Hark! the Herald Angels Scream

by Hark! the Herald Angels Scream (retail) (epub)

  But she continued with her story as if she hadn’t heard him.

  “No matter how ugly I said it was. No matter how much I said it bothered me, it never found its way down to the store. He always had it with him. It was just strange at first, but then I began to see the changes in health, and I’d hear him speaking to it in the middle of the night.” She looked at Flynn then, her watery eyes huge behind the lenses of her glasses.

  “Saying that he loved it.”

  “What, Betty…what did he…?”

  Before Flynn could finish his question, it crawled from beneath her sweater, furry paw pushing back the lapel. Its button-like eyes fixed upon him.

  And it spoke.

  “Love me,” it said in a high-pitched, childlike voice.

  Flynn recoiled at the sight of the oddity.

  Betty’s sweater fell open. Her pale skin was marked by angry red welts where the black-furred thing held on to her. It looked like a toy, a stuffed animal, but it was somehow alive.

  “Love me,” it said in an angry, catlike hiss.

  “It needs constant attention to survive,” the old woman said, her voice sounding very tired. She shifted in her overstuffed chair and exposed her left breast, a nearly airless balloon. “Constant love,” she continued, pushing the thing’s head toward her scabbed nipple.

  “What…what is it?” Flynn asked. He couldn’t take his eyes from it as it suckled, its fur-covered fingers kneading the mottled flesh of her chest.

  Betty placed an age-spotted hand gently on the back of its head. “A toy,” she said, the words so incredibly heavy with emotion. “At least that’s what Philip thought it was…what we both thought it was.”

  The thing lifted its fur-covered face to gaze up at her.

  “Love me,” it said.

  She pushed it tighter against her, wincing as it eagerly continued to…what?…feed?

  “So many die unloved,” Betty said, still staring at the horrible thing that clung to her. “Have you ever thought about that?” She paused and turned her eyes on Flynn. “I don’t know your name.”

  “Flynn,” he said uncomfortably.

  “Flynn,” she repeated dreamily, then smiled and nodded. “Before Philip…” She paused again, her gaze upon the stuffed thing harder, angrier—meaner. “Before he died, he was trying to find out what it is.”

  She was petting it now, and it emitted a strange, gurgling purr.

  “He had some wild theories: the love-starved spirits of dead orphans, the forever playmate of a powerful witch’s daughter still seeking love after its mistress’s death so long ago, a fallen creature of Heaven desperate to find its way back to the Creator through the love of His chosen creations.”

  Flynn could only stare. The stories were fantastic, unbelievable, but so was what was right before his eyes.

  “Sounds pretty crazy, but how else do you explain it? You should have seen what it did to poor Philip.”

  She was crying now, tears streaming down her withered cheeks as she stroked the black furred head of the stuffed animal.

  “The love he gave it…was forced to give it,” she said. “It was never enough, even though he tried so hard to satisfy it.”

  The thing’s muffled growl filled the room and she cried out in pain. Flynn actually made a move to go to her, but she shook her head slightly, and he sat back on the edge of the sofa.

  “He gave it everything he had in him,” she said, slowly, lovingly petting the thing’s head. “He actually believed that once he ran out of love, it would begin to feed on his soul.” Betty’s voice shook, and she seemed to be trembling. “He was so scared.”

  She sniffled, and Flynn suddenly realized that the “Messiah” had ended as her words hung menacingly in the silence.

  She looked at him again. “He was in such pain. I couldn’t bear to see him suffering. He held on for as long as he could, and when he couldn’t take it anymore…”

  Betty looked down on the thing, and it turned its black, wide-eyed face up to hers.

  “Love me,” it said as their gazes locked.

  “And I’ve done that,” she told the horrible thing. “But I’m afraid I’ve just about reached the end.”

  She lifted her head and looked around the room. “I’m not as strong as Philip was. I started talking about his things, and how valuable they are. I knew someone would come eventually.” She sighed heavily. “And here you are.”

