Post by Spectre jc on Apr 13, 2012 20:19:42 GMT -8
"Life is GOOD," thought Carl Johnson, as he exited the subway station closest to his home. He'd just made $200 at the track, and was looking forward to a little "celebration time" with some lucky lady. It didn't really matter to him WHO he'd end up with by the end of the night. He just knew they'd have the time of their life.
So giddy was he with the prospect of having a little "ME" time with a beautiful woman, that he almost failed to notice the two figures following silently behind him, from a distance...
As Carl turned the corner into a dark alley, his pursuers followed, trying their level best to keep him in sight, without drawing his attention... and failing miserably.
As the pair of boys came around the corner, they had scarcely a split second between them to gasp in horror, as two massive hands came out of nowhere, grabbing them both by their throats, and then lifting them both into the air!
"Not one, but TWO runty little bastards, thinking they can sneak up on me. What should I do, I wonder? Should I let them go, and take a chance they'll try something like this again, dear LORD?"
As they dangled in the air, unable to speak, their pleading eyes seemed to cry out, "We're SORRY! It'll never happen again! WE PROMISE!!"
Carl's brow furrowed for a moment, as if he had to think carefully about what he should do next, even though he'd already made up his mind.
"Maybe I should tech you punks a lesson on why it's important NOT to invade someone's 'personal space', by taking you the nearest police station and reporting you to the authorities. Yes, I'm sure you'd learn a great deal about the value of being left alone, in a place like that."
Carl took great joy in watching their eyes sink like brown stones in a deep pool of despair, with each word he uttered. When it seemed all the hope and joy had left their struggling bodies, his lips curled up into a cruel, almost demonic grin.
"NO, I've got a better idea! How about I just choke the life out of you two gutless chickens right NOW, and save myself AND the city the trouble of worrying about the two of you ever AGAIN? The city council will probably give me a MEDAL for that. "
As he began to squeeze, he watched their eyes, looking forward to the moment when the life would leave them. Soon, though, he became distracted, as the taller of the two seemed like he was trying to say something to him.
Against his better judgment, he loosened his grip slightly, allowing the taller one to say what would clearly be his LAST WORDS:
"D..D... Da.." --He was expecting something pathetic, like a plea for mercy, but if the punk wanted to spend his last few moments alive "damning" him, who was he to deny his last wish?
Startled, Carl dropped the two of them, stumbling backwards as they landed with a thud on the asphalt in the alley!
Bracing himself against the alley wall, Carl was at a loss for words, for the first time in his adult life.
Trying to regain his composure, Carl waved a dismissive hand at the two boys, as if to banish them from his memory, as well as his presence.
"I'm NOT your DAD! You're NOT my SONS! I have NO children! Get out of my SIGHT!"
They simply sat there, right where he dropped them, on the ground, though. What's more, they were content to look up at him, their eyes no longer filled with fear or despair. Carl couldn't really describe WHAT he saw in their eyes now, but he knew he didn't like it. He had to get out of that alley!
As he scrambled away, he could hear their young voices, echoing against the surrounding tenement buildings. They were calling to him, calling out "Dad," over and over again.
By the time he reached the derelict building and crawled through the open window he found, Carl didn't know which way was up.
He was just glad he couldn't hear the boys' voices anymore.
He finally took a deep, relaxing breath, and flopped down on the sofa in the room he had entered. He decided to wait it out there for a while, if only to avoid bumping into the two punks again.
Their claim was obviously ludicrous. He had never had a relationship with a woman that lasted long enough for a child to be born. He'd made CERTAIN of that. Why did what that punk said upset him so much, then? Even he couldn't think of a reason why, but at that point, he'd already stopped caring.
It was then that he noticed it. There was a thick layer of dust wafting into the room, at a pretty good clip. Carl knew that old buildings like this one were filled with tons of dust, but something was different about this stuff... For one thing, he'd never seen dust travel in just ONE direction before. For another thing, he'd never seen dust that was .... green...
Before he could make heads or tails of what he was seeing, though, Carl found himself suddenly enveloped in the fine, green dust, and started coughing uncontrollably, as it entered his lungs!
Everything went mercifully dark, though, when his coughing fit forced him to bang the back of his head against the wooden frame of the sofa.
When he opened his eyes, Carl was at first puzzled, and then terrified, when he realized that he couldn't breathe, or even MOVE!
Panic quickly set in, until he saw a light overhead.... it looked weird, distorted ... but he could still see it... and just seeing it calmed him.
Then, he felt his body moving upward, as if he was being lifted by giant, unseen hands. He felt warm, safe... protected, even, the closer he got to the light.
As he rose higher and higher, a compulsion made him look downward, despite his desire to never take his eyes off the light, and he was puzzled once again at what he saw.
He saw water.... New York harbor, to be exact, and beneath the surface, right below him he saw... a barrel? He couldn't be sure, but it definitely looked like a barrel.... and it looked like it was full of something... cement, maybe? Nothing made sense... but the light was calling to him... calling him to a better place, away from things that didn't make sense... and that's where he wanted to be.
The next thing he knew, Carl was standing before a majestic gate, truly a sight to behold, with winged figures on either side of it, standing vigilant. It didn't take Carl long to figure out where he was, and great joy filled his heart.
Before he could take one step toward the gate, though, a disembodied voice, emanating from the light beyond the gate, spoke to him.
"You may enter Paradise, if that is what your heart desires. If your heart is filled with vengeance, though, you may return as a Spectre of GOD'S vengeance on Earth, to confront and comprehend Evil, in all its myriad forms."
Carl blinked in disbelief. He didn't understand why he was being given such a choice to make, but it seemed like a no-brainer to him.
He wanted to punish the guilty, and what better way to do that, than as the Wrath of God on Earth?
