Thing Bailiwick

by Fawn Bonning

  Her vision clouded. She felt woozy, light headed.

  “No!”

  She shook her head to clear her vision, only to find she was headed directly for a clump of trees. Her desperate attempt to veer away came too late and the side of the wagon collided against them, flinging her across the length of the front seat and slamming her into the passenger door as the wagon slid to a grinding halt.

  How many times do I have to tell you, Miss Brain? Seat belt! Seat belt!

  “Noooo!”

  Scrambling back behind the wheel, she tried frantically to restart the stalled engine, just barely registering the pain that shot up her arm.

  Nice going, Sticks and stones may break your bones. So will tree trunks if you slam into them at seventy miles an hour, Genius.

  Mom always referred to her in that sarcastic tone, like she was talking to someone with an IQ of about twenty. Straight A’s in school. Straight A’s! But that was never enough. She would always be an idiot to Mom. Nothing she did was ever good enough. It was the same thing now with Daryl. But now the lovely term of endearment was ‘dimwit’. She could read circles around Daryl. And algebra, trigonometry, all Greek to him. He could barely do simple division, and yet she was the dimwit.

  But…she deserved it. Every derogatory syllable uttered, every ounce of abuse he doled out. For her father.

  For you, daddy.

  “God! Nooo!” she screamed, frantically banging on the steering wheel, the pain shooting up her arm giving the steering column a dull-gray, fuzzy texture.

  And then something clicked.

  Way to go, dimwit.

  Throwing the gearshift into neutral, she turned the ignition, and the engine fired to life. Throwing it back into drive, she stood on the accelerator as her eyes flew to the mirror.

  She was too late.

  It leapt at the car, punching a hook through the rear window, disintegrating it, sending shards of glass raining about the wagon in a tumultuous deluge of slivers.

  She was screaming at the top of her lungs, only vaguely aware that a duet of screams had joined her from the back seat, their voices blending so perfectly.

  Maybe she would enroll them in some singing courses if they survived this. One never knew where hidden talent might lie dormant, just waiting to be awakened.

  She’d had a good singing voice once. Had even been asked to sing a small solo in the church choir. Her father had literally beamed from the pews, while, by the look on her mother’s face, you would have thought that she was listening to a pair of screeching, brawling tomcats.

  Heard a few sour notes there, Miss Mariah. Gonna have to work on your high C. Don’t look, don’t look! Oh, brother. You never did listen.

  An arm was hooked in through the shattered rear window, the creature clinging by a large, curved claw that had punctured clear through the metal of the back door. As Sue watched, it hurled itself up and onto the roof of the wagon in a powerful acrobatic move. There ensued a clambering above, a clamor of rippling metal, and she shrieked when the nail punctured the roof by her head, hooking under to secure itself.

  As the wagon fishtailed dangerously, she cringed at the thundering of metal above her as the heavy body was pitched from one side to the other.

  She couldn’t stop screaming. As the car barreled forward, bouncing off trees and bounding over ruts, she sustained a single note for a length of time she didn’t think humanly possible, on and on, and seemingly on perfect pitch this time, her tiny backup singers in the background managing to hang right in there with her. They had good lungs. Obviously their swimming lessons had paid off.

  Her mother had taught her to swim, had thrown her into the deep end of the municipal pool and then stood with her hands on her hips and a scowl on her face as she’d sputtered and kicked and thrashed and—

  The wagon ran over something, cutting off all three screams in mid-trill. It sent the wagon to bouncing and the creature to flipping and landing on the hood. It was still hanging on, thanks to the hooked claw embedded in the roof. Only now its snotty snout was pressed against the windshield directly in front of her. Immediately, its mouth suctioned on, giving her a close and personal front-row view of a maw crowded with rows upon rows of needle-thin teeth. And they were moving in that hideous aperture, grinding and clicking, tapping maddeningly against the glass as if each tooth was a separate living entity.

