Ten Steps
inspired by film shorts
FOR MATURE READERS ONLY
Strong language, scenes of a sexual nature, horror.
Ten steps into the cellar,
Ten steps into the hell hole.
Pop goes the weasel....
:lol :lol :lol :lol :lol :lol :lol
With his penis burning like a grain of sand in the sub-Saharan desert or like a chilli stuck up the arse, it fell to Giuseppe to douse it in water. He was no good. Crude and maladjusted, he thought he would catch AIDS by sleeping with a prostitute. A male one of course. Let's not be sexist here. When he relayed this fact to the prostitute in morning, the man, high on third rate coke, threw himself at Giuseppe with an iron. No that's not what burnt his penis. The metaphor there would be associated with lava surely. What made the penis sting was the sandpaper he used to masturbate with following the attack. Easily done, when smoking joints with Inositol cut in. The pain however sucks, and is most definitely intolerable. He shat, then jumped in the shower to cool his male member. He stroked his penis gently, apologising to it. He looked in the mirror, and thought to end it all. His reflection stared back at him; it would have spat at him if it could.
Giuseppe went upstairs next, and put on his mother's dress. The dresses were the type that had only ever been worn once.
Music on. Track 16. Giuseppe said out loudly.
The 'music' burst through the bulging speakers like a nail scratching down a chalkboard. It was the recording of a nursery rhyme he sang, with the screams of tortured pets in the background.
Ten steps into the cellar,
Ten steps into the hell hole.
Pop goes the weasel....
Ha ha ha ha ha.
After prancing about the double bed, he played the part of a ballet dancer, and flicked his lengthy hairy legs in the air. Afterwards, he sat wasted and coarse.
He lifted his heavy head and looked about the musty room adorned with collector items here, and designer items there. The hung head lowered, sedated with a billion or so chemicals, where taboo was the order of the day, and laughter the main course, and time was of no consequence.
The fuck am I babbling on about? he spoke loud and true. There is no one fucking here!
He looked about him again. The silence was deafening.
Nothing. Woooo... Hellllloooooooooooo.
He paused momentarily.
AAAAAAAAAAAAARGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHH. Fuck you for fucking me up. I hate you, I hate you. I hate you, he said pulling and scratching at his skin.
He walked over to a shelf, and plucked the letter F Encyclopedia, and thrust it at his shadow.
Why couldn't you read a fucking book, instead of lighting a fucking joint! You stupid dumb fuck. He said resignedly, as he sat on the floor, and cried. He banged his fists against the floor; banging it in frustration before using his forehead as the preferred hammer.
You're a freakin cliché, you... freakin cliché! he muttered under his blubbering. And nobody cares... nobody does. Cause nobody can relate...
Oh I'm sorry, came the first of the voices. Allow me to feel sorry for you in this great big mansion of yours.
Go away... drunken voices. You're coming from me. I saw my lips move in the bathroom mirror when you were talking.
Ooh aren't you the clever one. If you're so clever, why don't you see someone about all this?
I should really... Giuseppe said writhing in fits of hunger.
At least lay off the Charlie.
That easy, is it? Why don't you quit the old powder.
Oh get out of my head. You're bloody boring.
What? Fuck I'm confusing my self even...
#
Later that day, the icy wind lashed his face, and the snow belted his barely covered body as he stood outside in his underwear. He stretched his hands wide to catch the storm's full impact.
What're you doing daddy? his four year old child Anna asked him. She was confused and scared.
Get away from here, Giuseppe said. You're not real. Go on, get outta here!
The shimmering child vanished into the mist.
Giuseppe fell to his knees. He clutched his hair with some force. He went back into the house almost as white as a ghost. His knees started to weaken as his mind came to realize what he was about to do. They felt heavy like lead as lactic acid rushed through the muscle fibres. His hands shook as he reached for the magic tablets in the cupboard. He opened the lid with too much force and all the tablets sprayed onto the floor. He popped three pills and drank them down with neat vodka.
What is the point of carrying on like this? he said out loud. He lay helplessly defeated.
Hmm, his wife Maria said, crouching beside him. It's better than the alternative.
Why don't you come more often? Giuseppe said despondently.
Why don't you think of me more often?
Giuseppe reached out to touch her, and she in return moved away. She always moved. This kept the illusion alive.
Giuseppe watched television. It was Christmas adverts time. Families paraded their happiness around him. Their joviality and goodness was there for all to see, all colourful and lit brightly. He opened another beer and tried to empty it's contents in one take.
Lies, he shouted. Fucking lies. Fucking capitalistic bull shit lies.
Giuseppe was gaunt- thin to the ribcage bone and greying. He looked about his parent's house. They didn't live here. This was their holiday house. A fully furnished mansion with it's own housekeeper. Rosa, the house keeper came daily at around 4pm. Giuseppe would watch her with lewd eyes even though he considered her a 'butter face with big tits.'
Rosa came in at four on the dot. She was the fuller figured type, and not very handsome to the eye. She looked at her self in the bathroom mirror squashing down a crisp packet. She frowned. Since the owner's son had returned, she took to wearing the uniform again. She changed into her black maid's uniform with a standard white apron. She also carried a gun on her. A small one that she locked away in her purse, which ipso facto she also carried around on her person. She was a little frightened of the owner's son. He was completely barmy sometimes. She didn't think that he was naturally like this but that he brought it upon himself. Some people liked to be sad, and shed a tear, others liked to live it up, others still loved to get drunk beyond composure, and some people, liked to go crazy.