Sure, the whole idea of "confronting evil" seemed a bit contrived to Carl, as he believed, deep in his heart, that EVERYBODY was evil, and in need of punishing. The fact that he was being offered a chance to punish the guilty was all the proof he needed that GOD felt the same way he did. The rest was just semantics. He knew EXACTLY who would end up feeling his righteous wrath, and soon.
Carl fell to his knees, eager to show GOD he was appreciative of the opportunity he was being offered, knowing that he may lose this great chance if he didn't show the right amount of humility.
"Lord Almighty, do me the honor of allowing me to perform this service for you, and I will strive to --"
The voice came from behind, and as Carl turned around, to better see the face of he who would be his first victim as the Wrath of God, a green mist shimmered into the human form of James Corrigan, before his very eyes!
Carl tried to hold back his seething anger, but he couldn't help but give Corrigan the evil eye.
"You must be mistaken. Who else would GOD be speaking to? You, maybe?"
Carl circled Corrigan, like a wolf stalking its prey, practically dripping with blind hatred. The more he looked at Corrigan's cheap suit, his pretentious red hair with the white streak in it, his WHITE SKIN, the more he hated what he saw.
One thing about Corrigan really infuriated Carl, though.
Truth be told, Corrigan's arrogance was one of the reasons he took on the role of the Spectre in the first place. He thought he was better suited to dole out justice to the wicked than anybody... including GOD. Corrigan just thought it was part of his charm.
This particular time, though, he wasn't being arrogant when he spoke to Carl. GOD was, indeed, speaking to somebody else.
Carl needed convincing, though.
Carl was about to jump Corrigan, when a snap of Corrigan's fingers stopped Carl in his tracks. He had become, in effect, a human statue.
"I apologize, Carl. You don't mind if I call you Carl, do you? After all the time we've been spending together, calling you by your full name just sounds so.... formal."
Carl couldn't object if he wanted to. The only indications he was still alive, and not a lifelike mannequin, were when his eyes would dart from side to side, trying to keep an eye on Corrigan, who had walked behind him, and the occasional bead of sweat that would trickle down his temple.
Corrigan continued speaking.
"I apologized, Carl, because after taking a little trip around your noggin, I know that you really hate being helpless like this. You got beat up a lot as a kid, while others held you down, and those who weren't holding you down would either laugh at you or completely ignore your situation."
Carl strained to turn his head, unsure of which was more disquieting to his mind; not being able to move, or having some complete stranger perform psychoanalysis on him for free. He needn't have bothered, though, since his body was being held in place by the strongest magic around.
"All that changed, though, when you took some karate lessons in junior college, didn't it, Carl? You built up your body, honed your fighting skills (such as they were), and proved to the world that nobody would ever again treat you like a doormat. I think that's kind of admirable, really."
Oddly enough, Corrigan was speaking the truth when he said this. He and Carl had a lot in common, and the similarities were what drew him to Carl... well, that, and some ... other things.
Carl didn’t understand what was going on, or how this guy could know things he’d never shared with another living soul. It was really freaking him out!
“Relax, Carl, you’re not going anywhere. My story is almost done, anyway, and then everything will be crystal clear to you, I promise. Now, where was I? OH, yes, admiring your force of will and sheer tenacity. It reminded me of…. Well, myself, if I’m allowed to toot my own horn.”
Carl couldn’t see Corrigan anymore, as he had stepped behind his motionless body, and Carl found this to be both terrifying and infuriating, especially since there was apparently nothing he could do to improve his situation.
“We’re a lot alike in some ways, Carl. We both had a pretty strict religious upbringing, both raised by abusive fathers, and we both have been known to be violently brutal, to those we thought deserved it. “
Carl, his mind racing, was fast approaching the point of a nervous breakdown. How did this guy KNOW so much about him?!??
“But then, Carl, you crossed a line that I could never bring myself to cross. I’ve asked myself since we met, what happened to us that we turned out so differently. I mean, honestly, I could have become you… I just never did. I could never kill a woman whose love for me was unconditional.”
At this last utterance, Carl tried to take a deep breath, dreading what would happen next. Sweat ran down his forehead, and his heart nearly jumped out of his chest, as scared as he was. What was going to happen now?!?
“You DID, though, Carl… and that’s what brought us together tonight, although it took me a while to find you. I got a little… sidetracked. There was a crisis, you see, and… Wait—now I sound like I’m making excuses. The truth of the matter is, it doesn’t matter what kept me from finding you. What matters is that you not only went unpunished for FAR too long, but you were able to commit numerous atrocities while roaming the earth, and that’s on ME. That’s why I’m here, tonight, Carl. To show you what you’ve done, and make you pay for it.”
Suddenly, without warning, a ghostly apparition appeared before Carl, and he felt both shock and a chill down his spine as he saw her. It was his wife. The woman who devoted her life to making him happy, even though she knew just what he was, was now standing before him, looking at him with eyes that instantly filled his heart with dread. Her neck was still showing the telltale marks his large hands made when he strangled her. She didn’t even struggle when he did it… she just looked at him, with eyes that almost gave him permission… until that last second, when life left them.
It was that same familiar stare that had freaked him out earlier, when he’d confronted the two boys in the alley; the look of one who wasn’t afraid. It was a look Carl hated. He wanted to be feared, for he knew that being feared was the only thing that made him feel… safe.
“Yes, you remember that look, don’t you Carl? It’s the look of unconditional love… and you killed it… 11 years ago… because it made you uncomfortable. But it didn’t stop there, did it? “
Suddenly, several ghostly apparitions appeared before Carl’s unbelieving eyes… all ghostly images of women he’d spent “quality time” with… all with the same marks on their necks… made by the same pair of massive hands.
As tears fell from his eyes, Carl desperately wanted to close his eyes and forget all he’d seen. There was no way this was happening… not to someone as strong as him. He didn’t deserve this!
