The Haunting of Napoleon Bonaparte
By Ezekiel Kincaid
Other than Johnny Walker Ranger, Ezekiel Kincaid is the most versatile horror writer ever. Why? Well, there are lots of reasons. First, he was a pastor for twenty years, so he knows a thing or three about the demonic, death, and dealing with people in crappy situations. Second, the only other language he is fluent in is sarcasm. This means he has a flair for horror comedy. Third, he also has a serious intellectual side, seeing he has three theological degrees. He can write deep and thought-provoking horror that will make you question everything. Finally, Zeke was a child of the 80s and can do throwback better than you can. To wrap this bio up, he lives in Blowing Rock, North Carolina, played football in college, and can’t wait to get back intomartial arts. Zeke hates cat videos, but loves wrestling promos from the 80s.
Let it be known that me, Johnny Walker Ranger wrote this story, even though the wanna be horror author Ezekiel Kincaid has his Herbie Hancock on it. I’m still pissed he has his name on my book, Lisa Vasquez. Anyway, here is a great pig thing story…or whatever.
Also, I went Stone Temple Pilots on this one, so the title has nothing to do with the story.
Carl Hammett was 350 pounds of Little Debbie snack cakes and bacon grease (HAMmett. See what I did there? No, you didn’t, cause I just had to explain it. If your dumb ass is going to keep up with my story you damn well better pay attention).
Anyway, like I was saying. Carl was gravity impaired and he held a job at the Waffle House in Oxford, Mississippi. He worked on the cooking line and would help himself to his own creations. He liked canned tuna as well, so he smelled like body odor went on a drinking binge of tuna juice and the $3.99 special.
“Come on, Carl! Stop drooling in the food,” Jenny yelled. She was an emaciated meth head, who at one time used to be a looker. Now, all she had to show was nicotine stained hair and more gaps in her teeth than a Young Earth Creationist’s argument. She also had a bad lisp.
“Mmm sorry,” Carl said and slurped up his drool. “The bacon smells—” He twirled his head in a figure eight and snorted. “So good.”
“Yeah, well stop leaking from your mouth all over the damn merchandise.” Jenny placed a hand on her hip and kept at him with her lisped rebukes.
Carl gripped his spatula until his knuckles turned white. “Jenny,” he asked with a calm tone.
“What, tons of fun?” Jenny glared at him. She scratched her upper lip then adjusted her nicotine hair in her hair net.
“I bet you taste better on the outside than you do on the inside.” Carl flipped the bacon over.
The vain in the middle of Jenny’s forehead bulged. Her wrinkled mouth pursed, and her thinning eyebrows danced. “You fuckingland manatee, what did you just say?”
The bacon and eggs sizzled on the grill.
The smell filled the kitchen and everyone in the diner watchedthe scene unfold.
Jenny stepped closer.
“I said,” Carl gripped the skillet now. “I bet you taste better!” Carl raised the skillet from the burner and tossed it at Jenny. “On the outside than you do on the inside!”
The hot bacon and grease splattered on Jenny’s face. She wasn’t even able to get her arms up in time. The cooked pig strips and its leakage decorated her as if the pan puked on her. Sheshrieked as her skin turned red and raised in boils.
Carl laughed in hysterics and thrusted his hips. “Squeal like a pig, woman! Squeal, you meth maggot!”
Jenny quaked in pain as the skin on her arms and face blistered. “What the fuck is wrong with you, Carl?”
The shit for brains Sicty-year-old Japanese karate master of a manager, whom Carl called Godzilla, decided to pipe in. “Why you throw hot egg in meth girl face? You no longer work here. I put up with fat boy shit for too long. You go!” He waved his pointer finger like he was Sonny Chiba (If you dipshits don’t know who Sonny Chiba is, you need an enema, and you need to stop reading my story, monkey ass.)
Because of all the stupidity circulating, the world shut down. The corona virus had relations with HIV and humanity ended, just like this story.
Just kidding. Now, back to Carl.
Carl slammed the skillet down on the stove. “I’ve had enough of your ruining the menu, Godzilla!”
Godzilla’s eyes popped wide open and his body quaked as he stared at Carl with rage. “What you talking about, fat boy?”
“Well, let me see.” Carl placed his hands on the edge of the stove and hung his head. He did his weird figure eight motion again then stared at Godzilla. “First, there was the sushi omelet you wanted to try. Then, there was the waffle eggroll.” Carl’s voice escalated. “Then,” he stood up straight and took a step towards Godzilla. “There was sashimi sausage!” Carl picked up the skilled again and banged away on the stove. His face contorted and he bared his teeth. “Who the fuck is stupid enough to order raw sausage wrapped in a crescent roll!”
“That is goddang disgusting,” a guy sitting at the bar mumbled and did a little dry heave. He looked like he could have stared in East Bound and Down.
“No one ask your opinion, inbred!” Godzilla waved his finger again then looked at Carl. “You go,’ he jabbed Carl in the chest with his finger. “Now!”
Carl stared up at Godzilla through a furrowed brow and gave a toothed grin.
Godzilla dug his finger deeper into Carl’s fat chest.
Carl moved fast for a fat ass. His hands gripped Godzilla’s wrist and brought the extended finger to his mouth. Carl clamped down and he could taste the copper blood on the tip of his tongue.
Not as good as bacon and sausage, Carl thought.
Godzilla screamed then punched Carl in the nose.
Carl gave one last munch and heard the bone crunch before he staggered backwards. The blood from his nose dripped into his mouth and mixed with the taste of Godzilla’s. Godzilla yanked his wounded phalange (bet you shit for brains didn’t think I knew big words) to his chest and nursed it.
