by C. V. Hunt
A chain was suspended from a beam in the center of the room with a hook on the end. The girl’s hands were bound with a length of rope running from her hands to the hooked end of the chain. She was nude and facing the back of the cabin. Her long dark hair draped over her shoulders and covered her breasts. Lloyd stood a few feet behind her and from what I could decipher was also nude. The girl stood on tiptoe and arched her back to expose herself to Lloyd who I thought was fucking her with what looked like a wooden dowel rod while fondling his flaccid penis. Lloyd gave the girl’s pussy a cruel thousand yard stare as he desperately tried to coax his cock into an erection. The girl let loose a wail of pleasure.
I dropped back down below the window. I squeezed my eyes tight and shook my head. I wished I hadn’t seen it. Some images are burned into your brain forever no matter how much you want to forget them. Lloyd was having sex with his daughter. Point blank. Or maybe once upon a time he’d been able to have sex with her. He was unable to arouse himself now and obviously was using an aid on the girl. And from what I could divulge she appeared to be enjoying it. I’d seen too much. But everyone’s assumptions were true. Whether or not Lloyd had previously had intercourse with the girl was moot. What he was doing with her right now was heinous.
A snap in the thick wall of trees at the back of the cabin drew my attention. My heart leapt into my throat. The noise was close and the sensation of something large and looming and ominous enveloped me. I thought I could detect the slightest ebb and flow of breathing coming from the same direction but it was difficult to decipher over the buzz of insects. Terror rooted me where I crouched. The presence was like a black hole or a vacuum. It welcomed you into its darkness and, for some reason unbeknownst to me, I wanted to be there. The sensation grew and faded as I imagined it moved in proximity to me. The trace of spices and ashes filled my sinuses and I fought the strong urge to sneeze. I wanted to pinch my nose or rub it but I was too frightened to move. I was certain whatever it was made its way around the back of the cabin and toward the other side, away from me. Once the smell succeeded my flight instinct kicked in.
The girl wailed again inside the cabin. I quickly and quietly retreated to my own cabin. Without a doubt there was something wrong with Lloyd and his daughter. But there was something else going on at their place besides their incestualized relationship. Both times I’d been close to their cabin I was hit with a sense of dread or sadness and the sense there was something unnatural looming over the place. Whatever it was I felt as though it manifested itself into an actual physical thing that could be detected through the senses but not seen. It was something evil and I didn’t want to be anywhere near it.
12
I didn’t sleep the rest of the night. I researched online how to report child abuse and found a hotline and an anonymous submission form. I chose to use the online form. My phone signal wasn’t great and I didn’t want the call to drop in the middle of reporting what I’d seen. I also didn’t want my name associated with the report because I was terrified of Lloyd. Even reporting anonymously through the online form made me jumpy and my nerves were raw and exposed. Who else would Lloyd think reported it? There was no way he wouldn’t automatically assume it was me. I was a stone’s throw from it all and, from the tales I’d heard, Tryphena could’ve been a figment of everyone’s imagination. There were very few people who even knew the girl existed.
I tried to scrub my mind of what Lloyd and Tryphena had done. And once the night was over I assumed the right authorities would fix the situation. I’d never called upon and needed the assistance of the law as an adult but I remembered the officers, a coroner, and EMS staff who came to our house when Dad died. Everyone was strong and authoritative and understanding and supportive and I couldn’t see why the people who were employed with the other agency wouldn’t be of the same ilk. Even more so since they dealt with children on a daily basis.
Over the next few days I resisted the urge to snoop when the sound of gravel crunching beneath tires passed in front of my cabin. I filled my time with finishing the floor and pretending my residence was the only one tucked away in the nook of trees. I filled my time with renovations to preoccupy my mind and to keep from thinking about what I’d seen and what I’d experienced outside of their cabin. It didn’t seem possible for me to be disturbed by some unknown presence lingering around outside when there was an unspeakable depravity taking place within the cabin.
Sleeping on the deck now made me feel exposed and vulnerable. The feelings made it difficult for me to fall asleep soundly or get any real rest. My sense of susceptibility didn’t subside much once the floor was finished and my bed was back inside either.
Moving the furniture inside without scratching the floors was challenging. But I discovered a tip online. One person suggested placing large items on blankets or towels and sliding them across the floor. Once I managed to get the furniture inside and situated I decided I deserved to take a break from physical labor for a few days before working on anything else.
I relisted my advertisements for models to reflect my new location. Phillip and I corresponded back and forth about the cabinets and he informed me he would visit in a couple of weeks to help me haul the old ones to the dumpster and bring the new ones up from the garage. I prepped for the next project by removing the cabinet doors and taking them to the dumpster since they weren’t heavy and I could manage them myself.
A week after I’d listed my ad I received a secondhand message from a woman who informed me her father lost half of his foot in a farming accident several years ago. She added she’d stumbled across my advertisement and noticed it paid. She’d mentioned it to her father who was dubious of the proposition and she showed him my online gallery. He chose to relent as long as I was willing to come to his house to take the photographs. I tactfully replied to her email and told her I understood some people like the comfort of familiarity and I would be willing to travel to take the photos. We exchanged emails and agreed on a time two days later. What I didn’t tell her was I was more than happy to get out of and away from my own home.