Almost in answer to his prayers, the ghostly apparitions disappeared, even as Corrigan came back into full view again. Now Corrigan was staring at him. It was more unnerving than the stares of the ghosts, more unnerving than the stares of the two brats in the alley. At least, in their eyes, he saw some semblance of sadness and compassion, even though that made him physically ill. This time, he saw NO compassion. He saw anger… more anger than he’d ever seen, even when looking himself in the mirror.
His aversion to Corrigan’s stare only got worse, as he watched him slowly change, from a pasty faced white guy with a cheap suit and the hairstyle to match, to a ghostly white figure, adorned in green gloves, boots, shorts, and a long, flowing green cloak with a hood. The surrounding light shined off of his uncovered arms, chest, and legs, revealing a frighteningly impressive figure. This was a figure whose sole purpose was to avenge the murdered dead. This was… the SPECTRE!
Carl stumbled backwards, finding himself suddenly back in the derelict building he’d taken refuge in before, landing clumsily on the sofa once more. From beneath his green hood, the glowing red eyes of the Spectre glared at Carl, with a rage that would make even the bravest man run in fear. Carl felt his strength leave his body, as the Spectre floated high into the air, clearly preparing to pass judgment on him.
In a voice that chilled Carl to his very core, the ghostly form of the Spectre spoke:
Lost? That seemed to be an accurate description of how Carl felt, at that moment. He’d just lost his sense of self-worth, an opportunity to enter Heaven, and an even greater opportunity to punish “the wicked” (in the name of GOD, no less,) and possibly his sanity, in what felt like the blink of an eye.
“How…? What…. ? --WHY?” --Carl was clearly not used to being in the presence of somebody more frightening than himself, and it was showing.
His crimson eyes smoldering with anger and hatred, his lips curling up into a frightening grin, the Spectre spoke in answer, though he didn’t care what questions Carl had. Vengeance was all that mattered.
Vengeance had called Carl Johnson, collect… and he would most DEFINITELY take the call.
”I wanted you to see my beginnings, just as I have seen yours, Carl, so you would understand just WHO and WHAT you are dealing with, this night, you insignificant WORM!”
It wasn’t, strictly speaking, the entire truth, but the Spectre reasoned that it didn’t really matter WHAT he told Carl… it wasn’t like Carl was going to repeat what he learned today, to anybody living…
Carl scrambled to his feet in terror, as he realized just who was standing in judgment over him, even though he knew there was no way to escape.
“You? You’re the WRATH of GOD? What do YOU want with ME?”
There was a time, early in his mission, when the Spectre was actually SURPRISED at how deep in denial the wicked could be, when it came to owning up to their evil acts. Nowadays, though, NOTHING surprised him. He’d seen enough mortals profess their outstanding character, while entrenched in acts of base cruelty, to last SEVERAL lifetimes.
“I don’t want ANYTHING from you,” the Spectre said dryly, as he slowly floated towards Carl, his arms folded in final judgment.
As the Spectre came closer, his red eyes burning into Carl’s soul, Carl tensed up against a wall and closed his eyes tightly, preparing for the worst.
How long were his eyes closed? A second? Two? A minute? An ETERNITY? Carl didn’t know. He was too terrified to look at the Spectre’s grim visage again.
NOTHING could have prepared him for what awaited him as his eyes opened slowly. The room was empty, and he was alone.
Carl could scarcely believe it. Had he beat the odds? Did GOD grant him a literal last minute stay of execution? YES! That had to be the answer. He knew that being stalked by the menacing form of the Spectre had to have been a mistake. There wasn’t anything evil about him, nothing he should be punished for!
Carl took a moment and breathed in a sigh of relief, and started to utter a silent prayer of thanks to GOD…
When SUDDENLY, a pair of badly deformed and disheveled arms sprang through the wall he was leaning on, from opposite sides of his head, nearly giving Carl a heart attack!
The filthy, decomposing hands at the end of those arms quickly grabbed Carl by the throat, and began lifting him into the air. Even through the shallow breaths he COULD take, Carl could smell the noxious fumes of death and decay. That was a smell nobody could ever forget, especially one as… “familiar” with the scent of buried remains, as Carl was.
As he struggled to break free, Carl could see, on the right hand that was lifting him, a curious sight.
There was an ornate wedding ring, with a peculiar … almost familiar… stone, featured prominently in its center. Where had he seen it before, Carl wondered? Speculation had to take a back seat to survival, though, since the world was starting to go dark for him, at a rapid rate!
As darkness started to overtake his senses, Carl pushed away from the wall with both his legs, breaking free of his attacker’s grasp, landing with a resounding thud as he did so!
Carl took a deep breath after landing, inhaling a thick cloud of dust in the process. This only served to aggravate his already traumatized windpipe. As he coughed out what he could, he could hear the wall behind him being torn apart, as if by a wild animal!
He turned over, onto his back, fully expecting to see a crazed junkie as he looked up at his attacker, but what he saw instead was FAR more terrifying.
Standing before him was an honest-to-goodness, card-carrying member of the living dead; a ZOMBIE!
The poor creature was a sight to behold: torn clothing, blood dripping from nearly every orifice, and flesh falling off of bone like it was a reptile, shedding its skin. Surprisingly, none of these things was what terrified Carl most about the encounter….
Carl shook his head in disbelief, and in protest, as the familiar form of his former wife, whom he had himself murdered 11 years ago, came toward him with alarming speed!
He crawled backward, as fast as he could, unable to take his eyes off of her decomposing body!
When he came to a forced stop suddenly, he panicked and looked up, only to find even MORE zombies!
Carl scrambled to his feet, running away from the zombies, all of whom shared disturbing similarities with his fallen wife. In point of fact, they all resembled women Carl had spent “quality time” with, in his old apartment.
That was when panic REALLY set in for Carl, as he finally recognized the derelict building as the very spot in which he not only killed them, but where he’d disposed of the bodies, deep in the basement! What were the ODDS of that? But then, remembering everything else he’d gone through tonight, Carl put aside his skepticism and just RAN for his LIFE!
