Wednesday, March 16, 2011

Volume 6: A Walk in the Park 2

The Host from the South
A Walk in the Park II

By J. Ian Manczur

Albert Joseph woke with a rather nasty kink in the neck. Nix that-- his whole body was sore. The result of a night spent draped over a coffee table. He groaned and swore and swore some more. He cussed with every word he could remember and a few he had forgotten until this passion took him. He cussed with modern slang. He cussed with classics. He cussed archaically. He cussed for generations to come.

He promised, too. A promise to quit drinking. A promise to avoid even a glance at alcohol. A promise to never again wake up on, in, or under any coffee tables, ottomans, hope chests, bathtubs, stairwells, or any variety of the equally uncomfortable sleeping arrangements he regularly decided upon in his many drunken stupors. He promised these on his life, his honor, his mother’s grave, to heaven above, hell below, and any other power that had ever claimed godhood. Finally, he finished as he always did: with a promise that this time, he meant it.

*********************

Outside, John, one of the night watchmen, waited anxiously for the final fifteen minutes of his shift to be over. He looked forward to some sleep, even more so than usual, for later that day his group would be crossing Beuller Park. John wanted to be as pleasantly refreshed as possible before marching to his death.

Thunder clapped loudly and the skies opened for another deluge, the fifth time since his shift began. John hoped it would stick. Heavy rains weren’t a part of the plan. Heavy rains meant reconsideration, delay, maybe even a stay of execution. Hurley would be positively livid if that happened.

John shivered under the barely-protective awning and wrapped his blanket more tightly around himself. Be it rain, sleet, snow, or hail, the night watch must bear through! Ever vigilant: that should have been their motto, or creed. He made a mental note to bring it up at the next meeting. Lightning momentarily illuminated the street and John’s heart sank at the sight. Ever damned was more like the truth. How could they hope to survive against such impossible odds? Against a countless legion? Again an enemy that, intended or not, had successfully laid siege and starved them out? Now they had to travel on the ground again. The park would be death of him and every man, woman, and child who entered it.

Perhaps not, though. Perhaps the rains would dissuade the undead. Or, even better, promote rotting or mold or —the storm suddenly lightened, leaving behind only a faint drizzle— or the rains would clear and he would die.

John glanced at his watch-- six in morning. His shift was over. On cue, AJ rushed through the sliding glass door and vomited over the side of the balcony. Retching—the sweet sound of routine. Of normalcy.

“Yo, Age.” No acknowledgement. “Good morning to you, too.”

With his head still hung over the railing, AJ flipped him the bird.

“Charming. I’m not liking the look of this weather. Think Hurley’ll cancel?”

“Not likely.” AJ wiped his mouth. “Got a smoke?”

John patted empty pockets. “Fresh out. So you don’t think--”

“Hold that thought,” AJ spun and started for indoors. “I’ll be right back.”

John winced as AJ broke the old horror rule. Survival had become his paramount interest and, as everything he had ever been taught no longer applied, he became a slave to his own unhealthy superstitions, fueled by popular culture, old wives’ tales, and paranoia.

*********************

AJ had no such imaginings. His focus was on keeping as close to the former quality of his life as possible. It was with that intention that he crept gingerly between the heaps of sleeping bodies spread out over every inch of the apartment. His ultimate goal was to reach Malcom. More specifically, Malcom’s pack, and even more specifically, Malcom’s cigarettes. It was a daunting task for any soul.

Malcom was an obscenely tall, bespectacled individual with more than a few eccentricities. The quirk most prevalent in AJ’s mind currently was of Malcom’s tendency to sleep sitting straight up in a chair, pack tucked under his feet and ever-present handgun resting in his lap. A warning to thieves. AJ briefly hesitated, heeding the warning only to just as quickly ignore it. However swift to the trigger Malcom may have usually been, his snoring was testament to his current state of sedation. Still, this was a time-sensitive operation. The longer AJ took to find the cigarettes, the more likely Malcom was to wake and do something irrevocably irrational.

AJ reached his hands under the chair, searching for the dark green, medium sized camping backpack. Aside from the main compartment, there were eight additional pouches of various shape and size. Plenty of potential storage spots. The question of which to try first came down to: What sort of smoker was Malcom? Regular, certainly, but rarely on the go. He’d probably keep the side pockets open for more vital items. The cigarettes would be accessible, but not a priority, and somewhere they wouldn’t be crushed…top front pouch.

AJ gripped the flashlight between his teeth and slowly as he thought he could manage lowered the zipper. Damn. Medical supplies. He noticed the snoring had stopped seconds before he felt cold steel pressing against his forehead.

“Chill, Malcom. It’s AJ.”

The hammer drew back.

“Cigarettes. Poker. You owe.”

The gun lifted and a murmur escaped from Malcom’s lips, “Bottom left.”

AJ snatched up a count of six and whispered back, “Thanks, buddy.”

“Fuck off.” Malcom then shifted his weight and fell back asleep. What a crazy bastard.

Next on the morning agenda was to find a light, so AJ headed for the kitchen. Claire was already awake and preparing breakfast, attended by her two inseparable young helpers. Their backs were turned to him as they focused on working. He slipped in quietly.

The kitchen required expert navigation. The linoleum was sticky and peeling. Pots and pans were scattered about. Propane fires were alight. Foodstuffs were stacked haphazardly, and other supplies and garbage littered the floor. John would have had a panic attack.

AJ went straight for the food stock, swiftly and silently obtaining two cans of Paradise Falls Peaches, in heavy syrup. He deposited them in the deep pockets of his coat. Styrofoam cups of coffee lined the formica counter, waiting to be served with the meal. AJ took a cup, sipped it, and placed it back exactly as it had been. The coffee itself was terrible. Watery, probably instant, and now, somebody else’s problem. He lowered a cigarette to one of the fires tasked with boiling water and took two puffs.

