Black Forest

by Shane Lee

  “With me, Monty,” Mullen said, his tone hushed but firm as he pushed open the door and stepped into the room.

  Henry didn’t follow.

  Monty braced himself against the burning, rotting smell while he walked inside. If he breathed through his mouth, it was better, but then he imagined it going down into his stomach and nesting there, filling him with the rot from the inside. Lungs or stomach? Which was better?

  It was dark. There was a window, but it was shut and curtained. Monty resisted the urge to dart over to it and let the sun in. He approached the bed alongside Judge Mullen, who had the Rites book in the crook of his elbow, resting against his side.

  The corpse of Audrey Kettle waited for them.

  18

  Once his eyes adjusted, Monty could see the form of Audrey Kettle lying in the bed. Only her head was visible, the rest underneath three or four thick, heavy blankets. Had she been freezing, begging her husband for more and more blankets, until she finally expired in the night?

  The vision of that suffering spiked Monty’s mind so sharply that it made his eyes water and his heart wrench. This smell of death; this wrecked widower outside the door; this quiet house, with the children all shut up in their own rooms; this was a home. A home with first a dead grandmother, and now a dead mother, a corpse that was still here, like it wasn’t ready to give up its time in its house.

  Audrey. Audrey’s house.

  The Kettle mother’s head was shrunken. It was so odd, so dissimilar to her, that Monty at first wasn’t sure what he was looking at. He thought that it was another balled-up, dirty shawl at the head of the bed. But the blanket of hair around her skull made it clear that this was Audrey; her long, brown locks had fallen from her scalp like a scythe had been taken to her, leaving her bare.

  She looked like a skull that had been set in the sun for months and months.

  Her skin was dark and stretched, almost like leather, yet it gave the sense that it would crumble with the faintest touch. The rest of her body was completely hidden beneath her excess of blankets. Monty had no desire to see any more.

  “Judge...she’s...” Monty had to say something. “I’ve never seen...”

  Mullen nodded. He spoke quietly, keeping his voice to himself and Monty. “It is a shame. It appears she suffered a great deal.”

  Monty tried not to imagine it.

  “I sent for the priest earlier,” Judge Mullen continued. “He should be here shortly. Once he has rested and sent her, I will perform the rites.”

  A priest, right. The ritual of death had escaped Monty’s mind, cast away ever since going through it for his father.

  Had a priest ever seen anything like this before? Marie had implied that Ma Kettle was skin and bones on her last day. Did this same thing happen to her?

  Why did you bring me here, Judge?

  The question clawed at his lips, but he didn’t put it forth. It wasn’t as though he could leave. He would be seeing this through until the Judge was finished. No matter how long it—

  Audrey moved.

  Monty’s jaw slid open as he watched her small head turn ever so slightly, the loose hair rustling as it did. The blankets moved; barely, but they did, as her body shifted beneath them.

  He looked to Judge Mullen, who registered this impassively, though his eyes were wide. He turned to Monty, moving his head only slightly.

  “Close the door.” The words came out fast and firm, a strict order. “Henry should not see this.”

  Monty tried to move and felt frozen. His eyes drifted back to Audrey, turning her head toward them. Her eyes shifted beneath black lids.

  “Go!”

  The harsh whisper snapped Monty out, and he managed to shuffle his feet to the side and shut the door. No one outside tried to open it again. It was just them...and her.

  Audrey breathed—she must have been breathing the entire time, but it was so small and insignificant that they hadn’t noticed. It had gone unnoticed by her family, as well, and who could blame them? Who would lift up those shrouds and press their ears against what remained of the woman’s chest? Who could lower themselves within an inch of that tortured skull and search for life? Not even the woman’s husband.

  Audrey was beyond hope and beyond approach, and yet here she was, lying alive in this bed in the back of her house.

  She must be in terrible pain, Monty thought. Her skin...her bones...everything is all...

  Judge Mullen grabbed Monty by the shoulder and gave him a single, strong shake, and he realized that he had been on the verge of passing out on the bedroom floor.

