Scourge, Chapter Two

Grocery stores aren’t famous for sporting a great selection of reading material and the one in Ely wasn’t an exception. Romance novels and westerns are definitely my idea of fun. Fortunately there were a couple novels that didn’t fall under those categories and looked mildly interesting. Along with those I picked up a book of crosswords, a notebook, pens, a bag of cereal and a baseball bat. Don’t ask me, I saw it and thought it a good idea at the time, especially after last night. I was a pushover, but didn’t relish the thought of being defenseless if someone or something got into my house. Not that I had much faith in my ability to club anyone very effectively. The bat got to live next to my mattress and I, still suffering from insomnia, started into the mystery novel I’d bought. A college girl driving home for the holidays with her clunker of a car and her boyfriend twenty minutes before midnight in a rainstorm. That was original.

I kept reading anyways.

         Two hours before my shift started I opened my eyes and was having a hard time actually waking up. I’d managed to get a little sleep after all. My entire body ached, but that’s what I get for falling asleep with my legs and shoulders pointing different directions and on top of my arm. I peeled my face out of the paperback and focused on the big “chapter three” that was on top of the page. I couldn’t remember anything I had read, but that probably wasn’t too big of a loss. When I stood my spine popped in three places along with an elbow and my left arm was totally numb. I was one of those people who are absolutely useless after waking up, but opening the bathroom door made me slightly more alert. Actually, I missed the knob, got a face full of door then half tripped into the bathroom. The thing that looked back at me from the mirror was almost laughable. I reeked of needing a life. My hair was a mass of messy, blond waves that were past my shoulders. I knew girls with shorter hair. The worst part was that it looked kind of good. I thought about if for a second and then just chuckled. No. It was all coming off tomorrow as soon as the barber was open. I washed my face then tied my soon-to-be-dead hair in its usual ponytail.

         There’s not too much to tell about work, the real fun, if you can call it that, started afterwards. I wasn’t exactly stoked about going home right away with all the killer coyotes and bad mystery novels. I was so on edge today I didn’t know what to do with myself. Driving the opposite direction of the one I usually take home took me past several casinos and bars, which are apparently open all night, at least on weekends. I could use a drink or two or fifteen. I picked one that looked relatively quiet, parked my truck and slipped into a black hoodie. They asked for my I.D. at the door and I noticed that the place was fairly empty save for a few people at the slots and a group of rowdy guys gathered around a table by the bar. Why, why, why didn’t I notice the black motorcycle outside first?

         A tired looking man several yeas older than me met me at the bar.

         “What can I get ya’?” he asked.

         “Uh,” I wasn’t really in the mood for anything fancy, “Bud Light Lime.”

         He nodded, grabbed a bottle and put it in front of me. He chuckled and seemed a little too happy for a guy who had to work this late.

         “You’re in luck, man. Live entertainment tonight,” he nodded toward the crowded table, “That little girl is gonna drink Kyle under the table. That or go home in a body bag.”          

         Little girl? I nearly broke my neck turning to look. Please don’t be her. Sitting across the table from a man twice my size and drunk off his ass was a tiny, black-haired girl in a white tank top and blue jeans. It was her alright. Between the two of them were at least twenty upside down shot glasses. Had I not been inexplicably irritated, I would have laughed at the reference. Both of them took a shot of clear liquid at the same time. He wobbled a little and slammed the class down clumsily. She grimaced and smiled, setting her glass down delicately and noiselessly. Laughing and jeering erupted from their small crowd. Thee new glasses were filled and drunk. More noise. I sipped my beer, but I could not look away.

         “What do you think?” The bartender asked.

         “Hm?”

         “Who do you think’s gonna win?”

         I snorted, “She is, hands down.”

         Three shots later, Kyle, face planted the table sending shot glasses everywhere. The spectators were in an uproar.

         “Nice!” it was her hoarse voice, “Now get over there and pay my tab, fuckers.”

         Check out the mouth on that one. Her cackle tore through the building. She stood up, only slightly tipsy and grabbed her jacket off the back of the chair. I saw her start to look this way, but I couldn’t turn around fast enough.

         “Hey! Blondie!!”

         Oh God. She hopped up on the seat next to me. I seriously wasn’t too surprised that somebody like her could out drink that guy and still be agile enough to jump. She punched my arm. It hurt.

         “How’s that sad excuse for a gas station?” she asked.

         I just shrugged and took a drink.

         “Hey barkeep!” she yelled, “Screwdriver on those guys!” then burst into laughter.

         More hard liquor was just what she needed.

         “Are you sure you’re not drunk enough?” he asked her.

         Yes, she’s plenty drunk. Don’t give it to her. Make her go home. She jumped off the stool, walked a straight line, spun in a circle, touched her nose then popped her jacked collar before climbing back up to the bar. I sighed. He gave her the drink.

         “Damn right,” she laughed.

         I really couldn’t expect more of her. She nudged me with her elbow. I ignored her. The next one hurt.

