Tales of Misery and Imagination Part 4
"Investigate?" I snorted. "At night, in the forest? What're you, nuts?" But I guess I was even nuttier, because I went along with the idea and we set off into the woods, flashlights blazing. We had covered about twenty yards when Wes fell off the cliff.
He hung there like the Scarecrow of Oz while I wrestled his clothes loose from the barbed wire, his griping interrupted by yelps of pain as some body part or another found its way onto one of the tiny spikes. I think he was more angry about the fact that he kept hurting himself while I remained relatively uninjured than he was about his torn clothes or the cuts and sc.r.a.pes he'd received in the fall. The only thing I'd done so far was get some trail mix in my eye. He didn't want to hear it, but Wes was actually pretty lucky if he hadn't hit that chunk of fence, he would've kept going for another fifty yards or so.
Despite his aches and pains, Wes wanted to continue exploring. We made our way down the hill, since it was easier than climbing back up to the trail we had been on (and Wes was complaining enough already). The woods there were much thicker, the canopy of trees shutting out nearly all the moonlight. It was impossible to tell how far away we were from camp. If there was Bigfoot country at all in these parts, we were in it.
"We forgot to mark our trail," Wes nervously pointed out.
We stopped, shining our flashlights back the way we had come. There was no sign of our pa.s.sage; it was as if the trees had grown up behind us as we moved through them. "We haven't been hiking that long, have we? If we start marking it now, I'm sure we can find our way back from here," I said hopefully.
Of course, neither of us really knew what to mark the trail with; as we moved on, we made little arrows from twigs and rocks, but the ground was so heavily littered with such things that, in the darkness, our markings were instantly swallowed up. I tried to talk Wes into using strips of his torn shirt, but he didn't think that was very funny. Hesitantly, we picked our way through the forest for another fifteen minutes or so, trying to joke around so things wouldn't seem so creepy.
Then we heard it. A mournful, echoing groan.
Bigfoot. Sasquatch. The Skunk Ape. It had to be no other creature could make such a freakish sound. And it was close.
Wes grabbed a handful of my shirt and wouldn't let go. Something was making its slow, plodding way towards us, snuffling and wheezing as it trudged through the dense undergrowth. I heard what must've been a small tree falling, pushed over by ma.s.sive, skull-crushing hands.
I raised my flashlight just as the creature burst through the trees in front of us. A glimpse of wet, devilish eyes and matted fur then my flashlight tumbled from my hands and I took off running. Wes, still clinging to my shirt, practically tripped over my heels as he followed, shrieking the way I would have if I could've forced a sound out of my constricted throat.
I could hear the beast right on our tails. Risking a glance over my shoulder, I saw the dark shape gaining on us. Oddly, it wasn't running upright like a Bigfoot ought to; instead, it was galloping along on all fours, snorting and raging.
A bear.
Wes and I exploded from the treeline and raced up the hill towards the piece of fence Wes had become so friendly with. In the moonlight, I took another look at our pursuer, half expecting to see its fearsome claws swiping at me. Instead, what I saw almost stopped me cold in surprise.
"It's a cow!" I yelled, continuing to run; cow or not, it was obviously really mad.
"Where?" Wes screeched, thinking I'd seen some new threat. He finally let go of my shirt as we scrambled past the fence and up the hill. Both of us were stumbling around like crazy in the dark and he needed both hands to keep from falling down.
The cow relentlessly pursued us, but the steep incline slowed it down some. The beast mooed with fury as we struggled up the drop-off and back to the trail above. Feeling safe, we took a second to catch our breath, watching as the crazed cow paced back and forth below us.
Suddenly, the cow charged the embankment, angrily trying to hurl itself up the slope to where we stood. "Let's get outta here," I yelled, taking off in the direction of the campsite.
Our relief upon reaching camp was quickly shattered. The tent was swarming with racc.o.o.ns, drawn by our food. Trail mix and beef jerky were scattered everywhere; frantic racc.o.o.ns tussled with each other for choice tidbits.
"We're in the Twilight Zone," Wes said morosely.
We approached the tent hollering and waving our arms, but those lousy racc.o.o.ns didn't budge. Not until the cow came bellowing out of the trees and smashed through the tent, anyway. I managed to grab a backpack (it turned out to be Wes') as we took off out of there, that vicious cow stomping along at our heels, mooing and grunting. It chased us all the way back to the pickup, then kept after us until it eventually disappeared in the dust cloud kicked up by the truck.
