Z-Town

by Eden Darry

  Before Meg could answer, Lane was gone.

  Damn, damn, damn. That was the exact opposite of how Meg wanted this to go. Why did she have to be so mean? Lane was already in a position of vulnerability, and she’d gone and cut her off at the knees. It was the talk of money. It got to her every time.

  Her mother had done her best by her, but they’d been broke. Flat out, thrift shop, food bank, share the bathwater broke. Their clothes had always been clean and if not new, then as close as her mother could get. But Meg lived in fear of classmates finding out just how poor she really was. The excuses she made about why she couldn’t go to the mall—three cents in her purse—or to cover for why she hadn’t seen a TV show the night before, since they couldn’t afford cable.

  Meg worked like a dog for her money, and in bitter contrast, there was Lane. Born into a rich family and never wanting for anything her whole life. Never needing to think twice about buying anything. Meg bet she’d flown business class over here to win her back. But it wasn’t Lane’s fault. She couldn’t help what she was born into, any more than Meg could. And Lane was generous. There wasn’t a charity bucket in London Lane hadn’t put money in. Early on when they’d first met, Meg went to watch her run fifteen miles in mud up to her ass for charity.

  No, Lane wasn’t a bad person at all. Spoiled? Definitely. Entitled? Maybe a little. But Lane hadn’t deserved Meg’s sharp tongue. It looked like she’d have another apology to make tomorrow. She’d get a good night’s sleep, and then maybe she wouldn’t be in such a bad mood.

  Meg got up and bolted the door closed.

  Chapter Five

  Outer Cape Echo

  1 hour ago

  It’s official, Provincetown is losing daylight hours. Over the last week Ptown has been in perpetual dusk. Officials from Boston are flying in to investigate the phenomenon Tuesday. The weather is unprecedented in the history of the town, and officials are stumped as to why it has occurred.

  418 likes

  4 Comments

  Craig Cherry: I’m telling you it’s to do with that Viking shit.

  Dolores Cab: Shut up, Craig, you moron. It’s the government. Everyone knows they mess with the weather.

  Craig Cherry: No, you shut up, Dolores. Why don’t you go terrify more tourists in your illegal cab.

  Dolores Cab: [We are unable to post your comment because you have been placed in a time out. Your time out will expire in seven days.]

  * * *

  Lane woke up to the sound of screaming. At first, she thought she’d left the TV on, but when she sat up in bed, the screen was dark. The sound was coming from downstairs. Lane heard a crash and then silence.

  What the fuck? Was it some kind of joke? Maybe Ella had seen a mouse? No. No one screamed like that for a mouse.

  Lane wasn’t sure what to do. She knew she should go downstairs and see what was happening, but those screams…She looked around the room for something to use to defend herself. The best she could come up with was an ugly blue vase. It would have to do. If Ella was hurt, or in trouble, Lane needed to help her.

  Lane was sure she was overreacting. She couldn’t imagine anything bad happening in this tiny town. It was quaint and picturesque. So why the vase? Just in case, she told herself. Just in case.

  Another scream. A crash. Moaning. Lane’s insides tightened. She was still wearing her clothes from the day before after getting blind drunk alone in her room, so she put on her shoes and reached for the door handle. She put her ear against the door.

  Then she heard it—someone coming up the stairs. Each step creaked, the noise getting louder. Shit. Bugger. What if it was whoever had caused the screaming downstairs? Lane picked up the vase and felt completely unprepared. At least the vase was heavy.

  She tried to remember the layout of her floor. There was a bedroom opposite hers and then a short corridor to the left. There was at least one other bedroom down there, she thought, though she wasn’t sure.

  She heard the door of the other bedroom open. Then a woman’s muffled voice. Then the screaming again.

  Lane squeezed her eyes shut. Shit, she wasn’t a hero. She wasn’t remotely brave. But she couldn’t just stand around in here while whoever was out there did God knew what. She felt for her phone in her jeans pocket and pulled it out to call the police. Fuck. It was dead. Why could she never remember to charge the fucking thing?

