American Monsters by Derek Landy
“Seventeen tomorrow, actually.”
“Well, happy birthday for tomorrow, then. And you’re young – you’ve got the rest of your life ahead of you. You’ll be fine.”
“And how old are you?”
“Turned seventeen three months ago,” Clarissa said, grinning. “There’s no hope for me.”
They ate, and chatted, and Clarissa used the bathroom twice because of all the Sprite. Then Amber paid and they left the diner, emerged into the night air. They looked around, a little awkwardly, before Clarissa wiggled her eyebrows.
“Hey,” she said, “thanks for the food.”
Amber gave her a thumbs up, then felt stupid. “Sure,” she replied.
Clarissa nodded to the Charger. “Don’t suppose there’d be any room in that car for one more, would there? It gets pretty lonely out here and … Naw, forget it. The look on your face says it all.”
“I’m sorry,” said Amber.
“It’s fine,” Clarissa said, waving her hand dismissively. “It was a crappy thing to ask.”
“No, it wasn’t,” said Amber, “and I wish I could say yes. But the last person to hitch a ride with us … it didn’t end too great for him. We have a habit of getting into trouble.”
“I’m used to trouble.”
“Not like this you’re not.”
Clarissa shrugged. “Hey, forget it. Thanks for the food, and I’m sorry I tried to steal your bag.” She started walking.
Amber called after her. “Where you going?”
“Moving on,” Clarissa said, turning and walking backwards. “I’m that little doggy, y’know the one? Wherever I go, I make a new friend? That’s me.”
“Where are you sleeping tonight?”
Clarissa spread her arms wide. “The world is my bedroom.”
“I thought the world was your bathroom.”
“It can get messy, I’m not gonna lie.”
“I’ll get you a room here.”
Clarissa laughed. “No, Amber, really, it’s fine.”
“Why not?” Amber said. “They’re cheap rooms, Clarissa, and I have the cash. What, you’ll take food off me, but not a bed for the night?”
Clarissa stopped walking, but shook her head. “I have principles.”
“Do your principles hate pillows?” Amber asked. “One night where you can sleep in a bed, behind a locked door? One night when you’re safe? Are you really going to turn that down?”
“Safety does sound nice …”
“Come on,” Amber said. “I’ll even get you a room with a shower.”
“A shower?” Clarissa said, skipping back to Amber. “For realsies?”
“For realsies.”
“Golly!”
They stepped into the manager’s office and Amber got Clarissa a room key.
“Meet you for breakfast in the morning?” Clarissa asked, swinging the keychain around her finger.
“We’ll probably be gone by then,” Amber said. “We tend to leave early.”
“Oh,” said Clarissa. “Well, okay then, so I guess this is goodbye.”
“Guess it is.”
They looked at each other.
“You’re a really nice person, Amber.”
“And you’re pretty cool.”
They hugged, and Clarissa went to her room and Amber strolled back to hers. But, right before she slid the key into the lock, she heard the fluttering of clothes from somewhere above.
Glen.
AMBER SHIFTED AND CLIMBED on to the Catching Z’s roof. She saw him watching her, pale in the saturated night. Thin. Had he always been this thin? She couldn’t be sure. The weak breeze didn’t stir so much as a strand of his brown hair. His face, frozen now in his eighteenth year, was mournful.
She moved towards him and he turned.
“Stop,” she commanded.
He hesitated, one foot over the edge of the building.
She bit her lip, and reverted. All horned up, she had a tendency to shoot her mouth off, but something like this required a little more empathy. “Why are you doing this?” she asked gently. “You’ve been following us since Cascade Falls. You followed us to Alaska and back. I’ve checked online. I’ve seen the reports in the towns we’ve passed through. I know you’ve been killing people.”
Glen didn’t move. Didn’t turn. Didn’t answer.
“Milo thinks you’re following us because Varga’s dead, and you don’t have a – a vampire family. Is that true? Is that why?”
