Twisted Endings: 5 Disturbing Stories

by Timothy D. McLendon

  “Of course not! Because they don’t exist! It’s an interesting story, Johnson. But I hope you don’t go around telling it to all your customers. It’s no wonder the store’s empty.”

  Johnson chuckled.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “Go ahead and tell him, David.”

  “Tell me what?”

  "Why did you move here, Mr. Walton?" David asked.

  “What does that have to do with anything?”

  David furled his eyebrows. “Just answer the question.”

  “Ok. Job offer at the post office, as you know.”

  “Right, right,” Johnson interrupted again. “Tiny Lake Heron has been in desperate need of a postmaster for some time now. Only problem is, we don't have a post office.”

  “But the letter...the phone call...the living arrangements....” Mark couldn't move. He felt colder than he had ever felt before.

  David got up and stood in front of Mark, facing him. He stared into his eyes. “I know what you are. I should look familiar to you. I was home alone one day when a new mailman stopped by. Said he had a special delivery.”

  Mark couldn't breathe. David. David Monroe. I remember now.

  “I vowed that one day I would find you. I tracked you down after ten years. Watching as you moved from one post office to another. After all these years, you still like boys.”

  Mark sensed the sweat pouring down the side of his face. “David, I never meant to hurt you. I swear.”

  “Shut up, you dirty old man!”

  “I should go.”

  “You're not going anywhere,” David said.

  “All of the doors are locked,” Johnson reminded him.

  Mark tried to stand, but found he couldn't move.

  "I think you've had too much coffee,” David said, laughing.

  "Or maybe there were just too many drugs in his coffee,” Johnson added as he joined in the laughter.

  Mark looked down at the red napkin in his hand. David never brought Johnson a napkin. It was marked. The mug was marked. He felt moisture around his arms and looked at them to see tiny, bright drops of blood dripping to the floor.

  “Since you mentioned it, it is pretty cold in here,” Johnson said. He reached beneath his desk and pulled out two fur jackets. He handed one to David and put one on himself. “Joseph's formula had a few problems I had to correct. This particular one is my favorite. It will only work in extremely cold temperatures.” He shivered and zipped his jacket. “Helps keep the whole event private.”

  “Johnson,” Mark pleaded, “bitter water. I understand. I'll never do it again. Just give me the antidote.”

  “It's not my call. It's David's and he's not as compassionate as me.”

  “That’s what you were making, right?” Mark asked David. “The antidote? It should be ready now. Please, David. I know it is. Get it.”

  David knelt before Mark. “The pain becomes so intense that you can't move, can't scream, can't breathe. All you can do is pray that death comes quickly. But it won't.”

  “David, would you do the honors?” Johnson asked. He pulled a jar out from under the desk.

  “Wait a minute” Mark said, struggling to point at David. He couldn’t breathe. “You can’t do this. This man is crazy. Don’t listen to him.”

  “I’m not crazy,” Johnson said. “I’m just here to clean up the neighborhood.”

  “You’re...you’re Joseph Walker?”

  Johnson and David laughed.

  “Joseph Walker? He’s been dead for a long time.” Johnson walked over to Mark and whispered in his ear, “But just between you and me, you can call me Petey.”

  Neighborhood Watch

  WE HAD three robberies on First Street last month. Two on McFarland. Old man Jeeters almost got himself shot while trying to protect his family at one of 'em. The cops had been unreliable. That's when we decided to take matters into our own hands and formed a neighborhood watch.

  Home base was set up in my house. I didn't mind it It gave me the opportunity to exercise some power in controlling these ridiculous times.

  “What exactly are those, Rob?” asked old man Jeeters at our last meeting.

  “What do they look like?” I glanced around the circle of my peers, sitting in small plastic chairs like kindergartners — men in their twenties and thirties — maybe a dozen of 'em in all. Most of the guys chuckled but I stood up and snapped my fingers. That shut 'em up.

  “They’re upgrades, Jeeters.” I picked one up and admired it. “Automatics.”

