Crack!
Even though I swing the hammer harder this time, Daddy's head doesn't make any more noise.
Mommy didn't scream either when I hit her. I didn't hit her head as hard as Daddy's, ‘cos she's a lady.
Mommy taught me never hit a lady.
"But Daddy hits you sometimes Mommy,” I whimpered.
"No, he doesn't! Don't you ever lie like that again! You hear me!” Mommy was crying as she shook me by my arm.
* * * *
They both lie so still together, in the big bed. I must clean up the mess I made ‘cos they are blooding up the whole bed.
Mommy told me Jik bleaches out blood but only if the blood's still wet, but they are blooding far more than my finger did.
I go to the bedroom door and look back at them again, they look like they used to long time back; happy together.
* * * *
"Mommy's going away, Pumpkin.” Daddy's voice was soft when he said that, after they had fighted again.
I cried ‘cos I thought Mommy was dying.
Daddy laughed and said they were going to get a divorce.
A new word, Daddy explained it's when the love between a Mommy and Daddy died.
I cried more ‘cos I thought they didn't love me, that's when Mommy came in and they fighted again.
I tried being nice for a long times before this and they didn't get better. I even tried to fix them like Daddy fixed dents in cars, with my little Hammer.
But Mommy smacked me and took my hammer away.
So that's why I used Daddy's hammer tonight, I hit hard like Daddy said.
"Don't be shy, hit hard to fix the dents.” He grinned at my little arms struggling to swing the hammer.
"You must feel like you hurt the car when you hit it, it's a good hurt. It heals the dent and makes the car look new."
* * * *
So I hit Mommy hard enough to feel like a good hurt, to get the dent in her head out, make her look like new.
But the dent didn't go out. So I thought the dent was in Daddy too, ‘cos Daddy used to say Mommy and him are like one person, two doors on one car, and I was the seats in the middle.
Daddy didn't tell me that car doors sometimes blooded like He and Mommy were.
So I thought he didn't want to scare me with stories of blood. But I fixed them with Daddy's hammer, and I'll clean them like new with Mommy's Jik.
We'll be happy now, the family will be like a new car, all shiny and happy.
No more talk of divorce, no more love of Mommy and Daddy dieing,
They will love me lots and lots for fixing them like I did.
I'm very clever to fix them without Mommy or Daddy to help me.
* * * *
Maybe I'll even get my little Hammer back now.
* * * *
Tyrone Lewis (TAHL) took his first steps into the world of writing at the ripe old age of 12. These days he lives with his wife and seven week-old son, and indulges his passion for science fiction and horror at every opportunity.
* * * *
This is TAHL's first story for Something Wicked.
* * * *
[Back to Table of Contents]
AUBURN HOUSE by Stewart Langdon
illustrated by Nicolas Rix
* * * *
* * * *
* * * *
Now...
Kevin awoke suddenly, greeted only by the inky-black shadows that filled his bedroom. Sweat, cold and slick, coated him from head to toe. A strangled scream trapped in his throat, furiously seeking escape. It took only a few seconds to calm himself, but by then the reason for his alarm had begun to fade into the fog of his memory.
A dream.
He remembered the vague traces of a dream that started out beautifully and then suddenly took a turn for the worse. He remembered a girl; a beautiful girl with raven-black hair and porcelain-smooth skin, naked and warm and pressed against him, looking deep into his eyes. Then the dream quickly turned into a nightmare. As he tried to latch onto these tattered scraps of memories they melted away like ice chips sitting in the hot summer sun. Yet the bad feeling remained, intense and refusing to fade away.
With shaking hands, he used the bed sheets to wipe the cool moisture from his brow and his lips. Something deep in his core had its hackles up all right; some primitive sense flashing: Danger!, but he simply could not see the threat. He could only sit in silent confusion and wonder: why?
There are ways of knowing things, Gramps had once told him, when Kevin was a younger boy. The old man's voice whispered behind Kevin's chaotic thoughts, a ripple just under the roiling surface of his consciousness. The sudden thought of Gramps momentarily silenced the nagging sensation in his mind.
