The Night Library

by T L Barrett

  “Poor thing. She’s always been so damn pale.” Pucci added. He put a hand on Aubrey’s shoulder. “Let’s go get her, shall we?” Aubrey watched as Gaynor slipped Aubrey’s phone into his own pocket and turned toward the parking lot. Aubrey walked with them, trying to convince himself that everything was going to be all right.

  Aubrey couldn’t see in the windows as they approached the car. John slipped out from the driver side and opened the back driver-side door.

  “Our little princess has had more than enough sun for one day, it seems. She thought you should see my ranch before you drove back home.” He motioned grandly for Aubrey to get in.

  “Oh, you’ll love the ranch. It has such amazing energy there,” Pucci said with enthusiasm as he got in the back passenger seat. Aubrey felt Gaynor’s presence behind him, forcing him toward the door. Aubrey ducked his head and scooted into the relative cold of the luxury sedan’s interior. He tried to lean forward to catch a glimpse of Zoe in the passenger seat. Her head, however, was slumped over toward the window. Her breath made a wheezing sound. Gaynor got into the car beside him and pushed Aubrey between the two broad shouldered men in the back.

  John got in the car, shutting the outside world away from them.

  “Oh, our princess is in quite a state. She can only take so much heat, you know.” He laid a paternal hand on Zoe’s head. He reached over and grabbed a metal thermos. “You really should try to drink something, sweet thing,” he said in an exaggerated Texan drawl. Zoe raised a shaking hand as if to wave him away. There was blood and black mascara on the hand.

  “Why don’t you just leave her with me? I won’t say anything,” Aubrey said, breathlessly. “I can just say that some random person-”

  “Young man, this little girl is in no state to go anywhere,” John said and gave him a steely look in the rear view mirror. “Besides, you can’t leave Texas, till you’ve been on a real god forsaken ranch, Aubrey. Everybody knows that.” He put the sedan in drive and rolled out between the rows of cars.

  “What kind of name is Aubrey, anyways?” Gaynor asked. “I thought that was a girl’s name.”

  “That’s because you are a first class idiot, Gaynor,” John said from the front seat. “Aubrey is a very old name, medieval, I think. It means ‘powerful elf ruler‘. Did you know that your name meant that, Aubrey?”

  Aubrey gave no answer. Thunder rumbled in the distance.

  ***

  They drove through an elaborate compound fence with rolled barbed wire on the way into the ranch. The security system was elaborate, Aubrey noted with dismay. The ranch was a mix of southwestern and southern gothic.

  “I’ll help little princess inside,” John said. “Why don’t the two of you show Aubrey to the ready room?” The two henchmen got out. Pucci took Aubrey’s arm and started to lead him to the ranch house.

  “We’ll show this cowboy a real hunt, shall we?”

  “But, Mac, I thought you shot the last boar on Tuesday.”

  “That’s right, I did,” John said, putting his hand to his chin.

  “Gaynor, why don’t you suit up? It’s time for Mr. Frosty to pay a visit.”

  “No, Mac, no way,” Pucci said from beside Aubrey.

  “What did you say?” John said, stepping close.

  “I just don’t think we need to do that. You know I don’t like-” John’s hand flashed out to make a resounding crack on Pucci’s face. The Italian fell back into the dust of the dooryard, holding his busted nose.

  “You don’t get paid to think, numb nuts,” John said. “Gaynor, get the wop and the kid inside the ready room. I’ll meet you there.

  The interior of the ranch house was spacious, dim and cool. Animal heads and horns festooned the dark walnut walls. Gaynor dragged Aubrey down a long hallway to the right of the entranceway and then turned left. At the end was a steel door with a bolt on the outside.

  “Just keep your head, fairy-boy, and your girlfriend may keep hers,” Gaynor said and pulled back the bolt. Aubrey’s mother’s voice rang in Aubrey’s head again and told him to hit the bastard with everything he had. His fist closed, but then uncurled. He was in a dark strange place, with no idea where John or Zoe was.

