Dweller Read online

  There were some rusted metal hinges—almost worn down to dust—on the left side of the cave entrance, but the door itself was long gone. There was, however, a large pile of brush in front of it. Had the wind blown it there, or had somebody put it there? It wasn’t a very good camouflage. Must’ve been put there by Mother Nature. The cave door wasn’t a perfect rectangle, but it was obviously man-made, or at least an enhancement of a natural entrance.

  Toby pushed the brush out of the way and peered inside. Totally dark.

  He removed his backpack, reached inside, and dug around until he found the small penlight he used for reading. He turned it on and shone it inside the entrance. It didn’t help much, but at least it might keep him from walking into an open pit and plummeting 800 feet to his death.

  He replaced his backpack and stepped through the entrance. He immediately recoiled—it smelled awful in here. Not like something had died, but like something had failed to empty about six months’ worth of garbage. Noxious. He took one more step forward and shone the light around.

  The rock ceiling was low enough that he could scrape against it with the tips of his fingers if he reached up. The cave was extremely narrow, not quite claustrophobic, but he wouldn’t be able to lie sideways on the floor. He couldn’t see the far end, so he continued walking forward, very slowly and carefully.

  He bet that Larry, Nick, and Frank wouldn’t have the courage to walk into an unexplored cave like this. Those babies would be standing at the entrance, whining, “There might be bats inside! There might be bats inside!” Losers.

  A few more steps in, his light washed against the far wall. More rock. Nothing particularly interesting about it. Toby ran the beam of his flashlight around the perimeter, and there was…nothing.

  So this was it? One small room?

  Toby turned in a slow circle, shining his flashlight all over the cave, and it really did seem to be a single room, maybe twice the length of one of his classrooms. Not that impressive. Still, he wondered what its purpose was. Obviously, somebody had used it for something, or there wouldn’t be hinges and the sign. It could have been the start of a mine. Maybe the owner was a bumbling incompetent and after bringing all of the equipment out here and digging for a couple of days he’d realized that there were no minerals to mine. He’d sheepishly sent everybody home, put up the sign, and declared bankruptcy.

  Or, the workers had been attacked by rats. Giant rats. Well, not giant rats—not fifty-footers, but rats twice the size of normal ones, with glistening greasy fur and glowing red eyes and pus leaking from their ears. As the workers drilled, a section of the wall collapsed and thousands of them swarmed out. The three closest men were consumed immediately, their shrieking forms reduced to skeletons within seconds, like a cow falling into piranhainfested water. The others had panicked and opened fire, killing one rat for every fifty that latched onto their flesh. The owner made it to his automobile just in time and sped off, running over his assistant in his haste to drive out of the area. He’d abandoned the mine idea and concocted an elaborate story to keep himself out of prison.

  Yeah.

  Toby did another circle with the flashlight. Kind of disappointing, but still, he’d found a cave! There might be other caves nearby. An entire system of caves. He could get a girlfriend for sure if he knew his way around a local cave. They were dark, slightly spooky, romantic…

  Something bellowed.

  The sound, which came from inside the cave, startled Toby so badly that he dropped the flashlight.

  Another bellow. It sounded like God himself were shouting from the cave walls.

  Toby raced for the exit—or tried to. His foot came down on the flashlight, slipped out from under him and twisted with a painful crack, and he fell to the ground.

  He scrambled on his hands and knees toward the exit, hurting his foot even worse but not caring, terrified that the entire cave was going to collapse and splatter him under tons of rock and dirt.

  Toby made it outside without the cave ceiling splattering him. Now the only noise was his own frantic breathing. What on earth had it been? What made a noise like that? It wasn’t his imagination, and it was unlikely to have actually been God, so what was it?

  The question was answered quite satisfactorily when the monster emerged from the cave.

  Toby hadn’t believed that there was such a thing as truly paralyzing fear. Sure, you could be held immobile by bullies, and you could be frozen in place when your father came at you with his belt just because you knew that running away would result in worse punishment, but Toby had never imagined being literally too frightened to move. His muscles ached with the effort to move them, yet he couldn’t budge. He just knelt on the ground, staring at the horrific sight before him.

  He remembered it. Very well.

  It was covered with thick brown hair, except for some bare patches on its arms and legs. It stood upright, like a human, though its arms and legs were slightly twisted, as if they’d been broken and not healed quite properly. Its claws—good God, its claws were huge, curved white razors at least three inches long on each finger. Its yellow eyes were set deep inside of its face.

  Its jaws were a complete horror show, with teeth that were almost cartoonishly large and sharp.

  He’d remembered the monster as being bigger, although of course back then he’d been smaller. It was still an imposing, terrifying creature. One that clearly had every intention of devouring Toby, chewing off his face while he lay paralyzed on the ground. Not even chewing—biting it clean off in one chomp.

  The monster regarded him closely. It narrowed its sunken eyes as if studying him. Wondering which body part to bite into first.

  It walked forward. Toby noted that its toes also had talons, though not nearly as lengthy or sharp as those on its fingers. It still looked like it could rip off a few big strips of flesh just by stepping on him.

