Biological Warfare

Terence is revisited by a man he fired several years ago. Paranoid, Terence believes this man is out for revenge.

             The funeral home was completely dead. Terence was so bored he was constructing a portrait of his cat, Anubis, on a cork board in his office. He was using the minute circles of paper from the paper hole puncher for this project. His coworker, Ash Wilson, came in to observe his work.

                “Whatcha doin?” he asked, helping himself to a seat in Terence’s plump leather swivel chair.  Terence scoffed at the sight of Ash’s rosy cheeks and budding smile. He pressed a pink, paper dot to the centre of Ash’s head, grinned, and then continued on with his picture. Ash just laughed; it was, funnily enough, his reaction to every stimulus.  “Alright then, I’ll just go back to reading The Tales of Sulivan Twitch,” Ash sighed. 

Terence began removing his tie and said, “the girl falls in love with the monkey and, most predictably, Sulivan grows jealous and shoots the monkey in a bitter rage. The story acts as a comparison between love and  demon possession. It is an exploitation of human err.  If Sulivan hadn’t been so madly in love with Sara-Anne, he wouldn’t have murdered the monkey.” He casually slung his tie over the back of his chair.  Ash threw up his hands in frustration.

“Terence! That’s the third story you’ve  spoiled for me! Every time I mention a novel you give me the climax!  What am I suppose to do during down days?!” Now Terence was the one laughing. “Wait a minute. Are you yanking my chain!?”  Terence nodded.

“I’ve never even read The Tales of Sulivan Twitch. Obviously you haven’t either because I made every last bit of that up!” Ash waved a finger at him. His face was even rosier than it had been when he first entered the office. Just as Ash turned his back, the doorbell resonated throughout Amigone Funeral Home.

When Terence saw who was at the door, he became one of his sculptures; completely unmoving. The look on his face was one of distress. Confused, Ash pushed past him and opened the door to greet their visitors.

“Hello! Come on in! How can we help you?” Ash pleasantly greeted a slender man with round spectacles and thin, wavy, straw-coloured hair. He was with two elderly ladies, each one with freshly curled white hair and matching purses. The man introduced himself as Melvin Bowinkle; the women were Ingrid and Hazel. Before Ash had a chance to introduce himself, Terence launched forward and slammed the doors, practically smashing the faces of their guests. Aghast, Ash took a step back.

“Terence! What the―” Terence put a finger to his lips. His weedy frame was pressed against the glass doors as though he was barricading the funeral home from an onslaught. Ash whispered, “Terence, let them in! What’s gotten into you?!” Terence mouthed the words, “I can’t” and flattened himself even closer to the cold panes. The man known as Melvin knocked against the doors.

“Uh, is this a bad time?” His voice was muffled. Ash crossed his arms and looked Terence directly in the eyes.

“Terence, if you don’t move away from there right now, I’m gonna make you!” The words sounded less intimidating than Ash had hoped. Terence snickered at the thought of his fruity little employee wrestling him, a seven foot man, from the door. “Fine have it your way.” Ash cupped his hands around his mouth and yelled, “Come on in through the back!” Terence squeezed his eyes shut and slouched to the ground, leaving a squeaking swipe in the condensation on the door. He looked like a little boy afraid of the dark. Ash was worried. He had never seen Terence behave in this manner before. Ash turned to welcome the company; he felt a tug on his pant leg and turned to face the tormented face of his employer.

“Wilson, you can’t invite them in. I fired the man, Melvin, two years ago. Those ladies wear a fragrance that stings more than cavity fluid. He’s here to get revenge!” Ash kicked his leg away. Terence was having another one of his paranoid fits.

“Terence, I think you should call your psychotherapist,” he suggested. Terence growled and pushed his hair back, digging his fingernails into his scalp. Of course Ash didn’t understand; he hadn’t been there when Melvin worked for Amigone.

