E-Mail IV

To: lilsis22@gmail.com, Kansas State University

Abel Dormitory, 12/10/2010

Hey, Lil Sis.  Sorry I didn’t get to write back to you sooner but there’s been so much going on around here it’s ridiculous.  I’ll try to catch you up, but I have a final to study for that goes down Monday and, suffice it to say, this week has been pretty much a complete waste of time.

So Amra, that’s that girl’s name that we found, she’s still here.  I know what you’re thinking, but seriously, I haven’t even tried to get in her pants once.  You won’t believe the story she told me.  And we checked this shit out.  It’s all true, but brace yourself.  It sounds like something out of that Shelley guy’s[13] “Bride of Frankenstein” book.

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[13] Clearly alluding to the fact that he’s blatantly sexist.  “Idiot’s Guide to Sexism (and how not to do it).”  Page 11
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So all day yesterday, Amra was pacing back and forth looking out dorm window and stuff.  Now, I couldn’t let her go outside just yet.  She was still kind of weak, kind of wobbly and it was even colder yesterday than it was the day before.  So, after trying for literally two hours, I finally convinced her to just sit down, have some hot cocoa and Kahlua and tell me her story.  She’s asleep now, and technically I’m sworn to secrecy, but I figure, what’s the point in keeping things from my younger sister, right?

After we got to chatting it quickly became clear to me that she was smart.  A lot smarter than most of the dudes that I’m stuck hanging out with on this dorm floor and so our conversation ranged quite a ways.  But you know how you can tell sometimes when I’m holding back some of the story from you and Mom so I don’t get bitched at?  She was acting like that.  I just knew that she was holding something back.

Finally, yesterday right before lunchtime she sat down, sighed and looked at me with those piercing green eyes that she has and said, “You have been very kind to me.  I was not sure that I would survive the storm.  The beast that I pursued was my creation and I had determined to take the story I am about to tell you to the grave.  But since you have pulled me from death’s grasp I feel, now, inclined to share my tale with you.”

I was pretty sure she was going to reveal she was an escaped convict or something.  I mean, if you could’ve seen her face, Jess, it was seriously spooky.  She could tell I wanted to interrupt with questions, but I did my best not to force things.

She determined that she would have some more Ramen noodles[14] and then we would talk about her story.  Here’s most of it, the way she told it to me.  You know I have a bad memory, but this is as good as I can remember it.

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[14] The #1 food for starving college students.  Forbes Magazine, Issue #134 Page 29
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Chapter I

I am by birth a– [15]

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[15] Heavy drinking can inhibit short term memory.  “I Told You So.”  By Everyone’s Mother  Page 200
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Shit. . .I’ve already forgotten what she said.  She was from some country in, wherever Russia used to own over there.  I’m thinking Serbia, or Croatia.  Damn, I knew this would happen.  I didn’t want to take notes or anything and now I’ve totally screwed it up.  I even had the official looking “Chapter I” thing up there with Roman Numerals and everything.  Anyway, she had an article on her in the student newspaper.  Just got to http://dailynebraskan.com and type in Amra Bektic.  It’ll pop up and tell you everything.

Let’s see, I’m just going to skip ahead to the interesting, and way less sad, part of her life.  Essentially, her parents died and she wanted to bring them back.  She was a genius and began some experiments in her lab.  Blah, blah, blah[16].  She failed at “curing death.”  But here’s where it really gets interesting.

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[16] A poor-listening idiots way of moving a story along.  “Roget’s Book for Bad Listeners.”  Page 388
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Check out the Roman numerals again.  I’m going to kick back over to first person, so hang on.

 

Chapter II

So after I became a professor at the University, at the ripe age of 24, I decided that perhaps I had been taking the wrong approach to finding a way to stop death from closing its teeth down on its victims.  I needed to find fresh bodies to work with.

I didn’t kill the first one.  Or even do anything bad to him really.  He was just a stupid frat boy that wouldn’t leave me alone.  On Thursday night’s I like to go down to Iguana’s pub and have a few vodka martinis and listen to the idiots try to sing karaoke there.

