by A. R. Wise
“What do you want?” asked Alma as she approached her brother.
“Do what Daddy asks,” said Ben. He stood rigid, refusing to look at his sister.
Alma stood at his side and leaned over the counter beside the stove so she could look at her brother’s face. Ben shied away, turning so that he was looking to the right as she stood on his left.
The side of his face was scarred, a mess of scratches and scabs, and it appeared to glisten, as if a layer of gel had been placed over him. She reached out to touch him, but he pushed her away with his left hand, which was hidden within an oven mitt. Yellow pus dripped from the glove and down his arm, hanging from his elbow as if ready to drip, but too thick to do it.
“Do what Daddy asks,” said Ben again.
Someone tapped at the window in the den. Alma glanced back at it and was surprised by the way the room had changed from how it had been moments ago. She could’ve sworn the den had two couches in it, one in front of the television and another pressed against the wall, just under the window. However, the couch beneath the window had disappeared. The drapes fluttered as wind came in from outside, but the window had been closed before.
Alma approached warily. It was dark in the cabin, and she didn’t see the glass on the ground before it crunched under her feet. The window was broken, and a red brick sat on the floor where the couch had been.
The Ben that had been sitting on the couch was gone now, but the television was still on. All that was on the screen was a large eyeball that was turned her way.
“Come to the lake,” said a young girl’s voice from outside. “We died there.”
“What?” asked Alma as she tried to avoid the glass on the floor to get to the window.
“You have to be dead, Alma. Otherwise they’ll come for you. If they come for you, then they’ll give you to The Watcher in the Walls.”
It was dark outside, which didn’t seem right. This was supposed to have occurred during the day, but only the stars and the moon lit up the street. She tried to see who had been speaking, but only caught a glimpse of a procession of young girls walking down the sidewalk, headed toward the lake on the north side of town.
“Don’t listen to the witch,” said Ben. “All she does is lie. You can’t trust the liars.”
“Alma, we never meant to lie,” said Rachel.
Alma was shocked to hear her friend’s voice. She’d almost forgotten that Rachel and Stephen had brought her back to Widowsfield. She looked at the couch where Ben had been watching television and saw the couple sitting there, both dressed impeccably, as if ready to start a newscast at any moment. Rachel tried to smile, but it was obvious that she’d been crying. Stephen sat with his legs crossed and twirled Rachel’s wedding ring in his hand.
“What are you doing here?” asked Alma, confused as to why two people she knew from adulthood had shown up in a memory from her past.
“We wanted to apologize,” said Stephen as he focused on the ring. Then he looked up at her and shrugged. “You know, for lying to you. I paid Aubrey to have sex with Jacker.” He closed his fingers over Rachel’s wedding ring. “I manipulated the footage so I could be famous. I’m a liar. You can’t trust me.” He was wearing a white dress shirt, and a spot of blood began to expand on his chest. Alma watched as it got larger before he put his hand over it. He stood up and said, “If you’ll excuse me.”
“They killed us,” said Rachel. “They shot us for being here.”
“I’m the only one you can trust, Alma,” said Ben. “I’m the only one that loves you.”
She heard a tapping at the window again and turned to look, but saw nothing outside.
“Don’t pay attention to him,” said Rachel. “That’s just Hank.”
“Who?” asked Alma.
“Hank Waxman,” said Stephen.
“Jacker?” asked Alma. “Why is he outside?”
“You kicked him out,” said Rachel as if Alma should’ve known that.
“I did? Why?”
“Because he lied,” said Ben. “And now you need to do what I’m asking. You have to hurry. Daddy’s here, and he’s not going to be able to help me unless you take this water up to him. He’s trying to protect me again.”
Ben lifted the boiling water off the stove and set it on the counter, all without turning to look at Alma. He slipped off the oven mitts and the yellow, gluey liquid clung from the mitt to the tips of his fingers before lazily falling in a loop towards the floor.
“He told me not to go upstairs,” said Alma.
