Death Rhythm by Joel Arnold Read Free Book Online Page B

himself up. But as he struggled to get up, a thin strand of moonlight shone through the trees and reflected against two small objects on the ground. They glowed bright green and were only inches from Andy’s head. He reached out to touch them but quickly recoiled. His stomach churned violently, and he began to choke on his saliva. He tasted the bile swimming in his throat. The contents of his stomach exploded out of his mouth in a short, quick burst.
    What he had seen reflecting the moonlight, what he had reached out and touched - practically putting his fingers through - were the eyes of the cat.
    Its eyes attached to its head, which lay inches from where he'd fallen.
     

 
    FIVE
     
    Mae lay on her back, spread out in bed like an old dead angel. Her eyes were wide open, the pupils straining against the absence of light. It was the first time she had looked down those basement steps in a long time.
    Funny how a person can be afraid of her own home.
    Looking down the stairs.
    Mae! I need your help, Mae.
    Down the throat of the basement.
    Mae! I’ve had a little too much to drink. You gotta help me with this one.
    Walking down, seeing the bright light on, hearing her father’s voice, knowing what she was going to see, but never quite prepared for it. Always having to look in small, half-lidded glances.
    Mae, goddammit, hurry up!
    Around the corner to her father’s side. His hands shaking, sweat dripping off his forehead, as he leans over, the swaying of his body almost imperceptible, the smell of rum on his breath.
    There’s a good girl, now give me a hand with this, will you, Mae?
    At her father’s side, so hard to look at him, yet fearing to look down at the bright steel table in front of him, fearing to gaze upon his work. Yet, obediently, she starts to help him. She pulls a long rubber hose off the floor. Inserts one end into a large metal bucket.
    There’s a good girl, Mae. There’s a good girl.
     
    Andy’s pulse beat out a rhythm at his temples. The image of that cat wouldn’t let him sleep. Every creak, every moan of the house reminded him of that branch, swaying in the night breeze, swaying under the weight of the cat, the rope. The backs of his eyelids were like movie screens, the cat projected onto them every time he shut his eyes.
    His ears throbbed. The blood surged through them as if shot from a water cannon. He wiped at the sweat on his forehead, realized it was soaking into his pillow, and thought what the hell, wiping his entire face on the pillowcase. There was no way he could sleep.
    The moon glowed soft green through the window shade. It reminded Andy of those eyes. The eyes of the dead cat.
    Jesus, he thought. I’ve got to get out of bed. Get something to do. Keep my mind occupied.
    He got out of bed, stumbled over to the light switch and flicked it on. The room lit up and he glanced around.
    No cats here.
    He laughed at himself, at his paranoia.
    He looked in the closet again. The five dresses were there, but that was all. He ran his hand over the dresser and closed his eyes.
    Smooth. Smooth.
    Get his mind off the rough bark of that tree outside.
    The rough bark, the swing and creak of the rope, the dead weight of the cat, a sack of swinging, bleeding bones -
    Andy put his hand on the knob of the bedroom door and turned it as slowly as he could. A shiver ran through his limbs as he pulled the door open. He closed his eyes, for a moment imagining the cat’s head hovering on the other side grinning at him.
    The door cried out and Andy squeezed his eyes shut tight, then resumed pushing it open.
    Christ, get a hold of yourself. It was just a sick joke. That thing, that head - that cat - was real. And it was dead. Nothing more than a bundle of bones and guts. He'd seen it and touched it. It wasn’t going to come back and bite him. Yet, it was so hard to get the image out of his mind. His fingers still felt it. The fur. The moisture. He needed something to distract him.
    Something to read.
    He