by Deryck Jason
Dixie was back. And this time he wasn’t transparent. Looming over him, the great beast blew out condensation thicker than the smoke from thousand of Frieda’s cigarettes. Frieda wanted to move, he wanted to flee but he couldn’t. Instead he sat, leaning on his hands, jaw agape, staring at the colossal creature before him.
“D..d..don’t kill me” Frieda begged.
Dixie simply stood there, his expression remained grim. With a lumbering step the creature bent down towards the doctor and inhaled deeply. Frieda’ mix of sweat and tears was covering his clothes now. Without standing back up, the creature lifted its eyes to meet Connor’s. With a shake of his head the boy signaled not to go any further. Frieda did not know what was happening; he could not see Connor’s instructions to the creature. With a grunt, Dixie slowly stood up, looking down, snarling at the petrified Frieda while he did. Dixie stood watching the doctor before gradually turning to smoke right before his eyes. Wisps of grey eroded the powerful beast until there was nothing left but a dissipating grey trail.
Frieda’s breathing remained heavy until Dixie disappeared and for a few minutes after until he checked that Connor was not behind him. Once again he was alone in the apartment and he knew it. Left to simmer in his own self-pity he started to feel something else. Anger. Connor had shone a spotlight on the fact that his peers didn’t respect him. Now, he was proving just how weak and vulnerable he was in his own home. Paul Frieda made no conscious decision there and then to get mad, it just happened. Initially he fought the feeling. He had been fighting it for years. Whenever he had been mocked or spoken down to or belittled in any way he had fought the urge to say anything and up until now he had won. Now is the time he would lose. His head shook, though he couldn’t understand why. His fists involuntarily clenched and tightened. His breathing slowed. Then all at once it happened. Springing to his feet, he started venting years of anger on everything he could find. A marble table against the wall held numerous pictures of Frieda with his family. The fact that there were no pictures of good friends or perhaps a girlfriend was enough to provoke an attack on the memory-holding frames. With a wild sweep, he flung every one of them of them across the room, slamming them into his glass balcony doors. As they collided with the glass, one chip became three, which became a large crack in the once pristine glass. Normally, his reaction to broken objects was to promptly clean them up. That was the smart thing. But this wasn’t normal, and (he suddenly realized) smashing things felt good. Despite his anger, excited eyes scanned the room for something else to destroy. A vase, quite large on the coffee table by the couch was his next target. Trotting round in front of it he swept it hard just as he did the picture frames. The meticulously clean table offered nothing the block the vase’s path as it flew sideways, slamming hard but safely onto the leather armchair. This killed his excitement, making way for more anger.
“What kind of man can’t even be angry properly? I can’t even smash a…god dammed vase!”
His rage spurred him to lift the tinted blue, sunflower holder with both hands and bring it down hard onto his shiny wooden floor. This was a huge release. This was the closest he had felt to being in control for years and he did now want to stop. He found himself moving round his condo looking for things to destroy. Moving up the size scale from ashtrays to mugs to blenders to paintings, nothing was safe. With two hands he grabbed his glass balcony door and swung it hard, inwards towards the city, shattering the large pane inside of it. With a glance he moved back into the living room. He picked up all four of his remotes. He could easily have had a universal remote for his television, DVD player, stereo and surround sound system but he didn’t. He had all four sitting side by side so that when people came over they would know he had such expensive luxuries. Now, each served as yet another reminder that no one ever came over except his parents so now; each became a missile being hurled at his large, expensive 3D television. One after another he hurled the remotes at the sixty-two inch behemoth glaring out across the room, each time causing a giant, web like crack on the screen while simultaneously releasing his grip on his possessions and his current life as he once knew it.
CHAPTER 37
Earl’s was quiet tonight. Although Billy would have liked it to be busy, he understood why people were reluctant to come after what happened. He had already heard about Shannahan.
“News travels fast when you work in a bar.”
That news had shocked him; he thought the mayor would have been smart enough to hire a couple of people to protect him, but then again, he had never actually met the mayor. Standing alone polishing glasses, he thought of Earl. The old man never saw the point in polishing glassware but Billy always insisted on doing so if it was quiet. He felt it was better to offer clean glasses rather than ones covered in fingerprints, or worse-lipstick. Donna had just stepped out to the store to buy more smokes as Billy was putting the finishing touches on closing early. The bar had been empty all day so he saw no point in keeping it open any later. Spinning into only its seventh cycle of the day the glass washer was Billy’s only company for the time being.
The last glass from the rack to be put away was accompanied by a low growl. Billy remembered the sound well, there was no way he could ever forget it. He stood for a moment without moving his body. His eyes scanned the mirror, which lined the back of the bar for any signs of movement behind him. There was none, but he knew he was not alone. Moving slowly, he turned around. He could hear the creature’s raspy breathing but still he could not see it. Careful not to make any sudden moves he slowly dropped his hand underneath the bar top, slid it over the shotgun and grasped his Slugger firmly. Always a cocky one, Billy knew the shotgun was the safer choice but he would definitely enjoy the bat more. This much he knew. The bar top was mostly an obstruction to Billy’s view, but he felt safer for the moment knowing there was a barrier between him and the creature. Focusing solely on the sound of Dog’s breathing he moved slowly out of the bar, onto the floor area. Dog was somewhere around, he could hear him, he almost sounded like he was chuckling.
