by Hunter Shea
It was a fitting resting place for the boys’ first bitter disappointment in US commerce.
“You want to say a few words?” David asked with a smirk.
“So long, Amazing Sea Serpents. It was smelly and nasty while it lasted.”
David tipped the tank over, the grimy water, sea serpents and sludge balls splashing across the iron grate, pouring through the holes and disappearing into the dark sewer with a soft echo.
“Let’s put the tank in Ernie’s garbage,” David said. “I’m sure that old crank will appreciate the stink.”
“Good one.”
Ernie was the neighborhood asshole—a man bent on making the lives of every child miserable by chasing them off his sidewalk and even attempting to prevent them from walking in the street by his house.
They snuck to the side of his house and quietly stuck the tank in one of his pristine metal garbage pails. There were several paper bags of trash inside. David hid the tank between two of the bags.
Sprinting away from their dirty deed, they ducked into Patrick’s yard, chests heaving.
“No more buying stuff from comics,” Patrick said.
“And no more Wonder Woman,” David added.
Five houses down, in the cloying humidity of the sewer, the remains of the Amazing Sea Serpents seeped into a coagulated mass of muck. There was a faint hiss, then a blue tendril of smoke that twisted down the tunnel.
A wet and ragged rat out for an afternoon of foraging skittered headlong into the smoke. Its body went rigid. It turned and ran as far away from the source of the smoke as it could.
Food could wait.
Chapter Four
“Time out!”
Patrick waved his arms in the air.
“What for?” his friend Alan said, the bat still in his hand. He was midway between home plate (a chalk outline in the street) and first base (Mr. Arthur’s yellow Chevy Nova).
“The ball went down the sewer.”
David blurted out, “Ground rule double!”
Alan grumbled. “Man, that would have been a home run. Patrick would have never been able to get it back in time.”
“A rule’s a rule,” David said. He looked back at Patrick, who was four houses away. It was a hell of a blast by Alan, but unfortunately for him, it rolled into the curb and followed the path all the way to ground rule double territory. “You want me to get a coat hanger?”
Patrick stood over the sewer. It smelled worse than usual. But it was a hot summer day.
“I don’t know,” he replied.
For some reason, he didn’t want to get the ball. He kept thinking of the sea serpents and that awful funk. There was no way he was going to touch any ball that came in contact with it.
Instead, he ran to his house. “I have a tube of new tennis balls. I’ll go get them.”
* * *
Patrick’s alien voice thundered down the sewer.
The black wads of snot from the Amazing Sea Serpent tank were no longer lifeless balls. In the week since their unceremonious dumping into this mélange of waste, they’d sprouted legs and arms and the beginnings of tails. Far from serpents, they resembled a kind of bipedal pollywog.
The pollywogs rolled in the mire, feeding off it, growing more and more each day.
When the ball slipped into the sewer, it crushed one of the pollywogs flat. The thing exploded with a barely audible squish.
The moment the ball rolled away, the other pollywogs descended on their fallen brother, devouring its inky remains with oval mouths filled with tiny points. Food was food.
And lately, they’d been getting very hungry.
* * *
It took only a few days for the rats to be fair game for their carnivorous desires. The sea serpents grew exponentially. They needed meat, and there were more than enough rats scampering around the old pipes and pathways.
And scamper they did.
More like ran for their lives.
If anyone would have listened, they would have heard the cries of the rats darting into every tight nook and crevice they could find, desperate to get away from the new alpha beasts in the sewer.
The sea serpents, now the size of cats, weren’t necessarily fast, but they worked together. They set traps. While a few scared up a nest of rats, driving them down a long, dark tunnel, the rest waited at the other end, ready to feast.
With each day, each meal, the sea serpents grew bigger, taller, deadlier. Their teeth sharpened, and once-gelatinous stumps at the end of their slimy arms morphed into savage claws.
By the time they cleared the sewer of the entire rat population, they’d evolved into child-sized animals with the appetites of hyenas.
They sensed they must leave the safety of their dank, rotten home. Their instinct for survival fueled their fervent appetite.
When night fell, the sunless sky resembled their dwelling enough for them to skulk from the sewer, the heavy manhole cover an obstacle easily removed.
Martin Henderson’s black cat Asphalt peered at the emerging shapes from what it thought was the safety of a row of azalea bushes. It knew these creatures weren’t like the other bugs it had chased.
Asphalt didn’t detect the sea serpent at its back before it was too late. The black cat’s tail was pierced by a razor-like talon, rooting it to its hiding spot. It growled in unmitigated fear.
Little did it know, its cries were nothing more than a dinner bell for the sea serpents.
Chapter Five
It was over ninety degrees and there was nary a lick of shade outside Shopwell. As much as David and Patrick would have liked to go swimming, they know hot days are the best ones to make money. On days like this, shoppers, especially old people, wanted all the help they could get with their bags.
It was paying off. Their pockets were full to bursting with quarters.
“We could go to the Kendall tomorrow and see that Godzilla double feature,” Patrick said, counting out his quarters on the lid of a trashcan. “I’ve almost got five bucks already.”
“And we’ll still have plenty left over for the new Moon Knight and Batman.”
