by Tim Curran
Feeling as if he was being watched, Lionel glanced up and immediately jumped at the unnerving sight of thirteen pairs of glowing red eyes glaring at him from the roof across the street. He could just make out the outline of the troupe of magpies in the dusk, not one of them moving as they sat clustered together on the slates, keenly observing his movements. At first Lionel couldn’t understand why they didn’t just swoop down to attack, but then it dawned on him; they knew what was about to transpire down below and were simply waiting until he became easier pickings.
“Yeah, well fuck you too” he whispered in the direction of the roof as he stepped carefully onto the lawn and began to tiptoe towards the pond.
Glancing around him, he peered carefully at every long shadow, squinting to try and make out the crouched shape of a dog lying in wait for him. The garden overflowed with darkness and he struggled to make out any definite shapes in the remaining light. His hands were slick with sweat now and he could feel it running down the hilt of the kitchen knife as he clenched it tighter into the ball of his fist. Stalking forward, he shook his right hand slightly so that the silver name tag jingled against the collar, the slightly off-key note ringing out clearly in this silent graveyard like a summons.
Sensing a rough outline in the shadows beside the pond, Lionel raised the blade up in front of him and leant cautiously forward to get a closer look.
“Come out, come out wherever you are” he crooned smoothly as he bent lower, brandishing the knife before him.
A low growl came in answer from the rear and Lionel froze, feeling a single bead of cold sweat uncomfortably trickle down his back. The Saxon-Thing was directly behind him he realised, the sound seeming to come from slightly above him and he now knew that he would have only a few seconds to get this right.
Tensing every muscle in his body, Lionel dug his fingernails resolutely into the leather collar and abruptly spun round. Above him, on the flat roof of the shed, the Saxon-Thing’s hulking form stood silhouetted in the partial moonlight, its blood-red eyes burning with primal hunger as it glared down at Lionel. The laceration caused by the door had cut a deep groove across the dog’s face, leaving an angry battle scar crudely sliced through its hellish visage. Around the beast’s neck, the tattered remnants of a dirty blue bandana were just visible amongst the dense mass of crusted hair.
As the creature launched itself in his direction, Lionel felt the knife rise up in his hand. The Saxon-Thing was a snarling black ball of teeth and fur as it hurtled through the air towards him, its eyes locked on his and then there was a sudden wet puncturing noise as the creature’s soft underbelly slid onto the outstretched blade. Still though, the Saxon-Thing’s momentum carried it onwards and Lionel let out a loud “oof” as the dog’s weight slammed into his upper body.
His knees gave way under him and he found himself falling backward onto the lawn, the wounded beast collapsing on top of him with the kitchen knife forced into its chest right up to the hilt. Not quite dead yet, the creature immediately began to claw and bite at him as it writhed in agony and Lionel desperately grabbed the dog by the throat, forcing the snapping jaws away from his face. Tears streamed down his cheeks as he grappled with the murderous nightmare that had once been his only friend in this world and as the life finally drained out of the creature, just for a second as the evil red glare in the animal’s eyes faded, he glimpsed Saxon’s pleading face behind big brown eyes as they dimmed to nothingness.
Lionel felt the body go limp and still weeping, he wrapped his arms around his dead companion and hugged the dog tightly to him, burying his head into Saxon’s matted dark fur.
After he could cry no more tears, he laid his head back onto the blood-soaked grass, exhausted and stared up into the night sky. Between wisps of dark cloud he glimpsed the solitary brightness of Sirius and let out a low whimper of anguish. As he did, there came a rustle from his left.
Turning his head, Lionel found that he had landed next to the rhododendrons and he now watched the oversized leaves at the base of the bush began to softly jiggle as something slowly pushed its way towards him. He tried to get up but the dead weight of the dog had effectively pinned him to the ground with his upper arms trapped at his sides and he could only stare in horror as the leaves parted and a familiar face appeared beside him.
