by Jack Kilborn
Never a religious man, Frank silently begged the Lord to please send someone to give Frank the score.
When Frank finished the prayer and opened his eyes, he was confronted with a wondrous sight.
The cops were bringing in a man—a large, burly man—wearing a Bulls jersey.
“Is the game over?”
The man squinted at Frank. “Yeah, it’s over. Most amazing ending I’ve ever seen. It’ll be talked about for decades to come.”
“Who won? Who won?”
The door closed, and the cops went away. The burly man looked Frank over, top to bottom.
“You a Bulls fan?”
Frank began to jump up and down.
“Yes, dammit! Who won the game?”
The man smiled. It was an ugly thing.
“How much is it worth to you to know?”
“Name your price. I don’t have any money on me, but I’ll get it to you. My word is good.”
Burly Guy licked his lips. “Don’t want no money.”
“What is it you want, then?”
Fifteen minutes later, Frank learned a valuable lesson: If you dedicate your life to sports, you’ll only get hurt in the end.
Written years ago, this eventually sold to Blood Lite 2 edited by Kevin J. Williamson. It’s a fun piece where things aren’t what they appear to be.
“It all goes back to the time I was bitten by that werewolf.”
Dr. Booster’s pencil paused for a moment on his notepad, having only written a ‘w.’
“A werewolf?”
Tyler nodded. Booster appraised the teenager; pimples, lanky, hair a bit too long for the current style. The product of a well-to-do suburban couple.
“This is the reason your grades have gone down?”
“Yeah. Instead of studying at night, I roam the neighborhood, eating squirrels.”
“I see…and how do squirrels taste, Tyler?”
“They go down dry.”
Booster wrote ‘active imagination’ on his pad.
“What makes you say you were bitten by a werewolf?”
“Because I was.”
“When did this happen?”
Tyler scratched at the pubescent hairs on his chin. “Two weeks ago. I was out at night, burying this body…”
“Burying a body?”
The boy nodded.
“Tyler, for therapy to work, we have to be honest with each other.”
“I’m being honest, Dr. Booster.”
Booster made his mouth into a tight line and wrote ‘uncooperative’ on his pad.
“Fine, Tyler. Whose body were you burying?”
“It was Crazy Harold. He was a wino that hung out in the alley behind the liquor store on Kedzie.”
“And why were you burying him?”
Tyler furrowed his brow. “I had to get rid of it. I didn’t think digging a grave would be necessary. I thought they disintegrated after getting a stake in the heart.”
Booster frowned. “Crazy Harold was a vampire?”
Tyler shifted on the couch to look at him. “You knew? Shouldn’t they turn into dust when you kill them?”
Booster glanced the diplomas on his wall. Eight years of education, for this.
“So you’re saying you hammered a stake into Crazy Harold —”
“It was actually a broken broom handle.”
“—and then buried him.”
“In the field behind the house. And just when I finished, that’s when the werewolf got me.” Tyler lifted up his right leg and hiked up his pants. Above the sock was a raised pink scar, squiggly like an earthworm.
“That’s the bite mark?”
Tyler nodded.
“It looks old, Tyler.”
“It healed fast.”
“Your mother told me you got that scar when you were nine-years-old. You fell off your bike.”
Tyler blinked, then rolled his pants leg back down.
“Mom’s full of shit.”
Booster wrote ‘animosity towards mother’ in his pad.
“Why do you say that, Tyler? Your mother is the one who recommended therapy, isn’t she? It seems as if she wants to help.”
“She’s not my real mother. Her and Dad were replaced by aliens.”
“Aliens?”
“They killed my parents, replaced them with duplicates. They look and sound the same, but they’re actually from another planet. I caught them, once, in their bedroom.”
Booster raised an eyebrow. “Making love?”
“Contacting the mother ship. They’re planning a full scale invasion of earth. But I thought you wanted to know about the werewolf.”
Booster pursed his lips. WWSFD? He appealed to the picture of Sigmund hanging above the fireplace. The picture offered no answers.
