thought about Red Henry. Though he could admit to himself he had been a prick, Grant didn’t think he deserved having beer thrown at him. It wasn’t like I was saying anything that wasn’t true. Susie was a whore, plain and simple. Henry always thinking he’s better than me, he’s the one married to a whore.
Grant dug in his pants pocket and brought two large green pills that he swallowed with a mouthful of beer. He leaned his head back and the ceiling became a movie screen whereupon Grant saw himself forcing Susie to have sex with him. That was three months ago.
Grant had said, “Loosen up, Susie. Henry’s my friend and he’s locked up so I’m here to take care of you.” His hand grabbed her breast hard and squeezed until her eyes filled with tears.
“Let me go,” she said.
“Not until you show me some of your special moves, that thing you do with the squid.”
Susie said, “Okay, just let go.” The next hour was spent with her doing whatever she could to satisfy Grant and get him the hell out of her apartment. She had decided she wasn’t going to tell Henry.
So Grant stared up at the motel room ceiling and saw the events of the past transpire while the walls transformed into giant pink crab shells with swirls of blue.
Christ, this is crazy shit. Grant always hated seafood and the sight of the crab shell walls made him a little queasy. Growing up in Thompson, his parents always took him to The Chowder Shack every Saturday afternoon where they made him order either squid or crab. It was a tough choice considering he liked neither but his parents would never hear it. The only redeeming part of the meals was the hush puppies. It was the only thing that quelled the nausea.
Still, he was intrigued by the wall. He sat up and stumbled over to it, feeling that it was indeed rough like the shell of a crab. Grant’s eyes caught glimmers of red and blue images so he looked up. Memories of his grandfather played on the ceiling.
Wait a minute. I never even met grandpa.
New memories oozed into his head: his parents showing him the footage from a projector, his father saying, “There’s grandpa fighting for our country. Son, look at that and be proud.”
The uniformed man resembled a thinner version of Grant standing on some large rocks next to the beach. He was alone but shouting out to the water, waving his gun in the air. To the right of him, a Japanese spider crab scurried to him. Grant was frightened. The crab was monstrous; its legs six feet long and razor sharp. It then used those legs to eviscerate Grant’s grandfather. Sprays of blood sprinkled the rocks. The crab seemed to tremble with excitement and Grant had to look away.
Inside of Grant’s stomach, the two green pills dissolved completely, sending a new rush through his system. His senses became more sensitive and he smelt the entire history of the room: cigarette smoke, semen, beer, piss, taco meat, mayonnaise, shit, and old paint. All of the stenches coalesced into a thick olfactory paste that bombarded Grant’s nerves.
The crab shell wall dissolved into streaks of white light and Grant stumbled back to the bed and put his head on the pillow. Here it comes, here it comes. But nothing really came, just noises: canned laughter from the television, the buzz of the electric currents, and a sniffing sound. There was something else under those noises, a sound that pierced Grant’s brain and tickled the hairs inside his ears. It was a combination of whimpering and the splash of a liquid.
Grant looked at the television which was now showing footage of an army of spider crabs overrunning a battalion of troops. He turned away from it and faced the wall behind him. The wall shuddered and Grant’s eyes widened. He put his ear against it and listened. Something was going on in the next room; he could feel it. There were sounds, yes, but he could also smell something.
Fuck it, I gotta see what’s happening.
Grant turned off the television. He
Grant dug in his pants pocket and brought two large green pills that he swallowed with a mouthful of beer. He leaned his head back and the ceiling became a movie screen whereupon Grant saw himself forcing Susie to have sex with him. That was three months ago.
Grant had said, “Loosen up, Susie. Henry’s my friend and he’s locked up so I’m here to take care of you.” His hand grabbed her breast hard and squeezed until her eyes filled with tears.
“Let me go,” she said.
“Not until you show me some of your special moves, that thing you do with the squid.”
Susie said, “Okay, just let go.” The next hour was spent with her doing whatever she could to satisfy Grant and get him the hell out of her apartment. She had decided she wasn’t going to tell Henry.
So Grant stared up at the motel room ceiling and saw the events of the past transpire while the walls transformed into giant pink crab shells with swirls of blue.
Christ, this is crazy shit. Grant always hated seafood and the sight of the crab shell walls made him a little queasy. Growing up in Thompson, his parents always took him to The Chowder Shack every Saturday afternoon where they made him order either squid or crab. It was a tough choice considering he liked neither but his parents would never hear it. The only redeeming part of the meals was the hush puppies. It was the only thing that quelled the nausea.
Still, he was intrigued by the wall. He sat up and stumbled over to it, feeling that it was indeed rough like the shell of a crab. Grant’s eyes caught glimmers of red and blue images so he looked up. Memories of his grandfather played on the ceiling.
Wait a minute. I never even met grandpa.
New memories oozed into his head: his parents showing him the footage from a projector, his father saying, “There’s grandpa fighting for our country. Son, look at that and be proud.”
The uniformed man resembled a thinner version of Grant standing on some large rocks next to the beach. He was alone but shouting out to the water, waving his gun in the air. To the right of him, a Japanese spider crab scurried to him. Grant was frightened. The crab was monstrous; its legs six feet long and razor sharp. It then used those legs to eviscerate Grant’s grandfather. Sprays of blood sprinkled the rocks. The crab seemed to tremble with excitement and Grant had to look away.
Inside of Grant’s stomach, the two green pills dissolved completely, sending a new rush through his system. His senses became more sensitive and he smelt the entire history of the room: cigarette smoke, semen, beer, piss, taco meat, mayonnaise, shit, and old paint. All of the stenches coalesced into a thick olfactory paste that bombarded Grant’s nerves.
The crab shell wall dissolved into streaks of white light and Grant stumbled back to the bed and put his head on the pillow. Here it comes, here it comes. But nothing really came, just noises: canned laughter from the television, the buzz of the electric currents, and a sniffing sound. There was something else under those noises, a sound that pierced Grant’s brain and tickled the hairs inside his ears. It was a combination of whimpering and the splash of a liquid.
Grant looked at the television which was now showing footage of an army of spider crabs overrunning a battalion of troops. He turned away from it and faced the wall behind him. The wall shuddered and Grant’s eyes widened. He put his ear against it and listened. Something was going on in the next room; he could feel it. There were sounds, yes, but he could also smell something.
Fuck it, I gotta see what’s happening.
Grant turned off the television. He