Hunting Season (17 page)

"Not enough time," he said.

"My neck hurts."

Inigo looked away from her, his eyes resting on a Cleansing Station across the street.  His heart shrank as he realized no other option remained.

"Not enough time."

Inigo carried Sarah across the street.  He set her down in the middle of the Station where a black scorch marked where hundreds of others had met their fate.  No suicide gun here, either.

"Daddy?"  Her voice full of fluid.

"Don't worry, sweetie.  It's just a precaution."

Inigo didn't know what else to say and didn't want to know.  He backed away, grabbed the flame thrower, and leveled the nozzle at Sarah.

"Daddy, what are you doing?"

"What I have to do."

"I don't understand."

"You don't have to.  I'm sorry, Sarah."  He switched on the flame thrower.  "It'll all be over soon."

"What will?"

"What I have to do."

"Daddy, I'm scared."  Bile poured over her chin.

Inigo tried to shoot the flame, to silence his daughter's fears, but found he couldn't.

"Daddy?"

Inigo looked around him, tears clouding his vision, scouring the sidewalk for pedestrians.

"You?"

A stranger, an older man with a lot of extra weight, pushed his own thumb against his chest.  "You talkin' to me?"

Inigo nodded.  "Please, come help me."

"Screw you, buddy.  Whatever's going on there is your business."

"I can't do it."  The flame thrower dropped to Inigo's side.  "It's my daughter."

"Daddy?" Sarah cried.

The stranger looked from her to Inigo.  "You want me to burn her.   Screw that, man.  There's not even a gun in there."

"She's got the rings," Inigo said.  "And I can't burn my daughter. You have to do it."

The stranger looked from him to her.  "She's got the rings?"

Inigo nodded.  "Yeah."

The stranger rubbed his mouth, kicked his right foot against the sidewalk, then stepped forward into the Cleansing Station.

"Because she's got the rings," the stranger said and picked up the flame thrower.

Inigo turned his back to Sarah.  "Just do it.  Please."

"Daddy?"

Calling him felt like a dagger had been thrown into Inigo's spine.  He tried to pretend she wasn't there and waited for the flame thrower to erupt.

"Daddy?"

She called him three more times before Inigo caved in and turned around.  Sarah stood there, perfectly still, in the middle of the scorch mark, staring at him for help.  His little girl, all that was left of him, waiting to die.

Inigo placed his hand on the stranger's shoulder and said, "Wait."

He walked to the center of the scorch mark and embraced Sarah.

"Daddy, what's happening?"

"Pray, Sarah."

Inigo looked the stranger in his sunken eyes.  "Do it."

"What?"

"Do it."

"You're not infected."

"Do it."

The stranger started to back away.  "I won't."

"She's got the rings and I won't leave my little girl.  Please, for the love of God, do it."

The stranger's hands trembled as he raised the flame thrower and leveled it at father and daughter.

"Are you praying, sweetie?"

Sarah nodded her head against his thigh.  "I'm talking to mommy."

Inigo smiled and patted her on the head.  "Tell her I said hello."

Inigo turned and looked down the barrel of the flame thrower.  "Please, do it now."

He felt the heat first before he saw the flame rushing toward them.  Inigo clenched Sarah as tight as he could and then the flames engulfed them both.

THE MONSTER WHISPERER

My fingers trembled around the mouse as I reread the e-mail.  A guy named Ken in Bakersfield had written me about a monster living under his daughter's bed.

A bed monster.

In my career as the Monster Whisperer, I had yet to confront the one creature I feared as a child, and one I discovered still sparked terror in my soul.  Thankfully, a case concerning a bed monster had never come my way after ten years of work.  But now it had.

I reread the e-mail out loud, hoping hearing it would make it less terrifying.

Dear Mr. Czar Naples,

I am writing you concerning a case of a monster-under-the-bed.  When my family and I moved into our house eight years ago, we discovered, with great joy, the presence of the monster living under my two-year-old daughter's bed.  It did a wonderful job scaring her; doing such things as scratching at her mattress while she slept or seizing her ankles in the middle of the night.  It acted as a good monster-under-the-bed should.

