One Night in Salem

by Amber Newberry

  Then, however, the dear girl spoke.

  “You’ve disgraced me, Edwin! Disgraced me! The humiliation! You couldn’t imagine the looks my cousins gave me—the pity in their eyes! But you will make this right, Edwin—tomorrow! Yes…and you may spend tonight in my father’s study, so that we might keep an eye on you—so that this travesty won’t be repeated. But we will need to find you new clothes, it seems; what have you been doing, Edwin? You are filthy!”

  “I—I’m sorry. I fell asleep…” but I offered no further explanation, for by the glow of the lantern, I’d caught sight of my ruined clothes. What had been a crisp new suit of gloomy black wool now appeared to have been bleached, for it was thickly coated, from trousers to lapels, in a chalky layer of fine grey dust! Sensible persons would surely assert that it was common graveyard dirt—that it had come from the ground near the headstones, at whose base I had slept for hours. “It was only a dream,” they would insist, without a single niggling doubt, and it’s for this that I said nothing—neither to friend nor family—and certainly not to Polymnia who seemed to grow angrier with each breath.

  “Sleeping?” she spat. “In the attic of the dead?—and on Halloween, no less? Well, isn’t that just like you. I was certain you’d embarrass me with some bout of puerile foolishness. Father thought you’d left town, but I knew better. ‘Edwin is too lazy to run away,’ I told him. ‘More likely he’s fallen into the pond or had a nap and forgotten the time…”

  For a while, she prattled on in this fashion, but I wasn’t listening. I was thinking of the dust folk, twenty-two floors below—of the scholars with their tattered tomes; of the Colonel and his soldiers and the bar devoid of drink; and of the Pale Lady, dedicated to the safeguard of the hallowed past, while there in the aeonian half-light, all else faded to grey.

  Then I thought of the sea—of the unbounded allure of the offing—and I knew.

  “Polymnia,” I said, “I cannot marry you. Not Tomorrow. Not Ever.”

  The torrent of ridicule halted at once, her ire giving way to bemusement.

  “But why ever not, Edwin?”

  “Because…I’m not ready to dust the portraits.”

  2007

  uploaded vengeance

  Chad McClendon

  Marshall sat cross-legged on his front porch, and stared out at Lafayette Street. He heard the falling steps of trick-or-treaters on the sidewalks, could see silhouettes passing between the trees that lined his residence. He could smell the wafting scent of the nearby pizza place, and inhaled deeply. Marshall smiled as he saw a skeleton riding his bike down the road toward Ocean Avenue. It would be a perfect night to walk down to the cove, but he reminded himself he had plans.

  Groaning somewhat, the old man moved next to his illuminated jack-o-lantern, and handed out candy to the younger children that came to his door dressed as ghouls, goblins, and mummies. He gave the children of Salem more candy this year, after all, he might as well do the thing right if it was going to be his last time. He knew it would be; the brain tumor knew it, as well.

  At last, he spotted five figures that were about the right height, moving steadily closer; their dialogue, which carried across the lawns, was coarse and vulgar. He turned his lips upward, and remembered that he had to appear happy. Yes, there was no doubt it was them, their blonde hair shone in the moonlight, and he heard them use each other’s names. He nodded, and closed his eyes, breathing as calmly as he could. “Not even wearing costumes,” he grimaced, remembering his plan. He tapped his fingers on the steps, and whispered his thanks that tonight would be righted all the wrongs done.

  “Trick or treat,” the teens said, their voices lackluster and candy bags extended outwards.

  Oh, he recognized them: they looked just like their profile pictures online. There were Collin, Andy, Marcus, Jenny, and Kirk. He nodded, barely holding in his glee, and began to hand out candy. “That wasn’t a very hearty greeting, you should show more enthusiasm. You’re a little old for trick or treating, you could never be sure which is your last one.” He chuckled, and passed out candy bars.

  “Sorry, I know it’s kind of dumb for us to be out,” Jenny said, blushing so that he could see the blood flush her face, even in the pale porch light.

  “Well, we’re still kids, gotta do it while we can,” Kirk asserted.