Actually, he could only limp away, having hurt his leg when escaping his former wife, Mary. This only heightened his panic, as the living dead seemed to pursue him with the speed of Olympic athletes, eyeing him as if he was going to be their first meal in YEARS!
His fear served him well, though, as he managed to get into one of the few rooms that still had a door, and what’s MORE, pieces of furniture, to block the zombies’ access to him. As he slammed the door and looked around, Carl was both surprised and relieved at what he saw next.
The two punks, whom he’d run away from before, were standing in the room, unmoving. Apparently, the zombies had chased them there, too, and their fear rooted them to where they stood. Carl cursed under his breath at the rotten luck of having to deal with these two cowardly punks, but then he realized what good fortune had been put into his lap. He could either get them to help him keep the zombies at bay, or throw them, like lambs to the slaughter, into the arms of the starving zombies.
Wasting no time, he called them over to him, trying to sound as genial and fatherly as he could, under the circumstances.
“Boys! Thank GOD you’re okay! After we got separated, I saw the light! I have SONS, now! I can’t just throw my life away on gambling and drinking and sex! What would your MOTHER say? Help me get this door blocked, and I swear, I’ll turn over a new leaf and we’ll stay together, like a REAL family!”
Was any of what he said true? Not even Carl could say for sure. All he knew was that if he didn’t get their help, they’d ALL die, and even as scared as he was, he knew the boys would want to live just as badly as he did.
Once again, the taller one spoke, and Carl was encouraged by the strength the boy spoke with. There was none of the weakness he’d heard before… none of the cowardice he’d previously assumed was in the boys’ hearts.
Carl turned his back on them, his lips curling into that selfish, evil grin again. His trick had worked, and at the very least, he was going to survive.
NOBODY could have been more surprised than Carl, though, when the two-by-four cracked him across the back of his skull, sending him flailing to the floor, his head already bleeding!
As he struggled to stay conscious, his blood trickling down his cheek, he strained to see what (or who) had hit him, and was dumbfounded at what his blurry vision revealed.
Standing over him, holding a bloody two-by-four, was the shorter of the two boys. Behind him, the taller one was already taking apart Carl’s hastily constructed blockade, letting the zombies in.
As he looked around at the veritable ARMY of zombies that quickly surrounded him, Carl could only form one coherent thought, as the blood came down his face quickly, and gave that thought a voice.
Carl knew they could hear him, even as weak and inaudible as his voice was becoming, because they all seemed to almost smile –albeit a toothless, blood covered smile. How had he misjudged those boys so badly? Didn’t they want to live?
And then it hit him… First, he caught the unmistakable scent of rotting flesh, falling off of bone; It took him a moment to realize where the smell had come from, but when he looked up at the two young zombies who were standing over him, it all made sense… the boys had no interest in staying alive… because they were already DEAD – or, to be more precise, UN-DEAD!
“But… but… but I didn’t KILL you…” – Carl had given up feigning innocence… he just wanted answers.
This time, the shorter one spoke, still clenching the bloody plank that had brought Carl down….
It all made sense, in those last few moments, when the boys and all the other zombies, each a victim of Carl’s … appetites… converged on his body, from all sides.
That gave Carl little satisfaction, though, as he spent his last few moments screaming to the heavens, forcing even the night stars to fade into obscurity. What Carl had called down onto himself, no mortal eye was ever meant to see.
Weeks later, a demolition crew found quite a surprise when they were cleaning up the debris from a condemned tenement building the city council had hired them to bring down, in the name of progress.
As the police sergeant assigned to secure the blast zone looked at what the workers had found, his stomach leapt into his heart… When he heard footsteps, though, his training took over and he reached for his service revolver, ready to defend himself, if he needed to.
“What’ve we got here?” --the patrolman relaxed his grip on his gun, recognizing the voice of a well-known, if not well-liked, police detective.
“A real tragedy, that’s what we’ve got here, Detective. It looks like some poor slob got caught in the blast that took this old tenement down. Nothing a big-time homicide detective like yourself needs to worry about.”
“I see. There’s nothing out of the ordinary, then?”
“Oh, I didn’t say THAT…” –even before he finished his statement, the sergeant regretted opening his big mouth. He knew that this PARTICULAR detective just LOVED weird cases, and just implying that this was more than a simple, yet tragic, accident would just make the detective linger longer. The patrolman didn’t want that, but he’d already set things in motion by “spilling the beans”, so he continued, albeit reluctantly.
“At first glance, it looks like the victim was at ground zero for the blast, because of how far apart his body parts are spread, but if you look here, closely, “ –he gingerly picked up the victim’s leg – “you’ll see that it almost looks like he was torn apart by a savage beast, instead of being blown apart by an explosion.”
The sergeant paused, both for dramatic effect, and to let the inquisitive detective digest that little bit of information. He fully expected to hear an order to further search the debris, and resigned himself to the idea of not being home in time for dinner with his wife, when the detective spoke.
“Hmmm… That does sound ODD, but not odd enough to warrant putting a hold on the project the city council wants to break ground on today. Just have the demolition crew dispose of whatever body parts they find with the other debris, and put this ‘crime scene’ to bed. No use wasting time, looking for a murder where it doesn’t exist.”
The sergeant let a relieved smile cross his lips. Maybe the detective wasn’t as bad a guy as he’d been lead to believe by his fellow beat cops. Maybe he was a kind soul, after all.
“Yes SIR! You’ve got it sir! I’ll do just that! You just go home and get some rest, Detective Corrigan!”
But Corrigan was already gone… In his place, there was only a fine, green mist… a mist that seemed to have a mind – and a mission – of its own.
So giddy was he with the prospect of having a little "ME" time with a beautiful woman, that he almost failed to notice the two figures following silently behind him, from a distance...