  “And here I am,” he repeated softly, suddenly ashamed.

  “I’d hoped that it would be someone horrible,” she said.

  Flynn looked down at his hands, and then at the floor.

  “How do you know I’m not?”

  Betty laughed, making him look up. There was nothing humorous about the sound.

  “I guess you’re right,” she said. “A good thought to have. It’ll make it easier.” She moved to stand, and the thing on her chest began to growl. “Yes, yes, I know you don’t like to be disturbed,” she said to it. “But the record is over, and we need more music.”

  Betty managed to stand with a grunt of exertion. She swayed for a moment, steadying herself by holding the back of the chair before shuffling over to the old console stereo.

  “You mentioned needing my help,” Flynn said as he watched her put the vinyl record back into its sleeve and take out another.

  “I did,” she said. “Yes.”

  He heard the sound of the record dropping as the arm moved over, and the needle touched the vinyl with a crackling hiss.

  As “Silent Night” began to ring out through the speakers, she turned, gun in hand, pointed directly at Flynn.

  He jumped as if shocked with electricity. “Hey, wait a minute now,” he began, raising his hands in a feeble attempt to protect himself.

  “I’m such a coward,” she said by way of explanation. “I can’t bear the thought of my soul being eaten. I saw what it did to my strong, strong Philip, and I can’t ever imagine going through something like that.”

  She stepped a little bit closer, gun still pointed at him.

  “Which is why I wanted someone to try and steal from me, but in reality I’d be giving something to them.”

  The truth suddenly hit Flynn like a shovel to the back of the head.

  “No,” was all he could muster as the hand that had been petting the suckling creature gripped the fur at the back of its neck and pried it away with a terrible ripping sound.

  “I’m sorry, Flynn,” she said, and there was true emotion in her voice.

  “Love me! Love me! Love me!” the furred thing wailed as it squirmed in her grasp, its tiny claws ripping at her sweater and the paper-thin flesh beneath.

  Flynn screamed above the wailing of the creature and “Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer” blaring from the old stereo and took a step to sprint for the door, when—

  Betty flung the toy. It snarled and snapped as it flew, bouncing off Flynn’s leg before thumping to the rug.

  Flynn stumbled back as the thing scrambled to its feet and started back toward the old woman. Betty began to back away, waving the gun.

  “For what it’s worth, Flynn,” Betty cried, as the toy began to climb her bare legs, “I’m truly sorry.”

  Then she placed the gun barrel against her temple and pulled the trigger, setting the side of her head on fire as the bullet tore through her skull and exited the other side in an explosion of blood, brain, and bone.

  “Oh God, oh God,” Flynn gasped. He found himself heading toward the woman as she toppled backward into the stereo, causing the needle to slide across the surface of the LP with the most horrible of sounds.

  But the stuffed animal had already crawled atop her chest, hovering over her blood-spattered face. “Love me,” it demanded, jumping up and down in an odd parody of resuscitation. “Love me! Love me!”

&nb
sp; Flynn began to back quietly toward the door as the creature turned its attention to him.

  “Shit,” he muttered. He made a run for it, but the toe of his sneaker caught on the leg of the coffee table, sending him crashing to the floor. He landed hard on his chest, knocking the wind out of him. For a moment he lay there, struggling to catch his breath, until he heard the soft patter of stuffed paws running toward him.

  He pushed himself to his feet and lunged for the door, almost there when it landed on his back.

  “Love me,” it commanded.

  He felt needle-tipped claws sinking into his jacket and the skin beneath. Crying out, Flynn struggled to pull it from its perch, but it held fast. He crashed to the floor, frantically rolling back and forth.

  “Love me!” it screeched.

  Flynn became like a wild animal, scrambling to his feet, ripping off his coat and the thing that clung to him and tossing them to the floor. He could feel the rivulets of blood streaming down his back as he threw his full weight down onto his coat and the thing trapped within.