  “Stay with me,” Mullen said, his strong fingers pressing divots into Monty’s flesh. “She is...she cannot last for long.” He paused. “Not like this. Whatever is keeping her here...it will pass.”

  Monty’s vision steadied. Even in the dark, he could see that Audrey was looking at him. Right at him.

  But no—her eyes were...

  Gone?

  Lidded. The skin there was taut, like it had been sewn shut. Eyes or no, the sight made shivers crawl up and down his back like squirming bugs. He fought off the urge to shake, with the Judge’s hand still holding his shoulder.

  “I’m okay,” he breathed, and the hard fingers eased. “You...she’s close.” He chewed on his lips. “To dying.”

  The Judge nodded, a gesture which Monty barely caught in the darkness. All the light was coming from the crack under the door and a tiny gap in the curtains.

  The blanket shifted. An arm slipped out from underneath, falling off the edge of the bed and hanging there. It was narrow and black, like a burned stick. The hand was clenched in a tiny, shrunken fist. As it hung there, it slowly uncurled, the fingers so thin that Monty half-expected them to break off and fall to the floor.

  Then there was silence. Even their own breathing was hushed. The room was heavy and the air was thick. Monty was almost used to the smell, but he could still feel it pressing in around him.

  Judge Mullen broke the silence.

  “It’s over. Open the door, Monty,” he said, his fingers running across the edges of his book. “I believe I just heard the priest arrive.”

  Monty emerged from the back room like he was breaking free of a tomb, leaving and finding Henry and the priest at the front door. The latter moved past him, Henry in his wake, and Monty followed.

  He stood quietly by while Priest Erick performed his duties and Judge Mullen finished with the rites. Henry was the only one who was in attendance. The children were nowhere to be seen, even on their walk out of the house.

  Halfway through Mullen’s speech, Monty thought he saw Audrey move again. A subtle shift, barely rustling the blankets. He stared, expecting more, fearing that she would breathe again, that she wasn’t gone, that she was still suffering.

  But she remained still till it was over, and hadn’t moved again by the time they’d left.

  It felt strange to see sunshine once they were outside. Monty blinked in it, looking down toward the ground.

  “That poor family,” Judge Mullen said. “It is very...”

  Monty could hardly hear him. Some faraway part of him knew that he should be listening to the Judge, but that part was buried beneath images of horror and death. Audrey’s emaciated form would fade away only to be replaced by his father’s crushed head, dripping blood and grinning its inviting grin.

  He breathed, tasting dust on his tongue. His feet carried him along with the Judge, back toward the Commons.

  “...Tobias, well, he may be a fearmonger...”

  His shoulders slumped; it occurred to him that he felt nothing good had happened in quite some time. He and Terra had those sleepwalking episodes...Ma Kettle’s death, and then Audrey’s...the chickens, too, though that hardly compared...

  But this job was a good thing. Their harvest, that had been good, and the sale had been quick and bountiful.

  “...once this is behind us...”

  Bad things come in threes. An old saying, and one he’d heard fro
m his father, and his mother, and Ma Kettle herself; others too numerous to draw forth. The chickens, Ma Kettle, and Audrey. Three untimely deaths, unexplained, but in the past.

  The thought was a little childish, but it made him feel better. Enough to look up and let the sun hit his face without feeling like he should be back in that room, waiting for Audrey to move again.

  Judge Mullen stopped them down the road from the Commons. “The Kettles won’t be ready to send Audrey tonight, regardless of what doctor Tobias thinks should be done. I told them that the sending can wait till tomorrow evening. The priests will handle Audrey’s remains until then.”

  Monty nodded. Stop thinking. You have to listen.

  “There will be more work today, but I want to you to hurry it along.” Judge Mullen glanced toward the north. “It would be good for you to inform Delila...your family about Audrey’s passing. Let them know the sending will be tomorrow evening. With the harvest over, you all should be able to attend.”