The man who had previously owned Amigone funeral home, Bob Amigone, was the one who had hired Melvin. Terence had to admit, Melvin was an excellent actor. His demeanor was that of tact and professionalism. He deceived even Bob, who Terence considered to be the most insightful man he had ever met. It hadn’t been until after Terence took over the business, that he began to see through Melvin’s façade. Melvin was a master of polite small talk. To Terence, small talk was just another term for meaningless conversation. How pathetic it was that people’s ability to participate in this ho hum verbal redundancy  was what determined their social reputation. Terence learned that this ‘social reputation’ was all Melvin really cared about. Melvin didn’t care about giving the bereaved closure. He was in the job for all the wrong reasons.

One day, Terence overheard a conversation Melvin was having with an intern. Upon asked why he decided to go into funeral services, Melvin responded, “I dunno.”  The intern sounded abashed by this when she probed, “why are you in this field?!” Melvin never responded to the young woman’s question, instead he ripped a gurgling belch and then apologized for his inability to control his gases. At this point, Terence had felt it necessary to intercede. He took Melvin aside and informed him that it was unacceptable to behave in such a manner―especially in front of his interns. Melvin had simply shrugged at the mentioning of this news. When he strolled past to leave, Terence was hit with a turbulence of malodorous air; Melvin had been drinking. Terence fired Melvin then and there. The man swore on his mother’s grave that it was his cologne Terence was smelling.

Terence had crossed his gangly arms, sucked in his cheeks and said, “Nice try, Bowinkle, but your mother is still alive. She works at the drugstore. You’re an apathetic little worm who squirms for attention and adheres to the qualms induced by the chemicals found in a bar. One day I will most certainly see your jaundiced face on a prep table, but until that day inevitably comes, I bid you ado.”

Now Melvin was back.  He was a walking shell: a body with no moral soul inhabiting it. He dressed professionally and greeted people politely, but as soon as he thought no one was watching, he became an eye-rolling, energy sucking vampire. Terence despised every last cell of the man’s body. As the three of them advanced into the funeral home, Terence could feel his head flooding with the intoxicating scent of the women’s perfume. He rose from where he slouched. The back of his shirt was damp from pressing up against the dew encapsulated doors.

“Hello again, Terence,” Melvin nodded toward Terence, who, in return, cast him a belittling stare. “I bumped into these two lovely ladies downtown this morning. They wanted to drop in for a visit so I gave them a ride. I hope I haven’t caused any inconvenience to you.” The aged widows stepped forward and Terence almost choked; their perfume was so strong he could taste its foulness tickling the back of his throat.  Ash suggested that they all march upstairs to the lounge to catch up.  Terence loathed the phrase, ‘catch up.’ In his opinion, the term was as meaningful as the red viscous condiment commonly manufactured for hot dogs.

“Show them upstairs, Wilson, I want to speak with Mr. Bowinkle here,” commanded Terence. His voice was layered with vehemence. Ash obeyed without hesitance; the last thing he wanted to see was Terence perform another of his looney rants on an innocent victim. “What are you doing here?” Terence declared when he knew the others had gone. Melvin shrugged his accursed shrug.

“Just trying to help some appreciative old women,” he answered with a sly grin. Terence wanted to peel the man’s snarky smile from his face. The women Melvin had invited, Ingrid and Hazel, had both lost their husbands nearly two years ago. Terence remembered making both the arrangements, shortly after Bob’s demise. The two women were inseparable. Terence could not remember ever seeing the two of them apart. When Ingrid’s husband died, Hazel came with her to make the arrangements, and when Hazel’s husband died, Ingrid repaid the favor. But what stuck out most about the ladies in Terence’s mind, was their scent: a sickeningly sweet stench that tingled his orifices like wasabi. Terence had been forced to excuse himself both times on account of his nose bleeding. Melvin had replaced him during both encounters.

Terence leaned in close to Melvin’s deceptively cherub-like face and whispered malignantly, “This is biological warfare of the lowest form!” Melvin chuckled, shook his head, and stared at the rich burgundy carpet.

“I had forgotten about the nosebleeds,” he claimed. “Ingrid and Hazel are lovely gals. The whole way here they never stopped praising you for what you did for them at their husband’s funerals. We worked together on that one, Terence. I thought their presence would make you see that firing me was the wrong decision. Yeah, I made a mistake. But was it really worth firing me over?!” Terence wasn’t fooled for a second.

