by J. Thorn
Jasper nodded and reached into his pocket for his can of snuff. Remembering that he left it on the dash of the truck, he grimaced and tried to fight off the nicotine’s temptations.
“The man and woman? The northerners you mentioned?”
“Yes.” The word slid from Gaki’s mouth, and the sound of it reminded Jasper of a serpent’s hiss.
“What’s the plan?”
“The woman. Use the woman to capture the man. You must bring them both to me.”
Jasper felt the heat rising in his groin. If he was expedient, there would be plenty of time to play.
“You must not violate her yet. She must come to me as she comes to you.”
Jasper stood, knocking the remnants of a can of soda on its side, where it covered an old newspaper with a syrupy, brown ooze. “What?” he asked. “You telling me I can’t play with my new toy?”
No response.
“Boss. I said—”
“I heard you,” replied Gaki, interrupting Jasper’s plea. “She must serve a higher function, and she cannot do that dead.”
“You saying this one is gonna live? Are you out of your fucking mind? I can’t keep no woman alive in that house.”
“That is not of your concern.” Gaki coughed before continuing. “You’ll bring her to me as I have asked.”
Jasper sighed and looked at the water stains on the ceiling. He knew better than to push things with the boss. “Can I—can I play with her in other ways?” Jasper could not imagine expending all of his energy to bring the two to Gaki and then not be able to satisfy his own release. He knew there were other ways to satiate his desires, ways that would not risk his life.
“No.”
The single-word reply came with determined finality. Jasper shook his head, realizing he had no case to plead.
“Y’all got some crazy-ass plan going on there, boss,” Jasper said, trying to lighten the conversation. “You know I’ll do whatever it is ya need.”
“Be ready,” said Gaki. “If their flesh is damaged, yours will be called upon instead.”
Jasper dropped the phone into the cradle, not needing further explanation on the matter.
***
Jasper sat at the end of the bar, perched on a stool with his arms wrapped around the video poker machine. He sipped a warm beer while Hank Williams, Sr. played on the cranky jukebox. He glanced occasionally at the other two men at the bar, both hunched over a highball and ignoring the rest of the world. The bartender came over with a dingy towel stuck to his chest.
“Another round, Jasper?”
“I’m good, Charlie,” he replied. “Trip jacks, bitch!”
The machine squawked digital melodies from the single speaker as the credits in the bottom right corner climbed. Jasper smiled at Charlie.
“Ya better have enough in the cash box to pay out.”
“I always do, hoss,” replied the bartender. “But you ain’t done playin’ yet.”
“I guess I ain’t done drinkin’, neither. Another boilermaker, and toss me a bag of them chips.”
One of the old-timers at the end of the bar stood and staggered through the door while the other remained, his forehead almost touching the top of the bar.
“Careful, Mr. Johnson. Don’t wanna go finding you wrapped around a tree on my way home tonight.”
Jasper shook his head and looked at Charlie. “You lettin’ him out like that?”
Charlie shrugged and wiped at a water spot. “Who’s he gonna hurt?” he asked. “Ain’t nobody livin’ in this shit town no more.”
“That’s true,” said Jasper. The electronic woman asked for his bet, and he fantasized about nailing her from behind before shaking his head and looking up at Charlie. “How long you got?”
Charlie shook his head and turned to check on the old man about to collapse in upon himself. “Guessin’ six months. Eight, tops. Takes the banks a while before they go through all the paperwork to evict. Sheriff said he’d give me another week or two before servin’ the papers.”
“That’s mighty right of him,” replied Jasper. “So long as the bank don’t bonus him for it.”
Charlie shook the old man, who lifted his head and looked at Jasper and then back to Charlie, the fear and desperation deep within his eyes.
“I’m tired,” he mumbled.
“Ain’t we all,” said Jasper. “Call Cheryl and have her drive him home. Tell ’er she got a fill-up on the house if she does.”
