The Skin Show (3 page)

Miles
shook his head.

Her
sly demeanor turned to a scowling frown. She turned sideways and used that same
wriggling finger to signal someone else. When Miles saw who she’d called, his boner
deflated, pulling his penis so close to his body he thought it might be trying
to burrow itself inside of him.

A
nine foot tall monster that was a medley of swirly colors joined her. Its teeth
were two giant rows of dagger-like chompers. A pair of red eyes, the size of
raisins, sunk back into its cone-shaped skull. Spikes jutted from its back like
gleaming crystals, starting at the nape of its neck and trailing down to its lower
back. Its fingers were long and thin, glowing talons on the tips. Whenever it
moved, colors amended under the shell of its skin like a fiber-optic Christmas
tree.

The
girl started talking as the rainbow giant lowered its head closer. She looked
like a child next to it, but Miles figured the illusion was actually just a guy
standing on stilts, his body hidden under convincing makeup and costuming. 

What
if it’s not?
 

Somehow,
Miles knew it wasn’t trickery. What he was seeing was real.

The
girl pointed. The creature’s head slowly turned to where her finger was directed.

And
Miles realized the finger was indicating him.

The
creature stepped in his direction. Miles fell back as if he’d been kicked under
the chin, screaming. The creature’s heavy feet sounded like punches as it
neared. Miles looked around, saw no one who could help, nothing he could defend
himself with. So he did the only thing he knew to do.

He
ran.

Miles
kicked his feet; they skidded across the gravel until finding purchase. Then he
was moving, heading for the oak tree. If he could get behind it, he’d be far
enough away from the lights, and maybe the creature couldn’t see him in the
dark. He’d stay in the woods, running until he found the road again.

He
was almost at the oak’s leafless branches when he felt a giant hand cuff down
on his shoulder. It gripped, lifted. Screaming, Miles looked down at his
kicking feet leaving the ground. He whacked at the monstrous hand holding him.
It felt wet and slimy and hard, like a cantaloupe coated in honey.

“Please!
Let me go! Please!”

He
felt hot, foul breath on his neck. It had the rotten egg odor of smoke bombs.
Warm dots of spittle dripped on him, sliding down his shirt. The creature was
about to take a bite. He could sense its giant mouth drawing nearer.

Commotion
distracted the creature. Its mouth pulled away. Turning, it held onto Miles,
and he rotated with it. Together, they faced The Skin Show. People were running
around up there. A few screams registered.

Then
the windows burst in fiery flashes. A wall exploded, throwing metal shards into
the fleeing customers. Miles saw the brunt of the blast lift guys and throw
them several yards. Flames reached through the busted windows, licking the
panes.

The
creature roared in his ear, deafening him.

Another
explosion rocked the building, trembled the ground below them. Miles felt
himself going backwards. He landed on top of the creature and rolled off. A
sound of screeching metal and the building collapsed on top of itself, burying
the remaining people scattering around it like ants.

Miles
got to his knees, ready to run, but the creature’s hand latched him by the
ankle. Against the scratchy pain in his throat, Miles screamed again as he was
hoisted into the air. Hanging by the one foot, his head glimpsed wet grass as
he swung this way and that. He continued to rise until his face was nearly on
the same level as the creature’s twisted scowl.

“Put
the boy down.”

Miles
stopped screaming. The creature stopped growling. As the creature turned to
face the man who had spoken, Miles had no choice but to, again, turn with him.
He could feel the blood rushing down into his head, making his skull feel twice
as heavy.

“Now,”
the voice added.

Miles
was disappointed when he saw the man wasn’t Jerry. His regret quickly faded
when he saw the man had a shotgun. Dressed in all black, even his hands
sporting black leather gloves, the only part of his body that wasn’t dark was
the face. He had a matching hat that looked like the kind sheriffs wore, and a
heavy coat with the collars flipped up. The small section of face visible
between the attire belonged to a white man with a face raked in scars. One eye
bulging out from the lumpy scar tissue was solid white, round like a golf ball.
There were hints of gray hair, lightly flapping in the breeze around the ears.

