Misfits, page 15
Man, he wished he had Vent’s father’s rifle. As easy as it would have been to borrow it for the night – the freaking thing wasn’t even locked up – he didn’t want to take a hot, steaming dump over his friend’s kindness. People thought Mick was an uncaring sociopath, but they were only half right. He chuckled softly when he thought that. Could a sociopath care, or did that negate one’s sociopathy? Who the fuck cared? Labels were for adults to make them less afraid.
He checked his digital watch, pushing the little button that lit its face. Almost eleven thirty. He hadn’t heard his mother in a while now. Where the hell was Dwight?
As if in direct answer to his question, the trailer door opened and Dwight came into the frame. A misstep brought him crashing to the ground. It took him a while to get back up, his equilibrium hampered by all the booze sloshing around his brain.
Mick plucked the BB gun off the forest floor and held his breath.
Mumbling to himself, Dwight took a few faltering steps while digging in his pocket. He collapsed into a lawn chair. It was a miracle the cheap thing didn’t break. An orange flame flickered and died, flickered and died.
“Fugging lighter.”
Mick rose from his hiding spot. He was still blanketed in darkness. Even a sober Dwight wouldn’t see him.
Though the crunching of leaves was a dead giveaway.
Dwight paused and looked around.
“Whoosh there?”
Mick froze.
“Fugging animals,” Dwight muttered. He worked at the lighter again. The blunt finally caught the flame and he inhaled deeply.
Just a few more hits, Mick thought. He wanted him drunk and high. The BB would only stun him for a moment. He needed Dwight incapable of fending him off.
Dwight took another toke. And then another.
Oh yeah, he was nice and mellow now.
It was time.
Mick rushed out of the darkness and fired a round. It hit Dwight dead center in the chest. He saw his T-shirt jump when the BB slammed home.
“Hey!”
Dwight tried to jump up, but he was wedged in the chair. He ended up right back on the ground, wearing it like a tutu.
Mick pulled the trigger again. This one went wide, pinging off the trailer.
Fuck! Calm down and aim for his head.
Exhaling, Mick adjusted his aim. Dwight flailed about in the chair, not making himself an easy target.
Mick didn’t hear the trailer door banging open. He was so fixated on Dwight, he’d even blocked out the irritating crickets.
He pulled the trigger multiple times, hoping one or more would get Dwight in the face.
His mother shrieked and dropped to the ground.
“Baby! Are you all right?” Dwight and the chair tipped over as he tried to reach out for Mick’s mother. He landed on his side. They were face to face in the leaves and dirt.
Mick’s heart went into overdrive. He dropped the gun and ran.
“Mom!”
Dwight jerked his head up and glared at Mick. “What the fuck did you do?”
Mick dropped to his knees and went to help his mother up. “Mom. Are you all right?”
As he turned her over, the light emanating from the small window above them illuminated the red hole where her right eye used to be. She felt too heavy in his arms. He shook her, trying to get her to wake up.
“Mom? Mom!”
He didn’t notice Dwight extricating himself from the chair. He didn’t see the blow coming until it connected with his temple, nearly knocking him out. Mick dropped his lifeless mother and rolled backward, smashing his head against the trailer.
“Look what you did!” Dwight shouted. The horror of the past few moments had instantly sobered the man. “You killed her.”
“No. I didn’t.” Mick rubbed the knot forming in the back of his head. He was having a hard time bringing everything into focus.
Dwight felt for a pulse on her neck and wrist. He even went so far as to slap her cheek so hard, Mick winced. “She’s dead.”
Mick felt the world sliding out from under him.
She couldn’t be dead. All he had were tiny BBs. He’d somehow shot her in the eye, and yes, the eye was gone, reduced to leaking pulp, but there’s no way it killed her.
Dwight kicked him in the chest. He felt his heart stop for a terrifying moment, and then the air whooshed out of his body.
