TV Dinners from Hell Page 2

  She watched, holding her breath until her chest began to hurt, lungs burning with the need for air, until the thing wheeled clumsily around and began stalking drunkenly in the other direction. She let out a breath that was equal parts a sigh of relief and a gasp for fresh oxygen. The thing had forgotten her.

  But it was still there, between her and her apartment. She wouldn’t be able to approach her front steps without passing by it. She had been lucky once, but she couldn’t test that luck by continuing to creep along this street. Even though it would add extra time and distance to her trip, she’d have to cross over to a neighboring street, go around the thing, and come back up on the far side. She was sure that, if she made a break for it, she’d be able to run up the steps, unlock the door, and make it safely inside before the thing could catch her. She was almost positive she could do it. The thing had been so slow! How had they managed to catch anyone, moving like that? You could see them from a mile off, even in the darkness! And with the volume of their odd, stolen cries, you could hear them coming, too.

  Somehow, that was the worst part. The noise they made was not their own. It was dirty and awful. It tainted music, took something joyous and beautiful and made it into something dark and violent and sick. The things—the possessed, hungry things—corrupted what they took. Patsy Cline had always been one of her favorite singers, had always reminded her of warm summer days and her mother, sunshine, curtains floating lazily in the breeze. Now those memories were darkened, eaten by a thing that wore someone’s skin like a living coat and cried out at its prey with a voice that was not its own.

  She hung back by the bush, barely breathing, until she was very sure that the thing had lost her scent—or however it was they tracked their victims. Then she backtracked, making her way to the nearest cross street and creeping quietly down it, staying in the shadows, until she reached the next intersection.

  Her skin prickled with goosebumps despite the oppressive summer heat. She had to get home. She took a last, longing look back at her car, admonishing herself again for staying out so late when she shouldn’t have, and for putting herself in this position in the first place.

  She was barely half a block from where she’d crossed the street when Tom Waits called out to her from somewhere close by. Too close.

  “Money’s just something you throw off the back of a train…”

  Another of those things had somehow snuck up behind her. It must have been coming from the other direction when she crossed the road, and she hadn’t seen it before it saw her.

  This one had been a young man, once upon a time, before something desperate and evil had found him in the darkness, stolen his soul, and made him sing for his supper. Forever.

  Its sandy blond hair was greasy and stuck up in places. It wore a once-bright polo shirt, striped with primary colors, and jeans. One of its shoes was missing. It had the same sightless, staring eyes, and the same too-wide oval mouth as its once-female counterpart. It moved in the same herky-jerky imitation of a dance as the other one had, stalking up on her with small, stumbling strides.

  It was only a few hundred feet from her when the song rang out, shocking her from her cautious silence. She gasped and ran in several long strides before glancing over her shoulder, relieved to see that the thing had barely moved at all while she had covered quite a distance by comparison. She could make it, after all.

  She whipped her head back around at the sound of Patsy’s haunting voice.

  “Each time I see you again…”

  The first of the things was in front of her, barely half a block away. How had it gotten there so fast? How had it known where she was?

  She turned, saw the other one, and realized she was trapped. As a last-ditch effort, she pulled her cell phone from her pocket, unlocked it, and started her music app. She depressed the volume button, keeping her thumb on it even when it was maxed out. A tinny, low quality version of her favorite Pixies song came on.

  “Your blistered lips have got a kiss.”

  Panicked and desperate, she decided to try to act like one of them. Pretending to be infected herself seemed like a good idea. She cocked her knees and elbows at awkward angles and lurched aimlessly towards the street, hoping to confuse the nearer thing, the once-female, just long enough to slip by. Then she’d run for all she was worth to her apartment and never look back. Her heart hammered in her chest as she opened her mouth wide, wider, as wide as it would go, the corners of her lips beginning to crack and bleed from the strain.

  The things were not deceived. The female-thing lunged at her, claw-like hands hooking onto the edges of her jacket like the talons of a predator. The other thing stumbled towards them.

  Stunned, she stumbled and fell, her phone bouncing out of her hand and crashing onto the street, battery flying free and landing in the grass. Her music stopped and theirs began in earnest.

