This wasn’t some bothersome child a month late for Halloween. No, this was something else, something much more… real… dangerous.
Louis recovered when he heard his mother yell out. “Leeda, god damn it, cut it out! You’re destroying the entire house!”
He glanced toward the back door. It was painted black, the wrought-iron, screen prevented him from seeing within. He knew the back door itself was still open. It had to be. It was one of his mother’s rules when he played outside in the back. He had to leave the back door open, so she could hear him, making sure he wasn’t doing anything ridiculous that could land him in the hospital.
Something was going on within his home.
His vision fluttered back toward the small… old, cankerous… man? His view of the creature changed again, his eyes taking notice of the soiled robes, the ancient looking shoes, it’s horribly afflicted skin.
What is this thing?
The loathsome man’s head lowered, its face falling into shadow once more, as it ceased laughing and place its’ unseen eyes upon the boy. Louis could feel the animosity issuing forth from underneath the lip of its hood. Although he couldn’t see its’ eyes or its’ expression, feeling it was enough. He knew… this thing hated him!
Clash!!!
It was the sound of something huge striking the iron screen door with tremendous force, the clamor made Louis yelp anew as he turned to see the entire wrought-iron doorframe shake with the impact, sending dust and chips of paint onto the ground before it.
“Leeda, stop it! You’re gonna bust down the door! Stop it!”
He heard his mother yell as loud as she could, though he couldn’t see either of them through the tiny holes in the screen door.
“You are lucky, Louis Willigan. I could have chosen to punish you for your impertinence, but I have chosen not too. This is because there is something much more unpleasant and torturous ahead of you. It will be then, at that time, I will hear you cry out for your dear, indulgent mommy and your simpering father. You will be begging to be tickled by me…”
Louis stared at the terrible hooded figure as it abruptly stood, almost leaping upward. It’s was no more than three and a half feet in height. Louis realized, the creature was much more agile than he first envisioned. Maybe it was not diseased after all…
“Leeda!!!”
Louis’ attention went back toward the backdoor as heard the deadbolt disengage. The iron screen nearly exploded open as his large dog, Leeda, erupted from house. She bounded up the stairs toward the patio where Louis was standing – all one hundred and thirty pounds of her.
He looked back to see what the rotten old man was doing, but he was gone, not a trace of him evident he was ever there. Leeda came up to him, sniffing at him frantically as if he were a pup, which distracted Louis the moment she planted her large nose deep in his crotch.
“Leeda baby, stop it!” he muttered, trying to be serious though he dogs huffs and puffs were tickling him.
Satisfied he was ok, Leeda smelled at the ground and then bounded up the stairs to the higher portions of the yard. Louis followed, but at a much slower pace, reaching the highest and largest portion of the backyard more than a few seconds after Leeda. He watched her as she traversed the entire expanse of the yard, back and forth, inch by inch, in an attempt to find some trace, any trace of the horrendous, little man. Or so, Louis surmised.
Louis waited and gazed at her for a quarter of an hour. A stray thought suddenly crossed his mind and chilled him to the bone. So much so, he called for Leeda once, then twice. When she didn’t respond right away, he turned and ran back for the house, his eyes darting this way and that in fear, hoping Leeda was following him.
How did that thing know my name…?
He didn’t get far when he saw it, lying atop the wall where the vile little creature had been sitting. It was a cat. Well, most of one. Something had been eating it, from anus to head, managing to make it halfway through the feline’s body before discarding the carcass.
It lay there, limp in its’ own skin, a bloody mess that made Louis run headlong for his house. He was no longer thinking of his dog.
Instead, he yelled for his mother the entire trip.
~~~~~~~~<<<<<<{ ☼ }>>>>>>~~~~~~~~
~ 17 ~
Dirty Deeds
Sunday, November 21st, 1:29 pm…
Tō-Jō… Tō-Jō… Tō-Jō… Tō-Jō…!
The name was so catchy, it was distracting. After a few hours of the continuous research, it was downright annoying. Her difficulty with concentrating wasn’t helping either. Half of the time, she’d found it hard to believe it was the actual name of one of the most powerful generals in Imperial Japan and later it’s Prime Minister, during World War II. The other half, she found herself making up ridiculous rhymes with the name. Each time, she went scatterbrained and lost focus. The ordeal was costing her precious time.
He, Hideko Tō-Jō, was the topic of her fall semester research paper for World History. It was due the Friday before school recessed for winter break. She’d only just begun to gather her source despite the fact the deadline to have it completed was only three weeks away. This was unusual for her. This wasn’t her typical approach to an assignment counting for thirty percent of her grade. Usually, she would’ve been more than half through her second draft and on the verge of putting the whole thing to bed with only final polishing left to do. Apparently, not this time. What made it even more aggravating, was she actually liked history, so it wasn’t a matter of a lack of interest on her part. She enjoyed reading about people from the past, who had done both good and bad during their lifetimes. It made her feel more connected with herself, her family and where they’d come from, down the narrow current in the river of humanity…
Oh my god, I am really losing it now, she said to herself, shaking her head to disrupt the wondering thoughts in her brain. She shifted her position in the high-backed, over-stuffed, office chair positioned before her desk, folding her legs before her. Her thighs were pushed up her chest, her bare feet dug into the edge of the seat. It being the afternoon, she had, a long time ago, washed-up and showered. She had changed into an over-sized, pale pink, cotton shirt and a pair of rose pink tights that clung to her figure, showing off her curves. Not that she cared at the moment, though. She was too frustrated with herself to care how she might appear to others.
