Torn wd-2

by Stefan Petrucha

  “Namana,” he said, but she kept singing. He said it a little louder, “Namana?”

  “Eh?” The spell was broken. She was back in the room.

  “The song. Where did it come from?”

  She gave him a dreamy, demented smile. “From mommas and grandmommas singing to their babies.”

  He shook his head. “No, I mean where did you learn it?”

  “Oh. Well, when I was a girl, my great-grandmother used to sing it to me. No one liked her very much. She was good to those she loved. Not to those she didn’t.”

  “Was she a witch? Was your great-grandma magic?”

  Namana shook her head. “No.” Then she thought better of her answer. “Maybe. I don’t really remember. I just remember she loved me. And that she was very old. Older than I am now. They didn’t like her, though.”

  “Who didn’t like her?”

  “People in the town. You can’t like everyone. She had her ways.”

  “The thing in the song—did the people in the town think it was real?”

  She went quiet. Her eyes were closed for so long Devin was afraid she’d fallen asleep. His memory again flashed to the toy he had held in his hands. He’d never had a teddy bear. What was it?

  He was about to repeat the question when she leaned forward and whispered, “It comes with the song.”

  Devin’s heart started beating faster. She knew. Maybe she could help. “Why, Namana? Why does it come with the song?”

  She made a light gargling sound and managed a shrug of her thin shoulders. “I don’t know. Maybe it likes the song. Wouldn’t you like a pretty song that was about you?” Her eyes twinkled with a light he remembered from long ago.

  Is she joking with me? Is this a game she thinks we’re playing?

  “No, Namana, tell me. It’s important. It’s so important.”

  She picked her hands up and her fingers danced a little in the air between them, acting out the beast’s movements as she spoke. “It comes to take revenge against people who’ve been bad to you. It comes to whoever sings it just right. It looks around at whoever called it, into their heart, and sees who they think has been bad. Then it gets them, gets every last one they think is bad. That’s why people never liked my great-grandma. She thought a lot of them were bad.”

  Devin’s head was swimming. Whoever sings it?

  It suddenly made horrible sense. Devin had summoned it. It’d killed Karston because he’d stolen money from Devin, Cody because Devin was disgusted with his behavior. And now it would come for…Cheryl?

  An image of the thing’s long arms, wrapping its claws into her long hair filled his head, its sharp teeth and squat face looking oh so familiar.

  Oh no. He could practically feel it in his hands. The toy, the furry toy he cradled in his hands when Namana sang to him. It wasn’t a teddy bear. He liked monsters, even as a toddler. He had a grotesque stupid little monster doll, with short legs, long arms, and a batlike face. And he loved it because it scared him so much. Rotted and broken, the pieces had been thrown out a few weeks ago, along with his robot collection.

  “Why does it look like that?” he said, more to himself than his grandmother.

  “It looks like whatever you want it to. Whatever you think is most horrible,” she said calmly.

  It’s me. I made it. I called it. Even onstage, Cody was riffing, but I sang the melody straight. And the little lights danced around Cody’s and Cheryl’s heads.

  His face dropped. He felt himself going pale.

  “Namana,” he whispered. “Why would you ever sing such a song?”

  She chuckled and nodded her head. “To remind you to always be good. But you never had anything to worry about, Devin. I always thought you were good.”

  She narrowed her eyes again and made her voice low. “All babies are good. It’s only when they get older they’re bad.” She chuckled at that, maybe remembering her own misspent youth. “Then,” she concluded, “they’re all bad!”

  Her hands rose and she jabbed her index fingers, stabbing little points in the air. “And the spirits of the dead hear the song, too. They come and try to warn whoever’s singing. Stop, stop, stop, they say, with their little mouths and their little hands, but no one ever listens. No one hears them. They’re just too small for this world. To small and worn out, like your old Namana.”

  Devin exhaled and leaned closer, making sure she was looking him in the eye.

  “Namana, this is important. Is there any way to destroy it? To stop it?”

