The Damned Thing Adaptation

Conor Doyle

Mr. Bailey

10/13/10

The Damned Thing Adaptation

Ambridge, Pennsylvania, 1955. The town would have been bustling with activity. Wealthy shop keepers of all kinds would have their doors wide open to the happy shoppers that walked aimlessly along the sidewalk. Around 5:15 many of the laborers, many of whom were still in high school, could be found relaxing out on the town at a favorite bar or restaurant after a hard days work at the steel mills. Younger children would hang out in the many parks and fields along the east side of the Ohio River, some playing pick up games of baseball or football, and others lazily trying their luck with a fishing rod on the docks. They would later come home to their suburban houses, all neatly built along an efficient grid of streets, to a delicious home cooked meal that their mother had prepared for them. That was Ambridge, Pennsylvania, 55 years ago. Today roughly a third of the population remains in the town. The once busy streets are now almost completely empty, with only a few people still walking on the cracked and uneven sidewalks. Most of the shops had closed when the steel market went over seas, but the buildings still stand along the main street, with peeling lead paint and lettering so faded one could hardly distinguish between businesses. They stand as a memorial to those happy, carefree times in the 50’s before the good economy that came with the success of the steel market disappeared. Fields that were places of joy and laughter are now either built up with the empty shells of low income housing or overgrown with tall grass and small trees. The warm and inviting suburban houses are now boarded up structures of rotted wood, stained by the vandalism of restless youths who had nothing to do but make trouble. A colossal steel factory sits on the river bank, rust generously spread all over its corrugated roof and walls. The windows are all shattered from the many pieces of excess slag that thuggish kids have thrown at them. The inside of the factory is full of large ovens and massive iron pots used for the transportation of molten metal. Chains hang like vines from the ceiling clink together when the wind blows, and old machinery creaks and whines constantly. A small scrap metal store haphazardly thrown together in one small corner of the factory is the only reason that the relic still stands. An old man, who looks strangely youthful for his age, runs it. He works alone, spending his nights sitting and smoking by an improvised hobo stove. His house is a small, enclosed room that looks like it may have at one time been an officer for one of the rich steel barons. It is about 9 o’clock, and he has just returned from a rare trip to Riverton, Wyoming, to see his brother replenish his supply of pipe tobacco. He casually lights his pipe and sits down on a three-legged wooden stool next to the stove. Just when he has gotten completely relaxed in comfortable silence, he hears a crisp knock on his shop door.

“Shop’s closed,” he hollers with an aged southern accent in the direction of the door.

“Larry open up, it’s me, Steve,” a voice responds.

As Larry opens the door, the dim light shines on a man wearing an old sheriff’s uniform with a trooper’s hat, both of which look as though they have not been worn for a while, with dust on the brim of the hat and neat creases still the shirt. Steve’s face is worn with many lines and looks to be only a few years younger than Larry. His voice is deep and commanding.

            “Why’re y’all dressed up in your uniform tonight Steve? I ain’t in any trouble am I?” Larry asked inquisitively.

            “No, not at all Larry, at least you’re not yet. Listen, this morning I was out on my usual patrol, and as I came around to the docks, I saw some horrible things….”

* * *

            I woke up early on that crisp and chilly late November day. I got out of bed and went about my normal routine, but suddenly paused when I looked out the window. I saw the familiar large plumes of smoke and ominous orange glow coming from the old mill. I know they shut that mill down years ago and that all valuable materials and machinery had been removed. How could this be happening? I quickly threw on my leather coat, trooper’s hat, and sheriff’s badge, and sped over there in my squad car. The smoke had stopped by the time I arrived, but there was still something glowing around back. I got out of the car and was casually walking over when I heard a scream that seemed to be the voice of fear itself. The noise hit me like a freight train, and I tripped as I started to run like hell back to the car, locking myself inside. I thought of calling for back up, but it would take almost a half hour to get here, seeing as everyone else was sound asleep. After what seemed like forever, I forced my self to get back out of the car. Before I went anywhere, I took my brand new M590A1 pistol grip shot gun off of the gun rack, and struggled to load in 5 shells with my shaking hands. This time I slowly crept along the wall of the mill, cursing as my feet crunched on the frosted grass. As I neared the corner, I slowly took one step at a time, hoping that each step wouldn’t be my last. When I reached the corner, I summoned up all of my courage, and jumped around, chambering a round and yelling “FREEZE!” as I moved. As my eyes darted around, I quickly saw that I was alone, but then took notice of three dull orange stumps of metal in the process of solidifying. With adrenaline pumping in my veins, I sprinted to the other side of the mill and looked down the wall to make sure that nobody had tried to sneak off in the other direction. After convincing my self that I was alone, I tried to calm myself down, walking calmly back to the strange metal forms. Looking on the scene again, I noticed something small and cylindrical next to one of the lumps, and some tracks in the frost covered grass leading directly away from the area. Upon closer inspection, I realized the cylinder was a can of spray paint. It was at that moment a horrible thought crept into my mind. I looked more closely at one of the lumps, and to my horror I saw hand sticking out from underneath it, with all of the skin and flesh burned off, leaving only the charred bones, with the fingers dug into the ground as if the poor person had tried to pull themselves out. I jumped back, repulsed by the sight, and scrambled for my radio, calling all of the stations for back up. Luckily, back up could get here in about 15 minutes. Just as I finally relaxed, something like a raindrop hit the brim of my hat, and within a second a hot bead of molten metal burned all the way through, leaving a nice neat hole. Surprised, I looked up and saw how these three poor kids had been murdered. A huge melting pot had been overturned from the top floor window. I knew I had to go up there and investigate, but I couldn’t find an unlocked door anywhere. Right when I was about to break in through one of the locked doors, I noticed a small rusted out hole in the wall against the ground just big enough for me to squeeze past. After a few minutes of maneuvering and some small scrapes, I was in. I looked around the masses of huge old machines, and realized that someone could easily still be hiding in here, so I went on the alert, shotgun up and eyes scanning constantly. After a thorough check, I gazed at the far wall and saw that there was a sort of loft room that could be reached by an old rickety staircase. I padded over there on silent feet, trying to make as little squeaks as possible on the staircase, until I got to the door leading into the room. I tried the handle only to find that it was locked from the inside. I just had to get in there, so I stood as far back as I could, took aim, and blew the handle off with the shotgun. I ran in quick to surprise whoever was in there, But nearly fell down a great hole that had been melted through the grated floor just seconds earlier. I glimpsed down and saw what did it—a hideous monster constructed of boiling metal, with large arms and a head that had only a great mouth that screamed up at me as it sank underground until it was no longer visible. Absolutely amazed at what I had just seen, I pinched myself several times to make sure I wasn’t dreaming. I then realized that it was that creature that lifted up that several ton pot and killed those kids.

