Good TV
by
Alex Puncekar
We followed small town, quiet roads like a dotted line. Jason drove, cranked up Korn on the radio. Stopped us from hearing the trunk banging.
His eyes darted to the rearview, then back to the road. No one followed us. No cops around. Coke surged through our bloodstreams.
The trunk banged again.
Cool air flooded through half-cracked windows. Sun-setting, cloudless sky hovered over us. We took back roads away from town to the cabin. It belonged to Jason’s uncle, but he closed the place for the winter. No one else lived out here.
Gravel crunched under the car. We pulled into the garage next to the cabin.
“Okay,” Jason said, and he pulled the ski mask over his face.
I did the same. We got out of the car. Jason retrieved the snub nose. Stole it from the aforementioned uncle. He opened the trunk.
A man squirmed in it. He wore dirty clothes, muddy from recent rains. Body odor stench. A canvas potato bag covered his head. Wrists were tied.
“Hello?” he whimpered.
“Don’t talk,” Jason said. We pulled the man out. Jason pressed the barrel of the snub to his back as he led him out of the side door.
I checked outside to see if it was clear. This was the boonies. Nothing around, but I needed to make sure. We corralled the man to the back of the cabin, where a tornado shelter sat rammed against it. I opened the hatch and walked down the stairs, making sure to use the pull chain to give us light. Jason helped the man down, closing the doors behind him.
We cleared out the basement earlier to make room for the camera. We borrowed it from a mutual friend for forty bucks and a six pack. No clue what we wanted it for and didn’t ask. Black, boxy plastic stood on three legs. I aimed it at a blue tarp-covered cinder block wall with the lightbulb hanging above. We needed good lighting for this.
Jason shoved the man on the floor.
We picked him up in town. A newcomer. Guy’d been hanging around Felix’s for a few days. Asked for beer money. Said he was some sort of drifter. Jason worked that night. Told me about him. Jason asked the man if he’d be back at the bar, and he said yes. Jason came to me, said we’d never have another opportunity to make some cash for a snuff film. We’d joked about making one before, but it’s funny how ideas turn into real things sometimes.
“Please,” said the man on the floor.
“Shut up,” Jason said.
I walked over to the camera. Checked the batteries and the videotape. Extras sat in a nearby black bag in case something went wrong, but we had only one chance at this.
We would sell this to the guy at the Video Mart on Fifth. Jason smoked weed with him, learned that they’ve got this kind of stuff behind a padlock. Selling one pays big.
“I watched a few,” Jason said. “Real death. Recordings from war, executions, mauled babies, police footage with shot up bodies in them. It’s all fucked up.”
We needed the money. Couldn’t leave this shit town without it. Jason had a record. I had debts.
I usually looked to Jason for answers. He’d never done me wrong before, but I thought this was a horrible idea at first. He said we’d wear masks and not talk on camera. We’d do the thing, clean everything up, dump the body miles away from here, and walk away from it all with cash in hand. Then never speak about it again. I was convinced.
“Camera ready,” I said. I adjusted the lens so it could catch everything.
“Start it. Wait.” Jason did another quick bump. Jumped up and down like an athlete warming up. “Okay, go.”
He backed away out of the shot, leaving the kneeling man still breathing through the canvas.
I clicked the button. “Rolling.” I thought that’s what you said when using a camera like this.
“Hey,” said the drifter. “Is anyone there?”
Jason stepped forward. Snub silver in the light. We agreed to let him stand there for a few minutes. Add anticipation. Guy on the floor kept talking, kept asking for help. Jason gripped the canvas bag and pulled, revealing a balding head, skin with bad acne, and a mouth with a few missing teeth. He blinked. Bright light flooded his eyes.
When he saw the snub locked in Jason’s grip, he started crying.
He said, “You can’t do this. Please. Please. You don’t understand. You’ll let it out. You’ll let it out. Please. Don’t do this.”
He pleaded for an entire minute. We figured it would make for good TV.
