Date: Wed, 16 Oct 1996 07:49:39 MDT From: Robyn Meta Herrington Subject: SUB: CONTEST: The Ghost and Sergeant Smiley The last one! Dated October 15th, as of this posting, submissions are, I'm guessing, all posted. I will generate a list very soon, and post it along with voting instructions. Critiques of any story to ME at rmherrin@acs.ucalgary.ca Thanks -- Robyn=================================================== Gentle reader, I have used '*' to indicate italics in the story below. Now, with that out of the way, scroll down the page a bit, I want to show you something. It's over here in the corner. In the dark. The Ghost and Sergeant Smiley *It had waited so long. At first, the only sign of Its coming was a deliberate movement of air inside the house. Then snakes of light came slithering through the darkness. They circled into each other and began spinning faster until they drew inward, chasing a black center. The lights grew stronger and formed boundaries in the shape of a man. It looked as if a shadow had been lifted off a wall and hung in mid air. An aura of brown and yellow sparks surrounded It. Ugly colors. Dead colors. They radiated no light into the blackness. "Our house. HER house!" Its featureless face looked around. The room was large, with a high ceiling and a huge fireplace in the middle of the longest wall. Just as It had built it. Just the way she wanted. It made Its way to the stairs and climbed to the second floor landing. It was dark there, too, without even the intruding glow of a streetlight through a window to disturb the night. Anyone outside might think that this was an empty house, maybe even abandoned. It knew better. It could feel someone. Someone was in Its house. Her house! Someone that had to leave. The bedroom door at the end of the hall was open, and inside It found a man sleeping on a small bed. The man turned uneasily in his sleep, as if having a bad dream. It watched from the foot of the bed, the aura of lifeless colors now dark red, and churning like a stew threatening to boil over, until the energy It had used to get here, and to take shape with, began to die out. It was fading. 'I'll be back.' A whisper quiet voice hissed, 'and I'll be stronger. 'And if you're still in her house I WILL KILL YOU!'* October 30 Douglas MacArthur 'Smiley' Hiatt woke at oh-nine-hundred hours and felt groggy and out of place, as if he'd had a bad dream. He thought to himself that working swing shift and getting out of his bunk this late must be the reason he felt so uneasy. He still hadn't adjusted to civilian time. He dressed in sweats and running shoes and in less than five minutes was jogging his now familiar route around the south side of town. His course took him nearly ten miles and lasted just over an hour. He'd been out of the Marine Corpse for over a month now, and when not at work, he stayed busy with the little details that needed attention at home. It was his day off, and he had a full schedule, mostly finishing the second coat of paint on the kitchen, and some yard work, too. The house that his father, Major (Ret.) Fillmore Francis Hiatt, and his mother, Nora Camille Hiatt, left him in their will, had been rented out for the last ten years and was in need of almost everything imaginable. The neighborhood had gone downhill, and the tenants the property manager had rented the house out to had been of less than spit and polish caliber. He served twenty years as a Marine, the last dozen as a Drill Instructor, and finally left in disgust at the changes being made in the last five or so. It wasn't just the Political Correctness that had invaded the Corpse, or the meaningless 'Don't Ask, Don't Tell' policy (he couldn't find any difference between the new policy and the old). His reason for leaving was 'That Chicken-Shit Commander In Chief'. Sergeant Douglas MacArthur Hiatt had never dodged anything in his life, and damned if he would serve under a draft dodging President. The last time his re-enlistment papers came he tossed them in the trash. He had his pension, twenty years of savings from his time in the service, and his job as a guard with Commercial Security Services making nine dollars an hour, (more than the usual five because he carried a gun, not all the guards did). The house was paid for, and so was his 1964 Ford Galaxie convertible. He was thirty-eight years old and in better shape than most men in their twenties. He did the yard work and finished the last coat of paint on the kitchen at nine-thirty that night. His internal clock was slowly adjusting to swing shift hours, and he decided to go out for a few beers. He drove to the closest bar, a hole in the wall called Roxie's Rumpus Room. Harley-Davidson motorcycles and old pickup trucks filled the dirt parking lot. There were neon signs promising domestic beer and one that just read 'POOL'. He parked his old Ford and went inside. Roxie's was no different from any blue collar bar in any other town. Dimly lit, smoky, and filled with men and women (some who couldn't wait one more day and were already in Halloween costumes), shooting pool, playing darts, and numbing the days aches and pains with alcohol. Behind the bar was a sign that said 'No Wagering' next to the