《SuperTraveler: Lost in Another World》
Chapter 1 (The Dogs of Earth)
With his magic suitcase in hand, Dor Trowel walked towards the giant wall in the desert. Not only was the wall much too tall to climb, but it also spanned horizon to horizon; there was no going around it. Fortunately, that was his destination. He¡¯d come to find the dragon. Cut deep into that wall was a cave, and inside that cave lived a dragon and an old treadle sewing machine.
According to Eta, the dragon would spend all day sewing ¡®marvelous¡¯ creations, stitched beasts that could live and breathe. Now, having just traveled from Utah to a fantasy world, Dor didn¡¯t know much about magic and dragons, but he did know he needed to meet that guy. The dragon knew how to find his friends.
He pulled a flask from his pocket and shook it. Only a few drabs remained and he certainly needed to pace himself. Who knew when he¡¯d find another bottle of booze in this desert? More importantly, he needed to ween himself off. Someone once said withdrawls could be deadly, and if he suffered their symptoms in a desert, it¡¯d be deadly in more ways than one.
¡°You¡¯re gonna go blind, stupid.¡± Next to him, a white-haired kid held a sharpened bird-feeder stand over his shoulder.
That white-haired kid was Dor¡¯s new god. He¡¯d accepted that kid¡¯s name and that kid accepted him as a bunsack; apparently, that was how fealty worked for that lot. Unfortunately, his friends pledged their name to a different god, a ¡®wily¡¯ god as the kid called him. Once again, Dor didn¡¯t know anything about that. He¡¯d only just arrived.
¡°It¡¯s awfully hot out here,¡± a black-haired beauty complained.
Although, her hair was quite well hidden right now. As she trudged through the desert, she wrapped herself up tight in a pink Peter Rabbit comforter. On her hands, she wore a pair of thick oven mitts to dull her claws, not that they¡¯d do much good against her mini-razors. Really, the oven mitts were more just to remind her how sharp her claws actually were. Eta was a ditsy monster. Her tail swished happily behind her and she complained about the heat while wrapped in a blanket.
Dor traveled a long way to get to this fantasy world, and judging by his companions, he still had a long way to go to find his friends.
He only hoped the dragon was a more reasonable creature than his god and his monster.
And hopefully, the dragon has booze. Lots and lots of booze.Weening himself off certainly wasn''t his idea, either.
Colinbach, Utah.
TwoWeeks and One Very Sloshed Memory Ago:
In a seedy Chinese restaurant downtown, Dor microwaved a cup of instant coffee, gave it two creamer packets, and dumped in a heavy splash of Jameson. Uncle Ron once told him Kentucky Gentleman was for slugging with the boys, but the good stuff should always be savored in morning coffee. Taking that advice to heart, Dor always kept a fifth of good whiskey in the car. A McDonald¡¯s coffee, two creams and a splash of the good stuff always used to start his day off right.
Nowadays, anything that burned wet was good for slugging, especially today. That monster upstairs¡something¡¯s gotta change. Really, something¡¯s gotta change.
Only Dor and a monster lived here anymore. All his roommates vanished two months ago; that was two months he¡¯d lived without their support, two months he fed that monster upstairs all alone. That thing showed up right after their disappearances; he knew it had to be related, and right now, he¡¯d grasp at any straw, no matter how dangerous if it meant finding his friends. Something¡¯s gotta change. His pores sweat out pure dread. His hands shook way too much to keep holding his coffee. Black puddles splashed on the floor and he clanked his cup back down on the counter to keep from dropping it.
Turned out, the bottle of Jameson fit his shaky hands better. One more. The straight whiskey burned smoother, not even the beginnings of an ulcer could convince him otherwise. He patted the stubby Glock in his jean jacket, struggling to catch his breath. One more. The next shot nauseated his stomach; his head reeled and damned if it didn¡¯t feel better.
I¡¯m ready to make a change. Despite those preparations, he never did manage to catch his breath.
Inside the decommissioned walk-in freezer, rows of rawhide doggy treats stacked across the shelves, the only meal he could get the monster to eat. Fortunately, with all the recent chaos, he¡¯d been able to steal plenty of bags. Can¡¯t let her get hungry. Dor paused for a moment, hoping his breath would come back. It didn¡¯t, but he grabbed a bag of rawhide anyways.
¡®She¡¯s gotta eat with her tail. Like her mouth is strictly for breathing, and her tail is for eating. Try and get that through her head.¡¯ That kid¡¯s words rang in Dor¡¯s head. I know, I know. The tail is for eating.
The shit of it was, her tail had teeth, rows and rows of swirling teeth. Luckily, she was hiding.
Doggy treats in hand, Dor trudged up the back stairwell. Used to be, he and his friends all slept upstairs; these days, it was no longer their domain. His friends had vanished and Dor slept locked in his car. Climbing to the top was a monumental task. He took it one step at a time, creaking the old boards with every step. As he rounded the top stair, a narrow length of hallway stretched out in front of him. He cursed Jimmy under his breath. His old friend had a fetish for red light bulbs; said it helped with the eyestrain of computer work. Then why put one in the bathroom?
The hallway lights were off, but the bathroom¡¯s night light was still on. He always shut the hall lights off for that monster; thought she¡¯d be more at ease that way. Hell¡¯s a dark place. At the end of the hall, red light glowed around the bathroom door, Jimmy¡¯s doing. Though, as long as Jimmy had been gone, Dor only had himself to blame for those fucking red light bulbs. The nostalgia of Jimmy¡¯s color scheme stopped him from replacing them. Their disappearance didn¡¯t feel quite as real the less redecorating he did.
Rattle, rattle. Rattle, rattle. Dor shook the bag; his way of alerting the monster to his intentions. He didn¡¯t want her to mistake him for an intruder. Through his mind, he saw an image of her popping out of an empty room, those cold black eyes staring him down as she ripped his throat out. She¡¯s a docile creature, very docile. He reassured himself and walked down the hall, towards the red glow under the bathroom door.
Rattle, rattle. Rattle, rattle. He passed Jimmy and Donny¡¯s old room. Those brother¡¯s clothes heaped across the floor in piles, but he didn¡¯t see the silhouette of a monster inside. Next.Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.
Rattle, rattle. Rattle, rattle. Lulu¡¯s room was spotless. She always kept it clean. Technical books and gaming manuals hung on the shelves, knowing her, likely arranged in alphabetical order. The only bit of personality that room possessed was a pink curtain hanging over the window, the only window Dor couldn¡¯t bring himself to board over. Despite safety concerns, he''d rather be killed in his sleep by a hooligan than lose what little of Lulu¡¯s personality he had left to remember her by. Her disappearance was by far the most difficult to cope with. No monster hiding in here, either.
Rattle, rattle. Rattle, rattle. He moved on and passed by his own room, his old room. Inside was a disaster. Unlike Jimmy and Donny, he crammed his dirty clothes under the bed and into the overflowing drawers. Somehow, that made the clutter even more noticeable, spilling through all the cracks instead of out in the open for all the world to see. It simply felt dirty in there.
Worse yet, in the corner of his room, he kept an industrial-sized kitchen pot. That pot hid his biggest disaster, even more so than the overflowing cracks. But with everybody gone, he didn¡¯t need a secret vomit pot anymore. Lulu wasn¡¯t around to worry after him, and he could throw up in the toilet like a real human being if he had to. Although, morning hangovers hadn¡¯t been a problem for him recently. For these last two months, he hadn¡¯t sobered up even once.
He walked to the end of the hall, to the last bedroom, the only bedroom with a closed door. Rattle, rattle. Rattle, rattle. Rattle, rattle. He shook the bag an extra time. If the monster wasn¡¯t anywhere else, she absolutely dwelt behind this door. Instead of knocking, he reached into his coat pocket and felt around for that stubby Glock. This was his ritual, or better yet, his safety net.
With a loaded pistol in hand, he was ready. Knock, knock. He rapped the butt of his gun against the door, no answer, but that was typical. She¡¯s hiding. Because he wanted the gun at the ready, he turned the knob with the same hand he also held the doggy treats in. The latch clicked and he creaked the door open.
Instant death pressed against his temple. The gun wasn¡¯t for her; it was for him. He had no way of knowing if a bullet would even kill her, but he knew his own brain couldn¡¯t handle it. He might not be able to kill her, but he could definitely kill himself. A quick death would be a merciful escape compared to being eaten alive. She only eats rawhide. She¡¯s a docile creature. Dor reassured himself and walked inside.
Typically, he¡¯d dump the treats on the bed and run away, but today would be different. Something had to change. Loathed as he was to admit it, he needed this monster.
From Claire¡¯s old disco ball, stars twirled around the room. His old roommate¡¯s taste in lighting was even too tacky for Dor, and that was really saying something. Perhaps other than Lulu, everyone who used to live here was something of a lost cause. For that reason, Dor fit right in.
The twirling stars illuminated just enough for Dor to make out a heap on the bed. The monster had wrapped herself up tight in Claire¡¯s Donnie Darko comforter, not a trace of her flesh could be seen. Out of sight, out of mind. What a considerate monster. He knew his fear of her attacking him in the hall was irrational. As long as she¡¯d lived here, not once had she moved from that spot. She¡¯d hid under that comforter for two months, wearing a slouch into the mattress.
Just as he was about to creep over, his throat scratched and he felt a whooping cough coming on. He swallowed and itched and did everything he could to keep from succumbing to it. Damn those cigarettes! Startling the monster could spell his death, either by his hand or hers. The cough faded¡for a second.
Ehem. Ehem! He couldn¡¯t keep it contained and hacked up a storm, shattering the silence. That cough was relentless. His eyes watered and he fell to his knees hacking away, struggling to catch his breath. Not once, though, did he take his eyes off the heap under the comforter. It¡¯s fine. I¡¯m fine. Don¡¯t notice me. Shit, of course you already did. Then just don¡¯t eat me.
The comforter twitched and a star twirled across a cold black eye peeking out. She was watching him. Dor waved his hand, hacking on his knees. I¡¯m not a wounded animal. Give me a minute; this doesn¡¯t mean I¡¯m opportunistic prey.
Finally, he caught as much of his breath as he could and crawled on one hand and two knees over to the bed, never once taking the gun off his temple. That coughing fit was just a setback; his mission hadn¡¯t faltered. Something had to change because he needed her trust, or maybe he just needed an excuse to end his misery. That being the case, his mission hadn¡¯t faltered because whether it was a success or a failure, he knew he¡¯d find relief either way.
With the gun to his head, he clawed at the mattress while holding the treats, trying to pull himself up top. A gentle snake tickled across his hand and Dor froze. He was still on his knees, frozen at the edge of the bed and the snake tickled his hand. Cold saliva dripped on his fingertips and the snake began slithering up his arm. He hung his head low. He couldn¡¯t see it; he didn¡¯t want to see it, but he couldn¡¯t ignore her touch.
Just like a boa constrictor, it wrapped around his arm, squeezing it just tight enough to get a grip. The tip writhed. Swirling teeth distorted the snake¡¯s outer shell, and that tickled in a different way. Bedsprings creaked as the monster shifted her weight; the pressure on his arm tightened even more, and the snake forcibly pulled him to his feet.
Dad said never point a gun with no intention to use it, and never, never, put a finger on the trigger without the immediate intent to pull it. Right then, Dor put his finger on the trigger. With that small movement, the barrel came alive; that was the best he could explain the sensation. That gun morphed into a true beast, one he absolutely knew meant him harm. No, not harm. It meant to splatter everything he had been and ever would be into oblivion. He imagined the nine-millimeter slug wound back in anticipation, eager for its final adventure. At that moment, Dor realized he truly did not want to die.
Thankfully, he owned a Glock. The pistol fell out of his hand and thumped to the floor, but it didn¡¯t misfire. Glocks didn¡¯t misfire and neither would Dor. He wanted to live and he needed to make friends with a monster in order to survive.
His eyes burned and tears welled up. Pathetic. Completely pathetic. Through the tears, he forced himself to look at the monster on the bed. Stars twirled across her cold black eyes as she studied him, and Dor did all his pathetic self could manage. Rattle, rattle. Rattle, rattle. Despite the snake constricting his arm, Dor managed to pour a pile of doggy treats on the bed; that was the best he could do to save his life. Hopefully, it was just enough to make a new friend.
It didn¡¯t work. The snake continued to slither up his arm; her tail must have been extra hungry today, that or she¡¯d been waiting for this opportunity all along. Rarely had he gotten so close before; typically he¡¯d stretch as close as he dared, just close enough to dump a pile of treats on the bed and run away. Today, he¡¯d actually tried to claw his way onto the mattress and she¡¯d taken full advantage.
At this distance, her tail no longer appeared to be a snake. Not only could he see every joint, he could feel its hard carapace slither up him. The tip was hollow, and those damn teeth swirled around inside, ready to devour food like an external intestine machine. At this distance, it was a hungry centipede, not a coiled snake.
The centipede crawled down his shoulder, twisted around his back, and curled across his stomach. The hand that used to hold the gun reached down and grabbed the hungry centipede curled around his gut. He didn¡¯t try to pry it off; he pet it. His fingertips traced along the segments, caressing every joint, and he prayed she could feel his affection through that hard outer shell. Let¡¯s be friendly. I need your help. I really do.
She pulled him over to the edge of the bed, forcing him to sit there next to the pile of food. Without unwrapping her tail, its teeth found the pile and dug in. It crunched and ground and snapped the morsels down, all while still coiled around him. Dor felt bulges of food cycle around his stomach, sucked up through the length of her tail, and trail off to the monstrous gut buried beneath the blanket.
More than the terrifying, it was bizarre.
She didn¡¯t squeeze tight, just tight enough to keep him secured upright. If anything, she was supporting him. Dor swallowed hard, wishing he¡¯d brought whiskey instead of a gun. The tail swallowed hard too; he only hoped she wasn¡¯t wishing for real meat instead of doggy treats. His fingertips traced along the segmented joints, feeling bulges of partially digested bits slurping through it.
Let¡¯s be friendly¡please.
He¡¯d grasp at any straw, no matter how dangerous to find his friends again. At the very least, he needed to find Lulu. Her disappearance was the hardest of all.
Chapter 2 (The Dogs of Earth)
He was alive, and he was drunk, the makings of a good stable buzz to get him through the day. Dor sipped his coffee. It had a bit too much Jameson to be tasty and Folgers was always shit, but it started his day off right. He leaned against the counter-top in the restaurant¡¯s big kitchen, sipped his coffee, and stared at his car, the 80¡¯s Trans-Am that got spoiled with being an inside car nowadays.
Back when the vanishings occurred all over the city, it really hit the fan. Mobs flooded the police station, a few there to file missing persons reports but most simply wanted to vent. For the first time in the city of Colinbach¡¯s history, the cops closed their doors. Faced with the decision to shoot thousands of violent hooligans, they picked the lesser evil and shrugged their duty for the night.
That was also the same night Dor stole a chainsaw and cut a hole in the kitchen wall. No one noticed. With the chaos downtown, the brattle and whine of a full-throttle two-stroke fit right in. Could be that even the hooligans didn¡¯t want any trouble with a chainsaw-wielding maniac, that crazy dude with a mullet cutting down a wall. Everyone let Dor be, just how he liked to live.
After seeing the carnage downtown the next day, he knew he made the right decision. In the parking lot outside, Lulu¡¯s Grand Prix had all its windows smashed in. Jimmy¡¯s Prius sat on four flats, uninspired graffiti painted across the hood, and Claire¡¯s scooter was nowhere to be found, only a snapped padlock hung from the pole she¡¯d parked it against. However, Dor¡¯s Trans-Am was safe. To get through the night, he shoved the industrial counters and stove-tops out of the way and crammed his car inside the building.
It wouldn¡¯t have taken much effort if anyone truly wanted to get at his car. All he could do right then was loosely nail the chunk of the wall he cut out back in place after wheeling his car inside. Since that night, he¡¯d hinged a proper garage door over the cut-out, a couple of sheets of plywood bolted to a pair of reclaimed barn hinges. At least, it was normal by Rose Valley Park standards, his old man¡¯s neck of the woods.
Today, for the first time since the start of their mini-apocalypse, Dor contemplated taking his car on a drive. He was no mechanic, but he knew four-barrel carburetors did not do well sitting idle. With all the time on his hands, he even contemplated trying to take it apart and clean it out, though he figured he¡¯d just muck it up worse. However, the carburetor was not his real concern. Really, he needed his Dad.
He¡¯d met with Dad and Uncle Ron downtown a few times to hang posters. They kept in touch with e-mail since Dor didn¡¯t own a cell phone, something they gave him plenty of grief over. What¡¯s the point? The only number I¡¯d need is Lulu¡¯s. A moot point, now. Without her around, his life was completely lost. She¡¯d always been his best friend, working so hard to drag him away from his hermit holes and integrate him into society. Nowadays, Dor was the epitome of a hermit, but, despite that, he really needed to see his dad today.
That monster upstairs, it made so much more sense to keep her a secret, protect his family, but that only made sense in theory. In reality, he¡¯d nearly blown his brains out yesterday. He was scared and he was pathetic and he really needed his dad right now.
That kid said the monster could read. Dor hoped that was true; the kid was right about her eating with her tail, that added little credibility. Hopefully, he was right about her literacy, too. Instead of petting the centipede today, Dor stuck to his old routine. To feed her this morning, he''d reached over as far as he could and dumped the treats on the bed, nearly hyperventilating himself to death in the process. The stars shone across her cold black eyes, but she didn¡¯t twitch. She left him be, exactly how Dor liked to live. Before he ran out the door, he slipped a note onto the bed.
¡®Be back later. Don¡¯t wander around; people are cruel outside.¡¯
Words still caught in his throat every time he tried to speak to her. A note was a good compromise; maybe she¡¯d even follow his advice? Dor hedged his bets and unbarred the garage door. Bright morning light blinded him as he pushed the plywood open, propping it back with a couple of trashcans. A bout of the spins hit and he hunched over. Being drunk in the A.M. always spun his head a little extra, like the early sun reminded his brain this wasn¡¯t normal. Holed up drunk inside was okay, but outside, it just felt wrong.
He recovered and zagged back indoors, grabbing his spiked coffee on the way. After a quick pat-down of his pockets, he confirmed everything was in order: wallet, keys, Glock, and Sargent Berry¡¯s Stripes. Now, Sargent Berry had been his friend for a long time. Dor reached in and dug his friend out of his jean jacket, a flask his old man gave him a long time ago. ¡®Sargent Berry¡¯s Stripes¡¯ was engraved into the front in big cartoonish lettering.This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.
He might have been fourteen when his old man caught him sneaking a half-gallon of Bartons from the pantry. Dor and Skids were meeting a couple of gals out at the sandpit. The plan was to ride Uncle Ron¡¯s old Yamaha down there and impress the chicks with some tricks and use the only pick-up line Dor had ever learned ¡°You wanna do some shots?¡±
Drinking was the only way to impress the older gals around Rose Valley with his ¡®maturity¡¯, and it would have worked, too, except his old man caught him sneaking away with the Bartons. Dad didn¡¯t get mad and Dor didn¡¯t get a lecture, at least a real one. Dad fished that flask out of his own pocket and tossed it to Dor, saying he could only take what would fit in there, roughly a traveler¡¯s worth.
Later on, Dor only ended up with a mild buzz and a bad case of blue balls. Apparently, Cinda wasn¡¯t impressed enough with his maturity to round third base. Though in hindsight, it all worked out for the better. Turned out, Cinda had a bad case of something Dor was better off not catching. And he and Skids had a blast tearing through the sandpit on the Yamaha. Sometimes, moderation was best, at least that was the lesson he took from his old man that day.
¡®Sargent Berry¡¯s Stripes¡¯ hadn¡¯t left his side since then, and the Glock hadn¡¯t since the start of their mini-apocalypse. With everything in order, he crawled into his car Bo Duke style. The kitchen was too cramped to open the door so he crawled in through the open T-Tops. He scooted over and prayed that disconnecting the battery terminals for these last few months had kept his battery alive.
Whamp. Whamp. Whamp. It cranked, but barely. He pumped the accelerator and tried again, more wamps. Pump, pump, pump. Wamp. Wamp. Pump, pump, pump, Wamp. Wamp. Bang! A massive backfire and the car roared to life. Fuck! No doubt the noise startled the monster upstairs and he didn¡¯t want to face her wrath. He revved the engine and roasted the tires right on the kitchen linoleum. The car screeched through the opening and sped outside, but he wasn¡¯t safe yet; no way he could leave a gaping hole in the house while he was away, and the only way to bar the door was from the inside.
He had to go back in.
After flying down the mini car ramp leading to the kitchen, the car slammed down onto the parking lot and before it settled down, Dor locked up the hand brake and raced outside, running back to swing the garage closed before the monster could react. At least, he hoped before she could react. He swung the door shut, barred himself inside the kitchen, and turned to leave through the dining room, but out of the corner of his eye, he caught a tall bundling wrapped up tight. At the bottom of the stairs, a Donnie Darko comforter stood like a child playing ghost for Halloweeen. He even saw both her jet black eyes peeking out this time, eyes wide and staring daggers right at him.
He panicked. Grabbing closest item on the counter, Dor threw a spatula at her and ran away without checking to see if it even hit. He ran out the front door and retreated to the dizzying safety of the morning sun. He didn¡¯t even bother with locking that door, just slammed it shut and sprinted to his car. The Trans-Am roared as it peeled away. Normally, he¡¯d ease his tires over the potholes in the alley leading out of the parking lot. Today, his car rattled and bounced over them as he lurched out of the alleyway and onto the four-lane tarmac of 31st street.
Downtown, tall buildings with smashed windows lined either side of the road. Beggars and hooligans shuffled down the sidewalk, and missing persons posters covered the storefronts like scales. At those sights, Dor knew he was finally safe. He¡¯d escaped the monster.
Sargent Berry sat on his lap and those two made sweet love as they drove away, far more buzzed than he should have been.
As he raced down the road, a crowd of hooligans gathered. They might have been looking for trouble or they might have simply been crossing the street. Dor didn¡¯t care either way. He suckled Sargent Berry, mashed the accelerator, and roared right past them. They flung beer bottles and hollered obscenities, but that didn¡¯t matter since Dor was safe. He¡¯d been on edge for so long, walking on eggshells around his own house that the lack of real stress felt like relief.
This feels great! I should get out more often. Wonder if Angel misses me?
He hoped Angel missed him. Dor had plenty of money burning a hole in his pocket, might be, things had settled down enough it¡¯d even be able to spend. Suspiciously enough, not FEMA nor the National Guard ever appeared to reign the city back under control. Apparently, their city had been the only one affected by the apparent isolated rapture. Everywhere else went on with their lives, completely ignoring Colinbach¡¯s plight. Dor knew this for a fact. Even more suspiciously, the internet never went down even once. Extra bizarre since he hadn¡¯t paid any bills these last two months. Not like money could be spent at the start of the panic anyways. Everyone simply stole what they needed, and his home downtown was in the heart of the chaos.
Rose Valley Park was much safer. Actually, anywhere was safer than his home. A sudden thought struck him. Does anyone else have a monster living in their attic? He¡¯d been too wrapped up in his own bubble to even consider that possibility before. He¡¯d innately assumed he was the only one walking on eggshells as bizarre as his situation was.
Best not to think about it. Sargent Berry¡¯s gave the best road head, and he¡¯d wine and dine that bitch the rest of his life if he needed to. It was always best not to think too deeply into those matters.
God help any hooligans in my way. I¡¯m coming home, Dad.
Chapter 3 (The Dogs of Earth)
Half an hour later, Dor had escaped downtown and drove past the big green hill lofted above the outskirts of town. Really, that hill was a sewage lagoon the city built before these outskirts were inhabited. Once a year, the shit at the bottom would rise to the top and fumigate the surroundings in wretched stink, quite the oversight from the city-planning committee. Or maybe just some cheap real-estate they could sell?
Still, to Dor that big green hill was his favorite sight. Just beyond it, he turned down Highway 41, and a quarter-mile later, turned into Rose Valley Park. That hill landmarked the highway home. Comfortable double-wides and modular homes scattered through Rose Valley¡¯s paved lot. His old neighbors sat on lawn-chairs out front, sipping beer with their bare feet propped up on coolers. A crowd of high-school kids huddled on the porch of a double-wide. Dor was just outside the latest generation of up and comers, so he didn¡¯t recognize any of them, but he figured those kids were passing around a joint and gossiping about loose women.
The good ol¡¯ days. His 30-year-old Trans-Am fit right in. The throaty engine grumbled by, turning the kids¡¯ heads. They all hooted and hollered, and Dor couldn¡¯t help but smirk. He lifted a couple of fingers off the steering wheel and gave them a sly wave. One of the girls in the crowd hollered louder than the rest. Is that Marcy Dean? Goddamn, it is. That¡¯s Denny Dean¡¯s girl, growing up quick.
To Marcy, he gave a full-wave. Her dad, Dean, used to stop by back in the days when Dad put on his Wednesday evening barbecues. Wednesday was the only evening Dor¡¯s old man had free enough for a family dinner. Uncle Ron, Lulu, and the rest of that crowd would stop by with a slab of something or other to throw on the grill. Denny Dean always brought skewered Portabellas wrapped up in bacon. Those were good. They¡¯d eat to the tune of Fleetwood Mac or Def Leppard while sitting on coolers and folding chairs scattered around the lawn. Dor and his buddies would huddle together out back, sneaking cigarettes and beers. The good ol¡¯ days.
As he drove through the neighborhood, there were still people out and about, but the magic of those days seemed to be missing like everything had tamed down. Some people he loosely recognized; most others he could only empathize with their loiterings. A lot of new faces and changing old ones. Dor wasn¡¯t so old that generations had come and gone since his time here; for goodness sake, he wasn¡¯t even twenty years old, yet. But with him and Lulu spending their high school years outside Rose Valley''s school district at a far-removed, posh school downtown, he¡¯d lost touch with most of his old friends. Their faces had changed beyond recognition, and, honestly, he felt left out. Seemed even his home abandoned him.
