by Amy Cross
“There must be something.”
“Yeah, Izzy,” Annabel added. “Something creepy must have happened to you in that house at least one time.”
“Not really.”
“Maybe you just lack imagination,” Violet suggested.
“The bodies are dead before they arrive,” Izzy said with a sigh. “Literally dead. Do you understand what dead means? It means they're not going to get up and start moving around.”
“Not unless something makes them.”
Izzy rolled her eyes as she took the next left turning. Unfortunately, Violet and Annabel followed.
“Don't you believe in stuff like that?” Violet asked. “I guess I understand, in a way. Living in a house full of corpses, you must kinda need to stop thinking about ghosts and monsters that go bump in the night. Otherwise you'd be, like, a total nervous wreck all the time.”
“I believe in what I can see in front of my eyes,” Izzy replied. “Show me a ghost, and I'll believe in it.”
“That's cool,” Violet said, grinning as she glanced back at Annabel. Turning to Izzy again, she watched her face for a few steps. “So what's wrong? Why are you in pain all the time?”
“I'm not!”
“Everyone's noticed.”
“Don't you have anything better to be doing?” Izzy asked. “I'm not that interesting. I'm sure you could be out there bugging someone else. Sorry, I mean hanging out with someone else. Or am I your new hobby?”
“We just wanna be friends, Izzy,” Violet replied.
“Yeah, Izzy,” Annabel added, “we just -”
“Stop it!” Izzy hissed, stopping and turning to them. She could feel the pain throbbing once again in her belly, and as she took a step back she realized she really, really needed to get away fast. Tempted to run, she nevertheless held her ground, safe in the knowledge that running would just make them happier. “What do you want me to say? That I live in a funeral parlor and I hear dead people calling out in the middle of the night? Fine, sure, that's exactly what happens. I live in a goddamn horror movie!”
She waited for a reply, but Violet was frowning slightly
“Sometimes,” Izzy continued, “I wake up and I hear loud groans from the basement. Sometimes they even manage to get out, and I find a corpse wandering around the kitchen with its guts hanging out from its belly. It's okay, though, 'cause I just grab a crucifix and force them back into the basement, and then I nail the crucifix through their hearts, and then I pour salt into their rotten eyes, and that usually makes them stay dead permanently. But if it doesn't, then I have this little prayer that brings up a demon from the underworld, and he takes them away. And I just have to sacrifice a little of my soul each time.”
Again, she waited for a reply.
“What?” she snapped breathlessly. “Is that still not good enough for you? Do you want me to make up some more horseshit?”
“You get this weird look in your eyes sometimes,” Violet replied with a hint of fascination in her voice, tilting her head slightly as if to get a better view. “I've never seen it in anyone else, it's like... I don't know, it's like there's something brewing in there. Do you feel weird, Izzy? 'Cause you look it sometimes, like right now. You look really, really...”
Her voice trailed off for a moment.
Opening her mouth to answer, Izzy wasn't quite sure what to say.
“There's that other freak,” Annabel said suddenly.
Izzy and Violet both turned, just in time to see the new girl making her way along the opposite sidewalk.
“What's her name again?” Annabel asked. “Frankenstein's daughter?”
“Rita,” Izzy whispered, and a moment later she and Rita briefly made eye contact.
“Yeah, Rita Repulsa,” Annabel chuckled.
“She's weird too,” Violet muttered, as Rita disappeared around the next corner. “Not in the same way as you, Izzy. She's a try-hard, she wants to be weird 'cause she thinks it's cool.” She paused, before turning to Izzy. “Whereas you can't help it. The more you try to be normal, the weirder you seem. Personally, I think that's more interesting. The world's full of self-mythologizers, trying to make out that they're super interesting. And then there's people like you, who try to hide their interesting points. I guess I can relate to that a little.”
“I don't get it,” Annabel muttered with a frown.
“I have to get home,” Izzy told them, turning and hurrying along the sidewalk, relieved to hear no footsteps following. “Go find someone else to bug and -”
Before she could finish, she felt another burst of pain in her belly, but she managed to keep going. The craziest thing was that a part of her suddenly wanted to turn around and go back to the two annoying girls, and teach them a lesson. She'd always been terrified of violence, but for the first time in her life Izzy actually found herself imagining what it would be like to take a stand.
More than a stand.
For a moment, she actually imagined teaching Violet and Annabel a real lesson. She heard their screams in her ears, and in her mind's eye she saw herself towering above them, grinning as they begged for mercy. The image passed after just a few seconds and the screams faded, leaving her shocked that she'd dreamed of something so awful. Still, the temptation had been strong, as if a new, more bloodthirsty side of her mind had briefly taken over.
Shuddering, she hurried along the street, keen to get home so she could curl on her bed.
Chapter Eight
“Nice job, dude,” Calvin said as he pulled the cover off the body, exposing it to the soft, warm glow of the early evening sun. “He looks so good, I almost expect him to rise up and -”
“Just get him to the airport,” John snapped, grabbing the sheet and covering Michael Daniels' face again. “Where are the papers I need to sign?”
