The New Neighbor

by Ray Garton

  – its eyes glowed.

  It snapped at the air, clacking its fangs together.

  The reporter standing beside the pickup screamed and slammed herself against the door.

  The dog inched closer to the pickup as its entire body shuddered. Two long black bonelike limbs suddenly shot upward from its shoulders, spread and unfolded into broad, bat-like wings. With one sudden movement of the wings, the creature was on the hood of the pickup, its face little more than an inch from the windshield. Its growl grew louder as its lips pulled back even farther… and farther… until they peeled away to reveal black, ripply skin beneath.

  Pastor Quillerman lifted the microphone to his mouth and shouted, "In the name of god the father and his son Jesus Christ and all that is holy, I command you to leave this place!"

  The creature rose up on its hind legs, swept its wings madly up and down and released a cry that made Quillerman's eyes tear up and his bowels tremble. When it dropped back down on all fours, any resemblance to a dog was gone. Its body trembled and a thick white foam dribbled from its stubby black snout. It snapped at the windshield and its fangs nicked the glass, then it looked Quillerman in the eyes and its glistening black lips curled into a grotesque mutation of a grin.

  "Whatsamatter, Quillerman?" the creature asked in a gleeful, retching voice that was neither male nor female. "Don'tcha wanna join your wife and sons? Don'tcha wanna join your wife, the dyke, and your cocksucking sons?"

  Quillerman's face twisted in horror and he clenched his eyes shut, trying to block the flood of memories that he had avoided for years. The last time he'd seen his family they were all dead by his oldest son's hand – his wife on the bed, his boys lying in a hideous, bloody embrace with their eyes open and their skin the color of dirty snow, and -

  – Quiller man whispered to himself, "No, no, that's over, it's behind me and -" He lifted the microphone to his mouth. " – and I command you to leave this place in the name of Jesus Christ!"

  Two things happened at once: the creature vomited explosively, shooting a thick black substance on the windshield, and it shot backward off the hood of the pickup, shrieking. It landed in a clumsy heap on the pavement, several feet in front of the pickup.

  “In the name of -" Quiller man began again, but the creature flapped its wings and rose from the ground, hovering for a moment as it stared straight into Quillerman’s eyes, then released a cry so full of hatred it made Quillerman briefly nauseated.

  It was gone in seconds.

  Quillerman couldn't move for a while. One hand clutched the steering wheel, the other clutched the microphone and all his knuckles were white and fingers were numb. Suddenly, as if a spell had been broken, his hands and arms relaxed and he looked out the window to his left. At first, he thought the reporter had gone, but then he saw the top of her head rising slowly. She had ducked down beside the pickup. Her eyes were wide, face pale, and she stared at him as if she didn't know where she was.

  Quillerman got out of the pickup and asked, "Are you all right, Miss?"

  "What… the fuck… was that?" she asked, but there was more amazement in her voice than fear. Quillerman was quite amazed to see that she seemed about to burst into a grin.

  Before Quillerman could reply, the cameraman staggered around the pickup and joined them. The woman grabbed his lapels and shook him, saying, "Did you see that? I mean, did you see that? Did you get it? Oh, please, Will, tell me you got that on tape, tell me you got it!"

  He stared at her a moment, then said in a barely level voice that rose as he spoke, "I didn't get it on tape because I was too busy shitting my pants! Now do you believe me? Now can we leave?”

  "You go right ahead if you want, Will, but if you put a hook in my tongue you couldn't drag me away from this story. Just leave your camera."

  "I think he's right," Quillerman said. "You'd better go. It wouldn't be a good idea to stay here any -"

  Something caught his eye and he looked up the street.

  Flashlight beams were cutting through the darkness on both sides of the street.

  People were coming out of their houses and walking slowly toward the pickup. First, a man and woman. Then a child. Two teenagers with a woman. And there were others. Their steps were uneven and some were limping, but they were coming. Quillerman whispered, "Good. Good." He stepped around the reporter and went to meet them.