Gramps was old, his breath stank like onions and the few remaining strands of hair on his wrinkled head usually wafted in the breeze as if they had a life of their own; but he was lovable and he was never boring. And there was the simple fact that Gramps had literally saved Kevin's sanity, and probably his life.
* * * *
Then...
"Hey boy, get yourself and have a talk with your old Gramps!"
The old man (who seemed much younger in Kevin's memories) pointed to the sawed-off section of tree stump near his own that served as a seat. Kevin had just finished setting up the tent and Gramps was preparing a campfire before the night descended upon the forest. The promise of a hot plate of beans and franks (traditional Walker campfire cuisine) made Kevin's stomach grumble. Kevin was nine years old.
"I hear your mom and dad sayin that you're havin some trouble with school?” Gramps had asked.
Kevin paused a moment, then nodded. He was clearly uneasy.
"Trouble makin friends, too, I'll warrant."
Kevin nodded again, hoping that by being quiet Gramps would drop the subject.
"Trouble just bein around people in general, am I right?” Gramps continued.
Another nod, his head down now. Awkward embarrassment filled Kevin and made his ears burn.
Gramps nodded as well, thoughtfully. “I imagined as much. Head gets all full of pictures, you hear sounds and smell things that aren't there. It's like you're seein through someone else's eyes, touchin with someone else's fingers, hearin with someone else's ears. These things just pop in and out whenever they please, don't they?"
Kevin looked up, completely awestruck. How did Gramps know? How? Kevin had told not a living soul of his problems. Yet Gramps knew.
Gramps smiled, but kept himself focused on setting up the campfire. “Most times they leave as soon as they come, but it leaves you all off-balance and such. Other times they cling to you, then kinda slowly fade away. Still just as bad; ‘cause until they're gone you can't be yourself again. Feels like it all presses in on you, like it's gonna squeeze you right out of your skin at times, does it?"
Kevin remained silent, but hot tears streamed down his face. Gramps understood that he couldn't sleep most nights; the unwelcome, often disturbing thoughts and images assaulting him relentlessly, day after miserable day. Somehow, Gramps understood what he was suffering through.
Gramps said, “But you got no trouble bein around me, else you wouldn't be here.” Then he turned and looked Kevin straight in the eye and laid a gentle hand on his shoulder. Gramps didn't say a word, and suddenly a clear, kind knowing flowed into Kevin's thoughts like a cool stream of water over hot, parched desert clay. It'll be all right, boy. Just you wait and see. I'll show you how to live with this thing.
"There are ways of knowing things, Kevin,” Gramps then said aloud, “things that happened in the past, things that are happenin right here and now, and things that may happen tomorrow. Problem is, it doesn't always know how to turn itself off. When it starts, it wants to run off and do its own thing. But we can't let that happen.
"Look at this fire pit.” Gramps bent over and lit the kindling inside the bowl depression in the sandy dirt. It was ringed with thick field stones. “Fire's a wild and hungry thing, Kevin. The more you feed it, the more it nee
ds to eat. This pit is a defense. A means of protection. That's what we got to do with you, son; build you some protection."
"To protect me?” Kevin asked, his voice weak against the crackling of the growing flame.
"No, no, boy!” Gramps laughed. “You and me, we're just like the fire; and fire can take care of itself very well. We need to protect everyone else from you!"
* * * *
* * * *
Now...
These old memories flickered through Kevin's mind, like leaves floating on the current of a million other thoughts and feelings flowing within him. Outside, the full moon shone bright in the sky, bathing everything in ghostly blue-white. The light spilled through the pair of tall and narrow windows in his bedroom, creating two bright, skewed rectangles that stretched across the floor, turned a corner at the baseboard and climbed partially up the opposite wall. The rest of his room was shrouded in a thick blanket of black shadow.