She’d eaten a late breakfast of cereal and toast, so it wasn’t her stomach making her mind fly off on wild tangents every few seconds. It was something else. Something she couldn’t quite put her finger on, define, although, she knew for a fact it was there. It was a nagging sort of uneasiness or nervous energy that didn’t grow or diminish, but persisted with vexing fortitude, interrupting her thought process.
It was driving her crazy!
She snaked out her right arm and grabbed a hold of the wireless mouse. She used one over the touchpad in the middle of the keyboard, because it gave her freer range of movement. She began to click upon the various links provided by the search engine she was using for her research paper. She was hoping to find a comprehensive source that could provide her with a high-level overview of her topic, give her ideas, and allow her to drill down into the specifics of the man’s life, accomplishments and atrocities. She was looking for something a little Wikipedia-ish, but wasn’t having much luck. Most of the top links centered around cable documentaries or music videos or, of all things, mushrooms. What she needed was brief biography, maybe something with a several first-hand historical accounts within it. She wanted a clear perspective of the man.
She clicked on the “next” arrow at the bottom of the page, the fifth page of her search popped up on the screen when she felt two sets of tiny nails lightly scratch at her dangling toes. She jumped and shifted in her chair, not expecting to be touched on a personal part of her body, peering down. Her shock dissipated instantly, as she laid eyes upon her miniature Doberman Pincher, Daiquiri, who was looking up at her with joyous expectation. Her entire
body was trembling at the prospect of Sophie scooping her up and placing her into her lap.
“What do you want, Mi-Ma?” asked Sophie, using her pet name for the dog, her voice dripping with saccharine, knowing full well what the toy dog wanted.
The tiny canine pranced on the tips of her dainty paws and let out a quick, high-pitched bark as if she were telling Sophie precisely what she intended, her little body quivering with anticipation.
“Do you want mama to pick you up?”
Again, the dog danced about and barked.
Sophie smiled, her eyes watering at the adorable sight of her small, intelligent pet. She reached out toward the dog, and immediately Daiquiri leaped into her open palms. Sophie hoisted her onto her lap, letting her legs unfurl, her feet resting back on the ground. Daiquiri licked her hands and arms so fast there was little Sophie could do to stop her. The canine’s tail wagged almost as fast as a hummingbird’s wings fluttered. Then, just as quickly, the dog lay down and placed its little head on its forelegs, breathing heavily out of its nostrils a few times. As her breathing slowed, she looked up at Sophie out of the corner of its’ left eye, imploring the girl to pet her.
Sophie stared back into her dark, bulbous eye, her smile widening a bit. “How come you always get what you want, you little brat?” she asked, her voice making the dog lift its head toward her. Its’ fore paws flexed against her legs as its tongue flicked out, giving Sophie what she surmised was a long distance doggy kiss. Sophie grabbed the dog’s small head in between two hands, scratching either side of her chin and planted a quick smooch on the top of her snout.
Her cell phone rang.
“Holy shit!” she yelped at the high-pitched warble she’d set as the phone’s current default ringtone, immediately regretting that decision. She realized, a second later, it wasn’t that particular tone she had assigned her incoming calls, but rather, a specific one she’d downloaded for her friend Jasmine Rios, a fellow team member of the Cheer Squad.
She reached over the mouse where her phone vibrated and jangled, picking it up and sliding the LCD screen upward with her thumb in one fluid motion, answering the call.
“Jasmine, what’s up, girl?” she began amicably. “Why are you calling me this early on a Sunday, isn’t this your recovery day from Saturday night?” She couldn’t help herself. Jasmine was a notorious party animal.
“Ha, touché, Miss-Goody-Two-Shoes,” replied Jasmine in wispy tones, taking the bait.
Sophie giggled, twirling a lock of her near-white hair with a finger. “Ha, ha, aren’t you ‘Freak that Came Out at Night’?”
“Whatever, Sandra Dee!” came the lightning quick retort.
Sophie couldn’t stop herself and laughed out loud. It was a game her and Jasmine played all the time. They exaggerated their reputations to ridiculous heights to see who would get the better of the other. It seemed Jasmine had won this round, at least in Sophie’s eyes.
“So, seriously, girl what’s up?” she asked her friend scratching the top of Daiquiri’s head, the dog enjoying the attention from her lap.
“Hey, have you been watching TV?” asked the other girl, her voice suddenly serious, which confused Sophie right away; the change of topic was drastic enough to illicit concern.
“N-no,” she started after a moment’s hesitation. “I’ve been trying to get this stupid research for my World History class in some semblance of order. I haven’t been able to keep my mind on it. I guess I’m a little off my game today.” Then she mulled over the question a bit more. “Why?”