  A log within the fireplace suddenly snapped like the crack of a bullwhip, and he cried out in surprise, glancing toward the burning embers as they swirled above the burning logs before being sucked up into the flue.

  Fire, he thought. Maybe…

  Quickly he snatched up his coat, wrapping the writhing nightmare all the tighter as he stumbled toward the fireplace. So desperate was he to get there that he forgot Betty’s body and tripped over her legs. He fell to the floor face-first, the impact knocking the coat from his grasp.

  The nightmare was free.

  “Love me!”

  It sprang at him, and Flynn caught it. It felt warm in his hands, strangely alive, but boneless. All cloth, fake fur, and stuffing.

  It clawed at his hands and wrists, tearing painful, bleeding furrows in his skin, but he held on tightly, carrying the thing toward the hearth.

  Toward the fire.

  The creature wailed.

  “Love! Love! Love meeeee­eeeee­eeeee­eeeee­eeeee­eeeee­!”

  Its cries were painful, like knives to the brain, and Flynn winced, resisting the urge to drop the furry terror and clap his hands over his ears.

  He reached the fireplace and kicked away the metal screen before it. “This is how much I love you,” he grunted as he tossed the thing onto the burning logs.

  It wailed as its fur began to smolder and catch.

  Flynn watched as the toy burned, kicking up embers in its furious panic. After a moment, he reached down to pick up and replace the screen in front of the hearth, but the toy was faster, and surprisingly stronger. It hit the screen at full force, knocking Flynn back.

  “Love me!” it wailed as it tried to scale the screen, to crawl upon Flynn, to burn him as it burned.

  Flynn dropped the screen and grabbed a metal poker from the stand beside the fireplace. He swung it hard, swatting the flaming toy across the room, where it hit the wall and fell to the floor.

  “Love me!” it demanded as, unbelievingly, it began to crawl back toward him, its smoldering fur setting tiny fires wherever it touched.

  “No!” Flynn screamed, not wanting to hear its horrible voice any longer. Fire alarms began to ring as he strode toward it, lifted the poker, and skewered it.

  “Love me! Love me! Love me!” the creature cried over and over again as it struggled on the tip of the poker.

  Before it could free itself, Flynn returned to the hearth, tossed the burning stuffed animal back into the fire, and quickly sealed it in with the metal screen. It wasn’t long before it was nothing more than black ash and a fading scream, pulled up the flue, dispersed into the cold winter’s night.

  Flynn continued to stand there, trembling, half expecting to hear the cries of Love me coming from the fire. But it seemed to be gone, and after a while, he was able to step away, although he did keep an eye on the smoldering fire just to be sure.

  The fires set by the creature’s burning body were beginning to spread. It was only a matter of time before the whole place went up. For a moment, Flynn considered trying to snuff out the flames, but remembered Betty’s body on the floor. Better that it all burn, he thought, making his way toward the door.

  And then he stopped. To have gone through what he had, and not have anything to show for it just wasn’t right, but he’d have to be quick.

  His eyes fell on a large pillow on the sofa, and he reached for it, tearing away its cover to use as a sack. He walked quickly about the room, randomly tossing things into the pillowcase. The binder of coins, some tin toys, and then he found himself in front of the curio cabinet, the baby dolls gazing blankly at him through the dusty glass. His daughter would adore them. He opened the case and gently placed the delicate toys inside his sack.

  Flynn was ready to go. The fires were growing quickly, and he was beginning to choke on the wafting smoke. It wouldn’t be long before someone on the street would notice. He headed for the hallway but stopped to look down on Betty’s body. The lenses of her glasses were spattered with blood, but he could see that her eyes were open, staring at him.

  He couldn’t be angry with her. Desperation made people do terrible things.

  As he turned to leave, he kicked something with his foot and looked to the floor. Betty’s pistol—he hated the things, but every buck would help with his new life, and he was sure that Dougie could find a buyer with little effort.

