Timothy, p.1Mark Tufo
Tim 3: Sliced, Diced and Cubed
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Also by Mark Tufo
Also From DevilDog Press
Copyright © 2016 by Mark Tufo
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Dedications: To my wife. I know you won’t read this book, but thank you for either giving me my meds or holding back on them as necessary while I penned this novel.
To Susan DiMuzio, Kathy Pippen Turner and Jeff Shoemaker, who were brave enough to offer up their services to help me make this a better tome!
To all members of the armed forces and first responders, thank you for all that you do.
To my readers, thank you for your support, and if you’ve come this far in the Tim saga, you know what you’re in for.
My name is Timothy and, well … ummm, I’m fucked.
I was a zombie for … what, a week, ten days maybe? I was at a little brat’s party doing my double shift as Spangles the clown when one of the filthy little animals bit me. Well, I showed him, put an imprint of his fucking body in the drywall on the other side of the room. If I’d known the little puke was a zombie, I would have caved his skull in, although it was already too late for me; he’d broken skin on my calf. I went home to where my one-night stand, Gina, was trying to get into my apartment to get her purse. I had such a splitting headache I wanted to crush her head in as well every time she opened her suck hole. Ended up fucking her so she’d shut up. Then, in the midst of the dirty deed, I just decided that eating her would heighten the experience. Who would have thought combining two of my favorite things would lead to such bliss.
I finished getting off and finished her off before passing out. When I awoke, it was to discover that I was no longer the master of my own destiny. I could not so much as blink an eye. More trapped than some of my dates in my apartment when they realized I wasn’t letting them leave until they took care of my needs. When my dad came into the apartment, the zombie portion of me did what zombie portions do. He ate him. My only regret up to this point was that I was not the one able to do it. Hugh (I named the zombie invader) had done it because that’s what he does. I would have done it because I would have relished it. My dad was a Grade A asshole. He may have been my favorite meal, reminded me of my youth. Then I did what any good zombie would. I terrorized, ate, and pillaged some more. I probably would have raped as well, but somewhere along the way, I’d got shot in my junk and it had blackened and fallen off. The human male part of me should have been more distraught about that, but the zombie half didn’t give a shit—I mean, as long as I got to eat, that was all that ever mattered. I went to war with Hugh. I sort of won; he’d probably call it a stalemate if he knew what that meant. Besides, all he was good for was eating and getting us shot.
A zombie was inside of me and at the controls. I wrested the helm away but I was no longer running a human; I was the zombie Hugh had turned me into. I could have felt sorry for myself, but that’s not my style. I like to make all the pukes around me feel sorry for ever having to know me. At 6’5”, 280 pounds, I was used to imposing my will upon others, or at the very least, intimidating them until they were ready to piss themselves. Especially when some little twat-man was on a date with his woman. I loved emasculating them to the point where they wouldn’t be able to get a hard-on for a week. Oh, they’d play hard ball for a few seconds, but that would change when I came up on them, chest to chin so to speak. Ah good times, good times. Sorry, digressing; a lot of shit has happened to me in a short amount of time, and sometimes it’s difficult to sort through it all. I’d never been much of a thinker, more of a doer, and even then I would only do the bare minimum to get by.
I ran around those first few days just getting to know what my better-than-human body could do. Hugh could fix just about anything, except our—I mean my—dick. He thought it an extraneous piece of machinery and would not divert any resources to its repair. Thinking back, maybe I should have lobbied more for that, but what did I give a shit? Eating people was my new orgasmic experience. I didn’t think anything could beat the feeling of tearing into warm, still-moving meat. Nothing could have been any more fulfilling. Funny how much of my time, money, and resources had been devoted to screwing women, never once with the thought that eating them would be better than eating with them. Live and learn, I suppose.
Life or, I guess, undead existence had been great; that was right up until some bitch shot me, and for no good goddamn reason. Who the fuck just shoots a man in cold blood? I’ll find her someday, of that I’m sure, and when I do … oh boy, I’m going to take my time with that one. Maybe ripping a few bites from her each day then patching her up so we can do it again and again. Yeah, that’s one bitch that is going to regret the day she was ever born. Hugh and I were on our last legs. I didn’t think we were going to make it until some fat slob named Clarence came into the picture. On a dare from his friend, he was trying to take my red clown nose from me when Hugh bit him and took me for a ride as we were transferred into the fat bastard.
If I thought it was crowded in my head with just me and Hugh, we were all in for a surprise as now we’d added Clarence to the mix. Although I’d only kept him around because, well, for one, he said more than “eat” and he knew a hideout where there was a whole batch of fresh succulent meat waiting for me to harvest. It was going to be perfect. I would walk in under the disguise of Clarabelle and just eat until my stomach burst. What did I care? Hugh could fix it. The disguise thing would have been a better idea, but I just couldn’t leave the fine specimen that was my old body behind, so I cut off my face and sewed it over Clarinet’s fudge-filled, pudgy, sweat-laced face. It wasn’t perfect, but it beat looking at his fat-clogged, doughy visage. Then, to top it off, I filed his teeth into points. Clambake wasn’t too thrilled with my upgrades. I think he lost his mind at that point, which is funny because he literally had and I had proof. It was mine now, and he was still there only by my good graces, and fuck knows I don’t have much good grace.
