They Feed

by Jason Parent

  It’s okay, buddy.

  The figure spoke, or at least Tyler thought it was the figure. The voice was inside his head. He shrank away from it. His father had already come back to haunt him.

  I’ve treated you so badly, little buddy. But no more, okay? Don’t be afraid. I won’t hurt you.

  “But I shot you.”

  It’s okay, Tyler. I know you didn’t mean to. Besides, I’m better now. It’s so much better in here.

  “In the lake?”

  Yes. In the lake, in this forest. This should be our home now. We should live here, you and me. I can be a good father to you now. No more pain. No more hurting. And we can be friends, too. You’ll see.

  “You’re not going to punish me?”

  Never again, buddy. You and I are gonna be the best of friends.

  “Friends?” Tyler didn’t understand. The figure in the water sounded like his father, but he knew it couldn’t be him. His father was dead, and Tyler was responsible. He crossed his arms and held himself close. Maybe it really was the ghost of his father, come back from the dead to fetch his son. Please don’t hurt me, Daddy.

  I won’t, buddy. We’re friends now, and friends don’t hurt friends. Ain’t you never had a friend before?

  Tyler’s face reddened. He was ashamed to admit the answer to that question, and if that voice really belonged to his father, its owner would know that Tyler rarely left the house except on Dad’s “camping getaways,” which usually ended with Tyler barely able to walk. Truth was, he’d never wanted to have friends before. Friends did things together, had sleepovers. Any friends of Tyler would have had to meet his father sooner or later.

  And then there would be no more friends.

  “You’re not my father. Who… what are you?”

  Does it matter? I’m your friend, and I could be your father. I got rid of the bad one for you. No one has to know he’s dead. No one ever has to know you killed him. The figure burst like a star after imploding, unidentifiable masses winding like river otters, swimming off in all directions. As quickly as they had sped away, they regathered into a central mass.

  “We are all friends,” a dozen voices said, mostly in unison, twanging like the dying tones of a cymbal. None of them belonged to his father.

  “Where’s my dad?” Tyler asked, his voice breaking. Tears ran down his face.

  Don’t cry, buddy, his father’s voice said. I’m down here. It’s so nice down here, so many friends. This is my home now. But you can come back and see me anytime. And if you come at night, we can talk and play games, and I can show you all the neat things I can do. You’re going to be a good boy and come back and see me, won’t you, Tyler?

  Tyler nodded, though he didn’t mean it.

  You run along now, buddy. And whenever you get lonely, just remember you got all your pals here waiting for you at the lake.

  “I… I can go now?”

  Of course, Tyler. But please do come back. We’ll… I’ll miss you if you don’t.

  Tyler felt the strength return to his limbs and was able to move again. He backed away from the water, his eyes fixed on the form beneath it. The figure watched him back. It looked like it was waving.

  Oh, and one more thing, buddy. When people ask—and they will ask—you tell them your daddy went off with some woman. Just got in the car with her and left. Don’t tell them anything else, buddy. If you do, they’ll know you killed him. You don’t want them to know that, do you? They’ll hurt you worse than your father did. Lock you up someplace where you’ll never be found.

  So remember, Daddy left with a woman. They’ll figure out the rest. You can’t tell anyone about your new friends, okay, buddy?

  Tyler nodded.

  You promise?

  “I promise,” Tyler whispered. That promise he intended to keep. He wanted to forget everything that had happened that day, and he never, ever, wanted anyone to know what he had done to his father.

  Someone remembered, though. The things in the water knew.

  His hands were hurting. He looked down and was surprised to see the rifle still in them, his knuckles bloodless from holding it so tightly.

  He turned and ran, sprinting all the way back to the park’s entrance where he then wandered in a daze until the cops came and got him after someone apparently had called them about an unsupervised child with a rifle. As the police drove him away from the park, Tyler swore he’d never return.

