Shark Beast (6 page)

He grinned.

"And me, well... I'll finally get some fun off you."

She shrugged.

Fine.

Have your way with me.

"You're such a stud," she whispered weakly. And then she spit on the beach sand.

Water splashed against her back, spattered into her hair. She was trapped. And, funny enough, now that it was over, no more options, she no longer felt any fear -- matter of fact, she felt a surprisingly sweet sense of relief. She was tired, wounded, drunk, and what about it. She'd had enough. After all, a girl can only deal with so much. Especially when you got a date, who...

(went-too-far)

"Well, if you're gonna do it, big boy," she husk-whispered, "you're gonna do it looking me in the eye. 'Cause here I am..."

Naked.
Beautiful.
Pissy.

And with that, she wiped her nose with her good fist, took a deep, steadying breath, and glared at the son of a bitch.

Then she passed out.

Then--back in.

Damn.

He's still here.

Eddie grinned wickedly.

She grinned right back. A grin that said, Well, at least I got a couple of good kicks in. I did do that.

His grin wilted a bit--but just a bit.

But Kirsten didn't care. She knew where this was going. And sure, she knew she could scream, just as she knew it would do no good, no bloody good at all.

Eddie lifted that crowbar.

And mean as he was, mad as he was, out of his mind as he was...

He took the time.

Took his sweet time.

To aim.

Kirsten just smiled.
What else could a girl do?
No one would hear. And if they did, it would be too late. So no point wasting the breath, of giving him the satisfaction.

And then she went blank again.

(sure)

(hey, why not)

And that's why she was as surprised as anyone, really, when suddenly, a scream pierced the air anyway.

Kirsten's eyes widened--skeptically--as Eddie's looming form suddenly buckled, underwent a huge wrenching twist.

(boy, that sure looks--)

His face exploded with pain.

(exactly)

And then, suddenly, it turned into quite a show:

His eyes widened. The muscles in his neck whipped and clenched. His scruffy jaw stretched and made a tiny musical popping sound, locking open. His nostrils tremored, went flat. His face flushed hot-crimson, morphed into a mottled pink, then blanched bone-white. His whole body flexed and then locked tight. He looked as if he'd stabbed a fork into a fuse box, a thousand watts of paralyzing pain circuiting wildly through his form.

His scream careened, then abruptly cut itself off--what came out of his mouth next: a sharp glassy choke of an airless yelp.

After that:
silence.

(bravo! encore!)

Silence.

The crowbar dropped from his outstretched fingers, splashed dully in the ebbing tide a few inches from Kirsten's thigh.

It was then Kirsten saw that Eddie had--somehow--sunk in the beach, about a foot, maybe two, past his ankles, right below his knee--

Quicksand?

That was her initial thought.

Until she saw the tentacles curling up from the sand, wrapping and wriggling up Eddie's legs.

And, of course--

The blood.

Kirsten could only watch, in her for-sure dream state (did he hit me with the crowbar already?) as Eddie started whipping around like he was being electrocuted, as blood started soaking his pants, as he--whoop!--dropped another foot into the sand. The tentacles hurriedly reasserted their grip. One tentacle whipped right into Eddie's crotch, and if Eddie thought those Kirsten-kicks were painful--

(oh, his poor balls)

(almost feel sorry for the jerk)

Eddie's teeth chomped together with a harsh, horrid click--

She grinned droopily.
Wow. This is one wicked-ass dream.

And then, that's when Kirsten noticed another click... and another... and another--

...click-click-
CLICK
-click-
CLICK...

...a whole rapid-fire machine gun clip of clicks...

And that's when--
now, I know I'm drunk, but this is getting ridiculous
--she saw the teeth, coming out of the sand, chewing on Eddie's leg--

The beach is eating Eddie?
she thought dimly.
Good times.
Good times.

Suddenly, Kirsten didn't want to watch--even for a dream, this was getting a little too surreal. And kinda sick, to be honest. But, funny enough--she couldn't turn away.

So: she lay there, in the surf, and watched Eddie slowly--and bonelessly--get pulled down into the sand.

All the way down to his neck.