  Lane summoned as much courage as she could, eased open her bedroom door, and tiptoed over to the room across the hall. She hid to one side and poked her head round the door before pulling it back sharply.

  She wasn’t prepared for what she saw in there. Her brain couldn’t properly compute the scene. It was like a slasher film, except with smell. And it smelled bad. It was the smell of rotten meat mixed with the metallic smell of blood. The room was covered in it. On the floor by the bed, about eight feet from where she stood, someone crouched over the body of a woman. Its face was at her stomach, and dear God, it looked like the person was eating her.

  But that couldn’t be, could it? Lane’s brain must be malfunctioning. Or maybe she was still asleep and having a nightmare. Or she was misreading the situation. There had to be another explanation.

  Lane stuck her head round again just as the crouching person sat up. They turned their head in her direction. Something that couldn’t be entrails—

  But what else could they be?

  —hanging out of their mouth.

  Their face was crimson with blood and they were—

  Oh fuck, they were chewing.

  They were eating the other person’s insides.

  This had to be a dream—it had to be.

  And now it had seen her.

  It let out a low groan and got unsteadily to its feet. It tottered, righted itself, and took a step towards her.

  Lane was frozen. She couldn’t move. Her brain was screaming at her to run, but her feet wouldn’t listen. She was going to die here. This thing that was getting closer was going to do to her what it had done to that other person.

  And still, she couldn’t move.

  It took another step towards her.

  Then it stumbled, its feet caught in whatever hung from its mouth—shiny and grey and probably an intestine—and it tripped. Fell flat on its face.

  Then Lane’s feet moved.

  She tightened her grip on the vase and charged. She froze for a second when the thing looked up and groaned again. Lane realized she recognized it—her. It made her pause for a split second, but then she brought the vase down on Joanne’s head.

  There was a crack and a pop as Joanne’s head burst open like a melon and splattered up the wall and over Lane. What was left of Joanne’s head thumped back down onto the carpet. Did heads do that? Lane thought wildly. Did they just go pop?

  Lane looked down at her legs and feet. They were covered in a thick yellowish goo. Where was the brain? The blood?

  She gagged and turned away from the bodies. The ugly vase had shattered into a million pieces and lay scattered around Joanne like confetti.

  Lane backed up against the wall. Her legs shook, and the world went dark for a second. She forced herself not to faint. Whatever the fuck was going on here wasn’t over. The first scream she’d heard came from downstairs. She needed to get down there and get the fuck out of here. Find a police station or a phone, at the very least. But what if Joanne hadn’t been alone?

  Fortunately, there was another ugly vase in this room. Lane picked it up and headed downstairs.

  * * *

  Meg stepped out onto the street. It was after nine, but the town was dead. Between the cold going around and the weather, she guessed the tourists had headed further along the Cape. She couldn’t blame them. Sixty-eight and sunny in Wellfleet while Provincetown struggled along in perpetual gloom.

  Didn’t help her or the other businesses that relied on the tourist trade, though she couldn’t lie and say a quiet shift at the Squealing Pig wouldn’t be welcome. Today was supposed to be her day off, bu
t with almost everyone else out sick, she had to go in.

  Her boss still hadn’t returned Meg’s calls, and she was starting to worry. She planned to head to the library to see the exhibition, then call in on her boss and Joanne.

  Meg started walking down Commercial. It was too early for most stores to be open, but even so, it was still too quiet, and when you coupled the silence with the dark skies, Meg was kind of creeped out. She walked a little faster.

  Somewhere behind her, she heard a scream. Meg almost jumped out of her skin. What was that? It didn’t sound like someone fooling around—the scream sounded real. Meg looked around her at the darkened stores and even darker alleyways beside them. She stared into the gloom of the alleyway beside the Wired Puppy. She squinted, strained her eyes. It looked like someone was standing back there.

  “Hello?” Meg called out.

  No answer.

