Suspenseful Tales (2011)

by Brandon Massey

  If he had closed his eyes, he would've missed what happened.

  As Dad stomped past the foot of the bed, a thick, purple-black tentacle launched from under the bed and wrapped around Dad's ankle with a wet, slapping sound.

  "What the ..." Dad started to say, staring at the rope of flesh around his ankle, and his voice was suddenly drowned out by an inhuman roar that exploded from beneath the bed, as if a lion were under there. Jared's eyes grew large enough to pop out of his head.

  It's the monster, the monster, the monster . . .

  The creature yanked Dad's ankle, and Dad hit the floor on his back, yelling in a high-pitched voice: "Oh, shit, what the hell, help me. Jay, help me!" But Jared's feet seemed to be nailed to the carpet; he couldn't have moved if he'd wanted to. He was mesmerized, terrified.

  Another dark tentacle shot out and twisted around Dad's other leg.

  "Help me. Jay!" Dad was hollering now. He reminded Jared of an old woman.

  The monster roared, a sound that made the walls tremble and the bed quake.

  Jared didn't move. He imagined the creature beneath his bed as something that looked like an alligator but with lots of tentacles, and even more teeth . . . uh-huh, he wasn't moving.

  The beast began to pull Dad toward the bed. Dad's arms flailed wildly. His hand snagged the leg of Jared's desk, slowing his progress toward the darkness underneath the bed.

  Jared ran forward, raised his foot, and stomped on Dad's fingers. His hand fell away from the desk leg, and he slid closer to the bed.

  "You bastard, I'm gonna get you ..." Dad groped for Jared's leg, but Jared moved out of his reach.

  The monster bellowed louder than before--and the bed itself was flung upward as if it were the lid of a kettle. It hovered at almost a ninety degree angle, suspended by an invisible force.

  Beneath, there was the monster.

  It resembled an alligator, like Jared had imagined . . . but not really. It had maybe a dozen muscular tentacles, like an octopus . . . but it didn't look like an octopus either, really. Its eyes glowed a gas-jet blue. And it had teeth . . . rows and rows of long, sharp teeth.

  How did this thing fit under my bed? The question flitted around the back of Jared's mind. How did I ever sleep with something like that right under me?

  A shimmering pool of blackness surrounded the monster, like a dark ocean. Jared thought that the monster was much bigger than he'd figured; most of its body was concealed in the dark, watery aura.

  Dad screamed.

  The monster reeled Dad in, its enormous, toothy mouth wide open. Dad shrieking the entire way.

  Jared wanted to turn away. He couldn't watch. He had seen enough.

  But he could not stop staring.

  The monster swallowed Dad whole, like pythons gulp down their prey, except the monster did it so quickly that one instant Jared saw Dad . . . and the next instant the only thing left of Dad was his worn leather belt, dangling like a shred of lettuce from the creature's lips. Then the creature sucked in the belt, too.

  Jared stared at the monster's glowing blue eyes. He waited for a tentacle to come out and grab him, too.

  But the monster did not attack. Perhaps it was only his imagination, but it seemed to wink at him.

  The bed, which had been suspended in the air the whole time, banged back to the floor.

  Jared exhaled. His chest hurt.

  He turned and saw Mom watching from the doorway.

  "Did you see that?" he said.

  Mom nodded. Her eyes were wide. "All of it."

  Jared went to the bed. He didn't hear the monster breathing. He nudged the bed sideways a few feet.

  Underneath, there was only the carpet, a few forgotten socks, and his Louisville slugger baseball bat.

  No sign of the monster. No otherworldly pool of darkness.

  No sign of Dad.

  Mom came forward and put her arm around his shoulders.

  "I don't think it'll ever come back," Jared said. "I guess it did what it came here to do."

  "That's right, took away the monster," Mom said, and they walked out of the bedroom together.

  DADDY’S LITTLE GIRL

  He only wanted the best for his daughter . . .

  "Nathan, I'd like you to meet my dad."

  I offered my hand, and the bearish man in front of me swallowed it in his massive Swallowed it and squeezed—hard. Pain snapped through my fingers and traveled up my arm. I tried to conceal my anguish when I addressed him.