“If you love me, then you’ll do this,” said Ben. “Just take the water up to the bedroom.” He walked along the counter until he was beside a butcher’s block where he took out one of the knives. “I’ll be up right after you.”
Alma wasn’t scared of Ben, despite his odd appearance and actions. She felt an abiding love for him that drove her to do as he asked. Alma put on the oven mitts, and her hands squished in the gelatinous liquid within. She put her hands on either side of the pot and noticed for the first time that she wasn’t a child in this recollection, but her adult self. She was standing tall over Ben, and he kept his head turned so that she couldn’t see him. He was crying.
“It’ll be okay, Ben,” said Alma. “I’m here now. I’ll never leave you again.” She felt as if she were comforting one of her students as the child wept.
Ben nodded, and whimpered an answer, “Thanks.”
Alma lifted the pot and walked out of the kitchen. The dog in the cage growled as she passed, but when Alma looked down there was nothing in the cage except for the urine soaked towel that lined the bottom. Rachel and Stephen had disappeared as well. The television flickered with light as a thousand pictures flashed one after another, pausing only momentarily as an eye stared out at the den, glancing back and forth as if desperately searching for something.
Alma went to the stairs and looked up, expecting to see light coming from the bedroom. Instead, the second floor was shrouded by a thick, grey cloud. The fog receded when she took her first step up the stairs. It pulled back in the direction of Terry’s bedroom.
“Hurry up,” said Michael Harper.
Alma froze when she heard her father. She was terrified of the man, both as an adult and as a child, and remembered the one time she’d stood up to him. It was in the parking lot outside of the awful Chinese restaurant where she’d met with Stephen and Rachel. She remembered holding her keys in her hand, the keys like knives sticking out between her fingers, and striking her father.
“Come on, move it,” said her father.
Alma walked down the wet hall. Cold liquid squished between her toes and the fog receded with every step, leaving behind a slimy residue on the walls as it went.
“You’re doing good, pal,” said Michael Harper, but his voice sounded far away. “Daddy came back for you. Daddy loves you. Daddy’s going to take you home.”
“Dad?” asked Alma as the fog parted to reveal the doorway to Terry’s bedroom.
A tall figure stood in front of the bed, but Alma wasn’t certain she saw him correctly. His form was a twisting mass of black cords, all grinding against one another like a spool of wire being pulled taut. He lifted his arm and held his hand out to her, welcoming her in, and the fog formed smoky wings that sprouted out behind him. The wings spread out over the entire ceiling, pooling above as if Alma was staring into a tub of water. The cords were within the fog as well, fainter and lost deeper within the haze, but Alma could see that the man was attached to the ceiling by the black wires. The wings now reminded her of a harp and its mirror image, with dark strings that were slick with blood.
“It’s so good to see you,” said the winged creature that stood in the center of the room. “I thought Ben might sneak you past me.”
Alma dropped the pot of water, but the fog shot out across the floor to catch it. The pot settled within the mist as if gently landing in a soft cushion. Then the fog dissipated and the pot was left safely on the floor.
�
��Is this a nightmare?” asked Alma.
“Only at first,” said the creature. “You learn to find happiness here. We should wait for all of us to find our way here. Many of us are lost now, because this little girl is clinging to something. This little fly is making a mess of our web.”
She heard the chatter of teeth behind her and turned to see The Skeleton Man standing at the end of the hall, at the top of the stairs. He was quivering as if cold or scared, and his face was draped in layers of skin that he’d ripped off of fresh victims. Alma knew he’d murdered Stephen and Rachel, and had used their flesh to cover his bones. He watched with stolen eyes that sat within the black sockets of his skull. Then he reached out to the wall and pinched it before drawing out a long cord, similar to the ones that extended from the wings of the creature in Terry’s room. The Skeleton Man pushed the wire up through his lower jaw and then out through a hole in his cheek before looping it around again, tying his jaw so the chattering would calm.
“I want to go home,” said Alma.
“I want to go home,” echoed The Skeleton Man.
