Cold Summer Nights

by Sean Thomas Fisher

  “They’re all dead now,” Rusty said softly. “Your grandma, Amy, the gangbanger and now Detective Hubbard. You couldn’t write this shit.”

  Nick leaned back and massaged his drawn face.

  “That dude was in here just yesterday, sitting right where you are,” Rusty said, staring blankly at the chair Nick was sitting in.

  Nick looked down to the chair and a knock at the door made Rusty yell.

  With one eye closed, Rusty peered through the peephole, sighed and opened the door.

  “What the hell was that?” Dallas asked, waddling inside. “Were you guys having sex?”

  Rusty shut the door behind him and locked it.

  Dallas’ curly hair and beer belly bounced when he plopped down onto the ratty couch. He kicked his worn Adidas up onto the coffee table and turned to Nick. “Hey man, sorry to hear about your grandma. How’d the funeral go?”

  “Long,” Nick moaned.

  Dallas snorted. “I bet. I hate funerals. Weddings too. They’re basically the same thing,” he said, pushing his glasses back up his bulbous nose.

  Rusty sat down on the other end of the couch and traded another glance with Nick. Then they slowly turned their eyes to Dallas.

  Dallas looked at both of them and frowned. “What? Do I have Cheetos on my face or something?” he asked, brushing around his mouth.

  Rusty and Nick each took a deep breath and told him everything, from the remote control and toaster, to the warnings and deaths. They filled him on Summer’s missing persons flier and the rounds of questioning by the two detectives.

  Dallas stared at them with glassy eyes, his mouth hanging open. “Holy shit, I just came over to play some Call of Duty: Black Ops.”

  “Yeah well, you may have to settle for Resident Evil,” Rusty said, going into the kitchen and grabbing three cold beers.

  “Fuck that, I hate zombie games,” Dallas said, picking up Detective Rodriguez’s card again. His eyes narrowed as he examined it up close. “Maybe they were fake cops.”

  “They’re not fake cops,” Nick said, taking a beer from Rusty. “And one is a dead cop now.”

  “Well then your girlfriend is obviously the killer,” Dallas said, dropping the card onto the coffee table and cracking his beer. “It doesn’t take a rocket surgeon to figure that much out,” he snorted.

  Rusty and Nick scrunched up their faces.

  “You know what I mean,” Dallas said. “You don’t have to be a brain scientist to know that Summer is a cold-blooded murdering bitch,” he said, taking a long drink and belching loudly.

  Nick shook his head and looked at Rusty. “And this guy couldn’t help you pick up chicks?”

  “Fuck you, Foley,” Dallas said, pushing his glasses up again. “I’ve banged more chicks in the last six months than you could ever dream of.”

  “Yeah, if you count Taiwanese hookers,” Rusty quipped.

  Dallas and Nick both laughed.

  A noise in the bathroom cut their laughter short.

  Dallas frowned, staring at the closed door. “Who’s in the bathroom?”

  Rusty’s face dropped when he saw the door was closed again. “What the hell?” he mumbled, rising from the couch.

  Nick’s jaw hung in the air as he watched Rusty cautiously approach the bathroom and put his ear to the door.

  Suddenly, Rusty darted back to the couch and reached down between Dallas’ legs.

  “What the hell are you doing?” Dallas asked, flinching and going wide eyed when he saw Rusty pull the gun from beneath the couch. “Wow, you guys are really taking this shit all the way, huh?”

  Then something dropped into the bathtub.

  Their heads whipped over to the bathroom door. It sounded like the same shampoo bottle had just fallen into the tub again.

  Dallas swallowed. “Okay, who’s in there?”

  “No one,” Rusty whispered.

  Nick’s eyes doubled in size, and he pointed to Rusty’s mouth.

  Rusty looked down and noticed the cold breath tumbling out of his gaping orifice. Then he felt it in his bones, chilling him to the core. His heart began pounding wildly.

  “She won’t stop,” Dallas said flatly.

  They turned to see Dallas staring at the TV with foggy eyes. His glasses had slid down his nose again but he made no attempt to correct them.

  Nick glanced to the TV, which wasn’t even on.

