First Chapter Madness - Cradle Robber

The opening of my creature feature novella

After writing a non-horror novella, I decided to make a return to the dark side with a story that was my nastiest to date. This is the only book where I included a trigger warning aimed specifically at pregnant women. There was also a scene later in the story where I censored myself a little, although what I used was still unpleasant. Cradle Robber might just be my favorite book.

Port of Oakland, 1965

The crane operator sat and watched the huge container ship drift gracefully into port. Over the past decade, the vessels had become bigger and bigger; their cargo now loaded into metal containers stacked neat and high. The expansion of the port and the addition of cranes meant job opportunities for those willing to learn how to operate the hulking structures.

Bill Leeds had been one of the first to volunteer, more out of necessity than a desire to learn a new gig. The port had been Bill’s place of employment since dropping out of school two decades prior, and the years of hard work had not been kind to his body. His back ached, the cartilage in his knees reduced to mere threads that often meant the excruciating pain of bone on bone. Operating the crane meant sitting in a relatively comfy seat and not having to punish his beaten body every day. It also presented an opportunity to make some extra money on the side.

As Leeds expertly unloaded the containers from the ship to the dock, he kept his eyes peeled for the one that would mean his next big payday. Before long, he spied the large X painted on top of one of the containers, which he moved off to one side of the dock, slightly apart from the others. The rest was now up to his partner in crime down on the ground.

***

Frank Banner flashed the thumbs-up sign to his friend up in the crane, sure that the signal would go unseen. The dock area was well lit, but in the early hours of the evening, with cloud cover blotting out the moon and stars, there were plenty of blind spots to be found. The shipping container sat in one of those gloomy locations, an unmarked, save for the X on the roof, hunk of metal that would not appear on the shipping manifest.

Throwing open the padlock and grabbing the handle, Banner steeled himself against the odor that was about to blast his nostrils. Moving illegal immigrants from place to place was a messy business, and he knew that this group had been out at sea longer than most. It was opiates from China that were his main side business, but he soon found out that bringing in foreigners looking to live the American dream was also lucrative.

This container promised to be a nice payday, with drugs and Filipino refugees on board, supposedly with money in hand. It was the thought of that cash, which would help offset the losses of a burgeoning gambling habit, that finally prompted Banner to throw the doors open.

He had expected the overpowering smell of human waste to be the worst, but it was not. A rolling wave of stench spilled out of the container, a combination of rotting flesh and spilled blood that clung to the back of his throat and made him gag.

While out of the range of the strongest floodlights, enough light made it through the holes drilled into the container’s roof to give Banner a glimpse inside. He wanted to scream at the people on the dock to shut the light down, but no amount of darkness would obliterate the image from his brain.

Several boxes of narcotics lay in pieces, the white powder sprinkled across the woman lying at the back of the container. It was from her that the blood had spilled. Her body was torn open from chest to pubic bone, ragged chunks of flesh sticking up and dotted with white powder, like snow-capped mountain peaks. The woman’s head sat at an unnatural angle, her mouth carved in a rictus of terror that made it clear that she was alive when the worst of the damage was taking place.

Banner stepped back as a tall, slender man emerged from the container, a large wad of bills clutched in his fist. Two more men stood behind him, holding up what looked to be an older woman. Her head was bowed and wrapped in a shirt, her hands tied behind her back. It seemed to Banner as though she was in the process of melting, her drooping breasts and sagging belly made from a substance that looked like candle wax. Trying to get a better look, Banner shifted to the side, but the men holding her up closed in and covered what looked like taloned feet at the end of reedy legs.

“You Banner?” the man with the money asked.

Turning away from the gruesome scene, Banner looked at the man and nodded. For someone who had just stepped out of a living nightmare, the man looked positively serene, which only further served to put Banner on edge.

“Your money, plus extra, much extra for damage,” the man said, forcing the cash into Banner’s hand.

“Wait, wait. What the fuck happened in there?”

“Aswang.”

