The Weeping Thing Ch. 03

Chapter Three

Mathew

"I'm fucking serious, man!" Matt said. "There's some weird shit going on in my neighborhood!"

The other two valets, who were much younger than Matt's thirty-five years, glanced at one another. One of them smirked and barely held back his sniggers.

"Oh, fuck the both of you!" Matt muttered, as he snatched up the set of car keys sitting on top of the valet stand. The keys belonged to a hotel guest, but that person wasn't expected to make their exit for another half hour. Decidedly, the older valet said, "I'm gonna go bring this car up."

As Matt began to stalk away, he was irked to hear the two valets laughing behind him. They were always goading him into saying too much. As soon as his back was turned, they were going to start giggling and poking fun at him like they always did.

It was partly his fault, Matt acknowledged, because he did have a lot of suspicious things to talk about. He was always the guy bringing up the subject of UFOs, because had seen them with his own eyes. Matt talked about evil ghosts and demons, because such things had attacked him before. He talked a lot about government conspiracies too, because historically, there were plenty of those to be found. It wasn't so farfetched in his imagination that much of that stuff was still going on today.

Matt grunted. He was a bona fide loser and he knew it. Once, a long time ago, he was a pretty good athlete, a baseball player with a bright future. He'd been good enough to have scouts come out to watch him play. He'd gotten up as high as Triple A ball before he injured his wrist severely enough to end his promising career. Matt had been that close to making The Big Show. So close! After that, he'd pissed his life away on alcohol, drugs and women, and he hadn't been the same ever since.

Now, he was just a broken, tired man, wearing black polyester pants and a work shirt colored in an ugly shade of red. On his chest, he had pinned a name tag that read 'Hi, I'm Matt!'

Matt trudged through the hotel's large parking garage. Absently and frequently, he clicked on the vehicle's alarm button, both to locate the car and because it made him feel as if he was getting away with something.

Yeah, he was that miserable.

The car turned out to be a late model Toyota Spider. Matt grimaced as he took in the sleek silver paint job, the Pirelli tires that looked as if they'd been doused in Armor-All just that day, and the highly polished chrome rims.

Reluctantly, Matt opened the door and plunked down in the driver's seat. There was a time when he had loved getting behind the wheel of such a sporty car, but really, who was he kidding? He knew damned well that he would never be able to afford one.

After starting the car and shifting it into first, he found that he didn't even have the heart to peel out of the parking spot. He slowly rolled away out of the garage like an old man in a wheelchair.

It was a little past four in the afternoon when Matt's weathered blue pick-up truck, with its fading white camper shell, pulled into John's driveway.

Matt didn't really have a place to stay, ever since he'd lost the least to his last apartment. The pitifully low wages he made from his part-time job prevented him from getting another place. Thanks to the grace of God, John, the bellman from the hotel, had agreed to allow Matt to park in his driveway and to use the facilities, in exchange for a couple of hundred dollars a month. The reason John had gone along with the arrangement was because he was as financially strapped as Matt was, with an exorbitant mortgage payment, plus a wife and three younger mouths to feed. John couldn't even offer Matt a place to sleep, because their house only had two bedrooms. John's teenage son had already claimed the living room for himself, because the teen no longer wanted to share a room with his two little sisters.

Matt didn't like to intrude on the family, either. He'd go in, shower, shit and shave, and gratefully accept any leftover that Connie, John's wife, had to offer him. Afterward, he'd wait for John to get off work and shoot the shit with him over a beer or two. Otherwise, Matt would be out roaming the neighborhood on foot, observing what people that were living actual lives were doing. At other times, he would sit on John's porch and read the latest novels he purchased from the local thrift store. Matt's days off were much better. He would take a drive out to a lake or go climbing up the side of a mountain somewhere. He could lose himself in the wilderness for an entire day.

Every single night, and it had been this way for a few months now; Matt would crawl into the back of his truck and hunker down for the night. As proud as he was, he hated to think that he'd become homeless, but that's how bad things had ended up for him, hadn't they?