ALMOST.
As Carl turned the corner into a dark alley, his pursuers followed, trying their level best to keep him in sight, without drawing his attention... and failing miserably.
As the pair of boys came around the corner, they had scarcely a split second between them to gasp in horror, as two massive hands came out of nowhere, grabbing them both by their throats, and then lifting them both into the air!
"LOOK at what I caught," said Carl, in a sickeningly smug tone.
"Not one, but TWO runty little bastards, thinking they can sneak up on me. What should I do, I wonder? Should I let them go, and take a chance they'll try something like this again, dear LORD?"
As they dangled in the air, unable to speak, their pleading eyes seemed to cry out, "We're SORRY! It'll never happen again! WE PROMISE!!"
Carl's brow furrowed for a moment, as if he had to think carefully about what he should do next, even though he'd already made up his mind.
"Maybe I should tech you punks a lesson on why it's important NOT to invade someone's 'personal space', by taking you the nearest police station and reporting you to the authorities. Yes, I'm sure you'd learn a great deal about the value of being left alone, in a place like that."
Carl took great joy in watching their eyes sink like brown stones in a deep pool of despair, with each word he uttered. When it seemed all the hope and joy had left their struggling bodies, his lips curled up into a cruel, almost demonic grin.
"NO, I've got a better idea! How about I just choke the life out of you two gutless chickens right NOW, and save myself AND the city the trouble of worrying about the two of you ever AGAIN? The city council will probably give me a MEDAL for that. "
As he began to squeeze, he watched their eyes, looking forward to the moment when the life would leave them. Soon, though, he became distracted, as the taller of the two seemed like he was trying to say something to him.
Against his better judgment, he loosened his grip slightly, allowing the taller one to say what would clearly be his LAST WORDS:
"D..D... Da.." --He was expecting something pathetic, like a plea for mercy, but if the punk wanted to spend his last few moments alive "damning" him, who was he to deny his last wish?
"Da... DAD!"
Startled, Carl dropped the two of them, stumbling backwards as they landed with a thud on the asphalt in the alley!
"DON'T! Don't CALL me THAT!"
Bracing himself against the alley wall, Carl was at a loss for words, for the first time in his adult life.
Trying to regain his composure, Carl waved a dismissive hand at the two boys, as if to banish them from his memory, as well as his presence.
"I'm NOT your DAD! You're NOT my SONS! I have NO children! Get out of my SIGHT!"
They simply sat there, right where he dropped them, on the ground, though. What's more, they were content to look up at him, their eyes no longer filled with fear or despair. Carl couldn't really describe WHAT he saw in their eyes now, but he knew he didn't like it. He had to get out of that alley!
As he scrambled away, he could hear their young voices, echoing against the surrounding tenement buildings. They were calling to him, calling out "Dad," over and over again.
By the time he reached the derelict building and crawled through the open window he found, Carl didn't know which way was up.
He was just glad he couldn't hear the boys' voices anymore.
He finally took a deep, relaxing breath, and flopped down on the sofa in the room he had entered. He decided to wait it out there for a while, if only to avoid bumping into the two punks again.
Their claim was obviously ludicrous. He had never had a relationship with a woman that lasted long enough for a child to be born. He'd made CERTAIN of that. Why did what that punk said upset him so much, then? Even he couldn't think of a reason why, but at that point, he'd already stopped caring.
It was then that he noticed it. There was a thick layer of dust wafting into the room, at a pretty good clip. Carl knew that old buildings like this one were filled with tons of dust, but something was different about this stuff... For one thing, he'd never seen dust travel in just ONE direction before. For another thing, he'd never seen dust that was .... green...
Before he could make heads or tails of what he was seeing, though, Carl found himself suddenly enveloped in the fine, green dust, and started coughing uncontrollably, as it entered his lungs!
Everything went mercifully dark, though, when his coughing fit forced him to bang the back of his head against the wooden frame of the sofa.
When he opened his eyes, Carl was at first puzzled, and then terrified, when he realized that he couldn't breathe, or even MOVE!
Panic quickly set in, until he saw a light overhead.... it looked weird, distorted ... but he could still see it... and just seeing it calmed him.
He wanted to go to it, but he didn't know how.
Then, he felt his body moving upward, as if he was being lifted by giant, unseen hands. He felt warm, safe... protected, even, the closer he got to the light.
As he rose higher and higher, a compulsion made him look downward, despite his desire to never take his eyes off the light, and he was puzzled once again at what he saw.
He saw water.... New York harbor, to be exact, and beneath the surface, right below him he saw... a barrel? He couldn't be sure, but it definitely looked like a barrel.... and it looked like it was full of something... cement, maybe? Nothing made sense... but the light was calling to him... calling him to a better place, away from things that didn't make sense... and that's where he wanted to be.
The next thing he knew, Carl was standing before a majestic gate, truly a sight to behold, with winged figures on either side of it, standing vigilant. It didn't take Carl long to figure out where he was, and great joy filled his heart.
Before he could take one step toward the gate, though, a disembodied voice, emanating from the light beyond the gate, spoke to him.
"You may enter Paradise, if that is what your heart desires. If your heart is filled with vengeance, though, you may return as a Spectre of GOD'S vengeance on Earth, to confront and comprehend Evil, in all its myriad forms."
Carl blinked in disbelief. He didn't understand why he was being given such a choice to make, but it seemed like a no-brainer to him.
He wanted to punish the guilty, and what better way to do that, than as the Wrath of God on Earth?
Sure, the whole idea of "confronting evil" seemed a bit contrived to Carl, as he believed, deep in his heart, that EVERYBODY was evil, and in need of punishing. The fact that he was being offered a chance to punish the guilty was all the proof he needed that GOD felt the same way he did. The rest was just semantics. He knew EXACTLY who would end up feeling his righteous wrath, and soon.
