David Bischoff - The Blob

Long seconds passed, and he said, “We’d better go.”

“Yeah.”

“You ready?” he said.

“Not really.”

Neither was he, but nothing ventured, nothing gained. He grabbed a meathook from one of the racks and unlatched the door, ready to slam it back at the slightest hint of attack.

They stepped outside and moved cautiously down the hallway. The place was a total mess, with overturned shelves, ruined lights—and the dark stain of blood splattered over the walls like obscene graffitti.

“Franny!” called Brian. “Franny!”

There was no answer. He pulled Meg along behind him. Holding on to the side of a shelf, he peered into the dining room.

“She’s gone,” he said, stepping forward and immediately slipping on something. He staggered forward and bumped into some shelving.

In the darkness he could feel a gooey tendril flop onto his neck, sticky and warm.

“Brian!” Meg cried.

Brian lurched to the side, striking out with the meathook as he fell back against the wall. He turned to face his attacker…

And he saw the open tin of jam, falling from the shelf above. It landed at his feet, splattering.

“Great,” said Brian. “I killed the strawberry jam.”

“Let’s get out of here,” said Meg.

Which was a truly excellent idea.

The Reverend Frederick Meeker, minister of the only Lutheran church in Morgan City, stepped from the doorway of his church, turned, and locked it. He’d been working in the church library, double-checking some tricky references he needed to document his Sunday sermon. He always liked to include the names of books, along of course with the chapters and verses from which his texts were taken, so that his parishioners could delve deeper, if they were so inclined. The Reverend Meeker prided himself that he was not one of these thud-and-blunder preachers, thumping the Good Book over the heads of his flock. His sermons stood not only on the Rock of God, but upon mountains of scholarly work available to anyone who cared to explore.

He just wished that more people did care. Seemed like everyone was sinking into a morass not just of sin, but of ignorance, especially the youth of today.

Like that incident in the Rexall today with young Scott Jesky and his purchase of those prophylactics. If the youth of today took their minds off sexual pursuits and put them into learning… well, then the world would be a better place.

He was just turning away from the ornate wooden doors of the church when he heard the tinkle of broken glass. Down the road, a block and a half away, was the establishment known as the Tick Tock Diner, a rude and crude blemish on the community. But it was from the opposite side of the Tick Tock’s block that the oddest sight came. Where there had once been a phone booth, there was now a twisted frame of metal and shattered glass. And some kind of reddish water was pouring from the booth, slipping into the gutter, and washing down into the sewer grill on the curb.

What was that thing? “Merciful God!” he cried, as a shudder gripped him. It didn’t move like water. It moved like something that was alive !

He was about to turn, go back into the church, and call the authorities, when a second, louder crash distracted his attention back to the diner.

There the front door was being kicked out. Two figures appeared. The reverend recognized both Brian Flagg and Meg Penny, but before he could call out to them, they raced off into the darkness.

What in heaven’s name was going on at the Tick Tock Diner? He decided that he’d better go and check. Somebody might need help.

He was forty-four years old, but he kept himself in shape with a regular exercise program at the local Young Men’s Christian Association. In no time at all he was in front of the Tick Tock, where he discovered that the front door wasn’t the only thing broken. The plate glass window off to the right was smashed, with a chair lying in the bushes below it.

From inside the diner he heard a low moaning.

“Hello?” he said.

He entered the darkness, almost immediately thumping his shin against the door. “Ouch!” he said, suppressing a curse. The lights weren’t working in here, so he took out his key chain, which had a small pocket flash attached. The small beam provided enough light for him to pick his way through the scattered tables and chairs.

“Is anybody in there? Is anybody hurt?”

No response. He found the door into the kitchen and entered. Up ahead, at the end of the hallway, he could see a shaft of light. He made for it but was stopped by that moaning sound again. Close by, higher in pitch. And rising.

He swung the light beam around… and caught the glow of the eyes of an alley cat, licking a spill of gravy and meat from the floor.

He exhaled, relieved. Just a cat. He turned back. That open door, that spill of light… As he approached it, he could tell it was a freezer door, wide open, letting out light and cold.

He looked inside. Nothing but food racks, hanging meat, and… Wait a second. How odd.

In the frost on the floor were frozen chunks of some unidentifiable substance that glittered like fine jewelry in the light. Fascinating! Maybe Abner Able down at the university would be able to make something of these things. He looked around and found a shelf holding a few mason jars. He opened one, crouched down, and scooped up the rough, magical-looking things. Like chunks of rubies they were!

He fastened the top back on the jar and carried his strange prize away.

Meanwhile, at the sheriff’s office, Meg Penny and Brian Flagg rushed in to get some much-needed help. Brian realized this was the first time he’d ever actually wanted to see Sheriff Herbert Geller!

But instead of the sheriff they found themselves confronted by a frazzled Sally Jeffers, sitting at a lit-up phone console, overwhelmed by incoming calls.

“We have to see the sheriff!” said Meg.

“I don’t know where he is!” said Sally, punching a phone line in. “Sheriff’s station, please hold,” she said into the mike in front of her mouth.

“What about Briggs?” demanded Brian.

Sally pointed at the radio. “I can’t raise anybody, all I’m getting is static.” She punched another line. “Sheriff’s station, please hold.” Then she turned back to Brian and Meg. “Last I heard from the deputy, he was heading up to Elkins Grove to check out some disturbance.” She punched a button and spoke into the mike again. “Sorry to keep you waiting…”

Meg turned to Brian. “Elkins Grove.”

“That’s where I found the old man.”

They rushed out of the station, got back into Meg’s VW, and zoomed into the night.

The patrol car was parked on the side of the road in a long swath of tall grass just before the woods.

“Look over there,” Meg said, directing Brian’s attention.

She parked and they got out, approaching the patrol car cautiously. The driver’s door hung partially open.

“Looks like he left in a hurry,” said Meg.

Brian looked suspiciously into the black-and-white car. This was the same place where he’d run into the stricken Can Man. Just about the same place where the Can Man had run into the road in front of Meg and Paul.

Brian looked out into the woods.

“Yo, Briggs!” he called.

In the woods crickets chirped. Nothing more.

“He’s up there somewhere,” he said to Meg.

“In the woods. In the dark woods!”

“Right. I guess we could wait here.”

Meg sighed. “While that thing wipes out the whole town?”

She started up the incline, and Brian Flagg followed her, muttering to himself. “Never thought I’d go out of my way to find a cop.”