The Choate Road Serial Story Archives

Forgotten Warnings pt 1 by Zombie Zak!

2010-08-04T19:21:00.000-07:00

"Comes the Dark"

Fire, the birth of Man,
The birth of desire.
From the beginning of Time
Comes the depths of a crime.
A riddle of the Age as simple
As the riddle of the old Sage:
When does the beginning end
And the end begin again?

#

"Charles? Where are you, come in! We've lost track of your signal. Come in, damn it. We can't track you anymore," Barbara shouted into the microphone.

Giving up, she turned to the lab technician present with her at the site's mobile command tent. "Jonn, do you have anything useful to add?"

He looked down at the ground for a moment considering his next words.

"I'm sorry, Doctor Rogers. He grabbed his bag and headed on down the Hole. I told him to wait, to wait for proper support and everything. But he just bolted. He had this pasty look on his face, as if he had been stripped of his soul or something. I have never seen him look that out of sorts before. One moment we're working on the soundings over there on the resonance machine, and the next he screams out something unintelligible and takes off."

He pointed at one of the high tech devices that occupied one corner of the tent - the glow from its display a deeply hypnotic dance. The newer device was experimental and had a fancy name for it, but everyone called it a Resonator; it was an attempt to replace the more traditional magnetometer and gravitometer.

"And? What does the data say? Anything?"

"Just what we already suspected: That there is a large pocket of space below the lowest portion of the Hole as it is. There is a cavern beneath the Hole."

"How big?"

"Really big. And empty."

"Damn it; we weren't supposed to attempt to break through into the main chamber until tomorrow morning."

"I know that, Doctor Rogers; but he just up and took off. He kept repeating: There must be one, there must be one; there can only be one, there can only be one. It's in the pit, it's in the pit; the final one, the final one. I swear to whatever deity you wish to name, he looked quite loony as he ran away."

"Jonn, quit playing around. I need raw info here, not silly dramatics." She walked over to the display and gave it a long, hard look. "What did Charles take with him?"

"His pack, a pick axe and about hundred and fifty feet of rope; a harness, too. The winch, of course is already positioned at the bottom of the Hole; flares, flash light. I don't know what else he might have picked up; that's just what I saw him with." His hands fluttered like butterflies.

"Alright, fine. Let's get this onto some semblance of order, than, shall we?"

"Uhm, sure! How?"

"Get a hold of Lauren and Phil. Tell them to meet me at the Hole. I'm going to see what Charles might have gotten himself into. I'm guessing we're going into the deep dark earlier than planned."

The camp was small, only a handful of tents scattered haphazardly about. Evening had set hours ago, and morning was but a glimpse away. Jonn shouted like a madman and ran through the disarray, anxious to rouse everybody. Groggy heads and bodies peeked out of their meager housing arrangements.

There were about thirty other junior geologists, various technicians and general laborers housed within the drab grey tent city. Their jobs were to begin in earnest tomorrow, the first day of drill assembly and retrieval of some actual core samples. Stuff to send home and write good things about.

When it was clear that a problem was at hand, people began to rustle with some degree of purpose, dejectedly getting an early start on the day. Jonn bee-lined straight to Lauren and Phil's tent, which, not the least bit surprisingly, was the furthest away. When he got there, he had to rest a moment to catch his breath.

"God damn it, Jonn; what the blazes is such a racket needed for? Can't you see the missus and I was having a debate of heated proportions?" Lauren could be heard inside, giggling. They were the only couple that was attached to the expedition.

Jonn blanched a little, understanding the euphemism for what it was; it was difficult to see the darkly skinned man blush, but Phil knew that his barb had hit. Still catching his breath, the technician blurted out "Charles has gone to the Hole. He means to breach the bottom and go into the cavern below. Alone."

"God's above, is he insane?"

"Uh, I'm not sure. I'm beginning to think so, but Doctor Rogers wants us over at the Hole as soon as possible."

"Well, obviously. OK, you get back to the Command Shack. Lauren and I will be over to the Hole as soon as we can. Tell Barbara we'll be there in five or ten minutes, tops! Go. Come on, honey, we're going on a climb." The door zipped shut as he whipped back inside. Dismissed, Jonn headed back to the main tent at a more leisurely pace. The rest of the camp was still waking up as he walked past.

"Jonn! What's our com status?" Barbara demanded.

"We are good, Doctor. I've got solid readings on all three units that you have there. I have solid readings still being returned by the resonator - sorry, I can't help it. That's just what I like to call the Imaging System."

"Jonn, you're babbling. Snap out of it and stay focused."

"Yes, Doctor; I'll try."

"Good. Now do we have any kind of telemetry on Charles?"

"The only thing that I can confirm is that his transponder is working and that he is precisely below your location. The depth readings are coming back, odd. They don't make any sense whatsoever. I am confident that he is getting our transmissions, but he is either ignoring them or has turned off his com unit." Jonn busied himself checking and re-checking equipment, trying to account for anomalies.

"Roger that. Stay online, and keep recording our chatter. We may need to go through the tapes later. We're going down the Hole. We'll keep counting and reporting our depths until we hit the bottom." She glanced at her fellow geologists, Lauren and Phil. Both nodded with confidence.

"Affirmative. Copy that, Jonn out."

"Alrighty; here we go, ready or not. Let's go down into the Hole."

One by one, the three geologists lowered down into the deep shaft. On the surface, it was loud with the wind and natural sounds of the plains. But, after a few minutes of descent, the volume rapidly diminished and was replaced by the random rattle of small rocks skittering against outcrops and the steady breathing of the team. The brisk tone of Doctor Rogers rhyming off the depth as they continued on was a metronome to their progress.

Phil, who had taken point, pulled out a flare, popped the igniter and dropped it to the ground below. He didn't watch it fall, he merely continued his descent. Lauren and Barbara close behind him.

Soon, he could see the flare’s harsh spluttering glow, lying at the bottom of the shaft. Galvanized by knowing they were close, he increased his rate of descent. He let go the rope and dropped to the ground with a gentle thud. He looked up at his partners, gauging their progress, the light off of his helmet showering them with brightness.

"Alright, ladies, not far now!" He hollered good-naturedly.

"Yeah, that's fine, Phil. Make sure ya get a good look at me bum while yer down there, OK hun?" Lauren quipped.

"Already well acquainted with it, mah dear. But thankee for acknowledging it!" He grinned as he set about inspecting the lower area of the shaft. He cleared the flare and what little tools that Charles had left carelessly about. Phil frowned at that. Charles was a neat freak. He wouldn't abandon things like this.

Lauren was down next, settling easily to the ground. Barbara followed quickly after. The landing was much wider than the shaft that led to it. Approximately sixteen feet square and easy to accommodate a few people and equipment.

In the corner off to the side, there was a hulking piece of machinery. The winch was of solid heft and could handle a thousand pounds. Currently, it had been deployed to the fullest extent of its rope. The auto cutoff had activated and it was quiet, dormant, waiting expectantly; lurking in the darkness like some mischievous creature.

"How long do you think he's been down there?" Phil asked in hushed tones, his words echoed like in a tomb.

"Not too long. Maybe twenty, thirty minutes tops. If he took his time and hacked at the opening with any degree of care, that is. What do you think of ..?" Barbara gestured at the winch.

"Well, frankly, that puppy has a good five hundred feet of very strong rope on it. From what you've told me, Charles had an additional hunnert and fifty to tie on to it. I'm assumin' from what ya've told me from Jonn, that the cavern beneath us is deeper than that, yes?"

Barbara nodded in the low light. "Then, I have no idea what he's planning on accomplishing. It won't get him down there any further than that. Basically, he should be swinging at the end of a rope in a very large open space, which, in and of itself, shouldn't be there."

"Well then, let's take a look, shall we?"

"Aye."

They moved closer to the opening that had been hacked out of the rock. Originally, they had drilled a hole only four inches wide in order to get some core samples. That was when they discovered that there was dead space below. The high altitude scans, the satellite imaging, the seismic readings, all indicated solid bedrock below, with a good potential of oil below that. Everything pointed to black gold. That hole, however, told a different story.

The hole now was eerily fractured, reminiscent of something trying to claw its way out, rather than the frantic excavation of a geologist of some report. Charles had managed to hack out a hole roughly two feet wide to a foot and a half. This new addition to the shaft continued down through another five feet of solidly compacted sedimentary rock.

"Man; that took a lot of work. I didn't think Charles would have that in him." Lauren said it softly, not wanting to make much noise.

"Yeah; go figure. How's the tension in the line? Is he still attached to it? Can we get a light down there? Anything reflective? Can you see the light from his hard hat?" Barbara spilled out. Nervousness for her friend mixed with concern about the continued status of the project.

"Slow down, slow down. One thing at a time." Phil reached over to the rope, pulling on it gently, swinging it one way and then another with tiny movements. Staring down into the hole, he brought to bear the full beam of light from his hard hat's lamp. Nothing pierced the inky darkness below the lower edge of the hole. He couldn’t even see a trace of Charles' light.

Phil reached into his pocket and withdrew another flare. Lauren put a hand up and shook her head, warning of the potential error of such a choice. Natural gas pockets would not mix well with flares.

"Well, the line still has tension so he's either tied to it or else he's managed to attach a sack of potatoes to the end. I can't see past nothing in the hole." He chuckled at the ridiculousness. Both Lauren and Barbara's expressions were painted with anxiety. Phil acknowledged their concern.

"Barbara, how would like me to proceed? Activate the winch and bring up whatever's attached to the line? Or do we move to another strategy?" He used his most professional voice, the one that he reserved for serious discussions and honored colleagues. It had the desired effect. Barbara shook herself awake and focused on his words.

"Yes, Phil. Pull it up. Let's see what he's gotten himself into."

He reached over to the machine, sliding past Lauren to do so, and flipped a switch to change the direction of the winch. Then he turned the power on and carefully cranked the handle so that the rope would wind at a slow pace. The machine groaned into life and began retrieving its connection back from the depths below. As it did so, Phil kept watch, occasionally guiding the rope so that it wouldn't catch on the edge.

"Well, ladies; this will take a little bit of time. Why don't you fan out and check to see if there is anything of note here as to why he went off like this?" Grunting, he manhandled the line again into alignment.

"Right." Lauren moved back towards the shaft and looked around the sparse space. She picked up tools and moved them into orderly storage on the far side of the chamber.

Barbara checked in with base camp. "Jonn? Can you read me? Are you receiving our audio signals?"

"Doctor Rogers. Yes, I’m receiving your signal. It is faint, but clear. I still show no change in readings. Everything still says there should be tons and tons of rock just below your position."

"Roger that. I was just checking our connection. Keep recording."

"Affirmative. Also of note, the sun has started to rise and the camp is now fully awake and ready to get to work. Is there anything that you would like me to start?"

"Yes; see if you can get a connection with Randolph at the head office."

"Are you sure, Doctor Rogers?" There was an uncomfortable moment. Phil turned and stared at her.

"Yes, I'm positive. Something is not right here, and HO needs to have clear info on the situation prior to worst case scenarios."

"Affirmative, Doctor Rogers." There was the crackle of static and then silence.

"Well, nothing to really report around this lovely little section of the armpit of the world.” Lauren said. “Tools are the only things that were left down here. It’s all stuff that we had left earlier in the day in preparation for today's fun."

Barbara just nodded at her blankly. Lauren continued putting things back in order.

"Well, ladies; it shouldn't be long now. Another minute or two, and this puppy will be hauled up." Phil kept his focus on the rope, preventing any chance of mishap. He gazed down the hole, but still couldn’t see any change in light or movement. However, there was still weight at the end of the rope; that was a good sign. Up came the last of the main heavy-duty rope and he could see the tie off between the added lengths. Briefly, he gazed at the knot combining the two and breathed a quiet sigh of relief. Phil had worried that in his haste, Charles might have tied them together poorly.

"Only another hunnert feet ta go, ladies. Won’t be long now."

Barbara looked hungrily down into the hole, thinking of all the things she would say to Charles that might make an impact on his reckless mind. She couldn't nail down anything specifically that would really work, but felt that a major dressing down was definitely in order. She watched the rope continue to coil into the winch, and slowly, foot-by-foot, drag its cargo up.

"Phil, do you see anything in that darkness? Anything moving?" The drone, the waiting was driving Barbara into a state of monomania.

"Uhm, no. Just a big soup of blackness. I'd like ta really know what happened to Charles' lamp. It should be showing light by now."

"Yeah, I was thinking the same thing."

The top strap of the Charles' rigging finally crested the darkness, small shadows lapping away from the new shape of ascent.

Quickly, Charles came into view, the lamp on his hard hat dead. He shivered visibly, while his eyes remained closed. Clasped tightly in his arms, he held an odd object for a geologist to see at the bottom of a new dig: It looked like a book, one of significant age and testament to events dire. Even as his body was pulled higher out of the hole, and Phil swung the armature over to the cavern floor where he could lower Charles to the ground, he remained catatonic.

"Charles! Charles, talk to me!" Barbara spoke passionately. Charles shook violently once again, and his glassy eyes cracked open. His gaze was unfocused, not quite connected to his mind. Slowly, he rounded on Barbara's face, and recognition dawned. A little bit of color returned to his cheeks.

"Barbara?"

"Yes, Charles, it's me. And Phil and Lauren. We're here, you're safe now."

"No, not safe. Never again safe! We have to get out of here. Now. We have to get as far away as we can. Something bad is going to happen. Something really, really bad. We have to go!" He tried to get up, but clumsily fell down. Phil grabbed and stabilized him as Barbara began disengaging Charles from the rig.

"No, leave him in it. We'll tie it off to the rope for the main shaft and pull him up. He's in no shape to climb it now. Lauren, go now, straight up." Phil spoke with urgency.

"Charles, we're going to tie you off to the end of the rope here. We're going to climb up ahead of you. Can you hang on long enough to do that?" Barbara stared deeply into his eyes and wondered what was staring back.

"Yes, yes, I can hold on. It won't matter much though, of this I am sure. There's something evil below this cavern. Hurry, can we go now?"

"Yes, Charles. But what happened down there?"

"I don't know. But that wasn't a place of this world. There was an altar with this book on it, along with this…” He held out an ancient knife. “I think that's blood on it, but it's old, so very old. I'm sorry, but I don't have all of my mind with me right now, but, the only other thing that I'm sure of, is that … It Comes!"

"Clear, Barbara. He's tied off. Lauren should be near the top by now. Come on. If we want to get him to help, we need to move quickly."

"Yes, Phil. Go. I'm right behind you. Charles, only a few minutes, okay? And then we'll have you topside and we can get you some food and drink. Does that sound good?"

"Yeah, sounds great. Will there be milk and cookies?"

"I thought you hated sweets."

"Naw, but I have a craving."

"Ok, well, let's get going then."

"Sure, sure, sure, sure …” Charles drifted off into unconsciousness. “It comes - from beneath, from the ground, from the pages written down. It Comes!"

In-Flight Meal pt.5 by Mark Jackson

2010-08-04T18:55:00.000-07:00

The plane skimmed across the trees of a thickly wooded section of Southern Illinois, snapping trunks like toothpicks. The left wing dipped, caught in the trees and burst into a cloud of splinters and steel shrapnel.

The impact rocked the plane like a child’s toy and ripped the wing from the side of the fuselage leaving a gaping hole. The plane twisted and swung to the left causing the right wing to dive into a grove of huge hickories. The wing disappeared in a roar followed by the agonizing scream of shearing metal as the plane was torn in two.

In the cockpit, the eyes of the pilot and copilot glowed with the intensity of a spotlight covered with blood. They had just enough time to recognize the shape of a huge tree before the cockpit disintegrated into a mix of glass, wires and wood. The rest of the front section followed the cockpit into the trees exploding into a huge fire ball, instantly consuming everything within a fifty-yard diameter.

The not so attractive couple, who had managed to strap themselves into their seats just as 5B was coming out of the exhaust side of the tail engine in a pink spray, were incinerated before their minds could even comprehend they were on fire.

Completely disoriented, the last thing Tony remembered before slipping into a calm sea of blackness was flopping back and forth on the seat like a rag doll and hearing the thudding roar of a huge explosion.

The instant the plane was torn in two, the back half, including row 13, spun around and smashed through the trees tail first. Then as if an answer to Tony’s prayer, it broke through a stand of soft pines and crashed into a large clearing nearly three hundred yards away from the raging inferno caused by the explosion.

The impact cut a trench into the soft floor of the woods, sending up a brown wave of dirt over fifty feet in the air. When the tail dug in, every window remaining intact exploded outward in a spray of glass. The cargo hold and section housing the remaining passenger seats rippled and compressed backward like an accordion, before twisting sideways and slamming into the ground.

The bolts keeping Tony’s seat in place finally gave way during the sideways twist, causing him and everything else loose in the plane to be vomited out like spoiled meat. Still dangling from his seat, he flew thirty yards before smashing into several small pine trees.

The impact with the trees ripped Tony from the seat belt and twisted his foot one hundred and eighty degrees from its normal position. This white-hot flash of pain rocked him back to consciousness. He hit the ground hard, feeling and hearing at least one rib snap. Tony screamed with all he could manage. He felt the world start to spin, turned his head to one side and vomited on his shoulder before blacking out.

Behind Tony’s motionless body, wires dangled from the wreckage like multicolored snakes, occasionally sparking and sending flashes of light through the trees like the lightning of a distant storm. Below the wires, a huge pocket formed by the twisted metal was slowly filling up with jet fuel dripping from somewhere in the mangled section of the wing.

A split second before the plane broke in two, 13A had lunged towards Tony. This last second move was the only thing that kept him from joining the fate of the rest of the front half occupants. He had caught the seat right beside Tony and managed to hang on for the two seconds it took the back part of the plane to veer off from main section.

When it smashed through the pines, he lost his grip and flew like a cowboy thrown from an enraged bull. He went through the first tree suffering no more than a six-inch gash across his back, but the second one caught his left arm in a V shaped branch peeling off all the skin from the elbow down. This twisted him around, and he hit the next one face first, breaking most of the bones in his face and leaving a nice assortment of shark like teeth embedded in the trunk. The impact with the tree left him unconscious and dangling from several of the heavier branches left unbroken during the assault.

When Tony opened his eyes, he saw the trees around him lighting up with the flash of photographer’s cameras and knew rescuers had found the plane. His heart leapt to his throat, and with a tremendous effort, he pushed himself up to look back at the crash site where he could see people sorting through the wreckage. "Here!" Tony yelled and then groaned from the pain in his side. Struggling, he lifted a hand, waved at the figures, and then felt his heart drop as he realized the people were only jumping shadows. There were no rescuers, no photographers. Only the smoldering carcass of the plane.

Another flash of light lit up the woods, and Tony saw it was only loose wires that must still be connected to some sort of battery reserve. His heart sank, and he winced at the pain seeming to come from everywhere. He looked at his leg and nearly threw up again when he saw his foot going when it should have been coming. He pulled himself over to a fallen tree and leaned his back against it.

Even at a quarter mile away, he could feel the heat from the fire raging from the other half of the wreckage. Everything had an orange glow. The shadows of the trees flicked and danced around him like demons in a satanic ritual.

