SFSD-X Short Story Smackdown

6.4 Win a Few, Lose a Few

At least he had a shirt on underneath, I thought as I took off running down the street. I didn't have my car keys and wasn't going back in the house to get them. Past my aunt's house, there was a trail through the woods that came out in town. I jumped over the fence and kept running.

A wide hunter's tarp covered several lumpy objects about waist high just inside the woods. I slowed, curiosity taking control.

A quick peek revealed what I feared: abandoned motorcycles. And I knew where the owners were. This trail went through the trees for about fifteen minutes and arrived at the back of Le Lounge, the sleaziest dive this side of the Appalachians and where my aunt liked to hang out playing pool. AND PICKING UP HER NEXT VICTIM.

I couldn't be too dramatic about the whole situation, though. Murders happened. Every family had at least one embarrassment. Dirty laundry and skeletons in the closets. I needed a drink.

I had no wallet, no phone and no car. Normally I needed to be at work in ten minutes. So I didn't have much time to stand around freaking out about my aunt's illicit pastime. I broke into a steady jog and made it to Le Lounge in record time. It was actually open already. Or it hadn't closed, by the looks of the patrons.

"Excuse me, have you seen Jordi Smith? She's fifty, about this tall—"

The grungy bartender pointed without bothering to look up. Aunt Jordi was in a dark corner wrapped, like an OCTOPUS, around a Santa Clausesque gentleman.

"Sorry for interrupting, but I need to talk to you now, Aunt Jordi. In private," I said. She blinked up at me, not placing me immediately.

"I'm Mikey, remember? This is about the basement," I said.

She unwound her arms and legs and tried to stand. "Did you open the door? I told you not to open the goddamm door."

"Buy me a whiskey and then we have to get out of here. We need to talk."

I used her phone to call my boss while she asked for a shot of their cheapest whiskey. It burned viciously all the way to my gut. A little liquid courage would have to go a long way this morning.

"Let's go." I got my aunt into her car, told Mr. Claus that whatever escapades my aunt had promised, he was better off not experiencing them and drove back to her house. During the drive, she assured me that the things I had seen – corpse, tentacles – and heard – splats, ripping, swishing – could all be explained. She passed out as I pulled into the drive.

I had to get a few things in order to leave. My clothes, cash, wallet, laptop and fingerprints off the basement doorknob, for example. Aunt Jordi had mentioned heart attacks and toys to explain the weirdness inside.

Which made a lot more sense than serial killer stalking and monsters in the basement. Sparks flashed at the edges of my vision and the house disappeared, replaced by the huge, floating baby. The sun was rising behind a distant planet, bathing the baby and the black space station around it in golden light. More sparks flashed and I rubbed my eyes trying to clear them.

A floating mega baby was better than my normal saints-to-be being nailed to various trees and posts or having their fingernails torn off. A goat with a metal mask and glowing, green eyes bleated at me from the porch and turned into a puff of smoke.

This migraine was going to be a doozy. I had better call my boss back and tell him I wouldn't be late; I wasn't coming in.

If there was no creepy, tentacled monster in the basement, and simply a heart-attack victim on the kitchen floor, I could reasonably go inside to collect my things. Aunt Jordi would be on her own to explain things to the authorities.