He walked over to the stairs cautiously. The crash of the waves and the hiss as the water drew back was like white noise. He waited at the top of the steps and listened.
Maybe he would hear panicked, pre-pubescent screams and laugh as a group of tassel-haired kids ran up the stairs and raced down the boards. He might even join Randy in the chase for a block or two just out of relief.
The waves continued to roll under the boardwalk but for an uneasy second he felt the wood shudder beneath his feet. He strained to listen but couldn’t hear a thing. Looking down the stairs he could see that the tide had pushed far up enough to drown the first step.
He tried to hear Randy or anything. Nothing came.
He climbed down the stairs and when he reached the bottom he looked both ways. Most of the beach had disappeared under the assault of the ocean.
The sound of the waves became like thunder, echoing off the bottom of the boardwalk and roaring in his ears. The water rushed in and raced up to his calves, curling around his legs in a chilly grip that pushed against him and then pulled back, almost playfully. Alex knew that there was nothing playful about that grip and gripped the railing of the stairs.
Under the boardwalk it was all shadows, not even pierced by the glow of the moon. Another wave dropped behind him and he took a few steps forward.
“Randy?” he called out. No sound came back. He heard the water recede again like the breath of a serpent. His eyes were adjusting and he had the sudden queasy feeling that he was shouting into a cave, a black mouth.
The word Lair entered his mind and he stopped breathing for a moment.
He could make out the thick concrete pillars that supported the boardwalk. He looked up as the structure beneath came out of the darkness; criss-crossing patterns of wood, heavy beams that might have been fifty years old, secured together with thick metal bolts. He couldn’t see light on the other side so he figured that the sand rose up further back and the wood was resting on it.
Lair came to his mind again as real as if someone had whispering the word into his ear. He turned to the left and saw the primitive, black arm of a jetty down the beach. The waves sprayed foam as they collided with the rocks. The water had now risen up to his knees and a shiver (or was that a shudder?) ran through him. He moved ahead into the gloom, keeping his hands out in front of him.
Alex called out a couple more times and sloshed through the cold water until it was down to his ankles. He moved to the right. His face was tickled by the brushing of a web and he snorted and rubbed it away.
“Fuck this,” he muttered out loud. For all he knew, maybe it was Randy that was playing a joke on him. He nodded, “Yep, fuck this.”
As he turned, in between the charging waves, he heard a slight sound that he couldn’t quite place. It sounded like someone dragging their foot along cement. He glanced from one pillar to the next and the fact that they all looked the same left him with an uneasy feeling.
He walked over to the nearest one, where the water was splashing up about a foot from the bottom. Black seaweed had coiled around the column and there was suddenly a strong smell in the air. He covered his nose and mouth instinctively and heard a muffled sound that made him think of someone screaming into a pillow.
He is getting rolled, he thought. Shit, and here I am all alone. He looked around for something to use as a weapon and fell upon a floating piece of timber about two feet long. It sounded like the noise was coming from the other side of the pillar and he gripped the wood in both hands, sliding his back up against the concrete.
Another muffled sound, then a series of cracks. It reminded Alex of the sound of Alaskan king crabs legs when you snap them. He drew a breath and stepped into view.
What he saw at first confused him and didn’t exactly know how to react. There was something like a drainage pipe coming out from the water. It was black and slick with some sort of oil or liquid running down the sides. Almost comically, Randy’s lower body was protruding from the pipe and his legs were kicking. One of his shoes had come off and he could see his dirty white sock.
He remembered the conversation they had back at the bar.
“…just a bad patch.”
He broke into laughter and dropped the shaft of wood into the water. He tried to cover his mouth to quiet himself but it only made it worse. He grabbed his stomach and let out a howl. He could feel tears in his eyes. Every time Randy kicked and screamed Alex broke up.
“Okay, okay, man, hang on,” he said, moving closer but still chuckling. “How did you get-”
The pipe moved. Not the subtle shaking that pipes occasionally do after a toilet flushes or the water heater kicks on in the basement. This thing moved as if recoiling. It reminded Alex of a cobra arching back as it plans to strike.
