Breed

by Goingback, Owl

  Growing more nervous by the minute, she looked around at the empty room. Several of her fellow employees claimed to have had ghostly encounters on the second floor of the restaurant. Meeting a ghost was the last thing in the world she wanted to experience, especially when she was by herself. Finishing her drink, she hurried downstairs to be with the others.

  Most of the employees had already gone home for the night, but there was still a handful of people in the kitchen, moping up and making sure that everything perishable was put away. There were also a couple of the front staff sitting at the downstairs bar, waiting to check out. Frank was behind the bar, and it was obvious he was still in a good mood because he had served drinks to the other employees.

  Frank smiled when he saw Cindy approaching the bar. “Did you get lonely upstairs by yourself?”

  “You could say that.”

  “Did you see any ghosts?”

  “No, and I don’t plan on seeing any tonight either. That’s why I came down here.”

  The others laughed. They all knew the stories associated with the restaurant, and probably none of them would have felt very comfortable about being upstairs alone after closing time.

  “How was your drink?”

  “Excellent,” she replied. “But I want another one. I’ll pay. Put it in a go cup.”

  Frank made her another margarita, doubling up on the tequila, and putting it in a clear plastic cup so she could take it with her. The cops didn’t usually hassle people if they were walking with a drink in their hands, as long as it was in a plastic cup so they couldn’t tell what it was.

  “Thanks, darling.” She paid for the drink, leaving a tip on the bar. Grabbing her purse out of her locker in the back room, she said good-bye to the other employees and headed for the side door. The patio area was empty and quiet now that all of the customers had gone home, but the torches still burned, casting a dancing glow over the empty tables.

  She took a deep breath as she stepped outside, savoring the fresh air blowing in off the bay. As she inhaled, Cindy realized she was already starting to feel the effects of the first margarita. Taking a sip of her second drink, she walked through the outside dining area to the cobblestone street behind the restaurant. It was getting late and the street was deserted. Even the public parking lot behind the restaurant was already empty.

  Turning left, she proceeded down the narrow street, being cautious of the potholes and loose bricks. She didn’t want to trip and fall, nor did she want to spill her drink. The margarita was quite tasty, and she wanted to enjoy every drop. Nobody made drinks the way Frank did, at least nobody made them quite as strong.

  Cindy Hawkins had only gone a few blocks when she noticed someone was following her. Well, maybe not following, but there was a man coming down the street behind her. The street was dark and she couldn’t tell who it was; it was probably just a tourist enjoying the atmosphere of the historic district at night. Parking was also a problem in the old section, so the man might be walking back to his car after having dined at one of the local restaurants.

  Next time eat at Harry’s. You won’t have to walk so far.

  Turning right at the corner, she cut down a side street even darker than the one just traveled. It was darker, but it was also a shortcut to where she wanted to go. She was halfway down the street, when she glanced over her shoulder and noticed someone enter the alley behind her. It was the same man she had seen before, and she couldn’t help but wonder if he really was pursuing her.

  That’s ridiculous.

  She smiled and took another sip of margarita. The man just happened to be walking in the same direction. He might even be going to the same bar. If he was stalking her, then he wouldn’t be so bold about it. He would be sneaking around in the shadows, not walking out in the open where he could be seen.

  To prove to herself that she wasn’t really being followed, Cindy decided to stop walking and act as if she was looking for something in her purse.She stood there for a moment or two, expecting the man who trailed behind her to walk on past. But when she didn’t hear footsteps, she looked up to see where he had gone. The waitress felt a flutter of nervousness pass through her stomach as she spotted him back down the street. Apparently, he had stopped when she did, and was now standing there watching her.

  What the hell. Someone is playing games with me.

  But maybe the situation was perfectly innocent. Maybe he had a reason to stop when she did. Perhaps he was tying his shoe lace, or lighting a cigarette. He might even be the shy type and didn’t want to walk past her.

  Or he might be the protective type. Maybe he had seen a young woman walking down a dark alley, and decided to keep an eye on her. He might be an off duty cop, or a security officer.

  Another thought crossed her mind. Maybe it was one of her fellow employees that now followed her. It might even be Frank. The assistant manager had served her two very strong drinks, so maybe he was making sure she got safely to her destination. He was the type of guy to do something like that: watch over her to keep her safe, but stay back so as not to be seen or take any credit.

  “Yoo-hoo, Frankie. Is that you?” Cindy giggled. If it was Frank, then he should be rewarded for his gallantry.

  “I’ll give you a reward.” She laughed harder, spilling margarita across the back of her hand. She licked the liquid off of her skin. “Don’t spill your drink. It’s alcohol abuse.”

  Maybe Frank wanted to party with her, but he didn’t have the nerve to ask. He was probably afraid she would reject him because he was married, or run tell his wife. Perhaps the assistant manager was looking to add a little spice in his life.

  Is that it, Frank? Are you looking for a little spice?

  Cindy thought it over for a moment. She didn’t have a problem with having sex with married men. As a matter of fact, she actually preferred married men to the single guys. They were usually more experienced in bed, and much more willing to please. They weren’t in it just for themselves, and actually cared whether or not their partner had an orgasm. Married men were also less likely to be carrying around diseases.