It was a warm autumn this year. Although the leaves had changed from lush green to vivid hues of red, yellow and orange, they had yet to begin falling in numbers from the trees. Tonight however, the wind was brisk, washing through those trees, the shadows of which danced back and forth across the rectangles of light cast into Kevin's room. The soft rustling whispers of the dry leaves crept stealthily into his room, sleek and cool and mysterious on a restless night full of strangeness.
The warning sensation within Kevin flared again. Gramps's voice accompanied it: There are ways of knowing things, Kevin.
What did any of that have to do with his nightmare? Where was the danger? What was he missing?
* * * *
Then...
"You have potential, Kevin,” Gramps had said, the next day of their camping trip.
"Right now you're like an open net, catchin everythin comin your way, whether you want it or not. What you need to learn is how to close it off, and how to reach out and find what you're lookin for. Sounds simple, and it is—just as simple as takin your first step, or learnin how to ride a bike all on your own. But those first few tries will be difficult and dangerous.
"It's all in the way you think about things. Most people think how they see, in straight lines. You got to learn to think around corners, boy. Think in different shapes. Circles, squares, cubes, spheres and spirals. Not everyone can do it, but I'll just bet you can if you try hard enough."
At first it was difficult; but there were times—special unforgettable and all too brief splinters of seconds—when Kevin could actually feel what his grandfather was trying to explain. Moments of utter clarity; like being buried alive in a coffin and then opening the lid to find an entire ocean vista waiting just beyond; an abundance of fresh salty air rushing into your lungs and bright sunlight glinting off the wave crests, a brilliant blue sky overhead and warm sand trickling between your toes.
It was freedom.
During those moments Kevin found that he could know about anything he desired. He could see how events and people were linked; how the singular threads of people's lives intertwined and criss-crossed to weave a much larger fabric of existence. But once he fell back into thinking in straight lines again, the knowledge was forgotten, and Kevin was left with the sensation of a yawning chasm of knowing that used to be filled but was now empty.
Somehow, though, Gramps remembered. Kevin was sure of it. But Gramps didn't seem to care if he remembered or not.
"Knowin about the past ain't gonna change it,” he'd said, “and the future's flexible, like clay that hasn't hardened yet, so things can still happen to change its shape. Either way the knowin is useless, right?"
* * * *
Now...
Kevin was staring into the darkness of his room, concentrating on what could have woken him, and in the corner of his vision he saw something that almost caused his heart to stop cold in his chest.
A face outside the glass of his windows, peering in at him. A girl's face—beautiful pale-white, as expressionless and delicate as a porcelain mask. Raven-black hair, hanging fine and straight down past her shoulders. Pale-pink, pouty, oh-so-kissable lips. Black eyes, mesmerizing dead-black coals staring at him, penetrating him, enthralling and terrifying him at the same time. The tree's shadows playfully whipping across her deadpan expression. It was the girl from his dream. The most beautifully eerie creature he had ever laid eyes on.
He stared at her until his eyes screamed for moisture, and when he finally allowed himself the luxury of blinking her face disappeared from the window. Kevin rose from the bed in a hurry, his thoughts all colliding together at once, and rushed to the window, jamming his toe on the bedpost along the way. The sharp pain confirmed the reality of what had just happened to him, because until that moment he wasn't so sure that he actually was awake. The pain said it had all been real, she had been real, and Kevin's heart raced with excitement.
* * * *
* * * *
Then...
Gramps sat on the back porch, reading a thick book. Kevin came out of the kitchen door, dressed in his best suit. Kevin was ten years old.
"Well! Don't you look spiffy!” Gramps exclaimed.
"I feel hot,” Kevin replied, tugging at his collar. Gramps chuckled.
"Where are you headin off to, lookin so handsome?"
"Church. Aren't you coming?"
"Naw,” Gramps waved his hand dismissively. “Not much church can teach a man like me. You, little man, still have a lot to learn, though."
Gramps sat back and scratched his chin. He was not one to waste an opportunity to teach Kevin a lesson. “Son, let me ask you somethin. You look for all the world like a proper little gentleman, but would you wear your suit to school?"
"No way, Gramps. I'd get beat up."