“Where are you, you bastard?”
Finding nothing in his immediate vision Billy started batting chairs to the side in an attempt to flush Dog out. As each chair crashed to the ground he heard confused little footsteps but still was unable to pinpoint where they were coming from. He stopped suddenly. He could feel eyes on him. Dog had a position and was ready to charge. The creature had already turned into the demented version of itself and was too excited to cover up its own snarls. The acoustics in Earl’s did not help Billy to locate the creature so he turned wildly back and forward, trying to spot it. Dog simply waited for its opportunity. Billy spotted it in the reflection of the jukebox, it was behind him, but the sly bartender did not act as if he had seen it. Instead he casually turned to face the jukebox, lulling Dog into false hope. Dog took the bait. Charging, its feet beat the floor hard as it ran to flank the bartender. Billy calmly watched it in the reflection up until the last moment when it lunged…
Turning quickly, the bat-adept young man connected the Slugger to the body of Dog, sending it way across the room; slamming it hard into a half dozen liquor bottles by the register. Silence fell for a lingering moment before the creature flopped off the ledge to the floor, out of Billy’s sight. Confidence spurred in the young bartender, he knew that although this thing wasn’t an animal it was still made of man-made materials and so: it could be destroyed. Quickly, the bartender ran across and leaned over the bar top to look for the fallen creature but it had gone again. Panic hit him for the first time as he realized Dog may have the upper hand now. Confused he turned to face the opening to the bar but the beast was already there. With a sharp bite and a pull Dog bit him in the same spot he had tried to a couple of days earlier but this time he succeeded and took a chunk of flesh with him. Adrenaline and anger kept Billy from going down completely; instead he fell to one knee, using the bat to keep him up, trying to ignore the blood he was losing. Unfortunately for him, this was enou
gh for a second attack. Dog knew he had weakened the formidable bartender and so he swung round and charged in again, taking full advantage of the situation. Billy had to react fast. As he took his weight off the Slugger he collapsed. Dog was now on top of him, gnashing at his throat. Pushing the bat against it with all his might, Billy was surprised at how strong the toy dog was. He was losing blood and his determination to survive could only last so long. As froth from the creature’s mouth starting dripping onto his face and neck he made a snap decision. After waiting till Dog bit down on the bat Billy used his powerful upper body to toss it-with Dog attached-as far away from him as he could. He knew this solution was only temporary as he tried to get to his feet. Sadly he had underestimated the pain in his ankle and he collapsed again after trying to put weight on it. On his back, willing himself to stand back up he was helpless. Out of nowhere dog appeared beside him and sank its teeth into his shoulder. Billy cried out but it was no use. In a last effort he grabbed the gnawing Dog with his good arm and tossed his forward, slamming it into the jukebox. Dog did not even slow down. As soon as it was on its feet again it was back, seizing Billy up.
Billy sorely regretted not picking up the shotgun but now it was too late. The combined pain in his ankle and his shoulder was awful. Dog meandered towards him, uninterested in rushing anymore. Billy was done for and they both knew it.
“Fuck!”
Billy cried out at his own arrogance. Had he picked up the shotgun, things might have turned out differently for him. Dog moved in, focused solely on its prey. It approached Billy slowly, with its teeth bared, ready to clamp down on its prize. He closed his eyes. He could feel its paws moving their way up his torso and then that awful breath was filling his nostrils. He opened his eyes to see hell incarnate staring back at him, its red eyes just inches away from his. With a last act of defiance Billy spat in the face of the creature prepare to kill him.
“Fuck you!”
He uttered these words knowing they were going to be his last. Dog opened its mouth wide to take his whole head in one bite. Billy had given up all hope until he heard the click. Both his and Dogs’ eyes looked up in unison. Dogs’ mouth was still gaping. Dog yelped as he saw Donna standing over them with the shotgun aimed square at his head. Instead of being afraid she was smiling. Billy had never seen this glint in her eye before but right now he didn’t care about that. The sight of his fiancé above him gave Billy the strength to push the creature away from him and cover his ears as best he could. On the other hand, the sight of a shotgun barrel caused Dog to turn its face back to a doe-eyed cutie, intent on existing a little while longer. Donna’s eyes lowered at the sight of the cute creature before her and she smiled wider.
“Fucking shoot it!” Billy cried out.
Donna stood there for a moment. She had no intention of not shooting it; she simply wanted to enjoy the creature trying to trick her. Dog scowled as he realized she wasn’t lowering the gun. Gently, she squeezed the trigger. Dog let out a yelp as the ensuing blast completely destroyed it. As smoke wisped from the barrel, Donna offered a hand to her finace to help him up. Shakily, Billy tried to keep his balance.
“Good thing you went out for more smokes.”
“Yep,” Donna grinned, “Those things will kill you.”