announcement for the winners of last week's football pool. Another sign read 'Your Bartender for This Evening Is...' under which was handwritten 'very pissed off'. The bartender in the very bad mood, a giant who answered to the name Spider, looked at Sergeant Douglas MacArthur 'Smiley' Hiatt over thick arms folded across an expansive chest. Sergeant Smiley sat on a barstool and said, 'Beer and a shot.' Spider didn't move an inch and replied, "We don't serve no pussies in here." Sergeant Smiley's arms were resting on the bar top, and he slowly rolled his left arm palm-up to reveal his favorite tattoo. Spider looked down and saw a brightly colored dragon, clutching a twisted battleship in it claws and snorting fire. There was a banner across the artwork on which the words 'Semper Fidelis' blazed in bright red ink. "Oh, I am so sorry," said Spider. "I meant to say that we don't serve no faggotty-ass jarheads. Now get out." Before he could look up to see if his guest had gotten the message, Sergeant Smiley's right fist hit him solidly under the left eye. Spider heard a loud crack and felt blood trickle down his cheek. His knees went out and he hit the ground. "Now then, Sweetpea, get yourself back up here, and let's try this again. A beer and a shot." The rest of the room was silently watching the scene. Spider tried to stand and didn't know for sure if he could, but his pride finally forced him back up to where Sergeant Smiley sat waiting. Spider opened a beer, poured a shot, and set them both down in front of Sergeant Smiley. He continued to do everything asked of him for the next two hours, when the ex-marine finally went home. Then he ordered everyone out, closed Roxie's for the night, and went straight to the hospital. The doctor there pushed a bit of meat back into his face, stitched him up nine times, and told him he had a fractured bone in his cheek that would take about two months to fully heal. Years of conditioning don't break easily, and when something woke Sergeant Smiley later that night, he leapt up as fast as a startled dog. "Who's there?" Nothing. No Reply. Something didn't feel right. His whole body tingled and he couldn't control his breathing. *Someone's in the house,* he thought. *Kids? Halloween prank? Burglar? No, there's something wrong, very wrong.* Barefoot, in his boxers and a tank top, he made his way quietly out of the bedroom and down the hall. By the time he found the stairs he had his breathing under control, but it was hard to maintain. *What the hell is going on?* He didn't like this feeling. In fact, he hated it, hated the feeling of dread that had overcome him. He crept down the stairs to the living room. It was dark, cold, and empty... *Something's coming, so be ready,* said a voice in his head. That well trained, trust your instincts voice he'd developed over the years. Then another, less familiar voice said, *Not just coming, it's coming for you!* He didn't know where that new voice had come from, but the urgency in its tone told him to trust what it said, too. The air began to move in the room, slowly at first, then fast enough to blow books off shelves and pictures off walls. In seconds there was a shadow in the shape of a man standing in the center of the room. This time It had a face. "I'm back," said the shadow, "and I'm stronger." It seemed pleased with Itself at first. It had made the trip into this world so quickly this time. It felt more formed. Its eyes took in the room slowly, and when they finally came around to Sergeant Smiley, Its aura changed to a deep red. "I want you out of her house." Sergeant Smiley had no idea what he was seeing. "Some kind of Halloween happy horse-shit," said the Sergeant out loud, and he could almost believe it, if he tried hard enough. "This ain't funny, Sweetpea. You get out." No, he knew he didn't believe it was a Halloween prank. He didn't know anyone in this town well enough to merit such a visit, and for some reason his whole body screamed at him to run away. This was a new feeling. He'd never wanted to run before. He felt terror all the way down into his bones. The room seemed *filled* with terror. Instead of running, he did what his training had taught him. He lunged at the Thing. He attacked. He heard glass break. He'd leap the distance of the room and his arm had gone through the front window. He quickly stood up and faced the intruder. Blood that felt almost hot in the cold air ran down his arm and dripped off his fingers onto the carpet. *I went through it. It felt warm,* he thought. *Like warm air, or water.