Vurt, Page 22

  The doordog had a heap of dog in him, a whole heap. He was standing upright, on two clenched hindlegs, and that was the just about the most human thing about him. His muzzle was long and matted with dirt. His teeth were crowding his jaw, his pink lips drooling a bath of foam. He patted each of us down in the small hallway. Finding nothing on Mandy and Twink, finding the gun on me. He took the gun away in his clumsy paws and hung it on a coat hook and then shooed us up the dark stairway, after the Karli. ‘Top floor,’ he growled.

  I took one step forward, and felt the soft squelch as I brought my foot down.

  Oh yuk!

  The stairs were covered in dogshit.

  So were my shoes.

  So I followed Twinkle like a mad dancer, one foot here, one there, between the dungheaps, moving up to the dim landing.

  The top step led straight into the kitchen. Along one wall were nailed the carcasses of dozens of dreamsnakes, shimmers of green and violet. Three dogmen were eating there, out of bowls at the table. The room was in darkness, but you could smell the meat they were eating, and lumps of it were falling to the floor as they slobbered at it. The smell was sweet to my nostrils, but I couldn’t work out why. It was certainly having an effect on them; the more they ate, the more they howled. One of them fell on the floor, landing in some of his own shit. It didn’t bother him, just kept on rolling around, like he was having some kind of trance.

  I don’t think they even knew we were there.

  Karli took one sniff into the kitchen and then raced out of the room, following some more succulent dog scent, along a corridor, and then up the next flight of steps, Twinkle pulled along by the tight lead.

  I hung back for a moment, Mandy just behind. There was a closed door to my left. The door ahead of me was slightly ajar, so I pushed it open. The room was bathed in darkness, with a smell like dog sex coming in waves. One whiff of it and I was back in the pink Vurt, Bitch on Heat, Cinders urging me on. And when she looked back at me, it wasn’t Cinders, or Desdemona; it was the Game Cat there, smiling in the dog’s eyes.

  No.

  Not now. Do this alone. No feathers.

  I brought myself down.

  A lone dog girl was lying on a black carpet, her long tongue licking down between her split legs.

  The room smelt like porn. Dogporn. Porn for the nose.

  The bitchgirl looked up at me.

  She had eyes of the brightest human blue, set amidst a face of fur.

  I couldn’t look into those eyes.

  I closed the door gently, and then turned to the door on the left. Mandy was no longer with me. Where was that girl? No matter. Do it alone. Check every room. Keep looking—

  A tiny noise. There! Listen! A tiny noise just coming in, almost lost in the howling from the kitchen. I pressed my ear against the left side door. There it was. The sound of alien flesh rubbing up the wrong way against planet Earth.

  I pushed the door open.

  Slowly.

  Do this slowly, holding the breath, keeping cool.

  I went into the room.

  There was a smell of bad meat, a rancid haze that clogged at the senses, bringing thoughts of death.

  The Thing was in the room.

  I could hear him calling me, in that strange tongue.

  The room was dark, dark as all the rest, but I could just make him out there, his fat bulk. The curtains were closed, just a glimmer of a streetlamp filtering in. In the shadows I saw a thin shape moving. It was bent over near the Thing. A dull glint came from its fingers. The shape moved slightly as I stepped inside, lifting its head up towards me, and I saw the snout dribbling, a slow turn of its thin long face.

  The shape howled, high pitched.

  My eyes adjusted to the darkness. It was a young dogboy and he was crouched over a bed. The Thing was tied down to the bed with old dogleads. Dogboy had a breadknife in his paws, and he was cutting chunks from the Thing’s stomach. Beside the bed lay a bowl. Some meat was in there already. My mind jumped back to the kitchen, what I saw there as we passed—the dogs eating and the sweet aroma of the meat.

  Sudden flash of me arriving back down in the real, the Thing pressed up on top of me, that sweet aroma rising from his skin.

  Those dogs were eating the Thing! Bit by bit. Letting him regenerate between meals. And then cutting some more muscle off, taking that featherless flight into Vurt, direct to the flesh.

  Something snapped just then. Something happened.

