Zipperhead Camillia had just finished washing Zacky's feet when the doorbell rang. Zack, who had been enjoying his sponge bath to the max as usual, was still making little chirping sounds that could almost be passed off as laughter, if he hadnt sounded so much like a cricket chirping. Camillia had to shush him quick before whoever was outside the door heard his insect-like jibberish. ''Ssshhhh!'' she said, putting her index finger up to her lips. ''Quiet, Zacky! Could be bad man at the door.'' Zack's big, dark, doll like eyes grew wide and his hand automaticly raised up to his lips, his fingers criss-crossing his mouth like he zipping them shut, as if to say, my lips are sealed. He knew what she meant by, ''Bad men.'' The bad men had been here before. The last time was when old Mrs. Farber's cat, Sassy, a feral beast with teeth like a bobcat, had been found gutted and and impaled on a wooden stick in Farber's front yard, like a macabre lawn ornament. Mrs. Farber had immediately suspected Zack, most of the neighbors ALWAYS suspected Zack, when something bad happened to a dog, cat, or any other wildlife that roamed the surrounding area. Camillia understood why, of course. To a certain extent. Zack's appearance would tend to throw one off a bit. But, he was still just a child, for God sakes. Only 12 years old. But, regardless of his age or appearance,the appearance he had been born with, couldnt that, the Bad Men always came knocking. It wasnt fair. The bad man. Old Robert ''Bobby'' Bratigan. The town sheriff. BING-BONG!! the doorbell rang again. Camillia raised her finger up to her lips one more time to emphasize complete silence to zack. He smiled, nodded, and she walked out of his bedroom and closed the door. When she reached the front door downstairs, Bratigan was on his third and insistent BING-BONG. He never let up when it came to annoying Camillia, he lived for it. She opened the door, propped open the door with her bare foot. She was holding a towel and wiping her hands with it, the one she'd been using to dry Zacky's feet, but came up with a different story for Brat. Thats what she called him, Brat. To her, thats all he was. An annoying little brat with a badge. ''And what can I do for you on this fine day, Mr. Bratigan?'' she asked, wiping her hands and blowing a small tuft of blond hair away from her face with her breath. Her lips were pursed like she was trying to whistle with a mouthful of crackers. Bratigan almost laughed. ''Miss Peters, I think you know why Im here, dont you?'' he asked, lighting a long thin cigar. Camillia hated them. She thought they smelled like dogturds. And looked like one, too. ''No, I havent the slightest idea.'' Bratigan tryed to force a smile, but couldnt, it was too early in the day. He was trying to be polite, but..... ''Ill make this short and sweet, Miss Peters. Your neighbor three houses down, Mr. Albertson?'' ''Yes?'' ''He told me that when he went outside this morning to feed his parrot, the one he kept in that big cage? He found it BURNT up, barbecue style, with a corndog stick crammed up it's ass. It had been turned into a birdy-ka-bob. AND, he says that there was even a used paper plate sitting there, and used plastic silverware, like someone had had themselves a midnight snack. You or zacky wouldnt know anything about that, would you?'' Camillia's eyes narrowed into snake-like slits as she stared Bratigan down. ''Are you accusing my son of killing a neighbor's pet?'' ''Not A pet, ANOTHER pet, Miss peters.'' he said, flipping cigar ashes on her front stoop. ''I just asked a simple question, its my job.'' Camillia had seen him drop his ashes, the ashes floating down and landing on her big toe. She wanted to shove the red hot tip of the cigar up his ass, watch him hop around like a pig with an electric prod jammed up it's ass, but, she knew thats what he wanted. Any excuse to come in the house...take zacky away.... ''Well, Mister Brat, I can tell you-'' ''Its Bratigan, mam. Brat-i-gan.'' She felt like saying, no, its ass-hole, but didnt. ''As I was saying, Mister Brat-i-gan, my son hasnt been outside last night OR today. Hes been up in his room playing with his toys.'' ''Coulda happened last night,'' he said. ''You two dont sleep together, do you?'' ''No, we dont. But as I said, he was-'' ''I know, I know,'' he said, with a