What Do Monsters Fear

by Matt Hayward

  Henry closed the door. “Right across from you, I believe. You’re to the left there?”

  “Yeah. First room.”

  “Got your own bathroom?”

  “Luckily.”

  “Me, too. I have a kidney infection so I’m up pissing at least four times a night. It’s disgusting. I didn’t have one, I’d need one.”

  “I hear you.”

  Peter respected the old man’s honesty, found it refreshing. He hadn’t met someone like that in a long time, someone he could talk to. Lately, his public interaction seemed to be nothing but formal pleasantries.

  “Well,” he said. “Sleep well, Henry. See you in the morning.”

  “Sure thing. You take it easy . . . Patrick, was it?”

  “Pete. Peter. But close enough.”

  “Yeah, yeah I know, just kidding. Don’t get to do that much anymore. People seem to either pity or hate me.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  They made their way upstairs, Peter keeping pace with the old man. After parting ways and a final word, Peter turned off his light and lay on the bed. The fresh white sheets smelt of fabric softener, and lacing his fingers behind his head, Peter closed his eyes with a sigh. The nicotine craving had passed, but he knew it would be back again. It always was. The talk had distracted him, at least, but now he needed to try and sleep.

  Peter’s eyes twitched beneath their lids as from the hallway, the grandfather clock sounded louder and louder. His hands tightened.

  Tick . . . Tock . . . Tick . . . Tock . . .

  Peter took a long, shuddering breath and released it slow as beads of sweat formed on his forehead.

  “It’s all right. I can do this. I can do this, stop worrying.”

  He imagined the sensation of a cold beer racing towards his stomach, cooling his parched throat, bubbles fizzing. He’d take half the can in two mouthfuls, then belch in victory. How satisfying, to take the edge off things, like a warm blanket tossed over the brain. In another five minutes, he’d have the second half of the can gone. Then, with a pull of the tab, another would be opened and waiting, beckoning him, the weight good in his hand. He’d repeat, and repeat, and repeat . . .

  Peter pinched the bridge of his nose and let out a sigh. His hands shook.

  “. . . I’m so fucking scared.”

  Then the screaming started, coming from down the hall.

  “The ice cream man! He’s here! Please, Jerry, help! The ice cream man!”

  The voice belonged to Walter.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  “Let’s go over this one more time, Walter. Omit no details.”

  Jerry sat on the arm of the couch next to Peter and folded his arms. An hour ago, at eight, they’d eaten breakfast in total silence but Peter knew they were all asking themselves the same question: What had happened to Walter last night? Peter’d only managed to munch a couple of slices of toast despite the English fry provided: bacon, eggs, sausages, beans, the works, but no salt. Not that it bothered him much; being clean still knotted his stomach. The smell had been enough to make Henry excuse himself twice, and Shelly Matthews still hadn’t shown despite group therapy being underway.

  Cold seeped inside the living room against the roaring fire’s efforts, the window wet with condensation. The pulled-back curtains allowed in light that Peter avoided to sooth his tired eyes. He’d slept a little over three hours.

  “I’d like to say something,” Donald said. Peter noted the large man had managed to shave, looking fresher than the rest of the group. “That lady, Shelly? If she’s gonna vomit every night, how am I expected to rest here? Walls are paper thin, Doc, heard the whole thing splash by splash.”

  Jerry nodded. “She’s going through deep withdrawal, Donald, please understand. Heroin is difficult to kick.”

  “Sounded like she was dying, screaming her head off, for Christ’s sake. Where is she? Ain’t this shit mandatory?”

  “She’s in no state to join us today. Perhaps tomorrow.”

  Donald grunted a response and Jerry looked to the group. “Back to our discussion. Walter, please, go on.”

  “Jerry, look, I know he wasn’t really there, okay? I just imagined it, I’m not stupid. I don’t need to talk about it . . . I’m not crazy. It had just been frightening, you know? Really, really scared me.”

  “The reason to talk, Walter, is so that we can find the route of your problem, perhaps overcome it. An ice cream man is very specific. Sharing your thoughts with the group, somebody else might have had a similar experience and share theirs, too. Show you you’re not alone.”

