Widowmakers: A Benefit Anthology of Dark Fiction
Page 29
I shifted my body, moving my hands to hold her shoulders, fearing that mouth, those teeth. I saw understanding dawn across that hideous visage, and then a ferocious rage the seemed almost to stab out at me; certainly I felt my heart lurch in my chest, but the fear that had galvanised me to action held me in its grip, and I maintained the downward pressure as the monster began to thrash.
How it struggled! The water churned and roiled as I wrestled with the inhuman figure. It seemed to last an age, long enough for me to wonder if perhaps this dread creature could somehow breathe underwater, but gradually the struggles began to lessen, and I felt the awesome heat begin to dissipate, to withdraw. I perceived at the edge of my vision that the world was assuming its rightful shape once more, even as the creature in my hand began to shrink, to fade from that hellish, bloody hew, to the soft pastel pink of my beloved Isabelle.
I beheld her there, once again perfect. My darling daughter. She lay at the bottom of the tub, beyond all pain, all misery, all love. At peace.
I sobbed for a while, before ringing for the maid. She in turn called for the constabulary, and there you found me.
This is my story. I will not tell it again. Do as you must, as your conscience and laws dictate. I prey only that the end be swift, and that afterwards I see her restored. That I might hear that beautiful laugh once more.
I desire nothing else.
The Lynnwood Vampires
by Patrick Lacey
Patrick Lacey is an Editorial Assistant in the healthcare industry. When he's not reading about blood clots or infectious diseases, he writes about things that make the general public uncomfortable. He lives in Massachusetts with his wife, his Pomeranian, and his muse, who he's pretty sure is trying to kill him. Follow him on Twitter (@patlacey).
When Busty Brown showed up on Frank’s doorstep, Frank wasn’t sure whether to laugh or slam the door shut. The kid was impossibly tall and couldn’t have weighed more than a hundred and forty pounds. The skin on his face seemed too tight, his cheeks too hollow. He had a pierced septum that made him seem equal parts tribal and cartoonish.
“Can I help you?” Frank asked.
“Hi, there. You must be Frank.” He held his hand out. There was a flaming skull tattooed across it, the reds and oranges popping against his pale skin and his black painted nails.
Frank accepted the handshake. “That must make you—”
“Busty!” Alyssa shouted from behind. She pushed Frank aside and threw herself at Busty, giving him a kiss with a little too much tongue.
“Come on in,” Alyssa said, pulling Busty along toward the living room.
Frank stood in the doorway for another moment, looking out into the evening, and wondering why the hell his daughter had chosen this fool out of every other possible suitor in town. But he knew the answer. Busty was the polar opposite of Frank. He was a bad boy, a rebel. She was just trying to shock her father and he hoped the phase would pass quickly.
Frank grabbed himself a beer from the fridge and drank most of it in two gulps. He had a stubborn headache that would not let up. It had kicked in earlier that day at the teacher’s meeting, where they’d discussed the Lynnwood Vampires. What had seemed like a silly little fad a few months ago had escalated into something more.
“Are you ready to scream yet?” Mona asked, stepping through the swinging doors and into the kitchen.
“Give me five more minutes and one more beer.” He drained his can and got a fresh one.
“He seems…animated.”
“He looks like David Bowie mixed with the Grim Reaper. She chose a real winner.”
“Don’t be like that.” She grabbed the chef’s knife and started to chop vegetables. “If you remember correctly, my parents didn’t exactly invite you in with open arms either.”
“I didn’t show up looking like an undertaker.”
She picked up a rogue slice of cucumber and tossed it into her mouth. “Well, times change.” She winked and brought the salad bowl out to the kitchen.
“They certainly do,” he said to himself as he popped open the second can.
“So tell us a little bit about yourself, Busty.” Mona said five minutes later as she scooped mashed potatoes onto her plate.
“Well, I work down at this record store in the city. We sell mostly goth and industrial stuff.”
“I like Springsteen myself,” Frank said. “Do you like Springsteen?”
“Can’t say I do.”
“Busty’s in a band.” Alyssa beamed. “He plays keyboard. Isn’t that right?”
“That’s right. We’re called Fleshgasm.”
Mona nearly chocked on her meat, had to take a gulp of water.
“Quite the name,” Frank said. He could no longer stomach the sight of this boy, this fool who was staring at his daughter’s breasts for much too long. “Let me take a stab at the rest of your life story. I’m guessing you dropped out of high school in your last semester because rock and roll is your real calling.”
Everything in the room seemed to come to a stand-still. They held each other’s eyes and for a moment, Busty didn’t look all that different from a cadaver.
“Dad!” Alyssa said.
“It’s okay.” Busty held her hand and grinned. “Actually, Mr. Tanner, I did drop out. And then I got my GED and went to community college. In fact, I graduated in just one year because I took double the classes. I paid for it with the money I get from playing in my stupid band.”
Frank breathed deeply, met Mona’s eyes. “Well, I suppose I’ve been a bit judgmental. Early graduation. That’s impressive.” It took every ounce of strength to muster up a smile.
