What Do Monsters Fear Read online

  But instead, Phobos shoved his eye to the hole where his hand had been. The pupil danced around until it found them, the skin around his eye wrinkling as he smiled.

  “Peek-a-boo,” he said. “I seeeee you.”

  Nobody moved.

  “You know, if I wanted to, I could take this door down within a matter of seconds, right? And that terrifies you, doesn’t it? I could take this door down and have you all cornered. I could strip away the flesh from your bones and make a three-course meal. Peter for starters, Randolph for a main, and fatty Bove for a dessert. He’d be the sweetest. How tasty, how . . . delicious. Especially Mr. Chub-chub Bove . . . Donald, Donny, Don, don’t you agree, Mr. Plump? My, what juicy thighs you have. My mouth’s watering already.”

  Rage bubbled inside Peter as an idea struck. His lips moved by their own accord. “But you’d ruin our bodies doing that, wouldn’t you? You won’t do that!”

  Silence. Henry and Donald threw each other a worried glance.

  “You’re right,” Peter said. “Here we are, you sick fuck, we’re cornered. Come and get us. Strip our flesh from our bones, as you put it. Come on.”

  Phobos’ eye relaxed, the wrinkles disappearing. No longer smiling, now the monster glared.

  “That’s right, asshole. You need us in good condition. You need us to feel frightened so you can worm away at our heads, to get inside and make us do the dead. What’s the best case scenario for you, huh? Heart attack? At least it’ll leave the body in good shape. We know who you are, Phobos.”

  The creature flinched.

  Peter smiled. “You didn’t think we had a clue, did you? Thought we saw our dead friend and would freak the fuck out. Nah, we know exactly who you are.” Peter pocketed his hands. They shook. He didn’t want the monster to see. He licked at his dry lips and continued. “You’re not even human. You’re from somewhere else, somewhere you don’t want to be. See, we’re one step ahead of you . . . And you don’t scare us.”

  Phobos hissed, the noise not unlike a leaf-clogged drainpipe. “You lie, little one . . . I see you shake . . . You fear me . . .”

  Peter kept his voice collected. “No. I don’t.”

  Phobos watched them silently for a moment before the eye disappeared from the hole in the door. No footsteps came, no sounds whatsoever, but somehow, Peter knew the monster had gone. A palpable pressure lifted.

  Looking to Peter, Henry whispered, “How did you do that?”

  Peter exhaled a shaking breath, the adrenaline leaving his body. “I was just all out of ideas . . .”

  Donald fell to the couch with a sigh and rubbed at his temples. His colorless skin glistened with a layer of fresh sweat. He looked in danger of passing out.

  “Do anything for a fuckin’ cigarette right now. Sweet Jesus . . .”

  “Henry,” Peter said. “Sit down, too. You don’t look so good.”

  He led Henry to the couch and sat him down before throwing one of the other table legs onto the fire. It’d dipped to embers now but still glowed.

  “He was toying with us,” Peter said, watching a flame lick the wood. “That’s what he was doing.”

  “But it don’t make us taste better,” Donald said. “Just trying to weasel inside our heads and make us swallow a bunch of pills or somethin’. Something that’ll leave us intact, right?”

  “Right. The more we’re afraid, the easier it gets for him to crawl around inside. Once he’s in, he can use whatever’s lying around in there against us. We saw it happen with Walter, and with Jamie. We even saw it happen with you, Henry. With your son. And to me.”

  Henry nodded.

  “He could burrow further with the more he knows. Walter was terrified so he was easy pickings, that’s what Jerry was talking about in his journal. It clicked with me when I looked into that bastard’s eye through the door. He was trying to make us afraid . . . It all fell into place. It’s funny . . .”

  “What’s funny?” Henry asked.

  “That he did the same thing as Jerry Fisher and Harris Dawson. Ancient deity or not, he underestimated us.”

  “How so?”

  Peter chuckled. “Because we’ve got nothing to lose, man. Fuck, I mean, think about it. We’re at the end of our ropes. They forgot to take that into consideration. Jerry and Harris picked a rehab center as a cover scheme because they saw us as weak, vulnerable... Easy pickings. They were right, to an extent. We are weak in some ways. But back us in a corner and there’s no telling what’ll happen . . .”