He could smell a rancid mix of melted plastic and jet fuel hanging in the air like a poisoned fog. He tried to push himself up when his mind, nearly wiped out with shock, suddenly went back to what was happening just before the crash. Even through the intense pain, he felt his skin crawl.

His heart raced remembering the hideous creatures only moments away from ripping him open to partake in the in flight meal. He looked around like a cornered animal; the thought of being roasted alive suddenly took a backseat to the thought of what could be watching him from the dark shadows of the woods.

His mind told him something was creeping up on him right now, but all he could see in the faint glow of the fire and the occasional flash of the wires, was twisted trees and large chunks of metal and debris. The crash killed them all, hadn’t it? Although if he was spared and if he survived...

He heard a loud snap followed by a heavy thud. It sounded like it landed somewhere behind the plane. He pulled himself in to a sitting position by using a branch sticking from the tree he was leaning on. Then, enduring more pain than he had ever experienced in his life, he pulled himself up on the tree in an initial effort to move away from the remains of the plane. Sweat poured from his forehead in constant streams, stinging his eyes and blurring his vision. He was trying to focus through the faint light when the wires sparked again, and in the instant of the bright flash, Tony thought he saw something moving from behind the plane and into the trees.

13A regained consciousness when the branch bearing most of his weight cracked with a loud snap. Before he had time to get his bearings, the branch broke sending him downward through several smaller branches. Just before hitting the ground, a leafless twig caught him cleanly in one eye sending out a spray of yellow liquid before snapping off.

He slammed to the ground, but knowing the bastard who caused all this had somehow survived allowed him to stifle a scream. A scream may alert him, which just wouldn’t do. No, it wouldn’t do at all.

He pushed himself to his feet and made his way toward the clearing where he could see the piece of shit struggling against a fallen tree. A broken and hideous grin spread on 13A’s face. He could tell the extent of the man’s injuries were significant enough there would be no problem taking care of business.

The remaining teeth in his mouth quivered. Two teeth barely hanging on to the gums fell out, bouncing off his chest and onto the ground. He absently put his skinned hand to his face and wiped away a thick line of yellow fluid running from his left eye socket. Using the cover of darkness, he moved from behind the plane and into the trees.

“Who’s there?” Tony tried to shout. His broken ribs made breathing difficult and yelling excruciating. “Who’s-” This time when the wires sparked Tony could see who was there, what was there, and terror gripped his heart with a cold, steel fist. 13A was making his way from the trees directly at him. In the brief glances granted by the wires, Tony could see 13A had taken his fair share of damage, but it didn’t seem to be slowing him down.

Only ten yards from Tony, 13A stretched out his arm and pointed at him. Large flaps of skin dangled from around his elbow, and the finger-pointing at him was nothing more than bone stained pink with blood.

“I am going to enjoy killing you more than you can imagine, and it won’t be quick, I can promise you that.” His voice growled and bubbled as it spilled from his grotesque mouth. His teeth were vibrating like they did on the plane, but now were much slower and jerky. A tooth working its way from his mouth caught on his bottom lip, splitting it open like a bloated grub.

Tony tried to scream again and pushed himself away from the horror moving towards him. When he did, he fell backwards over the tree, sending fresh pain through his leg and chest. The tree blocked out his view, but through the crackling of the wires, he could hear demented laughter coming closer.

The periodic bursts of light had turned to a constant flicker seeming to burn the trees with silver fire. From over the log, Tony saw 13A’s ruined face look down at him. His bottom lip was gone. His one good eye burned bright red casting a light on Tony’s face like the laser site from a gun.

13A stood up straight, stretched out his arms and howled up at the sky. Tony knew he was only seconds away from being torn to pieces and there was nothing he could do to stop it. He squeezed his eyes shut and covered his ears to try to block out the hideous screech.

Behind them, the harness holding the writhing wires to the crumpled wing, silently gave way, sending them downward like a coil of angry snakes. Still spitting sparks, they landed directly in the pool of jet fuel below.

What happened next never clearly registered in Tony’s mind. The air suddenly crackled like static blasting from a PA system. He felt every hair on his body stand straight out as all of the air was sucked from his lungs. Above him, 13A stood with one foot on the ground and one on top of the log. His one eye widened in seeming understanding.

The concussion of the explosion burst Tony’s right eardrum and sent hot spurts of blood from both nostrils. A chunk of metal the size of a small car screamed through the air just above Tony’s head and smashed through the trees behind him. On its way by, it turned 13A into nothing more than a bad memory. The impact of nearly a ton of steel moving at roughly the speed of sound, transformed 13A’s brain to pulp before the idea of getting out of the way even started to become a thought. One foot, with the leg from the knee down still attached, lie twitching in the dirt while the other took a one way ride with the hunk of metal.

Small fires crackled all around Tony, but enough clearing had taken place with the initial crash that singed hair and first-degree burns were as close as he got to being burned alive. He made a brief attempt to push himself up, but pain and exhaustion overpowered any will he had left.

He felt his head start to swim as the trees above him spun in slow circles. Consciousness was slipping away fast, but before it overtook him, the faintest trace of a smile crossed his bloodstained lips when he heard the far-off and sweet sound of sirens drifting through the woods.

The End

In-Flight Meal pt. 4

2010-06-15T20:21:00.000-07:00

He wanted to scream, but his lungs fought just to draw breath. His head throbbed and sweat ran down the sides of his face in small rivers. He knew he had to do something or little Mrs. Saggy Boobs was going to run her teeth through him like a runaway buzz saw. Then Alex’s face was gone as she was ripped from his vision and thrown back against the seats. She howled in rage and frustration.

“You know the rules, you stupid bitch! I make the kill!” 13A was standing in the aisle where Alex had been moments ago. The skin on his arms and face rippled like there was something alive crawling just below the surface. His teeth were similar to Alex’s, in that they were moving in his mouth twitching and rubbing together the way the mandibles might scissor back and forth in the maw of an insect. His flat nostrils flared, and Tony could see what looked like tiny worms squirming just inside his nose. The signature sunglasses were gone revealing the same glowing orbs as the others.

Tony tried to lift his arm again, and this time it moved up several inches. He looked at 13A who was glaring at Alex and breathing hard. A fine mist of snot and worms sprayed from his nostrils with each breath.

Alex crouched in the aisle with her legs and arms bent like a tiger ready to pounce. She held her head low and looked up at 13A, baring her vibrating teeth and snarling. Long clear globs of spit dripped from the corners of her misshapen mouth. 13A’s red eyes burned with fury. He pulled his elbows back, pushing out his chest and let out a deafening screech.

The old man, seemingly excited by scuffle, started making sharp yipping noises and made the mistake of stepping out in the aisle between Alex and 13A. Tony heard a whooshing sound as 13A tore off the old man’s head with one hand.

The head bounced off the overhead storage bins and landed a couple of seats back with a wet thump. Tony saw the body fall forward. Black gore shot from its ragged neck in heavy spurts, spraying the twins and attractive couple before falling down beside his seat. As soon as it hit, a sharp burning smell drifted up making his stomach heave. He knew if he had eaten anything lately, he would have just added it to the mess.

One of the twins grabbed the body and dragged it forward. Immediately her sister and the not so attractive couple started scrambling to get position. The man from 5B was working his way back to join in on the fun. Tony could hear wet tearing and splashing sounds over their hungry screeching. Obviously, these things weren’t too picky on what or whom they ate.

The old woman hissed and made a move towards 13A. She had barely taken a step when 13A slashed her with one thick fingernail laying her open from belly to chin like a gutted fish. What looked like rotting snakes spilled out and hung from the slit. She looked down in disbelief then collapsed in a heap. More of the sour burning smell filled the cabin. It smelled to Tony like someone was burning cabbage then tried to put it out with buckets of infected urine.

In a quickness Tony had never seen before, Alex sprang on 13A. They crashed down on the twins, and Tony heard a wet crunching sound followed by an unmistakable scream of pain. Alex and 13A were back on their feet, ripping and tearing at each other in a mix of growls and screams. Seats were torn out, and foam stuffing flew through the air like snow. Behind them, one twin lay on the floor twitching while the rest of the group retreated towards the front of the plane.

Tony knew it would only be a matter of time before these things realized what the whole fight was about and turned their hunger and savagery towards him. He also knew it was now or never.

With immeasurable effort, he tilted his head back even further to try to see behind him. Everything looked upside down, and the seats right behind him blocked what little sense he could make of his surroundings. He forced himself to think about what he saw earlier.

He remembered empty seats, with exception of the late older couple, and clear in the back was what he thought was the lavatory. If he could get to the bathroom, he may be able to lock himself in or maybe beyond that was a way into the luggage bay. Both options sounded pretty weak, but it had to be better than laying out like a slab of meat on the chopping block.

He heard another high-pitched scream and looked towards the front. Alex must have got one in on 13A because he had a large flap of flesh hanging off the side of his face. Behind 13A, the red eyes of the rest of the group bobbed around in the dim cabin like mutated fireflies. 13A reached out and grabbed Alex by the throat.

With his heart roaring like a runaway freight train, Tony tested his arms. They felt like they were filled with sand, but he was able to lift them both off the seat. It was all he could do to subdue the panic rising in his head. He wanted to just rip off the seat belt and charge to the back of the plane, but the small piece of his mind still holding onto sanity, told him if he couldn’t move his legs and just rolled off the seat, he would accomplish nothing other than to get their attention.

He lifted his left leg. It moved off the seat, but like his arms, it felt like it weighed a hundred pounds. His right leg was about the same, but whatever drug Alex had given him was definitely wearing off.

Suddenly, a broken piece of tray table whistled just over his head, smashing into the seat behind him. With all of his concentration spent on trying to make himself move, he hadn’t noticed the fighting up front had stopped. Alex and 13A were both staring at him and slowly moving his way. The rest of their entourage was on their way back too.

Alex had a huge chunk of hair missing, exposing a skull that looked blood red in the glow of 13A’s eyes. Either it didn’t hurt, or the sight of her precious in flight meal about to get up and make a run for it, made the pain insignificant. The remaining twin was crawling over the seats like a huge spider. The not so attractive couple was squeezing down the aisle side by side snarling and slobbering. 5B was somehow crawling on the ceiling of the plane. His head hung down, and a black tongue hung from his mouth flipping from side to side like a writhing eel. 13A already had a hand on Alex’s shoulder to pull her away. His teeth were now moving so fast they were just a blur.

Knowing that sneaking to the back of the plane was out of the question, Tony did the only thing that came into his mind. In an act of pure desperation, he used all of his will and strength to sit up, grab the red handle of the emergency exit door and yank it down. Immediately a loud hissing sound came from around the edges of the door. With one hand, he tightened his seat belt and with the other, he pushed on the door. The sound of rushing air increased to a low roar. Small bits of foam and napkins flew past and were sucked out the growing gap. The force of the air and his weakened condition made it almost impossible to push open, but if he could get it open just enough to catch the wind, the rest would take care of itself.

Seeing what was about to happen 13A screamed and shoved Alex at Tony. Tony barely caught what was happening from the corner of his eye and fell back just as Alex flew over his seat. She smashed headlong into the door accomplishing what Tony didn’t have the strength to do.

The door ripped from the opening and spun away into the black expanse. The roar of the air was deafening, blocking out most of Alex’s screams. She was lying across the opening, trying to push herself away as foam, papers, and plastic glasses were sucked out around her.

Oxygen masks dropped from their compartments and swung wildly in the rush of air. Tony hung on to his seat, but could feel himself being pulled towards the open door. The seats shook as if they were in the throws of a violent seizure. Tray tables fell open and flapped up and down. Then, through the roar of the wind, Tony heard a dry snap as Alex’s spine gave in to the force of the suction. An instant later, she folded in half and vanished through the opening.

With the doorway now completely clear, the force of the wind doubled. The headless body of the old man slid past Tony’s seat and flew out. The body of the old woman wedged itself between two seats. Her loosed guts slid across the floor, unraveling like a garden hose, before being sucked out into the night. The remaining twin let out a high-pitched wail then followed the old woman’s intestines out the door in a tangle of arms and legs.

13A was hanging on to the seats screaming something at the others. Tony saw 5B sliding across the ceiling. He was trying to dig his long nails into the hard plastic of the plane with no success. He tried to jump down, but as soon as he did, he was pulled across the seats towards the door. He managed to grab the top of the seats directly in front of Tony and hold on. His feet were dangling out the door with the wind whipping his legs violently against the sides of the plane. He was only able to hold on for only a couple of seconds before he was sucked out. On his way to his final destiny, his hand briefly caught the side of the opening, which made his legs flip up and sent him cart wheeling upward and directly into the turbine of the tail engine.

The engine dogged down, made a high-pitched whining noise then burst into flames. Immediately a pulsing alarm sounded, and a rapid decent ensued. The plane shuddered and bounced as the pilot tried to compensate for the missing engine and the loss of pressure. The fact the effects of the drink were now entirely gone and Tony was running on full adrenaline were the only things giving him the strength to stay on his seat. Eight rows up, 13A was making his way back. He was three rows from Tony when the bottom of the plane clipped the first treetop. Tony closed his eyes and prayed.

In-Flight Meal pt. 3

2010-06-02T12:20:00.000-07:00

Tony woke up willing himself not to scream. Huge beads of sweat clung to his forehead and trickled down the sides of his face like salty pearls. At first, he was disoriented and didn’t know where he was, but the soft bumping of mild turbulence and the constant low roar of the jet engines brought him back to reality.

"Son of a bitch,” Tony whispered, wiping the sweat from his face and looking around. The interior of the plane was almost completely dark, which was strange even for a redeye. He had never been on a night flight where there wasn’t at least one person reading. The dim glow of the lights above the carry on bins was the only thing keeping the interior from being completely black.

He looked to his left and could see that 13A was not in his seat, which shouldn’t be a big deal, but for whatever reason it scared the shit out of him. Now that he thought about it, this whole thing was way too whacked-out. An airline he had never heard of, some weird ass guy takes him down a stairway to an old black Cadillac, no security mind you, right out to an airplane sitting in the middle of nowhere. Was he really that desperate to get to Chicago to dismiss all of that? Thinking again about the meeting and all the things he could buy if there was a favorable outcome, made the answer a yes, but not as easy of a yes as it had been about an hour ago.

I just need to relax and accept that I got lucky for a change and- Somewhere near the front of the plane, he could have sworn he saw two red dots bobbing around like… like eyes. His heart began to speed up and was about to push his internal panic button when he saw it was just Alex working her way through the cabin with a tray of drinks. The red eyes were nothing more than light reflecting off one of the glasses. Tony took another deep breath and settled back into his seat.

He heard soft voices and giggles from somewhere up front and assumed Alex must be talking to the girls in 8A and B. He smiled, knowing they were talking about him. Alex was heading his way, but because of the seats, he still couldn’t see what was on the tray until she stopped at his row.

“Would you like a cocktail before the meal Mr. Pace?” Even in the low lighting, Alex looked like a total babe. When she bent down to offer him the tray her uniform gapped open and he couldn’t help but sneak a quick glance. When he looked back up Alex was smiling at him. Busted. He felt his face get hot. However, she didn’t seem to mind.

“Sure. What is it?” He reached out and took a glass of what looked like tomato juice.

“Bloody Mary. I mixed them myself, and I can assure you they are very good.” The way she emphasized very gave Tony a chill. He couldn’t tell if it was an Oh baby chill or an Oh shit chill, but a chill just the same.

“Ah, great. Sounds good,” Tony said really meaning it too. He raised the glass to his lips and took a healthy sip. The first taste was really very good. It had the texture of velvet and just enough of a kick to give your taste buds a slap. It was the aftertaste that made Tony wince. It was a combination of a metallic and medicinal taste. He looked back at Alex and her big dark eyes and perfect smile. Damn, she was good-looking.

“So, what do you think Mr. Pace?” She was still half bent over tempting Tony with another look.

“Fantastic. Best Bloody Mary I’ve ever had,” he lied.

“Great. Glad you like it.” Alex straightened back up, turned and offered the tray to 13A who had somehow gotten back into his seat without Tony seeing him. 13A continued to stare straight ahead, but did reach up and take a glass. Alex looked back at Tony and actually licked her lips before moving on. This sent a rush down Tony’s belly through his legs and all points in-between.

He took another sip and looked over at 13A. To his surprise, 13A was looking back at him. Tony raised his glass in a cheer’s gesture. 13A returned the gesture, and then proceeded to down his drink in a matter of a couple of seconds. When he lowered his glass, thick dark liquid trickled from the corner of his mouth and down his chin.

Now, for the first time, 13A smiled. A smile that almost made Tony drop his glass. It was a smile as far from pleasant as a cactus is from velvet. This was a smile of pure evil. The kind of smile a serial killer might produce right before slitting the throat of his victim or the smile the sadistic executioner may wear right before pulling the switch to throw 2000 volts through the electric chair and fry the accused to a crackly crisp.

Tony quickly looked away and took another drink of the Bloody Mary. He could already feel his head start to get that dull buzzed feeling and welcomed it. He looked straight ahead, but could feel 13A’s eyes on him. He took another drink.

Tony heard Alex finishing her rounds somewhere behind him. He couldn’t tell if 13A was still staring at him or not, but he didn’t want to look and take the chance of seeing that twisted smile again. What a freak, Tony thought and finished his drink in one big gulp.

The buzzed feeling was getting a little deeper, and Tony couldn’t remember getting this kicked by one drink. He played it off to not having had much sleep and the last time he ate... which reminded him of the in flight meal and wondered when it was going to begin? The thought of a big fat steak with hot pink juices running out made Tony’s mouth water.

"How was the drink Mr. Pace?”

Tony didn’t know if it had been ten minutes or ten seconds, but Alex was beside him again. He tried to look up at her, but his head felt like it just gained about twenty pounds.

Alex smiled down at him. “It’s got a bit of a kick, wouldn’t you say?” Now her voice sounded as if she were talking in an empty steel drum. The glass began slipping from his hand, but she reached down and took it before it could tumble off his leg onto the floor. “That was close Mr. Pace. You wouldn’t want to make a mess on the floor now would you?”

Alex laughed at this, and Tony thought he could make out the laughter of others joining her. To Tony it sounded warped like it was slowed down to about half speed. With great effort, Tony turned his head to face Alex. “What… the hell… is happ... pening?” He felt like he had drunk ten Bloody Marys, not one. His lips were numb, and a distant ringing filled his ears. He brought his eyes up to look at her and felt his heart stop. Her eyes were burning red. Her perfect nose was in the process of turning up exposing elongated nostrils. Thin lips stretched open over sharp teeth visibly growing from her gums. The twins from 8A and B had joined Alex and were peering over the two seats in front of him. Their eyes were as red as Alex’s.

“What’s wrong Mr.?” the twins said in unison. They looked at each other with their burning eyes and grinned. The red glow lit up their faces, which Tony could have lived without. They had both transformed from what Tony had previously considered babes to grotesque monsters. Their noses were completely pushed up in a phantom of the opera look. Their hair had gone from silky, thick brown to thin, scraggily clumps. Their sunken cheeks accentuated their large mouths and jagged teeth. They looked at each other and giggled… cackled.

