I felt my brother bury his face into my side, weeping “no, no, no, no, no” over and over again, his tears damp on my shirt. I wrapped an arm around his head, feeling his sweaty hair brush over my skin. My heart was audible in my ears, my lips cracked and dry, breath coming in stuttering heaves.
“D-dad,” I cried, feeling myself begin to cry, “dad, I don’t want to. Please, dad…” My face was flushed as the fear came bubbling out of my face in wet streaks.
My father suddenly reached out and grabbed me, gripping my arm and yanking me toward the rope. I let out a cry and fell toward him, his hands hard and strong. He pushed and shoved me, positioning me under the rope, its shadow a dark halo over my head.
Jay was screaming openly, his face red and terrified. He just stood there helpless as my father pulled the noose down and slid it over my head.
Dad’s going to hang me.
The thought hit me like a knife to the heart. My knees were weak and knocked together, my whole body trembling in horrific anticipation. The rope around my neck scratched and rubbed against my skin, coarse and itchy. This was really about to happen. Up until this point, I didn’t believe my father was capable of such sins, especially to his own son. My dad was my hero, a strong supportive pillar and example to my brother and I.
And now I waited with bated breath for him to kill me.
“Here we go,” dad said, positioning himself behind me and grabbing the dangling end of the rope that hung from the crossbeam.
I heard a tightening of cords, the rope stretching and straining.
Suddenly my throat was clamped with hot fire, a burning agony that cut up into my chin as I was lifted off my feet. I kicked my legs frantically, impossibly helpless, my hands grabbing at my neck.
I couldn’t get my fingers between the rope and my skin, the tension denying any space to dig my nails into.
My head swelled and I felt the blood in my face ready to pop out of my eyes and mouth. I hacked and coughed, horrible gagging retches exploding from my lips as I tried to breathe. My vision began to swim and colors began to blend.
I felt myself dying.
Suddenly, the pain was gone, the halo of fire around my throat vanishing. I felt my knees hit the hard floor and I crumpled into myself. I sucked in deep lungfuls of air, the oxygen never tasting any sweeter in my life.
As the world began to focus again, I realized my father was screaming. I blinked back the dizziness and focused my eyes, pushing the shadows away.
My father was against the back wall, clutching his side and howling as blood bubbled from his shirt. Jay stood next to him, weeping, screaming, his right arm soaked with blood up to his elbow.
He was holding a rusty box cutter, its blade dripping.
“Don’t hurt Tommy!” Jay was howling through wet eyes. “Don’t hurt him, dad!”
Hand pressed to his side, my dad swiped at Jay, trying to snatch the box cutter. Jay jerked back and almost tripped over himself, letting out another shriek.
“Look what you did to me!” my dad grimaced, pulling his hand away and revealing a deep gash in his side, his shirt tattered and red.
I struggled to my feet, reaching out and pulling Jay toward me. I took the box cutter from him and put a hand on my throbbing head.
“I’m OK, it’s going to be OK,” I tried to reassure him.
Suddenly, my dad lunged for me, pushing himself off the wall using his back. Without thinking, I slashed at him, a purely defensive reaction.
Time seemed to slow as I watched the blade catch my dad in the arm, the blade eating into his skin. It cut through the flesh like soft butter, parting his wrist like a bloody zipper. Blood squirted into my eyes and I heard my dad scream, pulling his arm back and cradling it on his chest.
He slumped to the floor, his face pale and full of fury. He was breathing hard and I could tell it wouldn’t be long before he steadied himself and was at us again.
I grabbed Jay and ran from the shed, the night behind us filling with howls of rage.
As the air hit our tear-stained faces, I suddenly noticed trucks roaring down the road and up our driveway. They were bulky and loud, the diesel engines growling toward us. Blinding white lights cut paths through the night, shining across my bloody face as two, three, then four of them stopped in front of our house.
They were camouflaged. Even at that age, I knew they were military.
What is going on? my exhausted, terrified mind asked.
I pulled Jay close to me and advanced on them, unsure what they were doing here, but desperate for help.
