Hellz Bellz
By Randy Chandler

Because her mouth was taped shut, she did her pleading with her eyes, but the two men with demonic faces regarded her as little more than a piece of meat--or a hog for slaughtering. But that wasn't quite right. Hogs weren't crucified before they were slaughtered, and Candace was crucified, her feet and hands nailed to the hardwood floor with rusty spikes, arms outstretched like Jesus on the cross. The pain had been fierce at first, but now her wounds were mostly numb, and for that small blessing she was thankful. The lowlife demons were arguing with each other. That was good, wasn't it? As long as they were bickering, they weren't inflicting new torture on her exposed body, naked except for the nun's wimple on her head. What kind of sick game were these perverts playing? Why were they doing this to her? Her mind skipped back to her earlier thoughts of devil worship. She'd seen enough horror movies to know that Satanists often perverted Christian rituals and purposefully stood symbols of the church on end, like turning a cross upside-down. Maybe that was what this was all about. Maybe they were using her as a twisted version of the Holy Mother. That was probably why they'd called her unholy mother. Did that mean they intended to kill her baby? Or did they want to cut it out of her womb in hopes of keeping it alive for some other satanic ritual? If taken now, the infant wouldn't be too premature to survive, if these horrible men knew how to do a Cesarean. She made herself concentrate on what they were saying, hoping to learn something--anything--that might help her understand what was happening to her and give her an edge on escaping this madness.

Their voices, dirty as if dripping some putrid sludge of low places, wrapped around her and made her hear the words they were making.

"The fuck do you care?" snarled the one called Shades. "Don't mean shit."

"The guy ain't even human," Woofer said. "What happens when he's through with us? We're dead meat, that's what. I'm tellin' ya, man."

"Aw, bullshit, you fat pussy."

"Say what you want, I wish we'd never hooked up with the man. If he is a man. I mean, what the fuck's he doing now? We're down here doin' the dirty work and he's--what?--yanking his wang up in the fuckin' belfry? Sheeit."

"Better watch your fucking mouth," Shades warned. "He hears that shit, you are dead meat."

"And what's with that goddamn bell?" Woofer wasn't backing off. "Bong, bong, bong, Jesus, that shit's gettin' on my nerves big time."

"He ain't doing it. It's ringing itself. You saw it with your own eyes. Don't that tell ya something?"

"Tells me we're in deep shit. We oughta split right now, 'fore it's too late."

Shades jabbed his finger like a knife against Woofer's big belly. "I'll split you wide open if you don't get on the stick. And don't tell me you ain't got the balls for this shit. Five minutes ago you was slobbering all over yourself to get started on the bitch."

"It ain't that. It's just...I don't feel right. The guy scares me. Like he's doing something to us. I don't trust the fucker."

"We ain't gotta trust him. I don't trust nothing but them greenbacks with 'In God We Trust' on 'em. The dude's weird, sure, but his money's the right color. That's all you got to worry about. Now crack that cunt's belly and snatch the bambino."

Candace didn't believe it. Couldn't believe it. This was too horrible to be happening. She was having a whale of a nightmare, probably brought on by her out-of-whack hormones, some sort of pre-partum psychosis. She would wake up any second now in her bed, the ceiling fan making lazy circles above her, Brad beside her, his morning hard-on pressing against her hip, and she would reach down to caress it until he came all the way awake and he would kiss her breast and say, "Mornin', sweet mama." Then she would tell him about the weird dream she'd been having and he would comfort her and tell her everything was all right.

"You sure you know how to do it?" Shades said.

"Fuck yeah," said Woofer. "I told ya, I used to be an OR tech. I seen plenty of 'em. It ain't that complicated."

"Go ahead, Doctor Death. Get this shit over with."

"Where ya goin'?"

"Outside. I ain't gonna watch this shit. Not with that fucking bell banging my brain."

"Now who's the pussy?"

"Fuck you," Shades said on his way up the stairs.

Ignoring the parting shot, Woofer turned back to Candace and smiled at her.

Her eyes went wide. No way was she dreaming this. She could smell the fat man's body odor, smell her own fear.

"Okay, titty mama," he said. "Don't worry, you won't feel a thing."

Then he put a piece of cool cloth over her nose, and she breathed a sharp chemical smell that made her gag against the duct tape. The world, already reduced to the candle-lit cellar, shrank down to a single, hazy flame, haloed like the Savior's head, then the flame went out, and so did she.

***

"See?" Josh pointed his knobby finger at the small band of freaks arrayed in odd formation in front of the old church. "Just like I said."

"God," said Brenda, "what planet are they from?"

"What graveyard, is more like it," said James, anxiously squeezing the spray-can of paint in his fist.

"We're not going over there," Barb said. "They look dangerous as hell."

"Did Halloween come early?" Brenda asked with mock sincerity. She moved closer to James.

"Tattoos R Us," Josh guffawed. He drained the last of his water, then tossed the empty plastic bottle on the ground.

"That's one way to beat the heat," James quipped, trying to hide his fear behind his wit.

"Come on," said Josh. "Let's go talk to 'em. Ask 'em what the hell they're doing here."

"I don't know, man." James was reluctant to step out of his front yard. Walking up to a bunch of naked, tattooed whack-jobs didn't seem like a good idea on a wild night like this. In the sodium-vapor light their skin-etched wounds looked almost real, but of course that wasn't possible, because a nobody with such grievous wounds would be walking around like these odd dudes and dudettes, standing there before the church in human configuration symbolic of secret geometries no one else understood and mumbling incoherent chants like those Hari Krishna guys used to do at airports and bus stations. Maybe, mused James, they were a new band of Krishna freaks, some offshoot branch of the old, a new breed of religious zealots steeped in the philosophies of the far-out Far East and spiritually twisted to the point of believing mutilation would bring them closer to God…or maybe they belonged to some death cult like those radical Muslims who wanted to kill all Infidels-especially Americans. Whoever the fuck they were, James didn't want to approach them. They were bad news, probably as dangerous as they looked. But the really odd thing was, they seemed to belong to the sound of the ringing bell. It was as if the bell had summoned them, as if they had been waiting for the summons and knew all about it--were somehow a part of it.

