InsaneJournal

Current mood:	creative
Current music:	Richard Cheese--Creep
Entry tags:	original fiction

i want a perfect body, and a matching soul
Sepsis


Well you're up so high
How can you save me
When the dark comes here tonight
To take me
Up my front walk
And into bed
Where it kisses my face
And eats my head
--Shivaree



Jamie was running out of shoes.

He edged as close as he dared to the edge of the bed, focused in the way only very small boys sure of their imminent demise can be, and eyed his tap shoes appraisingly. Mummy had told him many times how they cost a lot of money and how upset she'd be with him if they were ruined, but expense wasn't what made him hesitate. The sweat-stained sheets were curled into a map of his previous efforts, and they told a sad tale--the tap shoes were just out of reach.

Beneath the bed, the something stirred.

Jamie stirred in turn, wriggling in frustration, further tearing up the bedclothes. He was running out of time again. He still had trouble making sense of the slowly swirling clock hands, but he could tell that the something hadn't kept quiet nearly as long this time. It wasn't fair. It didn't play by the rules. Somehow, though, that made sense to him.

The tap shoes, then. Couldn't be helped.

With the something growing louder, Jamie scrutinized his surroundings. He might be able to bridge the distance with something, but what? The pillow had been the first thing to go, dropped in blind desperation, regarded in shock when it had stopped the something's advance. He had thought it was over, and cried anyway, even though it was a dumb baby thing to do. Cried harder when he found out it wasn't. After some deliberation, he peeled off his faded Snoopy pajama top and rolled it up.

The something made a high, breathy sound. It reminded him of the kitten that had been left on their doorstep last winter. It had been very warm, and very still, and had made that little crying noise until it suddenly hadn't anymore. Mummy had cried, he remembered.

The memory stuck a hot, thick ball in his throat, made it hard to inch forward to the very edge of the safe place, but he did it anyway. Like fishing, Jamie told himself. You lean out and throw it like this--

He threw too far. The oversized T-shirt caught on the far edge of the little dresser, caught hard, and as Jamie scrambled desperately backwards from the hated edge, it tipped it. He cried out as it fell, taking all his things with it--there wasn't much left, but it was his, his shoes and his books and his clown lamp, even if it was a dumb baby lamp and he had never liked it, it was his, and now the something would--

An arm shot out from under the bed--

--an arm in function only, long and thin and fleshless, spurs of graying bone jutting out in impossible places, but it managed to grab the fallen shirt all the same--

Snoopy's ironed-on smile disappeared under the bed, and the breathy sound grew higher, more excited.

Jamie pounded the bed, voice shrill and wavering. "Give it back!"

The something ignored him, wheezing loudly. It was smelling the shirt, he somehow knew. Smelling him. That was why it would take the shoes and socks and pillow, but ignore the toys, because it liked his smell. That scared Jamie more than anything else, although he wasn't sure why. He remembered vaguely that policemen gave dogs clothes to smell so they could hunt down bad guys, but this was different. Very different.

The something was different now too, though, wasn't it? It didn't used to be a something. Jamie had seen it this afternoon, waiting in his sister's classroom while she talked to the teacher. It had been terrible, pale and small and curled in on itself, but it hadn't been a something. It was just a baby deer in a jar. He asked his sister, and she said its mummy had been hit by a car before it had been born. That was terrible, and sad, but it still wasn't a something. Watching it lie motionless for long minutes and wondering how it could be so perfect and still not move anymore was terrible, but it hadn't been a something.

Then it had slowly, slowly lifted its head and stared at him, and that was terrible. It was terrible, and it was the start of it becoming a something.

And now it had followed him home.

The snuffling stopped. The stirring didn't. That was wrong. After he fed the something, it was supposed to stop for at least a little while, to let him find something else to throw. Even the something knew that, Jamie reasoned. All the same, he leaned out to check, not expecting much.

An arm was scrabbling across the carpet. A wave of wet heat hit him in the face.

It was coming out!

Jamie jerked back, hot urine jetting down his leg, unable to scream as the something exposed itself. It was huge, bigger than Mummy, even bigger than Daddy, all broken bones and yellow-red flesh, and it dripped something horrible that stank like old grease.

Jamie was backed against the wall, flailing, crying, lips moving in pleas of no, no, no that were smothered by the industrial whine the something made. Useless, useless, it dragged its broken body onto the bed and ripped the mattress as it came, deep wounds that bled fluff. He saw through his eyelids like a nightmare as the something stared up at him with human eyes--one blue, like Mummy's, and one gray, like Daddy's. Ants swarmed on them both. It pushed its muzzle against him, like a kitten, then laid it in his lap.

Quietly, the something sighed.





----




Notes:

--Inspired by this song, sort of. The creature-image is one I've had for years thanks to it, although the story itself spent less than a week in gestation.
--Thanks to Dap for pointing out a typo that Spellcheck wouldn't catch. Kiss kiss, honey, kiss kiss.
--The fetal deer is the one in my Biology classroom. Its mother really was hit by a car, and it really is curled in on itself and almost perfectly formed. There's also a beaver uterus full of fetuses, but that's too horrible for even me to think about writing about.
--This started out as an idea for a humorous poem entitled "Lyric to the Creature Under My Bed". Funny how these things work out.
--I never had a something under my bed, but very long weasel-things with very sharp teeth sometimes crawled around on my floor.
--This is my first "free-write" assignment for English Comp. I owe...possibly five more right now. Hold your breath and hope I don't burn out, kids.

ETA: Made a stylistic tweak and updated the title, on Megan's excellent advice. Couldn't do it without you! Also fixed a small typo. Proofreading, bleeecchy.