From the Belly of the Goat Page 4
“The time has come, my allies,” Chrissy announces, standing next to the utility vehicle that will hoist her into the air. “We are the first to witness the world's new beginning.”
Chrissy pulls a rolled-up cloth out of a plastic cylinder. She unravels the cloth and holds it up to the sky, stepping inside the yellow metal basket. The utility vehicle's gears roar to life and begin raising Chrissy to the top of the mound of mud. Ferguson places his hand over the waist of his pants, feeling the gun resting beside his pelvis bone. One of his crew mates runs up behind him with a little portable television set that runs on batteries. He begins pointing at the screen.
Across the screen is a red banner saying, Live! The meteor crumbled into tiny pieces inches before impact with Earth's atmosphere. People look to be cheering from the center of Times Square in New York City. At least plan B has the humor behind it, Ferguson thinks. He chews back a laugh as he watches Chrissy throw her hands into the sky, she says, “Except this scroll as your life...”
“Shut your stupid mouth, Chrissy Sandoval,” Ferguson cuts in. “Men, get her down from there.” A few of Ferguson's crew mates run up to the utility vehicle and pushes the button to descend the basket back to ground level.
“Who in the hell do you think you are, you, pitiful waste,” Chrissy continues to yell. “Guards stop these fools!” Chrissy looks at her men and notices they are looking over the shoulder of one of Ferguson's crew mates. “What the hell are you imbeciles doing?” The utility vehicle's metal basket grinds to a halt. “Television? You're watching television during our moment of a new world?”
“Chrissy, it's all over. The world is not going to end. The meteors broke into pieces before it hit our atmosphere. And I'm making sure your crazy ass is put in a looney bin.” Vincent says, stepping out his car. “I was back at the lab when I saw the newscast myself. I always thought you were a crazy chick, it's your time.”
“You'll do no such...” Chrissy turns side to side to escape, but notices she is still in the basket. Ferguson and his crew mates, as well as Chrissy's own guards and her right-hand man, begin to walk in her direction. “Back off. I'll kill you all!” Chrissy yells, gritting her teeth. Ferguson opens the small metal basket; everyone else is standing around the vehicle. With nowhere to run, Chrissy falls to her knees and screams into the air.
Crownsville, Maryland
July 1, 2017
“Got you guys another one,” A law official says. Escorting Chrissy Sandoval through the doors to the main lobby of the psychiatric hospital. “She has been deported from Russia and has some interesting beliefs. This should be a good home for her. You should have heard her rants on the way here from the airport.” The law official tugs on the chains, latched onto the cuffs around Chrissy's wrist.
“This won't be the last of me.” Chrissy turns to the law official and gives him an evil eye. “I will find my way out here and kill you all,” she ends her threat by spitting on the ground.
“That's what they all say, Ms. Sandoval. Have a nice life.” The official goes to walk away and then turns back around and says, “Hey look at that your dream has come true. A New Life.” He turns on his heels and laughs as he pushes the doors open and leaves the building.
Cape Cod, Massachusetts
July 3, 2017
Ferguson and his crew are sitting out on a private beach with its own open bar. Vincent made the arrangements possible. Ferguson takes a swig from his glass of whiskey and says, “Men, I say we go hunting for buried treasures. Imagine how much valuables sunk into the ocean. Ferguson's crew of twenty-two men talk amongst each other, then hold their cups into the air and in sync say, “Money in our pockets, Hurrah!” Ferguson puts a small cigar up to his lip and sparks it. Thinking about how much closer he feels he is to his dream. All those women in just cotton tails prancing around him.
end...
A Womb
for Her
Baby
Switchback Mountain,
Barrows, Alaska
November 18, 2009
4:15 PM
“Hayden, you step on my heel one more time, I will smack the shit out of you,” Jonas says.
“My bad. My flashlight keeps dimming out and I'm a little freaked out, man.”
“Ha, I knew it existed,” Jonas says, panning his flashlight from left to the right. “Check it out!”