Beneath blood-streaked white fur that had been tied up in an assortment of garish ribbons and brightly coloured bows, a tiny set of sharp teeth parted into a wide snarl as the Fifi-Thing growled threateningly at him (“…nine is a kiss”). The disagreeable bouquet of carrion mixed with chocolate-coated hazelnuts washed over him as fear took him in its rigid grasp and he opened his mouth to scream.
The poodle lunged hungrily forward at his prone unprotected face and as the dreadful sound of torn flesh and Lionel’s high-pitched shrieks filled the night air, thirteen magpies took flight from the rooftop across the street and as one, soared up into the darkness in search of fresh meat.
TWO DAYS BEFORE THE END OF THE WORLD
Ryan C. Thomas
Nick steered his pickup truck into the dirt driveway of the Robinson farm and parked it behind his friend Gavin's beat up Ford 150. He had no idea what Gavin had been crowing about on the phone, or why he needed to be here so early, just that he needed to git his ass on over here like right now. A cloud of dust, kicked up from the tires, engulfed him as he opened the rusted truck door and stepped out into the scorching August heat. With the sun directly overhead, and the air conditioning in the truck busted all to hell, his insides were jonesing for something cool and refreshing.
The farmhouse's driveway-side door was wide open but the inside screen door, warped from years of being kicked and slammed, was wedged shut. Nick cupped his hands around his eyes and peeked in through the mesh at the kitchen beyond. Same old same old. Place looked like a tornado had hit it. Dirty dishes stacked precariously high near the sink, empty beer bottles lying all over the floor, faded and wrinkled copies of Guns & Ammo tossed willy nilly on the countertops and the kitchen table. If the stench of trash could win awards the smell coming from inside would have a case full of trophies. Every surface, including the chairs, was coated in some kind of ochre stain that you didn't dare touch unless you had the CDC's number on speed dial. Some of it was food, some of it dirt, but the rest... God only knew. The place had looked like this since Gavin's brother Jessie took off two weeks ago with some whore he met at the Box Seat Tavern.
Nick announced himself. "Yo, shitheel. I'm here already."
He waited a second, but no one answered. A good yank got the screen door open. He stepped inside and started for the sink to pour a glass of water, saw the flies buzzing about it (ain't no screen gonna keep flies from getting at a meal, that's for sure) and opted for a beer from the fridge instead. It was cold. At least Gavin had remembered to pay the electric bill. Either that or the electric company offered a generous grace period to delinquent bill payers. As he was shutting the fridge door, he spotted his friend sitting on the stoop out back. "Hey, you deaf? I said I'm here." He used the top of the kitchen table to pop the beer cap off. "I'm taking a beer."
Without a word, Gavin waved an arm in a "come here" gesture. That was strange, Nick thought. Gavin was usually a pretty boisterous fellow. Could be he was just hung over or something. God knew that happened often enough. 'Course he hadn't sounded hung over on the phone when he was telling Nick to git his ass here pronto.
Nick passed through the breezeway, accidentally kicking over a pile of porno mags and a shoebox of old Junior Brown cassette tapes, and opened the screen door to the back yard. The heat slammed him once again as he sat next to Gavin on the stoop. "Well, here I am. What the hell's so damn important I gotta get out of bed at ten o'clock on a Saturday morning? I don't work on a farm, in case you forgot. I don't need to be up right now."
Gavin shushed him with a finger and pointed across the small yard to where the rows of corn began.
"Yeah, I heard this one before. The corn has ears? Hardy fuckin
g har."
"No, douchebag. Hush up for a sec and wait."
Nick waited, sipped his beer, waved a gnat away from his face with his baseball cap. The corn was doing a pretty good impression of being corn. He gave it five out of five stars--top rate mimicry. "Well now I see what you mean," he said. "Corn this exciting shouldn't go unwatched. Pregnant women should avoid this ride."
"Hold up," Gavin said, a smile now starting to curl up at the corners of his mouth. "I think it's coming."
"What? Winter? 'Cause if we sit here long enough—"
"There." Gavin thrust his finger out toward the corn, a little to the left.