  Donald grinned. “Never underestimate a man who’s got nothin’ to fuckin’ lose.”

  “Damn right.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  “Peter, you can’t go out there.”

  Henry’s grip tightened on Peter’s arm. “It’s suicide. You saw what he did to Andrew.”

  Peter’s hand slipped from the door handle. “He got to Andrew only because Andrew was afraid. He ran from us, Henry, you saw that. He fears us not being afraid. Without that, he’s got nothing. Let me go.”

  “Peter, please—”

  “Look.” Peter licked at his lips. “We’ve got a chance at trying something here, otherwise we’re just waiting to die. If I go out there, show him I’m not afraid, we might stand a chance at beating him.”

  “And what if it doesn’t work?”

  “There’s only one way to find out.”

  From the couch, Donald called out. “Let the kid go, Henry. He’s right. We need to do something.”

  Henry shook his head in disbelief. “And why don’t you go, Don? Huh?”

  “I’ve got a little girl at home that I’m here to clean myself up for.” He ran a hand through his hair. “You wanna think of me as a chickenshit? You go right ahead and do that, but I can’t die here. I need to see her again . . . The kid’s got a plan. Shit, it could be our secret weapon. You’re like, armored or some shit when you’re not afraid. That thing can’t get inside your head.”

  Henry stepped aside. “I think this is a bad idea, Peter. But if you really believe it’ll work . . .”

  “I do,” Peter said. “I have to. There’s a kid on the way that I need to get out of here for. I need to do this.”

  “Be safe.”

  Peter took a deep breath before opening the door and stepping into the hallway. Deep down, he felt his theory was correct. But what if it wasn’t? What if he’d done the very thing Phobos had and underestimated the beast?

  Only one way to find out, Peter thought.

  Peter sidestepped the shattered clock and stepped onto the front porch. Before him, dancing snowflakes peppered the air while a crescent moon loomed overhead. The snow in the yard appeared more blue than white. Peter scanned for the creature.

  Where are you . . . Come on . . .

  Peter’s heart jumped as he spotted Phobos. Out near the point Andrew met his gruesome end, the deadman hovered, Walter’s dirt covered feet dangling. His skin looked gray in the moonlight, the cuts and welts sticking out in high contrast. His mouth hung open.

  “Peter . . .”

  Peter’s breath shook as took a step forward, his hands clenched into tight fists. “I’m done playing this game, Phobos. You’re not going to win.”

  “But I’m not done with you . . .”

  The words made Peter want to vomit, but he pressed on. “What can you tell me that I don’t already know, huh? That I’m a leech? A burden? That I won’t make a good father? I already know that. I’ve accepted that . . . You hold no power over me.”

  Walter’s lips curled into a smile. “Oh, but I do, Peter Laughlin. I do . . . Wait and see.”

  Peter’s chest lurched. He wanted to run, wanted to go back inside and find another plan. But deep down, he knew he had to see this through. He took another step forward. “I’m not afraid of you!”

  Phobos hissed, a noise like a kettle over-boiling. He threw his hands in front of his face, white palms facing outward. “Vile thing!” he screamed. “You will fear me!”

  Then Walter’s body fell
to the snow, thumping beside Andrew’s corpse like a used-up rag doll. Snowflakes began covering it instantly.

  An involuntary sound escaped Peter’s lips. Did he do it? Had he defeated Phobos so easy?

  “No . . . Please . . .”

  From Walter’s crumpled body, a black fog oozed, curled upward and growing.

  There you are, Peter thought, his hair standing on end. There’s the real you . . .

  He back-stepped into the house, not able to tear his eyes from the sight. An arm clutched his shoulder.

  “Peter,” Henry said. “We watched from the window.”

  Peter swallowed, fighting back the urge to vomit. “Let’s get back into the living room. He’s out of Walter and in the air. I . . . I did something.”

  “I know. Come on.”

  They sat around the fire, Donald using the final two table legs to keep it ablaze. Peter watched the flames twist and dance, the standoff against Phobos playing over and over in his mind.

