Ward

by C Bilici

  But it was not blood.

  Blood was not black. And blood would have run into every crack in the paving before it. Just as a liquid should. But real liquid was not selective. It didn’t travel only within the lines to form a square. A square around her.

  There was a sound of metal crumpling and Hayley looked back to the car and a gurgle rose in her throat.

  The blackness oozed through cracks in the windshield. It sprang forward, like a leak in slow motion, to puddle on the engine cover. And as she watched, that puddle rose and formed into a figure. A figure that watched her. And smiled. It watched in fascination as the black square around her closed.

  That blackness, like the figure, rose, holding shape as it oozed from the cracks. It reached her knees. There it devolved from the geometrical into an undulating, nightmare tube. Its edges rippled, puckering inward to tighten like a sphincter.

  As it constricted about her, the figure on the car smiled wider.

  Hayley choked as the black tethering cords surged through her feet and slithered under her clothes and wound up her legs.

  A scream too late in the making was cut short as those worms burst from the neck of her shirt. Stretching and billowing the neck of the worn t-shirt, the stuff surged into her mouth.

  Silenced as she was, she screamed still. Pleas for someone to help. Prayers and promises to a god she’d stopped believing in years ago. All of it channelled into a single note that couldn’t cut through the mouthful of vileness that tasted of earth and blood.

  As the arse-hole-like opening above her closed, the weak light, along with the last of her hope and cries, faltered.

  The dark figure was gone from the car. Her mind already flooded with terror, she saw it was standing in front of her. The car was in sheets of flame behind it hiding its details in flickering shadow. All but the garish Hawaiian shirt, a gold pendant it now wore around its neck, and its staring eyes were hidden from her.

  The thing was now fully a man. It looked at her, raising its hand as, with meaty cracks and pops, scythe like teeth sprung from the black mess to puncture her body. Hayley felt her lungs bubble and heard the sound in her ears.

  Brightness filled her vision. This must be the light that people spoke of when they died. Then the smell of smoke and the screams of the creature wrapping her reached her failing senses. Looking up at that white light, Hayley prayed to whatever might be listening for a quick death.

  The answer came in a flash of light.

  A giant skull loomed over her and opened its great jaws with a roar and spewed hellfire on her.

  CHAPTER TWO

  “COME ON. YOU know you want it. I only want to stick the tip in, baby!”

  “I, uh—”

  A hand lashed out and slapped at the rump wreathed in black of the figure hanging over the passenger seat.

  “Sit the fuck down, you horn-dog bitch! You’re going to get us pulled over.”

  Tammy turned and dropped into the seat. “I’m just trying to show Justin a good time. Pop his cherry.” She waggled the fat joint she’d rolled.

  Justin gave a nervous laugh. “My cherry is popped, thanks.”

  Tammy turned and winked at him. “Not by me, sugar. I gave this one a good lickin’.”

  “So, uh— You’re American?”

  “Well, I sure as shit ain’t Canadian!”

  “Way to change the subject, Justin,” Stacey said from behind the wheel, laughing to herself. Tammy was like a dog with a bone, but he still seemed to have not grasped that.

  “But, yeah, you’re obviously— You know.” Justin motioned a hand from the back seat.

  “I know what you mean,” Tammy said. She turned to Stacey. “He’s talking about my hot Asian tits, right?”

  “Suuure,” Stacey said, reaching for the stereo. She flicked through songs on her phone, looking for the right one.

  “Yes, my little toy-boy. My daddy’s a Jap, and my mom’s a California surfer girl.”

  “So how did you turn out… You know.”

  “To be so bootylicious?”

  “You? Bootylicious? Hah! You’re not even half of me!” Stacey slapped the wheel in laughter. “I think, oh boney-assed-one, he’s referring to your outdated attire.”

  “Outdated? Bitch, once you go black, you never go back. And there’s nothing blacker than a Goth’s heart.” Tammy turned back to Justin. “Amiright, Justin babydoll?”

  Stacey watched Justin’s open mouthed face in the rearview and chuckled. She hoped after this he would stop following her like a love-sick puppy but still remain her friend.