Tony could hear more voices behind him, but couldn’t turn to see even if he wanted to. This all had to be hallucinations. Either Alex put something in his drink or he was just exhausted to a point where one drink, in combination with that weird ass dream, had sent him over the edge. A plane full of ordinary people didn’t just turn into a plane full of… of what? Alex was talking again.

“Everyone back off. Let’s give Mr. Pace some room to stretch out. We want him to be comfortable for the in flight meal don’t we?” This brought more cackling from the twins and muffled whispers from others. Alex reached down to the aisle seat beside him, released some kind of catch, lifted the seat and tossed it a couple of rows back like a piece of doll furniture. Tony tried to lift his hands, but they felt like they were glued to the seat.

Alex released a latch on his seat and lowered him back to a point where his head was lower than his feet. When she did, she came back into his vision. She had similar features of the twins, but her teeth were more turned in and actually seemed to be vibrating in her gums. Not much, but enough to make it look like each tooth was alive. Her bent over position also revealed Alex’s most excellent body had taken a turn for the worse right along with her face. The once firm size “C” breasts sagged into wrinkled tubes dangling in her gaping uniform top. Tony could feel a scream building up in his throat, but nothing came out but a weak gasp.

From his stretched out position, he could see the old couple from a few rows back standing behind him. Small strings of spit hung from their gaped mouths. A long black tongue, slithered from the old woman’s mouth, licked her split lips and slid back in. They looked like starved dogs waiting on someone to throw them a piece of meat, and Tony had a good idea what, or who, the piece of meat might be.

Alex undid the buttons on his shirt, exposing his white T-shirt. She bunched up the soft, white fabric and proceeded to cut it down the middle with one of her long jagged nails. This brought a stir from the group, and Tony saw the attractive couple, which weren’t so attractive now, start to push their way past the twins. Alex looked back at them. Her eyes blazed, and she growled like a rabid dog. Her teeth clicking and rubbing together. The couple took a step back whining like hyenas backed off a zebra carcass by a lion.

Tony felt his heart pounding and fought to stay conscious. His downward angle made his head feel like an over-inflated basketball. He could feel the veins in his head pulsing with blood. He tried to move his arm again and only his fingers moved, but they did move.

“Do it Alex. Do it!” the twins hissed. Alex moved her face towards Tony. Her teeth vibrated against each other making a soft grinding sound.

In-Flight Meal pt. 2

2010-05-19T10:16:00.000-07:00

At first, he thought maybe he just had the wrong angle, but through the dim glow of the dash, he could see himself reflected over the headrest of the driver’s seat. It had to be an optical illusion of some kind, but before he could work it out, the car stopped.

Mr. Long got out and walked around to Tony’s door. He opened it and stepped off to the side assuming the professional chauffer position. “Here we are Mr. Pace.” Tony looked out and up at Mr. Long. Mr. Long stood perfectly still, staring straight ahead. Tony slid from the car keeping as much distance between himself and Mr. Long as he could.

Directly in front of the car the Dark Flight Airlines MD88 sat with its engines idling. It looked enormous from Tony’s perspective. As much as he’d flown, this was the first time he had ever been on the ground looking up at an aircraft of this size. He had looked up at plenty of the fifty passenger puddle jumpers where you would walk out on the tarmac and up the steps to the plane, but never one like this.

The words Dark Flight Airlines ran down the side of the sleek silver plane in black letters about six feet tall. They started out in sharp block font slanted slightly forward as if they were leaning into the wind, then trailed off to where the ‘S’ of Airlines flowed out like black satin flapping in the wind.

Red lights on the back of the wings and tail slowly flashed in unison alternately bathing Tony in an eerie red glow then back to darkness. He could see light in the small windows running along the length of the plane, but at this angle, he couldn’t see in. A set of stairs led up to a mobile jetport against the plane to allow access inside.

Tony heard a thump and physically jumped. He spun around to see Mr. Long with his hand on the car’s door, grinning at him and for the first time, actually looking him in the eye. Tony knew it had to be the shadows created by the red lights, but he could swear Mr. Long’s nose was sharper and more turned down than before, and his thin white lips now looked to be struggling to cover his teeth.

The red light faded out, and Tony saw Mr. Long’s pupils grow to large black circles. The red lights flashed back on and reflected from Mr. Long’s eyes like an animal. Tony’s heart was thudding in his chest, and he felt gooseflesh crawl up his arms.

“Mr. Pace. Please hurry. We can’t wait forever.” Tony turned to the sound of the voice and =saw what appeared to be a nicely built woman silhouetted in the doorway at the top of the steps. Her pleasant voice momentarily took some of the edge off Tony’s nerves, then he remembered Mr. Long, his shining eyes and bulging mouth. He turned back half expecting to see him bearing down on him with long searching fingers, but Mr. Long and the black Cadillac were gone. “Mr. Pace?” Tony looked back up the steps. “Is there a problem?” Yeah, a whole shit load Tony thought and headed up the steps.

***

As it turned out, the woman was nicely built and had the looks to go with it. Her coal black hair flowed behind her in a thick ponytail. Her dark eyes danced above high cheekbones and a perfect smile. Her black uniform was form fitting and low cut. Finally, things were starting to look better.

“It is very fortunate you were able to make our flight Mr. Pace. At this time of night there isn’t much available.” There didn’t seem to be anything sinister in her voice, which was a big relief and an excellent change from Mr. Long. “My name is Alex, and I will be taking care of you tonight.” Her smile widened a bit, and Tony could see her teeth were perfect too. Almost too perfect, like dentures, but there was no way a hot looking woman, of what looked to be about twenty, could have dentures. Tony decided to just accept it as an added bonus to a beautiful smile, and the idea of Alex taking care of him tonight sounded like an excellent plan indeed.

“Thanks Alex. I’m glad I made the flight too.” Tony looked directly into her dark eyes and found it difficult to break away. It was almost hypnotic. He felt himself trying to say something else when she stepped into the plane breaking the momentary trance.

“Welcome aboard,” Alex said.

Tony blinked, dismissing the feeling as nothing more than her intoxicating looks and the weariness of a long day. “Ah yeah, thanks,” Tony said, stepping through the doorway.

Just when he thought things couldn’t get any better, Tony looked at a plane full of first-class seats. Two wide leather seats on each side and far enough apart Tony thought they were probably fully reclining. The wider seats and the fact they were only two per side reduced the total capacity of the plane to about fifty, and most of the seats were empty. An attractive couple in the front seats looked up at Tony, smiled, and then looked back down at their magazines. Tony smiled back and looked at his boarding pass for his seat number. 13D Exit row. Even better yet.

He started down the aisle towards his seat. An older man, sharply dressed, smiled up at him from 5B. Two teenage girls, that looked like they were twins, sat in 8A and 8B. They were both looking at him, then one whispered something in the other’s ear, and they both giggled. They looked back up at him with a look that told Tony maybe he still had it at thirty eight after all. Tony smiled back and went past. Rows nine, ten, eleven, and twelve were all empty.

A man with chiseled features and dark slicked back hair sat in 13A. He was wearing a black dress type T-shirt outlining his muscular chest. A tattoo of a snake weaving its way in and from what looked like a goat's skull donned his right arm just below the sleeve. He wore dark sunglasses, which made it impossible for Tony to tell if he was looking at him or not.

Tony nodded a hello towards the man and got no reaction. Nice guy Tony thought. He looked past row 13 at the remaining seats and saw only an older couple that both gave him a casual glance. He threw his overnight bag under the aisle seat in front of him and slid over by the window.

He looked at the operating instructions on the exit door. It displayed a series of pictures portraying a dark figure pulling down the T shaped release handle and pushing the door out. The last picture showed the figure stepping from the opening while looking back. Something about the figure’s long skinny arms and odd shaped head made the skin on Tony’s arms prickle. He looked closer and thought he could see two small red dots on the figure’s face.

“How’s your seat Mr. Pace?”

Tony sucked in a breath and about dropped his boarding pass.

“Oh, I didn’t mean to startle you Mr. Pace,” Alex said apologetically.

“That’s all right, don’t worry about it,” Tony said. “I’ve just had a long day.” He leaned back in the seat, trying to settle his heart. The seats were as comfortable as they looked, and Tony knew it wouldn’t take long to fall asleep. “It’s great. Thanks.” Alex smiled and walked back towards the front of the plane.

Tony took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. He knew he had to get a grip on himself before somebody decided he was a terrorist and kicked him off the plane. He glanced down at his boarding pass still folded up in his hand. He unfolded the heavy paper and really looked at it for the first time. In the top left corner was Dark Flights inked out in the same script as on the side of the plane. Directly below that was the flight number, date, origin and departure time. Under this was the departure gate of DF1, the destination city, and in print so small Tony had to squint to read it, were the words In flight meal will be served. In flight meal. Tony chuckled. He hadn't' seen that since the late nineties.

His stomach gave a low rumble and Tony realized he hadn’t eaten anything since the Quarter Pounder meal at eleven thirty that morning. He had no idea what the meal might be, but the way everything else was laid out in this plane he figured it would be pretty good.

Folding the boarding pass, he slid it into his shirt pocket and glanced over at 13A. His sunglasses were close enough to his face Tony couldn’t see his eyes, but with his head tilted slightly forward he assumed 13A was asleep.

A soft tone bonged from a speaker above Tony’s head, followed by the smooth and pleasant voice of the pilot. “Welcome aboard Dark Flight Airlines. I’m Captain Winters. We’ll be cruising at 37,000 feet and have an expected flight time of approximately one hour and forty-five minutes. The air up there should be smooth so as soon as we reach our cruising altitude I will be tuning off the seat belt sign so that you can all move about the cabin.” Tony heard the engines rev up and felt the plane move forward. “We will be number one for take off so Alex please take your seat.” Tony crossed his legs in the roomy space between the seats and looked out the window.

A good distance from where the plane was now taxiing he could see the small lights of the main terminal and the dark shape of the tower looming behind it. Beacons slowly flashed on the top of the tower, and Tony could see light spilling from the windows, but it was too far to make out anything inside. Blue lights, sticking up from the ground in small wire cages, flashed past below him as Dark Flights Airlines flight number DF3332 rolled towards the main runway.

The plane made a sharp right turn revving the engines to full throttle as it straightened out. Tony felt himself being pushed back into the soft leather seat and closed his eyes. DF3332 roared down the runway, lifted its nose and magically raised all eighty tons of itself into the air. He was already drifting off to sleep as the wheels bumped into place in the belly of the plane.

***

Mr. Long was looking at him through the rearview mirror in the long black Caddie, except the only thing visible in the mirror were two shining red orbs surrounded by a burning yellow. Tony went for the door handle only to find the inside of the door was completely smooth. No handle for the door, no button for the window and nothing to unlock it. The car came to an abrupt stop, and Tony had to put his hand on the front seat to avoid being thrown into it. He looked up and could see Mr. Long’s pointed ears poking out from his thin gray hair.

“Is there a problem Mr. Pace?” Mr. Long’s voice was low and guttural. He slowly turned his head to look back at Tony. As he turned, Tony could see his features come into focus. They pulsed with a red light that seemed to come in from everywhere. It was like the sky was filled with blood red lightning.

“I… I…” Tony tried to scream, but it felt like his throat was full of mud, and nothing came out but muffled grunts. He clawed at the door and felt his fingernails catch on something peeling two of them back. The grotesque face, with a nose that looked more like a beak, was grinning back at him. Large pointed teeth gleamed in the pulsing red light.

Tony pushed himself as far back in the seat as possible. Instead of the sleek smooth feel of leather, the seat now felt and smelled more like the soft rotten flesh of a bloated corpse. Suddenly, black wrinkled hands with ragged yellow nails burst through the seat behind him and gripped his arms, sucking him back into the fleshy material. Another hand pushed out, sending a spray of black gore spattering across the inside of the car. It slapped its wet palm across Tony’s forehead and yanked his head back stretching and exposing his neck.

He jerked and thrashed, but the black hands only tightened further. Mr. Long’s grin widened. Clear globs, made pink by the strange light, dripped from two-inch long canines. Tony felt his eyes bulging from their sockets and could hear the tendons in his neck snapping like rubber bands. Mr. Long lunged. Jaws snapping so fast Tony could hear the teeth making a whirring sound as they raced toward his stretched out throat.

***

In-Flight Meal pt. 1

2010-05-05T18:58:00.000-07:00

“Oh come on, it’s not even raining! How can there be a two-hour weather delay? There’s no way I can wait that long.” Tony Pace had a decision to make. Should he be shitty or nice about this little set back in his plans? Sometimes nice worked and sometimes shitty did, and Tony had been doing the travel game long enough to know there was a time and place for either method.

He looked close at the US Air agent across the counter. She had short brown hair, was about twenty pounds overweight, had either a huge bug bite or a rather impressive zit on her left temple, and her breath reminded him of raw meat. None of that mattered though; it was always the eyes that told the real story. Tony shifted his gaze from the red bump on the agent’s left temple to her eyes.

It only took a second to know. Shitty it is. It had nothing to do with the color, size or shape of her eyes, it was the fact they were looking over his shoulder and said in a very loud voice she couldn’t give one shit less if he made this flight or any other within the next two weeks.

“Ok, listen. I have been jacked around ” Tony also knew when it was time to start dropping the F bomb, and he wasn’t there yet, “ for the last three hours. Your 'accommodating' airline has seen to it that I have been bumped and delayed to the point where the chance of making the biggest sales call of my life is almost nonexistent. I know for a fact you can get me on another flight that will get me to Chicago tonight.”

Tony was on a roll. Little Ms Ticket agent was getting that most uncomfortable I’ll do anything to get this guy out of my face look. “The only reason you wouldn’t get me on another flight is to try to save a billion dollar company a couple of hundred bucks. Now you can either try to find me another flight or I can stay here and continue to give you my opinion in increasingly higher decibels for as long as it takes for you to be accommodating!”

“Well just wait one minute Mr. Pace. I didn’t say I wasn’t willing to help you.” The agent looked around anxiously apparently to make sure the always curious crowd wasn’t making its way toward the loud voices and out of the ordinary action. Tony noticed what she was doing, and at close to midnight, he didn’t think there would be much chance of a crowd developing even if he decided to drop the ol’ F bomb in large, lavish waves.

“There is one airline that may be able to accommodate you.”

Ah yes, shitty wins again, Tony thought.

“It’s called Dark Flight Airlines. They only offer red-eye flights and sometimes have one or two openings. I’ll call to see if they have anything available.”

Tony had never heard of Dark Flight Airlines, but at this point, he didn’t really care, as long as they could get him back to Chicago in time to get at least a few hours of sleep before his appointment.

“Thank you,” Tony said, making sure the agent knew that now she was helping, he would make life much easier on her. She clicked away on her keyboard, staring intently at the monitor.

Tony looked around the nearly deserted airport. Tulsa never was very busy, but there were usually more people than this. Fifty feet down the counter, a couple of people were using the American Airlines self-serve kiosk and talking in low tones. A little further, a blue uniformed custodial type was easing a squeaky wheeled trashcan across the tile floor guiding it with the handle of a broom or mop sticking from the can. The trashcan was draped with a bright yellow canvas pouch holding an assortment of brushes, cleaning fluids, and discarded magazines.

The couple at the kiosk left, leaving the squeaky wheels and the clicking keyboard the only sounds to be heard. Tony felt an odd case of the creeps working its way in and pushed it back.

“Kind of quiet around here…” Tony looked at the tag that dangled from a red cord worn around the agent’s neck. “…isn’t it Anna?” He was trying to undo some of the shitty mood he had bestowed on her just moments ago, but the way she didn’t even acknowledge him, told Tony it wasn’t working.

“Okay, they do have availability. It’s a window seat. I assume that will be okay for you Mr. Pace?” The sarcasm in her voice was unmistakable, but Tony knew he had that coming.

“Yes Anna, it is. Look, I’m sorry I got kind of nasty with you, it’s just that I’ve had a long day, and this meeting really means a lot to me. I appreciate you taking the time to get me on... Dark Airlines?”

“Dark Flight Airlines, Mr. Pace, and it was my pleasure to do so.” Anna handed the boarding pass to Tony. When he took the card, he inadvertently touched her hand. Her fingers were so cold Tony had to force himself from wincing. He looked up to see her smiling at him. There was something about that smile Tony didn’t like. It wasn’t just fake, it was knowing. Like when someone has one up on you, but telling you would spoil all the fun.

“The flight leaves from gate DF1, and you better hurry Mr. Pace, the plane has already boarded. I have a feeling they will wait for you, but you never know.” Her smile widened, which only enhanced the feeling she knew something he didn’t.

“DF1? I didn’t know Tulsa even had a DF concourse.” Maybe that was the joke. Maybe there wasn’t even a Dark Flight Airlines, and she was just getting shitty with him on a much higher level.

“It’s a small sub building off the main concourse so you will need to take a shuttle. Like I said, they only offer red-eye flights so they don’t really warrant one of the main gates.”

“How do I get to the shuttle?” If one even exists, Tony thought. I’ll probably end up outside the airport and get arrested by security before I even –

“Mr. Long will take you,” Anna said, glancing behind Tony.

Tony turned around. It was Mr. Long all right, Mr. Long, Dark and Ugly. Mr. Long stood easily over six foot four, and his black suit made him look more like an undertaker than an airline worker. He returned Tony’s stare standing with his hands clasped in front of him in a gesture you might see a chauffer take while waiting beside his car. The fluorescent lighting reflected off a mostly bald head rimmed with white hair. His deep set eyes were hidden in shadow, and a long hooked nose hung out over thin white lips.

“This way, Mr. Pace.” Mr. Long’s deep monotone voice broke the silence as he stretched out one pale hand. Either this was one very elaborate joke or there really was a Dark Flight Airlines, and he really was going to get to Chicago tonight. Tony turned back to try one more time to reconcile with Anna, but she was gone. He looked down the line of counters, and saw no one. Somewhere in another part of the terminal, he could just hear the squeak… squeak… squeak of the blue uniformed custodial guy's wheeled trashcan.

Tony bent down and picked up his overnight bag. “I guess she was in a hurry to-” but Mr. Long was already walking away, taking long slow steps, hands still clasped in front of him. His black polished shoes clacked on the hard tile floor. Tony followed him, this time not able to push back the creeps.

***

Midway down a long corridor, Mr. Long opened an unmarked metal door and stepped through. A few feet from the door, a set of steps led down to another door Tony assumed opened to the outside. There were about fifteen steps, which Mr. Long took as slow and deliberate as he walked. One bare bulb at the top of the steps and one at the bottom provided the only light. Strings of drifting cobwebs adorned the unpainted block walls where they met the ceiling.

Tony couldn't imagine this was the only way to the shuttle. Even if Dark Flights only offered red-eyes, there should still be enough people to constitute a real live entrance, and what about security? How do you just walk out on the tarmac without even going through a metal detector? Tony thought, hoped, it would be at the DF concourse, which would bring some welcomed normalcy to this whole thing. Tony smiled, realizing this was the first time he actually wanted to go through security. Taking a deep breath, he took the first step down.

