Lamatsu
by
Walter Lazo
• • • • •
ISBN 978-1476111377
Copyright © 2012 Lazo Consumer Products, LLC.
Lazo Consumer Products, LLC.
P.O. BOX #690471
Charlotte, NC 28227
Thank you for your support.
LAMATSU
Frank Castro looked at the clock; there were only a few more minutes left until his shift ended. He had been doing deliveries all day and was now looking forward to going home and relaxing. Frank was just twenty years old and slightly above average height. He was also thin. Frank had black hair, and his features were, at best, unremarkable, which he thought was much better than being straight out ugly.
“Hey, Frank, come over here,” called Jason, his boss, a short balding man with a bit of a potbelly.
“What’s up?” asked Frank, walking over to Jason, grabbing a can of soda from the employee table as he passed by it.
“You wanna get a little overtime?”
“Hmm, how much overtime we talking about?”
“I need someone to take a package down to Southend.”
“Oh, alright, that’s just some twenty minutes away; yeah, I can do that.”
“Great, Frank, I really appreciate it.”
“What’s so important anyway that it can’t wait until tomorrow?”
“Follow me,” said Jason in a conspiratorial tone, leading Frank into his office. “What’s that on my desk?”
“Looks like a big box to me.”
“Well, take a look at this,” said Jason, handing Frank the delivery sheet.
Frank studied the sheet carefully, noticed what Jason wanted him to see, and raised an eyebrow. He looked at the box again. It was the size of a small child, shaped like a little coffin. “What’s in the box?” he asked.
“Don’t have a clue,” said Jason, shaking his head.
“Is this shit illegal?” asked Frank, acting suspiciously but not really caring.
Jason took the sheet away from Frank, gave it a quick glance, and put it down on the desk. “It’s coming from someplace in Hungary,” he said, “so it had to have gone through some sort of Customs. If there’s something questionable in there, it’s really not our problem. We cover our own asses with the paperwork; after that, we don’t know anything.”
“Whatever,” said Frank, taking the package. “I do expect a bonus for this.”
Jason laughed, patted Frank on the back and said, “Thanks.”
*
Kyle Johnson, a man in his mid-thirties, recently divorced, who was having car problems, saw Frank carrying a big box into a company van. The gears in his head started spinning; here was an opportunity for him to hitch a ride home and avoid the tedium of taking the bus.
“Yo, Frank, where you going?” asked Kyle, coming over.
“Hey, Kyle,” said Frank, nodding his head in salute. “I’ve got one more delivery to make.”
“Nice, overtime. Where at?”
“Going all the way down to Southend.”
“Southend, really? Thems the boonies. I don’t think there’s anything down there.”
“I don’t know, Kyle,” said Frank, suspecting that Kyle wanted a ride but didn’t want to ask; “I’ve got an address. You want to tag along? I can drop you off on the way back.”
Kyle smiled. Frank was a good kid, he thought. “Thanks,” he said. “I’ll go get my stuff.”
Frank secured the box in the van and got a creepy feeling that the box was indeed some sort of coffin. An involuntary shiver ran down his back.
Kyle returned carrying a sport bag. “Okay,” he said, “I’m ready.”
“Ready for what?” asked Sean Harris, a nineteen year old man who simply had way too much energy and vitality for his own good.
“We’re going to drop off a package at Southend,” said Frank.
“Cool,” said Sean. “Can I come?”
“Sure, why not,” said Frank. Frank liked people, he liked talking, but in this case it was not the desire for company that motivated him. The package had made him feel uncomfortable, and he did not want to be alone with it. It was irrational, he realized, but he saw no reason why he should have to take an uncomfortable drive if he didn’t have to.
*
They all got in the van and took off, heading first down 10th street, taking a left on Blueberry, Ave., and finally entering the 93 south, heading towards Southend. As they drove, they saw the city disappear, buildings replaced by vast prairie lands and these by rocks and woods.
They exited the 93, taking a long old road named Whiskey Lane, which led them to an even older dirt road called Harbin. They took Harbin all the way to the end and came upon an enormous house.
“Holy cow!” said Sean, leaning forward. “That’s some house.”
It was. The house’s design was unlike any that they had ever seen. The most obvious thing they noticed, the one that stood out the most, was the absence of any windows. All around, for as far as they could see, the house did not have so much as even a small attic window. It was also a very tall house, standing a full three stories. And the front resembled five towers squashed together, with a big red door right smack in the middle of the center tower. The roof was flat and it lacked adornment. The house was painted completely grey.
“Okay,” said Frank, pulling in to the driveway. “I’m just going to take the package to the front door, ring the bell, and hand it to whoever opens.”
“I’ll go with you,” said Sean enthusiastically.
“It’ll look kinda weird if three full grown men show up to deliver one box,” said Kyle, “so I’ll just wait in the van.”
Frank and Sean stepped out of the van, and Frank got the package from the back. They then walked over to the big red door. The door doesn’t have a doorbell, only a huge antique door knocker which resembled some sort of ferocious animal halfway between a lion and a Grizzly bear, complete with very sharp looking teeth. Frank grabs the knocker, carefully avoiding the teeth, and knocks on the door.
The door opened almost immediately. A short pale man in an almost antique blue suit stood in the doorway. “Yes,” he said without an inflection.
“I’ve got a package for this address,” said Frank, trying to hand the box over to the man then noticing that the man did not have arms. Frank pulled the box back towards him, feeling embarrassed.
“Please, follow me,” said the pale man, again in a monotone inflectionless tone.
