One False Movement

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Original Publication & Date: 
Horror Garage # 7 - 2006


How long had it been since he ate it? Three hours? Two?

He’d felt it on the ride home; the burning effervescent feeling in his chest. He knew it would come to this.

He’d spent the last hour sitting here, his aching posterior sunken into the faux wooden toilet seat, coated with a full body sweat, and feeling as though his plumbing were about to burst. He stood for a moment and checked himself in the mirror. His face candy apple red, with burst blood vessels spanning his cheeks like tiny purple tributaries.

The intense pain settled in that place just between his naval and his groin like a hot knife churning his insides. Every few minutes he’d pass wind; an embarrassingly loud trumpet blare that would blow out the pipes for a little while, tease him with relief, before the pressure built up again.

     He heard Joanie’s weight shifting on the creaky floorboards just outside the door.

“Honey, I’ll be...I’ll be fine,” he said, trying to mask the pain in his voice. “Just…constipated is all.”

“I told you not to eat so much, didn’t I?”

“Yeah, yeah…look, you’re not helping, okay? Just…just go watch T.V. or something…I can’t do this with you standing out there.”

“Alright,” she said. “But are you sure you don’t…well…need something? We have some Pepto in the fridge, I think. Or I could go to the pharmacy and get Ex-Lax?”

“No, no. Just…just give me a few minutes. It’s working itself…”

Another blow escaped him like air from a wet balloon.

“That’s gross, John,” Joanie said. He pictured her wiping at the air in front of her wrinkled up nose.

“I told you…just…please, leave me alone, okay?” he pleaded.

“Okay, I’ll go put away the leftovers,” She said. “Just…yell if you need anything!”

John could hear her shuffle down the hall, and, as he heard her bound down the stairs, he felt another wave of gas building up. He kneaded the flab of his belly hoping to rub something loose. As his fingers dug into his flesh he felt something hard pass beneath them, but before he could give it much thought the gas escaped him again, followed by an odor that was even too much for John to bear.

“Sweet Christ!” he howled, reaching for the deodorizer on top of the magazine rack. He flipped off the cap with his thumb, and shot out a geyser of the stuff above his head. The two scents fused into a sickening medley of sweet cinnamon spice and raw sewage as the spray slowly rained upon him, stinging his eyes and burning his sinuses.

“Ah, fuck,” he groaned, rubbing the base of his palms into his eyes.

The pain in his stomach suddenly shifted downward, and a deep guttural sound welled within him. He could feel it coming, now. It moved through him fast and hard, forcing its way out like a baseball through a drinking straw, shifting and squirming and tearing at his insides. He sucked in a lungful of air and pushed so hard that he felt dizzy and, just as it seemed as though he would pass out from the agony of it, a deep plunking sound and a splash of cold water on his cheeks assured him that it had worked its way free. Almost as soon as it fell into the toilet, the pressure in his stomach let up, and John smiled.

“Ah, thank Christ,” he moaned.

He let out a deep breath and wrapped a good yard of toilet paper around his hand. He leaned forward to wipe, and that was when he felt the warm trickle on his inner thigh. He dabbed at it with the toilet paper and brought it around for inspection.

     The blood was so dark it was nearly black. He gasped when he saw it, and then brought the wad of paper back around and gingerly patted it against his sphincter. It felt swollen and prolapsed, and stung when the rough paper rubbed up against the frayed flesh.

Owwwfuck!” he cried.

 He bit down hard on his lower lip and cleaned up as best as he could before getting back on his feet. It felt like a slimy golf ball sandwiched between his ass cheeks and he shifted his weight until the pain was barely tolerable. He turned and looked at the contents of the toilet and, through the cloudy red soup of blood, wet paper, and loose feces he could see a reflection at the base of the bowl.

 "What the..?”

 John groaned as he leaned forward and reached under the sink for the toilet wand. He dipped it into the bowl and swirled around the contents until he could see the three silver teeth slowly clanking along across the porcelain.

“Jesus Christ!” he exclaimed, pulling the wand out of the water. He tapped the straggling strands of toiled paper and chunks of stool on the rim, flushed the toilet, and then stuck the wand back in, waving it back and forth in the clean water before dropping it by the side of the toilet. He staggered to the sink, washed his hands and ran cold water over his face, and then slowly and agonizingly made his way down the stairs and into the kitchen.

Joanie turned toward him, holding a shimmering cleaver aloft as he slowly shuffled into the room. She placed the cleaver on the counter, and wiped her blood soaked hands on the front of her tattered yellow apron. The remains of the waitress were laid out on the counter, some of the choice cuts already stacked on top of the freezer bound in wax paper and butcher’s tape. John gave Joanie a peck on the cheek, and eyed the bucket of less-than-savory bits they gave to the dogs. He should have left the head to them, too, but there was no stopping him when he was hungry, and tonight he was ravenous.

“Do you feel better?” she asked.

 “Yeah, I guess,” he said. And then he looked at the body on the counter. His stomach churned. “But I don’t think I’ll ever eat Mexican again.”

Hehehe, thanks!! It's a true

Hehehe, thanks!! It's a true story!!!


I mean, besides all the cannibalism and stuff. I think it had something to do with Chiles Rellenos. Ouch.

oh my!

Haha this story is great!!!!!  I love it Jim!  Never thought I'd love reading about someones toilet troubles!  And the ending is perfect!  Nicely done!

Oh my!

Haha this story is great!!!!! I love it Jim! Never thought I'd love reading about someones toilet troubles! And the ending is perfect! Nicely done!

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