I woke up sweating. I had been having the same dream every night for a week. In the dream I had just gotten off of work and was walking down the white-walled hallways of my apartment complex when I would hear a buzzing. A low hum, like a fan maybe. It would get louder as I got closer to my door and stop as soon as I put my key into the lock Click goes the key into the lock. Click-thunk as I turn. Every time it would be perfectly quiet when I opened the door, but I’d feel like something was about to happen, something big. I would step into my apartment and everything would look like normal. The microwave time was blinking, the dishes were in the sink where I had neglected them last night and the book I was reading (Into the Wild by John Krakauer) was on the kitchen table where I’d usually left it after breakfast.
At this point I would think to myself, “Hey, I’m hungry, maybe a bowl of cereal before I cook dinner.” Then I’d pull out the milk and grab a box of fruity loops from the top of the fridge. I’d open the drawer and grab a spoon and set it on the counter next to the milk. When I’d open up the cupboard where I have my bowls there they’d be, but underneath them was a board game with the name on the side. Ouija. Every time I’d think to myself, “What the hell?” I’d take out each stack of bowls and set them on the counter then pull out the box. I’d open it up while wondering who put it there, thinking it was some kind of a joke. Then I would open it up and all it would be is a board with letters and numbers and arrow-like looking piece. When I set both down on the table the buzzing would come back and the looking piece would jiggle and then shoot to the board.
Y. O. U.
"What?" I'd think.
Y. O. U.
Y. O. U.
Y. O. U.
It went faster and faster, always those three letters, then the buzzing began to get so loud it hurt and then I’d wake up with my heart pounding. It was exactly the same every time.
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I woke up with a start. I groaned, rubbed my eyes. It was early. Still dark out. I was craving coffee. I rolled out of bed and pulled on a pair of pants, went to the kitchen. When I opened my cupboards and cracked open my Folgers tin I discovered that I barely had enough grounds for a cup. Not enough to get me going after this lack of sleep. I though about a day with only a cup of coffee and a day with a nice big pot of coffee. The choice was clear; I was going to the gas station. I got dressed and drove.
The nearest gas station was a Shell but it didn’t open until 7am, so instead I went a few miles away to the united. The united was a older privately owned place decked out in Americana. When I got there it was glowing all red white and blue. The place was a little run down. It had pockmarks in the concrete concrete that hadn’t yet been filled and the white paint on the walls was cracking. It partially ruined the effect the lighting created. I parked.
When I got out I heard it. Just for a second, a buzzing. I looked around me but there was nothing but the glow of the lights beneath the gas-canopy. I saw some kids in a nearby car looking at me look around and felt foolish. I stretched real quick in an expression of nonchalance and walked inside.
Inside it was brightly lit. The coolers hummed. Directly in front of me I saw a Freezie Bear selling drinks. Bingo. Where there are freezies, there is coffee nearby. When I got there I saw they had replaced the coffee pots they used to have with a newer automatic coffee machine, the kind where you press a button to select what you want, then beneath that row there was another row of buttons to select size and a third button to tell it to pour. Right underneath the third one was an LED panel that told you what you had selected. I grabbed a cup, a large, and considered what I was going to have. I eventually decided to keep it simple and just have a basic black. I hit the buttons and waited for it to fill. It didn’t. I looked at the screen to see what was going on.
“IT DOESN’T LIVE,” the panel read.
“What?” I thought to myself. I looked at it. I hit the buttons again. Black coffee came up this time and poured. How bizarre.
When it finished I capped it and started looking for where they kept the straws. I turned to the side where the freezies were. There were the long straws with scoops on the end over there, but no normal straws.
I heard the buzzing again. Louder this time, coming from the freezie machine. I looked at it. It had a panel too, one a lot like the coffee machine. Across it ran the words again:
“IT DOESN’T LIVE,” it read. Then the words slid off the screen. More followed. “YOU. YOU. YOU. YOU.”
The buzzing got louder. I felt hot. By now I was feeling pretty freaked out. I decided to leave without a straw. I needed to get home asap. Call off work. Sleep off whatever was going on. I walked to the counter trying to act casual. There was a customer in front of me, a big guy in a trenchcoat. He was buying beer and paying for gas. It was hard to concentrate with the buzzing, it was getting louder.