“Here and here,” Calvin replied, handing him the clipboard before grabbing the trolley and wheeling it up into the back of his van. “Are you alright, dude? You seem a little tetchy today. More than usual.”
“I'm perfectly fine,” John muttered, tossing the clipboard into the van before stopping to watch as Calvin secured the trolley. “I just want him gone. When's his flight?”
“Don't worry about Mr. Daniels,” Calvin said, a little breathless as he climbed down from the back of the van and slammed the doors shut. “In two hours' time, he'll be stowed safely in a plane and on his way home. You know, I always wonder if the people who fly commercial know that often there's a dead body or two right beneath their feet, being transported across the country right next to all their suitcases and backpacks and -”
“It doesn't matter,” John replied, interrupting him. “There's already a lot that people don't know about, so why not add one more to the list?” He took a deep breath. “Just make sure he doesn't miss that flight, okay?”
“Are you sure you're cool?” Calvin asked. “You're acting all weird and cryptic.”
“I just...” Pausing, John couldn't help thinking back to the sight of those puncture wounds on the victim's neck. No matter how he tried to rationalize the whole thing, and to persuade himself that there could be another explanation, he knew deep down that only one type of creature could possibly have caused such injuries. Besides, the taste had been distinctive. Nothing else in the whole world left the same type of gummy residue after feeding. “Tell me something,” he muttered finally, turning to Calvin. “You seem like the kind of guy who keeps his ear close to the ground. Has anyone been... talking lately? About, I don't know, unusual things happening in the area?”
“Like what, dude?”
“That's what I'm asking you. I just wondered if anything strange has been going on.”
“Not that I've heard about,” Calvin replied, adjusting his cap, “but I could ask around if you want. You might need to be a little more specific, though. Strange can cover a multitude of sins.”
John paused for a moment, before shaking his head. “Forget it.”
“But dude -”
“
Just forget it. I'm... Just get that body to the airport, and get it as far away from Sobolton as possible.”
Calvin laughed. “What's up? Is the dude freaking you out? He didn't, like, show signs of waking up, did he? Maybe I should blow a few smoke rings up his ass on the way, just to -”
“That is a human being you're talking about!” John snapped, stepping toward him. “Have some goddamn respect, man! That's somebody's son, somebody's grandson, and he's dead at the age of twenty-four! For God's sake, do you really think it's appropriate to make jokes like that?” Unable to help himself, he prodded Calvin's chest. He knew he was venting unfairly, but he couldn't shake the panic in his chest. “Do your job and take the deceased to the airport, so he can be flown back to his grieving family. And next time you come to collect a body from my funeral parlor, you need to show a little more human compassion and care for the people you're transporting! Is that understood?”
Inside the house, the hallway phone suddenly started ringing again.
“And you can shut up too!” John yelled, looking toward the house.
Clearly shocked, Calvin took a step back. “Sure, dude. Absolutely, I'll... I'd better get going. You should go answer your phone. Maybe someone else needs fixing up.”
As the van pulled away, John made his way back into the house. He already knew that he shouldn't have exploded like that, but at the same time he just wanted to get Michael Daniels' corpse as far away from the house – from the town, even – as possible. Ignoring the phone as it continued to ring in the hallway, he made his way to the office and then stopped, leaning back against the wall in an attempt to regather his thoughts.
“It's fine,” he said out loud, between deep breaths. “This is not vampire country. At worst, something just passed through and now it's long gone. Long, long gone. End of story.”
Finally he felt his pulse calming a little.
“Just ignore it,” he continued. “Peace. Serenity. Relaxation and mindfulness.”
A few seconds later, the phone stopped ringing.
He stood completely still for a moment, basking in the silence of the house, until finally he heard footsteps approaching the front door. As a key slipped into the lock and turned, he quickly made sure to straighten his collar, and then he glanced at his reflection in a hallway mirror, keen to get rid of the worst signs of worry. Hearing the front door open and then slam shut, he took a deep breath and then forced a smile, one he quickly abandoned when he saw that it appeared completely fake. Finally, figuring he could delay no longer, he slipped through into the hallway, where he found his daughter already dumping her school bag next to the coat rack.
“Hey Dad,” she muttered, seemingly a little low and subdued. “How's it going?”
“Fine,” he lied. “Just a normal day. You?”
Izzy hesitated for a moment. “Fine. Normal day.”
“So Isobel,” he replied, forcing that same smile again even though he knew it was a mistake. “How would you feel about moving to Florida?”
Chapter Nine
Looking down at his plate, John stirred some pasta through the sauce as he tried to think of something to say. Dinner had been a quiet affair so far, ever since Izzy had shot down the idea of an abrupt move to Florida, but John still felt a sense of panic gnawing at his gut and he couldn't stop thinking about the puncture wounds on the side of Michael Daniels' neck.
He knew what they were.
He had no idea how they'd got there, but he couldn't ignore the truth.
Beneath the table, his right foot was tapping furiously.
After a moment, hearing a faint gasping sound from the other side of the table, he looked up and saw that Izzy seemed to be in pain.
“Honey -”
“Nothing,” she gasped, forcing a smile that was no more convincing than his earlier effort. “Gas. I'm fine.”
