Necro Files: Two Decades of Extreme Horror

But for now, May was a good lay, a beautiful little thing. She felt him stroke her hair and tried not to wince as red pepper burned the cuts bristling with splinters across her forehead. She felt pressure from beneath her shoulders; he was pulling the bedspread up, cradling her. He wrapped the flannel around her and lifted her into his arms, held her head against his shoulder. Her eyes were closed, still. She swayed in his grip and he shifted her to one arm as he used the other to run the shower. She felt the air around her grow heavy with humidity.

He let her down and purred at her, helped her step blindly over the side of the porcelain tub and into the running shower. When the water hit her flesh she flinched before realizing that it was good, not the scalding rain into which he often cast her. He gently thumbed the insulation from her eyes. He was so very kind sometimes, like now, with the good water. He loved her so.

She opened her eyes and saw herself as he did.

May, outside the wall, saw nothing at all.

An Experiment in Human Nature

Monica J. O’Rourke

“An Experiment in Human Nature” first appeared in The Rare Anthology, edited by Brian Knight, 2001, Disc-Us Books.

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Monica J. O’Rourke has published more than seventy-five short stories in magazines such as Postscripts, Nasty Piece of Work, Fangoria, Flesh & Blood, Nemonymous, and Brutarian, and anthologies such as The Mammoth Book of the Kama Sutra, The Best of Horrorfind, Strangewood Tales, and Darkness Rising. She is the author of Poisoning Eros I and II, written with Wrath James White, Suffer the Flesh, and the collection Experiments in Human Nature. She lives in upstate New York. Visit her at www.facebook.com/MonicaJORourke.

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This story was inspired by Clive Barker’s “Dread,” though you would be hard-pressed to actually find any similarities. It also began my foray into writing hardcore (or splatterpunk) fiction and led to my collaboration with Wrath James White, Poisoning Eros parts I and II.

Ernest brushed the hair from his forehead with his fingertips and leaned against the wall, clumsily setting his glass upon the mantle.

Young men playing dress-up, sporting Ralph Lauren, knockoff rich man wannabees enjoying Ernest’s parents’ good food and good smokes and good single malt, crashing in the Tudor-esque McMansion that felt somehow misplaced among the Hampton elite. Animal heads suspended from the walls gazed at them with dead eyes. A billiards table sat unused in the corner.

“Okay,” Ernest said. “I promised you something interesting, right? Now we see if you two have the jewels to go through with it.” Caleb uncrossed his spider legs and leaned forward. He set his cigar (the smoke was choking him anyway) in the oversized freestanding ashtray and rose to his full height. Stretching his arms overhead, his fingertips fell inches short of the eight-foot ceiling.

“This should be good,” he said, cracking a smile.

Ernest smirked. “It wasn’t easy, but I think it’s worth it. Or will be, in the end. It’s brilliant.”

Ian, almost invisible in the corner of the room, said, “What’d you do?” His blue eyes were intense as he squinted at the two other boys. Curly auburn hair and a baby face, he was the youngest of the trio at nineteen, but only by two years.

Ernest closed the double doors. “Keep it down. Some of the staff may still be wandering around. They might hear us.”

“Staff?” Caleb scoffed, knowing the huge staff was composed of a cook and a housekeeper. “So what’s your big secret?”

Ernest cleared his throat and narrowed his eyes. “We swore that no matter what, we’d stick by each other, right?” He strummed his fingers on the edge of the table.

“Yeah, so? What’s got you so freaked?” Caleb said, though he nodded. “What’s your point?”

Ernest blinked, his long lashes almost dusting the tops of his high cheeks. “I’m not freaked,” he snapped, and then composed himself. “A study in human nature. An experiment in perseverance.”

“Blah, blah, blah …” Caleb snapped. “Get to the point.”

Ernest ignored him. “You think you have the stomach for such an experiment? One that will be messy? One that, I guarantee, will end … badly?”

Caleb said, “Badly? What’s that mean?”

“We’ll be running some experiments. Okay? Just some tests. I got us a guinea pig.”

“What kind of experiments?” Ian said, almost whispered.

Caleb cocked his head. “Guinea pig, huh? Why do I get the feeling it’s not warm and furry.”

Ernest smirked. “Oh, it’s warm and furry all right …” He sat on the arm of the sofa. “Remember in Professor Klein’s class when we studied about the strength of the human mind, and the ability of the body to persevere at any cost? What I remember most were the slides of the concentration camp survivors from the Holocaust, and the Japanese POWs. Remember?”

He paused briefly, looking from Caleb to Ian. “I’ve thought about that. A lot. Wondering … you know, what someone might do …”

“Might do if what?” Ian murmured. The air in the room felt heavy, as if coated in cotton. He pursed his lips, the color of his cheeks now matching his hair.

Ernest ignored him. “Thing is, there’s no turning back now.”

Caleb shook his head and said, “Get to the point. What did you do?”

Ernest stared at Caleb as if deciding how to proceed, whether or not to let Caleb in on the secret. “It’s already begun. I need to know what to expect from you guys. Because let me tell you, if I go down, we all go down. One for all, and all that stupid Musketeers bullshit, okay?”

He sat back in the chair and rubbed his palm across his mouth. “Here’s the thing. I think I can safely say I understand your character. I trust you guys. I think the three of us are of like minds.”

There was no argument so far; the three were of like minds when it came to politics and religion. But Ian wasn’t entirely sure he shared the same belief system as Ernest, or shared his ethics. He was willing to listen, however.

“I found a … a test subject. I’d like to see how much it will take to … to, um. For him to break.”

“Break?” Ian asked. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Caleb snickered. “Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”

Ernest shrugged and began to laugh.

“Oh, god,” Ian said through fingers splayed across his mouth. He leaned forward in his chair, and his face brightened as he finally realized what Ernest was talking about. “You’re talking about what? Breaking some guy’s will? Right? Am I right? Holy shit, Ernest! Who’d you pick?”

“Nolan Pierson.”

“Who?” Caleb asked, but Ian knew the guy. Nolan was in their psych class, and was in Latin and chemistry with Ian and Ernest. Nolan was rather forgettable, with butchered black hair and oversized Buddy Holly glasses. The scholarship kid. His father was a janitor in the Harper Building on the west side of the campus. Every school has at least one Nolan—the kid whose Sears suit was never quite up to par, whose Pay-less shoes always fell apart a few months into the semester. The kid who wanted to fit in but just couldn’t afford to, his clothes and his efforts always being second rate.

Nolan was a throwaway human being.

And suddenly, the three seemed to realize almost simultaneously that they were of like minds. And like ethics.