Stephen King's Box Page 4

  Ben appeared in the dream. He was completely unpolluted and he always had a hand with the index finger extended, indicating the way. He was the head of a small group of survivors that walked with the little stuff they could carry, like water and some hard bread. On the other side of U.S.A., there was another group lead by an evil man, a man they called “The man in black”. His mission was to destroy everything that was still standing and run into Ben’s group. But this never happened.

  As they advanced, they discovered thousands of puffy, purple bodies inside their cars, or in the sidewalk or in the ground of a forest. There were corpses everywhere, but, for now, the tiny group survived, with no more than ten people, to the superflu.

  Days went by and finally, the water ran out. Thirsty, they continued walking to nowhere. Some breadcrumbs fell out of the pocket of a woman in the group and she took it off from a bird’s beak, which was as black as the night without a moon. She pushed the bird and this dropped to its side. It was dead. The woman looked away and continued walking.

  Ben kept his right arm extended like a statue of Columbus, indicating the way, and then, it happened.

  In a few seconds, Ben’s body changed from pink to purple. His belly inflated and exploded with a series of gases from his intestines. His intestines dropped to the floor, hanging like sausages. He didn’t spilled blood because this was coagulated. His skin stretched and formed horrible wrinkles like broken dunes. The bones started to shine under the midday sun. And this also happened to the rest of the group. Someone started to cry...

  And all of a sudden, Steve woke up on the bed, burning with fever.

  One more time, yes. One more time.

  28

  When he recovered from the flu, Steve went back to school after a week of absence. He wrote the story and sent it to several specialized magazines. Like always.

  ‘You do nothing but write’ said his mother while she was washing the dishes.

  ‘I like it’ said Steve with his chin up and nearly closed eyes.

  ‘You’ll end up in a mental institution. All those stories...’ she stopped washing the dishes and added: ‘I’ve always told you to read good books, those which tell stories for children... well, now for teenagers. Not this kind of terror. You’ll be obsessed with it and wouldn’t be able to face the fear like another emotion. The terror always turns its back to you. Well... let’s say it influences in your capacity to difference good from evil, to do what’s right and wrong, your capacity to control the fear. One of these days, I’ll see you screaming after you turn off the light.

  Steve laughed out loud.

  ‘What are you laughing at?’ asked his mother returning to his labor. ‘It’s not funny. Oh no mister.’

  And Steve smiled at her.

  Steve continued laughing for a long while with a strong glow in his eyes.

  And with time, the stories became more and more inside of the box. He read them again and re-wrote them. At this early age, when the situation was on his side, he smoked a cigarette and dreamed of being a successful writer.

  Some day. And for now, life continued without surprises. Until...

  29

  For some time, nothing strange happened, but the past always comes back. Steve continued writing for another three years and his brother Ben was now a skeleton that could barely stand. And after his lungs disappeared from his chest and his windpipe broke in two, Ben continued speaking with that hoarsely and broken voice. One night, he spoke of a town taken by all the boys and girls under eighteen, burying all the parents and adults of the town under a big wooden cross. They were extremely religious and worship anyone who walked under dry ground.

  Everything was in the box. Destiny was written for him. Steve continued with his writing and sending stories. Even though he was seventeen, he still got those damn rejection letters. But the contents were different. At the bottom of the stories, written with a pen or sometimes a pencil, there were some notes that read “it’s missing some spark”, “if you can make corrections, you can send it back to us” or, “it’s ok, but it doesn’t fit with our publications”. Now, he marked them with a cross on the top left corner.

  There was a story that revolved around a group of men that tried to clean the basement of a laundry shop and they run into thousands of rats that looked like cats, walking all over the floor, the tables, the boxes, the broken objects, the fabrics and the pipes. It came with a note that read “it’s good, but rats disgust me”, and this provoked a contagious laugh from Steve and he marked with two crosses.

