“You stupid-ass fuckin’ bitch. I’ll fuckin’ cut you open…”
“Get the fuck off me! I swear to God I’ll kill you, swear to fuckin’ God!”
They scrambled around on the ground wrestling, both trying to snatch up as many bills as they could before the other had a chance to. Their clothing was soaked in their dead sister’s blood as they rolled around, punching and kicking and biting and cussing.
“Y’all shut the fuck up! Ahhh!” Jay crawled toward the kitchen. He didn’t care if the food wasn’t as good as the concession stand, he just needed something in his stomach. Anything. It felt like the pain was alive inside of him, like he was pregnant with agony. Something in his stomach moved, twisted his guts into knots. There was a pushing sensation, equal amounts of pressure toward his mouth and anus, and he could do nothing more than writhe on the floor and inch his way toward the refrigerator like an injured walrus.
The pressure was there again, blinding pain like he was shitting a cactus, regurgitating an inflated blowfish. But he crawled on, reached for the refrigerator door.
A skull-rattling scream erupted from the living room, followed by grunts and growls. Jay turned his head and watched as his mom dragged his aunt into the kitchen by her eye sockets. His mom had the fore and middle fingers of both hands jammed into his aunt’s eyes, blood and jelly leaking down the sides of his aunt’s face as she was dragged backward, kicking and screaming.
“What I say, bitch? Huh? What the fuck I say?”
Jay groaned and clawed at the skin of his belly as the pain intensified again, opening rake wounds and exposing the yellow fat beneath the layer of pink under his skin. Blood bubbled out, but the pain was dwarfed by the twisting agony within him, and he knew the only way to make it stop was to eat.
His mom reached for the knife block on the counter and wrapped her bloody fingers around the handle of the butcher knife. She raised it above her head and then stabbed the woman in the chest. She pressed her foot down on her sister’s neck and yanked the knife out, only to bring it back down. It stuck there like the sword in the stone, and a puddle of blood widened over the kitchen floor, spreading farther and farther until it touched the walls.
His mom spat on the woman’s body, tore the money from the dead fingers, then strolled back into the living room to collect the rest of the winnings.
Jay managed to pry the refrigerator open. He reached up and yanked a drawer full of food down on top of him. Another surge engulfed his body and pushed the flesh of his belly out. It thrashed inside of him. He blindly stuffed food into his mouth, swallowed it whole, hoping to calm the violent life forming in his stomach.
The air at the cemetery felt colder, thicker, the smell of grass and flowers floating about. Oscar had been digging for what seemed like hours. His shoulders and lower back ached and his palms were scraped and torn from the shovel’s wooden handle. He was completely under the surface of the ground now. Grandma peered down at him, the blood on her hands now dry and crispy-looking, and as she rubbed them together, red flakes sleeted down on him.
The sweat coating his body chilled him, but he kept digging, kept pushing deeper. When the shovel head finally hit something solid, he gasped, dropped to his knees and wiped the loose dirt away from the oak coffin.
“Si…abre, Oscar. Abre…andale!”
He nodded, used the shovel to pry the lid open. The wood was soft from age and cracked open much easier than he’d expected it would.
The smell was sweet, musty, and Oscar turned and coughed as the old air swirled out of the coffin. Grandpa’s flesh had almost all melted away, only bits clinging here and there to his skull. A few gold teeth lined the skeletal grin, along with a tuft of white hair at the top of his head. His arms were folded over the chest of his suit, his gold wedding band hanging loosely to a finger bone.
“Mi corazón! Ay…” Grandma wept from above, sniffled. “La cabeza, Oscar. Quítalo y dámelo. Ahora!”
Oscar crouched down and wiped his tears away. He quickly wondered what Chris was doing right then, if his friend was okay. He already knew Jay was long gone, was no longer the boy he knew, no longer his friend. Something had to be done about Mr. Big, Oscar knew that for sure. And he knew it had to be him and Chris that did it. He didn’t know why, but he just knew.
