13 Tales To Give You Night Terrors (12 page)

Strings sat up and crossed the injured
leg over the other. He ran two fingers over the half-moon shaped
scar on his calf.

As I turned into his gravel driveway,
and my headlights swept across the front of Strings’s house, it
shocked me to see the old row house looking abandoned. It was two
stories of shit-brown asbestos shingle that barely hung on. Plywood
covered several of the windows. The front porch sagged on one side
as though it had suffered a stroke.

“
There’s something I want
to show you, if you got a minute,” he said. “You’re not gonna
believe it.”

“
First you said I won’t
believe what happened to your leg, now you’re saying I won’t
believe what’s inside. Do I dare?”

He pushed open the door and climbed
out of the Jeep.

“
It’s all related. And it’s
all pretty un-fucking-believable.”

Our sneakers crunched over spilled dog
food as Strings led me through his kitchen. Stacks of crusty dishes
lined the countertops. The air was stiff, as if a window hadn’t
been cracked in months, and the house reeked of fast food,
nicotine, and dirty laundry. Strings looked at me over his shoulder
like he feared I’d leave.

“
I got it from the drunk up
the street,” he said. He had a wild look in his eyes, like a fat
kid at a make-your-own cupcake party. He opened the door to a
narrow set of stairs that ended in the basement.

“
Which drunk?”

“
Primo,” he
said.

“
I thought he was
dead.”

“
He’s still kicking. He
lives on Enright.”

Strings took the wooden stairs two at
a time and hit the landing with a tremendous thump. The stairs
amounted to a rickety ladder with narrow, lopsided rungs. I turned,
gripped both railings and descended the stairs, one slow step at a
time.

“
Jesus,” I said when I
reached the landing. “Look at this place. It’s a goddamn time
capsule.” Posters of Bruce Lee, Bob Marley and random swimsuit
models covered the walls. One wall was a massive collage of
pictures of The Group Home. I helped him with all this years
ago.

Despite the smell and the decay, it
was nice to be back. I practically lived here as a teen, and the
good memories started to surface. As I took in the old hangout, I
could feel myself falling into my former role as Strings’s
sidekick. And while part of me delighted to revisit those days,
another part of me could hear Maria accusing me of pretending to be
someone I’m not. She says I do it all the time, especially with old
friends.

“
They haven’t
changed,”
she’ll say.
“But you have. You moved on.”

I did move on, but the direction I was
headed came with too many nights of broken sleep, crushing
headaches, and an uneasy stomach. And I’d also taken to drinking
heavily on my lunch break to help get me through the day. Sure, I
had changed, but not for the better.

The truth was, the only time I
pretended to be someone I wasn’t was when I was with
her.

“
Step in to my office,”
Strings said.

I pushed Maria’s voice out of my head
and fell in step behind Strings. Hell, maybe it was the booze, but
I was glad to be doing something fun for a change.

We stepped into a small room that once
served as our sound room, back when we thought rap was our calling.
A curtain now cut the room in half.

Strings spun around and looked at me.
Under the harsh florescent tube lights, all the lines across his
face told the story of some hard years of living. But there was
still a spark of youthfulness in his yellowing eyes.

“
Stand back.”

He disappeared behind the curtain.
There was a brief fuss, followed by the snap of something that
sounded like the buzz of hair clippers. Finally, he stepped back in
view. With a flourish, he slid the curtain aside and
moved.

“
Check it out,” he said,
holding it roughly by the loose skin around its neck.

It was about the size of a pit bull,
but hairless, with skin the color of frostbite. A prickly ridge,
like fish bones, traced the length of its spine. Long ivory fangs
poked out of the sides of its mouth. Its eyes were open, revealing
pupils the color of hardboiled eggs.

“
What the hell is
that?”

“
Bro,” he said. He lifted
it higher and shook it clumsily. “It’s a fucking chupacabra,
yo.”

● ● ●

MY
mother warned me about getting involved with girls with kids.
She said it was hard enough to raise your own crumb-snatchers, let
alone some other man’s flotsam. And what happens when Dad gets out
of jail?

But I was in love with Maria years
before she allowed me into her world. By then, she was a package
deal. Vivian, who was two at the time, captured my heart. At four
years old she was a walking radiant smile, and I worried for her
safety and well-being as though she were my own. More so after what
Strings showed me. That something like the chupacabra was within
walking distance from Vivian’s bedroom scared the shit out of me.
On my way home from Strings’s house, I thought about buying a
gun.

The next day, I went back to his house
because I wanted to see the chupacabra with sober eyes. Strings
handed me a blunt and I stupidly smoked too much. A few hours
passed before I felt okay enough to drive home.

When I walked into our apartment,
Vivian, covered in jelly, was stuck to the couch.

I bushwhacked my way across the living
room to plant a kiss on her forehead.

“
How’d your day
go?”

“
Good,” she
said.

“
Honey? What’s that stuff
all over you?”

“
Nuffin.”

“
Ahh,” I said. “Fun. Let’s
get you cleaned up, okay?”

I draped her over my shoulder and made
like a monster carrying off the princess.

She kicked wildly. She begged me not
to eat her. She called for her mother.

Maria tied her hair into a
don’t-mess-with-me ponytail in the bathroom. I bumped her aside to
soak a washcloth in warm water. Her reflection scowled back at
me.

After I cleaned Vivian up, I patted
her on the bum and ordered her to change her into PJs.

“
Why are you so late?”
Maria growled.

“
Sorry,” I said, and gave
her butt a squeeze. “Strings. He never stops. I couldn’t break
away.”

