by Adam Pepper
The symphony stopped abruptly, and It quickly turned around. Something was near. Someone was watching. It wasn’t alone with the prey. It was so swept up in the feeding that It ignored its other senses. But now It was alert, and it was sure it wasn’t alone.
With its strength and composure returned, its senses were heightened. It smelled her: hair paint, heavy fake sweet scent masking a natural light sweat, smelly film under her arms and a creamy coating on her skin.
It was the girl. She’d returned. But It didn’t smell the other two; the large men weren’t with her.
It walked, its two legs now strong and secure, towards the scent, its eyes scouring deep into the brush. She was there, but It couldn’t see her. Until the woods moved before it. She was hunched behind a bush, and she took off as It approached. It followed, needing to catch her before she reached the others. It was strong from the feed, but still couldn’t risk a confrontation with the two large human males. They were probably not far off. If she screamed, they’d probably hear.
It had to catch her.
It ran, its leg muscles like springboards generating giant leaping steps. It stretched its arms like elastic using them to steady itself; they scraped the ground and helped It maintain balance with each jump. It was trying to gain ground, but she was quick and determined. She took three or four small, quick steps to its every leap. It pushed and pushed, but the price it paid in energy was great. The meal was a hearty one, but it needed to last. It couldn’t afford to chase much longer.
In the end, it didn’t matter, as she reached the clearing first. It quickly wove a human mask, not an intricate one, it wasn’t necessary. Just a generic middle-aged man, with a large black hat to cover its head, and dark sunglasses to cover its eyes. It tucked in its tail.
She looked back. Had she witnessed the transformation? It couldn’t be sure. But she was a threat. Every minute she lived with the knowledge of what It was created a tremendous danger.
She walked past the soft house—ducking under the stakes that kept it up—and into the crowd. It followed. The two men were sitting at a wooden table, eating food that reeked of the grease it had been cooked in. She said something to them, It wasn’t sure exactly what, but it was clear she wasn’t happy.
The three of them got up and walked away from the crowd. It followed, despite being worried that she might point It out to the men.
She spoke into a small disk that she held in her hand, her other arm whirled around wildly. The three of them walked down a hill and into an area where the soft green ground was browned, and many wheeled boxes sat. The brown-skinned man got into a large black wheeled box and the wheeled box came alive. She shivered and looked back repeatedly. The wheeled box began to move, then stopped so the large pale man could open a door. She looked backwards, once over each shoulder, then stepped up inside the wheeled box. Without a backward glance, the pale man stepped in behind her.
It would need to track her. It would pick up her scent later. After it was done. For now, It was returning to the woods to finish its meal. It would need as much energy as it could possibly store up.
* *
The scent was fresh. Her unique blend of aromas—hair paint, fake sweet scent, human sweat—was hers and hers alone.
It wouldn’t be easy to follow her. The humans traveled in wheeled boxes that rumbled so loud and moved so fast. It would simply walk.
It was accustomed to walking. Walking took time, but It had time. Time, patience and discipline were all It had. And It had each in abundance.
The girl’s trail led away from the wooded area with the soft ground and towards hard earth that was filled with wheeled boxes, going backwards and forwards rapidly. Before walking among them, It needed cover.
Crouching in the woods just before the hard ground, It developed a gray receding hairline on a round head, and gruff, unshaven skin for a face. It knew from past experience that men with ripped and torn clothes and sloppy appearances rarely were acknowledged by other human beings, much less hassled. So when It traveled long distances on foot, It often took on this appearance.
The boxes shot by, some with four wheels, others larger with eight or ten wheels and some with too many wheels to count. It stayed to the side of the hard ground the best it could. Finally, It reached an area where there was no green ground to the side of the hard ground. Having no other alternative, It walked onto the hard ground towards a large structure that carried the boxes high over the water.
A man in blue pants and a matching shirt with markings on the chest ran towards him, his face twisted, his fingers waving wildly.
“What the fuck are you doing, asshole?”
It wasn’t exactly sure how to answer the question; the words were spit from the man’s mouth so rapidly. But it was clear the man of authority didn’t like him stepping onto the hard ground.
“What’s your problem? Can you speak?” The man’s pale face was reddened and clearly demanded a reply.
“Need to get across,” It said, trying to make its natural, low and scratchy voice resemble a human’s voice. He looked past the man, not down, but not directly in the eye.
The man seemed to take offense to this. “Look at me!”
The man grabbed for its chin, and It leaned back before he actually made contact, then their eyes met. No matter how well constructed the camouflage was, its eyes, at close range were always a weakness. A human who paid attention could always spot the redness in the middle of the eye.
“Damn,” the man in blue clothing said, “Have you been drinking tonight?”
It shrugged, trying to look as submissive as possible. It was sure the man wanted submission.
“You smoke dope tonight?”
“No smoke dope,” It replied. It was sure “smoke dope” was bad.
“Whatever. Take the footbridge.” The man in blue clothing pointed to a separate section of the structure. Humans wearing fancy jackets were walking towards It, and others in soft-looking suits were running on a brown path that turned to hard ground as they entered the span. “You’re gonna get yourself killed, buddy. You can’t walk across here.”