“What do you want?” he asked. “I’ll... I’ll give you anything. Just don’t. You don’t understand. You don’t—”
Jason leveled the snubnose against the man’s head and pulled the trigger.
The gunshot rattled my eardrums. I nearly knocked over the camera as I moved my hands to cover my ringing ears. Should’ve thought of that before.
Jason stepped out of the shot and held up three fingers. Keep it rolling for three minutes.
Blood and brains dripped down the blue tarp against the wall. The man lay there like a thrown doll. I’d never seen a dead body before. I felt odd. Sour.
Jason said, “Alright, cut it.”
I tried to press the button on the camera.
Laughing.
The sound gurgled from the body. It laughed with its throat. The body convulsed. We watched. I aimed the camera. The body sat itself up. The man’s face molded into a sneer. The hole where Jason shot him dripped with light.
“You fucking idiots,” the dead man said. His words sounded like they were passing through a strainer. “Fucking, fucking idiots. The guy told you not to shoot him. He told you! You didn’t listen. Shit, yeah, you’re so dumb.”
“What the fuck,” I breathed.
Jason stood like stone. His face still covered by that ski mask. Couldn’t see what he was thinking.
“Jace,” I said.
Jason remembered he held the gun. As the body laughed at them, Jason raised it and fired round after round until the weapon clicked two times.
The body absorbed each shot. It didn’t stop laughing. Each new hole in it produced pockets of light.
The thing didn’t fall. Jason dropped the empty gun and ran for the stairs. I couldn’t follow him. Couldn’t move my legs. Jason slammed against the door. It didn’t budge.
“Nah,” said the corpse. “I don’t want you to leave yet. Stay awhile. Kick back for a second.”
Jason didn’t move.
“Get down here, cowboy.”
With nowhere to go, Jason joined me. He kept far away from the former corpse.
It raised its finger to the camera. “Keep that thing rollin’. Now, you boys did something to me that I don’t much care for. You ruined my body. That wasn’t very nice of you. Frankly, I’m a little pissed. I can’t go out there walking around with all of these holes in me. People will talk, y’know? I need something a little more whole. Since you saw fit to put me down, one of you is going to provide that for me.
“And you, chucklefuck,” it said with its eyes on Jason, “are my lucky chosen. You pulled the trigger, so you get to be my new suit.”
Jason stumbled his words. Hard to understand him.
“You hear me? I. Need. A. Suit. To go out in public? I can’t go out naked.” The thing scoffed.
“Let us go,” I said. Found my voice.
“Can’t do that yet,” said the corpse. “You tried to ice me, so I’m gonna see what happens when I turn the tables on you. This body is fucked, so I need one of you dead. And normally, I’d be the one doing the killing, but in my current state, it’s hard to do that. I might fall apart and you might see my private parts. Plus,” it said, laughing again, “I wanna see some blood.” Eyes fell on me. “Do it in a way that leaves him whole. No smashing the head, no cutting off parts. I need to use this thing and it would defeat the whole purpose if you break something.”
From the corner, Jason held the snub by the barrel and swung at the dead thing. The hard grip connected with skin. Meat squelched. Shreds of it fell onto the tarp, soaking wet towel sounds plopping on the floor.
Jason screamed.
Where its face was, there was now just... eternity. Couldn’t describe it any other way: light and eternity. Exploding stars on someone’s neck. Moving light floated around and inside the head, little rocks orbiting it like a planet.
“Well,” said the thing without a mouth, “this sucks.”
Something clicked in my brain. I hit the ground. Pain. A migraine upon a pulsing migraine. Psychic rail spike in the medulla, shot from the dead thing’s mind.
Felt like hours. I raised my head. There was a new pain-pulse with every movement. Jason twisted on the ground.
“I’ve got places to be,” said the dead thing. “Kill your boy, make it clean, and I’ll stop the hurt.”
Jason didn’t move from his fetal position on the floor.
