Monsters: Chapter 4

Terry sat in the confines of a large bush, watching patiently for any sign of inhabitants within the Roswell House at the end of the street. Beside the bush lay the red bike Alex had gotten Terry last Christmas, tucked away secretively behind a large tree stump.

On the driveway sat the old mustang, not having moved since the night of Terry’s birthday. In the daylight, the rust took on a deep blood orange colour where the black metallic paint peeled and flaked. It matched the time-worn apparel of the Roswell house, having been licked away by years and years of weather and nature. The walls were ripe with lichen and fungus, giving the dark wood a sickly green colour, which almost covered the whole face of the house. The only aspect of the house that wasn’t covered in plant life was the door, which held a deep, strong black that made it look like it simply led into a voided nothingness.

Staring at the house too long gave Terry gooseflesh and made him recoil his gaze to other part of the street that didn’t make his stomach churn. All was quiet now, the only sound being the distant roar of old diesel engines and the gentle hiss of wind that would slowly pierce through the trees above and sway them back and forth.

He had been sitting in the bush for almost two hours now and hadn’t seen anything out of the ordinary. The street had seen its usually morning hustle. Mr Rathmore, carrying his two young infants in his arms, made his way impatiently to his people carrier, shoving the kids in their respective seats and running to the driver’s side, screeching off loudly down the road. Mrs Anglesey had watched him with keen eyes from the comfort of an old deck chair she had set up on her porch, disliking him and his kids for the dog the family owned, which Terry had seen twice this morning taking a long piss against her mailbox, both times warranting yelling from the old woman from her upstairs window.

Rod Caster had slipped out silently from a house that wasn’t his own, still doing up his tie as he quickly pecked the woman who also wasn’t his wife, before disappearing down the driveway and off down the street with occasional nervous glances at the houses he passed to see if he was being watched. Two of the houses still slept silently, one being the home of Michael Crawford who worked the late nights down at the truck stop on Maynard Street, who Terry would see walking to work almost every day from his bedroom window. The other house belonged to the Winters family, Terry surprised that the boisterous young boys hadn’t awoken yet, knowing them both as the bullies at school, who would always tease him for the mole on his cheek and his Dracula schoolbag. Finally, there was the bates family, all walking orderly down the street. Terry even recognised the young boy who was called James, who was the smartest kid in his class and liked by everyone.

The sun was now rising high in the sky, the shelter of the bush allowing him to enjoy the mid-morning haze of sunshine that broke through the gaps in the leaves and branches. It was a warm day, and showed little in the sign of rain, clouds stretching in small, fluffy clumps against the bright blue morning sky. He thought back to how he had snuck out of the house earlier that morning, in order not to wake Alex or Monty, so that he could spend the day watching the Roswell house without being forced to go to school. He knew Alex’s shift at the Golden Brew Café in town didn’t start until 6, meaning he would need to stay out of the house until school had finished before returning, knowing she would blow a gasket if she found out he had skipped school.

He remembered back to when he had skipped school a few years ago, when he had decided to play zombie survivor down at the tar pits all day. She had almost grounded him in the house for two months before Monty stepped in and convinced her instead to make him wash up for a week and mow the lawn for a month unpaid. He knew Monty just wanted less time with him in the house, Alex grounding Terry meaning that Monty would have to deal with Terry for a longer time than was already necessary. He hated Monty. Not because the two just naturally didn’t get on, but because of how he viewed Terry as nothing more than a nuisance for Alex. It also angered Terry with how Monty mused over Terry’s action figures, calling them dolls and making him feel like he was just a baby playing with toys. Well, they were certainly not toys and they certainly weren’t dolls. He prized each of his action figures, his favourite being that of Bela Lugosi’s Dracula, his hands looming high in the air and arching as if he was about to strike upon a victim. Terry had watched the 1931 Dracula at least twenty times, swearing it had been his favourite film until Alex had allowed him to watch Night of the Living Dead.

He had obsessed over the film for almost two months, heading down to the tar pits and the old railway to pretend he was a survivor of the plague of zombies and was battling hordes upon hordes of undead. It made him smile widely simply thinking about it. He was just considering the prospect of leaving the bush for the old railway to play a quick game of undead survivor when he heard two voices approach him along the sidewalk.

He peered out, through the jungle of leaves and thick branches to see two boys straddling old, weather-worn bikes, both looking solidly down the street at the Roswell house, their faces both brooding and thoughtful.

“Do you think it’s another one?” One of the boys whispered, almost as if he could sense he was being observed by an unseen force, looking over his shoulder and then following window after window along the rows of houses on either side of the street.

“Nah. I reckon it’s a son of Colt’s. It’s got to be. There’s no way ol’ Jefferson would let anyone but a family member enter his house.” The other boy said, speaking through a curtain of long, blonde hair that reached down to the top half of his lip.

