Unknown, p.4
Unknown, page 4
Maybe that's what changed. When we got married, you didn't think I was stupid. But now you do. You think I'm too stupid to notice the difference."
"What difference is that?"
"You never want to have sex with me anymore."
"Oh, for God's sake," she said." We had sex the day before yesterday."
He looked straight at her." But you didn't want to. I can tell. You never want to."
"What do you mean, you can tell?"
"You make a lot of excuses."
"And when we do have sex, you don't pay any attention to me.
You're always somewhere else. Thinking about something else. You're always thinking about somebody else."
"But that's normal," she said." Everybody does it. Everybody fantasizes during sex. You fantasize during sex. That's what makes it fun."
At first, she didn't see the centipede as it wriggled out from under the pooltable, its antennae searching for her legs. But then she happened to glance downward.
"Creel!"
The centipede started toward her. She jumped back, out of the way.
Creel threw the cueball with all his strength. It made a dent in the linoleum beside the centipede, then crashed into the side of the wetbar.
The centipede went for Vi. It was so fast that she couldn't get away from it. As its segments caught the light, they gleamed poisonously.
Creel snatched his cuestick off the table and hammered at the centipede.
Again, he missed. But flying splinters of wood made the centipede turn and shoot in the other direction. It disappeared under the couch.
" Get it," she panted.
He shook the pieces of his cue at her." I'll tell you what I fantasize.
I fantasize that you like having sex with me. You fantasize that I'm somebody else." Then he wrenched the couch away from the wall, brandishing his weapons.
"So would you," she retorted, "if you had to sleep with a sensitive, considerate, imaginative animal like you."
As she left the room, she slammed the door behind her.
Shoving the furniture bodily from side to side, he continued hunting for the centipede. (The bedroom. (This room expresses Vi as much as the limitations of the house permit.
The bed is really too big for the space available, but at least it has an elaborate brass headstead and footboard. The sheets and pillowcases match the bedspread, which is decorated with white flowers on a blue background. Unfortunately, Creel's weight makes the bed sag. The closet doors are warped and can't be closed. (There's an overhead light, but Vi never uses it. She relies on a pair ked Tiffany reading lamps. As a result, the bed seems to be surrounded by gloom in all directions.) Creel sat on the bed and watched the bathroom door. His back was bowed.
His right fist gripped the neck of a bottle of tequila, but he wasn't drinking.
The bathroom door was closed. He appeared to be staring at himself in the full-length mirror attached to it. But a strip of fluorescent light showed past the bottom of the door. He could see Vi's shadow as she moved around in the bathroom.
He stared at the door for several minutes, but she was taking her time.
Finally, he shifted the bottle to his left hand.
"I never understand what you do in there."
Through the door, she said, "I'm waiting for you to pass out so I can go to sleep in peace."
He looked offended." Well, I'm not going to pass out. I never pass out. You might as well give up."
Abruptly, the door opened. She snapped off the bathroom light and stood in the darkened doorway, facing him. She was dressed for bed in a nightie that would have made her look desirable if she had wished to look desirable.
"What do you want now?" she said." Are you finished wrecking the game-room already?"
"I was trying to kill that centipede. The one that scared you so badly."
"I wasn't scared-just startled. It's only a centipede. Did you get it?"
"No."
"You're too slow. You'll have to call an exterminator."
"Damn the exterminator," he said slowly." Fuck the exterminator.
Fuck the centipede. I can take care of my own problems. Why did you call me that?"
"Call you what?"
He didn't look at her." An animal." Then he did." I've never lifted a finger to hurt you."
She moved past him to the bed and propped the pillows up against the brass bedstead. Sitting on the bed, she curled her legs under her and leaned back against the pillows.
"I know," she said." I didn't mean it the way it sounded. I was just mad."
He frowned." You didn't mean it the way it sounded. How nice.
That makes me feel a whole lot better. What in hell did you mean?"
"I hope you realize you're not making this any easier."
"It isn't easy for me. Do you think I like sitting here begging my own wife to tell me why I'm not good enough for her?"
"Actually," she said, "I think you do like it. This way, you get to feel like a victim."
He raised his bottle until the tequila caught the light. He peered into the golden liquid for a moment, then transferred the bottle back to his right hand. But he didn't say anything.
"All right," she said after a while." You treat me like you don't care what I think or how I feel."
"I do it the way I know how," he protested." If it feels good for me, it's supposed to feel good for you."
"I'm not just talking about sex. I'm talking about the way you treat me. The way you talk to me. The way you assume I have to like everything you like and can't like anything you don't like. The way you think my whole life is supposed to revolve around you."
"Then why did you marry me? Did it take you two years to find out you don't really want to be my wife?"
She stretched her legs out in front of her. Her nightie covered them to the knees." I married you because I loved you. Not because I want to be treated like an object for the rest of my natural life. I need friends. People I can share things with. People who care what I'm thinking. I almost went to grad school because I wanted to study Baudelaire. We've been married for two years, and you still don't know who Baudelaire is. The only people I ever meet are your drinking buddies. Or the people who work for your company."