Two men emerged from a white van dressed in HazMat suits. They sent a shiver of fear coursing through me as they charged Jay and I, yelling and waving their arms. I froze in the yard, Jay trembling beside me.
Men in uniform poured from the other vehicles, guns drawn, all pointed at us. They all had gas masks on and it gave them a chilling, inhuman look in the moonlight.
Everyone was shouting as the men in the HazMat suits approached Jay and me. I backed up a step as they got close, gripping the box cutter in my bloody hand. I didn’t know who these people were or why they were pointing guns at us. I needed to protect Jay. He had been through enough; we both had.
“It’s OK kid, it’s OK!” one of the men in the suits said, raising his hands. The other one had a pistol drawn, scanning the yard.
“Where is he?” the one with the pistol asked.
I stammered, mind blanking in fear and confusion.
“Your dad, where’s your dad, kid?” the first one asked.
“He’s in there!” Jay cried, pointing to the shed. “He wanted to hurt Tommy so I cut him! I had to! I’m sorry, I didn’t want Tommy to die!”
The first one looked at the one with the pistol and gave a quick nod. I watched as he trotted over to the shed and peeked inside. He looked back and gave the three of us a wave and then a thumbs-up to the men in gas masks.
Then he entered the shed.
And I heard him kill my father.
The gunshot exploded in the night and I jumped, the finality of it deafening.
I stood there, dumbfounded, bloody, confused, and terrified. I didn’t know who these men were, what they were doing here, or why they had just shot my dad. I clutched Jay to my side; he was staring up at me with giant round eyes.
“Did…did that man just kill dad?” he asked, his voice a shaky whisper.
The man in the HazMat suit shook his head. “Son, you don’t have anything to worry about. It’s going to be OK now. He won’t try to hurt you anymore.”
Someone was yelling behind him, and I glanced over his shoulder to see that the men in masks had gone into our house. One of them was calling for a medic, frantically waving his hand to get inside.
My mother. I prayed she was OK, that these men could help her. I didn’t know what my father had done to her, but I remembered the screams.
“W-what… what is going on?” I whispered as I watched the man with the pistol exit the shed. He was yelling toward the soldiers, asking for something, my ears not registering his calls. My world was crashing down around me in inky patches of disbelief and shock.
The man knelt down in front of us, placing a hand on each of our shoulders. “Boys, I really shouldn’t be the one to tell you this, especially not right now.”
I looked at him with moist eyes. “My dad just tried to hang me…please…”
I could see shock ripple across his eyes through the HazMat visor. He looked at both of us, struggling with himself.
“Please,” I begged, desperate to make any kind of sense of the madness.
The man sighed, “Boys…something horrible happened today. I really don’t think I should be the one to tell you…but…” He looked at us again. “Boys, something bad happened by the bank where your dad worked. There was some kind of earthquake. Very minor, but it cut a deep gash in the earth. It opened up a pocket of…something…that we’ve never seen before. Some kind of gas. The wind carried it toward town and…” He
looked to the ground, shaking his head. “It killed a lot of people. A lot of people. We’re trying to contain it, keep whatever it is from spreading.”
“Is that why you shot dad?” Jay asked quietly, sniffling and rubbing his nose. “’Cause he got the bad wind on him?”
The man looked up at both of us, his eyes fearful, “Boys…your dad died this morning along with everyone else at the bank. We took his body to containment. They’re performing an autopsy on him as we speak. I’m really sorry.”
I felt my brain bend back on itself, a mess of knotted thoughts and emotions, the words hitting me like bullets. What was this man talking about? Dad died this morning? That wasn’t possible; he came home from work just like every other day. My dad’s body was lying dead in the shed. This man was lying; he had to be.
“Then who’s…who’s in there?” I finally asked, the question coming out in a weak dribble.
