What did you do in the War Uncle?(short)

What did you do in the war Uncle? (short)
By Stephen A Abell.

No. of words: 2405



"I'm glad the creepy bastard's dead."

"That's your Uncle you're talkin' about."

"He wasn't my Uncle, we just used to call him that; "Uncle Harold"." Jason,stated. "The only reason I've got this letter is I'm the only one left."

"So what're you goin' to do?" Stephanie motioned to the letter.

"I'll have to attend the meeting with the solicitor, it's after the cremation. It'd be a poor show if I didn't."

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"Well Mr Styles there's not much to this, since you're the only surviving relative, everything goes to you."

"And what is there, exactly?"

"After the funeral costs; the monies come to around four and a half thousand pounds. Then, there's the house, furnishings and everything else inside. It's all yours now."

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Two weeks later: Jason and Stephanie were at the house and hard at work sorting through a lifetime. In the rear of the back bedroom wardrobe Steph, found two army uniforms.

"Damn!" Jason remarked with an air of respect. "I vaguely remember stories he'd tell about being in the army, in the second World War, but I never believed him. Damn! Well, we can't give them away to charity, can we? Put them to one side, I'll store them somewhere safe.”

"Oh, honey," she chuckled, "you don't need a tissue, or something?"

"Come here wench, I'll give you something!" He pounced, catching her off guard, and they both tumbled onto the bed.

A couple of hours and Steph, was in the front room rooting through the bookcases, while Jason had gone into the back yard to check out the shed.

The shout was bordering on a scream.

"JASON!"

The urgency of it spun him around and, without a thought, he leaped over the steps and landed, running, in the yard. Stephanie was shaking in the back doorway.

"What's a matter, babe?" Concern heavy in his voice. "You haven't seen another spider, have you? Listen I've ..."

She cut him off as she grabbed him by the collar and pulled him into the front room, casting him down on the sofa. "I was just sortin' through the bookcase, when I came across the photo albums," she retrieved them from the coffee table. "Your Uncle was a sick bastard." She threw them into Justin's lap and quickly wiped her hands on her jeans, as if to get something nasty off them.

"What's all the fuss about, so he liked to take pic..." Words failed him as he opened the first album. "Jesus Christ!"

Page after page showed vivid black and white images of death, torture and degradation.

"This is fucked up," Jason spat in disgust. "I know war is brutal, but this is just deranged." He turned the page.

Dead eyes, empty and devoid of life, stared up at him. A womans body in tatters. Her right arm was gone, as was everything below her chest. He flipped the page over. The woman looked out of the photo; she was naked and positioned up against the wall. He turned the page. It was a downward shot of the woman; now an engorged penis was being pushed into her mouth. He turned the page. Her nose nestled against the pubic hair of the camera man. He turned the page. The penis was half way in her mouth. He turned the page. He turned the page. He turned the page. The penis went in and out between the dead woman's lips. The last shot in the album showed semen splattered over the once beautiful face.

Quietly he closed the book, rose quickly from the sofa, ran into the kitchen, and vomited into the sink.

"I'll burn these fuckin' things tonight; as for now, we have the rest of the house to clear out, so we better get crackin'." He forced a smile.

She shook of her head in despondency and went back to checking the book shelves.

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Next day Stephanie stayed home, phoning around the tradesmen he had booked. He needed the house ready for sale.

At his Uncle’s house the search went well and no other nasties were found.

The ringing of the land-line broke the silence and Jason jumped slightly at the noise. As he reached across to pick up the receiver his hand connected with Harold Pettigrew's new abode, "Shit", and knocked it to one side where it came to rest on the lip of the table. "Oh, no you," trying to move quickly to stop the urn from falling, "DON'T," only resulted in Jason knocking it back in the other direction, "Fuck", where it clipped the telephone and started to topple onto its side, "NO", and over the edge of the table towards the floor, "Shit", where it broke into pieces, "FUCK", sending up clouds of ash, "SHIT-FUCK".

Resigned to the catastrophe he finally picked up the telephone and sighed "Hello."

"What's up darlin'?" It was Steph, her voice full of concern. "You sound upset, is somethin' wrong?"

"No, babe, nothing." A smile started at the corners of his lips. "Just Uncle Harold making an escape for freedom."

"What?"

"I knocked the bloody urn off the table when I answered the phone, that's all, nothing important. He's floating around at the moment. Shit!"

"Now what?"

"The buggers on my jeans. I'll have to throw'em now. Shit! At least I didn't find any other nasties in the house. "

"... So there's nothing? That is good news and I have some of my own the electrician can make a start today. He should be with you within the hour."

"Then I better hoover up Uncle Harold before the man turns up, we don't want him gettin' shit on his shoes, do we? I'll see you when I get home babe. Love you."

"Love you too."


As he turned the hoover off he heard the banging on the door. Quickly he strode across the living room and swung the door open. Outside in the bright midday stood two people, a man and a woman. "I'm so glad that you could make it on such short notice."

"Well, we're glad that your wife called Mr Booker," the electrician smiled back, "what with the cancellation and all, things have been a little slow this week."

The woman smiled weekly as Jason stood to one side and let them enter the house. "So are we still lookin' at a two day turn around?"

“If we get crackin' now we should have ya done by the end of the day, Friday."

"That's great." The relived smile broke on his face. "While you're gettin' your things ready I'll put a brew on, what d'you take?"

"I'll have a tea please, white with one sugar," Bev spoke up for the first time, her feminine voice a contrast to her manly attire, "and he'll have a coffee, black, with three heaped sugars."

"Bit of a sweet tooth," Jason grinned at her and was delighted when she smiled back, "no problem."

He took Mike and Bev a couple of steaming drinks upstairs then retreated back down for his own and a sandwich. He felt pleasantly full and relaxed. He closed his eys and let fond memories soothe him..

