“Oh, yes.”
“Mmmm. Trick or treat.”
“Jaaaaack!” Roland screamed out a second before the cat-like monster pounced.
GROWING UP GRUESOME
Jonathan Dukestein
Jonathan Dukestein does not exist. When he’s not pretending to be real, he’s off somewhere in a Great Lake State, probably chain smoking.
This fake person spends a considerable amount of time writing, reading, painting and imagining bizarre worlds to inhabit. Chances are, he’s off his medications again.
***
It was only October 26th, still enough time for Andrew to find a costume, but he was growing frantic. Every idea he had come up with had been vetoed by the parents, and every idea the parents had come up with had been dumb. A cowboy? A pirate? A clown? Optimus Prime? Dumb!
They didn’t seem to realize how important a decision this was for an eight year old.
Erin, five years older than him, had been no help at all. She had been too busy fighting with them about going to some party on Friday night.
They thought she shouldn’t go, that she was too young for a “boys and girls party.” There had been a lot of screaming, especially from Erin. Andrew knew that she just wanted to go so she could sneak off and kiss Mike Adamson. Andrew thought Mike Adamson had really big ears.
Outside a car alarm started ringing, and Andrew peered out his bedroom window. The suburban sprawl of Logres, Ohio disappeared into the forest farther south, and the edge of the shopping district was visible from his view. Logres was barely a city with a population of only 12,000, but it did well enough thanks to the steel mills and car factories right up the highway in West Amsterdam. Not that Andrew knew about any of this – or would have cared. But he was growing annoyed with the car alarm and flopped back onto his bed, frustration mounting.
“Crap, think!” he demanded of himself out loud as he glanced around his room.
Painted a bold blue, it was decorated with posters of quarterbacks and dinosaurs. Toys based on anime cartoons and half-finished model cars littered a good portion of the space not taken up by dirty clothing. A stack of video games were arranged in the corner next to a small desk that Andrew occasionally did his homework at, a cluttered bookcase beside it. The majority of boys Andrew’s age would love this room. He pretty much hated it.
A door slammed elsewhere in the house, and a faint yell could be heard. He assumed Erin had been at it with the parents again. Sprawled on his bed, feeling sorry for himself, he considered the fact that at least he wasn’t a grownup. That would suck. One hand dangling off the bed, Andrew thought about how Stupid Dad had to go to some boring job every day. School was bad enough. He idly wondered what Stupid Mom did all day besides cook and clean. Oh, and that yoga class she was always going on about. Wait, was it yogurt class? Why would they exercise to make yogurt?
Andrew didn’t care. Swinging his arm in wider arcs, his hand found a stray shoe. Grabbing it up, he launched it across the room at his bookshelf.
It crashed against a pile of nature magazines, spilling them onto the carpet.
Andrew still didn’t care. He made a little sound of satisfaction when he looked over at the mess.
Then his eyes went wide.
One of the things Stupid Dad had got for him last Christmas was a subscription to a children’s nature magazine, and Andrew had barely leafed through them. The only one that had ever caught his attention had been the issue on sharks. That one had fascinated him, although probably not in the manner that Stupid Dad would have approved of. When they had gone on a family vacation to Florida the past summer, one of the few things Andrew had gotten excited about was the jar of shark teeth he had bought.
Right then, it all came together. He didn’t need the parents. He knew they would be mad, but so what? The costume would be awesome, the costume would be real. He would be a mutant shark monster.
“I hate them,” Erin said out loud to her empty room.
Rolling over on her bed and brushing her long, strawberry-blonde hair back out of her face, she carefully retrieved her favorite stuffed dragon and looked it square in the googly plastic eyes. “I hate them both.” She had just turned thirteen the previous month and was in seventh grade at Logres Central Middle School. She was not a child any more, and had pointed out to Dear Ol’ Dad, that she had started getting her period the past spring. Unfortunately, that had been the wrong direction to take the argument, and he had gotten pretty aggravated. He had actually yelled at her! This just wouldn’t do.