The man shook his head, “Son, whatever is lying dead in that shed…it isn’t your father. You see…something else came out of the earth this morning. Something other than the poisonous gas. Something that crawled up to the surface and got out. Something that, for whatever reason, took the form of your father and drove home to you all. Witnesses saw him, it, leaving, the only one to get out. When we found your dad’s body, we didn’t know what to make of it. We still don’t. That thing in there,” he said, pointing to the shed, “we don’t know what it is or what it was trying to do. But that is not your father.” He shook his head. “Shit, I’m really sorry, kids, I really shouldn’t be telling you all this. I’m sorry about your dad, I really am.” He stood up. “Come on, we need to get you to a hospital and have you checked out. It’s going to be OK, I promise.”
I barely heard him as Jay and I were led to the trucks. I saw men carrying my mother out of the house on a stretcher. She was alive and barely conscious, but when she saw us she reached out and called our names.
Jay started crying again and sprinted to her. I wanted to as well but found I didn’t have the strength.
Everything the man had told me twisted and coiled around my mind. None of it made sense. None of it could possibly be real. It couldn’t be. How could my entire life change so drastically in one night? What was going to happen to us now? Where were they taking us? Were we going to be OK? At the time, I didn’t know.
I felt someone grasp something out of my hand and I realized one of the soldiers was trying to pry the box cutter out of my grip. I let go, the rusty metal peeling away from my palm, blood staining it in sticky red splotches.
What had happened tonight?
I looked back and saw the men in HazMat suits pulling my dad’s dead body from the shed and zipping it up in a clear plastic body bag.
A final thought ripped through the madness.
What the hell is that thing?
6
Feed The Pig
I slowly opened my eyes. My head was swimming and a dull pain surrounded my throat. I was thirsty. That was the first thing I noticed. I licked my dry lips as my surroundings faded into focus. My body ached and I realized it was because I was tightly bound to a metal chair in the middle of an empty room. The barren concrete walls were stained and dirty. The floor beneath my bare feet was cold and slightly wet.
A single bulb lit the room, dangling from the ceiling by a string. It cast moving shadows and I blinked back darkness. An open door stood before me, but I couldn’t see anything but the wall of a hallway.
I tried to clear my head, tried to remember how I got here. I squeezed my eyes shut and forced myself not to panic. I slowed my breathing and focused my thoughts, desperately trying to summon some recollection of why I was here.
I couldn’t remember anything.
I opened my eyes and exhaled, my parched throat throbbing. I could hear sound echoing off the hallway walls outside the door. Screaming, clanging, howling, all very distant but that did nothing to help calm my nerves.
“Hello?!” I cried, the word tearing at my vocal cords. I felt my chest hitch in pain but I cleared my throat and yelled again.
“Is anyone there!? Hello!?”
The dark hallway remained silent except for the constant echoes. I shut my mouth and tried to wriggle free of my bindings, but the rope was knotted impossibly tight. I fought back against my imagination as it flooded my mind with horrific scenarios of what awaited me. If I could only remember!
Suddenly, footsteps erupted from outside the door, a rapid patter of small feet. My hopes rose and I trained my attention on the door, praying it was help.
A young boy ran into the room dressed in a red onesie, complete with padded feet. Stretched over his face was a plastic Devil mask. The eyeholes revealed massive blue eyes that greeted me curiously. Taken aback, I opened my mouth to speak, but that’s when I noticed something was off. His eyes were huge, impossibly round, and bulging from their sockets. It sent a shiver of unease down my spine, but I shook it off. This child might be able to free me.
“Hey!” I hissed, urgently. “Hey, kid, can you get me out of here?!”
The boy took a step closer, cocking his head, but remaining silent.
I rattled my bound arms against the chair. “Cut me free, please, I shouldn’t be here, this is some kind of mistake!”
The boy eyed me behind his strange mask and stopped directly in front of me. He leaned in close and whispered, his voice like wet silk, “You did a bad thing…”
Confused, I shook my head. “No! No, this is a mistake! I didn’t do anything!”
The boy’s enormous blue eyes suddenly filled with sadness. “Oh, you did a really, really bad thing…”
I shook my head again, violently. “No! I’m sorry! I don’t remember, just please get me out of this chair!”
