Mort.

Mort.

By C. J. Alicat

To die. A wonder of mine, and an inspiration of my stories. It has always fascinated me, since birth. My first word was deat, death with out the th. It’s hard for babies, but of coarse u know that, your smarter then me. You’re my boss. You work for the paper, and I am a writer of yours. You’re ok, I mean not too many bonuses, but you’re a nice guy, and that’s always a plus. The only problems I have are the topics you give me for my stories. It’s always death. I don’t have too much of a problem with it, it’s just hard when you never write anything else, you know? I need some creative freedom. Maybe you can give me a story completely opposite? How bout births, like maybe of famous people? I have a great idea, like of how they have some weird names. Who names their kid apple? I mean most kids can get made fun of with a “weird” name like Joseph or Ralph, but Apple? I hope that baby’s a girl; a guy named Apple is a pansy, right? Well, pretty much what I’m sayin is I think I need a change of pace. I mean I understand how you liked my article on that guy who had died, it was pretty groovy, but it was kind of disturbing. You don’t remember that story? Well. Humph.


Death Strikes the Small Town of Hullberry


On the night of October 31st, when most children are out trick or treating and their parents are watching them, so they don’t go to any “bad” houses. One father, a Halloween fanatic, died. It is unknown of how or when he died to most, but I know the truth. The man was my friend, Mort. He always had a Halloween party; it was the place to be for everyone in town. I remember last year, he had the inside of his garage filled with cobwebs and black liners on the walls. He locked all other doors so you had to go through the garage to get inside. He had his two kids hide behind the liners with him, and made small but spooky noises. When you were about to be freaked out, he shut the garage door, as fast as a lightning bolt to a truck in the flat mid-west in a gigantic storm. Next, the door would open, and his wife, made to look like Mortisha, would stand there pretending to be hanged. It was one of the scariest things I had ever seen. He had later said that next year he would outdo that Halloween. “Ya, right” “how ya gonna do that?” “You’ll see” And boy we did.

It was the 30th, skipping a year from that last Halloween, and I saw Mort at the store.

“Hey, so, stocking up on food for the party tomorrow?”

“Nah, I got everything I’ll need”

“Really, I always thought you were a last minute shopper”.

I looked into the bag and tried to see what he had, as he sped away. “IT’S A SURPRISE, SEE ME TOMORROW!” Well, I was used to this; he would never let anyone in on his secrets of the Halloween party, except for his wife and boys. Well, this year for some reason, I was getting very anxious for this party. I had to know what he was going to do, so I went over to his house.

Knock Knock.

“Hey! Come on in.” I entered, being invited by his wife. “Mort's not home right now, he's at work.”

“I know. I was wondering, what’s happening for the party tomorrow?”

“Party? Hmm, he said we weren’t having it this year. He said he was getting a little tired of all the work, and it wasn’t worth it. I was kind of let down, almost, but less work for me.”

“Really? Well, he had told everyone to come on down tomorrow for the big bash.”

“Hmm, I guess I will have to ask him about that, but I must cook dinner, he always wants that nice meal on the table, you know Mort.”

“Ya, I guess, well ok, ill see ya tomorrow”

“See ya.”

I left. It was kind of confusing; I mean usually he would at least tell his own family of this party. I didn’t think too much of it, but I knew the party was on. “He must be goin for the super ultra surprise.”

It was Halloween. My kids were excited to go treating, and my wife couldn’t wait for the party. I had hired a girl from the neighborhood to bring the kids trick or treating this year, I didn’t want to have to bring them to the party, they were usually the only kids other than Mort’s sons, and my kids weren’t too fond of them.

“Hunny, now when does this party start again, I need to know so I can make a dessert for this year. They always do so much work, I though I would make something this time.”

“That sounds nice dear; it starts at 9 this year. I’m guessing he wants it dark.”

“Oh, Ok.” And she went off to bake some dessert for the bash. She made Lady Fingers with red and green icing, trying to look like blood and guts, though to me, they looked like Christmas Deserts.

She had finished early, and we decided we wanted to go to Mort’s early, help him with some last minute decorations. The problem was he was already all set.

I always had to go in first. My wife got too afraid the first year, so she has ever since sent me in as the lead. I went to the front door, and of coarse it was locked.

“Ooo, how spooky, I guess I will have to go through the garage. I wonder what will be there??!! Ooo.”

