Unction

By Matthew Sawyer

Unction is an icky story of a mad necrophiliac and his homeless nemesis who sleeps in a park across the street. Brian Tucker is that dysfunctional killer. Faceless nuns tell the young man he must kill and rape the corpses so that they will resurrect and become an army on undead. Brian is certain his hallucinations are true – there are demons. Monsters do hunt the residents of Los Angeles. And his zombies are the salvation of all mankind. Jake Whitehead refutes the mad delusions, even after they're proven true. Mr. Whitehead is appointed the derelict consular of humanity by Brian's demonic rival. Despite his limited capacities, the old homeless man embraces an angry crusade – a campaign that takes him and his sickened opposition from one corner of the San Fernando Valley to Santa Monica, California and back again. Their infernal battle begins at a community-based group home called Luna Del Mar. Here is where the LAPD immediately become involved. A Sergeant Jim Suffolk oversees the carnage as well as pursues finding a futile love.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Matthew Sawyer
• Release date: Dec 8, 2012
• ISBN: 9781301060474

Matthew Sawyer

I hate talking about myself. Like everyone, I suppose, I am a bit narcissistic, but not egotistical. My own failure for success is that I just do not think much about myself. That is not to say I spend too much time thinking about others. In truth, I should think more of everyone; and there is a dull guilt attached to that confession. There is something of who I am, I am old enough for regrets.At my age, I am prone to think about immortality And being an atheist, there seems no alternative but science. Even so, I know that science is beyond my lifetime. I have no faith nor hope, nor do I believe in ghosts, elves, unicorns...In that hopeless disbelief, I write so there remains a record of accomplishments in my life. Unrecognized and even scorned, I continue to tell stories so I will be remembered after I am dead. My struggle with grammar and punctuation are evidence of my effort to make my writing decipherable. Because, what success means to me are hieroglyphics upon a Pharaoh's tomb.

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Unction

Mr. Binger

Published by Matthew Sawyer at Smashwords

Copyright 2014 Matthew Sawyer

ISBN: 9781301060474

Unction is a fictional story. All characters, names and locations are the creations of Mr. Binger. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, is unintentional and coincidental.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing form from the copyright owner.

Please contact the author for permission to make copies of any part of this work.

Hardcover and Paperback books available from Matthew Sawyer's Storefront at Lulu.com.

http://www.lulu.com/spotlight/Isylumn

Discover other ebook titles by Mr. Binger (aka Matthew Sawyer) at Smashwords.com

Debbie's Hellmouth

Our Lord Weathercock

Dedicated to...

Gloria – thanks for being a fan

Unction

Chapters

Chapter 1 Brain

Chapter 2 Conscience

Chapter 3 Contest

Chapter 4 Harassment

Chapter 5 Descontento

Chapter 6 Rosti

Chapter 7 Gehenna

Chapter 8 Pursuit

Chapter 9 Lygus Bugs

Chapter 10 Moloch

Chapter 11 Matchstick

Chapter 12 Scorched Earth

Chapter 13 Resuscitation

Chapter 14 Visitation

Chapter 15 Steadfast

Chapter 16 Sanctuary

Chapter 17 Warded

Chapter 18 Cursed Iniquity

Chapter 19 Worn

Chapter 20 Joy

Chapter Epilogue

1: Brain

Nobody keeps secrets at this San Fernando Valley, California community-based board and care. Everyone knows the diagnosis each other has been branded. Everybody also knows the prescriptions and dosages of their fellow inmates – and who among these mental health patients receive visitors.

The staff at the Luna Del Mar Manor give patients whose families visit extra scrutiny, because the snacks, money and cigarettes those patients invariably receive spread through the manor unchecked. Brian Tucker scrutinizes those patients, too.

Watching who gets what snacks from those long-ago people – those who now pay perpetual respects – is important. The freshly provisioned patients provide the ripest target with whom to trade. Patients across the spectrum of semi-functional diagnoses often exchange their snacks for expired fast food coupons. The small and blurry expiration dates escape anyone's attention and especially these suckers – many are physically unable to focus their eyes, especially if they take antipsychotic medication – as does automatically every patient at Luna Del Mar.

