He could go to a pet store, buy a rabbit. That would work well. One of the more astute portions of his brain told him that might be a bad idea, though. Already, a lot of the complex residents had hit the local pet shops, and while the shopkeepers might enjoy the sudden rise in profits, sooner or later they’d grow suspicious. Already, the local Humane Society had stopped adopting animals to the folks living in Juniper Ridge. Gary knew because he’d tried, swearing up and down that he wanted to give an abandoned boxer a good home. They’d fed him a spiel about the breed and weight restrictions at apartment complexes, but he knew the truth. They suspected something, and that something was The Mouth.
More.
After streaking in circles for a moment, the squirrel bolted up a nearby tree. Two members of the crowd giving chase were children: a girl of less than ten whose hair was matted with weeks of grease and grime, and a boy of about the same age wearing nothing but white briefs. The kids started up the tree at once, climbing like monkeys. Below them, the adults pointed and shouted, telling them where they saw, or thought they saw, the squirrel. Their clothes were soiled and tattered, their faces smeared with dirt. In the weeks since they’d discovered The Mouth, the entire Juniper Ridge complex had fallen into a state of almost perpetual filth. Hair became tangles that were almost dreadlocks. Clothes smelled bad enough to be sniffed out from around corners and behind doors. Just looking at the crowd huddled beneath the tree inspired Gary to lift his own T-shirt to his nose and give it a whiff. Pretty bad, but not horrible. If he felt like it, he’d change in a few days.
He wouldn’t feel like it, though. It was only due to The Mouth’s understanding and mercy that he’d been allowed to sleep, that he had a cup of coffee in his hand instead of a squirming, terrified cat or other animal. Maybe that meant The Mouth could be quenched. He suspected the truth was something more ominous, though. Could be The Mouth was simply toying with them, all of them nothing more than rats in a cage or ants in a plastic farm. Or maybe The Mouth knew they needed rest, that they’d break if it worked them too hard.
That final possibility bothered Gary the most. It meant The Mouth was smart and knew their limits. And that meant there was no end in sight.
These thoughts tumbling through his brain like jagged rocks, Gary sipped his coffee and watched.
More.
The squirrel bit Cali’s hands four times before she finally grabbed hold of it and smashed its skull against the tree. For a hot instant, when her hands were burning and the blood was starting to seep from the bites there, she’d thought about throwing the stupid thing against the parking lot. If she’d done that, however, one of the grown-ups would have grabbed it. Then, they’d give it to The Mouth, and she didn’t want that happening. She liked feeding The Mouth more than anything else in the whole world, and she wasn’t about to let no grown-up do it just because they were bigger and a stupid squirrel had hurt her hands.
“Idiot,” she whispered to the limp mass of fur and broken bones in her fist. Then, she smiled.
“Gimme it.”
A tiny gasp filled her throat when she heard the boy’s voice. She couldn’t remember his name, wasn’t even sure she’d ever learned it, but she didn’t like what he’d said or the way he’d said it. Carefully, she leaned to one side so she could look down at him. He crouched on a branch just below her.
“Gimme,” he said again. His face was blank, his eyes black and hard.
“No. I caught it.”
“So?”
“So, I’m gonna take it.”
For a second, the boy did nothing but look at her with those eyes. Then, his face scrunched up in a collection of angry creases, and one of his hands curled into a white-knuckled fist.
“I’m taking it. It’s my turn.”
“We don’t take turns. It doesn’t work that way.”
“It does now. You can go next.”
A trick! She knew it as soon as the boy said it. If she gave him the squirrel, there wouldn’t be any next. He’d lie and change the rules, find some reason for it to still be his turn.
More.
“I know,” she answered, starting to feel anxious.
“So gimme,” the boy said.
“I wasn’t talking to you. Go away!”
“Gimme it, and I will.”
She stuck out her tongue. Yeah, it was a kid thing to do. She didn’t care. “Find your own. This one’s mine.”
