Dead Nolte Read Online Free

someone had to pick up the trash.
    The plan seemed to be back on track, at least the shadow was
gone, but the witch had never mentioned the shadow in the first place, she had
only said he would spend three days in another realm until the preacher prayed
over his grave. Nolte had been under the impression that he would be
unconscious for that period. He could use three days of sleep, the shadow, with
his rattling sand and stink, had kept him awake for almost that long, but all
things considered, Nolte had serious doubts if he would ever be able to sleep
again, at least not without large quantities of alcohol to soften the memory of
the dripping, screaming heads.
      Now he had to wait
for some hypocritical man of the cloth to pray over his grave. What a crock of
shit thought Nolte. What fucking good would prayer do him? The whole point of this
undertaking had been to separate him from the stipulations of religion, and the
oppressive demands of the tyrant God. Perhaps it was like a break-up fuck, one
last prayer for the road.
    Nolte had made it perfectly clear; to his senseless
stepdaughters, that time was of the essence when it came to getting his ass in
the ground. They had asked why, of course, but he had explained to them, in no
uncertain terms, that they were too stupid to comprehend his reasons. Beyond
that, as a means to further ensure he was interred in a timely manner, he had
shown both of them, his will. It stipulated, his funeral was to be no later
than three days, precisely seventy-two hours after his death, or they would get
nothing. Their greed would get him in the ground on time.
    Greed was a friend of Nolte’s. He knew how to exploit it,
and could wield a person’s love of money against them, like a weapon, if the
circumstance called for battle, but more often than not, it only required bait.
However, greed had no intimate ties to Nolte; he neither loved money, nor
fancied a large quantity of it, and was especially proud of how little command
it had over him. He might admit to being greedy for pussy, but that was
instinctual, a built-in mechanism to propagate the species, and also, because
he was a man’s man. It’s what men did, men got pussy,
and that, was no doubt, something to be proud of.
    He would see about getting some pride back once he was
risen. It was hard for him to think about pride, with the echoes of bitch-like,
girly screams ringing in his head.
    Nolte looked around the darkness, it was a strange
sensation. There was no feeling in his limbs, other than they felt like they
existed. There was nothing to measure movement by, using sight, so looking
around felt more like a thought, than an action. He had often wondered about
true sensory deprivation, as a means of breaking the will of a person, as it
would apply to others, of course. He told himself it was a matter of innocent
curiosity and thought the information might come in handy, should the need to
calm an unruly captive ever presented itself.
    If the darkness he found himself languishing in was any
indication of true sensory deprivation, the evidence was clear, and he was
sure, he would be a babbling fucking idiot after three days, and quite serene,
if not completely tranquilized by insanity, upon his release.
    As Nolte tried to resign himself to three days of abysmal
darkness and mind numbing silence, the silence crackled. There was a slight
tremor, through which he heard a soft warbling. It was the voice of a small
child, small and far away, as it would sound, delivered through two tin cans on
a string. He cocked his head or did something that felt like cocking his head
and listened intently. He could definitely hear something; the shadow must have
found him. Suddenly, a crackle of electricity and the sound filled his head to
bursting.
    “…for Thine is the Kingdom, and the Power, and the Glory.
Forever, and ever. Amen.”
    The darkness was gone. Nolte found himself standing in his
living room, near the spot where he had died; Martha was