This Town Needs a Monster

by Andersen Prunty

  I wasn’t good at confrontation and didn’t think I’d ever called a woman a bitch before. I was shaking and my mouth was dry. I felt like the biggest pussy in the world.

  “Look, that’s not what I meant. It was just a little . . . maybe racist?”

  “Oh that’s fucking priceless. I show an ounce of pride in my country of birth and you call me a fucking racist when you’re just some dirty pervert who’s spent the last half hour watching this American girl’s ass! Is that why you like looking at me so much, loser? Because you go home to your brown wife and your four fucking welfare kids.”

  “Come on, Donnie. Let’s go.”

  “No. Old One-eye’s finishing what he’s doing. You can’t come in here, fuck me with your eyes, call me a racist, and then just leave!”

  “Just stop yelling at us.” I tried to sound calm but I was sure my voice was quivering.

  “I will not stop yelling, you fucking little pussy!”

  She was so close to me her breasts were nearly touching my chest. I was shaking with anger but my cock was even harder than before. What was happening?

  “I don’t know what you want me to say.”

  “I want you to admit to me that you think about fucking me every time you come here. I want you to tell me I’m better than you. Tell me you want to be just like us.”

  “Okay,” I said.

  “Okay what?”

  “All of that.”

  “Say it.”

  I swallowed through my dry mouth. She had been staring hatefully into my eyes, but now her gaze dropped to my crotch, where there was undoubtedly a considerable bulge in my khaki workpants.

  “I . . . think about having sex with you every time I come here. You are a better person than me. I would love to be just like you.”

  She smirked and backed away.

  “I’d probably let both of you fuck me if you were better looking.” She pointed at Donnie. “I bet that one’s never had sex before and you probably only fuck fat girls and unwed mothers.”

  Donnie stood up, as though completely unaware of the situation.

  “Finished,” he said.

  Mr. Bachman stood in the doorway, looking forlorn.

  “The rash,” he said, “it’s worse.”

  “Nobody wants to hear about your fucking rash,” she said.

  “We’d better hit the yard.” I clapped Donnie on the back and we scooted out of the house as quickly as possible.

  “That was intense,” Donnie said.

  We quickly finished up in the yard and drove to the McDonald’s out on Route 4 to grab some lunch. The sky darkened while we were en route to our next stop. We parked on the curb in front of the house as the storm broke and waited for it to pass. Donnie smoked a cigarette and I drank some of the shitty McDonald’s coffee. I looked over at the house across the street and saw a child standing in the yard, completely expressionless as the rain pounded down on him.

  “What’s wrong with people?” I said.

  “Whaddya mean?” Donnie absently scrolled through his phone.

  “Fuck,” I said. “I don’t know. Maybe I’m just getting old.”

  He shrugged. “My parents think we’re, like, a test area.”

  “A test area?”

  “Yeah. You know, like market research or something.”

  “Are they conspiracy nuts?”

  “I don’t know. They have a point. You ever hear of a rade?”

  “Like a drug raid or something?”

  “No, uh, a rade. Like spelled r-a-d-e, I think. Short for radiation victim. Most people think it’s some kind of urban legend but I know people who swear they’ve seen em.”

  I thought about what I’d seen the one night I went to Travis’s, the night I’d gone off the road.

  “I don’t think I have,” I said.

  “You know, it was rumored the aliens and parts of the spaceship that crashed in Roswell were transported to Wright-Patt for further research.”

  “I’ve heard that.”

  “Other people have other theories, of course. My folks say if that’s true about us bein test subjects that it’s probably the biggest experiment the government has ever done. I mean, you’ve heard of The Point, right?”

  “Sure.”

