This Town Needs a Monster

by Andersen Prunty

  Maybe I was just losing my fucking mind.

  I thought jerking off might help me focus but every time I even contemplated it I saw that red bump and lost all desire.

  I was pretty sure the bump was getting bigger.

  Dawn didn’t contact me. I felt cheated. I would have rather she picked me up every day and had me do terrible things rather than sitting around and wondering what she was doing.

  I thought about putting on clothes and stealing a paper to see when Sheriff Bando’s funeral was. I contemplated going if I hadn’t already missed it. To help reaffirm its reality, if for no other reason.

  By the time I was able to take a shower and put on clothes, I was so stir crazy I had to leave the apartment. Also, I discovered I didn’t have any electricity that morning. It was probably time to go rub the stump again.

  I walked to the Snack Barn. It was oppressively hot. Gethsemane was a ghost town.

  At the carryout, there was no one behind the counter at all. Just the honesty cup. I almost felt bad about not honoring the honesty cup, since it was my idea, but I needed things like beer and cigarettes and food that didn’t need cooking. I contemplated getting ice to keep the beer on but decided I was too weak to transport it back to the apartment.

  When I was behind the counter getting my cigarettes, I saw an envelope on the counter. It was addressed to ‘Kren Doll.’ I figured it was probably a paycheck. Kren Doll. That couldn’t be his real name.

  I popped open the register and stuffed all the paper money in my pockets. Then I pocketed Kren’s paycheck. I recognized the address. It was another small apartment building a couple blocks from mine.

  I took my haul back to the apartment, quickly ate a Snickers bar and a Slim Jim, wondered how anyone was still alive if this was what they ate, and set out for Kren’s.

  On the way to Kren’s I saw an elderly woman with her dress hiked up around her hips either pissing or shitting in her flowerbed. I wasn’t close enough to tell. People weren’t right anymore. Maybe we were living too long or something.

  I entered Kren’s building and walked up to his second floor apartment. I knocked on the door and waited for a while but there wasn’t an answer. I thought about sliding the paycheck under the door but doubted Kren ever locked it, if he even knew how. I didn’t even see how he was living on his own, but I was also living on my own and hadn’t had a mature thought in over a decade.

  His door was unlocked. I opened it and went in. It was a studio apartment similar to mine. Kren had a twin bed shoved against the far wall and there was no furniture anywhere. Just piles of things. A massive bong seemed to be the centerpiece for the apartment. A large TV had a scene frozen from a video game bouncing around on it. There was a large swastika flag hanging on a wall near the kitchen area. There was also a large poster of Hitler and what looked like pages ripped from White Power Larry’s pamphlet taped around the swastika flag. I walked over to the bed and tossed the envelope onto it. Their was a spiral bound notebook on the floor, opened to a page that just said ‘Kren Loves Weishaupt’ over and over in what was a surprisingly girlish and legible script. Just being in Kren’s apartment felt like it was enough to provoke some sort of identity crisis.

  I noticed a laptop sitting on the floor. I felt like there were things I wanted to look up or research but by the time I actually sat on the floor and opened the laptop my mind had gone blank so I spent nearly two hours watching hidden cam public pool videos and people eating until throwing up. Then I Googled ‘how to be a terrorist’ a hundred times and closed the laptop. I spent a few minutes quickly ransacking the apartment for money but didn’t turn up anything. I had to piss before I left and relieved myself on Kren’s bed. The spot on my cock reminded me that I wanted to look up images of herpes but then I decided I didn’t really want to know.

  Also, I couldn’t be sure, but it looked like it had changed colors.

  On my way home, a car full of teenagers passed a seven-year-old girl playing in her yard and shouted, “Show us your tits!” but they didn’t stop the car and the girl probably didn’t have tits anyway. Or maybe she did, what with all the hormones in milk nowadays.

  I got back to my apartment and hit the beer pretty hard.

