"Denita's dead. And Charlie and Jacques and Johnny D. and that Wendover girl."

I didn't say anything.

"They went together. They probably got the guns down at one of those abandoned p.a.w.nshops, then sat in a circle on the floor. They all pointed the guns at each other, and I guess they counted to three or something. I went over there to score some acid. I was the first one to find them."

"Did you get the acid?"

She shook her head. "The place was too messy and was starting to stink."

"That sucks...that they didn't invite us."

"Yeah. Goes to show who your friends are."

The cat purred, or else Melanie's stomach was growling. "Want something to drink?" I asked.

She looked at me for the first time since coming in the house. Her eyes were flat and dry. "What you got?"

We split a fifth of bourbon, then I took her to bed. She was cold, even on the inside. I rolled off her before either of us were satisfied. We smoked a joint in the dark.

She left a few minutes or hours later. She forgot her cat.

December 30 Not much to say.

Two more days, counting today. I've been thinking about what Lonnie said. What time is it really?

According to my battery-clock, it's 12:30.

December 31 Melanie dropped by again. Said she'd forgotten her cat. She had a few hits of acid. I couldn't think of a better way to meet the end. That fireball's going to roast us up pretty good. The acid ought to be kicking in any time now, so I wanted to get this written down just in case.

December 31 (Second entry) I sneaked in here to say good-bye. Lonnie and Melanie are in the living room. Probably still naked.

Melanie saw me earlier, writing by candlelight. She asked, "Is that the diary?"

"No," I said.

"Can I see?"

"No." I had closed you before she crossed the room. I held you behind me.

"Did you say anything about me?"

"h.e.l.l, no," I said. "What kind of idiot would waste time writing in a diary when the biggest G.o.dd.a.m.ned fire in the history of the universe is just a few hours away?"

She pa.s.sed me a joint, then took a slug of tequila. "Yeah."

"Are you scared?"

She took another drink, straight. "I might be."

The acid kicked in, and her lips were too wide, her perfect teeth sharp. She had waxy skin and her eyes were the color of s.h.i.t.

She started dancing, one of those spastic dances that the girls do at techno clubs. I guess she was hearing music in her head. The room was warm. I wondered if the apocalypse was starting on the other side of the world yet, with the blaze racing toward us. But I looked out the window and saw only gritty clouds and gray streets.

The cat came out from wherever it had been hiding the last few days. Then Lonnie entered the house without knocking. I'd been afraid that I'd have to face the fire alone. Now I'll be going in a crowd.

"Hey," Lonnie said.

"Hey," I said back. I introduced him to Melanie, even though they sort of knew each other. Lonnie looked a little hurt that I had a girl with me. But he got over it when she gave him some acid.

We ended up naked, the way people sometimes do when they're tripping. But we didn't touch each other. We drank and talked and smoked some dope. Then I sneaked in here to write.

Maybe it would be better if it was just you and me at the end. It would be simpler. Extra people tend to f.u.c.k things up. Melanie might start crying. Lonnie might throw a temper tantrum or tell me that he loves me. But, what the h.e.l.l. They're just as scared as I am.

It's nearly midnight. I'd better get ready. I guess this is good-bye, Diary. I love you.

January 1 I woke up.

I actually f.u.c.king woke up.

My mouth tasted of rusty metal. Melanie and Lonnie were in bed with me. Melanie's breath stank when she snored.

The sun was out.

No fire. No bigtime ball-busting trumpet and no p.i.s.sed-off Jesus with a sword and a scepter.

Actually, I did smell smoke, but it was only where Lonnie had left a cigarette burning on the coffee table. It had scorched a foot-wide circle in the varnish.

They're still asleep. They don't know yet that doomsday's as f.u.c.ked up as everything else, that it's a day late and a dollar short. But you can bet your a.s.s, Diary, it's coming.

I looked out the door. A few people were stumbling around on the sidewalks, looking dazed. Somebody in a pickup drove down the street, playing ditzy pop music on the stereo. We're all in a state of shock so big you can smell it in the air. Or maybe it's the smell of expectation, a little human electricity.

I guess every extra minute is a minute not dead. But it's coming.

In the meantime, I'm going to take a Quaalude to get rid of this headache.

January 2 Melanie left today.

Said that if the end of the world was going to take so d.a.m.ned long, she had things to do. She took her cat this time.

Lonnie's staying. He's like me. He knows it's just a trick, it's G.o.d waiting for all these add-water-and-stir Christians to backslide so He can catch them by surprise. The fire's going to come any second now.

Staying wasted just in case.

January 3 Waiting's even worse now than it was before. At least in December the end had an end.

Some people are going back to work. The cops and rescue squad people are carrying out the bodies of all those people who offed themselves. The power came on this morning. No television signal yet.

