The Adventures of Norman Oklahoma Volume One

by Steeven R. Orr

  But before he could, something stumbled out from the dark of the cook aisle and ran into him, knocking him off of his feet.

  “Anthony?” the thing said from atop him.

  “Maggie?”

  “Anthony, oh my God, Anthony,” she said, standing. “What are you doing here? You shouldn’t be here.”

  She sounded panicked, scared out of her mind. Her clothes were torn and there was blood on her face, oozing from her nose and from scratches on her forehead.

  “My God, Maggie. You okay?”

  “You have to get out of here,” she said, pulling him to his feet. “We have to get out of here, before it comes back.”

  “It?” he said. “What happened to you?”

  “I can’t explain, we have to go.”

  He rose and helped her to her feet. Then they scrambled out the back door. Once in the lot Maggie froze.

  “Maggie,” Anthony said, pulling on her arm. “Let’s go.”

  “Wait,” she said. Then she turned.

  Anthony turned as well.

  Standing in the back doorway of the Happy Hamburger was a creature that was short and green. Anthony gaped. Had it not been for the color, he might have mistaken it for a chimpanzee. But only due to the size and the way it stood, leaning on the knuckles of its hands. It was hairless and had long ears that ended it points an inch or so above its head. The creature opened its mouth and gave a hissing cry. Anthony couldn’t help but notice the teeth, they reminded him of a shark.

  It stepped out from under the doorway, walking like an ape, using both feet and hands that each ended in long, black claws that clicked against the pavement.

  Anthony couldn’t move. Maggie, on the other hand, exploded. She ripped her arm from Anthony’s grip and ran to the creature, screaming. Whatever the thing was, it hadn’t expected to be charged. It froze as if undecided, its black eyes shifting left and right like it couldn’t quite understand what was going on.

  At the last moment Maggie slowed and kicked the thing like it was a soccer ball. The creature flew back from the blow and hammered into the wall of the restaurant. It slid to the ground and did not move.

  “What the hell was that?” Anthony said.

  “I don’t know,” Maggie said. Then she dropped to her knees in the lot.

  “The cops should be here soon,” Anthony said, joining her on the ground. “Everything is going to be alright.”

  At least he hoped so. The teenager in the car was gone. Did he actually call the cops? Anthony remained hopeful.

  Then he heard a sound from behind. Anthony and Maggie turned in unison, seeking the origin of the sound.

  He spotted it almost at once. There was a privacy fence at the back of the lot. It separated the drive-in from the housing development currently under construction. Just under the fence the ground was moving. Something was digging its way out from the ground. The earth underneath the fence exploded and dozens of those short, green chimpanzee creatures burst forth. They sped across the pavement like demon monkeys, their claws clicking and scraping.

  Maggie was on her feet first.

  Anthony tried to rise, but he was too slow, the creatures were on them.

  One of them knocked Anthony onto his back. It stood on his chest and hissed at him. He could see Maggie being dragged toward the hole by the remaining creatures.

  “Maggie!” He shouted.

  He swatted at the thing atop him but missed. It hissed and suddenly he was enveloped by a red mist. It coated the insides of his lungs and burned his skin.

  The weight lifted from his chest and he realized that the creature was no longer there. He rose. His eyes lost focus for a moment as the world around him spun and jumped. He rubbed at them with his fists. He regained focus long enough to see Maggie being pulled into the gaping hole under the fence.

  Anthony ran to her, but found that his legs didn’t work quite right. He stumbled and at the last moment, fell. Maggie was right there, screaming. Her eyes caught his.

  “Anthony!?”

  They were pleading, her eyes. He reached out as his vision blurred once again. All he could see now where colorless blobs. His ears shut down as well. He could still hear, but it was as if he was under water. He clawed at the shapes before him, knowing that one of them had to be Maggie. He caught hold of something soft, silky. He took hold of it in his right hand, squeezing for all it was worth, vowing to never let go. He felt resistance. Then it was gone.

