by A. R. Wise
“Okay,” said one of the boys. They stepped forward and tipped the bowl on its side as they threw it into the tub. The glass bowl slammed into Mark and the water seared his skin. He staggered back as the wave hit him. He fell against the cold tile wall where he slid down as the water stung his skin. He swiped away the wetness as he screamed and writhed.
“The water’s going down the drain,” said Jeremy, disappointed. “Someone plug the drain or else we won’t be able to cook him!”
One of the boys stepped forward to do as Jeremy instructed, but Mark slapped the child on the side of the head, sending him smashing into the wall. The child crumpled on the bathroom floor and cried out in pain.
“Hey!” Jeremy screamed at his father. “Do you like watching me die?” He swiped the razor across his cheeks and cried out in pain before pressing the blade against his throat again. “Is this what you want? Don’t hurt my friends or I’m going to keep cutting myself up.”
Mark looked at the skin on his arms where he’d tried to block the wave of scalding water. His arms were brilliant red and the thick black hair seemed to be melting off him. He growled in pain and anger and then slammed his hand down on the tub’s plunger. He seethed as he glowered at his son. “Fine. Bring it on. I’m not going to let anyone hurt you, Jeremy, not even yourself. If this is how I have to prove it, then so be it. Do your worst.”
Two more children appeared at the door with another bowl of water. The steam swirled in the bathroom and mixed with the fog that had started to fill the house. As the torture continued, and Mark suffered wave after wave of boiling water, he thought he saw a man lean in from the hallway, peering through the thickening steam to watch Mark’s agony.
The Skeleton Man laughed.
16 Years Later
March 9th, 2012
“I love these kids,” said Alma Harper. “I’ve had some great groups this year.”
“That’s wonderful to hear,” said Principal White. She walked with Alma through Trenton Elementary. Class was in session, so the halls were empty except for the hum of teachers and children speaking behind closed doors. The walls were papered with drawings of mythical creatures that the third grade class had done for a recent project. Half of the pictures were of smiling unicorns and the other half were demonic monstrosities, probably drawn exclusively by boys.
Alma had her guitar strapped over her shoulder and adjusted it as they walked. She towered over Principal White, who was a short, pudgy woman in her fifties. Alma’s tall, lanky figure was accentuated when standing next to her boss.
“Alma, I’m afraid I have some bad news for you.”
Alma was aware of recent budget cuts, but she’d been assured that her music class was safe. Of course, employees on the brink are rarely warned before the axe comes down, and government jobs suffer more from callous cuts than any other industry.
Alma unconsciously slowed her pace and her dread must’ve been revealed by her pallor because Principal White was quick to console her. “It’s not that bad,” said Mrs. White. “You’re not losing your job. We still need a music program.”
Alma put her hand over her heart and was surprised by how fast it was beating. “Thank goodness. You scared me.”
“We love you around here, Alma. And more importantly, the kids love you.”
“Thanks,” said Alma as she started to walk at a regular pace again. “But you said you had bad news.”
“I do,” said Mrs. White. “I know you’ve been in your room for a couple years now, but we’re having a lot of trouble with the recent budget cuts. We’re doing everything we can to deal with them, and I’m afraid we had to give your space to the new remedial math program.”
“Okay,” said Alma, a mix of concern and sorrow in her tone. “So where am I being moved to? The old room was already too small for us. I can’t imagine trying to cram all of the kids and their instruments into a smaller space.”
“I know, Alma. Trust me, I’ve been trying to figure this out for a long time. I had to come to a decision because Mr. Franks wants to start building his new math room over spring break.”
Mrs. White guided Alma down one of the school’s hallways that led to the lab rooms, auditorium, and cafeteria.
“You’re kidding,” said Alma. “Spring break starts tomorrow. I thought you were talking about this happening at the beginning of the next school year. Are you saying I only have a week to get a new room set up?”
“I know this is last minute,” said Mrs. White.
