“Is it too far away?”
“No, it’s closer than home.”
“Sure. You’re eighteen. I’ll drop you off wherever you tell me. Besides, you’re driving. You go where you want.”
How bout taking me home with you then? Doug thought.
Doug pulled out onto the road. As usual, there wasn’t any traffic.
“So I know you go to church and stuff but what else do you do for fun?”
“Not a lot really. I like to play video games.” He didn’t want to tell her which one.
“Which ones?”
“Oh, all kinds...”
“That sounds lonely. Anything else?”
Doug thought of anything that could help him redeem himself. “Sometimes I like to drink. With Crank. The friend I was telling you about? That’s where you’re dropping me.” He more or less blurted this out and then immediately thought he’d said the wrong thing. After all, if Mindy were devoted to the Church, she wouldn’t want to think he drank for fun. Which was hyperbole at best and a lie at worst.
“Sounds like fun.”
“What else is there to do?” Jesus, that sounded like something Crank would say.
He turned the car off the state route.
“I’m glad you mentioned that. You know how so many people in the Church are. No this. No that. But they’re old. They don’t understand that younger people are more liberal and to tell them that everything is bad is just going to end up driving them away.”
“Definitely.”
“So, anyway, me and some friends are having a get together on Friday night.”
“Friday?”
“Yeah. Everybody should be there by ten or eleven. You should come. I can give you directions and everything.”
His heart leaped around in his chest and felt like it pushed blood forcefully through all of his limbs. It made him think he might blow up. He couldn’t believe this was happening.
“That sounds great.” His voice sounded weird. His throat felt constricted. His face was probably red. He hoped he didn’t run them off the road.
“Just you, though, okay? It’s not at my house and I wouldn’t really feel comfortable extending the invitation to people I don’t really know.”
“Yeah, sure. No problem.” He wondered if that meant no Crank or no girlfriend. But she knew he didn’t have a girlfriend. No Crank. Either way it was fine with him. Crank. What day was Crank’s show? It didn’t matter. He’d seen Crank and his “band” play plenty of times. They’d probably still be practicing when he got there.
He drove deeper into the countryside, feeling really happy.
Sixteen
Doug got out of the car and Mindy told him she would see him Monday around five. Doug wanted to tell her that was too long to wait. He wanted her to say she would see him every day for the rest of their lives. She took off the helmet and tossed it into the back seat. Doug forced himself to look away as she sat behind the wheel and closed the door. He began walking over to where Chainsaw Enema was set up.
They didn’t really have an indoor practice space so they just ran extension cords out from Crank’s trailer. Amber was there, dancing around to the wild dissonance shooting from the amplifiers. Crank played his battered electric guitar furiously and without any recognizable chords or notes. The drummer, who went by the name Patrick Crayze, had his drum kit set up backward so he faced the trailer and away from the band. The keyboardist, Lurk, had passed out or something. The keyboard was off the stand but still turned on. Lurk’s head rested on random keys providing a constant and eerie wash of sound. None of the band members wore shirts. Stupid tattoos were as ubiquitous as empty beer cans. Crank’s mom held a hose and stood watering the side of the trailer. Doug felt like he had stumbled into recreation time at a mental institution.
As Doug drew closer, Crank stopped abusing his guitar. Patrick Crayze stopped drumming as soon as the guitar stopped. He reached to his right, grabbed a tall can of beer, and began chugging it. Crank moved over to Lurk and nudged his head off the keyboard. Amber continued dancing.
“You made it,” Crank said.
“You said there was something you wanted to talk about.”
Crank held a silencing finger over his lips. “Was that your driving coach?”
“Yeah.”
“Fuckin hot.”
“I guess so. We might be going out.”
“No way.”
“She invited me to a party she’s having on Friday.”
“Friday? That’s the show!”
“I might have to miss it.”
“I don’t blame you. For a piece of that?”
“She didn’t invite me over for intercourse. It’s just a get together she’s having at a friend’s house.”
Crank laughed. “They’ll probably all pull their pussies out and shit.”
Why would he say something like that?
Crank playfully punched him on the shoulder. “Trust me. Girls like that love to fuck. Know why? Cause they have awesome bodies. They know they’re not going to look like that forever so they have to show it off as much as they can. I think Amber over there’s already fucked every guy in the high school.”
“High school?”
“Middle school. Whatever. Don’t know what grade she’s in.”
Patrick Crayze crunched the beer can, tossed it off into the yard, hunched over and vomited. He woozily stood up.
“Hey!” he called like he was really far away even though it was only a few feet.
“What!” Crank barked at him.
“You got any more of those pills?”
Crank’s mom turned the hose on Patrick and began watering him with a blank expression.
“They’re in my drawer. Don’t touch the weed.” Crank scratched at the hair that was still taped to his arm.
Amber followed Patrick into the house. Crank’s mom said she was going to the store and began walking toward the gravel road.
“By store she means bar,” Crank said.
“She goes on foot?”
“Probably left her car there or somebody brought her home last night.”
The thought of anyone bringing Crank’s mom home gave Doug hives.
“Let’s grab some chairs.”
