Daryl and Gaines ran towards the track. Unlike the rest of the 001, the monsters had extra training. They were late. Daryl couldn’t even fathom what DS Foote would do to either of them. Gaines was literally going to be the death of him.
“How could you forget that we had extra training tonight?” asked Daryl as they ran towards the pull-up bars.
“Relax, Kerns,” said Gaines. “We were going to be punished anyway. We’re the enemy here.”
This story is dedicated to the fuck face at Goodwill one Sunday morning…
Lyndon Crallis drove his car to Goodwill because he had a small donation to give. He drove down the path to the back entrance and found a mound of boxes and garbage bags full of stuff waiting to be picked up by the Goodwill handlers. Parked outside the door was another vehicle. Lindon didn’t think anything of it; surely this person wouldn’t hamper his progress
He opened his trunk and pulled out his intended donations, and stacked them neatly with the rest of the pile. He went back to his car, hoping that the person in front would move so he could pass.
It did not move. Lyndon saw the man sitting there in his seat, just waiting… Perhaps he was waiting for help to carry some heavy donations out of his SUV, but since Lindon didn’t want to stay trapped behind him, he walked up to the driver’s side door to ask if he would move closer to the building.
“Excuse me sir,” said Lyndon, “Could you please pull up closer to the side of the building so I can pass through?”
“No. Just put your vehicle in reverse and leave.”
Lyndon persisted. “I’d really hate to run into someone while I’m backing up. There is plenty of room on the side that you could move over and I could pass through.”
“I’m not moving. It’s your fault for getting here early. You should just wait. Or you can go in reverse.”
Lyndon’s patience had left him. He didn’t want it to come to this. He was trying hard to turn a new leaf and be a good citizen, but his pride wouldn’t let him.
“Alright sir,” he said, turning around. And then, loudly enough for the man to hear out of his open window. “May all your tires burst and you are stranded here for 3 hours.”
Lyndon stepped back into his car and watched as the man flipped him the bird. Lindon put his car in reverse and backed up around the corner to a side parking spot. He parked his car and pulled a large tactical knife out of his glove box. He stepped out and walked back to the SUV and jabbed his knife straight into the back passenger tire. It popped and hissed as Lyndon pulled the blade out and made his way to the driver side back tire.
“What are you doing? You mother fucker!” the man stepped out of his car as Lyndon popped his second tire.
“Making good on my curse,” Lyndon said, a crooked smile stretched across his face. He hadn’t felt this joyous since his last vengeance.
“I’ll call the police you lunatic!”
Lyndon pushed past him and slashed the driver side front tire. He turned and stared at the man. “So?”
The man shook as his car sunk to its hub caps with Lyndon’s final stroke. Lindon walked back around to the man.
“Aren’t you glad I didn’t curse you with a knife to the gut?”
He brandished the blade near the man’s belly, making quick slashing movements. Lyndon’s skin grew hot with the intensity of his furious ferocity. He loved it. He felt free; alive!
The man backed up into his car, his eyes welling, streaming with tears.
Lyndon jabbed at the man’s eye, the man yelped, but Lindon’s blade did not cut. He simply dabbed the flowing water at the man’s left eye, wetting his blade. He brought it to his mouth and a savored the emotional outburst on his tongue.
“You’re lucky. You saved yourself this day, you old fuck. Be kinder to people from now on, won’t you? I’d hate to run into you again.”
Lyndon folded his knife and walked away. The man fell to the pavement as the Goodwill employees finally opened the door.
Daryl awoke on his stomach, his head facing the power plant. It looked better in the darkness. Encapsulated by the night made it look more peaceful, quiet; it looked more like a comforting place, away from people, away from the world.
Consciousness overcame him with pain and misery from his arms and stomach. The punch to the back of the head left him a little addled inside, but his fingers and wrist wailed the most. Moving them was difficult, and he could not lift himself up off the ground. Maybe it was best to just lie there for a minute… or eternity. What difference did it make? Soon he would be healed just in time to be broken again…
Then, like a power switch flicking on, a bright light beamed down on Daryl that filled him with dread. The hairs on his arms and legs stood on end and he felt a tiny surge through his body like every nerve ending jolting at once, pulsing electricity in bursts, pumping throughout until he finally turned over on his back.
His eyes gaped; if he hadn’t felt so wired he would probably have fainted from the shock and terror thumping in his mind. Hovering above him was something like a ghost, white, almost translucent, red glowing eyes, and a chattering set of insect mandibles.
Daryl’s body began to quiver and shake, but suddenly stopped as he heard a voice in his head.
Daryl huffed as he ran as fast as he could towards home, but he couldn’t help but be a little distracted by the buildings as he passed by. Point Pleasant, West Virginia, home of the Mothman and his… prophecies… and also the home of the annual Mothman Festival. Shop owners were busy hanging mothman streamers and flags. One owner had brought out a mothman statue made out of toothpicks.
‘Focus,’ thought Daryl, ‘Must get home before Kevin finds me.’
Daryl ran; he ran until his muscles felt like jelly, ready to fall off his aching bones. He was getting close. He was just outside of town, close to the abandoned power plant where the mothman was supposed to reside. Daryl stopped, looking left and right, he didn’t see any sign of Kevin. His head turned toward the power plant, its red brick, smoky from the years of disuse, windows broken and angry-looking with crooked teeth of glass and metal, boarded up doors, and lot of discarded materials littering the overgrown grass.
It looked so desolate and lonely…
‘Kapow!’
The Mothman Reborn: Part 1
The clock’s hands moved slowly. Daryl Kern’s dark eyes leapt from the pages of his notebook to the white face of the clock in the front of the classroom every few seconds, hoping that by some feet of magical time travel, he would find the day to be over. But instead it seemed the more often he jerked his head towards the upper wall’s center, the slower the tiny black hands circled the face.
He scratched his head, his fingertips meeting the long curls of his budding afro. He didn’t particularly like his hair and was hoping he would get the time to cut it the following weekend. Of course, he was going to have to wash it first, as he inevitably understood that it would be matted with blood by the time the day was done.
Thinking about it made him shake in his seat a little, he cupped his face in his hands, trying to keep anyone from seeing his eyes welling up. Daryl had a problem. His name was Kevin Holler.
Howlietzer Publishing