by Glenn Rolfe
“This isn’t right.” She leaned into the screen. Other than a couple of dirty bowls on the table and half a glass of orange juice on the counter, the room was vacant.
“Bell.”
Belinda jumped. “Jesus, Joanie. Don’t fucking do that.”
“What are you doing?” Joanie said. A branch snapped somewhere in the woods. She stopped, open-toed sandals in the grass, and stared toward the trees.
Belinda looked down at the wet footprints and then followed her sister’s gaze toward the back of the property. Her stomach tensed.
“Can we go now?” Joanie said.
“Yeah. I guess those two can’t get into that much trouble, but Brady better not think he’s getting away with making me worry.”
“Yeah, yeah, Bell. You’ll give him hell, no doubt, just like you always used to give me. Now come on, I want to see if Packard’s is open yet.”
Belinda did another brief scan of the woods. A shiver tickled her spine. She turned and hurried to catch up with her sister.
Kim and Brady watched from the living room window as his mom’s car disappeared down the road.
“Did you say Mr. Packard went upstairs?” Kim said.
“That’s where he went to look first.” Brady hiked his backpack up farther on his shoulders. “Let’s go have a look.”
Chapter Twelve
“I think I just stepped in something.” Brady, halfway up to second floor, raised his canvas sneaker. A blue jelly dripped from his sole to the floor, where it joined a small pool of slime.
“That looks just like the stuff from the pipe,” Kim said. She took a couple steps back down the stairs and slipped, nearly losing her balance before she grasped the rail on the wall. She pulled her hand away wet with more blue goop. “What the hell, Brady?”
“You saw Mr. Packard back at his place. He’s covered in it. He probably left a trail through the whole house. C’mon.” He shouldered the backpack and held out his hand. She took it and followed him the rest of the way up. They entered her bedroom prepared for the worst.
“How does it look? Anything missing as far as you can tell? Is there anything out of place?”
Kim squeezed past him, glancing from one personal effect to another. Everything looked copacetic. “Looks exactly how I left it this morning.”
“What’s our next play?” Brady said.
“How should I know? You’re the one with the tube of alien mucus on your back. What do you want to do?” From the crooked smirk that spread across his face, Kim knew what was coming.
“I don’t think you’re going to like my idea.”
They went to the kitchen, scarfed down a couple PB and Js and a couple of Cokes, and headed out the back door.
They stopped on the porch. Kim pointed at the fading footprints at their feet. She looked out toward the trail and got the chill or, as her dad called them, the heebie-jeebies. “Maybe we should go around the front way.”
“You know what? I think I’m good with that idea too,” Brady said.
Alan Packard watched the kids turn around. They were too scared to come his way. A grin spread across his ruining face. If they showed up in his backyard again, he would be there waiting.
“I wanted to tell you how I felt, but I wasn’t sure whether you would say you felt the same, or if you would run the other way,” Kim said. Her cheeks were red as she opened the jar that they both knew could never be recapped.
“I, I’ve had a pretty big crush on you since, like, I don’t even know. I mean, we’ve been friends forever, but me…I…” Brady stammered.
“I know. Me too,” Kim said. She squeezed his hand.
In the road ahead of them, Kellen Murphy came into sight. His long blond hair flopped around as he tried to pop a wheelie on his BMX and failed miserably. She laughed as he fell off onto his butt.
They let go of one another’s hands at the same time. A shared look between them and Kim was certain they were on the same page—both ready to explore their relationship, but not quite ready to share that with the rest of the town. Not yet anyway.
“Hey, cuz, you need a hand?” Brady said. He jogged over to where his cousin lay sprawled out in the middle of the quiet street.
“Hey, man…aw shit,” Kellen said. “Hey, Kim, you didn’t see me dump it, did you?”
Kellen looked a bit mortified, but Kim knew he had a knack for making light of his own issues. As if on cue, Kellen lay back on the ground, spread his arms and legs out, rolled his head to the side and hung his tongue out like a dead man.
