The House

The house was full of youth, and the exuberance thereof. Such exuberance! Never had I seen their match for sheer, splendiferous liveliness. The moment I crossed the threshold I knew something was wrong by the way the dead one leaned her emaciated head around the corner at the end of the hallway. After that I heard the squeals, like someone was butchering a pig. A high note of orgasmic suspense gargled in the air. Pretending not to smell what I most definitely did smell, I sauntered casually down the aisle, running at the top of my lungs.

Someone wasn’t there. She was wearing a saggy white blouse with a block of black nuts in the middle of her soft chest. When I hugged her I felt the unintended knuckles in my collar bone. “Hi,” she smiled balmily. There was Mama D. in the dress. I knew her immediately by the sound of her humongous heart. Everyone sat around her with thoughts in their eyes and tears in their minds. My old friend, who had passed away two or three years ago, stayed dead. Then I saw the man with the blood in his fingernails. I didn’t expect the beard. There was that familiar concave region below the brows, but nothing to fill the sockets aside from a bit of organic matter with a glossy finish and ocular functions. Even when she picked up his hand, there was no one under his forehead responding to her touch. There was nothing at all.

My sisters danced up. The kids are here. “Oh?” I asked. Yes. Down the hall. “Great,” I coughed up a pill. “Let’s go.” I was scared. The dead head was down there. And the pigs. Who were the pigs?

But when I peeked around the corner I saw only a beautiful witch child and her older brother.

“Hello,” said the brother.

He was holding a bird skeleton.

“Oh, hello,” I nambied gamely.

The bird skeleton got up and sashayed across the room. The brother smiled a square smile inside a square head. His questions, although polite, seemed somewhat sincere. I felt sorry for him, because his head was so cubic, his thoughts couldn’t form a proper orbit. I also felt bad about those few times he had called my name back when his head was still round, and his smile still beautiful. It was all I could do not to cry, just thinking about it. His voice was thick and raw. He was still alive in there somewhere; a burning coal deep in the furnace. No one should have to die like this, I realized. Buried alive. No one!

Then came a fatty, hammy screech and the pigs stampeded through the hall, butchering each other. I turned to address the brother, but he was gone. And then I saw a pig with a square smile.