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CHEESE OR THESE?
by Francis U. Kaltenbaugh
We stared at each other in disbelief, three of us in total
shock -- not speaking, as each of us took turns looking at the other
and then back again, only to repeat the ritual. This simply couldn't
be happening; not to us, not in this age of peace and love, we were
completely flipped-out!
It was cold as the fog rolled into the area and wrapped around
us, brought by a chilling breeze. I felt the goose-bumps pop up as I
shivered, and Tom finally spoke, "Er . . . ah, NO Thanks." Fortunately,
his speaking broke the mesmerization, or we might still be standing there
to this day. We turned as one toward the walk and each had the opportunity
to stumble, as we made our way down the ungodly number of not-made-for-
human-use porch steps -- into the darkness.
In slow motion black and white, across my inner eye flashed an
episode of THE TWILIGHT ZONE. Staging: main cast slightly off-center
in a medium-shot that included the hairy arm holding the door open.
The inside light splayed across us on the porch, as we gawked back
and forth. It featured extreme close-ups of each of us -- imitating
our numbed gaze at each other. Then the voice-over by Rod as he
haltingly intones, ". . . and these people . . . did not realize . . .
they have entered -- `The Twilight Zone'."
Well, the steps were for human use but whoever made them certainly
didn't plan on people using them with feet larger than a size four.
Each of us silently cursed a carpenter from the past. Edgar fell to the
cement walk about three steps from the bottom, "Ouch! Damn." I was more
careful and only faltered on the last step.
We helped him to his feet and regrouped; making our way down the
street away from that hideous house and its owner, before another
unbelievable occurrence took place. For the first time in ten minutes,
Edgar spoke, "Can you believe what he tried to do? He's freaked-out!
It's the only explanation, man; what d'ya think?."
"Totally out of his mind, man," Tom replied, and spat vigorously.
"You bet your sweet . . ." I hesitated, "do you think we should tell
some of the others?"
We walked along in silence for a few long minutes, pondering what I
had said. Edgar, who liked to think of himself as the leader, turned
toward Elm street. Tom and I hesitated at the corner -- looking down
the deserted street. No streetlights and only one darkened house, why
bother; *even* if it was a great short-cut, it didn't feel right,
especially tonight.
He noticed we weren't following, "*Come* on-n-n!"
"Why that way?" Tom asked.
Edgar looked exasperated even in the dim light. "To take the damn
short-cut. So we can get over to Mike's house in time."
"What do you mean `in time', time for what?" I asked.
"To get to Cullens's house, Don! -- before they leave. Mike told me
about it. They've got somethin' really special. But we gotta get there
before they leave at 11:00 for a midnight party," Edgar explained. "So
we gotta hurry and take the short-cut, or we'll never make it."
Tom and I looked at each other weighing the rewards against the
other possibilities. I mean, I'm not chicken. Done it lots of times. I
just really didn't want to cut across the grave yard, not tonight. The
house we just left zoomed into my mind, and I remembered the door slowly
opening, and then wham!
There it stood, a person supposedly, answering the door, and it
had such a disfigured face -- it took my breath away. I almost said
something, but really couldn't -- not even a single word. Then I
remembered hearing something on the radio about the car crash and the
fire. He was ugly enough to stop a damn clock; he almost stopped my
heart.
It must have been the accident that made him act so weird, probably
brain damage. I still couldn't believe he did it. "What do you think
Mike has?" I asked Edgar.
"I'll tell ya right now, it's gotta be some great stuff. That's all
Mike talked about for the past week or so. How great this stuff was,
and he kept telling me all kinds of things about how good it was and
what I'd be missing. Him and his friends find the really great stuff
and then save it for Halloween," Edgar explained. "I don't want to
miss out, so -- come on!"
Tom and I exchanged glances, both of us trying to read the other
before making a commitment. He started to walk toward Edgar, and I
figured it would probably be worth it, so we headed down the short-cut.
Edgar was talking very loudly as we neared the cemetery; telling us
about what a great time we would have after going to Mike's house.
"Did you hear that?" Tom asked in a hushed voice.
"What did you hear; what was it?" asked Edgar, loudly.
"That noise sounded like someone or something moaning -- listen!
There it is again."
"I heard it that time," I said. "What do you think it is?"
"Got to be a cat," Edgar stated, as he looked around behind us.
"Hmm, could be; probably a damn old cat. I saw a big old black one
running across the road by the corner," I said.
"Come on! -- we gotta hurry or we'll miss him -- don't want that,"
Edgar complained.
We followed Edgar as he climbed over the three foot iron railing at
the edge of the cemetery; then he really picked up the pace as we heard
the moaning again -- only much louder this time. I wondered if we should
check and see if somebody really needed help. It was a spooky moan --
and sounded like someone got hurt badly and couldn't get up. *But cats
can make those weird sounds, so why bother,* I thought to myself.
We had to leave the roadway to finish our short-cut, which forced us
to start walking over the graves. I didn't like doing that but it was
almost impossible to see where we were going in the dark. There was a
path we could follow after we got to the giant monument; and I could
see it looming in the distance, with its steeple-shaped peak, church
like and towering above the other markers. Old Mr. Arnold wanted
everyone to know where he was cultivating worms; the rich old fart was
the founding father of our town.
"There's old man Arnold's monument, looks like a damn barn from here.
We'll make good time when we get on the path behind it," Edgar said.
I was stumbling toward his monument, trying not to step on or fall
over flower pots blooming plastic flowers, when the screeching moan
resounded much louder than before. I was slightly in the lead, and as I
turned I dimly saw the others turn as well, trying to find the source of
the sound behind us. I continued walking when suddenly -- the world fell
from beneath me, as I tripped staggered and started falling; and the
ground wasn't where it was supposed to be -- I continued to fall.
