Alan Baxter - The Gulp - Five Tales of Horror

Bring people to see me , she had said.

He told her he didn’t want to, but she begged him. She cajoled and whined and said it was so important, that she’d finally be able to be a proper mother to him. He’d told her to let him think about it, everything hyper-real in that dream state super-clarity. And he’d gone back to bed.

In the morning, he remembered the dream. When Maddy asked if he remembered being up in the night he said no, because it was a dream. Wasn’t it? So how did she know? But he definitely wasn’t dreaming now. And his mother was talking to him again.

He got up, knees trembling, and opened her bedroom door. The swollen whiteness reached the floor on either side of the bed, bulged up almost to touch the light fitting above.

Bring Joshy to me!

“No, Mum! No way.” How could she be talking to him? He was going mad, that had to be it. Was it guilt? Fear of being caught in their lie? Surely they deserved their shot at living alone. Living free.

Bring someone. Zacky, I need someone.

“What for?”

To help me.

“To help you what?”

Come back.

“You’re dead!” he shouted and slammed the door shut. He ran back to the lounge, fell onto the couch, and turned the TV up loud.

He decided he’d hold out through the morning, then call Josh after lunch. But not go over to the house, he didn’t want to lie to Mr and Mrs Brady again, not yet. He’d invite Josh to the skate park.

It was almost noon when a knock at the door startled him.

Standing on the porch was a middle-aged woman in jeans and a red jumper. She had long hair tied back and sneakers on, but they looked brand new, completely free of dirt. Behind her, Zack saw a small Volkswagen parked at the kerb.

“Yeah?”

“You must be Zachary Taylor?”

“Who are you?”

The woman smiled and held up a small plastic wallet hanging on a lanyard from a belt loop of her jeans. She said aloud what was written on it. “I’m Stephanie Belcher, from the Department of Communities and Justice.”

Zack’s heart hammered and his skin went cold. “DoCS?”

She smiled again. “That’s what we used to be called, yes. Is your mother home?”

“Why?”

“I’d just like to have a chat, that’s all.” She looked over his shoulder into the house as she spoke. “Can I come in?”

Zack’s mind raced. Should he use the story about visiting her cousins now?

Bring her to me!

Zack jumped, looking quickly at the woman’s face. She gave no indication that she’d heard his mother’s voice.

“Are you okay?” Belcher asked.

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

Bring her to me!

His mother’s voice was insistent. Desperate. Something dragged hard at Zack’s chest, seemed to haul at his insides.

Bring her! Let me fix it!

He stepped back from the door. “Come in. Mum’s in bed. She’s not been well.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“She’s agoraphobic. Never goes out.”

Belcher smiled. “Yes, that’s in your file. Must be tough on you, huh? And your sister?”

“I guess. We’re okay. You really don’t need to see her, we’re all just fine.”

“I’m sure that’s true, but this is standard procedure.”

Zack noticed their neighbour, Jack Parsons, standing on the far side of his car where it was parked on the driveway. He looked over the roof at them, ducked away and got into the car when he caught Zack’s eye. The man had to be ninety years old, a real busybody. He’d always been old and grumpy Zack’s whole life.

“Which is your mum’s room?”

Zack jumped slightly, and quickly closed the front door.

Bring her! Bring her!

Zack’s whole body shook, his mouth was dry. He walked around Belcher and pointed to the bedroom door, then stood slightly aside. He knocked, hoped the woman couldn’t see his hand trembling. “Mum, someone to see you.” His voice wavered and he cursed it.

Belcher didn’t seem to notice. She smiled, raised her eyebrows.

Zack shrugged, gestured to the door. “After you?”

Belcher turned the handle and pushed open the door. “Mrs Taylor, I’m sorry to disturb you… What the hell?”

The social worker had taken one step into the room and stood staring in shock at the voluminous white fungus that obscured the entire bed. The light was pushed slightly to one side by its highest bulge.

Give her to me!

His mother’s voice was high, desperate, commanding. With a cry of fear and revulsion, Zack stepped forward, put both hands against Stephanie Belcher’s upper back, and shoved. She yelped in surprise and staggered forward, raising her hands to stop her fall. Her palms hit the front of the pure white curve and immediately hissed, smoke pouring up off them. Belcher screamed as her hands sank in, her arms swallowed into the stuff up to her elbows. More smoke roiled up, Belcher’s throat tearing with the pitch of her cries, her eyes wide in agony. Nothing could stop her forward motion as her arms went deeper and she managed a high, terrified, “NO!” which cut off instantly as her face slammed into the fungal mass. She twisted her head to the side and Zack caught for an instant her mouth stretched in horror, her eyes desperate and beseeching, as her skin bubbled and smoke obscured her.

The smoke reached him and it had a terrible smell, both earthy and like burning meat. Belcher’s entire upper body sank into the fungal mass, bending forward at the hip, until just her butt and legs showed, feet still flat on the floor. Where the front of her legs touched the stuff, the jeans seemed to fuse and sink slowly. Only where the fungus touched bare skin did the sizzling and melting occur. But Zack thought maybe the material protection wouldn’t last long.

He turned and ran for the bathroom where he vomited noisily. Again. It seemed not so long ago that he’d done the same thing, but then he could never have imagined things progressing to this.

He came back to close the bedroom door, saw the social worker sinking slowly into the mass covering his mother’s body. He saw something in her back pocket and gasped, a series of realisations flooding over him. He darted forward, holding his breath, and plucked the keyring from her pocket. A bunch with a variety of different keys on it, but one clearly for her car. The VW logo glittered silver.

He closed the bedroom door and stood in the hallway, taking deep breaths to compose himself. His mind raced, making plans. After a moment he nodded to himself, went to the front door. Peeking out he saw Jack Parsons’s car had gone. How the ancient old fart was still driving was a mystery, but it served his purposes now.

Zack unlocked Belcher’s car and got in, started it up. He saw her bag on the passenger seat, a phone in the front pocket. The edge of a wallet poked up too. Ignore it all, he told himself. He saw a pack of wet wipes in the centre console and smiled. Good, he could use those.

He pulled the hood of his sweater up and low over his eyes, started the car and drove away from his house. He wasn’t a great driver, but he knew the basics. All he lacked was experience, really. He’d driven enough to safely stick to the limits, obey the traffic signs, and thirty minutes later he pulled up on a quiet back street on the outskirts of Monkton. He grabbed the wipes and judiciously cleaned everything he’d touched – wheel, gear shift, handbrake, door handle. He wiped the keys and left them in the ignition, then got out and surreptitiously wiped the handle on the outside too. He pocketed the wipes, kept his head down and his hood up, and walked quickly away.

He was pretty certain there were no cameras anywhere around this part of Monkton, but he took no chances and stayed hidden inside his hood until he was all the way inside Monkton Plaza, a few kilometres from the abandoned car. He checked the time on his phone. Nearly 1 p.m. He was reluctant to go home. Who knew what might be happening in his mother’s bedroom.