The Skin Show (21 page)

Another
horrible screech, followed by a whipping crack splitting the air as Sugar took
flight.

Flight!
She’s flying! Grew fucking wings!
Karen couldn’t allow her mind to go crazy
with what she’d already seen. If her mind ran wild, it would have a heart
attack and die.

Karen
cut around the front of a car. She leaped. Her rump slid across the corner of
the hood. Sugar’s hands slashed. Karen heard the fiberglass being seared like
nails on a chalkboard. Her feet slapped the ground. Daring a glance back, she
saw four tight vales in the gleaming paleness of the paint.

Karen
paused long enough to look up. She saw Sugar circling around, wings lashing the
sky, then dive.

“Shit!”

Karen
turned around, saw Andy’s car one row up, and squealed in delight. On her way,
she searched the ground. It didn’t take her long to find what she was looking
for. Bending over as she ran, she scooped up the rock. It was the size of a
softball, filling her hand.

Nearing
the Camaro, she held up her arm and chucked the rock. It shattered the glass
when it hit the window. Karen slid to a halt, reached through the smashed
opening, and jerked the door’s inner handle. The door popped open. She threw it
back and dove in, ignoring the stinging slashes of glass on her hands and
knees.

Spinning
around, she grabbed the handle and pulled the door shut. She saw the quick blur
of Sugar zipping by.

For
a brief moment, the car felt safe, but she quickly began to feel smothered in its
cramped space.

Get
the gun!

Karen
turned around, reaching over the seat. Her knees dug into shards of glass,
pricking her skin. Her hands clawed at the seat. She wasn’t close enough, so
she stretched her legs, hanging over the seat. Fingers patted carpet in search
for the gun. They bumped against something smooth and cool.

“Yes!”

She
grabbed the gun and sat back. First thing, she switched off the safety. Then
she cocked a round into the chamber. It was ready to fire. Being a .32, she had
fifteen chances to kill Sugar before running out of ammo.

She
hoped it was enough.

Sugar
swooped past the windshield. Karen held the gun out, wanting to take a shot,
but she didn’t have the room to accurately hold it. If she fired with her arms
slightly bent like this, the recoil would throw the gun back and bash her in
the nose. No, she needed more room.

Karen
flung the passenger door open and scrambled out of the car. She looked behind
her and was met with Sugar’s distorted face. Shark-like teeth had ripped
through where her lips had been and Karen saw her yawning mouth barely in time
to dodge it.

Karen
heard the snap of Sugar’s teeth in a bite that was meant for her face.

Twirling,
she fell against an old Mazda truck. She put her back against its comforting
solidity. Throwing back her head to get her hair away from her face, she raised
the gun. She didn’t need a moment to aim. Sugar was already soaring right at her.

Karen
unloaded the clip into Sugar. Bullets punched into her face, her neck and chest
in quick murky pops. But, she kept coming. Lunging out of the way, Karen hit
the ground as Sugar kept going and smashed into the truck’s door. She crashed
through it, traveled through the cab, and discharged out the other side. Both
windshields exploded in clouds of glass from the impact.

Karen
heard the whapping of the passenger door spinning in the air. A second crash soon
followed.

Lying
on her back, Karen panted. The gun was hot through the vibrations in her hand.
She held it up and saw the chamber was locked in the spent position. Karen was
positive that every damn round had pegged Sugar.

No
one could have survived that.

But,
Sugar wasn’t just any regular person, now was she? Not unless Karen wanted to
count someone who could grow wings and fly around as normal.

Karen
struggled to get up. She needed to use the side of the truck’s bed to stand.
Leaning against the truck, she took several breaths before moving. Walking
around the tailgate, she reached the other side.

And
saw Sugar hanging out of the truck from the waist. Her arms lay bent on the
ground. The wings were displayed limply on her back like weird growths. Her
wavy locks draped her face, shielding it from Karen’s sight. Didn’t matter,
though. She didn’t need to see Sugar’s face to know she was dead.

But,
if she had at least one more bullet to spare, she’d fire it into Sugar’s head
to be sure. Since she didn’t, she had to trust her judgment.

Yes,
she was dead.

Karen
looked around. The truck’s passenger door was imbedded in the butt of a Honda a
good ways over. Funny spectacle that it was, Karen couldn’t laugh. She doubted
she’d ever be able to laugh again.

