City of Sweet Nothings (Prologue)
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In 1977 a cop saved 2 people from abduction. They reported the sighting of what has since been called, ‘The Uninvited’. An unearthly creature. This is NOT that time. This is before that time. 3 months before any witness accounts. This is a tale of one of its victims.
Part 1. Jack
“You got ya boots on there, Jack? Nice and tight?”
“Yeah, Dad. Just double checking now.” My dad’s red blooded, believes a man should be able to fend for himself. That includes the ridiculous idea that I will ever be stranded from civilization. When will I ever be that far away from a landline? Heck, some people have ‘em in their bags these days. He acts like calling for help won’t be an option.
“Come on Jack. Whole point is we go out during this first-light to make the most of the day, ya know.”
“I’m coming, Dad!” I said that a little flippantly, but I can’t help it, he’s so damn impatient. I grab my hunting bow. The same one he got me on my 12th birthday. The same one he said I’d ‘grow into’. And we go try and get my first kill.
Just the thought makes my eyes roll back without control.
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It’s 9am now, we ain’t seen nothin’ but a small bird. Dad still made me waste an arrow on it. He doesn’t speak when we hunt, just slaps my back and points. He says it’s because he doesn't wanna scare away any prey with our jabbering.
This is my second ‘Massachusetts Youth Deer Hunt Day’, last time we came home with nothing, so there’s this pressure on me now. I enjoy shooting my bow, don’t get me wrong. I feel powerful when I hit a target just where I told it too. When I adjust for the wind. The elevation for the distance. It’s like a sci-fi… wait, no a fantasy thing. But I don’t really have any desire to aim it at a living creature. At no point in target practice do I wish my neighbour's dog was there instead.
We trudge on twigs, through bushes, anything my dad says an animal would do. But I don’t get it. We’re past that now. We made these things called convenience stores because we could! Because farming led to abundance. But no. Tonight it’s my job to find dinner. To drop it. To drag it to the car. To skin it at home. Procure the meat. Salt em. And within the next few days, eat it. Ugh I could kill for a Quarter Pounder right now!
I break the silence. “Dad, there’s nothi-”
“SHUSH!” Of course at that moment there’s a rustle in the leaves. It’s just a target. The rustle was about 20 yards ahead. But it’s just a target. My dad slaps me. He doesn’t point ‘cus we both know where it is. A target. It’s just a target behind those leaves. The silhouette is hard to make out, but it’s hunched down. The flat of it’s back is visible. I’ll aim there. He slaps me again. The back of the target. I pull back on my bow. Raise for the distance. The target. Before I can think about it any longer I release. Firing the arrow at that unbeknownst creature. That animal. For what? My dad? Because it’s Massachusetts Youth Deer Hunt Da-
“AAAAAARRRGGGHHHH!!!!”
The low scream of something definitely not a deer erupts through the woods. The tree’s shake as the birds flee.
My dad grabs the bow off me, yanks out an arrow off my back and seamlessly slings it down the shrubs, certain it means harm.
The second yell clarifies the contact made.
A man, thick hair, topless, leaps from the bush with a clumsy attempt at fleeing. Then curiously, he looks and stands. Blood, trickling down to stain his silver jewellery. My gut has a thick knot weighing me down. I shot a person! I just impaled a person! With a squat heavy walk he steps forward. Head hunched in place, staring-down my dad and I. A protective hand holds me back, while another stays out like a first line of defence, still clutching the perpetrator. My bow.
“Now look…” the pierced man’s wide eyes step forward, fearful but not stopped by the puncture wounds. Shoulder. Belly. Just standing there. Silently at attention to our wrongdoings.
“Now look! We don’t want any trouble!..My boy didn’t mean it!.. You shouldn’t be out here!” There is no recognition, only the grit, bloody, teeth.
“We can settle this!” The wounded giant steps forward. Low. Slow. Curious. But threateningly.
“How much do you want?!” My dad reaches for his back pocket now, releasing my protection.
The man steps again. Looking more like ape than man; his face does not acknowledge the promise of profit.
My dad shakes.
“Now LOOK, SEE! My boy didn’t mean it! Now stay back! STAY BACK!”
He lifts the bow once again at our victim.
The punctured man recognises the arrow as it is drawn. He picks up the pace. Running in a bouncy method towards us. Baring his teeth. Fists tight. Unstopped by the notion of more arrows. Not a word spoken but grunts.
It happened quick. He bobbed and ran. I shielded my face, ducking down. Dad drew back. He leaped through us, like an elk running and jumping and shoving, all at the same time. Through us, through the trees. My dad landing his backfoot and half-turning to face the man behind us now, lets slip another arrow. My dad has used a bow since he was 12. My dad is good at this. This senselessness. The wild man caught another arrow in the back mid leap. He did not stop. He grunted louder, but he did not scream. He simply continued through the wood. Away from danger. Away from us.
“Are you okay?” my dad asks.
“That guy needs an ambulance!” I cry.
“The closest phone is miles away! And besides, Jack, we shot him.”
“Exactly, dad.”
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Part 2. Lynn
I hate this dusty shithole. I hate this damn bar. Does Carl have to come here every night? His patronage is starting to feel like residency. I feel like the lady of the house, lookin’ after the unwell.