  “Well then you know they’re everywhere. But they’re a corporation. Not a government entity. And they have their hand in everything from space research down to breakfast cereal. Not to mention all the hospitals and medical shit. Anyway, the story is that the rades came from their chemical plant closer to Dayton. They started as normal humans but something changed them. They lost their hair. Their skin turned a glowing green. They sprouted needles from the tips of their fingertips that they plunged into people to drain them of their life force. Like vampires or something. Some people said it was chemicals. Other people said they’d somehow been given some biologically altering agent derived from the original Roswell aliens. My dad says he thinks they’re some sort of weapons experiment that went haywire. He says the government or The Point or whatever is tryin to get them to evolve to the point to where people can’t tell if they’re humans or not. He says they could be used to fight wars in other countries but would probably just end up being toys for rich people. In fact, he says the world is run by rich people and, once we’re all rades, the rich people will have achieved what they want. The ultimate consumers. People who’ll make things and then buy and consume the things they make without putting up any fuss.”

  He laughed a little and took another drag from his cigarette. “I’m just repeating what they said. I’m not sayin I believe any of it.”

  “Yeah, right? You could waste your entire life thinking about that shit and it’s not going to make anything any better. If there is some kind of truth, we’re never going to know what it is. It’s probably closer to chaos than it is a conspiracy. I don’t think humans are capable of that kind of organization, no matter how much money they have.”

  “You know when I said I came back because I missed this place?”

  “Yeah.”

  “It was pretty bad. I had to go see a doctor when I came back. He said I was having withdrawal symptoms. He was convinced I got hooked on booze or some drug when I went away. But I think it was this town.”

  “Withdrawal symptoms from a place?”

  “Yeah, man, he put me on meds and everything. I’ve been on em ever since and, man, I didn’t do nothin when I went to school. Personally, I think it’s the air or the water or something. Dad says it could have been chemtrails from the military aircraft.”

  “Is your doctor here in town?”

  “Yeah. Weishaupt. I think he’s the only one.”

  “Can I bum a smoke?”

  “Sure, man.” He dug his cigarettes from his pocket and handed me the pack.

  I pulled one out and lit up. It made the shitty coffee better, at least.

  I pulled my phone from my pocket and brought up a weather app to see how long it was going to storm for. If it was supposed to last the rest of the afternoon then we might as well call it a day. From what I could make out from the half of my screen I could see, it looked like it was supposed to be over soon. It had been pretty warm and hadn’t rained a lot so the ground would probably drink it up.

  The rain stopped by the time I was finished with my cigarette.

  The boy I’d been watching turned and went back into his house like he’d only been out there to absorb the energy of the storm.

  We got out of the truck and took care of the lawn. By the time we were finished the sidewalk and driveway were already dry enough for us to blow the grass away.

  We collaborated on the next two stops. The storm had put us behind by about an hour.

  The next stop was White Power Larry’s. After the incident at the Bachmans’, I didn’t think my nerves could take it. I decided to use the storm as an excuse.

  “Hey,” I said, “you wanna hit this one and I’ll move on to the next one so maybe we can get done by dark? We’re runnin
g a little behind.”

  “Sure, man. You ever hang out at Larry’s?”

  “Uh, no. Do you?”

  “I have a couple times. He stopped inviting me though. He throws good parties. Good music. And the girls are awesome.”

  It occurred to me Donnie might have been too stupid to realize White Power Larry threw neo-Nazi rallies, not really parties.

  “Not my scene,” I said.

  I drove up the long gravel driveway on Pence Road, leaving Donnie in front of White Power Larry’s trailer with a riding lawnmower and a leaf blower. I went ahead and did the next two stops before doubling back to pick him up. It was already after six. That would leave one more stop and put us back at the shop around eight.

  I pulled up in front of White Power Larry’s trailer. He and a couple other bubbas were sitting on chairs in front of the trailer. I quickly scanned around for Stasia but didn’t see her. I pretended to look at my phone so I’d appear busy. Donnie drove the lawnmower up onto the bed of the truck and tossed the leaf blower in.

  He hopped in next to me.

  He was bald.

  I pulled away as quickly as I could without being too obvious.

  “You’re bald.”

  “Yeah, man, Larry shaved my head.”

