"I see him!" Kim squeals, her face peering sideways under the couch. She reaches towards me, grunting with exertion. I press back against the baseboard as hard as I can to avoid her trembling, extended fingers. They come about six inches short of reaching me. "Try and knock him towards me!"
The yardstick prods me from the side, a massive slat of yellow wood. I look down the length of the ruler - the words STASHEFF PROPANE: EXCEPTIONAL ENERGY are emblazoned in black beneath the inch marks - and see Nicole's fist wrapped tightly around the other end. She chews her upper lip as she goes about the delicate operation of extracting me from my hiding place.
If I run left, I'll be out in the open. If I run right, I'll be heading towards Nicole and her yardstick. The wall is behind me, and Kim's groping fingers are in front of me.
In short, I'm screwed.
Nicole knocks me away from the wall and sweeps me along the dirty carpet with the yardstick, right towards Kim's eager hand. Kim grins viciously as I'm shoved closer, and whispers, "I've got you now."
Yeah. Definitely screwed.
Just half an hour ago, I escaped from my shoebox prison in Cheryl's closet with a scheme so daring it would have made Frank Lee Morris jealous. (He escaped from Alcatraz in 1962. Try to keep up.) Anyway, I made my way out of her closet and into her bedroom, still wondering what my next step should be.
Staying in this house was just asking for trouble, especially once Cheryl found me gone. But no way was I going to run next door and put myself back in Naomi's hands.
Somehow, I had to get hold of Suzy. A plan hampered somewhat by the fact that I had no idea what her phone number was. Or her parents' names, for that matter. But I figured I'd cross that bridge when I came to it. The first thing I needed to do was find a phone.
I searched around the vast expanse of Cheryl's bedroom. Her bed stood like a distant vista, the bedspread wadded up on the floor. Her bra was lying where she'd dropped it last night, on the floor draped atop her overturned high heels.
I finally spotted Cheryl's phone sitting up on the nightstand next to her bed. But it was one of those big, clunky, old-fashioned phones. Even if I could get up to it, I'd still need to somehow wrest the receiver from the cradle. And no matter how easy they make that look on Land of the Giants, I doubted I'd be able to manage.
But she did have a portable phone. She had been talking to Naomi on it before she left for lunch. So all I needed to do was make my way to the living room, somehow get up on the coffee table, and hope I could work the damn thing.
Piece of cake.
The journey down the hallway from Cheryl's room to the living room was nerve-wracking, to say the least. I knew Cheryl and Kim were out of the house, but I had no idea for how long. Cheryl had gone to lunch with Naomi well over an hour ago, and I'd just heard Kim go out the front door.
Even so, it was a long trek to the living room with absolutely no cover in between. If one of them came home and happened on me while I was in the hall, I'd have no place to run and nowhere to hide. An hour ago, I'd had nothing to lose. But now that I actually had a shot at freedom, the thought of being captured again was horrifying.
I finally came to the living room, took a couple of deep breaths, and made the heart-stopping dash across the wide open carpet to the coffee table. It was one of those brass and glass monstrosities, dusty and littered with knick-knacks and magazines. From underneath, I could look up and see the clutter scattered across the glass surface. There was the TV Guide and the remote control, a drinking glass half full of melted ice and sitting in a puddle of condensation, unopened mail that had been thoughtlessly dropped there, an ashtray, a Precious Moments statue... but no phone.
Dammit, I thought, glancing around the living room. Kim must have moved it. She didn't have a phone of her own, which meant she'd probably taken the portable into her room. I didn't relish the idea of going back into that place, but knew I'd better do it now, while she was out.
I was making my way across the living room, feeling exposed and vulnerable, when the front door opened. I froze and searched around in a panic, desperate for a hiding place.
"I swear," Kim was saying as she came in. "I didn't do anything to him. He just ran away."
Nicole followed behind her and closed the door. "Well, we've got to find him," she said, her voice trembling, "or we're gonna get in serious trouble."
"We're gonna get in serious trouble," Kim repeated in a whiny, mocking voice. "I swear, you are such a..." Her gaze suddenly fell on me, and her face lit up with the cruelest grin I've ever seen. "There he is!" she squealed, lunging towards me.