The
creature looked at Miles, then back to the man, as if trying to decide whether
to do what the man had demanded, or just simply kill Miles.

The
ratchet-like clap of the shotgun being cocked made Miles flinch. “Last chance,”
said the man.

The
pressure on Miles’s foot went away as the creature released him. He dropped.
Quickly, Miles tucked his head, landing hard on his shoulder. Had he landed
with all his weight on his head, he’d have broken his neck.

Before
he could look up, he heard the creature roar. An earsplitting burst of the shotgun
brought Mile’s arms up and hugging his head. A moment of silence, then the
creature landed on its back next to Miles. A huge crater was now where the top
half of its oddly-shaped skull had been.

Huffing
for air, Miles looked up. A gloved hand was extended to him.

“Are
you all right?”

The
voice sounded muffled, like the man had asked him with his hand pressed over
his mouth. Miles continued to stare at the mangled face, unable to speak.

“Hey,
snap out of it.”

Miles
blinked, shook his head.

“There
you are,” said the man. “Are you all right?”

“I-I-I…I
think so.”

“Can
you walk?”

Miles
nodded, his arms still hugging the top of his head like a helmet.

“Good.
Take my hand.”

Miles
reached up, grabbing the leather-bound hand. It was cool and slick in his grip.
The man helped Miles to his feet. He brushed off Miles’s back.

“What…happened…?”
asked Miles, looking around through eyes that had trouble focusing.

“I
blasted the place. We’ve got to get moving. I didn’t get them all. They’ll be
coming for us.”

“Wha…?”

“Let’s
go.”

The
old man moved at a rapid pace that was surprising to Miles. He kept up, but
barely. Any moment, Miles expected another one of those creatures to pop up,
but none did.

As
they hurried up the dirt road, stopping at an old black muscle car, a tumult of
inhuman shrieks lit up the night.

“Shit,”
snapped the man.

He
unlocked the passenger door, then opened it. “Get in, quick. They’re coming!”

Miles
jumped into the car, reached across the seat, and unlocked the other door. It
yanked open before Miles had even pulled his hand back.

“Hold
this!” shouted the man, passing him the shotgun.

The
weapon was a like a heavy metal branch in his lap. It was slightly warm from
recent use.

“Buckle
up!”

Miles
did. The man crammed the key into the ignition and twisted it. For a moment,
Miles was convinced the car wouldn’t start. It’d be like in the movies Miles
stayed up late to watch. Just as you thought the good guys were going to get
away, a failing car kept them in harm’s way.

The
roar of the engine silenced Miles’s fear. They sped away, leaving The Skin Show
burning and collapsing in the distance with those awful wails reverberating
through the night.

Andy
Raab had just squirted strawberry syrup into a glass of milk and was about to stir
it with a spoon when he heard faint scuffling at his back door. Being a small
house, his compact kitchen was located next to the living room, within earshot
of both the front and back doors.

He
wondered if a raccoon had wandered up on the back deck. He’d sat two trash bags
outside the door, promising himself he’d carry them to the can in the morning. Wouldn’t
be the first time raccoons had gotten into the trash.

Someone
knocked, loud enough to be heard, yet politely discreet.

Who
the hell?

Checking
the clock on the microwave, he saw it was almost one in the morning. There was
never a good reason for a late night visit, unless it was a booty call and,
sadly, Andy hadn’t had one of those in almost a year. Sure, he’d gotten laid
plenty of times, but being thirty-five, he thought himself too old for a late
night quickie.

But,
if I open the door to one of my oldies wanting some fun…

Hell
yes, he’d go for it.

Andy
headed for the back door: a double glass set with multiple panes. Usually doors
like this opened onto nice patios. But, his only opened to a roofed deck with
loose boards that needed replacing.

The
switch for the outside light was beside the door. He flicked it on. He could
see the small shape of a woman through the blinds hanging over the glass. Something
was familiar in its stance: shoulders slightly slumped, head low as if
suggesting lack of confidence.

He
twisted the deadbolt back, then the lock on the knob, and opened the door. The
smell of cigarette smoke wafted in with the humid June breeze.

Nicole.