“It looks like a pile of rocks to me,” Hayden cuts in.
“Of course. See in folklore, trolls, when exposed to sunlight, turn to stone. I found a journal wedged between two books at the local library. It was hand written by an anonymous writer. The writer mentioned the migration of two Scandinavian Trolls to greater darkness. The trolls were being hunted after they snatched a fetus, right outta a mother's womb. A sharp instrument was used to carve into the mother's stomach. The husband found his wife dead when he returned home. I found the text, rather disturbing.”
“You told me the other day, AGAIN, that there would be riches involved, Jonas, and you already told me about all this troll crap.” Hayden says, “Why do I always follow you on these stupid adventures of promised riches?”
“Shut up. It's not like you have anything better to do.” Jonas says, while walking up closer to the stone statues of the trolls. “The book mentioned a male and female troll. I believe this one must be the female troll, because of the size of her stomach. The writer of the journal goes on to say that the mother claimed the troll-woman swallowed her baby. Experts in Scandinavian folklore believed that trolls were involved in changeling, although the trolls made no switch in exchange for the fetus. According to the journal I found, these trolls wanted to give birth to a human child. It seems they were going about it the wrong way, considering swallowing a baby whole, then birth it, would be impossible.”
“Can we go now?” Hayden says. “I don't see how this is going to bring us riches.”
“Stop being such a wimp,” Jonas replies. “The last couple of lines written in journal said ...sunlight peeked over the horizon after the long polar night, leaving the trolls to sit in an everlasting stillness. Look at this. The toes of the male-troll are moist, as if its defrosting or something.”
Jonas pulls a small chisel from the side of his backpack and whacks away at the troll's foot.
The stone around the foot starts to crumbles into pieces.
The toes of the male-troll begin to wiggle. “I think I just awakened the giant,” Jonas says, backing away from the statues.
The brothers turn around and make haste to the opening of the cave, as the stone casing of the trolls break and crumble to the ground. They stop in their hurried escape and turn to look over their shoulders. The trolls begin to move freely, despite their organismal level of essentially being dead for hundreds of years.
The male-troll brings his hand to the belly of the woman-troll and rubs it in circles. She lets out a bellowing noise and begins gagging. The woman-troll bends forward and regurgitates blood, stones and cartilage-like chunks into a heaping mess on the ground.
“What the hell did I just do? Jonas says in a quiet whisper.
The tall and husky trolls notice the brothers standing a few yards away from them. The male-troll breathes in a heap of air and with a deep voice yells, “MORE BABY!”
The entire cave shakes, small stalactites fall from the ceiling above. The trolls hold hands and begin to move forward in the direction of the cave opening. The brothers turn and run. “Keep running until we get to the sheriff's station. We need to warn everyone,” Jonas yells over his shoulder to Hayden.
Barrows, Alaska
November 18, 2009
Final Sunset before polar night...
The downtown section (Barrow-side as the townspeople call it) is crowded with folks stocking up on supplies for the long haul ahead. Many shops take on shorter days during the polar nights, due to the freezing temperatures. The plows are still cleaning up the heavy snow, an accumulation of sixteen inches from the previous month. The red emergency lights hanging i
n the store fronts are already warning, the remaining hours until sunset. The weather channels predict more snow fall and heavy winds for the first few hours of the polar night.
Jonas and Hayden barrel their way through the doors of the Sheriff's Station. Without catching his breath, Jonas says, “Officer Kimsworth, trolls they are coming for more baby.”
“Are you two high again, Jonas?” Officer Kimworth says. “You two really need to lay-off the wacky-tobacco.”
“No really. We were just up in one of the caves over on Switchback Mountain,” Hayden says.
“Yeah, we are telling you the truth,” Jonas chimes in catching his breath this time. “We found these stone statues standing about ten feet tall. They were a little moist around the feet, so I cracked at it with my chisel and the motherfuckers came to life.”
