Anthology - Dark Whispers Part 17

...Laura grabbed his arm again and said, "Whoa! Almost lost you for a second there," and he wanted to tell her, wanted to ask her if she'd seen the insect baby, but he didn't dare because if he did he knew she'd think the Craziness was back, and he didn't want for her to think he was crazy just because everyone else did, but then he thought that, yes, it was easy for everyone else to think he was crazy because they weren't the ones out here that night, they weren't the ones who pushed, hit, and kicked their way through to find that little body, little crushed body lying in the long, wide, stone hallway, one tiny gloved hand reaching out as if clutching for someone they prayed would swoop down and save them, head mashed into the cement, skin, bones, brains ground to a sickening pulp, bending low, cradling her in his arms, screaming out, crying out, a howl that was lost under the ma.s.sive roar of the rock'n'roll monsters inside, rocking back and forth, feeling her innards s.h.i.+ft around like the pennies in her piggy bank back home under her bed...I'm so sorry, Gayle, please...please come back... please don't be...don't be like this, dead like this...

...He looked around, blinking away the thoughts, swallowing back the fear, blacking out the memory of the insect baby because he knew he hadn' t seen anything like that, it was just his fear taking over and he wasn't going to let that happen, forcing away the indelible image of his sister's mangled form...just to the right, the figure was just to the right, and he moved quickly, with Laura in tow, asking him if he thought the crowd was acting all right because it seemed to her, didn't he think, that they'd been out here an awfully long time...

...everyone was looking his way now, looking at him through the bloodshot eyes of his father...then the figure again, moving just ahead of them, and this time he heard it cry out, not very loudly, but there was just a moment of silence from the crowd...a fraction of a moment, where all seemed to freeze in the night and allow that sound to come over and find him, so he tightened his grip on Laura and began moving again...

...He noticed the noise of the crowd was almost deafening now, slicing into his ears like a sub-zero wind, so he shook his head and kept moving, acutely aware that his father stared out from behind every face that turned as he pa.s.sed...Laura asking about the goodies they sold inside...shall we get a program, some sweats.h.i.+rts with the tour emblem on them, something to drink from the stands, what?...he wasn't paying much attention to her, could only think of that tiny figure lost among all these violent bodies and now...now there was the scrabbling, clacking sounds of insects somewhere behind, but he refused to turn and look because then Laura would know the Craziness was back...he felt someone push from behind, yelling, "Outta my way, f.u.c.k-face!" and he lost his balance again, nearly fell forward, nearly dropped to the ground to be trampled by thousands of feet, thousands of ignorant, uncaring monsters, but he didn't fall, he kept his balance, kept hold of Laura, but the bodies were pressed tight now, pressed too tight...he found his breath becoming hard, labored, painful, his head was getting light, dizzy...just a little dizzy, but that he could handle, that was no problem, but that tiny figure he thought he saw...knew he saw and heard...it needed help, needed to find someone in particular...cries, loud cries up ahead, one of the security guards was yelling into a riot horn, telling the crowd to settle down before someone got hurt...someone threw a bottle at the horn and yelled, "Open the G.o.dd.a.m.n f.u.c.kin' doors!" as the bottle shattered against the guard's helmet and scattered slivers of gla.s.s into the faces of people standing nearby...Daniel remembered s.n.a.t.c.hes of his father's babbling from his room across the hall sorry for being so clumsy, Gayle as he pulled Laura along, trying to get to the edge of the crowd because now it looked like things were going to get ugly because the guard was shoving a gas grenade into a launcher, threatening to set it off if things didn't settle down...he looked around for some sight of the little figure but couldn't see it, couldn't hear it, could only hear the angry shouts of the crowd and some a.s.shole blasting AC/DC from a boombox...

...something about blood on the rocks...

...he yanked Laura hard, trying to get them out of the mob, but he couldn't budge much, he was to dizzy, there were too many eyes glaring expectantly at him, too many arms slamming fists into his back...

...and now Bon Scott was wailing about blood on the streets...

...He looked across the sea of heads, the black, wiggling sea of bodies, and saw two people who might have been Jim and Theresa shoving their way through, trying to get to them, trying to get the h.e.l.l out of madness before it got really bed, this Craziness, but Daniel bit down on his lip and felt something moist and hot spread over his chin because he knew that the guard was going to fire the grenade and once that happened none of them had a chance in h.e.l.l...

...next it was blood in the sheets...

