Anthology of Ichor III: Gears of Damnation

by Breaux, Kevin

  Adam wet his lips. Maybe it was a big raccoon, or one of those jackalopes he’d heard so much about. If it was, he didn’t want to frighten it. It’d be liable to go crazy and hurt itself. Something told him it wasn’t a simple raccoon, or any other variation of furry, local wildlife. Something deep down told him it was dangerous and that he should be wary.

  “Albert?” he whispered. Only this time the thing didn’t stay silent.

  A mangled, bulbous arm shot through the aisle, sending a shower of nails, screws, nuts and bolts across the floor. A box of aerosol cans landed on Adam’s foot and he screamed, lunging away from the malformed limb.

  “What the fuck!” Adam screeched. He hit his head on the opposite shelf and felt a rivulet of blood drip down his forehead, but that was the least of his worries. The limb re-emerged, and this time three lumpy, knotted fingers swiped at his throat. They flexed and writhed like a family of gigantic earthworms before receding once again into the shadows.

  Adam peered ahead with watery eyes. Between the section of overturned aerosol cans and assorted washers, he could see a deformed face, a face that snarled and gnashed its teeth like a rabid dog. Motor oil ran down its chin, foamed from its broken lips, and oozed from gashes in its cheeks. Its teeth were small and fractured, chiseled away nearly to its gums. A moment later Adam realized why. The creature took a handful of nails and shoved them into its mouth, chewing awkwardly before swallowing the whole lot.

  “Son of a bitch.” Adam watched in petrified horror as the creature repeated the process, this time squeezing a bottle of juicy black motor oil into its mouth. Luckily, the creature appeared to be blind. Its eyes were milky and white, hidden behind a mane of coarse lashes.

  Lashes that grew almost to its chin.

  The creature threw its head back and sniffed the air, as if testing for foreign antibodies. Then it wheeled back on a pair of battered, misshapen heels and disappeared into the shadows.

  “What is it?” Albert asked, rushing to his side. “We heard you scream from across the store, and feared the worst.”

  “I… I don’t know,” Adam stammered, trying to gather his scattered thoughts. “I… I thought I saw something. Something big. Back there, in the next aisle.”

  “Did you get a good look at it?”

  “Well… no,” Adam admitted. “It was dark. But I definitely saw a face. It tried to grab me, for Chrissake!”

  “I don’t see any monsters.” Alex peered into the next aisle. “Are you sure you haven’t been watching too many horror movies?”

  Adam opened his mouth to respond, but then recognized how ridiculous he must look. Here he was, a grown man, and he was getting psyched out by something that logically should not exist. There was no such thing as monsters, and even if there were they certainly would not be hanging out in a hardware store in the middle of Hicksville, Colorado.

  “You probably just tripped and hit your head,” Albert sympathized with a thin smile. “And that triggered an altitude delusion.”

  Adam nodded, feeling his heart shudder in his chest. That’s it. It must have been another altitude sickness outbreak, another figment of his imagination. But that didn’t calm his stampeding pulse. Or ease his eyes from the shadows. He was being watched. He knew it. Somehow, something out there was watching him, waiting for him to make one false move. Then it would be over.

  Albert helped him to his feet, but the thin, empty smile never left his lips. “Come on,” he said. “Let’s get you back to the motel. You can go house hunting tomorrow. Right now you need to rest. You have a pretty good bump on your head, you know.”

  “I know,” Adam said, but he wasn’t concentrating on Albert’s words anymore. He was too busy trying to convince himself that he was crazy. Because if he learned that those glossy eyes and broken teeth were real, he would be in serious trouble.

  Chapter 12

  The trip back to the motel was bumpy to say the least. Albert’s vintage ’78 pickup seemed to gravitate towards every pothole on the road, and it pitched from side to side like a yacht lost at sea. Its suspension was so old and stiff, Adam wondered which would roll over and die first: his stomach or the battered V-8 hidden in the truck’s rusted orange nose.

  “How are you feeling, dad?” Alex asked, in a tone that only a pre-pubescent nine-year-old boy could muster. “You look tired.”