  “Kid,” Donald said, his voice snapping Peter back to reality. “I think you weakened it. Can’t get us if we’re not afraid. You were brave.”

  Peter didn’t have a response. The sight of Phobos curling away from Walter’s corpse left him dazed. Just what in God’s name were they up against?

  “Why doesn’t he leave us alone?” Donald asked. “I mean, there’s gotta be hundreds of people in town. Why doesn’t he leave?”

  “Maybe because he can’t,” Peter said, his voice a monotone.

  “Why not?”

  “I know as much as you do, Donny.”

  Henry sighed. “We have to be strong and not let him inside our heads, that’s the priority. If we find the basement, we can find Fisher and force him to stop this thing . . . If he can. If that fails, there’s got to be something in one of these books to help us.” He swiped one of the volumes from the floor and flicked though the pages. “I’m still listening, just want to get a head start.”

  “We’re sure there ain’t no way outta here?” Donald asked. His skin looked the color of curdled milk.

  “Road’s no use,” Peter said. “No keys for the bus even if it was. Besides, getting past that thing would be impossible.”

  “What if we started hollerin’ and screamin’? Someone would hear us, right?”

  “We’ve got a plan,” Henry said, looking up from his book. “What’s getting at you, Don?”

  “I need to tell you guys somethin’.” Donald leaned on the mantelpiece. “That thing took the shape as an ice cream man for Walter, right? Because Walt told that bastard Fisher all about his childhood. Then it showed you your son, and imitated your gramma, scared the crap outta all you. Because Fisher made you tell him about your fears, right? Well, I told Fisher some stuff, too, you know. Back when I had my session.”

  Peter lowered himself to the couch, anticipating the blow. “What did you tell him about?”

  “Spiders, man. Freak me the fuck out. My momma, God bless that lady’s soul, she was terrified of ’em. Terrified. Used to shriek the damn house down if a tiny guy, not even the size of a nickel, would come scramblin’ across the floor. She’d be up on the table fast, man. Screamin’ get the bastard, get it, get it! So, me or my brother’d have to fetch the broomstick, right? Smack the fuck. She’d have to see us whack it, too, or she wouldn’t come down. Would stay up there askin’ is it gone, is it gone? Yeah, ma, it’s gone, I’d say, and then she’d come down, but shakin’, man, shakin’. I never minded spiders until I got my first place, and I don’t know, maybe it was from watching her react like that, you know? Started me doin’ the same. Couldn’t help it, man! Saw those little legs scurrying and my skin would crawl. I’d start to make noises, you know, involuntary? And I’d just start shakin’. I’d always go kill the fuck, but it would take me forever. And, man, if the thing was big? Like, even just a little big? I’m done for. Done for, man. Can’t take it.”

  “Shit.”

  “Huh? What?” Donald said. Peter noticed sweat stains on the man’s armpits. “You think there’s gonna be a giant fuckin’ spider crashin’ through that door? Don’t say that man, don’t say that.”

  “Let’s just change the subject.”

  “Ah, fuck.” Donald rubbed at his forehead. “You know, when you were passed out, Henry told me you were a musician, kid. That true?”

  Peter smiled. “Was a musician . . . That’s a slap to the face to say, but I it’s true. Haven’t done anything creative in a long time. Was my whole life up until the band broke up. That’s a hard thing to admit, man. I still think of myself as a musician, but I guess I’m not anymore . . . We were called Throttle. The band. Three-piece rock setup.”

  “Never hearda ya.”

  Peter laughed. “Yeah, didn’t think so. We did all right. Better than all right, actually. Did at least one European tour a year by the time we broke up, that was our schedule. We weren’t headliners, but we had good special guest slots. Managed to get on a lot of the European festival circuits with bigger bands, too.”

  “So what happened?”

  “The guys couldn’t commit.” Peter found it odd to be talking about the band in such a strange situation, but found himself continuing nonetheless. “Robbie, the drummer, that guy was a family man at heart. I could tell from the start. Sometimes you can just look at a man and know. Bill, my bass player, he always saw himself as a hired hand. I was the writer, the leader, the front man. I was a road dog. I could stay on tour and never come home, if that’s what it took. I guess it’s because I had nothing to come back to.”