  * * *

  THE DONOR

  I sighed as I looked down at the tubes taped to my forearm before going back to my book again. Every time I undergo dialysis, I try to read to pass the time…novels both fiction and nonfiction, magazines, even the TV Guide (Yes, they still print those!), but it never ends up working. Instead, I get distracted by the noises the machine makes: gurgles, whirring sounds, beeping, and even odd clunks every once in a while.

  I realized I’d read the same page more than a dozen times before closing the book in resignation and tucking it back into my purse with my free hand. The whining cycle of the machine began to slow, diminishing little by little as it returned my blood, now sparkling clean, to my body, doing the job that my dead kidneys were no longer able to. I tried in vain to force away the grim thoughts that came unbidden to my mind. I tried shoving them back into the dark recesses where they could fester unhindered until that soft, twilit time just before slumber when they’d be sure to strike again, but, like my attempts at distraction through literature, it was no use.

  I knew that every time I visited the hospital, I was coming closer to the time when the dialysis would no longer be able to carry me through, when the complete and total failure of my sick, dying little kidneys would cause me to die, too. That was part of what made coming so difficult. The cheery robin’s-egg blue walls mocked me with their brightness. I wondered if the room upstairs where I’d likely fall into a coma and die would have the same bright blue walls, the same bland still life paintings hanging from them.

  Sure, there was the organ donor wait list…but let’s be realistic for once, instead of the overly optimistic pablum the doctors and nurses around here always crammed down my throat: I’m 68 years old, I have a rare blood type, and a rather extensive family history of various types of cancer, kidney included. My chances of finding a match, let alone being alive to receive a new kidney by the time any medical board approved me, were slim to none. I knew that, but for some reason, I couldn’t seem to get that fact through the veneer of pretty, shiny happiness worn by the various doctors and nurses I saw on a daily basis. I kept telling them, over and over again, that I thought false hope was a lot harder to take than brutal reality and begged them to be honest with me, to no avail.

  That’s why I was hardly surprised when Sharon Rogers, my regular nurse, waltzed into my room a few moments after the dialysis machine whirred to a halt, that same Mary Poppins, sugary sweet smile on her too-pretty face.

  “Good morning, Ms. Dallas!” she chirped, the human incarnation of a songbird, her blonde ponytail bouncing with her steps.

  “I have some really amazing news for you!” Her pink lipstick was the perfect complimentary shade to the purple scrubs she wore. Her perkiness was grating, at best. I was sure her “amazing news” was anything but. Probably another platitude about being alive for yet another dialysis treatment.

  I sighed and did nothing to disguise my attitude as Nurse Rogers began the process of unhooking me from the machine that filtered my blood, doing the job my kidneys were no longer capable of.

  “Oh, cheer u
p, sourpuss!”She mock-frowned at me, her perfect little forehead creasing. “Didn’t you hear what I said? I have some really great news to share with you!”

  I exhaled through my nose as she pulled a long needle from my arm. I glanced out the window and noticed the pattern of shadows and light on the sill, cast by sunlight through the partially open blinds, looked so like prison bars.

  “What is it?” I asked, noting the sarcasm that dripped from my words like honey into bitter tea. “Did they approve your request to hang Lisa Frank posters in here?”

  Her smile faltered just for a second: a crack in her twee little façade.

  “No, silly!” she beamed, placing her hand with its manicured pink nails over my old wrinkled one. “We found you a donor!”

  I gaped just like a fish. I closed my open mouth, then went to speak and lost my words. It happened three more times before I finally regained my senses.

  “You found me…a donor? Really? I’m going to get new kidneys?” I couldn’t believe it. Relief flooded through my veins, jumping my heart rate. Nurse Rogers nodded enthusiastically as my eyes began to tear up.

  “You’ll only get one, though. It’s a live donor, so he can’t afford to give up both.”

  “A live donor? Someone is going to give up one of his organs…for me?” I asked, completely incredulous. I couldn’t imagine a family member doing something like that, let alone a complete stranger.