  “Well, maybe I can talk to you about something,” Marshall said, lowering his voice a little to match their volume. He scooted closer, and sat on the edge of his steps. “Listen, my grandson isn’t around anymore to help me, or I could ask him and some of his friends. I’m an old man, you might have noticed, and I need something, a chest, moved in my basement. It’s quite heavy, and honestly, is a lot more than I can move anymore, without putting myself into a pinch. I’d pay you each twenty-five dollars if you helped to move it just a short way. I might even have enough Hoodsies to go around. Do you think you’d be able to do that?”

  “Well, my pockets are a little thin. Sure.” Collin said, and the others following their ring leader, all agreed.

  “Excellent. Thank you so much.” Marshall stood up, and heard his knees pop. He grimaced, and saw the group look away shamefully. Sure, act nice now, you little shits. “Follow me, please.” He left his jack-o-lantern flickering in the night, and opened the door into his home.

  “It’s just down here, but the stairs are loose, and quite dangerous. Be sure to mind your step very carefully.” He pulled on the string above his head and a bright yellow light filled the stairway corridor. The steps wiggled underneath his feet, and he made sure to walk very slowly, ensuring they did the same.

  The basement was nearly empty. There were a few furniture pieces, a sectional, an old toilet, and the windows were boarded up. He cleared the steps, and turned immediately left into a small utility room. It was full of his old clothes from his job on the MBTA, and some of his wife’s last belongings. In the corner of the room was a dark and stained wooden chest with a heavy looking lock on it. “There, it’s just back there if you can see it. I’ll get out of the way so you can move it out. I just want it right in the middle of the basement, no need to move it farther, it’ll never carry up the steps. You get to that, and I’ll get you the money. I’ll return momentarily.”

  “Sure, Grandpa. No problem.” Andy said. Marshall missed being called that.

  “I appreciate it more than you know.” Marshall said, making sure they were all in the utility room, and then he cracked his first real smile of the evening. So far, so good. He reached the stairs, and heard their grunts coming from the room as they attempted to lift the chest. He reached the first stair, and as soon as his feet touched the second, he bent down and lifted the first plank up from its base. He continued to do this with each step as he ascended, so that by the time he was at the top, there were no steps at all, rendering the landing of the stairwell quite unreachable, even for the tallest of them.

  Part one, done. He grinned, and sat down with his legs dangling over the expanse and pulled out his silenced hand gun from the inner pocket of his pea jacket. It was filled with purpose, and he kissed its barrel. He watched them slowly come into view, and his lips pulled back into a wide grin as their confusion dawned on them. They looked up to see the old man sitting there, with the gun in hand.

  “The hell is this?” Andy shouted, his face beet red, and his fists balled. “This some sort of game?”

  “As a matter of fact, it is!” Marshall spoke the truth, and reached in his pants pocket and withdrew a small, golden key. “This is a key to that chest down there, why don’t you open it for me, and let’s see what’s so heavy, hmm?”

  Marshall threw the key, and it fell to the cement floor with a soft ting.

  “Go on, I’m not going to shoot anyone, yet. Open the chest.”

  “I’m not opening shit!” Kirk exclaimed, as his group instinctively looked to him. He pulled out his cell phone, and began to dial.

  Marshall pointed the gun at Kirk, and fired once. The boy never finished dialing. J
enny screamed, and ran to Andy’s side.

  “I think I’ve made it clear, now, that I’m not fooling around,” Marshall said, as he watched blood form around Kirk’s corpse, the look of fear on his face frozen forever in that macabre moment. “However, I think it a prudent time to put all of your cell phones away.” He tossed down an old plastic grocery bag from Demoulas. “Put them all in there, and toss it back to me.” One by one, as the gun was leveled at them, they obeyed the old man.

  They tossed the bag up to him, and he caught it deftly with one hand. “Pick up the god damn key, and let’s get on with our night.”

  The room was silent as Marshall watched them. He began to raise the gun again, and finally Jenny raced over and picked up the key. She knelt in front of the chest, and Marshall watched her struggle with the lock. She was visibly trembling, and he began to feel sympathy, but then he remembered his grandson. They’d had no sympathy for him, had they? The little shits.