“The Sheriff is going to love this story,” Kimsworth says. “He should be walking in any second. He went to get some pastries for our fresh pot of coffee.”
The door swings open and the Sheriff walks in with a brown paper bag in his hands. The Sheriff is tall and lanky but his heavy winter coat gives his skinny frame a rounded appearance. His mustache is thick and bushy with hooked ends. “If it isn't the Morse brothers,” Sheriff Strokes says. “What kind of stories do you have for me today?”
“No Sheriff, you gotta believe us,” Jonas says. “There's trolls up on Switchback Mountain and they're coming down in search for babies. Look I found this journal at the library.” Jonas begins rummaging through his backpack. He holds up the leather-bound journal with a small strap running along the cover. The worn-out leather strap no longer snaps on the other end of the journal.
“Give me that,” Sheriff Strokes says, snagging the journal from Jonas's hand. “Kimsworth, get these guys a cozy seat inside one of the cells, will ya.”
Kimsworth grabs both men by their shirt collars and guides them to one of the three cells. Strokes pulls a pastry out of the brown paper bag and places it on his desk. Tucking the journal under his left armpit he pours himself a cup of coffee.
Kimsworth pushes Jonas and Hayden into the cell and closes the doors behind them, taunting the brothers with the keys before he walks back to his desk.
Kimsworth is a muscular man with broad shoulders. The buttons of his shirt almost look like they are about to bust. Unlike Sheriff Strokes, he has a clean shave and crew-cut hairstyle. Kimsworth looked as if he should be Sheriff instead of the little stuck-up daddy's boy like Strokes.
Sheriff Strokes puts his feet up on the desk and begins flipping through the pages of the journal. He is chewing loudly, pausing in between bites of pastry to read, a few lines from the journal.
“Do you boys really believe in all this mumble jumbo?” Sheriff Strokes asks, dropping the journal in his lap.
“Sheriff, you have to believe us,” Hayden says.
“Just relax. When the white out conditions die down, officer Kimsworth and myself will take the wannabe Brothers Grimm home for polar nights. You guys can jerk-off in your little shack and think up your next batch of silly fairy tales.”
Hayden plops against the wall and slides down to the floor. Jonas looks over at him and shrugs his shoulders.
Strokes continues to leaf-through the pages of the journal. He is trying to make sense of the anonymous writer's overly imaginative belief of trolls, and unanswered questions squalled throughout the text. There is no explanation about the women's whereabouts with the missing fetus and how long ago this horrific event happened. Strokes comes across more puzzling information as he went back to read a section of the journal. A group of hunters is mentioned, individually by name, what part of Scandinavia they are from and that is it, another raised question. Strokes closes the journal and makes a mental note as he tucks it into his inside jacket pocket. Making a mental note to go back later and maybe make some sense of the journals, scribbled imagination.
Elementary School
Barrows, Alaska
November 18, 2009
7:57 PM
Fran Libman is finishing up the night, and excited for his upcoming paid monthly break. The janitorial work of an Elementary school had its days; puke on the lunch room floor, gum stuck under the tables and the always slushy-dirt mess on the floors running up and down the corridors of the school. The school takes a monthly break during the first month of polar nights. They re-open depending on the weather conditions and snow accumulation.
Fran walks to the back door and looks down the west-wing corridor one last time before switching off the lights. He pushes open the double doors and the brisk cold wind rushes in, quickly chilling his body. He closes the doors behind him. Fran unhooks his keys from his belt loop and hurries over to his car. His little beat-up sedan with no hub caps, snow tires chained-over, minor rust spots and the interior that smelt like cigarette smoke. Fran shakes off the chill as he turns the key in the ignition and the sedan hums to life. Fran begins to light a cigarette, when a loud growl startles him. Managing to get his cigarette lit, Fran shakes of the growl. The sound of nails dragging along a metal surfaces makes Fran cringe and he swings his driver's side door open with rage. “Who the hell do you think....” Fran freezes in mid-sentence and looks up at the ten-foot creature standing only inches away from him.
