Not Your Average Monster, Vol. 2: A Menagerie of Vile Beasts
Page 22
"What do you want?" I ask, but I can't hear my own voice. I pull my hands away from my ears and gasp at the bright red blood streaked across my palms. That's when I realize I should run. I turn and try to crawl away from it, not trusting my legs to hold me up. I can see the staircase just across the hall that leads up to the house. If I could reach them, I could crawl up the stairs and lock the door behind me, anything to keep the crow-man as far away as possible. My hands are slippery against the cold concrete floor, covered in my sweat and blood.
The crow-man steps over me. I feel the cold breeze of its passing, and the long, black tail feathers as they graze against my balding scalp. It isn't in a hurry. In fact, it barely seems concerned with me at all. I look up to see it standing in the doorway, and seeing it against the door frame makes me realize how enormous the creature is. One of the crows on its black feathered shoulders flares out its wings. They're waiting for something, but what?
My hearing slowly comes back to me in the form of a high-pitched ringing. Beneath it though I can hear some rhythmic pattern that I can't quite identify. At first I think it's the sound of my own blood rushing in my ears, but as the ringing diminishes, I realize what it is. The noise rises and falls in volume, but the sound itself is unmistakable: the cawing of crows. I look over my shoulder and see their black shapes flinging themselves against the basement windows, beating their frail bodies against them in a mad frenzy. The sight fills me with more fear than I would have ever expected. When I look forward again, the crow-man is crouching in front of me, with its crooked, black beak almost in my face. I flinch backward and lift my right hand to my face reflexively.
That's when the crow-man bites it off.
I stare at my hand as it dislodges from my wrist and falls to the concrete, bouncing once as it lays twitching in a widening pool of blood. Then the pain hits me. It's so intense, so sudden, so much worse than any pain I've ever experienced in my life that I shriek. My voice echoes back to me from the skeletal walls and concrete. I stare down at the hand resting on the ground as it stops twitching, and gasp to scream again. Behind me I hear the banging intensify as the crows grow more intent. I'm on my side now, curled up in a fetal position, cradling my bleeding wrist against my chest. The crow-man is moving again. I look up with wide eyes as he approaches the basement door and puts its black feathered hand on the handle.
"No..." I whisper as tears slide from my eyes. "No, please..."
The crow-man turns his head a full ninety degrees to stare at me with its enormous black eyes. It emits a low caw, quieter than the barrage it had given earlier, then it flings the door wide. The birds fly in like a dark tornado. They sweep through the basement, all feathers and caws and glinting, black eyes. Candace's boxes fall to the floor, crashing in loud heaps. The birds swarm for only a moment before they change direction, aiming right at me. Before I can even scream, they cover me. They claw and peck and tear at me like I'm no more than roadkill. My poor maimed arm is their favorite, though. Despite my attempts to pull it against me or hide it in my shirt, they find a way to reach it. The last thing I see is the crow-man looming over me as I swat his crazed birds away. He stares at me, cocking his head to the side. It feels like his eyes pierce through me.
What does it see when it looks at me, I wonder as my arm is getting tired and my chest feels like it’s on fire and my bloodied arm reveals fresh pain with every beak that jabs into it. I wonder if any of the birds I killed all these years had felt like this just before I snapped their fragile necks. The pain is overwhelming, and I can't keep pace with the damn birds. For each one I slam away, two more take its place. A surge of regret fills me, something I never would have expected. I haven't felt so full of emotion in years, I realize as I start to sob. Not since Candace was alive.
The crow-man sees it somehow, he must know what I'm feeling, because that's when he steps forward. In the end the crow-man has more pity for me than I ever gave his beloved crows.
"I'm sorry," I whisper, but I don't think he cares.
He reaches down with his crooked beak and takes hold of my neck. With one final twist, the deed is done.
A writer of both fantasy and horror, Marlena’s work is in a smattering of short story anthologies. Her stories lean toward weird horror, creature horror, and YA fantasy. She typically thinks up strange tales while sipping sweet tea at her Georgia home, listening to podcasts on her hour-long commute, or while reading a good book with her two cats.
