Putting the phone down a little harder than she should have, Alice could picture Edward's face in her mind's eye. It was complete with the little look he always gave her when she was having her "tiff," as he had liked to call it. Poor Edward had been gone for almost two years now and she had not missed that look one bit since he had gone. Alice thought of him and how he had always insisted they have a phone, even though she hated the thing, and he always refused talk on it. It served him right having that heart attack out back in his garden when nobody was there to call an ambulance. Yes, she thought, the old bastard lived his whole life and never once talked on a phone. She hoped he was happy with that.
Through her window Alice heard the noise again, howls somewhere out in the night, and she knew it had to be the Keegal's dogs. They woke her up more nights than she could count, and considering she had just had her eightieth birthday, she thought that was a good indication of how many ruined nights' sleep she could count. She picked the phone up again, banged it back down in the cradle with a smile on her face, just for Edward's benefit in case his ghost was somewhere watching, and then she dialed a number.
"This is the Jefferson County sheriff's office," said the voice from the other end of the phone line.
"Yes, this is Alice Dreyton from out on Willowbrook Lane. I would like to report a disturbance."
"Hello, Mrs. Dreyton, what seems to be your disturbance tonight?" asked the voice from the other end, sounding as though he were trying to hide the laughter in it.
Everyone knew everyone in this small community, and sometimes that could be annoying. "Don't you take that tone of voice with me, young man, I pay my taxes, and that pays your salary, do you understand me?"
"Yes, Ma'am, and I am sorry, Ma'am; what seems to be your problem tonight?"
"It is my neighbors, the Keegals, or should I say their dogs. They woke me up howling. Usually it is their barking at all hours, but this time it is their howling. I need a car to come by at once."
"Yes, Ma'am, right away. It seems we already have an officer out in that area. I will see to it that he gets to your house as soon as possible. Is there anything e..."
Alice smiled as she slammed the phone down, even harder this time. She could imagine the operator jerking his headphones off of his ears, howling in pain like the Keegals' dogs from the squeal that they always showed in the movies when you did that.
Satisfied now, and with nobody else to torment, Alice slowly got back up on her feet and put on her housecoat and went into her front room. Staring out of her picture window, Alice watched the road for headlights. She knew the officer would not be out here any time soon, they never were when she called, and it never changed, no matter how often she complained. As she stood there, Alice heard the howls again, and this time they were closer.
Alice smiled again, grimly this time. She lived in the country and that meant she could shoot a gun. That was one of the main reasons she had liked living in the country in the first place. At least Edward had had enough sense to buy them some land to go along with their house. With ten acres of woods, she should not have any trouble finding a place to hide a couple of her neighbor's dead dogs.
She crossed her living room to the closet by the front door and opened it. There in the back she saw what she was looking for. A tall gun case stood hidden behind coats and Edward's golf clubs. One of these days, she needed to remember to take them into town and sell them. She had always hated golf.
She picked up the gun case and unzipped it. A heavy double-barrel emerged from the case in her hand; the receiver and barrels were finely engraved with a hunter and his dogs out shooting birds. She thought it would have been a much nicer engraving if it had been an old woman shooting her neighbor's dogs, but nobody ever listened to her.
On the stock, right under where her chin went, was a band that wrapped around, held in place by elastic straps, and it held shotgun shells. She broke open the gun, checked the barrels for any obstructions, and then slid two shells in. As she loaded the gun, she made sure the shells had two zeros side by side. She did not want to end up using squirrel shot tonight, she thought to herself with a laugh.
By the door she flicked the wall switch and the light in the front room went out. Outside the window she could see her front yard, lit up by the bright pole light at the end of her house. She had to make Edward get that, too. He said he thought a flashlight was good enough for getting around outside at night.
The howls came again, and this time they were right out in front of her house. She could hear the dogs moving through the brush now. From the sound of it, she knew the Keegals had to have gotten some new dogs, some really big new ones.
