eerieindiana | Eerie, Indiana fanfiction: Pest Control

Follows straight on from Jack-o-lantern

The carved faces of the pumpkins grinned emptily, stray seeds and strands of cold orange flesh clinging to the ragged slash of their mouths, lit from within by a flickering light that had no obvious source. The illumination danced in the hollow eyes and the play of light and shadow made their smiles stretch and contort, the gaping sockets wink.

With a rustle of dry straw inside old clothes they reached out their hands, their fingers impossibly long, so brittle it seemed as though the faintest breeze might whisk them out of ragged jacket sleeves and frayed shirt cuffs, send them whirling down the street. They carried the cold clean smell of bright fall afternoons, the sweetness of ripe pumpkin flesh, and the heady sugar-scent that told of pillow cases bulging with candy. They appeared in gateways and garden paths, leaned over white picket fences or stood silhouetted in bedroom doors, the hall light turning them to gaunt black shapes against the yellow glow, and they beckoned the children of Eerie to follow them.

The shuffle of slippered feet on gravel, the squelch of tiny feet over a wet winter lawn, the rustle of flannel pyjamas in a chill night breeze. Screen doors left banging in the draft, garages standing open, their dark interiors gaping emptily out onto the shadow-haunted streets. Cats that should have been prowling their established routes and territories fled up trees or cowered under cars, and dogs stuck close to their humans and barked frantically at something that tapped and whispered at ground floor windows, the canine revolution postponed for another day.

Mayor Chisel stood with his back to the room, staring down at the scene in the streets below. In the pool of soft yellow light cast by the green-shaded desk lamp, two of Eerie’s three premier paranormal investigations team shifted uncomfortably in fold-out chairs, remembering long-ago trips to the principal’s office at BF Skinner Junior High to try and explain demons summoned to the third-floor boys bathroom.

“So,” said the Mayor, and his voice carried none of its usual ersatz bonhomie. “I take it last night’s activities didn’t go well.”

“Um,” said Marshall.

“And that’s despite a report you submitted this morning claiming you were ‘making progress’ and requesting funding for an additional weeks’ worth of billable hours.”

“Uh,” said Marshall.

The Mayor sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger, before turning back to face them.

“I see the trouble-making contingent of your little group hasn’t bothered to show up for this meeting,” he said. “As usual.”

“He’s in Spain,” Marshall said sharply, and Simon kicked him in the ankle.

A smile, utterly devoid of humour, crossed Chisel’s face.

“And yet, despite carrying a grudge over something that happened years ago, he’s willing to take the taxpayer’s money for a job you spectacularly failed to complete.”

“If you’d succeeded in keeping taxes low, you wouldn’t have been able to afford us,” Marshall pointed out.

The Mayor opened his mouth to respond, but was interrupted by Simon climbing quickly out of his seat and positioning himself between the other two men.

“Mars, can I have a word?” he said, then, “Excuse me, Mr. Mayor.”

Chisel made a dismissive gesture, and Simon tugged Mars out of his chair and through the heavy oak door banded in iron wards that led to the ante-chamber of the Mayor’s office.

“The whole point of leaving Dash at home was to avoid him picking a fight,” he whispered. “It sort of defeats the object if you go needling Eerie’s most powerful political figure in his place.”

“I know, I know,” Mars whispered back. “It’s just... he’s so smarmy and annoying. Makes me want to punch his face right off.”

“As there’s a good chance that doing that would unleash an eldritch abomination within City Hall and lead to another evening battling tendrils of other-worldly terror while stuck inside a municipal meat-beast that’s screaming in panic at having an inter-dimensional monster in its guts, let’s not do that.”

Marshall rolled his eyes.

“It was one time, Simon.”

“Let’s keep it that way,” said Simon. “And besides... you know he’s right, right? The truth is, we did mess up at the pumpkin patch, and we did lie on the official report, and now the Dark Squash and the evil scarecrows from the wrong side of the ghost train tracks have united against the town.”

Marshall nodded, although he didn’t look happy about it. Dash wasn’t the only one still annoyed over the Harvest King thing; Marshall had to put on protective gloves before handling blessed silver, and in Eerie that was more of an inconvenience than it might have been in another town.

He took a deep breath.

“Fine,” he allowed. “Let’s get back in there and get this over with. Besides, we need to scrape the brains and paraffin off the front steps of our apartment building before the board fines us again, so we should do this quickly.”

Simon looked at him critically.

“Are you sure you’re up for this?” he said. “I can take this meeting alone, if you wanted to head home.”

“And give Chisel the satisfaction of thinking he scared me off? Or worse, that I got sent home like a misbehaving toddler for talking back to him? No way.”

“Okay,” said Simon. He reached into the messenger bag slung across his chest and pulled out a file folder bursting with colour-coded post-its, and pushed open the door to the Mayor’s office.

Chisel was in his high-backed swivel chair, the one with the unforgivably gaudy antimacassar in gold and purple over the head-rest, his feet in their highly-polished shoes resting on the surface of his highly-polished desk. He looked bored.

“Boys,” he said, the unenthusiastic tones of a reluctant uncle presented with a sticky toddler at a family gathering. It was an affect calculated to irritate, and it had the desired effect. Simon was pretty sure he heard Marshall’s teeth grinding together over the ambient noise of City Hall’s internal processes, and he slapped the file folder down on the gilt-embossed leather blotter in front of him with more force than was probably needed.

“You’ll find our bill stapled to the front page, along with an itemised accounting of hours worked and expenses incurred,” he said. “As you can see, your non-refundable deposit has already been applied and the amount owing is at the bottom of the page in bold.”

He flipped the file open and pointed to the relevant sections with a pen that doubled as a voice recorder.

“You’ll notice that, following an unforeseen alliance between harvest vegetables and humanoid effigies, we have come up with three plans of action along with commensurate price lists. As a squash/homunculus uprising utilising Pied Piper methodology is not currently one of the officially recognised hazards included in our services offered, these require payment in full, up front, in cash, and we cannot guarantee results.”

Chisel started to speak, but Simon continued as smoothly as though he had never been interrupted.

“However, in light of our company’s long working history with your office, as well as the spirit of civic pride that surely informs the actions of every citizen in Eerie, we are willing to share our proprietary research with the City Council, along with any operative specialising in supernatural threats that you should choose to hire to replace us.”

Simon placed his hand palm-down on the open file folder and leaned in, the light from the green desk lamp casting strange shadows over his face, rendering familiar features abruptly alien and threatening.

“After you settle any outstanding fees, of course.”

He smiled. The Mayor smiled back. The little voice in Marshall’s head commented offhandedly that there were rather a lot of teeth in the room suddenly, and perhaps it was time to go clean a gore-encrusted front step a good distance away.

“Mister Holmes,” said Chisel, tilting back in his chair and removing a platinum-coated fountain pen from the pocket of his exquisitely tailored suit jacket. “Should you ever find yourself in need of more lucrative employment, do please give my office a call. In the meantime,” he removed a cheque book from the top drawer of his desk. “Why don’t you brief me on these pest-control options?”

Microwave-verse

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