He leapt up from his seat, scurried across the boat and, his heart racing, grabbed the steering wheel. He yanked the throttle backward and spun the wheel to a sharp left to try to shake him off but to no avail. Instead the boat began to pick up speed, kicking up a larger torrent of waves that slapped against the side and doused him from head to toe.
He broke away from the wheel, raised the Colt in a two-fisted grip and gnashed his teeth together in a fit of rage when he caught movement from the corner of his eye. The creature’s alien shadow slid out from beneath the boat, swam toward a bank of trees standing along the shore and gathered itself into a giant dark ball. He saw the boathouse coming toward him at a rapid pace, then saw the front grille of his pickup truck glinting in the overhead glare of a street light before he realized where he was heading.
His stomach churning with fear, he ran back to the steering wheel and gripped it in both hands until his knuckles turned white. The boat struck land like a battering ram, the shriek of metal against metal scraping harshly over the rocks and tumbled over. He snatched a quick breath, tumbled over the railing and slammed face first onto the sand.
The impact squeezed the air out of his lungs and sent him into a loud and repetitive coughing fit. A thick gritty aftertaste filled his mouth; he felt something wriggling across his tongue and held back the sudden urge to vomit. He slapped his hand frantically across his face, brushing a large clump of wet brown sand from his cheeks when a loud trickling sound rose up on his left.
Something emerged in the corner of his right eye, drawing his full attention back toward the lake and not on its overturned pontoon. He didn’t want to believe what he was seeing but the pain tracing the contours of his ribs and the wet brown sand spread out beneath him told him differently.
A large black tentacle rose up out of the water, curled in on itself like a scorpion’s tail, cleaved through the air and struck the middle of the boat with an inhuman force that would’ve shattered all the great arenas in Rome. Roberson rolled onto his left hip, shielded his face with both hands, curled himself into a ball to avoid the mist of sharp debris flying across the shore and it rained down around him. The clatter of fallen debris rattled against the night as a thick brown fog spun in the breeze like some downward spiral dying to consume him.
Once the dust settled, he opened his eyes and sat up. A hulking gray form rose out of the water, baring down on him with bright yellow eyes that would’ve made the strongest of men weak with horror. His face frozen with shock, he pressed his hands into the cool brown sand until it seeped between his fingers and poured out over his knuckles.
Big Daddy stood eleven feet tall, covered with a dark scaly hide. He marched up the shore on two stubby alligator-like feet, his jaws bulging out from his round bony head. His left lip curled upward, exposing two misshapen rows of sharp pinkish-white teeth set inside rotten black gums. Long black tentacles expanded from its sides, rose three feet above his head and wriggled in the air like heat waves on a desert highway.
Like most local legends, he was the blur in the background of every photo taken by every small-town American during summer vacation. He didn’t sell tee-shirts, travel mugs or any other cheap touristy items like Loch Ness or Big Foot.
Roberson shook off the heat from the creature’s penetrating gaze, spun around on his stomach and scuttled across the shore. He was halfway to the cluster of rocks strewn below the parking lot when something whipped across the back of his knees; pain flared across his ankles and streaked up his calves. His legs slipping out from underneath him, he fell face first onto the sand and grunted at the ripples of pain bursting across his body.
He peered over his right shoulder and gasped at the tentacle wrapped around his right foot; a second looped around his left foot and jerked him away from the rocks. He rolled onto his back and slid across the sand toward the water, lashing at the air with wild frantic hands. His shirt slid up and over his ribs as his back cleaved a half-inch trail across the shore.
Wincing in pain, he saw something in the corner of his right eye–a black rubber grip jutting out of the sand. He gritted his teeth, muscles tightening with rage, and jerked his foot from Big Daddy’s painful grasp. He rose up on his knees, ignoring the monster’s guttural protest, yanked the machete free, leaped across the sand and drove the rusty blade between the monster’s breasts.