“Yeah, you’re not kidding.” Alma had always been told that she was too nice for her own good, but this situation tried her patience. She ran her hand through her long, dark hair and scratched at the top of her head as she sighed. “I guess I didn’t have any spring break plans anyhow. Looks like I’m going to be busy.”
Mrs. White put her hand on Alma’s back and smiled up at her. “As soon as I heard about this, I knew we had to come up with a good solution for you. I got together with a few of the other teachers, and some of your students, and we came up with a plan.”
They came to a stop in front of a lab room door and Mrs. White had an odd grin, as if she was desperately trying to hide something from Alma.
“How long have you known this was going to happen?” Alma was suspicious of the principal’s giddy demeanor. “What are you up to?”
Mrs. White shook her head and giggled. Her face was turning red and she refused to look directly at Alma as she swung the door open. She pushed Alma into the room and suddenly the deception was revealed.
“Surprise, Miss Harper!”
A chorus of voices greeted Alma as she was pushed into the room. Her knees buckled at the sight of over a hundred kids lined up on stadium style seats along the far wall. Music notes had been painted on the walls, and a piano was situated to the left of the entrance, its black lacquer reflecting the sparkling lights high above. The cherry wood floor vibrated from the applause of the teachers, children, and parents that had gathered to surprise her.
“What’s this?” asked Alma as tears sprang to her eyes. She put her fingertips over her mouth as Mrs. White continued to push at her back to force her further in. “What did you guys do?”
Mrs. White took Alma’s guitar case and handed it to a teacher’s assistant who then placed it against the wall. The crowd was still clapping and saying a myriad of kind things as Alma pressed her hands over her mouth as she cried.
There was a camera crew in the corner with a news reporter who waited with a microphone. They walked into the center of the room as Mrs. White finally backed away. Alma turned to look at the principal and saw that she was overjoyed. Mrs. White’s face was beet red and she waved at her eyes in an attempt to stop crying. “Surprise,” she squeaked, hardly able to speak.
A tall woman in a black and grey pants suit stepped forward from the bleachers. It was Blair Drexler, the head of the PTA. “The local news station contacted us and set all this in motion. They heard about how the recent budget cuts were going to threaten your music class, and got together with us to try and stop it from happening. Not a single one of us on the PTA were going to let that happen.”
Alma had trouble standing. She stumbled and Blair rushed forward to provide her support. “How did you do this?”
“We voted and unanimously agreed to use the proceeds from the recent jog-a-thon to fund the construction of a new music room. And the Channel 7 news team helped out a lot too.” She turned to look at the news crew and a thin, strawberry blonde woman stepped forward. The reporter quickly wiped away a tear and composed herself.
“Hello, Miss Harper,” said the reporter. She was a gorgeous young woman, with a thin waist that tapered to wide thighs. She wore massive heels that shamed Alma’s penny loafers, but even the three inch boost couldn’t raise the petite reporter to the music teacher’s height.
“Oh my gosh,” said Alma as she wiped away tears. “I can’t believe this. How did this happen?” She burst into laughter and Blair joined in. They hugged
and then Alma continued to try and compose herself for the cameras. “I must look like a wreck.”
The kids on the bleachers laughed and spontaneously started cheering again. One of the second graders, a sweet boy named Billy, ran off the stands and past the gathered teachers and parents, several of whom tried to catch him. He collided with Alma and wrapped his arms around her legs.
“Surprise, Miss Harper,” he said as he embraced her.
She knelt down and pulled him into a tight embrace. This initiated a rush from the stands as the other children decided to join in. Everyone was laughing as the kids pushed their way to Alma, each wanting to get their chance to hug their favorite teacher. The camera man and reporter were forced back as the swell of children surrounded Alma.
After a few minutes of chaos, Principal White was forced to try and get things back in order. “Okay everyone, that’s enough. Let’s get back to our places so Miss Harper can breathe!” She clapped her hands, which was a familiar move of hers that signaled she wanted attention. “Let’s go, kids. Back to your places.” The crowd dispersed and Alma was left still crying in the center of the room.