You can follow her ramblings on her blog: http://lenafrank.wordpress.com
Stay notified of new releases by signing up for her newsletter: http://lenafrank.wordpress.com/mailinglist/
DARLING BROTHER
By Erin Michelle Jendras
March 15, 2014
Dear Jason,
I have bad news. Today I lost my job. I know you’ll be upset, but just hear me out. It wasn’t my fault.
The first thing you need to know is that there’s been rumors of layoffs for a while. I guess I shouldn’t have been surprised since I work at a stationery company. Not many people writing letters these days, except me. Plus, I’m one of three receptionists and the only one who’s part-time. I’d figured I’d be the first to go. I didn’t tell you about it before because I knew you’d worry. There’s other bad stuff going on too… but let me tell you the whole story from the beginning before I get ahead of myself.
So anyway, this morning when I got to work, Linda in HR called me and told me to come to her office right away. I started walking back to the HR office, and I felt clammy, like I had a fever or something. I stopped to catch my breath, halfway down the corridor, right next to Annabelle’s cubicle. She looked up, and at first she smiled, but then she took a good look at me and asked, “Tracy, are you okay?”
Was I okay? I didn’t know how to answer that question. I knew I was less okay with Annabelle looking at me. I knew I wasn’t happy to be walking to HR to be told I didn’t have a job anymore. But I didn’t know why I felt sick so suddenly. I was shivering and sweating. Judging by the look on Annabelle’s face, I must have looked awful.
“Fine, I’m all right,” I mumbled, and continued down the corridor. HR was at the very end of the building. It was the longest walk. The office had a red door with a golden plaque that said, “Office of Human Resources.” I knocked.
Did I ever tell you about Linda in HR? She’s plump, perpetually flushed, and gives these lingering, perfumey hugs. Her hugs always make me miss Mom. Anyway, Linda opened the door, took one look at me, and enveloped me. I not only had the urge to cry, but to tell Linda that I blew my last paycheck on a whole new decorator set for my bathroom, and I wasn’t sure how I was going to buy groceries now that I was about to lose my job (more on that later).
Linda must have thought I looked pretty bad too, because right away she started rambling, “Oh, sweetie, it looks like you heard the rumors. I’m so sorry, but we can’t afford to keep you. I will, however, write you a glowing letter of recommendation. I’d be happy to help you in any way I can, blah, blah, blah …”
She kept on going, talking about my exit interview, turning my keys in, and something about a cobra that struck me as strange, but she just kept talking, and I didn’t have a chance to interrupt. A few minutes later she asked if I had any questions. Out of habit I said, “No,” and then she was ushering me out of her office.
“We’ll pay you for today, of course. I wish I could’ve given you more notice, but we were waiting to hear back on the Anderson file, blah, blah, blah…” I wasn’t listening. I was looking at this cardboard box she had given me. I wasn’t sure what it was for.
“What’s the box for?” I asked. She looked surprised.
“Your things, sweetie. So you can carry your things out to your car.”
“What things?” There was a long pause.
“Well, don’t you have any… pictures, or… personal items? Things you’d like to take home?”
I thought about that for a second.
“No. Every
thing at my desk belongs to you guys,” as did the all the nice pens, packs of stationary paper, sticky notes, and stapler that had ended up at my house, but I didn’t tell her that part. I just handed the box back. I must have done something wrong because the look on her face was really strange. Like I had just flashed her my boobs, or farted, or dropped an f-bomb in front of the president or something. Like she wasn’t sure what to say or do. She looked nervous and took the box back from me. But then she got over it, and gave me a little half-hug around my shoulders with the box getting all squished between us.
“Now you let me know if you need anything, okay? I’m here to help!” And with that, she went back in her office and shut the door.
When I went back to my desk, I had to walk past Annabelle. I didn’t want to see her watching me and get all clammy and nervous again, so I just looked straight ahead and said, “I got laid off,” and kept on walking. I grabbed my backpack and another handful of pens on my way out.
