Masters of Horror (37 page)

The boy leaned in and sniffed at him.

“
It’s got you,” the boy whispered.

Tomas stared back at him. Darkness swirled all around the child, shadows grasped at the boy’s face with long, smoking fingers, curling around his hair, stroking his skin. He knew that face. Tomas’ heart thudded hard in his chest. He felt his throat clenching shut.

“
Ja—Jakey?” Tomas choked. His world was collapsing all around him. No. It couldn’t be. He tried to speak again but the Dark demanded he be silent.

“
You’ve got the taint on you,” the boy told him, “I can smell it from here.”

Tomas’ eyes bulged from his head, his throat burning to speak, but the words would not come. Whatever that boy was, it wasn’t Jacob, but something hideous lurking in the guise of a child. Tomas could smell the sulfur on him. The boy took a paper out of his sack and tossed it down at Tomas’ feet. It landed half in a puddle. Tomas looked at him dumfounded.

The boy stared at him for a moment. Tomas looked like he had been drinking in a grave all night, or worse.

“
Well it ain’t free,” the boy told him.

Tomas just stared blankly.

The boy stepped up and dug through Tomas’ pockets, pulling out a single dollar that was taped down the middle. Sal’s last dollar.

“
That’ll do,” said the boy, as he walked away with a whistle.

“
W-Wait—” Tomas managed to groan, but the boy was already gone.

Tomas reached for the paper and pulled it out of the puddle. He unrolled it, straining his eyes to see. The letters squirmed on the page like soggy black snakes, the headline smoldered as smoke twisted around the edges of the paper and suffused into his nostrils.

LOCAL WOMAN DIES IN FATAL LATE-NIGHT CRASH

The headline read. There was a photo of a white SUV that had crashed into an overpass. The entire vehicle had been horribly mangled and a black tarp had been thrown over the driver’s side door. Tomas stared at the headline for a long time. Susan. If only he had knocked on that door last night, Tomas thought; if only he could’ve swallowed his pride and resisted his own demons, she might still be alive. His body shuddered with despair.

The ink was bleeding from the page, sliming his hands. Tomas shook the paper to throw off some of the water but managed only to splash himself in the eyes. He threw the paper down and rubbed his face rigorously. Before he knew it, his face was smeared with ink.

He knew that smell.

He tried to stand but the darkness pulled him down to the ground. The shadows cackled and spat at him, hurling curses and laughter. He would have screamed had he a voice. He would have run had he the will to move. He would have fought against the Dark, but this was no longer his world. Another nameless soul swallowed by the bowels of the city. Another headline for tomorrow’s paper.

Somewhere beyond the alley, a little boy was whistling.

Back to TOC

A lot of stimuli are—or seem—perfectly innocent. Ask yourself what’s worse: to be hooked on booze, heroin, meth or any combination thereof…or to just have a song you like a little more than what would be considered normal?

Before you answer right away, read the following tale by Armand “Hammer” Rosamilia.

Obsessed With a Song

By Armand Rosamilia

Jim Vanolden watched the new guy, uneasily, as he leered at the picture on his desk. “Who’s that, your girlfriend?”

At first Jim tried to ignore him. When the guy wouldn’t stop looking at the picture and was reaching out to touch it, Jim had had enough. “Don’t touch my property or I will alert H.R. and they’ll deal with you accordingly.”

“
Seriously? I’m just trying to make small talk. Since this is my first day up here in the rafters at this job, and since you’re the only other person up here on the top floor, I thought we might as well get along.”

“
I’m not here to get along. I’m here to do my job and then go home.”

“
That sounds absolutely…pitiful. I’m Cullen.”

Jim eyed him. “My father’s name was Cullen.”

“
See? Already, we have something in common.”

“
I didn’t like my father.” Jim went back to sorting through invoices. If he stopped sorting he’d get behind and have to work through his lunch. He never worked through his lunch unless he had to. “Why are you here? I’m the only one left up here.” Since downsizing the corporate offices of A.R. Miller department stores in April, a good two-thirds of the staff had been let go. Jim had held onto his job because he’d never missed a day in sixteen years, never been late, had never taken any of his vacation time, and often worked off the clock until he was finished.

“
I’m here for the same reason as you. Money.” Cullen pointed at the picture on the desk. “You want to talk about her?”

“
Not to you.” Jim knew he was being rude to a fellow associate but he didn’t care. The man was being downright rude in the first place. The workplace wasn’t the appropriate venue to be discussing non-work related issues. “I’m trying to get my work done. That’s what I’m being paid to do, not chitchat on company time.”

“
Sorry, buddy. Again, just trying to be friendly.” Cullen walked to the office door which led to the stairs. “Maybe I’ll see you tomorrow, I think I’ll go and ask Mister Croce if he has another space for me to work.”

Jim said nothing, shuffling invoices into neat piles.

“
By the way…I know who that picture is. Took me a second, but when I saw that it was just a photocopy from a magazine, I knew it.”

Jim’s hand hovered over a pink copy of an invoice. He held his breath.

“
Kimmi Klub. See you around, Jim.”

