Thing Bailiwick

by Fawn Bonning

  A sound entered his numb, oxygen-deprived brain. Someone shouting—Justin. The boy managed to land a blow over its head with the flashlight, before it whipped its trusty tail, sending him careening across the deck.

  Ray tried to blink away the darkness. He didn’t even realize he’d lost his grip until the spear-gun clattered to the deck by his head.

  He let out a warbled yodel as the jaws snapped shut. There was a popping sound, and he knew instantly that he’d lost his hand.

  Throwing its head back, the creature gulped it greedily, the glowing purple pulsating.

  Somewhere in the background of his screaming pain, he could hear Pam screaming even louder. He was being eaten alive, and Pam was witnessing it. He thought of his daughters and thanked God that they, at least, would be spared this nightmare. He’d been disappointed when they said they were too busy to come. Now he was grateful.

  Closing his eyes, he waited for the end to come, praying that it would be swift. And then the tank atop him lifted and scuttled quickly away, hissing wetly.

  Ray opened his eyes to find Nick standing above him, soaked and teetering, a hatchet held in his upraised hand.

  With its tail poised high, the creature backed away, one hand coming up to investigate the fleshy stump of its freshly severed eye. It was still attached, though barely, swinging by a thin strand.

  Eye for a hand, Ray thought hazily. Clambering to his feet, he swayed, hugging his arm tightly against his stomach in a vain attempt to staunch the flow of blood. “Pam,” his voice came out as a hoarse croak, “get Justin to the cabin. Nicky, back away slowly…slowly, son.”

  It seemed to have forgotten that it was in mixed company. It was concerned only in exploring its injury, one hand fumbling clumsily up and down the stalk as an inky purple color pulsed beneath its skin.

  Moving quietly, Pam helped Justin to his feet, and the four of them made their way toward the cabin entrance.

  Rene was already there, huddled in a corner, the disc player clutched to her chest as if it was a magical talisman warding off evil.