Matt did keep his eyes and ears open while he was in his truck. This is how he'd found out about all the crazy shit that was going on in the neighborhood. Margaret's boarder, what's-his-name, had been the first to go. That had been over two months ago. Matt had found out about him through Jenny, the old woman who sometimes hired him to mow her lawn, or to do some other odd chore inside her house.

Matt had always suspected that Jenny was trying to get her own personal bush trimmed by him. Who knows, for an extra twenty bucks he might have even done it, except Jenny had always been too shy to solicit him outright. Matt had also been too shy, since he figured he'd piss Jenny off and lose that little extra income she provided him with.

Then the fateful morning came, after Matt had been forced to take a couple of days off due to a bad cold. Being desperate for a little extra funding, he'd gone over to Jenny's door and knocked. Not only did he discover the door slightly ajar, but he found the interior of the house to be eerily silent. Matt stepped inside, hoping he wouldn't come face to face with a cadaver. Luckily, he hadn't.

What he had discovered was a short note, made out to nobody in particular. Patiently, the note waited for him under a paperweight shaped like a little frog, sitting on a glass-topped coffee table. Jenny and Margaret, the note declared, were going off to a better place. They would not be coming back.

Unnerved, Matt had done the first thing he'd thought of, and that was to call the police. He obeyed the telephone operator's instructions. Matt took a seat on Jenny's couch while waiting for the first squad car to arrive. Two uniformed officers eventually came in and peppered him with questions. Matt answered them as best he could.

One of the cops, a hefty woman with a butchy haircut, eventually made her way across the street to Margaret's place. She returned about fifteen minutes later, confirming that Margaret was also gone. Margaret's refrigerator was in a bad way, the cop had mentioned. The woman also had over two weeks of new messages on her answering machine, including several scheduled and missed doctor's appointments.

"Huh." The other cop had grunted then, before setting a worried hand on his hip. "Just like those other two guys from down the street."

In unison, the two cops turned and looked over at Matt. Apparently, they had both forgotten he was still sitting there. They let him go, after taking down his info, and after that awkward moment where Matt admitted that he lived in the back of his truck. Rarely had Matt felt so insignificant as he had at that moment, when he stepped out of Jenny's place and started down her front walk.

Soon after, the dreams and the nightmares started.

The dreams were pleasant enough. This was mostly because they featured lots of scantily clad women. He imagined a much younger version of Jenny, striding along gaily on the sidewalk and in the company of a voluptuous blonde. Even in his dreams, Matt would do a double-take, until his brain would finally register that the hot blonde was none other than that crusty, old Margaret. Both women were wearing next to nothing; mere gossamer wraps that left nothing to the imagination. Through that nearly transparent material he could clearly make out the fullness of both women's breasts, and the small forests of their pubic hair.

Both women would blow kisses at him and waggle their fingers at him seductively. These actions never ceased to get Matt all hot and bothered, for he had been a much neglected man due to his awkward living situation. In these dreams, Matt was always inside of the back of his truck. He would always find himself scrambling toward the tailgate, hoping that he could get out fast enough so he could jump the bones of both of those provocative women.

Each and every time, the alluring sirens would run and beat Matt to the back of his truck. Before he could begin to open the hatch, they would twist the little T-handles and lock him in. They'd giggle and laugh and run away then. Before they'd gotten too far, Jenny would always give him one last parting shot.

"Come and get us if you can!" She would tease, right before the women ran off for good.

"How the hell can I do that?" An irritated Matt would snap at their retreating forms. "You locked me in again!"

The two women would stop and laugh every time he would voice those words, as if it were oh so easy for him to get out.

Matt was starting to hate that recurring dream, but it wasn't the only one. A couple of times, he dreamt of a young girl who couldn't have been more than eighteen years old. She was a pretty thing, wrapped in the same gossamer as Jenny and Margaret wore. Her lithe form and beauty would bring to mind the type of artistic impressions that Matt recognized as having to do with nymphs dancing and singing in the woods.

The attractive young lady would walk around the entirety of his little truck while trailing a single fingertip across the paint. If she discovered Matt to be asleep, she would peer in at him through one of the camper shell's long windows.

Matt would rouse up in his dreams. The first thing he would always do was gulp. There was no way in hell that a guy as old as Matt should be looking at a woman as young as that, and especially when she was standing nearly nude before him.