“Tyler, with your consent, I’d like to try some hypnotherapy. Have you ever been hypnotized?”
“No.”
Booster dimmed the lights and sat alongside the couch. He held his pencil in front of Tyler’s face at eye level.
“Take a deep breath, then let it out. Focus on the pencil…”
It took a few minutes to bring Tyler to a state of susceptible relaxation.
“Can you hear me, Tyler?”
“Yes.”
The boy’s jaw was slack, and a thin line of drool escaped the corner of his mouth. Booster was surprised at the child’s halitosis — perhaps he had been eating squirrels after all.
“I’d like you to remember back a few weeks, when you told me about burying Crazy Harold.”
“Okay.”
“Tell me what you see.”
“It’s cold. There are a lot of rocks in the dirt, and the shovel won’t go in very far.”
Booster used his pen light to check Tyler’s pupils. Slow response. The child was under.
“What were you digging?”
“Grave. For the vampire.”
Booster frowned. He’d studied cases of patients lying under hypnosis, but had never had one on his couch.
“What about the werewolf?”
“Came out of the field. It was big, had red eyes, walked on two legs.”
“And it bit you?”
“Yeah. I thought it was going to kill me, but Runs Like Stallion saved me.”
“Runs Like Stallion?”
“He’s a ghost of a Sioux brave. The field is an old Indian burial ground.”
Booster decided he’d had enough. He wrote ‘treatment’ in his notebook and went over to his desk, unlocking the top drawer. The plastic case practically leapt up at him. He took it over to Tyler.
“Tyler, your parents are tired of these stories.”
“My parents are dead.”
“No, Tyler. They aren’t dead. They care about you. That’s why they brought you to me.”
Booster opened the case. The gnerlock blinked its three eyes and crawled into Booster’s hand. It would enter Tyler’s mouth and burrow up into his brain, taking over his body.
“Soon, it will all be better. You’ll have no more worries. You’re going to be a host, Tyler, for the new dominant species on this planet. Are you scared?”
“No.”
“Open your mouth, Tyler.”
Tyler stretched his mouth wide.
Wider than humanly possible, crammed with sharp teeth.
The gnerlock nesting in Dr. Booster’s brain crawled out through his neck after the wolf decapitated the host body.
Its eleven legs beelined for the door, antennae waving hysterically, telepathically cursing that quack Freud.
Halfway there, a green ghostly foot came down on its oblong head, smashing it into the carpeting.
The Indian gave the wolf a thumbs up, but Tyler was already leaping out the window, eyes locked on a juicy squirrel in the grass below.
Written for a college anthropology course, as a final project. The Woody Allen influence is obvious. I’ve always liked this story, but no one ever expressed any interest in publishing it, even though it made the ro
unds.
DAY 1 — 2:47 P.M.
The funding has come through! As I write this, I am in a plane heading to the Bahamas, on a grant from the University of Sheboygan. With me are my colleagues Dr. Myra Bird and Dr. Jerome Sloan.
I’m thrilled, though my excitement was somewhat dampened when I had some trouble getting my excavation tools through airport security. Jerome’s sly joke that I wasn’t really an archaeologist, but rather a homicidal maniac, prompted them to conduct an embarrassing and somewhat uncomfortable body-cavity search.
I’m grateful the airport security gentlemen had small hands.
As for the site, none of us knows what to expect. Sure, there have been stories of fossilized Homo erectus skulls just lying on the beach, waiting to be picked up, but archaeological rumors are plentiful. I still remember traveling to the Antarctic six years ago, because of the discovery of what seemed to be an Australopithecus boise tooth, but instead turned out to be just a small white rock. I sorely miss those three toes I lost to frostbite.
But this site seems like the real thing. The authenticated femur of a Homo habilus was found by a vacationing family in a small cave. Evidently, the children were acting up, and the father had grabbed something lying next to him to beat them with. It turned out to be the fossil in question. Luckily, it remained intact, even though the father used it.
I also believe the children have gotten out of intensive care.
Myra, Jerome and I have been waiting a week now for the go ahead to investigate. My bag was long ago packed and waiting for the word, leaving me pretty much without anything to wear for the last week.