The pain overwhelmed me. Couldn’t think. Nausea flooded my stomach. A minute felt like a year. The dead thing repeated itself. Must’ve lessened its power a bit because the pain relented a little.
I got up. Struggled. The creature watched me, I think. Hard to tell since it didn’t have eyes.
Jason gripped the sides of his ears, as if that would stop the assault on his brain.
I knelt and picked up the snub. Held it by the barrel. I brought the butt of it down on his trachea. Over and over again. His Adam’s apple probably busted like a walnut. Jason choked on air. Coughed up blood. Eyes bulged.
When he finally stopped moving, the sound in my ears disappeared. Calm returned. I fell back. Jason didn’t move.
The creature with the exploding star head aimed the camera. The red light examined me.
“Wow,” it said. “Get the fucking popcorn. That was great! Think I can get some money out of this?” It examined Jason’s body. “Nice work. Fucked up the neck a bit, but that’s okay. It’s almost turtleneck season anyway.”
It picked up Jason’s left foot and dragged him to the back of the cellar. My head felt fuzzy from the killing and the brain attack, but once the dead thing disappeared into the shadow with Jason’s body, I stood up. Bolted for the doors up the stairs. I smashed against them, kicked at them, until the latch broke. Cool night fell on my skin as the doors swung open. Darkness covered everything. No streetlights to navigate by.
I glanced down the stairs.
There stood Not Jason. Red and blue marks covered his neck. The ski mask was gone. And he smiled. Blood in his teeth. Exploding stars behind his dead eyes. In his hand, he held a videotape.
I ran. Had a hard time looking at stars after that.
Alex Puncekar writes fantasy, science fiction, horror, and games. His fiction has appeared in Aphelion Magazine and Jenny Magazine. He is also the assistant editor for Nightmare Magazine, an interviewer for Lightspeed Magazine, and writes reviews at Grimdark Magazine. He has a Master of Fine Arts in Fiction from the Northeast Ohio Master of Fine Arts. He/Him. You can find him at alexpuncekar.com.
by
Alex Puncekar
We followed small town, quiet roads like a dotted line. Jason drove, cranked up Korn on the radio. Stopped us from hearing the trunk banging.
His eyes darted to the rearview, then back to the road. No one followed us. No cops around. Coke surged through our bloodstreams.
The trunk banged again.
Cool air flooded through half-cracked windows. Sun-setting, cloudless sky hovered over us. We took back roads away from town to the cabin. It belonged to Jason’s uncle, but he closed the place for the winter. No one else lived out here.
Gravel crunched under the car. We pulled into the garage next to the cabin.
“Okay,” Jason said, and he pulled the ski mask over his face.
I did the same. We got out of the car. Jason retrieved the snub nose. Stole it from the aforementioned uncle. He opened the trunk.
A man squirmed in it. He wore dirty clothes, muddy from recent rains. Body odor stench. A canvas potato bag covered his head. Wrists were tied.
“Hello?” he whimpered.
“Don’t talk,” Jason said. We pulled the man out. Jason pressed the barrel of the snub to his back as he led him out of the side door.
I checked outside to see if it was clear. This was the boonies. Nothing around, but I needed to make sure. We corralled the man to the back of the cabin, where a tornado shelter sat rammed against it. I opened the hatch and walked down the stairs, making sure to use the pull chain to give us light. Jason helped the man down, closing the doors behind him.
We cleared out the basement earlier to make room for the camera. We borrowed it from a mutual friend for forty bucks and a six pack. No clue what we wanted it for and didn’t ask. Black, boxy plastic stood on three legs. I aimed it at a blue tarp-covered cinder block wall with the lightbulb hanging above. We needed good lighting for this.
Jason shoved the man on the floor.
We picked him up in town. A newcomer. Guy’d been hanging around Felix’s for a few days. Asked for beer money. Said he was some sort of drifter. Jason worked that night. Told me about him. Jason asked the man if he’d be back at the bar, and he said yes. Jason came to me, said we’d never have another opportunity to make some cash for a snuff film. We’d joked about making one before, but it’s funny how ideas turn into real things sometimes.
