Here There Be Monsters

         Here There Be Monsters

         Phil drove into the gas station, coming off a dead empty street. Gravel crunched under his tires as he pulled up to the number two pump of Ace’s Gas and Grocery. The lone sodium light flickered overhead with flies swarming around it. It cast a harsh white glare over the small station’s only two pumps. Ace’s was a small, private business that had been around before Phil had left for New York. It hadn’t been all that profitable then, and it seemed not all that much had changed. How it’d managed to stay afloat at all, he didn’t know. The “grocery” part of Ace’s was little more than a glorified convenience store attached to the station. There were no lights inside, and the sign on the front had been flipped to CLOSED; with such slim profit margins as is, there was no way to reasonably keep it open 24/7. Phil wasn’t all that surprised. Well it is just past one in the morning. That place is probably locked up tighter than a nun’s chastity belt.

         Phil got out of the car, putting his hands on his lower back and pushing, stretching away the stiffness that had formed there. It’d been a long drive: a little over two days worth of travel and sleeping in his car on the side of the road. The roads had been particularly vacant the past few hours: the last person he saw was in an old green van going the opposite direction. That had been around eleven. He figured he’d see others soon enough; he was just over the town line. (And thank god for that; he was certainly ready for a night’s rest on a real bed.) Charterson itself wasn’t even really a wide place on the road: There was no road. It was just a small township in the middle of nowhere. In the boondocks, sure as day.

         He moved to the pump and swiped his card, thinking of how excited his mother would get when he showed up out of the blue - and with his degree a few weeks early no less. His dad likely wouldn’t give a rat’s ass about the diploma. He had fiercely believed that Phil should take over the Bushley family automotive business instead of going to college. And he had voiced this opinion. Loudly.

         The entire time Phil was reminiscing and imagining what his parents were and would be, the thought (understandably) never crossed his mind that they might never see the diploma- or their son- again.

         Just as he’d gotten the nozzle hooked up and pumping gas, he looked around to see a pair of headlights cut through the night farther up the road. A car soon followed the path they blazed, coming out from around a bend and driving towards him. Phil watched as the driver pulls into the station suddenly, turning in without any warning whatsoever. Phil felt sick certainty that if he’d gotten here any faster and finished, then that very car would have wrecked into him.

         The newcomer stopped a couple yards away from the other pump and began to pull up to it in jerks. It was a classic 1969 Thunderbird, jet black, and with windows heavily tinted. The iconic Thunderbird logo was decaled in gold across the car’s hood. As the car came into the light, Phil quickly recognized it, even after four years. Hell, it was nearly as famous as it’s owner back at Rosewood High. Around town, he was just ‘Big Pete’s kid’ -just known because his dad was mayor. But at Rosewood, he was somebody who wasn’t simply his father’s son. Johnny Denton: Rosewood’s star quarterback and class of ‘88 prom king. Word had been that he’d get a full ride to some college with the way he played, but it never happened as far as Phil knew.

         When the ’Bird finally got lined up with the station’s only other pump, it wasn’t the blonde-buzz cut blue-eyed jock that Phil was expecting that stepped out, but rather someone else entirely. A woman. One with a mop of shoulder-length red hair.

         “…Suzy?” Phil breathed in a hushed whisper, not even aware he’d spoken.  Suzanne Denton (formally Suzanne Roux) didn’t hear him, naturally. A dog would have had a hard time picking that up.

         It hadn’t taken him long to realize who it was- even less than it had the car. He had had the hugest crush on her through high school, and they had talked a little in passing, but he was never able to work up the courage to ask her out. He also wasn’t really surprised she was driving JD’s car now; she and him had been high school sweethearts up through sophomore year, and seemed like one of those few relationships that would actually work. Everyone had figured they’d probably get married after graduation. (Phil didn’t see the small golden band on her finger that would have confirmed this, much less have known that that same ring would soon lie at the bottom of a ditch only a few miles down the road very shortly.)

         She was now pawing hurriedly through her purse, casting darting glances back the way she’d come. She somehow hasn’t noticed Phil yet, but he doesn’t see this. He’s more concerned with how she looks. In high school, she’d always kept her appearance neat and pleasant, but now she’s a mess. Her hair’s in disarray, and Phil can see a bra strap where her top had slipped down off her shoulder.

         Finally, she pulled a bill out of her bag and practically shoved it into the machine. It didn’t take, so she wound up having to do it again, slower this time, but still full of that nervous energy.

         Phil hung back, debating whether to call out to her or not. What if she didn’t remember who he was? And besides, whatever problems she’s got right now aren’t really any of Phil’s business…. Right?