Frank and Sean looked at each other and then followed the man.
“How did he open the door?” Sean whispered to Frank.
Frank shrugged his shoulders and glanced back. He couldn’t see anybody.
The short pale man led through labyrinthine halls, twisting this way and that way, until Frank and Sean no longer knew where they were or how to get back. This was starting to annoy Frank. It was one thing to feel sorry for someone, but this guy was clearly taking advantage. Frank was about to say something when they entered a large room. The pale man stopped, turned around to face Frank, and said, “wait here.” The pale man then left the room, leaving Frank and Sean standing there like idiots.
The room was blue, lighted by four candelabras stationed at each corner. The candle light gave the room an eerie glow. In the center of the room was a table and opposite the table and to the right and left were two L shaped couches. To the front of the table was a dark brown chair, and on the chair sat a man.
Both Frank and Sean gave startled yelps, and Frank nearly dropped the package. They stared at the man and marveled that they hadn’t seen him before.
“Please,” said the man in a raspy and grainy voice, “place the item on the table.”
Frank placed the package on the table and got a
good look at the man. There was something disquieting about him that did not look right. He had a feral presence about him as if what made him human were dissolving. Frank became afraid.
“I need you to sign here,” said Frank, with a slight tremble in his voice, handing the delivery confirmation slip to the man. The man signed it and gave it back, never taking his eyes off Frank.
Frank stole a quick peek at the signature. It read Lamatsu.
“That’s an interesting name,” said Frank. “Is it the last name or the first name?”
“It is the only name,” said Lamatsu, smiling, revealing his long canine teeth.
Sean came up behind Frank and tapped him on the shoulder. Frank nearly jumped. “I think we should go,” said Sean, the fear evident in his voice.
“Please,” said Lamatsu, “permit me to show you the way out; otherwise, I’m afraid, you will become lost.” Lamatsu rose from his chair, and it became apparent to Frank and Sean that he was a she. Lamatsu was completely naked, and her flesh was crawling with worms.
Frank and Sean were stunned, their minds reeling with so many dark possibilities. This has to be some sort of joke, thought Sean. No way is this real, thought Frank. But then the stench of Lamatsu entered their nostrils, leaving no doubt. Lamatsu stank of rotten flesh and dirty earth. Frank and Sean ran.
Lamatsu, however, did not follow; instead, she bent down and opened the package. Out of the box slithered out a three foot slug with a human face. Lamatsu caressed the creature and said, “go, claim your host.”
*
Frank and Sean ran like if they had seen the Devil himself. In their panic, they ran wildly and lost themselves further in the labyrinth, coming finally to a room that was clearly a dungeon. Bodies hung from cages in this dungeon, and they also stank.
“We gotta get outta here!” blurted Sean five or six times.
Frank did not know what to say; he, like Sean, was frozen with fear.
The two heard a voice echoing from above.
“Pretty, pretty, pretty, don’t you want to play?” it sang in a nasty hissing voice.
Sean looked up, and a slug fell on his face. Horrible wet sucking sounds followed.
Frank screamed and ran away. He ran not because he was some sort of coward, nor because he did not care about his friend, but because fear overwhelmed him, making him temporarily forget himself.
First, he ran straight across the dungeon, getting to a door on the other side; then, going through the door, he ran down a hallway, took a left at the end of it, then a right, and found himself back in the dungeon. What the hell, he thought. This was not possible; he hadn’t even gone in a circle. No! He saw Sean standing ahead of him, his back turned to him. Had he somehow gone in a circle? Frank was dizzy.
“Sean?” he asked in a quivering voice. “Are you alright, man?”
Sean turned around. Oh, God, it was hideous. Frank recoiled at what he was seeing. Sean’s eyes were blood red, and his neck was bulging as if he had swallowed a baby. The sudden, intuitive awareness of what was in fact working its way down Sean’s throat hit Frank like an obscene revelation.
He desperately wanted to do something to help Sean. They had to find a way out of this maze, he thought; then he would be able to take Sean to the emergency room where they would…
“Don’t worry, pretty, pretty,” said Sean in his own voice but obviously not his words, “I’ll play with you soon, but first I need to finish playing with this one.”
Frank screamed louder than before and ran back down the hall. When he reached the end of the hallway, he did not know whether to go right or left. On impulse, he went right.
The pale armless man stood in front of him. Frank was moving so fast that he had to swerve to avoid him and crashed against the wall.
“Come with me,” said the armless man in that same emotionless monotone voice with which he had at first greeted Frank. “If you stay, you will die. I will show the way out.” Without waiting for a reply, the armless man turned around and started walking.
Because he really had no choice, Frank followed the armless man, who led him through the labyrinth and finally to the front door. Frank was surprised as he had expected some sort of trap.
“You may go,” said the pale armless man.
“What about my friend, what about Sean?” asked Frank, feeling horribly guilty for not doing something to help Sean.
“You could not have saved him,” said the pale armless man. “He is gone.”
“What about you?” asked Frank, feeling genuine gratitude and wanting to help this man escape the obvious hell he was living in.
The pale armless man’s face betrayed a trace of emotion. “You must go,” he said and turned around and walked away.
Frank opened the door and bolted outside, making his way to the van. He opened the driver’s side door and as he was climbing in saw that Kyle was not in the van. Kyle’s seat was covered in blood. He turned around and yelled, “Kyle! Kyle! Where are you?” No answer. He was too afraid to go looking for Kyle or to wait for him to show up. Frank got in the van and left.
THE END
From The Author
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