A Month of Sundays

by Jay Harez

  The next few days were uneventful. Curtis got his share of phone calls regarding leaking dishwashers, broken disposals and other minor repairs. He collected the info and reported it all to KR Holdings, LLC.

  The nights were getting colder and longer. Winter was setting in and fewer and fewer children used the playground. That was good for Curtis. He had begun to visit Circle Park at night. Sometimes he would smoke a little cigar and think about his one visit to the posh brownstone where Sonny and company held their weekly confabs.

  He couldn’t afford the quality of cigar or alcohol they could but he had the solitude and silence of the park and that was enough for him. Curtis sat on the merry-go-round staring at the night sky when he heard the shuffle of feet. Curtis turned and saw the source was a pair of children.

  “Why you in our park?” asked neighborhood kid number one.

  Curtis eyed the two children.

  “Sorry, just passing through,” Curtis said smiling as he stood up.

  “Yeah. You best do that,” said neighborhood kid number two.

  Curtis chuckled and turned to walk away.

  “You need to keep your eyes to yourself too!” said neighborhood kid number one.

  Curtis stopped mid-stride and turned.

  “What did you say?” Curtis asked.

  The kids turned and left. Curtis was stunned for a moment. He had never had children so he didn’t expect to understand what made children do what they did. He put the thought out of mind and went back to his unit.

  The next morning Curtis got his broom and dust pan and began making his way around cul-de-sac. Street sweeping wasn’t part of his job but he couldn’t stand all of the cigarette butts that accumulated near the storm drains.

  He didn’t notice the quiet until he was about a quarter of the way around the park. When he woke up that morning he could hear the kids at the playground but now it was silent. He looked up and saw the children, thirty in all, standing around the park equipment motionless and staring at Tanners house.

  One or two turned to face him. Curtis stood leaning on his broom and looked in the direction the children were looking, toward Tanner’s house. A moment later Tanner opened his door and looked at the park, then he looked at Curtis. All of the children turned in synch to look at Curtis as well. Curtis felt uncomfortable. Tanner made a gesture and the children began to find other things of interest to them. Soon the noise of a busy playground resumed but Curtis remained unmoved.

  What was that? Curtis asked himself. Something wasn’t right. Something was so wrong it bordered on...What was that word those crazy people had used? Sinister! Yes, something sinister was going on, Curtis was certain. Then just as quickly as it had come the thought left him.

  The following Sunday Curtis found himself at the brownstone again. This was the second invitation he had accepted from Sonny. Regardless of his feelings about the group she was his boss. Curtis also happened to think she was beautiful. Of course he had also been invited to ‘sup’ with Tanner. The thought made him hungry, but he had never found the time to follow through on that one.

  Jahn answered the door again.

  “Curtis, glad you could make it,” he said and gestured for Curtis to come in.

  “Well thank you for the invitation,” Curtis said as he hung his coat. He wasn’t certain that he would be invited back.

  “Think nothing of it,” said Miguel from the doorway of the parlour.

  As Curtis entered he realized it was just the six of them, the Turner brothers, Sophie and Miguel Portas, Sonny, and Jahn. No mob of vendors and subcontractors looking to expand their business networks. Curtis inwardly sighed, just the crazies and their bizarre tales of the South for the evening. Curtis resigned himself to the situation and focused on the fact that his hosts had good scotch.

  One of the Turners approached him as he entered – what he now knew was - the Grand Salon.

  “We realize last time you visited with us we didn’t really put much thought into telling you about ourselves,” said Turner Alpha. Curtis thought of him this way because he was the taller of the two.

  “We’ve been together so long, we often forget how to behave around new…acquaintances,” said Turner Beta.

  “Well I have to admit I am a bit curious about you folks,” Curtis tried to appear friendly and not creepy as he said this.

  Sophie Portas was on. “I was, am, a historian specializing in mythology. A few years ago I was doing research in Africa and Miguel was my guide and protector. After three months traveling together we thought to make the arrangement permanent and here we are,” she beamed as she said this.

