THE EXTRA BOTTLE OF WHISKY
By Rogue Knight
Bartender, whisky please.
Whatd'ya mean 'I already have a bottle of whisky'?
Oh, that one!
No, no, no. It's not for drinkin'! No…it's a weapon.
You see, some months ago…
No, no, listen, damnit! It's an important story!
Now me and my friend Bill Porters were out settin' up some traps in the wilderness. We're in the fur business, right? Well, we had found a good spot down by a river, where some o' them furry bugger was bound to walk by. We're pretty good at trappin', you know?
Well, we're all busy settin' up the traps, and it's getting' dark, and just when we're 'bout to call it a night, then we smell somethin' really foul. We look around, and then realize that there is a person lyin' in the river. Poor guy must have fallen into the water and drowned. That happens sometimes.
Of course, bein' good Christians, we decide to fish him out and give him a decent burial.
Now, don't look at me like that! We're gonna bury the bugger, not loot him.
Okay, maybe we'd check his pockets to find out who he was, so we could tell his family. But we're not gonna steal from no dead guy!
Stop lookin' at me like that!
Anyway, we fish the corpse out of the water. Boy, was he ugly. Well, in all fairness I must say I didn't know what he looked like alive. You know how people that have been lyin' dead in water for a while looks, right? All bloated up like a… well, all bloated up and stinkin'! Yuck, believe me he stank like… a lot! I almost lost my lunch, it's so bad. But Bill insisted on… er, checkin' his identity.
Stop lookin' at me like that already!
Well, the guy's been dead for a long time. When we pulled him up on shore he lost a few pieces of flesh. They just floated away… Yuck, I tell you!
Well, Bill began pokin' into the dead guy's pockets with a stick. Didn't wanna touch him, if he could help it. Then he found a pocket with some coins in it, and we thought, well, if we're gonna bury him, we might as well take the money, as com-pen-sation for our work.
What did I tell you 'bout that look?
Okay, so we flip a coin to see who that's gonna dig into the rottin' pants and get the money. I call tails, and Bill loses. So he kneels down and slowly puts his hand into the dead guy's pocket. I keep away, tryin' not to smell the stench of moldy flesh.
Then the dead guy opens his freakin' eyes!
Bill freezes in surprise and I just rub my eyes, thinkin' that I'm seein' things. Well, the only one who's not too shocked to act is the freakin' corpse. He grabs Bill's arm and pulls. Rips Bill's arm clean off. I've never seen so much blood before in my life.
Well, I'm busy spoilin' my pants, while Bill's busy dyin'. I think that the pain of losin' his arm at the shoulder kills him, 'cause he falls to the ground and spasms a bit, starin' straight up into the stars.
The dead guy however gets on his feet, real wobbly-like, as if he has little control over his body. Then the thing bends down and breaks open Bill's skull with a rock. As if this wasn't yucky enough, the freakin' thing scoops up a chunk of Bill's brain and eats it!
I lose my lunch at this point.
Then it turns to me, pieces of Bill's brain slowly slidin' down it's chin. I can see the hunger in its dead eyes.
At this point I've sort of come to my senses, and I figure, oh shit, this corps's gonna eat my brain next! So I pick up my trusty shotgun and I shoot the thing. I'm not as good an aim as I used to be, but I still know how to blow a fella's guts out. So I do. And the thing just keeps comin', a big, freakin' hole in its stomach. I swear the bugger was laughin' at me!
I try to back away, but I trip over our packs, landin' on the ground, losin' the shotgun. The thing walks towards me, staggerin' and all, but much faster than any dead guy should be movin'. Not that a bloated dead guy should be movin' at all.
I scramble among our equipment, tryin' to find somethin' to throw at the dead guy, who's gettin' closer and closer. But the only thing I can find is our fryin' pan and our two bottles o' whisky. Naturally I throw the pan, but it doesn't even slow the thing. He's now just five feet or so from reachin' me.
I look at the whisky. Don't like wastin' my whisky, but I figure that I can't drink it anyway if the freak kills me dead. So I throw the half-empty bottle at it, tryin' to crawl away on my butt.
The bottle hits it on the shoulder and breaks, spillin' all of its precious contents. And you know what's strange? The whisky burned the creature's shoulder and arm like it's some kinda acid.
First I think that it was bad whisky, but then I realize that this might save my life. So I grab the other bottle from the bag, the one that's full to the neck. The thing's hesitatin', clearly not likin' how its flesh is meltin' away from its bone. I aim, swing my arm, and throw the bottle straight at its face.
I somehow hit and the whisky splashs out of the splinterin' bottle, running all over the dead guy's head. There's a hissin' and a bobblin' sound, like when you boil beans too long and they start to burn. And that is just about what is happenin' to his face! It's meltin', his bloated flesh dissolvin' so you can see the skull underneath the slimy skin. I nearly lose my lunch again.
Well, the corpse doesn't like the effect one bit, and starts roarin' and cursin' my mother. But he can't see me, 'cause his eyes have melted too. I don't stand around, waitin' to see what he's gonna do, mind you. I run, leavin' all our stuff behind. I run as fast I can, and I don't stop runnin' until I get back to the nearest town.
The thing didn't follow, and I never entered the woods again.
So that's the story. That's why I always carry an extra bottle of whisky. Just in case one o' them bloats decide to try and eat my brain.
So, can I have that whisky now?
Whatd'ya mean 'I have had enough already?!'