Nicolas looked at Pauline’s corpse.
And pressed his teeth together. Hard.
He remembered standing at Pauline’s cage, standing––with a bottle of formula in one hand and a bag of chocolate-chip cookies, of all things, in the other. The cookies were for her, a gift. Each of his babies were getting an entire bag of cookies––not the cheap kind, the expensive kind, with chocolaty chunks––so they’d know how much he cared for them, how much he loved them, how much he needed them. And Pauline, that ungrateful bitch, that selfish cunt, that evil witch––she looked up from her cage, crying like a child. She said, “This is hell. I’m living in hell and you’re the reason. I hate you.”
Ten minutes later she was dead.
“Pauline deserved it,” Nicolas whispered. “She deserved what she got.”
Beth didn’t hear his words. She said, “I can’t get in there,” speaking honestly, looking in the trunk. She wasn’t being difficult, only truthful. “I can’t lie next to that thing.”
“You can and you will.” Nicolas stepped away from Beth and pointed the gun at William’s neck. “And that’s not a thing. It’s Pauline Stupid-head. Now listen up a minute, ‘cause I’m going make things very easy for you. Are you listening? You still with me? Yes? Good. Now pay attention, Big Beth. This is important. If you don’t crawl into that fucking trunk I’m going to blow Dead Man’s head clean off his body. I’m not going to shoot him in the head. Oh no. Do you see where I’m pointing the barrels? Do you? Look at me, you fat fucking swine. LOOK! Can you guess where the shells are going to end up? Can you? Just in case your sense of projection is a bit rough around the edges, let me enlighten you. The shells are going to come out of the gun barrel at a speed of about eight hundred feet per second; expanding as they move, getting wider than the barrels they travel through. Did you know that they do that? They do. And they’re going to enter the back of his neck, see? And let me tell you… they’re going to make GREAT BIG HOLES on the way in. They’re going to make really big fucking holes. And then they’re going to come out on the other side of his neck, see? They’re going to come out even bigger. That’s where his throat is, by the way… lest you didn’t know. Follow me? They’re going to go in BIG and come out BIGGER! His throat, keep in mind, is really important. Without a throat breathing gets tougher than shit.”
“Okay,” Beth said.
“Oh no, it’s not okay. You just listen to me, Big Beth, because it’s not okay. Don’t say things are okay if you don’t really believe it. And you don’t, I can tell. But listen a minute: his head is going to pop off his body, see? It’s going to pop off and roll across the street. It’ll be like when you get together with your friends on New Years Eve, you know? Somebody has a problem and somebody doesn’t. Somebody kisses somebody and somebody cries. Somebody lost twenty pounds and looks great, while somebody else gained twenty and looks like a sack of donkey shit. Somebody sneaks into a bathroom room and gets a hand-job from a drunken slut that’s high on coke and wearing too much make-up, and somebody pulls out the champagne, sticks his thumbs beneath the cork, and pops it off. And the cork is a little too small for the bottle. Did you ever notice that? Huh? Did you? It’s kind of like gunpowder being a little too explosive for the shells, and the shells being too volatile for the shotgun. Right? Am I right? Of course I’m right. It’s the same thing, Beth. That’s what I’m trying to say, you fucking cow. It’s the same fucking thing. This asshole’s head is going to pop off of his body and it’s going to roll across the road like a cork from a bottle on New Years Eve. You see that van there, the one with the lights on and the carcasses inside it? That’s where the head is going. It’ll probably get stuck beneath the door or something.”
Beth said, “I’ll get in.”
“You’ll get in?”
“Yes. Just don’t pull the trigger again. Please, don’t shoot William.”
“There is no William here, Big Beth. Just Dead Man… Dead Man Walking. So get in the fucking trunk and get comfortable and have a nice time and I won’t make Dead Man’s head pop off his body and roll across the road like a champagne cork. Deal?”
“Yeah. Okay. Whatever you want.”