The creature arched its back, aiming its muscular dark chest at the clear moonlit sky, and gave a deep guttural growl. Its bright yellow eyes dilated as geysers of thick black blood pumped in the air and splattered across the tips of his boots. His muscles now guided by anger and revenge, he wrenched his right hand around the handle and pushed with all his might, forcing the blade deeper and deeper until the hilt touched the creature’s soft scaly flesh.
Hot tears blurred his vision and a mocking scream burst from his lips. A cold sensation caressed his left shoulder; the mad look of triumph on his face slumped into a mask of sad panic.
The gaze in Big Daddy’s eyes spread a river of fire across Roberson’s chest as the tentacle whipped at the air and wrapped around his neck. He tried to pull the blade free, the muscles in his arms straining, but it failed to budge. Sirens howled from a distance, slicing at the once eerie but silent night.
The numb sensation of dying washed over him; his eyelids grew weak and heavy. He tugged on the machete again, his breath pluming from his lips in a soft wheezing moan. His legs trembling, he sunk toward the sand on wobbly knees.
He stared up at the smug cuticle-white grin spreading across its face and felt a sudden surge of energy rising up inside of him, speeding through his veins like a meth-fueled locomotive. Its suction-cup grips pressed down against his throat, sending small beads of water sliding down his right arm.
If it was meant to be, then so be it.
He shifted his weight, rose up from the sand, draped his left arm around the creature’s neck and propelled them forward. The creature’s eyes widened with horror as their bodies floated above the water for a split second before diving head first into the churning black water. A mixed cloud of bubbles and thick black blood rose swirled around them, shrouding the frozen mask of horror on the creature’s face.
Feeling the tentacle slipping away, Roberson’s lungs filled with water and snatched his breath; his skin faded to a funeral-like pallor. He twisted the blade one final time as they sunk toward the briny bottomless depths of the lake, their bodies curled into the yin and yang of good versus evil.
I got you, you bastard. After all this time, I finally got you.
No, Grandpa. We got him.
STIFF BREEZE
There’s nothing better than to end a collection with an end-of-the-world story. This was one of those stories that came out of nowhere and those kind of stories are the good ones.
I was walking back from the little Mom and Pop on the corner of my block when someone mentioned that the breeze felt a stiff today. An old man, who couldn’t decide between a box of Honey Buns or Cosmic Brownies, said something about how there were so many pathogens in the wind. I ignored him, finished my purchases and went back home and wrote this story.
My good friend Becca Besser featured it in her Halloween Blitz blog in October of this year. I didn’t add any pathogens though; I like to leave it up to you, Dear Reader.
As for the old man, I hope he decided on the Cosmic Brownies.
MY Uncle Jay and I were inside of his house when everyone went stiff.
It was a bright sunny day in July when my mother Nina and my father Calvin and I headed out to Uncle Jay and Aunt Linda’s place for a cookout we always had before I was dragged back to school for my freshman year. We never invited any of our other family members because we had to deal with their snotty stuck-up asses at the family reunion every once a year which was always a stretch. Although Dad and Uncle Jay never got along, it didn’t stop us from going.
Jay and Linda lived in one of those stucco bungalows with a red clay-tiled roof and a big backyard that was bigger th
an the front, crammed inside of a close-knit cluster of other houses just like it. Dogs barked and pools splashed from a distance I was comfortable with.
Uncle Jay was standing on the patio in front of his massive propane grill, flipping three different kinds of meat (not counting Aunt Linda’s veggie burgers, bleh) and flashing narrow-eyed glances at Dad every time he finished a beer and then plucked a fresh one from the case sitting under the picnic table between his feet. Mom and I were tossing a bright-yellow Frisbee around the front yard for a while until Aunt Linda finished cutting the trimmings for burgers and then took Mom’s place. “Sunshine Of Your Love” by Cream spewed from the little boombox Mom bought Uncle Jay last Christmas.
When he slid the last hamburger onto the platter sitting next to the grill, Jay peered over Mom’s shoulder and said, “Hey, Mattie. Could you run in and get the condiments out of the fridge.”
“Sure.” I said, my voice strained from exhaustion.
