American Monsters

“But why? What does he have against you? Or me? He doesn’t even know us! Why would he want to kill us? Oh Jesus, we’re gonna be killed. We’re gonna be killed.”

  “Stay calm, Clarissa.”

  “That’s not my real name.”

  “Yes, it is,” said Amber. “Clarissa Keeps Her Cool, okay? All right? That’s what’s happening right now.”

  “Okay,” Clarissa said. “Okay.”

  Amber looked around. “Move carefully,” she said. “If he had a trapdoor there, he could have one anywhere.”

  Clarissa’s eyes widened, and she jumped on to the bed. “Quick!” she cried.

  Amber held up a hand to calm her. “That’s okay,” she said. “You stay there. I’ll find a way out.”

  “What about your friend?” Clarissa asked. “Call him!”

  “My phone’s in my room,” Amber said. “But don’t worry – I’ll get us out of this.”

  Stepping carefully, Amber went back to the hidden door. Now that she was this close, she could see the join.

  “Can you open it?” Clarissa asked.

  “Don’t know yet.”

  “There must be some way to open it.”

  “Not necessarily,” Amber said. She pressed her hands against the wall beside the door, fingertips probing the wallpaper. “Ah,” she said.

  “What?” Clarissa asked. “What is it?”

  Amber jabbed at the wallpaper with rigid fingers, poking a hole through it. She tore it back, revealing a section cut out of the wall. She peered through.

  “What’s in there?” Clarissa asked. “What can you see?”

  “Metal,” Amber said. “Springs. Hinges.”

  “Is there a button?”

  “I think so. At the very back.”

  Amber put her arm through. There was plenty of space to move within the wall – the entire section seemed to be pretty much hollow. She stretched her arm out straight, her shoulder jammed into the hole and her face pressed up against the wall.

  “Almost got it,” she said, her fingers brushing something metal. She grabbed it. It moved. “There,” she said, and pulled.

  There was a sound like heavy swords clashing, and pain seized hold of her arm and wouldn’t let go, and Amber screamed.

  Clarissa was at her side in an instant, but Amber barely recognised her, such was the agony and the panic that stabbed through her mind. Clarissa was shouting and trying to pull Amber’s arm free, but whatever had her held her tight and wouldn’t let go.

  Clarissa ran back, out of view, and Amber’s demon-self whispered in her ear.

  “This is it,” she said. “The day you die. Squealing like a pig, bleeding to death. Has your arm been chopped off? Feels like it has.”

  “Get away from me!” Amber roared, and her demon-self was gone and Clarissa was there, holding a lamp. She tore off the shade, smashed the bulb, and rammed it, again and again, into the wall next to Amber’s arm. The cheap wood started to give way.

  Amber stopped screaming. Her bottom lip trembled violently. She wanted to puke and pass out.

  Clarissa kept ramming the lamp into the wall, widening the hole that Amber had put her arm through. Clarissa dropped the lamp.

  “We’re gonna pull your arm out,” she said. “You hear me?”

  “No,” said Amber, “no, no, no …”

  Clarissa reached through, took hold of something, easing the pressure off Amber’s arm.

  “Jesus,” Clarissa said. “I think it’s a bear trap.”

  The bear trap, or whatever it was, jarred against the opening and Amber cried out again, but Clarissa didn’t stop, and together they pulled the trap from the wall. Amber sank to her knees and Clarissa laid the trap on the floor, its metal teeth holding Amber’s arm tight. There was blood. A lot of it.

  “You’re gonna be okay,” said Clarissa. “You’re gonna be … Christ … you’re gonna be okay.”

  “You’re going to die like a pig,” said Amber’s demon-self, standing behind Clarissa. “And you’re going to leak all over this fine carpet while you’re at it. I hope you’re happy, young lady.” She laughed. “When your parents hear that this is how you died, they are going to be so unimpressed.”

  Amber snarled.

  “Clarissa,” she said. “Towels.”

  “What?”

  “Towels. Soak them. Hot water. Go. Now.”

  Clarissa nodded, leaped up and ran to the bathroom, and Amber shifted.