“So how is security over at DF? Think they will hold me up much?” Tony’s voice sounded empty and dead in the narrow damp stairway. Mr. Long either didn’t hear him or didn’t care to respond because he just continued his slow step by step decent to the lower door. Tony couldn't believe he was actually following 'Lurch' to some unknown terminal of the Tulsa International Airport just to get a sales opportunity.

Of course, this sale would mean a whole new lifestyle. A lifestyle most people could never know, a lifestyle most have only dreamed about, a lifestyle worth dealing with a freakazoid airport guy and some obscure airline. Tony tried to drive these thoughts home as he descended the dark steps behind the strange tall man in the dark suit.

Mr. Long got to the bottom of the steps and pushed open the door. Tony was about eight steps behind, but could see the door did open onto the tarmac. Mr. Long, like the good host that he was, held the door while Tony came down the rest of the stairs and stepped through.

The shuttle, as it turned out, was a black Cadillac. The body style gave it a late 70’s look, but it was in excellent shape. Mr. Long, Dark, and Ugly let the door to the stairs swing shut with a bang, walked over to the car, and opened the back door for Tony. As he held the door, he stared straight ahead, never making eye contact and not saying a word.

The dome light in the car was dim, and deep shadows filled the backseat. To Tony, the open door didn’t look inviting. Instead it made him feel like he was being given a ride to the slaughterhouse, and he was the livestock. “Nice ride Mr. Long. Is it yours?” Tony walked over to the car and looked in.

“No. We should get moving Mr. Pace. You don’t have much time left.”

Tony looked at Mr. Long and thought he saw the faintest bit of a smile at the corner of his mouth, but if it was there, it disappeared as quickly as it formed. Yeah? What’s so funny, Mr. L.D. and U? You and Ms Anna pulling a good one on me? Tony wanted to yell this in Long’s face, but decided it would probably be better to keep it to himself and just go along with their little joke.

He tossed his bag in the backseat and slid in. Once inside, he winced. The inside of the car smelled like a combination of Old Spice and what? He wasn’t sure. Something that reminded him of his garden. Tilling? Maybe freshly turned dirt? Now that would be a first, Old Spice and dirt. Tony felt his stomach roll and thought for sure the weird ass smell was going to make him puke.

Mr. Long pushed the door closed, a little hard Tony thought, and walked around the front of the car. With the dome light out, the inside of the car was pitch black. Tony looked out the window and saw the surrounding area to be just as dark. The thought of an airport not lit up like a mall parking lot sent the first real thread of something like concern through Tony's veins. Mr. Long opened the driver’s door, sat down behind the wheel and started the car.

The engine was so quiet Tony wasn’t even sure it was running until they started moving. The main terminal with its comforting lit windows slipped away behind them like a silent movie as they rolled onto a tarmac as dark as a tomb.

He blindly ran his fingers along the armrest of the door searching for the window button. “Hey Mr. Long. How can I get a little air here? I can’t seem to find the button and-” The window slid open a couple of inches letting in the relatively pleasant smell of jet fuel and asphalt.

He leaned over to look into the rearview mirror. “Thanks Mr. Long. Not sure what it was, but it was just a little-” Tony felt his balls retreat into his body. There was no reflection of Mr. Long in the mirror.

To Be A Monster pt 5 (written by Mark Jackson)

2009-10-01T09:18:00.000-07:00

Cheryl not only felt her eyes leave their sockets… she heard them. The pain wasn’t as excruciating as she feared when they swelled and then shot from her skull to dangle on the sides of her down-turned face. The pain was more of an ache, but the worst part was the pop, pop sound and the cold sensation of air entering her head through two new openings that should never exist.

At first, her vision was like watching a TV with a skipping signal. She saw Gwen, then the sky, then back to Gwen, and then the pale faced onlookers, which she registered as moving her way. When her eyes settled on their stretched optic nerves, thin veins sprouted from the dangling orbs like strands of blue thread and fastened themselves to Cheryl’s forehead.

Her head, still in the upside-down position, stretched away from her body on an elongating neck with a series of snaps, crackles, and pops. She pushed herself up on her hands and feet into a rather ugly, yet well formed crab walk position. Her breasts, now pointing toward the sky from her concave chest, burst open loosing a mass of squirming black tentacles while stiff tufts of bristling hair cropped up on various areas of her body. With her mouth now up and the top of her head down, her hair hung in what appeared to be a blood matted beard.

“Damn Cheryl, you really look like shit,” Gwen said, smirking.

Taffy laughed while the crow offered up an unpleasant chuckle.

Things were not going the way Cheryl had planned... no, correction, that was the understatement of the year… this was a complete fuckeroo if there ever was one, and now on top of everything else, her stomach was rolling like a mother fucker. Shaking it off, she tested her mobility. She took a shambling step and nearly fell in a heap, but managed to catch herself with her newly positioned hands / feet.

“I will have to say, George, that is one of the most ridiculous monsters I’ve ever seen.”

Cheryl twisted her head to see the onlookers from the funeral home join the party. She wondered why these crazy fucks weren’t running home to mamma when she realized they were all semi-transparent and in various stages of decay. The one who called her pathetic had a majority of her face sagging down on the front of her black dress. George, whoever the fuck that was, had a hole in the top of his head the size of a tennis ball like he had taken the chicken shit way out of life.

“That she is Gladys, that she is,” George said, nodding his ruined head. The others joined the nodding and Cheryl saw the nose fall off a rather large black man and into the front pocket of his shirt.

She focused her attention back on Gwen. “You fucking bitch. You brought this on me didn’t you?” A stabbing pain racked her abdomen with such force she nearly collapsed. “Don’t even tell me I’m starting my period. Monsters are not supposed to have periods. They’re supposed-” Another cramp hit her with a vengeance and she felt something swelling in her intestines.

“Unbelievable,” growled Taffy. “What an idiot. Of course, I don’t know why that should surprise me after having to live with her stupid ass for the last five years.”

Gwen reached down and affectionately stroked Taffy’s blond fur. “Come, come Cheryl. How can you say I brought this on when you were the one who just rolled over and went back to sleep leaving me to choke on my own vomit.” As if to emphasize this, Gwen coughed spewing pale orange fluid from her mouth in a chunky spray.

“You’re the one who couldn’t hold her booze,” Cheryl hissed. “What was I supposed to do? Take the drinks out of your hand? Pump your fucking stomach?” Another cramp hit Cheryl and this time it was punctuated with a rather large wet fart.

“And classy too,” Taffy said, rolling her eyes.

“You see Cheryl, thanks to you, my spirit was cursed to spend eternity walking the earth with a throat full of puke. You know how hard it is to pick up a cute dead guy when all you can do is gurgle out puke breath? It’s damn hard.” Gwen coughed again, peppering George’s black suit with flesh colored chunks. George looked down, plucked off the biggest piece and popped it in his mouth. But before his could chew it up, it dropped through a hole under his chin and stuck back on his suit. Cheryl grinned and continued.

“However, all was not lost as I was able to make a deal with someone who has become a very close friend of mine.” She winked at the crow, which winked back. “A sort of two for one deal so to speak.”

“Yeah? Well I think that’s bullshit because if you really had a throat full of puke you would just be gargling away like you did that night I left you laying on your back. You sounded like a damn percolating coffee pot, and I couldn’t wait for it to stop so I could go back to sleep.” Cheryl winced as another cramp hit hard below the navel. Despite the pain she was starting to get a feel for her developing form. She took a couple of quick steps to one side, then the other, her hands and feet making dull thudding sounds in the thick grass.

“Oh, that the beauty of it, Cheryl. Thanks to you killing your little brother I was credited with one of the two hell bound souls needed to complete my deal, so now I’m only coughing up puke every few minutes, which is not bad, but not good.” She smiled as if humoring herself, “You know poor Billy never was one to believe in God and Satan, but I’ll bet he has a whole new perspective on it now.”

Cheryl couldn’t care less if Billy was with God, Satan, or the fucking man on the moon. Right now, her situation was the only thing that mattered. “And what if I don’t kill anyone else? What then?” Cheryl stretched her neck, bobbing her head up and down like an ostrich. She glanced at the suited up zombies who all wore smug grins on their rotting faces. She made a quick move in their direction dissipating two back to whence they came and causing the noseless black dude to knock Gladys down to the ground with a squish.

Gwen laughed. “See, you’re starting to like your new self already, and as far as you not killing anyone else… that’s like saying I haven’t been tasting my last Quarter-Pounder with cheese for the last six months.”

Cheryl was only half listening to her cousin as the pain in her guts increased to near apocalyptic levels. She was reminded of the time she had taken on the Eat the guacamole burrito as big as your head and get it for free challenge and spent the next five hours glued to the toilet. She started crab-walking in tight circles screaming and cursing, all to the amusement of the crowd. Stopping suddenly, she arched her back, which was really her stomach, and pushed.

She had never had a baby but if she had, she felt sure this was worse. Other than the fact this was popping from her ass, what appeared to be the top of a head crowned, stretching her bung strings to an impossible diameter. Something brown and hair covered slipped out, shooting from her ass and passing through the spirit of the black noseless guy before he had time to yell ‘you crazy mofo bitch’. Gwen jumped back stepping on Taffy who cursed her existence, and sending the crow squawking from one shoulder to the other.

Grunting and screaming, Cheryl pushed again, this time resulting in a world class episiotomy ripping its way from her stretched-out bung clear to her swollen mud flaps as Billy’s skull popped out and landed on the ground like rotten gourd. Partially liquefied brains spilled from the eye sockets forming a gray pool around the grinning skull.

Cheryl stared at the expulsion thinking how wrong she had been to ever call Billy a little shit.

“Now that looks rather tasty,” Taffy said strolling over the mess.

Cheryl twisted her head and cocked back her neck. She couldn’t believe this damned cat. Oh Taffy, you’ve made two major mistakes in my book. One is having ever been born, and two-

The fat cat walked up to Billy’s skull, giving it a sniff.

-is getting within my striking distance.

Cheryl shot her head forward while stretching her mouth open as wide as a bear trap. With one great snap, the only remaining evidence of Taffy was its fluffy tail dropping to the ground.

“It’s too bad cats don’t have souls,” Gwen said in matter of fact tone. “or my part in these theatrics would be thankfully over.”

Cheryl crunched up the cat, enjoying the hot juices as they ran down her throat and then swallowed it in two great gulps. Best pussy I’ve ever eaten, she thought, licking her lips. She then focused her forehead mounted eyeballs on Gwen and decided she didn’t give two shits if Gwen got what she wanted or not. After all, her own needs were the most important and although she hadn’t become the monster she had in mind, she was still a monster. The urge to kill and the need to feed was quickly becoming a major priority… hell, it was becoming the only priority, and her first order of business was to finish what she’d been dreaming about when this whole idea was conceived. Do away with her pathetic excuse of a mother.

Turning, she ran with amazing speed through the cemetery entrance and onto the road, her hands and feet pistoning in perfect synchronization. She couldn’t wait to see the look on her mother’s face when she tore her throat out with one big bite. As a matter of fact, she might just-

The sound of an approaching car made her stop.

***

Rita Gadowski, aka Cheryl’s mom, turned on to Bird Road, which ran past Fern Cliff Cemetery. Bob, her husband, road shotgun and looked causally out the side window.

“Where can they be?” Rita mumbled, using a finger to pick a piece of Captain Crunch from her teeth. “I know our Billy wouldn’t be out all night unless that girl of yours put him up to it.” She knew this had to have something to do with Cheryl. Stupid little bitch was always causing trouble.

“Now don’t be give me all the blame for that girl. Hell, as far as I know she’s not even mine. Probably spawn of that damned Charlie’s Chips guy you always had making deliveries when I wasn’t home.” Bob said while picking out his own chunk of breakfast.

“Just shut up Bob and keep an eye out for them.” Rita thought about rebuking his statement, but being as the dumb bastard might actually be right about the Charlie’s Chips man, she decided to leave it lay. She pulled around the curve at the cemetery entrance and wrinkled up her face in disgust. “What in the hell is that?” she asked pointing her teeth-picking finger at the shambling thing on the road directly in front of them. It looked like a giant hair-covered crab, but where in the hell would-

“I think it’s a rabid wolf or something, and I suggest you hit the gas,” Bob said grabbing the dash with both hands.

Rita didn’t think it looked anything like a rabid wolf but Bob’s idea of running the thing down was the first good idea she heard uttered from his pie hole this year. Tightening her grip on the steering wheel, she jammed the accelerator to the floor.

***

Cheryl heard the roar of an engine jumping into passing gear and spun her head around just in time to see her mom’s 1988 Buick Lesabre bearing down on her. You have to be fucking kidding me was Cheryl’s last thought as the chrome bumper hit her at 50 mph.

Her head snapped forward slamming on the car’s hood before whipping down and under the car’s chassis. A sound like a fifty-five gallon drum of Kentucky Fried Chicken being ran through a wood chipper erupted from under the car while inside, Rita looked like she was about to lose her Captain Crunch. Never slowing, the car bounced its way over Cheryl’s crumpled form and sped out of sight, leaving a trail of gore and skin behind it.

The mass of arms, legs, and worm-like tentacles lay glistening in the sun. Dark streams of blood ran across the asphalt soaking into the cracks and crevices as they went. In a flutter of wings, the crow landed beside Cheryl’s broken neck and looked into her only surviving eye. The orb responded by shifting slightly in the crow’s direction. In its reflection, Gwen could be seen walking up behind the crow.

“Well, is she dead?”

“I’d say about one breath away,” the crow whispered. With that, the dark bird beat its wings together expanding and shifting its form. Before Gwen stood a man wearing long black robes. A heavy hood cloaked his features.

The last ray of life bled from Cheryl as the man in the dark robes reached down a taloned hand and ripped the girl’s black writhing soul from her body. Her essence screamed and squirmed but made no escape from the man’s claws. He tilted back his head and sucked it into his mouth like a cancerous smoke.

“Hey,” Gwen exclaimed, running her tongue over her teeth. “My mouth tastes great! So what do you say Mr. Crow, or whatever your real name is, you doing anything the rest of this century?” She ran her tongue over her teeth again, this time a little slower.

The crow man grinned. “Mr. Crow is fine, and as tempting as that sounds, after making my delivery I need to meet with a couple of teenagers tired of carrying around their heads, which were decapitated in a drunk driving incident. I think they might be interested in a little deal I have in mind to make the man who killed them pay for surviving the accident.”

“Your loss,” Gwen said winking and then shimmering out of existence.

The crow man observed the mess on the road with the look of an artist backing away from one of their finest finished paintings. “I do love my job,” he said. Then in a rustling of robes, he turned back into the crow taking flight over the tall pines stretching up from the cemetery grounds.

To Be A Monster pt. 4 (written by Allison Bohac)

2009-09-15T19:15:00.000-07:00

Cheryl rolled over onto her back, groaning, flinging one arm over her face so she wouldn’t have to look up into the bright eye of the sky. She rubbed the scrap of flannel between her fingers, felt the way the blood had made the fiber stiff and dry around the edges. Billy had on a flannel shirt last night, didn’t he? She thought it over, trying to come up with a picture in her mind. Yeah. Yeah, he did. His pajamas. Because she’d hauled him out of bed.

Right. Okay. She had this all sorted out, no problem.

She got up into a sitting position, moving slow, trying to keep anything from protesting too loudly. The muscles in her arms and thighs felt like stretched out rubber bands. A quick check, though, and she was satisfied that none of the blood on the headstones belonged to her. Her skin was smooth and whole, and just starting to turn pink on her bare shoulders from the sun. A line of red bumps, as angry and tender as a rash of poison ivy, twisted up around the inside of her left calf. It itched like a belt of mosquito bites.

So if the blood definitely wasn’t hers, it didn’t bode well for Billy. She tugged the flannel between her fingers, tried to ignore the way her hands trembled from just the effort of sitting up. Christ. What a mess.

Everything after the bird had started up its poetry slam again was one big black hole. She had grabbed for Billy, had crashed landed on the ground, and that was all. If her brother wasn’t here, then what was the next logical conclusion? Even if that was him splattered around the headstones, that still left a lot of Billy unaccounted for. She ran a dry tongue along the inside of her mouth, over her teeth and up around the gums, worked up a pool of spit, hawked and spat it onto the grass. It came out sticky, faintly pink and tasting like a mouthful of copper pennies.

She put a hand on her belly, tried to figure out if it felt fuller than usual, the kind of after Thanksgiving full. It didn’t make a lot of sense—the idea that she had, you know, eaten her brother sometime between blacking out and waking up naked in a cemetery— but it was just behind the talking bird in that department, so...

She patted her stomach, reached down to absently scratch the rash on the inside of her leg. Hey Billy, you in there?

“Wouldn’t scratch that, if I was you.”

Cheryl started, looked up and dropped her arms to cover her chest. It was like in those dreams, when you found yourself naked at school in the hallway between periods. Only she was naked in a graveyard. And covered in blood. Which was technically kind of worse, but in a weird way, kind of better, too.

She expected to see a groundskeeper, or someone arriving early to pay their respects and strangely unperturbed by the sight of a naked girl sitting on the grass. But the only living thing she saw was Taffy, crouched low on the ground some ten feet away, eyeing her, tail twitching and body tense. She was trying to remember what the cat was even doing out here in the first place when comprehension dawned.

“Oh, Jesus, was that you?” She groaned, pressed her fingers into the bridge of her nose, trying to head off the headache that was brewing back there behind her eyes. Her head hurt, sharper and more intense than she would have thought possible, almost like someone was digging their way out of her skull with a pick axe. If she wasn’t careful, she might just have herself a Scanners moment here in the graveyard and join Billy across the headstones. “No. No no no. This Dr. Doolittle shit has got to stop.”

Someone chuckled, and she didn’t bother to open her eyes to see if it was the cat. “Besides,” she said, trying to focus on something outside the pain of the headache and figuring her voice was as good a thing as any, “you’re not the talking animal I need right now. I was hoping for something with feathers and a penchant for shitting on cars.”

“You’re talking to birds?” Another chuckle, and it came out heavy, and fat, and just the fucking way it would sound if Taffy could talk. She opened one eye and the cat was staring back at her. It tilted its head to one side. “That strike you as a little…crazy?”

“Oh, trust me, it’s crossed my mind.” She got her hands under her, pushed herself off the ground. The graveyard tilted and spun, and she had to shut her eyes and pull in a few long breaths through her nose. Her stomach felt like it was sloshing around inside her, and she imagined what it would be like to throw up now, to spray little bloody Billy-chunks all over the manicured grass.

Taffy watched her slow ascent. The cat had that look on its face, that smug cat look. God, she hated cats. “Where you off too?”

“I got a bird to find.” Fuck, her leg itched. It felt like there were ants crawling around down there, under the skin. Had she stepped in poison ivy last night, during their mad run to the graveyard? She thought it over as she bent down to examine the rash. The skin was an angry red, flushed and swollen with blood, the surface bubbled into blisters all along the length of her calf. Scratching it had opened some of them up, and a thin, bright ribbon of blood ran down her ankle and along her foot.

Great.

The world kept pitching and rolling as she walked, so she must’ve been a sad sorry fucking sight, staggering through a graveyard naked and bloody and trailed by a fat housecat.