Brady charged at him. Kellen scurried to his feet as the boys tangled up in a struggle to overthrow one another.
“All right, all right, guys. Break it up. You shouldn’t be playing in the road even if it is deserted.” Kim picked up Kellen’s bike and rolled it off to the side of the road.
After the two goofing boys broke up their faux brawl, Kellen dusted off his jeans. “So what are you two lovebirds doing?”
Kim stood wide eyed and tight lipped, not sure how to respond. She shot a glance at Brady and saw his mouth hung open. Catching flies, as her dad would say.
“What? Chill out, you guys. I was just messing with you. Jeesh.” Kellen looked from Brady to Kim. Kim saw the light turn on behind his blue eyes. “Oh my God, of course. Of course, I mean, yeah, you guys. You guys are kind of perfect for each other.”
“No, we…” Kim said.
“Cut it out, you guys. Really, it’s no big deal. It totally makes sense. More sense than my brother and Missy Kline.”
“What?” Brady said, finally finding his tongue. “But, she’s in our grade, and your brother is almost…what? Sixteen?”
“That’s gross,” Kim said. She put the BMX’s kickstand down and stepped next to Brady.
“Yeah, I know. Just think how I felt walking into our bedroom and finding Missy topless on my brother’s bed.”
Kim covered her ears and said, “Too much information, too much, too much.”
“Your brother is a wicked perv,” Brady said.
“He’s your cousin,” Kellen said with a laugh. “So, what are we doing? Unless that is, ah…you two wanted to be alone?”
“No,” Brady said. “We were just going somewhere to check on something.”
“Uh-huh…somewhere, something, got it. So…let’s go,” Kellen said.
With Kellen in tow, they headed west toward Packard’s.
Belinda pulled up to the curb outside of Packard’s Flea Market. The look of the run-down building made her skin crawl. The two-story property had always looked like it should be condemned, but now it really looked ready to cave in.
“I don’t get it. Shirley Cummings told me she stopped by at seven and again at nine thirty. He’s never missed a Saturday,” Joanie said.
“Well, it doesn’t look open. Shall we go?”
Joanie opened the door, exited the vehicle before Belinda could protest, and started toward the building.
“Joanie!”
“You had your fun snooping around the Jenners’. Now it’s my turn,” Joanie said. She took off down the dirt driveway toward the front porch.
Belinda did not want to follow her sister. She had a strange feeling about this. She watched from behind the wheel, chewing her fingernails as Joanie crept up the porch steps. It was like watching a scary movie. She could imagine Michael Myers popping out at any moment.
She shook her head as Joanie peeked into the dusty old windows of the front door before working her way to the right, where she checked the other windows. Belinda, steadfast behind the steering wheel, took her eyes from her sister and looked down the sidewalk. A mangy dog stared back from its spot beside the dilapidated fence that used to border the entire Packard property. The animal didn’t look right. Its fur wasn’t just dirty; it looked wet, oily.
Joanie’s screams from the porch froze the blood in Belinda’s veins.
Chapter Thirteen
“So what’d it do? Electrocute you or something?” Kellen said. He ba
rely pedaled the bike, doing his best to keep his balance and stay with his friends.
“I don’t know. Kind of, I guess. It was like my blood tingled, like, like I could actually feel it moving through my entire body.” Describing the experience for the first time outside of his own thoughts brought a phantom trace of the weird sensation back to his body.
Kim gripped his hand. “When you—when we hit the ground, I wiggled out from beneath you… You had that blue glow, like earlier. It was only for a few seconds, but—”
“What do you mean, blue glow? Brady? What does she mean? What the hell is she talking about?”
“It was part of whatever happened… I remember seeing my arms… They had this bluish, I don’t know, aura,” Brady said.
“It happened in the basement too,” Kim said.
Brady looked over at her. “What happened in the basement?”
“When you were touching the canister, just for a minute, I saw it again. The glow.”
