He looked down, watching as the crab-critter tumbled through the air end-over-end. It landed on its back with a WHAPP. Spiny legs twitched wildly. Beside the critter, Pat stood practically motionless, staring at his hand in a state of unease. Critters were all around him, scuttling and scampering, a moment away from attacking. Some had thirty legs or more. Some had eyes the size of apples, clustered together in a bunch.
Dan shouted, “Hurry!”
“Keep climbing. I’m trying to figure this out!” Pat wrapped his arms around the back of the ladder. Using his forearms to keep balance, he climbed. It was a better approach, one that didn’t hurt his hands because he wasn’t using them.
A crab scooted across the wall.
Dan knocked it away before it got too close. He looked down, saw Pat climbing and continued his journey. But he moved slower now, allowing his friend time to catch up, figuring they should stay together. He wanted to keep Patrick’s path clear.
For the first while everything was great; the crabs kept their distance. But everything changed near the sixtieth rung. Three crabs scurried quickly, attacking Dan at the same time. One was small and translucent. Dan knocked it away easy enough, but he allowed a big, black crab to crawl between him and the ladder. It had yellow eyes and tentacles hanging from its abdomen. He swatted it a couple times before using his fist. A brown crab with purple eyes and thin wings flew through the air and landed on his back.
Disregarding the winged critter, he slammed the black crab against the wall. Gray foam squirted from its side. He pulled away from the ladder and the critter fell, legs scrambling, mouths opening and closing, stupid eyes turning dim.
It landed right on Patrick.
Pat had no idea it was coming, and when it plopped onto his head it grabbed on tight and stabbed him with two stingers. Patrick made an AWOOOO sound and the creature climbed down his face and onto his chest, wedging itself between him and the ladder. He didn’t see the irony in this, didn’t know the same crab had set camp in Daniel’s lap a moment ago. Trying to gain his wits and deal with the situation appropriately he knocked the creature a few times with his right hand, accidentally sliding his mangled index finger inside one of the open mouths.
The creature bit down hard. Bone crunched and blood squirted onto the wall.
The finger was severed.
Pain came roaring in, and with it came the screaming.
Hearing Pat shriek, Dan knew something bad had happened but he couldn’t do anything about it; he had problems of his own. The crab clinging to his back was taking little bites out of his shoulder.
Patrick––with his face white and terror stricken––thought for sure he would fall from the ladder. It seemed logical. Don’t fall, he thought as the crab tried to snatch another nip from his ruined hand. Whatever you do, don’t fall.
Dan reached behind his back, grabbed the winged critter by a leg and pulled it as hard as he was able. The leg tore from the creature’s body and the creature squealed in pain. He reached behind his back, grabbed another leg––a thick hairy one––and pulled again. “Come on,” he said. “Get off me!” Same result: the leg tore free. He tried to grab a third leg, hoping to rid himself of the pest once and for all. The crab tried to bite him on the knuckle twice. Then for reasons unknown, it released its grip and flew away.
Pat wasn’t in the way of a falling critter this time. The flying monster skimmed his shoulder and zipped past, membranous wings flapping quickly.
Dan climbed.
Pat climbed too.
And the black crab-critter that had eaten Patrick’s finger was still there––wedged between him and the ladder with tentacles wiggling, yellow eyes watching, gray foam running from its wound.
Pat didn’t care. He needed his feet to rest upon solid ground again; he didn’t have the time or the energy to fight.
Thinking he’d faint, he climbed.
The crab took a nip from his knee. He stepped on it and the creature fell. Ten rungs later he was attacked by a villain with little white tuffs of fur under its belly. It grabbed hold of Pat’s shoe and crawled up his leg.
Pat didn’t fight it; he kept on going.
Dan looked down and assumed things were all right. But he was nervous now; his battle with the crabs left him on edge. The little guys could knock him off the ladder quick enough if there were more than one of them, and with that in mind he started to pull away from Pat, just a little.
