What was more, I saw they’d also fetched the Impala for us—even given it a clean, too, by the looks of it. So that was nice of them.
A’doy turned to me, wind rippling his fur. ‘A man does not choose his fate, Dan Pratt,’ he said. ‘But he can choose how he reacts to it.’ He put his paw on my pants leg again. I’d never get used to that, I decided. ‘Embrace your destiny, my son. For like it or not, you are the chosen one.’
He knelt down, paws outstretched on the blacktop—or, you know, as much as they could. He was still a bunny rabbit, after all.
‘HAIL, KINGSLAYER!’ he cried.
A cacophony of elated cheers from the group.
I frowned down at him, his stupid little rabbit’s body. ‘Stop that. Stop that, you asshole.’
But he would not.
On and on they cheered, their alien fists (those that had fists) pumping in the air, whooping like animals caught in the middle of a particularly violent sex-frenzy. I looked round and saw Frankie was cheering too, clapping and pumping his fists over his head, having what looked like the time of his life. That bastard.
I continued to watch from in front of them, wind cutting at my face, cold and miserable, my hands in my pockets, wondering how they’d all react if I suddenly up and punted their little rabbit-leader right through a fucking shop window—
A stiff pop cut through the sound of people cheering, silencing them in an instant.
With a gasp, I jerked around to where it had sounded as though the pop had come from—
Oh crap.
‘ALL RIGHT!’ shouted Espinosa, her voice deafening in the new silence. She had her gun pointed towards the sky, smoke rising from the barrel, the wind taking it and quickly whisking it away. ‘NOBODY MOVE! EVERYBODY STAY WHERE YOU ARE. YOU ARE ALL UNDER ARREST!’
I blinked.
Wait—did she follow us all the way from Amerstow? Holy crap, what is she, the fucking Terminator?
She walked briskly towards us, the gun still pointed up into the air. ‘DO NOT—’
Her eyes settled on the group of rag-tag-looking extra-terrestrials standing around the Impala and they widened. ‘What in the name of...?’
I took a tentative step towards her. ‘Look, Detective. I can explain—’
She whirled the gun on me, eyes wide and blazing. ‘Stay where you are! I... don’t...’
Her eyes darted from person to person. It occurred to me she looked fucking terrified. But then, it wasn’t every day you discover the world you’ve been led to believe is a complete and utter fucking lie. ‘What is this? Some kind of cult?’
I blinked. ‘What? No—look, it’s complicated. If you’ll just let me explain, I can—’
‘I said stay where you are!’
Gun in my face. Hands trembling. The barrel wib-wobbling in the air in front of my eyes like it was made of jelly.
If she doesn’t calm down soon, somebody’s going to get hurt.
It was at about that moment that A’doy squeezed himself through the crowd.
He hopped to a stop at Espinosa’s feet and looked up. ‘Young lady, I can appreciate your alarm, but you really have nothing to be afraid of.’ He held up his paw. ‘Now, if you’ll just go ahead and hand me the gun, we can get this all straightened out.’
It’s an odd thing, watching somebody’s mind implode. Like watching a car crash in slow motion. But then, not everyone’s brains were as resistant to this kind of ridiculous crap as mine and Frankie’s were.
Espinosa opened her mouth to say something else, perhaps to try and make sense of what she was seeing—who knows.
Then, with a feminine sigh, she collapsed to the blacktop, unconscious before she hit the ground.
From beside me, Frankie sighed. ‘Man. Some people, am I right?’
‘Yeah.’
We walked back over to the Impala and climbed in. I saw they’d also given the inside a clean too—which was also very nice of them.
I flicked on the ignition, the Impala growling to life beneath us.
A’doy appeared in the window.
‘Good luck, Dan Pratt,’ he said, having once more hitched a ride on Nut-sack Face’s shoulder. ‘And God-speed. Remember—we’re all counting on you.’
I looked through the windshield at his followers. ‘You know, we’d stand a lot better chance if you came with us. A hundred men are better than two.’
