Transcription

by Ike Hamill

  He found the occupants of the house—spiders. Their webs entangled the handle. He lifted it, surprised by the weight. It was a sledgehammer.

  James nodded and headed back for the stairs. The first swing almost stole his balance. He had a panicked visualization of falling backwards down the steps and cracking his head on the concrete floor. Somehow, he caught his balance. He did better with the second blow. With the third, wood splintered and the door bounced towards him.

  James caught the edge and pulled the door open. He saw the shiny padlock, still hanging from the hasp. It wasn’t going to be able to do its job any more. Splinters of wood clung to the screws that had held it in place.

  James rested the hammer on the steps and stepped up into the kitchen, to see what his crimes had gained him. The kitchen was clean and empty. The refrigerator and freezer doors were propped open. The appliances were unplugged.

  He made a quick survey of the first floor and then climbed the stairs. The mattress was stripped. It had a large oval stain the reached almost to the perimeter of the mattress. James wrinkled his nose and looked around for a linen closet. It was impossible to believe that the owner took all the bedding with him, but that seemed to be the case. The bathroom didn’t even have a single square of toilet paper.

  After a quick wrestling match, James managed to flip the mattress. It landed with a plume of dust. James settled down on the bed, holding his breath at first. Using his arm for a pillow, he was asleep in seconds.

  # # # # #

  James woke up and opened his eyes, but didn’t move. The light in the room was brighter—he’d been asleep for a while. He had the distinct feeling that someone was watching him sleep. He tilted his head until he could see the doorway. A shadow seemed to fade just as the door came into view, like someone had backed away.

  He slid his hand down to his back pocket, where he had stashed his story. The folded papers were still there. James slid his feet onto the floor. Sleep fled his brain with amazing speed. As he pushed to his feet, James felt all his senses primed and ready for action. Sleeping on the second floor had been a stupid idea. It drastically cut down on his escape options.

  Of course, he had jumped out of a window that very morning. It wasn’t a trick he cared to try more than once. He was acutely aware of how close he’d come to seriously injuring himself.

  James started down the stairs.

  He paused at the sound of voices from below.

  “I’m gonna get me a buh-big, buh-buck. Buh-huh-big! Buh-huh-bucking-fuck,” a man said.

  Another man laughed with a big, throaty sound.

  “Do your buck dance, Preston,” someone said. “Do it!”

  James heard shuffling feet on the floor. He pictured the words of the first man. They were familiar. It didn’t take him more than a second to place. James didn’t have a perfect memory for the stories he copied, but sometimes a line or two got stuck in his head. Many times, it was the peculiarities of dialog that captured his attention. This man certainly had a unique way of speaking.

  It wasn’t a speech impediment. The man was clearly doing it on purpose.

  “Whaddar you going to shoot, Buh-huh-buh-Beck?”

  His question was answered with silence.

  “Oh, leave her alone. I told you—she’s shy.”

  “She ought to scout then. Won’t be any good driving them in.”

  James remembered the rest of the story. Buddies go hunting, and only one makes it out alive. One of the men was a murderer. He heard more footsteps from below.

  “Hey, Stormy, I think maybe someone else broke into this place,” a man said.

  “What makes you…” James couldn’t hear the rest of the comment.

  He heard the response though—“I’ll be goddamned. Someone broke into our best break-in spot. How long ago was it?”

  The sound of more feet made James shrink back. He didn’t know if they were headed his direction.

  The voices sounded farther away.

  “There was a chain across the drive,” one voice said.

  “I told you that I saw people in the woods, didn’t I? They were all dressed up to look like Indians. I bet they’re the ones who broke in.”

  The front door was right at the bottom of the stairs. James wondered if he could make it without being seen. He didn’t know how the locks would work. Could he open the door from the inside without a key? He forced himself to move down a couple more steps so he could get a better look at the door.

  The voices surprised him. He froze.

