13 Hauntings

by Clarice Black

  *

  Jennie spent the next few hours walking tensely. She kept watching Abigail from the corner of her eye. She was watching TV in the living room with all her toys, and for the moment it was as if she had never mentioned the birdman or the dead people. She looked like a normal seven-year-old.

  During the next hour, Martin came downstairs and asked Jennie, very pleasantly, to make him breakfast. He was already dressed and holding a briefcase. She made him an omelette, toast and tea. He ate everything hurriedly and left for his job which, as he told Jennie on his way out, “was very long so I’m probably not going to be back till midnight.”

  The moment he left, she decided she realised that she could not take it anymore. The knowledge was killing her. She had to tell Mary about her child’s perverse fantasies. It just so happened that Abigail demanded to see Labyrinth (the David Bowie classic) and even guided Jennie to the DVD rack where it was placed.

  This might explain a lot of her weird fantasies, thought Jennie as she put the DVD in the PlayStation and turned the movie on. She looked amusedly at the PlayStation and the small collection of games on it, thinking that they were Martin’s from his carefree days. Perhaps he still played them when he had time. Ah, adult life can get so boring. You’ve got the money, you’ve got the energy, you’ve got the resources, but you cannot get the time to indulge in the activities that you so enjoyed before.

  With Abigail fifteen minutes into the movie, Jennie made a cup of coffee and decided to take it up to Mary. She was going to have a talk with the woman about her daughter. She had to care. She was Abigail’s mom, despite everything.

  Jennie took the coffee to the study where Mary was sitting in a rocking chair, lulling to and fro, reading a ginormous book. Mary looked up from her book and ushered Jennie in.

  “Thank you for the coffee. I was getting drowsy,” she said, in what was unmistakably a warm accent.

  “Mary… Mrs Walker. I wanted to ask you something,” Jennie said apprehensively, shuffling her feet on the floor.

  “Yes. What is it?” Mary said, still not looking up from her book.

  “It’s about Abigail. I think she is disturbed.”

  Mary did not look up from her book, but appeared to have stopped reading and was paying heed to what Jennie was saying. She lulled in her chair some more.

  “It’s been this way since the day I came. She talks about weird things. She says she sees a birdman. I don’t know what it is and then yesterday at the park…” before Jennie could finish the sentence Mary had snapped the book shut with force. She looked up at Jennie, for the first time since she had been here Mary made eye contact with her, and sighed.

  “You know what? She has been saying this since we moved into this home. For the life of me I cannot figure out what it is. You know what I think? I think she’s talking about Big Bird from Sesame Street. There’s no other explanation for it,” Mary said.

  “But…”

  “But what, Jennifer? She’s a kid. They are allowed their fair share of demented imagination. Don’t tell me you didn’t have weird fantasies when you were young,” Mary said and reopened her book. “Now go and keep a check on Abigail.”

  Jennie stood in the doorway for a moment, battling against scolding Mary for being a bad mother. She needed the money. If she blew it right now, Martin and Mary would never pay her. She needed the money to pay her college dues. Last semester her mother had told her that if she wanted to remain in college, she had best get a job, an internship or serve tables at Wendy’s to earn the money. Her mother had said this to her in the utmost secrecy. She said that they were having a hard time paying the college fees as it was, and if she was not sincere with her education, she should earn the money to fund it herself. Her father never got air of it. Like the good old fashioned husband he was, he had given the complete command of monetary affairs to his wife, not knowing the repercussions of this decision. Her mother decided what her father didn’t know would not hurt him, and she never told him or anyone of this silent threat (which in her opinion she had made with all the maternal love in the world).

  If Jennie did not get this money, she could kiss her education and any prospects of a good future goodbye. Was it not funny that the world demanded a piece of paper stating that you had spent several credit hours absorbed in obsolete subjects for four years, before even considering granting an interview? Was it not biased? In a nutshell, this was every millennial’s dilemma, and despite their waves of rebelliousness worldwide, demanding to be hired on the basis of diversity and skills rather than based on their degrees, those waves seemed to have missed Leeds. London, maybe, but not Leeds.