“You are home, my dear,” said the wire creature. “We’ve been waiting a long time for you to come back.”
“Who are you?”
“Let’s not waste time with names,” said the creature. “What is a name but the first attempt to control something; to bend a thing to your will? If you heard a dog howl outside your window, doesn’t it lose all sense of mystery and danger once you’ve given the dog a name?”
“What do you want with me?”
“To start over,” said the creature. “Ben sacrificed himself for you, and now it’s time you returned the favor. Things in Widowsfield have been very tense since the last time you were here. Your mother did you no favor by peering in at us. Your brother has been yearning for you ever since.”
Alma heard the chatter of teeth as The Skeleton Man walked up behind her. He set his hands on her shoulders and she felt ice cold where he touched her.
“I missed you so much,” said The Skeleton Man, his wired jaw beside her ear.
“Someone lied to us about you, Alma,” said the creature made of wire that was now hovering in the center of the room. The wires that formed his body were receding into the walls, leaving gaps in his midsection like a wool sweater being slowly unthreaded.
“The witch,” said The Skeleton Man.
“We thought you died, but that wasn’t the truth,” said the creature. “Now you’re here, and we’re ready to start over. Everything will be different this time, Alma Harper. I want to try so many new things with you.”
“He loves your pain,” said The Skeleton Man.
“I don’t love anything,” said the creature as his strands were drawn back into the walls of the room. “It’s not in my nature. I have a desire to make things whole again, and to recreate the pain I witnessed here when we were born.”
Then the walls flashed with green light. The wires grew thick and seemed to shimmer, as if coated by slime. The creature made of wire that floated in the room had changed to flesh. He was a taller version of Michael Harper, and he sneered as he hovered above.
The Skeleton Man hissed, and then stomped on the floor as he screamed out, “Back away, we’re lost to you! Leave us be.”
Alma felt the floor beneath her feet change. At once it had been carpet, but now it was wood. The tentacles grew thin again until they were just black wires grinding through the walls, and the vision of Michael Harper turned back to the wire angel.
“Do you love your brother?” asked The Skeleton Man once the room had taken on its new shape. “Do you want to save the children?”
“Yes,” said Alma.
“Then do what Daddy tells you. He’s waiting in the bathroom. Take the water to him.”
There was a young boy standing in the bathroom where The Skeleton Man claimed Alma’s father should be. The boy was carrying a spoon that dripped blood, and he was weeping.
Alma turned to look back at The Skeleton Man, but he held her face forward and pointed back at the bathroom.
Now Michael Harper was there, and Alma shuddered in fear.
“Take the water to him.”
Alma knelt down and picked up the pot of water. It was no longer boiling, but still steamed as she lifted it. Her actions felt somehow manipulated, as if she was a participant in a choreographed recreation, and she was merely playing her part. She walked to the bathroom, but the room around her altered as she did. The walls were covered in dirt and cobwebs one minute, and then clean the next. The floor beneath her was carpeted, but then became wood, as if the house itself couldn’t decide what time it existed in. The creature made of wire faded in and out as the cabin altered.
“She’s holding on to something,” said the voice of the creature that had gone back to the walls. His voice was loud one moment, and distant the next.
“It’s okay,” said The Skeleton Man. He sounded further away now, and Alma looked over her shoulder to see that he was standing at the entrance of the room. He was holding a butcher knife with both hands. “Just keep going, Alma.”
She walked into the bathroom.
“All right,” said Michael Harper, although he wasn’t anywhere to be seen. The bathroom was dark and filled with trash. It appeared as if some animal had made a nest of discarded papers in the corner, beside the toilet. There were cobwebs in the corners, and the stench of animal urine was overwhelming. A line of dirty cleaning supplies had been lined up on the floor.
“Listen to Daddy,” said The Skeleton Man.
“Good job, kid. Set the pot on the toilet and get the bleach. That’s the white jug over there, with the blue cap,” said Michael Harper, although he was still invisible. Not even the child with the spoon was still there.
