“Pastor?” Jacob said, taking a step back. “What are you doing?”
There was a dazed look in Monroe’s eyes. He mumbled something that sounded like “Help,” and then he slammed the book into his mouth; there was the crunching sound of breaking teeth. Jacob saw that the muscles in the Pastor’s arm seemed to be straining, and he realized dully that Monroe was trying to hold the book back. But that was crazy.
What happened next was even crazier, and it happened so quickly that Jacob’s numbed brain had little time to process it.
Two men from the congregation stepped forward, as if to help Monroe. Suddenly a copy of Stephen King’s thick novel, The Stand, flew off the table and smacked one of the men in the back of the head. He stumbled forward and fell right into the fire. His screams were high-pitched and deafening. The other man whirled to see who had thrown the book, and a copy of The Da Vinci Code hurled itself toward him, latching onto his neck. The man reached up and tore the book away, but a chunk of his throat came with it. The man made a rattling sound as blood bubbled from the hole in his neck; he fell to his knees and keeled over into the fire. The book, lying on the ground, flapped its pages, and Jacob thought it was chewing. Meanwhile, the Barker novel continued to assault Monroe. The Pastor’s arms were now both by his side, but the book remained in the air, pummeling his face until Monroe backed into the fire himself.
The mass paralysis that had held the group in place suddenly broke, and people began screaming and running back toward the Church. The piles of books on the picnic table became animated and airborne, whizzing through the night like missiles, striking people and knocking them to the ground. A John Saul novel came speeding toward Jacob’s face. He held up an arm to block it and felt the blow all the way up into his shoulder. The book circled back for a second try, and Jacob dropped to the ground and scurried underneath the picnic table. A few of the books came in after him, pelting him like hailstones as he covered his head with his arms.
There was pandemonium in the field, screams filling the air and blood seeping into the ground. Jacob looked out from his makeshift shelter and saw Mrs. Opal lying on her back while a half dozen books took turns bashing her in the face. She wore a mask of blood, and her forehead had a caved-in look. She wasn’t moving. Mr. Anton, the Choir Director, stumbled past the table, shouting to God to deliver him from this evil; he was covered in books. They were latched onto his face, his arms, his legs, his back. He rushed forward and seemed to leap into the fire, like a man diving into a river to escape a swarm of bees.
A few more books found their way under the table. Jacob felt something sharp stab into his shoulder, pain exploding in a white-hot flash. He glanced over and saw a copy of The Queen of the Damned, and it was biting him. He grabbed a hold of it to pry it loose, but the thing was strong, and it refused to let go. With his head unprotected, two hardbacks smashed into either side of his head like cymbals. He had to get out of here, make a dash for the Church. If he stayed where he was, he’d end up like either Mrs. Opal or Mr. Anton.
Jacob crawled out from under the picnic table, intending to sprint across the field and take refuge in the Church van if he couldn’t make it to the actual building itself. He had gotten only a few steps, however, when he was suddenly surrounded by his Laymon novels. They circled around him, flapping their pages like bats’ wings. He swatted at one and the paperback bit off his pinkie finger at the second knuckle.
Jacob howled like a wolf baying at the moon, and his hot blood splattered to the ground like a crimson waterfall. He felt the books snagging his clothes and tugging, and he was suddenly being lifted off his feet, carried through the air toward the bonfire. He tried to struggle, to twist out of the books’ hold, but they held fast until he was directly above the fire. Then they let go, and he plummeted into the flames, which reached up like arms to embrace him.
As the fire consumed him, and he smelled his own flesh cooking, his last thought was of the quote Tracy had recited that afternoon: “Whenever books are burned, men also in the end are burned.”
The books gathered around the bonfire, slapping themselves open and closed with a sound like applause.
PLAYING POSSUM
When Kevin stepped into the kitchen, he found the possum standing by the refrigerator. It was large, about the size of a Collie, its gray-furred body round and fat. It stared back at him, its head tilted quizzically, as if Kevin were the intruder. Kevin slowly backed out into the hallway, letting the door swing closed.
