The Scourge

by R. Tilden Smith

  “Momma, please let him go,” Crystal said, “that dog ain’t never hurt you!”

  “But you hurt me Crystal, didn't you? You and your father hurt me good!”

  Tears began to fall down Crystal's cheeks. “No momma no, I never hurt you! How can you say that?”

  “Oh, you hurt me alright,” her mother said, “You watched and listened as your father beat and raped me and you did nothing! Nothing!” She stopped petting Dusty and wrapped her fingers around his neck, squeezing it until the dog was kicking and squirming in her arms, fighting to get free.

  “Momma,” she said, “I didn't know! How could I have known? I was just a child! Please momma, don't hurt Dusty!”

  “Don't tell that lie child, you knew. You heard me screaming, begging for my life. You saw the bruises. But you said nothing because you didn't want to! You worshipped your father, you loved that bastard more than you loved me! And now look at you. You love this fucking stray more than you love your own mother! Your own flesh and blood!” Lucille pinned Dusty's body in the crux of her arm and clamped her long fingers over the dog’s head. “Now I'm gonna make you suffer like I suffered.”

  “No!” Crystal screamed and ran toward her mother, “Momma please don't—” but it was too late. Her mother twisted Dusty’s head violently almost 180 degrees. Crystal heard a sharp pop and saw Dusty's body jump and then relax. “Mom-ma no!” Crystal screamed in anguish, and, still two strides away, she balled her hands into fists and launched herself at her mother. “I will kill you, you bitc—!” she started to scream, but her words were cut short by a sharp blow to her throat.

  In one fluid motion, her mother dropped Dusty's broken body, sidestepped Crystal's advance, and slammed her hand under Crystal's chin.

  “Ack!” Crystal said as she grabbed her throat and fell to the ground gasping for air.

  “Yes,” her mother said, leaning in close to Crystal’s ear, “how does it feel to have that which you love most taken from you? Your father stripped me of my self-respect and my dignity as a woman. And you, you selfish little bitch, followed in his miserable footsteps and robbed me of what I yearned for most, what I prayed for every night after your father finished beating the shit out of me. You know what it was I prayed for Crystal? I prayed that you would love me, that God would bless me with the gift that every mother cherishes, a child that loves and adores them. But you, you ungrateful heifer, you withheld your love from me, a love that, after all that I had been through with your good-for-nothing father, I felt I had earned. So you owe me big time Crystal Givens, and now it's time for me to take back what is rightfully mine.”

  Crystal could barely breathe, her throat where she had been struck felt as if she had swallowed a baseball. Her mother grabbed her by the back of her shirt and dragged her along the gritty courtyard asphalt, the rough surface ripping at the skin of her lower back. She tried to speak, to beg her mother to stop, but her throat hurt too much to form the words.

  “You remember Champ, don't you Crystal?” her mother asked with a bit of amusement, “You remember that day when the cop blew that diseased mutt’s brains out, don't you?”

  Crystal remembered, then her mind conjured the smell, the horrible odor seared into her memory of that day. Now she knew where her mother was taking her. She tried to regain her footing so she could stand, but her mother was pulling her too fast.

  Her mother stopped and yanked the shirt so hard that Crystal's head banged against her mother's leg.

  “There it is child, can you smell it?” her mother said with a chuckle, “Smells like freedom!”

  Crystal knew exactly what 'it’ was. Though she couldn't turn her head to see it, there was no mistaking the smell. It overwhelmed her senses, making her gag and choke, forcing her to take short, rapid breaths through her nose to ease the pain in her throat.

  Her mother bent down behind Crystal and wrapped her arm around her neck, putting her in a choke hold. “Time for you and Champ to get reacquainted.”

  “Momma…” was the only word Crystal managed to squeeze from her swollen throat before her mother twisted her around, put a knee in her back, grabbed a handful of her hair, and held her chin just inches over the quivering pile of partially congealed dog blood.

  “Time for you to taste the elixir of life,” her mother said, her voice now a raspy baritone, “and inhale its sweet nectar. Don't resist, my child, embrace your fate so that I may receive my due.”

