Sliggers

by Michael Yowell

“Sure,” scoffed Jesse. “You probably did it to make it look like the same thing happened to you. So we wouldn’t suspect you.”

  “That’s just plain crazy,” said Mason. “Listen to yourselves.”

  Mal smirked. “I know you had something to do with it. You’ve always had a beef with us, ever since junior high.”

  “I wouldn’t say that, exactly, but you did always bully me –”

  “And your little bitch friend Eaver-Beaver probably told you where my shit was.” He glanced in Eaver’s direction. “Maybe I oughta do to this place what y’all did to mine.”

  “Don’t you dare do anything to this restaurant,” Eaver cautioned. “I’ll have you locked up faster than you can say ‘I’m a dipshit’.”

  “Fuck you! I’ll do whatever the fuck I want, to whoever’s got it comin’!” Mal’s voice was growing in volume and intensity. He was clearly ready to erupt violently. “And I’ll put anyone who fucks with me in the hospital!” He continued his advance.

  Mason looked around nervously, trying to find a way out of their predicament. His eyes spotted the cleaver on the counter. He picked it up.

  “Now just hold it, Mal,” said Mason, trying to be assertive. “You can’t come in here and threaten us. There are witnesses in this room. This is private property, and you need to leave.”

  “Whatcha gonna do, killer?” Mal scoffed. “Chop me up? You a secret killer, Red? You better not have had anything to do with what happened to Walt, you little inbred runt!”

  “Easy, Mal, just back off.” Mason had retreated as far as he could; he and Eaver were cornered against the tiled walls. His pulse was racing.

  Big Mal snarled, reared back his right arm, and threw a strong punch at Mason. Panicking, Mason raised the cleaver in front of him. Mal’s fist struck the sharp blade, ramming the cleaver against Mason’s shoulder. Flesh and muscle instantly gave way to the steel, and Mal’s hand split halfway to the wrist.

  Mason, at the sight of what just happened, involuntarily opened his hands and let go of the cleaver. It slid loose from Mal’s hand and fell to the floor with a heavy clang.

  Mal screamed – not from pain, but rather from shock – and stared incredulously at what used to be his powerful hand. Then the blood began to pour out.

  “Holyfuck! Holyfuck!” exclaimed Jesse, his face white. “We gotta do something! He’s bleedin’ like a stuck pig!”

  Mitch ran behind the counter, his eyes darting for something to stop the bleeding. He spotted a dishrag, wrapped it tightly around Mal’s hand, and grabbed his leader by the arm. “C’mon, dude, we gotta get you out of here. You need to go to the hospital.”

  Speechless, but mouth still agape, Mal clenched his wounded hand and let Mitch guide him around the counter, through the restaurant, and outside. Then the three drug dealers sped away, driving directly to Sweetboro Medical Center.

  Mason, numb with shock, slowly turned around to face Eaver. Her hands remained pressed to her face, just below her wide, shaken eyes. After a minute, the words were finally able to leave his lips.

  “Holy shit…”

  CHAPTER 17

  Eaver called her mother immediately to let her know what had happened. Sherrie instructed her to wait for her there and touch nothing, saying she was going to call the sheriff and have him meet everybody there at the restaurant. By the time the sheriff and his deputy got there to sort it out and take statements, Sherrie was waiting outside to bring them in.

  Mason and Eaver sat anxiously at one of the dining tables. They were visibly shaken; Mason was squirming and rubbing his left shoulder, and Eaver’s hands were trembling slightly. Neither of them could shed the image of Mal’s hand splitting apart. They stood when they saw Sheriff Steele and Deputy Riggins enter the restaurant.

  “Howdy Miss Eaver, Mason,” said the sheriff. “Sit on down.”

  They did, and he and Carl took seats across from them. Sheriff Steele removed his hat and set it on the corner of the table. Sherrie stood next to the table, glancing at the blood trail on the floor.

  “So what happened tonight?” Steele asked. “I understand you injured Malcolm Gibbs here?”

  “We closed the restaurant and started cleaning up,” said Eaver. “Then Mal and his pals, Mitch and Jesse, come in, bringing trouble.”

