Uncle Max

Posted: August 23, 2012 in Writing
Tags: , , , , , ,

“Uncle Max, what a character.”

That’s what Lawrence’s dad always said about Uncle Max. It wasn’t until his late teens that Lawrence understood what his father really meant.
“Uncle Max, what a dick.”

Uncle Max was the youngest and spent his time traveling the world pissing people off. He was so successful at it that someone killed him. Lawrence had just returned from the attorney’s office with the one thing Max had left him, a two hundred year old bottle of scotch.

Lawrence sat on the sofa, staring at the bottle that stood on his table. The TV news droned on in the background, he became aware of a slow but rising voice in his ear.

“Are you listening to me? Do you have an answer?” said the woman.

Lawrence pulled the Bluetooth earpiece out of his ear and looked at it. “I’ll have to call you back,” he said as he pressed the off button and threw the earpiece onto the other couch.

He leaned forward and took a closer look at the bottle. Two hundred years old, why the fuck would Uncle Max leave this to me? Lawrence got up, walked into the kitchen and grabbed a scotch glass out of the cabinet. He sat back down on the couch, and placed the glass next to the bottle. The phone rang. Lawrence glanced over, grabbed the phone and turned it off. He needed to figure this out. What was so special about this bottle of scotch?  Was this Max’s way of leaving him some money? Scotch this old must be worth something. Maybe this was Max’s way of fucking with him like he used to do when he visited. Lawrence grabbed the bottle and slowly turned it in his hands, looking for anything that looked wrong. He saw nothing.

Lawrence leaned back on the couch and closed his eyes. A minute later his eyes popped wide open. Fuck it. He grabbed the bottle and twisted the cap. The aroma of scotch filled his nostrils as he poured a glass. Lawrence picked up the glass and swirled it like a fine wine, watching the scotch wash up and almost spill out of the glass. He took a sip, held it in his mouth for a second, and then swallowed. A smile spread across his face, and he emptied the glass into his stomach. He filled the glass a second time and drank the scotch in one gulp. He let the ancient liquor linger in his mouth on the third and the fourth glass. While slowly drinking the fifth glass Lawrence noticed the bottle was a little more than half empty.

“Well, that went fast.” He said to the empty room. He put his glass and the bottle down and twisted the cap back onto the bottle.

Lawrence leaned back while the scotch began to work its magic; it was then that he noticed a red spot on his hand. It was a tiny piece of wax. Weird, he thought as he flicked it off his hand.  Lawrence closed his eyes and the world began to spin. His stomach tightened up and began to ache. Lawrence opened his eyes and sat up. He grabbed the bottle and took a good look at the cap. He turned the bottle as if he was pouring another glass and watched as a drop of scotch slowly beaded up and dropped into the glass. Lawrence dropped the bottle and stared into the glass as the bottle rolled off the table and onto the floor. What the hell did he just drink? His heart began to race, his stomach cramped up causing him to double over.

It was at this point that the door flung open and a circus ringmaster with a top hat and large cane walked through the door. “Welcome to the greatest circus in the world!” he barked. Lawrence looked in awe as an elephant strolled through the door and into the kitchen. Next came a tiger, then a horse and an odd-looking gentleman with a long beard, no, that was a woman. After the woman, a tiny car full of clowns rolled through the door, stopping and spilling clowns all over the floor. The clown’s faces distorted with laughter, surprise, and pain as the lion tamer cracked his bullwhip on their backs. The sound was deafening. Lawrence covered his ears and closed his eyes, hoping to make it all go away.  The pain in his stomach forced him to double over again, this time he hit his head on the table cutting his forehead. Lawrence fell back onto the couch, put his hand up to his forehead to wipe away the blood, and opened his eyes. The room was empty; all the clowns were gone. He looked in the kitchen; the elephant was still there eating a jar of peanut butter. The blood trickled down Lawrence’s forehead and into his eyes; he wiped it away again, and looked into the kitchen. That damned elephant was still there.

The door swung open again and a succubus flew into the room heading straight toward Lawrence. She must have been drawn to the house by the sweet smell of the blood trickling down his forehead. Lawrence violently threw his body back away from the beast, hitting the back of his head on the wall. The succubus examined Lawrence, then flew into the kitchen chasing off the elephant. She came back and began to remove Lawrence’s blood so that it stopped dripping into his eyes. The succubus spoke in a tongue Lawrence could not understand, but a short bit later the beast’s male attendants rushed into the room. Lawrence began to vomit as the attendants descended upon him, grabbing him by the shoulders and legs and throwing him onto a gurney that appeared on the other side of his coffee table. The gurney carried Lawrence out of the door and into the back of a van. He felt a sharp pain in his arm and looked down to see the vampires feeding. He tried to pull his arm away but found he was strapped down. Lawrence began to feel sleepy, he tried to keep his eyes open, tried to stop the evil bloodsuckers from taking all of his blood, but he failed. As his eyelids closed and he slipped into a coma one thought floated through his mind … Uncle Max, what a character.


Copyright © 2012 J. Power

All rights reserved

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