MicroHorror

“For just two pounds a month, you too could sponsor the dead.” He had left the remote on top of the television, again. “One hundred percent of the money we receive goes directly to caring for the deceased of your choice.”

A moan from the next room told Henry it was suppertime.

“We never, ever, destroy an abandoned soul.”

Maybe they could take care of him; if he removed the chains, bundled him into the back of his car and drove him out into the middle of nowhere, he could finally be rid of him and his stench. And, if he signed up to this sponsor-the-dead thing on TV, it wouldn’t be like he was completely abandoning him. No, he would still be taking care of him while doing his bit for charity.

“Each sponsor receives regular updates from their chosen departed, including photos, and even a card at Christmas.”

Looking back in the direction of the hungry grunt, it seemed like sponsorship was the answer. Inching his finger beneath the bandage, he scratched at the bite along his forearm. Two pounds a month was a lot less to find than what it was costing him to keep his father subdued. Especially if there was another repeat of yesterday.

“With today’s overcrowding issues to contend with, our job is becoming increasingly difficult to fund, which is why your support is invaluable.”

The Government’s label on the situation; their euphemism of “Overcrowding” wasn’t the real problem. With all the scientific advances made over the years, why hadn’t anyone thought about what would happen when they had discovered the cure for everything? If people weren’t dying of natural causes anymore, what would they, eventually, die of?

For all intents and purposes these people were dead–their brains were mush–but, because of what the doctors could do, they kept on going: breathing, however shallow and weak; eating like rabid animals that kept feeding on whatever was left in front of them, including human flesh; and the stench of their rotting skin, bedsore-blotchy and oozing with pus; that’s what did it for him.

“Your donation not only helps your sponsored relic, but also helps toward the upkeep costs of all our members.”

If he went now, while it was still dark, he would be done and back before he had to be at work in the morning.

“Send no money now; call the free phone number at the bottom of the screen or complete the online form and we will do the rest.”

Another thump from the other room got him to his feet.

“Sign up before the end of the month and you will receive this special introductory offer.” On screen he recognized the decaying face of a faded Hollywood movie star, though couldn’t place the name. “An exclusive signed photo of the dead celebrity of your choice.”

Another angry grunt focused his dwindling attention. “All right, Dad, I’m coming.”

The old man was gagged and shackled to his rocking chair.

“We’re going for a little drive.” Biting back the tears; in the long run, it was for the best; this was no way for either of them to live. If he had kids of his own, one day, he hoped they would do the right thing.

“Up you get; we’ll stop by the drive-through on our way.” Henry managed to get one padlock open and bent to find the second, obscured beneath the chair. Above him his father moaned into his gag.

When the second chain was free, he felt those familiar hands rush at his throat before his father’s gravelly voice hissed in his ear: “I’m not going anywhere with you.”