  “Did he make you let him do it?”

  “Um . . .” He pulled out a cigarette and lit it. “It’s kind of embarrassing.”

  “It’s fine if you don’t want to talk about it.”

  “No . . . Larry’s all right. It’s just . . . Okay, you won’t tell Billups, will you?”

  “What? Tell him you shaved your head? I think he’s going to notice.”

  “Well . . . okay, so Larry’s got this smokin hot wife. She’s way younger than he is.”

  “Um, yeah.” I tried to feign ignorance. “I think I’ve seen her around. I don’t remember her name.”

  “It’s Stasia. Anyway, I was mowin the grass and she’s out there in like a bikini top and cut-offs and I couldn’t help lookin. So Larry catches me and says, ‘You like what you see?’ and I say, ‘I’m so sorry, sir’ cause Larry’s a big fuckin guy and I’ve heard about what he does to people. And he says, ‘No, man, it’s okay. I’d think you was a fag if you didn’t look and that’s not okay. Bein a fag.’ So I told him I wasn’t a fag and he says if he and his friends can shave my head, he’ll let me look all I want so I go into his garage and they sit me down in a chair and start shavin my head and Stasia comes in and starts takin off her clothes. Then he tells me I can jerk off if I want to. I don’t know, I kind of thought it would be insulting if I didn’t so I did. Anyway, I did somethin right away and as soon as that happened Stasia was gone. She didn’t even take off her underwear, man.”

  “It, uh, sounds like you had a good time.”

  “I guess.” He seemed shaken and I got the feeling he wasn’t telling me everything.

  “What else happened?”

  He was nearly crying. “They pushed me down and made me lick up my jizz. Then Stasia came back and all these other hot girls and everyone else who was there and there was hair in the jizz and I couldn’t get it down without gagging and a bunch of them had their phones out recording me and just . . . just . . . I don’t want to talk about it anymore. But maybe I didn’t embarrass myself too much because they invited me to a party next Friday.”

  “Dude, Larry and his friends are neo-Nazi racist assholes. Stay away from them. Even if you’re bored. They’re just going to make you do shit you don’t want to do.” I felt like a hypocrite saying it, especially while we were driving around in a company truck wearing company uniforms, especially when I still had Dawn on the brain, especially when I’d fucked White Power Larry’s wife, even after noticing the swastika tramp stamp.

  “No, man, I think they’re all right.”

  “Dude, are you a fucking racist asshole?”

  “I just . . . I agree with a lot of what they have to say.”

  I held up a hand. “Just stop talking, okay?”

  “I just . . .”

  “You just what?”

  “Thought you’d be okay with it too.”

  “Why would you think I’m okay with it?”

  “Well, I mean, you work for Billups. You ever see any minorities workin for him? I mean, come on, he’s the only advertiser in Larry’s White Power Times.”

  “I’ve, uh, never read White Power Times.”

  “Yeah, well, you’re pretty much contributing to it.”

  Why did Donnie have to tell me this shit? I had thus far managed to be willfully ignorant. I thought I was working for an old religious man who had trouble finding help. And maybe he had some peculiar ideas and was a little racist but, I don’t know, I didn’t think he was hateful in a conscious, organized kind of way. If he happened to not have any minorities working for him, it was probably because there weren’t many minorities in Gethsemane. It was impossible to find a job I was morally okay with. I didn’t think I’d had that since I worked in a bookstore out of high school. It seemed like everyone else either discriminated against people, destroyed the environment, or were hellbent on keeping their own employees among the poorest part of the population.

  I pulled to the curb in front of our last stop for the day, the Carmichaels’.

  I checked the bank app on my phone to make sure my paycheck had gone through.

  It had.

  “It’s almost dark, man,” I said. “You wanna just blow this one off?”

  “I don’t give a fuck.”

  I drove back to the shop and dropped Donnie off. Then I went back to the apartment where I masturbated to a scenario of hate fucking Mrs. Bachman with her bent over a Pilates ball, but thoughts of Dawn kept interfering and I ended up finishing to the thought of eating her out.

