Washington practically fell against the door and he pressed his palms flat against the cool wood as he leaned forward; with his left eye squinted, his head bobbed back and forth as he attempted to peer through the round peephole.
“M… Molly?”
Through his fish-eye view of the hallway, he could see a distorted, gray raccoon on the other side. It’s paws were sliding over the door and, as he watched, its furry little head lurched forward and thumped off the wood.
“You’re… you’re not Molly. Nope, nope, nope.”
For one, this raccoon had perfect ears. It’s eyes were glossy white with blue irises, not the scarred, black buttons of his little sister’s toy. Nor was it wearing a t-shirt.
“And you’re big, too. Really, really big.”
It all came back to him then: the convention hall with its parade of life-size animals, Leopard Woman in her sexy little leotard, the bottles of vodka, and his journey through memory.
And then he heard his mother’s voice again, so clear that she could have been standing just over his shoulder.
I’ll show you what VD does to your dirty worm….
Washington pressed his face against the door and realized he was crying. The tears were hot and stung his eyes like needles and he wrapped his arms around his stomach, resting the weight of his body squarely on the side of his face.
“I was just a little boy, you mean old bitch… I didn’t do anything wrong. You hear me? I didn’t do anything wrong!”
Tears quickly gave way to a rage that exploded within him like a bombing run. His muscles trembled with years of pent-up frustration and he slammed his fist into the solid door.
The sharp crack of knuckles against wood elicited a response from the other side. The raccoon pounded on the door as well, almost as if it were mocking the drunken man on the other side.
“Fuck you, Mama. Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you!”
Washington was breathing heavily through his nostrils and his fists were clenched so tightly that his fingernails dug little crescent moons into the palms of his hands.
“I didn’t do anything wrong, bitch!”
He’d show her. After all these years….
He slid his boxers down his legs and stumbled out of them. Somehow, being naked in this hotel room made him feel invincible and powerful. He felt as if he could take on an entire platoon single handedly and he snapped to attention.
“This is not a dirty worm… it’s a fucking penis. There are many like it, but this one is mine, damn it!”
The muscles in his body quivered and jerked and his breathing was so heavy that it almost sounded as if he were wearing a gas mask.
“You wanna see how dirty I can get, Mama? You wanna see all the nasty things I can do to Molly?”
He turned the little lever and the door unlocked with a soft click. Flinging it open, he threw his head back and yelled at the ceiling.
“And God still won’t hate me, you hear? God still won’t fucking hate me!”
The giant raccoon heaved forward and suddenly its soft arms were wrapping around Washington, almost as if it were trying to comfort him with a hug. The fur tickled his naked flesh and sent little shivers tingling along his spine and scalp and a giggle bubbled up from somewhere.
“It’s me and Molly now, Mama. Just me and Molly after all these fucking years.”
Paws slid over his ribs again and again like Molly was petting him.
“And you can’t stop us this time. Not this time.”
The raccoon squirmed against his body, tangling its furry feet within his own, and suddenly Washington was falling. He thudded to the floor with the animal still clinging to him and looked at the ceiling as he stroked its back with one hand. So soft, so nice….
“You watching, Mama? You getting a good long look?”
Washington wedged his other hand between their bodies until he felt something springy and stiff within his own hand. He worked himself slowly and, as the plush fur rubbed against his sensitive skin, he closed his eyes. The raccoon was nuzzling his neck now, the nose hard and cold in sharp contrast to the rest of its body.
“You want me, Molly?” he whispered with closed eyes. “You want me?”
Everything seemed soft and distant and Washington’s head lolled to the side as waves of fatigue crashed over him. With his hand still cupped over his crotch, his breathing steadied slowly and, before he’d even had a chance for release, the gravity of alcohol pulled him back down into its darkness.
He laid perfectly still as the giant animal continued to writhe over his naked body, its padded hands desperately attempting to scratch through his skin.
Perhaps if he wouldn’t have downed that last bottle of Absolut, he would’ve noticed the round patch of mesh on the animal’s throat. Perhaps he would have seen the face floating like a specter in the darkness beyond, the unblinking eyes, and the spiderwebs of blue veins against its waxen flesh. Perhaps it would have made a difference….
But, as it was, Washington simply laid on the floor, safely tucked within the confines of dreams as teeth began to pull and rip at the thin netting that separated it from the too-frail skin of his exposed neck.
He slept and dreamed he was a boy again.
He stood in his childhood bathroom with a cloth bag by his feet and calmly removed each clothespin from it one at a time.
He broke each one in half as a raccoon with a chewed up ear watched from its perch on the toilet tank.
“We’re free, Molly.” the little boy said. “We’re finally free.”
Tender is the Nightmare
The trailer had a musty aroma, as if water had soaked into the threadbare carpet at some point and infected the foam padding beneath with mildew. It wasn’t overpowering but was omnipresent none-the-less, a subtle reminder that the entire world was slowly edging toward decay while its inhabitants struggled in vain to prevent this from happening. Even the smell of hot wax couldn’t entirely cover it: the candles flickered and caused shadows to dance and jump across the faux-wood paneling, some of them scented slightly of lilac and sandalwood, others possessing only a scent that brought boxes of brightly colored crayons to mind. Most of the furniture in the room had been piled in front of the thin door and every so often a coffee table or bookshelf would change positions with a thump as the knob jiggled and the the cheap glass rattled in the rectangular windows; but, for the most part, the barricade seemed to be holding.
For now at least.
Neither of the two occupants had any delusions that the obstruction would last forever; they knew that the glow of their candles would be like a beacon in the night for any zombies within close range of the mobile home park. They would be drawn to the light like moths, attracted by the only source of illumination on a night as dark as the heart of Satan. They would swarm around the trailer, clamoring for a way in. They would break windows and cause the doors to creak on their hinges. And eventually they would find an opening. They would swarm through in a seemingly endless stream, would fill the living room with the stench of rotting flesh, and fall upon the couple: it was inevitable. The single wide already rocked slightly from all of the hands that currently pounded and scratched at its vinyl siding… it was only a matter of time.
But, for the time being, none of that mattered. Luke lay on the couch cushions that had been arranged across the floor and watched as Carrie made her way toward him. In the soft candlelight, her skin looked smooth and radiant, the way he’d always imagined an angel would look. Blonde hair cascaded over her shoulders like strands of silken moonlight and hung over her small breasts, hiding her nipples behind its sheen. Her blue eyes sparkled like the waters of Lake Norman on a cloudless day and her thin lips smiled as she handed him a tumbler half-full of dark liquid.