by Hamill, Ike
The best I can do is fold my note and wedge it in the gap between the front door and the frame.
My talons are itching on the inside.
I watch them reach out and I back away before they can tear up my note.
That wasn’t what they were itching to do though. They’re just as happy to reach out for the wood around the window. There are four distinct fingers emerging from my nub. There’s a bump on the side that I think will grow into a thumb. The fingers are long and thin. They remind me of spider legs.
One claw rears back and then begins tapping.
The sound is so satisfying. Yellow waves roll out into the world and fill me with deep pleasure. Tapping is so enthralling and hypnotic. I can’t imagine anything I would rather do.
When my second talon takes over for the first, the tapping is more insistent. It’s building towards something. I try to track the imaginary yellow waves through the glass to understand their purpose. When I finally see it, I’m amazed and horrified. The sound of my finger hitting the wood is vibrating energy through the house and trying to focus it on the door lock. If they build enough, the vibrations will turn the mechanism and let me in. I imagine that it would take forever to move the deadbolt. There’s so much mass there that I would have to stand out here for hours in order to turn that lock.
Something much smaller, like the hook on Mr. Engel’s cellar door, that would go fast. That hook would slip from the eye in no time. If I were already in the cellar, I bet I could tap on the stairs and unhook that lock with so little sound that someone in the kitchen wouldn’t even hear it.
It doesn’t matter though. I won’t be able to get inside. I’ve purposely left myself with very little time before dawn. The sky in the east is already beginning to warm up from black to dark blue.
I have to go.
I move fast across the fields. I only slow when my talons find something to eat. It’s disgusting, but I know there’s nothing I can do to stop myself from feeding. I’m too hungry to pass anything up. The talons only like things that consume blood. Ticks are their favorite. They’ll also grab any spiders they can catch. At one point, I look down and see that I’m sucking on a furry corpse. I smack it away from my mouth with my good hand. There’s no denying how good it tasted. Fresh from the animal, hot blood is incredibly satisfying.
I try not to think about it as I slip inside Uncle Walt’s house and lock myself in the pantry. I’ll need to find a safer place to stay eventually. The pantry is too exposed. I promise myself that I’ll block up the cellar windows tomorrow night so that I can take refuge down there in the future.
At some point, it doesn’t do any good to keep denying what I’ve become. I just have to make sure I don’t lose sight of my real goal.
As I drift off to sleep, I try desperately to remember what it was.
(What was I thinking?)
What was I thinking?
I should have never come back to this pantry—it’s too exposed. I swear I just heard a car engine. It wasn’t a small engine, like the one that’s in the rental car that Amber drives. It was the giant, throaty rumble of a serious engine. It was the type of engine that has horsepower to spare, crouched under the hood and ready to explode.
The sound has faded now. It’s so low that I’m almost able to convince myself that it was a dream. Sometimes the sun finds a crack through the towel I have stuffed under the pantry door. Those stray sunbeams give me bad dreams.
The engine noise rises again and I understand what’s happening. The vehicle passed behind the hill between Uncle Walt’s and Mr. Engel’s. It’s getting closer. I recognize it now. It’s the sound of the police car.
I hear gravel crunch as it rolls across the culvert.
The driveway chime rings. Those crooks from CMP must have reconnected the power. So maybe it wasn’t the sunlight that gave me bad dreams. Maybe it was the sound of the workers that infiltrated my daytime slumber.
It’s her—the policewoman. I hear her footsteps in the dooryard followed by another pair. Her partner is moving very cautiously. I can hear it by the way he puts his toe down first and then rolls his weight to his heel. They suspect that I’m dangerous.
KNOCK. KNOCK. KNOCK.
She calls my name.
I’m paralyzed. I couldn’t answer if I wanted to.
KNOCK. KNOCK.
She calls again.
I hear her partner whisper to her, “Open door over here.”
He must be talking about David’s door. I think I might have left it ajar. My heart starts pumping, sending energy up to my eyes. I’m going to need them. David’s door creaks on its hinges as the partner pushes it open. I hear him settling his weight on the shed floor. His uniform rustles as he peers around the corner, looking for me.
He has to go away, right? They can’t just come into someone’s…
He takes a step and I hear her climb up onto the stone apron under David’s door.
They’re coming in.
He makes a brief detour down to the barn while she waits. They whisper back and forth in quick bursts.
“Shop. Wood pile,” he says.
“Any blood? Tracks?”
“Nope.”
I hear a click and then very low crinkling hum. He turned on the shed lights. Again, what was I thinking? I could have turned off the breakers for the whole house before I went into the pantry. I should have known that CMP would be by eventually. This was simply a lack of foresight.
“Noose,” the partner says.
He makes a quick survey of the first floor of the barn and then his feet come back through the shed to stop at David’s door.
They consult in low voices.
“Maybe he dropped off the note and came back here to kill himself,” the partner offers.
“But didn’t do it?” she asks.
“Not by hanging,” he says. “Keep going?”
“Let’s see if the door to the house is open,” she says.
