A Small Bit of Belt
Autoerotic asphyxiation is the worst way to go. It's not that it's painful, in fact, I didn't really feel anything, I was too lost in the oxygen-deprived orgasm to even notice what was happening until it was already too late. The worst part of dying from autoerotic asphyxiation is the realization that that is what is going to kill you. You feel yourself slipping away in slow motion. You're too dazed to work the belt, nylon, or extension cord loose and everything goes monochrome. You weakly wheeze for air as your brain tries to come to terms with what's happening. The last thing you hear is the heart pounding in your ears slowly coming to a stop and then you're dead. The last thing you think of is which family member or friend is going to stumble across your naked corpse.
That's it. You're dead, there's nothing beyond that. A lifetime of work, generosity, and humanity reduced to a joke; 'hey, did you hear how Lance Jones died, he bit the bullet doing the Carradine Crank, the Aldridge Autoerotic Asphyxiation, the ole Milligan Meat-Beat. How embarrassing!' You either become a punchline for your friends and family, or even worse, they pretend like you never existed. That's what my family did. My father and brother cleaned out my apartment and didn't say a single word to each other the entire time. They gathered up my stuff and pitched a majority of it into the dumpster outside. They left and never came back. Before they shut the door on my vacant apartment, my father looked out into the emptiness that my home had become and muttered to himself while shaking his head, "Jesus fucking Christ," before shutting the door behind him and leaving me alone.
Of course I never really left. I'm sure some of you may be asking what the hell would tie me to this world after such an embarrassing endnote, but let me counter with this: Would you want to try and explain your death in the pursuit of a more pleasurable orgasm to Saint Peter? Would you want to imagine what sort of ironic torture the Devil would be cooking up for you in Hell? I chose not to pass on to the afterlife because there was nothing good waiting for me there. I would rather be a ghost for all eternity than face what lies at the end of the path for me. Neither Heaven nor Hell seemed like good prospects to me.
It didn't take long for me to learn the rules that had been set in place. As a ghost, I was bound to the place of my death; I couldn't leave the apartment room. While the cleaning crew was steam cleaning my floors, I discovered that I couldn't be seen or heard. I was able to interact with the material world in only the slightest ways. With an hour of exertion, I found I was able to move the six pack of beer they had brought along to drink after the unenjoyable task of removing the crusted cum stains on the closet carpet. I managed to shift it a total of twelve inches after an hour. They didn't notice and drank the six pack while joking around. They left shortly after and I spent the rest of the day watching the world outside my window.
It didn't take too long for management to find new residents for my apartment. On the walk-through of the apartment, I noticed that they didn't mention what had happened to the previous owner. The management probably wanted to get someone into the apartment before word could travel around and were doing everything in their power to find new tenants. The apartment was described as cozy, quiet, and comfortable, all of which were lies. The apartment was cramped, the neighbors were loud, and I'm pretty sure the thermostat was just a plastic box affixed to the wall to give the illusion on climate control. The couple liked the layout, or more likely, the price and moved in at the end of the month.
I had decided to make the best of my situation and began to wrap myself up in the lives of the couple rather than wallow in boredom. The girlfriend was named Alison and she ran a relatively successful artisanal craft business selling necklaces, bracelets, hair clips, and other items. The boyfriend was called Bobby and worked as a store manager for PetCo. I quickly learned about their quirks, habits, and mannerisms as I studied them. Observing them was like watching a sit-com (but like a really bad one where they slowly dig themselves deeper in debt and never really solve any of their life problems in thirty minutes). With nothing else to do, these people became my only means of staving off boredom.
Let's get this out of the way real quick. I know that many of you are thinking that I probably watched Alison in the shower all the time or did some really sketchy shit, but that wasn't really the case. Alison was cute and everything and I won't lie that I did peek a few times at first, but I really didn't have that sex drive anymore. I didn't have those urges and my libido was all but dead at this point. I think that was probably for the better because if I could still masturbate, that would be the only thing occupying my time. There would be quite a horrifying mess in the apartment (Imagine that elevator scene in The Shining and just replace the blood with spiritual spooge and you get the drift.) and that would have been the only thing I would have ever done to kill time for the rest of eternity.
