Thing Bailiwick Read online

  He felt his jaw go slack as he stared at the impossibility that went beyond his comprehension. He felt the blood drain from his face, felt himself teetering on the edge. Somewhere in the background, he heard Snoop barking. And he heard cackling—high-pitched, maniacal cackling.

  A witch!

  A witch was hiding in the bushes!

  And then the witch popped through the bushes, disguised as—

  Ricky?

  It was doubled over and holding its sides as it cackled insanely. “Oh man! Man, man, man! That was un-frigging-believable!”

  Ted could only gape as it performed what appeared to be some sort of ritual dance, stomping its feet and slapping its thighs as it staggered around in a tight circle.

  “The look on your face was too cherry! Better check your skivvies, Kelsey. Might need that clean pair after all. Holy shit, man!”

  It raised up a hand to waggle fishing line at him. “I got you good this time, didn’t I? Oh, jeez, I have to sit down.”

  It stopped abruptly when it spied the knife in Ted’s hand. “Whoa there. Steady, Teddy,” it said, pushing out the words on a giddy wheezing breath. “Please don’t stick me with that piece. I’m having too much fun. That would ruin everything.” Giggling garishly, it staggered to the couch and plopped down beside him.

  Finally, it began to sink in. This really was Ricky, not some evil, cackling, boy-eating witch. With this realization, his thumping heart begin to slow. As his rigid muscles relaxed, he picked up his soda can to wet his cotton mouth. “Really funny, you moron,” he mumbled past numb lips.

  “I thought you were gonna permanently imprint your face in the dirt for a minute there, Tedster. Thought I was gonna have to do CPR or something. Call 911. Uh, yeah, hello,” he said, holding the imaginary phone to his ear. “My buddy, Tedinski here, just had a wimp attack. I think he’s gonna need a ball transplant immediately. Yeah, that’s right, he seems to have lost his somewhere. Vanished into thin air. Oh yeah, and uh, you might wanna tell the paramedics to bring a fresh change of skivvies. His mommy doesn’t want him wearing soiled ones in the emergency room. That’s right, I said skivvies. Size fourteen. Huh? Oh. Fruit of the Loom would be fine,” he finished amidst profuse giggles. Lifting his shirt, he wiped the tears from his face.

  Ted took another needed sip of soda. “You’re a real jerk-off, you know that?”

  “Had to crawl out a window, man,” he said as he propped his legs on the coffee table and leaned back, looking mighty proud of his little prank. “But it was well worth it.”

  “Asshole.”

  “Yep. Real piece of genius, huh? Hooked this line up to my flashlight, a little tug, and voila, time to make gravy in your pants.”

  “Kiss my ass.”

  “Gotta change those skivvies first,” he said, and a fresh onslaught of giggles ensued.

  “Pea-brain. Ass-wipe.”

  “Oh! Good thing I’m here, then. You could probably use a few ass wipes right about now, huh, Tedster?” With this, Ricky doubled over, clutching his sides and braying like the ass he was.

  Slowly, his outburst subsided, and he leaned back, wiping the fresh tears from his face and hiccupping loudly. “Well,” he said, standing up and brushing the dirt and leaves from his knees, “I’d love to hang around, private, but I think it’s time to leave you to ponder on your new-found—” He clutched at his chest as another hiccup interrupted him. “—ball-lessness,” he finished.

  “Fartface.”

  With a spring in his step, Rick retrieved his flashlight from the lamp. “So sorry I have to depart from such hospitable company so soon,” he said with one final hiccup. “Enjoy your stay, now.”

  “Just remember who’s spending the night next week, jerk,” he shouted at Rick’s retreating back. But Rick was too busy giggling and hiccupping to reply as he dropped to hands and knees to plow through the bushes.

  Ted quickly flicked on his own flashlight and laid out on the couch, angrily flipping through his Spiderman comic-book as he listened to Ricky’s laughter fade slowly away.

