I kick the thin metal shavings on the floor aside, brushing them abruptly with my foot.
I frown, “You missed a spot, Jorge! I know we have been here all goddamn night, but this is unacceptable.”
When I hear the brushing of the push broom, I notice that the bristles are bent and tired, much like Jorge. I do not know if that is his actual name, but I am not inclined to learn it. That man in his blue flannel shirt and dusty old Dallas Cowboys’ hat pisses me off. Just a goddamn leech, gobbling the fat of the land. I work hard to pay my taxes, so this piece of shit can not even sweep a floor.
I know some hardworking boys in town that would love to have a job right now.
“Why don’t you lay off him,” Eugene yells. “he’s been here for almost fourteen hours. Maybe get him a better broom, foreman.”
My face turns red, “I don’t remember asking you a goddamn thing, Eugene. If he wants a better fucking broom, he can ask Mr. Hopkins for one.”
“Not that it matters anyway,” Eugene responds. “no one will care in six weeks.”
“That’s why you never got promoted, you’re always fucking defeated.” I snap.
I don’t care if this factory shuts down in six weeks; I am still busting my ass. My father instilled a work ethic in me, always do your job no matter what. Leading me in following his footsteps, to working in the same factory. I clawed my way up to get the same position he had when I was a kid, the night foreman. It might be almost two in the morning, but I have a job to do. The duty I have to make sure this factory runs properly. Six weeks or not I am doing my job.
"I'm just saying, foreman," Eugene argues.
He is pissing me off now, “Did Jebediah fuck you so hard that he made you into a pussy? Because the entire town knows the two of you wasn’t making model airplanes in that shed.”
I watch as Eugene’s face changes bright red, and he finally becomes quiet.
--------
The horn sounded, and my shift was over. Exhausted from barely meeting my crew’s quota, but we managed it. It had become more demanding since Mr. Hopkins had cut the graveyard shift. I used to have eight men working the lines with me, but budget cuts left me running lean. Now all I got working the machines is Eugene. I am stuck with his lazy ass, and that no good Mexican for six more weeks. My dad would roll in his grave if he saw the sight of my crew, much less the factory.
At one time, this factory held the jobs of the finest men in town. The old rundown building had brought my father the means to buy a house. The job kept food in my belly, gifts under our tree, and it showed me the American dream. Now in six weeks it will close and sending my job off to some shit hole in Mexico. It pisses me off that some mother fucker named Felipe will take my job. All I can do is sit and stew while praying that the Walmart in Cullman hires me.
The American dream did not die. Instead, they poached it from hard workers like me.
The entire herd of them come to pick up Jorge, his wife, and his two little boys. Just seeing the sight of them makes my blood boil.
My dad warned that they would take over, robbing folk like us of our means to live. It ain’t right I heard him complain when I was a boy. I did not pay much mind then, but now I realize how right he was. Now they walk on our backs like it’s a red carpet, marching here taking our jobs. What’s worse is they don’t even try to learn our culture and expect us to respect theirs. It’s a goddamn folly if you ask me, if not a travesty.
I watch as Mr. Hopkins parks next to a car I’ve never seen before, a dark color vintage Plymouth. I notice that he is talking to the driver while the first shift rolls in. That’s when I see the stout older man named Jacob, who is the morning foreman. Jacob and my dad went back a long time, they worked with one another for decades. Jacob was like an uncle, and it was a damn shame he too was losing his job. Three years away from retirement. The factory was the only job he ever had.
I wave, “Who is Hopkins speaking to?”
“I don’t know,” he replies. “but I know that is a sweet ride he has.”
“Sorry for the mess in there,” I say. “that lazy Mexican Jorge can’t sweep a floor to save his life.”
“His name is Jose.”
“Same difference,” I snarl.
I say my goodbyes and drive back to my home, a double-wide trailer on the edge of town. Never in my life did I think I would end up in a trailer, it borders on the sad and cliche. Especially now that the factory is leaving and I will soon be unemployed. I sound like a generic country music song and not even a good one.
My old man would be ashamed of me going to bed feeling sorry for myself.
--------
I stand outside the factory as I take a drink from my coffee while I smoke a cigarette. A gloomy night with dark gray clouds covers the moon as I glare at the vacant parking lot. I hear Eugene’s car as it pulls in, his brakes screeching as they scrape on metal. When I watch him lumber in the parking lot toward the door, I can’t help wonder where Jorge is. He should have been here hours ago for his shift. As useless as he is, he never calls out and is never late.
Where is that useless fuck? I grunt.
Eugene gives me a frown, “You didn’t hear? One of his boys disappeared playing in the front yard. Someone snatched him in broad daylight. They’ve been searching for him all day.”
“They got a search party going?” I ask.
“Mostly people from the county over,” Eugene answers. “sheriff’s office says it’s outside county lines, so they ain’t helping. I guess he ain’t the right color.”
I take a drag from my cigarette as Eugene drags his feet towards the time clock. As I stare pass the empty parking lot to the woods past it, I notice something. The dark conceals it, but it looks the size of a bear stomping through the shadows. It roars as the sound echoes past the parking lot. We do not have bears in these parts.
What a goddamn mess I think to myself when I see the floors. The concrete floor covered in metal shavings and dust, no one even tried to clean up from second shift. The sound of whirring from the machines fill the room as I grab a broom. I would never think to leave this mess for Jacob. I got too much respect for the man. The words of my father come to mind, always do your job no matter what.
Eugene notices too, “Those bums couldn’t even think to do a quick spot sweep.” He says as he watches me sweep around the conveyor belt.
“Lazy sacks of shit,” I reply. “they have seven people on their crew. Imagine if we left this for them? They would bitch up a storm.”
