21 Tales (10 page)

One morning when Steve had left to play softball, Laura decided the hell with it. She was starting to freak out from his weird behavior and rules. She had to do something about it. As she sat outside by the front door thinking about what to do, she jumped up, her mind made up. Just because he was a compulsive nut didn't mean she had to become one. She left the door unlocked and headed upstairs to the bedroom with a hammer and pulled the nails from the windows. When she was done she opened them wide and leaned on one of the sills. The cool air felt wonderful.

She heard the front door open and then Steve shouting. The sound of his voice was frightening, more like a hysterical scream than anything else. Stunned, she ran from the bedroom to the top of the stairs. Steve stood in the doorway, wild-eyed. “T-The door was unlocked,” he stammered out, his voice choking off into a hoarse whisper.

“No big deal,” she started to say. “Nothing happened—”

“Get out of here!” he ordered, barely able to spit out the words. “Get out now!”

She stood paralyzed as she watched him run into the living room and grab the sword. Her body tensed as she half expected him to attack her. Instead he ran around the living room and swung the sword under the furniture.

She raced down the stairs and started screaming at him, following him as he opened closet doors and cabinets and stabbed inside with the sword. “What are you doing?” she screamed. He seemed oblivious to her, his face pale white, his eyes hard and grim, his lips bloodless.

 He moved into the kitchen. “Stop it!” she pleaded with him. “Please stop it! You're scaring me!” As he started to open the pantry door, she grabbed his arm. “Stop it!” she screamed, her lungs aching.

Out of the corner of her eye she saw both the axe and the creature. The creature was no more than a foot and a half tall, with a flat grotesque face, blood red eyes and six inch fangs hanging from a muzzle-like mouth. It was wearing some sort of leather armor and was brandishing an axe.

It jumped out of the pantry, its axe aimed to split Laura's head. Steve pushed himself on top of Laura and the creature flew past them, its axe hit nothing but air. The creature bounced off the floor and cursed in a garbled baboon-like screeching. Steve lay sprawled on top of Laura. He tried to regain his footing when the creature turned, noticed, and screamed out in delight, then rolled toward Steve and aimed a blow at his neck. Steve twisted enough so that the axe dug into his shoulder instead. With his sword hand, he swung and hit the creature with the hilt of the sword, sending it bouncing away like a bowling ball.

Laura slowly stood up, dazed, and watched as Steve battled the creature. The thing raced around the room as Steve swung wildly at it. During one of the creature's attacks, Steve sliced off its axe arm. The creature cursed bitterly and retrieved the axe with its remaining arm.

Laura grabbed the first heavy thing she saw, a canister of flour from the kitchen counter top. The creature spotted her, twisted its ugly face in delight and rolled under a hair-line miss from Steve's sword. It sprung at Laura, its axe raised and ready to kill. Laura meant to throw the canister at it, but with the shock of the attack, sort of just jerked it forward. The top fell off the canister and flour flew out, hitting and covering the creature. The creature, blinded by the flour, missed and fell to the floor. It sat coughing and spitting and rubbing its eyes before tottering to its feet. As it weaved drunkenly across the floor Steve split it in two.

Steve stood over it, breathing heavily, his face red. Blood from his shoulder dripped onto the floor. “Sorry about this,” he gasped. Laura started crying. Steve staggered to the living room sofa and collapsed onto it.

“Jesus, look at me bleed,” he noted with a detached fascination. He gingerly touched his wound and winced. “I'm going to need stitches. Could you do me a favor and get me a towel from the bathroom?”

Laura obeyed mechanically. When she came back she found she could talk. “What was that?” she asked in a weirdly calm voice that seemed to come from somewhere outside of her.

“A kind of troll. Take another look at the tin ceiling.”

Laura didn't bother looking. She knew the troll was the same as the ape-like creature detailed in the tin ceiling.

“The things are worse than cockroaches,” Steve added. “If you leave the door unlocked, even for a second, they come in. I should've told you, but I guess I was trying to figure out a way that didn't sound nuts.”

All at once emotion overwhelmed her. “How can you live here with something like that!" she demanded, her voice shaking uncontrollably.

