Fat Whack Read online

  The girl pointed the zapper at her father and pulled the trigger in a joking manner. While her back was turned, another duck flew away to the safety of nothingness beyond the boundaries of the television screen. She turned her attention back to the game. That round was a bust. She would really have to concentrate on this next round if she was going to show those dumb ducks who’s boss. Holding the zapper with two hands, she squinted her left eye shut and went on a duck-killing spree. A couple of minutes later she yelled, “Dad, look! A perfect round!” There was no response. Remembering that he had ordered pizza, she paused the game and walked into the kitchen to see if he was already eating. The kitchen was empty—no pizza, no dad.

  “Dad?” she called out as she walked through the house. An eerie feeling washed over her unlike any feeling she had yet experienced in her ten short years on the planet. Could he still be paying for the pizza? Or maybe there was a horde of trick-or-treaters at the door. As she moved towards the front door, it suddenly felt to her as if the house had tilted. She had a weird sensation in her gut like she was falling towards the door. She turned the door handle and pushed, but the door was stuck, blocked by some kind of dead weight on the other side. She could hear the trick-or-treaters outside—they were yelling for some reason. What was going on out there? She put her shoulder into it and pushed the door open just enough for her tiny body to squeeze outside.

  What she saw changed her life forever. Her ten-year-old eyes tried to comprehend a crime scene. There was a dead body in front of her; her toes were touching it. She knew the person was dead because the head was missing. To her immediate right was another body, a familiar body—it was her dad. Was he dead, too? The dead man’s blood began to soak into her socks. She was terrified. Kids in costumes and a couple of adults were just standing there staring at her. She broke the silence, “Daddy!” He wasn’t breathing. A grown-up quickly approached and started pushing on her dad’s chest and blowing into his mouth. Police sirens grew loud in her ears. A woman grabbed her shoulders and tried to lead her away, but she fell to her knees and grabbed her daddy’s hand. Tears began to fall down her cheeks. She looked down at her knees—she was kneeling in a pool of blood. She stared at her reflection in the puddle of red, and she could smell pizza.

  Ten years later, Carina found herself staring at her reflection in a pane of glass. She could still smell pizza. She shook the bad memory out of her head. That’s when she noticed the perfect-looking family of four inside the Italian restaurant, staring back at her. How long had she been zoned out? Awkward. It must have seemed like she was just watching them eat. It had been a decade since the worst night of her life, and still the smell of pizza turned her into a terrified ten-year-old. She had never actually gone into this pizza joint, and she never would. This place was her father’s favorite. He had ordered takeout from here quite often. Usually when she was walking to work she would pass this place by crossing to the other side of the street. This helped her to avoid the unpleasant aroma. Today though, she must have been in the mood to punish herself.

  Giving the all-American family an awkward smile and a wave, she willed her feet to get moving. With every step, she picked up the pace until she was running at a full sprint. She made it to work just in time. The smell of the gym air was a welcome treat to her nostrils, and she breathed it in deeply.

  Carina loved her job. Being a personal trainer was what she loved to do and hopefully what she would do for the rest of her life. Well, she would do it as long as gyms were hiring personal trainers, and she was afraid those days were quickly coming to an end. The problem was that lately, more often than not, she was getting paid to train herself. She would do a set of crunches, lift a few weights, and then take a look at the front doors just hoping someone would walk in and inquire about a personal trainer. She wasn’t the problem, and she knew it. She was good at her job. At one point the gym had employed three personal trainers, but they let the other two go because of a decline in memberships. She was the best of the three, so she still had a job—simple as that. Everyone she ever had the pleasure of training said they were more than satisfied with her professionalism, passion, and knowledge. Positive results turned into positive reviews and job security, but there couldn’t be positive reviews if there weren’t any people to train.