The door closing was like a gunshot in the silence of the office. Jim picked up the picture frame and stared into the eyes of Kimmi Klub. Her blue eyes and bright smile filled him with love. Her strawberry blonde hair flowed over her shoulders, a small red polka dot bow on the left side of her hair. Jim had stared at this picture every day for the last sixteen years of work and for the ten before that. Kimmi had gotten him through his teen years, through the terrors and the evils of his father.

* * *

“
Vanolden, how are the third quarter reports coming?” Mister Croce was a slight man who seemed like he was dressing in his father’s suits. Rarely did he venture to the top floor. Come to think of it, no one usually came up here except for Jim.

“
Why, do you need them right now?”

Mister Croce winced and put his hands up. “I’m just curious, that’s all. No rush, just wanted to know. I was up here and decided to stop by.”

“
I’d appreciate it if I could do my job in total silence. I don’t like the distractions.” Jim realized that he was talking to his superior so he attempted a smile and failed. “I just do my best work alone, you understand. Sending up new associates gets me off track.”

Mister Croce was already backing away. “I completely understand. It won’t happen again. Just drop off your work at the end of your shift as usual. Have a great day.”

The work wasn’t going to do itself, so Jim dove back in and quickened his pace.
Too many distractions today.

At exactly noon Jim stopped working and pulled out a brown paper bag from his desk. He always felt uneasy eating at his work station but thought it was better than going downstairs to the ground floor and the cafeteria. There he would usually elicit stares and whispers from his coworkers. It was easier to stay in this room and dive right back into work at precisely twelve-thirty.

Once his ham and cheese sandwich–on white bread–was eaten and washed down with a bottle of tap water it was time for his Walkman. He leaned back in his chair, closed his eyes and pressed play on the ancient device. The familiar opening techno drum fills of Kimmi Klub and her single “Love Is For Us” began as it always did to get him through the rest of his shift. Jim would listen to the song three times before getting back to work. He had recorded the song six times on the A side of the cassette, with an obscure cover version of the song by some horrible Heavy Metal band from overseas called Totyl Evyl. He hated their version but when the mood struck him in the car on the ride home he might let it play, at least to the chorus, before rewinding side A and playing it again.

Jim was so startled by the hand on his shoulder that he jumped in his chair and toppled, depositing him on the floor and tossing his Walkman on the floor next to him.

Cullen was laughing, standing over him. “Dude, I am so sorry for that. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“
You don’t sneak up on someone like that,” was all Jim could muster. His heart was racing. He was distressed to see that the cassette had fallen out of the Walkman.

“
Hey, if that’s broken I’ll buy you a new one.”

Jim popped the cassette back in and sighed in relief when “Love Is For Us” began playing. “You can’t buy me a new one.”

“
I guess not. That Walkman is a classic, probably twenty years old. And I can’t imagine where I’d be able to replace the Kimmi Klub. Maybe eBay has the single.”

Jim turned off the music. “What do you know about Kimmi Klub?”

Cullen smiled and waited until Jim was seated again. “I know enough about her to know that a grown man listening to some obscure eighties one hit wonder has problems.” Cullen pointed at the picture on the desk. “I won’t even touch that foolishness. I’m guessing you cut it from some teen magazine you had as a ten year old?”

“
I will be talking to Mrs. Stanwich as soon as my shift is over.” Jim turned and faced the piles on his desk but he couldn’t think straight. This was absolutely ridiculous that his workspace was being upset by this newcomer. He was sure that H.R. would not take kindly to this intrusion.

“
For what? Engaging my fellow coworker in a chat about his hobbies? Actually, hobby.” Cullen stood next to Jim and leaned forward. “What’s the obsession with someone who released one lousy single in 1982 and then disappeared?”

“
It’s not lousy.” Jim was getting frustrated. “It’s not lousy, you’re lousy.”

“
That’s your big comeback? No wonder you listen to a horrible singer, who isn’t even that pretty, in my opinion.”

“
Nobody asked you!” Jim roared, coming up out of his seat and slamming into Cullen. Cullen toppled over and hit the floor hard. When he picked himself off of the ground his nose was bleeding.

Jim sat back down in his chair. He’d struck an associate. A physical confrontation was an immediate termination. Everything he’d worked for in sixteen years had been thrown away thanks to his anger once again.

Cullen was wiping his nose with a tissue. “That hurts, gotta be honest.”

Jim stared at the floor and fought back tears.

“
Hey, don’t look so sad. It was an accident.”

“
It doesn’t matter. When Mrs. Stanwich gets this in front of her I’ll be fired.”

“
Then good thing nothing happened.”

“
But I hit you and broke your nose.”

“
Broke my nose?” Cullen laughed. “Don’t be so dramatic. It bleeds if you tap it just right. I’ll go and clean this up. No harm, no foul.”

Jim wasn’t listening. “I’ll clean out my desk. Let them know that I’ll be gone by the time security gets here. Sixteen years.”

“
I saw your smile from across the hall…” Cullen sang.

Jim closed his eyes and grinned. “…true love had found me…”

“…
my cold heart had taken a fall…” Cullen added.

“…
now I believe in destiny…” Jim sang, his voice shaking with the emotion.