Alma did as he said and then reached for the correct bottle. The label was old and tattered, peeling away because the glue had lost its grip.
“Yeah, that’s the one. Go ahead and push down on the cap and turn it. There you go, you’re doing good,” said Michael as his daughter followed his instructions. “Now bring it over here and pour it in the tub. We’ll figure out how to do this. You and me, kid. We’ll figure it out.”
Alma lifted the white container, which was heavier than she expected, and set it on the edge of the tub. That’s when she saw who was in the basin of the clawed tub.
Aubrey was in the bottom, her short blonde hair stuck in a thick, clear gel that pooled around her. Her skin was pale, and the studs in her cheeks had been pulled out, leaving behind bleeding holes. She was nude, and Alma saw the extent of the tattoo on her chest. It was a pair of serpents that curled over her rib cage, around her breasts, and then up over her shoulders. For a moment, they looked more like tentacles than snakes. That’s when Alma saw the black wires within the liquid in the tub, curling in and out of one another as Aubrey lay in the muck.
“We’ll melt this bitch down to bones if we have to. Okay? Good, good. Just pour it in the water like that. You’re doing great. You’re a real adult now, a big boy.”
“What?” asked Alma. She hadn’t poured out any of the jug’s contents yet. Her father seemed to be speaking to someone else.
“Just do what he says,” screamed The Skeleton Man.
Alma reacted as a child would, tensing and fearing retribution if she didn’t do as she was told. It was the fear of the belt, of spankings and admonishment, a distinctly child-like emotion. That’s when she realized that she was a child, and not the adult she’d dreamed of being. Alma was only eight years old, and her father was standing beside her, instructing her what to do. The bathroom was no longer dingy, dusty, and covered in cobwebs. Instead, the room stank of chemicals and the woman in the bathtub was Terry. Her red hair floated on the water that halfway filled the tub.
“All adults have to do this kind of thing from time to time. There’s no need to cry, just keep pouring. Yeah, all of it. The whole thing.”
Alma poured the bleach in and it splashed on Terry’s face, was
hing away the white foam that lined her lips. Alma expected the bleach to stink, or to burn her eyes, but it didn’t.
“Go ahead and get the purple stuff. The bottle with the yellow cap. Twist it off the same way you did the bleach and then pour it in too.”
Alma set the bottle of bleach aside and went back to the line of cleaners that had been set up on the floor. She found the purple one with the yellow cap and opened it.
“That’s a good boy. You’re a pro. You’re making me proud.”
“Boy?” asked Alma.
Michael ignored her. “Go ahead and pour all of the bottles in. Fuck it, just pour them all in there. One of them’s got to do the trick.”
Alma emptied the purple bottle and then grabbed the next. She opened it and tried to pour out the contents, but only a trickle of sand fell. She tossed the bottle to the side and heard it clatter as it bounced across the wood floor. Wasn’t the bedroom carpeted? She didn’t have time to worry about the details as she reached for another bottle of cleaner. If she didn’t do what her father told her, then she would be punished.
“Is that everything that you could find downstairs?” asked Michael.
“I don’t know,” said Alma. “I didn’t…”
“Yeah? Okay, well I guess it’ll have to do,” Michael spoke as if ignoring Alma entirely. “Pour the hot water in. Just do it. Don’t even think about it, just pour it in.”
Alma looked at the bottle of cleaner and saw that it was old, dirty, and contained only a small bit of sand. She dropped it and went to the toilet to get the pot of water. Her hands were slimy from the oven mitts she’d taken from The Skeleton Man and she struggled to keep her grip of the pot’s two black handles. She set it on the edge of the tub and looked at Aubrey’s nude body.
Aubrey?
“Where’s Terry?” asked Alma.
“Just do what Daddy says!” The Skeleton Man wailed and the wire that held his jaw snapped free, causing his teeth to chatter even louder. He pressed his hands to his chin to keep his jaw from moving, and the butcher knife he was holding sliced across a strip of flesh that covered his skull. Black fluid oozed from the cut.