Gramps smiled. “Smart boy. You know, the same can be said for your potential.
"Thinkin around corners is a great thing, but it might attract attention to yourself. That kind of attention you do not want, sonny. You don't want to go ‘round showin off. That's the most important thing; cuz you ain't the only one who can think around corners."
Gramps laughed. “Oh no, not by a long shot."
* * * *
Now...
Through the dusty glass of his window Kevin scanned the immediate ground outside, looking for the strange girl who had been watching him. The moonglow painted the country scene of wide farm fields, the barn, stable, and livestock pens in just two colors: a blue-white un-light and deep black shadow. Kevin didn't like moonlight; it seemed spoiled somehow, and corrupted whatever it touched; it was something more suited to monsters and ghosts than to living, breathing people.
He expected to see the girl standing not far from the window, but he saw nothing. The sudden pang of disappointment he felt surprised him. He wanted to see her again; he wanted to see her beautiful blank face and the weight of her unnatural stare drilling through to his very soul.
Then he looked further into the distance and spotted her, standing at the line of trees and brush about fifty yards away that marked the boundary between his family's farm and the next. She was pure white against the black shadows of the undergrowth and trees, her hair blowing in the breeze and across her face. She was, if it was possible, even more beautiful than he first imagined. She had a slight frame, every bit as pale as her face; she wore a sheer, almost non-existent swath of white material, draped haphazardly over and around her, somehow flowing against the breeze yet staying on her body as if it were a living part of her. As if waiting for him to spot her, she seemed to slide into the black embrace of the trees and disappear.
Kevin touched the cool window glass with his hand, breathless and mesmerized; not even the throbbing persistence of his full arousal could distract him.
Somewhere at the bottom of his thoughts, strangled and suppressed, was an even more urgent warning cry in the familiar voice of his grandfather: Thinkin around corners might attract unwanted attention to yourself.
Kevin pushed the thought aside easily, carelessly. There was only
one thing in his mind—the beautiful girl that had hooked herself into his thoughts and would not let go. Who was she? What was she doing peeking into his window at night? Did she know him? Did she ... want him?
Suddenly a powerful image overwhelmed him. More than an image, it was an experience—every bit as real as the pain in his toe. It exploded across his senses and thoughts: he and the girl were making love in the darkness on a bed of cool, dew-covered grass under a large, ancient tree. He could feel the night breeze crossing his skin, and the girl's heat and eagerness under him. He could smell her faint perfume, arousing him on a level he had never thought possible. He could taste her kiss, sweet and wet, in his mouth. He could hear her soft sounds of pleasure mixed with his own. He was actually there with her, and just as suddenly as it began, it was gone. The experience left him reeling and he grasped the window frame for support, feeling like he had just run a hard race.
Kevin laughed. He had just been thinking around corners. He'd done it easily, without thinking. And he remembered! It was the girl, not Gramps, who'd helped him do it. She had intentionally entered his mind, wiggled in through some crack in his defenses. Maybe it was easier to do when he was sleeping, and his guard was down. That wasn't important to him right now. What was important was that there was someone else just like him, reaching out to him! Kevin felt that quivering feeling in his gut that told him he was on the verge of something wonderful, and he couldn't wait to find out more.
It didn't take much effort for Kevin to sneak out of his house. In almost no time at all he was dressed in sneakers, jeans, a shirt and jacket and out in the moonlight, trotting to the edge of the tree line where he last saw the girl. Kevin was surprised at the ease of his escape, considering what had happened the last time he'd tried to sneak out of the house—the time he and his friends had planned to explore Auburn House in the middle of the night. Gramps had known what he was up to then, probably before Kevin himself knew what he was going to do. Gramps had been sitting in the living room of their old house that night, waiting...
* * * *
Then...
"Where ya goin, Kevin?” Gramps had said from the darkness, as Kevin's hand touched the doorknob of the front door. There was no use lying—he'd been caught. Kevin was thirteen.
Something Wicked SF and Horror Magazine #5 Page 9