Fossil Lake: An Anthology of the Aberrant (18 page)

Once fully released, Nat looked up and found the monster floating dead in the water, along with everything else that once thrived in the lake. The boat was also sinking thanks to the weight of all the Poopcone poo, so he had to quickly leap onto the beast’s corpse, with oar in hand, for safety. He managed to ride the giant cock to shore, but the effort was more than he could handle, especially after everything he had just endured. After sliding away to the ground, he fell unconscious.

The Skullvines boys tried to revive him. They guzzled cough syrup while urinating on him, but to no avail. Our poor hero had slipped into a coma. Friends came to the hospital from all around to offer their support. His room was plastered with rainbows and hair band posters. Interestingly enough, he no longer carried a stench or wore a greasy film. It seems that all the waste and gas built up inside him over the years had seeped through his pores, and he was rid of it at last.

Then, one mysterious, indescribable day, Nat Poopcone awoke and disappeared, kind of like Darkman, or Lovecraft, Poe, a
Twilight Zone
episode, Matheson, or
Too Close for Comfort
. Would he ever be heard from again?

*     *     *

It was a pleasant autumn day for visiting the cemetery, so Lisa and Leslie caught the city bus after school to do just that. It had only been a few months since their father passed away, and they weren’t ready to leave his side yet. Though thirteen and fifteen, they were often mistaken for twins, more so when they both wore black, like today.

They approached the large marble tombstone and placed flowers on the ground. After a brief moment of silence, Leslie began to say something when they both heard a click. They turned and saw a ratted sleeping bag a few yards away with what looked like hands sticking out of the end, holding a camera.

There was another click and a flash.

“Don’t mind me,” a voice said from within the bag. “I’m a publisher. I’ll make you famous! You know, like Cindy Crawford, Vanna White, Punky Brewster, and Lovecraft.”

Enraged, the girls ran up to the bag. Ignoring the shouts of “Fuck off, cunts!” and “I’m hardcore!” and especially, “I’ll make you a horror target!”, they proceeded to kick and stomp the shit out of it.

WHERE THE LOST ONES DWELL

Tony Flynn

There is a place, so deep in Hell,

Where they say The Lost Ones Dwell.

And in this place, a tree does grow,

From Fossil Lake, where blood does flow.

And the captives here will not know peace.

Their sufferings will never cease.

The blood flows forth their awful crimes,

And flow it will, for all our time.

And from this blood, the Tree draws strength,

And with more blood, it grows in length.

And from the branches of this tree,

Not leaves do grow, but Souls, you see.

The Souls, whose actions blood did spill,

Now a place upon the tree they fill.

Like fruit they grow from on the branch.

To escape from here they have no chance.

Because food are they to those in Hell,

In the Forest where the Lost Ones Dwell.

For beyond the tree, there stands alone,

A mountain The Harpies call home.

They know no mercy; nor pity; nor grace.

They hunger always in this place.

And only one thing can their bellies, satiate:

The souls of those put here by hate.

And so they fly from up on high,

And plummet forth down from the sky,

To envelop in their monstrous wings

Those put here for terrible things.

They pluck them whole from off the tree

And carry to their lair to see,

A nest of Harpies: Young and old,

But hungry all, and bitter and cold.

Yet even after, no peace resumes,

For every year, the tree does bloom.

And forth the tree, they rise again,

The souls of those condemned as men,

And plunged down to the icy pit,

To wait until Harpies see fit

To take them, and their Souls devour,

Those foolish men, seduced by power.

LANA DOESN’T GET LUCKY

Kerry G.S. Lipp and Emily Meier

Lana carried the severed head by the hair as she walked toward Fossil Lake.

The head belonged to Bart, recently deceased. So recently, in fact, that the blood still dripped from the jagged cut that separated his head from his body.

She arrived at the bank, popped a beer, took a sip and set the can down. Then she lit a smoke. Dusky purple light sprayed across the horizon, sky as smooth as the calm water. The sky and the lake mirrored each other.

Bart’s blood still dripped and his skin still felt warm. His dead eyes illustrated that age-old cliché of the silent screaming death, but Lana found it impressive. Clichés and stereotypes existed for a reason, and Bart’s eyes both defined and justified that reason. She could stare at them all day and see something new, like artwork. Pure and unsettling.

His eyes told the story. Maybe it hadn’t happened until the last second or two, but he’d figured it out just before he died. She hadn’t seen his life flashing before his eyes as she removed his head, but they sure told the story of his death.

And what a story it was.

Bart, like every other guy, had one thing on his mind … and that thing was between Lana’s legs. Though she was old enough to know what guys were after, it still angered her each time she gave it to a guy she liked and in return he reduced her to a midnight text message.

I want to cut him into pieces,
she’d thought the first time, sobbing, staring at her phone, willing it to light up with his name.

It never did.

She ended up hunting him down and cutting him into pieces. She loved every second of it. And that was how it started for Lana.

Reminiscing about the recent kill, she tossed Bart’s head and then caught it. Just like a ball. It weighed about ten pounds. Not too heavy, but heavy enough. Lana tossed it and caught it again. She stared out at the deserted lake as darkness descended.

