Valhalla Rising
Book 2 of the Kissimmee Quartet
I. The Monster Scorpion
Kissimmee, Florida, 1953
It was night on Palmetto Lane, very late, very dark. Every bungalow was asleep, not a single light dotted the darkness. Such deep night, so silent, so absent of humans that the rats could amble relaxed and easy across the street. A balmy breeze sighed past the little houses. Even at night it was still almost hot. No sound, so quiet, so dead asleep, only the tiniest of creaks from the gate in a chain link fence.
Bobby Finster eased himself through the narrow opening he had made and remembered to carefully close the gate again so it wouldn’t bang in the wind. Even so it squeeeaked and made Bobby cringe, the sound bloomed enormously in the silent street. He glanced up at his house. All still. All good. He then took off at a run, barefoot.
They were there! They hadn’t been bluffing! Ralphy and Pete, Richie, Mark, and Dennis. He could see their dark lumps bunched together at the corner. He ran, drew near, and actually stopped at the smell. Bobby threw an arm across his nose. They hadn’t been bluffing about that either. A large, dead, flounder lay in the middle of the road.
Bobby crossed to the other side and approached the boys.
“Gawd a’mighty!” he said in a loud whisper. “That thing is stinking up the whole street!”
“Kept it in an old milk box for a week,” Richie proudly told him. The battered aluminum box sat modestly behind them.
“You oversleep?” Ralphy asked. “We’ve been here for ages.”
“Then where is it?” said Bobby.
“We’re still waiting.”
“It’s my turn to hold the flashlight!” Dennis snatched it from Ralphy, the oldest and biggest, the ringleader. Bobby was impressed. He decided he would rather like to hold the flashlight.
Dennis switched it back on and trained the powerful beam on the storm drain. The boys waited. And waited.
Bobby yawned. The dead fish stench filled his nose and mouth, he felt sick, began to reconsider this whole adventure. Bed seemed appealing about now but… the other boys. It had been an honor to be asked, trusted with their group secret. But this was proving to be very boring. It was past two a.m. and he was standing barefoot on the sidewalk inhaling rotten fish. Maybe he could just sidle away… disappear into the dark.
Dennis sighed.
“It’s not coming,” he said.
“Oh, come on! Are you chickening out?” Ralphy demanded.
“That fish is making me sick,” Dennis admitted, “and I’m tired of holding this thing.”
“I’ll hold it!” Bobby cried.
“SHHHHH!” The chorus of boys shushed him.
“Pleeeease?” Bobby begged in a strangled whisper.
“Fine.” Dennis thrust it at him.
The large flashlight was surprisingly heavy, but Bobby aimed it with authority on the drain. He didn’t expect to see anything now, it was only a matter of pride and self-importance that kept him there. They were kind, really, these boys, allowing him to hold the flashlight.
Bobby stood, training the beam expertly, he thought. His pals would not regret asking him to come. But the flashlight was really quite heavy, his arms were getting tired… and that smell. But he would be strong, he was trusted with the flashlight. He would not falter.
Time slid by. No sound but for the boys’ breathing. Bobby could sense them getting bored.
“C’mon, give it back,” Mark finally said. “It’s my dad’s.”
Bobby went stiff. His stomach turned over.
“Bobby, c’mon.” Mark didn’t bother to lower his voice. “I’m going home.”
Bobby couldn’t speak. He could feel the back of his scalp prickling.
“Bobby!”
“SHHHHHH!” the other boys.
Ralphy moved to intervene and yank it out of Bobby’s grip.
“I – I – it’s there!” Bobby squeaked. He couldn’t move.
An enormous black claw protruded from the storm drain. Not just a claw, an arm, an arm as long as a man’s with a claw the size of Bobby’s head. The arm was bent like an elbow. The claw – pincers – were slightly open revealing jagged little teeth.
It was happening… it was real! It wasn’t just the ramblings of crazy old ladies and drunks, it was here!
The rumors were true!
