The Machine Fink

The workers realized in panic and alarm just what was happening, the big man at the controls of the conveyor diving for the floor as he punched the angry red, emergency-stop button. The conveyor came to an immediate halt but the gunshots did not, gravity pulling what remained of the loaded cartridges into the pool of liquid metal as the two men covered their heads and whispered desperate prayers.

After a few moments, the reports came to an end. The melter deck was quiet but for the ever-present rumble of the air handling system, the sound of metal being worked on the manufacturing floor below like the ringing of faraway bells. The big man on the floor looked up, deciding it was safe at last.

Standing, beginning with a barrage of profanities that commented on the low intelligence, questionable lineage, and inadequate sexual prowess of his young partner, the big man Fritz shouted, "Didn't I always tell you to check the load before you start in the morning? You could have killed me!" He continued with another torrent of insults aimed at the young Billy, these even more colorful than the first.

"I'm sorry, but the night crew..." the young man began to protest, but he wasn't allowed to finish.

"Nice work, Billy boy," Fritz shouted, his hands shaking as he returned the conveyor control pendant to the panel. "What do they care the garbage they throw in at the last minute? How many times do I have to tell you that before it gets through your thick head?"

"But why would they do that?" Billy asked as the big man came toward him threateningly.

Fritz was a bear of a man, nearly seven foot tall with a thickly muscled body that had been cast in the hard labor and heat of foundry work for over twenty years. The soot covered, wire brush whiskers of his chest length beard sprouted from under his respirator like a lion's mane, as frightening as any lion would have been to Billy as he stood at the far end of the conveyor.

The stairs were at the other end of the mezzanine and Billy might have run for it if he thought he could make an escape. Still, as Fritz came toward him, arms flailing to punctuate every insult, Billy backed right up to the handrail, sending a worried glance to the main floor of the factory thirty feet below.

The answer Fritz gave to Billy's question was full of loathing. "What do they care? It's all a big joke to them. If we're not smart enough to check things out for ourselves, then it's our own fault. You got to learn how to take responsibility, Billy boy. It's just like everything else with you, isn't it? All a big joke, uh, doesn't matter who else gets hurt along the way."

"But I checked it," Bill said loudly.

"Don't you lie to me. If you can't get your act together I'll have the foreman kick you out of here and you'll be selling burgers so fast your head'll spin."

"But Fritz, I swear, I checked it twenty minutes ago, just before the meeting."

Fritz took off his tinted safety glasses, leaving a mask of clean flesh about his eyes, and gave Billy a hard look. "Good job," he said sarcastically, "it looks like you took care of that about as good as you did my Shelly."

Sufficiently bullied by the comment, Billy said, "No, it was all clean this morning. I checked it. Besides, it was all the good stuff from Comstock Metals. You know there's no way bullets got in there. Someone must have put them in there just before we came back."

"What's that?" said Fritz, pulling the respirator down to his chest, the anger suddenly gone. "You're not lyin' to me, are you boy?"

"No, I swear."

There was a moment as the two considered each other, the ever present growl of the exhaust hood preventing the silence from growing. "Checked it did you?"

"Yes," said Billy, a step below pleading.

"You better not be lyin' to me," Fritz said, gently this time. His wild hair no longer seemed so bestial and the anger that had hardened his features softened.

It was then Fritz asked an unusual question. "You see anything," he paused, "anything weird?"

Taken aback, Billy said, "What?"

"You know, something strange, like out of the corner of your eye," said Fritz.

Billy froze. Now that Fritz had put into words, Billy had thought that he had seen something unusual that morning. He swallowed hard. His guts turned and he grew pale.

Scrutinizing the young man, Fritz said in a crazy, half whisper, "Ah, so you did see something, didn't you?"

"No, I mean, yes I did."

"Made you feel like you had a few pops, did it? A little light headed? Dizzy?"

"Yeah," replied Billy tentatively.

"Oh, thought so, maybe." Fritz said quickly, "You smell pine trees?"

"Yes, now that you mention it, I did. What's wrong?"

Looking over his shoulder as if expecting he were being singled out as prey, Fritz said, "This place is full of strange things. Machinery breaking down, people getting hurt, stuff coming up missing, it's not all canny if you ask me."

"No, that's just the guys, the contract. They don't want to go on strike so they try to mess things up as bad as they can."

"Oh no, it's not the guys doing it. Contract or no it can't be explained by the works of men."

"Then what is it?"

"Don't really know for sure. This place has had its spooks as long as I've been around. It's like it's been here too long. Maybe too many men got killed or hurt in the old days. That kind of thing can turn places bad sometimes, like prisons and hospitals, all the human suffering, the lost souls."

"Come on, Fritz, you don't believe that."

"Believe it, Billy boy. There's a lot in this world that all those college folks like to think they can explain, but they can't, not really. The world is a strange place."

Billy shuddered. He wanted to laugh, wanted to dismiss the talk as absurdity, but somehow looking at Fritz, he couldn't. "So what do you think it is -- some kind of ghost?"

"No, a machine fink probably."

