DOA III

by Bentley Little

  Hopefully, she’d never see him again.

  Tonight had been her first time running into him and she’d been getting her mail there for a year. Packages had started to disappear from her residential mailbox, so she’d opened up a PO box.

  I know what it’s like to have packages stolen. That asshole has no idea!

  Meredith’s anger was causing her to sweat as she climbed out of the car with her purse slung over her shoulder and her package against her chest, the mail on top. She walked up her sidewalk. Cheap solar lights imbedded in the ground threw a barely existent glow on the concrete trail that led to her small back porch.

  Under the stoop, she fumbled with her keys. She could hear Sprinkles on the other side, rubbing against the glass of her patio doors, his meows growing impatient. Though he had a litterbox inside, he only used it for peeing. Since she’d been gone for six hours, he was ready to visit the yard.

  “Hang on,” she said, slipping the key into the lock.

  When Sprinkles heard this, his meow increased in loudness and persistence. Now he was using his claws to scratch the door.

  Meredith hurried with the deadbolt and opened the door. She saw the brown and white blur and felt the fuzzy tips of his fur on her calves as he dashed out between her legs. Sprinkles stopped long enough to rub against the furniture on the porch, then leaped into the grass. She watched him dart to the back of the yard, vanishing behind the sheets that hung on the clothesline.

  Shit.

  She’d forgotten to bring the clothes in. Since it was supposed to be such a hot day, she wanted the sun to dry her laundry. Save a little money on her power bill. Plus, the smell of breeze-dried sheets was the best.

  Then she’d forgotten about them.

  They’re probably drenched in dew.

  She’d have to throw them in the dryer for a while.

  Shaking her head, Meredith entered and bumped the door shut with her hip. She reached behind her and twisted the lock on the knob.

  First thing she did after turning on the lights was put her junk on the coffee table in her small living room, making sure the package was in the center of the table so it wouldn’t fall off. She then went to the small laundry nook, grabbed the clothes basket, and headed for the backdoor.

  She passed by her package on the coffee table. That initial excitement she’d had about it had dwindled. The old man had ruined so much. She’d been eager to get the package home, tear it open, and finally behold what was inside. She’d seen plenty of pictures online while researching, but it wasn’t the same as seeing it in person.

  Just wait a bit longer. Let that excitement build back up.

  First, she had to retrieve the clothes. Though there wasn’t much on the line, going outside and taking them down felt like too much of an exhausting chore. But if she left them out there all night, she’d just have to rewash them, then rehang them, then take them down again. Might as well do it tonight, and be done with it.

  Then she could open the package. There’d be nothing left to distract her from the total enjoyment.

  With a groan, Meredith headed to the patio doors, the clothes basket tucked under her arm. She pulled it open and realized she’d forgotten to turn on the outside light. Though the moon seemed to swath the yard in silver light, it wasn’t enough to see by.

  As she was about to turn back to switch on the outside light, a path of light suddenly raked across the house.

  And she heard a loud, grumbling engine.

  Gasping, Meredith stepped back, slamming the door. She reached for the wall plate and shut off the inside light. Darkness fell over her, but the blinds glowed from the light outside glaring against the glass. The rumble of the idling engine vibrated the door.

  Meredith tossed the basket aside, then pulled down one of the blind slats far enough to peer out. She saw that only one headlight had cut a funnel through the darkness, highlighting a path across her grass. The other headlight was an empty socket that reminded her of a hollowed eye. She recognized the long, narrow shape of the sedan parked beside her car as belonging to the man from the post office.

  Thick clouds of exhaust puttered from the back of the car, floating over the sedan like an ocean fog. The swirling grey began to blanket the backyard.

  A deep groan resounded from outside, followed by a long creaking sound.

  She saw the driver side door slowly swinging open.

  Oh shit!

  She knew she shouldn’t be standing here. Instead, she should be on the phone with the police, reporting an intruder. She had no idea why she hadn’t already handled that phone call. The very least she could do was open the door and tell the creepy old shit to leave.

  But she felt as if she’d lost control over her physical and vocal abilities. Only her eyes worked and they remained locked on the sedan that was nearly concealed by the exhaust that looked ethereal from the shimmering headlight. She began to make out a portly shape clambering out from the inside of the car amongst the gray swirls—hunched over, stooped shoulders tipping the top of a rotund figure. Where his head should be looked like jagged tongues of fire, but she quickly realized that was the light underlining his wild, frizzy hair.

  He seemed to be leaning against the car, using it for support. Very faintly, she heard the soft clanks of something metallic being dropped on the gravel of her driveway.

  “I want my package!”

  Meredith let out a frightful cry as she jumped back, her fingers sliding out from the blinds. The slat remained opened, though, and she could see the light between the pale bars of the blinds.

  His voice!

  Though it had held that same raspy tenor, it no longer sounded weak and hoarse. There was a deep booming quality to it that she’d felt inside of her.

  Why’s he doing this? I don’t have his package! I don’t!

  Spinning on her heels, she faced the living room. She felt as if she were in a cartoon as her legs pumped but she didn’t move, her feet slapping the floor over and over until finally finding purchase and sent her dashing toward the coffee table.