One of the boys made a sound of fear, Bobby himself was paralyzed. He didn’t want to be here, he would run, not care what anyone thought but his body wouldn’t move. And some deeper, older instinct in him made him stay. What was this thing?
The boys were frozen, breathless. There was a scuffling in the depths of the sewer and a second claw slid into the light, a second long arm. The two pincers hovered a moment, half open as though testing the air, and all at once the head appeared, flat and armored, shiny and black. Little legs… two… six… eight, crooked like a spider. The thing showed no fear, pulled itself halfway into the street making clicking noises.
It kept coming… and coming, and coming, its armored black body sliding out of the drain, out of the sheltering darkness, into the drab reality of a little Kissimmee back street. It was huge. Bobby was shaking. He was holding the flashlight. He was the hero, no one could see the monster but for him. Then it emerged fully, all seven feet of it, shining in the white beam of the flashlight.
Now Bobby did begin to whimper. He broke into a sweat. The thing was a mere four feet away, it could be upon them in a moment. He had never been confronted with death, certainly never his own, but death stood before him now. The monster looked at the little group of juvenile hominids, its black, obsidian eyes were tilted like upside down commas.
Death… they would die. Bobby was terrified and resigned at the same time.
But then the thing turned and moved towards the dead fish. It actually sashayed, its long, thick body swaying like a long skirt. The elbowed arms bent above the stinking flounder, it ripped chunks off with its shearing claws and began to eat.
Bobby had followed the monster with the flashlight beam. The boys stayed rooted to the spot but their heads were turned as one. …They had done it. They… kids. Six boys. They had done what none of the scientists could do with their fancy traps and theorizing and college degrees. Six boys. Six boys and one reeking fish had brought the shadowy, enigmatic, mystery monster to the surface. They had done it!
The first shock was wearing off. The thing wasn’t going to kill them. It was no different, apparently, than any ordinary crab. Or seagull. It was just a huge scavenger. And it had a funny walk, like an old-fashioned lady in a bustled gown. It didn’t appear to have a coiled, poisonous tail, rather the long body ended in what looked like a flat, armored paddle.
Ralphy reached down and prized the flashlight out of Bobby’s petrified grip. He was in charge again. Now he trained the beam on the prehistoric creature, moving it slowly down the armored back. The thing appeared relaxed, resting on surprisingly skinny little legs and two large paddle legs behind. It ate the fish in a leisurely manner.
The boys were beginning to relax. A feeling that was almost giddy began to run through them. They had lured the beast from the depths. …Should they call the police? They should have brought a camera. No one would believe them.
Ralphy began to move away from the group. He crept down the sidewalk, quietly moving closer to the sea scorpion. Bobby wasn’t going anywhere. He was keenly aware that this thing lay between him and his house. There was no way he was going to pass it, even if it meant standing on the corner all night.
Raphy was fascinated, sweeping the beam back and forth over the beast. The scorpion appeared unbothered.
“Don’t touch it,” Mark said huskily.
For an animal that lived four-hundred million years ago, who had never known asphalt or sewers, it seemed remarkably at home. Already the boys felt proprietary, they had found it, they had lured it, it was theirs. Already they were learning its behavior, how it ate, how it moved. Slowly, the fear melted off them – not entirely – but curiosity began to take hold. The four other boys now inched down the sidewalk – not Bobby – and thrilled to the prickling feeling they got as they watched the long, long, pincered arms snip bites off the rapidly disappearing fish.
Then the fish was gone. Only a damp smudge in the street was left. The boys observed the scorpion do something with its front legs under the flat wedge of head, almost like it was licking them clean. Then it stood still.
Nobody moved. Not the boys, not the monster scorpion. What would it do next? Sachet around some more? Explore the neighborhood? They would follow it! They would watch its behavior. It was theirs!
But the scorpion just stood there, apparently digesting. Maybe it went to sleep. All the boys, except for Bobby, now stood clustered on the sidewalk near it. They couldn’t just leave it. The police station was far away and there was no phone booth nearby. One of them should go to his house and call but no one wanted to go. So, the silent standoff continued.
It was Pete who groped beside someone’s garden wall and found a stone.