Doug followed Crank around the trailer. By chairs Crank meant industrial spools that had once contained wiring or something. They looked like they belonged on a pirate ship.
“What’s up?” Doug asked.
“Freaky things.”
Doug heard something he thought was a dog and realized it was Amber inside the trailer.
“Like what kind of freaky things?”
“Like, I don’t know, satanic kinds of freaky things.”
“You’ll have to be more specific.”
Crank told him about what had happened at Chloe’s yesterday. In the interim, Amber had stopped barking. Now he was pretty sure she and Patrick were yelling at each other. Or the TV was up really loud. It was hot. Now that it was getting near dark, the humidity was alive. Doug wished he could pull his shirt off too. But he could never do that.
“So you think you saw the devil?” he asked.
“I’m pretty sure, yeah.”
“And it was some frat guy named Daniel?”
“Yeah. That’s right.”
“And you’re sure you weren’t hallucinating?”
“That’s where I don’t really know. I talked to Chloe afterwards and she seemed fine except that this guy had totally roped her in. Which isn’t really like her and it made me scared, man.”
“But you don’t even believe in God.”
“It makes a lot more sense to believe in Satan, if you think about it. There’s a lot more evil than good in the world.”
“There’s a lot of wickedness. But if you strip away the wickedness, I think you’d find that most people are good.”
“I don’t know, man. Most people I know just want to get high and fuck. Is that good or evil?”
“That is wickedn
ess. So many problems arise from those things. Most of the conflicts you have... the acts themselves may not be wicked, but the aftermath can be. It’s only evil if you do something with the intention of hurting someone.”
“Why can’t I be more like you, Doug?”
This shocked Doug.
“I mean, do you really believe in all that stuff? God and Satan? Heaven and Hell?”
“It’s all in the Bible. It’s what Pastor Larsta talks about every Sunday and Wednesday. Are you interested in going with me sometime? Tomorrow maybe?”
“Nah. I can’t go tomorrow. It’s too early. Maybe Wednesday though.”
Doug paused and looked at the ground. Processing.
“What?” Crank said. “You don’t want me around any of your churchy friends?”
“It’s not that. You’re my best friend. You know I’d love it if you came to church with me. But, if you come, I want you to be serious about it. Pay attention. No mocking. Don’t show up drunk or high. Come with an open mind.”
“I always come with an open mind.” He smiled and playfully tapped Doug on the shoulder.
The door to the trailer slammed shut. Amber came barreling around the corner. It looked like she had vomit on her shirt. She smelled like vomit.
“Your friend is an asshole!”
“So?” Crank said.
“Fuck you.” She spit at him and then stamped off toward the road. Lost another one, Doug thought. This doesn’t seem to be any place for women.
“Shit. I need to get drunk. Want one?”
Doug thought about it. Crank had agreed to come to church with him. It seemed like he should celebrate this miracle. He thought about what Mindy said about how it was natural for younger people to be more liberal and it didn’t make them any less religious. And she was a member of the Tabernacle. Practically a nun. One of the chosen. He didn’t want to stop thinking about Mindy. “Sure,” he said.
Darkness came slowly. Patrick Crayze loaded Lurk up into a primer black car. Crank started a fire even though it was so hot out the extra heat just seemed to add a layer of misery. They sat around the fire, drank beers, and talked and laughed just like they used to. Doug stopped lamenting or wondering after the fact they had drifted so far apart ideologically while remaining so geographically close. Before the extreme drunkenness set in, Doug was having a very good time. Then he found it impossible to think or hold his eyes open. He was put into a car and taken home and walked up to his room.
As he lay in the darkness, the room spinning around him, he thought he heard howling and growling and possibly chanting. He dreamed of fire.
Seventeen
There was a knock at the door.
The house was so small, Amanda Winthrop only had to walk a few steps to reach it. People had been stopping by to drop all kinds of things off the last few days. Usually food. Mostly cakes and really fattening things. She left most of them sitting on the counter. Maybe people would eat them at the post-funeral gorge fest. The funeral was tomorrow afternoon. She’d be happier when it was all over.
She opened the door.
A familiar face stared back at her. It was familiar but out of context. When it finally hit her who the striking man was, her knees nearly buckled.
“Amanda Winthrop?” He held out a bouquet of roses.
It was Lawrence Kansas, star of Johnny Got His Gun: The Series. It was a dreadful television show consisting of a man, played by Lawrence Kansas, lying in bed and hysterically shouting as they removed parts of his body, alternating with nostalgic flashbacks and surreal dream sequences. She didn’t really like the show but she enjoyed watching Kansas. He looked different standing up. He looked different with arms and legs.
“Lawrence Kansas? Why would you be here?”
“I heard you were going through a rough patch.”
“Well, yes, my husband died but this is... quite a surprise.”
She took the flowers and, for just a moment, thought she saw his blue irises turn the color of fire.
“I’d better get some water for these.”
“May I come in?”
Behind him, the insects chirped. The thick air seemed filled with perfume.
“Of course.”
