| The Tales of Ace the Zombie Lustful Beast |
| I stood staring at the hanging tree, but my body was no longer there among the others. That is because I was wearing my body. �Your spirit reentered your corpse when you passed under the tree,� Rita confirmed, standing well out of reach. �I cut you down from the noose.� She rolled her eyes. �I didn�t have to, though, and maybe I shouldn�t have.� Growing tired of this infernal woman�s mind games and sarcastic attitude, I walked within striking distance. �So you did see me when I was a disembodied spirit?� �Of course!� Rita grinned. �You were a ghost! Anyone would have seen you!� Thoughts came to mind of the old beggar I had passed on the road; he had seen me for sure, screaming and running away to hide. I recalled Rita�s betrayal of me and my men. She was the reason I was a walking corpse. She was the reason I had glass eyes and a head held up by a metal brace. �You know, I should tear you in half,� I scolded the whore. She took a step towards me and raised an eyebrow. �And you won�t,� she cooed. �You won�t because you love me.� Despicable wench! I didn�t love her at all - I HATED HER! I couldn�t stand her deceptively delicate voice, her dark eyes, her giant tits and motherly hips! The perfume smell she emanated was repulsive! I resented everything about her, everything except for... �Your evil nature,� I commented. �Your spiteful, malicious, evil nature is what continues to attract me...� �I know,� she offered with a coy grin. She leaned in close, breast flesh pressing against me, and smothered me with a wet, cold kiss. �We are forever bound together, Allen,� she whispered in my ear. I smacked her in the face, and she collapsed to the ground. �I am called The Ace of Spades!� I shouted. Rita stood up and struck me across the neck, then in the gut. She kicked me in the groin and slapped me so hard one of my glass eyes popped out. I reacted by cowering, and she continued her assault, leveling blows and kicks with the power of an enraged bull. I fell to the dirt, reaching for my dislodged glass eye, as if I were down under my own volition. The woman had proved a point - she was strong and I was weak. I was her servant. I was her slave. Just as great of insult as the beating she had delivered, she helped me back up to my feet. �And I am called Rita Conchita!� she proclaimed. �Not bitch, not whore, not wench! Treat me with the respect you would show your mother and the love you would extend to your dearest daughter!� Stuffing my false red eye back into its socket, I began to whimper. �Now why are you crying?� she asked with a scowl. My mind went back to a point I had long forbade it from visiting. My childhood. My mother. My family. As I wailed like a distressed banshee, my mind wandered back in time... I awoke to the smell of baking bread, as I did every morning. Tossing off my covers, I jumped up and ran to my mother, hard at work at the stove. I squeezed her midsection and told her how much I loved her. Just like every morning. My two brothers, older than I, sat on the wood floor playing a game of some sort. My older sister sat in a chair, reading. Just like every morning. My family had recovered well from the news of my father�s death three months earlier. He had died fighting a war I knew little about. He had been absent from the home so long because of the war that I remembered little more than his face. Even his voice had faded from memory by the time we heard that he had been killed. Immediately after his demise, my mother was fortunate enough to find a very nice man to help take care of us. He was very attentive to my mother, though my older brothers and sister didn�t care much for him (my oldest brother had once seen my mother and the man making love behind the house). Still, even as a young child, I understood that life goes on, and didn�t carry the same resentment towards this man as my siblings. My sister and I had a discussion one night about mother�s new man. �It�s not proper,� she stated as to their relationship. �Mother didn�t even wait a week after the news of Papa�s death. I have suspicions that her and that man were involved before she even found out Papa was gone. For God�s sake, he�s closer to my age than Mother�s! This new man is nothing but a lustful beast.� I shook my head and sighed. I loved my mother - I wasn�t going to begrudge her happiness. The man didn�t live in our house. He continued to stay in town, always promising to take up residence with us. He always greeted my mother with jewelry and money, and awarded us with treats and wooden toys. I came to anticipate his arrival more and more. Eventually, my brothers grew downright resentful and started giving all their toys to me, unwilling to take anything from the man. �He acts in bad ways,� the two of them said often, almost in unison. �He is a lustful beast.� (They had obviously been talking with my sister.) But as my toy box grew full with gifts, and my belly swelled with candy, I loved the man more and more. My sister started to come into womanhood, and this man began to give her jewelry as well. Her and I stopped conversing altogether, and I missed the stories she used to tell me of dragons and long-lost kingdoms. She had grown so withdrawn. My mother advised me that as my sister became a woman, she was no longer able to relate with me they way she used to. I rebounded from this disconnectedness with my sister when my mother�s lover bought me a pet rabbit. It was beautiful and gentle. It became my best friend. I kept it in a pen the man had made for me around the side of the house. When I wasn�t playing toys, I was outside tending to my lovely pet. Meanwhile, my brothers started spending more and more time away from home. One night at dusk, I made my away around