by Keene, Brian
Nicci’s legs were open wide and positioned in a way that made them look as if they were hooked over the shoulders of some invisible lover. There were finger-sized dimples in the flesh around her shoulders. The invisible whatever-it-was was holding her in place above the seat while it was apparently fucking the living shit out of her.
Lily realized the car was bouncing on its springs.
Nicci opened her mouth even wider and screamed as her feet shot upward and kicked at the roof of the car.
Eric groaned. “Fuuuuuuuuuuck this.”
Lily nodded. “Abandon ship.”
They bailed and took several staggering backward steps away from the car, unable to avert their eyes from the otherworldly manifestation even as they sought distance from it. Lily’s heart was doing that manic jackhammer thing in her chest again. Along with her fear came a number of paradigm-shifting realizations, beginning with the newly discerned knowledge that, holy shit, ghosts are real. This fact alone implied several other mind-shattering things. For instance, if ghosts existed, so could a host of other supernatural phenomena, including monsters. Nicci claimed she had been assaulted by a monster on this very property, the same monster that had torn her brother into a million itty bitty pieces. The preponderance of evidence therefore now suggested that Nicci had been telling the truth all along.
Which meant—
Lily turned her back on the car and started moving down the road at a rapid clip.
Eric called out after her. “Hey! Where are you going?”
“Away.”
“Away where?”
She shrugged. “Just away.” She glanced over her shoulder and saw that Eric hadn’t moved. He remained captivated by what was happening in the car. The expression on his face conveyed equal measures of awe and dismay. “Are you coming or not?”
The car stopped bouncing before he could answer.
Lily stopped in her tracks. She was a good twenty yards or more down the road by the time one of the Tempo’s rear doors popped open and a wobbly, loose-limbed Nicci emerged, looking like a drunk leaving a bar after last call.
Eric’s look of dismay gave way to an expression of intense concern as he immediately went to her aid.
Lily wanted to scream at him, “No! Stay back!” but said nothing.
Eric glanced her way. “She needs help.” He shifted his attention back to Nicci, who looked dazed and unable to focus. “Are you okay? Do you need—”
Nicci pitched toward him, her mouth opening wide as she vomited all over his chest. It was an explosion of slime-coated, unidentifiable chunks of organic objects, undigested meat of some kind. There was so much of it Lily knew there was no way Nicci’s stomach could have held it all.
No natural way.
Eric shoved her away and started moving in Lily’s direction.
But something stopped him.
Lily whimpered. “No. Please, no.”
The same invisible something that had fucked Nicci in the back of the Tempo had seized Eric and was easily holding him in place. At least Lily assumed it was the same creature. She would hate to think there was more than one of the goddamn things.
The unseen thing had hold of Eric by the head. This was evidenced in the way he was able to freely move the rest of his body. He thrashed wildly and tried to kick at the thing holding him, but it was too strong.
While he struggled, Nicci started up the driveway toward the house. She still looked like a drunk, weaving and wobbling precariously from side to side as she walked.
Lily desperately wanted to help Eric. He was the only person in the whole world who really understood her and didn’t judge her for being weird. A voice in her head screamed at her to go to him, but a deeper, more primal instinct recognized this for the suicidal foolishness it was and kept her rooted to the spot.
Eric stopped struggling and began to scream.
The reason why became immediately apparent.
The thing holding him was compressing the sides of his head. Eric’s tongue protruded from his mouth, and blood leaked from the corners of his eyes. Then came a crunching sound as the shape of his head began to change.
Lily’s stomach churned as she realized it was the sound of his skull being crushed.
The end came maybe a full second later.
Eric’s head burst in an explosion of red.
Lily screamed.
Then she took off running as fast as she could.
Chapter Fifteen - Bryan Smith and Brian Keene
The line went dead, and Chuck stared at the phone clutched in his trembling hand. The rapid thump-thump-thump of his heart underlined a growing sense of losing control. As a man who had long-prided himself on always having his shit together in all areas of his life, this descent into a state of deep doubt and disarray was especially tough to take. What made it even worse was the dizzying rapidity of the unraveling, which effectively negated his usual ability to take command of a situation and put things right in an efficient and methodical way.
A spasm shot through his stomach and bowels. He belched, grimacing at the taste of acid. He suddenly felt lightheaded. As another cramp tore through him, Chuck sank to the floor. His strength seemed to bleed from him. Nauseated and faint, he drew his knees up to his chest, lowered his head between them, and focused on taking slow, deep breaths. He sat there a full ten minutes before the panic ebbed, and when it did, he carefully got to his feet again.
The rain of shit pouring down on him simply had to cease at some point soon or he might well become as seemingly unhinged as the women in his life. Obviously some nefarious dark force was conspiring against him. A lunatic notion perhaps, but how else to explain what was happening? Because somehow it wasn’t enough that his more-or-less sweet and beloved wife had decided it would be fun to wallow in a level of depravity so epically perverse and disgusting it would make de Sade himself blow chunks. Oh, no. Things clearly needed to be a lot more interesting than that. Hence the revelation that his gorgeous former mistress was now his current gorgeous psycho stalker.