“Pete?” Ralphy said. Pete moved to the edge of the sidewalk with the stone in hand. “Pete!”
“Are you insane?” Richie exclaimed.
“What are you doing?” Dennis cried. No one bothered to be quiet now.
Mark grabbed Pete’s wrist, but Pete merely switched the stone to his other hand and while the boys were tussling with him, he threw it.
It bounced off the scorpion’s back with a small crack. The arms came up. The pincers opened.
With one swish of its body the eurypterid turned to face them, and the boys had a final glimpse of the obsidian, apostrophe eyes before Ralphy dropped the flashlight. Its reflector shattered, the bulb broke, the street was plunged into darkness and the boys could only hear the rapid clicking of eight angry legs coming towards them.
Their screams burst like sirens. Now lights did come on all up and down the street. Windows opened and heads ducked out. Neighbors flung open their front doors to see vague, fleeing shapes pelting up the sidewalk, across front lawns, one appeared to leap into a tree. Mixed with the residents’ cries of alarm were the primal screams of boys coming from six different directions.
At 216 Palmetto, Mr. Abe Beasley marched down the stairs with his rifle tucked under his arm. Mrs. Beasley in pink nightgown and matching curlers trailed behind him. Abe thrust open his front door to take charge of the ruckus and in the light that spilled from his hallway, he saw a monster scorpion advancing across the sidewalk to his garden gate.
“Holy mother of – ” he breathed. “…Jesus… hell’s blazes…”
He aimed the shotgun and fired right between the tilting eyes.
Blam!... Blam!... Blam-blam-blam!
The head blew off. Armored exoskeleton scattered in bits. The creature flopped, twisted, on its side.
Abe’s ears were ringing slightly from the report. He was only vaguely aware of his wife fainting heavily to the floor behind him as he slowly advanced down his walkway. He barely registered the screams in the distance, the cries of dismay from his neighbors, didn’t see them begin to draw near and didn’t hear at all the approaching police sirens.
He stood over the dead monster, twisted in death, one bent arm hanging in the air. The thing’s legs were still twitching.
It was night on Palmetto Lane, very late, very dark. Every bungalow was asleep, not a single light dotted the darkness. Such deep night, so silent, so absent of humans that the rats could amble relaxed and easy across the street. A balmy breeze sighed past the little houses. Even at night it was still almost hot. No sound, so quiet, so dead asleep, only the tiniest of creaks from the gate in a chain link fence.
Bobby Finster eased himself through the narrow opening he had made and remembered to carefully close the gate again so it wouldn’t bang in the wind. Even so it squeeeaked and made Bobby cringe, the sound bloomed enormously in the silent street. He glanced up at his house. All still. All good. He then took off at a run, barefoot.
They were there! They hadn’t been bluffing! Ralphy and Pete, Richie, Mark, and Dennis. He could see their dark lumps bunched together at the corner. He ran, drew near, and actually stopped at the smell. Bobby threw an arm across his nose. They hadn’t been bluffing about that either. A large, dead, flounder lay in the middle of the road.
Bobby crossed to the other side and approached the boys.
“Gawd a’mighty!” he said in a loud whisper. “That thing is stinking up the whole street!”
“Kept it in an old milk box for a week,” Richie proudly told him. The battered aluminum box sat modestly behind them.
“You oversleep?” Ralphy asked. “We’ve been here for ages.”
“Then where is it?” said Bobby.
“We’re still waiting.”
“It’s my turn to hold the flashlight!” Dennis snatched it from Ralphy, the oldest and biggest, the ringleader. Bobby was impressed. He decided he would rather like to hold the flashlight.
Dennis switched it back on and trained the powerful beam on the storm drain. The boys waited. And waited.
Bobby yawned. The dead fish stench filled his nose and mouth, he felt sick, began to reconsider this whole adventure. Bed seemed appealing about now but… the other boys. It had been an honor to be asked, trusted with their group secret. But this was proving to be very boring. It was past two a.m. and he was standing barefoot on the sidewalk inhaling rotten fish. Maybe he could just sidle away… disappear into the dark.