...Everyone in the crowd was turning toward him, staring at him like he was expected to do something, him and him alone, to stop what was about to happen, thousands of eyes, thousands of questions thrown silently through the air to slam against his head...he couldn't see any way out of the bodies...no way out...

...Every last drop...

...he could still hear the clattering chattering of the insects as Jim and Theresa reached them, but he didn't look at them...there was a loud blam! as the guard fired off the first tear gas grenade that soared through the air and landed in the middle of the crowd, vomiting out thick, burning smoke...

...a voice screamed that if you want blood...

...every eye was on him for as much as he could see...

...you got it!...

...For a moment, in the thickness of the smoke, everything seemed to freeze and the crowd parted before him, clearing a path between him and the tiny figure, so small, fragile, so frightened, but as he moved to step toward it with Jim, Theresa, and Laura in tow, the crowd s.h.i.+fted in...sounds of more grenades being launched and popping off...the eyes drilling into him...he looked at the small, terrified figure on the ground, a figure that even now was swarming with insects vile and clacking, then he turned to the three people behind him...heard his own screams of two years before echoing back to him, rocking his sister's body back and forth...

...Laura tried to speak, but her clacking mandibles produced no sound that he could recognize...Jim and Theresa were worming their feelers toward him...he tried to pull back but the sight of Laura's face froze him...skittering, clacking, scrabbling forward...the stares from the crowd were making him sick, unable to breath...his heart triphammering in his chest...he reached back for Laura's feelers as he heard the doors swing open...

...and ripped her grip from his body.

"You can have them," he whispered to the gazes, knowing it would satisfy them.

The crowd parted before him as he ran to grab the tiny figurea"

a"the hideous screams from behind were drowned under the sound of blood pounding through his ears and templesa"

a"the violence exploded all around him as he threw himself forward, covering the delicate body before him, protecting it like he should have done in the first place, closing his eyes and wrapping his arms around it and whispering a prayer to a G.o.d he wasn't sure he believed in anymore.

For a few minutes it seemed that everything dissolved; he was aware, as if in a dream, of shouting, cursing, punching, kicking, agonized shrieks, crunching noises, wet sounds, but then he took a deep breath, opened his eyes, stood up, and pulled the body up with him.

Gayle Ann leapt into his arms and threw a hug around his neck, covering his cheek in kisses and tears born of her tiny fear, which must have seemed so monstrous to her.

"I love you," he whispered to her, his voice cracking, feeling his heartbeat slow to a normal rate and the throbbing within his skull ebb. He promised himself that he would never, ever let her out of his sight again.

He looked around frantically and saw a way out through the lifting gas.

He took a few steps and b.u.mped into something on the ground.

He looked down, holding Gayle Ann closea"so close he could feel her heart beating, could feel her breath coursing down his neck.

He smiled.

Laura, Jim, and Theresa were kneeling before a pulpy ma.s.sa"one of several that littered the grounda"their feelers twisting, their mandibles clamping together as they cried. Daniel could see the smashed remains of their fellow insect, so large, so crushed, as he stepped around them, Gayle Ann firmly in his arms, and made his way out of the gas and smoke, ignoring the b.l.o.o.d.y footprints he left behind.

A Sort of Homecomingby Michael Kelly Michael Kelly's fiction has appeared in "Whispering Willows," "Crossroads," "Creatio Ex Nihilo," "The Blue Lady," and several others. Born in Prince Edward Island, Canada, he now resides near Toronto.

THE SPEEDING PONTIAC struck Sam, the front grille flinging him aside like a rag doll. He never had a chance.

I jumped up from the porch swing and ran onto the road, like Sam had done a half minute earlier.When I reached him, I knew that he was in a bad way. Blood trickled from his mouth, and he had a glazed look in his eyes.

I gently picked Sam up and cradled his head. He wagged his tail weakly. The driver was going on about the "crazy mutt", but I wasn't paying any attention to him. He wasn't the one dying, Sam was.

I ran to our beat-up Ford and laid Sam down gently in the rear box. I jumped in the front cab, behind the wheel. Then I sat there, hollerin' for Pop.

Pop musta heard, cause he and the driver of the Pontiac ran towards me. Pop pulled me from the cab and took the wheel. I rode in the back with Sam as we made our way to Dr. Gorski's.

I'll never forget the ride. The wind had died down. The only sound I heard was Sam's labored breathing. The scent of his blooda"copper and spicea"filled my head.

