Doracesos

They were out there, waiting. The grizzled young man peered between the boards nailed over the window as he did every hour or so when their sibilant whispers hissed through the deserted town outside. And…he saw nothing and again anguish squealed deep in is throat.

The place had been a small Quick Mart in another lifetime ago. Boasting cheery fluorescent lighting, highly polished linoleum floors, and shelves stocked with an impressive variety of colorfully packaged snack foods.

The man sat with his back against the wall amid a nest of fleece sweatshirts with the town’s name emblazoned across the chests over a cartoon picture of the town’s mascot---a mythological creature that resembled a Big Foot but with head of a big horn sheep and the teeth of a maniacal wolf. Stories of the creature were (sadistic) bedtime stories for children.

He missed the children most of all. They’d brought a spark of light to this dark place, an innocence and virility that shone like the steady beacon of a sea-edge lighthouse. Instead of guiding sailors through a safe course, they’d guided the grown-ups from despair and gave them a reason to persevere…at least one day at a time.

The man thought back to a time when his face had been clean shaven, his eyes a bright and blue, and merrily welcoming a promising future. He snorted a derisive laugh when he thought of the irony of that delicate balance: half full or half empty. He closed his eyes in the driver’s seat of his ten-year-old GMC Sierra. His mind swam as his head drooped like a bowling ball on a golf tee. He was what his ex would call ‘blotto.’ The curve came up fast. The pole loomed tall just to the side of the north bound lane. An enormous earth-shattering jolt. Intense pain in his chest. Complete blind silence.

Upon waking, the brightness of the room split his head painfully in two. He hadn’t been hungover. The walls were pale yellow. Everything else was white and steel, bars on either side of his bed.

“Ah, mister Garrity. Awake at last.”

Solomon Lee jumped at the sound of her voice. The sneaky bitch was either quiet as a cat or imaginary.

“I’ve just administered propofol to your IV tube. You’ve been in an induced coma for six days. May I ask a couple of questions, just to clarify…?”

Garrity nodded, his head felt balloony as if filled with helium.

“Friends call me Sonny. I suppose you ought to as well.”

***

Now, a year later, peeking through the boarded-up door of the Quick Mart, he thought of that glass in his mind and saw the line falling downwards. Why? Why had he fought so hard to stay alive? For awhile it was those kids. And the woman. Heck, he even missed the weirdo hippy parents who were hard to relate to but couldn’t have been all that bad because they’d raised two cool kids.

The whispers came again, seemingly just on the other side of the boarded-up glass front doors. They wouldn’t be so terrible if only he could understand what they were saying but just as he deciphered a single word, they faded again. Then came the awful chuckling. Demonic it was, like an artificial man or woman, a mechanical doll, imitating a human laugh.

He peeked out the crack again and saw nothing as usual. He was starting to think they were all in his head. Which meant those acquaintances who’d come and gone were not real either.

***

The year before:

The windows had been boarded up before the storm. The store owner, Manuel Alaniz, had learned from experience that atmospheric rivers could be like very wet tornados and therefore very destructive. He engaged the shut-off valves to the gas pumps as well. He watched the local news on the small television in the office at the back of the Quick Mart until the power went out. He could have powered up the generator but was fine with his Coleman lantern.  This was a bad one, he’d spend the night and check on his sister and their home in the morning.

He was up at dawn, eager to survey the damages, if any, to his business. A tall tree had fallen over the road and crushed the fence of the storage facility across the street. Coulda been worse though. Any of the thirty units could have been crushed like soda cans. The street itself was barely visible under all the woodsy debris; it appeared carpeted in green and brown shag. The power and wifi was still out, but the land line was working. He called home to check on his sister and niece. They were shaken but fine and busy cleaning the yard. Manuel turned on the pumps, glad he’d just had his propane tanks topped off. Business would be fantastic. Even as he thought this, three cars and two trucks from town slowly made their way up the road towards him. The trucks each had portable propane tanks in their beds. Off towards the other end of town came the high-pitched whine of at least two chainsaws.

The line at the two petrol pumps and another at the two large 500-gallon propane tanks was long all afternoon and petered off as night fell. At dusk a Mercedes Sprinter made its way to the pumps. A tall thin man with long greying hair began pumping gas as two children---a boy of about seven, and a girl about nine---raced into the store with their mother following behind. Manual turned from the window and greeted the family, pointing the way to the soda coolers in the back and handing the woman the key to the ladies. She had long blonde hair, and was attractive in a wholesome, Heidi-of-the-Alps kinda way.

Manuel said to the kids, “The dogs are still good. You might as well have some before they go bad.”

They looked at each other, at the greasy wieners on the non-rolling rollers, then at the restrooms in the far-right hand side of the store. When their mother came out, the girl said, “Mom, can we please have a hot dog? The man says we can---”

“---or they’ll go bad,” cut in the little boy.