“Smell Children,” the large creature says.
“Okay buddy, nice costume and all,” Fran says. “You make a great looking troll, but Halloween was over two weeks ago. You mind stepping away from my car?”
The troll's hand covers Fran's face, digging its nails into his skin. Fran screams as the troll pulls his hand away, tearing the flesh off like a skinned animal pelt. Fran drops his head into his hands and continues screaming in agony, startling the troll. The troll grabs hold of Fran's head and spins it around, like ringing out a rag. The crack of Fran's spinal cord sends him straight to the ground with a muffled thud in the snow. The troll sniffs the air around him and looks in the direction of the school. The troll-woman joined her significant other in pursuit of an entry point to the school.
The male-troll begins driving his shoulder into the double doors that Fran closed behind him minutes ago. On the third shoulder thrust the doors give and swing open. The trolls enter through the mangled doors.
The trolls walk up and down the dark corridors sniffing the air. The whiff they were tracking brought them to over a dozen rooms, but to their disappointment there are no children, just their scent still lingering the halls and this smell comes from grown children. The trolls need something much younger; they need babies. The male-troll smashes through another set of doors at the front of the school and exits with his female companion into the night.
Barrow-Side Police Station
Barrows, Alaska
November 18, 2009
8:25 PM
Officer Kimsworth, has his feet upon his desk with his hat covering his face. Sheriff Strokes continues to look over the journal, apparently intrigued by its contents.
“I guess you are finding a liking to the journal, Sheriff?” Jonas asks, from behind the bars.
“Kid, for all I know you wrote this crap yourself,” Strokes says. “Although I give you credit: your writing style and lettering is very unique.”
“Sir, I did not write that. I found it....” The phone rings and cuts Jonas off. Kimsworth shoots up out of his slumber.
“Barrows-Side Station, Sheriff Strokes speaking.” Strokes, quickly pulls the phone away from his ear, as the lady on the other ends continues clucking like a chicken. Jonas can tell from the frantic sound she is pleading for her life. Strokes puts the phone back up to his ear. “Mam, please calm down. Where are you right now?” Strokes nods and looks over at Kimsworth. “Mam, stay in your vehicle, help is on the way.”
Kimsworth grabs the shotguns. “I believe the Morse brothers; fairy tale creatures have come to life,” Strokes says, looking over at the brothers. “We will see how much they like a shotgun blast through the face.”
“Sheriff, It's a troll and its large,
” Jonas yells. “We saw it with our own eyes.”
Strokes adjusts his hat then grabs one of the shotguns from Kimsworth and opens the door to the Police Station, “You two stay put,” Kimsworth says. Using the shotgun to point at the brothers, as he slams the door behind him.
“What a dumb shit,” Hayden says. “Like we have a choice.”
“We do and we are getting the fuck out of here,” Jonas says.
Freya's Boutique
Barrows, Alaska
November 18, 2009
8:42 PM
Strokes and Kimsworth come flying down the street with their blue lights flashing. Strokes slams the breaks just in time to see two large creatures run down the alley behind Freya's Boutique. Kimsworth runs off in the same direction of the creatures. Freya, the owner of the expensive little shop, jumps in the path of Sheriff Stroke's breathing and heaving rapidly, only able to point in the direction of the alley behind her shop.
“Mam, calm down,” Stroke says. “We will get the assailants who did this. Did they steal anything?” Strokes walks over to the shattered store front window. The headless mannequin of a child lies on the ground next to an adult mannequin.
“It bit the head right off my store display and look at my store front window, it's destroyed.” Freya switched from breathless scared to ranting anger.
“Freya, please. I will try and get this fixed tonight for you,” Sheriff Strokes, continues to calm the frantic woman. “We have a hunch about these...”
“Thank you, Sheriff,” Freya cuts off, Strokes. “What should I do in the time being about my smashed window?”