  “Uh-huh!” My nurse’s head bobbed as she broke out into a fit of giggles. She handed me my purse before pulling me to my feet. I felt like I was made of straw and clay. I might really never have to return to this room, never have to listen to that machine whirring and grinding away as it cleaned toxins from my blood. It was unreal, to say the least.

  Nurse Rogers pulled me eagerly towards the door. “Come on, Ms. Dallas,” she clucked. “We’d like the two of you to get acquainted before we get the ball rolling on the surgery.”

  “Introduce us? You mean my donor? You want me to meet the person who’s giving me an organ now?”

  “Of course! You didn’t think we’d just give you a stranger’s kidney, did you? Now come on and say hi!”

  Nurse Rogers practically dragged me out the door. I was still feeling shell-shocked, reeling at the news that perhaps I was not condemned to die. Maybe I’d even be able to take a trip to meet my grandchildren. My life just might end on a high note instead of in the cold, impersonal room upstairs I’d always believed awaited me. I was simply overcome.

  My eager companion opened up a manila file folder I hadn’t noticed her carrying and began reading me details about my savior’s life.

  “It says here that his name’s Ben and he has two daughters. They have a dog…oh, he likes ice cream. He was born in Tacoma…”

  I nodded absently as we walked down the hall, a bustling highway of doctors, patients, nurses, janitors, and other human beings all rushing on their way from place to place. Out here, the walls were painted a placid shade of eggshell white. No pictures hung from the walls, and the only punctuations to the white expanse were doorways that lead to treatment rooms and the nurses’ station. The floor was scuffed white tile run through with arteries of red, yellow, and green tape, unspoken directions to different areas of the bustling facility.

  I had walked that stretch of hallway before, so many times, and yet, it felt alien to me somehow. It felt completely different than it had just scant hours before. I felt as if I had somehow been transported to another dimension instead of undergoing dialysis.

  “We’ll want to move quickly on this, of course.” Nurse Rogers continued to speak, and I continued to nod, the reality of the situation finally sinking in as disbelief became joy in my heart.

  “Now, your insurance should cover most of this, but due to some budgetary ‘changes’ here at Saint Nicholas Memorial, you’ll have to have to be a bit more involved in the process than usual…”

  I was only half paying attention to the nurse as we made our way down that hallowed hall, following the track outlined in red and yellow tape. The green tape had taken a left turn past the nurses’ station.

  “What was that?” I asked, turning my attention back to the bubbly blonde.

  “Nothing to worry about!” she assured me. “I know you’ll do great!”

  I paused, about to ask her what she meant by that, but we had arrived at a door, one that lead to a waiting room, if I recalled correctly.

  “Okay, here you go,” Nurse Rogers said perkily, pressing something into my hand: a rolled-up anatomy diagram and a shiny scalpel.”Like I said, budget cuts.” She shrugged. “You’ll have to take the kidney yourself. But it’s super easy! You’ll be fine!” She didn’t give me time to protest before opening the door and ushering me inside.

  “Oh, hello!” said a gentleman in a brown suit and derby hat. “Are you here for the blood drive, too?”

  * * *

  PRETTY PRETTY SHINY

  A bird cries, but not one of the big scary ones. One of the nice little ones that sometimes spills seed out of the box by the Big Ones' den. It is day in the woods by the creek. The sunlight comes through the trees like an old friend, making me warm. Cik-Cik is next to me, sniffing in the leaves for food we buried before. I am Nuk, and Cik-Cik is my brother. Cik-Cik lives with his mate in the den below mine in the big tree with no leaves. I do not have a mate.

  It is day, but it is early. The light has not warmed everything yet. The leaves are still cold and wet with night dew. Wet makes it hard to sniff. Hard to find the food we left here. We dig where we think food is. I find a grub. I eat the grub because I am hungry. Cik-Cik wanted the grub. He goes to dig somewhere else.

  I dig more but I don't find any food. I look for Cik-Cik. He is still digging. I go to dig by Cik-Cik. There are many more trees in this part of the woods. The trees block more of the sun, so it is darker here. I watch Cik-Cik dig. I do not remember burying food in this part of the woods. I don't remember coming here before.

  Cik-Cik makes a noise. He has found something! I go to see what Cik-Cik has found.

