American Monsters. Derek Landy
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she said. “If he had a trapdoor there, he could have one anywhere.”
Clarissa’s eyes widened, and she jumped on to the bed. “Quick!” she cried.
Amber held up a hand to calm her. “That’s okay,” she said. “You stay there. I’ll find a way out.”
“What about your friend?” Clarissa asked. “Call him!”
“My phone’s in my room,” Amber said. “But don’t worry – I’ll get us out of this.”
Stepping carefully, Amber went back to the hidden door. Now that she was this close, she could see the join.
“Can you open it?” Clarissa asked.
“Don’t know yet.”
“There must be some way to open it.”
“Not necessarily,” Amber said. She pressed her hands against the wall beside the door, fingertips probing the wallpaper. “Ah,” she said.
“What?” Clarissa asked. “What is it?”
Amber jabbed at the wallpaper with rigid fingers, poking a hole through it. She tore it back, revealing a section cut out of the wall. She peered through.
“What’s in there?” Clarissa asked. “What can you see?”
“Metal,” Amber said. “Springs. Hinges.”
“Is there a button?”
“I think so. At the very back.”
Amber put her arm through. There was plenty of space to move within the wall – the entire section seemed to be pretty much hollow. She stretched her arm out straight, her shoulder jammed into the hole and her face pressed up against the wall.
“Almost got it,” she said, her fingers brushing something metal. She grabbed it. It moved. “There,” she said, and pulled.
There was a sound like heavy swords clashing, and pain seized hold of her arm and wouldn’t let go, and Amber screamed.
Clarissa was at her side in an instant, but Amber barely recognised her, such was the agony and the panic that stabbed through her mind. Clarissa was shouting and trying to pull Amber’s arm free, but whatever had her held her tight and wouldn’t let go.
Clarissa ran back, out of view, and Amber’s demon-self whispered in her ear.
“This is it,” she said. “The day you die. Squealing like a pig, bleeding to death. Has your arm been chopped off? Feels like it has.”
“Get away from me!” Amber roared, and her demon-self was gone and Clarissa was there, holding a lamp. She tore off the shade, smashed the bulb, and rammed it, again and again, into the wall next to Amber’s arm. The cheap wood started to give way.
Amber stopped screaming. Her bottom lip trembled violently. She wanted to puke and pass out.
Clarissa kept ramming the lamp into the wall, widening the hole that Amber had put her arm through. Clarissa dropped the lamp.
“We’re gonna pull your arm out,” she said. “You hear me?”
“No,” said Amber, “no, no, no …”
Clarissa reached through, took hold of something, easing the pressure off Amber’s arm.
“Jesus,” Clarissa said. “I think it’s a bear trap.”
The bear trap, or whatever it was, jarred against the opening and Amber cried out again, but Clarissa didn’t stop, and together they pulled the trap from the wall. Amber sank to her knees and Clarissa laid the trap on the floor, its metal teeth holding Amber’s arm tight. There was blood. A lot of it.
“You’re gonna be okay,” said Clarissa. “You’re gonna be … Christ … you’re gonna be okay.”
“You’re going to die like a pig,” said Amber’s demon-self, standing behind Clarissa. “And you’re going to leak all over this fine carpet while you’re at it. I hope you’re happy, young lady.” She laughed. “When your parents hear that this is how you died, they are going to be so unimpressed.”
Amber snarled.
“Clarissa,” she said. “Towels.”
“What?”
“Towels. Soak them. Hot water. Go. Now.”
Clarissa nodded, leaped up and ran to the bathroom, and Amber shifted.
Still snarling, she brought her knee in to brace the bottom of the bear trap, and she gripped the upper teeth with her good hand. Growling at the pain, she pulled the jaws apart, and withdrew her arm. She let the jaws snap closed again, and reverted before Clarissa came out of the bathroom.
“Oh my God!” Clarissa said. “You did it! How did you do it? Jesus!”
Amber sat back against the wall, sweating profusely and clutching her arm.
“Can you stand?” Clarissa asked. “Can you make it to the bed?”
Amber nodded, and Clarissa helped her up. They were halfway to the bed when the hidden door opened behind them, and two men came through.
The first one wore the surgical mask with the snarling mouth drawn on it. He’d cut a hole between the teeth, though, and from this his tongue darted like a pink, slippery rodent that Amber immediately wanted to pound, whack-a-mole style. He held a chainsaw. Behind him came the Catching Z’s manager. He was grinning.
“Let us go!” Clarissa shouted to them. “You nearly killed her! Let us go!”
The nutcase in the mask tittered, and yanked on the cord. The chainsaw’s sudden roar made Clarissa scream, but instead of jumping back she ran at them, flailing.
The nutcase stumbled backwards, cursing under his mask, but the manager swung a punch that sent Clarissa tumbling over the bed. They turned their attentions to Amber, and Amber shifted.
The pain subsided and she could move her hand again. She snarled at the nutcase, watching his eyes widen over his mask. The manager looked like he might cry.
“You picked the wrong girls tonight,” Amber said, and lunged.
The nutcase in the surgical mask tried to use the chainsaw to keep her away, but she punched him with her good fist, square in the chest. He flew backwards, swinging the chainsaw wide. Amber ducked. The manager wasn’t so fast. The chainsaw bar hardly grazed his neck, but it was enough to cut through to the meat. Blood splattered and the chainsaw fell and sputtered out and the manager stumbled against the wall, hands at his neck, his eyes open wide in shock. His legs gave out and he slid down to the floor and died with a last spurt of blood and a gurgle.
The nutcase in the surgical mask bolted out of the door. She stopped herself from going after him, turning instead to Clarissa, who was getting to her feet. Amber reverted, gritting her teeth against the oncoming pain.
Clarissa’s eyes widened when she saw the manager and all that blood. “You did that?”
“No, not me,” Amber said. “The other guy, the one in the mask, he tripped, and this one kinda … fell into him. We got lucky.”
“That’s more than luck,” said Clarissa. “That’s a goddamn miracle. You okay? How’s your arm?”
“It’ll be fine,” Amber said. “My friend, he’s a medic. He can stitch me up.”
“You mean you don’t wanna go to the cops,” Clarissa said. “Don’t worry, I get it. I’m not gonna tell.”
“Thank you. Seriously. Now come on. Let’s get the hell out of here.”