  She smacked her dry lips twice and moaned a little before speaking. “Look at my hand,” she said, raising it between them both. Her eyes widened as she marveled at her own body. “All old and wrinkled. This is what a hand does if you keep it around long enough. Hands get wrinkled. Children go bad. That’s it. That’s all.”

  Devin felt himself getting frantic.

  “What about what it says in the song? What if you lie to the angels? Does that mean something? Anything? Can they help?”

  She puckered her wrinkled lips and shook her head. “Pht. No, no, no. That wasn’t in the song. I made that part up so you wouldn’t get too scared. There’s no way to stop it. It just likes the song. It likes being sung about.”

  Devin’s face must have registered his agony, because she reached out and patted him on the cheek. “But don’t you worry. You’re a good boy.”

  “I have to go,” he said. He stood sharply, but Namana moved faster and grabbed his arm. There was so little muscle to her fingers he could feel the bones dig into his flesh, as if they were claws. Instinctively, he tried to pull away, but her grip was so tight he nearly lifted her whole body out of the chair.

  “A good boy!” she said, over and over again.

  13

  The next day, despite his plans to attend Cody’s wake at four o’clock, after a quiet time at home Devin McCloud went missing. He’d taken his parents’ SUV, all the cash in the house, clothes, and some of his music equipment. There was no note left behind, no nothing. The police pretended to commiserate with his distraught parents, but really, they were now convinced he had something to do with the murders.

  He himself also now knew that he did. For a while, he hoped maybe he was crazy like they thought, that maybe he had killed Cody and Karston and only imagined the creature. It didn’t matter anymore. The solution was the same.

  By sunset, Devin sat on a certain large rock just outside Macy, where he watched a yellow band of dying sun as it shone between the upper branches of a row of tall trees. This was where he and Cheryl met when they couldn’t find anyplace else to be alone, back when they were together, which seemed so long ago. He was confident his parents and the police wouldn’t think to look here, at least for what he hoped would be more than enough time.

  At his back, half-built McMansions peeked through the thinner woods that sat along the dirt road, but here was where construction had stopped. The swelling suburbs behind him, he faced a forest where birds chirped and squirrels rustled in the trees. It was a light, cheerful sound.

  The SUV was parked as close to the rock as he could get it, engine idling. His Ovation was on his lap, plugged into a practice amp. He plucked the strings of his guitar and sang:

  Sun is low, the sky gray, gray, gray,

  All day’s colors gone,

  Your heart beats slowly, drowsy eyes,

  Soon your dreams will come.

  He sang as best he could, inhaling hard and breathing out slow in an effort to get the low notes just right. He wasn’t Cody, but, he thought with some strange pleasure, that he came pretty close.

  He had to summon it here, or else it would be coming for Cheryl soon. He had seen the dots swirling around her head in the video. The spirits must’ve known she was cheating on him, tried to warn her even then. And the MP3 of the club gig was making its way across the Internet, with Devin’s recorded voice calling to the creature again and again. It was only a matter of time. He had to stop it. He couldn’t let her die. Or anyone e
lse who happened to earn his anger while the song was on the air. This was the only thing he could think to do, to hold up some bright and shiny object to lure it away.

  Himself.

  Would it work? It followed the song and took revenge on whoever the singer hated. Now that Devin hated himself for causing the death of his friends, by rights it should follow him. That should be enough, shouldn’t it? His only worry echoed a question Cody had asked him so long ago: Was he bad enough to be worth its while?

  A branch snapped. He stopped playing. It might’ve been the wind, but he couldn’t be sure. With his eyes he again measured the distance to the SUV. Could he make it to the driver’s seat? Get the car in gear and gun it before the thing reached him?

  Sure. Sure he could. Then he’d drive, fast and hard, as long as he could, with his giant monster toy chasing him. He could take it to the middle of a city where everyone could see, or a military base where they’ve got the big guns, or the desert where neither of them would ever be seen again.

  Just so long as he could take it somewhere away from Cheryl.