That’s my door—the pantry door—that she’s referring to. I still can’t move. I can barely open my eyes. They’re both creeping. They’re coming down the shed hall towards my position and there’s nothing I can do about it. My eyes are throbbing in the darkness. This must be how the mother felt when I was descending into Mr. Engel’s basement. She was waiting inside the chest freezer, hoping that I would go away.
They stop at the door. I hear one of them nod their head. A hand touches the doorknob.
“Locked,” she whispers.
“Now what?”
She sighs.
“This is my fault. I knew I should have pushed harder to get him under observation. He’s probably on the bathroom floor with a stomach full of pills,” she says.
“Why write a note asking the neighbor to kill you and then come home and do it yourself?” he asks.
I hear the policewoman shrug.
So this is about the note that I left for Amber. She must have called the police as soon as she found it. I trusted her and she snitched on me and my plan to end my life. They’re going to keep looking for me. This policewoman feels guilty about failing me and I bet she is going to keep trying to track me down. Maybe they’re going to go get a warrant and come back to search the house. ‘
That idea enrages me. This was Uncle Walt’s house. How dare they try to come in here without permission?
If I could only move, I could fix this problem right now.
I’ve developed this problem though. When the sun is above the horizon, even if I can’t see it, I have a problem moving. I think that if I were stronger I might be able to move. I’ve been living on meager rations of ticks and spiders. That’s not enough to sustain me.
I have to try.
With all my effort, I manage to tap one of my talons against the floor.
On the other side of the door, the woman catches her breath to listen. The man opens his mouth to say something and I hear her shirt move. She must be gesturing for him to be quiet.
I tap again.
> The doorknob rattles and my talon gains a little strength. Energy pulses through me as the imaginary yellow waves flow out from my percussive sound. My tapping picks up a rhythm and I focus my concentration on the door lock. This mechanism is much smaller and lighter than the deadbolt at Mr. Engel’s house. With just the right series of taps…
The lock clicks.
I stop tapping.
I know the policewoman heard it. I can sense her focus. Her muscles are tensed. She must be staring at the knob.
“What was that?” the man asks.
“I don’t know. I think the door is unlocked though.”
“Should we try it?”
“I don’t think so,” she says. Her instincts are serving her well. That’s bad news for me.
(I don't know why she changes her mind.)
I don’t know why she changes her mind.
All I know is that I hear the knob as she grips it. I hear her fingers clench and my beating heart sends all of my energy to my eyes. When the door opens and the sliver of electric light begins to invade my space, I’m ready for her. The light touches my toes and she peers around the edge of the door. I catch her in my stare.
I absorb her conscious mind into mine. It’s as easy as catching a bird that’s fluttering against the inside of a window pane. I fold my thoughts around hers and capture her will. She is completely hypnotized by my stare.
It only takes a moment for her partner to realize that she’s frozen. He kicks the door open the rest of the way as he takes a step back. The shed lights wash over my skin. It’s terrifying to feel the rays of light penetrate me. Little explosions of pain erupt all over as I try to hold the woman’s eyes and capture the man’s at the same time. My heart is pounding inside my chest at the exertion. I wrap both of their minds together inside mine and bind them in the swirling spirals of my eyes. They fight me. These people are strong.
There’s no way for me to hold them as I burn in the electric light.
The man’s hand is right near the switch.
I push on his mind, trying to exert myself. At first, all he does is twitch and sway. This is like trying to operate a remote control car while it’s heading directly towards me. I have to reverse everything I see in order to manipulate his left hand. Finally, I get him to raise his hand and flop it towards the switch. When his fingers smash against the switch, the shed lights go out and relief floods through me.
In that moment, I lose the woman.
She manages to look away, breaking my hold on her.
She reaches for her gun.
This is what I’ve been hoping for, isn’t it? I wanted someone to put me out of my misery before I could transform into a monster. I’ve already changed much more than I would like to admit. All she has to do is point that deadly piece of metal and pull her trigger and this will be over. Hanging didn’t work, but I’m sure that scrambling my brains with a bullet will do the trick.
It’s not up to me though.
The infection has engendered lizard instincts inside me that I can’t control. Just like I forced him to turn off the lights, my hypnosis forces her partner to fall on her, knocking the muzzle of her gun away from me at the same moment that she pulls the trigger.
The blast appears wonderfully beautiful at first. I see the waves of pressure come from the muzzle as they escape with the projectile. They’re bright orange and yellow, like the sun on a perfect day. Bouncing off the walls and officers, the ridges of sound light up everything in perfect detail. Then, in an instant, the first sounds begin to hit my ears.
The assault rings like chaos inside my skull. I shrink back, shrieking in pain as the bullet plows into the wall and the sound echoes inside the pantry. The gunshot drives hot spikes into my eardrums. I lose my control over the man.
They both flinch back at the sound of the gun.
I’m already recovering. The sound was horrible, but my body bounces back fast.
I focus on her as she raises the gun in slow motion.
I’m staring into her eyes and I can also see right down the barrel of the gun. Her fingers are squeezing, trying to pull the trigger again. Just before the hammer is tripped, my mind slips around hers. I wrap her up in a heavy blanket of hypnosis.