He shook his head. ‘As I’ve told you already, Kingslayer. We are merely—’
I held up a hand. ‘Observers, yeah—I got you.’
Thanks for the help. Asshole.
‘What about her?’ I said, nodding to Espinosa still lying spread-eagled on the ground. A couple of the not-men had gathered around her now, were poking at her leg with what looked like a hockey stick.
A’doy followed my gaze. ‘Her? Oh, she’ll be all right. I’ll have the men take care of her. When she wakes up, she’ll think this was all nothing but a bad dream.’
I had my doubts about that, but whatever.
We shook.
Then, with A’doy and his men waving us off, we drove out of Two Crests, back into the cold, the snow once more picking up the further out of town we got.
By the time we got back to the highway, it was a goddamn blizzard.
‘Jesus, would you look at that?’ said Frankie, leaning forward in the passenger seat. ‘Looks like the end of the world.’
‘Uh-huh.’
‘Hey, Dan.’
I turned to look at him.
‘Winter is coming...’
‘I hate you so hard right now.’
I looked into the rear-view, unsurprised to find the road we had just travelled down now entirely vanished, as if it had never been there in the first place. Just a line of pines now, barely visible through the raging snow.
I had the feeling that was normal, however.
I turned back to Frankie. ‘So how do you want to do this? I mean, we still have no idea exactly where Boot and her asshole friends are planning on creating this “doorway”. How are we supposed to find them?’
Frankie thought it over. ‘Maybe it’s time we, well—you know.’
I gasped. ‘You don’t mean...’
He nodded. ‘Uh-huh. And hell, if there was ever a time to use it, it’s now.’
I groaned.
I hate it when Frankie’s right.
And so, blinkers flashing, and with visibility now at about a foot, I pulled us back onto the highway, wind and snow raging around us and causing the Impala to shake and shudder with the force of it.
Frankie turned to me. ‘Oh, hey, you know something—I just realised what A’doy’s name backwards is...’
I pointed my face at the windshield and didn’t look back.
ELEVEN
NOW BEFORE I BEGIN, I would like to stress that I am not unaware what you are about to read is beyond ridiculous. It is. I know—believe me, I do. But I would like to also remind you that, apart from the whole “creature” part, what is to follow is actually not as unlikely as it might initially seem. For instance, did you know that it’s possible for a rat to squeeze itself up through your wastewater system? That’s right. Like right up there. Turns out their ribs are hinged at the spine or whatever, allowing them to squeeze through even the tightest of spaces.
Of course, this was no rat, and if it had a spine, I had no freaking idea where it was. Probably because of all those eyes. Did I mention it was a severed hand? Yeah. Probably should have mentioned that first.
‘Okay—ready?’ said Frankie, turning to look at me from his place in the passenger seat.
It was several hours later. We were back inside Amerstow, idling in a clearing, in a patch of sparse woodland located just outside the city limits. The plot of land in question belonged to Frankie’s Uncle Ger, a Vietnam vet who, after a particularly hairy experience overseas back in the ’70s, had returned home convinced it was only a matter of time before the, and I quote, “slanty-eyed little monkey-fuckers” made their way over and s
tarted “shoving bamboo into everything”.
So being the case, Ol’ Uncle Ger went out and did what any other responsible red-white-and-blue-blooded American would—he stockpiled.
Guns. Ammunition. Porn. SO MUCH PORN—though, to be fair, I think this last may have been unrelated.
From what Frankie had told me, it was but one of several plots he owned all across town—his “emergency cache”, as he put it.
I stared through the windshield at it, squinting against the driving snow.
It was one of those sheds like the ones you can pick up from Kmart for like a couple hundred bucks. Mint-green. Seven feet tall, by about maybe ten feet wide. All corrugated metal, with a set of big sliding doors on the front, its arched roof covered in what looked to be several inches of accumulated snow. A set of big, heavy-duty padlocks on the doors.
I grunted. ‘Let’s just get this over with.’