The blonde frowned for a second then said, “Why not. It’s been a crazy trip, eh?”

“Yay!” cried the boy. They put their juice on the counter and headed back over to the hot dog setup.

The door chime sounded. Manuel had cranked up his old generator but reserved the power for the fuel pumps and half the lights. The man who came in was scruffy and red-eyed, his light brown hair standing in tufts as though he’d just woken up. Manuel didn’t know him well. He sold only beer and wine in the store and this man came by for gas bi-monthly or so. As he neared the counter, the woman stepped back and put a hand to her nose.

The woman stood between the kids and Sonny who either did not notice the offensive attitude or did not care. He said to Manuel, “Pack of Marlboro reds…please.”

“Sonny, isn’t it?”

Sonny nodded then turned towards the door when it chimed again.

It was the father with the long greying hair. He smiled at his kids and said, “Why not go for the chili too? And cheese.” It had been a long day, and they still had a long way to go.

“Any news from the outside world?” asked Manuel. He had tried his sister as the sun was starting to set and had received no answer. Probably out getting supplies.

“Well, Highway 13 is completely closed northbound just about a mile that way,” he nodded towards the northbound road. “It’s real bad, power lines all over the road. I’m afraid we’ll have to go back to the camp for another night.” His wife sighed but the children seemed relieved. They all looked drained.

“Guess I’ll be checking out the motel down that ways a bit,” said Sonny. He didn’t care to admit he’d slept in his truck that night, passed out cold and feeling no pain. Unlike now. He grimaced at the coolers in the back and Manuel was glad he stocked no hard stuff.

A couple of teenaged boys came in and the taller one with carroty colored long hair said, “Hey dude, something’s wrong with the pump. The farther one.”

“It’s probably empty. Try the other one when it’s free.”

“Okay.” Then he said to his pal, “Dougy, pick me up some smokes and a sixer, I’ll pay ya back.”

The dark-haired, heavyset teen lumbered to the coolers in the back.

It was full dark now. The generator-powered lighting outside was yellowy and bleak like an Alfred Hitchcock film. Sonny found it as depressing as his mood. He pocketed the Marlboros and headed the way the teenager had gone, he supposed beggars can’t be choosey, a little red wine would be better than nothing. Besides, wine made him sleepy and right now that’s all he had a hankering to do.

Doug passed the kids each dolling up a second dog on his way to the counter with a six pack of Coors tall boys and said, “Newports please.” He plunked down a handful of Slim Jims and added, “anda packa Benson Hedges Ultra Deluxe Lights…and some Zig Zigs, the orange ones.”

Hippie Dad snickered. “Hey kid. Smokin those is like smokin air. Why bother?”

The kid looked up, a lock of greasy dark hair fell across his pimply forehead. “I know. Them stronger ones give me a headache, but I still like lighting up. I have watchoo call a oral addiction.”

Hippy Dad nodded. “Got it.”

A long and terrible scream sounded through the street like a tea kettle tuned up to an ear-splitting frequency. The small group in the store froze and stared out the one window Manuel had de-boarded earlier that afternoon. They all rushed to the window though the blonde held her arms out to keep her children corralled behind her.

A face suddenly pressed itself to the glass! The blonde screamed which made the little girl scream too. The rest of them jumped. The mouth at the door opened in a horrifically wide O as she fumbled for the door handle. Hippy Dad pushed it open an inch so the woman could see it opened towards her not away. She fell forward onto her knees and hands panting.

Through ragged breaths, she cried, “Close it! Lock it! Lock it! Don’t let them in!” She got to her feet, shaking all over. When Manuel turned from the locked door, he leaned in to comfort her while surreptitiously smelling her breath. Not drunk.

“Calm down lady,” he said.

Doug said, “Bags is still out there.” He went to the window. The rest of them followed him except the traumatized woman. She opened the apple juice on the counter and chugged it, juice dripping from her chin.

Manuel said, “I don’t see him.”

Doug said, “That’s his car there. The old Nova.”

“He’s been out there a long time,” said Hippy Dad.

“I should go look for him,” said Doug, but he made no move towards the door.

The woman screeched, “Don’t you go out there! Don’t even open that door!”

“Here lady…” a voice said behind them.

Hippy Mom and her daughter both screamed again. They’d all forgotten about Sonny who’d been hunkered down in the back with a bottle of red wine which he’d started on when the first scream sirened outside. He advanced another couple of steps and held the bottle out to the older lady. Like a zombie she accepted it and drank long and deep. She belched afterwards and instinctively placed a well-manicured hand to her mouth.

“Oh my. Excuse me.” She swayed on her feet and Manuel led her around the counter to his stool.

“Lady, um…?”

“Priscilla.”

“Priscilla. Can you tell us what’s happened?”