Brady took a few seconds to internalize this. That would make three times he’d started to light up from touching this stuff. The last couple of times, he’d seen something while it happened. He let go of Kim’s hand and shrugged the backpack off.
“What are you doing?” Kellen said.
He didn’t answer. He unzipped the bag, pulled out the cylinder of ooze and placed it in the dirt on the side of the road where he knelt. After a few deep breaths, he wrapped his hands around the container.
“Holy shit,” Kellen said.
“Brady…” Kim began.
Brady felt the strange current work its way through his hands, up through his forearms, into his shoulders and chest. He closed his eyes and saw his Aunt Joanie. She was stuck… His mom was there too. She was walking down a dirt driveway toward his aunt. The vision turned away. Brady saw piles of knickknacks, antiques, tables of plastic jewelry and cheap watches. He saw slime-covered hands reach for a cabinet. The door swung open. Rifles and hunting knives hung inside. The hand reached in and grabbed a long blade.
Brady wanted to let go of the canister. He could feel his heart thump heavy in his chest. He could hear voices…Take them. Bring them. Ascend.
He didn’t want to listen, but he couldn’t let go yet; he had to see what was happening. Mr. Packard was heading toward a door. Brady’s eyes were hit with a stream of white light. He collapsed backward in the dirt.
“Brady, Brady. Are you okay?” Kim said.
“Holy shit. He was really freaking glowing,” Kellen said. He stood there in awe and stared down at his cousin.
Slowly, the world came back into view. Brady’s hands were cold and clammy. His eyes itched.
“Are you okay?” Kim said. She stroked his hair.
“Yeah…we have to go. We have to get to Packard’s.” He sat up and rubbed his chest where his heart continued to thump.
“What? I hate that place. My mom drags me there all the time,” Kellen said.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” Kim said.
Brady grabbed the cylinder, threw it in his backpack and rose to his feet. “Mom and Aunt Joanie are there right now, and so is Mr. Packard. I think they’re in trouble.”
“What? What are you talking about? How do you know that?” Kellen said.
Brady turned to him. “I don’t know how, or why, or what the hell it is, but Mr. Packard is covered in this blue ooze we found out back of his house where the last big boom hit. Whenever I touch the stuff in here,” he held up his backpack, “for some weird reason, I think I see what he sees, like we’re connected by this slime.”
“Are you messing with me right now? Because it’s not funny.”
“He’s telling the truth,” Kim said.
“Well, what the hell does Mr. Packard want with our moms?”
Brady threw the bag on his shoulders. “Nothing good. Let’s hurry.” He didn’t share the part about the voices he heard. Take them. Bring them. Ascend. He didn’t have a clue what any of it meant, and he didn’t have time to worry about it. His mom was in danger.
Alan Packard shook the invader free from his mind, at least one of them. He didn’t know exactly how that bastard Carmichael kid was getting inside his head, but it was getting on his fucking nerves and his mother was going to pay for it.
“Joanie, Joanie!” Belinda yelled. She ran to the decrepit porch that clung for life to Packard’s Flea Market. The soft steps threatened to fall away beneath her hundred and twenty pounds, but she managed to make it to where Joanie sat awkwardly on the filthy porch. Her right foot was entrenched within the dying planks. There was blood where the bottom of her calf met the hole in the boards.
“It’s okay, Bell. I just fell through a little.” Joanie leaned back on her hands. She looked calm enough.
“You scared the crap out of me.”
“Sorry. I thought I saw someone looking out through that window, and when I stepped back, this shitty porch tried to eat me.”
Belinda crouched down next to her, examining where her sister’s leg was stuck. “You saw somebody? Was it Mr. Packard?”
“I-I don’t know. I guess it had to be, if I actually did see someone.”
“Well, can you move your leg at all?”
“Yeah, but it hurts like a son of a gun. I think I might have twisted my ankle.”
Belinda looked up at the dirty, cracked window above them. “Maybe we should knock and see if Mr. Packard is here. He has to have something in there to pry some of these boards back, at least enough for us to get you free.”
