Trapped Within

by Bradshaw, Duncan P.

  Sadie jiggled the wheel, trying to dislodge him from the hood. Bob ducked as an overhanging tree branch whipped above his head, showering him in snow and pine needles. Glaring at Sadie through the punctured windshield, he removed a hand from the hood, snaking it through one of the bullet holes, Plexiglas crumbling around his thrusting arm as he snatched at her throat. She clawed his hand, raking it with her nails. Hissing in pain, he grabbed the wheel, trying to steer the car into a sliding stop. She hammered her fist on his fingers, but the hand didn’t budge—not until she bit his thumb, blood flooding her mouth, her teeth chipping on bone. Bob let out a screech and let go of the wheel, snatching his arm back through the windshield. Sadie spat out a mouthful of gristle that spattered the Plexiglas. She stole a glance in the rearview—

  And saw the frozen river behind them.

  Bob saw it, too. His eyes widened in horror.

  Sadie wrenched the wheel. The station wagon swerved sharply. The front end fishtailed. The car went into a wild spin, slamming sidelong into the stump of a fallen pine tree, jolting to a stop that catapulted Bob off the hood. Sadie’s neck whipcracked, her teeth snapping shut on her tongue. Bob soared through the night, screaming and flailing, before he hit the ice with a meaty thud and then skated like a hockey puck to the middle of the river, skidding to a stop.

  Again, she was blind. Sadie groped her way back into the cold world. The freezing wind whistled through the holes in the windshield, dusting her with snowflakes that settled in her hair and eyelashes. Twisted metal creaked and groaned. Queenie whined somewhere in the back of the car. Sadie mopped blood from her eyes, one-handed, her other hand still cuffed to the steering wheel. She pulled weakly at the cuffs, but they held tight. She reached to adjust the rearview. Ignoring her blood-streaked reflection, she peered past Queenie’s crumpled cage—the dog’s eyes glinting in the gloom—looking through the splintered rear window. She needed to see him; to know he was dead.

  Bob was splayed on the ice like a bloody snow angel. Arms outstretched. Hands twitching like dying spiders. One leg twisted horribly beneath him. He was moaning feebly. Haloes of breath frosted above his tortured face. His eyes rolled in his skull, peering up at the wrecked station wagon upon the riverbank.

  Sadie tried futilely to free her hand from the cuffs, her fingers numb, blood drizzling from her wrist. Her eyes found Bob’s knife lying in the footwell. A mad thought flashed through her mind: to just cut off her hand at the wrist. She had to do something. If she stayed in the car she would surely freeze to death.

  Then she thought of something else.

  She unrolled the driver’s side window, reaching outside the car to remove Bob’s keys from where they were still hanging in the door. Attached to the fob was a small key. Much smaller than any other key on the fob. It turned in the cuffs with a tiny click. The bracelet snapped off her wrist and she sobbed with relief, hugging her bruised hand to her chest like an injured bird, massaging life back into the numb fingers. With both hands free, she fumbled open the driver’s side door, staggered from the car, her feet crunching in the snow. She braced herself against the door until the world stopped spinning. An icy wind whipped the tails of her shirt, the sudden cold making her gasp. The right side of the station wagon was horseshoed around the tree stump. Shards of broken glass scattered the snow. Queenie peered fearfully from her crumpled cage. Seeing Sadie outside, she gave a hopeful wag of her tail.

  “… help…”

  Sadie blinked heavily.

  For a moment, she thought it was the dog talking to her.

  “… please…”

  Hearing her master’s voice, Queenie whined and propped her paws against the splintered rear window, cycling her legs, claws scratching the glass.

  Sadie turned her head slowly towards the voice, saw Bob sprawled in the middle of the frozen river.

  “… please help me…”

  His face contorted in pain.

  “… ice… won’t hold…”

  Sadie just stared at him, standing next to the station wagon with the I LOVE MY POODLE sticker in the window. A strange calm descended over her. A serenity she’d never known. A calm that not even the rock had granted her. She liked seeing Bob out there. Helpless on the ice.

