It's Not My Fault

“Do you know why you’re here, Mr. Barnes?”

“Well it’s not for the ambiance.”

“Do you think this is a game, Thomas?"

"No, Detective Flannigan, I do not. But I crack jokes when I’m nervous. It’s a coping mechanism.”

“Why are you nervous, Thomas?”

"Why wouldn’t I be? I’m woken out of a sound sleep, dragged out of my house and thrown into the back of a cruiser! The flashing lights stabbed into my eyes like knives, they were so bright! Then I’m put into this cramped, windowless room for hours, and I still have no idea why I’m here!”

“Try to stay calm, Thomas.”

“I am trying, detective, but put yourself in my position, and tell me how calm you would be.”

“Let’s talk about what happened earlier today.”

“What do you want to know?”

"Well for starters, how do you explain the blood on your hands?”

“Blood on my—oh my God!"

"You seem surprised, Thomas.”

"Of course I’m surprised! How did this happen?”

"You tell me.”

“But I don’t know!"

“Please don’t hit the table, Thomas.”

"I’m sorry, it’s just that—oh shit, it’s all over me! What the Hell happened?”

“That’s what we’re trying to figure out. Tell me about today.”

"What do you want to know?”

“Everything.”

“Ok. Can I get some water? My throat is awfully dry. It hurts to talk. It feels all tore up.”

"Of course, Thomas. Here you are. Were you screaming?”

"I….I can’t remember. Not exactly. I can only remember fragments, but I don’t know if they’re real, or from a dream.”

"What do you remember? Start from there.”

"I remember….I remember walking to work. It was early, maybe 6:30, but the sun was already climbing in the sky and most of the morning dew had burned away.”

“Where do you work again?”

“At the Food Mart, down near Dunhurst Road. You know the one?”

“Yes. I shop there now and then.”

“It’s a good place to work. I mean, the pay isn’t that good, and the benefits suck, especially now that they don’t offer health insurance, but they treat me decently. We’re like a family there.”

“You don’t hear that enough anymore.”

“No, you don’t. Corporate America has sucked the life out of society, turning everyone into zombies. Except instead of craving brains, everyone is hungry for money, or the latest I-Phone.”

“So you walked to work….”

“Yes. The town was still waking up, so the traffic was fairly light. I wasn’t in any hurry, either, because I normally show up fifteen minutes before my shift. It gives me time to have some coffee and a smoke or two before I clock in. I’ve been trying to cut back, but it hasn’t been easy. You ought to think about quitting as well.”

“What makes you think I smoke?”

“I can tell, detective,I’ve been smoking since I was fourteen. I’ll be 57 next month, so I figure that would make me an expert. I know the signs. What are you, about a pack and a half a day?”

“Let’s stay on track, Thomas. What happened next?”

“I was walking to work, as I said, and old man Hendrickson was at the end of his driveway by the mailbox. He was wearing a faded old red and gray plaid bathrobe. His legs were as thin as matchsticks, and the slippers he wore were in as rough shape as his robe. ‘Hello Mr. Hendrickson,’ I called out, raising my hand in greeting. He didn’t respond at first. I don’t know if he was lost in thought or looking at something across the road. Then his eyes focused on me and he said the strangest thing.”

“What did he say, Thomas?”

“He said ‘Even their eyes have teeth.’ Then he slowly turned and headed back to his house.”

“What do you suppose he meant by that?”

“I don’t know. At first I thought he was talking about some animal, like a rabid raccoon maybe, or an insect. Then it occurred to me that maybe it was the Alzheimer’s, or dementia. Perhaps it was a bit of both.”

“So you went to work….”

“I went to work, had my coffee and smoke, then I stocked the shelves most of the morning until they needed my help at the meat counter. Only….”

“Go on, Thomas.”

“When I was slicing roast beef for Mrs. Pruitt, I caught movement out of the corner of my eye, up near the ceiling. When I turned my head, it was gone. I figured it must have been a bird. We get them from time to time, especially on delivery days. It happens a lot more often in the Wal-Mart superstore, at least that’s what my buddy Kevin tells me. It wouldn’t surprise me if some of them nested in the rafters.”

“We’re getting off topic here, Thomas.”

“Sorry. The rest of the day went by, but my mind kept returning to the bird, and the more I thought about it, the more I became certain that it wasn’t a bird.”

“Why do you say that?”

“The shape was wrong. It was wider, more flattened. And I don’t remember any wings. Can I have more water?”

“What happened after you left work?”

“I walked home, thumbed through the latest issue of Sports Illustrated, then I had dinner. I made myself a frozen pizza. Not the healthiest of meals, I know, but these days even the healthy foods are bad for you. Seems like every week there’s some sort of recall, with outbreaks of E. Coli, or Salmonella, or what have you. At least with pizza I know that the worst I would get is some heartburn.”

“And then what happened?”

“I settled down to watch some television. The Travel Channel had a block of 'Destination Truth' on. I must’ve dozed off, because I remember jerking up and Destination Truth wasn’t on anymore. Bizarre Foods was.”

