Inner Demons (832 hits)
Category: NoneLabels: Disgusting
Rating: 1.6 on 25 reviews (Rate this item) (V)
Submitted by Jack McCallum (View user info) at 2006-07-14 17:58:29 EDT
Effingham was sure he was losing his mind when demons started coming out of his ass. As it was, insanity would have been preferable.
After eating and watching a Fox News evening report, Effingham had set his plate on the floor for the cat to work on and had gone into the bathroom carrying a Grisham paperback. Effingham lived alone. He liked to watch the news on Fox because he thought a lot of the anchorwomen were hot.
A week ago Laurie Dhue has said the word 'testicles' in the middle of a story. Mesmerized by the way her lips formed the word, Effingham had found himself spontaneously erect.
Effingham didn't close the bathroom door. He belched, tasting the Thai take-out he had eaten in front of the tube. The plastic toilet seat creaked as he sat down on it. He could hear his fork rattling against the plate as the cat licked it clean.
He found his page and started to read. Lately he'd been averaging a couple of chapters a dump. He hadn't had a decent shit in about a week, and it was starting to worry him. He farted a lot, his asshole trumpeting off-key, but that was it. He resisted the urge to push too hard. He was carrying a lot of extra pounds around his midsection, and he didn't want to expire like Elvis— ass in the air, face on the pee-spattered floor.
The first sign that something was seriously wrong was the tickle. Just as he felt a sizable turd moving down the chute, something touched his anus, grazing the sensitive mucous membranes like a feather tip. Before Effingham could react, he felt another touch, much more deliberate, like questing fingers the size of rice grains.
Effingham leaped up and spun about. There were spiders in his apartment. He's seen, chased down, and killed some doozies. If one just ran across his asshole he was gonna chew out the landlord.
There was nothing in the bowl, or under it. Effingham lifted the toilet seat. All clear. He bent painfully and tried to peer under the bowl's inner rim. His back began to hurt, and all he could see were some yellow-brown water stains. He flushed. No spiders.
"The fuck?" He looked over his shoulder. In the mirror he was overweight, white-faced, and bare-assed. He looked like a fucking retard.
He sat down again. Tried a little push. No dice. The shock of what he had felt a moment ago had snapped his sphincter shut and it felt as if the ring of muscle was permanently frozen.
"Fuckin motherfucker," Effingham muttered.
At this rate he'd never shit again. He'd need a locksmith to pry open his ass. Maybe major surgery, to get his bowels cleaned out with a wet-vac or whatever the hell they did these days.
Try to relax, he thought. He sat back. Read a little. He innards grumbled. He read a little more. A small fart squeaked out and he gave a triumphant cry. "Yeah!"
There was a damn-near violent shifting deep in his guts, and he felt things loosen up, felt a major load inching its way toward the bright lights of freedom... and again felt that probing touch, twitchy and fast, like something was dancing around his rectum.
Effingham jumped up and tried to run, too scared to scream. His pants bound his ankles and he pitched forward, grabbing the sink, which shook and nearly tore off of its moorings.
The toilet bowl was still empty. Clean. Effingham opened the cabinet behind the mirror over the sink, pulled out a shaving mirror, and squatted with the mirror under him, trying to get a look at his own asshole.
The thought of worms crossed his mind and his heart was racing. Jesus, worms!
What kind of worms, Effingham could not have said, but he recalled seeing a special on FOX a while ago about internal parasites. Christ, with all the goddamned foreigners they were letting into the country these days who knew what they were infested with. He could have had worms in his food. He ate Thai take-out once a week, Chinese Tuesdays and Thursdays. He could be filled with so much vermin it was spilling out of his ass.
Effingham kicked one shoe free and shook one leg out of his pants. He squatted again, turning so the light was just right. If something was living in his tailpipe he wanted to get a look at it before it withdrew into the dark inside him. Maybe he could avoid a doctor and get a cream or a powder or something at the pharmacy if he could just see what it was, maybe look it up on the internet.
He still couldn't see anything. His scrotum was in the way. "Christ!"