* * *

            “It was horrible Larry. So you’re saying you weren’t here at all these past few days?” Steve asked. Larry however didn’t respond immediately, and just sat there with a small smile on his face.

            “Larry?” Steve repeated.

            “Oh yeah, yeah, just awful what happened to them kids,” Larry responded hastily.

            “Well its not all bad, we think one got away, and we’ve got everyone looking for him,” Steve said hopefully.

            “What’d you say? One them thugs got away?” Larry said with a flash of anger.

            “Yeah, Larry, something wrong with that?” Steve said.

            “Uh… no, no, not at all. Good for him…” Larry mumbled in response. Steve looked at Larry suspiciously, thinking about how he always complained about those kids, and how he spent so much time down here alone, doing who knows what. He had lived his whole life in this town, and worked for years in the mill.

            “Say, Larry,” Steve questioned “You haven’t ever heard of any sort of metal monsters or anything like that in these parts, have you?”

            “Well,” Larry began with a strange grin “There always been rumors that the government people used the mills for experimenting on things, ‘specially with that nuclear type stuff. Heck, they even say they used it on a few fellas who were unlucky enough to volunteer. Of course, they say that the effects or what not wore off when they ran out of that stuff.” Steve’s heart started beating faster. What if the monster he saw was some old scientists mistake?

            “What kind of effects was this stuff supposed to have on somebody?” Steve asked with wide eyes and mouth slightly open, like a scared child asking what happens next in a ghost story.

            “Well now, I heard it gave a man prolonged youth, and supernatural powers of transformation. But these are all rumors, Steve, nothing to take seriously, right?” Larry said very softly.

            “Oh yes, of course, all hypothetical,” Steve said with an awkward laugh “But if these things were real, how do you suppose you would kill—,” Whatever Steve was trying to say was cut off with a large amount of static from his radio. He tuned a dial and a voice crackled over.

            “All units, we have found Kevin, the boy who escaped, I repeat, all units, we have found the boy who claims to have escaped the incident this morning,” The dispatcher then proceeded to give out an address for an apartment on the other side of town.

            “Ok Larry I gotta go now but can you do me a favor and stay here for a few hours till I sort this out?” Steve asked. Larry responded with a nod. Steve put on his jacket, and stepped outside, just as it started to rain.

            “You take care now, Steve,” Larry said as Steve walked out. After the door closed, Larry pulled a small bust strangely heavy lead box out from underneath his bed, and opened it, letting a strange glow light up his face.

* * *

I skipped last period a week ago on Thursday, with Jack, Dave, and Kyle. We had been talking about going and spray-painting for days, and that Thursday we got pumped up enough to actually go and buy some. It was stupid now that I think about it, but it seemed like fun at the time. Dave’s a year older than us, he was going to graduate this spring, and he said we’d be ok because he’d done it before. We weren’t going to do it, but then some old guy seemed to over hear us when we were talking when we were walking to Dave’s. It seemed like he was expecting us, because he jumped out of nowhere. He told us about this old mill that hadn’t been sprayed in a long time. He even told us about how in about a week the old guy who stayed was going away in a few days and that there were cameras everywhere except for on one wall. When we got to Dave’s, we told him about it, and he took us in his car and we scouted the place out. Now that I think about it, we didn’t see any cameras at all, but thought that they might be hidden. So we waited until real late last night, and snuck over there. I only survived because I came late, and was still a little hidden in the tall grass when it happened. Well, they thought we were set, so they didn’t try to be quiet or anything. They just shook the bottle up when suddenly a door up near the roof opened up, and we saw that same old guy that told us to come at this time. They thought he was helping us at first, and I was about to pop out when I saw him take some funny green stuff in a vial and inject it into his arm. Then he screamed, but not like a normal scream, much worse, and I nearly fainted. He convulsed, and it sounded like he fell down the stairs, but when he came back up, well, it wasn’t him, it was some kind of glowing metal monster. It had brought up a huge pot of molten steel, and threw globs of it at my friends. They were crying and screaming, and Dave even tried to pull himself away. The thing seemed to watch them, and it looked like he was laughing. Then it noticed a squad car had pulled up, and stepped back in the building. I started running when it went inside, and didn’t stop till I was home.

* * *

            The moment Kevin finished his story, Steve sprinted out to his car and raced, sirens blaring, all the way back to the mill. He grabbed his shotgun, blasted through the door, and ran in hoping he could catch Larry before he left, but he was gone. All that remained was an empty vial with the label “Gas Hills Uranium Mine, Riverton, Wyoming. Danger: highly radioactive substance.