Monsters in the Midwest ( Book 1): Wisconsin Vamp

by Scott Burtness

  Herb slid his arms into the sleeves and buttoned the front. He rolled his shoulders, grunting in satisfaction and smiling a wicked smile when he felt the fabric slide and whisper awesome.

  The pillow he’d worn to replace his former paunch sat questioningly on the bed. Herb picked it up and patted his stomach as he considered his options. Not wearing it meant they were definitely going to notice he’d lost some weight, but he didn’t really feel like bowling with a pillow hidden under his shirt. Quickly reaching a decision, he decided to face the world as skinny-Herb and tossed the pillow back onto the bed. It struck the ragged blankets at the same moment that the sun dipped below the horizon. Finally free to leave his home and clad in his bowling finery, Herb strode to the Pinto, fired up its four manly cylinders, and set out to make history.

  Chapter 27

  Bay City Bowlers was packed. Herb checked in with Slow Johnson at the registration desk for his lane assignment. Dallas and Stanley were already laced up (or Velcro’d up, in Stanley’s case) when Herb walked over and deposited his bowling bag.

  “Hey guys, how’s it going?” he greeted them with a nervous grin.

  “How’s it going? How’s it going?” Dallas jumped up and started to jig around in circles. His enthusiasm was infectious. Soon, Herb and Stanley were clapping in time to his ridiculous jig. Heels kicking higher, arms waving and fingers snapping like a backwoods flamenco dancer, Dallas chanted in a sing-song voice, “King Pins! King Pins! How we gonna roll?” Still clapping, Herb and Stanley hollered in unison, “Like kings! Like kings! That’s how we roll!” The three gave a whoop, instantly dispelling the tension Herb had been feeling all evening. Finishing their customary pre-game chant with a flourish, Dallas gave a hoot and smacked Herb on the back. Old Herb would’ve usually been knocked off balance by the affectionate whack, but new Herb barely swayed. Instead, he returned the gesture, thumping Dallas on the back and giving a hoot of his own. Dallas went reeling, tripping over himself and landing in a pile near the molded plastic seats facing the lane.

  “Holy shitballs, Herb! Guess I’ve had a few more than I thought. That, or you’ve been working out.”

  “Yuh-you do look good, Herb,” added Stanley. “Buh-buh-Billy Blanks Tae Bo? I got them DVD’s too, but ah, I nuh-never really used ‘em none.”

  Herb latched onto Stanley’s suggestion faster than a drowning man catching a life preserver. “Oh, yeah! Um. Billy Blanks. Saw the infomercial. Awesome workout. And the. Um. Atkins diet. You know. High protein, and uh,” inspiration struck, “no beer.” He laughed self-consciously as he turned profile and patted his slimmed-down midsection. “Works wonders. But I’ll be staying sober for this one.”

  Dallas had picked himself up and threw an arm around each of the guys. “Thank Elvis. Last time we was here, you drunken monkeys made a mockery of the sport. Now, I’m not bringing this up to make anyone feel bad or ratchet up the pressure. No, I love you guys too much to do something shitty like that. I’m just saying, keep your game faces on, and stay frosty. Herb, you not drinking beer gonna mess with your game?” He flexed his bicep and pulled Herb’s face closer to his own, staring intently at Herb.

  “Um. Ah. No! No sir. My game is good. Great. Um, super great!” Herb stood a little straighter, and found that he and Dallas were actually of a height. Maybe he’d always known that, but usually he felt short next to Dallas. “Big D, you got nothing to worry about here. We’re going to rock this night Billy Ocean style.”

  Dallas beamed. “I have no idea what the hell that means, but it sounds good. Stanley, you and me are drinking for three. But I swear on my old scout instructor’s necktie, if you get drunk and roll like you did in the Big Letdown, they’re gonna find your body at the bottom of Green Bay. Now, go get some beers.” Dallas clapped Stanley’s back and sent him scurrying for the bar while Herb settled into the rhythms of the bowling alley. It had only been a couple of weeks, but everything felt so different. The noise of the crowd was a layered tapestry. Cocking his head from side to side, he could identify voices, actually hear individual words from people in the farthest corners. As he concentrated on the myriad of voices, he realized a startling similarity to the whispers he’d been hearing. It was like he could faintly hear the conversations of the entire world, voices from the present and ghosts from the past all adding their voices to the collective. Breathing deep, he opened himself up to the night around him. The smells of wood oil and shoe disinfectant, sweat and smoke, beer and fried grease wrapped around him and through him, at once slightly nauseating and softly comforting. It was a feeling of belonging, of being in his element, his natural habitat. Always the outsider, Herb suddenly felt at home.