Late in the day, an old couple has come and visits their son. Brian Tucker was watching from a bench when they had arrived and disembarked from their RV – an equally old wagon enameled as a molten vanilla ice cream cone. The setting sun melts the vehicle and warms Brian's back. The warmth soaks through his shirt as he sits in the city park facing the manor. He watches the elderly couple toddle across the street and in through the front entrance of Luna Del Mar Manor.

Sundown signals today's official visiting hours have nearly expired. However, the manor never enforces official and posted times. People come and ease their guilt until lights are extinguished in every room with a window upon an idle street.

Even once the lights go out, people intrude upon the manor's residents. At night, strangers and kids creep to the building's barred windows and plant drugs, cigarettes and torn pages of pornography upon the concrete sills. The illicit and petty sales to patients accounts for most of the contraband streaming into the manor.

Brian once found a grand prize someone had left on a windowsill – three little bottles of booze. The bottles belonged on an airplane or in a hotel's minibar, instead outside a barred window at a manor for the mentally ill. The intended recipient, a patient in said manor, had been too slow to collect his purchase.

Brian had taken the bottles the moment he spotted them, honoring an unwritten manor rule that ordains finders are keepers. The drugs he takes to this day, both legally and prescribed, amplify the effects of alcohol; so three tiny bottles once provided plenty of bravery. Brian still has no memory of what had happened that day after he drank the liquor – only that he had spent a week in bed, healing his face. His glowing nuns had visited him and he remembers them. They are his angels.

Manor staff and co-residents say Brian had nose-dived repeatedly against the sidewalk outdoors. They say he did so on-purpose; that's what the nurses have told him when they explained to him how he had been injured so grievously. Upon recovering, Brian has avoided combining alcohol with any medication. Since that time, his nuns had eluded him for months. When they finally come visit again, they tell him what he must do.

This evening, a lucky patient – a paraplegic, middle-aged white guy with a lobotomy – entertains generous visitors. His name is Eric and the elderly couple has come to see him. They're his parents. Brian remembers them from last year, when Eric had already lived in the manor before Brian arrived. Because Eric can't walk or talk, he had no say regarding his room or roommates. The Luna Del Mar staff would have likely ignored him anyway.

After Brian had moved-in and the elderly couple visited last year, he had stolen everything they had given their son, and he had got-away with the theft. Back then, Brian had endured Eric's squealing tantrums throughout those nights, and that was the worst part of his retribution, besides unbridled defecation. All the same, Eric would shit anyway. Brian had coyly dealt with the annoyance, ignoring his victim's screams and spitting into his roommate's mouth.

Every evening, he had suffocated the paraplegic with snot and phlegm Brian would choke from his own throat. The punishment persisted until Eric moved into another room closer to the Nurse's Station with new roommates. All the while, Brian's crime had gone undetected.

Now he plans he will pilfer Eric's gift basket, once he finishes his godly business with the parents of the paraplegic man. The creamy RV the old people had driven here is an ideal place to turn them to zombie slaves. Opportunity, or more likely the nuns who speak to Brian, afford him privacy he could not say he's ever known – the RV will sit quietly and unsuspected on the street all night. The license plate reveals the couple have come all the way from Wisconsin to see Eric in southern California, so nobody will look for them soon.

The RV can actually sit uncontested until the city cleans the streets next week – and it'll get a ticket and sit another few days. Nobody will begrudge an elderly couple taking a long pause before they drive back home another two thousand miles. Nobody cares.

Besides, snow probably still covers the ground as far south as Chicago. Knowing he has ample time, Brian slips into the RV right after the manor ingests the couple. Just like people from Wisconsin, one of them have left a door to the vehicle unlocked.

The couple won't return for, minimally, a couple hours. Brian uses the toilet and finds some cheese in the traveling compact refrigerator. He chews a milky and sour wedge of Baby Swiss to mush as he lies in the bunk above the front seats of the RV. Two hours pass after Brian has snuck into the vehicle and the inside is pitch black the entire time. The visibility outside on the street isn't much better. All year round, the streetlights don't come on until after nine PM.