"C'mon, man," said Josh. "You ain't wimping out, are ya? This was your idea."

Brenda looked at him with cocked eyebrows that said: Where are your balls?

Barb looked with longing at the Poon Tang Cruiser, no doubt wishing it was taking her home and away from this madness.

James took a deep breath that hurt his chest. "Okay. Let's go."

Despite his outward bravado, Josh hung back and let James go first, followed by Barb and Brenda. As they crossed the street, James counted the freaks. There were twelve of them, six males and six females. All naked, all bearing bizarre skin art. They were standing in a formation that resembled a figure eight-the sign for infinity. Chanting in a language James didn't recognize.

"I don't like this," Barb said in a loud whisper.

"Duh," said Brenda. "You don't like anything."

"Shut up," spat Josh.

James hailed the band of tattooed freaks. "Hey, what's up?"

A tall man with a skull etched in the skin of his face turned toward them. He held up his hand and the chanting abruptly stopped.

"Oh shit," said Barb.

"What're you guys doing?" James asked, trying to sound casual and innocently curious. He wished he were back in his den, sticking it to Brenda. His heart pounded a marching cadence on his eardrums.

A dozen sets of eyes fixed on James. Skull Face grinned and said in a rich baritone, "The Lord's work, brother."

James nodded.

Barb muttered, "More like the devil's work."

"Those are some bad-ass tattoos," said Josh, coming to stand beside James. "Are they, like, part of your religion?"

A big-breasted woman with a tattoo of a flayed abdomen on her midsection broke formation and walked toward them, tits bouncing. "The world of flesh is illusion," she said, smiling. "When the time comes, these ink wounds will become real."

"Uh-huh," said Josh, drawing back a little.

Gaining confidence, James said, "What's up with that bell? Is that why you're here?"

Skull Face fondled his sagging genitals. "Heaven rings its bell, the Lord's truth to tell."

"One of your guy's ringing it?" asked James, though he knew better.

Skull Face grinned again. "Don't you get it, brother? No human hand rings Heaven's bell."

"Don't you get it?" said James. "That bell's making people crazy. Don't you know what's happening in this town? People are killing each other."

"God's will," said Big Tits. "Their sins are made flesh."

James didn't like these freaks. They were too close to his home and he wanted them to go away. "That ain't Heaven's bell," he said. "You ask me, it's hell's bell, turning this town into hell on earth."

"James," Barb hissed at his back. "Let's go. Leave these people alone."

Skull Face took a step closer to James. He wasn't grinning now. "That's blasphemy, friend," he said. "You best be careful now. This is the Night of the Bell."

James could feel his anger building. He wasn't sure what he was going to do or say next, and that scared him, but he knew it was going to be something outrageous to antagonize this band of freaks.

"So God wants people killing each other off?" Josh asked. "That's bullshit, man."

James moved. He strode past Skull Face and Big Tits and made straight for the front of the church. He started shaking the can of paint, the little metal ball inside rattling with angry rhythm.

The bell tolled.

He felt the freaks' eyes on his back. His fear and uncertainty were gone. This was his town, his street, and he was one righteous dude. He was going to strike a blow for sanity and against these psycho outsiders gathered on the lawn of the abandoned church.

He pulled the plastic top off the can and threw it on the ground. He started as high as he could reach on the stone wall to the right of the door. He sprayed with flair, making big sweeping letters in red. When he was done, he turned to the audience and gestured grandly at his handiwork. "That's what it is," he told them.

They all stared at James's bold graffiti: HELLz BELLz.

Josh shouted: "You rawk, Slim Jim!"

"Hell of a speller," said Brenda, giggling.

Skull Face stalked James, his cock and balls swinging like fruit rotting on the vine. "Blasphemer!" he screamed.

Big Tits followed her leader. "Give me that can," she demanded.

"Fuck you, psycho," said James.

As soon as she was within range, she slugged him with a roundhouse left, but like most girls, she didn't know how to make a proper fist and the blow to the side of James's head didn't hurt-it just made him madder. He held the can of paint in front of her face and sprayed. She yelped as a mist of red paint coated her face and went in her mouth. She sputtered and coughed.

Skull Face tried to grab the can away but James gave him a good shot of paint in the eyes.

"Run!" Josh hollered.

The other naked freaks had broken formation and were closing on James. They quickly boxed him in, cutting off any escape route. With his back to the stone wall of the church, James held the can of spray paint like a weapon, menacing them with it. "Come on, motherfuckers," he taunted, "I got some for all of you. Step right up."

A big man with disemboweled intestines tattooed on his potbelly said, "Deliver him to the Lord."

As the freaks advanced on him, two riders on roaring motorcycles sped from behind the church, crossed the edge of the lawn and zoomed up the street. One of them was morbidly obese, and the other was bald, sporting dark glasses.

"The Night Riders," someone exclaimed.

"God's Angels," someone else said.

James took advantage of the distraction and bolted forward. He knocked a skinny woman down and ran toward the street and his home on the other side.

He almost made it, but someone hit him from behind and dragged him to the ground. Then they were all over him, punching and kicking him mercilessly. A young woman with ulcerous sores etched all over her pale body took the can from him and sprayed his face. He choked on the aerosol fumes.