Over the past year, however, the monster, which my daughter named "Clyde," began showing signs of laziness and even depression.  Seizing and clenching turned to tickling.  Then there was no touching at all.  The only reason we knew Clyde still dwelt under the bed was because he'd become prone to weeping in the early morning hours.

I am a regular viewer of your show and tried many of the therapeutic techniques you advise monster owners to do.  None have worked.  The last straw came the other day when I arrived home early from work to find Clyde on the living room couch watching daytime soap operas.

Please, Mr. Naples, can you help our family monster find his terrifying true self again?

Yours,

Ken in Bakersfield.

Reading it out loud did nothing to inspire even a small amount of courage in me.  My gut told me to delete the e-mail and take a case involving a slothful werewolf.  Yet the professional in me said I must take the case and finally overcome my one fear.

I stood and paced back and forth in front of my computer, trying to conquer my dread.  Some may think it irrational a creature like a bed monster should scare anyone but a child.  Well, my childhood history involved such a monster.

I'd discovered, at the age of five, my gift for communicating with the dark things of this world.  And every monster I had encountered until I turned ten had yielded to my power of suggestion over them.

Then a monster moved under my bed.

I did not fear it at the time.  After all, I whispered to monsters on a regular basis.  I figured I'd just tell it to go live somewhere else.  But when I whispered, the monster did not hear.  It did not bend to my suggestions.  It defied me.  As a result, I grew to fear the one monster I could not control.  It tormented me so much my father – a successful Avatar – had to rid the house of it once and for all.

Now I stared at the computer screen and wondered whether I would still fail to exert control over such a beast.  After an hour of arguing with myself, I quickly typed a response to Ken and hit SEND before I could change my mind.

I had committed myself to helping Clyde.

*  *  *  *  *

A week later, I sat outside in my car, staring at Ken's ranch-style house for a good hour or so, trying my best to calm my erupting stomach.  The Imodium hadn't kicked in but I knew I couldn't wait outside much longer without someone noticing.

So I kicked myself in the butt and walked to the front door.  Ken opened it.  A giant smile of relief spread across his mouth upon seeing me.

"Thank you for coming, Mr. Naples," Ken said and shook my hand.

"Call me Czar."  I followed him in.

Ken introduced me to his lovely wife and adorable daughter.  Both had rich brown hair and deep blue eyes.

After the introductions, Ken led me into the living room to meet Clyde.  As I turned the corner, my heart thundered in my chest.  I had no idea what to expect.  I had no idea if my talents would even work.  My first professional failure could loom around that corner.  Smart thing I did not bring the camera crew with me.

Then I laid my eyes upon it.  The fear disappeared.

Clyde sat on the couch.  Its tentacles lay limp at its sides.  Its eight eyes focused on some show with young heiresses having affairs with wealthy criminals.  Its beaked mouth hung open, stained orange from the dozens of bags of cheese puffs it had torn through.

"You see," Ken said.  "This is the way he's been for a few weeks now.  I could handle the weeping under the bed.  But this is ridiculous.  I mean, where's the pride?"

I nodded.  Looking at Clyde, I wondered why I would ever fear such a pathetic thing. 

"What do you think is wrong with him, Czar?" Ken said.

I went with my gut instinct.  "Clyde's bored."

The look in Ken's eyes told me he didn't understand.

"Bored?  I thought he was depressed."

"Both," I said.  "You see Clyde has gotten bored with his lifestyle.  When your daughter was young, he enjoyed terrorizing her.  But as she got older, she got used to his taunts.  When she didn't show the scared response to the stimuli, Clyde retreated into a cocoon of failure.  Depression followed because Clyde didn't believe he would succeed in scaring anyone, no matter what he did.  Now Clyde has rejected his dwelling under the bed for the couch.  Clyde is clearly in need of new stimulation."

I watched Ken's eyebrows narrow.

"Like what?"

I had expected this type of question.  "Have you and your wife thought of having another child?  If there was a new child in the house with no experience with a monster like Clyde, Clyde might find terrorizing the baby exciting.  A new challenge, so to speak."