That feeling quickly vanished. At the end of a cul-de-sac, he saw his old man¡¯s camper sitting atop a stack of cinder blocks. Their old barbecue lawn chairs stacked against the camper¡¯s yellowed paneling, caked over with lawn clippings and silt. Judging by the state of those chairs, seemed Dad hadn¡¯t put on any get-togethers for a while now. Still, the camper was exactly where it was supposed to be, a lot over from Uncle Ron¡¯s double-wide.
Dor killed his engine and quietly rolled towards Dad¡¯s camper. As much as he loved Uncle Ron, he wanted a quiet approach. Later, they could catch up, but right now, he needed his dad all to himself. He really needed someone to listen to his troubles. Uncle Ron was a lot of good things, but objective wasn¡¯t one of them. He had a heart of gold but no problem telling you exactly what to do and how to go about it. Lulu definitely inherited that aspect of her father. She was the exact same way, except, she¡¯d go the extra mile and literally drag Dor around to all the things she thought he needed to do. The shit of it was, Dor knew most of the time Lulu was right.
The Trans-Am¡¯s tires crunched right up the limerocked driveway and parked in front of the camper. Likely Uncle Ron would discover Dor¡¯s car, but hopefully not right away. Without even bothering to pull his keys from the ignition, Dor crawled out of his car and strode right up to the camper¡¯s screen door. Just before he waltzed inside, a thought struck him: he hadn¡¯t showered for three days. With the monster living next to the bathroom, he¡¯d been hosing himself down outside, but that was a hassle he didn¡¯t want to deal with every day, especially since he was a hermit and all.
His Levi¡¯s and Hane¡¯s Tee were clean enough, and his Doc Marten¡¯s weren¡¯t too scuffed. There might have been a stain or two on his jean jacket, but that was par for the course. No one cared about jacket stains. Still, he ran back over to the car and checked for grunge in the side mirror. Immediately, he realized just how bad of shape his hair was in. The chin-scruff didn¡¯t bother him, but the locks on top of his head did.
His biggest pride was his hair-do. But today, his thick dirty blonde hair was matted and greasy, exactly the type of mullet he hated. Right now, he wore a mullet that gave all mullets a bad name. Fuckin¡¯ Joe Dirt, not Pat Swayze. Since he¡¯d been hosing himself down outside, he didn¡¯t bother with the small army of hair care products anymore. A quick rinse down was all his formerly light and fluffy mullet got. It was supposed to resemble Pat Swayze¡¯s, styled after his and Dad¡¯s favorite movie, ¡®Roadhouse¡¯. Instead, it looked more like Joe Dirt¡¯s.
At least he was better looking than David Spade. A square jaw and tall cheekbones might help people forgive the grunge up top. He did his best to fluff his hair, trying to look presentable for Dad. It sorta worked. Fuck it. Dor strode back to the camper and waltzed inside. Pine-scented incense sticks filled his nose. Dad always wanted to live in a log cabin out in Tennessee, but life got in the way, and the best he could do was pine-scented incense sticks to live his dream. Traces of skunky weed lurked underneath the incense¡¯s veil.Love what you''re reading? Discover and support the author on the platform they originally published on.
Paper plates, Styrofoam cups, and Party Pizza wrappers stacked high in the fold-over sink basin. From there, a small island jotted out, separating the kitchen and living space. There were only two stools in front of that island bar and only one of them clean enough to sit down on. Dor¡¯s former stool was covered over in junk mail. Dad ate his meals alone these days.
In the living space, a Laz-E-Boy and a futon huddled around a small coffee table and pointed towards an old boob tube television set in the corner. Even in this digital world, a pair of rabbit ears still perched on top of it. Dor grew up watching the ABC and PBS channels. If the sky was clear enough, sometimes they could get Fox to come in and watch a Saturday Bond flick. But usually, it was Eyewitness News and Reading Rainbow.
A tower of beer cans, some brick weed, and Dad¡¯s famous bong cluttered the coffee table. For some reason, the futon still had its bedding on. Dad been sleeping out here? Growing up, the old man slept in the back bedroom and Dor got the futon in the living space. With Dor coming home all hours of the night, that worked out great. He could carouse with his buddies and then walk in the front door, take a couple of stumbling steps, and pass out in the living room. With Dor out of the house now, there shouldn¡¯t have been any bedding on the futon anymore. There certainly wasn¡¯t the last time he visited. When was that? Before shit hit the fan for sure, at least two months ago then.
His old man was likely still sleeping. His night-shift schedule was brutal. Even worse, Dor knew his old man hated that shift. He¡¯d only taken it on in the first place so he¡¯d be available to drive Dor and Lulu to their posh school across town. As strange as it sounded, Dor was nostalgic to the scent of armpit sweat. He and Lulu would pile into Dad¡¯s Dodge every morning at five. Dad would always be reeking of sweat having just got off his shift, and he knew it, too. Even in the dead of winter, Dad would crack his window to siphon out the stench. Dor had never been so shameless as to ask, but he figured Lulu was nostalgic to that same smell, having spent all those same mornings cramped up in Dad¡¯s Dodge.
It always worked out well because Uncle Ron got off the shift following Dad¡¯s, so he¡¯d be available to pick Dor and Lulu up after school. For the nostalgia of Uncle Ron¡¯s Windstar rides, it was the scent of heavy gel right guard. Uncle Ron and Lulu weren¡¯t true kin, but he and Dad went back far enough that their two families merged together all the same. Uncle Ron, Lulu, and all his boys mixed up with Dad and Dor like one big family.
Dor sniffled and opened the fridge. He dug out a hotdog, stuck it in his mouth, and cracked a beer. Right then, the toilet flushed and his gangly dad stepped out of the bathroom. Dad''s haggard face, his skinny arms, the months-old hair-cut, that nostalgia hit him harder than armpit stink. Small as the camper was, they were only a few paces away, but Dor couldn¡¯t react. It was so easy to keep it together when it was just him by himself, but seeing his dad, the comfort of it, the sniffles really overtook him. For the second time in two days, his eyes burned and tears fell. He really couldn¡¯t help it.
With the hotdog sticking out his mouth and a beer in hand, he wrapped his arms around his dad and squeezed him tight. Neither Dad nor Dor said a word. They just hugged in the kitchen. That hug might have lasted an eternity; though it only felt like a few seconds. Dor couldn¡¯t tell. He just knew he needed his dad.
Only when the hotdog snapped and half of it fell on Dad¡¯s shoulder, did the two separate.
¡°Lookin¡¯ good, son!¡± Dad complimented.
¡°You¡¯re up?¡± Dor questioned while swallowing the remaining half of his hot dog.
¡°You know it. They cut us back a bit a Hosh¡¯s, so you¡¯re old man¡¯s got an easy day today.¡±
Right as Dad said that, Dor kicked himself for such an inconsiderate question. Of course, Hoshlinger¡¯s would lay off its workers. Colinbach didn¡¯t need meat packed; they needed FEMA or the National Guard. Things were improving since the initial panic, but they were nowhere near great. It was such a shitty thing to say to Dad; Dor had been so wrapped up in his own bubble, he didn¡¯t ever stop to consider how his old man was doing. I¡¯m such an asshole¡ He also knew emotional stability wasn¡¯t his strong suit these days, but knowing and keeping it all bottled up were two different feats.
¡°You look good, son,¡± Dad reiterated. ¡°You look good.¡±
Dor thought of Dad as a glass half full type of guy. Actually, all the glass needed was a drop of water in it for Dad to grab his water wings and dive right in. "The water''s great, son! Come on in!" But even then, saying Dor looked good was still a stretch.
Dad slapped Dor¡¯s back and invited him to the living space. Usually, Dor took the futon and Dad got the Laz-E-Boy, but today, Dad jumped ahead of him and plopped down on the futon first, leaving Dor the recliner throne. As Dor sat down in the recliner, he couldn¡¯t help but think it was the most comfortable chair in the world, worn in all the right places. Really, that well-worn support cushion was hell on the spine, but it worked wonders on the soul.
Seemed Dad plopped down first just to usher Dor to the recliner. Immediately, Dad jumped back up and reached onto the shelf that held his bargain Sony Speaker set. He cranked on the stereo, switched out the CD, and Lou Reed began to strum about eggcreams. That psychedelic, folk-rock artist was Dor and his old man¡¯s one point of contention. Dor hated the Velvet Underground and Dad loved them. His old man considered it a sin to light his bong without them strumming some angsty hippie crap in the background, happy cords about heroin and the good ol¡¯ days.
¡°It¡¯s the same damn person!¡± The old man would say.
¡°But it¡¯s not the same music.¡±
He preferred the pseudo-poetic, mad-rambling, solo version of the guy. In truth, Lou Reed¡¯s singing was terrible, the guitar cords were rough, and Dor didn¡¯t even like eggcreams. He¡¯d tried them once after the song made it sound like the greatest drink in the world. In reality, it was fizzy chocolate water, just as disgusting as he expected.
Still, Lou Reed was his music. Dad had the Velvet Underground and Dor had Lou Reed.
Without pausing a beat, Dad plopped back down and got to work breaking up some weed. ¡°Ronnie and me was talking about taking a trip up to visit ya. How¡¯s that sound?¡±
Dor couldn¡¯t look his dad in the eye. ¡°I got¡I got a problem,¡± he managed to say.
Dad packed the bowl. ¡°Whatever it is, it¡¯ll still be there in a minute, right son?¡±
That was his dad. He always knew exactly what to say and how to say it. Dad handed him the bong, and twenty minutes later, Dor began his story.
Chapter 4 (The Dogs of Earth)
Two months ago, Dor defended his pride, and while he spent the night in jail, his friends and thousands of others around the city vanished. When no one came to bail him out, he¡¯d assumed he¡¯d gone too far that time, that beating down another sweater-vest type was too much for Lulu to forgive¡yet again. Until his release, he couldn¡¯t imagine how wrong he was. Never assume, you just make an ass out of you and me and then the city goes to hell. His old man¡¯s words were spot on, though he added that last bit himself.
He got arrested for punching out Lulu¡¯s boyfriend-of-the-month, her latest ¡®networking¡¯ scheme. That guy was talking shit about Dor¡¯s hair-do, cutting straight to the heart of Dor¡¯s pride.
To him, that mullet wasn¡¯t just a hairdo; despite how silly as he knew it was, his mullet represented his pride. All he had to do was cut it neat to fit in with Lulu¡¯s sweater-vest crowd and the rest of those asshats at their posh school across town. He knew that and it was a simple matter, but it was never worth it before. He¡¯d rather be a damn hermit than bow to those arrogant bastards, the ones Lulu kept trying to ¡®network¡¯ with. Rose Valley Park was a home to be proud of, his old man was a father to be proud of, and he shouldn¡¯t need to cut his hair to become a person he could be proud of. That was what Lulu would never understand, neither her nor her boyfriends.
Still, a new thought nagged at him. Maybe if he hadn¡¯t defended a stupid haircut two months ago, he wouldn¡¯t have been arrested? And if he wasn¡¯t arrested, he might have been around when all his professional guild-mates disappeared. His old man and Uncle Ron could have been putting up posters of him right now instead of just Lulu. At the very least, he¡¯d still be a part of the group instead of abandoned to the remnants of this city, left behind by his only friends.
It¡¯d be so easy to move back to Rose Valley Park, leave their guild headquarters behind to the thieves. He could live with his old man, maybe hang out with Uncle Ron and his kids, help them scour the world for Lulu, but it didn¡¯t feel right. Doing that felt like regression, like throwing away all Lulu¡¯s hopes for him. Her nose was always buried in a textbook, working for later, or a computer monitor, earning for now. Other than Dor, her friends and boyfriends were always superficial relationships; she used every blessing God gave her to its fullest advantage.
Instead of schmoozing up to jocks with her pretty face, she seduced the sweater-vest crowd. Jocks didn¡¯t have a bright future; sweater-vests did. Uncle Ron, her dad, couldn¡¯t be more proud of her. Her older brothers were a good lot, but they didn¡¯t share her aspirations. Seemed that entire family pinned their hopes on her, determined to live vicariously, and she didn¡¯t disappoint.
Dor was the one who disappointed. Lulu dragged him around everywhere, forcing him into all her ¡®networking¡¯ schemes. She called home ¡®a life spent wasted¡¯, and wouldn¡¯t ever accept Dor¡¯s intent to return. Likely, she hated those posh assholes at their high school as much as he did, but she hated a life spent wasted even more. For a time, Dor contemplated sabotaging his own grades just so he could be expelled and return home, back to Rose Valley Park. Yet, he never did. That, too, would be throwing away his family¡¯s hopes for him.
Admittedly, this decision was made much easier by another very big problem he was dragged into, one he couldn¡¯t explain even to himself. On the night he was released from jail, he recalled a drunken conversation with some kid who broke into the Chinese restaurant. Dor remembered sitting down at his computer in the dining room converted office space for another night of work, not yet realizing everyone had disappeared. At that time, he assumed all his other guild-mates had gone to bed, frustrated after a failed mission. Once again, he assumed wrong.
The character he¡¯d been noob leveling, Xenos Princely Warrior, should have been sound asleep on his bed. Tuck¡¯s Inn was a save point, a safe place, at least, it should have been. Instead of seeing Xenos snooze, the cut-screen of death played on a loop. Somehow, his character had died. Can assassins do that? Maybe, I guess.
For a brief moment, he turned to ask Jimmy how the hell that happened, but Dor was the only one downstairs. Everyone else¡¯s computer was unmanned, playing that same cut-screen. Even more baffling, a prompt appeared on his screen, a prompt the others'' screens didn¡¯t show.
¡®Do you desire the power for future adventures? Accept Lord Prometheus as your true god.¡¯
¡®Do you willfully accept Lord Prometheus? Y/N?¡¯
Future adventures? Dor couldn¡¯t care less about those. He had a monthly quota to meet.
¡®No.¡¯
Without a shred of hesitation, he answered the prompt. The cutscene ended and Xenos was once again asleep in his bed. Instead of worrying about how his character died in a safe zone, Dor grabbed one of the rolling papers scattered behind his monitor. That was one of the best perks of his job. The bossman, Jimmy, bought all Dor¡¯s weed for him. Since Dor wasn¡¯t involved in any of the ¡®fun¡¯ quests with Jimmy, Donnie, Lulu and Claire, slaying hidden bosses and whatnot, Jimmy considered Dor¡¯s weed a business expense, one taken right out of company profits.
Dor¡¯s only job was to grind the beginner half of Valrere Online over and over again. He leveled a never-ending queue of character accounts past all the early humdrum parts, fetching water from some mountain range, finding Fryer Tuck¡¯s lost pigs, and mostly just slaying endless hordes of Thumper Rabbits. Basically, he did all the monotonous crap rich players didn¡¯t want to bother with.
For each type of character, Jimmy drew up an easy to follow advancement map, and all Dor had to do was point and click all day, every day, following Jimmy¡¯s plan. Because of that tedium, Jimmy deemed weed a business expense, certain that without it, Dor would fall asleep at the wheel. In truth, Dor found his mindless job cathartic. He had a road map all laid out, his only concern was to meet a simple quota, few expectations from anyone.
Because of that, it didn¡¯t even take half a brain cell for Dor to click ¡®No¡¯ on a dude named Prometheus¡¯s offer. Wasn¡¯t he some god in Valrere?
A startling voice sounded right next to him. ¡°Good thinking. He¡¯s a dick.¡±Find this and other great novels on the author''s preferred platform. Support original creators!
Dor smacked his knees under the table as he jumped in surprise. Someone just talked in his ear.
Slowly, he turned to look over his shoulder¡ª
And jumped again!
He¡¯d about butted heads with the kid perched over him. That kid didn¡¯t even flinch, he just stared at the monitor, at Xenos sleeping in his bed. He reached out a finger and touched the screen, apparently startled it didn¡¯t go through.
¡°I knew Prometheus had some neat toys, but this thing¡¯s awesome!¡± The kid exclaimed. ¡°Do you got to feed him or something? Does he want out of that box after a while? Crazy that stupid bunsack¡¯s just sleeping there.¡±
His head peered around behind the monitor. ¡°Woah! He¡¯s all super skinny, too.¡±
Fortunately, Dor had a good buzz on. The excitement wore off quickly.
¡°Who¡¯re you?¡± Dor asked.
¡°Oh, I¡¯m the Loogman formerly known as Oenus,¡± he answered, then shook his head. ¡°No, no, no, I¡¯m the bunsack formerly known as God. Wait, that¡¯s not right either. I¡¯m a god in a bunsack body, but bunsacks are super weak, like you wouldn¡¯t believe it¡ª¡±
The kid paused his spiel and studied Dor up and down.
¡°¡ªnevermind. You would believe it because you¡¯re super weak, too.¡± He continued.
Dor didn¡¯t even try to wade through that mess of a rant.
¡°You Jimmy¡¯s friend?¡± Dor asked.
¡°Oh, I know Jimmy!¡± He answered. ¡°I reverse followed him here. Or rather, he was going one way, and I was going the other. That¡¯s how I found this world. That¡¯s what I do.¡±
Again, Dor completely ignored that rant and simply packed his joint while the kid looked on. No matter how many times the old man showed him, Dor never got the knack for rolling a joint. He always just wrapped the paper around a pencil and tamped a shit-load of weed down in there. Why not? It was a business expense.
He lit it and inhaled relaxation. The kid was even amazed by that.
¡°What¡¯s the deal?¡± the kid asked. ¡°The air not good enough here?¡±
Dor snickered and shook his head. The air used to not be good enough here, it still wasn¡¯t but it used to, too. Good ol¡¯ Mitch Hedberg. He offered his joint to the kid, but that kid was already pawing Dor''s handle of Kentucky Gentleman.
¡°I know what this is,¡± the kid said. ¡°I got the recipe in my book, but it kept making my bunsacks blind, so I figured it wasn¡¯t a good idea.¡±
¡°Blind ain¡¯t so bad,¡± Dor mused, his head reeling.
¡°You and Eta¡¯ll get along, then,¡± the kid said. ¡°I gotta hide her. Get this, so turned out wheelmen weren¡¯t a great idea. I thought Mister Jenkens wouldn¡¯t notice, but he did. And now, the wolves are after Eta, who knew, right?¡±
¡°Right on,¡± Dor replied.
¡°Oh, and also, you¡¯re my hostage because, you see, Prometheus doesn¡¯t know about Mister Jenkens. Like I tried to tell him, but he took it wrong. Thinks he can kill Death! What an idiot! So, since Prometheus is back in Valrere, I¡¯m gonna hide Eta here. ¡®Cause of Mister Jenken¡¯s wolves and all.¡±
¡°Who¡¯s Mister Jenkens?¡± Dor asked, more to make conversation with Jimmy¡¯s friend than actually caring about the answer.
¡°Oh, he lives in my well,¡± the kid answered. ¡°And he lives in the Brackspire, but there¡¯s no bog here, so it¡¯ll be fine. I¡¯m sure of it.¡±
Dor tuned most of that out and took another drag. ¡°You like Lou Reed?¡±
¡°I can read,¡± the kid said. ¡°Learned how with my book. Eta can read, too. She¡¯s gonna live with you for a bit, but don¡¯t forget, no hanky-poky or else I¡¯ll get Dragon to cut your Ding off, too. We still got to find Domagon; he¡¯s really horny and he likes Eta.¡±
The kid thought for a minute. ¡°If you can, try to get her to eat. She¡¯s all crazy and stuff now and doesn¡¯t understand she¡¯s gotta eat with her tail. Like her mouth is for breathing and her tail is for eating, so try and get that through her head.¡±
¡°No problem,¡± Dor said as he scrolled through Spotify.
Ah, there it is.
Harsh cords and mewling lyrics filled the room. This time, it was the kid who jumped in surprise as he began scanning the ceiling. ¡°Prometheus? Is that you? I¡¯m gonna hang out here for a bit, at least until I kill enough bunsacks to make Mister Jenkens happy. Here¡¯s a hint: don¡¯t do wheelmen here in your world. He don¡¯t like that.¡±
¡°You talking to God, man?¡± Dor asked, nearly twisted enough to talk to God himself.
¡°Who else?¡±
¡°Guess you really do like Reed¡±
¡°Oh, one more thing,¡± the kid said, ignoring Dor. ¡°Eta¡¯s like stupid strong now, but she doesn¡¯t know it, so be careful or else she might accidentally rip your guts out. Like not on purpose but still, don¡¯t let her scratch you. She accidentally disemboweled me once. Fortunately, Dragon stitched it up, but you know¡no scratching because Dragon¡¯s not here.¡±
Dor exhaled a cloud. ¡°Right on.¡±
Then he eased his head back. God¡it¡¯s me again. Let¡¯s chat.
And the rest of that night was a twisted blur. The next day, the monster appeared on his doorstep, and, at that time, he hadn¡¯t a clue what kind of burden he was taking on. Her clothes were strange. An oversized tunic of hide hung off her dainty shoulders. He caught a few ripples underneath that tunic, later on, he¡¯d realize it was her tail hidden beneath it, wrapped around her own waist. All she carried was a small travel bag and the clothes on her back.
Mostly, he was just stunned such a beauty showed up on his stoop looking for a place to crash. Right then, the most disconcerting feature about her was her jet black eyes, eyes that matched her long straight hair, Dor¡¯s favorite style. For those eyes, he¡¯d assumed she was blind instead of demonic; when really, he was just blind himself. She might have been a bit older than him, but age was hard to tell in such a shapely girl. Chances were, she was the type to look twenty years old even into her forties. Her cute face would even give Lulu a run for her money, and that was really saying something.
She didn¡¯t speak but held out a note just like a kid holding out a permission slip.
¡®I¡¯m Jimmy¡¯s friend. Let me stay here.¡¯
And that was the start of a monster living upstairs.
Bong haze filled the tiny camper and Dor finished recounting what he could remember of his story to Dad. Throughout all of it, Dad never interrupted once. He laid on the couch, hands behind his head, and nodded along. His relaxed posture eased the tension out of Dor. He¡¯s not worried about it. It¡¯s not as big of a deal as I¡¯m making it out to be.
After a moment of silence, Dad must have confirmed that was the end of Dor¡¯s story. He sat up, looked Dor in the eye, and said, ¡°man, Ray Davies said it best, you know? That paranoia, it¡¯s a need destroyer.¡±
Dor wasn¡¯t entirely sure the Kink¡¯s song fit his situation, but running through the lyrics in his head, he realized his Dad¡¯s words had a bit of depth.
¡°More like Enter Sandman,¡± Dor countered.
¡°Nah man, worries, worries, worries, it¡¯ll all work out in the end. Come here, check this out,¡± Dad said as he stood up, motioning for Dor to follow along.
The walked down the narrow hall. The hall in Dad¡¯s camper wasn¡¯t constricting though. Dor knew no monsters lived here; there¡¯d never be a time when one jumped in front of him and ripped his throat out. His fingers traced along the wood paneling as Dad led him back to the master bedroom. When Dor walked inside, he was shocked.
The bedroom was clean, completely spotless. The bed was made so tight, you could bounce a quarter on the mattress. The old carpeting was scrubbed and shampooed to a color Dor didn¡¯t even know it had. Dad beamed and stretched out his arms. ¡°Welcome home, son!¡±
That was when it clicked. The reason the futon still had bedding on top of it was because Dad had been sleeping out in the living space every night. He¡¯d scrubbed and cleaned up his old room, the master suite, so Dor would have a nice place to come home to. Dad didn¡¯t even know if Dor would come home or not, but he moved into the living space just on the off chance Dor returned.
Right then, Dor realized just how fucked up his emotions really were. For the third time in two days, he cried like a baby.
¡°Goddammit, Dad,¡± he squeaked between the sniffles.
Dad hugged him tight, pat him on the back, and said, ¡°welcome home, son.¡±
Chapter 5 (The Dogs of Earth)
Pine-scented incense filled his nose while Dor relaxed in the master bedroom. He¡¯d been awake for three hours now, but couldn¡¯t bring himself to crawl out of bed. Yesterday, he didn¡¯t go home. The bedroom door was shut and despite it being close to noon, Dad didn¡¯t bother him. Occasionally, Dor felt the camper rock as Dad trudged around inside. Dishes clattered every now and again, sounded like Dad was cleaning the kitchen.
Instead of facing the day, Dor wrapped up tight in the freshly laundered comforter and listened to Antiques Roadshow on the television in the living room.
¡®¡ªthrough dirtied glass, a splendid nineteenth-century monocle.¡¯
''Incredible.''
This morning, all Dor did was cuddle up under the blanket, spooning Sargent Berry all the while. It could stay like this. I could live here with Dad. We could hang out all day and shoot the shit. Maybe I could talk him into getting internet? No doubt he¡¯d love noob leveling as much as I do. I¡¯d teach him the game and he wouldn¡¯t have to worry about Hoshlinger¡¯s and chopping meat. We could hang out and chill all day every day.
As comfortable as he was, he knew this relief was fragile. While talking himself through his dream-life, Dor finally untangled himself from the comforter and wobbled out of bed. A bout of the spins hit him as blood rushed to his head. This was both just as normal for him as it wasn¡¯t normal in the first place. Coping with the spins were a part of his routine now, but needing to cope in the first place wasn¡¯t normal. He knew that much.
Pulling on his faded Levi¡¯s and dirty Hane¡¯s Tee, he opened the bedroom door and embraced the day, flask in hand. Dad was in the kitchen, arms deep in scrub-bubbles as he did his pile of dishes. He didn¡¯t say good morning. Heck, he didn¡¯t even wipe the suds off his hands; he just held his hand up in the air with a glean in his eye. Dor slapped Dad a high five as he always used to do. Up high, too sly. Down low, too slow. In the middle, wiggle, wiggle, wiggle. That was their secret handshake.
