Jonathan Maberry - SNAFU - An Anthology of Military Horror

OSS : And what did you do?

MARINE : Well, there’s a war going on, right? And he’s a Jap, even if he did just kill a demon, or an Oni, or whatever it was. And if he’d been faster, [NAME REDACTED] might have lived through it all. But he wasn’t, and [NAME REDACTED] was dead, and the Oni, it turned back into that smoke and drifted apart, like when my granddaddy used his pipe to make smoke rings. You ever see that? A big smoke ring, and something hits it, and it just breaks apart?

OSS : What happened next?

MARINE : Right, yeah. So, he killed a demon. But we’re at war, see? And the kid just died. So the Jap is turning, and facing the sun, and talking or praying or whatever the hell he was doing. And I pulled my rifle off my shoulder and I shot the son of a bitch like I shoulda oughta done when I first saw him. And all that grace? It was gone. He fell like a sack of potatoes. Just fell on the ground like.

OSS : And what did you do?

MARINE : Hell, what could I do? I took his pistol and his sword for trophies, like. And I found his pack nearby, and his damn little tent, and wrapped up [NAME REDACTED] in it and I sorta carried him, sorta dragged him back to the boat. I’m not sure they believed me about what happened. No, not the Oni, I wasn’t that dumb. I told him we surprised a Jap who had a flamethrower, and [NAME REDACTED] got too close.

OSS : Did you tell anyone?

MARINE : *bitter laughter* Yeah, I had to. The boys, they saw I was acting screwy when we left. They thought I was shell-shocked or something, so they made me talk to the shrink. And he, he just kept asking me what happened over and over, and he knew when I was lying, I swear. So, finally, I broke down, and I told him what really happened. And now I’m here in the bug house. Preacher always said, “The truth will set you free.” Not this time, huh?

OSS : Thank you, you’ve been very helpful.

MARINE : Yeah, that and a nickle would get me a cup of coffee, if they let me drink coffee in here. Am I ever getting out of here? Really?

OSS : I don’t know.

MARINE : Well, thanks for not shining me on, anyway. *sound of chair scraping* I don’t know what else I could’ve done. We’re at war. He was a Jap. He could do things a normal guy couldn’t. I had to shoot him. Didn’t I?

OSS : That’s not for me to say. But thank you again for telling me this.

Recommendations: The Marine can’t be allowed to share this story. Someone might believe him at some point. He needs to be silenced. The sword has already been recovered from his effects, and our experts have it now. They disagree as to whether or not it’s a normal sword. It’s better if it’s kept out of the wrong hands.

This file needs to be sealed and categorised TOP SECRET at least.

We called for the Box Man a little after midnight, once the police released the crime scene. It took him an hour to get here. We kept him in an out-of-the-way warehouse with some of our other less savory tools. I’d often forget we even had him at our disposal, then once I’d see him again, I’d wonder how in the hell someone could forget something like that.

Harvey brought it into the home on a leash attached to a metal box completely covering the Box Man’s head. Rusted, riveted, and made of old iron, the weight of it made the Box Man move like a hunchback, favoring one side over the other as he tried to keep the incredible weight upright yet still manage locomotion. A fine mesh screen covered the mouth and eye areas. The only other opening was a circular door on the very top of the box from where he was fed and from where he began his divinations.

I stood over the place where the body had been. There were still bloody marks where the assailant had bludgeoned the victim.

Harvey stood beside me and stared at the blood. “Who was it?”

“Doctor Charles Adams. Nuclear scientist from Lawrence Livermore Labs. When the police ran his name, they saw it was flagged and called us.”

“Do we know what he was working on?”

I shook my head and turned to Harvey. He was younger than me by ten years and an up and coming officer. His blue eyes still held the excited patriotism mine had once held. With his blonde hair and youthful appearance, he’d fitted right into the Haight-Ashbury scene in 1967, helping to uncover several attempts to kidnap and possess several young scientists either working on or destined to work on military projects. He was a good kid. I hoped I wasn’t going to get him killed. I seemed to have a habit of doing that.

“I put in a call. They’re sending over a liaison. We have a meeting at eight A.M.”

Harvey glanced around the room. “Did you find any I can use?”

I pointed to a corner high above the bedroom door where a flat tangled web could be seen.

“Common house spider.” He handed the leash to me and looked around for something to stand on. “Wish it was a black widow. They don’t miss a thing.” He shoved a chest-high bureau beneath the web, knocking over several books and a bottle of cologne, which thankfully didn’t break.

“But then you’d have to deal with all the drama,” I added. The Box Man had shuffled away from the sound of the bureau skidding across the wooden floor. I jerked on the leash and it returned to its position at my side, hunched over with its hands close to its chest. “Better off with the house spider. It’s straight forward and no nonsense.”

“Just so. If you’ve gotta do something, you might as well do it in style.” He climbed up on the bureau and pulled a glass Gerber baby food jar out of his pocket, removed the top, and scooped the spider from the web.

I turned to the Box Man, trying to make eye contact through the wire mesh. “Listen, you do it right, I’ll reward you with rats.”

It giggled and stuttered. “Ra-ats. Ba-ats. Ca-ats. Momma says yum yum.”

Although it had once been a middle-aged man, it now had the high-pitched voice of a little girl. No matter how many times I heard it I got chills. “No cats and no bats, Boxie. Just rats.”

Harvey came up and held out the glass jar where a startled spider now sat, legs arched, prepared to defend itself. “Ready?”

“Why not?” I twisted open the screw that kept the door shut on the top of the box. The door opened, revealing the scarred top of the Box Man’s head. Whisps of oily brownish-gray hair shot up in lonely clumps around massive scarring. “Spider’s coming, Boxie.”

“Mamma says yum yum.” It made slurping sounds.

I couldn’t help but wrinkle my nose.

Harvey dumped the spider onto the Box Man’s head, then I closed the door, making sure to tighten the screw.

I released the leash and stood back.

“It tickles. Tee hee.” Then the Box Man jerked. “It bites. Bad spidle. Bad bad spidle.” It began to gyrate, jerking its head left, then right. “Spidle wants to play.”