  Still snarling, she brought her knee in to brace the bottom of the bear trap, and she gripped the upper teeth with her good hand. Growling at the pain, she pulled the jaws apart, and withdrew her arm. She let the jaws snap closed again, and reverted before Clarissa came out of the bathroom.

  “Oh my God!” Clarissa said. “You did it! How did you do it? Jesus!”

  Amber sat back against the wall, sweating profusely and clutching her arm.

  “Can you stand?” Clarissa asked. “Can you make it to the bed?”

  Amber nodded, and Clarissa helped her up. They were halfway to the bed when the hidden door opened behind them, and two men came through.

  The first one wore the surgical mask with the snarling mouth drawn on it. He’d cut a hole between the teeth, though, and from this his tongue darted like a pink, slippery rodent that Amber immediately wanted to pound, whack-a-mole style. He held a chainsaw. Behind him came the Catching Z’s manager. He was grinning.

  “Let us go!” Clarissa shouted to them. “You nearly killed her! Let us go!”

  The nutcase in the mask tittered, and yanked on the cord. The chainsaw’s sudden roar made Clarissa scream, but instead of jumping back she ran at them, flailing.

  The nutcase stumbled backwards, cursing under his mask, but the manager swung a punch that sent Clarissa tumbling over the bed. They turned their attentions to Amber, and Amber shifted.

  The pain subsided and she could move her hand again. She snarled at the nutcase, watching his eyes widen over his mask. The manager looked like he might cry.

  “You picked the wrong girls tonight,” Amber said, and lunged.

  The nutcase in the surgical mask tried to use the chainsaw to keep her away, but she punched him with her good fist, square in the chest. He flew backwards, swinging the chainsaw wide. Amber ducked. The manager wasn’t so fast. The chainsaw bar hardly grazed his neck, but it was enough to cut through to the meat. Blood splattered and the chainsaw fell and sputtered out and the manager stumbled against the wall, hands at his neck, his eyes open wide in shock. His legs gave out and he slid down to the floor and died with a last spurt of blood and a gurgle.

  The nutcase in the surgical mask bolted out of the door. She stopped herself from going after him, turning instead to Clarissa, who was getting to her feet. Amber reverted, gritting her teeth against the oncoming pain.

  Clarissa’s eyes widened when she saw the manager and all that blood. “You did that?”

  “No, not me,” Amber said. “The other guy, the one in the mask, he tripped, and this one kinda … fell into him. We got lucky.”

  “That’s more than luck,” said Clarissa. “That’s a goddamn miracle. You okay? How’s your arm?”

  “It’ll be fine,” Amber said. “My friend, he’s a medic. He can stitch me up.”

  “You mean you don’t wanna go to the cops,” Clarissa said. “Don’t worry, I get it. I’m not gonna tell.”

  “Thank you. Seriously. Now come on. Let’s get the hell out of here.”

  AMBER WENT BACK TO her room. Unsurprisingly, she didn’t sleep that night.

  She covered the broken mirror, shifted into demon form and took a sip, merely a taste, of Astaroth’s blood. The warmth flooded her body and the pain went away, and she lay on the bed.

  Her thoughts wouldn’t slow down. They careened through her synapses, pinging off the walls of her brain like overexcited children. She thought about the guy in the surgical mask, thought about catching him in a bear trap just to see how long he’d last. She’d quite enjoy seeing those metal teeth spring
shut on his head.

  Morning came without incident, the room gradually becoming brighter. A half-hour before she was due to get up, she fell asleep, which was just typical. The alarm on her phone went off and she muted it, grumbling. She reverted and examined her arm. The wounds had reduced to the lightest of scars, and most of the pain was gone.

  She dressed in jeans and a loose top. She didn’t bother with the activewear today. It was too warm, and she wasn’t in the mood. She stood by the door and took a selfie, then checked the room to make sure she wasn’t leaving anything behind. Reassured, she picked up her bag and walked to the diner. Milo was finishing up his breakfast at the table at the back. She joined him, and the first thing she said was, “Where the hell were you last night?”