Dor trudged over to the futon and plopped down on his old man¡¯s bedding. He unscrewed Sargent Berry and took a big swig. Dad didn¡¯t ask any questions and Dor was glad for it. Then, realizing there was no music running, Dor hopped up and reached over to the bargain Sony stereo. He really didn¡¯t want to bother me this morning.
¡°Foghat or Steely Dan?¡± Dor asked.
¡°I¡¯m thinking them Doobie Brothers go better with dishes,¡± Dad replied. ¡°Put on The Cap¡¯n and Me¡real easy listening jams.¡±
Dor put it on, and quickly realized why Dad wanted this album. Dad had a habit of talking through his tunes, and the first song up was ¡®Natural Thing¡¯. We all gotta be loved, huh? For some reason, a pang of guilt twinged his gut and he thought of that monster he¡¯d abandoned last night. Fuck that, demons don¡¯t have feelings. That guilt quickly turned to dread when he thought of what he still needed to do. She¡¯s gonna be hungry.
For a brief second, he had half a mind to ask his old man to tag along, meet the monster. Dor didn¡¯t know whether his dad believed him or not, but he didn¡¯t care either way. Dad wouldn¡¯t treat him any different one way or the other.
¡°Best hop on over and holler at Ronnie,¡± Dad said, wiping his hand on a dishrag. ¡°He was asking after ya. Don¡¯t think none of his boys are around, but Ronnie¡¯s there.¡±
Dor lit a menthol light and Dad walked in, carrying a big glass of water. He set it down in front of Dor and eased into the recliner, rocking the chair on its heels as he always did. And like that, those two sat in the camper and bullshitted just like old times. Dad talked about the glory days, and Dor explained about Valrere Online, hoping to sew a seed in the back of his old man¡¯s mind. Never hurts to plan for the dream-life.
Eventually, the clock rolled around to mid-afternoon and Dor reluctantly stood to leave. Dad gave him another hug and didn¡¯t even ask if he¡¯d be back; his dad would carry on the same either way, sleeping in the living space and leaving his room to Dor, and Dor knew nothing he could say would change his dad¡¯s mind. Before he left, the old man stuck a fat CD case in Dor¡¯s pocket, ¡®Lou Reed. The Sire Years: Complete Albums Box.¡¯
¡°You¡¯re lookin'' good, son,¡± Dad said.If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.
¡°You too, Dad,¡± Dor replied.
Then he walked out and left his dad all alone in the camper to finish his dishes. That part really hurt. He rubbed his temples as he climbed into his car. What the fuck is wrong with me? Here lately, it seemed like all his emotions were cranked up to twelve. He¡¯d always kept them bottled inside, but here lately, they¡¯d been boiling under a sea of whiskey, raging just below the surface.
The only way to fix it was to find Lulu. Gotta feed that monster.
He peeled out of there and was halfway home before he realized he¡¯d forgotten to stop in and see Uncle Ron. Fuck. Maybe I can send him an e-mail? I gotta feed that monster first. That¡¯s above all else.
No hooligans got in his way on the trip home, and he turned off 31st Street and into the long alleyway leading back to his home, the only home he¡¯d allow himself to have until Lulu was found, that seedy Chinese restaurant with a monster upstairs. But on the return trip, he really took his time babying the worn suspension of his Trans-Am through the craters in the alley.
He¡¯d been down that narrow road so many times before, he knew every pothole in the alley by heart and he feathered the brake by muscle memory as his tires eased through the tire-swallowing potholes and out the other side. Despite his forced dedication to the task at hand, he was in no hurry to return. Whatever it is, it¡¯ll still be there in a minute, right Dad?
Out of habit, he killed the engine and rolled to a stop, but he didn¡¯t get out. He took a minute to stare at Lulu¡¯s pink curtain hanging over the window upstairs and downed the last drabs out of his flask. Despite those preparations, his still sweat dread at the thought of going inside, yet he forced himself to do just that.
As he stepped into the restaurant¡¯s dining room converted office space, red lighting and the whirl of cooling fans were the only ambiances. In the far corner, a precarious tower of dining tables perched against the wall, nearly all of them save for five. Those five were scattered around a loosely tiled room with a beast of a computer whirling below each table and a flashing computer monitor on top.
Only the clickity-clack of his guild-mates'' keystrokes were missing from that nostalgic ambiance.
As he edged into the room, he relaxed just a little. That scene was just as unchanged as he¡¯d left it yesterday to visit the old man. Every monitor except his played the cut-scene of death on an endless loop. The ¡®Valere Online¡¯ logo mixed artistically with a big guy wielding a sword as he slew a horde of monsters. A barbarian, maybe? Never did figure out what those monsters are.
This was nearly the exact scene he walked into after getting out of jail, right before his drunken chat with that intruder. All the monitors played the cut-scene and a pile of clothes slumped across each chair. That was the tell-tale sign every disappearance in the city had in common. The monster wasn¡¯t his only lead. He also blamed the game, just sure it had to be related to his friend¡¯s rapture somehow.
Dor walked through the dining room and into the kitchen. He unbarred the swinging garage doors and drove his car inside and crawled out of the driver seat Bo Duke style. After locking up again, he grabbed a handful of rawhide doggy treats from the decommissioned walk-in freezer and trudged upstairs. The trip was a little less daunting this time. It seemed his emotional relief was nearly charged now, as good as it could have been given the circumstances. He planned to recharge it every now and again since it appeared the chaos had finally dwindled enough for him drive his car back to Rose Valley without much incident.
Rounding the top stair, he rattled the treats a few times, but didn¡¯t stop to look for a silhouette in every room and barged straight into the red glow under the bathroom door, walking straight down the hall and back to Claire¡¯s room. He didn¡¯t fish the Glock out of his jacket and, for the first time ever, knocked on the monster¡¯s door with his bare hand. Thump. Thump. Thump.
He creaked the door open and stepped into the room. Today was the day. He was nearly charged and had the right attitude to make a real change in their relationship. Today, he was going to talk to her. That kid said she could read, and if she could read, she could understand English. He was going to explain to her that he meant no harm and would take care of her as long as she didn¡¯t mean him any harm either. Then from those words, their relationship would bloom into a mutual transaction. He¡¯d take care of her, and she¡¯d tell him how to find Lulu. Easy peasy. Don''t make more out of it than it actually is.
Stars twirled across the walls and Dor strode over to the bed, to the comforter piled there. Wait¡ Today, the comforter wasn¡¯t heaped like usual; it was piled in a ball. Today, the monster wasn¡¯t hiding. She was lurking. It took longer than a minute for that revelation to sink in. He stood over the bed, trying to comprehend what he was seeing. She wasn¡¯t here. She was lurking somewhere.
In one fell swoop, his emotional batteries drained to zero again and he felt around for the Glock in his jacket, not taking the time to consider the consequences of that action. Right as his fingers wrapped around the grip, cold saliva dripped on the back of his neck. A quiet centipede slithered down his spine and began to wrap around his stomach. The monster¡¯s tail ignored the arm holding the bag of treats and constricted around his other arm, the one tucked inside his jacket, fingers stopped just shy of gripping his gun.
Her centipede locked his arm tightly in place. He couldn¡¯t move it. The swirling teeth tickled him and right then, the monster appeared. She walked out from behind him, standing right in his face. Her jet black eyes stared daggers into him and right then, Dor wished he was dead.
Chapter 6 (The Dogs of Earth)
He got a real good look at her, long as she kept him hostage standing there. He couldn¡¯t do much else. Her perfectly proportioned face had changed these last two months. Before, every one of her curves appeared to be sculpted to perfection; now, her cheeks were sunken in, gaunt and hollow. Every shred of fat was missing. Her smooth skinstretched tight around every jot and jag in her skull. Before meth, after meth. As quick as her appearance changed over the last two months, it reminded him of before and after posters warning against drug abuse.
Really, there was only one conclusion. Rawhide was not cutting it. The monster upstairs, she was starving and right now, she had Dor wrapped tight in her hungry tail.
Those cold black eyes stared straight through him as if even this much wasn¡¯t worth her time. He swallowed hard, hoping she wouldn¡¯t do the same. The image of her screaming like a banshee as she ripped his throat out played through his mind. The monster was hungry and staring through him. He¡¯d been so wrong. These two would never get along. A mutual understanding between us? Ha. I¡¯m just a slab of meat, one that delivered himself right to her.
Although, rational thought begged a different question: why¡¯d she wait until now to strike? She was starved, he was cattle, and yet, she waited two months to devour him. The terror of this situation wouldn¡¯t allow him to consider much more. Escape. Somehow, he had to escape.
Dor did all he could do. Rattle, rattle. Since one hand was firmly secured by her centipede tail, his plan took a lot of effort. Slowly, his free hand crawled its sweaty fingertips into the bag of rawhide doggy treats. If he dropped the bag, it would all be over. Dor took his time. Hopefully, this situation would last a mintute because he needed every second he could get. His fingers clawed through the opening, without taking his eyes off hers, he shook the bag, working it upside down. Thunk, thunk, thunk, thunk. Rawhide strips spilled around his palm and thunked to the floor, but he managed to catch one.
He shook the emptied bag off his hand and did all he could do right now; he tried to feed the monster. Instead of feeding her tail, he stuck the strip in front of her other mouth, holding it in front of the full lips on her face. Just like a baby, her mouth opened. Ahh. Here comes the airplane! And he shoved the doggy treat in, praying she wouldn¡¯t bite off his fingers in the process. As soon as he¡¯d dropped the rawhide on her tongue, he snapped his hand back.This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.
Her teeth crunched and snapped and ground that morsel into oblivion, his fingers safely out of the way. He watched the bulges slide down her throat. And then¡
Ack! Ack! Ack! Her eyes watered and she fell to her knees, hacking up a storm and dragging Dor down with her. Devoured chunks sprayed Dor¡¯s face as she hacked them out her mouth. Ack! Ack! Ack! The tail loosened and the monster keeled over, writhing on the ground in front of him. Dor took every opportunity he could and untangled his hostage arm. Free! I¡¯m free! How all that worked out, he hadn''t a clue, but he''d take it. He jumped over her writhing body and sprinted out the door. He raced down the hall, down the stairs, through the kitchen, unbarred the garage, and froze.
Almost all his brain was occupied thinking about plans to escape, all but a tiny section of rationality that froze him in his tracks. She¡¯s starving. He needed the monster, without her, he¡¯d never find Lulu. She was his only edge over the people hanging futile missing persons posters downtown. She¡¯s starving¡Fuck. Fuck me. He closed the garage. The sound of her hacking cough echoed downstairs. She gonna be pissed, too. His terror drained into zombie-like state, forcibly closing off his emotions to deal with the issue at hand. That¡¯s probably not right. That¡¯s too much credit. I just don¡¯t have anything else to give.
He zombie walked into the decommissioned walk-in freezer and locked himself inside. A tiny Edison light-bulb hung from the ceiling, illuminating the small room as Dor stood among all his plundered goods. Rows of her rawhide doggy treats lined the shelves; cans of Folger stacked above them; some Ramen noodles and other dried sustenance littered here and there.
But Dor ignored all that. This little pantry was a fortress; hopefully, one that would keep him safe until her rage cooled. He couldn¡¯t abandon the monster again. Next time, she really might rip his throat out. Chances were, he wouldn¡¯t get another shot like that to escape. She¡¯d be on guard next time. He¡¯d abandoned her last night, and today she quit hiding. Today she lurked. If he lost her patience completely, he¡¯d lose Lulu completely, and Dor was determined to grasp at any straw, no matter how dangerous, to find Lulu again.
But right now, locked in his fortress, he grasped at something else, his most prized plunder. A crate of Kentucky Gentlemen rested in the middle of the floor. He¡¯d already raided its contents, but a few morsels remained. He reached in and dug out a fresh handle of whiskey and slumped down next to it. If she found him in here, at least he¡¯d get a painless death. He chugged down so much at once, he began to see stars from asphyxiation. The whiskey slammed into his gut; a pit of nausea spread; his head reeled and damned if it didn¡¯t feel better.
The rest of the day was a twisted blur. Though, he faintly recalled hearing dogs howl in the distance before passing out locked in the cooler.
Chapter 7 (The Dogs of Earth)
His mind sloshed, the room spun, and Dor woke up comfortably, too comfortably in fact. On the hard diamond plate floor of the freezer, he found himself curled around the crate, hugging an uncapped handle of Kentucky Gentleman close. The handle of whiskey rested sideways against his chest as he laid in a pool of pungent alcohol. Though, for the bottle being sideways like it was, the pool wasn¡¯t near as big as a spilled half-gallon of alcohol should have been.
There was no doubt he¡¯d slept longer than four hours, drunk as he still was after waking up. Four hours of sleep was the compromise he and his body came to a couple of months ago. If he slept any longer, he¡¯d need to drink way more than his body could comfortably tolerate. But with four hours of sleep, he could easily carry over the stable buzz he¡¯d worked up the night before to a new day. Actually, his greatest fear was waking up sober, so he carefully regulated that sleep schedule. He didn¡¯t even want to consider the hangover he¡¯d suffer at the end of this binge. More like withdrawls long as its been.
Unfortunately, he broke the agreement he and his body made. Before passing out, he¡¯d gotten so drunk that he¡¯d overslept, he just knew it. He could feel it. Despite that, strangely enough, he was more comfortable than he should have been. Dor buried his cheek into the pillow and eased his mind. It took two seconds for that action to register.
Pillow? This is a freezer. Pillows don¡¯t belong here. I¡¯m sure of it.
Yet, he slept with a pillow for some reason he couldn¡¯t comprehend. Sloshed as his mind was, his brain misfired fiercely this morning; so, he couldn¡¯t make full sense of it, but the pillow felt good. It was well worn. Normally, well-worn pillows fell flat, but this one had gone through all the proper maintenance procedures, rotated and balanced with care.
A nostalgic musk filled his nose. It wasn¡¯t quite musky sweat; truthfully, he couldn¡¯t identify the actual smell. It was completely foreign; yet, bizarrely nostalgic. Me and Lulu and Dad, all crammed into his Dodge at five in the morning. Despite being unidentified, he could tell it was some kind of ripe body odor. For this strange smell, maybe a Folger¡¯s coffee spiced with cinnamon would be similar? At least, if that coffee had been left on the counter for a week. Or a couple months. He inhaled the musky, cinnamon-infused, coffee aroma. Sugar, spice, and everything nice.
A whispy strand tickled his nose. He scratched it and pulled off a hair--a long, straight, black hair. My favorite style, but Lulu¡¯s blonde so this isn¡¯t hers. Claire has mousey hair, so not hers either. Then a cylinder in his brain fired just enough to make sense of it. No¡no, no, no. Dor shot upright and scanned the freezer. All he saw were doggy treats, noodles, and the crate under the warm glow of the Edison bulb. He was alone. But he wasn¡¯t alone last night, the monster came in here while he was sleeping. How? I--I locked the door.
His focus turned to the heavy door. It sat at an odd angle. At first, he couldn¡¯t make sense of it, then he saw a crack at the bottom of that industrial aluminum door. He crawled over but before he could study it any closer, a note pinned to it with a nine-penny nail caught his attention. That huge nail had been drove right through the thick aluminum. And, he noticed, the wide head didn¡¯t have a single hammer ding on it, just like someone had pushed it in with their bare hand.
The note hanging from it wasn¡¯t a handwritten one; it was a printed page out of a book. The title was printed in the header:
¡®Prometheus¡¯ Jumpstart Guide: How to Skip Ten Thousand Years of Stagnation.¡¯
¡®Chapter 792: Firearms and their potential.¡¯
Below that header, most of the page was a diagram depicting an expanded model of a pistol. Arrows connected the outlined components to their descriptions, but the gist was clear. That page explained exactly how a firearm worked.
She brought me a pillow and pinned a notice to the door?
He looked back at the pillow. It was soaked through. He¡¯d carelessly dropped it into the puddle of whiskey; all that careful maintenance was ruined. She¡¯s going to kill me. Except, this time, he meant it figuratively. She could have driven that nine-penny nail into his heart instead of the door if she wanted to. God knows, he gave her plenty of reason to be angry at him recently. He¡¯d abandoned her here, all alone while he stayed the night with the old man; then the first thing he did upon coming home was shoving a chunk of rawhide down her throat before he ran out of the room while she coughed herself into a massive fit. What a piece of shit.
Then somehow, while he''d hid in the cooler drinking himself into oblivion, she¡¯d brought him her pillow and pinned a notice to the door. Fuck, I¡¯m a piece of shit. He crawled over to the pillow and slopped it out of the muck. It was already too late to save it, it was soaked through. He could run the pillow-case through the dish-sanitizer downstairs. That was how he washed all his clothes nowadays. But the pillow itself was too far gone to be saved; no matter what he did, it would always reek of whiskey, not cinnamon spice. And everything nice.Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author''s preferred platform and support their work!
As he lamented ruining her pillow, a huge revelation hit him. He¡¯d been feeling sorry for that monster. His sloshed mind misfired so bad, it even began to empathize with that creature. What the fuck is wrong with me? Looking back through rose-colored glasses, he¡¯d mistakenly empathized with the monster. That was easy to do. It was so easy to ignore all the reasons why he feared her in the first place if it meant an easy excuse to curse at himself. It seemed the only emotion stronger than fear was self-loathing. Ha. I just need to self-loathe up some courage, march back in there, and have a bleeding heart to heart with that monster.
He wrung out the pillow and carelessly dropped it right back onto the puddle, soaking it through once again. From the remnants of yesterday¡¯s handle, he filled Sargent Berry and tucked it away in his puddle soaked jacket. Really, all his clothes were soaked. The only part of him that stayed dry was his head; the pillow supported it just high enough to stay out of the muck. I¡¯ll get her a new one, self-loathe up some courage, and march back in there and have a bleeding heart to heart.
As he stood to his feet, the spins hit him extra hard today. He was much worse off than usual. Instead of a stable buzz, he toed the line of an out-of-control drunk, one he wanted to embrace. He didn¡¯t fight the spins. Suckling Sargent Berry, his body sloshed just as hard as his mind and he zagged over to the heavy door. His foot stumbled on the diamond plate floor and he tripped, reaching out to the door to catch himself.
The door didn¡¯t support his weight. Both he and it fell forward. He landed on top of its aluminum shell as it crashed into the kitchen, deflecting off a counter on the way. Dor was off his rocker and the other door was sheared off its hinges. He glanced back in confusion. It seemed, when she broke in last night, she literally broke in. She¡¯d sheared the door off its hinges and propped it loosely against the wall, just waiting for a bumbling idiot to stumble into it. Whoopsie. I¡¯m the bumbling idiot. That¡¯s right, I¡¯m a bumbling idiot. Give me a hand here, self-loathing. I¡¯ve got to face down a monster.
He staggered to his feet, nearly slipping off the polished aluminum as he walked off. The stairs were extra daunting today. That wasn¡¯t due to fear, no he was a bumbling idiot and fully embraced that moniker, more than enough to overcome fear. An out-of-control drunk didn¡¯t hurt either. The first step tripped him, yet again, and he crawled on his hands and knees up the stairs. That''s the first step, admit you''re powerless. At that point, he didn¡¯t even give enough of a shit to stand back up. He wasn¡¯t even sure if he could.
Dor crawled up the stairs, down the hall, and paused in front of Jimmy and Donny¡¯s room. Eyeing the dirty clothes scattered everywhere, he moved on. No, their pillows would be real rank. She¡¯d be less pissed with a whiskey-soaked pillow than a rank one. Maybe my old pillow?
He laughed. That was a really funny joke right now. His pillow shouldn¡¯t have even been in the running. It disqualified at the start. Really, there was only one option. He crawled into Lulu¡¯s old room and paused to take a deep whiff. He couldn¡¯t smell anything. Her scent had faded and the only memory that remained in here was a pink curtain.
He grabbed her pillow off the bed and threw it onto his back so he could crawl unhindered. Just like a mad tortoise, he crawled out of Lulu¡¯s room and down the hall to Claire¡¯s room, wearing a pillow on his back like a turtle shell. Today, for the first time ever, he didn¡¯t knock with a gun and he didn¡¯t even knock with his hand. He knocked with his skull. Bang! Bang! Bang! You deserve that. Again, for good measure. Bang! Bang! Bang!
Then he reached up and turned the handle. The latch clicked and Turtle Dor crawled inside. Good, good, good, she¡¯s hiding again. Good news! Disco stars twirled across an occupied comforter wearing a hole into the bed. She sat upright. Her hands fiddled with something or other under there, but he didn¡¯t care to know what. He just crawled over, grabbed the pillow off his back, and threw it at her.
It bounced off her body and fell to the bed. She didn¡¯t react. Good, good, good news today!
¡°Follow proper maintenance,¡± he told her without skipping a beat. That was easy! I spoke, I spoke to her! Dad was right. I was making an ant out of a molehill here. Or a mount out of an anthill or something. That was so easy!
He recalled the note pinned to the door. ¡°You can¡¯t have my gun either. You scared of it? Is that it? You scared that I can hurt you? Good! Cause I¡¯m so self-loathing I could take down a monster or an anthill or a even a mole if I had to.¡±
He wasn¡¯t being cocky. Right then, he was positive he could take down the lot of them.
As he turned to crawl out of the room, her hands quit fiddling under the blanket. Then, something other than her tail popped out. Just like a vending machine shooting out snacks, a hidebound canvas popped out of the comforter and plopped onto the floor in front of him. He couldn¡¯t understand it. Dor reached out and picked up her prize. Cross-stitch? That monster has been doing cross-stitch under there?
Dull red and bright yellow thread contrasted to depict a half-finished scene on the canvas. Dor saw¡Me? He saw himself with a cartoonishly large hand cannon pointed at his temple. Unfinished red lettering stitched above it: ¡®Chapter 792: Firea¡ª¡¯
He wasn¡¯t sure why he did what he did next. But Dor put the hide canvas on his back and wore it out, exchanging one turtle shell for another.
The rest of that day, he finished his out-of-control drunk, and the next day, he sobered up, though not willingly.
Chapter 8 (The Dogs of Earth)
The next morning, clarity smacked him hard, a gut punch no less. Acid churned and woke him with a jolt. Before his eyes even opened, last night¡¯s booze shot out his mouth, at least, that was his expectation. Instead, only foul mucus drained out and clung to his cheek. Apparently, his stomach didn¡¯t have anything left to give for some reason, but that didn¡¯t stop his body from being a dick. His body was determined to punish Dor for breaking their agreement.
¡®Four hours of sleep on an easy buzz, that was the deal, young man!¡¯ His body chided.
¡®I¡¯m sorry, Mr. Body, honest. Can¡¯t you let me go? I won¡¯t oversleep ever again,¡¯ Dor groveled.
¡®Overslept? Ha! You over-everthing¡¯d yesterday. No, no, no, I¡¯m coming to collect my dues.¡¯
¡®Please¡please, Mr¡ª¡¯
Bleh! His stomach had nothing left to give, but that didn¡¯t stop his dick of a body from punishing him. He woke up dry-heaving in a convulsive mess.
He laid on a soft mattress, but his ear propped up on a bony knob of some sort. His head was turned to the side, and everything beneath him was soaked. It wasn¡¯t soaked in spilled booze either. It was all vomit. He¡¯d woken up dry heaving in his own vomit. Oh, God. Kill me now.
Dor tried to turn his head, but a snake pressed against his cheek, locking his head firmly to the side. He couldn¡¯t move. A snake was holding him there. Reaching up to those snakely bindings, his fingertips traced along a hard carapace, tickling every segmented joint. That¡¯s no snake. This close, it¡¯s a centipede, a hungry centipede. He tried to get up. He struggled to get away from that centipede, but a lightning jolt struck his temple and another one of clarity¡¯s fists punched his gut. Once again, he convulsed in a dry heaving fit while his brain fried under the hot electric torture of a migraine.
As the tears fell from his strained eyes, he simply gazed at the stars twirling across the bedroom wall. Fuck me. This is Claire¡¯s old room. I¡¯ve been kidnapped by the monster and taken to her lair.
He realized the knob his ear propped up on was underneath his kidnapper¡¯s Donnie Darko comforter. Thank God it¡¯s a girl under there. It felt like¡kneecaps?¡propping up his head. He reached his hand down and squeezed that support. Yup, kneecaps. His head rested on the monster¡¯s legs.
Soaked in vomit as everything was, one thing was perfectly clear: Claire¡¯s mattress was ruined. The worst part was he had no recollection of spewing any last night. All he knew was that the monster kept his head turned sideways as the pair of them huddled in a pile vomit he couldn¡¯t remember. Then it all clicked.
As he writhed and groveled against Mr. Body¡¯s torture, Dor reached up a hand and pet the tail pressing against his cheek. This time it really was affection. He was in no state to tell her ¡®thank you¡¯, so he did what he could, fully realizing she¡¯d saved him from choking to death on his own vomit.
Thanks, Monster. You¡¯re so much nicer than that asshole I call a body. The torture his body dealt must have misfired his brain much fiercer than any drink because right then, he really was grateful.
He was still aware of the teeth swirling inside her tail, but the potential of that paled to the torture he put his own self through. Mr. Body was the real monster. Being eaten alive would have been a merciful escape to his punishment; perhaps that was why her tail didn¡¯t bother him?
And even somewhere along the lines, he fell asleep, and vaguely recalled hugging tight to the lesser monster¡¯s tail for every inkling of comfort it could provide.
**************************************
Dor woke up again. His mouth tasted like a hot fart and the bony knee-caps pressed into his ear. It took a second, but the twirling stars reminded him of his situation, and a panic washed over him. He clearly wasn¡¯t in the right state of mind earlier and cringed at how grateful he was to the monster. The torture had fried his brain.
Although, that torture hadn¡¯t subsided completely. There was progress, but not full resolution. He and his body were currently at the bargaining table, negotiating a tentative peace.
