The Shaun Hupp Collection: Volume 1 Read online

  “Suck it.”

  Nick’s eyes went wide. His pupils darted in all directions. His good hand slapped against Megan’s body, but he was losing his strength fast. She easily pinned it to the floor with her free but crippled hand.

  “You like that, don’t ya?” she said as she forced his mouth open with the gun. His mouth was an overflowing lake of blood as she dipped the barrel in, like one might do with their big toe to test the water.

  “I should have taken European history. I don’t know what was worse; having to sit through those boring, two hour lectures, or having to wait two hours for you to get it up and me having to fake it because you could only last a few minutes.“ She quickly jammed it against the back of his throat. She cocked the hammer back as he gagged, either on the barrel or his own blood.

  “Class dismissed.”

  Megan fired. The gun kicked back, throwing her, some blood, and a couple of Nick’s teeth onto the floor. She sat up and looked at the carnage before her. Brain matter and flesh with wet clumps of hair spread out behind Nick’s head like gory butterfly wings. She was about to look away when she noticed a square of light appear in his pocket. Then, she heard a buzzing sound. My phone, she thought. She switched the gun to her bad hand, reached into Nick’s pocket, and retrieved her phone. The screen told her it was Shannon calling. After a few more buzzes, she decided to answer.

  “Hello?”

  “Did you get my letter?”

  Megan stared down at the bloody paper on the floor. Blood spatter had ruined most of the letter, but she could still see the words, ‘mistake’ and ‘hopefully still your friend’.

  “Yeah, I got it.”

  “I’m sorry. You deserve more than a stupid letter. Can I come over and explain?”

  Megan was quiet. She looked down at her dead ex. She turned to the couch to sit down when she saw the bullet hole that went through the picture on the wall. It was a picture of Shannon and her. The bullet hit Shannon dead center on her forehead.

  “Meg? Are you there?”

  “Yeah, I’m here,” she said as she stared at the revolver in her hand. “You can come over now, if you’d like.”

  “Okay, I’ll head back there now. Thanks for understanding, Meg.”

  “No problem.”

  Megan hung up and sat down on the couch. All around her was blood and gore. Her house was in shambles. Her life was in shambles.

  But she could fix this.

  “I can fix this. I can fix us. I can make you love me again. I will make you love me.”

  Joan started to become aware of her surroundings again. The old man was still sitting next to her. His cane, the one that had the swirling globe on top, was motionless. She thought maybe she imagined it, but it felt so real. The story seemed almost like a memory. She was so confused.

  “My dear Joan, I have a gift for you. You’ll know what do with it when the time is right, but until then, don’t open it.” Emrys reached into his long black jacket and pulled out an ornate, jeweled box about the size of a large book.

  Placing it in her hands, he said, “Trust me. You’ll know.”

  Emrys got up while the confused look never left Joan’s face. He slowly made his way to the front of the train car. His cane thumped with each step. People noticed him, but he didn’t mind. He let them. He didn’t want to waste any more energy on this group. He grabbed onto the door handle and looked back at Ryan and Marianne. Both of them were asleep in each other’s arms.

  Good. It will be easier come later, he thought as he opened the door and headed for the next car.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Father

  Emrys surveyed his new surroundings, hunting for just the right person. On one side of the car was a group of four black teens. They were all talking loudly, cursing every other word. It seemed to be the new norm for every teenager all over the world. Across the aisle from them was a middle aged man and what appeared to be his young son. The man kept looking over at the teenagers with a worried look on his face while his son slept.

  Emrys couldn’t read thoughts, but he could sense what the man was thinking. It seemed to fill the very air on the car. His biases against the boys of a different race practically bled out onto the floor between them. Emrys’s own olive skin tone didn’t really match any one race in particular. He had designed his body that way and perhaps if he wasn’t so weak, he would lighten his complexion a bit before he talked to the bigot. Regardless, he had his cane. Again, he would have to make due in his weakened state.

  Emrys moved towards him, each thump of his cane was masked by the rail noises and the teens talking. Something in the man’s peripheral vision caught his eye and he looked out the window. It was nothing but a mere trick Emrys learned long ago. When he turned back around, Emrys was sitting next to his son. The man jumped back and opened his mouth to say something. Emrys put one wrinkled finger to his lips.

  “Shh. Let’s keep the boy asleep. It’ll be much easier that way. ” Emrys raised his cane so that the man could see the globe atop. He sensed that the man could become violent and Emrys didn’t want that. . . yet.

  “I understand your concern. No. I have no children of my own, but I was one a long, long time ago. You feel threatened. You feel you need to protect your child. There will come a time when that may be true, but sometimes, children will surprise their parents. They can take care of themselves just fine if you let them.”

  The globe’s insides swirled and the man looked on. His son continued to sleep. The teens took no notice of them.

  “I want to tell you a tale. I’ll make sure to keep my voice down. We wouldn’t want to wake your child.”

