Stacy’s grin widened. She took a long drink and looked John in the face. “You been working up the courage to ask me that?”
John nodded.
“Alright then, let’s take this party somewhere else,” she said and hopped off the barstool.
John grabbed a hold of her hand and weaved through the crowd toward the door. He felt pride swelling in his chest. It had been a long time since he was on the hunt and now he was filled with testosterone and liquid courage. What he hadn’t quite figured out, was what he was going to do with Stacy once he got her home.
#
It took a good deal of work, but John convinced Stacy to come back to his house. She showed signs of obvious concern, pointing out that she only lived ten minutes away. John was persistent and eventually won, but Stacy kept quiet as they pulled out onto the highway. They were several miles down the road before the booze in her system calmed her nerve. John felt her put her hand on his leg as she slid across the seat. He could barely keep his eyes on the road and it only took him a few minutes to realize he was far too drunk to drive.
He spent much of the time focusing on the road, although Stacy made it difficult for him. Apparently, she wasn’t willing to wait until they got back to his house before moving the party along. She reached for his zipper and John knew he had to do something. He had a vision of Angela stuck firm in his mind and he knew she wouldn’t approve, even if he was bringing home a cow for the slaughter.
“Hold on now,” he said, pulling Stacy’s hand away from his crotch. She glared at him and slid across the cab. “Don’t get pissed,” he said, trying to recover. “I can’t drive with you doing that. Hell, I can barely see the road now.”
Stacy’s stare stayed cold for a while, but she gave in another few miles down the road. “All right then,” she said, sliding back over next to him. “I’ll give you a break.” She slid her hand over his leg, but left it there. “If you can’t handle the strain now, I’ll have to make you strain more later.”
He didn’t have to look at her to know she was smiling at him. The thought of Angela had changed his feelings about the situation. The pride he’d felt about getting Stacy to come home with him was gone. Now he was left with sickness in his gut. Stacy seemed contempt to wait. She turned on the radio and laid her head on John’s shoulder as if they’d made this drive home a hundred times before. John’s mind raced with each passing mile. He thought about the hammer in his bag and how committed Angela was to the plan.
He turned off the highway and his heart thumped wildly in his chest. Stacy hadn’t shifted in a while and he guessed she’d fallen asleep. He did his best not to wake her, even as he turned off onto the dirt road leading to the house. The gravity of the moment collapsed on him full force when he saw that the lights in the living room were still on.
“She’s up.”
He cringed as the words escaped his lips.
“Who’s up?” Stacy asked. She picked her head up off his shoulder and tried to find herself in the rearview mirror.
“My dog,” he said. “I figured she’d be asleep, but I thought I saw her in the bay window.”
“Don’t tell me your house is going to smell like some old dog?”
“No, Angela’s harmless,” he said.
“Angela?” Stacy shot him a sideways glance. “You named your dog Angela? Let me guess, an old girlfriend?”
John hesitated then said, “Something like that.”
They pulled into the driveway and John turned off the headlights. He got as close to the far side of the driveway as he could so they couldn’t see into the living room. The engine went dead and he sat frozen with his hands on the steering wheel.
“What are you waiting for?” Stacy asked. She opened the door and stepped out. “I’m tired of waiting. Aren’t you going to offer me a drink?”
John got out slowly. “Sure thing, hold on for a sec.” He slid over and dipped down on the floorboard.
“Sure is a nice house,” Stacy said, looking across the yard. “Not many neighbors.”
John felt the cold metal head of the hammer with his fingers. He pulled it up, out of the bag, and tucked it under his shirt, behind his belt. “No we’re pretty far apart around here,” he said as he popped back up. He opened the door and jumped out, then headed for the carport door.
“Come on, it’s getting cold out here.”
“All right, hold your horses,” John said as he fumbled with his keys.
They stood outside at the door as John worked through the ring of keys. The problem wasn’t that he couldn’t find the house key, but more so that he couldn’t keep his hands from shaking. He knew he was about to pass the point of no return. Still shaking, he managed to get the key in the lock and open the door. He let Stacy into the living room, then he quickly closed the door and locked it. His hands were shaking beyond control. He reached for the hammer under his shirt, but as his fingers felt it, he couldn’t bring himself to pull it out.
“I hope you’re ready for this,” Stacy said.
John lifted his head to look at her and saw Angela running out from the kitchen. She smashed a glass on the side of Stacy’s head before he could react. Stacy fell to the ground, letting out a cry. John stood frozen as Angela grabbed Stacy by the hair and picked up her head off the floor.
“Give me the hammer,” Angela said.
John fumbled with his shirt then managed to get the tool out. He held it out for Angela as Stacy hopped up on her feet. She grabbed at Angela’s hand and swung her arm. One stray fist caught Angela in the jaw on a backswing. Angela fell backwards into John and the two of them slammed into the door as Stacy stood up.
“What the hell’s a matter with you?” Stacy asked.
Angela pushed off of John and lunged forward, snatching the hammer in the process. She swung and hit Stacy in the neck. Stacy crumpled to the side, falling over the couch. She was crying and screaming at the same time.
