Table of Contents
JDatE
JDatE Forums
|
Franky opened his mouth. A thin stream of liquid squirted out as a greeting. I had the thought to throw up an arm to shield my face from whatever it was, but before the muscles could twitch into action there was a BANG and a blue-ish flash. I felt the ground hit me in the back. I stared at the sky, ears ringing, vaguely realizing that the stuff Franky was spitting had combusted in mid-air with enough force to knock me on my ass. I rolled over, heard Falconer shouting police words at Franky, Falconer with an enormous stainless automatic in both hands. I couldn't help but notice how perfectly not-wounded Franky looked. Also, he seemed to have gained 30 pounds. Franky took a step toward Falconer and two gunshots shattered the air, back to back. Franky was unfazed. He jumped, flew forward through the air like Michael Jordan, and threw a forearm across Falconer's neck. Falconer went to his knees but held onto the gun. He jammed it into Franky's gut and pulled the trigger. Exit holes exploded out of the small of Franky's back, throwing bits of meat across the yard. Franky kept his feet. I saw movement behind me, turned to see John's "new" orange 1978 Cadillac Coupe Deville skid to a stop behind Falconer's porsche. John flung himself out, sprinted toward me shouting, "YOUR KEY! I NEED YOUR SHED KEY!" I didn't have a chance to answer him. Shed key? What was he doing? Borrowing my lawnmower? Behind me I heard Falconer let out a frustrated, growling scream. I spun and saw Franky grab the detective around the base of the skull. He forced Falconer's head down to waist level, then turned his body away from him. Holding Falconer's face directly in front of his buttocks, Franky farted. Falconer collapsed to the leaves, as if dead. I heard running feet behind me and then my front door banging shut. John. I decided to follow him but before I could get to my feet, Franky was on me. He landed on me with all his weight, his legs straddling my chest. I looked right into his eyes, and saw the gaping stare of a terrified young man. He was hissing something at me, a whisper from deep in the throat. He leaned his face down close to mine, his hands clutching my shirt. I couldn't make out his words, choking sounds like an old man on a respirator. He leaned closer. I could smell his breath. "Help me! Help me! Nothing moves! Do you understand me?!?" "Franky! Can you hear me? Get off me!" "Listen, listen! Don't die! Don't die, man! Nothing moves! Don't ever die because nothing moves there!" Franky screamed. A long, segmented thing came out from his mouth, out from the bug thing hiding within. It looked like a pale earthworm, but longer, with a little spike on the end like on a scorpion's tail. I was expecting the thing to come down and sting me or something. Instead it curled up toward Franky's own eye. Franky screamed. The worm thing plunged into his eyeball. I heard a small engine rev to life, from around the house. I had the crazy thought that I'd see John racing around the house with my lawnmower, screaming, "Thanks for letting me borrow this!" before throwing it in his car and driving off. Blood dripped down on me from Franky's punctured eye. His hands found their way to my face and throat, clawing at me mindlessly. The engine sound got closer, real close now. Something blocked the sun. A figure stood above us. John. Something in his hands, something big. The engine sound revved to a mechanical scream, then bogged down as if with effort. There was a sound like carrots in a blender. Wetness rained down on me. Blurred metal teeth of a chainsaw ripped through Franky's neck. John worked the machine down, rocking it back and forth as it tore through spine and muscle and tendons, his hands streaked with red. Franky's head fell free from his shoulders, his wet hair bonking me in the face. His body held itself above me for a few seconds, then pounded down on me with dead weight that knocked the air from my lungs. The saw shut off and I could hear John yelling questions at me. His hand appeared on Franky's shoulder and together we rolled the corpse off me. I sprang to my feet, looked down at my sweatshirt in disgust. It looked like the shirt an infant had worn to all-you-can-eat rib night. "PUT IT DOWN!"  Illustration by Nedroid
We both turned to see Falconer, on his knees and holding his gun on John, who was wielding a chainsaw over the headless corpse of an ex-cop. "You're back," I said. "I was afraid he had farted you to death." "Set the chainsaw on the ground!" John did. He pulled out a cigarette and lit it. He asked, "What happened to the Stihl, Dave?" "The what?" "Your old chainsaw, it was a Stihl." "Oh. It got stolen." "I don't like this one. There's no weight, you can't control it." "It's a Black and Decker." "Well, whatever it is it sucks." Falconer gained his feet and walked toward us. "Back off! Back away from him!" John and I obeyed, watching Franky's body and head carefully to make sure there were no surprises. Neither one moved. Where John cut it, I was pretty sure he had sawed the bug thing in half. I wasn't going to get close enough to inspect, though. I had noticed earlier that Franky seemed to have gained weight and he had. His blood-splotched T-shirt was stretched by a swollen abdomen. I wasn't sure why that particular thing disturbed me in the middle of all this, but it did. Falconer stuffed his automatic into a shoulder holster and looked down at Franky in disgust. Then he turned his eyes on John, and somehow looked even more disgusted. "What the hell are you doin' here?" "Savin' your sorry ass." "When I ask you a question, you give me a real answer. Don't you ever answer me with an action movie one-liner, ever again." "I called Dave's house and didn't get an answer. I was afraid one of those bug things had gotten him. He don't answer his cell unless it's his girlfriend, so..." I said, "I really got to get cleaned up for work." John said, "And I gotta get back home. I can't be seen out. I called in at the warehouse and told them I had to stay home because I had gotten shot at the hospital." Falconer looked like he was going to start shooting everybody within range. "Neither one of you jerkoffs is going anywhere until I give you express written permission." John looked down at Franky's corpse and said, "Okay, here's what we tell the cops..." "He is the cops, John." "Both of you shut the fuck up." I said, "Go home, Detective Falconer. It's over. Or your part is, anyway." "Wait," interjected John. "Are you Vance Falconer?" "Shut up or I will shoot you in the face." "You're the detective who caught the Father's Day killer, right? Didn't you throw him out of a helicopter?" Falconer didn't answer. John turned to me. "He's famous. I saw this whole thing about him on A&E." Falconer walked away, without a word. He produced a cell phone, paused to think of how he was going to call this in, and dialed. He talked for thirty seconds, then stashed the phone and came back to us. I said, "Look, it's gonna be a lot easier for you to explain what happened here without us. Because we're gonna tell them about the guy farting on your head. Let us go, tell them whatever you want." Falconer clenched his jaw, aimed a finger at us and said, "Don't leave town." We walked inside the house, John mashing his cigarette into a flower pot on my porch. Inside, I said, "I'm thinking we should leave town." "Why? Things are just getting good. Hey, I might come back here after the cops are gone, stake the place out while you're at work. See if one of those bug things show up." "I'm serious, man. This town is cursed. And we're cursed because we live here." "You ever think this town is cursed because we live here?" "Maybe it's you. Maybe I'm cursed because I'm friends with you." "I don't know, Dave. I'm just glad I bid on that speargun on ebay." I left John in the living room and closed myself in the bathroom, stripping off my blood-soaked sweatshirt. I gave my habitual nervous glance at the shower, resisting the urge to pull back the curtain and make sure the stall was empty. I plugged the sink and ran water. I leaned down to splash my face, thought for a moment, then walked over to the shower. I pushed aside the curtain and looked and did, in fact, find it empty. I went back to the sink, splashing my face, watching my hands tremble all the way up. There was blood in my hair. Disgusting. I left the sink full of water and pushed my sweatshirt into it to let it soak. I couldn't throw it away, it was 40 bucks. I went to the shower and threw aside the curtain. A fist shot out and punched me in the face.  
Page 16 -> Go to Table of Contents |