I went to the liquor store and a jerk with a crewcut was running the register. He wanted money. I spit on the counter and left.

Dumbf.u.c.ks. They're just going to pick up where they left off and pretend nothing happened. But anybody with eyes can see that the fire's there, just behind the dark clouds. It could be any second now.

I almost learned how to pray today. You know why, Diary? I'm afraid Lonnie might move out. I think he's getting tired of staying drunk all the time.

I don't want to burn alone.

January 10 What in the h.e.l.l is G.o.d waiting for?

I wish He'd quit diddling himself and get down to business. I guess this is going to be my last entry. Nothing personal, Diary, but it's getting kind of boring.

What's the point? I know it's going to be any second now. A big b.a.l.l.s-up blaze of h.e.l.lfire.

Got some beer and pills, just in case.

Bring it on, Mister G.o.d Man. I'm ready for you.

January 11 Any second now.

Got to be.

d.a.m.n.

Maybe tomorrow.

Maybe tomorrow.

Back to TOC.

AFTERWORD by Ken Kupstis.

THANK YOU for your patronage! I/We hope you've enjoyed MASTERS OF HORROR: d.a.m.nED IF YOU DON'T (And please check out the Original Masters of Horror Anthology that got the ball rolling!). Or, if it made you crawl out of your skin, that's cool, too.

As we all know, horror fiction is entertainment, but that doesn't mean it has to be mere entertainment. The SCARE CARE and SMALL BITES anthologies were for good causes, and I was hoping this one could have an impact as well, as a literary 'scared straight', if you will.

Believe it or not, I'm not some draconian anti-drug prohibitionist; I actually favor the legalization of drugs, or at least their decriminalization. It costs taxpayers some $50,000 to feed and house a prisoner for one year; if that prisoner was a nonviolent drug user, consider what could be achieved with them doing a year's community service.

What the Partnership for a Drug-Free America just doesn't get is: America (and the rest of the world) takes drugs-and will probably continue to-because drugs work. They provide either relief, or pleasure. As a current advertis.e.m.e.nt continues to drone: "Depression hurts. Cymbalta can help". I for one say, if you're one of those people having a good time using stimulant X, Y, or Z-without adversely affecting yourself or anyone else-good on ya. Feel free to close the book now, or give it to a friend.

If you're one of those people who isn't having a good time anymore, please read on. This also applies if you think you're having a good time but your family, remaining friends, doctors, local policemen and court officials say otherwise.

In a forthcoming nonfiction book THE UNBREAKABLE HEART, I shared some ideas for people having trouble with vices, and I'd like to do the same here. Please note that I don't pretend to be an authority of physical or mental health.

That's all these are: ideas. However, I'm also of the opinion that once an idea expands a brain, it never returns to its original dimensions.

Your experience with drugs (I'll lump alcohol in with drugs from here on in, since it is a drug, along with tobacco) or some toxic/addictive behavior (overeating, p.o.r.nography, gambling, scarification) is your own. I'll use the term 'user' instead of 'addict'...I used the bus daily for months, but never considered myself a 'bus addict'. Users have similarities and patterns, but that does not * mean each of us is the same. I've met people that called themselves 'alcoholics'

* when they hadn't touched a drink in decades. Therefore, I shan't pretend I know * your situation, except that your life might improve with a period of clarity, sobriety and health. I will only mention things that may help you, as they have helped others I have known.

1. Research the effects of your usage.

Thanks to the almighty Internet, we now have answers to almost everything at our fingertips. So if you smoke a pack a day, you might learn that amount of smoking will wipe out X amount of Vitamin C that your body needs to function optimally. If you drink heavily, you ought to stock up on B Vitamins. WWW.WEBMD.COM is a good place to start, as is Wikipedia. If you don't have internet access, a few hours at the local library won't cost you anything, and all the world's drugs will still be available later on. And when you're done with that...

2. Find out what it's costing you.

Whatever your favorite pick-me-up might be, it probably costs something, unless it's oxygen, or your spouse owns a liquor store. The cost might be relatively low, or you may have already 'rationed' it into your current income (as in, "this chunk of my check goes to Xanax, the rest can go to groceries"). But whatever its cost is, it'd probably improve your life if you stopped spending it on a vice, and collected and/or redirected it elsewhere. For example, when I started smoking, cigarettes cost under one dollar per pack. Now that they cost over seven dollars per pack in my state, I'm glad I'm not getting soaked for $7.00/day, $50.00/week, $200.00/month, etc! One idea that gave me a lot of help in quitting was the fact that seven dollars and change equaled a share of STOCK in any of a few dozen companies! Therefore a year of healthy nonsmoking could potentially rack up 365 shares of stock that would have went 'up in smoke' otherwise.