  "Nice to meet you, Mr. Payne. I'm Nathan ... Hunter." I forced the words out of my mouth; it was a struggle to keep from whining like a puppy. He continued to smash my hand in his grip.

  Mr. Payne grunted. He was the hairiest man I'd ever seen. He had an Afro, a grizzly black beard, crisp hairs covering his muscular arms, and hair on the back of his meaty hands so dense he probably had to comb it. No doubt, in winter, he didn't need to wear a coat. His natural fur probably served just fine.

  He barely resembled his daughter. Stacy was short and petite, her skin as smooth as cream, her exotic features framed by long black hair. She stood beside us as we shook hands, and though a smile creased her lovely face, her eyes held a trace of apprehension.

  I understood why. Since we'd met a couple of weeks ago, she had warned me that her father was overprotective and zealously guarded her from potential boyfriends. I'd wanted to see Mr. Payne as early as possible, to reassure him that he could trust me to treat his daughter well, but Stacy had postponed introducing us until then, our third date and our first dinner-and-a-movie date. She worried that her father might chase me away, and she wanted us to get to know each other without his distracting influence. Now that I'd met Mr. Payne at last, she probably wondered what would go wrong.

  I wondering the same thing, to be honest. It wasn't every day that you got a chance to meet a man who was supposedly guilty of murder.

  We finally ended our handshake. My hand throbbed. This guy was strong.

  "You've got a good grip," I said. "It must come from all of the working out that Stacy tells me that you do."

  "I get my strength from other sources," Mr. Payne said. He had a baritone voice that seemed to originate from deep within his enormous chest. "Sources beyond your comprehension, young man."

  What a strange response. Frowning, I noticed Mr. Payne's eyes. They were liquid black, with a wild, mischievous gleam: the kind of eyes that belonged in a predator who took delight in torturing its prey before it consummated the kill.

  I would have to be careful with this man. My superiors believed that I was capable of bringing Mr. Payne to justice with no problem, but I wasn't sure. My greatest advantage in this investigation was that neither Stacy nor her father suspected my intentions. But no veteran detective—especially one who specialized in my unique line of work—would risk dropping his guard and blowing his cover. The consequences could be deadly.

  Although I'd finally met Mr. Payne, I could not ask him probing questions that might create suspicion. I'd play it cool, date his daughter as though I were a regular guy, quietly gathering more clues ... and when the picture was complete, I'd carry out my orders to bring the felon to justice.

  I checked my watch. "I'm sorry, but we have to get going, Mr. Payne. It's been nice meeting you."

  "You two will get a chance to talk some other time, I'm sure," Stacy said.

  Mr. Payne grumbled. "You'll have her back by ten o'clock. My little girl has a curfew."

  Stacy looked embarrassed. She was twenty-two years old, a grown woman. Was Mr. Payne serious?

  "Ten o'clock is a little early," I said. "The movie might not be over by then. How about eleven?" I felt odd asking her father such a question.

  Danger flared in his eyes. "You seem to have forgotten who is in control here, young man. You are dating my daughter, and I decide whom she chooses to date, where she goes on her date, and when she will return from each date. Her curfew is ten o'clock. If you have a problem with that, not only will Stacy not accompany yo
u this evening, I will permanently ban her from communicating with you. Understood?"

  "Uh, well, sure," I said. "Ten o'clock. Yes, sir."

  Stacy laughed.

  "Oh, Daddy, you're too much," she said. "Nathan is the nicest guy I've ever dated." She slipped her arm through mine and smiled at him.

  Mr. Payne's eyes softened when he regarded his daughter. I could see that he really loved her. Her mother—and his wife—had died eight years ago, leaving him to raise Stacy on his own. Stacy was all he had left. I empathized, a little, with his overbearing attitude.

  But when he turned to me, a threat flickered like fire in his eyes. I realized two facts. One: my investigation into Mr. Payne's crimes would end inconclusively if I botched the evening and Mr. Payne barred me from seeing his daughter, since she was my pipeline to his life. Two: Mr. Payne, as my superiors had warned me, was as scary as hell.

