“I got off the bus, jus’ came in, threw my shit on the couch an’ went to my room an’ there it was. I saw it scramble behind my bed. It’s a big, white turtle lookin’ thing.” Jillian tried to explain herself without appearing really stupid to her friend.

“Where’d it come from?” Joshua asked while holding a blue mop handle close to his heaving chest. The boy’s excitement was apparent in his wide-eyed gaze. “Why ‘zit in your room?”

“How am I s’posed to know, jerk? We just gotta get it out b’fore my Dad gets home.” Jillian said with a voice as edgy and brittle as ice. Her red hair surrounded her face with locks like licks of flame. Jillian’s eyes reflected the intensity of her terror. “He hates dog and cats, never mind that thing!” She wiped a rogue strand of crimson from her forehead as she reached with her other hand into the drawer beside the stainless steel sink. Without hesitation, that hand removed the longest, widest, most wicked looking blade from the tray. It’s black plastic handle felt comfortable in her wrench-like grip. “I gotta kill it ‘cause I don’t think it’s gonna come out so easy. I want that thing outta my room, outta this house, and it’s gotta be now, ‘cause in twenty minutes my father is gonna walk in that door and I’m dead meat if he sees it, no matter how it got there or why. It don’t belong there. That much is for sure.” Jillian Paused. “Hold this.”

She handed the knife to Joshua. The boy remained silent. His heart echoed the thumping rhythms of the hip-hop from the apartment upstairs. Pedro Mendes was probably jacking off to porn on demand, and listening to Eminem, but Josh had other things to think about. Holding the mop in one hand, the blade in the other, Joshua began to resemble a cartoon knight that Camelot would certainly have overlooked. He stood quite and motionless. This thing, he had not even seen, was Jill’s to kill if she wanted too. Let her do what ever she wanted. It was her home and her monster.

Jillian bent over, reaching into the cabinet below the sink. First she removed an empty plastic pail. With a crash and a flourish, she pulled out a bottle of ammonia, another of bleach, an aerosol can of Raid Ant and Roach Killer, and a half used roll of filament tape. She continued, a lighter for the gas grill, the kind that resembled a small torch when used at it’s highest setting, a bottle of Draino pipe cleaner, a half roll of silver duct tape, two half burned red candles and a big pink sponge, and she tossed her household weapons into the empty white pail. Joshua watched her put the pail on the tiled floor, then she took the mop from his hand. Jill removed the mop head and placed the plastic handle of the blade along side the wooden rod. With the tape tightly wrapped, she secured the two handles together, creating a weapon that looked like a very awkward, very lethal spear.

Joshua stared at her with a face that had only just begun to show traces of his deepening fear. Some of this stuff could really kill, and fast. He has seen the power of some of those cleaners in his sixth grade science class. He took his own knife, a small Swiss Army blade, from his pocket, wiped it on his shirt, accidentally cut a small hole into the red fabric.

“My mom will kill me for this hole. It’s a bran’ new shirt. And your dad, he’s gonna be really freakin’ pissed too. Why did you have to call me?” His tone was sharp and shrill, still a boy’s voice, not yet changed. He silently reminded himself that this was not new. Friends since fifth grade, they frequently found new and unforeseen reasons to be punished. Before this, just last Tuesday it had been the busted windshield, today a monster hunt, with real weapons and real potential for disaster. “For what?” He demanded.

“Look, I called you ‘cause you’re my bes’ frien’. We been through everythin’ together and I just found this thing in my room. I need someone to help me get it out or kill it. Hell with someone, Josh, I need you. That’s for what. C’mon. Timmy is waitin’ by the door ready for the attack. Now, be quiet an’ follow me.”

