Outside Boston
A man pulled up to the pumps in a blue Kenworth, then he stepped down out of the big rig and pulled the gas nozzle from its cradle.
The man who used to be Walter Lemming watched from around the back corner of the truck stop. He had devoured his breakfast. Remnants of eggs and ketchup were smeared around his mouth and cheeks. A string of what used to be bacon hung from the corner of his mouth. His gut had been filled, but there was now a hunger that burned within him that no amount of food could quench.
He no longer had cataracts and could see better than he had when his eyesight was one-hundred percent. His memory also had been fully restored but with a golem past as alien to him as his own had been to him only a few hours ago.
Walter watched the fat man filling his truck with anticipation. The man was the only soul at the pumps, but that could change at any moment, so he would have to act fast. He laid down and crawled out from behind the building just enough for the man at the diesel pumps to see him.
“Help! Help me, please!” Walter cried. He pulled himself along as though his leg was severely hurt.
The trucker turned to see the old man clawing his way from around the back of the building.
“Help me!” Walter yelled again.
“What’s wrong?” the trucker yelled back.
“My leg. I think I broke my leg crawling out of the dumpster around back. Cou-could you help me?”
The trucker evidently took pity on the man after hearing him say that he’d crawled through a dumpster and went over to see how he could assist him. He knelt down next to Walter and put his hand on his back as he took inventory of the injuries. “You did this scrounging around in the dumpster, you say?”
“Yes,” Walter replied. “A man’s gotta eat somehow.”
“You homeless, old timer?”
Walter shook his head as he winced in pain.
“Where’s it hurt?”
“My leg. It hurts pretty bad. Can you help me try and stand?”
The trucker obliged and with his help, Walter shakily got to his feet.
“Does it feel okay?” the trucker asked.
Walter tested his leg out by putting some weight on it. It gave out slightly but held, and he winced in pain once again. “I-I think I’m okay. Probably just sprained. Not broken anyway, that’s good. But would you mind helping me around back? I don’t want people seeing me. I’m a bit weak. I’ll just rest a while then be on my way.”
“I really think you need to get that taken a look at,” the trucker said.
“No, no. I’m fine really. Done worse to myself, believe me.”
“Well, okay. I guess you’d know if you needed medical attention.” He rubbed his chubby jawline. “Say, I was just going to get some breakfast. You look like you could use some good food. Don’t mind the company at all if you’re hungry. My treat.”
“Thank you but no. I’ll be fine really. I just need to rest a spell.”
“Suit yourself.”
The trucker wrapped Walter’s arm around his neck and helped him hobble to the rear of the building where there were some steps to the back exit next to the dumpster.
“Well, there you go. Hope you feel better soon.” As he tried to pull Walter’s arm from around his neck, he watched a long gash suddenly appear in the man’s neck. Bundles of muscle and veins were exposed but no blood seeped from the wound. “What the hell? Man, you just got a nasty cut there on your neck, old timer.” The trucker hadn’t realized Walter’s resistance to his attempt to relinquish the hold around his neck. He tried again, but he couldn’t budge Walter’s arm. “I-I’m gonna have to let you go, old timer. You’re beginning to hurt my neck.”
Walter wouldn’t let go.
“I really think you need to at least get that cut taken care--.” As he looked the old man in the eye, he watched another laceration break open on his cheek. It just ripped apart like the man’s skin was dry-rotted leather.
Without any reaction to the pain whatsoever, the old man reached up and felt the rent flesh on his cheek with his free hand.
The trucker became visibly shaken and tried even harder to loose the old man’s grip on his neck. “A-are you sure you’re okay. M-maybe I should get you some help. You don’t look so good.”
Impossibly, Walter’s eyes sank back into his skull and were replaced by orbs the color of molten lead. His teeth, which at first were broken and yellowed and decayed, were now completely gone but reciprocated with a row of glistening needle-like fangs. He smiled devilishly and said, “No-no. Everything’s fine, just fine . . . now.”
©2004 StoriesByEmail.com
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