CHAPTER 11: Bad Sleep

What’s the worst smell you’ve ever smelled? Mine was opening a dumpster that had been broiling old food from a restaurant all day in the mid-summer sun. That was back in the late 1990s. It was so sickening that I swear the stench has followed me since! (My memory of it, that is. I certainly hope it hasn’t clung on to me in any other tangible form!)

LAST WEEK, a detached human foot washed ashore — unsettling news for Doug and his friends. This week on APOCALYPSE ROCK, Doug experiences a smell so vicious, it might literally knock him out…

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DOUG LEFT THE CAFE AND HEADED TOWARD HIS OFFICE. On the way, he stapled up a few more “No Job Too Small!” posters to some of the telephone poles that lined the main street. Doug was pleased how the bright yellow paper stuck out vibrantly against the tarry black of the treated poles. The rain had stopped, but occasional gusts of wind shook the trees above, and water droplets fell from their branches. As he walked, Doug thought about the newly discovered foot, and the comments on the post. The words that echoed those in his dream. He paused near a cherry tree that had grown out over the lane.

Doug opened his phone and found the post. He looked down the thread. It had grown to over 300 comments.

“PSYCHO TIME-TRAVELLER FOOT-IN-SHOE KILLER RETURNS, PART 29,” one user called mistersadclown had written.

“@mistersadclown Begone troll!” responded bear_trap. Doug chuckled, recognizing Bear’s username. Further down, Bear had started a new thread, “I hope the authorities don’t pass this one off like they did with all the others.”

“You look great in a tinfoil hat @bear_trap,” was one of the replies by mistersadclown.

“Long walk, short pier, buddy,” Bear replied. Doug rolled his eyes.

“Good point,” another user called stanky_duck replied to Bear, “This phenomenon can easily be used to clear whatever backlog of unsolved cases the cops have. Or even worse, covering something up.”

“Murden Cove was originally called Murder Cove after a homicide victim’s body washed ashore,” wrote CapScottSHarrison. Doug recognized the captain of one of the ferry routes from Sternum down to Seattle. “I guess later residents thought the name brought down real estate prices! Also there’s the “murder cove smell.” Visitors to that part of Bainbridge might think that the putrid stench in that area indicates foul play, but that smell is actually the mudflats on a low tide stinking up that side of the island. At least that smell indicates a natural process… right?”

“Hey @CapScottSHarrison All the places around here have gone under multiple names,” responded Bad_Sleep_In_The_Salish_Sea. “Coast Salish, and the gods only-know-what before those peoples – but then English, Spanish, Americanized names, at least. It’s less about what the words mean, just where you put ‘em, and what order they’re in ;) And yeah, that smell…”

“It’s so upsetting that something so horrible keeps happening right here in our home.” posted SharynneHayes. Sharynne was the Sternum Island pharmacist who regularly babysat Doug’s two daughters. “I could imagine it in the city, but out here? It doesn’t make sense.”

“Who says nature and “the countryside” are so nice compared to the city?” Bad_Sleep_In_The_Salish_Sea replied to Sharynne. “Take the one-and-only Sherlock Holmes on the subject: “… the lowest and vilest alleys in London do not present a more dreadful record of sin than does the smiling and beautiful countryside… look at these lonely houses, each in its own fields, filled for the most part with poor ignorant folk who know little of the law. Think of the deeds of hellish cruelty, the hidden wickedness which may go on, year in, year out, in such places, and none the wiser.”

Doug looked up from his phone, to the cherry tree branches. The old dead leaves crumpled and about to fall, droplets of water dangling. He found the post by PORKY_sizzle and continued reading: “… Open your heart, and forsake despair. Fresh and fast as water flowing in a mountain creek, the straightaway road. Travel it again, leave behind those memories frozen in ice, they are the least of your concern. So long as you strive for the kingdom on the mount.” He reread it several times. As far as he could be sure, they were the words from his dream.

He was about to tap Porky_sizzle’s avatar when there was a flutter of wings above him. The cherry tree shook, and a mass of drops soaked Doug and his phone. “Shit!” He leaped from under the tree. Several dozen crows had perched on the branches, making the tree lean lower into the road.

There was a faint crashing sound. Down the lane, Doug could see his office, the front door ajar. Doug started to jog up the lane, his laptop and tool bags jostling against his sides. He heard another crash come from inside his office. He stopped just short of the door, out of breath.

“Hello! Is someone in there?”

A gust of wind blew through the office, making the door sway. Doug pushed it open with his foot and put his bags down onto the welcome mat.

“Hello?” Doug crept into the entrance hall. His heart beating fast. Then he smelled it. Even though the back window over his desk was wide open. He’d experienced something like it when he visited Terminal once. He walked past one of the homeless people who seemed to be everywhere in the city. It was an old man, long hair and beard matted together, crumpled newspapers sticking out of his clothing. A cloud of stench had made Doug gag; mildew, old feet and urine, rotted fish and rancid animal guts kept in a closed dumpster under the summer sun, bubbling and steaming, a primordial jacuzzi for the happy maggots.

He switched on the light. His desk and filing cabinets were open and rifled through. Boxes of tools, cables and computer parts lay scattered everywhere.

Doug ran back outside and scanned the parking lot. A dizzy sensation hit him. He swayed a bit and tried to get his breath back. Then, a rapid series of creaking sounds approached from behind him. In that split second, Doug caught a whiff of the horrible stench. A dull thud on the side of his head made everything go black.

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