¡®Seven more hours of feeling like ass,¡¯ his body told him. ¡®Oh, and if you thought you couldn¡¯t get more emotional, you were wrong. I¡¯m gonna crank up the dial to nineteen.¡¯
¡®How about four more hours of feeling like ass and I¡¯ll give you a drink of water,¡¯ Dor countered.
¡®Ha. I¡¯ll just make you throw it up. You have no power here.¡¯This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.
¡®You¡¯d cut off your mind to spite the brain?¡¯
¡®In a heartbeat,¡¯ his body coldly replied. ¡®A heartbeat I control, mind You. You have no power here, but I¡¯ll tell you what; you caught me in a good mood. If you can hold the water down, after four hours I¡¯ll rescind my previous sanctions.¡¯
¡®The migraine, too?¡¯
¡®The migraine, too.¡¯
¡®Deal.¡¯
However, during their negotiations, Dor hadn¡¯t been entirely honest with his body. He¡¯d agreed to terms he had no idea how to fulfill. Business 101, my boy. The tail still pinned his cheek. He was even being held at ransom out here as well.
Tap. Tap. Tap. His fingertip tapped her tail to get her attention. She shifted subtlety.
¡°I need a drink,¡± he told her through squished cheeks.
Tap. Tap. Tap. Her tail replied, tapping on his jacket pocket. Of course! The monster knew what was up, and Dor reached for reinforcements.
¡®You¡you wouldn¡¯t.¡¯ His body was scared.
¡®You brought this on yourself, you dick.¡¯
¡®I¡¯ll¡I¡¯ll cut the feelings of ass down to¡to three and a half¡ªno, two hours! Please, anything but that!¡¯
¡®You had your chance. I tried to reason with you.¡¯ Dor reached into his jacket pocket and curled his fingers around a tin flask. ¡®It¡¯s the hair of the dog, motherfucker, and you¡¯re the rabbit.¡¯
¡®But it already bit you! This is¡this is suicide!¡¯
¡®Takes one to know one.¡¯ Dor¡¯s last quip was weak, but his reinforcements weren¡¯t. He had a private militia in his pocket, rebel forces led by his old friend, Sargent Berry. He pulled out the flask and thanked God there were still a few drabs left in it.
¡®Buckle up, soldier!¡¯ Sargent Berry commanded him. ¡®This is war!¡¯
¡®Sir, yes, sir!¡¯ When he opened the cap, the pungent stink inside nearly brought him into another gagging fit, but he needed to take his medicine. The tail squished his cheeks and puckered his lips like a fish, so he drank like one, suckling Sargent Berry¡¯s cock for the medicine buried deep inside. That was a soldier¡¯s duty to his commander.
His body panicked and tried to expel the rebel forces, but Dor didn¡¯t lose a single soldier. With the Sargent at command, Dor forced every last drop of booze down, keeping the vile liquid there through sheer willpower alone. It nauseated his stomach; his head ached and damned if it didn¡¯t feel better. Placebo effect or not, just knowing relief was on the way was enough to knock the torture down a peg.
He tapped the tail again. ¡°I need to pee,¡± he told her.
She giggled. He froze.
That took more than a few seconds to process.
Just as simple as that, the monster displayed a human emotion. That wasn¡¯t real. I misheard. My brain must be fried. Still, curiosity got the better of him. He tapped her tail again. ¡°I need to pee.¡±
She giggled. Apparently, that was her trigger phrase.
¡°I need to pee,¡± he repeated just to triple check.
She giggled and her tail let up.
Easy peasy. Too easy in fact. It hit him. This is a trap. She¡¯s lulling me into a false sense of security. Torture is much more effective if the victim has hope. She¡¯s giving me hope so she can rip it all away.
¡°I need to pee,¡± he confirmed.
She giggled.
It¡¯s too soon to tell. She either thinks ¡®I need to pee¡¯ is really funny, or she¡¯s bent on psychological torture.
¡°I need to pee.¡±
She giggled.
¡°I need to pee.¡±
She giggled. Over and over again, he repeated that phrase and she laughed every time. It was a pleasant, airy laugh¡ªa bit ditsy but really pleasant on his ears. She had a nice voice. Until then, he didn¡¯t even know she had one, but he¡¯d discovered her voice and the emotions behind it all with a bout of childish humor.
¡°I really do need to pee. Please let me up.¡± And she did.
Covered in vomit and thoroughly nauseated, Dor got out of bed completely hunched over and trudged to the bathroom for the first time in two months. He got away scot-free. She never even shoved a knife in his back. He¡¯d escaped simply by saying ¡®please¡¯.
My mind must be fried. I just told the monster a joke, had a laugh with her.
He kicked off his boots and hopped into the shower, clothes and all. With all the filth he¡¯d been covered in, it was a job beyond what the dish sanitizer could handle. Dried flakes of vomit washed down the drain, and he hung out under the hot water, easing the tension from his body. His head hung low and he relaxed, at least until it dawned on him that he hadn¡¯t closed the door.
Too late, the monster stood in the doorway, wrapped tight in her vomit soaked comforter like a Halloween costume. Instead of fear, though, he felt remorse. His fear buried beneath the feelings of self-loathing that seeing her in that state drudged up. She¡¯d kept him from choking on his vomit last night, and he¡¯d repaid her by ruining her hidey-hole with his filth. It didn¡¯t hurt matters that she looked so pathetic standing there. He really, really felt bad.
¡®And I¡¯m going to crank your emotions up to nineteen! Mwuahahahaha! You haven¡¯t seen the last of me!¡¯ It seemed his body got in one last jab before the rebel forces took over.
I¡¯m such a piece of shit.
¡°Let me¡let me wash off,¡± he told her. ¡°Then I¡¯ll take care of your blanket.¡±
She didn¡¯t leave the bathroom though. She plopped down on the floor Indian style and watched Dor take a shower. Is she some kind of pervert? Dor didn¡¯t dare argue. It seemed those two were finally starting to come to terms. At least, as long as this isn¡¯t some kind of long-winded psychological torture. That thought even sounded ridiculous in his head.
At one point during his shower, she even popped her head out from underneath the comforter. Her straight black hair fell over a gaunt face, but he could still see the outline of her former beauty¡ªafter getting past those sinister pitch-black eyes, she really was meant to be a beautiful girl. At least, she would be if she weren''t starving to death. It seems she''seither a docile creature or in the midst of a sinister torture.
He doubted the latter but had no idea how monsters¡¯ brains ticked, so he couldn¡¯t discount it completely. He¡¯d been walking on eggshells for so long, it¡¯d take more than saving his life for Dor to disregard his paranoia. Still, it is progress. Something had to change. Thank God for that.
Chapter 9 (The Dogs of Earth)
After his shower and a change of clothes, Dor patched over Lulu¡¯s window with tin foil. He knew that change would no longer let him see her pink curtain from the parking lot outside, but it was a necessary change. Hell¡¯s a dark place. He¡¯d puked in the monster¡¯s home and she needed a new one. Really, Lulu¡¯s room was the only other option. All the boys¡¯ rooms were a disaster. Especially mine.
For the last touch, he walked back into Claire¡¯s old room and unscrewed her twirling disco ball from the ceiling. The monster wasn¡¯t in here right now. She was taking a shower at Dor¡¯s behest. Savior or not, no monster was going to crawl into Lulu¡¯s bed covered in vomit.
Just as he pulled the fragile ball down, a shrill scream nearly startled him enough to drop it¡ªa shrill, girly scream. The monster! He stood in a daze, unsure of what to do. Shampoo bottles thunked around the tub as he heard the monster flail. A gnarly scrape bore against the wall and Dor¡¯s knees fell weak. The monster was ripping and gashing around in there, and he couldn¡¯t move.
She¡¯d been so docile¡I was mistaken. She truly is just a monster. I was wrong to¡ª
Another shrill scream broke his train of thought and then he heard a different kind of wailing. The clamor stopped and a girl cried. Fuck. He gulped hard, found Sargent Berry, and gulped even harder. His rebel forces had already imprisoned Mr. Body and claimed governance. Dor¡¯s uprising was successful, and Mr. Body''s sanctions ended. That gave him just enough liquid courage to set the disco ball down and tentatively knock on the bathroom door.
¡°Is everything alright in there?¡± He asked. So lame. That was such a lame line.
She answered with her sobbing.
¡°I¡¯m¡I¡¯m coming in,¡± he said and cracked the door.
Steam rolled out of the bathroom and water sizzled in the tub. Oh, fuck! It was hot in there, likely hotter than hell. Dor scrambled through the mist and reached behind the shower curtain. Scalding water drizzled against his arm, but he blindly cranked the shower knob off. The scalding water dripped to a stop, but the monster continued to sob.
¡°Is it¡hot?¡± He asked. Stupid, stupid question.
She didn¡¯t answer and he pulled back the curtain. Shampoo bottles scattered everywhere and the monster sat on the floor of the tub, hugging her knees and rocking back and forth, sobbing and wailing all the while. He¡¯d expected to see her skin burning red from the scalding water, but it seemed she had a different concern. She was rubbing her eyes with one hand and squeezing a bottle of shampoo with the other.
Right then it all made sense. His vicious monster got shampoo in her eyes. Scalding temperature? No problem. Pert Plus? Pure poison. Dor struggled to keep a straight face, thankful that he¡¯d set the precedent that led her to believe showers were taken while fully clothed. Other than that day she¡¯d appeared on his doorstep, he¡¯d never seen her out from under that comforter. And right now, seeing her rocking back and forth in sopping wet clothes was¡so pathetic.
Just as he reached in to lend a hand, he rescinded his pity. A pathetic monster is still a monster. Four great claw marks ripped a solid streak from the wall to the tub. Worse yet, the tub wasn¡¯t built from plastic. This was an old building, and back in the day, they constructed everything to withstand Hiroshima. The tub was solid cast iron and the wall, thick tiling. She¡¯d ripped through both with razor-sharp claws.
He glanced down at her fingernails. They didn¡¯t appear out of the ordinary, perhaps a little longer than normal but otherwise non-threatening. A sneak attack. Crafty monster. Her sobbing dimmed to a quiet sniffle, and Dor turned around and left her there to cry all alone. His heart stung, but those claws stung worse.If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.
I¡¯m such a piece of shit. He ignored her and went back to redecorating Lulu¡¯s room, or rather, the monster¡¯s new hidey-hole, a room untainted by his filth.
The Donnie Darko comforter was long gone. Dor threw it in the trash. There was no saving it.
In the corner of Lulu¡¯s room, the monster sat on a kitchen chair, drying herself in front of a fan running on high. Every now and then, she rubbed at her eyes, and every time she did, Dor pictured her razor claws gouging them out. But that never happened, just some quiet whimpering in the corner, apparently the trauma of Pert Plus still fresh on her mind.
Lulu¡¯s pillow hadn¡¯t been ruined, only Claire¡¯s comforter, and Dor was extremely grateful for that. There wasn¡¯t another clean pillow to give her. Dor fluffed it up with the proper maintenance procedures and tucked it onto the head of Lulu¡¯s bed. I guess it''s the monster''s bed now. Disco stars twirled across the room, the window was tin-foiled over, and the monster, albeit traumatized, was nearly dry. Dor had fixed his messy blunder, and they could finally get back to their routine.
Although, the monster would have to hide under a pink Peter Rabbit comforter, now. Lulu¡¯s taste was as childish as Claire¡¯s was tacky.
When transferring rooms, one piece of luggage caught Dor¡¯s eye. Actually, it was the monster¡¯s only piece of luggage, her travel bag. The insides were stuffed with red and yellow yarn, flaps of dried animal hide, and sewing needles. It reminded him of an old lady¡¯s arts and crafts bag. His heart stung once more. The monster hid from the world under a comforter all the time, keeping herself occupied with arts and crafts.
He didn¡¯t know if cross-stitch was her favorite hobby or the only hobby she could do right now.
And then to contrast her old lady activities, the monster seemed so childish and pathetic with her demeanor. Despite not appearing to be much older than Dor himself, barely scratching twenty years old, the monster acted with a childlike innocence. It was like her parents dropped her off at a friend¡¯s house for a sleepover and said, ¡®see you later, maybe. We¡¯re going out for a pack of smokes for the rest of your life.¡¯
And left her standing on the stoop with an activity bag and not a clue in the world what to do next.
The monster sat in front of the fan like a statue as her tail swished behind her, occasionally rubbing her eyes with razored claws. Fear of her physical features was the only emotion keeping Dor from going over there and scooping her into a big hug, saying, ¡®it¡¯ll be alright.¡¯ Even then, his own self-loathing was slowly working to overcome that fear. She¡¯d been puked on by both Dor and her parents, one literally and the other metaphorically, and he was too scared to comfort her.
Dor tucked Lulu¡¯s Peter Rabbit comforter in extra secure and left the bedroom before his self-loathing won out. That emotion was likely to get him killed if he nurtured it. As he left, he saw her begin to bop her head back and forth, dancing to some internal tune. As long as she¡¯s occupied, I suppose.
He went downstairs and grabbed a handle of Kentucky Gentleman from the crate. How many was that? He couldn¡¯t remember how many bottles he¡¯d started out with. Twenty-five maybe thirty? At the start of the mini-apocalypse, he¡¯d wheeled that crate back from a nearly looted liquor store. Even the hooligans left that vile liquid behind, more content to steal all the Johnny Walker and Ten High. Even their depravity had limits. Fortunately for that lonely crate, Dor¡¯s didn¡¯t. He wheeled it back to the restaurant on a Red-Rider wagon, twisting through the alleyways content that he¡¯d now be able to cope with life.
In the dining room converted office space, four computers played the cut-scene of death. He¡¯d left them on a continual loop, unable to finalize his friends¡¯ departure. They¡¯d vanished. All he knew was that a game and a monster were somehow related. That wasn¡¯t a logic he could prove, but not all beliefs needed to be grounded in fact. In truth, dogmas were better devoid of logic. Even he knew that.
He plopped down in front of the fifth computer. ''Mad Harry 98'' slept on a bed in Tuck¡¯s Inn. Level 42 already¡almost done with this guy. Most of his time was spent finishing Jimmy¡¯s backlog nowadays. He hadn¡¯t a clue what he¡¯d do once Jimmy¡¯s roadmap reached an end, but that was a problem for later.
Dor scrolled through Spotify. Harsh chords and mewling lyrics filled the room. He uncapped the bottle, taking a harsh pull. Ahh. Behind the monitor, he even found half a joint, the last of Jimmy¡¯s weed. This was all he wanted in life, a simple routine. I wonder if Angel misses me?
A stray dog scratched at the door, and he tuned the world out for another night of cathartic work, however pointless it may be.
Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed a pink Peter Rabbit bundle hiding in the corner of the back stairwell. Dor ignored it. That, too, was a problem for later. He sparked his joint and purified the air, content with the scraps of normalcy he could gather, and the rest of that night was a twisted blur.
Chapter 10 (The Dogs of Earth)
Today was a rude awakening. He¡¯d locked himself in his car like normal, sleeping with the passenger seat tipped all the way back. After killing hordes of Thumper Rabbits and Mad Harry 98¡¯s level rose to forty-five, they both went to bed, Dor in his car and Mad Harry 98 in Tuck¡¯s Inn. That was right, Dor went to bed; he did not pass out. He went to sleep willingly tonight, eager to make amends with his captive body, and settle back into his normal routine of a gentle buzz and four hours of sleep.
What he did not anticipate was being dragged out of his car in the middle of the night.
Crash! Safety glass showered his body and a snake wrapped around his torso. Still groggy, the situation didn¡¯t make much sense. The snake pulled. Dor hit his head. The snake repositioned. Dor smacked his shoulder. The snake really repositioned, and Dor hovered out of the shattered passenger window. A Peter Rabbit comforter with a tail stood in the kitchen. Her tail wrapped around Dor, kidnapping him from his locked car.
Other than the bumps he suffered when she tried to squeeze him out the window, she was exceedingly gentle. At least, until he regained enough wits to begin struggling. It felt like waking up to sleep paralysis¡ªa great weight on his chest, visions of demons hovering above, and him completely powerless to move. He was scared shitless. He¡¯d always wanted to die in his sleep, but this was over the line.
He kicked and clawed and bit and slapped and gouged. She didn¡¯t even notice. She simply sat on the kitchen floor as her tail laid Dor¡¯s head over her knee, pressing his cheek to the side. This was exactly the same position he woke up in yesterday when she¡¯d saved him from choking on his own vomit, only today, he wasn¡¯t grateful; he was terrified and powerless.
No, not powerless.
As he groggily processed the bizarre situation, one thing was perfectly clear: he needed to escape. The monster had gone too far. He needed the power to stop this abuse. His hand reached for reinforcements inside his jacket pocket. This time it wasn¡¯t Sargent Berry he asked for help; he reached for the other pocket. Unless the flask magically summoned the power of Pert Plus, even Sargent Berry would be doomed to face this fiend. But his Glock wouldn¡¯t be.
His fingertips wrapped around the grip. He couldn¡¯t see the monster, but he could hear her. She hummed an airy tune, a catchy beat he¡¯d never heard before, completely lost in her own world. He whipped out that pistol and blindly pressed it behind him until it met cold flesh. His head was turned the wrong direction to aim properly, but he could feel the barrel press into her neck. How¡¯s it feel to be vulnerable? Apparently, not bad at all. She didn¡¯t react.
Though his squished fish face, he snarled a threat, ¡°you know what this does. I got your notice. Let me go, or I¡¯ll show you what it does.¡±
She didn¡¯t react, and he put his finger on the trigger, fully intending to heed Dad¡¯s advice.
¡°Let me go,¡± he snarled.
She continued to hum her airy tune. That monster, she was so lost; she didn¡¯t even realize the danger she was in; the danger she posed. To him, that was more terrifying than a rabid beast. A rabid beast he could put down. A clueless beauty, that was harder, much harder.
¡°Let me go,¡± he snarled, then changed his tune. ¡°Please¡really please.¡±
Right then, he realized he did not want to shoot her. But he would. Clueless or not, she was still dangerous.
¡°Please,¡± he begged, pressing the pistol harder to her neck. ¡°I¡ªI really have to pee.¡±
No giggles. No change.
¡°Fucking let me up! Please, please, please! I don¡¯t¡I don¡¯t want to¡ª¡±
He chose his next words carefully. ¡°I need your help. And if you don¡¯t let me go, I¡¯ll kill you with this gun. Just like the picture in your book. Not even a beast like you could withstand that.¡±The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.
He lied on that last part, but she didn¡¯t know that. Her tail loosened and she let him up. Dor scrambled on his hands and knees to the far wall, panting in both relief and terror. If only she were a rabid dog. His self-loathing begged him to question whether his life was worth hers. He didn¡¯t know. Fact was, she wasn¡¯t a rabid dog. She was a lost and clueless monster with a deadly physique. He understood that now, and that made her all the more terrifying. He couldn¡¯t kill her and it wasn¡¯t just because he needed her help. He simply didn¡¯t want to kill a clueless creature, and the question his self-loathing begged made it all that much more terrifying. Is my life worth a monster¡¯s? He didn¡¯t know. He didn¡¯t want to find out.
She sat across from him, separated by a long stretch of kitchen tiling. Her back propped against the passenger door to his Trans-Am while her head bopped back and forth, humming a catchy tune. The part that really slayed his emotions was that she was crying, silently crying. Tears streaked down her face, all the way to her smiling lips, and he wanted to run over and give her a hug, but the thought of getting twisted back up in her tail stopped him.
He stood up and edged over to the stove. Patterned kitchen mitts hung above it and Dor grabbed two of the prettiest ones. From across the way, he tossed them both over to her. They landed at her feet and she didn¡¯t even wince, just kept humming and crying and smiling.
Dor pointed to them. ¡°Those are special gloves,¡± he told her. ¡°Magic gloves that keep your claws dull.¡±
Her eyes flashed, but she didn¡¯t react otherwise.
¡°Never come near me again,¡± he told her. ¡°Never come near me again unless your claws are dull.¡±
Still nothing.
¡°Answer me, stupid!¡± He yelled.
She never did. Unable to find a safe place to sleep, Dor left the restaurant, leaving her all alone in her near comatose state. He wandered all through downtown until early morning when a refurbished store caught his eye, ¡®Minnie Binnie¡¯s Haberdashery¡¯. They charged an exorbitant amount of money after all money had only just begun to spend again, but he bought all the colored yarn he could afford and returned home.
Mid-morning he arrived back in the parking lot of the seedy Chinese restaurant. Adding to the disarray of Lulu and Jimmy¡¯s vandalized cars and the boards over the window, a new feature stood out. The tin foil over Lulu¡¯s bedroom window gleaned like a sore thumb. Dor still hadn¡¯t recovered from this morning¡¯s shock. The whole sequence of events from then until now played out like a bad dream, one he awoke from paralyzed in terror. He was scared, but it was a different kind of fear. He was scared to hurt the monster not just for his sake, but for hers as well.
That dazed him most of all. He did not want to hurt the monster and feared ever having to.
He entered the restaurant to greet the nostalgic ambiance of cooling fans and red lighting. Cut-screens of death flashed across all the monitors save one; exactly the scene he¡¯d left this morning in fear. Looking to the kitchen, both the monster and the oven mitts were gone. She must have retreated upstairs. He didn¡¯t believe the oven mitts would truly dull her claws. They cut through solid steel, after all, but he needed her to recognize just how sharp they really were. She appeared lost in her own world and he needed her to face reality, both for her own benefit and his.
He trudged into the walk-in freezer and grabbed a bag of doggy treats. She¡¯s starving. With a sack full of colored yarn in one hand and doggy treats in the other, he faced the daunting task of walking up the back stairwell, scared shitless.
At the top, red light glowed at the far end of the hall. Rattle, rattle. Rattle, rattle. He made his intentions known and walked to Lulu¡¯s room. Knock, knock. His fingers twisted the knob, the latch clicked, and he creaked open the door. Stars twirled across the room and a Peter Rabbit comforter sat on the bed, fiddling with something or other under there.
He dumped the treats on the mattress, set the bag of yarn next to it, and sat on the kitchen chair in the corner of the room, the one she''d dried herself off on earlier.
The events of this morning still blurred together, but Dor needed to face them. If the two of them were ever going to come to some understanding, they needed to understand one another. He crossed his arms and legs, took a big swig, and said, ¡°let¡¯s talk.¡±
The comforter wiggled and a star twirled across a pitch-black eye, likely the only response he was going to get.
¡°I need your help, beast,¡± he said, trying to drive home her situation as well as his own. ¡°My friends disappeared and, right after that, you appeared. That¡¯s not a coincidence. It can¡¯t be.¡±
She neither confirmed nor denied that allegation.
¡°They weren¡¯t the only ones,¡± he continued. ¡°Thousands of others vanished, too. But the shit of it is, it only happened here in Colinbach. Everywhere else is going on like normal and no one has noticed us. We haven¡¯t completely disappeared from the map. People can leave. But no one ever comes back. Leaving this city is a one-way trip, and you are related whether you know it or not.¡±
Through the blanket, her hollow stare was less a denial than it was utter cluelessness. He realized that.
Dor rubbed his temples.
¡°How about cross-stitch,¡± he asked. ¡°Tell me about your pictures.¡±
The blanket fell off her body, her eyes lit up, and she opened her mouth. That was the first time he¡¯d ever heard her speak.
Chapter 11 (The Dogs of Earth)
Dor sat in the corner of the room and listened to the monster''s rambling.
¡°Oh my!¡± She began in her airy voice. ¡°Now, I told Boss, I told him that he¡¯d dropped a stitch. It was awfully red, you know. His hand was in a terrible state, but with those claws, he was such a klutz.¡±
Listening to her was like visiting Granny Ann all over again, that was if Granny Ann was a young beauty.
¡°I¡¯d stand over Boss''s shoulder and watch his marvelous creations. Those old treadles sure fooled me, but not Boss.¡± She shook her head. ¡°No way. His creations, they came to life! Can you believe that? He stitched them up and they walked off. That¡that is true cross-stitch.¡±
She thumped her current creation onto the bed. It depicted Dor slugging back a literal vat of whiskey in front of a glowing computer monitor, all stitched in red and yellow bichrome. He¡¯d have liked to compliment her efforts, but her speech caught him so off guard, he couldn¡¯t muster any noise himself. Best he could do was nod along in cordial agreement, like he comprehended a word of what she said. He did not, but she didn¡¯t need to know that. Progress! This is progress!
¡°Mine is quite a ways off,¡± she continued, a real chatterbox when on the right subject. ¡°Boss said he¡¯d teach me. I really wanted to learn. Art¡now that is something I never learned, but if I do know one thing it¡¯s that living creations have to be the height of it. And the boss, you see, every one of his creations could live and breathe!¡±
Dor worked up enough courage to ask as a question. ¡°If I move closer, will you eat me with your tail?¡±
The monster answered, ¡°Scrub-bucket, now he quit visiting me, but I¡¯d call the boss. Every day I¡¯d call him and we¡¯d talk and he¡¯d be just so interested in what I have to say that I couldn¡¯t help myself.¡±
She put her thumb in her mouth. ¡°Thomas, he quit visiting me, so I took it all out on Boss. And¡well¡oh dear, it pains me to admit, but I was quite shameless, you see? We talked about Canasta. You don¡¯t eat it, but you play it with cards. The book said so. And I taught him how to play, but the thing is, it always starts with Canasta, and then it moves onto¡other things.¡±
She paused and bit her lip. ¡°That¡¯s how it always was with Thomas. I thought that¡¯s how it would go with Boss¡¡± She trailed off.
Dor stammered and tried to process that long ramble. He was much more invested in hers than that kid¡¯s. Hers held truth and substance, he could understand that much, but as to what truths, he had no idea. Likely, it would all work itself out. For now, he needed to be patient and nurture her verbal diarrhea. It was enough she talked, and he was literally gripping the edge of her seat, lamenting he didn¡¯t hold a pen and paper. Or a smartphone¡
¡°Who¡¯s Thomas?¡± He asked.