“You no good waste of life,” Dwight railed. “I’ll fucking kill you!”
A meaty fist clocked Mick in the jaw. Mick’s face hit the ground. He tasted dirt. He tried to reach out for his mother, but Dwight stomped on his hand. He looked up at his stepfather, his vision wavering.
“Better yet, I’m just going to kick the living shit out of you. Then I’m calling the cops and I’ll enjoy watching you spend the rest of your life in prison where you belong. You know what they do to guys in prison who kill their mothers? Heh. You’ll find out soon enough.”
Dwight brought his leg back to deliver another crushing blow. Mick did the only thing he could. He flattened himself on the ground and rolled under the Airstream. He heard Dwight’s foot connect with the solid frame. A string of f-bombs followed. “Stay there like the rat you are. It’ll make it easier for the cops to drag your ass away.”
As hard as it was to think, Mick was sure of one thing: Dwight was in a bind. There was no phone in the trailer. Dwight would have to drive into town to call the cops. He knew the second he got in the car, Mick was going to get out from under the trailer and take off. And Dwight was too goddamn fat to get Mick out before he went for the cops.
Mick watched Dwight pace back and forth, threatening him with every step. It all became dull white noise. Whenever Mick’s gaze fell on his mother’s cooling corpse, a physical ache pierced his chest that had nothing to do with the kick Dwight had delivered. She’d never been mother of the year, shit, she may have been on the top ten of worst mothers in Milbury, but she was all the real family he had.
And he’d killed her, not Dwight.
If he ever needed proof that there was no god or justice in this world, his mother’s one-eyed, blank stare was it. Dwight’s cursing and rambling was just the cherry on top.
“Come out and be a man for once,” Dwight said.
“Fuck you.”
“You’re the one who’s fucked, mother killer.”
Hatred boiled over in Mick. He wanted to grab Dwight by the throat and chew his Adam’s apple out and spit it back in his face.
That’s just what he wants you to do. He needs you out from under the trailer.
Mick bit his cheek until it bled. He welcomed the pain. It kept him focused. And he deserved it.
Dwight’s goading stopped at the sound of shuffling in the surrounding underbrush.
“You bring one of your lowlife friends with you?” Dwight said. “I know you’re out there. You want to share a cell with your buddy? Come on out and maybe I won’t tell the cops you helped him. You’ll owe me one, big time, but you won’t have your shit pushed in every night when you roll over in your narrow cot.”
Four sharp metallic thumps made Mick jump. He smashed his back into the underside of the trailer.
“Agh, Jesus,” Dwight wailed.
Footsteps erupted from every side. Mick peered out and saw a dozen or more bare feet come rushing at Dwight.
“No! Get back! Stay away from me!”
He saw Dwight turn and run for the trailer door. Suddenly, Dwight’s feet and legs disappeared. Several seconds later, his body landed on the ground. Mick had to clamp his hands over his ears to drown out Dwight’s piercing screams.
In the dim light, he watched the Melon Heads gather around Dwight’s writhing body like seagulls descending on scraps of food tossed off the side of a fishing boat.
“Get off me! Get off me! Please! Gaaaaah!”
One hand grabbed his bottom jaw and pulled until it cracked. It reminded Mick of the sound walnuts made when he broke them open. Fingers drove into Dwight’s eyes. Another pale hand dug inside his mouth until it got hold of his tongue, yanking it out with a wet tear. The stench of fresh, hot blood hit him hard in the face. Mick thought he was going to throw up.
He caught glimpses of deformed faces and heads as they dipped into view to savage Dwight’s body. Grim satisfaction bubbled in the back of Mick’s mind, but the visceral terror of the feasting massacre kept him from reveling in the moment.
Any sense of victory was short-lived when the Melon Heads turned their attention to his mother.
He slammed his eyes shut as they made quick work of her, but he couldn’t block out the sounds and smells of their desecration. Mick pressed his face into the soft, sour earth, crying into its embrace.
