I looked at my hands. They were dirty and covered in a strange, jelly-like filth. I couldn’t remember why, and I tried to say so, but all that escaped my mouth was a mumble.
For a moment I didn’t know what to do, but then I realized where I was: sitting in a car in front of my home. Instinctively, I fumbled with the car door until I managed to open it, and then I stepped outside. To my right was my home. To my left was a giant gorilla, engulfed in a battle with people I could no longer relate to. Why were the people fighting this poor, defenseless gorilla?
I looked the gorilla in the eye, and for a moment, the gorilla looked at me.
The world seemed to stop then; everything became unnaturally quiet.
The two of us––gorilla and man––both realized that we were connected; somehow, we were the same. And because of this strange unity, I knew, deep in my heart, that this giant beast would never hurt me, and I would never hurt it. We were brethren; we were family. We were special.
Our moment of tranquility came to an abrupt end with an onslaught of gunfire.
In my mind, I told the beast that he should try to get away from the bad men, and that he was welcome to be with me.
In my mind, he thanked me.
I turned away from the battle and shuffled my way towards the front door. Upon my arrival, I discovered it was locked. After a moment I remembered that my home had more than one door. I made my way to the side of my house and opened the side door. I stepped inside.
Something was going on, something I couldn’t understand.
It was bad. Whatever was happening, it was bad.
I took me a moment to maneuver myself into the living room. Walking was difficult.
There was a man standing in the center of the room. My wife was behind him in a wash of blood, smashed apart like an egg yolk and its shell. My son was lying at the man’s feet. His head was splintered apart; the blood was rolling out of him, as if his head had been opened up the moment before.
In my mind, I asked for help, because I didn’t know what to do. My wife and my son were dead, murdered by the man standing before me. I didn’t know who the man was, or why he had done such a thing to my family. All I knew for sure was that it wasn’t right, and I needed to make things better somehow.
I looked at my wife; her chest was still moving. Even though her arms were broken, her legs were shattered, and her ribs had been smashed in, she was still alive. Somehow, she hadn’t slipped away just yet.
I looked at my boy, and I watched as his eyes shifted position. He was looking up at me, pleading, begging. His head was split wide, and the blood was bucketing out of him; his life was leaving him, but it hadn’t left him yet. Soon, but not yet––
I didn’t feel anything.
Feelings, much like color and sound, had faded from me. I knew the man was a bad man, and I knew that I should be angry with him. My wife and child were in pain; they were dying. This should have made me feel a lot of things, but it didn’t. I felt nothing.
The man was suddenly terrified. He started screaming something terrible about me; he clearly didn’t like the way I looked. He ran to the front door, unlocked it, and bolted into the street.
Through the living room window, I could see the giant gorilla focus on the man, ignoring everything else. Somehow, the great beast knew the man was my enemy, and thus, the man was his enemy. I turned away from the window just as the beast lowered a massive foot, killing for vengeance.
My wife and son were still alive, but not for long. Not without God.
Growing up, I never believed in God. But now I do.
So I dropped to my knees, not to pray, but to eat. And when I was on my hands and knees, eating my wife and son, I knew God was with me, guiding me, inviting my family to join in His everlasting glory.
Praise God, for He is the resurrection.
He brings us eternal life.
* * *
JAMES ROY DALEY is a writer, editor, and musician. He studied film at the Toronto Film School, music at Humber College, and English at the University of Toronto. He is the author of Terror Town, Into Hell, 13 Drops of Blood, and The Dead Parade. In 2009 he founded Books of the Dead Press, where he enjoyed immediate success working with many of the biggest names in horror. He edited anthologies such as Zombie Kong - Anthology, Best New Vampire Tales, Classic Vampire Tales, and Best New Zombie Tales.
* * *
Preview of:
GARY BRANDNER’S - THE HOWLING
1
The September heat lay heavy on Los Angeles. In the condominium community called Hermosa Terrace all the windows were tightly closed. The only sounds were the hum of exhaust fans and the muted growl of a power mower.
In the living room of Unit Two, Karyn Beatty stood on tiptoe to kiss her husband, Roy. Lady, their miniature collie, wagged her approval from the sofa. It started as a casual husband-and-wife first-anniversary kiss, but it quickly became something more. Karyn drew back her head and looked into Roy’s clear brown eyes.
“Are you trying to start something?” she said a little breathlessly.
“Darn right,” Roy replied, taking her in his arms.
Roy pulled her close, his big, gentle hands warm through the thin material of her summer dress. He kissed her neck where the blond hair curled forward below her ear.
“Won’t Chris be here soon?” she said, her lips close to his ear.
“We won’t answer the door.”
“You couldn’t do that to your best friend. Especially after we asked him to come by for an anniversary drink.”
“I suppose you’re right,” Roy admitted. “Anyway, he won’t stay long. He has a date.”
“Anybody we know?”
“A new one, I think.”
“Doesn’t Chris ever get serious about anybody?”
“Who knows? I think he’s secretly in love with you.”
