The Twilight Zone Network Fiction: Belly of the Beast

Picture if you will a story by Scott Cole, submitted to The Twilight Zone Network Fiction - short stories in the spirit of The Twilight Zone or Night Galley.

Belly of the Beast

by

By Scott Cole

Larry leaned back in his seat and sighed as the cushions enveloped him. He shifted and slouched a bit more, nestling his way deeper into the couch. He blinked his eyes lazily at the pizza box on the table in front of him -- empty but for a few crumbs, a wrinkled sheet of waxed paper, and the slick of grease threatening to soak through to the wooden surface beneath. I’d better clean that up before Melissa gets home, he thought.

The plan had been to eat while taking in a movie -- he had picked something up from the video store next to the pizza shop -- but by the time he reached home, he was famished. Skipping lunch on a busy day will eventually catch up to you. And when the head feels light and the shakes set in, it's time to eat. So he had parked the car in a hurry and dashed inside to feed. Fifteen minutes of gorging followed.

He was a little out of breath now, but otherwise felt better, if perhaps a little guilty for devouring an entire pie so quickly, and leaving nothing for his wife. But his relaxed eyelids and the smile on his face told the real story -- one of contentment.

Larry sighed again, and caressed his belly, which sat like a beanbag on his lap, much rounder and firmer than usual.

The phone rang, startling him, and causing his back to twinge with his sudden movement. He reminded himself to check into why the phone rang so loudly through the alarm system panel on the wall. Of course, he reminded himself of that very thing with every incoming phone call, but a year and a half later, and he still hadn't even dug out the owner's manual.

He reached his arms out, raised a leg, and leaned forward, trying to maneuver himself off the couch. Twisted into a position somehow reminiscent of a Swiss Army knife on display, Larry somehow managed to gain some leverage and roll himself up onto his feet. Then he shuffled across the room, his heavy feet dragging behind him, and snatched the ringing phone from its cradle.

"Hello," he said, huffing. For the first time all week, he felt his age. He looked down and brushed a few crumbs out of the wrinkles of his shirt.

"Oh, hey Mom," he said. "No, no, I'm fine." Larry spoke to his mother every few days. She always asked if he was okay, and he always said he was fine, regardless of the truth.

"No, Melissa's at a bachelorette party tonight. Yeah, her friend Laura. I think you met her once, didn't you?" Larry couldn't help but smile to himself. Of course Mom had met Laura. Larry and she had dated briefly in high school, and his mother had nearly caught them having sex one afternoon upon her early return from work. But Laura's gift for improv had saved them.

They had broken up a few weeks later. A year after that, Melissa and Laura met at college and became friends. And a handful of years after that, shortly after graduation, Larry and Melissa began dating, and soon discovered they had a mutual friend. But that was a lifetime ago.

"Right. Well, they've been engaged a long time, actually. Tell you the truth, I never thought they'd last anywhere near this long. But I've been wrong before...once or twice. Heh. He's an okay guy, I suppose."

Larry strolled back over to the couch with the phone and sat down again. He was a little more alert now, no longer trapped in a post-meal stupor.

"Yep, so that's what she's up to. And Jenny's at a sleepover with some new friends," he said, then cleared his throat hard. "I know! Big change from last year, huh? She used to come home in tears every other day; Now she's Miss Popular. Kinda crazy the difference a year and a new school makes. So I'm on my own tonight."

Outside, thunder rumbled in the distance. Larry got back up, and went to the window to peek through the blinds. But it was already too dark to tell if storm clouds were gathering. He had missed the weather report that morning, and hadn't heard any talk of rain all day. Of course, he was pretty much a prisoner to his solitary office most days, and diligent, so he was never surprised to look up and find that half the office or more had cleared out for the day.

He angled the phone away from his mouth for a moment and let loose an angry burp. His mother's speech stuttered an instant later, but she didn't comment.

"Oh, I just ate, actually. I picked up a pie from Renzi's on the way home. Heh...yeah, we really need to go shopping. Probably tomorrow." He paused as the flavor of his meal re-entered his mouth for a second, then exhaled deeply through puffed cheeks. "Umm...no, nothing major. I rented a movie, so I'm just planning to sit in front of the TV until Melissa gets in. It was a long week."

"Where did I put that anyway?" he muttered to himself.

Thunder struck again outside, this time a little closer. The raindrops began to tap lightly outside, and slash the windows, leaving thin wet marks, which would melt a few seconds later.

"No, no, that's okay. I should probably go too. It's starting to rain, and I have a bad feeling there's an open window or two upstairs." Melissa loved fresh air circulating throughout the house, and would often leave windows, and sometimes doors, open all day long. But leaving the house open in any way, especially when no one was home, always irked Larry. Three decades of hard city living had probably instilled this feeling in him, and it wasn't going to change any time soon.

"Okay, sounds good. Talk to you...next week I guess. You too. Bye." He mashed the on/off button with his thumb and set the phone down, then started for the steps.

The soft tapping of raindrops began to intensify as Larry bounded his way up the staircase. He grunted two steps before reaching the top, and took those final steps considerably slower. Exhaling deeply, he turned right and entered their bedroom, spotting an open window on the far wall.

From a distance he could see the window sill was wet, so he grabbed a dirty sock from the laundry pile on his way in. After sliding the window shut and locking the locks, he wiped the sill dry, then dropped the sock to the floor, to mop up what had splashed past the edge.

