Seer’s Moon (261 hits)
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Submitted by Hornet (View user info) at 2008-10-07 16:52:54 EDT
Steve had one hand wrapped around the old woman's throat, and the other over her face. He was forcing her bulging eyes and gaping mouth away from him, forcing her head over the back of the chair, hearing the old wood creak and crack and imagining that similar things were happening inside the old bag's neck.
"Whoa," he said, his own head snapping to one side as he inhaled a breath of exhaled air that drifted out of old bag's mouth. Her breath was wet and rotten, as if someone had just taken a dump and set it on fire. "What the fuck have you been eating, lady, last week's garbage?" He squeezed down on her windpipe.
Her tongue stuck out of her mouth, it's underside like a pale worm with thick blue veins. Steve wondered if anyone had ever screwed this old thing. Probably not. Could you imagine? Jesus. He snorted a laugh as the woman was dying in his grip.
Steve had gone to the woman as a last resort. Bad bets and outstanding debts were strung around his neck like an albatross, and when he got his hands on some money, a local loan, he fucked up and blew it in Atlantic City. Now he had legitimate collectors and some goon named Mr. Stacks after him. Mr. Stacks had kicked down Steve's door on Philly two days ago and whistled a cheery version of Let it Snow while breaking all of the fingers on Steve's left hand one by one. The pain was exacerbated by the fact that Steve hated hearing Christmas carols before the Christmas season began. He had promised he would have some money today, and the moment Mr. Stacks left his apartment Steve blew out of there. He had thought Scranton was a small enough town to hide in, but he left in a hurry when he heard that Mr. Stacks was there looking for him. As he had driven south on the I-81 in the light of the setting sun he had wondered if he could disguise himself as Amish. Nah. Better to head west to Ohio, or Idaho, or whatever the hell was on the far side of Pennsylvania.
He remembered a neighborhood kid back in Philly always taking about his Tante Birgitta. Cauly wasn't exactly a friend and wasn't much use in a fight or running a scam and was always letting farts that smelled like cauliflower, but he was a kraut who told enough weird stories about his family to keep Steve entertained and interested enough to keep watch over the goof. That kept Cauly from getting his head knocked in just on principle. Cauly was one of those guys that always got laid up or put down permanent just for being annoying. Of course you had to take everything Cauly said with a grain of salt. Ten years ago or so when they were drinking Yuenglings at Oscars, before the place became trendy with all the fucking moron kids, Cauly asked Steve if he had ever pissed in his own mouth, 'just to see what it was like.' Steve never forgot that, but he remembered the stories of Cauley's aunt.
Cauly's aunt lived in Swoyersville. Steve knew that because he had driven Cauly there once when Cauly owed him money. Unlike Steve, Cauly actually paid off debts instead of running. Cauly had gone into an old house and come out with a pair of candlesticks that turned out to be silver and more than covered Cauly's debts when they pawned the sticks. Steve took all the money and left Cauly gaping like an idiot.
Later he had asked Cauly, "What's to stop me from hitting that place without you and cleaning the old broad out?"
"Don't ask me," Cauly had replied quietly. "Ask around the neighborhood. Some of the old timers, they'll tell you. You don't fuck with Birgitta because everything she has to offer comes with a price."
Steve did just that and true enough, a lot of the old farts seemed to be afraid of Cauly's aunt. "Guys that crossed her got put down," was the prevailing opinion.
It wasn't long before Steve was parking in front of Aunt Birgitta's house and crossing the street, noticing that there was a full moon overhead and briefly thinking of a blow job he got from Brenda Scalici on the roof of his apartment building back in the eighth grade under a moon just like this. Then he was standing under the porch eaves where the shadows were pushed back by the yellow glow of a carriage lamp. He knocked on the door, introducing himself as a friend of Cauly, and was soon sitting in the old lady's living room sipping tea that tasted like a cup of some foreigner's stove-warmed piss.
"Cauly told me you have money troubles," the old bag said.
Shit, Steve thought. So much for ripping off the old broad when she isn't looking.
"I can't help with the money," Birgitta said, "But I can help you avoid any more of that." She pointed to his splinted fingers.
"How so?" Steve was being polite. He thought he'd see what she had to say before he whacked her over the head and took all her expensive shit, and there were a lot of expensive knick-knacks in just this room.
"A charm," she said.
The old bag didn't sound like a German. She just sounded like an old bag. She stared at him over the rim of her china teacup and Steve felt his skin crawl when he realized one of her eyes was bigger then the other. He hadn't noticed it before, but now it was creeping him out.
"A charm?"
She nodded. "An incantation to keep you safe from physical harm."
Steve laughed. "Yeah, okay, you gonna bewitch me?"
"It worked for Cauly," she said. "You can't be there for him every minute."
For a second time Steve was made to feel uneasy. "How do you know about that?"
She ignored him. "He has taken beatings that would have killed a normal man, but I've protected him." Her face wrinkled with disgust and to Steve she looked like she had just tasted a fresh turd. "As much as I despise you, and all the things you have done, you are Cauly's only real friend, whatever your motivations may be."