Patrick sensed a return of their old debate about which of the two was a better superhero, Moon Knight being Marvel Comics’ answer to the ever-popular Batman, but David looked too tired to fight. They were both sweating up a storm.
“Excuse me, would you boys do me a favor?” An older woman wearing bright red lipstick and so much rouge on her cheeks she looked like a clown stood behind them holding a sheaf of papers in her trembling hands.
David looked around, searching for some bags or a shopping cart.
“I was wondering if you could post these signs for me. I tried, but I’m just not up to it. I’ll give you each a dollar.”
Patrick said, “Sure, we’d be happy to help.”
“Thank you so much. Here, you can use these.” She handed Patrick a box of thumbtacks.
David looked at the top flier. It had a picture of a white Yorkie with the word MISSING printed above. The dog’s name was Reggie and it had gone missing two days ago. The flier listed a number to call if anyone found Reggie, along with the promise of a reward.
There were tears in the old lady’s eyes.
“I miss him so much, but my heart isn’t made for this kind of heat.”
“I hope someone finds your dog,” Patrick said. She patted his head.
“You keep your eyes out, too. You’re such nice boys. If I’m going to reward anyone, I hope it’s you.”
She slowly tottered to her car, which was parked in the yellow loading zone, and drove off, the power steering screeching like a box of angry bats.
David said, “We should put one on the bulletin board inside the store.”
“And cool off for a minute.”
They walked in the out door. The big corkboard was chock-full of papers.
And most of them were notices of missing cats and dogs.
Little Reggie was just one among many. The boys read the pleas to fi
nd people’s cherished pets until the manager shooed them away.
“I don’t mind your little enterprise outside, boys, but I can’t have you clogging up the exit.”
They left without protest, the heat smacking them in the face.
“What, did someone go around stealing everyone’s pets?” Patrick asked.
“I don’t know. Come on, let’s stick these on some poles.”
For thirteen-year-olds, reality is what they make of their own little world. For David and Patrick, that reality revolved around comics, movies, baseball and swimming.
Neither had been aware of the preponderance of missing cat and dog posters popping up all around town the past week. Desperate notices to find lost dogs had been stapled over sad stories of a little girl’s cat, Sabrina, that had gone out one day and never returned. It seemed as if there were more missing pets than ones actually safe at home.
“This is crazy,” David said.
“Way crazy.”
True to their word, and because they wanted to earn that dollar, they found the few bare spots left to put up the missing Reggie fliers. It left them uneasy, at least until they got home and started talking about the Godzilla movies they were going to see the next day.
“You smell that?” Patrick said as they turned the corner to their block.
“Whoever smelt it, dealt it.”
“If I beefed like that, call a doctor.”
They saw the old jerk Ernie walking away from them, holding a can of something. Thank God he didn’t see them. He’d try to tell them he’d bought the sidewalk’s rights from the city again and order them off it.
“Maybe Ernie finally cleaned out that garbage can,” David said.
Patrick had forgotten that they’d hidden the sea serpent tank in his garbage. He hoped the smell made Ernie sick.
He laughed. “Oh yeah. I bet that made his day.”
They high-fived, agreeing to get Alan, Chris, Mike and Jimmy together for a post-dinner Wiffle ball tournament. They also decided to do a little searching for cats and dogs every day. The reward money paid a lot more than hauling bags outside Shopwell or cutting lawns. Everyone’s loss would definitely be their gain.
Chapter Six
“Welcome to Rome! And you know what they say when you’re there,” Robert Cort said to Bill and Annie Baxter. He held a wooden bowl in his hands. Bill dropped his car keys in the bowl, even though his car was still in the garage around the block.
“You really went all out tonight,” Bill said, taking in the decorated yard. Torches lined the rectangular patch of property, casting a warm glow. Roman columns made of cardboard and expertly painted were tacked over the doorway to the house. Bowls of grapes and metal goblets of wine were everywhere. The partiers wore togas, and from what Bill could see when Robert’s wife Phyllis bent over to pick something up off the floor, little else. For a woman who’d had three kids, she still had an amazing ass.
“No pressure when it’s your turn,” Robert said, putting the full bowl down.
“We’ll just hire Phyllis to put it together,” Annie said. Phyllis ran a local theater, so she had the skills and access to a ton of props.
“You know me,” Robert said, offering them some togas. “I don’t mind sharing.”
Bill and Annie laughed.
These key parties had been Robert’s idea two summers ago. Bill thought his neighbor had lost his mind, but when word got around after the first party about what a hit it had been, he’d convinced Annie to at least go to one. She didn’t have to do anything she didn’t want to do.
That was two years and over a dozen parties ago. He and Annie were old pros by now. Sure, there was still a nervous edge when they walked in, but a little wine and a joint or two helped smooth things out.
“Full house tonight,” Bill said. All of the regulars were there, including a new couple. They were younger than most, the wife with radiant red hair and an impressive chest, her hard nipples straining the fabric of the toga. Bill hoped he pulled her key tonight. He’d had everyone else at the party before. It would be nice to try someone new. Annie was eyeballing the husband, too. This could be a very good night, he thought.