Steve sat on the sofa and twisted the towel around his wound and pulled tight. “Where else am I going to find a sixteen hundred square foot apartment on Beacon Hill with its own fireplace and private garden for four hundred a month?” he asked. He sat back and rubbed his hand over his eyes. “Just thank god you didn't open the windows instead.”

From the corner of her eye she saw the twelve foot dragon with jagged three foot long teeth float past the top of the staircase.

The Hardboiled

A Long Time to Die

A Long Time to Die was my first sale. I think this is true for most writers, but there’s just nothing like the exhilaration you feel from your first sale. I will always have a warm spot in my heart for New Mystery Magazine, and their editor, Charles Raisch.

Brendan was sitting across from me, smiling like the cat who just swallowed the canary. “My suit’s a little tight on you,” he said, nodding. “You were always heavier than me, even as a kid. Always bigger than your big brother.”

“I-It’s okay. I don’t –“ I fumbled with my beer glass, spilling some of it. He reached over the table and moved it away from me.

“You got to be more careful, Nick,” he glared at me.

He stopped a waitress and had her wipe off the table. After she left, he turned to me, forcing a smile again. “Ah never mind, in a couple of days when I have time we’ll go out shopping and buy you your own clothes.” He hesitated. “Nick, do you know how much it cost me to have that detective find you?”

I looked away from him. “I’m sorry.”

“I’m not complaining, Nick.” He grabbed a handful of pretzels. “I promised our parents I’d take care of you.”

“I was okay,” I said. “I had a job. Almost for two months and …”

“Yeah, I know. You had a job frying burgers. I know, it was the longest job you had since Nam. But you can’t settle for something like that. I’ll get you set up with a real job.”

I could tell he was losing patience with me. I didn’t want to ask him anything else, I didn’t want to get him any madder at me, but there was something I had to know.

“Uh, Brendan,” I cleared my throat. “Is Marge still mad at me?”

“That was over three years ago.” He took a sip of his beer and held the glass in front of him. A dullness crept into his eyes as he studied it. “It was my own fault, Nick. I shouldn’t have left the credit card out in the open. I know it’s something you can’t help.” He stood up. “Got to go answer to nature. You won’t run away on me while I’m gone?”

I shook my head.

“Good.” He put his hand on my shoulder as he walked by. “Order yourself another beer. I’ll be right back.”

After he left, I stood up and looked for the exit. I wanted to leave. I wanted to walk out the door and go away, but I couldn’t. I promised Brendan I wouldn’t. The waitress came over. I tried ordering a beer. She started joking with me, but I must’ve said the wrong thing because she looked at me funny and walked away. It was getting hard to breathe. I felt like I couldn’t sit there any longer.

I looked around wondering what was taking Brendan so long. Then I saw him walking back with a small redhead. I turned away, hoping he wouldn’t bring her back to the table. No such luck. Brendan clasped my shoulder. “Nick,” he said. “I want you to meet a friend of mine, Lisa Chaney.”

She moved in front of me and took my hand. Her hand was small, her fingernails painted a deep blood red. She sat down next to me.

“Hi,” she smiled. “It’s nice to meet you.” She had the pale white complexion that redheads usually have. Her lipstick – the same blood red as her fingernails – stood out on her skin like a knife wound.

“What’s the matter?” she asked. “You know how to talk?”

“Uh, sure—”

Brendan grinned. “I think he’s shy.”

She reached over and whispered something into Brendan’s ear, and he started laughing. He whispered something back. I guess I was watching her and her eye caught mine. I lowered my head.

“What do you think you’re staring at?” she demanded angrily.

I realized my head was level with her chest. I turned away.

“Uh, Brendan.” It was difficult to talk, everything had become so hot, dizzy. “I-I h-have to go. I have to—”

“I was just kidding you,” she said. “Can’t you take a joke?”

“Sure he can.” Brendan winked at her. “It just takes him a while to get used to people.”

“Friends again?” she asked, a thin trace of a smile showing.

“Uh, s-sure.”

The waitress came over and told Brendan he had a phone call. He left and came back a minute later. “Nick, I have an emergency. I need to go to the police station and see a client.”

He took fifty dollars out of his wallet and handed it to me. “This should cover the drinks and a cab ride home. Will you be okay?”

