(A sample from Crawlspace.)
© 2009 asotir.
This work is licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 License.
7:30 PM
Briggsville High
DRUMS beat a primitive dirge. The drummers wore masks and robes. On center stage one man knelt on the floor, in torn robes, almost naked. He was Andrew, playing Oedipus. He recited some lines.
‘No, let me be a dweller on the hills,
On yonder mount Cithaeron, famed as mine,
My tomb predestined for me by my sire
And mother, while they lived, that I may die
Slain as they sought to slay me, when alive.’
Agnes sat by Angeline. Angeline passed her program to Agnes: by Andrew’s name she had drawn:
♥ ♥ ♥
TOMMY entered in the back and looked for Agnes. He passed a tall black man who was staring raptly at the stage as Andrew exited.
The tall man looked like he was in his late 40’s. He wore a tight, too-conservative suit, bow tie, carnation. There was something shifty about him. But maybe Tommy was just suspicious of everybody. Being on the Team was like that. But Tommy didn’t smell the stink or feel any prickling from the man in the suit. He walked past Tommy out into the hall.
The Man in the Suit walked down the empty hall. Halfway down he neared a classroom whose door was marked with a paper sign:
Dressing Room – Cast Only! No Peeking!
The Man in the Suit shifted the door ajar and looked inside.
Andrew sat at the makeup table and peeled away his makeup. From the shadows of the wardrobe racks, Miss Quinn emerged and started to rub his shoulders.
Andrew basked in the shoulder rub and groaned in contentment. ‘I was good tonight. Even you have to admit it. They were eating out of my hand.’
Miss Quinn bent close and murmured into his ear. ‘Yes. You were delicious. Irresistible, even.’
OUT IN THE HALL, the Man in the Suit deflated. Disappointment showed on his face. He moved away from the door and walked back up the hall.
IN THE MAKESHIFT DRESSING ROOM, Andrew looked in the mirror at Miss Quinn’s face. Her hand lay on his bare shoulder. He put his hand on hers.
‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘I was okay…’
She pulled her hand back. Andrew looked at his hand – at the Jelly sticking there—
He looked in the mirror – at the Thing reflected there—
BACK IN THE AUDITORIUM, Tommy started. He felt sick. Something was happening – he could feel it. He leaned against the back wall.
What was it? What was happening? He checked for the stink and the prickles. Nothing. But something bad was going on.
Up on stage, the Chorus of Drummers was led by a tall gangly boy who looked very nervous. A born clown trying to play it straight. He gave his lines in a nasal whiny voice.
‘Wait till life ends ere thou count one mortal blest;
Wait till freed from pain, he gains his final rest.’
They stopped drumming. The lights went out. Applause crashed over the dark auditorium. Then the house lights came up, and the cast came back on stage.
Angeline rose on tiptoes to see over the jocks in front of them. ‘Where’s Andrew? Why didn’t he come for his bows?’
Agnes was trying to see through the jocks too. She frowned. ‘I don’t know!’
Miss Quinn was standing beside Agnes.
‘Miss Quinn! Where’s Andrew?’
Miss Quinn widened her eyes. ‘You mean he’s not here? You better go get him. This is his shining hour!’
‘Come on, Angie.’
But Angeline shook her head, suddenly seeming shy. ‘I’ll wait here.’
Tommy moved against the streams of the crowds leaving. He saw Agnes go out the side door. She didn’t seem to notice him. He pushed out into the hall, and looked over the crowd. He caught just a glimpse of Agnes down the hall. She was fighting her way to the dressing room door. Then she went in and he lost her.
AGNES pushed the door open and entered the room. It was empty. On the door was a mirror.
‘Excuse me?’ she called. ‘Andrewz?’
In the mirror as the door opened she glimpsed the makeup table – splashed with blood, and all the rest.
Agnes opened her mouth but her scream was drowned in the wail of sirens.
9:13 PM
Briggsville High
ANOTHER POLICE CRUISER screamed into the school parking lot. Crowds gathered outside the school. At one end the Team had gathered.
Trickman belched. ‘Think it was one of them?’
Styles sneered. ‘Not every murder is committed by them.’
‘I know that, smart ass.’
The Professor turned to Tommy. ‘Tommy. You saw the end of the performance. Did you get a Trace on one of them?’
Tommy looked away. He was still having those bad feelings even though the worst of it was over. He shook his head and dodged the Professor’s gaze. ‘There were a lot of people there.’ The truth was he still didn’t know what had happened. Was it a Crawler, or not? Every bit of his training told him No. But something in his gut said Yes.
He breathed in. He wanted to smell the stink again. At least he’d be sure that way. But he didn’t smell anything like it.
‘Well,’ the Professor said, ‘you’re about the age of these youngsters. Think you could blend in and get us more information?’
‘I’ll try, Professor.’
Far beyond the crowds, he could see Miss Quinn move back inside the building. He headed after her.
Behind him he could hear the voices of the Team. They carried back to him quite clearly, in spite of the other voices and the sirens and shouts from the cops. It was Trickman’s voice that said, ‘Don’t they usually have parties after these school play jobs? With food, and stuff?’
‘So what?’ Styles said.
‘Nothing. Just wondering.’
TOMMY closed the door to the building. The hall before him was empty. Tommy moved down it. Hand-made signs drew his eye:
Cheerleading Squad Tryouts
Hall Passes Required during all Class Periods
French Club meeting
Beat Luther Hills!