And the best part was the sex after the party. He and Annie boinked like teenagers for months after a key party. Each new encounter was a time release aphrodisiac.
“I don’t see the Estradas,” Annie said.
Robert put on an exaggerated frown. “They called and said they couldn’t make it. George has a stomach thing. Next time. Now, get changed and I’ll pour some wine.”
They walked into the kitchen. There were more bottles of booze on the counter than a proper British tavern. Bill added a bottle of Wild Turkey to the collection. Well-versed with the process, they went to the spare bedroom off the kitchen, stripped down, folded their clothes neatly and placed them next to the other stacks of “regular” clothes.
“Come here.”
Bill pressed his body against Annie, his hands gravitating to her ass, their tongues probing. He could feel the heat of her on his growing cock.
“We better save it for later,” Annie said, breaking off their embrace with a devilish smile. She slipped into her toga, the hem barely covering the bottom swell of her cheeks.
“And then even later, when we get home.”
“And no showering. I want to taste her on you.”
Bill’s heart fluttered.
He’d heard of endless horror stories about swapping. Real life couldn’t be further from the truth. Or at least their real life.
“Hail Caesar!” Bill cried out, swooping his wife into his arms. She giggled, telling him to put her down.
As they exited the spare bedroom, they heard someone cry out.
“They’re getting rowdy early,” Annie said.
“Or we’re just getting a late start,” Bill said, stopping in the kitchen to pour a shot of good Scotch and downing it. Mitchell Mc-Grath always brought the high-end stuff. He should. He owned the liquor store on Virginia Avenue.
A man yelled, “What the fuck?”
Bill raised an eyebrow. “I wonder if that’s the new guy. He might not understand how things work.”
The bottle slipped from his hand when it sounded as if everyone at the party started screaming at once. It landed on top of Annie’s bare foot. She cried out in pain, hopping around the kitchen. “Oh, I think you broke my foot.”
He didn’t have time to console her.
The back door slammed open. Their neighbors tried to cram their way inside. In their excitement, they attempted to get in the house in one big pile. Instead, their bodies wedged in the doorway. It looked like something from a Three Stooges movie.
“What the hell’s going on?” Bill said.
He saw Robert’s face and his stomach dropped to his balls.
His neighbor was covered in blood. There was a long, ragged gash down the center of his face. His nose was split in half like a bowling alley hotdog.
“Oh my God,” Annie screamed, digging her nails into Bill’s arm.
As people popped free from the bottleneck, spilling onto the linoleum floor, Bill and Annie could see what was behind the roiling panic.
Black alien bodies reflected the torchlight. To Bill, they looked like oil slicks come to life. Some were feasting on their friends, togas drenched in gore, parts that should be inside now outside. The black beasts, not much taller than a ten-year-old kid, pounced on the back of the people to the rear of the bottleneck. Geysers of blood shot straight into the air.
“We have to get the hell out of here,” Bill said.
“I can’t walk,” Annie moaned, raw terror in her wet eyes.
Bill swept her off her feet, carrying her close to his chest. Someone hit into him from behind, driving him to his knees.
“No, please, no!” he heard Phyllis cry out. It was followed by a sickening squelch of punctured flesh, then the crunch of bone.
The damn things were in the house.
In the bright light, Bi
ll could make them out better—and wished he couldn’t.
Bulbous heads that were seemingly all mouth sat atop almost human bodies, with the exception of a thick tail that raked back and forth, knocking people’s legs out from under them. As soon as someone went down, another beast was quick to chomp at the softest parts of their exposed flesh.
The front door!
He had to get them to the front. All of the creatures appeared to be coming from the backyard.
Everyone else had the same idea, though there were far fewer of his friends and neighbors now. The terrifying black creatures were taking them down one by one.
“Hurry, Bill, hurry!” Annie pleaded. Her arms were locked around his neck so tight, it was hard to breathe.
He got up and sprinted as fast as he could. His heart thumped hard, and he wondered how much longer it could go at this pace before seizing.
A woman, the new wife, scampered past them. Her scalp had been peeled forward, a wet flap of hair hanging over her face. She blindly ran into the dining room table, knocking herself onto her back.
That pause was all the monsters needed to finish her. Her scream was cut off quickly. All Bill heard was desperate gurgling.
Sprinting through the living room, he spied the front door.
“Almost there,” he assured Annie.
“They’re right behind us!” she shouted in his ear.
Bill got to the door, turned the handle and froze.
It was locked!
“Bill!”
He fumbled for the lock.
Something wet and as hard as cement slammed into his arm, severing it at the elbow. He watched his blood paint the walls and door.
Annie screamed bloody murder. Suddenly, the weight of her was gone. One of the monsters grabbed a thick cord of her hair, yanking her from his grasp.
“Annie!”
There was just enough time to witness the ferocious feast. Everyone was down, flayed open and spilling organs.
He was so engrossed by the carnage, he didn’t even feel the mouth clamp onto his face.
* * *
The key party provided several hours of unadulterated gluttony. The sea serpents ate and ate, grinding bone into a digestible powder, until there was nothing left but shredded togas and pools of coagulating blood.