by Shady Grim
As young Royal approached the school, he could hear the children noisily making their ways home. Some were waiting on parents, others were chaperoned by older siblings, and still others were walking home in groups of varying sizes. He saw his brother, Byron, wearing his usual sullen expression. He was standing with two other boys with equally sullen expressions. The two boys departed when they saw Royal approaching shouting, “See yeh, Ronnie!” as they left. Byron was ten and was already shoulder height on his older brother and nearly equal in weight. Their youngest brother, six-year-old Gerald, was the virtual twin of Byron, but had a completely different personality. In fact, his personality differed radically from the entire family who were at a complete loss as to where he might have acquired it. Little Gerald was nowhere in sight, however, there was a large group of boys and girls of varying ages all making quite a racket shouting, “Fitzie!...Fitzie!...Fitzie!” They were carrying-on so badly that a few of the teachers had to sort them out. It was no surprise to anyone that little Gerald was in the middle of all of them. Royal whistled to get his youngest brother’s attention and then waved him over.
“Where’s Father?” said Gerald.
“He’s busy, so Mother sent me.”
“What’s he doing?”
“I didn’t ask.”
“Why not?”
“Geez, Gerry, will you shut up already?” snapped Byron.
“I was only asking,” Gerald snapped back. The trio began their three-mile journey home. Gerald walked next to Royal and Byron trailed sulkily behind them. It took only a few moments for Gerald to start talking again. Gerald talked virtually non-stop to his brothers, but had the good sense to be silent when in the presence of his parents, especially his mother. “Hey, Roy?”
“Yes.”
“How come you don’t have to go to school like Ronnie and me?”
“Because Mother needs me at home.”
“He’s too dumb to go to school. He’s a retard.” Royal ignored his brother’s comment. It irritated Byron to no end when he couldn’t get a rise out of someone. He picked up a rock lying on the roadside and threw it at a bird in a sudden burst of temper.
“You missed it,” said Gerald with a grin.
“Shut Up!”
“Hey, Roy?”
“What?”
“You’re not a retard, are you?”
“No.”
“Roy, will you please make him shut up?”
“I wasn’t talking to you, Ronnie, and I don’t have to shut up!” Byron suddenly lurched forward and smacked Gerald on the back of his head making him trip forward slightly. Gerald swung around and hit Byron with his book bag in retaliation. Byron then grabbed Gerald by the front of his jacket and was about to slap him across the face when he felt his wrist caught in the pincer-like grip of his older brother. “Don’t,” was all Royal said. Byron immediately let go of Gerald’s jacket and was quiet for the rest of the walk home, his sullen expression once again in place.
“Hey, Roy?”
“Yes, Gerry?”
“What’s a retard?”
“HERBERT, WE HAVE TO do something about that boy.”
“I know it, Lizbet.” They sat opposite each other in their rustic kitchen sipping coffee. Dinner was cooking on the antique wood-burning stove. “I’ve taught him everything I know. He’s a good hunter, fast and quiet. He makes fast clean kills, but his heart just isn’t in it. I don’t know what to do with him.”
“I should never have taken him without seeking advice first. I should have prayed over it before bringing him home. I thought the right upbringing would be enough.”
“We have our own two now, Lizbet. We don’t need him anymore.”
“I don’t know, Herbert. Byron’s not as clever as I would like and Gerald–I don’t even know what to make of that boy. If he wasn’t the very image of you, I’d swear he came from someone else. Gerald’s irritating personality aside, he’s not much cleverer than Byron, and that doesn’t make me very hopeful.”
“I should be the one to go with the boy,” said Herbert after a long stretch of silence. “Not to criticize you, my love, but this is my particular area of expertise.”
“The boy’s too clever for that, Herbert. He’ll be suspicious.”
Their discussion continued at length until the three boys were heard entering the front door. Their mother rose and left the kitchen to greet them. Upon seeing her, a drastic change came over them; backs became straightened, hands were removed from pockets, and demeanors became nervous and submissive. “Dinner is nearly ready. Get washed up and be in the kitchen in fifteen minutes.” Orders were followed by a single sharp smack on the floor with her stick.
“Yes, ma’am,” returned three voices in unison. All three boys moved quickly up the stairs. The two younger ones made more noise than their mother approved of, and the oldest moved as swiftly and as silently as he always did. Byron and Gerald each had their own bedroom on the second floor. They had shared a room when they were smaller, and their mother used the third for sewing. As Gerald grew older, his perpetually cheerful personality and fondness for practical jokes became too much for Byron to take and their mother separated them. She moved her sewing area down to the first floor. Each bedroom had a chamber pot under the bed, and a water basin set on a chest, which was accompanied by a handmade towel for hand-drying. Within fifteen minutes, the boys had clean faces, hands, and necks; and were standing in the kitchen waiting for permission to be seated. Their father stood at the foot of the table and the rest of them took their places in the center. An extra setting was always placed at the head of the table, and Mrs. Fitzgerald’s place was just to the left of it. Royal sat to its right followed by Gerald to Royal’s right. No one sat until Mrs. Fitzgerald placed food on the extra plate and filled the extra glass with red wine. That was the only setting to have wine. The rest had either milk, lemonade, or an herbal tea with their meals. Once that ritual was seen to, everyone sat in their places and ate in virtual silence.