“Your mistake was a fatal one. I let you go nearly two years ago. That’s more than enough time to find another funeral home to harass. Now kindly go escort Miss Ingrid and Miss Hazel out.” Melvin rocked on his feet and slid his hands into his pockets, indifferently.

“Have you no care for the reputation of your funeral home? Ingrid and Hazel are active members of the community here in St. Louis du HA! HA! Why do you think business has been going so well for you? I can tell you it has nothing to do with your social skills. If you kick the gals out, the whole town will know about it. Nobody wants to attend a funeral home that dismisses the needs of the elderly,” Bowinkle finished with a glowering glint in his beady eyes. Terence was so filled with paranoia and animosity, he could feel his legs quivering. Defeated, he began marching up the stairs to the lounge to join Ingrid, Hazel, and Ash.

 He paused on the fifth step, turned, and hissed perniciously in Melvin’s ear, “You manipulative little maggot! This isn’t just biological warfare, it’s premeditated biological warfare!”

Terence and Melvin entered the lounge to find both Ingrid and Hazel laughing and eating bon bons while Ash smiled and nodded politely. Terence took a seat on the opposing side of the two ladies. He wanted to be as far away from their contaminated air as he could!

“Come now, Mr. Coon, we don’t bite!” piped Ingrid. Terence stretched his long arms out in front of him on the table and intertwined his fingers.

“Yes,” he declared, “judging by your lack of teeth, I’d say that statement is rather accurate.” Ash elbowed Terence rather forcefully in the ribs. Terence grunted and turned to his coworker in complete bewilderment.

“He’s just kidding!” Ash said, flashing his perfect teeth. The ladies giggled incessantly and poured each other a cup of tea. As time wasted away and the insignificance of the discussions grew more and more transparent, the aroma of the ladies’ perfume slowly diffused over to Terence’s half of the table. His head pulsed and his brain felt as though it was melting into a pool of goo inside his skull. His eyes stung as though someone had dumped a vial of acetic acid in them and his throat and nose burned with equal intensity. The ladies’ perfume wasn’t just another chemical concoction of artificial pheromones, it was a neurotoxin!

“Mr. Coon, do you know Lynch Thornberry?” Hazel asked.  Terence blinked away the tears that were welling in his inflamed eyeballs, and attempted to focus on the bleeding image of Hazel’s face. Her skin was far too many colours.

“The postman?” he asked, choking on his own words. The perfume tasted like a gaseous form of marmite.  “His head’s like a light bulb. It’s all round and shiny,” Terence remarked. His words sounded slurred and felt sloppy in his  prickling mouth.  Melvin’s chuckling filled the room; it was so painfully monotonous it reminded Terence of a robot he once programmed to tell bad jokes. The robot, of course, was horrendously annoying and was later terminated. Beside Terence, Ash was twiddling with a bonbon wrapper. The crinkling and crunching of the plastic was painful in his ears and made his head throb with an even greater strength. Every sound seemed more pronounced. Terence placed a hand over Ash’s fidgeting hands. “Shhh,” he hushed. Ash ceased his twiddling and gazed up at Terence. His eyes inflated like pool donuts.

“Terence,” he whispered, discretely, “your nose is bleeding!” Terence tilted his head downward and cupped his hand over his nose to act as an eavestrough for the blood.

“Get me out of here!” he murmured.  Ash immediately stood; all eyes were on him.

“Well everyone,” he began, clapping his hands together, “you’ll have to excuse Terence and I…..as we use the bathroom.” The party looked at Ash in astonishment.

“Sorry, did you say the two of you are going to the bathroom together?” Ingrid asked. Ash nodded. “I didn’t know men did that!” she exclaimed. While Terence crept out, Ash lied to cover his employer’s butt. He attempted to explain to her that it was the way of his culture to accompany an employer to the bathroom. He exited, leaving the women completely flabbergasted.