  Meg pulled her jacket tighter around her. “Hello, is anyone there?”

  Still no answer. Someone was definitely there. She could make out legs and arms and the shape of a head. Someone around her own height. Maybe a woman.

  The figure groaned. It shuffled forward. That was enough for Meg, and she bolted.

  She pumped her legs and tucked in her arms and sprinted up the street. She was completely overcome by an irrational terror she didn’t understand. But her gut was screaming run, and her legs obeyed as though Meg really didn’t have a say at all in the matter.

  By the time she reached the Provincetown Public Library, Meg was blowing hard. She stood by the side entrance, bent forward at the waist and gasping for air.

  What the hell was that back there? Who was the weirdo in the alley, and why had she run away like that? Why had Meg been so scared?

  “Meg? Meg, are you okay?” Wendy Moon walked through the library doors and put a hand on Meg’s back. “Honey, what happened?”

  “Something…back there.” Meg gulped in air.

  “Something was back there? Where?” Wendy looked over her and down the street. “I don’t see anything.”

  Meg shook her head. Her breath was starting to come back, and she stood upright. “I’m sorry, Wendy. I got a little spooked. Someone was standing in the alleyway at the Wired Puppy. I think they were trying to scare me. Asshole.”

  “Who would do something like that? Are you sure someone was there? It’s pretty overcast at the moment. Maybe you imagined it.”

  “No, they were there. They groaned and did this zombie-type shuffle towards me. I think they were fooling around.”

  That’s what it had been, hadn’t it? Some idiot kid trying to scare her. Well, they got her good. Meg didn’t think she’d ever run so fast or so far in her life. If she ever found out who’d done it, she’d kick their ass.

  “Well, come inside and have a glass of water. You’re here for the exhibition, right? I’ve been really looking forward to showing it to you. Unfortunately something terrible has happened.”

  Meg followed Wendy inside, but her mind was still on the alley. It was the scream. That’s what set her off. Usually she’d have gone right in that alleyway and given the kid hiding there a mouthful.

  And she was almost certain now it had been kids fooling around. She guessed Provincetown could be boring if you were a teenager. But that was no excuse to hide in alleys scaring people.

  Meg followed Wendy into the main part of the library where tons of books lined shelves. She’d always liked this place. She remembered the first time she’d come here and gone up to the second floor. She’d been stunned and delighted to see a full-sized boat right in the middle of the room. Its masts reached right up to the ceiling. It looked like it was ready to sail right on out of there.

  Meg realized Wendy was talking to her. “Sorry, Wendy, what did you say?”

  Just as Wendy turned to repeat it, the lights went out.

  Someone screamed.

  * * *

  Lane held the vase like she was the last up to bat the last over, and it was for the Ashes. She held the vase by the neck down by her leg, and she edged around the door frame and poked her head in the kitchen just long enough to see no one lurked there.

  The room was a mess, though. Chairs overturned and crockery smashed to pieces on the floor. Lane stepped into the doorway proper and nearly slipped on a pastry that had been trampled into the lino.

  The kitchen was a slaughterhouse. There was blood up the walls, and a large wet pool of it glistened in the light and covered half the floor. Lying in the centre of the pool was Ella. Her arms were up by her sides, and her mouth hung open. Sightless eyes, partially hooded, stared at Lane. She was definitely dead. Even if it hadn’t been obvious from her face, something had been at her stomach. She was torn open from breast to pelvis, and the stink was almost unbearable.

  Lane forced herself further into the kitchen. She had to make certain nothing was still in here before she checked the rest of the bed and breakfast. Ella told her yesterday there were four other guests. Excluding the one who now lay dead upstairs, that left two other people. Lane thought they must have heard the screams like she had, but you never knew. They might still be tucked up in bed. Lane just hoped it was somebody else’s bed.

  Suddenly, Ella twitched. At first Lane thought it was her imagination. Then Ella did it again. A whole body convulsion followed, and Lane ran to her.

