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First published March 6, 2012
Ben is a famous horror film composer, but his divorce has left him in a rut he can’t seem to shake, so his partner Eddie decides what Ben needs is a month-long stay on a haunted island named The Sorrows. When the two men and the women staying with them arrive, they begin to realize that the island’s grisly, murderous past might not be over yet.
Except this building did not look like it could fall. It looked like it would stand forever, far outliving its inhabitants.
Or claiming them.
There was something corruptive here, a palpable sense of depravity.
No, the presence I felt was something totally unfamiliar, and even more disturbing, wholly unfriendly.
Even now I wish to live, to experience any emotion, even sorrow.
Dear God. I hear something in the hallway.
“It is you who have brought me death—but you shall know much of horror before the year is through.”
“When animals on Earth climbed out of the sea, they took the sea with them, as blood contained in a sack inside their bodies. (...)”
Daisuke held the glass plate high over the wafting steam. In the chilly air of dusk, water condensed almost immediately on the under-surface of the glass. Little droplets merged as Daisuke tilted the glass, ran together like rivers running down a mountain to water, or veins spreading the heart’s nourishment to a man’s hand. He lifted the glass high, and water bulged on the lower lip of the glass plate, shone red in the light of the setting sun, and fell onto Daisuke’s outstretched tongue.
Anne watched his experiment, her brows together. “I wish there was some other way to test this. Don’t swallow immediately. Any weird tastes?”
Daisuke held the water in his mouth. There was still some sour sulfur there, but no stinging or numbness. Daisuke swallowed, and smiled. “Yum,” he said.
* * *
“Yuck,” said Tyaney.
Daisuke agreed. Hardly chilly or shaky at all now, he forced himself to eat another mouthful of something that said Turkey Tetrazzini on the package, but tasted like poultry-flavored vomit.
“Is this what the American military has to eat?” Hariyadi asked.
“No rice?” Nurul asked her silvery food-pack.
“I like,” said Rahman. “Good like wife cooking.”
Nurul shoved him.
“We don’t usually rehydrate the stuff with sulfuric acid,” said Pearson.
“Very diluted acid.” Daisuke spoke around a spoonful of sulfurous sweet and sour pork. “This is no worse than what’s already in your stomach.”
“That’s hydrochloric, though,” Anne contributed.
“So you mean this food is pre-digested,” said Misha. “Efficient!”
“Ah,” said Misha, “geysers of plant semen. What’s that word, Daisuke? Bukkake?”
Daisuke made a disgusted face.
Rahman giggled and, thank goodness, put the camera down.
Nurul squinted at her husband. “How do you know about bukkake?”
“Well, how do you?” asked Misha and burst into laughter at her blush. “Ah, when a married couple finds they share a fetish—”
“Shut up, Misha,” Anne said. “I’m thinking about sulfur-reducing bacteria.”
“Oh, were you?” said Misha. “I was thinking about—”
“On Earth!” Anne said heavily.
“So,” she said. “What are you thinking about?”
‘Eating you for breakfast’ would be, perhaps, too forward. “I was thinking about how I am a shell with no egg inside, and you are an egg with no shell,” he said. “Maybe that’s why we suit each other.”
Anne looked at him. “Naw,” she said. “I think your ex-wife is wrong. You’re not a hollow shell, you’re just a big fucking nerd who doesn’t know how to talk to human beings.”
“That’s…a strange thing to say.”
“Ha. You mean it’s the pot calling the kettle black.”
Daisuke had to think for a moment before he remembered the meaning of that expression. He smiled and said, “It’s better in Japanese. ‘The eye-shit laughs at the nose-shit.’”
She screwed up her face. “Eye-shit?”
Daisuke rubbed the inner corner of an eye. He ignored the unmanly tear he found there and said. “You know, eye-shit. After you sleep, the stuff in your eyes. It shouldn’t laugh at nose-shit, because it’s all the same stuff.” The word came to him. “Mucus!”
Anne’s laughter bounced off the glowing mountainside. “Ah, the subtle poetry of the Land of the Rising Sun.” She clapped her hands. “That’s it, you’ve seduced me. Let’s go to my tent.”