She
glanced at Andy’s Camaro. It was hard to believe just earlier today she’d been
riding inside with Andy. In such a short span of time, they’d seen too much
weird shit to last a lifetime. And that was
before
Sugar even got into
the car, before The Skin Show. What happened to their day?

Looking
at Sugar, she had her answer.

Karen
staggered over to Andy’s car. She folded her arms on the roof and rested her
chin on top. She wondered if she might be able to hotwire it. Having no real
clue how, she’d seen it done plenty of times in movies. How different could it
really be? Tear out the panel below the steering wheel, yank the wires and peel
back the plastic to expose the charges. Then it was a simple matter of striking
them together, and once the engine fired, she needed to twist the wires into a
knot.

Easy
peasey, one-two-threesy.

Smirking,
Karen heaved herself off the Camaro. There was no way she was going to try
that. Even if by some chance she could convince herself to go for it, she
didn’t want to risk damaging his car and causing it to not be drivable when
Andy got back in.

Where
is
Andy?

She
looked at the large house. In there, some place. Had to be. She hoped he was
all right. But, there was nothing she could do for him on her own. Not anymore
with the gun out of bullets.

Karen
started walking, heading for the graveled road that brought them here. Her feet
dragged across the sand and rocks of the parking lot, making her feet feel
itchy and hot. She’d left her purse inside, lost both her shoes, torn her skirt
up, and was bleeding all over.

“A
wreck,” she mumbled to herself.

She
reached the road. Still clutching her gun, the metal frame knocked slightly
against her lower thigh as she walked. She stepped on sharp rocks, jagged bits
of acorn shells. The one that made her wince was probably a triangle of glass
stabbing the heel of her foot. By now, she was almost numb to any fresh bursts
of pain, but not entirely.

What
was her plan? Did she really have one?

Kind
of.

She
knew a phone call to the police was in order; add a call to Detective Kaufman
to that. A visit to a hospital wouldn’t hurt, either.

As
she walked, she noticed the numbing silence of the nightlife. There were no
chortles of crickets or frogs or owls. Just an unnatural silence that made
Karen feel as if she’d pressed her hands flat against her ears.  

A
sudden flash of light in front of Karen blinded her. She threw her arms in
front of her face to shield its dazzling illumination.

She
heard the thumps of car doors, the soft groans of them opening.

Of
course…

She
should have known. After all that fighting, the adversity, surviving madness,
she would get so close to escaping, only to be stopped on the way out. She
would have laughed had it not felt so sad.

“Ma’am?
Are you…okay?”

A
kid’s voice. Raspy. Slightly breaking at the end of the question. The tone was
that of an adolescent on the verge of puberty.

“Ma’am?”

“Stand
back, Miles, she might be one of them.” Adult, male, the tone suggested
intelligence and age.

“Doesn’t
look
like one of them…”

“No,
she doesn’t. But that doesn’t mean…”

“I’m
not,” said Karen. She let her arms drop by her sides. Keeping her eyes shut
against the glare, she repeated, “I’m not.”

There
was a moment of silence, then came the crisp tread of feet moving on the dirt
road.

“Did
you come here alone?” asked the adult voice.    

Karen
couldn’t make herself answer, and started to sob. She felt her legs give out,
unable to support her body any longer. Hands gripped her arms and kept her from
falling. She felt her gun being taken from her hand without any resistance. The
sets of arms guided her own around their necks. Her right was much higher than
the left, most likely due to the contrasting sizes of those helping her.

She
let them escort her closer to the bright light. Her mind tried to tell her this
wasn’t a good idea. She was allowing strangers to take her, but she was
suddenly too exhausted to care.

The
light dimmed greatly. She realized she’d been led around to the side of a dark
sedan. The brightness had been coming from its high beams.

“Get
the seat, Miles.”

The
support under her left arm went away, dropping her arm. She saw a shorter,
skinny smudge moving ahead of her. He stepped around the opened door, and
reached inside. The driver’s seat shot forward.

“Help
me get her in,” said the man.

Miles
came and delicately took her by the hand. His hold was so soft and gentle,
caring. She knew these people meant her no harm just by the slightest touch of
this kid.

