(A sample from Crawlspace.)
© 2009 asotir.
This work is licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 License.
10:21 PM
Renfield House
TOMMY looked back up from Agnes’ hand.
They were sitting on the edge of her bed. Her room was small and pink and girly-mad, with posters of dark Romantic paintings and basketball players. Agnes lay in bed in a cotton floral nightdress, looking beautiful and dreamy-sleepy.
‘Tommy?’
‘What?’
‘Nothing. I’m glad you’re here, that’s all.’
He looked at the window. It was so dark outside. It must be deep into Crawler hours. ‘I ought to be going. It’s late…’
‘Stay until I fall asleep. Okay?’
‘Okay.’
‘Okay.’
‘So … this is what your room looks like.’
‘What did you expect?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Didn’t you ever have a home of your own?’
‘I grew up in institutions. It was like jail. When the Professor came and tested me, and my score turned out so high, I grabbed at the chance.’
‘And you just travel the country making polls? And you get paid?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Wow, what a cool job.’
‘The Professor, he says I have a gift.’
‘A gift for what?’
‘Huh?’
‘A gift for what?’
Tommy suddenly realized what he was saying. He had been about to tell her everything about the Team, all the things nobody ever could tell. ‘I don’t know. They like having me around, I guess.’
‘Fine, keep your secrets.’
She rolled over and something fell to the floor. Tommy picked it up. It was Andrew’s ring.
Tommy handed it back to her. ‘You dropped it.’
When she saw the ring, Agnes forgot her pretend anger. All the grief and sorrow blushed back over her face again. ‘Oh.’ The sight hurt Tommy to the quick.
He slipped the ring on her finger. ‘You won’t drop it now.’
She looked at it. Then her big, sad eyes swam up to his. It was almost like they were engaged now, married even. He scratched at his collar.
‘Tommy – what’s that?’
She opened his collar and bared some of the skin. He knew she was staring at one of the small bright wounds the Professor’s needle left.
He put up his collar. ‘It’s not anything.’
‘No, really – were you vaccinated or something?’
‘No. Leave it.’
‘Tommy, are you a junkie?’
He looked at her. She was serious. He smiled and they both started laughing. She could laugh even through tears. Tommy didn’t know how he kept from jumping her right then.
Agnes giggled. ‘Yeah, I can really see you with a needle, shooting up.’
‘You never know…’
‘I know. I know you, Tommy. I know your secret.’
Tommy felt cold again. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Your secrets. I know them. Doesn’t it seem like we’ve known each other for a long time? More than a day.’
‘Almost two days.’
‘Seems like years.’
‘I guess.’
‘Read me to sleep.’
‘The Eve of St. Agnes. Don’t you ever get tired of this?’
‘Shut up and read.’
Tommy opened the book to a page somewhere in the middle.
Into her dream he melted, as the rose
Blendeth its odour with the violet,
Solution sweet: meantime the frost-wind blows;
Like Love’s alarum patters the sharp sleet
Against the window-panes; St. Agnes’ moon hath set.
He stopped reading. Agnes lay asleep beside him. Under her chin her nightdress hung open and the soft curve of her breast rose and fell … and he could see the darker spot of her nipple rub against the cloth…
Tommy gasped.
WATER was swirling down a white porcelain sink.
Tommy was rinsing his face. He was looking at himself in the mirror. He was scratching his neck. The skin was flaking off, showing brown rough barklike scales. Something was racing under the skin of his forearm. Bumps were starting to form.
‘No. Stop it. Stop!’
He clamped his hands over the spots. The bumps subsided. Tommy leaned against the wall, his face and arms bloody.
In the sink, drops of red blood were swirling down the drain.
DOWNSTAIRS, the living room was all set up for the canceled party. The Renfield house was small and poor but tried to be respectable. The walls were decorated with streamers and balloons and banners:
Party! Party! Party!
Angeline swayed over the stereo. Trance music played, pulsing, deep, amorous.
Angeline swayed with it. ‘Mrs Renfield must still be waitressing at the club.’
Miss Quinn sipped her punch and said, ‘They probably haven’t even called her yet. Maybe it’s better to get news like this in the morning.’
