The Best Horror of the Year Volume Eleven

by Ellen Datlow

  “Sir, if you will be so kind as to allow me—”

  Oslov yanked the bottle from the waiter. The corkscrew fell to the carpet. “Get me a new corkscrew.” Shook his head wearily at the waiter’s incompetence. Shot his eyes up at the waiter. “No, I don’t want that corkscrew! You picked it up off the dirty carpet! Fetch me a new corkscrew. A clean one. What is wrong with you? Are you a waiter, or a bus boy?”

  The soup really was quite good. Deep, complex flavor. It reminded Don of some of the gumbos he had had in New Orleans over the years, on one of his many business trips. As he sipped, head bent, he saw Lisbeth struggle with trying to decide if she liked it or not, casting glances at Selena’s elegant face for clues. Geoffrey was using his spoon like an oar, floating the ingredients around, trying to figure out what he had been served. Fussy eater. Which dismayed Don.

  “What were you doing over there?”

  “I have your corkscrew, Sir.”

  “Yeah, but before you brought it to me, you brought salads to that other table. You were waiting on us. You help us first, then you help them. Now watch as I open this bottle. You need to learn how to do this if you’re going to be a waiter.”

  The rest of the men at the table leaned back in their captain’s chairs, relaxing, laughing, looking at the waiter with contempt.

  Oslov worked the point of the screw into the soft top of the cork, screwing down the steel spirals. “See what I’m doing? Don’t look over there. Look here. Pay attention!”

  After a few more twists, the corkscrew snapped off.

  “The fuck?”

  The waitress returned to take their empty soup bowls. “Was it to your satisfaction, Sir?”

  Don lit a fresh cigarette. “It had a unique taste. I really enjoyed it.”

  “They season it with the little ones. It is an island specialty.”

  “The . . . what? What do they season it with?”

  “The little ones, Sir. An island specialty. The cooks grind them, and add them to the soup, sprinkling them across the surface. They sink down, of course.”

  “You brought me a defective corkscrew!”

  “I did not, Sir.”

  “On purpose! You filthy, worthless piece of shit! I want to speak to your manager! Fetch him!”

  “Sir, I can remedy this situation.”

  “Fetch your God damn manager, boy!” Thumb and middle finger raised. Snap, snap.

  “Allow me to clear your soup course.”

  “Clear our soup course? We haven’t even tasted it, due to your stupid incompetence.”

  The waiter reached down, curled his fingers under the white rim of the far side of Oslov’s soup bowl. Tilted the rim up until the hot soup slid over the opposite rim, onto Oslov’s lap.

  Oslov shot up out of his chair, slapping at his crotch.

  “Sorry, Sir. Accident.”

  “You fucking—”

  “I am so sorry, Sir.”

  “Manager! Where’s the fucking manager?”

  A bald headed man who was older and even shorter than the waiter rushed over.

  The waitress brought the next course to Don’s table. Fat white shrimp with orange streaks across their plumpness, lying in a shallow pool of golden butter. Intoxicating aroma of garlic.

  Don glanced at his kids. “Don’t behave like that when you grow up. Especially don’t behave like that in a restaurant. The waiter will spit in your food before he serves it to you.”

  As they were finishing the course, the police arrived. Oslov at this point, still standing, front of his pants wet, arguing at the top of his lungs with the manager. The waiter had his hands on his hips.

  Everyone pulled back a little in front of the police. Don recognized Sheriff Axonil, from earlier.

  As the cheese course arrived, wrapped in wet green leaves, the sheriff grabbed the waiter by his shoulders, twisted him around. Bent him over a vacant table. Handcuffed him. Had one of his deputies lead the waiter out of the dining room by his shirt collar, seated people pretending not to watch, forks held in mid-air. Just before he himself left, Sheriff Axonil swept his eyes around the different tables. Saw Don. Glared at him.

  Selena looked at her fingernails. “I always thought island life was supposed to be relaxing.”

  As they left through the restaurant’s entrance, a little boy ran up to Don’s family. Frightened look in his eyes. “Are you hungry?”

  Don stepped between the boy and his children. “Who are you?”

  “I am so hungry! Will you feed me?”

