He considered stopping to search for a good sized butt and decided against it. By now, all of the butts were soggy from the rain. Besides, he wouldn’t have a way to light it up without a lighter, anyway. Brian had the nerve to muscle that out of him too. Elliott rolled his eyes, aggravated. Aggravated at a few things; Brian, the rain, his sleeping spot taken, and the wet cigarette butts. When they were soggy, they were no good.
“You could make it rain fire, yes you could. Then those butts would be all dry and ready to smoke. All just for youse,” he murmured to himself.
Elliott grinned at the idea, but instead, he would need to save his strength for the fight with Brian tomorrow night. No sense in using up his powers now when he would need them later. His stomach grumbled a protest of hunger and the idea gave way to a new thought; more to eat.
Let’s admit it. Elliott had no special powers and well . . . he was a little crazy. There was no way that he wasn’t crazy. Along with many of the other people in the homeless community, he had lived on the streets for more than five years now. Anyone who’s lived on the streets that long has to have at least a few screws loose. His demise from society was similar to Brian’s, suffering from the bottom falling out from under the economy, but Elliott’s main reason for being on the streets wasn’t economical. Anyone could tell you that just by looking at the guy. He wasn’t all there mentally. Standing almost 6’ 1” and less than 110 lbs., Elliott was a wiry, lanky little man. Along with his tattered clothes, ratty hair, and foul odor, he was a sight to behold. His eyes looked too big for his head, and his stare was unwavering with his eyes bulging out of their sockets. The coat he wore was two sizes too small. To say the same for his pants would be an understatement. His gangly legs made his pants more like long shorts than anything. The Velcro-shoes that he had fished from the dumpster a few months before were more than a few sizes too small as well. To make himself more at home in them, he cut the toes so that all ten digits poked out. The long blackened toenails were festering with sores and infection.
Aside from the constant conversations with himself and yelling at the buildings here and there, he was a really nice guy. Not much to worry about. Talking to himself and the buildings was what he found himself doing when one of the back doors to the plaza was kicked open. Three men and loud music spilled out into the alley. When the door slammed shut behind the three men, the echo of drums evaporated.
The smell of bourbon reached Elliott’s nose like the scent of wild flowers in summer. Instantly shutting his mouth and forgetting about his argument on which one of his fingers was his best friend, Elliott ducked back and into the shadows. He ground his teeth as his heart paced rapidly. His chest tightened as he held his breath. He had a few run-ins with people who were bad. Bad people. He wanted to avoid that at all cost. He didn’t have that problem back at his old spot. Once again, he cursed Brian for muscling him to move on as the three figures walked in his direction.
“You don’t know this area,” Elliott’s pinky insisted. “They could be nice. Give all of us a shower. Something to eat.”
“That’s not true,” his thumb interjected. “They are bad. I can feel it. We need to run before they sees us.”
All ten of Elliott’s fingers began to argue their individual ideas about the matter. Drowning them all out, although their opinions were all simply in his head and not real, Elliott watched as the three men staggered down the alley in his direction. One of the three men swayed as he walked. The other two men helped him along. Elliott might have been crazy, but he wasn’t dumb. They had just come from a bar. Maybe there were some unfinished bottles sitting by the small business’ back door. Against his better judgment, Elliott stepped eagerly out of the shadows toward the warm smell of alcohol. It was drifting off of the three men and Elliott couldn’t contain himself.
“Oh shit, pal! You scared the hell out of me.” One of the more sober men said, and stepped back defensively.
Instant remorse filled Elliott so he stopped his advance.
“We’re sorry,” he said, trying to back away from the three men.
“Ohh…” The staggering man cringed, still being held by his friends. “I think I’m going to puke, yo.”
“Not on me, you’re not.” The first man said, letting his drunken friend fall to his knees.
The wet splashing sound filled the air along with the smell of warm beer. The man on his knees leaned on one hand and continued to vomit in the middle of the alley. Both of his not-so-drunk friends began to laugh at his expense, and when the man was done puking, he looked up at Elliott and pointed.
“That d-dude. You smell t-that shit, yo?” His words slurred as he wiped vomit from his lips trying to stand.
“Ugh . . . gross.” The first man agreed, helping his friend back to his feet. “How’s about takin’ a shower, pal? Damn, you smell like ass, bro.”
“I’m . . . I don’t want any…” Elliott started to say, attempting to slip away into the darkness.
“Yeah, buddy,” the third, much larger man shouted, cutting Elliott off. “What the hell you doin’ jumpin’ out at us like that? Shit man. ‘Bout gave me a heart attack.”
“Hey.” The drunken man garbled. “Let’s teach this p-prick a l-lesson.”