  He tried to stand, but nothing worked anymore.

  He crawled across the lot as his vision returned for only a brief moment and for an instant all he could see were thousands of tiny bugs and worms, centipedes, scorpions, and hairy spiders. They covered him from head to toe.

  He wanted to scream but feared that opening his mouth would only invite them in.

  Instead he clawed at himself with his left hand, pulling them from his body in bits and pieces, throwing them over the fence until finally, they were gone.

  He heard what sounded like a siren in the distance, but it was hard to tell. He couldn’t keep him mind focused on it. His thoughts seemed to leap from idea to idea, his brain playing itself in a game of Twister inside his head.

  And then suddenly, Anthony was no longer alone. A woman was standing above him. An amazon warrior, her black hair blowing all about her in the cool night breeze. In one hand she held a long spear.

  “Maggie Keaton,” he said to her. “They came from the earth and took her.”

  She responded, but not in any language that Anthony recognized.

  “They took her,” he repeated. “Little green men. Red mist. They took her down with them!”

  The amazon rattled off something in her strange language. He didn’t know what to do. He reached out to her with his left hand, open, palm up. His right hand he had clenched tightly in a fist. He found that curious. He didn’t want to hit this woman.

  But the amazon did not see it that way. One glance at his fist and she made to defend herself. Before Anthony could even process what was going on, she had his hands tied behind his back.

  “They took her down with them,” he pleaded. “They came from the earth!”

  She ignored him. Instead she shoved him into a cage on wheels.

  “Little green men,” he said. He was weeping now. Openly crying. He could feel the tears as they rolled lazily down his cheeks. They burned his skin which hissed and popped.

  He screamed. He couldn’t stop screaming. He thrashed about in the small cage. It was an odd shape, this cage. He couldn’t stand.

  Soon he was moving.

  No, he realized, he was not moving.

  The cage was moving him.

  22

  MAN IN A BOX

  FOR AS FAR BACK as I can remember I’ve only ever had the one dream.

  That is apart from the one of me fighting in jellied air. But we’ve talked about that one already. It was the other dream we didn’t talk about. Nightmare, really. And it was always the same.

  Well, that ain’t quite true, there’s always a bit of difference from time to time, but there’s a definite theme going on.

  I’m always bound to some sort of object, that never changes. The differences come in what I’m bound with, and what I’m bound to. I could be strapped to a chair, handcuffed to a radiator, even chained to a mountain top. Regardless, I’m stuck for good, and despite my best efforts, I can never manage to get loose.

  What also doesn’t change is that sooner or later, as I’m struggling to break myself free, someone, or some thing, comes along, opens up my belly, and then casually begins to pull my insides out. I usually wake screaming at that point. Then it’s off to the kitchen for a warm glass of milk.

  Eventually I’ll fall back asleep, but sometimes, like last night, it starts all over again.

  Fortunately I don’t have the dream all that often.

  Unfortunately, I was having the dream now.

  I was strapped to a hospital bed, my arms and legs bound by thick, leathe
r manacles. Above me are lights that burn and stab at my eyes. They blind me so that I see nothing else. That is until two figures step into the light, standing over me. They’re some sort of doctors. But like none I’ve ever seen before. They’re dressed in surgical scrubs, but over the top of them these fellas wore long, leather aprons, stained with the blood of countless patients... or victims, I suppose. I couldn’t see their faces neither due to the gas masks that covered their heads, which, in a clinical situation, could be found to be somewhat off putting.

  They spoke to each other as they gazed down on me, poking at me with fingers like steel rods. I couldn’t understand a word they were saying. It was alien, like the chattering of birds mixed with the backward masking of an old record. One of them pulled a syringe of pale liquid from somewhere out of my line of sight. He attached a needle to it, screwing in on in a casual manner as the two continued to converse.