  At this proximity she was presented a previous oversight. It had horns protruding from just above its temples and sweeping backward like a Billy goat’s. And eyes—beady, yellow… empty.

  A rigorous shrill was escaping from her throat as she jerked the wheel left and right in an attempt to rid herself of the monstrosity leering so brazenly with eyes so…mesmerizing.

  A dose of Freon shot through her veins, the frigid blast freezing her solid. An abyss of emptiness was beckoning in those yellow eyes…terrifying…enticing. It was calling to her. She could hear it, a soft whisper sliding around in her brain, offering her—

  peace…unlike any you have ever known.

  “What?” Her teeth were chattering.

  Let me deliver you from torment…from pain…from fear and despair…from guilt…

  “No.”

  from the disappointments of so many unfulfilled dreams.

  “No.”

  from the misery that is your life.

  “No!”

  Why must you suffer so?

  “Because.”

  Suffer not the pain of thine father.

  “Leave me alone.”

  Why must you destroy those you love most?

  “I don’t know.”

  You gave them life so that you might subject them to torment. Who is the momster?

  “I don’t know!”

  Peer into their eyes and you will see they are in pain.

  “No.”

  Peer into your soul and you will see you have failed them.

  “Please.”

  Give yourself over to me.

  “No.”

  You who have lost all faith in hope.

  “No, please.”

  Peer into my eyes, and you shall be free.

  A sensation akin to a perfect glide came over her. Except one step further—floating. She was floating, a totally new level that she’d never experienced before. It was exhilarating, breathtaking. There was a freedom there, unlike any—

  Float, float, rote float.

  Don’t dote on goat who wrote quote.

  Cross moat in boat and don’t tote goat.

  Bloat goat, demote goat, smote goat who gloat.

  Denote, emote hope.

  Note vote, then float.

  Float, rote float.

  It was the cries from the back seat that pulled her from the murky depths. Blinking away the blackness, she stood on the accelerator once again, giving the wheel a sharp jerk to the right, and there was a ripping sound as the hole in the roof peeled open in a jagged triangle. The fathomless eyes before her popped wide, just as the repulsive mouth popped loose, and the beast was sent hurtling to the brush.

  “Yes! Yes! YEEEES!”

  Gripping the wheel, she stood on the accelerator, spurred forward by the sheer horror of what was pursuing them. She was running for her life. Not only her own, but that of her children, and she had strong suspicions that it would be a painful and horrifying death beyond anything imaginable. The thing pursuing them would eat them layer by layer with that hideous mouth, peeling away their skin while they screamed and begged and pleaded. Then it would move on to the more succulent fat and muscle beneath, before finally ending with the sumptuous entrails, cracking open the rib-cage to reach the warm, savory, still-quivering heart within.

  Wrong, Miss Brain! Getting a bit carried away, aren’t we? You saw that mouth. Does it look like a potato peeler to you? It’s for latching on. Where might it latch on, you ask? That’s right, you guessed it. Brain, brain, brain! It latches on to the top of your numbskull and sucks you dry till there’s nothing left but an empty,
shriveled-up carcass. Not that it would get much nourishment in your case, shit for brains.

  Up ahead, the main road came into view. Clutching the steering wheel tight, she hurtled toward it, her eyes fixed on the approaching pavement, her features frozen in a gory grimace.

  She flew onto the paved road without letting up on the accelerator, only narrowly missing a tractor trailer, the irate trucker locking up his brakes and laying on his horn as he lay down a layer of rubber.

  Sue was oblivious. She spun the wheel and the wagon skidded across the asphalt, fishtailing for a few seconds before gaining traction. With tires squealing, she barreled toward home.

  Tears of relief streamed down her face.

  She had done it! She was blubbering like a lunatic and she was shaking uncontrollably, but she’d survived. She had looked the monster in the face and survived.

