Thing Bailiwick

by Fawn Bonning

  But then his sneaker went flying with creature attached, spiraling through the air and crashing into the underbrush.

  Immediately springing to his feet, Ted was running again, his heart hammering and his one-sneakered gait awkward, and a high pathetic whine squeaking from his throat.

  Oh shit! Shit shit shit! A goblin! A two-foot friggin’ hairy-assed goblin just tried to amputate my toes!

  Thank god for his sturdy, one hundred dollar Air-Jordans. Worth every friggin’ penny as far as he was concerned. This was craziness. Absolute, total, unequivocal madness. Goblins didn’t exist! That was stupid, ludicrous kid’s stuff! Not real life!

  With arms pumping, he careened down the path, his face twisted in a terrified grimace. Fleeing from a goblin in the middle of the dark woods. A burrowing, Snoop-eating goblin!

  He heard teeth chattering behind him.

  He couldn’t look back. That would only manage to slow him. And if he slowed, he was dead meat. Literally! If he slowed, he was goblin entree.

  Oh, shit! Run, Kelsey! Full-throttle, wide-open pedal to the metal, soldier! Go! Go! Go!

  He was drenched in sweat when he broke through the trees and onto the field. He could see the dark rectangles in the distance, the sleeping trailer park. Sanctuary was just ahead. All he had to do was make it across the field and he would be home. That’s all. He could do that. Couldn’t be more than sixty or seventy yards. He could make it. He was always pretty much at the head of the pack in gym class whenever they ran the sixty-yard dash. But then, of course, he had two shoes, and he didn’t have a teeth-chattering goblin nipping at his heels.

  His breath was coming in ragged gasps and he felt as if his lungs might collapse at any moment.

  Dig, soldier! Dig deep! Dig, dig, dig, dig, dig!

  He thought his legs might buckle in relief when finally his feet hit pavement. Still, he didn’t dare slacken his pace. As he stumbled around the front of the trailer, he was distressed to find his mom not home. Skidding to a stop at his front doorstep, he looked behind him for the first time.

  Nothing.

  With his breath coming in gasps and his sides heaving, he fished out the key from inside the cinderblock steps and then fumbled with the front lock for a few treacherously long seconds before flinging open the door. Slamming it shut behind him, he locked it securely before leaning back against it. He was gasping as his eyes flew around the dark interior.

  Don’t just stand here. Get to work. Get to work, Kelsey! Move it, move it, move!

  Gathering his wits about him, he began the arduous task of goblin-proofing his home. Running through the trailer, he checked windows, making sure each was latched securely, and when this was complete, he rummaged through the kitchen drawers and pulled out the twelve-inch knife they used to carve the turkey every year. Something a little more substantial than his stupid pocket knife. What kind of goblin protection was that? Now this, this was more like it. Yes sir. Now he was in business. This baby would slice through goblin meat as well as it did turkey breast, he was sure of it. The sturdy, stainless steel knife felt solid in his hands as he shifted it from left to right.

  With his new weapon in hand, he made the rounds once again, checking in closets and behind doors, in the bathtub, under beds, and even in cabinets. It didn’t hurt to play it safe, right? Who knew where a pug-nosed goblin might be hiding out? One could never be too careful.

  For some reason, he didn’t feel it would be wise to turn the lights on. Every other trailer in the park was dark. Light would draw the goblin to him like a beacon. And so he sat in the darkness on the couch, his back ramrod straight, turkey-carving knife in hand, and waited…and listened. His mother would be home any minute. Her shift ended at midnight. Probably went out with the girls or something. Out partying. Yep, partying while her defenseless, terror-stricken son sat frozen on the couch in the dark, brandishing a twelve-inch carving knife and listening for goblin activity. Yep, on goblin duty tonight, Kelsey. Goblin patrol.

  Tedinski Kelsey at your service, sir, armed and prepared for active goblin duty. Yes sir, won’t find a better man for the job, sir.

  Oh, man. What did a person on goblin patrol listen for anyway? Listen for…

  Clicking teeth!

  He strained his ears toward the back of the trailer, certain he’d heard clicking from the vicinity or his mom’s bedroom.