  I tried to speak but nothing came out. I struggled against my bonds but it was no good. I was held fast and would have to endure whatever it was the doctors had in store for me.

  Once the doctor had the needle on the syringe, he pressed the plunger and a thin jet of the pale liquid arched out to land on my chest where it popped and fizzed, eating through the gown they’d put me in.

  Then the liquid came into contact with my skin.

  The pain was almost unbearable and I thrashed about on the bed, straining against the straps and screaming a noiseless scream.

  The two doctors began to argue at that point, and though I couldn’t understand what they said, the meaning was quite clear. The one with the needle wanted to stick me, the other—who’d produced a foot long blade with a wicked looking hook at the tip—clearly wanted me awake when he cut into me.

  I continued to struggle, hoping that with enough pressure the straps would snap and I’d be free to deal with these monsters in my own way. But it was clear that my strength would give out before the straps did. Didn’t stop me from trying, however.

  In the end the doc with the knife won out and he bent over me, lifting the gown to expose the skin of my belly. He sliced into me and I found that I couldn’t move, I was frozen in place as the doctor made his incision.

  To make matters worse, a surgical mirror appeared above me so that I could see every little thing that they did. I tried to close my eyes, but they wouldn’t respond. So I had to watch it all.

  The incision reached from one hip, curved up to sail just under my belly button, then ended at my other hip. The other doctor dropped the needle and reached into the incision, using both hands to grab onto, and then pull out what I preferred to keep inside me. There was no medical reason for what the doctor was doing, he just simply reached in and came out with my guts, holding him out to his partner who used the knife to separate them from my body and then place them on a little tray next to me.

  Satisfied that they’d gotten what they needed the doc with the knife placed the blade on the tray next to my innards. He reached up and lifted the gas mask away from his face. What was underneath wasn’t at all human.

  His face was that of a vulture, its red eyes staring into me.

  I woke with a start and rolled off the bunk, my breath whooshing out of me as I hit the cold, painted concrete floor. I lay there and let my breathing relax before grasping hold of the bars of the cell to pull myself to my feet.

  The cell they’d put me in shared a large room with five others that were identical to mine. Apart from the stainless steel toilet and the dull gray blankets that sat rumpled on the cot, everything in the big room was white. White floors, white ceiling, even the bared walls of the cages were white. It was like waking up in a dang mayonnaise jar.

  I quickly scanned the other five cages and found that I was the only occupant. The cells ran the length of the room, three on one side and three on the other, with a walkway set between. The walkway was wide enough that two average sized people could walk along between the cells without worry of an inmate being able to reach out and take hold of them.

  At one end of the two rows of cells, the end furthest from me, was a door that lead to a guard station, beyond which were stairs. At my end of the room was another door. I had no idea where that led.

  The back wall of each cell was concrete and painted white, leaving the other three walls made up of bars.

  We were underground and there were no windows to the outside world. They’d confiscated my pocket watch when I was brought in, so I had no idea how long I’d been out, though I’d guess I’d been sleeping for a few hours based on my physical state. Every injury I’d suffered before I’d been locked up were now fully healed and despite the nightmare, I felt refreshed and whole.

  I leaned against the bars and rubbed my eyes, clearing the sleep so that I could make out the clock at the end of the hall. It was coming up on One. But whether it was One in the afternoon or One in the morning, I hadn’t the slightest.

  “Hello?” I called out. “Anyone out there?”

  There was no answer.

  Six cameras, also in white, hung from the ceiling and looked into the cells, one per cage. I looked up at mine and waved, not knowing if anyone was watching.

  There was nothing more to do at that point than wait. I turned my back on the camera and eye-balled the toilet. The sight of the thing sticking out from the back wall stirred something in my bladder and I sighed. I’m not one to make water in front of an audience, but I was alone among the holding cells, so I did my business. There was no sink in the cell so my hands remained unwashed.

  A buzzer sounded and the door at the far end of the room swung open. Eudora Police Chief Patricia McCrea strode in, a smile on her face.

