by John Sharp
Chapter 2 – Mother
Dreading the coming encounter, I scoop up Whisper and place him on my shoulder once more. I briefly consider pretending I’m not home, but my closed door is an obvious sign to the contrary. Opening it I confront my mother. The feeling of a western showdown fills me rather than a tender reuniting with my mother after two weeks apart. She stands before me, an island of misery in a sea of garbage, with a look of utter loathing dominating her features. The look is one she keeps in reserve just for me. In her late-thirties she could easily pass for fifty, with thinning, straw blonde hair and a layer of belly fat from her drug habit and her waning career. If you even consider prostitution a career. In my youth she called them her ‘boyfriends.’ She still does, in fact. But back then my shadow found that hilarious and I was too innocent at the time to understand. Any innocence I had was lost long ago. Now looking at her I feel both disgusted and sad, like great potential was thrown away for a moment’s pleasure. The funny thing is that she feels the same way. She often blames me and my birth as the event of her life that sent her into ruination. Whisper shows me more love than the used woman in front of me ever has.
She takes two stumbling steps forward, kicking off her high heels. Wearing tight clothes that might look attractive on a slim twenty-something, she staggers closer to me, reeking of alcohol. She looks awful, the worst I’ve ever seen her and it wasn’t just the state of her dress. Torn leggings coated with stains that I’d rather remain ignorant of led up to a way too short black miniskirt. It’s the kind of skirt that you don’t even have to move to get busy. Blue veins crisscrossed up her legs, looking like fat worms just beneath her sickly pale skin. Squeezed into a white t-shirt that would take a surgical team to get off, her sagging breasts are forced into something that resembles their original shape. The shirt has pink letters on it spelling the word JUICY. I can’t imagine anything less appealing. With plenty of wrinkles and prodigious crow’s feet she looks like life had flushed her far too many times. Deep black and blue bags hang beneath her light blue eyes, just above narrow, dry lips coated in far too much red lipstick. She carries a large black purse that seems stuffed full, making it ready to burst at its seams. Every time I see her I just feel an empty pit in my stomach. I often wonder why I can’t have a mother who loves me. Such a simple thing, one that many have and take for granted, yet I desired it more than a mountain of gold.
It takes her an abnormally long time to focus on me. Finally, her eyes rest on me. Immediately, an angry expression crosses her face, like I had just done called her a filthy name.
“You crazy little shit!” She screams. “Why did you have to go bring the cops here, you fucking bastard? I had to hide my stash.”
I say nothing as Whisper hisses angrily at her. The sudden sound draws her attention and she squints, furrowing her brow in concentration. Just how wasted is she? Seconds pass and at last her eyes narrow in recognition.
“I thought I told you to get rid of that rat,” she says, stumbling a bit and tossing her purse on the couch. It lands with a solid thunk.
“It’s not a rat,” I say calmly. “It’s a ferret and he’s my friend.”
“It’s a rat, you crazy little shit! Throw the fucking thing out the window!” She demands and I bite back a harsh reply. There is no talking to her when she’s like this. My shadow, who must have followed me out, laughs at her idea and urges me to obey. I continue to ignore him.
“Just how stoned are you?” I ask in a quiet tone, fearing the answer.
“Shut up, you crazy little shit,” she slurs. “I got a sweet gig going and I don’t want you messing things up.” As she says this, a well-dressed man strolls through the still open door, holding a professional black briefcase. It’s the kind of accessory one would expect from an expensive lawyer, and thus looks distinctly out of place in the trash heap that is my home. The man wears a cheap suit that nonetheless looks good, with a gun holster openly on display. He has broad shoulders with a large, clean-shaven head, marked by an interlinked series of bright red tattoos starting at his temple and running down to his chin. To complete the look he has dark unfriendly eyes; killer’s eyes. Wordlessly he hands the briefcase over to my mother, who clutches it to her chest as if it were her child instead of me.
“Is he going to be a problem?” He says, gesturing toward me.
“No,” declares my mother, disregarding my existence altogether with practiced ease. “He’s just a crazy little shit. I’ll complete the deal tomorrow.”
“Fine,” he says, turning to go. Suddenly he stops in the doorway and looks back, regarding my mother closely. “Don’t use it.”
An angry, red flush fills my mother’s face but her tone remains respectful and even a little scared. “I won’t,” and I know in that moment she most definitely will. With a nod that promised terrible things he leaves our messy home, closing the door behind him. The loud click reverberates in the silence as the latch slides into position like a coffin lid sealing. How bad is this going to be?