The crab with the white tuffs climbed onto Patrick’s ass, nipped him a few times, and got a claw caught in his front pocket. His belt unbuckled and his pants––a pair of dirty blue jeans––began sliding down his legs. Pat figured he’d lose them before he reached the top of the ladder and he did see the humor in that. Escaping without pants would be embarrassing; he wasn’t wearing underwear.
Dan climbed. He was almost at the top now.
Pat felt dizzy. He thought about letting go, falling. He wasn’t sure if he could make it to the top and the crab clinging to his waist was adding another eight pounds, easy. Then something happened. Given the situation it was good news: a pocket tore open, the belt pulled free of a loop, pants ripped and the crab dropped to its death. Unfortunately Pat’s cell phone, wallet and keys fell with it.
Dan stopped climbing, exhausted. With only a few more rungs to go he looked down. “You okay?”
A crab scurried overhead.
Pat stopped climbing, took a deep breath and nodded his head. His pants were hanging off; he wanted to pull them up but he couldn’t. Looking down he saw more crabs climbing towards him.
Better keep moving, he thought.
He climbed two more steps.
He was going to faint. He couldn’t help it. The world was spinning, blood was pouring out of his finger, and the crab’s poison was in his bloodstream. It was going to happen; there was nothing he could do.
Daniel made his way to the top rung, pulled himself onto the basement floor, and breathed a heavy sigh of relief. There were three crabs inside the basement. When he saw one scrambling towards him he knew his battle wasn’t over. Not yet. He raised himself to his feet, struck with a morbid thought: Wouldn’t it be funny if the crab knocked me off balance and I fell down the shaft?
No, he thought. It certainly would not be funny.
He stomped the approaching crab and kicked the second one against the wall.
It slammed against a two-by-four with legs broken; then it danced around in a crippled-man’s jig. Dan stomped it twice more, bringing an end to the activity. Meanwhile, the third crab ran up the staircase and escaped into the house.
A bottle of beer sat on the floor, half full. Daniel didn’t know who opened it or how warm it was, and he didn’t care. He lifted the bottle and finished what was inside. The beer was room temperature but that was okay. He was thirsty and warm beer was better than no beer.
Looking into the hole he saw Pat.
“Oh no,” he said, wiping a dirty hand across his wet mouth. “Oh dear God, tell me it isn’t so.”
30
Nicolas rammed the gun against Mandy’s temple.
Holbrook closed his eyes; he didn’t want to see the girl die.
Burton wondered why he gambled his daughter’s life away. Was he really that careless? Was he really that stupid? Apparently he was.
Mandy, who was young and upset, didn’t grasp the fact that a line had been crossed. She was afraid, terrified in fact. But she didn’t know things had gotten worse, specifically for her.
Nicolas was momentary stunned. He was bluffing, that was the truth of it. He had a plan brewing and splashing the girl’s brains across the Milky Way wasn’t a part of it.
Yet.
He tightened his grip on the girl’s neck. “That was your one and only screw up, fuck-nub. Next time you say something stupid the girl’s dead meat. From here on in you’ll do what I say, how I say, when I say. You got me?”
“Yes,” Burton said.
“And how about you, tough-guy? You got me?”
“Yes. I do.” Holbrook said, conquered.
“You sure?”
“Yes.”
“You’re going to do what I say then, knowing that if you hesitate I’ll pop this girl?”
Mandy squirmed.
Holbrook nodded. “I understand completely.”
“Good. I have a closet you know. I have this little closet in my hallway and I keep it empty. It has a heavy wooden door and a yellow knob and sometimes when I close the door it gets stuck in the casing. It’s nearly impossible to open the door at times, unless I put a foot against the wall and yank it as hard as I can. There aren’t any shoes in the closet; there aren’t any coats, there isn’t even a shelf to put things. It’s empty, just empty… and do you know why? Do you know why I keep it empty? Because sometimes I like to go inside the closet and close the door tight, lock myself in. And when I’m in there I scream and I scream and I scream. Sometimes I scratch myself. Sometimes I shit on the floor. Sometimes I bite my fingers but mostly I just scream. Stand up or I’ll fucking kill you.”