Blair held Alma’s hand as she spoke. “We’re lucky to have you, Alma, and we thought this was a good way to show it.”
“I still can’t believe this,” said Alma.
“Miss Harper,” said the reporter as she stepped back into the middle of the room. “I’m Rachel Knight, with Channel 7 News.” She reached out to shake Alma’s hand. “We’re honored to be a part of this, and I just have to ask, how does this feel?” She put the microphone in front of Alma.
“Oh my gosh, I can’t even think of how to say it. Look at me,” she held her hands out in front of her and watched them tremble. “My hands are shaking. I’m stunned, shocked, overwhelmed, absolutely in love with all of you.” She raised her hands and shouted out to the students, parents, and fellow teachers. They reciprocated with another round of applause. “Thank you all so much.”
Mrs. White stepped beside Alma and rubbed a circle on her back. “I don’t think you have to worry about spending your spring break putting together a new music room!”
Alma pulled the principal in for a hug. “You got me, Helen! I can’t believe you did this.”
“It was my pleasure,” said Mrs. White. “You’re a good teacher, and we want to keep you around here for a long time.”
“Well, this was a pretty good way to do it,” said Alma.
“Good,” said Mrs. White. “Then my plan worked.” They both laughed and embraced again.
The reporter interviewed Alma about how she felt, and what it was like to be surprised this way. They discussed how Alma had always wanted to be a music teacher, and that this was the best day of her life. Then the reporter asked if Alma had any siblings, which seemed like an odd question, and Alma struggled to answer. “No, not exactly. Why?”
“No reason, just curious,” said the reporter.
“So what’s next?” asked Helen White. “Do you need to interview Alma any more?”
“Oh please say no,” said Alma. “I’m a total wreck right now.”
Rachel laughed and shook her head. “Don’t worry. We don’t have to do anything right away. We’d still like to get a follow-up interview with you, but we can do that later. We’ll just need you to sign a few release papers, and then we’ll spend some time getting exterior shots and maybe speak with a few of the kids. If you want, we’d be happy to buy you dinner tonight for an interview. That way you can have a chance to relax and absorb all of this.”
“That’d be great,” said Alma.
The man behind the reporter lowered his camera. He set it on the floor and then wiped off his sweaty hand before offering it to Alma. “Hi, I’m Stephen.”
“Hi,” said Alma as she shook his hand.
“Do you mind if I just ask you one quick question?” He didn’t wait for permission before asking. “Are you the same Alma Harper that was involved with the Widowsfield incident in 1996?”
Rachel put her hand on the cameraman’s chest and pushed him backward. “Not now, Stephen.” She smiled at Alma. “We’ll talk to you tonight. Okay?”
Alma nodded.
All of the joy of the moment dissipated at the mere mention of Widowsfield. Alma’s hands still shook, but now it was for a new reason.
CHAPTER TWO
Family Reunion
Widowsfield
March 14th, 1996
“How are you feeling?” asked Kyle’s mother. She placed her palm on his forehead, and then his cheek to check his temperature.
“Pretty yucky,” said Kyle. He pulled the covers close to his chin as he shivered. It was an odd sensation to be cold and sweating at the same time, as if he were standing outside on a chilly day after someone had sprayed him with water. No matter how many blankets were piled on top of him, he never seemed to get any warmer.
“You feel pretty hot. That’s not a bad thing though. I think your best bet is to let the fever try to burn away the sickness. I bet you’ll be up and running around again in just a few days.” She tucked the covers down around him and then started to collect the used tissues that littered his bed. “In the meantime, I want you to stay in this bed and drink lots of water. Can you do that for me?”
“I guess so,” said Kyle as he wiped his nose on his hand. “Can you bring up the VCR?”
His mother rolled her eyes and hesitated before answering. “You know how I feel about you watching television all day.”
“Please? I’m so bored.”