We climbed out of the Impala and trudged our way over towards the shed, heads lowered, jaws clenched against the cold. I’d never been in a blizzard before, but I had seen plenty of movies, and so you’d have thought I’d have had some idea of what to expect. But I didn’t. It was louder, for one thing, the wind howling all around us like a mother wolf mourning the death of her cub, only right in our ears. Snow stung at our faces, our necks, the velocity alone enough to make you want to nope the fuck out and scramble back to your car, crying hysterically, peeing the whole way.
Once at the doors, Frankie removed his keys and began sifting through them whilst I kept watch, not really expecting to see any bears, but not exactly wanting to take the chance, either.
After a moment of cursing and fumbling, the doors slid back with a shriek and a clatter, causing an avalanche of snow to rain down on us.
We looked into the shed.
It was like staring into a black hole. Just total darkness, or what Kim Kardashian’s soul must look like.
Frankie bent down and fished through pockets. ‘Here, Jonesy! Come here, boy! Look what Daddy’s got for you!’
I shot him a look. ‘You named it?’
‘Uh-huh.’ He pulled out his hand, which I was surprised to see now held a packet of Pop Rocks. He poured a small pyramid out onto his palm and shook it back and forth. ‘Here, boy!’
It was then that I realised—all of Frankie’s disappearing acts. The notes he’d been leaving for me recently.
He’s been coming here and feeding this thing. That sneaky motherfucker.
He leaned in and threw the Pop Rocks just inside the doorway, scattering them across the small, rectangular patch of light spilling in over the shed’s floor.
As we waited for the “thing of which we do not speak” to show itself, I thought back to the day we had first seen it.
It had been one night a few weeks back, whilst on my way to the bathroom. I had been up all night, having been suffering from a bad case of drinking too much coffee before bed, and had thus far put off going to the bathroom because of my natural—and completely understandable—fear of walking through a dark space in the dead of night. Even if that space is yours, and you have the lights on. Also, ghosts—though I had no real evidence to suggest my apartment was haunted. But as I’m sure you’ll agree, you can never be too careful with those sorts of things.
So I’m standing there, preparing to unload, when all of a sudden I look down and—bam—there it is; sitting on the edge of my toilet and staring—that’s right, fucking staring—up at me with its half a dozen people’s eyes.
By this point you’re probably thinking things can’t possibly get any dumber, am I right? I mean, come on—a severed hand covered in eyes? Oh man, what next?
A penis.
It had a goddamn penis.
Was it a big penis, you ask? Well, that’s hard to say. I was still half-asleep, and it wasn’t like I was staring at it or anything. Technically, I guess you could say it was “average sized”, though when compared to the rest of its “body”, it was actually frighteningly large.
I let out a scream like I was being stabbed to death and threw myself up against my bathroom wall.
The hand and I regarded each other.
It was like something out of a nightmare. Stumpy, gore-slicked wrist. All those awful, unblinking eyes. Where had it come from? What did it want? What is the correct penis-to-body ratio for something that size, anyway?
These are questions I still ponder over to this very day.
Then, suddenly, the hand-thing lunged at me.
I tried to throw up my arms, but even with the adrenaline now racing through me I was still way too slow. I stumbled backwards instead, gasping in surprise. Then before I knew it I had a penis in my face, and really that’s the last thing you want when it’s three o’clock in the morning and you’re not Ricky Martin.
The multi-eyed penis monster dug its fingers into my hair as it sought to do... whatever it was it was about to do. I closed my lips tighter than I ever had in my life and pawed at it, trying desperately to block out the realisation that this... thing, whatever it was, had just crawled right out of my goddamn toilet, and was thus probably covered in poop particles. Nobody ever thinks about poop particles as much as they should. You know whenever you smell something nasty? That’s little bits of said particles going straight up your nose. That’s right—think about that the next time you walk into the bathroom after someone.
Thinking fast (and whilst taking special care not to make any form of contact with its, uh, “dangly” bits), I threw it back into the toilet from whence it came and slammed the lid.