“Go to your room, you creepy little shit. And stay out of my way,” mother says, looking greedily down at the briefcase. “I wish the abortion had worked on you.” The last part was a mutter but she always says it just loud enough for me to hear. I go. She once told me in an alcoholic fit that she kept trying to abort me early on. Yet for some odd reason nothing she tried worked. She cursed me, saying that I planned to destroy her life even then.
Returning to the sanctity of my room, I lock the door and move my dresser in front of it. I’ve found that securing my room is the best practice when this type of thing happens. Jumping off my shoulder Whisper lands on the dresser, glaring at the door toward the person still muttering on the other side.
“I don’t like her, Shifter. She doesn’t treat you well,” Whisper says. “We should leave here soon. She smells of sickness and of corruption. I’m tired of hiding from her when you aren’t around.”
Privately I agree with him but I want to finish school up first and find a job. With my reputation and medical history it will be tricky to get someone to hire me. I might have to move away and lie on any application just to stand a chance.
“We’ll leave soon,” I assure him. “Just two more months and I’ll graduate high school.” Despite all my absences from school I’ve managed to pass every test and do enough make up work to graduate on time. It wasn’t easy but once I am gone from here it will be worth it.
“School is boring,” my shadow says, resting on the ceiling once again. “Let’s just take what we want. No one could stop us. Perhaps we could sell the talking rat.”
“Mindless spawn of a worm’s ass!” Hisses Whisper, craning his neck to look at my shadow.
“Flea infested, inbred cousin of a weasel and naked mole rat,” my shadow laughs as Whisper bobs his head up and down in rage. Being reduced to chitterling madness, Whisper leaps off the dresser onto my bed. He bounces up and down, trying hopelessly to reach the ceiling and his tormentor. My shadow just laughs at him, throwing bits of the flaking ceiling in his general direction. Despite the noise they are making it does make me feel a bit better. Funny how these two give me more comfort than my own mother ever has.
Sitting down at the computer, I fire it up to browse my music list. Feeling the need for some culture I find a folder of Mozart and load it into my media player. Just in time too. As the first note plays my mother’s company arrives. Whenever she gets a large stash of drugs she invariabley invites a lot of her fellow consumers over. For most of the night they will party, getting so high they will be in danger of bumping into satellites. Sure enough, even over the sound of my music I hear them digging in. It’s going to be a long night. I just hope that she doesn’t go through too much of the goods and gets killed for it. Despite everything she’s done, she is still my mother and that bond isn’t easily discarded… at least not for me.
With Whisper curl
ed up on my pillow and my shadow lingering in the darkness above, I lie on my bed trying to ignore the sounds leaking into my room over roar of my music. Feeling sad and dejected I pull Whisper closer to me, snuggling into his fur. He doesn’t smell musky like most ferrets do. Instead he has an odor of warmth and love, like fresh bread still warm from the oven and dew in the morning. Finally, in the early morning I manage to fall asleep.
A loud shriek of pain wakes me up less than an hour later. My head is pounding with a headache and at first I think the cry of pain is my own. A loud thump against the wall and a fresh cry of pain brings me to full wakefulness. Sitting bolt upright in my bed I stare at the door, listening intently. My music must have exhausted its playlist because all I hear is an odd creaking as someone moves in the outer room. Usually by this time I would find a large group of semi-naked people strewn throughout the apartment, but this is something else, something ominous. The world feels wrong… distorted, as if realty were collapsing. I immediately feel nauseated.
Raising his furry white head, Whisper sniffs the air, his soft pink tongue darting back and forth. “Shifter, I smell blood. Lots of blood.”
“Oh?” My shadow says, raising himself out of the ceiling. “Finally things are getting interesting.”
Sliding toward the door, my shadow exits my bedroom between the door and its frame. A few seconds pass and I am debating on calling out to him when I hear his diabolical laughter ringing out in large, uncontrolled gusts. My heart sinks. Anything that amuses my shadow that much is bad, very bad. One time he described a fatal automobile accidently as a most excellent physics demonstration. I throw back the covers, silently getting out of bed. Moving on stealthy feet I slowly creep to the door with Whisper on my heels. Since my dresser still blocks the door, I lean my head against the wall trying to hear something besides my shadow. I think I hear a chewing sound, like a dog with a raw steak. Suddenly a low, inhuman growl echoes in the room, sending a chill down my spine. Needing to see what’s happening I grab both sides of my dresser, trying to silently move it just enough to peer out.