“As what?” Banner watched as another group of refugees pulled out the dead woman’s ravaged body and began to fill the gaping hole in her abdomen with bricks that were part of a construction project on the dock. Once filled, the men removed their shirts and tied them around the woman’s body, holding in the load as best they could. After a silent moment of prayer, they lifted the corpse and tossed it into the water.

When Banner turned his attention back to the shipping container, he saw that the rest of the people inside were hard at work cleaning up the mess as much as possible. The boxes, those that were not damaged, were stacked and tidy. They threw buckets of waste into the water and used clothes from their meager belongings to mop up the worst of the blood.

Reaching into his pocket, the first man out of the container pulled out a smaller stack of bills. “You clean rest, yes?”

Before Banner could answer, a trio of vans pulled into the dock area, tires squealing as they ground to a halt beside the container. The group piled out of the metal box and jumped into the back of the vans. The last one out was a boy of no more than eleven or twelve. He looked impossibly thin, his bones jutting out over the top of hollow cheeks. His clothes hung on him, the bottom of his worn pants in tatters from where the fabric had dragged on the ground. He looked at Banner with dark eyes filled with pain before looking at the water and beginning to cry.

“Danilo,” the man yelled. “Go.” He pointed at the van and watched as the boy climbed inside. Heading back to the container, he reached into one of the damaged boxes and pulled out a bag of heroin. “Mine. I keep her asleep until Los Angeles.”

Banner raised his hands in concession, wishing that they would leave and let him be. He could feel the weight of the money in his pocket, burning a hole and demanding to be set free. Once he gave the other guys on the crew their cut, he knew he would have more than enough left to try to drink and gamble this memory into oblivion.

Turning to watch the vans leave, he saw the little boy sitting in the lap of the money man, peering out the window and staring at the water. The boy looked haunted, and Banner prayed that the lad would find peace in his new home.

***

The drive from Oakland to Los Angeles took longer than usual; the vans’ drivers obeying all speed limits to ensure that they did not draw any unwanted attention from the highway patrol.

When they arrived at their destination, Echo Park Lake looked like nothing more than a shard of black glass dropped from above. A group of men stood at the edge of the lake, awaiting their arrival. Their flashlight beams cut through the night, signaling where the vans should park.

As the refugees spilled out of the vehicles, there was no happy reunion with their friends and family members, other than the odd hug or handshake. Quietly, they went about the business of taking care of the creature, who was beginning to stir. The men who had carried her out of the shipping container dragged the moaning beast to a boat sitting at the lake’s edge. The men in the vessel took over, using chains to strap cement blocks around her ankles, warily eyeing the twitching talons on her oversized feet.

After checking that the blocks were correctly secured, they rowed out into the middle of the lake, while a few more men swam behind the boat. As they reached their dumping point, the creature tried to stand, rocking the boat from side to side. She struggled against the ropes that tied her hands behind her back, but they were tightly bound. The men grabber her under the armpits and hauled her up before unceremoniously dumping her overboard.

The men in the water swam around to the side of the vessel, making sure to stay as far away as possible from the thrashing creature. In a group effort, they hoisted the cement blocks and dropped them into the lake, watching as the foaming water settled back to its previous glassy form.

Plucking a pair of goggles from inside the boat, one of the men in the water put them on, sucked in a large breath, and then dove below the surface. After a few moments, he reemerged and flashed a thumbs-up sign, which prompted everyone to head back to shore.

At the edge of the lake, the rest of the group watched in silence, only fully relaxing when their friends began to return to shore. The little boy turned to his father and said, “Papa, is the bad woman dead?”

The older man stared down at his son, hoping to give him comfort, but also knowing that to do so might mean lying. He opted instead for the truth. “She is our prisoner now. We, as well as our future generations, shall keep an eye on the water to ensure that she remains where we placed her.” Kneeling to be at eye level with the boy, he continued, “Your mother is gone, but I promise to protect you and make you a strong man, Danilo. Are you ready for that?”

The boy turned and looked out across the water, which appeared calm and inviting. Nodding and puffing out his chest, he wiped away the final tears he would cry for the mother he lost—time to be strong.