to go into the adult film industry instead.
CHAPTER 2
The Thing in John’s Apartment
DARKNESS AND WARMTH . And then, an all-beep rendition of “La Cucaracha.”
My cell phone. I peeled my eyes open. Bedroom. Nighttime. My floor looked like a Laundromat explosion. Magazines here and there, overflowing trash can. Just as I had left it.
Beepbeepbeep BEEP, BEEP. Beepbeepbeep BEEP, BEEP. BEEPBEEPBEEPBEEPBEEP—
My hand managed to knock over every single object on my nightstand before it found the cell phone. I squinted at my clock, now lying helpless on the floor. Quarter after 5 A.M. I had to be at work in less than two hours.
“Hello?”
“David? It’s John. Where are you?”
Voice scratchy, breathing heavier than he should be. Like a man just after a fistfight.
“I’m in bed. Where am I supposed to be?”
Long pause.
“Is this the first time I’ve called tonight?”
I sat straight up, fully awake now.
“John? What’s going on?”
“I can’t get out of my apartment, Dave.”
“What?”
“I’m scared, man. I mean it.”
“What are you scared of?”
“It can’t be real, Dave. It can’t. The way it moves, the way it’s made . . . this is not a product of any kind of evolution or anything. It’s not real. No. But it still managed to bite me.”
What?!?
“What?”
“Can you come over?”
One time, John wound up in the hospital after he blacked out behind the wheel of his car. He wasn’t moving at the time, thank God, but was in line at a Wendy’s drive-through. This was after five sleepless and foodless days of vodka and some combination of household chemicals he was using for speed. I didn’t know about it until a week later because he didn’t tell me, knowing I would have kicked his ass right there in the hospital.
But I told him if he ever got into that kind of trouble again without telling me I would not only kick his ass, but would in fact beat him until he died, then pursue him into the afterlife and beat his eternal soul. So John being spaced out on crank or crack or skank tonight wasn’t reason to declare a national holiday, but at least he came to me this time.
I said, “I’ll be there in twelve minutes.”
I hung up, pulled on some clothes I found draped over a chair, almost killed myself tripping over Molly the dog curled up in the doorway. I went out the front door with the dog in tow. It was raining again now, fat drops of April ice water that tingled down the back of my shirt as I ducked into my car. I was halfway to his building when my phone sang again. John’s number popped up on the glowing display.
“Yeah, John. You okay?”
“Dave, I’m sorry to wake you up. I got a problem and I need you to listen—”
“John, I’m on my way over. You called me five minutes ago, remember?”
“What? No, David. Stay away. There’s somethin’ in here with me. I can’t explain it. I don’t think it’ll kill me, it seems to just want to keep me here. Now, I need you to go to Las Vegas. Contact a man named—”
“John, just calm down. You’re not making sense. I want you to sit down somewhere, try to chill out. Nothin’ you’re seeing is real.”
A pause, then John asked, “How do I know this is really you?”
“You’ll know in just a few minutes. I’m comin’ up on your block now. Just chill, like I said. John?”
Nobody there. I sped up, rain drumming the windshield and boiling up into puddles on the passing pavement.
I was pounding on the door to John’s apartment seven minutes later, still pounding on it five minutes after that. I considered going down and waking up his landlord when I tried the knob and realized the door had been unlocked the whole time.
It was dark. No use looking for a switch—John’s only light was a floor lamp across the room and far be it from John to do something as rational as putting the light source where you could reach it from the door. Memory told me at least two pieces of furniture and probably twenty empty
CHAPTER 2
The Thing in John’s Apartment
DARKNESS AND WARMTH . And then, an all-beep rendition of “La Cucaracha.”
My cell phone. I peeled my eyes open. Bedroom. Nighttime. My floor looked like a Laundromat explosion. Magazines here and there, overflowing trash can. Just as I had left it.
Beepbeepbeep BEEP, BEEP. Beepbeepbeep BEEP, BEEP. BEEPBEEPBEEPBEEPBEEP—
My hand managed to knock over every single object on my nightstand before it found the cell phone. I squinted at my clock, now lying helpless on the floor. Quarter after 5 A.M. I had to be at work in less than two hours.
“Hello?”
“David? It’s John. Where are you?”
Voice scratchy, breathing heavier than he should be. Like a man just after a fistfight.
“I’m in bed. Where am I supposed to be?”
Long pause.
“Is this the first time I’ve called tonight?”
I sat straight up, fully awake now.
“John? What’s going on?”
“I can’t get out of my apartment, Dave.”
“What?”
“I’m scared, man. I mean it.”
“What are you scared of?”
“It can’t be real, Dave. It can’t. The way it moves, the way it’s made . . . this is not a product of any kind of evolution or anything. It’s not real. No. But it still managed to bite me.”
What?!?
“What?”
“Can you come over?”
One time, John wound up in the hospital after he blacked out behind the wheel of his car. He wasn’t moving at the time, thank God, but was in line at a Wendy’s drive-through. This was after five sleepless and foodless days of vodka and some combination of household chemicals he was using for speed. I didn’t know about it until a week later because he didn’t tell me, knowing I would have kicked his ass right there in the hospital.
But I told him if he ever got into that kind of trouble again without telling me I would not only kick his ass, but would in fact beat him until he died, then pursue him into the afterlife and beat his eternal soul. So John being spaced out on crank or crack or skank tonight wasn’t reason to declare a national holiday, but at least he came to me this time.
I said, “I’ll be there in twelve minutes.”
I hung up, pulled on some clothes I found draped over a chair, almost killed myself tripping over Molly the dog curled up in the doorway. I went out the front door with the dog in tow. It was raining again now, fat drops of April ice water that tingled down the back of my shirt as I ducked into my car. I was halfway to his building when my phone sang again. John’s number popped up on the glowing display.
“Yeah, John. You okay?”
“Dave, I’m sorry to wake you up. I got a problem and I need you to listen—”
“John, I’m on my way over. You called me five minutes ago, remember?”
“What? No, David. Stay away. There’s somethin’ in here with me. I can’t explain it. I don’t think it’ll kill me, it seems to just want to keep me here. Now, I need you to go to Las Vegas. Contact a man named—”
“John, just calm down. You’re not making sense. I want you to sit down somewhere, try to chill out. Nothin’ you’re seeing is real.”
A pause, then John asked, “How do I know this is really you?”
“You’ll know in just a few minutes. I’m comin’ up on your block now. Just chill, like I said. John?”
Nobody there. I sped up, rain drumming the windshield and boiling up into puddles on the passing pavement.
I was pounding on the door to John’s apartment seven minutes later, still pounding on it five minutes after that. I considered going down and waking up his landlord when I tried the knob and realized the door had been unlocked the whole time.
It was dark. No use looking for a switch—John’s only light was a floor lamp across the room and far be it from John to do something as rational as putting the light source where you could reach it from the door. Memory told me at least two pieces of furniture and probably twenty empty
Similar Books
