Chronicles of the Damned (Book 1): Lonely Girl

by Jeff Beeman

  I finally get the dog over to the swings with the promise of half my snack. Using the bar of soap and two pots I had set aside, I wash the dog. He takes it really well and seems to enjoy the attention. As I wash him, I notice how thick his fur is and that his toes are sort of webbed. Weird dog.

  I lead him away from the swings before I let him do his drying shake, then I set up two new small pots of water to cool and go over to a picnic table and lie down. I have to hold my right hand because it still smarts. Though I didn’t mean to, I fall asleep. The sun is in the middle of the sky when I wake up to my stomach growling. As I sit up, I can see the dog is sleeping next to the tree my picnic table is under. I guess he is out of juice due to his going to all the trees and doing his private business.

  The sun has warmed the air enough to make it comfortable to wash myself. I am careful with my hand and healing backside but it feels good to smell better and feel somewhat clean again. I sit on the swings after putting on the panties I kept clean from the last wash day. Moments like this, I almost can hear the park like it used to be and see images of people enjoying the day. After Momma got sick, we didn’t make it to the park very much but before then, we went all over the park and Momma and I would go to the park’s pool for the afternoon. Daddy told me that sometimes he would come here by himself late in the day, sit under a tree and just be. I used to not understand what he meant but right now, I think I am starting too.

  As with the way of things, it is time to go. I pack the washed clothes in the trash bags, and take Bouncy Bouncy over to the picnic table I slept on. He looks a little better. Then I put out the fire, take the pots and water jugs back to where they can be safely stored in the house’s garage. While there, I also get a bowl. Finally I put my first plan into action. I use the flexible wire to make a harness around the dog’s chest. Once it is secure, I try to lead him to the wagon. It takes a moment but then he gets up and lets me lead him. It was really easy. I then hook the other end to the wagon handle. Once this is done, I take a second wire, hook it to the chest harness and then try to lead him as he pulls the wagon. He does it perfectly. I have to admit I was shocked how well he took to this idea. He easily walks with me and stays just a little behind my left hip. We go back the way we came up to the point we go into the parking lot of the spooky shopping center parking lot. Besides the large grocery store, there is also a tanning place, pizza place and other shops, plus a pet store that is a building by itself.

  This is the side trip. I hope to find books that will help me train the dog not to do his private business all over the place and to teach him tricks like “sit”, “come”, and maybe “help me scavenge”. First we walk around the building. There is no sign anything has broken in. Once we have come back around to the front, I tie my part of the wiring to the bicycle rack, then I use some of my tools to break enough of the glass door to peel it back. I have seen evidence of this being done at other businesses. I leave the dog still hooked up to the wagon and tied to the bike rack outside the pet store. He doesn’t seem to like this but I keep him busy by giving him the rest of the snack, my stomach can only growl so loud, and I also put some water in the bowl from the wash storage house. Once done, I peel the broken glass back and slip in.

  There is some light coming in from the dirty windows but not a lot. We used to come to this pet store after our first one closed down and before The Bad. I kind of remember where things are. Everything is covered in dust, some of the ceiling tiles are gone but not on the floor. Also there is occasional popping and creaking noise. This doesn’t bother me because I know buildings do that. What I do fear is walking by the pet adoption cages, I just don’t want to see some poor animal that was left in there. Luckily the cages are empty as I pass them. I go by the spot where we refilled our reusable cat litter boxes. Funny how empty it is. I wouldn’t have thought there would be a big need for cat litter during the early days of The Bad. So much is gone that I could easily sit in it right now. I head for the back of the store, I also notice sections of shelves are empty, weirder and weirder. Finally I make it to back but most of the books are gone. What happened to them and what is that smell...

  Chapter Five

  Daddy

  Tracy, my baby sitter, and her son, Houston, were watching cartoons with me. Sour Sue, our oldest cat, yes that was the cat’s name, was sleeping on my back as I laid on the floor. Houston was gently petting Changa, while Syngie was sleeping on the table next to the window. Daddy was going to be coming home late because he was visiting Momma in the hospital. I liked Tracy, and Houston was okay for a boy. Tracy was also our neighbor. Ron, her boyfriend, was a long haul trucker and had been called away to make a run to the west coast. She looked sad and worried a lot now that he was away but Daddy and I tried to make sure she and Houston were okay by checking on them and helping out when needed.

