I'm fairly crazy.

I got the balls to admit that to you guys.

I can't exactly deny it after what I had just done moments earlier.


I always knew I was crazy...

...but I didn't know I was this fucking crazy.

Ol' browns were like saucers at the sight before me. Sweat seeped out of my palms as my hands shook. My breathing began to come out in rapid successions, as if somebody were squeezing the life out of my lungs. My first reaction was to try pulling away, but that was easier said than done. But how? How?! How can a deadman be so fucking strong?!


You read that right.

The motherfucker who grabbed my arm was the kid that I just killed.

Very same one.

For a moment I thought maybe I hadn't done a thorough enough job at offing him, but only for a short moment. I, Genghis Dillinger Boy, am a perfectionist to the very core. I don't just do a good job at tasks I have actual interest in doing; I do the best job. When I want to impress somebody, I make damn sure I do something that leaves them speechless. When I want to scare somebody, I rough them up until the very sight of me sends them into hysteria. When I want to kill somebody, I overkill them.

This kid was dead.


There ain't no way I failed in killing this guy.

No fucking way!

Blood drooled from his mouth as he stared at me with widened eyes. His fingertips dug real hard into my arm—it was more than likely going to leave a bruise. Once I realized pulling from his grip wasn't gonna work, I allowed myself to drop to my ass. Once down, I started kicking him as hard as I could.

Three kicks.


Four kicks.

He ain't making a sound; not even a grunt.

Five kicks.

He's still staring holes through me.

I finally said “fuck it” and stopped kicking him. Instead, I opted to just try prying him off my arm by pressing my foot into his side. I wanted to shout out him, but my ability to speak had left me temporarily for the second time today. Though this time, it was over a different kind of excitement.

You know, the kind of excited you get when a goddamn zombie attacks you!?

After pressing and pushing as hard as I could, his hand finally let go of my arm. Catching my breath, I quickly scooted backward against the wall of the bathroom. At first, he just looked over at me as I did this. He was still lying like a stone on the tiled floor, head lying in a small puddle of his life essence.

Then the bastard did the unthinkable.

He stood up.

First it was slow, raising himself up so he was kneeling. His movements reminded me of an old man trying to get out of bed to see if the garbage man had emptied the trashcan by his mailbox yet. However, as soon as he was facing my direction, he transformed from an old man to a healthy young athlete warming up to run a marathon. While staring me straight in the eye, he lunged at me.

My heart leaped out of my chest. “SHHH-IT!” I managed to squawk out while I reached inside my jacket. He stopped in front of me, close enough for his foot to barely graze my lower leg. I pulled Myra out and pointed her barrel right at his undead face. His facial expression, of course, didn't change. After all, you often lose the ability to use your muscles when you're dead.

He did, however, emit an eardrum-damaging shriek right at me.

I swallowed hard. Now I knew something otherworldly was happening. This was the kind of shit that happens to you when you're on a bad acid trip. However, I didn't use any sort of hard drugs today. I had either lost my entire grasp on reality, or God was proving to me once and for all that he was real. Which answer was more accurate...I wasn't too sure at this point. It ain't exactly everyday I get attacked by fucking dead people. But there was one thing I was sure about; times like this, I was incredibly grateful I still had good control over my bladder.

I cocked Myra's hammer and readied my finger on the trigger. The kid—or rather what was left of him—slowly lowered his head down a little. He was still looking at me, but I think he was trying to process the gun being pulled on him. Dead people, you know—their brains don't work too good anymore. Takes them a tad longer to realize something is happening.

Before I knew it, this goddamn corpse was laughing at me.

I shit you not.

Go ahead and shoot, boy. I'm sure the loud bang of a .45 won't pique anyone's interest!”

And he was a smart-ass.

Fucking beautiful.

“Y-Yeah?” was all I was able to get out for the time being. Hey now, don't you be judging me here. I may be a man of a million words, but even I can't think of a clever response to say to things like...this thing. I'd love to see you try and drop a bad-ass one-liner on this guy. And before you say “Bruce Campbell could do it, Genghis”, remember that that was a goddamn movie. This ain't no fucking movie, alright?

Aww, where's that sharp tongue of yours now? Did you accidentally swallow it while you sampled the blood of this poor boy?” I uneasily cocked an eyebrow at that question. He said “this poor boy”. Why would he say that?

“W-Who are you?” I croaked, desperately trying to find my voice again. He cackled loudly, mouth opening wide enough for gobs of blood to drop, splattering on the floor between my legs. “A messenger, boy.” Messenger? What did he...oh no.

Oh hell no.

Don't tell me this is some kinda divine intervention bullshit.

Try and “save me” from the path I'm on.

Fuck that jazz!

I ain't gonna have some decaying corpse tell me how to live my life!