‘I guess,’ Angeline said. ‘Hey, Tommy, how’s Agnes?’
Tommy came downstairs. He still felt shaken from the nightmare. He tried to sound normal. But he was starting to wonder if he would ever be normal again.
‘She’s asleep.’
Angeline frowned. ‘You okay?’
Miss Quinn moved between them. ‘How do you like your birthday party, Tommy?’
Tommy sat down on the couch. He looked at his forearm. Scratched at it.
‘I never had a birthday party before.’
‘Never?’ Angeline scoffed. ‘You’ve got to be kidding.’
‘I never missed them. The Professor is pretty serious.’
Miss Quinn said ‘Your Professor sounds like a serious bore.’
Miss Quinn handed Angeline a drink out of the punchbowl.
Angeline sipped with delight. ‘Mmm, yummy!’
Miss Quinn poured another. ‘Tommy.’
‘No, I shouldn’t, Miss Quinn. I mean—’
‘Oh, Tommy, go ahead!’ Angeline said. ‘It’s good! Party up!’
Miss Quinn pressed the cup into his hand. ‘It’s only a drink, Tommy. What are you afraid of?’
Tommy tasted the punch. It was sick and sweet but underneath the juices he could taste something bitter and biting. There was something real strong in the punch, something like the Professor had always told him was bad for him.
THE SCHOOL PARKING LOT was almost empty now. The cruisers had gone. The school was dark and closed.
Principal Otis unlocked his Volvo. The guys of the Team watched him.
Styles nodded. ‘He’s the one.’
The Professor said, ‘Don’t judge him yet. We haven’t heard what Tommy has to say.’
Trickman seemed to agree with Styles for a change. ‘It was a Crawler did the kid, all right. What else would have made that kind of a mess outside of a meat tenderizer?’
Papers shook his head. ‘If only Tuh, Tommy were here. He’s the one with the, the gift.’
‘Well, with this one,’ Styles said, ‘you can take my word for it.’
Trickman looked around. ‘Where is Tommy, anyway?’
‘You know how tired he gets. Puh, probably he got a ride back to the motel.’
The Professor frowned. ‘I hope so.’
MISS QUINN smiled at Tommy. It was an arch, knowing smile.
Suddenly he realized they were alone together, just him and Miss Quinn. The room had been set up for a big party with lots of bottles of soda and bowls with chips and dip. But after what happened at school, the parents must have all taken their kids back home.
He looked at Miss Quinn again. Could she be–? But no, it was impossible. He didn’t smell the stink from her. His skin wasn’t prickling at all. She couldn’t be … one of Them.
Angeline burst out of the kitchen with a cake written with icing:
Tommy – happy 16!
‘Voilá! Aggie made it for you, Tommy. Doesn’t it look scrumptious? Blow and make a wish!’
He bent over the cake on the table. He felt like a dork, but he blew the candles out anyway. All of them.
Angeline cheered. ‘You get your wish now.’
Miss Quinn said, close to his ear, ‘What did you wish for, Tommy?’
‘Come on, dig in!’ Angeline said. ‘Oh, darn it, I forgot the forks.’
‘Well, we won’t let that stop us.’ Miss Quinn took a piece of cake and offered it to Angeline. Angeline licked the cake out of Miss Quinn’s hand. The frosting smeared her mouth.
She giggled. ‘Now I’m a mess!’
‘I’ll fix that. Stand still, stop dancing,’ Miss Quinn ordered. She daubed the frosting off Angeline’s mouth and licked her fingers clean.
Angeline swayed and leaned back. She took another big gulp of punch. Tommy realized that Angeline was seriously smashed. ‘I love parties! All the time I have to diet and watch myself. A party’s my only chance to kick loose and live.’
Miss Quinn smiled indulgently. ‘Go ahead, Angeline. Take as much as you want.’
‘I have to dance, Miss Quinn. I have to! Aggie and I dance together a lot, boys never like to dance, that’s why us girls have to dance with each other all the time.’
