Night Things: The Monster Collection

by West, Terry M.

  The zombies didn’t hesitate. They were on her in seconds.

  “Long live the dead!” Livia shouted joyously, as the zombies pulled her to the ground.

  She didn’t scream, even when they bit into her.

  Mike ran near the gory location and went for Livia’s gun. As he reached for it, one of the zombies pulled off of Livia and grasped Mike. The zombie bit deeply into Mike’s forearm. He screamed in anguish and shock.

  Suddenly, Felix stepped up, a light stand in his hand. He swatted the zombie away, allowing Mike to scramble off to the side. Three of the horde immediately pounced on Felix. Two tore his stomach open and the other bit into his neck. A geyser of blood shot out of Felix’s mouth and the old man went down quickly.

  “Felix!” Ella shouted, horrified.

  The other zombies noticed Gary and Ella. They began to slowly stalk them. Their gray faces wore the blood of the fallen.

  “Do you hear it, my kin? What commands you?” one of them asked.

  “The hunger!” the others answered in unison.

  “What are we, my kin?” another zombie asked.

  “We are one!” the others shouted in reply.

  “Holy shit! They are in full horde mode,” Gary said, pulling his 9mm out and pointing the weapon at them.

  Gary squeezed the trigger but nothing happened.

  “Jesus, you have the safety on!” Ella screamed, pulling the gun away from Gary.

  She released the safety and began to fire on them. The zombies shouted in agony from the smoking silver wounds, but still they approached. The silver was hurting them, slowing them, but they were closing in and looking angrier and hungrier with every step.

  Ella distributed the ammo evenly, trying to keep them all an equal distance away, until she was out. Gary and Ella had backed all the way to the rear wall of the room and there was no exit.

  Then, Gary saw Mike, who had managed to somehow slip unnoticed to the sliding door. He unpinned it with the little strength he had left. Guards in riot gear poured into the room and took down the zombies with ultra-powerful tasers. The zombies fell and jerked, their gray eyes rolling up into their heads. Gary figured it was the best way to put a stop to that horde frequency. Security hauled the zombies away, and Gary was sure the undead bastards would feed a bonfire.

  Gary and Ella walked toward Mike. Ella stopped for a second and looked at Felix’s remains. Half of his face lingered. His belly was emptied down to his spine.

  “You grumpy old bastard,” Ella said, fighting back her tears.

  Mike sat against the door. His sunglasses were still firmly attached to his pale face. Gary suspected some sort of super glue. Mike stared with great fright at his wounded arm. He then looked up softly at his friends. “I think I am fucked, guys.”

  “You have a few hours before the transition hits and if we get medicine in you, you’ll beat this,” Ella said, hopefully.

  “What about my arm?” Mike asked. “Shit, man. I fucking write with this hand.”

  Gary and Ella stared at each other bleakly and then they pulled Mike up and took him out of the room. Guards poured in and aimed their flamethrowers at the remains on set.

  In the main hall, security was torching the holding pens. They were lighting all of the zombies on fire. The tormented screams and the stench drove Gary and crew outside. It was hell, live on stage and in 3D.

  It was nighttime already. As soon as they hit the sidewalk, three of the guards took Mike while two more security men held Gary and Ella back. The producer asked frightened questions as the silent guards put him into a van. Once he was loaded in, the van took off.

  “Where are they taking him?” Gary demanded of Glass, who was quietly watching the proceedings.

  “Your boy’s been bit,” Glass said calmly. “We’re taking his ass to a private medical facility. They gonna try to save him. He’s gonna lose that arm, though. Guarantee that.”

  “They got Morton,” Gary reported. “I am sorry.”

  “Fuck him,” Glass said, coldly. “He was a big boy.”

  Glass left Gary and went back inside. The sickening stink of burning dead flesh was beginning to drift outside. Ella stepped back to Gary.

  “I’m leaving, Gary,” she said. “Tell Mike goodbye for me, if he makes it.”

  “What? Wait, where are you going?”

  “I have a cousin in Mystic. She has a great place near the aquarium. She has been trying to get me to move there for years. You should come, Gary. Get off the poison and come to the country with me. My cousin is single.”

  “Is she pretty?” Gary asked.

  “She has a great personality,” Ella replied, and then they both laughed.

  “I’ll think about it,” Gary promised.

  Ella smiled sadly and knowingly. “No you won’t. But I will text you the address anyway.”

  Ella kissed Gary on the cheek. “Goodbye, my dear friend. And send my check.”

  She turned and disappeared around the corner.

  Glass came back outside.

  “I want to go where my producer went,” Gary insisted.

  Glass shook his head. “The big man just called. He wants to see your ass. Now.”

  ***

  Gary rode the elevator alone. He stepped into the penthouse. Classical music played and Johnny Stücke stared thoughtfully at the city through a large bulletproof window.