Carl fell to his knees, eager to show GOD he was appreciative of the opportunity he was being offered, knowing that he may lose this great chance if he didn't show the right amount of humility.
"Lord Almighty, do me the honor of allowing me to perform this service for you, and I will strive to --"
"QUIET, Carl Johnson."
The voice came from behind, and as Carl turned around, to better see the face of he who would be his first victim as the Wrath of God, a green mist shimmered into the human form of James Corrigan, before his very eyes!
"GOD wasn't talking to you."
Carl tried to hold back his seething anger, but he couldn't help but give Corrigan the evil eye.
"You must be mistaken. Who else would GOD be speaking to? You, maybe?"
Carl circled Corrigan, like a wolf stalking its prey, practically dripping with blind hatred. The more he looked at Corrigan's cheap suit, his pretentious red hair with the white streak in it, his WHITE SKIN, the more he hated what he saw.
One thing about Corrigan really infuriated Carl, though.
That was his ARROGANCE.
Truth be told, Corrigan's arrogance was one of the reasons he took on the role of the Spectre in the first place. He thought he was better suited to dole out justice to the wicked than anybody... including GOD. Corrigan just thought it was part of his charm.
This particular time, though, he wasn't being arrogant when he spoke to Carl. GOD was, indeed, speaking to somebody else.
Carl needed convincing, though.
Carl was about to jump Corrigan, when a snap of Corrigan's fingers stopped Carl in his tracks. He had become, in effect, a human statue.
"I apologize, Carl. You don't mind if I call you Carl, do you? After all the time we've been spending together, calling you by your full name just sounds so.... formal."
Carl couldn't object if he wanted to. The only indications he was still alive, and not a lifelike mannequin, were when his eyes would dart from side to side, trying to keep an eye on Corrigan, who had walked behind him, and the occasional bead of sweat that would trickle down his temple.
Corrigan continued speaking.
"I apologized, Carl, because after taking a little trip around your noggin, I know that you really hate being helpless like this. You got beat up a lot as a kid, while others held you down, and those who weren't holding you down would either laugh at you or completely ignore your situation."
Carl strained to turn his head, unsure of which was more disquieting to his mind; not being able to move, or having some complete stranger perform psychoanalysis on him for free. He needn't have bothered, though, since his body was being held in place by the strongest magic around.
"All that changed, though, when you took some karate lessons in junior college, didn't it, Carl? You built up your body, honed your fighting skills (such as they were), and proved to the world that nobody would ever again treat you like a doormat. I think that's kind of admirable, really."
Oddly enough, Corrigan was speaking the truth when he said this. He and Carl had a lot in common, and the similarities were what drew him to Carl... well, that, and some ... other things.
Carl didn’t understand what was going on, or how this guy could know things he’d never shared with another living soul. It was really freaking him out!
“Relax, Carl, you’re not going anywhere. My story is almost done, anyway, and then everything will be crystal clear to you, I promise. Now, where was I? OH, yes, admiring your force of will and sheer tenacity. It reminded me of…. Well, myself, if I’m allowed to toot my own horn.”
Carl couldn’t see Corrigan anymore, as he had stepped behind his motionless body, and Carl found this to be both terrifying and infuriating, especially since there was apparently nothing he could do to improve his situation.
“We’re a lot alike in some ways, Carl. We both had a pretty strict religious upbringing, both raised by abusive fathers, and we both have been known to be violently brutal, to those we thought deserved it. “
Carl, his mind racing, was fast approaching the point of a nervous breakdown. How did this guy KNOW so much about him?!??
“But then, Carl, you crossed a line that I could never bring myself to cross. I’ve asked myself since we met, what happened to us that we turned out so differently. I mean, honestly, I could have become you… I just never did. I could never kill a woman whose love for me was unconditional.”
At this last utterance, Carl tried to take a deep breath, dreading what would happen next. Sweat ran down his forehead, and his heart nearly jumped out of his chest, as scared as he was. What was going to happen now?!?
“You DID, though, Carl… and that’s what brought us together tonight, although it took me a while to find you. I got a little… sidetracked. There was a crisis, you see, and… Wait—now I sound like I’m making excuses. The truth of the matter is, it doesn’t matter what kept me from finding you. What matters is that you not only went unpunished for FAR too long, but you were able to commit numerous atrocities while roaming the earth, and that’s on ME. That’s why I’m here, tonight, Carl. To show you what you’ve done, and make you pay for it.”
Suddenly, without warning, a ghostly apparition appeared before Carl, and he felt both shock and a chill down his spine as he saw her. It was his wife. The woman who devoted her life to making him happy, even though she knew just what he was, was now standing before him, looking at him with eyes that instantly filled his heart with dread. Her neck was still showing the telltale marks his large hands made when he strangled her. She didn’t even struggle when he did it… she just looked at him, with eyes that almost gave him permission… until that last second, when life left them.
It was that same familiar stare that had freaked him out earlier, when he’d confronted the two boys in the alley; the look of one who wasn’t afraid. It was a look Carl hated. He wanted to be feared, for he knew that being feared was the only thing that made him feel… safe.
“Yes, you remember that look, don’t you Carl? It’s the look of unconditional love… and you killed it… 11 years ago… because it made you uncomfortable. But it didn’t stop there, did it? “
Suddenly, several ghostly apparitions appeared before Carl’s unbelieving eyes… all ghostly images of women he’d spent “quality time” with… all with the same marks on their necks… made by the same pair of massive hands.
As tears fell from his eyes, Carl desperately wanted to close his eyes and forget all he’d seen. There was no way this was happening… not to someone as strong as him. He didn’t deserve this!
Almost in answer to his prayers, the ghostly apparitions disappeared, even as Corrigan came back into full view again. Now Corrigan was staring at him. It was more unnerving than the stares of the ghosts, more unnerving than the stares of the two brats in the alley. At least, in their eyes, he saw some semblance of sadness and compassion, even though that made him physically ill. This time, he saw NO compassion. He saw anger… more anger than he’d ever seen, even when looking himself in the mirror.