  * * *

  I dozed off relatively early and was awakened a few hours later to a loud sound coming from the street. I sat up in the bed and looked out the window.

  I first noticed Barcie and grew momentarily excited, thinking Dawn would be with her but I didn’t see any sign of her.

  The loud sound was the lawnmower running. Barcie stood in the middle of the truck’s bed wielding the leaf blower like a supervillain.

  I sighed and thought, “I guess I need to deal with this.”

  But I didn’t. Not really. This was Mr. Billups’ problem and I was pretty sure I was going to use the money I’d just gotten paid with to fix my truck and tell him he could come and pick up his whenever he wanted because I was done.

  Still, I was going to go down and confront Barcie because Barcie was close to Dawn and I had to see Dawn again.

  I still wore my work uniform. I changed into jeans and a black t-shirt so I didn’t feel like a clown before putting on some shoes and going down to figure out what the hell Barcie was doing.

  Once at the sidewalk, I looked around to see if she had attracted anyone else’s attention but, of course, there wasn’t anyone else around.

  “What the hell are you doing?” I asked over the roar of the lawnmower.

  Donnie must have been so harried by having to drink his own jizz that he hadn’t even removed the keys.

  “This stuff yours?” she called.

  “Well, it’s . . .” I reached up to the lawnmower and turned it off. “It’s Mr. Billups’.”

  I gestured for the leaf blower and she handed it to me so I could turn it off.

  “You know how to use all of it?”

  “Well, yeah, it’s what I do.”

  “That’s what you been up to, huh? Workin?”

  “Pretty much.”

  “You gonna show me how to use it? It’d be a lot of fun. I ain’t never done chores before.”

  “I don’t think that’d be a great idea.”

  “Why not? Fraid of gettin in trouble?”

  “Well . . .” I thought about saying not really, that I was done with Billups, but it’s what I’d been doing all day and didn’t think I wanted to do any more of it.

  “Cause Dad
dy’s real tight with old Billups so you wouldn’t get in no trouble.”

  “No . . . it’s just . . . I’m tired.”

  “Come on, take me out and show me how to use it. I’ll suck your dick.”

  She lifted up her shirt to show me her nipples. I liked skinny girls but Barcie was too thin even for me. I really didn’t want her anywhere near my cock but, as far as taking Billups’ equipment out for a midnight spin, what else was I going to do?

  “Fine,” I said. “But you don’t have to suck my cock.”

  “I’m totally goin to though.” She leapt out of the truck and went to her car, coming back to the truck with a partially depleted case of Bud. She cracked one open and said, “Lawn and garden party!”

  She headed for the driver’s side of the truck and I cut her off.

  “I’ll drive.” It wasn’t that I really cared. I just wanted control of where we were going.

  “This is really exciting,” she said.

  “Yeah. So . . . I haven’t heard from Dawn lately.”

  “I seen her earlier today. She’s real busy.”

  “So . . . what is it she does exactly?”

  “I can’t really talk about it.”

  “Why not? It’s just us.”

  She smirked a little. “That’s what you think. It’s never just us. Somebody’s always watchin or listenin. Sides, I signed one of them whaddyacallits.”

  “A confidentiality agreement?”

  “Yeah. That’s it.”

  “Well that pretty much just means you can’t talk about it publicly.” I didn’t know if this was true or not. “I’m not really asking for specifics just . . . like what’s the nature of her business?”

  “Makin people happy. That’s the nature of Dawn’s business. She makes people happy.”

  I couldn’t help but laugh a little. “Really? What about that girl you beat with a chain? What was her name? Taylor something?”

  “Taylor Dream. She’ll be a lot happier. Sometimes you just gotta wait and see.”

  “Did Dawn do that to you?” I had thus far not wanted to point out Barcie’s obvious wounds or deformities or whatever they were but her reluctance to tell me about Dawn was driving me insane.