Mold

by Lindsey Goddard

 

  Cassie ignored the questions, pondering the doctor's words. “Mold,” she said under her breath, terrified.

  **

 

  Cassie looked at the words she'd written in the notebook. It wasn't her usual penmanship. Where her letters typically swirled and curved, only jagged chicken scratch filled the paper. She hadn't wanted to start the letter on a sour note. Nathan had worries of his own. So she'd hurriedly scribbled a few updates on the baby—the new flavors of Gerber he'd tried this month and his reaction to the mushy green paste. She smiled now, remembering Caleb's puckered lips as he spit the green goo onto his chin.

  Green goo. That reminded her of mold.

 

  Cassie sighed, beginning her next paragraph:

 

  Things have been strange without you around. I don't want you to worry, but I've been seeing things. Hearing things. Like nightmares during the day. I think maybe it's my heart's reaction to missing you, to needing you around so much...

 

  A splashing sound from the bathroom shattered Cassie concentration. She dropped the pen. “What in the hell...” she muttered.

  Another splash, like the slapping of water against the bath tub, followed by a soft whimpering. She glanced over to the couch where Caleb lay sleeping, surrounded on all sides by pillows. This cry hadn't come from his direction. She looked down the hall, and her heart seized in her chest, like a pin cushion filled with too many needles.

 

  The bathroom light was on. Cassie knew for a fact she'd turned it off only minutes before.

 

  Using the coffee table for support, she rose from the love seat, eyes fixed on the yellow patch of light just beyond the bathroom door. There was the distinct sound of waves spilling over the side of the bath tub and hitting the tiled floor. The muted cries of pain were increasing in pitch. A voice groaned. Someone breathed frantically.

 

  Cassie leaned against the wall, bile rising in the back of her throat, her stomach flip-flopping with dread. Was she really going to investigate... after all she'd been through? Did she want to know what lay beyond that door? The answer was simple: yes. She had to know if she was crazy.

 

  Cassie stayed pressed against wall, feeling its cool surface through the back of her shirt. She inched down the hall, her bottom lip turning white where she bit down, hard, with her upper teeth. She reached the door jamb, fingers twisting in the hem of her shirt as she cautiously peered around the edge.

 

  A girl lay in the bath tub. The top half of her long blonde hair was dry, but covered in smears of blood. Lines of blood ran over the sides of the tub where her hands now hung, pale and limp. At first Cassie thought she was dead, because the groaning had stopped, but then she raised her arms to cradle something to her chest. A baby. The tiny infant squirmed in her arms.

 

  The girl sobbed quietly, her breasts heaving with each staccato breath, streams of tears falling into the bloody water. She looked at the baby—who was still attached to its mother by means of an umbilical cord—and grasped the child with both hands. She dunked the infant beneath the water and held him under the surface, as air bubbles escaped his body. She closed her eyes and bowed her head, tears streaming down her face.

 

  Cassie gasped. The ghostly figure seemed to hear the inward breath and looked up, locking eyes with Cassie. Her lungs tightened, panic washing over her body. She sprinted down the hall, grabbed Caleb from the couch and made a mad dash for the stairs.

  “Mrs. Jennings!” she called out as she thundered up the steps. “Barbara! Barbara! Where are you?!”

 

  A hand touched Cassie's shoulder as she rounded the top of the stairs, causing her to jump and scream. “It's.... just me,” wheezed Barbara from beside her. She scrunched her eyebrows in concern, frown lines deepening as she listened to Cassie's heavy breathing. “What.... on earth?” She squeezed Cassie's shoulder gently. “What.... has... happened?”

  Cassie walked further into the kitchen, eager to put as much space between herself and the basement as possible. She clutched Caleb to her body. He fought against her grip, trying to wiggle away.

 

  “Who lived in the basement before me?” Cassie asked, not interested in dancing around the subject.

 

  “A... young girl...” Barbara answered, plainly.

 

  “Did she die? This young girl?” Cassie studied the old woman's expression, watching for signs of sorrow, waiting for bad memories to contort her features.

 

  The old woman's brow creased with confusion. “No...” She shook her head with certainty. “She... moved... away.”

 

  “Did you know she was pregnant?”

 

  Barbara's cloudy eyes bulged in disbelief. Her mouth hung open. She slowly shook her head. “She... never... mentioned...” A cough interrupted her statement. She struggled for a moment to clear her throat. “I... wouldn't... know,” she said, gesturing to her eyes. “Can't...see....”

