The April Featured Story is by Philip Michael Roberts

Please feel free to email Philip at:

philip.michael.roberts@gmail.com

NEW TO TOWN
by Philip Michael Roberts

An ill-advised decision to drive through the night and a bit of poor planning brought Richard to the edge of a small stretch of downtown in the middle of nowhere.

He’d become so reliant on the electronic voice of the GPS to get him wherever he needed to go that he hadn't considered the possibility that he’d still end up getting lost using it. Sure, he’d heard stories of other poor souls following the little box’s instructions into some horrible place or another, but strung out on caffeine and a desire to get to the conference as soon as possible, he was able to experience firsthand what it was like to find himself before a dead end in the midst of tall, thick trees while that damn voice told him it was a through street.

From there, he’d spent his time through back roads going nowhere until finally, with the sun inching its way up the horizon and his eyes ready to fall out of his skull, he found the road changing from dirt to something a bit closer to asphalt. Then a few houses came into view, a bit back from the road but blessedly there all the same, his first hint of life in over two hours of constant driving.

He didn’t think it could be much later than six when he reached the true downtown stretch. The buildings, old but clearly maintained, made the place look like the quaint kind of “little getaway” crap that people gushed about and found for their vacations.

Richard saw that most the stores were closed when he wanted to get directions about how to get out of this place and back on the right road. He had mentally accepted that he wasn’t going to get to the conference in enough time to salvage his wasted night. He figured it was probably shot, not that he had cared to sit through who knew how many speeches and reports anyway.

The car came to a halt in a parking spot in front of an old barbershop. Richard pulled off his crumpled suit jacket and threw it in the backseat before settling down and closing his eyes. He had to get a bit of sleep before driving out. His body demanded it.

*****

He woke abruptly, his neck so painful that he couldn’t turn his head to the left without grimacing. He pushed open his car door and spit out a wad of mucus onto the asphalt before stretching as best as his body would allow. Though the day wasn’t exactly hot, it was still too hot for the shirt he wore, so he rolled up his sleeves while looking around at the empty block.

The sun shined directly above him, and he realized that most the stores now had their blinds up and their signs switched to open. He didn’t see a single car beyond his own for as far down the street as he was able to see. He scratched his chin and smoothed back his sleep-rumpled black hair as he looked at the buildings in front of him, thinking there should’ve been at least a few people out on a Friday.

Still, someone was moving around inside the barbershop, and the pole in front spun its red and white. He’d only been intending to get directions, but as he rubbed his fingers over the stubble on his chin, he thought maybe an old fashioned shave might be nice. He slammed his car door shut and walked up to the door.

A bell jingled as he stepped inside the old building, kind of surprised by the heat, no AC going from what he could tell, his face growing slick as he looked over the rows of empty chairs and finally towards the old man sitting near the back with a magazine in his hand.

The man looked up in surprise at the sight of Richard, his eyes growing wide within the mess of wrinkles on his face, bald head shining with sweat. He was hunched forward, back bent low, but the thing that made Richard stare in confusion were the thick scabs on the man’s lips. They almost made it looked like he wore lipstick at first, but getting a better look from the sun pouring in through the glass front of the building, he could see they were just scabs.

“You want to get out of here,” the old man said, lowering the magazine, tears forming in his eyes and running down his cheeks.

Richard was too surprised to do anything but stare at first, the words taking a second to sink in. “Come again?”

The old man began to rise a bit but stopped short, slumping back into the seat, his legs not moving much at all from the effort. Richard’s eyes until he saw the nails jammed through the old man’s feet, attaching them to the green-tiled floor.

“Oh my god!” Richard said, his eyes flickering back up to the man’s face.

“Don’t stop and don’t consider it,” the man said, gestured towards the door. “Get out right now and don’t look back.”

Richard listened. Every possible question left him as he turned and pushed open the door. He knew that something very bad was going on if this town contained people who would actually hammer nails through an old man’s feet.

He figured he’d get out of this town and then call the police from the next town.

As he stepped out of the barber shop, nothing stirred in the empty streets when he got in his car and turned the key. His heart began to race as the engine didn’t make a sound. A drop of sweat ran in his eye as he pressed as hard as he could on the key but there was nothing in response.