  He had to admit Rick had really gotten him good, the jerk. As if this wasn’t tough enough. Just wait till it was his turn. He was gonna be sorry he ever messed with Theodore Kelsey, the ultimate master of pay-backs. He wasn’t sure how, but he’d get even. Yes sir, he was going to get him big time. And it wouldn’t be something as lame as a flashlight in a lamp. No way, José. It was going to be something monumental. Something majorly colossal. When the Tedster got through with him, he’d be running home to mama with his tail tucked between his legs. And he wouldn’t be wearing that damned smug grin on his face. Far from it. And he wouldn’t be laughing his butt off, either. No siree. Probably be crapping his pants, is what he’d be doing, and it would serve him right. Then who would be needing that fresh pair of skivvies?

  As he flipped through the pages, Ted began to form his own smug little grin as an array of delicious strategies on how to repay Ricky roiled around in his brain. There would be no mercy involved here. What was that saying?

  Paybacks are hell.

  ~~~~

  He was scooting along the narrow ledge of the burning building, determined to save the infant perched precariously on one of the highest windowsills of the high-rise. It was enveloped in a raging inferno, the menacing flames licking out from every window he passed seemingly dead-bent on knocking him from the ledge and sending him hurtling twenty stories to the pavement below.

  He could hear Snoop whining somewhere far below. Poor Snoop was concerned for his master. But he needn’t worry. Private Kelsey had been through extensive training. He had moves that would make Spiderman envious. He—

  There came a low rumbling growl that confused him, causing him to lose his balance and topple, only narrowly catching himself by the fingertips of one hand.

  Snoop growled again, louder this time.

  He was dangling perilously by four fingertips because of that growl. Why was Snoop growling? He was performing a heroic feat, here. Maneuvering along the top ledge of a twenty-story burning building took a great deal of concentration. Snoop should be barking excitedly, spurring him on, not growling. It was wrong. All wrong. It was—

  Ted rolled and awoke with a jolt, catching himself before he could fall off the couch.

  “What the…!”

  Snoop’s menacing growl spurred him to a sitting position, his eyes trying to adjust from dream land to real life.

  Snoop was pressed back against the couch, his hackles raised, a growl rumbling from deep in his throat as he peered toward the bushes.

  Grabbing his flashlight, he shook it. It was barely putting out a dull beam. He shook it harder and gave it a few good thumps, then paused at the sound of rustling in the bushes.

  Snoop stood up and growled with a bit more heart.

  “Don’t worry, Snoop. It’s just our pal Ricky up to no good again,” Ted grumbled, giving Snoop a few pats of reassurance. “Come on out, Rick. You’re not gonna get me twice, jerk-off.”

  He gave the flashlight a few good whacks on the palm of his hand and the waning light grew brighter for a few brief seconds. “Come on out or I’m sending killer after ya.”

  The chirring of crickets was the only reply.

  “All right then. Don’t say I didn’t warn you. Go on Snoop, go get him. Get him, boy,” he urged, giving him a gentle motivating shove.

  With a bark, Snoop, who was about as much a killer as a monarch butterfly, vaulted into the bushes with an impressive growl, and disappeared.

  “That a boy! Flush him out! Show him who’s boss,” he shouted. “Show him what happens when you mess with the Tedster! Get ‘em good, boy! Bite ‘em in the ass! Bite his balls off! Then we’ll see who needs that transplant, huh, Rickster? Then we’ll see who’s calling 911! I’ll be the one—”

  There was a flurry of barking in the distance, this high and excited, before it was cut off instantly with a yelp.

  “What the—”

  Shooting to his feet, Ted fum
bled in his pocket for the knife. “Snoop,” he called meekly, a slight tremor shaking his voice. “Come here, boy.”

  Silence answered him. Even the crickets had stopped their chorus.

  “Snoop?” His voice rang out hollowly, temporarily breaking the stillness. “Rick, that you?”

  Standing stock-still, Ted strained his ears for any sign of movement as the seconds slowly stretched into minutes.

  He shined the dimming light to his Timex, and had to blink a few times to make certain he was seeing right.

  Two o’clock! Could it possibly be two o’clock?

  He shifted anxiously from foot to foot, suddenly needing to take a wicked whiz. He might just need that fresh change of skivvies after all if he didn’t remedy this situation right away.