They—the two of them, cat and girl—were almost at the south wall of the cemetery, a low stone wall topped with heavy cast iron spires, and Cheryl still didn’t really have a plan. Scale the wall and make a break for home, ducking into the bushes whenever a car drove by and hoping that nobody was out early watering the roses? It looked like that was her only choice. She hoped Mom wasn’t up yet. She still needed to come up with a good story for Billy’s whereabouts, and she was just too fucking tired to figure it all out. Maybe she could just eat Mom, too. She really needed an instruction manual for this monster gig, but the bird was nowhere to be seen.

Taffy yowled, low and alert, and Cheryl looked up, startled. Someone was moving among the graves, at the crest of the hill back the way they had come. It was a girl, thin and pale with hair so blond it was the color of milk gone sour. The raven was settled on one shoulder, head bobbing as the girl walked.

Cheryl stared after them. Taffy came up by one ankle, rubbing against the bare skin there. The cat was purring, soft, more of a vibration than an actual sound.

“Must be strange day, to make the dead get up for a stroll,” was all he said, but Cheryl didn’t wait around to ask him what he meant, didn’t stop to question what she was seeing. She was already running, the grass cool and sharp against the soles of her feet, shouting, “Gwen!”

The girl didn’t stop, and didn’t turn around. She was heading north, toward the gates of the cemetery and the funeral home that sat just inside them, an old two-story colonial house with the kind of big wraparound porch you associated with bed and breakfasts. Cheryl saw the wind pick up Gwen’s fine hair, lift it away from her neck and shoulders. The night they’d kissed—in Gwen’s parents’ basement, for the first time and the last time—Cheryl had put her hands on that neck, felt the shift of Gwen’s collarbone under the skin, fragile as a bird’s bones.

When Gwen had shoved her back, her nose wrinkled and mouth twisted up angry, they’d had a fight, the kind that started with shouting and arm waving and ended with the two of them getting royally, stupidly wasted. Gwen, too small to hold the Cointreau well, had passed out on the couch, and Cheryl had gone around the room, with the world spinning just as bad as it was now, picking up her stuff and hurling into a duffle bag. She’d finished off the Cointreau and switched to the Skyy, the only other thing her aunt kept in the cabinet below the bar. Eventually, she’d collapsed in her uncle’s chair and slipped into a weird, heavy sleep herself.

She’d woken sometime in the early morning, maybe only an hour later, maybe as little as a half an hour. Gwen, passed out on her back with her head titled up to show the pale line of her neck, was making a strange, burbling sound, mouth open, her body twitching like someone experiencing a low grade seizure. Cheryl could smell it all the way across the room; the sharp, sour tang of puke.

She remembered thinking, very clearly, before she drifted back into the oppressive dark of a drunk sleep, Let her. She deserves it.

Gwen seemed impossibly far ahead of her, even though she was walking and Cheryl was running as best as her wonky vision would let her. Everything was shuddering in and out of focus, like one of those indie art films shot with a handheld camera. She caught her foot on the edge of a plaque set into the grass and went down like the dumb blond in a horror movie breaking a heel while running from the serial killer. She scattered the memorial that had been propped up on the grave, the dried up stems of flowers and one sad, scruffy teddy bear that smelled like mold and wet stuffing.

She landed on her elbows, but it was her leg that suddenly flared up, the pain lighting up along the length of the rash like a fuse set on fire. She twisted around to look. The skin was bubbling like a pot of water coming to boil. Underneath the blisters, the muscle was ballooning up, distending, stretching the skin tight across it. Where she had scratched the skin open, something was pushing its way through. She saw thin, dark feelers emerge, waving gently, questing in the air like the heads of earthworms pulled suddenly from the ground.

This wasn’t what she had imagined at all. It fucking hurt, spreading now up her legs and she could feel something inside her writhing around, grinding against the bones of her ribcage and hips. Her stomach bloated, filled out, and the arm she was supporting herself with gave way and left her sprawled on the grass. She could feel her heart beating in her chest, but the rhythm was off, heavy and erratic and not the steady beat she had taken for granted all her life.

And then Gwen was there, leaning down to look at her, her long pale hair curtaining her face. The raven was there, making a low chuckle in its throat, and Taffy, too, twining around Gwen’s legs.

Cheryl found she couldn’t look Gwen in the face, so she focused on the raven instead. “You—this—this isn’t what I fucking wanted! I did exactly what you, you asked for! I killed my brother for you!”

“And ate him, too,” Taffy said mildly. “But that doesn’t trouble your conscience none, does it?” And it grinned the smug cat grin again.

There was a succession of cracks and her ribs gave way, chest collapsing as the support went. Cheryl found she didn’t even have the breath to scream, though she wanted to, more than she’d ever wanted anything. Her vision blurred, went dark around the edges. Please, let me pass right the fuck out. Please.

Gwen reached out, put a hand on the concave slope of her chest. She was smiling. If there was any pressure from the dead girl’s hand, Cheryl couldn’t feel it over the pain. She noticed for the first time that even now, five months dead, Gwen still smelled like the puke that had killed her.

Cheryl twisted as her spine popped, bent her backwards. “Please, Gwen—I didn’t mean it, I’m sorry, I’m sorry--“

But it was the raven who answered her. “Gwen’s not kindly disposed toward you these days.”

It was getting harder to breathe. Lying the way she was, Cheryl could see the feelers extending from the split edges of her skin, over a foot long now and squirming across the grass. She reached out and grabbed one and yanked on it, trying to tear it out. It was soft, and stretched under the pressure. She felt it pull hard at something deep inside her leg, and the pain came on like a flash of summer lightning. She dropped it with a cry, and it snaked away from her.

“This isn’t what I wanted! I wanted to be a werewolf, you assfucking shit!” she howled.

The raven rustled its feathers, settling back on Gwen’s shoulder. “As I recall,” it said, “you asked to be a monster. I think you’ll find, child, that there are many kinds of monster in the world.”

Gwen’s eyes flicked away from her, to something behind Cheryl’s head. Cheryl let her head fall back to follow her gaze, tried to ignore the fact that her neck shouldn’t be able to crane that way.

On the porch of the funeral home, a small group of people had gathered. The men wore suits, the women dresses and skirts in somber colors. One small girl with honey-colored pigtails clutched her mother’s arm. Their cars lined the driveway by the cemetery entrance, parked in neat rows.

They were, all of them, staring out into the cemetery at the twisted, twitching thing on the grass, wide-eyed and with the blood drained from their faces.

To Be A Monster pt. 3 (written by Jezzy Wolfe)

2009-09-03T16:26:00.000-07:00

"Mffmmm," Billy mumbled. He squirmed under the covers like a caterpillar in a cocoon.

"Come on, you grunt, get up!" She dodged a comic book that catapulted at her head. It bounced off the door jamb and landed at her feet. A hunched werewolf graced its cover. "I'll drag your ass if I have to."

Billy sat up on one elbow, squinting at her. "Have you been smoking crack? I ain't goin' anywhere with you. Mom and Dad will kill us and I ain't got no death wish. Leave me alone." He fell back on the mattress and pulled a pillow over his face.

Cheryl considered holding the pillow down.

No, that freaky-ass bird wants me to bring Billy to the graveyard. Fuckin’ A! She leaned against the doorway, racking her brain. What could she use to lure Billy out of the house? The damn kid didn't care about anything except baseball, comic books, and the stupid cat.

Taffy.

She tiptoed through the hall to her parents' room, though the surround sound buzz of snores covered her footsteps. Taffy usually slept on her Mom's feet. Lucky for her, both parents slept under the influence of Ambien. She peeked in the room.

Sure enough, there on her mother’s feet like a spewed hairball lay Taffy. The cat's yellow eyes opened slightly, revealing yellow slits that locked in on her. As she approached the foot of the bed, it flattened its ears and a low growl replaced its purr.

"Here, kitty kitty," Cheryl crooned.

Taffy whined and hissed. As she reached for the fat fur ball, it screeched and bolted from the bed, shooting out of the room so fast it threw her off balance. She barely avoided falling on her mom's legs. Punching the air in lieu of a frustrated scream, she trailed the beast through the house.

"Damn cat, where the hell are you?" She sang softly as she searched under the couch in the living room, Taffy's favorite place to hide. "I'm not gonna hurt you."

A smelly breeze whizzed by her head. She stood too quickly and tripped over the coffee table. "Okay, so let me re-phrase that...I won't kill you." She perched on the couch and waited. Taffy would inevitably pass her again, and when she did...

A bundle of fur rounded the corner of the sofa and zoomed past, but Cheryl's lightening fast reflexes went into action. She snagged the cat by its tail, wrestling it into submission, despite its flailing claws. A few scratches were not gonna stand between her and her ultimate goal. Once she transformed, Taffy would be nothing more than a snack.

But for now, Taffy's fate was merely a night outdoors. She opened the front door and dumped the cat on the porch. They stared each other down until Taffy relented, hunched her back, hissed dramatically, and stalked off the steps. The bait was set.

Billy slept with the pillow still covering his head. Cheryl toyed again with the notion of smothering his pesky ass, but aside from the raven's explicit demands, she didn't relish the idea of carrying his dead weight to the graveyard. She pulled the pillow off his face and shook his shoulder.

"Wake up Billy, it’s an emergency! Taffy got out of the house. I need to get her inside, but she won't come to me."

"That's cause you're so mean to her." Billy pulled the comforter over his head.

Cheryl sighed, growing impatient as she tugged it back down. "Yeah, I know. But I'm worried about her. I saw a raccoon out there earlier. She could get hurt."

Billy shot up immediately, springing out of bed. He grabbed a baseball bat and shoved his feet into his sneakers. "Raccoons have rabies!"

"I know!" Cheryl smiled, but when Billy met her gaze she drew her eyebrows together and rung her hands. "I hope we find her in time!"

"Well, come on, slowpoke!" He didn't bother to grab a jacket. Instead, he bolted out the front door before Cheryl made it through the living room.

***

"She's over here, Billy!" Cheryl led her brother away from the house, towards the cemetery. She waved wildly as he crawled from under a bush. He was so intent on rescuing Taffy that he didn't notice where they were until she coerced him through the iron gates.

He stopped in his tracks as she beckoned him from inside the entrance. "Are you sure? I don't know about this—it’s trespassing."

"So?"

"We'll get in big trouble."

"Then blame Taffy! But if she get’s away again…" Cheryl said dramatically. “Did you know if a cat gets bitten by a rabid raccoon, they shoot it on sight? They don’t even check it first.”

So gullible. His big eyes watered and he wiped his nose on his blue flannel pajama sleeve. She almost felt sorry for him right then.

Don’t you want to be a werewolf? Anything worth having is worth the sacrifice. She pulled her shoulders back and recovered her determination. He was, after all, her payment. Soon I will be unstoppable!

“I think I hear her. Follow me,” she said. Retreating to the shadows, she listened for the sound of Billy's sneakers close behind as he crushed fallen leaves and twigs in his pursuit. "Come quick, Billy! I got her cornered!"

Cheryl sat in front of Gwen’s grave as Billy emerged from the trees. He froze.

"Look what I found." Patting the ground beside her, she said, "Have a seat, little brother. Wanna see Gwen?"

"Gwen's dead, you idiot," he snapped. Suddenly his skin drained and his eyes widened. Pointing to something over her shoulder, he whispered, "What's th-that?"

She glanced behind her, and saw the raven perched on Gwen's tombstone. "Just a bird." She shrugged.

"It's creepy. Make it go away."

"Don't be a baby, Billy. It's harmless. More afraid of you than you are of it." She swatted her hand at the raven, but the damn thing snapped at her finger. “Hey! What’s the big idea?”

"Now now, my dear, this is not the time for games. You are almost ready for your induction. Bring him closer so the ceremony may commence." Its eyes glowed red as it rustled its wings impatiently.

"Shh!" Cheryl hissed. "Are you crazy? Don't tell him that! He'll run away!"

"Who the hell are you talking to?" Billy clenched the bat with both hands, taking one step in her direction. His eyes were twice their normal size and she could see the bat trembling across his shoulder.

"He cannot hear me, dear. I was summoned here at your bidding. By your desire do I orchestrate, and only your ears are tuned to the correct frequency."

“Uh, hate to break this to you, Bird Brain, but I didn’t summon you.”

“Indeed? And what of the blood you shed? Such powerful lust is hard to misinterpret.”

“But that’s not why I killed Gwen!”

“You killed Gwen?!” Billy’s voice was a prepubescent squeak. “I’m telling Mom! You’re gonna be in so much trouble!”

“Billy, wait!” Cheryl jumped to her feet as he stumbled back.

He swung the bat twice, so fast it hummed. “You’re crazy! Stay away from me!”

“It is time,” the raven called. “You know what to do now.”

Billy bolted, disappearing into the shadows, forcing Cheryl to give chase. A sharp stabbing pain lanced her chest as she charged after him. I really need to start exercising, she mused. The air thickened as her hands closed over his shoulders. So thin and fragile in her palms, like the wishbone on a Thanksgiving turkey.

I could rip him in half.

She pulled him against her chest and wrestled the bat from his grip. He screamed as he struggled against her.

“Shut up, you little asshole! Someone might hear you!”

“Good! Poli-”

She clamped her hand over his mouth. Leaning close to his ear, she whispered, “Calm down and listen, will you?” He stopped squirming and she uncovered his mouth. “ I didn’t kill Gwen.”

“But you said…”

“You take everything so literally! Damn, lighten up already!” She loosened her hold and he shrugged out of her arms. “You need to relax,” she snapped.

“You need to get your head checked, you psycho!” He lunged for the bat.

“Uh-uh, tough guy. I don’t think so.” Cheryl rested the bat on her shoulder. “It's not polite to hit your sister.”

“It’s not polite to kill your cousin!"

Billy turned to run, but this time Cheryl anticipated his move. She snagged his elastic waistband and he toppled over as his flannel bottoms wrapped around his knees, pulling her off balance. The ground shifted and lurched, and she fell, losing hold of the bat.

She was stronger and bigger and could easily overpower her brother, but he was faster.

The raven’s voice cut through the trees, chanting the familiar verse with lilting rhythm:

“Blood, it calls for blood.
Through thick, through thin
The Centuries’ crawl begins…”

***

Warmth woke her. Not just any warmth, but the delicious sensation of laying directly in the sunlight naked. Cheryl moaned, stretching lazily, and relaxed. She cracked open her eyes.

Her bedroom ceiling had been replaced by a crisp blue sky. The glaring light stung her eyes. Shielding them with the back of her hand, she pushed up on one elbow. She was laying in thick manicured grass. Limestone and marble markers all but glowed in the daylight, jutting out of the ground around her at displaced angles. Rusty burgundy smudges painted many of the tombstones, trailing drips pooled in the grooved letters. A rotting metallic odor assaulted her nostrils, forcing her stomach to flip-flop with nausea. I think I’m gonna be sick.

She sat up and winced as a sharp pain squeezed her skull. Her arms and legs protested with throbbing aches. Eyes clenched tight, she sat still until everything quit spinning. God, I feel like I died. What the fuck happened? Looking down, she realized she was completely naked.

And covered in blood.

She yelped and searched the ground around her, but her clothes were gone. Breathing deep to fight down the vomit bubbling in her throat, she crawled on all fours. Encountering strangers while she ran around a cemetery bloody and naked was not an idea she particularly relished. Mercifully, the cemetery appeared deserted.

In her disoriented and queasy condition, she didn’t realize she was clutching something in her hand until she pulled herself up against a granite cross.

It was a scrap of bloodied blue flannel.

To Be A Monster pt 2 (written by Zombie Zak!)

2009-08-17T10:21:00.000-07:00

Was it digging? Or scratching? Or was it something else slyly creeping through the brush? Or maybe it was something overhead?

Cheryl was unsure, but the night was so rife with potential for opportunity and change that she figured she had to find out. Besides, it could be somebody spoiling her cousin's rest; and that would not be cool.

"Blood, it calls for blood.
Through thick, through thin
The Centuries' crawl begins."

It was softly spoken, simple in tone and tenor. She heard it clear but at the same time, thought just as easily that it could have been the wind. It made no sense. Why would anyone be out here other than Cheryl and Gwen? This was their special place.

She thought it came from over there; but then, a second later, it was over here. She couldn't see anything clearly within the woods, the wan glow of the moon hidden by the overhead canopy. The faint shimmer of a distant light left on in the chapel was cold solace in the deep absence of contact within these dreary woods.

"Blood, it craves the blood.
Renewal, rejoice, resurgence
As the red rain begins again."

"Fuck me running; where are you? What are you trying to do here? Get yourself whooped? I'll do it; just try me! I ain't afraid of you, you ignorant piss-ant! I'm a monster and I'll rip open your chest and feed on the bits inside! Show yourself." Cheryl didn't yell; it was obviously unnecessary, but the need to speak forcefully was very compelling.

"Blood, it is drawn to the blood.
By birth, by death, in this life
And beyond the veil it crawls."

For a brief moment, she glanced back at Gwen's resting place. No sign of movement, not a blade of grass out of place; but she needed to be sure. She had to know that Gwen was still safely nestled in her bed of dirt, neither waking nor moving about, nor sharing this night with her. Moreover, she had to know that it wasn't Gwen who was the one talking right now. And if it was Gwen who was unlimbering with the lyric content, what would Cheryl think she’d do? She gave it a brief thought and marked it as unknown.

"Blood, as it flows from the living
To the labored lands below the moon
We flock to this moment, Morrigan's Boon."

Morrigan? What?

Her History teacher, Mr. Mondrose, liked to throw out drivel like that every now and then; was that it, some anime type character goddess of something or other? Wasn't she something to do with those fallen in battle and their lots cast in life? Maybe it was he who was out there with all this weird rhyming crap? Cheryl wasn't sure, but she didn't want to wait for long to find out what kind of perverted old fart he was.

"Blood, we feed upon the spoils of battle
These wicked souls we predate upon
And birth of the monsters we drum on."

Monsters? Now that sounded more interesting.

"I'm curious. You had me at monsters. Please tell me what's going on. I don't understand; but I would like to." She looked calmly through the trees and the underbrush, trying to find a source for the voice and the quiet commotion.

"Blood, thick as tar and filled with bite;
Simple tricks this creature for this night.
Stay far, far, far from the blind light."

"OK, I'm all for the weird and wacky what the fuck thing you've got going on right now, but for the life of me, I can't understand a word you're saying! All this poetic sing songy stuff is making my head hurt. Could you just talk in plain English? Would that be so hard?"

"Blood, in time, the die will be cast,
The bones rolled and the deal struck,
By evening's end, the light will be aghast."

"You should know, I've always hated Shakespeare and all the rest of that crap that they make you lap up in high school! It's a crock of craptacularness, is what it is. So, lallalalalalalal, I can't hear you …" Cheryl moved closer to her cousin; the close familiarity of family soothed her taut nerves in this unfamiliar game of cat and mouse.

"There is no end, but in the beginning, one wonders what will be after this cast has been put upon us." The voice came from a very specific source, she could tell. It was above her, and to the left. There; on the branch, there was a raven. She could see it, clear, precise, outlined by the splatter of moon glow through a break in the trees. It cawed once to mark its point.