  And one day, between cigarettes, he told his only and best friend, Bobby (the same that dug graves in the local cemetery alongside Steve when they were thirteen) that with time, he’ll become a successful writer and he would buy a huge blue Ford. Bobby smiled and moves his head. He knew Steve was right.

  30

  On the next year he had a nightmare that stood out of the others. It was a recurrent nightmare and the story was pretty good on paper. After hitting his head against the ice of the lake in Boad Hill, a man grew a power that would companion him forever, until his death. More than a power, it was a gift and that man thought he could remember that same thing happen in his childhood. It was a gift that would scar him in a tragic and miserable way. But he was up for the challenge. Yes, he was.

  Steve dreamed of James again. A tall, blonde man who would regularly wear a trench coat up to his knees. A man that had been in a coma for some time, due to a hit in his head, and after waking up, he had discovered that his girlfriend had married another man. He also would find out about his mother passing away and his father was too old and weak. A man that wondered in his hospital bed, how much time had passed after all? A man that could see. He only had to touch your neck or take your hand or touch something that belonged to you, and then, he could see.

  In the dream, James was wearing his black trench coat. His legs were slightly spread on the snow and his gloveless hands were extended on the floor. He was holding a cigarette package in one hand. He was in a trance. He felt something but not strongly enough to define what was it. Next to him was the Sheriff. James had offered his services to the local police to find clues about the institute’s girls’ murderer called “light feet” who was very much active these days.

  ‘I can’t see a thing,’ he said.

  ‘At least you tried,’ said the sheriff taking the empty cigarette package.

  ‘I can’t!’ screamed James and opened his fingers.

  ‘Easy... it’s ok. At least you tried.’

  ‘I thought I felt something. I thought I saw something, but it’s too dark...’

  ‘Easy,’ said the Sheriff again with the package in his hands.

  But he did see something.

  31

  Jack “light feet”, that’s what the people called him, called her by her name while the snowflakes fell vanishing with the wind. She looked at him. He waived at her and she did too. They knew each other.

  On the next day, the girl was found dead, with some bruises on her neck and her pants and underwear were down to her ankles. She was lying on the floor facing up, her eyes were open but covered with snow, as well as her body.

  Steve stopped hitting the keyboard on his typewriter. He needed a break.

  32

  ‘What are you up to now? Asked Bobby after he heard the “tak tak” on Steve’s typewriter.

  ‘A serial killer’

  ‘That is so cliche,’ said Bobby sitting on the bed’s edge.

  ‘I know,’ answered Steve looking at him with a smile on his face.

  Bobby shrugged. Why was he smiling? he wondered.

  ‘He is a rapist and a killer of girls in campus. His friends,’ explained Steve returning to the paper that was on his typewriter.

  ‘Ohh! That does sound original,’ Bobby made a gesture with his mouth and opened his eyes at the same time he raised his hands. His enormous head was covered with a load of hair. He looked like a basketball with a wig glued on.

 
‘Don’t make fun of it...’

  ‘No. of course not...’ Bobby stood up and looked over Steve’s shoulders. Steve hit the keyboard several times before Booby spoke again. ‘A serial killer of girls on campus. That’s new, yes sir. Steve, where are the monsters, the vampires and the enchanted houses? You are getting out of the subject...

  ‘No!’ said Steve stopping him.

  ‘So?’ Bobby shook his head.

  ‘This time, there’s a special man.’

  Bobby came closer to him, listening carefully.

  ‘This man can see things. Discover things, just touching them...’

  ‘Wow!’ interrupted Bobby exaggerating his gestures.

  ‘And he’s helping the Sheriff to find the killer.’

  ‘That’s better. Loads better.’

  ‘Right?’ Steve looked at him with the face he made when thing were going right.

  ‘Yes!’ exclaimed Bobby. ‘You’ll let me read it when you finish it and I hope you have better luck when you send it to one of those cheap magazines.’ He looked at the bunch of stories that were piled on a table and he smiled at the same time he left the room.

  Steve focused on the typewriter and started tipping again. Bobby said goodbye and Steve nodded. Everything was fine. At least for now.