Randy screamed again and the pipe quivered. The tremor ran from where Randy’s belly was and traveled down the length of the pipe. A cracking sound soon followed and the pipe rose further up. Alex’s mouth dropped open as he saw a seam on the side, near the end, open up and reveal a wet-looking orb. In the middle was what he could only guess was a pupil. It spun crazily toward the roof of wood above and then back down to the wet sand as Randy’s body was pulled in up to his hips.
The body of this thing, what Alex could make out in the slatted darkness below the boards, was snake like, a long, tapering body that was without legs or any appendages. A ring of dirty spikes revealed themselves at the end where Randy was sticking out. They bent back and then contracted, digging into the flesh and holding him. Blood spurted from where they pierced and his legs kicked madly.
Alex looked up and saw a shape moving down the pipe (he had no idea what to call it anymore but for some reason thinking of it that way kept him from tipping over the edge into gibbering madness) that was horrifyingly similar to a torso. He could make out a single hand print pushing against the skin (Alex’s mind then surrendered and called it a throat) and he heard a few more pops as the muscles tightened. Randy’s legs stopped kicking.
Then they were pulled in, too.
Alex watched dumbly as the thing lowered itself again and it contracted again, making more king crab sounds. There were no more muffled cries from Randy. Blood drained from the open maw of the black creature and Alex could see that its mouth was ringed with teeth, rows of teeth that funneled down into a gullet. It seemed that the pipe creature was still in the process of forcing Randy, or what was left of him, down further into its body.
A dark, sickle-like tongue darted out and was picking some which had stayed in the teeth. Something caught his eye - it was black and floated in the air above the open end of the thing as pieces of flesh dropped and splashed into the water. The thing hanging in space was what Randy had first seen, the black leather wallet. It whipped about in the air and as it came into a slice of light Alex saw that a thin, thread-like filament connected it to the head of the pipe-thing.
Jesus Christ, he thought, it lured him like he was a fucking fish.
Once Alex started screaming he thought he would never stop. Never in a million years.
The thing quickly turned to him. He saw that it had two eyes, in fact. Both were trained on him. Alex spun and ran as fast as he could.
He ran along the shallowest part first, praying that it couldn’t move as fast as if it was in the water. His soaked pant cuffs felt like lead weights as he raced between the pillars.
Please, God, if I have to die, please let it be not under here, not under here with the stinking smell of dead fish and slimy seaweed. I don’t want to die on the dark.
He heard the thing behind him but he could not tell how close it was. There was a tremendous splashing sound and he let out an uncontrollable moan as he began flailing his arms and crying. He was moving away from the stairs. The jetty was to his right, further out in the water but he cut toward it just the same. He was committed now and he splashed into water up to his thighs. He let out a scream as he pushed through the waves to the black rocks that seemed so far away. A wave rolled
in, foaming angry and white and he dove underneath it. Thankfully, his shoes finally came off and he kicked hard under the cold water. When he surfaced he spun around and saw nothing behind him but he still backtracked to the arm of the jetty.
The jetty, like so many others in Atlantic City, was old and in need of repair. Alex was never happier about that fact than right now. He pushed himself to the rocks and saw that there were countless gaps between them. Breathless, he turned back once more and saw no sign of the pipe thing.
As he reached behind him his palm reached solid, moss-covered rock and he whispered a prayer. The surface of the ocean then broke in front of him and he saw the thing rise from the blackness. It looked even larger now and it reared back. As it came down Alex screamed and spun, throwing himself into a small crevasse that barely accommodated him. He took a large piece of skin off the back of his hand and the sleeve of his shirt split up to the shoulder as he squeezed his body in. Once inside, it opened up a bit and he pushed up against the back rocks.
The creature came down and thundered against the jetty and Alex screamed again. It seemed to him the sanest thing to do and he wanted to keep doing it, to scream over and over until he passed out but he put his hand to his mouth. All light was blocked from him now and he knew the thing was against the rocks, trying to get at him. He heard a scraping sound, like when Beth used to sharpen her knives in the kitchen. He started sobbing wet, childish sounds. The water was up to his chest.
