He regretted it now.
Looking at himself in the mirror, what he found gazing back at him was a pitiful excuse for a zombie. The candle-wax had left small red burns in a speckled pallet across his chest and neck. He noticed Sharon’s purple teeth-prints under his Adam’s apple like indentions in a coffee drinker’s Styrofoam cup. There was no point in trying to cover those up. He tapped the welts tenderly with a finger and winced. The pain was ridiculous. When he used to be a smoker, on more than one occasion he’d accidentally dropped burning ash on his skin, and these were worse, a searing ache that wouldn’t quit.
He glanced at them one more time under the bright fluorescent lights above the mirrored medicine cabinet. “You’ve looked better, Richie boy,” he muttered. Then he shut off the light and stepped out into the hall.
On his way up the hall, he poked his head in their bedroom to find Sharon still sleeping naked on top of the covers. With her bronze colored skin, she looked like an adult movie star trophy. She lay on her back, fully exposed, with her left leg bent at the knee, the bottom of her foot lightly brushing her calf. Her left arm was sprawled out next to her, while her right graced her chest with her fingers against her throat as if someone had just said something shocking and she was reacting to it. Her mussed hair was a knotted heap of tumbleweed against the pillow. Richard couldn’t help but chuckle at what he saw. Even like that, she was the most beautiful creation he’d ever been fortunate enough to catch sight of. He was thankful today, much like every day, that he had her as his wife.
He needed to check on another beautiful creation. This one’s loveliness surprised him the most because she wasn’t just her mother’s doing, she was his, too. He’d helped produce something so spectacular. Which, having just seen himself in the mirror, was an odd and not to mention, surprising feat.
He quietly drifted away from the doorway and treaded softly to Tonya’s room. The door was closed. He felt a cramp of grief in his stomach, and took in a deep breath. He leaned his head against the door, placing his ear flat against it. The door was cold and sent a dull ache into the inner canal. He lightly tapped a knuckle across the door. “Tonya?” A few moments passed, then he repeated the tap, but louder this time. He also raised his voice, “Tonya?” He waited some more, and still nothing. The grieving pull returned in his bowels. He could feel a good cry wanting to get the better of him, but he wouldn’t allow it. “Are you home?” His voice was near its normal volume, but the pitch was all wrong. Higher, with too much worry and fear.
He sighed.
Might as well just open the door, and see for sure.
He dreaded doing that for two reasons: One, he didn’t want to risk barging in and finding her either dressing, or sleeping a bit too comfortably on the bed like her mother. He’d made the mistake of catching her like that more than once and certainly didn’t care for it to happen again. Two, he didn’t want solid proof to confirm that the dirty little shit known as Clay Ray had been right.
Damn him,
he thought. Though he had nothing to support this theory, he would be willing to bet that somehow, if they were to trace this whole thing back to its root, Clay Ray would be discovered as the seed that had started it all. But, truthfully, none of that really mattered right now. Sooner or later, he’d have to open the door and find out for sure. He wrapped a trembling hand around the knob. “I’m coming in Tonya, I hope you’re decent.”
I hope you’re there at all.
He opened the door and found her room just the way it was when they’d come home last night. Empty, unusually clean, and the bed made. There was no evidence that she’d slept in it, or had even come home during the early hours of morning.
His world shattered around him. He wanted to cry, but bit his thumb to hold it back. Now he knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that something was wrong.
Something had happened to his daughter.
(I)
The body, bloated and soggy like dough, was wedged in a dam of sticks and mud. Its skin was a pasty white and dark purple blend. It was hard for Carp to believe that this decomposing piece of excrement had once been a beautiful woman.
The lovely girl’s corpse had taken in water, expanding like
a pool float.
Buddy nudged it with a boot. “That’s her?” He obviously needed a confirmation from Carp, because she looked nothing like the way they remembered her. He got it with a nod. “What the hell is she doing out here?”
Carp shrugged. For the first time that he could remember, he was at a loss for words. “I-I don’t know. Maybe she…” He trailed off.
Maybe she what, exactly?
“Yeah,” said Buddy.
Confused, Carp just nodded, again.
“Well, here’s the girl, but where’s our boy?” Buddy nudged her again, this time harder. “Where is he, huh? Huh, bitch?!” He kicked her in the ribs; a sound like a thick branch snapping came from underneath her waterlogged skin.
The atrocious sound caused Carp to feel an ache in his own ribs. It was awful, but not
so bad that Buddy was starting to lose control. Buddy slouched, his backpack sliding off his shoulders, and squatted in front of it. He opened it, sifted around the inside until his fingers clinked on something metal. Carp knew what it was he was doing, but he didn’t understand the reasoning.
“Why her?”
“Why not?”
“Well, it’s not our M.O.”