“What time was this?”

“I’m not sure. 9:30? 10?”

“What woke you?”

“Scratching.”

“What kind of scratching?”

“The kind an animal makes when building a nest. It was coming from the attic. I tried to ignore it, but it just got louder. Then more scratching started further along the ceiling. There were at least two of them now, biting and scratching away at my ceiling!”

“What did you do?”

“I walked down the hall and pulled down the folding stairs. When the steps came down, the scratching grew silent. Maybe just opening the stairs was enough to scare them off. I actually had my hand on the rope, ready to lift it back into place, when the scratching started again."

“So you went into the attic….”

“I flipped on the lights before I climbed the steps, but yeah. The scratching went on for a few seconds after I poked my head through the opening, then fell silent again. I scanned the piles of junk—and let’s be honest with each other, after a while, everything put into an attic turns to junk—but I couldn’t see anything. I stood there, still and silent, listening for any clue as to where they might be. I heard a subtle shifting to my left, and caught the barest hint of movement when I turned my head. I poked at a nearby box with an old broom."

“And what happened?”

“Nothing at first. I gave it another poke and suddenly something burst out of it.”

“What was it?”

“I…I’m not sure. It was definitely not a mouse or squirrel, of that I’m certain. But it did look like what I had seen earlier at the Food Mart.”

“Do you think it followed you home?”

“Of course not. At least I don’t think so. I mean, why would it?”

“So it just happened to end up in your house?”

“I didn’t say that. There’s more than just one. Perhaps dozens.”

“What exactly are they?”

“Nothing I’ve ever seen before. I’m not going to lie, it scared me a little when it jumped out of the box. But it was just an animal, smaller than a cat, nothing I couldn’t handle. At least, that’s what I thought then.”

“What do you mean?”

“Don’t judge a book by its cover, or an animal by its size. Did you know there are some species of spider whose venom is so toxic that one bite can lead to paralysis and even death?”

“I’ve heard that.”

“Well I forgot that fact. When it burst from the box, I backed my way down the steps. I grabbed the flashlight off the kitchen counter then climbed back up. I’m sorry, could I get some aspirin? My head is killing me.”

“Maybe after we’re done talking.”

“Alright. When I turned on the flashlight, the beam cut through the shadows, and I could hear them as they tried to avoid the light. It was then that I started to realize there was more than just one hiding in the shadows. I felt violated, and became furious at the invasion of my space. I started yelling at them to ‘get out!’ and swung at the boxes.”

“What happened next?”

“I saw a box shift, and swung hard at it with the broom, knocking it over. It was a box of Christmas decorations, and I could hear the bulbs shatter as the box hit the floor. And I heard something else.”

“What did you hear?”

“Do you know the sound you hear at night when all the crickets are chirping? It sounded like that, but deeper, harsher. Then I saw it.”

“What was it?”

“It was an obscenity. It was smoky gray, nearly black, and resembled a crab in shape and size, but it only had four limbs, which ended in tiny three-toed feet. The neck was short and thick, and its head was nearly half the size of its body. Two short stalks jutted from its forehead, and the ends puckered open and closed, as if it were tasting the air. ‘Even their eyes have teeth,’ Mr. Hendrickson had said. And they did look like tiny mouths, but I think they were its ears, or possibly its nose. Its real mouth rested below the stalks, and it most definitely had teeth, hundreds of them.”

“I find this hard to believe, Thomas.”

“How do you think I feel? But it’s true, every word of it.”

“Ok, Thomas. No need to get upset.”

“You weren’t there! You don’t know what it’s like!”

“That’s why you need to tell me what happened, so I can understand.”

“Ok, sorry. Are you sure I can’t get some aspirin? My head is splitting. I’m finding it hard to concentrate.”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

“Alright. So when it rolled out of the box it must’ve cut itself on one of the broken bulbs, because a dark, tar-like fluid ran down its side. It let out one of those cricket chirps, long and loud and full of menace. Then it focused on me, and charged.”

“You’re saying it attacked you?”

“I don’t know if that was its intent, or it was just trying to get away, but that’s how it felt. Deliberate. When it jumped forward it startled me, and I fell backwards down the steps. I landed hard on the floor, and it knocked the wind from me. Almost immediately it landed on my chest, and its claws dug into me. I covered my face as it jumped away, but it was already skittering across the kitchen floor.”

“What did you do then?”

“I chased after it. Not only did it scare me, it hurt me. It drew blood. I was furious. I grabbed a mug from the sink and threw it, but it bounced off the wall, missing the thing by a good foot. It was fast! It jumped up the wall towards the window. The window was open, but I had a screen in it. Lotta good that did; its claws sliced through the screen and it was gone. I burst through the door a second later, slowing just enough to grab my bat leaning against the railing.”

“So you chased it outside.”

