Harry, Down the Drain
Harry, Down the Drain
As Harry charges toward the blue corpse of the creature, the same metallic sound cuts through the night like a buzzsaw, it’s dispersal of the air blowing through harry’s close-cropped hair. The two supernatural powerhouses collide with a crack sending another blast of air at the onlookers, but for a strong start, it turns awry for Harry immediately. The creature’s claws dig into his sides as she lifts him above her head and throws him into the Lincoln that’s still running in the middle of the highway.
Harry’s body smacks against the vehicle denting in the side and tipping the car over as harry flips over the top. The creature looks at the car for a moment, her hideous smile dripping with saliva and blood, and then turns back to the group of kids and starts moving toward them.
“Of fuck,” Brad says.
“Get behind the truck,” Charles instructs, checking the shotgun.
From behind the truck comes a cry of despondence. “My Car!” The professor steps from the back of the truck. “God damn it!”
“Dad!” Angleica yells to him.
“Oh honey, are you okay?” he asks running up to her and putting his arms around her. He wipes her hair out of her face so as to get a good look at her.
“I’ve had better days,” she tells him.
“I bet you have,” her father responds. “There’s coffee and blankets in the back of the truck. You and your friends go rest up.”
“Rest?” She looks at him in awe, “That thing is still coming at us!”
“What? What about Harry?”
“It killed him!” She cries.
“I sincerely doubt that,” he says and then yells toward Harry. “What the hell did you do to my car?”
From behind the smashed up car comes Harry’s disappointed voice, “Nope, I’m fine. Thanks for the concern!”
“Well it’s still coming this way, so, hit it or something!” The Professor yells.
“Hit or something, he says,” Harry grumbles, brushing glass off his shoulders and walking toward the creature. “Hey! Naked Chick!” He yells to the creature.
The creature stops and without moving her body twists her head and maniacal grin back toward him.
“What the shit is this thing, Professor?” Harry shouts. “It’s not infernal.”
“No, it isn’t,” The Professor responds to him.
“You could have warned me!” Harry cries out, charging the creature grabbing her around the waist and whipping her back tossing her toward the car. Harry’s throw doesn’t send her as far and she lands on her feet like a cat in front of the vehicle. “Great, that’s embarrassing,” he says.
“He’s not going to be able to stop it,” Charles says to the professor grabbing his hand. “We all have to get out of here immediately.”
The Professor looks at Charles for a moment, and then at the group of kids. “Ideas! I need Ideas!” The Professor looks at Buster in the cab who just shrugs his shoulders. He looks at Thelonious, still praying over his bowl. Thelonious looks back and shakes his head. He then looks at Charles.
“My goto is normally the gun, but I’m guessing that it’s not going to have much effect seeing how I hit it with the car at about 80,” Charles says, answering the desperation in the Professor’s eyes. “Maybe if we could figure out what it wants, figure out its motive?”
“We don’t have time for that, Charles,” the Professor says, his chin falling to his chest.
“No, he’s right,” Thelonious chimes in not taking his eyes from the bowl of water in his hands.
“I can sense confusion from it,” Thelonious continues, “it has a purpose but it is just confused as to what that purpose is. The monk squints his eyes. “It has another purpose, but the body remembers it’s life. The creature is confusing the body’s life and it’s purpose.”
“Ohh crap!” echos through the night air as harry is throw again down the road toward the group, bouncing across the pavement as he approaches.
“I can make the body forget,” Thelonious says.
Harry springs to his feet. “I’m okay!” he yells, answering nobody’s question.
“How?” The Professor asks the monk.
“With a spell, it will take a matter of seconds, but in order to do it, I will have to drop the seclusion spell,” Thelonious responds.
Harry runs back toward the corpse creature, this time kicking it in the gut as she goes crashing back through the front windows of the T-Birds store. “That’s better,” Harry pants in victory.
“And what will that do?” The Professor asks.
“Maybe nothing, or maybe it will allow them to find Harry,” Thelonious answers, with an emphasis on the word ‘them’. “I just don’t know.”
A piece of wood is thrown from the shattered front entrance of the store as the creature walks out of the destruction and immediately starts running toward the group.
“Just do it!” Harry shouts, looking back over his should. “I’m not going to be able to do much other than slow this naked ugly chick down!”
The professor thinks for a second then nods to Thelonious.