“Well… get in then. Go on. Pauline is waiting. I haven’t got all day. What do I look like, an idiot? Get in the fucking trunk.”
Beth crawled into the trunk and forced herself into a laying position, facing away from Pauline’s black and green withered skin. She was about to say something about there not being enough room for two bodies when Nicolas slammed the trunk down, smashing it off her head and shoulder.
She was right. There wasn’t enough room and the lock didn’t catch. So Nicolas slammed the trunk twice more before he put all his weight into it. Finally the latch clicked and the trunk locked.
Beth was squished. She couldn’t move much of anything, just her hands and feet, and those appendages weren’t moving far. Worse than that, the smell was enough to make her stomach churn.
“All right, Dead Man Walking,” Nicolas said. “Get up.”
William stood.
Nicolas put his index finger to his lips, making the universally recognized sign for ‘shut up.’ He whispered, “Be quiet, okay?”
William nodded.
Suddenly Nicolas shouted: “I’M GOING TO KILL YOU! HERE I GO! ONE, TWO, THREE!” He pumped the chamber, fired into the trees and pumped the chamber again. He had a grin from ear to ear.
William flinched at the sound.
From inside the trunk, Beth screamed, “NOOOOOO!”
“That’s so funny,” Nicolas said, smiling comically. “Honestly. She probably thinks I shot you. Damn. She is going to be so surprised. But she’ll be surprised in a good way, don’t you think? In a good way.”
William couldn’t believe his ears. This guy was Loony-toons.
After shaking his head in disbelief, he swallowed back his anger and tried to make the most of the moment incorporating Beth’s strategy. He didn’t like being called ‘Dead Man Walking,’ and was hoping to change that.
He said, “I’m really sorry we got off on the wrong foot, sir. No hard feelings.”
Nicolas looked him in the eye. “Really?”
“Yes sir. Really.”
“Well that’s great. Just great. Maybe you and I can be drinking buddies, is that it? Maybe we can go to picnics and barbeques and strip joints together. Eat some burgers and lick some pussy; sound good? Let me think about it, because I’ve got to be honest with you. We’ve had a rough beginning. I think people call that getting off on the wrong foot. Oh wait, that’s what you said, of course. But you know, here’s something… maybe you can gnaw on this one while I mind-hump your intelligence. I don’t like getting off on the wrong foot. I enjoy getting off on the right foot, you hear me? Are you feeling me brother? Are you? The right foot. You see––I’d like you to do me a favor. Can ya do that, you fucking asshole? Can you do me a solid, brother?”
William nodded. “Yes sir. I can do whatever you’d like me to do.”
“Now that’s more like it. Look at you. You aren’t so bad. You’re coming around. You might have a future yet.”
Nicolas smiled a very odd smile and held it on his face far too long. The shotgun never wavered, never moved.
If William didn’t know better he’d think an alien laid eggs in Nicolas’ brain. He considered saying something but didn’t want to chance it; the guy was crazy.
Finally Nicolas dropped the smile and raised the tone of his voice up a notch. “Can you drive me home? It would mean a lot to me. I live right around the corner and I don’t feel like driving. Do you ever get like that? I do. There’s a road called Stone Crescent. It’s nice. Its got lots of trees and a couple of cabins and there’s this one little spot where somebody puts firewood next to a sign that says FREE FIREWOOD and I was wondering if you’d be kind enough to drive me home.”
William nodded. “Sure. I can do that for you.”
“Okay then. Get in the car.”
Willia
m walked to the car, opened the driver’s door and said, “You want me to sit here, right?”
“Yes. Of course I do. That’s the place the driver sits. You’re the driver. Get in. Sit down. Put your feet up. Make yourself comfortable.”
William got in, sat down and… there was a squirrel torso on the dash.
Seeing it made Will’s stomach turn and his body break out in a new layer of sweat. Instinctively he turned away from the animal. Now he was looking at the minivan. The engine was still running. The headlights were lighting up the gravel. He could see the mess inside the vehicle a little, but thankfully, the interior lights weren’t on so he couldn’t see the explicit details.