  * * * *

  Jen gripped George's arm and said, "Daddy, what's happened to Mom? Why won't you tell me?"

  He'd been watching out the window silently, unable to respond to Jen's questions about Karen. What could he tell her? That Mom had decided she preferred to be with the new neighbor?

  "She's over at Lorelle's," Robby finally said.

  Jen stared at him in silent horror, shaking her head. “No,” she whispered. "We have to get her. Did you hear me? We have to get her, Daddy!"

  George put his arm around her and said, "We're going to try, honey." To Robby: "I'm going outside to talk with Pastor Quillerman."

  "I'll come with you," Robby said.

  Jen said "Me, too."

  George looked from Robby to Jen and was about to protest and tell them to stay in the house. But he saw their determination and said nothing. They followed him out.

  As they headed down the front walk, they saw the others nearing Quillerman from both directions, coming out of the darkness in small groups, some with flashlights, a couple carrying kerosene lanterns with golden light that flickered over shadowy faces.

  "Hello, George," Pastor Quillerman said quietly as George approached.

  "What's going on?" George asked.

  "My prayers have been answered. They're coming to talk. I think we might make some progress now."

  Footsteps scritched to a halt on the pavement as people gathered around the pickup. Flashlight beams crisscrossed in the darkness and the people behind them were reduced to murky, faceless shadows.

  George squinted against the lights and searched for a familiar face or figure, but could not make out enough details in the dark to recognize anyone.

  "My husband is gone," a woman said in a voice soggy with tears.

  "Our daughter is missing," a man said.

  A woman beside him added, "One minute she was in the house and the next she was gone."

  A man stammered, "I truh-tried to… to suh-strangle my w-wife today and… and I -" His words dissolved into sobs.

  "It's all right, honey," a woman whispered reassuringly, "that's over now."

  Others spoke up and their words overlapped:

  "I can't find my wife."

  "What has that woman done to us?"

  "We had a fight with our son today and I-I… hit him… for the first time ever, and now he's disappeared." "We're coming apart, our whole family is just coming apart."

  "My husband said he'd kill me if I came out here. I had to sneak out of the house."

  Pastor Quillerman raised his arms to quiet them down. "I know what you're going through," he said. "I understand your fear and your feelings of guilt. I realize those of you with loved ones missing are especially upset right now. But please listen to me for just a few minutes."

  George listened as Quillerman told them the truth about Lorelle Dupree. He told them everything that Robby had told George that morning, all the things that George wouldn't listen to then. They listened silently as Quillerman spoke in his best pulpit voice. Then:

  "Thanks to young Robby here, we think she’s trapped in her own house right now.” He stepped over to Robby's side and put an arm around his shoulders. "Unfortunately, some of your family members are in there with her. They are there of their own free will, just as many of you gave in to her of your own free will. But you might be able to change that. With words of encouragement to your sons and daughters and spouses, you might be able to draw them out of her house. If we all resist her, reject her, there will be nothing to keep her here. She will have no choice but to go.”

  “Why can't we kill the bitch?" Mr. LaBian
co asked.

  Quillerman hesitated. “To be honest, I don’t know how to kill her.”

  “She seduced my husband!" a woman shouted. "In just a few days, that bitch destroyed my marriage!"

  "Please!" Quillerman said, raising his arms again. "I know you're angry and you have every reason to be, but you must let go of that anger. It will only weaken you. It demeans you, and that is precisely what she wants. She feeds on it. It’s important to let go of that anger and hatred. We’re all human, we are weak. We must pray to god for – “

  ”I don't pray," a man said coldly.

  "Yes, I understand that some of you may not have any religious beliefs. Perhaps many of you. But you can still let go of the anger and hatred you feel toward her. You can – “

  ”I'm not so sure I believe what you say about her," another man said.

  Quillerman turned to George in desperation.

  George's mouth opened and closed as he searched frantically for something to say.

  "Some of you probably know George Pritchard, here," Quillerman said. "He has been going through many of the same things you have." He looked at George again, nodding encouragingly.

