The Nightmare People

6.

“Hi, Walt? This is Jim. You remember, from work. Look, I’m having some trouble, and I need to talk to somebody. Could you meet me at that little bar on Townsend Road in about, oh, twenty minutes?”

The voice on the phone was puzzled. “I don’t know, uh, Jim; what’s up?”

“I don’t want to talk about it on the phone, Walt. Could you please come? I’ll be at the bar.”

“Oh, what the hell, sure, I guess. Twenty minutes? The bar on Townsend Road?”

“Yeah, you know the one, Carlie’s Nightside I think it’s called.”

“Okay. I’ll be there.”

Smith hung up and smiled at Annie and Khalil.

The thing pretending to be Walt Harris arrived right on time, but Smith and Khalil were not waiting at the bar. They were waiting in the parking lot behind the bar, which Smith had chosen because the lot backed up to a grove of trees and was not visible from the street or any neighboring buildings.

The only problem was muffling the screams; they used Khalil’s shirt for that, and Smith got a finger jabbed by one of the needle-sharp teeth while stuffing it in.

Khalil gagged repeatedly on the foul black lump, but gamely choked it all down. It didn’t stay down, of course, but once the thing had stopped moving and started to dissolve, they didn’t much care. Smith stood guard while Khalil heaved it all back up onto the grass beside the parking lot.

When he was done he looked at Smith. “You ate two of those?” he said.

Smith nodded. “And I’m going to eat another, just as soon as we can catch one. Then it’ll be your turn again.” He grimaced. “Who knows, maybe we’ll get used to it.”

They both thought of retrieving the skin, but looking at the stinking mess that lay beneath the trees, neither one could bring himself to touch it. Nor could they afford to wait around for the remains to finish dissolving. Someone, either human or nightmare person, might happen along at any time.

“We’ll get one another time,” Smith said, leading the way to his car.

“Who is Jim, that he thought he was meeting?” Khalil asked, as they headed back toward Topaz Court.

“Nobody,” Smith said, his eyes on the road. “I made him up.”

Startled, Khalil asked, “But how…”

“Their memories aren’t complete,” Smith explained. “It didn’t know whether the real Walt Harris knew someone named Jim who would want to meet him like that.”

“Ah,” Khalil said, nodding.

A moment later he added, “But that will not work with all of them, surely.”

“Surely,” Smith agreed, “But it’s a start.”

Khalil nodded again.