The strange feeling around his left eye awoke him. As he opened his eyes he knew things were wrong. His right eye saw clearly while his left saw blackness. The pain become more intense as the object was pushed harder against his face. He heard a low humming sound and a cold terror filled his body. He quickly brought up his hands and encircled the pipe. Before he could pull it free the motor revved up and he felt the suction. The motor became louder, faster and the suction grew stronger. He opened his mouth to shout and had the sensation of leaving his body. With shock he realised his eye was bouncing around in the pipe. He screamed as the nerves connecting the eyeball shredded. The motor picked up more speed and Jason could feel his life being sucked out. His spinal column was tearing apart under the increased suction. He began to twitch uncontrollably, urine and faeces dribbled down inside his jeans. Memories and dreams played manically in his mind. Everything went black.

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The scream shook the house.

"Jesus fuckin' Christ. What the fuck was that?"

Mike was on his feet and heading to the doorway. "You call the police, Bev." He shot a glance toward her, "NOW! And STAY up here." He rushed down the stairs.

He opened the door slowly and as silently as possible. Through the crack in the door he scanned the rooms. From the front room an arm came into sight, twitching madly in the air. "Shit." Mike punched the door open and rushed over. His would be finished if the client was electrocuted.

Jason was awhirling dervish of body parts. Looking around quickly Mike saw the vacuum cleaner; it looked connected to Jason's head. The lead was still in the machine. "What the fuck," he muttered and stepped closer. Inside the dust compartment was a mixture of red liquids and strips of ... "Flesh, Oh fuck!" The eyeball spun by, then a mass of grey matter dropped into the swirling red lake; Jason dropped, lifeless, to the floor.

Mike pulled the handkerchief from his pocket; a few odds and ends fell to the carpet. He mopped the vomit from his chin. Jason was dead and the hoover had killed him.

He made to grab the machine. Electricity shot up his arm. The force was so strong that it sent him backward, crashing into the wall. He lifted his head in time to see the pipe swoop down and suck up the things from the carpet. Within the items were various screw taken from the upstairs floorboards. A different tone now came from the cleaner and Mike knew that it had somehow reversed its action from suction to expulsion.

Blood jettisoned from the pipe, covering Mike's face gore. A chunk of brain hit his cheek then fell to his lap. He tried to concentrate on shaking his leg. Something pinged off his forehead; just the eyeball, his mind told him.

Rattling acme from the cannister. The screws, his mind screamed.

Sharp metal points, glistening redly, flew past his head. He forced his head upright as a second volley exploded from the vacuum pipe. They hit his face, slicing flesh, drawing blood and cracking bone. More deadly metal arrows flew into his face. The motor started to wind down.

The pipe attached itself to his right cheek. Rapidly the motor started and the suction increased. He began to feel the flesh rip and tear. He could see jets of crimson pump into the air as he felt the skin start to slide from his skull.

Seconds later the darkness carried him away.

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Bev screamed her throat raw trying to get the police woman to send a car out.

That had been ten minutes ago. Where were they, the town was only five minutes away?

Silence had fallen downstairs, maybe everything was alright. Bev lifted herself off the floor and, slowly, moved out the door to the top of the stairs. She cautiously descended, creeped into the kitchen and stood looking at the devastation.

Blood was sprayed across the walls, the smell of damp and iron infused the air around her. She thought there was a body against the far wall but her vision was obscured by the hoover. She was half way across the room before she froze, her eyes focused on the skinless, bloody face. She screamed.

The shriek was cut when the vacuum pipe blazed through the air and pushed it's way into her open mouth. It pushed deeper. Bev's neck expanded as the pipe descended lower inside her. She grabbed the pipe to no effect. Then it stopped. Bev fell to the floor, gasping.

The pipe started to retreat from her throat, up to her mouth. It stopped. It started to penetrate her again, deep. Then retreated, then inserted; retreated, inserted; retreat, insert. The pipe fucked her throat, picking up speed as if it could reach a climax.

Suddenly the motor started and a mass of liquid and flesh was pushed down into her. The pipe pulled out of her mouth, still expelling it's load. Dribbles of tattered, bloody, flesh dropped from the spent pipe.

Bev fell backwards onto the carpet where she finished choking to death. The plastic cylinder caressed her face and with a last effort splattered her forehead with gore.

Two minutes after; two officers entered the building.

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The bodies were laid out in the morgue. Stained while sheets pulled over them.

Stephanie took a deep breath as she placed the mask over her nose and mouth.

A police officer stood by her right shoulder as an assistant moved to the head of each table and turned the covers down so she could make the identifications.

Afterwards, she asked for a couple of minutes to spend alone with her husband. She let the tears flow and the thoughts whirl.

Her mind was in turmoil. Bits and pieces floated around in her mind, came together, showed her fleeting images, mad nightmarish scenes. Her husbands words echoed, "... better hoover up Uncle Harold before the man turns up, we don't want him gettin' shit on his shoes ...".

"better hoover up Uncle Harold"

"hoover"

"NO!" Steph shouted.

She took a deep calming breath.

Placing her husbands hand back under the sheet she made for the door back to the living.

As she reached out another hand snaked past hers and wrapped around the handle.

Fear and dread cascaded down her spine. Urine ran to the tiled floor.

"There are so few of us gentleman left, after the war, let me open this for you." The hand pulled the door as wide as it could but Stephanie was rooted, the hand let go and the door closed. A shadow moved over the door as the gentleman walked around her. Slowly a shape appeared in her periphery, just a silhouette to begin with, becoming more solid and with definition, until Stephanie was staring eye to eye with Bev. Deep within her dead black pupils shadows moved. Bev's mouth moved. "My, my, my. Aren't you a beautiful lady." Uncle Harold spoke.