He started to say something, but she kept going." And I need freedom. I need to make my own decisions-my own choices. I need to have my own life."
Again, he tried to say something.
"And I need to be cherished. You use me like I'm less interesting than your precious poolcue."
"It's broken," he said flatly.
"I know it's broken," she said." I don't care. This is more important.
I'm more important."
In the same tone, he said, "You said you loved me. You don't love me anymore."
"God, you're dense. Think about it. What on earth do you ever do to make me feel like you love me?"
He shifted the bottle to his left hand again." You've been sleeping around. You probably screw every sonofabitch you can get into the sack.
That's why you don't love m ey pa) o a kinds of dirty things to you I don't do. And you're hooked on it.
You're bored with me because I'm just not exciting enough."
She dropped her arms onto the pillows beside her." Creel, that's sick.
You're sick."
Disturbed by her movement, the centipede crawled out between the pillows onto her left arm. It waved its poison claws while it tasted her skin with its antennae, looking for the best place to bite in.
This time, she did scream. Wildly, she flung up her arm. The centipede was thrown into the air.
It hit the ceiling and came down on her bare leg.
It was angry now. Its thick legs swarmed to take hold of her and attack.
With his free hand, he struck a backhand blow down the length of her leg that slapped the centipede off her.
As the centipede hit the wall, he pitched his bottle at it, trying to smash it. But it had already vanished into the gloom around the bed.
A shower of glass and tequila covered the bedspread.
She bounced off the bed, hid behind him." I can't take any more of this. I'm leaving."
"It's only a centipede," he panted as he wrenched the brass frame off the foot of the bed. Holding the frame in one hand for a club, he braced his other arm under the bed and heaved it off its legs. He looked strong enough to crush one centipede." What're you afraid of?"
" I'm afraid of you. I'm afraid of the way your mind works."
As he turned the bed over, he knocked down one of the Tiffany lamps. The room became even darker. When he flipped on the overhead light, he couldn't see the centipede anymore.
The whole room stank of tequila. (The livingroom. (The sofa sits where Creel left it. The e e, surrounded by wilting flowers. The water from the vase has left a stain that looks like another shadow on the rug. But in other ways the room is unchanged. The lights are on. Their brightness emphasizes all the places they don't reach. (Creel and Vi are there. He sits in one of the armchairs and watches her while she rummages around in a large closet that opens into the room. She is hunting for things to take with her and a suitcase to carry them in. She is wearing a shapeless dress with no belt. For some reason, it makes her look you than usual without a drink in his hands.) "I get the impression you're enjoying this," he said.
"Of course," she said." You've been right about everything else.
Why shouldn't you be right now? I haven't had so much fun since I dislocated my knee in high school."
"How about our wedding night? That was one of the highlights of your life."
She stopped what she was doing to glare at him." If you keep this up, I'm going to puke right here in front of you."
"You made me feel like a complete shit."
"Right again. You're absolutely brilliant tonight."
"Well, you look like you're enjoying yourself. I haven't seen you this excited for years. You've probably been hunting for a chance to do this ever since you first started sleeping around."
She threw a vanity case across the room and went on rummaging through the closet.
"I'm curious about that first time," he said." Did he seduce you? I bet you're the one who seduced him. I bet you begged him into bed so he could teach you all the dirty tricks he knew."
"Shut up," she muttered from inside the closet." Just shut up. I'm not listening."
"Then you found out he was too normal for you. All he wanted was a straight screw. So you dropped the poor bastard and went looking for something fancier. By now, you must be pretty good at talking men into your panties."
She came out of the closet holding one of his old baseball bats.
"Damn you, Creel. If you don't stop this, so help me God, I'm going to beat your putrid brains out."
He laughed humorlessly." You can't do that. They don't punish infidelity. But they'll put you in jail for killing your husband."
Slamming the bat back into the closet, she returned to her search.
He couldn't take his eyes off her. Every time she came out of the closet, he studied everything she did. After a while, he said, "You shouldn't let a centipede upset you like this."
She ignored him.
"I can take care of it," he went on." I've never let anything hurt you.
I know I keep missing it. I've let you down. But I'll take care of it .
I'll call an exterminator in the morning. Hell, I'll call ten exterminators. You don't have to go."
She continued ignoring him.
For a minute, he covered his face with his hands. Then he dropped them into his lap. His expression changed.
"Or we can keep it for a pet. We can train it to wake us up in the morning. Bring in the paper. Make coffee. We won't need an alarm clock anymore."
She lugged a large suitcase out of the closet. Swinging it onto the sofa, she opened it and began stuffing things into it.
He said, "We can call him Baudelaire."
She looked nauseated.
"Baudelaire the Butler. He can meet people at the door for us.
Answer the phone. Make the beds. As long as we don't let him get the wrong idea, he can probably help you choose what you're going to wear.
