The Presence

by Shady Grim

  “HEATHER,” SAID EMILY, “are we still goin’ shootin’?”

  “Yes, just let me check on Thor first, and then I’ll bring the rifles out to you.” I took a bowl of water to Thor, but he was still asleep. I set the bowl down next to him and returned to the kitchen. Emmy, full of juvenile impatience, met me there. “You and Jimmy fetch the bin full of your dad’s empty beer cans and sit them next to the barn. I’ll be right out.” She was on her way in a flash, yelling for Jimmy. Ethan had placed the rifles on top of the refrigerator to clear the table for lunch. I lifted them down and slung the rifles over my shoulder. I picked up my pack that contained the bullets and followed after them.

  “We’re done! Are yeh comin’?”

  “Yes, I’m coming.” I followed Emmy out to the barn and sat the boxes of rounds on the ground. “Okay, this one is for you, Jimmy; and the light one is for you, Emmy. Don’t do anything yet, I have to get that table out of the garage and sit it next to the barn. Your targets are going to be the beer cans. With any luck, you’ll be able to knock down that old wreck of a barn and Ethan will have to build us a new one.” They stood as patiently as eight-year-olds possibly could, waiting for me to set up their targets. The guns felt awkward in their little hands as they were too heavy and too long for children.

  “Ugh, this is heavy,” complained Emmy, trying to find a comfortable position in which to hold it. “Do yeh have anythin’ lighter?”

  “Nope, that’s all I have. I’ll show you how to hold them more comfortably. Both of you kneel down on your right knee. Put your right hand under the butt of the gun, that’s the bottom part. Now put your left hand under the barrel–on the wooden part, Jimmy. Now press the butt into your right shoulder. Lean your left elbow on your left leg, that’ll give you support.”

  “It’s still hard,” complained Emily.

  “Yes, I know. You need to grow into them.”

  “Don’t we need bullets?”

  “Not until you know how to load and aim properly. Okay, now this is the safety catch...” I was about halfway through the instruction when Shelly came out to see what we were doing.

  “You’re not going to let them shoot those guns, are you?” she asked snottily.

  “Yes,” I answered and returned to reciting instructions.

  “Those things aren’t toys! They’re dangerous!”

  “Yes, I know. That’s why I’m showing them the proper way to handle them.”

  “I don’t like guns! They make kids to violent things!”

  “Rage makes kids do violent things, just like it makes adults do violent things. People in a violent frame of mind will use anything at their disposal to vent their rage. Yes, guns are dangerous, but so are a lot of other things in life. I was raised with guns, and I’m not a violent person. I was also taught self-defense and that didn’t make me violent either. I’m standing right here with them, Shelly. I promise that they won’t get hurt.” I deliberately spoke to her like a professor in a lecture hall. It was the only way I could manage to hide my temper.

  “Well, I don’t like it!”

  “That’s a shame,” I replied and turned back to finish my instructions.

  “What are you going to teach them next, how to shoot animals?” she said acidly.

  “No, I was going to leave that to you.” I watched the color drain from her face and felt great satisfaction. “Actually, I was going to show them how to do an appendectomy when they’re finished here. You still have your appendix, don’t you, Shell?” She never answered me. She just pursed her lips and stormed back into the house, so I turned my attention back to the children. “Okay guys, I want you to repeat back to me what I just showed you...”

  Shelly stormed through the house to the telephone in the hall. She was equally as frightened as she was angry. She was so confused. She had tried to us the phone after the children went to bed, but couldn’t get a dialtone. She assumed the ancient and temperamental telephone was temporarily disabled, and she planned on trying again later; but she’d been unable to use the telephone through the night because there was a shadow-figure guarding her bedroom door, and she was afraid to pass it. With the two men upstairs and Heather outside with the kids, she took the only chance she’d get to phone for help.

  “Hey-ho, Fitzie here.” The familiar sing-song sound of Gerald Fitzgerald’s voice instantly put Shelly at ease. Fitzie would know what to do.

  “It’s Shelly. I need your help.” Shelly whispered into the phone and hoped Ethan was preoccupied enough with Tim that he didn’t hear her.

