#SpookyShowcase: The Bad Penny by M.I. Milliman

Welcome to the 9th annual #SpookyShowcase, a Halloween artist and author showcase. A full schedule of submissions can be found here so you don’t miss a single entry for THESE DEADLY CURSES. Now, on to today’s submission!

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The Bad Penny by M.I. Milliman

He was running up the beach as fast as he could get his spent legs to move, his feet pushing through the soft cool sand, still dripping wet and coughing up sea water, calling after the man in the red swim trunks with a thick black head of hair. 

“Hey. I know what you did. I know it’s you.”

The man wasn’t answering. Wouldn’t even look back. 

“You in the red shorts, I’m talking to you,” pausing, putting his hands on his knees still trying to catch his breath, thinking, This guy really not think I don’t know it’s him?

“Can you just hold up a minute? . . . Please.”

The man in the red swim trunks stopped.

“Thank you,” huffing a little, giving a slow jogging effort the rest of the distance until he was in front of the man. It was him alright. Same heavy forehead. Same shadowy eyes. Same shark fin nose. 

The man smiled, saying, “My friend,” with that same thin-lipped toothy smile, like he was glad to see him. Like they were long lost pals. 

“Yeah? Some friend you turned out to be. Friends like you who needs friends.”

“You come for this?” said the man, holding it up the small round object.

 He shook his head no, taking in deep breathes. Hands on his knees again. 

“You want it so bad, why not take it? Take it one more time.”

“No!” he said, almost yelling it. Then, in a softer tone, one feeling the extent of his exhaustion “No. I didn’t want this. I didn’t want any of it.”

“What you want then?” said the man, the friendliness now gone from his face, his forehead looking like an anvil ready to crush something. 

Remembering what the fortune teller with the stone on her face said, he told the man he was sorry. “I was having a bad day, ya know? I shouldn’t have said what I said and I shouldn’t have acted the way I did. I’m sorry.”

Earlier that summer Bodie spent two angry weeks in El Paso, Texas. Angry because he was in Texas, and angry because he was short on funds and couldn’t leave Texas. The freelance gig he was on fell through and the publisher was taking their sweet time paying him what he was owed. Not much but it was enough to get out of Texas, which was something. But for now his van wit the surfboard strapped to the top was parked in a dirt lot by the river. In the morning he would walk the two miles to the gas station that made fresh doughnuts every morning. He was turning the corner with his head down, counting what change he had left in his pocket, trying to figure out if he could afford breakfast that morning, and almost ran into the man wearing a red track suit. With less than three dollars it wasn’t looking good. Sure, he could go through his van and scrounge enough for a proper meal, but it was a long way back and it was already pushing noon. He was hungry. Besides, he needed to save some for breakfast tomorrow, just in case the money didn’t come through again.

The man in the red track suit greeted him like he did every day for the last two weeks, like they were old friends from way back. 

“My friend. My good friend. I have much joy to see you on this morning.”

Bodie said, “Morning Serge,” without looking up, stepping to the side to go around.

The man in the red track suit side-stepped along with him, keeping in front of Bodie. 

“What? No time for your friend Serge today?”

“Not today,” said Bodie, stepping back the other way.

The man stepped in front of him again. “Okay. No time today. How about a smoke then? Got a stick?”

Bodie said, still looking down at his change, “You know I don’t smoke.” Not in the mood. 

“A dollar? To help with fund?”

Now Bodie looked up, seeing Serge in that same red polyester track suit he wore everyday, zipped all the way to the neck, even in this heat. Same expensive white sneakers on his feet. Same greased back black hair. Bodie thinking, everyday he hits me up for money, looking like some high priced Russian gymnast coach. Something inside him broke. Maybe it was the track suit and the sneakers. Or maybe it was that stupid line cut into eyebrow at an angle. Was it a scar or put there on purpose? It looked on purpose. Made even more prominent by that large heavy forehead hanging over his face, like an awning, putting deep shadows where his eyes should be. Like he was wearing sunglasses. That nose poking out of the shadow like a shark fin. Or maybe it was because he’d been stuck in Nowheresville these last two weeks, broke and out of gas. Whatever it was it pissed him off, feeling a hot flash of anger spread across his face and trickling down the back of his neck. 

Just calm yourself Bodie. Be cool. 

He forced a smile. “Sorry Serge, not today.”

“Okay,” said Serge, all of the sudden not so friendly. “Maybe I get change on way out.”

“Maybe,” said Bodie. 

He went in with two dollars and ninety cents and came out holding a can of grape soda, a package of Suzie Q’s––the doughnuts gone by then––and exactly one penny in change. The attendant actually called him back for it.