  33

  ‘Come here, Nona,’ the man was wearing a black, plastic trench coat with a hood that covered his face. But she recognized his voice. It was him. ‘I have something to show you. You’ll like it.’

  The girl was wearing a pink anorak. She was wearing wool gloves and jeans. A pair of black boots were covering her feet. It was snowing and it was very cold. Her breathing transformed into a continuous shivering and she exhaled a cloud of smoke that dissipated into thin air.

  ‘That’s it. Come closer.’

  ‘I’m coming. Don’t be impatient,’ she said at the same time she walked up some stairs. He was at the roof of the small square Storm. You could access it through some stairs, because it was built in a superior level than Street Vaule, which linked the university with the central bus station. It was around 200 meters apart.

  ‘You’ll like it,’ said again the man with the trench coat, turning his back at her, as she reached him. ‘It’ll be of your pleasure...’

  ‘What?’

  He grabbed her by the neck hugging her tight. She screamed. Then he let go of her, showing himself. He had removed the hood and opened the trench coat to show her his flaccid penis at the same time he smiled wide showing his white teeth.

  ‘But... what are you doing?’

  She didn’t have time to talk anymore. She found that scene revolting, him showing her his penis. He was completely naked, only covered by the plastic trench coat. But she didn’t have time to scream, neither to understand. He jumped into the girl throwing her to the ground. He covered her mouth with one hand, while the other pulled her belt. He undid the belt. She struggled and he started to pull her pants down. His dick, despite the intense cold, was getting bigger. She kicked the snow and moved her head, but could fight against him. He now pulled down her underwear and penetrated her.

  After finishing raping her, he squeezed her by the neck with both his hands and all his strength. Her eyes popped showing two white balls and then, she started to turn purple. After a minute or two, she was dead. He stood up and discovered that he still had the erection. He closed the trench coat and abandoned the place, leaving behind him some footsteps and a glove.

  She was the victim number seven.

  34

  Steve stopped tipping on the typewriter. That was enough for today. He only had to work on the outcome. In the end, it was a fake story. Or maybe not.

  35

  And the nightmares and Ben could not be forgotten.

  He saw him, before he woke up with his heart on his hand. He knew how he looked like. He had seen the murders and the horrible rapes. How can humanity generate such monster? He chocked every girl to dead and walked away of the crime scene with his dick hard and the erection went away after five minutes, when all his desires had vanished away. He needed to tell the police. But they wouldn’t believe him. “Have you seen him in a dream?” “Come on!” And some laughter. He had dreamed that...

  They called him Jack “light feet”, a girl named him like that when she came closer to him. And then he smiled at her, a smile so white that stood out from the snow falling from the sky. He was tall, blonde, had blue eyes and hands with long and thin fingers. Everyone knew him in the university, and knew him as Jack “light feet”. The police knew him by that same name but hadn’t recognized him as the killer. The girls did know who he was. But they lived unknowing what was going on. As a matter of fact, the name Jack “light feet” wasn’t big news. But it will be. Although, the girls that really knew him knew dead.

  ‘You want me to show you something?’

  And suddenly, he left the city. Two or maybe three months passed without any incident. The fear had disappeared from campus. Actually, it wasn’t there in the first place. Maybe the city didn’t care. Maybe the deaths weren’t announced out loud. Or maybe they were. And he came back.

  ‘Baby, come closer and look at this,’ and then, he showed them his erect penis.

  It was spring already and the leaves had started to pop out. Steve saw his face and saw how he jumped on that college girl after showing her his dick and how he ripped her panties. Steve was right there. It was him. The man in the black trench coat.

  But it had been a nightmare. Steve sat straight and leaning against the back of his bed, tormented by the flow of information, faces, info and doubts, a lot of doubts. He knew who the man was. Or maybe not. Anything can happen in the dreams. Can you trust a nightmare? He remained silent for a while, absorbed in his head, wondering in what mess he was in this time.