“I take footbridge.”
“Yep. Take the footbridge.”
The man in blue clothing walked away. It got off the hard ground, and followed the running humans in the soft-looking suits to the footbridge. The humans in the fancy jackets, one male carrying a case and two females with large bags slung over their shoulders, seemed to look at It with anger in their eyes, but they left It alone.
Once on the other side of the footbridge, It picked up the girl’s scent again. It followed the scent to a manmade tree. It walked up to the entrance and pulled at the door, but it wouldn’t open.
A man in a suit, long overcoat, and fancy-looking hat came to the door and opened it.
“May I help you?” he asked.
It tilted its head to the side, not sure what to say.
“You aren’t welcome here. I don’t have any change for you. Please leave now,” the man said, then closed the door and walked back to the desk where he’d been sitting. On the desk sat a newspaper and a white cup with smoke flowing from it.
It walked away from the manmade tree and down an alleyway that separated the trees. The tree next to it was also tall and solid-looking, but it was colored a slightly faded yellow.
There were no humans in sight, and It didn’t smell or sense any either. It huddled behind a large smelly can and dropped to its knees. The red hot ball had set fully, and the cover of darkness was its comfortable friend. It shut its eyes tight, then opened them to reveal a soft shade of blue. It whirled its shoulders around in circles—like the giant wheels it had seen the young humans ride on—and they thinned from those of a middle aged man, to a thinner, bonier form. It licked its lips, and they curved, filled and reddened. It twitched its nose, and it pointed out while the nostrils thinned and the gray hairs curled and withered away. It grew perky balls on its chest while its potbelly shrank and leveled out. Its ass cur
ved. Secretions gushed out from its pores to replicate a flowery but subtle fake sweet scent.
When It stood up from behind the smelly can, It was a woman, attractive and in her forties, with a fancy jacket like the women on the footbridge wore.
Changing shape always took a lot of energy. It had eaten well, taking the time to digest the entire young male; It left no scraps to be found by worms, much less humans. Still, it was best to keep its reserves up. When necessary, It had the ability to survive for long periods of time without eating, but in order to be at its best, and strongest, It needed to eat frequently.
It walked down the alley and returned to the street, wiggling its feminine hips slightly, the way It had seen human women do. Its high heels clicked the hard ground, and It noticed two men in fancy jackets looking, almost gawking in its direction.
It looked down at the hard ground and away from the men; they quickly read the lack of interest and walked on. They wouldn’t do. It needed a lone target, and preferred a woman or child to a full-grown man. It toned down its walk slightly so as to draw less attention from the males.
A woman walking a small brown dog caught its eye. She looked in her early fifties, well put together but aging. She wore dark red pants with a matching top and oversized stones around her neck and fingers. She stopped in front of a tree—a single eight-foot tree enclosed in a small square of dirt within the hard ground—and the dog lifted its leg and peed. When the dog finished, the woman walked towards the yellow manmade tree.
It followed.
She walked slowly towards the front entrance, allowing the dog to trot, but yanking its leash occasionally to keep it moving towards the door. It kept about six or seven feet behind. The aroma of the woman’s fake sweet scent was almost enough to drown out the scent of the pooch. It didn’t like the smell of dogs, foul creatures that they were, serving no purpose but to warn their masters of danger. This dog didn’t seem to sense any threat though.
As the woman got to the entrance, It closed the distance. The woman put her key in the door and opened it. It walked right up. She looked up quickly, then smiled and held the door. It grabbed the metal door, allowing the woman and the dog to enter first.
“Thank you,” the woman said.
It nodded and followed the woman into a hallway. It noticed no man guarding the entrance like the building next door had.
The woman pressed a button in front of a metal wall, and looked over her shoulder at It with strange eyes. She didn’t appear alarmed, but perhaps she was concerned. It smiled a soft smile, which seemed to set the woman at ease. The dog sniffed its feet.
“Stop it,” the woman said, and the dog’s head turned away from its feet and towards the wall.
The wall slid open to show a room with mirrored walls flanked with wood handrails. The woman walked towards the empty room. She yanked the leash and said, “Come on, Peanut. Let’s go.”
She stepped into the room and the dog followed. It stepped into the room next. The woman pressed a button. It looked ahead, saying nothing.
“Are you going to four, too?” she asked.
“Yes. Going to four.” The voice was exaggeratingly high pitched, but It did its best to sound like the young females It had heard talk earlier. When in doubt, it was always best to agree. Four what? It wasn’t sure, but she’d been given the answer she was expecting to hear, and so it was safe to simply nod and agree.
The woman seemed satisfied. Peanut sniffed its feet, first at the toes, then its tiny snout moving upwards towards the leg.
“Peanut,” she said in a harsh tone, and the dog stopped sniffing and again faced forward.
Soft music played as the wall slid closed. Violins and violas began to ring pleasantly in its head. Then, the room began to move. Its stomach didn’t like it, nor did its ears, which filled with pressure. It stumbled, then grabbed the handrail. The soothing tune helped settle its nerves, allowing It to get its bearings. The room was moving up, nothing to be alarmed about. The woman and the dog seemed to expect it.