  Milo took a sip of coffee. “In my room,” he said. “Sleeping. Where the hell were you?”

  “You didn’t notice how quiet the rooms are here? You didn’t realise how everything is soundproofed?”

  “I didn’t notice much of anything. I was, as I said, sleeping.”

  “So you didn’t notice the mirror that was screwed to the wall, or you didn’t notice the mattress that was—”

  “I’m just going to save us both some time here,” Milo said. “I didn’t notice anything. I got to my room and I fell on the bed and I went to sleep, pretty much immediately. So are you going to tell me what has you so angry, or are you going to let me drink my coffee?”

  “I was stuck in a booby-trapped room last night.” Amber pulled up her sleeve, showing him her scars. “The manager and his nutcase friend like to watch people falling into their traps, apparently.”

  Milo looked at her, his expression calm apart from the clenched jaw. “They did that to you?”

  “Bear traps, trapdoors, lamps that give electric shocks … probably a lot more sick stuff that we never even got to experience.”

  “We?”

  “Clarissa was there. The girl from last night.”

  “Did she make it?”

  “She’s fine. And, before you ask, she had no interest in going to the cops. They’d probably just send her home, and that’s the last place she wants to be. I put her in a cab, gave her some money and a bonus as, I don’t know, hazard pay for meeting me. I’ll call the cops once we’re on the road, tell them what’s been happening here.”

  “Where are they now?” Milo asked, signalling the waitress for the cheque.”

  “The cops?”

  “The manager and his nutcase friend.”

  “Oh. The nutcase ran off.” She paused a moment. “The manager’s dead.”

  Milo nodded. “How?”

  Amber didn’t like the look on his face. She didn’t like the suspicion that she’d gone too far.

  “It wasn’t my fault,” she said. “They came at me with a chainsaw. The nutcase caught the manager in the neck. I didn’t have anything to do with it.”

  “Did you shift?”

  She hesitated.

  “Amber?”

  She sat forward, angry but keeping her voice down. “What did you expect me to do? They had a chainsaw.”

  “They both saw you shift, and one of them got away.”

  “Now you’re telling me I should have killed them?”

  “No. You’ve got to be more careful about who sees this stuff. What about the girl?”

  “She didn’t see anything.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “Yes. My secret identity is secure.”

  The waitress came over and Milo paid, gave her a smile that sent her away happy.

  “That,” Milo said, once they were alone again, “was a hell of a night you had.”

  “Thank you,” said Amber. “Yes, it was.”

  “We should probably get going.”

  She folded her arms. “I’d hate to make you rush your coffee.”

  “Don’t worry, it’s not very good.”

  “I was being sarcastic.”

  “I wasn’t. It’s really not very good.”

  They left the diner and got in the Charger. As usual, despite the heat of the day, the inside of the car was cool, and it welcomed Amber as much as Amber welcomed it. They pulled out on to the street, drove towards the highway. When they neared it, Milo glanced at her. “Which way?”

  Amber closed her eyes, focused on her parents. Bill and Betty Lamont swam into her thoughts in all their glorious perfection, with their bright smiles and trim frames and casual attitude to murdering their kids. It didn’t take long for the compass that had grown in Amber’s gut to start tugging her in their direction. She pointed.

  “East,” said Milo.

  She opened her eyes, sat back in her seat. “Apparently.”

  “No actual address?”

  “That’s not how it works.”

  He shrugged. “Just thought this time might be different.”

  “Why would it be?”

  “I’m an optimist, Amber,” he said, taking one of the on-ramps. “I think every time will be different.”

  They took the I-10 out of California. It was nice being able to use the highways and interstates again. They weren’t the ones being chased – not this time. Amber wondered if her parents were feeling the same kind of desperation she’d felt when they’d been the ones in pursuit. She hoped they were.

  It took a little under six hours to get to Phoenix. They arrived in the early afternoon and had lunch at the House of Tricks, right on the patio. Amber had the cheesecake for dessert. It was astonishing. Milo stuck a candle in it while she ate, and lit it.

  “Happy birthday,” he said.

