Pulling into the parking lot, Tom and Brian stopped next to his coworker's vehicles. Samuel's orange SUV and Lauren's teal blue Volkswagen Tuareg were already here and Tom wondered if Dale carpooled with one of them. No sign of Mac's black hummer much to Tom's relief.
They only had a few more days before demolition was done and the rest of the construction crew Mac hired to build Miss Ward's jazzy theater came in to start the next phase. Only a few of the demo crew would remain on site for that while the rest began the next demo project downtown. Not too many wanted to stay. A lot of the guys liked the excitement that came with demolition. How many jobs allowed you to implode buildings, after all?
The obnoxious, mint-green and fuchsia, zebra-striped beetle was missing, meaning that late or not, they beat the building's new owner. That could only be a good thing. If Mac was pissed at them, he would likely only yell, but if they made him look bad in front of the client, particularly Brian who was still on probation for being late too many times, they both could be out on their asses. It was why Tom drove the idiot in. Tom was too nice for his own good. The other hands had told him this numerous times. Mac took his business seriously. He didn't put up with crap from his crew. It was why his company was always in demand, and why they needed to haul ass and get in there.
Madeleine Ward was one hell of a job, though, that's for sure. She was unlike any of Mac's previous clients and probably unlike any of his future ones as well. Despite her oddball mannerisms and quirks, Mac liked her well enough to not only take on her project but to continue on as her general contractor. That was kind of a big deal since he didn't do that sort of work anymore.
When Mac wasn't around, the mysterious Madeleine Ward and her bizarre fascination with this rotten pile of bricks was a favorite topic of conversation. Tom still couldn't figure out why she liked the place so much and frankly, he wasn't sure he wanted to find out. Several of the guys told stories of the building being haunted or cursed. Tom laughed at their superstitious ideas. It was the twenty-first century and these guys were jumpy like they expected a zombie to leap out whenever they opened up a new wall. Granted, there had been some weird stuff that had gone on here, but Tom knew there were explanations for all of it, it was just that nobody's figured it out yet.
Whatever. Despite her oddities, Tom thought she was nice. She'd bring everyone in donuts every morning and bought pizza for the crew every Friday so far. She seemed likeable enough. And if she was a little bit off, well, that only added to her quirky charm.
He climbed out of the truck, glancing at Brian in his familiar brown workman's boots and dirt-stained jeans. The oversized, black hoodie was new. Brian pulled his baseball cap down low on his forehead and left his dark-tinted sunglasses in place to shade his eyes, probably hoping no one noticed they were bloodshot. They were his 'go-to' shades when it came to hangovers. Last night must have been particularly heavy.
"You're not still drunk, are you?" Tom asked him suspiciously. Construction and demolition sites were too dangerous to be working when drunk.
Brian stared at him. "No!"
"Come on, then," Tom told him. "We don't want Mac to know we were running late."
"So, what? Mac's not even here yet," Brian grumbled. His head must be aching. "How's he going to find out?"
"He finds out. Mac always does."
"Fuck, Mac! If I didn't need this job . . ." Brian snorted derisively.
"And watch your mouth. Ms. Ward doesn't allow cursing on the job," Tom warned, pocketing his keys.
"Yeah, well, I bet I could get her to yell a few profanities," Brian laughed, grabbing his crotch, "and like doing it."
Tom turned around and poked him in the chest. "Don't go there, son. You'll regret it."
Tom knew that Brian didn't like the boss lady. He announced yesterday on the way home that he thought her bread wasn't quite done in the middle. Tom just reminded him to keep that opinion to himself unless he wanted to be given his walking papers. He was already toeing the line as it was without that getting back to Mac.
So, she was a little bit loony-toons. So, what? 'Boss Lady' was entertaining as all get out and a stubborn little bull, too. A force to be reckoned with; a woman who never took no for an answer. That was why they were still here. Mac didn't know how to tell the lady no . . . Or she just bulldozed her way right over him. The fact was, she kind of reminded Tom of his wife. The stubborn part, not the crazy part. But crazy or not, she deserved a little respect.
Tom shook his head before he dug himself in too deep of a hole. He was perfectly fine with Ms. Ward and her chosen project. It wasn't strange to him at all that anyone would want the place for anything other being demolished and start anew. He was here for one thing and one thing only. To do a job and rip this son of a bitch down to its bones.
As he neared the building, Tom sat his yellow construction hat on the top of his balding head. Another curse sounded behind him.
Tom turned a questioning glance on Brian. "What's the matter now?" he asked a bit snappishly.
"Forgot my stupid helmet. You don't happen to have a spare on you, do you?"
