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Bucky Goes to Church [MultiFormat]
eBook by Robert Devereaux
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$0.75 |
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$0.64 |
eBook Category: Horror
eBook Description: Vernon Stevens, a pimpled adolescent carrying an automatic weapon and a lifelong grudge, decides he has suffered quite enough abuse from a community of nasty adults and kids who shame him every chance they get. So one Sunday morning, he bikes his way over to the First Methodist Church to mete out justice at last, only to discover a most unexpected intimacy between mass murderers and God the Father.
eBook Publisher: Fictionwise.com, Published: MetaHorror, ed. Dennis Etchison, 1992
Fictionwise Release Date: July 2006
Available eBook Formats [MultiFormat - What's this?]: Adobe Acrobat (PDF) [188 KB], eReader (PDB) [32 KB], Palm Doc (PDB) [19 KB], Rocket/REB1100 (RB) [17 KB], Microsoft Reader (LIT) [79 KB] - PocketPC 1.0+ Compatible, Franklin eBookMan (FUB) [92 KB], hiebook (KML) [95 KB], Sony Reader (LRF) [43 KB], iSilo (PDB) [16 KB], Mobipocket (PRC) [20 KB], Kindle Compatible (MOBI) [47 KB], OEBFF Format (IMP) [28 KB]
Words: 5583
Reading time: 15-22 min.
Microsoft Reader (LIT) Format: Printing DISABLED, Read-Aloud ENABLED
Adobe Acrobat (PDF) Format: Printing DISABLED, Read-Aloud ENABLED
All Other formats: Printing DISABLED, Read-aloud DISABLED
 
His real name was Vernon Stevens but folks called him Bucky on account of his teeth and his beaverish waddle and well, just because it was such a cute name and he was such a cute little fat boy, nothing but cuddles in infancy, an impish ball of pudge in childhood, primed to take on the role of blubbery punching bag in adolescence.
Kids caught on quick, called him names, taunted him, treated him about even with dirt. Bucky smiled back big and broad and stupid, as if he fed on abuse. The worst of them he tagged after, huffing and puffing, arms swinging wildly like gawky chicken wings, fat little legs jubbing and juddering beneath the overhang of his butt to keep up with them. "Wait up you guys," he'd whinny, "no fair, hey wait for me!" They'd jeer and call him Blubberbutt and Porky Orca and Barf Brain, and Bucky just seemed to lap up their torment like it was manna from heaven.
But, hey wuncha know it gang, somewheres in Bucky's head he was storing away all that hurt: the whippings at home from his old man's genuine cow-leather belt, a storm of verbal abuse stinging his ears worse than the smack of leather on his naked ass; the glares and snippery from his frowzy mama, she of the pinched stare, the worn, tattered faceflesh, the tipple snuck down her throat at every odd moment; the bark of currish neighbors yowling after him to keep his sneaks off their precious lawns; teachers turning tight smiles on him to show they didn't mind his obtuse ways, Bucky'd get by okay if he did his best, but they'd be triple goddamned if they were going to go out of their way to help him; and the kids, not one of them daring to be his friend (Arnie Rexroth got yanked out of first grade and shuffled off to Phoenix so he didn't count), all of them coming around quick enough to consensus, getting off on taking the fatboy's head for a spin on the carousel of cruelty, good for a laugh, a good way to get on with the guys, a great way to forget your problems by dumping them in the usual place--on Bucky Stevens's fat sweaty crewcut of a head.
Well one day, about the time Bucky turned fifteen, he woke to the mutterings of a diamond-edged voice inside his left frontal lobe. "Kill, Bucky, kill!" it told him, and, argue with it as he might, the voice at last grew stronger and more persuasive, until there was nothing to do but act on its urgings. So Bucky gathered all that hurt he'd been storing away and pedaled off to church one Sunday morning on his three-speed with his dad's big backpack tugging at his shoulders like a pair of dead man's hands. The weight of the hardware inside punched at his spine as he pedaled, though it was lighter by the bullets lodged in the bodies of his parents, who lay now, at peace and in each other's arms, propped up against the hot-water heater in the basement. He couldn't recall seeing such contentment on their faces, such a "bastard!"-less, "bitch!"-free silence settling over the house.
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