  The tequila was causing her vision to blur around the edges, making it difficult to see. It might be Frank standing there in the darkness, or it might be one of the other employees. Maybe the assistant manager had sent one of the waiters after Cindy to keep an eye on her.

  “Well, in that case, there’s no reason to be shy.” She finished the last of her drink in one gulp and tossed the empty plastic cup to the sidewalk. Convinced the man was someone she knew, she started walking toward him.

  The young woman was only a few feet away when she realized that he wasn’t one of her coworkers. Nor was he one of her regular customers.

  She stopped and looked around nervously. Cindy was alone in the alley, just her and a man whose features she could not make out in the darkness. She could only see his eyes, unnaturally shiny in the night.

  “Hello? Can I help you?” Her tongue felt too thick and the words came out slurred. “Are you following me?”

  He didn’t answer, but maybe he didn’t speak English. St. Augustine drew tourists from all over the world; there were also a lot of Hispanic people living in Florida.

  “Qué pasa?” she asked, speaking one of the few Spanish phrases she knew. The man still didn’t reply. He just stood there, his image blurring in and out; his features clear one second and fuzzy the next.

  Suddenly, Cindy realized that what she was seeing was not the result of too much tequila. He really was shifting in and out of focus. One second his image was crystal clear, the next it was nothing more than a mass of blurry movements. It was as if his body was constantly reshaping itself around the edges.

  “What the hell?” She took a step back, fear blowing spider kisses up and down her spine.

  The flesh on his face began to quiver and roll, as if dozens of cockroaches scurried beneath the surface of his skin. His arms grew longer, fingers and hands disappearing, changing into black tentacles. More tent
acle sprouted from his body: perhaps a dozen, maybe more.

  The warm buzz of alcohol left her in a flash, leaving behind the icy numbness of terror. She recognized the person standing before her. It was the bearded customer she had seen earlier in the restaurant; the man with the icy stare, whose image in the mirror was obscene and inhuman. But it wasn’t just his reflection that wasn’t human, it was the man himself.

  “Oh, my God.”

  Cindy staggered back and turned to run, but several tentacles quickly reached out and grabbed her. She tried to scream, but one of the tentacles wrapped around her throat and cut off her air. She could only stare in wide-eyed terror as the bearded man made the final transformation into his true form, revealing a shape that was beyond madness.

  Again, she tried to scream, but only a soft hissing of air escaped her throat. Nor could she break free of the tentacles holding her, her struggles growing weaker by the second. Her arms and legs felt like lead, her punches and kicks having little effect on the monster.

  Her struggles finally stopped, and she could only watch in helpless terror as the body of the thing began to quiver and quake in apparent excitement, could only stare as a glistening wet appendage appeared from it’s lower torso, growing in length, stretching out toward her.

  A shudder of revulsion passed through her body. There was no mistaking that the appendage was a penis, and the sight of it sickened the young woman. She tried to pull back, but all of her strength had been drained from the struggle. Nor could she stop the tentacles from tearing off her clothing, shredding the material of her blouse and pants like tissue paper.

  The night air was chilly upon her bare legs, but the goosebumps breaking out on her skin were from fear and not the cold.

  One of the thin black tentacles slipped inside her panties like a wet eel, and there was a soft tearing sound as the silky material was pulled from her body. The tentacle was now free to explore and probe, searching out her various orifices. Other tentacles joined the first, coiling around her lower back and buttocks, drawing her closer to the monster.

  Her thighs were encircled, and her legs pulled apart, the monster using its tentacles to position her vagina for a quick and very painful insertion.

  Cindy screamed a silent cry as the monster entered her, tearing delicate flesh and causing blood to flow wet and warm down her legs. She struggled like a fish on a hook to get free as wave after wave of pain surged through her body. She prayed for release from the searing pain, and for death to come on silent wings to end the nightmare, but her prayers fell of deaf ears. She remained fully conscious as the monster trust against her, each passing second an eternity of agony.

  The monster’s thrusts began to slow, and finally came to a stop. Its penis remained deep inside of her for a few more seconds, then withdrew.

  A few moments of dead silence ticked past, then the creature made an angry hissing noise. Cindy felt the tentacles tighten around her body, and knew something even more terrible was about to happen to her. She watched as the monster’s hideous beaked mouth opened wide, and felt pain beyond description as dozens of tentacles stripped the flesh from her bones to feed that mouth. She closed her eyes, but it did not stop the pain. Nothing could stop the pain.

  Chapter 15

  It had to be a trick, someone must be playing some kind of sick joke on her. That could be the only logical explanation for the voice she heard. A prank. If it wasn’t a joke then the invisible man had just stopped by her apartment for a little visit, because the voice Ssabra heard belonged to a man who could not be seen.

  There was another possibility, but she really didn’t want to think about it. If it wasn’t a trick, and if the invisible man hadn’t stopped by for tea, then the voice might mean that she had finally gone crazy and was now a few cards short of a full deck.