  “I’m fine.” Adam ruffled his son’s hair with a dusty hand. In reality, he wasn’t fine. He was physically tired, mentally drained, and sleep deprived. Not to mention the fact that his forearms were covered in goose bumps, a phenomenon he couldn’t explain.

  “How’s that head of yours?” Albert asked from the driver’s seat, although his eyes never left the road. “It would be a shame if it got infected.”

  “It’s fine,” Adam said quickly, noting the way he drew out the last syllable. “Nothing more than a scratch. It should be healed by tomorrow.”

  “Good, good,” Albert muttered. His fingers flexed around the steering wheel, as if he were a theme-park operator preparing to plunge a cart full of circus-goers into a rank, fiery abyss. And perhaps he was, for all Adam knew.

  Still, Alex seemed to like him. The way they conversed was so natural it was as if they were long-lost pals, brought together by a strange twist of fate, reunited in a shitty little Colorado town. And despite his initial hesitation, Adam was beginning to warm up to the peculiar motel owner. The man had a trustworthy air about him, deep beneath the surface.

  “Here we are,” Alex smiled, jerking Adam from his fractured thoughts. “Home sweet home.”

  The crude red motel sign loomed over the orange pickup, blocking the last remnants of sunlight from their view. It was rapidly approaching dusk, the time of day when dragons and fairies and all types of mythical folk wandered from the pages of dusty tomes and strayed into the realm of human consciousness, and Adam felt a bit in awe of the Rocky Mountain sunset.

  Streams of filmy golden light stretched from the horizon, spreading their fingertips across the labyrinth of gently rippling cornstalks and endless hills before disappearing in a mat of fluffy pink clouds. It was unlike anything he’d ever seen before—natural or otherwise—and for a moment, he was brought to tears. The sheer beauty was almost too much to bear.

  But then the angry purple thunderheads voiced their discontent and the magic was ended. A roll of greasy black smog drifted over the sun and snuffed out any hope of a romantic sunset, almost as if it were an angel sent from hell.

  Luckily, the clouds that settled over the Colorado sky—and ultimately Adam’s outlook—didn’t seem to affect Alex or his new found companion. Once Adam was in bed, tucked in, with a cold towel wrapped around his head, looking more like a Saudi Arabian silk trader than a middle-aged American father, Alex retreated into the hall where a dusty board game awaited him.

  “Ever played Monopoly?” Adam heard Albert ask, in a sort of dry monotone.

  “Once,” Alex replied. “With my mom and dad. But that was a long time ago. Before they split up. Now we don’t play board games much.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” Albert murmured, the sound of dice rolling mingling with his voice. “That must have been hard for you.”

  You got that right, mister, Adam found himself saying in his head. It was hell. And it’s been hell ever since she left. You don’t know how many nights I’ve spent alone, cold, waiting for someone to come wrap their arms around me. And guess what? It’s never happened.

  “How does it feel? Living with your father, I mean,” Albert continued. His voice was low, barely more than a whisper through the heavy oak door, but loud enough to understand.

  “I don’t know,” Alex replied. “It’s okay, I guess. I miss mom sometimes, but dad says not to think about her. I think he’s trying to forget her.”

  “I see,” Albert said and, all of a sudden, Adam felt a lump in his throat. It was so unexpected that it brought tears to his eyes. Within moments, his cheeks were moist with sadness, regret, and dreams unfulfi
lled. It felt like someone had opened the floodgates to his soul, releasing every ounce of hurt he’d accumulated since the divorce, and although he’d never admit it, it felt good.

  Very good.

  “Separation is a hard thing. It always is when you lose someone you love,” came Albert’s mournful voice. It was almost soothing, in a way. Unlike most of Adam’s co-workers, who’d never experienced such a painful heartbreak, his voice was infused with a sense of self-consciousness, a sense of sympathy and honest regret. Something that had been missing from the shallow I’m sorry’s and empty I know how that feels.

  “If only we listened to our natural instincts, we would not feel that pain, that anxiety,” he continued but, this time his tone was louder, stronger, more distinct. Like a preacher who had just dutifully mounted his soapbox.

  “Really?” Alex said, seemingly oblivious to the change.

