Respect For The Dead

by Lindsey Goddard

  Barbara flicked the wall switch to her right. Warm yellow light poured over the pink carpet of the stairs; a gentle hum of electricity filled the stairwell. The steps and basement floor were carpeted in dull pink, much lighter than a carnation.

  “Look around… down there,” Barbara instructed. “I… have—” She stopped in the middle of her sentence, struggling to catch her breath. “Trouble… with… stairs,” she finished.

  Cassie gripped the banister with one hand, a firm grip on Caleb with the other. The stairs were steep, and not very wide. She descended them cautiously, fingers tightly wrapped around the railing.

  She reached the bottom of the stairs, expecting to see cob webs and gloom. Instead she saw a mauve couch with plush pillows. A small kitchenette lay to her right, complete with a sink. An old refrigerator buzzed in the corner. A painting of a sailboat hung behind a mauve loveseat. An old TV sat, unplugged, in the corner.

  Cassie could barely make out the shape of a bed in the adjoining room. Walking past the living room, she reached her hand into the darkness, feeling for a switch. Her fingers scrambled over the wall, anxious to shed some light. She found the switch and quickly flipped it on.

  A blue quilt lay stretched over a queen-sized bed. Against the far wall stood a white dresser, and a full length mirror, framed in silver, hung near the nightstand.

  This wasn’t the creepy basement Cassie had feared it might be. There were no cement floors… no spider webs. The furniture looked comfortable, if a little outdated. At two-hundred bucks a month, she couldn’t pass it up. Money was tight right now with Nathan away.

  Sighing, she pinched the bridge of her nose. She would pay the old woman tonight. They would live here… for now.

  **

  Cassie rattled the hardware bag, eying the numerous nuts and bolts inside. They clinked together, glinting in the light, before settling back at the bottom. There were so many screws that Cassie began to wonder if she’d get done before Caleb’s bedtime. The crib had been easy to take apart, but putting it back together looked a little more complicated.

  She yawned. It had been a long day. Most of her and Nathan’s possessions were in storage now, so she didn’t have to carry much down to the basement. Just a few boxes of clothes, a high chair, and Caleb’s swing, where he sat in the living room watching the mobile spin above his head. No, it hadn’t been the labor of moving that drained Cassie. It was the emotional strain.

  She missed him, plain and simple. Waking up to his smile. Smelling his deodorant when he held her. She missed every part of Nathan, and wanted him back…

  But Nathan Solomon belonged to the United States Army for the next two and a half months.

  Cassie groaned, fighting back the tears. She sat alone on the floor, surrounded by wooden pieces, with no man to lend her a hand. She reached into her pocket for the crumpled piece of paper she’d read twenty times since Nathan left. He had stuffed it into her pocket as they kissed goodbye. “Keep this with you,” he had whispered in her ear.

  She looked at the paper. It was wrinkled and worn from constant handling.

  Cassie,

  You and Caleb are everything to me. Take care of him while I’m gone. I wish I could have left you with more money, but this decision couldn’t wait any longer. We can’t make the rent, and I know it’s my fault. When the eviction notice came, I couldn’t sleep for days. The old lady with the furnished basement will take $200 a month. Take the money I left and stay there until I come back. I’m doing this for all three of us. Things will get better. Please don’t cry.

  Love,

  Nathan

  A tear hit the page as she read the last sentence. “Please don’t cry” was easier said than done.

  She stuffed the letter back into her pocket and grabbed the Ziploc bag full of hardware. Caleb’s swing ticked with the soothing rhythm of a pendulum, causing her eyelids to droop. She scanned the pieces of wood on the carpet, wondering where to begin.

  Something in the corner of the room caught her eye. Something black on the drywall, near the bed.

  She rose on all fours, pushing pieces of Caleb’s crib out of her path. She crawled across the room, until she was close enough to touch the drywall with her fingers. It looked like someone had dipped a sponge in wet ashes and blotted the wall. Stains—like black ink—seeped through the clean, white paint. The darkest part was in the corner, where the two walls met. Black as tar, it bled into smoky shades of gray as it spread further up the wall.

  Cassie knew exactly what it was. “Mold,” she whispered.

  As a child, she’d seen mold like this in her father’s basement. The pipes down there always seemed to leak, and he had neglected to fix them. Until it started to make everyone sick.

  Cassie sighed, exasperated, and fell onto her back. She stared at the ceiling, tears forming in the corners of her eyes.

  If there was mold in the drywall, it would make the baby sick. She’d seen it on TV, read about it in magazines, and her childhood was living proof. Mold spores got inside your lungs; they made you cough, caused a fever. She couldn’t put Caleb through that.

  First thing in the morning, Cassie would have a word with Mrs. Jennings. She couldn’t live in this basement under such conditions. Something would have to be done.

  She lifted her head to take another look, and gasped.

  The corner was empty. The mold had disappeared. Clean white paint met her gaze, good as new. “What?” She pushed herself into a sitting position and stared blankly at the wall. “But it was just there… I saw it. There was mold… right there…”

  **

  Cassie awoke to the sound of the baby crying. She checked the clock. 2 AM.

  This wasn’t like him. Caleb had been sleeping through the night since she started him on solid food. He rarely whined for a bottle anymore, especially in the middle of the night. And yet his little voice wailed, reaching peaks of frantic fury that caused Cassie’s stomach to tighten.

  She threw her covers to the side and swung her feet onto the floor. “I’m coming, I’m coming…” she muttered.

  She rose from the bed, walking over to the light switch, nearly twisting her ankle on a toy. “Damn…” she said, rubbing her foot as she leaned against the wall for support. Her fingers found the switch. Warm yellow light flooded the room. Cassie’s eyes widened; her breath caught in her throat.