  Pam locked the door behind them.

  ~~~~

  Collapsed in a chair, Ray watched as Pam worked frantically to fashion a tourniquet on his arm. She was a real trooper, Pam was. Never one to buckle under pressure. Gutsy. One of a kind. He was a lucky man. He studied her face, the distinctive features—nose slightly too large, lips on the thin side, hazel eyes set too far apart. He loved this face, one now set in stern concentration, had loved it from the moment he’d set eyes on it.

  He looked beyond Pam to where Justin stood watching. He’d been rummaging through the kitchen utensils. He was holding a steak knife down by his side. There was a welt on one cheek and his nose was bloodied. He appeared somewhat dazed, but other than that, he looked to be in pretty decent shape.

  “Lost my glasses, Uncle Ray,” he said in an apologetic tone. “Blind as a bat without ‘em.”

  Ray shook his head weakly. “You look good without ‘em, Justin. Handsome,” he said, forcing a smile. “Remind me to get you some contacts when we get back, okay?”

  Justin appeared confused for a moment, and then seemed embarrassed as he bravely tried to return the smile.

  “It’s gonna be okay,” he promised, and then moaned as Pam cinched the belt tightly around his forearm just below the elbow.

  “Sorry. Sorry, Ray.”

  They locked eyes, and in that brief instant he saw the reason that he’d chosen Pam to be his partner for life. Though she was terrified, there was a grit in her eye, one that said she would fight to the death. He found comfort in that stalwart strength, drew from it.

  He tore his eyes from hers before he could burst into eulogies of his undying love. “Nick, you okay, son?” he asked, clutching the newly bandaged stump to his chest.

  Though he was still standing, Nick’s stance seemed awkward, his breathing labored. His clothes were soaked and his dark hair was plastered to a frighteningly pale face and his head was hanging at a strange angle. Pulling his gaze from the windows at the front of the cabin, he riveted Ray with dark, haunted eyes.

  “It stung me,” he said in a strained voice. “Those tentacles are poisonous, I think. My arm’s on fire and I feel funny.”

  “Christ, Nicky,” Pam said, rushing to his side. “Sit down.”

  “No! There!” He pointed the hatchet toward the window where a large black eye was peeking up near the bottom, and Pam gasped when a heavy hand thumped onto the window ledge, and then another.

  It heaved itself up, its good eye probing about the room while the other hung useless, oozing a thick oily liquid.

  Ray was awarded a good look at the thing that had so rudely taken his right hand as an evening snack. It was incredible and hideous at the same time, the making of a thousand nightmares. Its color was dark purple again with swirlings of pink and blue and yellow. The rig was hanging from its mouth, though the light was missing. That’s what had been hitting him in the face. It was still hooked.

  They all watched, transfixed, as a hand came up, fumbling for the fishing line. He could see why Justin called them human hands. They did look uncannily like fingers, though there were only four and they were longer than human fingers. He could also see why the rig and attached fishing line were still dangling. Its arms were too short to reach inside its own mouth.

  It gave the line an angry yank, and its snout pulled back in a snarling hiss, disclosing its toothy maw as the colors intensified. To punctuate its frustration, its tail unleashed a sharp blow upon the window, spurring Pam and Rene to yelp in unison.

  “Shhh,” Ray warned. “Everyone stay still,” he whispered. “I don’t think it can see in the light.” He fought to stay alert. He could feel himself slipping. Even though Pam had cinched the belt tightly, the cloth napkin wound around his stump was already soaked with his blood, and his shirt was quickly becoming saturated. He’d lost way too much. If he passed out, Pam and the boys would be forced to face this thing alone. He couldn’t allow that.

  Clutching his stump through the blood-soaked napkin, he squeezed hard, sending piercing pain shooting up his arm to his head, clearing it instantly.

  He tried to focus on the creature propped on the ledge, its eye roving slowly about the room. It gave the window another powerful blow with its tentacled tail, making the thick Plexiglas warble.

  Rene began to whimper.

  “Shh! Pam, quiet her. Wait. Wait!”

  The eye had fixed on Pam. It had detected her movement.

  Rene began to snivel.

  The rig was swaying with every slight movement of the creature’s head.

  “Don’t anybody move,” Justin whispered.

  “Shh!”

  It was too late. It had spotted its prey. Swirls of pink and yellow rushed in to dilute the purple, and it lashed out with its tail, striking the window again and again. Thunder! Like thunder! Ear-shattering, bone-jarring, earth-shaking thunder, instilling terror where there was already more than rightly belonged in one small room. Rene was screaming and Pam joined in, clasping her hands tightly over her ears.

