Roger's Bane

by

Q'uacka Three M'Bozo

for Yong-Mi Kim, who Had To Ask

                C'thulu, Clortho, & Chitlins

                    Ambassadors of Death

Finally, the tumblers tumble, and I put the pick back in my sleeve pocket. Slowly, I open the door. Everything's quiet. I slip inside, glance around, and push the door to. I cross the floor, crawl in the receptionist's window, and go left down the hall. Each room is empty, save for a desk, two chairs, and a trashcan. Until the last room.

An exquisite replica of an iron maiden I've seen at the Smithsonian stands in the corner. It buzzes softly, ominously. My forehead breaks into a sweat, and I have to keep wiping my glasses off.

Iron maidens aren't supposed to buzz. They don't have plugs.

I never counted on anything like this place. I figured, sure, standard missing person case. Probably frying his brains out around the strip, or holed up with a lust bunny somewhere near the water.

The padlock isn't locked (nor is it padded). I remove it, and try to open the thing. No go. I throw all my weight into the next pull, and with a horrible sucking sound, the grotesque container opens. I fall to the floor and the door hits my kneecap. It hurts, but it's not broken.

As I start to stand, I realize the buzzing is louder. The room seems to shimmer in front of me. Myriads of sparks of constantly- changing hue dance in front of me. Then the smell hits me. Death. Old death. Last week's death. A couple of flies brush my face. Must be thousands of them - that's what's causing the shimmering. And the buzzing.

I turn to run for a sink, and instead come face to face with someone very large, very dark, and very imposing. They weren't there a moment ago. Moonlight flashes off a grin framed by 1/2" canines. I react the only way I can. I puke in its face.

A hideous, snarling scream rends the air. I jump back, and almost fall into the iron maiden. Glancing in as I bounce off the rim, I see the remains of what must have once been a real nurd. Fits the description. The flesh on my hand tries to crawl off under my coat, but I ignore it and grab the glasses from the now featureless face. Maybe they can establish identity from them? No time for more.

The creature roars its rage, and dives across the room. I wait just a second, and lunge aside as late as possible. It sprawls headlong into the rotting, festering corpse; decaying flesh flies everywhere.

The maiden isn't big enough for both of them, so I don't even try to slam the door and lock it, despite my instincts screaming to do just that. I do kick at it, hoping to impale it on some spikes. Bad move. A claw (claw???) grabs my shoe. No problem - I leave the shoe.

I take off at full speed towards the front, dive through the receptionist's window, leap through the plate glass door (OUCH!!!), and dive down the stairs. At each level, I bounce off the wall, throw myself out into space, grab the handrail almost midway down, and pivot to land on my feet at the bottom. The only faster way I know is out a window, which at 4 stories up, I'd rather not try.

Suddenly, I realize there's nobody after me. I remember the look on the thing's face when it was next to the corpse. Hunger. Delight. I nearly puke again.

Lurching back to my 'Vette, with every breath a major effort, my mind in a daze, I ponder what or whom I've just met. C'thulu? Clortho? All I know is they were about 7 feet tall, seemed to dress well, were dark and hairy, and I don't really care to meet them again just yet.

I drive slowly back to the office, unable to keep from shaking, from looking all around the car, the street, everywhere, all the time. After I place the glasses in the safe (are glasses even traceable? I don't care right this minute) and dictate the details, I go back into the safe, spin the lock from the inside, and curl up in a corner with my Glock out. Not that it will do much good, I'm sure. Thankfully, even as exhausted as I am, I know I won't sleep. Hours pass. Peaceful, quiet, but terror-filled houre. At precisely 7:30 AM, I hear the tumblers click.

"Boss, you in there?"

Miss Crunchmonger's voice. The monitors showed her someone was inside.

"Yah. It's me. You alone?"

"Of course."

Beautiful, early morning sunlight streams into the vault through the east window of the office. A glorious day. The birds are singing. A post-dawn color riot rends the cloudless, baby blue sky. The trees are bursting out in greens, the grass is covered with dew. I'm safe, and the world welcomes me with open arms. As does Miss Crunchmonger.

Grateful for her presence and love even more than usual, I squeeze her tightly to me. I kiss her hair, her ear, her neck.

"Boss! (She knows I hate that.) What is with you?"

"You won't believe it. Just let me hold you a minute, ok?"

She reaches up and snuggles my neck. Powerful 1/2" canines and pointy incisors rip into my neck and shoulder. I never even suspected she had them. Everything begins to fade.

Last updated: 2 Apr 1994

Copyright 1990, 1994 Miles O'Neal, Austin, TX. All rights reserved.

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