Thoroughly Modern Monsters

by Jennifer Rainey

  “Mrs. Bosley, these pork chops are so good!” Lyla squealed. “I’ve never had pork chops with applesauce before. Is it exotic?”

  “Very,” Jae Lynn answered. “They eat them like this in France.” Grandma gave her a stern glance, but Uncle Harold only nodded in agreement.

  “Ooh, France! Hola!” Lyla said. “So, Dustin, you didn’t tell me you were related to someone famous.” Dustin shrugged, tossed his hair and seemed to be contemplating whether or not he should put his hand on Lyla’s knee. “Mr. Bosley, I see you on TV all the time!”

  “Do you?” said Uncle Harold.

  “Oh yeah, you’re a hero! My mom says that if more werewolves were used for good like you, the world would be so much safer. I mean, a crime-fighting werewolf! Has anyone asked you if you want to do a reality show yet? I love shows like that!”

  “Yes, they’ve asked me,” Uncle Harold answered. “I said no.”

  Lyla continued, “When did you decide you wanted to work with the cops as a werewolf?”

  He twitched, Jae Lynn noticed, every time she used that word. Werewolf. She wondered what Lyla Paulson would look like with applesauce in her hair. “I didn’t. Uncle Sam wanted me to have a new job, and since I’d been in law enforcement here in town, they sent me to New York. Why not have a werewolf on the force, they said. Gotta use that strength for something good. They did a few tests, trained me and threw me into the line of fire—”

  “Lyla, what is it you do for fun?” Grandma interrupted and flicked cigarette ash at her youngest son.

  “Oh… I just like hanging out with friends… listening to music… doing fun stuff…”

  “Easy to please. I wonder if she likes breathing air and drinking water, too,” Uncle Harold muttered to Jae Lynn.

  She smirked at her uncle. “Hey, Dustin, pass the bread, would y—”

  The door from the garage flew open, and Jae Lynn looked up to see her father in his boiler suit with his tool kit in hand and his caterpillar brows knitted. Judging from the dark smudges on his face and hands, it had not been a good day. There was a direct correlation between how dirty her father was at the end of his day at the shop and how unpleasant he’d be when he got home.

  She cleared her throat and looked to Grandma, who looked pitifully back at her. Lyla was an oblivious sunbeam at the end of the table. “What is that asshole doing here?” Dad asked.

  Grandma frowned. “Michael. We have company and not just your brother. Behave. Please?”

  Dad dropped his tool kit on the counter with a clatter, but his gaze never strayed from Uncle Harold. He didn’t wipe the grime from his face or wash his hands before sitting across from him. “So, why did you start dinner without me?”

  “Guests,” Grandma answered simply and flicked her cigarette. “Dustin’s brought a young lady home with him. Lyla, this is Dustin’s father, Michael.”

  “Nice to meet you, Mr. Bosley,” Lyla chirped, but Dad didn’t look her way.

  Jae Lynn drew a deep breath and looked into her applesauce. She moved it around the plate with her spoon, formed it into hearts, smiley faces, swirls.

  Grandma continued, “Lyla was just telling us about how she likes listening to music—”

  “When did you get into town?” Dad asked Uncle Harold and reached for the bowl of applesauce. When he touched the five dollar china, he stained it the same grubby grey as his five o’clock shadow.

  “This morning.”

  “You just showed up?”

  “I wanted to see the family, Mike. Work’s a little stressful right now.”

  “Stressful?” Dad asked. “You’re on the TV every time I turn around. The NYPD Mutt saves the day again.”

  “Michael,” Grandma scolded.

  “I’m happier with you there on the TV than here at my dinner table, though,” Dad grunted. “Pass the pork, Mama.”

  “So, how is school, everyone?” Grandma blurted and clasped her hands pleasantly. She batted Ringo away from her ankles. “What’s your favorite class at school, Lyla?”

  “Study Hall. I like sleeping,” Lyla said.

  “Don’t we all,” Grandma laughed.

