The Family
He found the phone annoying, but he had an excuse not to answer and turn it off: He was at work.
He took a kind of mindless pleasure in his work. The engineering firm he worked for paid well, and helped out with the necessary schooling that he needed for advancement. His bosses were okay, and the few people who worked underneath him were reliable and competent. Sure he was a desk jockey and a cubicle drone but he had the potential to become much more. All he needed was another degree…or two. Plus more experience, but that was okay, he was young, he had time, in fact he was slacking off a bit, enjoying his life before work consumed. He thought of the classes he would have take, how many more years he would need…the young man let his mind wander. It wandered so much he didn't notice his silenced phone, which blinked and flashed constantly. The tiny word "Home" indicated who was frantically calling him.
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After work a pretty female co-worker invited him to dinner, and then the couple compulsively caught a movie. They had done this a few times so she was more than just a friend, although not quite a girlfriend. They chatted and laughed happily on the way home. He drove her down the smoothly paved highway and walked her fearlessly through the brightly-lit city streets.
He was still smiling slightly as he entered his apartment. It was small, but comfortable, messy in the way that clearly indicated a bachelor lived here.
His smile faded slightly as he thought of the movie, he didn't think it all that great. It was predictable enough, all about the atrophy and ennui of modern city life. A little boring and depressing actually. Thinking of his not-quite-girlfriend brought back some of his mood but he was feeling a little grim as he flipped through one-hundred channels, all with nothing on.
He was starting to feel hungry again, and considered chicken noodle soup, the height of his culinary skills. As he wandered into his tiny kitchen he caught sight of his answering machine, which was flashing its rapid red color. Odd. Thinking it might be his coworker he checked it, and gasped at the number of messages.
His father's voice immediately blared out. The young man twisted his mouth slightly, his father…his dark thoughts trailed off, then were pushed aside when he actually registered the words, and the tone. Frantic, his father was never frantic.
"Where the hell are you?" He heard a voice in the back ground, probably his little brother's, and then his father said something in response, "oh work, ok just call me as soon as possible!"
The messages on his machine were all in the same vein, except growing more frantic and angry as they went on.
He quickly groped around for his cell phone, where the hell did he put it? Oh yeah the table near the door, he walked quickly over to it, stubbing his toe and cursing along the way.
33 MISSED CALLS the phone glared silently at him. He quickly scanned through calls from his father, his little brother, even from his grandmother. Bizarre. He listened to the first one, from his father. It was more of the same, except he was positively frothing over the fact that his son hadn't picked up his cell phone yet.
He wondered what everything was about. He felt a tiny pit of fear in the bottom his stomach. He flipped open the phone and called his father. He wandered into his bedroom. The muted television cast an eerie green glow over the room. Tiny droplets of water formed on the frosty fogged up windowpane. The city lights twinkled at him, somehow both cold and comforting at the same time.
Pick up, c'mon pick up. He ordered his family silently. The rings purred on, at about the seventh one someone swiftly picked up the receiver and snapped out "Hello?!" very quickly.
"It's me," the young man said, he recognized his father's voice, though not the frantic not in it.
An almost imperceptible groan came back over the line, as if he was disappointed it was him.
Why'd you call me so damn much then? He thought with a brief burst of annoyance, but his father's odd question pushed the irritation aside.
"You-you haven't heard from your sister lately, have you?" he asked anxiously.
"No." he said slowly, he scanned his memory quickly, no he hadn't heard from his sister.
There was a pregnant pause; he heard a voice in the background. "Who is it?!" it demanded, "Your brother," was the response.
"What's this all -?" You're sister's missing" his father blurted.
There was a small dense silence. A thousand things ran through his mind, What?! No way. He's lying, why would lie? What could have-? Who could have-? What happened? Oh My God, wha- why? His mind ran frantically then sputtered into shock.
His younger brother seemed to be saying something; he could hear the anger, even if he couldn't understand the words. His father yelled back.
Still struggling to comprehend he fumbled about for a response. "Dad? A-are you sure?"
His father turned back to him, "Nobody's seen your sister for weeks." The news penetrated his brain. "Oh God, Andrea?" he asked, he knew a girl moving to NYC alone was a bad idea, he knew-
"No," his father's voice nearly broke, "your younger sister Maria."