  Marshall heard the lock click, and ordered them to lift the lid. He heard them gasp collectively, and he crossed his legs. “Inside, you will find all manner of interesting objects; there’s a shiny, sharp axe. There’re a few razor blades. There are two syringes, full of some nasty concoction. There’s an interestingly pointed knife, all the better to stab you with, my dear, and of course, there are five baggies of different powders. Why don’t you go ahead and take them out? Eh?” Marshall said, and pointed the gun at them, again. “It’s all part of the game we’re going to be playing.”

  The teenagers did as they were instructed. Once they had, he took out a cell phone at random. “Whose is this?” He held up the black, slim phone, choosing it because it seemed newer than the flip phones.

  “It’s mine,” Marcus replied.

  “What is the unlock code?”

  “Look, just let me go. I don’t know what your game is, but please, my parents will pay a lot of money if you let me go.”

  “I don’t want money, ignorant brat. Look at my house, you really think I’m in need of anything?” He sneered, “What is your code?” Marshall demanded, pointing the gun at Jenny this time.

  “It’s fucking 5858,” Marcus spat, running in front of Jenny.

  “Oh, interesting. Andy is her boyfriend, yet you ran to her defense.” Marshall watched Andy give him an evil eye.

  “What is this about, Grandpa?” Andy asked, this time putting an angry emphasis on the word. He walked over to the steps, and stared Marshall right in the eyes.

  “Oh. That is the interesting part. The whole reason for this bit. Shall we document this time together?” Marshall punched ‘5858’ into Marcus’s phone and scrolled to his video recorder app, and started to record. The quality was grainy, but it would do the job. He flipped the phone over, so the camera faced himself.

  “Hello, I am Marshall Hendricks, grandfather of the late Trevor Hendricks. You may recall Trevor as the teen who committed suicide recently, because of bullying from a band of little shits who got off. These are the little shits, downstairs in my basement on Lafayette. Say ‘hello’, little shits.” Marshall turned the camera back around, focusing on the teenagers, and recited their names.

  “Tonight, all but one will die. I’ve devised a bit of revenge for Trevor, you see. And the details of why I’m doing this should be self-explanatory. If they are not, I will clarify. I was a bully. These children are bullies. We are all forms of shit. These five, now four, kids bullied my grandson into killing himself over their social media pages. Their MyToob nonsense. They made a fourteen-year-old boy slit his own wrists in a bathtub. Why? Because he was different? Because he was not fully into his own person yet?” He caught a sob in his throat. “Most of these children will die tonight, one already has. Someone say ‘hello’ for Kirk.” Marshall focused on Kirk’s corpse.

  “Stop it!” Jenny yelled.

  “Fair enough, I’m eager to get started, too. So, world of the internet, I’ve arranged a game. Tonight, I will be facilitating a game in which these four, lucky bullies will participate. Participation, I should say, is mandatory, unless you want a bullet in a very painful spot. Let’s get started, shall we?” He simpered.

  Marshall held the camera-phone steady, and pointed at the four of them. “Split into two. I suppose you all know the game “Rock, Paper, Scissors,” yes? The loser, in a single game, faces off against the other loser.”

  Hesitantly, the teens paired up. “We’re sorry about Trevor,” Jenny whimpered, and Marcus nodded in agreement. “We were just stupid, it was a year ago, and we were stupid.”

  “You’re still stupid,” Marshall said, quickly.

  “You said you were a bully, too,” Jenny said. “Didn’t you learn your lesson?”

  Marshall hesitated, and remembered Trevor’s laugh.

  “Play the game,” Marshall said, and fired a shot at her leg, which missed, as intended.

  He heard them call the mantra of the great equalizer: rock, paper, scissors.

  In the end of the opening match, Marcus and Collin were the losers. Andy and Jenny fled to the wall; Jenny’s eyes wide with worry, Andy’s face twisted.