Charlie nodded and reached beneath the bar to call for a ride. Jasper pushed off the stool and walked toward the old drunk. He felt like a man in Charlie’s Place even though he was a few years from being legal. Laws only mattered when there were people there to follow them.
“You ought not be drinking if ya can’t git yerself home.”
The old man continued staring at Jasper, his fingers trembling around his glass. “I know what you do,” he whispered.
“What did you say?” Jasper asked.
“I said I know what you do. I know what goes on out yonder at yer service station.”
Jasper looked at Charlie, who was involved in a conversation with Cheryl that required frantic hand gestures. He spoke loudly with the phone tucked under the side of his face.
“Best be mindin’ yer own business, old man. What I do in my shop ain’t nobody’s business but my own.”
“And at the house, in town? I know what you do there, too.”
Jasper reached over and gripped the old man’s shoulder with his right hand. He squeezed hard, feeling his fingers sink into the man’s flesh until it stopped on the collarbone. Jasper placed a finger from his left hand in front of his mouth. “Telling tall tales like that is bound to get you in all sorts of trouble. They done locked up my grammy in the crazy house for far less.”
The old man shrank, dropping one shoulder low as Jasper increased the pressure on his grip. He struggled to speak, tears of pain filling his eyes, his hands no longer able to hold his glass. “He got you under his spell, don’t he, son?”
“Ain’t none of your damn business,” replied Jasper. “I’m gonna say this once more so your gnarled, twisted ears will hear it. You stop talkin’ the crazy talk of the old folks right now or I’m gonna be drivin’ ya home myself, save Cheryl a drive down here. That’s what I’ll tell Charlie.”
The old man nodded and looked down at the bar. Charlie hung up the phone and walked back to where Jasper had his hand on the old man’s shoulder.
“Mighty kind of you to help him out, Jasper. He’s had so many that Cheryl might have a hard time getting him into the car. She should be here in thirty minutes, and she said she’d take you up on that offer. Probably next week when her truck needs a filling.”
“You hear that, sir? Sounds like if you stop drinking and keep yer mouth shut, Cheryl will get you home, safe and sound. What with the occasional rain and those slick highways, gittin’ home safe seems to be mighty important.”
The old man looked at Jasper, his expression unchanged. His mouth moved, but no words came out.
“As long as we got young men like Jasper around, I got faith in the future,” replied Charlie. “He might help to make something fine out of this shithole world.”
Jasper walked back to the poker machine as the jukebox slung another record underneath the needle’s arm. When the percussion of “Sympathy for the Devil” came through the tinny speaker, Jasper looked at the old man and winked.
***
As expected, the rain came quickly and then disappeared just as fast. The truck’s single headlight cast a feeble cone of yellow onto the road, bringing a fine mist into the air. Jasper felt the effects of the alcohol lessen the closer he came to the house. He hated driving there at night, but realized he might miss Gaki’s delivery if he left the gas station during the next day.
Jasper turned down Main Street, making the same turns as he had many times in the past. He could not help thinking about this old company town and what it might have looked like in his grandpappy
’s day. Jasper smiled, imagining clotheslines strung between windows and children chasing each other down the sidewalk while the men came home from the mines with a lunch pail and a coating of coal dust. He understood the economics of mountaintop removal, and could not care less about the ethics of it. Jobs were all that mattered in this town, and no amount of ethical mining would ever bring them back.
The truck sat in the driveway, its engine idling and the single headlight pointed toward the back of the property. Jasper turned the key and sat in the relative silence. He pushed open the door and felt the cool rain on his face. He could taste the approaching winter, even though the leaves had not yet turned. A long, cold, dark winter was coming. Jasper realized he was procrastinating. The spirits grew restless, as if the accumulation of bad mojo had agitated their lost souls. He knew they were stirring within the walls, waiting for him to come back in.
“Fuck you, Gaki!” he screamed before slamming the truck’s door shut.
A feral cat crossed the street two houses up. Jasper knew he had to go inside. Standing in the rain underneath the dead streetlamps was only prolonging the inevitable. The house had to be ready, and it was his job. Jasper laughed as he sauntered toward the back door, fishing through his keychain for the one that would open the padlock.
