Read The Walrus of Death: A Short Story Online
Authors: Steeven R. Orr
The squirrel just continued to sit on my chest and look at me, its nose twitching so rapidly that it was practically vibrating.
“So what do you say, pal?” I held my hand out. “Forgiven?”
It approached my proffered hand with a caution one often sees in small animals. It took a quick sniff at my fingers, looked up at me one last time, and then sank its teeth into the flesh of my hand; breaking skin and drawing blood.
I shouted a curse – I mean, why wouldn’t I – and swung a fist at the dirty rodent. I missed, of course, and it hopped away unharmed into the woods.
“Next time I see you I’m just gonna start shooting!” I called out after the thing. “You hear my you son of a–”
“Norman?” a voice interrupted.
I turned and found Pat standing over me, a perplexed look upon her face.
She looked beautiful.
“Oh, hey, Pat.” I rose up on an elbow, shielding my eyes at the sun which had made another appearance.
“You okay, Norman? Your house–” she glanced over at the Walrus who lay in a lump beside me. “He alive?
“He is,” I said as I sat up.
“Tell me what happened?”
I did. She’d already known about the Walrus’s initial visit, so I filled her in on everything that had come after. I left the part out about my chat just now with the squirrel. I figured that was best left between me, myself, and I.
“You’ve had quite the taxing day, my friend,” Pat said, offering me a hand up.
“That I have,” I said, brushing the leaves off of my rear end. “How’d he get loose in the first place?” I said, nodding toward the Walrus.
“Well,” Pat said, her face going flush. “He kinda snapped his cuffs and tore the doors off the back of the van we had him in. Then he just sorta jumped.”
“I tried to warn you, Pat. The Walrus ain’t someone you want to play around with.”
We stood in silence for a bit. I noticed the squirrel in the tree above me. I gave it a hard glare.
“I guess you know I’m gonna have to take you in,” Pat said in her typical casual style.
“I wasn’t talking to no squirrel, he was bothering me – wait,” I blinked. “What?”
“You shot up the Pub, Norman,” Pat said. “There were seven witnesses.”
“I didn’t shoot up no pub,” I said. “I shot a vamp a few times, but that’s it.”
“Vampires, Norman? In Kansas? Who in the world is gonna believe that?”
“You,” I said.
“Of course I believe you, Norman. But I’m about it.”
“Ask Lemonzeo,” I said.
“We did, Norman. He tells us you stormed into the Pub and started shouting and shooting up the place. I’ve seen the damage.”
“Well he’s a dern liar,” I said. “He musta done all that after I left. You check the ballistics on them bullet holes? They .45 caliber? What about the slugs? Were there any slugs? Not all of them will match my guns.”
“Come on, Norman. What do you think this is? CSI Miami? We’re just one small town in the middle of Kansas. We’d have to send off to Topeka or Kansas City for a crime scene investigator and frankly, I just don’t think this case warrants such expenditure,” she smiled.
“All I did was shoot a vampire, Patty. I didn’t even kill it cuz I ain’t packing silver.”
“I still gotta take you in, Norman. It’s just a formality. Just answer our questions and we can let you go. I don’t think Lemonzeo wants to officially press charges.”
“Okay, fine. I’ll come quietly,” I said, raising my hands in the air.
“Put your hands down, Norman. It’s not like that. Just go get in the car and I’ll drive you down to the station.”
“You gonna bring me back home too?”
“Your motorcycle’s still at the office, right?”
“It is.”
“Then you have a ride home. Let’s go.” She took me by the arm and we walked around the house.
Pat took the Winchester and bundled me up in the back of her car as the rest of her boys loaded the Walrus into a paddy wagon. I’d noticed that they had no less than four pairs of cuffs on him – they weren’t taking any chances this time. That was good.
As I sat in the back of Pat’s car, watching the lights of the other squad cars rotate and bounce off the house, I thought back on my day. Nearly killed by a walrus, bitten by a squirrel, and arrested for shooting a vampire.
Some days it just doesn’t pay to get out of bed.
I want to thank Harold Jennett for all of the support he provides me every day. You’re a good friend, Harold.
Thanks to Eric White for always being there to bounce cover ideas off of.
Thanks also to Adam WarRock, Mikal kHill, MC Frontalot, Kirby Krackle, Beefy, Kabuto the Python, and Tribe One for making the music that keeps me going.
Finally, I want to thank my family. I have the most loving, most supportive family any man could ever ask for. It’s for them that I write. Thank you.
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Steeven R. Orr lives as a recluse with his wife and three children somewhere in the hills of Eastern Kansas. When he’s not helping with homework, or running errands, or paying bills, or working, or spending time with his family, or sleeping, or eating, or using the bathroom, Steeven likes to write.
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