Free The Becoming - a novella by Allan Leverone Page A

today
anyway—his mind was on other things—so he decided not to bother trying.
    After Julie’s
appearance in the kitchen this morning, Matt had smiled brightly and offered a
cup of coffee—“Looks like you could really use it,” he said—and she had stared
right through him like he didn’t exist. She supplied no answer to the coffee
question but that didn’t matter. Matt knew the answer already.
    The day passed
slowly. Time felt disjointed to Matt, like maybe he was living in one of those
old-time movies where the camera was cranked by hand and the actors’ movements
were jumpy and out of sync. Tim stayed in his room all day, not coming out to
eat or even, as far as Matt could tell, use the bathroom. Julie wandered
aimlessly through the house, back and forth, like she had done when Tim was
missing, except her pacing three days ago had had a purpose to it and this
seemed almost random.
    Matt tried a
half-dozen times to start a conversation with her; nothing serious or
complicated, just normal adult chit-chat. Eventually he gave up. Her
interaction consisted of toneless grunts or one-word answers, exactly as Tim
had done when interviewed by the police the day before yesterday, after his miraculous
return from the mine.
    The police.
    Matt’s thoughts
kept coming back to the authorities. He should get the cops out here, but what
the hell would he tell them? I’m afraid my girlfriend and her creepy kid
have become possessed by whatever has been locked up inside that cursed mine
for the last couple of centuries? And what was his theory based on,
exactly? A grouchy girlfriend? An unresponsive kid? Hell, if that was the
measuring stick for possession, half the families in America would be
considered possessed. Maybe more.
    The clock
continued moving, afternoon becoming evening, evening sliding into night, with
no change in the status of either his girlfriend or her son. It was like they
had become fucking zombies overnight. It would be time for bed soon, and Matt
knew one thing with absolute certainty: he would not be sleeping with whatever
Julie was becoming. Or had become.
    He eyed her
nervously from the couch as she wandered past, walking aimlessly through the
little house, somehow larger, bulkier than she had been before. Her hands were
balled into fists, but Matt knew what he would see if he could get her to
unclench them—lengthening nails, hooked and claw-like, growing thicker and
stronger.
    He wondered how
she would react when he told her what he had to say. He needn’t have worried.
“Listen,” he said. “I’m thinking I should probably crash out here on the couch tonight.” And every fucking night until whatever is inside you has disappeared or died
or otherwise gone away, he thought to himself. “You really could use a good
night’s sleep and I’ll probably just keep you awake tossing and turning next to
you.”
    It sounded weak
coming out of his mouth, but if Julie thought so, she didn’t say. She barely
said anything. “Whatever,” she grunted, hardly slowing her stumbling, trudging
pace and not looking Matt’s way at all. Or maybe, “Okay.” Matt wasn’t sure. He
didn’t ask her to repeat herself, though. The exact words didn’t matter.
    A few minutes
later, he walked into the bedroom and retrieved his gun. He returned to the
living room and placed it under the couch, within easy reach, and set himself
up with some blankets and a pillow. Then he waited uneasily for Julie—or
whatever she had turned into—to wander off to bed. His sense of unease
continued to build. It was turning into real fear.
    ***
    Matt stretched out on the couch and
tried to relax. He didn’t think there was any way he would be able to fall
asleep with his brain buzzing like a hive of angry bees. It occurred to him
that he was probably in shock, and why wouldn’t he be? Three days ago he had a
life he understood. It was boring, sure, but it made sense. Steady job—maybe
he’d never get rich, but everybody needed