  Though she knew where everything was in her house and could usually maneuver around with her eyes closed, she bumped and bounced off everything on her way. Her shins bashed the edge of the coffee table, knocking it forward. The hard wood felt like a baseball bat against her legs.

  Crying out, she stumbled. Her knee whammed the top of the coffee table. It slid on the mail, which caused her to twirl sideways and fall on top. Her hip hit the table first, the rest of her body folding over it.

  The box started to slide over the edge, but Meredith caught it before it could fall. She heard a thump as what was inside smacked against the cardboard wall.

  “Sorry,” she muttered through a moan.

  Meredith was hurting, but she didn’t let it slow her down. She rolled over, throwing mail and old magazines and sales papers out of her way. She realized she’d shoved her cell phone aside a moment too late, but didn’t stop to find it again.

  All that mattered was putting the package back on the table, which she did with careful precision. She felt like Indiana Jones trying to switch the sandbag for the old artifact. When the package was settled, she carefully peeled off the shipping label. It had her name, box number, and the return address vividly displayed in typed font.

  She let loose a shrill discharge of air.

  With the light from outside in front of her now, she could see the obstacles much clearer and didn’t collide with anything on her way back to the door. If she could show him the shipping label, it would prove that she hadn’t stolen the package from him.

  Meredith didn’t hesitate when she reached the door. She fumbled with the locks, managing to get them disengaged after several tries. Then she flung the door open, not moving out of the way fast enough and bashed her shoulder as she darted out.

  The muggy air clung to her already sweaty skin. The usual sweet scent of summer was being choked by the pollution pumping from the sedan’s tailpipe. With each heavy br
eath she pulled in, she tasted burnt oil.

  “Mister…” she said in a winded voice. “Just look at this... it shows that I…” Meredith stopped talking when she realized the old man was nowhere around. The car was still there, the engine sounding like a chugging train about to depart. The headlight was still on. The driver’s side door still hung open as tendrils of exhaust slithered over like gray water.

  “Hello?” she said. Meredith looked around, but couldn’t find him. He had to be somewhere close. As she walked, she kept her guard up, expecting him to reveal himself any moment. He never did. She ambled down the steps, her footfalls turning crackly when she reached the gravel.

  “Sir?”

  Maybe he got back in the car.

  Meredith walked slow and stilted to the open door. The interior of the cab was filled with heavy gloom. She reached the edge of the door and peered inside. The front seat, threadbare and worn with exposed patches of stuffing, was empty.

  Where the hell is he?

  Meredith started to stand upright, but her eyes caught something in the backseat.

  “What the hell?” she muttered.

  After another quick look around for the old man and not finding him, Meredith stepped closer to the car. She crumpled the label in her fist as she leaned over, sticking her head through the open door.

  I can’t believe I’m doing this.

  Meredith’s skin felt as if it were too small for her body. She put a knee on the seat. The material felt like dehydrated fruit against her skin. An odor like cigarette smoke combined with rotted meat seemed to cling to the upholstery. The windows were dark with streaks of filth.

  But all of this was ignored as she gazed into the backseat.

  “My God…”

  There was no backseat, at least not one that could be spotted underneath the pool of manila-colored cargo that filled the back of the car. She saw boxes of innumerable sizes poking up from a deep mound of bubble mailers, cardboard sleeves, and paper shipping bags. The packages on top looked fresher, the multiple shades of brown a tad crisper. The mass underneath was faded and worn, the tape holding the packaging paper together peeling and yellow from time.

  One thing all the packages had in common were the dark stains scattered across their fronts. The shipping labels she could vaguely read were addressed to different people.

  “What... is this?”

  She spotted a crumpled mailer near the front. It seemed to call out to her for rescue.

  This can’t be happening.

  But when she grabbed the mailer and read the addressee’s name, she couldn’t deny that it was. In her head, she heard the reporter’s account, detailing the sparse facts of the missing woman. The name resounded over and over as she read the label.

  The names matched.

  This is her mail.

  And that meant that these others packages belonged to other...

  She dropped the package. It landed on top of the myriad others.

  She wanted far away from this car.

  Meredith started scooting backward, making her way out. As she turned to leave, she spotted the mounted rack on the dashboard that reminded her of what hung on the wall inside a locksmith’s shop. Keys. Hanging from the pegs were multiple keys. Each of them twinkled dully in the darkness.

  And attached to each of them was a faded, paper tag.

  Everything came together with such clarity that it seemed to sap all of Meredith’s energy.

  “Get away from my packages!”

  The old man’s growl was the shot of adrenaline she needed. She scrambled out of the car, turned around, and spotted the old man coming toward her from the side of the house. It looked as if he’d gone to the front door and was making his way back. She heard the soft squealy sounds of wheels with rusted hinges moving with him. “You took their packages,” she said in a shaky voice. “All of those keys—you have PO boxes all over the place. That’s how you do it. You find somebody willing to check your box… and if they have a package, you kill them.”

  “They have my packages!” he growled.