"Can you feel the pall, child? Can you feel how it pulls at the strings that you call your life? Can you feel how it digs into you and rips apart those simple things that you once called happiness? Can you see the dark, crawling monstrous manifestation sliding beneath the soil of your time? The terror, oh how it must eat you up."

"Terror? What are you talking about? And besides, you're a bird, what do you know about anything except pecking?" Cheryl stood cautiously eyeing the creature that had manifested itself in this grotesque manner. Barely keeping a grip on her nerves she waited for the next thing that it might have to say. It was a freaking talking bird, and worse, it was talking to her. This was bad, really bad.

"Child, I know many things; I am many things. I am the wind, I am the dust. I know of the secret things that children harbor like lust beneath their breast. These secrets are like pages from a book, for I; and I read them with avarice. Would you like to know the story that your life reads?" The raven swiveled its eye to regard young Cheryl closely.

"No. As a matter of fact, I just want you to go away and leave us alone." She looked around for a rock, anything that she might be able to throw at this obnoxious bird.

"Soon enough child …"

"And stop calling me that!"

"Indeed, very well. Soon enough, my dear, you will leave this place. But there is going to be a price. The question thereupon, will be will you pay it? You've come so close to the truth, but do you have the strength to go all the way to find its conclusion? Will you be willing to take the next step to becoming what you want to be?"

"I'm all a-twitter, waiting for the punch line, here. My expectations are all tingly and full of moistness."

"Hahaha; sarcasm, chi.., dear. I am amused; this is good. Now, what is it that you want most?"

Cheryl thought about it for a second. She knew what she wanted; she knew that it consumed her with a passion that would strike others with cold dread. But what she didn't know was what admitting it to this creature would do. Alone, in the night, with Gwen and this bird that couldn't be a bird, amongst the trees, with the moon shining balefully bright. What the hell …

"I want to be a monster. I want Gwen to be proud of me. I want to shake up the establishment and make a mark that no one will forget."

"Very nice, younger one; very nice. I believe I can work with that."

"Hunh?"

"Well, I see that you've already taken the first step. You have committed to the womb of Earth, the sacrifice of both blood and love; of someone dear to you. Are you ready to take the next step?"

"Uh, yeah; sure, I guess." Cheryl tripped over her words, trying to stay connected to what was going on.

"Excellent. Do you still hold a measure of her spirit in your hand?"

"What?"

"Ahh, yes, I see that you do. The tears shed earlier upon remembering your friend will nicely do. Now, just stand over there, yes, yes, by the headstone. And we'll begin." The eyes of the raven began to glow a garish red. It was an odd sort of color, a deep red buried beneath furrows of black; it stood out quite cleanly against the night sky.

"By the pricking of thy brittle bones
By the soundless screech of thy horns
Be they silent or foregone
Be they full of fear or scorn
Know that this here vessel
Becoming born
Is the kindred
I have torn.

From a womb of blood and hate
To this creature I can relate
That no other of this land
Can take this creature by its hand.

And thus, as I have said
A monster you shall be.
This creature all will see,
Your friend, surely Dead."

The night air felt cold and coarse, as the bird's chanting came to an abrupt stop. Cheryl stared at the bird, inquiring with a look that wanted to shout out: "What, that's it?" But she held silent. There was the possibility that this creature would actually be able to help her, and that was a good thing in her book.

"And that would be ..?"

"Done, yes indeed; we are done. Now, there is but the task of my asking my boon, my price, payment for services rendered."

"Uhm, ok. I’m confused. You haven't done anything yet. What price could you be asking for?" Cheryl looked around, down at herself, and found nothing had changed. She felt a drop in her gut with the thought that she was being played for a fool.

"Too true. But you have yet to agree upon the price. How can I give you the benefit of my Gift, if you have yet to agree upon the exchange? We deal fairly here, in the Woods, the Sacred Grove as it were."

"Uhm, alright. So, then, what's the price?"

The Raven paused, cocking its head, "Your brother."

"Oh, fuck, go ahead; you can have him. It's not like I want him anywhere near me. He's a gimp."

"No, dear; not like that. Like Gwen. Here. In the Grove. As you have done your girlish friend, so too, I would like your brother; and not as neat as you had done with her. He needs to be messy, full of angst, angry fearful energy. It needs be wet and scattered bits everywhere. Loud, even. It needs be tonight, before the sun rises."

"Uh, so let me get this straight. You want me to lure my brother back here and splatter him all over the place?" She shifted where she stood, looking carefully into the trees trying to see if anyone else was also about. She decided to play along. Besides, Billy needed a good scare anyways. This would do nicely. And it would be funny.

"Precisely, my dear. Do you think you'll be able to do that?"

"Uh, OK; what the fuck? It's not like I'm getting anything else done tonight."

"Excellent. I will look after your friend here."

Cheryl turned around to head back the way she had come. She paused for a moment, with a brief caress of the stone marker before leaving; making sure that Gwen was resting comfortably. She took the long route, avoiding the possibility of meeting anyone out in the open. It took some time longer than she expected, but she got home without event. Quietly, she snuck into her room, the lights were off and she was sure that her mother was already asleep, conveniently having forgotten about her daughter for the time being.

Without making any noise, she crept to her brother's room and opened the door. In a soft, almost hissing whisper, she asked, "Hey, Billy, do you want to come with me and see Gwen? She's in the woods waiting for us. It'll be like a picnic. Come on, let's go."

To Be A Monster pt. 1 (written by Gregory L. Hall)

2009-08-05T19:07:00.000-07:00

Cheryl always loved monsters. That’s why she didn’t mind it when the giant spider reached down from the ceiling and bit her mother’s head off. Its drool-covered fangs dug deep into the twitching woman’s shoulders and when it pulled, there was a simple clean pop that briefly echoed in the kitchen and down the hall. Her mom spun in circles, neck spewing thick waves of blood as her arms reached for what was no longer there like a man trying to hold his hat on in a wind storm.

Even when the body hit the floor, Cheryl didn’t react much beyond quiet boredom. So her mother was dead now. The bitch was always yak-yak-yakking away as is. Clean up this kitchen. Please go get a job. Where is your head, girl?

Well, it’s not down a mutant spider’s throat, that’s for damn sure, Mom.

Cheryl stirred her tomato soup with her finger. It burned but pain kinda turned Cheryl on. It made her feel alive. She stared back up to the ceiling but the spider was gone now. The teenager wasn’t sure where it came from or how such a hideous creature even existed but that wasn’t her problem. Explaining to the world why her mother’s decapitated body was laying in a blood pond located on a cheap linoleum floor was going to be the issue. Why did these slaughters have to be so goddamn messy all the time?

“Are you listening to me?” that old familiar voice cackled with disdain. “I am your mother! And your father and I are sick and tired of you doing nothing with your life! This is your senior year in high school…if you pass! And you don’t have any friends. Any hobbies. Any ambition. What are you going to do with your life, Cheryl? Certainly not stay here for the rest of your days!”

“I won’t be, Mom,” the detached girl almost said loud enough to be heard. “I think I’m done with my soup.”

Cheryl got up from the dinner table and shuffled out of the kitchen purposefully denying her mother any eye contact. Where was a real giant mutant spider when you needed one?

She crossed through the living room which always smelled of cat piss and Febreze. The cause of both lay on the heavily cushioned chair before her. The fat feline hissed at the sloped shouldered girl making it clear who truly owned the household. While it was common knowledge even to visitors that this was Taffy’s chair, and could only ever be occupied by Taffy, Cheryl thought differently. To her, it was always an opportunity to play her favorite game. Cats in Space.

Cheryl scooped up the round and squishy furball and threw it across the room. It banked against the far wall with a loud thwack and bounced ass first on the floor disproving the rule that cats always land on all fours. Skip a meal or two, you fat fuck, and you might be able to find your feet, Cheryl chuckled to herself.

“Oh my goodness!” the voice cried from the other room. “Was that Taffy that hit the wall? Cheryl! Was that my Ms. Taffy?”

The grinning teenager hit the stairs before Mother could burst into the living room full of confrontation. She heard her mom’s whining voice coddling and cooing comfort to the disgusting orange beast in a way Cheryl had never heard herself even as a child. The cat meowed melodramatically which amped up Mother’s concern. Next time I aim for a window, Cheryl sneered. She slammed her bedroom door to block the soup opera out.

No hobbies. No ambition. Her parents had no clue. Cheryl picked the copy of Necrotic Tissue off her bed and gently filed it with the rest of her horror fiction collection. She flopped down on the old mattress and stared at the night through thin yellow curtains. Forget about imagining monsters around every corner. They weren’t getting her anywhere. The spider didn’t eat mom’s head in the kitchen. The silent serial killer didn’t drive a machete through her math teacher’s torso outside in the parking lot. And Jason Wolter, the most gorgeous guy in school, didn’t get devoured by a pack of chupacabras after gym class. It was all a waste of time.

Cheryl made a crucial decision then and there. She would do anything to become a monster herself.

The Goth kids in her town seemed cool but the whole vampire thing was so overdone. Now it was more about undead prom dates that looked like a Jonas Brother with fangs than it was about true blood draining hell-creatures like in 30 Days of Night. Witches were beyond cliché. Zombies were always awesome but who wanted to be a shambling decaying corpse on purpose?

Werewolves. That was what she wanted to be. Lycanthropic bliss. That way she could have the best of both worlds. An invisible high school nothing during the day. Carnivorous killing machine at night. She could spend her time simply taking names as people shit on her day in and day out. Then as the moon rose, she would hunt them down and ‘correct’ their view of her over a nice meal.

Her bedroom door burst open. “Dude, did you throw Taffy again?”

“Don’t you ever knock?” Cheryl cut at her little brother with monotone angst.

“Mom is on the phone right now with Dad. You are so going to get it when he gets home from his business trip. I mean like ‘grounded for life’ and ‘kicked out of the house’ trouble.”

“I can’t be condemned to both, asshole. Just get out of my room…”

Her brother flipped her the finger and quickly spun around to make his exit before he fell victim to the wicked girl’s next attack. Cheryl hopped up in bed.

“Wait! Billy! Come here for a minute. I actually have a serious question to ask you.” She waved him closer. The boy hesitated, trying to read her intentions and compromised on putting his weight on his back leg in the doorway.

Cheryl smiled. It hurt her face but she did it anyway. “You’re into science and stuff like that. Have you ever heard of a case where someone could actually um, transform into a more animal side of their self?”

“Like rabies?”

“No. Not like being infected and acting crazy. More like growing hair all over their body and getting fangs. Being able to see at night or track down prey with their sense of smell?” Cheryl shrugged in an honest attempt to connect with her younger sibling.

“You mean like a werewolf?” he asked with a crack in his voice.

“More like a were-woman…”

A chuckle escaped Billy’s gapped teeth. “Geez, Cheryl, that’s a whole different kind of animal! I see them all the time down in Mount Vernon! You can go to Sweden and get an operation for that! ‘Werewolf’ means a man who’s a wolf. ‘Were’ meaning ‘man’. So a were-woman would be a man-woman. Is it someone you have a crush on in school?”

“Shut the fuck up, retard!” Cheryl hissed. “Get the fuck out of my room!”

“That’s two of the #1 Bad Word on Mom’s list! You are so in trouble now!” Billy screamed as if to send a direct message downstairs to the matriarch of house law. He saw Cheryl reach for her lamp and he was down the hallway screaming even louder.

Fuck this and yes I said it again, the dark teenager muttered to herself. In seconds her mother would be yelling her name soaked in venom at the bottom of the stairs. It was a dance the family never seemed tired of doing. Well, tonight was different. Cheryl knew her purpose now and when she found out how to achieve it, they all would be sorry. She only had one other stop to make. She had to see her cousin.

She was the only person on earth Cheryl could trust. Gwen was the only person who knew and kept Cheryl’s one big secret.

She grabbed her jacket off the bedpost, climbed out the window and was gone.

***

The night was colder than Cheryl expected. October chewed through her clothing as the full moon threw a frigid spotlight on her. But this was the only place Gwen would meet her. Cheryl found her cousin was even colder than their surroundings.

“Look, I’m sorry about coming out here so late. I’m sorry about a lot of things.” Cheryl’s chin dropped to her chest. “We don’t talk near as much as we used to. I guess that’s my fault.”

Gwen said nothing.

“We used to have good times, remember? Getting high out behind your dad’s shed or stealing my mom’s booze from her liquor cabinet? We shoplifted a lot of great stuff from the Mall. Snuck into the movies all the time…” Cheryl hoped her only friend would laugh or at least smile but she was left talking to herself. “I know. You really didn’t want to do most of those things but you did them for me. I guess I’ve always been a bad influence.”

Cheryl broke from Gwen’s masked emotions and stared off at the surrounding trees. They looked like lanky eavesdroppers eager to hear her confessions.

Vulnerable tears welled up as she kicked the dirt at her feet. “Please don’t hate me anymore, okay? Just say something. Anything. We were soul mates, Gwen. We were. Want to know a secret? An embarrassing one? I know you’ll keep it because that’s one promise you’d never break, no matter how much we’ve drifted apart. You’re still the only person I’ve ever kissed. You know, romantically. That’s pretty sad isn’t it? I’m a high school senior and I’ve only ever made out with my cousin, who just happens to be a girl as if I wasn’t pitiful enough.”

Gwen was like a stone.

“I’m such a loser. No offense to you.” Cheryl felt the blood rush into her cheeks and the sweat pool in her palms. “Look, the reason I came here is because I need advice and you’ve always listened to me and you may be the only person who can give me the answers I need. Okay, I’m just going to say it. I want to be a monster. Don’t laugh…”

Cheryl sucked the air deep into her lungs to compose herself in front of her cousin’s ridicule. “I’m a nobody. I want to change that! And I know you already think I’m a monster but I mean being a real one. But it’s okay. I understand. I just figured with where you are now, you’d be able to help me.”

The young girl pulled her jacket tighter and stared down at the tombstone. “I’m sorry I killed you. I really am. Thank you for never telling anyone it was me.”

As she turned from her cousin’s grave, a faint sound caught her ears. The sound of someone digging.

They Aren't Funny pt. 5

2009-06-24T22:56:00.000-07:00

Randy’s heart hammered in his chest, threatening to burst out. The knuckles of his right hand were bloodless and white as he clutched the tent stake in a death grip. Tents streamed by, one after another, looking so much alike he wasn’t sure if he was actually running or perhaps caught in an endless loop of film. Now he could hear the pounding of Ticket’s oversized shoes thumping down in the grass behind him and the light jingle of the small silver bells attached to the frilled collar on his billowing white jumpsuit with the fuzzy red balls.

“Come on Randy, wait up. You know I can’t run as fast as you.” It was Binks’ voice. Binks! Randy’s heart fluttered and he slowed. Binks is gone, an inner voice told him, and unless you want to join him in whatever horrible world they took him to, you have to run. You have to run now! The jingling of bells and thumping of long heavy shoes intensified. In Randy’s mind, he could see Ticket closing in on him. Ticket with his black sharks’ eyes set deep in the red triangles painted on his white face- his way too many teeth, needle sharp and clicking together- his white gloved hand reaching out for him.

Randy jumped forward in a burst of speed and felt something just touch the collar of his tee shirt. “Oh you little whelp,” Ticket cried. “Do you really think you can out run me in my world? Do you even think I have been trying to catch you?” Ticket let out a shrill, cackling laugh that made Randy’s veins clog with ice. “Once I catch you, which I will, I have some friends that will just looove to play with you, and if they get a little rough, or maybe I should say when they get rough, your new mother will be right there to comfort you in her own special way.”

Randy thought of goat woman, her rectangular pupils and four sagging breasts. The strength began to leave his legs as he watched her pull him into her embrace while snake boy and the world's fattest man looked on with greedy, hungry eyes. From behind him, almost in his ear, Ticket laughed again, and Randy knew he wasn’t going to make it. He also knew he would rather die than be trapped in this insane world with lunatic clowns and mutant freaks.

Randy gripped the sixteen inch tent stake with both hands and pointed it toward his chest. He could feel Ticket’s hot, stinking breath on the back of his neck. Squeezing his eyes shut, he planted both feet and came to a skidding stop. At the same instant, he removed the point of the stake from his chest and slipped it under his arm. Still holding onto it with both hands, he pushed it back.

Unable to stop in time, Ticket slammed into Randy and screamed as the stake drove into his body. Randy, thrown forward from the impact, hit the ground, and then rolled to his feet. He looked back at Ticket who lay writhing on the ground, pulling at the stake and snarling like an animal caught in a trap. Blood ran from his mouth in dark streams, turning his white beard the same black Randy had seen it at the ticket booth. Blood ran over the frilled collar, dripping off the small silver bells, and staining the front of his white clown’s jumpsuit. Then, Ticket let out a long gurgling howl, rolled over and went still.

A contrasting silence followed, broken only by the snap and pop of tent flaps pushed by the unnatural wind. Randy took a step back from the imminent decay he knew was coming, but it didn’t come. Ticket continued to lay face down in the grass, one blood soaked hand sprawled in front of him, the other tucked under his chest, but his body remained intact.

Randy remained motionless. He knew he had killed him; no one could have survived a sixteen inch steal stake going through their body. Could they? Randy could even see the point of the stake trying to push through the back of Ticket’s jumpsuit. But when he had killed the other clowns, they had dissolved like melting snow. Randy took a step forward. He had to know, had to be sure.

Keeping his eye on Ticket’s body, Randy went to the closest tent stake, kicked it loose, and pulled it from the ground. He walked to Ticket’s prone body and stopped. He reached down again and felt Binks’ shoe dangling from his belt loop. Tears stung his eyes and he raised the stake with both hands. “This is for Binks you son of a bit-” But before Randy could bring the stake down, Ticket’s bloody hand shot out and gripped his left ankle.

Randy watched in horror as Ticket twisted his head to look up at him. “I’ll be waiting for you Randy- waiting in your closet, waiting under your bed... waiting in your dreams.” He smiled his way too many teeth smile at Randy and began to laugh.

“No!” Randy screamed and brought down the stake with all of his strength. The point of the stake entered Ticket’s black, shark’s eye and pushed out through the other side of his head, pinning him to the ground. His mouth froze open in a silent scream, thin white lips pulled back, exposing blood stained teeth. Small tendrils of smoke began drifting up from his gaping mouth and ruined eye. The coned shaped hat finally let loose and rolled to the grass, taking a rotting flap of skin with it.

Randy felt his head start to spin and a loud buzzing filled his ears. He pulled his ankle from Ticket’s dead hand and stumbled backwards, tripping over his own feet and landing on his back. Watching the star filled sky spiraling above him, the sound of far off circus music whispered in his ear as he slid helplessly into the dark world of unconsciousness.

***

“Hey, are you all right?” Randy’s eye’s fluttered, then opened. The voice sounded distant, but familiar. He looked up into the face of a woman bending over him. His vision cleared and he recognized her as Mrs. Bitterman.

“What happened?” He heard another voice ask. He looked around and could see a crowd of people gathering around him.

