1
Dave Olshaker had been on the road too long, and he was sleepy as hell. He and Billy Dunne had to slap each other a few times just to keep their eyes open, and then the heat of the day just fried them out, that and the warm piss beer. Dave had to take a dump twice back in the sagebrush because something he’d eaten the night before hadn’t set well.
But they had watched it all.
Billy had wanted to go help with the tire change. “It’s our chance. We can help ’em, then beat the crap out of Griff. And you can get Tammy.”
But Dave, not feeling so great, had held back. He’d just driven around and around the narrow, dusty side road off the highway, trying to keep out of sight of the gang with the Pimpmobile.
Once the tow truck had come out, he decided to follow it up to the Brakedown Palace, but he still stayed a ways back until he saw all of them go inside the shop.
When he drove up to the Palace, he gassed up the car, then went inside.
“Fuel,” Billy said, grabbing Hostess Cupcakes, Twinkies, and some Drake’s Yodels from the shelves, stuffing them down his pants as if the bulge wouldn’t be noticeable.
“That a Twinkie in your jeans, or are you just happy to see me?” Dave chuckled.
“Where’d they go anyway?” Billy asked.
Charlie Goodrow had come back inside the shop, and pointed to the doorway in the back. “They went back there. And you’re paying for every damn Twinkie you got in your pants, kid.”
2
Inside the inner sanctum, Josh was shocked by the smell—it was of some kind of church incense. The room was smoky with it.
The others came up behind him, Tammy coughing, Ziggy saying something about getting high off “sacred fumes,” and Bronwyn pointing out the lack of ventilation, despite the cigarette hanging out of her mouth.
But Josh had already gone over to the display case. The Mystery. The Great and Powerful It.
With spotlights on signs and images behind it—signs that warned of ancient curses and Aztec savagery, and images of the Pyramids of the Sun and Moon as well as of some man-creature covered with blood, holding what looked like a human head in his hands—a glass case stood at the center of the room, lit from beneath and behind with a cool blue and white light, and within the glass display, some kind of curved rock.
It was in what looked like a large stone bowl. As if a geode the size of a desk had been cracked open to cradle it.
“It’s a dead kid,” Griff said.
“No, it’s not. Look at the hands.”
“And feet,” Josh added. “Christ.”
“It’s disgusting,” Tammy said.
“I don’t know,” Bronwyn said. “Makes me feel a little creepy. But it has its good points.”
“Like?”
Bronwyn shrugged. “It looks like the kind of baby someone I know will have someday.”
“Like a baby freak,” Griff said.
The only one not talking much was Ziggy. Josh noticed that he just stood off to the side, and wouldn’t do more than peer at the Great Unspeakable Mystery from the corner of his eye, as if it reminded him of something not so wonderful.
The thing itself was a light dusty gray color all over with a sort of brackish, almost seaweed under-color to it—faint but noticeable. Its skull seemed enlarged, as if it were too big for the rest of its skeleton. Wrapped around its head and along its collarbone were gauzelike strips that criss-crossed all the way to its shriveled belly. Its skin was somehow glued to the gauze, and Josh blurted out, “It’s a mummy. A creepy little crappy mummy. These people are whack jobs to sell tickets to it.”
Its hands were elongated, with fingers that looked more like fins that then curled into talons. At the end of its fingertips, what looked like long, sharp, curved, black, shiny, smooth stone that ended in hooks. Its feet and toenails were similar.
In its eye sockets, two rounded turquoise stones in place of eyes.
Bronwyn read aloud from one of the signs. “It is a creature of the night, although it never sleeps. But the Sun God is its enemy, and so it prefers darkness.”
Its hands were crossed over each other, with a twisted, knotted rope keeping them together.
“It looks like a big baby, sleeping,” Tammy cooed. “From hell.”
“Big ugly bondage baby,” Griff chuckled.
“It’s the size of a kid. Maybe it’s a small adult. I can’t tell,” Bronwyn said.
“I like the turquoise,” Tammy added. “I kept hoping we’d find someplace that had decent jewelry out here. So far, this is the closest I’ve come to any.”
“Maybe I should pop his little eyes out,” Griff said. “Put them in a necklace for you.”
“Ew,” Tammy said.
“How could they do this?” Josh asked. “They had to dig up a grave and then do something to the body? It’s sick.”
Bronwyn lit up a cigarette. “Maybe. But you know, out here on the desert, people die, bodies are found years later. The desert mummifies them. Maybe it’s fake. I mean, it could be plastic.”
“I bet it is,” Griff said.
“Nope, it’s real,” Josh said.
“No way. Look at those hands. Nobody can have hands like that. Look at them. It’s so fake it’s funny.”
Josh leaned over the glass cover of the display. “I can’t tell. This is probably all fake.”
“Just lift the lid up,” Griff said. Then, he pushed Josh back a little and went to feel under the glass lid. “Here’s the hinge.” He raised the lid and held it back. “Touch it.”
“No thanks.”
“Oh Lord.” Griff reached in and touched the forehead of the skull.
For just a second, Josh felt as if something happened. Not anything awful, just as if something changed. Then he began coughing. It was dust—the dust of the display case had come up in a brief smoky cloud and then dissipated.
“Hell,” Griff said.
“What is it?”
“It’s warm. This thing is warm.”
“I’m sure,” Bronwyn said. “It probably bakes in here every day.”