“Mother?”
“What is it, Gerald?”
“Why do you always set an extra place?”
“It’s in reverence to our Lord,” replied Lizbet with a slight bow of her head.
“Why does the Lord have wine and we have milk?”
“No more questions, Gerald. Eat your dinner.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
The two older boys had long ago stopped making such inquiries and were accustomed to accepting their mother’s habits without question. After their meal, the two younger boys went upstairs to do their homework before bed. Royal cleared away the dishes and placed them in the sink. The extra setting, however, was spotlessly clean and could be put away in its special place in the cabinet. It happened at every meal and Royal was unable to explain it. He just assumed that the Lord must be happy with His portions.
The family didn’t own a television set. Mr. Fitzgerald had a radio in his work shed, but the boys were not permitted to listen to it. The entire family was in bed by sundown and awake and working by sunrise. The gardens were tended to, and the house was cleaned from top to bottom by the time the two younger boys had to leave for school. Royal would either help his father make household repairs, go hunting or perform odd jobs with him, or study herbs and astrology with his mother. He enjoyed his studies very much. He didn’t enjoy the time with his mother, but she was infinitely preferable to going hunting with his father. Royal was an excellent hunter–gifted some might say, and he hated every aspect of it. He liked animals and hated to kill them even for food. What he loathed the most was his father’s palpable excitement whenever his arrow hit its mark. They were bow hunters and excellent marksmen. It was very rare for his father to miss a target. Sometimes his father liked to toy with his prey and would wound it several times before finally killing it. He’d even seen his father start butchering an animal before it was dead. That was something Royal simply could not do and would even take a beating from his mother’s stick for disobedience rather than
give in. Royal’s dreams were plagued by visions of his mother holding him down while his father eviscerated him.
Royal usually helped his brothers with their homework after he finished cleaning up the evening meal, then retire to his own room and work on some journal entries before going to sleep–but not tonight. His mother had another chore for him. She claimed that his father was having shoulder pain and would need something to alleviate it and help him sleep. She wanted him to gather some henbane for her, but on the strict stipulation that it must be gathered when full evening has set. He knew it wasn’t necessary to collect henbane in the evening, but his mother always insisted that it be done at a late hour, claiming that the plant would be at its fullest potency. Royal thought it odd that she would need more painkillers as he had made several tinctures and balms of various types of analgesics as well as sleep aids for her earlier in the week. He also knew that henbane wasn’t the best choice of medicine for his father’s ailments, but knew better than to question his mother and accepted her instructions without comment.
When Royal finished his kitchen duties, he went upstairs to assist his younger brothers with their homework as he did every night. After their homework was finished, he helped both boys get ready for bed, laid out their clothes for the morning, fetched clean water for their basins, and took their worn clothes downstairs to hand wash them, and hang them on a laundry rack near the stove in the kitchen for drying. Byron and Gerald were able to do most of the chores for themselves, but Royal liked having something to do as it kept his mind off of The Presence. His brothers’ clothes would dry quickly because summer was nearing and the stove was hot. This was the time of day when Royal’s mother preferred to make breads, biscuits, and snacks for her boys. She was a strict and rigid woman who taught her children a life of toil and moderation. “Sacrifice and servitude,” was her mantra, but one thing Royal’s mother never did was withhold food from her growing children.
After all his chores were completed, it was finally dark enough to collect the henbane for his mother. To his surprise, his mother decided to join him; something she hadn’t done since he was small and needed coaching. He was instantly suspicious of her intentions, but managed to keep his reaction hidden from her. Royal was very good at hiding his feelings. They walked in silence, as was his mother’s habit, before Mrs. Fitzgerald abruptly stopped. They had already passed, by a considerable distance, the patch of henbane that Royal would have typically collected. His mother now instructed him to collect samples from a pair of clearly inferior plants. Although confused and growing ever more suspicious of her behavior, he feared the threat of her walking stick being whacked across his back so he remained silent and did as instructed. His mother stood behind him and held the lantern while he stooped to perform his collection. He could see the light coming from behind him wavering and surmised by the change in shadow length that his mother had silently placed the lantern on the ground. She now appeared to be moving in a strangely slow manner. He turned in enough time to put up his forearm and smack it against his mother’s wrist. He was too late; however, as the reason for his mother’s strange movements had been to remove the double-edged blade from her walking stick. She had managed a backhanded slash along the side of her son’s neck, and he was already bleeding profusely. He instinctively slapped his hand over the wound, jumped to his feet, and bolted away. Lizbet felt sure that the wound she’d given him was bad enough that he didn’t need to be chased. He would bleed to death in a very short time, but she would send Herbert after him anyway. It was always good to be cautious.