* His mind worked fast, trying to size up the enemy and find his options, but It didn't give him enough time. "Get out get out GET OUT GET OUT GETOUTGETOUTGETOUT!" The Thing came at him so fast he couldn't get out of the way. His body prepared to roll with the punches. The Thing's arm reached out to strike, but all Sergeant Smiley felt was a sickly warmth that seemed to continue into his skin and out the other side as the shadow fist went right through his face. The Thing spun around from Its own momentum, then held still. They stood face to face, glaring at each other. Then It screamed. In spite of all the things he'd seen and done in the service, he had never been through anything like this. The Thing's scream paralyzed him. He almost fell. *It can't touch you, so It can't hurt you,* one voice said. *Don't bet the farm,* said the other. The stand off ended. The Thing backed away and spun around. In a childlike tantrum It began to pull down bookshelves, knock over lamps, tables, chairs. Then It stood still, looking down at a brass coat rack in Its hands. It was holding something. Touching something. It had a weapon. The same thing occurred to Sergeant Smiley just a split second before. The Thing held the coat rack up like a baseball bat and came swiftly across the room. Sergeant smiley ducked and rolled for safety as the rack's heavy metal base crashed into the wall. The wood inside the wall splintered under the blow. Dust and plaster flew as the Thing pulled Its weapon free and raised it over Its head. "GET OUT! THIS IS HER HOUSE!" Then It staggered, lowered the coat rack slightly, and yelled "I'LL KILL YOU." Its lights faded out and the shadow at the center returned to the darkness. The coat rack fell to the floor. *What was that,* Sergeant Smiley's thoughts demanded. *What the hell was that?* Sergeant Douglas MacArthur 'Smiley' Hiatt laid down on his living room floor and went unconscious. He slept there for the rest of the night. October 31 There was only one person in town that knew how Sergeant Douglas MacArthur Hiatt had gotten the nick-name 'Smiley'. His name was Ken Owens, Sergeant Smiley's boss. They'd grown up together, played high school sports together, and went down to the recruiting office together. Hiatt enlisted in the Marines and Owens in the Navy. Owens came back after eight years and started the security guard business. When Hiatt left the service, Owens was the first one he called, and he went to work as a guard the next week. The two had run into each other once in the Philippines years ago, and Owens took his old boyhood buddy out for his first taste of night life in Manila, showed him his favorite bar, and introduced him to his favorite game- Smileys. "You're just going to love Smileys," Owens told him. That night two other marines and a sailor called 'Bunch' joined them. Bunch hustled up a hooker and brought her back to the bar. They gathered around a table to play cards and drink rum while the hooker was under the table servicing each of them orally at random. The first one to smile had to pay for the girl and buy a round of drinks. Douglas MacArthur Hiatt lost his first game, and from then on he was Sergeant Smiley to Ken Owens. "Best ten bucks I ever spent," he said afterward. When Hiatt walked into the office the morning after he met his unwanted house-guest, Owens greeted him with a loud, "You're late, Smiley" Hiatt had been inside himself all morning, replaying the events of the previous night over and over in his head. The sound of his friend's voice brought him back into the world a little. "I smell fish. Must be one of those little Navy fruiters around here." "Seriously, Doug, looks bad to the other guys if the boss' buddy gets in late." "I know, Ken, but it gets worse. I need the day off." Ken Owens looked closer at Hiatt and didn't like what he saw there. Hiatt looked tired, and something else... *He doesn't look 'Smiley-like',* Owens thought, *That's it. He looks rattled.* "Hey, you okay? Something wrong?" "I don't think I could explain it right now. I just need the day off. It's important. One day's all." *Definitely not 'Smiley-like',* Owens thought. He doubted Smiley had ever taken a day off work in his life. "Go on, get out, but if you need anything you call." "Thanks, Ken," he said, and turned to go. "But if you're late tomorrow, I may have to kick your 'Semper Fi' butt." Sergeant Smiley looked back and grinned at Owens. "If you were half the man your mother is," he said, "I'd be so scared I'd pee my pants. Gotta put my uniform in my locker and I'll be out." He walked away and left Owens worrying about him, until the phone rang, and business took over. As Sergeant Smiley walked into the guard's dressing room, one of the college kids (the kind of guard that did more homework and sleeping on the job than actual guarding) bumped into him. "Sorry," said the kid as he walked away. "Watch were you're going," Sergeant Smiley grumbled. "I said I was sorry, dude. Acknowledge and move on," said the kid as he went out the door. The kid's tone was sarcastic, and Smiley didn't like it. "Acknowledge and move on?" he said out loud. He wondered who raised kids like that. He opened his locker, put his uniform inside, and took out his revolver. He checked the safety, slid it into a duffel bag and heard the voice in his head say, *You wish it was that easy.