  Peter swallowed down a lump in his throat. “But I have something to get back to now. You know, the idea of spending time with Beth makes my chest hurt. Just watching movies, planting a garden, cooking good food . . . Anything. Just being together. I have to get out of here. We’ve got a kid on the way.”

  Henry’s voice snapped Peter out of his thoughts. “I’ve got something.”

  Peter and Donald looked to him.

  “It looks like the others,” Henry said. “All bizarre pictures and Latin-like text, but look at this.” He held up the page, showing a splash of black ink. Opposite the odd splatter, someone had circled paragraphs of the text.

  Donald’s brow creased. “So? What about it?”

  “It says Phobos over and over. See? It’s got to be something.”

  “A summoning spell?” Peter guessed.

  “Or a banishing one,” Henry said. “That’s what I’m thinking.”

  Peter found himself smiling. “God, we can only hope.”

  “The things I’d do for a fuckin’ cigarette right now,” Donald said. “I know it’s not a good time, but Jesus, I can’t stop thinkin’ about it.”

  Peter felt the same. His head throbbed from lack of nicotine. He let out a slow breath, relieving some of the tension inside him . . . and let it back in slowly.

  “You know, in a roundabout way, Fisher did get us clean.”

  “Oh, thank fuck for that,” Donald said, slapping his hands down. “At least if I fuckin’ die, I’ll die clean and sober, what use that’ll be, I mean—”

  A muffled thump came from upstairs. The three men stared at the ceiling. A floorboard creaked, followed by another.

  “Guys,” Donald whispered. “My head’s reelin’ without my coke, but please say that you heard that, too.”

  “I heard it,” Peter said, watching the roof. He knew staring at the ceiling wouldn’t do any good, but he couldn’t look away. “Somebody moved up there.”

  “Jerry?” Henry asked. “Or Paul?”

  “Gotta be,” Donald said. “And if it’s Fisher, there’s only one way out of here and that’s down the stairs. As long as I’m breathin’, he’s not making it out the door. He’s giving us answers.”

  Tap-tap-tap-tap.

  Something scuttled overhead, moving from one side of the room to the other.

  “What the hell is that?” Donald asked, his voice shaking. “Guys, what the hell is that?”

  Henry’s fac
e scrunched in confusion. “Sounded like somebody falling around up there . . .”

  They listened. A single floorboard groaned.

  Donald balled his fists. “Fuck it. I’m done with this shit, man.”

  “Don, wait.” Peter grabbed for the man’s arm but missed, then Donald opened the door.

  “Oh, jumpin’ Jesus . . .”

  Peter grunted as Donald fell back into him, forcing his way back into the room. “Shut that fuckin’ door, shut it.”

  “What? What is it?” Peter squinted into the darkness, and fought the urge to scream.

  Spider webs covered the hallway.

  From the chandelier, a large white web connected to the landing of the second floor, glistening in the light of the living room. To Peter, it looked as thick as rope. A thin, silky coating caked every visible surface, mummifying the shattered clock on the floor. On the second floor, something caught Peter’s attention. He squinted.

  “What in God’s name is that?”

  His stomach fell as his vision cleared. A series of circular eyes, four in a row, stared back. Not from multiple creatures, Peter noticed, but from a single beast. Two large eyes flanked two small ones, all surrounded by coarse, black hair. Whatever the eyes belonged to had to be gargantuan.

  “You see it?” Henry whispered. Peter hadn’t noticed him step up to his side. “Up there. You see it?”

  Peter nodded. “Hard to miss. It’s watching us.”

  “W-what?” Donald asked from behind. “What’s fuckin’ watchin’ us?”

  “Calm it, Don.”

  “Don’t say it’s one of those fuckin’ things, don’t. Come on. A huge one?”

  Peter stared at him. “You know it is and you need to keep calm. It wants you to be afraid, you know this.”

  “Close the fuckin’ door!”

  Donald barged past and shoved the door closed, making it shake in its frame. He stalked to the middle of the room, looking back on the door as if it was a feral animal. “It’s gonna come down, man. I just know it’s gonna come get me.”

  Then the creature scurried down the staircase. The floorboards moaned in protest. Peter chanced a glance through the hole in the door.