* * *
Shooting stars streaked past my eyelids, the second thing I noticed
was pain! -- excruciating pain struck my mind, sent from my sprained
or broken ankle. My breath came in ragged gasps as I tried to figure
out the tingling coursing all over my body. I became more aware and
the pain intensified, and I suddenly realized what caused the tingling
sensations. ROACHES!
Laying there barely a moment, flat on my back, eyes clenched shut,
I leaped to my feet frantically swiping the roaches from my body.
Falling to one knee, I reeled in pain as my left ankle would not support
my weight. Panic stricken, I slapped at the roaches on my face and
hurriedly extracted them from my overly long hair. I wanted to scream,
but dared not open my mouth for fear of the little monsters crawling
down my throat.
"Mmnnh-h-h," I moaned loudly, my mouth clamped shut.
I peeped open one eye to look around and saw total darkness. I could
not see anything but black. Feeling my neck and scalp, there were no
telltale signs of roaches crawling over me. They had disappeared and I
tried to determine my location -- in the deathly silence.
I was finally able to take a deep breath and my senses were assaulted
with strange odors -- very strange -- mixed fetid smells of which I
could only identify one -- fresh turned earth -- the others too putrid
to identify. I felt an overwhelming urgency to gag and scream at the same
time, but didn't; instead I wondered where my friends went.
My head finally stopped reeling and my desire to regurgitate subsided,
and I wondered where the drumming was coming from, then determined it was
my head. I placed my hand a little above my right temple and winced in
pain generated from the slight touch. I gingerly raised myself to my feet,
keeping all my weight on my good ankle. Standing and staring into total
darkness enhanced the awful smells, as my stomach quavered in revulsion.
Taking a hop forward, hands outstretched, I felt something grasp my
entire face! "Unhh! Damn spider webs," I muttered, as I quickly wiped
both hands over my face. I took another hop forward, and my right finger
tip touched something, at the same time as more spider webs clung to my
face. "Ahhhh!" I could feel them now, little spiders -- hundreds of them
scuttling all over my face and head.
"Oh, God!" I pleaded, as the little bastards bit me -- stinging. I
lost my balance and fell forward as I tried to wipe all the spiders and
webs from my face. Placing my hands in front of me as I fell, bouncing
of it to the ground, I could feel an earth wall. The smell of fresh
earth was very strong. A sickening feeling washed over me, as I realized
where I must be. I sobbed, then screamed, "TOM! EDGAR!"
Deathly silence answered my call.
Reaching down to feel my ankle, I was relieved to find it was not
broken, but felt badly sprained and was extremely swollen. Shuddering, I
remembered the spiders and roaches, and knew I had to get out of here --
somehow. Scooting near the earthen wall, I placed my hands against it
for help to a standing position. I again detected that fetid smell.
Standing on my good ankle and reaching for the top of the fresh grave,
I could get my hands just over the top and barely rest my elbows on the
edge of the loose earth piled around this ominous rectangle. I struggled
to gain a purchase at the rim and sprang off my good ankle. I got my
chest on the ledge and began scooting as best I could out of the grave.
There was a rattling noise that sounded like old dry bones shaking
against each other. I looked in front of me and saw the biggest rattle
snake ever to exist, coiled and ready to strike. It swayed toward me
and I fell back into the grave. I screamed. Beads of sweat popped up
on my forehead, my heart raced. Why was I in this HELL?
I lay on my back at the bottom of the grave shivering in fear. Tears
were streaming from my eyes, when I looked up I saw a vague figure
standing over the grave. He had one arm outstretched, and I thought,
"Help at last!" He stepped closer to the edge. Trying to control my
tears, I sobbed and sat up. A slight glow started around the dark form,
then I could see he was holding a pitchfork. Raising it well above his
head, he fired the missile at my stomach. Blood spurted from me as the
tines passed through me and embedded in the earth beneath me. Pinned
and bleeding, I cried out, "Oh, GOD!" I was dying, ME, dying and I'd
never even been laid.
* * *
"Hey! HEY!"
"Come on and get up!"
"Let's go!"
I was staring into a glowing yellow-eyed headless entity. "This is
the beginning of HELL!" I thought.
"We're gonna be late, come on! Get up and let's go we can still make
it in time," Edgar pleaded.
"What? Where . . ." I asked.
"Here take my hand and I'll help you up," Tom offered.
I focused my eyes and saw the pumpkin Edgar was holding, lit and
glowing. I shook my head, and felt a throbbing pain over my right
temple. Reaching to touch my head, I felt a large goose egg forming.
"What the hell? Did you see that guy?" I asked them.
"Can you believe that guy back there, trying to offer us pieces of
cheese and vegetable sticks as a treat on Halloween. He's gotta be
totally outta his mind!" Edgar complained.
"What!" I asked, completely confused.
"You tripped and fell over one of those plastic flower arrangements
and hit your head on a grave stone. You've been out for almost a minute,
and we were starting to worry," Tom explained.
"Look at the pumpkin I found while you were in lala land," Edgar said.
"You guys won't believe this but . . . " I explained the details of my
nightmare as we continued to walk to Mike's house.
* * *
Copyright 1994 Francis U. Kaltenbaugh
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Francis is a writer who enjoys exploring, lifting up the rocks of humanity
and checking the darker side. When not looking under rocks, you can find
Francis in cafes, restaurants, and bars trying to find the elusive glue
to paste a book together with. Thinking electronic publications are great,
Francis knows there is an Alien out there, who has received and is reading
RUNE'S RAG, and is at this moment writing a story to send back to us.
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