“I couldn’t see it, but I could hear it going through the neighbor’s hedge. And its cricket chirping, filled with contempt and hatred, mocking me. The sound burrowed into my brain. I needed to silence it.”

“So you intended to kill it.”

“Of course. Something like that can’t be allowed to run around the neighborhood, not with little children around. It’s dangerous. When I entered Mrs. Pruitt’s yard I slowed to get my bearings on where it went.”

“Mrs. Pruitt. The lady that you sold roast beef to earlier?”

“I…come to think of it, you’re right. You don’t suppose?”

“What Thomas?”

“That, maybe she has something to do with them? But that can’t be. If they were hers, why would they attack her?”

“I don’t know, Thomas.”

“Because that’s what it did. I heard its chirping coming from the house, and as I ran forward I saw it crawl through the doggie door. I threw my shoulder against the door, and it burst open; thankfully she hadn’t locked it yet.”

“Then what happened?”

“From the other room I heard her say ‘What is that?’ She sounded terrified. I could hear it scratching on the wood floor as it ran. I yelled as I followed it into the living room. ‘Who is that?’ She screamed. ‘Help, oh help!’ I saw it race towards her, its claws digging into the floor, leaving little grooves, and I swung my bat at it, but missed. The bat whacked loudly on the floor, sending a jolt through both arms. That’s when she started screaming hysterically. It was crawling up her, clawing for her face. I swung again, and knocked it off her, stunning it. I swung my bat a third time, this time hitting it square in the back. Its chirping turned into a squeal of pain, rising in intensity, and I swung at it again and again until it finally fell silent.”

“What did you do then, Thomas?”

“At first I just stood there, panting. It was a pulpy mess, and its black blood dripped from everywhere. I felt bad about the mess on her floor, I was pretty sure that was one stain that would never come completely clean. But at least I had stopped it from hurting Mrs. Pruitt.”

“Did you, Thomas?”

“Well, yeah. I mean it scratched her some, but that was it.”

“Are you sure?”

“What are you getting at, Detective Flannigan?”

“Just tell me what happened next.”

“I mean, maybe she was hurt worse than just being scratched. I didn’t actually check on her, because almost immediately I heard scratching coming from upstairs. And that damned chirping. I climbed the stairs two at a time, and searched until I found where it was coming from. The bedroom door was closed, but not locked, and when I pushed through there were three of them clustered on the bed, chirping away, waving their front limbs at me. Their chirps were like ice picks to the brain, cutting deep. My head still hurts from it, actually. But they won’t be chirping any more, I made sure of that.”

“You killed them as well?”

“Yes.”

“What happened next, Thomas?”

“I went home and fell into bed. I was exhausted. Then the next thing I know, I’m being dragged outside in handcuffs.”

“You don’t remember anything else?”

“No detective, I do not. Why am I here? What is it that you think I’ve done?”

“I want to play something for you, Thomas. A recording of a call we received last night, around 10:30. Maybe it will help jog your memory. Give a listen.”

“911, please state your emergency.”

“My name is Emily Pruitt, and I live at 134 Blossom Lane. Somebody just broke into our house and I think he’s hurting my mommy.”

“How old are you, honey?”

“I just turned 7. Please hurry!”

“Is anyone else there with you?”

“Just my little sister Becca. She’s 3. And our baby brother Josh.”

“Anyone else?”

“No, just us and the bad man. Becca is crying because she’s really scared.”

“Where are you right now Emily?”

“We’re hiding in my room upstairs. I can hear him screaming. He sounds pretty mad.”

“You’re doing great, Emily. The police are on their way. I want you to lock the bedroom door then hide under the bed for me. Can you do that?”

“Yes. I’m really scared too.”

“I need you to be brave for your sister and brother, Emily. The officers are almost there.”

“Ok….get under the bed Becca, hurry! I have to lock the—HE’S HERE! HELP US PLE---“

"Emily? EMILY?”

“What do you think happened, Thomas?”

“I don’t.…my God, that’s horrifying. Are they ok?”

“I want you to look at these pictures.”

“Oh my God, I think I’m going to be sick! What is that?”

“This one is Mrs. Pruitt, or what’s left of here. This is a picture of Emily…and this Becca….and this one is the baby, Josh. He was only fourteen months old.”

“What kind of monster would do that to little children?”

“The kind with a baseball bat, Thomas.”

“With a…wait, no, you think I did this?”

“I’m certain of it.”

“But I would never….It’s not my fault!”

“No more games, Thomas. You’ve practically confessed. You admit to being in their house, with a bat, with an intent to kill.”

“Those creatures! Not my neighbors!”

“You’re covered in their blood, Thomas. We followed your bloody footprints from their place to yours. We found the murder weapon lying on the floor near your bed. Do the right thing, just admit what we all know.”

“But I didn’t do anyth---do you hear that?”

“Do I hear what, Thomas?”

“That scratching!”

“Why are you looking under the table?”

“Don’t you hear that? It’s everywhere!”

“Calm down, Thomas. It's only a cricket.”