  No, no. He was just being paranoid. That was understandable, right? He had, after all, just made a mad dash for his life from a teeth-gnashing, pointy-eared goblin. He had a right to be a little jumpy, didn’t he? Come on. He had every right. He—

  Oh, god!

  He craned his neck toward the back bedroom.

  It wasn’t his imagination. He’d heard something back there, he was sure of it. Something in his mom’s room. Gonna have to go investigate. Couldn’t just sit here and wait. He was, after all, the man appointed to goblin patrol tonight, wasn’t he? Couldn’t shirk his duties, could he? Had to take care of business. Protect his home, his casa, his castle, his fortress. If you couldn’t be safe in your own home, where would you ever be safe, right?

  Reluctantly, on legs akin to wet noodles, he stood and crept silently down the hall, the knife held out in front of him.

  Reaching the entrance to his mother’s room, he paused in the doorway, his head cocked, his nose sniffing the air as he detected a new stench. He’d smelled it before, he was sure of it. Yeah, the time he and Rick had gotten caught in the rain on the way home from school one day and had gotten into a major mud-slinging contest. He’d thrown his wet, muddy clothes into the washing machine and never turned it on. A week later, he’d lifted the lid to the most disgusting stench he’d ever encountered.

  This was like that smell, only worse.

  Something skittered along his neck to his cheek, and, in one deft movement, he batted it to the floor and brought down the knife, cleaving it neatly in half. He stood staring at the two halves of a large spider that twitched for a few seconds, before falling still.

  A scraping sounded on the other side of the bed. It had a metallic sound. It—

  No! No! Move, soldier, move! Move your ass!

  He leapt to the bed and crawled quickly across, wincing at the creaking of the bedsprings. Steeling himself, he peeked over the edge.

  They were there, just as he’d feared—two glowing eyes leering up at him from behind the slanted slats of the floor-vent. It had pried apart some of the fins and slipped one stubby arm through. Frog-like, spoon-shaped fingertips had suctioned to the cheap vinyl flooring and it was squirming as it struggled to squeeze itself through.

  “Nooooo!”

  Dropping to his belly on the bed, he brought the knife down in a swift arc, slicing the arm clean off.

  A frenzy of angry chattering and-hissing erupted, and he watched, fascinated, as the severed arm flip-flopped and wriggled crazily, the severed nerves going haywire.

  The goblin in the vent stuck its other arm through the warped fins and snatched up its squirming appendage, before disappearing from sight into the ducts.

  Leaping to the floor. Ted slid his mother’s night-stand over the vent.

  “Go, go, go!” Running frantically from room to room, he barricaded floor vents with anything he could get his hands on.

  In the bathroom, he grabbed the toilet tank lid from the commode. In his room, he slid his dresser over it. Hurrying into the kitchen, he flipped the table over, sending salt and pepper shakers flying. In the living room, he did the same with the coffee table, sending magazines flying and an old can of soda spewing.

  Once he’d completed this task, he went back through the home, carefully rechecking all his goblin barricades. As extra measure, he placed the heavy brass magazine holder, cram-packed with his mom’s Better Homes and Gardens magazines, on top of the tank lid in the bathroom. Lastly, he added a couple of kitchen chairs to the table in the kitchen and a couple to the coffee table in the living room.

  Standing back, his chest heaving, he contemp
lated his next move as he wiped perspiration from his brow.

  “Mom, where are you?”

  She would know how to handle this situation better than him. He was only a twelve-year-old kid. He shouldn’t have to handle goblin patrol alone. This was definitely a two-person job. Yes, ma’am. At least. Three or four would be even better. Hell, a whole army would be fine and dandy, as far as he was concerned. Oh boy, he could just hear it now.

  Uh yes, operator…could you please send the United States National Guard right away please. They’re needed immediately at Ted Kelsey’s house for goblin patrol. Yes ma’am, that’s right, K.E.L.S.E.Y. What’s that? Goblin. G. O. B. L. I. N.

  Something wasn’t right. He wasn’t sure what, but there was something…something in the far recesses of his brain, nagging at him. What?

  He made the rounds one more time to put his mind at ease.

  Everything A-Okay, sir. Site secured. Hatches battened down. Everything under control. Just thank ole Tedinski, here. That’s right sir. Private Steady Teddy Kelsey.