Alice quietly went to her front door, opened it carefully, and stepped out into the cool evening air. Her eyes followed the sound through the trees in front of her as she raised the shotgun to her shoulder. With the gun in place, she braced herself with the wall of the house behind her and she waited. Suddenly the dog in the woods quit moving.
Alice lifted her head, looking down the barrels out into the woods when she caught movement out of the corner of her eye. She saw a dog coming at her mid-leap as it flew through the air. She whirled, faster than even she thought she could, and pulled both triggers at once.
The roar of the blast from both barrels filled the night. Alice heard the dog yelp as the kick from the shotgun knocked her off her feet and sent her sailing across the porch backward. She realized when she turned, the house was not there to block her any longer. Trying to brace for impact, Alice felt her feet hit the ground, dragging along as the rest of her body dropped down to join them. The wind was knocked out of her, but she did not hear any pops, so she did not think anything had broken.
Lying on her back, Alice wondered if the stars she was watching were really in the sky or if they were in her mind instead. She tried to sit up, moaning in pain, worried about where the wounded dog had gone. Before she could even move two inches, she heard paws on the porch. When she looked up, she saw two yellow eyes staring down at her. She thought they looked like two yellow piss holes in dirty snow, but she was amazed at how big the teeth were when the dog opened its jaws wide, closing them around her face.
Officer Ronnie Johnson drove down the county road as slow as he could. The call had come in just a few minutes before that he needed to head over to Mrs. Dreyton's place because of some dogs howling. He knew he was in for a good hour-long argument about why he could not shoot her neighbor's dogs and he was not overjoyed with the idea.
With his headlights off, he went as slow as he could, and he could already see her driveway in the moonlight. He looked up, craning his neck so he could see the silver disc floating high in the sky above him. He thought he would rather be up there, with all of the risks of space travel, knowing he had a better than good chance of dying and never seeing home again, than arguing with that damned Dreyton woman. He worked nights because they were easy. At least they had been until Mrs. Dreyton's husband died. He remembered the old man was supposed to have had a heart attack. Officer Johnson knew that it was not a heart attack that had killed the old man. The old woman had bitched him to death.
Pulling on the headlight switch, all the while hoping the old bat was not up there watching him from her front room window, Ronnie turned into the drive. As soon as the headlights washed over the porch, Ronnie saw two of the biggest dogs he had ever seen in his life take off running. He thought they had been eating at something.
When he shined his spotlight on the porch and realized they had been eating Mrs. Dreyton, he radioed in for backup. His eyes never left the old woman, her shotgun lying there beside her, her mangled body covered in blood. He thought the dogs had carried off pieces of her when they had run. Ronnie locked the doors of his squad car and hoped he would hear sirens soon. Far away in the woods, he could still hear the howling.
Melanie woke up; the morning sun was bright in the sky over her, and she winced when she moved. She knew she had to be more careful when the change came u
pon her, because even she was not invincible, although when she was changed she was nearly so. She looked at her stomach, the fresh scars from last night's bullet wounds still bright and pink on her now-human skin. She hoped they faded soon because summer was almost here and they would play hell with her bikini and tan lines.
She remembered eating the old woman, but she did not feel bad. After all, the woman had shot her. Then she remembered the man lying beside her. She looked at him, still asleep, and she thought he looked quite handsome lying there considering the night they had had. When he woke up, she would have to find out his name and she hoped he would stay with her a while. It was lonely sometimes being a werewolf, but this was a new day and anything could happen.
About Larry Green
Larry Green is an aspiring writer and the editor of Death Head Grin magazine when he is not taking care of his day job, which is painting houses. He lives with his three dogs that are not werewolves in Northwest Arkansas where he has written off and on for most of his life, but has never pursued it seriously until recently. He has always been a fan of anything horror, growing up reading anything he could find from Stephen King to Edgar Allen Poe, and watching movies like Jaws in the backseat at the drive-in when he was supposed to be asleep, which made him terrified of the bathroom at night when he was five.
http://www.deathheadgrin.com
RED KING
by Jessica Handly
It was quiet, dark, serene. The night had enclosed me like the leather of a glove. So soft, so warm. I could smell the ocean all around me, could feel the waves lapping at my feet.
