“Lock everything up tight,” I said. When I kissed her, I knew she sensed how afraid I was.
“Dave? Make sure you’re not being followed, okay?”
“Good point.”
I walked to my truck without looking back. The last thing I needed was that dour detective on my ass.
The moon was huge and bright through the trees. Though it was summer, the air was crisp and smelled of pine. When I was younger, I used to want to get away from this place. Move to San Francisco or LA. After I met Holly, I saw the beauty around me—the trees, the fresh air, the quiet—and I understood why my parents had settled here.
Checking the rearview mirror, I made sure I wasn’t being followed. A colony of bats swooped out of the forest into the night. You can never tell with bats, whether they’re scared or out on a joyride. A lot of times they carried disease—primarily rabies. I wondered if that’s what caused the recent rash of people with the jimmies.
An owl hooted somewhere nearby. I heard a shriek and my heart thudded. I pulled over, rolled down the window and listened. Nothing but the wind.
“Mountain lion,” I said.
When I arrived at Jim’s house, everything was dark. I grabbed a flashlight from the glove compartment and got out to investigate. I stepped on something soft. It made a crunching noise, and when I shone the flashlight, I found an orange house cat that looked like it had been gored with a screwdriver.
I jumped away from the rotting carcass, wiped my shoe on some grass and shone the flashlight all around the front yard. There were dead animals everywhere—hundreds of them. Most were dogs and cats. As I moved towards the house I saw a raccoon and what was left of a weasel.
For a second I caught myself thinking this was like one of those horror movies where the audience is screaming “Get out of there now!” No one would be stupid enough to enter the house in real life. Yet here I was, and I believed it made sense. I had to find out what happened to my friend.
The front door was unlocked. Jim never locked his doors because he didn’t think he owned anything worth stealing. Being familiar with the sparse furniture and lack of refinement, I had to agree.
I tried the lights—they came on. I expected to see the walls smeared with the words HELTER SKELTER in blood, but what I saw shocked me all the same. A huge sculpture of green longneck beer bottles rose from floor to ceiling, suspended by iron rebars that had been fashioned into a massive wall with a hole in the center. When had Jim built this?
I stepped on an orange tail that must’ve belonged to the cat from outside. I stood in the living room for a time, admiring the work and remembering all those nights we drank ourselves stupid. There were so many times I woke up in the morning on Jim’s floor. I tried picturing myself there and wondered to the depths of my soul what in God’s name I had thought I was accomplishing. We’d spent so much time here, and I couldn’t remember a single intelligent conversation.
Much as I’d done at home, I did a careful check of the house, calling out Jim’s name. After fifteen minutes of searching, I took a seat in the kitchen. It was painted avocado green. The used aluminum table and chairs looked like they had come from a condemned diner. Jim had sold off his parents’ furniture long ago.
The refrigerator still worked. It was one of those old round-cornered Frigidaire jobs that might’ve looked good in the 1950s. I opened it and found what I expected. Nothing but beer. With the stress of these last few weeks, I craved that wicked drink. All those shiny bottles dusted with condensation waiting for someone to twist off the tops and try to quench a thirst that could never be satisfied. Catching myself, I slammed the refrigerator door shut and choked on a scream.
Jim was standing there, watching me with a birdlike curiosity.
His clothes were a mess, caked with mud and what looked like dried blood. His sandy hair was matted with dirt. His eyes were like two wafers of slate, grey and lifeless. His eyelids were rimmed with red. A whitish goo had formed near the tear ducts. His mouth was filthy with old blood.
I don’t know if it was the fluorescent lights or I was tired, but he looked livid. The gash ringing his neck was dark and ragged. His skin was a kind of greyish and his fingernails were a blackish purple. And here was the weird part. Although he seemed to be alive and aware, there was no indication he was breathing.
Instead of panicking, I sat back on the chair and sighed. “Been watching me long?”