  “Oh man. Wait till Ricky hears about this. He’s gonna crap his pants. He’s gonna—”

  He swiveled toward the sound coming from behind his dad’s old lounge chair. Why his mom hadn’t thrown that stupid thing in the dumpster was beyond him. It was just one more lousy reminder of—

  Suddenly, the thing eating at him came to him with surprising clarity. There were two vents in the living room, not one.

  What a moron! What a total space-cadet! Ten demerits, Kelsey! No, a hundred, a thousand friggin’ demerits, you brainless butthead!

  He crept slowly around the chair, knife poised and ready for combat.

  “Oh God,” he whispered, his voice high and shaky.

  The vent looked like it had been put through a wood chipper. Not just any wood chipper, either. An industrial size wood chipper. Heavy duty. It was bent and twisted beyond recognition, a mere mangled version of its former self where it lie a few feet from the hole it had so diligently covered.

  “Oh, man,” he whimpered under his breath.

  It was in the house! His fortress had been infiltrated. Invaded. The enemy was inside!

  He looked longingly toward the front door. His heroic battle was finished here. He’d fought valiantly to defend his home, but…

  Time to bail out. Fall back! Retreat! Run like hell, soldier!

  Should he make a mad dash, or try to slowly sneak out? He couldn’t make up his mind. This goblin patrol business was enough to try even the most stoic of—

  It came hurtling at him from behind the couch, a streak of a shadow leaping with a hiss, its mouth gaping wide as it went for his throat.

  With a reflex that surprised even himself, Ted snatched it from the air in mid-leap, his left hand closing around a thick neck that was cold and clammy and pulsating with a life of its own. Drawing back, he flung it with a growl, and watched with satisfaction as it opened a crater in the wall, before it plopped to the floor.

  As it clambered clumsily to its short, stubby legs, Ted crouched low in a defensive posture, prepared for its next attack. But it seemed to be dazed. It almost appeared to be pouting as its only remaining hand went to its head to rub pathetically in small circles, a gesture that was almost comical. If it had been under any other circumstance, Ted would surely have fallen to the floor and laughed his ass off.

  Instead, he gripped tighter to the knife, holding it out in clear view.

  The goblin didn’t seem intimated. Its face scrunched up. At first Ted thought it was sneering at him, as any able-bodied goblin was likely to do. It was, after all, only natural for a goblin to sneer menacingly, wasn’t it? But then the true nature of those drawn-back lips dawned on him, and he felt something primordial stir deep within. It was attempting to grin. A grin didn’t belong on that grotesque pug-nosed, wrinkled, bad excuse for a face. There was an arrogance about it that was infuriating.

  But what really put him over the edge was when it started to laugh—disgusting, shrill, munchkin chuckling that made his skin crawl and his blood boil.

  This is my house, damn it! Mine!

  It was one thing to terrorize a twelve-year-old kid in the dark woods. But to come into his home, to try to tear his throat out and then stand there laughing at him! And to top things off, it had gone and ruined a perfectly good pair of one hundred dollar Air-Jordans that had taken a whole summer’s worth of grass mowing to buy! What kind of evil-minded, arrogant, little dog-eating, mildew-stinking, Spock-eared munchkin was this anyway? The nerve! The unmitigated gall! And he wasn’t even sure what unmitigated meant! He was furious! Enraged! He couldn’t let fungus-breath get away with this! No way, José!

  With a snarl, Ted lifted the knife over his head with both hands and lunged at the arrogant chuckling S.O.B.

  A strange expression flashed across its face—it may have even been surprise—and it leapt from the path of the descending turkey carver, which consequently embedded into the floor with a dull thud.

  Snarling, Ted pried it loose to continue his attack, stalking the thing into the kitchen where it had taken refuge behind the garbage basket.

  “COME ON, CHUCKLES!” he screamed, his adrenaline pumping. Drawing back the foot still clad in an Air-Jordan, he kicked the garbage can and watched as it sailed through the air, sending garbage spewing across the kitchen floor and tumbling clear down the hall. With lips pressed thinly, he stalked down the hall after his target, kicking aside an empty milk carton and tin cans and any other garbage that dared block his path.

  Down the hall, the evil-minded little munchkin slipped into the bathroom.

  Might be an ambush. Careful! Careful, soldier! Nice and steady, Teddy.

