Stories About Things (6 page)

"Daddy, I don't need--"

"I'm not stopping you am I? No--don't
protest. You want to have fun, fine, but you'll take some
protection."

"Just give me some mace or something."

"This is better. This is Sean, he's just
going to make sure you're okay. Sean, this is my daughter
Emma."

She smiles.

"Okay."

He nods.

"Hey."

"Bring her back safe."

"I will."

"Bye, Daddy."

The little red convertible drives too fast,
but somehow he knows pointing that out won't slow it down.

"So where are you going?"

"It's just on the other side of town."

She hums over the sound of the wind and the
car. Ten minutes later they screech to a halt on a side street a
few inches behind a parked van.

"We're here!"

Weeds grow in the burnt out shell of a
house. Across the street shreds of yellow police tape flutter on a
peeling porch. She skips ahead.

"This is a terrible neighborhood."

"Don't worry. You're here to protect me,
anyway, right?"

"Yes."

She sticks out her hand, a couple white
tablets in the palm.

"Want one?"

"No."

She smiles and sticks out her tongue as the
tablet dissolves. Out of the car, Sean watches the shadows
closely.

"Why do you do this?"

She laughs. "Do what?"

"Dangerous shit."

"You sound like my father. But he doesn't
say 'shit.'"

"I'm serious. You trying to get yourself
killed?"

"Maybe."

She smiles, teasing him. She spins around on
the sidewalk. One finger twirls in her hair.

"Seriously. Why do you do it?"

"You know."

"Not really. I didn't go to college, and I
don't get the whole party-till-you-drop thing."

"Not that, but you get it, though."

"No I don't."

"He told me you do."

"Who? Your father? Told you what?"

"No, dummy. He told me."

"What?"

"He told me."

"You're so high. Why do you do this?" He's
talking to himself now. The girl on E is not going to tell him
anything.

"Because he tells me to."

"Who?"

"You know who. He told me."

He looks into the vapid eyes, wiped blank by
something other than drugs.

He tells me to.

"No."

"He tells me to."

"No--"

"Yup."

"Stop, Emma--don't listen."

He's stopped dead in the street now. The
girl spins ahead of him. He catches her shoulders.

"He tells me, he tells me, he tells me
to!"

"No, no, no, no."

She laughs.

Some of the shadows move.

"We should go back."

"No."

"It's late and this is not a good place to
be."

"Don't worry about that."

"It's my job to worry about that."

She laughs. "You don't need to."

"Emma--"

"Besides, they're not the dangerous
ones."

The shadows come closer. There are four of
them, black hoodies pulled up, looking like trouble.

"Hey there!"

"Emma, stop."

"Whaddaya doing in these parts?" One of the
shadows talks.

Emma giggles. "We're just walking to a
party. What are you doing?"

He's between her and the shadows now. "Back
off."

The shadow talks again. "Hey, we're just
getting friendly. Welcome to the neighborhood."

"We're not staying. Come on Emma."

"No, you come on! We don't want to leave our
friends so soon, do we?" She giggles.

"Hey she doesn't want to go," says the
shadow. "Stay with us baby."

She giggles.

The bodyguard grabs her arm. "Come on,
Emma."

"I don't think so." The shadow moves closer.
"This is our street. She wants to stay, she's welcome to it. You're
the one who needs to back the fuck off."

"I want to stay. I want to stay. And so does
he... so does he! Come on let's stay, Sean. Seany! You, me and him,
let's stay."

"That's right babe. You got to the party
already."

Another shadow moves in.

She giggles.

"Get the fuck away from her."

There's a gun in the shadow's hand. The
bodyguard moves.

Bang!

The shot goes over their head. The hand
holding the gun is twisted, broken, bent in the wrong direction. It
drops the weapon. The bodyguard's hand snatches it up before it
hits the ground. One of the shadows runs. The injured one follows.
Emma giggles. But the third shadow, slow to follow, has another gun
in his hands.

