Studio Scordatura • Reginald E. Bloom • Easter Always Falls on a Sunday

Easter Always Falls on a Sunday (2004)

Gears clashed, the unholy scraping reverberating through the '72 El Camino's rusting shell. A mismatched radial tire tore into the flesh of the already dead possum, tearing, biting at fat and muscle long-since pried from its shattered ribcage. The flies and ants and beetles and other scavenging insects feasting on the sun-warmed remains scurried about, confused, stomachs bloated. Those that didn't meet their fate under the well-worn tread of the monstrous wheels quickly resumed dining, having forgotten the danger before the armored behemoth had been swallowed up by the sandblasted landscape.

"Fucking gross... why the hell do you always have to do that?" Lucille turned, a gust of wind from the cracked window catching her dirty blonde hair.

"For Christ's sake… the mangy little pecker was already dead," Revord growled through a half-cocked smile. Just like his disposition, she mused. Loaded, brandishing an impatient trigger.

Arms crossed, shoulders wrapped around her ears. "Like that really matters." Too late, she realized that she had forgotten to mask her drawl. Even after sixteen years of cow tipping and jokes about inbreeding, she was having a hell of a time shucking the accent. "I think you enjoy it even more when they ain't dead."

"One less possum or skunk ain't gonna' keep me up nights. Hell… I'm probably doing them a favor. I'd rather get hit by an El Camino than get torn apart by coyotes," he said, pronouncing "coyotes" with a silent "e."

"I haven't seen any coyotes out here. You're just sick in the head."

He smiled, taking a drag off his last Marlboro and throwing the exhausted butt out the window. "Survival of the fittest."

She assumed it was something he'd heard on the nature channel. "Big man, ain't you? Threatened by a dead possum is not what I..."

"Don't you be flipping me shit, girl. If it weren't for me, you'd be chewing carpet behind bars right now. You became a fugitive when you didn't show up in court last Friday. And since we just crossed the state line a couple of hours ago, I'll be in it just as deep as you. Aiding and abetting a known criminal will get me more than another year in Juvie. And what do I get for my troubles? Squat."

"Aiding and abetting." Lucille huffed and rolled her eyes, all for his benefit. "Don't try to make this into some goddamn Bonnie'n'Clyde flick. They ain't going to come after us for minor possession charges." She sank into her customized bucket seat, voice dropping. "Besides, Dad'll do everything he can to avoid having to report me missing. Too much fuss… I'm more trouble than I'm worth, he said. As long as you don't get pulled over for a broken tail light or reckless driving, the cops won't even come near us."

It was then Revord dropped the bomb. "Hell... I don't even have papers for this thing, I..."

"Then quit your goddamn speeding!" She reached over and turned on the radio. She had to change the station twice to avoid evangelists.

"Who're you kidding? There ain't no cops on this stretch, not for miles. Or haven't you noticed? And even if there were, there ain't shit to hide behind out here. We could see them coming for miles."

"Still no reason to go a hundred and nine!"

"Christ... I don't know about you, but I don't want to spend any more time out here than I have to. Sun's only been up an hour, and already it's hotter than hell."

What do you expect? We're practically in the goddamn desert, she said under her breath, sick of his whining and determined not to keep the conversation going. Lucille turned to empty fields on her right, hoping to find solace amidst the weathered fence posts and sun-ravaged soil. Even the faint outline of foot hills and a smattering of trees in the distance did little to console her from the dearth that greeted them.

The deejay continued his alliterate prattle, teeth scraping his every word. He was starting to grate on her nerves something fierce. Almost as much as Revord.

. . .
By late afternoon, they had managed to stumble across some vestiges of civilization, or what would have passed for it around the time of the Great Depression. After he badgered her into buying him a Coke and a pack of cigarettes (I bought the gas, he insisted), they continued their trek. She hoped the little bit of money she had left from selling that last batch of weed was enough to get them there. The big city, that is. Better life. Ample opportunities.