“Terence, what’s going on!” Ash practically had to run to keep up with Terence’s long strides. “You’re walking like a drunk man and your eyes look like they’ve been soaking in raspberry vinaigrette for five hours!” Terence didn’t stop until he was in the preparation room. “Terence! What are you―”

“I’m getting prep towel! It’s absorbent!!”   As Terence tore his hands away from his face, the blood that had pooled in his palms spilled to the ground.  Ash gagged and flung his curly head into the sink, where he blew bonbon chunks. “You know, Wilson, it’s a really good thing you can talk to people,” Terence remarked, placing a piece of prep towel beneath his nose. Ash plunked himself into a chair; his face was so pale Terence could see the blue tinge of the underlying vessels around his mouth.

“I suppose it is!” he laughed. There was a moment of silence in which Terence took a pair of eye weights, closed his swollen eyes, and placed them over top. The cool metal was bliss to his stinging eyes.  “So it’s true then. Melvin brought those ladies here just to smite you,” Ash stated. He shook his head, “I guess you made the right decision to fire him after all.”

“Indeed,” Terence responded, scrubbing the dried blood from his hands. The doorbell rang. Terence huffed and shook the water from his hands. “Wilson, make sure Bowinkle doesn’t answer that!” he said. “ That shallow pig doesn’t work here anymore!” Once Terence had managed to gain control over the bleeding, he walked up to the main level to see who was at the door. It was Lynch Thornberry. The bald man pushed past Ash and grabbed Terence’s hand in a bone crunching hand shake.

“You’ve got a bit of a limp fish handshake there, Mr. Coon,” he criticized.  Terence eyed the man, suspiciously.

“Handshakes are nothing but an exchange of germs. Shouldn’t you be wearing that funny post man costume?” he retaliated. Mr. Thornberry narrowed his eyes and raised his left eyebrow, judgmentally.

“You’re mistaking me for my twin brother, Mr. Coon. His name is Doug Thornberry,” Lynch  articulated. He removed his spectacles and glared at Terence as though he was an unsightly smudge on the wall. “Honestly, Mr. Coon, someone in your position should take the time to remember little details like that.” Evidently, the man had a superiority complex. A few subtle insults would likely balance his ego.

“You’re the fat twin, aren’t you?” Terence asked. “There’s always a fat twin.” Mr. Thornberry’s jaw clenched and his nostrils flared. He whipped a finger in Ash’s direction and told Terence to order his employee to get a hair cut.  He went on to suggest that the older generation wouldn’t feel comfortable talking to a guy with disco hair.

“Not everyone can be as bald as you, Mr. Thornberry,” Terence reminded him. “Now if you don’t mind me asking, what do you want?!” The man ran a hand over his bulbous head. He really was quite ugly.

“I’m here to inspect your funeral home and ensure that it is in accordance with the legislation,” he answered. Uh-oh. Terence had dripped blood all over the preparation room! There was no doubt in Terence’s mind, this inspector’s appearance was the crafty work of Melvin Bowinkle!

“This is an inconvenient time,” Terence proclaimed. As if on cue, Melvin entered.

“Nonsense, Mr. Thornberry! Terence here is just a bit shy!” he insisted.  Terence envisioned Melvin as an ant, smoking beneath a magnifying glass.  

Terence was screwed. At some point of the tour, he would have to take Mr. Thornberry down to the preparation room.  Terence’s nasal blood was splattered all over the floor! According to the legislation, a preparation room had to be clean, sanitized and disinfected at all times. Terence would be written up for insubordination, and possibly placed in front of the board of funeral services.  His license was on the line and there was no one to blame but Melvin Bowinkle! Melvin’s accomplice, Lynch Thornberry, was proportionally annoying. Throughout the entirety of the tour the man didn’t once stop nagging Terence.

“Mr. Coon, the absence of your tie and suit jacket is most unprofessional. Is this how you always appear in front of your clients?” Mr. Thornberry  then advised Terence to put on weight so he didn’t appear like such a beanpole. Terence made certain to point out to Mr. Thornberry that he was there to inspect the funeral home, not the funeral directors. Mr. Thornberry merely ignored this fact, and went on to propose that Terence use his husky voice to entertain listeners over the radio. He also made the ignorant mistake of suggesting that Terence tryout for a basketball league. By the time the four of them made their way to the preparation room, Terence was furious. He aggressively pulled back the crimson curtains that concealed the entrance of the preparation room. Ash plastered himself in front of the doors.