“You don’t mean it?”
“Why not? All my friends have good taste.”
* * *
Max Quist shut off the power mower and took out a soiled handkerchief to wipe the sweat from his face. He watched as a young couple in sparkling tennis whites climbed out of a sports car and ran laughing across the lawn. They didn’t pay any attention to Max. Nobody living in Hermosa Terrace paid any attention to Max. He was like another piece of shrubbery to them.
No, he thought, not even that much.
Max hated these people. He hated them for having all the things he would never have. He would quit this lousy job in a minute if it weren’t for his parole officer. Just once he would like to show the smug sons-of-bitches that Max Quist was somebody.
* * *
The telephone rang in Unit Two. Roy Beatty picked it up and frowned as he listened to the voice on the other end. He spoke briefly and hung up.
“Anything wrong?” Karyn asked.
“I’ve got to go to Anaheim. Deliver some books.”
“On Saturday? On our anniversary?”
“Dammit, it’s my own fault. I promised to drop off a set of inspection manuals at Aerodyne yesterday. Had them in the trunk of the car and forgot all about it. I don’t know how it slipped my mind.”
Karyn smiled. It was very unlike Roy to forget anything. He was always thoroughly organized, like one of the technical manuals he edited. When she had first met him she had thought Roy Beatty was as stodgy as a church deacon. However, she had soon discovered his warm sense of humor, an open-minded willingness to listen, and a depth of intellect that was not apparent in his All-American good looks. Karyn had been working as a convention hostess for the New York Hilton at the time. Roy was in the city for a gathering of engineers. For the first time, she had broken the hotel rule against socializing with the guests. Roy had stayed on for a week after the convention, and they had been together constantly. When he had returned to the Coast he had said he would be back for her on his vacation. She had not expected him to come, but he had. That was when she had finally admitted she loved him.
“Don
’t be long,” she said as he stood at the door. She kissed him and watched him walk down the winding path through the neatly trimmed shrubbery. Karyn could not imagine how she could be happier. She had Roy and she had an excellent job with a hotel near the airport where she was in line for convention manager when her current boss retired. Tonight she would give Roy her special anniversary gift––the news that he was going to be a father. Yes, her life was just about perfect.
* * *
Max Quist watched the blond young man come out of Unit Two and stride down the walk past him without a flicker. Max might as well have been invisible. The woman stood in the doorway watching him go. Good-looking cunt. Too good-looking. Both of them. Like people in a magazine ad. Young, beautiful, healthy, rich. Max spat on the cropped grass. How he wanted to show them what it’s like to be hurt. Hurt them. Yes… hurt them.
* * *
Karyn was in the kitchen putting the lunch things away when the doorbell chimed. Chris was early, she thought. She dried her hands and walked out through the living room to the door. She did not bother to look through the tiny viewer. She never did. There was no danger here. This was Hermosa Terrace, not East Los Angeles.
Karyn opened the door and the heat pushed against the cool inside air. The man in the doorway was not Chris Halloran. He smiled at her.
“Yes?” Karyn said when the man did hot speak right away.
He had thick black hair that was poorly barbered. His cotton work-shirt was dark with perspiration under the arms. He seemed vaguely familiar.
“I’m supposed to check the pipes in your bathroom,” he said.
“There’s nothing wrong with our pipes.”
“It’s in the apartment next door. Their shower don’t drain right, and it might be plugged up where your drain pipes come together.”
Something in the way the man spoke was wrong. The short speech sounded rehearsed. Something about the man himself was wrong. He continued to smile.
“You’d better come back when my husband is here. He knows about those things.”
Without making any sudden moves the man had somehow come through the doorway and was standing in the living room. He was still smiling, but it was a different smile. “That’s okay,” he said. “We won’t need your husband.”
Over on the couch Lady raised her neat little head and pricked her ears at the strange male voice. After a moment she put her head back down on her paws, but remained watchful.
“I’m sorry, but I’d rather you didn’t come in now.” Karyn fought to still the tremor of fear in her voice.
“But I am in,” the man said. He reached behind him and closed the door. Without taking his eyes off Karyn he turned the small knob, shooting the dead-bolt lock into place.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Karyn wanted her voice to be angry and strong, but the fear was in her now. She could not hide it.
“You know what I’m doing,” the man said.
“I–I don’t keep much money in the house. You can have what there is. And my jewelry.”
“I don’t want your money or your jewelry. But you know that, don’t you? You know what I want, and you’re going to give it to me.” He reached out suddenly and squeezed her breast.
Karyn jumped back as though from an electric shock. “Please, leave me alone!” The sour smell of his body was sharp in her nostrils. “M–my husband will be home.”
“No he won’t. He just left. We have all the time we need.”
She took a careful step backward. The man’s eyes traveled over her body, probing at her. His hands shot out and seized her wrists.
“No!” she cried.
“Relax,” he said. “You’re going to like it.”
“Please… you can’t…”
The man pulled Karyn against his body and mashed his mouth down on hers. Karyn clamped her jaws together as his tongue pushed in past her lips. He tasted of stale cigarettes.