  “I, uhhh…” Justin looked around for something. He leant to pick something up. “So, Stacey. When’s angry lesbians on wheels back on?” He had a mischievous grin on his face.

  Tammy eyed Stacey sideways, a smirk on her black lips. Stacey screwed her face up back at her friend and gave her the finger.

  “Roller derby, Justin, will be back on in a few months. Well, at least training will.”

  “I can’t wait!” Justin said with enthusiasm.

  “Me neither!’ Tammy said, eyes wide in sarcasm. “I love seeing Stacey going down. Amiright, Justy?”

  Stacey saved the wide-eyed and mouthed boy by putting on Bohemian Rhapsody.

  * * *

  They entered the dark shed, Tammy in front, keys ringing in her hands as she fumbled for the light switch.

  “Let’s get this bad boy lit and smoke up The Pit!” Tammy said in a loud voice around the joint.

  Stacey went to a fridge in the corner and pulled the door open, bottles singing like a wind chime. She handed one each to Tammy and Justin before taking her own and looking around the shed with a frown.

  “Where the fuck are Jasper and Charlie?” Tammy said, watching Stacey noting their absence in the shed. She then clicked insistently at her friend. “Give me your hot pink bits, wouldya?”

  Justin looked at Stacey.

  Stacey pulled out a hot pink disposable lighter and waggled it in the air before she tossed it under-arm at Tammy. She caught it one-handed and lit up.

  “So this is where the magic happens,” Justin said, looking around. “The infamous Pit of Hell.”

  “Oh yeah, baby,” Tammy said, eyelids hooded. “I make the magic happen all night long. There,” she pointed at a spot on the old, thick rug beneath them before unclipping a case. “On the couch.” She lifted the lid. “Sometimes just walking around.” Tammy slung the strap around her and clipped in, then thrust her hips. “All. Fucking. Night.”

  “Stop dry humping and start tuning that bass, dumb-arse,” Stacey said, slinging her electric guitar.

  “Who says I’m dry?” Tammy winked at Justin who shook his head and took a swig of beer.

  “Here, hold this, sweet cheeks,” Tammy said and passed the joint to Justin.

  After tuning her guitar, Stacey checked her phone for the third time. “Still nothing.”

  “The fuck’s taking them so long?” Tammy barked. “We have our first gig in a few weeks.”

  “Jasper’s hanging with Paul, but she said she’d be here. Charlie… Well, you know Chuzza. She’s off with the faeries half the time.”

  “Your boyfriend and… uh, housemate?” Justin asked.

  Stacey grunted back.

  “Wait, did you say they were hanging, or banging?” Tammy asked, laughing.

  Stacey extended her middle finger. “It’s OK, Justin. Tammy knows about Paul, Jasper and me.”

  Justin relaxed. “Oh OK. Phew.” Justin wiped non-existent sweat from his brow. “I’m so used to not talking about it at work, you know?”

  “I know. And I appreciate it.”

  After neither Jasper, their rhythm guitarist, nor Charlie, their drummer, arrived, the three of them dropped into the old couches and passed the joint around and drank.

  “I really should get going,” Justin said after checking his phone again.

  “Aww,” Tammy said, her lower lip curling. “You can totally crash here you know. I have the perfec
t Goth shaped blanket to keep you warm at night.” She waggled her pencil thin, pierced eyebrows at him.

  “OK, say goodnight, Tammy.” Stacey groaned the words out as she stood.

  “Goodnight, Tammy,” Tammy said, affecting a baby voice.

  Stacey held her fist out to Tammy at an angle, her pinkie and forefinger extended in the infamous sign of the devil horns. Tammy transferred her beer to her left hand and mirrored her friend so they could bump fists. Stacey’s patented metal-fist-bump.

  Stacey stretched her back. “Oof. I think all my fat curves have realigned to the wrong places.”

  “Don’t say that,” Justin said. “You’re not fat.”

  “Awww,” Tammy said, giggling, as the two walked to the door. “Hey, Justin?” Tammy called out. He turned back to her and looked at her hand, balled up into devil horns. “Aren’t you going to fist me up before you go go?”

  “Bye, Tammy!’ Stacey said, dragging Justin out behind her. She could hear Tammy singing her corrupted lyrics behind her.