  “Just pull up on the lever-thingy with the ball-shaped thingy on the end like we talked about, then pull it towards you. That’ll open the breach.”

  “No, Fitzie, listen, I don’t have much time. The dog knew what I was up to–”

  “How many happy pills did you swallow today, Shelly?” Fitzie’s voice sounded facetiously pleasant, just as it usually did.

  “I was in Heather’s room testing out how to load the gun. I heard a bang, and I thought it came from outside. I went out onto the walkway, and I saw that horrible dog running toward the tree line. I aimed and fired just the way you said–”

  “Did you hit it?”

  “On the third shot, yes. It screamed really loud, and I got scared. I put the gun away before the kids found me.”

  “Everything’s fine then,” said Fitzie cheerfully.

  “It knew, Fitzie. It saw me walk up the stairs, and it knew I was going to shoot it.”

  “Mmhm, why don’t you go have a nap? You’ll feel better–”

  “Heather brought it back! She brought a man with her too!”

  “The dog is alive?”

  “Yes.”

  “Tell me about the man.” Fitzie’s arrogantly jovial tone was replaced with audible alarm.

  Shelly nervously peered up the steps looking for Ethan. It was almost impossible to fool him when he was home. He noticed everything. Heather was usually preoccupied with something and was easier to deceive. Shelly had been on the phone too long, someone was bound to catch her. “His name is Tim...um forties, small, thin, blues eyes, and a big scar on his neck.” Shelly heard a creaking door behind her and turned around. The door to Heather’s study opened of its own accord. Behind it lay the fully awake and alert form of Thor. He lay on his bed looking much like a white sphinx. He stared unblinkingly at Shelly. She slammed the phone down and ran for the safety of the kitchen.

  FITZIE WAS SITTING on the couch in the parlor with his booted feet resting on the coffee table. Mother wasn’t in the house. She’d skin him alive if she caught him with his feet on her precious table. He rose and stuffed his cell phone into his pocket and went outside to annoy Byron, who was viciously chopping firewood for his parents. The axe that Byron was swinging was a gift from their father. Herbert had made the axe himself. Byron loved it, and kept it razor sharp.

  “Where’s the old bat?”

  “How should I know?” growled Byron. He swung his axe with such force that the pieces of wood he split flew off the old stump that supported them. Fitzie grinned.

  “Careful there, big brother, you could pull a muscle.”

  “What do you want, Gerry?” snapped Byron.

  “I told you, I’m looking for Mother.”

  “She’s not here!”

  “Well, I can’t stick around. I’ve got a date.”

  “Why do you call them dates when you’re just getting laid?”

  “You should come along some time, Ronnie. It would relieve some of that tension.”

  “You’re a pig!”

  “Suit yourself. When you see our loving mother, give her this message for me–Dixon has a man-friend living with her. Shelly said he’s small, so he shouldn’t be a problem for any of us. Her dog’s still alive too.”

  Byron stopped chopping. “What did you do to her dog?”

  “Nothing,” laughed Fitzie.

  Byron’s jaw set. He pulled the axe free from the stump and gripped its handle tightly. “You
shot it, didn’t you?”

  “Are you still upset about old Willie?”

  “I loved that dog!”

  “He was old. I put him out of his misery.”

  “You murdered him! You waited for me to go to work and you murdered him!”

  “Let it go, Ronnie. Old Willie is dead and buried. It’s time to move on.”

  “If you kill another dog...”

  “It wasn’t me! Mother wants the dog dead. She has her reasons.”

  “I don’t see why she needs to have the dog killed.”

  “My guess is because it’s huge. Once we get it out of the way, all we have to worry about is Dixon’s hulking cousin. I hear he’s dumber than you.” Byron raised his axe, and Fitzie backed away laughing. He hopped in his work van and drove off to meet his date. Byron stacked the firewood while waiting for his mother to return home. Herbert returned home before Lizbet and informed Byron that his mother was in the woods fasting and meditating. Byron was relieved that he didn’t have to face his mother. He passed Fitzie’s message on to his father and left for his own home that he shared with Gerald.

