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he call had been nothing special. It was an audible alarm at a residence. There were times when he would respond to ten of those calls a day. This one seemed to be like all of the others. He was riding with his partner Whooley. His first name was Darren, but with a last name like Whooley, it was more fitting, not like a sheep (but like a mammoth).
He was big and stalky with a shaggy mane of coarse brown hair. He had a deep laugh that he used a lot, usually at someone else’s expense. He was the resident practical joker on the department and Anthony had fallen victim to his pranks all too often. Nothing too vicious, just enough to turn him red faced with embarrassment. It was Whooley who noticed the unlocked back door.
The plan was for Whooley to wait by the door until Anthony finished checking the rest of the perimeter. When Anthony made it around to the other side, however, Whooley was gone. Anthony found the door hanging open and realized he was in for another Whooley classic. Anthony ran several scenarios through his head. The first would be to find Whooley in the kitchen helping himself to something in the refrigerator. The second would be to find him looking through drawers, sniffing panties, or some such retarded thing. Or the third, which was the one Anthony dreaded the most, would be him hiding somewhere ready to pounce.
Anthony didn’t really understand why Whooley would do such a thing. It wasn’t wise to scare a man carrying a gun, but that was how he got his kicks.
Hoping his partner would hear him over the radio he notified dispatch. “4R12, we have an open door. Can you give us 1033 while we clear it?”
“Copy that, 4R12. All units 1033 on channel one, 1033 on channel one,” the angelic voice responded on the other line. Sometimes the voice on the other end was nothing but a devil; like when it was dispatching you to your fifth burglary report for the day, or when they were dispatching you to a traffic accident twenty minutes before your shift was up. Other times they could be your savior, like when you asked for back up, or when they checked your status at just the right time. Even in this situation, where they cleared the airway for you and your partner. The only people talking on channel one now would be either Whooley or himself. If either one of them needed to scream for back up, their life line was standing by observantly waiting to send in the cavalry.
Of course clearing the air wasn’t Anthony’s only motive. By doing so he was hoping to call Whooley’s bluff. If he were in the kitchen raiding the fridge, he would shortly give the all clear. He wouldn’t want anyone else coming in and raining on his parade. And even if he planned on scaring Anthony, he wouldn’t want Anthony screaming on the radio for help. He might be a practical joker, but he would never purposely disrupt the city’s police force.
Anthony waited a few seconds before entering. He had his gun drawn and was pointing it straight out with his arms slightly bent. This wasn’t Miami Vice where you pointed your gun towards the ceiling. If some bad guy got the drop on you it just made you an open target firing rounds into the air. He could feel his heart beating in his hands, ears and chest. It was a good thing he was wearing a bullet proof vest because it felt as if that was the only thing keeping his heart from leaping out and running back to the car.
Positioned underneath his gun was his Maglite, shining a steady stream of white light wherever he pointed his muzzle. He didn’t like having to use his light, because it readily gave away his position. But in the darkness of the house, he would rather see, than not, especially if Whooley was no longer a lumbering elephant, but a saber tooth tiger ready to pounce.
Slowly, stealthily, Anthony inched his way into the walkway. To his left was the kitchen. No tell-tale signs of a refrigerator light on, so Anthony kept going. Uneasiness began to settle in the bottom of Anthony’s stomach, like a glass of chocolate milk with the dark thick powder sinking to the bottom of the glass. Something wasn’t setting right. Something was off. And then, the smells hit him. The first and most over powering smell was beastly; like the kennels of a dog pound after a warm summer rain. The second and most disturbing was the scent of an old tin barn off the California coast. Iron and salt mixed together in a way that you tasted it more than smelt it. The smell was unmistakable; blood and lots of it. Underlining this were the acidic and acrid aromas of bile and feces.
Anthony was walking into the shadows of a death house. Not where death had lingered for days and weeks. That had a smell altogether different. This death house was newly blessed and just recently christened with the body’s holy water.
One step towards the living room cemented his belief. It was if a hurricane blew through the front door pushing all of the furniture against the wall. Not merely pushing it, but picking it up and heaving it, splintering couches, love seats, bookcases, an entertainment system, a television, and stereo into tiny shrapnel that embedded themselves into the walls, floor and ceiling. The carpet was torn like a bag of potato chips, as if some thing had just leaped from the bowels of hell and came out right through the living room floor.