  Lisbeth reached out for Selena’s hand. “Dad? Can we feed him?”

  “Can I come to your home?”

  “No. Sorry. Where are your parents?”

  “My father was arrested.”

  “Was your father the waiter the police took away?”

  He grew excited. “Yes! I don’t have any food.”

  “Dad? Please?”

  “Your father was an employee of the restaurant. Go inside and speak to the manager. Tell him your situation. I’m sure he’ll take care of you.”

  The boy tagged along at the periphery of Don’s family as they made their way across the parking lot to their rental station wagon. “Please feed me?”

  Don got everyone into the wagon. Turned around at the opened driver’s door. “What’s your name, son?”

  “Pooko.”

  “Pooko, you need to go back to the restaurant and speak to the manager. I’m sure he’ll help you.”

  Don folded himself into the wagon, started it up. Backed up carefully, Pooko just outside, arms at his sides.

  “He looked hungry, Dad.”

  “I don’t doubt he is. But we’re not going to get involved in it. Not in a foreign country. You’ve got to watch out for yourself. Nobody else will.”

  Don exited the parking lot. Glanced in the rear view mirror. Pooko was running behind the wagon, knees and elbows lifting.

  Their rented villa wasn’t far from the restaurant. By the time they pulled up into the driveway, and everyone got out of the car, Don could hear the echoes of shoes running on pavement, approaching from the street’s shadows.

  “Everyone get inside.”

  Pooko’s running body emerged out of the darkness, bouncing under the moonlit palm trees, towards them.

  “Dad?”

  Don looked at Selena, who was standing behind Lisbeth, hands draped over the little girl’s shoulders. She squeezed the tops of Lisbeth’s shoulders.

  “We don’t know anything about him, Sweetie.”

  But by now Pooko had almost reached the driveway. His eyes looked frightened. Bent over, like he was going to vomit. Palms on his knees. Out of breath. “I, I have, have, nowhere. To go.”

  “Dad, please?”

  Don made an F sound with his lips.

  “He doesn’t have anybody! And he’s hungry!”

  Inside the well-lit villa, Don poured himself a whiskey. Lisbeth was introducing herself and Geoffrey to the little boy. Don sat on one of the bar stools. “What do you normally eat?”

  Pooko swung his anxious face towards Don, trying to please. “My older brothers? They allow me to drink all the pig juice. Because I am more . . .” Head down, trying to translate. “Vulnerable?”

  “And what exactly is pig juice?”

  “It is when the pig is activated? Activated?”

  “Do you mean the pig’s blood?”

  “Oh, no, no! I would not want to drink blood. Diseases. But pig’s juice, it is not the best part, like the head, but it is very nourishing.”

  “So is it like the melted fat from the pig?”

  “No! We do not eat that. Not even my brothers.”

  “Do you mean the drippings from the pig? As it cooks?”

  “Oh, no. That is for my older brothers. Only they get the bread to sop it up with. I just get the pig juice. It is very nourishing.”

  Selena, fetching in her bare-armed island dress, looked at her new husband. “We have some leftover chicken in the fridge.”


  Don raised himself up in his chaise lounge, shielding his eyes from the sun with a right-handed salute, watching Selena sashay over in a blue and red bikini.

  “Here’s your drink, Sir.” She perched on the edge of his chaise lounge, facing him, drawing up one foot so he could see down the length of her leg. “The kids seem to be having fun.”

  Lisbeth and Pooko were splashing at each other in the pool, laughing and twisting their faces to one side, Geoffrey contributing feeble sprays of water the other two didn’t notice.

  She rubbed Don’s forearm. “I think in another minute he’s going to start feeling left out. Why don’t you play a game with him?”

  Don sipped his drink. “What, like Monopoly?”

  Raising her eyebrows to herself, shy. “No, but it may be a good opportunity for some father-son bonding.”

  “Let me enjoy this drink first. It’s not going to kill him to have to learn how to deal with disappointment.”

  She play-punched his bicep. “Some fathers are so stern.”

  “I’m just not that touchy-feely.” Was that noise an airplane? “Whenever I told my dad I was sorry, he’d say, ‘It’s too late to be sorry.’ I’d cry in my bedroom, but eventually I got over it.” He looked up at the sky.