Erin began quietly singing to herself as she hugged her stuffed dragon and let her eyes wander the room. Opposite to Andrew’s, it was all things pink and girly. Just like Andrew, just hated it, too. Much like she currently hated the parents. At first, she had been upset because she really did just want to go, really did want Mike Adamson to see her in that sexy witch costume she had secretly bought. Now, it was out of principle.
Climbing off her bed, Erin went to stand in front of her dressing mirror. Framed in stained walnut and able to pivot in two directions, it was one of the few gifts the parents had ever pulled off that wasn’t terribly lame.
Tall for her age, she was still stick-thin and lacking any real curves. Her hair had more of a reddish cast than Andrew’s, which was closer to a sandy blonde, but both had hazel eyes and a few freckles. It was obvious they were siblings, and if anyone took the time to notice, they would realize it was obvious “the parents” were not.
Erin stripped down to just her panties, glanced in the mirror and then thought better of it. No reason to give Dear Ol’ Dad a thrill before hand.
She slipped a ratty, black tee shirt on that she had worn when she had been forced to help paint the deck in the beginning of spring. Good enough.
“I hate them, de Rais,” Erin said, speaking to her stuffed dragon.
“And I think it’s about time I killed them.”
Andrew had already changed clothes once, snuck into the bathroom, changed his mind, and snuck back. It hadn’t mattered much, since no one had been upstairs but his sister and she wouldn’t have cared what he was up to. Finally, after thinking over what he was going to do, he tip-toed back down the hall in just his underwear with his selected outfit bundled up under his arm. Finally inside, he locked the bathroom door and checked the window. Andrew knew he could slip out onto the roof above the deck and then climb down – he had done it twice before. There was another half-bath downstairs, so he didn’t worry too much about being interrupted.
Carefully, he unrolled his grey sweatpants and matching sweatshirt.
The sweatshirt had a baseball team’s logo on it, and that had given him momentary pause, but then he realized he could wear both inside out. He really wished he had grey sneakers, but black would have to do. At least the sweatshirt was a hoodie. Concealed within the folds of the clothing was the mason jar that held eighteen assorted shark’s teeth. There was also an exacto blade and a set of needle-nosed pliers he had used when fiddling with a few models.
Andrew sat the jar of shark’s teeth on the toilet, then thought better of it. He opened the lid first, and set it in the sink over top of the drain. Even if he accidentally lost one or two, it shouldn’t matter. He was pretty sure they wouldn’t all fit. Peering into the mirror, he smiled and growled at his reflection. He pulled at his lips and examined his gums. Having already lost a few baby teeth, he only had a few grownup ones. Andrew wasn’t worried about them. He’d find replacements later.
Taking the pliers, Andrew gripped one of his front teeth and began to wiggle it. Disgruntled, he tried wiggling it harder in the other direction. He gasped as the tooth snapped in half, a tiny white stub visible right below his gum line.
“Crap,” he muttered as he downed the pliers and scrounged around for the exacto blade. Making a little slice into his upper gum, blood poured down into his mouth. He spit it out and pried the pink flesh apart so he had more room to work. This time, getting a tight grip on the tooth, he yanked straight down.
The tooth was rip free, root trailing. He tossed it in the sink as he gazed up into the crimson socket.
“Wow, this is gonna take a long time,” he said to the mirror as blood ran down his chin.
“Erin, honey… what are you doing?”
Erin grimaced at the woman who had been designated her Mother.
She took in the perfectly coifed golden hair, the fake tan, the designer caprice pants. Turned partially sideways, the woman couldn’t see the knife in Erin’s hand.
“Mom, could you help me?”
“What’s wrong?” she replied, getting to her feet off the couch.
“I have a problem…” Erin began as her pretend Mom crossed over to her.
“Honey, why aren’t you wearing any pants?”
“… with you,” finished Erin as she quickly slide the knife up into the woman’s throat.
Gurgling, she clawed at the blade, only to slice open her own fingers.