  With the knife held high by his cheek, Ted kept his back pressed firmly to the wall as he cautiously worked his way down the last few feet. Taking a few rapid breaths through tightly pursed lips, he peeked around the door jamb.

  It was crouched down, struggling to push aside the tank lid blocking the vent, uttering little grunts as it strained. Even one-armed, it managed to slide it a couple of inches.

  I don’t think so!

  “GO, GO, GO, GO, GO!” Shouting at the top of his lungs, Ted sprang into the bathroom, crouched low, ready for battle, and the thing leapt onto the sink counter, chattering at him, its thin lips pulled back in a snarl. He jabbed with the knife, but it leapt with uncanny agility into the tub.

  “GOT HIM CORNERED, SOLDIER! MOVE, MOVE, MOVE!” Slashing wildly, he jumped after him. In his enthusiasm to finish off the enemy, however, Ted’s knife became entangled in the shower curtain, and his mark grasped the opportunity to jump out. With Ted close on its heels, it scurried into his mother’s room and under the bed.

  Without hesitation, Ted flipped the mattress up and then the box-spring, and was caught off guard when the thing attached itself to his leg and began to munch out on his kneecap.

  Bringing the knife down, he stabbed the gnawing cling-on in the back, and it released his kneecap to let out a shrill shriek, before staggering down the hall, its one stubby arm twisted up behind its back, attempting to feel for its newest injury.

  With a determined grimace, Ted limped after it.

  He couldn’t let it get away. Had to kill it. Couldn’t let it escape. It might come back, sneak in and rip his throat out while he was sleeping. Rip his mom’s throat out. He would never get another good night’s sleep again. Never a moment’s peace. Had to destroy it.

  Yes sir, Private Kelsey is back in action, sir. Private Kelsey is gonna clear his name in this matter. Exoneration impending. Have the enemy on the run now, sir. Everything’s under control. No problemo, amigo.

  It took a right turn into his bedroom.

  “AHA, GOT YOU NOW, CHUCKLES!” he screamed.

  Now, this was his domain!

  He staggered to the doorway where the musky stench of mildew almost bowled him over. The damn thing had glands like a skunk, and it had just sprayed his room!

  It was on his bed, looking toward
the window.

  He lunged at it, and his pounce propelled it into the air and to its back where he stabbed at it with a howl of victory. The howl turned to frustration however as the goblin rolled from the path of the blade, which consequently opened a slash in his water-bed, sending water to bubbling out.

  Amidst a slew of profanities, he stabbed again and again as it rolled to avoid him, showing far too much dexterity for a one-armed, thick-bodied, pug-nosed, skunk-glanded goblin. His waterbed was quickly reduced to nothing more than a sloshing, gushing, bubbling, wet mess.

  It jumped nimbly onto his dresser.

  Realizing it was far too agile to be pinpointed with the knife, (even a twelve inch turkey carver), Ted picked up the baseball bat leaning against the wall and swung, shattering his mirror—and his hopes of ever making the all-star team—as the creature leapt to the floor and scurried out the door, clicking and hissing angrily along the way.

  “COME ON, YOU SORRY EXCUSE FOR A GOBLIN! COME ON!” he screamed as he limped down the hall, knife in one hand, bat in the other.

  Like a lithe cat, it leapt into the kitchen sink and began to fumble frantically with the window latch, tugging and pulling with its one hand while uttering guttural goblin grunts.

  With a screech, Ted lunged and brought the bat down, missing in his haste and shattering every breakable dish and glass in the drain-board. A plastic bowl went spiraling into the air and he never did hear it come down.

  “COME ON! COME ON!” he screamed. “MESS WITH ME!”

  It scrambled to the edge of the counter and prepared to leap, its luminescent eyes riveted in the direction of the lounge chair and the open vent which lie beyond it. But Private Kelsey wasn’t about to let it slip away again. As it leapt, he swung and connected with a loud, sickening pop, sending it soaring across the room where it landed in a heap on the living room floor.

  “OH, MAN, HOMERUN!” he screamed. “HOME FRIGGIN’ RUN! IT’S OUTTA HERE, OUTTA HERE! SEE YA! SEE YA, WOULDN’T WANNA BE YA!”