. . .
"Wake up... it's your turn to take the wheel. You've been snoozing most the day and I need to get some shuteye before I drive us off the goddamn road."
Her voice cracked, eyes sticky with sleep. "What time is it?"
"About half past seven," he said, holding his wrist up even though she couldn't see the face of his watch from her vantage.
"Give me a minute, okay?"
"Yeah, yeah..."
She barked. "Just a goddamn minute, all right?"
Revord turned his head and growled, his mouth a tight slit.
Lucille wiped her eyes with a napkin left over from their lunch at Burger King a couple of days previous, then blew her nose in it. Rag in hand, she gestured towards the side of the road. A billow of dust in their wake, he pulled over and hopped out, leaving the car door wide open.
Having exchanged places, Lucille looked up and down the empty stretch of dead highway before pulling out onto the burning asphalt. She hadn't seen a soul since Revord rousted her from her nap, but it would be her luck to hit someone out in the middle of Bumfuck Egypt.
After snubbing out his cigarette, Revord reclined in his seat, closing his eyes. She thought about turning on the radio, but realized that the few stations they could get out here had long since worn out their welcome with her.
The sun was setting, giving the illusion that the temperature was dropping even though it would be a hours before it would be noticeable. To her left, on the blood red horizon, were some browbeaten hills. To the right, far from the highway at the end of a nearly forgotten driveway was an old house, probably vacant for the better part of twenty years. Flanking that side of the road was a sad-looking fence, pieces of barbed wire coiled uselessly around the bases of rusted fence posts. A tinge of loneliness overcame her. Lucille glanced over at Revord, who had fallen under the hypnotic spell of their tires rhythmically slapping the weathered blacktop. She envied the peaceful look on his face, eyes half open, and resisted the urge to reach out and stroke his cheek with the back of her hand. He could be a real asshole, she wouldn't deny it, but even at his worst he made better company than her dad.
Suddenly, she turned to see, up the road a ways, someone standing in the middle of the highway. At first, all she could see was the person's profile, a head of windblown hair, silhouetted against the crimson backdrop. The figure had seen them coming, but made no attempt to move out of harm's way.
"Holy shit, Rev..."
His eyes jerked open and his neck snapped forward. "What? What is it?" he slurred.
"Look, damn it! Up ahead!"
He tried focusing his eyes as she slowed the El Camino to a crawl. A hundred yards ahead of them was the man she was trying to tell him about. Something was amiss. Although Revord was the first to say it, his words reflected her own thoughts. "You think maybe he was in an accident?"
"I don't see a car anywhere. He's doing something. What's he doing?"
"Hell if I know, girl… pull up closer, will you? Once we get the headlights on him, we can see what the problem is. Probably just some hermit, drunk." He looked around, then gestured towards the house she had seen only a minute before, now behind them. "Probably some crazy old hermit who lives in that house up there."
"I don't know," she said, approaching the man at about five miles an hour. "I have a bad feeling about this, I just... oh, God..."
"Jesus," Revord croaked. The creature had come within range of their low beams. Although it was a man in the loosest sense of the term, "creature" seemed so much more fitting; no other word could come close to defining such a wretch. It stood there, more bones than flesh, naked with skin as cracked as the pavement. Its matted, stringy hair waved at them in the soft breeze, obscuring much of its features save for a toothy mouth and two cataract-ridden eyes. With its head tilted awkwardly to one side, the thing stared at the unexpected guests, unblinking.
