The Bottom-Feeder's Tale

By Boris D. Schleinkofer

Meet Paul and Cheryl, star-crossed lovers from opposite sides of the tracks, coupling like train cars in the night while on a collision-course with little Anthony and his even-littler Mee-maw. Meet them quickly, for nothing good is about to befall them...
But family matters take precendence over affairs of the heart.
When the 'man of the house' meets the 'girl next door' and offers to have her for dinner, that's not what she thought he meant!
It's the classic problem: who has to die, so that another might live?
(from the back cover)
NOTHING EVER GETS ANY BETTER
It's about the demon that gets in under your skin... No!
It's about Anthony and Mimi and all their problems, including the fact that they eat people... No!
It's about Paul and Cheryl, a couple of ne'er-do-wells who, to their great misfortune, move in next door to a bloodthirsty cult where cannibalism isn't the worst thing you can do to a body... No!
It's about piling one thing on top of another until you've built a ziggurat so convoluted and massive that its weight crushes down upon you like a mountain and becomes your entire world, full to dangerous overflowing with alarmist word-salad, faces seen in clouds, and the end of a molehill that was your everything... No!
It's about the simplest, most-basic rule of the Universe: the bigger guy eats the littler guy... No!

NO!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Boris D. Schleinkofer
• Release date: Dec 22, 2021
• ISBN: 9781005565978

Boris D. Schleinkofer

He is a fictional character in the Horror-Play “The Greatest Practical Joke Ever”, by Shaytan Komp’ü’tor. He has never made love to a beautiful woman, never wallowed in fresh kill, never found a briefcase full of hundred-dollar bills. In fact, he doesn't even exist at all. So there...And another:Boris D. Schleinkofer is a slave, just like you and everybody else. He lives near the monolith of Baal. His number is 5x2-00x1-11. He is a good citizen.

Book preview

The Bottom-Feeder's Tale

©2021 Boris D. Schleinkofer

Cover image and author photo created by Boris D. Schleinkofer

Smashwords Edition

ISBN 9781005565978

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TABLE OF CONTENTS

PART 1: Infestation

PART 2: Oppression

PART 3: Manifestation

PART 4: Possession

Appendix

About the Author

You're pushing yourself into someplace but you're out of order. You're always out of order. It shortens things in ways you can't help, but you still can't stop yourself.

PART 1: Infestation

Put on your costume

And powder your face

The people pay to be here, and they want to laugh

And Death shall seal your regret

Laugh, clown, so the crowd will cheer!

Anaal Nathrakh, from A Metaphor for the Dead

These are snapshot moments sprinkled across the spiral of time, pulling towards the center of the same event replaying itself endlessly, expanding out from nothing to infinity and stretching so thin that they finally come back around to a new, unpredictable beginning. It pulls like taffy, like molten glass.

This is a roiling torus of everything coiling in upon itself, and this is the universe contained within it, and here is....this thing called 'you'. Small and insignificant? Hardly. You are the focal point of someone else's expectations. However much you may hate it, there you are.

These are your hands reaching into the guts of the machine and pinching a coil of magnetized tape that has somehow managed to get itself wrapped around some hidden spindle. These are your hands and no one else's. They will fix the thing, or they won't, but they'll do so under your direction and no one else's. That's for certain.

You pull the tape tight, hoping that a tug in the right direction will dislodge it without stretching it, but no such luck—the tape is absolutely caught in the machine. You're not getting it out without a fight, and there's a very good chance that you're going to break it. It can't be helped. But it will be you doing it and no one else. You are the one controlling this outcome.

You know that you're connected to everything, and it's your own consciousness that snaps with a protesting squeal when you give in at last to the frustration and pull the tape out of the VCR with a brutal, unforgiving yank. This was not the ending you were hoping for—in fact, it's far from over. It's just getting started. You may be everything, but there may also be parts of you that you cannot access, and they will still be active. You're not the only player on the board, and you'll probably lose and she'll probably win—that's how this game is played—but it will be you and only you moving the pieces on your side. You can't let her win that way, not again. This battle will probably play out for far longer than you can hold, though. They usually do. It's mostly easier to just give in and give her what she wants. That's how it usually goes.

