“I’VE COME FOR YOU, PETER HUFFY,” roared a demon's voice. Deep and vast. A voice wrought of Earth tremors, not vocal cords. “I’VE COME FOR YOUR LITTLE WOMAN!” The room was just as Alyssa had envisioned: everybody was sprawled across the floor. Bleeding and gushing. Also, as she’d foreseen, Peter was the only one left standing. It wasn’t clear how it had happened, and never would be. The hovering beast’s head lashed, and the glass chandelier swung up and crunched into the ceiling, splashing glass across the room. Everything got darker. Some wall lights flickered still, connected to an ancient electrical system. Peter’s eyes sprang when he saw his wife on the floor, the long dining table flipped over and partially resting on her left arm and leg. Her eyes were closed. She was not moving
“Alyssa!” Peter screeched, seeing nothing but her in the wreckage. Though people lay everywhere, he couldn’t help it. Peter lunged at her.
“No, no,” said that gigantic voice.
The demon’s humongous snout batted Peter in the chest. He went flying backward. Then it stood over his wife, looking back and forth between the two lovers. “Keep your eyes on her, Peter. Are you ready to watch her beg for her life? Watch now. Watch this and never forget.” The beast then leaned down. It swatted the dining room table out of its way. The table that Alyssa had somehow gotten in the house without Peter’s help. The furniture crashed against the wall over Gil and Rose’s inert forms. Dickon, crouching in a corner, stood up and froze, transfixed by the madness. Miranda-Julia lay still at his feet. Like any child, he did not know what to do. He looked up and saw the Bunyine prod Alyssa to wakefulness. Her eyes opened, she saw the beast and she began screaming. Peter was speechless for a second. Unable to vocalize this degree of fear, at first. Then he shot to his feet, filled with fury.
“Get away from her, you evil piece of shit!” he hollered. He leaped up at the Bunyine’s neck and grabbed its fur in both hands. “Evil?” it repeated curiously, swinging its head. Its jaws opened wide and it snatched Peter’s legs out from under him. He was hurled to the floor. He hit hard. Real hard.
“Peter! No!” Alyssa yelled as she scrambled to help him. The Bunyine’s snout dipped then slashed upward from underneath her. It struck her in the face and her whole body hopped up in the air, then fell to the floor. Then she was still as a stone.
The Bunyine turned towards Peter. The man’s head was ringing, but he tried to get up, nonetheless. The Bunyine lifted a huge paw and slammed Peter back down on the floorboards. Peter’s body hit the boards like a sack of dirt. The giant animal held him there, his claws splayed. “You are the betrayers. You are the ones.” It lowered its head and its hot breath struck Peter like a mallet. “Evil is all that is left when you are through.”
Peter spat at the creature, then screamed. “I don’t care what they did to you! I…don’t…care! You don’t deserve pity!”
The Bunyine leaned on its paw.
Peter’s screamed with pain as a claw dragged down his neck to his chest, cutting a route in his skin and drawing a copious flow of blood. “Don’t pity me, Peter Huffy. Pity her as she degrades herself for my delight.” It swung its giant head towards Alyssa, who was on her knees and still trying to stand. The Bunyine’s massive tongue, almost the size of a beach towel, spun out of its mouth and lapped at her. She flipped over onto her back. The breath shot from her lungs with a gasp. The tongue began to lick her over, wetting her clothes and slicking up her face. It whipped its tongue back within its mouth.
At the other end of the room, Dickon stood helpless. His eyes darted from the Bunyine to his friend Peter, then he reached into his coat and pulled out his flute. He began to play something with trembling fingers. Something frantic, but purposeful. Something that made one courageous. The notes crazed about the room, his fingers popping on the air holes. Nothing seemed to happen. Nothing that could be seen. In Peter’s heart, though, a sureness ascended. His spirit was spurred, his limbs began to lash and pound with defiance. The Bunyine, distracted by Peter’s wife, shifted his weight away from the helpless man. As soon as the creature’s paw relented just a little, Peter slid out from underneath it, yelling with rage. He got to his feet and threw himself upon the enemy. Anything was possible now. Alyssa needed him, and he could do anything. Instantly, he was climbing the beast’s hairy face, tearing fur out in clumps.
