The Devil Next Door (20 page)

The old woman spit phlegm at her.

Susan crawled away, whimpering and shaking.

And there, right before her, standing high and almost proud, was a nude woman with a baseball bat in her hands. Her breasts and belly and face were painted with snaking transverse bands of blood. Her hair was wild, caked with filth. Her blue eyes were wide and bright, filled with a glacial coolness. They stared down with a catatonic glaze that was shiny and wet and utterly inhuman. More like the hungry stare of a wolf.

Now you got it, hon. Wolves. As in were-wolves. You know, shapeshifters, Lon Chaney and all that horseshit. Werewolves. That’s what these things are. Not people. Not really. Not anymore. Maybe they’re not sprouting hair and fangs like movie werewolves, but please be assured, my dear, these are fucking werewolves and you are now in their lair.

And all of that was disturbing,
hell yes,
but what seemed even worse was that this crazy woman had a leather sling of arrows on her back and shiny onyx bow over one shoulder like she was some demented Amazonian.

“Please,” Susan said, holding out her hands for mercy, trying to catch her breath, trying to find her center which was so lopsided, inverted, and upside down by this point she could have slid right off it like a fried egg in a grease-slicked pan.
Over, Under, Sideways, Down,
as The Yardbirds had once said. She swallowed, feeling the dryness of her throat. Her heart pounded, blood rushed at her temples. “Please…I didn’t mean to barge in, I was looking for someone, but they’re not here so I’ll just be on my—”

“Hhhhssssssttt!”
the woman said by way of reply, forcing hissing air through clenched teeth.

Susan shook her head, not understanding such gibberish. At least on the surface…but down below where the wild things were, where they ran crusted with blood and gamey with their own rancid animal stink, she understood all too well. She was being told in a very rudimentary way to shut her fucking mouth. For the werewolf woman did not want to hear shit like that. She was not accustomed to her prey blabbing on and on; she liked her meat to know its place, to sit on the plate and exude a tasty pink juice, to be tender and filling, to satisfy both tongue and gut.

“What’s…what’s your name?” Susan said, trying a different tact even though her animal instinct told her she was literally fucked here like the virgin on prom night in the old joke.

The woman cocked her head, her face scrubbed of emotion like that of a mannequin. There was excrement all over her feet. Her pale thighs and calves were bright with fingers of blood that seemed to have run from between her legs as if she were menstruating. And judging from the hot, meaty smell wafting off her, Susan knew she was.

“Please,” Susan said again.

The woman grinned. Her teeth were stained red. “I’m Angie,” she said. Then she said it again: “
I’m Annnngeeeee,”
the way a little kid would say it, enjoying the way it filled her throat and rolled off her tongue. And this more than anything told Susan Donnel all she needed to know about the brain behind those eyes: simple, childlike, the cunning and savage appetites of a beast coupled with the rudimentary reasoning of a child.

Susan opened her mouth to speak and as she did so, Angie swung the baseball bat with a smooth muscular grace. It hit Susan in the mouth and she in turn hit the floor, her teeth scattering like dice. She was barely conscious, just gagging on her own blood. She was barely aware of the two men that stepped into the room and ripped her clothes off beneath the full approving glare of Angie Preen.

Susan came awake to the sharp stab of penetration between her legs, a heavy man that stank of sweat and shit pumping away on her. The horror of this floored her: the invasion, the brutality, the violation of the act. She let out a wild, whooping scream as those hips pistoned and the man’s greasy, hot flesh pressed into her own. His breath blew in her face and stank like meat green with rot, like blood and vomit and boiling fevers. His face was a mask of dried blood, just that grinning mouth and gnashing yellow teeth, the stupid bovine staring eyes, unblinking.

The woman named Angie looked on with amusement. She licked her lips. Her free hand went down to her crotch. Gasping, she slid a finger into herself as Susan was raped.

Oh God, oh God, oh God, please please please no no no—

Then there was a keening cry and another man, a heavy, bulky man, kicked her attacker off and then mounted her himself. Then the first man pulled him free and the two of them were fighting, rolling through the shit-stained papers in the living room, kicking and biting, snarling and scratching.

