Scary Holiday Tales to Make You Scream (41 page)

Turk tossed some of his seed mix into the pond, and along the bank. "Heeeere duck, duck ducky!" Peeps and quacks rose sleepily from the tiny houses lining the shore of the tiny lagoon. Turk had built them in his basement woodshop using a design from Audubon.

The sun broke the eastern sky.

Fucking gooks, man! Frankie we gotta get the hell out of here! Fucking gooks are all over us! Frankie, What the hell is that. What the hell are you doing?

"Happy Lemur Day!" Turk shouted. "Hah...hah...hah..."

Officer Pete cruised past Turk's place, stirring up the fallen Myrtle leaves that rested on Acacia Street. They fluttered back to the pavement like down feathers.

"He knows," Pete said to Stones. They were sitting at the closed bar of The Peeping Turtle.

"Who? Turk?"

"Yep."

"Sheee-it, Pete! That old nutcase is about as sharp as a bowling ball."

"I don't give a shit what you think, Stones. He fuckin' knows, and he has a fuckin' mouth."

"What would he do? Tell the geese out at Ferry Point? C'mon, Pete. You're being paranoid."

"Yeah, well I ain't takin' no chances."

"What are you gonna do, Pete?"

Officer Pete shrugged, sighed, stood back from the bar and zipped his pants up. Goldie got to her feet and headed for the Ladies Room. "Gonna make sure he won't talk."

Stones looked at the black light tapestries.

Pete left.

Midnight.

The rain-soaked and shining streets of the small coastal town of Timber Bay reflected the evenly spaced, tri-lobed streetlights that burned from dusk til dawn. The streets were usually empty at this hour.

Except for Turk.

...pick 'em up and put 'em down...puff puff...pick 'em up and put 'em down...puff puff...

Turk flicked a butt into the gutter outside One-Eyed Willie's and lit another.

Nope, not tonight. Gonna go to The Peeping Turtle tonight. Yep. Watch it, Louie! Them fuckers are all over the damn place! Louie! What the hell is that? What the fuck are you doing?

"Happy Lemur Day!" Turk shouted out into the foggy night. "Hah...hah...hah..."

He walked and smoked.

...pick 'em up and put 'em down...puff puff...pick 'em up and put 'em down...puff puff...

Turk walked up to the bar at The Peeping Turtle. Music pounded while some redhead that Turk never looked at bounced up and down on a stool. Joe the bald bartender leaned in with a grin. "Heya, Turk? Howzit hangin'?"

Turk slapped a five dollar bill on the bar with a smile. Eyes on the grain. "The usual Joe!"

Joe returned with a shot of bourbon and two twenty-five. Turk slid the quarter toward Joe and pocketed the bills. "Keep the change, Joe!"

Joe grinned. "Thanks, Turk. One step closer to that Jamaican dream house."

"Hah!" Turk tilted his head back and downed the shot. Then he motioned for Joe to come closer.

Joe leaned in again.

Eyes.

"My old grey cat...Wigglesworth...has been known...to raise the dead," he said. A suspicious look crept across Turk's face, followed by a short, quick nod. "Right now...you have formed a mental image of my cat."

Joe nodded back.

"But I will tell you...Wigglesworth...is not...what you imagine him...to be."

Joe nodded slowly. "You are definitely one in a million, Turk."

Officer Pete sat in a booth across the loud and smoky room, drinking and watching the redhead, then watching Turk and Joe.

Redhead. Turk and Joe.

Nodding heads. Private talk. Turk spun and headed for the door.

"Happy Fucking Lemur Day! Hah...hah...hah..."

He knows, thought Pete. he knows.

Empty stool. Piercing quiet.

Turk rounded the corner into the alley and walked past Stones, who was loading small boxes into the trunk of Pete's cruiser.

Turk marched past.

...pick 'em up and put 'em down...puff puff...pick 'em up and put 'em down...puff puff...

Stones stopped loading and watched Turk disappear into the fog enshrouded alley.

"Happy Lemur Day! Hah...hah...hah..."

"He does know," whispered Stones. "He has to know."

Pete came out the back door. Stones was staring at the fog.

"They in the trunk?" he asked.

"Yep."

Pete started up the car. The window slid down. Stones leaned in, looked down the alley, the way Turk had left. "He knows," Stones said.

"Yep."

5:00 A.M.

"Heeeeere ducky, ducky ducky!" Turk tossed a handful of special mix into the pond in his backyard.