  “They were angry,” Mason added. “Said crazy stuff like we had destroyed their greenhouse and left it stinking like sulfur. Which of course we didn’t do. I wouldn’t even know where to find his greenhouse.”

  “So he thought you destroyed his property, and came here to retaliate?”

  Eaver nodded. “He was pissed. Even threatened to trash the restaurant, but I warned him not to. Then he came up on Mason here and tried to punch him.”

  “He had us cornered behind the counter there,” said Mason, pointing to the tight spot where it happened. “I was holding Cinch’s cleaver in front of me, he took a swing, and all I could do was raise it up. He punched the cleaver, which – um – sliced his hand open.”

  Carl winced. “Oh lordy.”

  “It was self-defense, Sheriff,” Mason insisted. “An involuntary defense mechanism, resulting in Mal unintentionally injuring himself. I swear I didn’t attack him with a meat cleaver.”

  “Is that right?” the sheriff asked Eaver.

  “Yessir. That’s exactly what happened. Then, when the blood started gushing, Mitch and Jesse wrapped a towel around his hand and took him to the hospital.”

  “Jesus,” said Sherrie, shaking her head.

  The sheriff got up from the table, followed by the deputy, and walked around the counter. He saw a sizeable amount of blood on the tile floor, right where Mason had said. But not much anywhere else. If Mason had attacked Mal, Mal would’ve run from there while openly bleeding. But there was nothing more than droplets leading from there to the front door. So Mal must have stayed in that spot until his friends wrapped his hand to quell the bleeding. What the sheriff saw on the floor confirmed the story he had been told. Plus, he would never picture level-headed Mason as the type to go crazy and attack somebody. The sheriff looked at his deputy. “Okay,” he said. “Looks about right.”

  Then he glanced out to the dining area. “In all my years I’ve never heard of something like this. I guess there’s always a first time. We’ll call you down to the station if we need you, but I don’t think we’ll need to. This is pretty cut and dry.”

  “No pun intended,” said Deputy Riggins, who received a scowl from his boss.

  The sheriff walked back to the table. “You know I have to go track down Mitch and Jesse, get their statements as well.”

  “Of course,” said Mason. “Can’t imagine they’ll say anything contrary to what we told you. Even they would have to admit I didn’t attack Mal. They’re probably still over at the hospital.”

  Sheriff Steele returned his hat to his head, adjusted it, and said, “Alright, now, y’all try to have a good rest of your evening. We’re all done here. C’mon, Spud.” The policemen exited the restaurant and hustled through the rain to their town cruiser.

  When the police had driven away, Sherrie turned to her daughter. “Are you okay?”

  Eaver nodded. “Yeah, I feel better now, after getting the police stuff out of the way.” She glanced at the trickles of blood on the floor. “I guess now we can clean up the crime scene.”

  She pushed her chair back and stood. When Mason pushed against the table to do the same, he grunted in pain.

  “What’s the matter?” Eaver asked.

  “My shoulder really hurts,” said Mason, “where the cleaver struck me.”

  She walked to him and pulled his collar out to get a look inside. “That’s bruising up pretty good. He must’ve put a lot of force into that punch.”

  “Enough to tear his hand wide open,” Mason pointed out.

  “I never saw so much blood,” said Eaver.

  Mason grinned. “Makes you think twice about wanting your crab cakes and ketchup, doesn’t it?”

  She
didn’t skip a beat. “Never. I’d eat some right now if we had some made. I’d have one in my mouth while cleaning up the blood.”

  Sherrie just shook her head. “You ain’t right, daughter.”

  Mason got up and started walking toward the kitchen. “You got a mop?” he asked.

  “Yeah,” said Eaver. “I’ll take care of that, how about you finish the counters?”

  “Deal.”

  Eaver found the mop and bucket in the bathroom, filled the bucket with soap and water, then brought it behind the counter. She looked at Mason. “I still can’t believe he called you ‘killer’.”

  “Don’t forget ‘little inbred runt’.”

  Eaver remembered and started giggling. “Oh yeah, bless his dumb ol’ heart.”

  “You two aren’t very nice,” said Sherrie.

  “Why?” her daughter asked. “Just because Killer here tried to chop Mal’s hand off?”