I sat down in a booth in the back of the bar, not doing anything wrong or doing anything to grab attention.  But somehow a young boy, not more than 21 years old, kept coming over to me and trying to buy me drinks.  He was incorrigible.  Finally he sat down across from me, uninvited mind you, and said, “What’s the matter, you can’t hold your liquor little girl?[17]

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[17] Noted by Esquire: Men’s Magazine as the #35 Worst Pickup Line of All Time, Issue #14 Page 22
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“Little girl?!?”  I responded, knowing that my IQ was higher than his SAT score.  “Make it a vodka shot.”

Well he must’ve forgotten that where I come from vodka is like mother’s milk to us.  He kept challenging me and I kept having him order shot after shot.  Finally, after enough vodka to make anyone look like Brad Peet[18] (is that how you say his name?), we decided to go back to my place.

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[18] Presumably, Brad Pitt.  Generally regarded as a man-babe by many women.
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But on the way he wanted to stop off and see my lab.  We stumbled back into the laboratory and broke out my special stock of vodka there too.  We kept drinking and drinking.  The next day I woke up without remembering where I had come from.  And the boy, he was on the floor dead.  I picked him up and tried to find out if there was some place I could take him but all he had on his shirt were Greek[19] symbols.

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[19] A symbol of a man/woman in a fraternity/serority.  http://www.unlgreeksystemstuff.com
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I’m not sure why, but I decided that I could not turn myself in.  He must’ve drunk himself to death.  After all, we Bosnians know how to hold our liquor and he shouldn’t have challenged me.  I could not get deported, arrested, or lose my fellowship at the University so I did what many others would have done.  Kept the body and decided to use it in my scientific experiments.

 

Chapter III

 I quickly discovered that in order to raise the dead I first needed to get enough viable parts.  The boy from the fraternity wasn’t enough.  His body only held a few viable organs since he had been dead for so long.  However, fortune smiled upon me a mere 4 days later.

As I returned from my nightly walk I noticed a skateboarder across the street.  He seemed to not be very good at skating, despite wearing the outfit of one that is a professional.  His pants were, how do you say?, the skinny[20] jeans and were too tight.  They seemed to cut off the circulation to his legs and maybe his foot fell asleep but whatever the reason for his being terrible at riding his expensive skateboard, he skated into an intersection and quickly lost his balance.

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[20] Pants designed to hug the male anatomy extremely tightly, grossing out many including utterly un-famous author, Chris Hatch.  “My Biography: Broke and Hating it.” Chris Hatch  Page 1
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He was struck by a truck head-on and crumpled in a heap.

The truck sped away, tires squealing and fake plastic testicles on the trailer hitch swinging in the night air.  I was shocked.  Here was a fresh body for my tests.  I lifted his scrawny frame with the strength of one with a true purpose.  He was light, having undoubtedly been subsisting solely on coffee and nicotine alone for the last few days.

It was truly shocking to walk past a homeless man on the ground.  I checked him as well and, I truly found fate to be with me, for he was surely dead as well.  Then, however, I realized that he was poor and that it is scientifically proven that poor people have absolutely no redeeming qualities whatsoever[21] and are, in truth, as good as dead even with oxygen filling their wretched lungs.  So I left the man there and continued on my way.

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[21] Lie.  http://lie.lie.lie.com
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As I got him to the lab I was able to piece him together with the body of the other boy.  My years of training and preparation had not fully given me the right set of tools for this moment.  I sewed with shaking, joyous hands.  I stitched with speed, rather than skill and quickly had my creation ready for the final touches.

 

Chapter IIII

I rigged up my high-powered equipment, which I will spare you the technical details of for your own sake, and threw the switch with a cackle that slipped unbidden from my lips.  Thousands upon thousands of volts coursed through the creature’s body.  I shudder to think now what the Dean of the department will do when he gets the power bill.

Thankfully, I had enough extension cords and surge protectors to continue sending volt after volt into the creature.  Finally, I saw the hand twitch.  The hand that had once belonged to the fraternity boy seemed to be moving on its.

“Give me fiiiiiive![22]”  I shouted, knowing that the true test of a frat boy’s hand would be an over-excited high five.  “Give me fiiiiiiiive!!!!”