  Not sure what. But during it I felt the cut of the breadknife on my arm, up just past the elbow. Didn’t hurt. Even though I saw the red spurting onto my jacket sleeve. The dogboy was howling as I picked him up.

  Go take a flying fuck, dogshit!

  Dogboy made a fat sound against the wallpaper, and then slid and crumpled. He lay there, broken, whimpering.

  I went over to the Thing. My arm just starting to hurt now, but I managed the straps alright, cutting them with the breadknife. The Thing didn’t move. Didn’t even make a noise. He just lay there, weak-hearted. He’d lost a ton of weight over the lost weeks, eaten away; his alien metabolism battling hard against the cuttings, but not quite keeping up. I unwound the leads from the bed, and then wrapped them around his soft body a few times, making a harness. The Thing was muttering now, in that thick tongue of his. I tickled him on the stomach, where he liked it. Maybe it did some good. He was so thin I almost felt that I could carry him alone. So I slipped the leads around one shoulder, and then around the other, took a deep breath, and pulled him up.

  I had him up there, aloft and free, his alien voice calling to me. Couldn’t make out a word but it sounded like comfort anyway, like he was glad to be carried.

  I walked back to the landing to fetch Twinkle and Karli.

  Up the next flight to the top floor. Another two doors waiting. The floor had been cleaned recently, and it made a nice change, to be stepping lightly, free of the shit. I was covered enough already. A note pinned to the stairwell read ‘No dirty paws beyond this point. That includes you, Slobba!’ It was written in Bridget’s hand. Both doors were closed, but the one straight ahead had a flicker of blue light around the jamb. And the slightest hint of dog smell coming through, mixed in with flowers.

  The Thing was weighing down on my shoulders.

  I heard Dingo’s latest love ballad—Venus in Fur—playing softly.

  And then the voice, ‘Is that you, Scribble?’

  Bridget’s voice from behind the door.

  I had the Thing. I had Curious Yellow. I could have just ridden out of there.

  Instead I went on through.

  DAS UBERDOG

  ‘How could you do this, Bridget?’

  She raised her sleepy head from the bed to look at me. Her eyes were loaded with dreams, and a red flush coloured her usually pale flesh. She was lying on a ruffled bed, wearing just a man’s white shirt and a lace of shadow-smoke. The room was dark except for the play of light coming from the candle on the window ledge. It had an azure flame; the palest blue light gently shining over the room.

  ‘The candle’s there for you, Scribb,’ she said. ‘I knew you’d find me.’

  ‘I guess it took me too long,’ I answered.

  There was a man lying in the bed, covered by sheets. He had a handsome face on him, long brown hair; maybe just a trace of dog. One hand lovingly stroked Bridget’s neck, whilst the other held open a book. I could see the title in gold, embossed, the sonnets of John Donne.

  The bedroom looked clean and human in the candle’s glow, full of the smell of flowers and incense. I guess this was more of Bridget’s work; an attempt to mask the smell of dog. The flowers did a good job, but only just; the aroma of dog lingered like one of Dingo’s bass notes.

  And I got the picture of Bridget gardening this small human space, in the middle of Turdsville. What was that girl on? What was the motivation?

  And why am I the last person to ask this?

  Karli was on the bed with the young couple. She was trying to nu
dge the sheets back, getting her nose under there, her pink arse on display, raised up. Twinkle was sitting in an armchair, watching Karli’s game.

  I was watching all this from out on the landing, through the now wide-open door, with the breadknife still clutched, tight, in my right hand.

  Bridget lit a cigarette in the blue shadows.

  ‘We’ve come to take you out of here,’ I said.

  Bridget turned back to me, her mouth full of smoke, giving me that old-time sleepy smile. ‘Look at the Thing,’ I cried. ‘Look what they’re doing to him!’

  ‘Yeah?’ she answered, her voice a slow drawl.

  ‘They’ve been eating him!’

  ‘Eating who?’

  I took a breath. ‘Bridget…’

  ‘How’s the Beetle these days, Scribble? He still pushing you around?’

  ‘Beetle’s doing fine.’

  So what was I supposed to say? Beetle’s on his last moments. He desperately wants to see you again, before he dies of the colours, so why don’t you just come easy?

  Would that have worked?

  And where the hell was that guy anyway?