"What's it got in his hands?" Lucille asked, hoping her boyfriend wouldn't answer.
The creature lifted something towards its face and took a bite just as Revord confirmed her suspicions. "Looks like road kill. A dead rabbit."
Lucille choked as the monster's teeth tore through the already ravaged flesh of the small animal. Even though she couldn't see the details, she could easily imagine the rabbit's blood staining the creature's yellowed teeth. But this ghastly image was quickly forgotten.
"My God, Rev," she screamed, pointing towards the road, although Revord had already seen it as well. Wrapped about the creature's leg was a dangling piece of viscera that trailed behind the creature as it shambled towards the El Camino. It wasn't the gore that shocked her and left her boyfriend dumbfounded, though; it was the fact that the creature's feet were not touching the ground.
"Hit the gas!" Revord suddenly cried out. "Take it out!"
Without thinking twice, Lucille gunned it, riding the yellow line. Hovering over the sandblasted pavement, the thing saw them barreling down on it, but only smiled, chewing all the while. Expecting to feel the thud of the creature as it was dragged beneath their tires, Lucille was surprised by the unexpected sound of tires squealing just as they reached their prey. The car swerved, spinning out of control, but avoiding the touch of the feasting monster altogether. Revord panicked, grabbing the wheel, but was thrown to one side just as the vehicle flipped, nose spiraling towards the ditch on the right hand side of the highway. Their sudden stop was orchestrated by the sound of breaking glass, and the atonal squeal of metal against metal. Lucille's chest slammed against the steering wheel, leaving her gasping for air.
She tried crying out for Revord, but found her lungs unaccommodating. Shaking, every little effort a painful endeavor, she reached out for him, but found only his seat where he should have been. Reluctantly, Lucille opened her eyes and turned. Her boyfriend's shoulders were pressed up against the roof, his face scraping the leather interior. Pinning him to the displaced car seat was one of the iron fence posts, a string of tarnished barbed wire tying it to another that lay on the smashed hood like an unholy umbilical cord. There was no movement from him save for a string of blood and saliva that trailed from his broken countenance to the dashboard.
Tears filled Lucille's eyes, as much from fear as from her boyfriend's death. She didn't know how long she sat there, in shock, unable to untangle herself from her seat belt. Seconds, maybe minutes later, she was startled by the creature, standing just outside the passenger door. Reaching through the ruptured window with a gnarled hand, a gaping wound on its palm, the thing prodded the boy's corpse. Gripping Revord's bloodied flannel shirt, its hand worked its way up, slowly, like a spider, until it came in contact with the bare flesh of the dead boy's face, leaving a bloody smear in its wake. As it wrapped its spindly fingers around her boyfriend's half-open mouth, the corpse suddenly jerked, startling Lucille. Revord's eyelids fluttered. Then, the corpse tried to speak.
Lucille cried out, adrenaline giving her the means to tear herself free from the snagged seat belt and throw herself out of the car. She scampered up the side of the shallow ditch on all fours, bare knees scoured by the warm gravel, unable to look back. Reaching the edge of the broken pavement, she forced herself to her feet and looked back. The creature was admiring its handiwork, the boy's tormented cries music to its ears. Ignoring the ghastly sounds issuing from the previously dead body, Lucille ran towards the only sign of sanctuary for miles in any direction: The old farmhouse.