In his panic he slapped his balls out of the way, groaning an instant later and cupping them tenderly in anticipation of the wave. Any guy who has ever been kicked in the balls knows and dreads the wave, an unstoppable surge of pain, nausea, and vertigo.
Effingham swayed on his feet, lined up the mirror, tried not to puke on it as the wave hit. His asshole was pristine, still clean from a hearty wash and rinse in the shower this morning. Thanks to the wave, his vision darkened and he suddenly felt as if he was going to dump a vast, watery load directly onto the bathroom floor.
He released a toneless groan. "Uaahhh."
Belowdecks, things were irising open of their own accord. Effingham let go of his throbbing sack and lurched stiff-legged and near-blind toward the toilet, his arms raised in case he stumbled again, glad he still didn't have the mirror lined up on what was going on down there.
Realizing he must look ridiculous, he momentarily imagined a brightly lighted theater marquee reading 'Frankenstein Takes a Shit.'
He turned and collapsed onto the toilet seat and something gave way with a dramatic sound, like a walnut exploding in the vise of a nutcracker.
"Fuckin great," he said, and it sounded like a sob.
He pushed and something fell out of him. He heard a splash. And another splash. And another. Only one thing had come out of him, so what the hell was moving around in the bowl?
He rose up, looked down, and screamed.
Thrashing in the bowl and trying to get a grip on the smooth porcelain walls surrounding it was very small man-like form.
It was a tiny demon. It was about three inches long. It had the proportions of a man, but it also had little cloven hooves and horns on its head and a thread-like tail that writhed in the water.
"No," Effingham said. He slammed a fist down on the flush lever. The water began to spiral down, the thing screaming with the high-pitched, eye-watering cry of a bat. With a glug and gurgle the little demon was gone.
Effingham cried, "Hah-HAAA!"
He yelled too hard. His could almost hear his anus snap open, and three more tiny demons dropped onto the floor. One demon lay stunned. One demon ran under Effingham's old claw-foot bathtub. The last demon sprinted out into the hallway, its hooves making tiny tik-tik-tik-tik sounds on the hardwood floor.
Effingham's shoulders slumped.
The guy in the apartment downstairs yelled, "Shut the fuck up, dick!"
The stunned demon was shaking its head, getting to its feet.
Effingham raised his foot to stomp on the little fucker. His pants were still around one ankle, and his other foot was on his pants. Effingham lost his balance and pitched over, reaching for the sink again.
This time he fell so hard he tore the old pedestal sink away from the wall. Screws erupted from drywall, scattering paint and plaster. The porcelain base shattered into shards that danced across the floor like misshapen dice and as the sink hit the floor both the hot and cold feed lines broke and water began spraying everywhere.
Effingham landed on his knees and grabbed the stunned demon. His entire body convulsed in disgust as the small wet body writhed in his grasp. It was like holding a naked mouse. Effingham threw the demon at the toilet bowl. It struck the plastic seat with a damp thud and stopped there.
Effingham stood quickly, hoping to push the thing into the toilet, and his shoeless foot came down on a shard of porcelain jutting upward like a tooth. He let out an ululating shriek and knew he was going down again. He managed to pivot and land ass-first on the toilet seat which snapped in two with an explosive sound. Effingham felt jagged plastic simultaneously stab his left ass cheek and slash at his scrotum.
He leaped up and began gibbering as the pain in his foot flared again. He staggered across the room in a rocking lurch.
A muffled, "The fuck you doin up there?" came from downstairs.
There was something on his ass. He reached back and pulled it free. It was a flattened, bloodied demon, a string of entrails hanging out of its asshole.
Effingham dropped the tiny corpse into the toilet, flushed again, turned his head, and regurgitated a jet of spicy Thai and Bud Lite into the bathtub. Even as he was heaving he saw the second demon running out from under the tub and heading for the door. He slammed the door shut and wiped his mouth, cursing as the tiny creature crawled through the narrow gap between door and floor.
He opened the door and staggered into the hall, his pants dragging from one ankle. He saw the demon running across the hardwood floor into the living room. He grabbed a flat glass paperweight off of his writing desk and threw it at the demon. The paperweight missed the small target, hit the floor, and bounced up, glancing off of Effingham's 48" tv. There was a dark gray diagonal crack across the tv screen.