  Gaynor opened the door, switched on a light and shoved Aubrey through into a metal-walled room. Sliding doors opened from what must have been holding pens for animals. Benches ran the left wall. Metal lockers stood to the right. Pucci hesitated before entering.

  “Get in here, Pucci!” Gaynor ordered. “Don’t be a fag.” Pucci entered. “Put cuffs on the fairy-boy. I’ll get Mr. Frosty.” He threw Pucci a couple pairs of handcuffs. Pucci dropped one and grunted with pain as he bent for it. Gaynor went to one of the closets and started putting on hip-waders and large rubber gloves, like the ones firemen use. He also put on what looked like a fencing mask with chain male dropping over his shoulders and chest.

  “Don’t do this!” Aubrey pleaded with Pucci. “Help us, for Zoe’s sake, please.” Pucci frowned. A hateful look soured his face.

  “Just put on the cuffs,” Pucci said.

  “No fucking way!” Aubrey said. The door swung open. John stood in the door with a hunting rifle pointed at Aubrey.

  “Put on the fucking cuffs, Aubrey!” John said. Aubrey watched himself take the cuffs and put them around his own wrists.

  “Well, let’s see how old Mr. Frosty is doing today,” John said and nodded to Gaynor. Gaynor nodded and walked up to a large freezer with a lock on it. Fumbling for a while in the bulky gloves, he finally got the freezer unsealed and opened. He reached in and dragged out a zippered bag of black vinyl and laid it on the ground. Something from within the bag jumped. The whole bag shifted, and then the bag’s contents wiggled back and forth.

  Aubrey watched in horrified fascination as Pucci pushed his legs together and put the second pair of cuffs around his ankles. John pushed Aubrey over with the butt of the hunting rifle. Aubrey twisted to land on his side. Above them, thunder shook the world.

  Gaynor reached down, unzipped the quivering bag and then stepped far away. So did everyone else. Something pushed itself up from the inside of the bag.

  “Good evening, Mr. Frosty!” John said with gaiety. A shaggy head appeared from inside the bag. The head was attached to a livid neck. The skin separated in places leaving room for tendons to poke their way through. The head twisted around and a terrible face started into Aubrey’s own. Its eyes bulged from their sockets where the lids had either been cut away or had withered back, creating an eternal mad stare. The lips had receded as well. The nose hung in tatters on the moth-eaten face.

  The thing from the bag let out a hissing screech. Aubrey screamed in response. The thing jerked and fell hard against the floor. Mr. Frosty had shoulders, but his arms had been chopped away leaving little nubs of bone. From the shoulders like an obscene tale, the spine followed, the rudiments of back muscles bunching, causing the creature to inch forward.

  Aubrey squirmed away trying to roll from the thing. A boot came down from above. Gaynor looked down from his mesh mask, pinning Aubrey in place. Like an obscene snake, Mr. Frosty whipped his back bone about, rattling the vertebrae against the floor. It eyed Aubrey with obscene hunger as it came. This thing could not be moving, could not live, and yet its face was animated with great tension and anticipation as it squirmed closer.

  “Mr. Frosty here is quite a development. I do believe he is one of a kind. Bought him off someone near a base in New Mexico. He’s your tax dollars at work!” John shouted over the hissing thing.

  “Please, don’t. Please! Get it away from me!” Aubrey screamed. Then with one great lurch Mr. Frosty was on him. Its teeth bit deep into Aubrey’s bare arm, sinking into the flesh and muscle. Aubrey screamed a high note of pain.

  “That’s enough, Gaynor,” John ordered. Gaynor lifted a boot and kicked Mr. Frosty in the head. Mr. Frosty clung onto the flesh. Aubrey screamed, breathlessly. “Careful with the merchandise, you idiot!” John screamed. Gaynor came around and lowered a
baton of some type against the head of the creature. A crackling sound emerged and a bolt of electricity ran through the creature and into Aubrey. Aubrey’s back curved from the shock. The creature fell away, a look of terror on its face. It shirked and squiggled from Gaynor.

