Chapter 3

Herbert J. Munson got home from Jed's just before the cuckoo clock in his hall chimed 10 O'clock. He and the boys spent a few hours there after they left the demolition site. Watching the old mansion be torn down had been bittersweet. As the head of the Maven Restoration Society, Herb was sad to see the founders mansion torn down, but there was definitely an air of celebration permeating the air during the destruction.
Walking into the living room Herb put his keys and wallet in the dish on the table by the chesterfield sofa. Continuing through the antique filled living room and passing through the dining area he went into the kitchen without turning on a light. Herb had lived in this house for all but ten years of his life. He rarely needed to turn the lights on anymore.
The glow of the refrigerator light bounced through the kitchen, making shadows jump away from it like scared cats, as he swung the door open. Reaching in Herb grabbed the neck of a blue ribbon pabst. Walking out of the kitchen he dropped the twist off lid in the garbage can by the sink.
Once back in the living room Herb sat on the sofa, remembering a time that his mother had screamed bloody murder at him for sitting on it without the plastic cover. That cover, along with all of the others in the room had been packed into a box and stored in the linen closet within a week of Margaret Munson's funeral.
Setting his beer down on the same table that held his keys Herb reached for the remote control on the coffee table. As he leaned forward he felt a painful chill run from his fingertips to his shoulder that stopped him in mid reach. Pulling his arm back as if he had touched something freezing Herbert sat back on the couch and clutched his cold wrist.
The cold abated somewhat, or maybe it just spread through his body. He began to shiver, not the painful cold of a moment ago but an all over chill that he couldn't shake. Looking around for anything that might have caused the chill or the feeling of foreboding that he felt, Herb could not find a rational cause.
Tentatively he reached out toward the coffee table again. Nothing. Still feeling the chill Herb stood and walked towards the thermostat on the wall by the closet door. Still looking over his shoulder both figuratively and literally he set the heat to 76 degrees and waited until the furnace kicked on before turning back to the couch. That's when he heard it.
The sound was something between a whisper and a creak, like someone scraping their fingernails along a piece of slate while muttering under their breath. Cocking his head to try and triangulate the noise better Herb stood perfectly still, holding his breath. The noise came again, louder, from behind him.
Turning Herb looked at the closet door. The sound was obviously coming from inside. The sound came again. Herb felt the chill, which had finally started to abate with the rising temperature in the house, come back with a vengeance. He shivered as a finger of ice traveled down his spine.
Reaching out Herb slowly gripped the doorknob. There was a thin film of cold condensation on the brass, making his first attempt at turning the knob slip. Gripping for firmly to the knob and his courage Herb twisted the cold metal and pulled on the door. With a sharp creak, as if the door had swollen in the jamb, the closet opened to darkness.
The light from the lamp was at too great an angle to penetrate more than a few inches into the dark recesses of the closet. Having spent most of his life in this house Herb was able to grab the chain in the light switch and pull it in one swift motion to minimize the time his arm was in the closet. The swiftness made the chain swing back and forth, clanking softly against the glass dome of the light. For a moment Herb's eyes followed the shadow of the chain as it swung across the coats, boxes and empty suitcases that were stacked neatly or hung fastidiously in the small rectangle room. The noise came again, louder. Shhherrmeeshhherrmeeshhh.
Herbs eyes immediately jumped above the hanging bar and onto the shelf on the back wall of the closet. The noise stopped just as his eyes came to rest on the boxes sitting on the shelf. There were only two boxes up there, both labeled “plastics” in black sharpie. He knew exactly what was in there and could think of only one thing that could make that noise. The zippers.
Margaret Munson was not the worst mother in the world, probably not even the worst in Maven. That did not stop her from being an unlovable tyrant. Herb was instantly taken back to a time that he had come in from a summer day in the yard, sweaty and covered in dust. Margaret had the air conditioning on and Herb knew that the best vent in the house was in the floor right in front of the couch. Hopping onto the couch Herb leaned forward and put his sweaty face right in the path of the cool air blowing out of the floor vent.
“Herbert James Munson!” Margeret could scream with the best of them and she used her entire lung capacity this time. Herb jumped off the couch and as his small feet hit the floor he noticed for the first time that the plastic cover was missing from the couch.