  Crystal was frantic with fear. This was no longer a nightmare or hallucination, this was real. She felt her mother applying downward pressure to the back of her head, forcing her face toward the rancid remains of her beloved Champ. My god! she thought, She's trying to push face into it! The red sunlight made the congealed blob of blood look almost as black as the asphalt, but Crystal could still see things—worm-like things—trying to wiggle free of their gelatinous prison. She struggled to push her face away, but her arms were pinned awkwardly beneath her body and she couldn't get leverage. Her chin touched the surface of the viscous mass and then Crystal felt it adhere and then crawl onto her skin with, wet, octopus-like tentacles spreading quickly across her face and into her mouth. Oh god, it’s... it's alive!

  “Miss Lucy, leave Crystal alone!”

  Champ's blood covered Crystal's face like a mask, thickening and tightening as it went, pouring into her mouth, nose, and eyes. She was blinded and couldn't breathe. Moji? Crystal thought she heard her childhood friend’s voice. Moji help me!

  “Leave here child!” Lucille said, “This is not your place!”

  “No Miss Lucy, you get away from my friend!” Lara replied, brandishing a butcher knife. “You are being a very bad mommy!”

  39

  It was very dark. Thick, roiling clouds of smoke billowed across the star-filled sky. Fire chased the night, it teemed with glowing embers of orange and red that floated in and out of the opaque plumes like fireflies, challenging the cosmos for Moji’s attention. She was standing outside, at the far end of a large swimming pool, next to an outdoor bar. Fire had consumed the entire second floor of what once was a grand house, and the night breeze was coaxing the flames across a short breezeway and toward an attached structure. Light from the blaze made faint shadows dance amongst the toppled trees and broken lawn furniture that laid haphazardly over the otherwise serene landscape. Moji didn't need daylight to know where she was, she recognized it immediately.

  This was Darryl's place.

  Confusion reigned in Moji’s mind while she struggled to make sense of how she came to be there. It’s a dream, she thought, I'm having another of those vivid nightmares. Without thinking, she took several hesitant steps toward the pool. A large tree had upended and fallen into the end closest to her. She reached the edge of the deck and looked down into the murky water. She saw bodies, contorted and bloated, pinned to the bottom by a tangle of tree limbs. Her stomach sank and she quickly backed away, retreating until she bumped into the bar rail. She closed her eyes and willed herself to stay calm. Ok girl, she thought, just stay calm. You're not having a nervous breakdown, this is just a weird waking dream. I bet if I stay quiet and take a few deep breaths, I'll snap right out of this nightmare. “Ok Moji,” she instructed herself, “let's take ten deep calming breaths…” She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply.

  Suddenly, she heard another voice. “The queen has formed,” it said, “we have to go to her.”

  Moji was startled by the sound of the voice. It was low, almost a whisper, but loud enough to hear over the roar of the flames.

  “Lara?” Moji asked, “Is that you?”

  “Yes!” Lara said, cheerfully.

  “Where are you? You sound like you're...everywhere.”

  Lara giggled. “I know, isn't it funny? I'm having so much fun!”

  Moji was scared by Lara’s giddiness. “I don't know what you mean. What's going on?”

  “I already told you. We must seek the queen. She has formed and we must find her before she grows too strong.”


  “Are you talking about Darryl's friend? Is that why I'm having this dream, so I can confront the thing that happened between her, Darryl, and me? Darryl made his choice and I made mine. I don't need my crazy ass subconscious trying to force me to relive it.”

  There was sound coming from the other end of the bar. Moji spun around to see a figure emerge from behind the counter.

  It was Lara. “You don't understand,” she said matter-of-factly, “we must find the queen.”

  Moji's breath caught in her throat. Lara was dressed the same as she was in her previous dream, and she still carried the butcher knife. But this time she had something smaller than a human body in her other hand. It dragged behind her like a ball and chain, in the shifting light of the fire, it looked vaguely round, like she was dragging a pumpkin inside a pair of old nylon stockings. The heavy end trailed a least a foot behind her, slapping haphazardly against barstool legs as Lara walked around the bar. She moved slowly, lurching towards Moji with an amused, almost cheerful look on her face.