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[22] Believed to be the new-age version of the famous “It’s Alive!” Scream.  “Frankenstein V.S. Drankenstein.”  Alex Smythe  Page 2
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The hand leapt skyward, with such great rapidity that it shocked me.  I slammed into mine as hard as if Nebraska had just scored a game winning touchdown.  With a nervous trepidation I looked to the other hand.  The one that had once belonged to the poorly-skating skateboarder.  It slowly curved up into a hand sign that, at the time I didn’t know.  I came to learn that this sign means “hang loose” in the surfing culture of western society.

 

Chapter IIIII

The creature rose slowly, its pallid skin shining in the light of my I-pad, Macbook Pro, I-Phone, and I-Pod.  I wasn’t sure of my next step, so I posted a new status update to my “Mad-Sciface Book” account then settled into how to acclimate the beast to its new life.  By piecing it together, I had stretched out the creature to a grotesque size.  It’s polo shirt was tattered and stretched, even though the beast quickly popped the collar to its full height.

Its pants, which were previously way too tight, were tighter still.  The beast didn’t seem to notice any of this.  Instead it reached its hands over, shakily picking up a Monster energy drink off the table, popped its top and tentatively took a drink.  It licked its lips and sighed contentedly.  The beast then chugged the entire can down and attempted to crush it on its own head.

This shocking and barbaric act seemed to pain the beast as it merely drove the can into its freshly stitched hairline and caused itself a great deal of pain.  Over the next few days it was all I could do to keep the creature inside my office.  It was, after all, a giant and had little room for it to roam.

The closest thing to a disaster occurred on the fourth day the creature was in captivity.  I was in the office of a colleague, whose respect I value greatly, and the beast decided to get on my computer and play some of my pirated music.  As I was in the midst of discussing the upcoming American elections, from my room I soon heard a song by your American artists Jon Bovi[23].  His song about being halfway there, that I like so much, was blasting on full volume.

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[23] Believed by experts to actually be referring to American pop singer, Bon Jovi.  http://www.bonjovi.com
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I dashed back just in time to stop the beast from firing into a full on karaoke version of the song which would have gotten us caught for sure.

 

Chapter III III(?) 6[24]

This brings us to the night when the beast escaped.  I could no longer hold him.  He discovered his voice, recently, and would not stop with his incessant insistence that we go “DT[25].”  I wasn’t sure where this was, but I refused to let him go anywhere.  Upon finding out that I would not allow him out for Happy Hour, he threw a wild, and dangerous, tantrum.

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[24] The author seemed to have struggled to figure out his Roman Numerals properly.  See: Footnote 15.
[25] Short for “Downtown.” Referring to the area of Lincoln, Nebraska where there is a row of bars.  Slang terminology only used by the people that go “DT” way too much.
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He said he was going to go, “ape shit, unless I get to eat the penny wings at Brother’s[26].”  Which I expressly forbid.  The weather was turning badly and he wouldn’t make it far in the snow.  But he would not listen to reason.  He kept sarcastically calling me “mother,” until I had enough and tried to tie him to a heavy cabinet with some wires.  He broke loose and bolted for the door.

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[26] Wednesday Nights!  Penny Wings!  Cheap pitchers and hot ladies from the Miller Lite Girls.  Ad courtesy of: http://brothersbarandgrill.com
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I fear that unless we find him, and soon, he will cause great harm to someone.  But I fear that I have no idea what bars are where in this maze of a city.  I don’t know what bar he would go to, what specials are at what bars and how we could find him in all of this.

E-Mail V

To: lilsis22@gmail.com, Kansas State University

Sent via Blackberry, 12/11/10

Hey, Lil Sis, just checking in one last time.  Can you believe that story?  Everything actually does happen for a reason.  Our carefully mapped out bar prospecting adventure has laid the groundwork to save lives.  We’ve already determined that the beast was at a skate park earlier today.  Apparently some of the losers hanging out there, even though it’s covered in snow, said they saw some huge guy try to get on a board but he broke it in half and stumped off swearing.

I’m pretty sure he’s at a bar called Mob Scene.  They have a drink called the torch and a karaoke contest featuring DJ Pitchfork that goes every Saturday night and we think that must be the beast’s kind of scene.  We’re going to try to head him off there.  Wish me luck, Lil Sis.  I have a feeling we’re going to need it.  I can hear the sounds of someone mangling “Don’t Stop Believing” so I’ll leave you with similar words.  Don’t stop believing.  Hold onto to that feeling.

Sincerely,

C.H.

FIN

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