by Jon Athan
As he tightly gripped the wound on his neck and watched Bettie shambling up the creaky steps, Wesley whispered, “I saved you... I love you, princess.”
Day 2 - December 24 th, 2015
Surely Innocent
A static-riddled radio report echoed through the living room of the single-story home: “Reports indicate a local man has vandalized and defiled several graves. Like a gruesome scene from a horror movie, several graves were damaged and, well, ruined last night. A body has apparently been stolen from a grave as well. The graveyard is currently cordoned off by the authorities. To protect the privacy of the family, we will not release any names, but, should you be concerned, you should contact Deputy...”
The knob clicked as Charlotte Chandler turned off the sleek black radio atop the black console table. She immediately scampered towards the three-seat sofa directly across the slick device. 38-year-old Charlotte stood five-three, five-six with her black high heels. Her slim and timid physique was bolstered by her voguish black halter neck dress. The stunning dress sat above her knobbly, bare kneecaps. Her wavy brunette hair reached down to her narrow shoulders. Her vibrant brown eyes popped thanks to her natural luster and supportive makeup.
Charlotte scanned through the living room as she murmured, “Come on, where is it? Where's my purse?”
The front door of the small home opened up to the living room. The living room had dark hardwood floors and eggshell white walls. The wall to the right from the front door was mostly comprised of spotless windows overlooking the lush, kempt lawn. A black three-seat sofa sat directly to the right from the front door, a matching sofa sat perpendicularly to the left to form a small makeshift square – the living space. A spotless glass coffee table sat directly between the sofas, and a small table propped up a 24-inch tube television at the other end of the room.
As she spotted her black leather bag beneath the television, Charlotte smiled and happily exclaimed, “There you are!”
As Charlotte scurried towards her bag, 14-year-old Shirley Chandler said, “You know I was listening to the radio, right?”
Shirley stood four-eleven with a frail figure. She had vibrant brown eyes and speckles sparsely scattered on her cheeks. She had straight brunette hair down to her timid shoulders. She wore loose blue jeans, white sneakers, and a red-and-white striped long-sleeve shirt. A diffident teenager always blending with her surroundings.
As she shuffled through her cluttered bag, Charlotte responded, “You shouldn't be listening to that garbage anyway, sweetie. You don't need to know what those monsters are up to. Everything's too violent nowadays. Someone's always hurting someone on the news. Why don't they ever report the good stuff?”
Shirley leaned on the kitchen's bar as she huffed and rolled her eyes. The bar solely separated the living room from the kitchen. A plain arch entrance led into the kitchen. The kitchen had linoleum tile flooring and marble counters. The center of the living room opened up to a hallway with four doors. The first door led to the storage closet, the second door led to the restroom, and the final two doors led to the bedrooms.
Shirley sighed, then asked, “Why do I have to stay here? Why can't you call Auntie Maggie or someone else? I mean, can't you hire someone on the internet?” As she glanced at the hallway with worrisome eyes, Shirley asked, “Why me?”
Charlotte stopped her frantic movements, then stared at her pusillanimous daughter. Charlotte explained, “It's not necessary. It would just be a waste of money. You're a big girl, Shirley. You can handle this.”
The floorboards groaned as Shirley stomped her right foot and yelled, “But, I can't! I don't... I don't want to take care of him, mom!” Flustered, Shirley crossed her arms and despondently stared at the floor as she murmured, “What if something bad happens? I don't know what to do, I don't know how to take care of him...”
Charlotte sighed, then said, “Nothing bad is going to happen. I promise. Your grandpa, he... he can't move, sweetie. He's bedridden. You only have to check-up on him every 15 minutes or so, that's it. If you think something's wrong, just call me. It's very simple.”
As her eyes swelled with tears, Shirley responded, “I don't want to be responsible for him, mom. I'm scared.”
Charlotte tilted her head and pouted. She approached her apprehensive daughter, then gently placed her warm palms on her flushed cheeks. She gently swiped the tears streaming down her rosy cheeks with her thumbs as she gazed into Shirley's eyes. Her daughter trembled and sobbed, like a punished pup.