He didn’t know much about cars, but that didn't stop him from popping his hood and going around to look at it. As he touched the hood, he saw where the metal was bent up near the front, as if someone had used a crowbar to tear the hood open. Inside the problem was clear: his battery was missing.

Richard slowly closed the hood of the car. He took a deep breath; let his mind, his breathing, and his heart slow down; he needed to try to consider things rationally. He slipped his keys in his pocket and turned back towards the barbershop. The bell jingled again when he pushed open the door and stopped with the door propped open in the building.

The old man was seated again. He looked at Richard with far too much understanding and worst of all, pity. “You didn’t just arrive, did you?” he asked.

“I fell asleep in my car,” Richard said. “I’ve been here all night.”

The old man nodded, set the magazine he’d been holding down on a counter beside him. He let his fingers linger on the magazine before looking back towards Richard. “I’ve read that magazine at least a hundred times, maybe more. Think I’ve got most of it memorized by now. Only thing I can reach. Others aren’t lucky enough to even have an old crappy magazine like mine, so I guess I should be glad.”

Richard stepped forward. “Let me help you. Maybe I can pry the nails out of your feet.”

“No, you can’t do that. Just ignore the nails.”

“Please tell me what the hell this is!” Richard cried. “It’s all a trick, right, some shit you people like to pull on strangers, freak them out and all, or something. I mean, those can’t be real nails in your feet. Just tell me the truth and I won’t be angry.”

“You live here now,” the man said.

“What are you talking about?”

The old man gestured towards his feet, the nails jutting high up out of them, dried blood clear on the floor beneath them. “You’ll meet him soon enough. He did whatever happened to your car, and he’ll come for you and give you a home. Unlike a lot of the folks around here, I was actually born in this town, there from the beginning when he first came and claimed it as his own. Right away, he moved us around like dolls and made sure we couldn’t ever leave. Shut up the ones who talked and shouted too, like I used to, but I’ve learned my lesson. If I were you, I’d set out on foot. Maybe you’ll get lucky and be away from here before he comes back.”

A church bell rang in the distance, made both men turn and look towards the north wall of the building, and at the sound the old man lowered his head and reached over for his magazine. “Guess it’s too late now.”

Though some part of him clung to the notion that none of this was real, Richard still went back to the street and hurried over to his car. He’d been intent on grabbing his bag from the backseat when he froze at the silhouette walking down the middle of the road. It looked like a tall man but the shape was hunched forward a bit, moving slow, turned mostly black from the glare of the sunlight, the church bell still ringing as the form moved closer towards him.

He yanked open the backseat door and grabbed hold of his bag, slung it over his shoulder and looked back up. A man stood on the other side of the car with one hand up on the hood. Richard stumbled backwards with a cry of surprise. He watched the hunched-over man walk around the back end of the car and closer towards him.

The face looked old, hair long and gray, body clothed in a brown suit, a large hump pushing up from behind his head. The wrinkles around his eyes and mouth made the face look a bit grotesque, forming odd patches of skin, removing any kind of friendliness from the smile on his face.

The man had no left arm from what Richard could tell, the sleeve hanging limply by his side while the right arm looked wrong, as if the skin had been badly burned and new flesh had been grafted on.

“I see you’re awake now,” the odd man said, his voice normal and friendly. He sounded genuinely pleased. “I saw you sleeping before and, well, you looked like you needed it, so I felt it would be best to leave you in peace.”

“That old man in there…he needs help,” Richard said and pointed towards the barbershop.

The man in front of him looked over and smiled a bit wider, nodded his head, looked back towards Richard. “Oh yes, Mr. Wade. I saw you coming out of his shop. You know, I’ve heard he does excellent haircuts and has very fair prices. We’re very lucky to have him as our barber.”

“His feet are nailed to the ground. Do you know who did that to him?”

“Well,” the man said, an almost playful look coming to his face. “You aren’t supposed to look at that. When a boy picks up a toy he doesn’t worry that it’s made of plastic, now does he? May I inquire your name?”

“You did it, didn’t you? I’m turning around and I’m going to leave. I promise I won’t tell, and why don’t you just let me go.”

The man tilted his head down as if looking at a mischievous child, the smile never leaving his face. “No need to be like that. I’m afraid you don’t have much of a choice anymore in the matter.”