  There is a big hole. Cik-Cik did a lot of digging here. I don't know why Cik-Cik would do that. We do not bury food that deep, only deep so others can't find, shallow for us to get it back. There are many strange looking rocks in the hole. They are white and shaped like small sticks. There is also something else in the hole. When I try to get closer, Cik-Cik knocks me back and hisses at me. I do not know why Cik-Cik is mad. I think maybe Cik-Cik found a grub, but I don't see one. I get up and try to see what's in the hole again. Cik-Cik barks a warning and jumps on me. I fall on the ground on my back. My shoulder is hurt. Then I see the blood.

  Cik-Cik bit me. Bit me bad. Bleeding. Lots of blood.

  Cik-Cik never bit me before. We played when we were young. We fought and scraped and tussled, but we never hurt each other. I feel very confused and hurt and afraid. Cik-Cik growls at me. He is standing on his back legs over me. His mouth is red with my blood, and I see his teeth. His eyes look like the eyes of the big, scary birds. He has something in his claw. It is very, very red. At first, I think it is just more of my blood, but it is shiny and different. Part of it is yellow like the sun, but most of it is a big red square that shines with red light like the last sun or the first sun. Cik-Cik holds the shiny away from me. My shoulder is hurt, but I want to see the shiny. Want the shiny. Pretty pretty shiny.

  I try to get it from Cik-Cik, but he bites me again. Worse this time. He bit me on the paw and two of my toes are gone, swallowed by Cik-Cik.

  Cik-Cik runs away, back toward the home tree. I watch him go, but I cannot follow him. My paw hurts and I'm bleeding a lot. I put the bitten place in the dirt like Mother showed me when Cik-Cik and I were little. That helps stop the bleeding. Soon I am ready to go. Go after the pretty pretty shiny. I must get it from Cik-Cik.

  I go to the home tree, but I do not see Cik-Cik. I climb past his hole in the tree. Cik-Cik's mate is there. She is called Tseek. She looks
at me and her eyes get very big when she sees all the blood. I move past before she can stop me. I do not have time for anything now, anything but the pretty pretty shiny. I must get the pretty pretty shiny.

  I climb to my own hole, but Cik-Cik is not there. I think about this morning, when I left my hole and I remember. I will not be that way again. Now I need the shiny. With the shiny, I will be different.

  I see Cik-Cik. He is standing on a far limb and he is holding the pretty pretty shiny. His eyes are closed and he is stretching up towards the sun, holding the shiny in both paws like an offering. I do not think he sees me, but I am there. I am watching. I need the shiny. I must have the pretty pretty shiny.

  I take a few steps towards him, closer and closer but he still does not see me. When I am close enough, I leap and grab the pretty pretty shiny from him! I feel it in my paw, the one that isn't hurt. It feels warm and good and heavy. I am falling, long way down. But that is okay. I have the pretty pretty shiny.

  I hit the ground and hear my bones break before the long sleep comes.

  * * *

  Melissa Crane makes a face as she carefully picks up the bloodied corpse of the little grey squirrel. “Cat must've had fun with you,” she sighs. “Sorry, little guy, but out you go…”

  As she lifts the battered little body, she notices a ring clutched in one of its paws. She frowns in puzzlement as she pries the little bauble free, holding it up to the light.

  Melissa's face goes slack. She drops the mangled squirrel to the ground and, clutching the ring, makes her way slowly back towards the house.

  * * *

  BEHIND THE SMILE

  Five–year–old Mary Spencer sat on top of her toy chest, arms wrapped around herself, teddy bear clutched tightly to her chest, scowling. She didn’t want to go to the stupid circus. She hated the circus! She shouldn’t have to go, anyway. It was all Daniel’s fault. It was his stupid birthday. Why couldn’t they just leave her with Grammy Michaels like they did when Mommy and Daddy had to go somewhere for work? Dumb old smelly animals and horrible clowns—that was what you’d find at the circus. Why did they wear so much paint on their faces, anyway? And those baggy clothes! They’ve got something to hide, I bet! thought Mary, eyebrows drawn tight together in an expression of utter disdain.