"You can do more than just look, Mathew." The girl had said to him, once or twice. She spoke through one of the windows, which he left partly open so his cramped quarters wouldn't get all hot and stuffy. This time, she was even brazen enough to add, "I'll let you fuck me, if you want to."

It was all just a dream, Matt had to keep reminding himself. It was all because he hadn't gotten laid in a while. His brain was doing some weird, subconscious shit to prod him in that direction, into going out and finding himself a real woman.

"You can come out here or I can go in there." The girl said, in a curiously rough British accent. "But either way, you will be fucked!"

She spilled out a short stream of delicious little giggles right after she said that, while Matt's face reddened at the blatant profanity of her words.

Rebelliously, Matt felt his body becoming aroused by the girl's appealing sensuality. While he fought to quell his blossoming desire, he found his body stubborn and defiant.

"You're way too young for me." He managed to say, barely.

"I am older than I look." She replied. "Donald tells me that I am over two hundred years of age."

It took a moment for Matt to remember that Donald was the name of Margaret's missing boarder. He let out a long breath. "Well, I'll tell you one thing. You look damned good for your age!"

An ancient sadness seemed to fill the girl's face. "This is how I looked when I was put to death." She seemed to contemplate her own words for a spell. Then she shook her head as if to clear away her unwanted thoughts. "There is small point in belaboring over this. As my mother would put it, there is no use in crying over spilt milk."

"You're some kind of ghost?" Matt asked.

"Not a ghost. I am a dream and yet I am not a dream. I am real and yet I am not real. I am bound and yet I roam free. I am free and yet I am bound."

Matt smirked. "You're as crazy as I am."

"Oh, I have my designs for you." She grinned back.

"What kind of designs?"

"I will give you a riddle." She perked up. "Six were taken and six must be given. In this way will the balance be restored, and so much more, so much more."

"I don't get any of that." Matt scratched his head.

"I will tell you the full of it, after. For now, you must tell me how to open up your wagon. And then you will see for yourself if I am real or dream."

Matt gulped.

"I will leave if you don't tell me." The young beauty teased him. "I will find another man to take your place, although this will cause me some distress. I do believe I have found the right man in you."

"The right one for what?"

"The right one to join us." She whispered, her voice sweeping over him like a gentle breeze. Within her words, Matt felt how hot her lust was for him.

Matt shuddered, when a new aspect began to dawn within his impossible dream. He began to have a vision within his dream, a vision of him running through the woods bare-ass naked and chortling like a wild goose. Six nymphs were chasing after him, including the one now standing outside his truck. They were all laughing and smiling right along with him. If they managed to catch him, he understood, they very well meant to fuck the shit out of him!

As if suddenly feeling feverish, Matt held his hand up to his forehead. He imagined the six young women surrounding him and playfully wrestling him down among the soft grass. They all took turns kissing him, lightly at first, then more and more passionately as one moved aside and another took the spot.

He found his cock to be rock hard, and his mouth to be breathing heavy, lusty breaths, when five of the nymphs drew back. The remaining one slid over his flesh like a soft snake, until her lips grazed over his, and her tender hand held his manhood in her grip. She moved as if to mount him...

"I was always the most adventurous one." The dream-girl standing outside of his truck said, breaking Matt's erotic vision and returning him to his mere dream. "Will you open up your wagon or will I have to seek out another man that is not you?"

"Do you have a name?"

"Yes. I am Emelina." She replied, as she stood near the end of his truck.

Matt watched the girl trace her finger around and around to draw several shapes on one of his side windows. After a couple of minutes of watching, Matt scooted over to the end of the truck-bed, gently pushing open the hard plastic window over the tailgate. A moment later, he was dropping the tailgate.

He gazed at Emelina's wonderfully feminine form, as she stepped over and stood there. Her body was covered in only that flimsy, transparent wrap, and outlined by the warm glow from a nearby streetlamp.

"I should be so lucky to have one, let alone six women chasing after me like that." Matt muttered disbelievingly, yet jokingly, as he contemplated the girl that was half his age and at the same moment some six times older than him.