  The comment caught Mason by surprise and he burst out laughing.

  “That’s not funny,” Sherrie tried to state, but a smile was breaking on her lips. Then, seeing Mason’s face turning red from laughing, she said, “Okay, it’s a little funny.”

  The rumble of thunder was heard, louder than before. The rainstorm was getting stronger. Sherrie took notice, looking at the ceiling. She stood up to help her daughter, and a yawn forced its way through her mouth.

  Eaver took pity on her mother; it had been a stressful day for the restaurant owner. “Go on home, Momma, we can take care of this.”

  “Are you sure? I don’t mind.”

  “No, scram. This won’t take us very long.”

  Sherrie appreciated it. “Okay, sweetie, thanks. Hurry home. And Mason, thank you for helping out today. You’re such a sweetheart.”

  “Don’t mention it,” he smiled. “Happy to help.”

  Sherrie leaned over the counter, kissed Eaver’s cheek, and left to go home.

  The rainfall intensified while Mason and Eaver worked. By the time Mason had wiped everything down and Eaver had cleaned all the blood from the floor, the rain was pelting the roof pretty good.

  “Listen to that,” Eaver remarked while stowing the mop in the bathroom. “Maybe we should wait it out a little until it dies down.”

  “Fine with me,” said Mason, who had no particular desire to be drenched. The rain would lighten up again before long, and then they could lock up the restaurant and leave.

  Suddenly they heard a loud WHAP, accompanied by the sound of glass cracking. They looked in the direction of the startling sound and saw pieces of a broken window fall to the floor and shatter. A mysterious shape was visible just outside the window frame. Mason’s first thought was that Mitch or Jesse had come back for vengeance. But then the shape pulled itself inside the restaurant, and Mason saw something much more frightening than Mal’s cronies.

  This thing wasn’t even human.

  A dark, bulky mass dropped to the floor, collected itself, and stood to face its quarry. A menacing hiss burst from its mouth. Eaver screamed, and her knees buckled involuntarily.

  Mason could not believe his eyes. He seemed to be staring at some kind of sea monster. The thing was about five feet tall, with slick, shiny, dark green skin, a thick tail, stout legs with webbed feet, and six appendages – three on each side – that looked like tentacles, each with a long, white claw at the tip.

  But the head was the most terrifying. It was the size of a man’s, but with a protruding snout – the lower jaw extending farther than the upper – full of needle-like teeth. The only feature more horrific than the creature’s mouth was the pair of bulbous black eyes bulging from their sockets.

  Hissing again, it lashed out with one of its appendages. The four-foot tentacle struck the edge of one of the wooden tables with sizable force, busting the board it hit.

  “Stay back!” said Mason. “That thing’s strong!” He positioned himself between the monster and Eaver.

  “Jesusgodjesus,” she muttered, quivering from shock.

  Another swing of its tentacle missed Mason and whacked a wall, knocking down two oars hung in the shape of an X. They landed on a table, one of them bouncing in Mason’s direction. He quickly reached down for it, and gripped it desperately with his shaking hands.

  Mason waved the oar aggressively in front of him, hoping to scare the creature away. The action seemed to entice it further, and it advanced rapidly. Mason took a swing at the thing’s head. The creature swiped at the oar, deflecting it against a table. The force broke the oar, which split just above the paddle.

  The stem of the oar remained in Mason’s hands. Looking at the end, he noticed it had not broken cleanly. A sharp, jagged point was left at the far end. A spear, then, he granted.

  Fighting his racing heartbeat, he focused on engaging the monster that was coming for him. He jabbed at the thing, but a tentacle repelled the oar. Trying to time his attack against the motion of the appendages, he plunged the oar handle forward once more.

  This time he stabbed the creature. The broken tip punched through the flesh and deep into the body.

  The thing went crazy. Appendages flailing wildly, it erupted with a coarse, raspy squeal. It recoiled, pulling itself away. Mason held firm to the oar, and it slipped out of its victim. A good-sized hole was left in the creature’s midsection, blackish blood oozing from the wound and spilling onto the floor. In pain, the monster retreated and disappeared out the window.