Suddenly, before either of us could speak again, a man came charging into the room. He was overweight and dressed in overalls, his grizzled face twisted in seething anger. He was holding a sawed-off shotgun in his arms.
“I didn’t do anything!” I cried as he advanced on us, my voice cracking. “I’m not supposed to be here!”
The big man ignored me and instead grabbed the kid and shoved him hard against the wall. The boy grunted as his back struck the concrete and his eyes rose to meet the grizzled man’s.
Wordlessly, the man raised his shotgun, placed it against the boy’s forehead, and blew his head off. Chunks of gore splattered the wall as shock slugged me in the stomach like an iron fist. My ears rang and time seemed to slow as I watched in horror as the headless body crumpled to the ground.
My breath rushed back into my lungs and time seemed to readjust.
“Jesus fucking CHRIST!” I screamed, straining against the ropes, my eyes bulging in horrific shock. “WHAT THE FUCK!?”
The man ignored my screams as he bent down and picked up the boy. He slung the ruined corpse over his shoulder and walked out the doorway.
Suddenly, the hallway erupted with malicious laughter, a chorus of voices all howling in glee. I shut my eyes, the noise deafening, as absolute terror filled my every pore.
After a few moments, the laughter faded and I cautiously opened my eyes, unable to believe what I had just witnessed.
“Hello.”
I jumped as I realized there was another man standing before me. He was dressed in a simple white button-down shirt and jeans. His brown hair was cut short and he appeared to be in his early thirties. His green eyes were dull and lifeless, his full lips pulled down at the corners.
“What is going on!? Where am I!?” I cried, new fear pooling in my stomach like hot blood.
The man crossed his arms. “So you’re the new one, huh?” He shook his head. “You people disgust me.”
Questions bubbled on my lips, but he waved them off with a sharp chop of his hand, slicing the air and demanding my silence.
He ran his tongue over his teeth, sneering, “You look like you’ve already seen some of the horrors this place holds, huh? Yes, I can tell by the look in your eyes. You’re terrified
. You’ve seen something, haven’t you? It doesn’t seem all that bad now, does it, looking back? You’ve been here five minutes and already you’re shitting your pants.”
“Where am I?” I gasped, unable to hold back any longer. “What do you people want?”
The man crossed his arms behind his back. “I bet you want to get out of here don’t you? I bet you’d like to go back to your home, your family, everything.”
“Please,” I interrupted. “Whatever I did to you…I’m sorry, I really am, but I don’t remember!”
The man rolled his eyes. “You didn’t do anything to me. You did it to yourself. You really don’t remember anything?”
I shook my head and felt tears brimming in my eyes.
The man looked at me with contempt. “You waited until your wife left for work and then you went out to the woodshed and hung yourself. You’re dead.”
The recent memory rose in my mind like a monster from a bog. My eyes went wide. As much as I wanted to deny it…he was right. I had killed myself. The incident tore through my brain like a bullet train and left me reeling.
“I’m Danny, by the way,” the man said, ignoring the shocked look on my face, “and I’m number two here. I run the orientation process. I want to make this quick because I’m tired of repeating this fucking thing to you pathetic Suicidals. You get one question before I begin.”
He stared down at me and I scrambled to organize my thoughts into something cohesive. This was all horrifying. Why had I killed myself? I fought against the fog and panic and the mists of confusion slowly began to lift. I had just lost my job. Yes…that was the start. I squeezed my eyes shut and forced more of the memory to emerge. I had lost my job and I was about to lose the house. My wife…Tess…she found out and was going to leave me. I didn’t have any way out, didn’t have any options. Getting fired had come out of the blue and I didn’t have much in savings. I was broke, soon to be homeless, and my wife hated me for it. There was something else…yes…that’s right. She had been cheating on me. I had seen texts on her phone while she slept one night and confirmed my suspicions. My life had degraded to shit and I had run out of options. Humiliated and ashamed, I had decided death was my only option.
The Worst Kind of Monsters Page 11