  Turning his head, Herb took in the crowd. There was Fancy Dan and his teammates Dylan and Two-shirt Bert. A large and sweaty man, Bert usually had to change shirts about halfway through an average game. Looking beyond that trio, Herb saw Moe, Gerry, Wyatt, Joe, Ted One and Ted Two, Rick, Alan, Dozer, Tiny Tony, Jimmy, Steve-O, and a host of other regulars from Trappersville. Wives and girlfriends mingled with the menfolk bowlers while cagey-looking cougars prowled the edges. All those faces that he’d seen over the years. How many of them had eaten the food he prepared at Ronnie’s and never looked twice at him? How many had passed him in the aisles at the Get’n’Gobble, a quick meeting of eyes sparking an awkward, “Oh, hey. Yeah, you’re uh... Um. Well. Good to see you,” before hurrying down the aisle? How many of them bullied him in junior high, or passed him on the right at four-way stops? And even in a town as small as Trappersville, how many remembered his name? But tonight, none of that mattered. That was the former Herbert Knudsen. Little did they know that the Herb sitting in their midst was something else entirely. Settling comfortably into the lime green molded plastic chair, Herb breathed in again, pulling all the threads of the night deep into his lungs, and exhaled slowly. Tonight, he was going to introduce Trappersville to the new and improved Herbert Knudsen. They’re going to know me, he thought. Unbidden, a darker thought followed. Even if it kills them. Every last one of them.

  Chapter 28

  Stanley had returned with the beers while Herb and Dallas were taking a few warm-up rolls. They were slotted to start their first match in 20 minutes and Dallas was immersed in his “lube and limber” routine. According to him, you had to prime the engine by slamming the first beer exactly fifteen minutes before your first game, and rolling five balls. Not four, not six. Four wouldn’t warm you up nearly enough, and six ran the risk of tweaking your back or chaffing a thumb before the game officially began. Once the game commenced, the perfect ratio was half a can of Milwaukee’s Best every three frames, or two beers a game since you’d slam the second half of beer number two before rolling the third ball of the tenth frame. Despite also being a firm believer in lubing and limbering, Stanley was still terrified of Dallas’s warning about the Big Letdown of ’03 and was nervously nursing his beer. Watching them drink was making Herb thirsty. He’d made it a point to grab a quick snack before heading over. Not wanting to draw any attention or get involved in a complicated game of stalk, suck and whammy, his new favorite pastime, Herb settled for a rabbit. While animal blood could quench his thirst and perk him up a little, it was really pretty gross and nothing compared to the real deal. The more he dwelled on it, the more he realized he had probably made a big mistake. Tonight was the finals, the winner of which would take home all the glory. Herb couldn’t roll his best after a mere bunny. No, he needed some real blood.

  Herb turned his attention away from his friends and scanned the crowd again, looking for someone he could single-out of the herd. Everyone was clumped into twos and threes, no stragglers to be seen. Deciding he would be more successful on the move, he gave the guys a quick wave.

  “Gonna swing by the bar and hit the little boy’s room. Put me third on the rotation and I’ll be back in a minute.”

  “Whatever, douchebag. But if you’re late for the match, I’ll tie you to the front of Deloris and drive through a crowded cow fie
ld,” Dallas responded with a smile. Stanley just took another timid sip of his beer and gave a friendly thumb’s up.

  Herb moved off through the crowd and headed toward the bar. Heads turned to follow his movement, unknowing sunflowers tracking the brightest object in the room, before returning to their conversations. Bodies moved out of his way, subconsciously shifted by his presence and then pulled back into his wake as Herb subtly parted the crowd like Moses practicing on a local pond before the big show. No more did he have to be content with tapping shoulders, politely excusing himself, zigging and zagging through a resisting crowd of unawares and unconcerneds. He couldn’t help but smile as he drew closer to the bar’s saloon doors and stepped through.