  “Nobody is dressed up like Indians. You’re seeing things again. Ain’t that right, Buh-huh-buh-Beck? Where’d Beck go?”

  “Downstairs, I imagine.”

  “Well, shit Storm, if there’s any Indians, there gonna be down there.”

  The feet were on the move again.

  James ran down the last few steps and lunged for the door. There was a lever to flip and a thumb catch. That’s all he had seen. James pulled the door open and hope rose in his chest. He turned. A little girl, probably no more than first or second grade was standing there. She had the jar of peach preserves in her hand. While he stared at her, dumbstruck, she held out the jar, as if to ask if he wanted any.

  James bolted through the door.

  CHAPTER 25: CABIN

  THEY HUDDLED BETWEEN THE couch and the coffee table. Chloe held the shotgun pointed roughly towards the door.

  “I told you,” Chloe said.

  “It’s not James,” Danielle said. “Where would he even get a bow and arrow.”

  “I don’t know, he probably wrote about it and then manifested it somehow,” Chloe said.

  “Listen,” Bo said. More laughter filtered in through the walls. “There’s more than one of them.”

  “We should get upstairs,” Danielle said. “Then we only have to guard the stairs. There are too many ways for them to get in.”

  Chloe nodded and began to stand.

  “No,” Bo said. “We’ve already been burned out of one place. What if they decide to torch the cabin. We’ll be trapped up there.”

  “Can we make it to the car?” Chloe asked.

  “Maybe,” Bo said. “Who knows? They have arrows, but they could have guns too.”

  “We have to try,” Chloe said. “We can’t just stay here and wait to be attacked.”

  “Why not run for the woods,” Danielle said. “We can find the neighbor’s house. It could be safe there.”

  “I’m sure that’s just what they want. We would be helpless in those woods,” Chloe said.

  “We’ll run,” Danielle said.

  “I’m sure that will help,” Chloe said. “All in favor of running for the car?” She held up her hand.

  Bo turned down one corner of his mouth and then raised his hand to join her.

  They stood up as one and moved towards the door. They shied away from the window, even though the curtains shielded them.

  “Head for the back side of the stacked wood and stay low. If they have someone positioned at the car, I’ll take care of him,” Chloe said, gesturing with the shotgun.

  BANG. BANG.

  They turned. Someone was banging at the back door.

  “Let’s go,” Chloe said.

  “Wait,” Danielle said. She began to walk towards the kitchen, where the banging came from.

  “No,” Chloe said. “We’re going right now.”

  She pulled open the front door. Bo slipped through the gap and hunched over as he ran down the porch towards the wood pile. He skidded to a stop when an arrow planted in the side of the cabin, just in front of him. Another arrow whizzed by his head as he scrambled backwards. He ran into Chloe, who was right on his heels.

  An arrow hit the door and clattered to the porch.

  Chloe kicked it as she raced for the door. They ducked back through and slammed it shut just as another arrow hit. Chloe and Bo pressed their backs to the door. Bo reached up and locked it.

  James came around the corner from the kitchen.
Chloe leveled the shotgun and pulled the trigger. It didn’t move. The safety was engaged.

  “Wait! Wait!” Danielle said. She slipped around James and got between him and the weapon.

  Chloe looked at the switch to figure out how to engage the shotgun. Her face lit up when she found the lever. She raised the gun.

  “Hold on,” Danielle said.

  “Yeah,” Bo said. “I vote we not shoot him yet. Let’s find out why he came back.”

  “You guys are going to get us killed,” Chloe said. “This is all his fault. Every bit of it.”

  “That’s fine,” Danielle said. “That doesn’t mean he won’t be useful in figuring out how we can live through it.”

  James nodded. “I know who’s shooting the arrows.”

  “You’re probably working with them,” Chloe said. “You led them here to kill us.”

  “Chloe!” Bo said. “Listen to what you’re saying. James didn’t know about your cabin before yesterday. How could he have led anyone here?”

  “I don’t know,” she said. She furrowed her brow. “It’s suspicious.”