  THE CHILDREN SPENT the rest of the afternoon shooting at the make-shift rifle range. When they were finished, there wasn’t a can left that wasn’t riddled with holes. They were disappointed when they’d used up all of the bullets and asked me when I would get more. “Have patience you two, I know your arms have to be sore from holding those rifles.” They, of course, insisted that they were fine, just as Ethan and I had with my father when we were their age, even though our arms had ached. “I’ll take these upstairs and clean them.” I took the rifles from the children and headed for the house. I walked past Shelly who was busy preparing dinner. She didn’t even lift her head as I strode past her, rifles in hand. I gave the guns a quick clean and put them safely back in their cabinet and locked it up.

  Ethan was waiting outside the bathroom when Tim emerged. His hair was wet from showering, and he was clean-shaven. “Yeh didn’t leave a mud-slick in the tub, did yeh?” Tim ignored him, but Ethan wasn’t so easily deterred. One gift that Ethan possessed in great abundance was the ability to annoy other people, and he was determined to exercise that particular gift on Tim. “I’d be happy to take yer dirty laundry and burn it for yeh.” Tim didn’t respond. “That’s a pretty necklace yer wearin’. Looks like a lady’s necklace. I bet yeh got a pretty little dress to go with it stuffed in yer backpack. I hope yeh didn’t get any dirt on it.” Tim slipped his mother’s necklace under his shirt. Ethan followed Tim into his bedroom. He watched Tim open his backpack and lay his things on the bed. “I hope there ain’t no bugs in that stuff, or yeh’ll be really itchy when yeh go to bed.”

  Tim sorted his belongings and put them in the dresser. He pulled a smaller bag out of his backpack. “Do you have a washing machine, or should I hand-wash my clothes?”

  “We got all sorts of newfangled contraptions in here. Follow me, Dirt Man.” A small room next to the bathroom had once been a nursery. Heather’s father, Henry Dixon, turned it into a laundry room when she was a very small child. Heather had repainted it shortly after she moved in, and Ethan installed a new washer and dryer set. Ethan opened the door for Tim. “Let me know if yeh have any trouble readin’ the instructions. Washin’ machine operation can be really complicated.” Tim’s complete lack of response to his insults was beginning to annoy Ethan. He stood in the doorway and observed Tim stuffing his dirty clothes into the washer, and watched him measure out the amount of detergent he needed. “Yer left handed?”

  “Yes.”

  “It must be tough bein’ a lefty in a right-handed world. People used to think lefties were evil. Yeh know why? It’s ‘cause lefties scratch their asses with the wrong hand.”

  Tim turned to face Ethan. “It wouldn’t have something to do with ‘sinister’ being the Latin word for left?”

  “No, that’s a myth.”

  “Are you going to let me out of this room?”

  “That depends,” said Ethan.

  “On what?”

  “On whether yer a pedophile or not.”

  “I am not a pedophile.”

  “That’s exactly the sort o’ thing a pedophile would say.”

  Ethan did eventually let Tim out of the laundry room. He then escorted Tim to dinner and watched him as he helped Heather take Thor outside to empty his bladder. Thor was limping, so Heather wrapped an old towel around his middle and held it up to take the weight off of Thor’s back legs. Tim took the towel from Heather’s hands and walked Thor outside. Tim and Heather were talking and Ethan didn’t like it. He paced the porch and watched them. If Tim touched his cousin, he’d be a dead man. Ethan never liked any of Heather’s boyfriends, and was grateful that she was busy enough with school and work not to have had very many of them. She had more free time now that she was out of school and no longer working in a large urban hospital. Ethan was on constant alert. No weird-ass freak was gonna take advantage of his cousin’s generosity!

  Ethan glared at Tim all though dinner. Shelly’s eyes darted between Tim and her plate. The children were oddly silent. Tim was entirely unperturbed. Heather tried to make polite conversation, but no one was interested. The meal passed quickly and uncomfortably. Heather rose to wash the dishes and Tim offered to help. Shelly shooed the children into another room as though they were in mortal danger. Ethan sat at the table bouncing his knees and glowering at Tim’s back. Tim washed the dishes and handed them to Heather for drying. She placed them in the appropriate cabinets and put the cutlery in the drawers. Tim handed her a spoon and she smiled at him. Ethan cringed. Heather’s fingers touched the tips of Tim’s fingers. Ethan felt his temperature rise. He hated Tim.