She looked into his eyes.

He looked into her eyes.

And then--

Some creature, some creature's head--

(man, I got me some drunk imagination)

--burst out of the sand, like a shark--that's what it looked like, a shark's head--but with tentacles and pinchers and who knew what else--

(maybe
I
should be a writer)

And that shark-creature-tentacle-thing just rose up and swallowed Eddie's big stupid dumb stupidjerky bloated head--

A chomp. A
loud
chomp. And then--eeeew, gross--a sickly guttural
swallowing
sound... And then--

Mr. Tacky Camaro was gone.

Kirsten blinked. Then--she blinked again.

Well.
That
was fun.

A slow cool breeze overtook her. She let it.
Wow. That was... wow.

Kirsten stretched, listened to the waves. Then started to drift off again, for how long she didn't know, because--suddenly--she felt something.

The sand, beneath her, starting to...

...shift.

(when's this dream gonna be over, let's skip to the hangover and be done)

...undulating beneath her.

(feels kinda good)

Whatever.
She shrugged, and sank back into her wet, sandy beach hallucination... began to sink...

(felt a pinch... kinda painful, actually...)

(but, hey, beats a crowbar, no?)

...sinking ...

... sinking ...

...
sinking
--

Her gaze slipped, and wandered. Found herself looking out, into the ocean, those waves. As her vision slowly began to blur.

Look.

How interesting, yes?

A little island of rocks. Just out there, in the water.

Just like that t-shirt the guy tried to buy for me, at the crab used bookstore... the book used crab store... the...

Welcome to Rock and Roll Island.

Something like that.

Man.

I should have let him buy it for me.

After all...

He seemed nice.

~ ~ SIX ~ ~
Downstairs In
The Hermit Crab Used Bookstore:
The Prank

The next bit of action unfolds like a scene from one of those teenage scary movies. Imagine sitting in a darkened theatre, the lights low, the atmosphere tense and mysterious, and then, the following:

TIGHT on the unlocked front glass doors of the bookstore, as a hand slowly -- and quietly -- gives a nudge.

A YOUNG MAN peers his way inside, sneakily. He is carrying a black bag. Taking a few cautious peeks around to make sure the coast is clear, he sneaks behind the register counter, and looks inside his bag.

He pulls out a black robe, a fake rubber knife, and a couple of Halloween masks. And, a small packet of fake blood.

YOUNG MAN: (chuckles) This is going to be sweet.

~ ~ ~

Now, we CUT to the back of the bookstore--

Into the shadows of the hallway, down the splintered steps.

As Roxy slams open the EMPLOYEES ONLY door (with no particular restraint), stalks across the hall to the bathroom door (with even less), waiting--quite impatiently, what else?--for D. J. to unlock it.

Roxy: Don't
even
try to defend him.

D. J.: (sighing) I'm not defending anybody. No part of any of this was even close to my idea.

Roxy: Just unlock the bathroom and don't say anything else, because I'm tired of you men taking up for all you other men.

Shrugging, he unlocks the door.

D. J.: Look, you brought it up. I'm just saying --

She SLAMS the door on him.

D. J.: Fine. Whatever. Who cares. Not me. I hate this job. Buncha cement-head nitwits, soap opera 'Days of Our Lives' bookstore numbskulls...

He looks over out into the body of the store, as if hearing something. Takes a step into the shadows, takes it in.

Various shelves and shadows out in the store.

D. J.: Pretty darn dark out there.

He heads back to the bathroom door.

D. J.: (muttering) C'mon, don't take all night.

Suddenly: a sound, out in the darkness of the store.

D. J. (grunts a la Scooby-doo) Ruh-roh.

He considers banging on the bathroom door, but decides against it. He reluctantly takes a look -- peeking around the corner again. Pretty much what he saw earlier. Shelves and shadows.

He obviously wants to see what's out there -- his curiosity is overwhelming his fear -- but he can't commit. Another SOUND.

D. J.: This can't be a good idea. Yet, I must investigate ...

He steps out into the darkness. A moment passes.

Roxy peeks out of the bathroom -- no D. J.

Roxy: D. J. ... don't be funny. Where are you?

