Mr. Garou hadn’t spoken, but his very presence interrupted David, arresting his voice in his throat. Mr. Garou stood some seven, eight, twenty feet tall. His shoulders stressed the limits of his cheap suit jacket in a way that reminded David of Andre the Giant applying for a position in sales. There was nothing humorous about it though. David imagined Mr. Garou tearing the seams of his jacket and popping the buttons on his dress shirt in a similar way to how he might tear and pop David in a moment. The aggressively unsavory look on the man’s face cascaded down his body in tiny tremors, urging his hands into fists, a position David imagined they were all too familiar with.
“Ha! Yeah, me too. Sorry I can’t get a decent fucking scotch around here.” Mr. Garou’s body sighed a little as he turned to an empty bottle of Glennlivich. The tiny bit of tension it let out seemed futile to David, like a boat losing water at one ounce per gallon it took on. Those paying close attention may feel briefly heartened, but the boat was still ultimately going to sink. David watched warily as Mr. Garou poured himself a tumbler of cheap whiskey with one tremulous hand. He imagined, if he were to turn around, Mr. Garou would just tear the top of the bottle off with his teeth and down it glass and all.
“We were just going dad.” Tay piped up once it became clear that her dad was not about to explode.
“Going? Ha! Not you sweetie, I need you to get me a lime.” Mr. Garou paused and turned to David. “Or you. You could get me a lime couldn’t you boy?”
“I’ll show him where they…”
“He can find a damn lime Taylor.” His voice was silk and made Taylor blanche. As David watched them, he felt they were speaking a secret language. A language built on threats and bad memories.
- Taylor and David Chapter Five: The Monster Under Your Bed
- Read the whole chapter (and more) at appleandoranges.com