The Sight Seer

THE SIGHT SEER

BY

MELISSA GIORGIO

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, including photocopying, recording, or transmitted by any means without written consent of the author.

This is a work of fiction. Characters, establishments, names, companies, organizations and events were created by the author. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or actual events, companies or organizations is coincidental.

Published by Crushing Hearts and Black Butterfly Publishing

Text Copyright 2013 by Melissa Giorgio

Cover by Rue Volley for Vivid Designs

To my parents, for always believing in me—even when I didn’t.

Chapter One

I snapped my gum loudly as I flipped through a boring tabloid magazine that screamed in all caps on the cov
er that such and such couple was GETTING A DIVORCE! Of course when you read the actual article, they tell you that they heard this from a source who may have heard it from a friend of a friend of a friend, and they have absolutely no proof, but don’t they look angry at each other in these pictures we snapped of them when they were trying to take a walk down the street? I rolled my eyes and tossed the magazine to the side, wondering if I could paint my nails without Bernard, the drill sergeant, noticing.

Sighing, I prop
ped my hip against the counter and drummed said nails on the top of the register.
It’s deader than dead in here tonight.
It was Friday night. All the smart people were out having fun, and I was trapped here, in my lime green store-issued shirt, ringing up smokers who barely glanced at me as they threw their money on the counter and snatched their packs of cigarettes out of my hands. Or Billy Preston, a kid in my grade, who came up with
two
boxes of condoms, smiling a ‘
yeah, I’m definitely going to have a fun time tonight while you’re stuck ringing up losers at the Convenience Corral’
smile. Yes, it’s actually called that, and I want to kick the genius who thought a Texan-themed convenience store would work in upstate New York. Yeehaw! At least they don’t make us wear ten gallon hats, but I bet if someone shared that idea with Bernard, he’d jump all over it.

And then I’d finally snap and kill someone.

I checked the clock for the millionth time—I swear it was going backwards—and cringed when I saw I still had two hours left.
Someone help me, please.

Pushing the swinging door open, I left the register counter to grab that bottle of
dark purple nail polish I had been eyeing all week. The name, Wicked Nights, was pretty ironic—the only thing wicked about tonight was the fact that it was
never ending
.

“Gabi!” Bernard snapped, popping up suddenly in that annoying habit of his.
I yelped and dropped the bottle of polish; luckily the floor was carpeted and it merely bounced and rolled away unharmed. Good. I didn’t feel like spending my measly salary on that stupid polish that probably chipped after five minutes.

Realizing Bernard was staring at me, I mumbled, “What?” and snapped my gum a few times.
He hated when I did that, which is why I did it.

His lips curled in a sneer under his thick brown moustache that resembled a dead caterpillar.
How he had a wife who kissed him with all that hair hanging out under his nose was one of life’s mysteries. “Productive as usual, I see,” he said, his beady eyes focused on the nail polish on the floor.

“I was straightening up!”

We both knew it was a lie, but at least he didn’t call me on it. “Go check out that punk in aisle two. I think he took a soda and shoved it in his pocket.” He stalked away before I could protest, his bald spot gleaming in the horrible fluorescent lighting.

I was
pretty sure it was against the law to send a sixteen-year-old after a shoplifter, but Bernard never cared about crap like that. Heaving a huge sigh, I went in search of said shoplifter, finding him down the food aisle. He was staring intently at those little mini pound cakes that are sold individually, reaching out to squeeze one until it practically oozed out of the package. I curled my lips in disgust; if he popped the bag and squished pound cake fell on the floor, I’d be the one who had to clean it up.

Feeling Bernard’s eyes on me from the office with its two-way mirrors, I said, “Hey, you can’t do that to the cake.
Not unless you’re buying it. Then you can step on it for all I care. But outside, where I don’t have to clean it, okay?”

The potential shoplifter turned to look at me.
He was wearing a baseball cap pulled down low over his eyes, his dark hair long and stringy and in dire need of a good washing. His black t-shirt was about two sizes too big for him, and had some disgusting sexual innuendo scrawled across the front in bright red letters. His jeans were also loose, his shoes old and ratty. But it wasn’t his clothes that made me take a giant step backwards.

It was his face.