Holbrook couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He wanted to pretend that he didn’t understand but he understood everything perfectly. The guy was psycho. He stood up quickly because not doing so was the stupidest thing in the world.
Nicolas walked backwards, dragging the girl uncaringly. He said, “Step in front of the car.”
With his heart pumping fast and his hands clenched into fists, Holbrook followed the instructions and stood in front of the Dodge Charger.
Nicolas grinned. “Now lay down.”
Holbrook hesitated; he opened his mouth to object. Something cold swelled inside his heart, and for a moment he thought about funerals. Or more specifically––pine boxes. He looked at Mandy and decided to keep his mouth shut. He didn’t like where this affair was leading, and felt compelled to say so. But he kept quiet all the same.
Holbrook dropped to his knees for the second time in two minutes.
Nicolas pushed the gun against Mandy’s head harder than before, squeezing her neck forcefully. And as her face pinched into an expression of pain, Holbrook placed himself belly down on the road.
“Nicely done,” Nicolas said. He wrapped his hand around Mandy’s throat. “I was going to put a bullet into this girl because of you. But you were smart. You kept your mouth shut and did what I said. I wonder if you’ll be smart enough to follow instructions again.” Nicolas chuckled. “I’ve got to be honest with you, Holbrook. I wanted you to disobey me, I really did. I wanted to put a bullet into this girl’s head, see? Want to know why? Because the very next thing I’d do is shoot you two assholes. I wouldn’t kill you though. I wouldn’t kill either one of you fudge-packers. I’d make sure you lived, in pain… with your kneecaps and your elbows destroyed. Might put a bullet in your back, too. Not sure yet. Still trying to figure it out.”
Nicolas tightened his grip on the girl’s throat and shook her around a bit, shook her like a dog with a squeeze toy.
Burton said, “Oh please. Please don’t! Please don’t hurt my girl!”
“Look who’s talking? Did I say you could talk?”
Nicolas squeezed the girl’s neck tighter and shook her more violently. Her hands slapped at him; her feet began kicking. The barrel of the gun was digging into her skin now, and a small line of blood ran along her check. Mandy couldn’t cry, not with her throat being squeezed shut. But she wanted to start howling and as soon as she was able she’d do just that.
“Please,” Burton said, still kneeling. “Please stop shaking her! Stop choking her!”
“Did I say you could speak?”
“Please!”
“Did I? Answer me!”
“No, but you’re her hurting her! Stop hurting my baby!”
“Holbrook,” Nicolas said, with his eyes focused on Burton. “You ready to do what I say?”
Holbrook made an expression that was hard to read. It seemed like he was trying to say ‘yes’ and ‘no’ at the same time, like he was trying to wake himself from a terrible dream.
“I can’t hear you.”
“Yes, yes,” Holbrook said, almost moaning. He wanted Nicolas to stop shaking the girl, stop strangling her. Her face was turning white, her hands were getting weak and her eyes were glossed over. Soon they would be rolling into the back of her head. He knew it. He could tell. “I’ll do what you say! Just stop it! For crying out loud, stop it!”
“Good! Put your head in front of the wheel.”
“What?”
“You heard me! Put your face against the rubber, right up against the treads.”
“You can’t be serious!”
Nicolas pulled the gun away from Mandy and pointed it in Holbrook’s direction.
Holbrook’s eyes widened.
Burton felt his entire body quiver. He wanted to jump up and save his daughter. But could he do it? Could he get off his knees and run across eight feet of road before the man with the gun pulled the trigger?
The answer was no.
Just as Nicolas was about to fire a bullet, Holbrook crawled across three feet of gravel and rammed his face between the tire and the road. He was under the car now; the smell of oil and rubber was strong.
“Now you,” Nicolas said. He eased his grip on Mandy and put the barrel beneath her temple. “Get in the car, driver’s seat. Now.”