A second shock, almost big as the first nearly overcame. No not Maria, not his baby sister. She was safe wasn't she? How could she be missing? She was living in a nice little college cow town.
Wasn't she?
His younger brother was yelling, screaming something, his father was arguing back. The pit in his stomach grew a bigger.
"Dad," he began again, then put a little more firmness in his voice. "Dad I'm coming over right now. "
"Yeah," he said distractedly. The young man began struggling to put on his coat one handedly." Alright," he answered back. "Bye, I-I love you, dad." He said awkwardly. He had never ended a phone conversation with his father this way.
"I love you too." He said dully and distractedly. The young man began to shut his phone. "Oh and Miguel?" his father asked
"Yes?"
"Make it quick.
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"Shit, shit." He cursed to himself. He was so distracted he nearly ran out of gas on the highway. He got out of the car and cursed the time wasted. The night was cold; the gas station was desolate looking. He turned up his collar.
On the road he put the cruise control on and stewed endlessly. Oh God what could have happened? Where is she, where could she be? How did this happen, how could this happen? He wasn't as naïve as other people could be; their family wasn't immune to tragedy and pain. Their mother-his and Maria's mother-oh God poor mom. If she were alive she'd be going crazy. After his mom he didn't assume that nothing bad could happen to him or his loved ones. Yet it was still a shock. It jolted him out of his nice blandly comfortable life. How could this happen, what happened to her…?
He was almost surprised when he pulled up to his house, he was barely concentrated on driving. A mixture of dread and happier memories flooded him at the sight of his old house.
It was an odd looking one, tall and narrow, wedged in next to the other tall and narrow houses of their neighborhood. His family home was near the center of a large city. Tiny yard, narrow sidewalks, a slightly weathered look. They were blue collar, money could be tight but they weren't really poor. Maria worked hard, saved up enough money for an okay car and part of a college education (the rest was loans and scholarship), all for what?
He walked up the stone steps and started fumbling with the door, his father pulled it open suddenly.
Miguel Adams did not cry, or fall into his father's arms, even though both scenarios definitely ran through his head. He merely followed him quietly into the house.
It always seemed smaller every time he visited, which was happening less and less. It seemed emptier too, with mom gone, and most of his siblings. Maria had just left; he cut off the thought again. Tears threatened.
His father's eyes were dry, although he noticed a slight wobble in his gait.
He saw his younger brother sitting next to the kitchen tale. His eyes were red, but he wasn't crying. He was cleaning his glasses on the edge of his shirt.
There was a moment of awkward silence. His younger brother, Alberto, broke it quickly. "Maria's gone missing, I'm going to go find her-" His father sputtered on his drink. Miguel could smell whiskey.
Alberto glared at their father. Their father glared back. "You're not going and that's final"
His younger brother smacked his palm against the table in rage. "I wouldn't have to go if you would just do your job-" "You know why I can't be going-" "If you would just act like a father should act once in a while!-" Miguel knew they had been arguing off and on all night, possibly all yesterday too. Possibly since they were sure Maria was missing. He cut off their arguing swiftly.
"Alright, alright!" he interrupted. "Where was she last seen?"
"Pertwilla." His brother answered immediately, "a small rural town-slash- county it's in the next state over." Their father drowned down another swallow.
Miguel took a deep breath, "okay, any-," he shrugged helplessly "any evidence, or anything?" His brother rolled his eyes and lifted a folder from the table. "We've filed a missing persons report, the cops say they're on the look out for her, but who knows how competent they are?" he rolled his eyes again. Their father said nothing.
"The only thing, I mean the one of the few things we have is what she filed." He pulled out a sheet of paper and scanned it. Miguel could see that it was crumpled and smeared with fingerprints, as if someone had been reading it obsessively.
"According to this she filed a police report, claiming that a guy pulled a gun on her and her car was stolen." He set the paper down and gazed at his brother in disbelief. "She never even told us this."
"She did call me, remember?" Their father interjected quietly "But she said her car broke down, not that someone stole it, she asked me for bus money, or repair money, something like that." He fiddled with his Wild Turkey bottle despondently.
"And you sent it to her," Alberto said gently, almost apologetically. Their father mumbled something but Miguel did not catch it.