  He wasn’t even sure he’d forgiven her for Cody. He only knew he didn’t want her to die.

  When the cracking sound failed to come again, Devin figured it really was just the wind, and went back to his playing. As he sat there, strumming, singing, he thought he felt the little spirits around him, tickling his skin, trying to pull him away with their weak, ethereal hands and vain pleas. He imagined Cody among them now and thought he knew what he would say. While the others would be screaming, “No! Stop! Run away!” Cody would be there, away from the crowd, bopping his head, saying, “Yeah, man, go ahead. Do it. DO IT!”

  Don’t start, sweet child, lay still, still, still.

  Angels on their way

  Will ride the breeze tonight to ask

  If you were good today.

  No further cracking came, but a minute later a car engine whirred behind him. Tires crunched on the dirt. The police?

  He spun. No, no, no. Worse. Cheryl’s little red Civic pulled up beside his SUV. Of course she knew where he’d be. Crap. Why’d he picked this place? Did some stupid selfish psychotic part of himself want her to find him? He had to get rid of her, fast.

  Really fast.

  Their eyes met through the windshield. She got out. She was wearing the same black dress she’d worn at Karston’s funeral, the one that looked too good on her.

  The band of yellow light was gone by now, replaced with something redder, dimmer. A chill filled the air. Cheryl pulled her sweater tightly around her shoulders as she spoke. “Devin, what are you doing here? Everyone’s looking for you. The police, too.”

  Devin stood atop the rock and waved her back.

  “You’ve got to get out of here,” he said. “You’ve got to get out of here now.”

  She looked in the back of the SUV, saw the red plastic containers. Her nostrils flared at the smell. “Is that gasoline? What are you doing with all that gasoline in the back of your car?”

  “Once I get going, I can’t afford to stop. I’ve got to lead it out of here,” he said. “It’s coming again, Cheryl. It’s coming for you. Because you were bad.”

  Her eyes went wide. “Devin! Stop it! That’s crazy! You’re scaring me.”

  Now it was his turn to look shocked. “What? Karston and Cody are dead and you’re just getting scared now? You saw it. You know what it can do. I’ve got to do this before it gets you! Now, go!”

  She twisted her head back and forth as if trying to shake out the words. “Stop it! I don’t know what I saw! It was dark! I know I started this whole thing with the stupid video, but it’s just dust, like you said! I thought it was cool, I thought it would be good for the band, so I uploaded it and started the rumor! But, really, it…it could have been a Slit or a psycho, like the police said! They’ll catch him and everything will be fine again!”

  So you lied about that, too, Devin thought.

  When his face remained grim, she tried another tack. “I’m sorry about that. I’m sorry about me and Cody, I’m so sorry, but it happened, okay? You’ve got to get out of this crazy fantasy and come home! I feel like I’ve been living in a nightmare and I just want to wake up, okay? I want us both to wake up!”

  Devin shook his head. “It’s real. The song called it. It comes and then it kills whoever I think is bad. Karston stole some money from me and Cody, well, Cody was an asshole. And you…you cheated on me,” Devin said.

  She took a step back, perhaps frightened by something she saw in his eyes. “Devin,” she said, “you’re not taking meth or anything, are you? Maybe even just pot?”

  Devin didn’t bother answering.

  As if a cosmic switch had been flipped, the wind in the trees died. The chattering of the birds and squirrels stopped. Deep in the woods, branches cracked. Not one, like before, but one after another. It was coming.

  “You’ve got to get out of here,” Devin said, hopping off the rock near her.

  “No,” Cheryl said, taking out her cell. “You need help. I’m calling your parents and I’m telling them where you are.”

  In a flash, Devin closed the distance between them and slammed the cell phone out of her hand. It landed in the grass, its light glowing for a moment before dying.

  The crunching branches grew louder. Cheryl snapped her head toward the woods. Devin was strangely relieved that she heard it, too. She pulled at his shoulders, trying one last time to be the bright shiny thing that distracted him. “I won’t leave you! I’ll go with you!”