“Yeah, punk. You almost got your stink on me,” the big man insisted, stepping forward.
“Not to mention that he made Paul throw up. But hell…that was funny.”
“I don’t care. Get him!” The big man shouted.
As he tried to swallow, Elliott felt his heart jump into his throat. The words got caught as he tried to plea forgiveness, and if having his thumb shout that it had been right wasn’t enough, Elliott’s legs refused to join him in his attempt to leave. Turning to retreat in the way he had come, he fell flat on his face. Whether it was from his resistant legs or from the sudden shove that he received to the back from one of the men, he didn’t know. What he did know was that this wasn’t good. It wasn’t good at all. He thought this as he felt himself falling forward. Water splashed, hitting him in the face, as his knees came down hard on the cement. The deafening crack jolted through his body like the sound of a shotgun going off as his left knee attempted to move past the pavement and into the earth. It didn’t prevail and his knee had no other choice but to halt at the cement’s request. Sharp pain surged through his leg, up his back and into his arms as he fell forward. Throwing his hands out in front of him, they splashed into a puddle of water and oil left from some long gone delivery truck. As the polluted water drenched his face, his eyes stung.
“Where the hell you think you’re goin’, stupid bum?” The voice called out from behind him.
Before Elliot could look back, he felt hands grabbing at his coat, pulling him to his feet.
“You asked for it, freak.”
“No. I didn’t ask for anything,” Elliott pleaded.
It didn’t matter, because these men were already going to do what they were going to do. Elliott could tell they had made their mind up about that, but the real question was; what were they going to do?”
“He was standing back here in the dark waiting to rob somebody.” The first man said.
“Is that true?” The bigger man asked, turning Elliott around while holding him by the coat.
“No…I…”
The first punch was the most painful. The big man cut Elliott off with a fast jab to the jaw. The homeless man’s neck kicked back from the violent blow. His face stung and his vision wavered. The second and third punches were less painful than the first, but that was only because the first one was so jarring. Elliott struggled to regain his sight as the man hit him again. Blood exploded from his nose as the cartilage cracked. Elliott could hear the large man’s two friends cheering him on as he swung again, splitting his lip as he tried to pull free from the large man’s grip. His mouth filled with blood and as he swallowed the iron filled crimson, he felt something solid go down—a tooth. Blood filled his mouth again as the man gave Elliott two jabs to the ribs.
He cringed as his ribs folded under the strong blow. The man swung again as Elliot was wheezing in pain and trying to regain his breath.
“Yeah, that’ll show ‘em!” One of the men shouted as Elliott took another shot to the chest.
The last thing Elliott Racca wanted to do was cause even more problems for himself. So, when the next punch crashed causing a crack to his sternum, he didn’t mean to spit blood and a loose tooth all over the large man holding him in the air. It was an accident. The powerful hit made him convulse forward with his mouth open. The red crimson plasma slashed across the brute’s chest. The stench of rot and foul breath rained from Elliott’s homeless lips as the man pushed him away to wipe his face. Dazed and disoriented, Elliott fell back and landed on his rear in a large puddle. He looked up between swollen eyes at the three men. What he witnessed was more than terrifying. It was downright horrifying. It wasn’t the men, but what was on the men that scared him.
“Stupid bum got shit in my mouth.” The large man groaned, wiping the blood and spit from his face with his sleeve. “If this punk gives me AIDS or some shit . . . I swear.”
“We can’t just leave him here,” one of the other men said.
“Naw, really?” The big man said sarcastically.
Elliott looked up from the cold puddle. The rain continued to beat down on him. Had it not been for what he was seeing, he might have taken the sudden opportunity to get up and run, but he couldn’t. Paralyzed in fear, he watched the three men argue about what they were going to do next, but it wasn’t the men that he was paying attention too. It was the things on their backs. The hitchers.
Gray slime covered monsters. They were large and pulpous things riding on the men’s backs. Perched on their shoulders like children playing chicken in a swimming pool, the things looked down at Elliott with raw hatred. How could those men not know what they carried? Those monstrous things were just as large as the men were. Their legs lay tucked under the men’s arms to support their weight. Long black talon-like nails jutted from their feet near the men’s sides. The bulky mass that was their stomachs kept going up to the round heads and they had no necks. The gray mass of slime that covered the skin like scales was totally hairless. Their eyes were large alien like spots of pure blackness. Elliott tried to look away, but he couldn’t. It was as if he were looking into an abyss and getting sucked into a vacuumed nothingness. They just stared back as if they knew that he could see them. Their mouths were long, covering most of the front of the body, revealing layers and layers of sharp teeth. As if talking to one another through a series of Morse code, the layers of teeth clapped together in rapid succession. The noise the teeth made began to drown out the conversation of the three men, who were still deciding what to do next. The creatures’ arms were long and thin, like that of someone with bulimia. Elliott recognized that immediately, having run into his share of sickly hookers on various street corners. Their grayish-dead looking arms were hairless and covered in sludge like the rest of the body. Long and gangly, the arms hung limp at each creature’s side nearly to the ground. They were definitely too long for how big the rest of their bodies were. Rather than hands, worm like things slithered just above the ground like squirming maggots. They even looked like maggots. Rather than the worm-like hands remaining gray like the rest of the body, the writhing things faded from gray sludge to white tips seeping black sludge.