“Don’t forget your change,” he said, sliding it across the counter with one finger. 

Bodie thought about telling him what he could do with his change, still being in a mood. But he took it. Back outside Serge was wearing that smile again, with his hand out.

“Hello friend. Spare some change?”

Bodie flipped him the coin with his thumb and told him to try and not spend it all at once as he walked by.

Serge bent to pick it up off the ground. Held it up, saying, “This some joke?”

Bodie didn’t turn around, not right away. He stopped and breathed, collecting himself, before slowly turning to face the man. 

“You want a joke?” Bodie said. “Here’s one. Every day some Euro-pimp wearing two-hundred dollar sneakers and a designer tracksuit hits me up for money. Clearly he’s got money, but I guess he needs mine too. Guess what. I live in a van. Not one of these new tricked out rides you see on TV with solar panels and compost toilets and custom wrap jobs. Mine’s tan, twenty years old, and starting to rust around the wheel wells. I sleep on a bed made out of 2×4’s and a half inch foam mat. My only possession is a surfboard I can’t ride, and I’m parked in a gravel lot down by the river because I’ve got no money to get where I wanna be. But sure, take my money. Go get your smokes, friend,” saying the word friend like it was a dirty word.

Serge said nothing. 

“I guess that wasn’t really a joke, more of an observation.”

“Everyone has problem, friend.” said Serge, every word deliberate. 

That was it. That was all Bodie needed. He stretched out his free hand, palm up, and said, “Give it back.”

“What?”

“The penny. Give it back.”

“You for real?”

“Give it back or I come over there and take it back. Your choice.”

Something in the man’s face changed. That heavy brow of his bunched together almost to a point. Lips went thin and drew back to bare sharp teeth. He took the coin and held it up between his thumb and forefinger and muttered words in a language Bodie couldn’t place. Then he took the coin close to his mouth and breathed on it, like you do when you want to polish a thing. Last thing he did before handing it back to Bodie was run a thick yellow thumbnail across the face of it.

He held it out for Bodie to see then placed it slowly on the flat of Bodie’s palm. “May it haunt you.”

“What was that?” looking down at the penny. “Nice try but you’re not getting it back.” He flipped it over seeing the slash through Abe Lincoln’s face. “And maybe take a grinder to those nails, you’re liable to sever an artery.” Bodie turned and put the coin into his pocket and walked away. 

Sitting on a park bench overlooking the river, the Suzie Q’s tasted like styrofoam sandwiched between to pieces of cardboard, and the can of grape soda tasted more like the can then grapes. He checked the dates––both expired. Bodie had the idea of going back to the store and asking for a refund but didn’t want to see Serge again, being a little embarrassed of how he acted. And there was the way he reacted. Something sinister in it. 

He dug the penny from out of his pocket and held it up in the light, shaking his head. “No,” he said, and put the coin back in his pocket. The Suzie Q’s and soda he put in the trash. Halfway back to his van suspicion got the better of him and he took out the coin and threw it low across the surface of the water, like he was skipping a stone. 

Sleep didn’t come easy that night, waking hours before sunrise to a fevered-dream hangover that he couldn’t shake. So he decided to hit the road early, put some space between him and this town, even if just a little. 

Despite the lack of sleep the day was turning out for the better. Not only did the money come through, the publisher felt bad about how things played out on the last job and hired him on for another––a down hill mountain bike race in Whistler, BC. After driving all morning on into the late afternoon he stopped to fill the tank and get a small something to hold him until dinner. Different gas station, different state. What state am I in anyways? Didn’t matter. The incident was behind him now. He dug change out from the center console ashtray. A coin fell and he reached to pick it up. There it was, the scared penny. Huh? he thought. Must have tossed the wrong penny. Not believing it but thinking it anyway. 

Inside he used the penny to buy a slushy––grape––and a soft pretzel with cheese. Walking out of the station a man in a red shirt and red shoes opened the door on him, putting the slushy and soft cheese all over the front of him. 

Looking down at the mess, saying, “Man . . . My shirt,” as the man passed by.

The red shirted man offered no apologies, didn’t even look to see what happened. He went by and Bodie saw him pull a gun from his back pocket, saying, “Everybody on the ground! This is a robbery!” Bodie dropped belly down on the floor right where he stood, on top of the mess of grape slushy and day-glow cheese, arms covering his head.

It’s that damn penny, Bodie thought. Serge actually did it. He cursed me. Thinking this while the man with the gun shouted threats and pistol-whipped the cashier because there wasn’t enough money, shouting curses at everyone as he left the store. 