  “Back in the bag, like a good Mr. Frosty,” Gaynor’s muffled voice came from behind the mask. The creature slithered into the bag. Gaynor shocked it for good measure and zipped it up.

  “Give me a hand, Pucci.” Gaynor yelled. “He’s all zipped up!” The two struggled and lifted the thrashing bag back into the freezer.

  Aubrey was gasping, tears running down his cheeks. Something was happening to him. He tried to find a voice in his head, his mother’s, his father’s, but all he could hear was his own heart beat as it began to slow. Beyond the pain, a hunger rose up in his raw throat. Under a cold wave his heart beat slower and slower. His eyes closed.

  “Suit up, boys. We’re going zombie hunting!” was the last thing he heard.

  ***

  The modified golf cart jerked as it wound round the path. It felt like Zoe breathed through a broken straw. She had to close her eyes periodically, to relax enough to get air down where she needed it. Her eyes were swollen, and blood vessels had burst all over her face. She had caught sight of herself in a large antique mirror when she had awoken a second time inside the ranch house.

  At first she thought that night had come already, then she realized that the world had been cast dark from the great mass of clouds in the sky. Thunder shook. The first few drops of rain pattered down among the cottonwoods and feverbush. John drove, of course. The two henchmen rode silent in the back. A great oppressive tension saturated the air. Lightning flashed, followed immediately by a great crack of thunder. John ducked his head and laughed high and wild.

  “You’ll pay for this,” she said, her voice a strangled whisper.

  “What was that, princess?” John asked.

  “She said, ‘you’ll pay for this’” Gaynor answered.

  “You know, you’re right. I have no idea what kind of shit-storm is going to hit me in the face after the Dominicans don’t get their dope. You’ve caused me all kinds of trouble, you know?”

  “Where’s Aubrey?” she asked. Beyond the pain and the throbbing of her own head, she wanted to die. Asking this felt like asking for a pistol to end it all.

  “Oh, you’ll be seeing Aubrey any time now. He’s a very hungry boy. I am going to save you from him. He would have just eaten you up and spat you out, little goth-princess. I want you to see him for what he really is. This way you will know: never cross me again. Not unless you want to ride out here looking for your brother or maybe his little bastard?”

  “Holy shit, kiddy zombie hunting. That would be awesome!” Gaynor said.

  “Shut the fuck up, Gaynor!” John yelled. Just at that moment the thunder shook down on them again, and the world was lit up in blinding phosphorescence.

  “Fuck!” Pucci screamed from behind them. Zoe heard a struggle and a gun went off. The golf cart lurched to the side.

  Turning her head, in an agony of pain, she could see that Gaynor had been torn from his seat. There was a thrashing in the bushes and then stillness.

  John leapt from his seat and ran around the cart. Pucci pulled up his rifle and began firing wildly into the bushes. The sounds ripped into Zoe’s head and threatened to pull it apart. Looking down she saw the wet gleam of Gaynor’s gun where it had fallen in the high grass. She steeled herself and went to get it. Her body was lead, dipped in pain. She stumbled, fell, and wondered if she could get back up.

  “He’s on the left, now!” Pucci screamed and started firing wildly there. Zoe lifted herself and crawled to the gun. She cradled it against her lap. She turned it and held the stock against her trembling shoulder.

  “For fuck’s sake, quit firing, Pucci!” John yelled. Zoe hadn’t realized just how close he was. He was practically standing over her. She brought the gun up. The lightning flashed again, and Zoe narrowed her eyes. In the brief second, John looked down at her.

  She pulled the trigger. John’s face exploded back into darkness. His body fell heavily in the grass.

  Something tall, lean and bent moved past her. It scooted, head first. It was Aubrey.

  Aubrey let out an inhuman snarl, and Pucci screamed high. For a brief second Zoe remembered the time John and she had gotten wasted and had goaded the Italian into singing opera for them. Then there were wet crunching sounds.