  Rusty’s face turned white as a ghost, cold air rumbling from his gaping mouth. “Dallas?”

  Nick leaned forward and put a hand on Dallas’ knee. “Hey,” he said, shaking it gently.

  Dallas continued staring at the TV with unfocused eyes.

  “Dallas,” Nick shouted, shaking his leg harder.

  Rusty took a couple languid steps towards Dallas and something rammed against the bathroom door from the inside. A framed picture of Rusty and his dad high atop the snow covered Rocky Mountains crashed to the ground, shattering into jagged shards on the cheap silver carpet.

  Rusty stumbled away from the door. “What the fuck, man!”

  Nick looked down and realized he could also see his breath. His teeth began chattering as a chill suddenly swept over him.

  “You’ll be next,” Dallas said tonelessly.

  Their eyes snapped back to him just as someone smashed into the bathroom door again, shaking the wall.

  Rusty flipped the gun’s safety off and crept to the closed door. He stood off to one side as Nick took the other, cold breath rolling out of their mouths like it was a snow covered January day. Nick was confident he would get frost bite soon.

  Rusty placed his free hand on the knob and looked up to Nick, who nodded.

  Listlessly, the door swung open and they stared into the darkness. Rusty slipped a shaking hand inside and flipped on the light switch. The room was empty, so they moved to the shower curtain. Rusty took one end of it and glanced at Nick, who nodded again. Rusty inhaled a deep breath and whisked the curtain back along the metal pole. Their eyes fell to the shampoo bottle lying in the tub. Slowly, they turned to each other.

  “What the hell?” Rusty whispered.

  Nick looked back to the Head and Shoulders bottle with incredulous eyes.

  “Hey, what are you guys doing in there?” Dallas yelled from the living room. “You shaking it for Nick or something, Rusty?” he cackled.

  Rusty and Nick traded another mystified look.

  They tried filling Dallas in on the events he had apparently just missed but he wasn’t buying any of it.

  He pushed his glasses back up onto the bridge of his greasy nose and laughed. “And I said what again?”

  Rusty sat up straighter and talked very slowly. “You said she won’t stop and we’ll be next, but since you gave the warning, you’ll probably be next.”

  Dallas turned to Nick with a vacant expression. “Okay, I want whatever you guys are smoking.”

  Nick dropped his head and shook it.

  “Seriously, bust that shit out,” Dallas said.

  They didn’t respond.

  “Oh my God,” Dallas said, his face suddenly slumping. “You two want to tie me up and have sex with me don’t you? Is it because I’m not wearing underwear today? Your gay-dar is pinging off the chart right now, isn’t it?”

  “Umm, have you seen a mirror lately?” Rusty scoffed.

  “What?” Dallas snapped. “It’s winter weight!”

  “Listen to me, you can’t go home,” Rusty said in a lower voice.

  Dallas’ gaze sharpened. “Why not?”

  Nick leaned forward in the armchair. “Dallas, if you go home alone, you will die.”

  Dallas stared at him for a moment and then busted up laughing again. “Wow, I have gotta try some of this shit out. You guys are trippin balls!”

  “His grandma gave a similar warning and she died,” Rusty said.

  Dallas laughed so hard his curly hair and belly shook. “His grandma was fucking old, dude! That’s why she died.”

  “What about the gan
gbanger?” Nick asked.

  “Oh, you mean the gangbanger you never even met and have no idea what you’re talking about?”

  “What about the kid who died in the pickup?” Rusty posed, getting up and pacing again.

  Dallas wrinkled his shiny face. “How the hell should I know about some teenager driving too fast and texting in daddy’s pickup? What about the dead cop? Did he give a warning too? Did Amy?”

  Rusty and Nick looked at each other.

  “See?” Dallas snorted. “You guys don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”

  “We’ll go to my house and spend the night there. You can call in sick to work tomorrow morning.”

  Dallas looked at Nick like he was speaking Japanese. “I can’t call in sick to work tomorrow.”

  “Why?” Rusty asked. “So some carpet doesn’t get cleaned, big deal.”

  Dallas wrinkled his forehead. “I’ve already called in sick four times in the last two months. I’ll get fired.”

