Transport
By
Benjamin Larned
Mark had no idea what to expect in the cell. He’d been called from three towns over for an emergency transport. “This one’s – tricky,” the deputy explained as they hurried through the station. “I’d send someone with you, but we’re short as is. Just don’t make conversation and you’ll be fine. He’ll talk to you, but don’t answer him, not a single question.”
“Don’t worry,” Mark smirked, “rough them up a little and they’re polite as nuns.”
That usually got a laugh. The deputy just made a noise at the back of his throat. “No roughing up. No touching at all. It’s protocol with this one, understand?”
Mark noted the deputy’s red eyes and twitching lip. “If you say so,” he shrugged, flexing his chest.
He deflated when they reached the last cell. The perp wore red flannel, blue jeans, and a canvas sack over their head, tied at the neck with rope. The hood itself was smooth, betraying no features.
Is that a corpse? Mark thought.
As if in answer, the perp sat up and turned to face him. “Are we going on a trip, officer?” they said in an even, genderless voice.
The deputy didn’t answer, just opened the cell. The kid stood on their own and walked ahead, pale hands cuffed behind their back. The sack should have cut off their vision, made them clumsy, but they didn’t miss a step.
“I know it’s unusual,” the deputy told Mark, “but that bag is to be kept on at all times. I can’t explain, so please don’t ask. Just make sure it stays where it is.”
“Whatever you say, boss,” Mark grunted.
They trailed the kid outside, into a humid red evening. “Remember, don’t talk. Don’t stop for anything. Go straight to the penitentiary. Call us the second you get there,” the deputy said.
“Gotcha.” Mark saluted.
The deputy winced at him, then hurried inside.
Once the kid was in the back seat, Mark peeled away from the station. He was confident behind the wheel, able to go fifty on a mountain road and make every turn smooth. “Drive’ll take at least an hour,” he said, then clamped his jaw shut. He’d been on the road five minutes and already had forgotten his orders. “Keep it quiet,” he added.
The road slid into blue dusk, wide and flanked by sprawling grassland. Mark flicked his headlights onto the asphalt, jagged and sharp.
“We’ll both get lonely like this.”
Tires hit dirt and skidded. Mark wrenched the wheels back onto the road. His hands shook; he beat them against the dash until they steadied. The kid’s voice made him jumpy, that was all. “You’ll get plenty of company at the penn,” he said. “They’ll love a puss like you. What’s your name, anyway? Francis? Nah. Fanny?” He laughed aloud and thought, I’m on a roll tonight.
“We don’t need names,” the kid replied – their voice now full of gravel, somehow familiar. “It’s a long drive. Don’t you want to get to know me better?”
“Sure don’t,” Mark said. “I got one job here, then you’re the state’s problem.”
“Do you have anyone in your life, Mark? Someone who you can trust?”
How does he know my name?
“None of your business,” Mark said.
“Too busy, maybe. Throwing everything you’ve got into the force. Never taking shit from anyone. It’s almost convincing.”
Mark flinched – something had brushed his neck. He checked the rearview, made sure the kid’s hands were still cuffed.
“Do you have anyone to confide in?” the kid said.
The impulse to respond was immediate. The deputy’s warning came back to him in time – No conversation. Just get him there. He kept his lips sealed tight.
“What made you want to be a cop?”
“Control,” he blurted. Not even a good answer. No talking, he thought, but his mouth moved on its own. “It’s what brave men do. I was raised to be brave.”
“But you didn’t always want to be part of the force.”
“Things changed,” Mark said. “I grew up.”
“What did you want to be before?”
The answer didn’t come – he didn’t have one. He hadn’t wanted to be anything. But he wouldn’t tell that to this no-name, no-face punk. Seizing control of his tongue, he said, “Enough questions.”
“Pity, we were just starting to get somewhere.”
When Mark didn’t respond, the kid rasped, “Come on. I know an old place down the road.”
Mark’s heart thrummed, his vision danced. The kid’s voice had changed again, a deep masculine tone; the car now smelled of oil, leather and pubic musk. It was a smell Mark had dreamt about for years, long before he’d joined the force, before he’d learned to control his impulses. That’s right, he thought, I’m in control. He breathed in, filling his chest until it strained against his uniform. He was big enough to bend the kid over and snap them in half. There was nothing to be afraid of.
Unless –
“You don’t know anything about me,” he said. “And I don’t want to know nothing about you.”
“I doubt that. Why don’t you lift up this silly mask and really get to know me?”
“It’s fine where it is.”
“Then do it as a favor. It’s awfully uncomfortable.”
“Whatever you think you know, it’s nothing. So shut up before I come back there and make you.”
The kid cackled, a noise that wracked Mark’s spine and turned the air cold. “Threats again. Big tough guy and yet so afraid. I know why. I can see right through you.”
Mark clamped his jaw shut. He knew too – knew why he recognized the voice and smell. Do what you always do. Keep to yourself. Keep to the rules, keep to the road.
“It was the motorcyclist, wasn’t it? The man who smelled like leather and gasoline. He was much older, wasn’t he? It was wrong of him to take a pubescent, but you were willing. Where did he fuck you? In the field behind your father’s church? Where is he now – did he even say goodbye?”