  It seemed like people were avoiding the gym like the plague, and not just her gym. All the local gyms had seen a rapid decline in memberships. At first she thought it might have something to do with the accident that happened last year. A car had lost control and driven right into the front of Jungle Jim’s Fitness, causing massive amounts of damage. Thankfully the accident happened after business hours. The gym was closed and no one was hurt, but people were spooked all the same. People were even more spooked when they found out that two other cars had driven into different gyms on that same night. Everyone couldn’t help but imagine how many people would have died if the cars had crashed into the businesses during work hours. Making matters worse, all three drivers were never found. The cars had been reported as stolen. Her place of employment had to close up shop for weeks to make repairs. The entire front of the building had needed to be rebuilt. Jungle Jim’s Fitness, home of the wild workout, was never the same again.

  Carina now sat on a workout bench in the very spot the vehicle had crashed into about a year ago. Grotesque daydreams filled her head. She was imagining what it would feel like to be run over by a car. Reining in her imagination, she hopped onto one of the treadmills and started wasting time. Forty more minutes and her shift would be over—enough time for a workout.

  Scaredy Cat, Scaredy Cat, What Are They Feeding You?

  “Twenty-one, twenty-two, and I bet the next one’s blue,” Ma said. Ma and Pa Badge sat on the front porch of their country home, sipping tea. A crescent moon hung in the sky that resembled a glow-in-the-dark fingernail clipping. The couple rocked back and forth in expensive rocking chairs they had bought from Cracker Barrel last year. It was the simple things that brought joy to their lives. For instance, they enjoyed counting the cars on the interstate as they passed. Sometimes they tried to guess the color of the next vehicle that would drive by. The headlights were few and far between tonight.

  “Twenty-three and . . . red! Haha!” Pa cried out. A bobtail cat with a dark spot on its face rubbed up against his pant leg. Pa bent over and grunted as he lifted the heavy cat off the floor and then dropped it into Ma’s lap. She lovingly petted the feline as it purred in her lap. The cat quickly fell asleep. Ma intended to soon do the same. She was readying herself to stand up and go to bed when the cat woke up, hissing like it had just escaped a nightmare. The fat feline stared out into the night sky, shifting its gaze quickly from one random point to the next. It growled an awkward growl, then ran away like it had seen a demon. At the same time, a loud screeching noise came from across the cow pasture—it was the sound of a crash on the interstate.

  “Twenty-four!” Pa yelled.

  A large tractor-trailer truck lay on its side with its back doors flung wide open.

  “Damn driver done fell asleep at the wheel,” Pa said. “I better get down there and see if I can help.”

  Off he went, as Ma yelled at him to be careful from the safety of the front porch. He had passed three milking cows and an old bull when a thick fog rolled in. Something about the way the fog moved seemed unnatural to Pa. Within moments, the scene of the accident was completely covered over by a blanket of white. Pa couldn’t even see his hand in front of his face, much less the overturned truck. Blindly placing one boot in front of the other, he forced himself to keep walking. Every other step landed in cow manure. There was a strange noise, and he froze in his tracks—it sounded like wind was blowing all around him. The sound reminded him of the whooshing noise a long stick makes when you whip it back and forth quickly in the air. Pa dared a few more blind steps forward. Finally, his boots hit asphalt. After three more brave steps forward, he began stepping on something sm
all on top of the asphalt—a lot of somethings. Every step made a crunching noise. Something alive passed between his legs. He about jumped out of his skin.

  “Who’s there?” Pa yelled into the white void. There was no answer. He stood motionless. A few terrifying moments later, the fog disappeared, and the truck had disappeared along with it. Pa looked at the empty road in astonishment. There was absolutely no sign that an accident had ever occurred. He took off his hat and scratched his head as he stared at nothing.

  Later that night, the Badges were asleep in their bed. Earlier, they had both agreed that the truck must have skidded to a halt while trying to avoid something on the road. They also concluded that it hadn’t actually wrecked—the thick fog must have been playing tricks on their old eyes. Those old eyes popped open when a loud noise in the downstairs living room startled them.

  “What was that?” Ma asked.

  “I don’t know, but get me my shotgun, would ya?” Pa said.

  “Get your own damn gun, and I’ll get mine. Hurry it up!” Ma said.