My job used to be pumping gas and changing out worn brake pads, he thought. I’m still changing out, in a manner of speaking.
The damp night began to chill Jasper from the inside out, and his fingers fumbled the latch. He opened the door and stepped inside, standing still, hearing the water run from the roof, through the gaping holes in it, and pool inside the walls of the old place. He could already feel them, tugging at his insides like a greasy meal. Gaki was not here to maintain order. They were afraid of the creature.
Jasper tried pushing through the dining room. He wanted to make it through the kitchen and into the basement with the supplies he had dropped off earlier in the day. Before he could do so, he heard the first stirrings, a tapping on the wall. He turned his head to see a strip of ancient wallpaper drop, curling from the ceiling to the floor in a lazy arc. Puffs of plaster poked through the spaces between the slat boards.
“I got work to do.”
The scratching turned into a crumbling sound as more plaster hit the floor. The skies had cleared, and moonlight drenched this side of the house in a silver sheen that helped Jasper see the first bony finger coming through the wall.
Daisy, he thought. He knew all the victims by name; not necessarily their real names, but the names he ascribed to them while they played. Jasper believed most children named their toys, and his toys were no different.
“I said I got work to do,” he repeated, a bony finger now wiggling out from the black hole on the other side of the wall. Scrapings and stirrings came from other parts of the house. Jasper heard them, his presence bringing them from their restless slumber.
“Jasssssper,” came the voice from the wall. While certainly female, it had been stripped of all humanity. He hated talking to her the most.
“The boss is coming tomorrow.”
The beast within the wall shrieked, the finger retracting into the hole. Jasper waited, knowing that the information alone would not be enough to keep them in check.
“I want to play, Jasper.”
He set the gallons of bleach on the floor and walked into the room. A single drape dangled from a curtain rod above a cracked window. Rain had blown in and drenched the floor, the end of the boards warped and upturned. Graffiti coated the wallpaper that remained, while fast-food wrappers and empty beer bottles collected in the corners.
“I got work to do. Git back in.”
This time, the entire hand reemerged from within the wall. Gray flesh clung to the joints, and a silver bracelet still hung over one wrist. Jasper watched as Daisy’s arm slithered outward, swatting at the air as her decomposing body pushed more plaster from the wall.
“Goddamn it!” Jasper yelled. “You know I’m gonna have to mud that up. I can’t be leaving holes like this, abandoned or not.”
“Tomorrow is different,” the voice hissed, its head still hidden behind the wall. A single leg extended outward, and a foot planted firmly on the floor.
Jasper took a step back. Daisy was becoming bold. He thought for a minute that she might in fact step completely out of the wall. He would not know what to do about that, and he shivered when thinking how Gaki might react.
“It ain’t. Git back in ’fore I call the boss.”
The movement ceased except for the gravelly sound of dead speech.
Jasper waited, hoping the mild threat had sufficed. He looked around the corner and into the kitchen, expecting to see several of his old playmates stumbling through the room. His mind raced, and he remembered each victim. The drugs helped to keep them subdued, but Daisy had broken through that haze and made a stunning last stand. Jasper believed that was why she was always the first to stir when Gaki was to make an appearance. She had been stronger than the others. Jasper remembered the feel of her skin and the cries she made as he violated her. After the drugs took effect, Daisy had continued to mumble, and Jasper had considered giving her enough to finish the job, but knew that Gaki would know if he took a shortcut, so he had decided against it. Instead, Jasper had worked hastily, pushing her body inside the wall while she was still alive but not repairing it the way he should have. He had done some drywalling as a teenager, and he realized the job he was doing over Daisy was a shitty one. But time demanded he finish it and not be too concerned about perfection. And now, every time the playmates stirred, Daisy was the first to awaken. She was the ringleader amongst the lost souls entombed behind the walls.
“It’s over tomorrow. It’s all over.”