Before I reached the porch, I glanced next door and saw a young middle-aged couple leading a little six-year old boy with blonde hair toward their back door. The boy carried a stack of action figure in his arms and sobbed as if he were about to carry them to the electric chair; dirt caked his fingernails, clung to his kneecaps and streaked the front of his bright blue tee-shirt.
I ignored them, tossed the frisbee onto the front porch and entered the house through a pair of sliding glass doors. I bobbed my head to the music spewing from Jay’s boombox loud enough to vibrate the kitchen windows and opened the fridge. I heard the patio doors slide open again, spewing a split second stream of music into the house and then slide shut again.
I caught a shadow out of the corner of my right eye and grew tense, my scalp and skin prickling with cold fear. I thought this had been Dad’s opening to sneak in behind Mom’s back and grope me as he’d done three months ago after my thirteenth birthday. I know I should’ve said something by now but we both knew who Mom was going to believe and it wasn’t her daughter; she would’ve ignored anything I said because Daddy’s money made her more submissive and unaware than I would ever become.
“Hey, honey.” A familiar but chaffing voice replied.
I slumped against the fridge, breathing a sigh of relief when the mixed stench of flop sweat and stale beer were replaced by the pleasing scent of Stetson that only Uncle Jay wore. I shook off the uneasiness and smiled at him while all six-foot-four of him moseyed over to the other side of the kitchen with a perturbed grin on his big doughy face.
“Your aunt sent me in here for her fucking multi-grain bread.” He mumbled, then snorted. “She’d eat poison ivy if they made a loaf of bread with it.”
I chuckled and knelt in front of the open fridge to resume my search when the breeze picked up and swept over the house. It muffled the music spewing from Jay’s boombox, shook the treetops like newborns and reminded me of the whispers my friends shared behind my back before homeroom. When the breeze dissipated, a low wheeze filled the kitchen, merging into a loud startling gasp.
I rose to my feet and cocked my head to where the sound was coming from. Jay leaned across the sink, his thick-fingered hands gripping the edge of the countertop until his knuckles turned white; the loaf of bread had flown from his hands and rolled across the kitchen floor. He glanced out the window, his eyes and mouth wide from shock as the color began to drain from his face; I hadn’t seen him this scared since back in 2016 when Aunt Linda had her first of two miscarriages.
“What the–”
The panicked wheeze in his voice lured me over to the window, my body racing with curiosity. I massaged my hands and peered through the white crop-top curtains draped across the kitchen window. I couldn’t believe what I saw but it was as plain as the nose on my face.
Nina and Calvin and the hummingbird fluttering in front of the bird feeder above Dad’s head and Aunt Linda were frozen in place. Stiff and motionless, they looked like nothing more than wax figures in a museum: Mom was caught hovering above the bench seat across from Dad, her hands hugging the back of her dress and tucking it underneath her thighs as if she were about to sit down; Dad was crumpling an empty beer can in his hand and letting off an old fashioned burp through a lopsided grin in a non-comical display of manliness; Aunt Linda was caught balancing herself on one foot with her head cocked toward the front of the house and both hands cupped around her mouth.
The grill kept going and so did Uncle Jay’s radio which switched from “Sunshine” to “Just An Old Fashioned Love Song” by Three Dog Night. Something glinted in the corner of my eye but the procession of footsteps parading across the kitchen drew my attention instead. I spun around in time to see Uncle Jay tearing ass toward the living room, mumbling Linda’s name over and over again.
He bounced his right leg off the corner of the coffee table, hissed through half-clenched teeth and lost his balance. He teetered back and, arms pinwheeling out from his sides, slammed his massive bulk onto the living room couch. In the soft blue glow of the television, he stared up at me with a mingled expression of surprise and shock on his face.
“Jeez, Mattie.” He sighed. “Don’t just stand there and wait for me to bust my head open before you decide to help me. I need to get out there and see what the fuck happened.”
