(A sample from Crawlspace.)
© 2009 asotir.
This work is licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 License.
6:05 AM
Bright Dayz Motel
THE FORD drove past them and pulled into the motel parking lot. The faces of the Team looked out the windows of the Ford at Tommy as it passed.
Tommy started toward them. He could hear Miss Quinn’s high heels clicking on the pavement right behind him. The faces of the Team were hard and closed.
‘The way they look at me—’
Miss Quinn said softly, ‘They keep you drugged, don’t they? What is it? What do they give you?’
‘Some kind of pills…’
‘They’re poison, Tommy. Don’t take them anymore.’
They came up to the Ford.
Styles was the first to say anything. He grinned and opened his arms. ‘Tommy!’
Trickman took Tommy by the shoulders, whisking him away from Styles’ embrace. ‘Hey, pal, where you been?’
The Professor, who seemed to be looking only at Miss Quinn, said, ‘Are you all right? We were concerned.’
‘He was with me,’ Miss Quinn answered. She walked in front of the Professor, between him and Tommy.
‘Hello,’ the Professor said.
Trickman whistled. ‘Yeah – hell-o!’
‘Tommy, I’m ashamed of you,’ Miss Quinn said.
Tommy stared at her. She winked at him.
‘Aren’t you goes to introduce me to your friends?’
‘Yeah, Tommy, who’s the lady?’ Styles said. ‘Looks like you scored tonight better than old Styles himself.’
‘Professor, guys – this is Miss Quinn. She’s one of the teachers at the school.’
‘Pleased to meet you,’ the Professor said.
Miss Quinn took his hand. They stood facing each other like sworn enemies in old dueling movies. ‘The pleasure’s been all mine, frankly. We drove the murdered boy’s sister home. She was fairly distraught and Tommy helped look after her.’
Papers squeezed Tommy’s shoulder. ‘Guh, good for you, Tuh, Tommy.’
‘Way to go, pal,’ Trickman said, and punched him in the side.
Miss Quinn went on, lying as smoothly as if it were God’s own truth. ‘The boy’s murder upset both of them. It’s a good thing I had some sedatives on hand. Tommy fell asleep on the living room couch.’
The Professor looked at Tommy. It was like he was expecting Tommy to tell him what a bunch of lies it was. But Tommy looked at Miss Quinn and kept quiet. After a moment, the Professor said to her, ‘Well, thanks for looking after him.’
Trickman, Styles and Papers headed back to their rooms. The Professor made a move to take Tommy in but Miss Quinn was already next to Tommy. Or had he moved closer to her? She held him firmly. She looked deep in his eyes.
‘It was a nasty, brutal death,’ she said. ‘Whoever did it deserves the worst sort of punishment.’
He heard the Professor’s voice answer, ‘Well, these kind of things don’t go unpunished for long.’
‘Don’t you think so, Tommy?’ she asked. ‘Whoever did this ought to be just plain killed?’
‘Yes. That’s right,’ he said, and he kept his voice firm and steady. Already she was teaching him how to lie better.
She leaned down and hugged him. ‘Good-bye, Tommy,’ she said. ‘I hope you’ll be feeling better soon.’
The Professor turned away toward the motel and Miss Quinn drew her hand from under her skirt and stuck her fingers in Tommy’s mouth.
And she whispered to him, with a wild light in her eyes, ‘Go on – taste it – you never had it like this, did you? No, they only injected you – pitiful little doses, too – too dangerous for them to let you taste it!’
Tommy lurched back. His eyes started to pop—
Miss Quinn walked away to her car. Her long legs leaned over crazy against the dawn.
From far away, he heard the Professor’s voice saying, ‘Come on, Tommy. Here. Better late than never.’
Tommy stared at him. In the Professor’s hand lay three of the yellow pills. They were swarming with red fire-ants.
A burst of white light blasted his eyes like a flash—
WATER was swirling down a white porcelain sink.
Hands were washing under the water. The hands of a Kid. He couldn’t be any older than twelve years old. The Kid was drying his hands and walking into the bedroom of another cheap motel room.
Flash—
The dark shape of a huge cockroach was scuttling across the school building, its eyes bulging.
Flash—
The Man from the Motel was burning and charring.
Flash—
The wires and boards of a crawlspace were passing overhead.
Flash—
Agnes was standing over an open grave – bloodstains on the breast of her white dress.
Flash—
The Kid was going to the outer door and opening it.
Flash—
IT WENT DARK. For a second he didn’t know who he was or where. Was he the Kid in the motel room? Was he the Thing crawling under the building? Was he the boy beside Agnes in the cemetery?
Then something came to him – a word – a name: Tommy. That sounded right. Tommy. His name was Tommy.
It felt like he was standing somewhere. He could feel the sun on his cheek. He heard the sound of traffic.
I’ll open my eyes in a second, he thought. I’ll wake up and look around and find out where I am.
BUT HE DIDN’T want to wake up because he knew there was no getting better for him. From now on everything was only going to get worse.
