I’m not sure how long I was out. With a groan that would impress an eighty-year-old, I stood from the couch. The booze and pills had helped—moving all the sharp individual pains into one body-wide dull ache. I blinked, wiped my eyes, and then noted the profound change to my environment.

The room was bathed in a brownish-orange hue. Over each of the windows, there was now a semi-opaque layer of...something. I got up, scanned the room for murderous Muppets, and then limp-toed to the closest window.

In the movie Jurassic Park, the dinosaur DNA was recovered from a mosquito encased in amber. Whatever now coated the windows looked very much like that—a citrine-colored resin smeared across the entire frame. I couldn’t see through it, but the sunlight could filter in, similar to stained glass windows in churches. Against my better judgment (because at this point what difference did my judgment make?) I ran a fingertip across it. It was hard and smooth, like a polished gemstone, except for evenly spaced ridges that made it resemble the skin of an almond.

That’s what each window now looked like—a crystal almond.

It wasn’t just the windows. The back and front door were also encased and a thinner layer coated every single lightbulb so that the entire house was awash in the orange gloom. I did a slow lap around the second floor and found more of the same.

Every window. Every door. Suddenly I was living in an orange snow globe.

This was too much. I’d accepted that monsters were real and that ALmond was immortal. I’d played along with this demented scavenger hunt and fought the good fight. Whatever madness this orange resin was for, I wanted no more part in it. Even though Spuds had warned it was pointless I opted then for running away.

I went to the back door and gave the coating a tenuous tap with Drivehammer. No effect. It didn’t even really make a sound, as if the resin absorbed the resonation. I progressed from there with sequentially more powerful blows, until I was baseball bat-swinging with all my might. Each time Drivehammer just bounced harmlessly away, the handle vibrating so much that my hand began to hurt.

The resin was indestructible.

I was trapped.

Now that bravely running away could no longer be the plan, well, I had no plan. I looked around the orange-tinted room. All that was left was to find the last almond—literally a needle in a haystack.

That’s when the music started.

A rising score from an electric keyboard, followed quickly by a melodic electric guitar and drums, repeating the same beat. It came from the television despite the power being turned off. It floated out of the very air. It impossibly filled the entire house.

“In-A-Gadda-Da-Vida” by Iron Butterfly. An oldie but a creepy. No song ever gave me the willies quite like this one. I was intimately familiar with it as my mother had been a pretend hippy for a few years and had listened to it incessantly. Figures that ALmond somehow chose this song.

To add to the psychedelic atmosphere the bulbs in every lamp and overhead light began turning as if twisted by unseen hands. The resin coating on each created a slow, rotating light show, like a lava-lamp reflection across the walls, various blobby hues of almond-orange lazily drifting just fast enough to be slightly disorienting. I was suddenly living in a 1970’s concert acid trip.

It was just as Spuds had warned. The music had started—the soundtrack for the last sprint to find the final almond. The grand finale. That’s why the creature had picked a song I was familiar with. I knew it was a long song, probably clocking in at just over seventeen minutes.

That’s how long I had to find the last almond.

That’s how long I had before ALmond quit playing with me.

“In-A-Gadda-Da-Vida baby. Don’t you know that I’ll always be true?” sang the lead singer who had never been popular enough for me to remember his name.

With sudden renewed energy I began tearing the living room apart. I started with the Christmas tree, snatching off ornaments and shattering them on the floor. I shook the tree until it toppled into the corner and then moved to the couch and chairs, ripped off cushions, stuck my fingers in every groove, before flipping each over completely. Next were the shelves and every book and knickknack went flying. Nothing.

It wasn’t a delicate search, nor was it thorough. I didn’t have time for precision. I intended to smash my way around the house, cover as much ground as I could, and I hope I got lucky.

Finished with the living room I limped for the kitchen. I started with the upper cabinets—glasses, beer mugs, coffee cups—I swatted them all out, shattered them in piles, and searched the wreckage for anything brown.

ALmond was hiding in the third cabinet and when I opened the door the little shit broke a plate over my head. Now I had a new cut just about the scissor wound and I had to wipe my sleeve across it to keep the blood out of my eyes. The beast dropped from the cabinet, landing quite nimbly on the countertop. With this added height we were nearly face to face.

I was too punch-drunk to be afraid anymore, so when it snarled, I snarled back and then grabbed and swung Drivehammer. With a slight shift of its stout body, it dodged the blow by fractions of an inch. I tried again with a backhand and got the same result. It was impossible to hit.

Or was it?

“What’s your favorite color?” I shouted.

It froze. The beady little eyes popped, and it started to put a talon to its chin.