  Jennie went downstairs without saying anything to Mary and sat beside Abigail. The musical part of the movie had commenced and David Bowie was playing with the kid, singing ‘Dance magic dance’ with a conglomeration of puppets and pets. This movie always creeped Jennie out. People had fears of clowns and zombies and such like, but poorly done puppets freaked Jennie out the most. She had come to the realisation understand in the past few days that there was something else she feared: The birdman. Who was he and why did he linger? Why could Abigail see him all the time? Who were the dead people Abigail talked about?

  Jennie shared the sofa with Abigail and decided to watch the movie. She had to watch it dozens of times during her own childhood because her parents thought she liked it. What would it hurt to watch it one more time?

  And suddenly it hit her. The tiredness, the catatonic feeling of life draining. She tried to move her head, but it felt like it was filled with lead. She tried to move her arms but they refused. She was downright tired, exhausted without a reason. She yawned and reclined on the sofa, thinking that a nap would do her good. Besides, the movie was in the middle, and Abigail would not notice if Jennie slept through it.

  She was on the brink of closing her eyes and falling asleep when Abigail said, “Jennie, I don’t want to watch the movie anymore. I wanna go to sleep. I am tired.”

  You and me both, kid, she thought and took her to her bedroom. Abigail jumped on her bed and huddled under the blankets. The sun was out and Jennie was pretty sure it was hot outside, but the house was as cold as a morgue. She watched with weary eyes as Abigail went to sleep before going to her room to catch some shut eye. Every step to her bed seemed impossible. Gravity seemed to exponentiate, forcing her to the ground. She dragged herself on to the bed and stayed there, waiting for sleep. Her muscles were aching and her heart was beating like a jackhammer in her chest. She felt frail. Jennie was about to nod off when she heard loud screaming from Abigail’s room, where she’s left her only moments before which now felt like years.

  Abigail was crying as if she was being gutted alive. “No!!! Don’t! Please! Don’t take me to the cart! I did not do anything wrong! Birdman! Help me!”

  Jennie overcame her weakening in the wake of this new terror. She rushed to Abigail’s room, wildly considering all possibilities. From the corner of her eye she saw Mary rolling in the wheelchair at the top of the stairs. There was no way she was going to come down. She watched with the utmost exasperation as Jennie went into Abigail’s room.

  Abigail was flailing in the bed, thrashing her arms and legs and sending her toys flying off the bed. She was crying, with tears jerking in wild trajectories from her face. Her eyes were still closed. She was still in her nightmare.

  “Please! I am not sick! Don’t throw me on the cart! I don’t want to die!” she screamed.

  Jennie rushed to Abigail’s side and jerked her. The violent shaking woke Abigail, who stared wildly at Jennie, horror etched on her face in a grave grimace. And then she burst into tears.

  “Jennie. I’m scared!” she hugged Jennie and cried while burying her head in Jennie’s arms.

  Jennie patted her and consoled her with, “There, there.” She looked at the top of the staircase, where Mary sat in her wheelchair, looking into the room with disdain and pathetic contempt. She stared for another second, and then rolled her wh
eelchair in the opposite direction towards her room. Jennie watched as Mary disappeared, apparently not caring one bit about her terrified daughter, and slammed the door behind her.

  How can mothers afford to be like that? Jennie thought. Abigail’s crying had subsided into punctuated sobs and hisses. Jennie took the kid from the bed, into her arms and headed for her room.

  “You can sleep in my room Abbey, there won’t be anyone in there. No one will put you in a cart. No birdman, no dead people. Let’s go,” she said hollowly. There was no conviction in her voice. She hushed Abigail and put her in her own bed. It was only noon and Jennie did not know what else to do. The tiredness which had been usurped by the adrenaline rush a few moments ago, returned with a crippling jolt. Jennie sank onto the chair in her room, and watched Abigail fall asleep for the second time. Abigail was facing her, staring contently at the wall behind Jennie. She smiled and then closed her eyes.

