by Mark Tufo
I lightly smacked his shoulder; he smiled then followed me up the stairs.
“What about that room?” he asked, pointing above our heads.
“Don’t know how we’d get up there.” It was ten feet over us and recessed into the wall. “Just make sure nothing jumps out onto you.”
“That’s just great. Thanks for that.”
“Mike Talbot, instilling paranoia for four decades now.”
“Just be careful.”
“It’s nice to know you care,” I grinned.
“It’s more like I don’t want to be alone again.”
“I’ll take it,” I told him as I again opened the door to the doll room. “Fuck me,” I said as I looked in. The doll parts were all picked up, and, I would imagine, back in the closet, which had its door shut.
“What?” BT asked, moving closer.
“Looks like our houseguest has OCD.”
“Maybe you two speak the same language then.” He was looking over my shoulder.
I moved into the room. “I’m going to open this door; stuff is going to fall out. Don’t shoot me.”
“What if whatever comes out launches at us and you get in the way?”
“Thought this out, have you?” I had my hand on the knob. He brought his rifle up to his shoulder. I opened it and stepped back. Nothing. The closet was empty, no dolls, no coats, not even an errant hanger. “I’m starting to hate this place.” The closet was dark but not overly so; I could see into it. I stepped in, looking for a trap door or some alternate explanation, found none.
“Mike, I heard something.” BT was looking toward the master bedroom.
He backed up to his original post as I moved slowly down the hallway. Whatever was in there had decided it was time to do some major renovations, and they were using bowling balls to get it accomplished.
“You going in there alone?” BT asked.
“You coming with me?”
“Good luck.”
“Dick.”
As soon as I touched the door handle, the crashing stopped. I looked back at BT just as the door was ripped open and slammed into the wall behind it. I stumbled backward, BT came up to keep me from falling over. Then the door slammed shut so hard the house shook and the handle broke free. With nothing to latch onto, it swung back open slowly.
“Great, now we’re dealing with poltergeists,” BT said as he got me back into a standing position.
“You think?” I didn’t know how I felt about that. An enemy you could neither see nor harm was not something I cared for.
“Miiiiiike…” spookily drifted out of the bedroom.
“It knows your name. You should check it out.” BT half pushed me. “Sorry, brothers don’t do ghosts.”
“Convenient,” I told him.
“Works for me. Ever seen one of us survive a movie with ghosts?” he asked as he stayed a step behind as we both moved closer.
There was something sitting on the bed. It was substantial enough that it was creating an indent, but where there should have been a body was only a swirling mass of white smoke.
“Miiiike…I can’t see you!” the entity called out. It sounded like a voice traveling a mile over a fishing line and coming out the other side through a can half-filled with beans. Still, there was a familiarity to it.
“Trip? Is that you?”
The swirl increased in activity and, if such a thing is possible, it seemed to orient toward me. It coalesced slightly, from the wispiness it had been to a contained fog. It became roughly human-shaped, I mean, as much as an empty sock is.
“This place…I made it for you.”
The voice, like the shape, became more solid.
“It’s real-ish,” it added.
“What does that mean?”
If he heard me, he did not respond.
“There is a creature trapped in here; I contained it. You need it. Can’t stay.” The smoke began to dissipate.
“Trip, wait—what creature? What do we need it for?” I was now thinking about the confetti-looking bed. Had this creature done that? And what could it do to us?
“Legs are poison…them” and that was it; he faded out. I jumped back when I caught something bristly poking out from under the bed.
“Shut the door, Mike.” BT was once again looking over my shoulder. “Just shut it.”
I wasn’t so sure. Right now, we knew exactly where that thing was. I shut it anyway.
“We should get out of here.”
“I like what you’re saying, and on a fundamental level, I agree.”
“But?” he prompted.
“Trip. He got us here for a reason.”
“That misty thing on the bed? You so sure that was your friend?”
“No, not at all.”
“Listen, it doesn’t seem like there’s much we can trust here. It’s just me and you and I still don’t know how I feel about you.”
“Love the vote of confidence.”
“Just keeping it real.”
“Speaking of, how do I know you’re not just a figment of my imagination?”
“Your imagination isn’t big enough to make me up.”
“True that.”
“So, what are you going to do?” He motioned with his head to the door.
“If that was Trip, and I’m pretty sure it was him, in some form, he does things to help. I don’t always—or more likely, hardly ever—understand what he’s doing, but if he says we need what’s in there, then we need it.”
“You heard it, okay, him,” he clarified when I frowned. “The thing has poisonous legs. How can we even know what that means? And say we manage to get this creature without getting ourselves killed, what are we supposed to do with it? Make soup?”
“Well, obviously not from the legs, although you might; I’ve seen some of the things your alter ego makes.”
He said nothing.
“Let’s do this,” I said, psyching myself up.
“I’ve got your back.”
“Want me to have yours?”
“What good would that do? You’d never be able to see past me.”
Unfortunately, that made sense. There was one loud thump, like maybe whatever was under the bed had stood up and quickly dropped back down after banging its head, just as I opened the door. I took two hasty shots when the thing came rushing out at us. BT pulled me and I slammed the door. The door shook as the thing banged into it.
