AFTERTASTE

by Scott, Kyle M.

  Leaning back from the monitor bank, the tall man brushed his hands through his jet black hair and closed his eyes.

  Seems that Mystery Incorporated are onto us, he mused.

  Whatever shall we do, now?

  The tall man thought of all the many willing customers who had eaten, drank and shat in his restaurant, in the few short days since he opened its doors. He thought of all the blank faces as they ate. The slack jawed confusion that each and every one of them experienced as they finished their food and came around, as if awakening from a fever dream, and made for the doors; the quiet shame at their gluttonous nature, unbidden.

  He thought of what they had digested, as they started their cars, hugged their parents, unleashed their dogs and hopped on their bikes, only vaguely aware of their behaviour with Waldo’s walls.

  He thought of worms, and growing parasites, and teeth that could eat so much more than mere flesh.

  CHAPTER 9

  Gemma sat, cross legged, on the carpeted floor of her room, surrounded by a wall of teddy bears, pink ones, fluffy brown rabbits, plush dolls that almost matched her in height, and a whole assortment of Disney characters from all her favourite movies.

  She smiled, feeling secure in her little lair, close to all her friends. Her teddies and dollies never judged her, never asked anything of her, never laughed when she was sad and cried, and never ever bossed her around like her mommy and daddy did. They were of love and asked only love in return

  Not like her parents, who always had another chore, another harsh word, another garden needing mowed while other kids on Rosenthal Street frolicked in the sun, tasting the day to its fullest, or another huge pile of dishes waiting to ruin her good mood.

  Sometimes, Gemma thought her parents only had her so they had a slave to do their bidding. Like any child of nine years old, she huffed and she puffed and she often wanted to blow their house down, but she knew in her heart she was powerless, and in her deepest of hearts, she loved them.

  Most of the time.

  Now was not one of those times.

  Gemma had been grounded for the evening.

  She cocked her ear to the open window, listening to the mocking cries of her friends at play outside in the afternoon light. She envied them and their frivolity, each and every whoop and holler cut through her young heart like a dagger.

  Gemma wondered if parents ever really understood the value of childhood, or had they once understood and had the magic torn from them over time?

  These were ideas too fast and too dark for her to fully contemplate, though they danced around the embers of her inner fire, coaxing her young mind into the shade, beyond the light.

  I didn’t do anything wrong!

  Gemma lashed out with her small arms, craving only to hurt.

  Two of her favourite teddies; a huge white polar bear and a small plush Scottish terrier that rested by its bosom, toppled to the floor silently, where they stared at her with black, button eyes, accusing her.

  “I'm sorry,” she quickly repositioned her friends; shame making her feel sickly as she did so.

  She leaned forward and kissed the large teddy on its forehead, and she imagined its heart beat a little faster, just for her.

  Just outside the window, feeling a million miles away, the sounds of neighbourhood children and their reverie fought for dominance with the gentle buzz of lawnmowers and the passing of slow moving cars.

  It’s not fair!

  She hadn’t done anything wrong!

  All she had said was one bad word, and that had been it. She’d been sent to her room with shocked expressions and no dinner to tide her over.

  It wasn’t even that bad a word...

  Cunt.

  Since when did words hold power? she mused, brimming with anger, What strength did a word hold?

  She’d heard plenty of kids use the word at school and on the streets, and it never caused her any harm. Not like that awful Clarence boy from two streets up, who made her life a misery every chance he got, stealing her candy, pushing her to the grass and pulling her hair.

  Sticks and stones will break my bones, but words will never hurt me.

  So why had calling her mommy a ‘cunt’ been such a big deal?

  She would never understand her parents.

  Not one bit.

  Daddy had used the word plenty of times when he thought no one else was around and he was watching the football. Mommy had never used it, but she used other words when she talked on the phone to her friends – dickhead, fuck, bitch, asshole.

  Why were grown-ups allowed to use bad words and kids weren’t?

  She had been having fun when mommy demanded she tidy up her room, and she firmly believed the room could wait, so when she yelled, ‘CUNT!’ at the top of her voice, the anger that passed over mommy’s face had come as an honest shock.

  She’d been dragged by the cuff of her Despicable Me T-shirt, and marched straight to her room like a prisoner in one of daddy’s action movies, and now here she was, trapped and alone, except for her ever-faithful teddies.

  And Clive.

  She heard him purring before she saw him.

  Two of her dolls took a topple as he pushed his way through the wall of comfort she’d constructed, and she huffed at his approach. He could be so lame sometimes.

  Without welcome, Clive lifted himself onto Gemma’s lap and raised his head to meet her face. His soft fur caressed her smooth skin, tickling her as he moved back and forth, needling her for affection.

  She stroked the hair beneath his chin, as his purring increased.

  It looked like he was smiling.

  It always looked like he was smiling.

  And no wonder.

  No one ever asked Clive to do any work around the house. All he ever did was lick himself clean, sleep, eat, and occasionally enter her bedroom demanding attention.

  And in return, he was fed, watered, given hugs and cuddles any time he desired them, and, even worse, he was allowed to come and go when he pleased. Free as the wind, while she was stuck in the pink prison of her room.

