Spawn of Hell

by William Schoell

  But as it came closer, she realized that there were others just like it following in the rear. All of them looked alike, except that a few of them—very few— had pale white appendages at their very front tips, instead of the darker, bulkier growths that the others had. They all emitted the same disgusting noise, a sort of pop pop pop, a kind of repulsive clicking sound. There were about a dozen of them clustered outside her door. They had some kind of short limbs, and spiny sharp outgrowths grew out of their backs, and their bodies were long and narrow, tapering at the far end. Perhaps the most horrible thing about them was their odor.

  She collapsed onto the carpeted floor of the hallway as they advanced upon her. One of them was near her leg. She did not even bother to pull the limb out of reach. There was nothing to be done. She knew what they wanted with her, and even if she had reached the phone, no one would have come in time, no one would have believed her. She shook and sobbed, but did not scream. It would have done no good. She was too shocked to do a thing to save herself.

  As the first and second of them started gnawing on her leg, she noticed what the white appendages were that some had instead of the dark, knob-like heads. They were like faces. Human faces. Yes, some of these monstrosities had human faces, although nothing else about them was at all related to the human species. She recognized some of the faces, too. They all looked familiar, like people she had once known, people she still knew. But it wasn’t possible. These things weren’t human!

  It was not clear exactly when her mind snapped for good, when she was mercifully consigned to an oblivion in which she was incapable of taking notice of the things as they tore away her garments, feasted on the flesh and bone, and sucked up blood with their oddly shaped mouth-parts. It might have been when she saw that one of the creatures had a face that looked just like her late husband’s, like Frank’s. But most certainly the final moment of her sanity came when the creature with her own features stared directly into her eyes, opened its mouth—and dripping viscous fluid—began nibbling on her face.

  Chapter Thirteen

  They sat in the den, sipping a sweet liqueur, telling each other stories from their past. David occasionally brushed a hand through his tousled hair and gave his lovely Anna an affectionate squeeze. Both of them had lost track of time. They pulled apart from a particularly lengthy clinch and David asked Anna if she were hungry.

  “We just had dinner. Didn’t we?”

  “That was hours ago.”

  She studied him. “You know I bet you’ll still be cute even when you’re fat.”

  He laughed, and rubbed his lip lingeringly with an upraised thumb. “Cute and jolly. A winning combination.”

  “I haven’t had this much fun since I went necking with Eddie Pester in the Runlake drive-in when I was seventeen.”

  “Who did Eddie pester? You?”

  She groaned. “If that’s what hunger does to your sense of humor, you better have something to eat. I’ll settle for another glass of this liqueur.”

  He grabbed the bottle from the table in front of them and poured some of its contents into her tiny glass. He look some more himself, then settled back into his seat. Mugging, he affected a Brooklyn accent and said, “Hows about another kiss, babe?”

  She gave him one.

  David and Anna almost spoke their lines automatically, reliving scenes from their youth, their early days of heavy petting—or rather what they imagined those days would have been like had they had the active social lives their teenage friends had had. David had not been much of a Lothario, and Anna—although she’d been rather attractive even in those early developing years— had not been hot stuff with the boys. Each of them felt as if they were finally catching up with what they’d missed, getting a “steady” to go with at last, a date for senior prom. Derek had not given Anna, and Janice had not given David, what they had really needed. Passion. Romance. Excitement.

  Both of them wondered if there were any more to their relationship other than the fact that they both desperately needed one at this point in their lives. Sure, they were comfortable together—but was there anything else? Anna knew that with David she felt much more than mere physical attraction—that had been the mainstay of her feelings for Derek, that and the fact that he had radiated the kind of casual glamor she had always found attractive in others and desirous in herself. There was no glamor in David, and she found herself equally excited by that. Or was it just a reaction to her lousy marriage—a compensation?

  David clinked his glass against hers. “A toast.”

  “A toast to what?”

  “To you and me.”