  "Ten o'clock," Mr. Payne said. When I nodded and started to turn away, he said something else that I would not understand until later. "I'll be watching."

  * * *

  As I drove to the restaurant, Stacy turned down the volume on the stereo and said,

  "My dad's something else, isn't he?"

  I shrugged. "He's obviously concerned about your welfare. Kind of overbearing, I admit."

  "In his eyes, I'm always daddy's little girl. No guy I bring home is good enough for him. I could spend all night telling him how great you are, and he'd still treat you as if you'd crawled from under a rock somewhere."

  "I felt like a suspected criminal."

  "Ever since what happened to Mom, family has become extremely important to him. No man I meet will get in the family without Dad putting him through the wringer. He only wants the best for me."

  "I guess that makes sense," I said. "If I had a daughter, I wouldn't want her spending time with a loser, either."

  "You can't understand how Mom's death changed things for him, for both of us." She shook her head. "You wouldn't believe it."

  This could be a good opportunity to gain more information about her father's history. I said, "Want to tell me about it?"

  "Not now, Nathan, it would spoil the mood. Later, I promise."

  I drummed the steering wheel. Patience, I assured myself. I'd eventually uncover her father's secrets.

  I glanced at Stacy. Secrets glimmered in her dark, beautiful eyes, and her mystique only made me want her more. This was something that complicated my investigation; I had never thought I would start to fall for her. More often, I wondered what I had gotten myself into when I accepted this assignment, and where it would lead.

  We arrived at the restaurant, a popular steak house. She went to open her door. I touched her arm, stopping her.

  "Answer me honestly, Stacy. Do you think I'll ever measure up to your father's expectations?"

  Impulsively, she leaned into me and kissed me. Or tasted me, rather, since that was what her lips and tongue brought to mind. Purring like a cat, she tasted my lips, chin, and cheeks as if I were a juicy slice of meat. Her kisses were like nothing I had ever experienced. There was something primitive and wild about them that made me want to explode.

  She let go of me and licked her lips, as though tasting me still.

  My heart pounded.

  "You measure up to my expectations," she said. "In the end, that's all that will matter."

  She winked at me, and we got out of the car.

  Inside, the hostess guided us to a booth. Stacy slid onto one side. I was about to take the opposite side when she patted the space beside her.

  "Tonight, I want you next to me."

  I saw that compelling gleam in her eyes again. Of course, I did as she asked. She smiled at me, a subtle smile as mysterious as her gaze. I could not deny my suspicion that I was not the only one here who had ulterior motives—although I had no idea what she might have planned for me.

  We ordered drinks, an appetizer, and steaks. I ordered the rib eye; Stacy requested the massive porterhouse. I looked at her, eyebrows raised. She'd always shown an enormous appetite—on our previous lunch dates, she ate more than I did—but could she put away that much meat?

  It didn't take long for my question to be answered. After plowing through the appetizer of Texas cheese fries, then black bean soup, and then tossed green salad, Stacy cut into her steak like a starving woman. She made soft, animal noises of satisfaction as she chewed, yet she pigged out gracefully, like a cat that had mastered the use of silverware.

  "Hungry tonight?" I said.

  She turned and blinked. Her eyes had a glassy look, as though she had been entranced by the food. "Oh, you mean the porterhouse. This is nothing, sweetie. I could wolf down two of these."

  "You're kidding." I looked at the slab of thick, rare meat on her plate, then I checked out her body. She wore a tight green sweater and a black skirt that showcased her taut, shapely figure. "Where do you put it all?"

  "I have a high metabolism. So does Daddy. We eat like wolves and don't gain a pound."

  "I see."

  "If you hang around me long enough, maybe you'll pick it up, like by osmosis." She gave me that enchanting smile again, hinting at things I could only imagine.

  I excused myself to visit the washroom. In the bathroom, I took care of business and went to the sink to wash up. As I stood there soaping my hands, Mr. Payne exited one of the toilet stalls.

  I froze. "Uh, hi, Mr. Payne."

  He glared at me as he walked to the sinks. "Have you been treating my little girl well?"