Please make it stop. Please make it stop.
He willed himself to black out, but his body and mind betrayed him.
He didn’t know how long it took until the sickening sounds of their moaning and chewing and sucking stopped. They would come for him next. As much as the thought of being eaten alive horrified him, a part of him thought he deserved it. It was the only way to think when death was so near. The only way to come to any sort of peace with himself.
Any second now, he expected to feel hands wrapping around his legs and ankles, ready to drag him out.
It didn’t happen.
His mother’s and Dwight’s bodies were lifted up and out of his field of vision. Meat and pieces of organs slipped out of them, plopping on the hard ground. The Melon Heads shuffled away.
They can’t take her!
But they could. Mick was powerless to stop them.
A wide and hideous face dropped under the trailer. Mick covered his mouth to stifle the scream that wanted to rip through his throat. The Melon Head looked him up and down. Blood caked its face. It curled a lip, its tongue darting out.
“P-p-p-lease,” Mick stammered.
Instead of reaching for him, the Melon Head shot back up and joined the others after gathering the loose organs.
Mick trembled under the Aistream until dawn, and even then, he was too horrified to get out.
Chapter Eighteen
Chuck pushed past the woman at the door and pulled Heidi inside.
“What are you doing?” the woman screeched. He slammed the door shut, turned the locks and put his back against it. She started to scream.
Heidi snapped at her. “Be quiet!”
There was a loud thump at the door. Chuck flinched. He could feel the impact of something heavy as it hit the wood. He couldn’t tell if it was a shoulder or a fist, but it was clear they wanted in.
“I’m calling the police,” the woman said. Heidi tried to grab her, but she was fast for an older woman. She sprinted down the hall, hand outstretched for the wall phone in the kitchen. Heidi looked to Chuck.
“Let her.”
“Do you want to get arrested?”
“No, but I do want people with guns to get here as fast as they can.”
Outside, there was shouting and the sounds of people rushing about, doors slamming, glass breaking. A window shattered upstairs. The woman yelped in the middle of telling the person on the other end of the line that two people had broken into her house.
“We didn’t break in,” Heidi called down to her. “Your door was open. Didn’t you see that we were being chased?”
The woman stepped out of view, the long cord following her. She was crying now. Chuck hoped she didn’t grab a kitchen knife for protection.
Another whack on the door had Chuck’s heart racing. Sure, he could probably hold off anyone busting through the door, but there were tons of ground-floor windows in the house. How easy would it be for one of them to break the glass and crawl through?
“The police are on their way,” the woman said. “You better not come near me.”
Heidi took a few steps down the hallway. “Lady, can’t you hear that the neighborhood is under attack? We came in here to get away from them.”
“What?” Her head popped into the kitchen doorway.
Another window was broken. It sounded like it came from the house next door. “Aaahhh!” she shrieked.
“See?” Heidi said. “It’s not us you should be worried about.”
“Well then, who’s out there?”
Chuck shot Heidi a warning look. They could not say it was Melon Heads. That would not help their case if the police started questioning why they barged into this woman’s home.
“I…I don’t know,” Heidi replied.
The melee started to subside. Chuck pressed his ear against the door. He caught a few retreating footsteps, and then there was silence. “I think they’re gone.”
Because he couldn’t be one hundred percent sure, he was reluctant to stray from the door.
The woman took a tentative step out of the kitchen. She had a butcher knife in her hand.
“Please be careful with that,” he said.
“Don’t make me have to use it, then.”
“Heidi, it’s probably safer if you stay behind me.”
A floorboard creaked overhead. Everyone froze, their eyes rolling upwards as if they could see through the ceiling.
A window had definitely been broken upstairs. Had one of them gotten inside? Had they staged their little siege and left so Chuck would drop his guard? Again, Chuck grappled with whether or not they were capable of such complex thought and planning.
But there was someone up there.
“Do you live alone?” he asked the woman.
