C. LaSart - Ad Nauseam - 13 Tales of Extreme Horror

“Those pills aren’t for depression, Dad. They’re for dementia.”

The sun still shone brightly in his eyes, and Devon was still barking his ass off outside, but William didn’t notice any of it. His mind froze, trying to grasp Max’s words.

“What?”

“You heard me, Dad. You’re losing it. And Mom doesn’t know how much longer she can deal with this by herself.”

“I don’t know what the fu-, what the hell you are talking about.” William paused and rubbed his temple, fighting a losing battle against his temper. “But there is nothing wrong with my mind.”

“Really? What do you remember from yesterday, Dad?”

“I did some yard work, and I had a fight with your Mom.” William snapped, suddenly very tired and wanting to slam the phone down to silence the accusations.

“That’s all? That’s really all you did? What did you have for lunch? For supper?”

“I don —”

“That’s right. You don’t know. You’ve been losing time for months now. It was Mom’s idea to tell you that the pills were for depression, but I always thought you should be told. Especially after losing your job like that.”

“I retired.”

“Oh, for Christ’s sake, Dad! You didn’t retire. You were forced to resign. You can’t tell me you’ve completely forgotten or suppressed or whatever what you did. You whipped your dick out in the middle of class and pissed in the trashcan. You’re just lucky that no one pressed charges for indecent exposure.”

William dropped to his knees, unaware he had even stood up. His skin felt cold but he was hot inside, his guts churning. He felt like his whole world had just been turned upside down .

Flashes of half memories began to assault him, but blessedly flitted away again. Emotions rolled within him; anger, shame, and confusion battled against one another until his head felt like someone was hammering it.

Something rolled across the roof and Devon howled, snapping William out of his torment. The phone was still in his hand, the sound of his son’s voice far away. Not listening to what Max said, he put the phone to his ear and spoke in an even voice that sounded alien to him.

“I love you, Max, but shut up. I have to go.” He put the phone back on the cradle and rose to his feet, his legs numb and shaky. There was a scrambling sound from the roof and he looked up, as if he could somehow see through the upper floors and the rafters to the shingles above.

The squirrel.

William stumbled into the master bathroom and retrieved a can of Aquanet hairspray from the counter. He shook it and sprayed a fine mist, checking to make sure the nozzle wasn’t clogged. The smell made him smile, for a second he remembered making out with Kristi long ago in his Buick, the lovely scent of her perfume and sweat mingling with her hairspray.

In the junk drawer he found a lighter and flicked it, getting a long flame on the second try. They had both quit smoking when the grandkids were born, but Kristi loved candles and always had a lighter around. Not giving any thought to the fact he still wore nothing but his ratty bathrobe over his boxers and customary white t-shirt, William walked outside.

The ladder was still up against the side of the house and he paused, scratching his head. He thought he had put it away. He never left his stuff out. Something wet bumped his hand and he actually screamed, pulling it back in . Devon let out a concerned woof and cowered, fearful of being struck. The sight made William’s heart ache.

“Oh Jesus, boy. You really scared me.” He scratched the dog behind an ear and Devon kicked one back leg in response, blissfully trying to scratch an imaginary itch. William stared up at the roof, seeing only the occasional fluff of the squirrel’s tail as it strutted around.

His mind spun with bits of his conversation with Max as well as images of things he had forgotten he’d done, like screaming at his class, a fight with Kristi. Had he hit her? Could I ever hit her? He shut the thoughts out, his focus on nothing more than that taunting red tail and the smug little rodent it was attached to. His anxiety and fear formed into a ball of white-hot rage, causing bile and acid to churn and eat at his stomach lining.

“You little son of a bitch, I’m getting you once and for all.” William gripped the can of hairspray in one hand and climbed the ladder using his free one. When he reached the top, he swung one butt cheek onto the roof, his free hand grabbing the shingles for support. He felt cold inside, an icy resolution stealing his nerves. “Come on, you bastard. This ends today.”

The squirrel held his ground, locked in a stare-down with William that lasted several moments. Neither made a sound as William reached into his pocket to retrieve the lighter. He waited, but the squirrel simply stared, not coming close enough for him to get it. He could see a wound on its shoulder where he had shot it with the pellet gun, but it had scabbed over and the squirrel didn’t appear any the worse for wear.

Devon let out a howl, startling William, and he almost slid off the roof. He glanced at the dog and heard an awful screeching, turning in time to see his tormentor come barreling across the shingles towards him. He didn’t have time to aim, simply pressed the button on the aerosol can and flicked the lighter.

The flame was impressive, shooting out several feet and igniting the rodent. He realized too late what was going to happen and leaned backwards to avoid the squealing, flaming demon that hurtled towards him like a bullet. Losing his footing and pin-wheeling his arms, he fell from the roof. Then his head hit the ground and the world went black.

William really wanted to stay asleep, but something warm and wet kept smacking him in the face. A high-pitched whining intruded on his slumber and the wet thing moved to the side of his head. This caused a flash of pain that made his eyes pop open, only to close back to slits as the afternoon sunlight stabbed his brain. Then Devon’s jowly face mercifully blocked out the sun, and a renewed round of licking ensued.

“Devon. Stop.” William chuckled weakly and tried to push the dog away. Why am I on the ground? Did I faint? Was it a stroke? He was confused, and when he tried to sit up, a thunderous pain ripped through his skull. Then he remembered.

The squirrel.

He slowly did a careful inventory of injuries. His head still thumped and his ribs on the right side were a mass of radiating agony, but other than that he felt fine. Sitting up slowly, he saw a decent- sized rock covered in blood where he’d been laying.

Must’ve hit my head on the bastard. Lucky I didn’t split my fool skull open. Probing the wound on the side of his skull with shaking fingers, he decided his original assessment may have been premature. His head didn’t feel exactly intact anymore.

That left the mystery of his ribs, but he quickly surmised what had happened when he saw a ceramic lawn ornament shattered on the grass. He’d landed on the thing, pieces of white glass protruded from the side of his chest, and he marveled at how little alarm he really felt, considering he didn’t know how deep they went or if he had punctured a lung. Something moving on his right caught his attention and he gaped at what lay next to him on the lawn.

“You tough little shit!” William said with wonder and more than a small measure of respect as he watched the squirrel struggle to get upright. The thing was nearly hairless, its skin scorched and blistered. Apparently blinded by the fire, his beady black eyes were now a milky color. Alternating between squawks and mewls, it still appeared as though it were trying to come at him. Dragging limp back legs and a charred tail, it slowly and what had to have been painfully made its way across the grass, teeth bared. Devon backed up and growled.