Emelina climbed onto the hard metal of the tailgate. Soon after that Matt closed it up. He made love to her, then.

Matt was still entertaining smug and happy thoughts early the following morning, until a loud rapping jolted him from his sleep. He sat up abruptly. Once he'd regained his bearings, he discovered that John was standing just outside his truck and looking in at him nervously.

"Dude, put some fucking clothes on!" John frowned. The impatient man looked about as half-asleep as Matt felt. John was clad in only a white shirt and blue boxers, as if he'd also just gotten up. "You scared the shit out of Connie, when she went to drop off the girls a few minutes ago."

Matt suddenly realized that he was in his truck naked, instead of in a shirt and boxers as usual. Quickly, he yanked at his blankets to cover his body. "Shit, man, I'm sorry!"

Now that Matt wasn't entirely exposed, John leaned closer to the truck's window and chuckled. "How many drinks did you have last night?"

"I swear; I didn't have a single drop! I must have been real tired... John, you know I would never do something like that on purpose, because I know you have your little daughters around."

"The girls didn't see a thing. Connie made sure of that." John started laughing. "Look, if you want to get back on Connie's good side, you ought to get her some flowers or chocolates or something."

"Yeah, I'll do that." Matt nodded.

"She's a sucker for that sort of thing." John admitted. "Just don't get her anything too nice, otherwise she'll be climbing in there with you. Then you'd really piss me off."

"I'm really sorry about this, John. I swear, it won't happen again."

"Don't worry about it." John waved him off. "I'm going back to bed. I'll leave the door unlocked in case you want to come in and grab a cup of Joe. There's plenty of that still in the pot."

"Thanks, John. You're a good friend, man."

"Hey, you're a good guy, too. You're helping me keep a roof over my head, remember? I'll see you at work later."

Once John had gone, Matt started a scramble for the clothing he'd been wearing when he'd gotten into the truck the previous night. He found his shirt and his boxers, but where the hell were his shorts? He finally spotted them down by the tailgate, which thankfully was still closed shut. Otherwise, the entire neighborhood would have gotten a good peep show at his expense.

Once his clothing was on, Matt took a moment to see if anything else was out of its usual place. That's when he saw the scribbles on his side window, on the side of the truck facing away from the house. Drawn into the thin layer of dust were a few spirals and a couple of other weird symbols he didn't recognize. Right in the middle of the bunch, however, and clear as day, was the unmistakable form of a pentagram. In his dream, Matt recalled, that was the window Emelina had been doodling on.

Suddenly, nothing made sense any more. Emelina had made those marks. They couldn't be real, so why were they staring him right in the face? And his clothes, he'd never take them off in the back of the truck like that, except he had taken them off during the night, right before... right before he'd made love to her.

"Holy Christ." Matt said to himself. "What the hell is going on with me?"

What was real and what was not? What was it the girl said to him?

I am a dream and yet I am not a dream. I am real and yet I am not real.

"This is going to end up giving me a headache." Matt let out a long breath, before he checked the time on his cell phone. The phone, at least, was exactly where it was supposed to be.

Work, that was something tangible, too. That was something Matt could understand and make sense of. Work was something he should be getting ready for, too. He decided to get the process going right away, even though he still had a few hours before he had to be there.

And those scrawls on the window, those looked pretty real, too. Matt reminded himself to wipe them off before Connie got a good look at them, or else she would really be having some major conniptions.

Matt had just started his shift, when he made the mistake of opening his big mouth and telling the other valets about his alien abduction theory. UFOs were pulling people out of their houses, he theorized. Matt gave his coworkers the missing person count of three: Jenny, Margaret, and Donald. To that he added the policeman's suspicions that two more people may have also been taken. Matt also theorized that the aliens could have been beaming messages directly into his brain. In all likelihood, they were after him now.

The only part he left out was where he ended up sleeping with something that was definitely not of this world. It didn't matter that he'd left that out, though. The two valets on shift with him took in his revelations with feigned attention, before they both started ridiculing everything he said. For the rest of the shift, Matt became the butt for all of their jokes. Figuratively, he was subjected to everything from anal probing, to floating in space orgies with tri-sexual and quadru-sexual beings.