Closing Costs
Page 7
He tumbled on top of her, and his weight drove the heavy blade to the floor. Yana gagged, her severed tongue lolling. He was already on his feet and running toward the door before the top of her head rolled backwards and hit the leg of the nightstand.
SIXTEEN
There could have been demons waiting for him in every room he passed, dark shadows preparing to strike. They could have been around any corner, ready to wrap him up in their slithering octopus-like limbs. Monstrosities steeling themselves on the staircase for his decent.
He didn’t care. He just wanted out.
Hershel sprinted down the hallway, his shoulders bouncing off the walls. At that point, noise be damned. Everything be damned. Though he left his weapon behind, he was prepare to fight tooth and nail to break free from those walls. Fists up, he rounded the last corner and hit the staircase, leaping down two steps at a time. His legs burned, and as he reached the bottom step, his knee gave out—
His breath left him, whooshing from his lungs as he crashed to the floor. Dazed, he tried to roll over and crawl toward the front door. Only twenty feet away, it called to him. Moonlight bled destiny across the glassy floor, lighting his way.
Beside the front door, the basement staircase was rife with action. Long blue tentacles slid over the banister, dozens of them, many bloating themselves as he watched. A strong grip seized his leg. Colin pulled him backwards, smoke billowing from his face. His lower half, now gone, was a bushel of writhing eels that propelled him forward.
“Where do you think you’re going, old man?”
Hershel growled and kicked at the demon’s face. Colin’s nose cave inward but he crawled on. In seconds he was lying on Hershel’s legs, tentacles squirming over his pants. He felt his genitals being squeezed.
“Should have taken my offer, Hershel.”
Then Ishkalben screamed. Flames burst from his back, instantly filling the room with smoke. A wave of heat washed over the floor. The demon rolled over Hershel and spun, his host body now fully ignited.
A large brown paper bag dropped near Hershel’s head. Above him, Cameron Whitecomb extended his one good arm, and without thinking twice, Hershel allowed himself to be pulled to his feet.
“We’ve got to go! Now!” Cameron yelled, his chin and cheek raw and purple.
“Were the fuck did you think I was going?” said Hershel. “Back to the basement?”
“Come on.”
Hershel stopped him, grabbing the smaller man by the front of his shirt. “I’m not going anywhere with you! As far as I’m concerned, you’re the reason any of this happened. My clients—the Sokolovs—are dead because of you, you little shit! I ought to kick the living shit out of you right now!”
Cameron growled back, teeth bared, “I told you I didn’t have a choice! This wasn’t about you, man! This was about making sure my daughter could live!” He shook his head. “I’m sorry, man. It wasn’t supposed to be like this.”
Without thinking, Hershel reared back and cracked Cameron across his mouth. Blood dripped down his chin. He didn’t appear fazed.
“I can’t live without her. She’s all I got, man. Do you have any kids?”
Grimacing, Hershel shook his head.
“I do. Tara’s all I got left. If I go to jail, then she’s done for. I can’t let that happen. Please just let me go. I have to see her.”
Gradually his fist unfolded until he released his grip. He sighed. He knew deep down it wasn’t the right thing to do, but had he been in the same shoes, Monique’s life on the line, he would have expected the same pity. He stepped aside.
Leading the way, Cameron hurried to the front door and gripped the knob. Then he stopped.
Hershel yelled, “Open the damn door!”
Cameron shook his head, then pawed at his hair.
“Get out of the way.” Hershel grabbed him by the shoulders and pulled him back, but Cameron screamed and threw his arms around Hershel, pulling him down. Hershel kept his ground. “What’s wrong? Cameron, what’s wrong with you?”
Falling to his knees, Cameron screamed and pulled at his hair. “Please! No no no!”
“Goddamn it, boy! What’s wrong?” Hershel noticed the tentacles on the basement steps had begun to crawl their way. He gripped the doorknob, determined to leave, but Cameron pulled him backwards by his leg.
“He’s got me!” he cried. Tears pouring down his face, he looked up into Hershel’s eyes. “Please…help my daughter. I can’t…leave…” Smoke bled between his teeth.
“I…” Hershel couldn’t speak.