  Though Toby’s body remained frozen, suddenly his voice worked, and he let out a long, loud scream.

  The monster flinched as if he’d struck it.

  Toby screamed again.

  The monster stood there, motionless, staring at him.

  Toby could feel perspiration pouring down his forehead, his arms, and the back of his neck. He still couldn’t get up, but his hands were quivering. He just waited, knowing that at any moment the monster was going to let out another bellow—a war cry—and lunge at him like a cougar.

  He desperately wished he had a weapon.

  There was a rock near his right hand, but he couldn’t move to grab it.

  The monster continued to stare at him. It seemed alert, as if waiting for Toby to make a sudden move.

  Do something! Toby willed himself. Don’t just lie here. Get up and run!

  Getting eaten by a forest monster was, admittedly, a pretty cool way to die…but not if he just lay there and let it happen!

  Grab the rock! Grab the rock! It’s right here, you idiot!

  His body clearly wasn’t going to help him out of this situation.

  The monster crouched down. It was less than five feet away.

  Toby wanted to scream again until his lungs were shredded, but instead he heard himself say: “Hi.”

  Hi? What the hell?

  The monster didn’t react. Which made sense—wild carnivorous animals typically did not respond to friendly greetings.

  Then it tilted its head a bit, as if intrigued.

  “Hi,” Toby repeated. “I’m Toby Floren and I’m sorry I went into your cave. I didn’t know you were in there. You must have a secret passage or something.”

  Why was he talking to it? What did he expect it to say back?

  Of course, you’d talk to an angry dog to soothe it, so…

  “What’s your name?” he asked.

  The monster, of course, did not answer.

  “My name’s Toby Floren.” Yeah, he’d already said that, but his actual words didn’t matter as long as he kept up the calming tone. “I live about four miles from here. It�
��s that white house with the blue shutters. I’m not sure if you’ve seen it. I hope you haven’t. The last book I read was Robinson Crusoe.”

  He hadn’t been eaten yet, so this seemed to be working.

  The monster ran its thick black tongue over its teeth.

  Toby stopped talking.

  This was it. Death at age fifteen. Dying a virgin. His greatest accomplishment in life was providing entertainment for bullies.

  But at least he wasn’t crying.

  Not that anybody was around to see if he was crying or not. He might as well cry.

  Then the monster slowly stood up, not taking its eyes off him. Toby would have expected his body to run out of perspiration by now, but his clothes were completely drenched and sweat continued to flow.

  Toby wasn’t sure if his muscles were working now or not. He didn’t dare to move.

  The monster clenched and unclenched its fists, then cocked its head sharply to the left. The message seemed clear: Get out of here.

  It was a message that Toby was more than happy to obey. He got up, careful not to make any sudden moves, and backed away. There was a jolt of pain as he stepped with his injured foot—he’d probably sprained his ankle—but he could still walk and he continued to back away, step by step, following the path. The monster stood there, watching him until he went around a curve and the trees blocked their view of each other.

  He wanted to run after that, but he couldn’t risk screwing up his foot even more, especially if he took a downhill tumble. He’d just stick to a quick but safe pace, and hope that the monster didn’t change its mind about its dinner plans and chase after him. It might just be toying with him, letting him get far enough ahead that he thought he’d escaped, at which point it would pounce upon him and gobble his ass up. He would be very happy for that not to be the case.

  What was that thing? Why would it even need teeth like that, except to scare the hell out of people? How could it even close its mouth around them?

  Was it the same one he’d seen all those years ago? It couldn’t be, could it? How had it lived out here this long without being discovered?

  He looked back. Nothing seemed to be coming after him.

  As Toby walked home, he decided not to tell his parents about what happened. They might believe him, or they might search his room for pot. Either way, they wouldn’t allow him to go back out there, and Toby had every intention of returning. Unless he’d missed a really important day of science class, this was some sort of undiscovered creature, and Toby was going to get credit for the finding. He couldn’t go back after dark, but if his foot wasn’t in too bad of shape he’d go back this weekend, this time with a camera.

  And Dad’s shotgun.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Toby spent most of his evening in the waiting area of the emergency room. His ankle was indeed sprained, though just mildly, and he kept an ice pack against it, which was more uncomfortable than the pain from the injury.

  “How’d you hurt it?” Mom had asked.

  Toby had tried to come up with an excuse that was credible yet masculine. “Jumping hurdles.”

  “How’d you really hurt it?”

  How did she always know he was lying? “Tripped.”

  “You should be more careful.”

  “I’m considering that. I’ve heard good things about that lifestyle.”

  Dad was watching Wagon Train on television when they got home. “What’d you do?” he asked, looking away from the set.

  “Tripped.”

  “You should be more careful.”

  “You guys must stay up all night thinking up this amazing advice.”

  “Nobody likes a smart-ass.”

  “I’m sure somebody has to.”

  “Not in this house.” Dad gave him a glare that made it clear that he wasn’t in a joking mood, which was the case about 80 percent of the time. They had a late dinner of pork roast and mashed potatoes, and then went to bed.