  ***

  But he had returned the next summer. Alone, friendless, and with no one to talk to but his mother, who spent most of her time in a drunken stupor, Tyler might have raised himself if not for the friends he had made by the lake. He hopped on his bike and rode down to the park eleven miles away just to have someone to talk to, someone who wanted to play. At first, he would only stay the night, but the occasional soiree turned into longer visits, sometimes three or four days at a time. His mother never seemed to notice or care that he was missing.

  As the years went by, he camped there, lived there, learned how to hunt and kill like his father had always wanted him to. He had found a better teacher. A better father.

  It took a few more years for Tyler to admit to himself what the creatures wanted in return and why they had even befriended him in the first place. At that point, it was too late to get out. They were all he had.

  When Tyler was twelve, he brought a boy he had met in the campgrounds down to meet his friends, though the boy never knew that was his purpose. They had skipped rocks across the lake and, when night came, had spread out their sleeping bags and connected dots in the sky until they fell asleep. When Tyler awoke the next morning, the boy was gone, but his sleeping bag remained. The evening that followed, his lake friends multiplied.

  He had always sort of known what the creatures wanted from him, but they had never tried to take it from him. Tyler had been their link to the human world. They had been his escape from it.

  That boy he had skipped rocks with was the first. How many unwitting souls had he led to that cursed place since? How many innocents had he made food for worms? More than a handful. In eight years, only Stevie Coogan had come close to getting away, and he might have succeeded if Tyler hadn’t stopped him. The sun had risen. All that stood between Coogan and safety was Tyler’s rifle. On that day, Tyler learned the hardest lesson either father had ever taught him: it was one thing to lure a person to his death and something else entirely to kill him.

  Sure, Tyler had only delivered the finishing touches, but that fact did nothing to lesson his guilt. And when he saw the impact of his actions in the eyes of that teenage girl in pigtails, how he had single-handedly destroyed her life, he realized he had become the real monster—a different breed from what his father had been, or even his friends in the lake, but a monster all the same.

  “Stop them,” the things pretending to be Tyler’s father hissed outside the car. They would not be quiet. They would never be quiet, unless…

  Unless I give them what they want.

  “We hunger.”

  Tyler had gone out to Galveston State Park earlier that day to find closure, to put an end to his guilt. Was he such a coward, so afraid of being alone and dying alone, that he would find himself helping them again? He had spent six years alone, for Christ’s sake. Where were his “friends” then?

  Tears rolled down Tyler’s face, as they had the day he first met the creatures. Maybe I’ll give them just the one.

  “Who is it talking to? Who is that?” Dakota asked, leaning forward in her seat.

  “My father.” Tyler shut out the voices by bashing Merwin in the skull with his own rifle.

  Surprise flashed across Dakota’s face before she covered it to protect herself, but Tyler saw her expression long enough to realize he had wronged her again. The car swerved off the trail. Merwin was out cold behind the wheel. The car smashed into a tree. Metal bent. Glass shattered.

  Tyler was thrown forward. He hit his head on the dashboard. With blurred eyes, he fumbled for the door
latch.

  The back door opened before he could open his. By the time Tyler could stumble out of the car, Dakota was dashing down the trail. He blinked his vision clear and raised the rifle.

  “Shoot her.” The creature, still half Tyler’s father and half revolving mound of blood-sucking monstrosities, rolled across the hood of the car, avoiding the still-functioning headlights. It moved beside Tyler, sending several of its component parts after Dakota.

  Tyler aimed. He breathed. He pulled the trigger.

  Dakota ran on. The bullet hit a tree more than a few feet away. Tyler had missed on purpose.

  “Again,” the creatures shouted.

  “No. I won’t.”

  “She’s escaping. She’ll tell.”

  “I shot her damn brother for you, kept your dirty little secret even after it got me sent to prison for six years. Our dirty little secret. I deserved what I got. She didn’t. I destroyed her life. I won’t destroy her as well.”

  Tyler threw the rifle on the ground. For the first time in his life, he stared his father right in the eye.