I gritted my teeth at him, growling lowly. “Oh, don't you be puffing your chest out now. You're still on the floor, shaking in those shoes of yours!” Make one more wiseguy comment, asshole. This trigger finger of mine was aching to get some action. Who cares if somebody reports the shooting? Cops will get their hands on me again when I'm deader than you.

“What's your message?” I finally was able to say with at least a little confidence. He grinned wide, blood staining my victim's teeth. He spoke in a casual, but firm tone. “I know what's in store for you, Genghis.”

He knew my name, too.


“That is your name, is it not? Hard to believe, honestly; nobody in their own right mind would name their child after a blood-thirsty warlord.” Right you are, creepy zombie. My old man was never in his own right mind. “You know, it's often been said that the purpose of one's life is often found in their name. And you, dear boy, already seem to be well on the path of living up to your name.”

Glad he noticed.

“There is a place for people like you, Genghis Boy. A place where other...unique amongst each other.” I snorted, nerves starting to die as the acceptance of my own psychosis shined in the horizon. “Lemme guess; it's Hell, right?” This made him wail in laughter once again.

Aha! There's that spirit you possessed earlier!” Once his laughter ceased, he shook his head. “Not Hell, boy. That's reserved for you once you die. You, dear child, still have plenty of years ahead of you. I'm talking about a place here in the now.” He waved a hand and, almost immediately, I felt a sharp ache in my forehead.

The pain forced my eyes closed. Desperate to avoid a misfire, I slid my finger off Myra's trigger and clutched onto her stock for dear life. My free hand practically glued itself to my hurting temples. “What the hell, man?!” I growled through my teeth.

I didn't get an answer…

...from him.

Though black clouded my vision, I wasn't completely shrouded in darkness. I did see a light directly in front of me, though it wasn't very bright. It reminded me of a deserted road. All streetlights had busted bulbs save for one that was flickering like a dying firefly in front of somebody's house. I felt like this zombie bastard was trying to hint at something within my own mind, but at that moment the blinking light was the last thing I cared about.

The first thing I cared about was the man with his back to me.

I couldn't see his face, but his clothes already told me enough about him. He wore a teal coat that cut off just under his ass. His collar was popped, covering most of the back of his neck. Snazzy guy. I'd seen coats like that that came in all sorts of colors, but teal? He sported black dress pants, though he oddly enough opted to wear matching combat boots as opposed to an overpriced pair of oxfords.

This combination was interesting. The teal coat told me this guy wanted to show off to the world, but the boots told me that it wasn't all for show. He wanted to stand out—be different and recognizable—but he didn't want to get that way solely by being pretty. This guy was a fighter, willing to knock a few heads in to get his way.

To top it all off, he wore one of those fancy black fedoras with the white middle. I ain't talking about one of those cheap, store-bought fedoras either; I mean one of those big ones that basically every Italian gangster wears in the movies. I would say this guy had a need to shield his face from others as to keep the mystery of his character, but that would completely contradict the point of the teal coat, now wouldn't it? Nah, this guy wasn't afraid to show people his face. My guess? He grew up loving the old-timey gangster flicks that his old man hoarded like a junkie. Call this particular choice in fashion a homage to his youth...the few parts of his youth he actually enjoyed, anyway.

This guy was most definitely in the mob.

And I identified with him on so many levels that my chest hurt.

And wouldn't you know it—before I could even think long enough to become obsessed with this man, he turned around to look at me.

Guess who it was.

Just fucking guess.

Under the flickering spotlight inside my head, he flashed me a sly grin—handsome wink included for no extra charge. He held out a finger and motioned for me to come close. Unable to resist the charms of this sexy beast, I joined him to soak under the electric candle light. He put a hand on my shoulder and I was on Cloud Nine.

After all, who wouldn't fall in love with somebody as mesmerizing as Genghis Dillinger Boy?

Yeah, don't pretend you didn't know that that was who I was talking about.

I looked me in the eye, waiting for any words of wisdom I could take home from this entire experience. I know me too well, apparently; because I then smiled again and mouthed something at myself. Granted, my lips moved way too quickly for me to be able to read them. “What?” I asked myself. I repeated the same thing again, this time a little slower. But I still didn't catch what I was saying.

“I ain't followin',” I responded with, confused as to what I was trying to say. I repeated myself again, and this time I was able to make out the word “Casa”...but not the rest of it. Casa...home and/or house. I apparently felt like talking to myself in Italian today. No matter, this is what my grandparents on my dad's side of the family trained me for all those years ago; to be able to have a conversation with myself inside my head. “La casa nostra?” I asked myself, only to be met with myself slapping—err—my...ugh.

This shit's too confusing.

I'm just gonna to refer to other me as “Genghis Two”, alright?

Genghis Two shook his head and, this time, mouthed the phrase “I ain't tawlkin' in Italian, jackass” quite clearly. Um, what did he mean “I ain't tawlkin' in Italian”? Casa is an Italian word! Granted, other European languages probably use it too, but I (he/we) only know two goddamn languages. What was Genghis Two playing at? I groaned loudly and circled my hand around, signaling to him that I was sorta in a fucking hurry and wanted my goddamn answers. I love me, I swear I do; but sometimes I'm kind of a dick.