The paperweight smashed through the big living room window.
Effingham screamed again.
"I'm gonna call the cops you keep this shit up," the guy downstairs screamed back. "This ain't no fuckin half-way house!"
The two remaining demons were standing in the dining room, huddled together. When they saw Effingham they ran in different directions, one heading under the dining room table, the other running into the kitchen.
Effingham took a running leap and shrieked, his voice breaking. "HA! I'm gonna kill all of you little fuckers!"
"That's fuckin it, man," the guy downstairs yelled. "I'm callin the po-po!"
Effingham came down on the floor mere inches behind the demon as it darted under the heavy maple dining table. His feet hit the floor with a loud thud.
A woman downstairs hollered, "What the hell's yo problem?"
"He's an asshole," the guy downstairs replied.
Effingham strained to shove the table out of the way.
"BASTARD!"
The table slid a few feet and slammed into the wall, one heavy wooden leaf rupturing drywall and shattering the lathing underneath. A crack in the wall lanced up to the ceiling, leaving flaking paint in its wake.
"MOTHERfucker," the guy downstairs said.
Effingham grabbed the little demon and threw it out the broken window. Its small torso became snagged on a shard of glass, and the demon fell to the ledge outside, leaving a slender smear of blood on the shard.
A pigeon landed on the ledge and grabbed the demon. The creature let out an eye-watering scream as the pigeon took flight.
Effingham stepped to the window and cried, "Die, motherfucker, die!"
He didn't see two cops stepping out of a patrol car at looking up at him.
Effingham turned in time to see his cat race after the demon in the kitchen. He let out a hysterical laugh.
"Kill, baby, kill!"
When Effingham entered the kitchen his cat was sitting on the counter, toying with the demon.
The tiny figure had punctures and scratches on its body, but it was still very much alive.
Still dragging his pants from one ankle, Effingham went to the gas range and turned on a burner.
Effingham took the demon from the cat and grabbed a pair of tongs from a drawer. Releasing a roar of laughter, and not hearing a fist hammer on the door and a commanding shout as the police out in the hall identified themselves and ordered him to open the door, Effingham held the tiny demon over the bright blue jets of flame and roasted it alive.
When the creature was dead and quite crisp he stepped to the sink, and the disposal.
He had just dropped the charred corpse into the disposal and turned the unit on when he noticed the cat sitting beside the range and watching him with great interest, its tail swishing back and forth.
Effingham grabbed a dishtowel and stepped toward the cat even as its tail burst into flames.
The cat let out a horrific wail and leaped for the kitchen door, its tail a yellow streak.
Effingham dropped the dishtowel and ran after the cat. The dishtowel landed flat on the burner and extinguished the flames. Under the layer of heavy linen, the gas valve was still open.
"C'mere!" Effingham screamed as he ran after the cat. "C'mere you little bastard!"
He chased the cat around the living room, in and out of the bathroom, and in and out of his bedroom, wondering who the fuck was knocking on his door.
He police kicked his door in just as he chased the cat into the kitchen. He saw the dishcloth lying on the gas range and moving. For a moment he thought how odd that was, and then the burning cat ignited the gas in the room and Effingham's kitchen exploded.
The last thing he remembered of that night was seeing his cat pass overhead and right out the broken window like a yowling comet.
The cops found Effingham lying on his dining room floor half naked, scorched, and lacerated and bleeding around the rectum and genitals. They quickly dragged him out of his burning apartment and called fire-rescue.
Two days later Effingham was fully conscious. He was in a quiet hospital ward. He had vague memories of the police peppering him with questions, and a man in a suit demanding restitution for damages to the apartment building.
When a nurse came to check on him he asked her a question. She chucked and shook her head, and asked him to repeat himself.
"Have I pooped since I came in here?"
Seeing the dread and concern on his face, the nurse said, "Yes, Mr. Effingham, you've pooped since you have been here."
"Was it... normal?"
The nurse shook her head. "Mr. Effingham, I can attest to the utter normality of your last bowel movement."