She finished collecting the tissues and put them in the overflowing Spiderman trashcan in the corner of his room. “What about your comics?”
“I read them all.” Kyle looked at the stack of Image comics that his mother had picked up for him at the Jackson Comic Shop where he had a file. They filled the file each week with his various favorite comics, and he’d fallen behind on picking up the newest issues. Wednesdays were the day that new comics were released, and if his file hadn’t been cleared the shop’s owner would’ve stopped saving them.
“You read all of those?” She looked at the stack of bagged and boarded comics on his nightstand.
“Yes, I told you, I’m bored. Can you please bring me the TV from the den with the VCR in it? I want to watch a movie.”
His mother sighed and then capitulated. “Fine, but just one movie. Okay? I don’t want you rotting your brain in here. You know how I feel about having TVs in the bedroom.”
“I know, but I feel like sh…” he almost cursed, but caught himself before he did, “…shadoobey.”
His mother smirked at his nearly foul mouth and muttered as she carried his trashcan out of the room. He coughed, despite not needing to, in hopes his mother would hurry to get the television if she felt bad about how sick he was.
She eventually brought the 19” television with the built in VCR and set it on his dresser. He asked her to let him watch his father’s copy of Goldeneye, but she laughed off the request and put in Toy Story instead. He didn’t complain.
Somewhere around the point in the movie where the toys go to Pizza Planet, Kyle closed his eyes. He didn’t mean to fall asleep, but the next thing he knew he was waking up on a cold pillow that was wet with his sweat and drool. He wiped off his cheek and looked around in confusion. The television displayed snow, the movie long over, and the clock on his nightstand revealed that he’d been asleep for over two hours.
3:14
“Mom,” he said and rubbed his eyes.
He glanced out the window and saw that the previously bright afternoon had turned dark. At first he thought a storm had come through, but then he recognized that it was fog he was looking at. The fog flashed with green light and he pulled the covers up over him tighter at the sight. The flash of electric green light rippled through the fog as if he were watching monochromatic Northern Lights.
“Mom,” he said with more insistence.
Something moved beneath his bed.
He leapt in
to a sitting position and pulled the covers up closer to him as he yelped. There was something scratching at the floor beneath him, and it seemed to get excited by his voice.
“Mom, help!”
She didn’t answer. The green light flashed outside and cast devilish shadows across his room.
“Mommy!”
The scratching got more intense, and then the creature under the bed started to groan. It made a guttural sound, like the gasps of a choking victim shortly before they succumb.
“Mommy, please help. There’s something under my bed. Mommy!”
He continued to scream as the scratching got worse. He was terrified of getting off the bed, afraid that whatever was hiding below would grab at his feet and pull him under. Yet, despite how loud he screamed, his mother wouldn’t answer.
He turned and pulled one of the wooden swords off the wall above his bed. He held it tight against his chest as he stood on the bed and prayed. Then he gathered his strength before leaping off the bed in the direction of the door. His bare feet slapped against the wood floor and he wasted no time fleeing. He only dared to look back once he was safely in the hall, far from whatever had been hiding under him.
Kyle saw the top half of his mother’s head on the floor, with her fingers sprouting from the wood like the tops of carrots. She was scratching at the floor and he could see the top of her head wiggling as she tried to speak. Her body was fused with the floor, and as he reached the stairs he could see the bottom half of her body hanging from the first floor ceiling, beneath where his bed was.
“Mommy,” he said in shock.
She gurgled and scratched before her legs went limp, dangling from the ceiling.
16 Years Later
March 9th, 2012
Alma was anxious about meeting with the reporter, not because of the story they were going to run, but because of the offhanded remark by the cameraman about her relation to the mystery of Widowsfield. It had been nearly 16 years since that awful day, and she tried for all that time to forget as much about the investigation that tore her family apart as possible. She would’ve refused to meet with them, but wanted to make sure her past wasn’t going to be part of the story. The last thing she needed was to be contacted by her father about why she had allowed reporters to discuss their family’s dark history.