  “Do I get to make a wish?” she asked.

  “So long as you don’t expect it to come true.”

  She smiled, and blew the candle out. She didn’t bother making a wish.

  Milo had a non-alcoholic beer and they sat there for a bit, enjoying the breeze and the trees, until Amber’s gut pulled them back to the car and on to the road.

  While they drove, she slept, and dreamed, and in her dream she was back at Stromquist’s Undertakers and Coffin Makers. She found her brother sitting with his head down. “I went to the police,” he said. “I told them. I thought they could help.”

  Amber heard gunshots, and she ran to the corner of the building, saw a police officer in an old-fashioned uniform stumbling back, trying to reload his revolver. The tall man in the undertaker clothes stalked after him, tossing away the lifeless body of the cop’s partner.

  The cop managed to fire once more, straight into the undertaker’s chest, before the undertaker smacked the gun out of his grip. Then the undertaker held up his hand, and his palm opened, revealing teeth, and he clamped his hand round the cop’s throat, and the cop cried out, tried to pull away, but the taller man was too strong. Blood ran down the cop’s neck, staining his uniform, and the undertaker stood there, eyes closed.

  James walked up behind Amber. “He’s a monster,” he said. “Sucks the life out of people.”

  “A vampire,” she said. “He’s called a vampire.”

  James shrugged. “Don’t know the word. If you say so. He still has Molly, somewhere in there. I’ve been trying to get in. Yesterday I grew claws. I might be a monster, too.”

  “Our parents are the monsters,” Amber said. “Not us.”

  He shrugged again, and, while the undertaker was busy feeding on the cop, the door to the funeral home opened behind him. Amber’s demon-self beckoned James through, and he ran over and slipped in.

  Her demon-self walked over to Amber.

  “Is this real?” Amber asked her. “It feels … real. But not.”

  “It’s a dream,” said her demon-self. “The Shining Demon’s blood is letting you latch on to the memories of your dead brother from 1914. Pretty freaky, if you ask me.”

  “So that was him?” Amber asked. “That was really James?”

  “No. It’s a dream of James. God, you’re stupid.”

  “So why am I dreaming this?”

  “Because you always dream o
f your dead siblings before you die,” said her demon-self. “Didn’t you know that?”

  Amber woke suddenly. She was still in the Charger. They were still travelling.

  “You okay?” Milo asked, without taking his eyes off the road.

  “Fine,” she said, straightening up. “Just a dream.”

  “You were talking in your sleep.”

  “What’d I say?”

  “Don’t know. Couldn’t make it out.” He glanced at her. “You sure you’re okay? You look like you’ve been crying.”

  She frowned, and wiped tears from her cheek.

  “Huh,” she said.

  THEY DROVE FOR THREE days, closing in on her parents with every mile they covered, before something new twisted in Amber’s gut.

  “No,” she muttered.

  Milo glanced at her. “What?”

  “Nothing,” she said, and immediately the pain started.

  She whacked her closed fist against the dash. Milo didn’t say anything, but he looked displeased.

  “Got another one,” she said through clenched teeth. “That way.”

  “South.”

  “Yeah.”

  “So we’re letting your folks get away again?”

  “It’s not my choice, Milo. Like you said, Astaroth’s the boss, and when the boss tells you to do a job you do the job, or you’re put through a hell of a lot of pain.”

  Milo nodded, and when they came to the next off-ramp they left the highway. Immediately, the pain went away.

  “Who is it?” Milo asked.

  She closed her eyes, pushed her irritation to one side, and focused. A face and a name swam into her thoughts.

  “Your old buddy,” she said. “Elias Mauk. I have to collect his offering.”

  Milo grunted. “This ought to be fun.”

  It was torture, to deviate from their mission when her parents were so close, but they got to where they were going by nightfall, and Amber fired up the iPad to find out where exactly that was. Apparently, they were just outside of Senoia, Georgia. From what she could see, their immediate surroundings consisted mostly of trees.

  They got out. The air was sweet with the scent of pine. Amber shifted and the smell got even sharper.

  “Now where?” Milo asked.