  * * *

  It felt like my bladder was going to explode. I had my underwear down before even lifting the seat of the toilet. The piss came shooting out the tip of my cock like water from a showerhead, in all different directions instead of a single, concentrated stream.

  My cock . . . What was happening to it?

  I held myself with one hand while keeping myself upright by placing the other hand on the vanity, studying my cock while dealing with the burning pain.

  The red spot had grown considerably and I was pretty sure the whole thing was swollen. The head of my cock seemed to be about twice as large as it had been and there was an irregular-shaped bulge midway down the shaft. By the time I was finished, I was just glad I hadn’t pissed a gallon of blood.

  I was pretty sure the red spot now had a greenish hue.

  I took off my shirt and studied my torso in the mirror. I turned around. I had two more green spots on my upper back, roughly where the lingering scars from the chain were.

  I went into the kitchen, ate half a bag of Doritos and drank some tap water. Coffee would have been great but I didn’t have any way of making it. I felt shaky and weak. The flyer for Dr. Blast still lay on the counter. I considered the fact that Dawn was quite possibly a witch and I quite possibly had some sort of demon in me. Or maybe even that she had infected me with something. I’m not sure why I was drawn to the flyer. I wasn’t really a believer in those types of things. At that exact moment, though, what I really focused on was the title ‘doctor.’ Was this guy actually a doctor? Did it really matter? I felt like I would need someone to look at my cock eventually. Not to mention those things on my back. I didn’t think it would be possible to make an appointment with any of the doctors in Gethsemane without insurance. Other than my pediatrician, I wasn’t even sure there were any doctors besides Weishaupt in Gethsemane. And the way I’d felt when we’d dropped Kren off at his house prevented me from even considering him. I knew I could go to The Point in Dayton and probably have it looked at, but I’d walk away with a bill so large I’d never be able to pay it off. Or I’d end up becoming some test subject or research experiment. Fuck. Maybe I already was.

  I tore one of the phone number tabs off the flyer and took it to bed with me. I’m not sure why I didn’t just take the whole thing with me. I collapsed back into my bed, checking my phone for any messages. Of course there weren’t any.

  I sent a text to Dawn.

  “What the hell did you do to me?”

  She didn’t respond.

  I lay there in my semi-darkened apartment, clutching the phone to my chest, obsessing about my cock even more than I normally obsessed about it, pretty sure I could feel the spots on my back growing and moving, until I dozed off.

  I had to piss again when I woke up. That basic bodily function now filled me with dread.

  This time the situation in the bathroom was even worse.

  My entire cock was now swollen to nearly double its size, covered in large knots and bumps. Still no blood, thankfully, but the pain of the experience filled me with nausea.

  I was thirsty and hungry but I didn’t want to drink or eat anything because that would just make me have to pee again.

  Dawn still hadn’t responded to my text.

  I texted her again.

  “I think I need to go to the doctor.”

  I dozed off again, conscious of the throbbing, burning sensation in my cock.

  I woke up to a darkened room.

  I checked my phone for messages.

  Still nothing.

  My door was open. I thought about getting up to close it but felt frozen in place.

  I went back to sleep and dreamt that everyone in the building took turns standing in my doorway staring at me. Then they went back to their ap
artments, opened their laptops, and continued watching me.

  When I woke up around noon the next day my door was closed. Since I wasn’t wearing any clothes, I was immediately aware of the horror show between my legs. My cock hadn’t improved. I went to piss and painfully squeezed out a few bright yellow drops that seemed barely liquid.

  The original red spot was now definitely green.

  Red means stop. Green means go.

  I went into the kitchen and had more Doritos and water. I decided to put on clothes. My cock had changed so much my pants fit differently.

  Out of boredom and possibly some misguided sense of self-preservation I decided to call Dr. Blast.

  “Hello. Thank you for calling the office of the Righteous and Honorable Dr. Blast. How may I help you?”