It didn't start going bad until about forty days in. It began with small stuff. I would notice that Bobby left his keys near the craft table where Alison kept her stuff and I would move it to the counter so he wouldn't get in trouble. I'd also do my best to keep Alison's stuff off the dinner table when she left it there. I wasn't completely altruistic though. Every now and then I would move a lanyard or necklace chain out of my sight as I really didn't want any reminders of my stroke and choke related death. It went unnoticed for a couple of weeks but eventually they caught on that something was amiss here.
It wasn't until Alison caught me dragging away an extension cord that everything came to a head. She gasped and frantically searched around for her phone to record it, but I had stopped by then. She told Bobby but given that he had been up since five that morning and had just gotten home by eight P.M., he wasn't too receptive to the idea of something supernatural. He blew her off and I could see her practically fuming at him all throughout dinner. I don't know why I felt bad for her, maybe it was because I saw her crying at a ASPCA pound commercial earlier in the day, but I decided to make my presence known.
As they were eating in silence, I reached down and slowly started to move the bucket of chicken he brought home across the table. Both of them watched in shock as I slowly shifted the bucket towards Alison and tilted it towards her so she could grab another wing. I don't know what I was thinking, I was a bit delusional at that point and I had this stupid idea that we would be able to communicate in some way with refrigerator magnet letters like it was a gritty, less interesting reboot of "Ghost Writer". It didn't exactly go the way I had planned.
Alison swatted the bucket of chicken away and ran into the bedroom while Bobby followed her. I decided against following them and proceeded to try and pick up the fried bits of chicken littering the floor. I heard Bobby consoling her as she frantically moved around the bedroom. By the time I got everything picked up, she had come out with a suitcase and left the apartment saying something about spending a week at a motel while they sorted everything out. Bobby followed her trying to talk her out of leaving. I think he did that because they couldn't quite afford that on their pay. He eventually talked her back into the house, but she seemed skittish. I decided that I wouldn't do anything else for the night and see if they could warm up to the possibility of having a ghost guest.
Before both of them went to bed for the night, Bobby asked, "Is there anyone here?"
I decided to try responding in the hopes that maybe they could understand me this time, "Yeah, been here for quite some time. Actually this is my apartmen-"
"Anyone?"
He waited a few moments before his eyes lit up with an idea. He moved over to Alison's work table and got a pair of scissors. He started cutting out letters and putting them on the table in front of him. He did this for a half an hour before he became bored and said, "Fuck it, I'll get one of them Ouija shits tomorrow." He left an assortment of letters scattered over the table and went to bed for the night. I could hear them in their bedroom talking while I was trying to spell out something with the only letters he had cut out: a, b, e, g, l, r, and t.
The next morning he woke up to the 'word' "glarbet" spelled out on the table before going out with Alison. I tried to busy myself by trying to spell out a word with the random assortment of letters, but I didn't really find anything that would have conveyed my situation. I tried to pick up the scissors and cut a few new letters, but my ghostly form didn't have the coordination or skills to cut out anything else. I eventually gave up because I didn't want to destroy any of there magazines and make a mess. They returned a few hours later. Bobby seemed excited and Alison had to practically be coaxed back into the apartment. She complained that it was cold, but that was really their fault for leaving the window open in early October. They began to set up the Ouija board as I anxiously waited.
The suspense was murder. Imagine not being able to talk to anyone for over three months only to then be pulled into a random conversation. My mind raced at what I wanted to tell them as they read over the rules. I imagined all the questions they would ask about the afterlife and the answers I would give them. Slowly but surely we would become the best of friends and they might even pick up letters on a refrigerator so I could remind them when they needed to pick up their groceries or pay their bills. Maybe I could even convince them to leave the tv on when they went to bed so I could have something to do other than watch them sleep. (Don't be a judging Judy here, what would you do if you couldn't sleep couldn't leave a small apartment?)
They eventually started the game and began invoking any spirits nearby. I don't know if there was anything at play here, but I felt drawn towards the board. I reached down and touched the planchet as they put their hands on it so I could begin shifting it. I couldn't feel anything, but if I were able to, I would have felt Alison's hands shaking. Bobby took control and began asking questions, "We beseech you phantom, art thou there. Wilst thou respo- This is kinda stupid, why do we gotta be all formal and everything. Couldn't we just say, 'Is there anyone here?'"