. . .
Holding aloft the oil lamp he had found in the other room, Joel stood before the bloody tableau trying to piece together a reasonable explanation, when he heard the squeal of tires in the distance, followed by a crash and the groan of twisted metal. Prying his eyes away from the corpse, he ran for the window, but his view of the outside was obscured. He tried wiping his glasses, but realized it was dust caked on the outside of the bedroom window.
Joel could see headlights, unmoving, hitting the ground at an awkward angle about a quarter of a mile away. He cursed the fates: He had stopped by the house hoping to get some help, and it looked like he had found someone in a worse position than himself—if they were even still alive.
Setting down the lit oil lamp, Joel ran for the back door where he had let himself in not more than ten minutes before. Rushing outside, he was accosted by a cloud of dust carried by a gust of wind. Eyes tearing, he stumbled blindly until he bumped into the open car door of his Volkswagen Bug, tapping a not-so-hilarity-ensuing blow to his funny bone. Pulling a rag out of his pocket, he wiped first his eyes, then his eyeglasses. Now prepared for nature's indifference to his comfort and well-being, Joel made his way down the driveway, the side of his free hand resting against his brow.
He was barely a stone's throw away from the house when he noticed the figure—a young woman—running towards him, crying. Realizing that she hadn't seen him, Joel offered a reluctant wave, trying to catch her attention, but his efforts went unnoticed. She was sprinting in a blind panic, her eyes torn between the accident behind her and the house nearby.
"Everything all right?" he shouted, realizing much to late just how stupid he sounded. Seeing Joel for the first time, a brief flash in the dim landscape, her eyes widened. Her desperate sobs became intelligible "help me"s as Joel went to meet her half way.
"He's after me!" the young woman insisted as she grabbed Joel by the dusty shirtsleeves of his polo shirt.
"Who's after you?"
She looked behind her, towards the wrecked vehicle. Her cries became pleading whispers. "I… don't know who he is, damn it. You've got to help me. Revord is dead. I'm sure he was dead, until..."
Joel tried not to sound annoyed, having enough problems of his own. "Slow down. You're not making any sense. Now who is Revord?"
"My... my boyfriend," she said, voice cracking. "Was, anyway. I tried to hit him, but the car swerved. He was eating a dead rabbit. It looked like a rabbit."
Joel furrowed his brow, still distracted by what he had found within the old house. "Your boyfriend Revord was eating a dead rabbit, so you tried to hit him?"
"No!" she screamed, yanking her hand away. "This guy, this freak, was standing in the highway, eating a dead rabbit." She took a deep breath. "We saw him, his feet weren't touching the ground. We tried to hit him, but the car swerved just before... and then..."
"Wait a minute," he said incredulously, "just what do you mean when you say his feet weren't touching the ground."
"I mean, he was walking, but his feet never touched the ground! That's what I mean."
"I think you may have hit your head. You better have me..." Inadvertently looking over her shoulder, Joel did a double take. "Uhm… is that the guy you tried to hit? I assume it's not Revord."
The young woman spun around, and yelled, "Fuck!" She grabbed Joel by the wrist, almost wrenching his arm out of its socket, pulling him towards the house. He conceded, now wondering if the man that was responsible for the car accident was the one who was responsible for the dead body he had found inside.
The two ran through the back door; before Joel could suggest it, the luckier of the two accident victims secured the door behind them with a two-by-four used to bolt the door from the inside. Looking around, she saw the bedroom off to one side and made a beeline for it. "Uhm… I don't think you want to go in there…" he warned her, a little too late... not that she was listening
He followed her in, and found her standing just within the door, staring at the sight he had discovered not long before. Her eyes first caught sight of the old woman, lying on her side clutching a long knife with one hand, its blade buried in the flesh between two ribs, and a dog-eared Bible in the other. Bundled up in a loose fitting muumuu, the flesh of her exposed face and hands sliding to the floor where they formed gelatinous pools. The stench was foul, almost unbearable; Joel had been surprised by the absence of flies, a fact that still puzzled him.
The young woman then noticed the scattered remains of fish bones, desiccated bread crusts and hardened fecal matter strewn across the floor. Near the far wall was a discarded chain and set of makeshift manacles, made from old car parts. As her eyes trailed upwards, she saw the streaks of dried blood that had worked their way down from two railroad spikes that had been hammered into the wall about four feet apart at chest level. As she took in the ghastly sights, Joel leaned over to inspect a wooden bucket, a quarter full, sitting near the corpse. He ran his finger across the surface then brought it to his nose. Wine, if he had to venture a guess, on the verge of turning to vinegar.