Anthony turned to his right as he grabbed his radio to call for help. That’s when he saw him. There was his partner. Daren Whooley. The man with whom he had shared the same unit with for the past two years, shared the ups and downs of fatherhood, marriage, and the job. Darren had saved his neck at least fifty times. He was like a linebacker to Anthony’s cornerback. Anthony, being the faster of the two, would be the one to jump on the fleeing suspect’s back to slow him up, And Whooley would be the locomotive to come rumbling down the track to knock him down. There was the giant practical joker at the end of the hall, standing slack-jawed, head tilted to the side, and seeming to have grown a foot taller. Only as Anthony shined his flashlight down to the floor did he realize that his partner’s feet were six inches off the ground. Entrails and intestines were hanging down below his feet dangling from a stomach that had been burst open, shredding both the uniform shirt and vest.
In shock, Anthony lifted the radio to his mouth. He meant to yell and scream, but all that escaped his mouth was a whisper. “1199.”
That was when he realized that something was behind Whooley. Something was behind him holding him up. Anthony stood there watching as his best friend was lifted up and then batted around to either side of the hall walls, smashing pictures and plasterboard into powdery dust. His partner was being tossed around like a seal in the grips of a killer whale. The whale smacking the seal into the ocean waves, over and over, as both a game and a way to tenderize the rubbery flesh.
Anthony never saw what lurked behind Whooley. He was just about to make his retreat, as Whooley’s body was hurled forward smashing into Anthony and knocking him back into the wall behind him. He dropped his flashlight, but amazingly held onto his gun in his left hand. He felt something wet, warm, and slick whip across his face as the weight of his partner knocked the air from his lungs.
He didn’t have time to feel the pain or shake the ringing from his skull. Through the humming in his head he could hear something stalking towards him. A low and guttural escaped its lips. Harsh breathing approached faster and faster.
From somewhere in the distance Anthony heard the rushed sound of sirens approaching. When he felt an icy breeze blow into his face he began firing into the dark. The only thing he could see was the bright muzzle flashes from his .40 caliber H & K obliterating what little night vision he had.
Once he pulled the trigger he kept squeezing. He went through thirteen rounds in a matter of seconds. He heard the audible click as the magazine ran dry. He tried his best to shrug his partners limp body off of him so he could reach his ammo pouch. With one hand he released the empty clip from his gun and with his other he was able to retrieve another full clip.
He slammed the magazine into the grip and drew the slide back just as something hard and sharp touched his cheek. The sweat on Anthony’s forehead turned to ice as something in front of him slobbered and mewed like a poisoned cat. Anthony punched his weapon hand out, connecting with something gelatinous yet firm.
As a sharp claw tore into his cheek, Anthony fired at point blank range. The .40 caliber black talons exploded out of the end of the gun, one after another, each one penetrating the flesh before it. None of the rounds would exit the other side. Once within flesh, they would splinter into fragments ripping into veins, organs and bone. The claw pulled away as the thing before him let out a shriek and backed away.
Anthony slumped down to the ground, pushed himself away from his partner’s dead form, all the while reloading his gun with his final clip.
He could see a form slowly making its way down the hall; back the way it had come and he opened fire again. The last thing he remembered after firing his last round was the sound of shattering glass as the thing made its escape.
She saw it in a pile of junk as she was walking by with her mother. She usually didn’t stop, unless the merchandise was laid out a little better, but something about it caught her eye. She went over to the cardboard box with clothes and toys hanging out of it and began to rummage through.
All she had seen from the distance was the head peering through the mesh of a pair of orange swim shorts that had seen one too many summers at the beach. She discarded the clothing looped around the figure and found the item to be much larger than she thought it would be.
The item was a gray statuette of a gargoyle that stood about two feet tall. It comprised of a head and torso. The gargoyle had both arms extended, each holding a pillar for candles to be placed upon. It had metal loops in the back so it could be mounted to the wall. Large wings spread out to the side of it with worn holes in them from age. The wings curled in towards the body partially covering the defined pectorals and abs.
The figure had a bird like nose, long pointed chin, and two almond slits for eyes. Two horns jutted out on either side of its forehead with a third smaller one in the center. The more Ann looked it over, the more she realized it was perfect.
Her mother hadn’t realized she had stopped and was a quarter of the way down the lane in search of dolls. It was a Wednesday and although the swap meet wasn’t as big as it was on the weekend, it would still take a good half hour or so to make it through the rest of the aisles. She looked over the wall hanging again. Anthony would just love it. It would go perfectly with the dragonheads, Arthurian swords, and wizards he had all over the house.
