The Garage

Brian Edgar grabbed the wrench and ducked back under the hood of Leslie Oslo's green station wagon. "I shoulda stayed home," he muttered, wiping the sweat from his brow onto the sleeve of his coveralls.

He straightened and rubbed his temples. Pain seared through his head as if a railroad spike had been driven deep into his skull. Brian swayed slightly and headed for the drinking fountain. Lukewarm water splashed on his face, he straightened and peered at his co-workers.

Chester Graf was lying on the floor, his legs visible under the blue Corvette that was in for a brake job. Brian heard Chester singing along to the music blaring from the headphones that seemed to be permanently attached to his ears. Brian had long since given up trying to figure out what song his friend was singing along with. Chester rarely got the words right and was never in the same zip code of the tune. Oh well, what he lacked in talent, he made up for in enthusiasm.

Phil Harris cursed and wrestled with a difficult motor mount on the black Mustang. Phil owned the garage but didn't act much like a boss. His long hair, pulled back in a ponytail, Phil never quite gave up his hippy days. A little eccentric, (Brian didn't think Phil owned a pair of shoe, other than sandals) Phil was out of his element most places, but he was a god under the hood of a car.

"I got it!" Brian said as a screwdriver clattered to the floor, knocked off the car when the bolt Phil had been working on suddenly broke loose. He bent down to grab the tool, but stopped short when he noticed Phil's bare feet (or what should have been Phil's feet). Phil had claws! No. Brian looked away and back again. Still claws.

Brian grabbed the screwdriver and rose slowly, fear spreading through his body as he watched his long-time friend change into a monster right before his very eyes. He backed up quietly, moving toward the Corvette. He squatted down by Chester, prepared to warn him, when he noticed that his tone-deaf friend was changing also.

Brian stood, backed away quietly, turned, and ran into the office. "Oh my God," he whimpered, "What do I do?" He poked his head out of the office door. Phil looked like Phil again. Brian sighed, "Must have been my imagination."

"Ya say something, man?" Phil turned away from the engine and eyed his employee, "Ya don't look so good, man...ya okay?"

"Just a headache," Brian replied, feeling foolish, "I'm gonna grab some aspirin and sit for a couple minutes."

Phil stared at him for a few seconds, "Why don't ya go on home, man." He waved his arm, dismissing the cars, "We got it covered, man."

Brian rubbed his temples and looked at the clock. He got off in twenty minutes anyway, "Yeah, maybe I'll do that."

"Cool" Phil said, "Take it easy, man and we'll see ya in the morning." Phil smiled wide and turned his attention back to the motor mounts.

Brian stood, frozen in terror. Phil's smile had revealed two rows of razor-sharp teeth and his smile stretched, literally, from ear to ear. Brian closed the office door silently and paced around the tiny room.

"I gotta get some help", he muttered as he crossed to the desk and dialed the phone with numb fingers. "This is Brian Edgar at Phil's Garage," he whispered, "I need to talk to the sheriff."

"What can I do for you, Bri?" sheriff Will Jennings spoke in a slow drawl that outsiders often mistook as a sign that he wasn't too bright. They soon found out that Will Jennings was not a man to be trifled with.

"Will, ya gotta help me." Brian spoke in a rushed whisper, "Monsters...Phil and Chester are monsters!"

"Monsters?" Will scoffed, propped his feet on the desk and asked in his best cop voice, "You been drinking, Brian?"

"No, Will!" Brian said urgently, "Phil and Chester are monsters with fangs and claws!" He lowered his voice when he realized that he had begun to shout, "You gotta help me!"

The door opened and Phil stepped into the small office. "Everything okay, man?" Phil leaned against the door, "I heard ya yelling." Phil smiled, flashing jagged teeth.

The phone slipped from Brian's icy fingers as he stared at what used to be his best friend and tried to wrap his mind around what he saw.

He glanced around the office, looking for a weapon to protect himself, when he remembered the screwdriver he had picked up earlier. Brian slipped his hand behind his back and grabbed the tool off the table, keeping it hidden.

Brian continued to stare at Phil, watching in horror as claws replaced Phil's fingernails and toenails and alligator-like skin covered his human shape. Then the process reversed and Phil looked like Phil again. Realizing that the monster blocked the exit, Brian muttered, "Only one way out."

"What, man?" Phil asked, looking at Brain with concern. He frowned and shook his head, "You don't look so good, man."
Brian tried to appear casual as he walked over to his friend, though he could feel the beads of sweat popping out all over his body. He took a deep breath and plunged the screwdriver deep into Phil's neck, and pulled it out, watching his pal slide to the floor.

He drug Phil's body away from the door, opened it, and walked over to the Corvette. He looked at the bloody screwdriver in his hand and thought to himself, "It's not Chester."

Brian knelt near Chester's legs and shuddered as he tapped him on the knee, "Come quick!" he shouted, "Phil's hurt!"

Chester began to slide out from under the car and as soon as his chest was exposed, Brian stabbed him repeatedly in the chest and stomach. He then pulled Chester out from under the car, exposing his head and sunk the screwdriver deep in Chester's left eye.

Brian stood, shaking, and headed toward the office to call the sheriff back. As he neared the office door, he heard a low, gasping moan. Peering inside the room, he saw the Phil-monster trying to cover the wound in his neck with a clawed hand. "It's not dead!" he thought frantically.

Brian walked over to the toolbox and picked up a claw hammer. Turning with a look of grim determination, he headed back into the office to finish the job.

Exhausted, he dropped into the desk chair, set the hammer on the desk and reached for the phone, but stopped short when he heard the siren. "It's okay, Will," he yelled, leaning back in the chair and closing his eyes, "I got the monsters."

"Hey Brian," the sheriff sat on the edge of the desk, with his feet dangling and hands folded in his lap, "you seemed agitated on the phone."

Brian gazed at Will through teary eyes, "I had to kill em," he stated with conviction, "They were monsters!"

Will picked up the greasy hammer that was lying on the desk and balanced it on its head, "Who did you have to kill, Brian?"

"Hey, ya okay, man? Phil stood in the doorway, looking concerned. Behind him, Chester leaned against the Corvette.
Brian shook his head, "But I killed them!" he screamed. Brian looked from one man to the other, confused.

"Come on, Bri," the sheriff stood and helped his friend to his feet. "Head on out to the car and I'll drive you home."

Brian walked slowly toward the police car, looking closely at each man as he passed. His two friends seemed fine and there was no sign of the grisly murders. He climbed in the front seat, leaned back, and closed his eyes.

The sheriff turned to Phil and Chester, "I know its Halloween and all, but NO teasing the locals!" Will swept his arm around the garage, revealing the gory scene, "and clean this place up." The sheriff headed out to his patrol car.

Phil headed toward the office as Chester headed to the Corvette. Chester grabbed his predecessor by the ankles, dragging the mangled body out from under the car. When the corpse's head was exposed, Chester grabbed the headphones, slipped them on, turned up the music and began singing loudly and off-key as he worked.