To Tommy, the signs were from another world.
‘Tommy!’ Miss Quinn’s voice sounded right next to him.
He started. Miss Quinn was a dark shape in the bright doorway to a classroom. He saw it was the Science Lab from the dreams he had in the car.
‘What are you doing here?’ she asked.
‘Miss Quinn. I was looking for Agnes.’
‘You’d better come in.’
Tommy hesitated.
Miss Quinn arched her eyebrow. It almost looked like she was laughing at him. ‘Well?’
He followed her into the Science Lab.
OUTSIDE, the Man in the Suit talked to the policemen beyond the crowds. He looked shaken, nervous.
Styles pointed at him.
‘That one.’
Trickman snorted. ‘Who? You mean the Vice-Principal type?’
Papers consulted a sheet of paper. ‘Puh, Principal Phineas Otis.’
Styles snickered. ‘Phineas. What kind of name is that? Phineas.’
Trickman grinned. ‘Yeah, like Otis wasn’t bad enough.’
‘Definitely something sneaky about him. I’ll pin the tail on that donkey,’ Styles said. ‘Okay, Professor?’
‘We don’t know anything yet.’
‘We might dis, discover something,’ Papers said.
Styles asked the Professor, ‘How many Crawler incidents did you say they had here?’
‘Incidents that look like they involve Crawlers.’
‘Styles is right, Professor,’ Trickman said. ‘Or what else are we doing here? My stomach’s growling.’
‘What else is new, big gut?’
‘All right,’ the Professor said. ‘But be discreet.’
Trickman grinned. ‘Hot dog!’
They split up. The Professor stood alone.
He looked over the school buildings. The crowds of students and parents were thinner and the buildings stood bare in the moonlight. The Professor shuddered and moved away.
A basketball lay by a puddle of rainwater shining with the stars. The Professor picked it up, bounced it. The sound echoed off the buildings.
On their edges – against the sky – black shapes crawled down the bricks. Like huge cockroaches crawling down, leaving faint slimy trails—
The Professor froze – looked around—
The black shapes melted back into bricks and windows. On the edge of one building, one black shape stopped still – quivering. It was no bigger than a beetle. Its antenna twitched.
MISS QUINN walked to the table in the middle of the science lab, to the cases and jars of the insect display. It was just like Tommy had imagined it.
‘Come on in, Tommy. Agnes, you have a visitor.’
Agnes was sitting on her stool in back. Angeline sat beside her. Tommy went over to her and Agnes clung to him.
‘Agnes. Hey.’
‘Tommy…’
‘You okay?’
‘Tommy – Andrew…’
‘Yeah. Shhh.’
Miss Quinn looked up from her desk. ‘Feeling better, dear?’
She filled a beaker with water at a sink. She took some pills out of her purse.
‘Take these.’
Tommy looked from Agnes and Miss Quinn to Angeline. It felt really awkward: as if he knew her, only he’d never spoken to her before. As if he’d been spying on her. He blushed, thinking about the notes in the lab book. But Angeline didn’t seem embarrassed at all. She stuck out her hand. ‘Hi, I’m Angeline.’
Tommy shook with her. ‘Tommy.’
‘I know.’
Miss Quinn drifted past the displays. They were all there – all the bugs in the jars.
‘Did you ever think about these, Agnes? Angeline? Tommy?’
Agnes turned a ring in her hand.
Angeline asked, ‘Is that Andrew’s ring?’
‘Uh-huh.’
Miss Quinn went on lecturing. ‘Notice the variety. All different, yet somehow all alike.’ It was like class again. Tommy stood next to Agnes and her friend and felt his attention split between them. ‘Ants, mantises, flies, beetles – insects have been toiling and struggling for 300 million years.’
Something about what Miss Quinn was saying sounded important, vitally important. But he could smell the scent Agnes was wearing. He looked at the little hairs curling on her nape.
Agnes whispered to Angeline, ‘The police let me keep it. It was the only way I could – recognize him. The rest – the rest—’
‘Even now,’ Miss Quinn went on, ‘insects outnumber people on a vast scale. Scientists don’t even dare speculate how many insects there might be in the world. The numbers are so enormous, they’re meaningless.’
Agnes was starting to sob. ‘But, who could have done it? Why?’
‘There are about 4,000,000 insects in one acre of farmland outside town. Four million insects in every acre, hunted and poisoned and slaughtered at every turn. What do you think our little problems seem like, compared with all those savage millennia and all those pitiless trillions?’
Tommy couldn’t stand it any more. ‘Miss Quinn, stop it!’
Agnes was shuddering. Tommy felt mad – really mad for the first time he could ever recall. Miss Quinn smiled.
‘Yes. You’re right. Come on.’
‘Where?’
‘We’re taking Agnes home.’
Tommy felt something like a warning. He knew he shouldn’t go with them. ‘I should check with the Professor—’
‘Agnes, wouldn’t you like Tommy to come with us? Or would you rather be alone tonight?’
‘Alone? No, I don’t … I mean … I mean, we were going to have a party after the play. And it’s your birthday…’
Tommy looked Agnes in the eye. Even with her makeup smeared with crying, and her nose red and runny, she was the most beautiful girl he could imagine.
He heard himself saying, ‘I’ll come.’
He looked down. Her hand, pale and small, squeezed his.
He felt the knot get tight in his pants again.