  She glimpsed her image in the mirror. Wide, haunted eyes peered back at her above dark circles etched into delicate skin. She stared numbly at the bright yellow daisy that sat atop her head. She had a special fondness for this particular wild variety, the black-eyed Susan. Its exposed roots were entangled in her disheveled hair along with several clumps of fresh, rich soil dotted with white specks of loam and tiny golden fertilizer beads. Her eyes dropped to her cheeks and she started at the sight.

  Tears. But not ordinary tears. Tears of blood.

  Her brain spun furiously.

  How could she be crying blood? Were these bloody tears retribution for locking horns with the demon?

  Tainted tears, years of fears.

  Queer tear that sear.

  Here here, ear, hear.

  Do not jeer, leer, peer so near at mere queer tear.

  Sheer, veer, revere, cheer dear tear.

  Tis sheer clear,

  Tainted tears, years of fears.

  And then she remembered the shattering windows, the stinging shards of glass.

  A sob escaped her, a tragic sound wrenched from deep inside.

  From behind her, where they cowered on the floor, she heard frightened whimpering. She wanted to speak, to comfort them, but she couldn’t command her lips to form the words, could only sob, her body shuddering as she peered at the windshield directly in front of her where a perfectly formed circle the size of a grapefruit had been etched deeply into the glass. If she hadn’t known better, she would have thought someone had taken a grinder to it. Her body convulsed at the thought of the obscenity that had been latched on there mere seconds earlier.

  ~~~~

  Veering into her driveway, she wrenched open the mangled car door amidst a protesting metallic groan and threw her head out, vomiting violently for several minutes. Gathering her strength, she climbed out of the battered vehicle—Way to go, dimwit. What goes? Enter the friggin’ demolition derby—on wobbly legs. With only one arm operating correctly, it took considerable effort to pry open the back door where she found Jake and Teddy huddled on the floor—why must you destroy those you love most—gripping each other tightly, peering up at her with wide, frightened, teary eyes.

  “Hurry,” she choked out, and they scrambled eagerly toward her outstretched hand.

  With her broken arm cradled against her belly and the terrified boys close on her heels, she quickly scurried through the house, flipping on every light there was.

  In the master closet, she dug to the back of the top shelf, flinging items to the floor. The oak box slipped from her trembling hand and went clattering to the floor, spilling the contents from the red-velvet interior, the revolver and box of ammunition tumbling out. Squatting on shaky legs, she dug frantically through the debris scattered at her feet, plucking out bullets with her one good hand. It took an extreme effort to load the chambers with a trembling left hand that would not cooperate, but in the end she prevailed, jamming them in one by one.

  Clutching the revolver to her belly, she stood to face the boys who stood cowering in the closet doorway, their eyes wide—peer into their eyes—and frightened.

  “Mom,” Jake whined, “your face is bloody.”

  “Shhh—why must you destroy those you love—it’s okay now, honey. Everything’s fine. Everything’s just fine.” She knew Daryl had to be on his way home from work, but—

  Jesus, just handle the situation for once, dimwit!

  Scurrying down the hall into the kitchen, she placed the revolver on the table and snatched up the phone to punch out 911. She began to pace nervously, her leather sandals echoing hollowly on the tile of the dining-room floor.

  “Nine-one-one operator, what’s your emergency,” a woman chimed in very professionally.

  “Oh, God, God, I was attacked! I…I was on a dirt road off of…of Hammerhill Boulevard, a few miles west of 310… on… on a dirt road… a… a—you hath chosen your chosen—a path—a path!”

  “Ma’am, calm down. Do you need an ambulance?”

  “Yes! I mean…no. I guess not.”

  “Are you injured?”

  “No, no! I just…I’m…well…my arm. I think it’s broken and…and—”

  “Okay, ma’am, calm down,” the operator insisted. “Can you describe your assailant? What was he wearing?”

  “Ooooooh, God,” she wailed as the horror came flooding back. “A vile, despicable…oh God…loathsome, disgusting monster! God help me…a creature from hell! Straight from the depths of hell! A demom! It was a demom!”