His younger brother returned to the subject, "We talked to some cop who called himself Binns, said he took her report on her supposed carjacking." Alberto pulled out a handwritten note. "He told us that Maria was missing, apparently she was staying at some lady's house-"
"Wait, wait, slow down." Miguel interrupted "who do we know out there?"
Alberto and their father exchanged a glance, "No one," their father, "this lady, this-" he glanced at his younger son, "Elsa Daniels" the boy provided "Elsa Daniels," he repeated, "None of us knew this Elsa Daniels lady, we all wracked our brains but," he shrugged "as far as we know none of us had any connection to her in any way."
Miguel quickly searched his memory again did the name Elsa Daniels sound familiar? No, he decided after a moment.
Alberto knew what he was thinking, he always seemed to know. "Did you know her?" he asked. "No," Miguel answered despondently.
"So she stays at this stranger's house, why?" Miguel demanded.
"We don't know why yet." Alberto asked. "Although we know she probably didn't have a car, either 'cause it was stolen or broken down…"
"So why not stay at a hotel?" their father demanded belligerently, "why stay with a stranger? She knows better than this, she knows," he sounded angry, almost petulant. Mad that his daughter didn't act the way he expected her too. Mad that she was missing.
"Maybe Pertwilla didn't have a hotel, or even a motel." Alberto suggested. "Should she have slept on the street?" Miguel could hear irritation in his voice, he felt the same, how could their father act this way?
Yet, he did have a point, the Maria he knew would never stay in the house of complete stranger, or even enter one alone. She was far too cautious and careful. What had happened to her?
"She should have called us! She wasn't that far away, she could have…."
"Alright enough!" Miguel interrupted again. "She stayed at this lady's house, why don't we-"
"We can't talk to her," Alberto said, already anticipating his question. "She's in a coma." he said, looking bleak.
"What?!" Miguel asked in disbelief. Alberto pushed forward a small Polaroid picture of an elderly woman with that was just a mass of bruises and wounds. "She's in the Pertwilla county hospital. Binns said he'd call us if she ever woke up, but," he shrugged helplessly, "But she's old so who knows? She could die, she could never wake up, or she could and not remember anything." He looked miserable.
Miguel knew what he was feeling because he felt the same way. They suddenly had a possible lead, and just as suddenly it had been taken away. "How-?"
Once again Alberto was way ahead him. "Someone broke into her house, really broke in. According to Binns someone smashed her door open, ripped it off the hinges." Miguel felt a shot of disbelief. "They found her in her kitchen, apparently it had been a while after the attack, she was kind of isolated and lived alone. They took her to the hospital. No sign of Maria."
Miguel struggled to incorporate this new information. "Anything else?" he asked. There was silence at the table. "C'mon there has to be something! Fingerprints, blood or anything?!"
"Uh," Alberto stammered, "The police report did mention a hole in a window of the house, but that was it." He looked torn between hope and despair, "There was blood, but it was all Elsa Daniels', so that's good I guess." He looked encouragingly around the table, "She hasn't turned up in any morgues yet, so we can still hope." Miguel felt this was a slim hope. The mention of blood and morgues made them all miserable. He could see tears on the others' cheeks. He felt them streaming down his face as well.
"So she was kidnapped? Dragged off?" Miguel speculated.
"By who?!" their father demanded suddenly, he seemed to be in a rage. Miguel noticed his body was empty. He slurred his words. "Who did this, I'll-"
"We don't know," Alberto interrupted, "we don't know anything. There hasn't been any sign of her since then, they haven't even found her car." He added in misery.
Miguel looked around the table, "Could it have been the same guy, the carjacker?"
Their father looked disbelieving, "What kind of thief would leave her alone then come back to kidnap her?"
"Unless it wasn't just a thief, maybe it was a random psychopath." Alberto said darkly.
The previously unspoken idea, almost too unthinkable hovered silently around them. Miguel felt the worry in his stomach grow even bigger.
After a while Miguel spoke up again, "So what are we going to do about it?"
"Doing?! We're not doing anything?!" Alberto cried suddenly. He turned to his father and said with anger. "You have to let me go!" "No!" their father said. "Well then you go!" Alberto screamed back. Their father rubbed his eyes with his hands, "We've been over this-"
"God damn you!" Alberto screamed "Why listen to her!"?