  And then, as quickly as it began, the storm stopped and the creature dropped from sight. Only its tail could be seen with its eerily floating tentacles pulsing vibrantly. They followed its progress until it disappeared behind the door.

  There was a scraping…a thump…

  It was a good door. Oak. Solid. Five sets of eyes were riveted on it. And so did all five bear witness as the door handle began to turn.

  “Jesus!”

  “Shh!”

  There came a loud thud at the door, making everyone jump, and for one crazy moment, Ray thought it had picked up an ax. There was another blow followed by a splintering and a showering of shards as tentacles breached the door.

  Ray meant to leap to his feet, but his legs didn’t receive the message relayed from his brain. He could only watch as two ‘hands’ pushed through the pulverized door. Grasping hold, they pulled outward and the door groane
d, followed by a loud splintering.

  “Noooo!” Hatchet upraised, Nick flew at the door and brought the weapon down, neatly severing four gray fingers.

  Its tail promptly shot through the demolished door, sending Nick flying across the room like a spiked football. Careening across the table, he tumbled off, overturning chairs as he crumpled to the floor.

  It was hissing angrily as it shoved in its head, its teeth bared and the rig swaying.

  Justin lunged, knife upraised, and was instantly swatted aside like an irritating gnat.

  With its powerful tail, it tossed aside what remained of the door, sending fragments of wood flying.

  We’re all going to die, Ray thought groggily. Five people were going to be torn apart by a pissed-off, neon-purple, tentacle-tailed, six-handed, shark-toothed monster with a vendetta. Craziness. Absurdity.

  He was dying. Bleeding to death…the warmth seeping from his body along with his blood. It was a strange feeling. Not at all what he expected. Not as scary. Just kind of…drifting…like its tentacles. A gentle, peaceful, colorful drifting…

  “NO!” He snapped his head up from his chest and forced his lids to open.

  Not peaceful! Pandemonium! Bedlam! People screaming! People shrieking! Groaning! Crying! Praying!

  Suddenly, like the proverbial light bulb clicking on in his brain, he knew the answer. He knew what had to be done. So simple and yet…so impossible.

  He looked to Pam. She’d moved to the corner to shield Rene. The terrified girl was clutching her CD player, shrilling like a train whistle, her eyes glued to the ten-foot strobing monstrosity that was maneuvering itself through the door. As its black eye scanned the room, Ray weakly waved his arm to capture its attention. “Here,” he croaked. “Here, you son of a bitch!”

  It caught sight of him and advanced cautiously, its tail raised high like a peacock, the tentacles slithering over each other like a nest of riled rattlers. It tread softly for such a large creature. Much too lightly for a creature of the deep sea, especially since it was walking on its hands. Six of them. The colors were vivid and churning and pulsating. It was magnificent. It seemed the world still had some wonders left to unveil.

  Rene’s high-pitched train-whistle seemed to fade into the far distance. A strange tranquility surrounded him. He had an objective now. Everything was crystal clear.

  From where he lie sprawled in the chair, too weak even to lift his head, he watched his sea maiden’s majestic approach, watched as it heaved itself up onto the chair arms.

  It thrust out its chest as it towered over its prize, and Ray had the distinct impression that it was gloating. Lowering its face to his, it tilted its head, its one good eye examining him.

  Pulling in a deep breath, he made a fist, and punched it in the snout.

  It reacted as he’d hoped, baring its teeth to release a hiss.

  Spying his target, he thrust in his hand.

  A gray shadow blanketed his vision as teeth sank into his flesh.

  Through the haze, he saw a shrieking streak, saw Pam bring the knife down with two hands, embedding it deep into the creature’s back. In return, she was flung across the room by a whipping nest of venomous rattlers.

  Dropping from the chair, the creature scuttled in a circle, whipping its tail wildly, sending debris flying in every direction, an angry, wild rampage, its color gone an inky purplish black. Little did it know that the wielder of the knife was presently sprawled out on top of the counter, her butt in one side of the double sink and one leg draped over the faucet. Her head was angled oddly where it was resting on one of the stove burners, and one arm was dangling limply.

  Pam. God, how he loved her. He tried to think back to the last time he’d told her so. He couldn’t remember. He tried to form the words, but it was useless. It was too late.

  A coffee pot careened past his head, and he heard it crack against the Plexiglas.

  Too late.