The monk stops staring at the bowl and looks up at the creature with the horrifying rictus charging toward them. He puts his hand directly in the bowl of water and mumbles, “memoria damnum, subsisto quaerere”. The creature stops. Her smile remains, but her brow drops ever so slightly. Then, with no indication, she looks up at the stars, looks back at the monk with a bigger smile, and slowly walks into the forest. All of them watch in silent awe as what was once Biscuit disappears into the brush.
The silence is broken by a crack of thunder with no lightning through the night air. The Professor quickly looks at Thelonious. The monk nods his head down and starts praying over the bowl of water again.
“In the truck,” The Professor demands as Charles herds the kids in. Thelonious and Harry move to the back of the truck.
“You’re not coming?” Harry asks.
“No, I’ll catch a different ride,” The Professor answers.
Angelica pops her head out of the back of the truck with a blanket over her shoulders and a steaming paper cup of coffee. “Dad, your not coming?”
“No I need to finish up here, Honey,” he answers, “I’ll meet you back at the house.” He slaps the side of the truck and Buster gets the truck moving.
Thelonious and Harry hop in the slowly moving truck gently forcing Angelica away from the door. Harry leans his head back out, looking to the Professor, “Thank you for handling this, Professor. I’ll keep a light on for ya.”
“Don’t worry about it,” The Professor assures him waving him off dispassionately as the truck gains speed and whisks away around the corner.
The professor reaches in his jacket’s breast pocket and pulls out two cigars. Again, he hears the crack of thunder with no lightning, and from the darkness of the shadows around him a man in a black suit steps from the blackness.
“Good evening, Jonathan,” the man says. His skin is light, almost grey, with a finely trimmed beard and mustache.
“Oh, what are you doing here, Incubus?” The Professor feigns surprise. He offers the demon one of the cigars.
“Very funny, John,” Incubus replies, reaching up his grey hand with pointed black, perfectly manicured nails and taking the offered cigar.
Both the men put the cigars in their mouths as Incubus passes his had over each one and the tips start to smoke.
“It must be nice to not have to carry so much shit around in your pockets” The Professor states.
“You know I like you, Jonathan. The enemy of my enemy and all that,” Incubus says, drawing heavily on the cigar.
The professor drops the niceties, “What do you want?”
“How many times must we have this conversation? You know what I want. I want Harry back.” Incubus says with an almost undetectable amount of joy in his voice.
“Well, he isn’t here,” The professor says through an exhale of thick, bitter smoke.
“He was here. I felt him,” Incubus puts a hand on his chest and closes his eyes. He inhales deeply through his nose. “And I can smell the stench of Chaos from the other world, so I can pretty much assume I know what he was doing here.”
“Not that I know where he is, but what do you assume he was doing here?”
“Bailing you out of a mess,” Incubus says flatly, staring The Professor in the eyes. “You or maybe your transgressive lover, that Charles. Oh, I do like him, such an interesting combination of nobility and sin.” Incubus pauses, still looking directly into The Professors eyes with his orange irises. “Or maybe helping a daughter, John?” He asks.
“You leave her out of this. She has nothing to do with anything,” The professor states defensively, not able to shake the demon’s gaze.
“Oh don’t worry, John,” Incubus croons, “She’s the only truly good one in the lot of you. I don’t think I could touch her if I tried thanks to your other little friend,” the demon’s voice starts as a pleasant coo but slowly turns into an animalistic growl as he says, “but I am not the type of man that rewards good deeds or the type of man that forgets transgressions and I want Harry.”
The professor wants to look away, but can’t break the leer of Incubus.
“I will get him eventually. We both know that,” the demon continues, “and I will be seeing you and your little hubby again too.” He winks and the staring contest is broken. “Have a good night, John.” Incubus walks away down the street in the direction of the truck, disappearing into the shadows with another lightning-less clap of thunder.
Gripping the cigar with his teeth, The Professor reaches in his pocket and pulls out his phone. He dials and waits for the ring. There’s a click as the phone is answered, but no salutation hello, only silence.
“I’m ready to be picked up” he sighs into the phone.
“Yes, sir,” from the other end, “Fifteen minutes out.”
“Okay,” and the Professor hangs up. He dials again.
“Fort Hoag Reception, How can I help you?” from the other end.
“I need to speak with Brigadier General Higuchi,” The Professor tells the receptionist.
“I’m sorry sir, the Brigadier General is not available”
“Well, find him, wherever he is, and tell him John Wateley Called. Sierra, Oscar, Sierra, Victor,” The Professor mumbles and hangs up the phone. He returns the phone to his pocket, sits down on the pavement finishing his cigar, and waits for his ride.