Andy Deane

by The Sticks (epub)

  "Come on now, Brian, get your ass out of there. What in the hell are you doing? Y'all been drinkin' or somethin'?"

  "If I open this door you damn well better listen to me because soon it's going to be too late for talking!" I called through the glass.

  "Alright already, we'll figure something out. But you sure you're not on drugs or something, pal? Because I ain't going to call the police on you or nothin' like that. We can work this out. It's gonna be okay."

  "I'm not on drugs and I'm not fucking around. You need to get yourself and those three assholes back here right now. And bring a weapon if you have one, because this thing won't be easy to stop once it gets here."

  "It's cool, man. Just let me come back there and talk to you for a minute, and then we'll start getting ready for this monster of yours. Just calm down, pal."

  "Damn it, Bart, you're not listening to me!"

  There was a loud crash as the werewolf burst through the front door of the diner.

  The guys at the bar looked like they were going to shit themselves, and judging by the looks on their faces, I don't doubt for a second that they actually did.

  The werewolf went through the room like a tornado. Tweety got it first. Before he could even stand up the creature had grabbed his head and ripped through his throat with its massive claws. The oversized body dropped to the floor like a bag of jelly, and the beast tossed the head at the wall behind the bar where it bounced to the floor. Blood flowed from Tweety's headless torso in a stream, forming a pool near the bar.

  Krokus had picked up a bar stool and was swinging it back and forth at the beast like some sort of low-rent lion tamer. His sad attempt at defending himself didn't even buy him an extra ten seconds of living. The monster came forward without the slightest hint of fear in its eyes. Krokus landed a full blow to the creature's chest, which sent the four barstool legs flying in different directions, but the guy would have been just as effective had he stood still and accepted his fate. The werewolf lunged forward and clamped its teeth onto his throat. With a side-to-side swing of its jaw, it sprayed blood back and forth like the Devil's sprinkler until Krokus hung limp and bleeding from the monster's jaws. The werewolf released the thin, dead man, and he fell to the floor beside his dead friend.

  After seeing his two comrades slain, Baldy didn't waste any time trying to fight. He just fell to the floor and curled into a ball against the bar. Maybe he thought the werewolf would ignore him if he didn't struggle, the way people always say you should play dead if a bear comes after you. Well, apparently, werewolves and bears are two very different creatures. Threat or no threat, the beast wasn't going to leave anything alive in that room. It thrust its claws into Baldy's back, made a fist around the center of his spine then picked him up like a six pack of beer and repeatedly slammed him to the floor. Baldy only screamed on the first drop. He lifted his head and made eye contact with me as his spinal column continued to crack and snap on the second and third drops. Then his head hung limp like a blood-soaked paper towel. After four or five more crashes to the floor, the beast stopped toying with the corpse and turned its attention toward Bart, who was cowering behind the bar, a look of horror and shock stretched tightly over his features. He pulled an oversized wrench from beneath the counter and started swinging it with reckless abandon as the beast came closer. He managed to hit it in the arm, but the blow did nothing to slow the creature. The werewolf threw a clawed fist forward which opened Bart's chest with a series of gashes.

  Blood sprayed on the pane of glass Jess and I were looking through.

  Bart's eyes turned our way, wide open and filled with anguish.

  We watched him die through a thin film of his own blood.

  The massacre happened in the blink of an eye. It seemed to start and end in the same moment. The creature was the most efficient killing machine I'd ever seen. Jess and I were in shock, and the world had become hard to maneuver through. It was like being stuck in a nightmare where your legs just won't do what you're telling them to.

  The beast lifted its head to the ceiling and let out a roar that froze my spine. I jumped into action, grabbing Jess and heading toward the back of the storage room. The creature pounded hard on the door, and after a couple of hits the sound of breaking glass filled the room. The werewolf continued to smash away at the wood as we searched for a rear exit. I kept my eyes open for anything we might use as a weapon in case the gun didn't finish the job, but there was nothing in the back room that was worth a damn.

