Lunar Park - Bret Easton Ellis [126]
This is when we briefly glimpsed it.
Robby was never sure what he actually saw in the glare of the flashlight. He was “hiding” behind me, his eyes squeezed shut, and the thing moved away from the beam of light as if offended by it—as if darkness was all it knew and what it thrived on.
The vodka was straining my senses. “Victor?” I whispered again, trying to convince myself. Robby was shivering against me. “Robby, it’s okay. It’s just the dog.”
But when I said this we both heard Victor barking from outside.
According to Robby this was when he began crying—when he realized that the thing in the hallway was not his dog.
I persisted. “Victor, come here. Come on, Vic.” This was the alcohol making concessions.
According to Robby this was when he heard me mutter: “No fucking way.”
It was three feet high and covered in hair streaked black and blond, and it moved on feet that weren’t visible. When the beam of light caught it, there was another hissing sound. It shambled quickly to the other side of the hallway. But with each movement it was advancing toward us.
The thing stiffened when the beam from the flashlight caught it again. I couldn’t tell where the hissing came from. Once it stopped hissing its entire body began to shudder.
According to Robby I was saying, “Oh shit oh shit oh shit.”
It turned toward me, this time defiantly. It was waist high and shapeless—a mound. It was covered with hair entangled with twigs and dead leaves and feathers. It had no features. A cloud of gnats were buzzing above the thing, following it to where it had pushed itself up against the wall. The beam was locked on it.
Within the hair, a bright red hole ringed with teeth appeared.
The mouth opening, the baring of its teeth, I realized—with a sickening clarity that immediately sobered me up—was a warning.
And then it rushed toward us, blindly.
I was frozen in place. Robby was holding on to me, his arms wrapped around my lower chest. He was shaking.
I kept the flashlight trained on the thing and as it approached us I smelled dampness, rot, the dead.
Its mouth was locked open as it shambled forward.
I slammed Robby and myself against the wall in order to avoid it.
It rushed past us.
(Because it was sightless and depended on scent—I already knew this.)
I whirled around. Robby was holding on, gripping me fiercely. I started backing away in the opposite direction of where the thing now stood.
It was shuddering again.
The worst thing I noticed was a large eye, haphazardly placed on top and rolling around in its flat, disc-shaped socket involuntarily.
Robby: “Dad what is it what is it what is it?”
The thing stopped in the doorway of the master bedroom—we had traded places—and it began making its mewling sounds again.
I tried hard to stop panicking but I was hyperventilating and my hand holding the flashlight was shaking so badly that I had to use the other hand to steady it and locate the thing in the beam of light.
I steadied my hand and found it.
It was standing still. But something inside it was causing the thing to pulsate. It opened its mouth, which was now coated with froth, and rushed toward us again.
When I turned around I dropped the flashlight, causing Robby to shout out in dismay.
I picked up the flashlight and trained the beam on the thing, which had stopped moving—seemingly confused.
Outside, Victor’s barking became hysterical.
The thing resumed rushing us.
And that’s when I dropped the flashlight again. The bulb cracked, drowning us in darkness as the thing continued rushing toward us.
I grabbed Robby’s sweaty hand and ran to his room and opened the door.
I tripped as I fell into the room, hitting my face against the floor. I felt wetness on my lip.
Robby slammed the door shut and I heard the lock click.
I stood up, wavering in the darkness, and wiped the blood from my mouth. I shouted out when Robby