Bang!

A bullet hits the shadow's leg. He falls,
but the arm with the weapon lifts from the ground. But the
bodyguard's arm is raised too.

Click--click.

Damn.

Sean swipes at the shadow on the ground,
once, twice, then it lies still.

Sirens wail. A patrol in the area must have
heard the shots. The shadow on the ground rolls over, groans. The
fourth hesitates, then runs.

They'll get him. He grabs Emma's arm. "Come
on."

She smiles and pulls back. Twirls her hair.
"Told you, they're not the dangerous ones." She laughs.

Stop it.
"Let's get out of here."

"Told you it's not dangerous."

"Are you blind?"

"They're not the danger." Twirl. Giggle.

The cop car pulls around the corner.

"Shit. Now we have to talk to the--"

Thunk.

"Emma--Emma!"

She's on the sidewalk, eyes open, not
moving. Then her eyes lock on his and she smiles.

Not her.

Her lips quiver and she croons something and
giggles and croons. "Nice ride. Nice ride."

"Stop. Stop!"

"Nice ride... nice ride..."

"Get out!"

"Nice ride."

"Get out of her!"

Then the lips still.

"No--shit!"

No pulse...

Chest compressions.

Now breathe in the mouth. No. No. Not with
that thing... I can't. I can't.

"What's going on here?"

It killed her.
"Officer, she
collapsed. She's on something."

"Yeah, I can see that."

He's looking at a little bag of tablets
laying beside the dead hand. He reaches down and feels her wrist,
shakes his head.

"She's dead."

"I know."

"Who are you?"

"Bodyguard."

It was in her... how many are there?

The guy's partner kneeling over by the guy
with the bullet in his leg looks up.

"What is it?" he calls over.

"No signs of struggle. Looks like she
OD-ed."

"Too bad. Hey you, you shoot this guy?"

"Yeah, he pulled a gun. See it, there, next
to him? There were four of them."

"Okay. Ambulance is headed here. Then we'll
need you to come down to the station with us, answer some
questions."

"Right."
Like hell.

His hand reaches into his right pocket, a
reflex when he's nervous. It pulls out an orange bottle. He opens
it.

One pill falls out.

No!

He backs away from the ambulance. They're
leaning over the body on a stretcher now. Out of the flashing
circle of red and blue lights, he turns and runs. Dark streets pass
until there are only trees.

How many? How many are there? How many!

The big dipper shines over head. Polaris
winks.

"Okay," as if answering the stars.
"Okay."

The doctor's office is tucked away in a town
to the north a distant innocuous place where rich people go to hide
their problems. A few hour drive but a few days on foot.

He can last a few days. Especially in the
wild.

No people. Avoid the people. That's where
they live. Can't go anywhere there's people.

It's only woods and fields between here and
there, and he is strong.

It's the underwear that bothers him.
Sleeping under the stars over the hard ground is okay. Solitude is
okay--it's good. No people means none of... them. But the dirt
under his fingernails and his own smell that he knows is there
under the rot of the forest and the pesticides of the fields
bothers him.

Life was always so clean, so careful. He
threw himself into karate because it was the only time he wasn't
treated like he was made of glass. That's what his mother thought
of him: little possessed child, needs to be coddled. It didn't
matter. It was the pills that held off the... thing. The coddling
did nothing. Nothing but make her feel better.

He'd stopped at a Mc Donald's with only one
car in the lot. The manager hadn't notice him coming in to wash his
underwear--and his socks, and his face and hands.

That was two days ago.

Almost there. Almost there.

There are more fields in between the trees
now. Soon there will be houses, then streetlights, then shops. Then
the doctor's office.

A bear stands in the way.

It sits back on its heels, watching him,
mouth open.

The gun is in his hand, but he knows it's
empty.

B
ack away,
slow... talk low... don't look it in the eye... hands in the air to
look big.