  I wasn't feeling much in the way of hope at that moment. Going outside was the last thing I wanted to do, but it was the only option we had. We stumbled through the crowded storage room until we found a door, and soon were out in the cool September air, once again panting for breath and trying to gather strength in our legs.

  As we darted around the side of the building and toward the road, we felt the touch of hope. Maybe fifty yards in the distance a pair of bright headlights came down the road toward us. Salvation on wheels.

  Jess and I waved our arms and called out until the headlights became a little red Ford Escort. It slowed down when the driver, a sixty-something balding man wearing bifocals, was close enough to see our faces. The man rolled his window down far enough to talk to us, but I could tell he wasn't too thrilled about the idea of letting us get near his car.

  "You kids in some kind of trouble?"

  "Yeah, we need to get to town as fast as you can get us there!" I realized I was shouting as Jess and I started moving toward the car.

  "Wait a minute, I?you, tell me what's going on. I'm not going to just let you in my car. Lots of crazies out there, you know!"

  There was no time to waste with this guy, so I pulled my gun and leveled it at his face. "We need a ride and you'll be giving us one, OK?"

  He let out a small cry and put his hands on either side of his head.

  I thought I'd scared him.

  Until the werewolf exploded from the front door of The Cavalier.

  Jess and I ran back to the side of the building, lucky that the werewolf went after the driver instead of us. If you can call such a thing lucky.

  The old guy in the car whipped his head around to see what had caused the ruckus behind him. He screamed like a schoolgirl caught in a meat grinder when he got an eyeful of what was closing in on him.

  The driver stomped the gas and swerved hard to the opposite side of the road where he promptly hit a telephone pole that stopped him dead in his tracks. The car's engine died, and the man inside immediately turned the key in the ignition to get it going again. I was surprised by how fast the engine turned over, but none of that would matter in the end.

  The beast pounced on the car. It was on the hood by the time the poor guy kicked the car into reverse. The guy was really hammering the gas, but the car wouldn't move. The tires spun in place, kicking up gravel as the beast fired an arm through the front windshield.

  His death scream filled the night.

  Sometimes, when it's quiet and my mind goes back to these things, I can still hear it.

  Jess and I were running out of options, and I had the distinct feeling that this night was going to be our last. But I hadn't totally given up. I still had two or three bullets in the gun and the closed nightclub next door. We ran over to The Shaft as the werewolf continued to toy with the dead body in the car.

  I told Jess to stand back. Then I covered myself with my leather jacket and dove through the glass door of The Shaft. I cut myself up pretty good, including a pretty deep gouge that ran from my elbow all the way up to my shoulder, but I wasn't bleeding badly enough to cause immediate concern. I motioned for Jess to follow me inside as I looked toward the beast. It had stopped destroying the corpse in the car and was staring intently at us, its yellow eyes glowing in the darkness.

  We ran inside. There was nothing else to do.

  CHAPTER 25

  The familiar piss and vomit smell filled my nostrils as Jess and I scanned the room for a place to hide. The only light w
ithin came from the yellow, dim emergency lights and the red glow from exit signs that hung around the room. Old smoke swam through the air, stinging my eyes and drying my throat. The cut on my arm had begun to throb, and my body was ready to collapse.

  Four barren, wooden walls made up the club, with a stage at the far end and a long, narrow bar to our left. The floor was sticky from spilt beers and thousands of wads of gum. The big, empty room was a deathtrap, and I knew Jess and I would be about as hard to hunt as a legless cow in a bathtub. There was no narrow corridor where I might lure the beast to make shooting it a little easier, and the creature would be hard to hit running full speed out in the open, especially with my arms trembling something terrible due to the open wound and my nerves.

  "Let's try the office." Jess pointed to a door that had a large Management Only sticker pasted on it surrounded by hundreds of stickers of band logos.

