Cruddy - Lynda Barry [95]
It was because of the Stick I followed Vicky’s directions. I wanted him to come with us. Vicky said, “Stop! Here! Don’t park in front of my house,” and I pretended to listen to her instructions while my heart pounded and I wondered if I could convince the Stick to come along.
I walked the warm sidewalk and Vicky shouted after me that if I forgot her HeavenScent perfume she would kill me.
There were no lights on in the house except the jumping light of the TV in the front room. I whisper-shouted for the Stick from the bushes beneath his open bedroom window. I backed up to see the attic oval window, to see if his face was peering down at me. There was no one. I cupped my hands around my mouth. “Stick! Stick! It’s Roberta. It’s me.”
Click. The porch light came on. Green light shed itself onto my skin, onto my hands as I climbed the porch steps. I waited for the door to open but it didn’t. There was no sound but the mumble of the TV. A man’s voice, a lady’s voice, and audience haw-hawing. I knocked. Tap-tap-tap.
“SHIT AND GODDAMN!”
I called through the door. “Is the Stick there? I’m looking for the Stick. Is he home?”
Nothing.
“Mr. Tallusoj?”
“SHIT AND FUCK TO YOU! THE INTERRUPTION! AND GODDAMN TO YOU!”
I waited but no one came. I knocked one more time but much harder and the door flew open and the green arm of Susie Homemaker shot out of the smelly darkness and dragged me inside.
And there was a great struggle and I was kicking and fighting but Susie Homemaker was very strong. He was grunting low terrible grunts and I could not reach Little Debbie and I could not find a biting place and my breath was leaving me, Susie was crushing me and there were the popping lights bright and blue swimming in front of my eyes and then there was a sick crack, some sick bashes and Susie’s arms shriveled and I jumped away screaming, yanking on the door which would not open. The Stick grabbed on to me shouting, “Wait! Wait!”
He bashed Susie on the head so hard with a bottle of Whitley’s that Susie was sent into panic-jerks and clawing at the chest and then a huge arch of the back like horrible electrocution and then stillness. And then blood. Blood looking very thick in the bouncing blue light of the television, blood coming from Susie’s ear and Susie’s mouth.
The Stick ran to the phone. He picked it up, started dialing. Emergency and slammed it back down. He picked it up again and did the exact same thing. He shouted, “I don’t know what to DO! What should I fucking DO?!” And he was shaking and freaking severely.
I said, “Go get a blanket. He just needs a blanket.” But I saw the extensions of the extremities, the toes and fingers stretching out and then nothing. Nothing. Empty eyeballs reflecting the TV light.
I stared at the body of the creature who attacked me, now covered to the chin with a torn and pilled blanket. Tucked in. Blood wiped away. Blank eyes staring as always at the nonstop box displaying so many unreachable worlds. I stared at the stillness of Susie Homemaker and felt a certain emotion wave pass over me. I have noticed while watching Nightmare Theater that there is a strange sort of feeling that comes when a monster finally dies. Sometimes it is sadness. Sometimes it is vomiting.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” The Stick was rocking and smoking. He was sitting with his arms wrapped around his knees and he was crying. “I fucking killed him. I killed Susie. I can’t fucking believe it. It’s over. It’s over. I’m free.”
I came down the stairs in my original clothes and I carried a pile of random things from Vicky’s room. I said, “You’re coming with me, Stick. Come on, get up.”
There is a certain spreading blankness that covers over the mind after you kill someone. A certain blank tide washing in,