Royal was in such a panic that he lost his footing when he ran too close to the old quarry. He slid down the rocky slope trying to slow his decent by digging in his heels, leaning his body back, and spanning his palms against the unstable ground. He managed to only get his feet wet and suffered minor scrapes and bruises. He was so stunned by his neck wound and by his mother’s treatment of him that he sat motionless at the water’s edge for a few seconds and allowed himself to cry. He felt The Presence come near to him, his unwelcome companion, and it spurred him into defiant resolve. Royal refused to let that beastly thing beat him. He knew that his father would soon be after him to finish what his mother had started. He also knew that he could not outrun his father’s arrows. There was only one place that he could go, but it was still a fair distance for him to travel, and he was already feeling lightheaded. He rooted through his satchel trying to find the yarrow leaves that he needed. It was so difficult in the dark and with himself in a panic. He had to rely on feel and then scent. When he felt sure he had what he needed, he placed the leaves against his neck to staunch the bleeding. Next, he removed his handkerchief from his back pocket and tied it snuggly around his neck. He had to get moving as his father was a swift and clever hunter.
Royal was sure he wouldn’t make it. He was stumbling from exhaustion and was still being stalked by The Presence. He knew his father would be closing in on him at any moment. With any luck, he’d bleed to death before his father found him. He tripped and fell flat on his face and lay there panting. The Presence closed in. Royal could feel it hovering over him, and then it was gone. He felt a tug on his arm, which he ignored. He felt too weak to respond. Then he felt a pleasant warmth come over him and a soothing feminine voice whispered in his ear, “I know you’re tired, but you have to try. You’re almost there. Get up! Get up now!” He lifted his head and saw not a soul, but he still felt the urge to move on. Slowly he managed to stand. “One step at a time,” he chanted to himself. He’d travelled only a few more yards when he found himself standing in a grassy clearing. He picked up his head and there it was before him, the house he was born in. It seemed to beckon him. He had no idea how he’d managed it, but he found himself climbing the steps of the front porch. The front door wasn’t locked, and he entered the foyer unhindered. The inside door was locked, so he used his satchel to bash against its glass and reached through the newly made hole to unlock it. He stepped through to the main hall and felt indescribable relief. He hoped his parents wouldn’t come here. His mother hated this place. She called it an unnatural place, and said it needed to be destroyed. He wandered through to one of the rooms and collapsed on the floor. Hours later he was awakened by that familiar feminine voice and awoke to see his birth mother. He was certain the vision he saw before him was just an hallucination. He couldn’t possibly be seeing his dead mother kneeling on the floor before him. She was stroking his hair and telling him to wake. Try as he might, he could not make the vision disappear.
“You have to go now, Timothy. It’s not safe for you here.” The unfamiliar name confirmed his suspicion that the vision before him wasn’t real. The specter appeared to read his thoughts as she smiled at him and said, “That’s the name your father and I chose for you before you were born.”
Royal concluded that he must be feverish. “I need to rest some more,” he said hoarsely, and tried to roll over and get away from the persistent apparition.
“No, you have to leave.” Her tone became sterner, and she tugged his arms until he sat upright. She lifted her hand and pointed, “You will go that way until you meet the road. Someone will come for you.”
“I don’t understand...”
“I’ll come for you when it’s time to come home.”
Royal was jolted into full wakefulness. He would’ve thought it was just a waking dream but for the strong smell of lilacs, which he couldn’t account for. He removed the rest of the yarrow leaves from his satchel and also a small jar of honey, which he kept wrapped in a handkerchief to contain the glass pieces if the jar were ever broken. He removed the hanky from his neck and carefully pulled off the old leaves, laying them on the dirty handkerchief. He then smeared honey onto the clean hanky, to help prevent infection, and placed the fresh yarrow leaves on top. He carefully placed the clean dressing against his neck and tied it snugly. He ate the remainder of the honey as it was the only food he had. It was difficult because he couldn’t move his head very well s
o he made quite a mess of himself. He placed the empty jar on the dirty hanky and tied it up with the used yarrow leaves and placed it back in his satchel. He didn’t want to leave, but felt a sudden urgency to get out of the house. As he wandered around a bit to get his bearings, he was stunned to find that there wasn’t a drop of blood to be found. Just as well, less for Mother and Father to find should they come here. He left the same way he’d entered and followed his dream-mother’s directions. He felt weak, and his vision was blurred. The sun was just mounting the sky and everything was bathed in a dim greyish light. He tried to scan the clearing for any sign of his father before sprinting into the thick patch of woods parallel to the property’s overgrown dirt driveway. It would’ve been less effort for him to travel the dirt path, but it would make him much easier to see in the full morning light. Traveling amongst the numerous young trees and thick thorny brush would make it difficult to accurately fire an arrow. If his father attacked him here, he would need to attack Royal with his knife and get very close, which would give Royal a chance to fight back.