I turned and ran, screaming to drown out the sounds of their slapping sandals. I was almost to the safety of the couch when Kim slammed her massive flip-flop into my path.
"Where do you think... shit!" She cursed as I scrambled over her foot and tumbled down the other side. I dove for the safety of the couch and slid underneath. Kim dropped to her knees and thrust her hand after me. Her grasping fingers barely missed me as I ran to the back wall, out of her reach.
"We've got him," Kim said, triumphantly to Nicole. "Go find a broom or something."
Which is pretty much where we came in. Now I'm being shoved towards Kim's eager fingers, with no escape. I don't even want to think about what they're going to do when they get their hands on me.
The front door opens, and the girls panic. The yardstick drops to the floor and Kim withdraws her hand. They both climb to their feet.
"What are you girls doing?" Cheryl asks in her raspy voice.
"Um, nothing," Kim said. "I mean, looking for change."
"Well, why don't you go outside and play for a while?" Cheryl suggests.
"But Mom..."
She sighs and says in a stern voice, "I said, go play outside. I need some alone time."
Reluctant, defeated, the girls trudge out the front door and slam it. I breathe a sigh of relief at the close call.
I watch Cheryl's feet approach the couch. They turn, and she sits down. The couch above me creaks and the metal springs stretch. I hear the flick and click of a cigarette lighter, and a long, contented sigh from Naomi.
"Looking for change," she mutters as she slides her foot out of her sandal. She toys with it idly with her toes as she smokes and continues her monologue. "You think you're so smart, don't you? Well, you brought this on yourself, little girl. This is what you get for keeping secrets from me."
Her foot presses down on the sandal, as if trying to crush it. She exhales again, and I hear the sound of her cigarette being snuffed out in the ashtray. "Just remember that, Kim," she mutters, slipping her foot back into her shoe and standing up. "Whatever happens to him, it's your fault." She walks across the living room and to the hallway.
"Okay, Ray," she says, rounding the corner. "It's bathtime, you little shit."
I listen to her fading footsteps, the creak of her bedroom door opening. A distant rustle, silence...
Then, a bloodcurdling scream. "God damn it!" Something thuds against the wall, and something breaks. "You little piece of shit!"
There's a narrow wooden lip that runs along the bottom of the couch, just an inch below the black springs. The fabric of the couch folds around it in places, held by large metal staples. I run towards the front of the couch and leap up, clutching at the green cloth.
"Where are you, you little fuck?" Cheryl screams. I hear things being tossed around and overturned in her bedroom. She's probably going through the closet, checking her shoes. As if.
On my third attempt, I manage to get hold of the cloth. And somehow, I manage to pull myself, hand over hand, up to the tiny wooden ledge. My arms are trembling and hurting from the effort, but I manage. It might be adrenaline, or it might be an upper-body strength born of dangling for my life for the past month, but I finally get a leg up on the ledge and pull myself up to safety.
And none too soon. Cheryl's angry footsteps come down the hall and back into the living room. "Looking for loose change, huh? Did they see you down there?" I hear her stomp towards me, the couch shaking with each vicious step. She drops to her knees with a heavy thud, the shadow of her body blocking out the dim light that spills under the couch.
"Are you under there, you little shit? Are you?" Her voice is so close, directly underneath me. Her hand reaches under the couch, pawing angrily at the ground until it finds the yardstick. She clutches it and begins swiping madly beneath the couch, scraping the far wall and striking the legs of the couch.
I lie there on the wooden lip, clinging to the fabric of the underside of the couch, watching the giant wooden slat as it flails blindly from side to side.
"God damn it!" she shouts again, then sighs. She drops the yardstick and withdraws her hand.
"Listen to me Ray," she says, her voice trembling as she strains to contain her rage. "I'm going to give you one chance to get out of this without getting in trouble, okay? Just come out and I promise I won't punish you."
I shake my head in amazement. She must think I'm retarded or something. Unlike her daughter, Cheryl is a horrible liar.
"Come on, Ray," she pleads. "Don't be like this, sweetie."
She stands up, and I hear her walk to the center of the room. "Just come out, and we'll act like none of this ever happened."
A long moment of silence, then an exasperated groan. "Fine, you little bug," she snarls. "If I find you, I'm going to kill you. You hear me? I mean it, I'm going to squash you like a fucking roach!"