He was powerless to disobey his grandma, the woman who had raised him, who had loved him his whole life and gave him the best life she could. So he reached down and yanked on the skull until it popped free, then crawled his way out of the hole.
Grandma clapped her hands, bounced from foot to foot, then held out her arms. Oscar handed over the skull and backed away from her.
“Ay…mi corazón. Mi corazón. Te extrañe mi amor.” Her shaky scabbed-over hands cradled the skull, then she brought it to her face and kissed it on the teeth with hard, puckered lips. “Mi encanto de buena suerte.”
Good luck charm?
Oscar now understood why they were here. Grandma needed help winning. And photographs of Grandpa weren’t enough.
Chris woke up on the floor. The last thing he remembered was being held by his dad, thinking of how good it felt to be in the man’s strong arms, and even through all the horror, he realized it was the first time the man had ever held him. His dad lay asleep on the couch just in front of him, one leg propped up on the arm, the other hanging off.
Chris rubbed his eyes and yawned. A blanket covered his body and a pillow had been placed under his head. Then the events of the previous night exploded into his mind like dynamite, and he jumped to his feet and ran straight for Mama’s room.
The door was ajar, clothes strewn all over the place, the bed overturned, the dresser drawers all pulled out, some shattered to wooden shards. But Mama wasn’t there. He ran into the room, checked the bathroom, the closet.
Gone.
Chris dashed back out into the living room where his dad was still snoring. “Dad! Dad, wake up!”
His dad jumped, was on his feet in a split second. His right hand shot toward the back of his waist, the other a hard fist in front of him. When he laid eyes on Chris, his face slackened and his tense jaw muscles relaxed. “Fuck, boy. You can’t do that to me…”
“Dad…Mama, she’s gone. She ain’t here.”
“Okay…so maybe she went to the store. Maybe she’s gettin’ something to eat, bringin’ it back here for us.”
Chris sighed, both hands on the top of his head. “Did you forget all the crazy shit I told you last night? She ain’t safe! I’m tellin’ you, we need to find her!”
His dad sat down on the couch, ran both palms over his face. “Look. I’ll go down to the bingo hall tonight, all right? But I’m not convinced about all this shit. I mean—”
“A woman was fuckin’ murdered! You hear me? If I didn’t pull Mama outta there, she might have been killed too…either that or helped them kill that woman.”
“Chris—”
“You stay here then! I’m goin’ to find Mama!”
There was a moment of silence as Chris waited for his dad to respond. He was just about to run out the door.
“Wait. You right. I’m sorry. I’ll go get dressed, all right? We’ll go drivin’ around, look for her.”
Chris relaxed. “Okay…thanks. I’m sorry, Dad, but I’m really scared for her.”
“I know…I can tell. And if your mama’s really in trouble, I ain’t gonna let nothin’ happen to her.”
He stretched one time, then headed toward the bedroom. Chris followed him down the hall, then turned toward his own room, threw on some clothes that didn’t smell like the grease from the concession stand. He thought about Jay, about Sasha, all the other kids, stuffing their faces like hogs. His stomach turned and he forced the images out of his head.
I have to think about my mama, he thought. I’ll save them if I can, but Mama has gotta come first.
He knew he
had to do something. It was up to him to stop Mr. Big before everybody was dead. Before whatever kind of demon or monster Mr. Big was could take over the neighborhood or the town…or worse.
He ran back into the kitchen, picked up the phone and dialed Oscar’s number. His hand shook as the phone rang. It rang and rang, and just as Chris slammed the phone down, there was a frantic knock at the door.
“Chris? Chris! You there, fool? P-please…” Knock knock knock.
Chris ran to the door and swung it open. Oscar stood there, his clothes covered in dirt, his shoes caked with mud. His friend ran a quivering hand through his hair, and Chris could tell just by looking at his face that the boy hadn’t slept. When Oscar locked eyes with Chris, twin tear trails washed clean lines down his cheeks. Chris pulled his friend into the house.
“What happened?”