dismissive wave of his hand. ''He couldnt have done it. But, you know what I think, Miss Peters?'' ''No, tell me. I cant wait to hear it.'' ''I think you arent telling me about something that you KNOW, because youre afraid it'll get Zack in big trouble.'' ''And what I THINK, Mister Brat-i-gan, is that you dont have proof that my son did a damn thing, and I also think you had better quit knocking on my door everytime someone's pet gets killed, or run over by a car. We do live close to a highway, you know.'' ''A car isnt going to barbecue a parrot and jam a stick up it's ass, Miss Peters. Give me a break.'' ''Good day, Mr. Brat,'' she said, and slammed the door in his face. She looked out the front window after she had slammed the door, seeing if he was prowling around the house, but all he did was walk away and climbed into his cruiser, and pull away. She walked quickly back up the stairs to Zack's room, opened the door, and found him still sitting in his oversized highchair, chirping away and fiddling with his pudgy fingers. He smiled as she walked in, and began chirping so loud it sounded as if the room was filled with crickets. ''Good boy, Zacky,'' she said, and leaned over and picked up the bucket of soapy water, removed the sponge, and proceeded to wash dried up blood from his toes. He began wiggling and squirming, and she smiled at her son with admiration. He was smart boy, a good boy, she thought, in spite of his unhealthy appetite. But, he cant help that, he takes after his daddy, and his grandpa. Both those suckers would have eaten the asshole out of a skunk going south for the winter, if they were hungry enough. After she was done with his toes and all of the dried blood had been washed off, she concentrated on his teeth next. She was proud of his teeth; they shined like the front end of a Mercedes Benz when she shined them up with Brasso. She told Zack to sit still for a second; took the small key from her apron, slid it into the tiny padlock on Zacky's mouth, turned it, then popped the tiny padlock off. Then she gently grasped the small zipper between her index finger and thumb, slowly pulled it back. Ahh...there. That wasnt so bad now, was it, Zacky? He smiled, revealing two rows, upper and lower, of perfectly aligned, razor sharp, aluminum teeth. ''Now sit still, now, Zacky, we dont want to cut mommy's fingers, now, do we?'' He shook his head no, his thick blond curls falling down over his doll eyes, lifeless eyes, and smiled real big. He liked to smile, show off his choppers. His mama was real proud of them, too. She picked up a small, hard bristled tooth brush from a table close by, dipped it into a paste she had whipped up with Brasso and water, and began gently brushing his teeth. BING-BONG!! the doorbell rang again. Camillia stopped scrubbing, set the toothbrush back on the table, and told Zacky not to move. ''Now, stay right here, Zacky. Okay? Mommy will get rid of whoever it is, and then we'll go down to the beach and play. Okay?'' He smiled real big again, and chirped a ''Yeshh.'' She walked out of the room again, closing the door, but forgetting to lock it behind her. When she reached the front door, the bell was on it's third BING-BONG again, and she had the funniest feeling she knew who it was. She peeked out the window to see Bratigan again, being accompanied by old man Albertson, the owner of the allegedly dead parrot with the stick up it's ass. The old fella looked pissed off, for sure. His face was as red as his Don Ho style shirt, a shirt with parrots on it, and he was jabbering away at Bratigan and using hand gestures to illustrate something, which Camillia didnt care to find out what. she pushed the hair away from her face and wiped her hands again, and opened the door. Only the inside door, this time. ''Yes, Mister Bratigan, what can I do for you now?'' He motioned to the old man with his thumb. It looked to her like he was trying to hitch a ride. Hopefully to hell, she thought. ''This is Mister Albertson,'' he said. ''The owner of the bird I was telling you about.'' ''Glad to meet you,'' she said, but not extending her hand in social graces. ''Wish I could say the same, Miss Peters, but I cant,'' he said, looking over at Bratigan, then back at her. ''As I was telling the sheriff, I found my bird dead this morning, and-'' ''Yes, I heard.'' ''And