  “Morning,” she said as she approached my cell.

  “Morning?” I said.

  “It’s One in the AM, you’ve been asleep nearly ten hours. Open six,” she called out.

  Another buzzer sounded and the door to my cell clanked and then swung open about two inches. Pat pulled it open the rest of the way.

  “You fell asleep almost immediately,” she said.

  “You couldn’t let me finish out the night?”

  “Well, you don’t look like you need it, and I need you more. Besides, you’re technically free to go.”

  “Abner’s not pressing charges then?”

  “Nope,” she said. “Didn’t think he would.”

  “So I can go?” I said.

  “Of course,” she said “But...”

  “But what?”

  “Well,” she looked back at the exit, stepped closer to me, and spoke so that no one in the room beyond might hear. “One of my officers brought in a guy about twenty minutes ago, and frankly, I’m not sure what to do with him.”

  She paused, throwing another glance back at the door.

  “And?”

  “Well, I was hoping you might want to come have a look at him.”

  “Why would I want to look at him?”

  “Because you deal with all this weird crap.”

  “Weird?”

  “He says his fiancé was abducted earlier tonight.”

  “Another one? Sweet Mary Jane Parker, Pat. What’s happening to our town?”

  “Yeah, well, we may have a lead this time. If you want to call it that.”

  “That’s good,” I said.

  “Maybe,” she said. “This guy says she was taken by aliens.”

  23

  THE LITTLE GREEN MEN CONUNDRUM

  MONSTERS ARE REAL. We’ve gone over this.

  But aliens? Again, we’ve gone over this.

  “Aliens?” I said.

  Pat just smiled.

  “Aliens.” I repeated.

  “That’s what the guy said.”

  There’s no such thing as aliens.

  “I’ve told you before, Pat,” I said. “Aliens ain’t real.”

  “What about vampires?”

  “Sure.”

  “Werewolves?”

  “Of course.”

  “Zombies?�
��

  “Well, yeah. But aliens? Come on, Pat.”

  She said nothing, just stared.

  “No aliens,” I said. “I’m not wasting my time on it.”

  She continued to stare.

  I gestured to the door. “Just, you know, get the door open, gimme my stuff back, and I’ll be on my way.”

  It was like talking to a stone.

  “I have to see someone about replacing the window in my office, Pat.”

  “I’ve already done that, Norman. And I put plastic over it in the meantime.”

  “Who’d you call?”

  She just stared.

  “When will they be out? I should be there when they arrive. It ain’t good to leave an installer alo— ” That’s when it hit me. “What’s that?”

  “What’s what?” She said, her smile growing larger.

  “That... aroma? Smells like—” I took a long sniff. “Coffee.”

  “Oh, yeah. We got a pot brewing up there,” she said, nodding to the ceiling. “Just got it started before I came down.”

  “Coffee?” I looked up at the ceiling. The scent was almost heavenly. It marched straight down my nasal passages and set up camp. “What kind of coffee? Cop coffee?”

  “My coffee.”

  I felt weak in the knees and nearly swooned. Pat’s coffee was famous. She was a frugal woman; you had to be on a cop’s salary. But when it came to coffee, she splurged and bought only the best of the best. She sent away for a bag of beans once a month, beans that had passed through the digestive track of some kind of squirrel or raccoon in Southeast Asia. Which, of course, sounds disgusting on most every level, but damn if it doesn’t make one perfect cup o' joe.

  I continued to look up at the ceiling as though I could see through the layers of wood, plaster, and insulation to the coffee maker upstairs. I thought I could taste the coffee, and maybe I could.

  “Where’s this fella?” I said, my eyes still glued to the ceiling.

  “We’ve had him cooling his heels in Interrogation Room One all morning.”

  “Interrogation Room One?” I said, and laughed. I tore my eyes from the ceiling and gave her a look. “You’ve only got the one interrogation room.”