  “Tell us what you know, James,” Bo said. “Quickly.”

  James nodded. “Those are kids. One kid is their leader. He convinces the rest that their parents aren’t being fair because the kids are punished. The leader rallies all the kids and convinces them they should go live in the forest. Everything is fine until they run out of food and begin attacking houses on the perimeter of the woods.”

  “How do you know about this?” Chloe asked.

  “It was one of the stories. I copied it a few weeks ago. It must have burned up and the smoke affected those kids out there.”

  “How did they get all the way out here?” Chloe asked.

  James shrugged. “I don’t know. The wind might have carried the smoke for a while. I don’t know what the range of its influence might be.”

  From outside, they heard a yell, something bang on the side of the cabin, and then more laughter.

  “What happens to the kids in the story?” Danielle asked.

  James shifted his eyes up and away as he recalled. “I think they begin attacking people who live in remote houses. They terrorize a few residents and scare them away. Then, at some point, they decide to start killing adults.”

  “Killing them?” Danielle asked.

  “Yeah,” James said. “They’re playing Cowboys and Indians, without the cowboys.”

  “Great,” Chloe said.

  “The leader is the dangerous one. He’s the first one to kill anyone, and he sets the tone of the rest of the group. If he hasn’t killed anyone yet, there’s a chance we could beat them without losing any of us,” James said.

  “We haven’t seen any of them,” Chloe said. “How are we supposed to beat the leader? If we go outside, they’ll plug us with arrows.”

  “They’re just kids,” James said. “They can be tricked and outsmarted.”

  “They can also be infinitely cruel without realizing the consequences,” Bo said. “They may not have a firm grip on morality.”

  “Kids know empathy,” Danielle said. “Unless they’re sick.”

  “Don’t get me wrong,” James said. “These kids are dangerous as hell, but that doesn’t mean that they geniuses. Whatever morality or empathy they had disappeared when they took in that story. So don’t expect them to shy away from bloodshed or show us any mercy.”

  “What do you suggest?” Danielle asked.

  “Their leader will be the boldest. He or she will take the most chances,” James said. “Chloe, you’re going to stay right over here.”

  # # # # #

  At James’s signal, they began to scream. Danielle was pretty good at it. Her last screamed trailed off, like her life was fading. James burst through the front door with his knife held high. His clothes were stained with beet juice. It didn’t look exactly like blood, but he didn’t think the kids would know the difference.

  When he was sure their eyes were on him, he strode out into the yard.

  “I’ll kill every last one of you,” he screamed. “I know what you kids have done, but I’ve done things a million times worse.”

  He saw the first arrow coming. They’d shot at him when he ran towards the house earlier. Most of the arrows didn’t have much power behind them. The kids weren’t strong enough to shoot with any real power or accuracy.

  James dodged the first one instinctively. It was difficult, but he wanted to hold still and let one hit his arm, or maybe lower leg. The next arrow he saw didn’t even reach him. Somewhere in the woods, a kid laughed, and another child yelled. James didn’t see the arrow that hit his shoulder. He felt the pain—no worse than getting a tetanus shot—and he turned to run. He exaggerated his injury, letting his arm flop at his side and reaching up with his other hand. The arrow was hanging from his shirt. It worked its way loose from his skin after a few strides.

  The worst of it was when he ducked back through the door of the cabin. The shaft of the arrow hit the doorframe and it stabbed a fresh wound into his arm.

  “Shit!” he said.

  Chloe held her position.

  James turned.

  He heard feet sprinting across the yard and the boy appeared in the doorway. He was a teenager. He didn’t look old enough to drive. His outfit looked like some kid’s strange idea of what a Native American would wear. He had on a leather vest and jeans, cutoff mid-calf. Arrows, stuck through the back of the vest, formed an X. He wore a bandana as a headband and had black grease under his eyes. The boy held a knife in each hand.

  James pulled the arrow from his shirt and threw it to the side.