Burton got off of his knees and plunked himself inside the car.
Nicolas pushed Mandy ahead a few feet. Quietly, he said, “Where are the car keys?”
“In the ignition.”
“Good. Start the car and drive forward.”
Burton’s eyes widened.
“I said drive forward.”
“You can’t mean this. You don’t want this.”
Nicolas heard a siren buzzing in the distance. Ignoring it, he whispered, “Oh yes I do. I’m going to give you to the count of three, fuck-nut; then your daughter is going to take a pair of bullets in the teeth. I promise you. I’ve done it before and I’ll gladly do it again. Ready? ‘Cause I’m about to start counting. One. Two. Three.”
Nicolas threw Mandy to the ground.
Mandy landed on her back and elbows. She gasped for air as her eyes rolled in their sockets. She wondered what happened, and was surprised to find that her simple little life had turned tragic and unpleasant.
Burton’s eyes popped open and his hand grabbed the car keys. His wrist turned; the car started. He couldn’t believe the situation he was in, or what was expected of him, or what he was currently doing. But he was doing it; oh Lord above have mercy on his soul, he was doing it.
Nicolas pointed the gun at Mandy’s face.
Holbrook, with his nose crammed against the wheel’s treads, flinched at the sound of the car starting. Not wanting to be run down, he pulled his head away from the tire just as Burton threw the car into gear.
The car leapt forward.
The tire clipped Holbrook’s forehead and wedged it into the earth.
Mandy screamed, “Daddy! Don’t let him––”
Nicolas pulled the trigger twice. Both bullets entered the Mandy’s skull, just beneath her left eye, causing the back of her head to vomit onto the road and her body to convulse like a fish out of water.
Burton slammed on the brake.
The tire crushed Holbrook’s head, making a POP sound. Bone, blood and brains splattered in every direction. A moment later, one of Holbrook’s hands became a fist that pounded on the tire twice, even though his head had been flattened. Then the fist dropped to the earth, opened and trembled.
Burton screamed and jumped out of the car, which was parked on Holbrook’s head.
Nicolas turned the gun towards Burton and pulled the trigger twice more. The bullets caught Burton in the heart. Burton didn’t feel pain but he couldn’t breath and his legs were no longer responding to his mind’s commands. He staggered, thinking his last thoughts, thinking about his baby, about the man that shot his little girl, about killing for revenge. Dark blood bubbl
ed through the hole in his shirt as he crumpled against the car. If he’d been granted one final wish he’d scoop Nicolas’ eyes out with a fork.
In the distance, the sound of the siren grew louder and louder.
Nicolas Nehalem, knowing that time had grown short, grabbed Mandy by a pigtail and lifted her head. Hair, matted with dirt and blood, clung to the gravel road valiantly. Thick liquid ran from her skull to the ground in a rope. He slid both hands into the girl’s wound until his fingers were red and wet. He put his hands to his face and smeared the blood across his cheekbones like war paint.
It wasn’t enough.
He took off his glasses and sat them on the road. With a grunt he turned the girl over; then he got onto his hands and knees, pushed his face into the opening in her skull, and snorted her juices like a barnyard pig. After his face and hands were soaked he rubbed her blood into his hair, and onto his shirt, and onto his pants. When he was finished washing himself he dragged her towards Daniel’s car, lifted her up, and stuffed her into the backseat. Blood drizzled from his chin like rain.
Mandy’s head rolled from one shoulder to the next, like her neck had been broken. Her mouth hung wide. A chunk of brain hung from her skull. Her face was pale, except around her eyes. The area around her eyes was swollen black and purple.
With blood dripping from the scruff of his chin, Nicolas put his glasses back on, lifted Burton up, and plunked him into the driver’s seat of the Charger.
“You pissed me off, fella,” he said. “You know that? Did ya?”
The siren grew louder.
He walked to the far side of the car and opened the passenger door. He sat inside, closed his eyes and concealed his smile, pretending to be dead.
Terror Town Page 21