  She smiled at him, cupping a hand to her mouth. “Heeeeelp!”

  A look of dread filled Bob’s face.

  “I think I hear something …” She cupped a hand to her ear.

  “My bad,” she said. “Nope, no one’s coming.”

  Bob started sobbing.

  Queenie howled in sympathy.

  Sadie rolled her eyes at Bob’s theatrics.

  “Let’s not make this any harder than it has to be,” she said, limping to the back of the station wagon. “I mean, it’s not like you won’t have any company out there…”

  And then she opened the trunk, splintered glass raining down as she levered up the door.

  “Go to daddy, bitch.”

  Queenie sprang from the car, down the bank and onto the river, claws clicking on the ice as she scuttled to her master. A jagged line of cracks splintered the ice in her wake. Bob’s eyes widened in horror. “No! Queenie! Stay!”

  Sadie turned her back and started limping towards the distant sound of traffic on the highway, smiling at the sharp crack of ice behind her, and then the heavy splash of water, and it was hard to separate Bob and Queenie’s screams before the river swallowed them.

  Adam Howe is a British writer of fiction and screenplays. He lives in Greater London with his partner, their daughter, and a hellhound named Gino. Writing as Garrett Addams, his short story Jumper was chosen by Stephen King as the winner of the On Writing contest, and published in the paperback/Kindle versions of King's book.

  His short fiction has appeared in places like Nightmare Magazine, Thuglit, Mythic Delirium, and Year's Best Hardcore Horror. He is the author of Tijuana Donkey Showdown, and two novella collections, Die Dog or Eat the Hatchet, and Black Cat Mojo. Stalk him on Facebook, Goodreads, and Twitter @Adam_G_Howe

  Dog and Tiger were coming through the wall. Were they going to keep him this time? Dog and Tiger were coming through the wall. They weren’t there yet but he knew they were on the way. Unless this wasn’t the day. Anthony turned on the TV, shunning the news for a M*A*S*H rerun. He was hoping to be calm when they arrived. If they were coming, he might as well be calm when they arrived. There was no stopping them or reasoning with them. They did not seem to understand his objections. Dog and Tiger were coming through the wall.

  Unless they weren’t. This might not have been the day for Dog and Tiger. They didn’t talk so they couldn’t tell him when they’d come to take him next. Colonel Blake had gone down over the Sea of Japan. He had seen this one before. It was not particularly funny to him. M*A*S*H was almost never all that funny to him but there was nothing on. It was still better than if Dog and Tiger showed up. M*A*S*H concluded and Dog and Tiger had not come through the wall.

  His phone buzzed.

  “How R U?”

  “I’m good,” he texted back.

  Dog and Tiger had not said that he could not speak of them. Dog and Tiger did not speak. But he knew that they would hurt Becca if he didn’t play along and keep their secret. He was worried Becca would make plans and they would get in the way of Dog and Tiger’s plans and Dog and Tiger would make him pay for it. He kept on wanting to say no to her but he was also worried that he wouldn’t say no to her because he was very lonely lately.

  “Want to get a burger at the pub?”

  He wanted to get a burger at the pub. He missed Becca. He wanted to ignore his bouncing heart and swimming stomach. He watched the walls. He listened at them. He could never hear Dog and Tiger when they were in the walls but it couldn’t hurt to check. It hurt to check. It hurt that he knew he had to. He got a glass of ice water and sat with it. He gulped it down. He picked up the phone. All he could hope was that they would not take this night away from him and they would not decide to come and keep him up. They
never came to him at work, which was nice of them and it was his day off and they hadn’t come yet. He hoped they wouldn’t keep him up. He wanted a burger at the pub and he wanted Becca’s clear blue eyes and he wanted Becca’s laughter and her company, her smile. The only thing he could do was to text back, “Yes. Sounds good.”

  It sounded very good to get out of the house. It sounded very good to have company. He waited for her to say what time she got off work. He hoped it would be pretty soon. He wasn’t sure if they’d let him leave early. He wasn’t going to chance it. He might have done good for them last time so they were being clement. He wasn’t going to risk his safety or Becca’s. He was not sure what Dog and Tiger were capable of and he did not wish to find out.

