Welcome to the serialized version of my debut novella, Cherry Kills. If you’re just joining us, head over to the Navigation Page, or start directly from Episode One. If you’d prefer to read this in another format, head on over to Tiny Worlds Publishing and pick up the paperback or ebook!
Episodes:
“Cherry Kills is a little bit horror, a little bit punk noir, and a whole lot of heart.”
Daisy and Elwood played pat-a-cake while Uncle surveyed the area outside the club. Going on seven years, Cherry still felt an urge to apologize to the people around her for her Alternates, a term she’d given her little gang of imaginary friends. The doctor called them a “coping mechanism.” Cherry couldn’t see how a rabbit-man, an overprotective lug who reminded her of a cross between Henry Rollins and Ron Perlman, and a six-year-old girl who looked an awful lot like Ruby Bridges, could help her cope.
“The mind is a mysterious thing,” the doctor had said.
Yeah, no shit, she thought.
The bouncer working the door of the Gut Punch wasn’t particularly large, but what he lost in stature, he made up for in asshole. He looked from Cherry’s face to her ID, then back again. “You should smile more.”
“I am smiling,” said Cherry, her face as expressionless as she could make it. “I hear you guys have killer tots, this true?”
“I don’t eat tots—I ain’t twelve years old.”
“I didn’t realize there was an age restriction on tots. There a band tonight?”
The bouncer took a flyer off the wall and handed it to Cherry. She read it aloud, “‘Doomsday Snooze Button.’ Sounds cheery. Do I have to pay the cover if I’m just coming in for a drink?” Cherry pulled out a five, her last bit of cash for at least a week until the next state-issued check came in, and handed it to the doorman. Then she uncapped her lipstick.
“You serious? Put your lipstick on inside the club.” The bouncer waved a couple of tough-looking customers forward.
Cherry folded the flyer in half, blotted her lipstick with it, then handed the flyer back to the bouncer. “Thanks, it’s been a pleasure. You remind me of my uncle—sweet as pie.” Behind her, leaning against the brick wall of the club, Uncle grumbled.
The Gut Punch was already uncomfortably humid. The scent of stale beer and fried foods reminded Cherry of the apartment she shared with her dad when he was still alive; all it needed was Mingus playing on a chrome turntable and the occasional waft of reefer and she’d be right there in his living room, eating Cap’n Crunch out of the box on the shag carpet, watching Cleopatra.
Cherry posted up at the bar where a man with floppy orange hair and a bullring leaned in and said, “Love your earrings—that’s an ankh, right?”
Cherry held up her hand to quiet Flop and shook her head. If there was one thing she couldn’t stand, it was talking Egypt with creepers.
The opening band was only just sound-checking, the bass player plucking at the strings on his guitar and the drummer looking around for the nod from his bandmates to count them off.
Cherry waved down the bartender. “Give me whatever this guy isn’t having, thanks. Maybe something vodka-y. Something with lime. You take credit, right?”
The bartender nodded and brought Cherry a drink, which she raised to Uncle and Elwood, who sat at a small table in the corner.
On the edge of the stage Daisy smiled while talking to herself, swinging her legs like a clock hand. The opening band nervously tightened and tuned their instruments, unaware of the happy-go-lucky imaginary little girl at their feet.
“My friend Mai left her bag here,” Cherry said, turning back to the bartender. “She painted a mural out back or something. You mind if I grab it for her?”
The bartender raised her eyebrows. “That chick’s your friend? She’s an odd duck, isn’t she?”
Cherry shrugged. “Well, if she’s odd, I’m not sure where that leaves me. You have the bag or…?”
“In the back. Staff room, right next to the mural. Should be unlocked.”
Flop leaned in. “I saw her leave in a hurry—she okay? I went back there, after she’d run out, thought maybe a dude was messing with her. Was gonna have some words with him, you know?” Flop pounded his fist on the bar top, almost spilling his beer.
“Do that again and you’re out of here,” said the bartender.
“Apologies—I just can’t stand men who abuse women. I’m like Kurt that way.”
Cherry rolled her eyes, paid her tab, and then walked to the back of the club. The sign on the door leading to the backroom read, “Renovation in Progress. Keep Out.” Cherry opened the door and stepped into the room. It wasn’t a large space, but big enough for a few standing tables and a low, vacant stage in the corner. It smelled like paint, mildew, and beer. She set her drink down on a small table beside the door and hugged herself. “Holy shit—it’s colder than a dead penguin in here.”
“That’s a quarter, Mama,” Daisy said, skipping into the room. Elwood hopped in behind her, wiggling his pink nose.
Uncle walked around the room, chest puffed out, lip curled; this was his no-nonsense look, which always made Cherry want to laugh—what could a figment of her imagination possibly do to protect her?
“How do you even know what a quarter is, Daisy?” Cherry shut the door behind them, then walked up to the mural. Mai was good, really good. Looking at the thrashing sperm whale being strangled by the giant pink squid, she could practically smell the briny sea air.
Daisy shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe because we’re you? Like the doctor said, we’re hallu…hallusu—
“Hallucinations,” Cherry said, bending slightly to look into the eye of the giant squid. The mural was bigger than she’d expected, the squid’s eye the size of a dinner plate. She ran her hand over a tentacle arm, which stretched across the entire length of the room.
“What’s that?” said Uncle, pointing to a symbol written in ink on the wall above the door to the staff room. “Looks a lot like that silly thing you’re always doodling.”
Daisy looked up to see what Uncle was talking about. “Hey, he’s right. It’s not the same, but sorta.” She giggled.