Angie squatted down by Susan, she grabbed her by the hair and brought her contorted, tearful face to her own. As Susan trembled, Angie sniffed her like a dog. Her throat. Her breasts. Her hair. Then she threw her down.

“When you’re done,” Angie told the fighting men in a low grating voice that was practically a growl, “bring the cunt along. We’ll need her…”

30

When they got outside, Macy said, “Well, Mrs. Brackenbury said she hasn’t seen mom. It was worth a shot, I guess.”

“Did she say anything odd to you?”

Macy shook her head. “No…well, I mean, she’s always a little flaky, isn’t she? Her and those cats? I told her to be careful, to lock her door, but she wouldn’t listen. I don’t even think she knew what I was talking about. She’s in her own little world or something.”

Louis had to smile. “Well, she’s getting on in years, you know,” he said, trying to be diplomatic.

“Tell me about it. She calls me ‘Nancy’ half the time.”

Louis suppressed a giggle and led Macy over to his Dodge. There was still a smear of blood on the handle from when he’d jumped in there after his encounter with those wigged-out cops. But the driver’s side rear door was open. He hadn’t left it open. He was sure of it. Without alerting Macy to his concern, he casually closed it, but not before noticing that his bag with the steaks in it was gone. Just…gone.
Somebody came and stole raw steaks, Louis. What do you think about that?
He was not very surprised. He looked down the street. Nobody was around. Not a soul. Was that good or bad? The smell of smoke was heavier in the air now and he wondered what was burning out there. A house or was it maybe a block of them?

“Hey, Louis!” a voice called.

He paused at the car, craned his head back, wondering what it could be now. It was just Earl Gould from next door. Earl was okay. A retired anthropology professor from Indiana U with far too much time on his hands these days, he just liked to talk. Sometimes Louis could barely get out of the yard without a lengthy chat over Earl’s meticulously trimmed hedges.

“I better talk to him,” Louis said. He checked his pockets. “Do me a favor, Macy, will you? Run inside and grab my wallet. It’s up in my room on the dresser. I won’t be a minute.”

Macy strolled away and Louis went over to the hedges. Earl was there with a pair of trimmers and Louis approached him very cautiously. It didn’t look like he was crazy, but then it hadn’t looked like the mailman was either…not at first. Louis wasn’t really too concerned about driving without his wallet, but he thought it might be a good idea to get Macy out of there in case Earl snapped.

“How’s things?” Earl said.

Louis shrugged. “I don’t know, to be honest. Pretty weird things going on today.”

Earl nodded, peering up at Louis over the rims of his glasses. “That’s what I’m hearing. Goddamn country is flipping its wig.”

“Whole world, Earl.”

“You know what I say, Louis? Screw the world. Let’s worry about this place.”

“Yeah. I guess.”

“
Small towns can be very funny places, Louis. On the surface they’re boring and ordinary and even serene, but deep down you can never truly say what might be boiling, you know?”

“Sure.”

“Just one day, things happen. Not just one thing, but many. A chain of circumstances that seem to have no common root. At least, not one that you can see. Take Greenlawn for example. No, just humor me. From what I’ve been hearing we suddenly find ourselves faced with what seems to be a wave of random violence. It’s disturbing, isn’t it? Certainly, but it’ll play itself out given time…won’t it?”

“I hope so, Earl.”

“Violence. It’s the core of the human beast. It’s what we are and where we came from and what we descend into with the slightest provocation. It’s true, Louis. We carry within us the animal aggression of our simian and proto-human ancestors. Every beating, every rape, every witch hunt and mass murder is evidence of that. Even a child threatening another with a stick or a gangbanger with a switchblade in an alley is an expression of animal legacy in its purest form. The armed predator. Everything we do—from our urge to find and maintain territory, or real estate, to pecking orders and hostility to those outside our social grouping, the competition for females or males, race hatred and fear of strangers—all of it based on ancient animal patterns, like it or not.”

Louis licked his lips. They were very dry. “But it’ll stop. It has to.”

“And if it doesn’t?”