  “Yes, Alex,” came that same rising tenor, “and, one day, we won’t feel pain anymore. We will evolve beyond the pathetic emotions imposed by modern society. We will become, in effect, perfect. We will achieve our evolutionary pinnacle.”

  Bull shit, Adam thought, but he couldn’t say it out loud. If he did, it would alert them that he’d been listening all along, monitoring their private conversation, so he contented himself with counting the tiles on the ceiling and re-wrapping his turban so it would stay cold.

  “Can I be the shoe?” Alex asked, once the silence had gone from uncomfortable to neutral. “I’ve never been the shoe before, and it looks kinda cool.”

  “Of course,” Albert chuckled. “You can be the shoe. I prefer the top hat, myself.”

  “It won’t make a difference,” Alex laughed. “I’m going to kick your butt anyway.”

  “We shall see.”

  At that, Adam smiled. He could imagine Alex sitting there, legs crossed, with an assortment of colored bills spread before him. He would have a wacky smile on his face, and a stare so focused that it would make snowmen melt. Before Adam could think any further, his eyes fluttered shut and reality blended into a mosaic of fractured phrases and hazy darkness.

  He was asleep. Fast asleep. And no amount of childish laughter or playful threats could rouse him. The game of Monopoly lasted long into the night, and by the time it was over sunrise was only a couple hours away.

  ~*~

  “Breakfast,” Albert said, rapping on the door moments before he slipped into the little bedroom. “We made your favorite. Pancakes and hash browns.”

  “Unfortunately, we were fresh out of hash,” Alex said, laughing and trailing Albert like some breed of hairless Doberman. His hair was wet, which led Adam to believe that he’d taken an early shower. But that didn’t account for his dripping t-shirt.

  Alex must have noticed his inquisitive looks because a moment later he smiled and ran a hand over his scalp. “We had a little argument in the kitchen,” he said sheepishly.

  “Your boy thought it would be humorous if he attacked me with a bucket of water,” Albert explained in his usual emotionless discourse. “As fate would have it, I was closer to the sink, so I had the upper hand.”

  “He soaked me with a frying pan,” Alex added, as if further explanation was necessary.

  “Sounds like you two have been having a blast.” Adam rolled over to get a better look at the two combatants. His head felt fuzzy, as if someone had stuffed it with cotton during the night, but it no longer throbbed with that dull, crippling pain.

  “Your son is quite a character,” Albert said, setting the tray on the bed. “He’s one of the sharpest young men I’ve ever met.”

  Adam nodded absently. He was finding it difficult to concentrate on Albert’s voice when there was a tray full of blueberry pancakes just inches away. The scent of fresh batter and orange juice drifted into his nostrils, tantalizing his senses. Secretly he wondered if that’s how Pavlov’s dogs reacted when they heard the bell.

  “Hey, dad, can we go back into town today?” Alex asked, vaulting into bed beside the seductive blueberry pancakes. His eyes were wide with curiosity, and a crooked grin pulled at his lips. “Albert says there’s a book store with comics and everything!”

  “Is that a fact?” Adam tore his eyes from the tray just long enough to see the towering man nod.

  “If you like, I could take your son back into town while you go house hunting,” Albert offered. His voice was even, but a kind of wild excitement glistened behind his eyes.

  “That’s a kind idea, but I really couldn’t ask you to do that,” Adam said. “We’ve taken up enough of your time already.”

  “Oh, it’s really no problem,” Albert urged. “I was going to head back anyway, and if your son came along it would make the drive much less monotonous.”

  Adam shook his head. “No, no. You needn’t do that. I—”

  “Please, dad?” Alex interrupted, crawling forward on his hands and knees. “I’ll be good, I promise. I don’t want to go and look at dumb old houses anyway.”

  Adam took a long breath. “Alex, I don’t think—”

  “Please? With caramel apples and sugar on top?”

  Adam frowned, and was about to resume his sentence, effectively crushing any hopes of going back into town, when he stopped.

  Alex had been through a lot over the past few months, and he deserved to have a little fun. God knows it had been a while since he’d done that. With a deep breath, Adam sat up and conceded to his son’s wishes.

  “Okay, you can go with Mr. Albert,” he said. “Be sure to stay close, though. I don’t want you getting lost in one of those shops.”