  Flynn picked the gun up, slung the pillowcase over his shoulder like Santa Claus, and quickly made his way down the stairs and out into the cold, cold night.

  He was two blocks from the building before he heard the sirens.

  Like ghosts wailing in the night.

  * * *

  —

  Flynn didn’t know how long he’d wandered the freezing cold, early-morning streets, lost in an odd kind of feverish funk. His eyes darted to the shadows around buildings and homes, any patches of darkness that could have hidden something black and starving for affection.

  Love me.

  He heard the thing inside his head as if it were still clinging to him. The punctures and scratches on his body burned, so much so that he considered the idea of a hospital visit but then thought better of it.

  Shivering in the early-morning cold, Flynn hefted the stuffed pillowcase from one shoulder to the other. His injuries were throbbing with the beat of his heart, and he felt incredibly warm yet so very cold.

  He knew that he was sick and began to wonder, to hope that what he had seen on Stewart Street had been nothing more than a fucked-up fever dream. But the sack stuffed with treasures on his back told him otherwise.

  As he shambled slowly down the street, he realized that he was nearing the darkened tenement where his ex-wife and daughter lived. He approached the building and stumbled up the stairs to push the buzzer. His entire body was trembling now, wracked with feverish chills. He pushed the buzzer again, leaving his finger there until—

  “Who the fuck is this?” Cindy’s voice blared from the speaker.

  Always the sweetheart, he thought, leaning heavily against the wall.

  “It’s me,” he said, barely able to keep his eyes open.

  “Flynn?” he heard her ask. “What the fuck? You’ve got a lot of nerve coming here at this hour and—”

  “I’m good,” he told her, preparing his story—readying the lie.

  “What do you mean you’re good?”

  “Did what you asked. Can I come up?”

  “You got a job?”

  He didn’t confirm or deny, doing everything in his power to stay on his feet.

  “Can I…,” he started to say when the door buzzed loudly.

  He pushed the door open into the lobby and stopped before the stairs that would take him up to Cindy’s apartment, not sure he could make it. Flynn leaned against the wa
ll and looked up.

  Betty was standing there, completely naked, the black furred stuffed animal suckling on her ancient breast.

  “I’m so sorry, Flynn,” she said to him. “So, so very sorry.”

  And then it all went to black.

  * * *

  —

  Flynn awoke with a start.

  It took a moment for it to sink in, for the synapses in his brain to fire enough for him to put it all together and remember where he was.

  He was lying on the couch, heavy blanket draped over him, staring into the multicolored lights of a fake Christmas tree stuck in the corner of the small living room space. His pants were gone, and his shirt had been removed.

  “You were bleeding,” Cindy said, coming out of the kitchen with two mugs of steaming coffee in her hands. She was wearing a heavy blue terry-cloth bathrobe.

  Flynn winced as he slowly sat up. “Yeah, fell down the stairs at the place I’m working,” he said, making it up as he took the offered mug of coffee.

  “And where’s that?” she asked, wedging herself into the space next to him. She reached out a cool hand and placed it on his brow. “You were burning up when you got here. Could barely get you up the stairs.”

  He remembered seeing Betty and the thing at the top of the staircase and shivered. “Yeah, must’ve picked something up at work.”

  “Yeah, where is that?” Cindy asked, eyeing him with suspicion over the rim of her mug.

  “Warehouse off of Sixteenth,” he said. “Car parts and shit.”

  He looked at her, hoping that she didn’t see through his lie. As long as he made it through the day, he would fix it later.

  “You really did it,” she said, seeking confirmation.

  “I really did,” he said. The words tasted bitter. He didn’t like lying to her, but he didn’t have a choice.

  “I didn’t think you’d pull it off,” she said. “I’m proud of you.”

  “Yeah,” he said, forcing a smile. “You’re going to be saying that a lot now.”

  “Oh yeah?” she said, and smiled at him the way she used to look at him a very long time ago, before Meghan was born.