“Maybe you should turn it on. The TV I mean, not your brain,” Jasmine said the last part in a rush, a trace of concern creeping into her tone.
Sophie frowned. “What for, Jaz? I really need to get at least the preliminary stuff done for this paper today or I’m gonna be way behind.”
“I think you should take a break… and turn on the TV, Sophie.” The directness of her inflection was so unlike Jasmine, Sophie couldn’t ignore her plea.
She let out an exasperated sigh, pushing herself from her desk, grabbing Daiquiri under the belly. She stood and made her way to the small thirty-two inch LCD TV she had perched on her dresser. She snatched up the remote laying in front of it and turned on the TV. “What channel?” she inquired.
“The news channel,” replied Jasmine, sounding distracted through the phone as if she was paying more attention to something else.
“Dude, there are like a thousand news channels, which one?”
“Oh, sorry,” giggled Jasmine, “The local one, the one that comes on in the early afternoon.”
Sophie punched in the correct number and waited as the digital cable feed reoriented itself to the correct frequency. Her eyes narrowed as she watched a reporter talking into the microphone in her hand. The background appeared familiar to Sophie, though she couldn’t quite place it at the time.
“…here at the scene of the crime, where a local teenage boy was found dead alongside of the road some hours ago by a jogger -.”
“What’s this about, Jaz?” questioned Sophie, even more dumbfounded than before.
“It’s about James, Sophie. James Henley, Jr., you remember him, don’t you?” It was the other girl’s turn to express aggravation.
The name struck Sophie like a slap to the face. Of course, I know James Henley. What the hell was this girl talking about? The kid had been stalking her for nearly a year now.
“What about James? What has this to do with him?” Her voice grew an edge to it.
“They are talking about him. He was found early this morning, Sophie.
“He is dead.”
The three words were like a nail being hammered into her heart. Suddenly, she remembered the argument they’d had on Friday afternoon. She relived the cruel way she’d rebuffed his latest effort to make her feel sorry for him, another sorry attempt of many, all aimed at breaking down her resistance of wanting to be his girlfriend. Of which, she wanted no part, she didn’t feel, think, let alone imagine herself ever being with him. He wasn’t her type. He was needy and whiney, small, not very athletic. Yet, if he was more normal, maybe none of that stuff would’ve mattered. But, he wasn’t. All things being equal, he was weird. That’s what scared her the most. The way he expressed himself, with the underlying intensity, the veiled heat behind his stare and the way he lost himself in wild scenarios just made her skin crawl. There was no way in hell she would ever date a guy that made her feel that way. And yet, maybe I pushed him too far, maybe I was too mean, maybe he just finally cracked… Had she been too harsh on him? After all, she’d said – no, she had screamed some bad things at him, but he hadn’t given her any choice. The last straw was the way he’d carried on like they’d had some unforgettable date at the Huntington Library. All that really happened was he had traipsed behind her and her friends, staring at her through the throng, muttering under his breath, thrumming his fingers along his thigh.
Creepy!
At the rock garden, he seemed like he was more in a trance than sitting among a bunch of High School kids, chit chatting and goofing off. His face had been slack, his mouth open just a crack as he absently played with a strand of his hair, every once and a while, saying something so low none of them could hear. Minute after minute, he just sat there until he’d unsettled all of them. They agreed to move on through the Japanese landscape beyond, hoping to put some distance between themselves and him.
After all of the other incidents, all of the other subtle attempts to get near her, the excuses and “accidental” meetings in the hallway, the street, even the mall, she had always been more irritated at him than anything else. When he had somehow pirated her phone number and began to call at all times of the night and day, asking those strange, moronic questions, her first misgiving began to surface. They became something tangible. The severity of his unnatural behavior had been noted. It was on that field trip, her agitation began to ripen into genuine worry. The uglier and deeper those uneasy feelings about him grew, something
vile began to take root in the pit of her gut. When she’d looked back at him sitting on the bench in the rock garden on that day, she knew something else was going on within James’ head. He wasn’t merely a lovesick boy with a misguided crush. There was something much more sinister and foreboding going on in his mind, as if he’d crossed an unseen line. He was now unable to hide it from the world about him.
She had glanced back at him. She saw him staring after her, unmoving, his face no longer emotionless, his eyes no longer looking far off into a distance only he could see. He was returning her gaze with hooded eyes, breathing in slow, deep breaths – inhale, exhale in rhythm with her every step as if he was imagining something in concert with her body. She couldn’t help her reaction, because she could see from that piercing, penetrating stare, it was sexual in nature. This had frightened her more than anything he had done or said in the past. She had shuddered, and quickly turned away, scurrying amongst her friends to hide herself from him, to escape his look, to break whatever thought he was luxuriating within.
Maybe, he had just cracked…
“How did he do it?” asked Sophie suddenly, not sure why.
“What?” asked Jasmine, who up to this point had been silent, entirely engrossed in the news story.
“How did James commit suicide? What did he do to himself?” elucidated Sophie as Daiquiri squirmed in her arms, tired of being held from a suspended position. Sophie took a step and placed the small dog on her bed.
The Unwanted Winter - Volume One of the Saga of the Twelves Page 15