As the nurse went on her way Effingham breathed a sigh of relief. His burns and cuts hurt a little, but at least the nightmare was over.
He rubbed his stomach and grimaced, feeling a surge of acid indigestion.
Effingham belched, and two tiny birdlike creatures with long necks and wings of gray translucent membrane flew out of his mouth.
User Reviews
Submitted by bleuluna (user info) at 2006-07-16 11:10:20 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by superintendent (user info) at 2006-07-15 00:05:27 EDT (#)
Ranking: 1
"Try to relax, he thought. He sat back. Read a little. He innards grumbled. He read a little more. A small fart squeaked out and he gave a triumphant cry. "Yeah!" "
Fucking Hilarius
Submitted by Stagger_Lee (user info) at 2006-07-14 23:47:56 EDT (#)
Ranking: 1
No Comment
Submitted by KindaNews (user info) at 2006-07-14 21:29:21 EDT (#)
Ranking: 1
Effingood.
It would have been better if he had heated one of the demons and shoved it back up his ass, though.
Submitted by rockdocc (user info) at 2006-07-14 21:18:04 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
ha! shit demons! lovely.
needs more jewish heroes though.
Submitted by extacy_red (user info) at 2006-07-14 20:00:36 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by Shlongy (user info) at 2006-07-14 19:35:42 EDT (#)
Ranking: 1
Bubba- Get outta Jack's ass, for chrissakes.
There's not room for you AND the other guy he's got up there.
Submitted by polyamorousaj (user info) at 2006-07-14 19:22:31 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Don't label me as rating anything, Bubba. Using that logic, you could also infer that you are rating the poster, because as you so eloquently put, "I'm no Jack_McCallum." I don't like any of you in the masses well enough that I would actually put up something more than a first draft of whatever nonsense came out of my head.
This is kind like a cross between that movie set in Brooklyn with the evil puppets (one of the only scenes I remember is that guy from the KKK running after the puppets and shouting "Come back here you little niglets!") and Dreamcatcher- neither of which I was too fond of.
Bubba, if you're so desperate to find something "McCallum-worthy" of mine, probably the only thing you're going to enjoy is Wild East. It's delightful cookie-cut fiction- which seems to be what you enjoy. http://www.ubersite.com/m/48044. I'm a Warrior is pretty similar too. http://www.ubersite.com/m/49585. The one thing I will give Jack props for is that in this story, it gives the ability for more than one type of reaction. You can be grossed out (if you're a pansy), laugh at the image of Effingham, or think "wow... that's weird."
You act as if I'm scathing Jack with a 0 rating, which means that you're juvenile and naive enough to believe that the ratings on Ubersite are indicative of any type of quality or hold any type of weight with anything. And for that I only have one thing to say...
HAR HAR PEENER!
Submitted by Bubba2341 (user info) at 2006-07-14 19:10:16 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Submitted by polyamorousaj (user info) at 2006-07-14 18:21:56 (#)
Ranking: 0
One could also argue that characters don't need last names.
Over-analyzing doesn't take the fun out of reading if you're reading to give criticism of the work on the whole. Not saying Jack's story's good or bad, but those are a few things that stuck out at me.
I could suck his proverbial online wang like every other fiction-groupy that doesn't know the difference between literature and alliteration, but I'll be honest with Jack because I don't like him.
________________________________________________
I've read your stuff, AJ, and you're no Jack McCallum.
If I read your review correctly, you insinuate that you are the only one on the site capable
of distinguishing between "literature" and drivel? Gimme a break. You said it all when you
stated you dislike Jack. Face it, you rated the poster, not the post. . .
Submitted by Jack_McCallum (user info) at 2006-07-14 18:55:18 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Submitted by runswithscissors (user info) at 2006-07-14 18:33:37 (#)
Ranking: 2
Effingham was sure he was losing his mind when demons started coming out of his ass.
Quite possibly one of the most interesting opening lines to a story I have ever read......
--
I think THIS is my Best Ever opening line...
