He’d been sitting two tables down, stoned out of his mind. He remembered thinking the blood was the brightest shade of red he’d ever seen as it sprayed onto the jock that had pushed Melvin to the floor.
He also remembered thinking, in between the shock and disgust and fuzziness of his buzz, that it was a good thing the kid hadn’t first gone on a rampage. Something told Dwayne he wouldn’t have been too far from the top of Melvin’s hit list.
It was also a good thing it wasn’t the real Melvin standing before him now, though he had a hard time convincing himself the skeleton wouldn’t reanimate, skin forming on top of black bones, until the piece of paper fell to the floor, revealing a real face in its place. The longer he stared at the makeshift shrine, the harder it was to believe the eyes wouldn’t blink, that the mouth wouldn’t curl into a smile.
Every inch of Dwayne’s skin vibrated with electricity. He felt like a storm was about to roll through Lynnwood, like the air was charged. In a way, he thought, it was.
He hadn’t made the connection until now. Those vamps, they were worshipping Melvin for some reason, had started dressing and acting like him. Except these were honor students, not social outcasts and basket cases.
Run, his mind shouted. Something isn’t right here. You can come back when the sun’s up or better yet, ask if you can work the day shift for the time being. You won’t be able to drink or smoke but you’ll at least be safe.
Something brushed against his leg. He recoiled, expecting to find a spider or worse, but he saw he’d just been leaning against one of the desks. He hadn’t realized until now how close he’d gotten to the skeleton—to Melvin.
He turned and tripped over his own feet, bashing his head on the floor in the process. Stars clouded his vision, and when they finally cleared, the room was shrouded in darkness again.
Someone had flipped the light switches off.
It’s Melvin, Dwayne thought. He’s come back to finish what he started.
From behind, in the direction of the shrine, he heard something shift and flutter, like the skeleton had come loose from its stand and was walking across the room.
“P-please,” he said. “Don’t hurt me. None of us meant it. I didn’t mean it.”
The footsteps grew closer, only inches away.
“I’m sorry.” He was crying now, snot dripping down his upper lip and into his mouth. It tasted salty on his tongue.
The footsteps stopped just behind him. A hand grabbed onto the back of his shirt and spun him around. He saw a pale white face, visible even in the thick darkness, hovering above him. It wasn’t Melvin but one of the kids he’d seen meeting here before. He wasn’t sure which. They were hard to tell apart these days.
“You’re sorry?” the face said.
Dwayne nodded. “Y-yes.”
“Good. Let’s go tell Melvin to his face. What do you say?”
He shook his head but the face didn’t much care. A matching pale hand appeared from the shadows and rammed his nose.
●●●
Later, when he woke, it was only for a moment but in that moment, he saw something impossible, something that defied everything he knew to be rational.
The thing was large and slimy and the resemblance could not be denied.
It was the thing from Melvin’s drawings. Only now it wasn’t on a lined piece of notebook paper but sitting above him in some unfamiliar place that felt damp and smelled musty.
He stuttered another apology, meaning it from the bottom of his heart, but the thing didn’t seem to care.
It was too busy grabbing onto Dwayne’s leg with what looked like a tentacle, and pulling him forward.
And opening its mouths.
Chapter Seventeen
“Freak,” Officer Brad Desmond said as he tossed Tom Parkins back into the cell. Tom had been allowed one phone call and wasn’t sure who to contact. He’d left home two weeks ago after a massive fight with his father. To be fair, Tom had started it by talking down to the old man, calling him a washed up drunk. The argument ended with something Tom had seen coming for years.
The old man (his name was Andrew but Tom never called him that or Dad or anything that indicated they were family) cold-cocked his son, his fist bringing on a nosebleed and a sizable bruise on Tom’s cheekbone. The threat of violence had floated through the Parkins home ever since Tom’s mother had left her husband for another woman, a redhead that didn’t look much older than Tom. For some odd reason, the old man got it in his head that Tom was to blame for his marital collapse, for his drinking problem, and for his being laid off at the foundry six months ago.
