(A sample from Crawlspace.)
© 2009 asotir.
This work is licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 License.
12:20 PM
Otis House
IN THE BLACKNESS, a beam of light skated over dirt ground, support boards, cobwebs. The light shone through a grill. In the grill, Trickman’s face showed by the flashlight.
Trickman squatted by the house. He aimed his flashlight through a grill half-buried in the grass.
‘What’s down there?’ the Professor asked.
Tommy blinked. He and the Kid were watching from the sidewalk, far back from the Team. But now and then he’d get a flash and it was like he was under the house in the crawlspace looking out. He shifted his shoulders, feeling trapped and boxed in.
‘Crawlspace under the house,’ Trickman said. ‘I see some cans, trash. Doesn’t look like it’s been used for years. Grill’s rusted shut.’
‘Then it’s tuh, true,’ Papers said. ‘Only the front door and back – those are the only ways in and out?’
Trickman snapped off the flashlight. ‘That’s about it.’
Tommy turned away. He walked so the Ford shielded him from sight of the Team. He dug in his pocket and pulled out Miss Quinn’s silk lace underpants. They lay in his hand, stinging a little. He felt little prickling thrills race up and down his forearm.
He brought the underpants to his nose and breathed in.
‘This is my first Chase,’ Eddie said right behind him. ‘Isn’t it great?’
Tommy started. He shoved Miss Quinn’s underpants back in his pocket and turned to the Kid. ‘How old are you, anyway?’
‘Twelve. Almost thirteen.’
Tommy thought back. ‘That’s how old I was, too.’
‘Why – how old are you?’
‘Sixteen yesterday.’
‘You don’t look that old.’
‘What do you remember about your parents?’
The Kid blinked. ‘My parents?’
‘Yeah, your parents – you had parents didn’t you?’
‘I was in group home. The Commander came for me. That’s all I remember.’
Tommy turned away. He felt angry. ‘You don’t have any idea what you’re getting into.’
The Team were walking around to the back porch. Tommy left the sidewalk and moved halfway down the side yard, keeping to the bushes. To his annoyance, the Kid tagged along.
The Professor looked at his watch and glanced casually at the neighboring houses. ‘I’d like to look around inside. Trickman, think you can get us in?’
‘Nothing easier.’
Trickman pulled his metal blade out of his coat and levered the door. The lock snapped and opened. He stepped out of the way and bowed.
‘After you, Alphonse.’
‘We’ll go through the house,’ the Professor said. ‘Styles, Trickman, you go after our Principal. Think you can put the squeeze on him?’
‘Like a lemon,’ Styles said. ‘Phineas, he’s my lemonade.’
The Professor didn’t smile. ‘He’ll come back here before he bolts. Tommy! Eddie!’
Trickman put back his blade. ‘See you tonight.’
Trickman and Styles passed Tommy and Eddie on the way to the Ford. Styles looked over Trickman’s apparel.
‘I hope you pressed your suit,’ Styles said.
Trickman groaned. ‘Oh, no! Not the suit again!’
Tommy and Eddie walked up onto the back porch.
The Kid was beside himself with excitement. ‘What’s it going to be like – inside?’
Tommy pushed him forward. ‘You’ll find out.’
He followed the Kid through the door.
IN THE TOWN’S central park water splashed and kids screamed.
Children ran around screaming their heads off, delighted in the sun and spring warmth. The park was crowded; it was a busy Saturday. A troop of Cub Scouts jogged by. Principal Otis watched them furtively from a bench. On a hill by some bushes, Styles and Trickman watched Principal Otis.
They both wore severe dark suits and sunglasses. They looked mean and official and cheap.
Styles gestured. ‘Saturday afternoon in the park with Phineas. When are you going to make a move, Phineas?’
Trickman sniffed and looked behind them. ‘I smell barbecue.’
‘You look like a Secret Service thug in that getup.’
‘Same to you, FBI goon,’ Trickman shot back.
‘I still can’t believe you shaved.’
‘And, I had onions and peppers for a snack from one of the vendors.’
‘God, Trickman.’
‘Hey, I gotta have some defense against that perfume your use.’
‘Shut up – our Phineas is taking off. And it’s cologne, Garlic Breath.’
‘Call a rose a rose. And shut up yourself.’
Styles stood up. ‘Let’s go.’
LATE IN THE AFTERNOON, the sunlight turned Principal Otis’ white house gold. Tommy was inside.
He stood in the back hall. He still felt woozy from Miss Quinn’s Jelly. He had to lean against the wall to keep from falling. How long was this going to last? Through one door he saw into a dim, shuttered room. A lamp burned on the desk. Papers rifled through the desk drawers.
The Professor searched the kitchen. Eddie stood at the window of the living room. He was playing with a shaft of golden sunlight. He stuck his hand in it.
From the kitchen, the Professor called, ‘Eddie? You okay?’
‘Professor, what is it about sunset?’
‘What do you mean, Eddie?’
‘I don’t know. It’s just, when the sun goes down, it kind of gives me shivers.’
The Professor looked out the kitchen window. ‘Night’s coming. God, the night is an evil place.’
THE RED SUN bled in the west.
The red light slanted across the living room. Tommy stood very still and watched it. The Kid had gone into the kitchen with the Professor. Papers was going over the bedroom now. Tommy moved into the empty living room. Absently he scratched his arm.
The living room was ordinary. TV, stereo, sofa, chairs, bookcase. Tommy quietly shut both doors. He leaned against the wall. He was sweating. He breathed hard. His fingers clawed at the wall.