From inside the trunk, Beth released a long scream.
This was bad, very, very bad. William needed to do something, but what?
Nicolas opened the passenger door and sat down. He had the loaded shotgun pointed at William’s head. He lowered it to body level, and said, “Lift your arms.”
William lifted both elbows, grabbing the steering wheel as he did so.
Nicolas pushed the double barrel against his ribcage.
“You might think you’re fast,” Nicolas said. “But you’re not that fast. I’m pulling the trigger right now, you know. It’s about eighty percent pulled. If you do anything at all the other twenty percent will pull itself. And I’m not sure if you noticed this but the barrels are actually behind you some. You won’t be able to push the gun forward is what I’m trying to say. Only push it back, towards the seat. In which case the double barrel will bounce off the fabric and I’ll pull the trigger and most of your spine will blast right out that fucking door. You might want to think about that. I know I would.”
“I will.”
“I’m glad to hear it. Don’t try any funny stuff. The keys are hanging from the ignition. This car’s an automatic so driving ought to be nice and easy for you. Start the car and turn this puppy around.”
William did what he was told: he got the car moving and within three minutes they were pulling off Stone Path Road and onto Stone Crescent. One minute later they were pulling up a long narrow driveway that weaved its way to a cabin. The cabin wasn’t perfect but it wasn’t Castle Frankenstein either. It was just a cabin, nothing special about it. A white van sat deep in the driveway; it looked about fifteen years old. There were a few tires leaning against the house, rusted cans stacked in a pile and a wooden shed with a lock on the door.
“Home sweet home,” Nicolas said, easing the shotgun from William’s ribcage the slightest amount.
William tried to smile but found he couldn’t do it. He was worried about Cameron, Beth, and himself. He wondered if he’d ever see his brother again, or home again.
The answer, unfortunately, was no.
His brother was dead. Soon he’d be dead too.
18
After Pat flicked the light switch on he put an arm over his eyes to keep the light from blinding him. The blinding sensation passed quickly, and when he moved his arm he instinctively looked towards the hole he had crawled through.
There was blood on the floor––his blood, he presumed. There was also a big meaty leg poking its way inside.
He stepped back.
Thoughts, questions and schemes came erratically.
I need to block the hole. Is that my blood? Of course it’s my blood. Who else would be bleeding? Am I alone? Is the creature going to break through the hole? How messed-up are my hands? They hurt so much. My shoulder hurts too. Maybe the creature is bleeding; it got shot, didn’t it? How long will this light stay on? Why is there power down here? What the hell is that thing, a giant spider? If I find a sharp stick, maybe I can stab it. But what’ll happen if I do that? Will it try to get in here? I guess it doesn’t matter. It already wants in here. I can’t believe I dug my way through the wall! I can’t believe I tore my fingernail off. Is it going to grow back? Are my hands gross looking?
Pat looked at his hands.
Yes. Beneath the plaster and dirt his hands were gross looking. There were no broken bones, thank God, but his hands had never looked so bad. In several places his muscles were bunched up like discarded towels in a locker room, the area around his knuckles had bulged into oddly shaped knots, and the skin around his fingertips had become mangled to a point of vulgarity. There were also dozens of deep pricks that were swollen and bleeding non-stop. Only one finger was missing a nail, but with every finger covered in blood and coated with plaster it didn’t look different then the others.
While he studied his hands, the creature moved its leg towards him.
He didn’t look at the leg, not yet. He was too enthralled with his wounds. He wondered if his hands would be permanently damaged or just temporarily injured. Assuming his injuries were fleeting, how long until his body healed? As a child he always recovered quickly; his mother often commented on it. But he was older now, not much older, but older.
Three weeks, he thought. Maybe less?