Steve opened his mouth.
"How do I know all this?" Cauly's aunt laughed and pointed to the window behind him. "There is a seer's moon in the sky tonight."
Steve heard grit snapping and popping under car tires and leaned back in his chair, looking out the window. An old Lincoln the size of a steamboat was parking behind his Toyota on the quiet street. The Lincoln's window was down and there was enough illumination from a nearby streetlight for Steve to see big shoulders and a big head and a tiny leather ivy cap. Mr. Stacks.
Steve leaned forward, ready to blow out of there like a rocket. The old bag reached out and put a hand on his arm.
"I have two charms to protect you," she said. "One has no limits but time. One is timeless, but limited."
Steve frowned. "What the fuck?"
A fist hammered on the door.
"Got anything quick?" Steve asked.
The old woman's hands moved in the air like she was groping an invisible pair of balls. She made sounds like she was trying to yack up a hair stuck to the back of her throat, and then Mr. Stacks kicked open the door, holding a .38 and a little foam travel pillow.
Mr. Stacks pointed the pistol at Steve, held the pillow over the snub nosed barrel, and pulled the trigger.
There was a muffled bang.
A sledgehammer to the collarbone couldn't have hurt any less. The impact knocked Steve backward. He fell on his ass against a table holding a bunch of porcelain animals. A zebra with mellow, baked eyes landed in his lap. Steve hooked his right thumb into his shirt collar and looked down, expecting to watch as he bled to death.
There was no blood. He touched what should have been an ugly circular wound and felt the flesh pulling closed and smoothing out under his fingertips. He could feel a similar tightness high on his back as the exit wound closed.
"What the fuck?" Mr. Stacks said.
Steve got to his feet. Stacks shot him through the pillow again, in the gut. Steve fell back against the table again. More porcelain animals dropped to the floor, bouncing on the old carpet. Steve felt like he had the world's biggest gasball bloating him, and then the pain passed.
Mr. Stacks, white with fear and confusion, shot Steve a third time and then ran. The third shot passed through Steve's left arm.
The pain was incredible. Steve looked at the wound just above his elbow. The blood was flowing, not stopping. Steve lurched to his feet.
The old bag was still sitting in her chair, still holding her tea cup.
Steve slammed the front door closed. He stepped close to the old bag and grabbed her by the throat. She pushed up and dropped her cup. Steve pushed back. She made a gagging noise as he bent her neck over the back of the chair.
"I want the other charm," he said, "The timeless one."
"It has... conditions," Cauly's aunt croaked.
"Whatever," Steve said. "Gimme."
The old bag's eyes blinked and she said some more garbled shit. Then she whispered, "You can only be killed at night. You can only be killed by sunlight."
Steve looked at the wound on his left arm. It was healing, fading away.
"All right," he said. He still needed the old woman's shit, still had debts to pay. He put his left hand over her face, covering her staring eyes and gaping mouth. He pushed back until something in the old bag's neck snapped. Her legs snapped straight, one thick old lady shoe cracking his shin. It briefly hurt like hell. The old lady went slack and he let her fall into the chair.
He went to the front door, opened it, and lit a smoke. He switched off the porch light and stood in the dark under the eaves, listening for sirens. When he ground out the butt a minute later the night was still quiet.
Steve took an hour to go through the house. He found some nice stuff, jewelry and silverware. He filled an old leather case, thinking he had a couple of grand worth of shit he could pawn. He went into the bathroom and took a piss.
He remembered what the old bag had said, the condition on the charm. He could only be killed at night. He could only be killed in sunlight.
No problem, he thought. He'd get out of here, buy a case of beer and a pizza, find a motel and some yellow pages and then start looking up pawn brokers. Mr. Stacks was gone for now, so the nights were safe as long as he was careful. If he could only be killed in sunlight he'd just turn his clock around and sleep through the day. Fuck it. He was a night owl anyway. It shouldn't be too hard to find a pawn shop open after sunset.
Steve grinned, picked up the heavy leather case, and went out the door and down the porch stairs, looking up at the bright full moon, thinking he hadn't felt this good in a long time.
When the sunlight reflected by the moon touched Steve's skin he burst into flames. He let out a wounded scream. As he turned back for the shelter of the house the reflected sunlight reached deeper, searing into his bones. His skin sizzled like a steak on a grill. Spatters of his own liquefied fat fell on his shoes like burning rain. He heard his superheated bones creaking and then exploding. He collapsed on the old bag's lawn.
By the time the sun came up the next morning Steve was nothing but smoldering ash. A passing stray dog considered pissing on him, and then trotted away after one sniff.
User Reviews
Submitted by mystiamoon (user info) at 2008-11-19 07:34:28 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
moon in the title
auto +2
Submitted by czwij (user info) at 2008-11-19 06:58:19 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
this was grate.
no one else read this?
golly.
Submitted by SkullBiter (user info) at 2008-10-07 18:19:44 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
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