  “Probably something his dad used to say to him.”

  A line of smoke was spiraling down from the sky, louder and louder.

  Don, distracted. “That never occurred to me.”

  Selena looked over her bare shoulder. “What is that?” Looked up.

  Don put his drink on the side table. Sat up all the way, feet coming down onto the patio.

  Selena stood. “Kids! Come over here!”

  The smoke spiraled closer, its oncoming rush blowing over an umbrella, outdoor grill.

  Lisbeth, Pooko, Geoffrey standing still in the pool, looking up, motionless.

  The roar was deafening.

  The diving board burst up into the air, somersaulting.

  Split tiles rained down on Don. He ducked his head instinctively.

  Selena had jumped into the pool. Was herding the three screaming kids to the shallow end.

  Don ran alongside the edge of the pool to its shallow end. Selena had everyone out by then. All three ran into her arms, sobbing.

  Billows of white steam erupting off the blue surface of their pool. Just beyond the villa’s low wall, a palm tree fell over.

  Selena, on her knees in her bikini, hugging all three kids. Looked up. “What the f was that?”

  Her left forearm was red. Must have burned it in the steam, pulling out the kids.

  “I . . .” He walked cautiously to the edge of the pool. Most of the steam had risen into the air, leaving a blur of mist just above the water. As the blur cleared, he saw something dark at the bottom of their pool. “Fuck.”

  It started to register with him that the diving board was missing, huge gouge down the pool’s tiled walls on that side. Three walls of the pool, in fact, were split apart. The level of the pool was lowering, water escaping through the ruptured tile walls.

  Looking around, trying to make sense out of everything.

  Oh. The diving board, what was left of it, was on the roof of their villa.

  “Don? Don?”

  Turned around again.

  Selena, like a wounded animal, was looking at the burn on her forearm. “It really hurts.”

  Sheriff Axonil came striding into their back terrace, gun drawn. “What has happened?”

  Don lifted a hand, couldn’t think of what to say.

  The sheriff stalked over to the smoldering ruins where the diving board had been. “You destroyed this man’s pool!”

  Selena held the children closer. “Something fell out of the sky. It wasn’t our fault.”

  “You say it wasn’t your fault, but look at this!”

  Don patted the air in front of him. “An object fell out of the sky. We had nothing to do with it.”

  “Sheriff, may I ask you to please put your gun away? You’re frightening the children.”

  Axonil looked at Selena’s pleading face. Rolled his eyes to himself. Holstered his gun.

  Don approached Axonil, aware the sheriff’s eyes were jumping. “We really had nothing to do with this. You can see for yourself. Just look in the pool.”

  A black object, made out of some kind of metal.

  Selena took a look herself, kids shuffling with her. “That printing on the side. That’s Cyrillic.”

  The sheriff studied her, but clearly wasn’t going to ask what Cyrillic meant.

  “It’s Russian. Whatever fell out of the sky must have been part of a Russian satellite.”

  He flared his nostrils. “I have to once again write you a ticket. The man’s swimming pool is destroyed.”

  Don controlled his anger. “We did not destroy the pool. This object did. Over which we had no control.”

  “Well then, you can argue that in court. That’s what our courts are for. Who is that child?”

  Pooko was clinging to Selena.

  “He wasn’t here yesterday. He doesn’t look like your offspring.”

  “We . . . this is Pooko. We were in a restaurant last night, the Happy Go Lucky? You were there too. His father, the waiter, was arrested. Pooko is his son. He followed us here. We took him in, rather than just having him wander around in the streets after dark.”

  “Did you not think to call the sheriff’s department?”

  Selena looked up from nursing the burn on her forearm. “We called the sheriff’s department, but no one answered.” Stared straight at the sheriff, blinking, hoping he’d believe the lie.

  The sheriff wavered. “How late did you call?”

  “Quite late.”

  Sheriff Axonil conceded the point. “Well. His father will be in jail for the next few days.” Hesitated, looking at Selena. “I will let him know you are taking care of his son for him. He is not a trouble?”