He returned to the bedroom, where Neil was still sleeping, snoring softly in the darkness. It was a little past three in the morning; Kevin had awakened thirsty and gone to the kitchen for a drink of water. Instead, he’d found the possum.
“Neil,” Kevin said, placing a hand on his partner’s shoulder and shaking firmly. “Neil, wake up.”
“Whaizit?” Neil mumbled into the pillow, his eyes still pasted shut.
“There’s a possum in the kitchen.”
Neil managed to get his left eye open, but it seemed a great effort. “Huh?”
“There’s a possum in the kitchen.”
“You’re dreaming,” Neil said, rolling onto his side and pulling the covers up over his head. “Or I am.”
“I’m telling you, there’s a possum in the kitchen. A big one.”
“What do you want me to do about it?”
“Go get rid of it.”
“Why don’t you get rid of it?”
“You know how I feel about rodents. I don’t even like hamsters. Please, Neil, I want be able to get back to sleep knowing it’s in the house.”
Neil tossed the covers aside, looking up at Kevin with slitted eyes. “And if you can’t sleep, I guess I can’t sleep either.”
“Please, just get it out of the house.”
“You’re such a fucking baby,” Neil said, swinging his feet onto the floor. He was wearing only a pair of boxers, and he scratched himself indiscreetly as he stood and stumbled toward the hallway. “I’ve never before known a grown man who couldn’t do a goddam thing for himself.”
Kevin said nothing, trailing behind Neil as he shambled like the undead to the swinging door that led into the kitchen. When Neil pushed through, Kevin hung back, hesitating for a few seconds before following. Neil was standing next to the stove, wearing a mask of impatience and anger, staring around at the empty kitchen.
“So where’s this giant possum?” he asked.
“It was here,” Kevin insisted. “I swear it, standing right beside the fridge. It was as big as a dog.”
“Well, an animal that big certainly didn’t slip through a crack in the wall. So where’d it go? Maybe it opened the door to the garage and let itself out. You think that’s it?”
“You think I’m making this up?”
“I think you imagined it. Either that or you just delight in waking me up in the middle of the night when you know I have to teach an early class in the morning. Whatever the case, I’m going back to bed and try to get back to sleep.”
Neil shot him a heated glance as he passed, shoving open the swinging door hard enough to send it slamming against the hallway wall. Kevin stood alone in the kitchen for another minute before heading back to the bedroom.
Neil was already snoring again, but when Kevin climbed into bed and tried to snuggle up against him, Neil pulled away in his sleep. The two lay on opposite ends of the bed, a world of distance between them.
* * *
Kevin saw the possum again the following afternoon.
He had developed a migraine behind his right temple that throbbed like a snare drum, so he closed the antique shop early and headed home at two. Neil was still at school; he taught Drama at the local college, and his last class of the day didn’t end until five. Kevin planned to go home, take some ibuprofen tablets, and soak in a hot tub. He and Neil had been arguing a lot lately, and it would be nice to have the house to himself for a little while.
Kevin parked in the garage and entered the house though the side
door into the kitchen. The possum was sitting at the kitchen table.
Kevin squeezed his eyes shut for ten seconds then opened them again, sure he must be seeing things, but the possum was still there, propped up in one of the wooden chairs, its white belly exposed, tiny little paws resting on the tabletop. Its expression was almost expectant, like it had just been waiting for Kevin to get home.
Keeping his eyes on the animal, Kevin sidled over to the small closet where they kept the cleaning supplies. Moving quickly, he opened the door and turned his back on the possum only long enough to find the broom. When he turned back around, the possum was gone. The chair was still pulled away from the table, but it was empty. Kevin was alone in the kitchen.