"Oh my God…" She turned towards him, eyes begging for answers.
Joel shook his head, getting back to his feet. "Don't look at me. I just stumbled across this myself. I was taking some rock samples in the hills over there," he said, throwing his thumb over his shoulder, "when my car started overheating. I stopped here for some shade when I found the door open. I came in, and, well," he said, then gesturing towards the room's horrifying secrets. "Have you ever seen The Hills Have Eyes? Or The Texas Chainsaw..."
He was rudely interrupted by a scream that pierced the night sky. In unison, they ran towards the room's single window; Joel pried it open, still unable to see past the grime.
"That wasn't him," he said, referring to the lanky figure that was walking down the drive. "It came from your wrecked car."
"It was Revord," she said softly, eyes glazing over.
"I guess he isn't dead after all."
"He is. There's… a fencepost through him."
"Well apparently, he's still alive, but obviously none too happy about it."
"He's dead," she insisted. "At least he was until that… that thing touched him."
Joel sighed, turning back towards the mockery of a man walking down the long drive, towards the house. "Dead men don't scream. He can't last long, though, if what you say about his condition is true." He paused. "Sorry. Unfortunately, there's no phone here, and my car won't start…"
"Your car!" she said, grabbing him and dragging him out of the room. "You've got to try."
"I'm telling you, it's overheated."
"Can't we put some water in the car, and just get the hell out of here?"
"It's a Volkswagen Bug, not a..."
"Where's your keys?" she shouted. "We can't stay here."
Reluctantly, Joel fished out his key ring. Before he could he point out his car key, she grabbed them from his hand and raced towards the back door, fumbling with the board barring their way. He followed her, kicking the doorjamb in frustration as he passed.
The young woman hopped in the driver's seat and tried turning over the engine, which met with little success. Joel leaned against the open door, refusing to succumb to her fears. The man she almost hit was probably just some poor soul the old woman kept chained up against his will, an illegitimate son maybe? Undoubtedly brain damaged. Although he had no evidence, he had the feeling the widow killed herself, maybe over guilt, leaving her aged, probably retarded offspring to die of malnutrition or dehydration. Instead, he broke free, wandered onto the highway, and into the path of two kids on a road trip. The boy was hurt badly, and the young woman suffered a serious bump on the noggin. She fled the scene of the accident, not quite in her right mind, into his arms. And now...
"I told you it's dead. I don't know much about cars, but I know enough to realize that it's not going to take us anywhere right now."
She slammed the steering wheel, cursing. Without removing the keys from the ignition, she leapt out of the Bug and headed for the back of the cab. Joel slammed the car door, too exasperated to retrieve his keys and turn off the headlights. "Listen. I think you need to sit down and take a deep breath. You've been in a serious accident. Your boyfriend is probably dead. Just in case, we'll walk over to your car and..."
"No," she screamed, "We've got to lock ourselves up in here!"
Joel ran his fingers through his dark, curly hair, a groan escaping his throat. "Look… the guy is probably harmless. He's just some old nut who was starving to death, who was looking for food and stumbled across a dead rabbit that failed to outrun a semi." Joel was about to continue his explanation when he was distracted by something on his periphery. He turned, seeing the young woman's alleged pursuer up close and personal for the first time, caught in the headlights of his VW Bug.
The creature shuffled towards him, bony arms outstretched. A mane of unkempt hair and sparse whiskers framed its ghastly countenance; eyes bleached white, yellow teeth and receding gums exposed by a thin-lipped grin that could only be the results of lockjaw. The creature stood naked, its dirty flesh displaying a ghastly pallor beset with bruise-like marks and blood-encrusted wounds. The thing moved silently, no sounds coming from the gravel beneath its feet. Joel looked down, and realized-much to his amazement and inevitable chagrin-that the young woman had not been hallucinating after all, at least in regards to the man's foothold on the laws of gravity.
Joel bolted for the door, pushing the young woman aside as he threw the it shut and locked it. Mind racing a mile a minute, he retrieved the oil lamp from the bedroom and began looking around the ramshackle house. "It's… that thing, isn't it?" the girl bellowed, too scared to say, "I told you so."
"I'd say it was some sort of sick joke, if I hadn't seen it myself."
"Is that… I mean, is he..?" she stuttered, reaching uncomfortably for the small crucifix around her neck.
"You've got to be kidding, right?" he asked, knowing just who it was to whom she was referring.
"I mean, his feet, and what he did to Revord, and those holes in his hands…"
"Don't even go there," Joel said, pushing his glasses up his nose before walking towards a small fireplace on the other side of the room. "Granted, I can't explain how he does that thing with his feet, but we can't jump to paranoid, superstitious conclusions." Even as he spoke, he found it difficult to swallow his own skepticism.