  “To you and me.” They drank. David drained his glass and poured himself some more. Anna watched him, trying to see him objectively, trying to understand just what he represented to her. Propelled by the buzz of liquor in her head, she said, “What about you and me, David? What’s happening with us?”

  He said it very quickly and very simply. “I love you.”

  Pause. “But I don’t know anything other than that. 1 “m content with the way things are. I’m in no hurry to tie you down, to make you rush into something when you’re not ready. I’m not even sure there’s anything to rush into. Or that I’d be good for you. I certainly wouldn’t make a great provider. You’d be the breadwinner in this pair, that’s for sure. And my ‘masculine ego’ could deal with that quite nicely—to a point.” Another pause. “What about you?”

  She didn’t need to think about it. “Maybe I love you too, but I’m not sure I’m in love with you. Yet. And neither are you sure. It takes time for that kind of feeling to develop, and you’re right, it can’t be rushed. It has to come about slowly and naturally. So I guess I feel the same way you do. Content. Unhurried. And while you might become more of a success than you think you will, I am not anxious to have someone support me. Yet.” She sipped her liqueur. “Hmm. That was easy, wasn’t it?”

  “Yes. And a little disappointing.”

  “How so?”

  “I guess I wanted to be the object of some kind of grand passion as much as I was afraid of it. Does that make any sense?”

  “Perfect sense. We all feel that way. We want to be wanted—even if we don’t want the people who want us.” She laughed, and dipped her head onto his shoulder. “Not very eloquent, am I?” She pointed to the liqueur. “I’ve got to stop drinking this stuff.”

  In a way both of them were relieved. They had each confessed strong feelings for the other—but with reservations. There was no danger of desertion, no fear of unrequited love that one or the other couldn’t handle. Putting it all out of her mind, Anna suddenly said, “This is a grim little town, isn’t it?”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “I don’t know. It just slipped out.”

  “We have no discos, if that’s what you mean.”

  Perhaps he had said it a bit more harshly than he’d intended, she thought. Perhaps he’d been offended by her remark, as if by insulting his home town she had insulted his character. “Now David, don’t listen to the gossip columnists so much. I do not spend my every waking hour dancing up a storm and snorting cocaine. I’m just a victim of bad press like everyone else.”

  He reacted to the slightly hostile tone in her voice. “That’s the price of fame, I guess. You can’t expect riches and notoriety if you don’t make your private life public to all the little people who put you up there in the first place.”

  “It was no ‘little people’ that put me where I am. I worked hard. Real hard.”

  “Anna, darling, no offense, but all you had to do was look beautiful. Your fame and fortune are the results of an accident of birth. Besides with all you’ve got, why worry about a little bad press?”

  Anna was infuriated by his condescending tone, and had to work hard to control her temper. “David, you’re not being fair. I’ve paid my dues, I assure you. Sure I had help, but not because I came from a rich family or had an uncle in a modeling agency. I know my looks certainly didn’t work ag
ainst me, but it takes more than looks to get ahead. I suffered through a lot of setbacks, had to deal with male chauvinism and bitchy jealousy. I missed out on contracts and opportunities, spent years living off cereal while I waited for a big break. It takes drive and ambition to make it in this world.” Before she could stop herself she added: “Maybe you’d get someplace if you had some.”

  Anna could tell she’d offended David, which is what she’d been hoping for. How dare he say such things to her? She was not some untalented movie star’s niece, living off a famous name. She had done it all by herself. She steeled herself for his rejoinder.

  “Look, what do you know about it? “ David exploded, making no attempt to hide his anger. “You’re not an artist, you’re just a slab of cheesecake people dress and glob makeup on and take pictures of. What do you know about waiting for a big break? I’ve been waiting ten years. I’ve worked hard, too, and I didn’t get big contracts and 100,000 dollars a year, either. Just a lot of rejection slips . . . until this chance with Belmont Cards came up. Do you know what it’s like to have talent that goes ignored, to watch yourself sink into failure more and more each year? Maybe I was a failure, and I recognize that. But don’t tell me I don’t have ambition. All I have is ambition. I tried and tried and tried to get someplace and . . .”