  Walter scratched his messed hair and pulled his bathrobe across him. “He’d seemed so real. Except for his jaw . . . That’s why I peed myself. Geez, I’m so sorry about that. I peed the whole bed because his jaw reached all the way down to his stomach. It was so long! It . . . it waggled when he stepped, Jerry, back and forth, back and forth, all wet and red and shiny. I’m pretty sure he wanted to eat me.”

  “A nightmare, Walt. Last night before bed you told me last you knew this man. In real life. Would you mind sharing with the group?”

  “The white uniform, the funny little hat . . . His shirt had WHIPPY’S written on the chest in blue letters. I know him from when I was a kid, you see. Me and my sister used to buy ice creams from him in the summer. My sister Annie, she’s two years younger than me and she lives in Cincinnati now with her husband, and he doesn’t like it when I call her so I don’t do that anymore. But when we were kids, we’d buy ice creams off the ice cream man. He’d come in his truck once a day, every day, every summer. He was always so friendly, but he scared me because he spoke in a too-friendly voice that made me feel funny, and when he handed me my ice cream, or my change, his hand lingered on mine and it made me feel odd, like creepy crawlies make me feel. I’d felt sick when it happened, but I wanted to get my ice cream, you know? Come to think of it, I haven’t had ice cream since. How strange is that? I’ve never thought about until you asked, but I’ve never eaten ice cream since I was a kid. And I loved that stuff.”

  “Do you think about that man often, Walter?”

  “No!” Walter’s eyes swelled behind their frames. “Never. I’d forgotten all about it until last night. It was him though, I know it. But his jaw was long and wiggling. I was trying to sleep and I felt nervous because usually my doctor gives me Zaleplon and it’s my first night without those in months. They’re sleeping tablets. Help me to go to sleep. My eyes wouldn’t quit opening, and once when I opened them, he was just there, standing in the middle of the room. He looked just as I remembered but with that big, hanging jaw. I screamed and screamed and then the nice man with the beard opened the door and that made him disappear.”

  Jerry nodded. “Because he wasn’t really there to begin with, right, Walter?”

  “Right.”

  “Good.”

  Jerry made his way to a wooden armchair he’d set up at the top of the two couches and sat like a king on his throne. This morning he wore a thick black woolen sweater and looked more refreshed than anyone else in the room. “Does anyone have anything to add?”

  Donald Bove arched an eyebrow and nodded towards Walter. “I’d like to say that he looks like shit.”

  “Donald, we’re trying to be constructive here.”

  “Me, too. Nah, nah, don’t get me wrong, I’m not pickin’ on the guy. He just looks like shit.”

  “He’s right,” Jamie Peters said. “He does.”

  Peter had noticed, too, but he didn’t want to be the one to say anything. Walter’s face looked the texture of cheese. The whites of his eyes, magnified behind thick glasses, were streaked with veins and yellowed. Hair stood up at awkward angles around his head and he jittered, watching the group one by one.

  “I don’t feel so good,” He said. “Like I caught a bug or something. My tummy doesn’t feel right.”

  “That’s antidepressant discontinuation syndrome, Walter,” Jerry said. “It will pass, don’t worry.”

&n
bsp; Walter tapped his temple. “I felt my brain zap me this morning, like an electric shock. Zip.”

  “It’s a common symptom for the syndrome, but I promise you it will pass. You might feel flu-ish and get a little dizziness over the next few days while your system clears itself but that’s perfectly normal, too.”

  Donald leaned forward. “Hey, Walt, you say you never had no ice cream since you were a kid?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Well how’s about you go get some ingredients, Fisher? My Momma, god bless her, used to make it homemade and I know how to make it just like her.”

  The gesture caught Peter off guard, coming from the big man it came across more like a threat. But then again, Peter imagined anything Donald said sounded like a threat.

  “I don’t know,” Jerry said. “We’ll think about it.”

  “S’the problem? You go to the town, or send one of the workin’ fellas, pick some shit up. Boom, boom, done. I think Walt’d like that, eh?”

  Walt nodded. “I would, Jerry, I would a lot.”

  Scratching at the bridge of his nose, Jerry sighed. “Let’s see what I can do.”