His aversion to Corrigan’s stare only got worse, as he watched him slowly change, from a pasty faced white guy with a cheap suit and the hairstyle to match, to a ghostly white figure, adorned in green gloves, boots, shorts, and a long, flowing green cloak with a hood. The surrounding light shined off of his uncovered arms, chest, and legs, revealing a frighteningly impressive figure. This was a figure whose sole purpose was to avenge the murdered dead. This was… the SPECTRE!
Carl stumbled backwards, finding himself suddenly back in the derelict building he’d taken refuge in before, landing clumsily on the sofa once more. From beneath his green hood, the glowing red eyes of the Spectre glared at Carl, with a rage that would make even the bravest man run in fear. Carl felt his strength leave his body, as the Spectre floated high into the air, clearly preparing to pass judgment on him.
In a voice that chilled Carl to his very core, the ghostly form of the Spectre spoke:
”What’s wrong, Carl? You seem… LOST.”
Lost? That seemed to be an accurate description of how Carl felt, at that moment. He’d just lost his sense of self-worth, an opportunity to enter Heaven, and an even greater opportunity to punish “the wicked” (in the name of GOD, no less,) and possibly his sanity, in what felt like the blink of an eye.
“How…? What…. ? --WHY?” --Carl was clearly not used to being in the presence of somebody more frightening than himself, and it was showing.
His crimson eyes smoldering with anger and hatred, his lips curling up into a frightening grin, the Spectre spoke in answer, though he didn’t care what questions Carl had. Vengeance was all that mattered.
Vengeance had called Carl Johnson, collect… and he would most DEFINITELY take the call.
”I wanted you to see my beginnings, just as I have seen yours, Carl, so you would understand just WHO and WHAT you are dealing with, this night, you insignificant WORM!”
It wasn’t, strictly speaking, the entire truth, but the Spectre reasoned that it didn’t really matter WHAT he told Carl… it wasn’t like Carl was going to repeat what he learned today, to anybody living…
Carl scrambled to his feet in terror, as he realized just who was standing in judgment over him, even though he knew there was no way to escape.
“You? You’re the WRATH of GOD? What do YOU want with ME?”
There was a time, early in his mission, when the Spectre was actually SURPRISED at how deep in denial the wicked could be, when it came to owning up to their evil acts. Nowadays, though, NOTHING surprised him. He’d seen enough mortals profess their outstanding character, while entrenched in acts of base cruelty, to last SEVERAL lifetimes.
“I don’t want ANYTHING from you,” the Spectre said dryly, as he slowly floated towards Carl, his arms folded in final judgment.
As the Spectre came closer, his red eyes burning into Carl’s soul, Carl tensed up against a wall and closed his eyes tightly, preparing for the worst.
How long were his eyes closed? A second? Two? A minute? An ETERNITY? Carl didn’t know. He was too terrified to look at the Spectre’s grim visage again.
NOTHING could have prepared him for what awaited him as his eyes opened slowly. The room was empty, and he was alone.
Carl could scarcely believe it. Had he beat the odds? Did GOD grant him a literal last minute stay of execution? YES! That had to be the answer. He knew that being stalked by the menacing form of the Spectre had to have been a mistake. There wasn’t anything evil about him, nothing he should be punished for!
Carl took a moment and breathed in a sigh of relief, and started to utter a silent prayer of thanks to GOD…
When SUDDENLY, a pair of badly deformed and disheveled arms sprang through the wall he was leaning on, from opposite sides of his head, nearly giving Carl a heart attack!
The filthy, decomposing hands at the end of those arms quickly grabbed Carl by the throat, and began lifting him into the air. Even through the shallow breaths he COULD take, Carl could smell the noxious fumes of death and decay. That was a smell nobody could ever forget, especially one as… “familiar” with the scent of buried remains, as Carl was.
As he struggled to break free, Carl could see, on the right hand that was lifting him, a curious sight.
There was an ornate wedding ring, with a peculiar … almost familiar… stone, featured prominently in its center. Where had he seen it before, Carl wondered? Speculation had to take a back seat to survival, though, since the world was starting to go dark for him, at a rapid rate!
As darkness started to overtake his senses, Carl pushed away from the wall with both his legs, breaking free of his attacker’s grasp, landing with a resounding thud as he did so!
Carl took a deep breath after landing, inhaling a thick cloud of dust in the process. This only served to aggravate his already traumatized windpipe. As he coughed out what he could, he could hear the wall behind him being torn apart, as if by a wild animal!
He turned over, onto his back, fully expecting to see a crazed junkie as he looked up at his attacker, but what he saw instead was FAR more terrifying.
Standing before him was an honest-to-goodness, card-carrying member of the living dead; a ZOMBIE!
The poor creature was a sight to behold: torn clothing, blood dripping from nearly every orifice, and flesh falling off of bone like it was a reptile, shedding its skin. Surprisingly, none of these things was what terrified Carl most about the encounter….
Carl shook his head in disbelief, and in protest, as the familiar form of his former wife, whom he had himself murdered 11 years ago, came toward him with alarming speed!
He crawled backward, as fast as he could, unable to take his eyes off of her decomposing body!
When he came to a forced stop suddenly, he panicked and looked up, only to find even MORE zombies!
”What?!? NOOO!”
Carl scrambled to his feet, running away from the zombies, all of whom shared disturbing similarities with his fallen wife. In point of fact, they all resembled women Carl had spent “quality time” with, in his old apartment.
That was when panic REALLY set in for Carl, as he finally recognized the derelict building as the very spot in which he not only killed them, but where he’d disposed of the bodies, deep in the basement! What were the ODDS of that? But then, remembering everything else he’d gone through tonight, Carl put aside his skepticism and just RAN for his LIFE!