Tom rolled his eyes. Why was he not surprised? "Under the seat on the passenger side," he told him, tossing him his keys. "I want it back by the end of the day."
"Chill, dude. I'll give it back," Brian said as he caught the keys. He turned back to the truck.
Brian wasn't stupid. He was hungover, irritable, and wishing for death to take him right about now. He might even be a little bit drunk still, although he'd never admit to it, but he wasn't stupid. He could hear Tom's warning tone in his not-so-empty threats. He knew what it would mean if he didn't pull himself together. He wasn't trying to avoid the problem; he knew what he was doing wrong. He just didn't know how to fix it.
His first love was this job. Nothing beats getting to tear things apart or blowing shit up. The job wasn't the problem. Alcohol was the problem. Alcohol: his second love. Tom would say she was a harsh mistress, and today, he would be right. Brian's head was pounding. The problem was he was addicted to one, but he needed the other. Despite this revelation, he still drank, and he knew without saying that tonight, he would drink again.
There! He admitted he had a problem, but now what? Admitting it didn't make it go away. Sighing, Brian followed Tom around the side of the building to the back door. Coming in through the front would be like announcing they just arrived. Entering from the rear, they could claim to have already been here for a while.
This time, he thought to himself as he stepped into the dusty corridor, this time I will do better. He had no choice. He needed this job to survive. If he lost this . . . he was screwed, and may God have mercy on his rotten soul when he came to say hi.
They passed by the office that Samuel and Lauren were currently enlarging and making their way towards the lobby where the others were.
Samuel waved. "You two just getting here?"
"Had to toss a few things into the dumpster outside," Tom lied. "Is Mac here yet?"
"Don't think so," Samuel told him. He turned back shoveling broken dry wall and boards into the wheelbarrow. Lauren only nodded in their direction, busy as she was tearing up tile.
Other than the rest of those tiles, this area had already received a major face lift and the construction crew had yet to begin. But for all of that, the atmosphere in this place gave him the heebie-jeebies. Yesterday, the crew had found stains on the foundation where they had torn up flooring: reddish-brown stains. Brian suspected it was blood, but Tom and the others pooh-poohed that idea, saying there was too much of it. Cops would have known if there had ever been a massacre. Nope. There had been a murder several months back but that had been in the office, not the lobby.
But there had been similar stains everywhere. It couldn't have been blood. That would have meant that people hadn't just disappeared here, but had been killed and their bodies taken out and hidden. Brian suppressed a shiver. He didn't want Tom or the other guys to make fun of him for being a chicken shit. He'd rather work all day with a hangover than to be razzed about that from his coworkers.
They turned into a room that opened onto the new lobby area, hoping to use it as a short cut. It was filled with tables and chairs, but they were all scattered around the room in a chaotic fashion.
Tom frowned, but didn't stop. "What happened in here?" he wondered aloud.
Three steps later, the smell hit them. Brian gagged, slapping a hand over his mouth. It smelled like something rotting, not something one wanted to experience with the nausea that came with the hangover. This job came with its share of nasty smells but this . . . He gagged again.
Tom swung around and pointed a finger at him. "Don't you dare puke in here!"
"Oh my God! What is that?" Brian stumbled to a stop, grabbing the collar of his shirt to cover his nose.
Tom's nose crinkled at the stench. "Whew! Smells like the butcher's freezer when the electricity's been off for a few days."
Brian swallowed hard. "Did you have to go with that analogy?"
Tom smirked. "What's the matter, sunshine? Ain't never smelled a dead animal before?"
"Can't say I have. So, you think an animal snuck in here last night and died in one of the rooms." Brian muttered. Of course, always rely on Tom to have a logical explanation for the scent of rotting meat in an old abandoned haunted house!
Brian felt his mouth fill with saliva and he had a metallic taste in his mouth. This was not going to end well. He would like to think of himself as a tough guy but holy smokes! He was going to hurl, he turned away, but the distance to the back door felt like miles. His stomach roiled. Yanking off his borrowed hard hat, Brian bent over and spewed the contents of his belly into it. There hadn't been much left in there, some vodka, remnants of a microwaveable burrito, and stomach acid.
Tom gaped at him. "That's my hat, you stupid . . ." he cut off his rant abruptly. "Get out of here! And, wash my hard hat out!" he yelled after the puling infant.
Brian staggered back the way he came, bumping into a table and causing it to squeal as it slid several inches, knocking into more furniture piled up. His boot caught on something hard and heavy, and unable to catch himself, Brian fell forward, the vomit-filled hard hat flying out of his hands to splatter across the floor with a clatter.