“I’m not telling you.”
When the wood groaned again, the paling of her face told him that she didn’t share her home with anyone else.
“Any pets?” he asked.
She shook her head.
Heidi was behind him, holding on to his arms. “Don’t go up there.”
That was the last thing he wanted to do. But it was also the first thing he felt he had to do.
“What if they’re waiting to find a way to ambush us?”
“Who? Who’s ambushing us?” the woman said.
Chuck ignored her. “I’m just going to take a quick look. I can’t sit here and wait for one of them to attack.”
“I’m coming with you,” Heidi said.
“No, stay here.”
She gave his arms a hard squeeze. “Not a chance. We either both go, or we both stay down here. Your choice.”
What he wanted to do was rush up the stairs and hope to catch the Melon Head when it wasn’t expecting him. He’d hold it (he could only think of them as it) and wait for the police. Then, and only then, could they say it was the Melon Heads. Maybe the authorities could root them all out and in turn eradicate his, Marnie’s and Mick’s death sentences. It was a pipe dream, he knew it, but it gave him a sliver of hope.
Sighing with resignation, he said to Heidi, “Fine. But keep behind me.” He saw the andirons by the fireplace and gave the poker to Heidi. “And take this.” He opted for the shovel. Not as deadly as the poker, but he swung a mean bat and thought he could do some damage with the shovel.
He put his booted foot on the first step, testing to see if it would make a racket. One look at the woman let him know she had no intention of following them upstairs. Her hands were clasped together and pressed to the center of her chest. Her eyes went from suspicious to worried. “Be careful,” she said.
Chuck gave a slow nod.
He crept up the stairs, Heidi always a step behind him. The sudden stillness upstairs seemed to him to come from someone sneaking around who knows they are about to get caught. The stairs were carpeted and made very little noise, but there were enough wood creaks to alert a Melon Head in waiting that they were coming. Pausing at the second to last step, he turned to Heidi and whispered, “Just make sure you don’t hit me with that thing.”
“I won’t.”
Odds were, she would. He couldn’t promise her she wouldn’t catch an errant whack from the shovel. He was shitting bricks right about now. The adrenaline bursting through his system would make him unreliable if they were attacked. That was why he wanted her to stay downstairs.
It was too late now.
They came to a narrow hallway. A small sewing room was to their right. The open door to the bathroom before them revealed pink and black tiles glowing under a nightlight. Down the hall were two other bedrooms, their doors also open. A threadbare carpet runner lined the center of the hallway.
The bathroom and sewing rooms were empty.
Or maybe not. The shower curtain was closed. And there may have been a closet in the sewing room. Perfect places to hide. He pushed Heidi gently back, urging her to stay on the stairs for a moment.
Because the hallway floor had very little padding, the wood creaked as loud as cannon fire. Chuck tensed, bringing the shovel over his shoulder, expecting a Melon Head to come rushing at him. He waited a full minute before exhaling. His next step made just as much noise, but he was resigned to having given up any shred of stealth.
Using the shovel, he yanked the shower curtain to the side. Nothing but bottles of shampoo and conditioner jammed into the four corners of the tub. The spout released a drop of water that echoed in the tiny room.
A pop of wood behind him had Chuck spinning. Heidi was heading into the sewing room.
“Heidi, wait,” he whispered.
She held the poker straight out like a lance. If anyone ran to attack her, they might impale themselves in the gloom of the second floor. Chuck tried to edge around her to get into the room first, but she didn’t give him an inch. Inside were a sewing machine, a wide bench and plastic drawers filled with sewing supplies. A set of curtains was draped over a drying rack. To the right of the entrance was a closet. Chuck put his finger to his lips and a hand on her shoulder. They waited, Chuck straining to see if he could hear someone breathing or shuffling in the closet. When he thought they were safe, he reached around Heidi, turned the knob and flung the door open. She charged into the closet with the poker, managing to stab a raincoat.
