The Lunar Effect

The Lunar Effect - Chapter 1 Tuesday, September 9, 2014. May, Texas.  10:20 p.m.     Vivian Quinn sat at her desk plotting the murders of her co-workers, Oh, not all of them, but the two that made Monday through Friday a total misery for everyone at the office. The fact this horrible pair was still alive, causing grief to all those around them, and her parents were gone did not seem fair. The boss, Mr. Hough, would be easy enough. He was an old alcoholic that couldn’t regulate his blood sugar and was a disgusting bastard of the highest order. For him to have yet another heart attack would be of no surprise, and Vivian had tried startling him on occasion by popping out unexpectedly or making sudden, loud noises when he was concentrating on something in his office. She thought poison would probably work better, especially since the man never washed his coffee cup. Ever. He claimed it was “seasoned,” and the stained ceramic perfectly matched his brown, baked bean teeth. Any toxin would likely be masked by the bio-hazards growing in the cup. The other person would be a bit more difficult. That old, dried-up t**t, Helen, relished gossip and getting others in trouble. To top it off, management always believed her, even if her claims were completely devoid of the truth.  Vivian’s desk was only a few feet from Helen’s office, so she had listened to her forked tongue eight hours a day, five days a week for the past twelve years. She liked to refer to Helen as “an informational vampire” because she was very good at sucking out the most intimate details from someone, which were then either used against that person or known to the rest of the staff, or both, by the next day. Vivian couldn’t think of a way to discreetly do away with the older woman, but she was not against running her over in the parking lot. She started laughing thinking about Helen bouncing over the hood of a car. Her laugh had an odd, tinny sound. The cheap, metal wind chimes clanked boisterously in the increasingly gusty wind, sounding more like a warehouse mishap than a melodious tinkle. Vivian peeled her eyes open, realizing she had dozed off on her front steps and was dreaming about killing people again. She had no intention of doing any such thing, but there were days the idea seemed damned appealing. Besides, she knew by watching enough forensic crime shows you can’t kill someone you know and get away with it. “When you start having recurring dreams about murdering your co-workers, it may be time to move on,” she thought, pushing her wind-whipped hair off her face while the heel of her right work boot busily attempted to push down a nail that had popped its head out of the bottom step. The day had been spent cleaning out flower beds to get them ready for spring planting, and she was filthy but contentedly exhausted. It was particularly quiet in the neighborhood this evening, a few cars passing unhurriedly by the house. The sun was starting to set, swirling the sky in shades of violet and tangerine, tinting the landscape and rooftops in sepia tones. She leaned back on her elbows and watched it sink back to the horizon, amazed that something so massive could vanish so quickly.            She stepped out to her front yard and perused the street to see if any of her neighbors were out. There was no real interest in speaking with any of them; it was more about being nosy. She was good at standing near the tall hedges and listening to her next-door neighbors have one of their many disagreements. There was nothing to see or hear. She wandered back into the house feeling overwhelmingly bored. The television offered nothing. She had read every book in the house, some of them more than once. Her two Westie terriers, Duncan and Maggie, stared at Vivian intensely, black-button eyes reminding her that they needed to eat. After feeding the dogs, she flopped into a kitchen chair, then held her breath a moment wondering if she had just landed in the one that had loose supports in the legs. Still seated and not dumped onto the floor, she relaxed and slumped down a bit, reminding herself to find someone to fix that damned chair. She sighed heavily and willed herself not to cry, although there was no reason to do so. Crying was something that only resulted in a headache and a runny nose, so she gulped a few times and blinked away the tears that were threatening to spill over. Her parents had died a few years apart, both from cancer – painful, lingering deaths. In the years since their passing, Vivian had felt restless and unsatisfied with her life. She wasn’t sure what was missing but knew there was something out there that had to be better, more fulfilling, more exciting. Letting the dogs into the backyard, Vivian accompanied them, surprised how dark the sky had become. It was an extremely humid evening, not unusual for a summer night, even if it was the middle of September. The air felt heavy and damp, and Vivian thought to herself that she might as well as have stepped inside a freshly run dishwasher. Duncan and Maggie were busy looking under the storage shed for a hopeful sighting of one very infuriating rat, their snuffling and yips an indication the rodent was present. Vivian knew she would have to do some cajoling and scolding in order to get the terriers back inside the house, but for now, she was content to let them continue their search, herself enjoying the sounds of the evening. As she tended to do, Vivian lifted her eyes to the night sky, searching for her favorite constellation, Orion. However, she soon regretted this action, as she realized what she was about to see over the oak trees that surrounded her yard. The full moon - huge and yellow, hanging in the black sky like a tennis ball suspended in space - filled her vision. Fear overwhelmed Vivian. Her limbs refused to move, and she began to tremble, sweat beginning to bead on her forehead. Duncan and Maggie, sensing something wrong with their mistress, begrudgingly left their unseen quarry and came to sit at her feet. Duncan pawed at Vivian’s leg, causing her to jump and bring her back into the moment. Her skin was sticky with perspiration and legs weak with terror. Vivian managed to cling to the side of the house as she made her way to the back door. Vivian wrenched open the door and stumbled into the safety of her house, the dogs tangling up in her feet as she slammed the door shut. Vivian made her way to the ottoman and collapsed. Tears streamed down her face both from fear and frustration.            “It’s so stupid!” Vivian yelled, slamming a fist down upon the ottoman. “It makes no sense. They don’t exist!” 11:40 p.m. The burglar alarm was shrilling throughout the art museum as two of the night security guards made their way through the darkened halls to find the cause of the disruption. Al and Bobby, both retired police officers, tread quickly and quietly towards the “Body Beautiful in Ancient Greece” exhibit, the location of the tripped alarm. As Bobby spoke on his cell phone with police dispatch, Al pushed open the glass door to the exhibit. Standing in the doorway, his eyes roamed the spacious hall, the silhouettes of life-sized statues looming in the dim emergency lights. “Do you see anything?” asked Bobby, coming up behind Al.  “No, at least not yet,” replied Al. “Call Chris and tell him to shut off the alarm.  That sound is getting on my nerves.”  As Bobby radioed Chris, Al stepped into the exhibit. Peering through the half-light, he noticed that the giant bronze statue in the middle of the room under a skylight, a man astride a horse, looked somewhat…well, odd, as a shaft of moonlight illuminated the face. The alarm stopped, seeping the building in a reverberating silence. Curious but cautious, Al found himself walking towards the statue, his hand on the butt of his holstered revolver, just in case. Just in case what? Shifting his eyes side to side in order to catch sight of any intruders, he reached the sculpture and shined his flashlight upon it.  “What the hell?!  Bobby, turn on the lights!” Bobby flipped a few switches, and the room blazed with light.  Al and Bobby stared at the marble sculpture.  The bronze statue, a perfect sculpture of a man in his prime seated upon an impressive stallion, loomed over them. “What are you hollering about?” Bobby asked. “You scared the crap out of me.” “It looked like it was moving.” “What do you mean moving? Like scooting across the floor, or are you saying this thing was coming to life?” Bobby narrowed his eyes as he looked at Al, trying not to laugh. “No. I mean, like it was shaking.”  As Al stepped backward, his foot landed on something soft and squishy. Yelping, he leapt sideways and crashed into Bobby. Clutching each other, the two grizzled police veterans looked down to see what Al had stepped on. Bending down, Bobby saw it was a knit hat. Finally looking around the rest of the exhibit, they saw that some of the statues were wearing scarves and hats emblazoned with the local college mascot. Blaring sirens announced the arrival of the police, and in came Sgt. MacAllen, an old police buddy of Bobby and Al, followed by two uniformed officers.  “What have y’all got there, boys?” asked MacAllen.   “I don’t know, Sarge,” replied Al looking around the exhibit and gesturing, “but we found this. Looks like a college prank again.”  “What on God’s green earth would possess someone to break into a museum in order to cover up naked statues?” Bobby asked, shaking his head. “That is pure lunacy.” Al replied, “We’d better check the cameras. If they’re working tonight, that is.” The security cameras had not been working properly for some time now. Often going offline and not recording. Chris rewound the tape in the security cameras. Tonight they were in luck. As the four men gathered around the screen, the image of three thin figures could be seen dressing the statues. As they came to the large statue, they tried climbing on it before dashing across the floor of the gallery and out the side door, setting off the alarms. “That’s probably why it looked like it was moving,” Bobby whispered to Al. “Those kids were jumping around on it.” Bobby didn’t reply.            Sergeant MacAllen snorted. “Kids. Probably hiding inside when you were locking up. I wonder which fraternity thought this one up?” A thorough walk-through proved nothing missing or damaged. Bobby needed a cigar break after the excitement, so the men wandered to the loading dock. Opening the bay door, they stood on the dock and looked over the now-empty parking lot. It was still warm out, despite being close to midnight, and there was a heaviness to the night air. “Well, there’s your problem,” Sgt. MacAllen said hands in his pockets with his head tilted back towards the sky.            “What’s that?” Al asked, looking up to see to what the sergeant was referring.            “There’s a full moon out tonight.” 11:42 p.m.            The three college students could barely contain their laughter as they ran out of the art museum.  More than a little drunk, the young men stumbled through the field behind the building. Mark Wright, twenty years old, had come up with the idea of hiding in the museum’s bathrooms until closing, then sneaking into the museum and covering the statues with college gear as a prank. His dorm buddies, Carson Hendricks and Jackson Smith, also twenty, thought the scheme was just too hilarious and brilliant to pass up, even if it didn’t make much sense. They had been to that museum many times throughout their grade and high school years – begrudgingly, of course – and they knew that the security guards rarely made regular sweeps of the building.  After escaping through the emergency exit, which set off the alarms, Justin, Carson, and Jackson ran to Carson’s truck parked in the nearby field. The light of the unusually bright full moon helped them navigate through the tall weeds and trees. Finally reaching the truck, the three students collapsed in laughter.            “Oh s**t!” Carson gasped. “That was close.”            “Man, I nearly pissed myself when the alarms went off.” Justin sat up and brushed the dried grass from his hair. “Goddammit, I lost my f*****g hat.” Jackson was feeling his head as if that would make the hat magically reappear. Justin punched Garret hard in the shoulder. “Man, you left behind evidence. They can trace that s**t back to you.” The young men were silent as they contemplated this unexpected kink in their plan. The only sounds heard were the crickets and tree frogs performing their nightly concert, while a mockingbird furiously sang his melody. Suddenly, everything stopped – frogs, crickets, bird. The deafening silence caught the attention of the boys, who were well familiar with the sounds of the country.  Silence usually meant something was wrong.            “Do you smell that?” whispered Jackson.  “Good God, what is that?”  A pungent smell, like rancid, wet dog wafted towards them, carried by a warm breeze. Looking around the field, the boys couldn’t see anything except grass and trees.  Then the loud snap of a twig sounded to their left. They all jumped at the unexpected noise. Carson opened his truck door and switched on the truck’s headlights, but they didn’t reach the tree line. He brought out the high-powered flashlight that he used when hunting with his dad.  Shining the light toward the trees, they didn’t see anything that could have caused the noise, but the smell lingered, filling the air with its stench. There was a rustle of dried leaves and what sounded like a low growl. The three huddled closer together, suddenly soberer. “s**t, it’s probably a deer,” said Justin uncertainly. “Maybe even a cow.”            “Yeah, you’re probably right,” answered Jackson, still looking around nervously. Carson turned a circle and shined the light around the field, just to be sure. As the light illuminated the dark brush on the edge of the field, he caught the flash of a large pair of glaring red eyes between two big post oak trees, but when he swung the light back around to be sure of what he was seeing, he saw only the trees. Chalking it up to nerves and alcohol, Carson told himself he was imagining things. Relieved they couldn’t find anything lurking in the dark, but not willing to take any chances, they all climbed into the truck and drove away. The ride home was silent. Carson couldn’t help but think to himself that those red eyes seemed a long way from the ground. 11:57 p.m. It was almost midnight, and Edgar Salas was spending his evening alone, as always, shopping at Walmart. In his mid-forties, Edgar prided himself on taking care of his appearance and staying in good physical shape. He made a point to always dress neatly and be carefully groomed. Although a very attractive man, Edgar was lonely. His wife had died more than a year ago after a long battle with cancer, and he just couldn’t bring himself to get out there in the world of semi-desperate, middle-aged singles. As per usual, to pass the time while he waited in line, Edgar amused himself by observing the other customers. There was an older couple that was bickering about whether or not the husband really needed a case of 100 pencils. Then a few checkout lines over, a young mother with several rowdy children was trying to corral the boys as they ran back and forth through the store. Edgar also saw and spoke to the owner of his favorite local diner as the man was purchasing items for the restaurant. As he looked around and saw people’s carts full of groceries and sundries, Edgar then looked down at his own shopping basket and noted grimly it only contained three meager items: margarita mix, bath soap, and toilet paper. While not prone to drinking alcohol, he did want a nice, cold margarita to wash down the tacos he was going to pick up on the way home. He and his wife always had tacos and margaritas on Tuesday nights, and he just couldn’t bring himself to change that tradition.  And the bath soap and toilet paper?  Well, one couldn’t really live without those things. As Edgar finally made his way through the express checkout line and purchased his items, he gathered his single grocery bag and made his way out the door to drown his loneliness in margaritas and tacos. Edgar stopped at the little taqueria that was his go-to taco shop, mostly because it was the only one open twenty-four hours. After buying his usual order of a dozen street tacos, he got into his Jeep Wrangler, tuned the radio to his favorite classic rock station, and rolled down the windows to let in the warm evening air. Singing along to Led Zeppelin, Edgar drove towards home, turning off the main thoroughfare onto the two-lane country road that led to his house. This road was dark, thickly lined with trees and brush that camouflaged the occasional ditch, every now and then opened up by pasture land. Edgar noticed the full moon, as it seemed exceptionally large and looked as if it was sitting right in the road ahead like it was waiting to meet someone. He drove carefully, anticipating any animals that might dart across his path.  His Jeep’s headlights, even on high beam, barely cut through the inky blackness. As he came around a curve, the lights shined briefly on a copse of trees by the road. Edgar thought he saw a large shape amongst them. Slowing down a little and squinting through the dark, he was startled when the shape suddenly darted out onto the road and stopped, standing there, just out of reach of the headlights’ glare.  Slamming on the brakes, Edgar couldn’t really tell what he was looking at, but it was huge, appeared to be covered in shaggy fur, and it seemed to be looking back at him.  “Is that a freaking bear?” Edgar wondered to himself, staring at the large animal, trying to remember if bears even lived in Texas. The creature held still a moment longer, then turned its huge head as it strode on all fours across the road. And when it reached the other side, the thing stood up on two legs and walked away into the night.