(I got the really good pens, too: Pilot Precise Rollerball 0.5 mm, black, my favorite kind to write with. I already have a big stack of this nice stationary I’m writing you on, but I still wish I’d thought to grab more of that too before I left).
Now I’m at home, writing you this letter on my beautiful heavy stock cream stationary with my Pilot Precise Rollerball 0.5 mm. I’m sitting in the bathroom, looking at my new bathroom things. I bought them all on sale so I can’t return them. I guess now would be a good time to tell you what happened with my last paycheck.
A week ago I was watching an old movie on my tablet (thank you again for sending me that by the way), and the lady in the movie was in her bathroom getting ready for a date. The bathroom was all pink fluffy curtains and towels and rugs, with gold accents everywhere. She had a little dish for her soap, a jar for her toothbrush, and a shorter, wider jar for her cotton balls. There was also a stand for one of those poufy things with powder on it that ladies used on their faces in olden times. She was singing, and she was so lovely.
My bathroom had no rugs, the towels were old and mismatched, my toothbrush and soap just sat on the counter, and my shower curtain was see-through plastic. The only other person here is Ed the cat, and he doesn’t care if he sees me naked, so I bought the see-through one because it was cheapest. (I want to tell you about Ed, too. He is not one of those cuddly purring cats that winds around your legs and sits on your lap. He is a cat who eyes you warily like an enemy, and only comes near you when you feed him, and howls at the window when you try to sleep. I don’t like him much. His name is Ed because that’s what the shelter named him. I thought about taking him back, but it’s nicer to come home to Ed than it is to come home to nobody at all.)
So anyway, I was watching that old movie, and I was filled with this sense of dread about my bathroom. I had not decorated anything. It looked like it did the day I moved in. It was not a bathroom where a person goes to get ready for something important. I felt like if I didn’t make my bathroom look nice, I would be alone forever and unloved.
I couldn’t sleep, so at 1:30 in the morning I went to Walmart. I checked the discount section first. There were all these bathroom things with elephants and palm trees on them. There was a shower curtain with ruffles, towels, small round rugs, dishes for the soap and toothbrushes, and even a fluffy cover for the toilet seat. It all matched, with little elephants marching in rows and palm trees all over it. I kind of hated those elephants, but I bought everything anyway, because it all matched, and it was on sale. Even then, it cost me all that was left of my paycheck for February.
Now here I am, staring at these stupid elephants, and I hate them even more because I can’t buy groceries. I am crying a little, but not that much, because I already cried the whole way home from work.
The last bad thing that happened is that my chest hurts, and I still have that clammy feeling from earlier today. I think I might be getting the flu or something. I still have some cough syrup from the last time I got a cold, so I’m going to take that now and go to bed. I’ll write more as soon as I can. Try not to worry about me too much.
Love,
Tracy
# # #
March 23, 2014
Jason,
I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to write you since last time. I have more bad news; I am definitely sick. I am sweaty and cold all the time, and the pain in my chest is really bad. It’s the weirdest thing – I have this bruise that’s between my breasts, but up a little higher, under the place where my collarbones meet. I don’t know where it came from. But Jason, it hurts so much every time I breathe. The skin there is so thin, it feels like blue tissue paper, and it’s so tender I can’t touch it.
Ed is really mad at me. I haven’t been able to get any cat food so I’ve been feeding him oatmeal. He eats it, but hates me for it, I can tell.
I have more bad news. I figured out what the cobra thing was about. It’s not a snake, it stands for Consolidated Omnibus Budget Reconciliation Act, and it was something I was supposed to take care of so I’d still have health insurance. There was all this paperwork I didn’t do, and now I can’t go to the doctor until it gets figured out. I’m so tired and sick, and I don’t have any money.
It’s hard for me to write you, Jason, because I get mad that you’re not here.