List complete, AJ began his retreat. He was proud of his accomplishments, especially that of leaving the girls none the wiser. He carefully opened the door. Almost home free…Almost.

“Albert Joseph!”

AJ whirled, hiding the still-burning cigarette behind his back. “Morning, my love.”

“Don’t you ‘my love’ me! What have I told you about smoking in my kitchen?”

Claire was just out of her teens, but already she was well established as the matron of their clan. She had recognized her own influence early on and promptly dismissed it as a natural product of her faith and unbending loyalty to Thomas, who had become both her religious advisor and surrogate father figure. AJ though, felt that the opposite was true; whatever power Thomas held was actually a result of Claire’s deference to him.

“I don’t--” AJ started his excuse before he was abruptly interrupted by Claire snatching away his cigarette.

She arched her eyebrow. “You were saying?”

He changed the subject. “Hi, girls.”

The older, probably ten or eleven, paused from her whisking. “Hello, Mr. Perry.”

The younger, not much more than a babe, clung to Claire’s dress, hiding her face in its folds.

“Alright, I’ll leave you to your thing, then,” AJ gave a quick wave and turned to go.

“Not so fast, mister.”

“Now, Claire, time is of the essence. I’ve got work to be getting to.”

“John can wait. Empty your pockets.”

“But…”

“Now!” Claire rose to her full height of four feet, eleven inches and stomped her foot. End of discussion. AJ removed the two cans of peaches and placed them on the counter.

“That wasn’t so hard, was it?” She studied both the purloined peaches and his eyes, then made her decision. “You can have one.”

“But the other was for John,” he lied.

“How thoughtful! Tell him, if he wants some, he can come here himself. Otherwise you two are going to have to share. And by the way, take the coffee. Honestly, putting it back? Where are your manners? Now, get going before John has another panic attack. Girls?”

“Bye, Mr. Perry!” both chimed in unison.

AJ quickly departed the scene before Claire could remember anything else that she could berate him about.

*********************

The apartment was a little less crowded by then, as the early risers had risen early. AJ was not harassed as he crossed the rooms to properly start his shift outside. John was still in the same spot as before, lost in thought and melancholy. He let out a heavy sigh as AJ approached, and muttered, “It’s an ill omen.”

With John, life was filled with ill omens. AJ decided to humor him for the moment.

“What is?” he asked, offering John the coffee, and, upon rejection, tossing it off the balcony.

“A crow.” John let out another sigh for emphasis.

AJ could not have cared less, so instead he asked John for a light. The inquiry immediately precipitated a hostile negotiation. John demanded payment on a total of seventeen cigarettes owed through poker and loans. AJ, with skills honed by years and practice, strongly argued his frivolous points.

They reached a settlement, agreeing to an even split of what AJ had just acquired. Two for himself, two for John, and a further two for himself that John didn’t need to know about. They were both satisfied. AJ, bitter at having to part with any at all, was thankful that at least he avoided having to hear more about the crow.

Or so he thought.

“You didn’t even react to my mention of a crow.”

AJ exhaled his smoke. “It’s just a bird.”

“Just a bird?” John looked incredulously at him. “Just a bird, he says. Crows have long been symbols of death, prophets of evil, bearers of unwelcome tidings, portents of doom! Just a bird!”

“John, I’m thirty-two. I’ve seen probably thousands of crows in my time. The devil willing, I’ll see thousands more. Not one has ever prophesied evil, and most certainly none have ever portended doom.”

John sat back against the wall. “The world did end.”

He had a point.

“Alright, what happened with ol’ Nevermore?”

“That was a raven, not a crow, but it doesn’t matter right now. As soon as you left, a crow landed on the railing. Right in front of me. A big, fat, nasty one. It wouldn’t stop staring at me. I couldn’t look at it. And then I did. I gazed right in its eyes and I saw my death.”

“How did you die?” AJ had to admit that he was intrigued.

“Well, I didn’t literally see my death. It was more like…a knowledge of my destiny.”

“Oh.” Asshole. “Where’d the little soothsayer go then?”

“Flew off as soon as you came out.”

“At least there’s some good news, I’m not cursed. Sorry, buddy.” AJ patted John on the back. “Cremation, or burial?”

“How can you joke like that! We’ll be walking into hell in a few hours and a fucking crow lands right there-- Right there! And you have the gall to joke about it? Fuck you!”

“Relax. And watch your mouth. Listen to me, nothing is going to go wrong. The park’s gated. We’ll be in, they’ll be out.” AJ smiled at his own wit. “It’ll be a walk in the park.”

John didn’t seem to enjoy the play of phrase. In fact, it seemed to take him as far from mirth as AJ had ever seen. His eyes smoldered with rage and his brow furrowed with dread, making his overall countenance one of tragic somberness coupled with a grim acceptance of his perceived fell fate. John threw his cigarette to the ground and left to go to bed. AJ let him by without comment. It was better to let John’s tantrums run their own course.

John paused just before the door, “Language evolves, you know.” Always a smug bastard.

“What of it?”

“I guarantee, after today, no one will ever speak lightly of parks again.” He laughed, but there was no humor in it.

“Only time will tell.”

John disappeared inside, with nothing more to say. He had already accepted death.

Back from the Dead

After an extended break, we are proud to announce that new stories will be forthcoming, as well as a compilation of everything so far which will be collected into a single compendium, to be released in the not-too-distant future. Stay vigilant, for the dead never rest.