I don’t care. I’ll fucking drown right here before I let that thing do to me what it did to Randy.
Suddenly he could make out some details of the rocks surrounding him, but they were bathed in a sickly green glow that was growing. The dull light filled the little space and his stomach trembled.
He thought it was the same color a firefly makes when it signals on a summer night.
His mouth was ajar and his eyes went wide. The thing was sliding over the entrance, still making that knife sharpening sound (and he knew that meant it was trying to get in), but now he could see that the underside of the thing was almost translucent. Small lights ran along the belly and they threw out a harsh green color.
Rudimentary organs passed by and he gazed numbly in horror, unable to turn away. He couldn’t tell what anything was – he thought he saw blood vessels that were pumping and throbbing and he almost wanted to reach out and touch the skin as it passed before him.
He started crying again. He saw his hand reaching, seeming to be apart from him, but then it quickly drew back and he screamed again.
Randy passed by. His misshapen face looked as if it was still moaning. One of his eyes had popped out and Alex saw with revulsion that it was still bloodshot from the whiskey. Everything about his body was wrong: his chest had caved in on itself and several ribs were poking through his own chest. His arms were shattered into pieces. The hips looked like a jigsaw puzzle and the legs were barely attached. Then Alex saw that one of his feet still had a shoe on and that’s when he thought he lost his mind.
He screamed until raw, still washed in the cold green color until the thing slid past and he could see dark sky again. He heard a splash and then the rocks shuddered. He looked up and saw stars winking above him.
The water came up as high as his neck but all he was able to do was blink and shiver until it receded. The sky eventually turned azure and then a glorious streak of crimson colored the horizon. Gulls raced across the sky and he heard their calls.
I’m going to die here if I don’t leave.
He knew he was very likely heading toward hyperthermia. The daylight encouraged him but he watched carefully as he emerged. He remembered his promise.
I would die in this hole before I…
He broke through the water and ran for the beach. The tide had gone out.
The only person he could see was a small, dark-haired boy carrying a pail and shovel and scanning the sand. The boy looked up curiously as Alex bolted past him.
Sorry, kid, but if the fucking fish have figured out how to catch us then all bets are off and I don’t have time to explain. They’ll probably evolve some sort of Goddamn appendage that looks like a toy boat and the next thing you know when little Johnny sees it lodged in the rocks and smiles, reaching for it…
He ran up the stairs, taking two at a time. He dodged early morning cyclers as he ran to the parking garage, ignoring the odd glances he was getting.
He screamed again.
He drove down the ramp, squealing tires and scraping other cars as he raced in what seemed to be an endless series of right hand turns. He never touched the brake and when he reached the pay booth he shattered the fragile wooden arm that came down.
After that, he couldn’t say how he got out of the city, but he did. He might have turned down any number of state-named streets but the goal was clear: get away from the ocean. He hit the expressway and tried to calculate how far he could go with the gas left in the tank. He didn’t want to have to stop and get out.
A giggle broke from him when the song came on the radio and he chuckled but there was no humor in the sound. He felt cold and distant but for some reason he could not take the smile from his face. He was conscious of his blinking but he couldn’t stop. He flicked the radio off but the song kept playing.
He began humming. Then the reel started once more.
Noodlers
By
Murphy Edwards
Shaggy Meekes sat on the tailgate of his rusty Chevy Silverado sipping Wild Turkey from a paper sack. Glistening beads of salty sweat leaked down his chin and made soggy spots in the lap of his bibbed overalls. He wiped tobacco juice from the corner of his mouth and stared off into the woods. A baby shit yellow Monte Carlo wheeled into the parking lot sending gravel and dust clouds rolling over the cab of Shaggy’s truck. Shaggy took another pull at the bottle and spat on the coat-hangered muffler dragging in the dust under the Monte. Taiter Phelps and Bobby Dale Blevins piled out and flopped down on the tailgate. Taiter loaded his lip with rough cut and slid the tobacco tin back in his hip pocket. “‘Smatter Shag? You look powerful sad.”