  “We’ll be there,” Monty affirmed.

  The Judge gave him a nod, and the pair of them went into the Commons to catch the time that had been lost.

  There was still light in the sky by the time Monty left Irisa and headed home. The key to his quarters in his pocket, he was amazed at how long it felt since he had taken the northern path back to the farm. It had only been one night.

  But a lot had happened in that time.

  He barely beat the sunlight home, and he smiled as he saw the familiar curves of the land roll up to him, their house sitting comfortably in the grass with a narrow stream of smoke coming through their chimney. Mother had the cookfire on. His stomach rumbled.

  It was nice to be away from home, but it was better to be back.

  19

  Monty didn’t know what to expect from his mother, but the hug she encased him in hadn’t been on the top of his list.

  “You really had to stay away your first day on the job?” she said into his ear, holding him with a strength that reminded him of his father.

  “The Judge...needed me,” he said, after catching his breath. “There was a lot to do.”

  “Hmm.” Delila released him, pulling back just a bit so that she could look into his eyes. “Well, I expect you to tell me everything, then. I want to know what he has you doing all day and all night.” She turned back to the cookfire so their dinner wouldn’t burn. “Go on, sit down and fill me in.”

  Monty was actually excited to tell his mother about the courier job, rather than irritated to give her a report. He drew a cup of water from the bucket on the counter and drank some down before sitting.

  He started by telling his mother about his quarters, and how they were small but the bed was soft. He then told her what exactly was expected of him as the recruit courier; the beck and call of the officials, his messenger bag—which he regretted not bringing home—and getting to talk to various town officials, however briefly.

  “Rodney Talhauer is kind of, um,” Monty said, “gruff, I guess. Apparently his son was the courier before me, and he doesn’t seem all that happy that I have his son’s job.”

  “Rodney.” His mother shook her head. “He’s a good man, but he’s got a bit of a temper. Especially when it comes to Judge Mullen.” She smiled. “He and your father always got along well.”

  Monty didn’t know that. Thinking about it now, he never knew much about his father’s friends from town, or what those relationships were like. It had never occurred to him to wonder.

  “Selman—Mr. Selman, from the Buyers’ Committee—he’s nice, though. I went to his office three times and ran into him a couple times outside of that, and he always asked how I was doing. But I didn’t have any time to talk.”

  Delila was serving their food by about the time Monty was reaching the end of his day, today, and Terra came in through the front door around the same time.

  “Monty!” she exclaimed upon seeing him sitting at the table. “Where’d you go?”

  “I was working,” he said, a smile coming across his face at her excitement. “Didn’t mom tell you?”

  “I’m sure I did,” Delila said, sitting down at the table once the food was laid out, hot and steaming, slices of fresh beef and sweetened carrots that were purchased in town.

  “I don’t remember,” Terra said, hopping up into a chair. “I was playing with Jeremy and Kensey. It’s more fun when the corn’s all grown.”

  “It’ll be back soon,” Delila assured her. “Then all you kids can get lost in it, like usual.”

  All you kids. Somehow, the scene at the Kettle house had been completely driven from his mind, but it came back over him like a stinking tide at the thought of the Kettle children driven into the furthest corners of their home by the specter of their mother.

  He paused, his fork halfway to his mouth.

  “Something wrong with the food?” his mother asked, raising an eyebrow.

  “Huh...? No...no.” Monty ate his bite, taking time to chew so that he could think of a response. He didn’t want to bring up Audrey during dinner, and not in front of Terra, who was happily chewing a carrot. He swallowed and said, “I was just thinking that I should have brought my messenger bag home, but it’s fine if it’s locked in my quarters there.”

  “I’m sure.” Delila’s eyes drifted to her daughter as she ate her dinner with sloppy eagerness. “Don’t make too much a mess, Terra. Or you’ll be cleaning it up.”

  Once dinner was over and Delila had handed Terra a clean cloth to wipe the table with, Monty brought up the subject of Audrey.

