Tim Curran - The Devil Next Door

But Mr. Chalmers was not interested in that. “You boys want to kill this girl, don’t do it in my yard, you hear? This is my territory! My territory! I marked it with my scent and you better not cross my scent, you understand?”

Macy was shaking her head from side to side.

Mr. Chalmers, too.

It was in his eyes like it was in the eyes of the Hack twins: that seething, primal emptiness. That blankness that was without bottom.

“ How’d you mark your territory?” Mike asked. “We want to mark ours, too!”

Mr. Chalmers laughed. “Like this, boys. Just like this.”

And as Macy watched, he unzipped his pants and pulled his penis out. Still smiling, he proceeded to urinate on the steps, washing them down so all would know the boundaries of his territory.

When he was done, the boys sniffed it, recognizing his smell and remembering it.

Macy let out a scream.

“ Get her, boys!” Mr. Chalmers said. “Run her down! Whichever one takes her down first gets her! ”

Macy took off running, the twins in hot pursuit.

She darted down the sidewalk and then cut between two houses, ducked behind a garage. The twins came running, looking around, and then jogged away down the alley. Macy hid there, panting and sweating, something broken loose now in the back of her mind.

She saw the twins in the distance.

They had stripped off all their clothes now.

They were pissing on trees like dogs.

Macy tried to catch her breath, tried to hold her world together before it flew apart.

It was some kind of mass insanity, she decided, that’s what it was. That’s what had made those kids go crazy in Biolab and attack Mr. Cummings and Sully and that was what had made her go after Chelsea Paris. It was like some kind of insanity bug.

And now it had the Hack twins and Mr. Chalmers.

I have to get out of here, Macy found herself thinking. They could be everywhere. The whole town could be crazy…

And that was a possibility, she supposed.

She calmed herself the best she could and crossed the alley, slipped through a couple yards and thankfully saw no one. She didn’t know what was going on. But what she kept thinking was that if she had snapped out of it, maybe the others would, too. What amount of damage would be done by then she could not know and did not want to guess at “ Hey, Macy,” a voice said. “How’s my favorite girl?”

Macy turned, flooded with fear, and then for maybe two or three seconds she relaxed. She breathed. Why, it was only Mr. Kenning who lived up the block. Mr. Kenning was a Boy Scout troop leader, he announced football games for the Greenlawn High Wildcats, and he sold cars for a living. A nice man who loved sports and kids and his Irish Setter, Libby. He always had a few kind words for Macy.

Except…this was not that Mr. Kenning.

This Mr. Kenning was standing in the back yard, completely naked and covered with blood. Neither of which seemed to bother him in the least. He was smiling, hacking on something with a knife. Blood ran down his forearm and dripped from his elbow.

“ Come here, Macy. I have a secret I want to share with you.”

Macy just stood there, the instinctual need to flee very overpowering. She stepped around the hedges, knowing she shouldn’t, but needing to see just how bad this situation was.

“ Come here, Macy. I won’t bite you.”

I have a secret I want to share with you.

But Macy could see his secret quite plainly: there was a carcass hanging from the limb of Mr. Kenning’s apple tree and he was in the process of dressing it out. It was skinned, fleshy, bleeding. There was no doubt what it was. Even if she hadn’t seen the ragged pelt of lustrous orange fur at his feet, she would’ve recognized the dog. It was hung by the throat.

Mr. Kenning stabbed his knife into the torso, slitting it upwards. Libby’s viscera spilled out in a coiled, bloody mass. Mr. Kenning studied his dripping red fist that held the dripping red knife. He sniffed it, then licked the back of it.

“ Oh no,” Macy said, the world beginning to spin around her. “Oh no…oh no…oh no…”

Her whole body was shaking, tears rolling down her face, nausea rolling in her belly with the hot, rank stink of slaughtered dog.

Mr. Kenning kept smiling. That grin was depraved and obscene, filled with a raw unflinching appetite. He would rape her if he could, Macy knew, then he would feed on her.

“ Come here, Macy,” he said, his blood-spattered penis standing erect. “I’ll share my kill with you…if you share what you have with me.”

Macy screamed and ran and, thankfully, he did not follow. He called out to her to bring her mother over, the whole time hacking and chopping at the dog. Macy threw up in the Maub’s hedges, cut through the Sinclair’s side yard, then ran across the street to her own porch.

She stopped right there, catching her breath, trying to make sense of it all. Everything looked so positively normal that what she had just gone through seemed ridiculous. She heard a siren in the distance, but that didn’t really mean much. Not by itself.

Behind her, there was movement, feet coming through the grass.

She whirled around, eyes wide and mouth open, ready for just about anything. She saw Mr. Shears standing there. He lived next door. But this was not the Mr. Shears she knew. His eyes were glassy, his hair wild. His shirt was torn and hanging open, bloodstains all over it.

In his hands was a golf club and he looked ready to use it.

“ Please,” Macy said. “Oh, please, just stay away from me…”

But Mr. Shears kept coming…

Mr. Chalmers wasn’t real happy with them for losing the girl. In fact, when they got back and told him that Macy Merchant had slipped away, he came right off the porch. He tossed his newspaper and came right at them. His eyes were filled with a simmering blackness. They were shiny like those of a mad dog.

“Simple goddamn job I give you two,” he said, pulling his belt out of its loops and snapping it in his fists, “and you fuck it up.”

Mike and Matt Hack stood there, knowing they were going to be punished, but not even thinking of running off. They had this coming and they knew it. So they stood there when the belt came at them, lashing them in the faces, the pain sharp and cutting. They cried out and fell to their knees, curling up in balls as the belt laid open their backs in hurting welts.

“You feel that, you little shits? That’s pain and nothing teaches, nothing instructs quite like pain,” Mr. Chalmers told them, studying the belt in his hands. He was grinning now, satisfied, his eyes mocking and filled with venom. “You two gotta quit acting like fucking little boys. This is war. This is survival. When I send you out to get something, you don’t come back without it. Those other neighborhoods, they’re gonna try and take what we got, so we got to hit them first. We gotta take what they got. Their women, their food, their weapons. Do you see? Do you see? DO YOU FUCKING SEE, BOYS?”

Both boys were naked, their faces caked with dirt and sweat. But their eyes were wide and bright and somehow primal. Mr. Chalmers had hurt them and they seemed to like it. The pain had unlocked something in them and it was something they wanted more of.

In the distance there was a sudden chorus of howling. It rose up high and shrieking and then faded away. It was hard to say whether it was from animals or people. At the sound of it, Mr. Chalmers nodded his head as if he understood the need to howl all too well.

“Don’t make me school you again,” Mr. Chalmers said. “Now go out there and bring back a woman. Don’t come back empty handed. Bring me some gee-gee, some nice young gee-gee and don’t come back without it. Go!”