WORDS

If I Had a Dog
By Nick Spears

If I had a dog
I would love my dog so much
My dog would ride with me in my car
My dog would sleep in my bed
My dog would watch me shave
My dog would protect me
I would be terrified if my dog got loose
But what exactly does “loose” mean to a dog?
I know what it means to me
It means yelling
It means spankings
It means Kinkos
It means run over
Dead dog body in the road
It means blood
It means tears
It means loss
The dog lost its life
And I lost at being a guardian
A failed parent
I would search franticly
Screaming my dogs name
Posting on street corners
Talking to strangers I’d never normally converse with
I’d be sweaty
I’d be helpless
All awhile my dog has an adventure
One it will never forget
The freedom it never knew existed
My dog would be tickled pink
Fuck dogs
My fish is my bitch

36 Belial Place.
By Nicholas J. Spears

I cautiously sip at my coffee as I stare out the windshield of our car. Leaves float down on the hood. The sun has already disappeared behind the line of houses on the block. The street is empty and seems to be silent except the slight wind that slips through my partners cracked window. He takes his final drag from his cigarette and flicks it out towards the sidewalk.

“Roll your window up, it’s getting cold,” I say to him. He looks at me and nods. His name isn’t important, but what is important is that I trust him. Not only do I trust him, but, this is his score. I wouldn’t be doing this particular job, in these particular circumstances, with just anyone. Only him. “Here comes somebody,” he says as he quickly turns the window handle. Two headlights grow larger as the vehicle makes its way towards us. “Silver Rolls Royce… that’s him right?” my partner mumbles in anxious curiosity. The car’s turn signal blinks and enters the driveway across the street. “Yeah, that’s him. Let’s go.” I place my coffee cup in the cup holder. My partner opens the glove compartment and grabs for a black pistol resting on some folded papers.“I specifically said no guns. We don’t need them. He’s an old man. He lives alone. Right?” He sighs and looks ahead. “Right. Ok, no guns. I’ll grab our spray packs.” We simultaneously exit the van. Our long navy blue uniforms match one another. As he meets me on the sidewalk, he hands my spray pack that I toss over each shoulder. A dog barks. We quietly approach the driveway. The old man is unaware of our presence and our intentions.

“Excuse me sir?” I boldly say tapping him on his left shoulder. The old man is not at all startled as he continues locking his car door. “Excuse me sir. Sorry to bother you this evening. You see, we are with Ray’s Pest Control.” The old man slowly turns around revealing his soft face and bright green eyes. A giant curly mustache hides his upper lip, but two oversized front teeth peer out from his front lip like a gopher. I gather my thoughts and continue as his focus shifts to my partner standing to my side. “The city has asked us to run checks in the neighborhood. The last few weeks have caused quite a lot of rats to surface, with the rains and all.” The old man turns back to me and stares into my eyes without saying a word. He didn’t have to say anything. His eyes said it all. He is either senile or he is mute. I continue, “We just need a few minutes to tell if your house has been infiltrated at all.” I pause for a moment as he continues staring at me. “We’ll be in and out. I have all the paperwork right here if you would care to see it Sir?” My partner steps forward holding out a clipboard. The man dismisses the clipboard, then turns and continues his silence while making his way to the front door. He stops half way and turns as to make sure we are following. We look at one another and know we’re in. We make our way to the front door.

The door alone is massive. Carved faces of angels border the frame and are surrounded by dead ivy that climbs the outside wall. The entry way is dark. The ceilings are covered in hanging light fixtures and massive chandeliers. In front of me is a giant staircase. The type that starts straight and then curves in both directions. Blood red carpets with dark oak railings accent the pearl colored walls. My partner closes the door softly and gives me a subtle glance. The old man is still silent. He moves his hand in front of him as to express “go head, look around”. I feel hesitant to continue. My brain starts spinning its wheels. I only steal from those whom deserve it. I have morals. I have my code. But, I remind myself that this is my partner’s score, and he shares my same code. I have to trust him. I have to.

“Let’s get started.” I say to him loud enough for the old man to hear. “Why don’t you inspect the upstairs and I’ll check down here.” The old man looks upstairs and then gives me an unusual look. Does he know? Does he know we are thieves? No, he couldn’t. Why would he let us in his house? All I can hear in my head is the words from our buyer; “It should be upstairs in his library. This relic is priceless. Bring it to me and I can guarantee you will never work another day in your life.” I feel my stomach tighten. This has to be my last score. I have a family now. There’s no way he knows.

“Sure thing. Give me a shout if you find any rat droppings,” My partner replies. He begins up the stairs past the old man. I watch him ascend up the stairs around the curve and out of sight. The old man stands still halfway up the staircase and watches him from behind. He then turns and looks in my eyes, turns away slowly and makes his way up the stairs in the other direction. Patience I think. He’ll find it.

I make my way into the kitchen, holding my fake rodent tracking device. The kitchen is cold and empty. I open and close some cupboards loud enough to sound like I’m busy. The cupboards are bare. No plates, no glasses, no food. Odd, I think. I continue with my charades towards the dining room. I hear a door slam upstairs. I hold my breath and listen. Silence. Footsteps. Fast footsteps. Someone is running. It stops. More silence. I have to go upstairs. God, I hope he didn’t hurt the old man. I make a dash to the staircase.