  “These are the rules,” Marshall began in a hushed voice, causing the teens to creep closer to him. “Before you are various methods of death. You will be faced with a challenge, each of you, and you can either do as I say, or you can pass on the test, and cut the person of your choosing. This can happen any number of times, that is, can happen for as long as your victim can take it.”

  Marshall cleared his throat, and focused the phone on the weapons. “Now, we have Marcus up first, I think. Marcus, choose one of the items and let me, and our camera, see what you choose.”

  Marcus bent down, and considered each of the items. He hesitated before touching the needles, but eventually picked them up.

  “A bold choice! I do love medicine; it’s so helpful in keeping people alive.” Marshall laughed. “Except in this case.

  Marcus glared at him, “Your grandson was a faggot piece of shit.”

  “There we go! There’s some of that blind hatred that makes you such a toxin on society! How good it is that you chose the syringes. In one of them is a combination of sodium thiopental, pancuronium bromide, and potassium chloride! Lethal, in case you didn’t know. The other one, saline! Inject yourself, with one, and we’ll see how you do in a few minutes. Of course, you can always take the slicey option, and cut one of your friends.” He looked at his wristwatch. “You have sixty seconds to decide.”

  “Pfft,” Marcus grunted. “So, I either do this, or don’t and you shoot me?”

  “Those are your options. But remember, you could live, you could walk out of this!” Marshall reminded him.

  “And I’ll kill you the second I’m able,” Marcus growled.

  “Son, I’m not leaving here tonight, either, I will be taking my own life at the end of this, like every other shit-bag that fears justice’s retribution.”

  “Well, that’s cowardice,” Marcus responded indignantly.

  “Says the boy too chicken shit to talk trash in person, and instead chooses to bully hiding behind the internet.” Marshall sniffed and aimed the gun. “Thirty seconds.”

  “You can’t make me do shit, I’d rather die than play your game.”

  “I don’t care one way or the other, you just won’t live this way.”

  “Fine by me.”

  “Ten seconds.”

  “Fuck you.”

  “Five.”

  Marcus screamed and stabbed a needle into Collin’s chest, pushing the plunger all the way down, despite Collin’s angered protests. They scuffled and fell to the floor, Marcus falling on top of Collin, breaking the needle off from the syringe.

  “Fuck…off,” Collin screeched, and he pushed Marcus away.

  “Very good!” Marshall laughed heartily. “See, what good are your friends? You can always trust them to be as black-hearted as you were to Trevor.”

  Collin began to clutch his chest, and his friends screamed as Marshall gr
inned. “Looks like you gave him the solution that keeps you alive, Marcus m’boy. How do you feel? You’ve been responsible for two kids dying this decade!” Collin continued to clutch his chest, the teenagers watched in horror as Marshall looked on. Together, they stared as Collin vomited foam, breathed his last, and ceased to move.

  Marcus was silent.

  “I think that Andy and Jenny are next.” Marshall nodded slowly, beginning to laugh maniacally. “I want Andy to go first.”

  “I won first, you shit.”

  “I make the rules, don’t you know that, Andy?”

  “Fine. Fuck off.”

  “Pick up a weapon.”

  “Make me,” Andy said, arms crossing his chest.

  “Jenny, dear?” Marshall addressed the trembling blonde girl. “Pick up that knife, would you?”

  Jenny, blubbering and whimpering something incomprehensible, did as she was told.

  “Good, you listen. I appreciate it. Maybe you’ll make it out of this.” He pointed the gun at Andy. “Cut him if he doesn’t grab something in five seconds or less.”

  “Do it,” Andy said to her, turning his head slightly. “I can take it.”

  “Oh, sure you can take the first cut, but what about the seventh? The eighth?”

  “Your grandson cut himself to the thought of me,” Andy spat at Marshall.

  “Do it,” Marshall instructed.

  Jenny raised the knife, but dropped it at the look Andy gave her. “I can’t!”

  “We’ll see how your attitude changes,” Marshall said, and shot a round off into Andy’s leg.

  He fell to the floor in pain, and howled his rage, “You dumb old man! I’m fucking sorry!”

  “Choose your weapon,” Marshall said coldly.