The inside of the RV smells like shit and bitter piss, but not any worse than the aroma within the manor. That place also reeks of semen and menses and fetid feet. After years, everyone including Brian has grown accustomed to the odors. Away from the stench, the dark and quiet, and the comfortable mattress in the RV, lull him to slumber.

Illumination and old folks wake him up. The couple groan about aching joints and question the pity of the Lord. Brian listens and nudges himself away from the edge of the bunk bed. He presses against the long, rectangular window just above the mattress. His body blocks the beams from headlamps of oncoming vehicles against painting the ceiling with transient light. The couple don't notice, and the interior radiance hides any trace of passing vehicles. Brian feels confidant he remains concealed.

The old woman looks especially sexy tonight. Her appearance, and the convenience of an RV, convinces him he will again begin collecting soldiers for his army. Becoming sexually aroused makes his sperm more potent – his drafted slave-soldiers will be stronger and smarter. The dream of his batch of super zombies gives Brian his erection.

The inside of his trousers feels damp and sticky. Spying excites him and his blessed piece feels about to revive the undead whether he, himself as a whole, is ready or not. Brian needs to act before he loses the will and opportunity to properly commit the act.

Not very long ago, before coming to Luna Del Mar, Brian had prepared stinking jelly jars of tacky semen for incidents of premature ejaculation – which he seeks to avoid tonight. Before then and after he had failed his college courses, Brian was once obsessed with the idea of artificial insemination. He had collected and secreted away gallons of his own juice for experimentation.

Those lost jars would have been invaluable today. In case Brian ever spilled his seed, carrying a handy surplus would have been convenient – an opportunity to inseminate victims would never go lost. Even dead seed was better than none at all. Tonight was not the first he's killed people he intends to revive. Anyway, the people whom Brian had given his reeking and flaking goop were already deceased. And so far, they've stayed dead and have gone that way to their graves or cremation.

So far, failure to animate his army has allowed Brian to stay concealed. He isn't held in hospitals and community-based board-and-cares for his grave-robbing recruitment. Nobody is any wiser to any of these exploits in Brian's life. Everyone may know his medication he takes but not this. Brian isn't any ordinary schizo-affective with manic tendencies, and more recently, delusions and hallucinations – all of which escape from waking-dreams.

Staff at his last group-home had taken away all his jelly-jars of goo. He had then been transferred to another facility, but by then Brian had established a history that follows him in writing. As part of his treatment here, the administrator at Luna Del Mar has specified frequent room searches.

At the previous facility, Brian had overheard a couple nursing assistants discuss where he had gotten the suspected semen as his patient logs would never note Brian masturbating at all. To fill a single jar, he'd have to jerk off mad and non-stop. Brian knows what records nurses keeps on him. Here are Luna Del Mar, he periodically steals his chart from the rack in the locked office.

He thinks, Let them scorn me.

Where will they be when demons come and grab as many souls as the can before the expulsion of all evil from this whole world once and for all?

Only Brian prepares for the coming day. He had once told everyone, but that only got him prescriptions for medicines that made him sick and sleepy. Those prescription had also specified forced compliance regarding the ingestion of those loathsome pills.

After every dose today and when CNAs no longer watch him, Brian vomits what remains from his stomach. Despite his dosage – increased increments distributed multiple times as ordered by the manor's circuit psychologist – Brian's blood work always returns with lower than expected traces of antipsychotics. The doctor here at Luna Del Mar now tries another experimental drug, Quadzopinex.

The experimental drug has actually been in trials the past five years. A doctor from a previous placement had already prescribed the medication to Brian, but the prescription hadn't followed him to subsequent manors. This medication only makes him feel exhausted and piss the bed, often while he's still awake.

Quadzopinex causes Brian to hear voices inside his head; voices of real persons. They aren't auditory hallucinations and Brian had never heard voices of invisible people before taking the new medication. And when he did, it's when the nuns had spoken to him lying in his bed and listening to the telephone lines outside his room's window. He eventually got the bed closest to the window in his current room so he could listen more closely, reverently. He does as the nuns tell him.