That was the wrong question. She drew the covers over herself and from underneath, he heard: ¡°Thomas quit visiting me. Scrub-bucket said Thomas would quit visiting me. Thomas quit visiting me. Scrub-bucket said Thomas quit visiting me. Thomas¡ª¡±
Over and over again, she repeated herself, once again lost to her own oblivion. Dor struggled to comprehend her words, but he had no frame of reference. They might as well have been gibberish. Still he was determined. It¡¯s progress, goddammit! Lulu, I found progress!
¡®Did you now?¡¯ Lulu would have said. ¡®And how can you be sure this beast isn¡¯t leading you astray?¡¯If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.
¡®For the same reason I know you weren¡¯t,¡¯ he¡¯d reply.
¡®And how did you know I wasn¡¯t?¡¯
¡®Because there was no reason for you to drag me anywhere. I made your life harder and you stuck with me. You didn¡¯t want me to spend¡ª¡¯
¡®A life spent wasted. So do you think I¡¯d let you waste this beast¡¯s life?¡¯
¡®No¡her life is¡ª¡¯
¡®Precious.¡¯
Dor agreed. The monster was precious.
¡®And I¡¯ll crank your emotions up to nineteen!¡¯ He heard Mr. Body cackle.
¡®I¡¯ll do you one better, you prick.¡¯ Dor replied. ¡®I¡¯ll crank them up to twenty-three, courtesy of Lulu. You have no power here.¡¯
Mr. Body was silent, Lulu cranked his emotions up to twenty-three and Dor asked another question. He simply didn¡¯t care. It was what Lulu would do, and he followed Lulu, so it was also what he would do.
¡°Do you have your gloves on, beast?¡± He asked.
She didn¡¯t answer.
¡°You are a beast,¡± he said. ¡°You need to be careful. People are fragile.¡±
The covers slipped down and tears poured down her eyes and this time they fell onto a frown. No smiles, only harsh reality, now. ¡°I am people,¡± she said.
Dor called on the Sargent, bit his cheeks and did everything in his power to keep his distance from that beast. She was dangerous but had no clue herself as to how dangerous. He needed to stand strong, convince her of what she was, not bow to weakness and run over and give her a hug. Those claws, her tail would both kill him in a heartbeat.
¡°People here are different,¡± he said. ¡°You are not people here.¡±
¡°I don¡¯t know where I am,¡± she replied. ¡°It¡¯s like my book, but my book is a fable. Wondrous ideas, likely stolen from many people all at once, but that is how those things go. You see, those wondrous ideas are fantasy. Scrub-bucket tried them, and then¡and then¡and then¡¡± She trailed off again.
Christ. She was more relateable as a mute. Dor didn¡¯t have a clue what spurned her outburst. He was grateful for it, but still hadn¡¯t a clue how to nurture or relate to it. She was still as much of an enigma as before, and it was clear he couldn¡¯t get through to her indirectly. So, he tried the direct approach.
¡°You attacked me this morning,¡± he said.
There really was no other way to say it. She certainly wasn¡¯t protecting him. Maybe in her own mind she was, but in reality, it was an attack, and she had no clue how severe her actions were. That was all he wanted to do, drive the consequences of her actions home. She was agreeable and protective, that much he understood, but her lack of situational awareness made her extremely dangerous, mostly because he didn¡¯t know if he could actually shoot her if push came to shove.
Fact was, his fear of her hadn¡¯t lessened, only shifted to a new paranoia.
She didn¡¯t respond to his barb, just tucked herself away underneath the comforter, unable to face the reality he¡¯d laid out for her. Dor didn¡¯t relent. Dammit, this is progress! I can¡¯t let this go. I can¡¯t even sleep in my home.
¡°You have claws,¡± he told her. ¡°You have a tail. Your eyes are black. You are not people. You are a beast.¡±
Truthfully, he was nervous he¡¯d push her over the edge with his barbs, that his reality would anger her. Her affection almost killed him, he shuddered to think what her wrath would do.
She didn¡¯t respond.
¡°You have claws,¡± he reiterated. ¡°You have a tail. Your eyes are black. You are not people. You are a beast.¡±
The blanket squirmed. He didn¡¯t see a pair of jet black eyes poke out, instead, he saw a pair of oven mitts. She wore them on her hands and poked them out the comforter on display. Fuck.
Dor sniffled. Damn those cranked up emotions. Fuck you, Lulu! And fuck you, Mr. Body!
The monster knew she was a beast. He now knew that she knew, and that was enough for now. He stood to leave. His eyes burned and before he left, he left her with one last jab: ¡°Let¡¯s be friendly¡±
He didn¡¯t know if the comforter nodded and didn¡¯t care to know. He was a piece of shit and didn¡¯t deserve her answer. She was an existence far above his, and his human fear forced him to reign in that existential terror instead of simply accepting it. He needed to control the beast, not let her be. His fragile human self was at risk, and Dor had since realized he did not want to die.
As he closed her door, the beast hummed an airy tune and Dor stopped to listen. He wanted to record it to memory in case one of them did kill the other. It was a catchy beat. Dad would appreciate it.
He closed thedoor and left her alone, unsure of what to do next. Give me a roadmap¡somebody¡please.
Neither Lulu nor Mr. Body responded andhe was left to figure himself out.
And then, he heard a knock on the front door.
Chapter 12 (The Dogs of Earth)
¡°Hello?¡± Dor asked through the front door.
With the windows boarded over, he had no way of knowing who his visitors were.
¡°Now I got ya, boy!¡± A gruff voice replied.
Oh no, no, no, no. Why didn¡¯t I turn around and go visit him? Uncle Ron was outside. He only prayed Dad wasn¡¯t with him, too. As he opened the door, a huge man built like a tank stood there. His arms couldn¡¯t fit in a normal T-shirt, so Uncle Ron always wore wife-beaters, cut-off jean shorts, and his purple Crocs. Dor supposed when a man got to be Uncle Ron¡¯s size, they didn¡¯t need to care about their appearance. His face was clean shaved and his hair trimmed short, the old military crew-cut he¡¯d worn for the last twenty years.
Dad¡¯s gangly frame stood next to his buddy¡¯s. His shaggy hair, loose clothes, and five-o¡¯clock shadow really contrasted Uncle Ron¡¯s appearance. It was like ¡®The Dude¡¯ standing next to ¡®Walter¡¯ from the Big Lebowski. Only, Dor knew these two weren¡¯t here about a pissed on rug. They were here to check up him.
Why didn¡¯t I turn around and go visit Uncle Ron? They always leave me alone¡
Dor didn¡¯t want his bizarre life here in the Chinese restaurant to merge with the normalcy of Rose Valley. If that happened, he¡¯d have nowhere to escape to. Uncle Ron held out a casserole dish and said, ¡°smoked white-tail and mac¡¯n cheese.¡±
¡°And none of that Panko what-have-ya,¡± Dad chimed in. ¡°I told Ronnie to leave that out. Mac¡¯n cheese ain¡¯t supposed to crunch.¡±
Uncle Ron laughed deep and heartily. ¡°I might have underestimated my habanero patch out back. Put a few of the red ones in, ya know? Man! Boy howdy this¡¯ll make ya shit fire! Good stuff, tell you what. Clear out the sinuses and the colon all in one go. Great for the health.¡±
Uncle Ron narrowed his eyes. ¡°You look like death, son. Manny here said ya seemed a little worse for wear. But I knew that was Manny talk for you being on death¡¯s door, and I was right!¡±
That giant of a man wearing cut-off jeans and Crocs barged right past Dor and into the dining room converted office space. Dad walked in right after him, squeezing Dor¡¯s shoulder, and with apologetic eyes said, ¡°you know how it is, son.¡±
Dazed, Dor nodded. Right now, his two worlds were colliding and he couldn¡¯t stop it. Please¡please stay in your room, monster. You¡¯re something I could never explain to Uncle Ron.
He knew what Dad¡¯s words meant. Likely Uncle Ron confronted Dad about Dor not visiting. Dad probably threw out an offhanded comment about Dor seeming a little under the weather. He knew Dad wouldn¡¯t divulge any more than that, but he also knew just that would be enough for Uncle Ron to assume command and kick down his door like this. It really sucked to be loved sometimes.
Uncle Ron didn¡¯t make it to the fridge with his casserole. Under the red lights, he paused in front of Lulu¡¯s old computer, her clothes still slumped in a pile over the chair. This was only the second time he¡¯d seen that sight; the first being right after she disappeared. Likely, having to confront his daughter¡¯s empty computer was part of the reason Uncle Ron never visited.
¡°It¡¯s still the same,¡± Uncle Ron mused.
¡°I can¡¯t turn ¡®em off,¡± Dor replied. ¡°It¡¯s too¡too much.¡±
The look Uncle Ron gave him wasn¡¯t the same jovial greeting as before. He studied Dor intently. ¡°This ain¡¯t good on ya, boy,¡± Uncle Ron said. ¡°It ain¡¯t good on ya to stay here.¡±
Dor glanced at his old man for help, but Dad forced a smile, agreeing with Uncle Ron¡¯s words. I can¡¯t tell them. That monster upstairs¡it¡¯ll change things. I know it will. She¡¯s the only way to find Lulu, not hanging fucking flyers downtown. All he could do was wait out the silence until Uncle Ron took his casserole into the kitchen.
¡°Looky there!¡± Uncle Ron immediately changed his tune and laughed. ¡°This a garage or a kitchen?¡±
That first time those two visited, Dor made sure his car wasn¡¯t parked in the kitchen. Going that far was simply too apocalyptic. He wanted to hide just how far his life had slipped, and parking a car next to the stove screamed ¡®This guy¡¯s off his rocker!¡¯.
¡°We had a few vandals way back when,¡± Dor told him. You saw the state of the cars outside. Why question it?
Glass scraped across the kitchen tiles. Uncle Ron was kicking the shards of his passenger window around. ¡°Looks like one of ¡®em got in,¡± he said.
Fuck! I forgot about the busted window. There was no way to casually say, ¡®Oh, yeah, a monster ripped me out of my car and broke the window in the process. You see, I lock myself in there at night, but she freaked out and thought I was going to choke to death on my own vomit again.¡¯If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.
¡°I tripped the other day; came down on it hard with a cooking pot in my hand,¡± Dor told a weak lie.
¡°Christ son,¡± Uncle Ron said. ¡°This ain¡¯t no good. Tell ya what. Me and your old man were just headed out of town to check up on Skids, you know? Why don¡¯t you come with us.¡±
Before Dor could refuse, Uncle Ron shook his head. ¡°I didn¡¯t say that right. We ain¡¯t taking no for an answer. We¡¯re gonna head out, check on ol¡¯ Skids, and then have a barbecue back at Rose Valley.¡±
Dor¡¯s eyes went wide. He absolutely could not leave town. People who left town did not come back. It was always a one way trip. Uncle Ron knew that, but he asked Dor along so casually, he might have just been inviting him to run a quick errand.
¡°There¡¯s no way!¡± Dor couldn¡¯t control his voice. ¡°I can¡¯t leave. They all might come back and then, we¡¯ll be gone and they can¡¯t find us, and then¡and then¡¡±
Dad put a hand on Dor¡¯s shoulder. ¡°Scare tactics, son,¡± Dad said. ¡°Propaganda they spread to keep us all contained. It¡¯s what them boys at the top do.¡±
For once, Dor didn¡¯t agree with his old man. If they wanted to keep us contained, they¡¯d only need to send in the National Guard. But we haven¡¯t anyone from the outside. We can see them, but they can¡¯t see us. This is a bad idea.
¡°You¡¯re all gonna end up like Skids!¡± Dor cried.
Uncle Ron stiffened and a flicker of rage flashed across his face. Skids was his second youngest, a year older than Lulu. He¡¯d left for work a while back and never came home. That was right around the time the rumors began to spread that leaving town was a one-way trip, and it sure left Uncle Ron in one hell of predicament. Should he chase down his boy, or stay and look for his favorite daughter? Whether Uncle Ron fully believed the rumors or not, that paranoia had to be in the back of his mind.
In a rare display, his old man spoke his opinion. ¡°Ain¡¯t nothing gonna happen if we stay here, son. It¡¯s not¡it¡¯s not good on anyone.¡±
Right then, Dor saw just how hollow his old man¡¯s cheeks were, how haggard his sunken eyes had become. Likely, this situation was eating away at his Dad, and he silently endured as he¡¯d always done. They didn¡¯t come by to drop off a casserole. They came by to recruit Dor so the trio of them could explore the outside world. And on the off-chance they couldn¡¯t return to the city, at least their family wouldn¡¯t be split up any more than it already was.
¡°I¡I can¡¯t, Dad,¡± Dor replied.
¡°Something¡¯s gotta change, son.¡±
Crash! The casserole dish fell to the floor. Dor whipped his head around to see Uncle Ron staggering back, pointing to the bottom of the back stairwell. Why won¡¯t you just stay put, you stupid, stupid monster? You stupid needy monster. Lulu¡¯s Peter Rabbit comforter peeked out from behind the stairwell. A slit in the blanket opened up just enough to see her pitch-black eye. Though, more than likely what caught Uncle Ron¡¯s attention was the slim tail swishing behind her.
Before Uncle Ron could make the situation worse, Dor jumped in between them and shook his finger at the monster. ¡°Gloves,¡± he said. ¡°Show me your mitts.¡±
Two oven mitts peeked through the blanket. She held them out for Dor to see, and he breathed a sigh of relief. At least she wasn¡¯t so lost in her world she¡¯d neglected simple instructions. ¡°Never, never take those off,¡± he ordered.
She didn¡¯t respond.
¡°Fucking nod!¡± Dor commanded.
The blanket nodded.
He pointed to the bottom step. ¡°Sit there and don¡¯t you move¡fucking nod!¡±
He heard her whimper at his scolding but did as she was told, sniffling under the blanket all the while. To Dor, it didn¡¯t matter if her intentions were good if she didn¡¯t understand how dangerous she could be. Either he¡¯d make her understand or she¡¯d get fed up and rip him to shreds. There wasn¡¯t any other way to handle that clueless monster. He was fairly certain she meant well, but that wasn¡¯t enough, especially with his family here.
Uncle Ron inched closer. ¡°Boy, that was some fright,¡± he said. ¡°Didn¡¯t expect nobody. That your roommate? What¡¯s he got under there, a pet snake or something?¡±
Uncle Ron didn¡¯t grasp the situation, but Dad paled. Dor explained to his old man exactly what kind of existence dwelt beneath the blanket. At the time, he didn¡¯t know if his dad believed him or not. However, there was no denying it now. That tail¡if only I could get her to hide it. Maybe put on some sunglasses, too? She might pass as real people then. Real people with oven mitts over her claws.
¡°It¡¯s a she,¡± Dor stated. ¡°At least, it looks like a she.¡±
Glancing over to the detached door leaned against the walk-in freezer, he figured he better give her a snack to keep her occupied. Before Uncle Ron could ask another question, he strolled in and snatched a bag of doggy treats. While he was in there, he snuck a big swig, too, anything to keep him sane. When he walked out, Ron was picking up the casserole dish and cussing his clumsiness. Dad was silent and pale. And Dor opened the treats and dumped a pile on the bottom step, right next to her. The tail slithered over and crunched away.
¡°Leave her alone,¡± he added. ¡°She¡¯s dangerous. She means well, but she¡¯ll rip you to shreds just the same.¡±
Dad gave a slow nod, and Uncle Ron chuckled as he scooped up the casserole. Uncle Ron threw away the remnants then walked right over. Dor stood in his way. With the big man¡¯s hulking frame, he could peer right over the top of Dor¡¯s head, watching her tail snarf down the pile of treats. Crunch. Snap. Pop.
¡°What kind of snake eats doggy treats?¡± Uncle Ron asked with a grin.
¡°Fucking leave her alone, Ron!¡± Dor wasn¡¯t messing around. ¡°That ain¡¯t no snake. That¡¯s a monster.¡±
Uncle Ron tried to step around Dor. ¡°I get you don¡¯t like snakes, boy, but don¡¯t be raising your voice at me.¡±
Dor got right back in his way. ¡°That¡¯s a fucking monster, Ron. That ain¡¯t no snake. That¡¯s her tail. You don¡¯t get it. She¡¯s got claws and black eyes and a tail full of teeth. She¡¯ll rip you shreds before either of you know what happened.¡±
Dad stepped in and put a hand on Uncle Ron¡¯s arm. ¡°Let it go, Ronnie. We should all just have a good talkin¡¯ in the computer room, eh?¡±
Uncle Ron tilted his head, took one last look at the monster snacking on the stairs, shook his head, and walked away. Stuck between him and the monster, Dor didn¡¯t know which side was more terrifying. He took another swig and didn¡¯t even bother to hide it.
As the big man walked away, Dad stuck out a shaky hand, holding a joint out to Dor. Without a second thought, Dor took it and sparked it up, his Dad¡¯s intentions completely clear. ¡®Whatever it is, son, it¡¯ll still be there in twenty minutes.¡¯ Then the two of them joined Uncle Ron in the computer room, ready for a good chat.
Chapter 13 (The Dogs of Earth)
Dor and Dad sat on a couple of computer chairs, passing their joint back and forth. Uncle Ron crossed his arms and let those two do their thing. The big guy¡¯s face puffed, boiling over with questions, but he''d known Dad long enough to know better than to interrupt. Dad¡¯s hands lost some of their shake and Dor eased into a gentle bliss. The smoke veiled the negativity on his mind, helping him process how to approach the confrontation about to happen.
His heart beat to the tune of a cheesy techno-rock song from the 90¡¯s. Guitar riffs blared through his mind, Dor tapped his foot, leaned back, and mused. ¡°When worlds collide¡¡±
Dad puffed out a cloud. ¡°More like Warren Zevon, eh son?¡±
¡°Did he steal that riff?¡± Dor asked.
¡°From Sweet Home Alabama? Nah, man,¡± his old man replied. ¡°I hear it was some kind of old folk tune or something. Zevon and Van Grant and his boys just made it their own, you know? Zevon had Werewolves of London, and Skynyrd had Sweet Home.¡±
¡°Skynyrd did it better,¡± Dor said.
¡°Got that right. If ya listen close, man, ol¡¯ Eddie King never repeated the same riff the entire song. Tweaked it a bit each time.¡±
Dor nodded along. Dad always knew how to distract him from his troubles. The old man¡¯s the best. Uncle Ron, on the other hand, looked ready to explode. That big man did not like to be left out of the loop, and it seemed he figured Dor and his dad were keeping a secret. He was right.
One more puff, the veil thickened, and Dor began his explanation. ¡°I met a kid, he dropped off a monster, and she lives in Lulu¡¯s old room now.¡±
Satisfied, he took another hit and handed it back to Dad. Dad smiled. ¡°Good job, son.¡±
¡°Thanks, Dad.¡±
That was easy. I told Uncle Ron everything, the world didn¡¯t implode, and I feel pretty good about it. Thanks, Dad. I¡¯m always making an ant out a molehill, or a gnat out of a mountain or whatever.
¡°You ever hear that Zevon and Stevie Knicks were roommates?¡± Dor asked his dad.
¡°No shit? Were those two an item?¡±
¡°Nah, I think she was with Buckingham or they all three lived together or something. Heck, they might¡¯ve even all been screwing in a pile.¡±
Dad nodded along. ¡°Ya them boys was crazy back then. You know, one time at a show I seen Buckingham¡ª¡±
¡°You boys done?¡± Uncle Ron interrupted.
The cut-screens of death flashed across his stoic face and he was getting madder by the second. They could all still hear the snaps and crunches from the kitchen, but the monster stayed out of their hair for now. If only Uncle Ron wasn¡¯t killing their buzz, things would be alright right now.
Dor inspected the joint. ¡°Three more rounds.¡±
Dad agreed. ¡°Yeah, ¡®bout that.¡±
¡°I don¡¯t give a shit,¡± Uncle Ron said. ¡°You two is hiding something and that ain¡¯t no good. No good at all, especially with my Lulu missing. Now you say you rented out her room?¡±
Why¡¯s he care? Ain¡¯t like Lulu¡¯s around to complain or nothing. Dor shook his head. ¡°She¡¯s a moocher. That monster don¡¯t pay no rent.¡±
He thought a second and added, ¡°but she did really save my ass. So she¡¯s not a bad monster, just a dangerous one. I puked all over Claire¡¯s room, so that was no good. Jimmy and Donny¡¯s room is a mess, so theirs is no good either. And mine¡well, it got disqualified right at the start. It¡¯s filthy in there. That¡¯s why the monster lives in Lulu¡¯s room.¡±
Exasperated, Uncle Ron stood up to walk back to the kitchen. Seemed he was bound and determined to get himself ripped to shreds. He gnawed at his gums, mumbling under his breath all the while.
After his old man¡¯s help, Dor was too chill to stand in the big man¡¯s way this time. Let him be. He¡¯ll figure it out. But just to be safe, Dor hollered a warning. ¡°Remember that cast iron tub upstairs? See, the monster took a shower and got shampoo in her eyes.¡±The author''s narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.
Dor shrugged. ¡°It happens. But she totally freaked out. Cut clean through the tub with her claws, four big gashes, just like butter. Don¡¯t go schmoozing up to her. Think of what she¡¯d do to your gut by mistake.¡±
Did I say something wrong? The joint fell out of Dad¡¯s mouth and Uncle Ron¡¯s jaw hit the floor.
¡°You fucking fry your brain, son?¡± Uncle Ron asked.
Dor pointed to the stairs. ¡°Go up there and look for yourself. I can¡¯t stop ya. Best wait til she¡¯s done eating, though. Might accidentally mistake your toes for a treat.¡±
Dad leaned in close. ¡°That true?¡±
¡°Yeah, I¡¯m mostly sure she don¡¯t mean no harm, but that don¡¯t mean she doesn¡¯t cause any. Gotta be real strict with her. Like ¡®ha!¡¯ and ¡®ack!¡¯, see?¡± Dor chopped his arms in the air to emphasize his point. Dad had the best weed.
¡°Christ¡¡± Dad scratched his arm and whispered, ¡°we gotta get you outa here.¡±
¡°No can do,¡± Dor said. ¡°Me and her we¡¯re starting to figure each other out. If you go in there and ask about arts and crafts, she¡¯ll talk your ear off. Her parents dropped her off with an activity bag, and then went out for a pack of smokes or something. That¡¯s why if I keep at, we¡¯ll be able to find Lulu.¡±
That last line got Uncle Ron¡¯s attention. ¡°The fuck¡¯s your roommate got to do with my Lulu?¡±
Dor picked the joint off the floor, eased back, and took another drag. ¡°Ah, that¡¯s because the monster showed up right after Lulu disappeared. Somehow, the game¡¯s at fault, too. I think if I said ¡®yes¡¯ I¡¯d have disappeared along with the rest of them.¡±
¡°Said yes to what?¡±
¡°The prompt. I got out of jail and there was a prompt asking me about future adventures and to take some dude¡¯s name. I said no, but I think everybody else said yes. It¡¯s all a coincidence, man, but it¡¯s also not, you see?¡±
¡°No I don¡¯t fucking see!¡±
¡°That¡¯s ''cause you¡¯re all worked up.¡±
Turned out, that was exactly the wrong thing to say. Uncle Ron barged over, throwing every pound of his weight around. Dad tried to stand in his way, but Uncle Ron knocked him over. He grabbed Dor by the scruff of his neck, reached back like he was going to throw a swing, and spat every one of his next words. ¡°You tell me what you¡¯re hiding, boy. You been hiding my Lulu? Huh? You been hiding my Lulu?¡±
Just as Dor opened his mouth to tell Uncle Ron to chill out, a snake wrapped around Uncle Ron¡¯s chest. He whipped around and threw his fist right into the monster standing behind him. Dor heard a pop, and then Uncle Ron screamed in pain, studying his hand in horror.
The veil lifted and Dor snapped out of his daze. The monster just attacked Uncle Ron. Dad was about to run over and save his buddy, but Dor jumped up and body-checked his old man out of the way. Last thing he wanted was for Dad to get hurt. So far, the monster only held Uncle Ron with her tail. Seemed he broke his hand on her face, not that she seemed to notice.
¡°Drop him!¡± Dor yelled. ¡°I said drop him!¡±
From underneath her Peter Rabbit comforter, she shook her head.
¡°The fuck is wrong with you?¡± He asked. ¡°We just had this talk. You¡¯re not people! You are a beast. Mind what you are and put him down!¡±
He heard her mumble but didn¡¯t pay it any attention. ¡°Put my Uncle Ron down! You already fucked up his hand. Did you mean to do that?¡±
She shook her head.
¡°But you did.¡± Of course, he was completely ignoring the fact that Uncle Ron was the one who¡¯d punched her, but that was beside the point.
¡°Put my Uncle Ron down, or I¡¯m done with you,¡± Dor said. ¡°If you can¡¯t be trusted, I¡¯ll fucking leave you here all alone. Good luck trying to find someone else in this shithole of a city to take care of a monster like you.¡±
¡°¡don¡¯t.¡± He heard her this time.
¡°I will.¡±
¡°Don¡¯t,¡± she said.
¡°Then get your shit together,¡± he said, fully aware of the irony of his command.
Her tail loosened and Uncle Ron scrambled away, a familiar scene for Dor. Dor pointed to the chair next to him. ¡°Sit,¡± he commanded her. ¡°And put that fucking tail away before you eat an eye out.¡±
The slender centipede tucked inside the blanket, presumably wrapping around her waist, and she sat down next to Dor¡¯s chair. She pulled her knees up tight to her chest, humming and rocking back and forth. Such a pathetic, dangerous beast¡fucking Uncle Ron, that moron.
Dad and Uncle Ron were eyeing the monster warily while checking Uncle Ron¡¯s hand for damage. His pinky hung limp, but it seemed nothing too major. Dor breathed a sigh of relief and without thinking, pat the monster on the head. She leaned into the affection and he snapped his hand back. Fuck me. Don¡¯t encourage it.