* He knew it wouldn't be. He drove into town, making a mental list of what he knew about the Thing. There was a lot of wreckage in his living room, so he didn't imagine It. That didn't mean anyone else would believe him. The Thing was as new to all this as he was. It didn't know what It was doing at first and only discovered a way to use a weapon by accident. It couldn't hit him directly, but It could use things against him. Inanimate things. Maybe It couldn't touch living things because It was dead. He didn't like that idea. He didn't want It to be a ghost, but that's what he thought It was. It blew a fuse or something, and disappeared, faded out. As if It ran out of gas. Maybe It over-heated. He wondered if he could make It over-heat again. Did he hear It say It was back? It was stronger? Did that mean It would be stronger the next time. Sergeant Smiley knew there would be a next time. He knew that It didn't want him around. He knew It would try to kill him if he didn't leave. *Know your enemy,* he thought, and made a stop at City Hall and then another at the Library. A few hours later he thought he had a good idea of what he was up against. It didn't make him feel any better. October 31, Midnight. There was no wind this time. It appeared all at once. It was still a shadow, but now fully detailed. It looked like a statue carved in dull, black rock. "You look just like your picture, Sweetpea." Sergeant Smiley stood near the stairs and watched his guest. It had no glowing red aura this time, only a look of rage in Its dark eyes. "I told you to leave. This is our house. HER house. I want you out before she comes." Sergeant Smiley grinned. It wasn't easy, and it took all he had not to run. "I know all about Catherine, Sweetpea. And I know all about you, too." The shadow man's eyes widened. "A suicide pact? A married woman? Both of you too scared to run away is how I see it. I read the papers at the library today. Real Big Scandal." Sergeant Smiley watched the Thing's arms and legs carefully for the slightest sign of movement. It stood dead still and stared back at him. "When I read the part about you two killing yourselves on Halloween night, I gotta tell you, Sweetpea, I almost laughed out loud. Two pathetic lovebirds. Your great romance is no better than a kid's campfire ghost story." That did the trick. It was Sergeant Smiley's plan to overheat the Thing, to build up Its anger until It burned up in Its own rage. Now the shadow let loose Its terrifying scream and charged at the Sergeant. The Marine was quick. It was his play and he was ready for the assault. He deftly slid to his right and watched the wall explode as the thing ran into it headfirst. Dust and splinters flew as the Thing dug Its way out and charged again. This time the Sergeant didn't move fast enough. It caught him with a glancing blow on the side of his head. *It hit me,* thought the Sergeant. *It hit me with Its bare hand! It can hit me!* Real panic started to settle in and little by little the years of conditioning fell away. Sergeant Smiley's breath came in great gasps. He nearly froze as the thing came at him again. "I'LL KILL YOU, YOU BASTARD," It screamed. The Thing was almost on Smiley before he could react. *DOWN,* his body told him, and he hit the floor. The thing ran over him, but still caught his side with one foot. The pain registered immediately, deep in his kidney. He moaned as he struggled to regain his feet. *This thing's going to kill me,* he thought. Sergeant Smiley reached into his pocket and pulled out his revolver. He fired it six times. "I know it ain't the first time you've been shot, just the first time somebody else was doing the shooting." In the center of the room the Thing stopped and looked down at Its chest. There wasn't any sign of a bullet wound. It had stopped just out of reflex. By the time It looked back up, Sergeant Smiley was running up the stairs. He was panicking "You're dead dammit! Just die! Go into the light, acknowledge and move on, you asshole," he was shouting in between rapid breaths. "It's MY house now. Just stay DEAD!" He had no sooner reached the second floor landing when he felt the thing grab for his back. It was fast. And he knew It was too strong. Sergeant Smiley stopped and turned. His arms hung limply at his sides. The hatred in his voice was matched only by the anger in his eyes, as he said, "This is my house now." The Thing charged and caught the Marine dead center in his chest. The two of them crashed through the railing and fell to the hardwood floor below. They landed with a loud thud, the Thing on top. Sergeant Smiley lived long enough to see the Thing pull his battered body up close to Its face and hear It say "Die," before he left this world. The Thing stared at the lifeless body of Sergeant Smiley for a few moments, then jumped up and began to laugh. "This is our house again, Catherine. We can be together again, darling. We can be TOGETHER!" It began to dance around the room, laughing and yelling, occasionally stepping on the lifeless body of Sergeant Douglas MacArthur 'Smiley' Hiatt. Then it stopped. In the corner, the air began to move. Snakes of lights formed and chased each other. "Catherine." Inside the spinning lights a shadow formed. A man's shadow. "Hello, there, Sweetpea," said Sergeant Smiley. "That didn't hurt half as bad as I thought it would. "Now, let's get this house business straightened out. "Once and for all." Fin. -------+++++++-------+++++++ +++++++-------+++++++------- Robyn Herrington Operations Manager, Microforms Services University of Calgary, MacKimmie Library Ph: (403)220-6903 http://www.ucalgary.ca/~rmherrin rmherrin@acs.ucalgary.ca -------+++++++-------+++++++--------------+++++++-------+++++++-------