  The Worst

  Kind of

  Monster

  “I’m not lying.”

  Dustin’s mother folded her arms across her chest and gave him one of her patented stare downs. She was in no mood to do this right now. She hadn’t showered yet, her hair was a wreck, and she had a lot to do that day. Listening to tall tales from her son was not one of them. Perhaps, she thought, if I had on my mascara, my eyes would look a little more threatening; instead, I probably look like a bag lady. If Frank sees me like this, it’ll be an infraction for sure.

  “Dustin. . .”

  “I’m not lying!”

  “Lower you voice, Dustin. Please. You don’t want to wake your father.”

  “Too late,” Dustin’s father, Frank said as he entered the kitchen. His normally combed, brown hair was sticking up in every direction. He was still in his flannel pajamas. It was clear he hadn’t shaved yet by the light stubble around his mouth as it stretched wide for a yawn.

  “What’s going on, kiddo? Why are you making all that racket?”

  “Daddy, there’s a monster in the basement and mommy doesn’t believe me!”

  He sat down at the table where his wife had a plate of eggs and toast for him. He did a double-take when he saw his wife and muttered something about dealing with her later, under his breath. He shook his head and turned back to Dustin. “What makes you think there’s a monster in the basement?”

  “I heard growling from the laundry chute.”

  The laundry chute was upstairs, directly outside Dustin’s bedroom door. It led directly down to the laundry room that was in the basement.

  Dustin’s mother was looking into the kitchen window, trying to catch her reflection so she could fix her wild, long blond hair. She knew she’d better eat fast and put on her make-up as soon as possible, or Frank would get upset again. She didn’t need any more chores added to her growing list of things-to-do. She hoped her appearance was good enough to be able to eat. She was hungry. The label on a can of peas wasn’t facing outward. She had been careless; therefore she couldn’t eat the dinner she prepared last night. She sat down at her plate and didn’t make eye contact with anyone, as she grabbed her fork. “And I told him that monsters do not exist.”

  “I’M NOT LYING!”

  Dustin’s dad slammed his fist down on the table. Everybody
and their plates jumped. Dustin grabbed his cup before it fell over, but not before apple juice sloshed onto the sleeve of his favorite camo pajamas. “Enough! Your yelling is giving me a headache and it’s disrespectful to your mother. Apologize, right now!”

  Dustin pouted and looked down at his untouched plate of food. His blond bowl cut covered his eyes. “I’m sorry, mom.”

  “Say it like you mean it.”

  Dustin looked up and his eyes met hers, “I’m sorry, mom.” Both of them lowered their faces back towards their plates. His mom’s hand trembled as she made an attempt to get some eggs on her fork.

  “That’s better. Now, son, you’re probably just hearing something in the pipes or the house settling. You know how these old houses are. Plus, the water heater is in the laundry room. It’s not the first time you’ve heard something strange.”

  “I guess. . .”

  Dustin’s mom reached over, trying to avoid dunking her robe sleeve in his apple juice, and put her hand on top of Dustin’s. “You can always crawl into bed with us when-“

  Dustin’s dad’s fist hit the table again. This time, the cup completely tipped over, spilling onto his plate and onto his lap. “Absolutely not! The boy is six years old for Christ’s sake. He’d probably be sucking your tit right now if I didn’t put a stop to it.”

  Barely above a whisper, “Language, Frank. . .”

  “Well, it’s the Goddamn truth. The boy is going to grow up to be a fucking pansy, if you keep babying him. Afraid of monsters? When I was his age, I had already shot my first deer. If he’d go hunting with me, he wouldn’t be so scared. A woman, like you, wouldn’t understand. When I first held that gun in my hands, I realized how powerful I really was.”

  Dustin’s mom gave her son’s hand a little squeeze. “Go to your room and get changed. Then, just play up there for a little bit. Okay, sweetie?”

  “Yeah, Dustin, go to your room and play with your little dolls. Pathetic.”

  As Dustin left his uneaten plate of soggy, ruined food and headed upstairs, he could hear his parents arguing back and forth. He took the stairs two at a time, thanks to a recent growth spurt, and ran for his room. He shut his door and crawled under the covers of his bed, still wet, but he didn’t care. He covered his ears, but could still hear the yelling downstairs. Eventually, he knew the yelling would lead to much more.

  If only they believed me, he thought.

  *****

  Dustin’s eyes shot open.

  What was that? He thought.

  Outside his bedroom door, Dustin could hear the faint growling, that he heard the previous night. He pulled the covers over his head and pushed his pillow around his ears. He was in the same position as earlier except he had on new, dry pajamas. For a few moments, he thought he had silenced the sounds, but they started again. This time the growling was more intense.

  I need proof, he thought. They didn’t believe me this morning. They always think I make stuff up and then, it makes them fight.