Flavia had made it clear she was not even close to being done with him. Moreover, she would never be done with him, not as long as they both drew breath. Which was maybe a bit of an exaggeration since spurned women have been lashing out at the men who dumped them since the dawn of time.
But there were always exceptions. The ones who couldn’t let go of their anger and allowed it to morph into obsession. Sometimes they made the news, for things like setting the homes of their former lovers on fire or for stabbing them a truly excessive amount of times. Chuck shuddered. The whole Fatal Attraction trip: he could totally imagine Flavia boiling his proverbial pet rabbit in a stew, just like in that old movie.
I’m closer than you think. Those had been her last words before clicking off the line. The implication was obvious—she was threatening him. Maybe it wasn’t a promise to do physical violence—though that was a possibility he unfortunately could not dismiss—but he did believe it meant she would attempt to complicate his life in some way. The most likely scenario involved her coming to his house to cause a scene. And she would probably want to do it when she could be certain Arrianne would be home to bear witness to his shame.
Hell, she could be lurking somewhere down the street right now, just waiting for his wife to pull into the drive. If so, all hell could be about to break loose. It could be the beginning of the end of everything. That was maybe an overdramatic generalization, but it would certainly spell the end of this phase of his life.
Next step: divorce court.
Chuck put his face in his hands and made a sound somewhere between a moan and a despairing laugh. He honestly wasn’t sure whether he should be depressed over that possibility or relieved. Maybe divorce and relocation to another fucking state was the only way he might be able to get his life back on an even keel. Later he could settle down with a normal, more stable woman—if such a creature existed.
His stomach cramped again. Hoping to stave off another panic attack,
he went back into the kitchen and grabbed the whiskey off the shelf, this time taking a healthy slug straight from the bottle. After taking a second slug, he leaned against the counter and let out a big breath.
Calm down, he thought. You can get through this, one way or another. You’ve just got to calm—
A big BOOM! from somewhere else in the house made him jump. He also screamed like a little girl, but this was a detail he knew he would never share with anyone. The sound came again, and he walked out of the kitchen to stand at the foot of the staircase to the second floor.
The sound came yet again.
Yep. Definitely up there.
It sounded like someone repeatedly slamming a heavy door. But that made no sense. No one else was in the house. Right?
He put a hand on the banister.
Ascended the first two steps.
BOOM!
And then one more.
BOOM!
At that point he was able to ascertain two things. One, he was reasonably certain the sound was coming from the attic. Two, he was apparently suffering from temporary insanity. Nothing else could explain his apparent intent to investigate the scary noise.
He told himself he was being ridiculous. What he was hearing was probably related to their earlier problems with pests.
He nodded.
Right. Really, really big chipmunks.
That’s what’s up there.
He moved up another step.
Then he jumped and shrieked again at another loud sound. He stumbled and spent a moment clinging to the banister for balance as he whimpered like a baby. Yet another detail he would leave out of the narrative in the unlikely event he ever shared the story of this day with anyone else.
The new sound came again.
He realized it was someone banging on the front door.
He stood very still for a moment, waiting to hear the sound from the attic again, but the source of it had mysteriously fallen silent. However, the person on the other side of the front door was still pounding away at it. He made a sound of self-pitying disgust as he stood there and nervously ran a hand through his hair. It was possible the person on the porch could be Arrianne. She could be struggling with the dogs and maybe some packages. That was plausible.
But in his gut he knew it was Flavia. It had to be.
In which case, he had better deal with her now. It would be unpleasant as fuck, but maybe—just maybe—he could somehow convince her to go on her merry way before Arrianne returned, thus miraculously averting total disaster.
Which didn’t seem likely, but whatever. He’d find a way to deal with it.
The pounding continued—insistent, heavy … almost frantic.
He descended the stairs and went to the front door, where he stood for another long moment, hesitating again as he watched the door rattle in its frame. This wasn’t just a case of someone trying to get his attention—it was an indicator of deep agitation.
The hammering blows continued. Beneath them, he thought he heard a woman sobbing.
Some of Chuck’s apprehension began to give way to anger.
I have seriously fucking had it with this crazy bitch.
He unlocked the door and flung it open, expecting to confront Flavia. Instead, what he found left him momentarily stunned.
A young woman stood on the porch, both fists raised in an apparent effort to continue her assault on the door. She was probably in her early twenties, Chuck surmised, and attractive in a not-really-trying-to-be-and-couldn’t-really-give-a-fuck sort of way. Her ears, nose, and bottom lip were pierced. She wore no makeup, but her high cheekbones and baby-blue eyes stood out anyway. Her long blonde hair and straight bangs were pretty, if somewhat disheveled, and currently plastered to her forehead with sweat. Her face was panic-stricken, and she’d obviously been crying, but when she saw Chuck, her expression of relief was almost comical.
Before he could speak, she tumbled into the foyer and darted past him.
“Hey!” Leaving the door hanging open, Chuck spun around. “Excuse me … can I help you?”
“Shut the door,” she begged. “Please, mister. You’ve got to help me. Eric … she …”
“Slow down. Who are you, and what the hell is going on?”