I agreed and moved the planchet towards the "YES" corner. They audibly gasped and Alison pulled her hands away from the planchet. I kept moving it, giddy at the prospect of chatting up my guests and making myself know to them.
Bobby continued, "Are you the one that's been moving our stuff around?"
Once again I moved it to "YES". I wanted to get the basics out of the way first. Once they understood and got our introductions out there we could move on to the more important questions.
"How did you die?"
I moved them to "NO". I decided that telling them about my auto-erotic adventures was probably not the best start to a friendship. They also probably didn't need to know that I died in what was now their closet.
"Are you saying you didn't die?" Alison was practically drained of blood at this point. She was probably looking for an excuse to nope the fuck out of the house at this point while Bobby handled the questions.
"NO". I decided that telling the truth was probably the best decision. Maybe in the future I could tell them the whole scenario, tell them about how drunk I was when I decided wrapping a belt around my neck from the door of the closet while I touched myself was a good idea. Telling them now might convince them that I was some sexual deviant. Everyone has their own kinks, I don't see why I have to tell mine up front.
Bobby recovered and continued, "You don't want to tell us how you died, guess that's your business. What is your name then? Who are you?"
This wasn't going exactly how I expected. I knew that the instant I gave my name, they'd google it. I don't know what the obituaries had printed upon my death, but it probably wasn't a shining re-telling of my life accomplishments. I could only imagine phrases like "end of his rope", "stiff with a stiffie", and "orgasm to die for" were used quite liberally. Even worse than them reading how I died, I envisioned them tracking down and contacting my family. I could imagine how swimmingly that conversation would have gone. I moved the planchet and spelled out "N-O-T I-M-P-O-R-T-A-N-T".
"Come on man, give us something here. What's your name?"
"NO". At this point, I really wished that this conversation would have gone differently as I had a few comments thought up that could have possibly broken the ice some.
"Don't be a tool man, who are you?"
Alison whimpered, "Bobby, don't anger him!"
Bobby pressed on, "Who the fuck are you?!"
I couldn't think of anything so I panicked and shoved the Ouija Board off the table. I don't know where the strength came from, I just blanked on what I should do and reacted. They rightfully freaked out and left the apartment. They were in such a hurry that they even forgot to lock the door. They left candles burning on the table. I tried to blow them out and pick up the Ouija board, but I didn't have the strength. I spent an hour floating there in the empty apartment, trying to clean up the mess and figure out my next move. For the first time since they moved in, I felt alone.
They didn't return for three days and when they did, they had a short, fat man with them. He looked like a less attractive version of Danny DeVito. He had a pot belly and the hair around his balding head was unkempt and wild. He looked like he left grease stains wherever he went like some sort of slug. He stepped into the apartment and slowly moved his arms around while saying in a loud voice, "There is definitely something here. I can tell by the aura I'm sensing here. Tell me a little more about the things you've experienced while living in this place."
Alison did most of the talking while Bobby fidgeted awkwardly in his seat. I couldn't tell if he was uncomfortable with the man's presence or just worried about how much it was going to cost. Alison told the man about how the room became significantly colder at times (the windows being left open), they had been fighting more (they always argued about money issues and their social life), and items moving around on their own (that one's on me).
The Danny DeVito knockoff listened patiently for a while before excusing himself to use the restroom. Bobby and Alison whispered amongst themselves and I caught a few words in their exchange: 'money', 'Ms. Cleo Wannabe', and 'pompous' were a few of the words Bobby said. On his way back from the restroom, the medium rounded the corner too sharply and caught the corner or the table. He bounced off of it and fell to the floor. Alison stifled a scream and Bobby started at the sound of the man busting his ass on the ground.
The medium brushed himself off in embarrassment before saying, "Did you see that?! This spirit is malevolent. It just shifted the table out to hit me. We need to take care of this right away. I would like to talk to the entity with the Ouija board to see what we're dealing with before beginning the purification." It was the way he said those last words with a smile on his face that made me realize that he was likely over-charging them and was stalling for a higher payout.
Bobby and Alison were fine with expediting the process and taking care of it then and there so they set up the board and lit some candles. All while this was happening, the medium set up incense and laid items before him; a cross, a rosary, a vial of what I could only assume was holy water, and a talisman of sorts. The incense smelled overpowering, like the kind of thing a teenager would light in their room to cover up the smell of pot. Once everything was set up, they began to use the Ouija board and summoned me.