For about two hours, I remain in my hiding place, shifting occasionally to relieve my cramping limbs.
Cheryl, in the meantime, goes on a tear through the living room. I can hear her crawling around on her hands and knees, alternating back and forth between calling my name sweetly and threatening to disembowel me. She has the yardstick with her, and I can hear the occasional scrape and thump as she jabs it under and behind furniture.
Finally, she stands up and walks towards the dining room. I breathe a sigh of relief, assuming the search is going to finally move to another room. I still want to try and get to the phone in Kim's room before she comes back.
I hear Cheryl messing around with something, but I'm not sure what. Lots of stuff shifting and sliding in the closet as she pulls out something big.
Then, the vacuum cleaner roars to life. She drops to her knees and slides the hose under the couch. Without an attachment, the open nozzle sits there, sucking in whatever dust bunnies and lint happen to lie near it. Cheryl slides it around a little, trying to get back in the corners, around the legs of the couch. At last, she pulls the hose out and drags the vacuum cleaner towards the entertainment cabinet.
A few seconds later, something hard gets sucked into the vacuum and bounces around inside, clicking and banging until Cheryl turns the machine off.
"Is that you, Ray?," she mutters, snapping the vacuum cleaner open. I hear her rummage around, then let out a sigh. "A fucking penny."
The vacuum cleaner incident goes on for another half hour, then Cheryl shuts it off. Pacing around the living room, she calls out to me. "I know you can hear me Ray," she says. "And you're not going to get out of here. Between me and Kim, one of us is bound to find you. And for your sake, you'd better hope it's her."
Finally, Cheryl moves her search to the dining room, and I make a break for Kim's bedroom. I run frantically across the living room, terrified of being seen again. This time, I make it to the far wall, next to the china cabinet. Gasping for air, I lean over and rest my hands on my knees, waiting for my heart to stop pounding.
Once I catch my breath, I make a mad dash around the corner, towards Kim's room. It's a long trek in the open, and I keep glancing over my shoulder, expecting to see the bottom of Cheryl's foot hovering over me.
I finally reach Kim's bedroom and run inside. I'm immediately struck with an awful feeling of déjŕ vu, remembering the indignities and torments I suffered at Kim's manic-depressive whims. Her dirty clothes are scattered across the floor, and a towel lies draped over the edge of the bed. I approach it nervously, passing by her dresser where I was held prisoner for almost two weeks, past the small crumbs that remain of Oreos crushed underfoot.
The towel is still damp from this morning's shower, and is far from smelling April fresh. But it looks to be the easiest way up on her bed, so I grab the rough terrycloth in my hands and start the long, arduous climb.
It's slow going, but fortunately not as difficult as I'd imagined. The coarse material of the towel provides plenty of handholds and footholds. My only fear, one that has plagued me all afternoon, is that of being spotted and having no place to run.
I finally make it to the top of the bed, and spot the phone lying next to her pillow. I actually feel a sense of elation, since it's just about the first thing to go right since I first escaped from Cheryl's closet. I run across the unmade bed, scrambling over the sheet, until I reach the phone. It's lying face up, where Kim tossed it after using it last.
Okay, a lot of buttons. Numbers, tic-tac-toe board, star... I know those. Int, Hold, Dial, Format, Pgm/Mute, Delete... not quite sure. Channel, Re/Pa, Memory, Flash... Christ, what's with all these fucking buttons?
But there's a big, blue one labeled "Talk," so I climb on the phone and step on it. The display changes from READY to TALK, and I'm rewarded with a dial tone. I slide off the phone, onto the bed.
Somewhere in the distance, the vacuum cleaner starts up again. Cheryl's making her way through the house, room to room. When I'm done in here, I'll need to find a place to hide that she's already checked.
Okay, Suzy's number. I have no idea. Not a clue. To tell you the truth, I'm not even sure how many digits there are in a phone number. Is it seven or ten? Do I dial an area code? Do I dial 1 first? Maybe an operator?
I decide to try directory assistance. After all, even though I'm totally ignorant in the ways of the telephone, I'm familiar with 411 and 911. I learned those from watching TV.