to the side of the home to feed my rabbit. What I saw distressed me terribly. The man and a woman I thought was my mother were wrestling around on the ground. They were naked, and looked like they were enjoying themselves. I was embarrassed, but had accepted my mother and her new lover�s relationship. Only as the man rolled onto his back, did I see that it was my sister he had been on top of. I dropped my rabbit�s carrot and ran into the house. My mother was asleep in the loft, and I woke her promptly. I told her what I had seen, and she frowned. She told me she knew of this activity already, and although saddened by it, she loved the man too much to stop it. She said my sister had come to love him, too. Weeks passed, and seeing this man with my sister became a common occurrence. In the still of night, I once discovered the man laying naked in the loft with both my sister and my mother. They looked so comfortable and happy. My brothers had both moved away to live with my uncle in town, where they were apprenticing as blacksmiths. I felt excluded. I tried to crawl into the loft with the my mother, sister, and the man, only to be yelled at by that lustful beast and told that if I didn�t stay in my bed from now on, I would be sleeping in the rabbit pen. It was the first harsh words that had been directed at me by the man, and - tears welling up in my eyes - I ran from the home to my lovely bunny that never turned me away. The creature appeared to be sleeping as I approached. I couldn�t resist waking him, though, and shook him. He was stiff as a board, and I realized the poor thing was dead. An old, slow rabbit when I first got him, he had probably died of old age, but that assumption didn�t soften the tragedy. My brothers had moved away, my sister and mother had given themselves to the man, and now my own beloved pet had left me. �How could you do this to me?� I cried to the dead animal. �How could you leave me when I needed you?� I kicked the stiffened form and immediately felt regret. It was not the poor rabbit�s fault, but why couldn�t he have just pressed on for another day? I buried him that night, and cried by his grave until morning. As the sun rose I was dozing off, delirious and exhausted. A man�s hand grabbed my shoulder, and I turned around and bit the offending body part. �Ow!� screamed a voice I didn�t quite recognize. However, the face was familiar. �Father?� I blinked. I knew it was him. But he was supposed to be dead. His left leg was missing from the knee down and had been replaced with a wooden peg. He was injured, but no ghost. �Father!� I sang and hugged him tightly. He told me of how he had been wounded and didn�t think he�d make it home, but was driven forward by the dream of seeing his family�s faces light up when they witnessed his homecoming. Then the realization came to me of what was waiting for him in the loft. What was I to do? I had to say something, since he would find out the truth in a minute�s time. I told him what events had transpired since news of his supposed death, and he quietly took in every word of it. I told him I understood if he killed the lustful beast that had invaded our home, and encouraged him to do so. He took out a knife and went inside. Fists balled in anticipation, I imagined the scene as my father strolled boldly in and called the lustful beast down from the loft. I pictured my father butchering the fool like the pig he was. My mother and sister would cry and scream, but would be relieved that the ordeal was over, happy to see Papa home. How naive a child�s mind is! When I walked inside a few minutes later, I saw the lustful beast standing over my father�s body. Papa had been handicapped from war and weakened from the subsequent journey home, and thus he stood little chance against the younger, able-bodied man that had taken such a liking to my mother and sister. The two women�s heads poked out over the loft, staring down, sans emotion, as if they were saying, �That was unpleasant,� but little more. I shrieked at my father�s murderer at the top of my lungs. The lustful beast grimaced, set his bloody knife down on a table, and made his way towards me. He reached out his arms as if to comfort me. I dumped my toy chest over, and various balls came spilling out onto the floor. Slipping on the marbles beneath his feet, the lustful beast came crashing face first to the floor. I leapt over him, quickly procured the blade he had used to kill my father, seized him by the hair, and slit his throat from behind with the precision of a veteran assassin. He gurgled and died next to my father�s body. I scaled the ladder to the loft and cleaved my weapon into my sister and mother alternately. My fury was undeniable. In seconds, they were both dead, bloody scraps of flesh. I looked down upon my dear Papa�s body and wanted to cry. However, I held back my tears out of respect. He needed burying, and I could weep later. I laid him to rest next to my lovely rabbit, and bid the two farewell and whispered that I would see them again. I left the bodies of the lustful beast, my mother, and my sister where they had fallen - they did not deserve a proper burial. They were not worth my time. I wandered for days, surviving off food I had taken from home, and did not come into contact with another human being for nearly a week. I kept my father�s dagger with me to remember him and to protect myself if need be. On my eighth day of wandering, I came upon a small cottage in the woods, much like the one I had lived in. Peeking through the window, I saw a young man and woman in a loving embrace, naked and kissing passionately. �Lustful beasts,� I cursed, and pulled out my father�s blade... |
| All material copyright 2004 Land Rat Publishing, a McKinnon Media company. |