Lamar picked up his pace whistling, the tune of ‘Whistle While You Work,’ filled the air as he walked away from the pumper’s house; his chest puffed out with satisfaction at his self-assigned task so far. These people need to die, he thought, I am doing a service to humanity. He bounced on the balls of his feet, feeling lighter than air, the pumper forgotten. Hell, I ain’t felt this good since I’s knee-high to a grasshopper, he thought, happily pulling himself into his truck.
Lamar reached into his back pocket for his phone, then he remembered throwing it into the floorboard of the truck, leaning across the seat to pluck it from the passenger floor mat, he felt cold steel bite into his side and looked down to see the wrench laying in the passenger seat. “Well, look a here, I forgot all about you, I got a job for you, yes sir!” He said with a chuckle. Raising up to a sitting position; his fingers lightly tapped the display on his phone, after a few minutes a huge grin spread across Lamar’s transformed face as the next address on his list popped up on the screen. “Gotcha.” He said as he tossed his phone, smiling at the clinking sound it made, as it struck the weapon.
The first of three on his list inspired rage to replace his joviality. Lamar thought back to the first time he met the roustabout. Lamar usually dug ditches and did maintenance work, but a friend of his told him about the oil company coming into the area hiring a bunch of oilfield workers.
“Big money,” his friend told him, “you won’t need to worry about anything for a long time.”
Lamar laughed, “I don’t know nothin’ bout oilfield work. I ain’t never done that kind of work. Why’d they hire me?”
“It doesn’t matter,” his friend said, “it says here, no experience necessary, they train you.”
He thought about it for a full week before he went in to fill out the application. His friend seemed to be right, they sent him right back to talk to the supervisor and he got the job on the spot. Man, they really must be hard up for help. He thought as he left the temporary trailer that housed the office for the oil company.
His first day on the job went ok, he shadowed another roustabout. The work seemed easy enough, just more maintenance, only this time on an oil rig instead of some other machine. The Texas heat drained him, but the same heat shined down on him digging ditches. The second day is when he met the other three, the rest of the team. The three remaining on his list.
Like every good click, one stood out as the leader, the other two reminded Lamar of ‘Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dumb,’ agreeing with everything the leader said, falling right into whatever he decided. The leader’s house is where Lamar headed as he thought back on his second day of work, ten-years-ago.
“Well what have we got here? How’s this old fart going to help us?” The leader asked the roustabout who trained Lamar.
“You guys have been belly aching for an extra hand, now you got one.” His trainer told the leader.
The trainer turned to Lamar, “Just do what they tell you to do and you’ll be fine. You know how to do all of the work now.”
Before Lamar could put a thought together in his head, the man was gone. Lamar looked at the three roustabouts, this is going to be one helluva ride, he thought.
Lamar thought back on the abuse he suffered from those three pricks daily and a huge grin spread across his once grizzled face, now they’ll get a taste of my abuse, they’re ‘bout to meet Big Bertha. Lamar chuckled at the name he’d christened the big wrench, and he glanced at the weapon and gave it a pat. “You’re gonna do a fine job Bertha, yes you are.”
Lamar looked at the dilapidated old trailer with surprise, so the leader of the little group lives in squalor, he thought with satisfaction. Lamar’s grip on Bertha tightened, he remembered the feeling of trepidation he got from this slime-ball that first day.
“Just do what they tell you to do and you’ll be fine,” Lamar mocked the training roustabout as he glared at the old trailer, his grip tightening harder on Bertha. The trainer had no idea what horrors the three men standing in front of them were going to put him through that day. Lamar felt a new energy surge through him as he remembered the look on the leader’s face when the trainer’s truck disappeared around the curve spitting dust in its wake.
“Well now, I imagine we can find plenty for this old fart to do, what do you think guys?”
“Oh yeah.” Said Tweedle Dee.
“Yep.” Tweedle Dumb said.
The leader came over and stood toe to toe with Lamar, his breath smelled of stale cigarettes and beer, and that distinct, sour BO smell of onion and hamburgers wafted up his nose. Lamar’s stomach churned. He loved his beer, sure, but this smelled like it was in the second round back up from the asshole’s stomach.
“These are long days out here, sometimes we need a little fun. It gets a little old being around all men all day, right fellas?”
“Yeah, yeah.” The two idiots chimed in unison with excited laughter that made Lamar nervous.
“I ain’t no woman.” Lamar spat out angrily.
“No, not right this minute, but we can sure make you look like a lady, well not a lady exactly.” He said, shooting a little side smirk to his two lackeys, and they laughed on queue.
“What’re you talkin’ ‘bout makin’ me look like a lady?” Lamar felt panic churn in his belly as bile rose up, burning his esophagus, Lamar swallowed the vile acid, choking on the stinging bitterness.
Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dumb rushed him and he turned to run, but stumbled over his own feet and went down face first. They caught him under his arms, and no match for the two of them, he finally gave up and stopped fighting as they drug him behind the pump.
They flipped him over and held him down while the leader stripped him down to his skivvies and forced him into a dress. Tweedle Dee and Tweedle dumb propped his struggling form up against the base of the pump held him there while the leader painted his face up like a woman. Where did they get make-up and a damn dress? What kind of sick shit is this? Lamar’s mind struggled to understand as violently as his body fought his assailants.
Lamar stood quietly remembering, quietly simmering, while his body transformed yet again; but this time, the transformation took away all of Lamar’s physical characteristics. He was no longer Lamar P. Squatlow, a savage hunger for revenge, the only thing remaining along with a vivid picture of his targets. The monster knew who to kill and he knew why he needed them dead.
The trailer house stood silent and dark. The thing that used to be Lamar smelled his victim, the sweet smell of whiskey paired with the pungent smell of the burger and onion stench of body odor made its way up the nostrils of the monster whose body once held a timid old man. The grip on Bertha tightened yet again, but the nails on the hand holding the steel were now claws, long and sharp.
The monster’s nostrils flared as the scent of his victim registered in his mind. A low growl emitted from his throat, his mouth watering in anticipation of the feast awaiting him. He moved with speed, impossible to discern with the human eye; he made it through the window and in front of his victim within mere seconds.
“What the hell?” The leader stared at the monster in disbelief, as horror filled his soul. The leader looked closer at the monster’s eyes and for a split second, just before Bertha cracked open his skull, he knew his killer. The monster tossed Bertha aside and caught the leader before he hit the ground, his hunger for blood so strong, his mouth covered the cracked skull, and he fed.
The monster made quick work of the followers, Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dumb, as Lamar referred to them. The bodies looked as if a wild animal shredded them, but the odd thing, the thing that had the police in a tither? None of the bodies had a drop of blood left in them, they were eaten alive, and drained of blood. The medical examiner said it looked as if a werewolf and vampire had dinner together.
Lamar P. Squatlow disappeared, but no one gave a damn. He was just a timid old man, no use to anyone, a drunk.