His skin was hanging as loose as his clothes, practically dripping off his bones. My stomach rolled as it flopped back and forth with a loud smack. He looked like one of those dogs with all those wrinkles—I think they were called Shar Peis? Not wanting to be sick, I quickly diverted my gaze and ended up making the mistake of looking directly into his eyes—dull, soulless eyes that looked like they belonged on a corpse, not a living person. His lips curled back, showing elongated teeth that were definitely
not
human. There were too many of them, and they went on forever. How did he close his lips around all those teeth?!

“Yesssssss?” he hissed through those teeth with a voice that sounded like two pieces of rough sandpaper rubbing together.

I shrieked and took a step back, crashing into a cardboard display holding chips. It fell over with a loud thud and I cursed, knowing I was five seconds away from Bernard storming down from the office to yell at me.

I had
looked away for a mere second, but when I turned back, his face was normal.
Completely normal
. Well, maybe his eyes looked a little crazy, but they weren’t giving me that dead-fish-glazed-over look anymore, nor was his skin hanging loosely from his skull. Even his teeth looked regular, if a bit crooked, when he gave me a smile. He definitely looked like he was enjoying himself, the jerk.

“S-soda,” I stammered.
I wanted to take another giant step backwards, but I’d probably step on ten bags of chips in the process and then I’d have to buy them. And they were nasty smoked steak flavored, too. Bernard thought they’d fly off the shelves, but no one wanted to touch them with a ten foot pole and we had been stuck with cases. He kept trying to make us buy them, and when that didn’t work, he started buying one per shift. I’d be pretty impressed if he managed to choke them down; I tried one once and ran to the garbage to spit it up.

The boy-thing-whatever raised his eyebrows as he continued to give me that creepy smile.
Getting annoyed, I snapped, “Look, I know you took a soda, so give it back, alright?” Actually, I didn’t know he took it because I didn’t see him, and you weren’t supposed to approach someone unless you saw them, but Bernard never followed that rule. He chased people out all the time because he was a lunatic and cared more about the merchandise than his own life.

I had hoped my surly tone would intimidate the boy, but he merely snapped his teeth at me.
Snapped his teeth at me! What was he, an alligator? Before I could say anything, he stuck a hand down the waistband of his pants, rummaged around for a bit, then pulled out the bottle of soda and tossed it at me. I caught it by reflex, and then screeched when I realized where that bottle had been. Dropping it like it burned my hands, I screamed for hand sanitizer while I hopped from foot to foot.

C
huckling darkly, the boy-monster brushed past me. His laughter was like the stuff from nightmares and I froze in mid-hop, a tremor running down my spine. Giving me a wink, he opened his mouth and a tongue the shade of blueberries and forked at the end darted out between his lips.             

I fell to my knees, listening to the buzzer moo (yes,
moo
. Remember, Texan themed convenience store) happily as he left the store. Bernard found me in the same position five minutes later, surrounded by bags of chips, and demanded, “What the hell are you doing? You’re paying for those, Harkins!”

“I’m going
home.” I stood on wobbly legs and Bernard gaped at me, his face turning red.

“You have two hours left!
You’re cleaning up this mess, and then you’re mopping the floor—”

“I just touched a soda that was in that kid’s crotch!”

Bernard nudged the bottle with his shoe. “Oh, you got it back? Good job.” Oblivious to my stutters, he picked it up with his bare hand.
His bare hand
. I’d have to wear five pairs of surgical gloves and pick it up with one of those claw things people who can’t bend over use to snatch things up from the floor and I’d still want to wash my hands with bleach, and yet here was Bernard, holding it between his fingertips as he studied it. “Even better, it’s not open. Let’s just put you back in here.” I watched, mouth open, as he put it back in the fridge, shutting the door with a satisfied smile. “Good job, Harkins. Now clean up those chips, and give me the ones you crushed. You’ll be buying those before you leave. In two hours.” He gave me a stern look, letting me know there was no way in hell I was leaving before ten.

I heaved a huge sigh and stomped up front, where I unscrewed the top of the hand sanitizer and proceed to dump all eight ounces on my hands.
It still wasn’t enough. I was going to take the longest, hottest show ever when I got home; using one of those exfoliating sponges we sold in aisle six to rub all the skin on my hands off.