Every bit of our camping equipment was gone and somewhere along the way, Wes had lost one of his shoes. We're paying Wes' dad for the lost equipment as best we can, but it's gonna take a long time. Even though it was the weirdest experience we've ever had, when we told the story at school we said it was Bigfoot that cost us our allowances. I mean, come on a deranged cow? Whatever.
As I mentioned in the foreword to this collection, none of these stories managed to make it into print anywhere. They Don't Drive Cars is one of the few that actually came close. It was accepted for a small press anthology, but the publisher's bas.e.m.e.nt flooded and there went the money for the book. After that, I submitted the story to a certain well-known horror/ fantasy magazine and received a rejection letter that was, without doubt, the snootiest heap of a.s.swipery I've ever personally seen committed to paper by an editor. I kept that letter for a long time before tossing it out - now I wish I still had it just so I could reprint it here.
Despite the response from that particular editor, They Don't Drive Cars is one of my favorite stories in this book and would probably make a pretty cool movie, now that I think about it.
THEY DON'T DRIVE CARS.
Aaron had been hoping to sit through the entire Leave it to Beaver marathon on TV Land without interruption at least until he had to leave for work but by 2 AM his belly was a.s.serting that food was better than the Beaver. He'd already exhausted his supply of snacks, not thinking that the bag of Salsa Verde Doritos should've been held in reserve for just such an emergency.
His stomach gurgled aggressively. One of those microwave breakfast sandwiches from Freddy's All-Nite would go down real smooth, Beaver or no. It was tough to bail on the show when the Beav's pals were about to d.i.c.k him by wearing their normal, mom-approved clothes to school instead of the cool monster shirts the fellas had picked up the day before, but Aaron could deny his hunger no longer. He slipped on his shoes, grabbed the car keys and lit out, leaving the TV on so as not to miss a second when he came back. Canned laughter echoed as he shut the door behind him.
Aaron knew he was lucky to have a place like Freddy's All-Nite, considering the entire population of Charlton, New Mexico was about the size of the cast of Leave it to Beaver. He'd been the local paperboy for almost ten years now, which meant working during the wee hours and sleeping while the sun was up, and Freddy's had kept him in late-night c.o.kes and junk food. During that time, Aaron had never seen another human being in the place besides Freddy, anyway after 11 PM. He lived in constant fear that the old man would get fed up with it and start closing at midnight.
A peculiar wail emanated from Aaron's stomach. "Jesus," he said, patting his burgeoning gut and steering with one finger. Getting chubby at 25. Didn't change his feelings about that chicken sandwich, though.
The roads were still wet from the most recent rainstorm, which meant another night of wrestling the newspapers into their little plastic sleeves. Aaron hated the things, and was grateful that rain didn't come to Charlton very often.
Aaron pulled into the parking lot at Freddy's. As usual, the place was a tomb. Swarms of bugs battered themselves against the lights out front, filling the quiet night with a soft, steady thunking sound.
As he stepped out of the car, Aaron noticed the rack of STP near the front door had been knocked over, bottles of fuel additive strewn across the walk. He paused to clean the mess up. There was a small trail of thick, dark liquid spattered across the pavement, but Aaron couldn't track down which bottle had sprung the leak and just stuck them all back on the rack.
The new electric eye Freddy had bought set off a chime as Aaron entered the store. The old man was nowhere to be seen. "Hey Freddy, how's tricks?" Aaron said, a little louder than he meant to.
After a few seconds, Aaron lifted his foot and thrust it back and forth through the beam of the electric eye, setting off the chime a few more times.
"You in the s.h.i.tter?"
He poked his head around a couple of the aisles, then glanced toward the counter. Both restroom keys still hung from their nails. Heading to the back of the store, Aaron tapped on the storeroom door. "Freddy?"
He put his ear to the door, listening for some sound of the old man. Remembering the upturned STP rack, Aaron quickly walked the length of the store, the electric eye chiming again as he went outside.
Rounding the corner of the building, Aaron felt his stomach do the hokey-pokey.
There was a s.h.i.tload of blood slung from h.e.l.l to breakfast back by the restroom doors.
Aaron took a couple steps back, stopped, turned his head to stare at the spilled STP. Only it wasn't STP.
"Aw, Freddy..." He shuffled towards the mess. Crouching, Aaron rested hands on knees, his eyes fixed on a fat June bug wallowing in a particularly large splatter.