Carl staggered out from behind the counter with high pitched squeals and giggles. “Gonna be a day of reckoning for you, Godzilla! Trying to ruin pig meat! Satan’s Sow is coming for you!”
Four hours had passed since Carl’s incident at the Waffle House with Godzilla. He laid back in the blue tattered recliner he got from a guy in room 314 who said he was getting rid of it because it had bed bugs. Carl doused the chair in bacon and grease and never saw another damn bed bug.
Carl picked up the remote and punched “Play”. The VCR hummed and the VHS taped clicked then came up on the screen.
“Dadgum Motel Hell. Love this movie.” Carl reached over the recliner and picked a cold Hebrew National hotdog out of the ice chest. He bit into it and a few chunks toppled down his neck and on to bleach stained blue shirt “Where’s the damn fast forward.”
Carl set the hotdog on his belly and studied the remote. He found the “Fast Forward” button and mashed it. “Got to get to the damn pig head part.”
As the tape scurried to find the desired scene, Carl leaned over the arm of the recliner again and grabbed his fifth and Rich & Rare. He sucked on it for a few seconds then let it breath. “Where are my damn Saw movie DVDs?”
Carl jammed the stick shift on the recliner forward (Dammit, reader. Yeah, recliners have a stick shift. Ain’t you ever…never mind.) His legs curled with the motion of the calf cushion and the back cushion shot him up. He stumbled out the chair and stumbled to the floor on drunken legs.
“Saw? Anybody seen Saw?” Carl laughed at his stupid joke as he dug through the pile of DVDs on the floor by his recliner.
Day two for Carl away from Waffle House and all its greased goodness found him going to the grocery store and loading up on bacon, ham, and pork. He drained his account and bought $500 worth. He got home and the magic began.
“Mmmmmm,” Carl sniffed the sizzling bacon and did his figure eight head twirl. Some grease splattered up on his double chin. “Ouch, dammit,” he said and wiped his chin with his hand.
Carl finished cooking the entire pack of bacon and piled it on a plate. He brought it with him to his recliner, hit “Play” on the remote to his DVD/VCR combo, and sat down. Saw III came up on the screen and Carl plopped his fat ass in the chair.
“Love that damn pig mask,” he huffed then started pounding down the bacon. He swallowed the last piece then slammed the stick shift to his recliner forward and shot himself out of the chair. “Summa bitch! I need to watch the Ziggy Piggy scene from Bill and Ted’s Excellent Adventure. Fucking Napoleon loves ice cream.”
Carl wobbled his obese ass to the cabinet next to the T.V. where he kept all his VHS tapes. He flung the doors open and began to rummage through his movies. He flung them all to the floor until he found Bill and Ted’s Excellent Adventure.
Carl gripped the tape with both hands and raised it into the air. “Ziggy Piggy, Ziggy Piggy, Ziggy Piggy,” he yelled then removed a hand from the tape. He lifted the tip of his nose with his thumb and made and snorting noise.
Carl cooked another pack of bacon and four pork chops. He sat in his recliner and gorged himself as he watched Bill and Ted and Saw.
Day after day passed and Carl gorged himself on bacon, ham, and pork chops. He saved all the grease from his cooking and scooped it into a plastic tote. About two weeks into his expedition, he had an epiphany.
Carl stood in front of his bathroom mirror with the tote full of grease at his feet. He took off his shirt and his nasty, skid marked drawers. He dipped both hands down into the grease and scooped some out.
“I must become one with the Matrix,” he said then planted his face in his palms. Grease splattered to the floor and Carl massaged what was in his hands all over his face. He continued to submerge into it and rubbed the grease all over his body.
Carl stared at his reflection in the mirror then down at his body. He was covered from head to toe with the white substance. “I am white as a ghost,” Carl laughed. “I’m a grease ghost.” He moseyed to his bed, grabbed the bottle of Rich & Rare on his nightstand, then guzzled down over half of it.
Sharp pains shot all through Carl’s stomach. “Ah, dammit!” He bent over and wrapped his arms around his suitcase sized gut. He sprinted to his bed and threw himself down. His belly began to throb. “Shit, it hurts.” He rolled to his side and puked.
Carl wiped his mouth and said. “Feels a little better.” He rolled away from the vomit as he smeared grease all over his sheets. The vomit smelled like a pig that had been boiled in piss then smeared in shit. “That stinks.”
Carl’s stomach rumbled as bad as the time he ate ten Quarter Pounders from McDonalds. He glanced down at it and it was rippling and bulging.
“That ain’t normal,” Carl said and rubbed his gut.
The sensation moved up into his chest. “Oh, f—” He crawled his hands up to his heart. “It burns!”
Three seconds later Carl passed out with grease still all over his body and wrapped up in his blanket.
Carl wasn’t sure how long he had been out. He woke up and felt warm liquid all over his face, neck, and chest. Something hairy and about the size of a youth basketball was tucked under his arm.
“My chest doesn’t hurt anymore,” he said then lifted the blanket. He stared down at what lied under his arm. He also noticed the blood all over his neck and torso.
“Holy shit,” Carl gasped. He gazed at his own head. “How in the hell?” Carl gripped his severed head by the hair and lifted it up to his face then studied it. “It’s me…but I’m me.” Carl kept turning the head in his hands. “I can see, I can talk, I can breathe…then what is…” he placed his head down on the pillow beside him.
Carl eased his hands to his face. “Unbelievable.” He felt a snout where his nose and mouth should be and crept his fingers up to his ears. “Son of a bitch.” They were long and floppy. He eased a hand down to his snout and felt his teeth. They weren’t human anymore.
Carl lifted the covers to his chin.
“Welp,” he snorted. “Gives a whole new meaning to pigs in a blanket.”