I opened my eyes. The mist had rolled in out of nowhere. I listened as the soft gong of a distant bell echoed harmlessly from the lighthouse. The darkness was pierced by its yellow light, warning cumbersome ships of the rocks. In a flash, the light passed over my head and was gone.
The ocean wind blew my hair back from my body and ran gently through my clothes. I raised my hands and face to the dark, starlit sky, arching my back, letting the sounds of the ocean fill my senses like it had never done before. I was in love with the Provincetown night. I felt free and without a care. I wasn't even hungry like he had said I would be.
I began to walk forward into the water, but a hand, strong and powerful, clamped down onto my shoulder. He whipped me around to him, and in the matter of seconds that it occurred, I took in his whole attire. Just the same as always; crimson hair, curling wildly around his face and neck, green eyes like a cat just a bit too far apart on his face. His lips were as fiery red as his hair, his complexion so very pale, like a bleached bone. He had said it was all due to his age, so very old that he was. He wore an old green sweater and faded blue jeans, knees ripped, work boots soaked with wet sand.
I wanted to ask why he had done what he did, why he had chased me around for so long. He hadn't even told me his name, not once throughout these long years. He was pouting now, mouth frowning, eyes narrowed. Now I couldn't ask what I so longed to, for his presence near to me had always made me feel small and unnecessary, just this thing whose existence didn't even matter.
He raised his hand, touched my cheek. It was cold against my skin. "What is it? Why did you leave the house?"
I tried to find the voice to answer him, but as usual I looked away, shivering. His pure power intimidated me, frightened me.
He stood silently behind me for a moment, not touching me, but then awkwardly, his hands raised up to hold me. Now, this was something he had never done before, had never even attempted to do. He didn't really know what to do with me, I soon realized, as he just stood there with his hands resting lightly on my hips. I stared out into the darkened sea, watching the waves crash against the shore.
He pulled me against him slowly, hesitantly, turning me gently. "Katia," he whispered my name. I looked up at him, lost in his eyes, as his hands grasped me by the back of the neck, head lowering, gently kissing me now. His nervousness gave me this human gesture, this one and only long-awaited kiss. I held him tight against me.
"Who are you?" I asked, resting my head against his chest. When he didn't answer, I pulled away slightly, gazing up at his wild hair, his gleaming eyes. I reached out and touched his cheek, watching as he smiled now, his face so smooth and so very pale. I touched his lips, the smile continued. I ran my hands down over his arms. He was so very old. I was so young. Why had he chosen me?
A slight nod. His hand reached out and found mine. "Don't be afraid."
My heart was thudding painfully in my chest, but I denied it. "I'm not."
Another grin. Cool long fingers twining into my hair, drawing me closer. "If I'm not to be afraid of you, Katia, you mustn't be so of me."
I had barely the time to nod as his lips descended upon me again, kissing my mouth, my neck, my face. He held me tightly, afraid to let go, sighing my name on the breeze. "Katia."
Darkness, blessed darkness. The warmth of flannel blankets around my body, I had dreamed of his arms around me. Where was I? How long had I been out? My mind drifted backward, to the dark compartment of the lighthouse, to the sun rising around us and the fear of annihilation. To his arms around me, holding me, calming me. When the sun had risen outside of our sanctuary, we were safe together.
Chills spread over me, and I ducked under the blanket against him as his hands ran gently over my hair. Focus, and the world is at your command. Who had said that to me? Did he? Mother? Father? Oh, it was too long ago, much too far away. I hugged him tightly and let the years slip away, the memories flashing into my mind like yellowed pictures from an album.