Louis absently looked at his watch. “I don’t know.”

“This town is a perfect microcosm for the world. People don’t see it as such, of course. Because they’re too close, too involved, that’s why.” Earl worked his clippers, taking out a stray twig. “You need a bird’s eye view of this town to understand what ails it. The people who live here can no more examine their lives objectively than you or I can study the tops of our heads.”

Louis just stood there, not in the mood for it.

Earl Gould was a nice old guy and he was very smart, but he had the sometimes annoying tendency to over-analyze and over-intellectualize things. Louis figured it was the fact that he no longer had a classroom to occupy or students to lecture. So he grabbed anybody that happened by—a neighbor, the meter-reader, the guy from the gas company—and discoursed at length on anything from politics to world economy to small town culture to that patch of weeds growing under the elm in the front yard. Louis would have liked to tell him what he’d seen and experienced, but that would mean sacrificing another hour or two that he just did not have. Because Earl would have to minutely examine each shred of evidence and then play devil’s advocate for a time before finally rendering his hypothesis.

He was a smart guy, sure, but now was not the time for such things.

“Look at it this way, Louis. There is reason and cause if we can only open our minds to see them. And the people of Greenlawn cannot see beyond the ends of their noses, God bless ‘em, each and every one.” Earl leaned closer over the hedges. “I think, though, if they were able to what they would find would scare them. Because small communities like this are often quite scary to an outsider, eh? Isolated, inbred, insular, paranoid even. Tribal. Oh yes, very tribal. Places like this always have one or two episodes of explosive violence in their pasts. Mostly you don’t hear about them because small towns know how to keep their secrets and to lock their closets most securely so that the skeletons do not get out where they can be seen by shocked eyes.”

“Yeah, you’re probably right, Earl.”

“Oh, I am. You can bank on that. I’m not a native. We only retired here because my wife spent her childhood in this very town. But that gives me an advantage, doesn’t it? No rose-colored glasses or troublesome blinders on this old man’s eyes, eh? I can see the mechanics of this town, where decay has set in and where new growth may yet bloom. The very anatomy of Greenlawn is mine to view.” He chuckled at the idea, but there was a sharpness to his laughter, a darkness welling just behind his eyes. “I think, deep down, Louis, that the good citizens of our fair city of Greenlawn are not surprised at any of this. I think they’ve been expecting it. In the primal blackness of their souls, I think they’ve been waiting for something like this, something terrible to happen for a long time. And now the cork has been popped from the bottle and all that fermented juice is leaking out, spoiling everything and everyone it touches. I think, Louis, some will welcome this, what today has brought and tonight might still bring. They’ll see it as an inevitability, won’t they? All those tensions and frustrations building all these years, needing to vent themselves. Oh yes, Louis, they’ve been running hot and rancid like bad blood for too long now. Something that’s needed purging, a sore that’s needed lancing. Yes, my friend, things have been approaching critical mass for some time and I’ve been watching it happen. Critical mass has been reached and now comes savage fruition. All it took was a catalyst and do you know what that catalyst was?”

“It isn’t just this town, Earl. It’s the whole damn world.”

Earl smiled at that as if he was amused by it. “Of course it is, Louis. The whole world. One race trapped in this disquieting moment in time when the shadows of antiquity are crowding in upon them.” Earl nodded. “Do want to know
why
this is happening, son? Why the human race is descending into savagery? Why our psychological evolution is being thrown clear back to the Paleolithic? Well, I tell you, I’ll tell you. But first ask yourself this: Why do locusts swarm? Why do lemmings purge themselves? Why, indeed? When their populations reach critical mass, some biological imperative is activated in order to cull said populations. Hence, locusts swarm, lemmings purge. Locusts take to the skies in a swarm, descending on fields and stripping them, going into an eating frenzy. And they do this to cull their populations, for inevitably only a fraction of the population will
survive
the swarming. And lemmings? They do not consciously purge themselves as some think. They overpopulate, that unknown imperative switches on, and they migrate en masse. Again, only a fraction
survive
the migration. Most starve. Again, population culled.”