  Then it was gone.

  Pale with shock, Mason turned his head to check on Eaver. She drew her eyes away from the window to meet his gaze. She looked at the dazed young man holding the bloodied oar handle.

  “Not bad for a little inbred runt,” she said.

  CHAPTER 18

  “So let me get this straight,” Sheriff Steele murmured, rubbing his temples. “You called me out here again to report that you’ve been attacked by a sea monster?”

  Sherrie folded her arms, also eyeing the young adults with skepticism. “My sentiments exactly.”

  “I know it sounds bonkers,” said Mason. “But that’s what happened! I wouldn’t have believed it myself if I hadn’t seen it. It was the scariest thing I’ve ever seen.” The image of the horrific creature was burned into his brain, and probably would be forever.

  “It was like something out of a nightmare,” Eaver added. “Like I said, it had tentacles, legs, a big tail, huge, scary eyes, and sharp teeth.”

  Mason pointed to the table with the broken board. “And lots of strength.”

  The sheriff could not deny that damage had been done to the restaurant since he was there earlier. Pieces of glass were scattered across the floor near the broken window, drywall was dented and smudged where things had been knocked off, and the wooden table Mason was referring to had one of its planks busted in half. “This place has taken a little beating, that much is apparent.”

  Sherrie buried her face in her hands. “This has not been a good day for my restaurant.”

  Eaver reached over and hugged her mother. “I’m sorry, Momma. We’ll get it fixed up, don’t worry.”

  Sherrie rolled her eyes. “I know, I know, but it still sucks. Between the smokehouse, the meat lost, the injury to Malcolm, and now the window.”

  “Even so,” said Mason, “we’ll all help out and get things back to normal.”

  “Although nothing about this is normal at the moment,” Eaver pointed out.

  “One thing’s for damn sure,” stated Sherrie. “I’m bringing the shotgun here from home. I could use the protection, whether it’s against violent thugs or friggin’ sea monsters.”

  “Wouldn’t be a bad idea,” admitted the sheriff. Then he added, “For any intruder, even if it’s just to scare them away. Although I don’t think you have to worry about sea monsters.”

  Eaver’s back stiffened. “You don’t think we’re lying, do you?”

  “I don’t know what to think. I don’t think you’d lie to me, but at the same time listen to what you’re saying. How do yo
u expect me to take something like that?”

  “I feel you, Sheriff,” said Mason. “And we’d think the same if the roles were reversed. But look at the blood it left! And smell that nasty odor it brought with it!”

  Sheriff Steele nodded. “I noticed that, like rotten eggs. You say that’s what the creature smelled like?”

  “Yep. As soon as it broke in we could smell it.”

  “That’s the same stink that was all over the busted smokehouse this morning,” Eaver said. “I think now we know what destroyed the smokehouse.”

  “And,” added Mason, “Mal said something about his greenhouse stinking like sulfur. These things must’ve been responsible for that too.”

  “Jesus,” said Eaver, staring blindly at the floor. “How many of them do you think are out there?”

  Mason shrugged. “I’m still trying to wrap my head around the one.”

  Sheriff Steele walked toward the pools of black liquid on the floor. “This where you say you stabbed it?”

  “Yes sir, then it went back through the window.”

  “It does look like some kind of blood,” the sheriff acknowledged, “but not like what I’m used to seeing.” He knelt down to get a closer look. “It’s almost black, and gooey.” The sulfuric stench was much stronger near the blood. “Damn, that’s a strong stink.”

  The others joined him, hovering over the liquid. “I don’t know of any animal whose blood smells like sulfur,” Mason remarked.

  “Well, let’s not touch it,” said Steele. “Sherrie, do you have something I can use to take a sample of this to my lab analyst?”

  “Yeah,” she nodded. “I’ll go get you something.” She went to the kitchen, dug around for a moment, and returned with a Tupperware container and steel spatula. “Will this work?”

  “Perfect, thank you.” The sheriff then scooped some of the viscous fluid off the floor and dumped it into the plastic container. Then he pressed the lid on tightly and stood up. “I’ll get this to Marty, see what he can make of it.”

  “Marty Bennett, the diver?” asked Sherrie.