Sleepy quacks and peeps answered his call.

"Mornin' Turk."

Turk wheeled around, startled by the voice that came from his back porch.

It was Officer Pete.

Turk set the bag of mix down, lit up a Marlboro, and walked up his back steps. He and Pete were face to face.

Turk looked at the deck, studying the wood grain.

"Whatcha doin', Turk?"

Turk's right eye twitched. He said nothing.

Awww, get the hell outta here, Turk! They're gonna fucking kill us! You can't take them all out! Save yourself! Forget about us, we're dead! You can't take them all down! You can't take them all...

He popped his head up, looked over Pete's shoulder and gasped. "Louie!" he screamed "Louie the gooks! The gooks, Louie! What the hell? I got your back, Louie! I got your back!"

Pete jerked back, his rump rattled against Turk's back door.

"What the hell are you doing, Frankie?" Turk shouted.

"Cut that shit out!" Pete barked.

Turk's face went from frightened to amused, "Happy fucking Lemur Day!" he shouted. "Hah...hah...hah..."

"Yeah, I got your fuckin' lemur right here, pal." Pete grabbed Turk by the collar and threw him to the deck. In an instant he had his pistol pressed into Turk's left nostril. Turk was shaking, sweating.

"What the hell do you know about my dealin's with Van Stones and The Peepin' Turtle, Turk? And don't you fuckin' lie!"

Oh mommy, help me, help me...Louie! Where the hell are you? Frankie! Where are you?...oh shit, ohshit, ohoshitohshitohshitohshitohit....help me Frankie! Help me!...

"Oh shit," Turk mumbled.

"Yeah, oh shit is right pal."

And Officer Pete squeezed his trigger.

...when they found Turk, he was inside of a large hut. Strewn about the floor like dirty laundry were bodies of several VC. Hands had been cut off, torsos emptied of their contents, heads missing from bodies. Laying on the floor at Turk's feet, was a bloodied Samurai sword. Lining the walls were cages and cages of lemurs. Ring-tailed lemurs. They skittered about in their cages when the squad leader entered the hut.

Turk sat at a table. In his hands was the head of a VC soldier. Perched on the table, picking nits out of the hair of the severed head, was one of the ring-tailed lemurs.

Turk turned to the squad leader. The squad leader had noticed that Turk now possessed the thousand-yard-stare. After a moment, Turk's face brightened with recognition, and he shouted out, "Happy Lemur Day, Sarge! Happy Fucking Lemur Day! Hah...hah...hah."...

Headlines in the Timber bay Times:

LOCAL FIXTURE APPARENT SUICIDE

A house fire in south Timber Bay claimed the life of one of Timber Bay's more colorful residents today. Floyd Ruby, 53, known more affectionately to local residents as "Turk," died in his home early this morning. The fire is still under investigation, but Pete Richards, Chief of Police, said that it appears to have been a suicide.

"We think that he doused his home with some type of accelerant, gasoline more than likely, set the fire, and then took his own life with a handgun while the place burned," Chief Richards said. Richards is in charge of the investigation.

Ruby worked for the City of Timber Bay, as part of their program to help employ the mentally challenged folks of the community. He was the caretaker for the waterfowl at Ferry Point Park. He was a fixture at the park, and could always be seen feeding the ducks and the geese, waving to folks, and keeping the pond clean.

He spent a tour in Vietnam, where he was decorated with the Medal of Valor, the Purple Heart, and this nation's highest honor, the Congressional Medal of Honor. His heroic experiences in Vietnam were documented by author Savanterio Nouveaux in his Pulitzer Prize-winning book entitled "Frankie, Louie, and Me." Shortly after the book was released, Ruby was diagnosed with Post Traumatic Stress Syndrome, and spent eight years in the state hospital in Salem.

"We'll miss him." Chief Richards said.

Three prepubescent boys sat on a picnic bench in Ferry Point Park. Hats on backwards. Flannels wrapped around waists. Skateboards leaning against the bench. They were watching an elderly couple feed the ducks.

"You hear about that crazy old guy?"

"The one used to feed the ducks?"

"Yeah."

"Yeah."

"I heard he was some kind of Vietnam hero, or something."

"Yeah."

There was a honking overhead. A goose. The boys looked up. Mallards swooped in from the purple sky and alighted gracefully on the glasstop surface of the pond. They were followed by a large goose, still honking. The goose landed in the pond with a splash. The gulls flew away.