No such luck. A raw scraping sound echoes in the silence. I curse softly as all noise abruptly ceases in the other room. Silence fills the air, thick and stifling. Unable to think of what else to do I open my door a crack, all that is allowed by my dresser, scanning the room beyond. I have a hard time seeing anything. All the lights have been extinguished and the thick, black curtains are drawn, keeping out the predawn light. Squinting, I lean even closer to the crack, trying to see anything. Suddenly a bloody, unrecognizable face fills my vision, nearly close enough to give me a kiss. Falling backwards, I land painfully on my ass but my eyes never leave that terrifying visage peering through the narrow opening. Even as it looks at me, I try to convince myself that I’m not really seeing it, something like can’t be here in my world. With a cry of hunger worthy of a starving rat the face withdraws. For a heartbeat I allow myself the delusion that it is gone and that I am safe. How childish of me.
A powerful blow slams up against my door, fracturing wood and nearly toppling the dresser over. Rushing forward I pressed my back against the dresser, pushing for all I am worth. Another blow hits, jostling me as the unknown entity tries to force its way in. Whisper runs in a frightened circle, unable to do anything to help. I am rocked forward a second time as the thing on the other side crashes powerfully against the door. I know I can’t hold on much longer. Either the door will give way or I will.
“Whisper, get my gun!” I yell over the noise of the creature’s howls and splintering wood. I have a small pistol I managed to steal awhile back from one of my mom’s boyfriends. I keep it well hidden along with a box of ammo, just in case.
“Yes, Shifter,” Whisper says, sprinting to my open closet, his tail swishing back and forth as he digs through my meager belongings. Digging my heels in, I brace the door as best as I can. The next hit lands, sending my top drawer flying out, smacking my head. Underwear and socks spill around me as I throw the drawer aside, ignoring the pain. Whisper pulls my gun out of the closet and runs it over to me. I keep a fully loaded clip taped to the side of the gun for emergencies.
Another crash against the door nearly throws me out of the way as the wood above me splinters. Debris and a few drops of blood rain down on my head as I hear a frantic scrabbling. Ripping the tape off the clip I slam it home and load a round in into the chamber. The cool metal and heavy weight in my hand is a reassuring presence, steadying my nerves. The scraping above me vanishes and I imagine the unknown creature backing up to get another running start. Instead of bracing the door I scramble to my feet, jumping on my bed. I level the gun at the door, waiting. My heart thuds so loudly that I am certain it will give my position away.
“Whisper, get behind me. If anything happens to me, I want you to run,” I say softly, waiting for the door to explode. I swallow with difficulty.
Before Whisper can reply the door bursts open in a shower of wood fragments, the dresser crashing to the floor. I search for my target in the doorway only to find the creature stuck part-way through with only its head and left arm inside the room. It is hard to tell who or what it is. It has eyes that are far too large and completely black, lifeless. Its nose recedes up into its skull leaving two small holes that whistle loudly with each breath. The creature’s blank eyes travel quickly around the room, resting on me. It opens its impossibly wide mouth to reveal jagged, broken teeth with bits of red gore wedged between them. I can tell it’s wearing some type of clothes but they are covered in so much blood that they are unrecognizable. A three-fingered, boney claw swipes back and forth in the air trying to reach me. It makes no move to shift the debris out of its path, it just reaches blindly toward me, mewling hungrily. Taking steady aim I pull the trigger. The gun jerks in my hand as a loud bang thunders in my ears. The kickback knocks me down, but glancing up I see that my shot had penetrated the thing’s skull, splattering the surrounding area with chunks of brain and bone.
Staggering backwards with blood gushing from the open wound, the creature collapses in the doorway with a resounding thud. The rancid smell of hot smoke quickly fills my room and my ears ring from the shot as I slowly get to my feet.
“What marvelous fun!” My shadow declares as he re-enters my room, looking down at the body.
“Fun?” Whisper says angrily. “What if it had killed Shifter?”
My shadow shrugs as if he doesn’t care the least bit and he probably doesn’t. “Then I might finally be free to go where I please.”
“Or you might vanish as if you never been,” counters Whisper. This give my shadow pause. He has obviously never considered the possibility and looks alarmed at the prospect.
I begin to lay the gun down on my bed when my shadow speaks again. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you. There is another one out there. It’s preoccupied with feeding at the moment.”
I freeze. Another one? I am already starting to tremble all over and there’s another one out there! Taking another difficult swallow I edge closer to the door, a death grip on my gun. Sure enough, I hear furious chewing and tearing sounds despite the ringing in my ears. Feeling the distinct need to relieve my bladder I peer through the open door, sweat stinging my eyes. Nothing. Whatever has the morning munchies is further inside. I will have to exit the safety of my room to find out where it is. I debate hiding in here until someone comes to my rescue. Surely the shot was heard by someone but the thought of my mother, possibly out there with the creature from the black lagoon spurs me into action. Unlike the creature I shot, I am small enough to squeeze through the door. Stepping over the body I enter the dim living room, my gun trembling in my hand. At first I see only darkness and the white of Whisper by my foot. Needing his comfort I pick him up, setting him on my shoulder. I never take my eyes off the darkness in front of me, expecting rushing, indistinct shapes to be everywhere.