She moved a little closer. “Glen, you helped me in Desolation Hill. You took care of Kirsty. Thank you for that. But you can’t keep doing this. You can’t keep killing and you can’t keep following us. You helped me, but I can’t trust you. I’m sorry. I don’t know what you’re going to do – if you’re going to help me or attack me. Maybe if you’d talk to me, you could make me understand.”
Glen offered no response.
“I don’t know what it’s like to be where you are right now,” Amber said, softening her voice. “Milo says … he says vampires don’t have a soul. Glen, if he’s right, I have no idea what you’re going through.”
A whisper passed on the breeze. She couldn’t be sure where it came from.
“I want to help you,” she said, “but I don’t know how. I don’t know if I’m able. Glen, I don’t even know if this is still you. I want to believe it is, but I’ve got no way of telling if you’re here because you feel you belong with us, or if you’re just obeying some vampire instinct. Help me. Talk to me.”
A moment passed, and Glen stepped off the edge and vanished.
Amber waited to see if he’d return, but after a few minutes she started to feel silly, and she went to her room and locked the door.
She showered, finally washing away the last of the bogle juice, and put on shorts and a T-shirt. She sat with her back against the headboard, iPad on her lap, and logged into the Dark Places forum.
TempestROCKS said …
Anyway, I gotta go to bed. Peace y’all!
Sith0Dude said …
Night, Temp!
Mad Hatter99 said …
Bye!
Ima gonna go 2.
The Dark Princess said …
Hiya
Sith0Dude said …
Don’t go, Hatter, there’s no one else chatting. I’ll be all alone.
Mad Hatter99 said …
Princess! Welcome back! Haven’t seen you in AGES!
The Dark Princess said …
Been busy! How you doing?
Sith0Dude said …
Hi, Dark Princess.
Mad Hatter99 said …
I’m good! Will I be seeing you at the con? It’s only 2 weeks away!
The Dark Princess said …
Don’t think so. I’d love to but might be on the other side of the country by then!
Hi, Sithy.
Mad Hatter99 said …
That SUCKS!
You spoken to BAC? I keep missing her.
The Dark Princess said …
Not surprised. Australia’s a day ahead of us or something.
Sith0Dude said …
BAC is from Australia? I thought she was from Austria.
Mad Hatter99 said …
Stupid timezones.
Sith0Dude said …
I keep talking German to her. No wonder she never replies.
Mad Hatter99 said …
You know German, Sith?
Sith0Dude said …
Sort of. Not very well. My uncle works part time as a Hitler impersonator.
Mad Hatter99 said …
Is there much demand for that?
Sith0Dude said …
Not really. It’s why he only works part time.
The Dark Princess said …
It’s late, guys, so I’m gonna go. Just popped in to say hi! Night now!
Amber powered off the iPad and raised her eyes to the TV. The son of a New York police chief had gone missing. Reporters feared the worst.
Amber opened her eyes and looked at the window. Headlights swooped by. She couldn’t hear any engines, though. It must have been one thick window to block out that noise. Thick door, too. Hell, thick walls. In every cheap motel she’d been in, the walls were so thin the only thing keeping the ceiling from collapsing was the mould.
She turned over, closed her eyes again. Sleep caught her like a hand around the ankle, and dragged her down.
And, as she slept, she dreamed and, in her dream, Amber had a birthday party. They were in her house, back in Orlando. It was hot, and everyone was sweating.
Her parents were there, and a boy and girl around her own age that she didn’t recognise.
Her demon-self was also sitting at the table, looking bored. “Why do I have to be here?” she asked. “Your dreams are as dull as you are.”
Nobody paid her any attention. This was Amber’s special day, and Amber was beaming.
“Happy birthday, sweetie,” said Betty. She started cutting the cake. Blood spilled out but nobody cared.