  Chapter 29

  Rhonda was working furiously while the bar back struggled to keep a steady supply of mostly-clean glassware on the ledge and fresh ice in the bins. People were lined up at the bar two and three-deep waiting to order. Herb calmly walked up behind a younger couple, placing a hand on a shoulder of each. Both turned their heads back and were caught in Herb’s dark gaze. They each shifted to the side, allowing Herb to slide in between them and belly-up to the bar. Rhonda flew past him once, twice without even looking up as she grabbed beers, poured well whiskey, tossed twists and plunked olives into a variety of drinks. Knowing his time was short, Herb waited until she neared him a third time and quietly said her name.

  “Rhonda.”

  Sound receded and time slowed to a molasses-crawl as Rhonda looked up midway through scooping ice into a rocks glass. Her eyes met Herb’s, widened slightly and then her face went lax.

  “Oh. Hi Herb. Nice to see you. What would you like?” she asked in a pleasant, slightly vacant monotone.

  “Hello Rhonda. You look lovely tonight.” Herb thought for a brief moment. He could order a beer and just not drink it, trying to keep up appearances with the guys. Or he could try something different. Something... new. “Could I trouble you for a bloody Mary, please? Oh, and no ice.” Herb smiled, never taking his eyes from hers.

  “Of course Herb. Right away.” Her eyes stayed melded to his, waiting for his approval to look away. Still smiling, Herb nodded and glanced to the side. Awareness snapped back into Rhonda’s eyes, and her smile widened, became genuine. “Herbert! Holy hell, you guys made the finals. Let me get that drink for you. On the house, buddy. On the house.”

  As Rhonda whipped up the bowling alley equivalent of a bloody Mary, topped off with a strip of day-old bacon and a pickle spear, Herb’s eyes moved around the bar. There. Her. His eyes settled on a youngish woman he didn’t recognize, standing by herself on the far side of the bar. Brown hair feathered back, puffy bangs, a slight pout. She glanced at her watch and looked around the bar. She pulled out a flip-phone, closed it, returned it to her purse and looked around the bar again. Perfect. He didn’t recognize her as a local, which meant she was probably in from some nearby town to watch the finals. Whoever she was supposed to meet was obviously a no-show, and she was alone. Just perfect.

  As the young brunette looked around the bar again, her eyes met Herb’s. Like a hare in a snare, Herb felt her heart rate jump for a fraction of a second before Herb’s whammy wrapped her up like a wool blanket. Still looking deep into her eyes, he accepted the bloody Mary from Rhonda, oblivious to her words as he started to work his way around the bar. Arriving on the far side, he took the girl’s hand and drew her toward a dark corner in the back. Sure that his hold on her was solid, he risked breaking eye contact for a second to quickly scan the crowded room. No one was paying them any attention, as most people were either thoroughly engrossed in their current drink or focused on getting their next drink. Turning back to the brunette, Herb tilted his head toward a utility closet door near the corner of the room. She reached out, turned the handle and pulled the door toward them. Still holding her with one hand and carrying his drink in the other, Herb drew her quickly into the closet, closing the door behind them.

  The darkness in the closet was absolute, but Herb could see easily and kept his gaze fixed on her now sightless eyes. He could feel the butterfly wings of her pulse as her deep, subconscious panic warred against his enforced calm. He slowed his breathing and hers slowed in time, synching with his. He drew her arm up, felt his fangs snick into place, and gently bit down on the inside of her bare wrist. The girl moaned softly as Herb began to gently suck on the wound he’d inflicted. Each drop was electric, burning his throat and chest as the girl’s life became his own. Still focusing on her eyes, he moved his drink up under her wrist and pulled his head back a little. Blood ran in thin rivulets down her wrist and dripped into his drink. Squeezing her wrist caused more blood to well out, but the girl gasped in pain. Holding her wrist more gently, Herb leaned in and pressed his bloody lips to hers. Instantly, her body sagged as her knees went weak, and she leaned in toward him, pushing herself into the kiss. Herb massaged her wrist again and this time the girl didn’t react at all, completely absorbed in Herb’s kiss. After a few more moments, Herb disengaged and drew back, her mouth searching in the dark for his. He bit his lip and brought her wrist back to his mouth, kissing it gently and rubbing his lips across her skin. The puncture wounds closed as Herb licked the remaining blood away. He lowered her arm and took an experimental sip of his drink. The vodka burned and the V-8 and Worcestershire tasted... like blood. Like yummy, spicy blood. Another sip and his stomach held its ground. Aaahhh, that’s nice, he thought.