Fossil Lake was perfect. It was surrounded by swamp, so no one wandered out this way often. Dragging the bodies this far would be more of a workout than she wanted, so instead, those got buried or burned.

But she always kept the heads for this little ritual. She’d relax by the peaceful lake with a six pack, some smokes and her iPod, before disposing of the heads in the secret place.

She tossed Bart’s head and caught it in between sips from her beer and drags from her cigarette. Toss. Catch. Sip. Smoke. Toss. Catch. Sip. Smoke. Toss.

Oh fuck. Slip.

Bart’s head fell. Lana just couldn’t bend her fingers in the right way, and the crown of his skull hit a chunk of driftwood. His eyes looked at her for a final second before he rolled, bounced, and submerged deep into the dark water.

Lana rushed to the edge, but his head was gone, eaten by the abyss of Fossil Lake. Not good. She had to get it back and put it in the other place. The secret place that no one knew about.

“Sheeeeeeeiiiiiiit, that head sunk like a rock,” said a burbling voice. “Nice work, butterfingers.”

Lana jolted, and looked all around. All she saw was the forest, the lake and dusk. No lights, no people. Cold sweat burst on her brow and her stomach dropped. Had she been caught? And by who? She looked around again. Still saw nothing.

“Down here, toots,” the voice said.

And Lana looked down and saw the ugliest fucking creature she’d ever seen.

Small and bulbous and scaly, the frog squatted in perfect frog pose between her feet, right in front of her and looking up her skirt.

“Nice,” he said.

His throat throbbed and his pulsing fire-red eyes looked her up and down. Spiky horns protruded from random places on his head and body. Lana didn’t know if frogs were supposed to have dicks, but this thing in front of her had a fat lumpy one, all chunky white and green. He looked like an acid trip concoction of frog, dragon, and porcupine. While she wanted to look away, she couldn’t help but stare at his little froggy dick. Pus-colored saliva dripped from one corner of his mouth as his flaming peepers bored into Lana’s eyes. Even in the dusk, his eyes lit like dancing candles flames. The kind you’d see at a cult sacrifice.

“Don’t stare, bitch, it’s rude,” the frog said. His lips somehow twisted into a crude grin, teeth looking like a grenade blew up in his mouth.

Her jaw fell open. Lana gaped at the frog, entranced not only by his ability to talk, but by his sheer ugliness.

“You dropped that head, toots. You want it back?”

She knew she couldn’t just leave it in the lake; someone would find it for sure. She had to put it with the others.

“Yeah,” she stuttered when she could speak. “Can you get it for me?”

“I’d be happy to,” the frog said. “You’ve done so much for me. I guess it’s only fair that I fix this for you.”

Again, she had no words.

“Don’t look so stupid. I’ll explain it all when I get back. But here’s the deal. I do this for you, and you owe me.”

She wanted to kick the frog, punt him straight into Fossil Lake too, but she couldn’t.

“Calm down, bitch,” he said.

Now she found words. “Call me bitch one more time and I’ll stomp your spiky toad ass.”

“I’m a frog, don’t get it twisted!” He paused. “I’m sorry, I’m not used to conversating. Didn’t mean to piss you off.”

“My name’s Lana.”

“Let me get that head, then, Lana, and we’ll talk. But first, the deal.”

“And what’s the deal, you froggy prick? It’s like you forget that I can kill you and get that head myself.”

“Don’t underestimate me, bit… beautiful lady,” he said.

Lana smiled. “Better. What’s the deal?”

“That water is nipple-freezing cold. It makes my horns even harder. Might shrink my… well, whatever, don’t judge me. You don’t wanna go in there. I’ll get this for you and then you’ll owe me.”

“Owe you what?”

“Your company, some food, a place to stay, and maybe even a kiss.”

She cringed. But the frog was right, she needed that head.

“We’ll see,” she said. “Don’t push your luck. Go get it and we’ll talk.”

His red eyes flared. He turned, splashed through the water and dove deep. Lana waited, sipping a beer and smoking a cigarette. The frog was gone a long time, but eventually, he broke the surface with a big tangle of Bart’s hair clamped between his crooked teeth. He hopped up the bank, dragging the head. Lana stepped forward and grabbed it.

“Got him,” the frog said. “Fucker had a heavy head.”

Lana set it snug against some driftwood so that it couldn’t roll back into the water. “I don’t know how,” she said. “There couldn’t have been much in it.”

“Brains and heads, regardless of how well they are educated, generally weigh the same.”

“Oh, so now you got jokes? Lana asked.

“I’m just glad you’re finally getting them, bi… beautiful.”

“I don’t know what the fuck is going on here.” Lana said, sitting on a rock. “I’m so confused.”

“Give me a beer and a smoke and I’ll give you the skinny.” His fire-red eyes looked her up and down. “Looks like you could use a little skinny,” he added.

Lana ignored him.

“Hey,” the frog said, “I just did you a huge favor toots, and we agreed to a deal. Beer and cigarette please.”

“And just how the fuck am I supposed to give you a beer and a cigarette?” Lana asked.