“Yes it is and no it isn’t.” He removed his rusting 8mm film camera. A small, pistol-gripped entity that Buddy held closer to him than most would a child. Though it was miniscule in size and width, the interior gears were thunderous, ear-splitting as the film fed through, photographing images up to eighteen frames-per-second.
“You’re not making any sense,” said Carp, burrowing his hand into his front shirt pocket, and removing a cigarette from the crinkled pouch. He pressed it between his parched lips and lighted it. The smoke entered his lungs like an invited friend.
Buddy stood up. “You just worry about doing what I say, and less about what I do, got me?”
Though he was lying, he said, “Completely.”
Buddy stepped back to the stream’s edge and balanced himself on a slab of mud and jutting rock. He raised the camera to his eye, squeezing the trigger as if firing a gun. The piercing sounds of the motor shot through the mostly tranquil woods. A small flock of birds, startled by the noise, flew out of their seclusion in the tall grass nearby. Carp watched them flapping through the sky, getting as far away as possible.
And, for a moment, Carp wished he could join them.
(II)
“The
real
Jason Voorhees, not the one from the remake, could kick Pumpkinhead’s ass.” Ethan said this, looking back at Joel and Paul from the front of the line.
They marched single file through a tapered section on the trail. A chorus of birds chirped all around them, an airplane hummed in the sky. The trees were much heavier and thicker in the grove to their left, mostly pine, but there were others scattered through. To their right was George Sifford’s old meadow, once inhabited with cattle, it had long been deserted since George filed bankruptcy. The boys enjoyed having the woods all to themselves, and being able to play in the pasture, but Joel found himself from time to time missing the cows. Sometimes, when he was bored, he and Rusky would come out here and watch them graze. It was relaxing and he’d conjure up great story ideas for his monsters.
“Bullshit,” Paul disagreed. “Pumpkinhead is a powerful demon; Jason is just a momma’s boy that don’t know how to die.”
“Then how can Pumpkinhead kill him?” asked Ethan.
“Easily. Rip him apart.”
“Yeah, right. Jason will go back together, just like the werewolf in Monster Squad.”
“Whatever! He’s never done that before in any movie.” Paul’s voice was becoming squeakier, girl-like.
“Well,” said Ethan, thinking about it. “You’re right, but he could just find another body like in
Goes to Hell.
”
Paul pointed at him. “You said we couldn’t count that one as part of the series.”
“I didn’t say that, Joel did.”
Joel heard his name mentioned and focused on their argument more intently. His mind was still drifting to the pasture, and memories of him and Rusky. “Said what?”
“That we couldn’t count
Jason goes to Hell
as part of the series.”
“That’s right, and
Jason X,
either.”
“Whatever.” Paul shook his head, chuckling.
“Well, give us
your
opinion,” said Ethan. “Who’d win in a fight? Pumpkinhead or Jason Voorhees?”
“The
original
Jason Voorhees,” added Paul for fairness.
“Yeah.”
Good question. Joel thought about it as they approached the opening fork in the trail. They spread out with Joel in the middle, Paul on his right and Ethan on his left. Joel hated walking in the middle; he preferred one of the edges so he could stare into the woods without having to look past one of his friends to do it.
“Well?” asked Ethan.
“I’m going to say that’s not a fair fight.”
The guys hollered and laughed. Paul said, “And, why the hell not?”
“Because, the only way of stopping Pumpkinhead is if he completes what he’s been summoned to do, and if he’d been summoned to fight Jason, another deathless creature, then no one would win. It’d be like when Grey Hulk fought the Green Hulk.”
“Yeah, but that doesn’t count,” said Ethan. “That only happened in David Banner’s mind.”
“Bruce Banner’s mind,” corrected Joel. “David was his name on the TV show. Anyway, I think they’d get tired of fighting and just go their separate ways.”
“Or, team up?” asked Paul.
“Maybe.”
They grew silent for a minute. Then Ethan added, “That’d be a kickass team, if you think about it.”
They all agreed on that one.
Then they heard Clay Ray’s voice behind them say, “You fa
ggots sure do talk about the
dumbest
shit.”
All of them jumped, but only Paul let out a small squeal as they turned around. Clay Ray was stepping out of the woods to their left.
Asshole must have been following us,
thought Joel. But, he wondered, as Clay Ray walked over to them with a wicked grin on his face, why would he have done that?
“Hey, Ray,” said Paul, as if they were old friends.
“Shut up, tubby.” He had an unlit cigarette between his lips. It bounced as he talked. “What are you three fuckle-heads doing out here?”
“Going to Blue Waves pool,” answered Ethan.
“Oh, really?” Ray didn’t sound like he truly cared.
“Yeah,” said Paul.
Joel studied Ray’s movements nervously. He knew this couldn’t be good. Ray wouldn’t have stopped them unless he wanted trouble. He was never one to hassle Ethan, and very rarely did Paul suffer his abuse. For reasons Joel never understood, he only inflicted his torture upon him. This time was different, however, all their other run-ins had happened in public or at Tonya’s, never had Joel been so unfortunate to encounter him in the seclusion of the woods, and this deep out, too. There would be no one within miles that could hear what happened.