The massive goose honked, and the boys watched as the other waterfowl swam toward it.

"Biggest fucking goose I've ever seen."

"Yeah."

"Weird colors, too."

Blue body, brown neck, white face.

"Hooooonk!...honk...honk...honk..."

"Loudest fucking goose, too."

The boys chuckled, then skated away.

Pete swung into the alley behind The Peeping Turtle. Van Stones was waiting for him.

The window buzzed down, Van leaned in. "Evenin', Pete."

"Evenin', Van."

"How's Trixie?"

"Same ol' bitch. How's business?"

"Can't complain." Stones pulled an envelope from his back pocket after glancing up and down the alley. He handed it to Pete. It disappeared into the darkness of the patrol car.

Stones lit a smoke. "You hear about Turk?"

"Yep. Damn shame."

Stones coughed out the smoke from his lungs.

The window slid up.

Stones looked over his shoulder at the back door of The Peeping Turtle. Gretel came bouncing out, and got in on the passenger side.

Pete drove.

Stones left the back door open for Gretel's return.

The giant goose waddled through the fog in the alley behind The Peeping Turtle. Stuck its beak in the crack of light along the doorjamb. Opened the door. Waddled in.

A brunette it ignored spun around on the stage. Music thumped. No smoke at floor level. It waddled into Stones' office. Stones had his head buried in a girlie magazine. The goose fluttered up onto the desktop.

FLUTTER FLUTTER FLAP FLAP

Papers scattered. Beer spilled.

"Hooooonk! Honk...honk...honk..."

Stones was face to face with the biggest damn...{goose?}...he had ever seen. "What the fuck is this?" he shouted, looking past the goose and at the door, seeking the perpetrator of the joke. "What the fuck is this shit?"

SMACK!

The goose pecked him hard between the eyes. He toppled backwards, out of his chair, onto the floor.

"Shit!" he screeched. He felt his forehead, blood ran down his temples and into his ears. His fingers penetrated a hole between his eyebrows, sparks of pain flashed in his vision. "Ouch! Fuck!"

"Hooooonk! Honk...honk...honk..."

The goose plopped down on his chest, knocking the air from his lungs. Stones eyes bugged out. He gasped for the air that refused to enter his lungs.

SMACK!

The goose pecked his forehead again...

...and again...

...and again...

Midnight.

Officer Pete cruised down Acacia Street. Turk's property was a mound of black, smoldering charcoal.

Burnt Myrtle permeated the atmosphere.

A large goose waddled along the sidewalk.

A hoot owl watched from a blackened Myrtle tree.

Pete slowed down, squinted. Flicked on his spotlight. Aimed it at the goose.

"Biggest damn goose I ever saw."

Realization crept across his narrow mind. "Must be one of Turk's." Sinisteria replaced realization. A grin etched itself across Pete's pock-marked face.

He swerved the cruiser to the right. Two wheels on the sidewalk. Lined up the goose. Floored it.

The engine revved.

The tires screamed.

The owl hooted.

The goose took off running, large wings flapping in the air, webbed feet barely touching the concrete sidewalk.

"Hooooonk! Honk...honk...honk..."

The cruiser bore down on the waterfowl.

The goose looked back at the approaching machine.

And was crushed.

Pete stepped out of the car. Lights on. Engine idling.

He saw the goose. What was left of it.

Feathers fluttered in the night breeze.

A call crackled over the radio. Garbled gibberish only truckers and cops can understand. Vandals. In Ferry Point Park. Pete flicked on his lights, and headed for Ferry Point.

So did the hoot owl.

Wigglesworth the old grey cat padded down the sidewalk to the heap of feathers and blood and beak that lay sprawled out.

"Meow."

Wigglesworth licked the feathers.

And the blood.

Pete swung his cruiser into the parking lot at Ferry Point Park.

Empty.

He got out. Headed for the pathway. A steel flashlight rested on his shoulder, illuminating the concrete walkway that led around the pond.

The cool night pressed in around him as he walked. Mosquitoes buzzed in his ear. Leaves crackled beneath his feet. He approached the pond. He could smell the algae. There was a splashing. He ran down to the edge of the pond, swooping the light back and forth.

Sleeping ducks. Sleeping geese.

The water swirled.

He stepped to the edge, shining into the depths.

An owl hooted. He shot a glance back over his shoulder, spraying the treetops with the light.