  Suddenly Sour Sue got up off my back and walked to the door, just before I heard keys entering the lock. Daddy was home early. I got up quickly to give him a big welcome home hug but stopped when I saw his face. It was more his eyes: they had a look that I had never seen before and I became frightened. Tracy got up and went over to him, Houston just watched cartoons. She must have seen the same thing because she stopped quickly and began to shiver.

  “Honey, where is Houston’s backpack and stuff?” asked Daddy in a gentle but strange way. I just kept staring at Daddy’s eye. Tracy said, “His... and her stuff... are in her room”. Smiling sadly, Daddy then said, “Darling, would you take Houston back to your room? Help pack his stuff back into his backpack and wait for me to come get you both.” All I could do was nod and tap Houston on his head. He finally realized I wanted something but just said in his whiney voice, “Stop it, I like this...” “Do it now Houston Alexander Samuels!!” yelled Tracy, whose face was red and her eyes looked like they were tearing up and bulging out of her head at the same time. This so startled both Houston and me that we ran to my room.

  As typical with Houston when he didn’t get his way, he pouted and stomped around as he gathered his stuff. I just sat still on my bed holding Bouncy Bouncy and pulled more of my stuffed toys to me. Houston got in my face all at once. “You’re supposed to help me” he said in his whiney voice. For a moment I almost hit him with Bouncy Bouncy, but I remembered that polite children use words and Bouncy Bouncy was a bunny of peace, not of war. Still holding my bunny, I helped Houston finish gathering his stuff. Just then Tracy slowly opened the door. She now had the same look Daddy had in her budging red eyes; she had been recently crying. I stepped back and wanted to cry. She silently held out her hand and Houston went to her still pouting but he dared not stomp.

  Once they had left, Daddy came into my room, sat on the corner of my bed and held out his arms like he wanted a hug. I leapt into his arms and all three of us hugged. Daddy eventually adjusted me so I was sitting sideways so I could look and talk to him. His eyes now just looked sad but the other thing was still back there. “Sweet one, we need to get ready for a bad thing. I want you to prepare yourself”. Daddy said softly. We had been planning for a day if The Bad came from the west, but if this was the day, I was not ready yet. “What about Momma?’ I asked, all the while looking at his face and his eyes. Tears began to form and he tried to talk but he seemed to have lost the ability to speak. It didn’t matter, I started crying so loud, I would not have heard him anyway. We just held each other and cried in our own ways.

  I woke when Daddy stood up and put me on my bed. My head hurt a little and I could not breathe out of my nose. I heard something outside. Daddy went quickly to their bedroom, while I slowly crept to the front door. I saw the cats were all hiding from the noise. It sounded like Tracy screaming. I heard Daddy coming back down the hallway. I turned and saw something I never thought I would see. Daddy had Papa’s Forty-four magnum in his hand. This was the same thing that I was told never to touch or even go to look at. Daddy and Momma one day had opened up the small wooden case that Papa had built to show me the Magnum. It looked bl
ack with a dark brown handle that had what Daddy had called a Sable, which is like a deer with very long horns, etched in it. Daddy told me, while Momma had me and Bouncy Bouncy in her lap, that the Magnum was to protect us from bad people but it was not a good thing. It was deadly and took life. A person only took it out when there was no other way and that it should never be aimed at something living unless a person was going to take the life away from that thing. I looked at such a horrible thing and wondered why it was in our house. Daddy said that sometimes things like the Magnum was necessary and he prayed it was never needed. I asked him if God knew about the Magnum. Daddy looked into my eyes and said he was sure God did and that if he, Daddy, ever had to use it, God would hopefully forgive him.

  Now it was in his hand.

  Daddy never said anything he just went to the front door and headed to the stairs. I followed but not too closely. I thought I heard something click but couldn’t tell where it had come from. Daddy never slowed down as he went down the stairs. Slowly I crept to the stairs and went down far enough to see what was happening. The front door of Tracy’s apartment was open and I could hear voices demanding and others saying cruel things mixed with Tracy’s and Houston’s crying.