  The kid saw him and growled through bared teeth.

  When the kid began to run at James, Chloe stood up with the shotgun.

  “Hold it,” she said.

  The boy stopped and turned to her, surprised.

  “Stay right there, or I’ll paint the wall with you,” Chloe said. She took a step forward. “Drop the knives.”

  The boy looked down at his hands, and James wished she hadn’t mentioned the knives. For a second, it seemed like he was going to surrender, but when he looked down at the knives, he seemed to remember what he was there for.

  The boy raised the blades and ran towards Chloe.

  James sprinted forward, to intercept the boy before he could impale Chloe with his shiny knives.

  BANG!

  The sound of the shotgun dulled all of James’s senses. The sound overloaded his brain. But it worked. The boy stopped. He still held the knives, but his hands lowered down to his sides.

  “Oh, Jesus. Oh, Jesus,” Chloe said.

  James barely heard her. His ears were still ringing and it sounded like she was speaking on the other side of a wall.

  Danielle came from the kitchen. She had a knife of her own. Hers was a generic kitchen knife though, not a deadly-looking hunting blade like the ones the boy held. “What happened?” Danielle asked.

  Chloe had aimed the shotgun over the boy’s head, just to frighten him. There was a cloud of little holes in the ceiling to prove it. Drywall dust swirled down from those holes.

  The boy swayed on his feet and then began a slow descent as his knees gave out. As his knees hit the floor, the knives tumbled from his limp hands. He slumped backwards and flopped to his back. James saw a thin line of blood trickling from the boy’s right eye. It looked like a bloody tear streaking down his face.

  “No. No!” Chloe said.

  She dropped the gun and ran to him.

  “Chloe, wait,” Danielle said. She raced to intercept her friend. Danielle still held her knife at the ready, in case the whole thing was a trick. She slowed as she saw the blood.

  “What’s happening?” Bo shouted from the kitchen. His job was to guard the back door.

  “There’s been an accident,” Danielle said.

  James stepped around Danielle and gently laid a hand on Chloe’s shoulder. She was shaking the boy’s shoulders, imploring him to get up.
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  Chloe turned to James. “It was supposed to scare him. It was just supposed to scare him.”

  “He would have killed you,” James said. He checked for a pulse and then laid his head to the boy’s chest. Nothing. “We have to press on, Chloe, in case the rest attack.”

  He gently nudged her aside with his shoulder as he reached under the boy to gather him up.

  “No,” Chloe said. “I just wanted to scare him.” She sank back and sat on her heels. Danielle put her arms around Chloe’s shoulders.

  James lifted the boy and then gripped him under the armpits. He was heavy, but manageable. He carried the body to the doorway and out onto the porch.

  James shouted towards the woods. “You kids go home now. Do you see what happened? Go home.”

  An arrow, shot with very little force, hit the lawn and tumbled to a stop a few feet away from James.

  “We didn’t want to do it, but you gave us no choice. Now go home before anyone else gets hurt.”

  He heard Chloe’s sobs behind him and hoped the kids didn’t hear. He wanted their position to be one of strength.

  Out in the woods, one of the children voiced a high, lonesome battle cry. By the end, it sounded almost like a coyote howl. James stood there a few seconds longer. His arms burned and shook under the weight of the boy. When he couldn’t hold him up any longer, he backed up, lowering the boy to the porch. He glanced up at the sound of footsteps. He didn’t see anyone, but heard their running retreat through the woods. James left the boy on the porch and backed into the cabin.

  Bo had joined the women in the living room. He and Danielle were crouched around Chloe.

  “You couldn’t help it,” James said. He looked at the ceiling. The pattern of pellets was tight. It was a terrible miracle that one had strayed from the grouping and taken out the boy. “It was an awful accident.”

  “Yeah,” Bo said. He was rubbing Chloe’s back. “Blame the circumstances. It’s not your fault.”

  “And make no mistake,” James said. “He would have killed you.”