Belly with a Beast

Belly With A Beast

         Ryan Harris stands atop a ladder in his bedroom, blanket in one hand, cup of push pins in the other. He reaches up and tacks one corner of a blanket to the ceiling. Not bothering to climb down, he jumps from the ladder to his bed, landing right on he-man’s face. The eleven year old pulls the other corner of the blanket to the ceiling and tacks it in place. The last wall is up and his fort is almost complete. A tunnel, leading from the door into the bowels of his command center, is all that remains unfinished.

         His room vibrates as the garage door opens. He peers out the window to see his moms car pulling in. Ryan runs into the living room and waits. Before his mother can even take the keys out of the door she hears him.
         “Mom, Miss Quarls yelled at me again today, can’t you say something to her?”
         “What, no, what happened?”
         “She yelled at me just cause I'm white.”
         “Oh my God! You can’t say that, you are ten years old mister.”
         “Well its true, she doesn’t yell at the black kids, pleeeeease go talk to her.”
         “Ryan,” She crotches to look him in the eye “you’re getting older now and I can’t keep fighting your battles for you, sometimes you just have tough it out, and sometimes you can change things by swallowing your pride and making the first step, you might have to talk to her about what is going on, it may all just be a misunderstanding. You can’t ever assume you know what people mean by there actions. Sometimes though, you are going to meet people that are just assholes and there is nothing you can do about it, but you can’t let it get to you, you are better then them. Now I don’t know which of these people Mrs. Quarls is and that’s why I can’t say anything to her, cause I don’t know. You are going to have to stop relying on mommy for everything that goes wrong, cause one day, I hope no time soon, but one day, I won’t be here to help you.” She wraps it up with “OK?”
         “Yeah.”
         “Now run along.”

         The boy runs past his mother into the garage and out into the back yard. He beelines it for the trampolines. Hurling his body into the air, he has no respect for consequences or his bones. He lands on the first tiny trampoline and is rocketed into the air. Landing just about in the middle of the full sized trampoline, as he always does, the springs launch his tiny frame into the air. Mid-air, he extends his arms and spreads his fingers. He catches the lowest branch of the dogwood tree with the ease of a trapeze artist. Within seconds he is half way up the tree. He pulls his BB gun out of the pillowcase that he keeps hanging from the tree and pumps is a few times. He peers across the privacy fence to the neighbor’s house. Aiming very carefully, he shoots the sheet of metal that hangs from string beside his best friends window. The echoing metallic ting attracts the attention of Travis Davis.
         He opens his window, sticks his head out, and yells.
         “What’s up?”
         “You coming over tonight?”
         “Yeah.”
         “Monster vision is on.”
         “I know, I’ll be over in a little while.”
         “OK.”

         At seven thirty Travis walks over to the Harris household. He opens the front door and walks in.
         “Hi, Travis.”
         “Hey, Momma Harris.”
         “Ryan is in his room.”
         “Thanks.”
         Travis takes his shoes off and enters the living room. He looks to see where Ryan’s mother is – she is in the kitchen – good, she can’t see him. He sprints through the living room. He gains speed and jumps into the hallway. Landing on the hardwood floors he surfs on his white cotton socks to the end, and Ryan’s door. He pauses and knocks a super secrete pattern that could never be decoded: Knock. Pound. Knock, knock, pound. A note on the door says:

E I N F T X E X R

Y D O A U R X E

The boys read it as: enter if you dare. Travis enters and is immersed in blue. The two blue blankets that are tacked to either side of the door frame create a cloth hallway that leads to the fortress. Another blanket is tacked to the top of the doorframe and gently flows at a downward angle to the entrance of the fort, crating a tunnel that becomes increasing cramped and adult-proof. Travis crawls into the fort.
         “Did you fix it?”
         “Yeah I think so.”
         Travis sits on the couch and stares at the rats nest. The contraption consists of a seventies cable box Ryan found in the garage, a de-scrambler his dad gave him one day while his mother was away, and a snake pit of cables and wires connection each of them to the wall and to the TV. The cable box has fifty buttons and one switch on top of it. The fifty buttons are channels one through fifty if the switch is down and fifty-one through ninety-nine if the switch is up. Ryan flips the switch up and smashes the channel ninety-nine button.
         “Ha.”
          The naked woman on the screen rolls in the hay of a fictional barn for several minutes before proceeding to wet her entire body with a conveniently placed hose and bucket of soapy water.

         The boys both jump as they hear the door click. Ryan jumps at the cable box and pounds the channel twenty-three button, nickelodeon, and slams the switch down.
         Muffled through the blankets Ryan’s mom announces “Do you guys want to go to Taco Bell?”
         “Yeah.” they both yell.
         Both boys climb into the back seat of the silver car and they back out of the driveway. When they reach the drive-in speaker, Ryan’s mother asks what the boys want.
         “Can I get two tacos momma Harris?”
         “Sure you can.”
         “Six tacos, and a mountain dew.”
         “Didn’t you already have one today.”
         “Yeah, but it was way earlier.”
         “I thought we agreed on one a day, you can get some juice when we get back to the house. OK?”
         “Yeah, OK.”
         When the order is completed and the speaker is squawking the total at them, Travis leans up into the front seat.
         “Will that be for hear or to go momma Harris?”
         “Oh, to go please.” she says to the speaker.
         The two boys begin to laugh from the back seat.
         “Don’t make fun of your poor old mother,” she says as they pull around “I used to know what was going on ‘til I had you.”

