Insanity

by A. R. Braun

  Reed had kicked the stupid kitten out of his room. Furball wasn’t his best friend that comforted him after he’d been tormented by bullies all day. It wasn’t even a he, for God’s sake. He’d flipped the thing over and found evidence of that. Like Reed was supposed to bond with a girl, those yucky creatures that wanted to kiss and hug, ewww. Mom said one day he’d feel differently about that, but he hoped not.

  Reed got out of bed and walked down the hallway of the one-story house, his eyes on the pet door in the entry door. He ran his hand over his face gravely, wishing this was a nightmare. Yet he knew it wasn’t. Not after what God had told him. He tried to brace himself, but it was no use. He shook so badly he thought he’d have a seizure, like the ones Aunt Mary had, and he fought not to pee his pants. When you had to go you had to go, but Reed willed himself to stay on sentry duty.

  The stupid kitten batted at and rolled with Mom’s ball of yarn by the couch in the living room. Reed sighed, hating the creature. She was cute, but Furball couldn’t replace Midnight, who’d not only had the knack to lead Reed to the best kinds of mischief, like destroying Mrs. Lance’s flowers, but also hadn’t gone overboard with affection. Reed liked his space. The way Midnight slept at his feet had suited him just fine, but Furball, she wanted sloppy kisses like those girls.

  It happened before he could process it. Midnight practically flew through the pet door, a gaping maw. Then he zoomed over to Furball, advancing like a beetle going in absurd directions to escape being swatted, curving to the left until it righted itself into his quarry’s path.

  And then Midnight was on her. He bit and clawed into the kitten. Furball shrieked, then fell limp. In nightmare vision, Midnight pulled out the kitten’s entrails and ingested them, gobbling them up from his curled paws, the claws now mini shears for the slaughter.

  Evilly, Midnight turned his head to catch Reed staring at him. The feline’s eyes glowed.

  “Meeuuurrrowwww.” The sound echoed through the house as if amplified.

  Reed opened his mouth in a silent scream. Warm pee ran down his legs as he ran, making a trickling sound as the urine splattered on the floor. Reed rushed into his room, shut the door, and hid underneath the warm covers.

  In hell-on-earth, Reed hoped this was a nightmare and he’d wake up, saved from this terror that should not be. At his age, he didn’t know the word “abomination.” For what had happened to his best friend, it was as good a word as any.

  He realized he’d forgotten to lock the door, but as Reed tried to rise from his pillow, he fainted.

  ***

  Reed woke from the merciful unconsciousness. He realized with horror that the growling coming from underneath the bed was what had woken him. His eyes snapped open, and he started, sitting up so quickly he could’ve been Michael Myers performing the act with only his back muscles. He rubbed his sleep-rough eyes.

  How did he get in?

  Reed turned his head to the window he’d left open. He’d done so because the heat in his room was somehow more powerful than in the hallway and in the bathroom. Reed blinked and looked harder.

  A cat-sized hole had been clawed into the screen.

  “Meeuuurrrowwww.”

  Then the sinister growling again.

  Reed trembled like a wind-up toy, and oh, the fear, insects of panic running wild in his mind. He thought he’d go crazy like his great-grandma Mildred, confined in that loony bin on the edge of town. He couldn’t look under the bed; perhaps if he ignored it, it would go away, and he’d go back to sleep, safe in the land of dreams.

  Wishful thinking. It didn’t stop. In fact, it sounded like Midnight was calling his name.

  “Reeeddddurrrroowwww.”

  Or had that been, “Reed, there’s no way out”?

  He’d come out from underneath the covers to look, but not tonight. Even though his curiosity was tearing him apart. Even though he needed to put his big-boy pants on and defend himself. Reed wouldn’t become a victim like that damned kitten, however. Having his guts spilled all over his bed was not one of his ambitions in life.

  Midnight hissed in addition to growling, a demon under his bed.

  Reed again told himself this had to be a nightmare. Soon, he’d wake up, and it would be time for breakfast. He’d eat his favorite sugary cereal and watch cartoons, then feed his best friend in the whole world . . .

  . . . Midnight.

  Anxiety squirmed through his brain like electricity. Unable to stand it anymore, Reed forced himself to be brave. He pulled back the covers and reluctantly looked underneath the bed.

  Two glowing cat’s eyes stared back at him.