Mother and Father had known from the start who and what he was, had promised me they would let me know him on my twentieth birthday. Yet I had always known him at a distance, growing up with him around. He was one of my parents' friends to me, no more, no less. I remember him coming into my house after dinner, striding into our dining room with his hands in his pockets. I remember sitting on his lap, his eyes gazing into mine, and how he'd frighten me and I'd cry, begging Mother to make him go away. Like a nightmare thing, his face and voice invaded my childhood dreams.
When I was fifteen, my parents died in a freak car accident, leaving me the sole survivor with no known living relatives. The friend of my parents whom I so detested now became known to me as Guardian. He came to live at my house, although I rarely saw him. When I did, it was sudden. Fleeting and gone in a moment. He was a flash of red with glittering green eyes in the darkness. Ever watchful, he waited patiently. I became suspicious of him, as teenagers are wont to do, filled my room with vampire novels. His actions were documented in there. The way he moved, acted, and constantly watched.
He'd follow me to work, watch me as I went to bed, stand over me as I slept. Sometimes he'd come into the house when I was doing the most mundane of chores, loading the dishwasher, and he'd just stand there, looking so odd, so barely held back, it would infuriate me. I'd scream at him and throw things, and he'd catch them easily, whispering, "Relax, Katia."
Then he began to want me to make him dinner, every night. I did, but he never ate it, simply watched me eat, sipping his red wine. I demanded money from him, more and more, bought my first car at sixteen. And then, I was never at home. I didn't see him for months until one night, at a stop sign no less, he simply opened the door and sat down beside me.
"Drive," he ordered and too shocked to do anything else, I did, driving until I ran out of gas. He watched me the entire time, staring through my body, my mind, into my soul, until I screamed at him to stop. When we ran out of gas, he bought more and drove us home. I stared silently out the window.
At eighteen, I graduated high school. And that's when I confronted him.
"What can I call you?"
He seemed to contemplate it for a moment. "My people called me Ruadrí…Red King. But you can call me Rory Danann."
"Rory Danann?" I repeated, then I told Danann that I wanted to go to college; a long hard fight ensued. He spoke to me more than he ever had, saying all kinds of nonsens
e, that he owed it to my parents to keep me alive. I accused him of wanting to keep me home for other reasons.
"You want me so much and yet you can't stand to look at me!" I yelled as he turned away from me. "You're a coward! You watch me from the shadows, never once taking what you want, and I know how much you want it!"
He turned to me, restraint etched in his face. "Katia, you have no idea what I want."
I laughed at him. "Don't I? I've known it for years. You want it so badly you can taste it, but you won't take it. Why?"
"You don't want me to want you like this," he said, his face exasperated, tightly drawn, the green eyes gleaming.
"Maybe I do," I said, walking up to him, angered as he sighed, turned away. "But wait. How could I be so stupid? You have to see it to want it, don't you?" I reached for my purse, digging until I found what I was searching for. My pocketknife. I flicked it open, and at the sharp snap, his head swiveled to look at me. Before he could say another word, I forced it down on the flesh of my right arm, cutting lengthwise until the blood ran fast. I dropped it on the ground then, falling to my knees, watching in pain as the blood bubbled up and onto the carpet, as red as his hair, his lips.
A sharp intake of breath came from him then. I looked up; he was now kneeling on the floor beside me. "Katia…" He didn't finish his sentence.
"It's what you want!" I was crying, offering it to him. "It's what you are, isn't it?"
He pushed me down until I was lying flat on the ground. My head hit the floor, knocked me dizzy. His cold hands encircled my arm, forcing the blood up faster, and I couldn't breathe, couldn't believe what I was seeing now. Flecks of red were surfacing deep inside his eyes, swirling up, covering them totally, blood red, glazing over, staring at nothing but the blood. His mouth, already opened and gasping, now revealed to me: two canine teeth lengthening, becoming fangs. I whimpered as his head lowered to my arm, and his soft mouth covered the cut. I felt the fangs lying against my skin, not puncturing, but yes, they were there. I swooned, lost a lot of blood all into his mouth, and then I passed out.
What Fears Become: An Anthology from The Horror Zine Page 26