  Moji stepped away from the bar and backed away as Lara approached. “Lara, I'm tired, I don't want to play this game anymore,” she said, “can’t you just leave me alone! Let me live my life in peace!”

  “We are not of the colony,” Lara said, ”we must find the queen.”

  “What the hell are you talking about?” Moji tripped over a tree branch and stumbled backwards, catching herself just as the back of her heels reached the edge of the pool. She crouched on one knee, bringing her eyes level with Lara's and held her hands outstretched, palms out, in front of her body. “Please Lara,” she said, “stop right there.“

  Lara stopped, her chest inches from Moji's upturned fingertips. “You will seek out the queen?” she asked.

  “Yes, yes!” Moji said, “I promise I will try to find Queen! God help me, I don't know why, but if it helps me heal I will do it.”

  Lara smiled and held the object she was dragging up for Moji to see.

  As Lara swung the object into view, Moji jerked backward in an effort to get away from it, her mouth flung open in a scream that never found its freedom. She fell backward into the pool, the dirty water parted and enveloped her without a splash, as if it anticipated her arrival. The cold water sent a shock through Moji's body, dulling her mind to the horror she had witnessed. Lara hadn't been dragging a pumpkin, a sack of potatoes, or any food at all. What Lara had dragged from behind the bar, and proudly held high for Moji to admire, was a severed human head. Specifically, the decapitated head of one Queen, Darryl's whore of a girlfriend.

  “This queen's dead,” Lara said, a satisfied smile fixed on her lips as she watched Moji fade into the murky depths.

  40

  Moji's eyes opened and closed several times before she spoke. “Lara!” she screamed.

  “Angel,” Wilma said, wiping sweat off Moji's brow with her shirt sleeve, “everything’s gonna be ok. You are safe with your Wilma Mae.”

  “Lara no!” Moji screamed again and bolted upright, covering her face with her hands, releasing her grip on Crystal and Ray, who both immediately doubled over in fits of retching.

  Wilma put her arms around Moji and held her head tight to her chest. “Angel, you gonna be alright, everybody's gonna be alright. Just relax and breathe steady.”

  “Wilma, what...what happened?” Moji asked, crying, “I feel so scared, like I...like Lara did something horrible, but now I can't remember.”

  “I don't know my angel. You fell out in a trance and then you grabbed on tight to Crystal and that fella over there. And when you touched them, they perked up like they put they fingers in a light socket. Then after a few seconds you woke up screaming the name Lara and you let them go. Then they both keeled over and commenced to throwing up.”

  Moji lifted her head from Wilma's shoulder and looked over at Crystal, whose head was bent over the stair railing. “Oh my god Crystal, are you ok?”

  Crystal lifted her head and turned to look at Moji. Her eyes were bloodshot and a thin line of vomit mixed with spittle hung from the corner of her mouth. “You...you killed my mother,” she said breathlessly before throwing her head back over the railing and filling the stairwell with the sound of another gut-wrenching dry heave.

  “What...what are you talking?” Moji said, mystified, “Crystal, you know that's not true! Why would you say such a horrible thing?”

  “Oh man,” Crystal said, her head still perched over the railing, “my insides feel like they’ve been through a meat grinder.” She wiped the bile from her lips, sat down on the steps, and put her head between her knees. “What I was trying to say is that in my nightmare, or hallucination, or whatever the hell it was, you, or the eight year old version of you, killed my mother.”

  “Oh Crystal, I'm so sorry!”

  “Girl, don't be sorry, it was just a dream. Anyway, I'm glad you killed her. That bitch was trying to drown me in a pool of dog blood.”

  “Crystal, that's—”

  “I was drowning too,” a man’s voice echoed from underneath the stairs.

  “Moji looked over the railing. “Who are you?”

  The man stood up slowly, wiping flecks of vomit from his chin. He took a deep breath. “My name is Raymond Hillman. My friends call me Ray.”

  Moji stood up. “Hello Ray. I'm Moji.” She pointed at Crystal then Wilma. “That’s Crystal and this is Wilma.”