After dinner, they ate homemade apple pie. Mona made some joke about it being almost as good as the store brand and then she asked him about his day at work, about their meeting and the Lynnwood Vampires.
“What’s the school planning on doing?”
“There’s not much they can do right now,” he said. “Personally, I think it was all fun and games and then somebody in their group got smashed out of their mind and went a little too far.” Which was an understatement when you considered a ritual sacrifice was now in the mix.
Mona was about to respond when Busty chimed in, cutting her off. “I think you might be underestimating them.”
“How’s that?”
“I just mean that sometimes these little groups turn into something much more. Call it a cult if you’d like. And cults, as we’ve seen plenty throughout history, can become much more than just a hobby. They can be quite dangerous.”
“Yes,” he said, rubbing at his tired eyes, no longer caring if he hid his agitation. “You certainly did learn a lot at community college.”
Mona gave him another look and he excused himself. He went into the kitchen, threw his plate into the sink, and grabbed beer number three of the evening.
* * *
They called themselves the Lynnwood Vampires.
They dressed in black and wore white makeup, made their skin pale so that they looked like ghosts in the night.
He’d driven by them on more than on occasion, as if they were trick or treating in the off-season. They’d stare at him as he passed, like they’d known he was coming. It never failed to make his skin crawl.
Earlier that day, the school board had called an impromptu meeting. He cursed under his breath as he made his way to the study hall and found a seat near the back, not wanting to talk to anyone.
Principal Fisher made his way in five minutes late, escorted by a cop. “Folks, we’ve got a bit of a situation on our hands this afternoon. I’m sure you’re all aware of this little vampire group and up until now it’s seemed harmless but today it’s something more than that.” He paced as if choosing his next words carefully. “This morning, I woke to what I thought was someone knocking on my door. I went downstairs to investigate and saw nothing outside. But when I turned to face the front of the door, I saw my neighbor’s cat, Whiskers. Whiskers was in bad shape. Some little bastard had
nailed him to the front of my door with a railroad spike. They left a convenient little note too, signed ‘LW Vamps.’ The note was not written in ink if you catch my meaning.”
He signaled the cop, who passed him a piece of paper that was resting inside of a Ziploc bag. An evidence bag. He opened his mouth and cleared his throat. “We’re coming.”
Suddenly Frank had regretted his decision of sitting so far away because he began to feel cold and watched and not by the other teachers.
“What do you propose we do?” Mrs. O’Connor asked from somewhere down front.
Principal Fisher handed the letter back to the cop. “I think we ought to keep our eyes open. It seems like this little group has popped up overnight. Their members seem to be growing at an alarming rate. I’ve spoken with a half dozen kids—good kids who normally get straight A’s—who are now walking around like it’s Halloween. I spoke to a few of the officers today and they seem to think this was some sort of ritual sacrifice. Part of me thinks it’s just kids asking for attention. But another part of me has a bad feeling about all this.”
And so did Frank, especially later that night, as he watched from his bedroom window while Alyssa walked Busty to his car and kissed him once more.
She waved goodbye and headed back inside.
Busty started his engine and turned his head toward the bedroom window. He smiled and winked before driving off.
* * *
The following Monday Frank walked into class thinking it was senior prank day.
His Trig class had nineteen students, all honor roll. Today, though, something was terribly off about them.
Eight of his honor roll students were dressed in black and leather and pale makeup as if they’d just come from the morgue.
These were Susan Chambers and Matt Farmer. These were good students, students who raised their hands every chance they got.
He slammed his bag onto his desk. “What the hell’s going on here?”
The students tensed in their seats and the ones dressed in their new uniforms looked at each other and smirked, as if sending psychic thoughts.
No one spoke up to answer his question so he started writing math problems on the board. He turned around twice, hoping the joke would be up.
It was not.
* * *
“I’ve got a dozen myself,” Mr. Flanagan said in the break room.
“I think I’ve got twice that,” Mrs. O’Connor said, eating a spoonful of yogurt and leaving some behind on her upper lip. “What about you, Frank?”
“I don’t dare count,” he said, because as the day had gone on he’d found there were a handful in each of his classes. Last week there had been maybe five of them in total. Now the number had grown exponentially. He didn’t like the math.
“It’s just be a phase,” Mr. Flanagan said, scratching his beard and lighting a cigarette against school policy. “There was a school down south somewhere. Can’t remember exactly where. Kids started dressing like they were werewolves. Out of the blue. No rhyme or reason. That’s all this is. I give it until the end of the year and these kids will be out for the summer and next fall things will be back to normal.”
Mrs. O’Connor stood up and tossed her trash into the wastebasket. “Did those little werewolves nail pets to doors?”
Mr. Flanagan didn’t answer.
* * *
That night Alyssa was late. She was a teenager, Mona said. She was allowed to make mistakes once in a while. It was her senior year after all.
Except that Alyssa was never late, didn’t make mistakes.
“Do you know where she is?”