“Okay.” He paused, not entirely convinced, but his daughter was already loading her fork again. “You know,” he continued, “most sixteen-year-old girls would kill for the chance to move to Florida. All those beaches, the cultural life, the great weather... I mean, it'd be like Spring Break all year round and...”
His voice trailed off as Izzy glared at him witheringly.
“Well,” he muttered, “perhaps you're not a beach kind of girl, but still, there's a lot of culture in Florida. A lot of interesting... buildings.”
He watched as Izzy took another mouthful of food. Despite all her earlier protestations to the contrary, he could tell something was wrong, that she was in pain or at least some degree of discomfort. He'd long known that this day would come, although he'd never really worked out how to broach the subject. Struggling along as a single parent, he'd carefully side-stepped certain sensitive topics, putting them off until a later date. Now that the later date appeared to have arrived, however, he felt no better prepared.
Finally, clearing his throat, he realized he had to make a start.
“As your body grows and matures,” he said cautiously, “it's natural that you'll notice some changes.”
Izzy's eyes widened with shock.
“You're becoming a young woman now,” he continued, setting his fork down, “and with adulthood there comes a certain... alteration in your physical... outlook.” He swallowed hard, before gulping from his glass of water in an attempt to wet his dry throat. “Isobel, among these changes, you might notice your -”
“Dad, stop!”
“You might notice -”
“Dad, please!”
“There'll be a certain change to your -”
“I got my first period two years ago,” she replied quickly, keen to keep him from saying more. “Okay? First period, all done. Out of the way.”
He frowned. “You did?”
She nodded.
“Oh.” He paused. “But how did you -”
“Google.”
“Oh.” Another pause. “Well, you know you could have... I mean, you could have come to me if you had any questions. I just thought -”
“It's cool.” She grabbed her glass and took a long drink of water. “I figured it out,” she added with a gasp, wiping her lips on her napkin. “It wasn't that complicated.”
“Oh.” He swallowed hard. “But how did you... acquire certain... products that you -”
“I bought them,” she replied matter-of-factly. “In a shop.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah. Oh.” She paused. “Dad, it's fine. I'm not suddenly struggling with puberty, all of that is -” She winced as she felt the pain rippling through her belly again. Just a warning sign, an omen of things to come, and she figured there'd be at least one more full-on attack before bedtime. “I'm fine,” she continued, hoping to change the subject. “How's the funeral parlor business going? Did something happen today to freak you out? Is that why you're suddenly interested in selling up and moving us to Florida?”
“No,” he replied, as if it was the most ridiculous idea ever, “absolutely not. Pffft!” That last sound had been intended to sound dismissive, but he instantly realized that it had instead sounded quite bizarre.
Izzy stared at him, clearly confused.
He looked down at his plate again. “So if puberty isn't a thing with you anymore,” he continued cautiously, “does that mean... I mean, to be honest, Izzy, I was actually thinking about something else you might be going through. Some... other change to your body.”
She frowned.
“Like,” he added, glancing at her again, “for example, maybe -”
Before he could finish, the phone started ringing in the hallway.
“Aren't you going to answer that?” she asked hopefully.
As much as he desperately craved a distraction, John hesitated. “It'll ring out,” he told her.
“It might be a job.”
“I'm having dinner with my daughter,” he replied nervously, “so they'll just have to wait.”
“You've been ignoring that phone for three days now,” she continued.
“I have not!”
“Yes you have. You've only answered your cellphone, when you can see who's calling. But the phone out there in the hallway has rung and rung, and you've always made an excuse to avoid answering it. Whenever I mention it, you get that look on your face.”
The phone was still ringing. “What look?”
“That look. What's wrong, Dad? Are you, like, in trouble with the mafia or something?”
“Don't be -”
“I'll answer it.” Getting to her feet, she hurried around the table.
“Isobel, no!” He grabbed her wrist to hold her back, just as the phone stopped ringing. “There,” he added, trying to sound relaxed, “they gave up. I'm sure if it's important, they'll call me on my trusty cellphone, which I always have on my person.” Pulling the cellphone from his pocket, he held it up for her to see. “No problem,” he added. “Really, land-line phones are terribly old-fashioned. I should probably get rid of it altogether.”
“You're being weird,” she told him.
“I'm not.”
“Yes, you are. Weirder than normal.”
He paused. “Should we watch a movie together tonight? That'd be fun, huh?”
She stared at him for a moment, before slipping her wrist free and heading back to her seat. “I'm going out,” she told him. “I'm going to the forest.”
“I don't think that's a good idea.”
“I just got Mom's camera up and running again,” she replied as she sat down. “I want to test it out.”
“I don't want you going to the forest.”
She frowned. “Why not?”
“I just...” He paused again, trying to think of an excuse. For a moment, in his mind's eye, he imagined Izzy being stalked through the forest by dark, menacing figures. “It'll be dark soon. The forest isn't somewhere you want to be after sunset. Especially after sunset.”
“In case monsters and ghoulies come out and chase me?” She allowed herself a faint smirk as she slipped more food into her mouth. “I think I'll be okay, Dad,” she added with her mouth full, “but thanks for the concern. I can look after myself.”