Melt Read online

  Contents

  Copyright

  Other Works

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  A Few Words About 'Melt'

  About The Author

  First Edition

  Melt © 2019 by Christopher Motz

  All Rights Reserved

  Cover design by RDB Interactive, LLC

  This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author's imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  OTHER WORKS

  THE DARKENING - 'THE GREAT RIFT' BOOK ONE (2016)

  THE FARM - A NOVELLA (2016)

  PINE LAKES (2017)

  BROKEN - A NOVELLA (2017)

  THE PIGEON (with Andrew Lennon) (2018)

  THE TRAVELER - 'THE GREAT RIFT' BOOK TWO (2018)

  TENANTS (2019)

  ALSO APPEARING IN:

  COLLECTED EASTER HORROR SHORTS (2017)

  COLLECTED HALLOWEEN HORROR SHORTS (2017)

  100 WORD HORRORS: AN ANTHOLOGY OF HORROR DRABBLES (2018)

  COLLECTED CHRISTMAS HORROR SHORTS 2 (2018)

  100 WORD HORRORS PART 2: An ANTHOLOGY OF HORROR DRABBLES (2019)

  IN DARKNESS, DELIGHT: CREATURES OF THE NIGHT (2019)

  Chapter 1

  Three things happened to Greg Sullivan on the second Friday in May.

  First, he had the courage - or the profound stupidity - to ask Lizzie Gennetti on a date to see the newest Marvel superhero movie at the Silver Screen Cinema on Block Street. Lizzie came from money and generally thumbed her nose at anyone without a trust fund, but Greg wasn't one to let rumors and half-truths taint someone's image without finding out for himself. A hush descended over the halls of Ditchburn High School as his classmates awaited the obvious, and more-than-likely hilarious rejection. Not only did Lizzie accept his awkward proposal, but she offered a quick hug within spitting distance of dozens of shocked teenagers whose jaws dropped for all the right reasons.

  Second, Lizzie showed up on time and met Greg in front of the theater later that evening. Her father had dropped her off in a cherry-red Mercedes that appeared to have been recently driven off the showroom floor. The Grateful Dead boomed from the speakers as Lizzie's father tapped on the steering wheel and bobbed his head in time with the beat. He drove off as the music faded, leaving behind the faint scent of pot smoke.

  Once inside, Greg paid very little attention to his surroundings, focusing more on the way Lizzie's breasts pressed against the fabric of her sweater. She whispered an X-rated promise in his ear before getting up to use the restroom. For once, the rumors he'd heard around school had some merit.

  The wheels were set in motion.

  A sexual interlude of epic proportions awaited him, a final scene that would put the over-budget shit on the screen to shame.

  Last, Greg's dreams were dashed as he was forced to beat Lizzie to death with a metal garbage can in the parking lot as a brown, gelatinous blob of squealing muck turned her face to bloody pudding.

  In this case, 'two out of three ain't bad' no longer applied.

  ***

  Twelve hours earlier, Greg walked to school with his two best friends, Brandon and Jonas, and discussed the intricacies of teenage life. Brandon complained about his little sister, Denice, Jonas debated the differences between the Game of Thrones books and TV series, and Greg gossiped about stories he'd heard about their Science teacher's penchant for flirting with her students. It was nothing new for them; they'd been doing the same thing for nearly a decade.

  When Greg brought up his plan to ask Lizzie Gennetti on a date, his friends laughed and assumed he'd been experimenting with illegal drugs for breakfast.

  "I'm serious," Greg said. "What do I have to lose?"

  "For starters," Brandon said, "you'll look like a complete asshole in front of the entire school."

  "Not if she says yes."

  Jonas laughed so hard he tripped on the curb and almost fell face-first into a parking meter.

  "I don't see why it's so funny," Greg said, smoothing his hair with his hand. "I'm not that ugly, and I'm not stupid. It's not out of the realm of possibilities."

  "You also don't drive a BMW, or any car for that matter," Jonas said. "Do you think a girl like Lizzie Gennetti will let you put a hand up her shirt after you show up on your Schwinn?"