But when the violence had finally become a reality, Tom hadn’t hesitated to serve it right back. He’d grabbed onto the old man’s hair, long and greasy, and shoved his ugly mug right onto the coffee table in the living room. He’d broken the damned thing in two.
He’d left without saying another word. By the time he got to the old high school, he’d been covered in blood, both his own and the old man’s, but that hadn’t mattered. What had mattered was that Busty and Vickie were standing in the doorway, waving him on as if they’d been expecting him. They were his family now.
Which is why calling his father earlier had been a severe mistake, a moment of weakness. He’d foolishly thought his father might apologize for hitting him, drop whatever cheap drink he was guzzling and head down to the station. But instead the old man had cackled, slurring his words. “You expect me to stop what I’m doing and bail your ass out of the slammer? Christ, I knew you were low in the brain cell department but this is a record. Let me get this straight. You knocked a teacher out cold in the middle of class after punching your father in the teeth and you honestly think I’m going to help you? Son, you’re just as dumb as your mom, wherever the fuck she is.”
The line went dead after that.
Now he paced his cell, cursing himself for being so weak. He should’ve called Busty. He wouldn’t have hesitated. Maybe Vickie had already updated him on the situation and he was on the way. After all, Tom had only hit Murray because of her. He just had to bide his time and wait for them to show up. Surely they had a plan in place. His new family wouldn’t let him down.
As he walked back and forth across the tiny space, breathing in the scent of piss and sweat, he couldn’t help but feel anger course through his bloodstream. His mind generated a hit list. His father was near the top, as was Murray. Hell, half the football team was in the top twenty since they’d disowned Tom for quitting and joining his “little cult.” Whereas his former teammates had once called him Muscles, now they mostly used words like pansy and faggot when they saw him in the hall at school.
His hands formed fists and he trembled with anger, his skin white hot.
That’s right, Tom. Let it flow through you.
He stopped pacing and cocked his head. The voice had not come from inside the cell. He looked through the bars and into the hall, saw only the night guard.
Keep imagining their faces. Don’t let them fade even for a moment. Think of the way they’ll plead and scream and beg for mercy when the time comes. But you won’t let up, will you? You won’t stop until they finally collapse from the suffering.
Tom nodded, realizing the owner of the voice now. It was mesmerizing. Hypnotic even. He’d heard it before after all, the night Vickie brought him to the old school and made him the man he was today. It belonged to the thing in the basement, the thing that had brought them all together.
Melvin Brown.
I want you to think long and hard about their pain. I want it to overcome you so that there’s nothing else you’d rather do than run a blade across each of their throats. Can you do that for me, Tom?
He nodded, his eyes distant, the pupils dilated. “Yes. Anything.”
That’s good. Soon we will show each and every one of them. Soon we will make them pay.
“Who the hell are you talking to?”
Tom spun around, the trance broken. Melvin was gone. In his place
was Brad Desmond, a man that resembled Tom before he found his new family: close cropped hair, a cleft chin, and more muscle mass than brain matter. “No one. I was just humming.”
“No you weren’t. I heard you talking to someone and I don’t see anyone around.” He smirked. It was a look Tom had grown used to ever since his initiation. It said so many things without actually speaking aloud.
“I’m not crazy.”
Desmond laughed. “That’s not a bet I’d be willing to make. Now keep it down or I’ll tell my boss I think you ought to have a psych eval. It might happen regardless, the way you’ve been acting. All of you, for that matter. Your little club better find a new hobby aside from hitting teachers. Otherwise, you’ll be in the funny farm, wearing straitjackets and popping all sorts of pills.”
Tom smiled despite the anger. “You’re going to regret this conversation.”
“Kid, is that a threat? Are you threatening a police officer?”