“Die, Garfield! Damn you!”
Gil, just coming to, stood up with his gun in hand. He didn’t know what was happening, but, with the help of a talented musician, confusion and fear had turned to determination. “Hell outta the way, Peter!” he hollered. Peter ignored him, though. Gil jumped over some toppled chairs and crossed the room. When he was up close, he fired six rounds into the creature’s absurdly large head. One after the other perforated the skin and hide of the Bunyine’s face, but it had no effect on the beast, beyond annoying it. It roared in anger. A claw slashed. Gil was thrown back across the room. Bloody tatters. He hit the floor and did not move.
Dickon stopped playing, stepping back from Gil’s body with a start. His hand covered his mouth. His eyes seemed set to cry, his mouth to yell for help, whether it was available or not. He was a child, after all. Someone touched Dickon on the shoulder. The little boy spun around and found himself staring into the face of his brother. The pale boy smiled at him with his pointed teeth. Kakra, the Picker of Fights, was here.
“Nobody left to cry this time, brother,” said Tibb. He lunged and grabbed Dickon around the throat. His fingers squeezed like a vice, the thumbs digging mercilessly in. Dickon’s fife clacked on the floor, and his arms dangled uselessly. The gentle boy’s mouth twisted open. His eyes turned up in his head. The sudden pain was a shock that he couldn’t bear. “Dead you will remain, this time! A job done right! None shall remember!” Tibb cackled. Dickon’s knees buckled underneath him. He was helpless. His tongue jutted out between his lips, his big eyes trembled as if begging for forgiveness.
The Bunyine tossed up its head. Peter was slammed against the ceiling and knocked senseless. The Bunyine shrugged the man off. He fell to the floor and lay still. The Bunyine turned to Alyssa, again. However, someone was standing there. The Bunyine snorted. This turn was unwelcome. Another annoyance. It lifted a hand to dash the figure standing before him away. More bloody tatters. “We end this now, child,” the Bunyine growled. Standing between it and the struggling woman was skinny, little Derek Windward. Derek stuck an arm up into the creature’s face. Something was in his right hand. Something amber colored, the size of a dinner plate. Surprise ruled the Bunyine’s expression. Its paw dropped to the floor, as if suddenly void of life.
Derek took a step forward. His face was ready to burst from fear. He lifted the glass panel higher and the Bunyine froze. The beast’s eyes focused on the bauble in the boy’s trembling hand. The room seemed to faint, as stillness subdued the animal. “You can have it. Take it and go. Leave us alone.”
The beast was silent. Its heavy breaths blew back Derek’s hair. For but a moment, injured people could be heard groaning and stirring around the room. The moment passed. The Bunyine’s head lashed as if shaking itself loose. Its eyes changed back to a predator’s, squeezing into murderous slits. Its lungs drew in a huge waft of air and it roared. Its right claw flashed at the glass moon. Derek was knocked backward as easily as a rubber ball kicked by a child. The boy spun around, screaming, and he struck the wall, catching himself on his palms. The fragile moon shard exploded in his hand, the side he held crumbling, the other half clunking on the floor. For a second he was dazed, sliding down the wall onto his rear. A few seconds later, he lifted his hand up before his face and stood there glaring at it in disbelief. The hand was spasming like a fish on the floor of a boat, a bloody, dripping mess of shattered glass and sliced skin. The muscles and tendons looked like they had been sliced and skewered to an utter nonsense. Derek flopped to the floor, unconscious.
On the other side of the room, two boys struggled. Tibb stood over his brother, his deadly hands still clutched Dickon’s throat, his elbows pumping vigorously. Dickon was not moving. His arms and body were limp, void of life. A yell tore from a few feet away. It made the Picker of Fights turn his head to it. It was Miranda-Julia, her face was something more than furious. She leaped at him.
“You back the hell off!” she yelled. Kakra was startled. The girl kicked him with all her weight and anger. Tibb’s arms blew wide and he fell back on the floor with a smack, rolling and clutching his sides. He was cackling. Giddy. Joyful.
“He’s with father, now!” he screamed triumphantly.