“What the fuck was that?” BT asked.
I shook my head; I’d only seen it for a second or two, and most of that was while I was being pulled backwards.
“Looked like a damn push broom,” BT said. And he was right. Had to be about a foot and a half wide, a mottled purple color with dozens of thick, black legs all running in unison toward us, not like a centipede, but broadside, like we were dirt and leaves. It was much like looking at the head of a push broom without the handle. “Did you hit it?”
There were a couple more thumps against the door, then it was quiet. It was my hope it was bleeding out. That quickly changed when the bowling ball reconstruction started again.
“Sounds pissed off. You should check on it again.”
“Now I know why other Mike does what he can to piss you off. Let’s do it.” And again, like my hand to the door was some early warning system, the crashing stopped. What remained of the quilt hanging off the edge of the bed was moving; the thing had scurried back under. It jetted out, but instead of coming right for me, it headed to the nearest wall and then up. I was punching holes in the drywall with bullets. It moved so fast. It was angling to come over our heads, and I would imagine down, feet first, where it could do the most damage. BT and I were now shoulder to shoulder trying to hit it, had to have put three or four into it, but instead of suffering grievous wounds, it looked more like it had absorbed the projectiles. At least, until BT put one dead-center and it fell to the ground not more than five feet from us. The legs were up in the air and all were dancing around wildly.
&n
bsp; “Nice shot; you killed a broom.”
“Better the broom than us,” he said.
I fist-bumped him for that.
“Now what?” he asked. We were both watching the legs; instead of stopping, they appeared to be picking up pace.
“You think it’s sandbagging?”
“What, like pretending it’s dying?” he asked back.
“Could be! What the hell do we even know about it?”
“We know the legs are poisonous.”
“There’s that.” I moved a little closer and was going to give it a slight kick with my boot but thought better of it.
“I hate to be that guy, but Trip said we needed this thing. Do you think he meant alive?” I had a serious uh-oh moment, like that sharp feeling of panic you get just as you let the car door slam and realize the keys are in the ignition. “Got any pliers?” I looked back at him, all I could do to rectify the situation now was move forward. The thing was dead and I wasn’t going to do mouth to mouth. I was hoping when Trip had referred to the legs being poisonous, he meant that was what I needed. But like everything here, I had a quarter of the information to act on.
“Stupid me, I left my tool belt at home.”
“Didn’t stick it in your fanny pack?”
“Do I look like the type of guy that would wear a fanny pack?”
“I don’t know, man, you don’t look like the kind of guy that would wear spandex, but there you were.”
He grunted a reply. Waited a good ten minutes for whatever it was to stop moving completely and another five after that. If it was playing possum, it had nailed the game. I lightly tapped it with my foot; I was surprised at the weight of it. If I had to put a number on it, I’d say thirty pounds, which, given its size, made it a pretty dense creature. The added disgust factor came when I looked closely at the body, which seemed mostly to consist of mouth. The width of the orifice stretched nearly end to end and was lined with razor-sharp teeth, which were blood red. A small, forked tongue was protruding from the opening; I’d yet to locate its eyes or ears and wasn’t going to examine further.
“Holy fuck,” I said as I squatted down to get closer. “Keep your barrel on it. Anything moves…”
“Don’t worry. Ugly little sucker.”
“Yeah, come down here and check it out. Smells as bad as it looks.”
“I’m fine where I am.”
I looked at my gloves, then at the beast. “Do you think the poison is on the outside?”
I could hear him shrug.
“Do you think it can soak through?”
“You’re the expert. Are there any plastic bags in the kitchen? You can wrap them in that.”
“You all right alone? I’ll go check.” I stood up.
“Hurry back.”
I sort of wanted him to come with me, not so much because I was worried about doing the errand alone, but there was always the chance that by the time I got back he’d be gone, or maybe the whole upstairs—or possibly the entire house—if it ever really existed. But I knew without a doubt, without a shred of evidence, that if we both went, our hard-fought prize would be gone, much like the dolls. Like once eyes were no longer being laid on it, the object would cease to exist. Don’t know if that held any validity. Plus, if that were the case, why bother having something there to begin with? Like, what the hell were all the dolls about? If there was a point to any of it, shouldn’t there be a point to all of it? I took the stairs three at a time and bolted into the kitchen.
“Everything all right down there?” BT called down while I was rooting through the place. I think he was having the same thoughts and figured as long as we stayed in communication, everything would be fine. As solid a theory as any.
“I’m good; you?”
“Not really, but it’s your party.”
“Got something!” I had two white trash bags and a silicone potholder. I bounded back upstairs. I was moving quickly down the hallway. “BT?” I called out hesitantly when I noticed he wasn’t exactly where I figured he should be. I should have had a clear line of sight to him the moment I got onto the landing.
“Yeah, I’m here.”
“Did you move?” I was walking slowly.
“Shit, Mike, I’m not sure if I’ve even blinked.”
