Night Things: The Monster Collection

by West, Terry M.

  "You seem like a natural at this."

  "I learn quickly," Johnny said. "And I improve on what I learn. If I can."

  I decided to keep my conversation with Holly private. I didn't want to discourage her from confiding in me.

  "How is it going with Dr. West?"

  "I have the easy part. I'm a pin cushion with a mouth. He's the one who was probably up all night," I said.

  "How do you like the accommodations?"

  "You're spoiling me," I said. "That gym is amazing."

  "I should hit it myself sometime," Johnny said, gripping a bicep. "I'm getting a little soft in my old age."

  "You look just fine, Mr. Stücke," I said, rising. "I see you're busy, but any chance of that drink and fireplace chat tonight?"

  "I will make it happen. I promise," Johnny said. "I know things are chaotic at the moment, but at some point, I would like to present you to the media. I think your story would be an inspiration."

  I frowned, picturing my mother returning from whatever exotic vacation she was on and seeing her dead daughter on the news. "I don't know if I want to be a part of that circus."

  "It isn't something I would ask or expect of you if it wasn't important. But there isn't a rush."

  "I'll think about it."

  22.

  From Below

  Butler, New Jersey

  (the day of Carol Haddon's reanimation)

  Joe Garza, the grizzled foreman for the Infinity Excavation company, arrived at the work site with a thermos of coffee that would need to work harder than him to beat the hangover torturing his head. His crew was flattening the pimples on an acre that would bear a strip mall by next spring.

  When he was greeted frantically by his crew and marched to the far west corner of the plot of land, told merely that he had to see something, he braced himself for a hiccup that would darken his day and further his black frame of mind.

  "Unless you boys uncovered an ancient burial ground, I am not in the mood for this."

  He finally saw what they were carrying on about. A large crater had been created the night before. Something had clawed its way out of the earth and in a shorter time than his heaviest machine could have managed.

  As his crew murmured around the hole, thirty feet deep before darkness obscured it, Joe decided that this was something he didn't want to deal with. Couldn't really, without causing an investigation that would stall work and cost the company thousands.

  "Fill it in!" he commanded his crew. "And then get your asses back to work!"

  Paul Totty, Joe's hot shit assistant who was gunning for the man's responsibilities, said, "We have to call someone, Joe. What if some Night Thing crawled out of there? What if there is something toxic going on in the soil?"

  Joe hated Paul Totty. Joe had forgotten more about the business than that ambitious little snot would ever know. "It's dirt, Paul. It's cold and dry. Whatever happened, it's done."

  "Joe, I strongly recommend we call the police."

  "Did you listen to the news this morning?"

  "Yeah. I listen every morning," Paul said.

  "Did you hear any reports about a big monster attacking a town?"

  "No," Paul replied. "But still-"

  "Fill the God damn hole," Joe said. "Unless you want to be the one responsible for the boss losing his shirt. I'll be in my trailer, and that better be covered when I came back outside."

  23.

  Bending the Frequency

  It was night when Herbert finished poking, prodding and testing me for the day. We sat in his kitchen. I sucked down my fifth meat shake as he made his notes on a long yellow pad.

  "I feel much stronger than I was," I said, breaking an hour-long silence between the two of us.

  "You aren't, really. Your pain response isn't limiting you. You are now capable of using every bit of strength your body can muster," Herbert explained, as he made notes.

  "You should use a notebook," I suggested, wiping my mouth.

  "I am using a notebook," Herbert said, as he continued to write.

  "No. A computer notebook. Get with the times," I said.

  "I write much faster than I type. And I don't want a pimply-faced thirteen-year-old hacking my system and posting my research to reddit," Herbert said, setting his pen aside and finally looking up at me.

  "How close are we?" I asked.

  "It's hard to say. I hope to start tests in a week, if not sooner."

  "Can I ask you something?"

  "You can ask me anything, Carol," Herbert encouraged.

  "Why do you do this?"

  "I wish to preserve life. To see it continue, beyond the small allowance we are given."

  "No," I said. "What happened to you, Herbert? Something did. No one would pursue this research as passionately unless they lost. Heavily."

  Herbert's face turned solemn. "It is deeply personal. I don't know that I feel comfortable discussing it."

  "Hey, you know everything about me," I said. "Including my bra size."

  "That was a guess," Herbert said.

  "Herbert, please. I need to know."

  Herbert paused and then found the strength to speak. "When I was a child, I was sent to boarding school. My parents and siblings died during a cholera outbreak while I was away. I was alone. My family had done well, and there was money left to see me to adulthood. I used it to educate myself and begin my research. When the zombie plague began, I was, at first, vindicated that my theory of life continuing in some form or fashion had been correct. But I also recognized that the zombies could destroy what I value most, life itself, if they weren't controlled. So I switched gears and dedicated my research to abolishing the horde frequency."