“Grandma…she, she’s gone. Last night she made me…made me dig up my grandpa. We drove to the cemetery, and I had to dig him up.” Oscar sat at the kitchen table, staring blankly at the far wall as he spoke. “His skull…she wanted his skull for good luck.”
“What?”
“And then we went back home, and I had to use the bathroom, right? When I came out, she was gone. I can’t find her, Chris. W-what the fuck do we do now?”
Chris reached out and put a strong hand on Oscar’s shoulder. “My mama’s gone too. And I bet I know exactly where they are.”
Oscar sniffled, the focus coming back into his eyes. “The bingo hall? Now?”
Chris nodded. “You saw that shit last night, man. Whatever Mr. Big is trying to do, I think he’s almost done. I think today is the last day…and then I don’t know what happens. We can’t let him finish it.”
Oscar clenched his teeth, his hands dusty fists hanging at his sides. “That motherfucker. We gonna kill him?”
“We’re gonna try. Look…” Chris leaned in and whispered. “My dad’s here, said he’s gonna help us…but he don’t really understand what’s goin’ on. He’s tryin’, but he don’t get it. But once he sees, he’ll know.”
“What we gonna do? How the fuck do we stop that…thing?”
“Burn him. We burn the whole fuckin’ place down.” It was the only plan Chris could come up with. In the movies, fire killed the monster. Most of the time anyway.
“What about everybody inside? My grandma? Your mama? Jay?”
“They ain’t gonna leave until we kill Mr. Big. You saw ’em last night. Our only choice is to get ’em out once the place is burning, once we kill the monster…” The last word came out a soft mumble. What the fuck is Mr. Big?
Chris’s dad strolled into the kitchen, eyed the boys suspiciously. “What happened to you?”
“Long story,” Oscar said. “But I can tell you that everything Chris told you is the truth. My grandma’s in trouble too…just like everyone else.”
“The gas station? Why?”
“We need gas,” Chris said, then shot a glance at Oscar in the back seat.
“Got a full tank.”
Chris didn’t know any other way but to tell his dad the truth. “Okay, I know you still don’t believe me. But I think the only way to stop Mr. Big is to burn him. We gotta burn the whole bingo hall down.”
The car jerked to a stop. His dad twisted his hands over the steering wheel. “This is goin’ too damn far, Chris.”
“Dad, once we get there, once you see, you’ll understand. I promise. You still don’t believe me, the gas can stay in the car, okay? We won’t use it until you say it’s okay, and I know you will. You gotta trust me.”
Oscar leaned forward, pointed toward something in front of them. “Look at that shit…”
Chris had been too lost in his own thoughts to notice it at first, but lying here and there on the street and sidewalk were bodies, men and women of all races and ages. Blood stained the concrete, and Chris turned toward his dad, was about to plead his case, give him an I-told-you-so speech, but he could tell it wasn’t necessary.
“What the fuck?” his dad said as he put the car into drive and rolled forward. The bodies were beaten, bruised, torn open. “Where the fuck are the police in all this shit?”
“Dad, I told you. The police—”
He put up a hand. “Don’t give me that shit. We goin’ there right now… Goddamn!”
A woman sat propped up against a telephone pole, her intestines strewn all around her like she’d given birth to an octopus. Her head sat crooked on her shoulders, and as they crept by her, Chris saw that her throat had been scooped out.
Oscar whimpered from the back seat, covered his face. Chris moved his eyes to the floorboard, refused to look outside anymore. Through all the death in the streets, not a single live person was in sight. No movement except for the birds pecking beakfuls of meat away and circling the holocaust the town had become.
When the car finally stopped, Chris guessed they had arrived at the police station. He looked up at his dad who remained in his seat and stared through the windshield with blank eyes. “Chris…I’m sorry. I’m sorry I didn’t believe you. I’m sorry I haven’t been around more.” He turned to face Chris with tears welling in his eyes. His mouth opened as if to say more, but his eyes squinted and he looked past Chris, toward the police station. “Y’all…y’all stay in the car.”
And he locked the doors, circled the car, pulled a black pistol out from under his shirt.