"Machine fink?"

"Yeah, I've run into them before, nasty little buggers. They do this kind of thing all the time. They like to push buttons, break machinery, steal donuts, that sort of thing."

"Do they hurt people?"

"Yeah, sometimes they do."

"What do they look like?"

"Well, they're small, about as big as your hand, and standing still they're pretty much invisible unless you throw a blanket over them or something. That's how Fred caught one once."

"Not old Fred in maintenance?"

"Oh yeah, Fred, he wasn't born old you know," Fritz said with an incredulous smile. He continued with his description, saying, "Anyway, you can see it when they move, a shape is all, not like an animal or a person."

"Are they real?"

"As real as you and me, and don't you never forget it. They may be small but they're incredibly strong and they can be real devils if they have half a mind."

"If they're not ghosts, where do they come from?"

"Well, the guys say a bunch came in with that new hoist from Ohio. That's why it breaks down all the time and none of them hot shot engineers can fix it."

"You mean they're all over?"

"Why sure, I think they came on the boats from Europe. The old stories from over there talk about all kinds of things like machine finks if you know what you're looking for. My guess is they've been playing games with folks for centuries." Fritz gave Billy a meaningful nod. "We're going to have to get rid of it, you know."

"But why do we have to do it? Let the Boss-man take care of it."

Laughing raucously, Fritz said, "I said a machine fink, not a rat fink. That pinhead can't do anything about it, not that he would believe us if we tried to tell him."

"So what do we do?"

Giving Billy a conspiratorial grin, Fritz said, "We set a trap."

"Where have you been?" Billy asked Fritz as he returned to the melter deck after the lunch break.

"Boss-man's office," Fritz replied, lifting his chin haughtily and affecting an air of importance.

"What did he want?"

"Oh, there he was, wiping the slush from the rims of his brand new Cadillac when he sees one of his poor, working stiffs, walking conveniently by, and so he decides to ask this poor, common man what he thinks about the new contract offer."

"Really?"

"Yes sir, he brought me into his office and he gave me a soda, not a pop but a soda, from his own personal refrigerator, and he sits me down and starts trying to pump me for information."

"Like what?"

"Oh, like if the guys think that new negotiator is doing a good job for them, or if we know how hard times are for the company, cost of healthcare and liability and gas prices up and all that sort of thing."

"So he thinks we're stupid."

"Oh no," Fritz said in an exaggerated tone. "He went out of his way to say how much he valued the opinion of us workers and that if I should ever have any suggestions or had anything that I'd like to talk to him about that I should just feel free to come and see him anytime."

"Just don't forget to make an appointment first."

"Right enough, I'm sure."

"What a self righteous jerk," Billy said in disgust.

"I can think of a few better ways of putting it than that."

Unable to think about anything else but the machine fink since that morning, Billy said, "Well, did you get it, the bait?"

Holding up a grease stained paper sack with pride, Fritz said, "Straight from the Old Mill."

"What kind?"

"Pink frosting with sprinkles."

"Good choice. You get one for me?"

"You're not out of the dog house with me yet, Billy boy." Billy lost his smile and looked away. Fritz grunted with satisfaction and said, "You get a box?"

Subdued, Billy said, "Yeah, you really think this is going to work? I mean, if they are as smart as you say, how are they going to fall for something like this? It's classic Saturday morning cartoon stuff."

"Well then, let's just hope they don't watch as much TV as you do."

Billy picked up the box and handed it to Fritz, saying, "Hey, any word on the contract?"

"Nothing official yet, but I think the guys are ready to play a little hard ball."

"That's no good," said Billy, feeling his gut tighten. "I can't go on strike. The landlord would kick me out on the street in a heartbeat."

"You stick by your brothers and we'll take care of you. That Boss-man don't care a lick what happens to you so long as he can keep his stock options paying off." Setting the trap, Fritz said, "You call Shelly, see how's she's feeling?"

"Yeah, I went home. She's doing a lot better."

Fritz eyed the young man carefully, but said nothing.

When they had finished their preparations, Fritz and Billy went back to work. The damaged and rejected product from Comstock Metals having already been turned into the five hundred pound billets at the extrusion end of the Number Eight furnace, Billy began unloading brass turnings, using a pitchfork with thick tines to pull the tangled clumps from a bin and place them on the conveyor.

The turnings were thick with cutting oil and soon the melter was churning out an inky black smoke. Fritz turned the exhaust hood to its highest setting, the rumble deafening, but the heavy metallic fumes and soot were soon cleared.

The turnings not only produced smoke, they also caused tiny islands of impurities to rise to the surface of the molten metal, growing to continents in the hellish ocean of the melter. Fritz could hardly keep the slag scraped away and feed the melter at the same time, even on the conveyor's slowest setting.

It happened in a moment. While he was shaking the slag from the scraper in a bin, Fritz felt heat, sudden and painful, from his right leg. He dropped the scraper and looked down, finding a burning rag shoved into the back of his right boot. Using a heavily gloved hand and a corner of the protective apron he wore, Fritz beat the flames, shouting for help.

