The Best Horror of the Year Volume Eleven

by Ellen Datlow

  “He’s eating it, Dad! Can I give him more? Do you think I could feed him out of my hand?”

  “I don’t know about that, Sweetie.”

  Lisbeth held up a triangle of ham sandwich. Walked towards the monkey without fear, wagging the sandwich up and down. “Here monkey! Here.”

  Selena pulled her long hair behind her ear. “Lisbeth? Maybe you shouldn’t do that.”

  The monkey crawled closer across the sand, baring its fangs.

  Selena stood up. “Lisbeth? Please come back.”

  Don stood. “Sweetie?”

  “Here monkey!”

  The monkey scuttled over, snatching the sandwich, shoulders hunching.

  Lisbeth squealed.

  The monkey jumped on her head, long brown tail whipping left, right.

  Lisbeth’s blind arms rising.

  Selena dashed across the sand.

  The monkey’s black paw dug into the front of Lisbeth’s screaming face, pulling out a blue eye.

  Scuttled back down the beach, with the other two, hopping back into the jungle.

  Don, Selena, Geoffrey, and Pooko sat together in the waiting area of the emergency room. A very small emergency room, about the size of a doctor’s office back in the states. And according to the paper sign taped to the front glass door, it wasn’t a twenty-four hour service. Ten in the morning to eight in the evening.

  Eventually, a doctor made his way over to them. “The Holts?”

  Don stood up, still in his bathing suit. “Were you able to save the eye?”

  The doctor did a double-take. “There was no eye. From what you said, the monkey took it.”

  Selena’s face scrunched. “She doesn’t have a left eye anymore?”

  “But her right eye is unharmed. Not even scratched. Let me take you to her.”

  Once through the door separating the waiting room from the emergency care ward, they saw Lisbeth right away, sitting up in a white bed. There was only one other bed in the ward. No privacy curtains. A sandwich, half-eaten, on a small desk against one wall.

  Lisbeth had white gauze over her left eye, criss-crossed white tape holding the gauze in place.

  Her little lips trembled, arms lifting. “Daddy!”

  Don held her to his bare chest, careful not to touch the bandage.

  “She can go home with you. There is nothing more we can do.”

  Selena, tears down her face. “What do we do next? Do we get a glass eye, or . . .”

  The doctor shook his head. “The socket must heal first. You can get the glass eye back in the states.”

  A black nurse showed up behind them. “Mr. Holt, will you be paying with traveler’s checks?”

  He instinctively touched the sides of his bathing suit. “Let me get my pants.”

  The nurse accompanied him back out to the emergency room waiting area. The family had left all their belongings on the seats of the empty chairs. Thankfully, no one had stolen them. Don yanked out his wallet. He followed the nurse into a back room.

  As he pulled out his wad of traveler’s checks, she raised her black eyebrows. “A wealthy American! Come on down to the islands more often!”

  Her eyes were so brown they were almost black.

  He peeled off blue-green traveler’s checks. His handsome face managed a smile. “I’d love to go down on the islands.”

  Rejoined his family a few minutes later, putting a slip of paper into his wallet.

  Lisbeth sat in Selena’s lap on the drive back to the villa.

  No one spoke.

  A little before eight, Don got up out of his chair. “I’m going to buy some whiskey.”

  “Tonight?”

  “I’ve been through a lot. And I still have to call Joan to tell her what happened. Will you watch the kids?”

  Selena moved her head around on her neck, somewhere between a nod and a shake. “Sure.”

  “It may take me a while to find a place that’s open. I’ll take the front door key with me. All of you probably need a good night’s sleep.”

  “Where’s Daddy going?”

  “I’ll be back. I’m just going out for a little while.”

  Selena, looking up at Don, beckoned to Lisbeth to join her on her chair. “Daddy won’t be long, Sweetie.”

  He got home around eleven.

  The kids were asleep. Lisbeth in the bed with Selena.

  “Why’d it take so long?”

  “I ended up going to a bar instead. So I didn’t bring a whole bottle of whiskey home.”