One would think with his love of fantasy that Anthony would be more in tune with Tolkien than King, but horror beckoned to him and he came a-calling. His first book had recently been published with modest success. Tom, His agent, just landed a deal to sell the movie rights, providing Anthony with a rather hefty chunk of change. This also created the dilemma of whether he should pursue writing full time or hold on to his job.
A month ago this wouldn’t have been a consideration. Anthony’s job was more than a career; it was his persona, his identity. When he put on that uniform the usually quiet, mild-mannered man, became brash and bold. Sometimes he was even down right cocky. He was still pretty quiet, but his confidence grew and with that confidence came a self-assurance he had lacked much of his life. He was picked on as a child and was never really one for standing up for himself.
Now he was not only able to stand up for himself, but also for all of the citizens in Riverview. Ann really didn’t like to share him in that way. Anthony was her husband and he needed to keep himself safe, not always risking his life for people who didn’t give a damn about him. But she also wanted what was best for him and if strapping on the gun and badge was what he wanted to do, she supported him.
So when he mentioned the possibility of hanging up the Sam Browne in favor of the pen, she was slightly elated. If only it were under different circumstances. It had been a month since he had worn that shiny gold badge. Anthony had been involved in a terrible shooting. Five people were dead, including his partner. The killer or killers had gotten away leaving him with a three-inch gash across his cheek. The cut needed stitches and would leave a deep scar for the rest of his life, but that paled in comparison to the deep scars within.
So under different circumstances, Ann would have been ecstatic over the idea of Anthony quitting the force, but even if his new novel earned millions of dollars he would have never contemplated it until now. Now, when they both feared that he was losing his mind.
Of course that was only half of her worry and she felt a little guilty thinking it considering all he had been through. Just because Anthony was going through a rough time though, didn’t prevent the bills from coming in more regular than even her period. Sure his first book was doing all right, but she was worried that the success was just a fluke. What if he ended up being a one hit wonder in the annals of Tommy Tutone and John Caferty?
It’s not that she didn’t have faith in him; it was the public she didn’t have any faith in. The public was fickle and changed their minds faster than she could change her underwear. She just didn’t want Anthony to be jobless and left in obscurity right next to new Coke and colored shoelaces. Of course she still had her teaching job and with the promise of the movie advance they could actually pay off their mortgage, but Ann knew better. When it came to money, they were like Larry and Curly without the guiding force of Moe. They always spent more than they had and could never live within their means. More money just meant more expensive means.
The thought of money made her realize she didn’t even know how much the gargoyle was. Here she was planning on walking off with it as a gift for her husband and she didn’t even know the cost. She also realized she wasn’t sure if she wanted to walk around the whole swap meet carrying the heavy thing, but hated the thought of putting it down.
There was a green van parked next to the space with the side cargo doors open. It was old with rust eating holes into the thin metal paneling. Sitting in the van hanging out of the open door was an old Mexican. The man’s skin was weathered much like the van, with liver spots and cancerous growths devouring him slowly. He was busy smoking a cigarette and paying Ann no mind. Ann couldn’t stand the stench of the smoke, which instantly began to aggravate her allergies. Instead of getting close, she just held up the item and spoke.
“Excuse me, how much is this?”
“Oh that, señorita, is very special, very special. But for a beautiful señorita such as you, I give you a special price,” the wrinkled man replied before going into a coughing fit.
Ann could hear the tearing sounds in the man’s throat and expected to see him spit out some blood at the least, part of his lung at the most. Instead he just spit out a nicotine tinged green loogie. It landed on the ground with a splat making Ann feel even more disgusted. She almost dropped the statue and fled, but she held her ground. She couldn’t contain her heebie jeebies though, and felt as if things were crawling up her legs.
Ann took a deep breath and regained her composure. She brushed her brown hair out of her eyes and reached into her purse. Her bun was starting to fall out, but she would fix it later, now was not the time. She pulled out a twenty.
“I’ll give you twenty for it,” Ann announced.
“For you I was going to say fifteen, pretty lady,” the man stated in between coughing up more phlegm.
She stepped through the maze of boxes and the trash that were other people’s treasures and handed him the twenty pulling her face away as she did. He began digging in his pockets for the change, but she had already turned and hurriedly walked away trying to catch up to her mother.