“You shut up,” Mark sobbed.
“You’re almost his age now. Why haven’t you let anyone else touch you? You’ve thought about it, in the locker room with the officers, at the bar on your nights off –”
“I’ll kill you!”
The tires jerked off the road, straight for a grove of cottonwoods. Mark released the wheel and covered his head for impact. The car veered away at the last instant.
“You’re very funny, Mark,” the kid said. “Stop the car. Show me what that man showed you.”
Sweat slid down Mark’s neck. The headlights no longer showed asphalt – nothing but empty air. Were they on the road anymore?
It is dark. No one will see. You’ve waited so long.
Mark told himself the steering wheel had turned on its own, the car stopped because it had run out of gas. He let himself go limp and glanced at the passenger’s seat. The hooded head was waiting.
“It’s okay,” the kid said, extending pale fingers to caress Mark’s hair. His pants got tight. The kid sank a knee into his groin, then reared forward, chin to chin. Mark let the bag press against his mouth.
He couldn’t feel any lips. Behind the canvas there was nothing but skin.
“Wasn’t that nice?” the kid whispered.
Mark begged himself not to listen, to get out of the car and run until he collapsed, but his hands lifted of their own accord. His fingers undid the knot at the kid’s nape, pulled off the bag, and let it fall.
He saw what was beneath and tightened his throat to scream. The sound did not carry. The kid’s head was a smooth, empty egg.
Mark slammed back against the window, as far as he could go. The thing crawled over him. The surface of its face trembled, and its chin stretched into an appendage, a tendril that pushed past his teeth.
The flesh was ice cold. Mark opened his mouth to retch and the tube shot down his throat, far into his lower abdomen. There was a loud, thick siphoning, and Mark seized with pleasure.
He looked up and saw his own face smiling, glowing. He thought, I’m free.
#
Once the cop was emptied to a husk, the interloper retracted its appendage and sighed in relief. Of all its time spent in this barren landscape, the past few days had been the most inconvenient. Now its luck had turned. It would go a long way with this face.
Placing the bag on the cop’s deflated head, the interloper slipped into his uniform, disposed of the corpse, and drove back to the station.
Benjamin Larned (he/they) is a creator of surreal fables. Their work is featured in NoSleep Podcast, Seize the Press, hex literary, and Absolute Pleasure: Queer Perspectives on Rocky Horror, among others. Their short film "Payment" is streaming on ALTER. To learn more, visit curiousafflictions.com
By
Benjamin Larned
Mark had no idea what to expect in the cell. He’d been called from three towns over for an emergency transport. “This one’s – tricky,” the deputy explained as they hurried through the station. “I’d send someone with you, but we’re short as is. Just don’t make conversation and you’ll be fine. He’ll talk to you, but don’t answer him, not a single question.”
“Don’t worry,” Mark smirked, “rough them up a little and they’re polite as nuns.”
That usually got a laugh. The deputy just made a noise at the back of his throat. “No roughing up. No touching at all. It’s protocol with this one, understand?”
Mark noted the deputy’s red eyes and twitching lip. “If you say so,” he shrugged, flexing his chest.
He deflated when they reached the last cell. The perp wore red flannel, blue jeans, and a canvas sack over their head, tied at the neck with rope. The hood itself was smooth, betraying no features.
Is that a corpse? Mark thought.
As if in answer, the perp sat up and turned to face him. “Are we going on a trip, officer?” they said in an even, genderless voice.
The deputy didn’t answer, just opened the cell. The kid stood on their own and walked ahead, pale hands cuffed behind their back. The sack should have cut off their vision, made them clumsy, but they didn’t miss a step.
“I know it’s unusual,” the deputy told Mark, “but that bag is to be kept on at all times. I can’t explain, so please don’t ask. Just make sure it stays where it is.”
“Whatever you say, boss,” Mark grunted.
They trailed the kid outside, into a humid red evening. “Remember, don’t talk. Don’t stop for anything. Go straight to the penitentiary. Call us the second you get there,” the deputy said.
“Gotcha.” Mark saluted.
The deputy winced at him, then hurried inside.
Once the kid was in the back seat, Mark peeled away from the station. He was confident behind the wheel, able to go fifty on a mountain road and make every turn smooth. “Drive’ll take at least an hour,” he said, then clamped his jaw shut. He’d been on the road five minutes and already had forgotten his orders. “Keep it quiet,” he added.
The road slid into blue dusk, wide and flanked by sprawling grassland. Mark flicked his headlights onto the asphalt, jagged and sharp.
“We’ll both get lonely like this.”
Tires hit dirt and skidded. Mark wrenched the wheels back onto the road. His hands shook; he beat them against the dash until they steadied. The kid’s voice made him jumpy, that was all. “You’ll get plenty of company at the penn,” he said. “They’ll love a puss like you. What’s your name, anyway? Francis? Nah. Fanny?” He laughed aloud and thought, I’m on a roll tonight.