  The rest of that day was uneventful. His mom and dad avoided each other, and his dad avoided him. They all sat down together for lunch and dinner, but no one spoke unless it was to ask for something on the other side of the table. His mom packed on the make-up extra heavy today. After dinner, Dustin picked up his toys and hoped he’d get a bedtime story. Disappointedly, he tucked himself into bed and went to sleep.

  Dustin threw the covers off. He hesitated for a moment as he put his bare feet on the floor, but then, he realized his monster wasn’t under the bed. He searched beneath his bed until he found what he was looking for: his flashlight. He grabbed it and pointed it towards his closed door.

  Click.

  The beam of light illuminated the plain white door. There was nothing out of the ordinary. So far, so good, he thought. Dustin slowly approached, and his trembling hand grabbed hold of the cold, brass knob. As he turned it, there was a loud snarl. Dustin’s hand darted away and he fumbled with the flashlight as he almost dropped it.

  This isn’t in my imagination. That was real. How can my parents not hear that?

  Dustin forced his hand to grab the doorknob again. He slowly turned it, trying to be as quiet as possible.

  It’s now or never.

  He opened the door just enough to poke his flashlight and hand through. The light shined on the laundry chute. It was a white square flap with a white border, that contrasted the hallway’s beige tone. There was no sound. No movement. He opened the door and stepped past the threshold. He didn’t risk shutting his door. He turned the flashlight towards the stairs to his left. Nothing. He turned it right, towards his parent’s room. Nothing.

  Dustin walked forward, towards the chute. He pressed the palm of his hand against the flap, lightly enough not to disturb it. He had done this hundreds of times, but now, he felt a kind of terror he had never felt before. Dustin imagined himself pushing the flap open, only to have his hand bitten off by some sharp-toothed creature. Or even worse, a snake-like tentacle could latch onto his arm and drag him down through the chute to the basement, where the monster would, no doubt, eat him whole.

  Just do it, he willed himself.

  Taking his palm away and using his index finger instead, Dustin pushed the flap open just a little and quickly withdrew his hand. He didn’t see or hear anything. The flap swung back into place. Dustin took his flashlight, pushed the flap with it, and held it up. The flashlight showed the wall of the metal duct that went to the basement. He took a deep breath, pointed the flashlight down, listened for any kind of noise, and slowly, inch-by-inch, maneuvered his head through the opening.

  His flashlight revealed nothing but a half-full laundry hamper at the bottom of the duct.

  Dustin breathed a sigh of relief, and then, a loud growl startled him. He banged his head against the flap trying to get out of the chute and dropped the flashlight. It banged against the sides of the duct as it tumbled down to the basement. It landed inside the hamper.

  Dustin whipped his head out of the chute and looked towards his parent’s bedroom. He held his breath as he waited for them to burst out of the doorway, wondering about the noise. After a few minutes, he decided they must still be asleep. He was only slightly relieved as he stuck his head back into the chute.

  Dustin stared at the flashlight, realizing what it meant. I have to go into the basement, he thought. My mom always does the laundry in the morning and she’ll see my flashlight. I can’t explain it without saying something about the growling and it will just start another fight.

  Dustin had just gotten into trouble early in the week for playing in the laundry chute. One day, he was dropping parachute army men down the shaft. His mother called him for dinner and he forgot to retrieve them. The next morning, she started a load of wash and didn’t see the figurines. The strings from their parachutes became entangled in the motor of the washing machine and a repairman had to be called out to fix it. Dustin’s father didn’t like having to call someone out to fix anything in the house. He considered himself a handyman and if he had to call for help, he took it as a sign of weakness. After three days of working on the washing machine with no success, Dustin’s mother called for a repairman, when his father went hunting. He came back early, when his gun jammed, and found the man in the basement. He was furious. The washer got fixed, but that didn’t matter. That was another night Dustin spent in his room with his pillow over his head, while things, or people, went bump in the night.

  I can’t get down there in the dark. I need some light, Dustin thought. Then, an idea came to him. Now, he could also get the proof he needed.

  Dustin tiptoed barefoot down the hallway to his parent’s bedroom. The door was open. The moon was shining through their window, casting the shadow of his long and slender frame against the wall. He leaned in and listened. Usually, he could hear his father snoring, but all he could hear was his mother’s soft rhythmic breathing. He decided to stay low and out of sight. He got down on the floor and crawled into the room. He could see his m
other’s silhouette on the left side of the bed. He crawled passed the foot of the bed and noticed that his father’s side of the bed was empty.

  They were fighting this morning and didn’t talk the rest of the day, he thought. He’s probably downstairs on the couch again.

  Dustin continued to crawl until he got to his parent’s long dresser. He slowly stood up, keeping an eye on the bed for movement. There, on top was what he was looking for: His mother’s digital camera.

  This will get me my proof.

  Attached to the top of a camera was a professional flash. Not only did it provide the standard flash when a picture was taken, but it also had a spotlight function. It could cast a steady beam of light. It wasn’t as bright as the flashlight, but it would work.