  Jae Lynn endeavored to look up. Dad had piled more applesauce on his plate than he could ever actually want to eat, and still his gaze never left Uncle Harold’s. When he finished filling his plate, he left it alone. His knife and fork remained on the flowery paper napkin on which Grandma had set them. He leaned back in his chair, and he stared. He didn’t blink, just stared.

  Ringo leapt upon the table. Grandma threw him down again, but Dad didn’t flinch.

  “And what church do you go to, Lyla?” Grandma asked.

  “I go to the chapel out on 33,” she responded saccharinely. Jae Lynn shuddered.

  Grandma responded, “Oh, that’s a nice place! Some of my girlfriends go—”

  “Why are you here?” Dad asked Uncle Harold. Jae Lynn took in both conversations at once, her gaze returning to her applesauce. She drew x after x in it with her knife.

  “I’m here to visit you.”

  “Yes! He’s still the pastor. He’s real smart about the gospel.”

  “A darling man.”

  “No, you’re not,” Dad said levelly. Jae Lynn heard him drumming his fingers on the table, only three thuds in succession due to a missing ring finger. “That’s not why you’re here.”

  “I just needed some time away from that job, Michael. It’s wearing me down,” Uncle Harold said.

  “Bullshit.”

  “Well, you know, I can’t get Jae Lynn to wear make-up for all the money in the world. Lyla, you oughtta be a cheerleader, you’re so pretty,” Grandma said. “You ever consider that?”

  “I don’t get along with the other girls, though.”

  Jae Lynn drew a deep breath.

  “What reason do you think I have to be here?” Uncle Harold asked and cut off another piece of pork.

  “I think you know.”

  “I’m pretty sure I don’t, Michael. Enlighten me.”

  “You asshole!” Dad hissed, and the drumming stopped. Jae Lynn dropped her knife and gingerly rubbed her eyes. She could see herself slamming Ashley into the ground again, the creamed corn in her hair and Mrs. Whithers pulling them apart.

  “Michael,” Grandma spat. “Lyla, continue.”

  “Well, I just think cheerleaders are skanky and—”

  “You’re here to take her!” Dad yelled and jabbed a butter knife in Uncle Harold’s direction. Her uncle did not flinch and settled back in his chair.

  “Why would I be?”

  “I don’t know, but I don’t care. You can have her! I don’t want her, anyway. She’s her mom all over again.”

  “Michael!”

  “Maybe I should leave…” Lyla muttered.

  “Nah, sweetheart, you sit right back down. Dustin’s father just needs to keep his anger in check.”

  Jae Lynn’s chest felt tight, and she looked from her father to her uncle, only somewhat aware that they were talking about her. The kitchen was a blur. She couldn’t think straight.

  “Why would I be here to take her? She barely knows me! I’ve been gone in one way or another for most of her life,” Uncle Harold said and dropped his fork to his plate. “And I can’t take a kid back to New York, anyway.”

  “I should go,” Lyla said.

  “You’d take her back. It’s why you’re here. Dammit, Harold, you took Alice. What the hell should make me think you wouldn’t take her, too?”

  Jae Lynn dug her nails into her scalp and squeezed her eyes shut. Splotches of light and dark danced in her vision.

  “She’s your daughter!”

  “The fuck she is!” Dad bellowed.

  “Dad, I’m a werewolf.”

  She was barely aware she’d said it.

  Even Ringo stopped what he was doing.

  Grandma dropped her head into her hands and muttered something meant only for God to hear. Lyla Paulson hurried to the front door and left without another word. Dad an
d Uncle Harold both stared at Jae Lynn, but only one had the fatherly look of concern she wanted to see.

  Dustin jumped to his feet. He yelled as he stomped to his room, “You always ruin everything!”

  His fists clenched, Dad slowly got to his feet. With an ungodly clatter, he knocked his plate to the ground and sent Ringo rushing down the hall as well. “Are you?” he asked, but he didn’t raise his voice. Jae Lynn almost wished he would. Things felt suspended now, as though they were floating, as though time had stopped. She wanted Dad to start yelling again. She’d take a chair hurled against the wall and a few more dishes wasted on the tile before this.

  She swallowed hard. “Yes.”

  “How long?”

  “Five months.”

  “How?”