Richard started to back away, trying to unzip his bag to dig around for the pocketknife he usually kept in his pants but had chosen to throw in his bag while he drove all night. Before he could even get the zipper open, he saw something moving beneath the man’s coat on the side without an arm.

The coat fell off the shoulder to reveal a lump of skin pressed against his side. The flesh had the same quality as the arm, as if it had at one point been badly burned away and healed over. The mound shoved outward from the body and began to unravel itself into a large arm with thick fingers on the end of it.

As it stretched out, Richard saw a patch of skin stretching up across the left side of the man’s face, pulling down on the flesh, almost melting half of him down into his chest. Richard didn’t even have a chance to turn and run before the arm reached for him and grabbed hold of his neck.

Immediately his head began to swim, his knees buckled, body collapsing to the hot asphalt as the hand withdrew and the man pulled his coat back up over it.

Richard lay on his back, squinting against the bright sun above, still able to breathe but having trouble with it, his lungs just a bit numb along with the rest of him. Then a face appeared above his and he felt the man’s good arm reach under him, help him to his feet, his body leaning against the man for support.

“You never told me your name,” the man asked.

“Richard Hepler,” he wheezed, his mind just as numb as the rest of him, no longer caring to resist, and he had a feeling whatever drug the man had pumped into him was causing that as well.

“A pleasure to meet you. I’ve chosen the name Benjamin Smith for myself. I rather like Benjamin. It has an older quality to it, one better suited for a town like this. And of course Smith; well, I’ll admit it isn't very creative, but I don’t feel my last name is quite important. I won’t be passing it on after all, and I don’t use it often when referring to myself, so it does well enough.”

The man grabbed Richard with his good arm and began dragging him, the gravel embedding into his clothes.

“Where are you taking me?” Richard asked, and felt tears streaming down his eyes, his bag still slung over his shoulder, as Benjamin dragged him down the road.

Through the various glass storefronts, Richard could see faces watching him, old and grizzled, their eyes mostly dead, drained long ago of any hope or happiness. Most were just dark shapes near the back of the buildings, while others were right up against the glass. He passed by a diner and saw not only a person behind the counter, but people perched in the seats, only their heads turning to watch him go as he was dragged along through the hot day.

“It’s quite fortunate that you came along when you did,” Benjamin said. “Our constable recently passed away, and no town is complete without an officer of the law to keep peace. I know this certainly isn’t the career you chose for yourself, but I feel you have the proper enough look about you to fulfill the goal.”

Benjamin dragged Richard through the door of a building near the end of the block. It was a sparse police station, little to be seen beyond a few desks and a larger counter in the middle of the room. There was no one in the place; the thick wooden counter was empty as Richard was pulled towards a door on the left wall.

He thought he heard a sound, like low breathing, but he couldn’t say for certain. He was brought into a locker room and gently set down on a bench. The feeling was returning to his body, arms and legs now able to support his weight and move freely. A uniform was laid out on the bench beside him.

Benjamin pulled back and smiled down at Richard. “I’ll give you some privacy to change your clothes.”

He left Richard alone in the locker room. By the time the man was gone, Richard felt normal again, no hint anymore of whatever he’d been injected with. He looked around the small room, trying to find some means of escape, but the place was sealed up. There was no exit except the door he’d entered from the main room. He inched up to the door, tried to listen to where the man might be, but his heart pounded too loudly in his ear.

Then he remembered the knife in his bag. He dug the blade out from the bottom of the bag and stared at the sharp metal.

He thought about Benjamin. It had taken a few seconds for the man’s arm to pull out of the body, and that might buy him that amount of time: a few seconds. Richard knew he was only going to get one shot at it. He had no idea how long these people had been here, how long the thing calling itself Benjamin had held them captive, and Richard knew he was far enough off the beaten path that no one was likely to trace him here.

He gripped the blade tightly with both hands and inched closer to the door.

A gentle knock came, followed by Benjamin asking in a polite tone, “Are you finished yet? Can I come in?”

“Yeah,” Richard called out and tensed up as the door pushed open.

Benjamin’s smile disappeared when he saw Richard, but there wasn’t even a chance for the warped arm to pull out of the jacket before Richard shoved the blade deep into the man’s chest.

Richard tore the knife out and cut deeply into the throat, both of them falling out of the locker room and into the main room. Richard moved on top of Benjamin, slamming the knife down into that deformed body, a cry rising in his throat as he did, too lost in the carnage to realize that someone else was shouting at him.