She turned and crossed the small room into the kitchen. She filled a glass with cold water, tore the rubberbanded cellophane from the roses, and put them in the glass. Kansas’s appearance was quite a mystery. She couldn’t wait to get to the bottom of it.
When she re-entered the living room, Kansas stood in the middle of it. He was naked. He held his penis with his right hand, stroking it slowly.
“Mr. Kansas! My mother’s asleep in the other room. She’s very sick. My husband just died.”
He waved her complaints away. “I’m aware of all these things. It sounds like this,” he brandished his member at her, “is something you could really use.”
She knew there wasn’t a need to argue with him. Her sex had begun to moisten as soon as she saw him standing there. She hadn’t had sex with Perry in six months. Since they’d been married, she’d had sex with three other guys. Just drunken one night stands but still... she didn’t think the grieving widow routine was any reason to pass on this opportunity.
She crossed the room and kneeled at the altar of his cock. She had never been this worked up before. It was nearly otherworldly. She took him into her mouth. He removed her clothes savagely. She apologized for being unbathed and stubbly. He went down on her anyway, his tongue snaking her insides, disappearing up her asshole. Things became disconnected and fragmented. When he entered her, she thought she was going to break open. They moved into as many positions as possible, staying in one until her muscles quivered. It seemed to go on and on until the house was finally dark. Eventually she had come so many times her vagina had gone dry. Then he pulled out and finished in her mouth, fingertips clamped on her nipples. His come tasted like blood and sulfur.
He held her and whispered strange things in her ear. They moved into her mother’s room. He asked Amanda if she thought the old lady wanted it too. She didn’t know how to respond. Things were dark and hazy. The room swirled around her. He crawled up on the bed, between her mother’s legs. Amanda could still taste him at the back of her throat. She spread his ass and began licking while he pumped away at her mother.
She blacked out.
Came to at her mother’s bedside. Kansas had opened up her arm and was drinking the blood. He offered the arm to Amanda. She accepted. Drank. Vomited. Drank some more. Told herself it was like drinking wine.
Then, in deep night, she had a vision of Lawrence Kansas, flush with sex and her mother’s blood, dancing around the house, eating all the condolence food, sprouting horns and hooves and a tail, entertaining three more women, girls who couldn’t have been far from their teenage years.
And then Amanda had staggered outside, naked and sore but feeling so alive. She collapsed on the dewy grass and remained there until Kansas came to retrieve her and place her in the bed next to her now dead mother.
Amanda woke up the next morning and screamed until she realized her life was now perfect. She couldn’t help but feel like she owed somebody for that.
Sunday, June 1 5th
Eighteen
Later that morning, Amanda awoke again. This time to the ringing of the phone. She was in her mother’s bed, which was odd. It triggered some memory but the ringing of the phone kept her from dwelling on it. Her mother wasn’t in the bed. The old woman was basically immobile and the first tendril of panic ran down Amanda’s spine.
Standing in the living room, she picked up the phone, already scouting the house for her mother.
“Hello?”
“Ms. Winthrop?”
“Yes?”
“You’ve undoubtedly noticed the absence of your mother.”
“Yes.”
Her mother was dead. She knew this without asking. She remembered waking up next to the corpse. But she had been so elated she had gone back to sleep.
&nb
sp; “I want you to know that it’s being taken care of.”
“Who is this? What’s being taken care of?”
Now Amanda stood in her bedroom, inspecting her naked body in the full-length mirror. Scratches and bruises and blood everywhere.
“I’m sorry. This is Bob Beals from Beals Funeral Home. I was calling to let you know that we have your mother here. The arrangements have all been taken care of.”
“Who...? ”
“A Mr. Lawrence Kansas. You keep some very high class company.”
Amanda’s head was spinning. She tried to make sense of anything. She was sore all over: her rear, her vagina, her jaws, arms, legs, stomach. Even her tongue was sore.
“I was simply wondering if you would like to combine her funeral with Perry’s.”
It all seemed so unconventional. Who had called them? When had they come to retrieve the body?
“I’m well aware of how much turmoil a funeral can cause. I thought maybe this would be easier than turning around and having another funeral for a loved one in two days.”
She didn’t know what to say. She quickly scanned her mind and tried to think of people to invite. She couldn’t think of anyone she hadn’t already notified regarding Perry’s death.
“That’s... fine. Thank you, Mr. Beals.”
“Please, call me Bob. The schedule will remain the same so you have nothing to worry about. As I mentioned before. Everything’s been taken care of.”
“I... I don’t know what to say.”
“You don’t have to say anything.”
So she didn’t say anything. Beals continued to breathe on the other end of the line.
“Thanks again, Mr... Bob. I’ll see you at the funeral.”
“Certainly, Ms. Winthrop and, I was wondering, since you’re single and free of responsibility now, perhaps you’d like to go to dinner some time?”
Amanda’s brow creased. That didn’t seem like an appropriate question. She couldn’t even recall what Bob Beals looked like, even though she knew she’d seen him before. But he was being very nice and, as she slumped down on the cool lid of the toilet, she had a vision of him over top of her, clutching her legs beneath the knees and shoving them up over her head, spreading her apart, ramming into her, filling her.
Satanic Summer Page 6