  “A boy from school,” she said and wished she could’ve answered more forcefully. “It was a mistake. I think.”

  “Is that so?” he said calmly. “A mistake, hmm? It’s all a mistake. A mistake.”

  “It has nothing to do with Uncle Harold coming here, Daddy.”

  “Don’t call me that,” he said, shaking his head. “Just don’t, girl.”

  He kicked the shards of china and the pile of applesauce and pork aside and reached for a cigarette from his pocket. His bad hand shook as he held it. “I think you should leave, Harold.”

  “Michael, please.”

  “Mama, you stay out of this. This is my house. I don’t want him here. He should go.”

  “I don’t disagree,” Uncle Harold said and rose to his feet.

  “And Harold, I think you should take your daughter with you.”

  Jae Lynn bravely fought tears, but Uncle Harold didn’t say anything. He didn’t protest, he didn’t yell at his brother, he didn’t say a word. But he looked down at Jae Lynn and nodded gently.

  The Monster Relocation and Employment Act

  Five Years Ago.

  Lizzie Meyer didn’t like sewing, but unfortunately, her mother had taken off to Florida with Armand the pool boy—again. That left Lizzie mending her daughter’s torn denim skirt, not that her to-do list needed to be any longer. She already had to e-mail back that whiny client, call Frank’s mother because he never did, get rid of the mice in the garden and fix the broken rocking chair in the living room.

  Frank sat in the broken rocking chair but did not rock. He knew the consequences if he did, and although Lizzie had told him time and time again to just sit on the couch with her, he would not. The man liked his space.

  “Mind if I turn on the news?” he asked, barely daring to breathe.

  She hummed.

  “But Mom, Magic Wizard X-Force is on,” Bree cried from her spot on the ground. She flipped around to face her mother and jutted out her bottom lip. Of course, she was wearing her Magic Wizard X-Force t-shirt and hair ties. Lizzie wondered briefly why her daughter couldn’t wear normal clothes like normal girls who didn’t aspire to be wizards.

  There was no room for wizards in New Harmony, Indiana.

  “Sweetie, we’re recording it. Let your dad watch his news.”

  “News is boring,” Bree grumbled.

  “News is important,” Frank said with a solemn nod. “We need to keep an eye on this nation! Liberals are tearing it to pieces, stealing our jobs, turning this country into France—”

  “Frank.”

  “It’s true! They told me on the radio.”

  “And if the radio told you to jump off a cliff—”

  “Lizzie, that’s not the point,” Frank spat.

  “We always watch the news,” Bree said and crossed her arms over her chest.

  “Let her watch her show, for God’s sake. I’ll just read the paper later,” Frank said as his daughter jumped to her feet and flew to the remote control. She beamed as she turned to the proper channel and sat too close to the television for Lizzie’s liking. She didn’t say anything. That would only cause Bree to yell, and the last thing Lizzie wanted to deal with was a tantrum.

  “Anyway, it’ll keep her distracted. Isn’t today the day?” Frank said quietly.

  Lizzie shushed her husband and mouthed, “Not a word.”

  The Magic Wizard X-Force brigade… squadron… whatever-they-were leapt and bounded across the screen, and Lizzie wondered why anyone would want to watch something with so many colors flashing at once. It was a one way ticket to Seizureville, she thought. Her father had seizures, for God’s sake! What if her daughter started having them, too, because of some hyperactive kid’s show? She sighed.

  Bree asked, “Mom, can I be Belinda Brimstone for Halloween?”

  “Sure, honey. Which one is she?”

  “The one in the purple dress.”

  “That one?”

  “No! That’s Suzy Spellcaster! That’s Belinda.”

  Of course, Belinda Brimstone wore the most complicated costume, and of course, Lizzie hated sewing.

  “I want a wand like hers, too. They have them at the toy store,” Bree said and moved closer to the television.

  “Sure thing, sweetie.”

  “Can Brian dress up, too?”

  Lizzie cleared her throat and stared at the back of her daughter’s head. Her jaw set, and she fiddled with the needle and thread in her hands. “Bree, sweetie, we’ve been through this a hundred times. Brian isn’t real.”

