Pot Roast and Missing the Train

Only three more blocks…
Only three more blocks…
Almost there…just…just keep on…running.
Look back—NO!
Don’t look back. Just keep looking forward. Look at the curve at the end of the street. That’s where you’ll turn left. And then it’s just two more blocks from there. Just two more. Almost there.

It’s quiet…
Quiet?
Yes. Quiet. Where did the sound go? It is as if the world has been put on mute. I could hear myself breathing, and then behind it, suffocating it, the sound of the beast. Now nothing. Is the beast gone? Am I gone too? Are we gone together? Look back now? NO!
Don’t look back. You can still see the end of the street. The curve. Just keep running toward the curve. Get to it. You can still see…
Even if you can’t hear you can still see. Just keep running.

End of the street. Turn left. Tightly. Not tightly enough and it’ll get you. Too loose and it’ll get you. Don’t fall. Don’t trip on your feet. Don’t be clumsy. Not today. Mom’s making pot roast. You love the smell. Can you smell it? It’s calling to you. Get to the pot roast. And water from the fridge. And potatoes with gravy. You’ll have to explain about Steven, but then you can have the pot roast…. You can give some to Penny even though Mom says not to feed her at the table. Today you can feed Penny at the table because you’re going to make it to the table.

It’s very warm. In my heart I feel sharp, burning heat. It’s telling me that I should stop. Just for a second. Just to get my wind back, then I’m off again. My legs are burning too. Whenever I feel like this in P.E I stop. Take a break. Just a short one? A teensy little not even really a break-break?

It’s getting darker. It’s 9:00. It should already be as dark as it’s going to get. But it’s getting darker. Maybe it’s not the sky. Maybe it’s me. Maybe I’m the one getting darker. There’s still blood running down my leg. It’s been bleeding for a long time. A dangerously long time? Should I stop and check? It should have coagulated by now. But it couldn’t because I’ve been running. Because I couldn’t stop. But maybe now? Maybe I can give it just a few seconds of rest and then get home. Maybe it gave up? Perhaps the beast is gone now. Just a small little look back. To check. Maybe it’s not even chasing me even more. Then I’m running for no reason.

NO! NO! For God’s sake NO! Look—only one more block to go. Only five houses before yours. Just a little further and then you’re there. With roast beef and mashed potatoes and gravy and what if the doors locked? Could I possibly have time to ring the doorbell? To find my key? To run around the back and get to that door? It’s getting darker by the minute. The light’s leaving. But not so quickly as the sound did. Maybe I’ll have it until I get home ImusthaveituntilIgethome.

Will I pass out? Is that a possibility? I need to stop. The beast can have me. I don’t care. I don’t want to run anymore. Maybe they’ll have mom’s pot roast in heaven and is quitting a hell-worthy trespass? And if so is Hell really so bad? Is this thing behind me only one in a million in Hell? Will I be able to hear there? Will I want to?

You don’t need to worry about that. You’re almost home. You’re almost there.

Oh. There’s the sound. The snarling is so loud. But not louder than my breathing. Not anymore. Why hasn’t someone come out to tell me to shut up? Or have they? I feel like I’m thinking through a room filled with honey and glue…molasses…other thick, viscous stuff. That smell isn’t mom’s pot roast, it’s not. It’s sulfur. Has Hell already come? I haven’t even given up yet. Or have I? Maybe I have. It’s not such a stretch. I haven’t been losing my vision it’s been losing me…no that’s not right. It’s been being covered up. By shadow. Because Hell is coming and that’s Hell’s shadow. Maybe I gave up a long time ago. This is Hell’s messenger behind me. An escort of souls, not a killer of their hosts. Is that right, sir? Is that who you are? If so tell me so I can stop running. I need to stop running.

Got to my house. The beast’ll have to please bring this up with my mother because I’m getting some pot roast. Hand reaching for the door. Got it. Turn it. Not turning. Stuck? Locked. Locked.

Fists hitting the wood. The stupid wood. Barring entry to pot roast and salvation. Tears running down. Weeping. Frustrated…Sad. How much have I just lost? Turn. Meet the beast. Snarling. Big. Not just big. Gargantuan. Eyes red. Teeth sharp. Too big. Much too big. Naked. Not hairy but naked. Hello beast. For whom have you come? I’m not talking. I’m falling. I’m not giving up I’m succumbing. Do you have a name? A rank? Are you a sentry or a commander? A knight or a pawn? How many places and in which directions can you move? Are you here by way of plan or chaos?

My leg. It burns. Not as much as my heart does. Was that movement behind the curtains? No mom. Don’t come out. Don’t open the door now, it’s too late. I’m on the ground. No way I can get up and inside before the beast…door unlocking. NO! I shout, but I don’t shout. I see the beast above my face. Blocking the door. Open or shut? Opening? Look out the eyehole! Stay back! It’s face is descending. It’s teeth look hungry and it’s eyes look starving and it’s jaw quivers in anticipation. No. Not anticipation. Dislocation. It is dislocating its jaw. Making it bigger. Wider. Enough to accommodate nearly half the body of a twelve year-old boy if I do say so myself. The sound is almost gone again. So is the light. Blocked out by a naked body of giant proportion and demon-characteristics. The red eyes, taking in their fill, are the lights of the world. All the light of the world. Contained into two hungry orbs. Two greedy, evil lanterns. I can no longer feel either, I have just discovered. Is this what Steven felt/didn’t feel? I suddenly feel like laughing at that. But I shouldn’t because Richie started laughing too and oh wasn’t that one of the most creepiest sounds I ever heard. Ha ha. Most creepiest. Laughing, but only in my head. Out loud, too? Maybe. I’m not much aware of the out loud stuff at the moment.

I am aware of a wet and sticky warmth. I am aware of my throat being ripped open, but only with the same knowledge someone has as their sleeping foot is touched. Almost tickly. I am aware, too, of a faint scream. Lots of faint screams. One scream belongs to my mother, but what of the others? The kids from the park? Are they here too? Screaming still, though they must certainly be dead? And even if they weren’t dead why would they follow me here? And behind it all some barking, frantic barking—be quiet, Penny, that won’t help—All in the world of dreams. A world I am about to either enter forever or never visit again.

The creature gorges itself on my dying flesh. Hotter than the usual 98.6 degrees because of my exertions but cooling. Cooling. Perhaps next it will go for my mother. That is not a troubling thought. Nothing is very troubling anymore. Nothing matters… I should have taken a rest much, much earlier.