Maurice had seen the blood splattered on the police station windows from the Lincoln, and he checked over his shoulder one more time to make sure the kids weren’t trying to follow him. Chris and Oscar stared at him from the inside of the car, both of their eyes as wide as their lids would allow.
The only sound was the whistling of the wind and the constant caws of the birds. The air smelled meaty, beefy, and he slowed his pace as he neared the entrance to the police station. Black and white Crown Victorias were aligned in the small parking lot, each one of them empty. The one closest to Maurice had its driver’s door hanging open and blood caked to the window.
In the street lay a couple more bodies, one man he actually recognized, but he couldn’t remember from where. A grackle stood on the corpse’s chest, pecking at the open wound of his right cheek. A stringy thread of meat hung from the bird’s beak.
A soft giggle was just barely audible through the blood-painted glass door of the station, and Maurice jumped, swung his pistol around and kicked the door open.
Bile stung his throat and nasal passage as he took in the gory scene. His shoes slipped in blood and bits of meat, and though Maurice had seen his share of death in his day, nothing even came close to this nightmare before him.
A man, naked except for the black sheriff’s hat, rocked back and forth in an office chair, his hair-ridden, fat stomach bulging. “N 38…” The bodies of what appeared to be every officer in town lay in a circle around the man. Maurice could only tell they were officers, could only tell they used to be people, because of the uniforms. But even the uniforms were nothing more than tattered strips of cloth tangled up with the limbs, torsos, bone and viscera piled around the fat man. Random faces of severed heads peered sightlessly here and there amongst the mountain of gore, along with a few gleaming badges.
The fat man lifted a machete over his head and slammed it down into the meat pile repeatedly. “Bingo! Bingo, bingo, bingo!”
“What…what the fuck you doin’, man?” Maurice couldn’t hold the gun still as he aimed it at the man, but the man ignored the question, was oblivious of Maurice’s presence.
“B 4…” The man spun in his office chair, his bare feet slipping in the blood as he used the tips of his toes to turn himself. “O 69…” A maniac’s smile widened his face as he lifted the machete over his head, his eyes pinned to the donut of mauled body parts spread around him. “Bingo! Bingo! Bingo!” Thwack, thwack thwack.
Maurice thought about shooting the man,
had the gun aimed as steady as his hands would allow, pointed at the hairy, bloody chest. But he backed away instead, then spun and sprinted out of the station.
“B 12…”
Chris and Oscar remained silent as they watched Chris’s dad step into the police station. Chris wanted to go with him, make sure he would be okay, but when he saw the blood on the windows, he checked to make sure all the doors were locked and remained in the car.
It felt like a lifetime just sitting there waiting.
“You think he’s okay? Chris…w-what the fuck we gonna do, man?”
“I don’t know. I have no fucking idea.”
“You really think fire’s gonna work on him? What if he’s a demon or some shit? Ain’t they used to fire?”
“I don’t know! It’s all I got…you got any ideas, spit ’em out!” Chris slammed his fist into the dashboard, then gripped the back of his head with both hands.
“We gonna die, ain’t we? Everybody. We all gonna die.”
Chris had no response for this. Waiting in the car was torture, worse than facing whatever lay within the police station, and he had already decided to join his dad, had his hand on the door handle when the glass door swung open.
“There he is!” Oscar shouted.
His dad stumbled, fell to one knee, but quickly jumped back to his feet and ran toward the driver’s door. He banged on the window as he yanked on the locked door.
“Open the fucking door!”
Chris had been frozen, concentrating on the look of horror twisting his dad’s face. He pressed the unlock button on his door, and his dad jumped in, didn’t say a word as he started the car and peeled off.
They sped down the road, passing more mutilated corpses in the streets. His dad kept shaking his head as his jaw muscles twitched. “Fuck…fuck, fuck, fuck…”
“Dad…what happened?”
“Where’s this bingo hall at? Show me.” The muscles in his arms bulged and he looked ready to tear the steering wheel off.
“So you believe me?”
“You think your mama’s over there? Tell me where it’s at!”
The Bingo Hall Page 8