  She groaned at her inability to communicate. She sounded like a ranting, raving lunatic, but she couldn’t help it. She couldn’t stop herself. The words just tumbled out.

  “A foul, repulsive…hideous…oh God—”

  “Ma’am.”

  “Ghastly…revolting—”

  “Ma’am.”

  “Nauseating…abhorrent—”

  “Ma’am!”

  “It wants to take me from my children, don’t you understand? Please, help me! Help me! Somebody…somebody! I didn’t do anything wrong,” she sobbed, “do you hear me! I didn’t want to hurt anybody. I didn’t mean to…I didn’t!”

  She slammed the receiver onto its cradle and stood trembling, looking down into—peer into their eyes and you will see—the petrified eyes of her children. Taking a deep ragged breath, she pulled out a chair and sat heavily at the table. Her eyes fell to—peer into your soul and you will see—the small revolver. The last time she’d seen it, it had been in Daryl’s hand and pointed at a big black dog that was scavenging in their garbage cans. She’d begged him not to shoot, but—suffer not the pain, dimwit—he ignored her.

  The phone began to ring, the shrill blaring breaking the eerie silence of the large, empty house.

  “Mommy,” Jake whined.

  Sue put her fingers to her mouth, nibbling nervously at her nails while the phone rang…and rang…and then rang some more.

  Finally, mercifully, it fell silent.

  “Mommy, I’m scared,” Jake whimpered.

  Reaching for his small hand, she grasped it tightly in her own. Reaching for Teddy, she pulled him into her tight embrace as well. The poor children—who is the momster—were terrified.

  At the window, not two inches from her left ear, she heard a strange scraping sound. It was ever so faint, and yet it was the loudest noise she had ever heard in all her thirty-nine years—ear-piercing, bone-jarring—the sound vibrating through her body like a giant gong. She felt her teeth rattle, and something inside her head as well.

  Let’s see, what could it be, Miss Brain? Let’s think reeeeeal hard.

  Her body went numb.

  You who have lost all faith in hope.

  She knew it was there.

  Peace.

  Deep in the recesses of her brain, she supposed she’d known of its impending arrival for quite a while. It had only been a matter of time, really.

  For you, Daddy.

  She peered down upon her two beautiful children who clung—why must you destroy—to her so desperately. Leaning down, she gave them each a kiss on the top of their heads, breathing deeply of
their baby-shampoo fragrance. Her sons. Her two beautiful sons. She had so wished—who is the momster—to raise them right, to watch them grow into—peer into your soul—strong healthy men. They had so much more—unfulfilled dreams—to do together; little league games, boy scouts, girlfriends, proms, graduations, college, marriages, grandchildren. God, so much.

  The grandfather clock in the hall began to chime. Her father had willed it to her. Well, not an actual will. Just a piece of paper he’d scribbled on right before he hung himself in the closet with his favorite tie.

  She swiveled her head slowly on a neck that had the consistency of a large limp noodle…

  Time did stop, no ticking of the—

  and peered into…

  Do not shun those who reach for—

  the face of…

  Peer into—

  deliverance.

  ▪

  ▪

  Jacob

  (Thing in Her Conscience)

  “Mommy?”

  Kate’s eyes snapped open. Sitting up in bed, she clutched the covers to her chin. It was freezing and her heart was pounding. She scanned the room… all the corners… the bathroom doorway… the closet… the entry nook. It was too dark. She had a nightlight at every outlet. She would buy more. Put two per outlet. Up the wattage. She looked at the clock. Three-nineteen. An hour earlier than last night. The times were always different.

  Every night. Every night he woke her. Always calling. Four, five weeks now. When would it end? She was tired. So tired. The alarm clock would be ringing in another three hours and she would probably just be drifting off again. She’d be dozing at work. Not a good thing when you were a high profile lawyer prosecuting one of the biggest cases of your career. Daryl Kemps was a cold-blooded murderer. Yes, he was a handsome green-eyed devil, but he was also a bald-faced liar. Not only had the bastard shot his two sons and his wife, but was trying to pin it on—