I jumped on it.
What the sweet baby Jesus fuck?!
‘Dan?’
I threw a startled glance round at the doorway.
Frankie!
He rubbed at his eyes, yawning. ‘Everything okay? You’re making a lot of noise.’
I blinked. ‘Frankie—Jesus! There’s a... a thing! In the toilet!’
He squinted. ‘A what?’
‘A HAND! With... I think eyes, and— IT HAS A FUCKING PENIS, FRANKIE.’
He was quiet a moment as he considered this. ‘How big?’
‘FRANKIE!’
‘Specifically how big are we talking here, Dan? Because you know, there’s a very specific penis-to-body ratio—’
He was interrupted as the thing in question suddenly threw itself at the underside of my toilet lid.
THUMP.
Frankie and I stared at each other.
‘HELP ME,’ I moaned.
‘Okay, don’t panic. I know exactly what to do.’
Before I could say or do anything, he reached past me and, to my utter surprise and disgust, hit the flusher.
I glared at him. ‘ARE YOU KIDDING ME? THAT’S NOT GOING TO—’
There was a terrible suctioning sound.
Slowly, I lifted the lid.
‘Oh no, wait, it’s worked. Huh. How about that.’
We stared down into the empty bowl a while.
‘So. What do you want to do now?’ said Frankie. ‘Want to go watch cartoons?’
And so we watched cartoons for a while—I sure as shit wasn’t going back to bed.
We didn’t see the multi-eyed penis monster for a while after that. Well, not immediately, anyway—but, really, that’s a whole other story. I was hoping we’d seen the last of it.
‘Hmm,’ said Frankie, frowning. He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. ‘He’s not usually this shy.’
I rolled my eyes.
“He.” Like it’s a person...
I sighed. ‘Let’s forget this. Besides, we don’t really have the time to be—’
Before I could finish, the multi-eyed penis monster—AKA Jonesy—leapt suddenly out from the shadows, snatching up a handful of Pop Rocks, before quickly skittering away again into darkness.
I let out a cry and fell backwards onto the snow, catching the door with my arm and causing yet more snow to rain down on top of me.
Looking all of a sudden like a crap snowman, I glanced up.
“Jonesy” tentatively crept out into the light.
It was even more disgusting than I remembered. All those eyes, those fingers—ugh. What was worse, since our last meeting he had somehow gone and procured himself his very own little Christmas sweater; basically just a fingerless glove, with a little Santa face sewn into it, the quality of which told me all I needed to know about its creator, who was obviously Frankie.
‘There you are,’ said Frankie. He knelt down to greet it, patting the floor by his feet and ushering the little guy over. ‘Did you miss me?’
It skittered over on its little finger-legs, penis dragging on the floor behind it, causing it to make a sound like a man rubbing a hand over his stubble.
Frankie poured another pile out onto his hand and held it out for “Jonesy”, who quickly dug-in, fingers raking up the Pop Rocks, curling them back into somewhere inside its palm where I assumed the equivalent of its mouth must be.
He patted it. ‘There’s a good boy. You like Pop Rocks, don’t you? Hmm?’
The multi-eyed penis monster shuddered with delight.
I almost threw up all over myself.
When he was finished, Frankie knelt down. ‘Now listen, Jonesy. This is important. We need your help. Will you help us?’
Confused squint from Jonesy.
Oh, great. It’s retarded, too…
Frankie pointed back through the snow towards the Impala. ‘See that car over there? Well, there’s a very bad man in that car, with very bad friends. Friends who want to hurt Daddy. We need to know where they are, so that we can stop them. Understand?’
Jonesy recoiled back on his fingers, squinting furiously.
Hurt Daddy, you say?!
Frankie nodded. ‘That’s right. We need your help to stop them.’ He lifted it up in his hands, held it in front of his face like a princess about to kiss a frog. ‘Will you help us?’
Dan and Frankie and the End of Everything Page 15