Nick could see the stalks swaying a bit as something walked through them, moving slow and kind of low to the ground. He took another sip of the beer just as a mangy sheep came walking out, its wool coat matted and muddy and housing various bits of corn stalk. It walked like someone had put new legs on it. Splotches of red goop were streaked across its body. Looked like blood.
Slowly, Nick put the beer on the stoop and stood up for a better look. "Shit, ain't that—"
"Harley," Gavin said.
Harley was Gavin's brother's pet sheep. Nick rarely paid it any mind when he was over; the thing was smelly and loud. Poor thing must've gotten attacked by something. Sometimes coyotes from the nearby mountains ventured down at night. And there'd been rumors of mountain lions out past the river, but no real proof.
"What the hell happened to her?"
"Honestly?"
"No, make something up. Direct answers are for pussies."
Gavin waved him off and ignored the wiseass reply. "I killed her."
"What?"
"I said I killed her."
"Well, don't take this the wrong way or nuthin', but looks like you screwed up."
"That's just it. I didn't screw up. I took my slugger and—"
"Hold up. First things first. Why you want to kill her? You that hungry? Thought you guys didn’t slaughter animals?"
Gavin stood up now as well, and both of them watched the sheep amble around the small yard in front of the cornfield. "Nah. She was sick. I mean like real sick. I tried to put her down, you know. Last night I come out here and she's puking up a storm. She was like a ruptured hose, spraying fluid every which way. Blood, shit, puke. You name it, it was comin' out of her. It wasn’t natural. And the way she screamed at me… she tried to bite me. I think maybe she got a case of rabies or something, and I ain’t taking chances with no rabid sheep, pet or not.”
"Could just be some kind of animal flu. You shoulda just called that farm vet out by Millford, maybe taken her in? Your brother's gonna kill you when he finds out you messed her up."
"First off, it ain’t some flu. It’s something else. Second, Jessie ain't gonna do shit because Jessie run off with that cumdumpster Brandy. The way he'd been talking about getting away from here, I know he's washed his hands of Indiana for good."
"You think he went to Vegas?" Nick asked.
"What am I, his secretary? He could be on the moon right now for all I know."
"Doubt it. You need a degree to get to the moon."
"Well, then, he sure as shit ain't on the moon."
Nick took a step off the stoop and stood on the grass, inched his way toward Harley but kept a respectable distance. The sheep was staggering like a wino, its head lolling sideways like it was too heavy to lift. "He always was talking about Vegas, is all."
"Don't need to tell me. He fancied himself a craps genius but I think he was confused by what he did in the bathroom and what the casino game is."
"Maybe he's getting hitched. A real wedding with Elvis impersonators and everything."
"I hope not," Gavin replied. "That girl is too hot to take off the market. I tried getting on her a few times myself. I can't fuck her if she's my sister."
"Well, technically speaking..."
Gavin wasn't listening anymore. His eyes were glued to the ravaged animal before them. "You see the wound on Harley's head?"
Nick walked a bit closer, bent around the sheep and looked at the gaping hole behind the animal's ear. Runny scrambled brain oozed out of the split skull. No wonder the animal was staggering around, it had to be in some sort of awful pain. "Dang. That's pretty fucking gross, man. We should really put her out of her misery."
"You're missing what I'm saying. I already did. I did it twice already. She won't die."
Harley swung her head in Nick's direction and gave a feeble bleat. It was more like a burp than anything else but it freaked him out so he trotted back toward Gavin and gave a little shudder.
Gavin spit hot summer phlegm into the dirt by their feet. “Don’t be scared, she can’t move fast enough to bite anymore.”
“I ain’t scared.”
“Looked it to me.”
Okay, Nick admitted to himself, she had scared him. But come on, the thing's brain was about to fall out of its skull, who wouldn't be scared? He still felt bad for the poor animal. That hole in her head, there was no way a vet could fix her now. And if Gavin wasn't going to put it down correctly he was gonna have to do it himself. "Don't you have Jessie's gun or something?"
