Issue #89

He pushed the bicycle up the hill, grunted as he muscled the tires through the deep patches of mud and braced himself against the driving rain. For not the first time, he began to wonder about the crazy notion that had led him to attempt this trip in the first place. Get out of the city, see the progression of the countryside as he traveled west, all from the quaint view of his bicycle seat. Right about now, he was guessing that he would find the trip just as quaint from behind the steering wheel of his car. There weren’t even creepy, rural area motels for him to take advantage of. Nothing but the road, the dark, the cold and the mud.

Then, when he was nearly to the breaking point, he looked up and saw that to his right there was a house up at the top of a steep hill. It was huge, three stories and all of its windows lit up with an inviting, warm glow. James dropped the bike at the base of the path winding up to the house. His feet slipped several times before he reached the porch. He could hear music coming from inside despite the late hour. There didn’t seem to be a doorbell but there was a length of chain hanging down from the ceiling next to the door. James took hold of it and pulled. There was resistance at first but eventually the chain moved, grinding with a metal on metal sound which was followed by a booming proclamation of bells and chimes within the house.

“Help you?”

The voice came from behind him and made him actually jump, dropping the satchel that he had just pulled up over his shoulder. The man was standing there, halfway up the steps, tall and thin, nearly seven feet tall. Despite looking to be in his early sixties, the man looked spry and healthy. He stared at James with a blank expression on his face, seemingly unaffected by the weather raging around them. In his arms was a load of firewood.

“Hi,” James said, not being sure what else would be appropriate. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to trouble you this late but I’ve been caught out in this storm and yours is the first place I’ve come across in a while. Would it be at all possible to stay here, maybe just until the rain stops?”

The man squinted as he looked up into the night sky. James frowned as he noticed the man tilt his face up and breathe in deeply, as if he was sniffing the air.

“Ah, gonna be a while before that happens. Best if you just spend the night.”

“No, I couldn’t put you out like that, I just—”

“It’s no bother.” The man unrolled his arms, letting the wood tumble out onto the porch and wiped his hands off on his pants. “Besides, if you’re just gonna stay until the weather blows over, that’s all you’ll end up doing. Trust me, these summer storms come rolling down onto us and they stay for a long time.”

“Well … all right, I guess. Only if I’m really not inconveniencing you though.”

“The bed’s there, might as well be yours.” He walked into the house, nodding for James to follow.

The room they walked into looked like it could have been an elaborate set for a fifties-era movie. In the center of the room was a huge rocking recliner. The small table next to it sported a mug with contents that were still hot enough to produce steam. There was also a radio that looked like it came straight from the antique shop. There was a fire going strong in the hearth and James could feel the warm, inviting heat even from across the room.

“Guest room’s upstairs. End of the hall, to your right.”

James headed up, shouldering his bag and wiping the moisture from his face. He walked down the hall and turned into the room, surprised to find the bed turned down and a towel folded neatly on the pillows. Maybe people passing through was a more common occurrence than he was giving the area credit for.

His host was stirring a small pot of soup when he made his way back down to the kitchen. “Figured you could use something hot to eat,” he said, his back staying turned. “My name’s Edward, by the way, didn’t catch yours.”

“Sorry. I’m Jacob.”

“No worries. I’ve pretty much settled with your generation not having much regard in terms of manners.”

James paused, halfway into sitting down at the table. He straightened back up, trying to regain his mental footing at the sudden verbal jab from the man who, up until now had been congenial.

“Um … I … sir, I’m sorry if I—”

Edward waved him off, still without turning and spoke with the same deadened tone of voice, “I”m only foolin’ with you son, take a breath.”

James nodded and sat down, hearing the friendliness in the man’s voice but wondering how genuine it really was.

“Right. Sorry, I guess that’s what being alone all these weeks gets you.”

“How long you been out there in the rain?”

“All night.”

Edward chuckled. “Well, then you need this.”

James took the bowl of soup that Edward offered and went straight to it, only slightly aware of how rude he was acting, shoveling the food into his mouth like a slob.

“I got coffee too,” Edward said. “And if that don’t work the bourbon’s downstairs.”

“Thank you.”

“Been dry as a bone here the last few weeks,” Edward said. “We need this rain.”

“I’m sure.” James looked around the kitchen, still feeling like he was in the middle of a World War II exhibit at the museum.

“Have you been here long?” he asked, trying to at least be the one to start a topic.

“Oh, pretty much the entire time,” Edward answered.

James frowned. Something about the way Edward had answered the question seemed off but he couldn’t quite explain why.

“I’m just glad I came across your place when I did.” He floundered around, trying to think of something else to add to his sentence but instead resigned himself to lowering his head, fighting the awkwardness in the room but also savoring the warmth from the soup. “Do you live here alone, or do you have family?”

“Just me for now, holding down the fort. They’ll send more when they’re ready.”

Again, James was struck by the oddity of the answer. He opened his mouth to ask what Edward had meant but as he did so, his mouth and tongue went numb and all he could manage sounded alien even to himself.

“D’you ev …”

James shook his head violently, trying to clear the fog in his mind. He couldn’t really be this tired but it had suddenly become too much of an effort to even keep his eyes open. A voice screamed at him from his head that something was wrong, that he needed to get away.

It was too late for him to care, too late to act on any thought that might intrude into this haze of mental nothing-ness. His arms felt like they weighed fifty pounds each as they dropped to his side, knocking the soup off the table. The bowl shattered in an explosion on the floor, spreading tomato soup and shards of glass all over the kitchen.

“See now, look what you’ve done.” Edward’s voice was booming in his ears, so much so that James’ first thought was of the great and terrible Oz. He tried to talk, to ask what was going on. One word was all he could manage to get out and it was delivered distorted and stretched as he said it.

“You …” It sounded like a record being played at a slower speed. His eyes drooped and he gave in to sleep.

When he woke up, he was lying on a cold, hard table. There was no sensation of anything below his neck. He opened his mouth to call out, sending bolts of pain through his face and into his neck.

“Don’t bother,” Edward said from the corner. “I removed your vocal cords some time ago. This is actually the third time I’ve told you this, you keep passing out from shock.”

James shook his head and recoiled on the inside as Edward, or whatever he had been in the first place, stepped out from the shadows. He had grown in size to the point that the top of his head was nearly brushing against the high, arched ceiling. He had sprouted three more arms from somewhere behind him that were swirling around in the background, grabbing at the air with pincer-like movements and his skin had gone a deep purple color.

James began to buck up and down on the table, or at least he thought that was what he was doing with so little sensation to confirm the action. Despite what he had just been told, he opened his mouth to scream, seeking purchase from a voice that had abandoned him.

The thing in Edward’s clothes darted forward and backhanded him. It bent down until their faces were only inches apart. “Do not pass out!” It howled at him, so loud that he could barely understand the words. The house itself felt like it lifted up from its foundation for a moment and settled back down. He was looking up at the ceiling at the dust and debris that had been shaken loose when he felt the sharp end of something metal first pressing against, then breaking through the skin of his belly. He sucked in his breath as he heard Edward speak, suddenly clinical in his tone.

“We all want this project to succeed so please, tell me. Exactly where does it hurt?”



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