  Their wedding had been so beautiful. Picture perfect. White flowers. Yes, all white, except for a few scattered peach roses to offset the bridesmaid dresses. He could see them so vividly; white roses, carnations, daisies, delicate cascades of bell-shaped lilies-of-the-valley, all arranged so perfectly with trailing ivy and scattered sprays of baby’s breath. And the food, prepared so meticulously. The roast beef had been perfect, slightly pink and sliced thick, au jus on the side for dipping. And the scrumptious baby carrots, braised in a garlic butter and sprinkled with lemon pepper. Asparagus drizzled with a creamy hollandaise sauce. The cake—exquisite—five tiers, each divided with a generous layer of peach preserves, sweet butter-cream frosting with peach-tinted piping, delicate peach flowers with gilded leaves, the bride and groom perched atop, made specially to resemble the real-life couple.

  How many years ago?

  Twenty? Twenty-two. Twenty-two years. Jesus. Seemed like just yesterday. Where had all the time gone? One day he was standing at the altar, looking down into the radiant face of his new, beautiful bride, and now, twenty-two short years later, they were about to be reunited in death…at the hands of…this thing…this leviathan that poor Carl had dredged up from the fathomless abyss of the darkest of nightmares.

  He forced his lids to open one last time as the ruckus around him halted abruptly. It was strobing a majestic purple. He watched numbly as it probed its back with one hand, searching for the object of its discomfort. Grasping the hilt, it slid the knife slowly out and flung it to the ground amidst the rubble, and instantly swirls of pink and yellow reappeared. Its severed eye was still hanging in there, swaying tenuously. He could hear Justin moaning somewhere off to his left, and Rene was whimpering to his right, yet he couldn’t seem to pull his gaze away from the severed eye. Like a hypnotist’s pocket watch, he watched it sway until he felt himself slipping away, his lids growing heavier and heavier. He wanted to hold Pam, to feel her in his arms one last time. He didn’t want her to spend her last moments of life sprawled in a sink. A woman like Pam deserved so much more.

  Struggling to keep his heavy lids open, he watched as the creature brought one hand up, searching for the fishing rig. But it was gone. He was pretty sure the hand that had pulled it free was gone too. The pain was excruciating, and yet…he felt nothing.

  He exhaled one last time. He didn’t have the strength to pull in another breath, and felt somehow that it was no longer important to do so.

  He heard a voice, pleasant, yet commanding. At first he mistook it for his own thoughts, the words seeming to come from within, and yet, at the same time, from far, far away. The words were muffled, and yet, they rang out clear.

  If tomorrow never comes

  Will she know how much I loved her?

  Did I try in every way to show her every day

  That she’s my only one?

  If my time on Earth was through

  And she must face this world without me

  Is the love I gave her in the past

  Going to be enough to last

  If tomorrow never comes?

  Was it…him, he wondered. The Almighty?

  No. Garth Brooks.

  The voice drifted inside of him, soaking in through his pores as if he was a thirsty sponge, the notes dancing within him, for he was now the music. And yet, he was utter and complete silence.

  Time and space were no longer defined, milliseconds and millenniums merging, microns and galaxies melding, the purest blending of atoms as the present, past, and future absorbed into one. So profound, so simple.

  He was being forced downward by the gull’s wing, for he was the wind.

  He was falling from the clouds to join the sea, for he was the rain.

  He was lapping gently at the white sand of the beaches, for he was…

  shifting beneath the weight of bare feet…

  greedily devouring everything within his path…

  opening himself to the greeting of the sun…

  He was as one with the fiery orb, could feel it inside, raging peacefully. He exploded gent
ly…a zillion particles, stretching everywhere, reaching nowhere. Such purity, such obscenity, such emptiness…utter fulfillment.

  He was creation.

  He was destruction.

  He was life.

  He was death.

  He was everywhere.

  He was nowhere.

  He was nothing.

  He was everything.

  He was.

  And yet…

  He wasn’t.

  ▪

  Part II

  “Ray…Ray, honey, can you hear me? Ray?”

  Pam’s voice sounded as sweet as an angel’s, and when his eyes fluttered open, her halo confirmed this…until his eyes drifted down to a face that was anything but angelic. It was swollen beyond recognition, with a pair of matching black eyes and gauze poking out of both nostrils. She wore a stiff brace around her neck, the metal rods running up to a halo that was titanium.

  “Hi, honey.” She smiled widely, despite the tears in her eyes. “The girls are going to be so mad. They just ran out to get a bite to eat with Frank and Alicia.”

  She raised his hand tenderly to her swollen lips, placing a gentle kiss on his palm, and he stared in confusion at the blood-spotted gauze that was wound tightly around his forearm.

  His eyes flew to his other hand.

  He sighed deeply, turning away from the bandaged stump.

  “It’s okay, Ray. You’re going to be just fine,” Pam assured him, patting his hand lovingly. “It was touch and go for a while there. You really gave us a scare.”

  “Nick,” he croaked in a weak voice.