  Toby thought that his injured foot might cause the bullies at school to find another target for a while. It was, admittedly, not the most intelligent thought that had ever passed through his brain. He tried to hold his head high, even when his hair got hit with half-sucked sour balls and droplets of snot, but it was probably the most hellish week he’d ever spent at that goddamn school.

  He lay in bed, frustrated beyond belief. School took up all of his day and his job at the grocery store took up Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday evening. He could have snuck out of the house after his parents were asleep, but seeking proof of the monster in the thick, deep woods after dark crossed the line from “glorious bravery” to “suicidal stupidity.” Really, he should wait for his ankle to be completely healed before venturing out there again, but he knew he didn’t have the patience.

  He hoped the monster hadn’t moved on. It was probably nomadic (Toby didn’t actually have any evidence of this, but it sounded right) and would eventually move to warmer climates as the Ohio winter began. But if it had that nice little cave to live in, it might stick around for a while longer. It wouldn’t know that Toby was planning to come back with a big gun, would it? It was smarter than, say, Mrs. Faulkner’s poodle, but still a dumb animal, right?

  Saturday morning, he woke up at 6:58, two minutes before the alarm. He got up and dressed as quietly as possible to avoid waking his parents, then took his camera out of his desk drawer. It wasn’t a very good camera, and he also wasn’t a very good photographer, but it would be sufficient as long as he could get close enough.

  Then he retrieved the shotgun from the hallway closet, where it had moved on his thirteenth birthday, when Dad decided that Toby had demonstrated enough responsibility that he didn’t need to keep the shotgun locked away in his bedroom. The unspoken understanding was that Toby still wouldn’t touch the weapon, which was reserved for hunting trips and protection against intruders. Toby had never been expressly forbidden from sneaking it out of the house and taking it into the woods to hunt monsters, so this morning he was going to obey the letter of the law and not the spirit. When his picture made it onto the cover of a scientific magazine and bought Dad a new gold-plated shotgun with his newfound wealth, he was sure he’d be forgiven.

  He put a bag of trail mix, a thermos of cold water, and a small first-aid kit into his backpack, then strapped it onto his back. He hung the camera around his neck with its cord, then picked up the shotgun and quietly exited through the back door. Yeah, they probably weren’t going to approve of the whole shotgun thing. Still, it wasn’t as if his plan was to march into the kitchen, holding the monster’s severed head. The shotgun was only an emergency precaution. A find like this would be worth far more alive than dead. He’d be more popular with the kids at school if he blew the fucker away, but Toby Floren wasn’t the kind of guy who would put meaningless social status over scientific progress.

  He walked through the forest, moving at a careful pace. Though he was in a hurry to get to the cave, he didn’t want to take a misstep and hurt his ankle even worse. Being carried out of the woods on a stretcher would not improve his social life.

  After the first mile or so, Toby’s foot really started to ache and he questioned the wisdom of this expedition, even without the whole “deadly monster” part. Wise or not, he wasn’t going to turn back. He couldn’t think of any famous people who would say, “One should always allow sprained ankles to keep you from your accomplishments, because they kind of hurt, and the path to success should be as comfortable as possible!”

  He forged onward. If he made it all the way out to the cave and the monster had abandoned it, Toby intended to be in a pretty lousy mood for the rest of the weekend. For now he’d remain optimistic. It would still be there.

  As he approached the clearing, he took the shotgun off his shoulder and held it ready to fire—keeping the safety on but his finger on the trigger. He cautiously walked through the clearing toward the path, staying alert. The monster wasn’t going to take him by surprise. No way.

 
The fear started to return as he walked along the path. He forced it out of his mind. No room for fear. This was a day of bravery, dammit.

  He stared at the entrance to the cave for a long time. The pile of brush that he’d moved the last time hadn’t been replaced.

  Even at his bravest, he knew he couldn’t just go strolling through the entrance. The cave might not have a secret passage, exactly, but there was definitely someplace for the monster to hide that wasn’t immediately visible with a penlight sweep. If it were in there, he’d either have to wait for it to come out, or draw it out.

  He decided to wait. For now.

  He waited for about an hour, watching the cave entrance closely (but safely, about fifty feet away with a couple of trees for cover) and listening for any signs of footsteps, animals moving through bushes, or gnashing fangs. Nothing.

  It could be asleep in there. It could be out on the prowl. It could be in Indiana.

  Next step: draw it out.

  Toby picked up a rock, one about the size of his fist. Then he decided that in the unlikely chance that he actually struck the monster, it might be better to have a smaller rock that didn’t send the beast into a bloodthirsty rage, so he dropped that and picked up another rock about the size of a silver dollar. He leaned the shotgun against the tree, swung his arm back, and then hurled the rock at the cave entrance.

  The rock missed by a good ten feet, which was kind of embarrassing. Toby selected another rock, took careful aim, and threw again. Another miss.

  Jesus. No wonder the bullies picked on him.

  He thought about walking closer, then decided that it was better to waste time with a few failed attempts to accurately throw the rock than to risk being too close when the monster emerged. He picked up a third rock, licked his index finger and held it up to test the wind resistance, concluded that there was no wind, and flung the rock as hard as he could.