  * * *

  After dropping Justin off at his home, Stacey finally arrived at their block of flats. Paul and Jasper still hadn’t responded to any of her messages or calls. By the time she was halfway home, she had become annoyed. They had been practising hard and honing their image as an all-girl thrash metal band over many months and finally booked a gig. Then half the band was AWOL.

  Pulling into her space in their parking lot, Stacey saw Paul’s little scooter and became angry at him. She knew Paul would have talked Jasper into staying home. Probably in bed. Jasper was a soft touch and Paul… Well, he was Paul. He would bat his lashes and make puppy dog eyes and Jasper would cave. Stacey would have told him where to shove it. But not Jasper. She was loyal to a fault. It was part of the reason why Stacey and Paul had fallen for her.

  As much as she hated to admit it, Stacey had pulled the same routine, so she knew it was true. Living the polyamorous life had its challenges.

  She grit her teeth against the onslaught of mushy emotions and ran through the angry words she would use as she climbed up the echoing staircase. She jumped as the automatic lights came on and a handful of midnight black cockroaches almost half the size of her hand scrambled away. They disappeared out of the light through gaps in the seventies styled half-open brick screen wall. Shoulders quaking, Stacey shivered and continued to climb.

  Bugs out of her mind, she though out the conversation. She would sit Jasper and Paul down, tell them as clearly as her stoned, drunk arse could how she expected things to be for the sake of their band, Pussy Whipped Cream. She let out a grunt of frustration. She was so angry she’d left her guitar in the back of her car.

  Stacey pushed open their front door, the silence and dark within smacking her in the face. Had they gone out? Or to bed again?

  Angered, she slammed the door behind her. She dropped her keys, purse and phone as noisily as she could in a bowl on a narrow table by the door, acting on memory in the dark. Doing her best to be as loud as possible, she hit the wall trying to find the light switch it as hard as she could. The light came on. Stacey jumped with a shriek. Someone had been there in the dark.

  A strange man sat in one of their armchairs, facing the door. He was scruffy, had on a crumpled Hawaiian short, board shorts with multiple pockets, and old brown leather sandals.

  Her hand moved from her chest where it had been held along with her breath. Fists pressing into her hips, her face shifted from startled O to wrinkled grimace.

  “What the fuck?” Stacey took a step forward. “Who the fuck are you?”

  “Sit down, and be quiet,” the stranger said, his voice like a British banker’s. He motioned a nearby couch.

  “The fuck I will.” She jabbed her whole arm at the door. “Get the fuck out of my house.” She frowned and looked about. “Paul? Jasper?”

  “No one is here,” the man said, undoing one of many pockets on his aged khaki board shorts. He pulled out a long brass bullet and laid it on the arm of the couch.

  Stacey eyed it and the man.

  “You visited a woman and two men in a parking lot.” He reached into the same pocket and produced a tarnished brass case. He placed it behind the bullet before he lifted the lid and pulled something out.

  Stacey looked him over. Despite his manner of speech, he looked like a vagrant. His short cropped hair was blond shot with grey and thinning, cut by himself judging by the shoddiness of the work. His eyes were a milky grey-blue and intense. A strange gold amulet hung around his neck, his only sign of being something other than poor. But Stacey was too wired to care about his bling.

  “What men? All I care about is—”

  “Were you not in a parking lot not too long ago?”

  Stacey stood straighter. “So what? You a cop? You don’t look like one.”

  The man picked the bullet up, a smirk on his lips. “Not quite.” With a twist, he screwed off the long point.

  Stacey took a step back. The bum thumbed at something, revealing the bullet to be a lighter as a flame leapt to life. He lifted the item he pulled from the case to his lips. A self rolled cigarette.

  As he lit up, she went around the seats, leaving a good distance between herself and the man to check the rooms. Paul’s room was empty and in a mess, but that was normal. Jasper’s was also empty, in its usual neat freak tidy. Stacey stalked back into the lounge room and glared at the stranger, keeping a coffee table between them.

  She was angry, stoned and drunk, not stupid.

  “Where are they, you sick fuck?” Her voice was almost a growl with the menace it held.

  “I said, sit.”