  “Not her?” the voices asked, some high, some low, no longer in unison. Creature upon creature piled over one another, bearing mouths and spines, shapeless but ever in motion. “Not her!” they shrieked. “Not her—then you!”

  Dakota disappeared beyond Tyler’s sight as his friends swarmed over him. He heard a scream, full of dread and anguish, and a moment passed before he realized it was his own.

  Chapter 22

  I should have killed him. I should have killed him. I should have killed him.

  “I mean, what in the fuck was that?” Dakota wanted to howl, but she could hear the leeches pounding after her. The last thing she needed was to announce her location. She might as well have shouted, “Dinner’s ready!”

  I knew there was something wrong with that boy. She had always known it. A fucked-up night from hell and an army of ravenous bloodsuckers had somehow clouded her judgment.

  It was still clouded. Think, girl, she scolded herself. You’re not out of the woods yet. The appropriateness of the expression almost made her laugh. She was close to being out of the real woods, but as for being out trouble, she had a long way to go. The creatures were gaining.

  The grass whispered behind her. Any moment now, one of those ugly fuckers would latch onto her back or tie up her feet. Though she trembled on the inside, she ran with confidence, her mind always on the ultimate goal. The ground beneath her feet grew firmer, the dirt packed by frequent travel. After a few more steps, she hit pavement.

  Her car sat in the parking lot, looking unharmed. Dakota dared to hope, until she remembered that her keys had been in her duffle bag, the contents of which Bo had dumped onto the cabin floor. She veered away from the car and headed toward the ranger station. Please, let it be unlocked. There was no place else to go.

  The light coming from the station was angelic, calling her. Like a drowning woman seeing the shore, Dakota craved that light.

  But she still had the expanse of the lot to cross, while a wave of leeches rolled closer. Dakota’s heel-to-toe strides bounced her like a gazelle toward the building’s front steps. She heard nothing behind her, but the forest to her left erupted. Branches snapped with crisp, clean breaks. Trees creaked, then crackled, before falling with a boom. Everywhere, leaves rustled as if caught in a hurricane.

  Monsters sprang from the brush.

  Dakota hurdled up the stairs and raced to the door. She turned the knob, only to find the door locked. She battered it with her palms, threw her shoulder into it, but the door didn’t budge, and no one answered it. To her left, leeches flung themselves onto the building, smacking into the wood and sticking to it. Some dropped onto the landing.

  With a panicked cry, she circled the deck to her right and turned the corner. The structure sat between her and the woods, but all that meant was that she wouldn’t see the creatures coming. Her fingers trailed along the wall until they came to a window.

  “Open!” Dakota shouted as she slid her hands upward along the panes. The window was locked, but she knew how to fix that. Shards of glass rained onto her sneakers. Some dug into the elbow she had used to smash the pane. She shoved her hand through the hole in the glass, jagged stalagmites stabbing at her skin, and reached for the latches. Her nose mushed against the window as she stretched up to its top. One lock came undone, then the second. She pulled her arm out, pushed open the window, and climbed inside just as a leech cannonballed past her head.

  She closed the window behind her, though she knew it wouldn’t even slow the creatures down. Before she could take a step away from it, the lights flickered. Then they went out.

  A rumbling started outside, and the lights came back on but only at a fraction of their former strength. They gave the interior a copper tint. Dakota feared they would not be bright enough to stop the creatures.

  Pounding came from everywhere as if a battalion of archers had shot their payload into the station. Dakota looked around for an idea, a weapon, anything. Instead, she found herself standing empty-handed and panicking in the middle of a welcome station filled with only a desk, some chairs, a counter, an ancient-looking statue of Smokey Bear, and a ton of tourism pamphlets touting all the great fun the park had to offer.

  Fuck this park, fuck those brochures, and fuck you, Smokey.

  The gold placard on the door behind the counter caught her eye. Employees Only.

  I’m sure Merwin won’t mind. She hopped onto the counter and slid over to the other side. Merwin. Dakota shuddered. She had left him back there to be devoured. The car had crashed, and she had reacted, unthinking, survival instincts taking over. Though she knew there was nothing she could have done, it didn’t make her feel any better about leaving him.