Actually, he could only limp away, having hurt his leg when escaping his former wife, Mary. This only heightened his panic, as the living dead seemed to pursue him with the speed of Olympic athletes, eyeing him as if he was going to be their first meal in YEARS!
His fear served him well, though, as he managed to get into one of the few rooms that still had a door, and what’s MORE, pieces of furniture, to block the zombies’ access to him. As he slammed the door and looked around, Carl was both surprised and relieved at what he saw next.
The two punks, whom he’d run away from before, were standing in the room, unmoving. Apparently, the zombies had chased them there, too, and their fear rooted them to where they stood. Carl cursed under his breath at the rotten luck of having to deal with these two cowardly punks, but then he realized what good fortune had been put into his lap. He could either get them to help him keep the zombies at bay, or throw them, like lambs to the slaughter, into the arms of the starving zombies.
Wasting no time, he called them over to him, trying to sound as genial and fatherly as he could, under the circumstances.
“Boys! Thank GOD you’re okay! After we got separated, I saw the light! I have SONS, now! I can’t just throw my life away on gambling and drinking and sex! What would your MOTHER say? Help me get this door blocked, and I swear, I’ll turn over a new leaf and we’ll stay together, like a REAL family!”
Was any of what he said true? Not even Carl could say for sure. All he knew was that if he didn’t get their help, they’d ALL die, and even as scared as he was, he knew the boys would want to live just as badly as he did.
Once again, the taller one spoke, and Carl was encouraged by the strength the boy spoke with. There was none of the weakness he’d heard before… none of the cowardice he’d previously assumed was in the boys’ hearts.
“We’re SO glad to hear you say that, DAD.”
Carl turned his back on them, his lips curling into that selfish, evil grin again. His trick had worked, and at the very least, he was going to survive.
NOBODY could have been more surprised than Carl, though, when the two-by-four cracked him across the back of his skull, sending him flailing to the floor, his head already bleeding!
As he struggled to stay conscious, his blood trickling down his cheek, he strained to see what (or who) had hit him, and was dumbfounded at what his blurry vision revealed.
Standing over him, holding a bloody two-by-four, was the shorter of the two boys. Behind him, the taller one was already taking apart Carl’s hastily constructed blockade, letting the zombies in.
As he looked around at the veritable ARMY of zombies that quickly surrounded him, Carl could only form one coherent thought, as the blood came down his face quickly, and gave that thought a voice.
”Why…?
Carl knew they could hear him, even as weak and inaudible as his voice was becoming, because they all seemed to almost smile –albeit a toothless, blood covered smile. How had he misjudged those boys so badly? Didn’t they want to live?
And then it hit him… First, he caught the unmistakable scent of rotting flesh, falling off of bone; It took him a moment to realize where the smell had come from, but when he looked up at the two young zombies who were standing over him, it all made sense… the boys had no interest in staying alive… because they were already DEAD – or, to be more precise, UN-DEAD!
“But… but… but I didn’t KILL you…” – Carl had given up feigning innocence… he just wanted answers.
This time, the shorter one spoke, still clenching the bloody plank that had brought Carl down….
“But you DID, Dad…. You killed us, when you killed our MOTHER…”
It all made sense, in those last few moments, when the boys and all the other zombies, each a victim of Carl’s … appetites… converged on his body, from all sides.
That gave Carl little satisfaction, though, as he spent his last few moments screaming to the heavens, forcing even the night stars to fade into obscurity. What Carl had called down onto himself, no mortal eye was ever meant to see.
Weeks later, a demolition crew found quite a surprise when they were cleaning up the debris from a condemned tenement building the city council had hired them to bring down, in the name of progress.
As the police sergeant assigned to secure the blast zone looked at what the workers had found, his stomach leapt into his heart… When he heard footsteps, though, his training took over and he reached for his service revolver, ready to defend himself, if he needed to.
“What’ve we got here?” --the patrolman relaxed his grip on his gun, recognizing the voice of a well-known, if not well-liked, police detective.
“A real tragedy, that’s what we’ve got here, Detective. It looks like some poor slob got caught in the blast that took this old tenement down. Nothing a big-time homicide detective like yourself needs to worry about.”
“I see. There’s nothing out of the ordinary, then?”
“Oh, I didn’t say THAT…” –even before he finished his statement, the sergeant regretted opening his big mouth. He knew that this PARTICULAR detective just LOVED weird cases, and just implying that this was more than a simple, yet tragic, accident would just make the detective linger longer. The patrolman didn’t want that, but he’d already set things in motion by “spilling the beans”, so he continued, albeit reluctantly.
“At first glance, it looks like the victim was at ground zero for the blast, because of how far apart his body parts are spread, but if you look here, closely, “ –he gingerly picked up the victim’s leg – “you’ll see that it almost looks like he was torn apart by a savage beast, instead of being blown apart by an explosion.”
The sergeant paused, both for dramatic effect, and to let the inquisitive detective digest that little bit of information. He fully expected to hear an order to further search the debris, and resigned himself to the idea of not being home in time for dinner with his wife, when the detective spoke.
“Hmmm… That does sound ODD, but not odd enough to warrant putting a hold on the project the city council wants to break ground on today. Just have the demolition crew dispose of whatever body parts they find with the other debris, and put this ‘crime scene’ to bed. No use wasting time, looking for a murder where it doesn’t exist.”
The sergeant let a relieved smile cross his lips. Maybe the detective wasn’t as bad a guy as he’d been lead to believe by his fellow beat cops. Maybe he was a kind soul, after all.
“Yes SIR! You’ve got it sir! I’ll do just that! You just go home and get some rest, Detective Corrigan!”
But Corrigan was already gone… In his place, there was only a fine, green mist… a mist that seemed to have a mind – and a mission – of its own.