Nothing.

Roxy: I'm going to scream. Truly.

Nothing.

Roxy: Very loudly, and very long. Just lettin' you know. Big heads-up, and whatnot.

Nothing. She acquires an I-told-you-so expression, takes a beep breath, then an even
deeper
one, and lets out ... a very small:

Roxy: Eeeep.

Nothing.

Roxy: Jerk.

She disappears back into the bathroom. A moment later, she peeks out again, armed with a big spray can.

The bathroom door
slooowly
opens, and after peering both ways, out comes Roxy, armed and ready.

Roxy: (ominous singing) "Everything is fine, everything is o-kayyy..."

After a few steps, Roxy peeks her head, hesitantly, around the corner.

The store is festive with shadows and creaky noises.

Pointing her spray can defensively, Roxy steps out into the shadows. Looks around, suspiciously, to the left, the right -- then abruptly sneaks behind some shelves--

--as she gathers her courage, and sprints across an aisle to another hiding place behind some different shelves.

She peeks around the corner of those shelves.

More shadows, but nothing specifically scary.

More courage gathered, our Roxy takes another deep breath, and--zoom!--makes a wild sprint toward the front of the store -- managing a few Peter Sellers style now-you-see-me now-you-don't hiding maneuvers behind various displays on her way.

Zoom again!--Roxy dives behind the front desk, and peeks over the counter to make sure everything's copacetic. After a moment, she heads over next to the register, opens a drawer and pulls out some spare duplicate keys.

She pockets the keys, then peers over the top of the front desk.

Shadows but still nothing
specifically
frightening.

It's hard to tell if she's disappointed, or just plain annoyed. Knowing her, it's probably both--but either way, she starts to retreat to the back of the store -- but then, notices something on the floor: an empty black bag.

Cautiously, as if it might contain some sort of slumbering Roxy-eating beast, she... checks... it.. out, and finds some white gloves, a bottle of fake blood, a spare Halloween mask...

She immediately glowers up at the ceiling.

Roxy: Oooh! Bastard!

She says a few angry things not-quite under her breath. Heads over to the front doors, gives a tiny nudge. Pushes open slightly, unlocked.

Roxy: Oooh! I knew it! Bastard again!

Annoyed and vengeful, she locks the doors and -- abruptly, tilts her head. Hears something out in the body of the story.

Roxy: (grinning) Oh. You want to be funny, Mr. Prank Man? Well,
let's get funny...

Gangly-limbed, she darts into the shadows.

Roxy now stalks the aisles, listening carefully for any clues of -- ahhh, she hears something. Sidles up slyly against the shelves, making her way toward a section from which a long shadow is moving suspiciously.

Making her way, and, armed with air freshener in hand, LEAPS AROUND CORNER!

Roxy: AHHHHHHYYY!

She immediately SUPER-SPRITZES a seemingly endless barrage of air freshener into the CAMERA.

Which turns out to actually be D. J.

Who is now on his back, spritzed beyond belief.

Roxy: (realizing) Are you ... okay?

D. J.: (groaning) I've been ... disinfected.

With great annoyance and endless woe-is-me, Roxy helps him up.

Roxy: Fine. Who cares. Whatever. Let's get out of here.

They get up, slowly start to head to the back of the store.

D. J.: (rubbing eyes) That's the last time I go to the bathroom with you...

They make their way to the back office door--EMPLOYEES ONLY--jostle keys to see who gets to open it--while making sure, of course, to take turns looking over their shoulders--and finally make their stumbling way back into the office, and up the splintery stairs.

Meanwhile, back at the front of the bookstore...

Through the front glass windows we see our costumed prankster is outside the store for some reason (carrying a soda), and now when he tries to get back in -- finds the doors are locked.

We can't hear him, but can't help but see his total frustration as he tries to jiggle the doors open, and when that doesn't work, he shakes his masked face, and -- after a contemplative sip from his soda -- goes off, presumably to find another way into the store.

And--for the moment, at least--this portion of the horror classic "Dickie Fouls Up The Prank And Gets Locked Outside The Store" SLOWLY FADES...