Portal Magazine
Volume 3 Issue 7
August 29th 2010
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Vol. 3 Issue 1 Links: Intro CCSYC-19 Stevats' Dusk (tentative title)- By: Tim Eagle Markus was lying down next to his wife, “Ouch, what the fuck, Macey?” He cringed; the boil on his shoulder pained from her finger nails and he rolled over looking at her. She was beauty in the flesh. Her long blonde hair flowed behind her like a cascading waterfall and she smiled. “Just seeing if you’re awake, babe. I know how tired you get when you start dazing off into the paint on the walls. Did the joint fizz you out?” “No, just can’t think creatively, this damned novel has got me good.” Markus said. Macey brushed the long hair from his eyes. “You’ll get it someday, babe, I know it. You have the talent, maybe you just need to shake things up a little.” Macey smiled again and kissed Markus. It was a warm kiss and turned into a deep tongue twister. Markus kissed back but wasn’t in the mood. “Not, now Macey, we just got done.” Macey rolled off and stared at the ceiling, her green eyes dazzling, attractive, but Markus needed the strength to get up and get writing, and if he had sex again, he’d just go to sleep. He gave her that look, his sad puppy dog look. “I’m sorry; sometimes it’s near impossible to keep up with you.” “That’s okay, babe, I’ll forgive you this time, you’re turning into a grumpy old writer, and I completely understand.” Macey picked up the remote control and turned the TV on. “Maybe you should go try to write. There’s got to be something up there in that head of yours.” She pecked him on the cheek and flipped through a dozen channels. “I’ll, see you in a while.” Markus left his blushing wife, naked and lying above the comforter, beautiful, there wasn’t a better feeling of security than that. Markus booted up his word processor and opened up his novel. “God, if you’re up there, help me with this one.” Markus said to the slow humming of the processor. The sun seeped in through the door from the west and Markus stood up to draw inspiration from it, share its knowledge. Its vast radiance sank down the horizon like a smear of yellow and orange paint blotted on a blue canvas. The tree tops lined his vision with green full leaves on trees that swayed delicately and blocked the brightest of the sun. A Blue Jay squawked flying higher and higher, finally swooping down at a mosquito and swooping back into the dusk sky. It was an inspiration in itself, spring had sprung, and the birds were awake ready for their summer’s job. Markus was working part time, Macey full time, to help support his writing, and Markus was already bored with it all. Sometimes in his life when things came simple they became harder. It was a hard act to follow but it was a stigma that always hung out like an old friend. He pulled a pack of Camel’s from his front pocket and lit up. It tasted great, sealed the deal of the night to come. He laced his fingers together and cracked them, the cigarette smoldered hanging out of his mouth, his eyes squinted as smoke drifted into them and he sat back down. That was the moment things took a turn for the worse. “Markus, you’ve got to see this!” Macey was screaming from the bedroom. Markus ran to the rescue. “What’s the matter?” Macey was standing at their bedroom window. She began to laugh. “Take a look at old man Cameron’s cat food,” Macey pointed out the window. Markus stood next to her and looked. Three Blue Jays were swooping down at the stray cats that had been eating on the back porch. The cats ran from the swooping birds and Cameron, their octogenarian neighbor, came out the back door with an old broom. “Get out of here, get out of here, you sons of bitch birds, and leave my cats alone.” He swished the broom at the birds; the Blue Jays ignored him and sat pecking at the cat food. “Markus, why don’t you go help him.” “Help him with what? All he does is feed the damn strays and helps them overpopulate the neighborhood with felines. Why the hell should I help him? Maybe those Blue Jays are the answer to our cat problem.” “He’s an old man, Markus, you would make his day.” Macey gave him that look, the look that said if you don’t I’ll cut you off for a week. Her eyes softened and as Markus grabbed a t-shirt and put on a pair of shorts she pecked his cheek, “You’re still my sweetheart.” “Whatever,” Markus grumbled. The sun had sunk- a low lit twilight tinkled--tufting the air creating a dark layer of early night. Markus ambled out the front door and strolled casually hoping that the problem would dissipate before he got there. He could hear old man Cameron grumbling as the Blue Jays’ sat eating the cat food. “Damn birds, you’re scaring my cats away.” One of the male Blue Jays stopped eating and stared at the old man. Its gaze was wild, its eyes large full moons. Cameron didn’t let his gaze leave the