Thirty-two-year-old Jay Hawkins and thirty- three-year-old Pete Johnson were best friends. They worked the same shift at one of the local furniture factories, and enjoyed going fishing and shooting archery together at every opportunity. Jay is Pete’s son’s godfather. They have known each another since elementary school when Pete’s family moved to Virginia from Ohio. Tonight they are sitting in Fred’s Tavern, enjoying a few mixed drinks and casually shooting the breeze; when suddenly…
“Shit,” Jay said, looking at the Timex watch on his wrist. “I’ve got to get my ass home. Shirley’s gonna be mad as hell.”
“Call her and tell her you’re going to be a little late,” his friend Pete said. “We’ll stay here a while longer and get shitfaced.”
Jay shook his head as he looked at his friend sitting on the barstool beside him and said, “I was supposed to be home at six o’clock, dumb ass, right after work.” He held out his left arm and put the watch next to Pete’s face. “Look… you see what time it is?”
“Yeah, it’s 8:45.” Pete answered. “ She’s really gonna kick your ass.” He laughed at the thought of Shirley kicking Jay’s butt up around his neck so far he could audition for the part of The Hunchback of Notre Dame.
Jay took the last drink from the glass that had been sitting in front of him and swallowed. After setting the empty glass back on the bar he got up from the barstool and put on his coat.
“Going home so early?” Fred the bartender and owner of the establishment asked as he wiped the countertop with a wet, smelly rag.
Jay nodded his head as he buttoned up the coat. “Yeah, I was supposed to have been home hours ago.” Then, he shook his head from side to side and added: “My wife is going to be one mad as hell old hen when I do get there.” He licked his lips and sighed heavily. It wouldn’t be the first time she was angry; he just hated to hear her bitch.
“Take her some flowers,” Fred said smiling.
“Yeah right. I’ve traveled that route before and the road was out. That woman doesn’t give a fat rat’s ass about flowers.”
“Well… good luck,” Fred said, walking away to wait on another customer.
“I suppose I’d better go home myself,” Pete muttered, sliding off the stool. He picked his coat up off the floor where it had fallen earlier, and as he was putting it on: “I’ll see you at work tomorrow.”
“I reckon so. Be careful going home, Pete.”
“Yep,” he answered, already at the front door, reaching for the doorknob. “You know me… I’m always careful.”
“Good night, Fred,” Jay yelled as he was headed in the opposite direction as Pete – he was going to go out the back way, where he had parked his car.
Fred set a bottle of Schlitz beer in front of Billy Nester, looked toward Jay and Pete and answered, “You boys be careful out there tonight. They’re calling for snow, you know?”
“Snow my ass, it ain’t gonna fuckin snow.” Pete said sarcastically and closed the door behind him as he left.
***
The moment Jay left the shelter of the tavern the biting December wind hit him full in the face, stinging his cheeks. He pulled up the back of his collar and shrugged a little deeper into his coat to try to keep the chill off the back of his neck. It didn’t work. It didn’t help at all. The wind was bitterly cold. But hell – after being in the smoke-filled tavern for so long the cold night air was almost a welcomed relief as he stepped out the door and into the darkness. After downing six rum and cokes in the span of a few hours, Jay was ready to go home. Ready to sit down at the table and enjoy his dinner, if Shirley hadn’t thrown it in the trash by now. And that was a very good possibility – a damn good possibility.
As Jay walked toward his car he heard a sound that seemed to have come from a dumpster that stood approximately thirty feet away. He stopped to listen, cocking his head to one side. The night was quiet – too quiet. An eerie silence had suddenly permeated the alley. An alley that now appeared smaller than it was only a few moments before. Then Jay noticed something else – the wind was no longer blowing. A cold finger of terror probed just below his heart, but Jay ignored it and continued walking toward the car.
After listening intently for a few seconds, as he was walking to the car and not hearing anything except his own footfalls, Jay was beginning to feel more comfortable. Then, again he heard the sound. It was louder this time. He wasn’t certain the first time he had heard it, but this time there was no mistaking it: it sounded just like someone was dragging their fingernails down a school room chalk board. Jay shuddered as the hair on his neck and arms stood erect like tiny soldiers standing at attention in military formation. He stopped and looked back in the direction of the dumpster. Something moved in the shadows. Jay swallowed hard, trying to get rid of the lump that had crawled its way up into his throat.
“Who’s there?” he called out in a feeble, tiny voice. There was no answer. Only silence.
“Is someone over there?” he asked, almost in a whisper. He squinted his eyes, looking through mere slits, as he strained to see better, looking in the direction of the big green dumpster. Again, there was no answer.
Jay’s heart began to palpitate. A bead of cold sweat rolled off his forehead and fell to the pavement. He was visibly shaking. His mouth was as dry as a cotton ball on a hot desert floor. But why? There was no one there. What was he frightened of? Was his mind playing some sort of a cruel trick on the rest of his body?
Jay took a deep breath and let out an even deeper sigh of relief. A half-hearted smile crossed his lips. “Too many horror movies, Jay,” he said softly to himself. He suddenly felt stupid for the way he was acting. Nevertheless – his body was trembling – and not from the cold.
As he headed for his car, still some forty-five feet away, Jay shook his head in disbelief. He couldn’t believe that he, a grown man and afraid of no one, was acting like a lunatic – acting like a frightened little girl… afraid of the dark. Scared of shadows.
Jay already had the car keys in hand when he arrived at the vehicle. He put one of them in the door lock to open it. Just as he turned the key, he felt something hot on the nape of his neck. It felt like – like… someone was breathing on him, causing a cold chill to run down the length of his spine.
He turned quickly – quicker than a lion can spot a limp on the Serengeti –, ready to punch someone in their mouth for messing with him. When he did turn around, what he saw standing before him suddenly made Jay Hawkins wish that he had been born blind. His mouth dropped open and all he could do was stand there. Stand there and stare… in awe. He wanted to scream, but he couldn’t. All he could do was look – look with wide-eyed terror.
There was no man there for Jay to punch in the mouth when he turned around. There was no human form there in front of him for him to exact his anger up on. But, what was there, standing before Jay Hawkins, was unlike anything else he had ever seen in all his life. A puzzled look settled upon his face… and then deepened into a dawning, horrified certainty. Standing seven feet tall at the shoulder, and with ropes of saliva hanging from its tooth-filled mouth, was the biggest damned rat Jay had ever seen.
Without fanfare, without uttering a sound – without hesitation, the rat put its huge mouth over Jay’s head… and systematically bit it off.
Jay’s headless body remained standing for a few seconds, apparently not yet realizing its head was no longer a part of it. Then – the lifeless remains fell to the ground with a dull, sickening thud.
The giant rat took one of Jay’s feet into its mouth and began dragging the body toward the dumpster. It disappeared into darkness,
taking Jay’s corpse into the night with it…
to feed.
I think this short story is VERY good. Perhaps Mr. Honaker can post more of his work on his page; I would like to read more from him. I agree with the author-- ALL things do have to eat, even HUGE ...
The Butcher's Boy
- 2011 Readers Favorite Award Silver Medal Winner in Horror - Fiction
A Paranormal/Chiller by Michael Robb
Thirty-one years ago, Buxly the Butcher went to trial for killing h