My shopping at the grocery store was met with mixed results. I did eat my fair share, but true success was thwarted by a GI Jane wannabe named Yorley. I should have let it go. I really should have, but she looked so good I couldn’t help but think of holding her femur like a turkey leg and just pulling long ropes of muscles and tendons off and into my mouth, where I would wetly savor each and every bite. She was fine in every aspect that I cared about in a woman, and she was probably smart too. I had to have her, even after she wounded me when I burned the store to the ground. It wasn’t revenge; it was obsession. I followed that bitch and her friend across the city at great personal danger to myself. When I finally found her friend’s house, they weren’t there. Either they had never made it or they’d left.
I’d never felt more impotent than I had at that point. I was on the verge of leaving and taking out my frustrations on everybody and everything that I encountered. That’s when Scarlett’s husband, I think Dipshit was his name, had the unfortunate luck to show up to grab
I bested the asshole but at a terrible cost. Here I sit, in a barricaded bathroom with a vicious zombie I created trying to get in. I’m in a fat bastard’s body, I have a sewn on face, and thanks to Hugh’s healing work, it is as much a part of me as my arm. Yorley is gone and I’m … I’m a fucking pathetic human. One swing of a hammer to my skull, and I’ll die just like the rest of the cattle out there. This can’t be happening; just a few hours ago, I was a monster worthy of a tale to be passed down for the ages, and now I’m a pile of blubber pooled on a tile floor in a shit room. I’ll succumb to my injuries long before I die of starvation. The window is out. Maybe a hundred pounds ago, it would have been an escape route, not now though.
“Think.” I smacked my fist against the side of my head. The pain was fierce and white-hot. It did have the desired effect, though, as it crystallized my thoughts.
“This is fucking insane, you know.”
“No shit, dumb ass. You got any better ideas?”
The cautious side of me decided to keep its mouth shut. Good thing too, because I would have beat the fuck out of him. Every moment I sat on that floor, the bigger the head start Yorley got, and that bitch owed me big time. I didn’t know how I was going to find her. She certainly wasn’t going to be stupid enough to leave a trail of clues behind like Scarlett did.
“Yo, fuckhead zombie, you still out there?” I rapped my knuckles on the door. I was rewarded with a renewed scratching as she made her way over.
“How am I going to do this? Just pretend it’s like ripping a band-aid off.”
“Listen, fuck-tard, if I wanted your opinion I’d give it to you.”
On some level, I guess I knew I was going insane. Even as psychotic and narcissistic as I was, I had limits and I was fast approaching the abyss. The right thing, the sane thing to do, would have been to let it happen and just die on that bathroom floor. I would have begged Jesus for his forgiveness because apparently that’s all you have to do. You can do the vilest, most disgusting things on this planet, and as long as you meet him at the Pearly gates and tell him you’re sorry, all will be forgiven. What the fuck is the impetus to do good while you’re alive if we all have this get-out-of-hell card in our back pocket? I’d rather screw over as many people as possible, thoroughly enjoying all of my darker fantasies and cravings. Fuck compassion, fuck kindness, fuck caring. What has that ever done for me? You get what you want in this world by taking it, with violent force in most cases. Then, when all is said and done, you just say “My bad” and you’re absolved, I love this system; it’s set up to be abused. Just doing my part!
I was stalling. Oh, don’t give me that shit. You would too. I stood up and sucked in a couple of rapid breaths into my lungs.
“You ready for this?”
My other half was silent.
“Fucking jerk.” I kept my shoulder against the door. With my right hand, I grasped the doorknob and slowly twisted it open.
“I cannot believe I’m doing this.”
“Who the fuck else is going to?”
“Oh now you decide to speak up?”
“Do it, you pussy.”
“I’ll show you a pussy.”
“I’m looking at one.” It was then I noticed I was staring into the bathroom mirror.
I stuck my tongue out. “That’s mature.” I said it, but I wasn’t exactly sure which side that came from. I pulled the door open. I had not been expecting the forward thrust from the zombie on the other side. If I didn’t have nearly two hundred pounds of bulk on her, I may have been in a little trouble. I stuck my arm through the opening. Nothing, not so much as a nibble.
“Are you fucking kidding me? You’re a picky eating zombie?”
I stuck my hand out further. Even smacked the thing across the mouth. She pulled away. I was just about to completely open the door when I remembered the vial in my pocket. The dildo I’d killed said it was supposed to keep zombies at bay. I guess he wasn’t kidding. I poured the contents down the sink and tried again.