  "You're a dick," Greg said. "I don't see you taking any chances. You'll be a virgin until Armageddon."

  "No, I'm being realistic. You heard what she did to Sean Casey, right? Do you want that to be you?"

  Greg scoffed and turned away, watching a passing car full of drooling elementary school kids, driven by an angry looking woman with curlers in her hair and a cigarette poking from the corner of her mouth. He'd heard what Lizzie had done to Sean. Everyone in Ditchburn High had heard by now.

  Sean and Lizzie had been dating for a few weeks, and everyone assumed they would be the senior class power couple: good looks, fat wallets, the same circle of uptight friends. Sean was extremely vocal about their bedroom antics, giving many of the underclassmen vivid dreams of Lizzie's prowess in the sack. Sex wasn't the problem. Money was.

  After a night of frivolous spending - Sean's, not Lizzie's - they wound up at the steakhouse off Interstate 80. Sitting at the table, surrounded by bags of clothing and beauty products, Sean made the fatal error of misjudging Lizzie's appetite. When the bill came, all hell broke loose. When Sean halfheartedly pleaded to 'Go Dutch' on dinner, Lizzie dumped her water in his lap, grabbed her bags, and stormed out. With a wet crotch and bruised ego, Sean had to call his father to bail him out.

  The power couple had come to a quick and bitter end. Sean's bragging rights ended over a thirty-eight dollar prime rib.

  "I wouldn't take her somewhere if I couldn't afford it," Greg said. "I mean, how much can a girl like her eat? She's a hundred pounds soaking wet."

  "Take her to Burger King," Brandon said. "For that price at least you'll get to watch her walk away."

  "I can take her to a movie. She's into comic book stuff. She has a sticker of Wolverine on her locker."

  "No, she has a sticker of Hugh Jackman on her locker," Jonas said. "There's a big difference."

  "All I can do is ask," Greg said. "If she turns me down, is my standing among my peers really going to change all that much?"

  "No, you're pretty much at the bottom of the pile as it is."

  "And I think we're your only two friends," Brandon added.

  "My point exactly, and you know I don't give a shit what you have to say."

  ***

  The day dragged on forever.

  Greg sat in third-period Economics and watched Toby Moyer shake dandruff onto his desk before brushing it away and starting over. He'd gotten the nickname 'Snowy,' and for once, it was a completely appropriate moniker. Mrs. Benet had scolded him several times for this obsessive behavior, but Toby just kept on doing it... day after day, week after week. Toby was either oblivious or simply didn't give a shit. In Greg's eyes, Toby got points for nonconformity but lost them all for being a creepy asshole with bad hygiene.

  Third period became fourth, then fifth, and still Greg hadn't seen Lizzie in the hall. He wondered if she'd even come to school that day and quickly felt his chances slipping away. When he spotted her after lunch, his spirits
lifted. There was still a shot. Now that he knew she was here, he planned on meeting her at her locker after last period when everyone would be fighting to leave the building and not paying attention to him making a fool of himself. It was Friday afternoon. Everyone was in a good mood. Greg assumed his potential for success was as good now as it would ever be... or at least that's what he told himself as he approached her.

  "Uh, Lizzie. Hi," he stammered.

  "Hi... Greg? Right?"

  "You know me?"

  "Well, I know of you."

  It wasn't exactly the boost he needed. Greg knew of Joe Mettler... the kid who put a dead bird in Mrs. Solano's desk the previous week. Knowing of someone is a cheap way of saying 'I don't have a fucking clue who you really are.'

  "Do you think maybe we could catch a movie tonight? I mean, if you have something else to do, ya know, no biggie... just thought I'd ask, like if you're not busy... or whatever."

  Lizzie stashed several textbooks in her locker and checked her makeup in the mirror. Greg looked around nervously as other students watched the interaction. If Lizzie didn't say something soon, he knew he'd lose his nerve and disappear into the crowd. He didn't like attention, at least not that kind of attention. Lizzie, on the other hand, was used to it. She thrived on it. For her, it was as common as tying your shoes.