  In the dark, she gave him a kiss goodnight, Lisbeth exhaling by her side. Reared her head back at the minty taste. “Did you brush your teeth?”

  “I had one too many. Threw up in the parking lot. Sorry.”

  Selena fixed a special breakfast, Quiche Lorraine, to cheer up Lisbeth. “And when we get back to the states, you and I are going to get complete makeovers! It’ll be girl’s day out.”

  But Lisbeth, ignoring the slice of quiche put with a flourish in front of her, looked up at her dad. “I want to see my mom. My real mom.”

  Selena’s smile faded, came back, but frozen.

  Don swallowed some more quiche, wiped his mouth. “You will. But aren’t you having fun with Selena?”

  Her one eye started crying. “I want my real mom. Can we go back today?”

  Using the side of his fork to cut off another chunk of quiche. “Honey, you’re being rude.”

  Selena grinned extra-wide, shook her head. “No, it makes sense, Don. I can call the airline. See if we can get our tickets converted. I’ll make sure you see your real mom, Sweetie.” She picked up her orange juice, even though it was still full, went over by herself to the sink. Stayed with her back to the Holt family for a while, looking down at the sink.

  Don, still sitting with his kids at the kitchen table. “Are you okay?”

  Selena stayed standing with her back to the others. “Yeah. That’s fine. It really is. I understand.”

  They decided since this was to be their last day on the island, they’d have a cookout on the patio, over on the side of the patio least damaged by the Russian space junk falling out of the sky.

  Selena went into town by herself. Brought back jumbo shrimp fresh from the ocean, wooden skewers, a bag of coals with French writing on the side, and individual tubs of greens, fruits, and garden vegetables for a salad.

  Through the sliding glass door, she saw Don out on the terrace, having a drink, talking on his phone. Pooko and Geoffrey playing together in the fronds on the far side of the destroyed pool.

  Where was Lisbeth?

  A murmur deep within the villa. Selena followed its rise and fall, having to choose which hallways to tiptoe down based on the murmur’s increase or decrease in volume. Getting colder. Getting warmer.

  Found Lisbeth in a rear bedroom, back to the open doorway, sitting on the edge of the room’s bed, little shoulders hunched around the phone in her hand.

  Teary-voiced. “I want to live with you. I don’t like it here.”

  Reared her head around suddenly, with the new hairstyle Selena had got for her, look of betrayal on her bandaged face.

  Selena backed up, embarrassed. “Sorry. I didn’t know you were on the phone.”

  Flapped her hands by her hips, helpless. Left.

  She was sniffling by the kitchen sink, cold water on, deveining the shrimp, when Lisbeth showed up.

  “Hey, Sweetie.” She put down the long, thin knife. Smiled.

  “How come you don’t have any kids?”

  “Well, I like to think of you and Geoffrey as my kids, now.”

  That little face, with that big, cumbersome bandage. “If my real mom was here, she would have protected me. I don’t have an eye anymore.”

  “Sweetie, we are going to have the best plastic surgeon in Manhattan take a look at you, and he’s going to fix you up to where nobody will ever see that you’re missing an eye.”

  “I don’t like shrimp.”

  “You liked it at the restaura
nt the other night.”

  Lisbeth headed towards the sliding doors.

  “Sweetie?”

  Lisbeth stopped, rolling her eye at the imposition.

  Selena started trembling. Tilted her face to one side. “I’m so, so sorry. I’m just really sorry, I’m . . .” She burst into tears. Shoulders shaking. Squeezed her eyes shut.

  Selena came through the sliding doors carrying a plate of skewered raw shrimp, a big bowl of the cut-up colors of the family’s salad.

  She posed with the plate, smiling brightly. “Okay, everybody! Who wants some grub?”

  Don said a few more words, got off the phone.

  Lisbeth, sitting by herself in one of the green and yellow patio chairs, mouth sickled, ignored her, staring up at the sky.

  Geoffrey and Pooko stayed on the far side of the wrecked pool, thrashing about in the fronds.