  He crossed his hands and put them in his lap. The phone said six thirty. It was currently four o’clock. That was two and a half hours. They could come during that time. They could take him and he would be gone and he would miss her. He fired up his laptop and went to YouTube. On days when he watched the video, they were less likely to come. Watching the video was sometimes as bad as seeing them but, given the choice between the two, it was obvious which was better, so he turned on the video and he watched.

  His eyes were nailed into place. His sweaty hands bound themselves together lest he be tempted to turn it off prematurely. If he turned it off, they’d be likely to get offended, if they got offended, they’d be likely to come and if they came, they would not come in a good mood. He absorbed every second. He took his medicine. He chuckled politely, barely forcing out the laugh instead of his lunch. It was funny what they did back there. Good video, guys. Great video. Three million views. It wouldn’t have three million views if it didn’t entertain anyone, right?

  He had performed the ritual the way they liked it. Surely, they would let him go tonight. They weren’t going to let him go. Dog and Tiger were coming through the wall and there was no helping it and he was going to do exactly what they told him because if he didn’t do exactly what they told him there would be consequences and they wouldn’t just be for him. They could do just about anything they wanted, Dog and Tiger. Who was going to stop them? Certainly not him. He watched the video a second time just to make sure. He shouldn’t have done that. They’d certainly approve but his body and his mind didn’t. He felt like shit again.

  He felt real sick. He threw up twice, then began to cry, turning on the shower and scrubbing his skin. They didn’t often come to him in the shower. This wasn’t about him being naked, it wasn’t about sex. They honored his privacy for the most part. They’d never film him taking a shit or anything. It could have been worse. It couldn’t have possibly been worse. They’d make it worse if he fucked around with them. He never fucked around with them, he never had even the slightest temptation to do so.

  He emerged from the shower, his breathing calm. He smoked a bowl then walked over to the pub. He was early but he had done much to appease them and they weren’t going to punish him for having a drink before Becca showed up. He went to the bar and ordered a whiskey and coke then sat down in the booth. Even after having thrown up, he still liked the fire coming down his throat, still liked the sting and the sweet coming together in unison. He still liked the little bit of surrender to peace. He didn’t get much peace since Dog and Tiger started coming around.

  Becca arrived and held him tight, kissed him hello. She could feel there’d been something wrong so pressed her cheek against his a moment longer. Rubbed the top of his hand as she sat down.

  “Are you good today?” she asked. That was a bit much. How was he supposed to answer a question like that?

  The way almost anyone does who feels like abject shit today.

  “Yeah, I’m great. Why? Do I seem tense or something?”

  She clearly thought he seemed tense, though he knew that she was far too polite to say it. Becca knew that would make him feel self-conscious and she was better off not making him feel self-conscious. She clearly regretted asking. She clearly knew that he was hiding something. She was right of course because he was hiding something and he wished that he could tell her but he knew that Dog and Tiger wouldn’t go for that. It was nice of them to even let him… no, fuck them. Fuck Dog and Tiger. It wasn’t nice of them. He was out with her and they couldn’t hear him here. He didn’t think. He didn’t care. But still he couldn’t tell her because he couldn’t bear to think of her in danger.

  “A little,” she said, “but maybe I can… you know, do something about that?”

  She clasped his hand. She smiled.

  He smiled back. He meant it. It wasn’t like the laughter to the video. He was smiling. He was out at the pub and he was safe.

  “I’d like that,” he said and he genuinely would like it.

  He ordered a burger and a beer. She ordered the same. They ate together, enjoyed each other’s company, looked into each other’s eyes. Talked. About work mostly, not about the day off and not about the thing he wasn’t going to think about while she was here with him because he didn’t need to think about it while he was out trying to have a good time even though he might be punished tomorrow for having a good time and that would be terrible but he wasn’t going to think about it even if that meant that he… he wasn’t going to think about it. He was enjoying himself. He was enjoying his burger and he was enjoying Becca. And then him and Becca enjoyed a kiss. And then he asked her to come home with him. What was he thinking asking her to come home with him?