“I bet they would even tell Hopkins himself,” Eugene says dryly, as I watch him rub sweat from his brow. The two of us are falling behind with me sweeping the floors. Eugene knows this, and even he is trying to pick up the slack. I watch as he works harder than his usual pace, which is fairly slow. He trots over to the panel as the machine works. They become more loud as he pulls a lever. I notice this and realize that the sound is funny, not the normal noise it makes.
The machine squeals to a halt.
Now I am standing outside again, smoking a cigarette. It will be the first time, I will not meet the demands of my job. We aren’t sure what Eugene did, whether he pressed the machines too hard, or what. Most of the time I am the one that works them. Now all I can do is try to call someone to fix it and that ain’t going to happen until morning.
As my cigarette burns, I stare past the parking lot to the woods again. I see another large figure in the trees and a roar echoes. I hear a scream coming from the woods too; it sounds like a young child. The sound is faint, but I can tell its young and scared. I walk in the parking lot listening carefully, and it occurs again. Another scream calling out for help, it sounds of a child for sure. A thunderous roar comes after.
I can hear the child’s cries still. The sound drifts further into the woods fading slowly away. I look around for Eugene, but I don’t see him anywhere. I may be a fool, but I head toward the direction of the screams. When I reach the field before the woods, I see something. A faint light deep within the hickory trees. The screams become more clear as I wander in the woods. The light became brighter, and that’s when I saw the source.
A boy strapped to some symbol made of wood. The boy looks familiar as I mind my steps as my feet edge closer. I hear others speaking, but I can not see them. Nor understand what they are saying. As I get nearer though, I notice five figures standing close by a fire looking upon the boy. They wear black robes and conceal their faces with a mask. The masks are not like anything I have seen; they look of clay or stone.
One of the cloaked figures walks to the boy, “We are here tonight for an offering. A soul not yet tainted by the world, one that is still pure.” The voice sounds like Hopkins. The owner of the factory.
I watch as what I assume to be Hopkins pull out a rusted blade as he presses it against the boy’s cheek. The figures drop to their knees watching as he draws blood from his skin. While I watch, I realize who the child is. It’s Jorge’s boy. I remember him from yesterday. Sneaking closer to the figures, I hear a roar close by. Followed by loud footsteps coming from behind me. I try my best to hide, from what is coming. The people in the robes don’t even flinch, much less stand up.
Two large figures pass by me and I have never seen anything like them.
--------
The creatures that now stood in the light, they look of nightmares. Their dark gray skin sags from their bodies dripping of what looks like mucus. Their limbs are long and have long claws for fingers. Their heads have no nose, but sharp teeth line their mouths. They have horns that resemble antlers, covered in sharp edges that reminds me of thorns. The only difference between the two is one has scars on its chest. The shapes almost look of letters.
They approach the boy and sniff him as he screams, “the servants have graced us with their presence.” The man in the cloak yells.
The figures chant words I don’t understand. I look to see the poor boy with tears coming from his eyes; the blood pouring from his cheek and the look of terror on his face. I watch the man lifts the knife above the boy. Ready to strike. I look over to the fire to see a gas can a few feet away. It is likely Kerosene. It’s not much, but I can not stand idly by while a child is being tortured.
I work my way to the fire walking carefully behind the trees. The gas can within feet of me, and the chants are continuing. I step out cautiously while I reach for the gas can. I quickly toss the can onto the fire. It rises and catches one cloak figure kneeling close ablaze. The man screams and it breaks the chant. The fire spreads across the dead leaves and now it is chaos. The roar from the creatures happen as I can hear panic in the men’s voices.
The gray-skinned beasts become restless, almost in a rage. I watch as the one with scars impales his claws into the man on fire. It lifts him like a doll. The blood flows from his chest as he is tossed aside. The other cloaks notice as they scream from the confusion. The other one attacks the ones that scream as they scatter. I can hear the roars and shrieks in the woods as it pursues them. It leaves only the one with scars and the man holding the knife.
The man turns his knife to the beast, “Creature I command you to stop. I am an ally of your master, and he demands a sacrifice.“ The creature seems unphased by these words.
The man points the knife at the beast as it raises its claws to the air. It strikes as I see the mask crumble revealing Mr. Hopkins' face. It strikes him again. As I watch him fold and fall to the ground. I hide again behind a tree as I watch this demon look at the boy. It raises its claw to swipe at him, but something is different. It is almost as if it can not harm the boy. It lets out a piercing shriek, then turns to walk away. It stomps slowly disappearing into the woods.
“How will I repay my debt?” Hopkins cries.
I walk to the boy begin untying him, "He won't just come for me, he will come for all of us. There will be nothing anyone can do to stop him." Hopkins continues.
The bounds are too tight as I look down at the knife, and I gaze at Hopkins. His face pours blood from deep claw marks that were slashed across his face. I grab the knife as I free the boy from the symbol they bound him to. Hopkins continues to ramble, and I can not help the urge. I kick him in the face a few times out of disgust as he becomes silent. When I free the boy, I lift him to my hip to carry him out of this cursed place. He holds on tightly as I pass bodies that been torn limb from limb in the woods.
I carry the child back to the factory, and still no sight of Eugene. I load the boy carefully in my truck he is almost catatonic.I can not blame the poor thing I am almost there myself. When I walk to the driver side my truck, I glance back to the woods. Three figures stand in the distance. The two demons stand behind a man. He wears a dark gray suit and waves.
I quickly hop into my car and drive as fast as I can. They watch but do not move.
It was almost sunrise when I arrive at the boy's home. His father, Jose bursts through the door and quickly grabs on to his son. It reminded me of how my father used to embrace me, and for a moment I let go of my animosity towards Jose. I realize that he loved his boy the same as my Dad loved me.
I am not going to say I am fond of Jose, but I did learn one thing. I've now realized how we make monsters.
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