 

  She bowed her head, dead eyes aimed at the floor. “She... never... mentioned... a child...”

  **

 

  Her pillow lay soaked with tears. She couldn't sleep; it was useless. She tried to fill her mind with happy thoughts, but horrifying images kept leaking through the cracks, like river water through a levy.

 

  Caleb snored softly beside her. Every once in a while he would lick his lips or coo, and Cassie knew he was dreaming about something nice. She wished she could crawl inside his little mind and take refuge in his innocence for a spell. Curled in her arms, he resembled a cherub. She studied his milky smooth skin and chubby cheeks, and her heart pumped with a fresh dose of anxiety. She had to keep him safe, no matter what.

 

  Mrs. Jennings had offered Cassie the spare bedroom upstairs, rubbing her back and assuring her that the nightmares would pass. But they weren't nightmares. Someone was trying to tell her something; she could feel it. Yet Cassie would gladly occupy the extra bedroom... for as long as Mrs. Jennings would allow.

 

  She pulled the covers over her face, careful not to shroud Caleb's head in the process. The soft fabric of the quilt felt good against her skin as she listened to the AC whirring through the vents. She could feel the steady thump of Caleb's heart against her arm as her thoughts began to drift. She thought of Nathan. How his dark brown eyes glistened like black coffee, how his lips went crooked when he smiled.

 

  And then the buzzing started...

 

  Her ears began to ring—a high-pitched droning that echoed through her skull. It started off as a low buzz, increasing in pitch until it felt like someone was blowing a whistle in her brain, drowning out Caleb's snoring and the whine of the AC. She jammed her fingers into her ears: a feeble attempt to counter the assault on her senses.

 

  Reluctantly, she pulled the covers from her face. Cassie sat straight up, sweat forming on her forehead. The room was dark, save for the dull glow of a digital clock on the night stand. A muted green light washed over the room, cast by the LED numbers. The hard wood floor glistened in the light—except for one thin section. Something dark stretched across the narrow patch of floor. It led from the bed to the door, like a trail. She poked it with the tip of her toe. It was mushy, and wet, and fuzzy.

 

  Mold.

 

  Cassie carefully sidestepped the mold as she slipped out of the covers. She wasn't sure what compelled her to follow the trail, but a surge of adrenaline coursed through her veins, screaming for her to protect her child. These horrors wouldn't stop until she understood the message. And what message could be clearer than a trail?

 

  The bedroom door creaked faintly as she pulled it open. To her left, the hardwood shined, still
freshly mopped. To her right, it was a different story.

 

  The mold was everywhere. It stained the walls and ceiling, consuming every inch of the floor. The hall that led into the kitchen resembled an underground cave; nothing more than a narrow strip of shadow, lush with fungus and smelling of must and decay. There was nowhere she could step to avoid getting her feet dirty, so Cassie sighed and took a step onto the path.

 

  Her bare feet slid on a slimy patch of mold, and she lost her footing for a moment.. Cringing, she took another step forward, then another, chills running through her spine to prickle the hairs on her neck. Black mildew covered her feet, sloshing around her toes and caking her heels in filth.

 

  The door to the basement stood open. She fumbled for the light switch, giving it a flick. Nothing happened. Of course, she thought. Perfect.

 

  She held the banister tightly as she eased her way down the soggy stairs. The squealing inside her brain reached an unbearable peak as the carpet squished between her toes.

 

  She followed the trail from the bottom of the stairs—past the living room, down the hall... to the bathroom. It was so dark in the basement she felt her way with her hands, sliding them over the wall. She paused in the bathroom doorway, once again feeling for a light switch. She flicked it on, and this time light poured over the room.

  “Love me. Kill Caleb,” a tiny voice screamed. She stood in the doorway at what seemed to be the end of the trail, watching as the mold stretched outward across the floor and began to climb up the far wall. It spread over the tiles like a time lapse video, growing before her eyes.

 

  Sickly green and black lines inched up the wall and gathered around the frame of the tiny window. It covered the pink floral drapes and plastered the sill, until nothing could be seen through the mold. The window pane shattered, glass splinters raining over the scene, peppering the ghastly trail. The curtains were blown open, a constant gust of wind ripping them apart.