  “Mr. Stücke, with all due respect, I should be with Mike Cooke right now,” Gary said, and he was tired to his bones.

  Stücke turned around. He had a champagne bottle in his hand. “But I wanted to celebrate with you. Besides, I just got off the phone with my doctor. Mike is going to be fine. He lost his arm, but he responded well to the anti-Z cocktail. He’s going to make it. And I am happy about that. I like the kid. Mike Cooke is a good solider. He has a place at my side. And so do you, my friend.”

  The monster motioned to the couch, and Gary took a seat. Stücke walked to the bar and filled two champagne glasses. “My butler has the night off. He went to a hunchback convention. Can you believe that shit? Like, there are enough of them to have a fucking convention?”

  He handed Gary a glass and then Stücke took his heavy seat.

  “Felix Gilling is dead,” Gary said. “He has a special needs daughter.”

  “Sheila Gilling,” Stücke said. “She is thirty and has Down’s Syndrome. I know my people, Gary Hack. I do my research.”

  “Patricia? Or should I say Livia…” Gary started, begging to differ.

  Stücke raised a hand and grimaced. Gary could sense a sore spot.

  “Now, that one is on me, Gary Hack. She slipped through the cracks. I am not an easy man to fool. Truthfully, I was hoping to fuck her.”

  “Getting back to Sheila; the girl’s mother took off when she was a child. Felix was all she had,” Gary explained.

  Stücke nodded. “Well, I had been thinking of taking on a ward. She’ll be well cared for. I’ll see to it.”

  “You would take her in?” Gary asked, suspiciously.

  “Felix was representing me. He was a member of the family,” Stücke said. “Besides, I have always wanted a kid and I am a fan of the atypical. I do have a heart, Gary Hack. Actually, I am on my thirtieth. And a tax break is never a bad thing.”

  “You don’t think tonight was a total fucking disaster?” Gary asked.

  Stücke half-grinned and shook his head. “We have enough footage to cut three movies out of this. I even recorded surveillance on the zombie slaughter at the end of it. Shit, I can sell that to those intolerant, blood-thirsty bastards in the Midwest easily. I am sorry we lost people. But, really, it’s not that unusual in my line of work. You have to be able to get over it quickly.”

  “It’s just… I mean… Morton, Felix… it shouldn’t have happened. Even Suzie. I know she was a ghoul, and she was probably only being nice to me to get more work in the future. But she was a good kid; night thing or not.”

  “People die, Gary Hack,” Stücke said. �
�Well, most people die. But movies never do. Not even pornos. Suzie is going to be entertaining folks for a long, long time. We captured her on video, and she lives there now. We have touched immortality today. We put a tiny fingerprint on it.”

  Stücke dug a thick envelope out of his jacket and tossed it at Gary’s feet. “Your fee,” he said, lighting a cigar. “Plus a five thousand dollar bonus.”

  Gary took the envelope and stuffed it in his windbreaker. “Thanks,” he said, softly.

  “So, I am having a rough cut assembled in the editing room,” Stücke said. “I will have anything too upsetting for you snipped out, obviously. I’ll need you and Ella in there in a couple of days.”

  “Ella is out. She quit,” Gary informed Stücke.

  “You want I should talk to her?” Stücke inquired.

  “No, no. She was a very loyal friend, and she deserves to walk away. She is moving somewhere nice; far from this shit hole of a city.”

  “What, she going to stay with her cousin? The one in Mystic?” Stücke wagered.

  Gary stared silently at the monster. The director didn’t know if Stücke meant to threaten or impress, and Gary was too worn for either.

  The big man sensed it and he shrugged his massive shoulders. “I gotta know my people, Gary Hack. That’s all. And I have to say, Ella was quite the ass-kicker. She put up a bigger fight than you, that’s for sure. So, we’ll just have to get you another camera monkey. No worries.”

  Stücke looked at his expensive and double-banded wristwatch. “All right, well, I got another meeting to attend; one that won’t have such a happy conclusion. But I am in the market for a new right kneecap, anyway. The old one is giving me fits in wet weather. And I am sure that you are anxious to climb onto your dragon and take off into the night sky. Don’t let me delay you another second.”

  Gary nodded and left the penthouse.

  ***

  Gary was high and floating down the sidewalk again. His eyes were on the sky as he moved forward. He looked to the heavens for stars and magic. But both were hidden by the dominant city glow.

  After his meeting with Stücke, Gary had hit his apartment and indulged pretty heavily. He had kept his word and stayed sober for work. But his job had ended and there was always fear and anger to bury. The buzzed desire to travel was once again upon him.

  He brought his eyes back down and noticed he was on 14th. He stopped, and stared at the cart of the street vendor who had sold him the gris-gris bag. A thick blanket was draped over its contents and a crude sign was propped on it, stating that the man would return in five minutes.

  Gary figured he would buy another talisman. He ducked into the alley nearby to have a snort while he waited for the vendor to return.