Then the guy came out of nowhere, slamming into Aaron and sending them both tumbling a.s.s-over-teakettle through the smeared blood and into the alley behind the store.
Rolling to a stop in a puddle of grease-slicked rainwater, the two men came up in a gory tangle. Terrified, Aaron flailed wildly with both fists, trying to fend off his attacker. The guy yelped as a blow connected with his nose.
"a.s.shole!" he shrieked, blood gushing from his nostril. "Lemme go!"
Aaron continued to sling fists with abandon as the guy struggled to disentangle himself. Wrestling a leg free, he awkwardly kicked Aaron in the chest and scrambled away.
"They're gonna get us!" Blood was coursing from the man's nose, dribbling onto his already-stained shirt.
Aaron sat up in the puddle, finally recognizing the man. "Lucas? What the h.e.l.l wait!"
Lucas had made his feet and was sprinting blindly down the alley. "Screw you!" he yelled back.
Further down the alley, a rectangle of pale light spilled out through a gap between two buildings, silhouetting Lucas as he fled. Aaron jumped to his feet, wincing at a sharp pain in his knee, and took off after him. Lucas Douthat was the only customer on Aaron's route who always gave him a Christmas bonus, and he figured he'd better smooth over that b.l.o.o.d.y nose.
As Lucas ran into the strip of light, the creatures took him down.
Aaron skidded to a halt, panting, eyes wide with shock.
The things dozens of them, each one no more than eight inches tall moved as a unit, like a school of fish, flooding out from between the two buildings and swarming over Lucas's thrashing body. He shrieked as he disappeared beneath the frenzied horde.
Aaron stared, useless, as the things darted in and out of the throng, tearing at the man. The creatures moved so fast he couldn't get a clear look at them. Even the two standing at the edge of the swarm, heads swiveling like prairie dogs standing guard, seemed almost to vibrate with barely-contained energy.
As suddenly as they had appeared, the creatures began scurrying away, headed back between the buildings. As the swarm dissipated, Aaron could see Lucas's shredded remains, one claw-like hand uplifted, flesh torn from the fingers. The last creature one of the guards darted in and snapped up a treat in its tiny jaws. The thing ran off, a length of intestine trailing behind it.
Aaron stood in silence for a long moment. When he released the breath he'd been holding, the sound made him jump.
"Holy s.h.i.t," he muttered.
He took a step forward, then froze.
One of the things had flitted back into the alley and was staring at him, its tiny head c.o.c.king at a dozen different angles, like a dog on Dexedrine.
Aaron held his breath again, felt in his pocket for his car keys.
Another creature darted in to stand next to the first, their heads moving in unison.
Aaron turned tail and ran like h.e.l.l.
Instantly, the two creatures took off after him, the entire swarm spilling around the corner behind them as if caught in their jet stream.
Feet pounding the damp pavement, Aaron tugged his car keys from his pocket. Fumbled them. The keyring clattered to the ground at his feet, caught the toe of his shoe and went skidding across the asphalt to wind up in a puddle of blood.
Without slowing down, Aaron scooped up the keys and hauled a.s.s to his car. He flung the door open and jumped in just as the swarm began pouring out of the alley, skittering towards him.
He jammed the key into the ignition and slammed the car into reverse as the engine caught. The car laid rubber, obscuring the creatures in a cloud of smoke.
Aaron wiped a b.l.o.o.d.y hand on his pants and gripped the steering wheel as the car bounced over the curb and into the street. Dropping it into drive, Aaron peeled out again. He watched in the rear view mirror as the G.o.dd.a.m.n things poured into the street, ran through a confused circle, then scurried off to disappear amongst the buildings again.
So now what? Aaron's gaze flicked from the road ahead to the bloodstains on his shirt. He was practically wheezing, sucking air like an old man climbing stairs. There wasn't even a police station in Charlton nearest cop was sixty miles down the highway, in Estancia. And what cop would believe Aaron's story, anyway? A bunch of quivering little monsters with lots of teeth ate a guy while he watched? He suddenly felt like Steve McQueen in The Blob.
He needed somebody to back him up.
Aaron spun the wheel, whipping his car into a left turn. He was impressed that the old beater had performed so well under pressure; the car had a tendency to choke and die when asked to accelerate away from a fast-food drive- through window.