"I'm coming!" Billy yelled back, grabbing a fire extinguisher. But as he ran toward the burning Fritz, his feet were pushed from under him, toppling him, and he landed hard on his back on the concrete floor. Thinking only to save himself by motion, Billy rolled to his side, briefly touching something, foiling an attempt by the fink with the garden fork at his head.

But the fink was already away. The overturned box fell off its prop, but not to the floor. The edge stuck on a junked candlestick, shining brightly, seeming an exclamation point to punctuate the fink's success. The donut was gone. A flash of pink streaked across the floor and over to the control panel.

Back on his feet and fire extinguisher in hand, Billy raced toward Fritz, the fire burning stronger and stronger despite the big man's efforts at stamping out the flame. "Close your eyes," said Billy, pulling the pin and squeezing the handle, releasing the carbon dioxide in a cloud of white. Soon the flames were out.

Breathing heavily, Fritz looked up at Billy and said his thanks. Billy nodded.

While they had been putting out the fire, the conveyor had accelerated to full speed, spilling more turnings into the melter, smoke boiling in fury out and around the exhaust hood. The fink had loosed the pendant from its coupling and tether, and as Fritz and Billy watched, the little monster hefted it into the melter with a great splash.

"He's turned it off," Fritz said as he raced through the growing blackness to the exhaust hood controls. Glad to find the switch turned off, not broken, Fritz turned the exhaust back to its highest setting, but even as he did so, there was a great clanking noise from above. The sound was followed by the grinding of machine parts and the exhaust system came to a sudden stop. Smoke filled the deck.

"There he is," Billy shouted, too loud now the air handler had been silenced. "Look, you can see him."

Sure enough, the vague outline of the fink, a little man covered in soot, could be seen climbing the ladder to the roof. Fritz started toward the ladder.

"But you're hurt," Billy said.

"I'll be fine," Fritz replied. "If we don't get that little rascal now, who knows what he'll do next."

Up the ladder they went with all the speed they could manage. Twice Fritz stopped, breathing hard, and one of these times Billy moved up over the back of his legs, thinking to hold the big man to the ladder should he black out. There was no need. After a short rest, Fritz began again with a new determination, up the ladder and out onto the roof. They couldn't see the fink at first, but the path left by the little monster was unmistakable. Snow was deep on the roof, and it looked as though the fink had more swum than run from the trapdoor.

"There he goes," said Fritz, stepping off in the direction the trail had left, the sudden cold of the day stinging his lungs as much as the need for oxygen. Something sailed past his head.

Fritz didn't realize what it was until Billy threw his next snowball. This one did not miss. The fink was struck from behind by a snowball that was nearly as big as it was, Billy shouting in triumph as the fink tumbled headlong and sprawled helplessly against the parapet wall at the edge of the roof.

"Got you now," Fritz said as he closed the distance. He slid to a stop astride the fink, trying to reach it before it had a chance to regain its senses, but he was too late.

Fritz gave a scream as the fink bit hard into the meat of his hand. He shook his hand, trying to smash the fink against the metal post of an escape ladder, but the fink was too fast once again. It had seen the ladder and before Fritz could bash its brains out, the little monster was gone.

"I'll get him." Billy shouted, putting his hand to the ladder, looking down.

The fink was already to the bottom, running lightly across the sidewalk and into the parking lot. As they watched, it came to the first car, a shiny new Cadillac. Without a pause, the fink climbed up onto the tire and disappeared into the engine compartment.

Fritz and Billy froze. They gave each other a peculiar look.

"Well, I think our job here is done," Fritz said suddenly, showing his teeth.

Billy smiled in return, saying, "I couldn't agree more."

The excitement over, Fritz remembered the hurts he had suffered. He wound a shop rag around his bleeding hand and sat on the parapet wall to inspect his leg.

"Oh, that looks bad," Billy said.

"Yes, well, let's get back to work. We're going to have an awful mess to sort out. I think I'm going to need a doctor, too."

"Okay," said Billy, offering his shoulder. "Let me help."

Fritz nodded, looking Billy in the eye. "Thanks," he said as they headed back to the trapdoor, his leg causing him to limp as the pain bit sharply. "Say, uh, I should be out of the med-station by the time shift is over. Why don't you meet me down at the Woodshed and let me buy you a beer? I'd like to suggest a few names for that new grandson of mine."

The End

Bio: Mike Phillips is the author of Reign of the Nightmare Prince and the soon to be released The World Below: Chronicles of the Goblin King Book One. His short stories have appeared in ParABnormal Digest, Cemetery Moon, Sinister Tales, The Big Book of New Short Horror, World of Myth, Dark Horizons, Mystic Signals and many others. Online, his work has appeared in Darker, Lorelei Signal, Midnight Times, Fringe, and, of course, Aphelion. He is best known for his Crow Witch and Patrick Donegal series.This is Mike's sixth appearance in Aphelion; the most recent was The World-Famous Wrestling Bear, in the February 2012 edition.

E-mail: Mike Phillips

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