Karma

Some things demand an explanation.

Karma - 1111

         Glace swaggered through the cars parked around the Battonville Dance Hall that Saturday night, knowing that there’d soon be some drunken ‘marks’ deserving of his ‘personal’ attention. He’d use his 6’6” height and 300 pound bulk to bully the over indulgers into giving up their valuables rather than face the inevitable beatings that’d follow if they resisted.

         Whether it was the pleasure he took in the physical contact of abuse, or the humiliation that he heaped upon his victims that kept him slinking through the dark spaces of his territory didn’t matter he thought, the result was always the same; his pockets full of purloined valuables, and what he viewed as extorted ‘respect’ from his victims.

         He’d been warned about Battonville, as legends of mysterious disappearances from that area had spanned nearly 50 years of history. However, in other towns his own prowess over the past several years of strong-arm successes had confirmed that he was virtually unstoppable. He could raid at will. Still, he marveled at the fact that this area had remained virtually crime free during that period, but chuckled at the thought that tonight would change all that.

         An overcast night, the full moon struggled to peek through the clouds to reach the land below; perfect for his well-polished ‘operation’. His victims wouldn’t appreciate the efficiency of his routine, but that was no requirement for his continued plundering.

         Late night, there were few revelers left to target, and Glace was frustrated by customers leaving in groups. Although he’d vehemently deny that he was cowardly, he preferred to single out lone, intoxicated victims; just smart ‘business’ he figured.

         It would seem, he thought, that the locals still took the ‘disappearing’ people legend quite seriously, and moved in groups rather than alone. He was certain however, that alcohol and other judgement-impairing substances would make even the most conscientious reveler careless from time to time; that was what he was waiting for.

         Glace was an ‘apex-predator’, an expression he’d heard in some long-forgotten documentary on TV. Opportunity, that’s what he waited for, and although it took a great deal of patience, frustration ruled his lack of opportunity this night. Reluctantly, he might have to actually venture out of the shadows and make something happen. If there was any resistance, he was confident that his bulk and brute strength would take the day (or night as the case might be). The more resistance he encountered, the greater the pleasure he got in crushing it.

         Finally, near the edge of the darkened parking lot he spied a small, female figure slipping out of the shadows towards the remote side of where he was hiding. Perfect, he thought. He was at an angle to intercept her and draw her into the darkness, out of the sight of the dim lights and the remaining customers.

         Moving carefully through the undergrowth, Glace congratulated himself on learning stealth despite his size, creeping quietly to a point in the brush that would intercept the fragile figure. ‘Piece of cake’, he thought. A quick glance revealed he was now alone with the figure, and a swift grab would propel him and his prey back into the darkness, where he could complete his attack.

         Curiously, there was no vehicle left in the lot she might have been returning to, and could mean she was expecting a ride. Maybe a problem, but if he pulled her deep enough into the woods and prevented her from calling out, he could still complete his robbery and escape.

         The snatch had been textbook, catching her completely by surprise, his massive hand over her mouth silencing her at once. She was unexpectedly light, allowing him to carry her quickly into the dense forest behind the bar. Initially, there was no resistance and he was somewhat disappointed there wasn’t at least token resistance to his attack. Beating was an integral part of his challenge in the whole process, and he was angry she’d deprived him of this singular pleasure.

         The ease with which he’d captured his prey bothered him for some reason, as if she’d wanted this to happen, but Glace was focused on his goal; take whatever valuables she had, beat some respect into his victim, and disappear. No death, no overt torture, nothing to bring too much attention to the incident. It’d worked well over the past few years and kept him under the radar of excess scrutiny.

         Releasing his grip on her, he suddenly felt the piercing pain of teeth sinking into his thigh. Reflexively, he swung his heavy arm in a loop to dislodge what he thought was his victim’s mouth from his body, but encountered a hard carapace only remotely resembling a skull. Confused, he gripped the ‘skull’ and tried to pry it from his thigh, but to his horror, he felt fiery fluid flooding into his body.

         The strength he’d depended upon to save him from failure drained from his body as he desperately looked for escape. The figure was unshakable, and voracious. He glanced down in terror to see his numb legs dissolving, to be siphoned up in the proboscis of some horror. The dissolution was continuing up his legs into his thighs, inexorably making its way into his hips.

         Helpless, yet captivated, Glace faced the ultimate reward for his plundering vocation over the years. How it was happening wasn’t quite what he expected, but the end result was the same, none-the-less. What was really surprising however, was that he was still conscious as it took place.

         In a way, it also explained why the area had remained crime free for so long, although his time for reflection was quickly coming to an end.

         Finally, able to rid 'Itself' of the façade that enabled 'It' to entice and snare 'Its' meal, 'It" slowed 'Its' feasting long enough to relish 'Its' catch.

         It had been a long while before a suitable meal had taken 'Its' bait, and that had actually delayed 'Its' move to a more fruitful district. The meal always sought 'It' out. 'Its' bait, or façade, was always the same; a waif, helpless and alone.

         The bait, having been taken for whatever reason, was the singular act of providing the physical contact to allow it to drop the façade and begin 'Its' feeding. The end result was every mothers dream; an absolutely clean plate; no remains.

         The presence of the ‘thing’ ensured that violent crime no longer existed in Battonville, but the citizens casually referred to their good fortune as ‘Karma’.

         Karma, so Karma was its name. Although the townsfolk didn’t recognize it as such, as long as 'Its' ‘bait’ returned results, the lawlessness remained.

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