Turning toward the kitchen he found the sheet of plastic with the metal zipper dangling from his mother's limp hand. He also found the rage that was in her voice as she shrieked his name paled in comparison to the heat coming from her eyes. “I.. I'm... sor..” he began.
As if the pitiful sound coming out of his mouth had awoken her, his mother began taking slow heavy steps towards him. Herb backed up, away from the couch, hoping the distance from his crime would lessen the punishment. It did not.
Margaret never made a sound, no yelling, no grunts, no cries. The only sound was the swish of the plastic through the air and the soft murmur of the zipper sliding across his skin and she beat him with the plastic cover. Like someone scraping their fingernails along a piece of slate while muttering under their breath.
More than 40 years later Herb stood staring at the boxes of plastic listening to that same sound. With no idea what was going on, he had zero inclination to look inside the cardboard containers. Backing away slowly he found it impossible to look away from them. He felt the cold again.
It was as if someone or something had hit him with a bat made of ice across both shoulder blades. The cold spread faster this time, fast enough that he felt the painful chill all over his body before he slammed into the orderly lined jackets hung at the back of the closet. Turning, his eyes hazing from the agony, Herb looked for what might have attacked him.
Noone. Nothing. The living room was empty. Herb pushed himself off the wall, jackets falling all around him. The pain was beginning to abate again. With one last heave he extricated himself from the tangle. A loud ripping noise let him know that the rod holding the clothes had been dislodged in his escape. The shelf, with the boxes marked “PLASTIC” came tumbling after the clothes rod. The boxes burst open as they hit Herb about the head and shoulders.
Plastic rained down, slithering over the skin on his face and arms. Zippers shhmmshhhmmmed as they drug across his cheeks, gravity pulling the furniture covers to the ground. Herb panicked. He could hear the sound of his mother breathing through her nose as she beat him with the couch cover, even though Margaret had been dead these last 12 years.
The weight of the plastic was enough that Herb's knees buckled and he reached out to grab the door frame of the closet. His breathing intensified. He used his left hand to steady himself and his right to swipe at the plastic covering his head. Every time he moved a piece off of his face it seemed that another took it's place. Herb began to sweat.
The plastic sheeting became slick with his sweat as he continually tried to remove it from his head and shoulders. His plastic covered left hand began to slip on the door frame and Herb teetered forward, leaning out of the closet. He continued to fight the plastic around his face as he leaned toward the door frame to halt his fall. His shoulder missed the frame and Herb toppled into the living room in a flailing heap of coats, arms, and plastic.
The carpet-covered hardwood floor sent a jarring vibration through his entire body as Herb landed hard on his right shoulder. He became dizzy with pain and fear. The upside was, he now had both hands free and, fighting the pain in his shoulder, he put both hands in front of his face and pushed them up and out to free himself from the plastic.
Herb felt immediate relief as cool air flowed into his lungs as the plastic was moved away from his nose and mouth. Panting, his body tried to replace the oxygen his body had lost in as little time as possible. The air did not last as long as he would like. As the plastic settled back over his face it felt as if this time the sheet was constricting around his face and neck. When Herb grabbed the plastic in his hands and pulled, it resisted him.
The heels of Herb's shoes drummed a frantic pattern on the carpeted floor as he struggled to pull the plastic from his face. He felt the loss of oxygen deep in his chest and his vision started to go black on the edges. Panicking and making no headway with the plastic Herb shoved his fingers into his mouth and pushed, trying to tear a hole in the fabric for air. The plastic resisted the pressure.
Straining Herb felt pain as his hands pressed at his cheeks and lips, pushing the back of his head into the carpet. Finally, he felt some movement. The tips of his fingers were making progress through the layered plastic. With a pop and a rip, he finally broke through the plastic and barely noticed that he cut his thumb with a slightly too long fingernail. Pulling in the air through the hole in the plastic Herb felt the rush of relief as his lungs filled with air. It took a full 15 seconds to realize that the air did not make it past his throat. The plastic had constricted so tightly around his neck he could not get any breath past it.
As his vision darkened Herb's hands fell from his face and lay limply at his sides. The plastic obscured his vision of the living room even as the edges darkened as if he were looking through layers of dirty glass blocking a dark tunnel with a dim light on the other side. Suddenly his vision cleared, everything became clear, he knew what had attacked him, and he knew why. Herb's body heaved one last time as his life was spent, and with his consciousness went any amount of hope he held for the town of Maven and the people that lived there.