“It belongs to The Mouth.”
“I know that.” It came out as a shout, almost a scream. Something pushed at the back of her eyes, forcing water down her cheeks. Why wouldn’t the boy leave her alone? She knew the squirrel belonged to The Mouth, but it was hers until she dropped it down the hole. “I know, I know, I know. But I get to give it, so go away!”
Somehow, the boy’s face scrunched up even more, so that he barely looked like a boy at all. Instead, he looked like an old man or a troll, something ugly and gross. She was about to tell him so just to hurt his feelings, but then his face changed into a boy’s again, a smiling boy. The smile creeped her out, but she wasn’t sure why until he stood on top of the branch, reached up with one hand, and grabbed hold of her ankle with strong fingers.
“I’ll pull,” he said. “I’ll pull you right out of the tree.”
“No, you won’t.” Cali didn’t like the way her voice had gone all soft and whispery. She sounded scared, and she guessed there was a good reason for that.
The boy nodded slowly. “I will. You could break your leg. Or your neck. If you break your neck, you die, and then one of the grown-ups will give you to The Mouth.”
Her breath disappeared, and her entire body felt like she’d just been tossed into a cold swimming pool. Would they do that? No one had fed a person to The Mouth, and she figured no one ever would. There had to be some kind of rule against it. The Mouth liked birds and squirrels and mice and kittens and turtles and puppies and even grown-up cats and dogs, but it had never wanted a person. But The Mouth had never asked for anything specific, just More.
The boy tugged on her ankle, and a short screech burst out of her. She started sobbing, diving forward to wrap her arms around the tree limb. In her tiny, iron fist, she felt the squirrel grow cooler and cooler. She thought of the sounds that would come when she gave it to The Mouth: the crunching and tearing and the wet noises that she couldn’t quite define. Then, she thought of the sounds she would make in The Mouth. No way. She couldn’t risk it. Sniffling and crying, something clucking hard in her throat, she reached down and handed the boy the squirrel.
Cali heard a giggle, followed by the heavy sound of the boy landing in the grass. The giggling became laughter that trailed away, and she knew the boy had gone, running toward apartment 414 and The Mouth.
Slowly, her sobs died down into quiet sniffles. Now, she’d have to start all over.
More.
“I know,” she said through tears.
Tara tried to concentrate. She thought if she put her mind to it, really focused and got her thinking straight, she could figure out how long it had been. When she didn’t try to focus, the answer bounced all over the place. Sometimes, she thought she’d been watching The Mouth for hours. Other times, she knew it had been months, maybe close to a year. Each time, she remembered Marco with the pickaxe he’d bought at the hardware store, the way he’d dragged the washer from its cubbyhole and started swinging at the linoleum beneath, how the flooring had peeled back like great scabs until the pickaxe began ringing off concrete. She recalled how she’d asked what he was doing, how she’d screamed the question at him, and how he’d answered with a voice so calm it had terrified her.
“There’s something underneath.”
For a long time, she’d tried to ignore him, had cranked the volume on her stories and pretended there was nothing strange happening. When the apartment management started knocking on the door about noise complaints, the panic inside her had boiled, and she’d begged Marco to stop, to listen to reason before they found themselves hom
eless.
“Almost done.”
He’d broken through the concrete just as management unlocked the front door and pushed their way inside, and she’d heard the voice for the first time, the same voice she heard all day, every day, that never died and that always demanded More.
And now she heard the voice again. It kept her awake almost constantly, her mind balanced on a point between exhaustion and what had to be insanity. The world moved in shapes and colors around her, and she constantly fought to keep everything in focus.
Focus. Focus was the key, and she knew it. Enough of it, and she avoided slipping into the strange state almost everybody else in Juniper Ridge exhibited. Even now, more than a dozen filthy, stinking residents littered what had once been her living room. They slept on the floor and the couch. Another filled the space that served as her lone hallway, blocking both the bathroom and bedroom with her naked bulk. All of them lay where they had collapsed, too exhausted after finding food for The Mouth. Marco moved between them, shoving aside those who took up too much space.