  He unzipped and did his business right where he stood. To hell with Rick.

  Ricky!

  No way was it Ricky out there! He wouldn’t be caught dead traipsing about the woods at two A.M. No way.

  He needed to find Snoop. He might be hurt, might need him. Poor mangy Snoop had never hurt a soul in his entire life

  Alright, soldier. Man up. Put your pecker away, reattach those balls, and move out. Move it, soldier! Move it!

  Re-zipping, he gathered his courage and, dropping to all fours, crawled through the bushes. Holding his quickly fading flashlight in front of him, he crept forward on wobbly legs, headed in the direction he’d last heard Snoop. He didn’t like the way the knife in his hand felt so light, so inadequate, like nothing in his sweaty grip. He could be holding a blue jay feather for as much assurance it offered.

  Maybe he was wrong. It could be Rick. Yeah, probably was. Probably crouching out there somewhere clamping Snoop’s snout shut and quietly laughing his ass off. If it was him, he was going to throttle the bastard. Throttle him till he was blue in the face, the jerk.

  Moving aside a clump of branches, he moved deeper into the woods.

  So he would have to regress a bit. Throw all his training to the wind for this one special occasion. Of course, no good psychologist should allow his emotions to be so completely manipulated that he was reduced to violence, but this was the last straw. Enough was enough.

  He swung the flashlight to the right, and a huge spider appeared in the beam. It was about the size of his palm, and it hung suspended in a web glistening with dew, one stretched impressively between two trees.

  Brushing aside a tangle of branches, he went around it.

  “If you’re out here, Ricky, you better run like hell! I swear I’m gonna kill you,” he shouted, hating the scared shitless pitch of his voice and receiving utter and total silence as his only response. Brushing aside more tangled branches, he headed deeper into the woods. “I mean it. You’re dead! You’re dead, you hear—”

  He swung the flashlight to the left at the sign of movement. “Snoop?”

  A few branches down low were swaying gently.

  “Snoop?” That you, boy?”

  Crouching low, he pushed the branches aside and shined the light into dense thorny brush.

  End of the line, soldier. Dead end. Not going to push your way through that tangled mess. Time to fall back.

  He was about to turn when his light swept over the hole in the ground. It was big, about a foot in diameter. Foxhole maybe. He moved the light to a shiny piece of metal that lie at its entrance, studying it in the dull beam. There was something about it that was…

  Familiar?

  He almost reached for it, then thought better. Who knew what lived in that hole. It looked like a foxhole, but it could belong to a coyote. Did Coyote’s dig dens in the ground?

  Don’t know.

  It could be a possum hole. He’d heard possums could be pretty nasty when cornered.

  Picking up a stick, he used the tip of it to carefully work the object toward him. Only when he thought it had reached a safe distance, did he reach down to retrieve it.

  He shined the now almost nonexistent light into his palm.

  His breaths stopped.

  Of course it was familiar. He saw the thing every day. It was Snoop’s dog tag. And there was something on it, something slick. He smeared it aside with his thumb. There it was. His address and phone number with two deep gouges running through it.

  “Oh, God.”

  It was Snoop’s tag. And Snoop’s blood!

  Though his heart felt like it was about to crack his ribs, he suddenly found he was more than a bit angry. Whatever lived in that damned hole had killed Snoop!

  Propping the flashlight under his arm, he grasped his knife in one hand and jammed the stick firmly down the hole with a growl, ready to confront and kill the damn possum, or whatever the hell it was.

  He let out a gasp as the stick was snatched from his hand and disappeared down the hole.

  “Holy shit!”

  Fumbling for the flashlight, he directed it to the hole just as an object came hurtling out.

  With a yelp, he batted it away, then followed it with the beam of light as it thumped to the ground and rolled to a halt.

  His flashlight dimmed and went out.

  There was a noise coming from his throat, a low moaning as the gorge made its way up his esophagus. And then he was bent over, vomiting hot dogs and marshmallows and soda, all the while picturing Snoop’s severed head in the dull beam of his light.

  A creepy clicking noise broke through his heaving haze. It was like the windup chatter-teeth he’d won at the fair, and it was coming from the hole.

