Emergence

by William Vitka

  Jack takes the hat. It fits snug on his head. “Nope.” He smiles. “Perfect.”

  Viktor claps him on the shoulder. “Your granddad had pretty good taste. So make sure you take care of it, all right?”

  “Yessir.”

  Caleb looks around at his family. A big grin on his face. He’s ecstatic about his costume. The baby powder in his light brown hair ages him with a shade of grey. His little mustache tickles his upper lip. His over-sized brown slacks make him feel airy. He slips his hands into his pockets.

  Dierdra buttons his sweater vest.

  Viktor beams.

  His parents watch at him as though he really is the mind he’s pretending to be.

  Something tickles the back of his brain. He shakes it off.

  “All right, man,” Jack says from the door. He hands Caleb a wooden pipe prop. “Let’s go wait for Zarifa and Akil outside. Patrick and Catarina are already on their way.”

  Viktor tosses Caleb an empty pillowcase from the bed. “I expect that to be full by the time you get back, young man. Remember, your mother and I love Reese’s cups. Don’t go scarfing them all down before you get in.”

  Caleb salutes. Hauls ass to the door. He leaps onto the sidewalk. Regardless of what’s happened to him over the last couple of months, tonight is his night. Tonight is free candy night. Tonight is wow-did-you-see-that-crazy-costume night.

  Tonight he can pretend he’s someone else.

  In his mind’s eye, he’s hunched over a desk. Working with furious academic intent.

  He pinches some tobacco for his pipe. Stuffs it into the bowl. Lights it. Smoke fills his small study. His wife brings him soup and the shoes he always forgets to put on. He guesses he loves her, kinda sorta—but ye gods! What kind of mad conundrum sits masked behind the equations?! He focuses all of his brainmeat on the problem. The woman and the children can wait. He doesn’t even need the shoes. Special relativity was an accomplishment, sure, but general relativity, an all-encompassing theory for the behavior of the bodies in the cosmos, well now, that is a different animal altogether.

  Gravity. You bitch.

  “So how’s it going, Einstein?” Patrick shouts. He walks up to the house.

  “Yeah,” Catarina says. “How’s that cosmological constant?”

  Caleb rubs his chin. “Ah. My supposed ‘greatest mistake’ will have its day. Mark my words.” He’s thrilled that the big kids are playing along, but he doesn’t smile. He pretends to be lost in thought. He chomps down on his unlit pipe.

  Patrick is Snake Plissken tonight—the great escaper of New York and Los Angeles. He wears a leather jacket, camouflage pants and an eye patch. The eye patch makes depth perception somewhat difficult. He stumbles on a chunk of loose concrete. “Meant to do that.” He collects himself. Punches Jack in the shoulder. “What are you supposed to be?”

  Jack says, “It’s a Clint Eastwood joke.”

  “Oh... Ohhhh. Cleverrrrrrrr. Nice hat.”

  Jack rolls his eyes. “Thanks. Was my granddad’s.”

  “It’s clever enough,” Catarina says. “And the hat’s pretty nice, Cowboy.” She flicks some talcum powder out of Caleb’s hair.

  Jack stares at her costume. He recognizes it. Sigourney Weaver by way of Aliens. She’s wearing tight blue jeans that accentuate her hips and a white tank top. She’s even got a Pulse Rifle replica. The suspender-like ammo belts over her shoulders push her breasts together in such a way... And sure, her bra is thick, but Jack’s brain tells him precisely where her—

  He grunts. “Shouldn’t you be wearing a jacket or something? It’s cold out.”

  Nope. Jack’s not good at this.

  Catarina’s feeling confident. And she’s annoyed that Jack is reacting like an overbearing ass. His protective mind wants her shielded from others. And her mind wants him to appreciate her. Of course, neither admit any of this.

  “I’m fine,” Catarina says.

  Jack arches his eyebrows. He grumbles more. Acts put-upon. Men aren’t supposed talk about this shit. Especially not in front of other men.

  Caleb realizes in that moment that people are really stupid. His brother won’t tell Catarina that he’s worried about guys eyeballing her. And she’s probably be too stubborn to confront him about it because Jack isn’t acknowledging her efforts.

  One big cycle of dumb.