¡°You alright, Uncle Ron?¡± Dor asked.
Uncle Ron winced. ¡°Fuck¡fuck, fuck, fuck.¡±
¡°You said it, man.¡± Dad patted him on the back.
¡°I told ya, but you was asking for it,¡± Dor said. ¡°Who punches a monster in the face?¡±
The tension of that situation melted away and Dad couldn¡¯t contain himself, he burst out laughing. He laughed so hard, tears came out his eyes. ¡°Ronnie!¡± Dad said. ¡°Ronnie punches a monster in the face, that¡¯s who!¡±
Even Uncle Ron couldn¡¯t help himself. He laughed in spite of the pain of a busted pinky. He laughed and laughed and laughed. Somewhere along the lines, his laughter transitioned to tears, and he slumped down on the floor. That big man started bawling like a baby. The monster tried to get up, likely to comfort Uncle Ron in her own way, but Dor patted her head again. It seemed he found another method to control the beast. She leaned into his affection and stayed seated.
¡°Don¡¯t you move,¡± Dor instructed.
She didn¡¯t respond.
¡°What¡¯s wrong with you?¡± He asked. ¡°Why can¡¯t you just respond normally? I can¡¯t trust you.¡±
¡°Scrub-bucket¡¯s going to come back,¡± she said.
¡°I don¡¯t know who that is, but you don¡¯t move. We¡¯ll talk about your scrub-bucket later.¡±
She nodded.
While Dad comforted his bawling friend, Dor went into the kitchen to grab a handle of whiskey and three glasses. It seemed he¡¯d need to teach a couple more people how to cope with his world. They could have a good laugh, a good cry, and then figure out what to do from there. That¡¯s right. It''s ''we'' now. We can figure out what to do, now.
Chapter 14 (The Dogs of Earth)
That whole day, the trio got drunk on stolen whiskey in the computer room. They¡¯d splinted Ron¡¯s pinky tight in some chopsticks and athletic tape, the big guy saying he was content with just that. He said even if they could find an available doctor at the hospital, they¡¯d treat it the exact same way. That didn¡¯t sound right to Dor, but as long as Uncle Ron was happy and didn¡¯t mind his pinky healing crooked, Dor wouldn¡¯t question him.
For their drunken escape, the trio laughed, cried, and bullshitted. Emotions turned up the more drinks they put down. Dor told every detail of his story, from nearly choking to death on his own puke to the monster shattering his window. At that point, he knew secrets would only lead to disaster, disaster far worse than a busted pinky. While they shot the shit, Dor sat like a wall separating the monster from his family.
True to form, when Dor began to wobble, her tail wrapped around him, supporting his body upright. Dad and Uncle Ron nearly jumped into attack mode seeing that, but Dor waved them off.
¡°She¡¯s a docile creature, very docile,¡± he reassured.
When Dad and Uncle Ron weren¡¯t looking, he turned around and whispered to her. ¡°You ain¡¯t going to attack me tonight¡nod your head, dammit.¡±
She nodded; he relaxed, and before too much longer, Dad and Uncle Ron relaxed, too. In fact, those two relaxed so much, they slumped into a heap on the floor, passed out drunk. Apparently, they neglected to exercise their livers as often as Dor did.
The tail loosened from Dor¡¯s waist, not that he hardly noticed in his own slurried state, and the monster disappeared for a minute or two. She came back with a pillow in each hand, likely Donnie¡¯s and Jimmy¡¯s. Using her tail, she lifted both Dad¡¯s and Ron¡¯s head and tucked a pillow underneath, then returned to her chair next to Dor.
¡°You¡¯re a good monster,¡± he told her.
¡°People¡,¡± she said. ¡°I¡¯m people.¡±
¡°Take off your mitts.¡±
She wavered. ¡°It¡¯s not a test,¡± he said. ¡°Take off your mitts and hold out your hand.¡±
A slender white hand poked through a slot in her comforter. Her fingernails gleaned under the flashes of the monitors and tinted a dull red from Jimmy¡¯s mood lighting.
¡°Hold them steady,¡± Dor instructed. ¡°I¡¯ll trust you for this. Don¡¯t let me down.¡±
She held her hands steady and he grazed the tip of his finger across her pinky. Her cold skin brushed against his own until his finger traced to the end, then a wet trickle ran down his palm. The sharpness of her nail even surprised him. As quickly as his finger grazed it, it sunk in like a hot knife through butter, a cut so sharp he hardly even felt it. In exactly the same way as the Glock he kept in his jacket pocket, her fingernails had only one purpose.
Dor held up his hand as a thin trail of blood dripped onto the floor. Her black eyes studied it with fascination. What else were you expecting? Maybe she really was expecting a different outcome?
¡°Your turn,¡± he said. ¡°Hold your palm flat.¡±
She did, and he poked his own fingernail into it barely leaving an indentation and certainly no blood trail. The monster¡¯s skin was much too tough for that.
¡°It only works one way,¡± he told her. ¡°How haven¡¯t you realized that?¡±
She poked her head out of the comforter and forced a smile. She did realize that. She simply didn¡¯t want to face it. Dor could see that now; he could also see the state she was in. Her jet black hair stuck out in all directions, an impressive feat given how long it was. Didn¡¯t you just take a shower yesterday? But the part that really got him was her face. She really was starving. Her cheeks sunk in. Her skin stretched so tight and without a shred of fat for cushion, he might as well have been looking at her skull. Even her eyes appeared dead, the glean lost in them.
¡°What do you eat?¡± He asked.
¡°Tomatoes,¡± she simply replied. ¡°Oh, and I like the corn from Jasper¡¯s garden. He had that trick thumb, you know, always pretended to bite it off on accident. He¡¯s a silly, silly man. And I like Canasta. You don¡¯t eat it, but you play it. Thomas used to come over and we¡¯d try to get through a game, but he was so frisky, mind you, that well¡ª¡±
¡°Yes, yes, you already told me about Thomas,¡± Dor said. ¡°But tomatoes? You really eat tomatoes?¡±
¡°Garden tomatoes. Not the tomatoes from Don¡¯s. He doesn¡¯t switch out his stock like he should, so they are always a bit stale. One time, I bit into a brown spot, and after that, I swore off Don¡¯s tomatoes. Nuh-uh, never again. He won¡¯t get my business back.¡±
The more she talked, the more Dor assumed her home was similar to his. That maybe her upbringing wasn¡¯t so different that they¡¯d never be able to relate to one another. After all, cross-stitch and garden tomatoes¡I got along with Granny Ann just fine.
¡°Where was this town?¡± He asked.If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.
¡°Where?¡± She thought for awhile. ¡°Well, I don¡¯t know. You see, we had big white walls and a bright ceiling. That was the whole world. But then¡but then¡¡±
Once again, she trailed off, shaking her head in an incoherent rant.
¡°Tell me about it,¡± Dor said.
¡°¡but then¡but then the world changed color. It dyed a marvelous shade of red with yellow stars hanging in the air, just like this.¡± She waved her hand in front of her face. ¡°You see the stars swirling around? You see them right? Scrub-bucket couldn¡¯t, but you can, right?¡±
Dor hadn¡¯t the heart to tell her nothing was there. He nodded and her face lit up.
¡°Oh good!¡± She cried. ¡°Good, good! You see? I wasn¡¯t alone. It¡¯s a brilliant color, don¡¯t you think? Look. I can write my name.¡±
She traced her finger in the air, rearranging some intangible delusion. He watched her for a while, then a thought struck him. ¡°What is your name?¡± He asked.
She pointed. ¡°It¡¯s right there, silly.¡±
¡°It¡¯s backwards, so I can¡¯t read it,¡± he lied.
Her finger traced out the letters, ignoring him. E-T-A. Eta.
¡°Eta?¡± He asked while a vague memory reminded him he already knew that; the kid told him.
She nodded. ¡°E-T-A. Easy, right?¡±
Dor smiled and slugged back a nightcap. ¡°Well, Eta, you are a mess. How long has it been since you brushed your teeth?¡±
She held up a finger and opened her mouth, but fell silent. ¡°And your hair,¡± he said. ¡°It¡¯s worse than mine.¡±
He knew he¡¯d been neglecting his own pride, his mullet shamed mullets everywhere. Joe Dirt, not Pat Swayze. So, he decided to make a deal with her. ¡°You comb your hair, brush your teeth, and I¡¯ll do the same. Quite frankly, your breath stinks.¡±
Eta giggled. ¡°It is quite awful.¡±
He showed her to the bathroom upstairs and very carefully, put a toothbrush in her hand, one of the spares from under the sink. Snap! The moment her fingers pinched it, it snapped clean in two. Dor tried again. Snap! The next one broke in half. He was half tempted just to brush her teeth for her, but then an idea struck him. He rummaged around his room and the utility closet, rounding up an empty whiskey bottle and a roll of duct tape.
Her tail is gentle. Her hands are rough.
He duct-taped the bottle to the handle of the last spare toothbrush, a perfectly sized handle for a snake to wrap around. Or a hungry centipede. That worked much better, and fortunately, empty bottles of booze were in no short supply in his household. Not stopping with just the toothbrush, he taped a bottle to one of Lulu¡¯s hairbrushes, a bottle of shampoo, and even the toothpaste tube. In the end, his monster had a full lineup of bottle-handled necessities stacked along the counter.
¡°You know what these all do, right?¡± he asked.
She nodded. ¡°Oh yes. I¡¯m only missing a set of tizzers, and perhaps a nail file.¡±
¡°We¡¯d need a grinder to file those nails.¡± Then he waved her off. ¡°Take care of yourself.¡±
Her tail went to work brushing and scrubbing all the frazzle away. All that was left was to get her some food. Dor trudged into his bedroom for the first time since the monster arrived, and plopped down on his bed. Before he eased into oblivion, he didn¡¯t forget to holler at her.
¡°Don¡¯t you fucking attack me tonight!¡± He shouted.
Her head peeked in the door and nodded.
Satisfied, he began to shut down his sloshed mind. Another day down, one day at a time. An old army trick of Ron¡¯s often helped him drift off to sleep. First, he relaxed his shoulders, then his head, and finally he allowed all his worries to float in and out of his head unhindered.
It worked. Dor fell asleep easily tonight, reassured by the thought of his family downstairs.
In the middle of the night, beating drums startled him awake. Jungle music. Bongos. An intense steady rhythm played. Ba-dum. Ba-dum. Ba,dum. As he listened, they sped up. Ba-dum, ba-dum, ba-dum. Quicker and quicker, they matched his heart-rate. His head pulsed so loud, he could hear it. Ba-dum, ba-dum, ba-dum.
Then he understood. There were no drums. His adrenaline was spiked. His heart beat so loud it reverberated in his mind like bongo music. A lucid sleep terror awoke him.
No visions of Peter Rabbit demons floated above him, nor did a tail wrap around him. Only the night engulfed him, completely pitch black. With his door open, the red night-light in the bathroom should have shone in. It didn¡¯t. It was shut off. The hall loomed as black as his room.
He tried to move, but he¡¯d woken up too suddenly. His body laid paralyzed while his mind consciously reeled. Something was wrong, he just knew it. Dor tried to open his jaw, to yell for help, but even his voice sealed shut. Something was really wrong and he was paralyzed in the pitch blackness.
Above him, the ceiling creaked. He couldn¡¯t see it, but he could hear it. The ceiling distorted itself, the sound creaking closer and closer to his frozen body. Don¡¯t notice me. I¡¯m not here. Don¡¯t notice me. It did. He just knew it. The ceiling was watching him. He felt eyes bore through him. Until then, his monster¡¯s eyes were the epitome of darkness, but he learned how wrong he was. The ceiling was the true epitome.
Snap! Like an elastic band, it snapped back into place, the red glow of the bathroom light reflected into his room once again, and the darkness lifted. Now, only the normal spackling hung above him lit by the subtle red glow reflecting in from the hallway, but he knew that experience wasn¡¯t a dream. He¡¯d heard the creaks and felt its stare. The bongos that strummed in time to his heartbeat faded, and his adrenaline spiked heartbeat eased to a slower rhythm.
He wrestled and writhed against the constraints of his sleep paralysis, struggling to free himself from the captive state his body put him under. A finger twitched, a leg squirmed, his head whipped back and forth, and Dor regained control.
Without a second thought, he leaped out bed and ran down the hall. Whatever just happened, he only knew he needed to escape. He really, really needed his dad. Skipping entire steps at a time, Dor fumbled down the stairs and flew through the kitchen. In the dining room converted office space, Dad and Uncle Ron were still stretched out, sleeping on the floor snugged into their pillows.
Dor lit a menthol light, and instinctually reached for his Glock. The pistol wasn¡¯t there. He¡¯d left it in his room, but there wasn¡¯t a chance in Hell he¡¯d go back to retrieve it.
¡®Sorry, Mr. Body I can¡¯t keep our agreement tonight.¡¯
¡®Take it easy on the booze and I¡¯ll let you off with two hours of sleep,¡¯ his body replied. ¡®That was some scary shit.¡¯
Dor took a measured sip from the handle they¡¯d been drinking earlier. Wide awake now, he surely wasn¡¯t going to get the full four hours tonight. Fortunately, his body felt cordial enough to let him off with a warning.
He stood guard over his old man and Uncle Ron all night. A stray dog scratched at the door. Another one came soon after and scratched at the garage. Dor tightened his grip on the bottle and prayed for sun-up.
After tonight, one conclusion was perfectly clear. He hadn¡¯t even begun to scratch the surface of his bizarre new life.
Chapter 15 (The Dogs of Earth)
In the wee hours of the morning, a pink bundling joined him.
¡°I saw the stars,¡± Eta said. ¡°They were thick tonight, flowing into your room. I was going to go in, but you told me not to.¡±
She sat down and hugged her knees to her chest in the computer chair next to Dor¡¯s, and he lit another menthol light with trembling fingers. ¡°The stars were real,¡± he said, framing it somewhere in between a question and a statement.
Eta waved her hand through the air. ¡°There¡¯s less of them now, but those things happen. They come and go. That¡¯s what makes them beautiful, that they¡¯re only around for a little while.¡±
Dor forced a chuckle. Eta¡¯s spoke with an odd coherence tonight, or perhaps, her coherence had always been there and he was too wrapped up in his own world to notice. Taking advantage, he asked a question that had been on his mind.¡°Who¡¯s Scrub-bucket?¡±
¡°Oh, you know Scrub-bucket,¡± she replied. ¡°You met him. He told me.¡±
Dor shook his head. ¡°Describe him to me.¡±
¡°My, now that is a challenge.¡± Eta thought and thought, humming to herself all the while. ¡°He was a janitor, my sexy Scrub-bucket. Big muscles and a chiseled jaw, he was so handsome.¡±
She bit her lip and reminisced. ¡°But then, the world changed and so did he. The world dyed red and Scrub-bucket was no longer Scrub-bucket. He went from being my sexy janitor to a child. He no longer wore the same body. I don''t know how he did it, but it happened.¡±
Eta held up her hand, studying it with an odd fascination.
¡®I¡¯m the bunsack formerly known as God.¡¯ Dor remembered that kid, his intruder saying at the start of all this. ¡®Wait, that¡¯s not right either. I¡¯m a god in a bunsack body, but bunsacks are super weak, like you wouldn¡¯t believe it¡ª¡¯
Dor opened his mind and didn¡¯t take a second to consider the implications of his musings. This was an insane world and clinging to his sanity would only be a hindrance. That kid, he must be her Scrub-bucket. A ¡®bunsack¡¯ formerly known as God.
¡°Is Scrub-bucket God here?¡± Dor asked. ¡°Are our worlds the same? Does he own them?¡±
Eta dug around in her blanket and pulled out a book: ¡®Prometheus¡¯ Jumpstart Guide: How to Skip Ten-Thousand Years of Stagnation¡¯. She turned to the first page where hastily written characters and symbols scrawled some kind of dedication.
¡°I can¡¯t read that,¡± Dor said.
¡°To my friend, Oenus. Take this book and leave my world alone, you psycho,¡± Eta read.
Then she looked up and explained, ¡°Scrub-bucket¡¯s friend gave him this book. It¡¯s filled with wondrous ideas. Most are fables likely stolen from many people, but that¡¯s how those things go.¡±
Eta flipped around until she found a certain page: ¡®Chapter 247: Computers and their potential¡¯. A diagram of a simple algorithm explained the concept behind them. Even Dor learned a thing or two as he skimmed over it. He turned the pages deeper and deeper into the chapter. Eventually, a diagram of a old computer monitor appeared, presumably one from the 80¡¯s. Eta pointed to the monitor on the page, then to the glowing computer behind Dor.
¡°I thought they were all fables,¡± she explained. ¡°But some hold truth, at least here they do.¡±
Eta turned to a dog eared page. On it, a diagram depicted a giant wheel outfitted with beads on the spokes. According to the description, the beads would slide from the inside to the outside of the spoke as the wheel turned, in theory creating a perpetual motion machine.
¡°He wanted to build wheelmen,¡± she said. ¡°But those were a fable and the sky dyed red. Wheelmen don¡¯t exist. You can¡¯t live forever. Mister Jenkens won¡¯t let you. He¡¯ll send his wolves. Scrub-bucket tried with me¡and now¡and now¡¡±
''--since Prometheus is back in Valrere, I¡¯m gonna hide Eta here. ¡®Cause of Mister Jenken¡¯s wolves and all.''
Dor cursed that kid, but didn¡¯t relent. Pity aside, he needed to understand what was going on. He couldn¡¯t put it off any longer. His routine was shot the minute his monster appeared. No, the minute everyone vanished.
He shook Eta''s shoulders before she could retreat into herself. ¡°Who¡¯s Prometheus?¡± He asked. ¡°Is he another god? Is that it? Did he fail just like your Scrub-bucket?¡±
Eta looked up. ¡°You¡¯ve met him,¡± she said.
¡°When?¡± At that point, Dor was yelling. He couldn¡¯t help it. It was all too much to take in. He really wanted to discount her blabber as inane drivel, but he couldn¡¯t any longer. Her words held truth; confirmed by the same words as that kid''s, but even more so, confirmed by the insanity his world was facing.
¡°Why, just now, silly,¡± Eta explained. ¡°You just met him.¡±
I just met him? When? Then it hit him. The creaks, the night terror, the ceiling¡that was Prometheus.Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.
Dor lit another cigarette right off the butt of his current one, and chain-smoked it down to purify the air. Another snippet of his conversation with that kid came to him. ¡®I reverse followed him here. Or rather, he was going one way, and I was going the other. That¡¯s how I found this world. That¡¯s what I do.¡¯
It took a few moments for him to organize his next question. ¡°Did you come from a different world?¡± He asked.
Eta smiled, light and airy. ¡°Who knows?¡±
He remembered that kid, her Scrub-bucket, that wayward self-proclaimed god scanning the ceiling the moment Dor played Lou Reed over Spotify.
¡°Is this¡is this Prometheus¡¯ world?¡± He asked.
¡°Who knows?¡±
He just wanted to shake her. Don¡¯t shake the baby.
Gods and monsters, it was all to much to take in. Nearly ready to break his recent bargain with his body, Dor reached for the handle of whiskey next to him. A gentle hand rubbed his shoulder. Click, click, click. A flame hovered overhead and his Dad lit a joint. He passed it down and Dor nearly cried. Dad¡¯s face was as ragged as the monsters, but he never complained. He just always went along with the flow. I must have woke him up.
¡®It¡¯ll still be there in a minute, son¡¯ Dad¡¯s intentions were clear as day. However horrified everyone was, they just needed to take a minute to process the insanity, not retreat into a shell and deny it.
With Dad''s help, the veil thickened in Dor¡¯s mind, clouding his negative thoughts behind a curtain of smoke. It¡¯s all insane¡or maybe, it¡¯s all true sanity. And I¡¯ve always been insane, but am just now finding true sanity. Sometimes he wished he had a tape recorder to document his stoned thoughts.
¡°The prompt,¡± Dor stated as he broke out of his musings.
His old man pulled up a chair, urging Dor to continue.
¡°I don¡¯t know if he¡¯s God here or what, but that dude, Prometheus, he¡¯s got control over the city,¡± Dor explained. ¡°He was a god in the game. Remember that game I told you about, Dad?¡±
Dad nodded. ¡°The one with boob leveling and whatnot.¡±
¡°Exactly. My ceiling, it came alive. That dude, that God in the game, he¡¯s got control here and he lives in my ceiling.¡±
Dad didn¡¯t say so, but Dor knew he¡¯d lost him. Dad didn¡¯t believe him. However, the great thing about his old man was, no matter if he didn¡¯t believe Dor, he¡¯d always support his son.
So, Dor continued undeterred. ¡°I said no to the prompt, but I think, everyone else said yes. That¡¯s why they disappeared. It was all too coincidental to begin with.¡±
The clothes slumped over the chairs, the cut-screen of death, one way out of the city, no way back in.
¡°You said it, Dad. It¡¯s what them boys do at the top. It¡¯s all about control and Prometheus controls this city. It was his prompt, his game, and now it''s his city. That¡¯s why leaving is a one-way trip. He controls the entrance. It¡¯s all his!¡±
For Dor, the pieces all clicked in his mind. The minute he surrendered to the insanity, it all made sense. Likely, the ¡®how¡¯ would blow his mind. After all, Prometheus was a god who lived in the ceiling. But that part was superfluous. He didn¡¯t need to know, and he didn¡¯t care to know. He only needed to find his friends, and now knew exactly what to do to prove this mad theory.
¡°When I got outa jail, the prompt was waiting for me,¡± Dor explained. ¡°You see? We just have to find a prompt. We just need to hunt down a computer and find a prompt that hasn¡¯t been answered. That¡¯s where Lulu and Jimmy are at. They¡¯re waiting on the other side of a ''yes'', except I said no, but now I want to say yes. Get it?¡±
He began sounding more and more like that crazy intruder he met, but Dor didn¡¯t care. He¡¯d found the right question and he was ready to say yes.
Dad scratched his scruff and looked over at his friend passed out on the floor. ¡°Don¡¯t go saying none of that to Ronnie,¡± he said.
¡°But you¡¯ll help, right? You¡¯ll help me?¡± Dor asked.
Before Dor got an answer, he turned to the monster hiding under the covers. ¡°Eta, Eta, you¡¯ll help, right? Come on, I know I¡¯m a dick. But you¡¯ll help me, right?¡±
She didn¡¯t respond.
Dor snuffed out his joint and stood to his feet. ¡°It doesn¡¯t matter, then. I¡¯ll find a prompt myself and from there I can find Lulu and Jimmy and Claire and even little Donny. Oh, I know!¡±
He ran into the kitchen and through the unhinged door of the cooler. Inside, he snatched up a bag of rawhide doggy treats off the shelves, little Donny¡¯s favorite snack. He¡¯d be so happy to get these.
Then a thought struck him. ¡°Wait. If their clothes were slumped over the chair, that means they vanished completely naked. Shit, I can¡¯t bring any snacks with me. Shit. Sorry, Donny.
"Wait! That¡¯s it!¡± He cried.
Dor dropped the premade treats and ran back into the computer room. ¡°Dad, how do you make rawhide? Do you dry bits of beef? Hold on, that¡¯d just be beef jerky, right? What makes rawhide, rawhide? You know what? Forget it. I can just Google it.¡±
Amidst his Dad¡¯s incredulous stare, Dor plopped down in front of his computer and began typing. ¡®What makes rawhide, rawhide?¡¯
Hmm¡it comes from the inner layer of a cow¡¯s or a horse¡¯s hide. This is good to note. Surely there are cows and horses on the other side of the prompt. And clothes. God, I hope Lulu¡¯s not running around naked. I¡¯d kill that fuckin¡¯ pervert Prometheus if that¡¯s the case.
His mind whirled a million miles an hour. He had direction now, a plan all laid out. Even better, it was a plan he¡¯d laid out himself. This might have been the first time he¡¯d felt true self-satisfaction. He practically burst apart at the seams with pure sanity. Surrender to the insanity to find true sanity. As long as his catch-all rhymed, that meant it had to be true.
Dad and his monster didn¡¯t contribute. Eta hid under her blanket and Dad sat back, not saying a word. That was fine. Dor had figured out this much on his own, and he just knew he was on the right track. Bringing along the knowledge of rawhide was just a bonus.
Dogs scratched at the door, but he ignored them. He had a mission.
A pack howled outside and Dor delved deeper into his studies. Single-minded focus was what he needed. Distractions led to negative thoughts and negative thoughts led to the bottle. The bottle was a retreat and he needed a veil.
Before too long, the walls began scraping. The dogs, they were itching to get inside. It took a lot of willpower, but Dor allowed the veil of smoke to cloud his surroundings. Somewhere along the way, Dad may have woke Uncle Ron up. Those two may have been panicking a bit, but Dor ignored it. ¡®How to press rawhide into strips,¡¯ he typed.
Dad shook his shoulder. ¡°Somethings going outside, let it be, son. That¡¯s not important.¡±
Dor waved his Dad off. ¡°No, this is all that¡¯s important.¡±
¡°Dammit, boy!¡± Uncle Ron hollered. ¡°Is this more secrets? We¡¯re fucking surrounded by a pack of dogs. Listen to ¡®em out there. Get it together!¡±
No negativity. Don¡¯t nurture those thoughts. The smoke struggled to maintain its veil.
A window upstairs broke, paws scampered across the floor, and a snarling mutt ran down the stairs.
The wolves had come for Eta, or more accurately, a pack of mangy greyhounds. When faced with that truth, not even the veil was thick enough to mask it.
"Shit," Dor reached for his bottle of whiskey, the only weapon he had on hand.
Chapter 16 (The Dogs of Earth)
Presumably, that mangy greyhound had broken through the only window Dor couldn¡¯t bring himself to board up, Lulu¡¯s window upstairs. How a dog jumped an entire story didn¡¯t matter because right now, that mangy greyhound bounded across the kitchen, making a b-line for Eta.