  As he neared, the squeaks became louder. She realized that he was pulling a cart beside him. The oxygen tank was strapped to it, a clear tube trailing from the top was attached to his nose. He wore thick glasses that reflected the headlight’s radiance in the lenses, making it look as if his eyes were smoldering.

  “And now, you have my package,” he said. “You’re just like all the others! And I’m going to punish you just like them!”

  He charged at her, the cart bouncing beside him with each wild step, clanging and rocking from side to side. His speed surprised Meredith and she barely dodged him when he lunged. As she reached the bottom step of her porch, she heard the bang of his body colliding with the open car door. He cursed, then she heard him start running again.

  Without looking behind her, Meredith screamed. She ran up the steps and was just crossing the porch when she heard him start up the steps behind her.

  Another scream tore through Meredith as she bolted for the door.

  The cart clanged and squeaked, growing louder as he closed in on her. His asthmatic breathing sounded as if it were right next to her ear. She could feel the putters of each breath stirring her hair. She reached her backdoor and shoved it open. Turning around, she started to swing it shut.

  The old man was inches from her.

  Meredith let out another scream, then the door banged shut. She barely had time to take a breath before the glass exploded and the blinds were knocked loose as the oxygen cart busted through. Shards slit her skin. The blinds whacked her head, folding around her like a stiff, vinyl netting that knocked her to the floor.

  On her back, her head and arms poking through the blinds in different sections, she gazed at the door. The old man stepped through the jagged maw of broken glass. She could hear the faint hiss of his oxygen tank pumping air through the nostril tube.

  Meredith tried to work the blinds off her, but the more she struggled the further entwined she became. Trying to pull them all the way down her body was no help and seemed to make it worse. She could do nothing but lay there. Nor did she really have the energy to move.

  “My package?” he said, shambling forward. The cart squeaked as it rolled beside him.

  “Coffee table…” she said.

  “Much obliged.”

  When she heard him let out an anxious sigh, she figured he’d found it. He reappeared, carrying the package. “You’re riding with me,” he said to Meredith.

  “That’s my package…” she said. “I paid for it.”

  “They’re all my packages. And you are too.”

  Meredith resisted the tears that wanted to come. She was going to be on the news in a few days, that same reporter talking about Meredith’s disappearance. Maybe somebody would link her to the other girl. Maybe not.

  She looked at the old man again and saw he was no longer watching her. He held the package close to his face. It looked as if was trying to strain hard enough to see through the cardboard.

  “What the hell’s in here?” he asked.

  “Don’t open it.”

  “It’s my package,” he said.

  “Then you should know what’s in it.”

  “Smart-mouthed bitch…” he grumbled under his breath. He shook the box, hard. It made muffled thumps as his hand jerked back and forth.

  “Please!”

  The old man laughed. “Sounds like…a belt.”

  “It’s not. Just stop shaking it.”

  Finally, he did. He started picking at the tape that kept the corners down. She warned him again not to open it, but again he didn’t listen.

  “What’s this?” he said. “A sack? You got some jewelry in here? I know how you ladies like your fancy trinkets.”

  “No,” she said. “It’s for…”

  He untethered the rope that held the top shut. As he was about to stick his hand inside, the sack suddenly shot open and a dark, slithering stripe sprang out. The old man
didn’t get to scream before it attached to his throat.

  “…my snake,” Meredith finished.

  Now the old man screamed as he stumbled forward, stepping into the puddle of light that filtered in from outside. The snake dangled from his neck like a twitching, living tie. It plopped off, leaving behind two holes that were already swelling into dunes.

  Hand pressed to his neck, the man dropped to his knees. The venom seemed to be working even faster than what her research had led her to think. His face was beginning to swell, lumps appearing under his eyes that forced them shut.

  He fell onto his side as his screams began to thin out from his expanding throat.

  Meredith tore at the blinds trapping her. After she finally managed to free herself, she ran into the spare bedroom, flipping the light switch. Blue light filled the room in a cool glow, igniting the enclosures alongside her wall in UVA rays. As if sensing her presence, the snakes began to stir, slithering up the glass, heads bobbing from side to side.

  Hisses came from all directions, sounding like speakers filled with static.

  She ran over to the table where she kept her supplies, grabbed her thick rubber gloves, and pulled them on. When she ran back into the living room, she saw the old man had managed to drag himself closer to the door but was now no longer moving. Though it looked labored, he still appeared to be breathing.

  She spotted the snake, slithering near the prone man, gnashing and biting at the air.

  “Whoa, buddy,” she said in a sweet voice.

  The snake spun around, coiled up, and acted as if it was about to strike. Reaching down, Meredith gently scooped the reptile into her hands. Just like her other babies, it didn’t attempt to bite her. But she still planned to keep on the gloves. This baby had gotten pretty riled up from being bounced around inside his box.

  “H... help meeeee…” the old man moaned.

  “What am I supposed to do?” she asked. “Call the police? You want them to come over and see what you’ve done? I don’t. They’ll find the snakebite on you. Then they’ll find my babies. They’re illegal, you know. Can’t own them in the U.S. That’s why I had to send out to Australia for this baby.” She held the snake to her face, sneaking a quick kiss on the top of his head.