The Bunyine swung its head back at Alyssa. Its jaws creaked open. Its giant teeth dripped and glistened. Alyssa was on all fours, still dazed by the strike to her head. The Bunyine’s jaws closed on her and lifted her off the floor. She was too dizzy to know what was happening. The immense head tilted back, the jaw tensed to bisect her and swallow the entrails that would pour forth. Peter, barely conscious, somehow, got up on his feet. There was nothing he could do, though. He was too weak to even scream. He opened his mouth to, but nothing happened. The demon’s shoulders squeezed inward, the muscles pressed. Peter staggered, realizing that this was it. The Bunyine’s horrible words resonated in his ears. Your weeping will never end. It will never end until you die. An old man. Alone.
Something shot past Peter, though. Something quick. He was too senseless to know what it was. The yellow hair on its head brushed his chin. His eyes followed it. It was Derek. In an instant, the boy was clinging to the hair on the beast’s face with his left hand like he’d seen Peter do. The Bunyine’s eye twisted to the left. It could feel Derek’s skinny arm worm its way between his teeth. He felt it squirming around on its tongue, then reach down its throat. Peter could only watch through the eyes of a stupor, as surprised as the Bunyine.
But it was too late. Peter felt the beast bite down on his wife. He could hear the teeth meet, clicking together, through soft skin. Bones split in half. Arteries exploded and filled the demon’s mouth with Alyssa’s blood. Something happened in Peter’s head. Some kind of fuse burst. A short circuit.
Something inside him simply turned off. It was his soul dying, just like the Bunyine said. He knew, right then, that he would go insane. He would never be able to face this. He felt the years bearing down on him. Decades he would remain here, day after day, night after night, remembering. He knew, right then, that he would truly lose his mind. Just die, Peter. Just go. Don’t stay here, in this place. It’s not worth it. This world is pushing you out. Just go now. Stop thinking. Just switch off and die.
As the seconds passed, each one a tyrant, the feeling passed with it. It passed. He snapped back to life for some reason. It was that new production line. His head was overclocked. It had been like that moment in the kitchen. Something brought him back, throttled him to his senses and set him straight. She was still alive. It was just one of those things that he knew. His joy was inexpressible when he saw the beast’s jaws begin to weaken. Derek was caught by his left hand, shrieking and jerking it. It had trapped in the beast’s teeth, somehow. He was screaming with all his lungs could offer, trying to take back his hand. Derek yanked himself loose and fell to the floor, thrashing with cries of agony.
Peter looked at the demon’s face. The Bunyine’s eyes were so expansive that it truly seemed like the lids were trying to tear themselves free from the sinful flesh of its head. The mouth went limp and dropped open. When Peter saw his wife come tumbling out, he threw his body underneath her. She fell on top of him, unconscious when he caught her in his arms. He squeezed her like she was falling apart and only he could hold her together. She was his now, and nothing, not the Bunyine, not God himself, could ever pry her loose. If the beast standing above them wanted her it had to bite off his arms and swallow them, too. Even then, those severed arms would still never let go, even down in his stomach they would fight hopelessly until there was nothing left.
The giant creature’s body collapsed onto folded paws, hesitated a few seconds, then crashed over on its right side. The sudden boom of its tremendous weight was like a beat on a giant skin drum. A snap of air tousled Miranda’s dress, who was crouched over Dickon. Peter crawled backward, taking his wife with him, bearing her weight as well as he could. He swung out from under her and put his face right in Alyssa’s, frantically searching for signs of life. He pressed his head against her chest, trying to hear a telling thump. Amidst the racket of struggling people and twitching beasts he could hear that something was there. Something. She was alive. The beat was steady. He tossed back his head and screamed. “Thank you, God! Thank you!”
He held her and cried. Cried until he was empty. When she started to wake up, he grabbed both sides of her face. “Lyssie? Lyssie? Can you hear me? Please say something. Anything,” he begged. She groaned, shook her head and pressed her hands to her temples. “Oh, Peter. Where am I?” she asked.
In response, Peter laughed like a madman. “Ha! You’re home, sweetie! You’re right here. I’m here. Okay? You’re okay?” She made a nauseous face.
