The Blob

They didn’t believe her about the creature, and they were going to punish Brian Flagg.

She couldn’t allow that. She had to help Brian. She alone had seen what had really killed twice already tonight. Maybe she could do something about stopping it from killing again.

She got up and started dressing. She’d done it before, sneaking out through her bedroom window, down a low-slung roof, down the drainpipe to the grass below. They hadn’t caught her then, and they wouldn’t catch her now.

If there was something she could do to help, she had to do it. It was her responsibility to the community. And it was her responsibility to Paul and to Brian Flagg.

Quickly she slipped on her old jeans.

It was bigger now, filled with the flesh and blood and bones of four people.

But it was still hungry.

Behind it the wheeled vehicle steamed in the moonlight as it crept along the ground like a rolling, oceanless wave. The remains of its most recent victims roiled about its interior in a most satisfactory way. The illumination from the moon picked out the tumble of Scott Jesky’s school ring, the rolling of bones stripped of flesh, the wash of blood.

Down below the car a squirrel skittered out, jumping up and perching on a fallen tree. It lifted its perky little snout and sniffed the night air. It shuddered, skipped, peered around over the edge of the log.

A ropy tendril flicked out from the night, coiling around the squirrel.

The squirrel squeaked and squealed as it was pulled toward the massive blot of protoplasm that was the Blob.

Then it was pulled into a vacuole, a hungry, diseased maw opened in the mass by the pseudopod—and was swallowed up, like a tasty afterdinner mint.

Still the Blob was not satisfied.

It flowed on and on through the woods. It caught a bird, and it caught a snake, and it caught another bird, and it popped them into its mass and absorbed them.

Finally it reached a hole, near the road, where it sensed a warm shelter of darkness.

Slithering and reforming itself to fit, the Blob slipped into the hole.

And into the sewers of Morgan City.

The sheriff’s station in Morgan City was a small one, cluttered with gray file cabinets, an old desk, and lots of police paraphernalia. It was a sight familiar to Brian Flagg; he thought of it as the “Waiting Room of Hell.”

He kept his eyes averted from the nearby holding cells. He had some grim memories of those cells, and he knew that was where he’d end up again. He sat now in a straight-backed chair, with Sheriff Geller and Deputy Briggs questioning him. He felt sullen and angry, and he barely heard what they were accusing him of. Hell, if it rained too hard in Morgan City these days, people seemed to want to pin it on him!

Deputy Briggs was asking the questions, while Geller sat with feet propped up on his desk, assuming his usual position of nonchalant authority.

“Okay, Flagg,” said Briggs. “Let’s hear it again.”

Brian looked up at the man, then sighed. What was the use? They were gonna pin this rap on him anyway.

“Look at him,” said Briggs. “He’s too stupid to know how much trouble he’s in.” The deputy turned his back to Brian. “Why don’t you wise up?”

“I told you everything. I’m tired of hearing myself talk.”

“We’re not boring you, are we?” said Briggs. “Bright kid like you?”

Anger spilled out of Brian. “Look, am I under arrest or what? If I am, I want a lawyer.”

Briggs turned to the sheriff. “The man wants a lawyer,” he said sarcastically.

“Yeah, that’s right,” continued Brian. “And if you’re not gonna book me I’d like to leave. Either way I want you out of my face.”

That apparently tore it for Briggs. He grabbed Brian by the front of his jacket and dragged him up so that they were nose to nose. “Oh, yeah, hard-ass? I’m in your face to stay. What are you gonna do about it?”

Brian kissed him.

Disgusted, Briggs pushed him back in his chair, wiped his mouth, and cocked his fist back.

“You little shit. I oughta bust your head open.”

“Bill,” interrupted the sheriff softly. That stopped Briggs, who realized he was out of line. If there were any heads to be busted around here, that was the sheriff’s job. Briggs went back to work, scrubbing his lips.

Sally Jeffers waddled in. Sally, Brian knew, was the radio dispatch operator. He listened to what she had to say. Maybe this would clue him in on what was really going down.

“Can’t locate his mother,” she said.

“Well, we know his father’s not around,” said Geller.

“Probably passed out drunk in some whorehouse somewhere,” sneered Briggs.

Brian clapped his hands. “Oooh, good one, Briggs. Call a shrink, I’m a broken man.”

The sheriff beckoned the deputy over, then pulled him to where he thought they were out of earshot. They weren’t, however, and Brian could hear every word.

“Turn him loose,” said the sheriff.

“Herb, we got witnesses placing him at the scene of the crime,” Deputy Briggs protested.

“No motive. No evidence. Not a spot of blood on him. Flagg’s a punk, but he’s no murderer…”

“I think it’s a mistake.”

“Your objection is duly noted,” said the sheriff. “Now, turn him loose. We’ve got work to do.”

Briggs sighed heavily and walked over to Brian.

“Take a hike,” he said.

Cripes! After all this hassle they put him through! They’d just wanted to scare him. It pissed him off. “Gee, Brian. We’re awfully sorry we troubled you. Seems we went and made a mistake. Stupid us!” Brian taunted.

Briggs stuck a finger under Brian’s nose. He was so angry, he looked ready to explode. “You’re pushing your luck!”

“Go on, Flagg,” said Geller. “Get out of here before I change my mind.”

Brian got up and strode toward the door. He stopped and turned to the deputy. “You oughtta change your lipstick, Briggs. It tastes like shit!” He spun on his heel and cruised out.

God, he was pissed! They’d haul him down here like this for nothing! And all because he’d tried to help that poor old bastard, for Chrissakes.

The street was deserted, still dry and warm from the day’s heat. His hands jammed into his jacket, Brian Flagg strode angrily along the sidewalk. He heard the muttering of a small motor behind him and turned around. A Volkswagen bug, red, pulled up alongside of him. Meg Penny was at the wheel.

“Brian!” she said. “I need to talk to you!”

God, would they never stop hounding him! He wanted nothing to do with this chick. She was just trouble. He kept on walking.

“Brian!” Meg called after him.

She pulled the car over, turned off the ignition, and raced after him, finally catching up.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Brian asked her.

“I came down to bail you out.”

He couldn’t believe his eyes. Meg was carrying a credit card in one of her hands, and she was showing it to him.

Brian jabbed a finger back at the jail. “What do you think that is, Neiman-Marcus? They don’t take plastic.” He took the card and slipped it into her shirt pocket, relaxing a bit. “Look, I appreciate the thought. Now go home.”

“But I need to talk to you,” Meg insisted.

“I’m sorry about your boyfriend. I really am. But I’m tired, I’m hungry, and I’m in no mood for