  "We're having a great time," I said. What was he doing here? Had he followed us? I couldn't ask him those questions, so I said, "She sure enjoys steak."

  "She takes after me." He washed his hands. "I love meat. The bloodier, the better." He stared at me. "Nothing tastes as delicious as the blood."

  "Yeah," I said. The strange look in his eyes made me wonder if he'd like to slit me open and sample my blood. Quickly, I grabbed a towel from the dispenser and began to dry my hands.

  Mr. Payne came over to me. He snatched the towel out of my hands.

  I gaped at him. I was suddenly aware of how big he was, and painfully aware that we were the only ones in there; the sounds coming from the dining room seemed to be miles away.

  Did he know the truth about me? Was that why he was confronting me like this?

  Towering over me, he grinned. It wasn't a friendly grin. It was a mouth-wide-open, predatory grin, letting me see the long, sharp canines, teeth that no normal man would have ... teeth that belonged in the mouth of an animal.

  I backed up against the wall.

  "I'm watching you," he said. Saliva gleamed on his teeth. "You try anything with my little girl, and you'll wish you'd never met her."

  Tension had squeezed my throat like a garrote. I couldn't speak.

  No ordinary man could have teeth like that.

  Then Mr. Payne shut his mouth with an audible clap. He turned away as if nothing had happened and began to pick his Afro.

  "Do you plan on keeping my daughter waiting much longer?" he said. "Or are you as thoughtless and rude as I figured you are?"

  Without a word, I got out of there.

  Either Mr. Payne was on to me and was attempting to scare me off my investigation, or else he was only trying to scare me away from his daughter. Well, it wouldn't work. I had a job to finish, and I'd stick to it, regardless of how much he made my palms sweat.

  Back at the table, Stacy had finished eating. Her plate was so clean it might have come right out of the dishwasher.

  "Your father's here," I said. "I saw him in the washroom."

  She sighed. "That figures. He's following me again."

  "He's done this before?"

  She nodded. "With other guys. I'm daddy's little girl, remember? He doesn't want to let me out of his sight."

  At the back of the dining room, the bathroom door opened. Mr. Payne emerged, staring at me. He sat at a table across the room, but his location gave him a direct view of us. I cou
ld feel his glare boring like a drill into my brain.

  "Take a look over there," I said to Stacy. "He's got a perfect view of us."

  She didn't look. "I'll take your word for it. It's typical of him."

  "Have you asked him to stop doing this?"

  "All the time. But it doesn't matter, he does it anyway. He does it whenever he thinks I'm with the wrong guy, which is all the time."

  "This is crazy," I said. "You're a grown woman."

  "I know how we can get him off our backs, Nathan," she said. "Be patient, okay?"

  "What are you going to do?"

  But she would not answer; she only gave me that secretive smile.

  On our way out, we had to pass by Mr. Payne's table. He had a huge cut of prime rib in front of him. The juicy meat oozed dark blood.

  Nothing tastes as delicious as the blood.

  Stacy, thankfully, didn't stop to converse. She only said hello. I gave him the same brief greeting. But as I held open the door for her, I looked at him. He watched me, of course, a warning in his savage eyes.

  You try anything with my little girl, and you '11 wish you 'd never met her.

  You can't scare me away, I thought. I'm not quitting until I learn the truth.

  Mr. Payne didn't say a word, but he held my gaze. Held my gaze as he raised a bloody chunk of meat to his long, sharp teeth.

  * * *

  At the theater, on Stacy's insistence, we took seats on the far left side, against the wall. We wouldn't have a great view of the screen. But we would have a great opportunity to get closer to each other. The feature film was a romantic comedy, and though I didn't plan on paying much attention to the story, I went to get popcorn for us.

  Mr. Payne was in the lobby. He stood at the box office, buying a ticket.

  This man was relentless. I understood what he had meant when, before we had left the house, he'd said to me, I'll be watching you. He was literally going to tail us all night.

  He was messing up everything. I'd thought that I could gradually insinuate myself into Stacy's life—and, by extension, his life—and pick up all the clues I needed to complete my investigation. But Mr. Payne wasn't letting me take that path. He was committed to driving me away before I resolved anything.