  The voice was weird. It sounded like a man impersonating a woman and I wondered if this wasn’t Dr. Blast himself.

  “Um, yeah.” I cleared my throat. I didn’t know how long it had been since I’d said anything out loud. “I’d like to make an appointment.”

  “There’s no need. Come by whenever it suits you.”

  “Um . . .”

  “What’s the worst that could happen? Maybe you have to wait for a few minutes. We all have time to wait, don’t we?”

  I definitely did have time to wait but wondered how many other people felt like they did.

  “I don’t suppose you make house calls, do you?”

  “I’m sorry. We don’t. The good doctor has a touch of agoraphobia. Also, much of his diagnosis is based on geographically specific data.”

  Geographically specific data? What the fuck did that mean?

  “Okay. And what are his rates?”

  “That’s negotiable.”

  “I don’t have a lot of money.”

  “We can discuss it at your appointment.”

  I got the address and hung up. I was hoping it would be within walking distance but was expecting it to be in some place like Twin Springs or one of the more posh suburbs of Dayton. But it wasn’t in either of those places. It was in a suburb of East Dayton. I didn’t think it was a particularly nice one.

  I made it a goal to get there. What else did I have to do besides waiting around for my dick to mutate further?

  I didn’t feel like I had a lot left in me. The only thing I could really think about was Dawn and I wasn’t sure if I was getting anywhere with her. I wasn’t sure how it was going to end. Maybe that was what made it exciting.

  I grabbed my keys to the truck and went down to the street.

  There were a number of fluorescent pink and yellow stickers stuck to the windows. I was pretty sure they could tow something if it hadn’t moved in a few days and felt like maybe the only reason my truck hadn’t been towed was because of Dawn’s connections. I felt like it would be a good sign if it started.

  It didn’t.

  I didn’t bother taking the key back out of the ignition.

  Maybe Kren could give me a ride.

  I lit a cigarette and began walking to his building. The air was a little cooler than it had been. I didn’t see a single person outside. I imagined everyone was either at work or inside a semi-darkened house, whacked on prescription meds and hunched over some screen or the other, indulging whatever was still able to ignite some sense of pleasure in them.

  I got to Kren’s building and went in. I knocked on his door. I was somewhat surprised when he answered it. He’d shaved his head.

  “Hey, Kren,” I said. “It’s Brad. Remember me?”

  “Yeah, man. Are you here to take me back to Weishaupt’s place?”

  “No. I didn’t really have much to do with that. I need to borrow the moped.”

  “Aw, man, I totaled it.”

  “So . . . it doesn’t even run?”

  “No, man. I threw it in a dumpster. It was trashed. Where do you need to go?”

  “I have a doctor’s appointment in Dayton.”

  “Oh, but I have a car now. Weishaupt bought it for me.”

  I again thought of the weird evil feeling I’d gotten from Weishaupt and wasn’t sure I wanted anything to do with anything he had a hand in. But I was desperate.

  “That’s great,” I said. “Do you mind if I borrow it for a couple of hours?”

  “You said you’re going to Dayton?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Maybe I could come along with you. You could show me how to get there?”

  The thought of being in the car with Kren seemed mildly unendurable but he was doing me a favor so I acquiesced.

  Kren went back into the apartment to put on a shirt and I followed him down to the parking lot.

  When we got to his car, I said, “Dude, this is a Bentley.”

  “Yeah. I guess it’s pretty nice. Better than the moped.”

  “It’s a really expensive car. You could probably quit your job if you sold it.”

  “I already quit.”

  “Oh, yeah, I forgot.”

  “And I don’t need it. Weishaupt gives me whatever I need. He says I never have to get a job if I don’t want to.”

  “Maybe be careful around that guy.”

  “He’s pretty fucking twisted!” Kren laughed. “But I like it. He’s cool.”

  We got in the car and I put the address into the GPS app on my phone.

  Fortunately Kren didn’t talk a lot. We listened to some driving industrial sounding music with white power lyrics.

