"Lucky Numbers" by Tyler Downs
Lucky Numbers
by Tyler Downs
“That’ll be $17.64…”
What number am I thinking of, sweetie?
My mother died a long time ago, but a part of her always loitered in the corner of my mind with her hand out, eager to take whatever spare change I was still willing to give her. She used to play that game with my sister and me when we were young. What number am I thinking of, sweetie? Whoever guessed the closest number was rewarded with a trip to the guestroom, where we were beaten bloody atop a bed coated in plastic wrap. My mother hated stains almost as much as I hated losing. I remember feeling so worthless and jealous whenever I watched Jane frolic off triumphantly for alone time with mother.
“... Hey,” the cashier tried again. “I said that’ll be $17.64.”
The nametag on the guy’s chest read ‘Earl’, and Earl had hairy nostrils, baggy eyes, and he looked sad. Or mad. Maybe both. I dug some money from my pocket and handed Earl a crumpled twenty.
While Earl counted change from the cash register, my attention was drawn to the security camera above. It was one of those television monitors that showed a live recording, and in the grainy video footage, I saw myself standing there in front of the counter: a dark figure shrouded in a black hooded cloak, clutching a large scythe. On the monitor, Death raised his hand and waggled his bony fingers in a friendly wave.
I couldn’t help but smile.
“Here you go.” Earl held the change out in his palm.
As I reached for it, I paused.
Earl’s face began to melt. Fleshy globs of skin oozed down each of his cheeks, showing bits of bone and sinew beneath, and the melting flesh hung and dangled like bubbling honey from his chin before it dropped and splattered onto the counter below. His eyes, one after another, popped like dairy creamers and leaked white soup down his sagging features.
“... You gonna’ take your change or what?” Earl asked, mid-melt.
“Yeah. Sorry.” I took the change, grabbed my bag of items, and briskly exited the store.
I knew the risk of venturing out in the dark. Whenever the sun hid from the world, my mind made me see things that weren’t there. Mother used to protect me from it. Don’t look outside at night, baby. Bad things are out there—she’d say, as I sat handcuffed to the AC unit, while she calmly pried each of my fingernails off with pliers like she was giving me a manicure.
But I was alone now. And on nights like this? It couldn’t be helped. The pressure was a screaming beast inside my chest, ready to rip my ribcage open and climb out. I needed a release before things got worse. I settled into the driver’s seat of my Camry and dug through the items I just bought: a bag of Twizzlers, two cans of Red Bull, and a scratch-off lottery ticket.
What number am I thinking of, sweetie?
I flattened the ticket against the steering wheel and shut my eyes. I took a deep breath—in, then out. Then I used a nickel from Earl’s change to scratch off two of the silver squares. Numbers were revealed.
35 and 14.
I entered the digits into the GPS on my cell phone: 3514. Whatever address auto-populated first was the one I selected. Luckily, the place was only twenty-four minutes away. I twisted the engine on and started to drive.
When I eventually parked outside of their house, it was a little after 10 PM. The neighborhood was nice, even in the dim lighting of streetlamps, and I found the cul-de-sac comforting. A group of single-family homes stood gathered around in a circle like wagons on a frontier trail. Communal. With their glowing windows, maintained lawns, and inviting walkways. I took a bite of my Twizzler while I watched, and then I noticed the glow of my radio console flicker. A grainy, feminine voice crackled through the car speakers.
“Owen?”
I didn’t respond.
“Jeez,” the radio voice continued. “You really need to clean in here. Are those Twizzlers?”
“Yeah…”
“You don’t need to keep doing this, Owen… You know that, right? She doesn’t control you anymore. You can get help. I wish you’d listen to me for o—”
I twisted the volume down to silence her. Hearing her voice broke my heart, and I didn’t need that right now. But she didn’t give up. Digital text scrolled across the glowing radio console screen; another message from my dead sister.
Please. I love you, Owen…
I slid a CD in. It started playing the theme song from the old Growing Pains television show, and I decided to roll down my window to help escalate the process. I needed to know. Music bled out through the car, filling the cul-de-sac. My headlights shined bright. I imagined other neighbors glanced outside to investigate, but they didn’t matter. All that mattered tonight was 3514 Peachtree. I watched. I watched for fifteen minutes. Whoever lived inside didn’t have to look. They could have ignored the commotion outside, just like I had for most of my life, and I would have eventually used the lottery ticket to pick another address.
But then I saw it.
An upstairs curtain moved. Someone peeked out the window.
I sighed.
What number am I thinking of, sweetie?
I shut off the engine. I slid on both of my gloves, tugged my ski mask down over my face, and exited the car. Then I popped the trunk and retrieved my shotgun from it. And as I progressed up their walkway to murder everyone in the home, I could hear my mother’s voice in my head.
Don’t look outside at night, baby. Bad things are out there.
If only the mother who lived at 3514 Peachtree was as loving as mine.
If only she had warned her family not to look into the darkness.