“She … and then … oh, God, she’s coming. She’s after me. Shut the fucking door!”
Chuck stood there gaping, one hand on the door, trying to process what was happening. A young woman—obviously distraught and most likely having just experienced some sort of altercation or accident—barged into his home and was babbling about someone named Eric and an unspecified woman who might be the cause of the distress.
Could it be Flavia? Could she have been lurking outside the house, and for some reason have attacked this girl? And who was Eric? Hadn’t that been the name of the kid who had shown up earlier, asking if there were any odd jobs available?
“Please,” the girl sobbed. “Please, mister. I can explain everything. But please, just shut the fucking door before she finds us!”
“Before who finds us?” Chuck asked.
“Nicci fucking Forrestal!”
“Who?” Chuck frowned. The name struck a subtle, familiar chord, but he didn’t know why.
“Goddamn it!” The girl grabbed his shoulders. Her nails dug through his shirt and into his skin. “Please, please, please help me. We’ve got to call the cops or something. She … it killed Eric! He was—” The rest was lost in unintelligible sobs.
Chuck gently but firmly grabbed her wrists and pulled her nails from his skin. Then he led her toward the kitchen. “Come on,” he said. “It’ll be okay. Just try to calm down, okay? I can’t help you unless I understand what’s going on.”
If the girl heard him or understood, she gave no indication. But she did allow him to guide her to the kitchen table. She sat down, balled her fists in her lap, and stared at the floor. Her shoulders shook as she cried.
Chuck opened the fridge and got her a bottle of water. He unscrewed the cap and set it down in front of her. After a moment’s thought, he grabbed a tissue box from the counter and set it on the table as well.
The girl wiped her eyes and blew her nose, balling up the tissues and placing them in her lap when she was done. She ignored the water but raised her head to meet Chuck’s inquisitive stare.
“Let’s start over,” he said. “What’s your name?”
“L-lily. Lily … Fontana.”
“Okay. Good. Now, what’s happened, Lily? Were you in an accident?”
“We … Eric and I … we thought it might be fun to spring Nicci from the loony bin. Sort of a day trip, you know? I said we should … we should bring her back here to the scene of the … where everything happened … and we’d film it maybe … and …”
Chuck gestured at her to pause. “To the scene of what, Lily? I’m not following you. Who are Nicci and Eric? And what’s this about a loony bin?”
Lily took a deep, shuddering breath and then sipped some water. When she started talking again, she seemed to regain her composure. “Eric is … was … my friend. Not really a boyfriend, although we’ve fucked around a few times. He was fun, I guess. Is it me, or is it hot in here?”
As Chuck watched, Lily tugged at her clothing. She seemed to study his reaction. Perplexed, he cleared his throat.
Then she continued. “Eric wasn’t really one to take the lead. Sort of vanilla. But he was open to trying new things. Know what I mean?”
“Look,” Chuck said, “I wasn’t asking about your sex life. You barged into my home, acting like someone had been murdered. You’re not being very rational right now. I think either you should explain what’s going on or leave before I call the police.”
“Call the police,” Lily urged. “Definitely. I’m sorry … it’s just … I don’t know what I was thinking. Maybe I’m just in shock. For a minute, I didn’t feel like myself.”
“That’s okay. Perfectly understandable, given the circumstances. So what happened to Eric?”
&nb
sp; Lily’s expression darkened. “He … something killed him. His head …”
“Was it this Nicci you mentioned?”
“No. I mean, it happened at the same time she got … taken over. Fucked by a ghost. Whatever you want to call it. But I don’t think it was her.”
Chuck decided to ignore the odd statement. Obviously the girl was not thinking clearly or behaving rationally. He tried to direct the conversation with more pointed questions, hoping to divine the facts.
“When you first came in, you said she was after you.”
“Did I?” Lily pulled at her clothing again, flashing more skin. “Well, I was pretty shook up. But no, she didn’t kill Eric. Don’t get me wrong. Nicci is absolutely batshit fucking crazy, but something else killed Eric. I think she’s connected to it, in some way.”
“Connected to what? Your friend’s murder?”
“No. Whatever the fuck it was that happened here in your house. I don’t think she did it. I mean, I thought so until tonight, but after what I just saw? No fucking way.”
“What are you talking about?”
“You know, the death of her brother and all that?”
Chuck stared at her for a moment. His breath caught in his throat. He blinked twice. “Oh my God,” he said. “Nicci Forrestal. Her brother was Sam Forrestal. He used to own this house. I knew I recognized that name! That’s who you’re talking about?”
Lily nodded.
“And she’s here? She’s outside my house?”
“Yeah. She left the car before I did. She was heading this way. But I lost sight of her as I ran.”
Chuck shook his head, even more confused than before. But before he could continue with his questions, the noises in the attic resumed with a renewed frenzy. They were loud enough that Lily jumped in her chair.
“Chipmunks,” Chuck said, nodding toward the ceiling. “At least I think they’re chipmunks.”
“Chipmunks? Sounds more like a fucking rhinoceros, mister …?”
“Chuck. My name is Chuck. And you’re right. It’s getting louder. That’s too loud to be chipmunks.”