  We ran over to the door and tugged on the handle. It was locked, and the only way in would involve shooting the lock. But that would cost me at least one bullet, and that was one bullet too many. I decided I'd rather back into a corner and take my chances at shooting the thing as it charged us. But that would be a last resort. Jess and I continued to search the room as I tried to figure out just what the hell I was going to do next. The bathroom doors didn't lock and there were no windows in either of them. The only advantage there would be an easier shot at the wolf. I didn't know if two or three bullets would drop the bastard and didn't like the idea of finding out too late, but figured I might not have a choice in the matter.

  As I looked up, an idea started to form in my mind. I told Jessica to follow me, and we ran up onstage where the KISS cover band had been only a few short nights before.

  The wooden stage was covered with a vomit-stained carpet which had most likely never heard the sound of a vacuum in all its years of service. If someone soaked the thing in water and then wrung it out into a cup I believe the military would pay damn good money for the deadly toxin as a biological weapon. Two towers of black speakers rose ten feet high on either side of the stage. There were old guitar picks, broken guitar strings and splintered drumsticks all over the ground.

  "What the hell are we doing up here?" Jess asked with wild eyes. "You got us trapped!"

  My plan was a little harebrained, so I didn't want to let her know any more than she needed to. "Just trust me. We're gonna wait right here for that bastard to come through the front door. I want it to see us, and then I plan on taking care of our little werewolf problem once and for all."

  Jess started crying, and by now her mascara was streaked all the way down to her chin. "I don't want to die, Brian."

  "Girl, if I have anything to say about it we're going out for breakfast together tomorrow. Don't worry. This'll all be over soon." I wasn't sure my plan would work, but I did my best to feign confidence. I figured we had as good a chance of dying as we did living, but the one thing I was sure of was that I wouldn't let the werewolf turn us. If that thing managed to bite either one of us, I'd make sure we each ate a bullet.

  For all I knew, it was already too late for me.

  Jess put her arms around my waist, and I stood tall with my eyes glued to the front door of the club. One way or the other, this shit was going to end right here.

  Though I wasn't too keen on dying, if I was already infected, the main goal was to buy enough time for Jess to escape and make it back out to the road. If the werewolf was still busy with me, there was a chance that someone might drive by and see her before the beast could get to her.

  My thoughts were interrupted as the werewolf walked slowly on all fours through the smashed front door of the club. The beast's shadow stretched the length of the room and died at the foot of the stage. His eyes were like two bright yellow spotlights, and they never left mine. When he got to the middle of the dusty room, about twenty yards from us, he rose up on his back legs and roared in rage. The beast was being patient. It knew we had run out of options. It had cornered its prey.

  "Jeff, you don't have to do this," I called out, hoping there might be some last shred of humanity left within the monster that stood before us. But if it recognized my voice, it gave no indication. This thing was a killing machine?nothing more, nothing less?and it was here to do business.

  Jess fell to her knees beside me, crying and defeated. I placed my free hand on her shoulder and squeezed.

  The beast's eyes stayed glued to mine. The damn thing almost seemed to be smiling, savoring the moment and celebrating the well-earned kill to come.

  It snarled again and lunged toward us.

  I fired a single shot at the ceiling.

  The mirrors that made up the section of ceiling above the evil bastard shattered and split into countless glass shards that rained down on him in a steady stream. The sound was louder than anything I'd ever heard, and both Jess and I grabbed our heads in an attempt to block out the deafening, piercing clatter.

  The werewolf fell to the floor in a flailing heap. So much glass fell that at one point I couldn't see the monster beneath it at all. The beast screamed and thrashed around in circles, throwing shards of glass in an arc through the air. It seemed to take an eternity for the last sliver of glass to hit the ground. A heavy cloud of dust rose from the floor and took a minute or so to settle, but when it finally cleared I could see that the monster had been cut up badly and was losing a lot of blood.