“
Strings.” She shook her
head. “Please tell me you’re not hanging with him
again.”

She looked beautiful dressed in a snug
polo shirt with the name of the cleaning company she worked for
monogrammed above her breast, and jeans that hugged her hips and
packaged her ass into a perfect bubble. For some reason, the sight
of her made me sad. I wanted to hug her, and not in my usual way,
which often signals my intention, my hope, that the physical
contact would lead us into a naked sweaty pile. So I did. I wrapped
my arms around her and held her close. And then I got a boner and
asked if I could bite her butt.

“
It’s those jeans,” I said.
She pushed me away.

“
I’m serious,” she said.
“Haven’t you ever heard the proverb, ‘He that walks with wise men
shall be wise, but a companion of fools shall be
destroyed’?”

“
That would really concern
me if it didn’t sound like a tweet from Mr. T.,” I said.

“
That’s not funny,” she
said as she went into the kitchen, mumbling something about how God
was going to punish me. “People get struck by lightning for shit
like that.”

She breezed by me again as she hurried
to collect her things. “Viv, come give me a kiss.”

Vivian bolted into the room shirtless
and in her underwear.

“
Monkey hugs,” Maria said
as Vivian hung from her neck. She kissed Vivian, and then handed
her to me.

“
What about me?” I
asked.

She kissed me on the lips, a good long
kiss. “You’re lucky I love your stupid ass.”

“
I love you too,” I said.
“Wanna do it real quick?”

“
Bye.”

I set Vivian down in the living room
and followed Maria to her car. “I didn’t get to tell you about what
Strings showed me.”

“
Please,” she said. “Spare
me.”

“
It’s kinda crazy. Even for
Strings.”

She looked up from the driver’s seat.
“I made pasta with veggies—make sure Viv eats, okay? Don’t let her
binge on bread.”

“
Okay. I’ll tell you about
it later.”

“
If you must,” she said. “I
have to go. I’m running crazy late, thanks to you.”

“
I’ll make it up to you in
sexual favors. I have a new move I’ve been saving for a special
occasion. Which reminds me—pick up a peacock feather on your way
home.”

“
You’re disgusting,” she
said.

She closed the door and backed out of
the driveway. She turned the corner and I turned to go inside,
where Vivian stood in the doorway.

“
Can I have garlic bread
for dinner?” she asked.

“
Sure, kid. Let’s do
this.”

● ● ●

I
couldn’t wait to tell Maria about the monster in Strings’s
basement, so I texted her.

About an hour later, she
responded with:
Stay away from that
asshole. You are your worst version of yourself when you’re around
him.

Fine. But what about the chupacabra?
She had not addressed the matter. I texted her back and waited. And
waited. She didn’t respond.

I tossed around in bed and tried to
think of something else, tried to get the image of that thing out
of my mind, but nothing worked.

It’ll
p
ass
.

But it didn’t. I kept seeing its
bulging white eyes, its sinewy gray body. And I kept seeing
Strings. I imagined him brokering the deal with Primo, the two of
them hauling the monster through his messy kitchen and into his
dank basement. What Maria didn’t understand was, Strings—as foolish
as he appeared to her—was at least having adventures. He was out
there taking chances while I rotted in a cubicle.

When Maria slid into bed around two in
the morning, I waited for her to start snoring before I rolled from
under the covers. I turned and straightened the sheets over Vivian,
who was sleeping between us. Ten minutes later I was back on
McBride Street.

That afternoon we sat in folding
chairs positioned a foot or so from the cage and stared at his
chupacabra. It was unbearable at first, but eventually I managed to
look at the thing in a detached way. It was a slab of something
vaguely resembling a mix of animals I’ve seen all my life. It
looked lifeless at the time because Strings had zapped it with a
stun gun. But after a while it began to move around the cage.
Strings mentioned a scheme about breeding it with a rotty, and then
we both got quiet as he rolled a giant blunt. Suddenly, the
chupacabra hit the cage with the side of its body, bared its fangs
and hissed. We jumped when it happened. I fell out of my chair. I
decided I was sober enough to drive and got the hell out of there.
I could still hear Strings laughing as I pulled out of his
driveway.

He wasn’t laughing when he lumbered
into the kitchen that night. The light off the street filtered
through thin curtains and cast a shadow across his face. His eyes
were puffy and yellower than earlier in the day.

“
You okay? You look like
shit.”

“
I’ve been in the basement
all day trying to teach this motherfucker to sit. I think it’s
untrainable.”

I chuckled but he said, “We got a
problem.”

A chill ran through me, and I stepped
into panic with military precision.

“
What do you mean?” I said.
“Did it escape?” I scanned the room and all its dark corners. If
that thing jumped out at me, what would I do? Would my training
kick in? Could I count on my seven weeks of Tae Kwon Do?

“
He didn’t escape,” he
said. “Follow me.”

In the basement, Strings picked up a
baby bottle from the workbench and handed it to me.

“
Primo said to feed it goat
blood three times a day or the son of a bitch would chew off its
legs.”

“
Really?”

“
That’s what he said, and
that would be a bitch to clean up.”

“
Plus, it’s
disgusting.”

“
Primo hooked me up with
enough to last a day or two.”

I held the bottle up to the light. It
was nearly empty. “What’s floating round in here?” I asked,
squinting at the bottom of a bottle.

“
It’s made with real bits
of goat. That’s how you know it’s good.”

I put the bottle down. That’s when I
noticed all the empty bottles strewn across the
workbench.

“
Dude,” I said. “How much
did you feed it?”