The Beaver had spent most of the previous night thinking about pussy.
http://www.ubersite.com/m/86323
Submitted by scourge (user info) at 2006-07-14 18:45:54 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
liked it
Submitted by Jack_McCallum (user info) at 2006-07-14 18:39:52 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Submitted by polyamorousaj (user info) at 2006-07-14 18:22:45 (#)
Ranking: 0
I have a job, Jack. I can buy my own beer because I don't have 17 cats to feed.
--
I can do both. I only have 4 cats, and this is California, remember?
Due to social reforms, beer is cheap.
It keeps the majority of the coloreds medicated, in the hopes they won't commit crimes againt the white elite to finance a jones for the hard stuff.
Submitted by Jack_McCallum (user info) at 2006-07-14 18:37:25 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Submitted by polyamorousaj (user info) at 2006-07-14 18:21:56 (#)
Ranking: 0
I'll be honest with Jack because I don't like him.
--
Well, I respect that.
Submitted by runswithscissors (user info) at 2006-07-14 18:33:37 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Effingham was sure he was losing his mind when demons started coming out of his ass.
Quite possibly one of the most interesting opening lines to a story I have ever read......
Submitted by firefly (user info) at 2006-07-14 18:26:28 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by GodChicken (user info) at 2006-07-14 18:23:04 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Hahahaha... Jack, next time, don't eat spicy food right before bed.
Submitted by polyamorousaj (user info) at 2006-07-14 18:22:45 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
I have a job, Jack. I can buy my own beer because I don't have 17 cats to feed.
Submitted by polyamorousaj (user info) at 2006-07-14 18:21:56 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
One could also argue that characters don't need last names.
Over-analyzing doesn't take the fun out of reading if you're reading to give criticism of the work on the whole. Not saying Jack's story's good or bad, but those are a few things that stuck out at me.
I could suck his proverbial online wang like every other fiction-groupy that doesn't know the difference between literature and alliteration, but I'll be honest with Jack because I don't like him.
Submitted by Jack_McCallum (user info) at 2006-07-14 18:20:57 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Submitted by polyamorousaj (user info) at 2006-07-14 18:14:47 (#)
Ranking: 0
1) Don't your characters ever have first names?
2) It would seem with the regularity that Effingham lived his life, that the people in the apartment complex would realize something was out of the ordinary and not blow a gasket when he made noise for a change.
Other than that, the story just seemed rather absurd and pointless. Very weird and violent reactions by Effingham in trying to kill things that were simple to kill and seemingly non-threatening. Also, the cat's tail-hair would singe, not light completely on fire unless it were coated in some type of fuel. When's the last time you've seen human hair light up?
--
It's just a story.
It's a Friday.
Find someone to buy you a cold beer.
Submitted by Bubba2341 (user info) at 2006-07-14 18:17:46 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Characters don't need to have first names.
Over-analyzing takes the fun out of reading.
Submitted by polyamorousaj (user info) at 2006-07-14 18:14:47 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
1) Don't your characters ever have first names?
2) It would seem with the regularity that Effingham lived his life, that the people in the apartment complex would realize something was out of the ordinary and not blow a gasket when he made noise for a change.
Other than that, the story just seemed rather absurd and pointless. Very weird and violent reactions by Effingham in trying to kill things that were simple to kill and seemingly non-threatening. Also, the cat's tail-hair would singe, not light completely on fire unless it were coated in some type of fuel. When's the last time you've seen human hair light up?
Submitted by JonnyX (user info) at 2006-07-14 18:09:47 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
my demons are made of sauerkraut.
Submitted by Jack_McCallum (user info) at 2006-07-14 18:03:48 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Submitted by awesome_face (user info) at 2006-07-14 17:59:56 (#)
Ranking: 2
Fuck ill read it later. I gotta shit.
--
Umm, you might want to read it before.
Just in case.
Submitted by Shlongy (user info) at 2006-07-14 18:03:46 EDT (#)
Ranking: 1
Well, this +1 is for "Laurie Dhue" but other than that...write a book next time and save the short stories for Uber.
Submitted by awesome_face (user info) at 2006-07-14 17:59:56 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Fuck ill read it later. I gotta shit.