“This doesn’t feel okay, Peter. This feels…ugh.” A minute later, he was calmed down and staring into her eyes. Alyssa started to remember what was happening, and she began to look around, scouting for danger. Over her shoulder she saw the stiff body of the Bunyine, its massive face pointed her way, its gigantic eyes glared at her. She gasped and struggled away from it. “Peter! Get me out of here!”
“Okay!”
“That thing is…!”
“It’s dying, Lyssie! Trust me! We’re okay! Rose and Gil are alive.” Peter was certain that the Bunyine was the only one here in any danger. These were just some of those new feelings Peter was getting now. He could tell the creature’s body was fighting to keep itself functioning. Fighting and failing. Peter just knew that it was going to die. He was as certain as he’d ever felt about anything. It was in its last moments.
He looked into its face. It was harmless now. Something in that glass, some kind of mystical property, was tearing the beast’s insides to ribbons as they watched. Every time a muscle flexed, tissue split and capillaries burst. The shattered glass moon was doing what eight-thousand years of living, an army of English barbarians, and a million lbs. of merciless, crushing stones could not do - it was killing the Bunyine.
Alyssa clutched her husband and watched, too. She couldn’t look away. It was both triumphant and sad. “What do we do?” she asked.
Peter didn’t know the answer. Why do anything? It was over. They were okay. For just a moment, relief made him forget the misery that surrounded him. “Let’s get out of here,” he answered and started to help her up. “I have to get you out of here.”
“Okay, Peter," she said.
Peter got his wife to her feet. “Come on, Lyssie.”
“Check the kids, Peter. Check on everybody.”
Peter froze, feeling stupid. “Okay.” In the side of his eye he caught a glimpse of Derek creeping forward, weakly crawling on the floor towards the monster, which was trembling, yet, still alive. Peter was sure that the boy must not know what he’s doing.
“Derek! Get back!” Peter yelled. Alyssa turned around, alarmed.
“What is it?” she gasped.
“Derek’s…stop! Derek!”
Derek didn’t stop, though. He dragged himself until he was a hand’s breadth from the creature’s mouth. The Bunyine’s teeth inched open slightly as if to speak or to eat. It was too weak to do either, now. Peter could tell it was trying, but it was impossible. Its throat and mouth were too glutted with blood to speak whatever last thoughts it had to express. The boy pushed himself up to his knees with one working hand, somehow, soaking himself in the warm, maroon pool that was blooming there. He winced and gasped, in immense pain. His palm was pierced in a dozen places by the crushed glass. It was useless, now. Derek touched the skin with his left pointer finger, and he yelped at the sting. The boy then noticed that his left pinky was missing. It surprised him how little it concerned him.
“Forgive me,” Derek said to the Bunyine, then he reached out his hand and placed it on the creature’s head. The beast’s eyes shot wide open. Its body jolted as if heaving its final gasp of air, but it wasn’t a death throe, it was surprise. With the four fingers he had left, Derek stroked the Bunyine’s fur, rubbing the cat’s scalp with the tips of his fingers. As the moments passed, the boy felt the creature slowly relax. Centuries upon centuries of pain and struggle, of betrayals and suffering, relented to a simple, caring touch. The cat brushed back at the boy’s hand, remembering, more than a millennium ago, when it felt such gentleness for the first time. It wanted more. The gore on its teeth and chin went unnoticed by Derek as it smeared the boy all over. After a few moments, he heard the faintest attempt to purr force its way up through the Bunyine’s flooded throat. “It’s almost over now,” said Derek. “It will all be over soon, and you’ll be free. Go ahead. There's a place where you can be loved like you should have been, all along. You don’t need to wait, anymore.”
Derek leaned forward and he touched his head to the beast’s own. A soft whine fluttered out from somewhere in the mess. “I’m so sorry,” the boy went on, tears beginning to run down his face. ”You wanted so little from us. I don’t understand. Why didn’t anybody care? It’s so easy to do. It’s nothing.” The cat’s eyes turned up and met the boy’s own, its last few breaths were slow, almost contented. Derek brushed its brow until the creature’s lids grew too heavy for it to hold open. The huge head went slack and the beast died.