Thinking of skin made me think of that kid’s skin, when I had first seen it.
I shuddered, rubbing my arms where goose bumps formed even though I wasn’t cold. What was wrong with him? Drugs? But did drugs turn your tongue blue? Cosmetic alterations? Could people even dye their tongues? And make it forked?

Maybe I was being ridiculous.
Maybe I was so tired from a long school week that I was seeing things. That had to be it. I would go home and go to sleep right after my year long shower, and I would forget any of this ever happened.

But try as I might, I couldn’t forget that horrible, creepy laughter.
I was definitely going to have nightmares tonight.

Chapter Two

Luckily my sister Chloe wasn’t home, or else she would have started pounding on the bathroom door twenty minutes in to my much needed scalding hot shower.
And forget explaining the crotch soda incident to her; she’d have zero sympathy for me. She was a little sister, and that’s what they did—annoyed us elders until we wanted to scream and tear our hair out or beg our dad to put said sister up for adoption at the local pound.

I may have done that a few times.
Of course he never listened to me.

Speaking of Dad, he was currently planted in front of the TV, snoring away as the sport highlights played at an incredibly high volume.
I swore Dad would sleep through an alien invasion, waking up the next morning and wondering why everyone suddenly had green skin and purple hair.

Or blue tongues and melting skin.

No
. I would not think about that, not if I wanted to fall asleep tonight. Or ever again.

After toweling off and blow-drying my hair, I slipped into my most comfortable
pair of pajama pants and a sky-blue tank top. Grabbing my phone, I got into bed and checked for messages. One text from Chloe, telling me she was staying over at her friend Tori’s house. Which really meant she was going out partying, and needed me to cover for her. I rolled my eyes. Of course my little sister had a social life while I had…the Convenience Corral. Unfair much? I really needed to talk to Bernard about his annoying habit of scheduling me for Friday nights. Hell, I deserved a vacation after what happened tonight! Preferably a permanent one.

Oh well.
One more year and then Chloe would be at the Corral, wearing a so-bright-green-it-makes-your-eyes-bleed shirt on Friday nights. And then I would laugh at her, except I’d be right next to her, wearing the same damn shirt.

Life was so unfair.

There was also a text from Penny, my best friend, telling me to call her tomorrow to make plans for our study date. My eyes drifted to the textbooks piled on my desk and I groaned. We had a huge project due next week in history, and Penny, being Penny, wanted to waste a perfectly good weekend getting it done. What was wrong with next week? It wasn’t due until Friday. I was sure we’d get it done even if we waited until Thursday night.

Needless to say, the reason I passed most of my projects was because of Penny.
I already told her we needed to go to the same college or else I’d end up being one of those kids who pulls an all-nighter running on nothing but energy drinks as I struggle to start and finish a ten-page paper hours before it’s due.

Dropping my phone back on my night table, I reached over to my lamp and turned the light off, staring up at the ceiling as I listened to the sound
s of traffic in the distance. A dog barked a few times, and then quieted. My eyelids felt heavy; maybe I really was tired. No wonder I had started hallucinating at the Corral!

The sound of our garbage pail falling over tore
through my dreamless sleep, and I bolted straight up in bed. Squinting at the clock, I saw it was past 3 AM. More noise floated through my window—loud bangs and what sounded like…cursing? What the hell?
Please don’t tell me someone decided to have a fistfight in our backyard.
A million backyards in this town, and they just had to go and choose ours.

I picked up my phone and held it in front of me like a weapon as I inched closer to my window, baby step by baby step.
The noises continued, and I wondered if my neighbors had heard them. Probably not, considering they were like, ninety-years-old and completely deaf.

I parted the curtain and peeked through.
At first I saw nothing, but then there was a flash of movement in the corner of the yard. Leaning forward despite myself, I saw the moonlight reflect on something long and shiny.

Was that a
sword
?!

Forgetting to be cautious, I threw open the
window and stuck half of my body out, watching as the person with the sword fought some sort of shadowy mass. Another person? I couldn’t tell until they came closer to my window, setting off our motion activated light and flooding the backyard with harsh, yellow light. The guy with the sword was dressed in head to toe black (maybe he was a ninja), but I forgot all about him once my gaze shifted to the shadow-thing.