  Tim typically retired early and did so shortly after dinner. Everyone but Heather followed suit. She stayed in her study to look after Thor for a while and do some paperwork. Ethan paced the hall in front of Tim’s room. Tim knew Ethan was there. He could see the shadow moving back and forth under the bedroom door as he pulled on his pyjamas. Ethan’s persistently irritating presence didn’t keep Tim from dozing off. When Heather climbed the stairs to the second floor, Ethan practically pounced on her and followed her to the end of the hallway, stopping her from going directly up to bed.

  “What the fuck is up with yeh bringin’ a stranger in the house?”

  “He needed a place to stay.”

  “He could be dangerous. The kids are down here, and yer up on the third floor. I can’t be in two places at once.”

  “I don’t need you to protect me, Ethan...”

  Tim could hear the cousins bickering at the end of the hall, but he couldn’t make out what they were saying. He rolled over and covered his ears with a pillow to muffle the sound. He was awakened some time later by a gentle hand touching his shoulder. The scent of lilacs told him who it was.

  “Come with me.” Tim rose and padded barefoot into the hall. He followed his mother’s apparition to the laundry room; someone was in there. He could see light under the door and shadows moving. Tim opened the door and saw the room as it had been many years ago. He knew he was seeing a vision of the past because he saw his mother standing before him looking as she did when she was alive, yet her spirit was still standing next to him. She looked young, vibrant, and happy, and her round belly was showing early signs of pregnancy. A very small, very thin man was busily painting the walls of the nursery. He chose the color green, which was Tim’s favorite color, and obviously his father’s favorite as well. Tim knew this man was his father because the locket he always wore contained his father’s picture. There was a very strong resemblance between father and son, except that Tim had his mother’s vibrant blue eyes and was several inches taller than his father. His mother moved nearer to her husband. She was a little taller than him with a similarly slight frame. Tim’s father turned and smiled warmly at his wife, paintbrush still in hand. He very gently placed his clean hand on her small rounded belly. The scene froze, and the spirit of Tim’s mother spoke to him
. “Don’t judge your father too harshly, Timothy. He was a very frail man. He didn’t purposely abandon you.”

  The scene and the specter of Tim’s mother vanished. Tim heard Ethan approaching. The man was so heavy on his feet that Tim could’ve heard him a mile away. “I thought I heard yeh get up.” Ethan looked over Tim’s shoulder into the laundry room. “Missin’ yer dirt? There’s loads of it in the yard, help yerself. Just make sure none of yer travels lead yeh into anyone else’s bedroom.”

  “I was following the lilac scent.”

  Ethan sniffed the air. “Yeh like wearin’ ladies perfume?” Ethan recognized the fragrance, but he wasn’t about to have a conversation with Tim about it. The scent was familiar, but the strength of it puzzled him. He escorted Tim back to his bedroom, and resumed his vigil outside Tim’s door.

  Tim looked out his bedroom window into the pitch blackness of late evening. The sky was clear and dark. The rows of trees looked like a massive black wall, with only a light breeze occasionally breaking up their dark uniformity. He was about to turn away when a huge shadowy figure caught his eye. He wouldn’t have seen it if it hadn’t been moving. It was stalking the tree line in search of something. The Presence had returned, but it didn’t appear to notice him.

  “It can’t see into the house, Timothy.” Tim heard his mother’s voice, but didn’t see her. “It’s late. Get some rest. You’re going to need it.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Ethan stood in the kitchen looking exhausted and disheveled. Shelly was making coffee. “Where’s Dirt Man?” Ethan’s voice was gruff and rumbling from lack of sleep.

  “I assume you mean me?” said Tim as he entered via the back door. Heather entered behind him wearing her running shoes. They were both sweating and breathing heavily. Ethan was sorely tempted to beat the crap out of Tim.