They
helped her lay down in the backseat. Once they had her feet tucked behind her,
the seat was folded back in place. Her saviors quickly got in their seats: the
man behind the wheel and the kid riding shotgun.      

Doors
bumped shut.

The
engine roared when it came to life, softly vibrating her. She felt the car
swerving sharply as it turned around. Then it was speeding away, hardly
bouncing when it struck one of the many rents in the road.

“Where
are we going?” said the kid.

“Back
to regroup.”

“But…our
plans…”

“Forget
them. We need new plans.”

The
kid was saying something back when Karen drifted off to sleep.

After
a shower, Karen stood naked in front of the bathroom mirror. The glass was
smeared and drippy where she’d wiped a spot in the fog to see herself. She
gazed at the scuffs and scratches and slits on her shoulders, chest, hips, and
thighs. She held up her hands so she could see the pricks in her palms. They
looked like little dots made by a red pen. Turning her hands around, she
examined the scores on her knuckles: pulpy mounds that were already starting to
scab. There were lumps on her head that had hurt under the hammering water from
the shower head. A bruised bar across her breasts from her escape, and on her
stomach, and wherever there weren’t any scrapes, she was bruised.  

Bottom
line: she’d been damn lucky she hadn’t finished her drinks. If she had, she’d
look even worse right now.

Probably
be skinned by now.

She
wondered if that was where the creatures were carting those other women off to.

Most
likely.

Still,
Karen hated she’d left them, hated even more that she’d left Andy. She wanted
to send someone out there to get them, but Hoffman had said no cops. And, she’d
promised him she wouldn’t call anyone.

How
could she, even if she wanted to? He’d taken the phone out of her room, giving
her an apologetic glance before leaving. Plus, there weren’t any payphones
around this motel, none that she’d noticed anyway.

At
least he got me my own room.

He’d
said she would feel more comfortable having her own space, and he was right.
She was thankful he’d done this. She’d tried talking him out of it, told him he
shouldn’t feel obligated to, but he didn’t listen. Now, she was glad he hadn’t.
It wasn’t much of a motel: The Pearl Palace. She and Andy had passed it on
their way.  

Her
throat clucked.
Andy.
God, she hoped he was all right.

“We’ll
get your friend,” Miles had said after she was checked into the room.  

The
kid was wonderful, letting her use his shampoo. It was Pert Plus, a brand she never
used, but it cleaned the dirt and dried blood out of her hair, so it got the
job done. She’d used the hotel’s soap and a rag on her body. Cleaning her
wounds had stung like a bitch. Now they felt like they were breathing with all
the gunk washed out of the gashes.

She
wasn’t sure how long the drive back to the hotel was, but she’d awakened in the
backseat after they’d arrived, Hoffman leaning over her with that hideously
scarred-up face of his. She felt lousy for her initial reaction: hysterical
shrieks while slapping madly at the nightmare of a face. Later, he’d promised
her he wasn’t insulted, but she knew he was lying, which made her feel even
worse. 

The
scars were remnants of an encounter with one of the glowing creatures a few
years ago in Virginia; he’d told her about it while administering antibiotic
ointment to her slashes. He didn’t know what they actually were, but he called
them Neon Imps. Karen supposed the moniker fit, but she’d have opted for Neon Assholes.

“Are
they like their bodyguards, or something?” she’d asked. Sitting on the edge of
the mattress, her legs crossed so Hoffman could reach her calf without her
having to lie on her stomach or him squat between her legs.

Hoffman
had sat beside her, a knee up on the mattress. Pausing a moment on the tiny
procedure, he’d frowned. “Maybe in a sense they are, but they’re much more than
just protectors.”

Karen
had wanted to ask so many questions, clueless where to start.

He’d
added: “You’re lucky you’re alive, Karen,”  

It
had been an unnecessary reminder. She’d already known that. “Tell me about
them.”

“The
Imps?”

She’d
shaken her head. “Everything.”

Hoffman
screwed the cap back onto the tube of cream, handing it to Miles. The kid then hurried
over to the black medical bag opened on the other bed. He rushed back, sitting
on his knees on the floor.

Like
a kid ready to hear one of Grandpa’s stories from the past.

Karen
couldn’t help but smile.