 

  The mold was thick now, covering the shards of broken glass jutting from the filthy window frame. The trail led to the abandoned flower bed outside, mixing with the weeds and the soil.

 

  “Love me. Love me. Love me,” the voice chanted.

  **

 

  Cassie rose from the bath tub, reaching for her robe. The terry cloth felt good as she slid her arms through the holes, wrapping herself in the fabric. She tied it at the waist, examining herself in the mirror. She looked gaunt. Dark circles rimmed her eyes; her lip was swollen where she'd bitten it in fear.

 

  But it was over now. Everything would be okay.

 

  A knock on the door caused Cassie to jump. Who could it be? Mrs. Jennings could barely walk the length of a hallway without becoming winded, and she never bothered with the stairs.

 

  “Cassie?” called a man's voice. It was muffled by the wooden door, but Cassie would recognize that voice anywhere.

 

  “Nathan?”

 

  “Cassie, it's me.”

 

  She spun the doorknob in a daze, not believing her ears. His dark chocolate eyes greeted her as the door swung open, melting her heart on the spot. A bouquet of pink carnations and baby's breath was gathered at his chest. She threw her arms around his neck, smashing into the flowers and crushing the petals. She breathed him in—his familiar after shave, the musk of his deodorant. “I missed you, too,” he whispered in her ear, half-laughing.

 

  She squeezed his torso until her arms felt sore, running her hands over his back. “Are you home?” she said—hopeful—gazing into his eyes.

 

  “A visit,” he corrected. “Your letter... it worried me.”

 

  Cassie gulped, remembering the letter she had sent. She pushed away from him, digging her nails into her palms. “Why didn't you call and let me know you were coming?”

 

  “Because I know how much you hate surprises,” he grinned. “And I love it.”

 

  She looked away, nervously playing with her fingers, and bit her bottom lip, flinching as fresh pain exploded in her mouth.

 

  “So where's the little guy?” Nathan asked, looking around the darkened basement. “Sleeping?”

 

  “Yes, but—” Cassie tried to explain, but Nathan was already off. He reached the end of the hallway in four long strides, filled with an energy Cassie barely remembered possessing.

 

  “Wait,” she yelped, stumbling after him. “Just wait!” She caught up with him as he reached the bedroom door.

 

  He looked puzzled. “Why? I won't wake him. I just want to see him, Cass.” Nathan turned the knob without waiting for approval. He peeked his head through the door, and Cassie watched as the color drained from his face.

 

  His nostrils flared as the stench filled his nose. The room smelled dirty and wet, like the depths a swamp. Mold plastered the walls. It pulsed and glowed with a sinister shade of green as he inched past the threshold. The carpet was damp, making slurping noises as it squished underneath his heavy boots. He peered over the side of the crib and bellowed out a scream. The corpse of a baby stared back with empty eye sockets, dirt clinging to its fungus-covered skin.

 

  “What have you done to him?” he shrieked, turning to face the doorway.

 

  Cassie braced the door jamb, white-knuckled. The shrieking filled her head again, shrill and constant. She forced her eyes shut as a headache squeezed her brain like a vice. The squealing in her skull roared out of control. “It's the only way to keep it quiet,” she said, too loudly. “To take care of it...”

 

  “Is this Caleb?!” Nathan screamed. “Where is Caleb?!”

 

  Cassie pointed to the shadowy depths of the living room. “He is safe,” she screamed above the ringing in her skull. “I dug it up. To make it happy, to keep its voice out of my head.”

 

  Nathan kicked the crib, breaking a slat of wood with his steel-toed boots. “You've gone crazy,” he spat, turning in the direction Cassie pointed, eager to find his son.

 

  Nathan hurried to the couch, where Caleb's sleeping form was lit by the glow of the TV set. He fell to one knee in front of the child, and placed a hand on his cheek. Sobs of relief rattled his shoulders as he buried his face in Caleb's pillow.

 

  The TV flickered, casting eerie shadows across the room as she yanked the belt from her robe. She slid the fabric around his neck, pulling hard. How dare he kick the baby's crib? Who did he think he was?

 

  He clawed frantically at the rope as it crushed his wind pipe. His eyes pleaded with hers, face swelling with blood.

 

  “Kill Nathan. Love me,” the voice whispered in her head.

  ~~For more information on Lindsey Beth Goddard, visit her website: www.LindseyBethGoddard.com