A riverless silence made the air heavy. I thought he hadn’t heard me, but when I looked over at him, I could see he was trying to form words but nothing came out. He moved towards me stiffly and I got to my feet. Why in hell hadn’t I brought the shovel?
“Jim, what’re you—”
He brushed past me and went to the refrigerator. I smelled excrement and saw he’d shitted himself. He grabbed a beer and tried to twist the top off. His fingers were stiff, the tips doughy, and he couldn’t manage it. This was the worst I’d ever seen him. I took the bottle and opened it for him. He stared at it for the longest time like he didn’t know what it was for. Then he drank.
As bad off as he was, I envied him because of the beer. I kept thinking about all those other bottles in the refrigerator. Why shouldn’t I join him for one last round?
The sound of him drinking was indescribable—like dirty runoff down a storm drain. He didn’t even swallow. He let gravity pull the beer down into his gut. I expected liquid to come squirting out of the gash in his neck.
Jim could finish a beer faster than anyone I knew. We used to have contests, and I always lost. It was the same now. The bottle was empty in a couple of seconds. He always belched afterwards. This time, he gawped at me stupidly.
“Where have you been all this time?” He stared at me through dead eyes and tried to form a crooked smile. “We had the whole town out looking for you.” I kept talking, more to keep myself calm than anything. “I think you might need a doctor. Can I have a look at your neck?”
I kept my palms open and in front of me. He smelled of rotting meat, and I had to fight to keep my gorge down. His dull eyes followed my hands as I examined his neck.
I didn’t see any recent bleeding, thank God. Using my finger, I felt the tear. I reached the left side, where a large flap of mortified skin—dried out and crispy at the edges—lay loose over the shiny dark red muscle. As I lifted it, something fell out, which sounded like a pebble when it hit the floor. I glanced down. It was a glass bead from my car’s windshield. Jim looked at it too and groaned, as if remembering the accident all over again.
Suddenly the flap moved by itself, and my stomach lurched.
At first I thought I imagined it. When I lifted up the skin, a fat kidney worm dripping with gore raised its bald, blind head and glared at me. Hearing its silent scream in my head, I shouted and fell backwards against the gas range. I didn’t know I was still holding the flap of skin, and I pulled Jim with me. His head slammed into the range hood, making a dull, squishy sound.
Enraged, he stood straight and bared his teeth, which were covered in half-eaten animal sweetbreads and fur. I tried scrambling away but got pinned in a corner of the kitchen. As he hovered over me, I tried to calm him down.
“Jim, I’m sorry! It was an accident!”
He grabbed for my legs, pincer-like, and I had to kick him away, which made him even angrier. I caught him in the nose with my boot and heard the crunch of bone and cartilage. It didn’t stop him.
“Jim, you need a doctor. Let me drive you to the hospital.”
He stopped and straightened up like he’d heard something outside. I expected his nose to be gushing blood, but there was nothing. Though it was bent to one side, it didn’t seem to bother him. He craned his neck around, and I heard the faint sound of stretching tendons and cracking bones. As he backed away from me, I got to my feet and scooted towards the door.
“I’m calling an ambulance,” I said.
I turned, and he was in front of a cupboard. He opened the door and reached inside. I fumbled for my cel
l phone to dial 911. I didn’t notice he had turned to face me. Before I could call, he brought his hands up and showed me what he was holding.
It was the photo of us at Shasta Lake, bloodstained and filthy.
Jim stared at me with those cold, crazy eyes, which seemed to look through me. Feeling my heart exploding, I ran out of there, got into my truck and drove off over dozens of dead animals. After a mile or so, I calmed myself and tried to think. I remembered the missing pets, the mutilated deer. And now the dead runner. I considered the fact that Jim no longer spoke.
I thought about all the townspeople with the jimmies. No one had any idea of how the condition spread so quickly. I was scared because I’d touched Jim—touched his blood. I needed to see a doctor as soon as possible.