"What the hell?" He rolled over to see what he tripped on and gaped. "Holy Shit! What the hell is that thing?!" Brian squawked, the sound coming out of the twenty-seven-year-old was shrill as he scrabbled away in a panic.
"I think maybe it's a . . . rabbit?" Tom's voice was muffled as he had pulled the flannel shirt he was wearing over his mouth and nose. He leaned over to look more closely. "Hey! I think this might be one of those animatronic things they used to have here back in the day."
"Yeah? Well, it's disgusting! Is that smell coming from it?" Brian asked. The stench was making his eyes water.
"This place used to be an old pizzeria before they turned it into a horror attraction. They used these animatronics in shows to entertain the kids." Tom squatted down next to the rusted-out piece of junk.
"Are you freaking kidding me? People brought their kids here?" Brian stared in disbelief. That would have given him nightmares had his folks been so cruel as to bring him here. He didn't need this shit. He was only here to tear the place down.
"Sure. I used to take my daughters here every Saturday . . . I don't recall ever seeing this particular one before, though." Tom took his hard hat off and wiped his forehead. "Of course, they were in better shape back then."
Brian gaped at his coworker's shiny head. "You actually took your daughters to see crap like this? I thought you loved them."
Tom ignored the remark. "I'm guessing they used this one as a prop for the horror attraction."
"Well it's obviously trash now. Why hasn't anyone dumped this thing yet?" Brian finally pushed himself back onto his feet with a grunt. "Oh yeah, and I'm fine, thanks for asking," he muttered.
Tom ignored the comment as he smirked up at him. "Hoo-wee! It does smell plum ripe, now doesn't it? And, your puke is just adding to the bouquet." His humor left as he spied the mess behind the younger man. "You're cleaning that up, by the way, that and my hat," he declared.
"Yeah, sure, whatever," Brian wiped at his jeans and then cursed again. "Damn it! I got my sick all over me." He glared at the metallic bunny. It appeared to be glaring right back at him. He shivered and looked away. "It wasn't in here yesterday. How'd you figure it got in here?"
"Not a clue, but I figure that smell is from some animal that must have crawled up inside of it and died," Tom guessed. "Maybe a squirrel or something." He picked up the hanging eye that was dangling by a couple of wires and popped it back into its socket. "There you go, buddy. All better now."
"Well, it stinks! And the damned thing is creeping me out. Look, help me dump it out back before we get started," Brian decided suddenly. "There's no way that the boss lady will want to keep this piece of junk." Nobody was that crazy.
Tom nodded in agreement. "Yeah, I suppose we'd better do it." He kicked the leg lightly. It made an odd sound. Not quite hollow, he determined. Squirrel must have made a nest inside of it or something. "What do you think this thing weighs?"
Brian was panting, breathing through his mouth. "Holy hell, it stinks! Worse than my old lady's cooking . . ." He eyed the rotting rabbit critically. "Don't know. Maybe a few hundred pounds. It didn't quite sound solid, so maybe just the two of us can handle it."
"Fine. You grab its legs and I'll get its arms." Tom positioned himself by the head and leaned in again in order to slip his arms around the mechanical critter's torso. "Get a move on," he griped. "This thing is heavy."
The legs were definitely the easier end of the deal. Brian wondered if he could make the trip to the dumpster while holding his breath. He picked up the ankles and tucked them under his arms and lifted, only to drop it again. "God bless America, this thing is a beast!"
"I'd guesstimate around a good four-hundred pounds." Tom gasped. "You helping or not?"
It took some effort, but the two managed to haul the moldy rabbit through the door without much trouble. They only banged the bunny against the doorframe a couple of time before heading back down the long hallway. Brian glanced at the mechanical face. There was something evil in that maniacal grin, he was sure. He frowned when he realized the eyes were looking straight at him.
What the fuck? When he had first looked at it after tripping, the one eye had been looking at him, too, but it had been angled to the left, then. Maybe Tom had moved it when he had stuck the loose eye back in its place.
"Hey, Tom. Is this thing, like, running or something?" Brian asked, ignoring the fact that his voice sounded higher than it had a minute ago.
Tom huffed a laugh. "You're kidding, right?" he asked, panting. "This thing is probably twenty or thirty years old. No way can it be working after all this time. Just look at it."
"I am looking at it. The problem is that the creepy thing is looking back at me," Brian told him. He tilted his head to the rabbit's right, experimentally.
Wait! he gasped in his head. Did the eyes just move? It hadn't been by much, just a little bit . . . to its right? Was it really looking at him? Brian tried to swallow. It was like he was trying to swallow a baseball. It got stuck halfway down.
"I swear Tom, I think this thing is looking at me!"