I can smell it now
, like Whisper had said, the rich coppery aroma of blood and gore. It’s a whiff of wrongness that threatens to seize control of my body. I stand absolutely still. I try not to focus on the low growling that now seems far too close. Gradually my eyes adjust to the darkness as my heart thunders loudly and with alarming speed in my chest.
Bodies are everywhere. Most are torn apart but a few could still be sleeping, and thanks to the drugs they will never be aware anything is amiss. I imagine their surprise when they awaken to a 1970’s chainsaw massacre scene. Pushing the image out of my head I proceed further into the room. The floor is disturbingly wet and my bare feet make squishing sounds with each step.
Quietly Whisper says, “There, in the corner by the couch.”
Directing my gaze and gun toward the area Whisper indicated, I mentally try to ready myself. A hopeless attempt. I can’t make sense of what I am seeing. My mind doesn’t want to accept it. It almost looks like there is a person trying to revive a man on the floor, but on an instinctive level I know that is wrong. The way the figure moves with such eagerness and the spasmodic jerks from the body resting on the floor makes me feel ill. Worst of all are the sounds; a low growl and violent tug of its head, followed by wet chewing. The creature lifts its head and I see fresh blood leak from the corners of its mouth, pooling on its chin. Despite the low light I notice the unmistakable shape of a human nose as it disappears into the creature’s maw. The sound of crunching cartilage and the smell of coppery blood is all it takes to lose the fight against the nausea. I bend over, heaving my meager meal from last night, the foul taste of bile driving all other concerns from my mind. Taking a deep breath that nearly makes me heave again I look up and my blood turns cold. The creature is looking directly at me.
We lock gazes and despite the darkness I can see animal hunger dominating its features. The creature is coated in so much blood that it looks crimson, almost demonic. Those large, soulless eyes meet mine and I fight to keep my stomach and bowels in line. I think it is female, though with those features and the fresh coat of blood it’s hard to tell. Most of my attention is transfixed by the half chewed bit of flesh in her mouth, forgotten now that there is something fresher in the room.
I freeze, too terrified to do anything. Every survival instinct I have screams for me to move, to fight, to do anything, but it’s no good. My body won’t respond, like the connection from my brain to body has been cut. I might see weird things everyday but I have never been in any real danger. Hell, most of the time I think it’s all in my head. Whisper’s desperate pleas to shoot and my shadow’s chuckle are far away and unreal, just like the creature before me had to be.
The unknown beast crouches low, ready to rend me limb from limb. Launching himself from my shoulder, Whisper is a white blur flying directly toward the creature, utterly fearless. In one quick movement it swats Whisper aside with a loud smack that resonates through the small room and my heart. Whisper ricochets off the far wall, landing on a mountain of trash, unmoving.
That finally breaks my paralysis. I forget my fear. I forget that I am small and scared. I forget about the smell of blood thick in the air and the dead bodies lying casually around me. All I know is that this creature just hurt the only friend I have ever had. Screaming my outrage I raise the gun to chest height, firing rapidly. I can’t hear myself over the explosions of the gun but I know I am still screaming from the rawness burning in my throat. I don’t care. I want an unlimited supply of ammo so I can shoot the creature until only quarter sized bits remain.
Finally the gun is empty and the monster lays dead, its chest a bloody ruin. Dropping the gun I run to Whisper. Relieved tears fill my eyes as he turns, looking at me with those deep blue eyes.
“Slightly more dangerous than those cockroaches,” he says and I laugh in relief, picking him up and squeezing him tightly as he snuggles his face under my chin.
“Ah, pity the rat is still alive,” my shadow says, a dark pool on the ceiling directly above me.
“Shut up!” I snap. He ripples, growing darker and more substantial as he gives me a mocking smirk from the center.
“I’m glad you finally took my advice and killed the bitch,” my shadow says.
“What?” I ask in confusion.
My shadow, giving me a grin that can only mean trouble and gestures to the dead beast. Clutching Whisper to my chest I walk toward the creature. Unable to really make anything out in the dark I find a light switch and flick it on. The carnage around me is far worse than I could have guessed in the previous dimness. At least a dozen bodies lay about. It is hard to tell though, with bits and pieces of red, sticky flesh everywhere. It’s as if the creatures tore football size pieces out of their victims and tossed them around during their feeding frenzy. The carpet is absolutely soaked in blood, coating my bare feet in a red sheath. But the horrors around me pale in comparison to what I am looking at. Despite the large eyes and snake like nose, the creature that I shot is, without a doubt, my mother.
