Letters From the Labyrinth 385

"Nine Lives", or, Greetings From Death Valley, Pennsylvania

Saturday afternoon as I write this, and Central PA is in the squelching and oppressive grip of a wretched heatwave — the kind that makes your eyeglasses steam up when you walk outside, and makes wild animals hunker down beneath a bush, and makes fish stay at the bottom of the river, and makes your underwear ride up even if you’re not wearing underwear. It’s a malignant, corpulent, and annoying sort of weather — the meteorological equivalent of a conversation with Patrick Tomlinson.

It’s too hot to write, too hot to operate this bookstore, and too hot to do much of anything really, including shaping this week’s newsletter into something worth reading. And yet, that’s exactly what I’m sitting here trying to do. Normally this space would have an essay of some sort, but the truth is, folks, I’ve been in a bad place this week. As I wrote elsewhere, grief is like cancer, in that you’ll think you’re in the clear, but all that time it’s lying dormant, ready to metastasize again. Folks deal with it in their own way. I, for example, like to occasionally punch walls. That might not work for you, but know that you’re not alone. I’m here, too.

Anyway, it’s difficult to write anything hopeful or uplifting or even funny when you’re in that sort of mindset.

So…

How about a short story instead?

CONTENT WARNINGS: The following short story contains profanity, gore, and a small bit of animal violence. Reader discretion is advised. If you want to scroll right past the story, you can. No harm, no foul. You’ll know you’ve passed the story when you see the big red vampire face glowering at you.

For those of you who are okay with that content, here is “Nine Lives”…

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NINE LIVES

Lisa knew before it happened that Bobby would run over the cat. The calico appeared up ahead of them, halfway across the two-lane road, frozen in place, watching in wide-eyed terror as the truck raced toward it. Running back the way it had come wasn’t an option, as there were cars coming from that direction, as well.

Run, she thought. Run, little guy!

Instead of running into the cornfield alongside the road, the cat remained where it was, tense and resigned. In the last second, Lisa noticed that its belly was hanging low to the ground. Then it disappeared from sight. There was a sickening crunch as the front passenger-side tire rolled over it, followed by another horrifying bump a second later as the back tire did the same.

“Woo!” Bobby took one hand off the steering wheel and pumped a fist in the air. “Ten points, baby!”

She stared at him in horrified revulsion.

Bobby glanced in the rearview mirror and grinned. Then he turned to her. “Guess he didn’t have nine lives, huh?”

“You’re a fucking asshole.”

“Aw, come on, Lisa. Don’t be like that.”

“Fuck you. Why would you do that?”

He shrugged. “It was just a cat. No different than running over a groundhog or a possum or a squirrel.”

“Why would you run those over, either?”

Instead of answering, he simply stared straight ahead, arms stiff.

“Asshole,” she muttered again. “I hate you.”

With an exaggerated sigh, Bobby pumped the brakes, nearly sending Lisa headfirst into the dashboard. Then, he swerved hard, pulling over to the side of the road. He turned to her, and she flinched at his expression.

“Get the fuck out.”

“W-what?”

“You heard me.” He leaned toward her, and for a moment Lisa thought he was going to hit her. Instead, he reached past her and opened the door. “Get the fuck out.”

She stared at him. The truck shook slightly as cars zipped past, and stalks of corn swayed back and forth. Lisa flinched at the repeated sound of other tires rolling over the dead cat.

“Bobby—”

He shoved her. “Fucking go, bitch!”

Lisa caught herself before she could tumble to the ground. Slowly, she clambered down from the cab and stood there. Her ears rang and her hands trembled. Still expressionless, Bobby yanked the door closed.

“Fuck you, Bobby Massinger!”

She gave him the finger, then turned and marched away. Too late, she realized that she was walking toward the cat. She couldn’t unsee it. The animal’s head was crushed and its stomach had burst open. Guts dangled from the rupture, and something…

No!

Lisa screamed.

Scattered across the pavement were eight fetuses. She remembered the distended belly. The cat had been pregnant.

Shrieking, she clawed at her face and turned away, stumbling to the edge of the field. Then, she sank to her knees and clawed at the earth, instead.

“Lisa!”

She hear the truck door open and then slam close. Bobby’s tone was a mixture of belligerence and worry.

“Lisa, what the hell are—?”

A truck horn blared.

Lisa glanced up in time to see Bobby thrust out one arm, as if to ward it off, and then a tractor trailer slammed into him. If he had time to scream, she didn’t hear him. One second, he was there. The next… he was everywhere, reduced to red paste and pink mist and a confetti-like explosion of flesh and organs. Air brakes hissed and the trailer shuddered and jolted as the driver struggled for control. Before the truck halted, Lisa began to laugh.

“Guess you didn’t have nine lives, either, did you asshole?”

She was still laughing when the first responders arrived on the scene. By then, it was impossible to tell which smears on the road were Bobby’s and which belonged to the cats.

* * *

“Nine Lives” was written for my Patreon subscribers a few months back, and has not appeared elsewhere until now.

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Due to popular demand from collectors, I’m happy to announce that a Lettered Edition of WITH TEETH is now available for order from Thunderstorm Books. It’s in stock and will ship right away. This edition is limited to 52 copies. It is signed by me. Red cover foil and frontis art by Alex McVey. The cost is $150. You can get your copy here.

(And before you yell about that, remember that this is an edition produced specifically for the collectibles market, and you can get a paperback copy right now on Amazon for $13, and a Kindle edition for five bucks).

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Currently Watching: When Trumpets Fade (Max), The Boys season 4 (Prime) and Mayor of Kingstown season 3 (Paramount+)

Currently Reading: Anybody Want to Play War by Tommy B. Smith

Currently Listening: “Blurry” by Puddle of Mudd and “Blurry” by Hardy

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And that does it for this week. Thanks, as always, for reading. I’ll see you back here again next Sunday.

— Brian Keene