But now we were finally on our way.
Jerome just tapped me on the shoulder, smiling. He is also obviously thrilled about this trip. No, he just wants my martini. I give it to him. I am so high right now I do not need alcohol. This package of peanuts is fine.
DAY 1 — 9:35 P.M.
What a horrible flight! Jerome threw up on the stewardess, who then refused to acknowledge us for the rest of the trip. We didn’t even get served our dinner, which as far as I could make out was some kind of meat in brown sauce. When we got to the airport, Customs confiscated Jerome’s suitcase, which was filled with liquor. Both Myra and I are appalled at the lack of professionalism on our colleague’s part, and we attempted to confront him and express our disappointment.
Unfortunately, he was unconscious.
We managed to get him to the hotel by strapping him to the hood of our taxi, but they charged us fare for three just the same.
The hotel we are staying at is very cheap, and we all must share a room due to budgetary constraints. Myra and I propped Jerome up on the sink, then discussed where we would sleep, there being only one bed. I was willing to be adult about it and share the bed with her, half and half. She agreed, and now I must sleep on the underside of the mattress.
Myra is very sharp, so sharp in fact that I once cut myself shaking her hand. But she has really sexy bone structure, and her teeth are exquisite. I long to run my hands over her illium and ischium, but realize such thoughts are dangerous, as I must work closely with her. Nothing must jeopardize our excavation.
I can barely wait to start work tomorrow.
DAY 2 — 5:43 A.M.
I am awakened in the morning by Jerome retching. The sound was disturbing enough, but the fact that he was retching on me made it impossible to sleep any longer. After a shower, I dressed and went down to the lobby and waited for my colleagues to join me. Myra arrived a few minutes later, without Jerome. When I inquired about him, she told me he was sick and going to stay in bed for the day. I wanted to protest, but realized he probably wouldn’t be much help to us anyway, and would only throw up on anything we might find.
We called a cab and took it to the sight. My mind was giddy with anticipation. I could tell Myra was nervous too, because she bit off all her nails and spit them in my face (a cute habit she has.)
When we arrived, it was exactly as I had expected; a clearing in the tropical forest of about eighty square yards. On the edge of it was a rock formation that held a small cave. Myra had brought her camera, and she began to take pictures of the area. Then she gave the camera to me, and asked me to take some pictures of her posing on the rocks.
After shooting three rolls of film, we broke out our equipment and began our excavation. Armed with a flashlight, a horse hair brush, and a small pick, we entered the cave. Myra clutched my arm, afraid of being attacked by vampire bats. Every so often I would flash my light at the ceiling and yell “A bat!” just for fun.
I soon quit, as Myra would slap me repeatedly in the face when she discovered there was no real danger.
A quick inspection of the cave showed no real evidence of primitive man. Though we were unduly excited about seeing something on the wall, which just turned out to be a spray painted picture of a man’s genitalia, with “Eat me Jonny” written beside it. Primitive as it may be, it wasn’t what we were looking for.
After examining the cave, we went to inspect the area where the femur was found, twenty feet east of the opening. The ground was hard clay, and we discovered the impression of where the discovered femur bone had been lying. Using our picks, we dug roughly six inches down for a square yard of the area encompassing the impression, but got nothing for our efforts except a large pile of clay.
By then it was late afternoon, and we chose to break for lunch. Unfortunately, neither of us had brought anything to eat. But this was a tropical jungle, and there were many edible roots and tubers growing around us. I also noted that several of the rocks were slate, and if need be we could knock off a Mousterian point using the Levallois technique and go hunting for rodents.
Myra, however, wanted a burger and fries, so we had to go back to the hotel.
DAY 2 — 1:46 P.M.
Upon finishing lunch, it was our intention to report our progress to Jerome, then return to the sight. But to our surprise Jerome was not in the room. We begin searching the hotel, and I find him sitting by the pool in a chaise lounge, sipping a Mai-Tai.
I am shocked at his conduct, and threaten to tell our superiors of his insubordination. He flips me the bird.