"Because she knew!" their father roared back. "Because she somehow knew before we did, only when we suspected, and she's not letting me go for the same reason I won't let you. It's too dangerous,-"
"IT'S MARIA!" Alberto screamed again, "we're just supposed to sit here with our thumbs up our asses because-"
Shhhh!" their father ordered suddenly pointing to the floors above them "You'll wake her."
Miguel wanted to ask what they were talking about when suddenly their father suddenly broke down. They were both shocked; he had always been emotionally distant, even in a time like this, even throughout their worst tragedies. He sobbed into his hands.
"I'd go for her, I'd give up everything for her, for all of you." He looked around the table. Miguel couldn't suppress the lump in his throat. "She won't let me, she's been acting crazy, oh God why do I deserve this?" he demanded to know one in particular.
Suddenly he seemed broken; he hunched over the table and mumbled to himself. "This is my fault I know, why can't I get her? What can we do? This is all my fault I know…" Miguel found it impossible to be the slightest bit angry at him. Alberto buried his face in his hands.
He was utterly exhausted. He glanced at the clock. It was almost Two AM, much later than he thought. His emotions, and the emotions of those around him, left him feeling totally drained. The horrible new information in his head swirled around sluggishly, the pit in his stomach weighted him down.
"I'll do it." He said suddenly.
He plan to say this, but he did not regret it. He would go and look for Maria, but he wondered what, if anything, this would actually accomplish.
The crying abruptly stopped, although tears still ran the others' faces. Alberto blinked, "What?"
"I'll go look for her." His brother and father stared for a while.
"Don't let your grandmother know." Their father warned. Miguel was totally confused. Seeing this, Alberto jumped in. "She's been staying with us the past few days, living in the girls' old room. She's been acting crazy."
"Hmm we thought it was crazy," Their father retorted, "until we found out Maria had gone missing."
"She's been calling the cops, the FBI, everybody for weeks on end, talking about Maria. We thought she was insane, so she didn't call home for a while big deal. She got us in contact with the cop from Pertwilla, and then we found out the truth."
"She wanted to go herself, we tried to stop her and she went into this…frenzy. Hurt herself pretty bad. I was worried. I thought she had gone nuts. Now I regret it."
Alberto shook her head. "She's been freaking out, crying all the time, she won't let dad go, and dad won't let me go. She said we'll all die."
Miguel felt a chill.
Abruptly their father stood up. He knocked over his empty whiskey bottle, which smashed on the floor, he ignored it. "You can leave first thing in the morning." He sounded surprisingly clear headed, although still looked a bit wobbly. He squinted at the clock, "you two should go to bed."
Both brothers got up slowly. They tromped upstairs to the familiar room.
His old room had hardly changed, although everything in there was now Alberto's. Miguel cleared away some of the old clothes on the bottom bunk. His little brother climbed up to the top bunk. Just like old times.
They did not speak, it was completely dark in the room, a police siren wailed somewhere out there in the darkness.
Fun and Games
I'm watching him warily. He has a little smirk on his face, he glances at me from time to time, and each time the smirk grows wider. I sit on my bed of hay as if it were a bed of nails. I glare back.
After a while he finishes sharpening his last knife and tosses it down with the rest. He gives an exaggerated stretch and his smirk finally stretches into a grin. I can see the sadistic cruelty in his awful face; he is much harsher towards me since the escape. Before I could say no, sometimes. I could make demands and he would usually acquiesce. I could throw tantrums and he would tolerate it.
Now I must do exactly what he wants, and if I resist he merely forces me harder. I can barely leave the building anymore, (how pale I've become!), and I'm usually forced to stay in the room with him. Even my movements are circumscribed, I can only hobble around.
Even if my legs are restricted I can still refuse to go along with him. I push myself up off the bed with my hands and back away slowly. I move toward the stairs. He mimics my movements pulling his legs up and gripping his stool, but he does not move after me. The monster watches my retreat with lazy, sardonic eyes.
He allowed me to get onto the stairs, gave me that bit of foolish hope before pouncing. I immediately stood up and tried to throw him off. I succeeded in pushing him back but he was on me in a second. I grunted as I tried to throw him off again but he clamped on tightly, wrapping his arms around my belly, one hand resting on my breast. I could feel his growing erection against my thigh. I wondered for a moment if he would do it right here but he yanked me back. I could feel a sharp pain in my breast.