The idea of paying more then the asking price appalled her, but the diseased riddled man appalled her more. The idea of leaving the figure there until after she finished the swap meet went out the window as well. It didn’t really mater. For such a large item it wasn’t so heavy after all. In fact she realized she wouldn’t have any problems carrying it around. She felt alive with energy and felt she could easily walk through two or three more swap meets before the day ended.
At the end of the aisle she met up with her mother. Standing side by side it was easy to see the comparison. Ten years ago they were often mistaken as sisters. In those ten years though, her mother had finally succumbed to age. Nothing severe, just gray streaks through her long brown hair; hair that she refused to cut or style in any other fashion than the hippie love-child mold she grew up in. She had crow’s feet forming around her eyes and laugh lines to match. For her age Ann was sure her mother was still attractive. At least her father thought so and that was all that mattered, wasn’t it?
Ann wondered how the passing of time would grace her. She was already getting gray hair, which she had to dye regularly, but, thankfully, as yet no squawking black birds had landed on her face, imprinting her forever. She knew it was just a matter of time though and she wondered if Anthony would still be attracted to her when it finally happened.
The thought trailed away when her mother noticed her approach.
“Look what I found for Anthony,” Ann stated with enthusiasm.
“Oh that’s nice,” her mother responded, not really meaning it or really even seeing it. She was too caught up with what she wanted to say to really take notice.
“Look what I found. It’s a Patty Playpal. Its arms need to be restrung, but Mike can do that. These go for like two hundred bucks on eBay and guess how much I got it for?”
“How much, Mom?” Ann asked in the one sided conversation.
“Well the lady asked for twenty, but when I pointed out the broken arms she went down to twelve.”
“That’s great, Mom.”
“So did you find anything?”
“No, not really.” Ann replied. She let the conversation drop and the search for bargains continue.
Eye crust covered Anthony’s eyes when he awoke the next morning. He was in a strange bed being held for observation since he had passed out the night before. Other than the cut on his face, nothing else was wrong with him. Nothing on the outside anyway. Within him spoke horrors, he could not comprehend or put into words.
While sitting in his hospital bed, he was questioned and briefed. They went from A to Z covering all the bases. He gave a lot of answers, but was given little in return. As with any officer involved shooting, they took his gun, gave him a loaner, and sent him home on paid administrative leave.
A month had gone by since the event. He had to see the police shrink once a week to see if he was fit to go back to duty. He said one thing, his body said another. Over the past month he had slept little. When sleep did come, it was never pleasant.
Anthony started drinking lots of coffee, despite hating the taste. Lack of sleep was taking its toll on him though and with each visit to the shrink he looked more and more haggard.
He was given a prescription for sleeping pills, but never took them. At least without them he could wake himself up when his heart pounded too much and his body began to jerk. If he was medicated he wasn’t sure what would happen. The myth was that if you fall from a tall building and hit the ground before you wake up, you’d die. What if he wasn’t falling but being disemboweled by some hideous beast?
Although Anthony was a yard dog and had never suited up with the dicks, he still had a couple of friends riding the desk. Word was that along with his partner Whooley, a family of four was gutted, filleted and partially eaten.
They had no leads and were beginning to think it was a pack of ravage dogs or mountain lions. Anthony didn’t buy what they were selling. He knew first hand that it wasn’t a pack of dogs and the mountain lion notion was crazy. He had watched enough Animal Planet to know that mountain lions didn’t hunt in packs, and what little he saw of the creature, it was much larger than a mountain lion.
Maybe a velociraptor out of Jurassic Park, but even that didn’t seem right. So if not that, what? As a writer of horror, one would think that he could embrace the idea of real live monsters lurking behind corners ready to devour the unsuspecting. Just because he wrote and read the stuff though, didn’t mean he believed it.
He wrote fiction and that was just what it was fiction. He had been on the streets long enough to know the only real monsters were people. So how could he rap his mind around what happened? How could he explain it to Mrs. Whooley and her three children? He couldn’t.
Anthony was in front of his computer screen when Ann walked through the door. She taught at the local elementary, which was currently off track. Being home, allowed her the pleasure of watching him deteriorate. Sleep deprivation, nightmares, and just a sinking quagmire of unshared feelings and fear that had consumed her poor husband.