“I, uh, just remembered,” he stammered, “there’s bodies in there!” Ash was a crummy liar.

“Move out of the way, Wilson,” Terence sighed. When Lynch saw the blood stains, he went ballistic. A number of distasteful words came out of his mouth.

“Mr. Thornberry!” Terence exclaimed, firmly. “Kindly refrain from using foul language in my funeral home. If you’re too stupid to think up your own terms, shut-up!” Lynch threw up his hands, wildly.

“I think it’s justified that I use harsh language right now!” he stated. He was wrong. There was never an excuse for the use of unoriginal speech. “Honestly, Terence! What sort of lazy unhygienic lump are you!? Mark my words, the board will be hearing about this! Shame on you!” Terence tried to explain to Mr. Thornberry that the blood was from a bad nosebleed and that he hadn’t had time to mop it up, but Lynch didn’t believe him. “What do you take me for, Mr. Coon? An idiot?!” Terence refrained from saying yes. “Out of all the excuses I’ve heard, that has got to be the worst! Bob was a moron for handing his business over to you!”  Terence had never experienced such wrath toward anyone in his life.  He could see Ash’s startled face out of the corner of his eyes. Terence was livid: absolutely strangulated with emotion. Melvin stood with a look of pure satisfaction on his face.  Terence became possessed with rage. Before he even knew what he was doing, he whirled his arm behind him, grabbed a needle injector, pressed it against Lynch Thornberry’s naked skull, and pumped a needle ferociously into his frontal bone. Terence felt the man’s grotesque head shatter. Blood leaked from the protruding pin and dribbled down Mr. Thronberry’s petrified features.  Ash shrieked in horror as the man’s eyes fogged over and he fell lifeless to the floor.  His head broke like a watermelon and the contents stewed with the flow of hot blood, pooling under Terence’s feet. Ash was a stupefied wreck. He was on his knees, vomiting,trembling violently and pulling at his hair.

“T-TERENCE!! H-HOW C-COULD YOU DO THIS!!?” he cried, tears streaming from his bulging fear stricken eyes. Terence snagged a trocar from under a cupboard and advanced toward Melvin. Before he had time to scream, Terence skewered the man through the heart. The trocar squelched as Terence removed it; a gush of blood burst forth, soiling his white shirt. Melvin collapsed beside Lynch. When Terence saw the mess of flesh and blood he had created, he dropped the trocar in disgust. Ash was blubbering manically in the corner of the room. Terence looked at his hands; they were slick with blood. What had he done?! Terence squeezed his eyes shut and wailed in agony at the wickedness of his deed.

“Terence? Terence? Are you okay?” When Terence opened his eyes, he found that he was sprawled on the cold tiles of the lounge, uncomfortably close to Ash Wilson’s face. Terence sat up.  The room spun as though he was on a roller coaster.  “You passed out,” Ash informed him. Terence winced; his head felt as though a wooly mammoth had sat on it. “You were saying something about a mailman with a head like a light bulb and then you just collapsed out of your chair,” Ash explained. This was excellent news for Terence;  he wasn’t a homicidal maniac after all.  The whole ordeal had been but a perfume induced hallucination. 

“Oh, Hazel, I told you we shouldn’t have worn that perfume! It’s too powerful! Look what we’ve done to the poor man!” Ingrid hobbled over to Terence and helped him to his feet. For an old, decrepit lady, she was surprisingly strong. Hazel joined Ingrid and clucked her tongue in a motherly fashion.

“Dear me, you’ve got a bit of blood there,” said Hazel, tapping her nose. Ash offered Terence a tissue. It was evident he was puking in his own mouth. Ingrid giggled and linked arms with Hazel.

“Hazel, I dare say we’ve almost killed the man!” Hazel, too, began to giggle.

“Why, my dear, we’ve only managed to do it twice!” The two women cackled like a pair of kookaburras. Terence was genuinely freaked out by the pair of them. Melvin appeared to be rather disturbed as well.

“Uh, ladies, are you sure you wouldn’t rather take a taxi back to your place?” he questioned.