  “Rob,” Jeeters started, “the police won't like this. It’s only going to make things worse.”

  “Jeeters, my man, the police are worthless pigs. What have they ever done for you?”

  He fidgeted in his chair. “We're not vigilantes. All we can do is go to work every day and hope to come home to safety.”

  I searched the rough faces in the room. “Anyone else feel the same way?”

  “Heck no!” Mark Richie shouted. “We're sick of living in fear. I say it's time for some street justice.”

  Everyone nodded in agreement — everyone except old man Jeeters.

  “You with us?” I had to ask him.

  “In my day we just lifted weights so we could beat the crap out of 'em. Worst case scenario, we'd run.” He paused and shook his head. “Yeah. Whatever. I'm in.”

  “Fantastic! Now, Peters, what's on the agenda this week?”

  Mike Peters stood and cleared his throat. “Just a reminder, Richie and Johnson are on foot patrol this month. Matthews, Smith, and O'Brien are mobile. Make sure you work out a schedule with each other. The rest of you are lucky for now.”

  “I ain't been lucky since I broke up with Amy,” Chris Baxter snickered.

  The room was filled with jeers.

  “Listen up, people,” I pleaded. “What else you got, Peters?”

  “Uhhhhh, the Murphys are out of town for the next few days.”

  “We got anybody on that?”

  “Taken care of,” Baxter offered.

  “Good. O'Brien, go ahead and cover that area tonight.”

  “You got it, Boss.”

  “You know what? Richie, I'd like you to cover that street on foot as well.”

  “You sensing something?” Richie asked.

  “There's been a lot of motion in that area this week. Might be the same guy who took a shot at Jeeters a few weeks ago. I've got a feeling our boy is gonna try something soon. I wanna be waiting for him when he does.”

  “He needs a lesson,” old man Jeeters spat. “What do you want me to do?”

  “You're on window watching,” I said. “We need your eyes.”

  “So much for respecting your elders. I get the useless job.”

  “You're welcome to leave anytime you want," Richie pointed out.”"I can help you out the door if you like. Maybe get you a wheelchair.”

  Old man Jeeters crossed his arms and looked away from everyone.

  “Anybody have anything else to add?” I asked.

  “When are we gonna get walkie talkies?” O’Brien asked.

  “We all have cell phones, you idiot,” the man next to him whispered, jabbing him in the side.

  “Anything else?”

  Silence.

  “No? All right. I've got a football game to watch, so you can all get your sorry butts out of my house.”

  “What about the guns?” someone asked.

  “Take one. Just don’t get caught.”

  I thought that was the last I'd hear from them for another month, but old man Jeeters called me in the middle of the Packers game that very same night. The old man needed a life.

  “I saw him,” he said.

  “Saw who?”

  “Who do you think? The one who tried to off me. He's circled the block a couple of times. I think he's gonna make his move.”

  “You call anyone else?”

  “Not yet. I'm gonna go after this guy myself.”

  “Jeeters, listen to me. We need
to do this together. Let me get some men over there before you do anything stupid.”

  “No can do, Boss. This one's mine.”

  “Jeeters...”

  Click.

  “Jeeters!”

  I slammed the phone down and dialed another number.

  “Mobile One here.”

  “O'Brien, this is Rob. Keep your eyes open on McFarland. Jeeters spotted a suspicious vehicle.”

  “Roger that.”

  “What's your current location?”

  “Uhhhh, I'm just off McFarland and Washington.”

  “Stay there. Lights out. Got eyes with you?”

  “Roger that. Night vision. Never leave home without 'em.”

  “Good man. Let me know if anything goes down.”

  “Roger that. Out.”

  I dialed the next number I could think of.

  “Yeah?”

  “Baxter, this is Flanagan. How's the house-sitting?”

  “Not as fun as I thought. You should see this place. It's like 1975 here. They probably paid ten bucks for the TV.”

  “Listen up. Jeeters has spotted some activity. You might see some action.”