Sam looked up at me. I knew he was dying. His chest gave a sudden jerk and he slowly raised his head. I bent towards him and his tongue licked me lovingly for the last time. A lump formed in my throat and hot tears welled in my eyes.

Then he died, the life leaking from him like a worn, punctured tire.

I looked at Sam's lifeless form and gently stroked his head.

Suddenly, I found it hard to breathe. I gasped, gulped for air and wiped my runny nose.

I turned around, punching the back window. Pop took one look at me and pulled over, tires crunching heavily over gravel.

I scrambled out and wandered along the side of the road, shoulders hunched and hands shoved deep in my pockets.

Pop came up alongside of me and draped his arm over my sagging shoulders. He didn't say a word. He didn't have to. He knew what Sam had meant to me. Pop was the one who had gone out and bought the rust-colored mongrel with the large white spot on his back. Mom had protested but Pop would have none of it.

"Martha" he'd said, "a boy's gotta have a friend growing up that won't let him down. Someone who looks after him and ignores his faults and will love him completely without question. That friend is a dog. I had one when I was a lad and my boy will have one also."

I heard Pop relate this story many times. He thought he was pulling the wool over Mom's eyes, but she loved Sam as much as I did.

As I shuffled along the roadside, with Pop strongly silent beside me, memories of Sam flooded over mea"swimming in the lake, exploring the woods, playing fetch, Sam always eager and energetic. I recall the time, not so long ago, when Jimmy Irvine fell down Baxter's dry well and would probably still be there if not for Sam's persistent barking.

Pop broke my reverie. "Come along now, son, we have some work to do."

I climbed back in the truck and pulled a threadbare blanket from a pile, placing it gently on Sam. From the front I could hear Elvis and it was cruelly ironic.

You ain't nuthin' but a hound dog...

I stole a look at Sam. "S'long old pal."

WE BURIED SAM in the woods at Audubon Park. The woods were our favorite place to hang outa"me, my best pal Rick, and Sam.

We knew those woods like the backs of our hands. There wasn't a spot we hadn't inspected, explored or surveyed. It was our home away from home. When I suggested to Pop that we bury Sam there, he didn't bat an eye.

We settled on a spot roughly half a mile into the woods from the south end, beneath a large cypress. Pop carried Sam, while I brought the shovel kept in the back of the Ford. It took some time to dig the hole, place Sam in it, and fill it up again. When we were finished, Pop took a s.h.i.+ny, silver flask from his pocket and took a long pull. I stood and said a silent prayer.

As we left, a heart-rending wail pierced the air.Owooooooo . I looked around nervously.

Pop laughed aloud and shook his head. "Ha! Matt, my boy, it's just the wind, whistling through the trees, nothing more."

I DREADED TELLING the news to Mom. I was afraid her ailing heart would not be able to handle it.

Mom had been sick for some time. The doctor said she suffered from arthritis and angina. I remember socking Rick in the mouth when he said, in his best smart-a.s.s voice, that every woman had angina. No one was going to talk about my Mom that way.

Mom was waiting for us when we got back. She stood quietly in the hallway, leaning on the cane Pop had made for her some years back. I could tell she had been crying, her cheeks and eyes were flushed crimson, and her whole body trembled under an unseen weight. Somehow she knew what happened.

She had a gift for seeing things that way. Pop sometimes laughingly called her a witch, but I could tell from the tone of his voice that he was more than a little frightened of Mom and her talents.

Once, she had sat by the window, gently rocking in her favorite chair and suddenly turned toward me.

"Matthew, get the sheriff on the line, p.r.o.nto. A car's gone plum off the I-40 bridge. Move it."

I did as I was told. Sure enough Emma Riegert had missed the bridge and driven headlong into the river. Miz Emma was okay though, just a little shaken up.

Mom smiled warmly. She hobbled toward me, her face wrinkled in pain; every step her own personal h.e.l.l.She put her cane down, wrapped her arms around me. Slowly, I relaxed in her comforting embrace.

As I looked up at her, tears splashed my face.

RICK SIMMONS, MY best friend, had been strangely silent all day. He had that look in his eyes. The one he got when he was hatching a plan or concocting a scheme.

Rick and I had been best friends ever since he moved here from New Orleans some three years earlier. He was the smartest guy I knew. Period. He had been moved ahead one year in school, so even though we were the same age, we were no longer in the same cla.s.s. I think he even pretended this year to be not as smart, so they wouldn't move him ahead again. Rick knew things for his age that were down right scary. Whenever he was thinking, which was always, he would bite nervously on his lower lipa"like he was doing now.