  Caleb wants Jack and Catarina to make up. But in the middle of that thought, Zarifa and her little eight-year-old brother bound over, ready for the night’s sugar hunt.

  Caleb compliments Zarifa’s Princess Jasmine costume and marvels at Akil’s Genie getup. The costumes might be nose-rankling to people who think the film’s racist, but goddamn if Zarifa and Akil don’t love Aladdin.

  Patrick doesn’t really have the patience for drama. “Let’s get a move on. My folks are on their way. So’s Catarina’s dad. Hell, even Zarifa and Akil’s parents are inbound. They’ll have a Halloween night of... adult conversation? I don’t wanna be here when the place gets old.”

  The youngest of the Tribe give each other goofy grins. Zarifa threads her arm through Caleb’s. The two walk in tandem. Patrick hoists Akil onto his shoulders. Catarina walks beside them.

  Jack starts to follow. Pauses to sniff the air. He doesn’t know why. Not really. It just seems to satisfy the growing tickle in his brain.

  * * *

  Jack adjusts his hat. Lights a cigarette. Hangs back. Grumpy.

  The children run up to the door of their eleventh house.

  The elder Svoboda isn’t bored. He’s goddamn agitated—largely by Catarina and what his brain just can’t wrap itself around. He’s addicted to both Catarina’s approval and nicotine.

  The Tribe works its way up from the Svoboda house. They push north along Third Avenue, then Shore Road. They ignore the store fronts and opt to hit the rich houses closer to the Hudson River.

  They score big back at the seventh house. An older Indian woman there doles out fistfuls of Reese’s, which should make the Svoboda parents quite happy.

  Jack stretches his neck.

  Patrick and Catarina spy two costumed kids making out in an alleyway. They tell the younger children to run ahead. Then titter while they watch two would-be romantics.

  Jack grimaces. Decides voyeurism is shitty. Looks anyway.

  The three see a leggy girl in a shadowy, glistening spider costume. Her companion is much taller, decked out as one of the Founding Fathers—nobody’s sure which—who has the back of his head toward the gawking teens. It’s a mad jumble of arms that grope and writhe.

  Patrick elbows Catarina. “Looks like a good time. Spider Gal and Thomas Jefferson getting it on.”

  Catarina chuckles.

  Jack feels a flash of indefensible, jealous anger spark inside him. One directed at both Patrick and Catarina. “Come on, come on, you perverts.”

  They stroll away.

  * * *

  The unknown Founding Father’s organs sizzle. They’ve been splashed with a powerful dissolving agent. A dissolving agent introduced by the massive spider thing that’s embraced him.

  His body jitters in the throes of Spider Gal’s spindly legs.

  Spider Gal takes a moment to smell the stench from her human watchers.

  * * *

  House nineteen looks like a potential candy goldmine.

  It’s almost bloated with wealth. Constructed to impress. Recently, too. Something Jack and Caleb’s mother call a “McMansion.” The architecture is terrible. But it’s huge. And huge houses usually give out awesome treats, because rich folks tend to have a lot of money and not a lot of imagination.

  Zarifa punches the doorbell. Caleb stands beside her. Akil waits with his bag outstretched.

  The place is decorated with an effort to outdo the neighbors. Yard envy instead of penis envy. The porch is ringed with bright orange pumpkin lights. In the windows, skulls float. Fake crimson blood hangs over the door and the edge of the roof. It creates a hellish veil. Screams, rattling chains and the
sounds of an eerie wind pour from speakers near the door.

  Catarina shivers.

  Whatever stupidity possessed Jack before dissipates.

  Catarina can’t maintain a decent composure for the whole night. No matter what kind of costume she wants to wear to impress Jack, it’s cold as shit. Her shaking isn’t the sign of a damsel in distress. She’s got a chill.

  Jack slides his brown leather jacket from his shoulders. He doesn’t say he’s sorry. Doesn’t say that he understands what’s going through Catarina’s mind.

  Catarina lets him wrap the leather around her. She looks at the ground before she looks at him. The teen, now clad in nothing but a white undershirt and his Stetson.

  It’s...kinda nice. Forgiveness without words.

  An unseen clock hits its mark.

  Pain flares in Jack’s brain.

  The world explodes around them.