Now, that is the cost of smoking one pack of cigarettes a day. Other substances...marijuana, cocaine, ecstasy, heroin, et. al., have a decidedly higher price tag than the average pack of cigarettes. Even most nightclub c.o.c.ktails now cost more than a pack of cigarettes, and rare is the partier who goes to a nightclub and only has one.

Even if your pick-me-ups aren't immediately complicating or endangering your health, job or family, take a moment to think about what they're doing to your finances. Or, if you're not having a problem but you know a male friend or acquaintance that is, point out how much money they're losing. (Not to be s.e.xist-the same approach might work on women-but most men will put off seeing a doctor until their limbs fall off, whereas losing money is a cause of actual concern to them.) 3. VISIT AA or NA, at least once, with an open mind.

This is always an option, in most parts of the civilized world. In some cases, courts will remove the 'optional' part and make it mandatory for you. AA and NA are not perfect-nothing is-but they can help you. They are in fact one of the only inst.i.tutions that want to help you without charging you a good chunk of change: professional rehabilitation programs can cost hundreds or thousands of dollars. AA and NA only ask for what you can spare. Unlike many rehabilitation programs, AA and NA will allow you to come and go as you please. You will not be kidnapped, robbed, or forced to do anything. The worst that might happen is that you might be scolded, by someone who's been where you are. Ouch.

I myself have a few criticisms of twelve-step programs, but they have worked for all kinds of people. And sadly, there aren't too many other options. The creator of Moderation Management (where you drink or use under a rigorous schedule of self-control) set up a pretty decent program, but then lost all credibility when they killed some people while driving drunk. The creator of Rational Recovery commands a few thousand dollars for their secret to sobriety.

4. Take A Day Off Of Whatever You're Using.

So, you're NOT an addict? You only use (whatever) for a bit of fun? Great. Take a day off of it, and do something else. Exercise. Sky-dive. Write a poem. Cook a big ham dinner for some poor people. Invent something. Do crossword puzzles. Read those books you've been wanting to get to. Call every friend you know and catch up with them. Start buying Christmas presents early. Rest a.s.sured, you can be in the middle of nowhere and still find things to do.

The most important thing is to let 24 hours go by without using. Because it can be done. There are people who have quit heroin cold-turkey, and claimed that the first 24 hours were Hot Rails to h.e.l.l. But merely focusing on something else for once may make all the difference in the world.

If you don't (never say can't) let 24 hours go by without using, well, that should be a big neon sign right there: you're not using, you're needing. And it's a bad place to be. n.o.body says you have to stay there, though, and few (if any) people want you to.

When you do go 24 hours, pat yourself on the back, but not too hard. Try not to rest on your laurels and say "Well, that was easy! I'm not hooked on anything! I think I'll celebrate with some Mexican brown heroin." Instead, embrace the clarity and use it. Dust off some other goal you had-something that requires more than one day of sobriety-and go for it. Make a "To Do" List of things you have to be sober to do, and do as many as you can.

Then...gasp...make another "To Do" list for the next day/week/month/year!

Here's something to do for the 24 hours you're not using...

5. Improve your surroundings however you can. Basically, this means clean up your place, whatever it may be. I'm not talking about a total Martha Stewart overhaul, I'm talking about cleaning it up as well as you can, with what you currently have. Put things away, vacuum or mop the floors, clean the surfaces and windows, air the place out. If it's already pristine (let's face it, if you're using, it probably isn't), change a few things around, add some new art or live plants.

Okay, now the question on your mind is, "What the h.e.l.l for?!" (especially to you dudes, who are mostly thinking 'This is GAY!') It's because a clean/overhauled living s.p.a.ce instills a sense of pride & accomplishment, whereas a stank hovel of a living s.p.a.ce perpetuates that lousy, cyclical feeling of 'f.u.c.k it, look at this place, what's the use, let's buy some more 'rock'. Clearly, this is no sure-fire panacea, but it helps, and you could probably use all the help you can get.

6. Use Your Imagination...while you still have it!

I once saw a poster of a potentially 'hot' female model, holding a cigarette...except that her clothes and hair were charred and she had third-degree burns all over her. The caption read: If what was happening to you on the INSIDE was happening to you on the OUTSIDE, would you still smoke?

I'd wager that image has steered quite a few people away from buying their next pack of 'Marble Row's'. Still, n.o.body would think that way until the image was presented to them. They'd just blaze up and enjoy their nicotine rush.

One thing I like to do, as a horror writer, is imagine my vice(s) morphed into something unbelievably foul. In a Conan comic, the Barbarian offers a wineskin to a svelte young girl.

It tastes like furniture polish!" She spits.

"It is furniture polish." He tells her.

Good enough for me. I imagine everyone else around me drinking furniture polish...even though they're $12 shots of Schmagermeister or whatever...and my urge to join in their fun wavers just a bit.