He didn’t tell her much about that night; most of what she did know came from the newspaper. She hoped that one day he would break his silence. Hope as she may, she doubted it would ever happen.
She couldn’t imagine how traumatic it would be to see your partner killed right in front of you. Not to mention the family of four that was torn to shreds.
Maybe the best thing for him was to block it all out and cover the wounds. Then one day a new layer of skin could grow over. Although she wasn’t sure if it was possible. It wasn’t just the horror of the event that plagued her husband, but also never being able to obtain justice for the five lost lives. He was sworn to protect and find justice. He wasn’t able to do either one in this case.
“Hi honey.” Ann spoke as she walked into the living room where he was sitting.
“Hey babe,” Anthony started, then hesitated as if he had lost his train of thought. “How was the, uh, the swap meet?”
“It was good. I found lots of goodies. I didn’t find anything for myself, but I got some things for the kids. I got some prizes for work, and oh, look at this. I got this for you,” Ann said as she set her various plastic bags down. One was a white kitchen trash bag with blue drawstrings. She opened it up and withdrew a grayish statue.
At first glance Anthony flinched. It startled him, like a fiend from the abyss. Then he realized it was a wall hanging. Its strong chiseled features spoke of power and rage. The look on its face was unsettling and yet strangely comforting.
“I thought it would go perfect on the wall next to that big sword you got. And look, it even has a spot to place candles on it. So you know maybe we can set da mood.” Ann winked.
Along with the lack of sleep, something else had been malfunctioning as well. Although he knew she had good intentions, her words cut deep.
“You want to hang that in our room?” Anthony asked.
“What, you don’t like it? I thought you would love it. I mean with all of the dragons, and wizards and stuff that you are in to, I thought it would go perfect.” Ann questioned with an inflection of hurt in her voice.
“No I think its cool and all, but, I don’t know, don’t you think it looks kind of devilish, kinda monstery?”
“I thought you like monsters. I mean that’s all you seem to read and write about.”
Again Anthony flinched. “Yeah I know. Here, let me see it—”
“No, no that’s alright. Not if you don’t want it. I can give it to Shi or Shane.”
“Will you be quiet and just let me see it.” He grabbed the statue and almost immediately let go. Instead of hard concrete or plaster, it had more of a rubbery, alive texture to it. It seemed to twitch and writhe in his grip. It felt as if the eyes of the statue were peering into his soul. Suddenly the uneasiness washed through him. He began to feel more at peace and a calmness settled over him that he hadn’t felt since his ordeal.
Their bedroom had a vaulted ceiling with arched entranceways into both the bathroom and the hall beyond. The walls were a mix of flowery wallpaper on Ann’s side and ceramic white paint on Anthony’s side. Her wall was blank, except for a picture of Anthony in his uniform looking knightly. Draped over it was the medal of valor he had been given for one of his many noble deeds.
Anthony and his partner Wholley had been nominated officer of the year for that heroic act. They didn’t win. Ann thought it was because they only had one golden plated Beretta to give away as the prize, so it couldn’t go to a tag team.
Anthony’s side of the room looked like King Arthur’s armory. He had the head of a green dragon mounted above the dresser which looked like it was bursting through the plaster. He also had a double-headed axe with a skull mounted in the center of it. There was a double-edged knife in the shape of a skeletal bat. There was a short sword with skulls mounted on both the pummel and the guard. Then there was his pride and joy. It was a five-foot broad sword that weighed over fifty pounds. It was hand crafted in Spain with blade made of polished silver. The solid steel handle was matted gray and forged in the shape of a wizard with ram like horns protruding out of its head, which wrapped around the massive handle on either side.
Next to his sword he added his newest addition. After hanging it, he didn’t understand what he was so apprehensive about. Although the gargoyle had a bird like appearance, there wasn’t anything necessarily evil looking about it. One might crap their pants if they ran into it in a dark alleyway, but there on his wall, with all of his other decorations, it fit right in.
Later that night, Anthony shocked Ann by taking her up on her offer. He lit some candles and placed them into the little pillars the statue was holding. Then with the mood set, he made love to his wife.
Unbeknownst to Anthony, Ann decided to do a little helping of her own. After being intimate with one another, she knew that Anthony would be even more exhausted. She knew he feared falling asleep. Thinking the best thing for him would be to get some rest; she crushed up two of his sleeping pills and mixed it into some hot tea with lots of honey. Then she watched over him as he fell fast asleep.