Up and down his forearms rippled little bumps.
Tommy choked. He whispered fiercely, ‘No! Not here! Not now!’
TRICKMAN shoved a hot dog into his face. It left onions and sauerkraut and mustard on his face. Already his beard was showing.
Styles looked away in disgust.
The late afternoon sunset gilded the park. The light was golden and mild here, not bloody, not sick or dirty or wicked.
Some athletic young men were playing basketball. The ball squibbed away from them and landed by Principal Otis’ shoes. As Principal Otis picked up the ball, a young athlete ran up. He was shirtless and his sweaty dark chest gleamed. He stopped before Principal Otis.
‘It’s mine,’ the tall boy said.
Principal Otis seemed struck dumb by the boy’s beauty. He flipped him the ball. The athlete grinned and ran back to the game. Principal Otis looked away.
Across the basketball court, Styles was watching. Principal Otis moved away.
Trickman picked bits of onion off his chin and popped them in his mouth. ‘What’s up with our boy now?’
‘It seems,’ said Styles, ‘that being a Crawler is not Principal Phineas Otis’ only vice. It seems he also likes to use young boys for his feedings.’
Trickman belched.
IN THE KITCHEN a casserole smashed on the floor. Tommy leaned against the living room door.
Through the door he could hear the Kid starting to mutter and shake.
He heard the Professor’s voice asking, ‘Eddie – what is it? What’s wrong?’
The Kid whispered. Tommy could barely hear him. ‘Professor – the Thing – it’s here – it’s in the house!’
The Professor’s voice said, ‘Eddie, we saw it leave. How could it get back in?’
‘It’s here! It’s right over in there! Why don’t you believe me?’
‘All right, Eddie. Stay calm. Where is it?’
‘There! There – in the living room!’
Tommy stuck frozen to the wall. The bumps on his arms and neck were back. They were growing bigger than ever. His whole body seemed awake and alive, tingling with pain that felt somehow wonderful.
From far away he heard the Professor’s voice. ‘Papers! Tommy! You hear? The Thing is in the house!’
‘Yes, Professor!’ answered Papers’ voice. ‘I hear you!’
‘In the living room! Tommy, do you hear me?’
‘This way,’ squeaked Eddie’s voice, ‘here, here!’
Tommy looked around. The window was no good, they were all nailed and painted shut. Besides, he didn’t feel like going out into the light. But there below his feet, in the floor, was a grill. A grill like the one outside the house.
THERE WERE SOME VENDORS next to the central fountain in the park.
Some young men were buying ice cream cones. Principal Otis handed across a bill for a cone. He stared at the young men.
Around the corner of the stand Trickman appeared, scowling. Principal Otis moved away.
The ice cream man shouted after Principal Otis, ‘Hey, man – your cone!’
A FAMILIAR click focused Tommy back inside the house. He heard the sounds but he couldn’t see anything – everything was black around him. He smelled dirt and must and mold clinging to him, choking him.
Again the click came as Papers cocked his Burner at the living room door.
In the kitchen, the Professor had his Burner out as well. He stood at one of the two doors to the living room and Papers was at the other. The Professor gestured to the Kid.
‘Eddie, stand over there. Tommy! Tommy, are you all right?’
Papers called out, ‘I’m ready, Puh-Professor!’
‘Then go!’
Papers and the Professor burst into the room from either end, Burners ready. But the room was empty.
Papers blinked and looked around. He pushed his glasses back up the bridge of his nose. ‘What?’
‘Nothing,’ the Professor said. ‘There’s nothing here.’
The Kid, in the doorway behind the Professor, pointed. ‘There! There! That’s where it went!’
He was pointing at the grill lying on the rug by a black opening in the floor.
THAT WAS where he was. With the knowledge came sight. He lay in the crawlspace underneath the house.
Half human, half Thing, he scuttled across the dirt. Over his head the floor creaked with the men’s shoes.
He heard Papers’ voice say, ‘It must have slipped into the cuh, crawlspace under the house.’
‘But Tommy!’ said the Professor’s voice. ‘Where is he? Tommy! Tommy, can you hear me?’
Tommy kept on crawling. Far away he could make out a square of light – the grill opening onto freedom.
DOWNTOWN next to the park, Principal Otis walked across a parking lot. He glanced over his shoulder. At one end Trickman was coming. At the other end – Styles. Principal Otis climbed in his Volvo.
Trickman and Styles watched Principal Otis drive away.
‘Why, Phineas,’ Styles joked. ‘Leaving so soon?’
‘He’s bacon now, frying on the pan,’ Trickman said. ‘Better call the Professor.’
Styles shook his head. ‘Let’s stay on the rabbit’s tail.’
Trickman gazed longingly back at the fountain. ‘Can’t we get an ice cream first?’
‘No.’
‘Man, don’t you ever get hungry?’
TOMMY – the being that was half-Tommy and half-Thing – looked back. He could see something move in the opening he had squeezed through. It was the Kid’s face.
The Kid was kneeling over the opening, staring down into it. Smelling it. Tommy knew what the Kid was smelling. He was smelling it himself, all over and out of himself.
It didn’t smell bad to him now. It smelled rich and wonderful, fresh and sweet like Miss Quinn’s smell, only male, not female.
‘Professor!’ the Kid’s voice cried out. ‘The Thing – it’s going – that way!’
His hand, trailing tentacles, scrabbled at the support boards, pulling him closer to the outside grill.
He heard the Professor’s voice. ‘It’s going for the grill we saw outside. It can get out that way!’
The light from the outside grill was fading, going away. He was losing it.
