(A sample from Crawlspace.)
© 2009 asotir.
This work is licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 License.
8:25 PM
Bright Dayz Motel
TOMMY tossed and shouted in the small cot. The Professor held him down. Papers snapped on the light.
The Professor barked into his face: ‘Tommy! Tommy! Wake up!’
Tommy opened his eyes. He saw the Professor and calmed down. There was a knock at the door and Papers let in Styles and Trickman. Trickman had his Burner.
Styles asked, ‘What’s up? What was that shouting?’
‘Tommy had a ni, nightmare.’
Trickman uncocked the gun. ‘Shit kid, is that all?’
The Professor still held him down. ‘It was only another bad dream, Tommy. All right?’
Tommy nodded. The Professor got off him and Tommy sat up. He felt his arms and face. The Professor offered him a glass and three of the yellow pills.
‘Take these. Just to be safe.’
Trickman looked at the milk. ‘You got any more of that?’
Tommy swallowed the pills and half the milk. He handed the glass to Trickman.
Trickman tipped the glass to him. ‘Thanks, pal.’
Tommy felt a surge of nausea. It was the usual reaction to the pills. But this time there was a buzzing in his head, too. It felt like it was about to turn into a nasty headache.
‘Right,’ the Professor said. ‘That’s enough excitement for tonight.’
Trickman and Styles left. Papers locked the door and wedged a chair under it and went back to bed. Tommy went into the bathroom. As he was shutting the door, he looked back out into the room and saw the Professor watching him.
He didn’t close the door all the way. Safer to leave it half open.
In the open bathroom Tommy felt his face and arms – felt them for the telltale bumps.
What happened? He’d been dreaming. He must’ve had a bad nightmare. He must’ve been screaming in his sleep again. But what was the dream? What time was it anyway? Dark already, maybe even way after dark. Crawler time. The last thing he could remember was going out of the motel room. He stood and watched the traffic on the interstate. There was a gnarled old tree. Where had he been in the meantime? What had he been doing?
He called back into the room: ‘Professor, what happened tonight?’ He snuck a look – sure enough the Professor was still studying him.
‘Tonight? You went for a walk. Came back before dark.’
‘Was there anyone with me? I mean, a girl?’
A girl. Yes. Wasn’t there a girl? Or was that part of the dream?
‘Trickman and Styles kept watch as usual. They didn’t report anyone.’
In the mirror Tommy’s cheek turned dark; bumps raced under his forearms. He clamped his hands over them – closed his eyes – opened them again. Nothing. Normal.
‘No girl?’
‘Not even a puppy.’
Tommy came back out. He sat on the cot. Vaguely he noticed that it seemed small. Was this just a small one, or was he growing?
‘I imagined it,’ he said. ‘It was a dream.’
‘A nightmare.’
The headache was worse. He hated those pills. He’d never realized it before.
‘Tommy, how does it feel to you, when you’re close on the track of one of the Things? Does it still feel as bad as ever? As painful?’
‘Even worse, Professor.’
‘Oh?’
Right away from the way the Professor’s face changed, Tommy knew he’d answered wrong. Should he have told the truth and said it was easier to take now? Even admit the secret stab of pleasure he sometimes felt? No, that couldn’t be right. He figured he better take it back. Safest way was the old way.
‘No, Professor, I’m just kidding. It feels the same, really. I really couldn’t say if there was any difference from the way it always was. I mean, it’s bad but it’s not worse.’
‘Not too much for you, then?’
‘Oh no, Professor. I can stand it. I mean, for the Team. How else could we trace the Things?’
The Professor nodded but Tommy didn’t like the way the Professor kept on looking at him. It was like little math problems were going on in the Professor’s head.
Tommy picked up one of his books, the home schooling texts the Professor made him read. For a long time he could feel the Professor’s eyes on him. It was tough not to look up. He felt hot, cold, hot. At last he heard the Professor turned in his chair. The beat of the look left him.
Man, that was a close call. Got to be more careful. But careful of what? The Professor was a nice guy, after all. He was the closest Tommy ever had to a father. What’s the problem if the Professor knew Tommy felt – those feelings? The Professor wouldn’t hurt him. Maybe the Professor could even help.
But no. The Professor’s kind of help, if it came, would be more pills, or maybe some worse kind of medicine to make the feeling seem bad again. And Tommy really didn’t want to give up those new feelings, the ones that crept up under the nausea and the pain, the ones that felt strangely, wickedly good, the smells that were bad but somehow irresistible. Maybe Tommy would have to give them up, or maybe he could control them all on his own. But he didn’t want to have to take more pills now. He didn’t like pills. The truth was it was the pills were starting to taste nastier, and now if they were going to give him these headaches– No, he didn’t want to have to take any more pills.
Tommy shut the book and pulled out a pack of green cards. Somehow he managed a grin, but it felt weak on his mouth.
‘Play some gin, Professor? I’ll give you a chance to catch up.’
‘Not tonight, Tommy. Think you can sleep now?’
‘I guess so. The pills help. Thanks, Professor.’
‘Good night, Tommy.’
‘Night, Professor.’
The Professor sat at the desk and wrote in his journal. Tommy lay in his cot. He stared at the ceiling.
‘Professor?’
‘Yes, Tommy?’
‘How did you find out about the Crawlers? I mean, how was it you first got to learn about them?’
The Professor half turned in the chair. A funny sort of look came over his face like Tommy had never seen before. ‘I was alone with my studies. A bachelor. And I fell in love with one of my students. Alicia. She was bright and full of life. On the night before our wedding, she was at her final fitting. A Crawler got to her.’
The Professor wiped his brow. His eyes looked like torture. He stood up and paced the room.
‘I found her in the morning. What was left of her. In her bridal gown. It looked like one of those serial murders you hear about. It was later that the Director found me. He told me the truth. And that’s how I discovered that there are such things as Crawlers in the world.’
The Professor stood over the cot. Tommy closed his eyes. The Professor leaned over and tucked him in.
‘That’s right, Tommy. Sleep. Sleep, and wash your mind clean of nightmares…’
Tommy lay quietly. He made out like he was asleep, but his thoughts were turning over and over. He thought about the girl he’d dreamed about. What was her name. Agnes.
He saw her again, leaning in to kiss him. He felt her body tight against his. Somewhere in back of it he heard the Professor dialing his cellphone:
‘Hello? This is the Professor. Yes. Put me through, please. Hello? It’s about Tommy.’
Tommy didn’t want to leave Agnes. He wanted to go on kissing her. But as his shorts got tight again, he rolled over to ease the pressure and his eyes opened half way, enough to see the Professor lift out of a drawer the little leather case with the orange ampules and hypodermic needle.
‘Yes. He’ll be 16 soon. That age… Twenty-three doses so far. But he should be good for another seven at least. And yet I’m afraid it might be happening to him already.’
The Professor put the needle back and looked back at the cot. Tommy shut his eyes fast but he was all ears, listening with dread.
The Professor said, ‘We’ll watch him. But we’ll need another Tracer soon. Tommy? That’s all right. We’ll take care of him.’