  Reed’s mind lurched as he raised himself back up to the bed in a hurry and held the heavy coverlet over his head. He knew that wouldn’t protect him, but he couldn’t stand one more second of this. Yet he had to peek when he heard the clacks of claws on the hardwood floor.

  A pulling sensation on the coverlet, like someone trying to steal the blankets, then curved claws appeared at the edge of the bed. Reed gasped and yanked the covers over his head again.

  A heavy weight thumped onto his feet as Midnight had always done, then a contented purring. The vibrating sensation lulled him.

  Maybe Midnight won’t hurt me. Perhaps it’ll be like old times.

  Reed forced himself to relax. “That’s right, you old badass.” Reed noted the anxiety in his voice, for he’d squeaked out the words. But he tried to be brave. Still, he kept the covers over his head for good measure.

  Thump.

  Midnight had jumped onto his lap. Or perhaps it wasn’t Midnight. Whatever thing his best friend had become, he’d changed, for the cat growled again as if he wanted to rip Reed a blowhole.

  Unable to take the anticipation anymore, Reed pulled back the covers and watched in fear as the cat’s back arched and his mouth opened to show sharp teeth . . .

  (all the better to bite your face off with, my dear)

  . . . and Midnight hissed.

  Springing from Reed’s groin, the demon cat came for him.

  ***

  His father’s footfalls rushed down the hall. The cat quit trying to carve his way through the coverlet, climbed off Reed’s face, and retreated to his chest.

  Breathing a sigh of relief, Reed pulled down the covers. His dad burst into the room. He gawked at what he saw.

  “Good Lord,” his father said. “Is that Midnight?”

  Ruefully, Reed nodded.

  His once fine hair now nappy, Midnight snapped his head toward Reed’s father and growled. Dark crimson dotted the feline’s chin, along with Furball’s entrails. The cat’s breath was enough to drop a horse.

  Frantically, his father looked around the room, found Reed’s baseball bat, and hit a lefty home run with Midnight, sending him howling and twirling into the darkness, out of reach of the nightlight’s wan glare.

  “Daddy,” Reed sobbed, his covers pulled up to his chin.

  “Where’d he go?” His father flicked on the lamp and scanned the room, not finding the cat from hell. He stalked, searching every corner. He didn’t spot the feline anywhere.

  Her hair disheveled, Reed’s mother appeared in the doorway, rubbing her eyes. Her silver, satin nightgown hung on her like solder. “What’s going on in here?”

  “Go back to bed!” His father turned the room upside-down.

  “I heard screaming. Are you going to tell me what’s wrong?”

  “I said go back to bed, Zoe!”

  Reed’s mom furrowed her brow and frowned. “Don’t get your panties in a bunch!”

  Reed’s father waved her off, and finally, she walked down the hall. His dad stood at the foot of Reed’s bed. Then he turned his head toward the feline-sized hole in the screen.

  “Why is the window open?” his dad asked. “And why is there a hole in the screen?”

  “It’s too hot in here,” Reed answered. “I guess Midnight clawed the hole.”

  His father sighed. “If I’ve told you once . . .” He couldn’t
finish, for he shrieked.

  Reed crawled to the foot of the bed to see what had happened. His father’s feet bore shredded skin.

  “No,” Reed cried.

  The culprit’s small head came out from under the bed with stealth, and Midnight bit into his dad’s left foot, then ran away at almost the speed of light. The cat jumped up to the ledge and took off through the hole in the screen.

  “Son of a bitch!” His father lifted his bitten foot, then lost his balance and fell to the hardwood floor, sitting down hard. He examined his wound where gleaming blood pooled in the teeth marks, eventually leaking to the sole. Struggling to stand, his dad didn’t seem to register the black pit bull from next door that crashed through Reed’s window screen and landed on top of him. His father fought for his life as the canine teeth came closer, closer, closer still. In seconds, the sharp ivory would tear his larynx out.

  “Eli!” Reed’s mother stood in the doorway, her hands over her mouth, her eyes bulging. Then she grabbed the ball bat and rushed toward the pit bull.

  She was too late.

  Reed found his voice as the hound of hell ripped his father’s throat out. The dog seemed to be unfazed by his mother pounding on him with a baseball bat. Reed screamed again and bounded out of bed. He ran from the room, knowing there was nothing he could do. If a baseball bat couldn’t hurt the beast, what could? Suddenly, Reed wanted his kitten. He didn’t miss Midnight anymore.