Bodie waited only a few seconds before getting up and exiting after the man, slipping once on the mess under him, then to his feet again and out the door. He didn’t wait to see how the cashier was. He heard someone yell, “Don’t be a hero,” and thought to himself, don’t worry. He caught a glimpse of the man with the gun going around the side of the building. Bodie went the opposite way. He needed to put space between him and that penny. 

It was the wrong thing to do and he knew it. He should have stayed and helped the cashier. He should have kept an eye on the man in the red shirt with the gun. But was got spooked. He had a hell of a time explaining to the cops why he left the scene of the crime in such a hurry. Someone had taken down his license plate and the make and model of the van. He hadn’t even made city limits. 

Two weeks went by and he had no other encounters with the penny. He’d spent a good week up in Canada and the publisher liked his work enough to promise more. The idea of a cursed penny was behind him now. Out of his head. Just strange coincidences, that’s what he convinced himself. Bad luck. He was parked for the night at a rest stop not far outside Pocatello, Idaho, away from the main highway. He liked these high deserts, where the night sky was all around you, and the moon seemed just out of reach. The crickets were talking and the sounds of bats overhead. Night in full effect. Sitting on a foldout chair taking in the cool mountain air, his surf board down off the roof-rack so to clean the splattered bug guts off it. No one around. It was almost enough to get him to rethink heading back to the coast . . . No. Fall was coming, and winter swell not long after that. The nights here were pleasant for now, but soon there would be snow and freezing temperatures. Time to move on. The perks of living out of a van. 

You can get a good nights sleep in that high mountain air, and Bodie was getting some of his best when he heard a knocking on the sliding door. Three deliberate knocks, not some random tree branch or a curious animal. He held his breath and listened. Nothing. He went back to sleep, a bit more uneasy than before. After a while the knocking came again, three times, in that same deliberate fashion. Louder now. 

Bodie said, “Go away,” keeping under his blanket but alert. 

He listened. 

Again, nothing. 

It took a long time befor he was able to feel himself slipping back into sleep. He was on the brink when the knocks came again––same deliberate timing as before––even louder this time and hard enough to shake the whole van. 

Bodie threw off the blanket and sat bolt-upright. 

“What the hell!”

The idea came to him that someone was trying to climb up and steal his board. Shirtless and shoeless, in only a pair of cutoff sweats, he pulled on iron skillet he’d never used from a far back place under his bed. He called out:

“Whoever’s out there go ahead and leave the surf board and step away from the van. I don’t want trouble.”

He was searching under the front seats for the can of bear mace he bought a year back while in Alaska when he caught the faint red glow bleeding out the edges of the window shades. He listened. There was a strange humming that seemed to have always been there causing tiny vibrations.

He opened the sliding door, slowly getting the door open just enough to see nothing but a faint red glow, like a haze you find in graveyard scenes in the movies. The low hum came from everywhere and nowhere. In the distance, maybe fifty yards or so, something on the ground glowed a brighter red, slowly pulsing as it built in intensity. Bodie moved toward the light, gripping the iron skillet a little tighter, raising it slightly before approaching the light. It was almost to bright to stare at now, coming from a tiny disk shaped object laying flat in the dirt. He kicked at it with a shoeless toe, and pulled his foot back quick, feeling sharp heat at the touch. He rubbed his toe in the dirt to kill off some of the pain. 

Leaning in the object was tiny. Not much bigger than his thumbnail. He scooped it up into the skillet to have a closer look and the glowing stopped. There, resting in the middle of the skillet was the scared face of Abe Lincoln staring up at him.

“Balls.” 

Bodie dropped the skillet and backed away. The glowing penny burst with a bright red flash of light and then retreated back into itself along with the red mist. After the mist was gone so was all light. Bodie now stood in a black void, the vastness of which he could feel but not touch. A great expanse of nothing. 

No, wait. There was something. 

A few feet in front of him the penny appeared. The was no light but he could see it clear as day. He took a few steps backward, keeping his eyes on the penny, but the distance remained the same. 

Now the glowing was back. Out of the penny a bright beam shot up and slowly began to take form. First, two branches grew out the top, splitting the pillar and falling in wide arches. Smaller branches grew out the ends of those, like elongated fingers. A head grew out from the middle of the two branches. Slowly it took the shape of a man, growing twelve feet or more in height. 

As the the shape of light shifted more towards human form, the face filling out, Bodie had a sudden shock of recognition. It was Serge. Bodie turned to run but there was nowhere to run to. Over his shoulder he saw that gap never widened between them, so he turned to face it.

“Why, huh? Why are you doing this? Because I took back the penny? Take it then. It’s yours.”