  Ben was standing in the other end of the bed, showing himself as a spectrum.

  ‘I told you there was more.’

  ‘Yes, brother, yes,’ said Steve, sweating.

  36

  ‘I had a nightmare the other night,’ explained to Bobby who was sitting in a chair in the kitchen. Steve’s aunt looked at them with the corner of her eye, frowned and left the room.

  ‘Tell me.’

  ‘I think I know who he is, or at least I think I know...’

  ‘Have you read it?’ asked Bobby with a surprised face.

  ‘Read what?’

  ‘The news says that the rapist from Boad Hill, named Jack “light feet,” he accentuated every syllable of the last two words, ‘has killed himself. End of story!’

  Steve turned to face Bobby, with his cheeks pink and his eyes wide open.

  ‘What?!!’ his voice sounded strong and broken despite he only said one word.

  ‘You didn’t know?’

  Steve shook his head.

  ‘You are obsessed with these stories and you are not up to date!’

  ‘But Jack “light feet” is the character of my story,’ explained Steve, surprised.

  ‘Well there you have it. Reality overpasses fiction. The news talked about a man that could see thing by touching objects or the bodies of the victims and in the end, he caught him.’ He showed his smile. ‘He had a strange power that allowed him to see things beyond all of us could see. An extra sensorial experience or something that allowed him to see things. He touched the glove and felt something; he saw his back with the plastic trench coat. Then, he touched the girl’s hand and he saw his face clearly. It was a mail man named Joe, who knew very well all the girls in the university. He was twenty seven years old. And when his name reached the media, he took his life burying a pair of scissors in his trachea, inside the bathtub in his house. He bled out alive before the police arrived to his house. His mother notified the police half hour earlier...’

  Steve took his hands to his head. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply.

  ‘This can’t be happening to me,’ he said in a low voice.

  Next year, a dog when crazy and killed three little g
irls, from ages three to five. But that was another story.

  37

  Its name was Fuca, “strange name” thought Bobby while scratching his chin. “What is that?” had asked. Steve shrugged. And he answered that he didn’t really know. An animal, a car, an object or an entity. A word game. Yes, that was it. He wanted to write something about Fuca but he wasn’t sure why. But the answer finally came as a nightmare that same night.

  38

  Peter called him with a whistle and then, he screamed its name. “Fuca!” The animal ran heavily towards him. It was fat and gasped for air every time it ran, especially under the sun rays in the summer. It was a brown Rottweiler of a hundred and fifty four pounds; with a clear spot in its chest. It was a big dog. It was useful as a cop and as a guide: calm and obedient. However, it is also know as a “butcher dog”. This definition came from a long time ago when they used this breed as a shepherd dog and to pull butcher’s cars full of meat. It was of a German origin. Nothing strange for now. The female could reach eighty eight pounds, but this male was fatter than the usual. Its enormous mouth was half open most of the time; this left its tongue visible, hanging on the side above his sharp teeth. It drooled a lot. And one day, it lost its head.

  Fuca ran and jumped on peter licking his face. Peter and the animal fell to the floor and rolled under the blue sky that morning. The last morning that Fuca will be sane.

  The animal didn’t do its morning round the next day. Instead, it purred when it heard its master’s voice. Peter insisted again and Fuca didn’t even get up from the floor. It was drooling more than usual. Finally, Peter left it alone without complaint.

  The next day was the same. And the next day, and the next.

  Until one day, a bus full of kids broke down on the road that was next to Peter’s land. The driver had to maneuver to keep steady the bus after one of the tires went flat and it ended up with the front of the bus stuck in a ditch, under the grass. Luckily, it wasn’t a hard hit. None of the kids suffered any damage.

  And Fuca lifted its head from his lair, without lifting its ears which fell flat on each side of its head. Peter wasn’t home that day. He went to the city to buy food. The boys and girls, all under seven years old, started to come down the bus helped by two teachers. One of them had a hooked nose and thick glasses.