Genghis Two sighed. “Alright. Lemme say this one more time so your slow ass can comprehend.ño.” I shrugged, now beginning to grill him a little. “The fuck does “Casa do Diaño” mean?” He bit his bottom lip, now grilling me. “Does it fuckin' matter? It's the only place you can go now!”


What're you tawlkin' about?”

He didn't respond; he just grilled me for a good while before he finally vanished along with the flickering light into the darkness of my eyelids.

My own eyes finally opened, but I wasn't where I expected to be. Well, I mean, I was...but I wasn't. I was still in the gas station bathroom, but I wasn't against the wall anymore. Instead, I was now crouching down, holding a wad of bloody paper towels in my right hand. At my feet, I noticed the blood from my victim was completely absent.

Huh, saves me the cleaning job.

Quickly, I reached inside my jacket to see if I still had Myra on me. Luckily she was still there, but was she safe? I pulled her out and heavily inspected her. Her hammer was decocked—hallujuah—and, after opening up her cylinder, I saw that none of her shots had been wasted. I stuffed her back into my jacket and sighed in relief; my babygirl was okay.

Examining my surroundings, I looked around for the freaky corpse douche to see if he was watching me from somewhere. After a moment, I found him on the can. He wasn't moving any nor was he looking at me; he was just sitting there, still as a statue as his half-open eyes just stared off into space.

Finally, he was dead like he should've been all along.

But that serenity could only last so long when a knock suddenly sounds on the bathroom door.

“Um, G-Genghis? You okay, buddy?” I nearly choked at hearing Paul's wimpy voice at the door. I quickly rushed over to the trashcan and threw the bloody paper towels away. “Uhum—fuck off, Paul. I'm busy!” Paul made the hasty response as I practically slid over to the deadman's stall. “I-I'm sorry, dude! It's just—Heidi—you know—she's worried. You've been in there a while now.”


Should've known.

“Tell 'er I'll be out in a second, alright?” I shouted as I got on my back, shut the stall door, and reached my hand up to turn the lock. Giving a quiet sigh of relief at the lock connecting successfully, I slid out from the stall and got back to my feet. Paul, always the doting boyfriend, didn't give up there. “I don't think she'll be okay with that answer, dude. She's really worried about you! Your sister really—”

Step-sister, Paul,” I corrected impatiently, “no blood relation whatsoever. Get it right.” I knew Paul wasn't gonna leave me alone until I came out of that bathroom. So, to make the trip seem at least a little believable, I stepped up to the urinal the kid had used earlier and unzipped. Can't have me spend all this time in here and then suddenly have to go at the park, right? The lovebirds would get a little too suspicious.

And boy did I have excellent timing in making this last second decision.

As soon as I got started, the door came open. I looked over my shoulder and, sure enough, Paul came slowly creeping in to check up on me. I immediately noticed the rolled up tissue in his left nostril. I snickered, proud of my handiwork.

“Oh, uh...oh. I-I see you are busy,” Paul said in response to seeing me. I raised my eyebrows at him, half shrugging. “Yeah. You wanna watch or somethin'?” He shook his head. “Um—uh—no, that's okay. I'll just, um, tell her you're finishing up.” I lifted one hand up to wave him off.

As soon as he left, I my hand returned to its original task as I let out a loud sigh of relief. “Eventful” wouldn't even begin to describe the day I'd had so far. Hell, I wasn't even sure how to describe the feeling I had after all of this! Should I be worried that I've completely lost my mind? Should I be curious as to what this mysterious place known as Casa do Diaño is? Where is it, even? Why ain't I ever heard of it before? Was this place even real?

Shit, why am I asking you? You're probably still shitting yourselves over me killing that kid. You're probably thinking, “Genghis, you fuckin' moron. You're a murderer. Ain't you at least a little wawrried that you'll get caught?” Eh, the thought's crossed my mind, sure. But, here's the thing: I sorta stopped giving a shit about that once a fucking zombie started talking to me. Funny how that works, right?

I needed the park now more than ever, guys. I had way too much shit speeding through my head. Perhaps a moment's peace would be enough to get me through the remainder of the day? True, goddamn Paul will probably opt to go to the park with me and Heidi, but so what? Fuck 'im. He's insanely irrelevant in the long scheme of things.

Once my stream died, I gave myself two shakes before zipping back up. I walked over to the sink and ran my hands under the warm water for a moment. After turning off the sink, I grabbed a paper towel and dried my hands. Then I left the bathroom to return to Heidi and her boytoy.

The day is just another day.

The day is just another day.


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About the author


  • Just Your Everyday Maniac

Bio: Writer, Teacher, Reader, Traveler, Film/Music/Video Game Enthusiast, Professional Cat Petter

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