But not today. Today you will have a win, however small, however insignificant, but you will have a win. At least one. Just one. Today. At least one.

No! That was 'Stinque House'! That's my favorite show! She's started already, and she's not even in the same room. She never is. It's her room you're in, and she still can't be bothered to come all the way to you. It's like she does it on purpose.

I know, Mee-maw. I couldn't help it, it was caught around the inside of the machine.

You said you could fix it but it didn't work, did it? You were supposed to fix it!

"I know I did, I will fix it, you just have to give me a second."

No! But it's broken... She continues but you're no longer listening. You can't help it.

It's that she gets stuck going around in circles, repeating the same three or four themes until you're going out of your mind and want to start screaming. You know it won't work. You've tried asking, you've tried telling, you even yelled at her a few hundred times to just leave you alone but she doesn't get it and she never will. She probably does it on purpose, willfully, just to get a reaction. Or like she's eating you, some part of you.

I know it's broken, Mee-maw. I said I'll fix it. This could go on forever. The words are throwaway, it doesn't matter where they fit in, or if they even do. It's just something to fill the empty space where she's expecting a reply.

No! It's broken! This could go on forever, and it probably will. You said you could fix it but you broke it instead! This will definitely go on forever.

Well then I'll replace it, Mee-maw. I can get you a new tape. It's not the end of the—

No! It can't be replaced! I recorded it off the TV!

Well, you got it once, then you can get it again. Damnit Mee-maw, how many times do I have to tell you, I don't want you to yell across the house to me! Just come talk to me so I don't have to shout!

No, they won't show it again! They don't replay the old ones! You sigh to yourself in exasperation and she goes quiet. Did she hear you? Damnit, you don't want to care. That's how she gets you, that's how she wins. All the time.

What? Aggh, never mind. I'm sorry I couldn't fix your tape. It was a lost cause from the beginning.

What? I can't hear you! Now it is with exhaustion that you sigh. How many times have you been through this? How many more times will you go through this? It seems like it never ends.

You leave her bedroom and look both ways down the hallway to see if you can spot her. It's just habit anymore, trying to get a fix on the predator in the environment like a gazelle at the watering hole. She's out there somewhere. You go into the kitchen—you've somehow managed to avoid her, at that—and take a chipped and stained coffee-cup out of the cupboard. The back door's been left open. You bang a few things together to signal where you are, letting her know that wherever she is you can't hear her, and hope that you've reached the end of the videotape-discussion. You're sure it couldn't really be that easy, but you can always hope.

You can...

Always...

......hope. Yes, you're aware of how it sounds. You should know better than to set yourself up like that. There is no hope, you don't know who you thought you were fooling. You should know better than that by now. Really.

The water has a slightly yellowish tint to it today—the City must be fixing the pipes again. You're surprised she hasn't complained about it to you yet, you can probably expect that to be any time in coming.

It's been an ongoing problem for the past five years, since they discovered an issue with the septic system leaking into the groundwater and had to pull up and redo the mainlines. You don't really know all the details of what's going on with it, and that makes you more than uneasy, but the letter they taped to the door several months ago was supposed to explain everything they were doing, and why. The letter made Mimi unhappy—of course it did—and you're already getting yourself ready for her to demand explanations from you later on when she discovers what's coming out of the faucet, if she hasn't already. You're not looking forward to it.

That's why you saved that letter, for times like these. You don't see how it's your problem—she was the one who demanded to have the final say in negotiations with the City, so she's the one who should have to deal with it. You dig the letter up again from the drawer where you'd stashed it and steel yourself to present it to her even though you know it won't do you any good. It never does. You might as well just put it back.

You look out the kitchen window and can see her in the back yard messing around beneath the fig trees, scattering more of the abominable birdseed in the lawn and on your path. You hate this. You hate this.

You open the window and yell out to her, One of these days I'm going to buy a pellet gun and start shooting those birds away, Mee-maw! You know I hate it when that stuff gets tracked into the house!

No! Don't do that! Listen, I have to go deal with my son, he's having a tantrum right now, I'll be back later to talk more, and only now do you see that she's talking to the new neighbor over the hedge. Great, she's probably embarrassing you again. She always does that.