She looked for the normal symptoms, the thrashing, turning, yelling, moaning, shaking, and uncontrollable fits he would have until jerking awake. Occasionally a muscle twitched and she might have noticed slight mumbling within his deep sighing breath, but all seemed well. Deciding he might finally get some rest, she curled up beside him, held him tight, and went to sleep.
When Anthony awoke the next day it was almost one o’clock in the afternoon. He still felt groggy and slightly drugged as if he had been sick the night before and went to bed in a Nyquil state of mind. When he walked into the living room he found Ann on the computer.
“Whatcha doin?” Anthony asked.
“Oh nothing much, just looking at my mom’s auction on eBay. Look that doll my mom bought is already at one hundred dollars.” She responded. “So what about you? Did you have a good rest?”
“Yeah, yeah I did.” Anthony thought about the night before. Much of it was hazy. He remembered making love and then falling fast asleep. Normally what followed when he closed his eyes were pictures of his friend dangling lifeless and then being thrown around like a pillow at a slumber party.
In his mind he could smell the stench of blood and could hear the breath of something inhuman approaching. Something he couldn’t see then, but has rattled him ever since.
Within the bright muzzle flashes of his gun he could see some massive creature with bulbous muscles rippling all over its hairless body. Limbs and tentacle like appendages scraping along the wall as it approached him. This was what he saw when he closed his eyes and the starry glow burned within his lids.
This past night was different. He slept and dreamt, but didn’t wake up. The dream was vivid enough, and still clung to him. It seemed real, but he knew it was a dream. He was back on patrol again, but this time he was alone. Every call he went to it felt as if someone or something was watching him.
Sometimes he would turn his head and see large shadows looming. The shadows never grew any closer, but he could never discern what was in those shadows or worse, what was making the shadow. It wasn’t a happy dream by any means, but it was far better than the other images that had engulfed his brain over the past month. At least he remained asleep.
Lost in thought, he realized Ann was staring at him.
“Yeah, I slept good. I feel like I was drugged. Whatever you put in that tea really did the trick.”
Guilt and shock was written across Ann’s face but she erased it. She stood up and gave her husband a big hug and kiss, her face scraping against the thick stubble on his chin. His breath was sour from having slept most of the day away, but she endured. She was just happy to see some life injected back into the soul of her husband.
A week of sleep made all the difference in the world. Anthony’s visit to the head doctor proved fruitful. He was given the green light to go back to work.
Anthony’s turn around couldn’t have happened at a better time. His guardian, Ann had to go back to work and if he was still in the same mental state, she never would have been able to do it. She would have tried to baby-sit him for as long as she could. Even with him doing better, it took a lot of persistence on his part.
Ann was apprehensive about him going back to work. To be honest, so was he, but he also knew it would be the best thing for him. Somewhere inside she knew it too, so she didn’t put up too much of a fight.
He was getting plenty of sleep every night, maybe too much so. The edginess wore off some, but he still awoke feeling pretty groggy. Missing a month’s sleep would do that to you he supposed.
He was still having the same dream, only whatever was following him seemed to be getting closer. Sometimes when he turned around in the dream, he would see the shadow of an owl fly away. Other times the shadow just seemed to creep, lurching forward to envelop him in darkness.
He chalked these daunting dreams off to his fear of returning to work. The only thing looming over his head was whether or not he would ever garner the nerve to walk into a dark house with an open door. He knew if he allowed it, fear would consume him. If you fell off your police motorcycle you had to get right back on it, not just park it in the garage and let it grow cobwebs.
He put his cup of tea down and went to the sink to brush his teeth. Ann was busy reading a gossip magazine, trying not to act too anxious about the coming day. Her first day back from break seemed to stress her enough, the fact that he was going back to work could very well give her the ole’ one, two. For his sake, he knew she was playing it off.
“Are you ready for bed?” She asked as he moved his lap top and climbed underneath the covers.
“Yeah are you?” Anthony asked as Ann put down her magazine and turned his way.
“Yeah I’m kind of beat. I know I didn’t do much today, but I still feel pretty tired. I guess I’m still catching up.”
“OK. Don’t forget to blow the candles out.”
“Oh yeah, I almost forgot.”
Even though Anthony had been doing very little, by nine o’clock he was still pretty tired and was sleeping until noon. At least he didn’t have to worry about waking up. Ann was going to take the kids to her mom’s on her way to work and her mother was going to take them to school. He worked swing shift, so this left him plenty of time to get his sleep on to wake up well and rested his first day back to work.