She watched him as he reached for an old poker leaning against the wall, and was about to ask him his name when they heard the terrible clawing at the door. The young woman stiffened, backing away from the only thing separating them from the mockery outside.
Joel lifted the poker defensively. "I don't care who or what it is, if it's made of flesh, it can die. Some things are a given."
"I think it's already dead," she said, turning towards him.
Suddenly and without provocation, the sonance of scratching and the splintering of pine ceased. They waited, listening, hearing only the sound of their own heartbeats. After several minutes of disquieting silence, the young woman asked the man ten years her elder, "You think he left? You think he's going to leave us alone."
"No, I don't. Sorry."
"I was afraid you'd say that."
Without warning, they heard a shriek from the bedroom. Eyes diverted from one door to another, the two uninvited guests held their breaths. Slowly, they began to walk towards the door, Joel in front, the blackened poker held before him like a sword. The weathered floorboards creaked underfoot, announcing their approach. The agonizing cries coming from the other room had deteriorated into an indescribable wheezing. "Hold this," Joel said, handing the kerosene lamp to the young woman as they reached the bedroom door. With the poker held high over his head, Joel reached for the tarnished brass knob and threw open the door.
The creature stood not six feet from them, hovering over the rotting corpse, studying it, head cocked to one side. The old woman's remains were convulsing. Twitching. The hellish sounds coming from her throat caused Joel to gag.
The creature turned to look at them, and the young woman panicked. Pushing Joel out of the way, she threw the oil lamp at the monstrosity that had climbed in through the open window, trying to get to them. It bounced of his prominent ribcage and hit the floor; both the base and the glass chimney shattered on impact, sending glass shards in every direction. The kerosene splashed across the shuddering corpse as well as the legs of the grinning fiend, igniting instantly. The last thing Joel saw before shutting the door was the monstrosity looking down at the flames licking at its filth-encrusted legs, a sincere look of curiosity twinkling in its cataract-ridden eyes.
Joel ran out of the glorified shack, hearing the young woman's footfalls directly behind his own. He jumped in his Bug, finding the keys still in the ignition, and tried to start it as she instinctively hopped into the unlocked passenger's side. Neither one wasted any time in locking their doors and rolling up the windows. With each failed attempt, he would look out the window, expecting to see the corpse amble out of the door, a sardonic smile smeared across its face.
After the fourth failed attempt, Joel noticed the reflection of the fire on his rear view mirror. The house had ignited like a tinderbox, the flames working their way through the cracks between the boards. "We're too close!" Joel shouted, unlocking his emergency brake and jumping out of the car. Once the young woman saw him pushing the car, she followed suit, fighting the ruts marring the drive. When the vehicle was at least forty feet away, he hopped back in, securing the door behind him, his guest doing the same
The young woman twisted in her seat, looking back at the flames that were already consuming the east end of the small house. He tried one last time then gave up, sharing in the spectacle.
"What's your name?"
"Lucille."
"Well, Lucille, we better start thinking about what we're going to tell the authorities, hadn't we."
She took a deep breath. "Why tell them at all?"
Joel jerked his head towards the highway. "Apparently, you forgot about your boyfriend back there."
Just as she was about to give a confession about the stolen car, the back door of the burning farmhouse drifted open. Out stepped the creature that had followed them in, all of his features obscured by flames; it was even impossible to tell if his feet were touching the ground, through the smoke and fire. Both occupants of the car stiffened, but instead of walking towards them, the creature started to amble towards for the hills that lay on the horizon, away from the highway. Slowly, Joel unlocked his door and stepped out, never taking his eyes of the thing that defied all reason. At first, Lucille stayed glued to her seat, but once her boyfriend's murderer had put several hundred yards between them, she stepped out herself.
"We definitely can't tell the police everything. We'll be locked up for certain."
A gust of hot air hitting her face, Lucille looked over at the man and asked, "Do you believe in God?" She fiddled with her necklace.
"Well, I'm Jewish, if that answers your question."
"Jews don't believe in Christ, right? After all this, are you still a Jew?"
Joel squinted, the light from the flames hurting his eyes. "Don't be stupid. After this, I couldn't be anything but an atheist. If only out of spite," he confessed, watching the diminishing ember as it was quickly swallowed up by the horizon.

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