  Placing her hands on her head, she checked to see if there was any noticeable change in the size and shape of her cranium. She didn’t feel any swelling, so she could probably rule out a tumor, or an aneurysm, and she had never taken hallucinogenic drugs, nor was she a manic-depressive. If she had gone insane, then it wasn’t from a severe medical condition, or from anything she had done to herself during her younger years.

  Thinking that perhaps she was losing her mind, she resisted the urge to flee from her apartment. No point in running from insanity. Sooner or later, it would find you no matter where you hid. Better to face the problem now; she could always run later, provided the men in the funny white coats hadn’t already taken her away.

  At first, the voice seemed to be coming from several different directions at once. When Ssabra got over her initial shock, however, she realized that she was actually hearing the voice inside her head. It was very faint at first, but the more she listened the louder it became, finally sounding as if someone was standing next to her.

  “Where are you?” she asked, finding enough courage to voice a question.

  “I am here,” responded the voice. It was definitely a man who spoke.

  “Here? In the room with me?” She looked around nervously, still not quite sure what to make of the situation. Her instinct told her to get the hell out of there, but it was her home and she was not about to give it up without a fight.

  “Yes. I am here.”

  Ssabra was doubtful that there was really someone in the room with her, despite what she heard. “Can you see me?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then what am I wearing?” The blinds had all been drawn, so she knew none of her neighbors could see into the apartment. Even the fat man in the neighboring building could not see her.

  “You are wearing white shorts, a red top, and shoes. You have very nice legs.”

  She looked around, suspecting there was a hidden camera, and maybe a tiny speaker, somewhere in her apartment, but she didn’t see anything out of the ordinary. If there were such devices, the installer had done a good job of hiding them.

  Then again, a hidden speaker would not explain why she seemed to be hearing the voice inside her head. To create that kind of effect there would have to be a dozen different speakers, each of them broadcasting in stereo sound. Or someone would actually have had to implant a tiny speaker in her head, but that sort of thing only happened in science fiction movies.

  “Are you a ghost?” she asked, finally getting around to the question she was most afraid to ask.

  “You could say that.”

  She let out her breath, feeling her hands start to shake. “I’m sorry. You probably prefer being called a spirit.”

  “Why should I care what you call me? I am dead.”

  “Are you the spirit of a little girl?”

  “Do I sound like the spirit of a little girl?” answered the voice, chuckling. “I was a man.”

  “But Barbara said you were a little girl.”

  “Who is Barbara?”

  “Barbara Jaeger. She was here a little while ago. She’s supposed to be psychic.”

  “Ah, the big woman. She who likes to burn candles.” Again the voice laughed. “I would not listen to much that woman has to say. She claims to be a person of medicine, but she is nothing but a fool. So is the young one who came with her.”

  “Claire?”

  “Yes. That one too. She has spiders in her head.”

  Ssabra laughed. It was a perfect description for Claire. “I’m sorry if I offended you. Barbara said that you were the spirit of a little girl named Elizabeth.”

  “I know Elizabeth, and I am not her.”

  “You mean there really is a ghost named Elizabeth?’

  “Yes. But not here.”

  She glanced around the room, hoping to see the person who was talking to her. She still wasn’t convinced that she was communicating with the dead, but she was willing to go along with the game for now.

  “If you’re not Elizabeth, then who are you?”

  “My name is Tolomato.”

  “Tolomato?” she asked, surprised. “Like the cemetery?”

  “Yes.”


  “You were a Seminole chief?”

  There was a hiss of anger. “I am not Seminole. I am Guale.”

  “But the sign in the Old Drugstore says--”

  “The sign is wrong.”

  “This is just too weird.” Ssabra began to pace the room out of nervousness. “If you really are Tolomato, then you’ve been dead for a long time.”

  “Do you think I do not know that? I am the one who is dead.”

  “No. No. That’s not what I meant,” she stuttered. “Hell, I don’t know what I mean. I guess I’m just a little upset, and not thinking too clearly. It’s not everyday that I have a conversation with a dead person.”

  “You will get used to it.”

  She stopped pacing. “What do you mean by that?”

  “We will have many conversations together.”

  “We will? Wait a minute. We can’t. What will my neighbors think? Can anyone else hear you?”

  “Only you.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “That is how it is.”

  “But why me? Why not go talk to someone else? Why not talk to Claire? She would love having a ghost in her house.”

  “You would have me talk with an idiot?”

  “She’s not that bad.”

  Tolomato laughed. “I would rather talk to a rock.”

  “But why me? Why are you talking to me?”

  “Because you are Indian.”

  “I’m only half Cherokee,” Ssabra protested. “I don’t even know how to speak the language.”

  Tolomato sighed. “Yes. I know. I tried to talk to you in your native tongue, but you did not understand.”

  “You tried to talk to me in Cherokee?”

  “Several times. ‘Osiyo’ is the Cherokee word for hello.”

  “Osiyo means hello? Really? That’s what you were trying to say to me. Hello? Then you’re the one who wrote on my bathroom mirror, and it was you I heard at the Huguenot Cemetery.”