  The next branch snapped somewhere very nearby.

  A horrible thought came to Devin. He’d sung the song to call it to himself, but even so, Cheryl was here now. What if it still went after her? Did he really think he was bad enough?

  Cheryl looked at him again, eyes wide and sad and said, “Please.”

  She came forward. He felt his body pull toward her, wanting to hold her, to run with her. Could she come?

  No. He had to get off the fence and for once in his life decide, or she would be dead. So he decided.

  He decided to be bad.

  He pulled his arm back and slapped her, as hard as he could, across the face. Then he pulled back and hit her again, harder.

  “GET OUT OF HERE!” he screamed, truly hating himself.

  She stumbled backward, stunned. She looked at him. Her face scrunched up as if she were going to cry, but she stopped herself, no longer willing to seem vulnerable in front of him.

  He didn’t give her a second to react. He came forward, screaming, slapping her, punching her, pushing her back toward her car.

  Am I bad enough yet? Am I bad enough now? he thought as he pummeled her.

  She gasped, shielded herself, ran back to her car and closed the door. He pounded on the glass, on the windshield, howling wildly, trying to make himself as much a monster as he could, as she, near hysteria, fumbled for her keys.

  A loud snap, maybe ten yards away, finally stopped him. He caught a glimpse of a long-armed shadow slipping among the trees. Without even casting Cheryl a final glance, Devin leaped into his SUV, gunned the engine, and spun it toward the sounds.

  Am I bad enough now?

  At once, something leaped from the woods, out onto the hood, its arms, impossibly, nearly twice as long as its legs. It smashed its thick claws down, but the car lurched forward, sending it sprawling over the roof and onto the dirt road.

  Devin threw the SUV into reverse and slammed into it. It felt like he’d damaged the car. The thing howled, maybe in pain, making a sound like the wind, then jumped at the SUV again. The big car spun on the dirt road and moved forward, slowly at first. Devin wanted to make sure the thing would follow. When it did, Devin sped up, pushing the gas pedal, bit by bit, to the floor.

  Inside the Civic, head and body aching, heart shredded, Cheryl wiped the blood from her lips and watched the SUV race away. A dark and hungry thing ripped along behind it, pulling itself with long arms as it leaped—no, flew—from tre
e to tree, not quite catching up, not quite falling behind.

  As long as she could, Cheryl followed with teary eyes as the thing chased the sleek car into the jagged shades of blackness as Devin passed completely through the forest’s edge.

  EPILOGUE

  In Lockwood Orphanage…

  Down the shadowed halls and far above the classroom where Daphne and Shirley sat enraptured by Mary’s tale…

  Anne stumbled out of the Red Room, her face streaked with tears. She felt weak and confused. So much of the dread of that place still filled her head. The Headmistress held the door for her, a look of cruel satisfaction carved on her face.

  “Not so smart now, are you?” the terrifying woman asked.

  Anne didn’t answer. She couldn’t. She heard the words, but the moment they entered her mind, they were swept away in a scarlet tide. Amid this rushing horror, her own thoughts began to emerge:

  Headmistress…Shirley…big-mouthed Shirley…her fault…all her fault…they didn’t come for me…Daphne, Mary…They let her drag me away…the bones…Where are the bones?…my turn to hide the bones…

  A final, horrible remnant of the Red Room, an indescribable terror trapped behind that door with her, flashed through her memory. Anne cried out, swatting the air with her hands.

  Then, the memory was gone.

  “Damn,” Anne whispered. “That so sucked.”

  “Where are your little friends, now?” the Headmistress asked, peering down all superior and pleased. “They didn’t lift a finger to help you. And look, they didn’t even come to see if you were well, after such a difficult night.”

  “They’re not my friends,” Anne said. “I’m trapped here with them, just like I’m trapped here with you. We’re just flies in the same jar.”

  “As long as you hold no illusions about their loyalty,” the Headmistress said. “At least with me, there is no pretense.”

  Yeah, like we’re gonna bond, Anne thought. “Can I go, now?”