Giuseppe had told her once that she reminded him of his wife, after which he cruelly added: albeit my wife was actually pretty. You have big breasts but you compare... unfavourably.
When Rosa enquired after the wife and child down at the local pub, the bar maid told her, that Giuseppe had never married to her knowledge. Giuseppe's parents would have told her when they had come down a year or two ago. A second barmaid told her the opposite. It was from this barmaid that Rosa came to know of the cellar staircase. Rumour had it that it led down to hell. Rosa laughed along with the rest of the pub.
Don't shoot the messenger, the bar maid had said.
#
Rosa found Giuseppe wringing the necks of crows in the garden. The snap of a black bird's neck sent chills down her skeleton.
What are you doing? she asked not caring to mask her agitation.
Lunch.
Rosa left him to it, but her mind would not let it rest, so upon returning to the garden, she said:
You are going to cook it, right?
Giuseppe stared at her blankly. Of course. What do you take me for?
Rosa observed the measure and controlled countenance. Even at his most calmest, Giuseppe raised her heartbeat with his frenetic and almost psychotic lifestyle. Not my place to speak sir. My apologies.
Rosa imagined the mad son biting the black bird, and the blood spilling out of the mouth like a vampire who was having his fill. She shuddered at the thought.
After Rosa's work was done, she made a rush to leave even though she needed to take a piss. She stopped at the door. Oh don't be silly, she said and went to the bathroom.
Giuseppe was in the living room. He was cleaning his Grandfather's rifle, one from the first World War. He stopped Rosa as she raced out the bathroom. You are leaving?
All the work's done.
You never dust the wine cellar. It's filthy.
I'll do that first thing tomorrow sir.
Why not now? Are you in a rush?
No sir, Rosa said instinctively. She wished she had said the alternative.
Then go now.
Rosa stared at him. She fidgeted about her finger.
Is there a reason you don't want to go down to the cellar?
Rosa thought quickly. There is actually sir. They say down in the town, that it leads to hell. Ten step and-
Don't be so ridiculous. And this is coming from a person who sees ghosts all the time.
What?
She was afraid to take Giuseppe's statements as dark humour. He was far too convincing.
I've been down there several times. Ten steps. Count them if you have to. It'll be dark there now, so take a torch or a candle. Remember to get a spare bulb from town tomorrow and I'll fix that up.
Rosa stared at him. She had changed already, surely, she could clean it up tomorrow?
Go on then. Move your fat arse.
She wanted to retort, but she was not the mean spirited type. She disliked him so very much.
You know.... they say at the pub that you never had a wife. So why did you say you had a wife.
Giuseppe put the rifle down. I did have a wife. And a child. Why do think I live here in this shitty place? Cause they are buried in the woods close by. As per her wishes. They were shot dead in the back by coward thieves.
Rosa continued to stare at him. She presumed the personal pronoun referred to the wife.
They say, Giuseppe continued. That if you are shot in the back of your head, you die so quickly you aren't even aware that you have died.
Giuseppe felt his fingers spasm. Soon his neck would spasm. He didn't want to unnerve the maid more than he already had, but what was there to do.
Thunder crackled, and the lights in the house went out. Where had the rain come from? Giuseppe wondered. Giuseppe struck up a match and used it to light a cigarette. The power circuit is down there. So one of us has to go now anyway. I'll tell you what. You check the graves outside, and I'll check the hell hole down stairs.
Evil bastard, Rosa thought. No, she said firmly. You check the graves, and take a pic on your mobile to prove it. And I'll go into the cellar.
Giuseppe cocked his gun and puffed smoke. Have it your way.
Rosa took a candle from the kitchen and carried it down to the cellar. Ten steps, she thought, opening the cellar door with the correct key. She stepped on the first stair. One.
Giuseppe searched through his mobile phone for pictures of his late wife and child. He wasn't going to go out in this weather. He could hear violins playing in the background as his past played out around him.
Two... three... four...
Where were the pictures? Of course, he realised. They were on the other phone. Somebody was playing the piano.
Five... six... seven... Rosa said slowly. She was very much frightened in the dark. The darkness played tricks on the mind. She thought she could hear something stirring in the darkness. Was somebody else there with her? Eight.
Giuseppe could see the ghost of his wife dancing with someone. He felt a rage come upon him. Bang. Had it been him who had shot her? Had she even been unfaithful? She was dead before she hit the floor.... He heard a second bang. And what of the child. The child had seen him. Had the child been the dancing partner? It couldn't have been. Could it?
In that moment, he realised that he had destroyed every chance of the child's happiness. How could the child carry on living with that in her dreams? He had to shoot Anna.... Didn't he?
Nine...
Giuseppe's heart leapt out of his chest as all the memories rushed back to him. His wife danced around him child in hand...
Ten........................................ Eleven. Twelve. Thirteen. Fourteen. Fifteen
The End.
_______________
Not part of the story, but I've got so much time, so just a bonus, I guess....
Post Script.
The next morning, Giuseppe sat down on the kitchen floor having spilt his pills again. Clean this shit up, will you?
Rosa stared at him. She reached for the pills but hesitated. Maybe you should stop taking the pills. All of what you've been experiencing could be explained though the extreme side effects of the wrong pills...