  “What’s your name?” he softly asked, returning his attention to the girl.

  “Mary,” she sighed, her voice heavy with longing.

  OK. That’s funny, thought Herb with a sardonic grin. “Nice to meet you Mary. You were waiting for someone, weren’t you?”

  “You,” she sighed in reply, leaning toward him.

  “Oh, um. No, not me. Your friend. You were supposed to meet a friend here, right?”

  “Friend,” she agreed.

  “OK. So, you wanted to call your friend, but the bar was too noisy. So you came into this closet by yourself to find a quiet corner to make a phone call. You’ll try to call your friend two times. If they don’t answer, give up and come back into the bar. You will have no memory of me. Do you understand?”

  “Yes,” she whispered, her voice now sounding forlorn.

  “Ok, Mary. Um. Thanks for the drink. Now, take out your phone and dial your friend...” The illuminated keypad of her phone was like a small sun in the pitch-black closet. As her attention turned toward the phone, Herb reached behind him to grasp the doorknob and slowly open the door. Backing out of the closet and closing the door, his rear end ran right into Rhonda’s son Jasper, causing his cosmopolitan to slosh.

  “Oops! Sorry about that,” Herb offered, placing a hand on Jasper’s shoulder and looking into his eyes. “My bad. But at least it was a free drink, right? Hell, your mom hasn’t charged you for a drink since you were twelve.” The same eyes that moments before had seduced a complete stranger now bored like shards of black ice into Jasper’s.

  “Uh. Um. No. I’m not upset. Not at all. Sorry I got in your way. Sir. Ah, Herb. Sir.” Jasper’s voice quavered as he cowered.

  “No harm, no foul,” Herb offered magnanimously as he slid back through the crowded bar. “I was just getting a drink.”

  Chapter 30

  Herb rejoined Dallas and Stanley a few minutes before their first game was scheduled to start. Dallas pulled them in close for a huddle, occasionally glaring at the opposing team, the Finkley twins Ted One and Ted Two, and their third Roy, on the other side of the ball return. The twins weren’t both named Ted. Ted One was Theodore and Ted Two was Edward. But that barely lasted past grade school. Both preferred Ted, and since Theodore was born 6 minutes earlier, he got to be number one. Sometimes things just work out, Herb thought with a smile.

  “Bring it in, guys. Bring it in. Now, this is normally where the coach would make a long and impassioned speech about the Davids and the Goliaths and the underdogs and Rudy’s and whatnot. But I ain’
t your coach. Tonight, I ain’t even your friend. Tonight, I’m the guy that’s gonna kick your ass around the block with steel-toed boots if we lose. You got me?”

  Herb and Stanley’s heads bobbed in unison.

  “I said you got me?!” Dallas repeated more loudly.

  “You betcha!” Stanley burst out at the same time Herb whooped, “Hell yeah!” The three broke their huddle, turning to Roy and the Finley’s, Dallas wearing a hunter’s smile, Stanley fist-pumping the air, and Herb clapping Stanley on the shoulder. The two teams shook hands, exchanged empty pleasantries and quickly got down to business.

  Since Herb had Dallas finagle a later slot, the first four teams had already bowled and the bracket board was slimming down rapidly. Fancy Dan, Dillon and Two-shirt Bert had moved past round one and were about to start their second game. Out of the 24 teams in the bowling league, only eight were in the finals, so it was going to be a fast and furious evening. Each match-up rolled one game, and the winner advanced to the next round. After three rounds, the final two teams would compete in a winner-take-all smack down. This was a serious business and Herb fought to quell the butterflies in his stomach with another sip of his Mary bloody Mary.