  “Is that why you’re jealous of me, because you haven’t gotten anywhere? I wish you would get somewhere! I’m getting a little tired of paying for our dinners all the time.”

  David looked away from her, obviously humiliated and embarrassed by his outburst, but still very angry. A moment ago they’d been professing love for each other, now they were practically tearing at each other’s throats. “You don’t have to rub it in,” he said. “All along I’ve wondered why you bothered with me. I’m not in the social register, after all.” His face was scrunched up in a show of sulkiness.

  “Neither am I,” Anna replied, trying to sort out her feelings. Did she want to savage him or show affection? Or both?

  “I don’t make much money. Even when this job starts in September I won’t be able to compete with you moneywise.”

  Anna threw her head back and slapped her legs with her hands. “Who says you have to compete with me? Your ‘male ego’?” Before he could respond, she added: “What started all this? My innocent remark about how grim this town is?” She was suddenly out for blood and loving it. “Well, it is. It is grim. That awful man and his scarred children out at the quarry. Those pathetic, gushing women at the bar. The awful cluttering weeds all over this ugly house. Grim, grim, grim.”

  She got up, her mind racing, wondering how she could get out of there quickly. She started crying, hating the thought of breaking down in front of him, but unable to stop herself. “I am not a slab of cheesecake. I’m a human being. I’m sick of defending myself and my way of life. All of you ‘little people’ talk about how you hate those of us with fame and money, yet you idolize us, you read all about us, buying those dirty little rags they sell in supermarkets, the ones with disgusting, slanderous stories about this one or so and so. You resent us as much as you adore us, because we have what you want. Do you think any of you would act any differently than we did if you had the money, if you had the fame? I know there’s a lot that’s shallow and frivolous about the so-called beautiful people, but I thought you knew me better than that. What would you have me do? Scar myself, scratch up my face so that no one will want me anymore? Give up my contracts and my money? Oh no, not me. Because I know you’re nothing when you’re not wanted, and you’re nothing without money, and I know the day will come when no one will want to look at me and no one will offer me contracts, and I damn well want to be protected when that day comes. I’m not Mother Teresa ministering to the Indians. I can’t fool myself into thinking I am. But I won’t apologize for wanting— and having—what everyone eke wants. I want a good life, David, the same way you do. And I can’t help that.” She turned away from him, her hand pressed to her lips.

  “I’m scared, David. I’m scared.”

  He got up and stood beside her, his hands on her shoulders, trying to calm her, trying to apologize. “I’m sorry, Anna. It’s just that. . .” He sighed and exhaled, all artifice crumbling. “Maybe I do resent you. I know blanket condemnations of people aren’t right, but . . . it’s just that I’ve felt so humiliated sometimes, so poor compared to you. So damned unsuccessful. I’m sorry. It wasn’t nice to take it out on you.”

  “Oh David.”

  “When you said this town was grim, well—this ‘grim’ house is about all that I own. And it’s not even mine yet. Hey—maybe you can help me clear the ‘awful weeds’ away tomorrow.”

  “Me and my big mouth,” she said between sniffles. “I’ll regret it for the rest of my vacation.”

  “What’s the matter? Don’t like garden work, huh?” He kissed her eyes, her tears melting on his lips.

  “Some garden.”

  They sat down again. David hugged her and kissed her and said, “I guess it was building up in me for quite some time. Resentment. Of your money, your prestige. Something had to give. I’m sorry for the terrible things I said. You were right, what you said was right. Will you forgive me, honey?”

  “I forgive you.” For the first few minutes they cooed and kissed and murmured heart-felt apologies and behaved for the most part like gooey schoolkids. When things had settled down and returned to normal, David made them both a cold, economy-sized ginger ale and vodka and they got pleasantly plastered. They had survived their “first fight” with flying colors. When they finished their drinks Anna wiggled her finger suggestively through his chest hair and said, “If we’re going to make love tonight, David, we’d better do it soon. Or we’re both going to pass out.”