“Our little girl has grown up,” said Bill. “This is a big day. A momentous day. An important day. A succulent day. A mouth-watering day. A big, juicy day.”
He talked on, and Amber’s smile failed and she turned to her demon-self. “Who are they?” she asked, indicating the boy and girl.
Her demon-self sighed. “Don’t you know anything?” she said. “It’s James and Carolyn. Your brother and sister.”
“Oh,” said Amber.
James sat at the table with his head down. He had a collar around his neck, with a chain attached to it that Bill held like a leash. “I live in the attic,” he said.
Carolyn sat with a faltering smile on her face. She was wearing a light summer dress, and white gloves. “I live in my head,” she said.
“Where’s Molly?” asked James.
“What did they do with Molly?” asked Carolyn.
Betty pushed a plate across to Amber, spilling blood on the tablecloth. The slice of cake had a heartbeat, and, with every beat, more blood pumped out.
“Are you ready for your present?” Betty asked. “I know you wanted a pony.”
Amber frowned. “I never wanted a pony.”
“So we got you a pony,” said Betty.
“I don’t want one.”
“Bill, go fetch the pony, would you?”
Amber’s father, who had shifted into his demon form without Amber noticing, let go of the chain and went into the kitchen to fetch the pony.
With their father gone, James tore off the collar and bolted for a door that hadn’t been there a moment ago.
Amber got up, went to the door, glanced into the kitchen to see her father eating a dead pony. She stepped through. She wasn’t in Orlando anymore. She was outside. The sun was shining and it was pleasant, and Amber wasn’t sweating.
She found James sitting beneath a tree with a blonde girl wearing an old-fashioned dress. She was teaching him to read.
Amber’s demon-self stood beside her. “They found each other,” she said. “He escaped and hopped on a train and off he went, exploring the outside world, and they found each other. Do you think it’s love? I think it’s love.”
A voice drifted by on the wind, someone calling for Molly.
The girl got up quickly. “I have to go,” she said. “I’ll meet you back here tomorrow, okay?”
“Yes, please,” said James, and held out the book for her to take.
“You keep it,” said the girl. “Practise.”
She smiled, then she ran off, and James smiled and looked at Amber.
“Her name’s Molly,” he said. “She likes me and I like her.”
“So I see,” said Amber.
“Tomorrow someone is going to snatch her,” said Amber’s demon-self.
James’s smile faded. “I know,” he said. “A tall man in black clothes. He drives a carriage for funerals.”
“A hearse?” Amber prompted.
“Yes,” said James. “A hearse. I’m going to help her. She’s the first person ever to be kind to me, and I like her so I’m going to help her.”
Amber nodded, and it was night and they were outside a wooden building with a sign that said STROMQUIST’S UNDERTAKERS & COFFIN MAKERS, and the undertaker, a tall man in black clothes, was walking towards them, his face twisted in anger.
Amber woke.
She thought about the dream, but her thoughts started to rebound in this quiet room. This unnaturally quiet room.
She got up, went to the window. Tapped it. Double-paned? Triple-paned? Something more? She went to each of the walls, rapped her knuckles against them. The sound was dull. Heavy. She stood in the middle of the room. So what? It was a motel beside a diner. Of course noise pollution would be a problem. Of course they’d have had to tackle it.
She clicked on the light and sat on the end of the bed, caught her reflection in the mirror. She didn’t look convinced. She looked like there was something nudging at her thoughts.
Amber went over to the mirror. It was screwed to the wall. Okay. Made sense. Some people might want to steal a mirror. It could happen. It could even be a thing. Mirror-thieves, for example – that ever-growing threat to motel owners everywhere. Screwing the mirror in place was a perfectly acceptable thing to do and she accepted this. Although, by doing so, the motel owner did make it impossible to check behind the mirror. Not that there would be anything behind it. Nothing except more wall. Not a hole, that’s for sure. Definitely not a camera. Nope. This was just an ordinary mirror. Nothing two-way about it.
