by Erb, Thom
“Stupid girl is going to be the death of me,” The words hung on his lips and he couldn’t believe he said them. He let them go with a sharp shiver and decided to just keep walking straight ahead and he was certain he’d find her. Or at least hit a wall or something.
“Hey, what’s the worst thing you could find here in this old, dark, condemned, rumored haunted fucking movie theater? He shivered again-this one, was more like a tremor than a cold chill. He swallowed hard and put one foot in front of the other and watched the piss poor light bounce back at him as if it was an affront to its existence.
Tony cursed it and stepped cautiously into the gripping darkness.
“What the…” Alexis fought back the bile rising in her raw throat. She held the cell phone out in front of her and made a slow arc-staring in soul-shaking disbelief at the nightmarish scene inside the large room.
The ghoulish blue glow illuminated dozen of dead bodies; all strewn up in various, puppet-like poses all over the rot-filled wardrobe room- their blank stares and maggot-filled corpses welcomed her into their final home inside the Clark Theater. Her stomach twisted and acidic saliva filled her mouth as the light from her phone caught a family of engorged rats feasted on the stomach of a small boy, about the age of six hanging only three feet from the entrance to this twisted Vaudevillian room from hell. His torn Pokémon shirt stained deep red and ripped open to make easy dinning for the vermin crawling nonchalantly through what was left of his tiny intestines. More French fries flew from her mouth, peppering the dead boy and the oblivious rats feeding inside him.
She began to cry. Her head swam as fragments of horrific input flooded her mind. This must be fake; she tried to force herself to believe. She knew she was wrong. But the worst thought punched her in the gut. She spat puke and looked closer at the boy.
She knew him.
It was little Paulie Reynolds. She babysat him. The local newspaper had reported that his drunk, psychotic father had kidnapped him and ran away to Canada. Her head swam with insane understanding as vomit filled her mouth again and she painted the blood and necrotic tissue covered floor with the finally remnants of her stomach.
“Oh poor Pau--- oh my go…” She heard something from the other side of the expansive room and froze. Her throat burned and she felt like fainting. She aimed the cell phone in the direction of the sound. She found nothing but more horror and stares of the dead.
She slowly moved the cell phone across the mass of the decomposing dead and heard laughter. She stopped and felt her heart pounding. The air felt like concrete, squeezing her from all sides and she swung the phone back to the left, in the direction of the chilling sound.
“I make you happy Alexis-Baby,” Was the last thing she heard.
Tony heard something coming from ahead- thought it was a scream or a cry, not sure. He quickened his steps but not by much. He didn’t want to walk into a wall and knock his dumb ass out. The flashlight did its best but the steel-like darkness was much stronger than its little C-sized batteries could muster. The smell got worse as he moved deeper into the backstage area. His foot kicked something and he stopped and knelt down and his hand found something cold.
“You have to be fuckin’ kidding me?” He bitched as he fumbled the battery in his hand. He shook his head and chucked it behind him. It hit concrete and ricocheted back into the seats.
“Bitch is going to kill me, I swear to god,” He continued on toward the source of the noise, straight ahead.
He had only moved a few feet when the faint, yellow beam from his flashlight exposed a faded green door, slightly open. He stopped. He heard something inside- a voice. A deep, childlike voice.
He leaned close and the door felt cold to the touch.
“I know Mr. Howdy, put the needle through her hands first and THEN her feet. Jeepers’ creepers, we have done this hundreds of times! You’re starting to sound like Mama,” The voice sounded like it came from the very blackest depths of Hell.
Tony fought to breathe.
“I told you, Alexis-Baby loves me. You see how she smiles and kisses me Mr. Howdy?” The Satanic-child voice caused Tony’s heart to squeeze and head flurry.
Ale--? He, it…has Alexis!” the frantic thought overwhelmed him.
He knew he had to do something. His pistol was in the glove compartment of his car; no time for that shit.
He felt fucking stupid. He dug into his back pocket; ah fuck me, he reached for the other back pocked and found his cell phone and yanked it out and open it.