Foregoing his bath, Kevin waited on the sofa with the broom laid across his lap until Neil got home several hours later. Coming into the den, Neil glanced at his partner and said, “What are you doing with the broom?” Then, unable to resist getting a dig in, added, “Because I know you’re not cleaning.”
“I saw the possum again.”
“What?” Neil said, loosening his tie and kicking off his loafers.
“The possum, from last night.”
“Oh yes, your imaginary giant possum.”
“It’s not imaginary. It was in the kitchen again. It was…”
“It was what?”
“Sitting at the kitchen table.”
Neil frowned down at Kevin then said, “Have you been dropping acid while I’m at work?”
“I’m telling you, we have a possum in the house.”
“I’m not in the mood for this,” Neil said with a weary sigh. “I don’t suppose you fixed anything for dinner, did you?”
“I’m not your housewife, I have a job too.”
“Yes, your little store. Which, need I remind you, I fronted the money for and have still yet to see a return on my investment.”
Kevin opened his mouth to respond but then thought better of it. His migraine was back with full force, and he just didn’t have the energy for another verbal sparring match with his partner. Instead, he reached for the phone and said, “I’ll order a pizza.”
“Don’t bother. I’ll just make a sandwich and eat it upstairs. I’m beat; for some reason, I didn’t get a good night’s sleep last night. I think I’ll watch the news then turn in early.”
Neil left the room, leaving Kevin alone on the sofa. After a while, he realized he was gripping the broom handle so tightly his hands had gone numb.
* * *
Two days later, the possum spoke to Kevin.
It was early, and Neil was in the shower. Kevin went to the kitchen to make some eggs and toast for breakfast. He had just opened the refrigerator and grabbed the carton of eggs when an unfamiliar voice behind him said, “Got a light?”
Kevin spun around, a startled squeak escaping his lips. The carton slipped from his fingers, eggs exploding on the floor, bits of shell and yoke splattering his bare feet. The possum was across the room, lying on the linoleum, a cigarette sticking out of the corner of its mouth.
Kevin tried to call for Neil, but his voice was locked away. All he could manage was a breathy, high-pitched whine.
“Hey buddy, you deaf?” the possum said. Its voice was gruff and gravely. “I said, do you got a light?”
Kevin tried to back away, his bottom chilly as it pushed inside the refrigerator.
The possum rolled its eyes and stood up. Not on all fours, but on its hind legs like a person. “Fine, I’ll do it myself,” he said and sauntered across the room. He stopped at the countertop and pushed down the lever on the toaster. When the coils inside the toaster turned bright red, the possum leaned over and stuck the tip of the cigarette inside, puffing on the butt. Leaning back, he took a deep drag, letting the smoke dribble out of his mouth and float up toward the ceiling. “Now that hits the spot.”
“You’re not real,” Kevin said, his voice soft. “Neil’s right, you’re just a figment of my imagination.”
“Is that what I am?” the possum said with a lopsided grin. “I understand, it’s a little shocking. I tried to ease you into it gradually, which is why I didn’t say anything to you the first two times we met, but it’s still a lot to process. Take all the time you need; I’m not going anywhere. I’ll be here when you’re ready to talk.”
Kevin thought he could actually hear something creaking in his head, and he realized it was his own mind, bending and readying to snap. To preserve his sanity, he bolted away from the refrigerator. He had almost reached the door when it swung open, coming dangerously close to smashing him in the nose. Kevin skidded on the linoleum, falling backward and landing heavily on his backside. It would have probably hurt more, but his cheeks were still numbed from the fridge.
“What the hell’s the matter with you?” Neil said, standing in the doorway, frowning down at his partner.
Kevin turned his head, raising an arm to point at the possum, but of course it was gone. For a fleeting second, Kevin thought he could still smell cigarette smoke in the air, but then that too dissipated.
Realizing that Neil was still staring at him, Kevin veered his outstretched arm to the right, his pointing finger aimed now at the sticky mess on the floor. “I dropped the eggs,” he said dumbly.