“Why are you doing this to me?”
Stacy stared at John, looking up from the floor as Angela came over the side of the couch with the hammer held high. Stacy rolled to her right as the head of the hammer slipped past her head by an inch. John steadied himself and stepped toward Stacy as she got to her feet and stood face to face with Angela. Stacy yelled then jumped into her.
“Get away from me, you bitch.”
Her advance caught Angela off guard. Stacy hit her square in the gut, the blow lifting her off the ground. Angela’s back slammed into the couch and it was the only thing keeping her on her feet. John grabbed a hold of Stacy’s hand and tried to pull her off; as he did, Angela smashed the hammer twice on her spine. Stacy dropped down to a knee, but tried to launch herself toward the front door. John got his other hand around her wrist and pulled her back with a violent tug.
“You’re not going anywhere,” Angela said.
Stacy looked back at Angela with terror in her eyes. Angela sent Stacy to the floor with one quick blow. The hammer hit her flush on the forehead, her eyes slamming closed at the moment of impact.
“Pick her up,” Angela said.
John did as he was told, grabbing Stacy under the arms. He dragged her down the hallway, lying her down at the foot of Alex’s door. There was blood in her hair and a fresh stream running out of her left ear. Her chest rose slowly.
“Oh, my, baby boy, have we got something for you,” Angela said.
She didn’t hesitate, opening the boy’s door. Instinctually, John leapt back, nearly falling over Stacy’s body. Angela flipped on the lights and scanned the room. A wave of putrid aroma broke into the hall and John gagged on the awful smell. He covered his mouth and was amazed to see Angela seemingly unaffected.
“Oh, sweetheart,” she said and stepped in further.
She was out of the doorway and John found Alex lying on the floor across the room, against the far wall. The boy’s skin resembled an old frail man. A layer of gray skin lumped in places along his arms like cardboard soaked through with water, and th
en left out in the sun. Dark bloodstains covered his top and bottoms, the childish design on the material lost somewhere underneath. Alex reached out with gnarled fingers toward his mother, but he lacked the strength to get to his feet. A vile, guttural moan crept from his gaping mouth as his arms waved back and forth.
“Mama’s got something for you.”
Angela reached down and grabbed Stacy by the hair. John took in the vision of his wife dragging the body across the floor with one hand and holding the bloody hammer in the other. The scene scared the hell out of him and the smile on her face filled him with revulsion. Angela pushed Stacy toward Alex and stood back to watch. From the doorway, John could see Alex dragging himself forward, finally grabbing Stacy with both hands. It was difficult to watch as Alex took the first bite. John turned away only to look back as the boy’s rotted teeth pulled a chuck of the woman’s bicep.
Stacy’s eyes sprang open and she tried to push herself away. Alex’s grip was ferocious as he leaned in and bit into her throat. Blood spewed from the opening like a releasing dam, soaking her shirt in seconds. She cried in agony until Angela kicked her in the face. John moved away from the door and stood in the hall. The light was off and the darkness wrapped itself around him. He saw the shadow of his wife before she stepped out into the hall and closed the door behind her. John couldn’t bring himself to look her in the face, but he could hear her laughing at him. He managed to meet her eyes.
Angela stared back at him through the dark hallway. She was breathing heavy. She adjusted her grip on the hammer and wiped the sweat from her brow. The back of her hand left a long streak of blood across her forehead and cheek. “Well, I’m impressed,” she said in between deep breaths, “she was cute.”
11
John did his best to clean up the mess. Equipped with rubber dishwashing gloves and a mask that covered his mouth and nose that he found under the sink, he went to work on Alex’s leftovers. Angela was more than happy to help, holding the nightstand against the boy to keep him back. Alex’s appearance did not improve, although he regained a great deal of energy from his meal.
“Come on now, sweetheart, let daddy work.”
John could hear his wife carrying on, but he couldn’t understand it. He allowed himself to let this happen, but somewhere in his mind, he knew the truth of it.
“Now don’t snap at momma,” she said.
John looked up in time to see Alex lunge his head over the top of the table trying to take a bite out of her cheek. Angela didn’t move a muscle, not even when the boy’s gnarly teeth came within an inch of her skin.
“Just hold on,” she said.
John focused on his duty. The stench in the room was made no worse by the corpse, but somehow the mixture of Alex’s rotting tissue and Stacy’s perfume made it almost too much to bear. He laid one of Alex’s blankets over Stacy’s body and kicked a half-eaten leg underneath. His last sight was of her exposed skull through the missing pieces of her face and neck. John used another blanket and rolled the body over, wrapping the remains within. He tied up the ends with a square knot and prepared himself to move.
“I’m ready,” he said.
Angela looked over her shoulder, but didn’t respond.
“I said I’m…”
“I heard you,” she said. “I’ll come out when I’m ready.”
John ignored her and pulled one end of the blankets, letting Stacy’s legs drag across the floor. He knew he would have to be quick, feeling the underside of the blanket already soaking through. Several long steps later brought him to the back door. He put the blanket down for a minute to catch his breath. He noted small lines of blood on the dining room floor, which prompted him to get into the backyard quickly. He dragged the body around the house and unlocked the storm cellar doors. It wasn’t until the smell from under the house hit his nose that he remembered there was already a body hidden down underneath.