  “Don’t take no seein’? Don’t take no nothin’.” Donald stood and cupped his hands to his mouth. “Hey! Paul, Andy! You two out there?”

  Jerry’s face flashed red, only for a second, but enough for Peter to catch. “Donald. Do not disrupt this meeting.”

  “Ain’t no problem, Fisher, all right?”

  Andrew appeared at the living room door, wiping his hands in a cloth. “Yeah?”

  “You,” Donald said, pointing with each syllable. “If y’goin’ inta town, I’d like you to pick me up some things, yeah?”

  “Sure.” Andrew nodded. “Not a problem.”

  Donald faced Jerry with a smirk. “See? Not a problem, Doc. Gonna make the man some lip-smackin’ ice cream.”

  “Andrew,” Jerry said. “Go back to your duties.”

  The group fell into an awkward silence as Andrew returned to the kitchen, then Jerry clapped his hands. “So, the first night was rough. Your bodies are adjusting to not getting what they want. It’s a shock to the system. Withdrawals are awful, aren’t they? But they’ll get better with time, and we’re all here to support one another in getting past that. Henry, you told us at the start of the meeting that alcohol was your vice. It’s a hard habit to break. How did you feel last night?”

  Henry watched Jerry with a steady gaze, looking both annoyed and ashamed at once. His voice came slow and steady. “I slept like shit, Jerry, if you must know. Usually by ten or eleven, I’d have had at least a bottle of something or other, numb and ready to pass out. Before I’d do that, a smoke or two helped me relax. My ritual, you could say. And I can’t do that here.”

  “Smoke? Do you mean marijuana?”

  “No. I haven’t touched a joint since the seventies. Just tobacco. Without the nicotine, my head feels sick. I felt confused and anxious all night and I’m a little on edge this morning so forgive me if I say anything out of hand. I just might lose it at some point today. Know it’s not intentional.”

  The last piece, Peter suspected, Henry meant for the group rather than Jerry Fisher.

  “Do you usually have a problem with controlling your anger?” Jerry asked.

  “Nope. Never an angry drunk, Jerry, nor abusive. Surprisingly, I’m more easy to agitate when I’m not drinking. The booze tames me, keeps me in check. Without it, and especially without a cigarette, I’m a little wound up, to say the least. Can’t take the goddamn smokes off my mind for a second.”

  “The work today will help with that. You’ll find yourself focusing on the tasks at hand, and the fresh air will work wonders. I guarantee it.” Jerry looked to the young man seated next to Henry like a lion looks to prey, and Jamie Peters eyed the room, looking anywhere else. The young man’s hair clung to his forehead and he rubbed his hands together.

  “Jamie,” Jerry said. “How was your night?”

  Jamie flashed a smile. His voice sounded slurred, but Peter guessed that to be his natural voice. “S’all right.”

  “Okay. And how are you feeling?”

  “I’m feeling pretty low, if m’honest. Feel depressed.”

  “Abuse of prescription drugs will do that. Your mom said she found a stash of hydrocodone in your room, and those pharming parties nearly killed your friend Liam from what I hear. You know they’re opiates, don’t you? In the same family as heroin, right?”

  “I know.”

  “Okay. Well, the withdrawal period will start, and when it does, you’ll be working with Andrew, who you’ve already met. I think you’ll get through it. We’ll work on our one-to-one counseling in private and make sure to set a relapse-prevention program into place. Stop you from cracking up.”

  Peter’s stomach lurched. “Jerry, that’s a little uncalled for?”

  Ignoring the comment, the doctor smirked. “Sick stomach, the shakes, it’ll happen, but if you’re strong enough, you’ll survive . . . Donald. Your night?”

  Looking to the kid, Peter felt a moment of pity. He’d judged him yesterday, lumping him into the same group of jocks Peter’d known as a teenager. But Jamie wasn’t a jock in this room; here he was a junkie who needed help as bad as the rest of them. One who didn’t deserve to be bullied by the likes of Jerry Fisher.

  Non-judgmental team my ass, Peter thought.