  Together, the married couple of over fifty years walked slowly down the stairs, towards the disturbing commotion. Peeking through the guard rail of the lowest few stairs, the couple saw what the problem was. However, seeing what the problem was and understanding what the problem was were two different things entirely.

  “Is that a bobcat?” Ma asked.

  “If it is then it’s the biggest bobcat I ever did see,” Pa whispered. The cat was indeed big. It looked positively prehistoric. It stood so tall that it was looking down into the top of an unlit lamp that was sitting on an end table next to the couch. It swatted at the lamp with a huge paw, knocking the antique over and causing it to break into shards on the floor. The creature had tributaries of thick veins cascading down its neck. Tight muscles flexed over its body like armor. Two sabretooth-looking teeth hung down from its upper lip. Using a sharp claw, it started ripping the couch open and pulling out white fluffs of stuffing. With hands shaking, Pa raised the barrel of his shotgun and pointed it at the creature. He was about to pull the trigger when Ma stopped him by gently putting a hand on his shoulder.

  “Does that bobcat look like a bobtailed bobcat to you?” she asked.

  “It looks like a bobtailed something, but one thing’s for sure, God never intended no creature like that.”

  Pa pulled the trigger and put a twelve-gauge slug into the side of the bobtailed beast. Fur went flying and blood appeared on the monster’s now-exposed flank, but it did not act like it was in any pain. Instead, it slowly turned its triangular head towards them, and that’s when they noticed it had a dark spot on its face. Pa wracked the shotgun. He was about to fire again when Ma suddenly threw her gun on the ground. She stepped over her gun, walking towards the beast. She raised both of her hands out towards the creature in a gesture of acceptance.

  “Mr. Bob Dangles . . . is that you?” Ma asked. Her voice was as soft as a kitten’s purr. “Mr. Bob Dangles, that’s a good kitty. Come to Momma.” The giant cat tilted its massive head to the side and meowed as if it was considering her request. It licked its paw, and then it rubbed its face in a cute way, just like it had done so many times before. Ma saw her little beauty inside the beast. She didn’t know how, but this was her bobtailed cuddle buddy.

  “That’s my good kitty. You know me,” she said. “Come to Momma!” She dared a step closer, her arms still open to receive the animal. “Come to Momma!” she said once more.

  Mr. Bob Dangles obeyed. He lunged towards his human mother and then bit her face clean off.

  Feast Or Famine

  Ninja #5 was sixty-one now. He had spent the last decade circling the globe, searching for clues that might lead him to his master’s murderer. This new master must have had more up his sleeve than just shutting down Fat Whack and killing Master Chap. Whatever that plan was, it was a well-kept secret indeed.

  Ninjas could disappear quite well, but for the majority of a clan to betray their master and then lay this low for this long, it just didn’t make sense. In desperation, Ninja #5 investigated every outlandish story, off-putting rumor, and weird circumstance he came upon. He left no stone unturned. He exposed the criminal underworld and shut them down every chance he got—and he got a lot of chances. It felt to him like the world was spinning out of control, becoming more dangerous with each revolution. They were dark days, and in the dark it’s hard to find a light switch if you don’t know where to look. Ninja #5 felt for that switch with both hands. He saved every life he could. He put every criminal behind bars that he could, and he did it all from the nearest shadow available.

  He remained secretive about his good deeds. This was mainly because ninjas were outlawed in 1993. The law was more a political tactic than anything else. It was made to make the public feel safer in their own homes after what was labeled the “Fat Whack killings” of 1989. There had been a few copycat killings by psychos in ninja costumes the following year, so ninjas quickly became the new thing to fear. Soon after, billboards and park benches displayed a government phone number to call if you had a ninja sighting. They might as well have made it illegal for the wind to blow. The phone number did more harm than good. Panic set in as false sightings were called in daily. Even a novice ninja could remain unseen. The government can’t handcuff what it can’t see. This worried Ninja #5—if he could go unnoticed by anyone in authority for ten years, what evil could a clan of ninjas do over the course of ten years? All while operating in a world run by the blind. He pondered this. He also wondered if the world would ever be ready for a hero that also happened to be a ninja. People have always been so afraid of what they do not understand.