  Her shoulders pushed back and she stood taller, nostrils quivering as they flared. “I’m not fucking sitting, so just tell me where my boyfriend and girlfriend are.” She wanted them both here, now. To know they were safe. And to help her kick this crazy bastard out. Unable to stand it, Stacey stormed around the low table to tower over the man. “I swear to God, if you’ve done anything to them—”

  The light in the room dimmed sharply. Stacey glanced up at the bulb. As she did, it brightened, glaring far more than it should have been able to, blinding her. As her hand rose to shield her eyes, the wind was knocked from her.

  The bum’s shoulder was in her gut, folding her in half. Stacey felt herself lifted as he rugby tackled her, flinging them both against the high back of the sofa beside her. As her rear hit the cushioning, she felt his weight on her. Then the seat, along with them, keel over.

  The old frame of the sofa cracked against the hard floor. There was a bright flash and a loud pop. The light went out.

  Stacey’s vision was a strobing purple spot where she had been looking at the burnt out bulb. She blinked furiously as she tried to push the bum off her. When she couldn’t move him, she slapped and punched blindly until his arms released.

  She scurried away on her rear, the man a black and purple shadow shape. She turned to stand and run for the door.

  He grabbed her ankle in a tight grip and yanked. Stacey fell on her hands and chest, the breath knocked from her again. She felt herself slide across the tiled floor as he pulled her toward him. Then he was on her. A rough, calloused hand smothered her mouth and nose, the other crushing on the back of her neck.

  “Shhh,” he said in her ear, voice soft.

  Breath ragged, heart punching her ribs, Stacey sat as still as she could.

  Her hands shook on the back of his where she had been trying to pull them off. The smell of dirt on his skin filled her nose. The smell conjured a vision of her lovers laying in shallow graves. Their wide vacant eyes filmed over. Pale-blue naked skin splashed with dark blood, lips purple.

  He shushed her again before she felt him lift her by her head. The hand on her nape peeled away, her hair sticking to his rough skin. He pointed over the couch. She glanced down his arm and along his finger and followed it as it gestured skyward.

  Stacey’s eyes widened.

  A dark, tarry substance leaked from
the shattered bulb on the ceiling, coalescing above the old coffee table. It drooped halfway to the surface, formed into a pulsing sac-like ball that hung by a leprous chord that seemed to feed its growth. It looked like a diseased organ, a wet skin the colour of rotting flesh. As her vision returned though, she saw it was more nuanced, almost smoky, ephemeral dark colours roiling in slow motion within.

  A golf ball sized boil formed on one side of the sac and popped, a stalk with a lidless eye at its end pushing out. The eye scanned the room. As it swung in their direction, the man pulled Stacey down, putting a cautionary finger to his lips.

  She nodded in slow understanding.

  He removed the hand from her mouth. Her chin trembled and she swallowed. “What the fu—”

  The man huffed a sigh through his nostrils and closed his eyes in frustration. At the same time, the creature emitted a high screech.

  Stacey and the man jumped as one to look at it over the couch. She watched it in horrified fascination.

  The cyclops eye pointed in their direction, focused intently. Below it, a slit had formed and emitted the shrill noise. As she watched, the lipless mouth filled with needle teeth. It gnashed its newly formed jaws, mewling. Deep in that dark maw, Stacey saw lashing tendrils, like a school of black squid that had inked in the mouth of a mutant shark.

  “Fuck me!”

  The things umbilical severed and it dropped to the table on two backward-hinged legs ending in clawed feet that emerged with a slither before it landed. It made a sound like a phlegmy bark at them before it leapt.

  Stacey felt herself pushed aside by the man, who rolled away as the creature cleared the sofa. It landed behind them and scrabbled on the tiled floor. Its thick claws clicked against the hard surface as it careened and slid into the wall. It would have made for a comical moment if the creature hadn’t imploded, turning itself inside out to face them once more. Its eye swung left and right. Then it chose a target.

  Stacey fled the oncoming nightmare on hand and knee as it sped after her, hissing. She rolled and thrust the thick heel of her boot into its ace. The large eye burst with a wet pop. The creature howled as juices splashed over her foot, and she rolled over to escape. But something held her. She shot a look back.