“You’re not in the same spot as when I left,” I told him as I looked into the bedroom. He was five feet closer to the head of the bed. “Did you feel a shift? Any kind of change?”
“Nothing, not even a slight breeze. Get in here, man. If stuff is starting to fade in and out…” He left the rest unsaid.
I spent a couple more seconds looking around. “Are you real? Like, you’re not a figment of my imagination, are you? I’ve been under a lot of stress lately. Tell me something I could not make up in my mind.”
BT thought on it for a moment. “Okay, for obvious reasons, I’ve never said this to anyone. Not you, my wife, nobody.”
“I’m listening.”
“Last summer, your sister came out to visit you and you invited us over for a barbecue. Despite her having Talbot blood, I found her to be interesting, an all-around decent person, and drop-dead gorgeous.”
“Fuck me, that’s not going to help. Give me something else.”
“What’s wrong with that?”
“In my world, BT is dating my sister.”
“No shit?”
“No shit.”
“Lucky man.”
“Want me to tell Linda that?”
“I’ll break you over my knee. Okay, okay, something else. Fine, only my wife knows this but I cannot have any of my food…”
“Touch. You can’t have anything touching something else. Yeah, I know that. Something else.”
“Well, how about you prove to me that you’re real? I’ve been under a lot of stress myself.”
“We’re focusing on my needs right now.”
“Shit.” He looked straight at me. “Okay, this is just to prove your stupid point, you hold this against me and I’ll squash your head.” He waited until I nodded. “Sometimes, when Linda and I have our special time—”
“Special time? You mean sex?”
“Fuck, you’re crude. Yeah, when we have sex. I have this gold…”
“Nope, don’t want to hear about your speedo.” He had a questioning look like how did I know. “We were trapped in the woods, and there was a Yeti involved.” I shuddered. “The scariest thing about that whole night was the fucking speedo. I wake in the middle of the night, have cold sweats…therapy hasn’t helped. The pills are good, but I take too many; no shock there.”
“How about ‘I’m real.’ Is that good enough?” he replied.
“I mean, it has to be. Only, if you were not real you’d say the same thing, though.”
“Say I’m not real again and I’ll bust out your teeth and make a necklace, wear them at the next luau I go to.”
I looked at him for a sec. “Yup, you're real. I couldn’t have come up with that.”
“Glad we got that squared away.”
“You and me both,” I told him.
“I was being sarcastic.”
“I’m okay with that. Cover me again.” I had to push his barrel away; it was drifting close to the front of my boot. I reached out with my cooking mitt…I should have known that as soon as I touched that thing, there was going to be some reflexive action. It was pretty impressive how much distance I was able to launch myself away, though it would have been better if I hadn’t cried out. Fortunately, most of that was covered up by BT’s gunshot, so it worked out.
“Scared the shit out me!” BT roared.
“You!? I’m the one that almost died.”
“Puhleese. It was only a twitch.”
“Nice shot, by the way—you missed. Good to see I can count on you if it does attack.”
“Your whining distracted me.”
“Let’s get this done.”
“Don’t let me stop you.”
“Shit.” I stepped on part of t
he thing and bent over, grabbed a leg and pulled. Nothing happened. Not until I started to bend it back and forth; it sounded like the cracking of a crab leg, but what oozed out could not be considered butter, and the meat was the color of ink. The smell, while not the worst thing I’d ever been exposed to, was still on the grosser side. All in all, I wanted to heave. I forced myself not to gag, or I would have never got the distasteful job done. I snapped six of the legs off and placed them in the bag. If I needed more, then oh well, I gave it my best. I quickly tied the bag off and retreated to the far edge of the room. BT backed up as well.
“I don’t think I’m ever going to eat seafood again,” I said.
“Just seafood?” BT looked a little green. “Now what?” he asked after I grabbed the bag and headed downstairs.
“Been thinking about that. I don’t like it, but I think we need to get up into that bonus room.”
“I could lift you.”
“Probably,” I told him, “but if I need to get you up there, I’m not going to be able to do it. We need a chair…or a ladder would be preferable.”
“Split up and look?” He laughed when he saw the gaze I gave him. “Kidding, man. I’d tie myself to your waist if I could stand to be that close to you.”
“There are chairs in the kitchen.”
“Won’t be high enough.”
We went from room to room.
“You think the landing is big enough for the table?”
He looked at it, then upstairs. “Should be,” he shrugged. “Then a chair on top of that? OSHA wouldn’t approve.”
“Even better.”
We hefted the table up there—it fit like it was made for the spot.
“Too perfect,” I said aloud.
“What is?”
“This whole thing. I can’t tell if we’re being set up or helped. If this was a video game, I’m pretty sure this would be a save point.”
We went down and got the chair together; neither of us said anything. I’d no sooner put it on top of the table when we heard a shriek not too far away. The house, while not lit up with traditional bulbs, still had plenty of ambient light within it. From where, I had no idea; I’d not thought to look outside until now, where it was pitch black.
“Night runners,” BT and I said at the same time.
“Hold the chair. I’m going up.”