Erin held the knife firmly in place with one hand, gripping her former Mom’s head by that perfect hair with the other hand. She held it for a three count before deftly pulling it out in a single stroke to the side. The motion almost severed the head completely. Dead Mom fell to the kitchen linoleum, all the blood contained to a nice, easy-to-clean area.
“So,” Erin said to the corpse as she wiped away some splatter from her face with the shoulder sleeve of her tee shirt. “I’m guessing Dear Ol’
Dad’s in his office?”
CrapCrapCrap! thought Andrew as he hacked away at the last section of his gum line. Not only was the bathroom covered in blood now, the whole process had taken way longer than he had thought it would. A whole hour! Stupid Mom or Stupid Dad would come banging on the door any minute to tell him it was time for dinner. Oh well, he was a mutant shark monster now, so what were they going to say?
Andrew examined his reflection in the mirror and admired his bloody, fanged grin. It was perfect! He had managed to cram eight in the top and seven in the bottom. At first he had been miffed that they weren’t even, but looking at them now, he was quite impressed with the vision. He could see his gums were already healing back over his new teeth, absorbing their presence and adapting accordingly. He tried some experimental chomping, and shifted one of the left bottom teeth over a bit. Chomp, chomp. Perfect!
Then, Andrew’s face fell as a terrible realization hit him.
“I still have people eyes. I need shark eyes. How am I gonna get shark eyes?”
“Come in!”
Erin opened the door, making no attempt to hide the knife or the fact that she was covered in blood. There was no point since she was in the doorway and Dear Ol’ Dad had no other exit. For a moment, she watched him fumble with his papers, his tie abandoned but his shirt still tucked in. It was enough to make her vomit, or in this case, brutally murder him.
“What’s up, honey?”
Honey. How she hated that cutesy nickname.
“Dad,” she simply said, waiting for him to look up.
“Um-hm,” he replied, still caught up in his precious little career.
“Dear Ol’ Daddy Dearest,” she said, this time letting the malice flow in each syllable.
This time he looked up. He looked, he blinked, he went very, very pale.
“Erin, what…”
A single finger to her lips.
He went silent.
“Tell me,” she asked as she entered his office, closing the door behind her. “Did they tell you exactly what this assignment was, by chance? Who it was you were… babysitting?”
Silent. Rigid. Pale.
“Daddy, answer my question.”
“Yes,” he managed to choke out.
“I see. And you took it anyway. What did they offer you?” He sputtered on his words, but Erin got the gist.
“Money?” she questioned with a laugh. “So I take it you really didn’t believe what the job duty description laid out then?” He shook his head an emphatic no.
“Hmmm… well, I guess that means I’ll have to have a word with management,” she said as she drew the knife point along the edge of the desk around to him. “We’re not going to want a repeat of this.” He shook his head an even greater no.
“I mean, like, when the ninth set of parents are roped into this gig.” Andrew sat on the toilet, lid closed, grumbling. He hadn’t even thought about shark eyes, but now that he had, he knew the costume would be totally dumb without them. Crap, how was he going to get those? And where were the parents?
Finally annoyed with everything, Andrew got up and looked in the mirror one last time. Except for some dried blood around his mouth, the new teeth had set and adapted. They looked really awesome. Chomp, chomp! He washed off the last little bit of blood and reached for the door.
The parents would so find out if he snuck out now, plus he was hungry. If they freaked out on him about his cool new teeth, he would just eat them. It wouldn’t be like it was the first set he had munched on, or anything.
Just as Andrew was opening the door, the handle was yanked out of his hand. Erin stood outside in the hallway, her brows creased in that way when she was irritated. They started at each other.
“There you are. Where have you been?”
“In here. Why is there blood all over you?”
“Why are your teeth all fucked up?”
“Oohhh, you just said ‘fuck.’ I’m gonna tell!”
“So did… never mind. I’m covered in blood ‘cause I just killed the parents.”
“Huh, really? That’s cool, these ones where pretty dumb.”
“Yeah.”
The siblings stared at each other some more.
“Crap, I’m kinda hungry though,” said Andrew.