  George said, "My family and I… well, like all of you, I'm sure… we got involved with Lorelle and we became uh… my wife Karen is, um, she's over their right now, and -"

  "I don't give a damn, Pritchard," Mr. Weyland barked. "All I want to know is how to get my daughter out of there and how to get rid of that cunt."

  Quillerman sighed. "Please listen to yourself. That kind of attitude is what she wants! You must have compassion for your neighbors, think of the pain they're going through, too, and don't -"

  "I'm thinking of my husband right now," a woman said.

  A man shouted, "And we're thinking of our son!"

  "I thought you wanted to help us," another man said. "You're a man of god. Wouldn't god want us to stop that slut?"

  “Yeah!" Mrs. LaBianco shouted. "Christ kicked the moneychangers out of the temple, why shouldn't we kick that twat off our block?"

  “How the hell're we supposed to do that?" Mr. Parker asked.

  "Drag her out by the hair if we have to!" Mrs. LaBianco replied.

  "No, no, please listen!" Pastor Quillerman shouted.

  "We are listening," Mr. Weyland growled, "But you're not telling us anything!"

  "I'm trying to tell you something," Quillerman said, his voice lower now, more calm than before. "I have been through the exact same thing you're going through! I wish someone had come along and tried to help -" His voice broke and he cleared his throat, then lowered his voice a bit. " – tried to help my family. But no one did. So I haven't had a family for many years, thanks to a creature just like the one in there," he said, pointing at Lorelle's house. "But that doesn't have to happen to you."

  "It's already happened to us!" a woman shouted. George recognized the voice as that of Trish Mason. She and her husband lived at the end of the street with their three kids. "My husband is gone and I want to get him back before it's too late. You're not telling me how to get him back."

  "He has to make that choice himself," Quillerman answered.

  "What if we make the choice for them?" Weyland asked.

  "Fine," Quillerman said. "Then why aren't you storming the place? Why aren't you bursting in there and rescuing those people? I think it's because deep down inside, even if you don't admit it to yourself, you're afraid of Lorelle Dupree. But I'm trying to tell you that you don't need to be afraid of her! You have a much greater power at your disposal. Your love for your sons and daughters and husbands and wives could bring them back to you if you'd just let it. But you mustn't give in to the dark, angry part of yourselves that she's trying so hard to bring out! She wants you to -"

  “He's a madman!" a woman's voice shouted from a distance.

  Everyone turned and shined their flashlights in that direction.

  Lorelle stood in the same window in which Robby had seen Karen earlier. She wore a red robe open just enough to bare a narrow strip of pale flesh down the front.

  "Don't listen to him," she said. "He's a liar. A crazy liar! He'd be in a mental hospital if he didn't have his pulpit to hide behind!"

  "Don't listen to her!" Pastor Quillerman shouted, raising his arms high. "Wear the armor of righteousness! Fend off the arrows of evil!"

  "Listen to his holier-than-thou talk!" Lorelle shouted at them. "Have I talked to any of you that way? Have I done anything to any of you? I've done nothing!"

  The crowd was silent. No one responded, but looks were exchanged, brows creased.

  “If I've done anything at all, I've given you pleasure. You know that's true, each one of you. You know in your hearts that this lunatic is lying to you. And as for your friends and loved ones who are here with me… they are here because they want to be. You may not like it, but they are here by choice. " Over her shoulder: "Isn't that right?"

  A chorus of voices rose in agreement from the darkness behind Lorelle.

  George put his arms around Robby and Jen and said, "Go back to the house."

  "That was Mom's voice!" Jen shouted, pulling away from him. “I heard her!” She took several steps toward Lorelle's house as she shouted, "Mom! Come home! Please come home! Mom?"

  Silence. Everyone stared at the window, at Lorelle.

  "I don't want to!" Karen shouted.

  A whimper escaped Jen as she spun around and faced George. He embraced her and whispered in her ear, "Please, honey, please go back to the house now."