  Life sucked.

  She yelped a little as he dug his claws into her skirt, striving to find the perfect position in which to curl up, close his lazy yellow eyes, and do absolutely nothing.

  “Not now...I'm playing with my friends, Clive!” She tried to push him away, but he kept coming back, with that constant smile and the unending purring that rattled from his soft belly into her groin.

  “Would you like to go out and play?”

  The cat responded only with more purring, and one soft meow.

  “Aww, come on, at least you have your freedom. Come on, Clive, I’ll put you out.”

  Clive hopped from her lap as she got to her feet, and began circling her calves, rubbing his body against hers. She bent forward and scooped him up in her small arms as he meowed once more.

  Gemma walked to the window, and holding Clive with one hand, she pushed the handle upwards, opening the window the whole way. The soft, clean air of the slowly waning day hit her like fresh mint, as she took in the vista outside.

  Seeing all the kids playing was even worse than hearing them. All those smiles, all those luminous eyes, filled with a carefree glow.

  “Yes, let’s put you out to play, kitty.”

  She clasped Clive in both her hands. “You’ll have to go out the window, though, I’m not allowed out my room.”

  Clive gazed up at her with those dreamy eyes of his, and then she threw him as hard as she could.

  As he spun through the air, wailing in terror, she caught his eyes one last time. They were wide and terrified; she fancied she saw her betrayal reflected back in the animal’s manic glare.

  The cacophony of his wail was cut short as quick as it had started, replaced with a loud crack, as his head collided with the asphalt of the driveway below and split open like a rotten egg.

  Gemma stared down and the cat’s broken body, marvelling at the way his bones poked through his fur i
n so many places, like little jagged teeth.

  So entranced was she, that it took her a moment to register the silence that filled Rosenthal Street. The laughter of her friends and neighbours had died with the family pet, and the emptiness of the afternoon was music to her young ears.

  She looked down on all the horrified face of the children below, whose bikes had stopped dead and whose water-pistols had dropped from their numb hands.

  Then the crying started.

  First one child, a little girl call Jen from across the street, then another, then another, until the June afternoon sounded like a vacation in hell.

  “HAVING FUN NOW, YOU CUNTS!?”

  She slammed the window shut with a crash, and went back to her toys, humming a gentle tune as she played.

  CHAPTER 10

  John’s eyes never left the restaurant as he spoke. “There’s something wrong here,” he said.

  Slim’s scanned the exterior of Waldo’s, taking in the strangely glutinous customers as they wolfed down their meals with nary a care for etiquette or shame. It was one thing to see children drool food over their chins as they ate, maybe even the elderly could be forgiven for such a lack of public mores, but the majority of those seated outside under parasols and on wooden benches were either teenagers or the middle-aged, and without fail, each and every one of them looked lost in their hunger.

  It was like watching hopeless crack-addicts scoring their long-desired fixes.

  Her stomach tumbled as she watched them.

  People could be real pigs.

  “You got that right, John,” she agreed.

  “I take it you heard about yesterday?” he asked, quietly.

  Slim wondered at his apprehension to speak loudly, and found that she reckoned it probably pretty smart. She felt an uncanny need for covert behaviour, surrounded by these animalistic people.

  “I did. Have you heard from Sam yet? I tried calling him earlier today, but his line was dead.”

  “Not one word on my end, either, Slim. I tried to get hold of him last night...”

  Slim’s attention was drawn elsewhere.

  “Are you listening to me?” he asked, annoyed.

  “One second.”

  John watched as Slim turned to the window. She was watching her father intently. He had finished his meal and now wore a slightly bedazzled look as he pulled on his jacket. He caught her eye and waved to her, a look of mild confusion etched on his face.

  Her eyes never left him as he made his way to the door and stepped into the daylight.

  He approached them, slowly.

  “You okay, Dad?” Slim asked, resting her hand on his chest.

  “I think I’ll walk home,” he murmured.

  “I’ll come with you.”

  “No...no, honey.” His eyes seemed to clear, and he smiled, more fully this time. “I’m fine, sweetheart. Think I ate too much. It’s only a few minutes’ walk. I’ll see you tonight.”

  He hugged Slim and walked away, seeming more steady on his feet now.

  She turned to John. “Sorry, you were saying you tried to get hold of Sam...”

  “Yeah...and I couldn’t.”

  “Meg mentioned that. Pretty weird...”

  “She beat me to it, huh? I tried calling you earlier, too. Got the engaged tone...” John left the words hanging.

  “John, don’t.”

  Slim knew of his infatuation with her, she also knew that John had a streak of jealousy when it came to Meg. He’d never said anything, not to Slim or anyone else, but it was obvious that he resented Meg’s hold over her heart.

  “Sorry,” he muttered.

  She pushed the conversation forward.

  “I heard that the owner had Sam taken to hospital, and that he wasn’t there when you called. She mentioned his parents had been ignoring you, too.”

  “You don’t know the half of it...”