  My phone’s battery died and I panicked.

  “Just put it in the car’s GPS,” Kren said. “I don’t know how to use it, but I’m sure it has one.”

  “Right,” I said.

  It was really simple to use. Of course it was. This was a rich person’s car and nothing was supposed to be difficult for the rich.

  It was late afternoon by the time we took the Smithville Road exit off Route 35. We passed a Kroger that had ten police cars and three ambulances in the parking lot. Everyone walking around looked like they’d either just gotten out of prison or were about to do something that would send them to prison. Three hoodlums were playing leapfrog by a bus stop. We turned down a narrow street. There were a lot of obese people on their porches or in their yards.

  “Jiggle Avenue,” Kren said, looking at one morbidly obese teenager wearing skintight clothes and pushing a stroller. “You really have a doctor’s appointment or are you just here to buy drugs?”

  “This is the address they gave me.”

  We took what Kren had dubbed Jiggle Avenue until it ended. Then we turned right and went to the last house on the left. It was a tiny cape cod with a wooded backyard. It seemed oddly anomalous.

  “This it?” Kren said.

  “Yeah. I think.”

  “Okay. I’m probably gonna take off. Just text me when you need me to pick you up.”

  “All right.”

  I opened the door and started to step out.

  I stopped.

  “Somethin wrong?” Kren said.

  “I can’t do it.”

  “Why not?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Kren squinted toward the house.

  “Well,” he said, “he’s probably not a real doctor anyway.”

  “Probably not.”

  “I guess we can go back if you want.”

  “Yeah. Sorry to make you drive me all the way out here.”

  “Now I know how to get to Dayton, at least.”

  I wanted to point out that he had a really nice car with a GPS in it and could probably go wherever he wanted to at just about any time but what was the point?

  “Nobody needs to come to Dayton,” I said. “Ever.”

  He backed out of the driveway and we started back to Gethsemane.

  * * *

  Once we were back in Gethsemane, I thought I saw Travis walking down Main Street.

  “Hey, can you just let me off here?” I said.

  Kren slowed the car and I thanked him for the ride and hopped out.

  I started
following who I thought was Travis. As I drew closer to him, I became even surer, although it looked like he’d shaved his head.

  “Travis!” I called.

  He stopped and turned.

  “Oh, hey, man,” he said. It was like nothing had happened.

  “Where you been?”

  “Oh, you know, around.”

  “Where you going?”

  “Just home. I got a new place. Wanna see it?”

  “Sure.” What else did I have to do?

  I walked alongside him.

  “I thought something had happened to you.”

  “Nah, man, I just lost my phone.”

  “I think I know who has it.”

  “Me too.”

  We turned down a side street.

  We’d both spent a lot of time on this street with the landscaping company. It was a well-maintained street with a number of one-story cottage-type houses. They weren’t the nicest houses in Gethsemane but I felt like they were still well outside of Travis’s price range.

  He turned up a brick walkway. I followed him.

  “This is nice,” I said. “You renting?”

  “Nah, man. It’s mine.”

  “You bought it?” It wasn’t completely unreasonable. Travis had worked the same job as me for a lot longer. And he’d lived with his parents for the majority of that time.

  “Sure,” he said.

  We walked into the house. It was decorated nicely but I didn’t think it was to Travis’s tastes at all. Of course, since he’d never really had a place of his own and his bedroom at his parents’ house hadn’t changed since high school, I had no idea what his tastes actually were.

  “Can I get you a drink or something?” he said.

  “Water’s fine.”

  “Sure, man. Take a seat.”

  He disappeared into the kitchen. I sensed movement coming from somewhere farther back in the house. One of Dawn’s blond girls came into the living room and sat down on a chair positioned catty-corner to the couch.

  I looked at her.

  She stared at me with large unblinking eyes.

  “Let me guess,” I said. “You don’t talk.”

  She didn’t say anything.