CHAPTER 38
Jacobs’ stomach growled.
“Christ, I forgot to pick up some food!”
“I could eat too” agreed Murdoch.
“Me too” said Anne.
“Don’t fret people…” Lynch interrupted “It’s not like we’re gonna be in here for a month. We have sandwiches in the break room. We normally load them into the vending machines but I just took them out today.”
Suddenly everyone’s mood perked up a little. The thought of having sandwiches was like a shining beacon of hope.
“If someone wanted to come with, we could bring back a little selection.”
“I’ll go with you. Then I’ll get first pick!” Anne said, snickering.
“Bring me back a tuna!” Jacobs said as they left the room.
Dr. Crass double-checked the lock on his front door. He double-checked the windows in the upstairs bedroom. He double-checked the bathroom windows and the spare room windows. He double-checked the lock on the basement door and the freshly installed padlock on the attic hatch. He double-checked the back door and then started the living room window double check. Crass had been double-checking the windows all day. Wilma believed his story; she had never known her husband to deliberately lie about anything. It was when he told her Greta was dead that she was really convinced he was telling the truth. He would never have said that otherwise. Still, she was not overly worried about what was happening. Having had no contact with Connor and having never seen a child’s toy come to life she had no real reason to be scared. Sure, she believed her husband and sure, she believed she was in danger but that was a different thing from being afraid for their lives. Although smart, Wilma epitomized the natural apathy of people when it came to their own mortality. Sure she was told of what was out to get her but she wouldn’t really believe it until she saw it with her own two eyes.
Wilma sat on the couch knitting while gently mocking her husband.
“Be careful you don’t check those windows to death. I’d hate to have to testify against you when the lamps call the police.”
Crass ignored her and continued checking the locks.
“In fact, I think the chairs are getting jealous of the attention the windows are getting. Watch they don’t call the police out of spite.”
“You realize I’m not amused?”
“Yes you are. It’s just that you’d never admit it.”
Crass kept his back turned to her.
“You’ve always known me to be honest.”
“I’ve always known you to be a grumpy old bastard.”
Despite the fact they had been happily married for forty years, Crass was still not used to being swore at, and Wilma knew this. Swear words were her wild cards. When she wanted to add a little spice to a conversation, she would slip in a “B-Word,” or an “S-word,” or even the dreaded “F-Word.” However, she would never use the “C-Word.” No, that word was too awful. Crass turned to his wife. No matter how many times she surprised him with one of these bad little words he was always offended. He loathed swearing. He felt there were enough descriptive terms in the English language that you did not need to swear. To him, swearing was an ignorant man’s vice. But Wilma knew all this. Goodness knows he had ranted about it often enough. So when he turned to her angry, she simply raised her eyebrows comically. Her little half-smirk broke out, the one she had when she joked and there was nothing he could do about it. He knew she was just trying to get a rise out of him, she was the only person he knew who was ballsy enough to do that and that was one of the reasons he loved her.
“I do wish you wouldn’t say things like that.” Crass thought for a moment. “Call me a grumpy old goat. Yes, that’s much better.”
Wilma chuckled “I’ll do that next time.”
Crass simply shook his head.
“I want to make sure they’re sealed.”
“They’re fine Ben” sighed Wilma. “Just like they were earlier, just like they will be later, now come and sit down.”
Crass relented “I guess you’re right.”
He sat down beside his wife.
“I just want to make sure you’re safe. Greg lost Greta; I don’t want to lose you.”
“I know sweetie.”
Wilma sat with her husband for a moment until she noticed his fingerprints all over the windows.
“Ben! What’s the point of me cleaning all day then you getting the place all dirty again? I know we’re hermits right now but that doesn’t mean we have to be slobs too.”
Crass sat back against the couch. He allowed Wilma to complain about the fingerprints as she went into the kitchen for some cleaning products he didn’t use very often. After a minute she came back out with a bottle of h
omemade yellow liquid in one hand and some large coffee filters in the other. Mist peppered the windows after a few quick sprays. Aromas of vinegar and lemons came from the fluid, a scent that Wilma adored as it reminded her of freshness.
Under a streetlamp, across the road an empty police car sat. Wilma lowered the bottle in her hand and wiped away the last of the liquid for a clearer look.
“That’s strange,” she thought out loud.
Crass came over to the window beside her.
“What is?”
“The police car that’s outside…it’s empty.”
Crass looked at it too and he didn’t like what he was seeing.
“Hold on, I’m going to call Greg.”
Crass turned and walked towards the phone in the kitchen.
Wilma stood, anxiously looking towards the vehicle, hoping she would see the cops nearby but so far she had seen nothing. A second later something else caught her eye, something from the lawn.
“Ben?”
“Ben?”
“Ben?”
Despite her voice getting louder in her head she only realized it wasn’t really getting any louder after her third call.
“Ben?!”
This one was louder and it drew her husband from the kitchen fast.
“What? Wilma what’s wrong?”
She didn’t have to answer. Crass saw it clear as day. As an added security feature Crass had already turned on the garden lights despite the fact darkness had not fully settled yet.