  Daddy just walked in. I then heard a voice that was not like Daddy’s voice but it was in other ways. Daddy’s voice was gentle or happy. Daddy’s voice couldn’t carry a tune but could rhyme or tell funny stories that made my sides hurt from laughing. This voice was the voice of the Magnum in Daddy’s hand. He spoke to the other people in Tracy’s apartment. He promised them he would do cruel things and even kill them dead if they wouldn’t leave or if they ever came back.

  Like in a dream, three teenagers came out in a panic and ran to and down the stairs. After a bit Tracy and Houston’s crying got quieter. Daddy came out of their apartment. Daddy’s face was gone. It was replaced by the Magnum. The Bad was here.

  Bouncy Bouncy, tugged at my shirt and said in a quiet voice, “Wake up...Wake up”. I looked down at the bunny and my head hurt worse. “But I am awake, little bunny”

  “No, this is a dream of the past and the Bad has you!” he sadly said.

  My headache grew worse and then I smelled it. The Bad did have me!

  Chapter Six

  Badness

  I whimper as my eyes open because my head is hurting so much. I am not sure why it hurts so much or where I am. The first thing I can see is a shadowy-flickering ceiling. I can’t see any more detail than that because my eyes won’t focus. Closing my eyes again, I try just listening. It is hard to focus but I know that where ever I am, it smells. So many different smells interweave into the horrid smell it makes my empty stomach twist and I feel like throwing up. Chief among the smells is cat litter that has gone way too long between scooping. Slowly turning my head to where I think the weak source of light is makes me want to throw up more. After a bit, my headache eases a bit and my stomach reluctantly decides not to see what is going on outside my body.

  Gently I open my eyes. The light is from three candles of different lengths. I think they are smoking but between the weak light and what looks like water waves between them and me, I am not sure. Keeping my aching head still but letting my eyes move, I see there are a few other sets of candles. Between me and them seems to be some sort of shelving. Then pain hits all directions which causes my head to explode and my stomach decides it is time to come out of my mouth so it can take charge.

  When I return to this reality, all it feels like I have done for all of my life is fail to throw up before another round of burning pain in my head hits, just to return and fail again at throwing up.

  Finally, I find myself afloat in a sea of my own sweat and drool but my head has finally eased to just uncomfortable. I think I have been dreaming about being a girl in a bad situation but it is hard to think about that right now. I just want to lie here on the beach surrounded by my sea of sweat and drool, so I can shiver in the peace and quiet. Funny how the outside of my body is so wet but my mouth and throat are so dry. Maybe I am a new sea that only dreamed it was a girl when I was forming. That would make me either the eighth wonder of the world or make me the eighth sea. Either way what will I be called? Maybe the Eww Sea. So would then the new old saying be, “Caught between The Bad and the deep Eww Sea?” Why is it so hard to focus? I will just lay here and puddle along.

  Oh look, a will-o-wisp from one of that girl’s fairy books. You know the one who I thought I was before I realized I am an island. It is floating in between the forest of shelves. Lazily it makes its way here. It must be sick because it flickers and pops so much. Maybe it is thirsty and is coming to drink at the pool of sweat and drool, how sweet. I feel I am smiling as thoughts of Narnia and Peter Pan dance in my head. Captain Hook and the Ice Witch make such a lovely dancing couple. Hopefully their child will get his hair. Oh look, the will-o-wisp has brought a shadowy friend. That is so nice. Maybe the shadowy and possibly hairy friend will go fishing with the mermaids. The smile on what I believe is my face seems to grow...until the smell hits me!

  “Go away” croaks out of my dry mouth as there is no longer any smile on my face. The figure holding the weak flickering candle stops for a moment, then moves another direction. It hurts too much to try to move my head so I can watch what the hairy shadow is doing, so I just close my eyes and listen. I can just make out its movements. There is more hissing pops and the smell of something like burning hair gets stronger among the other odors, though the old cat litter smell is still the strongest. I can tell it has moved past me going the other direction. The smell of burning hair is starting to compete with the cat litter. I cough from the thickness of the smell, which aggravates my headache.