The front door opened, knocking against the top of a sleeping man’s head, and two adults in tattered clothes entered. Tara knew from the way they kept their hands cupped in front of them that their offerings were small, but she still had to see. It was the role she’d either assigned herself or been forced into by The Mouth. She couldn’t remember anymore, wasn’t sure she’d ever known. Just like how much time had passed, the answer swam in and out of her head, changing all the time. Maybe it was the exhaustion, or maybe she’d simply forgotten what was real.
More.
The first person, a woman whose T-shirt smelled like rotten meat and had stretched and torn at the shoulders, stepped up and presented her gift. It was a dead bird, a cardinal. It lay in the cup of her hands like a strange sculpture, all odd angles and pain. Tara examined it for a second and then nodded, stepping aside so the woman could drop her dead bird in the hole that had now been widened to almost four feet, nothing but darkness inside. She didn’t bother watching. When the chewing sounds came, she knew the woman had dropped her offering.
She looked at the old man who stood in front of her, at the exhaustion that filled his eyes like fog and the terrible way his entire body sagged. He held up his hands, and she saw hope in his features before she looked down to see the dead crickets he held.
Please accept it, she thought. She didn’t know if The Mouth could hear her. Most of the time, she hoped it couldn’t, but now she wanted her plea to break through.
The answer came the way it always did, appearing in her mind without words or commands, just a feeling she couldn’t ignore, couldn’t resist. Without warning, she slapped the old man’s face. The hope crumbled, and depression rushed in to fill the cracks. She hated herself as the man turned and left the apartment. He’d spend the rest of the day searching for something to feed The Mouth, and if he didn’t make it back home before fatigue claimed him, he’d sleep on the ground, his pillow either dead grass or oil-soaked concrete.
It had to change. Tara knew it, and sometimes when she looked in Marco’s eyes—she couldn’t recall the last time they’d spoken—she could tell he knew it, too. The Mouth held too much control. From the moment it first spoke directly into their minds, it had taken over their lives. What would it do when they ran out of things to feed it? Would they be next? Sometimes the questions kept her awake, even when the fatigue was a lead weight on her shoulders, dragging her down, down, down.
Shaking her head, she made the questions disappear. She feared The Mouth would catch on, would sense her betrayal and punish her for it. Worse, she feared it would punish Marco, the man she still loved with some piece of her heart The Mouth had forbidden.
And the rest of the world wasn’t helping them. She wondered about that sometimes, why the police never bothered them and no one cared that the rent or utilities hadn’t been paid in months. Or years. Or hours. She made sure to never consider it too long, because the possibilities frightened her.
Marco entered the kitchen and leaned against the counter. He watched her with tired, pleading eyes, and she saw tracks in the grime on his face. Tears of frustration and fear had cut those tracks, she knew, just as she knew a matching set adorned her own face. Silently, she prayed as she stepped toward her husband. She wanted to speak, but she didn’t really remember how to form words. Instead, she placed her hand on the counter and slid it toward Marco’s. She reached with her little finger, hoping for the slightest contact. Her eyes never left his, and for the first time in months she felt her heart accelerate.
They touched, the skin of their fingers sticky with dirt, and Tara watched her husband shudder. The beginnings of a smile appeared on her face. She still had him, and he still had her. That counted for something. It kept the nightmare at bay.
More.
She jumped, gasping, and jerked her hand back to her side. Marco’s face crumbled, and he turned from her, shuffling back to the living room, where he stepped over comatose bodies and rubbed his face with his hands.
Tara watched him, and her heart felt like ashes. Something had to be done. Searching her mind, she hoped she’d find the answer.