  Slim’s eyes darted around the eating customers, checking to see if any were listening into their talk. Everyone was oblivious.

  “What’s happened, John?” she asked, looking him in the face. He turned to her for the first time, and Slim saw real fear scuttling like a wary insect behind his features.

  “I went over to their house today. To Sam’s house...”

  “And...?”

  John took a deep breath. “At first, I thought there was no one home. The blinds were drawn and the place was quiet. I’m really close to the whole family, you know how close we are, and as the car was in the driveway, I figured that Mrs Stevens would likely be home, especially considering her son had supposedly been sent home from the hospital.”

  “Supposedly...?”

  “Yeah, well...I’m not too sure that he was even in the fucking hospital at all. I’m not sure he made it home, either.”

  Slim frowned, “But he has to have made it home. There must have some sort of mix up, or maybe he was taken to a different hospital. It’s not unheard of. Anything could have happened.”

  “Yeah, anything could have, but it didn’t .”

  “How do you know that?”

  “I spoke to his dad.”

  “I thought you said no one was home.”

  “Turned out they were home, and they were watching me.” John gulped as he spoke, the memory clearly disturbing him.

  “Tell me, John?”

  “There was someone watching me from the window...Mrs Stevens, and then Mr Stevens caught me off guard. Appeared out of fucking nowhere, right behind me. Like he’d been sneaking up on me.”

  “You don’t think they were avoiding you, do you? Why would they do that?”

  “I don’t know, but they were. And when he came up behind me, he was...holding a garden tool...shears.”

  “He must’ve been around the back when you knocked. I'm sure it’s...”

  “No, Slim!” John caught himself raising his voice and lowered it. “He...he threatened me.”

  “What are you taking about?”

  “I asked him about Sam. You know...trying to find out how he was, and he told me if I ever came back he’d...”

  Slim felt a little sick, now. Her nerves already frayed from the strange experience with the old lady and the kid inside the restaurant. Looking inside, she saw them, still sat there, stuffing food into their mouths without a care in the world.

  And had her father really said those words?

  “Fuck off then...”

  Couldn’t have.

  She was hearing things.

  “He’d what, John?” Slim wasn’t sure she was ready to hear the answer.

  “He said he’d kill me, Slim.”

  The air seemed to clog up around her as John spoke. As crazy as his story sounded, she believed him. The two had known each other for years, and he’d always been a trustable and genuine guy. The look on his face was one of fear and paranoia, not dishonesty.

  “Why would he say that?”

  John came in close, “I think he was hiding something...what happened to Sam. I think Sam’s...”

  Slim read the pause.

  “No, John. Don’t think like that. He can’t be.”

  “They took him, Slim. They took him from this fucking place last night and he hasn’t been seen or heard from since. This is a bad place. I don’t know how or why, but something’s wrong here. I can feel it. I mean, just look at them...” John nodded over her shoulder.

  Slim didn’t need to turn to understand his meaning.

  This is nuts, she thought. “It’s just a restaurant, man. Whatever’s going on with Sam’s family has nothing to do with this place.”

  “It all started here!” he hissed under his breath. “The sickness...the disappearance...his mom and dad acting fucking psycho. It all started here, Slim. Just look around you. People are changing.”

  As much as she wanted to deny it, Slim felt the truth in his words, insane as they were.

  There has to be an explanation.

  “We’ll go talk to the manager.”

  “No!” h
e blurted, much too loud for comfort. “I’ve been watching this place for a while now. Every time he shows face, the staff...they...they cower before him.”

  “He’s a manager, John. Everyone cowers before their manager.”

  “This is different.”

  Slim jumped as her phone rang. With unsteady hands she reached into her pocket and checked for the caller.

  It was Meg.

  John’s frustration with Slim was building. She was a smart girl, the smartest he knew, but it was obvious she was fighting this thing. The look on her face as they’d been speaking betrayed her real thoughts. She knew something was up.

  He could hardly blame her for not wanting to believe. He didn’t want to believe himself. But the things he’d seen...

  Mr Stevens words echoed in his head: “Then I’m going to squeeze them up your asshole and start snipping.”

  A cold shiver ran the length of his spine as he waited for Slim to finish her call.

  She had her back turned to him, the phone pressed tight against her ear, and she was whispering. As he waited, he noticed a few of Waldo’s clients get up from their seats. They looked dazed, drugged, as though they had just come down from an unwanted high. As they gathered their belongings and made for the street, they looked like facsimiles of their ordinary selves; confused and bewildered.

  John was suddenly desperate to get away from this place. Feeling watchful eyes on him, he raised his head and spotted the camera. It was pointed directly at himself and Slim.

  We have to go.

  Now.

  He only got so far as reaching to touch Slim’s shoulder when she turned to face him. She looked a little dazed herself.

  “What’s happened?” he asked.

  “Meg...she said...she said her little sister killed the family cat. Say’s she found her in her room, singing and playing like nothing had happened.”

  Slim gritted her teeth, “Let’s head over to Sam’s place and find out what the fuck is going on over there. Then, after that, we’re going to Meg’s.”

  John’s smile was grim, “You read my mind.”