  Jennie looked behind her to see what had shifted her mood so suddenly. She saw a blank wall. But she had a good idea what Abigail had seen there. It was the birdman.

  Okay seriously, I need to think of a better name for this birdman. This only makes him sound ridiculous, thought Jennie.

  “I wonder if there’s Red Bull in the house,” she said aloud, as if trying to implore her body to make it to the kitchen. Jennie eventually got out of the chair and headed to the kitchen. The window in the kitchen was open. A rancid odour, the very same she had smelt the first time she had stepped outside the house with Abigail, seeped in through the open window and assaulted Jennie’s nostrils. She foraged the fridge for Red Bull. There was none. Angrily, she rammed the door shut and decided to throw caution to the wind. The horrible smelling wind.

  She took out a glass and filled it with whiskey. She took the glass back to her room and plopped back on the chair. She took deep gulps from the glass until she had emptied it and fell into a deep state of alcohol induced slumber.

  In her dreams, she saw a large pit. The sky was red with a blood moon hovering like a stage prop. She stood at the helm of the pit and looked down.

  It was filled with people. Dead people. Sick people. Crying people. She stared with fear welling in her throat as a man dressed in black garbs and a dark hood approached, dragging a trolley behind him. The trolley was filled with dead bodies. He looked at Jennie from under his hood, and then tilted the trolley into the pit, dumping the dead bodies. The dark garbed man neared Jennie and violently shoved her into the deep, black pit squirming with dead bodies. They buried her, the bodies did, underneath themselves, suffocating her. She had a moment of epiphany amidst the horror that perhaps this was the cause of her suffocation.

  She woke to the sound of her own screams. Martin stood at her side, shaking her, imploring, “Are you alright? Jennie? Wake up!”

  CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED ELEVEN

  A Protective Entity

  “You were screaming quite loudly when I came home,” Martin said.

  “When did you come home?”

  “Oh, just about now, it’s around seven. I got off early and figured I might help with dinner and Abigail. Are you okay?” he sat beside her and asked. She rubbed her eyes and looked around. Abigail was not in the room.

  “I am, I just had a disturbing dream.” She began to tell him what had been happening around the house; about how Abigail was having dreams and about her unhealthy obsession with this birdman. However, his face showed that, despite his cheeriness, he was tired. He had marks under his eyes suggesting that he had trouble sleeping. She had seen that herself when she had taken Mary her breakfast earlier that morning. She did not say anything. Instead Jennie got up from the chair and said, “I’ll help you with the dinner. What do you want to cook?”

  “I’m thinking risotto.”

  “Sounds good! Let me wash up, then I’ll join you.”

  She went into the bathroom and closed the door behind her. She took a deep breath and looked at herself in the mirror. Martin was not the only one feeling weary. She saw herself in the mirror and to her surprise, she seemed to have aged a dozen years. Her face was lined, and her tiredness was evident. In fact, she wanted to go back to sleep right away. This was in no way how she normally felt. The realisation that something seriously demented was going on sank in her heart. She was sure of it now, if she was not before. The real reason she did not want to discuss these things with Martin, or Mary for that matter, was the fear that they might consider her mentally deranged. She did not want them to think that they had hired a paranoid, manic au pair.

  Jennie joined Martin in the kitchen and got busy with the risotto. He had closed the window, thank God for that, so there was less of that dead smell in the house. She meant to ask him about that.

  “What’s the weird smell from the back of the house?”

  “I don’t know. It’s weird, isn’t it? It has been there since we moved in. Mary claims she cannot smell it. Up till now I thought I was alone imagining this smell. Smells like….”

  “Dead people,” she couldn’t help herself.

  “What would make you say that?” he looked at her as if she were sick.

  “Ha-ha. Nothing in particular. I was just trying to jab at some humour,” she replied. It was awkward. They did not talk again. Abigail’s voice was clearly audible from her bedroom. She was ‘teaching’ her toys again. And the word ‘birdman’ came up many times.

  Jennie ignored it.