  “Can we go outside while she wipes up, mom?” he asked. “There’s something I gotta tell you about. In private.”

  “Aw, you gotta help me,” Terra insisted. The cloth, still clean, was balled up in her hands.

  Delila said, “You can certainly manage, Terra. When I’m back, I want that table clean enough to eat off of. All right?”

  “Fine,” Terra said, shaking out the rag.

  Monty stepped outside, Delila following after him. They walked away from the house for a few paces until Monty was sure Terra wouldn’t hear.

  “So...” Monty wasn’t sure how to say it, even though he’d done the same thing only days before. It might not be something that someone ever got used to. “Today, the Judge and I went to the Kettles’. Audrey, you know, she wasn’t, um...doing too good.”

  “Monty...”

  “She died, mom.” Monty just forced the words out, before the images could overtake him again. “I was there, with Judge Mullen, and with—with Priest Erick. For the resting and the rites.”

  “Oh, no...” Delila was hushed, looking downward for a moment before wrapping Monty up in another hug. “This is terrible. The poor Kettles...”

  This time when she released Monty, her look was harsher. Her hands found her hips. “You were at the rites? Why in heaven’s name would Judge Mullen bring you along to a rites reading?”

  “It wasn’t so bad,” Monty said, which was a lie big enough to be almost completely untrue. He supposed it would have been worse if he had vomited, or passed out on the floor. “The Judge said the family would appreciate me there.”

  “Like they appreciated you at the sending,” Delila fumed. “That is absolutely ridiculous, bringing you to something like that. That is not part of your responsibility.”

  Monty had been about to tell her what had happened, that Audrey had been still alive, but now he held it back. “It was for the family, mom. For the Kettles.”

  “Did you talk to them? Henry? The children?”

  She was always able to get right to the heart of the matter. Monty flushed, trying to think of the right words. “It wasn’t...it wasn’t a good time for talking. They just needed...support.”

  “I am going to tell Mullen that if he—”

  “Mom!” Monty held up his hands. “Please, please don’t. Don’t yell at Judge Mullen. Please. For me? It would ruin everything.”

  Delila relaxed a little bit. “Well, you’re
right about that. Mullen doesn’t take too kindly to being questioned.” Her hands came up from her hips, now crossing in front of her chest. “I know this is important to you, Monty. I just don’t want you getting in over your head, or getting hurt.”

  “I won’t,” Monty said, regretting telling her about Rodney Talhauer, though she didn’t seem worried about that. “It’s just delivering messages and being by the Judge’s side as he asks. Nothing dangerous.”

  Judge Mullen’s comment about the bloody dagger floated to the front of his mind. He quickly knocked it away.

  “There’s dangerous,” Delila said, “and there’s reckless, and uncaring. You’re going to have nightmares.”

  “I’m not some little kid,” Monty huffed, and then of course that made him think of the vision of his father, and he wondered what might be going on in his head, after all. “Can’t you trust me?”

  “I trust you,” she said. “I don’t trust the Judge.”

  He knew better than to argue with his mother about that, no matter how different his opinion of the Judge was. Maybe later, in his career as a town official, she would understand.

  “I’ll be careful,” he stated as a form of compromise.

  “I hope so.” Delila let out a little sigh, still meeting Monty’s eyes. “I know you’re not a kid anymore, Monty. That’s clearer every day. But you’re still my son, and I am always going to protect you.” A little smile eased onto her face. “Whether you like it or not.”

  She went up to her son and patted his shoulder before he could respond. “Do you know when the sending will be?”

  “Tomorrow evening,” Monty said. “We can all go?”

  “We will,” Delila said. “I regret not being able to attend Ma Kettle’s. I will make sure we’re there for the rest of the family.”

  “Okay.” Monty took in a breath. It appeared the hard part of this conversation was over. “I’ll be reporting back to the Judge in the morning, but with the sending, there won’t be many evening messages to deliver. I’ll be able to meet you and Terra there.”

  “That’s fine. Let’s go back inside, now. It’s chilly.”