  For the first time in what seemed like forever, there was a glimmer of hope concerning the investigation of his Master’s death. Once a year, during the month of October, Ninja #5 would return to Alabama to check up on Carina Lopez. The girl had been home that Halloween night, and her father had died of a heart attack in front of her. Her well-being was another thing on a long list of things that Ninja #5 felt responsible for.

  The girl looked healthy but not happy. You could see it in her eyes. It was as if an anchor had been attached to her soul ten years ago, and no matter how far away she got from that horrible night, she would always feel a tugging back to it. The ninja knew how she felt. Whenever he looked into the windows of his own soul, he saw a similar anchor inside of himself.

  From a rooftop he watched as Carina carried a bag of groceries into her apartment. Sticking out of the top of the brown paper bag were a couple of broccoli stalks and a banana or two. Good for her—those items were rare finds in this part of the country. It was almost as if someone was making sure of it. Fruits and vegetables could still be found if you knew the right grocery stores to look in, but they cost a pretty penny. Most people just went for the cheaper, less healthy options.

  He wanted to talk to the girl. He wanted to tell her what had really happened that night. But what good would that do? He still didn’t have all of the answers himself, and she had the lies that the police had thought were truths. Talking to her would just reopen the wounds that had been healing for a decade. He could feel that the future had a meeting scheduled for them, but he could also feel that the meeting was not scheduled for today.

  Today, he would focus on his new lead. Last night his police scanner had picked up an interesting 911 call. Out by the interstate, one of the few remaining local farmers reported that a mutant house cat ate his wife. Since he was in the area, Ninja #5 had gone to check it out. He arrived on scene shortly after the sheriff’s deputy. Hidden inside the home, he watched as the crime scene unit worked. It did appear as if a wild animal of some sort had ransacked the place. A technician was taking photographs of a dead woman’s remains. Her face was gone. Her nightgown had been ripped to shreds, and her paper-thin skin had puncture wounds and lacerations. A bit of intestine protruded from an opening in her abdomen. It looked
like a scene out of Jurassic Park. The farmer was in shock.

  “B-B-B-Bob Dangles! Bob Dangles!” he kept repeating.

  A detective asked him some questions and he answered with illogical answers. He told the detective that the night had taken a strange turn when a large truck had crashed on the interstate.

  “Why didn’t you call the accident in to the station?” asked the detective.

  “Because,” Pa said, “a thick fog rolled in and then rolled right out. When it left, the truck was gone . . . It just vanished into thin air!”

  Ninja #5’s heart skipped a beat. That sounded like possible ninja activity, but it could very well just be the ramblings of an old lunatic that had just murdered his wife. He decided to investigate the crash site. While on his way, he found three dead milking cows and a severely injured bull. At the supposed crash site there was no sign of a truck, nor were there any skid marks, nor any rubber from blown tires. There was nothing. The place was clean—too clean. There was a high probability that ninjas had cleaned this scene, and while ninjas killed quickly, cleaning quickly wasn’t something ninjas did very well. When you clean your house quickly before company comes over, there is always something small that you miss. Although they don’t say it, your visitors do notice. Ninja #5 had just noticed such a thing. In his hand he held a half-red and half-blue pill labeled: “Imuno 97.”

  Later, as he watched Carina bring in her groceries, Ninja #5 still held the pill in his hand. Figuring out what company had made the pill was easy enough. Imuno was short for Imunotech. Imunotech was a pretty well-known pharmaceutical company a few years back. They made everything from appetite suppressants to chemotherapy drugs. Most of Imunotech’s manufacturing facilities had been shut down over the last couple of years, but a few still remained. Had this pill been part of some spilled cargo from the farmer’s disappearing truck? Did the pill have something to do with the dead woman and the mutant house cat? Had ninjas actually been involved in this, or was his brain just trying to make up for ten years of dead ends?