Dor gripped the heavy glass bottle of whiskey, not taking a second to process the ¡®hows¡¯ and the ¡®whys¡¯ of this insanity; those thoughts were irrelevant. From twenty paces away, the dog leaped into the air. He appeared to be supported by invisible high-wires, gliding forward like a bad martial arts movie. Eta noticed. She stuck her thin arm out of the blanket to shield herself from the dog¡¯s attack.
For a moment, Dor wondered why she even bothered. Instinct? As tough as her skin was, a canine¡¯s chompers wouldn¡¯t have a chance in Hell at puncturing her defenses. That thought ended the moment the dog opened its maw. Inside, rows of teeth swirled down a seemingly endless throat. That dog¡¯s maw, it was the same as Eta''s tail. This was no ordinary mutt.
Ignoring the humans, the dog attacked Eta, pouncing down onto her from its gravity-defying leap. Swirling teeth latched onto her arm and she lost her shit, completely panicked. Her arm flailed, and the dog swung with it, but it never let go. That otherworldly mutt clamped down like a leech, sucking and snarling away.
Eta panicked, tables overturned, the dog¡¯s body smashed through computers and chairs, and the scene transformed into bloody chaos. The dog swung towards Dad and he fell over backward as the mutt grazed past him. Right then, Uncle Ron stepped into the fight, but it was Dor who acted first. That¡¯s My monster, you fuck!
In her frenzy, Eta swung the mutt towards Dor, but he didn¡¯t retreat. He reared back and smashed the bottle of whiskey down. It connected right on top of the dog''s head. Glass shattered everywhere, and the mutt yelped, releasing its hold. But right as it let go, its momentum flung its scraggly body into Dor¡¯s chest. Umph! The two of them crashed backwards in a heap, overturning his computer desk and smashing a monitor down on top of them.
The mutt staggered to its feet, dazed. It took one look at Dor, opened its maw, and struck. Before the swirling teeth could dig into Dor¡¯s soft flesh, a purple Croc connected with its head. Uncle Ron intervened right at the last second and kicked that beast across the floor. Before the dog could stagger up a second time, Uncle Ron brought his Croc down again, stomping its throat flat under the big man¡¯s weight. The dog kicked and scratched, but Uncle Ron stomped it again and again, ending its life with a whimper.
¡°What in the fuck?¡± Uncle Ron yelled.
Dad wobbled to his feet, eyes wide in terror. His frail body shook, unable to process what happened.
Dor panted amidst the mess he¡¯d been flung into. He¡¯d gotten the wind knocked out of his lungs, but thanks to Uncle Ron¡¯s intervention, that was only real damage. His sight turned to Eta. His monster slipped out of her covers. Neon blood dripped from her arm; the swirling teeth had taken a chunk right out of it. How? No¡no, that doesn¡¯t matter. That¡¯s My fucking monster.
Right now, Eta was just a scared and clueless girl. Her arm dripped blood while her gaunt face contorted in fear. She could cut through cast iron with her claws when attacked by Pert Plus, but she truly was a docile creature. Her claws could have ripped the guts clean out of that dog with a flick of her little finger. Instead, she panicked.
¡°Leave your¡leave your mitts on,¡± Dor panted as he wobbled to his feet.
Likely, his chest would be bruised a grisly shade of yellow and purple in the morning, but that was a problem for later.
¡°Mind¡your claws,¡± he said while limping over to inspect her arm.
If she panicked again, the dogs would be the least of their worries. With her around, friendly fire was the real threat. Dor shuddered, thinking just how lucky he was that the mutt connected with him instead of her claws.
¡°Fucking nod!¡± He yelled; the exertion ached his bruised chest.
She nodded and hung her claws limp at her side. He picked up her injured arm. The cut wasn¡¯t as deep as he¡¯d expected. Likely the dog¡¯s teeth were just as effective as a hacksaw grating tungsten. It scratched the surface enough to make her bleed, but not much else. Her wound was another problem that could wait.
¡°How the fuck did that thing get in?¡± Uncle Ron yelled. ¡°Better yet, what the fuck was that.¡±
Dad stood next to him, his frail body still trembling in fear. Unfortunately, Dor only had one answer.
¡°Mister Jenken¡¯s wolves,¡± he said. ¡°They¡¯re after her because she¡¯s a wheelmen.¡±
Whatever that is. He didn¡¯t know how true that statement was, but based on the inklings he understood, it was the only conclusion his hasty reasoning could gather.
Outside, the pack of dogs continued to howl and scrape at the walls. They were surrounded. Worse yet, the gravity-defying dogs could get in anytime all thanks to Dor¡¯s sentiment. Uncle Ron clenched his fists, ready to explode. ¡°Give ¡®em the fucking monster,¡± he said. ¡°Give the fucking monster then. That¡¯s what they¡¯re after, so that¡¯s what¡¯ll make ¡®em go away.¡±
That logic was sound, and it hit Dor like a ton of bricks. The cold truth of the matter was that Mister Jenkin¡¯s wolves were after Eta. She was a wheelmen, whatever that meant. ¡®¡ªdon¡¯t do wheelmen here in your world. He don¡¯t like that.¡¯
No shit, kid.
Fact was, he didn¡¯t even need the monster anymore. She¡¯d given him all the information he needed to form a plan. Right now, he only needed to hunt down an unanswered prompt. If he clicked yes, he¡¯d vanish just like the rest of his friends, to Valrere or whatever world they went to. Of that, he was completely certain. He knew it was the truth as far-fetched as it sounded. This was an insane world. Or worlds. Only through insane logic could he comprehend it.
These last two months he¡¯d been taking care of a monster from another world in hopes she¡¯d lead him to find his friends. And for once, he¡¯d assumed right.
Ditch the monster and hunt down a computer prompt. Sound logic and certainly a task he couldn¡¯t accomplish with wolves nipping at his heels.
Dor looked to his old man. His frail Dad shook in terror. That mutt nearly killed them. Who was to say it¡¯d stop its rampage after killing Eta? This was a decision between his family and a monster he¡¯d just met. He picked the Peter Rabbit comforter off the floor and draped it over his monster¡¯s head. ¡°Use your tail,¡± he instructed her. ¡°Wrap your arm tight and stay put.¡±
Uncle Ron nodded. ¡°Let¡¯s give ¡®em the monster and wait it out.¡±
Maybe it was Uncle Ron¡¯s army training, or maybe it was just how the big guy really was, but Dor respected just how easily that guy kept it together. Had Dor himself not had two months to process this world, he¡¯d be overwhelmed, shaking in terror next to his old man right now.
¡°Stay put,¡± he told the monster again.The author''s tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.
His chest ached and his leg was sore, but Dor gimped out the room as quick as he could. Compared to meeting God in his ceiling, this situation didn¡¯t have near the impact. He wasn''t frozen in terror. He was ready to take action, put his forming plan into motion. Albeit, that was only a plan for escaping the restaurant. As to what they''d do next, he was completely clueless.
He gimped up the stairs before Dad and Uncle Ron could stop him. Through Lulu¡¯s open window, the howling echoed down the hall. He prayed another dog wouldn''t fly in. He made his way down the hall, pushing through the mutt''s wails, and found his room. His Glock and Sargent Berry laid on the nightstand. Sargent Berry he¡¯d surely need later, but the Glock was for now. Knowing Uncle Ron, he''d need it to escape.
He tucked the flask into his pocket and checked the slide of his pistol. The glean of a brass casing confirmed it was loaded. He opened the nightstand¡¯s drawer and stuffed cheap Tulu ammo into his jacket. There were a lot of dogs, so he¡¯d need lots of reinforcements. Wallet, keys, Glock, and Sargent Berry. He was ready.
Before he went back down, he stopped in front of Lulu¡¯s room. Disco stars twirled across the walls while her pink curtain fluttered against a breeze. Early morning darkness shrouded the room and the snarls of hungry dogs leaked through the busted window.
¡°See you soon,¡± he said and closed her door.
Hopefully, a closed door would buy them a bit of time against the next attacker. Though, he strongly doubted it. They chewed through Eta¡¯s tough skin. Probably not even the walls themselves could withstand those mutts'' swirling teeth. But if they could always get in, why wait until now to attack?
Dor glanced up at the ceiling in the hall. He couldn¡¯t feel its gaze, but perhaps the god that lived there only made his presence known to prove a point. ¡®I can get to you anytime I want.¡¯
He flipped the ceiling a rude gesture and limped back downstairs, gun in hand and ammo rattling around his pockets. Dad and Uncle Ron stood in the kitchen, far away from the monster tending to her wound. Upon seeing him, Uncle Ron reached to snatch the gun out of Dor¡¯s hand, but Dor stepped back. This was his damn plan, and Uncle Ron wasn¡¯t going to take over.
¡°We need to leave,¡± Dor told them. ¡°Those dogs can get in whenever they want. Ain¡¯t no walls gonna stop them.¡±
¡°Boy, you best start making sense,¡± Uncle Ron warned.
Dor pointed to the ceiling. ¡°God lives up there.¡±
¡°What up in heaven? You ain¡¯t serious.¡±
¡°No, God lives in my ceiling. He owns this city and he can get in whenever he wants. He¡¯s just fuckin¡¯ with us.¡±
Uncle Ron swallowed hard and grit his teeth. Dor revised his previous assessment. That big man was not taking this well. ¡°Son, you¡¯ve lived alone way too long,¡± Uncle Ron said. ¡°Ain¡¯t no god living in your ceiling, just some mutts outside hungry for a monster.¡±
How can you accept they want to eat Eta just like that, but not that God lives in my ceiling? Dor shook his head. Likely, if he told Uncle Ron the dogs outside just wanted to borrow the computer for a bit, Uncle Ron would throw every computer out the window to them. He didn¡¯t want answers. He just wanted out of this mess. Dor couldn¡¯t fault him for that. He wasn¡¯t much different.
¡°You take a look at that beast you killed?¡± Dor asked. ¡°Go check out its teeth. Go on, I¡¯ll wait. You check out its teeth then tell me that¡¯s a real dog.¡±
The big man didn¡¯t move. Apparently, he¡¯d noticed the swirling teeth.
¡°If a monster like that exists, fucking God can live in my ceiling,¡± Dor said. ¡°You want an out, I¡¯ll give ya one. Find a computer monitor that''s still running the game. If you can find one with a prompt asking you to take Prometheus¡¯ name for future adventures, don¡¯t hesitate to tell it yes. That¡¯s what Lulu did, and that¡¯s why she¡¯s gone.¡±
Right at the mention of his daughter¡¯s name, Uncle Ron grabbed Dor by the cuff and pinned him back against the wall. Scary as Uncle Ron could be, he didn¡¯t hold a candle to Prometheus or his dogs.
¡°I told ya how to find her,¡± Dor said as he stared the big man down. ¡°You don¡¯t like it, you don¡¯t believe me, tough shit. Go back to hanging posters or twiddlin¡¯ your thumb up your ass or whatever else you do to waste time. I ain¡¯t gonna waste no more time. I got a plan. You don¡¯t like it, then go fuck yourself.¡±
¡°Ronnie! Leave it.¡± Dad snapped out of his daze.
"This boy¡¯s off his rocker, Manny!¡± Uncle Ron said.
¡°That ain¡¯t nothin¡¯ to do with you,¡± Dad said.
Uncle Ron¡¯s face flushed, but it wasn¡¯t rage. ¡°The fuck it doesn''t, Manny! This here¡¯s my boy, too. And I ain¡¯t gonna let no boy of mine lose his fuckin¡¯ mind.¡±
¡°Dammit, Uncle Ron,¡± Dor said. ¡°I haven¡¯t lost my mind. You see how mad the world is, I¡¯m not any madder than the rest of it. I got a monster living upstairs, monsters outside, and God fucking with me in my sleep. Come on¡help me. What you got better to do?¡±
Uncle Ron released Dor and backed away. He pointed to the gun. ¡°Gimme that, you¡¯re gonna hurt yourself.¡±
Dor shook his head. ¡°I got an axe in the utility closet, and Hell, your Croc did a pretty good job earlier.¡±
Then he tossed his car keys over to Dad. His old man knew how to handle a Trans-Am better than Dor ever could, probably from all that tearing around in his wilder years. ¡°We gotta get out of here. If those mutts can gnaw through Eta¡¯s skin, they can gnaw through a wood door. I don¡¯t know what they are, but them things are the real monsters.¡±
Dad took a deep breath and relaxed his face. Then he smiled. Dad was always along for the ride as long as Dor asked him to.
¡°Where¡¯s the closet?¡± Uncle Ron asked.
Dor pointed, and the big guy nodded. Even Uncle Ron had his moments. Dor limped over to his Trans-Am and popped the trunk. For the next step, they¡¯d need supplies, no telling when they¡¯d be able to come back. Dad helped him raid the walk-in cooler, dumping all the doggie treats and dried goods into the back. Most important of all, Dor didn¡¯t forget about the Kentucky Gentleman. He needed all the help he could get.
Without even explaining the details, it seemed they all understood what to do next. Escape. Dad crawled into the driver¡¯s seat while Uncle Ron manned the draw bar locking the garage door shut. Dogs scratched the plywood, going wild outside, but that was all for show. Dor figured out God''s game. Those dogs could get in anytime they wanted. God in the ceiling was just fucking with them.
Throughout all their commotion, Dor¡¯s monster stood in the computer room watching them all scramble around. Even with their quick preparations all set and ready, she didn¡¯t move. She just hung out with her Peter Rabbit comforter draped over her head while her tail wrapped a piece of the cloth around her arm. Neon blood soaked through some, but otherwise she appeared fine, lost in her own world like usual. At least she can follow instructions.
¡°Get in, let¡¯s get goin¡¯¡± Uncle Ron hollered as he manned the garage door.
Dad cranked the engine. Wamp. Wamp. Wamp. No backfire this time, Dad knew what he was doing. The big V-8 rumbled to life and the dogs outside went nuts, barking and snarling at the noise. Thick fumes filled the kitchen. Now they really couldn¡¯t stay here. If the dogs didn¡¯t kill them, the carbon monoxide would.
¡°Get in, Dor!¡± Uncle Ron yelled.
Dor looked to his monster, his pathetic monster hiding under her blanket. Hell¡¯s a dark place, but she ain¡¯t there no more. ¡°What you doing?¡± He yelled at her. ¡°Get in!¡±
She held up a finger and opened her mouth, but Uncle Ron cut her off. ¡°Not a chance!¡± Uncle Ron said. ¡°We¡¯re leaving. That thing is staying.¡±
Dor knew this would be a problem the moment he thought of escaping. Too bad, Uncle Ron. She''s coming along. He walked away from the car and over to his pathetic monster. ¡°Mind those claws, ya hear?¡± He told her. ¡°Fucking n¡ª¡±
But he didn¡¯t need to get all the words out. She held up her oven mitts and nodded along.
¡°Good. Let¡¯s go.¡±
Right as they turned to walk back into the kitchen, Uncle Ron blocked their way. ¡°You said it yourself, boy,¡± he said. ¡°They want her, not us.¡±
¡°I don¡¯t know that for sure,¡± Dor countered.
¡°Don¡¯t care. Whatever that thing is, she ain¡¯t nothing but trouble. You¡¯re gettin¡¯ in the car and that thing¡¯s staying here.¡±
¡°If she¡¯s staying, I¡¯m staying. This ain¡¯t Hell.¡±
¡°Don¡¯t be stupid!¡± Uncle Ron yelled. ¡°This is life. Shit happens, but I ain¡¯t gonna take no chances with my family. No more shit¡¯s gonna happen to them.¡±
Dor was grasping at straws. He knew this would be a problem. If only I¡¯d kept a few secrets¡ But he shook that thought out of his head immediately. This was a dangerous insane world and keeping secrets he knew nothing about would only get people hurt. He wasn¡¯t that dumb.
¡°Uncle Ron, please,¡± Dor pleaded. ¡°We need her. If the plan fails, she knows how to find Lulu. She¡¯s from that world. She¡¯s useful.¡±
In truth, he knew just how weak that argument was. His monster was a bigger burden than she was useful. With dogs nipping at her heels, she¡¯d only drag them down and maybe even get his family hurt. He knew that. His sentiment was being unreasonable, not his Uncle Ron.
I am people. Still, he wouldn¡¯t leave a scared girl to get devoured by hungry dogs. He was people and if he did that, he knew he wouldn¡¯t be any longer.
Uncle Ron didn¡¯t waver. Dor didn¡¯t figure he would. That guy was nothing if not stubborn, thinking his opinions were only ones that mattered.
And I¡¯m no different. Dor lifted his Glock. Uncle Ron took a step back.
¡°You ain¡¯t gonna shoot me,¡± Uncle Ron said. ¡°You may be crazy, but you ain¡¯t gonna shoot me.¡±
Dor glanced back and pat Eta on the head. She leaned into that affection and he confirmed his decision.
¡°No,¡± Dor said. ¡°I can¡¯t hurt you.¡±
Instant death pressed against his temple. ¡°But I can hurt me. I¡¯m crazy, remember?¡±
Chapter 17 (The Dogs of Earth)
Confronting Uncle Ron, that was easy. The big man bowed to Dor¡¯s threat, which was good because Dor knew just how hollow his threat actually was. He did not want to die but had no problem twisting Uncle Ron¡¯s sentiment to suit his needs.
¡®And I thought I was an evil bastard,¡¯ Mr. Body told him. ¡®You¡¯d blow your brains to spite your family.¡¯
¡®What else was there to do?¡¯ Dor replied.
¡®The worst part¡the worst part being this was your plan all along.¡¯
Dor couldn¡¯t find the words to argue with himself. His reaction to the dogs¡¯ attack even surprised himself. With a plan in mind, he took quick decisive action; albeit, completely single-minded action. The prompt, rawhide, saving my monster¡I¡¯m not wrong. I know it. I¡¯m not wrong.
¡°Son, you¡¯ve really gone off the rails,¡± Uncle Ron said as Dor and Eta slipped by. ¡°Think about it. Really think about it. This ain¡¯t right. If you gotta put a gun to your head to get your way, it ain¡¯t right.¡±
Dor knew that. He pushed the monster towards the car, instant death to his temple. When he arrived at his idling Trans-Am, the look his old man gave him¡it was pure disappointment. He¡¯d never seen that face on his dad before.
¡®What was I supposed to do? I¡¯m not a monster and this ain¡¯t Hell!¡¯
¡®You took the easy route.¡¯ Mr. Body replied.
Clarity smacked him hard. Right now, he only wished he¡¯d bowed to the temptation of a good solid drunk earlier. He felt like shit. It was so easy to keep it together by himself. Even confronting Uncle Ron didn¡¯t bother him. But his dad, that look, Dor really struggled with that.
¡°Get in the back,¡± he told his monster. ¡°Don¡¯t scratch nothing either.¡±
Fortunately, the way the car fit in the kitchen, only the driver¡¯s side got blocked off by the cramped quarters. That was the Bo Duke side. For him and Eta, the passenger door opened just fine. He scooted the seat forward, leaving a crawlspace for Eta to climb in. Tight as the backseat was, it functioned better as a luggage rack than an actual seat. Eta crawled inside and slid over behind Dad. She hugged her knees to her chest, though this time it had more to do with necessity than self-comfort. There was no other place for her legs to fit.
Uncle Ron shook his head and returned to man the draw bar over the garage door.
After Dor put a gun to his head, the shame wouldn''t allow him to look his Dad in the eye. Just one day is all it took. It only took one day for his two worlds to collide. His ideal life back at Rose Valley Park shattered against the insanity smoldering inside his seedy Chinese restaurant. All his dark secrets laid bare for his family to see.
He was a child and had no place telling the adults what to do. Dor crawled into the backseat after Eta and hugged his knees tight. Even when Dor holstered his gun, Dad didn¡¯t utter a word. That hurt most of all.
Whaa-aam! Whaa-aam! With the passengers secure, the big V-8 roared as Dad primed the engine. He popped the shifter into reverse. In a situation like this, Dor really regretted not backing his car in. If he¡¯d had a bit more foresight, they wouldn¡¯t have to escape blindly in reverse. Dad¡¯s got this. He knows what he¡¯s doing.
Dor realized just how childish he was, just a kid huddled in the backseat with his slumber party monster. His monster covered herself with the comforter and clamped it shut with her oven mitts. He reached over and patted her on the head, but her nerves must have been fried. She didn¡¯t lean into the affection.
Whaa-aam! Whaa-aam! ¡°You ready, Ronnie?¡± Dad hollered out the open passenger door.
¡°Give ¡®er Hell, Mannie¡± Uncle Ron yelled back.
Dor watched out the back window as Uncle Ron lifted the draw bar and flung it aside. Uncle Ron knew enough to not bother opening the garage any further than that. His hulking frame lumbered straight to the car and swung into the passenger seat. Before he could even close the car door, dogs knocked open the garage and poured inside, snarling and barking with their vicious maws. Dad popped the clutch and the car lurched backward. Unlike Dor''s previous escape, this time the tires didn¡¯t peel out on the kitchen floor. Somehow Dad knew just how to feather the controls for the optimal grip.
As the car lurched backward, the rear end smashed into a pile of dogs crowding the exit. Before they stalled out against that pile, Dad popped the shifter into second gear and retreated back into the kitchen. For a moment, Dor couldn¡¯t understand Dad¡¯s plan, but then the car braked to a halt and they lurched backward once more. The rear bumper smashed into the pile of dogs again, making a bit more progress through that wall of meat.
Over and over, Dad rocked the car back and forth, cool as a cucumber the whole time. With all the sudden jolts, Eta and Dor kept knocking into the seat-backs, unlike Uncle Ron who held tight, stoic as a statue up front.Enjoying the story? Show your support by reading it on the official site.
One last push and Dad broke through the wall of dogs. The car rattled and bounced over their corpses, some of the mutts yipped and yelped, but Dad didn¡¯t pay it any mind. As soon as the tires rumbled over the heap and touched the solid pavement of the parking lot, he mashed the gas. Without even bothering to turn around, Dad tore the car through the lot in reverse.
Outside appeared to be the beginnings a zombie apocalypse, except instead of zombies, packs and packs of wild dogs horded all around them. Hundreds of snarling greyhound monsters crowded every spare inch of the lot. They stood on Lulu and Jimmy¡¯s old cars, Uncle Ron''s Windstar, and a few even perched on the roof of the restaurant. Seeing that, Dor knew they¡¯d made the right decision. There wouldn¡¯t be enough bullets in an armory, let alone his pocket to face that horde. God in the ceiling was just fucking with them.
Dad showed no mercy. He was pissed. The rear bumper knocked mangy greyhounds out of the way. Their swirling teeth gnashed at the windows, but Dad scissored the wheel back and forth, keeping the car from stalling on top of their corpses while he avoided attacks. As Dor and Eta knocked around the backseat, Dor realized what a childish moron he was being. He clamored for a grip on Uncle Ron¡¯s seat and shoved his Glock into the big man¡¯s hands. This was no time for childish power trips.
Uncle Ron didn¡¯t even hesitate. Bang! Bang! Bang! The cramped cab reverberated with deafening roars. Dor¡¯s ears stung as Uncle Ron shot every dog trying to claw its way to them through the smashed passenger window.
As Dad somehow brought the careen under control, the rear end threaded into the narrow alleyway leading out of the parking lot. The worn suspension rattle across dogs'' corpses, knocking the car side to side in those narrow confines. Tall brick walls scraped against the Trans-Am, screeching and throwing sparks as they bounced around like a pinball machine. If they stalled out here, they¡¯d be trapped. There was no room to maneuver at all, just a straight sprint to freedom. Dor knew the sound of his engine well enough to notice how his old man worked the throttle up and down, avoiding wheelspin over the gory mess beneath them.
Finally, they rattled onto 31st street wobbling in reverse. Not a single street lamp lit the road out here. The storefronts and tall buildings loomed to either side as shadows. Even the inside lights had been cut-off. God in the ceiling is just fucking with us. He enjoys the struggle. Fortunately, these streets were clear of dogs. Their only pursuers poured of the alleyway they''d just escaped from. The yellowed headlights illuminated hundred of dogs flooding onto 31st. Seeing that, Dad didn¡¯t even bother to turn the car around. He sped blindly in reverse through the blackened streets.
Without all that maneuvering going on anymore, Dor and Eta were able to regain their balance in the backseat. After that escape, those were all tangled up. Dor praised his luck that her claws never grazed him; though, he hoped the credit could truly go to her mindfulness rather than pure luck. That would be real progress for his monster.
As Dad sped the car backward, the engine roared louder than it ever revved before. His old man milked every ounce of speed he could. Dor had an inkling of what would come next. ¡°Dig your claws into the seat and hold on, Monster!¡± He told Eta.
She didn¡¯t respond.
¡°Fucking do it, stupid!¡± He yelled. ¡°Take your mitts off and do it!¡±
Slowly, her head turned towards him and she gave a few subtle nods. The oven mitts flopped to the floor and without a shred of resistance, her fingernails sunk straight through the upholstery. It appeared more like a pair of hands gliding into a pool of water than faux-leather. ¡°And hold on,¡± he reminded her.
She nodded. Dor held on, too. He hugged the back of Uncle Ron¡¯s seat. Without claws of his own, that was the only handle back here.
Dad glanced over. ¡°How we looking on your side, Ronnie?¡±
Uncle Ron stuck his head out the window. ¡°Can¡¯t see shit. Ride the brakes a bit, give me a glint of something.¡±
A few moments later, Uncle Ron found what he was looking for. ¡°Half a block we intersect with MLK. Ain¡¯t no one out here but us, so crank that bitch hard.¡±
¡°Just say the word,¡± Dad replied.
Hearing those two talk, Dor knew this wasn¡¯t their first rodeo. He doubted they¡¯d even been chased by monster dogs before, but they¡¯d certainly done the next maneuver a time or two.