"You know," said Rick, "animals, particularly pets, are extremely smart. I read recently about a family who was moving from Tucson to Flagstaff and two days before they were to move, the family cat just up and disappeared. Well, of course, they spent the next two days looking for the thing, but when it came time to leave, they had to abandon their search. About three weeks later, who should show up at the front door in Flagstaff? The same said cat. Think about it. The thing showed up in Flagstaff. It found its family all by itself."

"Aw, get out" I said in disbelief. "Ain't no way that happened. Where did you read that?"

"In the Appeal, a couple weeks back. They don't just make up the news, you know."

Well, I wasn't too sure about that, making up the news, I mean, but if Rick said he read it, then it must have been there. Ain't too many kids our age who actually read the news, except the sports section to see how the Tigers fared against them d.a.m.n Wildcats.

"So," I said, "maybe it did find its way home. I mean, who cares? What's the big deal? You gonna lecture me again, like you did about the Chickasaws and Fort a.s.sumption?"

"No. No lecture. You ever heard about Voodoo?" asked Rick.

"What, like Voodoo dolls and stuff? Sure, who hasn't?"

"How about Zombies?" he continued. "You heard about them too, right?"

I sat upright on the wooden bench, putting down the Silver Surfer comic book I had been looking at. I had lost the thread of our conversation. One moment we were talking about missing cats and the next we were talking about Voodoo and Zombies. Rick had a habit of switching gears like this before he got to the point.

I leaned forward, hands on knees. "Yeah, I know about Zombies. The walking dead, right?"

"Exactly" he said. "The walking Dead."

"In Haiti, they have secret societies which practice Voodoo and Zombiism. It is said that the Bokor, the sorcerer, can, with certain ingredients and specific rituals, bring the dead back."

"Y-You don't believe it do you?" I asked awkwardly, uncertain what he was getting at.

"Bringing the dead back to life? No. However, I do believe, as the Bokors and Houngans do, that a spirit can inhabit the body of a deceased person and use it as a vessel, an animated corpse with no will, that can be used as a servant or even a slave."

A chill pa.s.sed through me despite the oppressive summer heat. "Bokors and what?"

"Houngans," answered Rick. "Voodoo priests."

"Man, you been reading too much of that Weird Tales stuff. Lighten up a little. You're giving me the w.i.l.l.i.e.s."

"It wasn't Weird Tales or even Amazing Stories. It was a library book called *The Work of The Left Hand', and besides, I was just thinking is all."

"Yeah, so what else is new? You're always thinking. Thinking way too much. Anyhow, what has all this to do with a dang missing cat?"

"Well, suppose that the reported cases of Zombiism are true, that you could wake the dead. I was wondering if perhaps you could per-form the ritual on say a cat or dog"a"my jaw dropped and a wicked grin creased Rick's face as he continueda""and maybe, just maybe, that cat or dog could find its way back home. A sort of homecoming."

We sat there together, the two of us, not saying a word, each lost in our thoughts, yet knowing what the other was thinking.

THE SWEET SMELL of corn greeted me as I walked through the front door.

Pop sat in his chair, face buried in the sports section, a Schlitz beside him, and looked up at me. He placed his newspaper down and hooked his thumbs under his suspenders; the one's he'd made a point of buying at Scwab's Dry Goods on Beale Street just so's he could get into town once in a while. We lived at Perkins and Poplar; not exactly the liveliest area. Pop was smiling. "Where ya been Son? We was wondering if you were going to come home for something to eat, or if ya' was just not hungry today?"

I couldn't tell if he was kidding or not.

Mom, as usual, was in the kitchen. Although she could not move around as easily as before, she was a proud woman, and wasn't going to let her physical problems get in the way of providing for me or Pop. She had always been like that.

She was the one who fought to get me on the ball team when the coach said I wasn't good enough. Everyone knew I was a better pitcher than Billy Taylor, who happened to be Coach Taylors' boy. If I needed anything she made sure I got it, or died trying.

Some of the guys called me a Momma's boy, but if loving your Mom and having her around when you needed her was being a Momma's boy, then I guess I could live with that.

I sat at the kitchen table as Mom set a steaming plate of food in front of mea"pork chops, corn and potatoes.

Mom and Pop had already eaten so I dug in hungrily, shoving heaps of food into my eager mouth.