  “Yes, he is. I’ve seen him!” she exclaimed and flipped around with her pigtails flying. Her father gave a dismissive grunt. “Daddy, isn’t Brian real? He’s in the basement.”

  Frank rolled his eyes. The slight movement made the rocking chair groan underneath him.

  “He is! He lives behind the washing machine. I’ve talked to him. He’s big and furry, and he has three eyes and horns,” she insisted.

  “Stop,” Lizzie said, but wouldn’t meet her daughter’s gaze. “Hey, why don’t you go out back and play for a while? The dog is out there. He needs some attention, I think.”

  “But Mom, my show is on!”

  “We’re still taping it. Listen to your mother,” Frank barked. Bree frowned, scrambled to her feet and marched to the back door, her pigtails flopping right and left. She gave her parents one more bitter glare before shutting the door behind her, muttering about monsters and Belinda Brimstone.

  Lizzie finished sewing the skirt before turning to her husband and asking calmly, “Is your old brown suit still upstairs in the closet?”

  “Hmm? Yeah, it’s there,” he mumbled. “It’s way too big for me now.”

  “I know,” Lizzie said as she stood, and she walked upstairs with the skirt over her arm. She hummed a sprightly tune she was horrified to realize was the theme to Magic Wizard X-Force. She dropped off the skirt in Bree’s room and retrieved the brown suit from her husband’s closet.

  One pocket had a small hole in it. She knew he wouldn’t care, and God, she hated sewing. The pants were a little worn in the seat, but he couldn’t expect miracles from her. She’d been a saint to put up with him for so long, anyway.

  Lizzie draped the suit over her arm and trotted down the stairs. “Be right back, dear,” she mumbled as she passed through the living room, but Frank was too busy not moving to respond. She heard the rocking chair crumble as she reached the basement stairs, and Frank swore. Luckily, she thought, Bree was out of earshot.

  The basement was cool despite the warm weather. Lizzie knew that was why he’d always liked it down there. She reached the bottom of the steps and flicked on the light.

  “Come on out, Brian.”

  Something that could’ve been mistaken for a fuzzy Afghan rug stirred behind the washing machine. A sticky yellow eye blinked along with two more. Brian lumbered out from behind the washer, his thick fur swaying like Spanish moss in the breeze with each step. The resident monster smiled and showed three rows of jagged teeth.

  “Yeah, Lizzie?” he asked gently.

  “Time’s up.” She threw the suit at him. He caught it awkwardly, fumbling with the pant legs. “Uncle Sam and the Monster Relocation and Employment Act
have spoken. We got your papers last week. You’re out.”

  “Oh…” He thumbed the tweed and bit his lower lip. “I thought… I knew that was why you were here, but… where do I go?”

  “Out. Get a job. They’re converting old mental institutions into housing facilities for monsters without human families. But you’re not my problem anymore, Brian. Get dressed. You need to look good if you’re going to get a decent job. Here are your papers. Just go to the office where we registered you last week. They’ll sort everything out.”

  “You’re not coming with me?”

  “I don’t have time.”

  Brian stumbled into the trousers, but needed Lizzie to button the undershirt and jacket for him. In the end, he looked as though someone had stuffed a bear in a suit. He looked to his feet.

  “You’ll find some shoes,” Lizzie said.

  “Can I say goodbye to Bree?”

  “No. Just go, Brian. The world’s waiting for you.”

  Bree didn’t see Brian leave through the front door and shuffle down the sidewalk. Lizzie made sure of that. She peered out the window and checked another thing off her mental to-do list.

  Frank collected pieces of rocking chair on the floor behind her, and she turned to help him. It looked as though buying a new rocking chair would take the place of fixing one on her list. If it wasn’t one thing, it was always another.

  Contact the Author

  You can learn more about Jennifer Rainey and her books at the following links:

  http://www.jenniferrainey.com

  http://www.twitter.com/THH_Series

  http://independentparanormal.blogspot.com

  Table of Contents

  Purpose, Sacrifice and Other Things in a Marriage

  Frequent Shopper

  The Gorgon and My Mother

  Carnival

  In Graveyards and Old Houses