The alley suddenly smelled of sulfur, and the air instantly became stagnant, making it hard for Elliott to breath. He winced as the smell grew stronger, burning his nostrils. The three things glared down at him with probing eyes while clicking their teeth.
Totally oblivious, the three men continued arguing, but Elliott could no longer hear them.
“I . . . I think I mi . . .” Elliott paused to breath, and then decided it would be best to be on his way.
The thing riding on the larger man raised its left tentacle-like arm. Black slime dripped down onto the cement at Elliott’s feet. Then he shuttered at what came next. The thing shoved the maggoty tip of its protruding arm into the large man’s ear. Black goo oozed along the side of the man’s face as the grotesque extremity penetrated the ear canal. Slithering deeper, it somehow entered the man’s head. The wet slapping pop that it made as the limb punctured the ear sent chills down Elliott’s spine. Using his hands, while in a seated position, he started to backpedal away from the three men and their riders.
It was too late.
Only a moment after that thing inserted the tip of its arm into the large man’s head, the man was no longer interested in the conversation he was having with his two friends. He broke away from them and lunged at Elliott. The homeless man screamed as the large man and his rider fell on him. Half expecting the man to lash out in another fit of punches and kicks, Elliott blocked his face with his arm. Rather than feeling a harsh pounding fist, he felt a warm wet splash.
He opened his eyes and looked up. The thing that was on top of this man had used its free arm to attack. The slap it provided didn’t hurt at all. It was just wet and warm. Slime and black sludge covered his dirty coat.
“What the . . .” Elliott started to scream.
And then it came.
Black, thick plasma shot out from the end of the gray creature’s maggoty tip. The sludge landed on most of Elliott’s right hand and the sleeve of his coat. When he was a kid, he had seen a few of those crazy sci-fi movies. He looked down at his arm and saw that it was burning and red, but then it started to change. It was swelling fast. He stood to his feet to run. Bringing the slime covered hand in closely to his chest; Elliott took off as fast as he could. He ran back the way he had come and heard two more wet slapping pops. His mind raced with the image of the other two men getting probed by the hideous riders they unknowingly carried.
The pounding steps of pursuit followed, but he wasn’t going to look back. He needed to get away. His head throbbed in unison with the flowing blood of his heart. With one foot in front of the other, Elliott looked down. His right hand was rapidly growing larger. He couldn’t even see his knuckles. His hand finally started to burn to a point that he could no longer endure it and it was getting hard to focus as the pain surged through him. Like a slowly inflating balloon, he watched as his skin stretched, separating from the muscle and bone beneath.
The chase remained steady as the pounding feet in chase matched his own. Elliott cringed, trying to force back the pain and think of what he should do. He couldn’t outrun them for very long. He stole a look back and instantly regretted it. The brief moment not looking where he was headed had been costly, because he slipped on a slick puddle of water. Falling forward, like before, Elliott brought both hands out to catch his fall. His right hand slammed hard into the pavement as he tried to catch himself. Just like any balloon blown up too much, the thin skin of his hand erupted. Only this balloon wasn’t filled with water of hot air. It was filled with blood, meaty tissue, and sinew. The bones in his hand compressed like wet rags in a meaty mesh of blood and pulp. The pain that shot through his body as he fell wasn’t nearly as bad as watching his hand burst and fold under his weight. Elliott screamed, fell to the ground, and cradled his wounded hand. As the rain fell around him, the puddle of water he found himself laying in began to fill with gore and blood.
The frantic footsteps grew closer.
When Elliott looked up, he didn’t see three men hovering over him. He saw the riders and the abyss beyond their gaze.
Elliott Racca passed out from the pain that was too great. He never woke up again.
When the creatures were finally done feasting, the only thing that remained was a pile of blood and mangled bits of unrecognizable meat. The creatures had devoured the bones, and the rain washed the gristle and gore down the alley and into the sewers, leaving nothing but at big red pile of plasma. By morning, the rain would wash that away too.
Elliott was no more.
Available now at www.severedpress.com and Amazon
Shane McKenzie, Jacked
Jacked Page 8