I was beginning to feel stir crazy and restless and was running out of ways to entertain myself. I found myself lying in bed, napping for a few minutes at a time. I fought the urge to stare at Lloyd’s cabin in the hopes I would catch a glimpse of Child Protective Services intervening. I tossed and turned every night, fearful Lloyd would bust down my door while I slept and murder me for reporting him as a child molester. I wanted to get away from the cabin. Even if it was for only a few hours. I needed to escape the claustrophobia of the whole situation before I went mad.
The day of the shoot I packed all of my equipment into my car and noticed nothing out of the ordinary at Lloyd’s. Tryphena was not smoking on the porch and I hoped my anonymous report had done the girl good.
The photo shoot was nerve-racking. The model’s name was Frank and he lived a half hour away on a large farm. He was a cantankerous old man who made snide comments about the state of my car and how an artist from the city should be able to afford a fancy vehicle. He limped around his house on a prosthetic foot and didn’t seem pleased with my equipment cluttering his living room. He complained the backdrop was unnecessary. He took umbrage when I requested he remove the prosthetic and sock and allow the wear lines creasing his skin to dissipate before taking the photographs. Everything was a huge hassle to him. The daughter who’d contacted me was there. Her name was Sara and she was equally as challenging with her overly chipper attitude. She was more enthusiastic for my art than I was and was convinced the photo I used, if I used any of them, would make her father famous. I didn’t take as many photos as I’d hoped. Every time I asked Frank to reposition, my request was browbeaten with complaints of the aches and pains of aging. And he ridiculed me constantly and questioned why a picture from any certain angle was needed or would be interesting.
I tried my best to take usable photos. Frank had managed to slip exiting a combine and mangle his foot when he was in his thi
rties. The accident severed the toes and the padded part of the foot behind the toes. The doctor’s left him with the heel of his foot and a nasty scar running halfway up his shin. The whole session quickly became more awkward as I began to pack up my equipment. Sara was insistent I photograph the nearly invisible quarter inch scar on her hand. I told her I only brought enough cash to pay her father and I was suddenly thankful these people didn’t know my address and for once in several days I was thankful to go home. I second guessed my thankfulness once I rounded the bend in my drive and spotted Lloyd’s cabin. I preoccupied myself for the next few days by editing the photographs and did manage to salvage one decent shot.
The night before Phillip was scheduled to help me I began to feel slightly off and nauseated. I had the feeling I was getting sick and imagined it had to do with my lack of sleep. I developed a metallic taste in my mouth and tried to drown it out with orange juice and after a few hours I was convinced the juice was making the taste worse. The day felt exceptionally hot but the thermometer mounted to one of the support beams for the deck’s roof read seventy-eight degrees. I began to chill while sitting outside. And once the sun was over the horizon a sensation, not a sound, started to throb in my eardrums. I tried to eat a burger for supper but my appetite was nonexistent. I sat on the deck after full darkness and suddenly all the sounds of insects and birds and small scuttling creatures came to a complete stop. There wasn’t even a whisper of a rustling leaf. The silence was so complete and sudden I panicked and thought I’d experienced some illness that strikes its victims deaf instantaneously. I tested my hearing by clearing my throat and knew the abrupt loss of sound was not a physical ailment on my part. The silence was unsettling and something about it threw my equilibrium off. I was about to retrieve my laptop and research the phenomenon, chalking it up to a sign of impending bad weather, when a loud crack and crash of a tree branch in the distance startled me. The first crashing limb was followed by another, and another, and another until it sounded as though the whole forest was crashing down in the darkness.
I ran into the cabin amid the chaos and retrieved a flashlight from under the kitchen sink. The thudding of limbs hitting the soil nearby sent vibrations through the cabin and I grew worried a tree would fall on the cabin and knock in the roof. Once I had the flashlight in hand I ran back out on the deck and shone the light into the darkness, trying to make out what was happening. The light was weak and didn’t penetrate far enough into the night. And as unexpectedly as it all started, the forest grew still again, and a few seconds later the sound of insects returned.
I sat in my chair on the deck, staring into the darkness and feeling stunned. I gripped the flashlight and nervously bounced my foot, waiting for something else to happen. The sound of Tryphena’s wailing in the distance broke the concentration of my sentinel watch. Either my testimony wasn’t enough, the organization never received it, or the two convinced the authorities nothing was happening. I shoved my index fingers in my ears like a child defiantly trying to block out another taunting child or someone telling them something they didn’t want to hear. I retreated into the cabin and put on some music. I sent another message through the website describing the incident again, the previous submission, and expressed my concerns for the wellbeing of the girl. Once I was done I shut and locked all the windows and doors to blockade myself against the mental image the girl’s wails provoked and went to bed early.