Upon exiting the room, he dropped the wet sock back on the laundry pile, and grabbed its twin, taking it across the hall. He flipped a light switch and almost instinctively looked up to the ceiling, at the cracks that needed repair. One of these days, he thought. But not tonight.

Larry laid the sock on the sill and reached up to slide the window down. It was stuck. Of course. This window always stuck. Why Melissa continued to open it was beyond him.

He pulled harder, but still nothing. Another tug. Still no movement. In anger, he smacked the window frame with the heel of his hand, and then, success. The window seemed to slide closed almost on its own.

He wiped the windowsill just as he had in the first room, and let the sock fall to the floor. Then he glanced through the glass. The rain was falling harder. In the moonlight, it looked like a million frozen nails.

This particular window was the only one in the house that offered a view over the neighbor's fence, and into their backyard. Larry could see the patio furniture, and the sandbox and swingset. He could just make out the silhouette of something else too -- Something moving. Had the neighbors gotten a dog?

Another belch rose in him, and Larry grimaced as it escaped his throat. That one hurt. He grabbed the sides of his stomach as it gurgled, and he blew tomato and cheese breath into the air.

He picked up the sock, walked back to the bedroom, and tossed it from the doorway.

Time to relax, he thought, continuing to rub his belly as he slowly descended the stairs. He suddenly realized he couldn't remember what movie he had picked up. It was something scary. He knew that much.

"Shit," he said out loud. No matter what the movie was, he now realized he had left it on the seat in the car. He had been so hungry earlier, he simply forgot to grab it on the way in. At the time, food was top priority.

Thunder rumbled deeply outside, and the static-sound of the rain seemed to get louder with every passing minute.

"Dammit," Larry said, as if to emphasize the point to himself.  He grabbed his coat and headed toward the front door. He opened it, and the storm was in his face. The car wasn't too far away, but it was far enough that he couldn't avoid being soaked. Oh well, he thought, and he dashed out. In mid-stride, he flipped his collar up and hunched his shoulders. It barely helped.

Halfway to the car, his feet were already thick with mud. Thunder crashed again, startling Larry. The sound seemed to have another level to it this time -- a lower, deeper, more rumbling sound -- like a snarl. Larry assumed if anything, it was the neighbor's new pet from the other side of the fence, and he continued on.

A few more steps and he was there. He pressed a button on the keychain to unlock the car, then lifted the handle on the passenger side. The door creaked as it swung open. In one smooth movement, he snatched the DVD from within, spun around, and slammed the car door closed again. He felt a little queasy doing this, but didn't stop to think about it.

Larry hopped back toward the house. When he reached the middle of his path, another crash of thunder hit, and a deep, animalistic growl came with it.

"Oh my god," Larry whispered to himself, as the sound carried on, pitching higher, becoming a howl in the saturated air. He stopped dead in his tracks, flexed his knees, and glanced upward. Through the trees he could see the full moon above, distorted only by the edges of a few clouds and the glass shard rainstorm.

"That...that's no dog," he said aloud, but not too loud. He felt sick now. His stomach twisted, and the bile rose in his throat. But he knew he'd better move.

Another rumble came, louder and closer than before. Larry couldn't tell which sound it was -- the thunder or the snarl -- but he thawed his stance and ran for the house. Another howl sounded, right behind him. The moon seemed to cast his shadow -- and perhaps something else's -- on the front door as he reached for it.

He dove forward, somehow opening the door for his passage and slamming it shut once through, as he fell to the floor, sliding across the wood several feet.

Raindrops trickled into his eyes. He was panting, and wanted to vomit. But the fear brought adrenaline, and he jumped back up to his feet. He locked the doorknob and threw the deadbolt, then scrambled across the room and grabbed a heavy wooden chair. Sliding it across the floor, he found it was the perfect height, and he quickly wedged it under the knob.

"Oh man... What do I do? What do I do?" he asked himself through heavy breaths. The animal sounds on the other side of the door had him shaking. The door itself rattled in its frame, the hinges quivering, as claws began to scratch its painted surface and swipe at its tiny windowpanes.

The growling was now a constant rumble, wet and bubbly in the rain. The heaving breaths outside were in tandem with Larry's own.

Then something heavy hit the door. It slammed again, and Larry screamed as he stumbled backward. He slipped, tumbling over the coffee table, and onto the couch. Glass shattered onto the floor as the front door burst open. Then, silence, except for soft rain. Larry shuddered silently as beads of sweat cooled his forehead.

The familiar sound of a deadbolt being unlocked echoed through the house. The knob turned, and the door opened, and knocked into the back of a wooden chair, which slid out of the way without too much trouble.

"Hey honey -- I'm home!" It was Melissa. "What is this chair doing here?"

Larry just sat there, out of breath, still terrified.

"Did you drop a glass or something? I think I heard it break from outside," Melissa said nonchalantly. "Oh, there it is. It's sprinkling outside, by the way. Did you get the windows upstairs?"

Larry continued to pant, but was calming a bit. He tried to answer her, but nothing came.

"Oh my god. Honey...did you really eat an entire pizza?"

Larry's stomach answered before he could, with a symphony of wet, high-pitched growls and deep rumbles.

"Yeah," he said. "I feel sick."

About the author:

Scott Cole has written numerous words, which have appeared in places like Weirdyear, Flashes In The Dark, MicroHorror, Bloody Carnival, Rotting Tales, and Seasons in the Abyss, not to mention countless emails. He is also makes pictures, which have been featured in magazines and on people's walls. He lives in Philadelphia, as well as online at www.13visions.com.