  Selena’s happy face, tears of relief. “No trouble at all!”

  “But I do have to write you a ticket for this destruction. You can argue it in court.”

  For the second time in two days, Don waited for the sheriff to rip a citation off the top of his thick pad. “I’ll see that it’s taken care of.”

  Sheriff Axonil nodded. Glanced back at Selena. Squinted up at the sky. Left.

  By the next morning, the burn on Selena’s forearm was still red, but according to her, it no longer hurt.

  She suggested they take a day off, pack a picnic lunch, go to the beach and just relax.

  Don, sipping his coffee, agreed. “I want to get something out of this vacation.”

  It was a beautiful day. Blue sky, white sand, green waves breaking on the shore.

  Selena spread a wide, red blanket for everyone. Don stabbed the large beach umbrella into the sand, so they’d have some shade.

  Even better, the beach was not crowded. A few families or couples in sight, fairly far down on either side of them. Behind them, where the edge of the beach met the jungle, tall palm trees, wild ferns, bright green fronds swaying in the breeze off the ocean.

  Selena put some sunscreen on her forearm, revolving it as she rubbed.

  “Does it hurt?”

  She shrugged. “Just a little.” Up from under look. “You could try to distract me from it later on tonight, after the kids are tucked in.”

  “We could swing by the emergency room on the way back to the villa.”

  She squeezed her husband’s wrist. “I’ll be okay. I hate emergency rooms.”

  The three kids were down by the wet shoreline, building a sand castle. Dumping their plastic buckets of sand, decorated with big, colorful flowers, upside down on the dry part of the sand. Geoffrey was staring down at something that had arrived on a wave, bending over in his baggy swimming trunks. The little scientist.

  Once the sun was high up in the sky, Don kissed his wife and took a swim out in the ocean, going arm over arm out past the humped waves, until he was just a litt
le pale blot in the distant, undulating green, swimming lateral to the shoreline about half a mile down the beach. Selena and the kids watched from shore. She squeezed Lisbeth’s shoulder. “Your dad’s a strong swimmer.”

  When Don emerged hunch-backed from the water, tired, the five of them made their way to the blanket.

  Selena, sitting with legs folded by the large wicker picnic basket she had packed hours earlier, glanced prettily at her family. “You guys ready to eat?”

  Her delicate hands lifted out all sorts of treasures. Some squarish white ice bags first, to keep all the food inside cool.

  Ham sandwiches. Fried chicken. Hard-boiled eggs. Salads, in plastic bins, dressing in a separate container, so the greens wouldn’t get soggy. Irregularly-cut cubes of moist fruit, all different colors. Cheese! Crackers. A baggie heavy with wet pickle spears. And for the two adults, a tall bottle of white wine, two glasses, and a corkscrew.

  Pooko had to be shown how a sandwich worked.

  They ate together, on the red blanket, in a small circle facing inwards.

  Lisbeth was cutting up one of the larger fruit chunks for Geoffrey when her eyes widened, staring past Selena and Don’s shoulders. “Look! Look!”

  She stood up on the blanket in her bathing suit.

  Twenty feet away, a group of three monkeys were cautiously approaching across the sand on their knuckles and feet, black noses lifted, sniffing. Selena swung her hair away from her face. “Oh, my goodness!”

  “Can we feed them?”

  Don drained his latest glass of wine. “They’re wild animals, Sweetie.”

  “People probably feed them all the time, Dad! It’s like when we go to McDonalds and drop French fries out the windows for the pigeons.”

  The lead monkey sat up, brown hindquarters setting down in the sand. He raised his front paws, as if begging, big lips pulling back, exposing his fangs, chattering.

  “He’s hungry!”

  “I don’t know. They’re wild animals.”

  Lisbeth, still standing, got in a pitcher’s stance, eyes closed. Hurled a wet chunk of fruit at the front monkey, as if she were trying to hit it. It plopped into the sand a yard in front of it.

  As they all watched, the monkey, larger than the other two, crawled forward. Rump held higher than its head, worried eyes checking and rechecking the humans’ distance. Scrabbled up the orange chunk. Amazingly, with a daintiness, dusted off the sand with its black paw. So intelligent!