  He sprinted into the living room, remembering Furball had been murdered. So why did she stir and hiss? And why were her sharp teeth bared?

  Reed froze.

  Furball got to her feet.

  “Meeeooowwwuuuurrrlllll.”

  Furball arched her back, reared up on her haunches, and attacked, jumping for him. Reed threw a kick with all his might and knocked the kitten onto the coffee table, where she rolled over the edge.

  Reed burst through the front door after unlocking it, then remembered his dad killing a raccoon that had rooted through Mom’s garden. His father hadn’t even buried it, hadn’t had time, he’d said. He’d simply thrown it away . . . in the rubber garbage can Reed stood in front of now.

  His dad had been so lazy he hadn’t even taken the can to the curb.

  Reed shivered in the chilly air and looked upward. The main illumination, the full moon, lit his way, and the stars bathed him in astral light. Otherwise, his neighborhood was lit up by tam-o-shanters. Next door, Mr. Lance even had what he called a “tam-o-shame,” a squash carved like a pumpkin, making it look like a demon. The aforesaid sinister fiend glared at him from a bedroom window at the side of the house as if to gloat over the catastrophe.

  Reed glanced at the trash can. Suddenly, he couldn’t take his eyes from it.

  From inside the house: “Meeeooowwwuuuurrrlllll.”

  The garbage can rattled, shook.

  Oh, nooooooooo!

  The lid didn’t pop off as much as explode upward. It landed onto the deck with a thud. Reed trembled, again feeling like a seizure would take him. His mind reeled and he turned away. He didn’t want to see what was about to come out of that garbage can. He wished to flee, but froze. Reed held his hands over his eyes, yet he couldn’t help turning and peeking through his fingers.

  The raccoon’s head popped up, a burglar from hell. The creature growled and bared its fangs, saliva dripping from them.

  Reed’s anxiety let fly then, his mind surrendering to total panic as he shrieked, wept, and keened. It felt like his mind had caught fire. He was going crazy as Grandma Mildred had. His parents had talked of visiting her, but they always found an excuse to get out of it. Reed wondered if they’d make excuses to get out of seeing him in the children’s ward, and that set his mind ablaze all the more. That is, if the reanimated raccoon didn’t murder him first.

  He found his feet and ran.

  A loud boom made Reed stop in his tracks and put his hands over his ears. He shut his eyes for fear, willing whatever was happening to go away.

  “Thank God you’re all right, kiddo.” A large, firm hand on his shoulder. “It’s Mr. Lance.”

  Reed opened his eyes. He saw it was indeed his next-door neighbor. He’d know that bald head, those bodybuilder-like muscles, and that pudgy gut anywhere. Mr. Lance carried a pistol, the barrel smoking. Reed turned toward the garbage can and spotted the raccoon’s head slumped over the side, a hole between its eyes, which blankly stared. Gray matter and blood were visible in the opening of the cranium.

  “You’ve gotta shoot ‘em in the head, boy,” Mr. Lance continued. “Doesn’t your dad have a gun?”

  Yet Reed couldn’t stop the fear from tearing his mind apart. He bawled and hugged Mr. Lance around the waist. “My mom’s in my room! Please help her! It’s too late for my dad. My cat came back, and your dog crashed through my window.”

  “I was wondering where that dog escaped to. Duke got away before I could shoot him.”

  A shadow fell over Reed from behind. Shaking uncontrollably, he pulled out of the embrace, not wanting to look. But Reed would recognize that dark drape anywhere, had seen it many times when engaged in mischief, when his father had crept up on him.

  “Brains!” the gurgling voice from behind him said. “I want brains!”

  Reed wheeled on his father, seeing . . . not his dad at all. He wasn’t sure what he gazed upon. He had his father’s face and build, but his ashen skin bore dark crescent moons under his black eyes—two punctures in his eyeballs. His mouth leaked blood, and the crimson stains painted his chin and his neck. He started forward, his gait slow, and he shuffled one leg as if he’d lost the use of it, inching closer, much too close.

  Reed turned and caught Mr. Lance aiming at his father with the pistol.

  “No!” Reed said. “Don’t shoot my dad!”