I struggled and he clutched me harder. I tried to force my way out of his arms but all I succeeded in doing was stumbling away toward the general direction he wanted me to go. He forced my body on top of my bed. I struggled ferociously and scattered the once neat pile of hay. It's even harder to fight with the hobble on but for some reason I don't submit. Despite everything I've been through I could feel the sense of outrage and injustice at this. The emotion rises in my throat like bile and emerges in the form of a stream of violent insane curses. I twist around like a snake, wildly trying to escape his grasp, however eventually he pins me. He straddles a leg over each side of me. My hands are on his face, futilely trying to push him away. He grabs my hands with ease and glanced down to give me a sharp look, warning me not to interfere with his pleasure. He lets go and begins stripping me.
Another bout of panic closes my throat, it'll be over in a few minutes, but what can I do? How far can I push him? He starts to run a hand slowly up my leg.
The idea comes to me suddenly; something half remembered from a self defense class I took in what it seems like a millennia ago. I put the plan into action with in a second. I wrap my legs around his right one, and my arm around his right arm. In another second, before he could realize what I was doing I punched him in the ribs, just below his armpit, and with every ounce of strength I hurl myself up and push him over. Caught off guard and unbalanced he rolls over, dragging me with him.
Now I'm the one on top, and I can see the stunned look on is face. My muscles hurt from the strain but I decided to take advantage of his surprise. I push my fists into his hard abdominal muscles and desperately push myself up off him. Even if I did get away what use would it be? I can't even run.
But before I could pull myself he grabs me with his legs, holding me with his scaly feet. There is still a look of surprise, and some sneaking delight on his face. I fight energetically, pushing away, digging my elbows into his thighs. To my surprise he doesn't throw me back onto the ground, using all four limbs he pushes me on top of him. His growing erection got tangled in my skirts.
I can see where this is going, which makes me struggle all the harder. You think it would be easier, with me on top, but he doesn't notice the blows I rain down on him, and I'm no match for his strength. He easily pushes me into whatever position he wants. One complication emerged with the chains. He tried spreading my legs over him but was stopped short by the hobble. Ha! I thought, but he merely ripped the chains away, which was a jolt of nasty, unexpected pain, however I have to admit it was good to get my legs free.
With that I redoubled my efforts to get loose and run away, it was futile. He began to tear at my skirt, ruining my hope that I might preserve at least this piece of clothing. I don't know why he did this, he could have easily slipped under it, maybe it was done out of spite.
Holding my flailing arms against my body he lifted me up and tried to lower me down. I kicked wildly; he grabbed my legs and forced me to straddle him again. I tried punching again, even punching him in the testicles, he barely noticed.
He lifted me up and tried to lower me onto him. "No!" I managed to get out and bucked my pelvis forward. Both of our eyes widened in surprise, -and his with unexpected delight as he missed the mark entirely and slid smoothly between my ass cheeks.
He grinned wickedly and deliberately rubbed himself in between them vigorously. I screamed in horror as I felt the slimy wetness and was terrified he would force himself in. I gave another desperate lunge and he decided to stop fooling around. He grabbed me and held me with all four limbs and despite me resisting with all my strength, I was lowered and impaled, slowly, onto his rigid rod.
I wriggled my hips uselessly as he continued to force me downwards. He tried yanking my upper body towards him, as if I would drape myself over him. I immediately pushed away from him as far as I could, digging my fists in his abdomen. He let go of my hands suddenly and I was thrown back into his legs. He laughed.
I couldn't disentangle myself from him, despite being on top. I couldn't even try to get off of him, try to stop straddling him. Every time I tried to move some limb, or attempt to get off, he would grab me and continually pull me back down. It was like wrestling an octopus. My inner muscles began to squeeze him, he bucked his pelvis.
