Bentley Little - The Walking

From inside the room he heard the sound of rapid footsteps that rapped against the hardwood floor. They seemed unnaturally loud in the silent house.

There was no answering reply, only the footsteps. Boot heels on wood.

Miles pushed the love seat aside, pulled the chair and hall tree away from the door. He saw a paper towel, a bottle and syringe lying between the legs of the hall tree. His father's medication, abandoned.

"Dad!" He pushed open the door.

His father was naked, wearing only cowboy boots, and walking in a circle around the periphery of the room. The nightstand was knocked over, as was a chair. Both the 'bed and the dresser had been shoved away from their usual positions against the wall and were skewed at odd angles against bunched-up sections of throw rug, creating a path next to the wall through which his father could walk. Miles saw bloody bruises on his father's thigh and midsection where he had obviously smacked against the bed and dresser, moving them not intentionally but through sheer stubborn repetition.

"Dad!" he called again.

But he did not rush forward. Something about the scene kept him back.

His father's eyes were closed, he saw. The old man's skin was bluish and pasty.

Bob walked between the dresser and the wall, toward him, past him. This close, Miles could see the utter lack of expression on his dad's face, the complete absence of any sign of life or personality.

His father was dead.

He knew it, felt it, understood it, but Bob continued walking, continued on his circular track around the edge of the room. Miles did not know what was happening or why or what to do. This was like something out of The Twilight Zone, and he stood there, stunned. He knew he should be scared, but for some reason he wasn't, and when his father came around again, Miles grabbed him around the chest, pinning the old man's arms to his sides. His father's skin felt cold and spongy, rubbery. Miles held his dad tightly, trying to keep him in place, but his father

was stronger in death than he had ever been in life, and with only a moment's delay, he broke through his son's restraint and continued his nonstop stride around the periphery of the room.

"Stop!" Miles called, but Bob gave no indication that he had heard.

The dead can't hear, Miles thought.

He hurried out of the room and back down the hall. Audra had to have reported what was happening, an ambulance was probably on its way right now, but he dialed 9-1-1 anyway and was transferred instantly from an emergency operator to a police dispatcher.

He started talking immediately, before the dispatcher had said a word:

"My name's Miles Huerdeen. I'm at 1264 Monterey Street, Los Angeles, and my dad is dead. I just came home and found him. He had a stroke and was incapacitated, but now he's walking around the bedroom, and I need someone to come over and take care of him." He was aware of how ridiculous he sounded, and he knew as soon as he said it that he should have kept that part quiet, let the paramedics find out for themselves when they arrived, but he was obviously more freaked than he'd thought, because he had a need to get the information out, he wanted to explain what was really going on.

He wanted someone else to know.

Besides, the police needed to decide how to handle his father, whether to take him to a hospital or the morgue.

The dispatcher was confused. "Your father had a stroke?

"No, he died!"

"I thought you said he was walking."

"He is!"

The voice took on a stiff authoritarian formality. "Mr. Huerdeen--"

"He's dead, I told you! And he's still walking around the room!"

"Mr. Huerdeen, I suggest you take a walk. We don't have time for these games. Thank you

"This isn't a game, goddammit!"

"Then, I suggest you take advantage of our referral service to find the mental health clinic nearest your home. I will connect you." There was an abrupt click, and then a recorded voice came on the line, informing him that if he was thinking about suicide, he should press the number one. If he was suffering from spousal abuse... He hung up the phone, chastising himself for not taking the dispatcher's name. He could not hear it from here, but in his mind he heard the sound of boot heels on wood, and for the first time the creepiness of it all hit home. Father or not, he was alone in the house with a dead mana zombie

--and his first priority was to find someone to help him do something about it. He thought for a moment, then reached for his personal phone book. He dialed his friend Ralph Barger, who worked at the county coroner's office.. Ralph would know how to handle this.

Luckily for him, Ralph was in, and Miles explained the situation as calmly and rationally as he could. His friend did not interrupt and did not treat him as though he were crazy or drunk but took him seriously and wrote down the address and promised to be there with a wagon and a couple of assistants within the half hour.

After hanging up, Miles called Graham. He might need a lawyer on this.

He had no idea what was happening here, but it was doubtlessly unprecedented, and that always meant tangling with the law. The attorney, for once, did not have to be paged but actually answered his phone,

and as soon as Miles explained the situation, he promised to be right over.

"You're not pulling my leg, are you? This is on the level?"

"On the level."

"Holy shit. I have to see this for myself."

"Then, get your ass over here."

Miles considered calling Hal, getting some of the other detectives in on this, but decided against it. At let for now.

He hung up the phone, looked around the darkened house. Where was Audra? he wondered. Had she just run off?

Or had his father killed her?

It was clear by now that she had not called the police or any authorities if she had, they had treated her information the same way they had treated his. Had she simply abandoned her post and rushed home or to the hospice agency? Or had something happened to her, and was her body still in the house? She must have been the one who had barricaded his father's door, so he most likely hadn't been able to do anything to her, but the truth was that Miles was way out of his depth here. For all he knew, his father was possessed by some malevolent spirit or demon that had also done away with the nurse.

He needed to search the house.

He was a lot more leery about leaving the living room than he had been before. Night had fallen, and though. he'd turned on a few of the lights, most of the house was still in darkness. Logically, he knew that his father had died when it was still light outside. Audra had probably taken off sometime this afternoon.

But the fact that she did not appear to have called anyone indicated the possibility that she had never left at all.

He looked down the pirtially lighted hallway at the moved barricade, feeling a chill creep up his back.

Maybe he should wait until Ralph and the coroner's men arrived.

No. If there was a chance that the nurse was still in the house, that something had happened to her and he could help, he needed to find her.

If

He took a quick peek into the kitchen, flipping on the lights. Nothing.

He went back down the hall, looked into the bathroom, the closet, his office. All empty.

The door to his father's room was still open, and he could not help looking in. Bob was still walking around the room, dead, naked, wearing cowboy boots. His father turned, and Miles saw the unseeing eyes in that unmov thing face, and he looked away, hurrying down the hall to check out the last room, his own bedroom.

He was prepared for the worst--the nurse's body, eviscerated on his bed, torn in half like Montgomery Jonesbut when he turned on the light there was nothing. Thank