Charlotte reassured, “There's nothing to be afraid of. Everything will be fine. Grandpa Alvin used to take care of you all the time when you were a kid. I know you remember that. Think of it as paying him back. Think of it as... as spending some quality time with your grandfather. You know we're blessed to still have him with us, right? He won't be here forever and every moment is worth cherishing. You know that, don't you?”
Shirley loudly exhaled as she nodded and whispered, “Yeah...”
Suddenly, a blaring car horn disrupted the serene mother-daughter moment. Charlotte glanced over her shoulder, then scurried towards her purse. She dashed towards the front door with the black bag dangling from her shoulder.
As she stood at the doorway, Charlotte glanced at Shirley and asked, “Will you be okay? Can you handle this for me, sweetie?”
Shirley nonchalantly kicked at the floor as she nodded and responded, “Sure...”
Charlotte smiled and nodded towards her daughter, then said, “Okay, I'll be back before midnight. Call me if you need anything.” As her eyes twinkled with joy, Charlotte teased, “And, you'll have plenty of presents tomorrow morning. We'll have a great party. Just the three of us, I promise. See you soon!”
As the door shut, Shirley bit her bottom lip, then murmured, “I love you, too, mom...”
Shirley strolled towards the living room windows, the floorboards groaned with each swaggering step. She pushed the red silk curtains to the side, then peeked through the blinds. Charlotte pranced towards a black four-door luxury sedan, smiling from ear-to-ear as her hyena cackle echoed through the vacant street.
“What a laugh...” Shirley joked as she watched the vehicle depart. As she glanced over her shoulder and towards the hallway, Shirley said, “I hope it's a good night for both of us...”
***
Shirley sauntered down the hall, carefully stepping over the creaky floorboards as she approached the third door. The door squealed as it slowly opened. Like a curious turtle peeking out of its shell, Shirley peered into the bedroom – Grandpa Alvin's humble chamber. Grandpa Alvin quietly rested on his adjustable mattress at a 65-degree-angle towards the center of his room, his body veiled by his navy blue bed sheets and cotton comforter.
Alvin Alvarado's body had shriveled to a five-five stature with a feeble physique. He had wild white hair on his dome extending every which way. Bushy white hairs protruded from his nostrils. There were blatant liver spots on his rugged skin and gnarled wrinkles on his brow. He wore blue white-striped flannel pajamas.
As her eyes gleamed with innocence, Shirley facetiously asked, “Is everything okay in here?”
She shoved the door open, then leaned on the doorway as she inspected the room. Her nose wrinkled upon catching a whiff of the lingering stench in the air – a malodorous aroma of death and putrescent flesh. The miasma freely flowed through the room, dancing with the gloomy shadows.
As she held her shirt to her nose, Shirley murmured, “Jeez, am I supposed to clean this up or something?”
Shirley continued to inspect the fairly plain bedroom. Grandpa Alvin's adjustable mattress sat atop a metallic frame towards the center of the dreary room. The hardwood nightstand to the left of the bed had a lamp and an old-fashioned bell alarm clock on top. An identical nightstand with medical equipment and a pill organizer filled with heaps and mounds of medicine sat to the right of the bed. A 20-inch tube television sat at the wall across from the foot of the bed atop a small three-drawer dresser. A three-seat sofa
sat to the parallel wall from the entrance beneath a rectangular window. There was another door leading to the neighboring bathroom to the right of the sofa – the door was cracked open.
Shirley stepped into the room, then immediately stopped. Her body shuddered from the ominous ambiance as it quickly surrounded her. The melancholic shadows rapidly encircled her from every corner. She stepped back towards the doorway as she gazed at her bedridden grandfather with a furrowed brow.
“You're okay...” Shirley rationalized. “I shouldn't touch anything, right? Don't mess anything up, just check and go...”
Shirley slowly shut the door, then leisurely drifted towards the living room. She shook her head as she approached the sleek black radio on the console table. She turned the knob and the news report played.
The male newscaster announced: “... the man was savagely attacked in the basement of his middle-class home. That's right, folks, this man lived in a secure, gated neighborhood. A good neighborhood now ravaged by an unknown and still lurking culprit. The police claim to be closing in on the suspect, but, with such a shocking crime, you can expect some difficulties and... Wait a second... I'm being told reports are pouring in of several other...”