“No, I mean, it’s . . . it’s . . . alive!” Griff shouted and then cackled gleefully. Then, stupidly, he let go of the glass display top, and it fell backward, shattering on the floor.
Each of them looked at the other.
“I wonder how much that’ll cost to replace,” Bronwyn said.
After several seconds, Josh said, “They didn’t hear it in the shop. We’re too far out here.”
“Well, we can’t leave it like that.”
“Oh yeah we can,” Griff said.
That’s when Josh noticed the sign. He read it aloud. “Please Do Not Touch Glass. We at the Brakedown Palace have nicknamed this special ancient mummy Scratch, and he has been good luck for us all these years. We must warn any who view it that there is a legend that once Scratch gets fresh human skin under its fingernails and the taste of blood, he’ll come back from oblivion to reap the human harvest. Do Not Touch. Do Not Feed.”
“Scratch. Now that’s original,” Bronwyn said. “That’s nothing but some little kid mummified and they stuck fake longer fingernails on him. But they call him Scratch. Lovely Mr. Goodrow.”
“There’s something wrong with this,” Tammy said. For the first time since he’d known her, Josh felt he heard something adult in her voice, as if she’d been hiding behind a little-girl persona during college. “I don’t feel good about it.”
“I know. It’s not right,” Ziggy said, startling the others.
Josh turned—Ziggy had pressed himself up against the metal wall. He was tripping somehow—it looked as if he’d finally hit the legendary limit of too much weed and too much speed. “What’s up? Zig?”
“I had a dream about this. A vision. Like a shaman.”
Griff snorted. “Doin’ ’shrooms, was ya?”
“I had this vision where I saw this thing coming for me, only it was all bloody and torn up, but it had eyes just like this.”
“It was a dream. That’s all,” Josh said.
“I don’t know. I am never ever taking anything again,” Ziggy said. “Crap. My brain is fried. I know it is.”
Bronwyn went over to him and touched the edge of his elbow. “It’s okay. It’s okay. Look, let’s go back down to the shop. I’m sure the car’s nearly ready. We can get some Cokes. Want a Coke? My treat.”
“Some freak put this together,” Ziggy whispered. “Some freak. Some sick nutjob. That’s a kid. Or a dwarf. Or a very little person. Jesus Holy Mother of Mary.”
“It’s okay,” Bronwyn said, softly. She tugged at his arm, and Ziggy, head down, began walking with her down the long corridor, past the paintings and the stonework of the Quonset hut, back to the shop at the Brakedown Palace.
“I never wanna get that burnt out on drugs,” Tammy said. “I like weed too much.”
“Remember that acid?”
“Only three times,” Tammy said.
“Let’s get out of here,” Josh said.
“Eh, we just broke some cheap piece of glass. It’s no biggie,” Griff said. “Hey, let’s find out if this thing is real. Let’s feed it.”
“Hardy-har-har.”
“I mean it. Come on. We can just give it a little skin. Just a little.”
“You’re getting creepy on me, baby,” Tammy said.
“Creepy can be good.” Griff reached for her left breast and gave it a squeeze. Tammy slapped him hard on the cheek—the smack echoed as much as the breaking glass had.
Josh stood there, wishing he could disappear.
“You slut,” Griff spat, and swung a fist out at Tammy, connecting with the side of her neck. Tammy fell—knocked off her feet by the blow.
“Hey!” Josh moved forward, grabbing Griff’s arm, pulling it back. Griff tugged hard, pulling Josh off balance. “Leave me the hell alone!” Griff shouted. Josh wasn’t sure what he yelled back, and he was only dimly aware that Tammy was screaming and weeping in a heap in the corner, but the next thing he knew, he was thrown backward into the glass display case. He felt a sliver of glass go into his side, then a sick little crunch. At first, he thought he’d broken his back, but then realized it was just the Unspeakable Mystery Attraction, Scratch, beneath him.
Josh started cussing, and when he was done, whispered, “You probably killed me.”
Griff’s face was deep red and sweaty—but the smash-up of the display had gotten his attention and stopped the fight.
“Did I kill you?” Griff asked.
Griff gingerly pulled Josh up by the waist from the broken display.
Josh felt a pain in his back and side, but after a minute, lifting his torn shirt up, Griff only found two small bits of glass, and they had just scraped his skin a bit.
“Oh man,” Griff said.
“You are one fat moron,” Tammy said, as if it were the worst insult she could hurl.
“Okay. Just leave me alone,” Josh said, pulling back from Griff.
“I want to make sure you’re okay.”
“I’m fine. Okay? I’m fine. Don’t touch me. And do not hit her ever again.”
“She hit me first,” Griff said.
“What, are you two years old? She slapped you because you copped a feel. And you slugged her. Get a grip. See a psychiatrist. But don’t ever hit her again.”
Then, to Tammy, “You okay?”
She rubbed her neck and accepted his outstretched hand as a lift up. “I’m fine.”
“Oh baby, I’m sorry,” Griff said. “I’m so sorry, baby.”
“I know you are.” Tammy let go of Josh’s hand and stepped toward Griff.
I do not believe this, Josh thought. They are going to kiss and make up.
And that’s when he happened to glance down and see the smashed-up body of Scratch.
“We broke it. Holy mother of—”
“Damn it to hell!” a gruff voice shouted from down the corridor.
Josh spun around—it was none other than Charlie Goodrow with a big shotgun at his side.