         “Why so glum, blondie?” she chuckled.

         “I would love it if you didn’t cal me, blondie.”

         “Whoa,” she put her hands up defensively, “no harm meant. Got a name, hot-stuff?”

         I very nearly broke the beer bottle in my fist, “It’s Elijah.”

         “Nice to meet you, Elijah. I’m Sandra.”

         “Hi,” I didn’t bother to look at her.

         She reached her puny arm across my body, grabbed my shoulder and forced me to turn and face her where upon she shook my hand.

         “You’re quite the tight-wad, man. Pick up a few manners and learn to be social.”

         She was going to lecture me about manners? What was the world coming to?

         “Something wrong, big guy? Wanna talk about it?”

         She didn’t really look concerned at all. That might have been due to the fact that she was looking up at me grinning. Her smile was dazzling. Irritated at her and myself, I turned away.

         “Come on,” she took a drink and cringed, “you’ll feel better if you tell me about it.”

         I gave in, “It’s just been a hard week.”

         “Mm, poor baby,” she mumbled.

         I remembered, once again her inquiry last night and thought that I would play with her a little bit. She wouldn’t remember any of this in the morning anyways.

         “So I did see something strange this morning,” I sad very matter-of-factly.

         “Oh really?” she didn’t seem very interested, “More midgets?”

         “No better. Something ate the siding on my house.”

         She looked like she would laugh.

         “Seriously! It scared the shit out of me. It’s not every night something goes prowling around your house then eats part of it.”

         I was treating it like a big joke, but something about the look in her eyes disturbed me now.

         “Did ya’ get a look at it?” she smirked.

         I shook my head and drank.

         “Hm.”

         I sat up straight and stretched a little just as Sandra swayed so violently she had to grab the bar to keep from fall off her stool.

         “Oh, fuck,” she muttered, “the vodka hits you later,” then passed out into my chest.

         Wonderful. I looked pleadingly at the bar tender.

         “She can’t stay here,” he read my mind.

         Why me? I threw my debit card on the table and threw Sandra over my shoulder. The bar tender reminded me not to drive. I lied and said I wouldn’t. They couldn’t see my truck from here and half a beer wouldn’t don anything to me. The brat got dumped into the passenger side of my truck then I decided to check her motorcycle for anything that might get stolen. Why was I not surprised? There was one change of clothes, three beers, some socks, several large boxes of ammunition and two pistols. I just took the bags off the bike and threw them in the truck with the rest of the luggage.

         Nothing could have prepared me or even helped ease the impact of what the rest of the night had in store for me. I had left Sandra’s things in the truck thinking she could just get them tomorrow. When I came into the house and saw the back door in chunks and its hinges ripped out of the doorway I nearly dropped her. Break-ins weren’t supposed to happen in places like this. I dropped Sandra on the mattress in my bedroom, quite literally, almost feeling guilty for the rough way I was treating her. Nothing seemed to be missing from the room. Baseball bat in hand I went back to the kitchen, living room area. Nothing was missing there either. Maybe they had broken in only to realize that I had nothing of value. The thought made me laugh a little but there was still the door.

         I wasn’t sure if I should call the police yet so I was careful not to disturb any pieces of the shattered door. It hadn’t just been kicked in. On most of the pieces the paint looked like it had been chiseled off, or like the door had been chopped down with an axe. My investigation became disturbing when I noticed sets of four deep lines all over the wood. Claw marks. I compared them with my hand and fingers. Whatever this thing was, it was absolutely massive. Far bigger than any animal I had ever heard of. This had to be done by people. I kept trying to convince myself of that, but there was still a very uncomfortable amount of doubt in the back of my mind.

         If nothing was missing, what was the point of calling the police? I’d still have to pay my landlady for the damage and I didn’t like the idea of having a bunch of cops in here asking me questions all day especially with Sandra here. I could see her complicating things with that horrible attitude of hers. Nobody would have to know about this if I just went to the hardware store tomorrow and fixed it myself. After another short investigation I went back down the hallway. I passed my room going toward the empty bedroom and laundry room; better check the bathroom too. The thought of checking dark rooms for burglars made me feel really tense all of a sudden. I found myself praying that they weren’t still in the house.

         An extremely firm grip slapped down on my shoulder and wheeled me around. I jumped, panicked, thinking it was the intruder and used their momentum to add strength to my swing. I felt the sickening crunch of a skull in my hands as the bat collided with its mark. Sandra’s head buried itself in the wall. She slumped over and fell to one knee. Oh, God, I killed her! It happened in an instant. Blood streaked the wall and poured from her head. The wooden bat was in splinters. She glared up at me, fangs bared, one of her irises an intense blood red. Her glare became unmistakable fear. I saw the gun in her hand. I didn’t see it move to the side of my head. My shoulder was in a vice and was forcing me forward and down. A bang went off in my ear rendering it completely deaf. Everything was a blur, like the whole world was suddenly in a blender and I was caught in the blades.