  “Thanks, dad.” Alex smiled, hopping off the bed with the dexterity of a large toad. “You’re the best. I’ll be good. I promise.”

  “You better,” Adam murmured, greedily digging into the stack of blueberry pancakes. “If you’re not, I’ll have Mr. Albert tie you up and leave you in the basement.”

  “I’m sure that won’t be necessary,” Albert grinned. “Your son and I get along quite well.”

  I know, Adam thought. But he didn’t say it. Partly because the words felt awkward in his mind, and partly because his mouth was stuffed with pancakes. You’re the first person I’ve trusted since Saundra left.

  “Oh, and Adam?”

  “Yes?”

  “I know of a house outside of town that just became available. It’s not much. Three bedrooms and a small attic, but it would suit your needs.”

  Adam nodded. He scooped up another chunk of blueberry with the tines of his fork, and then met the motel owner’s gaze. “Sounds good,” he said. “Where can I find it?”

  “1219 Willow Springs Drive. Trust me. It’s to die for.”

  Chapter 13

  “What a bizarre little town,” Adam breathed as he drove down the empty stretch called Main Street. They might as well have called it as Main As You’re Going To Get In Such A Little Ass Town Street, but that was pretty long, so the town had probably decided to go with Main Street instead.

  Clouds of black smoke billowed over the horizon, interrupted here and there by patches of crimson sky. Whatever that factory was expelling was sure doing a number on the environment. There were dead plants and insects all over the place. Once, he saw a mosquito the size of a dog. It was dead, of course, but he hated to think how much blood a creature like that would require. Most likely it had gorged itself on cows and local wildlife. Not humans. Humans were too intelligent to be caught by such a beast. Weren’t they?

  Hanging a left on Willow Spring Drive, Adam maneuvered past several decrepit looking houses. All the windows were broken, and the front yards untrimmed. Either everyone was extremely lazy, or they’d all died in their sleep. Adam tried to laugh, but the second thought was far too morbid. He was beginning to regret not bringing Alex along with him. At least his son was someone to talk to. The utter silence was almost too much to bear. So he switched on the radio.

  For a moment all he heard was static, then nothing at all. How was that possible?

&n
bsp; Adam tried adjusting the radio dial. He remembered Albert saying the radio worked. Unless that had been an outright lie. And why would he lie to them? He had no reason. They were paying customers. Unless he had something far more sinister in mind.

  Adam laughed. What was he thinking? All this solitude was starting to get to him. But at least he had an incredible view. That was something severely lacking in downtown Chicago.

  Suddenly the radio belched to life, and Adam had to swerve to keep control of the vehicle.

  “Jesus Christ,” he shouted, fumbling to turn the damned thing off. Was it possible that all the pollution in the atmosphere was interfering with the radio waves? He didn’t know enough about that sort of thing to make an informed decision.

  Luckily, he was nearing the end of his journey. The house he’d come to see was just up ahead, through a pall of smoke. He learned about it from Albert, who up until this point seemed to be the town’s only living inhabitant. It had sounded like a nice house: one story, three bedroom, two bath. Your archetypal farmhouse on ten acres of land.

  Adam slowed when he reached the address. Smoke wafted back and forth over the road, lingering in his field of vision. The factory was closer than ever now. He could see its cone-shaped snout rising over a field of dead corn. It was eerie how the giant concrete menace seemed to loom over the town, spouting gout of toxic smog. He imagined that this must have been how Pompeii looked just before it erupted.

  Adam pulled into the driveway, easing his puke-colored minivan to a stop before an archaic garage. He’d never liked the color of the minivan. She was the one who’d insisted on purple. She had said that gold was too soccer-mom-ish. Now she was driving around in a silver sports car. The thought made Adam hot with rage. But she was over nine hundred miles away. It was time to put the past in its place and move on.

  Climbing onto the front porch, Adam was able to see the house in its entirety for the first time. It was older than he’d expected. Reams of moss hung from the gutters and wild vines clambered up the wooden siding, twisting around the support beams like tapeworms from hell. They were oddly colored and sported mean-looking thorns. Thorns that could pierce straight through a man’s hand.