  Shouts and screams sound in all directions. Jack sees an enormous dark shape chase a group of people down a nearby street. A creature long and black and slender. Like a human stretched out on stilts.

  Catarina watches an arm loop out from another house. It drags several kids inside.

  Gunshots ring out.

  Oblivious, Akil stands at the front door of house nineteen. The boy expects candy, goddamnit.

  He gets something worse.

  A grey, gaunt, gore-covered creature opens the door. It’s too thin to be human. Like someone skinned a slender model and then baked her in an oven. The eyes stare from beneath an angry brow. It has no lips. Just a toothy jaw that chews without end. Two enormous eyes bulge from its hairless skull. It wheezes and moans and licks its face.

  Jack watches Patrick lunge at the insane thing when it reaches for Akil. Tackle it.

  He’s right behind Patrick as his friend and the monster tumble into the house. Patrick pounds his human fists against its inhuman skull. Punches the monster’s face until it isn’t a face anymore. Bones crunch and crack under the teen’s onslaught.

  Jack slips in blood nearby. Looks around. Sees the dead bodies in the living room.

  Caleb, Zarifa, and Akil peek through the doorway.

  Jack screams. “Get out. Get to Catarina. Now!”

  The children scurry.

  The house is an abattoir. A construction of blood and tissue. Flaps of skin with hair still standing on end are stuck to the walls. Pools of congealing liquid slosh on the floor.

  The grey thing with bulging eyes isn’t moving anymore, but Patrick hears something rumble upstairs. He grabs Jack. Points to the ceiling.

  Jack mouths, Out. Points to the door.

  They hear a whimper from the kitchen.

  Patrick edges forward. He tries not to slip in the fluids that cover the floor. Jack restrains him. “That’s not a good idea...”

  They go anyway.

  When they turn the corner, they both see. They both vomit.

  A young girl’s strung up on the ceiling. There are lines of barbed wire attached to the corners of the room that run through her appendages and hold her in place. One line for each arm. One line for each leg. Her mouth is sewn shut. Drop by drop, her life spills onto the off-white marble tiling. The meaty coils of her insides dangle like rope. Her red trick-or-treat bag sits on the counter.

  She might be twelve.

  Caleb’s age.

  She tries to scream.

  Words form in Jack’s brain. Can you hear?

  There’s another thump upstairs.

  The teens bolt.

  “We are leaving,” Jack announces to the group outside.

  Patrick grabs Akil. Jack grabs Caleb. Catarina grabs Zarifa. The older kids toss the young ones over their shoulders.

  The neighborhood continues to go batshit insane.

  The six hustle to a large tree in an adjacent lawn. They keep their heads down. Hunker around the tree’s thickness. Use it as a shield.

  The Tribe hopes a combination of chaos and shadow will keep their movements from peering eyes. The older set the younger against the thick oak. Then they fan out to provide a protective perimeter.

  Patrick pants. “Jesus Christ.” He put his hands on his knees. “Jesus Christ. That girl. We left that fuckin girl hanging there in the kitchen.” He spits. Still tastes vomit. “What the fuck is going on?”

  Jack sweats even though he’s only wearing a white undershirt. He wipes his brow under his hat. Panic leaves him. His weird (red) battle detachment asserts itself. “Don’t think about her. If she ain’t dead now, she will be soon. You saw her. We ain’t doctors. There are three kids right here that need taking care of. Got me?” He lights a cigarette. Gets on his haunches next to Caleb. He puts a hand on his younger brother’s shoulder. “Right here.”

  The ground around the tree is littered with what looks like the remains of a picket fence and stone masonry. Big, long chunks of wood. Big, long slats of shale.

  Catarina didn’t see the horror in the kitchen, but she saw the beast that opened the door. She leans against the tree to look around the neighborhood.

  People run everywhere. Light from the street lamps alternatively bathe them and then allows them to slink into shadow. Their heavy footfalls sound like spastic claps.

  Mothers clasp children to their chests. Fathers hoist their wards. Some kids flee to safety alone. Others in groups. Everyone screams. The houses with human occupants refuse to let refugees in—they’re obviously paranoid about who’s banging on the door. Other houses, like that damned nineteen, unleash fresh terrors that scoop up parent and child alike.