“Don’t worry about him.” Lisa interrupted. “I’ll take good care of your little brother.”

“Okay, then.” Brendan gave me a funny look and then hurried out of the bar.

“So,” she cocked her head, studying me. “Brendan said you were in Vietnam?”

“Yeah, I guess so.” I turned away from her. “Yeah.”

She didn’t say anything for what seemed like a long time. I could feel her staring at me. Then, in a tired voice she said, “Look, I don’t see any point in staying here. I think I’m going to head home.” I nodded, waiting for her to leave, waiting for her to stop standing over me. Something touched my hand. I looked up and she had that thin trace of a smile again. “Well, are you going to sit here all night?” I let her lead me out.

# #

When we got to her apartment, Lisa took her coat off and I realized then how pretty she really was. She was wearing a tight skirt which outlined slender hips, and the rest of her, her face, her -, I turned my head away. I didn’t want her to think I was staring.

She moved me into the living room and had me sit on a leather sofa. She then told me we were going to have a little party and she started taking bottles out of the liquor cabinet.

She turned to me, and with disappointment told me she was out of gin and she would have to go get some because that was all she felt like drinking. Right before she left she kissed her finger and pressed it against my lips and told me that when she got back we would really live it up.

I looked around the room and noticed a desk next to the liquor cabinet had one of its drawers partially opened. I got up and looked inside and found a stack of hundred dollar bills. I picked it up and counted five thousand dollars. I put it back and tried to walk away, but I couldn’t.

I stood frozen, feeling the blood rush to my face. Hearing it pounding in my ears. Tasting its hotness in my mouth. I grabbed the money and left Lisa’s apartment.

Out on the street, I just started walking. I wanted to go back and return the money, but I couldn’t. I had to keep moving. A half hour later I came to a bar and went inside.

After three hours of buying drinks and handing out money I had nothing left. I didn’t even have any of the fifty dollars Brendan had given me. But for those three hours I had people smiling. I had people slapping my back and laughing with me, not at me. For those three hours I was something other than a dead man. It’s hard to explain, but taking the money was something I had to do. When you feel dead all the time and you know there’s something that will make you feel less dead, you don’t have any choice. And I’ve felt like a dead man for almost twenty years.

About a month before my eighteenth birthday Brendan killed a woman in a hit and run accident. He came to me afterwards, begging me that I tell the police I was the one driving the car. After all, he had just gotten accepted into law school and this would ruin his life, but I was still a juvenile so they’d only slap my wrists.

Well, I didn’t have any choice. I had to help my brother so I told the police what Brendan wanted me to. The judge though, did give me a choice. I could either be tried as an adult and go away for ten years or I could enlist when I turned eighteen and serve my country in Vietnam.

When Bobby Johnson heard I had to enlist, he told me he’d go in with me. Hell, hadn’t we been best buddies since first grade? He’d be damned if he’d let me go alone and have something happen to me, so we signed up together and arranged to be in the same platoon,

The first week we were over there, a kid ran up to us and pulled out a gun and shot Bobby in the chest. I tried to help Bobby. I tried to keep his blood from pouring out, but after about a minute he wasn’t breathing. I got up and ran after the kid. I chased him almost two miles into the jungle before I caught him. And when I did, I stuffed mud into his mouth so no one would hear him scream. Then I took out my knife and skinned him.

From the moment Bobby died it was like I had a blindfold on. I had to keep killing – I had to keep paying them back for him. Later when my tour was almost over, the blindfold slipped off and I realized what I’d done. I realized that for a long time I’d stopped being alive.

# #

I had a ten mile walk to get to Brendan’s house. It was hours later when I got there,  and I could see a car parked in front of my brother’s house with people in it. When I got closer, I could see it was Brendan and Lisa in the front seat and another man in back. Brendan saw me and rolled down his window and gasped, “Nick, what did you do?” The other man opened his door and pointed a gun at me. “Get in,” he ordered softly.

I stood where I was. The man started to get out of the car. Brendan burst out, “For Godsakes, do what he wants!” Lisa looked amused. I walked around the car and got in next to the man with the gun. He was a heavyset man with big ears and not much hair. He poked the gun under my chin. “You stole my money.” His voice was raspy, kind of like his throat had been scraped with sandpaper.