“Please! Tara Whitecomb…Nashville…Children’s Hospital…” He released his grip from Hershel and collapsed to the floor. He screamed, his eyes bulging. “Save her!”
The top of Cameron’s skull exploded. Gore splattered across Hershel’s pants. His body went ridged, then fell limp, his mouth a perfect O. A long blue tentacle burst from his cranium, squealing like a newborn piglet. Hershel leapt back, away from its reach. The tentacle swept side-to-side, whipping at his feet. Cameron’s flaccid body inched forward as the new appendage crept toward him. Hershel threw open the front door and took one last look before running.
SEVENTEEN
She opened her eyes and yawned. It was daytime, early morning perhaps, and though she had no idea how long she’d been asleep, she was still very tired. Carefully, she rolled on to her side to watch the sunlight peek through the curtains. She glanced over toward the reclining chair in the far corner, hoping she’d find her daddy fast asleep. Once again, he was not there. But it didn’t matter. She felt good. Her legs didn’t hurt, neither did her back. Though some pain still lingered, she smiled because it didn’t keep her up anymore. Now she could sleep through the night, and that made her happier than Christmas morning. Behind her, beyond the door, Nurse Scofield spoke in hushed words. She couldn’t hear much, just snippets of conversation.
Thank the Lord it’s working…
Getting stronger…
Anonymous donation…
The goodness of strangers…
She closed her eyes, wondering if she would have hair like Nurse Scofield when she was older. She was so pretty.
EIGHTEEN
Water lapped at his bare feet as he sat on the edge of the deck. Not ten feet below him, thick patches of ruddy coral reef waved with the current. A few steps away, wooden swings posted in the sand swung with the cool April breeze. Beyond that, the sun gave in to the night, the ocean swallowing its blessed heat.
He’d never seen anything so blue. So perfect.
“Hershel?”
He turned around. The bungalow door slid open, and Monique stepped out, wearing only her two piece and a sheer white robe that flapped in the wind.
“Hey, old man,” she grinned. “Are you going to stare at that sunset all night, or are you going to hop back into bed with me?”
Beaming, he continued to stare at her in silence, his heart swelling with love. Finally he said, “Be right in, Mrs. Merkley.”
She blew him a kiss and closed the door behind her.
For a few more moments his eyes lingered on the fading skyline, and he relished every second he was alive. But when he realized his heart wasn’t the only thing swelling, he stood with a sigh and went back inside to join his wife.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Wesley Southard is the author of the novel The Betrayed, which was named one of Brian Keene’s Top 15 Books of 2017, the novella Closing Costs, and has had short stories appear in numerous outlets such as Cover of Darkness Magazine, Eulogies II: Tales from the Cellar, Grindhouse, Dark Bits, Blood Reign Lit Magazine, The Book of Blasphemous Words, and Clickers Forever: A Tribute to J.F. Gonzalez. A few of those stories are collected in his chapbook Unfit for Burial: Four Short Stories.
When not watching numerous hours of ice hockey, he spends his fr
ee time reading and drinking copious amounts of green soda. He is also a graduate of the Atlanta Institute of Music, and currently lives in South Central Pennsylvania with his wife and their cavalcade of animals. Visit him online at wesleysouthard.wordpress.com
Also by Wesley Southard…
THE BETRAYED
How well do you know the people around you?
Your neighbors? Your coworkers? Friends? Family?
Sidney Jameson, a young single father just trying to make ends meet, is being followed. They keep to the shadows, quiet and cloaked in dirty brown robes...and they’re getting closer. And what they have to tell Sidney is something terrible. Something he never knew about his past. Something he didn’t want to know about his future.
The war between Heaven and Hell is the world’s oldest story. Lucifer turned his back on Heaven, and God eternally cast him and his faithful to the fiery depths of Hell. Everyone knows the tale...or do we? There’s only a few hours left before his twenty-fifth birthday, and with the aid of The Dark One Himself, Sidney will discover his place in the battle for humanity, and how only he can stop it once and for all.
There’s only one problem. The rest of world is trying to stop him.
UNFIT FOR BURIAL
A man stuck on a plane of nightmares...
A woman trapped with a knife-wielding maniac...
A boy just trying to lose his virginity...
A man just trying to escape prison...
Four short stories of horror and suspense from up-and-coming author Wesley Southard.