  Zoe got to her feet, using the gun as a cane, and started to run in a hitching step up the path as the rain fell all around her. She passed through incredible darkness under the cottonwood leaves that whispered foully in the storm wind.

  She rose into a clearing on the high edge of the plateau that had made up most of John Mactaggert’s fenced-in hunting grounds. She turned around just as Aubrey came out of the trees.

  He walked toward her, his head lowered.

  “Don’t Aubrey, please!” she tried to say, but her voice cracked. She remembered the gun and pointed it at the shadowy figure.

  “You can’t eat me. You’re the only man that I have ever loved,” she wept.

  “I love you!” she let out in a strangled scream. Aubrey paused but twenty feet from her.

  The world lit with a great brilliance. A bolt of lightning crashed before Zoë. She fell against the ground and scrabbled, feeling the world spinning away. She caught her breath.

  She lifted herself up and looked over. Aubrey lay only feet from her. She could smell burnt metal, cloth and sneakers.

  “Aubrey?” she said wearily, hopelessly.

  Aubrey sucked in a great breath. He did so again, and again. These gasps evolved into a great sobbing. Zoe crawled to him on the slimy earth and placed a hand on his chest. The metal buttons of his cowboy shirt burned her. She tore at the shirt, bearing his chest to the rain. She put her hand there and felt his heart beating.

  Then she cradled him in her arms and they wept together; he weeping in the confusion of rebirth, she weeping in joy of it.

  Uncle Silas Sat around the Campfire

  Uncle Silas did not sit around the campfire. You needed others to sit around the damned campfire, but oh no, his little sis, Jesse, and her uptight dork for a husband, Karl, had seen to that.

  “What, are the kids too big for campfires, now?” Uncle Silas had asked of his nephew and nieces. Uncle Silas’s and Jesse’s sister, Stephanie, had gone on another bender, so Jesse and Karl had the twins for the summer as well as their own kids. This meant that Uncle Silas was looking golden, for once, but he didn’t care. This was too much!

  “We just think the twins have been through enough. Even our kids have had to make adjustments…” Jesse said, although, Uncle Silas wondered if it wasn’t really Karl talking through his dear old meat-puppet of a wife. He kept forgetting to check for the ventriloquist hole in his sister’s back. Maybe Karl did it by remote.

  Adjustments! They talked about their kids as if they were seamstresses on commission, for chrissakes!

  “Kids are kids. Kids make adjustments. That’s what they’re good for,” Uncle Silas explained. “What do you think we did being raised by Mom and Dad? We adjusted.”

  “Is that what your sister is doing?” Karl muttered, just passing through the kitchen for another glass of purified water. Uncle Silas had never seen someone drink so much damned water.

  “Touché, Karl,” Uncle Silas muttered back. Jesse flashed her husband an irritated look behind his back. Oh, yeah, he is irritating a bit, isn’t he, sis?

  “Si, your stories are just a little adult, we think.”

  “Adult? Adult? I mean, sis, I’m not giving them blow by blow descriptions of Debbie does Dallas!”

  “They are a bit gruesome. Chandler got in trouble repeating some of your stories at school.” Uncle Silas suppressed a smile. A good kid, that boy, but what a god damned name, poor little bastard.

  “And the girls have nightmares. They’re in bed with us for week
s after one of your… stories.”

  “Hey, what doesn’t kill us makes us stronger,” Uncle Silas pontificated.

  “Ugh, you sound like Dad,” Jesse said.

  “Take that back!” Uncle Silas demanded.

  “Besides, maybe someone has more productive ways of spending his time besides sitting around campfires…” Karl said over his shoulder while leaving the room, like a ninny coward.

  “What was that supposed to mean?” Uncle Silas asked, knowing damned well what that was supposed to mean.

  “You’ve lost three jobs in six months,” Jesse said, looking for escape routes out of the corner of her eyes.

  “Yeah, box store jobs. They don’t appreciate my creative flair, man! And what business is it of Karl’s? It’s not like I don’t have my own place. Look, I brought the s’mores makings and extra firewood, and I’m just saying we should have a fire, like old times.”