Jillian led her best friend from the kitchen, her homespun arsenal spilling from her plastic pail as they passed through the doorway and into the unlit hallway. There were no lights in this space, and no windows to allow sunshine. This part of the house always seemed to breed gloom and gray the way the sky does in the moment before a thunderstorm. She motioned with her left hand for Joshua to come close and keep silent. Her right hand held her kitchen spear. Jillian took each step with quiet care, placing each foot gently into its spot before lifting the other and moving forward. Her eyes were opened wide. Her mouth spoke soundless words. Timmy stood in the shadow beside his sister’s bedroom door. His finger pointed at the sliver of light that escaped from the one-inch space between the floor and the thin paneled door. A soft shadow moved from one edge of the light to the other. The gray, shifting shape danced the side to side like a metronome with out the clicking sound. Jillian looked at her little brother. His pale golden hair was straight, thin, and cut to the rim of his brow. His blue eyes were as bright as a summer sky. The small boys pupils were dilated, searching for light in the shadows of the hall. Jillian pulled him close to her side, being careful of her blade. Timmy watched the knife-edge move away as Jillian leaned it against the wall to his right.

“What? I didn’t hear you.” She whispered softly into his small ear.

“I said,” his voice was highly pitched and unsteady, “It’s movin’ in there. I can hear it.” He pointed to his own ear. Timmy looked into his sister’s eyes with all of the trust he could muster. Tears swelled at the redness that rimmed his own eyes. His fear was plain, simple, and easily read. His tiny hand gripped at her forearm with all of his measurable strength. Jillian had a foreboding sensation that her little brother was about to grow up a little. She thought of how she felt in the moments before her cousin Cindy showed her the magazine pages that displayed the snake-like dicks. Jillian remembered something in her had changed that day, something deep, something secret. The grip on her arm reminded her of that feeling two summers ago. Timmy was about to learn more about life than any child had ever wanted to know. Jillian could almost hear the bell ring to start the lesson. She almost turned back, but she knew better. Dad would be home soon and there was no more time to waste.

A loud thump from inside the door insisted that time had start to move again.

“Jillie,” Timmy started, “It’s my fault, I’m sorry.”

“How is it your fault? It’s a creature.” She spoke with care and doubt.

“I dreamed it.” So simply worded.

Another thump ended the discussion before its time. Josh pulled on Jillian’s free arm.

“Well?” The boy asked.

Timmy looked up at the two of them with eyes that needed to trust, while not wanting to trust in the same instant. He wanted to wake up. He wanted Jillie to be a liar. There should be no nightmares and those things inside those places should not be able to come out while you were at school for the day. That last thud told them all that this was real, regardless of what sense and hope insisted upon. This was reality, and yet again, reality would suck. The way Josh looked at the door and tugged at Jillian’s arm, told Timmy all he needed to know. A new sound, a raspy scrape, insisted he believe.

“Well?” Joshua asked again. “Seems like it can hear.”

“I got an idea,” Jillian began. She pulled the two boys into a huddle. “Josh, go into the bathroom and count to ten, slowly, not like the old days when we used to play, b’cuz this ain’t no g’dam’ game this time. I think we’re goin’ into hell, so count slow. At ten, start bangin’ on the wall over the tub. Bang hard, then come back, follow us in, but be careful, it’ll be wet.”

“Wha’...” he started.

“Shut up and jus’ do it. Timmy you open the door for me at ten, then wait for Josh. Both of you will have to hurry to the bed. Once we’re there I can decide what’s next.”

“That’s it?” Joshua asked, his voice thin and small.

“Sounds good to me,” Timmy responded. She had saved him before when everyone thought he was a rat. He knew she could save him again.

Joshua walked away and turned into the bathroom in silence. Jillian put the lighter in one pocket, the aerosol can under her belt and the spear beside the door. From the bathroom she heard “Five,” Already. She emptied the plastic pail by “Seven,” Poured the bleach then the ammonia by “Nine,” by “Ten!” she was ready. Timmy opened the door. She saw the flash of white as the beast slid into their path, across the floor. With out hesitation, she dumped the toxic mixture of cleaners onto the floor. The bitter and violent smell burned her nostrils, and forced the beast into a corner as the liquid spread in a shallow pool that would ruin the linoleum floor. She entered the room, grabbing her homemade spear.