I reach the top of the stairs to find myself staring down a long and dark hallway. Door after door. There must be six rooms on each side. Still silence. Where is my partner? Where is the library? I tip toe to the first door and softly lean my ear up against it. I hear nothing. I place my hand on the door knob and slowly twist. I crack the door just enough to see in. Nothing. The room is empty. I swing the door open and peer at the desolate room. Odd, I think. I close the door and move down the hallway.

I skip the next two sets of doors. I now can hear something. It’s an unfamiliar sound. It’s coming from the very last door. What am I doing? What is going on? I close my eyes and put my ear against the door. I hear what sounds to be someone humming. The unfamiliar noise is still there too, but I can’t tell what it is. Why would my partner be humming? It must be the old man. I have to peek. I begin turning the door knob as quietly as I possibly can. I lean into the door frame pressing my face against the wood as I inch the door open. A large hand with a white cotton glove is working a paintbrush on a canvas. I cannot see whom the hand belongs to as the wall is obstructing my angle. Only if I open the door wider will I be able to see. The door squeaks. Oh shit! The paintbrush drops to the floor and the humming stops. I close the door quickly, “Sorry Sir! I was just looking for my partner, didn’t mean to barge in on you!” The door opens a sliver. I step back. Behind the cracked door is a bright white face with red lipstick covered lips. I grab the door knob and slam the door shut, turn and sprint down the hallway. As I near the end of the hallway I turn around to see what looks to be a very tall naked man wearing clown makeup and white gloves. He stands there in the darkness looking at me with empty expression. I continue to run, never looking back.

I stop to catch my breath. I look around to find myself in what seems to be the center of the house, and more importantly, the library. The lights are off, but the moonlight peers in through a giant window overlooking the backyard. I approach the window peering out. I see a silhouette running around franticly by the walls that border the backyard. I look closer. It’s my partner. What the hell is he doing outside? Did he find the relic and ditch me?! A light turns on behind me. I turn around to find a 5 year-old boy standing in the center of the room. His eyes are locked on mine.

“He wants to play,” says a soft whispering voice from the corner of the room. I quickly look over to see the old man sitting in a huge chair smoking a tobacco pipe. I nervously spit out, “Oh hello sir. I seem to be lost and I can’t find my partner. Good news, the downstairs looks fine. No rats at all.” He and the boy continue to stare at me. “He just wants to play. Play with him.” He sucks on his pipe. I try to maintain my composure. What do I do? What do I play with my son? All of a sudden I find myself mocking an airplane. My arms are spread out wide and my lips flutter as I make the buzzing sound of an airplane. I look at the boy and he is baffled by my actions. I continue my antics and swoop around him like a plane circling its runway. He watches my every move unamused and confused.

My partner darts into the room from the darkness. He quickly glances at the boy and the old man smoking in the corner and slowly approaches me. His face is tense and he is trembling. He leans into my face and whispers, “I can’t get out. This house won’t let me leave. There’s nothing but darkness out there. Empty darkness. No people. No streets. Do you understand me? There’s no way out.” I listen to him and try to register the situation. I have never in the 29 years of knowing him, witnessed him behave like this. Then it occurred to me like a shot of adrenaline straight to my heart. My face turns pale and I can feel my fingers begin to twitch. “This kid doesn’t know what an airplane is… What is going on?” I mumble.

Just then the boy glares at me and walks over to the old man. He sits on the floor aside the old man and whispers to him. The old man looks up at me and calmly says, “He simply wanted to play.” I sprint across the room and grab the old man by the throat. “Listen here! No one wants to play with your kid!” He awkwardly smiles without struggling, “Oh, but he’s not my kid.” I tighten the grip on his throat, “I don’t give a shit! Now where is the relic?! And who is the freak in the back room! Answer me now!” He laughs. He laughs uncontrollably in the most sinister tone I’ve ever heard. The boy looks at my partner and chuckles. I turn around to look at my partner and he whimpers, “Don’t you see? There is no relic. There is no score. We can’t leave. We are the score… we are the score.” The boy begins chuckling harder and louder. I release my grip and begin back stepping.

I slowly spin around to grab my partner, but he is gone. I quickly span the dark room. A horrific scream bellows into the room from the hallway. The naked clown figure comes out from behind a door and calmly shuts it. The boy and the old man continue giggling. A sense of helplessness overcomes me.

“Sir! I really must be on my way. I have a family waiting for me at home. I’m not sure what is happening here, but there’s been some sort of mistake. Please, just let me leave. I will never speak of this place,” I frantically request. The old man stops laughing, “Your family? Your family is already here. My friend has been watching over them,” he gestures to the hallway where the naked clown figure continues to stand alone in the dark. “We have an extra room waiting for you. Won’t you stay awhile?”

A drop of liquid splashes on my left hand. I hold my hand up in front of me to take a closer look. Red. Another hits my shoulder. I look above me. The sight makes me drop to my knees. I slowly look up again. An obscure painting of a mother and son engulfed in flames covers half of the ceiling. Their mouths are wide open in terror. I can hear their screams piercing through my eardrums. It’s my wife and son. “It’s not complete quite yet,” the old man whispers to me. The young boy’s laughter increases. He pauses and points at me, then stands and locks his eyes on mine. His grin softens as he slowly walks closer and closer. Fear consumes me completely. Where am I? Somewhere I shouldn’t be. Somewhere no one should.