not to sound redundant, Miss Peters, but, I know the sheriff has already been here once about the matter, and-'' ''Yes, he has. And Ill tell you the same thing I told him earlier. My son couldnt have done it, and Im not going to repeat myself again.'' ''A parrot, Miss Peters.'' he said. ''Worth almost eight hundred dollars.'' ''Im sorry for your losses, sir, but I can assure you that-'' Bratigan broke in. ''Mind if we take a little peek inside your house, Miss Peters? Just to satisfy my curiosity, and Mr. Albertson's?'' ''For what purpose?'' she asked. ''To meet your son, talk to him. If he is innocent, Ill be able to tell.'' Camillia seemed reluctant at first, shifted around on her bare feet. Then... ''Sure. Why not? Get all of this foolishness behind us.'' She led them upstairs to Zacky's room, where Bratigan immediately noticed the big padlock hanging loose from the door. It struck him as weird, why a woman would padlock a twelve year old in his room. She slowly opened the door, hoping Zacky wasnt in there, and to her amazement he wasnt. She breathed a momentary sigh of relief. But, she could see Bratigan's eyes fixed on the table where the toothbrush and Brasso lay, and the small padlock. He spoke up then. ''Whats the stuff for?'' he asked, pointing at the table. ''Oh..I was just..polishing the brass fittings on the door.'' ''Whats the big and tiny padlocks for?'' ''I dont know,'' she said, getting nervous. ''I found them in the bottom of the closet one day.'' ''Oh,'' is all he said in reply. Suddenly Camillia heard a faint scratching sound coming from the heat vent on the floor, like someone or something was crawling around in there. She looked up at Bratigan; his face hadnt registered having heard it. Good. ''Well,'' she said, ''I guess hes off playing someplace. Sorry you guys wasted your time.'' ''Not so fast,'' Bratigan said. ''I still want to meet him. Im sure we can find him.'' ''But Im very busy today,'' she said. ''Ive got alot of cleaning to do.'' The scratching sound again. This time, LOUDER. Thats when Bratigan looked down at the floor, at the vent, and bent down for a closer look. ''Sounds like you got rats,'' he said, as Zacky suddenly burst up through the vent, Bratigan falling backwards, startled. He saw a young boy with teeth that gleamed like chrome, reminding him of a front grill on an older model car he had seen at a roadshow once. The boy's eyes were big and black; lifeless eyes, like a doll's eyes. Two dark voids that led to nowhere. Zacky scrambled out of the hole and crawled over to Bratigan on his hands and knees like a dog, and clamped his teeth down on the man's leg, drawing blood instantly. The man screamed like a banshee as Zacky jerked his head from left to right, like a pitbull, sinew and bone ripping and crunching. Blood flowed from his leg in a steady stream as Zacky clamped down tighter, severing Bratigan's foot from his leg. Bratigan fell backwards again, screaming as zacky let loose of the foot, dropping it from his mouth like an old meatless hambone and scrambling up the man's front side like a puppy, licking and slurping his torso on the way up with a bloody tongue. Zacky sank his teeth into Bratigan's neck, ripping out his jugular with one quick jerk of his head. Blood sprayed the walls close by like an openwater spicket. Bratigan's body twicthed a couple of times, then lay still. ''Dear God,'' Albertson said. ''You told me he was good, but I didnt know he was that good.'' ''Hes a natural born killer, aint he?'' she asked, smiling down at her son as he finished his mid day snack. ''That he is, my grandson,'' the old man said. ''Just like my boy. His daddy, he always ate the best meat, too. No fat, no calories, and no goddamn preservatives.'' ''And dont forget,'' she said proudly, ''he liked his veges, too. The leftover parts make such good fertilizer for my garden.'' ''Good blood, good meat, good gosh, lets eat!'' the old man yelled, and they both burst out laughing. As her father-in-law went downstairs to grab his butchering tools, Camillia sat Zacky back up in his highchair, and began cleaning the blood off of his face, chest, legs and feet. He sat chirping happily, smiling and gnashing his teeth together. Better get him cleaned up, she thought. Never know when you might have guests for dinner.
Copyright © 2002 David Bdoc Byron |