bird, “Yes, I’m talking to you.” The bird fluttered its wings puffed out its chest and squawked. “Get out of here,” Cameron shouted. He ran at the bird. It leapt into the air, its wings buzzing like a hummingbirds’ flying in one spot. Markus had never seen anything but a hummingbird and helicopter pull this off. With a crazy quick swoop it jumped onto Cameron’s face, he flailed his arms trying to get the bird off, but the bird was persistently pecking and screeching. Markus ran to his neighbor grabbing the bird and squeezing it. The noises it was making were alien, not at all like a talking Blue Jay it once was. Markus threw the bird and it landed with a thud fluttering its wings on the ground trying to get back up. The other four Blue Jays that had been dinning joined him and formed a circle around it. “Are you okay?” Markus asked. “A little scratched up, but fine, I’ve never scene anything like it before.” The old man shook, his hands trembled at his sides. “Do you want to go to the hospital, you’re face is scratched up pretty bad?” Markus noticed the old man’s eyes were red; beneath his eyes were rivers of blood running down into the gray stubble of his beard. “No, I’ll be fine, once I get my bearings.” The old man was weathered, his face wrinkled with age, a mane of long silver hair hung down the back of his flannel shirt and he still looked shook up. “Okay, then.” Markus started walking away. The old man stood on his back porch shivering. “Markus look out!” Macey screamed out their bedroom window. Markus turned; a low guttural growl escaped Cameron from the porch. His eyes were black, his hands clenched into fists at his sides and his dentures plopped out and onto the ground as tiny sharp incisors filled his gum lines. Markus began to run, the old man, once feeble and barely able to walk ran after him, down the long driveway. Markus bolted to his house and locked the front door. “Macey, what the fuck,” Markus shouted running into the bedroom. “Take a look, Markus.” Macey pointed out the window. The four healthy Blue Jays began to walk circles around the downed attacker and it rose from the ground, shaking its feathers and let out a terrifying shriek into the dusk of Stevats, one that could be heard up and down Sunflower Street and one that Markus knew he needed to prepare for. Markus looked at Macey, “Shut the fuckin’ window, lock it, and lock all the doors.” He lit up a Camel, took in a deep drag, “And don’t let anyone in until we can figure out what’s going on.” Just when Markus thought his life had turned hum drum, boring, and non-inspirational, events turned. His old friend of misery, the lack of writing and useless part time job, had vanished for the moment. Macey stared out the window; Markus thumbed out his Camel and lit another, trying to collect his thoughts. Many zombie movies, vampire movies, and movies with bizarre twists of fate ran through his head like they had been childhood memories of the fantastic. This instance, Markus knew that the television wasn’t playing a movie; he knew that the octogenarian neighbor, Cameron, wasn’t a hidden actor moved from Hollywood to the sleepy town of Stevats. He paced, trying to gather his thoughts, his mind raced around the idea of being attacked the moment they let the old man in. “Maybe we should call the police?” Macey asked. “Are you for real? Do you really think that the sleepy, overweight police of this little shit heap town could come to assist us with our freak neighbor who was attacked by a rabid Blue Jay, Macey?” Markus snapped. “Just trying to help,” Macey said. Cameron paced up and down the front walk, night time was settling over the town as the first punch holes of stars in a black canvas draped the night sky. “Take a look,” Macey said. She was looking out the front door’s window and pointing. “At what,” Markus asked moving in behind Macey. “His shadow, there’s not enough light to have a shadow, look behind Cameron.” Macey moved from the window and Markus looked. Trailing behind Cameron was a short shadow; a remote resemblance to Cameron was negative, the black smudge trailing behind the old man was a blur, the ends of its arms soft smudges without fingers, there was no outline of feet, and it had eyes. The things eyes were a deep pure white; they were two triangular slits in the shadows black head, Markus freaked. “We’ve got to do something, Macey; we’ve got to get out of here.” As he spoke his eyes never left the black splotch of life form trying to resemble Cameron’s shadow. Markus lit yet another cigarette, his lungs burned, “I’ve got an idea, follow me.” Markus said. He turned to leave the living room and Macey followed. Markus hoped his idea would work, hoped that maybe his overactive imagination would serve him other than just at the word processor for his books and bullshit.
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