  He froze, listening, straining his eyes in the darkness, not daring to blink, not daring to look away. Very little light was managing to filter its way through the branches overhead. But it was enough to faintly reveal the two eyes peering back at him from within the hole. Human eyes.

  At least they appeared to be human.

  For one fleeting moment, he actually considered that it might be Rick down in the hole, playing some kind of bizarre joke. But that thought was quickly dispelled. No human could fit down a hole that size. It just wasn’t possible. Whatever belonged to those eyes had killed Snoop, severed his head, and then tossed it at him like a basketball.

  He knew he should run. Turn-tail and run as fast as he could. But he couldn’t look away. As soon as he looked away, the thing in that hole would shoot out at him, he was sure of it.

  All the horrors from the night before came flooding back. Vampires, werewolves, zombies, witches, giant blood-sucking leeches, and even the devil himself—all seemed to pale in comparison to the thing leering at him from down in that hole.

  The eyes bobbed as the strange clicking sounded.

  Slowly, Ted began to back away.

  Easy now, soldier, easy. Steady, Teddy. One step at a time.

  When the bushes fell in before him, he spun on his heel, knowing instinctively that he was sprinting for his very life.

  Branches whipped him in the face, stinging as he hurtled recklessly through the dark woods, his breaths coming in choked gasps. He didn’t dare look back. He didn’t have to. He knew what he would see—two bobbing, glowing eyes scurrying after him.

  The spider-web he’d so carefully avoided just minutes earlier hit him square in the face and, without breaking stride, he clawed at it, ripping it away, not even bothering to give a second thought to the whereabouts of the spider. He had more important matters to contend with. Yes siree, Bob. Some creature had just crawled up from the bowels of Hell. Wasn’t that just a lovely picture? Some creature with Snoop’s flesh still stuck between its teeth. Apparently Snoop was just the appetizer.

  And apparently you should have tied your laces, soldier!

  When he broke through the brush onto the path, he almost went sprawling on his face. With arms pin-wheeling, he caught his balance and barreled down the path.

  He had to get home. If he could make it home, everything would be fine. Fine and dandy. He’d be safe, and the nightmare chasing him would scurry back into its hole, never to be seen or heard of again. This was his fault. All his f
ault. He had no business wandering around in the woods in the middle of the night. He’d been asking for trouble, begging for it, practically screaming at the top of lungs.

  Here trouble, come and get me. Here trouble trouble trouble. Here I am. Just little Teddy wandering around in the woods…at two in the morning…all by his little lonesome. Yes siree, Bob, all alone. Crawling around on hands and knees, poking my nose into places I shouldn’t. Poking sticks into holes like a moron.

  He had no business poking sticks into holes in the middle of the woods…at night…all by himself. He’d gone way too far. Pushed his luck one too many times. Tempted fate. If he’d kept his big mouth shut in the first place, he wouldn’t be running for his life while some earth burrowing, eye-glowing creature from Hell crashed through the bushes after him. It wasn’t logically possible. It wasn’t—

  He tripped. This time, no amount of fancy foot-work or arm-flapping could save his balance. He went flying like an acrobat. Flying through the air with the greatest of ease. He wondered insanely if he should attempt a flip or two to make this picture complete.

  He didn’t know what he tripped on. A rock, a branch, his own laces. But none of that seemed very important. His flashlight went flying, and so did his measly knife, but that wasn’t important either. As he went crashing to the ground without the grace of an acrobat, he tried to think of what Spiderman would do in a similar situation.

  Recovering quickly, he rolled and gave a hard kick right between the two eyes pouncing on him. In the darkness, he caught a glimpse of large triangular ears, a smashed pug nose, and a mouth full of needle sharp teeth that clamped down on his left sneaker.

  With a shriek, he shook his foot, sending the thing to flipping and flopping like a rag doll, its short stubby arms and legs flailing.

  For a few heart-rending seconds, Ted feared he wouldn’t be able to shake it loose, that this was where he would fight his last valiant battle, where they would find his meager remains, a tacky puddle of blood and maybe a few discarded gnawed bones.