“Please,” said the man on the floor.
“Shut up,” Jason said.
I walked over to the camera. Checked the batteries and the videotape. Extras sat in a nearby black bag in case something went wrong, but we had only one chance at this.
We would sell this to the guy at the Video Mart on Fifth. Jason smoked weed with him, learned that they’ve got this kind of stuff behind a padlock. Selling one pays big.
“I watched a few,” Jason said. “Real death. Recordings from war, executions, mauled babies, police footage with shot up bodies in them. It’s all fucked up.”
We needed the money. Couldn’t leave this shit town without it. Jason had a record. I had debts.
I usually looked to Jason for answers. He’d never done me wrong before, but I thought this was a horrible idea at first. He said we’d wear masks and not talk on camera. We’d do the thing, clean everything up, dump the body miles away from here, and walk away from it all with cash in hand. Then never speak about it again. I was convinced.
“Camera ready,” I said. I adjusted the lens so it could catch everything.
“Start it. Wait.” Jason did another quick bump. Jumped up and down like an athlete warming up. “Okay, go.”
He backed away out of the shot, leaving the kneeling man still breathing through the canvas.
I clicked the button. “Rolling.” I thought that’s what you said when using a camera like this.
“Hey,” said the drifter. “Is anyone there?”
Jason stepped forward. Snub silver in the light. We agreed to let him stand there for a few minutes. Add anticipation. Guy on the floor kept talking, kept asking for help. Jason gripped the canvas bag and pulled, revealing a balding head, skin with bad acne, and a mouth with a few missing teeth. He blinked. Bright light flooded his eyes.
When he saw the snub locked in Jason’s grip, he started crying.
He said, “You can’t do this. Please. Please. You don’t understand. You’ll let it out. You’ll let it out. Please. Don’t do this.”
He pleaded for an entire minute. We figured it would make for good TV.
“What do you want?” he asked. “I’ll... I’ll give you anything. Just don’t. You don’t understand. You don’t—”
Jason leveled the snubnose against the man’s head and pulled the trigger.
The gunshot rattled my eardrums. I nearly knocked over the camera as I moved my hands to cover my ringing ears. Should’ve thought of that before.
Jason stepped out of the shot and held up three fingers. Keep it rolling for three minutes.
Blood and brains dripped down the blue tarp against the wall. The man lay there like a thrown doll. I’d never seen a dead body before. I felt odd. Sour.
Jason said, “Alright, cut it.”
I tried to press the button on the camera.
Laughing.
The sound gurgled from the body. It laughed with its throat. The body convulsed. We watched. I aimed the camera. The body sat itself up. The man’s face molded into a sneer. The hole where Jason shot him dripped with light.
“You fucking idiots,” the dead man said. His words sounded like they were passing through a strainer. “Fucking, fucking idiots. The guy told you not to shoot him. He told you! You didn’t listen. Shit, yeah, you’re so dumb.”
“What the fuck,” I breathed.
Jason stood like stone. His face still covered by that ski mask. Couldn’t see what he was thinking.
“Jace,” I said.
Jason remembered he held the gun. As the body laughed at them, Jason raised it and fired round after round until the weapon clicked two times.
The body absorbed each shot. It didn’t stop laughing. Each new hole in it produced pockets of light.
The thing didn’t fall. Jason dropped the empty gun and ran for the stairs. I couldn’t follow him. Couldn’t move my legs. Jason slammed against the door. It didn’t budge.
“Nah,” said the corpse. “I don’t want you to leave yet. Stay awhile. Kick back for a second.”
Jason didn’t move.
“Get down here, cowboy.”
With nowhere to go, Jason joined me. He kept far away from the former corpse.
