#8

"MIST DEMEANORS"
by Dallas Lee

Abby saw the switchblade as it swooped through the air towards her throat.

Her breath exploded out as she slammed back against the wall. The second swipe tore at her blouse, ripping it open. Abby screamed.

The woman attempted to attack, again, but Abby reached out and slapped her across the face. The woman stumbled, taken back by Abby’s attack.

“Stay away from me!” screamed Abby.

The woman stood up. She lashed out with the razor, slitting open Abby’s hands as she reached up to protect herself. Blood shot out in warm geysers from the flesh wounds.

Abby stumbled to her knees.

“You meddling, cunt,” said the woman. “Why couldn’t you just leave things alone?”

Abby sucked in her breath. It wasn’t a woman’s voice, at all. No. It was the voice of Michael Caine.

Caine ripped off the wig and sunglasses. He leered down at Abby.

“Why?” Abby muttered.

“Johnny got too close,” said Caine. “He wanted to be a woman, too. I shared my uttermost thoughts with him, and still it wasn’t good enough. When I wouldn’t make love to him, he threatened to tell everyone my secret.” He laughed. “Poor Johnny won’t be telling anyone else anything.”

“And Barbara,” said Abby. “Why would you kill her?”

“Simply because,” replied Caine. “In her I saw Johnny. And I couldn’t let that go on.” He smiled. “So I killed her, too. It was very easy you see.” He reached up and licked the blood from the razor. “As simple as killing you, you see.”

“But I haven’t done anything,” Abby said. “You said yourself that you went to the police.”

“I did,” said Caine. “I took them a tape of my alternate self speaking. When my female personality comes out, I’m a completely” – he laughed – “different man. They’ll never figure it out. And, soon, I’ll be a complete woman.”

He ripped open his blouse. Female breasts, their nipples hard in the cold of the stairwell, jutted out.

“Now, dear,” said Caine. “I’m going to kill you, too. And it’s simply because I’m jealous of your beauty. I can’t stand that.”

Abby took the moment to lunge out. She gripped Caine by the shoulders and began to wrestle with him. She ignored the lunges of the blade as they sliced open her stomach. She felt her blood, hot and sticky, as it began to run down her legs.

She gripped Caine’s wrists before he could slash, again. She held the hand aloft, squeezing at the wrist, until the blade clattered to the floor.

“You bitch!” said Caine, only this time in his woman’s voice. “I’m going to kill you!”

Abby kicked out. She caught Caine in the stomach, doubling him over. And as he stumbled there, attempting to grab ahold of the stairwell’s railing, Abby kicked him in the ass.

Caine fell down the stairs. As he reached the bottom, Abby could hear the CRACK of his neck as it broke.

She looked down at his corpse as it lay strewn on the next landing. She sighed, reaching down to her wounds.

“I’m glad I have a strong stomach for this stuff,” she said, laughing.

She walked down the stairs to where Caine’s body was laying. She nudged it with her shoe.

“This is always where the dead killer comes back for one more scare,” she said to herself.

But Caine only lay there, unmoving.

Abby shook her head. She’d have to go and get the police.

She looked back down at Caine. “Bitch,” she muttered.

Riley planted the last bomb beneath the heavy machinery.

“Are you almost done with that?” asked Sara. “It’s getting cold out here.” She looked around her. “And it’s kind of spooky.’

“I’ll be done in just a few minutes,” he said. “Hold on.”

Riley finished putting the plaster on the bomb. Then he climbed out from beneath the Tiburon tanker.

“Are you ready?”

“Yeah,” he said to Sara. “Let’s get out of here.”

Riley grabbed her hand and let her back into the marshy bayou. They were both out of breath when they finally stopped.

“Can you see it?” asked Sara. She stared into the darkness. Before her, the Tiburon Company was lit up like a Christmas tree. “I don’t want to be so far away that we don’t see anything.”

“Oh, you’re going to see it,” said Riley. “Bet your butt on that.”

For a few minutes, the two of them just stood there. Overhead, pregnant clouds threatened rain. Off in the distance, Sara could hear a loon’s lonely cry. It made her shiver.

“Let’s do this,” said Riley.

He reached into his jacket’s pocket and pulled out a homemade detonator. Everything that the two of them had done tonight was culled from the Anarchist Cookbook. He just hoped that they hadn’t done anything wrong. It would be a total waste of time if it didn’t. And they’d be right back at step one.

Riley pushed the button.

Nothing happened.

“Shit,” he muttered.

“What did we do wrong?” asked Sara. “We followed the instructions to a tee.”

“I don’t know,” said Riley. “But we fucked up somewhere.”

And that’s when it happened.

The tanker’s holding the toxic waste daily pumped into the swamp by the Tiburon Corporation exploded. They rose in great plumes of burning metal and oily smoke as the tankers were destroyed. Soon, the flames would scatter around the compound, igniting other toxic vehicles. Riley and Sara just hoped that the Tiburon fire company wouldn’t get there soon enough to save most of it.

“Oh my God,” muttered Sara. “We did it.”

Riley laughed. Even as he watched the tanker’s burn he couldn’t believe that they’d actually done it. They had wounded the Tiburon Corporation.

“Wait until this gets back to our brothers and sisters,” said Sara. “They’re going to love it.”

Riley and Sara were part of a botanist group hell-bent on saving the local swamp. The Tiburon Corporation had been their enemy for years. Daily it pumped toxic chemicals into the swamp, destroying and killing valuable plant life. They had tried picketing Tiburon in the past, but that had done no good. Taking drastic action was all that they had left.

And Riley and Sara had volunteered. They were due to get married the next day, and this was their wedding present to one another.

They watched as the fires consumed the Tiburon Corporation. And they heard the approach of the fire trucks.