"No, I've got a better idea. You can wear him. Put him around your neck and use him for a rut. He'll be the latest thing in sexy clothes.
Then you'll be able to get tucked as much as you want."
Biting her lip to keep from crying, Vi went back into the closet to get a sweater off one of the upper shelves.
When she pulled the sweater down from the shelf, the centipede landed on the top of her head.
Her instinctive flinch carried her out into the room. Creel had a perfect view of what was happening as the centipede dropped to her shoulder and squirmed inside the collar of her dress.
She froze. All the blood drained out of her face. Her eyes stared wildly.
"Creel," she breathed." Oh my God. Help me."
The shape of the centipede showed through her dress as it crawled over her breasts.
"Creep"
At the sight, he heaved himself out of his armchair and sprang toward her. Then he jerked to a stop.
"I can't hit it," he said." It'll hurt you. It'll sting you. If I try to lift your dress to get at it, it might sting you."
She couldn't speak. The sensation of the centipede creeping across her skin paralyzed her.
For a moment, he looked completely helpless." I don't know what to do."
His hands were empty.
Suddenly, his face lit up.
"I'll get a knife."
Turning, he ran out of the room toward the kitchen.
Vi squeezed her eyes shut and clenched her fists. Whimpering sounds came between her lips, but she didn't move.
Slowly, the centipede crossed her belly. Its antennae explored her navel. All the rest of her body flinched, but she kept the muscles of her stomach rigid.
Then the centipede found the warm place between her legs.
For some reason, it didn't stop. It crawled onto her left thigh and continued downward.
She opened her eyes and watched as the centipede showed itself below the hem of her dress.
Searching her skin every inch of the way, the centipede crept down her shin to her ankle. There it stopped until she looked like she wasn't going to be able to keep herself from screaming. Then it moved again.
As soon as it reached the floor, she jumped away from it. She let herself scream, but she didn't let that slow her down. As fast as she could go, she dashed to the front door, threw it open, and left the house.
The centipede was in no hurry. It looked ready and confident as its thick legs carried it under the sofa.
A second later, Creel came back from the kitchen. He carried a carving knife with a long, wicked blade.
"Vi?" he shouted." Vi?"
Then he saw the open door.
At once, a snarl twisted his face." You bastard," he whispered.
"Oh you bastard. Now you've done it to me."
He dropped into a crouch and searched the rug. He held the knife poised in front of him.
"I'm going to get you for this. I'm going to find you. You can bet I'm going to find you. And when I do, I'm going to cut you to pieces.
I'm going to cut you into little, tiny pieces. I'm going to cut all your legs off, one at a time. Then I'm going to flush you down the disposal."
Stalking around behind the sofa, he reached the place where the enritable lay on its side, surrounded by dead flowers.
"You utter bastard. She was my wife."
But he didn't see the centipede. It was hiding in the dark waterstain beside the vase. He nearly stepped on it.
In a flash, it shot onto his shoe and disappeared up the leg of his pants.
He didn't know the centipede had him until he felt it climb over his knee.
Looking down, he saw the long bulge in his pants work its way toward his groin.
Before he realized what he was doing.
4 - Alan Ryan - Death to the Easter Bunny
Well Paul and I and the girls met the old man in the woods that day, we never thought we'd end up living here in the mountains. Of course, we never thought we'd have to kill the Easter Bunny either.
The four of us, that's Paul and Susanne, and Barbara and mehad been looking for some place we could go on weekends that wouldn't cost too much or be too far from New York. When we found Deacons Kill, about four hours north in the Catskills, we knew right away it was the kind of place we wanted. It's mostly dairy farms and wooded hills and plain, decent people. The town is nice too; it's small and everybody's pretty friendly and there's a great old hotel, called the Centennial Hotel, right on the village square. As soon as we discovered the Yill- that's what everybody calls the town-last winter, we started coming up all the time.
So there we were one day, the four of us walking along some backwoods road, just strolling because it was pretty cold and we didn't want to get too far away from where we'd left the car, and Susanne was complaining that she wasn't dressed warmly enough and Barbara was saying her new boots hurt her feet. Then Paul saw a small trail leading into the woods among the pine trees and he wanted to follow it a little way.
There was some discussion back and forth and finally we agreed to go a short distance, maybe five minutes' worth of walking, before turning back. Actually I would have preferred to be back in our room at the Centennial Hotel with Barbara, just the two of us, but if I hadn't given in to Paul that time, we might never have met the old man and the Easter Bunny would still be running around and none of this would be happening.
We had gone only a little distance in among the pines when suddenly a voice called out and it was clearly yelling at us, no mistake about it.
" That's enough! Hold it right there!"
It wasn't so much the suddenness of it, or even the sound of it, that stopped us right in our tracks. It was really just the voice of an old man, rough and a little gravelly, but still just the voice of an old man .
The thing that got to all of us as soon as we heard it, though, was the tone. It sounded like a lot of things all at once: angry, exasperated, determined, threatening. And frightened. It sounded frightened. The four of us stood rock still right where we were.