  "Sullivan, have you lost your mind?" The voice came from over his shoulder. He turned and saw Anya Peters drilling a hole in his back and grinning like a blond-haired goat.

  "Be quiet, Anya. Huh?"

  "You hoping the popular girls will want to date the kid from the other side of the tracks, is that it? A charity case? Bad boys gone wild?"

  "Bad boys? Would you get lost?" he said in a harsh whisper.

  Anya might have been pretty if she tried, but her biggest standout feature was a giant mole sitting right between her eyes, complete with several short strands of dark hair. He glanced at it and looked away. Being rude wasn't in his nature. Apparently, Anya didn't have that problem.

  "She'll never sleep with you, Sullivan. Why don't you go sniffing around the juniors? They're dumb enough to let you cop a feel."

  "Fuck off, Cyclops!" he shouted. He felt bad the second it crossed his lips, and even worse when Anya's eyes welled up with fresh tears. There was a scattering of laughter as she turned and fought her way through the growing crowd.

  "Wow," Lizzie said. "I guess you handled her."

  "No, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to say that."

  "Don't apologize to me. I hate that bitch. Her locker smells like a fucking fish tank."

  "Yeah, right. Uh, so what are you doing tonight?"

  "Well, since you asked so nicely, I accept your proposal."

  Greg was ready for a hard landing, but instead, he taxied down the runway like a seasoned pilot. At first, it didn't register.

  "So, wait... you're saying yes? You'll go out with me?"

  "That's what you wanted, isn't it? You asked and I answered. Yes, I'll go out with you."

  Greg turned and saw his own shocked face reflected in those of his classmates.

  Someone shouted, "Holy shit! That's going on YouTube!"

  Another started a slow clap like something from a cheesy 80s movie, but no one joined in and it quickly died.

  "Yeah. Okay. Great!" His tongue felt like Velcro. He swallowed and cleared his throat.

  "Close your mouth, Greg, you look like a retard," Lizzie said.

  Jeez. She has no filter at all, he thought. So far, it was the least attractive thing about her.

  "So, I guess I'll see you later."

  "Yep," she said as she slammed her locker and flipped her hair over her shoulder. "Meet me at the Silver at 7:00. Your treat."

  She leaned in for a brief bro hug and walked away before Greg had a chance to return the gesture. A few people cheered; a few others shrugged and went about their day. The excitement was over, at least for them. Greg felt like he'd just huffed a nitrous balloon at a Phish concert. In what rational world would Lizzie Gennetti agree to a date with Greg Sullivan?

  "I don't friggin' believe it," he said to himself.

  He left school with his head held high. Greg couldn't wait to see Brandon and Jonas so he could rub it in their faces. He was going out on a date with Lizzie fucking Gennetti!

  ***

  By 6:53, Greg started getting nervous.

  What if she doesn't show?

  What if it's all a joke to make me look like a fool?

  He watched other couples file into the theater and line up at the counter like well-trained consumers. He frowned and pulled out his wallet to make sure he'd brought enough money. Fifty bucks.

  What if she wants popcorn and a soda, or those disgusting chocolate raisins in the yellow box?

  Calm down, Greg. You have plenty of money. Don't panic.

  "Don't panic," he said aloud, getting a strange look from a passerby.

  Greg rarely talked to himself, and it wasn't a habit he wanted to adopt, especially on a busy sidewalk in front of a hundred people. He slowly inhaled and blew it out between pursed lips in an attempt to slow his heart rate. He couldn't remember a time when he felt this anxious. He was just glad there was no one there he recognized, no one to spread stories at school about Greg Sullivan mumbling to himself on a crowded sidewalk like a crazy wino.

  Forty-five seconds after checking his watch, he checked it again. It was an analog watch, a cheap one. He tapped the plastic cover over the face to make sure it was still working and cursed himself for not wearing his digital. As if he didn't feel stupid enough, he remembered his cell phone was tucked in his pocket. He removed it, checked the time, double checked his watch, and put the phone back in his pocket.