“I
suppose I could to tell you,” Hoffman had said. He looked at Miles, smiling
slightly. “But the boy is still too young to hear all I’ve learned.”

“Aw,
come on!” Miles slapped both hands down on his thighs. “I’m old enough!”

Hoffman
reached out, ruffling the boy’s hair. It was still very much styled in a way
that suggested he wasn’t as old as he wanted people to think he was: bangs reaching
the tops of his eyebrows, slightly shabby around the ears, and a little scruffy
in the back.

Karen
had wondered if Hoffman cut it for him and supposed that he probably did.

Having
enough of the ruffling, Miles pulled out of Hoffman’s reach. “It’s not
fair…they killed my family too.”

Karen’s
skin tightened. She should have known something like that had happened to
Miles. Why else would he be with Hoffman? Maybe she’d thought he was a relative
or something, or she hadn’t wanted to acknowledge that a kid like Miles had
somehow become entangled in this Skin Show mess.

What
Miles had said had replayed in her mind during her shower as the hot water sapped
out the rest of her energy.

Now,
in the bathroom, her skin tight and hard with soreness, she was still thinking
about it.

Faintly,
a knock came from her door.

That
would probably be Hoffman.

She
quickly threw on the jogging suit he’d loaned her, then headed for the door. The
sleeves hung over her hands like elephant trunks. The pants made whispering
sounds across the carpet as she walked. Even with the elastic band pulled as
taut as she could get it, they still sagged around her hips. She had to hold
the front to keep them from falling.

Her
guest
was
Hoffman. Morning light spilled in through the door when she
opened it.

“I’m
sorry for my unannounced visit,” he said. “But, the boy’s still asleep and
you’d asked me to explain what I know. I thought now would be a good time if
you’re up for it.”

“Oh,
yes, please come in.” She opened the door wide, standing behind it.

“Thank
you,” he said, coming inside.  

Once
he was away from the door, she shut it. “I was just getting out of the shower.”

She
regretted having told him that. She was sure he could already tell from her
wet, tangled hair, but now that she’d brought it to his attention, he might try
to envision it.

Don’t
flatter yourself. This man saved your life. If he hadn’t shown up…

Still,
she couldn’t stop wondering if he was trying to picture her standing under the
spray of the shower, water streaming down her skin, long brownish hair matted
down her back, slightly moaning as the hot wetness tickled and caressed her.

Damn,
you should write romance novels with thoughts like that.

She
looked at Hoffman and saw he was eyeing her strangely. Realizing he’d said
something that she hadn’t responded to, she laughed. “Sorry, I zoned out there
for a moment.”

“It’s
understandable. I was just asking if you’re sure you don’t want me to come back
later. Maybe in an hour, to give you more time to finish getting ready?”

“No,
now’s better than any other time, I promise.”

“If
you’re sure.”

“Positive.”

Hoffman
smiled. It was a pleasant expression, even with scars that made the right side
of his face look hard and clumpy.

“Sit?”
she offered.

Nodding,
Hoffman walked over to the table. It looked like it was meant to be a writing
desk, but was actually a TV tray with a rolling stool under it. He pulled out
the stool and sat. The legs groaned under his weight. “Have you slept at all?”

“A
little,” she said. When she’d come into the room after being cleaned up, she’d
stripped out of her clothes and dropped on top of the covers. She’d drifted
right off but was constantly being shocked out of sleep by horrible dreams.
Thankfully, she couldn’t remember them. The fear she’d felt when her eyes
opened had been powerful.

“I
know I didn’t allow you to go into any great detail about your experience
because of Miles being nearby. Please elaborate for me, and try not to leave
out any detail.”

Karen
plopped onto the edge of the mattress, shoulders slouching. She took a deep
breath, and nodded. “Okay.”

And,
she told him. She was surprised how much she remembered and how it felt as if she
was still there as she narrated the events. By the time she was through, she
was sweaty and winded.

“So…let
me ask you this,” she said. “What is The Skin Show? What is it really?”

“A
lair of evil.”

“Yes,
but what
kind
of evil? What makes it…what it is?”

“I’ve
spent the last several years trying to figure it out and I’ve only scratched
the surface. There is much to learn, but no time to do it.”

“How
do they keep it hidden?”

“If
I told you that right now you wouldn’t believe me.”