  The black coals were red hot, tiny flames flickering around them, like demons. White ash across their rounded tops.

  Selena lay the skewered shrimp on the grill. “Anyone want to watch?”

  Sizzle and smoke.

  No takers.

  It’s not easy. Sometimes, it’s hard to keep believing. But you keep believing.

  Pooko came running around the side of the pool. “Danger!”

  Don got up out of the chaise lounge, bringing his drink with him.

  Selena, watching the shrimp turn white and orange, getting ready to flip them. “What?”

  “Danger!” He flattened his right hand, swam it through the air.

  “Smells great!”

  Geoffrey, still in the fronds on the far side of the pool, leaning over.

  Pooko swimming his flattened hand through the air again, trying to find the English word.

  The shrimp were getting too done on one side.

  Selena, watching Pooko’s flattened hand swim laterally through the air.

  Jerked her head up, finding where Geoffrey was. “Geoffrey! Come here!”

  She dropped her tongs on the patio, went running around the pool to the far side of the property.

  Geoffrey rearing his head back, scared.

  She snatched him up in her arms, flew him backwards. Spanked his bottom. “Run to your dad!”

  Peered down at the criss-crossed fronds.

  The top of one shook. The top of the next one.

  There, down on the ground.

  Not a big snake. Maybe a foot long.

  This is going to stop. This is not going to keep happening.

  Lifting her foot, she stomped her sneaker down on the snake.

  Which just pushed it into the soft ground between the fern bases.

  Snarling like a protective mother, she reached down, grabbed the snake by its wriggling middle, flung it at the stone wall at the property line.

  Its writhings bounced it off the wall, flopping onto the ground.

  She shot a look at the others on the far side of the pool. Gave a thumbs up, to Lisbeth, with an exaggerated athleticism.

  Selena marched through the ferns to the wall. Found a rock on the ground.

  As her family watched, the little snake rose up off the dirt.

  Struck the front of its face against Selena’s thigh.

  She yanked it off her leg. Threw it at the wall.

  It curved back towards her.

  She went towards it, but stumbled.

  Looked down at her bitten thigh, where blood was flowing.

  Moved forward again, but slower.

  Don started running around the side of the pool to reach Selena.

  The little snake sprang up in the air again.

  Selena put up a hand to defend herself, but her hand rose slowly.

  Too slowly.

  The snake bit her again, in her waist.

  Her hand swatted at it. Listlessly. Like a wounded animal.

  Lisbeth started running around the pool.

  Selena fell.

  The snake twisted up her body, hitting its head against her here, there. One final strike, small face raised on its coils, against Selena’s neck.

  Two pink punctures.

  It slithered off.

  Selena lay in the dirt. One arm stretched out. Not moving.

  Don stopped running.

  But Lisbeth kept running around the side of the ruined pool.

  PAINTED WOLVES

  RAY CLULEY

  I’ve seen things few other people in the world have ever seen. And it’s a pretty big world, you know. The term “small world” is a bullshit expression used to explain coincidence, if you believe in that sort of thing. I know you don’t, Jenny. “Everything happens for a reason,” you said once. As if it’s part of some plan. But whose? I don’t know. I believe in Darwin. If there’s a God, and if He has a plan, then He not only works in mysterious ways but cruel ones too. I’ve travelled a lot of the world in this business, and it’s a bloody big world, and it’s beautiful, absolutely beautiful, but it’s fucking brutal. We’re all part of that.

  When the sun came up today I was thinking about how lucky I was to see the things I see. We were looking down at those zebra. You were drinking from a bottle of water. Tony and Eddie were prepping their cameras. The sky was lightening into shades of red and you said, “red sky at night”, which didn’t make much sense at the time because it was morning. Later you told me the rest of it: red sky at night, shepherd’s delight, red sky in the morning, shepherd’s warning. You didn’t know what it meant though. Anyway, I was watching the sun rise, and I was glad to see it, and I was watching you, and I was glad for that as well, and all around us Africa woke up. The rising sun brought the volume up with it, wildlife waking in a rich medley of calls and caterwauls. You didn’t have to be a sound technician to appreciate it.