From the corner of his eye he saw the limb sliding across the floor. Gunshots blasted and the leg zipped out of the hole, grazing the strapping. In spite of his pain, Pat smiled a big goofy smile. He knew what was happening: someone was firing a weapon, trying to save him. Best of all, it seemed to be working. The creature was leaving with a new objective, one that didn’t include him.
I’ll get through this yet, he thought, turning away from the hole. Oh yes I will.
More shots were fired.
He noticed a door that looked like all the rest. He walked towards it, put a hand upon the knob and opened the door.
19
Nicolas said, “Get out of the car, do it slowly and don’t make any sudden moves.”
William felt like crying. He needed something to happen, something good. Hopefully he hadn’t missed his chance to turn the situation around. It would be a shame it he had.
He said, “Should I leave the keys in the ignition?”
“No. Turn the car off and take the keychain with you. Once you’re outside you should approach the front door. Don’t bother running away, I’ll only shoot you down.”
Will removed the keys, opened the door and stepped out of the car. He slammed the door shut harder than he intended, glimpsed at the squirrel torso and made his way to the cabin, following a cobblestone path that was rather nice.
Nicolas tagged along at a safe distance. He said, “Check the door, will you? It might be open. Sometimes I forget to lock it.”
William checked. The door wouldn’t open. “Locked,” he said.
“That’s alright. We can get through this, no problem. By the way, you might want to remember that Big Beth is still in the trunk. So if you’re going to play hero––and fail––I’ll punish her for your actions. That’s the way I do business. I’ll chop her into a thousand pieces and fertilize my lawn with her. When I’m done I’ll blame you.”
“I understand.”
“The key for the front door is in your hand. It has a blue casing. Find the key. Open the door.”
William found the appropriate key and opened the door.
He expected the place to look like a scene from The Texas Chainsaw Massacre. He figured there’d be bones in the corners and chickens carcasses strung up on hooks. He expected blood splashed on every wall, an upside cross hanging above a pentagram, and a goat skull with flames shooting from its nostrils. He expected Satan to step through the gates of hell with a huge, red cape blowing wildly against his pitchfork, singing ‘Hell Ain’t a Bad Place to Be’ by AC/DC while blood poured from his eyes.
He was wrong.
The place was nice, clean. The furniture was old but well maintained. The walls may have benefited from a fresh coat of paint and new baseboards but the same could be said for his place. The fireplace looked like it could use a scrubbing but whose didn’t? Bottom line, the cabin looked normal.
“Sometimes I make messes,” Nicolas said, as if reading Will’s mind. “But mostly I clean messes. I like cleaning. A woman’s work is never
done and all that gopher-shit. Got to admit though, downstairs is a different story. I’ve got rats and mice, flies and cockroaches. I’ve got seventy-five loads of laundry that needs to be washed and babies that need feeding. The house has a foundation problem I don’t know how to fix, and I’ve got leaky pipes that get so cold in the wintertime, icicles hang from them like little fingers. Step inside and I’ll show you around. Put the keys on the table. If you try anything funny I’ll blast your arms off, scoop out your eyes and bury you in the yard.”
A table sat below a mirror in the front hall. William placed the keys on it and kept walking. He needed to do something. He needed to fight back somehow, but every time he considered fighting the psychopath painted a picture of violence. He didn’t want his arms blown off and his eyes scooped out. He wanted to go home, eat ice cream and watch television. He wanted to find a wife and start a family. He wanted to be free of this nightmare and think happy thoughts.
He decided to open the lines of communication. He said, “Hey, do you think––”
Nicolas interrupted. “Shut up Dead Man. Next to the kitchen, there’s a staircase. See it? It leads to the basement. Go there. I’d like to show you the basement, if you don’t mind.”
Will stopped walking; his shoulders slumped. “What do you want from me?”
It was the wrong thing to say, of course. Nicolas knew it; William knew it too. But going into the basement wasn’t a good move and if William could stall awhile he might come up with a plan.
Nicolas said, “We were getting along so well, remember? You told me you’d do anything I wanted, right? Yes or no: did you say that?”
Terror Town Page 17