Miss Quinn started swaying and dancing with Angeline to the beat. ‘Boys can be so boring sometimes. Girls are much more fun. Don’t you think so, Tommy?’
Tommy was sitting on the couch. He didn’t answer her. He barely heard her. He clamped his fist over his forearm. Little bumps were bubbling there.
Miss Quinn sat down next to him. ‘Tommy, are you all right? You seem upset.’
‘Miss Quinn, don’t you ever get scared? Of the things you could do?’
‘Tommy, that’s normal. Everybody feels that way one time or another.’
‘Really?’
‘Really. Even your Professor.’
Miss Quinn seemed like she took Tommy seriously. He relaxed and sipped at his drink. Miss Quinn leaned in closer.
‘Taste good?’
‘Uh-huh. Like pop. Only, there’s something else—’
‘Have another cup.’
Tommy took it and drank a little. He could feel the music Angeline was dancing to. It was in his bloodstream sort of. ‘I like talking to you, Miss Quinn. I feel safe with you.’
‘That’s the way I want it.’
Angeline moved right in front of him. She reached down with both arms even though both hands had half-empty punch cups in them. ‘Tommy, get up and dance with me!’
‘I don’t know how.’
Miss Quinn slid up off the couch. ‘I’ll dance with you, Angeline.’
Miss Quinn danced with Angeline. Tommy drank his drink.
‘There’s liquor in the punch,’ he said, and it sounded stupid even to him. Somehow he didn’t care. ‘I never drank liquor before. Did I tell you that?’
Angeline leaned back her head so her hair fell down her back. ‘Never? Didn’t you want to? I love it, it makes me feel so shuddery all over, like I could – I don’t know what!’
Miss Quinn said, ‘I know.’
Tommy leaned back on the couch. He closed his eyes… He heard the two of them talking. First it was Miss Quinn’s voice. ‘Tommy, wake up. Don’t you want to see?’
He opened his eyes. Angeline was dancing in Miss Quinn’s arms. On the back of Miss Quinn’s arms, little bumps were forming.
‘I want you to see,’ Miss Quinn said.
Tommy’s head was swimming. He didn’t know what he was looking at. But something was urging him. He had to warn Angeline. ‘Angeline … don’t … look…’
But he could barely hear his own voice. He tried again. ‘Angeline – don’t – look—’
Miss Quinn’s body sprouted a thousand arms. It was Changing – like the Man from the Motel – into a Thing like a centipede, like a cocoon, like a cockroach. It was crazy, it made no sense—
Tommy lunged forward but he was too drunk and tripped on the coffee table and sprawled on the floor. He lay there, stupid, drooling on the carpet and looking up at a crazy angle. Everything was turning around, it felt like the floor was moving under him.
A thousand insect arms and probes drove into Angeline’s body – sucking blood and fluids. Blood coursed through yellow translucent tubes – Angeline’s body crumpled inward. A thing like a Scorpion’s tail curled round from the Thing and dug into Angeline’s body cavity—
THE DOOR to Room No. 9 opened. The Team came in through the door.
The Professor called, ‘Tommy? Tommy?’
‘I hope the buh, boy’s all right,’ Papers said.
Trickman looked more than worried. He looked mad. ‘He better be, pal.’
The Professor came back out of the bathroom. He shook his head. ‘We better go back to the school.’
Styles asked, ‘You don’t think one of the Crawlers got him, do you?’
TOMMY staggered to his feet. He looked down.
Beside his feet were Miss Quinn’s clothes, or what was left of them after she had Changed and torn free. Just in front of his left shoe lay her silk lace underpants.
The Thing was huddling over Angeline’s remains. It shifted back into the form of Miss Quinn – nude, slimy with gobs of Jelly over her. She looked back and gave Tommy a wicked grin. She held got a gob of Jelly in her hand. She licked at it.
Tommy moved past her – to the door – but it was locked.
Miss Quinn’s voice called from the living room. ‘Wait. Tommy, wait!’
He looked back from the hall. She pulled the table cloth over her body. She rose and stretched, satisfied, the table cloth draped over the shape of her naked body. She looked almost human.
‘I’ll take you back,’ she said.
She held out her hand. He took it.
