A Small Bit of Belt: Difference between revisions

That's it. You're dead, there's nothing beyond that. A lifetime of work, generosity, and humanity reduced to a joke; ‘hey'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.

The next morning he woke up to the ‘word'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.

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'Is there anyone here?'"

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'money', ‘Ms'Ms. Cleo Wannabe', and ‘pompous'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.

"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...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."

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…clean... that'll be fifty bucks. We take payment in forms of…of..." Then nothing.

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