I slapped the hat off its head and then snatched it by the tuft of fur there, held it firmly in place, and blasted it in the side of the skull with Drivehammer. Nothing had ever felt so satisfying. I crushed it again. A spiderweb of cracks spread through the brown armor around its face. I hit it a third time. The brown shell splintered but held together. It just wouldn’t break, but the thing was stunned so, using its hair as a handle, I hurled it back into the living room.

I resisted the temptation to go after it and just keep popping questions and smacking it with things, as it would have been a fruitless strategy. There was no killing the beast and eventually, I’d just run out of time. With ALmond stunned I finished the cabinets, dumped the drawers, and quickly rummaged through the refrigerator.

Nothing.

The drum solo of In-A-Gadda-Da-Vida started. That meant I have about ten minutes left. I hung Drivehammer on my belt, grabbed my hockey stick, and started for the second floor.

ALmond was up. It came across the floor at me in that angry toddler waddle, snarling and clicking its talons. I knew I couldn’t outrun it, which was kind of embarrassing considering its silly gait.

“Was Iron Butterfly a one-hit-wonder band?” I yelled at it and again it paused, looking befuddled, as I wound up the hockey stick.

Now, this would come as no surprise to anyone who had ever visually observed me, but I was not a particularly good athlete. I wasn’t very fast, nor was I very strong, but I compensated for this by also not being very coordinated. One could say that every aspect of my prowess was perfectly level.

That said, at this moment, I hit the best slapshot of my never-actually-played hockey career. The blade caught ALmond in the midsection, put it into the air, and sailed it back into the living room. I lost sight of it amid the upended furniture but didn’t care as I limped to the staircase.

I went straight for Beth’s office. It was the one room I had only delicately checked but now came the time for a straight-up search warrant toss. I slammed the door behind me, even though I knew doors didn’t matter to ALmond. In-A-Gadda-Da-Vida played from Beth’s computer and the keyboard solo continued even after I yanked the plugs from the electrical socket. With no choice but to ignore the song I searched the desk, cleaned out the closet, and then moved to the file cabinet.

When I opened the top drawer, ALmond sprang out. The beast had condensed itself to squeeze in between files, but it enlarged as it came at me. An uppercut caught me in the chin and forced me to exchange a tooth for a mouthful of blood.

Somehow, I stayed upright and managed in a blood-garbled voice, to ask, “Paper or plastic?” ALmond paused midway out of the cabinet to ponder this and I rushed forward and slammed the drawer on its head. Opened it again. Slammed it again. Then, for good measure, I toppled the whole thing over.

I staggered to the guest room. I’d pretty thoroughly rummaged it already, but I was running out of options. Impossibly, “In-A-Gadda-Da-Vida” played in there, despite the lack of electronics. The keyboards and drums emanated from the very walls. I ignored this insanity as I pulled the extra sheets and blankets from the closet, spilled the dresser drawers, and started to strip and flip the bed.

ALmond was there, ridiculously flattened between the mattress and box-spring, as if a horny teen had stashed it like a porn magazine. It inflated to its stout size in a heartbeat and leaped into me, giving me a clawed strike to the gut that drew more blood. This one put me on my ass and sent my hockey stick spinning from my hand.

I’d had a question ready. Boxers or briefs? But ALmond had knocked the wind out of me, and it was all I could do to wheeze in and out weak, thin breaths. I barely managed to grab a pillow as a shield before it rushed me, talons swinging. In seconds the air clouded with down feathers and several times the claws came through the thin fabric and raked my hands, leaving more painful lacerations. It bought me just enough time to get air in my lungs.

“Is there a better film than Predator?” I managed to squeak, as I had already forgotten my previously planned question.

ALmond paused and tapped talon to chin thoughtfully. I didn’t bother with an attack. I just crawled out of the room. ALmond’s curious cessations were getting progressively shorter in duration and by the time I slammed the door, it had already charged. The beast scratched at the wood for a while as I got weakly to my feet and staggered down the hall.

The hallway rocked with the Iron Butterfly concert. The song, reaching the end of its middle-stage instrumental, came up from the floor. The ceiling light spun—a slow-motion disco ball—painting the walls with meandering waves of brown and orange.

I glanced up to the attic hatch.

Nope.

If the almond was up there, then there it would stay. I refused to go back.

I willed myself to the staircase and grasped at the banister. Dizziness washed over me, and I needed both hands to pull myself down the steps. Halfway down I lost my balance, tumbled the rest of the way, and landed roughly on the first floor. I laid there for a bit, bathed in orange and brown light from the rotating chandelier in the foyer.

“In-A-Gadda-Da-Vida, honey. Don’t you know that I love you?” sang whatever-the-hell-his-name was. The instrumental had ended, and the lyrics started again. That meant I had a little over a minute.