Shaggy shook his head and continued to stare into the woods.
“Probably misses ‘Ol Lockjaw,” Bobby said, reaching for the bottle.
Shaggy spit in the dust and looked back out over the woods. His eyes moistened.
Taiter cuffed Bobby upside the head. “Damnit Bobby! I told ya’ not ta’ bring that up.”
Bobby took a hit off the bottle and wiped his lips with a greasy hand. “Sorry Shag. We know how ya’ felt about ‘Ol Lockjaw. Hell, we miss him too.”
“Ain’t no biggie. He’d still be here if he hadn’t made the brief acquaintance of that overgrown European sedan out on Route 23. That shiny black four door splattered bits of Lockjaw out over the blacktop for pretty near a quarter mile. Only thing left worth buryin’ was his collar.”
“Yeah Shag, we heard about it. Just don’t seem right. He was a good ‘ol dog—better’n most people.”
Shaggy glanced at his shoes and took another sip of whiskey. “Ah. I’m over it. ‘Sides, Lockjaw was gettin’ old anyhow. Wouldn’t hunt like he used to. Was thinkin’ about sellin’ him till he went and got his guts all mashed out his ear-holes.”
Taiter took a turn at the bottle and passed it back. “That there’s bullshit Shag, and you know it.”
“By hell, I miss him for a fact! But there ain’t one damned thing I can do that’s gonna’ bring him back!”
Taiter slapped Shaggy’s sweaty back and nudged Bobby Dale. “Well shit then. Let’s go get a sixer and talk on it a spell.”
“Naw. I was thinkin’ ‘bout goin’ noodlin’.”
“Shit son, ain’t nothin’ says we can’t do both! Whatca’ say?”
Shaggy wiped his eyes with a meaty thumb and capped the bottle of Wild Turkey. “Beats a sharp stick in the eye.”
Taiter fetched a six pack from Reemus Powell’s Bait and Tackle, while Shaggy dumped two quarts of 10-W-30 in his crankcase and fired u
p the engine. Blue puffs of oil-choked smoke rolled from the tailpipe and drifted over the parking lot. They piled in the cab and waited for Shaggy to stop gunning the engine.
Taiter elbowed Bobby in the ribs. “Regular Dale fuckin’ Earnhart ain’t he?”
Shaggy slammed the truck into drive and tromped the accelerator. The Chevy’s bald recaps kicked up rooster tails of dusty gravel, peppering the windshield and hood of Taiter’s Monte Carlo.
“Easy hoss! I just detailed that sumbitch!”
Bobby pulled three, frosty beers off the ring and handed one each to Taiter and Shaggy. “Where we headin’?”
Shaggy popped the tab and drained the can in one slow smooth gulp. “Don’t matter. I’s thinkin’ maybe Powder River. That, or Big Raccoon Creek.”
“Big Raccoon usually has some pretty good flatheads,” Bobby Dale shouted over the roar of the engine.
“Fuckin’ A!” Taiter shouted.
Shaggy turned onto Copper Mill Road. “Fuckin’ A!”
The Silverado shimmied and bounced over the washed out remains of Copper Mill Road. Shaggy prayed the primer he’d sprayed on the doors last fall would keep them from falling off. His worn shocks bottomed out on every pot hole, sending their heads crashing into the roof of the cab. Twenty bone rattling minutes later they were at the mouth of Big Raccoon Creek.
“Shag, you noodle, I’ll spot,” Taiter said.
“Fine by me. Get that cooler outa’ my truck will ya’?”
Bobby Dale snatched up the cooler and shimmied down the mossy creek bank. “Whatcha’ got in here.”
“This here’s my secret weapon.” Shaggy flipped open the cooler and pulled out two glistening black blobs. They slithered up his arms and latched on tight. “Nothin’ catches flathead catfish better’n an armload of leeches.”
Taiter drained the last of the Wild Turkey and flung the bottle into the high weeds. “Shit Shag! Never stops amazin’ me what you’ll do ta’ catch a damned ‘ol flathead!”
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