“What’s the matter, Melvin? Are you afraid of two little old grannies?” Ingrid said, cheekily. Melvin gulped and followed the two of them, nervously. After the three of them had departed, Terence’s  deep-toned thundering laughter reverberated amidst the window panes of the funeral home, causing them to rattle.

When he finally stopped to catch his breath, he said to Ash, “Did you see the look on Bowinkle’s face!? He looked like a deer in the headlights!” Ash couldn’t help but join in the laughter. Melvin had looked pretty ridiculous. The doorbell sung and both Ash and Terence composed themselves pronto. Remembering his frightening vision, Terence quickly knotted his tie and slid on his jacket before answering the door. A short, bald man with a square-like body shape entered the funeral home.

“Hi, I’m Doug Thornberry.” The man took Terence’s hand and shook it firmly.  “I’m here to make arrangements for my idiot brother, Lynch. It would seem he finally criticized the wrong guy and got himself shot in the head!”

The End 

Author's Note

Comment away!

Reviews

[jjwilbourne]

Despite my usual dislike for dream sequence stories, I love when comedic stories come full circle.

Well done!

[Margo Seuss]

Yes, I was hesitant to make it all a dream. I thought the fact that it was perfume induced made it more original. And yes that Thornberry guy ended up dying anyway! :D

[Darkimmortal]

"Ash gagged and flung his curly head into the sink, where he blew bonbon chunks." I Really do not like the "bonbon chunks thing, and you can ignore me for this if you want because this is a personal note, but I felt like mentioning it. "Terence had never experienced such wrath toward anyone in his life." This is an awkward sentence, you ought to say "he had never wanted to incur wrath on anyone more than at that moment"
Also might I suggest putting a physical break between the “Terence? Terence? Are you okay?” and the previous paragraph. I was halfway through the fourth sentence before I realized that you had changed the flow of the story. If you put in a physical break it makes it obvious that you are about to change something. Just a suggestion.

Now, personally I found that this story started a little slowly. Eventually you built it up and introducing each of the characters was necessary, but I felt that it lacked a certain amount of punch. However, you more than made up for that when things finally started to get rolling and people started to die. The descriptions were pretty good and frankly I was a tad upset when none of it turned out to be real! Darn, dream murders though decidedly less messy, but not nearly as fun.

All in all this is a pretty decent read that you have here. Keep penning!

[Margo Seuss]

Thank-you for your suggestions. I'm afraid my stories are a little lighter than your own. I prefer dark humour as appose to just dark. I like gore and death to a certain extent, but I can never seem to write it in seriously. I'm not really a serious person. Haha! I will add the physical break. As for that awkward sentence, I may just leave it out all together. I'm not sure it's really needed. The bonbon chunks thing is just part of my lighter writing style. For some reason the word pairing amused me. Ash is a hemophobic (which is why he vomited). A bonbon is a candy (although I'm sure you probably already knew that). I'll get a second opinion on it and possibly take it out as well. I could not make the murders real as I would like to keep Terence as a character that can be used in other stories ( essentially, I didn't want him to go to jail)! He certainly is disturbed though! Thank-you for your review! I will take some time to revise this piece when I get a spare moment.

[Darkimmortal]

Not a problem at all. :p I am also aware that my style of writing is not for everyone, and I do not in any way expect you to write like I do. You have your style and I have mine. You do not need to be ashamed of the voice that you have in your writing, and ultimately i can only make suggestions, whether or not you listen to me is your decision. :)

[nseddy]

Haha I like it, Terrence has some severe pent up anger issues:)

[Margo Seuss]

Indeed he does!!! His character is present in all of my stories so check them out if you enjoyed this one! I'll be sure to look at some of your stuff as well.

[nseddy]

I will thanks!

[Coyote Poetry]

"This isn’t just biological warfare, it’s premeditated biological warfare!”
I like the story. I started reading and couldn't stop. Great characters, situation and conversation. I like the ending. Be careful who you piss-off. Thank you for sharing the outstanding story.

Coyote

[Margo Seuss]

Glad you enjoyed it!! I wrote it when I was really angry with someone so I think the anger was what fueled its completion! My short stories all contain Terence so be sure to check them out!