It was frightening and frankly, painful. I gasped and was unwillingly pushed forward. A stabbing pain shot up straight through me. I could feel my muscles painfully contract, the pain danced up my spine. The Creeper bucked his pelvis again, harder this time and I fell forward. To my even deeper horror I could feel…something inside of me shift, knocked about. Like my guts or something else were moving,. For a moment I flashed back to anatomy class, I wondered with worry what was shifting inside of me. Deep down I knew what it was of course but I didn't really want to think about it. I did however feel a slight tinge of pity for what was inside of me as the Creeper forced more of me on top of him. I felt his rock hard abdominals press up against my swollen belly. Whatever it was it would be squished for a while.
He began moving, up and down, thrusting, pushing himself further inside of me. I glanced as best I could over my shoulder I could see his weird taloned feet planted firmly and flat on the ground, helping to push his lower body up
Relax, I told myself as I tightened my inner muscles in resistance; he merely pushed through anyway, causing more pain. I had learned the hard way that this only gave me more pain, and him more pleasure. I could hear him grunting and hissing with enjoyment. I tried to force my body to loosen up. My whole lower body was pushed upward repeatedly.
I groaned, mostly in pain but also in anguish. I was wretchedly uncomfortable. Stupid Creeper. If I tried to shift, myself, try to make myself comfortable, he immediately grabbed and held me down. His hands brushed lightly against my back, and came to rest on my butt.
He groped me, squeezing tender flesh. He lifted me up and down in movement to his body. A horrible sickening feeling of powerlessness came over me. I was a doll, a toy, we weren't having sex, he was using me as his plaything.
He groaned, more loudly this time, and growled in my ear. He licked away my sweat, continued to rub his hands over me, inserted a finger were it didn't belong.
I squealed indignantly and squirmed away as best I could. He merely laughed.
Just ignore this I told myself through gritted teeth. I tried to practice my well honed skill of detachment, trying to leave my body, to ignore all of this. I'm not here; a sudden harsh thrust knocked me back into reality. I closed my eyes and felt tears. I'm somewhere else. I tried my favorite place, the beach. His hands roamed everywhere.
I don't know how long it was exactly but I finally sensed the thrusting and bucking had stopped, as well as the groaning in my ear. I opened my eyes reluctantly, I pried my hands off his brawny shoulders, he grinned his awful grin up at me.
Sometimes he does it more than once, I reminded myself. I'll think he'll be done but he'll keep himself in me, rest for a few minutes then start again. I can see now he's giving me a look mixed with calculation and disappointment. I didn't come for him, and he was looking to rectify that.
With a speed that surprised even me I managed to climb off him and get halfway up the stairs before he managed to scramble up after me. I made it up the steps, I knew the front door would be locked-he didn't make the same mistake twice- but before I could decide what to do he was on me, pushing me up against the wall. I suppressed a groan; I could feel from the hardness against me that my pathetic escape attempt did nothing but arouse him again. Yet I still I struggled, blindly feeling along the wall as he pinned me to it. I caught a door knob and twisted it, and fell into my old room blindly. I carried him with me.
His weight made me to topple forward. I fell onto my old bed: a dry heap of hay and a moth eaten blanket. Out of the corner of my eye I saw the pot bellied stove.
He was on me, mounting me quickly. I felt him spread my legs apart the cold air on my sex. I inhaled deeply to try and brace myself. His weight hurt but my swollen belly was gently cradled by all the hay. It sank down gently into it.
He started out quickly, excited and desperate for more. When I tried my old trick of letting my mind wander he slowed, sensing another disappointment. He shook me, snapping me out of my daydreams, and then began to probe me gently, rotating his hips and thrusting experimentally at different angles. I clenched my teeth and suppressed a shudder. He gently inserted a finger and expertly began to play with me.
I flashed back to our first meeting, he was slower and more cautious, trying to find the sweet spot and figure out how everything worked. He now found everything quickly enough. I could feel the shivers start to dance up and down my spine.
"I hate you." I said plainly and bluntly, with no emotion. I received no response. He didn't care what I said, as long as my body could be maneuvered into doing whatever he wanted he wanted it to do.
I don't know how long he took; he tried to draw it out. What happened next seemed like hours as he licked me up, then all over and with an absent minded casualness did small obscene things to me. He played with my hair and pulled at my ears. I felt my mind slip into dissociation again.
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The Hunter's room was mess. Charts, maps and pictures lay scattered everywhere. In the center of the whirlwind of mess was a single clear picture. A horrible face gazed out into the room. The man glared back at it.
