Day #8, Nightmare – by Amber Averay
The two boys – mid-teens – stood on the beach by the waterline, one knocking back a can of beer, the other drawing deeply on a cigarette. This time of year was stupid, their parents dragging them down here for the annual ‘fishing and catch-up’ get-together. The only good thing was that the boys were given their own motel room to share, time away from the annoyingly suspicious supervision of the adults.
Brock expelled a lungful of smoke, nudging Zane and jerking his chin toward the only other person on the beach at this time of night. Zane looked over, snickering cruelly and loudly enough to be heard over the muttering surf. ‘Fucking loser. Think he’s homeless?’
Brock sucked deeply on the butt before flicking it into the water. ‘Probably. Feral old fuck like that? Who’d want him living with them?’ The old man shambled along, moving slowly due to a pronounced limp. Zane squinted. It looked like his foot was twisted inward – what the fuck caused that?
The guy looked dirty, his clothes creased and torn and stained; no doubt his hands were even worse. Who knew what he’d been scrabbling through, touching, fondling? Zane shuddered, scrunched up his empty can and hurled it into the waves.
Brock suddenly puffed himself up. ‘Oi! The hell you think you’re looking at?’
The old guy was watching them from where he’d paused about thirty feet away, polluting the beach with his putrid stench. ‘You shouldn’t do that, boys.’ His voice was rough, feeble, but just the fact he’d dared address them was enough to infuriate Brock.
‘Do what? Throw shit in the ocean? Get out of here, you old bastard, or you’ll get thrown in too.’
The guy just stood there, staring at them.
Brock took a belligerent step forward. ‘You deaf, old fucker? Get out of here! Yeah, that’s right,’ he gloated when the man turned and slowly began his uncomfortable lurch over the sand toward the empty carpark. ‘Probably looking for a rubbish tip to sleep in,’ he snorted, grinning at Zane.
‘If I see him again I’ll punch him in the head,’ Zane boasted, knowing he and Brock could easily take the old man out. ‘Can’t even walk properly.’
Brock shuddered. ‘Dude, kill me before I ever get to that level of pathetic.’
Later, the boys sauntered toward their motel room, only a couple of streets inland, feeling smug that they’d put the old guy in his place. He’d disappeared quick smart, not daring to show his face again, luckily for him. Obviously smarter than he looked!
It was quiet, the boys’ respective parents’ motel rooms dark and still as they wandered past heading for their own door. The light nearest their room was out, the shattered glass sparkling on the ground in the moonlight.
Brock leaned against the wall, rubbing his eyes as a wide yawn cracked his jaw. ‘Wake me up when you get the door open,’ he jibed, tipping his head back and letting his lids droop shut. But when Zane said aggressively, ‘What are you doing here? Fuck off,’ Brock’s eyes opened and he saw down by the first room the disgusting old man from the beach.
With difficulty the guy climbed up the three steps, and slowly, purposefully, shuffled toward the boys.
‘The hell? What do you think you’re doing?’ But Zane was unnerved by the intensity of the man’s gaze, the small yellow smile splitting his discoloured beard.
Brock didn’t turn from watching the man, saying in an undertone to Zane, ‘Open the door, bro.’
‘Yeah. Yeah, sure.’ Unsettled, Zane reached into his jeans pocket for his keys, found nothing, tried the other one.
‘Hurry. Up,’ Brock said through clenched teeth, body tense and thoroughly creeped out as the smile on the weirdo’s face grew wider.
Nerves were making Zane clumsy, and he scrabbled at the jacket he’d tied around his waist, fumbling at the zipper and finally wrenching it open. A moment later the keys were in rattling in his hand, and he jabbed it toward the door while chancing a look at the creep.
He was lumbering closer. Not blinking. Just grinning.
The tip of the key scraped over the door. Zane cursed, tore his eyes from the stranger, and tried for the lock again.
Suddenly Brock backed into him, knocking the key from his hand. ‘Oh shit, oh shit!’ he cried.
The last thing Zane ever saw was the old guy suddenly dashing toward them, limp gone, eyes burning wildly.
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