“Be brave, Timmy. Don’t look at it. Close the door and run to the bed.” She spoke each word with a step, making her way across the room. Sunlight gleamed in through the open windows and torn screens. A soft breeze toyed with the transparent curtains put up new with the spring. She pointed her spear, and her gaze, at the nightmare in the corner. Had Timmy really dreamed this thing? What could cause a boy, so small and sweet to imagine such evil? Then, what could birth that horror into this bedroom? The wall were covered with posters of Michael Jordan, as a bull and a Wizard, and Roger Clemens, in all four of his uniforms. She had taken Kobe down months ago. Her friends preferred cute animals and angels, but Jillian had always fancied reality and sports. The trophies on the wall above the creature attested to her own skills and dreams. Her CYO coach told her college could get her out. It worked for others.

She stared at the white creature, its long thin streak of tail pointing straight into the air. She was reminded of the dark husks of horseshoe crabs she had found dead and dried up along the shoreline at Falmouth Beach two summers ago. But this was no fucking crab of any kind. It resembled a sea turtle in both size and shape, and it had a few hideous additions. A head, with a face inspired by nightmares of rabid feline, smiled with a mouth a great white shark would envy. Four thick limbs supported the bulky mass of clean, hard white, and then there was the tail. Switching back and forth, keeping time to a subsonic song, mimicking the rapid rhythm of a fear filled heart. Jillian took only half a moment to recognize the horror of this nightmare. Timmy whimpered at her side, holding the door open, waiting for her to pass.

She ran into the sunlit room. There were no gloomy shadows or vague shapes to fear. Everything was lit in pure white summer sunshine. The thing, she paused in thought, the fucking thing, seemed better, continued ramming itself into the wall that Josh had been thumping on. The sheet rock had been torn away and she could see the white lines the electric wire made where it should have remained unseen. “Stay away,” her mind said, “don’t get electrocuted.” Jillian turned her attention back toward the door as Joshua stepped in.

Kripe, the stink.” He said as he sprinted across the wet floor. The fucking thing stopped attacking the wall and skittered toward Joshua. The boy slipped and fell. Timmy closed the door and reached to help the bigger boy to his feet. They both wound up sprawled across the toxic puddles. Timmy had red eyes and running nostrils. Joshua had a torn shirt and a wet ass as he dragged it across the floor to the bed. He looked with the same locked gaze as the hard shell fucking thing changed direction, slowing edging around the puddle, knowing to stay dry, but inching closer to Timmy. His wide, red eyes spelled fear in a way that no dictionary could. Timmy was frozen in place. Each muscle a stone. His crystal, blue eyes saw a truth, not a dream, that mommy and daddy had both promised could not be. That truth was coming for him. Timmy just waited. Not because he wanted to, but because the boy had just stopped thinking.

Jillian stood on the pile of pillows and pink fluffy blankets stacked on her queen-sized bed. She held the kitchen-made spear over her head like a harpoon. Joshua lie flat at her feet, hearing her sharp intake of breathing as she let the stick fly. The blade hit the hard, white shell of the fucking thing. The mop handle clattered as it dropped harmlessly to the floor. A hissing sound came from between the nasty rows of teeth, but the creature made no other sign that it had noticed the meek assault. The fucking thing only moved closer.

Jillian jumped from the bed, reaching her hand out toward Timmy. His eyes were locked in an unfocused gaze. He looked high. Timmy was wetting his pants. Jillian reached for her brother’s left hand in the same instant the switching tail slashed at his right, severing it cleanly at the skinny wrist. Jillian was first to scream. It took a few seconds before Timmy realized he could not write his name anymore. He began to cry as his blood spray, streaked and spotted the ceiling. Jillian surprised the boy again. She pulled at his remaining hand, jerking him forward, and onto the big puffy bed.

