Not All of Them Bite

The rain came suddenly out of a cloudless sky — harsh, cold and sideways — surprising the man that waited at the crosswalk. Turning, forehead wrinkled against the rain, he was pleased to see a small shop, which, though having walked the route every day for six months, he’d never noticed before. Ducking inside, he grabbed a chocolate bar off the rack closest to the counter and moved to stand in front of the tabloid display. He enjoyed being quietly shocked by the gratuitous nonsense recorded in such publications as Star and OK. There was a woman at the counter, discussing the merits of different scratch tickets with the clerk. She, evidently, had recently sheltered here as well, judging from the rivulets of rain still coursing down the length of her cheap vinyl jacket. As he shifted himself back to face the tabloids, he sensed, more than saw, a stealthy movement behind and to his left. Curious, as it was not a type of movement generally associated with anything one normally sees, he turned and tried to locate whatever had drawn his eye.

Fluid — like… gelatin, slinking between the dimly lit aisles — looking for all intents and purposes like a very dense shadow, was something that certainly was not a very dense shadow. A very dense shadow would not have little bits of iridescent green jumping all over and through it, like radioactive fleas. Nor would it emit a very slight, tuneful, humming noise.

Hrmph. Hrmph. He jumped. It was the clerk. The scratch-it woman had stepped to the side to deal with the layers of silver wax that separated her from her intended fortune and it was now his turn. Not wanting to lose track of the … “whatever”, he backed slowly away from the counter, tipping his head in what he hoped was a sheepish, I forgot to get something, gesture towards the older man. There were five aisles in the small store, narrow and perpendicular to the front. He headed down the nearest aisle, trying to look intentional. When he reached the middle of the aisle, he stopped, pretended to examine a four-pack of toilet tissue, and listened closely, trying to pick up that humming noise again. It was moving down the very next aisle, leisurely, as if it too was heading back for some elusive forgotten item. He felt very calm, in spite of the terrifying unknown that lingered mere feet away.

He continued around the store, aisle by aisle. Casual. Not too fast. Not too slow. The humming noise getting louder and softer as the shadow moved in tandem. It was unclear whether it was following him or simply making its own methodical round of the aisles. He stopped near an obscenely colored display of wildly flavored potato chips. Ketchup? Wasabi? Bigger Better Cooler Than Ever Rocks Your Socks Off Bone-Blasting Ranch? What’s happened to just potato? he thought to himself, distracted for a second. Picking up one of the bags, he read the ingredient list. He did this sometimes. It wasn’t that he actually cared to terribly much what he put in his body, he just liked to know. Autolyzed Yeast Extract, how fascinating! What is that and what has it got to do with a chip? he wondered, then noticed that the humming noise had gotten closer. It was in fact, very, very near. He froze, and clutched the bag of chips so tightly that it crinkled noisily. To him, it seemed louder than a car engine backfiring, as he tried to gauge where, exactly, that humming noise was coming from, because now it was louder. Very, very loud. It was consuming him, inside of him, pulsing in his mind and raising the tiny hairs all over his body. He closed his eyes and images shot across the inside of his eyelids, too fast to recognize anything, but they felt very foreign, alien. They gave him a sense, not quite a glimpse, just a nearly tangible feeling, of another place. A place filled with beings in agony — a place where no one had felt joy for a very long time. In shades of black and grey and blue they shot past his eyes, these amorphous images that burned their shapes into his conscious. Impossibly, surrounding him were the things that nightmares were made of, the things children can see and adults can’t… the things that live in the closet, murky water and in the backseat of your car at night. His mind went off on wild tangents… have I gone suddenly mad? Have I had an aneurism? Is this how mad cow disease begins? This could be the end of it all, I will now be one of those crazy hobos, wandering around yelling at themselves in their windowed reflections, haunted forever by this damned shadow.

No! Had he shouted? Just as suddenly as the images had started, they stopped and the store seemed to get brighter. His shoulders were hunched up to his ears, and tears were rolling down his cheeks. He ran a shaky hand through his hair and peered around with bulging eyes. Still in his hands were both the bag of chips and the candy bar, and he had a very strong urge to put them both back and leave the store immediately. The feeling of calm that he had had earlier was gone and he focused his vibrating psyche on the important task of keeping the contents of his stomach in place. Nervous, he glanced over at the clerk and was glad to see that the old man had his back turned, busily stocking the racks of cigarettes. As he was standing there, trying to gather his wits back about him where they damn well should be, a buzzer sounded, making him start violently. He looked toward the door and saw a group of kids coming in. Young kids, with all those ridiculous baggy clothes, waddling around like a flock of ridiculous ducks as they attempted in vain to keep their pants resting, somehow, around the mid-thigh region. He’d seen them around the neighborhood for the last few months, the five of them, always in a group, always with their earphones plugged permanently into their heads, regardless if they were talking or if someone was trying to talk to them. He couldn’t understand it, how they could just leave the music on while they were talking. He guessed it was because nothing that they ever said to each other was of any importance anyhow, just for show and to piss off people around them. His attention was yanked abruptly back to his particular situation by a tremendous whooshing noise, directly behind him. The void left by whatever had just whooshed away seemed to suck at him, and he staggered backward into another display, this one stocked with bags of poisonous looking gelatinous candies. He quickly looked first at the old man, then at the kids to see if they had noticed his awkward stumble. The old man had his back turned still, attention glued to the cigarettes. The kids had gone quiet though, and….how odd… seemed to be gathering together in a huddle, rather than spreading out over the store as they usually did, to stuff their baggy clothes with stolen candy and beer. Time to make a break for it, he thought, and headed quickly toward the door. Damn! He looked down at the chips and chocolate, which was now more than a tiny bit melty. He would have to buy it. And, he really needed a cigarette. He would have to stop at the register. Changing directions abruptly he skidded to a stop in front of the counter, threw down an undetermined amount of money along with the candy bar and chips, and in an urgent whisper, said ‘PackofCamelsinaboxplease!’ Looking over his shoulder, he was saw that the pack of kids looked thoroughly terrified and were standing stock still, in silence.

He stared as the old man slowly turned back to the counter from the display and calmly scanning the pack of Camels said, “Don’t worry, you’re safe now. It’s cheaper than one a them fancy security systems is all, and you don’t miss the bits of soul that much.” His smile was mocking and the dark holes of his eyes had no glisten. They were like… flat, black stones…. Leaving his change, the man backed away and fled the store.

A week later, he made himself walk that route again on his way to work, but the store was gone. He never saw it again. He never saw that group of kids again either. And, he quit smoking.