Curse of the Alligator: ACT 1

Too Many Men

This throbbing headache is like a sharp pencil through my brain. I can't tell if I'm in this much pain from sleeping on the floor or from whatever happened last night. My body aches all over, almost crippling. My spine pops in ten different places. I pat myself down, making sure I'm all here. All fingers are accounted for, but why are they red?

This is the living room of Pearl's house. It took a second to remember. He only let me inside for a minute before shoving me into a hole. Even from memory, something is off. A crop circle of footsteps surrounds me. The floor is soaked in blood, like a dumped mop bucket full of blood.

I fade in and out to a point where I can't tell if someone is in the room. My eyes open enough to see a man standing at my heels. I expect a helping hand, but he keeps his distance. My vision is too blurry to make his face, but I can tell he is wearing brown western wear. The man barks an amusing laugh that smells like cigarettes. I crawl to the corner to get away from the voice.

"I see why Pearl was keeping you a secret. That boy is full of surprises. I came here to check on him but found you right in the middle of the plot. You're a long way from Missouri."

"Like two states over." I say in confusion.

"Far enough that someone is looking for you."

"Who is it?"

"I don't know; they drifted into town yesterday. I'm giving you a fair warning, so start getting this mess cleaned before he shows up."

The mystery man steps into the kitchen, careful not to leave footprints. He is gone before I get back up—boots clomp outside the backdoor. As I rise to my feet, my hand leaves a sticky print. I shuffle through the spill, trying to get around the corner to see the mystery in a better light. But he's nowhere to be found.

"Where are you going?" I say, hoping for a response.

The backdoor is completely ripped from the hinges. Anyone could walk in. Broken wood has been blasted into the kitchen. I examine the damage until my memory snaps into place: sharp claws, scales, and large teeth—the alligator.

How often have I woken, and a wake of dread washes over me? It's almost like an impending doom, a dream from that bad hamburger Pearl bought me. The monster is nowhere to be found, but the blood in the living room couldn't be all mine. Strangely enough, I'm not bleeding at all. My clothes weigh heavily, soaked and dripping. The only sores I ever had were from the chains that Pearl bound me with. I didn't want to forget what he had done, so I kept picking at them. Even those cuts healed.

My arm hurt like a buttcheek last night. I keep poking at the bone, searching for a hole somewhere. I grab a rag to plug the wound, but still, I find nothing. The bullet either didn't pierce the skin, or it must not have been buried deep. The piece of metal lodged in my arm could have fallen out. I don't even know what a bullet looks like

Instead, I find the shape of a dinosaur's foot stamped one after another. The tail and belly swept across the floor. The prints lead to the bathroom. My self-destructive curiosity approaches the room, and I press my ear against the door. A faint noise trickles. That's running water, whoa; the faucet was left on. Is the water back?

I knock, no response. Against common sense, I crack the door—a musty odor releases from inside the room. The light shines right on through, and the dark bathroom brightens. Sunlight spots the shower, and the shadow of a shape stirs. I lean in and turn the sink faucet off.

"Pearl."

Behind the shower curtain, the monster looks me in the eye. I'm a deer caught in the alligator headlights. I expect a lunge, a strike, a bite, but nothing. His eyelids fall shut without even moving toward me. The Alligator is sickly pale. I almost scream, but I stop from letting the air out. I cover my mouth so as not to alert him.