  Nick studied Dallas with thin eyes. “Would you rather take a chance and end up getting brutally murdered just because you had to go to some crappy job you don’t even want to go to in the first place? My grandma’s funeral was today, and my girlfriend and I just broke up. Do I look like I’m in the mood to be playing jokes?”

  Dallas swallowed hard.

  “Trust me, I’m in no mood for games. We have serious reason to believe that you could be the next to die at the hands of…”

  “Something,” Rusty finished for him.

  Dallas turned back to Nick with wide eyes and examined his stoic face. “Do you have beer at your place?”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Several beers later, Nick brought some blankets and pillows out into the living room and dropped them on the floor. “One of you can have the spare room and the other can have the couch.”

  “This is so gay,” Dallas sniggered, putting back a cold bottle of Sam Adams.

  “You’re making me nervous with that gun,” Nick said, staring at the gun sitting on his coffee table.

  “I’d be more nervous without it,” Rusty replied gravely.

  “Is that why you keep farting, Nick?” Dallas asked.

  Nick plopped back into the armchair and sighed. “I’m not farting.”

  “It’s okay,” Dallas said. “I start farting whenever I clean some hot soccer-mom’s carpet.”

  Rusty threw his head back and laughed. “That’s because you wouldn’t know what to do if your wildest dreams came true and she sashayed into the room wearing a black lace teddy.”

  Dallas let out a boisterous laugh. “Oh trust me, I’d clean all of her carpet!”

  Rusty grunted. “First you’d have to clean your pants.”

  “You’d have to clean your pants!” Dallas sputtered.

  “Good one,” Rusty said, taking a swig and setting the bottle down on the coffee table.

  “Hey, those coasters aren’t there for decoration,” Nick chided.

  Rusty’s forehead wrinkled. “Nick, would you listen to yourself? You’re slowly turning into the guy who makes people take their shoes off before coming into his house.”

  Dallas snorted. “I don’t think you want me taking my shoes off.”

  “I don’t,” Nick quickly countered. “You’re sleeping with those on.”

  “What about my pants?”

  Rusty shifted in his seat. “The point is we’ve got way bigger things to worry about here than coasters.”

  Dallas turned to Nick. “So she was involved with a guy in the Chicago mafia, huh?”

  “That’s what she said.”

  “Bullshit!” Dallas coughed into his hand.

  “I don’t know, Dal-boy, Chicago has some pretty serious mobsters,” Rusty responded, hitting the bottle and setting it down on a coaster.

  Dallas frowned. “And you know this how? Because you went to a Cubs game there nine years ago?”

  “It was eight years ago, rocket surgeon.”

  Nick’s laughter trailed off when the sobs of a little girl began floating up through the vents. The three grew silent, listening to the soft crying. If it weren’t for the looks of sheer terror plaguing his friends’ faces, Nick would have thought his mind was playing tricks on him.

  “What the hell is that?” Dallas whispered, his facial features frozen into a solid frown.

  Rusty snatched the gun while Nick walked over and knelt down near a vent, the girl’s faint weeping reminding him of Madison in the funeral home earlier that morning.

  He turned back to them with wide eyes. “It’s coming from the basement.”

  Dallas held his gaze, his mouth agape, and then started laughing. “Wow, you guys are good tonight! I applaud the effort, boys. You got like actors and shit for this whole thing, huh? It’s like Scare Tactics!”

  The girl’s weeping continued, sounding like she had just come home from school to find her pet hamster lying dead in its cage.

  Nick turned to Rusty and nodded to the basement door in the kitchen. “Go check it out.”

  Rusty jerked his head back like he had just been slapped. “I’m not going down there,” he hissed.

  “You’re the one with the gun.”

  Rusty blew air through his lips like Nick was asking him to jump off a building. “Have at it, dude,” he said, holding the gun out.

  The hallway bathroom door suddenly slammed shut, causing the walls to shake. The three friends screamed at the same time. The little girl stopped crying and the house grew still.

  Dallas’ eyes darted around the room, his breathing becoming heavy. “Okay, what the hell is going on here?” he whispered, setting his beer down with a trembling hand. “You guys rufie my drink or something? I’m seeing shit.”