  It’s chaos with no rhyme or reason.

  Someone opened a door, Caleb thinks. A very bad door.

  A barking mad stilt-walker lopes after several trick-or-treaters.

  A squat, fat octopus that glows and moans lurches over a house several doors down.

  Jack says, “We gotta get home.”

  A cop car flies by.

  Jack joins Catarina’s side to watch.

  The police cruiser skids to a stop in front of the house that was a perch for a glowing squid. The lights atop the car pulse. They coat the block in staccato red-blue flashes. Two officers exit their ride in a rush. Both with guns drawn. They kick in the door. A moment later they shriek.

  Jack counts eight gunshots before the mangled corpses of the cops are thrown back out the front door.

  He hisses through his teeth. “We need a plan.”

  Catarina offers his jacket back to him. She slides it over the elder Svoboda’s shoulders in an effort to comfort. He takes it.

  Patrick says, “Maybe this is some halluci—”

  His voice is cut off by a thick rope of webbing from the branches above. The vile white noose loops around his throat. Pulls him up.

  Akil cries out.

  Caleb and Zarifa snatch at Patrick’s legs. They try to yank him down. The nightmare Spider Gal that had feasted on one of the Founding Fathers chitters. Dances. It pulls Patrick toward its mouth.

  Patrick’s face changes colors.

  Jack rushes forward. “Gimme a rock.”

  Caleb reaches off to the side. He picks up a slim slice of sharp rock about four inches long. Tosses it to his brother.

  Jack jumps to a low-hanging branch near Patrick. He holds himself up with one hand. Locks his legs around Patrick’s waist and uses the sharp edge of shale to saw through the deadly noose. He hopes he can cut through it before all their struggling chokes Patrick to death.

  Patrick’s eyes roll back. Only the whites show. The strand of webbing hisses. It eats into his neck.

  There’s a pop.

  Something in Patrick’s neck bursts.

  Jack keeps cutting.

  The webbing breaks.

  Both teens crash to the ground.

  Patrick isn’t breathing.

  Catarina straddles him. Begins the chest compressions she remembers from life guard training at school. She plants her lips on Patrick’s and pushes air into his lungs.

  Jack rolls out of the way
as the nightmare spider slams down beside him.

  The monster’s as big as he is. Wet. Not quite black, but a deep purple. Its head is a fleshless human skull. Inside that skull twirl five blue eyes. Thick grey hairs on its back shiver.

  Jack gets to his feet.

  The spider rears.

  He screams, “Yeah? Fuck you, too.”

  Red falls across Jack’s vision. Just as it had under the bridge. It blocks everything else out. He runs forward. Slides under the spider. Doesn’t think. Only acts. His hat flies from his head. He grits his teeth and sets his jaw. He howls like a savage beast. Hammers the sharp edge of the rock into the creature’s abdomen. A thick rush of white-green goo gushes from Spider Gal.

  She trundles away.

  Jack congratulates himself.

  Spider Gal turns and charges and drives one of its long, chitinous arms into Jack’s left shoulder.

  He squeals out. Feels the piercing length of the appendage rub against bone. He puts his feet up against the fuckbug as it tries to bear down. Wraps a hand around the insect leg that’s penetrated him. He stabs and saws at it with the sharp length of shale. He fights to snap it. Carves at it. The Red struggles to keep him functioning against pain.

  Caleb roars with rage. He hefts a length of the broken fence. Its end is sharp. Deadly.

  Zarifa and Akil join him. Each holds a lance of fence from the ground in their hands.

  The children rush Spider Gal. Three little sets of hands drive three long spikes into it.

  Caleb punches a ragged hole into the spider’s mouth. He forces the makeshift spear farther and farther into the thing’s throat. Makes it gag. Until the sharp end juts out the back of its head.

  Its mandibles click against the wood.

  Zarifa and Akil slam its underside. Each push left and right until they can push no more. Their own sharp implements burst out its back.

  The three children push so hard, and so fast, that the giant spider is forced back.

  Jack snaps the leg in his shoulder just in time for the monstrosity to flip and land upside down. Its legs spasm and curl.

  Caleb climbs up its length. Kneels on its head. He reaches in and pulls out the fence he pierced its skull with. The wood comes free with a thick shlop.