Erin sighed. “I’ll make you something.”
They walked back downstairs and into the kitchen. Andrew leaned over to examine his sister’s handiwork on their ex-Mom while Erin rummaged around in the refrigerator. He poked at the cooling wound and made a noise signaling he was impressed. Erin pulled out some leftover fried chicken, sat it on the counter and stuck a casserole dish of macaroni and cheese in the microwave.
“Dad number eight is draining out in his office,” she said as she filled up two glasses with milk.
Andrew took in this information. “They weren’t as bad as number five.”
Erin made a face. “I doubt any ever will be. None will last more than a day, at least.”
Andrew fiddled with his teeth. Chomp, chomp.
“So what’s that all about?”
“I’m a mutant shark monster!” Andrew exclaimed.
“You’re an idiot.”
“Nuh-uh, shut up!”
Erin squinted at her brother and his “costume.”
“Maybe you, like, need fins or something.”
“That might work. I wish I had shark eyes.”
“Sorry, all out,” said Erin as the microwave dinged. “Besides, I’m not sure if they would work in the same way as the teeth.”
“Why not?”
Erin didn’t answer him. Instead she said, “Maybe I can put a glamour on them to look like shark eyes.”
“You think so?” he asked excitedly.
“Maybe.”
Andrew’s face fell as she put out all of the food of the kitchen table.
“Nah, you’ll get in trouble. We’re both gonna get in trouble.”
“Yeah, eventually,” she replied as she laid out paper plates and silverware. “But it’s Tuesday, the 26th. The parents made their weekly call to check in on Sundays. I know, ‘cause I overheard once. That means I can still go to my party on Friday and you…”
“Can totally go trick or treating on Saturday! On Halloween!”
“Well, Halloween is on Sunday, but trick or treating hours are on Saturday this year, so yeah. Yeah. Fuck it, we’ll get in trouble next week.” Andrew and Erin, both smiling, ate in silence for a while. After a bit, however, their own thoughts began to consume them. The siblings had the same thoughts.
&
nbsp; “Erin?” Andrew asked as he pushed his macaroni around on the plate.
“Yeah?”
“Why can’t we live with our real parents? With our own people like us and stuff?”
Andrew always asked the same question shortly after they had murdered their latest set of surrogate parents. Erin felt like she should be mad at him since he kept bringing it up, but she had the same feelings. The whole thing made her angry.
“I dunno, Andrew. The Aes Sidhe Elders want the youth to, like, integrate with the humans or something. They don’t want the Unseelie Court hiding in the shadows anymore, I guess.”
The young Goblin cast his eyes over at the dead body of their most recent Mom. “Um, I don’t think it’s working.”
“No, Andrew,” Erin said with a sad smile. “I don’t think so, either.” THE PERFECT PUMPKIN
John Claude Smith
John Claude Smith has had 50 dark fiction veering into horror veering into what-the-hell-was-that?, short stories, 3 poems, and over 1,100 music journalism pieces published. He is currently aligning the TOC for an ebook anthology entitled, The Dark Is Light Enough For Me, while his agent shops around two novels. A third novel is thisclose to first draft finished—really, if he wasn’t typing up this bio, it might be done! He is presently nomadic, living between Northern California and Rome, Italy, with intentions towards planting himself in the latter.
***
“If it wasn’t a week before Halloween, I’d be scared crazy. But I know you well enough, Danny, to know that you like to tell stories, and I’ve already heard this one a dozen times over the last two weeks—”
“But it’s true, Melinda. Cutter’s farm is where old Dr. Ranier does abortions, or at least did them. Look, it’s perfect: it’s just far enough out of town as to be kind of anon … anonymous. He used to be a doctor, a…a baby doctor—”
“Obstetrician.”
“Yeah, yeah, an obstetrician. And he was disbarred—”
“That’s for a lawyer.”
“Well, shit, Brainic! He lost his license and moved out here, about ten, maybe twelve-years-ago, and since he’s not really a farmer, he has to have some income, so he—”
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