Private Monkey Ghost Story

Chapter 9

I grabbed my flashlight and shined the beam around, the light catching the dagger. I scooted over to it, scooped it up, and hefted the weight in my hand. They didn't teach knife fighting in the Army, but the first rule of knife fighting is that you will get cut. Expect it, accept it, and cut the other guy while he thinks victory is his. Don't spin the knife. Don't toss it from one hand to the other. Don't do any lunges showing off. Keep it low, to the side, angled upward, for a slash across their body or arms, or a straight thrust under the ribs.

The Army didn't teach recruits knife fighting. My father taught knife fighting.

I shined the flashlight around in the darkness, looking for whatever was in there. There were broken planks around where I'd landed, and the light shined off of puddles of ice and slush. Water was leaking into the sub-basement from somewhere, and shining my light above me, at the ceiling, showed icicle nubs and full-blown icicles hanging from the steel beams that supported the concrete floor that was covered with dirt in the basement above me.

"MONKEY! WHERE ARE YOU!" sounded from above me.

"IN THE SUBBASEMENT! WATCH IT, THE HATCH IS OPEN!"

A light flashed down, and I moved over to stand in the puddle of the beam.

"You all right?" SFC Vickers asked. "I couldn't get the door open, the wind was whipping down the stairwell.

"Yeah, that seems to fucking happen," I swore, flashing my light around. "My fucking ribs and back hurt." Hey, what was that?

"Just a second," I told him, and walked over. It was a pack of Malboro's, Tandy's brand. I picked it up, opened it up, and lit one with shaking hands. I didn't smoke.

I walked back into the puddle of light from SFC Vicker's flashlight and looked up into the beam, squinting.

"I think he was down here. I found a pack of cigarettes. Malboros," I called up. There was a pause.

"I think I dropped them. I smoke Malboros," SFC Vickers called down. "Toss 'em up, I need a smoke." I slipped three out and put them in my pocket, then tossed the pack up.

"Thanks. Are you all right?"

"Yeah, I said I'm fucking fine. It's cold and creepy down here."

"Can you hang on, we're going to have to get a rope, the stairs are all fucked up," SFC Vickers called down.

Fucker was going to leave me.

"I'll be fine."

"Here. Catch." Something dropped from above, and I grabbed it, dropping the knife. It was one of our two .45′s. I stuck it in the belt of my parka and picked up the knife, sheathing it in my boot, and drew the .45.

"Look, you may have to shoot Tandy, can you do that?" Vickers asked.

"Yes, sergeant. I can utilize lethal force against Private Tandy if I deem it necessary," I said, in formal, clipped tones.

"Good. I'll be right back," he told me, and the light vanished.

Fucker. I checked my watch, and sighed in acceptance. My watch was shattered, broken all to shit by the fall.

Something moved out in the darkness, and I realized I was in the middle of the room, without a wall to my back. I started backing up, figuring the left wall was closer. I could hear something moving, and I could hear the sound of breathing from somewhere in the darkness.

It's just the fucking water heater. Be a goddamn man.

When I bumped into the wall, I jumped, and something dropped on me from above, enveloping me, grabbing my arms and legs, and smothering me. I fired the pistol three times in rapid succession, yelling and struggling. I managed to tear my way free of the grip of my assailant, and fired into its shape on the ground, hearing the bullet ricochet and whine off into the darkness to smash into something.