Carver Pike - Scalp

“What the fuck!” he yelled, scrambling against the water to get as far away from her as possible.

Now, he was afraid to not look back at her. Knowing she was back there, and something had left her body in pursuit of him drove him forward at a frantic pace. It was dark and difficult to see, but the teardrop-shaped frothy cloud was making its way toward him, skimming across the surface of the water. His eyes shot open and he turned once again, swimming as hard as he could.

Behind him and gaining on him quickly, came the sound of fizzing, like whatever had come off Becky’s head was chomping at the water, wiggling through it, biting at the air the way acid popped when it did its damage.

Lenny couldn’t swim quickly enough. He was trying, but he couldn’t move any faster, and whatever was in the water with him was fast. Clouds moved in front of the moon, blotting out the only light the boy had to illuminate the water’s surface.

Whatever was in the water behind him disappeared in the dark, but they didn’t slow down.

Lenny’s head went under as he struggled to swim.

Moonlight broke free from the clouds, and Lenny was nose deep in the water when he saw the frothy puddle only a foot away from his face. Frantically, he slapped his hands down against it, breaking the strange shape into pieces. Now, the thing came at him from different angles. He swatted at the parts converging on him from the right, but in doing that, he took his eyes off the rest.

The lice found his long hair underwater and climbed swiftly to his head.

Razorblades bit into Lenny’s scalp. Razorblades with an agenda. He felt them saw at his skin. As afraid as he was to reach up and try to tear them away, the searing hot pain caused his hands to react on their own, and soon he was ripping into his own flesh.

The lake was doused in blood.

Lenny went under.

Lenny rose back up to the top, and then he waded toward the beach, his arms dangling at his sides.

“Did you go check Cloud 9?”

Officer Milton Owens was half asleep when he heard the voice of his commanding officer, Sheriff Mike Morris. Of course, he hadn’t gone to check on the trailer park. Why would he? Because park ranger Hal demanded it? He didn’t follow orders from drunks on the mend, especially when this had nothing to do with the park he was responsible for rangering.

Rangering. Is that even a word?

If it wasn’t, he was making it one tonight.

Yet, he didn’t want to admit his lack of doing his duty to his boss because he knew Morris took every call seriously. He took everything seriously. Milton liked it much better before Morris came into power. Back in the day, when Aaron Weeks was the sheriff, work was so much more relaxed. Weeks never did shit. This was a town with little to no drama. Most of the crimes consisted of drunk driving and even those traffic stops usually resulted in zilch since all of the cops in Clydesville were friends, or at least acquaintances, with the other town residents. Only folks with out of state license plates felt their wrath.

“Yes, sir,” Milton lied. “I drove over there, and everything was fine. You know how that place is. Everyone was hungover from last night’s hoorah, but other than that, there was nothing but a barking dog getting on my nerves.”

“And the dog didn’t attack you?”

“If the dog attacked me, I woulda shot it.”

“Right. Shut up.”

Both men laughed. Of course, he wouldn’t have shot the dog, but it was part of his personality to act like a badass at all times.

“It’s been quiet tonight,” the sheriff said.

“It’s always quiet, boss,” Milton replied.

“Yeah… seems quieter than most other nights though, right? I don’t think we’ve had a single call. Not even from Drunk Jimmy.”

Drunk Jimmy was an ex-cop who’d been kicked off the force for slipping whiskey into his coffee every night. Everyone knew he had a drinking problem, but nobody wanted to push the issue because he was a big, ex-Navy SEAL with an attitude. His problem could no longer be overlooked the night he wrapped his patrol car around a tree.

“The night is still young, sir,” Milton reminded him.

“True enough. I’m going back to my office to take care of some old paperwork. Keep an ear out for the phones and the radio?”

“Sure.”

Fucking dammit!

Milton hated phones and he hated monitoring the law enforcement desk. He was an officer of the law, not a secretary. During the day, they had Junie around to take care of this crap. It was the dayshift that dealt mostly with traffic accidents, the occasional shoplifter, and any other minor mishap that went on in Clydesville. Usually, Bill was here at night to take care of the desk. He was a cop too, but he was a shitty one and was better off doing clerk duties.

And now you get to do them, Milton. Why? Because you didn’t want to go out on the road like you should have done.

They were short-staffed tonight. Bill hadn’t shown up at all and wasn’t answering his phone. It was unlike him, but it wasn’t like it hadn’t happened in the past. They used to have a guy named Weathers working on the force. He missed work all the time.

The force. What kind of force is this? We’ve got three of us on shift tonight.

Not that it took more than three of them to handle the town’s issues. With Sheriff Morris, Riley who was out on patrol right now, and himself, they had more than enough personnel for the job.

Milton was considering hiding out in the bathroom, pretending to take a crap while playing with his phone, when Riley walked through the door holding a cardboard carrier with three cups of coffee and a paper bag in his hand. The youngest guy in the department was on a health kick, so there wouldn’t be donuts in that bag. More than likely it was celery or some shit.

“Brought y’all some coffee,” Riley announced.

Sheriff Morris walked out of his office with his thumbs in his belt, his large gut hanging over his buckle, and a big ol’ grin on his face. The man had a coffee addiction. He’d brought his own, as he always did, in a giant metal thermos, but he’d never pass on fresh hot joe.

“What’s in the bag?” Milton asked, accepting his cup without thanking the young man.

As far as Milton was concerned, it was the youngest in the department’s duty to do things like this. He was supposed to kiss his superiors’ asses. Technically, Milton and Riley were the same ranks, but Milton had been here longer, so he’d earned the coffee by right of seniority.

“Wraps,” Riley answered. “Got to The Diner before Sally closed up shop. Hope y’all like tuna.”

“A tuna wrap, great,” Milton said. He didn’t care if the boy caught the sarcasm in his voice. He should know not to order nasty shit like tuna. He would have rather had plain ol’ toast with butter on it than a seafood wrap.

“It’s good,” Riley said. “Have you ever had one?”

“Tuna?” Milton asked, trying to figure out if he’d heard the young officer correctly. “Are you asking if I’ve ever tried tuna?”

Riley didn’t answer. Sheriff Morris laughed and said, “I’ll take one, Riley. Thank you.” Suddenly the boss man clutched his belly and winced. “Oh, boy. I’ll be back in a little while, guys.” He reached for the nearest magazine off one of the waiting room tables – not that anyone ever had a need to wait in that room – and headed straight for the bathroom, calling out over his shoulder, “Nature calls.”

“You gave him the shits,” Milton informed the younger officer.

“He didn’t even drink his coffee yet,” Riley said in defense.

“It was all that talk of tuna. You should be ashamed. Next time get the typical cop treat. Donuts.”