Joshua pulled out his little knife and cut the sheet into a long shredded strip. He wrapped a long strip just below the elbow and knotted it is tightly as he cloud. He stuffed the boy’s shortened arm into a pillowcase, still filled with a pillow, and tied that in place too. While blood flow was eased, and no longer sprayed the room, the pillowcase was gradually turning colors. At the same rate, so was Timmy. Tears fell from his eyes and color fell from his soft cheeks. Joshua turned his gaze from the boy to Jillian; her own slate blue eyes touched him with rage and determination. He saw a glimpse in the power of a woman at her most ferocious. At seventeen she had everything she needed to go forward in life, learn, teach, share, give birth and raise children. Looking into the two fierce eyes, Joshua wanted those children to be his.

“Jillie, I bleedin’,” Timmy’s weak voice pulled Joshua from his fantasy. “Mom’s gonna be so mad at me. Look at the walls.”

“Don’t worry, Timmy, please, just don’t look,” Jillian coaxed.

“But. Its my blood, not yours, mine.” He began to cry. Joshua was at a loss. He could not begin to understand what had happened. His mind could not consider what might happen next. Jillian on the other hand never stopped thinking. She had been a survivor all of her life. Not even the shadowed live of Sunset Terrace stopped her. Pretty pictures and pretense aside, she had to learn to survive at a young age when her own mom died in a car wreck. Timmy’s mom had been great, but not her own. And Daddy’s temper that was a whole other story. Jillian swallowed hard. She looked to the clock on the wall. There were only minutes left before Daddy got home. Her mind heard his footsteps fall with every click of the second hand. She needed to do something right now. She needed to get that fuckin’ thing out.

“I got an idea, Josh,” she said reaching for the bug spray. From her pocket she pulled a small Bic lighter. “I’m gonna burn the fucker. I gotta risk it. Look at my brother.” Her voice was filled with tenacity and hate as she lit the flame and sprayed the aerosol through it. The thin blade of fire instantly grew into a four-foot blade of flame.

“It’s hard, ‘s’gotta shell. How’re you gonna burn it?” Josh asked.

“My hand is on the floor, “ Timmy’s voice whined, “don’t burn it, please. On TV they showed how a guy got one sewed back on.” The little voice was extremely weak. Jillian began to worry about his very life. She focused her gaze on the small, pale hand, still quivering in a pool of dark, thick blood. The movement on the floor distracted her. Timmy began to scream. She thought it would be a long time before he would learn to sleep again, and never again in this room.

“I gotta try. It took off your hand, and it won’t just let us walk out of here. Josh, I’m gonna burn it. You gotta get my brother out of here. On ten,” she began to count. “One,”

Joshua scooted to the foot of the bed. Jillian squatted near the head board. Her knees were pressed against her cheeks. The tail flicked from side to side like a horrific metronome.

“Three,”

Timmy stifled a cry as Joshua reached for him, tugging at his pale yellow t-shirt. Timmy shook his head from side to side, refusing to move.

“C’mon Timmy, we have to,” Joshua whispered.

“No, not ‘til she kills it. She promised. Make it die.” He began to whimper like a baby, as he wrapped himself into a ball, burying his face into the blood soaked pillow tied to the end of his arm.

“Five,”

“Timmy?”

“Eight,” Jillian continued, flicking the lighter to life. “Go without him, get help, Josh, get help. Ten!”

With that final count Joshua let go of Timmy’s shirt and stepped onto the floor. He slipped and fell before he even took one single step. Quickly, he found his footing as a hot line of fire toasted the air between his ear and his shoulder. Joshua stepped to the left, and the voice was in his nearly singed ear.

“We’re in this together Josh. You lead and I’ll shoot. We gotta get to the door,” Jillian said forcefully.

“Timmy?”