  Miguel’s turn, “Before I was ‘volunteered’ for bodyguard duty I was a game warden,”

  “A game warden in Africa, huh? That must have been challenging,” responded Curtis.

  “It was my friend. It was challenging to my skill as a hunter and my beliefs as a whole,” Miguel responded.

  Curtis had no idea what that last bit was about but didn’t want to engage in any philosophical discussion at the moment. So he just nodded acknowledgement.

  “Myself,” spoke Jahn as he poured drinks “I was a seaman for almost fifteen years. I think in the states they are referred to as Merchant Marines,”

  Curtis was still scanning the photos on the walls. The room was full of them. They all seemed to have similar themes. Each was a group of stoic males up until some of the more recent ones - recent being the nineteen sixties. Then he started to notice changes and variations on the theme.

  “I would imagine leaving an exciting career like that would be difficult,” Curtis said.

  “Necessity often dictates sacrifices be made,” Jahn responded. That could be the last statement anyone would want to hear with a German accent thought Curtis.

  Turner Alpha was a writer who wrote about crypto-zoology…clearly a BS concept in Curtis’s mind. He wondered why anyone would invest time in studying creatures that didn’t exist. However, Curtis thought, they were all rich and the rich live differently.

  Turner Beta was an editor and had worked on Turner Alpha’s book. Curtis could have mulled that over longer but opted to focus on his scotch.

  “I imagine the subject might seem odd,” stated Turner Beta.

  Curtis wasn’t certain if that was just a probing aside or a challenge. He opted for the middle ground to see where the conversation went.

  “I can’t say that I’m well versed on the matter. Can you give me an example of the disciplines application,” Curtis responded.

  For a moment the room looked stunned. Curtis frequently ran into this reaction. People had a tendency to take his silence for ignorance. In their defense, thought Curtis that was probably the longest statement any of these people had heard from him.

  “Between Seventeen Fifty-eight and now over two million new species of animal have been discovered, many of which were considered imaginary or mythical up to that time. Granted, many have been found in remote areas or areas that are uninhabitable by man but a large percentage of creatures have been found living even benefiting from their close proximity to humans,” Turner Alpha explained.

  Curtis continued to look around the room during this exchange. The first change to the array of photos was the addition of women to the scenario as the pictures became more modern. Usually the groups were small, no more than eleven never less than five. Around the nineteen sixties more women began to appear in the pictures.

  “Well, that is interesting,” Curtis said sincerely thoughtful on the subject for the first time.

  “What are your thoughts on mythology Curtis?” asked Sophie.

  “I have always had a certain fascination with the psychology behind people’s beliefs,” Curtis said with a new enthusiasm for the conversation.

  “Beliefs?” said Jahn “please expound on that,”

  “Beliefs have always filled the gaps in people’s knowledge. If people can’t prove something, historically and in simple terms, people make something up,” said Cu
rtis. Maybe the scotch was kicking in but he felt free to discuss anything with these people.

  He continued. “Throughout history unexplainable things have happened and a story got told. That story got passed down, some became religions and some became mythology and some were forgotten,” Curtis said this with more confidence than before.

  “That’s an interesting take on the matter,” Someone’s voice faded in and out.

  Curtis wasn’t sure what was happening. He was light-headed and exhausted all at once. It was if his body were at war with another part of him.

  Then the pain started. Curtis doubled over clutching his stomach.

  “How much did you give him?!” shouted Miguel.

  “Just the normal amount!” Sophie shouted back.

  “This isn’t how the normal amount works!” Miguel shouted.

  “I know!” Sophie shouted back.

  Curtis felt his limbs going slack. He curled up and leaned forward in his chair. He fell to the floor. His half-finished scotch spilled alongside him.

  “What the fuck have you done to me!?” Curtis growled out.

  “We thought you might be in danger of…infection…” Sonny was kneeling beside him now trying to help him up.

  From his vantage point Curtis saw fast approaching feet and legs. He heard Jahn scream, “We will purge you abomination!”