Terry had never seen the two boys before, which baffled him. Everyone knew everyone in the town. What everyone wore each day. How they made their way to work and what route they took. Privacy was a hard thing to come by. But Terry could not think of anytime he had seen the two strangers in front of him. The boys didn’t seem like tourists either, as they wore tattered old clothing and looked at the house as if greeting an old adversary.

Terry thought about sneaking away and finding a new hiding spot to observe the house from but knew any attempt would arouse immediate attention. Terry didn’t much like new people, especially boys his own age, as they had a tendency to bully and tease him at every opportune moment.

“Whoever he is, he’s got to be here for the murders. They’ve become more frequent. He’s probably called for help or something?” The boy with the long hair said, Terry confused as to what they were referring to, as he could not recall hearing about any murders at all taking place in the town.

“Maybe Colt is recruiting.” The other boy said excitedly, straightening with the prospect on the torn leather seat of his bicycle. Terry noticed this boy spoke with a slight lisp, his mouth pointing out with a rather large overbite that made him look like he was pursing his lips to the right side of his face.

The boy with the lisp then pushed the squared, rough spectacles he wore up the bridge of his nose and patted his friend on the shoulder as if gearing up to approach the house further.

“I want to get a closer look at that car. I think it’s a chevvy but I can’t be sure,” He said, placing a sneakered foot on the bike peddle in preparation of pushing off with the other, but before he could, Terry rose from the bushes, making the leaves rustle and the boys lunge from the seats onto the pavement.

“Get back, beast! We have holy water!” The long-haired boy screamed, reaching into his pocket to retrieve a small bottle of brown liquid.

“I’m not a monster. And it’s a Mustang. I used to have a toy model of the same car,” Terry spoke, the two boys still anticipating a striking move from him.

“How come we haven’t seen you around here?” The boy with the lisp spoke, looking him up and down as if Terry was hiding a hidden spiked tail or clawed, taloned hands.

“I could ask you the same thing. Are you just visiting the town?”

The boys remained silent for a long moment still evaluating the threat Terry clearly didn’t possess. Slowly they lowered the holy water and their arms, the boy with the lisp having been in the stance of a man from an old martial arts movie Terry had once watched.

“We’re from the orphanage on the outskirts of town, near the old railway bridge on the river,” said the boy with the lisp, picking his bike up off the floor and dusting off the seat.

“The orphanage? I thought that closed down years ago?” Terry asked, remembering Monty telling him how the place was a rundown mess after he had moved from there to be with Alex in their house.

“Nope, still going. Though we’re hoping one day the building will collapse on old Mrs Trudgen, preferably without us in it but I guess irony has to take its course,” chuckled the boy with the long hair.

“What’s your name kid?” The lisp boy asked Terry. It was clear to Terry that the boys still did not trust him completely, making him wonder what had made them become so stand-offish with strangers.

“Terry. What’s yours?”

“I’m Lee and this is Ben.” Said the boy with the lisp.

The boy called Ben then looked quickly at the boy called Lee. “And together we are…”

“The Monster Hunters!” the two cried, striking the air as if to stab an invisible monster, sound effects of slashing flesh and pouring blood coming from the two of them.

Terry chuckled, but from the corner of his eyes he saw something that immediately made him recoil back to the cover of the bush, a feeling of accomplishment flooding within him.

The two boys stared confusingly at the bush Terry now crouched in for a long moment, the stare gradually moving down the road to the Roswell house where two figures made their way down the driveway. Lee and Ben quickly followed Terry into the large bush, thrusting their bikes back to where Terry’s lent against the tree stump.

Together, the boys watched through the leaves as the two figures, one being the boy Terry had seen the other night and the other being Jefferson Colt, walked briskly to a large, armoured truck that sat on the curb by the house, getting in swiftly before the large truck growled loudly to life.

The truck then made its way down the road at a fast pace before disappearing round a corner. Ben and Lee glanced quickly at each other before hurriedly lunging out for their bikes, Ben slipping multiple times and tripping clumsily on one of the branches of the bush.

“Follow that truck!” Cried Lee.

Terry wasted no time at all and was quickly clambering for his own bike, straddling it and pushing off the ground to get as much momentum he could garner. The three pounded down the road at full speed, all positioned as if they were jockeys on the back of a galloping stallion. After every corner they rounded, they just managed to catch the tail end of the truck disappearing down another road, their speed hardly enough to catch up to the truck.

They made their way through the residential parts of St Argent and soon were on their way past the library at the edge of the main town and along the road leading up to the old mining district, the three following on hot pursuit until their legs began to burn and sweat began to lather their faces.

Eventually, the truck made its way along the edge of the old quarry, pulling off into a small carpark and stopping abruptly, dust rising from where the tires had frozen in motion. The three stopped short of the quarry and found a nest of small ferns to hide behind, watching the truck with anticipatory eyes.

“Do you reckon he’s hunting again?” Asked Lee, nudging Ben in the arm.

“Maybe, though I don’t know why he’d come here. There’s nothing here except the steel mill at the top.” Ben said, his stare unmoving.