“Of course not. I’d just think twice before you talk about us like that. In case you haven’t noticed, we outnumber your entire force. Just something to think about.”
The guard raised his ring of keys. “See these? One of these goes to that lock. I’d like nothing more than to pop it open and beat that smirk off your pasty little face. I could pretend you reached through the bars and assaulted me. I had no choice, sir. I feared for my life, sir. But that would require a stack of paperwork and quite frankly you’re not worth the time. So do me favor and shut your mouth. No more talking to invisible friends, got me?”
Tom held up his hands in mock innocence. “Whatever you say, Officer.”
Desmond turned and walked away. Tom watched him go. In his mind, he picked up a pen and added Brad’s name to the list.
He cracked his knuckles and stretched out on the cot, the springs digging into his back like bony fingers. He observed the ceiling for a long time, listening to the night sounds and the voice that whispered secrets into his ears, letting him know of things to come.
He couldn’t help but smile knowing how many people were going to die.
●●●
Alyssa knew something was up when she got home that night. Her mother and father were both still awake, sitting at the kitchen table with mugs of coffee in their hands. Both looked ready to collapse, on edge, like they’d just received bad news.
She looked at the clock on her phone. It was just before eleven. She’d been sure to have Busty drop her off early this time, which is why she found it odd they should be waiting for her like this.
She cleared her throat to cut the silence. Her father sighed and rubbed his tired eyes. Her mother looked every which way but toward her daughter.
“Did someone die or something?” Alyssa said, stepping into the kitchen and opening the fridge. She hadn’t eaten dinner, had been too busy making out with Busty and hoping it would go further this time, though, as usual, he’d stopped her advances and pretended to be too tired. There was nothing in the fridge that seemed appealing so she raided the cabinets, tossing aside a jar of peanut butter and cans of chicken soup, finally settling on a package of pop tarts. She ripped open the foil, broke off a piece, and shoved it into her mouth. Her tongue was dry and her pulse began to quicken on account of her parents’ boring eyes. She could feel them like daggers in her back. She turned around. “Does anyone want to tell me what the hell’s going on?”
“Watch your language,” Mona said, staring into her cup.
“I didn’t realize ‘hell’ was off limits. Should I stop saying damn too? Or crap?” She took another bite of the pop tart. A stray sprinkle stuck to her lip and she picked it away.
“Don’t talk to your mother like that,” Frank said, still rubbing his eyes like he was fighting to stay awake. He was usually in bed by now or at least looking through old pictures of Jeremy in his study while pretending to grade papers, as if anyone actually believed the charade.
“Maybe I should just stop talking altogether. That way neither of you can give me any shit.” She covered her mouth in mock surprise. “Oops. There I go again.”
“Stop it, okay?” Frank said.
She held up her hands. “Fine by me. I’m going to bed. It’s a school night in case you didn’t remember.”
Frank reached into his pocket and unfolded a piece of paper, slamming it onto the table and tapping it with his index finger. “I remembered just fine but I think you may have forgotten. On account of your grades.”
She nearly choked on her snack. She’d known they’d learn of her poor grades sooner or later but not this soon. She wondered which of her asshole teachers had given the tip. Probably Murray. Suddenly she was glad he’d gotten his lights knocked out. She’d give Tom Parkins a high five the next time she saw him.
Frank slid the paper over. “I had an interesting chat with Principal Fisher today.
There it was. The principal had ratted her out. That seemed a bit out of his jurisdiction. Shouldn’t he have been more worried about the vamps causing an uproar in his precious school? She hoped he was worried. And she hoped their numbers would grow until every teacher was pissing his pants in class, waiting for one of the vamps to go apeshit.
She wrinkled her brow. What the hell was she thinking? Her father was one of those teachers. Judging by the bags under his eyes, he already was losing sleep over everything that had been going on. And here she was, letting him down.