Mona shifted in her recliner, pretended to be reading now.
“Mona.”
She set the book down and rolled her eyes. “She’s with Busty.”
“Son of a bitch. You know what? I don’t want her seeing him anymore. He’s a piece of shit.”
“He’s a college graduate with two jobs.”
“A band is not a job.” He went for a beer in the kitchen and when he came back in, Mona was pretending to read again. “She better be back in ten minutes,” he said.
But she wasn’t.
* * *
It was nearly two in the morning when she stepped through the front door.
Mona had gone to sleep but Frank had stayed up, trying to correct algebra exams, though he couldn’t seem to concentrate. He eyed his daughter. “You’d better have a really good explanation.”
“Busty’s car broke down.” She said it too fast, a line memorized for a school play.
“And you couldn’t have called?”
“I had no service. The cell tower in this town is shit.”
“Watch your language. And that’s odd because you’ve never had a problem with your phone before. Awfully convenient.”
“I’m tired. Can I go to bed now?”
He stood up and blocked her path to the stairs. “You’re done seeing him.”
“Dad.”
“I’m not kidding. He’s a loser and I don’t trust him. Not to mention he’s too old for you.”
“He’s not a loser. You won’t even give him a chance.”
“I know trash when I see it. Go to bed and don’t even think about talking back to me. You’re living under my roof and I’ve never had to tell you that before tonight.”
“Sometimes I hate you.”
His jaw fell open. He watched her walk up the stairs, felt as though he were looking at someone who was not quite his daughter. This was not the girl he used to call Wicked Pissah’ Alyssa at the protest of Mona. This wasn’t the girl he used to take on fishing trips or the girl he let ride on his chopper. Something was fundamentally different about her. It made his pulse race and his throat constrict.
A few moments later she slammed her door and he was left in the silence of the living room.
* * *
Frank woke just before dawn. At first he thought his alarm was malfunctioning, sounding an hour too early, but then he realized the sound was cop sirens.
And screaming.
He and Mona jumped up from bed and looked outside. Through the window the night flashed in red and blue. There were two cruisers, just across the street at the Davis’ house. He threw his bathrobe on and ran downstairs, Mona not far behind.
He opened the door and even from there he could see one cop comforting Anna Davis while another put on latex gloves to remove the mess from the front door. He’d seen the cat around, had left it water and food a few times. It was a stray but it would purr if you petted it and now it was being pried from the door.
Mona jogged across the street to see if she could help.
Frank stared from the doorway, thinking Busty had been right about something after all.
* * *
At breakfast Frank told himself his eyes were playing tricks on him. He was tired as hell, had not been able to go back to bed after the scene next door.
His daughter’s hair was dyed black. She wore black eye shadow and black lipstick.
Mona told her she looked nice, that her choice of outfit was…different.
He watched her walk to her car and drive away to school, not once saying a word to him.
Mona put a hand on his shoulder. “Just a phase,” she said.
* * *
Just before his free block Principal Fisher called Frank into his office. He closed the door gently as if he didn’t want to wake his sleeping mother. “Have a seat.”
“Everything okay?” Frank said, sitting down on a cracked leather seat with years of dried gum on the bottom edges.
“Everything’s fine unless you count this school going to hell, but this isn’t about our little vampire club. This is about Alyssa.”
“What about her?”
“I don’t know how to say this, Frank, and quite honestly it goes against just about every school privacy policy, but I overheard some of her teachers in the break room. I did some investigating myself and it looks like her grades have plummeted.”
“I know you’re shocked. Trust me, I was too, but the proof’s there, Frank. Look, she’s a senior and she’s still going to graduate just fine but don’t be surprised if she has a few D’s and C’s on her final report card.”
Frank shook his head, feeling like he was in a nightmare and ready to wake up.
“Let me ask you this.” Fisher stood up and leaned against his desk. “Has Alyssa gotten any new friends, any new acquaintances that may have caused her grades to drop? I checked with a few of her teachers and it sounds like she’s been skipping class, giving them attitude, all of which started recently. Doesn’t seem like her at all.”
Frank absentmindedly tore one of the gum chunks loose and flung it onto the floor. “You know, there just might be someone,” he said through gritted teeth. “I’ll look into it.”
Fisher walked him out of the office and Frank headed outside, through the back doors by the dumpster. He had ten minutes until his trig class and he wasn’t sure he’d be able to put on a good face.
But he forgot all about his trig class when he saw the car pull up, a beat-to-shit Corolla that would never again be granted an inspection sticker. The car was familiar and by the time he placed it, he already saw Alyssa waving at Busty and hopping in the passenger door.
Frank watched them go as the car sped away, leaving clouds of dirt and dust in its wake.
He nearly ran to his classroom. He went online and found the phone number for the only record store in the state that specialized in Goth and industrial music. It was called Dark Tunes. He dialed the number and waited an eternity before someone picked up. “Dark Tunes, how’s it going?”
“Yes, I was just wondering if I could speak with Busty Brown.”