  Greyish mold, like the kind she’d seen on cheese and bread, bloomed across the ceiling, snaking down the walls. Mold the color of ripe tree moss spread across the furniture. It framed the door, growing in every portion of the room.

  Caleb let out a hysterical yelp, and Cassie remembered why she’d left bed in the first place. She sprinted to the crib in three long strides, and peered over the rail, her heart skipping a beat.

  The baby wailed, but this couldn’t be her baby. Not Caleb. Empty eye sockets stared back at her, rimmed with white puss. The tongue darting out of that screaming mouth was covered in fuzzy black mold. The fingernails were infected with fungus, yellowed and cracking away in thin pieces. A rash of purple blotches covered its skin, rotting in the tender creases of its arms and legs. The baby kicked and screamed, as if in pain or protest. Cassie couldn’t tell which. A horrid odor invaded Cassie’s nostrils, overpowering her other senses. It smelled like old garbage and stagnant water, like death…

  Cassie slapped a hand over her mouth. Her throat flexed, threatening to purge her stomach of its contents. She clenched her eyes shut, as tightly as she could, concentrating on calming her heart. The rapid thuds continued to thunder in her chest as Cassie strained to slow her breathing. And then… suddenly… there was silence. No crying.

  Reluctantly, Cassie forced her eyes to open. The first thing she noticed was that Caleb’s skin was clean. When she sniffed, she caught the hint of baby soap from the bath he’d had earlier that day. He was sleeping soundly in his crib. The real Caleb. No black tongue, no empty eye sockets. “What’s wrong with me?” she whimpered. “For Christ’s sake!” />
  **

  Cassie relaxed on the smooth white porcelain, allowing her tension and worries to wash away in the steaming bath water. Barbara Jennings’ basement might not be a luxury suite, but at least Cassie had her own bath tub. The ceiling had been finished with drop-down tiles. A faux marble counter adorned the wall to her right, highlighted by four light bulbs above a brass-framed mirror. A small basement window behind the tub had been decorated with floral drapes, blocking out most of the sun.

  A candle flickered on the sink top, filling the room with the sweet scent of vanilla. The smell of candles always helped to calm Cassie’s nerves. She desperately needed to relax.

  They had spent three peaceful days in Mrs. Jennings’ furnished basement, and things seemed to be working out fine. The kitchen area was really a bar with a sink and microwave, but Cassie didn’t need a stove. Jarred baby food required little preparation. The washer and dryer were in good shape, and the TV set got basic cable. There was no reason to complain, not really, but the memory of the hallucinations never left Cassie’s mind. She could still see the mold whenever she closed her eyes… everywhere… even on her baby boy.

  She dipped her head beneath the water, running pruney fingers through her long, dark hair. Water poured from the faucet, filling her head with a gentle rumbling noise as it hit the porcelain. She’d been in the tub so long, she decided to open the drain and start running a fresh batch of hot water. She listened to the torrents spilling into the tub, holding her breath underneath the water. The drain gurgled as the water roared.

  Then a shrill sound filled her ear drums. A high-pitched buzz—like the hum of a thousand fluorescent lights—overwhelmed the muted splash of the water. She brought her head above the surface, but the buzzing continued, deafening Cassie to every other sound.

  She turned the dial on the faucet, stopping the water. The shrieking persisted in her head.

  She rose from the tub, neglecting to grab her bath robe, running to the light switch near the sink. She flicked the lights off, hoping electricity was to blame. The orange flame danced on the candle wick, casting flickers of light across the darkened room.

  Still the high-pitched assault on her ear drums continued.

  Cassie’s lips trembled as she raised her palms to her ears in a feeble attempt to block out the sound. And then a voice—so tiny and hushed, she almost didn’t hear it above the keening. “Kill Caleb. Love me…”

  “Love me.”

  **

  The world was dark. She could hear voices in the distance. No—not the distance. The conversation sounded closer, as she struggled to open her eyes.

  “An allergic reaction,” someone mumbled. Her eyes were thin slits as she finally pulled them open. Blinding light washed over her senses. A dull beeping noise came from somewhere across the room. The heavy scent of disinfectant hung in the air, and she felt the plastic bed liner wrinkled beneath the thin sheets of the bed. She knew this place. She was in a hospital.

  “Cassie,” a man said softly, luring her back to reality. “Can you hear me?”

  “Yes,” she tried to say, but it sounded more like a question than an answer. Her throat cracked with the effort of speaking. She could open her eyes all the way without flinching away from the light, but it was tempting to close them again and drift into a foggy slumber. A middle-aged man stood before her. The white jacket and stethoscope around his neck told her everything she needed to know.

  “I’m Doctor Barnes,” he said, extending a hand. She raised her own hand, shakily, and he grasped it. “I’m afraid you’ve been unconscious for a couple of hours, Mrs. Solomon. Tell me: what is the last thing you remember?”

  “The bathroom,” she whispered as the memory returned. “There was… so much noise… in my head… and then…” She looked around, suddenly shocked and confused. “But how did I get here? What happened?”

  “It was—” he checked his clipboard, “Mrs. Jennings. She knew something was wrong when the baby wouldn’t stop crying. She called for you down the stairs, several times, but you didn’t answer. She was afraid that all three of you would be in danger if she attempted to descend the stairs and fell. So she phoned for an ambulance.”

  “Oh,” Cassie said, growing silent for a moment. “But what caused me to black out, doctor?”

  “I’m not sure, but I believe it was an allergic reaction. To something you ate, or to toxins in the air, such as mold spores. Do you have any known allergies? Any history of headaches, sneezing, coughing? Any past episodes, such as loss of consciousness?”

  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.