mirror of https://github.com/nealey/Horrors2
107 lines
2.8 KiB
TeX
107 lines
2.8 KiB
TeX
\chapauth{leb388}
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\chapter{The Girl}
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The night was cool and dark, unusual for summer. But then again, it
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was a night for unusual things. Slashes of rain whipped at my face
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as I navigated the alley. Fireworks vomited sparks of blue and red
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into the sky. The booms sounded more like gunshots from Berettas. I
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should know; I have one. I am a private detective.
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My name is Bavarious. Luke Bavarious.
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I'd been at the bar, kicking back a few martinis, when I got a call
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about a noise complaint. I work every night if I have to, even the
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Fourth of July. The job sounded easy enough, and after all, the
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people need me. I am their protector. I am Luke Bavarious.
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But on this night, I wasn't as alone as I thought. As I walked
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along, I heard the sound of footsteps. I stopped. ``Who's there?'' I
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yelled, raising my Beretta.
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No response.
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I tensed. ``Come out where I can see you,'' I ordered. ``Now.''
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A child stepped out of the shadows and into the trashy street. I
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say that because the street was littered with trash. The people
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there were usually nice.
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Most of the time.
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I holstered the Beretta, at ease. The girl looked young. Maybe six,
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could even be seven. Who knows, in this town. Probably lost. She
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clutched a doll and wore a dark raincoat. Not like that was any
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help, in this torrential weather.
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``Are you okay?'' I asked her. ``Do you need help?''
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``I need to find my mommy,'' she whimpered. She was crying.
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A girl that young shouldn't be alone in an alley off 42nd St. in
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New York. Especially on a night like tonight. I pulled out my phone
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to call to see if anyone reported her missing, but something was
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wrong. I looked up at the sky. Fireworks still going at it like
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crazy missiles exploding in the air. That's what they were.
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Missiles. And that's when I saw it. The creature. The item the girl
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was holding wasn't a doll after all--it was a monster. It had
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buttons for eyes. There was no mouth, just stitches. The hair was
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yarn.
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``Get out of here, fiend of hell!'' I screamed.
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I grabbed it. If you can call it an it. The hands were soft. At
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least until I flung it into the puddle. Then they were wet. I
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screamed, shooting at it with my Beretta. I felt a fear no one
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should ever have to experience, a fear of the worst possible
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things, a fear of death and everything around it. It was taking
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hold of me, drowning me, and I kept spinning and spinning in the
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abyss of its grip. I felt like vomiting. Maybe that was just from
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the martinis. I shot it again and again, and so on. And then I
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stopped.
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A flash of light made me see its face. Kind. Adorable. Just a doll
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after all.
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Why do I always investigate noise complaints when I'm drunk?
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Suddenly, the girl was sobbing. And I felt like an asshole.
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\begin{figure}[b]
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\includegraphics[width=\textwidth]{art/Discount_Bees-The_Girl.jpg}
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\caption{{\em The Girl} by Discount\_Bees}
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\end{figure}
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