Ken Douglas - Gecko

A cold chill ran from the cold ground, from her buttocks to her tail bone, shooting up her spine like cold lightning blasting into the back of her neck. It felt like her hair was covered in snow. Then it felt like it was on fire.

A low growl.

She lost control of her bladder and wet her pants.

Another low growl. It was coming from inside the tunnel, coming toward her, coming for her. She whimpered, a lost little girl sound, and forced herself out of the lotus. She scooted on her rear, away from the thing creeping toward her.

Another growl. Louder. She wanted to turn away. To get away. To run. But she looked. She couldn’t help herself. She thought she saw something, its lizard shape in the dark. For a flash of a second the eyes lit up. A quick bright radioactive flash of yellow, then it was gone.

With her hands behind herself, legs in front, she scooted backwards, crab-like, dragging her backside on the ground. It came closer. She tried to go faster, but it was like she was caught in slow motion. For some reason the thing wasn’t moving any faster than she was. It scraped along the ground, toward her, and she scraped along the ground, away from it.

Then she was at the gap in the fence. The gateway into the cemetery.

The thing growled, louder. She could smell and feel its hot breath.

Diving deep within herself, she summoned up the will to move. She dove through the fence as the yellow-eyed thing dove for her. She went across the wooden plank on her hands and knees, crawling fast. She started to get up, but she hadn’t been paying attention to where she was going, more afraid of what was behind than ahead, and she smacked her head into a gravestone.

Stunned, she looked behind herself and saw the slimy green thing, halfway through the hole. It hissed at her, its yellow eyes burning bright. It growled and hot steam escaped from around its shark teeth. But it didn’t come through the hole.

She wanted to get up, but couldn’t. She was trapped, held down by those glowing yellow eyes. But the thing didn’t come for her. And looking at it through the opening in the fence, she was reminded of the gecko with those tiny glaring eyes, halfway out of the drain in the bathroom sink, and she knew they were one and the same.

But still it didn’t come for her and some instinct carried down from ancestors long dead told her why.

It was afraid of the cemetery.

“ Daddy, where are you?” she cried. Then she passed out.

Hugh Washington rubbed his hands in front of his mouth, but blowing on them was no help. Last night had been hot, tonight cold, but then he was much farther north and he was by the ocean. He should have known better. He should have remembered.

His breath was no match for the cold night breeze coming in off the sea. He cursed himself for not buying a warm jacket, but the shock of Walker’s death tore straight to his heart. That, piled on top of his worry about Glenna, cost him his sense of priorities. Five minutes after Kohler and crew left town he was in Power Glide, driving after them. It was like the old days, he was hunting again.

He sat in a thicket across from the gray house, eyes vigilant, ignoring the occasional bug crawling along his arms or down his neck. He hoped the car was okay. When he saw the gravel road a quarter mile past the Kohler house he turned onto it without thinking. He parked out of sight of the main road and locked the car. Now, sitting in the dark, he missed the car’s warmth and he wondered if anybody ever used that road.

Earlier, during the walk back to Kohler’s, he tried to push all thoughts of Glenna and Walker out of his mind. If he was going to find her, and avenge Walker’s death, he needed to keep full concentration on the job at hand. Time enough to mourn Walker after Glenna was safe and Kohler, if he was responsible, was dead and buried. He tried to push his worries about his car away. Either the car would be okay or it wouldn’t.

He had been sitting in the thicket since morning, over twelve hours. He’d been cold for four, very cold for two, and still no sign of Monday or Glenna. Maybe something happened to them, an accident. Maybe Monday had been caught. It didn’t matter, the smart thing for him to do was wait. He’d give it the night. If they didn’t show by morning, he would go to the police.

He opened a can of beef stew, keeping his eye across the street as he ate. He was on his third bite when the front door opened. Kohler, Mrs. Monday, the Weasel and a third man, big and stupid looking, came out, framed in the light. Big and Stupid locked the door and all four got into the Mercedes. Stupid and the Weasel in back, Mrs. Monday and Kohler in front.

He wondered where Stupid had come from. Had he been in the house all along? Was there anybody else in there? Where were they going now? Dinner? Following them was out of the question. He hadn’t counted on them leaving. What to do now? Sit back and wait. Or?

Or what? Go in, that’s what.

He stood, stretched and brushed the dirt from his clothes. He reached under the flap of the unbuttoned camouflaged shirt and checked the gun, an involuntary reflex, and started across the street toward the house.

The front was well lit and the windows were barred. It would be foolish to try and enter that way. The windows on both sides were barred as well. In back he found a large wooden deck set back about ten feet from the cliff. The doctor had a spectacular view. He took the stairs up the deck and found the rear windows barred also. The back door was deadbolted shut.

He wondered how he’d get in, maybe from below. He went back down the stairs. The house might have a basement, accessible from under the deck. The cloudless, star filled sky afforded him plenty of light. Enough to see that there was no basement once he was under the wooden deck. Nothing but a pile of wood and an ax.

“ Fuck it.” He picked up the ax.

He took the stairs back up two at a time. He swung the ax in a great arc, smashing it against the deadbolt. It was a good lock. It took five solid hits to bust the door open.

Enough light came in the windows so that he didn’t have to use the flashlight and it was a good thing, because he’d left it across the street, snugly tucked away in his backpack. Thinking of the forgotten flashlight brought his hand to his gun again. At least he hadn’t forgotten everything.

He spent a few seconds admiring the rich kitchen. Cobalt blue tile on the floor and counters, lots of brushed stainless steel. Professional range, oven, microwave and refrigerator. Tiled preparation area in the center, with a small digital television mounted on the wall for easy viewing while cooking. Every chef’s dream, he thought, leaving the kitchen. He wasn’t sure what he was looking for, but he knew he wasn’t going to find it among the pots and pans.

The living room was a designer’s nightmare. Plush white carpets, top of the line contemporary furniture, lots of oak. A giant Hitachi plasma TV mounted above the fireplace, and in the center of the room, a steel and glass coffee table, looking very out of place.

The dining room was also covered in plush white carpet. The center of the room was taken up by a large oak table, surrounded by eight chairs, but what caught his eye was the Hitachi television mounted on the wall, the twin of the one in the living room.

He checked the half-bath off the dining room and found a toilet, shower, and a small digital Sony, mounted on the wall for viewing while sitting. He chuckled, then went up the stairs. He found three bedrooms and a master bedroom. All with televisions, all Hitachi gas plasmas. The master bath had one too. the bathroom that served the other bedrooms, a smaller one. Odd he thought, every room a television, but no DVD players.