Richard looked up, his face and shirt splashed in red, to see a man in a police uniform standing up behind the thick counter in the middle of the room with a gun pointed at him. The man looked a bit younger than the others he’d seen in town, but had the same dark bags beneath his eyes and sunken quality to his skin.

“Don’t move,” the policeman said, voice jittery, gun wavering in his grip.

“What are you doing? I’m saving you!” Richard cried, a dread overtaking him for those first few seconds that maybe, somehow, he’d misjudged the situation.

Looking down, he saw the cut-up remains of the warped face. He was horrified to see that Benjamin’s eyes were gleaming and a smile was forming in the midst of the destroyed flesh.

How could Benjamin still be alive?

Richard didn’t have a chance to bring the knife down again before the gun fired into the wall right beside him. He stumbled off the body and pressed his back against the wall, his eyes locked with the officer and the apology clear in the policeman’s nervous gaze.

“You’re under arrest for attempted murder,” the officer said, stumbling over the word arrest.

“Excellent,” Benjamin said, voice giddy as he pulled himself up in front of Richard. He looked down on the fear in Richard’s eyes, the joy seemed to turn into pity as he knelt closer to Richard.

“I really am quite sorry for the scare,” Benjamin said, suit washed in blood, his deformed arm unraveling from beneath his jacket and reaching closer to Richard. “I usually detest lying, but you see, I found myself in a difficult situation. I already have a fine officer as you can see.”

He glanced back at the policeman with a warm smile on his face before looking back towards Richard. He reached out his normal hand and patted Richard on the knee. “I know it all must be quite a shock, but you must understand, I have everything but a criminal in the jail. At first I thought I’d just do without, but then you came into our town, and I thought you might make a fine addition. I can’t just throw someone in jail though, that wouldn’t be the proper way of doing things at all. After all, a criminal needs to commit a crime.”

His deformed hand reached out to Richard, stuck its spikes in his neck and deadened his muscles, and Richard’s will to fight became too shattered to bother even pulling away from the appendage.

The bloody knife slipped from Richard’s fingers as Benjamin dragged him across the floor and into a row of cells near the back corner. He placed him on one of the cots, carefully positioning him, before pulling out a hand full of long nails from within his coat pocket.

Richard’s gaze shifted towards the officer watching them. Given how little the knife had done, he didn’t know if the gun the officer held could possibly hurt Benjamin.

In the jail cell, the creature used his deformed hand to shove the nail deep into Richard’s foot, pinning him to the floor. There wasn’t much pain because his body was too numb to feel it; a numbness he welcomed when he saw Benjamin pull a needle and thread out of his pocket to begin sowing Richard’s mouth shut.

“An unfortunate precaution I need to take,” Benjamin said, and Richard couldn’t stand the sincerity to the sorrow Benjamin seemed to feel at his own actions. “I truly detest vulgar language, and experience has taught me that people aren’t pleased when they first arrive in my town, but if I give them a bit of time for silence they'll eventually come around. You strike me as a defiant man. That’s why I knew you’d come through and make a fine prisoner, but for now I think we can do without needless defiance.”

When the job was done, the man slipped the needle back into his pocket. Feeling was already beginning to return to Richard’s body, his feet burning, lips a mess of pain. From far away he could hear Benjamin’s voice telling him, “These first few hours are going to be particularly painful, but you’ll get through them just as everyone else did.”

He felt Benjamin take up a seat next to him, cradling Richard’s head against his shoulder, that warped hand running gently through Richard’s hair, and though he wanted to pull back, to scream into his sealed mouth and strike out at the creature keeping him captive, his eyes moved to the officer instead and the message clear in his own pale face and quivering, scab covered mouth.

Richard didn’t try to resist or pull away while Benjamin held him close and whispered quietly into his ear about how happy he was to have such wonderful company in the town.

Philip Michael Roberts lives in Nashua, New Hampshire and holds a degree in Creative Writing with a minor in Film from the University of Kansas. He’s a member of both the Horror Writer’s Association and the New England Horror Writer’s Association, and has had numerous short stories published in a variety of publications, such as the Beneath the Surface anthology, Midnight Echo, and The Absent Willow Review. More information on his works can be found at www.philipmroberts.com.