A curtain of black hung over the city. City lights were muffled in the atmospheric quicksand. As Anthony drove down the city streets, lights winked out behind him. Even in the darkness, darker still were the shadows threatening to swallow his entire unit with him at the wheel.
His white t-shirt clung to his body as the thick material of his vest prevented his skin from breathing. Sweat pooled near his lower back and in between his chest. He was gripping the steering wheel so tight his fingernails bit into the hard plastic covering.
It was just an audible alarm. Something he had responded to a thousand times. Something felt different about this one though. Something more ominous and foreboding. He parked several houses away. You never parked in front of the house just in case it was a set up; that was Officer Safety 101.
He stepped out of his unit and was shrouded in a foggy haze. He had trouble seeing through the thick mist and even a harder time breathing in the soupy air. Suddenly the bleating sound of the house alarm pierced through the mist.
Over and over it sounded, until finally it was silenced as if someone had slammed their hand down on a snooze button.
He approached with caution, drawing his gun as he went. As he approached he realized that he recognized the house. Of course he should recognize it, because it was his own. He approached the front and noticed all of the lights were out.
He tried the front door, but it was locked. He went around the side and pulled the latch to the side gate. It swung open to reveal even more darkness. He pulled out his Maglite and pushed the button. The light flickered and dimmed as it tried to cut its way through the fog. The lights attempt failed and just ended up shining back on him, blinding him as he went. He approached in the darkness stumbling as he went.
He tripped over bikes, toys, and skateboards his son had left strewn all over the back yard and side walkway. He was going to have to have a talk with that boy. As he rounded the corner his heart jumped into his throat as he saw someone standing by the back sliding glass door which led into his bedroom.
He almost opened fire until he recognized who it was. It was his partner Whooley. The man was standing by the door, with his gun drawn, motioning at the door. Anthony approached.
“I wouldn’t go in there if I were you,” Whooley warned.
“I have to go in there man. It’s my house. I need to make sure everyone is all right,” Anthony replied with concern.
“Don’t you know what this place is? This is a house of the dead. The only thing in there are dead people,” Whooley stated looking paler than Anthony remembered.
“But I have to go in there. It’s my job,” Anthony insisted.
“Alright, if you must, but let me go check it out first, since I’m already dead.” With his gun drawn, Whooley slid the door open further and crept inside.
Anthony picked up the radio and advised dispatch that they had an open door and requested radio silence.
The sweet voice on the other side said, “I love you. I’ll see you when we get back.”
This puzzled Anthony, but all he could say in response was “Copy.” After waiting several minutes he stepped in after his partner. Once inside, the gloominess seemed to wear off.
Although there weren’t any lights on in the house, brightness seemed to pour in from the windows. This made little sense, but Anthony pushed the thought aside. He had more important things to concern himself with.
When he entered his room he found his partner hadn’t gotten very far. Or rather he was going too far. There he stood next to his wife’s dresser holding up a pair of his wife’s panties taking in a big sniff.
“OOOOOhmmm. These smell sweet.” Whooley moaned.
“Dude, you are such a retard,” Anthony chastised.
“Can I keep these?” Whooley asked with Cheshire grin.
“No you can’t keep those. They’re my wife’s.”
“What? Don’t be so uptight. It’s just one pair. She’ll never miss them.”
“Geez Louise, I can’t believe I’m standing here arguing with my dead partner about my wife’s underwear. Will you please put them back?”
“Alright, alright. Don’t get your panties in a bunch.”
Whooley, reached down, closed the drawer, but instead of putting the underwear away, he placed them in his pocket.
“Now you stay put, while I check out the rest of the house,” Whooley advised as he opened the bedroom door and walked down the hall.
Anthony knew it was a bad idea to let Whooley wonder around alone, so he followed after him. He stepped into the hall, but his partner was already gone. Knowing his partner all too well, he made a left and went into the kitchen. There his partner stood, with the refrigerator door open, basking in the glow from inside.
“You have any bologna? I’m starvin’. I feel like I haven’t eaten anything in months. Look at me, I’m wasting away.”
That was when Anthony noticed that his partner’s stomach was torn open and all of his innards were spilling out like sausage hanging in an Italian Deli.
“Man, you don’t look so good,” Anthony told his partner.