  He sat on a trash can and dug out his dust. He took a short straw from his other pocket and inhaled. His nose wiggled and his eyes blinked and he settled back into the approaching wave. Gary opened his eyes, once the water had calmed, and half a dozen dead faces glared eagerly at him. He was facing a small horde of zombies.

  “Shit,” he muttered, and his body froze, mere feet from escape. His hand went to his bare neck. He had no protection.

  The leader of the group stepped forward a bit more into the light. He smiled with rotted teeth and cocked his blue head. His eyes blazed with desire.

  Gary thought of trading addictions. “I don’t want to be like you,” he muttered.

  “Don’t worry,” the dead thing assured Gary. “There won’t be anything left to get up and walk again, mister.”

  They advanced on him, and he clung to the wall, ready to fall and to feed them. Fuck, he thought, I deserve it.

  The magic was going to get his stoned ass eventually. At least the heroin would absorb some of the pain. Or so he hoped.

  Suddenly, the street vendor appeared. The muscular black man was shirtless, and he wore a bandana as well as his own gris-gris bag. Strange symbols were tattooed on his arms and chest. He brandished a machete and motioned it toward the lead zombie.

  “You come any closer and I will take your head off and let you chase it down the block,” the vendor promised, and the zombies hissed dryly and shrank back fearfully into the darkness.

  The vendor grabbed Gary roughly by his shirt and hauled him to the safety of the street corner.

  “You’re a damn suicidal fool,” he said angrily. “Where’s the gris-gris bag I sold you?”

  “I gave it to someone else,” Gary said.

  The street vendor shook his head, walked to his cart and reached under the tarp. He pulled out a fresh gris-gris bag. The man walked back over and draped it around Gary’s neck.

  “Thanks,” Gary said, admiring it. “Actually, I like this one even better than first.”

  “Twenty bucks,” the vendor said, holding out a flat palm.

  Gary dug the money from his pants and put it in the man’s hand.

  “That’s five dollars more than the first one you sold me,” Gary observed.

  “Every one I put around your neck is gonna cost you more from now on. Every time,” the vendor promised.

  “Thank you,” Gary said. “I owe you.”

  “Just answer a question, man. Why ain’t your life worth living?” the vendor asked gruffly.

  Gary chuckled and shrugged. “I gave my life away. And what’s left inside hurts me, most of the time.”

  “Life is struggle and pain and it isn’t easy on any of us,” the vendor said.

  “When I hurt, I get attracted to the magic, I guess. I want to touch it. But not in a good way,” Gary confessed. “I want to burn myself on it.”

  “Well find a new hobby, brother. Because this one is going to chew your face off,” the vendor cautioned him. “At least wear the gris-gris bag, if you’re going to come out here at night. And stay out of the God damned alleys.”

  “It was easier before the magic came, I think,” Gary said. “Do you remember where you were when you realized that magic existed?”

  “Of course, man. Who wouldn’t?” the vendor asked. “I remember it like it was yesterday.”

  Gary stretched his memory but he suddenly hit a brick wall. He smiled sadly at the street vendor. “Thanks for saving me. What do I call you, sir?”

  “I am Abraham,” the vendor said. “But a lot of folks call me the medicine man.”

  Gary nodded and took off without another word. He walked a few blocks, and then he noticed an elderly homeless woman asleep in front of a gated store entrance. She slept in a sitting position, her chin dipped to her chest. Gary took off his new gris-gris bag, gently tilted the woman’s head up, and he put it on her. He kissed her on the forehead and then he resumed his walk.

  He passed an alley and saw a frat boy pumping a zombie hooker’s eye socket and she cheered him on as he grunted and sputtered drunkenly. Gary grimaced and the sight made him move quicker. But he made a mental note of the act as a possible fetish video to pitch. Eye’ll Keep an Eye out for You. He laughed heavily and kept swimming in the breeze.

  Dawn would be there soon. The light was beginning to reach its fingers over the skyscrapers. It was definitely final call for the night things.

  Gary paused at a store window and he stared at several glowing flat screen televisions of varying sizes. There was a breaking news item playing on all of them. A gigantic creature with tentacles had risen from the ocean and was lumbering toward Japan. Gary looked around the busy sidewalk. No one in New York seemed bothered or concerned with what was happening.

  So Gary joined in the city’s indifference and he walked toward his apartment.

  Coming in 2017

  About the Author

  Terry M. West is an American horror author. His best known works: What Price Gory, Car Nex, Dreg and his Night Things series. He is also the managing editor of the Halloween/horror website, Halloween Forevermore. He was a finalist for 2 International Horror Guild Awards and he was featured on the TV Guide Sci-Fi hot list for his YA graphic novel series, Confessions of a Teenage Vampire. Terr
y was born in Texas, lived in New York for two decades and he currently hangs his hat in California.