  “Beautiful,” you said.

  Eddie clapped—“Okay, let’s go,”—and we took our positions. You put one foot on a rock, hands on your knee, and watched the sun fatten into a fuller shape, all for the camera. I remember wondering how many of our future viewers would watch the sunrise and how many would focus on the way your shorts clung to the curves you made in that pose. You knew I was looking. You knew we all were.

  “Africa,” you said, turning to face the camera. “Still very much a wild continent, even in Kruger National Park. Perhaps especially in the park. Here, over a thousand different species exist together in a purposeful circle of—”

  “Perpetual.”

  “Perpetual. Fuck.”

  Tony swore, too. I let the furry shape of the microphone dip into shot while I rested my arms (you take every opportunity) and you apologised to Eddie.

  “Go again.”

  Your face was red in the glow of the rising sun. “Africa. Still very much a wild continent . . .”

  This time you messed up the name of the park.

  “Fuck, fuck, fuck!”

  “Gee, do we need to have the sun coming up as she says it?” Tony asked.

  “There’s always tomorrow,” I offered.

  “No,” said Eddie. “There isn’t. We lost too much time with the lions. Come on, go again.”

  The sun was almost up, drifting away from the horizon to add a bloody colour to the soil of—“Africa . . .”

  “Fucking cunt!”

  Tony peered into one of his cameras. Some dirt had gotten in despite his precautions. I remember you covering your ears, claiming, “Ladies present,” though we’d all seen your Big Brother footage and knew better.

  “Fucking Africa!” Tony yelled. Fucking Africa got its own back, though, and Tony jerked his head down with a squint and another, “Fuck,” rubbing wind-blown dirt from his eyes.

  You laughed, I remember that, too. Tony glared. You covered your mouth with both hands.

  The others didn’t like you much. You have to remember, the three of us had worked together for a while, sharing tents and toilet paper in some right God-awful places. Then you came along. “Time to put a pretty face in front of the camera,” they told us. “No more voiceover.” A
dmittedly, your celebrity status, such as it was, gave us something of an Anti-Attenborough advantage. Tony and Eddie both admitted that much, at least, even if they did call you “the tits with the script.” One of the magazines said of Park Life, “I’m sure there will be lots of interesting animals, but most eyes will be on the beautiful creature that is Jenny Friars.” You pretended to hate it, said it was sexist and patronising, but you didn’t mean it. It would get you more work and us more viewers, and you understood that. All we had to do was film the damn thing.

  “Calm down, mate,” Eddie said. He was squatting at the stove with a sandwich on a stick, making jaffles. Real food, apparently. Just Eddie being the typical Australian, I suppose, only happy when burning food over an open flame. He was a canyoneer with legs like a rugby player and muscled everywhere else from years of carrying heavy gear. He was spooning something from a can to his mouth even as he cooked.

  “I hate this country,” Tony told him.

  “You hate every country we film in.”

  “Yeah, well, every country makes it difficult for me.” He puffed breath at the lens and tilted it to catch the light.

  Tony and I had worked together on a series called Rainforest and after that we’d done Outback. With Rainforest we picked up a dose of dengue fever and botfly. With Outback we picked up Eddie.

  “You okay, Tom?”

  You asked me that a lot. When you looked up, you smiled. I’d been staring at your midriff as you tied a knot into the front of your shirt. I suppose you must have noticed. I tried to smile back but you had a way of making it feel crooked, like I’d forgotten how.

  “Hot enough?” you asked.

  A more confident man would have turned that into some sort of flattering joke, but me, I just laughed and wiped the sweat from my brow. My shirt would be soaked before breakfast. You, though, you wore yours with a sort of serenity. Even khaki looked good on you.

  “Hey, Tom,” Eddie called, “chuck me my bag, mate.”

  Do you remember asking me why I let him push me around? It was the “mate.” Every time Eddie said “mate,” it didn’t feel so bad. “He’s okay,” I’d told you, “once you get to know him.”