“Don’t
assume that. Right now, I’d believe about anything. I saw those things, too,
remember?”

“Yes.
You did.” He took a deep breath, held it a moment, then let it gust out,
puffing his cheeks. “It’s a spell.”

“A…spell?”

“They
seek out poverty stricken areas, dying towns—places where all hope is lost and
slip in like a ghoul scouring a graveyard after hours. They plant their evil
seeds and watch them grow. It starts off small, only influencing those nearest,
but after some time, it spreads, reaches farther out. Soon it starts infecting
more, and they spread it to others…and before too long, it’s unstoppable.”

“Moves
like a virus…”

“Yes,
very much so. But, I think an infestation is more accurate. Some might want to
compare them to cockroaches, but I disagree. I think they’re more like ants. Every
colony I’ve destroyed, another has been erected in its place. It might not be
in the same exact location, but it’s a similar area. All lower class regions,
always as secluded as possible. They’re so far under the radar it’s like they
don’t exist. And, if you ask anyone, they won’t be able to tell you anything
about them, even if a Skin Show is across the street.”

“How
do
you
know so much about them?”  

“Grant,
my son, went to a Skin Show in Virginia. He was seduced by them and came home
to kill us.”

“He
did?” Karen leaned forward with a gasp.

“It
wasn’t
our
Grant…it was
their
Grant. The reborn Grant. He’d
become an imp.”

Hoffman
triggered a cold drip deep inside Karen. “Jesus…”

“He
attacked Kathy—my wife—and me. He pointed at the scars. “These happened, and he
was about to finish me off but Kathy intervened. The imp overtook her, and
while he raped her, he slashed her up…and she…died…” Hoffman took a deep, shaky
breath. “I got to my gun.” He opened his jacket, showing her the weapon. “And I
shot him, many times in the head. It killed him. But, there was nothing I could
do for Kathy.”

“How
did you know…it was your son?

“I
didn’t. Not then, I mean. Later…when I learned what those monsters are…” He
shook his head. “The imps don’t live very long, so they constantly need more. As
big and strong as they are, their bodies are very fragile and easy to kill.
They die off easily from sickness.”

“What
did the police do? I mean, they had to have seen the body.”

“I
never called them.”

“Why
not?”

“I’d
already decided what I had to do: Kill them all.”

“How’d
you find it? How’d you know it even existed?”

“When
the imp that came for us didn’t return, they came looking. I was already trying
to put pieces together, but they made first contact. I allowed them to think I
was under their control, and to take me with them. I saw the caves underneath.”

“Like
the ones I saw?”

“Yes.
That’s where they dwell. Underground. It’s also where they came from.”

“From
the ground?” Karen looked down at the cheap carpeting.

“Yes.
But, they’re not everywhere. So far, they keep to the south. I think they came
from here.”

Karen
didn’t feel any better. Antsy and needing to move around, she stood up, pacing
a small trail in the carpet. “What
are
they?”

“The
females are nymphs.”

Karen
stopped. Although the door to the closed section of her mind had been blown off
its hinges, she had trouble accepting that. “Nymphs? Little fairies? Like
tinker bell?”

“Maybe
some of them are. But, don’t look for magic pixie dust and expect to fly. There
are myriad categories of nymphs: wood, water, grass, tree, sky. But these are
Skin Nymphs. They are hideous creatures so appalled by their own looks that
they steal the flesh of female humans to conceal their true appearances.”

“Wow,
even nymphs believe in cosmetic surgery.”

“You’re
joking? Being sarcastic
now
? What happened to ‘you would believe
anything’? You
have
to believe what I’m telling you.”

“You’re
right,” she groaned. She stopped walking, crossing her arms. “I’m sorry.”
Though she’d apologized, she’d done so in a snappy manner that showed no hint
of atonement.

“They
strip the skin from these poor women and stretch it over their bodies. It
absorbs the flesh and becomes their own, for a while. Naturally, being dead
flesh, it decays in time and they have to get more.”

At
first Karen had needed to move, to keep her blood pumping. But now her legs
felt wrecked. She had to sit down. Returning to the bed, she dropped back down.
Karen had no trouble processing what he was telling her. It shouldn’t have made
sense, but it did. She grasped it all. “So they turn men into…imps?”