He punching in 9-1-1 and hit enter as he slowly shoved the slime green door all the way open.
“Motherfuck…” Tony couldn’t speak, he couldn’t move as he stared at the largest man, thing he’d ever seen in his young life. It was a mountain-sized man that wore nothing but a knapsack and an orange, burlap sack hood, but it was what the creature had in his hands that caused his blood to freeze and breathe to fail him.
“Alexi---” was all he could mutter as he saw her naked body suspended in the middle of the room. Behind her, lay dozens of dead puppets, was the best image his fried brain could conjure up.
She was dead. Her chest was gapping open and her heart was missing. Blood was everywhere. It looked like a million gallon balloon filled with red paint exploded, slathering the room in her life blood.
The giant of a man turned its enormous head toward him. In his hands was a still beating heart. Torrents of thick, blood rained down from its cinder block-sized hands and mixed with the mangled flesh and bright white bones on the well-worn floor.
Alexis’ heart- the one that only a few moments ago… loved him now was a midnight snack for the man-beast in front of him.
Tony snapped. He knew he should run in and kick the man-monsters ass, but he knew by the warm wetness spreading in his jeans that his manhood left him a long time ago. Instead, he turned and ran the way he came, screaming and crying like the bitch he always knew he was and the only comfort he found was that of the voice from the 911 operator’s voice on his cell telling him to stay on the line and that the police were on the way to his location.
He didn’t stop running or pissing himself until he was safely outside the Clark Theatre and inside his car. There he wept uncontrollably and his mind fried.
I see Alexis-Baby strung up real good just like you taught me Mr. Howdy. She looks pretty hanging up there doesn’t she? I think she looks happy. Just like all the others. But she ain’t like them. No sir, she loves me ‘cuz I make her happy.
I don’t know where her jerk-face boyfriend went. I guess we scared him away. Too bad, ‘cuz let me tell you Mr. Howdy that if I got my hands on him, he wouldn’t be part of our Old Time, World Renowned Puppet Show, no sir! I would squash him and make his jerky body into mush! I don’t like getting mad Mr. Howdy but I can’t stand it when a boy hurts a girl! No way, no how! I’m okay Mr. Howdy. I’ll take a breath.
Mama?
Where is she?
Don’t worry Mr. Howdy. Mama is still away. We have time to play some more.
We should find her boyfriend before he tells somebody, right Mr. Howdy?
Mr. Howdy? Where did you go?
You don’t have to go! It’s okay…wait…
What’s that sound? Oh no. it’s a policeman siren! More than one.
MAMA!!!
Mama…you there? I love you Mama! I need you.
Mr. Howdy just up and left me. Don’t know where he went. He made me cry Mama!
He made me do bad things. Made Alexis-Baby and her stupid friends and all the others sleep black and string them up like little puppets. That ain’t wrong right Mama?
I never wanted to hurt no one… I just wanted to be me…to be left alone. Why do they hate me so much? I ain’t no murderer! Dang it, I don’t even know what that is?
I never meant to hurt nobody and all I want is to be left alone.
They have big guns and shiny badges. Telling me to get down and drop the knife. What did I do wrong Mama?
They are hurt
ing me and asking me questions. My head hurts Mama. Please help me!
Why do they keep yelling and calling me names?
They’re calling me a sick motherfucker Mama. What does that mean?
I never wanted to hurt no one… I just wanted to be…to be left alone. Why do they hate me so much?
I ain’t no murderer! Dang it, I don’t even know what that is?
I never meant to hurt nobody and all I want is to be left alone.
What do I do Mama? Please help me! Please tell me what to say.
I’m scared Mama!
You always know what to say…right Mama?
They call me a murderer Mama…a monster.
I ain’t none of those things, wanna know why Mr. Police man?
“Mama says I’m no monster…
No Sir…She says I’m just an excitable boy!”
A year later, the headlines in the Sterling Point Chronicle read just that.
The ‘Excitable Boy’ serial killer was pronounced died at 12:01am on Monday, by lethal injection. He had no surviving family members and he was buried in an unmarked grave in Redeemer Memorial Cemetery.