  ‘This is my friend, Uber,’ she said to the man beside her. ‘Scribble.’

  ‘Good morning, sir,’ his voice lightly dog-touched. ‘May I say how pleased I am to be in your company.’

  ‘Scribble, this is Uber,’ Bridget told me.

  ‘How could you do this, Brid?’ I cried. ‘Tell me!’ Bridget turned her sleeping eyes full on to me, and in the blue light, they looked like jewels.

  ‘Uber is so very good. He takes me places.’

  ‘Yeah. To a dogshit hole like this.’

  Uber threw the blankets back.

  Karli was thrown with them, but he caught her in his human hands as he rolled out of the bed. He was a strong, young man, and he lifted the dog without struggle. Karli didn’t mind. That robobitch was in love! She let herself be tumbled over onto his lap.

  Uber was a beautiful creature.

  A perfect split, straight across the middle. Sometimes it happens like that, once in a thousand matings. He was human from the waist up, dog from the waist down. He placed his fur-covered legs down on the floor, sitting on the bed, with the Karli in his strong arms. She was nuzzling up close to him, licking his face with a pink tongue. Uber moved his head away from her, giving me a slow look.

  ‘I have been so looking forward to this,’ he said, in that dark voice. ‘Bridget tells me stories about you. I must say, I do find them rather amusing. She has a high regard for you, sir.’

  I didn’t answer.

  The shadows changing on the candle’s breath.

  He held out a long fingered hand. Sharp claws pushed through the soft pads of each finger, and when he smiled, his teeth were pointed, tiny shards of dog lodged in the human. ‘What’s wrong?’ he said. ‘Won’t you shake my hand, sir?’ He could retract the claws at will, and he did so now, presenting a soft hand to me, but still I wasn’t tempted. ‘Don’t you like me, Scribble? After all, I’m the one who saved Bridget.’

  ‘Saved her from what?’ I asked.

  ‘Why, from the pure life, of course.’

  ‘I’m taking Bridget back,’ I said.

  Uber turned his face to the candle. He closed his eyes slightly against the glare. ‘Ah yes,’ he said. ‘I was expecting this. Dingo warned me thus.’

  ‘It’s going to happen.’

  ‘Put down the food please, sir.’

  ‘I can’t.’

  ‘Why’s that?’

  ‘I need the Thing.’

  ‘You call him a thing. That’s shows little respect. Food is most precious, and should be treated accordingly.’

  ‘Fuck you.’

  Uber closed his eyes fully, for a moment, whilst stroking Karli on his lap.

  ‘This is a luscious robobitch,’ he said. ‘I thank you for bringing her to me.’

  And as he spoke, he was moving his fingers between Karli’s hindlegs.

  ‘Scribble?’ said Twinkle, from her chair.

  ‘Don’t worry, kid,’ I told her. ‘It’s under control.’

  ‘Is it, indeed?’ said Uber. ‘Under control? Is it under control? Oh good. Whose control?’ And each word came darker than the last, and more dog-like, like he was losing it, the human, and getting one serious rag on.

  ‘I’m walking out of here,’ I said.

  ‘Don’t push him, Scribb,’ said Bridget.

  ‘I’m taking the Thing with me,’ I said. ‘You ready, Twink?’

  ‘I’m ready,’ she answered. And then turned to the pet. ‘Karli!’ she called.

  Karli pricked up one ear towards Twinkle’s voice, and then refolded it. ‘Come on, Karli!’ Twinkle tried again. But I guess that dog was too happy.

  ‘You coming too, Bridget?’ I asked.

  She didn’t even look at me.

  Twinkle was on her feet, by my side.

  Uber was stroking Karli on the neck, the underside, where she loved it the most. He blew out the candle, even from that distance, with a dog’s breath. When he turned back to me, his human face was split by a pure canine grin.

  ‘Don’t let me do this,’ Uber said, tightening still further. And at first Karli let it happen, thinking it a touch of love. But then feeling it for what it was; an act of torture. Uber’s fingers were squeezing on the windpipe, and his claws were coming out, pricking tiny jewels of blood from Karli’s neck. He had an expert’s knack of finding the soft flesh between the plastic bones.