Danny DeVito's stunt double spoke, "Who am I speaking to?"
I decided at this point that I wasn't going to play along. The guy was obviously looking for an excuse to try and paint me as some malevolent monster and I wasn't going to give him any excuse. After a few minutes he asked the question again. I wandered around the apartment and looked out the window. I tried to distract myself by thinking about the courtyard outside. For some reason, I felt drawn back towards the table. I avoided this by thinking about good memories. We had had a barbecue out there about a year back while hanging out with some friends. We had a couple of beers and caught up on life. It was the last time that I really hung out with a group of people. It was the last time I really felt happy.
The medium reasoned after five minutes of nothing, "This entity doesn't want to name itself because names give the speaker power. It's likely a demon. Don't worry, I will make it talk." Alison audibly gasped while I stifled a laugh. He could have told her it was her dead Grandmother returning from the afterlife to get her to buy a time share in Heaven and she probably would have put a down payment on the place.
The Penguin whispered something under his breath before saying in a stern voice, "What is your name demon!?" The pull towards the Ouija board was too much now. I reached out and put my hands on the planchet. I felt compelled to communicate something so when he commanded I speak, I began moving the planchet and spelling out the letters.
"U-R-A-"
The spiritualist blurted out, "Are you Urashima?"
Alison whispered, "Is that a dangerous-"
I kept moving the planchet and managed to spell out the letters "D-I-" before I was interrupted again.
"Div-e Sepid? If we're dealing with a demon of that caliber, this may take days, if not weeks to purif-"
I kept going and had just spelled out "C-K-B-A-" before he made sense of the letters.
"Fuck you demon. I will not be made of fool of!" he roared. He took a minute to compose himself from his outburst before he continued, "...This seems like the work of an old demon I am very familiar with. His name is Pazuzu and we've fought many times. You were right in calling me. We need to finish this now."
Arnold Schwarzenegger's twin started to drizzle holy water on the board. I watched as the water passed through my form as I continued to try to spell out the multitude of ways I wanted him to eat a bag of dicks. He began to chant something under his breath and it was at that moment that something shifted. I tried to let go of the planchet on the Ouija board, but now I couldn't move my hands. Panic swept through me as I realized what was happening.
I was being cast out and the medium was more than what he seemed.
It wasn't until the tenth shout of, "The power of Christ compels you, begone demon!" that I realized what was happening. He had probably watched so many exorcist movies that he memorized the Latin phrases. What he had chanted at the beginning was likely ripped straight from a movie that copied the exorcism rights to a tee. Through no skill of his own he was bumbling into this exorcism and getting lucky. He was the type of guy that cobbled together comedian one-liners and gets treated like a laugh-riot, he was the kid who mashes buttons and wins every 2-D fighting game.
Danny DeVito's uglier twin shouted, "Begone demon!" and I felt something change in the apartment room. I couldn't move my body but I felt it behind me. It felt like what you imagine the vacuum of space would be like. I couldn't turn around to look at it, but I was certain that an abyss had opened up behind me and that inside the portal lied oblivion. It was the place that all exorcized spirits went to. It wasn't Heaven or Hell, it was nothingness. It was a void. There was nothing there. I tried to grip the table as it dragged me backwards, but I couldn't. I knew that I wouldn't be able to break free unless he stopped spouting lines from exorcism movies.
I pled to Bobby and Alison, hoping against hope that they could hear me, "Please don't let him do this! This isn't right! I used to live here, I don't deserve this! I don't want to stop existing! I just wanted somewhere to bel-"
Danny DeVito lite roared over my pleading, "In nomine Patris et Filii et Spiritus Sancti, ego præcipio tibi, ut hinc!"
I could hear the tenant upstairs shouting for them to shut up as he stomped on the floor. My grip gave way and I rocketed backwards into the darkness. It was cold, it was empty, it was my final home. I tried to swim through the black abyss back towards the light but the pinprick of light dilated before imploding in on itself. Before I was completely swallowed up in the emptiness of that place for all eternity I heard the last thing I will ever hear: "This house is clean... that'll be fifty bucks. We take payment in forms of..." Then nothing.
Written by EmpyrealInvective
Content is available under CC BY-SA
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