“I’m not sure,” Mrs. Bitterman said, “He just came running out from those tents and nearly knocked me down.” Mrs. Bitterman pointed toward the line of tents separating the midway from the open field beyond. She looked back down at Randy and put a hand on his arm. “Aren’t you Randy McCombs, Helen and Paul’s boy?” Randy nodded his head dully. He felt disoriented. Blurry images of clowns running between endless rows of tents drifted through his mind. A dream. He had had a horrible dream. Mrs. Bitterman looked around. “Weren’t you here with Mark Binkus?” Something about Binks’ shoe flickered across Randy’s vision. Suddenly the fog cleared and he sat up. He looked down at his waist and felt relief wash over him. There was nothing tied to his belt loop, which meant it really was a dream, which meant-

“Excuse me.” The pink haired lady from the cotton candy stand pushed through the crowd. “I think he may have lost a shoe.” She handed Mrs. Bitterman a red Converse All-star. Mrs. Bitterman took the shoe and looked down at Randy’s feet.

“Well, it must not be his. He’s got both his shoes on.” Then Mrs. Bitterman frowned and pulled up Randy’s left pants leg exposing a white sock soaked with blood. “Oh my. What happened to your ankle Randy?”

“Noooo,” Randy groaned. He felt his head start to spin again and grabbed Mrs. Bitterman’s arm. Startled, Mrs. Bitterman instinctively tried to pull back, but Randy’s desperation didn’t allow it. “Please don’t let me pass out Mrs. Bitterman. Please, don’t let me pass out.” Even as Randy said this, his eyes rolled back in his head and from the deep reaches of his mind, the sound of small silver bells drew closer.

The End

They Aren't Funny pt. 4

2009-06-07T11:57:00.000-07:00

“Randy, help.” It was Binks' voice coming from outside. Randy pushed aside the flap and ran into the grass between the seemingly endless rows of tents. “Randy, hel-” Randy looked to his left and felt his throat tighten to a point of making the simple act of drawing breath almost impossible. He tried to yell for Binks, but only a small unintelligible squeak escaped his throat. Ten yards in front of him, Ticket towered over Binks' struggling form.

The red ball on top of Ticket's cone bobbed gleefully. His white braided beard hung just above Binks' head, the red ribbon perched on the end as if a mutated butterfly had landed there and then died from the poisons oozing from the course hair. His thin white lips bulged and stretched as if they fought to contain the needle sharp teeth residing behind them. He had one gloved hand covering Binks' mouth while wrenching Binks' arm behind his back with the other. Even in the fading light of the sun's final moments of the day, Randy could see with perfect clarity huge tears running down Binks' cheeks until they were absorbed in the cotton fabric of Ticket's glove. A large dark stain grew in the crotch of Binks' jeans.

“Oh oh, I think Binky just went tinky in his pants,” Ticket said, smiling his way too many teeth smile. Beside him, Butcher and Baker reared their heads back with evil laughter.

“Ah... ah,” Randy croaked. He tried to move toward Binks, but it was as if the grass had reached up and spun itself around his feet, planting him fast to the ground.

“Listen to him, he sounds like the goat bitch,” Butcher said.

“Maybe she's his mother,” Baker replied. With that, they both rolled with laughter again.

Randy wheezed as he tried to suck in air through his constricted throat. It's like a nightmare Randy thought. That's right, this is a nightmare. Right now, I'm sleeping in my bed dreaming all of this, and all I have to do is wake up and this will all be over. I will be fine, Binks will be fine, now wake up. Wake up! Only he didn't wake up. He only stood there, planted to the ground while Butcher and Baker stepped into a tent and pulled its flaps back while Ticket drug Binks into its black gaping mouth.

Randy felt his stomach roll and thought he might puke as he listened to the haunted thumping sounds Binks' feet made on the ground and the muffled cries from behind Ticket's white glove. The moment before they disappeared into the tent Ticket looked back at Randy, gave him a big wink and bowed. The red triangle around his black eye- the shark's eye- compressed, then relaxed. His cone shaped hat with the fuzzy red ball, stayed magically in place and his greasy white beard hung from his face like a dead albino snake. Randy looked on through tears of his own, while the horrible memory of Binks' red sneaker popping off one kicking foot burned into his mind forever. Then they were gone.

Randy heard a loud honk from inside the tent and whatever had been holding him in place released allowing his throat to relax. He fell to the ground, sucking in huge gulps of air. He looked up, saw Binks' sneaker resting in the grass and scrambled to his feet. He ran to the tent, ripped back the flap, and looked inside. The tent was empty. Randy put his hands on his knees and let out a stream of cotton candy colored vomit. He wiped his mouth with the back of one hand, and then reached down, picked up Binks' shoe and hugged it against his chest. He ran a finger over the grass stains on the white rubber toe and felt a large lump forming in his throat.

Before the lump could mature into sobs, the sound of small engine starting and backfiring erupted from behind him. Randy's eyes widened and he felt a surge of energy rush through his body. He quickly tied the shoe to a belt loop on his jeans and ran toward the twinkling lights of the midway. The light in the tent with the goat woman was gone, or at least Randy thought it was. With so many tents all looking the same, he wasn't even sure what tent it had been now. Lights flashed on his back, causing his shadow to suddenly appear, running in front of him, urging him on. He could hear laughter and yells from behind him and the incessant roar of the small engine.

Randy felt Binks' shoe slapping against his thigh, and with each stride, with each smack of the shoe, Randy's fear began to turn. Turn to a sense of loss, turn to a sense of being wronged, turn to anger... turn to rage. Sensing as well as hearing the car closing in, Randy turned between two tents on the right, turned again, and backtracked down another row. He stopped close to the edge of a tent and watched. Sweat ran down his face and back, his chest rose and fell with heavy breaths. He saw the small white car with the flapping ear doors and bug eyed hood roar past. He had time to see two of the clowns were riding on the car's top, but couldn't tell who they were.

“There, there. He ran down there.” Randy recognized the voice. Listen to him, he sounds like the goat bitch. It was Butcher's voice, Randy was sure of it. He heard the car skidding in the grass, and then accelerating again. He looked down at one of the tent's long tie down ropes looped to a steel stake. He grabbed the rope with both hands, and then putting his weight into it, pulled it free. He darted behind the tent and stuck his head out in time to see the car about to go past his row.

“Help,” Randy yelled, ducking behind the tent.

“Down there. Go, go!” The Baker's voice.

The car accelerated while Butcher and Baker screamed gleefully as they raced down the row. Randy watched the lights bouncing up and down in the grass as it approached. Reaching down, he rubbed his hand over Binks' shoe and gritted his teeth. The instant before the car went past, Randy darted across the row, holding the rope as high as he could. When it pulled taunt, he spun around, leaned back, and held the rope loop with both hands. Butcher and Baker barely registered the rope's existence before it caught them both across the throat. Randy heard the satisfying sound of snapping bones just before he was jerked from the ground by the weight of their bodies being pulled off the car. They all three landed in basically the same spot. Butcher's body lay stomach down, but his face looked up at the darkening sky. Baker lay crumpled next to him with his head at an equally ridiculous angle.

Randy heard the car slide to a stop twenty yards ahead of him and he pushed himself up. His hands felt like they were on fire and he thought he may have broken the little finger on his left hand, but the pain felt... well, somehow good. Like the time he nearly broke his ankle in last year's summer little league championship when he dove to catch a fly ball that would have allowed Coates Crew to win the game. It hurt like heck, but the sweet feeling of victory dulled the pain into a sort of personal trophy. 'No pain no gain' his coach would always tell them.

He looked at the car. The back window was too dark to see in, but he could hear the snarling voice of Ticket yelling at Baldo to turn around. The corner of Randy's mouth twitched in a small yet triumphant smile. He glanced back down and took a step back, repulsed. Butcher and Baker's bodies were in the process of rotting away.

Skin melted and slid off bone in wet bubbling splats. The tall white hat fell from Baker's disintegrating skull, wobbling to a stop by the wooden rolling pin. The whole scene reminded Randy of a nature show he had seen on TV where the body of a water buffalo seemed to simply melt away because of some kind of trick photography. The foul stench of death filled Randy's nostrils and he put a hand to his nose. He was about to turn when he bumped into to something... someone.

“Got ya!” Randy felt a long cylindrical object press against his throat and smelled a rancid mix of paraffin, urine, and sour whiskey. He threw his hands up in an attempt to free himself, but the pressure of the candlestick threatened to crush his windpipe. “Oh you might as well stop struggling sweat meat. You've just earned yourself a front row ticket to your own execution. Ticket... get it?” Candlestick threw his head back and laughed, the red ball hanging from his pointed sleeping cap bouncing merrily.

Randy gasped for air, clawing at the candlestick and the gloved hands holding it. Candlestick jerked back on his two foot wax rod, forcing Randy's head up. “Maybe the ol' run down gag will get you to quit squirming,” Candlestick said, pushing Randy in front of him as far as his arms would stretch. Baldo managed to get the car turned around and pointed at Randy. The engine revved, causing the small car to rock on its equally small frame. Randy could see Ticket and Baldo grinning at him through the windshield. Ticket brought his hand down in a chopping motion, pointing at Randy as if to say 'hit it James'. Baldo stomped on the gas, sending the car lurching forward. Dirt and grass flew from the tires. Randy felt Candlestick's arms tense and he knew was preparing to throw him in front of the speeding car. The car's once comical bug eyes now resembled the same black, shark's eyes planted deep in Ticket's head.

Randy reached down, untied Binks' shoe from his belt loop, and wrapped his fingers around the strings. Using all his strength, he brought the shoe up and over his head. The toe of the shoe hit Candlestick squarely in the left eye, and even over the roar of the car's motor, Randy could hear the sickening popping sound Candlestick's eye made when it ruptured.

Candlestick screamed in pain, and Randy felt the wax rod on his neck loosen. Letting go of the shoe, he grabbed the wax rod with both hands and spun around. Candlestick, blind in one eye and reeling with pain, stumbled forward while Randy ducked under the rod and fell back. Baldo tried to swerve, but it was too late. Randy heard a loud metallic bang as Candlestick's head hit the hood of the car before he was pulled underneath in a crunching tangle of arms and legs. The car jerked in Randy's direction and he rolled to his left, barely avoiding the tires. It continued past and into the side of next tent, forcing the canvas to first billow upward in a mushroom shape before collapsing around the car.

Randy jumped to his feet and picked up Binks' shoe lying beside the dissolving body of Candlestick. He quickly tied it to his belt loop again, then as an afterthought, reached down and grabbed the tent stake that had been knocked loose by the car. He ran past the crumpled tent and saw the thrashing form of Ticket fighting his way out from under the canvas. Putting his head down and pumping his arms, Randy ran as fast as he could toward the distant midway lights. Behind him, he heard Ticket screaming.

"You come back here you little bastard! Oh you will pay for the bad things you've done, oh yes you will.”

They Aren't Funny pt 3

2009-05-13T10:52:00.001-07:00

With most of the people still in the big top, the midway was relatively clear. The young evening sky had a slight pink hue, promising another beautiful sunset. Some of the booths were already closed in preparation for tomorrow's tear down and move on routine, a routine many of the circus workers had known all their lives. The cotton candy booth was still open, drawing a short line of people vying for their last bit of the puffy treat for who knew how long. The lady with the pink hair looked up and waved at Randy and Binks as they walked past.

“Are we going to try to sneak a look at the freaks?” Binks asked, looking at the line of tents now partially hidden in shadows. That was the last thing Randy wanted to do and was happy to see the look of relief on Binks' face when he told him it was getting too late.

“You know I'd like to,” Randy said, “but it's starting to get dark and our parents would kill us if they found out what we've been doing.” Randy looked back at the freak tents. The platform along their entrances stood empty. The tent's openings hung open and dark like the gaping mouths of huge canvas corpses. He felt his heart jump when he saw something moving, slithering, just beyond the loose flap of the tent housing Snake Boy. He was just about to challenge Binks to a race to the exit when Binks yelled out.

“No way! Check it out.” Binks pointed about ten feet in front of them where among the sawdust and crumpled candy wrappers, a fifty dollar bill lay on the ground shuddering restlessly against the wind. Randy looked at Binks with wide eyes then they both looked around, sure the owner of this spectacular find would be right behind them ready to tell them 'Excuse me boys, but I seemed to have dropped something' but no one was even looking their way. The closest person was man, dressed so much like Baldo it was scary, rummaging through a trashcan. If he had had the red face, Randy would have sworn it was actually him.

They started toward the fifty, wanting to run, but afraid that would draw attention. When they were within reaching distance, Randy bent down to pick it up. As he did, a gust of wind rolled down the midway, picking up the fifty and sending it fluttering ahead of them. Now, not caring if they drew attention or not, both boys took off in a full run after the escaping prize.

The wind shifted, blowing across the midway instead of down it. The fifty lifted a foot off the ground and seemed to fly like a magic carpet as it dipped and looped its way between the tents. Completely forgetting about the fact it was getting late and that this distraction might very well get them caught, Randy and Binks found themselves laughing hysterically as they gave chase to what could bring them both happiness... at least for a while.

***

The wind abruptly stopped and the fifty settled to the ground in a seesawing motion. It landed at the corner of a camel colored tent under the angle of a tie down rope stretching out to a steel stake. Their laughing died along with the wind, and Randy found an unexplainable uneasiness creeping into his stomach. They stepped toward the fifty. It lay there unmoving as if it had finally given up the chase and decided to allow its own capture. This time Binks reached down to pick it up. Just before his fingers touched the thin green paper, it jumped away and skittered around the corner of the tent. Binks jerked his hand back and Randy felt his heart leap to his throat.

They looked at each other. “I say if we go around this tent and it isn't just lying right there, we forget it,” Randy said. At the sound of his own voice, Randy became intensely aware of the contrasting quiet surrounding them since the wind had stopped. It was quiet, but not silent. He could still hear canvas rippling and tent flaps snapping, which made no sense if the wind wasn't blowing.

“I'm with you,” Binks whispered back, his voice quavering. Randy didn't know if Binks felt the same sense of unease, but guessed he did.

They stepped cautiously around the tent in almost animated synchronization, subconsciously being careful to make as little noise as possible. Randy found himself wanting to reach out and take Binks' hand, but told himself he was just being stupid. Stupid and scared. He wasn't a baby, he was almost eleven. He took in a deep breath and let it escape his mouth in a slow hiss as they stepped around the steel stake and looked on the other side of the tent.

The fifty lay motionless on top of the ankle deep grass, beckoning them to come and pick it up. They took a step forward, and the bill slid across the grass making a dry scraping sound. Randy's brow creased and he squinted. It couldn't be possible they missed this before, but he could see a thin fishing line tied to the bill, pulling it along the grass. Their eyes followed its progress until it stopped ten yards in front of them. Randy felt his head start to spin and the thudding of his heart threatened to burst his eardrums. The fifty stopped just under the front bumper of the same miniature clown car they had seen roaring around the hippodrome. The car's huge bug eyes stared gleefully back at them, and as Randy watched in utter horror, a white gloved hand attached to a billowing white sleeve with a ruffled cuff, reached from under the car, plucked the fifty from the grass, then slid back out of view.

“Oh shit Randy. Oh shit, shit, shit, shit.”

“Come on Binks, let's go. Let's just turn around and get back to the midway,” Randy said putting a hand on Binks' arm. Randy's dad wasn't one of the most loving dad's on earth and babying Randy was never part of the program. There had been many times Randy had gone to his room with tears in his eyes because his dad never seemed to have time to play with him. His dad would tell him boys didn't have time to play when they should be growing into a man. Sometimes Randy even felt himself having to fight back the urge to resent or maybe even hate him. Today however, all of the toughness his father had forced into him suddenly didn't seem so bad.

***

They slowly turned around, but instead of running, they froze. Randy knew what he was seeing was impossible. It had to be. They had chased the fifty a good bit off the midway, but not this far. He could just make out the lights of the circus twinkling on the horizon against what had turned out to be a blood red sunset. The flags fluttering on the big top were barely visible at what seemed like a mile away. And the tents... there looked to be hundreds, maybe thousands of them between where they stood and midway.

“This can't be real,” Binks breathed.

Randy couldn't answer. His mind fought with his eyes as they sent impossible images to his brain. Suddenly, a figure carrying something that shined in the last rays of the sun darted between two tents twenty yards in front of them. This time, Randy did grab Binks' hand.

Something that sounded like a rubber ball bouncing off the clown car made them both spin around. Nothing was there but the white car with its grotesque red ears. The grass moved and the canvas of the tents rippled against a silent, unfelt wind adding to the surreal atmosphere closing in around them. Randy felt the skeletal hand of terror tickle his spine, wanting to wrap its probing fingers around it and paralyze him with fear. He squeezed his eyes shut. No, please don't let me get scared- don't let me be a baby. Using all his will, he pried at the bony fingers of fear. He felt its grip first loosen, then fall away, but knew it lurked in the inner recess of his mind, waiting... waiting for him to let his guard down, even if only for a second.

“Come on,” Randy said. They turned and ran toward the distant lights. Binks, being the slower of the two, started to drop back and Randy pulled him forward. “You have to stay with me Binks.”

“I'm trying,” Binks said in a shaky voice.

Tents flashed by on both sides of them. Randy caught movement in the corner of his eye and looked to his left. A row over, and easily keeping pace with them, the Baker ran through the grass, ratcheting his rolling pin at them in a hammering motion, his oversized shoes making thumping sounds with each step.

“Randy.” Binks squeezed Randy's hand and nodded to the right where the Butcher jogged along, grinning and slashing his cleaver through the air in sharp arches. The unnatural acoustics allowed Randy to hear the slicing sounds the cleaver made cutting through the air.

“I know, just keep running.” Looking in front of them, Randy suddenly felt hope surge through him. Five tents up, the dim glow of a light spilled from an open flap. “That tent up there with the light.” Binks looked and nodded. “There may be someone in there that can help us.”

“But what if there isn't? What if-”

“We don't have any choice.” Randy let loose of Binks' hand and cut to the right. He prayed he was right as he ran into the tent, but knew instantly this was at least one prayer unanswered. On the far side of the tent, lounging in something like an oversized couch, the goat woman lay stretched out, stroking Baldo's red shiny head. Baldo's head was resting below her flabby arm, and Randy felt his stomach roll when he realized he was suckling on one of her four sagging teats. The Candlestick Maker stood at her other side, grinning at Randy while tickling the underside of her double chin with the wick of his candlestick. She giggled, an 'ah ah ah ah ah' sound like what you would expect from a goat, which caused her chins and the scraggly beard to jiggle. Her rectangular pupils glinted in the flicker of the kerosene lanterns hanging from the wooden poles supporting the tent's canvas top.

Randy reached a hand back to Binks, but felt nothing. “Binks?” Randy turned around. Binks was gone. “Binks!”

They Aren't Funny pt. 2

2009-04-29T21:40:00.000-07:00

“No way,” Binks breathed, pointing toward the center of the big top where several camels were being led around by animal trainers. “People are riding them.”

Randy could hardly believe it, but Binks was right. There were people riding the camels, and they looked like normal people, not circus riders. “I wonder how they got to do that.”

After a moment, Binks pointed to a wooden easel declaring 'Camel Rides. The Best Fifty Cents You Will Ever Spend'. “I thought the freak show was the best fifty cents anyone could spend,” Binks said, rolling his eyes.