  “So that wasn’t your death dance I was listening to” rasped out a voice.

  Slowly I open my eyes. It is much brighter now but the price is an increase of out of sync flickering plus a lot of thin smoke which is filling the area. The figures turns out to be that of a thin man with a thick head of greasy curly dirty hair, almost like a mane that falls over his shoulders. He has a wispy beard that doesn’t seem to grow evenly around his dusty skull-like face. His beard has stuff trapped in it and seems very matted around his mouth of brownish teeth. Underneath the thin layer of dust, his skin is yellowish but that could be from the candle light. His hungry eyes are the most striking. What would be a person’s colored part of the eye is for him like a strange sun as they seem to glow with their own yellowish light, while what would be the white part of the eye is more like a solar system with its red blotches and pupil blotches of various size. His smell is so bad, I don’t think I could describe it even if I had use of Wikipedia and an online dictionary/thesaurus again.

  He must have seen or thought of something humorous because he smiles a yellowish brown toothy grin, though there were some teeth missing from what looks like bloodless gums.

  “What’s wrong, pet? Are you scared of me?” he rasped out. His breath almost causes me to start dry puking again.

  “Who are you?” I weakly asked.

  “Can’t you read?!” he angrily replies. After a moment, he notices I have a confused look on my face. He then angrily points at a hole in his filthy shirt.

  I meekly replied, “There is only a hole in your shirt”.

  With that said he feels around his shirt with his hand as he watches me with suspicion. I can see sores on his thin fingers. Taking a moment, he looks down to see that his hand had not deceived him.

  “Well I am out of dress code now” he worriedly mutters, then he throws back his head and laughs hysterically, which make me shiver more. The living don’t play by the rules, especially when The Bad has them.

  Snapping his yellowish attention back at me, he says in an almost normal voice “Hello my name is Dan” but there is cruelty interweaved in the tone. He then gets closer. I realize suddenly that I am on a table of some sort. Dan looks at me for a moment, then rolls my shivering body on to my back, which causes my head to ache again. Slowly he pulls my shi
rt up, reveling my tummy and starts to nonchalantly rub his rough sore covered hand over it, while saying quietly to himself, “The body needs what it needs, just have to figure that out.” It was then I see a bit of drool seep out of the corner of his mouth and make its way down the hardened matted hair.

  Without warning, Dan picks me up, which makes my head scream and my vision swirl. Without mercy he drops me to the dusty floor, then drags me by my hair to another spot in where ever we are. At the same time he is talking but I don’t understand him. Finally we arrive, I know this because instead of dragging me by the hair, I am lifted up by it to look at an icky display and he is still talking.

  “...and here we are, our pet display. As you can see all parts of the pet have been used, in this case their bones have been used for therapeutic arts and crafts. Of course I had to use my own hair to keep the parts in place, like I do to make the wicks for my candles but every artist should have some part of themselves in their art, don’t you agree, pet?”

  My head was too jumbled for me to answer. This seems to irritate Dan, so he lifts me higher by my hair till my feet barely touch the ground. Taking his left coarse hand with its raggedy and filthy finger nails, he roughly pinches my chin and forces it open and shut, while saying in a high pitched voice “Yes assistant manager Dan, sir”.

  His arm starts to tremble, which seems to force him to let me down but he still has my hair in his fist. Like a striking snake, he bends over to the nape of my neck and smells me. My brain still feels like it is in pieces and still hurts. I couldn’t get my body to respond, so all I can do is cringe and listen as strands of my hair break. Dan says in a low and evil voice, “I forgot how female flesh smells, so good, so clean, so...desirable. The body needs what the body needs, and I can use all parts for its various needs!” His movement is too fast for my sluggish brain to follow, so I don’t react in time when he lets go of my hair, then grabs my sides, picks me up, then slams me down on to a wide shelf below his wall of art projects. All I seem to be able to do is lose my breath, have my head hurt more, and feel my stomach threaten to look at the world again though my mouth.