Dark Corners - Twelve Tales of Terror (30 page)

Frank
was right, of course.
It
did.

Steven wondered how large that compost heap was now.
What would be found if the topsoil were pulled away, how many—

An idea struck him, one which horrified him and thrilled
him at the same time. She would be home soon, and wouldn’t
expect to find him here. And why would she? She had thrown him out of
his own house after all, and seemed to be enjoying making his life a
misery despite his best efforts to keep things amicable. Maybe it was
time he stood up for himself. He thought he could do it—sure he
could—and more importantly, he thought he could get away with
it. He would be doing the world a favour anyway.

After all, every little helps.

Every little helps.

So
much blood.

Harry
blinked as his brain tried to process the violence in front of him.
His wife’s eyes stared blankly, devoid of any semblance of life
as the eight inch serrated knife fell to the ground. It was at that
point, as it came to rest on a pile of soggy, slick entrails that he
felt something in his mind snap. He tried to speak but instead only
smacked his lips, a strange gurgling sound welling up from inside. He
was sure he could have controlled it, had she not chosen that moment
to speak. Her tone was both an accusation and a question—pleading
and angry. It was that one word that sent him over the edge.

“
Harry?”

As
he turned and vomited noisily, he wondered how this could have
happened. How his life could come to this.

Earlier.

Flicking
impatiently through the news channels, Harry hoped for something to
catch his interest. Anything at all to distract him from the horrible
sticky humidity that seemed to hang in the room like a blanket.
Wiping his arm across his forehead, he wondered just what was
happening to the world. The news channels were as bleak as ever. CBS.
NBC. CNN. All of them rehashing the latest atrocities.

Militants
had killed two hundred civilians in some country Harry had never
heard of.

An
earthquake in Japan had flattened a village.

A
suspected Serial killer was still at large in Ohio.

“
Fucking
world gone crazy,” he mumbled to himself, as he finally gave up
on the news and switched over to Wheel of Fortune. He shuffled
uncomfortably as the chair creaked under his weight. His shirt was
ringed under the arms with sweat, and he made a mental note to call
Daniels and chew him out about the broken air conditioning.

Ever
since losing his job he’d been in a terrible cycle of
depression. Initially headhunted by Daniels to run his company’s
export division, he had been offered a rock solid job with great
benefits and a house just off the beach. The only downside was that
Harry would have to move from the family home in Atlanta, and
relocate to Rio. The decision had strained his and Maggie’s
relationship, as she had been reluctant to leave her job as a part
time nurse, but she eventually agreed. So they sold the house and
embarked on their new life in Brazil.

It
became apparent rather quickly that it was not at all as they had
been led to believe. The factory itself was ramshackle at best and
staffed with locals who couldn’t speak a word of English. Their
unrushed and relaxed work ethic was a frustration for Harry from the
start, and on top of that, the beachfront house he’d been
promised was actually a tiny two-bedroom apartment located right in
the center of the tourist heavy area of town. It was boisterous in
the evenings, and by early morning the streets were filled with empty
bottles and half-eaten cartons of takeout food. Although the beach
was
within walking
distance as advertised, it was also within close proximity to the
Favelas—great ramshackle shanty towns stacked haphazardly on
top of one another, covering the Rio hillsides. Instead of the dream
job that would take him to retirement, Harry was confronted with
humid, sticky evenings and intense arguments with Maggie, all set
against the backdrop of gunfire and police sirens. All of it was just
about bearable until Harry lost his job without warning.

Unable
to adjust to Harry’s new regime of hard work and long hours,
the factory workers had threatened a strike unless things reverted
back to the way they were. Faced with losing either one man or a
hundred, the company made Harry the scapegoat and he was released
from his position after just three months. Maggie was furious and had
demanded they go back to Atlanta, but Harry, as stubborn as he was,
had refused to leave with his tail between his legs. He told her in
no uncertain terms that they were staying where they were. He tried
to find work but many local businesses were reluctant to employ a
foreigner, and as the rejections increased, his confidence plummeted.

With
a grunt, he tossed the remote onto the small coffee table, dragged
himself with some effort out of his chair and moved to the window.
Peering out in to the near dusk, he glanced at his watch. Almost
seven thirty. It was time for them—the city’s night
people—the pushers, the pimps, and the whores. Time for them to
seep out onto the streets and go about their business. It was a world
away from the picture painted for him by
Eng.
Tec
when they had initially approached him.
They had promised him clean streets, a peaceful environment in which
to live and work. He should have done more research of his own, but
the truth was he had been dazzled by the sales patter and accepted
everything without question. With an irritable sigh he yanked open
the window, praying for a cool breeze. Instead, sticky, humid warmth
enveloped him he leaned out. Even at dusk the heat was oppressive.

“
Hottest damn summer in years,” he muttered
as he squinted off into the distance.

He
was just able to see a blue grey smudge of ocean on the horizon,
between the labyrinth of buildings and hotels that dominated his
immediate view. He let out a deep sigh and surveyed the landscape,
wondering if other people out there were as miserable as he was. He
certainly hoped so. As dusk gave way to darkness he could see the
sickly neon glow of the main town parade that was depressingly close
to his apartment block. He’d learned quickly that Rio was a
place split right down the middle. The days were for the respectable
tourists—young families looking to see the sights or perhaps
buy some souvenirs for friends back home. Maybe a postcard showing a
crescent of white beach set against a perfect and cloudless blue sky.

He
could see it now.
Welcome to sunny Brazil.
Enjoy your stay.