Randy laughed. “Well it doesn't matter because we don't have another fifty cents anyway. Come on, let's get closer.”

They worked their way around the crowds of people, skirting some and bumping others earning themselves a 'Hey watch out' and 'Slow down' from some of the adults. Randy and Binks paid no attention; they had much bigger things on their minds.

“Look,” Randy said pointing to several empty front row chairs near the center of the large performing ring. “Can you believe it?” They ran to the seats, nearly knocking a bag of popcorn from the arms of a large woman wearing a white dress with blue flowers.

“You little brats better watch what you're doing,” the large woman yelled after them, regaining her grip on the popcorn. She held the paper bag to her mouth, and using her tongue like an anteater, snagging a fat yellow kernel from the top.

“Sorry,” Randy said over his shoulder, but never slowed. They reached the seats and practically dove into them before anyone else could take advantage of their miracle. To Randy and Binks, finding open front row seats at the circus was like an old prospector finding baseball sized chunk of gold in a mountain stream. Randy couldn't believe how great things were going. He drew in a deep breath, savoring smells some might think offensive. Things just couldn't get any better.

The show soon started and both boys sat mesmerized by the acrobatic feats of the Bambino family and the daring stunts of the high wire and trapeze performers. Randy was glad Binks' mom was wrong about someone falling from the high wire and splattering into the sawdust right before their very eyes, and he couldn't deny the apprehension he felt as the elephants ran around the rings, tails in trunks. The lions and tigers proved to be as exciting as they had hoped and Randy almost closed his eyes when The Great Charlie Bell actually stuck his head in the open mouth of a lion.

“Holy crap! Did you see that?” Binks asked, looking at Randy. His eyes were wide with wonderment, yet painted around the edges with a touch of apprehension.

“Heck yes I saw it. It could have bitten his head off with one bite.” Randy felt his heart thumping with exhilaration. In the rings, the lion tamers cracked their whips and the lions obediently ran into their cages.

“I wonder what's next,” Binks asked as they watched the lion cages being rolled out of the rings while The Great Charlie Bell and his family all bowed to the wild applause of the crowd. As if in answer to his question, a loud bang sounded from one corner of the tent causing them to jump from their seats.

The spotlight flashed on, illuminating a miniature white car with large goggling eyes attached to the hood and flapping red ears mounted to the two side doors. Another bang belched from the tailpipe followed by a puff of thick blue smoke, as the car sputtered and popped its way into the large outer ring the announcer referred to as the hippodrome. The car roared around the hippodrome, circling the performing ring, and kicking sawdust into the air. On its second lap, it whipped into the opening where the lion cages were rolled out and skidded to a stop in the center of the ring. A huge bang, the loudest one yet, threw flames from the tailpipe and received wild yells and cheers from the audience.

Randy and Binks looked at each other and frowned. Neither boy was particularly fond of clowns. Randy's nightmare of the white faced clown doll his aunt gave him for his birthday (why anyone would ever get a boy a clown doll for his birthday Randy never knew) jumping from his closet and chewing his throat out while he slept, still woke him up near screams.

“Ladies and gentlemen...” The announcer's voice boomed through the tent. “Please focus your attention to the center ring so I can introduce you to-” The passenger door to the car flew open and a clown wearing a white paper hat and cloth apron covered with dark red stains, jumped out waving what had to be a rubber meat cleaver, but looked all too real to Randy. “The Butcher...” Another clown jumped out waving a large wooded rolling pin in the air. He wore a white chef's hat, puffy white shirt, and matching pants. “The Baker...” Another clown climbed from the car. This one wore nondescript brown leather pants and old fashion sleeping cap with a pink fuzzy ball hanging from its tip. He stood beside the car and looked to be blowing his large red nose when he magically produced a two foot candle from his right nostril. “The Candlestick Maker.” The crowd roared with approval as the Candlestick Maker swung his candlestick through the air then jabbed it into the back of the Baker.

“Were not done yet folks,” the announcer said.

Randy leaned over to Binks. “There is no way all those clowns can be coming out of that car. It's barely big enough to hold one clown, let alone four.” Binks looked at Randy, but said nothing. Another clown climbed out of the passenger door, at which the other three clowns quickly gave chase, all waving their respective accessories menacingly in the air. This clown's face and bald head were completely covered in red paint giving him the appearance of having just suffered an extensive head wound. His shirt and pants were hobo tattered and hobo worn.

“Waldo Baldoooo,” the announcer said, drawing out the 'o' in Baldo. The clowns ran circles around the car to the laughs, hoots, and hollers of the crowd. Baldo was rounding the front of the car and heading to the back when the driver's door flew open, smashing into him and knocking him to the ground. More cheers and applause erupted from the crowd as yet another clown somehow unfolded himself from the driver's seat. This clown was a good six inches taller than the rest and was suited up in a classic clown white jump suit donning baseball sized red puff balls. Small silver bells dangling from his frilled collar flashed in the glare of the spotlight. His cone shaped hat stayed securely in place as he took a deep bow ending with the puff ball on the tip touching the sawdust covered ground. “And last, but not least, Timmy the Ticket.” Three more spotlights swept in, focusing on Ticket as he stood up. He lifted both hands in the air, shooting out long streams of red paper tickets from his billowing sleeves.

“Hey,” Binks gasped, grabbing Randy's arm. “That's the guy that gave us our entry tickets.” But Randy didn't need Binks to tell him that. He knew from the second Timmy the Ticket emerged from the car. The thick white makeup covering his face and beard, which was now braided into a neat cord sporting a red ribbon tied at the end, did change his appearance, but not so much to fool Randy. Red triangles accentuated Ticket's black eyes and even from fifty feet away, Randy could see the way too many teeth gleaming in the spotlight's beam. He felt Ticket's eyes on him and his stomach tightened as he watched him flashing his cannibal's grin while red tickets floated down around him like confetti. “Randy, did you hear me?”

“Yeah, I heard you.”

“That's the last guy I would expect to be a clown,” Binks said with a growing look of dismay.

In the center ring, the Butcher, Baker, and Candlestick Maker were all giving Baldo a good beating while he rolled around on the ground trying to avoid their blows. Lowering his arms, Ticket turned to the other clowns. He reached up and squeezed the red ball attached to his nose creating an amplified honking sound. At the sound of the honk, all three clowns stopped whacking Baldo and stood at military like attention, resting their props on their shoulders like weapons. Baldo jumped to his feet, swaying and rubbing his back until Ticket slapped him across the face with a white gloved hand, resulting in Baldo straightening to attention with the other three. The crowd bellowed its approval prompting Ticket to take another bow.

Five minutes into the act, Binks leaned over to Randy and said, “They aren't funny.” Randy nodded his head in silent agreement. No, there was nothing funny about these clowns, nothing at all. A juggling act had commenced in front of them. Ticket circled the other four clowns who were juggling bowling pins, occasionally tossing one to their right where the recipient clown deftly caught it and added it to his own.

Ticket stopped in front of Baldo who was looking up, watching his pins. Ticket looked at the crowd, giving them an exaggerated wink, then promptly jabbed Baldo in eyes with a two fingered eye poke. Baldo yelped and threw a hand to his face. Four of the five juggling pins dropped on his head in successive blows at which a cymbal sounded with each hit. Baldo fell over backwards in time for the fifth pin to drop down like a bomb, hitting him square in the crotch. People howled with laughter. Randy felt something like disgust crawl up his throat and wondered how they could find any of this funny. Something else was crawling on him. He didn't know if was fear or something worse, but he did know he wished he had listened to his mom and dad and never set foot at this circus.

Randy and Binks sat through the rest of the clown show enduring among other things, Butcher backhanding Baker in the face with his meat cleaver drawing a spray of blood; Candlestick Maker swinging his candlestick like a baseball bat, drilling Butcher in the back of the head and sending him face first onto the wooden ring; and Ticket nearly running all of them down with the clown car.

Finally, the clowns all disappeared back into the car with supernatural ease, and it sputtered and banged its way out of the big top giving way to the show's intermission. The crowd stood to its feet, screaming and yelling for more. It was as if the clown show turned the crowd into more of a mob than a gathering of friendly spectators. Randy shuddered, thinking of Mr. Peas' history class where Mr. Peas told them how the crowds in the ancient coliseums fell into what he called a 'blood lust' while watching the Christians being disemboweled by lions.

“You ready to go,” Randy said, standing up. The atmosphere in the big top felt thick and dangerous to a point where Randy could almost feel its poisonous air sticking to his skin.

“You know it,” Binks said jumping to his feet. “I don't want to take a chance those stupid clowns will come back out, plus, it's gonna get dark in about an hour and it will take us that long to get home.”

They walked out of the big top, leaving the peanut eating mob to their own devices. A warm breeze had picked up sending empty popcorn bags and napkins tumbling down the midway in front of them. Randy observed his shadow stretching long and dark and felt the prickle of goose bumps crawling up his arms at the thought of being at this circus after dark.

They Aren't Funny pt. 1

2009-04-14T11:00:00.000-07:00

Randy McCombs and Mark Binkus were normally good kids, so sneaking off to the circus when they were supposed to be fishing at Snyder Creek felt like nothing short of international espionage. The Kohl Brothers Circus just finished a show in Wichita Falls last week and announced the next stop on their 1956 world tour would be Ripley Oklahoma, a small town about half way between Oklahoma City and Tulsa where the Cheyenne Short Line made a rail stop. When Randy first heard the circus was coming to Ripley, he couldn't ask his mom and dad fast enough if he could go.

***

“Now Randy, you know the circus is much too dangerous a place for a ten year old boy.” Helen McCombs wasn't one to say yes to anything at first, unless of course it was 'Mom can I do my homework' or 'Mom, can I help you clean up the kitchen', so getting permission to go to the circus would take a major effort. Helen put the clean dish she had been drying into the drain rack and picked another one from the warm sudsy water in the sink.

“Come on mom. I'm almost eleven and I'll take Binks with me so I won't be alone.” Almost everyone referred to Mark Binkus as Binks, although some of the kids at school added their own flair as in 'Binks stinks' or 'Come on Binky gnaw my winky', but more times than not, it was used it in the affectionate way nicknames were meant. Randy was only nine months older than Binks, but being more mature and about six inches taller, grew to think of Binks as a little brother.

“I'm sure Binks' mom will tell him the same thing I'm telling you.” She tussled Randy's brown, wavy hair with a damp hand.

"Don't,” Randy said, grimacing and stepping back.

“The circus is full of nothing but crooks, freaks, and con men,” Randy's dad proclaimed from behind the Ripley Gazette.

Trying to ignore his dad's proclamation, Randy pressed on. “But they have animals. Elephants, zebras, and even tigers.” Randy thought this would surely impress them into an about-face, after all, not even parents could resist the idea of seeing a real live tiger, but his mom only shook her head and his dad continued to read the paper.

Randy's mom put down her dish towel and looked at him. “I hear they are cruel to the animals Randy, and I've also heard the elephants are half crazy and are known to stampede the crowd.”

Stampede the crowd? Things were getting worse instead of better. “They have the elephants on chains, and how do you know they are cruel to the animals?” Randy asked, hoping to salvage any chance for a 'Yes' that may be left.

“You're not going,” Randy's dad said from behind the paper.

“But dad-”

Randy's dad put down the paper and glared at him. It was a glare Randy had seen before, a glare honed by serving four years in World War II, and Randy knew better than to stand against it. “You are not going and that's the end of it.” He stared at him a moment longer, apparently to make sure there were no more arguments, and then snapped the paper back up as if to emphasize the finality of his answer.

***

That was almost a week ago and with the circus packing up and heading to Springfield Missouri in the morning, Randy and Binks knew today was their last chance. It was late Saturday afternoon and unseasonably warm for the first week of October. Both boys wore jeans and nondescript white tee-shirts sporting various stains from the day's earlier activities. The sun still showed bright, but promised to fall below the horizon at precisely 6:58 PM. As long as they both got home before full dark, they figured they could get away with the big circus sneak off.

Even before Randy and Binks crested the hill on county road 113, they could hear the sounds of the circus. The classic pipe organ music, an amplified voice announcing the next show in the big top, distant laughter, shouts of excitement, and something else.

“Did you hear that?” Binks asked excitedly. He tossed aside the grasshopper he had been carrying and looked at Randy.

“Hear what?” Randy looked back at Binks with eyes almost as wide. The excitement built with each step and Randy even thought he caught the smell cotton candy riding the warm October wind.

“I think it was a tiger.”

“No way,” Randy said, raising his eyebrows and straining to hear for himself. “How do you know it wasn't a lion or a bear?” Just the thought it could be any of the three made Randy's heart beat a little faster.

“Because of the way it roared.” Both boys stopped and looked at each other. “Bears don't roar... do they?” Binks asked, a little less confident than he had been before.

“I don't know. I don't think they do.” They both stood where they were for a moment longer, contemplating what noise bears really made, then started back up the hill.

“Well, whatever it was, roared, so I at least know it wasn't an elephant. They trumpet.” Binks said this as if he were the world's authority of animal sounds.

“Speaking of elephants, my mom told me I couldn't go because the elephants will go crazy and stomp me to death.”

Binks laughed. “Yeah, my mom told me that in every show someone falls off the high wire and dies right before everyone's eyes.”

“What is it with moms anyway? They always think the worst is going to happen even when-” Randy stopped in mid sentence as they crested the hill. Red and white tops of the huge tents spread out before them like a mirage. A faint haze of dirt and sawdust hung near the ground, flowing and shifting with the breeze. Towering above the milling crowds, someone who must have been on stilts walked in long exaggerated steps. Randy and Binks looked at each other, then without saying a word, took off in a full sprint.

***

They stopped in front of a small white tent where a rough looking bald man with dark, bloodshot eyes sat selling tickets. His long black beard concealed most of his features, but not his aura of unfriendliness. Randy didn't like the man's eyes, not because they were bloodshot, it was something else. They reminded him of the picture of the shark he saw in his mom and dad's National Geographic magazine. Its round black eyes staring from the thin shiny pages while grinning its hungry grin as if it knew it would someday sink its triangular teeth into his flesh.

Three people stood in front of them and the last of the three looked like someone they both knew. “I've seen her before,” Binks whispered. He wiped away a small bead of sweat trickling down the side of his face.

“That's Mrs. Bitterman from our church,” Randy whispered back.

As if she heard the whispering, Mrs. Bitterman glanced over her shoulder and looked at Randy and Binks. Both boys immediately looked down, as if the dust on their sneakers had suddenly became a concern. A slight crease developed in her brow, like she was trying to place them, but thankfully the rough looking man in the small tent gave her an impatient 'Next', which caused her to turn around. She handed the man her fifty cents and walked into the crowd, never looking back.

“That was close,” Randy said, quickly stepping up to the tent to avoid having the rough man yell at him too. He handed up a crumpled dollar bill to cover Binks and himself, which the man unceremoniously grabbed from his hand while pushing two tickets to the edge of the wooden shelf attached to the tent. The man looked down at them and smiled. Randy could see a large number of small white teeth nested in the scraggily beard surrounding the man's mouth. They looked like broken porcelain in a bird's nest.

“You boys have fun, and maybe I'll see you later.” The rough looking bald man with the scraggly beard grinned at them. There was nothing nice in his wish for them to have fun, and the 'Maybe I'll see you later' sounded like a threat.

Randy took the tickets off the shelf as quickly as he could, being careful to avoid touching the man's hand. Then they practically ran around the small tent, not saying a word until they were out of hear shot.

“Man, that guy was creepy,” Binks said, looking over his shoulder. “What do you think he meant by maybe I'll see you later?”

“I don't know. He was probably just messing with us,” Randy said, trying to keep his voice steady. He didn't want Binks to know how badly the man had scared him. He thought of the small white teeth and how it looked like there were way too many packed in the man's mouth. Randy and Binks jumped back as a child of about three ran past squealing hysterically, quickly followed by a woman yelling for Jonnie to come back here right this instant. Shaking off the weird feeling, Randy decided it was all just a result of his feeling guilty about lying to his mom and dad. “Let's just forget about that guy and get some cotton candy.”

“Yeah, sounds good to me,” Binks said, his eyes brightening.

They stopped in front of the cotton candy stand and starting digging into their pockets for a nickel. The lady working the counter had hair almost as pink as the cotton candy and was much friendlier than the man at the admission tent. Wearing a genuine smile, she handed them each a white paper tube covered with threads of sugar magically spun in the large silver tub inside the booth. She told them both to have a good time at the circus, and then turned her attention to a rather large lady who had been standing behind them.

Walking away from the cotton candy stand, Randy pulled off a large wad of the pink cotton and pushed it into his mouth marveling at how quickly it melted into almost nothing. Pushing in another piece, he watched as people milled about, talking and pointing at the various attractions. The smell of sawdust laced with the underlying smell of animal droppings, which Randy would later wonder if he had actually smelled tiger crap, hung in the air.

On their right, a series of large tents lined both sides of the midway, ending at the big top where the main attraction played out. A large sign hung above a series of tents fronted by a raised platform constructed to prevent anyone from seeing in from the ground. The bright red and yellow words painted on the sign read 'You Have to See It to Believe It. 'Snake Boy' 'Rubber Man' 'Goat Woman' 'World's Fattest Man'.

Binks having already consumed his entire tube of cotton candy wiped his hand over the front of his shirt, adding one more artistic stain to the canvas of the day's adventures. “Whoa,” Binks said, staring at the sign. “Snake Boy? Goat Woman? Let's check it out.” Binks headed in the direction of the long platform where ten or fifteen people, some pointing and some whispering in the person's ear beside them, were making their way down the row of tents.

“Wait a minute,” Randy said, grabbing Binks' arm. “It cost fifty cents.” He pointed toward a small wooden structure displaying a sign that read 'The best fifty cents you will ever spend'. “If we do that, we won't have enough money for the big top show, and besides, we might be able to sneak a look through the back of the tents later.” Randy held his voice down as he said this and looked over his shoulder, not wanting to admit it, but sure he would see the strange man with the way too many teeth smile standing right behind them.

“Hurry, hurry, hurry. Step right up folks, because the main show is about to start.” The announcer's voice rolled down the midway and across the open fields. Both boys looked toward the big top. Small red and white flags snapped soundlessly on the huge tent's peaks.

“Yeah, you're right. The animals will be in the big top anyway,” Binks said, tossing down his cotton candy tube. “Let's go.”

They hurried past the freak show tents, weaving in and out of the crowd as they made their way to the big top. Randy glanced at the billboard by the tent housing the goat woman. It depicted a large woman with at least two chins and was the ugliest woman Randy had ever seen. A thin wiry beard hung from her square chin, large thick horns protruded from the sides of her head, curling back before twisting toward the front of her face. Yellow eyes with black rectangular pupils looked back at him with the same dead look as the rough man with the way too many teeth smile. Fifty cents wasn't the only reason Randy didn't want to see the freaks in those tents.

“Randy, come on. We're going to miss it,” Binks yelled.

Randy blinked. He hadn't even realized he had stopped. He looked at Binks, who was waving for him to come on. Turning from the yellow eyes, Randy ran to catch up.