Something fell behind the door, followed by a metallic clang, like a pot hitting the kitchen floor. They stared and waited for the door to open.
“Hello?” Belinda said.
“Bell…” Joanie whispered.
The door whipped open. A naked Alan Packard appeared. He held a large knife and was covered from head to toe in some kind of slimy residue. Before Belinda could move, he had his free hand in her hair. She screamed and kicked as he dragged her back into the musty building.
The door slammed shut as Belinda’s shrieks came to an abrupt halt.
“Bell!” Joanie cried. She tried to yank her injured leg free from the porch. The pain in her ankle exploded with a fiery vengeance. The gash just above it gushed a flood of crimson.
“Bell!”
Chapter Fourteen
“Brady, isn’t that your mom’s car?” Kim said.
“Yeah, it looks like it.”
“Did you guys hear that?” Kellen said.
“Hear what?” Kim said.
“Someone screaming. I’m going to cruise ahead and see what’s up.” Kellen pedaled his way down the street before they could argue.
“Come on,” Brady said. He and Kim ran down the empty street. Brady felt a knot in his guts.
Alan Packard dragged Belinda Carmichael into the little sitting room behind the cash counter. This was where he sat watching his wrestling videos during store hours while the blue hairs and the hoarders shopped his junky little market. She was bleeding from the spot above her eyes where he’d smashed her with the blunt end of the hunting knife’s handle, but was otherwise okay. He leaned the unconscious woman against the tattered flower-print love seat and went back for the other screaming woman before she alarmed the entire neighborhood. Not that it mattered much. Most of the houses next to his place were empty, except for Ms. Hamlin’s, but she was an old bat who couldn’t hear for shit anyway.
He rushed to the front door. The sister was still trying to free her leg from his porch. The fear in her eyes excited him.
“Please…no…” she pleaded.
Alan stepped before her, drew the knife back and punched the whining woman in the face. Blood poured down her mouth and chin. Her nose was smashed, bloody and crooked to the right. He hauled back and struck her again. This time, she dropped backward like a sack of potatoes. The strike was fatal. The voices would not be so happy with that, but he would just have to deal with the consequences, whatever they were. He stamped the heel of hi
s bare foot down hard on the broken board that captured her leg. It gave way. He held the knife between his blackened teeth, grabbed her legs, and hauled her inside. Her head thudded against the hump at the bottom of the threshold. He slammed the door shut just as a boy on a bicycle came rolling into view.
After locking the bolt on the door, Alan dragged the dead body behind the counter.
“That’s your mom’s car,” Kim wheezed.
Brady stepped up to the vehicle. Aunt Joanie’s large red purse was on the passenger seat. “That’s your mom’s purse,” he said to Kellen.
“Looks like they’re the only ones here,” Kellen said as he glanced down the street.
“Yeah, looks that way,” Brady said.
“Is anyone else getting a really, really, really bad feeling about this?” Kim said. She looked toward the cracked and filthy windows of Packard’s Flea Market.
Brady didn’t like the abandoned vehicle or the quiet junk shop. He silently hoped Mr. Packard was not home, that the vision was wrong.
“What should we do?” Kim said.
Brady looked from the purse to his cousin’s face. He could see the worry in Kellen’s eyes. “Let’s go see if there’s anybody home.”
Alan struggled to get the unconscious woman on his scrawny shoulders. When he finally did, keeping her there proved even more difficult. The slick coating on his bare skin was too slippery. After a couple of unsuccessful attempts to get the woman from the room, he got an idea. He wandered out to the counter and found what he was looking for: a red chamois shirt and a pair of tan work gloves.
He got her up the weak steps to his home above and dropped her on to his mucus-covered couch. The slime made wet sucking sounds as it crawled over her. Alan watched, amazed and ready for his turn. He stared at his arms. The slime that coated his flesh moved. Maybe he’d been ascending this whole time.