  He was thinking he’d had a nice time and he was thinking he would kiss her and he was thinking they would walk back to his place, hand in hand, and push each other against wall after wall, stop under awning after awning, and they would taste each other and they would know each other and the swimming stomach would stop swimming and the bouncing heart would suddenly cease to bounce. It was nice. And it was nice when they went to bed and the bouncing heart bounced once more at the command of her tongue and her body and her passion. And it was nice to breathe even and sleep without thoughts of Dog and Tiger.

  He went to work the next day calm, knowing that they never hassled him at work out of some strange covenant they’d made. The rules were clear but the purpose of them not so much so. His friend asked after him and asked how Becca was and he said that things were good and it wasn’t a lie. He was relieved that things were genuinely good and he did not have to fabricate a thing that wasn’t there.

  He did not linger at work just to be safe. He could have done so but felt it a violation each time he tried it and he knew that such violations would only invoke their wrath. He went home and turned on the television and he sat and he waited, this time knowing what was coming next. Dog and Tiger were coming through the wall and it couldn’t be stopped. They had made their choice and he would have to honor it.

  Dog came first as always, a head taller than him, white fluffy mascot body covered in spots. Dog must have been a Dalmatian. His face was an eternal smile, a long, plush tongue hanging out of his mouth, salivating over life forever. It wasn’t a lie. Dog took great pleasure in what he did and if one deserved joy for doing what Dog did well, then Dog had earned that widemouthed slobbertongued smile. He gestured for Anthony to come forward and Anthony did. He got up from the couch and took Dog’s paw and Dog led Anthony to Tiger.

  Tiger was not smiling. Though not inherently menacing, Tiger’s expression was a permanent exuberant growl. His great plush mascot head was stuck in a permanent barbaric yawp of sorts, a permanent “go team”. Tiger was all energy and all enthusiasm, not unlike his cousin from the cereal box. Tiger gave Anthony a gigantic hug, which Anthony returned, patting Tiger’s back like the old friend he expected to be treated as. Tiger certainly considered him a friend and perhaps this was the reason the rules were so stringent. Tiger would otherwise feel betrayed.

  Together, they led Anthony through the wall. He had never thought to go through the wall on days when Dog and Tiger were not there. He was certain he wouldn’t be able to. And there would be no reason to go there anyway.
There was nothing in the room, only the table, only the whiteness, only the “you won’t get out alive” and these were things no man would seek out on his own. He was back there again in the whiteness and the nothingness and they sat him at the table.

  There were cups and saucers laid out and a tea kettle. He wanted to pour the hot tea in their smug faces but he knew it wouldn’t help. He sat down and he drank with them. And he thanked them. And he cried as they made him drink cup after cup. He held his bladder since one time he’d pissed himself and Tiger had smacked him around for it. He didn’t want Tiger to smack him around so he was good and he drank the tea and he waited. Dog and Tiger did not drink any tea. Dog fussed with his hair and Tiger bounced up and down applauding wildly. Three million hits. He’d gotten four million the day he pissed himself. Were they hoping he’d piss himself again? He hoped not because this time he didn’t.

  They walked out and left him waiting and he waited and he waited until the room finally went away. He did not go back through the wall. He was never led out. It always just seemed to go away. Maybe the tea was drugged and he just didn’t remember them bringing him home. Any explanation was as good as the last. What was important was that he was crying, that he was sick, that he knew they were coming back and always would come back.

  He was haggard the next day at work. He was staring at the walls where Dog and Tiger seemed to still be waiting. They never came when he was at work. Still they were with him, still he was thinking of the taste of tea and the blank button eyes of his plush tormentors. He tried to make small talk with his friend but he was evasive, distracted. He answered Becca’s texts monosyllabically. He had wanted to think about her body and her kisses and being beside her and feeling at peace but he was thinking of the tea party again. He was thinking of them and all the time they had taken and were going to take.