmm.”

Katie raised her hand, gritting those bleeding teeth. Susan clanged both the knives together in response. Brandon blasted a shot into the air. Ba-boom! Alice was too busy running her hands through the flesh wall to care, mesmerized by her prolific baby. Edith unleashed a jet of flames. Whoosh.

Rick Margolia and Willis stood side by side, and Rick guffawed, “I’ll cook him like this bastard,” he pointed at Willis, “well fucking done.”

Dr. Krone smiled, impressed by his creations. “Yes, yes, they all want to be the killing hand. What does that say about your life, Mr. Horsy?—you as a person? Everybody’s past has a time or two—or like you, many times—they’re not so proud of. You can’t sweep it under your cognitive rug here. You must face it.”

Craig glanced at the machine he’d typed on. It asked a final question—Proceed with command?

Dr. Krone realized what he’d done. “No—don’t you touch it. Don’t do it, you son of a bitch!”

It was Craig’s turn to laugh. He looked up at the pieces of his past. They were jilted. Unreal. Dead. These weren’t memories swept under his cognitive rug. This was Dr. Krone’s machine at work. And now he would put the machine to a new test. “We all have memories we’re not so proud of, Dr. Krone. You must face your past. That’s what we do here.”

He punched the Enter key.