Tom gave his coworker a dry look. "It's a machine, Brian. An old, broken-down mechanical robot. Chill out."
Brian shifted his attention, focusing instead on the largest hole in the torso. The light illuminated the interior for just a couple of seconds as they passed beneath a fixture, and his brain stuttered to a halt.
Wait! What? He blinked and shifted his hold from the ankles to the knees to get a little closer.
"Hey! Watch what you're doing," Tom complained. "This thing's hard enough to carry without you moving things around."
"Yeah, yeah. Sorry," Brian muttered absently. He wasn't paying attention to Tom's grumbling; he was concentrating on what he thought he saw. They were passing beneath another light fixture and he found he was holding his breath as he waited to see . . . The light flashed on dull lumps of a gray, brown and a rusty kind of color. Images of high school biology flashed through his mind.
His eyes jerked up to the rabbit's face abruptly. Anything but seeing what he thought he had seen. A nervous sweat broke out on his forehead. His alcohol-soaked brain was playing tricks on him. Yeah, that was it. He really should cut back on drinking on the nights during the workweek. Those brown-rusty stains he saw splatter across the head and torso weren't really dried blood because that would be crazy, and Brian wasn't crazy, he was just drunk.
Fake . . . Tom said this thing was supposed to have been used for that horror attraction. Yeah, that was it. This was all fake. This thing had been made to look like some kind of mechanical monster to scare the teenagers. It's not real . . . It's not real . . . It's not real . . .
He tried to look away, he really did, but he couldn't. His gaze seemed to have locked onto the rabbit's eyes. God, the previous owner could have made a fortune with just this thing alone. The hair on the back of his neck rose as one of the creature's eyelids plopped down, closing for just a second before lifting back up slowly.
Startled, Brian stumbled and dropped the legs. They made a horrible, loud, clanging noise that echoed throughout the building. Tom lurched as suddenly the entire four hundred pounds was his to support. He let the upper portion of the animatronic fall as he dropped to one of his knees.
"What the hell, Brian!" Tom snapped angrily. "Are you trying to break my back? You don't just let go of your end without warning me first!"
"It-It winked at me, Tom!" Brian squealed. "That fucking thing winked at me!"
"Are you still drunk?" Tom asked suspiciously. "You said you weren't but what the hell, Brian?"
"I'm not drunk!" At least, not anymore. No, Brian was stone-cold sober right now. "I'm telling you, that thing is still alive."
Silence reigned between the two men for five long seconds as Tom processed that. Then he shook his head, sighing. "And you think it winked at you."
"I know what I saw," Brian snapped.
Tom smirked. "Maybe, it likes you."
"Don't say that!"
Tom snorted with laughter. "It's not alive, dumbass. Come on, and help me pick this thing back up. You'll feel better when its sitting in the dumpster out back."
He wasn't going to argue with Tom anymore. It was obvious the other man thought Brian was nuts. The sooner this thing was gone, the better. Picking up the legs, Brian planned to wrestle this thing out to the garbage as fast as they were able.
"Hang on a minute," Tom laughed now as he backed the rest of the way down the hall with his end of the demon rabbit. "I can't move that fast."
It took a bit of finagling and they were forced to call Samuel out to help, but they finally got the damned thing into the pine green dumpster behind the building. There was the satisfying sound of boards and drywall and masonry snapping and clattering as the animatronic settled into place. By this time tomorrow, it would be nothing but pile of rusted metal condensed down to the size of a small suitcase. Tomorrow couldn't come soon enough for Brian.
He took a deep breath, feeling better already.
"So," Tom began, slapping Brian on the shoulder, "I don't suppose your new girlfriend blew you any kisses before we dumped it, did it?"
Brian glared darkly at the older man before turning and stomping his way back to the building.
"Should I tell Janet that she might have some competition?" Tom called after him.
"Screw you," Brian yelled back over his shoulder.
"Think I'll pass on that, buddy; I love my wife. Besides," Tom laughed, "I wouldn't want your bunny-friend to get jealous." When he caught his breath, he reminded Brian. "Oh hey! Don't forget to clean up that puke in there . . . And my hat, too, while you're at it."
Brian hunched his shoulders and shoved his hands into his pockets, wondering if this job was really worth all the crap he knew would be coming his way during the next few days. He shoved his way past a confused Samuel and back into the building.
"My hard hat better be smelling like Irish Spring by the end of the day!" Tom's voice drifted in behind him.
He sighed. It was going to be a long day.
Happy Halloween folks! Here's a little update to celebrate this spooky holiday! Poor Brian . . .
Reviews please! Love to hear opinions and feedback! :)