I stepped behind him. That’s when I smelled it. The smell of rot, like when you forget you left the ground beef out on the counter when you’re out staying at a friends for a weekend, but worse. It was coming from him. I looked around at the others in the store. No one seemed to notice the horrid stench. I looked at him closer. He was big, maybe 6’2”. He was horribly white, bald. His flesh looked like it was flaking off in little sloughs. He was wearing a black trenchcoat decorated with steel eyelits on the shoulders and patches on the shoulders. His wallet was on a chain. The clerk finished ringing him up and his hand went back to his pocket to grab it. His hand was just as pale as his head, but it had splotches of red and orange over them. I froze when I saw his nails. They were huge, several inches long. They looked sharp. The buzzing swelled. Looking around everything seemed too bright, too vivid.
I looked away, trying to get a grip. I saw the powerball lottery ticker. It read “IT DOESN’T LIVE IT DOESN’T LIVE IT DOESN’T LIVE.” My heart was pounding.
“Are you okay friend?”
I turned to look towards the voice. It was the gas station attendant, looking concerned. The long-clawed man looking at me curiously as well, but saying nothing. His face was rounded and his eyes red. He looked like an albino. I stared at him and he looked back.
“It’s been a long night for you hasn’t it?” He said, his voice raspy and low. The words barely registered. I saw his teeth. It was like 3D vision. On one hand you can see reality as it normally is, but superimposed upon it is something else jumping out at you. When I looked at his mouth I saw on one hand a normal human mouth. On the other, just beneath the surface I saw teeth, Rows upon rows of them. This was no human, this was…something else. Something wrong, something terrible. The smell off his breath was rank, terrible. How could the clerk not see this? He tilted his head and looked at me, his eyes cold, analyzing me. “Why don’t you just go home? Don’t worry, I’ll pay for the coffee. A man can see when someone needs a little brotherly love. It’s on me.”
“Th…thanks…” I said and I walked towards the door.
“Man? A man?” I thought, To my left was the powerball ticker. “IT DOES NOT LIVE. KILL IT. KILL IT. KILL IT.”
That rung true. Somewhere deep inside of me I knew it was true. It was something horrible masquerading as a person and for some reason no one else could see it for what it truly was. It was a monster…
I looked back at the powerball ticker.
“THE BOTTLE,” it red in flashing red lights. Underneath it was a rack of Vodka on sale, 25.99 each. I grabbed one by the neck. I could feel a heat from inside of me swell into the glass and it glowed reds and oranges, like a lava lamp. I looked at the clerk, then back at the beast. The clerk looked slightly puzzled. He didn’t see it. The beast, however did. It took a step back, it’s eyes a glare. It looked right at the bottle then back at me.
“One of you,” he said and lunged at me, his maw wide and gaping.
All I could think to do was to swing at him with the bottle. He swerved away, but I caught a piece of his trenchcoat which caught on fire. The beast shrieked, tore it off in a smooth motion, it’s claws easily slicing through the leather, and threw it down between us. Without the coat as disguise it was even more disgusting. His spine was long and hunched. It had ribs, far too many, and the flesh between sucked in with every breath it took. I had always imagined when I would read my books that I knew what a look of hatred was. I didn’t. When I looked at the beast I saw what such a look really was. It loathed me. It despised everything I was and represented. It saw me as cattle. It saw me as an intrusion. I saw the inhuman hatred. I knew it meant to kill me. It lunged again with a screech, his claws reaching for my chest.
I blindly swung downward but it was ready for it, and pushed my hand to the side, towards the counter. The bottle, which was looking more like a flaming brand than a bottle at this point, hit the counter, but it didn’t crack or rebound. In fact, I didn’t feel any resistance at all, it went through, leaving a steaming slash where it had been. It put me off balance, I turned wildly in a bid to maintain my footing which probably saved my life. The claws that had been reaching for my chest instead cut through my arm.
That was it. That was the spark. When it tore into my bicep anger surged through me. How DARE this monster strike me. How DARE this beast prey upon the innocent. How DARE he exist at all.
I dropped to one knee and went to leap towards the monster. That’s how I saw it in my mind before I did it. Reality did not work that way. I flopped forward and landed near it’s knees instead of jumping towards it like St. George slaying the dragon. Again, my ineptitude probably saved my life. The claws raked above me. He, too, expected me to leap like a hero, right into his reach. I saw my chance and took it. I swung my glowing brand at his knees. It went through him with the slightest resistance, like dipping a spoon into soft ice cream. He fell with his limbs no longer supporting him, torso ending in smoking stumps. He screeched, a horrible tearing sound tearing into your ears worse than any fire alarm. I swung again at his exposed body, at the abdomen, then again, again, again, again.
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I ran. I heard sirens back at the gas station. I could still hear the screaming inside. I ran home hoping that no one would find me. What the hell had happened back there? I looked at what was once again a bottle in my hand. It was still intact. I shook it. The alcohol sloshed inside.
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