The new people moved in just a couple months ago and you still haven't talked to them yet, because you don't really want to. They never seem to last anyway, you probably won't get the chance to. Nobody seems to ever stay in that house for very long, a couple years at most. There must be something wrong with it. You wouldn't be very surprised. Probably something with the pipes. Mimi's house has a mold problem in the floorboards, the ground here is very wet. It's probably a drainage corridor from the reserve pond just up the hill from you. Everything seems damp all the time, it just comes with the territory.

Well, good, she's making new friends. At least if she's occupied with the neighbor she won't be bothering you. You leave the kitchen and go back to her room, ready now to face the damning evidence. You know there's no way you can fix her machine—the plastic's gotten too far into its guts and down into the moving parts. It's unrecoverable. Too bad for her—she'll just have to buy a new one. Videotapes are cheap—well, sort of cheap—maybe you'll just get her a whole pack of new ones and she'll leave you alone about it. Maybe the machine will play the new ones without eating them, too. Maybe.

You hold the broken VCR on your lap like a dying war-buddy and stare into the darkness of the tape-slot, hoping for something magical to happen that you know won't, and then you hear that back door slamming. She's inside now, and you're going to have to deal with her sooner or later.

Anthony, come here! Great, she's already started. She must be screwing around in the hall still—you haven't heard the other door shut yet. Probably rummaging through her pockets.

Look Mee-maw, I did the best I could with it but there's nothing I can do. You're just going to have to buy a new one. It's only going to keep eating the tapes you put into it.

No, this is Cheryl. She's just moved in next door. I want you two to meet each other. I think she's very nice. Do you have clothes on?

Mee-maw, what are you doing to me? You're supposed to let me know if people are coming over!

No, I couldn't let you know anything, we just met! She's from next door!

Damnit, Mee-maw! You rush to the bathroom and quickly slam the door. She should know better than to do this to you by now, you've only told her a thousand times already. Nothing gets through to her anyway, though. You could tell her a thousand times more and it wouldn't make any difference. She does whatever the hell she wants to do. You get out of your bathrobe, dig a set of your dirty clothes out of the laundry hamper and pull them on as quickly as you possibly can, because you know it'll only be a couple of minutes at most until Mimi leads the stranger past you to have a gawk. She does it on purpose, she'll come right into the bathroom with you if you don't lock the damn door. You know she only does it to embarrass you. She seems to think she can shame you into changing behaviors but you'll be damned if you'll allow things to work that way. If it's a contest of wills she wants, well then...

You'll show her how things are going to go. She's not the only one who gets to make the rules around here.

I didn't mean to intrude. I'm really feeling like I'm coming in on the middle of something that's none of my business, so I should just get out of...

No! That's nonsense. You stay right here. I want you to meet my son, Anthony. We're old country people, so we like to properly greet our neighbors. I insist. Anthony, come out of the bathroom! I want you to meet someone!

You can hear everything loudly and clearly through the door. There's no need for her to yell, but she does it anyway.

Anthony, come out of there! Why do you always spend so much time in the bathroom? I want you to meet Cheryl, she's our new neighbor! She's not married!

You and the new person both start the protests immediately, and you can't hear what the other lady is saying but it's probably something similar. Jesus Mee-maw, why do you have to embarrass me like this? You zip up your pair of dirty jeans and leave the bathroom preparing for what's to come.

There's no way you could have prepared for what was about to befall you. The new woman stands behind your Mee-maw in the hallway, peering curiously around at the suddenly-horrifying clutter you've come to take for granted, and though she's mostly covered by the expansive bulk of the woman standing in her way, the amused contempt is unmistakable.

You recognize it from when you used to have friends that came over—can you believe it? You used to have friends that came over to your house, once upon a time. It's been a long while. If they ever really were your 'friends'. There were only two of them, and they came to two-and-a-half of your birthday parties, collectively, and that was in grade-school. And they only came because your Mee-maw called the parents of every kid in your class and invited them, and they were the ones who showed up, and they didn't act like they wanted to be there. But at least you had friends. Sort of. Maybe. It was always hard to tell.

What's that smell? she asks. Of course. Not that you would give her one anyway, but you don't have an answer to give her. It could be anything.