Hear us scream…
“So, you three fags are just walking through these woods to go to the pool, huh?” He lighted the cigarette. “I don’t buy it. Why would you choose to walk all that way when you could have one of your parents take you instead?”
None of them answered.
“Oh, wait,” said Ray. “That’s right, not all of you
have
parents.”
Joel knew he shouldn’t let Ray’s insults bother him, but they did. He couldn’t help it. A burning rage was ignited inside of him. He felt the heat moving from his gut, up his back, and over his neck. He became light-headed as his vision blurred.
“That’s not cool,” said Ethan.
Ray glanced at him, “Shut up before I start on you. I’ve never had a problem with you except that you hang out with dumbasses like these two, so don’t do anything to change that.”
Ethan nodded, and Joel found himself losing respect for Ethan thanks to his spinelessness.
Clay Ray turned back to Joel. “Aw, did my comment about Mommy and Daddy hurt your
wittle feelwings
?”
Joel’s hands, hanging by his sides, clenched into fists. “If I had parents like yours I’d rather them be dead.”
Paul gasped an exaggerated sigh of dread. One that said:
Damn it Joel, why’d you say that?
Ray’s mouth twitched as he exhaled a patch of smoke. “Nice. It’s about time you said something. I’ve been getting tired of beating on someone that doesn’t fight back. You’re making it fun again.”
“Fuck you.” Joel could faintly hear himself through the bubbles in his ears telling himself to stop while he still had teeth in his mouth. But, the lack of sleep, sudden loss of a friend, then the quick gaining of a new one, and also the kiss he’d received from Carlee, had changed him. In this small group of people, he felt the oldest and most mature of them all. He was worried about what Clay Ray might do to him, but he wasn’t scared.
Instead of pounding him, Clay Ray only cocked his head back and bellowed a laugh that puffed out clots of smoke like a dying exhaust pipe. He looked at Joel. “That’s good.” He wiped a tear with his index finger and flicked it. “Now, are you speaking like this to me at your own will or because of your friend?”
Joel’s suit of bravery began to shrink tight against his body.
“What?” he asked, his voice betraying him and going shaky.
Ethan straightened his shoulders. “You told me to stay out of it.”
“I’m not talking about you, asshole,” said Ray. He nodded toward Joel. “He knows who I’m talking about.”
How? How could he know?
“I don’t…”
“Here’s the part where he tries to lie his way out of it. Just like all those times when he tries lying his way out of an ass kicking.”
Ethan and Paul were confused. Ray could obviously read it by their expressions. “Oh? He hasn’t let you in on his little secret?”
“What’s he talking about, Joel?” asked Paul, accusing him with his eyes, a shrewd look on his face.
“Nothing,” muttered Joel.
Ray walked over to Joel. He stood maybe two feet from him. “I
saw
you.”
Joel’s skin went cold and crawly.
“This morning, walking back to your house. I was hiding in my car right off the curve.”
Behind the field
.
We walked right by him.
“I was waiting for Tonya to come home. She’s missing, but you probably already know that.”
“Missing?” asked Ethan. “Since when?”
“Since yesterday,” said Ray. “Now, shut up!”
“I didn’t,” Joel tried to say, but Ray grabbed his shirt and jerked him over, close enough to smell his aftershave, and the stale odor of cigarette smoke on his breath.
“What did you do to her?”
“Nothing.”
“Liar,” he shook him. Joel’s head wobbled insecurely like an infant’s. “Tell me! Who was that guy that was with you? The one in the mask!?! Why were you carrying a shovel and covered in dirt?”
Paul and Ethan didn’t do or say anything. Only watched and presumably wondered themselves just what the hell Ray was talking about.
Joel kicked at Ray, aiming for his nuts, but pegged him in the thigh. He let go of him and called out. Joel turned around, and had run just a few feet before Ray tackled him from behind. Joel landed hard on his chest, blasting the air from his lungs. The bubbles in his ears popped and started ringing. With tears in eyes, everything looked as if he was viewing it through the bottom of a drinking glass.
Then he felt the kick. The impact pushed Haley’s breakfast up instantly.
“Last chance,” said Ray. “You’re a dipshit, and I
don’t
want to kill you, but I
will
. I sooo fucking will if you don’t tell me what the hell happened to Tonya.”
Joel coughed and spat some blood into the dirt, crying. His sobs rained tears on the loose soil, turning it to mud. Then, as if answering his distress call, another sound reverberated through the glade.
A chainsaw?!?
It erupted adjacent to them with such explosive force that the ground trembled. He quickly realized that it wasn’t the ground shaking, but Ray’s body quivering against him. The bulge of Ray’s penis on the nape of his neck retracted as if pulling itself inward. Then he felt a warm sensation drizzling over him.