“Jesus, we gotta smarten you up,” he said. “Pour the beer in that divot in the rock and light the smoke and wedge it right there.”

She did.

The frog took a big slurp of beer, then hopped over to the burning cigarette and took a mighty puff. When he exhaled, some of the smoke billowed through his amphibian skin.

“Nice,” he said. “Now let’s get down to business.”

“Thanks for getting that head, I appreciate it. So what happens now?”

“First, I thank you, too,” the frog said. “I pretty much owe you my life.”

“I don’t understand,” Lana asked, puzzled. “And what’s your name anyway? That would make my life a lot easier. I’m still not even sure this is real.”

“My name is Lucky,” the frog said.

“Lucky?”

“Did I stutter, bi- Lana? That’s my name, and actually it’s completely justified. I’ve been lucky to live at this lake. I’ve lived at a lot of lakes and never been as lucky as I’ve been here.”

“What do you mean?”

Lucky rolled his eyes, drank from the pool of beer, hopped over, and hit the cigarette.

“You’ve made me Lucky, Lana. I’ve been a frog for a long time. A lot longer than most frogs. They usually die, a lot of them from starvation. Do you have any idea why I’m this fat?”

“No?”

“From the heads you hide,” Lucky said. “Do you know what human heads attract as they decompose?

“Flies?”

“Any idea what my favorite food is?”

“Flies?”

“Pretty much,” Lucky said. ““Other bugs too, but the flies are my favorite Especially corpse flies. Greedy, bloated corpse flies. Fat and lazy and full of all kinds of juices. Delicious.” Lucky licked his lips. “When you dump a head, the flies swarm, and I eat big and easy all day long. So thank you, Lana.”

“That’s fucking disgusting,” Lana said.

“Uh, you’re the one that kills people,” Lucky fired back. “I just feed off of that.”

She nodded, sipped her beer, and stared at the fat horny frog named Lucky that twitched in front of her. “So what’s our deal, fatass?” she asked.

“Easy, bitch, I’m sensitive about my weight. I can’t help it that you’ve killed so many people it’s like I eat at Golden Corral every single meal. Have you ever considered moderation?”

“Have you?”

“Fuck off. Let’s put all this shit aside and talk about what we can do for each other. You’ve fed me and made me fat and happy for a long time now; I appreciate it. Have the cops ever found a piece of a head you’ve left over here?”

“I don’t think so,” Lana said.

“And that’s because as a thank you for you feeding me so well, I make the skulls disappear. You turn down the attitude a couple clicks, and maybe we can help each other out.” Lucky drank and then smoked, hopped around a little bit, and looked up at Lana. 

“What do you want?” she asked.

“I want a partner,” Lucky said.

“I don’t care what we’ve done for each other, I’m not letting your lumpy dick anywhere near me!”

“If I was a poison dart frog, I’d blast one right in your eye,” Lucky said. “That was hurtful.”

“Look, I’ll admit, I’m a little crazy, but I draw the line dark and thick well before frog fucking.”

Lucky rolled his flaring red eyes. “I’m not actually a frog.”

“Well then …”

“And I’m not a toad either, before your smart ass says it,” he cut her off.

Lana puffed out the smoke and her cheeks before taking a sip of her beer. “Okay, you fat lumpy-dicked asshole, thanks for getting that head, and you’re welcome for the smorgasbord of meals I’ve unknowingly provided you with. Maybe I’ll even stop by the pet store and staple a baggie of live crickets to the next guy’s forehead.”

“Don’t condescend me; I don’t need pet store crickets,” Lucky said. “We had a deal. If this is how it’s gonna be, I’ll just show up at your house. We can settle things then.”

“Good luck finding out where I live, you fucking toad.” She stood up. “Thanks again for getting that head. Eat, sleep and be merry. I’ll be back to make sure that it’s gone before anyone can find it.”

“Fine, bitch,” Lucky slapped his tongue out, hitting her ankles. “But I have a feeling we’ll be seeing each other soon. And shave those things, would ya? That stubble is disgusting.”

“I just … You know what? Fuck you,” Lana said, and she turned to go.

*      *     *

When she got home, the paranoia set in like it always did.

As she settled into bed, she tried to push away the strange experience with Lucky and regain the calm that helped her sleep at night. Just as her hand began to help her relax, a noise at her window startled her.

It wasn’t a knocking – more of a splashing. She turned on her lamp to see bits of blood splattered on her window.

“What the…!”

Grabbing a knife out of her nightstand and running to the window, she shoved it up. Out in the yard was Bart’s head, with Lucky crouched on top, the frog’s toes dipping into the pulpy remnants of Bart’s severed neck and his frog legs flicking Bart’s blood onto Lana’s window.

With the window up, the next splat hit Lana in the face.

“Told you we’d be seeing each other, bitch!” Lucky yelled, loud and high enough to shatter glass.

Lana ran outside, scooped up Lucky by the legs and Bart by the hair, and pulled them into her kitchen.

“Finally!” Lucky said.

“How the hell did you get here? What the hell are you doing?” Lana demanded, dumping the head into the sink.