  Then Donald cleared his throat. Peter expected another sly remark from the man but instead, he pushed his palms into his eyes and blew out a breath. “Doc, it’s bad. It’s real bad. Not having a bump, y’know? It’s making me anksy. Feelin’ anksy. No blow, man, never thought the day would come. You know, you go into a new area and you need a bump, you suss the joint by seeing who’s sniffling. That tweaky sniffler’s your guy, y’know? That’s the guy. And I’m still thinkin’ that way. Looking around here at all you, wondering who’s got some blow. Wonderin’ who’s my guy.”

  “You’re talking about cocaine?”

  “Do I look like a gear-head, Doc? I’m a fiend, yeah, I’ll admit it. Look at me, for crying out loud, can hardly sit still here. Crack started comin’ in around eighty-four where I’m from, but I never touched the shit. Well, briefly, but only because they used to sell it on Selma and Orange and I had no other choice, know what I’m sayin’? But coke’s my thing, yeah. Just having that package man, having that package. Completes you. Right now, I don’t feel complete ’cause I don’t got my package.”

  “Your emotions will be high while we detox, Donald. And a good diet is going to help. The work will keep you busy. We’ll talk more in our private sessions, all right?”

  Jerry’s sympathy caused Peter to frown. Only a moment ago, the doctor had picked on Jamie Peters . . . Was he trying to weasel back into the group’s good book? Or else, and this frightened Peter, had he imagined the dig at Jamie? Was he getting paranoid?

  “All right, Doc,” Donald said. “You the boss, man.”

  “Okay then.” Now Jerry turned his attention to Peter, making something flutter inside him. His heart raced as each eye in the room watched on. He wanted to sink through the floorboards, sink down and be anywhere else but here. Shit, if he never would have come here he could be outside enjoying the frosty morning, flushing out his system alone. Jogging. That could’ve helped. Why didn’t he try jogging before blowing nearly two grand on this shit? Some smoothies, drink more water . . .

  “Mister Laughlin? Your first night. Do you have anything to say?”

  “Fine and dandy, Doc. Slept like a baby.”

  At once, both Donald and Jamie gave a cold stare, but not Henry. Peter could tell the old man knew it to be a bluff by the slight smile playing on his lips. The other two might think of him as the lucky one, gliding through the program while they struggled at the bottom, but there’d be time to get them alone and talk; see if they caught Fisher’s bad attitude, too.

  A sound came from the kitchen, a sharp bang followed by a meow. The group turned as one as a
black and white cat sauntered into the room with its tail batting back and forth. It gave a light purr before easing itself into a sitting position.

  “I hope none of you have allergies,” Jerry said. “I should have asked ahead but this is quite a surprise, we haven’t seen Alisa in a week so I’d assumed she’d left us for a better home. I can’t tell you how happy I was when we pulled up yesterday and there she was, snoozing on the porch.”

  Donald looked from the cat to Jerry and back again. “A cat, Doc? We got a cat? I haven’t had one of those since I was a kid. Named it Joey, that’s what I did. Found it out in the yard one night, think somebody dumped the poor fuck. Yeah, forgot all about that little guy. Momma let me keep it, can you believe that?”

  “You’re more than welcome to feed her if you’d like, Donald. There’s leftovers from breakfast I’m sure she’d appreciate.”

  “Yeah? For real?” Donald shifted his large frame from the couch. “Yeah, I’d like that.” His expression softened in a way Peter didn’t think possible. “I do it now? That good?”

  “Sure. Paul is still cleaning up in the kitchen, ask him if you need anything. Also, there’s a stable out the back where Alisa is used to sleeping. The horses are long gone, Harris sold them when he renovated the place, but now that Alisa is back we could use someone to make it cozy for her. Clean it up and get a bed set. That can be your first job.”

  “Sure thing, man. I can do that.”

  Jerry looked to the group. “The rest of you, please follow me into the yard to get the day started.”

  The morning frost bit at Peter’s cheeks. He’d gone to his room and collected his leather jacket before joining the others outside. He hadn’t worn the jacket in years, but it still fit good and felt great. Gloves and a scarf protected his hands and neck, a set he’d bought in the shopping center while waiting for the rest of the guests to arrive the morning before. As he followed the rest of the group, lazy snowflakes drifted down, sticking to the mud and grass before dissolving.

  Henry squinted at the sky. “Looks like it’s going to get pretty heavy soon, don’t you think?”