“Yeah, tell me about it. Now where do you keep the bread?”
After finishing his sandwich, Whooley wondered off again. Watching him eat was quite the site. One Anthony could have done with out. Watching chewed up pieces of bread and meat fall out of his partner’s chest and onto the floor just wasn’t right. Especially when he washed the sandwich down with a glass of milk.
Again Anthony found himself searching for his partner. He felt himself tensing up as he readied himself, expecting Whooley to jump out at him any second.
He checked his kids’ rooms, the garage, and then went back towards the living room. Next to the computer was the child-sized doll his mother-in-law bought to sell on eBay. She didn’t know how to work a computer, so Ann had listed it for her.
It stood next to the computer chair with its green eyes that closed when you laid it down and its cheery smile that called to little girls everywhere asking “Will you be my friend?” It had long curly blonde hair and was wearing a pink dress reminiscent of Shirley Temple on The Good Ship Lollipop.
His father-in-law had fixed the arms which were now pointing up as if inviting Anthony to a tea party. Anthony turned around and started heading back into the bedroom. He heard a shuffling noise behind him. He turned around, but saw nothing. Well not exactly nothing. When he turned around he noticed the doll was missing.
He realized that his partner was at it again and was disgusted with the thought of what prank he could possibly play with the doll. He turned down the hall and approached his bedroom door. Down the hall in the opposite direction he heard a scratching noise against the wall. He turned around and there, once again was his partner dangling off of the ground. Behind him stood the doll. Only now the doll reached the ceiling.
The peach plastic limbs were cracked, revealing purplish skin writhing with pus-white worms and unmended flesh. The green eyes of the doll cracked off revealing black orbs of death.
The cheery smile was replaced by a misshapen mouth with teeth jutting up and down, sideways and slanted. It had so many teeth it would be impossible for the thing to close its mouth; but closing its mouth seemed to be the last thing on its mind.
It stared at Anthony with eyes of pure hate and then clamped down on his partners head with its massive jaws and yanked. Gristle, bones, and brains splattered everywhere as his partner’s head was pulled from the rest of his body.
The body fell to the floor as the beast continued to chew. Anthony reached down for his gun, but realized he must have set it down when he was helping his friend make a sandwich.
The only option left was to run. He bolted through his bedroom door and ran towards the sliding glass door. He didn’t make it far. He could feel the icy breath on the nape of his neck.
The sweat on his neck froze over. His body stiffened as he waited for the blow that would sever his torso from the rest of his body. He was hit, but it wasn’t a killing swipe; just enough to knock him onto the bed. Apparently the thing wanted to play with its food before it devoured him.
Anthony was grabbed by his feet and flipped around. Not only was he going to be toyed with, he had to watch himself be tormented. Anthony awoke, but the nightmare remained, standing at the foot of his bed.
Just then, Anthony heard the bedroom door open. Ann, in all of her angelic beauty walked through the door.
“Honey, I’m home,” Ann called.
The creature turned its head and snarled. Ann tensed, but did not turn away. She saw the situation her husband was in, but didn’t know how to react. She also saw something else.
Behind the hideous beast two gray wings spread wide. Anthony noticed several tears and holes in the wings as they stretched out behind it. That was all he saw before the thing fixed its attention back on Anthony and with one of his leg in its grip, pulled him close.
Its growling pleasure was replaced by a gasping cough as Anthony watched something shiny shoot through the creature’s neck.
Just as quickly, as the shiny object appeared, it disappeared. Black ichre sprayed from the opening covering Anthony in a gelatinous mess that burned his skin like snow. With another swipe of the long shiny blade the million teeth and black frozen eyes toppled sideways and were replaced by the almond slit eyes of a bird.
A long beak like nose protruded beneath the three horns on the top of its head. The crumpled mass of gore tumbled to the ground revealing the gargoyle in its entire majesticness.
Its skin shimmered in the midday sun as the blade of Merlin’s sword twinkled in the light. Its large pectoral muscles heaved up and down as it took in breath. Anthony looked to his right, and as he suspected both the statue and his sword were gone. The gargoyle looked at Anthony with kind and compassionate eyes. It looked at the sword and then back at Anthony.
“Keep it,” Anthony said.
Ann ran to her husband, and he scooped her up in his arms. They held each other; each with tears streaming down their eyes as the Guardian quietly made its exit and took to the sky. |
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