  "Thank you for telling me," I said.

  "You are the only one I have ever told," Herbert admitted.

  "I have never understood exactly how the frequency works," I said. "The zombies communicate with each other like bees and ants? Right?"

  Herbert scoffed. "Bees communicate with a group of movements and ants communicate with pheromones, sounds, and touch. That insects have some form of telepathy is the lowest form of science fiction."

  "Did you get picked on a lot in school?" I teased.

  "Zombies grab hold of a psychic frequency that is always there," Herbert continued. "It hangs in the air but it can't be utilized unless a number of them gather. It is a true mind group."

  "Where do you think it comes from?" I asked.

  "I can't say for sure. But I have some theories."

  "Let's hear them. I'm in no rush."

  "Tomorrow. Okay?" Herbert said, suddenly looking exhausted. "Let's grab your stuff and get you to your car."

  We walked back to the lab. The twelve angry zombies were still going at it. The blinds were drawn but they raged at the window.

  "Geez," I said, gathering my bag. "I wish you guys would calm down, already."

  There was silence. Herbert and I looked at each other, curiously.

  He walked to the window and slid the blinds away. The zombies stood there, quietly, as if in deep reflection.

  "Do you think they heard me?" I asked.

  "Tell them to do something," Herbert said excitedly.

  I began to open my mouth.

  "No. Don't say it," Herbert said. "Think it."

  Raise your right hand.

  The zombies did as I instructed, as if preparing to be sworn in.

  "That is incredible," Herbert said. "Do you hear them? Hear the frequency?"

  "No. I don't feel anything in my brain that shouldn't be there," I said.

  "Make them do the hokey pokey," Herbert instructed. "I want to see how much influence you have over their motor skills."

  "That's humiliating," I said. "I have something better."

  The zombies quickly squared off and assumed defensive positions. They began to spar. Some threw punches and kicks while the others used defensive moves to block. They looked impressive. As if they had trained for years.

  I told them to
relax, and then turned to Herbert. "I can control them?"

  Herbert looked completely flabbergasted. "It appears so. My intention with your creation was to have a subject resistant to the frequency. You are. But you have the ability to project your thoughts to them through it. They can hear you."

  Herbert's face suddenly looked very worried. "That means, he can hear you. I am a damn fool!"

  "Who?"

  Herbert began to quickly scoop up his notes. "We have to get out of here, Carol. Right now."

  Suddenly, the building rocked. We were nearly thrown from our feet.

  "Was that an explosion?" I asked, steadying myself.

  "No," Herbert said grimly.

  The padded wall of the observation room began to crack and push in. Suddenly, the wall collapsed. In the dust, a huge face that would form the foundation for every nightmare I would have from that day on emerged. It was the head of a giant. An ogre. It was bald and its flesh was colored a twisted palette of gray and pink. As if healthy and rotted skin commingled cooperatively. Its mouth was enormous and it's black teeth looked at least a foot in length. Its large black eyes were mismatched. The right eye lingered near its cheek. The monster lumbered into the room. It was so tall that it had to bend to fit. Its body was foul and spotted with tumors that bled slime. It looked like something that had been half-melted and frozen again in that form.

  The zombies immediately attacked the creature. It cackled deeply and began to tear them apart. I thought about getting into their minds to give them a chance, but the monster went through them like the abused playthings of a demented child. The beast left a stew of still twitching gore on the ground and then stared at the mirror.

  "Herbert, old friend!" the monster said with a smile. "You look very fit for an old man. Have you been experimenting on yourself?"

  The beast shifted its gaze, and I felt cold as it struck me. "And pretty, pretty Carol. You, my dear, have something I very much desire. And I will gnaw it from your marrow if I have to."

  The creature took a step. Herbert pressed a button near the window and a metal shutter quickly shot across it. The monster's fist immediately made a bulge in the shutter.

  "Come on!" Herbert said, clutching his notes. "It will not hold him for long!"

  We rushed down the stairs and out of the building. When we hit the sidewalk, Herbert paused and pulled what looked like a remote control from his pocket. "Cover your ears," he warned.

  He pressed a button on the device and the building imploded. The earth shook and the building caved in on itself. It fell to the ground like a collapsing house of cards.

  "It will slow him down," Herbert said, after the dust had cleared.

  "Herbert, what was that?" I demanded.

  "I will tell you when we are safe and far from here."

  My driver frantically appeared. He wanted to know what was happening.

  "Take us to Stücke's building," Herbert commanded. "Now! And call him and tell him to prepare his building for an onslaught."

  24.

  Puis-je Entrer?