“Where’s the bedroom?”
Karyn shook her head from side to side, afraid to trust her voice.
With a sudden movement the man twisted one arm up behind her back, forcing her to walk in front of him. He marched Karyn into the hallway that opened between the living room and the room Roy used for a den. She stumbled along in his grasp past the bathroom to the open door, through which they could see the bed.
All the things she had read about rape tumbled through Karyn’s mind. All the advice for women. Fight back. Don’t fight back. Scream. Stay calm. Blow a whistle. Run. Reason with the man.
Lovely advice, all useless. Fight the man? He was at least seventy pounds heavier than she, and certainly stronger. Scream? Who would hear? Hermosa Terrace Townhomes were proud of their soundproofing. Reason with him? Reason with an animal?
They were in the bedroom now. The man spun Karyn around and pushed her backward onto the bed.
The thinking part of her mind shut off and instinct took over. She crossed her arms protectively over her breasts and drew back her feet to kick out at the man when he came at her.
The man laughed at her efforts and batted the kick aside with an easy swipe of his hand. He grasped her by the ankles and forced her legs apart. Karyn writhed on the bed, helpless against his strength.
The man grinned down at her, showing large, strong teeth. Droplets of sweat stood out on his forehead and upper lip. His eyes moved down to her crotch. Karyn felt open and exposed with the thin velour pants pulled tight between her legs.
“I’m pregnant,” she said suddenly.
“Bullshit.”
“I am,” she insisted. “Three months.”
“Then you don’t have to worry about getting knocked up, do you?”
He released one of Karyn’s ankles and took hold of the velour pants at the waist. He yanked them down, exposing the smooth, pale skin of her belly. The snap and zipper held at first, but he tugged again and the material tore away.
Then she screamed. Not with any thought of summoning help or frightening the man off. A visceral scream of outrage and terror.
“Shut up.” he ordered. He leaned forward and slapped her hard on the face. She stopped screaming.
A sudden high-pitched barking behind the man spun him around. Lady stood braced on her little legs, yapping angrily. The man swung his foot in a vicious arc; the toe of his heavy shoe caught the little dog just below the ribs and lifted her off the floor.
Lady yelped in surprise and pain. Never before had anyone deliberately hurt her. She crouched on the floor whimpering, her eyes pleading for an apology, a comforting pat.
“Get out of here, mutt,” the man snapped.
Still whimpering, Lady moved uncertainly toward the door. She stopped and looked back toward her mistress. The man made a threatening motion with his hand, and the dog retreated into the hall. The man kicked the door shut behind her.
“Hell of a watchdog you’ve got there.” He grinned and came at Karyn again.
“Please don’t do this. Please don’t hurt me.” Even as the words came out, Karyn knew they were useless. This unspeakable thing was actually going to happen to her. Was happening to her. What had she ever done that she should be brutalized this way?
The man was upon her again, and Karyn’s mind ceased to function logically. He tore away the nylon bikini pants, and his fingers crawled over and into her.
Abruptly he dropped to his knees and thrust his face up between her legs. He clamped his mouth on her, and Karyn could feel his tongue like a thick, wet worm probing, probing at her. She pummeled his head with her fists, but the blows had no effect.
Then he pulled his face back and bit her high on the soft inside of the thigh. He bit down hard, and his teeth sank into the clean white flesh until the blood flowed. Karyn’s back arched up off the bed in reaction to the pain.
When the man at last unclenched his jaw and stood over her again his lips were crimson with her blood. Breathing in short, harsh bursts, he reached down and unzipped the front of his pants. Karyn twisted her head away, but
could not shut out the sight as he freed himself from the damp jockey shorts and bore down on her.
He forced her legs farther apart and positioned himself between them. Blood from the throbbing bite wound left a red smear on the bedspread. With one cruel thrust he invaded her body.
Karyn cried out in pain and rage. She scrabbled at his face with both hands, clawing for his eyes.
“Bitch!” He hit her in the face with a rock-hard fist.
Karyn tasted blood, and the room swam for a moment, but she continued to use her nails to slash at the face above her.
The man pulled out of her for a moment and drove a fist into her bare belly. Karyn felt something break inside, and there was no fight left in her.
“That’s better.” He planted his hands on her shoulders and rammed into her again.
Karyn squeezed her eyes shut. When she was a little girl in the dentist chair and the drill hurt her, she would dig her nails into her palms, making a small hurt to ease the larger one. She did it now. The lower part of her body was on fire. The wound on her thigh screamed. The man continued to pump away at her, grunting with every thrust.
Get it over with! she cried inside her head. Get it over with and go away or kill me or whatever you’re going to do. Just finish!
And at last he did.
After endless minutes he withdrew and wiped himself with the satin bedspread. Karyn rolled her head on the pillow and looked up at him, but now the man would not meet her eye. Hurriedly he zipped up his pants and went out into the hall. Karyn heard him go through the living room.
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