Scary Stories (2)

Animal Control

I work as an animal control officer in the North Texas area. It wasn't the job I had in mind when I graduated with my Bio degree, but then again I'm not really sure what I had in mind. The pay is better than any of the entry level lab tech jobs in the area, and it kept me working with animals. That's important considering I want to apply to Vet school. Experience can be that dividing factor that separates you from a horde of highly-qualified, highly-intelligent hopefuls that would do anything for a spot in the next freshmen class.
That said, I admit to feeling overqualified for my position, and it leaves me feeling as if I have something to prove to the world. There are times when I want to shout "I have a degree! I worked hard, I made great grades!" These times seem to mostly coincide with the more demeaning aspects of my job. For example, when I find myself preparing to peel the meaty, smudged remains of an opossum from the road. With a little effort, I swallow my pride, hold my breath, and manage to deprive some poor buzzard of a decent meal.
The key to retaining my sanity has been daydreaming. Since a large portion of my job revolves around service calls for the public, I spend a large portion of my day behind the wheel. This has provided me with an excellent setting for daydreaming. When the morning rush of requests subsides just enough to afford a good half hour of quiet, I head towards one of the several nature preserves sprinkled throughout the city. The routine is always the same. I gently nudge the truck over a curb, center my wheels on the haphazard trail leading into the woods, and guide my truck and whatever inhabitants I've picked up that morning towards my favorite spot (which happens to be next to an old forgotten cemetery).
A couple of my coworkers had first shown me the place. It's one of our release points, where we take the raccoons, opossums, and squirrels desperate enough to gamble with a box trap and lose. I can only imagine what the ecosystem is like in this little remnant of wilderness nestled between the parking garages and multi-story buildings of civilization. It's steadily fed by a city of residents silly enough to believe they might one day collectively trap every single member of the urban wildlife. Animals that, simply put, evolved to coexist with humans and put to use the plethora of wasted food one can find in your average garbage bin. This is what my older coworkers call "job security."
The cemetery had nothing to do with making the place my daydreaming getaway. In Texas, you'll find places like these everywhere, complete with their very own historical marker. If anything, the cemetery was a blemish on an otherwise perfect, truck-accessible oasis. On this particular day, I had just slid from the cab and started for the cages of the truck. The day was nothing special, humid and stale. It was when I first started reaching to unlock the cages that I heard the whispering.
Interspersed throughout the whispering were giggles. The giggles were a stark contrast to the hushed, almost angry inflection of this whispering, but it was apparent that both were coming from the same source. Looking around, I tried to make out the origin of the sounds. Failing to identify my v**** from my current vantage point, I started around the rear of the truck. On the other side was the cemetery, currently blocked from view by the enormity of the truck. It seemed almost too easy, too cliché. Ghostly whispering coming from a cemetery. I swung around the rear. There sat the little cemetery, undisturbed and if anything, looking less imposing than ever. What tombstones remained jutted from the ground like neglected teeth, and the chain-link fence that surrounded them sat motionless in the muggy summer air.
I strained my ears to hear the whispering more clearly. I couldn't pinpoint where it was coming from, but I knew it had to be close. I couldn't make out the words, and it sounded as though the person speaking was trying to talk to me through a wall.
Almost like hearing a radio being played loudly through the closed windows of a car.
I instinctively shot a glance towards the cab of the truck. Now on the passenger side of the cab, having made my way around to get a clear view of the cemetery, I directed my gaze to the passenger window. From my current angle at the rear of the truck, all I could make out was a bare arm resting on the sill behind the tinted glass of the cab. My pulse quickened, and I felt my nerves begin to fray as a series of rapid impulses clouded my brain.
Scream.
Run.
Look-Away.
Don't Look-Away.
Call for Help.
I slowly reached to my belt, feeling for the smooth plastic of the walkie-talkie that connected me to the shelter and, by proxy, the police. There had been rumors of homeless people using the area to congregate, sleep, do drugs, and whatever else homeless people find themselves doing, and I wasn't feeling very sociable. I brought the walkie up to my mouth, and began to push in the talk button on the side. Before I could, a loud bang to my left sent the walkie flying and broke my previously unyielding gaze on the cab. It was one of the truck's cages, and I watched as the solid plastic door concealing the cage began to rattle with each successive hit from within. A quick mental checklist of my morning collection yielded two opossums and a squirrel, and whatever was behind that cage door had to be one of them.
The banging of the cage gave way to a horrible screech. Indescribable in its agony, it was beyond animalistic. Simultaneously pathetic and terrifying, it was as if whatever animal inside was beyond being tortured to death. I stumbled backwards from the cab, absent-mindedly kicking the walkie into the grass behind me.
Looking back towards the passenger window, I saw her face. Even behind the tinted glass, I couldn't help but notice how pale she was. Practically leaning into the window now, her hands pressed against the clear barrier. She had an almost translucent nature to her skin. Red shoulder-length hair framed her pale face. Her mouth was twisted upwards into a ridiculous grin. It was not the grin of a human, the proportions were all wrong. It was as if I were staring at a living caricature. And as I felt my heart speed up, it seemed as though the smile grew larger. Swallowing her face up, eating into the area where her cheeks should be. Larger and larger until just teeth and black, and the increasingly pinched lids of her eyes as her cheekbones pushed higher and higher to accommodate a smile that will never leave my subconscious.
When I snapped awake, it had been a full hour from when I originally popped the curb to my mid-day hideaway. I was sitting behind the wheel of the truck, and I pulled myself upwards towards it. My sweaty back peeled off the leather of the seat, and for a few wonderful seconds I remembered nothing. Then, without warning, a barrage of memories flooded my mind. Visions of rattling cages, screaming animals, and a smile to end all smiles. I shuddered, thankful that it was just a nightmare. I slid from the cab, and began opening the cage doors. The cool air escaping the air-conditioned cages licked at my face. With a little urging, I watched as two opossums and one very impatient squirrel darted for the nearest line of trees. Wherever they were going, I'm sure it was better than the dark, shaky bowels of an animal services truck.
Locking the cages shut, I started making my way towards the driver's side door when I heard it.
Whispering.
I felt my lungs seize their contents, depriving me of breathing. My voice buckled, and I heard myself whimper. The horrific images of my nightmare came roaring back, and my body became as still as the jagged little tombstones that littered the adjacent cemetery. The whispering came again. Unlike the whispering of my dream, this was coming in bursts. Working up every single ounce of courage within my body, I slowly turned towards the source of the sound.
There, sitting in a patch of weeds just a few feet from me, sat my walkie.