“Yes. My husband. Steven. He got out of the car to move some branches out of the way. He ducked out of sight as if falling, I heard him cry out. I rolled down the window and heard people whispering. They were in the alley between the IGA and the hardware store. I think. But how could I hear them from that far away? I got out and walked around the car---twice. Steven was…just gone. Oh, but one of his shoes was in front of the car. The whispers grew louder but I couldn’t see any people. I just knew they’d done something to my poor Steven.” Tears were streaking down her face now. It was a fiftyish pretty face, round and dimpled, with fine wrinkles concentrated at the edges of her lips and wide dark eyes. “I started down the street looking for Steven when something hit the car behind me. It was very dark, only our headlights lit the road. I could barely see the car but could see there was no one near it. Something thumped the car again. And this time I saw a dent appear on the roof. That’s when I started running towards the lights here. I heard those awful whispers behind me. Something was chasing me I swear!” She swigged the wine again.

Sonny passed a second bottle to Hippy Mom who was sitting on the floor between her children.

“This is bull.” Doug threw an empty candy wrapper to the floor. “I’m going out there to find Bags. Iffen I don’t find him I’m taking off. Seeya losers.”

Sonny made a move towards the kid and the kid pulled what appeared to be a Glock pistol from the back of his jeans, waved it back and forth like a cobra seeking a target. Sonny backed off, holding his hands up, “Okay. Okay.”

No one else tried to stop him. Sonny figured the feelings in the air were ones of good riddance. They crowded the window and watched the teen swagger towards the Nova. As he stepped to the far side he stopped and cocked his head. He glanced up at the faces in the window and the look that crossed his face made him appear younger than the boy sitting with his mother.

“I hear them!” cried the little girl.

Sonny heard the whispers too. When the chuckling started, there was no doubt they all were hearing it. Doug’s Glock boomed. They couldn’t see at what. There was nobody there. Doug fell backwards, his head appeared for a second behind the car on the road, then it was pulled out of sight.

The little girl whispered, “It’s the Doracesos.”

“Shut up Lily,” said her brother.

Hippy Dad said, “Otter, that’s not nice.”

Sonny said, “Lily, What’s a Dora---?”

“Doracesos. You know. Like the thing on that hoodie over there.”

Manuel said, “It’s a legend around these mountains. Like Big Foot but more evil like the Wendigo.”

”Ooo-kay, I’ve heard of Big Foot, or Sasquatch. But not the Wendigo.”

Lily said, “The Wendigo is a cannibalistic monster up north, like maybe Canada or those states up there.”

Hippy Dad nodded at Lily, and she said, “Like Oregon and Washington. Doracecos kinda looks like a Wendigo---pure evil. Eats brains. Big Foots are cute.”

Otter rolled his eyes. “And they’re invisible.”

Sonny said, “If they’re invisible how come there’s pictures of them on shirts and stuff?”

Lily said, “Well…some people say they can turn invisible. Some say that they are so black they hide in the shadows. And some say they are so fast you can’t see them.”

“It’s all hooky,” announced Otter though he didn’t sound like he believed his words.

Priscilla said, “I believe you Lily.”

***

A year later, alone and hungry and cold in the dark, Sonny contemplated it again. Manuel had been the next to disappear. He had gone out to re-fuel the genny. Hippy Dad was next. His name was Surf and he’d gone out with Priscilla, who had turned out to be quite the whipper snapper, for canned food from the IGA. She’d returned but only made it as far as the Nova at the pump. The children died of starvation the month before and Angel, Hippy Mom---had hung herself in the storeroom afterwards.

Sonny had been sober for the last six months, only because all the wine and beer had been drunk. He hadn’t eaten in three days, and the last bottle of water was in his hand. He’d found Doug’s Glock by the Nova, running outside once, quickly, around the car and back.

The whisperers---the Doracesos---were always there now. Why they wanted him, he did not know. He thought ego. Like, it was a game they had to win.

The wind picked up outside, it howled like a banshee. It excited the evil spirits, they chuckled and murmured louder than ever.

“Bring it.”

Lightning speared the earth---close. Rain entered the mix and danced with the wind in a frenzy ten times more ardent than the storm that had brought him to this place the year before. This was a tornado! The voices shrieked, glee replaced by anguish!  Sonny witnessed shadows being sucked into the vortex of the swirling clouds: they struggled as they swirled together; the shrieking had ceased, replaced by a keening, moaning sound---music to Sonny’s ears.

And finally, calm.

Sonny cautiously opened the front door. Flotsam and Jetsam…debris everywhere…and the most glorious sunrise he’d ever seen.

It would take a few days to clear a path to the north. He would siphon a full tank and more from the abandoned vehicles and set off with a jump-started heart. He felt like an alien baby in a new world, being reborn.

As he drove off into the sunset, he looked into the rear-view mirror. His eyes were no longer sky-blue. They were black.