  Why did I wear a watch? Does anyone still wear a watch?

  Greg looked up and down Block Street just in case Lizzie was on foot. It would be just his luck to have her walk right past him without him noticing. He wished he would have asked for her phone number. At least then he could've made sure she was coming to the right theater. What if she'd gone to a different one? There was another small movie house two towns over with much softer seats and a better sound system.

  Goddammit! She said the Silver, right?

  Like a dummy, Greg looked up at the marquee to make sure he was in the right place, as if he could mistake the theater where he went every Christmas to see the annual showing of Die Hard.

  6:55.

  Greg was thinking about leaving. If her plan was to stand him up, he'd be able to salvage his ego by walking away and telling his friends he was the one who left her high and dry. That would be a much better story come Monday morning when Lizzie and her cheerleader buddies stood at their lockers giggling. He could just blow it off, pretend he never wanted to go out with her in the first place.

  Then what would happen if he left just in time for her to show up and find him absent? He would be the asshole that stood up Lizzie Gennetti. Why the hell was dating so confusing?

  When he heard the strains of 'Casey Jones' blaring from car speakers a block away, he thought nothing of it. Lizzie Gennetti... a Grateful Dead fan? Her father pulled up to the Silver and Lizzie hopped onto the sidewalk in a short skirt and fuzzy blue sweater. She waved to the man in the red Mercedes - who Greg assumed was well on his way to a mid-life crisis - and clopped over to Greg on heels that made her three inches taller.

  "You look nice," he said nervously.

  "Of course I do," she replied. "I know it's like sixty degrees outside, but I couldn't leave the house without this sweater. It cost me three-hundred bucks, but my boobs look great in it. Don't you think?"

  "Uh, yes. I mean no. Your boobs... your sweater is very nice. Yes."

  "Tongue-tied already? Do my boobs make you nervous or something?"

  "I don't know how to answer that..."

  An older woman passed and immediately gave Lizzie a condescending look.

  "What's wrong, grandma? Your old man doesn't flip your switch anymore?"

  "Okay then
," Greg interrupted. "Liz, are you ready to go in?" Anything to get her off the sidewalk.

  "Liz? My name is Lizzie. Liz-eee. Liz sounds like an old housewife wearing an apron and sweating over a pan of scrambled eggs. Or like a librarian." She shuddered to amplify her already-obvious repulsion.

  "Right. Sorry. Lizzie."

  "Much better. You learn quick."

  Greg bought two tickets at the box office and entered the lobby before looking at her questioningly and then turning to the counter.

  "What?" she asked. "Popcorn? Candy? Seriously? Do you think I look like this because I eat garbage all day? I'd rather choke to death."

  I'm starting to agree with you, he thought.

  How could he not have seen what a self-centered prig she was? Now that he thought about it, he couldn't remember ever hearing her speak to her uppity fanbase before. Is this who she really is? A teen comedy cliche?

  Once they filed into the theater and found seats near the rear wall, Greg eased himself a little closer so that his and Lizzie's arms were lightly touching. She didn't pay attention or make any move to back away, so he figured she was okay with it, but at the same time, she had her nose pressed up to the screen of her cell phone, laughing at some stupid meme her friends were all sharing. Greg wasn't a stranger to the social media trap. He'd fallen into it himself, but when he was hanging out with friends, he didn't feel a need to be connected to the crap happening on Facebook. He was here to see a movie... or maybe get a taste of Lizzie's chewing gum if that became an option.

  "Are you looking at my tits?" Lizzie asked.

  Greg didn't realize he was staring at her breasts until she brought it to his attention.

  "I wasn't... I'm sorry..."

  "Don't be such a baby," she said while pushing her chest out even further. "Do you think I wear tight tops because I don't want people to notice? Don't be so uptight. I've had these things since I was thirteen. I'm used to boys looking."

  "I don't want you to think I asked you out just for that," he said. "I mean, looks aren't everything."