I was about to call 911 when a text came through. I thought it was Holly. I’m outside your house. Where’s your truck? Should I knock?
It was Missy. I didn’t answer. I was dirty and scared. I needed a doctor. Didn’t I have enough on my plate? I told myself I was a good person, I didn’t deserve this. But I couldn’t ignore her—I had to do something. And what about Jim? He’d have to wait. I decided to go to Missy’s house to have a talk.
By the time I got there, she was waiting at the door, barefoot, legs shaved, dressed in tight cotton shorts and a soft V-neck T-shirt with no bra. She knew how to get me to come to her. I was like a trained dog. She played me with a bad hand, and I fell for it every time.
“I was at your house, you know,” she said as I came up the walk. “Want to come in?”
I stood at the front door, glaring at her. Something made me want to hit her, but I knew if I resorted to violence she might go to Holly right away. She smelled so good.
“You need to stop this.”
“It’s like I told you, Dave. I’m fighting for us.”
My anger seethed as she threw her arms around my neck and kissed me, pressing her warm, luscious body close.
“Ew, what do you smell like?”
She turned her head and took a deep breath. Then she rubbed up against me again. I was still attracted to her and I felt myself getting aroused—I’m sure she felt it too because she rubbed harder. And that made me even angrier. I pulled her arms off me and stepped back.
“I know you still want me, Dave,” she said.
“I’m not leaving Holly.”
“Is that what you came here to tell me?”
“Yes.”
She pulled her T-shirt up, revealing her firm breasts. I tried not to look at them.
“Still not leaving her?” she said.
I reached over and pulled her shirt down. “Stop it, Missy.”
At first she looked hurt. Then her face turned angry, and she raked her nails across my face. I backed away, holding my cheek. It stung. I felt the wet, sticky blood.
“I’m sorry,” I said.
She stood there, defiant, as I headed for my truck. “Say hi to Holly for me.”
I didn’t look back.
* * *
“Did you find him?” Holly said when I got home.
“No. I checked his house and everything. It looks like he hasn’t been there for a long time.”
“How did you get so dirty? And what happened to your face?”
“It was dark. I fell.”
She came up to give me a kiss, but I motioned for her to stay back.
“Sorry, I don’t smell too good. I need to shower. There were a lot of dead animals.”
“Animals?”
“I think he’s been eating them.”
“Oh no. That poor man.”
“Yeah,” I said. “Guess his luck ran out.”
* * *
I sat in the small plastic chair rather than on the examination table with the white butcher paper when the doctor walked in.
“Hey, Isaac.”
“Dave, what’s this all about? I don’t have time to visit. There are a lot of actual sick patients.”
“I know, I saw your waiting room.”
Dr. Isaac Fallow was a medical examiner but still had an internal-medicine practice in town. He was a genial man, somewhere in his sixties. He’d been our family physician, and I’d known him since I was little. It was Holly’s day off, and to avoid suspicion I had made a lunchtime appointment.
Isaac motioned for me to take a seat on the examination table, stuck a thermometer in my mouth, checked my blood pressure and took my pulse.
“I’m worried about this thing spreading through the town,” I said.
“So am I.” He checked my eyes, ears and throat. “Be still.” He listened to my heart, then checked my breathing. “You seem fine. Want a sucker?”
“The other day one of those sick people came into the store. I think I might have been exposed to something.”
“Well, we don’t know how this thing spreads, but what I’ve noticed is that in each case the person was either bitten or infected with the blood of another sick person. Did the customer bite you?”
“No. I think I might have touched something that had their saliva on it, though.”
“I see.” He put his things away. “Well, did you wash your hands right away?”
“I used hand sanitizer.”
“Soap and hot water is still the best. But I don’t think you have anything to worry about.”
“Great. Do you know what this thing is?”
“No, but it seems to act like a virus. Might be related to the flu. We just don’t know yet.”
“I’ve noticed it changes people’s mood.”