It was Crotch Soda Boy.

I clutched my head. Why oh why was he here? Did he follow me home? Had he been trying to get into my house? And who was this wacko nut job that was currently swinging a sword like he was some medieval warrior? Was he crazy?

Obviously.

I sucked in a breath of chilly nighttime air when I realized they were getting dangerously close to the garden. Mom’s garden. “Oh hell no,” I said, pulling my body back into my room. Stuffing my feet into my sneakers, I raced down the stairs, unlocked the back door, and threw it open.

They were already in there, stepping on the mums I had planted only last week.
“Hey!” I screamed, stomping towards them and waving my arms like a lunatic. “Watch where you’re stepping, you—”

The words trailed
off as I got an up-close look at Crotch Soda Boy. His hat had flown off during the fight, giving me a good look at his face. There was nothing human about it, that much was certain. His flopping skin was back, looking like it was melting off his face as it hung almost to his shoulders. His ears were long and pointy, his eyes giant black orbs that sparkled evilly when he saw me. I forgot whatever I was going to say next and yelped, taking a step backwards.

The
…thing, whatever it was, jumped high in the air, like flying ninjas in those badly dubbed Asian fighting movies, his body silhouetted by the moon. I think the guy with the sword shouted something, but I was too frozen with fear to decipher his words. This was not happening. I was dreaming, and I was going to wake up and call Penny and work on my history project with her.

Except it certainly felt real when the thing landed in front of me and grabbed the front of my tank top, pulling me close so I could feel (and smell) its rancid breath on my face.
Gagging, I tried to pull away, but its grip was like iron manacles.

It snapped those crazy long teeth at me again and loomed in, about to give me the world’s most messed up kiss.

Then swordguy was there, swinging. He cut the thing’s head off in one smooth motion and it fell to the ground, rolling under one of Mom’s rosebushes and out of sight.

And then I was sprayed in the face by thick, green monster
ick
.

I started to scream, but the guy clapped a
hand on my mouth, a hand that was dripping with more ick. Ick, that got into my mouth.

Into my mouth.

I kicked him hard in the shin and he dropped his hand with a startled curse. Gagging, I fell to my knees, spitting and wiping at my mouth desperately. It tasted like sour milk, if milk was thick and chunky, and you know, the color of broccoli. Clawing at my mouth only made things worse—apparently I had monster ick on my hands as well and all I was doing was spreading it around. I let out a scream and this time swordguy didn’t try to stop me.

When I finished screaming, he actually had the nerve to ask me if I was alright.
I stared up (and up—he was ridiculously tall) at him and demanded, “Alright? Do I
look
like I’m alright?!”

He took a giant step back, like I
were some crazy person, and held his hands up. “Okay, okay, I’m sorry. Dumb question. Why don’t you—”

I stood up suddenly and pointed my finger in his face.
“Here’s what I’m going to do. I’m going inside and taking my
second
shower of the night, while you get rid of this…this…whatever this is, and its head, too! And then you are going to vanish and I am going to go to sleep and when I wake up tomorrow, I’ll think it was all a dream.” Except for the fact that I had monster goo on my clothes; I was pretty sure there wasn’t a stain remover on this planet that could get rid of these stains.

“It wasn’t a dream,” he mumbled.

“What?” I snapped. He flinched and took another step back, looking like he was more scared of me than the monster he had just fought.

“Nothing.”

“That’s what I thought.” With an extra flounce, I turned on my heel to storm into the house, but I slipped on some goo and nearly fell on my butt. Swordboy reached out to catch me, but I managed to steady myself at the last moment. I shot him my trademarked death glare and he froze, suddenly
very
interested in his sword. Muttering a curse, I stormed back inside where I slammed the door shut, put on all the locks, and stomped up the stairs. Dad was snoring contently from his room; like I said, that guy wakes for
nothing
.

It wasn’t until after I had showered for a good forty minutes, stuffed my ruined clothes in the bottom of the hamper, and curled up in bed that I realized under the goo, the freak with the sword was kind of cute.

But I would never see him again, so it didn’t matter.