After Brian had originally stopped taking Quadzopinex, the nuns continued making demands. They've followed him to Luna Del Mar. He believes the nuns harass him only because they speak the truth. The nuns have chosen him to be a captain in the Lord's army. He now urgently needs to embrace his destiny – the nuns have desperately tried to deliver this crucial message for years. Only recently has Brian finally heard and understood what they truly ask of him.

I've got to go to the restroom, the old woman says as she climbs into the RV through the door on the dark western side of the vehicle.

Her husband crawls in after her. He especially lacks strength to lift himself into the RV without some struggle. The man pauses in the kitchenette, panting while his wife rushes to the restroom.

Oh, it stinks in here, the woman clearly complains behind the shut door.

Yeah, I can smell it, the man agrees. He sits down heavily on the bench seat behind the table in the kitchenette. He exhales, Smells like Springtime.

I told you to flush your poo, she shouts out the reeking cabinet.

That one's not mine. You're losing your memory, woman.

Harold, scolds the woman. I always flush the toilet, even when I pee.

Hey, we talked about that, Harold retorts. Save water and don't flush your pee until you poop. California has a water crisis, you know. Two years now.

That means someone came in here, the woman says, shaking as she exits the restroom. I think we got robbed, again. Harold, what if they're still here?

Where are they gonna hide? Harold reasons. And they wouldn't have had time to hide, not before we had caught them when the light came on. Nobody's in here, unless they're hiding, waiting for us. Is that what you think, Ella? Is someone waiting to murder us in California?

Be quiet, Harold, she demands. Her husband's teasing had stopped being amusing twenty years ago. She tells him this evening Murders are in the news every day. The world is turning evil. I'm glad we won't last to see the future. It's like everyone is waiting for a chance to kill somebody.

I'm going to lock all the doors, the old man tells her and stands again. His bent neck allows his dangling head perfect clearance from the ceiling.

Brian curses himself for missing his opportunity – Harold had sat all alone, panting, while his wife was on the toilet with her panties around her ankles. The old man would have died before Ella untangled herself and rushed to him. Feeling spry this evening, the old lady has quickly finished her business and opens the lavatory door. Brian has two victims again to deal with simultaneously. Fortunate or not, one of the old folks had taken some consideration for their privacy and thought to lock them all together into the cramped RV.

Harold stands directly below the bunk in which his attacker lies concealed. Brian simply rolls over and falls on top of the old man. Joints crack, or a bone may have broken – the old man crumples beneath the surprise attack. Startled, Ella watches the whole scene. She's tried to warn Harold, but the stranger had appeared and fallen from the bunk so suddenly… the woman now rushes late toward her tackled husband.

The old man groans as his assailant rolls off of him. Brian has brought a broken golf club. The head of the club is missing, leaving only a hollow, pointed stump at the end of the steel shaft. Brian grips the club as if he holds a spear and jabs into the man's chest – until he punctures his heart and lungs. Harold stops struggling and goes unconscious, dying because of the punctures in his chest. The passing man graciously allows Brian time with Ella – their murderer's erection is still hard.

Brian does not waste time with torture or foreplay – only impotent hopefuls need such stuff. Being in the mood, he wants to get to business. The old woman has no escape; Brian bars the door behind him.

The old woman runs toward the pullout bed at the rear of the RV. Brian follows Ella. He jabs with his spear and impales the old woman through her throat. As she chokes and stumbles uncontrolled toward Brian, he kicks her backwards and stabs again and again. Neither victim scream as they die. The mystical silence also works in Brian's favor. He carries the grace of God with him tonight.

Once the couple is dead, Brian strips out of his clothes and searches the cupboards and glove compartment of the RV. He needs something to crack open the skulls of these impaled people. Thinking he is in a holy place, Brian assumes folks who drive RVs usually carry an assortment of tools for the vehicle and camping. In a drawer by the entry, he finds a hammer. The tool feels erotic and perfect for the next step in his operation.

Brian drags the bodies of the wrinkled and flaccid couple and stacks one on top of the other. The woman lies topmost the man and both bodies face upward. The narrow hallway does not provide room to have lain them side-by-side. Although, laying the bodies stacked together makes the angle easier – for Brian to pound holes into the tops of their skulls, accurately and into identical places. The arrangement of the corpses also allow him to execute his next task with more expedience.