         Despite all his conviction to stay out of it, his mouth betrayed him when she dropped the nozzle as she tried to wrangle it into her gas tank. Just as he spoke, his pump clicked loudly, indicating his take was full. It also signified the point of no return for Phil Bushley, but he couldn’t have realized that.

         “Hey Suz-” She jumped out of her skin as he spoke, letting out a small shriek and sending the nozzle she had so quickly dived for back to the ground. Her eyes flew up to meet his, looking for a moment like she’d been caught with a hand in the cookie jar. And for that moment, Phil could hear the small voice that had been in the back of his mind since she pulled up.

         Something’s not right.

         But it vanished as soon as Suzanne’s apprehension did: that is, in a split second. She breathed a sigh of relief and relaxed slightly, straitening up, and not-quite-smiling.

         “Jesus… Phillip? Phil Bushley? I-Is that you?” She was clearly trying to keep that same energy that’s flooding her actions out of her voice, but wasn’t quite making it. She hastily grabbed the hose up from the ground again and hooks it up, practically slamming it home.

         “Yea, so it is. Long time no see, huh?” He took a step forward on the gravel, dusting his hands together out of habit.

         “No kidding. Uh… Like a few years, right?” She walked around JD’s T-Bird so they could talk without anything in between them, still throwing those darting, anxious glances back down the road.

         “Yea, four,” he replied, pausing a second before continuing, “So why so nervous? Someone after you?” He favored her with a small smile to show that he was joking. She stopped in her tracks for a second, locking her gaze as though studding him. Then she broke into a smile into return, shaking her head.

         “No, no. Nothing like that. But..” She took a few steps closer, looking over her shoulder with apprehension- at the car this time.

         “But…?” She stepped closer still, to where she’s only arm’s length from him. He had felt an urge to retreat a big step back, but quashed it. That was silly; he was at least a foot taller than her. It was just that it was so late at night. He always got paranoid at night.

         “I think there’s something in my trunk,” she whispered, leaning in so he could hear, still looking back towards the Thunderbird occasionally. “I could hear it moving around…”

         The mind of a man is a funny thing, especially when it comes to a woman in need.  Any niggling misgivings about the situation were banished from Phil’s thoughts. All that mattered was the whatever it was in Suzanne’s trunk. If he’d only stopped to think why she was so nervous, or ask where Johnny was, things might have ended differently. But alas, he didn’t and they won’t.

         “I’m sure it’s just a raccoon or cat or something,” he said, grinning a little. “Come on, I’ll go take care of it. Just pop the trunk for me.“ He started to lead her over to the back of the T-Bird, not seeing the small malicious smile that spread across her face. He was doing exactly what she wanted him to.

         He stood aside, letting her jimmy the key into the trunk’s lock and pop it open. Her smile was gone, barely restrained, but gone none the less.

         “There you go,” she said quietly, her voice taking a hint of excitement that Phil mistook for more of her strange nervousness. He nodded, and then moved to take her place, putting both hands on the trunk in preparation to yank it open, hopefully surprising whatever was inside. {i]Alright, on the count of three… One…{/i]

         Behind him, Suzanne silently slipped a hand into her purse.

         Two…

         She drew out a gleaming kitchen knife, taking it in both hands.

         THREE!

         Phil threw the trunk open, and then froze in place, for a moment unable to believe what he sees. A pair of blue eyes stare unseeing up at Phil, and he stared right back, stunned.

          Johnny Denton lay dead in the back of his own car, his short bleach-blonde hair caked with blood.

         Phil heard the crunch of gravel from behind him, and tried to whirl around.

         Too late by half.

         He barely felt it as the knife entered the side of his neck and slipped between the vertebrate, lodging in his spinal cord.

         Phillip Bushley died before he knew what happened.





==============



         Suzanne let go of the knife as Phil’s body went lip, falling first to his knees and then towards the car, his head slamming into the Thunderbird’s rear bumper. He died easier than she thought he would. JD had taken forever…

         The adrenaline rush was even better this time though, but maybe that was just because it wasn’t so drowned in guilt and horror. She felt badly about killing Phil, sure. But she had to. He knew. He would have gone straight to the police. And she couldn’t let that happen. The fact that she enjoyed it was simply a side-effect. She soon found herself whistling a little tune as she muscled Phil’s corpse into the trunk with Johnny’s.

         Suzanne didn’t want to admit it- least of all to herself- but for some people, murder is like potato chips: So good, it’s impossible to stop with just one.