  Karli was whimpering now, struggling to get loose.

  Uber parted his thick lips, showing those chiselled teeth. ‘I am Das Uberdog,’ he growled. ‘The world is my shitting place.’ And his eyes were wild, wild and free, as his claws tightened on the wet throat.

  I made a struggling move, under the digging weight of the Thing, but Twinkle beat me to it. She launched herself forwards, hurling herself at Das Uber with all her young strength.

  Uber bent a powerful dog-muscled leg in two, like a levered machine, so that Twinkle was pressed up against it, struggling to get Karli loose. Then Das Uber unflexed his leg, quickly and with a finely tuned force, that sent Twinkle screaming, backwards, to land at my feet.

  ‘What is your reading of the situation, sir?’ asked Das Uber. Blood from Karli’s neck was leaking between his long human fingers.

  ‘I think you smell like shit,’ I said.

  ‘Thank you,’ he replied.

  So I turned around.

  Twinkle was clutching at my legs, trying to stop me, crying out, ‘Scribble! Scribble! Don’t leave us!’

  But I just turned around, and walked away.

  Some things are more important than others, and if that makes me bad, then let it stand.

  I was heading back down the stairs, the weight of the Thing on my shoulders and back, almost pulling me over.

  Cold, like stone.

  Twinkle was crying from above, but I was down on the first landing now, carrying the weight. Felt like I was carrying Desdemona herself. That’s how I pictured it, the swap already made, just to get the blood pumping. Past the front room where the bitchgirl was licking herself to a frenzy. I could hear her whining from under the door. Around the corner, along the corridor, towards the kitchen, where all three dog people were now down on the floor, rolling around, travelling some mutant Vurt, fuelled by the Thing’s flesh.

  Where was Mandy? Where was Twinkle? Where was the Beetle? Where was the Bridget? Why was I doing this alone?

  And then Uber’s howl, from the top storey. Sounded like a siren’s cry, refused in love. The scrabbling of his dog claws on lino and floorboards. Me taking a lurching race for the last stairs, where the front door lay waiting, and the doordog was turning to see what all the howling was about.

  Thing was, he was just a little bit busy.

  Because Mandy was happily wrapped around him, one hand reaching down stroking him between his legs.

  Thanks for the help, Mandy. Appreciate it.

  B
ut then I saw that her other hand was reaching for the coat hook, and I changed all that around. Do it, girl! Do it!

  I could hear the dogs getting close behind as I raced down, stumbling under the burden of the Thing, slipping on dogshit, making a slide of it, heading straight for the doordog. His eyes were so wide, felt like I was going to slide right on in there. Something was grabbing at me from behind, pulling at the Thing on my back, dragging hard, so we were pulled up, and back, halfway down the stairs, lodged against the two walls. A strong, white, human hand reached around and grabbed my neck. My face was jerked back, and I was looking straight into the eyes of Das Uberdog. That’s when the lights came on.

  A scorching brilliance.

  Every lamp shining down with a fierce radiance, dazzling in rainbows of colours.

  Beetle! Was that your work, my man?

  I heard dogs behind me howling in pain; sounded like a bad jerkout.

  But not Uber.

  He took it, unblinking, and I felt his claws digging in at my throat.

  I brought my right hand up, and backwards, in a sweeping arc, the breadknife lodged solid in my fingers.

  Das Uber saw it coming, moved his face with a dog’s jammed-up instinct, whip-fast, away from the blade’s path.

  Too slow, sucker!

  The knife went in, hard against the flesh, somewhere on his left cheek, hit bone, slipped, cut through, into the jawline.

  Blood on my face, Das Uber howling, me twisting the knife, hard!

  I was free of the grip now, so I heaved the Thing back up, letting go of the knife, and started for the door again. The doordog had struggled free of Mandy. He was shielding his eyes from the glare with one forepaw, struggling up the stairs, his other paw flailing around in front of him.

  That’s when Mandy delivered. Delivered good.

  Do it, girl!

  First the flash of bright hot light, then the exploding air, the noise of it enough to kill, then the howling scream of Doordog as he’s thrown up the stairs by the force. He bangs against me, and then drops. In the centre of his back a black and ragged hole is burning. Flame bullet.