  If I want to tell them, I should. But what should be my angle? I mean, Mary did see Abigail flipping out earlier today. She did not say anything. Does she not care? Did she not tell Martin about it? She thought.

  Dinner was served at nine that night. Martin carried Mary downstairs and seated her at the table. Jennie helped Abigail with her food. Tonight, Jennie did not drink the wine. Her head was swivelling still from the unfavourably large dose of whiskey earlier. She did not want to end her job here with a drinking habit. Things were topsy-turvy enough in her life as it was.

  After dinner, Martin and Mary told Jennie that they were heading out to the doctor for Mary’s weekly check-up. They said that they’d be late, so if she wanted to sleep, that would be fine.

  Abigail and Jennie waved them goodbye from the porch as the couple veered their car out of the driveway.

  “Alright Abbey. It’s just you and me in the house.”

  “And birdman.”

  Jesus Christ kid, she thought. Would you give it a break with the birdman shit? She was on the brink of saying this, but the potential effect on the child stopped her. You don’t simply tear away at someone’s beliefs no matter how outrageous they may seem.

  “What do you want to do?” she asked Abigail.

  “I’ve been given holiday homework. Want to help me with that?” Abigail asked. Jennie could see that Abigail was one of those overachievers who went on to became the teachers’ pet. They graduated with straight As, went to the best colleges, got the best degrees and progressed to make the world proud. In that moment, Jennie felt a stab of envy for Abigail. Why could she not be more like her? She giggled and replied, “No silly. Relax. You have your whole holiday for that. How about some ice cream instead?”

  *

  The freezer held two vats of ice-cream: vanilla and chocolate chip. She scooped a large serving of vanilla for Abigail and helped herself to half the vat of chocolate chip. Say whatever you want to about ice-cream, it remains the number one comfort food in the world. And Jennie needed all the comfort she could get. The two of them sat in the empty house, spooning away at their bowls, taking in mouthfuls of ice-cream and making silly faces at each other. Jennie wanted to call her parents, but her pride was standing in the way. She did not want them to think that she was missing them. Part of her wished that one of them would call her first. Her dad had not even called. Was she that dispensable? Was she expendable? She did not want to dwell on it. She would call them tomorrow if they did not call her first. Then she realised how stupid she was being. She had only been gone for two days a
t the most. They were probably still enjoying having the house.

  The clock in the lounge struck ten. Abigail clapped her hands and said, “Ooh! It’s time for Jimmy Neutron!”

  “Seriously? I thought that show was cancelled a long time ago?”

  “Nu-uh. It comes on TV every Monday and Thursday at ten o clock. And then Teen Titans!” Abigail said.

  “Wait… Teen Titans? That one I know for sure. Kiddo, that show and a ton of other good cartoons went away a million years ago, leaving you with this nonsensical garbage that they show on Cartoon Network nowadays.” Jennie stated with a self-righteousness that made her sound like a grandparent who went like ‘back in our days, we had to walk twelve miles to get to school!’

  Regardless, she opened the TV and let Abigail watch the entire episode. In the meantime, for the first time since she had arrived, she opened her laptop and aimlessly surfed the internet. Yet another celebrity had elected a boob-job, yet another remake of an all-time classic movie. Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie were no more a thing. She fired up Google, and hovered her fingers above the keyboard for a moment. She typed ‘birdman’ in the search bar and pressed enter.

  Nothing of relevance showed up. There was a picture of a half man, half bird, another picture of the movie that had won Oscars, and a dozen pictures from the adult cartoons Rick and Morty. She closed the laptop, disappointed with her search results.

  The episode was over. She closed the TV and took Abigail back to her room. She never posed any resistance, which always surprised Jennie. Children were not supposed to be this shy, introverted or well behaved.

  “Will you tell me a story?” she asked Jennie once she was in bed.

  “Oh, Honey. I’d love to. But I’m tired as hell. Another time?” Jennie said.

  “That’s okay. Birdman will tell me a story.”

  “I thought you said birdman didn’t speak.”