  Before she could do as he had said, a frightened man's voice called, "Carl? Carl, your mom and I want you to come home now. We're sorry for what happened earlier and we'll -"

  "Fuck off!" a young male voice shouted back.

  "Marlene?" a man shouted. "Marlene? Hon? Please come out of -"

  From behind Lorelle, a woman giggled drunkenly and the man who had called for Marlene whispered, "Oh, my God."

  Lorelle said, "I don't care what he says – these people have chosen to be here and no matter what you do, they won't leave until they choose to leave. They don't want to come back to you right now." She paused, then: "Of course… you could always come join us.”

  “No!" Quillerman roared, raising a hand in the air. "If you go in there with them, you'll all be lost!"

  Laughter came from Lorelle's house. When they turned toward it again, she was gone and the window was black once again… but undefinable shapes moved in that blackness and laughter rang out now and then as if a party were going on, as if toasts were being made and jokes were being told…

  "If they don't want to be with us," Mr. Weyland said, "why should we go in there and get them"

  Everyone spoke at once and their voice blended into an incoherent babble, but the tone was unmistakably one of angry agreement.

  "Wait a minute, please!" Pastor Quillerman shouted. "You're not hearing me!"

  "We hear you fine!" someone sneered. "You're just not worth listening to!"

  "Wait, please, aren't there any Christians here?" Quillerman asked.

  Several voices rose affirmatively.

  "But," Mrs. LaBianco said, "being a Christian doesn't mean I have to sit still for that woman, that-that… whore in there! She doesn't have any of my family with her, but I've been married for thirty-one years and I don't take kindly to some bitch coming into my life and screwing up my marriage!"

  "But you allowed her to!" Quillerman said.

  "Yeah," a woman replied angrily, "just like my husband is probably allowing that slut to do god knows what with him in there right now!"

  Quillerman spread his arms and cried, "But most of you here allowed her to do these things! How can you pass judgment on -"

  A heavy black flashlight flew out of the darkness and struck Pastor Quillerman with a sharp crack across the bridge of his nose. He fell back against the pickup and released a whimpering sigh as he slid limply to the ground.

  George and Robby knelt beside him and George shouted at the crowd, "He was
just trying to help you! Why did you do that?"

  Quillerman, stunned and bleeding, rolled his head back and forth slowly as he groaned.

  No one responded to George's question. They simply stared at the fallen pastor, moving their flashlight beams over him as they whispered and hissed to one another conspiratorially.

  "That's probably going to need stitches," George muttered.

  Robby whispered, "Dad, I don't like this. I'm scared. These people are getting… well, mean."

  "I know." George looked around at them, snapping at one another and arguing. He tried to make out what they were saying.

  " – should've listened to the pastor."

  "I've been a Christian all my life, I don't need some lunatic telling me -"

  " – say we just go over there and bring them out."

  "Hey, I've got a can of Kerosene in the garage," Weyland said, "we can take it over there, empty it on her house and -

  " – but what about all the others in the house with -"

  "Fuck 'em if they want to be with her. What was that the old guy said? Something about wearing the armor of righteousness? Well, there's nothing righteous about anybody who wants to be with her!"

  "My god," George breathed, closing his eyes. "This is insane, completely insane."

  "Dad, what should we do?" Robby hissed. "Mom's in there, and these people are talking about burning the place down!"

  George turned to the pastor, who was trying to sit up. He took a handkerchief from his back pocket and handed it to Quillerman, then asked, "You gonna be okay, Pastor?"

  Quillerman nodded and waved him away with one shaky hand while pressing the handkerchief to his bleeding nose with the other.

  George stood and looked around until he spotted Jen. She was standing in the middle of the street, staring at Lorelle's house. Quiet sobs shook her shoulders. George gripped Robby's arm and said, "I want you to get your sister, go into the house and wait there, okay?"

  Robby nodded.

  "Don't come out unless I call you and don't let anyone else but me into the house, got it?"