  “No Jahn!” Sophie shouted and put herself between Curtis and the charging feet.

  Curtis rolled onto his side, the pain came again and he looked up from the floor. Through his tears he could see Jahn standing over him with one of the scimitars swords that hung on the wall.

  “We can save him. We don’t have to do this,” said Beta Turner.

  “By now he could have lead it straight here,” said Jahn.

  “That’s not how it works and you know it,” said Sonny. She was in a half crouch half kneeling position between Curtis and Jahn.

  “We can take him downstairs,” Sonny offered.

  The pain wracked Curtis. His stomach felt as if it were alternately bloated to the point of bursting and contracting to the smallest possible size. The pain came in waves building to sharp piercing extremes then slowly dulling as if the agony needed to rest before its next onslaught.

  “Help me!” Sonny screamed.

  The Turners took up a position on either side of Curtis and lifted him to his feet. Curtis didn’t want to impede their efforts to get him medical attention him but the convulsions were growing more powerful. Each time he tried to get to his feet he felt as if he was being run through with the sword Jahn was wielding. Whatever was happening to him the smaller the ball he could make himself into the less pain he felt.

  “How could this have happened?” asked Turner Alpha.

  They exited the parlor through a side door and began to descend a flight of stairs. Curtis was now more afraid of where he was being taken than what was wrong with him.

  “What do you mean how? He probably has no idea what he’s been doing these past few weeks let alone what he was exposed to so there was no way for us to know,” responded Turner Beta. They reached the bottom of the stairs and were now in a hallway.

  “I mean how is it that we weren’t more on top of this? We put this poor bastard in harm’s way then sit around and wait for something to happen,” said Turner Alpha.

  “Are you ass-holes aware that I am conscious?” growled Curtis.

  Both of the Turners had been focused on their conversation and more importantly getting a writhing Curtis down a very narrow set of steps. They were both startled when he spoke. Curtis thought that had it not been for the narrow confines of the steps they would have dropped him and leapt in opposite directions to get away.

  “We thought you were out,” offered Beta.

  “Unfortunately…” Curtis again tried to curl into the fetal position as another spasm began. The Turners, to their credit, kept their hold on his arms and did not let him tumble down the stairs. “…I am quite lucid.” Curtis concluded.

  They approached a large door with a heavy wooden crossbar. It looked medieval.

  “Will one of you explain where we are going and what is happening to me?” Curtis asked. “I need a hospital,” He realized that he was in no position to fight his way back up the steps and that he would not be getting medical attention.

  “Can’t,” said Turner Beta.

  “It’s complicated,” said Turner Alpha.

  “Sorry,” said Turner Beta

  Turner Beta lifted the huge wooden crossbar with one hand and put it aside. Curtis was certain he hallucinated that because the bar had to have weighed one hundred pounds or more.

  This time the pain seemed more focused on the ‘back’ of his stomach. Something was trying to rearrange his insides and gouging at his spine.

  The Turners – still supporting Curtis between them – entered the room and gently placed Curtis on a bed. They manacled his hands and feet before he realized what was happening.

  They turned to leave. Another wave of pain struck Curtis. He wondered if perhaps his appendix had burst. He couldn’t think clearly any more. The pain increased every time.

  Curtis heard the door close and the crossbar being replaced.

  “Wait!” he shouted as he coughed up blood. “What is happening!?”

  The slot near the top of the door opened and Turner Alpha looked in.

  “Do you know what a ghoul is?” asked the voice.

  Curtis lost consciousness and began to dream hideous, unrelenting, dreams.

  He dreamt that he was sitting at Tanners table and Tanner was telling stories, stories about the places he had been and the people he had met. Curtis was paying attention because it seemed that Tanner had been around a very long time. He had travelled to Babylon and Persia places that Curtis knew no longer existed.