         When they arrived home, Travis and Ryan run immediately to the living room and sit on the couch. Ryan grabs the remote and changes it to channel 10, X-files is just starting.
         As Ryan eats his tacos he yells to his mom “Can you bring me some Kool-Aid?”
         Ryan eats all his tacos and drinks a half a pitcher of Kool-Aid during the first ten minutes of the show. As the program proceeds, a character on screen meets his demise as his spine explodes out of his throat. Seeing this, Ryan leaps to his feet. He tears through the living room and rounds the corner into the hallway. The hardwood floor is cold to his feet, he feels it but that is the least of his concerns. As his second foot slams onto the panels, vomit forces its way up his esophagus onto his tongue and out his mouth. His third step is planted not so firmly in the pool of fresh vomit. He sees his feet silhouetted against the ceiling. Landing back first in the vomit, he slides to the end of the hall. His forth step lands firmly on the wall at the end of the hallway. His brain begins to piece together what has happened and the sensation returns. Quickly rolling over onto his stomach, the boy begins to heave again. Fear leaps into his eyes as the situation suddenly turn much more violent then the small boy is used to. Tears fall from his nose as he gasps for breath in between each brutal heave of his empty stomach. His abs seize during the uncontrollable gagging. Unable to cry for help, he just lays in his own vomit, gags, and cries. Finally, something fills his throat. A few gut churning heaves and partial suffocation later, a huge pile of regurgitant lays next to the boys quavering face.

         As the boy slowly begins to feel alive again, he becomes aware of a sound that makes him want to puke again. The squirmy squishy slithering is constant, and very close. He opens he eyes and catches the slightest suggestions of movement in the pile of vomit near his face. He pushes himself up onto his knees and leans over the pile to look at the other side. He just catches what looks like a tale. It is sucked into the chunky, yellow hill as if someone were eating spaghetti. Ryan jumps back and leans against the wall, he pulls his knees tight to his face. Curiosity takes a hostage, he slowly spreads his legs. His jaw drops as the tiny creature rounds the corner into his room, leaving a trail of yellow liquid behind. After a moment of thought the boy runs for his door and slams it closed.

         He yells to Travis “Tell my mom I just puked all over the place.”
         He walks to the bathroom and quickly cleans off. Calling Travis again, quietly this time, he starts to slowly move toward his door. He stops and puts his ear to the door. Silence.
         “What,” Travis says way to loud “are you doing?”
         “Shhhh.” Ryan puts his finger up to his mouth, then taps his ear and motion for Travis to come closer.
         “What,” Travis says with the quiet that only comes form seeing terror in someone else’s eyes “are you doing?”
         “Its an animal, a little lizard or something.”
         “Why are we afraid of a little lizard?”
         Ryan points to the pile of vomit, and follows the yellow trail to the bottom of the door. Travis takes a moment to think about this before his face contorts into a bewildered grimace. Suddenly, from inside the room they both hear it scream. Their heart’s simultaneously skip a beat at the shrill sound. The sound, somewhere between feedback and static, lasts for about 5 seconds and stops abruptly. The boys stare at each other, not knowing what to do next. Ryan grabs the knob and looks to Travis. As slowly as he can, he turns the knob and opens the door. He follows the mucus trail a few feet down the hallway of blankets. It turns right and disappears under the blanket. The two look at each other again. Travis leans to the left, pulls up the wall and vanishes. Ryan looks right, then left, and begins to move left when a hockey stick stabs through a seam in the wall, Travis follows with a smile. He points to the blanket with his stick. Ryan leans down and grabs the bottom of the cloth, he looks up and holds up three fingers. Travis raises the weapon over his head. Nodding, Ryan counts to three on his fingers. At three he yanks the blanket up. Travis tenses, but holds his position. Dropping his shoulders he nods his head from side to side. Ryan looks, he sees the yellow wetness lead onto his bed, up the wall, and out his open window.
         “Well.” Ryan says, not sure what to do next. He looks over at Travis, and stares at the hockey stick. He looks back to his empty hands, then to his closet. He only makes it three steps before he is petrified with fear. They hear the scream again, this time it sounds lower, deeper. The boys follow the sound into the living room, before it stops again they know where it is coming from.