As she twisted the radio's knob, Shirley whispered, “Mom's right, I don't really need to listen to this crap.”
Shirley changed the station to an upbeat song. The cheerful guitars and drums veiled the drab room with a buoyant mood. Shirley waved her fingers as she sashayed into the kitchen, humming and bobbing her head as she marched with the rhythm. She indistinctly murmured to herself as she opened the fridge, then retrieved the gallon of tantalizing orange juice.
She tossed the gallon on the adjacent counter, then shut the fridge. On her tiptoes, she searched through the cabinet above for a cup. As she helplessly reached into the cabinet, a loud clash echoed through the home. Shirley stretched her neck like a giraffe as she glared at the hallway with narrowed eyes. The metallic clashing reverberated down the hall once more.
“Grandpa?” Shirley faintly asked as her arms trembled uncontrollably. “Grandpa, is everything okay?”
Shirley traipsed down the hall with her arms extended from her body. She weaved and bobbed her head as she tried to get a better view of the room from afar, but to no avail. She squinted and tilted her head, trying to hone her hearing as she approached Grandpa Alvin's room. There wasn't a single sound or visible movement.
Shirley stopped before the entrance and retrieved her white touchscreen cellphone from her pocket. Her fingers ached as she tightly clenched the phone to her chest and shut her eyes. She inhaled deeply as she attempted to recompose herself – as she hopelessly attempted to rid herself of the terror plaguing her timid body.
Shirley loudly exhaled, then said, “Okay, okay. I can do this. I can do this.”
She quickly turned into the room, then gasped. She staggered in reverse until her black collided with the wall. The adjustable mattress and bed sheets were spread across the floor. The right nightstand was tipped over, dozens of pills of all shapes and sizes were scattered across the floor. Grandpa Alvin was nowhere in sight.
In utter shock, Shirley whispered, “Where did he go?”
***
Shirley trudged into the room, each daunting step heavier than the last. The floorboards ghoulishly groaned with her dreadful stride, creaking and howling from her calculated movements. She tiptoed over the mattress, then stood by the bed sheets. She knelt down by the navy comforter and sniffled. The pungent aroma of urine and feces walloped her nostrils as she injudiciously sniffled. Shirley hopped to her feet as she pinched her nose with her left hand and waved her right hand in front of her scrunched face.
In a muffled voice, Shirley whispered, “What happened here?”
As she glanced around the room, Shirley caught a glimpse of the bathroom door – it was suddenly wide open. The door softly creaked as it slowly swung back-and-forth. With her nose pinched, Shirley lunged over the tarnished comforter, then plodded towards the bathroom entrance.
As she slowly approached the doorway, Shirley asked, “Grandpa? Grandpa, is that you? Are you okay?”
There was no response, only the sound of her sneakers thudding on the hardwood floor reverberated through the desolate room. Shirley stood at the doorway and immediately flicked the adjacent light switch. The light briefly flickered and buzzed, then stabilized as it illuminated the room.
A bathtub-shower combination waited straight ahead. A pristine toilet sat to the left. A marble counter with an installed sink sat to the right of the tub. A medicine cabinet with a pristine mirror was located directly above the counter. The room had white tile flooring and white walls. The bathroom was empty. As she glided her eyes across the room from left-to-right, Shirley gasped and hopped back. The door leading to the hallway was miraculously opened.
Shirley held her trembling hands to her mouth as she whispered, “Oh, no... It's not supposed to be open like that...” She scrunched her face as an avalanche of doubtful thoughts snowballed through her mind. She whispered, “I didn't open it, did I?”
Shirley walked towards the hallway entrance. She stood at the bathroom doorway as she peered down each side of the hall. Croaking and groaning floorboards echoed through the home from the living room. Shirley narrowed her eyes as she honed-in on the noise before it abruptly stopped.
Shirley walked towards the center of the hallway, then asked, “Grandpa, are you okay?” There was no response, only jovial pop music filled the home. Shirley scrunched her face from the overwhelming fear as she asked, “Grandpa, please, are you there? Is... is everything okay?”