  “Crap.”

  “Yeah. I'm sending some backup. You got your piece?”

  “Locked and loaded.”

  “Okay. I need to make another call. Keep your eyes open and let me know if anything goes down.”

  “You got it. Out.”

  I had one more call to make.

  “Foot Patrol.”

  “How's it goin', Richie?”

  “I'd rather be in bed.”

  “I hear ya, man. Listen, there may be some activity at the Murphy house soon. Can you get in the area?”

  “Not far from there now.”

  “Good. Try to stay out of sight. We don't want to scare him off. Not before we deal with him.”

  “Got it. Can't wait to get my hands on him.”

  “Keep an eye out for Jeeters. God knows what he'll do.”

  “That's just great. Okay. Out.”

  Everything should've been okay after that so I returned to the Packers game. I had missed the entire third quarter.

  The phone rang again.

  “Hello?”

  “Bad news, Boss,” Baxter whispered. “Jeeters was right. This guy pulled up less than a minute ago. He's walking around the house with a flashlight. What should I do?”

  “Does he know you're there?”

  “Doubt it. Don't have any lights on or anything.”

  “Good. Call Mobile and Foot. I'm coming down to make sure you guys don’t screw this up.”

  “Should I call the cops?”

  “Very funny.”

  “What if he gets in before you get here?”

  I thought about it. “Shoot him.”

  It took him a minute to answer, “Okay. Out.”

  I threw my coat on and turned off the TV. The Packers were losing anyway. I ran out to my Miata and raced to the Murphys. I parked a block away and walked back.

  “Richie,” I nearly yelled, running up behind him, “what’s going on?”

  “Don’t know yet.”

  “You seen Jeeters?”

  “Nope.”

  “Great. No telling what that stubborn old fool might do.”

  Richie shook his head. “Probably get himself shot. Look, are we gonna talk all night or get this guy before he ruins another house?”

  "Chill, okay? Let's get him.”

  We continued to walk down the sidewalk until we stood in the front yard of the Murphys' old, brick two-story house. The intruder had parked his car right there in the front. He was spitting in our faces. I looked across the street to see Mobile One at the next house down and whistled.

  O'Brien stuck his head out of the Ford. I motioned for him to join us. He jumped out of the car and closed the door quietly before running over to us like a retarded Navy Seal.

  “You seen Jeeters?” I asked him.

  “Nah. But I’m sure he’s around.”

  “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

  “What’s the plan?” Richie asked.

  I handed them my home-made black masks. “Baxter’s in there. His life could be in danger. We need to move in.”

  They both nodded.

  “What are these for?” O'Brien asked, sliding one over his face. “I can't see anything.” He looked even dumber as he put it on backwards with the cut out eyes and nose facing behind him. “I feel like I'm in a Muppet movie.”

  “Come here,” Richie said, slapping him on the back of the head. He pulled the mask off and pointed to the three holes. “So he can't recognize us if he gets away.”

  O'Brien blushed.

  “Okay,” I said. “I’ll take the front. Richie, take the right. O'Brien, take the left. You two meet up in the rear and make an entrance if you have to. I don't know where the guy’s at but it's a safe bet he's made it inside by now. Let’s put our phones on 3-way.”

  “And what exactly are we supposed to do when we catch him?” O'Brien asked, switching his phone on.

  I scratched my head. “It's time to put an end to this. Teach him a lesson he'll never forget.”

  The two of them disappeared around the house. I took a deep breath and walked up the front steps. This was something we had to do for all of us. For our safety.

  I didn't even have to turn the knob — the front door was slightly open. Great, I thought. He's made it inside. I sure hoped Baxter was prepared for the guy and not watching some rerun of Three's Company. Although the girls sure did look good in those short shorts.

  The house was dark so I stood there for a moment and let my eyes adjust. I couldn't help but think Baxter was hiding in some closet. This intruder had a gun and wasn't afraid to use it. He had proved that with Jeeters. Jeeters...where was he?