So I walk around to the side of the phone and I press the 4 button. Well, actually I pound it with my fist. It sinks down under my blow and I hear a beep.
So I hit the 1 button twice. I hear a single ring, then a woman's voice announces, "Southwestern Bell Directory assistance. What city and state, please?"
It's a recorded voice, speaking slowly and evenly. I run down to the mouthpiece and shout, "Stasheff! Texas!"
Then, back up to the earpiece, just in time to hear the woman say, "Thank you. What listing please?"
I run back down and shout, "The Le family!"
Then, back up to the earpiece. "Please hold." For about fifteen seconds, nothing happens. Then the recorded voice returns and says, "I'm sorry. I was unable to process your request. Please try again. What city and state, please?"
Dammit! I climb up the phone and stand on the Talk button again, ending the call. Okay, I'm getting the hang of this. I'll try an operator. I step onto the Talk button one more time, then make my way past all the numbers, stepping gingerly in between the buttons. I get to the 0 and press it with my foot.
Back up to the earpiece, where a woman's voice - most likely the same one I heard before - says, "Southwestern Bell." She's immediately replaced by a man with a low, heavy drawl. "Operator, help you?"
I make my way down to the mouthpiece and shout, "I need to reach the Le family in Stasheff!" As I head back to the earpiece, I hear the operator calling, "Hello? Is anybody there?"
Frustrated, I kneel over the mouthpiece and put my face right to it. "The Le family!" I scream as loud as I can. "I need to reach the Le family!"
"...sorry, ma'am," the operator is saying when I get back to the earpiece. "We seem to have a bad connection. Please hang up and try again."
Jesus H. Christ! I stomp angrily on the Talk button and am in the middle of pondering my next move when I hear approaching footsteps. I leap off of the phone and scramble under the pillow.
Kim comes walking in and slams the door. I watch in horror as she approaches me. Her hand comes right at me, and I have to bite my lip to keep from whimpering. But she simply grabs the phone and lifts it away. She plops down on the bed, and I scoot out from under the pillows just as her head falls back on them. Running along the side of her bed, I leap across the gap to her nightstand and take refuge behind her clock radio. Too close!
She dials a number on the phone, then sets it next to her ear. She raises one foot high above and lets her sandal dangle from between her toes as she speaks.
"Hey, Nicole," she says. I can hear Nicole's voice, muffled and indistinct. Then Kim says, "No, we can't look for him right now. My mom's vacuuming." An angry, or excited, buzz from the other end, and Kim says, "Yeah, I know, but I can't stop her from vacuuming, can I?" Another exchange, then, "Well, that's what he gets for running away. It'll serve him right if he gets sucked up."
Kim drops her leg and sits up angrily as Nicole argues with her. "Oh, what? Are you going to cry now? I swear, you're such a baby!" She takes a deep, exasperated breath, and interrupts Nicole. "Look, if you tell, we'll get in trouble. We'll probably have to go to jail, okay? So we either have to find him ourselves, or make sure nobody else does."
Kim leaps out of bed and shouts, "Ooh, there he is now!" My heart skips a beat and I almost collapse from fear, but Kim's not even looking at me. She walks over to a discarded sock and looks down at it.
"Yeah, really," she says, giggling. She lifts her bare foot from her sandal and brings it down on the sock, grinding it mercilessly beneath her toes. "Ooh, he's under my foot right now, begging me for mercy." She moves the phone away from her mouth and glares down at the sock. "Yeah, that's right Ray. Kiss my toes, you little jerk."
I can only imagine Nicole's anguished response. Kim says, "No, you can't. If you try to come over and see him, or if you tell anybody about him, I'll squish him and flush him down the toilet." She glares down at the sock again and says, "You like that, Ray? You like my sexy bare feet?"
Finally, Kim says, "I don't know. I guess you're just gonna have to take my word for it. But if I see you or anybody else over here looking for him, I'll kill him."
God, it is so chilling to hear this twelve-year-old girl discuss killing me so casually. But Cheryl's made it clear she intends to kill me as well, so I guess the apple doesn't fall far from the sociopathic tree.
Kim hangs up the phone and looks down at the sock, grasping it between her wiggling toes. "Oh, Ray," she whispers. "The things I'm gonna do to you..."
Giantess World
Homunculus by Cayce