It raised its finger to the camera. “Keep that thing rollin’. Now, you boys did something to me that I don’t much care for. You ruined my body. That wasn’t very nice of you. Frankly, I’m a little pissed. I can’t go out there walking around with all of these holes in me. People will talk, y’know? I need something a little more whole. Since you saw fit to put me down, one of you is going to provide that for me.
“And you, chucklefuck,” it said with its eyes on Jason, “are my lucky chosen. You pulled the trigger, so you get to be my new suit.”
Jason stumbled his words. Hard to understand him.
“You hear me? I. Need. A. Suit. To go out in public? I can’t go out naked.” The thing scoffed.
“Let us go,” I said. Found my voice.
“Can’t do that yet,” said the corpse. “You tried to ice me, so I’m gonna see what happens when I turn the tables on you. This body is fucked, so I need one of you dead. And normally, I’d be the one doing the killing, but in my current state, it’s hard to do that. I might fall apart and you might see my private parts. Plus,” it said, laughing again, “I wanna see some blood.” Eyes fell on me. “Do it in a way that leaves him whole. No smashing the head, no cutting off parts. I need to use this thing and it would defeat the whole purpose if you break something.”
From the corner, Jason held the snub by the barrel and swung at the dead thing. The hard grip connected with skin. Meat squelched. Shreds of it fell onto the tarp, soaking wet towel sounds plopping on the floor.
Jason screamed.
Where its face was, there was now just... eternity. Couldn’t describe it any other way: light and eternity. Exploding stars on someone’s neck. Moving light floated around and inside the head, little rocks orbiting it like a planet.
“Well,” said the thing without a mouth, “this sucks.”
Something clicked in my brain. I hit the ground. Pain. A migraine upon a pulsing migraine. Psychic rail spike in the medulla, shot from the dead thing’s mind.
Felt like hours. I raised my head. There was a new pain-pulse with every movement. Jason twisted on the ground.
“I’ve got places to be,” said the dead thing. “Kill your boy, make it clean, and I’ll stop the hurt.”
Jason didn’t move from his fetal position on the floor.
The pain overwhelmed me. Couldn’t think. Nausea flooded my stomach. A minute felt like a year. The dead thing repeated itself. Must’ve lessened its power a bit because the pain relented a little.
I got up. Struggled. The creature watched me, I think. Hard to tell since it didn’t have eyes.
Jason gripped the sides of his ears, as if that would stop the assault on his brain.
I knelt and picked up the snub. Held it by the barrel. I brought the butt of it down on his trachea. Over and over again. His Adam’s apple probably busted like a walnut. Jason choked on air. Coughed up blood. Eyes bulged.
When he finally stopped moving, the sound in my ears disappeared. Calm returned. I fell back. Jason didn’t move.
The creature with the exploding star head aimed the camera. The red light examined me.
“Wow,” it said. “Get the fucking popcorn. That was great! Think I can get some money out of this?” It examined Jason’s body. “Nice work. Fucked up the neck a bit, but that’s okay. It’s almost turtleneck season anyway.”
It picked up Jason’s left foot and dragged him to the back of the cellar. My head felt fuzzy from the killing and the brain attack, but once the dead thing disappeared into the shadow with Jason’s body, I stood up. Bolted for the doors up the stairs. I smashed against them, kicked at them, until the latch broke. Cool night fell on my skin as the doors swung open. Darkness covered everything. No streetlights to navigate by.
I glanced down the stairs.
There stood Not Jason. Red and blue marks covered his neck. The ski mask was gone. And he smiled. Blood in his teeth. Exploding stars behind his dead eyes. In his hand, he held a videotape.
I ran. Had a hard time looking at stars after that.
Alex Puncekar writes fantasy, science fiction, horror, and games. His fiction has appeared in Aphelion Magazine and Jenny Magazine. He is also the assistant editor for Nightmare Magazine, an interviewer for Lightspeed Magazine, and writes reviews at Grimdark Magazine. He has a Master of Fine Arts in Fiction from the Northeast Ohio Master of Fine Arts. He/Him. You can find him at alexpuncekar.com.