“There’s nothing left for us to see here,” said Riley. “The best we could see are the firefighters battling the blaze. The most we can hope for, now, is that the fires totally consume the plant.”

“Do you think they will?”

“I’ve got my fingers crossed,” replied Riley. “But it’s no matter. The first wounds of the war have been opened.” He smiled. “What better a wedding present to one another, huh?”

Sara flung her arms around Riley’s neck. The kissed passionately as the Tiburon Corporation went up in flames.

“Is that your doing?”

Riley and Sara broke their embrace. At the sound of the voice, Riley pulled his 9mm from its holster.

And he quickly dropped it down to his side.

Before them, standing in the shadows, was the Swamp Thing.

Sara screamed.

“Don’t be alarmed,” said Swamp Thing. “I won’t hurt you.” He took a tentative step toward them. “Did you do that?”

“What?” asked Riley, though he knew damned well what the Swamp Thing was talking about.

“Set the Tiburon Corporation on fire,” replied Swamp Thing.

“And what if we did?”

“Because something needs to be done about that place,” said Swamp Thing. “Though I hope no one was hurt in the blast, I’ve been enjoying the fireworks.”

“You’re a talking plant,” Sara stuttered.

Swamp Thing laughed. “Indeed.”

“You should join us in our cause, brother,” said Riley. He looked at Sara. “Could you imagine what the rest of the group would think about this?”

“I can’t join you,” said Swamp Thing. “But feel free to bring your group to see me.” He looked at the fire in the sky. “Any friend of The Green is a friend of mine.”

Riley looked at Sara. “We’ve got to bring them here,” he told her. “They’d love this guy!”

As they both turned back to Swamp Thing, full of questions, all they could see were the shadows being thrust by the fires at the Tiburon Corporation.

Swamp Thing was gone.

“I’m higher than a kite.”

“You should take it easy on that shit,” said Bennie. He laughed. “It’s going to rot what’s left of your brain.”

Mark, high on marijuana and acid, looked about the head shop. Then he went to the little booth in the corner. Inside were rows of black light posters.

“I’m roasting alive,” said Mark. “This is one hell of a trip.”

Bennie ignored him. Instead, he had his eye on the two young girls that were in the shop. They were admiring a Led Zeppelin bong shaped in the form of the Hindenburg.

“Can I help you ladies with anything?” asked Bennie.

They glanced at him and giggled. Then they turned back to the bongs beneath the glass counter.

“Guess that’s a resounding ‘no’,” said Bennie.

He took out his lighter and lit the incense lying on the counter. It was the smell of pussy.

Mark came out from the poster room.

“Hey babies,” he said to the girls. “Can I interest you in some Panama Red or a double-dip Santa Claus that’ll send you straight to the moon?”

The two girls wrinkled their nose at him, muttering “gross” and “loser” as they left the shop.

“Hey man,” said Bennie. “You’re going to have to quit that. You’re scaring off my customers.”

Mark ignored him. “You’re going to have to stop burning that incense, bro. It smells like some skanky crack.”

“It’s the closest you’re ever going to come to the real thing,” smiled Bennie.

“Ha,” said Mark. He nodded his head towards the book that Bennie was studying. “What are you reading?”

Bennie held out the book. The cover read: SWAMP MAN OR THING: FACT OR FICTION?

“Don’t tell me you believe in that kiddy shit?”

“It’s pretty interesting stuff,” said Bennie. He bookmarked his place and shut the book. “I’d really like to find out if this thing is real.”

“Hey man,” said Mark. “That gives me an idea. Let’s go out in the swamps, tonight. Maybe we’ll see your monster.”

“Not tonight,” said Bennie. “I’m closing late. Maybe we can do it another night.” Then he snapped his fingers. “And I have the perfect thing for it.”

“What?”

“Hold on a second,” he said. And he disappeared from behind the counter and into the backroom. When he came back out, he was holding a candle. “If you want to get high, let’s try this shit.”

“What is it?”

Bennie held it out. The candle was shaped into the form of Swamp Thing.

“Too cool,” said Mark. “Even if your monster isn’t real, there’s no way we’re not going to see him after smoking that thing.”

“This is the work of one of those bastard conservative groups,” spat Pilate Voorhees. He slammed his fist desk on the desk. Spittle flew from his mouth as he raged. “I want those little cocksucker’s hung up by their Buster Browns.”

He stood up from behind his desk. He skirted his two guards and went into the laboratory beyond.

Doctor Gustav was waiting for him.

“Guttentag,” said Gustav.

“Forget that bullshit,” said Pilate.

“Such a tragedy we’re suffering tonight.”

“Yes,” agreed Pilate. He walked across the lab, stopping by the prone figure of Weed Killer lying on a table. “Is he ready?”

“Oh yes,” said Gustav, “very much so.”

“Prepare him,” said Pilate. “I want him out in those swamps: NOW.”

Gustav nodded. He immediately got to work on the Weed Killer. Green slime pumped into the Weed Killer’s veins as Gustav labored over him.

“He’s stronger now than he was before?”

“Indeed,” said Gustav. “We’ve upgraded his weaponry.”

“Good,” said Pilate. “I’m sure he’ll run across that accursed Swamp Thing, again. I don’t want any failures this time.”

“There won’t be,” replied Gustav. “If he should run across the swamp creature this time, there’s no doubt in my mind that he’ll be able to hold his own.”

“Excellent. This time I want him to bring me the head of Swamp Thing.”

“That shouldn’t be a problem,” replied Gustav. “This time he’ll be able to bring you not only the head, but the whole damned body.”

“This would definitely erase the problems of the attack on the toxic waste,” said Pilate. “Yes, a dead Swamp Thing would do just that.”