I know it’s not your fault, but I feel so alone, and I have no one to help me. I know you’ll say I should call Aunt Trudy, but I can’t. You know what she’s like. She helps at first, but then there’s always a price to pay later on. You know she’ll figure out a way to punish me. The person I need is you, Jason, and you’re gone.
I’m sorry this letter isn’t very nice. I’m just so sick; it’s hard to keep a positive attitude. But I’m trying, just like you taught me. Really, I am.
Here’s a list of the good things:
I still have my apartment.
I know about the cobra thing now, so I can get it taken care of and go to the doctor.
I still have oatmeal for the cat and ice cream, bread, and peanut butter for me, so Ed and I won’t starve.
My old roommate left some rum here so I can drink that with some tea until I can afford more medicine.
I don’t want you to worry. I’m getting that cobra paperwork done, and I should be able to go to the doctor soon, and after that I can start looking for a new job. My rent will probably be late, but I’ve always paid it on time before, so I think it will be okay.
Try not to worry.
Love,
Tracy
# # #
April 7, 2014
Dear Jason,
Good news: I’m feeling better! Bad news: I still have that weird bruise, and it’s getting worse.
Now it’s huge and ugly, and it’s still tender. The lumpy part is about the size of my palm. I have to be careful not to bump against it when I’m getting dressed or taking a shower because it hurts so badly when I do. It’s this ache that pulses through my whole body. I have to sit down until it passes. I know I need to go to the doctor, and I did get the paperwork in, but the copay for cobra is $60.00, and I don’t have it. I need a job. Luckily the flu I had seems to be over, so I have started looking, but it’s hard with huge green and purple lumps in the middle of my chest. I’m trying to find shirts that cover it up but don’t make it hurt.
There’s another weird thing Jason, but it’s hard to explain. The lumps are not round, but long, sharp, and even pointy in spots. My skin is stretched thin and tight over the lumps, and that’s where it hurts the most. Even though the bruise is starting to heal, my entire chest still looks like a tie-dye of greens, yellows, purples and blues. When I first wake up in the morning, it’s like the lumps have moved around. My skin is flat in places where it was lumpy the night before. It’s so strange and ugly it makes me feel afraid. I try not to think about it, but I had to tell you. I’m not sure what to do.
I’m tired, so I’ll write more later.
Love,
Tracy
# # #
Darling Brother,
Remember when I used to call you that? How it made you so mad? I’m feeling better today, and I was thinking about old times, when we still lived at the apartment on Gardenia Street, and you used to walk me home from school. You would get so bossy, telling me not to walk through that person’s yard, not to get my shoes wet in the puddle, and not to pick leaves off the trees. I’d get so annoyed, I’d just start saying, “Yes, Darling Brother,” and I used that weird zombie voice. I’d reply “Yes, Darling Brother, yes,” to everything you said.
You’d say, “Tracy, stop it! Don’t call me that!” and I’d just keep saying,
“Yes, Darling Brother.” You’d get so mad at me! You’d roll your eyes, stomp off ahead, and refuse to talk to me. The best part was you’d stop bossing me around for the rest of the way home. Do you remember all that? I know you were just trying to be a good big brother. You always were a good big brother. You took such good care of me.
I wanted to make sure and write today so you know that things are getting better. I started seriously looking for jobs, and I even have a temporary one that started yesterday, Hurrah! It’s at a small dairy, washing out milk bottles. Did you know that some people still get milk delivered? In the wee hours of the morning, the deliveryman puts glass bottles of milk in a wooden box on each customer’s porch, and at the same time, he picks up the empties. When he gets back, I load up the empties in a giant dishwasher, and once they’re clean, I take them out and put them in these big plastic crates. Then the crates go to a machine that fills them up with milk from another machine that milks the cows. Did you know machines milked cows? I didn’t. I thought people did that, like in old movies. The cows on the side of the bottles look happy, but let me tell you, the real cows don’t look happy at all. Those milking machines look very uncomfortable to me. They put these evil little clamps over the cow’s nipples, and the cow has to be penned up so it can hardly move. Sometimes when the clamps come off, the cows bleed. I’m glad I’m not a cow.