I shrugged and hurried over, my heart racing with panic. The light coming from the television shifted from a soft blue glow to plumbeous tint that made Uncle Jay sit up immediately. He brushed me off with a dismissive wave of his hand, snatched the cable remote from the coffee table and thumbed up the volume.
“In case you’ve just joined us,” A middle-aged brunette in a bright-yellow blouse stated in a soft informative voice. “we’ve been following a breaking news story. There have been reports that a vast number of American citizens have suddenly frozen in place. There have been numerous reports that the breeze had started from the northwest corner of The United States before sweeping down across the rest of the country but we don’t have any real information to confirm it. We have live footage from all over the country and those of you watching at home parental discretion is advised.”
The first footage showed a cul-de-sac in Eugene, Oregon; the wind had swept through during a big block party leaving the streets dotted with wind-blown litter and rotund metal barbecue grills spewing tails of thick white smoke that dissipated in the breeze. The second piece of footage came from a monolithic water park in southern Texas; the stairways leading toward tall colorful water slides were streaked by stiff-legged swimmers while others floated lazily in the wave pool like a child’s ill-forgotten bath toy. The other pieces of footage took place in an amalgam of highways clogged with broken chains of mid-afternoon traffic, shopping malls with neon-gilded signs declaring false promises and residential parks crowded with stiffs that reminded me of store-front mannequins.
“We will do what we can to bring you all of the informa–”
Uncle Jay muted the television, slid the remote back onto the coffee table and inched up to the edge of the couch. He raked his hands across his clean-shaven head, slid them down his face, clamped them across his mouth and sighed. I thought back to the footage at the block party and recalled the golden retriever wandering and whimpering at the motionless crowd, wagging its tail as it sniffed at their feet to get their attention.
I replayed that heart-wrenching image in my head until I felt my chest constrict and my cheeks flush. A river of hot tears brimmed in my eyes and slid down my cheeks but before I could wipe them away Uncle Jay had leaped up from the couch and hugged me. He buried my face in the front of his tee-shirt and patted my back in a series of slow concentric circles that made me think of those late-nights when Daddy came up stairs to grope me before the whiskey put him down.
“It’s okay, honey.” He whispered. “Everything’s going to be okay.”
As much as I wanted to believe him, everyone was a skeptic, including me. If I were to shed tears for anyone outside of this house, it should’ve been Aunt Linda and the lost dog. My drunk
horny father and my submissive mother on the other hand would receive as much sympathy as he would’ve had he gone to prison.
I broke the hug and hurried across the house toward the bathroom. I slumped over the sink, clamped my hands over my tear-soaked lips and sobbed until it hurt. I snatched a hand towel from the shelf beside of the sink, tucked a strand of pineapple blonde hair behind my left ear and swiped the rag gently across my face.
The cold touch from the rag cooled my flaming red cheeks but failed to ease my fears. I was very familiar with the whole “end of times” spiel especially on the news during New Years’ Eve or in the midst of twenty-twelve, but I took it all with a grain of salt. I always thought that the apocalypse could happen due to anything between an airborne disease and a great massive flood.
“No!” A familiar voice bellowed from inside the kitchen. “Oh, God no!”
I flinched, my body rigid with fear. I bolted out of the bathroom and stopped halfway to the living room; a lone tear slid down my right cheek.
His face sagging under a mix of panic and terror, he leaned against the sink and gazed out the kitchen windows once more. He mumbled something under his breath because it might’ve been something I wasn’t allowed to hear. I followed his gaze and felt my eyes widen with fear. Mom’s left arm jerked, giving a loud brittle snap that was obviously drowned out by the roar of Rush singing “Fly By Night” coming from Jay’s boombox. It slid out from underneath her chest, dragging her thin-fingered hand toward the edge of the tabletop and slid off at the shoulder.
We watched in horror as Mom’s arm slid down her left hip, bounced off the edge of the bench and plopped onto the ground like a fish out of water. Blood pumped at the air, soaking the grass and sliding down her left hip. She toppled back, her right arm jutting out from her hip and struck the front of the house; the same bone-jarring thud that shook the windows also rattled my bones.
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