Now that he mentioned it, she hadn’t exactly been herself lately. She’d never been one to let school become unimportant. And what about her friends? She’d barely spoken to them in weeks. Had Busty been changing her, getting into her head? Had the vamps somehow been influencing her?
Don’t be stupid. They’re kids in a club, not psychic monsters. You’re just letting your dad play with your emotions. He wants you to feel guilty and for what? Having a little fun in your senior year? He’s had you under a microscope ever since you became an only child.
“What do you want from me?” she said. “It’s early in the semester. I’ll still graduate with flying colors.”
“That’s not the point,” Frank said.
“Then what is the point, Dad? I’m tired and I don’t feel like playing this game.”
Frank tightened his hands into his fists as if to keep from turning into the Hulk. Mona rubbed his arm, tried to soothe away his anger.
It may have been her fatigue or stress or depression or a combination of all three but for some odd reason, the way her father struggled to contain his anger and disappointment became the funniest thing in the world. Her face contorted into a smirk and the biggest laugh she’d ever known escaped her mouth. Tears spilled from her eyes. She snorted several times, only making the giggles come on faster. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m just tired.” Her stomach hurt from the laughter. She nearly keeled over.
Her father stood up, crumpled the piece of paper into a ball, and tossed it across the room. He grabbed onto her shoulder and shook her.
Her laugh finally died when her father slammed his knuckles onto the table so hard that a chunk of splintered wood broke away and fell to the floor. “You think this is funny? Take a look around. Look at what you’re doing to me, to your mother.” He pointed to Mona.
Her mother had always been the good cop, though in recent times she’d converted to Frank’s side. Before this semester, Mona had always fought for her daughter. If Frank told her to come home early on a weekend night, Mona would be the hostage negotiator. She knew her husband was overprotective, that he couldn’t get over losing his little boy, but she also knew that it was unhealthy to chain his daughter up. Now Mona was crying and shaking. Inside, Alyssa felt like she’d let both her parents down but that only seemed to make things worse, like there was a disconnect between her thoughts and actions
“You can’t talk to me that way,” she said, trying to stand up to Frank.
“Is that right?”
She nodded, tried to seem defiant. “Yes. You think you’re tough because you can
break stuff?”
“I want my daughter back!” He seemed even more like the Hulk now, as if his transformation was too far gone. At any moment now, his skin would bulge with muscles and veins and he’d turn a horrid shade of green.
“That’s where you’re wrong,” she said, picking up the piece of broken table and tossing it across the kitchen. It hit the top of the fridge, knocking over several bottles of vitamins and her father’s blood pressure pills. “I’m right here. Always have been. You want him back. Well, guess what? You’re just going to have to live with the fact that he’s gone and you’re stuck with me. I’m sorry I’m not him, but if there’s one thing I am, it’s me and not Jeremy!”
She marched into the living room, grabbing one of too many framed pictures, an image of her younger brother playing atop her parents’ laps. She had no recollection of the day because she wasn’t even in the picture. Perhaps she’d been off to the side playing with her dolls or maybe she’d been sleeping and they wanted to take a picture of their favorite child.
It didn’t matter either way. She wanted to forget and move on but she saw now that would never happen. Not while her mother and father were acting like this. Not while she had constant reminders of her brother at every step.
And most certainly not while she was living under this roof.
Mona stood from her chair when she saw the picture in Alyssa’s hand. She begged for her daughter to put it back down.
Alyssa shook her head and wound back.
“Don’t you do it,” her father said. “I’m warning you.”
“You like breaking things? We can both play that game.”
The picture left her hand and became air-born. The moment slowed so that she could see every detail. The frame soaring across the room. Her mother crying so hard, she looked ready to seize. Her father shouting in such anger, she wondered if the cops would be called. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, Jeremy collided with the far wall.
The glass shattered, raining down on the floor in countless shards. The frame broke in two separate pieces and the picture of her dead brother floated through the air ever so softly until it came to a stop just in front of her father’s feet.
We Came Back Page 13