Shirley's limbs trembled and her face twitched as she took her first monumental step towards the living room, like if she were walking against a typhoon. Sweat dripped down her raised brow and the nape of her neck. Her anxious fluids spurted from her glands like a garden sprinkler. As she followed with another step, a grim and monstrous groan reverberated down the hall. The appalling moan, slow and dreadful, echoed from the kitchen. Shirley stopped in place, then frantically dialed 911.
The female dispatcher answered, “911, what is your emergency?”
As her teeth chattered, Shirley stuttered, “My–my grand–grandpa is missing... I think... I think someone's in the house.”
The female dispatcher asked, “What is your address, ma'am?”
As her eyes swelled with somber tears, Shirley responded, “It–It's 3001 Manzanita Avenue. Please help me, I'm alone now... Please.”
After ten seconds of silence, the female dispatcher directed, “Okay, ma'am, the police are on their way. I need you to hide and wait until the police arrive. If you can leave the house, please do so quietly and find a neighbor. Do not confront the intruder. Do you understand?”
“Yes...” Shirley softly whispered.
Suddenly, the haunting groan echoed through the home once again. The ghastly moan was filled with pain and agony, a bellow of anguish and affliction. Shirley lowered the phone as she silently scampered towards the hallway entrance. She furtively peered towards the kitchen. She could see arms swinging from beyond the pillar and bar. The arms were covered by blue white-striped pajamas.
Shirley trudged towards the kitchen arch entrance as she asked, “Grandpa, are you okay?” As she sobbed, Shirley helplessly asked, “What's going on? How are you doing this? Why are you doing this?”
Shirley stood at the kitchen's arch entrance, gaping towards the refrigerator. To her utter surprise, Grandpa Alvin miraculously stood in front of the refrigerator with his back towards Shirley. His arms flung and his legs wobbled as he helplessly tried to open the cabinets and fridge. Shirley sniffled as she approached her grandfather.
Shirley whispered in a dubious tone, “Grandpa?”
Abruptly, Grandpa Alvin turned towards Shirley. Shirley gasped as she immediately staggered to the floor – her scrawny legs stopped functioning. She crawled in reverse until her back hit the wooden cabinet door. Tears streamed down her scarlet cheek
s as she inspected her decrepit grandfather.
Grandpa Alvin's skin was gray and rough. Thick blue and purple veins bulged on his pale skin. His eyes were completely whitened and deprived of life. His eyes were permanently fixated on an absent stare. Grandpa Alvin moaned as he shambled forward. Tears gushed from Shirley's puffy eyes as she immediately retrieved a knife with a black handle from the wooden knife block on the counter above.
Shirley gripped the knife with both hands and extended her arms forward as she pleaded, “Stop! Don't do this! Please! I'm sorry! I'm so sorry! I'll take care of you, I promise!”
Suddenly, Grandpa Alvin lunged towards Shirley and chomped. Shirley kicked her leg up and pressed her foot against Grandpa Alvin's chest. Grandpa Alvin continued to bite and grasp at Shirley from afar, trying to munch on her innocent face and her shin with every opportunity. He growled and hissed like a starved animal attacking its prey.
Shirley shouted, “Please! Don't make me do this!”
As Grandpa Alvin snarled and lunged at her, Shirley stabbed the knife through her grandfather's neck with all of her might. Alvin coughed and groaned, gargling his own blood as it oozed from his throat and erupted from his mouth. The blood splattered on Shirley's face.
Grandpa Alvin stared into Shirley's somber eyes with an absent gaze, then his body became limp. His lifeless body tumbled onto Shirley as she retracted her leg from his chest. Shirley whimpered as she inspected the bloody massacre. Traumatized, her bottom lip quivered and her eyes watered. The kitchen floor, her grandfather's neck, and her clothing and hands were drenched in the dark blood.
As the emergency sirens wailed into the home, increasing in volume with each passing second, Shirley whispered, “I didn't mean to... I'm sorry...”
Day 3 - December 25 th, 2015
Happy Holidays