Dennis sighed.
“It’s not coming,” he said.
“Oh, come on! Are you chickening out?” Ralphy demanded.
“That fish is making me sick,” Dennis admitted, “and I’m tired of holding this thing.”
“I’ll hold it!” Bobby cried.
“SHHHHH!” The chorus of boys shushed him.
“Pleeeease?” Bobby begged in a strangled whisper.
“Fine.” Dennis thrust it at him.
The large flashlight was surprisingly heavy, but Bobby aimed it with authority on the drain. He didn’t expect to see anything now, it was only a matter of pride and self-importance that kept him there. They were kind, really, these boys, allowing him to hold the flashlight.
Bobby stood, training the beam expertly, he thought. His pals would not regret asking him to come. But the flashlight was really quite heavy, his arms were getting tired… and that smell. But he would be strong, he was trusted with the flashlight. He would not falter.
Time slid by. No sound but for the boys’ breathing. Bobby could sense them getting bored.
“C’mon, give it back,” Mark finally said. “It’s my dad’s.”
Bobby went stiff. His stomach turned over.
“Bobby, c’mon.” Mark didn’t bother to lower his voice. “I’m going home.”
Bobby couldn’t speak. He could feel the back of his scalp prickling.
“Bobby!”
“SHHHHHH!” the other boys.
Ralphy moved to intervene and yank it out of Bobby’s grip.
“I – I – it’s there!” Bobby squeaked. He couldn’t move.
An enormous black claw protruded from the storm drain. Not just a claw, an arm, an arm as long as a man’s with a claw the size of Bobby’s head. The arm was bent like an elbow. The claw – pincers – were slightly open revealing jagged little teeth.
It was happening… it was real! It wasn’t just the ramblings of crazy old ladies and drunks, it was here!
The rumors were true!
One of the boys made a sound of fear, Bobby himself was paralyzed. He didn’t want to be here, he would run, not care what anyone thought but his body wouldn’t move. And some deeper, older instinct in him made him stay. What was this thing?
The boys were frozen, breathless. There was a scuffling in the depths of the sewer and a second claw slid into the light, a second long arm. The two pincers hovered a moment, half open as though testing the air, and all at once the head appeared, flat and armored, shiny and black. Little legs… two… six… eight, crooked like a spider. The thing showed no fear, pulled itself halfway into the street making clicking noises.
It kept coming… and coming, and coming, its armored black body sliding out of the drain, out of the sheltering darkness, into the drab reality of a little Kissimmee back street. It was huge. Bobby was shaking. He was holding the flashlight. He was the hero, no one could see the monster but for him. Then it emerged fully, all seven feet of it, shining in the white beam of the flashlight.
Now Bobby did begin to whimper. He broke into a sweat. The thing was a mere four feet away, it could be upon them in a moment. He had never been confronted with death, certainly never his own, but death stood before him now. The monster looked at the little group of juvenile hominids, its black, obsidian eyes were tilted like upside down commas.
Death… they would die. Bobby was terrified and resigned at the same time.
But then the thing turned and moved towards the dead fish. It actually sashayed, its long, thick body swaying like a long skirt. The elbowed arms bent above the stinking flounder, it ripped chunks off with its shearing claws and began to eat.
Bobby had followed the monster with the flashlight beam. The boys stayed rooted to the spot but their heads were turned as one. …They had done it. They… kids. Six boys. They had done what none of the scientists could do with their fancy traps and theorizing and college degrees. Six boys. Six boys and one reeking fish had brought the shadowy, enigmatic, mystery monster to the surface. They had done it!
The first shock was wearing off. The thing wasn’t going to kill them. It was no different, apparently, than any ordinary crab. Or seagull. It was just a huge scavenger. And it had a funny walk, like an old-fashioned lady in a bustled gown. It didn’t appear to have a coiled, poisonous tail, rather the long body ended in what looked like a flat, armored paddle.