He held still for a moment, lost in thought. He believed he knew what his son was, but he never considered until that moment that Alex could produce others. Slowly, he poked his head down into the darkness with one foot on the top stair and a hand on the edge of the doorframe. The smell was bad, but not as rough as the boy’s room.
He waited for several minutes until the muscles in his legs ached. He took another step down and looked around as best as he could with the incoming moonlight cascading down through the doorway. He could make out a lump of material against the far wall, apparently Dr. Taylor hadn’t moved. Satisfied with what he found, John pulled Stacy’s body down under the house. He let her go on the cold dirt and gathered his strength. His back was already aching and he thought it was as good a time as any to smoke a cigarette. He lit up and thought about everything he had to go through to get Angela not to bother him about returning to his habit. John laughed at himself and blew out a puff of smoke above his head.
“Alright, missy,” he said, as he crouched down and shoved his hands under the center of the rolled blankets. “It’s time you go to your final resting place.”
He lifted the body off the ground with one good pull and tossed it on top of the doctor’s remains. He examined the growing pile and took a long drag of his cigarette. The covered sheets made it easy to ignore what was underneath, but the pictures of what he’d seen were impossible to erase from his mind. John finished his smoke and tossed the butt on the ground, stamping it out with his foot.
He headed back up the stairs and stepped out into the cool night air. It was late and his eyes were beginning to burn. He hoped Angela was finished with her visit with Alex. He considered if it came to it, would she feed herself to the boy, even worse, she might consider offering him up for a meal.
“Hey, you.”
John heard Angela’s voice, but he couldn’t see her until he got closer to the back door. He found her leaning against the doorframe with something in her hand.
“Hey, you,” he said.
For some reason he couldn’t explain, he was hesitant to walk up to her.
“I’m proud of you,” she said. “You really do love us.”
He took a few steps closer. She was holding a bottle, the moonlight reflecting off the smooth surface.
“Of course I do,” he said.
Angela held the bottle out and John got a whiff of the liquor he’d grown to love.
“Go ahead,” she said, “you earned it.”
John took the bottle and tossed back a long drink. The burn in his throat felt good and he continued to drink as long as he could. Angela left the doorway and closed the distance between them. She ran her hands along his waist and pulled out the cigarette pack from his back pocket. She removed a cigarette and popped it in her mouth. The flame came to life with a flick of her thumb on the cheap gas station lighter. She lit the cigarette and took several deep puffs. Once satisfied with the light, she smiled and handed it over to him.
“I’d say you’ve earned a lot of things tonight,” she said. She took a hold of John’s belt and pulled him towards the back door. “Now let’s go see if I can’t take care of that.”
#
It had been a week since John brought Stacy to the house. Angela was particularly happy with him, but he wasn’t fooled. He knew the feeding was a temporary fix. He was lying underneath the Ford F-150 and found it difficult to focus on the task at hand. He’d returned to work that following Monday. There was something in his mind that told him Angela would expect him to go out over the weekend and bring someone home, and he wasn’t sure he could do it again.
“You fall asleep under there?”
John heard Mike Anderson call after him, then felt the kick on one of his boots. He tried to put a smile in place as he rolled himself out from under the truck and found Mike standing over him.
“Just thinking about the weekend, I guess,” John said.
“I heard that,” Mike said. “I need a bath and a beer, not necessarily in that order.”
John sat up and slid the cart out from under him. He got to his fee
t and wiped the sweat off his face with his sleeve.
“You want to go get a beer before you head home?” Mike asked.
John checked the clock on the wall. It was nearly five and he did a quick calculation on what time he could get home if he headed over to Charlie’s for a drink. He had much more sinister things to consider, but decided the distraction might be good for him. Angela’s new attitude came with a lot more freedom for him, something he’d never had before.
“Hell yea, that sounds good,” John said.
He and Mike didn’t spend much time together outside of the shop, but he was the closest thing John had to a friend. They’d shared beers after work a few times before and Angela made it known that it wasn’t going to happen again. John was banking on his new power in the house, hoping it would get her to cut him some slack. Mike helped him finish up on the F-150 and they were done and headed for the door by five.
Charlie’s was a popular place on weekday evenings, mainly for those who spent more time talking about their wives than spending time with them. Every patron had dirty hands as if it was a requirement for entry. John and Mike gave a couple of hi-fives on the way in followed by a few head nods. John felt himself relax, not thinking about anything other than cold suds and a small bowl of peanuts. They found a spot at the bar and took a seat, the noise level already requiring something close to a yell in order to communicate.
“What’s eating you?”
John heard Mike’s question, but found himself laughing. The phrase was particularly fitting he thought.
“I mean hell,” Mike said, “you’re not your normal rosy self.”
Mike laughed and took a long drink of his beer. John shook his head and gave a measured response.
“There’s a lot going on at home,” he said. Boy is that a freaking understatement, he thought.
The Hand That Feeds: A Horror Novel Page 8