I pulled myself to my feet and used the wall as a crutch to painfully stagger my way...to where? The garage seemed my last best choice but, in my condition, there was no way I had time to get there, much less search it. I only made it back to the kitchen just as the song ended.

Silence.

ALmond sat on a stool at the kitchen island. It had poured another cup of scotch and pushed it to the edge of the counter, presumably for me. I was physically spent and emotionally empty, so I pulled up a stool and sat down at the drink. The little beast didn’t look at me, just stared straight ahead, drumming its taloned fingers rhythmically on the countertop.

I took a sip, wincing when the alcohol burned into the socket of my missing tooth. “I only needed one more. You’re a real asshole, you know that?”

The talon caressed the chin. It nodded.

I took another small drink, savoring the taste and the burn in my throat. I knew any second now would be the end. I wondered if the little bastard would make it quick or slow?

Then I heard my phone ring and my heart leaped. It was like a gunshot in the forest, an echo with no orientation for me to track it. The seconds seemed to drag forever but it rang again. It had definitely emanated up from the basement. ALmond swiveled to lock eyes with me. It snarled.

“Think that call is for me?” I asked

The talon started to lift to the chin. I pulled Drivehammer from my belt and hit ALmond so hard the weapon was jarred from my hand. The beast fell from the stool and I stepped over it as I stumbled to the basement door and descended.

The basement remained trashed from my earlier frantic searching. The phone rang and rang, and each tone led me closer to its location. I chucked aside boxes, threw board games and old books as I dug my way through the mess. Finally, one last ring came from inside a rolled-up rug. I had some hope that the ringing would lead me to the last almond, but alas, when I dug the phone free there was no nut to be found. To add insult to my many injuries I also missed the call.

It had been from Beth—finally calling from Hong Kong to check in on me. I sighed, briefly debating if I should call her back but realizing that she was too far away to do anything, if anything could even be done.

I knew there was no one I could call that could help me, but with the phone in hand, I figured I’d give it a shot. I dialed “911” and then Paul and then Eric but, for whatever mystical almond reason, I couldn’t get a signal out. Each attempt just ended in weird, disconnected beeps. At the very least I’d hoped to leave someone a message detailing, in epic story-telling fashion, that I’d be murdered by a two-foot-tall mutant almond. I managed a deadpan grin at that. It was certainly a fitting story for me to check out of this world with, and unlike all my tall tales, it would be true.

The phone screen lit up with a new voicemail notification. ALmond, still the helpful killer, let me get the message. It was from Beth.

“Hey honey, it’s me. Just calling to see how your solo man time is going. Work here has been crazy. They’re keeping us really busy but give me a call back when you can. Not sure if I’ll be able to answer but at least we can exchange messages. Oh, by the way, very funny with the whole almond trick you pulled before I left. I found the one you hid in my suitcase. I’ll keep it as a good-luck memento. You’re such a weirdo. Anyway, love you, bye.”

I hit the red button to end the call and tossed the phone aside.

That was it.

I was done.

ALmond must have stuck one in her luggage on the very first night it was in the house. The last nut was literally on the other side of the world.

A wave of exhaustion rolled over me and it was all I could do to limp to the wall, put my back to it, and slide to the floor. Without the frantic hope fueling my adrenaline, it didn’t just fade, it flushed away. With nothing to counter the fatigue and blood loss, it was all I could do to stay seated upright.

I heard a jingle of Christmas bells and suddenly ALmond was on the other side of the room. I’m not sure where it came from. One second the space was empty, the next it stood there. It had reclaimed Santa Bear’s hat to complete the outfit again.

We stared at each other for a bit. For the first time, I looked upon it without fear or anger, as I was too tired for either. I thought I detected something in its beady little black eyes.

Sadness?

No.

Disappointment.

With a slight shrug that seemed almost like a breathless sigh, ALmond slipped off the vest, folded it neatly, and set it on the floor. It then removed the hat, repeated the process, slowly, calmly, almost reverently, and set it atop the vest. With a talon it lightly flicked several bells one last time, the metallic ringing seeming so loud in our speechless basement standoff. Then it turned its attention back to me.

I debated some kind of defensive action, but I could barely stay awake. My vision blurred a bit and my eyelids increased in weight, pressing closed involuntarily.

ALmond reached behind its back and, with an effective sleight-of-hand, pulled Drivehammer out of thin air. It locked both talons around the handle like a pint-sized baseball bat.

“I don’t suppose you’d settle for ninety-nine?” I asked in a broken whisper.

ALmond tapped talon to chin in thought, then shook its ugly little head and said...

“All.”

End