  “That would be a tragedy.”

  “Then what should we do about it, hmmm?”

  “I know what to do. Get up.”

  She looked puzzled, but did as he said, nearly tumbling over on top of him as the liquor started rushing to her head. He stood up beside her and held out his arms. “You’re not going to carry me again, are you?” She asked hesitantly.

  “I’m going to try. I’ve always wanted to carry a woman into my bedroom.”

  “You brute, you.” She leaned over so that he could grab her. “Let’s go,” she directed breezily.

  He had made it only one step when he suddenly cried out in pain, dropping Anna ungracefully onto the floor. She had not been hurt by the fall, but David was collapsing in agony onto the couch. “David, what is it? Did you sprain your ankle?”

  “No,” he said between gasps. “I should have known better than to press my luck with that stunt a second time. It’s my fuckin’ gimpy leg, that’s all.”

  “Do you need a doctor?”

  “No. I’ll be all right. I’ll just have to wait a minute until the pain stops.” He sucked in air through puckered lips. “There, it’s getting better already.”

  “I didn’t know I was that heavy.”

  “No, it’s just my bum leg.” There was a moment of silence while they waited for him to recover. David took advantage of the situation. They’d already told enough truths that evening, so why not another? “Anna, you asked about my leg earlier today, but I didn’t want to talk about it. I think I’ll tell you what happened now, and then let’s just forget about it, okay? The memory is more painful than the leg is.”

  “All right, David.” The look of concern on her face was as strong and genuine as her anger had been earlier. She sat down beside him and listened.

  “A few months ago I was in a bad car wreck. I was in the hospital for some time recovering. Everything’s all right with me now, except that I’ll have a permanent limp. Some days it’s worse than others. But I was lucky compared to Janice. Janice Foster. She was a good friend of mine, maybe my only friend. Real friend, at least. She was kinda hung up on me. I know that sounds egotistical of me to say it. Let’s just say she cared about me, although I never really did anything to deserve it. I co
uld never really return her feelings.

  “One afternoon she came by and we decided to drive out to the country, just to relax, breathe some clean air for a change. She had this sporty little foreign job that she’d saved up for. She was a private secretary. She was a real good driver, but—but something went wrong that afternoon. I don’t think she had ever accepted that I thought of us only as good friends, not as lovers. I said something—I don’t remember what, I’m not even sure I want to remember—that made that fact brutally clear to her for the first time. I had said it casually, always striving to keep things relaxed and platonic between us, despite our occasional sexual interludes. She had always been a very calm and controlled individual, always keeping her deepest feelings bottled up for the most part.

  “Something snapped that afternoon on the highway. Oh, she didn’t rant and rave or anything like that. It was her silence. The whole atmosphere in the car abruptly altered, and I could feel the tension in the air. We kept talking as usual, only her answers were shorter, almost curt in a subtle way. I’ve never been able to exactly reconstruct what happened then. I was sort of drifting into my own reverie, wondering how I could recoup lost ground. I need her friendship, you see. I think she’d felt that I’d been using her, and maybe I had been. I could not give her in return what she needed the most. Real commitment.

  “Anyway, she passed the car ahead of us on a double yellow line. I remember seeing another car coming towards us. She didn’t scream. I think I did. She swerved the car into the right lane a second too late. The car went out of control and we hit a tree. I survived because I was thrown through the windshield and out onto the embankment. Her side of the car was completely smashed and she was killed instantly.

  “I didn’t regain consciousness until I was in the hospital.” His voice got very low and started to crack. His breathing got louder and more forced. “I read the details of the accident in the paper. They even had a picture. The reporter said that she had . . . had been . . . decapitated, and I think I found that the hardest thing to deal with. Anyway, I’ve alive and she’s dead, and I can only think that had I spoken with some tact and delicacy, instead of that simple-minded cavalier attitude, maybe she’d still be alive. I’ve often wondered if she’d meant to kill us both, but I don’t think she did. Her judgment had been impaired, that’s all. I guess.”