Pickin' &Grinnin'
Pickin' &Grinnin'
Somewhere in West Virginia.
Saturday, 5:30 am.
“Goddamn Kentucky Rain again?” Waylon Lafford shook his head and scratched at his bushy red sideburns.
“You know it bro. long live the King baby,” Bobby Garrity nodded and executed a karate chop on the dashboard.
“Hands on the damn wheel Bobby, Jesus. Are you trying to pull another Sterling Point maneuver?” Waylon lurched for the steering wheel of the Chevy cargo van, but the pudgy driver executed a perfect block, knocking Waylon’s hands away.
“Hey now, I still blame you for that one?” Bobby’s hands returned to ten and two on the worn steering wheel, but his accusing gaze stayed on Waylon.
“First, eyes on the road, second, why the hell am I responsible for you just blasting through that stop sign and obliterating that poor old lady’s fence?” Waylon chuckled staring at Bobby.
“Oh pardon me mister but wasn’t it you who cranked the volume up to thirty when Free Bird came on? Huh? You know I’m right!” Bobby pushed his bulky glasses back up his pug nose with an indignant shove.
“Uggh, it’s your story Bobby-Boy, tell it how you like it,” Waylon waved his friend off and looked out the window at the snow covered countryside.
Laughter exploded inside the cab filled with fast food containers, empty cans of energy drink cans and dozens of crinkled road maps and atlases. They had been on the road for over ten hours and were in need of a break but also needed to find another place ripe for the picking. Their last two stops had been a bust and only Bobby came away with anything worth posting on EBay or Craigslist. Somehow, a box of 1940’s big band vinyl records wasn’t going to give them enough gas money to get back to Columbus.
The opening strains of Buck Owens’s I’ve Got a Tiger By the Tail broke up the laughter as Waylon’s cell phone rang to life in the center console. He turned the radio down, snatched the phone up, and flipped it open and his hands shook.
“Dad?” Waylon’s voice rang with a questioning tone.
Bobby shot him a curious glance and went back to driving south on Route 79.
“Oh, hey Christi, why you calling from Dad’s phone?” Waylon played with the frayed threads on his worn blue jeans.
The morning sky filled the cab and Bobby could see his friend’s pale, freckled face turn bright red. There was a long pause and it felt as if the air was sucked out of the cab. The conversation was short. Waylon nodded a lot and hung up, and shoved the cell phone back into the console.
“Who was that?” Bobby asked, pretending not to have overheard the conversation. He drank from his Beatles travel coffee mug. The early morning sky was cracking over the Appalachian’s and splintered its purplish-yellow light into the cab of the Chevy cargo van.
Waylon’s thin frame, sat motionless. His mop top of red hair stayed as still and he stared at the closed cell phone on his lap.
“You okay Bro?” Bobby risked a glance from the driver’s seat.
“Uh…oh yeah, I’m okay. That was my sister. My Dad’s dead,” Waylon’s words seem to hang in the air as they both fought to take in their heaviness.
“What? How?” Bobby said. He hastily shoved the coffee mug into the worn holder between the seats and wiped the coffee from his thick mustache.
A long moment passed as Waylon stared at the dirty floor.A longer moment passed. He rung his hands together and fought back a sob.
“Wayl, I’m so sorry bro, we should head to an airport and get you back to Nacogdoches,” Bobby’s words seemed hollow.
“No,”
“Come on, you need to be with y…”
“I said no, he wouldn’t want me to stop pickin’,” Waylon’s gaze never left the floor mats but Bobby knew Waylon wasn't kidding and he let it alone.
“You okay bro?” Bobby slowed down as he spotted a rest stop and veered of the interstate. The sign read Summersville, WV. A good enough place to stop as any, Bobby thought.
“Yeah, I just need some coffee and to stretch my legs,” Waylon turned his head to the parking lot filled with cars and tractor trailers, anything to hide the torrent of tears that flooded down his whiskered cheeks.
“No worries, let’s get some chow, I wanted a Waffle House but this will have to do,” Bobby’s humor fell on deaf ears. He found a parking spot and parked. They didn’t say a word to one another as they entered the rest stop.