So now you take a good look at her, just to see who it is that your Mee-maw's using to embarrass you with. Funny, it always hurts a bit more when the person's good-looking or important somehow. Should it matter, the social standing of whatever tool she's using to hurt you, should that make any difference? It seems to. And this one's not that great-looking, she's not ugly by any means, maybe a little plain, but she's your new neighbor and you might even end up seeing more of her and having to replay this moment every time you do, all the while knowing that she's remembering this moment too. Better make it good. There's a stain on the front of your jeans, some kind of colorless crust, probably mayonnaise. Of course, it couldn't be any other way. And she's explaining to your Mee-maw that she's not legally married but she's been with her partner for over four years and it's almost the same thing but she's not looking to get married any time soon. She looks you in the eyes and says, No offense, and you mumble back, None taken, and you're both quite uncomfortable. Mimi looks pleased with herself. You're not surprised.

No, well you see that means she's available, Anthony, and you wish that a person could literally die of embarrassment because then you wouldn't be in this situation, but there you have it. You're still here, sort of. You still have to deal with it.

Can we hold off on subjecting this woman to our craziness until I get some clean clothes on, Mee-maw? Can we do that, please? Let me put on a fresh uniform before I go in front of the firing squad.

That's what you wanted to say. You tried. What came out sounded different, though.

This isn't a good time. I should go, she says, and you silently thank the woman for having the good sense to get the hell out while she still can and spare both you and her the misery.

It should only be so easy. Of course, it isn't. It never is. Mimi's going to invite her over for dinner, she always does. It surprises the hell out of you when the lady accepts. You sure didn't see that one coming. Then again, when you really look at her, she's not all that unattractive—her light chestnut hair just touches her shoulders which is nice, and her eyes are a deep black....oh, now she's stepped under the light and you see they're actually a dark brown. She would probably be pretty good-looking if she just put on a little makeup. You don't know what's wrong with women these days. Is it that hard to take care of your appearance so that other people want to like you? They used to show films in class about that when you were a kid, old black-and-white government educational films on the importance of picking up your toys and looking both ways before crossing the street. If this lady had just taken a minute or two to follow that advice, you'd be looking at her, maybe twice. She must not have watched the same films you did. What did she say her name was again?

Cheryl, that was it. Not a very good name, she should change that too. And of course your Mee-maw has to introduce you while you're wearing dirty clothes, standing in the bathroom doorway and yes you did see the look of horror that briefly flickered across her face when Mimi suggested her availability. At least she had the decorum to cover it up quickly. And away she goes, out the front door at last and you know you're going to have to see her later tonight and now your Mee-maw is grilling you again, and it's never going to stop. Not with the ammunition she has now. She's just met someone new and now she's all fired up with the fresh activity, and it's going to be directed at you. Here it comes.

"Did you know that Cheryl from next door is from the McCracken family? They own oil fields in Texas, very posh. She's a lady, why can't you be with someone like her? Why don't you ask her for a date? You haven't been out with a lady in a long time." Her voice is like a blender in your ear, not the glass container just the whirling blade. Right in your ear. She's practically standing on top of you.

I know, Mee-maw. You don't need to rub it in. Can you give me some space? I really don't need this right now.

No, she's studying for a nursing degree at Las Madres Tech. All that family money and she's still got ambition. You could take a lesson from her, Anthony.

Thanks, Mee-maw. It's good to see you've still got my best interests at heart.

You're pretty sure you just heard her fart again. It's hard to tell—she doesn't often let on to it. Ohh, there it is. Now you're sure.

No, I just want to see you make something of yourself. All you do is doodle around with your little pictures. All that talent wasted!

Can we not get into this, Mee-maw? We still have to get the VCR fixed. I'm not happy about any of this. You aren't, and you won't be. She's not going to let it go. Can I get around you, Mee-maw? I'm trying to fix your VCR for you, like you asked me to. She blocks the hall like a squat mountain, a mesa-top in between two ranges to mark where glacial forces had once been stopped, her shopping bags and a broken umbrella dropped near her feet like cast-aside boulders. She stares at you and snorts, then steps aside and leans into the wall to allow you to pass. You catch her in the shin with your foot as you pass, falling over yourself into her gravity—you didn't do it on purpose.

"Oww! Anthony, why