“Did
I wake you up?” she asked.

Nicole
stood outside, wearing a pair of plaid lounging shorts and a black tank top
that was a little loose. The seam hung low, showing the slants of her breasts
and the tight valley between them. No bra. Her hair was a little mussed,
hanging over her shoulders. The tips looked tousled together, as if she’d been
sleeping, climbed out of bed, and came right over.

This
couldn’t be good.

“No.
I was uh…” He thought back to the unstirred glass of strawberry milk on his counter,
the COMP TIA certification book on the bed he was going to stay up late and
study with. “I was up.”

She
raised a cigarette to her mouth, sucked in a drag, and perched her lips out to
the side to blow the smoke away from him. “Can I come in?”

“Of
course…” He stepped back so she’d have space to enter. “You’re alone?”

“Yeah…”

As
Nicole stepped by him, Andy wondered where Danny was, and why she was here in
the wee hours of the morning without him. “Where’s my brother?” He shut the
door, flipping the deadbolt back into place.

“I
don’t know.”

Andy
sighed. A familiar story. “Ah. Okay. Want to sit down?”

She
looked at her cigarette and gasped. “Shit! Sorry Andy, I forgot to put it out.”

“It’s
okay.”

“No,
it’s not. You don’t need your house smelling like cigarettes again. You’ve done
such a good job quitting. I don’t want you to be tempted.”

On
that last word, Andy glanced at her tanned legs. He quickly looked away. “It’s
fine. I still have some gum left if I feel the need.”

“You’re
sure?”

“Yes.
Can I get you anything to drink?”

“Whatever
you’re drinking is fine.”

Andy
smiled. “Strawberry milk?”

“You’ve
got to be kidding.”

He
pointed at the counter. Looking past him, she smiled. She must have seen the
glass, the pinkish colored milk, the spoon sitting inside and leaning to the
side.

Nicole
nodded. “Sure.”

“Have
a seat. I’ll make you a glass.”

“Okay.”

As
she got comfortable, Andy rushed about the kitchen. He finished mixing his
glass, then made another for Nicole. He took a plastic cup down from the
cabinet, filled it halfway with water, and set it with the milks. Then he
carefully carried all three into the living room.

Walking
around the couch, he spotted Nicole’s legs right away. She had leaned back on
the couch, crossing the right over her left knee. Her already short shorts
pulled back even more on her thigh. She could have been wearing only panties
from how much leg was exposed. Averting his gaze, he looked her in the eye and
smiled. “A drink for the lady.”

Laughing,
Nicole took one of the milks. “Can’t believe I’m about to drink strawberry
milk. I don’t think I’ve had any since I was a kid.”

“And
here’s an ash tray,” he said, passing her the half-filled cup of water.

“Ah,
thanks.” She took it. Leaning forward, she put both feet on the floor and
secured the water cup between her bare feet. Andy wondered if she’d come over
barefoot, but noticed her flip-flops on the other side of her.

He
wanted to sit beside her, but figured it was best if he took the chair to her
left. So, he did. He sipped his milk. It tasted sweet and delicious. Wiping the
milk moustache off his lip, he said, “So…” He frowned, not sure how he should begin.
Unable to think of any other way than just bluntly asking her, he shrugged. “Is
everything all right?”

Nicole
liked the milk. She guzzled it halfway down before answering. “I don’t know.” She
leaned over to put the milk on the end table separating the furniture. Her tank
top hiked up to her ribs, exposing a range of dusky skin, the jut of her hip
bone. Sitting up, she adjusted the shirt. Andy felt disappointed, and a little
ashamed, she’d covered herself.

“You
can probably guess why I’m here,” she added.

“I
imagine it has something to do with Danny.”

“Ding-ding,”
she said without humor. “That would be correct.”

“So
what’s going on?”

“I
really don’t know,” she said. “I just thought if I came here…maybe you could
help me figure it out.”

Andy
studied Nicole. She looked exhausted. The heaviness in her eyes easily showed
that. He also sensed heavy frustration, confusion, and lots of anger. “Is Danny
in some kind of trouble?”

Wouldn’t
be the first time
.