Cherry stepped back; yes, it was a lot like the symbol in the fire of her dreams from the night everything fell apart. Like the glyphs in the book her dad kept hidden in the closet, right next to his gun. But this symbol didn’t call to her like the one from her dream did. In her dream, the glyph burned her chest from the inside out. Just before she’d wake up, her dad always said the same thing: “Keep it a secret.”
“Mama,” said Daisy, “why is it glowing?”
Uncle stepped in front of Cherry. “Stay back!”
Cherry moved forward to get a better look. “Why do you have to be like this, Uncle? Sure, it’s…strange…but that doesn’t mean it’s dangerous.”
Elwood pointed a furry finger at the squid’s eye.
“Eff,” said Cherry, as the dinner plate eye darted from Uncle to her.
Uncle put his fists up and shouted, “Cherry, run for the—”
The water collapsed, gushing into the room from where Mai had painted it onto the wall, and all at once Cherry was holding her breath, watching flyers, napkins, and chairs float by. The room was underwater.
Uncle swam toward her, a pale, enraged, tuskless walrus, but just as he was reaching out for Cherry’s hand, a tentacle arm shot out and grabbed him from around his large waist, pulling the big man effortlessly to the opposite side of the room, away from her.
There was just enough space between the ceiling and the water for Cherry to swim to the surface and take a deep breath before being pulled back under. It had her leg, reeling her in like a thrashing, confused fish.
Daisy slapped at the squid’s tentacle arm constricting Uncle, while Elwood rabbit-kicked its massive, gelatinous head.
It didn’t make sense to Cherry; her Alternates were never able to interact with anything physical before. Yet here they were, tangled in the same violence she was. She thought maybe it wasn’t real at all, that all this might be in her head, but then a tentacle arm punched her in the stomach, the blow so terrific Cherry thought the squid might have broken one of her ribs. She winced in pain.
A muffled yell—Cherry opened her eyes to see a thousand bubbles ascend from Uncle’s Alka-Seltzer shout as he tore the squid’s sentient arm in half with his bare hands. Oil-black blood plumed from each end of the severed arm. Uncle’s eyes brimmed with satisfaction. Finally free from the squid’s grasp, he launched himself off of the squid’s pink body toward Cherry.
Elwood motioned to Daisy, who in turn hooked a small arm around the rabbit-man’s neck and swung onto his back as if he were a horse and she the star of a Wild West show. She stuck her head between his ears and bubble-shouted, “Yee haw!”
The squid evaded the whale, its gigantic eye momentarily pinning Cherry down in fright.
Cherry and Uncle swam toward the door. The giant squid darted after them, its head elongated by the tension force of its movement.
A tentacle latched onto Cherry’s forearm, the pain from its suction cups intensifying by the second. With her free hand, she grasped at the door handle and, kicking the briney beast directly in its eye with her boot, managed to get just enough slack to open the door.
She slam-slid out of the fray and into the middle of the main room, gasping for air as ten punks who’d been drool-watching the opening band looked down at her with a mixture of annoyance and disinterest.
Cherry was soaking wet, but there wasn’t an ocean in the room—none of the water had come out with her. She stood, raced to the door leading to the mural, and looked in. The room was trashed, and wet, but the ocean and squid were back on the wall. She leaned in to get a better look.
Uncle moved to block the door. “You nuts?”
“Based on what just happened, I’d say it’s very likely.” Cherry wiped the water from her face, then licked her lips. “Salt water?”
Daisy pointed to Cherry’s arm. “Mama, are you okay?”
Cherry looked down at the circular mark on her arm. It was puffy and red, just below the hummingbird tattoo on her forearm. “It hurts worse than it looks. I guess this is the price we pay for altruism. Remind me to never do another good deed for as long as I live.”
“Can we get the hell out of here now?” Uncle looked around the room with disgust. “Only thing worse than giant squids are opening bands.”
“Gotta start somewhere,” Cherry said, walking toward the exit.
“Oh, hey!” said the bartender. “Your friend’s bag was behind the counter. Not sure how I missed it.” She narrowed her eyes. “Why are you wet?”
Cherry felt like she was going to puke, but took the bag from the bartender’s hand and shrugged. “Um…sweat? I’m a dancing machine.”
Thanks for reading episode four, Gotta Start Somewhere <3
Cherry Kills was edited by S.E. Reid
Rather read a physical copy of Cherry Kills? No problem. Head over to Tiny Worlds Publishing for a signed (or unsigned) paperback. If you’re looking for an immersive experience, pick up the deluxe kit.
SNAPPLE CAP FACTS
On the very same night Cherry and her crew get all wet, the singer of the headlining act, Doomsday Snooze Button, is dealing with his own horror. If you want a little side quest, check out my story The Gut Punch. This short story was written before the Cherry Kills novella.
Musicians and music lovers probably recognize The Gut Punch; dank, sticky floors, bad lighting, sticker-blasted bathrooms, etc. It was modeled after the Bay Area clubs, Bottom of the Hill (great bands) and Thee Parkside (great tots), but it could be any number of clubs throughout the US. I once filled in as frontman for a punk band on a national tour, so believe me, I know.
Excerpt from The Gut Punch:
Even in the warped and scratched mirror, Steve was disgusted by the old face looking back at him. What was he doing here with all of these young punks? These kids? Playing young—pretending. He felt like he was going to throw up. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d gotten sick in a club bathroom, but he’d never lost his lunch because of nerves, had he? The past wasn’t as clear as it had been. His punk self was now a collection of flyers and poorly-lit pictures in a box beneath his bed. But if the pictures were to be believed, that kid had balls. That kid knew what he was doing. And now here Steve was ruining that kid’s legacy.
Cherry has her moments of living in an alternate reality, but seems to take it in stride. One tough cookie.