  Brooklyn, NY

  2 years ago

  Sheila Gillings pulled the tape recorder from her dresser and walked into the living room. Her father, Felix, was rushing around the apartment like a madman.

  "I told you yesterday to get your stuff ready," Sheila said, a smile on her face as she gently chided her father.

  Felix grunted, adding to the pile of light stands, bounce screens, and camera gels on the floor. "Yes you did. But I never listen, do I?"

  "Nope! Because you're stubborn and old," Sheila said, popping a French language instruction tape into the player. "When you come home you always leave your stuff everywhere and then when you get another job, you end up going crazy finding everything. You should let me help you organize your stuff."

  "It's not a bad idea," Felix said, adding to the heap and breathing a bit hard. "You are an excellent organizer. You got that from your mama, God rest her."

  Sheila pushed the play button on the recorder. "Where is the restaurant?" a female voice asked, which was followed by, "Où est le restaurant?"

  "Où est le restaurant?" Sheila repeated. She paused the recorder and regarded her father. "I need a passport, Daddy."

  Felix stood over his mess and mopped his face with a handkerchief. "Why do you need a passport?"

  "Because Ella and I are going to Paris one day," Sheila said. "I want to have it ready for the trip."

  "I don't think having a passport would be a bad thing. I have never applied for one. I think we can get it at the post office," Felix said, taking inventory again. "So, should I get one for myself for this wonderful trip to Paris?"

  "Nope! Sorry Daddy. Girl trip," Sheila said.

  "Well, sweetie, you do know that technically Ella isn't a girl," Felix said.

  "I'm not stupid, Daddy. She's a transvestite. Ella may have a penis, but she is a girl everywhere else," Sheila said.

  Felix nodded. "Truer words. Now, I will be back on Monday. Mrs. Crenshaw will check on you at least once a day. I'm leaving pizza money. You have your gris-gris bag and garlic spray. Don't leave the building. Don't invite anyone in. Understood?"

  "Yes," Sheila said. "I know the rules very well. And what are your rules for the weekend?"

  Felix sighed and recited, "No cigarettes. No sweets. No fast food. No alcohol. No scratch tickets. Be nice and don't complain so much. You are quite the taskmaster. I think I have more rules to follow than you."

  "That's because you're a mess," Sheila teased. "And don't forget your pills."

  "Aye, aye," Felix said, with a salute.

  There was a knock at the door.

  "Puis-je entrer?" Ella's voice boomed from the other side.

  "Oui!" Sheila cried out.

  Ella opened the door and bounced into the room, clutching a shopping bag. She put the bag and her purse on the couch and opened her arms. Sheila rushed at her and gave her a huge hug.

  "How is my she-she?" Ella asked.

  "Je vais bien," Sheila replied.

  Ella laughed. "Very nice! You have been studying hard."

  "Daddy is going to help me get a passport," Sheila said.

  "Now don't tease her," Felix said to Ella. "If you are promising her Paris, you better deliver."

  "Of course," Ella said, looking slightly offended. "As soon as she gets the language down, I am taking this girl on a long vacation. I have known this child since she was knee high to a grasshopper. She is mine, Felix. You're too damn cranky and old to see the world with her. But Aunt Ella has plenty of life left."

  "I wouldn't trust her with anyone else," Felix said.

  Ella grabbed the shopping bag and pressed it into Sheila's hands. "I bought you some wonderful outfits. Don't you ever let your daddy buy clothes for you."

  Ella looked to the mess that Felix was trying to get under control. She sighed.

  "I better help your father. I have been friends with this man since before you came into this world. Fantastic cameraman. But pretty sloppy in every other regard. Except fatherhood. It does my heart good to see that scrooge when he is with you."

  "I'm going to study all weekend. When you get back, you can test me," Sheila said.

  Ella patted Sheila's cheek softly. "I'll buy you desert at the Restaurant Hélène Darroze. I promise."

  ***

  Johnny Stücke's Penthouse

  Now

  Sheila peeked into the formal room of the penthouse. No one was around. She scooted quickly across the floor and hopped into the elevator. She pressed the button for the second floor and waited for the cab to rest. When the doors opened, she ran to the unit marked 232, which was the same number as the apartment she had shared with her father before he died.

  She took a necklace from around her neck that carried an extra room key. She had swiped it from the front desk when no one was looking. She unlocked the door and entered the condo. The place was furnished but vacant. She made her way to a small bedroom. A naked twin mattress and n
ightstand were all that was there. She reached into the nightstand and pulled her tape recorder from it.

  She placed it on the bed and played the tape. "Where is the embassy?" a woman said. "Où est l'ambassade?"

  "Où est l'ambassade?" Sheila repeated.