Another left took him onto Howard road, where his friend Noel lived. There were no curbs out here; Aaron rolled the car to a stop in Noel's muddy front yard and jumped out. Tromping to the door, Aaron banged with one hand and rang the bell with the other. After a short barrage of this noise, a light came on in the bedroom and Noel's angry, narrow face appeared through the parted curtains. Aaron very faintly heard the words What the f.u.c.k? and the curtains closed once again.
A few seconds later Noel opened the door, still in the act of zipping his pants. "Man, you'd better not be wakin' me up to help with your f.u.c.kin' paper route," he grumbled, voice thick with sleep.
Aaron pushed past his friend, leaving muddy footprints as he entered the house. "I need to use your phone and you've gotta help me."
"You wake me up at two-thirty to teach you how to use a phone?" Noel's crusty eyes followed the trail of mud as it extended down the hall and into the kitchen. "Look at that s.h.i.t, man..." He shuffled off after Aaron, shaking his head in annoyance.
In the kitchen, Aaron had pulled Noel's phone book from a drawer and was flipping pages. "What's the number for the cops?"
"I dunno, 911," Noel said, dropping his bony b.u.t.t into a chair. "What's goin' on?"
Aaron stabbed the three digits and waited. "Lucas Douthat got killed by h.e.l.l, by some kinda freaky things. And I think they got Freddy, too."
"You're all b.l.o.o.d.y," Noel mentioned, finally noticing Aaron's filthy shirt.
An operator picked up and Aaron talked fast, hoping to avoid too many questions. "I'm over in Charlton. Somebody's been killed outside Freddy's All-Nite. No, it was animals. Coyotes or something a whole pack of 'em." He looked over at Noel, who was staring at him like he was a lunatic. About what he expected. "Yeah, I'll wait there for you. Thanks." Aaron cradled the receiver.
"Coyotes?" Noel asked.
Aaron shook his head. "I need you to come with me."
"Aw, man," Noel said.
Aaron's b.u.t.tcheeks nibbled the seat cushion as he guided his car into Freddy's parking lot once again. There was no sign of the little creatures, but who knew where the b.a.s.t.a.r.ds might be hiding?
"What are these things again?" Noel mumbled through a yawn.
"I told you I don't know I didn't get a clear look at them. They're like a bunch of piranhas or something."
"But they walk."
"No, they run like striped-a.s.sed apes."
The car came to a stop in the same parking s.p.a.ce it had occupied earlier. Noel reached for his door handle. Aaron frantically grabbed his arm.
"Wait." Staring out the window, Aaron unbuckled his seat belt, then turned to face Noel. "All right. Try to keep quiet and stay with me. Don't go wanderin' off by yourself, okay?"
Noel rubbed a meaty nugget of sleep from his eye and flicked it onto the dashboard. Aaron's lip curled. "Sorry," Noel said.
"Did you hear me?"
"Don't worry."
Satisfied, Aaron lifted his door handle and slowly pushed the door open. The hinges howled like a wildcat in heat. "s.h.i.tfire," Aaron hissed.
Noel had better luck with his door. It swung open with only the slightest squeak and he leaned out, peering around. Confident there were no strolling piranhas lurking nearby, he stepped out.
The two men met in front of the car, backs to each other, mindful of the darkness around them. "Let's get a flashlight," Aaron said. "I don't wanna run into those things in the dark."
Aaron and Noel entered the store. The chime went off. Both men leapt skyward. They came down gasping, looking at each other in embarra.s.sment. Recovering, Aaron found the aisle he wanted and selected a cheap flashlight, then went to the counter and grabbed batteries.
"I don't know where Freddy is, but Lucas is out in the alley." Aaron unscrewed the flashlight cap and dropped the batteries in. He flicked the light on, played it around.
"So why do we have to go look at him?" Glancing around furtively, Noel s.n.a.t.c.hed a Kit Kat bar. "I don't wanna see some chewed-up dead guy."
"Just play along, w.i.l.l.ya? Let's go." Aaron started for the door, setting off the chime again.
"Jesus!" Noel yelped. "Why the h.e.l.l did Freddy install that d.a.m.n thing?"
Aaron held the door for Noel. "He's got that thing with his bowels. Kids'd hang around outside till they saw him go in the can, then run in and steal candy bars."
Noel bit into his pilfered Kit Kat and followed Aaron around the corner of the building. His eyes widened when he saw the blood smeared across the pavement. "Man, you weren't kidding."