Greg F. Gifune - Heretics

HERETICS

Greg F. Gifune

First Digital Edition

December 2009

Published by:

Darkside Digital

A Horror Mall Company

P.O. Box 338

North Webster, IN 46555

www.horror-mall.com/darksidedigital

Heretics 2009 by Greg F. Gifune

All Rights Reserved.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either a product of the authors imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Before the flames, the screams, the smoke and acrid stench, before the blood, her hair had been wet, he remembered that much. The strands dangled near her jaw line, matted, twisted and dripping with gasoline. She smiled at him then, the squat candle clutched in her hands and held out before her as if in sacrifice to unseen gods, the tiny flame dancing, casting shadow-spirits along the pale walls. The look in her eyes signaled nothing could ever be the same; that nothing would ever be all right again.

Still, her madness was nothing new. Madeline had always been insane. But then, so had he, so had Riptheyd all been nuts. Hadnt they? Whenever the memories found him, he assured himself they had, though in those rare moments when he allowed truth to find him as well, things could not be explained away so easily. Psychosis had been a symptom, never a cause. That was reserved for something darker than mental illness could ever aspire to be.

Her eyes. He remembered Madelines eyes through the flash of fire, how they had peered at him despite the pain, despite the tearing and blackening and bursting of skin.

The memories dripped across his mind like a steady trickle of fresh blood.

What are you thinking about?

He caught himself staring at the slowly rotating blades on the window fan, and the sheer curtains framing it, blowing about as if in some impromptu night ballet. Still, the humidity was nearly unbearable.

Without raising his head from the pillow Harry shifted his eyes across the darkened room until theyd located the woman. Im sorry?

She sat in a large wicker chair that looked like something one might find at a garage sale. A short, slightly chubby young woman, he looked at her with casual interest at best, for now. Meanwhile, her attention was primarily focused on the wrinkled bag of corn chips in her lap. What are you thinking about?

Nothing really.

Must be thinking about something.

Okay, then I was thinking about my home.

She smiled slightly, as if uncertain it was all right to do so just then. Where do you live, anyway?

Well, theres the place you live, then theres your home , you know?

She brushed crumbs from her breasts. If you say so.

Harry often wondered if she had been a wise choice. Even just feet away, vulnerable and scantily clad in a sheer nightie, he felt very little physical attraction to her. Sympathy maybe? Had he only felt sorry for her, ignored, alone and often made fun of in life for not fulfilling some Madison Avenue version of beauty, for not being anorexic or built like a young boy, eyes always sporting the guarded hope that someone might notice her, might want to talk with her, to know her, to be her friend or maybe even something more? Not sympathy, no. Empathy.

Despite her lack of experience she had been a needy, somewhat frantic lover, but once hed managed to quiet her, once hed slipped inside her, their eyes locked and their arms holding each other tight, he imagined that in that moment he loved herwas in love with herand if only that brief segment of time could continue uninterrupted they would be forever happy, forever satisfied. But only nightmares last forever.

And nightmares were his business.

Ever heard of Virtue? he asked.

Im vaguely familiar with the concept.

The town.

She tossed the bag of chips onto a nearby bureau then offered a dramatic pout. Where is it, upstate or something?

Its in Massachusetts.

Is that where you were from or something?

Youre very fond of the phrase, or something , arent you?

She looked away, a veteran of ridicule.

Im sorry, he said softly.

A smile gradually came to her elfin face. Was it nice there? In Virtue, I mean.

Life in a quaint New England town is rarely what people think it is. He returned his gaze to the window fan and the dancing curtains. Particularly if the town in question is Virtue. Growing up there was never exactly what Id call idyllic for us.

Us ?

My friends and me. The conversation felt odd, yet strangely welcome. He had never done this before, never discussed the past with someone like her. Back when I was the old me.

Only Harry, as Madeline would say. All Harry .

So youre thinking about your old life?

Something like that, yes.

We dont have to talk about it if you dont want to. She shrugged. Its late anyway. Maybe I should go to bed.

Its all right. He sat up. Im here for you.

The young woman had been sitting on her feet, but she propped herself up on the chair long enough to release her legs from beneath her, then plopped back down, the wicker straining and her flesh jiggling. She crossed her arms over her breasts, as if suddenly cognizant of her scarce dress. I see the way you look at me sometimes and it used to scare me a little, but now I just cant figure out why you like me. I mean, I know youre a lot older than me and all that, but still, even older guys dont exactly trip over each other to get to me.

Yeah, Im pretty old. Harry smiled. Youre too tough on yourself though. I know people can be cruel but dont let them get to you. None of it matters.

She seemed eager to change the subject. What did you do? You knowbefore?

I was a writer.

Really? Her eyebrows domed as if hed told her he was a lion tamer. That is so cool. What did you write?

Horror, mostly.

Oh, I love scary stuff, dont you?

Again, he saw the fire, smelled the singed hair and the burning flesh, felt Madelines eyes peering at him from their dark past, from just over the womans bare shoulder.

Not particularly.

I dont get it. Then why write it?

I suspect it was more therapeutic than anything.

So, she said, sitting forward, eyes bright, what did you write? Books?

Three forgettable novels under various pen names, and I did some ghost writing for people from time to time. Harry remembered the bookcase in his old apartment, how the shelves had been packed and overflowing with stacks of books. I was never a best-selling author, but I was a reasonably good hack, so add to that the occasional freelance nonfiction work I did and it was a living. A shitty living, but a living. It afforded me a studio apartment and a topnotch used car. What more could a struggling ar-teest pushing forty have asked for?

Dont knock it. Look at me, working at Wonder Mart as a lowly cashier. Been working there since graduation, but you knew that, I guess. The pay sucks but at least theres health insurance, which is important now that Im eighteen. I want to go to night school though anyway. I want to be a vet. I love animals. Dont you just love animals? You know about my cats but do you know how they got their names?

No, tell me.

The big one is named Cheesy because he loves cheese puffs and the other one I named Brad mostly because I like the name but also because I have a crush on Brad Pitt, which you know from some of our recent conversations, and I figure unless I become a stalker or something thats the closest Ill ever get to him.

Im sure youll make a wonderful vet, Doreen.

She blushed, still unaccustomed to his compliments. Can I ask you something?

Anything.

Do you think youll ever go back to Virtue?

Madeline was playing tricks on him now. The floor had turned to blood, bubbling about in a gurgling spray before cascading away. Worms emerged from Doreens hair, inched across her forehead and disappeared into her ears.