“We don’t need names,” the kid replied – their voice now full of gravel, somehow familiar. “It’s a long drive. Don’t you want to get to know me better?”
“Sure don’t,” Mark said. “I got one job here, then you’re the state’s problem.”
“Do you have anyone in your life, Mark? Someone who you can trust?”
How does he know my name?
“None of your business,” Mark said.
“Too busy, maybe. Throwing everything you’ve got into the force. Never taking shit from anyone. It’s almost convincing.”
Mark flinched – something had brushed his neck. He checked the rearview, made sure the kid’s hands were still cuffed.
“Do you have anyone to confide in?” the kid said.
The impulse to respond was immediate. The deputy’s warning came back to him in time – No conversation. Just get him there. He kept his lips sealed tight.
“What made you want to be a cop?”
“Control,” he blurted. Not even a good answer. No talking, he thought, but his mouth moved on its own. “It’s what brave men do. I was raised to be brave.”
“But you didn’t always want to be part of the force.”
“Things changed,” Mark said. “I grew up.”
“What did you want to be before?”
The answer didn’t come – he didn’t have one. He hadn’t wanted to be anything. But he wouldn’t tell that to this no-name, no-face punk. Seizing control of his tongue, he said, “Enough questions.”
“Pity, we were just starting to get somewhere.”
When Mark didn’t respond, the kid rasped, “Come on. I know an old place down the road.”
Mark’s heart thrummed, his vision danced. The kid’s voice had changed again, a deep masculine tone; the car now smelled of oil, leather and pubic musk. It was a smell Mark had dreamt about for years, long before he’d joined the force, before he’d learned to control his impulses. That’s right, he thought, I’m in control. He breathed in, filling his chest until it strained against his uniform. He was big enough to bend the kid over and snap them in half. There was nothing to be afraid of.
Unless –
“You don’t know anything about me,” he said. “And I don’t want to know nothing about you.”
“I doubt that. Why don’t you lift up this silly mask and really get to know me?”
“It’s fine where it is.”
“Then do it as a favor. It’s awfully uncomfortable.”
“Whatever you think you know, it’s nothing. So shut up before I come back there and make you.”
The kid cackled, a noise that wracked Mark’s spine and turned the air cold. “Threats again. Big tough guy and yet so afraid. I know why. I can see right through you.”
Mark clamped his jaw shut. He knew too – knew why he recognized the voice and smell. Do what you always do. Keep to yourself. Keep to the rules, keep to the road.
“It was the motorcyclist, wasn’t it? The man who smelled like leather and gasoline. He was much older, wasn’t he? It was wrong of him to take a pubescent, but you were willing. Where did he fuck you? In the field behind your father’s church? Where is he now – did he even say goodbye?”
“You shut up,” Mark sobbed.
“You’re almost his age now. Why haven’t you let anyone else touch you? You’ve thought about it, in the locker room with the officers, at the bar on your nights off –”
“I’ll kill you!”
The tires jerked off the road, straight for a grove of cottonwoods. Mark released the wheel and covered his head for impact. The car veered away at the last instant.
“You’re very funny, Mark,” the kid said. “Stop the car. Show me what that man showed you.”
Sweat slid down Mark’s neck. The headlights no longer showed asphalt – nothing but empty air. Were they on the road anymore?
It is dark. No one will see. You’ve waited so long.
Mark told himself the steering wheel had turned on its own, the car stopped because it had run out of gas. He let himself go limp and glanced at the passenger’s seat. The hooded head was waiting.
“It’s okay,” the kid said, extending pale fingers to caress Mark’s hair. His pants got tight. The kid sank a knee into his groin, then reared forward, chin to chin. Mark let the bag press against his mouth.
He couldn’t feel any lips. Behind the canvas there was nothing but skin.
“Wasn’t that nice?” the kid whispered.
Mark begged himself not to listen, to get out of the car and run until he collapsed, but his hands lifted of their own accord. His fingers undid the knot at the kid’s nape, pulled off the bag, and let it fall.
He saw what was beneath and tightened his throat to scream. The sound did not carry. The kid’s head was a smooth, empty egg.
Mark slammed back against the window, as far as he could go. The thing crawled over him. The surface of its face trembled, and its chin stretched into an appendage, a tendril that pushed past his teeth.
The flesh was ice cold. Mark opened his mouth to retch and the tube shot down his throat, far into his lower abdomen. There was a loud, thick siphoning, and Mark seized with pleasure.
He looked up and saw his own face smiling, glowing. He thought, I’m free.
#
Once the cop was emptied to a husk, the interloper retracted its appendage and sighed in relief. Of all its time spent in this barren landscape, the past few days had been the most inconvenient. Now its luck had turned. It would go a long way with this face.
Placing the bag on the cop’s deflated head, the interloper slipped into his uniform, disposed of the corpse, and drove back to the station.
Benjamin Larned (he/they) is a creator of surreal fables. Their work is featured in NoSleep Podcast, Seize the Press, hex literary, and Absolute Pleasure: Queer Perspectives on Rocky Horror, among others. Their short film "Payment" is streaming on ALTER. To learn more, visit curiousafflictions.com