¡°When!¡± Uncle Ron yelled.
Dad jerked the wheel and Dor and Eta clung tight to their flimsy supports. Then Dad jerked the wheel back the other direction. Those two in the back resisted the centrifugal force, clinging tight to their handholds. Finally, after Dad loaded the springs just right, he timed the recoil and cranked the wheel all the way around. The headlights whipped aross the intersection, tires screeched, and Dad fiddled with the gear selector before roaring the engine to life once more.
At the end of his crazy maneuver, the rear end fishtailed out a little wide, but Dad lightly corrected it and sped the car away traveling forward instead of in reverse. That amazed Dor. Somehow, not only did Dad spin the car completely around, he¡¯d also made a left-hand turn at the intersection in the process. It was some kind of wild 270 degree turn that honestly would have been a blast without the monster dogs nipping at their heels. No wonder it seemed like him and Ron had done that before.
Dad glided through the gears and left the dogs far behind.
¡°You alright, Eta?¡± Dor asked the girl next to him. Shit, I slipped up. I meant to say Monster.
She nodded.
¡°Just you hold tight then,¡± Dor said. ¡°That¡¯s the best place for them claws. They can¡¯t hurt nobody buried in the seat.¡±
Uncle Ron grunted up front. Dad didn¡¯t say a word.
Still, with how it all worked out in the end, Dor wasn¡¯t entirely convinced he¡¯d made the wrong decision bringing his monster along. Had he left her there, then right about this time, she¡¯d be getting ripped to shreds by feral dogs, their monstrous swirling teeth grating through her skin like a hacksaw through tungsten. Dor shuddered. Hell¡¯s a dark place, but she ain¡¯t there no longer. That¡¯s My fucking monster, now.
Uncle Ron turned around. ¡°So, what¡¯s your plan now, boy?¡± He asked.
Dor swallowed hard, then reached for Sargent Berry and swallowed harder. Fact was, he hadn¡¯t a clue what to do next. With the dogs after them and all the power out, he hadn¡¯t a clue how to find an unanswered prompt on a random computer.
Can¡¯t the grown-ups figure this out? I do something dumb, they fix it. Ain''t that the formula? At nineteen, solving his own mishaps really was too much pressure.
Chapter 18 (The Dogs of Earth)
Dor knew they¡¯d escaped the dogs. As they left the horde far behind, the black curtain lifted over the town. He didn¡¯t notice exactly when, but somewhere along the way, the streetlights came back on, storefronts lit up, and traffic began to reappear. The skyscrapers and tall storefronts began to glow with a red tint, the beginnings of a sun-rise. Dad weaved in and out of the sporadic morning traffic as the Trans-Am rumbled down the four-lane streets. They were headed out of town.
Uncle Ron contorted around to glare back at Dor, gnawing his gums as he waited for the answer to his earlier question. Dad was pissed, and Uncle Ron wanted answers. Leaving town was the least of Dor¡¯s concerns right now. Despite the glare, Dor took another swig from his flask. He relished the burn down his throat and the nausea that spread through his gut. Discomfort made for a great escape. It distracted him from his troubles for a moment.
However, he couldn¡¯t ignore Uncle Ron. The big guy wouldn¡¯t let him.
¡°I don¡¯t know what to do next,¡± Dor replied. "I know the end goal, but I don''t know how to get there."
Uncle Ron winced.
¡°All I could think about was how to escape,¡± Dor continued. ¡°We need to find a prompt. That¡¯s all that matters. I figure we¡¯ll bust down doors and raid people¡¯s homes and do whatever it takes to find an unanswered prompt.¡±
Dad didn¡¯t play any music. He didn¡¯t want to even try to communicate with Dor right now. Seemed he''d let Uncle Ron do all the interrogating. ¡°You made it sound like you had it all figured out,¡± Uncle Ron said. ¡°I took your word for it. Seemed like you were the only one of us who knew what the hell was going on.¡±
Uncle Ron turned his glare to the Peter Rabbit comforter huddled next to Dor. ¡°I was wrong,¡± he said. ¡°You¡¯re just fucked up.¡±
Dor could figure where the big guy was going with that. ¡°Don¡¯t,¡± he pleaded. ¡°Don¡¯t abandon her.¡±
¡°Stop the car, Manny,¡± Uncle Ron said.
A couple blocks of uncomfortable silence later, Dad slowed the car and turned into a gas station. He killed the engine and rolled to a stop in front of a pump. Other than that, Dad didn¡¯t do anything else. He just sat there, staring at the steering wheel in silence. I¡¯m a piece of shit. Even¡even Dad thinks so.
Uncle Ron opened his door and rocked his hulking frame out of the car. It wasn¡¯t to pump gas either. He pulled the front-seat forward and pointed. ¡°Get out.¡±
¡°Don¡¯t¡don¡¯t, please!¡± Dor begged and groveled and tried every trick he could think of to change the stubborn man¡¯s mind, but in the end, he got out of the car.
¡°Get your monster out of there, too,¡± Uncle Ron said.
Dor tried pleading again, but it was all for naught. He was an idiot and a piece of shit. Worse yet, he lacked a real backbone. ¡°Put your mitts on, Eta,¡± he told her, completely neglecting to remind her she was a beast. ¡°Come on out of there.¡±
It really slayed his emotions when she listened. Eta pulled her claws out of the upholstery, put her mitts back on and crawled out the passenger side, wrapped up tight in her blanket all the while. She was lost and she was scared. Dor knew that much. And out here, standing in an even more unfamiliar location, she pulled the comforter tight and stood right next to Dor, rubbing shoulders so close that he wondered if she was trying to melt into him to escape her surroundings.
Dor needed to make a really big decision. Originally, he wanted both his cake and to eat it, too. He wanted to find his family without leaving a pathetic monster behind to Mister Jenken¡¯s wolves. Between the veil of smoke and the plan he¡¯d made, he¡¯d only been acting upon a narrow focus, ignoring the details in favor of the big picture. It¡¯ll all work out in the end. Except, right now he knew it really wouldn¡¯t work out.
He needed to choose between finding his family and caring for his pathetic monster.
¡®I can do both!¡¯
¡®I can¡¯t be in two places at once,¡¯ Mr. Body replied.
¡®What about you, Sargent?¡¯
¡®No can do, private,¡¯ Sargent Berry replied. ¡®My orders are for an escort mission, not a rescue mission.¡¯
Dor¡¯s arch nemesis and his commanding officer couldn¡¯t help with this one. He was on his own. Completely disregarding her claws, Dor put his arm around his monster. So pathetic. As to whether he meant the monster or himself, he didn''t know.The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.
¡°Tell Uncle Ron about your tomatoes,¡± Dor told her.
She didn¡¯t respond.
¡°Tell him about Jasper¡¯s garden and that trick thumb.¡±
No reaction.
¡°How about cross-stitch?¡± Dor asked. ¡°Tell him about the boss¡¯s art. Remember? His sewing machine and those living creations.¡±
She retreated into herself and he couldn¡¯t bring himself to yell at her right now. After all she¡¯d been through today, that wasn¡¯t how he wanted her to remember him. I can¡¯t find my family with Mister Jenken¡¯s wolves nipping on our heels and God in the ceiling fucking with us. Dor made a big assumption. If the wolves weren¡¯t after him and only wanted Eta, then perhaps God in the ceiling was the same way. Maybe God was only fucking with them because of that monster hiding upstairs? We¡¯ve got nothing to lose testing that theory. That last thought wasn¡¯t true. He had his pathetic monster to lose.
Still, Uncle Ron was right and Dor was a child. This was an adult discussion and Dor had no business sitting at the table. He was just a kid who¡¯d put a gun to his head, throwing a tantrum to get his way. If I have to go that far, it can¡¯t be a good decision. Right? He didn¡¯t know, and that was the problem.
Dad opened his door and got out. Dor ignored him and focused on the monster.
¡°Listen here,¡± he told her. ¡°You have claws and sometimes you¡¯re gonna have to use them. The trick is to know when to take the mitts off, ya hear?¡±
She didn¡¯t respond, but he couldn¡¯t bring himself to yell. Selfishly, he wanted her to remember him as less of an asshole, even at the expense of her safety. Dor pulled out his wallet. Other than booze and food, he never had any real expenses. Back in the day, he¡¯d hide out in the restaurant all the time, noob-leveling to his heart¡¯s content. He took out every dollar he had, roughly $400, and reached into the blanket to tuck it into her tunic¡¯s pocket. She didn¡¯t react. Eta might as well have been comatose.
This¡¯ll be good for her. I¡¯m a bad influence. All I¡¯ve done is shield her from the world, sheltering her away from self-sufficiency. She¡¯s strong and now she¡¯ll be able to learn how to take care of herself. God knows I¡¯m worthless in that regard. He couldn¡¯t protect the monster even if he tried. His whole plan hinged on running away. For him, every plan hinged on running away.
¡°Take that, find a store and buy your tomatoes,¡± he said. ¡°Even if they got brown spots, eat ¡®em anyway. When you go in, keep your tail all wrapped up. I¡¯ll get you a pair of sunglasses to hide those eyes, and then you¡¯ll be able to pass as normal. Hide what you can from people. That¡¯s what you do. And never forget to keep those mitts on. If the wolves find you, that¡¯s when you know you can take them off.¡±
He wanted nothing more than to put a gun to his head and keep his monster, but that would come at the expense of losing his family. He couldn¡¯t be a child. He needed to reason this out like an adult. If it wasn¡¯t for Sargent Berry burying his emotions underneath a sea of whiskey, this decision would be impossible to face. You can¡¯t have your cake and eat it, too. The monster¡¯s gotta go. I¡¯ve gotta be an adult. Uncle Ron¡¯s anger he could deal with, but Dor never wanted to see that look on his old man¡¯s face again. Pure disappointment.
Dad stepped in front of them, completely stoic. He reached out and pulled the covers off the monster¡¯s head. Early morning sun radiated off every crevice in her gaunt face. She was starving, terrified, and lost. ¡°You look like shit,¡± Dad told her.
Then he turned to Dor. ¡°You too, son. You look like shit, too.¡±
Dad left it at that and handed Uncle Ron a credit card. ¡°Fill her up, Ronnie. This old girl guzzles it down like nobody¡¯s business.¡±
He glanced back at Dor and Eta. ¡°Get in the car. We¡¯ll talk about this later,¡± Dad said. ¡°And make sure those mitts stay on your friend. I seen what her nails did to the upholstery in back.¡±
The fuck? The fuck is he saying?
Uncle Ron didn¡¯t know either. ¡°The fuck you talking ¡®bout, Manny?¡±
¡°I meant it just like I said it,¡± Dad replied. ¡°Long as that girl keeps her mitts on, it¡¯ll all work out in the end.¡±
¡°No!¡± Uncle Ron yelled. ¡°No, it won¡¯t. Your hippie bullshit don¡¯t work here. That beast ain¡¯t goin¡¯ nowhere with us!¡±
¡°Leave it be,¡± Dad said. ¡°My boy knows what¡¯s up. He ain¡¯t wrong.¡±
Dad¡¯s reaction nearly brought Dor to his knees. How the fuck did his Dad still have faith in him? Maybe¡maybe that was the difference between a real father and a big guy who merely assumed that role, the difference between Dad and Uncle Ron. Dad faced down Uncle Ron, stoic as ice. No, chill as a cucumber. Likely Dad didn¡¯t understand any of the madness better than Uncle Ron did, but he chose to put his faith in his son.
¡®But I don¡¯t know what the fuck I¡¯m doin¡¯ either.¡¯
¡®Don¡¯t you dare tell him that, soldier,¡¯ Sargent Berry replied. ¡®I¡¯ll take care of the guilt. You keep fighting the good fight.¡¯
¡°That boy¡¯s off his rocker!¡± Uncle Ron yelled. ¡°He chose a monster over finding my Lulu.¡±
¡°I just told ya, leave it be,¡± Dad replied. ¡°My boy¡¯s right. This ain¡¯t hell. Whatever his friend is, he don¡¯t think she¡¯s no demon. And that¡¯s our decision.¡±
¡°My Lulu¡my Lulu.¡± Uncle Ron reached into his pocket, the pocket that bulged with the outline of the Glock.
¡°You don¡¯t like it, hit the road,¡± Dad said undeterred. ¡°We¡¯ll do what we can, you do what you can. Might work out better that way, cover more ground, ya know it?"
¡°Fuck you, Mannie!¡± Uncle Ron pulled his hand out his pocket, except...he wasn¡¯t holding a pistol.
He didn¡¯t end up drawing a gun to get his way. It might be that was the difference between an adult and a child? Uncle Ron threw the credit card back in Dad¡¯s face and crawled back into the car, slamming the door shut as he sealed himself inside.
Dad picked the credit card off the ground, brushed it off, and swiped it in the pump. Good thing money could be spent now, though it was close to fifteen dollars for a gallon of fuel.
¡°You two best get in on my side,¡± Dad said. ¡°Ronnie ain¡¯t gonna budge.¡±
Fuck¡come on Sargent, do your fucking job. Dor couldn¡¯t help bawling like a baby as him and Eta got back in the car. He¡¯d really been a baby lately. Without his dad, he didn¡¯t know what he¡¯d do. The two of them hugged their knees tight in the backseat. This time, it wasn¡¯t entire due to the lack of legroom either.
The Dogs of Earth Arc Conclusion
After fueling up, they hit the road again, driving out of the city. Dor didn¡¯t agree with that decision but wasn¡¯t in any place to question it. According to the rumors, once they left the city limits they wouldn¡¯t be able to return. Leaving Colinbach was a one way trip, or so they say.
Still, he¡¯d inconvenienced Uncle Ron enough for one day. Dor suppressed a chuckle. That¡¯s sure putting it mildly. The decision to keep his monster came at the expense of everyone¡¯s safety. Mister Jenken¡¯s wolves were after her, and as long as she was with them, the wolves would attack his family as well. Knowing Dad supported that risky decision gave Dor an ounce of relief, but Dad¡¯s support also came with a burden.
I really don¡¯t know what I¡¯m doing. Dad can¡¯t find out just how lost I am.
Eta sat next to him, lost in her own world like normal. At least she was no longer comatose. He saw some activity going on under the blanket. Cross-stitch? How¡¯d she bring her bag with her?
¡°What are you doing under there?¡± Dor asked.
A hide canvas slipped through the comforter, her latest creation. Ha! It really is cross-stitch. It seemed her arts and crafts bag never left her side. Just a little old lady buried under there, huh? Dor recognized most of the yarn colors she used for this picture. He¡¯d bought them for her yesterday back at Minnie¡¯s Haberdashery. Though, it didn¡¯t feel like just yesterday. So much had happened between then and now it felt closer to a week ago.
¡°You know, that is a terrible picture,¡± he critiqued and meant it, too.
Stitched into the hide, she used every color under the rainbow, or rather, every color in her bag to depict a neon puppy scratching at an oversized door. Unlike her previous creations, this one didn¡¯t have an ounce of coherent shading. Red, yellow, purple¡ªthere was no differentiation between the shading and the highlights.
¡®Then the world dyed a marvelous shade of red.¡¯ He remembered her saying. Did she mean literally?
¡°Let me see your bag,¡± he said.
A trail of yarn followed as she stuck the bag out her blanket. Dor reached in and grabbed a ball of ¡®Summer Sweet Teal¡¯ and waved it in front of her black eye peeking out. ¡°What color is this?¡± He asked.
¡°Sunset Red,¡± she replied.
Dor would have settled for ¡®green¡¯ or even ¡®blue¡¯, but ¡®Sunset Red¡¯ couldn¡¯t be more off-base. He tried again, this time with a ball of ¡®Honeycomb Yellow¡¯.
¡°Auburn Mist¡± she called that one.
Auburn? That¡¯s red right? He wasn¡¯t sure, so he tried again and held up ¡®Easy Midnight Blue¡¯.
¡°Moringa Starlight,¡± she said.
Come on, that''s not even a color. ¡°What¡¯s a Moringa?¡± Dor asked.
¡°It has little round leaves and grows like a weed.¡±
¡°So it¡¯s a plant?¡±
¡°Yes.¡±
¡°And what color are plants?¡± Dor asked.
¡°Oh my, that is a big question. Sometimes they are Harryhat Red. Other times, they¡¯re Cerise or even Deep Cerise. Actually, now that you mention it, I¡¯ve seen lilacs bloom completely Crimson. Can you believe that?¡±
Hearing her voice, Uncle Ron whipped around and dropped his jaw. Eta was a monster disguised as a young beauty who spoke like an old lady. It surprised Dor at first, too.
¡°And those are all shades of red, right?¡± Dor asked.
She nodded. It clicked. His monster was colorblind. Dor shook his head and began sorting through her bag, tying like-kinded colors into coherent pairings. If her world had dyed monochrome red, he could at least help her shade it correctly. Collapsed Carmel goes with Pistachio¡I think. Acorn Bloom and Cinnamon Roll ain¡¯t bad together. He ignored Uncle Ron¡¯s gaze and sorted through her crafts bag.
Alpaca Blue? Who names these things? That goes with¡ah, fuck if I know.
¡°Stick it with the Cadmium Yella,¡± Uncle Ron said.
It was Dor¡¯s turn to drop his jaw.
¡°The hue ain¡¯t quite right, but Cadmium Yella and Cerulean Blue go pretty good together,¡± Uncle Ron explained.
Does he mean ¡®Summertime Spark¡¯ or ¡®Burning Haystack¡¯? They¡¯re both pretty ¡®cadmium yellow¡¯ looking to me. Dor went with Burning Haystack.
¡°Dammit boy!¡± Uncle Ron cried. ¡°That look like any Cadmium Yella you ever seen before?¡±
Dor didn¡¯t know. He¡¯d never seen Cadmium Yellow before. Uncle Ron reached back and snatched the Summertime Spark out of the bag and tied it to the Alpaca Blue, then threw the bundle at the monster hiding under the blanket. She didn¡¯t react. It simply bounced off her and landed on the seat. Guess he¡¯s still pissed. Then the big guy spun around with a hmph.
Dor didn¡¯t question how his Uncle Ron knew about Cadmium Yellow and all that. He just accepted the man¡¯s advice and finished pairing up the yarn. Colorblind or not, she can¡¯t screw up her colors if there¡¯s only two options to choose from. ¡°Stick to those pairings and you won¡¯t end up with a lousy picture again,¡± he said. ¡°You don¡¯t see color right. Everybody else sees it one way and you see it another.¡±The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.
She didn¡¯t panic at his revelation, only giggled. ¡°My, now that is an inconvenience,¡± she replied and scooped the sorted bag back under the covers.
Truth be told, Dor had no idea if everyone really saw their colors the same way, but at least everyone could differentiate between them better than his colorblind monster. At least she¡¯s good at keeping herself occupied. Her covers rippled with activity. He wondered how she could even see under there well enough to stitch a picture but didn¡¯t care enough to ask. That was the least of his worries.
And she¡¯s good for a distraction. Even Uncle Ron jumped in.
The buildings began to shrink the further they drove away from downtown. The black curtain of darkness hadn¡¯t found them again, so he hoped they were safe from the dogs for now. They drove into a bright morning sun through spotty traffic. It almost felt like a family car trip. If only Dad and Uncle Ron were reminiscing about the good ol¡¯ days up front, and the monster in back was replaced with Lulu, then it really would be a family trip.
Dad and Uncle Ron really spoiled the two youngest.
The car slowed and Dad pulled off to the shoulder. A green sign flapped against gusts of wind that seemingly came out of nowhere. ¡®Leaving Colinbach. Come Back and Visit Us Real Soon!¡¯ The gusts rocked the car on its worn out springs as they parked right in front of the city limits. Ahead of them, a fog of red dust blew across the road, beyond that, the red desert sands of middle-of-nowhere Utah. Colinbach stood as an oasis against the barren desert outside¡ªone wide swath of tarmac leading in, one wide tarmac leading out.
Dad pulled the handbrake and killed the engine. Gusts whistled over the car¡¯s body, and red sand peppered the steel. For a moment, they only soaked in those two sounds. Then Dad spoke. ¡°You still wanna go after Skids?¡±
Uncle Ron didn¡¯t skip a beat. ¡°Absolutely.¡±
¡°You know,¡± Dad began. ¡°You know, after seeing them¡well, them ¡®whatever-they-were¡¯ and meeting that gal in the back along with all the rest of it, I put a bit more stock in the rumors. We may not be able to get back in.¡±
Uncle Ron picked at the beginnings of some chin stubble. ¡°Even if we did go around breaking into people¡¯s homes like that boy in the backseat suggested, even if he¡¯s right and we find us a computer game and tell it ¡®yes¡¯, even then I¡¯d still want to leave town first.¡±
Dad patted Uncle Ron on the shoulder. ¡°We could head back and get your van, ya know? Them ¡®whatever-they-weres¡¯ are probably long gone now. Hell, we could even jack us someone''s car. Ain¡¯t enough law in this town to stop us.¡±
¡°You tellin¡¯ me you wanna split here? One goes one way and the rest go another?¡±
¡°It¡¯s just one way of doing things,¡± Dad said. ¡°Might work out better.¡±
Uncle Ron knocked Dad¡¯s hand away and glared, shaking to keep himself under control. ¡°Ima tell ya what we¡¯re gonna do, Manny,¡± he said. ¡°We¡¯re gonna go get my boy with all three¡ª¡±
He paused and turned that glare to Eta sitting in the back. Dor could have sworn the man was about ready to explode, beet red as his face was. ¡°We¡¯re gonna go get my boy,¡± Uncle Ron continued. ¡°The four of us, then we¡¯re gonna go find my son. I know right where my boy¡¯s at. I ain¡¯t got a clue where my little girl is. I ain¡¯t giving up my boy for the chance to find my little girl. And I tell ya, we for damn sure aren¡¯t splitting up. And that¡¯s that.¡±
A flicker of a smile twitched on Dad¡¯s face. ¡°Alright,¡± he said and started the car again.
They pulled onto the road and drove straight through those gusts of wind. Sand pelted the steel, but only for a few seconds. Just as quick as that, the wind died down and flat desert plains stretched out in front of them. Right then, Dor knew they were out of town for real. He looked out the back window. A translucent wall of blowing sand separated them from the city. Looking further, he saw that wall swirled clear in either direction, likely some kind of a border around Colinbach. One way out, no way back in. He only hoped that wasn¡¯t true.
Even more likely, that wall was another one of God in the ceiling¡¯s tricks. The two up front didn¡¯t think too hard into it, so neither did Dor. It''s just another trick, like the dark curtain and the ceiling.
They didn''t drive more than a quarter-mile up the road before crates began to appear. ¡°Them¡¯s airdrop crates,¡± Uncle Ron explained, squinting out the front window at them.
Rows of wooden shipping crates lined the desert up ahead. Thousands and thousands of them all butted together in hundreds of tight rows. Despite being so far away, he could tell each one was big, fat, and square, likely wider than the road itself. A shipping yard here in the desert?
Dad slowed as they drove closer. A group of men silhouetted in the distance. As dad closed the gap, the situation became clear. Those men were blocking the road, each one armed with a rifle of some sort. The National Guard? With nowhere else to go, Dad rolled down his window and approached the checkpoint.
A fat mandripping in a combination of grease and sweat walked over. From head to toe, army surplus gear covered his plump body while chubby fingers squeezed around an AK-style rifle. Fortunately, the rifle was pointed at the ground. They slowed to a halt and the fat man came to the window. Behind him, a dozen more men of varying shapes and sizes stood in mismatched fatigues and held assorted rifles. Is that a hunting rifle?
¡°How goes it?¡± the fat man greeted.
¡°Headed out of town for a bit,¡± Dad answered.
Uncle Ron stuck his head across. ¡°The hells all this? Those boys ain¡¯t no official military. You want our money? That it? All we carry is cards, so tough luck to ya.¡±
Dor didn¡¯t think mouthing off to an armed militia nut was a good idea, but he damn sure wasn¡¯t going to correct Uncle Ron on it.
¡°Money doesn¡¯t have a use out here,¡± the fat man replied. ¡°This is just an advisory stop to let you know the rules for when you get back. We¡¯ve had some trouble in the past.¡±
¡°You didn¡¯t answer me, what the hell¡¯s all this?¡± Uncle Ron asked.
¡°Ah, well I¡¯d tell you, but most folks don¡¯t believe me. They¡¯d rather waste precious fuel driving in circles than take my advice. As I said, I¡¯m not here to stop you from trying to drive away. I¡¯m just here to inform you of the rules for when you return.¡±
Uncle Ron dug out a photo from his wallet and handed it to the man. ¡°We ain¡¯t most people and I don¡¯t care about none of that or whatever you boys got going on. I¡¯m just here to find my son. You seen this kid?¡±
¡°You mind?¡± The fat man asked, reaching for the photograph.
¡°Don¡¯t you lose it.¡±
The fat man grabbed the photo and walked over to the group behind him. They passed the picture around until finally one guy nodded his head and mouthed some kind of reply.
The fat man returned and handed the picture back to Uncle Ron. ¡°You¡¯re in luck,¡± he said. ¡°Tomcat knows him.¡± He pointed to a short, stocky man. ¡°Heavy Slim, he called him. You park your car up ahead, and I¡¯ll get Tomcat to show you to your son''s bunkhouse. Really, that works out well for me. That¡¯ll give you and your family a place to stay until your crate arrives. Public bunkhouses are not an ideal environment.¡±
Uncle Ron studied the man up and down, unsure of what to make of it. ¡°Just who are you lot?¡± He asked. ¡°I know you ain¡¯t no military. I know military fatigues and yours ain¡¯t it.¡±
The fat man spread his chubby cheeks into a smile. More like an asshole.
¡°No, there isn¡¯t a military out here,¡± he said. ¡°As for us¡ª¡± He leaned in close. ¡°¡ªwe¡¯re preppers.¡±