  Rusty smoothly clicked off the gun’s safety and glanced over to Nick, who gave him a hesitant nod. Slowly, they moved towards the bathroom, giving Nick déjà vu.

  “Don’t go in there,” Dallas pleaded, nervously looking from the bathroom to the basement door in the kitchen.

  The lights flickered and Rusty and Nick froze in their tracks.

  “Holy shit, this is not good, man,” Dallas murmured, his right leg bouncing a million miles an hour. “Let’s just get the fuck outta here!”

  Rusty could tell by the fear in Dallas’ voice that he believed them now. Nick could tell it just by looking at Dallas’ face, which disappeared when the lights went out.

  “Oh shit! Guys?” he whined in the thick blackness that followed.

  Rusty shooshed him and the bathroom door clicked open. Nobody made a sound.

  “Oh my God,” Dallas whispered, as the smell of rotten eggs filled the air.

  “What the hell was that?” Rusty cried as something brushed past him. He whipped the gun around the room, but his eyes hadn’t adjusted to the darkness yet. “Nick?”

  “I’m right here.”

  “Did you feel that?”

  Nick was about to answer when Dallas screamed like someone who had just confronted their worst nightmare from the depths of hell. Rusty and Nick remained rigid silhouettes, afraid to move another inch. There was a loud crack and Dallas stopped screaming. A thick, dreadful silence quickly took the place of his agonizing protest.

  Something whisked past Rusty again, sending goose bumps rippling across his flesh. “Did you feel that?”

  “Dallas?” Nick whispered.

  The bathroom door slammed shut again.

  “Sonofabitch!” Rusty screamed.

  Things went quiet again as the smell of rotten eggs began to fade.

  “Nick? Hello?”

  “I’m right here,” Nick whispered, his night vision finally coming into focus.

  The lights clicked back on and Rusty and Nick squinted at each other with their hearts pounding. Reluctantly, they turned to the couch and stumbled backwards into Nick’s flat screen. The TV wobbled and tipped over, crashing to the floor around their feet. Both were too busy staring at Dallas to even notice. His eyes were wide open, his
glasses and neck broken.

  “No,” Nick moaned. “No! No! No!”

  “Dallas?” Rusty whimpered, tears beginning to stream down his cheeks. “This can’t be happening. This isn’t real!” He began twirling wildly with the gun extended, his eyes searching the house. “It’s still in here,” he said softly.

  Nick’s eyes followed the gun, trying to stay out of its way. “What is it?”

  “I don’t know,” Rusty whispered, like maybe it wouldn’t hear them.

  Nick’s breaths came in short bursts.

  Rusty turned from the ghastly scene on the couch to the closed bathroom door. Nick followed him over to it with hesitant baby steps, expecting something to blow through the door and do to them what it had just done to their friend. Rusty looked down to the door knob and decided to kick the door in instead. The wood frame cracked, sending splinters flying. He entered with his gun going first and Nick bringing up the rear. The bathroom was empty.

  Rusty gripped the black nine millimeter tighter with both hands. “We gotta call the cops,” he panted. “Your house is obviously possessed.”

  Nick was unable to respond. The way Rusty had said it was almost funny, if not for their dead friend sitting on the couch and the sound of footsteps beginning to climb the basement stairs. They froze and listened to the lazy thuds, each step sounding more menacing than the one before it. Nick considered locking them inside the bathroom and calling for help but Rusty was already on his way out.

  “Hey!” Nick said, following him into the living room as the plodding footsteps grew louder, making it impossible to think clearly. But they needed a plan now more than ever because the clock was ticking. There weren’t that many basement steps left. Nick stared at Dallas’ body, knowing that the last thing they needed to do right now was to start panicking.

  “Oh shit, we’re going to die!” Rusty screamed.

  “Get over here with that gun,” Nick hissed, staring through the arched entryway into the kitchen.

  The patient footfalls passed the halfway mark of the wooden staircase. Rusty stepped between Nick and the kitchen, pointing the gun with two shaky arms at the basement door. The living room lights cast a dim glow across the kitchen’s tiled floor, leaving too many shadows in its wake. “Go turn the kitchen light on,” he whispered over his shoulder.