Dastardly Bastard(46)

“Shut up, you little brat!” The woman squealed as she floated right through Lyle, cackling like a witch.

Lyle turned full circle, following her as she sailed through the air above him.

“Ahahahahah, wuahahahah. Dance with me, Brody!” Her maniacal laughter filled the room. “Where you going, Brody?”

He hadn’t realized it, but he was running, fleeing the maddening mess. He burst through the ghosts in the middle of the room, passing right through them as they waltzed. Lyle knew with a very adult certainty that those men and women had always been there, swaying to their unheard orchestra.

He spotted a door up ahead on the opposite wall. He leaned into his sprint, begging for the safety of that wooden entrance. He slammed into it with his shoulder, the bleating of the old maid sounding much to close behind him. Lyle pulled and shoved. It wouldn’t budge. He was trapped.

He turned around and began to curl in on himself, whimpering. The old maid twisted and turned above him, her laughter driving him to the brink.

“Daddy,” he sobbed.

His leg began to vibrate.

Brrrrr… brrrrr… brrrrr…

He reached into his pocket, feeling for whatever was shaking in there. His hand came across something smooth and flat.

What the hell is this? Lyle thought as he pulled the thing from his pocket.

From the rafters, the old maid screamed, “No!”

Lyle turned the vibrating object over in his hand. The screen read, “1 NEW MESSAGE.”

A memory surfaced, and Lyle laid his finger down at the bottom of the screen and slid it across. The message changed to “TRY THE DOOR NOW”

“He is mine!” The old maid dove, her dress billowing behind her.

Lyle grabbed the doorknob in his sweaty hands. He pulled hard, but it still wouldn’t give. He turned the handle in the opposite direction and drove his shoulder into the door. He fell forward into darkness.

The old maid wailed behind him, “I’ll rip your very soul from your chest.”

Lyle crashed down onto asphalt, breath hitching, heart hammering. Voices rang out all around him.

“There he is!”

“Shit, that was close.”

“You all right, Lyle?”

Lyle looked up and saw three people running toward him from the end of the block. Houses lined the street on either side, homes he didn’t recognize filled with people he didn’t know. He searched for a street sign, but didn’t see one. He didn’t know how he’d come to that place, but he was glad to be there, anything to be away from the old maid.

“Damn, it’s good to see you, boy!” Mark Simmons snatched him up off the ground and crushed him against his big stomach.

“Finally, I’m not the smallest person in the room anymore,” Donald Adams said from beside the big man.

“How?” was all Lyle could manage.

Mark set him back on solid ground, and Justine McCarthy stepped into view.

“Hey, kid,” she said with a wan smile. “See you got my message.”

Lyle wrapped his arms around her thin waist. “Thank you,” he cried into her bare midriff.

She tussled his hair, and Lyle pulled away from her. “Mom? Where’s my mom?” Lyle asked. “Mom!”

“Lyle…” Justine looked down at him. Her eyes told no lies.

“Where’s my mother?”

“I’m sorry, Lyle. She didn’t make it.”





HERE, THERE BE MONSTERS





33


JUSTINE MCCARTHY HELD LYLE WHILE he grieved, massaging his back as he dealt with the loss of his mother. She didn’t go into great detail about the horrible death of Marsha Lake. He didn’t need to know.

“Now what?” Donald asked, tapping his foot against the asphalt.

“Have a heart. The boy’s mourning,” Mark said.

“If you haven’t noticed, Tubby, things have gotten kinda serious. We need to find out where we are.”

“You two quit it. What we need is to stick together,” Justine replied.

“That’s easy,” Mark said, ignoring Justine and looking down at Donald. “We’re in Bay’s End.”

“How do you know that?” Donald asked.

“Did a piece here back in the early nineties when some crazy cop went and blew some girl’s head off. He hid her body in the old logging buildings the folks ‘round here call The Westerns. Some boys found her. Screwed-up situation.”

“Not any more screwed up than what we’re going through,” Donald added.

“Anyway,” Mark continued, “there’s less here than I remember, but it’s still Bay’s End. Maybe further back in time? I don’t know.”

“You couldn’t possibly know that.” Donald chuffed.

“I guess it could be The End,” Lyle said as he pulled away from Justine.

“You okay now?” she asked.

“I will be.” The boy’s smile broke her heart. “That could be Rifle Park, back there.” Lyle pointed to the tree line behind them.

Justine looked at the woods. Even though the trees were widely spaced, the sun overhead shined no light onto the ground inside. “What’s in there?”

“Just the bonfire. It should be, anyway. They’ve been doing it since the thirties, from what they tell us in school. Francis Bay started the tradition. He’s the guy The End is named after.”