The man falls into my trap as well.
She lowers her gun and I let out a relieved breath.
I still can’t move anything more than my talon. For the moment, it’s all I need.
While I hold them in my stare, I tap on the floor. I let the echoes ring out until I’m sure that I’m hearing them correctly again. The sound soothes and comforts me, but it also does more. I think the sound is actually helping me heal from the sound of the gunshot. It also helps to mesmerize the police officers. I’m able to blink my enormous eyes without losing my grip on them.
I send the yellow waves down into the cellar below me and direct them to show me the details of the breaker box. It takes a while, but I build up enough energy to trip the main breaker for the house. The hum goes away and the threat of electric light is gone for good.
Meanwhile, the officers are enthralled with my eyes.
The sun is still descending on the west side of the house and I’m gaining strength as it does.
It’s really lucky that Amber didn’t call the police earlier. She must have missed the note that I tucked into the door.
I feel the minds of the officers squirm inside my control.
I’m able to hear them inside my head. I have a sort of telepathy with them.
“You shouldn’t have come,” I tell them.
The policewoman is able to form a response that I understand. “You asked us to.”
“No,” I tell her.
Is she right? What did I say in that note? I asked for Amber’s help. It was because I didn’t trust the police to do the right thing. I thought that they would shrink from the responsibility of ending my life. I wanted a guarantee that they wouldn’t try to put me in a jail cell. If they managed to confine me, it would just be torture. I wanted my life to be over.
So why did I just stop her from shooting me?
I could do it now.
I used the man as a puppet. The gun is still in her hand.
In fact, why not both?
I massage the man’s mind until his hand reaches, draws his gun, and clicks off the safety.
It’s easy to get them to do things that they already want to do. They’re both exerting pressure back on me now. They want to squeeze their triggers, sending bullets ripping through the infinite space inside my eyes.
“Do it,” I whisper.
The woman’s hand trembles in time with her lower lip. There’s a battle inside her that I’m not privy to. The man’s hand begins to tremble as well.
They either can’t or won’t do it. It should be easy enough for me to force their fingers to squeeze the triggers, but now there’s a battle inside of me as well. The part of me that links my mind to theirs has a decent amount of self-preservation. I can’t manipulate them into killing me.
(I'm stronger than ever.)
I’m stronger than ever.
The man was easier. I nudged and pulled at his mind until he was leaning forward. His arms slumped to his sides. The gun was forgotten completely. When he was within reach, my talons guided him forward and opened him. It’s not like consuming food. It’s the absorption of energy. The effect is instantaneous. There is no waste involved.
I understand why spiders are so delicious.
They consume and concentrate energy. Think of how much energy a fly has. They can buzz around constantly for days. The spider pulls that power right from the center of those insects and leaves behind everything else. A tick latches onto a host and sucks energy in the same way.
I’m the ultimate parasite.
I take the man’s energy, or spirit, or soul—whatever you want to call it—and I incorporate it into myself. I could have left him with enough power for his body to eventually recover, but I don’t. I take his energy down to zero
. As I taste the last of it, I feel him inside me and I know that my transformation is complete.
There’s nothing human left inside of me now except a tiny scrap of decency.
Urging the woman to come forward, I vow to leave her with a beating heart.
She was trying to protect me from myself.
I guess they both were, but he’s already dead.
I’m still pondering this irrational favoritism as she draws her final breath. Their bodies litter the doorway for the moment. They’re already beginning to decompose into unstable slime. In a few minutes, before I’ve even finished collecting myself, the only things left are clothes, tools, and weapons. My talons push these remnants around. I look at my other hand—my good hand. These eyes aren’t so adept at specific details of things. It’s much easier to understand the world around me when I can tap.
I use the new talons on my good hand to tap on the wall. I see yellow waves bouncing and all the shapes perfectly outlined. My body has transformed. Clothes are hanging off of me. I don’t need them. I gather up the police clothing. One of them had a pocketful of change that has spilled. I have to pick up each coin so I can sort them into proper piles. This isn’t a thing that I want to do—it’s necessary.
Outside, night has fallen. I skirt around the cone of light from the vehicle and shut everything off. I take the keys and add it to the stack I’ve made in the dooryard. Shoes, socks, pants, undergarments, shirts, gadgets, weapons, and keys are all sorted and stacked. I can’t close the door on the vehicle until I pick up all the poppy seeds that someone has littered on the upholstery. My talons do the work while I listen to the night.
Amber is still out there.
She will fix all this for me.
First, just to make everything neat and tidy, I take all the police gear out to the old well. I let it all drop in the water and listen to it as it sinks below the surface.
I’m not describing this right. My brain still thinks that it’s in control. In reality, I’m watching all of these things happen with my imperfect eyes. All these tasks are pure instinct. My legs move me around. My hands have their own plans. My nose keeps turning to the wind to add to our knowledge of the world. I’m no more in control than someone watching a movie. Sometimes what’s happening on the screen makes perfect sense. Other times, like when I stop to count the stars, I have no idea why I’m doing the things that I’m doing.