  But the report rang out nonetheless. It echoed, the smoking gun sending the devil’s fog into the night, probably up to that full moon. Reed heard what sounded like a girl shrieking though his hands covered his ears, then realized it was himself. He performed an about-face. His father’s body hit the deck with a thud, and blood spurted from the wound in his forehead.

  Reed ran for his father. He won’t be able to work with that hole in his head, he insanely thought. His brains will fall all over his projects. How can he hug Mommy and me? He’ll drip blood all over our clothes.

  Reed stopped as Midnight and Duke appeared on either side of his father’s corpse. They growled in tandem, demons’ voices in stereo.

  “Reed,” Mr. Lance’s husky voice cried. “Duck.”

  He did so, and two more reports rang out, dropping the cat and the dog. Reed sprang up. He stared open-mouthed at Mr. Lance, who apologized for having to shoot his father. And then Reed was running for him, pounding his fists into his neighbor’s gut. The blows probably didn’t even faze him.

  “You killed my dad!”

  “I’m sorry, boy, but that wasn’t your father.”

  Reed quit struggling, looked up, and wept. “My mom! Please save her!”

  His neighbor’s leathery face stared down with troubled, bloodshot eyes. “Don’t you worry, kiddo.” Mr. Lance ran into the house, calling out for Mrs. Bernstein, the only parent Reed had left. He prayed she’d be all right.

  Bearing rifles, the men and the women from the neighborhood ran onto the lawn. Reed was petrified. He couldn’t take the suspense anymore. Reed ran into the house; he had to help his mother.

  ***

  Reed followed his neighbor as the latter searched the home, rushing into his parents’ bedroom last. Mr. Lance had been calling his mom’s name, and she all but burst out of the closet, followed by matted black fur on a kitten shape that pursued her relentlessly. Apparently, his mother had hid after losing the battle with the huge dog.

  His mom bumped into Mr. Lance.

  “Meeeooowwwuuuurrrlllll.”

  Mr. Lance shoved her aside and aimed the handgun at their kitten. A deafening shot rang out. What was left of Furball exploded in pieces of black fluff
and raining blood. A piece of gray matter stuck to the forehead of Reed’s mom, and she wiped it off in a hurry. She stooped to vomit onto the bedroom floor. Mr. Lance rubbed her back.

  “Sorry about that, Mrs. Bernstein,” his bass voice said.

  After five minutes of retching, his mother dry heaved. Joy filled Reed’s heart when she spotted him. She ran for Reed and hugged him tightly. He hugged back with all his strength. Unfortunately, life without his father would prove that, though the danger had passed, hell-on-earth still reigned supreme.

  The neighbors flowed into the house like flood waters. They wanted to know if Reed and his mother were all right. They spoke of the relief they felt when they saw them hugging.

  Reed took deep breaths. “I thought I was a-goin’ crazy, Mommy, like Grandma Mildred.”

  “Awww.” She touched his cheek. ”It was only a panic attack, baby.”

  Reed wept. “I want my dad.”

  His mother sobbed, also. She touched foreheads with him. “I know, I know. No one will ever replace your father, but . . . we’ll . . . be okay, baby.”

  His mother’s assurance was a small consolation. He didn’t think it would be okay. He didn’t think it would ever be okay again.

  ***

  The next morning, Reed pulled away from his mother, for he’d been holding onto her as he slept in her bed. He hadn’t noticed the bite mark just below her left knee, but the bedcovers had slid off, and her nightgown had ridden up. The wound practically had Furball’s name on it. The blood around the bite was clotted.

  And why did she hold a hammer?

  Reed remembered what had happened to his father after he’d been bitten.

  His mother shifted, causing a rocking movement on the bed.

  “Brains, I want brains!” a raspy voice from above him said. A strong hand reached down and held him in place.

  “Noooooo,” Reed screamed.

  Then the impact tore through his skull, and he faded into obscurity.

  The Loner

  Trying not to glide, Terrin, the school’s loner, lumbered toward the pep rally. It was a rainy, cloudy day, the only time he could go out before evening. The deafening clap of a thundercloud brought him out of his trance. Trembling from the chill of the early-winter day, he went inside the gym and slid between the colors and shapes, himself an oblong stain, a teenager adorned in colorless clothing that fit him like a shroud.