Creature
Page 31
No matter. She couldn’t let it live on.
Maybe it was a good thing it had found her.
She wanted it close so she could see.
With Buttons brushing against her leg, she struggled to open the dresser drawer with one hand. After some jiggling, it finally gave way.
Pushing aside her socks, she found what she needed.
Her box of fentanyl patches.
Her prescription called for the highest dose they had. She’d hoped to one day step down to a lower dosage and move to a newer, safer medication. The patches had always scared the hell out of her.
She pounded on the wall.
“I’m in here! I’m in…”
Her chest felt as if it had been kicked by a mule. But still her heart marched on.
It won’t take much to stop it, she thought. Not much at all.
There was more crashing just outside the door.
Kate opened a patch.
The door shook on its hinges as the beast bashed it with its fist.
She found a pen on the dresser.
Whump!
Another blow to the door.
Kate jabbed the pen into the center of the jelly-filled patch.
She slapped it on her arm.
Wham!
A giant crack zigzagged on the door.
She opened another patch, poked a hole, and stuck it on her chest.
A hand shot through the door, pulling the wood apart. She saw its yellow eyes first, run riot with bursting red veins.
The rush of fentanyl set her on her ass.
Her pain, her ever-present pain, began to ebb.
The creature yanked the door off, but was too weak to step into the room. It collapsed on the threshold, staring at her with bewilderment.
“I’m so sorry,” she said, not to the beast, but to the spirits of the people she loved most.
She hoped they could hear her as she closed her eyes.
* * *
Andrew couldn’t believe how much he hurt.
He’d found the canoe on the shore of the house hidden in the trees.
He’d also found the bodies of an older woman and a small child, both ripped in half and left to rot on the dock.
He’d had to step over the girl to get to the canoe. Her glazed eyes had looked up at him. If the bottom half of her body hadn’t been several feet away, he would almost have thought she was gazing at the clouds.
Unable to find the canoe paddle, he’d used the kayak paddle to get back to the cottage.
It was difficult, but he labored on.
After leaping out of the canoe the instant it touched the shore, he sprinted up to the house.
His heart nearly stopped when he saw the additional carnage.
He was too late.
“Kate!”
Buttons barked in the next room.
He saw the creature lying on its stomach, blocking the doorway to the bedroom. Andrew jumped over it.
Kate was on her side, several feet away from its outstretched hand.
Buttons ran in circles, yipping excitedly, almost mournfully.
“Kate.”
He dropped beside her, lifting her onto his lap.
She was so, so cold. Her lips had turned a light shade of blue.
He was terrified to check for a pulse.
Fingers fluttering, he pushed them against her neck. He couldn’t feel anything. He was also numb with shock and exhaustion and refused to trust his senses.
“Kate, can you hear me? Kate?”
He kissed her blue lips, crushing her against his chest.
“An…drew?”
Her eyes slowly opened. They were starting to gray, but he saw recognition in them.
“Yes, I’m here, baby,” he said.
She reached up and touched his face.
“Priest…or canoe?”
Despite the sorrow threatening to swallow him whole, Andrew smiled.
“Just like I promised. Canoe. Good to know you were listening.”
“Your voice…always breaks through. Always.”
He finally saw the patches and knew what she had done.
“Why?” he said, touching the patch on her chest.
Her smile shattered him into a million pieces.
“To protect you. To…avenge you. I wasn’t sure. I couldn’t…couldn’t lose either way. You want to hear the good…the good news?”
“Yes, honey. I could use some good news about now.”
“I don’t feel any pain. I actually feel…good.”
His tears splashed against her face.
“That’s good, honey. I’m so happy for you.”
“I love you. Will you always remember that?”
“Always.”
“Good. I promise I will…too.”
Kate’s mouth went slack. A long, thready sigh hissed from her parted lips, and she left Andrew, unafraid, free from pain, and filled with love.
* * *
Andrew cried for hours, refusing to put Kate down. Buttons cried in his own way as well, eventually resting his snout on her stomach. The three of them sat on the floor until dusk began to settle.
The monster beside them was forgotten.
It, too, had taken its last breath.
When Andrew felt sure he could walk without falling down, he lifted himself with Kate in his arms and walked atop the dead creature. Glass and detritus crunched under his feet as he stumbled to the living room.
The last thing he saw before he left the cottage forever was the upturned bag of his remaining used paperbacks that had scattered all over the floor, most of their pages stained with blood and dust.
Buttons followed him to the canoe.
He had to stop after settling Kate onto the floor of the boat, his body racked with painful sobs. It was full dark by the time he eased the canoe into the water.
There was no need to push himself. He could take his time. The town would be there, waiting for him.
He no longer needed to focus on Kate.