"Nope, he took it. All I got is my slugger. It's right over here, still covered in Harley's blood." Gavin walked over under the kitchen window and picked up the baseball bat that was leaning against the house.
Nick took it from him and examined it, ran his fingers across the dried blood. Man, he couldn’t imagine getting slugged in the head with a bat hard enough to crack his skull open. The pain must be killer. And it wasn’t like he gave much of a damn about a smelly sheep but it still seemed like a cruel way to go. Poor Harley. Sometimes euthanasia was just the best option. "All right, I'll take care of this. Stand back."
"I'm telling ya, it won't matter," Gavin said.
Harley was standing near the cornfield now, her legs rickety like a poorly made coffee table. Something in her eyes said she knew what Nick's intentions were, but something else said she wasn't too concerned. There was a distant spark of life in those eyes that didn't know enough to call it quits. He got around the side of her where her brain was exposed, raised the bat over his head, and said, "Hold on, Harley, it's all over now." The bat came down with a crack! and knocked the sheep to the ground, four legs splaying out at varying angles. Harley's neck broke under the impact of the swing and her head rebounded off the ground and flipped back over her shoulders, her tongue drooping out across her wool coat. She's definitely dead now, thought Nick. Nothing could have survived that blow, not even a rhino. He came back across the small yard and handed the bat to Gavin, picked up his beer and took a sip. "Done. I'll bill you in installments."
"I'm waiting for proof."
"Proof nothing. She's dead. Just don't tell Jessie it was me. I don't want his crazy ass chasing me down 'cause you played vet with his girlfriend. I'm getting another beer. This one's warm already." But before Nick could get back into the house, Gavin put an arm on his shoulder and spun him around.
"Lookie there, Mr. Grim Reaper."
Turning back, Nick just about dropped the beer on the ground. Harley was back up on all fours, more wobbly than before, her head swaying down between her two front legs. She did her best to turn toward Nick and Gavin and let out another bubbly bleat. Nick felt his gut do a somersault. There was no way that animal should be alive. He'd hit her harder than he'd ever hit anything. A real strong blow with complete follow through just like coach had taught them at practice. Now, for the first time, he felt a bit uneasy about everything. "Gav?"
"Yeah?"
"Gimmie the bat again."
Gavin handed Nick the bat and followed him as he took up position behind Harley once more. "I told you something was up," he said.
There wasn't much for Nick to say to that. Something was definitely up, and whatever it was, it couldn't be good. "Let's put her on her side," Nick suggested, "come at her from an angle."
Nodding his head in agreement, Gavin pushed the bloody sheep to the ground
, got it on its side. He put a foot on it to hold it still while Nick prodded its head with the bat, getting it into a good position for a direct blow. Then he raised the bat up and brought it down on the side of the animal's head.
CRACK!
Blood spit up onto Nick's clothes, splashed him in the forehead. Bending down, he took off his hat and cleaned his face with it. Looking into Harley's eyes, he could still see that spark of life shining out. Finally, he put the bat down and said, "She ain't dying."
***
Six o'clock rolled around quicker than they'd expected. They'd been sitting on the stoop ever since that last swing of the bat, trying to figure out what the problem was with Harley. So far, they hadn't come up with shit. And they were out of beer to boot. At least the heat had died down. "You think Jessie's really getting married?" Gavin finally asked, breaking a ten minute bout of silence.
"Nah," Nick replied. "I doubt it. If he was wanting to get married he'd have done it long ago. He's probably just out having fun. You know how them whores can be."
"Yeah, I know."
"Who are you kidding? No you don't."
"Man, eat my nuts." There was a long pause. Finally, Gavin said, "I can't run the farm without him. Ma and Dad's will said Jessie is in charge of the estate." Gavin banged his fist against the side of the house to show how dilapidated and un-estate-like the home really was. "If he don't come back I don't even know if I can sell the place."