I find Myra peeking in the Men’s room, and tell her of Jerome’s attitude. She agrees we should file a report recommending he be dismissed, or at least have his suave safari hat taken away. Then we take a cab back to the sight.
While I continued to excavate the area where the fossil was found, Myra decided to start in another area, closer to the mouth of the cave. It is hard, laborious work, but it is made more bearable by Myra, who sings operettas while she digs.
Four hours into it, I discover something. Rather than get Myra excited over what may be just a rock, I bit off a small portion of my lower lip to keep from yelling with joy. As I dig around it I realize it was smart that I waited, for my discovery was nothing but a long, thin stone. Or perhaps a petrified snake. Either way, it wasn’t important.
The sun begins to set, and we know we must go. We aren’t discouraged, as neither of us expected to find anything on the first day, but we are a little disappointed. When we get back to the hotel, Jerome is watching “Emmanuelle in Egypt” on pay-per-view, eating what appears to be his third room service filet mignon. He apologizes profusely about earlier, and promises to accompany us tomorrow. We reluctantly forgive him, and Myra lets him sleep next to her that night.
I must sleep on a small wooden chair.
It doesn’t bother me, for I have slept in far worse places. Like Detroit. Or that time I was in Cairo, and slept on a bed of camel dung. To this day, I still attract more than the average amount of flies.
DAY 3 — 7:30 A.M.
I awake to the sound of gagging. I then realize that it was me, as Jerome stuffed a small gourd into my mouth as a joke.
He is really beginning to irritate me.
Jerome and Myra had gotten up earlier, so there is no time to change or take a shower, as they are on their way to the sight. I am already in the
cab when I realize I am still wearing my Snoopy pajamas.
Myra reassures me not to worry, as the sight is secluded, and they are pretty nice pajamas. Then she takes several pictures, while she and Jerome laugh hysterically. I haven’t been so embarrassed since I interned with Leakey, and mislabeled a gracile Australopithecine skull fragment for robust, completely forgetting to take into account the sagittal crest.
I smile politely, and jokingly tell them both to go to hell. We do not talk until we reach the sight. When we get there, Jerome is impressed with our progress. He agrees we should keep at what we are doing, and he’ll start work further in the cave. I like this idea, as it keeps Jerome away from me.
Several hours later, I again come upon what appears to be fossil material. But this time it is more definite. I call Myra over, and we begin to dig it out together. It turns out to be a parietal bone, intact! I am so excited I kiss Myra. She surprises me by passionately responding. She then goes into the cave to give the news to Jerome, whom she finds is sleeping. He becomes very excited, and clutches the bone tightly, yelling, “Mine! All mine!”
In the meantime, I excavate the area further, and soon uncover an occipital bone. It begins to get dark, but the prospect of finding a complete skull prompts me to go on. Then I realize my colleagues have already left, and I must walk the seven miles back to the hotel, as I have no cab fare in my pajamas.
DAY 3 — 11:22 P.M.
I make it to the hotel, my feet raw and bloody, and my occipital bone clutched firmly in hand. To my disgust, Myra and Jerome are in bed. Naked. Also in bed with them are several gourds. This sickens me, and I go to the bathroom to clean my feet. I will never eat gourds again.
DAY 4 — 6:45 A.M.
A loud banging on the bathroom door wakes me up. I had fallen asleep on the sink. I open the door and it is Myra, who holds out the parietal bone and demands I examine it. I tell her it is an average Homo erectus parietal. Then she tells me the curvature is too extreme for erectus, yet too round for habilus. I examine my occipital, and then agree. It is possible we may have found the link between the two! It is possible we have found a new species!
In her excitement, Myra kisses me again. I resist at first, after what she did with Jerome, but soon respond to her advances and begin pressing against her body. She falls over backwards, and pulls me down with her. It is then, when we are on the floor, fornicating like animals, that Jerome walks in with the camera. He takes several pictures before I realize what is happening. All the time Myra is laughing and smiling. I finally pull away and hide in the bathroom, humiliated.