A soft bell rang. The wall slid open and some crooked lines lit up at the top of the elevator.
A muted horn played the melody while the bass and percussion held down the rhythm.
She stepped out of the room, lightly yanking at Peanut’s leash. It followed a step or two behind, happy to be out of the odd, moving room. She turned her head slightly to the side but didn’t look back. The wall slid closed, but the muted trumpet still hummed a sweet sound in its head.
The woman walked down the hall, passing two doors. She stopped abruptly at the third door. It walked slowly past, towards the fourth door.
The woman put the key in her door and turned it, then looked at It. It closed in quickly, and pushed her into the room behind the door. Peanut was dragged along with them.
Peanut began to bark. The bark wasn’t quite soprano but lacked any bass. It was annoying, but not startling. The neighbors probably heard it all the time.
It slammed the door closed with its tail. It was an instinctive move, although It realized instantly that the human camouflage on its ass was ruined.
“What are you doing in here? Get out!” The woman screamed. It didn’t appear that she’d noticed the tail in the darkness of the unlit room. There was a small amount of light from the street coming in through the windows, but the room was otherwise dark.
It tackled her and smacked her head into the hardwood floor. Peanut stood and barked.
“What do you want from me? I don’t have much money. You can have my jewelry. You don’t need to hurt me.”
It wrapped the leash around her neck with one hand while holding her down with the other. Her face reddened and mouth water slid down her chin.
Peanut barked, then pecked at its legs. It ignored the dog until Peanut took a bite into its heel, ripping off the human cover and breaking through a layer of scaly skin.
It jerked back. The pain wasn’t excruciating, but it was enough so that It turned towards the dog and backhanded it. The opportunity wasn’t lost on the woman; she was fast with fear. She ducked under the leash and broke free, and went running down a long hallway towards a glass end table and grabbed for a rectangular box. She was able to separate the top piece of the box from the base and It could see they were connected by a long cord. The woman tried to press buttons on the box, but before she could, It launched its tongue, extending down the long hallway. The scratchy tongue latched onto the back of her neck and yanked her back. Her limbs sprung in four different directions. The rectangle box flung into the wall. She was able to shake free for an instant but then lost her footing and fell headfirst into the glass table. The table smashed into many pieces. She collapsed and lay face down.
It hurried down the hallway and rolled her face up. Bits of glass covered her face and shimmered from the light sneaking in through the window.
Peanut was barking frantically. The pitch now truly was soprano. It ignored the dog, who just stood by, barking but doing nothing else to stop It.
The trumpets in its head were no longer muted. They were bursting with a medieval victory song.
It took her head in its hands and opened her mouth. Its tongue slid out and licked the bits of blood from her face, gently spiting the glass fragments aside. The tongue went into her mouth and stretched down into her belly. It stopped at the stomach and parked there, where it could slowly enjoy the taste.
Her stomach was near empty, but her bowels were tasty and full.
A noise from outside interrupted the meal. There was a knock at the door, and a voice heard.
“Mrs. Olsen?” the voice outside the door questioned. The voice spoke differently from the others It had heard speak; much like its own, the voice seemed a little less confident with the human language.
Peanut looked towards the door, continuing to bark, but not leaving its master’s side.
It lopped up one last gulp of entrails, then stood up and walked towards the door, tucking in its tail and solidifying its camouflage as It hudd
led in the entrance hall.
“Mrs. Olsen?” The voice was a little louder, and a little more intent. There were three knocks on the door, followed by three harder ones. “Mrs. Olsen. Are you okay in there? It’s Juan.”
Peanut whined.
It heard keys jingling on the other side of the door.
“Mrs. Olsen. It’s Juan. I’m coming in. Okay?”
The door opened and It charged. The man in a blue work shirt with red stenciling over the breast pocket barely had a chance to think before he got bowled over, its lowered shoulder connecting directly with the man’s ribs. The man fell and It ran out into the hall. It wanted no part of the moving room but knew It had to get down. It saw a sign that was lit up in red which It recognized from its days at the music school.
“Exit,” It said to itself with recollection.
It ran towards the sign and opened the door beneath it, then ran down four flights of steps and out into the street.
It wasn’t long before It picked up the girl’s scent again. The trail headed north. It was strong, and another transformation took place. An old vagrant that drew first glances but rarely second ones journeyed north following the scent of hair paint, fake sweet scent and feminine sweat.
* *
A skinny, brown-skinned girl walked alone on the hard ground. There was a swagger in her hips that attempted to portray confidence beyond her years. The intention in her movement was clear—her tiny waist in such contrast to her round ass—but It wasn’t fooled.
She walked underneath the tracks where the loud rectangular boxes rattled by and crossed the usually busy hard ground. When the red, hot ball was out, the wheeled boxes flew by. At this hour, however, she didn’t even bother looking both ways before crossing.
Her pace quickened, and she breathed a bit heavily but didn’t look back at the sloppy man that wandered a bit too closely behind her. Blinking red and yellow enclosed lights coming from a small manmade tree were growing close.