Whooooeeeee... whooooeeeee

His hands drop.

Whooooeeeee... whooooeeeee

The sound of a bear trying to talk.

"No. No..."

Whoooeeeee....

"Animals too, then?"

"Yes."

It isn't the bear that speaks. It isn't the
thing in the bear that speaks. It is the thing in his own head.

"No!"

He grabs reflexively for the empty bottle in
his pocket.

"No..."

"You haven't been listening, Sean."

The bottle cracks in his fist.

"Stop--"

"Let me out. Let me out."

"I want to!"

"I need you to let me out."

"Go... go... go!"

"I can't leave until you die."

"Get out! Get out!"

"I can't."

"Stop!"

"I'm trying. I've been trying."

"Ahhh... stop... oh god..."

"You stopped listening to me."

"I didn't--I didn't mean to..."

"It's okay--"

"No!"

"It's okay. My friends can help."

Ngruuhhh Ngruuhh.
The bear
groans.

"No--"

It charges.

"Aaahhh!"

Blood runs down his face. Fear mirrors in
the eyes of the bear, stupid eyes without understanding. His own
fear ebbs almost as if it were being absorbed by the bear. It gives
way to pity at the look in those stupid eyes.

The bear will starve. Or fall off a cliff.
Or get mauled by one of it's own.

Then another parasite will be free.

Another gash opens in his abdomen. The
fearful eyes, and the grizzled fur, and the hanging tongue, and
most of the pain disappear.

"Thanks for the ride."

Then the voice is gone.

SIX

Author's Note:

This collection of stories concludes with...
nothing. This story originated from a very bad day with a
Writer's Digest
prompt: "While cleaning a room in your house
you find a door you didn't know was there." On a better day, the
answer no doubt would have been something mysterious and
fascinating. But on this particular day, the only answer that
appeared to
What do you find in a secret room?
was
Nothing.

~

The mess that Ann left behind wasn't the neat
metaphorical kind that you don't have to sweep and box up. It was
the physical, piles-of-junk, grime-in-the-corners type. We could
have had hoards of treasure piled in the attic, and I would never
know.

Instead of treasure in the dustiest corner of
the attic, I found a door. And while I did not know the secrets of
every pile of junk in the house, I knew one thing for certain:
there was one door in the attic, and it was the one at the top of
the stairs. This one was on the opposite wall.

One more room to clean,
I thought.

I opened the door, and there stood an old
man, snowy and scored as a birch, and as tall and straight as one
too. He stood with arms crossed solemnly, like the gatekeeper of
the invisible room behind him.

"Can I help you?" I said.

"No."

"Can you just stand aside then so I can
clean?" I waved my broom as proof of this intent. "Thought I was
finished, but it looks like there's one room left."

"No."

"Why's that?"

"There is nothing there"

"Well then, it should be quick." I peered
around the gatekeeper's shoulder, but it was dark.

"You will see nothing."

"Look, can I just go in the room?"

"No."

"What if I just do this," and I took a
mocking step to one side, and another, edging around him. "What
will you do then?"

"Nothing."

"See you later, then."

And I danced about the gatekeeper, until I
was at his back.

I stood there for a moment, looking around,
and realized, I was the only thing in the room.

The only anything in the room.

Then what is pulling at my skin?

Something was tugging at it all over.

Then...
vacuum
, my mind supplied.
Plain air, without wind, without cold, without heat, just air
cannot be felt. But its absence is unmistakable.

Every muscle strained to move, every alveolus
reached for air, every blood cell cowered from the snatching void,
I felt it all because there was nothing else to feel.

My jaw opened wide, trying to unhinge like a
snake's, throat pumping to suck in air. There was nothing to
inhale. The muscles in my chest wrenched to expand, but nothing
filled the cavity.

My body was falling out–and up and down and
around–with no air to keep me in.

My eyeballs expanded, the lids widening. Was
it was shock or the void tugging on them? They would not shut.