  “Ella? Ella can you hear me?” Lane knelt by her side. How this was possible, she didn’t know, but Ella was definitely still alive. “Ella, stay still. I’m going to call you an ambulance.”

  Lane went to the wall phone and picked up the receiver. She dialled 9-9-9. Hung up, and dialled 9-1-1. On the other end it rang and kept on ringing. Lane knew this was a small town, but surely they had enough people to staff the emergency service phone lines?

  She hung up and dialled again. The same thing happened.

  On the floor, Ella groaned. The sound of it chilled Lane, and she didn’t know why. Desperate, Lane dialled 9-1-1 one last time. Ella was going to die if she didn’t get an ambulance.

  Behind her, Ella groaned again. Lane heard movement and turned from the phone. Fucking hell, Ella was trying to get up. How was that even possible? Her insides—what was left of them—were hanging on the outside, and there was no way she should even be alive, let alone able to stand. But there she was, using the table as support while she got unsteadily to her feet.

  “Ella, you need to lie back down—oh fuck, no.” Lane almost puked as the remains of Ella’s intestines slid out of her stomach and splattered wetly to the floor. Undeterred, Ella started to walk towards Lane, squishing her guts into the floor and soaking her fuzzy slippers in blood and gore.

  This wasn’t happening.

  It just wasn’t happening.

  Lane thought she must be dreaming. Any minute she’d wake up. She just had to wait it out.

  Then Ella lunged at her with a snarl.

  * * *

  Meg could just about see. Although it was dark outside, it wasn’t night, and what light there was filtered weakly through the library windows.

  “Wendy?” Meg called.

  “Yes. Over here,” came Wendy’s reply.

  Meg walked towards the sound of Wendy’s voice and found her by a stack of cookery books.

  “Did you hear the scream?” Meg asked.

  Wendy nodded. “Val Rodman and Celia Avery are the only other people in the library. It must be one of them.”

  Val and Celia had worked at Provincetown Public Library for years. From what Meg heard, they’d grown up here and never left. They were best friends apparently.

  “Do you know where they are? We should go check on them,” Meg said.

  “They should be at the front desk or stacking books, but I haven’t seen them for a while. Maybe they’re out back.”

  Meg felt a ball of fear lodge itself somewhere low in her belly. The last thing she wanted to do was walk around a dark library, but if Val or Celia was in trouble, they needed to help them. And to find out why t
he lights had gone out. That was strange in itself. Meg thought about the shadowy figure earlier, lurking in the alleyway. Maybe it hadn’t been just a stupid kid. Maybe whoever was lurking in the alleyway had something to do with this.

  But that was stupid, wasn’t it? This was Provincetown. She’d never felt safer anywhere else she’d lived.

  “This way,” said Wendy. “We’ll go out back and check on Val and Celia.”

  Meg followed Wendy down the aisles towards the back of the building. They went through a door and into a short corridor with rooms off to the left and right.

  “Which one would they be in?” Meg asked. It was even darker back here, and she was spooked.

  “I’m not sure. Coffee room to the right,” Wendy said and opened the door.

  Meg stood behind her, tensed and ready to run. The situation really had her totally creeped out.

  “Hello? Val? Celia?” Wendy called out.

  But the coffee room was empty. Meg touched the pot, and it was still warm. Two cups sat side by side with a carton of creamer. Val or Celia had been in here recently.

  “Let’s try the other room,” Wendy said.

  Meg went back into the corridor, and now she was in the lead. She didn’t like this at all, though she couldn’t explain why. Something just didn’t feel right.

  Meg pushed open the door to the storeroom and nearly jumped out of her skin. “Damn, Celia, you gave me a fright,” she said.

  Celia was standing in the corner of the room. There weren’t any windows in here, so only the light from the corridor gave the room any illumination, and it was dim at best. But Meg knew the woman in the corner was Celia. At six feet she kind of stood out. Plus, she was a regular at the Squealing Pig.

  “Celia?” Meg tried again. “Are you okay? We heard a scream.”