  One long, jagged shard had pierced its neck and was still standing upright like a tombstone, having landed right around the scar Jeff always tried to hide with his awful turtlenecks. A river of blood ran from the wound, and the werewolf was breathing heavily and unevenly, its massive chest rising slowly and falling quickly time after time. It rolled onto its side and rested its eyes on us. I have to admit that I felt something akin to pity as it lay there bleeding in the mirrored glass.

  Jess cried out with relief and hugged my legs. I put my hand on the top of her head and rubbed the softness of her hair as she wept.

  "Is it going to die? Are we safe?"

  "I think so. I'm going to go make sure this thing never bothers us again."

  And then all my horror movie training came back to me. In the movies the monster always gets a second chance, no matter how much damage they've done or how many people they've killed, they always get one last shot at slaying the hero.

  Well fuck that.

  I stepped cautiously from the stage, glass crunching beneath my shoes, to where the creature lay writhing in pain in an ocean of its own blood.

  I stayed a few yards away from it, fearful it might rocket up from the floor and try to send me to an early grave. But it never rose again. The beast just looked at me with yellow eyes which were no more human now than before, though much softer around the edges. In a way, they could've even been described as beautiful. It was as if the hate and fury had exited the creature, leaving this vulnerable and slowly dying thing instead. But my sympathy for the creature wasn't sufficient to spare its life. I aimed my gun at its head and squeezed the trigger.

  I fired twice more. The trigger just clicked when I tried for a fourth.

  The beast was still.

  A page had turned for Jess and me.

  EPILOGUE

  A few years have passed since that whole werewolf episode took place, and I'm happy to say that no monsters have entered my life since. I've dealt with a good number of assholes since then, but no monsters. And I'll take assholes over monsters any day of the week. A lot of people lost their lives to Jeff, the werewolf, that year. And I take pride in knowing I'm the man who sent him to his grave.

  I never did turn myself, and I'm thankful for that. I guess a lot of the films I own have it all wrong. And I'm damn glad they do.

  Jess and I split up a few weeks after I killed the werewolf. I think we mostly broke things off because we reminded each other of the hell we'd endured that night. It wasn't easy saying goodbye to her, but we both knew it had to happen for our sanity. I don't know that I've ever felt
hurt the way I did when we separated. That girl had become a part of me as much as an arm or a leg, and I'd never loved so deeply in my life, and feared I might not ever again.

  We dealt with heaps of questions from the police for weeks after that night at The Cavalier and The Shaft, but never got in any trouble. Much as the authorities didn't want to believe us, they couldn't argue with two dead werewolf carcasses. Can't get much better evidence of innocence than that.

  The cops and the press pinned every last one of the grisly murders on Jeff. The fact that he was dead made covering up the truth pretty easy on the police, and I can definitely understand why they wanted it covered up. The folks in our little town of Jefferson weren't ready to handle the threat of a werewolf invasion.

  The creatures were never mentioned in the papers, but our names and a couple of bad pictures I had never seen before were used in a few articles that left more questions than answers for the public, but I think in the end most folks bought the cover story. Just the same, I still can't make a trip to the grocery store without folks whispering and staring.

  The cops raided Jeff's house the day after I killed him. They found the remains of seven people, including the missing pieces from the two people who lived beside Alicia's apartment. The cops found a closet full of multi-colored turtleneck sweaters at Jeff's place and the press made a huge deal out of it. They dubbed Jeff "The Turtleneck Slayer" in all the papers across the state, which I thought made his crimes seem a lot less serious.

  Not a day goes by that I don't think of Alicia. I'm still not one hundred percent positive that she's dead, though I wouldn't bet my paycheck that she's still alive. I have a damn strong feeling that I killed her, or at least the monster she'd become, but I'll never know for sure. I keep her necklace in my desk at home, and I don't think I'll ever get rid of it. I figure she's been reduced to the back of a filing cabinet reserved for unsolved cases down at the police station by now. It took me a bit of time to accept that I'd never find out the whole truth about what happened to her, but I guess that things rarely get wrapped up very neatly outside of fiction.