Lewis Morgan
Something rustled in the vacuum cleaners. It was uncoiling in the darkened space amongst the tubes. I would have looked to see what it was but I couldn’t stop watching. On the wall of screens before me the captain of the space freighter desperately tried to hold the thing off with his flame-thrower. I knew he was dead. They were all dead. Every last one of them. And now I knew the thing was out there coming for me. Everywhere I looked I saw it. In the vacuum cleaners, stalking the aisles of stereos and stoves. I wanted to get up and run back to Dad but if I even made a sound it would be upon me in a flash. I’d already seen it rip two men to pieces.
Besides, I had to know what happened.
*
Mrs Fielder was droning on about healthy hearts. I leaned over to Scott.
‘Dad’s taking me to the fishing meeting tonight. It’s in town at the TV shop.’
‘You mean the one with the wall of TVs?’ Scott was impressed.
‘Boys!’ The wheezy shout chilled our blood. ‘Do you want to have a heart attack like Mr Reichenbach?’
Us boys didn’t even know what a heart attack was. How I cherish that time now.
Mr Reichenbach was our principal. He smoked like a train and never moved faster than a slow rolling stroll on the rare occasions when he did leave his office. After his heart attack he had a machine that was connected to a face mask. It sat beside his desk.
Once Mrs Fielder had sent me to the office with a message and I saw it on his face. It seemed stuck to him like some sort of parasite.
Dutifully we listened to the droning lecture on healthy eating and exercise. We made jokes about ‘fart attacks’ and coloured our healthy food pyramids.
*
I’d pestered my Dad for ages to go to the fishing meeting. I’m not sure I even knew what went on at a fishing meeting but I was mad on fishing. If Dad was going there, I wanted to be in on it too.
The meeting was held at the appliance and sporting goods shop. Half the shop was devoted to fishing rods, guns, rugby balls and tents. The other half was jammed full of washing machines, vacuum cleaners, stoves and a huge wall of TVs. It was hard to see that half as the lights were off. I was excited, especially to be in a shop after it had closed. However, the meeting proved to be lots of tall men standing around talking about things I couldn’t see. Dad ignored me until I annoyed him into action.
‘Look son, you wanted to come along. Now stand still and be good.’
At eight years old I had no intention of being good.
Dad’s mate Anthony ran the shop. Seeing me getting bored he offered to put on a video. We left the meeting and went to the appliance side of the shop. The side where the lights were off.
*
The next day I called a meeting of the boys. We assembled at playtime, down the back of the field, and I dropped the truth bomb. I shook and cried as I told them.
‘The thing grabbed his face! Then it dropped off.’ I couldn’t go on. But the boys’ shocked faces knew this was the truth. Not just one of those ghost stories we’d tell each other. They had to know!
‘He had a heart attack! The thing burst out of his chest!’ Grey faces. Stewart fell back against a tree. Grant was shaking. Scott looked like he was going to throw up. I had to tell them the worst part.
‘Then, it killed all his friends.’
Scott began to vomit.
*
‘We can run it through all the TVs at the same time.’
Anthony produced a VHS cassette and the wall of showroom televisions flashed into life.
‘We just got this in. Some space thing. Documentary or some shit. Kids love that sort of stuff.’
He was right. Me and all my friends had seen Star Wars and were space mad. This was going to be awesome!
The word ‘ALIEN’ slowly appeared on the screen as Dad and Anthony left me in the darkened half of the shop and returned to their meeting.
*
After that we took all the chips and lollies out of our lunch boxes and gave them to the school bullies. That was our revenge.
We looked for the heart tick on everything we ate. Lunchtimes would see us endlessly running circuits of the back field.
We would have healthy hearts.
Still, for weeks afterward we all walked around with our arms folded across our chests, like the cross-your-heart bras our mothers wore.