         Ryan’s mother’s bedroom door is closed, but they can see shadows moving through the crack under the door. They both run to the door and fall to the ground. Looking under the crack, they can’t see much. The bed skirt sways back and forth and the sound of the old box spring flows through the crack of the door. As they stare, not sure what to do next, a black and green claw slams down inches from the door. All they can see is the tough leathery pads on the bottom of its feet, the large green scales out-lined in black, and the tips of the claws as they scratch the wooden floor two or three inches in front of its toes. The arc of the claw is so high it’s obstructed by the door. Ryan reels at the increase in size over just a few minutes, Travis only knows that this claw could not have made the tiny dots of liquid in the hallway.
         “Hit it with the door.” Ryan whispers, picking up the hockey stick.
         Travis readies himself as Ryan takes a few steps back, he holds the hockey stick like a shotgun. Travis slams the door into the creature's side, and Ryan sprints toward it. Surprised by the impact the it retreats. Ryan is stopped dead in his tracks by the sight of it. As it makes its way toward the open window, they can see it’s back. The size of a bobcat, it runs like a gorilla, mostly using is hind legs. The black and green pattern continues all over its body. Its back is the most terrifying detail, as its elongated vertebra protrude through its skin all the way up its spine. Before Ryan can think it leaps, with ease, out the open window. He lowers his weapon and stares a stare only disbelief can bring. Travis runs past him and slams the window shut. As Travis turns to speak, the same stare possesses his face. The two boys cannot look away from the once white bed.

         All that is left of Ryan’s mother is a head, two feet (that lay where they would if her legs existed) and two hands (that lay where they would if her arms had survived, bits of flesh and bone lead to the striped and cracked rib cage). The rest of her is just stringy pulp and pools of blood that fill the pattern of mattress.

         Ryan slowly backs out of the room never looking away from the bed. Claws on glass distract him. He snaps his head to the left, where he can see the shape of the creature through the rippled Aquatex glass of the front door. Generations of hate creep onto Ryan’s face, his eyes burn with a lust for violence, and the loss of his mother fills the part of his brain that used to house self-preservation. Before he can take a second step toward the door, Travis tackles him.
         “Your room!” Travis yells as they both jump to their feet. They take off just as shards of glass explode into the living room. They run through the hall trying to avoid the vomit and duck into Ryan’s room, slamming the door behind them. As they both land on the floor they take some of the blankets with them.
         “What do we do?”
         Travis makes his way to the closet, swinging his arms wildly and tacking out a few more blankets. He throws open the door and begins to look for weapons. Ryan crawls out from under the blanket, sits up, and begins to stare at the blue cloth in his hands. Travis, still rummaging through the closet throws toy after toy over his head. He comes across a potato. The potato is covered in three months worth of spuds. He looks at the potato then at Ryan. Ryan looks from the blanket up to Travis.
         Simultaneously they both yell an excited “Hey!”

         The Creature stands in the living room, sniffing the air. It puts its black, round head to the floor. With its flat face inches from the carpet, it begins to follow the scent trail. It slowly follows the hallway, taking time to smell every door, both walls, and stopping to examine the vomit on the floor. Reaching the last door on the right, it recognizes Ryan’s familiar scent. It immediately rears up on its hind legs and slams its body into the door.

         Travis drops the PVC pipe in his hand as he jumps at the sudden noise. Ryan, who is spreading a blanket out in front of the door, barely notices the sound. He continues what he was doing. He ties fishing string and rope to the two corners farthest from the door, and only rope to the corners nearest to the door. He raises the fishing string to the ceiling and tacks it in place. The top of the blanket now hangs ninety degrees to the floor and the rest slowly slopes toward the door, ending flat on the floor and touching each side of the door frame.
         “Set.”
         Another slam on the door startles Travis.
Travis looks up as he slides the last piece of pipe into place.
         “Hope this thing still works, where’s the hair spray?”
         “Should be in the closet.”
         Travis picks up the potato gun, slams the spud into the barrel and moves toward the closet. He reaches in, pulls out the can of hair spray and places it in his pocket. He steps toward the bed and picks up the old rusty lawn dart and mashes the back end into the potato, effectively creating a harpoon gun.
         “Set.”
         Another slam. They take their positions on either side of the door.
         “Ok.”
         They wait.
         SLAM! Ryan begins to count on his fingers. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, SLAM! He starts over. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, SLAM!
         “Ok.” an unsure Travis squeaks.
         He tips the potato gun down and sprays the hair spray into the end. He seals the gun back up, grabs the two ropes on his side and gives Ryan an unsteady thumbs up.
         SLAM!
         Ryan pick up his ropes, grabs the door knob, and waits.
         SLAM!
         “One, two, three,” Ryan begins to count aloud “four, five, six, seven.”
         He yanks the door open. The beast falls flailing into the room. It lands on the blanket and slides forward. The two boys switch sides, closing the makeshift net. Travis drop his ropes and steps on them. Ryan yanks harder on his. Travis aims the potato gun and rests his thumb on the grill starter that is taped to the side of the pipe. As the creature rips through the blanket, Travis readies himself. The things claw retreats back into the blanket and an eternity passes. Finally, the things head emerges form the blanket. It looks directly to Ryan and snaps its jaws, the six inch canines whipping past its lower mandible. Travis pushes the grill starter, and the creatures head snaps toward him as the tiny button makes a click. Foomp. The potato launches at the creatures head and the lawn dart plunges through its eye and into its meaty skull.
It flops onto the ground. Both children stare in disbelief.

         As the adrenaline leaves Ryan’s body and shock sets in, Travis’ words fill his last moments of consciousness.
         “It’ll be OK.”