Ken's wife shook her head.  "No, we don't want to have anymore children.  Frankly, it feels like we have two already with Clyde acting this way."

I understood what she meant.

At that moment, Clyde released a giant belch and tore into another pack of cheese puffs.

Normally, if the monster owner won't introduce a new stimulus to the environment, such as a new child, I would recommend increasing its exercise regiment.  But this only works on creatures like werewolves.  Monsters like Clyde are stationary and exercise isn't a factor.

I looked for a long time at Clyde, trying to figure out what would give him his monster identity back.  The sight was so pathetic.  I couldn't believe this was a monster.  I couldn't believe I once feared his kind.

Then I looked at Ken and his family and disappointment found a home in my heart.  They were the owners but were unwilling to help Clyde by introducing him to new stimuli which would reinvigorate his self-esteem.

I couldn't find a reasonable solution to make all parties happy.

Then I looked at Clyde again and the hairs on the back of my neck stood up.  He had no ear lobes.

The bed monster species is notorious for their oversized ear lobes.  It aides them in picking up the slightest shifts in sleeping patterns in children.  It is also one of the features which terrified me the most as a child.  Those giant ears and yet the monster had still refused to hear my whispering.

I could not believe I didn't notice the lack of ear lobes right from the start.  Clyde was not a monster-under-the-bed.  He was a creature-from-the-beyond, a monster almost exact in appearance to a bed monster with the exception of the ears.  No wonder he didn't act like a bed monster.  Clyde suffered from the ultimate case of monster identity confusion.

I smiled.  I walked over and gently leaned in to where I thought Clyde's ears might be.

"You are a creature-from-the-beyond," I whispered, making sure the family couldn't hear me.  "Remember your power.  Throw off the shackles of this house.  Kill them all.  Eat them instead of the cheese puffs and return to terrorizing mankind."

I backed away and waited to see if my words had any effect on Clyde.

It didn't look like they had.  Clyde still sat there, cheese puff bag in one tentacle, all eyes on the television.

Then those tentacles sprang to life.  Each one shot out and wrapped themselves around one of the family members.  Their screams filled the living room as the tentacles dragged them toward Clyde's hungry beak.

Seeing Clyde so energetic warmed my heart.  I could tell passion swam through him once again.  He tore through the daughter first then moved on to the mother.  Clyde held Ken up in the air so he could watch as Clyde ate his family.

I'll admit I got a little choked up at this point.

Ken screamed and cried and shouted obscenities at me until Clyde pulled him to the beak and devoured the last of the clan.

Afterward, Clyde patted me on the back before he made his way out of the house and on to whatever pursuit he chose next.

As he left, I wiped tears away.  To see I had given this monster a will to live again filled me with great pride.  I'll always be proud of this rehabilitation.

As soon as I was home, though, the old fear returned.  I had not successfully confronted a bed monster.  But I had accepted a bed monster case, believing I would face such a creature.  Knowing this, I found I didn't fear those creatures as much as I once had and knew if another such case came my way, I wouldn't hesitate to take it.

After all, I am Czar Naples; the Monster Whisperer.

TREATMENT

Tonya changed three weeks into the outbreak.  Just before it happened she was normal Tonya, preparing a sample to test possible vaccines on.  We all were.  I smiled at her and she smiled back and winked while pointing her right index finger at me and flexing her thumb like she shot a gun.

Then she changed.

She attacked Phil first, ripping his throat out with her teeth.  The carotid artery exploded and hit me with a jet of hot blood on the other side of the table.  I was blinded for a second.  When I wiped my eyes I found she had moved on, grabbing Claire and biting off a chunk of her right deltoid three inches in diameter.

Danny managed to corner her with a fire ax and folding chair long enough for me to shoot the sedative into her with the tranquilizer gun.  We kept the gun in the lab in case such an episode ever occurred.  I never actually thought we'd use it.

The alarm brought Security fast.  They showed up, restrained Tonya and finished off Claire with a lethal injection.  One moment, she was on the floor, blood pumping from the bite wound to her shoulder.  The next, she was staring at the ceiling.  Gone.