Richard Laymon: Flesh

“Ron.”

“I really do think we owe it to ourselves to finish the floor, don’t you? Otherwise, we’ll have to get up at the crack of dawn and—”

“There is someone in the cellar!” she hissed.

“Look who’s the chicken now.”

“I never called you a chicken.”

“Didn’t you? Seems like you did. Or maybe I just imagined it.”

“This is no time to be…let’s just get out of here, okay?”

“You’re going to let a little noise scare you off? After you dragged me back here?”

“You want to stay, stay. Give me the car keys.”

“And what am I supposed to do, walk home? Spend the night? No thank you. I’ve got a better idea. I’ll go down and search the cellar, and when I come up you’ll apologize. You’ll repeat after me, ‘Ron is not a wimp or a coward.’”

“You’re not a wimp, you’re not a coward. Now let’s go. Please!”

He smirked at her. Then he stepped boldly toward the cellar door, lowered the shotgun, and wrapped his left hand around the knob.

“You idiot!” Peggy rushed forward, ready to grab him and stop the craziness, but her bare foot hit a slick patch and her leg flew up. She landed hard on her rump.

The mockery left Ron’s face. “Did you hurt yourself?”

“I’ll live.”

“Here.” He searched a pocket of his jeans, pulled out his key case, and tossed it to her. It thumped and jangled, striking the floor between her knees. “Go ahead and wait in the car.” He pulled open the cellar door. “I’ll come and get you after I’ve checked it out.”

“Don’t go down there. I know, you think I’m nuts. You think it was just a mouse or a rat or some damn thing, but—”

“Right.”

He flicked a light switch and started down the cellar stairs.

Peggy snatched up the key case. She clutched it tightly as she listened to Ron’s feet on the wooden treads. Slowly, quietly, she gathered in her legs and pushed herself to her knees.

The sounds of Ron’s descent stopped.

“Ron?” she called. He didn’t answer.

Peggy got up. She crept to the doorway and looked down. The cellar was lighted, but she could only see a small area at the foot of the stairway. Ron wasn’t there. “Are you all right?”

“Yeah, fine.”

She leaned against the door frame. “Why don’t you come up now?”

“Just a minute. Haven’t been down here before. This is kind of… SHIT! ”

The jolt of the outcry jerked Peggy rigid and knocked her breath out. Stiff in the doorway, she gazed down. The thought flashed through her mind that if she had to run, she wouldn’t be able to.

She tried to call down to him. Her voice seemed frozen.

God, oh God, what had happened to him!

“Damn thing,” Ron said.

She felt relief, but not enough. She still couldn’t speak. She gasped for air.

Ron stepped into view at the bottom of the stairway. He smiled up at her, looking rather pleased. “You should’ve seen it. Scampered out of nowhere, right in front of me.” He started to climb the stairs. “Biggest damn rat I ever saw. Of course, I must admit, I’ve never seen a rat before.”

Peggy staggered backward. Away from the door. A hand pressed to her chest.

She stopped when her rump pushed against a counter. She cupped her hands over the counter’s edge to brace herself up.

Ron reached the top of the stairs. He frowned. “Are you okay?”

She took a few deep breaths. “You…scared the hell out of me…yelling like that.”

“Sorry. The thing gave me quite a start.”

“A rat.”

“A rat. Didn’t I tell you there was nothing to worry about?” Ron smiled and raised the shotgun.

“Hey, don’t fool around with…”

Jake Corey, hiking up the middle of the road, having called it a night and taking the easy way back to his car instead of trudging through the dark fields, heard a gunshot.

He whirled around and ran.

Aw Jesus.

I knew it.

Aw Jesus, I shouldn’t have let them stay. I knew it I knew it was wrong I knew he was there I knew it I should’ve forced them to leave. Those goddamn idiots I warned them so what more could I do plenty that’s what I could’ve made them leave. They knew what they were doing like hell they did. Thought it couldn’t happen to them it’s always somebody else well maybe Ronnie boy blasted the bastard and not the other way around fat chance I’ll just bet one of them’s deader than cold shit maybe both of them by the time I get there can’t you goddamn it run any faster!

The restaurant was ahead of him, jarring in his vision as he sprinted for it.

Past the car.

Up the stairs three at a time, snapping open the holster and drawing his .38, still at full speed when his shoulder hit the door.

Wood splintered and burst and the door flew open.

Nobody.

He ran for the bat-wing doors.

He dove through the doors, tumbled into the kitchen, came up in a squat and took aim.

He didn’t fire.

He didn’t know what he was seeing.

The woman in the red shorts was sprawled on the floor, faceup. Faceup? She didn’t have a face. A chin, maybe.

Ron was hunched over her, his face to her belly.

No one else in the kitchen.

The cellar door stood open.

“Ron? Ron, which way did he go?”

Ron lifted his head. A bleeding patch of his wife’s flesh came with it, clamped in his teeth, stretching and tearing off. He sat up straight. He stared back at Jake. His eyes were calm. He calmly chewed. Then he reached back for the shotgun.

Jake Corey’s bullets slammed him down.

Alison filled two pitchers with draft beer and carried them to a booth crowded with Sigs. Two of the guys were seniors: Bing Talbot and Rusty Sims. She’d dated Bing a few times her freshman year. She’d been in classes with him and with Rusty, and knew they were with the Sigma Chi house. The other four packed into the booth were undoubtedly also frat brothers—they had that look about them.

They’d already killed two pitchers and six Gabby-burgers. They were still working on the chili fries.

Alison set the two full pitchers down on the table.

One of the younger Sigs waved at her. “Hey, hey!” He pointed at the name stitched on her blouse above her left breast. “Wha’s ‘at say?”

“Alison,” she told him.

“Wha’ d’ya call the other one?”

“Herbie,” she answered.

He fell apart, giggling and slapping the table.

Alison started to turn away, but Bing caught her by the skirt. Stopping, she smiled down at him. “You want it? It’d look good on you.”

“Wait, wait,” he said as if he hadn’t heard her.

The others had definitely heard her. They were yucking it up, hooting and whistling over the remark.

“Wait,” Bing said again. He let go of her skirt. “What’d the waitress say when she was sitting on Pinocchio’s face?”

“Lie! Lie!”

Bing slumped. “You heard it b’fore.”

“How ‘bout joining us?” suggested a skinny guy who was squeezed between two of the huskier frat brothers.

“Not enough room.”

“You can sit on my lap.”

“No, mine!”

“Mine!”

“We’ll draw straws.”

“I’m not allowed to fraternize with the customers,” Alison said.

“Awwww.”

“Frat-ernize,” Rusty said.

“I geddit, I geddit!”

She back-stepped quickly as Bing made another grab for her skirt. “Enjoy, fellows,” she said, and turned away.

“Ah, what a lovely derriere.” The voice was wistful.

Yes, indeed, Alison thought. And it’s about time to haul that derriere out of this joint. She checked the wall clock behind the counter. Two minutes till ten.