Terry gazed across the still waters of the quarry lake, the blackness of the pit beneath giving the water a tar-like complexion, but from the shimmer of the lake surface came the flashing colours of blue and red. Terry stared confusingly for a moment until realising it was a reflection, gazing up to find the lights coming from above them.

“Guys, look up there.” Terry said, pointing at the bonnet of a black police car that sat just beyond the rusted fence that surrounded the steel mill.

Ben and Lee both gazed up at the car and then back down at the truck.

“Another murder Lee. I knew they were getting more frequent. That’s now three in two weeks. Guarantee that’s why Colt is here, and whoever’s with him too,” Said Ben.

From the ferns, the boys watched Jefferson Colt exit the truck, along with the teenage boy who drove the mustang. The boy had a spring in his step, Terry could see, watching him take a big deep breath and strolling heartily up to the water’s edge, trying to see through the blackness of the liquid. There was something strange about the boy, this Terry was sure of. His mannerisms were nothing like that of Jefferson Colt’s. He seemed young, musing and charismatic, where as Colt stood with a stern precision, his eyes like slits in his leathered face, gazing across the quarry until they drifted up to the steel mill. Colt’s bald head glistened in the sun, and he seemed to mutter something to himself through the bush of grey hair that sat atop his lip.

Then he began walking up the gravel path, up to the steel mill, calling over his shoulder for the boy, who seemed uninterested in following him for a long while. Then, with the same spunky spring in his step, the boy trudged up the path, both hands relaxingly placed in his pockets.

“Both wearing black leather. A uniform maybe?” Lee spoke.

“Could be. Maybe they…” Terry went to reply, but was interrupted by a surge of hushing from both boys, noticing a small voice recorder held tightly in Lee’s hand.

“The two are heading up to the steel mill. There’s a new boy too. Could possibly be a partner or recruit. Will investigate further.” Lee placed the recorder into his pocket, and without another word began moving along the lip of the lake toward a small path on the opposite side to where Colt and the boy had walked up.

Terry followed Ben, letting the two boys lead the way as they clearly knew the area well, diverging off the main path to find smaller, more hidden ones that led off in a slightly different direction to the previous. Eventually, the three found themselves climbing up a small verge, stopping short as it flattened so that only their heads were visible. Beyond them sat a chain link fence and behind that was the steel mill, its courtyard now filled with police officers examining all aspects of it, from the piles of heaped coal to the rusted oil cans that laid scattered on the floor.

Terry’s eyes flashed from one concerned cop to the next, watching as they plucked details from objects around the yard and placed them gently into thick, plastic bags. Eventually, he spotted the large, muscular frame of Jefferson Colt, who scanned the scene with intrinsic eyes. Beside him was an officer, who spoke to him whilst consulting a note pad, occasionally looking up at the brooding man with fearful eyes.

Terry then spotted the boy with the long black hair, leaning casually against the bonnet of a cop car and lighting a cigarette he held in his mouth. Terry could tell the boy was secretly detailing everything around him by the way his head slowly moved from one side to the next.

Lee slowly reached into his pocket to retrieve the recorder, bringing it slowly and carefully to his lips so as to not arouse attention via quick movements. “Jefferson and his trainee are now at the steel mill. They’re consulting the police. Can’t seem to find out what they’re all doing here yet though.”

Terry then noticed a group of police officers move swiftly around a heap of scrap metal, slowly realising the metal’s colour to not be that of rust but of dried, crimson blood.

“Blood!” Terry whispered, the word forcing its way out of his chest and up into his throat.

“What?” Ben asked.

“Blood!” Terry whispered again, a quiet shriek in his voice.

Terry then pointed to the pile, the two boys looking over until they two noticed the dried, dark blood that covered the scrap heap. The three dropped down below the verge, Terry feeling like he might vomit all over his clothing. He had seen blood and death in the movies, but never in real life. The sight making his stomach churn and his hands run with thick sweat.

“We have another murder it seems. Murder scene is the old steel mill. Police are investigating.” Lee whispered frantically into the recorder, trying to contain himself as he spoke. “Shit! What now?” He asked, the question lingering in the air as he plunged the recorder back into his pocket.

“We get back to the house and we consult JJ. She’ll know what to do.” Said Ben, already sliding down the verge, the dry dirt coming up in a cloud as he surfed down to the path.

“Agreed.” Said Lee, joining Ben in his slide.

The two boys reached the path and began to make their way back down to where they had left their bikes before stopping. They gazed up at Terry who still sat on the verge, wondering about what he himself was going to do now.

“You coming?” They asked in unison.

For a moment Terry was shocked, disbelieving that the boys would want him to join them.

“You want me to come?”

“Sure. You’re pretty cool so far.” Said Ben, wiping the curtain of hair out of his face.

“Yeah, seem like you could prove useful.” Said Lee, seeming eager to move down the path.

Terry didn’t hesitate, and he was soon down on the path with the others, the three quickly making their way down to the bikes and off back toward the town of St Argent.