A steady snow coated the ground and their van as they came out of the rest stop. It had been a silent but well needed rest as they approached the salt and slush covered van.
“Keys?” Waylon held his hand out and forced a smile.
“You sure you wanna drive,” Bobby knew he shouldn’t have asked as he tossed Waylon the keys.
“Okay, let me say this once. I am fine. He’s dead. People die every day Bobby, get over it,” Waylon shoved the key into the door and unlocked it. He hopped in ignoring Bobby’s flushed face. The snow increased in its intensity as Bobby waited for Waylon to unlock his door. He slowly got in and sipped tentatively at his hot chocolate.
Many miles went by through the white snow as they passed the exit for Oak Hill. Neither of them spoke a word was shared since the rest stop. Gary Allen’s sullen voice played over the XM radio. Bobby nervously tugged at his shaggy salt and pepper mustache, not knowing exactly what to do or say. The Superstitious Minds ring tone from his cell phone broke the concrete thick silence. He anxiously pulled the phone from his faux-leather jacket.
“Oh heya B, what’s shakin’ bacon?” He was almost embarrassed at the relief he heard in his voice. He caught Waylon take a deep breath and let it go. Bobby pushed the button on the phone and Bridget’s voice came ringing out.
“So, I think I may have something really big for you guys,” Bridget’s monotone voice rang.
“Oh great. Let me put you on speaker,” Bobby pressed a button and held the phone up so Waylon could hear.
“What do ya have?” Waylon’s tone was curt.
“Uh, hello Waylon. How are ya?” Her slightly sarcastic tone was lost on Waylon, who just kept driving.
“Um, forgive him B, he got some bad news this morning,” Bobby offered.
“Yeah, I’m sorry. I’m being an ass,” Waylon shook his red head and gave Bobby a quick smile. As forced as it was, Bobby was happy to take it.
“That’s okay sweetie, your sister called her looking for you. I am so sorry Waylon,” Bridget’s normally soothing voice came across the cell phone’s speaker hollow and vacant.
The wipers ushered away the large flakes that coated the windshield as they headed east.
“So, what you got for us this time?” Bobby asked, breaking the tension.
“Yeah Bridge, it better be good, I need it,” Waylon said.
“Well, if what this old lady is saying is true, this could
be the mother load and you might just be able to get that TV show you’ve been hoping for,” Bridget’s electronic voice almost couldn’t be contained by the cell phone.
“Oh really?” Bobby hopped in the passenger seat.
“Her name is Edna Loritz. She runs and owns ‘Edna’s Golden Apple Curio Shoppe & Oddity Emporium’. She seems like the real-deal and it could be the break you’ve both been working for,” Bridget voice crackled as the van went through a heavily wooded area.
“Man alive, I hope so. Those guys on that cable show such putzes,” Bobby face grew a light shade of pink.
“Did she say anything about what she has?” Waylon asked as he pulled his sunglasses from his front pocket and put them on. The morning sun was washing the entire cab in blinding light.
“Well, nothing specific. Just something about how the property has been in her family dating back to Revolutionary War.” There was hiss from the phone and Bridget’s voice returned. “Oh, she did say that there is one item, or actually a relic as she called it that will be the treasure beyond your imagination. Whatever the hell that means,” Bridget’s giggle made Bobby’s wide face break into smile. Waylon stared straight ahead, his face taught and emotionless.
“Treasures beyond our imagination, huh?” Bobby’s eyes grew wide behind the thick lenses as he tried to the read green road signs high above their speeding van.
“Well, you best be right Bridget, ‘cuz I can imagine quite a lot,” Waylon’s word were cold and unforgiving.
Bobby let out a timid laugh and hoped Waylon was joking. He wasn’t. “Bah Wayl, she’s never led as astray yet, “He replied, adjusting the taught seatbelt cutting into his rotund belly.
“Where’s she located Bridget?” Waylon’s tone shifted to hopeful
“Um, Pittsboro, North Carolina. Not super far from where you guys are,” She commented.