“Yes, I’ve seen that too. There’s a rage factor in some cases.” He was halfway out the door.
“Any advice?”
“Don’t piss anyone off. See you, Dave.”
Chapter Five
The Missy Problem
Here was the Missy problem. Did I tell Holly everything and hope she could forgive me? Or did I try to stop Missy before Holly found out?
Like I said, I’m a wuss and I avoid confrontation. I didn’t want to tell Holly the truth. Sure, I was scared she’d get mad—but I was more afraid of her leaving me. That might sound stupid coming from a guy who spent six years of his young life getting drunk. I’d already proven I didn’t give a rat’s fart about things like marriage and family and living a good life. Shit, who knows—maybe I’d changed.
All I wanted was to protect what I had. But I knew confronting Missy again would piss her off and make her blow the whole thing up. So I had no choice but to confess. Next to quitting drinking, it was the hardest thing I ever did. It meant telling the actual truth. I went all in.
It was getting dark outside. A hot wind blew, rattling the windows. In the distance, sirens wailed. Holly sat across from me at the kitchen table. It was hard to read her expression, but it looked like shock.
“Say something,” I said.
“Why?”
I saw a hurt that would never heal—not in a lifetime of good deeds. If I became a missionary and spent the rest of my miserable, groveling existence ministering to lepers, it wouldn’t matter. Nothing would take away the pain I saw in her eyes.
“I don’t know what made me get mixed up with her. No idea.”
“Where …” She poured herself more tea. Stood by the stove and looked at her quivering hands. “Where did you meet her?” Her voice was small and distant, like she’d already left the room.
“The gym. It started out as talking. Just talking. There was never any discussion of … They were conversations to pass the time.”
“Yeah, I can see how that could lead to sex.”
“She asked me to follow her home because she was scared of a break-in.”
“So you were being noble. Did she ask you inside? Did you look under her bed? Did you role-play?”
“I left. But after that one time I don’t know what happened. It’s all mixed up in my head. I let myself get sucked in.”
“Those nights you were gone.” She was crying and holding herself. “You said you were with Ji
m. And I thought you’d started drinking again. What a relief.”
“I broke it off. That night I went to find Jim I went to her house afterwards and told her. I never wanted you to know. She thinks we were meant to be together. She said she wouldn’t stop till we were.”
“And what did you say, Dave?”
“I told her to forget it. Look, I never wanted you to know. She’s crazy. I just want to protect us.”
“Oh. I guess you’re forgiven then.”
We sat for a long time. A faraway, bone-chilling shriek tore the silence. I told myself it was a mountain lion. I had no idea what was going through Holly’s mind.
“What’re you going to do?” she said.
“Tell her that you already know. That I don’t care what she does. I’m hoping she’ll come to her senses and leave us alone.”
“But you said she’s crazy.”
“Crazy, confused …”
“Will she try to hurt us?”
“No. Maybe—I don’t know. I don’t know what else to do.”
“Do what you need to. I can’t be around you right now.” She put her cup in the sink and walked out.
Despite the pain in my gut, I felt the worst was over. Things would be rocky for a while, but I could see Holly forgiving me. I’d gone to her with the truth. I wanted her—not Missy.
Sometimes we lie to ourselves to get through the next five minutes.
* * *
The next day was Saturday. I had slept on the couch in the TV room. Holly went out early—I don’t know where. After I showered and dressed, I called Missy and told her I wanted to meet. I heard her excitement and wished I could avoid seeing her.
When I arrived, she was waiting on the porch, ready for action. I’d already been through hell with Holly. Now it was Missy’s turn. There’s nothing worse than delivering bad news to women. I hoped I wouldn’t get good at it.
“Want to come inside?” she said.
“Let’s take a walk.”
Her house stood at the edge of the forest. Though it was after nine, the air was already hot and sticky. We walked behind her house and found a trail that led into the woods.
The Shadow Box: Paranormal Suspense and Dark Fantasy Thriller Novels Page 198