  Then Curtis was standing in one of the bedrooms of the De Gaizas unit. There was a hole in the floor. It was a huge hole that appeared to have been the result of an explosion from under the house. The wood slats that made up the flooring stood up and formed a jagged circular picket fence. Curtis looked into the hole and saw only darkness.

  Then Curtis was at the dinner table with Tanner and the sisters were there this time. Tanner talked about Constantinople, Rhodesia, and Burma. How could that be? Curtis asked himself. Tanner spoke of the “Purity and Sanctity” of the flesh, one of his sisters, the one called Laboria, gnawed at another drumstick…but it wasn’t a drumstick…Curtis was certain. He peered closer at the sinewy section and saw it was an arm…the arm of a small child to be exact. Tanner nodded at the woman and she extended the arm across the table to Curtis.

  Curtis snatched the child’s appendage from her. He pulled both of his feet up into his chair and crouched there snarling at his hosts. He did not bite into it as much as he began tearing at it with his teeth. He clutched it close to his mouth and looked around threateningly at the two women.

  “Tanár, I think the boy has a taste for it,” said Mitts-for-Hands.

  “Yes, I see it.” Tanner said.

  Curtis heard it for the first time. Mitts-for-Hands had called him Tanár. She had put an accent on the last part of the old man’s name. Perhaps that’s the way Tanár had addressed himself originally and Curtis had mentally changed it to sound more familiar.

  Curtis dreamt of the De Gaizas. He imagined that he had seen them huddled together in a cage in the basement. They were naked and filthy. They stank but they all looked slightly obese. Even the children, most of whom were old enough to have shed their baby fat, looked pudgy and, God help him, succulent.

  In the next part of his dream he was standing in a room with Tanár and Mitts-for-Hands. The room had a single window. He knew he was on the second floor of Tanner’s house and he could see the tiny bathroom window of his own unit in the distance. The room he was in had hooks. Large metal hooks suspended everywhere. Tanár wielded a cleaver with deft expertise and sliced a sliver of meat from a hanging carcass. Tanár opened his gaping mout
h and threw the sliver in whole. He savored it then swallowed it without chewing.

  The scenario changed and he was in bed. Not his bed but a large - maybe even a king sized – bed. He was fully clothed and on his back. His hands were tied to the headboard and he was having trouble breathing.

  Something was in his mouth. It was a piece of metal tubing an inch and a half long. It was attached to some sort of circular frame that went around Curtis head like old-school braces.

  Curtis felt his mouth drying out. The pipe kept him from closing his mouth to swallow. He tried to rasp out a scream. Curtis could not move in his dream. He lay there as Mitts-for-Hands sat beside him on the bed and drooled.

  Laboria stood at the side of the bed and looked down at him. Her head was directly above his. Her mouth hung slack and she made unintelligible sounds.

  “It’s ok,” came Tanár’s voice from somewhere. “Let him know you Laboria.”

  Some of Laboria’s drool landed on Curtis’ face inches away from the pipe holding his mouth open.

  She heaved herself onto the bed and straddled Curtis. She lowered herself onto Curtis’s chest. Curtis felt the breath being crushed out of his lungs. She hiked up her dress and leaned back. Mitts-for-hands supported her as if she were in labor and Laboria began to shudder.

  Curtis felt the nausea rising and looked away from her exposed genitals. The stench of decay was overpowering. He tried to turn his head and he felt Tanár’s hands holding him in place.

  “It’s alright to look,” Tanár said. “This is for you Lord of Land. You and those buffoons who employ you. Did you have delusions of being in charge? You hairless apes do not respect the sanctity and purity of the flesh. Did you and that self-righteous band of imbeciles think you could set a trap for me Mr. Lord of Land? I am an apex predator sir. You monkeys have failed to stop me in the past and you will fail this time,”

  Curtis felt movement on his chest. It was gray and resembled a miniature crab the size of a fifty-cent piece. It had a tale with a pink hook at the end. The creature was translucent and Curtis could see moving organs inside of it. It shone with a thin coating of slime and left a trail back to the engorged crotch of Laboria. It dragged its body with its two larger front legs.