He’d
been sold this image by Daniels. He hated him, but to his credit,
Daniels was good at his job. Really good. Harry suspected he could
sell sand to Arabs, or snow to Eskimo’s. Hell, he sold Rio to
Harry Harris after all. Daniels aside, as soon as the sky began to
grow dark and those sickly neon lights began to cast their harsh red
and blue hues, the other half of the city began to crawl out of the
shadows. The pimps, the pushers, the gangs. And of course the
prostitutes. Many were old and broken, their bodies ravaged by life
on the streets. Crack cocaine was rampant here, as easy to get as
groceries from the local supermarket. Many of the prostitutes were
painfully young. Thin waifs of girls with desperation and fear in
their eyes as they touted openly for business—usually monitored
from nearby by the gangs or their pimps who lingered in the shadows.
It was clear that the night was theirs. When he first arrived he had
ventured out to see for himself, to convince himself that he wasn’t
afraid. He realized soon enough that the world had changed into one
he no longer understood. As he walked, he would see them watching him
with eyes that said—

Hey,
old man, you better get the fuck out of here, ‘cos I’ve
been sleeping off my hangover all day and now I’m ready to
fight, fuck, drink, and maybe do some coke. This is no place for the
likes of you.

They
were right, and after that he rarely ventured out after dark.
He’d seen enough and ducked back into
the room, slamming the window closed.
“Motherfucker!” he barked,
overcome with rage as he snatched up the phone and punched in
Daniels’s number. The air conditioning was supposed to have
been fixed the week before, but the little shit had slinked away
citing some lame excuse about a family emergency. Harry blamed him
for this whole mess. He had sugar-coated the shit as it were, and at
first he couldn’t do enough to help.

‘
Anything
you need, and I do mean anything, call me anytime night or day and
I’ll make it happen. We at Eng-Tec look after our own,’
he had said, flashing his veneered salesman’s grin. Since
Harry had been fired it seemed Daniels was gradually but
unquestionably phasing them out. Taking the wireless handset with
him, he stalked through to the small kitchen slamming open the fridge
as he yelled over his shoulder.

“
Damn
it, Maggie. The damn air conditioning still isn’t working and
Daniels isn’t answering the fucking phone!”

A
disembodied voice drifted back from the bedroom.

“
He’s
not home, Harry. His mother died last Friday.”

Harry
shook his head, squeezing the handset so hard his knuckles turned
white.

“
I
don’t give a damn about his dead mother, it’s a hundred
degrees in here!”

She
came out of the bedroom, giving him a disapproving glance as she
swept past, the smell of her perfume causing him to wrinkle his nose.

“
Maggie,
how much of that shit do you have to plaster yourself with? I can
hardly breathe in here as it is!”

She
didn’t rise to the bait, pausing instead to look at herself in
the mirror over the fireplace

“
Don’t
start, Harry, I’m not in the mood.” Her irritation was
undisguised. He snapped open a beer, tossing the lid into the sink
rather than the bin.

“
You aren’t in the mood? Fuck, Maggie,
neither am I. Family emergency my ass. The son of a bitch is avoiding
me, I just know it.”

She
swept past him again, a vortex of perfume and hairspray as she
grabbed her purse from the worktop.

“
Come
on, Harry, give the guy a break. I imagine our air conditioning is
the least of his worries.”

He
screwed up his face in disdain, throwing the handset on the worktop
and taking a great chug of beer, almost draining the entire can.

“
I
don’t give a fuck, I just want my damn air conditioning fixed.
It’s like a GOD DAMN FURNACE IN HERE!”

Ignoring
Harry’s rage, Maggie checked the contents of her purse before
spraying even more perfume onto her wrists and rubbing them together.
Usually she wore her hair down to the shoulder, but tonight Harry
noticed that she had re-styled it and colored it blonde, a radical
departure from its usual auburn shade. She now wore it swept back and
tied into a ponytail. He felt a stirring in his groin, but it quickly
subsided. Getting lucky was no longer in the cards, and hadn’t
been for some time. Although she was only six years younger than he
was at thirty-nine, she could easily pass for late twenties. Her skin
was flawless and without worry lines. Her eyes were blue and shone
brightly. It was clear to him from the beginning that he’d
struck lucky with her. They had shared a certain spark once, but its
intensity had faded over the years. Now she seemed distracted and
distant for the most part, and he found affection harder and harder
to give.

He
watched her now as she found what she was looking for—the
earrings he had bought her for Christmas. She saw him looking at her
as she clipped them in.

“
Go
easy on Daniels—he’s having a tough time right now,
Harry.”

Before
he could stop himself, he jabbed a finger at her accusingly.

“
It’s
ok for you,” he snarled. “You are never here, always
somewhere with those damn friends of yours.”

She
took a step towards him, opening her mouth as if to speak, but
letting out a deep sigh instead. He was full of anger, and although
he had never laid a hand on her, he had to restrain himself from
lashing out.

“
Whatever,
Harry. I don’t have time for this crap. I’m going to be
late.”

“
You
and those damn women. I don’t like them Maggie. You‘ve
changed since they started whispering in your ear, telling you how to
think.”

Maggie
didn’t look at him; she was at the mirror toying with her hair.

“
Harry,
they’re my friends. You could go out too, you know. Get out of
this damn room for a while.”

“
I
shouldn’t have to leave my own damn house because some lazy
shit won’t do his damn job!” he bellowed, face flushed
red with anger.

“
Besides,
you know I have no friends here. Do you expect me to go out on my
own?”

“
Betty’s
husband is a nice guy—the two of you could go out for a beer or
something. Just stop making me feel guilty for having a life.”

“
Betty?
The bitch with the buck teeth? Her husband is a prick. No thanks.”