  The steps creaked and then I saw the beam of light. The intruder was still fishing around with the flashlight. I walked as quietly as possible to the staircase. I had to follow him up without so much as a peep. I reached for my gun but it wasn’t there. No! In my haste I’d forgotten all about the piece.

  It didn’t matter...he was going down. I made sure I walked on the outer edges of the steps, avoiding any pressure in the center, the creaking points. It felt like I was in a video game, walking secretively, avoiding the flashlight. I had a feeling I wouldn’t find a star or mushroom or banana at the top.

  The intruder turned around so fast, so unexpectedly that the light blinded me for a second. “Stop!” he shouted. “Don’t move!” He reached for his hip and I knew a bullet would be heading my way.

  My Sunday afternoon football skills came into play. I tackled the man and dropped him to his back before he could reach his gun. He moaned and slapped at me like a little girl. I let him taste my fist.

  His legs caught me by the waist and threw me down the stairs. I grabbed the railing before I became roadkill for the monster. “Don't make this hard on yourself,” he had the nerve to tell me. He had the gun in his hands.

  I made an intellectual decision at that point. “Gotta go.” I slipped into the nearest room, using my hands to feel around in the dark. I found a table. A fork. A knife.

  A knife!

  There's no way I was getting shot that night. I still had to see if the Packers had won. Please God, let them win. I grabbed the knife and ducked underneath what I decided was a dining room table.

  The streaming beam of light entered the room. I couldn't see the man at all. O'Brien, Richie, where are you guys? Sure could use your help.

  “Come on out,” the unknown voice commanded when the light flashed in my face. The gun was illuminated right next to the flashlight. Jeeters got away that one night but I didn't feel so lucky.

  “Okay, okay. Let's settle this like men.” I tried not to sound as scared as I was.

  “Out! And put the knife down!”

  I cussed myself for holding the knife right next to my face, in clear view for all to see. I shook my head and dropped it.
<
br />   “What's going on?” came the unmistakable voice of O'Brien when the dining room lights flooded the room. I flinched from the sudden burst but saw that the intruder had a hand over his eyes to shield them. I reached down and grabbed the knife, then slid out from under the table as quickly as I could.

  I jumped up behind the man and put the knife to his throat. "Drop the gun." He put his hand down and hesitated.

  “Do it,” Richie said as he entered the room, brandishing his own gun.

  O'Brien moved his eyes from person to person, looking like a confused baby.

  The man's gun thudded on the floor.

  “What're we gonna do with him?” O'Brien asked.

  “Move,” I whispered into the man's ear, guiding him toward the door. “We're gonna beat the crap outta him,” I answered O'Brien. “Maybe then he'll make a better career choice.”

  “But I thought —” Richie started.

  “That's all we're gonna do, Richie. Okay? We're not killers. And where the heck is Baxter?”

  “I don’t know. Probably sucking his thumb.”

  I figured we could beat the intruder 'til the sun came up, then dump his body at the police station. They could figure out what to do with him.

  The front door opened and Jeeters stepped in.

  “This him?” Jeeters asked.

  “Jeeters,” I said, “we've got it handled. Go on back home and get some sleep.”

  “We're the weight lifting boys now,” Richie mocked. “Worst case scenario, we'll run.”

  Jeeters couldn't take his eyes off the man we captured. I could see the anger in his eyes. And the determination to prove something to all of us. This was, after all, the man who had shot at him. He looked up and down the man, sizing him up. Crew cut, strong build, blue uniform, and a badge.

  That's right. Hold on tight.

  Jeeters reached behind his back and pulled out one of the automatics I had provided.

  “Jeeters, don't!”

  “Sorry, Rob.”

  I knew I couldn’t stop him so I dived to the floor.

  Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! click...click...click

  The cop was on the floor, dead. Old man Jeeters had lost his mind. Richie walked up to him and pried the gun out of his hands. I saw a look of respect in his eyes as he nodded at Jeeters.