I had not been ready for the savagery that the zombie inflicted on that exposed arm. Sure, the little kid had hurt when he bit, but this was on a whole different level. This zombie had ripped out a mouthful of meat from my arm. I could think of nothing else except the intense pain. Her hands wrapped around my arm, and she tore more of me away. Electrical impulses scrambled in my brain as agony scraped long, black blades against my thoughts. I was screaming so hard the lining in my throat ruptured and blood began to fill my throat. Muscle ripped free from the lower part of my arm, and still her grip tightened on my upper arm.
I could not see my extremity, but I knew she was stripping it clean like a chicken wing. I felt her teeth abrade against bone as she sought the marrow deep within. I had vomited blood and bile and all manner of half-digested body parts onto the front of me, it rolled off my large stomach and dripped onto the floor, caking the tiles in a half inch of a caustic brew. I half-heartedly tried to pull my arm away, but it was useless; thinking was beyond my comprehension. The simple act of trying to save myself was something I could not fathom attempting. It was pure unadulterated instinct that made me do what I did. I did all I could think to do. I sent Hugh to fix what was wrong. Although there was no Hugh, it shouldn’t have worked. In a sense, it did and it didn’t. Hugh couldn’t go because he had been killed by me and by antibiotics, but I’d learned a thing or two since I’d been relegated to my mind.
I knew how to marshal my own forces and send them where they were needed. Minute pieces of me traveled along my blood stream, to the damaged area where most of the masses were lost to the floor. But not all, not all. Some traveled into the gullet of Scarlett, who sucked it down greedily. We sat in her stomach along with most of my arm before passing through the lining, riding along her blood lines, and embedding ourselves into the folds of her mind. There were long moments where I had the dual visage, where I witnessed myself eating my own arm. I’d somehow fucking done it. I’d transferred a piece of me into Scarlett. I was not strong enough to take over or even make myself known, but I’d done it. “I am Timothy, and I’m back!” I wanted to roar like a lion on the Savannah, but instead I squeaked like a mouse at a cat sanctuary.
I was horrified and fascinated as I ate myself. There were two of us, but we were still inextricably linked. The unimaginable pain was intermingled with the incredible bliss I experienced as I yanked ribbons of flesh from myself. Scarlett chewed rapidly, hardly bothering to swallow before she would dip back down and rend like a rabid dog at the food in front of her. I wanted to tell her to slow down, to enjoy it, to feel the slimy slide of the fresh meat go down. To masticate it properly, feeling the thick tough texture of the muscle and fat as we broke them down into the proper size for feeding. I was reveling in my victory while also spiraling into despair at my loss. I was dying, I was living. I could not get a grasp on my emotions as they swung the whole width of the pendulum, repeatedly. I was caught up in the whirlwind, so much so I nearly missed the markers that let me know Hugh had discovered something was amiss.
I had a history with this virus, considering it was my idea to implant him like a biological bomb into Scarlett’s husband. Now the ungrateful little fuck was going to want to extinguish me. I dove down deeper into this foreign alien landscape wrought with doubts, mania, and worst of all, estrogen.
“What the fuck have I got myself into?” I asked. I was almost at fi
“Who … who’s there?” Scarlett asked tentatively.
“Oh, this is fucking rich.” I was shedding the irrational and unreasonable ideas that made up the female psyche. Pulling more of myself, well … to me if I’m being literal.
“What’s going on?” she begged.
“Shut the fuck up or you’re going to get us both killed.”
“We’re … we’re not dead?”
“Not yet, princess, but we will be soon if you don’t shut that trap of yours.”
“Where’s my husband?”
“My guess is halfway down your colon by now. You’ll be able to see him again in about a half hour; he won’t look as pretty, that’s for sure. Probably look like shit.” I laughed uncontrollably at my joke, like a mental patient that has finally succumbed to the incorrect moldings inside his mind.
She was gagging. I was laughing. Hugh was approaching.
“Shit, shit, shit. Keep it under control, Tim, or this is going to be a short stay.”
“Tim? Did you say Tim?” The sob went from inconsolable crying to gut wrenching heaves.
“Don’t worry, we’ll have a fabulous time together. At least until you inevitably piss me off and I have to dispose of you. But until then, it will be funtastic.” I think she passed out. That was perfect; it would keep her silent for the time being until I wrested control from Hugh.
Hugh had caught wind of me. He was still eating my other half, but he’d sent some of himself as well to discover the invader. I could only hope the repertoire we had together would save me. In a pinch, I would just drag Scarlett out and let him have her. Much better she should sacrifice herself for me than the other way around. Fuck chivalry, unless of course it got me laid. Although now that we were sharing a head, that didn’t seem like it was going to happen. I’d never been mind-fucked. I wanted to find a corner of her brain to hide in, but the horizon was so outlandish, alien, and strange I could not find safe harbor. I could hide or I could confront. My strength was not such that I could yet impose my will on Hugh, I was going to have to try diplomacy with something that looked like an amoeba.
Timothy by Mark Tufo / Horror have rating 4 out of 5 / Based on32 votes