The voice of the corpse rattled Jasper from his thoughts. He watched as her head came through the hole. Long strands of tangled, black hair remained in patches on the top of her head. Most of the skin had long since slid from her skull. Jasper saw her eyes, white like a mass of squirming maggots, and he turned away. She turned her head sideways while sticking out a black tongue. He recoiled at the sight and looked around the room, spotting a shovel next to the doorway and grabbing it. When he came back into the room, Daisy stood on the floor, her tongue wagging from side to side. She had climbed completely out of her burial space inside the wall, and he thought he heard plaster cracking in other parts of the house. The musty smell of death filled the room.
“Fuck off,” said Jasper. He walked toward Daisy’s reanimated corpse with the shovel raised behind his right ear. “Soon as tomorrow’s play date is over, y’all are going six feet under. You can claw your way out of the dirt for all I care, but I ain’t doin’ no more drywalling.”
The walking corpse remained silent, raising an arm and pointing to the doorway. Jasper turned to where four more bodies stood, all of them looking at him while chunks of plaster fell to the floor.
***
A frigid, chill swept through the house, and the old studs shuddered. The animated corpses stood still, and Jasper looked up. He could feel Gaki’s presence, and immediately worried that his inability to deal with the situation might raise the demon’s ire. Daisy stepped back toward the wall, and the other walking remains stood motionless.
“Only several hours for preparation remain.”
Jasper winced and nodded. “Yes, sir.”
“Rest, my children,” said Gaki.
Immediately, the three corpses turned and climbed back up the rickety stairs, while Daisy turned to face the hole in the wall. Jasper waited, breathing heavily and tossing the shovel into the corner.
“Prepare the room.”
Jasper nodded and felt another rush of frigid air push over his body and shake the house. He heard the footsteps upstairs as the bodies shuffled back to their internments within the walls. Jasper looked into the room and could not see any evidence of Daisy within the black, empty hole of the wall.
Picking up the gallons of bleach, Jasper trudged toward
the open door in the kitchen leading into the basement. He inhaled a whiff of natural gas as he passed the remnants of a range oven and gladly drew in the sulfuric odor, which helped to mask the death and decay clinging to the air.
Jasper prepared the basement according to Gaki’s preferences. Every time a rat or a gust of wind rattled the old windows of the house, Jasper shivered and glanced back to make sure nothing was coming down the steps.
***
A lone truck rumbled past, causing Jasper to spill his coffee. The caffeine had not been able to stem the tide of fatigue washing over him. Jasper swung his feet off the desk, knocking several magazines to the floor. No evidence remained of the rain. Night was on the verge of descending. As he stood to look out the greasy window, another car appeared and decelerated into the station.
“Showtime,” Jasper said as he pushed the visor off his nose. He tossed the Styrofoam cup into an overflowing waste bin and sauntered out of the office and sat on a rickety chair next to the door.
The woman snagged his attention, and Jasper tried not to stare. She was curvy with swinging hips, not one of the heroin-chic rails that the TV kept trying to sell as beautiful. She wore her hair bundled up on her head, with stray locks dancing about her face. Jasper licked the corner of his lips and closed his eyes until she passed, turning the corner toward the restroom.
He walked toward the pump, where the man sat, waiting as if he had just pulled up to a fast-food drive-through window. Jasper heard the pop of the gas door as it sprang open.
Japanese piece of shit, Jasper thought, noticing the emblem on the hood of the car. No style, no balls.
The man smiled as Jasper approached, a polite northern smile beneath closely cropped hair and a hip, snug T-shirt. Jasper knew his kind. He hated hipsters.
“Fill ’er up? Check yer oil?”
The man look confused and then waved a hand at the dashboard as if trusting his firstborn to Jasper. The man’s gaze was locked on the woman’s swagger, and Jasper could at least identify with those feelings.
“If you could, I’d appreciate that. My check-engine light came on a mile back or so, and I don’t want the towing bill if I break down before we get back to the interstate.”