  That other one, though… I hope they tear that fucker to shreds. Tyler’s betrayal, right when she had finally found it in her heart to forgive him, still stung, and her foolishness for letting him gain her trust stung even more.

  The sound of glass breaking set a fire under her feet. They’re inside. She tried the door and found it locked, so she kicked it open and entered what looked like a break area. She slammed the door shut and knocked over some nearby storage shelves to block it. It won’t hold them off for long. When she saw the window on the far wall, she doubted the blockade would hold them off at all.

  The room spread out like a studio apartment. To her left was a full-service kitchen, complete with a large refrigerator and a four-burner stove. In front of her and to her right was an employee lounge.

  A plan began to form. It always works in the movies. She ran to the refrigerator. She opened the door and began ripping the shelves out and tossing them and their contents onto the floor. A jar of pickles rolled under the counter. A carton of eggs somehow held together, but yolk oozed out through its cracks. Water bottles, cans of soda, deli meat, condiments, and a host of mystery dishes hidden in Tupperware containers littered the floor.

  After scooping out the remaining produce with her foot, Dakota examined her handiwork. Looks kind of cramped, but it should do. She smiled. A loud whack against the door, followed by the sound of wood splintering, ended her self-congratulating. She turned and found exactly what she was looking for: a knife block. She drew the biggest blade from it, a six-inch beast that looked as if it could dice brick. Then she headed to the stove.

  If the entire cast of Expendables can do this, so can you, Dakota reasoned. Just turn on the gas, cut the tube, light something on fire, and boom, everything goes bye-bye. The ranger station would be blown to hell while she hid safely in the refrigerator. She just hoped the fire wouldn’t burn out all her oxygen, but she had no time for second-guessing.

  She turned all the knobs on the front of the stove then looked down at the burners. Electric, not gas.

  “Fuck! Goddamn piece of shit!”

  She kicked the appliance so hard the oven racks rattled. Now what? How could she escape? A creature was burrowing its way through a growin
g crack in the building’s door.

  Dakota frantically opened cabinets and sifted through drawers, looking for a means to fight, a means to survive. Frustrated, she threw a can of corn at the slimy worm hanging through the door and hit it. A shriek rose from its gaping mouth, and it wriggled even faster. Dakota had only managed to piss it off.

  Chemicals? Maybe she could burn the leeches with bleach or Pine-Sol or motherfucking Lemon Pledge. She tore open the doors beneath the sink and saw nothing but a six-pack of paper towels.

  She pulled it out and howled, her arms lifting it over her head, ready to throw it in frustration, then stopped. If I can’t blow the place up, maybe I can still burn it down. She slammed the package of paper towels onto the counter and tore it open. Carrying a roll in each hand to the stovetop, she thanked the heavens she had already turned the burners on. Outside, the generator bucked like an old lawn mower, and the lights flickered. She wondered if it had enough juice left to power up the range.

  She pressed a roll against the burner. Smoke started to rise. Come on. Then the towels burned like a cigarette. Dakota was about to give up when the damn thing finally lit up.

  “Fuck you, Smokey!” she yelled, laughing as she threw the paper towel roll at the door. It rolled itself out. Dakota stopped laughing. She waited until her second roll burst into flames before trying again. That one turned the piled-up pamphlets and dusty literature into a bonfire. The creature halfway through the door squealed and started working its way back to the other side as flames licked at its body.

  It was too early to celebrate. Other cracks had since appeared in the door. Even as splinters crackled like kindling in the fire at one side of the door, the flames had not yet reached the other side and had little fodder to help them spread in that direction. The dim lighting didn’t seem to discourage the creatures. Black, oozing masses squeezed through fissures like soft chocolate forced through a cheese grater. They shrieked and gargled, spitting and secreting their sludge onto the door panels. Only a thin barrier kept her from them and them from her, and that barrier was crumbling fast.