The creature he was hunting was proving surprisingly elusive, for many days it seemed the trail had gone cold. He gazed at the ugly sketch on his wall he felt his respect for it rise a notch. He had expected to find its gory trail everywhere but thus far he had remained well-hidden.
Of course, he should have realized, he had been doing this for untold eons. He had endless practice at getting what he wanted and remaining well-hidden. Sill there was no denying he left victims, sometimes there was remains, but this was rare, more often there was just missing people. He had as many BOLOs and missing persons posters as he could gather all around the ugly sketch. It was at the center of the rash of missing people.
He had a few new ones to put up today, one was a young woman with very long dark hair that he thought rather pretty, but he did not pay any special attention to her. She was just another victim.
He didn't like looking at them, but he forced himself too. There were many, but he tried to remember details about their faces and lives. There were kids in sports clothes and scout uniforms, or smiling out from a birthday party. There were young men and women in military dress, or in prom dresses and graduation gowns. It upset him to think about their how brutally their lives were interrupted.
That wasn't what was bothering him lately though.
He heard a slight squeak interrupting the absolute silence of his room/study. He jumped but calmed down immediately when he saw his mother's face poke into the room, He smiled. She brought in a tray.
"Oh thanks ma," he said. "I was really hungry. You must be psychic." They both laughed at his obvious statement.
He saw her gaze drift upwards to the hideous picture above his desk. Involuntarily she shuddered.
The man chewed the sandwich she brought him thoughtfully; long ago she had seen it, when she was a young woman. It had wanted her then, but she one of the few who had ever escaped from him. It was from mostly her descriptions that he based his sketch on. But there had been other sources too.
Her gaze shifted to a calendar he had picked up on a dime store on the way home. It was one of the few among the pictures of puppies and flowers he could tolerate. The colorful pictures of Indians in traditional costumes stood out amongst the grim missing person's posters and sketches of the monster. The calendar was marked obsessively with red ink.
It reminded him of the think that was upsetting him, that awful possibility. His mother's fingers touched the marked up calendar. "Something is wrong." She murmured.
He struggled to swallow his sandwich, it moved down his esophagus like a wad of wet toilet paper. "Something is wrong." He said. "Every twenty-third spring"
"For twenty-three days" is mother supplied automatically.
He looked at her, "It's been a few months at least."
She looked grimly at him. She must have figured it out too, or had a least sensed it, however she asked with quiet, growing despair, "Could it be that you're wrong?"
The Hunter shook his head "That maybe he's asleep already and something else is killing all these people?" he asked a touch sarcastically as he gestured to the pictures of the missing. "He's still here. " He studied the pictures and maps intently. "I know it, and you know it too, you must have dreamed this."
His mother thought about her dreams, how vague and nebulous they were, but filled with gore and pain none-the-less. Sometimes she saw flashes of his victims but she knew better than to act on this, her friend often warned her against its futility, how it caused nothing but pain. It was often too late anyway.
He son had pulled a chart. "I've been tracking him," he said. "I don't know where he is yet, but I think I can tell when he awakes, and when he sleeps, I've been looking back the past few years. It might be that It's cycle is a little different each time, that It doesn't wake up on the exact same day." He pulled out a sheet of paper, "this year he woke up a little late, into the summer practically, but now its winter and It's still awake."
His mother nodded, "It's a natural cycle, you can predict them, but like most natural cycles it's not exact."
"I'm more worried about the fact that he's still awake! " His mother nodded, more people would die.
"Maybe," she offered, "maybe this is part of his cycle too. Maybe every once in a while he stays awake longer."
The Hunter shrugged. It was a theory, it sounded like an unlikely one to him, but it was all they had.
In a small way he was pleased. He thought he would have to be very lucky to have found him during his twenty-three days. He thought he would have to track him down after he had gone back to his slumber and get him when he was sleeping carcass. He wasn't happy that people were dying of course, but maybe he could get the bastard as look him in the eye as he impaled him.
He was terrified and exhilarated at the idea of seeing It awake.
The Hunter reflected on all he knew, his brain working around the mystery of this incredible creature. The sketches glared down at him, the missing people smiled their frozen smiles. Outside the deceptively innocent cornfield waved beautifully. The tiny shoe sat innocuously on his desk.