He won’t come and neither of us can get out alone. Just get us to the door. It has to stay away from the fire,” her tone was more hopeful than confident, “monsters hate fire.” She shot another blade of flame in the direction of the switching tail that had taken her brothers hand. Joshua was thinking about the hand too. It was a yard from where they now took each fearful step. Joshua bent to retrieve the limb. The fucking thing jerked toward, despite the flame. Joshua froze. The fucking thing froze as well. Its black eyes locked in a frozen stare. Even the rhythm of tail slowed. Jillian pushed at Joshua’s back”

“Move,” she whispered. “Not much left, and my finger is burned. Get the door, please, Josh, now.”

He did and the fucking thing moved in a flash. Jillian jumped and found herself on the back of the hard-shelled monster. The tail switched and flicked, lashing at her feet, but missing with each attempt. Joshua raced through the door. Timmy screeched into his pillow. Jillian managed to keep both her wits and balance, jumping onto, then riding the creature around her bedroom, through puddles of Timmy’s spilled blood, and piles of dirty clothes she never had the time to pick up. Jillian jumped from her ride and ran for the door, closing it behind her, pausing to say a short prayer for her brother.

She ran down the dark hallway. Joshua was already on the phone, pushing buttons. A call for help, but what would he say? A monster? “A hard-shelled cougar with shark’s teeth?” A what? She looked at her friend; they both had tears running down their cheeks, and dry, brown blood streaks all over their arms and shirts. They looked like two little kids caught in the biggest of all mud puddles after a thunderstorm. Their had been a storm, all right, in fact in was still thundering, at least in their hearts when Jillian’s father opened the door.

He reeked of trouble. Jillian knew she was about to face another monster altogether. His eyes told it all. Again, she though, there would be no help here. In fact, she feared it might even be worse.

“I don’t even want to hear it,” He began, “I don’t know wha’ the frig you’ze two been into, but I know it was no good!” His bellowing voice shook the room. Jillian could smell the beers on his breath from where she stood. She found herself between two different kinds of terror. One familiar, the other somehow escaped from her little brother’s nightmares. She watched her father step across the room. He was a big man, almost giant. The front of his shirt was stained with the drops of beer that never made it down the hatch. She felt her belly tighten, and she heard her brothers whimpering from behind the door up the hall. She had one choice to make. Jillian only hoped for the chance to make that choice.

“Joshie, you go home, now.” He said through the cave that was his chest. “I’ll call your father later.”

“But,” Joshua started.

“No but. Don’t fuck w’me. Jus’ go! Now!” He roared. It was all very familiar to Jillian. She caught Joshua’s gaze. In that gaze she thanked him, forgave him, and said good-bye to him.

Joshua turned and stepped into the useless sunshine, closing the door behind him. Waves of sound from the street traffic overwhelmed his senses. The tears in his eyes fused colors and blended edges. Stink of diesel cut though his snot clogged nostrils as he forced himself to breathe. He stumbled down the cement stair, weaving stuporously toward the street. A red pick-up parked at the curb was sitting with one wheel on the walk. Joshua turned his back to the truck and looked toward the open window. He knew which one. He had stood there for hours talking to Jill whenever she had been grounded.

“Go!” The angry thunder bellowed from inside the house. Joshua stood silently beside the truck. The thunder was followed by a high-pitched wail. It was a voice he loved. One he would remember forever, in a sound and pitch that would stay with him, in his own nightmares.

Next, Timmy’s own keening followed, escaping through the open window, into the sunshine. There were two screams, but no true deliverance. The sounds stained Joshua’s soul with misplaced guilt. The next sound was simple, clear and loud.

“My God,” it echoed, “Jill, Timmy, TIMMEEEEY,” A groan that begged for redemption and was cut short.

Joshua turned his back on that last sound and heaved into the truck bed. He wiped his face into the belly of his stained shirt and walked toward nightmares he knew were yet to come.