The Physiology of Love and Frogs Page 4

  Chapter 11

  As Chris leans in, I think, good, this is over. The evil fucking thing is dead.

  Even as the flames cause the blood around Madeline’s body to crackle, and as hair roasts beneath that open flame, I feel fine. No amount of unintentional horror can possibly worsen the situation. Even when the thing manages to finally work the needle out of its leg, I think it won’t be a problem. That I’d done enough damage. That it’s screwed. Flames make contact with the creature and one of its arms instantly shrivels like a match stick, consumed by the fire.

  It’s over, I tell myself, knowing the frog can’t deal with this. But then the thing surges again, moving with more dexterity than it had just moments prior,

  How can this be?

  Screaming, Chris falls backward as the thing leaps toward him, moving faster than it had before but not as quickly as it did when all of this started. Its eye looked deflated but it seems to be using its leg again, applying pressure as it jumps. That shriveled front appendage seems to affect it because the thing no longer grips the scalpel, but it more than makes up for its lack of weaponry with sheer ferocity.

  Latching onto Chris’ arm, to starts biting and chewing before releasing and bounding again, this time aiming for his neck. Inwardly, I hope someone else will help him, that Mickey will finally feel that this is the time to act, but he doesn’t. No one does. The thing jumps abnormally high, colliding with Chris’s neck and latching on, using his shoulder as a perch as it grinds its mouth back and forth. Chris fights to knock it loose, but nothing seems to help.

  Finally, a portion of the right-side of his neck gives and the thing tumbles as huge lesion appears. Chris stumbles and drops his torch and the creature takes advantage, moving in for the kill.

  In only a few short minutes it’s scooping his eye out with its good arm, putting it into its mouth and chewing. Then it roars again.

  By now, I know that I’m a goner. There’s no way I can beat it. Blood loss coupled with fact that the thing actually seems to be getting better tells me that I’m done for. As he thing turns back toward Madeline, I kept thinking that this is the end, and when I notice the skin on its withered arm start to peel away and a minute arm start to take its place, I know that this is going to end badly. It moves to retrieve the scalpel, awkwardly holding it as it slowly teetering my way, grinning with teeth showing as it scoots.

  Not that I’m about to give up. Not by a longshot. I lift my arm as it approaches and even manage to shoot it a smile and utter a few words.

  “Coming back for more, huh? Well bring it, pussy!”

  I hold my fist in front of my face as it bypasses my feet and steps closer, actually standing on one of my legs as it drives the scalpel deep into the top of my fist and renders it useless. As my arm dangles and falls, it traces the blade across my palm, revealing bone beneath skin.

  This is it, I tell myself. And it is.

  Hopefully Tammy will find a way out. Hopefully she’ll save herself. Hopefully she’ll tell my mom I was thinking about her, too. Hopefully…

  “What in the hell?” someone calls from across the room in a voice I don’t recognize.

  Turning my head, I notice the thing stop what it’s doing and look as well, facing the stranger by the door. Standing there with a gun in hand is a man dressed in black from head to toe.

  They’d heard us, I’d later find out, someone noticing the commotion and thinking it some type of student-on-student violence before peering through the tiny portal on the door. Noticing the bodies, they called the police.

  SWAT; I recognize the outfit from television. God, it feels so glad to see them.

  The thing, seemingly angered by this outcome, jabs the scalpel into my stomach and pulls it to the side when something hits both it and me. Whatever it is feels like a hammer and causes my eyes to water and my skin to burn. The creature smashes into my gut as something that looks like a Hackensack knocks it off-balance before it tries to right itself and move.

  Jumping, it clears my body altogether before landing beside Mr. Mullens. It looks at him for a second too, leering, and then its back explodes, a bullet tearing through its center and exiting its stomach, knocking it flat.

  Afterward, things grow cloudy, rolling in like fog, as I notice motion and men in strange plastic hoods gathering around me. Someone walks past and another person joins them, then another before one places a queer-looking bag over the thing’s body while saying something like “lycanthrope in a frog?” Words seem to sprout to my left, forming questions. “Can you breathe?” joins “Can you move your fingers?” and “Stay with me,” as hands start applying pressure to my wounds.

  “You have to leave that alone,” I hear someone else say, apparently noticing me tinkering with that still-protruding scalpel with what remained of my hand,

  “Am I going to die?” I ask, wondering how bad it is. It has to be bad, doesn’t it? Sure it is.

  “No. In a few days you’ll be right as rain.”

  I think I close my eyes afterward, because the next thing I know I’m floating, lying on my side as I’m carried toward the door. Tammy is standing there, looking at me with tears in her eyes as she grips something in her hands.

  The Bear. The heart-eyed bear.

  “I think I love you, you goon,” I hear her say as she blows me a kiss.

  Guess I was right about the bear, I think, knowing it had indeed been the perfect gift and that we’d have one hell of a story to tell after this.

  Thanks, Dad.

  Fin

  Thanks for reading my story. I’ve always loved writing. When I was in the 3rd grade, I wrote a story about a rooster who woke up the neighbors from the rooster’s point-of-view, detailing how he was so proud of his work. The last image he saw was of his favorite human and the axe he was carrying. I like monsters and hauntings and anything eclectic. Many great voices add to my understanding of the world and I simply add my ideas to the noise. Daily, there are driving forces in life and menageries of images cluttering the thinking mind. I just try to put them on paper, no matter the thought.

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