“Cleanin’ em’ up…gettin’ em’ a drink” I mutter to the deaf room as I clean around people.
“Helpin’ em’ sleep…” This time I look at Carl, head down-
“-ON MY BARRRR!!” He jolts up as I lifted his hat to yell that in his ear.
“Oh Lynn!...” he reactively responds. Startled, he knows not what to do other than grab his old, sleepy pint and take a sip as if the act never happened. The other old cronies sit around, all individually alone mind you, chuckling at poor Carl’s misfortune.
“Carl hunny, go home.” A kind smile sends him a message that he’d be lovely if he did that for me. Lord, I hate the quiet nights. The, already established, sleepy Mondays. The nights where not even the bugs get drawn in by the big bright lights outside- I look around- Just the vermin.
The door knocks the bell as I go outside to the empty benches sitting across from the wall of trees. The Neon Sign buzzes into silence, nothing but a sway of leaves and the occasional car passing is heard around here. It’s a bar on the edge of town, what do you expect except the sad loyalists to a cheap beer? I pick up ashtrays, pour the cold remnants out into the outdoor trash can. But you know how cigarettes are, even witnessing their corpses gets you craving one. So I pop my head back in. Ding-D-DingDing.
“Just goin’ for a smoke, nobody best help themselves!” my stern tone is waved off by one mopey drinker kind enough to listen to me. I turn back around with a D-DingDingDing.
“OH FUCK ME!” I jump. Dropping my lighter in the process. Startled by something from the Old Testament!
“Oh my hunny, you just stay right there, I’m just gonna go get some help for you, okay sweetie?” But he didn’t move, he didn’t even look at me. Just stood there, looking up at the bright neon sign, like a wounded moth to a flame. Topless, barefoot, thick hair filled with leaves n’ muck. And these ARROWS just protruding from his body. Three of em’! Just IN him. I check the still man’s pockets for an iD, avoiding any accidental nudges to his invasive sticks.
“Okay. André? Lets-”
“What’s all this!? You scarin’ our Lynn for?!” The slurried aggression came from the mouth of a Bill Mathers, Drunken low-life and my misguided knight in shining armour. He had clearly come outside at the sound of my startle. In a way sweet, but in practice, just stupid.
“The man’s clearly hurt Bill, would ya just give it a rest?”
“The man’s prolly on meth or somet’!” He circles our hunted deer in headlights. “You taken the blue crystal boy!? ARE YOU INEBRIATED??”
“Bill, come on.” I pleaded.
“What kinda gang you in that got you shot with arrows?” His demeanour is one of a dog to the mailman: uncouth, yappy.
“Bill, could ya just stand with him for one minute while I call an ambulance for the man?” I say in a calm imploring manner. Hopefully he can manage the kindness of just standing there.
I rush back in with a DINNG-D-d-d. I Weave through the tables-
“[muffled] - AT ME [muffled] - TALKIN’ TO YOU!” Bill’s distant yell pushes through the big square plexiglass windows, but Bill is a barker, he doesn’t have a bite.
I lift up the bar in a rush to the phone. I spiral round the rotary from 9 - Vrrrrrrrr tch-
“- I’M NOT [muffled] - DISRESPECT! NOW IF YOU DON’T [muffled] - I’M GONNA…”
I spiral the 1 - Vrr tch - then the second 1 - Vrr tch -
“I need an ambulance to Cain’s View Bar, a poor man’s been shot with a bow”
“~ okay, a team will be there shortly, don’t take it out, just try and keep them calm.~”
“Thank you hunny.” I turn around, returning my eyes to the scene, only to find our Carl, face first in the concrete, out cold. Our wounded man is still standing at the lights, only now, rubbing the supposed impact off his knuckles. I just roll my eyes and pick up the phone again.
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Part 3. André
(That day had not been the first of André’s hazy days. The inner monologue had stopped some time before. His conscious thought had left him. With only instinct, it isn’t odd that he accepted the woods for his home. He knew a few things, like protect himself, feed himself. Until he saw it. The thing that entranced him back to the moment he was lost: That sign and the flashing lights of sirens approaching. Andre’s eyes dilate.)
[only a frenzy of rapid emotions and instincts, until]…
…The lights. Remember the lights.
I remember the lights,
Bright, swallowing my view,
Lying at a height,
Right. My shirt had been removed.
But what else?
I remember the tubes,
Taking too, taking me, consuming,
Bit by bit, more they drew,
Took my shoes. I’m unbecoming.
What did they take from me?
It’s clear, under similar light,
Tonight, I am dulled,
Was it out of spite?
This blight. To have my intelligence
-my humanity culled.
Taken by that thing that is without,
Snout? ears, mouth? it had none,
I still see it now,
A memory mercifully gone,
It was Alien, a Monster,
It hurts less, the memory, the pain
Left under this light it all comes back,
In heaps, in waves,
Known only to me because before this night
I could not think this way.
And after?
- Because of that thing -
I will no longer think,
Thank the boy and his father for shooting.
Andre mutters “…Think hard. Feel scared. Stolen. THINK MONSTER! Monster has words. Monster in light.”