I woke in the middle of the night from a nightmare, sweating profusely. I removed my sweat-drenched shirt and threw it on the floor. My stomach lurched and I bolted in a sleepy and confused state to the bathroom. I barely had time to turn on the light and lift the toilet lid before I began retching. I dry heaved a few times and was only able to produce a thin stream of saliva before I felt whatever was causing the discomfort forcing itself up my esophagus. A creeping and burning sensation rose from my stomach and lodged in my throat, cutting off my ability to breathe. I heaved with no results and quickly began to panic. I couldn’t draw a breath and thought I was going to die. No one was here to help me and Phillip wouldn’t arrive until tomorrow and he would find me dead just like he had with Mom. And where would that leave him? I could feel the blood straining in my face as I continually tried to force the object out. I had no idea how to give myself the Heimlich and punched myself in the stomach twice. My vision was beginning to blacken around the edges when I punched my stomach a third time and the object tore free. The thing scorched my throat before landing in the toilet bowl.
I gasped for air and stared at the large prehistoric beetle with large pinchers swimming in the water. I jumped back in surprise and banged my head on the sink’s countertop. I cried out in pain, rubbed my head, and slowly leaned forward to inspect the toilet’s contents. I was convinced it was a trick of the eye or a hallucination brought on by a high fever. But no. There it was. The same beetle that scared me out of my sleep several nights before was trying to climb the smooth porcelain. I couldn’t be sure it was the exact same beetle but it was the same species. I feared it would figure out how to fly out of the toilet and I pulled the handle to flush it away. I stared in fascination and terror as the flow of water caught the bug and it flailed as the whirlpool of water sucked it down and it disappeared.
I sat back and rubbed my battered stomach and tried to swallow. My throat burned and was dry and my Adam’s apple caught when I tried to swallow and I began a hoarse coughing fit. I needed water. I made it to my feet and drank cold handfuls of water from the sink. I inspected the inside of my mouth in the mirror but was distracted by the blood seeping out of the healed scars on my chest as if they had been freshly cut again.
“What the fuck?” I rasped.
I fingered the burning incisions. My hands shook as my mind tried to process what the fuck was happening to me. I opened my mouth and inspected the red and raw back of my throat. I splashed cold water on my face and chest and cleaned myself up and racked my brain for an answer to what I’d experienced and came up with nothing other than I had to be losing my mind or experiencing fever-induced hallucinations. I reprimanded myself for not purchasing a thermometer before. It seemed like such an essential thing for a first-aid kit but having one felt like something you only kept around if you had small children. I calmed myself and tried to come up with a logical explanation to all of tonight’s events and convinced myself the beetle was a figment of my imagination and I had a fever or I was sleepwalking and the branches falling in the woods were part of a fever dream. I’d never been known to sleepwalk though. At least not that I knew of. I would have to ask Phillip if he could recall a time when I experienced a bizarre set of night terrors or if I was ever a sleepwalker.
13
“You look like hell,” Phillip said. “What’s with the beard?”
I held the screen door for him to enter the cabin. He was dressed in the exact same worn shirt and jeans he’d worn to help me move. His face was etched with worry lines as he stepped in and looked me over. I let the spring close the screen door.
I touch the ever growing stubble on my cheek. “Figured I didn’t have anyone to impress at the moment. Might as well let it grow.” My throat was still sore from the night’s episode and my voice hoarse. The dryness in my throat caused me to give an involuntary cough.
“You sound horrible. You should’ve called me before I left. We could’ve done this another day if you’re feeling under the weather.”
I waved dismissively. “It’s not that bad. I sound worse than I feel.” That was a lie. My throat and the cuts on my chest felt like they were being dissolved with acid. “Besides, it would’ve been a miracle to get a signal to call.”
“You need to get a landline. They’re not expensive anymore.” He looked down at the floor. “I think like twenty dollars a month.” His gaze followed the floorboards into the living room area.
“I have the Internet. It’s good enough.”
He put his hands on his hips and stared at the floor by his feet. “Floor looks good
.” He nodded at his own statement of approval.
“I should hope so. Do you have any idea how heavy a floor sander is? I’m surprised I didn’t break my back.”
“Should’ve asked your hillbilly neighbor for help.” He laughed.
I shook my head. “Jesus . . . that guy.” The image of Lloyd and Tryphena came raging back. I rubbed my temple and tried to think of anything else.
“Have you talked to him any more?”
“Not really. Thank god. The locals think they’re real fucking weirdos. Says a lot since the locals are a tad off themselves.”
The coffeemaker’s automatic timer clicked. The coffee had been sitting on the burner for a few hours and the machine’s automatic shutdown kicked in.
I said, “Want some old burned coffee?”
“My favorite.”
He leaned against the kitchen counter while I prepared two mugs. We both sipped the semi-burnt brew and stared at the cupboards, assessing the situation.
I said, “The people I bought firewood from say they’ve never spoken to the guy in the other cabin.” I didn’t want to go into detail about the conversation I’d had. The thought of bringing up such a conversation with a father who had a daughter felt excessively obscene, even if he was my brother. “I was worried Mom might’ve had problems with him.”
Phillip continued to look the cabinets over and shook his head. “She only mentioned them running the trash up for her and retrieving the mail when she got sick. She didn’t tell me their names or anything. Actually, it would’ve been nice if they were a little more chummy with her so I wouldn’t have found her . . .” He cleared his throat.