  “Hello ladies. Now can one of you please tell me what just happened? I've never had such a vivid flashback before.”

  “Flashback?” Moji said, “What do you mean?”

  “Ever since I got back from my tour in Afghanistan, I've suffered from PTSD. Sometimes, when I’m stressed, I’ll have these flashbacks, you know, visions of stuff that happened while I was there. When you touched me, I'm pretty sure I had a flashback, but it was different. It felt so real, not like a dream or nightmare, but like I was actually there.” Ray glanced down at front of his shirt. It was streaked with a line of beige-green vomit. “I've never thrown up while having a flashback before.”

  “Somehow I knew you were a soldier,” Moji said, “Have we met before?”

  Ray pointed at the door with his uninjured arm. “I don't think so, but when I came through that door, you looked at me like you saw a ghost.”

  “You be an unborn,” Wilma said, “that's why my angel was scared of you.”

  “You said that when I came through the door,” Ray said, “what does that even mean?”

  “Your arm,” Wilma said, pointing.

  Ray pulled the sleeve up on his injured arm. The skin was soot black from his wrist to well past his bicep, where it disappeared underneath his shirt.

  Crystal recoiled when she saw it, a vision of dog’s blood crawling across her face raced through her mind. “How…how did that happen to you?”

  Ray rubbed the injured arm gently with his good hand. He was surprised that it was no longer numb. “I got bit by a dog being controlled by one of those monster chicks.”

  “What?” Crystal said.

  “Never mind. You wouldn't believe me anyway.”

  Moji reached over the railing and grasped Ray’s injured arm at the elbow. Ray flinched and then relaxed.

  “I’m sorry, I didn't hurt you did I?”

  “No, no, it's fine. It's just, you know, the last time you touched me…”

  “I don't know why I'm saying this, but I think your arm is going to be ok,” she said, smiling.

  Ray was disarmed by Moji’s smile. It made him feel a little giddy. “Well, I don’t know why, but I believe you.” Ray was mesmerized by Moji’s eyes. “God, you are a beautiful woman.”

  Moji blushed. “I...I don't know what to say.”

  “I do,” Crystal said, jumping up and going to the door, “thank you for the compliment Mr. Ray with the arm that looks like burnt firewood and who smells like rotting fish and puke, but now it's time for us to go before we all die.”

  Moji turned serious. “I think somebody is feeling better,” Moji s
aid as she walked over and stood next to Crystal, “but she’s right. We need to leave now.”

  They could hear the faint sound of people screaming and dogs barking wafting through the closed door.

  “Hear that?” Ray said, “Sounds like the good guys are losing. Maybe we should hole up on one of the upper floors until things calm down a bit.”

  “No!” the women said in unison, “We have to leave now!”

  “Whoa!” Ray said, “I wasn’t expecting that reaction! Do you guys always know what each other is going to say?”

  “Why do we keep doing that?” Crystal said, more angry than curious.

  “We are…,” Wilma said, hesitating to search her mind for the right word, “...kinfolk.”

  “We ain’t relatives!” Crystal said, her frustration building, “Maybe Jeremy was right, maybe we’re sick with the scourge.”

  “We’re not sick,” Moji said, “we’re just, you know...in sync with each other because of the shared stress of our situation.” Her words came out flat and unconvincing. Moji probably wouldn't have believed that explanation had someone else said it.

  “Ladies,” Ray interrupted, “my question was rhetorical. I agree, if we're going to leave we need to do it now while that thing's attention is on those hillbillies.” He fell in line behind Moji, then turned and held out the hand attached to his good arm to Wilma. “May I have this dance pretty lady?”

  Wilma took his hand then stood up with a grunt. “Let’s best pray that we won't have to do any dancing with the devil.”

  Moji grabbed Crystal’s hand, gave her a confident nod, then opened the door. She looked back at them and they stared back at her with eyes that expressed confusion and something else…fear? No, not fear, she thought, obedience. “We have to find the queen,” she said suddenly, without really knowing why. They filed out the door in single file with Moji leading the way.