The hammer puts perfectly-sized holes into the skull of the old woman. Once Brian finishes with her, he will knock similar holes into Harold's head. The old woman is special, and she will get most of his seed. She needs an extra hole. Brian nearly ejaculates prematurely when he puts the hammer again into Ella's forehead. The bloody opening excites Brian so much, gaping there before him when he pulls the hammer from the her noggin.

As a teenager, Brian washed dishes at an Old World themed restaurant in northern Illinois. Old people had come there and eaten lunch a lot, particularly old women. Actually, all the regular customers had been over sixty-five. The average age of the patrons had limited the energy they possessed for socializing.

Late nights had never existed at Roth Rathskeller – the restaurant had usually closed by eight PM the four nights it was open each week. Brian had typically finished washing dishes by Eight o' Three. Then he went home and slept in a basement.

The Roth Rathskeller used to present a live polka band after dinner every other Saturday night. The dance ended at Ten PM throughout summers. Most regulars had come to the dance, especially the women over seventy. Brian had always been fascinated by their lively stamina and the fun they enjoyed. His fetish for old women had formed when he was at the age of seventeen.

Ella is his first experience with a truly older woman – except, there was Jean, but she doesn't count. Jean had been only forty-nine. She only looked old, and had no energy at all.

The heaped bodies in the narrow hall provide Brian little room to straddle them and tilt the dead woman's head upward. Squished, he raises her punctured scalp to his pulsing penis. He pushes his erection into the postmortem wound and immediately climaxes. According to his nuns, Brian only need to contact the brain's pressure point with his blessed gland.

That touch transmits enough energy for the transformation. The hole in the center of the woman's forehead leads to the path of health and thinking. Spreading his seed over the point nourishes her endurance and intelligence, for when she awakes and becomes his zombie-slave and soldier.

Brian must wait a while before he can ejaculate into the head of the man; he needs to build his energy after having expending so much into the woman. This moment was a time he needed that jar of semen. Marinating every pressure point with the stuff creates super zombies. The nuns have told Brian some of these necromantic secrets. He put the rest of the spell together, looking at library books and filling in blanks with exotic drawings.

In the meantime and in the dark, Brian finds bleach and laundry detergent in another cupboard. He washes his bloodied clothes in the sink at the open kitchenette. The clothes are overdue for washing. Upon hanging his shirt and pants to drip-dry near the rectangular dining table, Brian returns to his task. His penis fits neatly into the dead man's ablated openings. The bone shards cut his shaft. Nevertheless, Brian ignores the stinging pain.

Brain squishes from the wounds as he pushes himself in. He touches all the pressure points in the heads of both people before feeling compelled to orgasm again. Brian puts his penis into the most readily available hole in the old man's head. After three minutes, he finishes. He washes his bloodied crotch in the nearby sink and dresses in his soaked clothes. The soiled hammer and golf club shank stay in the RV when Brian leaves the vehicle. He walks back to the manor dripping a blood-tinted trail drying moments behind him.

Another patient walks out the door of the manor as Brian walks in – the entrance into Luna Del Mar remains unlocked at night in case someone needs to get inside. The doors do not permit people living in the building to exit until daylight, unless someone walking into the facility holds open an exit.

In this case, a pair of big male CNAs scramble and retrieve an escaped patient before she leaves the manor's property, crosses the street and goes into the park. The shift nurse notices Brian come back into Luna Del Mar and ignores him, except for chirping an inconspicuous acknowledgment - Hi Brian. You're back before ten PM.

The female patient chased by the pair of big nurses runs directly into the dead couple's RV – Brian should have remembered and locked the door behind him, but he doesn't care.

The woman screams when she spots the bodies. Her horrific squeal eliminates any reservation the men have against following her. The nursing assistants charge into the RV, more concerned the manor's patient has not hurt anyone. The police take an hour to arrive after receiving the call. When the authorities do come and investigate, Brian isn't even aware of their presence. Despite his wet clothes, he sleeps soundly in Luna Del Mar the entire time.

2: Conscience

A dark police