I walked back down the stone steps, and went into the open garage door. I was slightly surprised; there were no decorations in the car shelter, just a car and some tools. I walked to the garage door and rang the doorbell. At first there was no answer, and at second and third there was no answer, so I rang it again and again. No one. I checked the handle and it was unlocked. I decided then that he wanted me to open the door. I opened it, and saw nothing unusual. The same old basement, no Party favors or anything. It was all usual, until I saw the note on the floor, and smelt the stench.

It was just a page long, and I decided to pick it up. Looking at it, the handwriting was too messy for me to read, so I just put it into my pocket. I stepped upstairs, and saw what was planned for me to see. The hanged Mort from his ceiling. He had slit his wrists before going up, and blood dripped as he hung there. I almost threw up. The smell was nauseating. Then I walked a few steps closer to him, and noticed the smell wasn’t coming from him, but the dining room. Afraid but still being a man about this, I walked to the room. On the table were his wife and sons. Dead. Once again, my stomach churned, and tried to come out of my thought with a warm chunky fluid of my lady fingers I had eaten earlier.

I didn’t know what to do, until I put my hand into my pocket, and thought I must read the note. Somehow I got myself downstairs, and sat down in the dank dark basement by the door to read what the note had to say. “Happy Halloween, hope you like the smell of dead kids, dead wives, and dead me.” I was freaked out; until I noticed the handwriting on the page could have been mistaken from mine. I could have been accused for murder. I new I then needed to then take the bodies and hide them. But how? My wife was still outside in the car. I had to send her away. I walked as calmly as I could out the door, and looked as least suspicious as I could, so I could face my wife and not tell her what had happened.

“Hey, Hun? I’m kind of worried about the kids, this year; he said were, were not having any party, and had called everyone else, but must have forgotten us. Umm ya.”

“Hmm? Really? Well, yes, I do feel a little worried bout the children, and that girl we hired didn’t look too reliable. I guess we can go and find them.”

“Well, actually I was thinking of you walking there, I mean, they are probably pretty close, and I’ll drive the car home.”

“Well, I guess I could use some working out, I’ll walk, you get home safely, ok?”

“Ok.” Later I found out she had been able to tell something was terribly wrong, and she should just stay out of it. She was right. I had four dead bodies to carry away, and somehow hide, so I wasn’t charged for manslaughter. I had sat inside to think, when I smelt the smell coming from upstairs. It smelt like garbage. GARBAGE DUMP. It would work. I could bring them to a landfill, bury them, and no one would know. The problem would have two parts. One, I would have to touch my dead friend, and two I would have to get him and his family into my car, bring them there, bury them, and somehow get rid of the smell in my car.

I found the touching my old friend easy, I just thought of him as my old enemy in high school, Ben. I hated him and always wished he would die. That bad karma got back to me I guess, as I carried the dead Mort to my car. His family was not so easy; I couldn’t help but think of how they actually died. He murdered them of course, but why? I thought of this on my way to the fill, will the windows rolled down. It was about 11 o’clock when I got there. I had stolen a shovel from their garage so I could give them a six foot deep bed. It didn’t look comfortable, but what would they care, they wouldn’t be able to feel it; though I kind of did feel bad for not getting them a coffin, but I couldn’t, it would be too risky; a thief and a murderer! No thank you. I buried them, all in the same grave, I had no time. The digging of that one grave and placing them there, AND filling it up had taken me to 12.

“May they rest in Peace.”

I left, and never planned to return. I went to the gas station to buy one of those car fresheners, and some paper towels to clean up the blood. I went home when I heard of it on the news.

“Local Town Resident Mortimer Bore has gone missing, along with his wife and children. Police say there was a trail of blood leading to what they think was a car, where they had gone away. Police are currently investigating this case, and we will have more news on it later.”

They would find out it was me later on that night. They took me in for questioning, where I told them the truth. For some odd reason they believed me, for everyone knew Mort, and new he would go to any lengths to scare his friends. I was let off without any record or anything, just sorrow remarks; And a promise that we will tell no one except our immediate family of the true death of the family. I had done that and only that until now, where I am telling you the reader. Mort’s family was later dug up and put through the burial services by his church, while Mort wasn’t accepted from the church for his suicide. He still lays there in the Fill, waiting for you, the reader, to go visit his grave.


Now, that was a great story and all, boss, but it was semi depressing. Of coarse we are different than any other newspaper because we tell true stories that are also interesting, but I would like a chance to write something on the lighter side. No, I wouldn’t like to write anything on lighters and drugs or anything, )you take everything too literally), just I don’t know, maybe something on Care bears and why girls 16 years of age still like them. I mean, we need something new to write about, don’t you think Mort?