“And did you think they were full of dynamite? Is that why you were running around here like a crazy person?”
“I’m not crazy!” Kevin said a little too loudly, a little too sharply.
“You could have fooled me.”
Kevin got slowly to his feet, his eyes scanning the room again for any sign of the anthropomorphic possum. “Well, I can still make some bacon and toast.”
“Forget it,” Neil said, crossing the kitchen to snag his keys from the pegboard by the side door. “I’ll grab a biscuit and coffee from McDonalds on my way to work.”
Without so much as a “goodbye” or a kiss, Neil went into the garage, leaving Kevin alone in the kitchen. When Kevin heard Neil’s car grind to life, he spun around, his muscles tensed and his heartbeat racing. Now that Neil was gone, he half-expected the possum to be back in three-dimensional glory.
But he was still alone.
* * *
Kevin sought out the possum’s counsel a week later.
He and Neil had just had a huge fight. They had been fighting a lot lately, but this one had been different. Things had been said that maybe could be taken back but would never be forgotten. Kevin took a pillow and a blanket and retreated to the den to sleep on the couch. The tears he had refused to shed in front of Neil were falling now, but he kept his sobs quiet. He didn’t want to give Neil the satisfaction of knowing his words had cut so deep.
After depositing the bedding on the couch, Kevin headed into the kitchen. He told himself he just wanted a glass of milk before turning in, but deep down he knew he was looking for the possum. He found the animal sitting at the table again, drawing deep on a cigarette. A cloud of smoke hung near the ceiling like angry thunderheads.
“Hey buddy,” the possum said, flicking ashes into a saucer. “You ready to talk?”
Kevin took a seat across the table. Staring at the scarred surface of the table to keep from having to make eye contact with the possum, he said, “Yeah, I could really use someone to talk to.”
“That’s what I’m here for. Looks like you’ve been crying.”
“Yeah,” Kevin said, wiping at his still-leaking eyes. “Me and Neil had an argument.”
“An argument?”
“Well, more like a blow-out. I don’t think I’ve ever heard him yell so loud.”
“I know, I heard it down here. What started the fight?”
“He wanted to get frisky, but I wasn’t receptive. I told him I had a migraine, but he didn’t believe me. He told me I was as useless in bed as I was at running a business.”
“Do you really have a headache?” the possum asked with a piercing stare.
“Yes, I really do. I’ve been getting them a lot lately. Although…”
“Although what? You can tell me.”
“I probably wouldn’t have been receptive even if I didn’t have a headache.”
“Why not?”
“Neil just doesn’t seem to be the same man I fell in love with. He’s so mean to me these days, always insulting me and calling me names. It’s hard to get turned on by a man who routinely treats you like shit.”
“How long has he been treating you this way?”
“Oh, about two and a half years now. Since I opened the antique store. He acts like I pressured him into bankrolling the business, but that’s not true. I never asked him for a goddam cent. He offered. And it’s not my fault the people in this town can’t appreciate fine antiques. I think everyone here gets their furniture from Pottery Barn or something.”
The possum crushed the smoldering butt in the saucer then lit another cigarette with a cheap blue Bic. Kevin watched, amazed by the dexterity the animal was capable of with its little paws. “How long has it been?” the possum asked.
“Huh? How long has it been since what?”
“Since you and Neil were intimate?”
“Oh, I’m not certain. Months, for sure. But it’s not all on me. There have been times I’ve made advances that he’s rebuffed. Probably getting his fill elsewhere.”
“What do you mean by that?”
Kevin shrugged and said, “I sort of suspect he’s been having an affair with one of his drama students from the college.”
“He is.”
Kevin blinked at the possum. “What?”
“He is having an affair with one of his students.”
“How do you know?”
The possum blew twin streams of smoke from its nostrils and said, “I just know. The same way I know he isn’t the only one who has been unfaithful.”
Tales From the Midnight Shift Vol. 1 Page 3