Ralphy reached down and prized the flashlight out of Bobby’s petrified grip. He was in charge again. Now he trained the beam on the prehistoric creature, moving it slowly down the armored back. The thing appeared relaxed, resting on surprisingly skinny little legs and two large paddle legs behind. It ate the fish in a leisurely manner.
The boys were beginning to relax. A feeling that was almost giddy began to run through them. They had lured the beast from the depths. …Should they call the police? They should have brought a camera. No one would believe them.
Ralphy began to move away from the group. He crept down the sidewalk, quietly moving closer to the sea scorpion. Bobby wasn’t going anywhere. He was keenly aware that this thing lay between him and his house. There was no way he was going to pass it, even if it meant standing on the corner all night.
Raphy was fascinated, sweeping the beam back and forth over the beast. The scorpion appeared unbothered.
“Don’t touch it,” Mark said huskily.
For an animal that lived four-hundred million years ago, who had never known asphalt or sewers, it seemed remarkably at home. Already the boys felt proprietary, they had found it, they had lured it, it was theirs. Already they were learning its behavior, how it ate, how it moved. Slowly, the fear melted off them – not entirely – but curiosity began to take hold. The four other boys now inched down the sidewalk – not Bobby – and thrilled to the prickling feeling they got as they watched the long, long, pincered arms snip bites off the rapidly disappearing fish.
Then the fish was gone. Only a damp smudge in the street was left. The boys observed the scorpion do something with its front legs under the flat wedge of head, almost like it was licking them clean. Then it stood still.
Nobody moved. Not the boys, not the monster scorpion. What would it do next? Sachet around some more? Explore the neighborhood? They would follow it! They would watch its behavior. It was theirs!
But the scorpion just stood there, apparently digesting. Maybe it went to sleep. All the boys, except for Bobby, now stood clustered on the sidewalk near it. They couldn’t just leave it. The police station was far away and there was no phone booth nearby. One of them should go to his house and call but no one wanted to go. So, the silent standoff continued.
It was Pete who groped beside someone’s garden wall and found a stone.
“Pete?” Ralphy said. Pete moved to the edge of the sidewalk with the stone in hand. “Pete!”
“Are you insane?” Richie exclaimed.
“What are you doing?” Dennis cried. No one bothered to be quiet now.
Mark grabbed Pete’s wrist, but Pete merely switched the stone to his other hand and while the boys were tussling with him, he threw it.
It bounced off the scorpion’s back with a small crack. The arms came up. The pincers opened.
With one swish of its body the eurypterid turned to face them, and the boys had a final glimpse of the obsidian, apostrophe eyes before Ralphy dropped the flashlight. Its reflector shattered, the bulb broke, the street was plunged into darkness and the boys could only hear the rapid clicking of eight angry legs coming towards them.
Their screams burst like sirens. Now lights did come on all up and down the street. Windows opened and heads ducked out. Neighbors flung open their front doors to see vague, fleeing shapes pelting up the sidewalk, across front lawns, one appeared to leap into a tree. Mixed with the residents’ cries of alarm were the primal screams of boys coming from six different directions.
At 216 Palmetto, Mr. Abe Beasley marched down the stairs with his rifle tucked under his arm. Mrs. Beasley in pink nightgown and matching curlers trailed behind him. Abe thrust open his front door to take charge of the ruckus and in the light that spilled from his hallway, he saw a monster scorpion advancing across the sidewalk to his garden gate.
“Holy mother of – ” he breathed. “…Jesus… hell’s blazes…”
He aimed the shotgun and fired right between the tilting eyes.
Blam!... Blam!... Blam-blam-blam!
The head blew off. Armored exoskeleton scattered in bits. The creature flopped, twisted, on its side.
Abe’s ears were ringing slightly from the report. He was only vaguely aware of his wife fainting heavily to the floor behind him as he slowly advanced down his walkway. He barely registered the screams in the distance, the cries of dismay from his neighbors, didn’t see them begin to draw near and didn’t hear at all the approaching police sirens.
He stood over the dead monster, twisted in death, one bent arm hanging in the air. The thing’s legs were still twitching.
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