A year had passed. At least, Gary thought it had been a year. He remembered the leaves turning colors and falling to the ground, remembered them growing back. Most of the dead leaves remained in the Juniper Ridge parking lot, a carpet of decay in orange, red, and brown. The entire community smelled like rot now. In addition to the leaves and the unwashed state of every resident, most of the older tenants had failed to last through the winter. For some reason, no one had fed them to The Mouth. He didn’t understand why they’d been left to decompose in their apartments, but he suspected it was a mercy. If The Mouth developed a taste for humans…
He shut out the thought before it could percolate. Everything required concentration now, and he’d grown better at it over the preceding months. When he kept his thoughts sharp and controlled, he could resist The Mouth just enough to function like a normal person. More than once, he’d considered letting his concentration slip or disappear altogether. He’d moved beyond Juniper Ridge enough times to know the world had changed. There must be mouths everywhere. It was the only way to explain how people had transformed so drastically, how ugly and vicious and desperate they’d become.
When he saw the deer, he’d decided to do something. It was dead, a recent kill found on the side of the road. Why no one had dragged it to The Mouth was anyone’s guess. Maybe the vehicle that struck it had already been loaded with morsels, or maybe it had been hit by somebody who’d pulled their will together long enough to decide escape was a good idea. Either way, he’d known the relatively fresh carcass presented a way to fight back.
Now, the dead deer filled his living room floor. He’d feared someone would see him drag the remains up the stairs by a chain, but some stroke of luck had left him unnoticed. Since that time, he’d made quick runs to abandoned hardware and grocery stores, grabbing anything he thought might hurt The Mouth. Already, he’d soaked the deer’s carcass with bleach and rat poison and a dozen different insecticides. He kept the windows open and wore a painter’s mask, and still the stink was overpowering. The smell scared him, because surely someone would realize what he was doing. Hopefully, The Mouth had kept everybody too tired, too close to insanity to be a threat. Preparing for bed, knowing he’d show all his cards the next day, he prayed long and hard, and hoped somebody could hear him.
When Gary woke, he slapped himself across the face before The Mouth’s voice could enter his thoughts. The daily ritual worked once again, and he crawled out of bed, his stomach a flutter of excitement and fear. His mask had shifted in the night, and the smell of bleach and other poisons made him dizzy as he sat on the edge of the bed. Pulling the mask back into place, he smiled. It was good to feel things again. For too long, he’d been just shy of an automaton.
He changed into one of the dirt-caked outfits he kept in a pile in his closet. So far, no one had seen
through his disguise. With enough luck, no one would until he’d dumped the poisoned deer down the hole and fed it to The Mouth. After that, they could do anything they wanted. As long as he did some damage, he didn’t care much. Still, he grabbed his car keys and stuffed them into his pocket. His car held just over half a tank, and if he could reach it, he’d drive as far as that tank would allow.
Wrestling the deer down the stairs proved just as hard as dragging it up, but he did it without getting crushed. Without his mask, the smell stung his nostrils. His back ached, and his arms burned, but he refused to rest until he reached apartment 414.
As he approached The Mouth’s home, the fear that roiled in his belly crept up his spine and threatened to set his mind on fire. What if somebody tried to take the deer? He’d seen similar things happen, The Mouth inspiring violence like he’d never seen, and he wondered if he could kill someone if they threatened him. If it needed to be done, he’d try his best. All of this served a greater purpose, even if that purpose amounted to no more than thumbing his nose at death in the moment before it took him.
More.
The closer he came to building four and the dreaded apartment, the louder the voice grew. He hoped that meant The Mouth sensed his offering and wanted it, but the frightened parts of his brain said his concentration was dissolving, that soon he’d be the same as he’d been for months, just another mindless body kept around to bring food. Once he made sure no one was looking, he squeezed his eyes shut and lined up his thoughts. Everything became neat and orderly, and the voice quieted some, now little more than the tapping of a fingernail against a windowpane.
Please, God, he thought. Please. If you’re still there, help me.
He dragged his prize through the door of apartment 414.
Selected Stories Page 8