The twelve-foot glowing Euro-pimp said, “Keep the penny friend. I’ve come for you soul,” in a proper demon-like voice.

“Damnit,” said Bodie. 

The red glowing demon stretched out his arms and wrapped his elongated fingers around Bodie’s neck and pulled. He tried to digging his heels into the ground and found there was no ground to dig into. And he was being dragged down into the penny itself. 

Bodie woke with a full body jerk, blanket off, lying in a pool of his own sweat. He quickly sat upright and looked around, taking in his surroundings. He was back in his van. 

Just a dream, he thought. Then out loud, “Damn it.”

It was the same dream he’d had the night after he last saw Serge. Or roughly the same. He remembered the red glow and the figure dragging him into the penny, like he was being dragged down to hell. He got out of bed and went outside for some fresh air and a short stroll, needing to clear his head. Back at the van he found a note stuck under his wipers. It said: Knock Knock. He noticed the two front tires on the van had been slashed. Something shone on the ground. He knew what it was, but couldn’t help it. He had to know for sure. Yep, it’s that damn penny. 

He got the van towed into Pocatello to get the tires patched and have the mechanics do a once through on the van, see if there was any other damage done. There was none. 

While the auto shop did their work Bodie took a walk, the penny in his pocket, going to get rid of it . . . somehow. Nearing the outskirts of town he came to the Union Pacific Rail yard and had the idea to set the coin on the track in front of an oncoming train. Flatten the thing. Take that scared face clean off. He didn’t know how a curse worked but this seemed as good a fix as anything else. When it was done he bought an envelope with a stamp and wrote “To Hell” on the front with no return address and dropped it in a street box on the way back to his van. Driving out of Pocatello he felt better. 

The feeling wouldn’t last.

He had the dream three more times that week. Each time the penny showed up the next day, each time bad luck fallowed. He tried tossing the thing off a cliff and he tried burying it six feet in the earth and still it came back. Then he took it out into the desert and made a fire and melted it. After it cooled he took some bolt cutters to it and cut it in half and in half again and threw each piece out the window while driving though four different states. A few days later he paid a visit to a fortune teller in Reno. All she would tell him was that bad luck fallowed him. No shit––pardon my French––but how do I get rid of it? Hard to say, she said, looking the part with her long pink nails and a jewel glued to her forehead and what sounded like a made up accent. 

“Have you tried apologizing?” 

Another kook. Why’d he even bother? Just more wasted money and time. 

The next time the penny showed up he was at he beach surfing mild three-foot rollers just outside of off the Jersey shore. Maybe distance was the key, so he put an entire country between him and the four bits of coin. He should have know not to go out into the water that day, having had the dream and walking around the whole day feeling something bad was bound to happen. The fear was always there. But you can’t live your life in fear, that’s what he told himself. Besides, it had been a while. And this dream ended differently, only he couldn’t remember how exactly. 

Bodie paddled into a clean left break and popped up just as some guy in red shorts slammed into him coming the opposite way. Who rides a lefty going right? Besides, Bodie had paddled in first. It was bad form. Now he was off his board and tumbling through the undercurrent. He pushed up off the rocky ocean floor, trying to reach the surface, when something caught his leg. He could feel his outstretched hand break the surface, but the more he struggled the harder the thing pulled. Looking down he saw a hand wrapped around his ankle with a long thin arm disappearing into a murky red glow. Right then panic got the better of him and he took in a lung full of sea water. And something got lodged in his throat. Everything went black.

He heard someone say, “You were lucky,” opening his eyes to see a man leaning over him, shaking his head in disbelief.

“I don’t feel lucky.”

Bodie was lying on his back, his wetsuit peeled down to his waste, feeling sand in uncomfortable places. 

“Trust me dude, you got lucky. Your leash got hung up on a rock and held you under. That guy over there,”––pointing to a man up the beach in red swim trunks with thick black hair––“he saved your life.” Shaking his head now, “Some kind of fluke, you swallowing a coin out there. How he knew it was there, I don’t know.”

“What coin,” said Bodie, struggling to sit up. “Let me see it.”

“Can’t. Took it with him. I told him you’d want to keep it, as a momento or whatnot, but he said it was his.” The man shrugged his shoulders. “Said if you wanted it you could come get it. Kinda mean about it too.”

So that’s what Bodie did. He stood up, a little wobbly at first, and took after the the man in the red trunks, stumbling on weak legs and still a little short of breath, calling for him to hold up. He had something to say.

About the Author

Born and raised in Anchorage, Alaska, always thinking of other places. Play a lot of hoops and ride a lot of bikes, but nothing special. Still in Anchorage with a wife and three girls, which is something.

Twitter: @mimilliman