What the hell was he supposed to do with the rest of his life?
At the moment, he didn’t know or care.
He stopped at the dock where he’d gotten the canoe. Buttons came with him as he made his way to the house. The back door had been demolished. Inside he found a man on the floor of the kitchen, his bowels ripped free and ripe with flies. There were also twin boys who could have been no older than twelve, stacked in a corner, their necks broken so their heads hung at nauseating angles.
He returned to the canoe, kissed Kate once again, and paddled on.
All through the night, he stopped at dock after dock, wandering to the pretty houses. What he found was just what Henry and Ida had told him – mostly old people, but all of them dead, their bodies savaged.
It was why no one had come to their aid, responding to their cries, the gunshots, or the roaring howls from the beast.
The creature had done everything in its power to keep them for itself.
The sun had just started to come up, bathing Kate’s face in a soft, orange glow, when he made it to the Bridge Mills Park.
Beyond exhausted, he gently removed her from the canoe, laying her on the sandy beach.
He collapsed next to her, Buttons settling on her other side.
They finally had their moment to watch the sunrise on the beach.
Afterword
After writing about ghosts and monsters, killers and demons for the past decade, this one proved a challenge I wasn’t sure I could handle. The whole thing hit a little close to home. You see, my wife has a host of autoimmune diseases, just like Kate, and what we’ve gone through is the very definition of horror. You name it, we’ve faced it – surgeries, life support, radiation, doctor and prescription mer
ry-go-rounds, last rites, second chances, experimental treatments, third, fourth, and fifth chances, and on and on. The creature lives in her cells, has slipped into my skin and devoured my soul at times, has loomed over us at our darkest moments and continues to lie in wait as we take life one moment at a time.
Never one to shy from a challenge, I explained my idea for the story to my editor and friend, Don D’Auria, over cocktails one night in a dark bar. He asked me several times if I really wanted to put myself through this. I never hesitated. I’d already lived it. Writing it within the confines of a fictional horror tale would be a snap.
Well, as my wife will be quick to tell you, I’ve been wrong before. Creature was a labor of love and hate, of bad memories and worst fears. I wrote it while my wife was bedridden with a bout of pneumonia that defied everything the docs had thrown at it. She started an experimental treatment just as I was editing Creature. Talk about art imitating life and vice versa. Sometimes I get confused between what is real and what fresh hell has sprung from the black pit of my mind.
Anyone faced with a physical trial will tell you it only makes you stronger. Yes and no. It hardens your will. But it can weaken your body. Sometimes it can break your spirit, and once that happens, the rest can come down like a house of cards. We’ve learned that, above all, you need to be stubborn. Defy everything life can throw at you. Tell whatever horror that may befall you to kiss your ass. Keep on trucking, just to show it and everyone around you that you’re too damn stubborn to fall. Be Cool Hand Luke. Eat fifty eggs, dig that hole, fill it up, and dig it again. Smile when everyone else is crying. Spit in the eye of fate. Live an unconventional life and leave this world with plenty of scars.
Thank you, Don D’Auria, for letting me tell this story, and most of all, for bringing me aboard the Flame Tree Press express. There’s no one on earth I’d rather work with than Don. Butch and Sundance ride again!
And to my wife, Amy, you have my eternal love and gratitude for all of the experiences we’ve shared, no matter how terrifying. We’ve never given up, and we never will. Bring it on.
A huge thank you to you, the reader, for coming along on this journey. Take my hand and let’s explore the darkness together.
Follow my travails, get the latest horror news, reviews, and more, and even sign up for my Dark Hunter Newsletter to get free books and stories at www.huntershea.com
About this book
This is a FLAME TREE PRESS BOOK
Text copyright © 2018 Hunter Shea.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the publisher.
FLAME TREE PRESS, 6 Melbray Mews, London, SW6 3NS, UK, flametreepress.com
Publisher’s Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.
Thanks to the Flame Tree Press team, including: Taylor Bentley, Frances Bodiam, Federica Ciaravella, Don D’Auria, Chris Herbert, Matteo Middlemiss, Josie Mitchell, Mike Spender, Will Rough, Cat Taylor, Maria Tissot, Nick Wells, Gillian Whitaker. The cover is created by Flame Tree Studio with thanks to Nik Keevil and Shutterstock.com.
FLAME TREE PRESS is an imprint of Flame Tree Publishing Ltd. flametreepublishing.com. A copy of the CIP data for this book is available from the British Library and the Library of Congress.
HB ISBN: 978-1-78758-023-7, PB ISBN: 978-1-78758-021-3, ebook ISBN: 978-1-78758-024-4 | Also available in FLAME TREE AUDIO | Created in London and New York
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