Amber sat back on the bed and looked at the mirror for another minute.
There was an ashtray on the nightstand, even though the motel was one big no-smoking area. It was heavy in her hand. Glass. Nice and thick. She threw it at the mirror and the mirror smashed.
“Yep,” she said softly to herself.
Behind the mirror was a hole in the wall. It was covered with more glass, and Amber had a pretty strong suspicion that it was glass as thick as the window. No camera, though, and no pervert standing there. She walked over and peered through. Beyond the hole was an unlit corridor.
She straightened. So the Catching Z’s manager liked to peep. Gross, an invasion of privacy, but okay. Probably liked to take pictures, too. Gross, gross, gross, but whatever. But there was still something more. Something extra.
Chasing a half-formed thought, she pulled back the sheets on the bed, exposing the mattress to the light. All the stains she would have expected, plus a whole bunch more. Darker too.
Dried blood. And lots of it.
AMBER COULDN’T SAY SHE was surprised. This was a motel on the Demon Road, after all. It was bound to have had the odd murder or two. Or three. Or whatever.
She pulled on a pair of jeans and sneakers and walked to the manager’s office. He wasn’t around. No one was. She went into the room at the back. A cluttered desk, an old computer, a broom closet and plenty of filing cabinets. Inside the broom closet were mops and buckets and a shelf full of bulbs and various bits and pieces one might need as the manager of a dirt-cheap motel such as this. But all of this stuff, every last thing, was on the left side of the closet. The right side was bare. Amber pressed her hand to the wooden wall and it rattled. She pushed, and the wall swung open.
She stepped through.
The corridor smelled of stale sweat and men. She passed the holes, peeking through each one she came to. She saw Milo, already asleep. He looked agitated. She knocked on the window, but he didn’t wake.
She heard someone cry out, and hurried round the next corner to a window as the lights came on. It was Clarissa’s room. Clarissa herself was curled up on the bed, clutching her hand.
There was a switch on the wall and Amber pressed it, and a door clicked open beside her.
“What are you doing?” she shouted.
Amber tried to get her to calm down, but the door swung shut behind her. There was no handle. There was barely a seam.
“What’s going on?” Clarissa shouted again.
Amber turned back to her. “We may be in trouble,” she said.
“Where did you come from?”
“It’s the manager,” Amber said, “the guy from the front desk. He’s got a tunnel behind the rooms. He spies on people.”
“But why are you here?” Clarissa asked, panic edging her voice.
“Clarissa, listen to me. I didn’t mean to scare you. I found the tunnel, I followed it, I heard you scream and I pushed the door open.”
“That’s the wall!”
“It’s also a door. I’m on your side, okay? Why did you scream?”
Clarissa hesitated, deciding whether or not to trust Amber. Then she picked up her jeans and pulled them on. “I went to turn on the bedside lamp and it gave me a shock,” she said. “Faulty wiring or something. I could have been killed. I’m definitely gonna sue. Why were you back there?”
“I went investigating,” Amber said.
“Investigating the manager?”
Amber picked up the glass ashtray and hurled it at the mirror. Clarissa jumped back, then saw the window, and the man behind it who wore a surgical mask with a snarling mouth drawn upon it. Even Amber jumped at the sight of him.
The man scuttled off, and Clarissa marched forward.
“Hey!” she shouted. “Hey, asshole! What the hell is your deal?”
“Come on,” Amber said, heading for the door. “We’ll catch him when he runs.”
She took the chain off the door and turned the handle and the floor gave way beneath her. Clarissa grabbed her, held her, and Amber dangled for a moment before Clarissa pulled her back.
“What the hell?” yelled Amber, once she had her feet under her once again. They peered down into the hole. It was a four-foot drop on to metal spikes.
“Are you kidding me?” Clarissa whispered. “Are you kidding? What the hell kinda place is this? That could’ve killed you!”
“I think that was the point,” Amber said.